#to this day the only thing i feel like i can easily draw is horses | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jackiezenauthor · 11 months ago

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Illustration by me.

Complete image will be available on my bluesky account. Full resolution image will be available on my Patreon once I figure out how to post on it from my tablet and how 'by item' subscription works to everyone's benefit (so u don't have to pay per just one drawing and I don't have to stress about posting monthly even though I probably will). I'll keep you updated

In the saddle

🔞 Minors DNI, ty.

Story posted on A03 as well, I won't remove it from there even if Tumblr goes entirely purity-mode one day.

Genre: Paranormal erotica

Word count: 3k

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Cw: you pov, stink enjoying mc, mild self degrading mc, containment, dubcon (?), stranger danger, haunted item (lmk if I missed anything important, ty)

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This is a work of fiction!

No haunted items were harmed for the writing of this story.

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Synopsis: Some people enjoy LARPing and historical items. You take that a few steps further. Tonight, you have your eyes on a saddle so old, they even think it's haunted. You don't believe in such nonsense, but you might be proven wrong...

‘Tonight is THE night!’ you tell yourself as you head for the stables with the dimmest light you could manage, just enough so you don’t step on any unfortunate animals, but not enough to alert anyone else nearby.

You've been working at the farm for a few weeks now, and pulled your weight rather well too, if you might say so yourself. They expected a lot more complaining from your rich ass, raised in the big city, hydrated on cocktails around the pool, but they had no idea how much you found yourself loving the place. Among other things.

The smells, the animals, the sounds, the feeling of dirt under the manicure that you’ve already cut short as soon as you heard about your parents’ plans for your summer…

Not to say you couldn’t say no to them. Not only are you old enough to live on your own already, despite the struggles that cooking for yourself still raises, but you know exactly how low to lower your lip and scrunch your eyebrows at your parents to have them give up any ill will that they might hold against you. Deserved or not.

You didn’t do it this time.

They thought it was because you were finally willing to take responsibility for your irresponsible choices, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

The true reason was waiting for you in the barn. Quiet, rugged from overuse, smelling like anything but the leather that it’s made of: a saddle so old, nobody could tell how it even got there in the first place.

‘Might as well be part of the ole land, at this point’ their grandmother had said.

‘I reckon it outlived five barns now,’ the grandfather had said.

‘Word is, it’s haunted’ their daughter had said. ‘Don’t go looking about the barn if ye hear any ungodly noises, hear me?’

There were no ungodly noises to hear, as you stepped closer and brushed your fingers all across its unkept seat… yet.

If all went well tonight and nobody went by the barn, same as both weeks you’ve been around now, some ungodly sounds might come out… out of your mouth, that is.

Despite its mysterious age, the saddle holds perfectly fine as you move it from its resting wedge and onto the saddle rack closest to the height you need for your plans. Smells like sweat, tobacco, horses and filthy things that you can only guess, and you can feel your body tingling with anticipation, as you muse about adding your own filth to it.

There’s beauty in old things. You’ve always had a fondness to them, to the stories they might have lived through, the people who might have touched them. And old things in places as simple and unassuming as this, you can get to know them in ways that others might frown about… personal ways…

A horse whinnies in the pasture nearby and a dog barks with little conviction. You can hear the wind rustle the trees and grass around, but nothing human, nothing that could spoil your fun.

It’s time.

Your night gown drops off you easily and the hay and dirt on the floor sticks to your naked soles. There might be something wet on the ground too, and it makes you feel dirty. A smirk pushes at the corners of your mouth. The barn smells like it should: dung, dried herbs, old iron, spent wood, grains and leather…

The saddle is rough against your belly as you wiggle your way on it. Not sitting, like one should, but bent across it, like a damsel kidnapped by some rugged wild west men, ready to rob some train, lose all their loot in the pub, and brawl over which one gets to show you a good time first, not necessarily in that order.

Maybe the one carrying you might not even wait until you stop anywhere…

You bite your lip as your breasts hang down, your attempts at adjusting your position without touching the ground, as you would on a horse, making them jump, gravitation pulling against them. Your heart takes off as your imagination mingles with reality, the saddle under you easing you in the scene. It’s perfect like this, you know exactly what you want to hear, how to be held. Imaginary or not, you know you’re in for a really good time.

Touching yourself over the saddle sounded much easier in your mind, but you’ve been eyeing this saddle for far too long to have come unprepared. There’s something already inside you, just waiting for your instruction… at one press of a button…

Your smart watch is dead.

You could have sworn it was fully charged when you left your room in the farmhouse. You’ve been so meticulous too, made sure it worked on Bluetooth alone, if the signal was to fail you. There’s a manual switch too..

If only…

If only you could reach around…

A rag and what could only have been another saddle fall from a rack above and miss you by a scrape of your head, taking off your hair tie. That’s lucky. It could have taken off your conscience too, was it to fall any closer. Or worse? That would be a fun way to hit the news… good thing you wouldn’t be there to see it.

You could get off, start the vibrator, and get back on before you hit the first orgasm. Would be harder to stop or control it, but that sounds rather exciting, now that you think about it. Your misfortune turned out for much better instead.

…

You can’t get off.

Your toes can almost touch the ground, but your ribcage can’t pass through the space between the racks. They must have misaligned when that saddle tried to end your career…

Oh, no…

“Well, I’ll be darned…” a distinctly male voice vibrates in the silence of the barn, just as you were trying to turn around enough to see what’s keeping that blasted rack from moving off you.

Fuck!

You got so distracted with your fantasies, you forgot to pay attention to your surroundings. You’ve never gotten caught before. Today was the day.

“You look rather… tight, miss?” the man speaks again, from right behind you.

The racks are blocking your view and the hair in your face and the darkness of the night aren’t helping either. Moonlight doesn’t reach in the back of the barn, where he is. You don’t know his voice either. Who, and most importantly, why would they be here at this time of the night? Had he been here this all time? Watching you undress? Climbing in? Struggling?

He rests a hand against the rack that’s holding you pinned, but it doesn’t budge. You know he’s moving behind you, but you can’t hear any steps. Even if he was barefoot too, the floor should creak…

You do feel his hand caressing your waist, however, from right under your trapped ribcage.

“You could scream, ya know? I reckon someone would come help…” he says, his hand slowly following your hip and spine, his touch cold like the night air. You should be scared, but it makes you feel reassured somehow. Like you're some horse he’s trying to befriend… a very caught-red-handed horse…

You want to point out that he could help you himself, since he’s already here, but your voice cuts off when his other hand mirrors the first and his fingers dig into your ass, lifting you up for a closer look.

“What in tarnation?” he huffs and his breath travels all between your thighs.

He must’ve seen your vibrator and you’d like to tell him a thing or two about minding his own business, but he also found the button for it and your feet instantly raise and tremble as the stimulation hits you without warning. You hate to admit it but this entire situation… it works.

You curl against the saddle and jolt as you come before you can even remember yourself. The vibration keeps going as you do, and you can’t help but whine in humiliation and ecstasy as you come again, right between the strangers hands, his grip unyielding as you shake. He must be enjoying it. Seeing you writhe like this. Helpless. Trapped.

“You alright there, miss?” he asks while you come a third time.

You can taste the amusement in his tone, but his voice is low, his every word pronounced just a bit too carefully… He’s past just enjoying this.

There should be a remission time after you’ve come five times in a row, but you’ve never done that in front of someone else… your lower half entirely in their hands… Their eyes catching ever twitch of your pussy. You can’t even tell if your heart is racing or just took off on its own at this point.

You’re never going to hear the end of this, if word comes out.

“Please… stop it!” you manage to say between tears and gasps, too many emotions rushing for your attention at once while your ass is twitching so high in the air.

“Why, I thought you put that there plumb on purpose…” he chuckles but the vibration stops before you can start curling again. “Le’me give ya a hand then…”

A moan escapes your throat as you feel your vibrator pulled out of you, slow but deliberate, the orgasm you were heading for before he turned it off, revived within you. You can’t stop yourself from grinding against his other arm, as it stands right between your legs, supporting your belly.

You barely register your toy hitting the floor as you writhe in the stranger’s palm, his hold against you steady, despite your juices already spilled all between your thighs, much more still flowing out of you and all across his arm. You can feel him breathe against the curve of your back: cold but slow, heavy. It makes sense, a weak, rational thought passes your mind, but the animal, feral side of you is nothing but delighted to be met in kind.

Now that there’s nothing inside you, your body frets, demands… there’s nothing inside you…

“I reckon…” his voice is so low, he sounds like purring and your pussy throbs against his arm as the vibration trickles across your skin. “t’wasn’t bein’ stuck that ailed ya… and ya done made your problem mine, lass…”

He lifts your ass higher in the air, his hand still under you, your clit jumping to attention as it rubs against his wrist. You could die of embarrassment. But maybe… not just yet…

You try your best to keep from trembling and moaning as his other hand brushes across your innermost thigh and his thumb slips between the folds of your already tender pussy. It finds your entrance easily and he pauses by it, pressing to go in but not quite. Hesitant. He growls in a language you’ve never heard before and pulls his thumb away, straightening up and dropping you gently. He’s no longer touching you. Worse: he’s taken a step back.

After all of this?

Is he going to just up and leave you like this?

Would he at least set you free before, or will you have to endure the horror of being found in the morning, hopefully by anyone other than the grandma.

But you can hear cloth and metal, maybe leather?

“I won’t force myself upon you, miss,” he says while you can clearly hear him unbuckling his belt. “I never was that kind of man.”

‘Until now?’ you want to throw at him, but find yourself reluctant to argue.

“I reckon we can help each other a smidgen, though,” he says and grabs you once more, rougher this time, holding you up with an arm around your waist while he brings himself to you.

You feel his legs strap around yours while his cock slides right between your thighs, hard and impossible to ignore when it rubs tight between your lower lips and clit, hitting your belly.

On the outside.

“Just yell or make noise if you need me to stop” he says as his legs trap yours tightly and his hands grab each side of your waist.

It’s not stopping that you need him to do. You can tell he’d fill you up to the brim and your insides throb wilder than ever at the prospect. Wanting. Craving.

He pulls away before you can say anything, adjusting his grip one last time before slamming against you, his tip teasing your clit as your insides cry in equal parts excitement and frustration.

The sounds of your wet flesh against his unrelenting thrusts fills the barn and your entire body shakes with them. You want to say something, but save from yelling, you worry he won’t hear you, and he’s chasing the breath out of you as it is.

