#wild nights were I with thee

[jmitchelldraws]

Ah, the sea!

[neckromantics]

More creepy and unsettling, creature Astarion please.

I beg of thee. Vampires are meant to be an uncanny valley type of thing. An undead creature of the night that passes itself as just the right amount of living and mortal for you to let your guard down. I need more examples of his vampiric nature showing once he's grown comfortable enough, and I need it now.

~

An Astarion who is so silent in his movements that you often got jump scared by it in the earlier stages of your relationship.

You'd be lounging around on the sofa. Reading a book, lost in thought, all serene and cozy beneath a nice knitted blanket-- just having an all around nice, relaxing time when you see movement out of the corner of your eye. You glance up for just a moment, to the space before you that was previously unoccupied, and his entire face is suddenly hovering right in front of you.

Just waiting. Not moving. Pupils blown so huge that there's barely any color left to his eyes. Fangs are peeking out over the bruise-purple skin of his bottom lip. He's pallid. White as a corpse. Definitely in need of a good feeding.

His intentions were entirely innocent. He really only meant to ask you a question, and here you are being all dramatic and jumping several feet into the air and throwing your book off to the side in a panic. Thankfully, you're able to catch yourself before you full on shriek in his face.

(You love him and his ghoulishly handsome face, you really and truly do, but you sincerely thought for a moment that he was a spectre come to take you to the afterlife.)

~

Astarion, who routinely forgets to breathe. Yanno, like it's nothing.

You're well aware of the fact that vampires don't need to breathe. It's more of a force of habit than anything else, really-- something left over from when he was still mortal, he says.

Although, during bouts of intense emotion, or some sort of uh, stimulation, the focus on something so trivial gets put on the backburner for a bit.

The two of you will be sharing a particularly passionate kiss (or worse) when you feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest stop short. It's like all of the air has gotten caught in his lungs, and he ends up making these creaky grudge-like sounds in place of his usual low moaning. A clicking in the back of his throat in place of a sigh. If you play your cards just right, there might even be a rattling from deep within his chest that almost sounds like a purr.

When he finally does breathe, usually due to a well executed nip to his bottom lip, or the gentle brush of your fingers against one of his ears as you play with his hair, it comes out as an animalistic hiss. A sharp, choking gasp that sends goosebumps down the length of your arms.

~

How you catch him watching you sleep.

How you'll wake up in the pitch black of your bedroom in a cold sweat. Your hair is stood on end, a fearful shudder threatening to rattle your frame. A spike in your pulse that has your sleep addled brain doing somersaults in your skull. All of your instinctual alarm bells go off at once, telling you that something must be terribly wrong. Something must be watching you.

You try to blink away the bleariness-- try to shake off the fog of sleep for long enough to get your bearings, and catch a glint in the dark so ominous that for a moment you're scared stock still.

Something is watching you. Someone, rather.

Astarion's eyes gleam back at you in the dark like a wild animal's might. A bobcat, maybe, like the ones you'd often find stalking pray outside the tree line of camp all those nights ago. Pupils that glow a filmy, holographic orange despite there being no light to reflect off of them.

You don't notice until after you've taken a second to calm yourself that he's hovering over you. The bed just barely dips from his weight as he supports himself, and you'd be baffled by it all if you had any braincells left.

"Go back to sleep, darling." His voice is so soft, even over the pounding against your eardrums. Soothing. Tranquilizing. And though your eyes do begin to feel heavy, you're not exactly in the mood for rest anymore.

Especially not when he's pressing cold, feather-light kisses down the length of your throat not a moment later.

~

Please, I beg. Give me more.

[phntxm]

} (newby) demon muzan, soft muzan?, arranged marriage, fiancée! reader, fem! reader, mention of bl00d, reader's face got cut

let's pretend that blo0d transfusion exists in haien period a/n; usually, I stick to writing headcanons and avoid posting scenarios because I worry it might not be good enough. however, I've chosen to take a chance this time so if there are any mistakes, please bear with me y-y wc : 1.2k

you never imagined that one day you would willingly sacrifice yourself to aid your sick fiancé, who barely acknowledged you

he was unkind. neither of you had agreed to this arranged marriage; it was solely the decision of his family, the Ubuyashiki clan, who couldn't bear the thought of their ailing son dying alone

at first, the situation was difficult, Muzan be believed having a wife wouldn't extend his life or be of any use. you tried your best, simply aiming to fulfill the marriage contract, we don't have to be in love

the arrangement benefited both clans. the Ubuyashiki clan could lessen their appearance of pity by providing a wife for their son, while your family could regain their lost wealth and noble status during their down in luck

and at the turning point, when he was injured and lost a lot amount of blood. neither his family nor yours offered to help him, they were afraid to give blood to someone like him. they're just hired a cheap doctor to care for him, you were the only one willing to give him your blood without hesitation

after that, he was more open to you

until the day the doctor's medicine was effective

but without knowing it, you were only happy for your fiancé to become healthy like normal people. you heard a nonsensical rumor about a demon attacking people at night, it must be a bear or wild animals..