Your core heats up, you barely keep from collapsing against the rack you’re holding for dear life against. The pleasure. It floods from deep within you and your legs escape his grip as you shake under his thrusts. Your heels hit his ass hard and he grunts, his momentum disturbed.

He readjusts and is just about to resume when you finally manage to catch your breath enough to say “In…”

He pauses. He must’ve heard you but you weren’t clear enough.

“Put it in!” you manage to say.

“Well I’d never refuse…” he readjusts his grip on you and pulls away just enough to make room for his cock to tease your drenching pussy. “…such a lovely invitation.”

You can taste the smirk he says it with, even if he also sounds wistful, but have no time to even think of a retort before he moves inside you, your walls wrapping warm against him. Welcoming.

He swears, and whatever he mutters along with it comes out shaky as your insides throb against his advancing thrusts.

Demanding. Hungry. Still not full enough. Still not hard enough.

Your ass perks up, helpful, giving him all the room he could possibly need, your gspot pressed tighter against his length.

“Thirsty little thing…” he breathes out, his grip on you painful as he touches your inner ring at the same time as his hips come flush against your splayed ass. If his dick was made to order, it would still not reach as perfectly.

He seems to be enjoying the same idea for a moment, his grip loosening just enough that you can wiggle. Just enough that you can swing your hips against him. Urging him where your mind and voice are too taken with the thrill of a fullness you’ve never though possible, and the anticipation of what’s to come.

He resumes thrusting, too gentle at first.

“Harder…” you manage to breathe out but you can’t tell if your mouth managed to pronounce it. It felt more like a pleading moan… and once that was out, there is no stopping the others.

He thrusts harder with every single one of your moans, and every thrust breeds yet another moan, even more pleading than the other. More demanding… more pathetic.

If someone walked in on you now, you’d care for nothing, as long as you kept getting fucked.

Your throat is dry and you feel wet around your mouth but you can do nothing other than cry out in mindless delight as he slams harder into you, so hard that you could swear the whole barn might come apart above you. Your body holds. No, it craves for more. It craves for all. Insatiable.

His grunts behind you have long changed to moaning, his thrusts wild, unstoppable, unhinged. Pleasure that has been playing all across your body gets drawn to full attention, no longer just to the thrashing of your core, but to his grip, his voice, his mindlessness.

The ecstasy organizes. You feel it come together like a horde, savage and relentless in one goal only: ripping you apart. You’re helpless against it. And eager. It’s closing in.

He growls loud and helpless, his thrusts speeding up as your core clenches against him, your insides quaking as overwhelming pleasure threatens to tear at the very seams of your being. Unyielding. Unstoppable.

It’s as if a vulcano breaks from the center of your very existence as you shudder and curl against the saddle, around his cock, in his arms, his fingers digging so tight into your hips that you could swear your skin gave, but the pain only peppers the ecstasy that takes over when his moan sounds delightfully ethereal alongside yours. You can feel your insides trying to squeeze him dry still, as he fills every last space left within you with his cum.

You lay limp from the saddle, his hips still flush against your ass, his cock still deep inside you and you both catch your breaths and minds from everywhere.

“Darn, sweetheart…” he whispers, slowly pushing himself to his feet. Your insides complain as he pulls out just as slowly, but they’re too spent to put up any fight. “They’d need a locomotive to pull me out of you, were I still kickin…” he lets his hands brush across your back so slow and intent, it feels like a caress.

There is a mess of rags and saddles all around you, every rack destroyed, but the one you’re still bent over, the old saddle tight against your belly. The whole barn looks like a tornado just went through it…

“Alas…” the stranger whistles sadly.

It’s morning, and everything around you is increasingly visible, but when you slip off the saddle and turn to look at the stranger, there is nothing but darkness. Pitch, surreal, darkness.

You can feel his hands caress your legs as you pull away, but still nothing of him. The entire side of the barn where he’s standing is nothing but strange, unrelenting blackness. As if the night itself is taking refuge there.

A rooster crows outside, announcing the new day, and, as its song travels across the morning dew, the darkness lessens, giving way to… nothing. The entire side of the barn is empty of even the smallest speck of dust. Not even your toy is there.

Everything around, but the barn itself and the saddle you got fucked on is in complete disarray, you included. There’s bits of mysteriously old leather rubbed into your skin, the smell of it sunken into your pores. You can’t explain what has gone on, but you can still feel its aftermath. You can see it too: your inner thighs are punctured, blood dripping slowly, mixing with juices that are not only yours.

The dogs bark by the farmhouse and the animals start fretting. Soon, the family and their helping will come out to tend to the farm’s many needs. They’ll ask questions that you have no answer to.

You need to get dressed before they see you… still dripping…

#cowboy smut #ghost smut #haunted item smut #smut #jackie zen shorts

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npdterzo · 2 months ago

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HCS FOR MY FAVORITE GHOULS [and alpha]

very aware this took a really, really long time for me to finish im sorry!!!

[i projected a lot onto swiss and it's kind of noticeable #awesomesauce]

omega ghoul [he/him/it] ;

• trans ftm, unlabeled

• autism, bpd, anxiety

• omega is based on a praying mantis, and only female mantis' eat their partners. because omega is ftm, he still gets the urge to just consume terzo sometimes. he can control it but sometimes he needs to leave for a bit

• punk!!

• loves making leather jackets for himself that he decorates with various pins and patches and things

• omega is very sweet and tries his best to help people he loves and has been working on being more compassionate and empathetic

• despite his patience, omega is very easily upset and will get very passive aggressive towards people if he is upset

• he loves the rain and rainy weather. sometimes he goes out and splashes in puddles like a kid

• funny as hell and can make anyone around him laugh. humor is his main way of cheering people up!!

• omega loves bugs and astronomy and if you ask him about either of those topics he will ramble about them nonstop forever

• physical touch is his love language. he loves hugs and cuddling and holding hands and everything. loves ghoul piles a shit ton

• omega likes to collect things. he loves collecting jewelry, records, cds, and small figurines

• loves horses

• his clothing style is just "ripped, baggy looking clothes" and he doesn't really care on how dirty it may look. he loves ripped clothing

• big huge grudge holder

• omega loves terzo to death, absolutely obsessed with him in every way possible. omega would die for terzo [and in the universe where terzo dies, omega almost goes after him by attempting suicide.] terzo is who megs would call his "favorite person"

• flaps his arms and jumps and stomps when he feels strong emotion, mainly positive ones

phantom ghoul [he/him/they] ;

• ftm transmasc, biromantic pansexual

• autism, adhd, hypermobile, kleptomaniac

• very awkward and very skittish. he tries his best

• special interest in indie horror games and bats

• he loves climbing trees. a lot. he stays up in trees whenever his body feels like it's been still for too long. he likes to climb on ghouls and papas as well, the tall ones!

• cuddle bug! [get it. cause he's a caterpillar] they love to cuddle and snuggle with all the ghouls, mainly the quints. but he just loves physical touch like hand holding or hugs

• his safe people are delta and cumulus. loves them dearly and is incredibly attached to them

• loves to play video games. sometimes he plays with copia. they like more computer games rather than the more retro games copia plays though

• sometimes he can be very loud without realizing. he has trouble knowing the volume of his voice

• very easily angered or upset. just be patient and calm around the poor bug

• somewhat nocturnal. he can sleep during the night, but he prefers not to unless he's with delta or cumulus. the day time makes him very very sleepy

• he cannot fly, sadly. but they want to very badly

• phantom loves delta. delta is their favorite ghoul in the world. he loves when delta holds him and tell them she loves him. he gives delta a lot of little drawings he does. they love to listen to music together while cuddling. absolutely infatuated with each other

• phantom is very very forgetful and has a million notes posted all around his room reminding them to do simple tasks

• phantom flaps his wings when he's happy or excited. he pulls his hair and bites himself if he is overstimulated. phantom stims a lot and has many

cumulus ghoulette [she/her/he/they] ;

• demiboy, manwoman, bisexual

• autism, dissociative disorder

• loves anything soft. loves blankets, soft pillows, plushies, sweaters, etc.

• loves cold weather and a big autumn fan. she loves seeing leaves on the trees change

• she takes testosterone because it makes her feel awesome and because it's #awesum

• cumulus zones out more than she would like to. sometimes she'll find herself in an unknown area of the ministry, having walked the whole building multiple times just zoinked out. this scares her a lot

• loves being a guardian figure to people, especially her phantom ♡ absolutely adores that bug

• loves giving kisses!! not just romantically to cirrus, but to any of her friends and anyone who's sad and needs a smooch on the cheek

• very artistic and enjoys painting and doing various odd crafts. she gives them all to cirrus and phantom

• when she sleeps she curls up in a little ball. she so cute

• has no consistent style. she wears whatever looks good in her eyes. she does, however, prefer more masculine looking outfits

• she loves all her ghouls and ghoulettes. loves to talk to them, to hug them and kiss them. she bakes them treats all the time just because she can

• cumulus is the number 1 natural disaster fan. absolutely loves learning about and talking about tornados, hurricanes, floods, etc.

• very sarcastic. sarcasm is her humor it is very funny to her.

• very contagious smile and laugh. when he smiles or laughs , you cannot help but smile back or laugh even if something wasn't even that great or funny

• cirrus is her pride and joy. she tells everyone about cirrus, how wonderful she is. cumulus likes to sit in between cirrus' legs while she plays video games or does her makeup or something. cirrus is incredibly important to her and they are so so so in love and sappy about each other.

• cumulus blinks a lot. Usually does this when she's overstimulated

cirrus [she/her/him] ;

• transmasc, lesbian

• autism, ocd, seasonal depression

• she LOVES to go outside. Mainly on cloudy days ofc but she likes to go outside regardless

• too many plants in her room...mountain like to sneak in and sit with them. she allows it usually

• cirrus loves to collect rocks, bottle caps, literally anything that could be collected

• loves to wear crop tops or sleeveless shirts. anything that shows skin she'll wear

• she likes attention a lot. loves when eyes are on her, loves when people think she's attractive, loves when people speak to her, etc.