" I am greatly rejoiced for thee, that thy health hath now become better " you said it as you started to sit beside him on the warmed tatami mat, gazing out at the garden beyond

" the physic hath wrought an unexpected efficacy upon me " he nodded in agreement, raising his arm and gently squeezing it to show the increased muscle and strength he now possessed

" I heard he was a thrifty physician, deemed unfit, yet he proved skilled to mend thee, I do delight exceedingly " as you mentioned this, making Muzan to reconsider his first encounter with the doctor. he couldn't believe he would successfully be healed, as the doctor was merely a cheap physician hired by his clan

" in speaking thereof, thou dost prove thyself useful to me " he turned his face towards you and smiled gently, a smile that could barely be called a smile

" I do greatly admire thy bravery " he said, his smile filled with pride and happiness, yet tinged with a sadistic undertone that sent shivers down your spine

his words left you stunned; you never expected a compliment from someone like him " my pleasure " you said as you bowed to him, It really makes you feel happy, yet it seems like god isn't kind to either of you

" yet unfortunately, I hope that one day thou and I may stroll together, now it is unwise to go abroad by night " you express how shameful it was for the chance of having a normal life with him to be interrupted by some kind of creature " folk do speak of a demon, that doth hunt people by night " you know he doesn't believe in anything silly like this, so the reaction he gave you afterward was not surprising

" demon.. tis the name by which they are called? " he chuckles softly, of course he would do that, you think, he's the man who- " art thou fearful of demons" his question caught you off guard. he doesn't mean it, does he?

sometimes he asks you strange questions, given that he has spent his entire life trapped in his own house. questions about the outside world grab his attention the most, so you didn't mind it, but that doesn't mean he would believe in such a fairy tale like this. you remain silent, not because you're trying to avoid his question, but as his voice shifts, growing more serious " in the night doth stalk a creature, feeding on flesh of men.. art thou afraid? " he looks at you, and you sense he already has an answer in mind. if you answer wrongly, you fear something bad might happen

" I do not believe in demons, tis but a wild beast " you answered while trying to hide the fear you felt, his question has indeed made the atmosphere awkward, you think

Muzan tilts his head slightly " is it so? what if... what if I be that demon? wouldst thou be afraid? " he seems to enjoy seeing you like that

" what do you mean? "

" thou hast heard my words. wouldst thou abandon me if I were that demon? even there is no chance of fleeing from me "

what on earth is he talking about? " I... " your words evoke a sense of fear and confusion, as he reaches his hand to gently touch your cheeks, his actions were so contrasting to what you felt; he touched you as if it were something fragile, yet not with the intention to protect, but to possess it, to do whatever he pleased with it

" what a pity. I do hold thee dear, and thou wilt surely prove useful unto me " you startled slightly; his hand felt so cold, almost as if he weren't human

" hast thou any final words? " you trembled, hearts beating fast, unsure if it was pure fear or excitement. you didn't feel the urge to run away; it was the same mix of emotions you felt when you first volunteered to give him your blood, the joy of helping someone you love, intertwined with the fear that death might be near, and you might not make it out alive " thou didst inquire if I fear demons? do I dread death? I would say, tis not that I lack fear, but the very thought of aiding thee doth making me to endure it " you're contemplating your feelings, realizing there's no right answer for him. in that moment, you didn't strategize on how to answer so he would spare your life, instead, you acted on what your heart felt, just being honest, something you wouldn't regret later— though there might be no 'later,' because you're going to die right here at his hands " I once gave thee my blood, I do not fear to give thee my blood again, it gladdens my heart that I may lend thee aid once more " you close your eyes, gently touching his hand on your cheek, cherishing this fleeting moment of happiness for the last time " take it all as thou dost desire " you said, as you turned to place a soft kiss on his palm, that even if he's not used to or doesn't like being touched, what's the worst that could happen? he's gonna kill me? then- well..

Muzan paused, stunned by your response. then, a sadistic smile slowly spread across his face once more, his eyes gleaming with a disturbing intensity. as he began to grow out his sharp, menacing nails, pressed them firmly against your cheek, and sliced your cheeks until they were red and bleeding " it would be discourteous of me to not return what I have received, I shall give thee my blood also " it was a gift from the demon king, leaving you unsure whether it should be seen as a blessing or a curse. nevertheless, if this is what god desires, then so be it

[kiame-sama]

Drag Me to Hell- (Yandere!Alastor x Chubby!Reader) pt 4

Warnings; Several spoilers for EP 8, violence warning, mention of blood warning, injury, stick with it I promise, kind of cliffhanger, Nifty is a wild little thing,

~~~~~~~~

"Ah, the celebratory night before a courageous last stand. It's been a surprising thrill to witness these wayward souls find connection. Almost makes one sentimental, eh Ladies?"

"I really like them, Alastor. They let me put on roach puppet shows without booing!"

"Ah, an enjoyable collective to be around. I admit, one could get accustomed. What do you think, my precious Doe?"

You stood with Alastor and Nifty, watching the sinners you lived with for months drink and enjoy their evening. Part of you was honestly sad you may not see them ever again after that night. Who knew what heaven had in store for everyone or if anyone would even make it through the onslaught.

"I... hope everyone makes it through this. I don't know how much help I can be to them, but I truly want to help them however I can."

It was then Alastor laughed, almost seeming hysterical in his laughter and that put you on edge. Something about his laugh made you feel like you had said something that set him off and that was a concerning feeling for you.

"My adorably naïve Doe, what in Hell makes you think you're going to be anywhere on that battlefield? No, no. You'll be safe where you belong in your microphone home and far from Heaven's table scraps. Enjoy this night, Dear. This may be the last time you see our wayward pals again."

You were both unsurprised and horrified at Alastor's words. Part of you honestly thought you would be fighting the angels with the others and to hear Alastor so casually state his plans to lock you away upset you. There was no fighting or arguing with Alastor, but you also felt compelled to at least try and convince the cannibal demon to allow you to stand with the souls you befriended.

Before you had the chance to speak, there was a sudden weight added to your head and you saw Nifty putting an oddly woven crown with several dead roaches on Alastor as well.

"I dub thee King and Queen Roach."

"Oh, to understand your twisted little mind."

Both Alastor and Nifty laughed, but you struggled to find the same humor in the moment when the reality of all you could lose loomed over you.

~~~~~~~~

Everything was dark spare for the glowing neon lights outside of the broken radio tower. So vastly different from what it had been seemingly moments before. The arms that wrapped around you and held you snugly only served to ground you from the absolute terror you had been in.

"Please..."

Your voice was a whisper that only seemed to echo among the rubble around you. His arms tightened in response for just a moment, his body tense. The broken microphone you had been contained in was clenched in one of his fists and almost felt cold against your body.

"Quiet, sweet Doe... Do not speak now..."

A part of you was terrified to remind Alastor that your deal had been broken and you didn't need to follow his orders anymore, but an even stronger part of you hesitated to think back on how it all fell apart.

It came from seemingly nowhere. You were safe within the microphone when the blast of heavenly light pierced into you. What neither you nor Alastor realized was that when a deal created item like the microphone breaks, the deal and the soul bound to it break as well. That was really all you remembered before your own mind blocked the rest out to protect you.

You winced at the memory despite your now healed stomach. When you awoke after being swallowed by Alastor's darkness, your body was healed almost completely. The only thing left of the splitting injury was a freshly healed scar around your midsection and an oddly empty feeling within.

Alastor couldn't stop himself from replaying the memory over and over in his mind and he hated what it meant for him and the soul he had found himself so fond of. Mostly he hated how he had reacted to it and the truth he now knew in himself. He couldn't deny now that he needed you and losing you was enough to show him that.

The sound of your choked and gasping cries made agony rip through Alastor's damned and tainted soul far more than he realized it would. Both pieces of the microphone in his hands and your soft body laying beneath Adam's axe as the angel grinned maliciously down at you. Your deal with Alastor to keep you safe and alive had been broken.

"Well, ain't that cute. Looks like I got your little fucking sinner bitch instead of you, she- this is one of heaven's souls. Where the fuck did shit like you get a soul from heaven? Damn it! They'll lose their shit if I kill one of our souls!"

He couldn't deny it, but he would never admit to it. Alastor would never admit to being afraid and desperate to not lose you because his own ego couldn't take it. Though he could no longer delude himself, he could still delude everyone else. Everyone except for you.

"Make another deal with me, my innocent lost Doe of heaven. Keep my eternal secrets for me. Broadcast for me with your pure radio waves and soul. I will keep hell from tainting you, and you keep your heaven touched soul reserved for me. Strengthen my radio station and be my trusted pet once more..."

Alastor hummed against your shoulder in a soft tone, knowing that he needed to get you back on his leash. He wasn't the only one in hell aware of your pure soul anymore. A heaven touched and claimed soul so untainted and pure was a very rare thing. Whatever angelic pride resulted in you being wrongfully cast out allowed Alastor a fantastic trophy of a soul. Despite still being considered the quarry of heaven, you wound up in Hell and you would remain there if he had anything to say about it.

A sinner's soul was one thing. One of heaven's souls was another entirely.