• her room has 1 trillion posters/artwork on the walls. there is no empty space anymore

• loves music so so much, especially classical music and rock. she is very jealous of the orchestral ghouleh

• not too big on physical touch unless it's cumulus, but if any of her friends need a hug she'll gladly give em one

• her and sunshine are the bestest of friends and they love to go outside together. they just love talking and gossiping and being besties

• cirrus likes watching horror movies a lot. Older ones from like the 80s or 90s specifically. she always talks about how there's no good horror being made right now, not that she's attempted to watch any

• hates water. he really really hates water. rain water is fine but ocean water and stuff of that nature is a big no. very scary

• treats her keytar like it's a baby she loves it to death. doesn't really like when other people touch it or even ask to touch it. cumulus and sunny are exceptions

• she likes to play instruments. she can play keyboard, acoustic guitar, violin [somewhat] and the drums

• cumulus is cirrus' love of her life. her sweetie her cloud. cirrus really wants to marry cumulus but ghouls don't really "marry" other ghouls they just kind of mate for life with no ceremony, but cirrus wants a ceremony. wants everyone to know she wants to spend eternity with cumulus. they sleep in the same room a lot and cirrus loves to play with cumulus hair or paint her nails or just do anything for her

• cirrus does not stim very much, but she does rub her tail when overstimulated

swiss [he/him/any] ;

• agender, aroaceflux, bi-gay

• autism, npd, dpdr, kleptomaniac

• very, very hyper all of the time. always has the zoomies it seems

• very emotional and very mood swingy. swiss can go from super happy and excited to sobbing uncontrollably over the smallest of things

• his room is always a mess, clothes always strewn about and random empty chip bags and paper plates in corners of the room

• never really "there." he is out of his gourd most of the time and he's never truly in reality all the time

• super talkative and has the tendency to talk over people. but he's trying not to do that so much, and getting better!

• loves to play fight with the ghouls, but usually ifrit and omega are the ones who do it with him

• the orange marks on his body glow in the dark and he uses himself as a nightlight when he sleeps

• he really likes to paint and draw random things. he draws his friends and animals and creatures he made up in his mind

• swiss wears baggier clothing because he will most likely blow up on people if he isn't comfortable. either thst, or he will cry and scream and has to be calmed down

• he's always confused about things, always asking what's going on what's happening etc. all of his friends are fine at explaining it for him everytime, even if they've done it before

• very forgetful even if it's something routine. has like 300 post it notes around his room telling him the most basic things like showering or changing his clothes or cleaning his room [he ignores that one]

• very warm all the time, and is used as everyone's personal heater during colder weather months

• he doesn't really know how to smile "correctly" and has practiced in the mirror multiple times. he tries his best and everyone loves his smile

• very self centered and makes it everyone's problem. he tells everyone how good he looks, how much cooler he is than almost everyone in the Ministry. talks about how his friends would be nothing without him

• twitches alot, usually his hands and fingers

• loves to climb trees and sit in them. he likes to be above everyone else. it makes him feel like a king or something

• swiss' equal person is phantom. rather than think of phantom as another guy below him, she sees phantom as just as good. swiss considers phantom his best friend, even if phantom doesn't exactly. they still enjoy each other's presence

• he stims so, so much. flappy hands, tail wagging, rocking back and forth, kicking, various vocal stims and such

alpha [he/him] ;

• trans ftm, gay

• autism, npd

• very pissy all of the time, resting bitch face but any facial expression he pulls he still looks angry

• he really likes primo and it's very one sided. primo is his equal and he cares for her and tries to get closer to her.

• isolates himself a ton, as he has disconnected from a lot of his friends. he has a lot of regrets

• he and omega are pretty good friend, and he still cares for omega deeply even if they don't talk very much anymore

• his room has like no decor at all, except for a couple random posters he found lying about. it's very bare and empty

• very nocturnal. you see him a lot more later in the day than during the peak of the day or in the morning

• joining in on ghoul cuddle piles is the only time he gets any physical touch besides primo on rare occasion . it's always nice to see his ghouls

• alpha is a very jealous person, and really hates terzo and all the other papas too. he hates terzo for taking omega away from him

when he joins in on group hangouts, there's usually always a fire [in a firepit dw] that he starts. he feels important then, because everyone cheers at him for it

i hope yu liek these hcs i spent like 50 years on them

#terzo's rambles ‹𝟹 #the band ghost #ghost band #nameless ghouls #nameless ghoulettes #omega ghoul #phantom ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #cirrus ghoulette #swiss ghoul #alpha ghoul

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lookingfts · 9 months ago

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And lastly, here's a regency fic I started a while ago and would actually love to finish someday. It loosely follows canon, but with the twist that Anthony can see visions of the future, and tries to stay away from Kate because he thinks it will end badly.

Dark, glittering eyes. Like the full moon reflecting upon a calm ocean.

She is lovely – this woman. The woman. Anthony cannot explain the sensation that washes over him the first time he sees her, at seven and twenty, sleeping fitfully next to another woman – a mistress. A young widow who sends word whenever she is in town.

The haughty tilt of a sharp chin. A smug smile that graces plush lips.

She is on a horse, the sky misty and gray around them. The woman has bested him somehow, he thinks, as he watches her ride away. Breathless.

Anthony dreams of many women. Some of whom he has met, others who are simply figments of a lonely, fractured imagination.

None that feel so significant, though.

It is three months before he sees her again. In a sheer white nightgown, hair falling in thick waves over her shoulders. She looks different like this, eyes wide and open. Vulnerable.

Lightning flashes through the windows of his father’s library, illuminating the sculpted angles of her face that have somehow gone soft. She is holding one of Edmund’s favorite books in graceful hands, and he takes it. Tells her about his father.

Tells her about the most devastating moment of his life.

Something draws them together, as strong as gravity binds them to the earth. The woman’s eyes fall to his lips, and Anthony-

Anthony wants. He is desperate to hold her, to feel her body pressed to his, filling the cracks and crevices that only seem to grow wider with time. He is desperate to kiss her, to feel the softness of her lips and draw little moans from her throat that will surely drive him senseless.

He wants every piece of her, so badly he cannot breathe for it.

But she does not want him. A crack of thunder shatters the spell between them and she runs.

Far away from him. As everyone always has.

He sees so much more.

A ball, a dance, her eyes boring into his as he holds her as though it would kill him to let go.

A breath shared between them. Night and day, I dream of you.

Hot skin beneath his palms, flawless, glowing. The curve of her body fitting perfectly into his. Need, so much need, so much desire that Anthony fears he will break apart with the force of it.

It is not enough. These pitiful fragments. A taste of heaven before it is ripped from his grasp.

But he is certain, now, that he is not simply dreaming. She is real.

The visions began when he was sixteen. Blurry, half-remembered dreams easily chalked up to déjà vu.

Benedict tossing a sputtering Colin into the lake.

Edmund bringing home a bouquet of yellow daisies for Violet.

Francesca playing the piano for Anthony when she was too shy to do it for anyone else.

And then-

The damn thing stung me.

His father pale, choking, collapsing in his arms.

His mother begging him not to leave.

His life changing, in the blink of an eye.

Anthony vomited when he awoke, face wet with tears. It was the worst dream he could have imagined.

Three weeks after, his nightmare came true.

He had seen his father’s death in excruciating detail, and he could not save him. Did not even think he needed saving, because true visions of the future seemed…preposterous.

What was the purpose of such a gift, if he could do nothing to change the great tragedy that destroyed his family? Was that not a curse, a crushing burden of guilt that was impossible to carry on his weary shoulders?

Anthony became the Viscount. And he worked, pushing aside the part of him that never seem very far from a mental break. Worked to the point of exhaustion, worked until he was miserable.

That was the only recompense for his failure. He was not worthy of a life of happiness, of love, of passions.

He had been given a chance to save his father. To save his mother from her fathomless sadness, to save Hyacinth from the emptiness of never knowing such a great man.

The universe gave him an opportunity to protect the life of someone he loved dearly, and he squandered it. He would not receive another.

She is real.

Awareness prickles at the edges of his memory as he chases the mysterious stranger. Has she lost control of her horse? Is someone chasing her? The world can be an unkind place to women traveling alone.

She jumps effortlessly over the brush and turns to face him. Drops her hood.

Dark, glittering eyes. Like the full moon reflecting upon a calm ocean.

The haughty tilt of a sharp chin. A smug smile that graces plush lips.

She has bested him, he realizes, as he watches her ride away. Breathless.

Anthony feels the cool morning air on his skin, the tension of the reins in his hands. This is not another vision.

He cannot believe she is here, this woman he has dreamed of for two long years. This beautiful, ethereal creature that has made his heart pound innumerable times, even as a mere ghost in his mind.

It pounds so desperately now that he half thinks he may collapse.

Anthony is helpless but to follow her. “Enjoying your victory lap?” he says, smirking at the way she startles and curses under her breath in another language. Hindi, perhaps. “You will not be afforded such an ample head start this time, I assure you.”

“Apologies, sir. I did not mean to cause anyone concern.” Her voice is lovely, crisp and melodic. Though he has heard it in his dreams, the reality far surpasses anything he could conjure.

It is strange. Unthinkably strange. The things he could say to her.

I know how you fit perfectly in my arms when we dance.

I know how you flinch during violent storms.

I know how it sounds when you gasp in pleasure.

For she knows nothing of him. He is a blank slate, a man no different than any other. She has not seen the life they could live. “Are you lost? I shall escort you back to town-.”

“I am not lost,” she says acidly. The bite in her voice is – thrilling, truly. They have spoken for mere minutes, and yet Anthony does not believe he has ever met a woman like her. “I am on my way back to Mayfair. It is just ahead.”

Anthony laughs. “Mayfair? Well, then.”

“I appreciate your attention, sir, but I assure you I am perfectly safe. So perhaps we can pretend this encounter never took place. You allow me to go my way, and you go yours.”

That cannot be, he wants to say. We are bound.

Anthony is no great believer in love. He knows it to be true, to be real. Only a fool could dismiss the connection between his parents, one that surpassed even death.

But he is unworthy of such a love. And even if he was, he does not know if it would be a blessing or a curse. Its capacity for pain is equal to that of its joy.

This woman, though – she is different. He has dreamed of many women, but none so often, none so desperately. Anthony does not even know her name, yet he feels as though he has stumbled upon something that will irrevocably transform the life he knows.

So he bickers lightly with her, enjoys the tinkling laugh he manages to extract from her stern countenance. He thinks perhaps she does not dislike him as much as she pretends to. All too soon, she rides off, leaving him confused and wanting in her wake. “We have not yet been introduced!”