"Refuse... Well, we both know the broadcast can keep your sweet voice and soul protected for another half a decade. At least I don't make you scream for it."

~~~~~~~~

Vox watched the video over and over again of the soft woman Alastor supposedly kept within his microphone. What that stupid first human said peaked his interest in this Hell-bound heavenly soul. If he could get his hands on that soul there were certain to be some grand abilities paired with it, not to mention the value of such a soul in Hell's market.

All Vox had to do was convince Valentino and Velvet to put value in the same soul and it would be akin to a one-way ticket to the strongest overlords Hell has known. Well, that and wresting the pure soul from Alastor's control. It shouldn't be too hard given the fact that their deal was broken, but Alastor was likely to try and make another deal just to keep that sweet soul to himself.

On top of just the heavenly soul, the soul of the little maid Nifty was certainly a hot commodity given just what she did at the end of the extermination battle. With both souls in hand, Vox might not even need the other Vees in time. He could rise above the two Vees he had teamed up with and become more powerful than even Zestial.

No doubt the other Vees won't be too difficult to convince when it comes to the idea of collecting the two high value souls. Once Vox has his hands on those souls and can use them to taunt that old-timey prick, he will finally have everything he wants within his reach.

[caramelcleopatraa]

COGNAC QUEEN

word count: 1.9k

x: @heauxvibez asked someone to write something based off of Cognac Queen by Megan Thee Stallion (amazing song rec, I recommend you go stream the song) not proofread

content: 18+ mdni, Roman x Semeni (OC), dirty talk, oral (m and f receiving), cuddle fuck, a lil bitta fluff at the end

I'm lookin' paid and pretty (yeah)

Hair hanging down to my back, huh

I put it on him last night (woo!)

He calling me back to back, hey (hey)

Semeni sat with her legs crossed in the spacious, dazzling condominium. The big window panels showcasing the beautiful city lights. While these two were in their own little world. Far from the public eye. 

Her neon hot pink dress adorned with long ruffles perfectly outlined her figure. His eyes stayed on her plump lips as she sipped the amber drink from her glass. Relishing in the savory taste and enjoying the atmosphere he set.

Drop me a pin where you at (at)

I'm gonna come 'round like a 'Lac (like a 'Lac)

I get in my 'Gac on that 'Gac ('Gac on that 'Gac)

He call me Megan the Mack (Megan the Mack)

“You okay? You’re a little quiet.” Roman sits next to her, filling the empty space like a puzzle piece and putting the bottle on the gray coffee table. “I’m fine, I'm just watching you.” Semeni was never shy when it came to how she felt about him. They weren't in a serious relationship, but they spent their free time with each other. They never assigned a label to their relationship. They were just friends, who took each other out to expensive restaurants, spoiled each other, and fuck occasionally. Nothing special. 

He raises his eyebrow in amusement and motions to himself in an up and down motion. “You been looking at all of this, huh?” She takes one final sip from her glass, emptying it and placing it on the small coffee table. Roman observes her movements slyly, watching her beautiful eyes blink as she sits the glass on the table, watching her body rise as she takes a deep breath. She was mesmerizing.

“Yeah I have, and I want all of it,” Semeni says, placing her hands on his chest, feeling him up through his black polo shirt. He takes a deep breath, letting his eyes flutter shut from the feeling of her hands on his body. “I love feeling your hands on my chest,” he says softly. “I know you do, but I know you want my hands somewhere else.” 

He looks at her brown, gentle eyes and says, “So put ‘em there.”

—-------------------------

“Damn baby, that feels so good.” His black dress trousers were rolled down to his thighs, leaning back on the expansive gray couch with his arms laying on either side of him. Meanwhile, Semeni is kneeling in front of him, between his thick legs, stroking his dick at a medium pace. 

“You feel good baby?” His small whimpers and heavy breaths contrasted his tough exterior.

“F-fuckk baby, stay right there on the tip.”

A thick wad of spit drips from her lips, landing on his sensitive mushroom tip. Her hands cup the tip, fastly bobbing her hand on his tip. God did he go wild. His head tilted back, letting the pleasure take over him.

“Y’wanna cum?” He pants and nods furiously, clutching onto the big couch cushions to stop himself from bucking his hips into her hand. “You know I wanna fuckin’ cum.” His head stays tilted back. He knew not to look in her eyes. If he did, then it was over for him. “Look at me, Roman,” she says, using her unoccupied hand to rub up and down his thigh. He laughs to himself at her request, knowing that she is trying to set him up. “I know what you’re trying to do, sweetheart.” She pouts to herself, surprised that he didn’t fall for her usual tactics. ‘Okay, let’s try again’ 

“Please look at me, daddy. I wanna see your eyes when you cum.” He lets out a deep throaty moan, still clutching onto the couch cushions. Her voice, her words, her hands, how good she was making him feel. Doing all of the right things to make him crazy. Which is why he can never get enough of her. And probably why he was looking into her captivating eyes now. Frozen and still, but somehow on fire. “There we go daddy, look me in my eyes when you cum,” She purrs, shifting from side to side, ignoring the overflowing pool of wetness forming in her shorts. 