“I am afraid that is not possible. Not when I have a victory lap to enjoy!” she shouts behind her, and Anthony cannot help but grin at her retreating form.

His thoughts are filled with her. This woman who laughs like an angel and taunts him like the devil. This woman who stuns and challenges him, smoky bitterness and honey sweetness.

Anthony itches to learn more about her, considers asking around about the new family in Mayfair. But he will let their story play out how it must. If there is one thing he is certain of, it is that they will meet again.

There will be lust. He remembers the sensation of drowning in it. And a great deal more. His emotions are jumbled in visions, hazy and out of focus, but he remembers pieces. Remembers, most of all, the way his heart seemed to swell beyond the boundaries of his chest as she shuddered in his arms.

A single thought, emanating from somewhere deep in his mind. Finally.

How long does he wait for her?

Cold rain plastering his skin.

A horse rearing in the air.

Kate.

He wakes.

Anthony climbs out of bed, paying no attention to the early hour. He will not be able to return to sleep.

Every blink forces the image of her on the ground, cold and lifeless, blood seeping from her head.

And he knows. Deep in his soul.

These images are not of a great love story. They are what he has always feared. Visions of another death, one that he will be helpless to stop.

He bangs his fist against the wall and bites back a shout for the sake of not disturbing his family. Anthony knows he has not always been a good man, but he cannot imagine what he has done to deserve this torment. Why must he be haunted with this knowledge? Has he not suffered enough already?

Anthony thinks of the woman. Kate.

The heat in her eyes as they lock with his, a thousand words passing between them silently.

The softness of her when her armor is gone, when she lets him see her true heart.

The gentle caress of her fingers against his face, making him feel worthy. Valuable.

It cannot be allowed. Any of it. He has seen himself at her final moments, the unshakeable conviction that all of it is his fault. The only course is to cut off their path before it begins, to keep himself away from her at all costs.

Anthony laughs at his own selfishness. He does not want to give her up, knowing all they will experience together.

But he will do it, in the meager hope that it can change the tide and spare her life. And if it changes nothing-

Well, then, at least he will be spared witnessing the death of someone he loves for a second time.

#lfts unfinished fics #bridgerton #kanthony #kate x anthony #anthony x kate #bridgerton fic

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 2 years ago

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I'm soooo sorry you're under the weather and dealing with crappy stuff! I hope things get better for you, physically and mentally 🙏 Get lots of rest if you can, and drink all the fluids!

Headcanon requests, is it? How about the OPLA men (Shanks & Mihawk, but also take your pick, etc) with a multi-tasking reader who delights in various hobbies to keep busy, and occasionally drags them into getting involved? Whether it be container gardening, knitting, baking, sewing, artwork, etc.

Bonus if they're also contending with where exactly reader stores all of her crap when it's not in use, not at all guilty of this myself 🙈🤣

Thank you so, so, so much. It’s been a really bad day and this has honestly helped a lot.

Like I feel this hard. There’s guitar picks and tuning peg winders and little notebooks full of story notes and recipes and origami scattered all over my house.

Just gonna do Shanks and Mihawk this time, because they very much are my main comfort characters right now.

The fact that one of my comfort characters is so murdery probably does not say good things for my mental health but whatever

Hobbies

OPLA! Shanks and Mihawk x Reader

Cloyingly fluffy, here is a spoon with which to gag yourself, just in case c>===

Shanks

He is absolutely so game for all of this.

Such a child about it, if you’re trying to do anything new he’s just so excited about it and needs to know everything.

Completely in your business, asking ten thousand questions, along with the inevitable starry-eyed, “Can I help?”

And you’d have to be heartless to turn down those puppy-dog eyes.

It might not turn out to be his thing, and he might get in the way more than he actually helps, but he’s going to enjoy the experience with you regardless, and his enthusiasm is just so precious that it makes it more fun for you as well.

The exception here is knitting. Knitting can get fucked. He tried, holding one needle in his hand and the other between his teeth, and somehow ended up nearly giving himself a tracheotomy.

But if you knit, sew, or crochet something for him, he’s going to unironically wear it everywhere and brag about it to anyone who will listen.

Baking, though, turns out he has something of a knack for it. And now his go-to solution if you’re sad or upset about something is to bake you cookies, because “How can anyone be sad when there are cookies?” And, well, he’s not entirely wrong.

The captain’s cabin is just completely cluttered with arts and crafts supplies, with so many signs and knickknacks of your many and varied hobbies, and he sincerely loves it because there’s just so much of you everywhere he looks. He’s always felt at home on the sea, but this just makes it feel even more like home.

Mihawk

Not quite as perceptive to participating. He might if you ask him, but some things might take convincing.

He’s an utter perfectionist about everything, so if you do convince him to try anything, he’s probably going to fixate on it until he’s a certified expert and compete with you over who’s better at it.

More refined and traditional artistic endeavors definitely appeal to him more—you could probably convince him to try painting or drawing pretty easily, but things like sewing or crocheting are going to be a little more of a stretch.

Gardening in general is honestly fine as well, container or otherwise. The more you can grow on the island or around the castle, the less he has to concern himself with leaving to deal with other people. And it is fairly convenient to have fresh herbs growing right in the kitchen.

Fairly adept at cooking already—he’s spent most of his life in solitude, so cooking for himself was something of a necessity. Baking isn’t exactly his forte, but he will partake if you ask him to.

He acts like the clutter of your supplies irritates him, but really only so he can give you a room or two of the castle dedicated solely to your hobbies. No point looking a gift horse in the mouth, and you know he’s just being surly to protect his pride.

You know because even if he isn’t interested in it himself, he does enjoy watching you work, sitting off to the side with a book and a glass of wine, glancing up every so often to see your progress.

#opla #one piece #mihawk #shanks #dracule mihawk #red-haired shanks #shanks opla #mihawk opla #opla headcanons #one piece headcanons #shanks x reader #mihawk x reader #fluff

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im14andivebeen14foramonth · 11 months ago

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ADHD CURTIS BROTHERS HCS PLEASEEEEE 🙏

YESSS I FUCK WITH THIS HEAVY

Ponyboy

pony's most apparent symptom is his inattentiveness. his head is always up in the clouds, and he spends a looot of time daydreaming

very very very forgetful, mostly about his own needs. he'll go days without brushing his teeth if darry doesn't remind him

pony has a bad habit of zoning out while looking directly at people, so they just look over and his eyes are like wide and glazed over and staring into their souls. it especially freaks steve out for some reason. "QUIT STARING AT ME LIKE THAT!!" "huh?"

he can't get himself to do his homework in a timely manner. he works best under pressure and so he'll just procrastinate it until the night before it's due and then he locks in

when he does lock in like that, he's practically dead to the world. bro forgets to eat and drink and move his body for like hours at a time until darry or soda makes him get up and he's just like "ow. ow. ow. everything hurts"

he's still hyperactive though and it drives darry crazy sometimes. when he's with the rest of the gang is when it really spikes, and he'll start running all around the house with them. darry can tell though when he needs to get his energy out because he'll just start following darry around the house and bounce around or drum his fingers on every single thing he can. when he gets like that, darry will ask him if he wants to go for a run or play football or smthn so that he can get his energy out

bro WILL hyper fixate on every single thing he's interested in, his consistent ones are books and movies, but sometimes he'll just spend hours a day thinking about one specific book or drawing one character from the latest movie he's seen

it's always a 50/50 on whether he's going to have lots of fun or get super overstimulated in different places. like in grocery stores, after a half hour he's ready to start crying and he'll usually just get quiet and not leave darry's side until they leave. but he thrives in other places like fairs and festivals, and enjoys the bright lights and loud music

he doesn't have great control over his temper. he gets frustrated super easily and will get snappy over the smallest things, but almost every time without fail it ends with him crying and feeling bad

Sodapop

this man may just be the most hyperactive person ever

he will NOT stay in one place for more than five minutes at a time. he's always running around the house, and when he does stay in one spot, he's shaking/bouncing his leg the entire time

like pony though, he gets his moments where he locks in and they're the only times that he doesn't break focus no matter what. he'll go from talking nonstop to just being dead silent as he tries to fix something on a car at work and it freaks steve out

he's so bad with rejection :( even if it's something as small as someone saying they don't like his favorite car, or they're not in the mood to talk about horses, he'll get so sad and feel like his interests are stupid

he cries a lot no matter what he's feeling. if he gets frustrated, angry, or scared, he'll start crying and his energy goes through the roof

soda is easily the most forgetful person any of the gang has ever met. he'll forget what day it is, to put shoes on, to take food out of the oven, everything. it's mostly a short-term memory issue. however, his memory will be really good for oddly specific things. steve: "remember that time I got a cold or something in like elementary school and-" "oh yeah that tuesday in october in first grade when you were wearing that red shirt and you kept sneezing during story time :)" "why do you remember that??" "I dunno"

when he gets overstimulated it's BAD. it doesn't happen often, but when it does, he'll break down in tears and refuse to speak to anyone. darry's the only one who can ever calm him down

he stims a lot, usually by playing with the hair on the back of his neck or rubbing whatever shirt he's wearing

Darry

although it may not be as obvious, darry's also on the hyperactive side. he loves football, running, swimming, anything that's high intensity and lets him get his energy out. when he doesn't have a chance to do those things, he'll usually just pace around or do a quick workout

he will drum his fingers every single time he's thinking, he's even worse than pony with it. and if he has a pen in his hand, you better believe he's clicking it nonstop. the amount of dirty looks he got in school for it was crazy

even though he gets on pony for it a lot, darry also zones out a lot. he's usually better at hiding it though, like people will be having full conversations with him and they don't realize that he was zoned out the whole time until they ask him something and he just goes "huh?"

his biggest hyper fixation has always been football. he could talk for hours and hours about any player, team, or game if someone lets him

he did great in school, but he always had to find obscure ways of remembering things for tests and quizzes, he especially did a lot of those acronym things. whenever someone asked him how he did something or remembered something, he would explain his weird system and they would be even more confused

this poor man cannot cope without a schedule. that's a part of the reason why he gets so bothered when pony isn't home at the right time, because it throws off his schedule and then his whole day is ruined

whenever he reads, he can only focus if he sort of murmurs the words the whole time, and he almost always plays with the edges of the paper to keep his focus

when he gets overstimulated, he gets snappy and loud and doesn't want a single person to touch or talk to him

he's big on vocal stims. he hums or mumbles to himself or makes random noises whenever he's trying to focus on something

#the outsiders #the outsiders 1983 #the outsiders book #ponyboy curtis #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #the outsiders ponyboy #the outsiders sodapop #the outsiders darry #curtis brothers

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hythlodaes · 7 months ago

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the gold and the rust

emile/avi'li (belongs to @lilas) 947 words PLD AU: as knights, emile and avi'li are sworn to the same lord, and in their service they realize the depth of their feelings for each other. in an attempt to exert control over their shifting loyalties, avi'li is sent away for a mission on his own, but their love is not so easily parted.

ty azia @coldshrugs for the gpose!!

Emile stares at the ground.

It is the only safe place to look. He has been taught to keep his gaze low out of respect, but today it is for control, his nerves beating the blood through his chest too fast, and he knows himself—knows the way he cannot keep his expression calm, each emotion transparent for all to see.

I never have to ask how you feel, Avi'li teased once, finger poking at his cheek. It's all right here.

But for him, Emile would try.

He stands beside the Archbishop, the man to whom he has sworn his service, his protection. Stand and serve like a good knight, like a good man, like someone who doesn't dream of leaving this all behind, bound only by honor, bound only by the ties that have turned to another.

There's the sound of horses outside—Emile's heart thunders in his chest. Steady, he tells himself, taking one deep breath that he hopes will go unnoticed by the man beside him. Steady, he tells himself as the door creaks open, the sound of boots striding a confident rhythm across the floor.

Emile will not look.

Is there blood?

Stone floors, grey and worn smooth. He memorizes each mark and scuff that lead to the edge of his boots.

Is he hurt?

And then there's Avi'li's voice. He was sent with a small squadron to scout a crevasse in the Highlands, where there's been multiple reports of disappearances as of late. He sounds steady—no sign of weariness from his voice alone, but it does not quell the worry in Emile's heart. You were not there to protect him.

Avi's words linger in the back of his mind, just like the smirk he gave him before he left a fortnight ago: By staying behind, I'm protecting you.

Devotion is a wavering mask these days.

No sign of threat, Avi'li reports. Locals spoke of myths drummed up to sow fear, when the truth is more likely the foolish draw of the slippery depths. He’s dismissed not long after, and only then does Emile let his gaze rise to meet him, catching his profile as he turns to leave.

There is slight relief that there is no obvious sign of injury: he walks as usual, his armor is intact, and the sharp white of his hair still sticks out beneath his helmet. Emile can feel the trace of a grin on his lips at the sight, and he curses his own foolish heart, the thing that always gives him away.

He averts his gaze, settled by the fact that at least he's home, and he waits until it is safe to leave the Archbishop’s side to track him down, taking the stone steps of the fortress by two, each long stride filled with purpose.

He finds him in the infirmary. The healer looks up as he enters, stepping aside to reveal Avi'li still in his armor sitting at the edge of the cot. He’s taken his helmet off, and his bright eyes turn to him immediately. There is a different kind of relief in his gaze as he speaks softly. "A moment, please."

The healer casts a knowing glance at Emile before leaving the room, and Emile takes a single step closer, then another, his gaze never leaving him.

"Worried about me?" Avi'li asks, his voice light, teasing. "I should think that you'd know better."

"Says the man in the infirmary."

Avi'li waves him off, the hint of a smile at his lips. "'Tis merely routine."

But it isn't. Because they're always in this together, always sent out together. They’ve fought side by side for so long that his absence has formed its own presence. Emile has grown too used to the comfort, the reassurance of Avi’li beside him, to his warmth along his back as he falls asleep at night, even if he’s gone by the morning.

Emile is uncertain about love, but he knows love's loyalty. He knows the strength of his conviction.

"Lia," he breathes out, cursing himself. They started this because it was supposed to be simple, it wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Emile liked his confidence, his sharp tongue, the ease with which he flirts. A little touch, a little relief—and yet here they are.

Emile takes the last step to close the distance between them, kneeling before him at the edge of the bed. He keeps his hands on either side of his thighs as he looks up, the distance not so far between them as he gazes into those green eyes.

"Was he watching you?" Avi'li asks quietly. He lifts a cool hand to Emile's face, sweeping his thumb along his cheekbone.

Emile leans into his touch, nodding. "We have much to discuss."

"Tonight."

"You should rest."

"After a fortnight apart?" Avi'li asks with a raised brow, leaning in close. "Would it not ease your mind to strip me of my armor and search me for injury?"

Emile's face grows warm as he bites down on a smile. Oh, how he wants to say, I've missed you.

Instead he leans in closer, just a breath apart. “Tonight, then.”

They may be bound by their oaths to another, but they forge new ones between themselves as they discover who they truly serve. If you asked Emile now, he would speak of the throne, but in his mind he would see the way Avi'li winds a hand through his hair and pulls him in, the way he kisses him with a hunger fueled by distance.

It's what will undo him in the end, but as Avi'li's lips part against his—warm, comforting, and safe—he knows, undoubtedly, that he’s making the right choice.

#emile/avi'li #avimile #pld au #the way i've been working on modern au for almost three months and then wrote this in a day LMAO #which. you can probably tell but they make me feel unhinged :')#as we have said. oaths are so sexy #idk ! serving a monstrous man who would not accept the way they feel about each other #bc they are dangerous !! and stronger together #and avi gives emile so much courage <333 #okay anyway byeeee

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ierofrnkk · 3 months ago

Text

Of Starships And Songcords

Poe Dameron x Na’vi!reader [4]

summary: it’s a new day on Pandora, and Poe is learning to hunt. (~1.6k)

content: Poe hunts and kills an animal, he’s already a lovestruck idiot, romantic tension

a/n: chapter 4! I’m absolutely loving this, and I hope you guys are too! I also made this art, which is how imagine Poe in this chapter!

—

Another morning on Pandora, and Poe’s up when the sun rises.

His muscles protest and ache from being thrown from the back of the horse again and again, but he’s far from complaining. The things he’s learned in his brief time on this moon have resonated far deeper with him than anything from the Resistance; its on a deeper level, the connection stronger.

He feels like things are so different here, besides the obvious—every living creature seems to have a connection like something he's only seen compared to the Force. It’s beyond anything he’s ever experienced, and after yesterday’s events, the connection he made to that animal, he’s dying to know more.

He’s not awake for very long before his Na’vi companion joins him, a small clay pot held in her hands.

Poe settles onto the ground when she gestures for him to sit, and she kneels beside him, still completely dwarfing him even at this smaller degree. He tries his best to catch a glimpse of what’s inside the pot, but he can’t from the angle she’s sitting at.

”What’s, uh—“ he starts, craning his neck unsuccessfully in another attempt to get a look.

”What’s in there?”

She regards him briefly, amber eyes trained on him for a moment before she turns her attention to the contents of the pot.

”Today,” she begins, completely disregarding his question.

“You will learn to hunt. I will teach you very much. It is more than simply drawing a bow and killing an animal.”

Poe sits, silent as she speaks, like every word is gospel.

He watches as she dips two fingers into the pot, withdrawing a cyan paste that closely matches the tone of her own skin.

He wants to ask, to question her again, but he doesn’t have the chance to before she’s spreading the paste on his skin, painting stripes that closely match her own.

”You will be seen easily. This is to give you a fair chance.”

Poe nods, heart in his throat as he watches her paint him with stripes—it’s not what he expected first thing this morning. Not that he’s complaining.

Her one hand covers a good amount of his chest, and he watches her diligently as slowly, he’s camouflaged for the day’s lesson.

After what feels like an eternity of speechlessness, Poe manages a question that, honestly, doesn’t even really matter.

“What’s it made of?”

She laughs. Fuck, he’s nervous, and making a fool of himself at that.

Poe can feel his face heat up in embarrassment; even though it was a simple question, he probably could’ve figured that it was made from ground up plants or berries.

She looks up at him once more—big, pretty eyes—and her smile is wide.

“It’s a secret.” Is all she says, before returning to her work, painting stripes on every inch of him, even going so far as reaching around to do the same to his back.

She covers every inch of him in stripes, from his shoulders down to his hands and his legs.

He feels vulnerable, all things considered. The past few days have pushed Poe far out of his element, but this is on another level to him. He likes to think that he’s adaptable, quick on his feet and good with adversity, but even this is..a lot.

It doesn’t take long for her to finish, and she soon sets the small pot down beside them on the ground.

Poe watches as she stands, completely overshadowing him from his seated position, and retreats back through the entrance she came from. Thankfully, she isn’t gone for very long, returning with a small wooden bow and a few arrows.

The arrows are beautiful, the fletching made from the most brilliant, colorful feathers he’s ever seen in his life.

He rushes to stand up quickly, not wanting to feel completely useless, still sitting on the ground, and she acknowledges him with another soft smile.

The Na’vi hands him the bow, but keeps hold of the arrows. To Poe’s surprise, the bow feels proportionate to his body, not oversized like he had expected it to be.

It’s probably a kids’ bow, he thinks, running his thumb over the smooth, carved wood as he holds it.

Poe looks back up at her, and they stand for a few moments, exchanging glances, before she turns and heads off without another word.

He’s familiar with this—he knows this game—so he follows, taking off after her while still being mindful of the many different vines and branches that hinder his path.

They’re set off in a different direction than the other day, this time trailing deeper into the forest where the buzz of insects and the chitter of creatures grows louder.

The floor of the forest glows with each step, the bioluminescence still visible in the early morning light. He can still see her up ahead, clearly limiting her pace for his sake but still fast enough to keep him on his toes.

She leads him deeper into the forest, eventually slowing down when she's decided that they’ve gone far enough.

Following her lead, Poe slows, crouching down low when she does.

In the early light, it’s difficult to see at first, but eventually his eyes adjust, and focus in on what she’d been looking at.

An animal, similar to the one he’d ridden the day before, but smaller; it was skinnier, and had frills on the sides of its head that resembled the point of an arrow.

The Na’vi hands him an arrow, and with a little guidance (and much larger hands), the arrow is nocked in the string of the bow. Poe remains low to the ground as best he can, focusing on his breathing as he draws the bow, pulling the string taut as he aims for the creature.

His companion makes adjustments to him before he releases the arrow, changing the angle of his arm and straightening his shoulders.

Poe looks to her for confirmation once she lowers her hands, and when he receives a brief nod, he knows he’s good to go.