She stuck out her tongue and held him at the base, tapping him against her tongue, but going back to his tip once again. There were no more passive grunts and groans, only melodic moans that filled their ears. Her eyes locked on his, as she put her hands behind her back, using her tongue to lick the underside of his dick before taking him in his mouth. “Oh shit~ I'm coming. Ohh fuckk-” His fingers weaved through Semeni’s brown hair, jerking his hips into her mouth. She moaned around his cock every time he met the back of her throat, swallowing every drop he gave her without complaint. “Damn, girl,” he pants out, taking his hand out of her hair. She tightens her lips around him, sucking him up one more time before she’s done. She wears a lopsided smirk on her face, watching him catch his breath. Pride surged through her. “My mouth felt that good, huh?” Roman lays down against the couch, shifting and positioning himself so that he is comfortable. “Need to take a nap big bo- “Get your ass up here and sit on my face.”

He know I only wanna

Come over put it on him

I got that woah-na-na-na

He drink that shit like water

She anchored herself by tightly grasping the dark gray couch. Singing out delicious moans. Letting him hungrily lick her up into oblivion. Staring into empty space as her eyes crossed numerous times, but focussing hard enough to see his wavy black hair spread out beneath her. Feeling his hands dig into her thighs, working his mouth in ways that make her cry out in pleasure. 

Now it was her time to become undone.

“Oooh- shit~ i’m close,” She pants, prompting to lick long bold stripes along her pussy, and sucking on her clit for a quick second. And he repeats. Creating a ferocious, unescapable cycle.

Her keens of pleasure and needy whining didn’t fall on deaf ears, only encouraging him to keep going. Humming into her pussy like he took the first bite of a delicious meal. She could feel her legs shaking against his face, despite the burly hands and arms wrapped around her legs to keep her in place. “Fuck- i’m finna cum on your face, daddy,” she says slurred, with flushed cheeks and half open eyes. Just as she finished her sentence, like clockwork, she came all over his face. Softly bucking her hips against his tongue, riding out the enormous wave with his tongue as her surfboard. Now she herself was covered in a thin sheet of sweat, breathing heavy on top of him. But she couldn’t get up, his arms were still wrapped around her thighs. “At least let me clean you up before fucking you into the mattress.”

Fall in love would be dangerous (yeah)

Fuck you like I've been dranking (uh)

Cognac on my blankets (yeah)

Real bitches don't fake it, ay, ay

They had ventured into almost every room in the condo. The living room, the game room, the balcony, and now the bedroom. Finding new positions in each room. Thank god there weren't many people that lived in the same building, he hated hearing her restrained and muffled moans under his hand. They laid in the bed, cuddling in the sheets, but nowhere near done. 

Her leg rested atom his hips, her arms wrapped around his neck, while he hid in the crook of hers. Placing those delicate kisses along her neck while pounding into her. She could barely see the other buildings out of the large windows on the balcony doors due to her blurry vision. But those distant buildings were her last thought. Her mind was clouded with the person who was holding her tight between the silk sheets.

Not a word had been said since they laid down in the bed, which was unusual for the two. But considering how needy they were, words didn't need to be said. They had been around each other long enough, tangled in one another long enough to know how each other feels. His low eyes as he tilted his head back and his faster paced thrusts. and her mouth agape, eyes rolled to the back of her head. Feeling the overwhelming waves of pleasure together as they nestled closer. Their chests rising and falling against each other, their heart beats loud as bass drums at highschool pep rallies. Yeah, nothing special.

You look good, you look good to me

Give me hug, it feel good to me

Hold me up, you too good to me

Cut 'em off, I know you would for me

Semeni opened one of the gray drawers, pulling out overnight clothes she had left the last time she stayed over. You know.. Just in case for situations like this. The bathroom had been hot and humid due to a long shower they took. But of course it wasn't just a shower, because he could never keep his hands to himself.

“You damn well live here by now,” He said, shirtless with loose gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips and leaning on the door frame. “You say that like you’re so bothered with that.” She approaches him, her neck cranked to look up at him. “Nah, not bothered. I'm just surprised that you took over one of my drawers.”

“Is that a problem, Roman?” She knew that they were both playing, but there was a tinge of seriousness in her tone. “No, you know you’re welcome to treat this place as your own.” She turns her back to him and smiles, looking back at the drawer filled with her clothes. 

“You tell that to all of your other hoes?”

“You think I would have other women over here when you have a whole drawer to yourself?” She shrugs her shoulders and sits on the bed, pulling the comforter over her smooth legs. “Maybe I should be askin’ you that question.” She scoffs. “​​There’s no man you gotta worry about, cause I'm focused on the man in front of me.” She said the last part to herself. Not realizing that she may have said that a little louder than she intended to. Roman was intrigued to say the least. She was always upfront with whatever she wanted to say. So it was so interesting to see her flustered, mumbling secret words to herself about him. Her attention turned to him when he turned the light off in the bathroom, making his way to her. He laid on the bed next to her,letting the new cold silk sheets graze his skin. His hand reached out to grab her chin, stroking her face softly with his thumb. “And I'm worried about the goddess in front of me. You ain’t got nothing to worry about, mama. And if you ever doubt that, I'll prove to you that you’re the only one I'm focused on.”