He takes a slow breath, aiming for the creature once more, and then the arrow is loose.

Miss.

The arrow whizzes by the animal, finding a home in the trunk of a neighboring tree. The animal, startled by the attempt, dashes off, disappearing into the brush.

Poe settles, sitting on his heels, the bow in his hands as he thinks about how he was so close, but missed the animal by a mile.

At his misfortune, his companion laughs again, a sound that Poe is growing incredibly fond of. After a few beats, he laughs, too, lowering his head and looking once more at the arrow that sits firmly lodged in the bark of the tree.

“It wasn’t bad for your first try,” she tells him, and it does ease his embarrassment.

“I bet you that some of those kids in the village could shoot better than me,” he responds dryly, once again tracing his fingers over the grain of wood in the bow, the strength of the material in his hands—he’d love to see one that was scaled to her size.

The morning light has yet to break through the thick canopy this deep into the woods, so Poe’s able to notice things he hasn’t before.

The bioluminescence of the forest, the way everything seems so alive, and then—

Poe looks at her. The twitch of her ears, the scrunch of her nose as she laughs. The subtle but present glow of the freckles that trail across her face, her shoulders.

She’s beautiful. Poe can’t help but stare.

He must be pretty obvious about his staring, though, because it’s not long before she catches on.

Poe doesn’t even realize he’s been caught until she flicks him in the side of his head.

“Kehe,” she scolds, ears flattening against her head for just a moment—but the expression doesn’t remain for long.

“The hell—?” Poe manages, hand instinctively coming up to rub the spot on his head where she’s hit, even though it doesn’t hurt.

Her attention has moved elsewhere, further out into the woods, where another one of those creatures stands and grazes, completely unaware.

Poe immediately silences himself, following her gaze to the animal, and he reaches for his bow.

She watches him with a careful eye, pleased by his eagerness to try again, and only corrects his posture a little bit this time around.

Another arrow is nocked, and the bow is drawn once more.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Poe lets the arrow loose, following the trail of the fletching as it flies through the air towards its target.

It hits.

The animal makes a horrible noise, something between a howl and a screech, before it drops onto the forest floor.

Poe stands immediately, eyes wide as he looks over at his Na’vi companion.

She rises after him, bounding over to the animal, which now lies wheezing on the ground.

Poe follows her, watching carefully as she drops to her knees beside the animal, murmuring a prayer in her own language.

It’s mesmerizing, and Poe just prays that he did everything just as he was supposed to.

She continues the prayer, drawing a large knife from the holster strapped to her waist, before she plunges the blade into the gasping, wheezing chest of the animal, silencing it for good.

Poe watches, dumbfounded, and she stands not long after that.

“That was good for your first hunt,” she tells him, and Poe can feel the tips of his ears flush with the praise.

“You still have much to learn, tsamsiyu.”

Poe grins, chuckling, and she joins him in the laughter, before they head off deeper into the woods, the lesson of the day only just beginning.

—

As always, thank you for reading!

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tags: @winniethewife @midgardian-witch @ominoose @faretheeoscar @ingoldthewizard @silvernight-m @howellatme @reallyrallyauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

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#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x you #avatar 2009 #oscar isaac characters

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dtyfp2 · 1 month ago

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Grief

Evermore

It’s been a month since you’ve buried Kerene.

Aemon can’t even recognize the person you’ve become. Nynaeve says it’s the grief, that it’ll fade a bit eventually, but Aemon knows it’s more. There’s a piece of darkness still inside. Moiraine says the healers of the Tower will be able to help.

She doesn’t sleep, her nightmares keeping her awake all day and night. Her visions, the ones she never told anyone about, he could feel before that they were pleasant, but now they were horrifying.

She avoids him during the day, but when she wakes up screaming, she’ll only settle back down if he holds her.

“Have you spoken to her?” Nynaeve asks, drawing him from his thoughts. You were riding ahead of him alongside Stepin while he hung back with Nynaeve.

“I try, but it’s like she doesn’t even hear me,” he admits.

“You Warders can feel what they feel sometimes, can’t you?” She asks him, to which he nods.

“There’s no stronger bond in this world than an Aes Sedai and her warder. But it’s different with us, she is the Sun Summoner and I’m her Soldat Sol, our bond is stronger than the average bond,” Aemon tells her. When he first told Nynaeve that he was a bonded Warder, she chew him out, asking how he could think to do such a thing. To her credit though, Nynaeve was a bit more understanding when he explained it all.

“I still don’t really know what that means,” she admits.

“Neither do I sometimes, but we figure it out,” he chuckles.

“You trust me, don’t you?” He asks her.

“Yes, of course I do,” she nods easily.

“I know you don’t trust the Aes Sedai, I don’t either, I don’t know if I ever will. But Gael is…she’s different, she’s with me, with us. You know that, don’t you?” He asks her.

“I know, but I think she has bigger problems than us right now,” Nynaeve tells him softly.

You ride alongside Stepin, and you bite your lip as you look over at him.

“Stepin, you’ll let me bond you as a Warder before you do anything stupid, won’t you?” You ask him, your lip quivering as you do. Your vision goes blurry with tears, but you blink them away.

“Gael-“ he says in a tone that makes you weep.

“No, no Stepin just say you will,” you cry.

“Gael, sweetheart, you don’t need me as your warder,” he says softly.

“You’re wrong, I do need you. You know me, I’m a handful, I need you to keep me safe,” you sniffle. He guides your horse off the beaten path and climbs off, motioning for you to do the same.

“Oh, my dear Gael, you’ll be alright,” he murmurs as he envelopes you into a hug.

“Stepin, just say you will,” you weep, your tears wetting his coat.

The rest of the group passes by slowly. Aemon waits for you a bit ahead.

“You have grown into such a beautiful young woman. Sometimes when I look at you I remember the little girl you once were, who would have Alanna or some other do your hair in a pretty way and then come running to show us. You’re going to do so many beautiful things in life, Kerene and I both knew you would. I am so proud, and so honoured to have watched you grow up, to have been a little part of that,” he tells you.

“Stop saying goodbye,” you sob as you hold him closer.

“If I promise to think about it, will you try to lighten up? I know you grieve Kerene, but you’ve been so sad, Gael, I can’t remember the last time I went this long without seeing your smile,” he says softly as he wipes your tears.

“Will you really think about it?” You ask.

“I will, for you, I will. Don’t worry about me, Gael, Lan and the others watch over me just fine. Once we get to Tar Valon, go to the yellow sisters and see if they can do anything for you, hm?” He says as he holds your face. You nod in agreement, unable to find the words.

“You shouldn’t be taking care of me, I should be taking care of you,” you sniffle.

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart, it makes me feel useful again,” he smiles softly. He presses a kiss to your forehead and embraces you once more before helping you up onto your horse.

When you catch up to the others, they’re preparing for the parade. You won’t be joining the parade however. No one thought you should have to.

Instead, you’d take the backroad with Moiraine, Lan, Nynaeve, and Aemon and head straight to the Tower.

Once off your horse, you fall to your knees in exhaustion. Aemon has to carry you inside. Once inside, Moiraine tells him to bring you to the yellow sisters. He glances at Nynaeve, but she gives him an affirmative nod, so he goes.

He hated leaving Nynaeve, but his priority would always be you.

Once in the yellow quarters, you’re laid out of a table while they peer over you. He does his best to explain, tells them what Moiraine thinks has happened, and he sits by your side while the yellow ajah tinkers around you. He reaches for your hand, but you pull it back, turning your face away from him so he wouldn’t see your tears.

He stands silently, looking down at you for a moment before leaving. You sigh a shaky breath when he does.

You must lay there for hours while your sisters tried, but they hadn’t come up with anything. They promised to keep trying, though, but you left with more questions than answers.

It is night when they let you go.

You lean on the wall as you proceed to your room. You wish for the comfort of your bed after months of nothing but hardness.

You pass by the warder statues and you think you see something. Curiosity gets the better of you as you change direction.

“Light, Stepin, what have you done?” You gasp as you fall before him.

Stepin, strong Stepin, Stepin who would run and play with you, was now knelt with a knife in his gut.

“Gael,” he sputters out.

“Stepin, you promised you’d think about it,” you weep as you take in the scene before you.

“I can fix this, let me fix this. I can heal it, I’ll bind you as my warder-“

“Kerene is waiting for me,” he says simply, stopping your rambling with a silent shush.

“Stepin…” you cry as you as he grabs your hands.

“It has been my honour to watch you grow up, my dear Gael, and I’m so sorry to leave you like this,” he heaves out.

“But this is a part of life, you have to let me go. This is what I want, this is how I want to go, I have to go. Kerene is waiting for me,” he tells you intently. He gets weaker by the moment.

You shake your head as he squeezes your hands.

“Will you grant an old man his final wish, little Sun Summoner? Show me the fire works again, one last time,” he whispers.

Left helpless once more, you can only wipe your tears. You take a deep breath and conjure your weaves of light, balls of them exploding into pretty fragments of light. Stepin watches the light as you watch him. You try to commit his face to memory, every hair, ever contour, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

He smiles when the light touches his face, his eyes closed as he feels the suns embrace. He is content, happy to go, happy to chase after Kerene again.

“Thank you,” he breathes out, one final time.

Childish laughter fill the tower, the sisters swiftly moving out of your way as you run down the halls, smiling softly to themselves. They had never realized how quiet the tower was, not until the child they brought livened it up.

“You better run faster, Gael, I’m right behind you,” Stepin sings as he reaches out to tickle your sides. You scream as you pick up your pace, running past the brown quarters.

As you turn the corner, Stepin loses sight of you just for one moment. In that one singular moment, he hears a thump. Then a cry.

“Oh, Gael, what happened?” Stepin coos as he kneels beside you, your knees and palms scrapped to hell. It was obvious you had tripped over a bucket left by one of the novices.

He is quick to pick you up, holding you rather awkwardly as he jogs to the Greens, his pace quickening every time you cry.

Kerene hears you before she sees you, her studies interrupted by her warder.

“Now, Gael, didn’t I warn you to be more careful,” she tuts as Stepin places you on the table before her. She makes quick work to heal your knees, taking her time to do your palms.

“I tripped,” you explain, your tears subsiding as the pain does. Now, there are only a few stray tears left on your cheeks, and your obvious pout. Kerene glances over at Stepin and bites back an amused smile, her usually easy going warder is pacing behind her, biting on his nails.

“Accidents happen, don’t worry about it. Just be more careful next time, alright?” Kerene warns, though she isn’t all that sure who she’s reassuring, you or her warder behind her. You nod in agreement as she heals your palms. She wipes your tears and finds a sweet in her pocket. She always carried a sweet in her pocket for you.

You hop off the table and dust your hands off. You look up at Stepin and hand him the lolli, silently asking him to unwrap it for you. He gives you a playful look, like he’s accusing you of getting him into trouble. As he unwraps the sweet, you smack his knee and run off again.

“You’re still it!” You call over your shoulder, earning you a shush from the brown sister in charge of the library. Paying no mind to your blood stained dress, you take off down the hall once more, Stepin hot on your heels.

When his body comes limp, you weep as you cradle his body. His blood stains your dress and clothes but you don’t care, you hold him, feeling him go cold.

“Stepin,” you whisper, brushing out the lines of his face. When you receive no answer, you drop your head as sobs wrack through your body.

By the time Lan finds you, Stepin is cold and you’re nearly as pale as the man whose head rests in your lap.

#the wheel of time imagines #the wheel of time oc #wheel of time #wheel of time oc #wot on prime #wot show spoilers

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say-hwaet · 4 months ago

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That's the Way It Is

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

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

About escape.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are we packing?”

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

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

Mary Beth nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To warn Charles of what is to come.

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “Today.”

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

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

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

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

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

Leaving you and Javier alone.

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

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

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

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

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

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

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

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

“Still can’t remember, huh?”

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

“You seem like your old self, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs. “Does he have reason to?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

“But you think we won’t make it?”

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

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

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

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

“But not Tahiti?”

You shrug. “It doesn’t come to mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?”

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

“Hosea, where’s—?”

“He’s fine. We can get him later.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten…

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

Five, four, three, two…

One.

But there isn’t an explosion.

Maybe you just counted down too quickly.

You both keep walking.

A few seconds go by, but still nothing.

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

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

“Did you—?”

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

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

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

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

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

KABOOM…!!!!!

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

Hosea.

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

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

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

Please don’t be dead.

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

“Hosea…!”

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

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

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

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

And it twitches. Just barely.

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

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

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

“Go…” he wheezes. “Go…Kitka.”

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

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

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

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

That’s when you hear the sharp whistles.

No time to rest now. You got to move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The other two quickly whip around, guns ready.

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

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

Now, that leaves the third one.

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Me either.”

He nods towards you. “Where’s Hosea?”

“Just down the street. What happened?”

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

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

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

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

“Well, that clearly has sailed.”

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now what?”

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

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

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

John takes a step toward you. “Kit—!”

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

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

You sniff, nodding. “I will.”

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

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

And you don’t look back.

***

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

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

Pinkertons.

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

Lenny.

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

But does he see them? You don’t know.

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

But you have to act quickly.

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

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

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

It’s Arthur. He’s alive!

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

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

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

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

You just wish you could take off these damned boots.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t see anything.

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

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

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

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

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

Javier and Charles.

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

But you have to reach them before they head inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arthur. He’s with them!

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

No, don’t shoot!

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

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

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

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

“But there’s—”

“Now, Javier!”

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

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

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

“I got this fool, Dutch!” Bill barks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So many things to do.

But you don’t have any time.

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

Tag Requests: @photo1030 , @eternalsams

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #arthur morgan #fanfiction #ao3 writer #rdr2 #arthur morgan x you #banking the old american art #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #explosions of course #LENNY DOESN'T DIE!

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acrobetia · 17 hours ago

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My OC Info Dump: McIvor

I already posted about him but now I got MORE!!!

Scene of him making his getaway boat! Also my pfp on Artfight, idk if I captured his expression right, he's supposed to look worried/scared, for obvious reasons.

So McIvor was raised in Scotland, but born on a boat technically on irish waters, but his existance was first recorded in Scotland, his father is a farmer from Scotland and his mother is an immigrant which he keeps secret since Addair is his mentor, that wouldnt go well if he shared it. He is a skilled engineer but since he had no rig experience before, he works under Addair's command, he got the job with the help of Brodie who is an old friend of his since they were neighbours and friends for many years as kids in Skye, they even did diving together! McIvor is younger than Brodie, and had met Mhairi when she was born.

McIvor has a sort of love for the ocean, seeing it as the all-mother, the being which raised all life, he praises the ocean and see's it as a sort of divine being above all else, he is fascinated by her and would love nothing more than to spend his life upon her waters, unfortunately, he'd live his final days with her in unexpected circumstances. He writes and sings poetry and and songs for the ocean, and he often addresses the ocean as Lady Ocean.

While on the rig, he had a gut feeling shit was going to go down hill, so he started stashing away scraps of metal that were supposed to be disposed of and kept them stored in an unused storage container, this ended up saving his life on the day of the Baira D. incident, he spent the whole time Caz was running around instead using the scraps and some tools to build a makeshift but functional lifeboat, he managed to make it into the water on it with a life jacket and get far enough from the rig to survive mere minutes before the rig was blown.

When his makeshift boat was found by a support ship two days later, him somehow alive still, he was rescued and brought to land and to a hospital, where he frantically tried to tell people what happened, everyone dismissed him as crazy, and he passed away only a few hours after reaching shore, death by hypothermia, while in the lifeboat though, he had written a sort of journal where he recounted the events of the Baira D. Incident and described and drew out the monsters and sights he had, this journal would eventually find it's way into Mhairi's possession, from Hans who'd saw the bok for sale at some thrift shop and recognized what it could be. Mhairi recieves the book after surviving the events of the DLC, likely being given it to look into while in decompression.

McIvor never got infected!

Personality wise, McIvor is kind, optimistic, social, loyal, impulsive, and distant(zones out while at sea), he enjoys the simpler, small things in life, and appreciates all that which breaths, except mosquitos, they can die(jkjk, mostly), he is also smart, even if he doesn't always know how to use those brains of his! Before the incident, he is a very cheerful, affectionate, and happy man, easy to please and a social butterfly who trusts too easily and has a heart of mushy peas, he'll cry when he sees living lobsters in stores, he refuses to eat animals that have to be freshly killed or cooked alive, or are intelligent(such as squid, lobster, crab, so... mostly sea foods, and anything that's kept as a household pet, like cats, dogs, rodents, horses, etc.).

Bonus: I love me an autistic bisexual, which he is.✨️

Art made for him in art fight below 🐿

Also, here is his artfight page

One of them has horror elements!

By D1NOSNOREZ

By SketchyCourtJester

By squabble_ Note: this piece perfectly captures McIvor's energy🤾

Im so happy people like him enough to draw him, I love him so much hsjsjxejjdbdxehexvixehbxe 🐿

I wanna give him a infected form, but I have no ideas, if someone wants to do it, go ahead lol

#still wakes the deep #swtd #swtd oc #still wakes the deep oc

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seancekitsch · 2 years ago

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(Feel free to ignore!!) Reader is working at court (maybe a cartographer or something) who has worked with Cahir before he was sent away to these raiding parties. Both tried to remain professional (feelings? They? Love is for children) but when he returns, Reader is the one who goes & finds him? Fluff-ish? (You can take it in any direction you‘d like. Your work is fantastic!!! Thanks so much for carrying the Cahir fans on your back. By yourself)

ahhh thank you so much love!! i hope more people start writing for him i think there's only like three or four of us!!! hope you like this one :)

You refused to look up at the intelligence officer as you continued to erase from your draft.

“Where to this time?” you ask, scrubbing the northern part of the Yaruga river from the landscape.

“Thanedd,” he says, his voice just barely above whisper.

“Thanedd?!” you lose your composure, looking up at him a moment before grounding yourself.

“Thanedd is having a lot a visitors lately.”

He only hums, not at all buying your nonchalance.

“Thanedd it is,” you muse, sorting through your folders for a suitable map that isn’t too well used to hand to him. You pass several until you find your own personal map of the island, like you always do for him. It’s easy to find and you pull it and toll it and pass it to his hand, all without making eye contact. You ignore the warmth that floods your hand when his fingers graze yours.

“Thank you, darling,” he says, the closest thing to an affirmation you’ve gotten from him, yet so much more bold than anything you’ve said or done. Nilfgaardian courts aren’t exactly the safest place to be, especially when your position in it is so precarious. Other cartographers could easily be better trained, better trusted, but Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach vouched for you specifically and you weren’t about to destroy you credibility for falling for the officer.

He leaves without lingering though, sparing you from doing something foolish.

The interaction is something you can banish from for only two days, however, because then you start to hear whispers on your way to the new stronghold in Cintra. Whispers of the mages all coming together, whispers of the elves and their army as well…

It feels bad, a pit sinking in your stomach as your riding party starts to ride ahead of you as you slow your horse without even thinking of why.

Thanedd really isn’t that far from here, maybe an eight hours ride…

And Cahir has your personal map of the island. He’s the safest he could possibly be unless the worst happens.

Knowing Cahir and his luck lately the worst will happen, you think to yourself, pulling on your horses reigns.

Fuck it, you think, and then you let your horse and your heart lead instead of your brain.

You come upon a field haggard and tired, your horse just the same, to a landscape reeking of blood and smoke; a scent that hadn’t filled your nose in quite some time. A Nilfgaardian soldier alone and elves closing in on him. The events must have gone worst than you thought if there is fighting even out here, on a part of the island rarely gone to, you think. You put two and two together easily. It’s not that you give out maps that are incorrect, just, you only give out ones with the relevant information. You save the complete ones to draw upon and make pretty as a personal art project. Like the one you handed Cahir before he left that would definitely have this side of the island detailed out.

Fuck.

“Hey! Hey, stop!” you shout, all while urging your horse on despite its own fatigue. The elves stop in their advance, but do not retreat, and you can finally confirm your instinct that is is Cahir. He looks shell shocked, without his weapons and without his helmet. When his gaze meets you his eyes are wild and sad, not the serious and sometimes flirty man you knew.

“You… you came,” he calls out to you, and you dismount your horse quickly to rush to him.

“Stupid man! I had to,” you yell, not hiding the fear or anger from your voice, but then you soften, your hands finally placing themselves on his armor. He’s here, he’s not dead yet. You both might be soon. Why not throw all practicality into the wind if you may be executed by the elves on horseback mere feet away?

“I needed my map back.”

“I was always going to return it,” he assures you, his arms rising to brace your own.

“No you weren’t,” you insist as the elves close in, Cahir once their commander now lost all faith in him.

“I was,” he insists, and surges forward to kiss you. It’s like time stops, and everything in your life and on this continent falls into place for just a moment; his lips on yours and clear skies painting the future.

And then you’re ripped apart from one another by the elves.

You don’t resist.

#cahir x reader #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach x reader

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vai3r13 · 11 months ago

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[ JJK matchup exchange w/ -> @frostfall-matches ]

[ raven | afab, any pronouns | 20s | preference for male match, any character is fine as long as they look mostly human ]

- personality: distant, introverted but not shy (disinterested), generally respectful of others but not necessarily kind/sweet, can be a bit fickle and can easily cut people out of my life if they're no longer someone i want to be around, somewhat apathetic (flat affect, rarely has strong emotional reactions, but a majority of the time mood baseline is content/relaxed), calm under pressure, extremely independent, confident and self-secure (sometimes prideful to the point of arrogance), can take criticism well, straightforward (blunt, sometimes tactless/insensitive), tends to laugh off the severity of a situation, not very ambitious, mildly competitive, a moderate risk-taker (often gets a thrill from risky decisions, but tries to avoid lethal situations).

good/broad sense of humor (often more on the playful/absurd side, less so on the sarcasm), calm but playful around friends, very teasing, mischievous, realist that leans optimistic, curious, nosy and loves gossip/drama (but typically doesn't get involved), a natural troublemaker/rulebreaker but also often unintentionally gets into trouble, comfortable with confrontation (often meets heated conflict with a snarky/condescending smile, a bit combative with authority and those who irritate me) but is generally easygoing, even-tempered, intelligent, logical, unsentimental, surprisingly low impulse control (if i want to do/get something, i will simply do it), does not hold onto regrets, good at self-reflection, generally does things out of self-interest but willingly helps others out occasionally.

- personality/alignment types: INTJ-A ; 7w8 ; chaotic neutral.

- love languages: physical touch and gifts. touch reserved for close friends/partners only, willing to initiate affection.

- date activities: cafés, amusement parks, hiking, indoor dates cooking/baking/gaming.

- hobbies: video games (tactics, RPGs, visual novels, anything with good world-building and characters), anime, drawing (digital), painting, baking, cosplay, writing, reading (fantasy, suspense/thriller, psychological, abstract), taking care of houseplants, home/decor DIY projects, hiking, thrill-seeking activities (a bit of an adrenaline junkie).

- likes: cats, sweets, most fruits, good food, cheese, lattes (a favorite of mine is chai), scented candles (can't burn them for long bc i get headaches), piercings, tattoos, puns and lame dad jokes, cool weather, winter, forests, mountains, traveling, new experiences, learning languages (currently knows/studied: english, french, korean, latin), medieval history, having ample amount of alone time/space, the occasional lazy day, the occasional philosophical discussion, a balance between structure and spontaneity, bantering with others, encouraging my friends' bad/risky decisions (i will even do it with them).

- dislikes: dogs, horses, bitter foods, alcohol, strong scents, hot weather, summer, spiders (other bugs are ok), long car rides, feeling restricted, conformity and blind obedience, having to be responsible for others or lead them, being vulnerable, when others are condescending towards me (makes my pride flare up), when others step in to help without me asking, heavy use of sarcasm, pessimism.

- fun facts: quite clumsy, accident prone ; terrible sense of direction ; enjoys skin/hair care, loves changing up hair often ; used to do gymnastics ; a weird mix between a night owl and a morning person (but afternoons are rough) ; able to pick up new skills relatively quickly ; majors in international studies and french in uni w/ minors in psychology and medieval history ; currently working as a scribe ; studied abroad in korea for 5 months and took to long term travel really well ; prone to bad luck but tries to find the humor in most situations.

- appearance/style: 155 cm / 5’1” ; hourglass to pear shaped ; very pale (burns easily) ; round, youthful face ; single dimple on right cheek when smiling ; big green eyes, long eyelashes ; hair is naturally wavy and light ash brown almost always styled with front bangs, currently mid back length and toned silver ; 5 piercings in one ear, 4 + an industrial in the other, and a navel piercing ; clothing style is more on the masculine side (rarely wears dresses/skirts, but i do love short shorts), color scheme is black/gray/muted green ; loves fishnets, flannels, leather jackets, combat boots ; socks are either black or very colorful/patterned ; enjoys sweatpants and hoodies when lounging at home.

Hello Hello! Your matchup is complete @rav--en / @frostfall-matches!!

written in you perspective

barely proofread + English is not my native language

word count - 1.2k

possible tw - talk of narcissism, gambling, past abuse and addiction

And it's...

Fushiguro Tōji !!

To start off, your enneagram types are one of the most common pairings and come with a great deal of similarities and differences. Independence is a quality both of you share and also something both of you deem as important. You can find common ground in both humor and your overall laid-back personality. Toji is someone who shows a few borderline narcissistic qualities, like a lack of empathy, a sense of superiority, and self-centeredness. Yet those same traits are quite situational and more tied to his background than actual narcissism. That doesn’t change the fact that he is not good with people who seek reassurance and constant validation. You being confident fits very well.

When you talk, playful banter and the absurdness in your humor draw Toji closer, just like your rule-breaking and playfulness. As we can see in any of Toji's appearances, conformity and blind obedience are not his forte either, which is another thing that makes you similar. Your logic and levelheadedness are needed in a relationship with him.

I headcanon Tojis main love language to be acts of service, he doesn’t like making himself vulnerable with words and in his mind actions speak louder than words anyway. He has a great deal of experience in his mercenary work, imagine him fighting off some guy who disturbs you, carrying things for you, etc.

Toji isn't the person for the most typical and romantic relationship, he disappears for days on end, it's a thing that comes both with his job and personality. When he's around tho, I can see him spending lots of time around you. Inviting himself to your place and just accompanying you through your day. Most of your fond experiences with him would be while doing quite mundane tasks. He gambles by betting on horses, while he goes off of feeling I can imagine you taking a very logical approach, that's something he would appreciate, watching you observe every single horse and their traits, eliminating horses one by one to finally decide the one your betting on if you choose to participate in betting too. Going to small restaurants, spending time together in your apartment, etc.

The first time you two went hiking you had to drag him to said location. Toji being just as competitive as you at one point the hike turns into a race of one of you trying to be faster. Toji being very fit and bigger than you wins after a while of speed walking, - borderline running through the trail. He will absolutely tease you about said hike.

Going to amusement parks is fun with Toji and if you want something he will absolutely try and win it for you, after complaining about the prices, on the occasion that he does lose the rigged game he turns up to your apartment the next day with the same thing that you wanted. Just don't ask what happened to the stallholder :)

He gifts you houseplants, as a mercenary he is an excellent observer so he will instantly notice the pots standing around in your apartment. He'll start researching how to care for them and waters them for you if you ever forget.

Watches you play video games, and laughs when you get irritated. If you invite him to play with you he'll tell you "I'm too old for this.", he will still play with you tho. He mostly enjoys combat and the main plot, but doesn't care much for exploration or side plots. Watches you bake, and asks how long it will take until you're finished, he's a big man and will obliterate anything you make, he makes a ranking with everything you've ever baked and he can and will explain the reason for each place, with great detail too.

You liking dad jokes is a must with Toji, once he notices you stifling a chuckle when he slips one out for the first time, he'll most definitely incorporate them in his speech. Toji isn't one for long philosophical speeches in his free time, but he enjoys listening to you discussing the topic, maybe adding his 2 cents once in a while.

"a balance between structure and spontaneity"

Another aspect that makes Toji a very fitting match, is your more logical and rather disinterested personality makes a perfect match with Tojis more emotional and risky side!

Your dislikes align too, like alcohol, hate of conformity, vulnerability, and arrogance. Toji'll tease you about both your bad luck and situations you get into, he won't make it obvious but he's the type to help you while you're not looking. Be it you just about to hit your hand against a corner and him covering it with his hand, or you almost losing some important document. He'll watch you do your skincare, asking you about the products you're using.

Physical aspects he would enjoy would be your height difference. He would show interest in your many piercings too. Toji doesn't care much for style or fashion and he doesn't care what you wear you're gonna be gorgeous for him no matter what you wear and he can fight after all. Your color scheme is similar, so you might even end up wearing similar/ almost partner outfits sometimes. He'll laugh about your colorful socks but will gift you some, with either your favorite character or your favorite food.

While you both fit each other very well there obviously are negative aspects that can't be forgotten in a relationship with Toji. One of those things would be his insane commitment issues or his dealing with past abuse that he still never fully healed from. I can imagine that those things result in occasional outbursts and periods of low-to-no contact with him. Since Toji also has a problem with being vulnerable he won't let himself be helped, not at the start of your relationship at least. He just has to be left alone for a while, in that period your independence and equal need for alone time are part of the reason why you handle each other so well.

Another thing that has to be accepted when in a relationship with Toji is his tough gambling addiction and the way he blows through money. A very tricky aspect of him that will become an important topic at some point in your relationship.

Negatives aside you and Toji would be a very fitting match for each other, in which your negative and positive aspects balance each other and create a strong bond between the two of you.

headcanons

Toji taking you out to gamble, and you just watching him or even joining in. You betting on two different horses, he bets off of feeling while you go off of logical aspects like the visible condition of said horses. Finally picking your horse and later on winning! He's just a tiny bit jealous and pissed.

Toji teaching you how to shoot a gun just because "It'll make you look like a badass" and he wants you to be safe and able to protect yourself. As you brought up that you're quite quick with learning new things I think that he'll be quite impressed with you.

Going out to random small restaurants and trying each other's favorite foods, or trying new ones. He'll absolutely show you his favorite Takoyaki spot.

He'll absolutely beat anyone who harasses you to shit, full on dragging said person into an alleyway and bones cracking.

I really want hwachae or rice cakes.

Anyway, thank you sm for reading and I hope you could enjoy at least something:)

It was kind of hard for me to match you at first, but after a little thinking, it became pretty clear. My second choice would've been Geto.

I apologize for bad English, it's not my native language.

#divider by pommecita #geto suguru #jjk suguru #getou suguru x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu geto #match #romantic matchup #matchups #you perspective #It took me way too long to write this and I'm tired

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