Okay…. Maybe this is something special.

🏷️ tags :) @reignsboy19 @2-muchsauce @theninthwonder @harmshake @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede @badbitchcentralinc @christinabae @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @cyberdejos2 @murrylove @sassginaswanmills @pixiedust4000

[avocado-writing]

Hey there I hope you’re having a wonderful day, could I make a request for bg3? I’d like to request the crew with a noble barbarian tav, kind of like Godfrey from Elden ring. Normally they are very regal, eloquent, and in control, they might even think they are some knight until they finally let loose. Whether it’s their s/o in danger or a challenging battle, they just go to town, very ‘I have give thee courtesy enough!’.

oh anon, you're very kind to think that I'm a competent enough gamer to have played elden ring. writing these scenarios as if they're seeing you go into a rage for the first time!

Astarion

Very much an 'oh. oh! oh...' moment for him.

Doesn't want to confess that he's attracted to the way you go feral, but anyone looking at him during battle will see how he is affected.

He already thought you were charming with your eloquence and courtly mannerisms, but this drives him wild. The idea you had this potential thrumming through your veins this whole time is delicious.

He can smell the blood pumping through your veins as you rage and does something for him. If you're together, expect a visit from him that night.

Gale

Loves to engage you in long, thoughtful conversations over tea every night. Did not expect this side to you.

At first he thinks some untowards magic has been cast on you, but then he sees how in control you are even when you're letting loose.

Is flustered and flattered when you make sure he's safe in battle, using your rage to protect his body with yours.

Afterwards when you check he's okay he has to try and hide how much he's blushing as he stammers out an affirmative. Asks you lots of questions about the nature of your rage. Can't stop staring at you when you're in battle...

Wyll

Lets out a little "oh, my!" when you first rage in front of him.

A bit gobsmacked but jumps back into action, quickly helping you fend off whatever enemies have caused your ire.

Is over it remarkably quickly, and takes it in his stride - in camp the two of you discuss court and your respective times in it, laughing at tales of long gone social faux-pas...

And on the battlefield you are a machine cutting down everything in your wake as he uses finesse to dispatch your foes. He thinks you are night and day... but that you are wonderful.

Karlach

Sees you rage for the first time and she lets out a "FUCK YEAH!"

Drops into a rage by your side and the two of you absolutely decimate the battlefield. The gang of mercenaries who came for you never knew what hit them.

After you wipe your brow with an embroidered handkerchief from your pocket and offer her a spare, which she takes and uses (completely destroying it in the process with soot from her engine)

Geeks out with you every day about raging. The two of you discuss battle tecniques and play-wrestle, which more often than not brings down half the camp. She loves it. She thinks you're perfect.

Lae'zel

Never really gave you the time of day before now. She found your elegant manner irritating. Why use honeyed words when you can cut straight to the point?

But then, oh, she sees you rage, and she is enamoured.

That night demands that you tell her why you never said that you could fight like that. You have an argument saying you never felt the need to... it goes on until the two of you calm down and end up sitting well into the night discussing how you grew up as warriors.

She has a respect for you from then on, confident you can look after yourself on the battlefield. More often than not she watches you fight with an appreciative eye.

Shadowheart

Oh, she's thrilled. We know she likes barbarians anyway (see her thirsty dialogue about Karlach) so when you rage in front of her?

She just stares for a bit. It's all she's able to do.

When that staring leaves her vulnerable to attack and you come and defend her, oh, she's gone. She has such a crush on you. If she had one before, it's doubled.

You're always the first one she comes to check on after battle. She likes to lay her hands on your bicep as she's healing you, perhaps feeling the muscle a bit more than is necessary. Her cheeks are always bright pink.

[violettavonviolet]

Tim Drake fic recs part 2

all of these fics are finished and amazing! the word count goes up progressively and the rating is noted but do check the works for tags!

All fics marked with a star haven't left my brain since I read them!

Jaytim

these lines of lightning

smilebackwards

Summary:

“Sometimes when Bruce is being an asshole, the best response is to be an asshole right back,” Jason says, dropping down next to Tim and propping his boots on the milk crates he uses for a coffee table. “I used to go hang out with all the bad kids so I guess you’re already on the right track.”

4.8k teen

do me a favor

yasmindifference

Summary:

“So what were you thinking? Fake financial distress? Fake injury?”

“Fake boyfriend,” Jason said.

9k fake relationship teen

it takes a house, a village

defcontwo

Summary:

“If you shower my couch with love and affection, I might actually kill you.” Or: how Tim Drake buys a house, rebuilds his life, and accidentally falls in love.

10k unmarked, humor

A Gift of Knowledge *

njw

Summary:

Dick’s voice is hoarse with suppressed fury. “So, you’re just exposing us to this, this outrageous substance, and torturing us by leaving us here, bound and drugged?”

He has to know that’s not all. But he’s asking anyway, to get as much information as possible out of the villain before they’re left to their own devices. It’s what they’ve all been trained to do.

Tim squeezes his eyes shut, knowing what Joker is going to say. Knowing exactly what the evil madman is planning to do.

Damn it. Damn it all to hell, not here, not now. Not like this. 

20k mature a/b/o

Stripping Down *

njw

Summary:

Tim turns to him with a quick, shy smile before rapidly climbing the pole, waiting for Jason to position himself under him. “Like this?” he asks, arching his back, gripping the pole tightly between his shapely little thighs and beginning a slow, grinding descent. Jason did not realize until this moment it was possible to be so jealous of a fuckin’ pole.

Oh fuck, I’m gonna die again. Of embarrassment or blue balls, just take your fuckin’ pick. 

“Yeah, Baby Bird,” he says, almost not recognizing his voice for how throaty and deep it sounds right now. “Just like that.”

20k mature, soulmates

A Midsummer Night's Terror: The Great Escape

kleine_aster, njw

Summary:

A super-villain is on the loose, and he isn't called "The Kinkster" for nothing. On a hot Gotham summer's night, he entraps Batman and his allies, presenting them with a choice—to either succumb to lust, or perish in his maze. Badwrong ensues.

(kleine_aster's fabulous story, with a new ending by njw; posted with permission)

23k sex pollen explicit

I loved thee, though I told thee not, (--Right earlily and long,)

llamallamaduck

Summary:

The news that Timothy Drake, Gotham’s cryptid millionaire, has shot the Joker dead during a public live-stream hits the world like a freight train—and that is just the opening salvo of his bugfuck plan.

Maybe there exists, in the multiverse, a configuration of Jason Todd who will weather this with decorum, dignity and self-respect. This version of Jason Todd decides that the life of an academic is not, really, all that rewarding. In contrast, the life of Timothy Drake’s live-in house-husband is looking more appealing by the second.

24k mature

Re: Soulmarks

Moxibustion (RyuuzaKochou)

Summary:

JASON TODD - EXPOSED!!

By Vicky Vale (@vickyvalegazette)

BREAKING NEWS - Oscar-winning screenwriter, actor and all-around heartthrob Jason Todd has had his Soulmark exposed to the public in a wild escapade at the Gotham International Airport today upon his return from shooting his latest project. 

Who is the lucky person with the matching mark? Who will color in the black shapes in Jason Todd’s Soulmark and Bloom with one of the hottest celebrities on the planet?

We will report on this as it develops! Stay tuned to the feed!

32k soulmates

Masquerade (Whose Face is Behind the Mask?)

chibi_nightowl

Summary:

Every so often, someone would take it into their heads that a masquerade ball would be a fantastic idea and make it into the biggest event of the year. Sometimes, they were a smashing hit. And other times…things just got smashed.

81k explicit

Timkon

The Mystery of the Superboy Shirts

Aviatricks

Summary:

The thing is, Tim is a detective, first and foremost.

And like most detectives, sometimes he just can’t let things go. 

(Or, how Tim acquires several hundred Superboy t-shirts)

4k humor gen

the honesty in your body

Laroyena

Summary:

Luthor's tech saved Kon's life at the cost of his mind. Tim must take a feral Kon across space to restore his humanity... which is just as difficult as one may think.

(Batman Omegaverse AU: unabashed TimKon porn detailing their original get-together in their early teens to their definite get-together in their late teens. But mostly porn.)

14k explicit a/b/o

Slip and Slide

Living_Free

Summary:

Battle for the Cowl AU

Bruce is dead*. 

The cowl has uncemoniously been dumped on Dick Grayson, who is kind of preoccupied with the fact that he now has a very small, very angry, Legacy-obsessed, Damian Wayne to take care of. 

As per usual, Jason is not helping. 

Tim is Sad, and is dabbling in the the treacherous waters of teenage dating, leading a superhero team, and running a company. 

It's up to the voices of reason (mainly Alfred) to make sure that the family does not crumble under the shadow of the Bat. 

*If you believe that after all the nonsense D.C. has pulled, there is no hope for you.

21k humor, the series is 200k+ and is fantastic

Catfishing

timkons

Summary:

Tim accidentally catfishes Kon. It goes about as well as you can imagine.

22k teen

Other

moving in stereo 

TheResurrectionist

Summary:

Clark closed his eyes, wincing. “Your children have some…guests.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Bruce muttered, setting aside the tablet.

“No, I mean…I think all of them, um. Have a guest, tonight.”

2k gen multiple

Against the odds

Heartslogos

It’s a child’s gambit to get mummy’s attention mixed with abandonment issues paranoia and an extreme penchant for vendetta.

3k tim/Bruce 00Q teen angst

say cheese

DairyFarmer

Summary:

“Why are there reporters-”

Dick stopped. His eyes locked on the TV.

“Oh, look at that Drake- you’re trending on social media.” Damian offered far too coolly to be any form of casual.

XxX

In which Tim's nudes get leaked online and he is surprisingly casual about it

4.8k mature

Sticks and Stones

Solemini (SoleminiSanction), SoleminiSanction

Summary:

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can cause lasting psychological damage."

The Core Four stage a long-overdue intervention.

Or, in which Steph's abusive tendencies are finally addressed.

10k timsteph abusive relationship teen

Troika

Glitterandlube

16k kon/tim/bart crack

The Wooing of Tim Drake

Titans_R_Us

Summary:

Tim didn't stand a chance.

Each action, each gift, each gesture was calculated for the best possible result. The source of this smothering affection is surprising but Tim can't find a single reason to say no...So he doesn't. The brat somehow worms his way into his heart one inch at a time.

Meanwhile Damian is quite pleased with how his courtship progresses.

20k damitim mature

[not-so-rosyyy]

The way they've gone so viral these last couple of days, and every other time they step out, has made me realise they'd absolutely break the internet if their wedding photos were to be shared with the internet

somehow in relation to this:

Bero aside, I bet Louis Vuitton's and Prada's marketing teams are also having a wild 24hrs because of the insane media mileage they're getting (both traditional and online) for their respective brands just from this single night of appearance.

TZ are thee it couple from every single perspective, there’s just no denying that.

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 23 - To Call Up Their Shadowy Forms

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

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

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

TW: Descriptions of blood, gore, and violence.

Credit to @ arthurlicious on X for the Arthur photo!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kate, my dear, are you listening?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And suddenly, the air left his lungs.

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

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

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

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

“I’m still here, you're still you,

but now I know who you are,

who you will always be

and when you see me again,

you will remember.”

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

“And I hope you will forgive me.

You, with the same sad eyes.

Look like you are coming back

to ask me about myself.

And how it feels, 

here from the other side,

how does it go.”

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

He was simply hers, and she was his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The green grass, the warm air

on my feet and on the flowers.

Some wind rises up between the colors,

it looks nearly like you.

Even the sky changes its name,

so white that the cotton

which is fast, which moves

lost inside the blue.”

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

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

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

“It’s something in you.

it’s what will come back

as it already was.

How it feels

in this strange world,

how does it go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You will come back and I will come back.

You will remember, and I will remember.

I will remember you.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arthur’s heart dropped. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something had gone terribly wrong.

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

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

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

“I did what I had to.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Hugo Fucking Abernathy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pulled the trigger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arthur didn’t even flinch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A father begging for one more chance. 

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

“I’m sorry too,” Arthur murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arthur Morgan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There, on the stage, was Vin.

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

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

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

“Oh god,” she choked, gasping for air as tears blinded her. “Oh my god, Vin!”

Arthur was at her side in an instant, his hand steady and firm on her back as she heaved. He didn’t speak, didn’t try to offer empty words of comfort. Instead, he reached out and pulled the curtain closed, his jaw tightening as he caught a glimpse of the stage.

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath, the image searing itself into his memory. He turned back to Kate, voice low and urgent. “We have to go, Kate. We can’t stay here.”

Arthur pulled Kate’s trembling body up, his arm steady as he guided her toward the door. She moved like a ghost, her legs stumbling beneath her, her mind shattered.

“H-he was just a kid, Arthur,” she whispered, thick with unspeakable sorrow. The sound of it cut his soul deeper than anything ever could.

“I know, baby,” Arthur said, his tone soft, though the urgency in his eyes betrayed his own turmoil. “But we gotta keep moving. Just a little longer.”

Javier peeked into the corridor and nodded; the coast was clear for the moment. Arthur tightened his grip on Kate’s hand and whispered, “We gotta run now, alright? Just hold on to me.”

Kate swallowed the lump in her throat, her hot tears still streaming down her cold cheeks. With shaking hands, she wiped at her face and nodded. Arthur managed a small, pained smile and squeezed her hand. “That’s my girl.”

They bolted into the night, the bitter cold gnawing at Kate’s exposed skin like a predator. Her dress clung to her legs, heavy and dragging her down with every desperate step, as if the fabric itself sought to betray her. The wind howled around them, its icy fingers slicing through the thin material and biting at her cheeks until they burned. Her sobs, raw and unending, were snatched away by the roaring gusts, leaving her chest heaving in silence as her tears froze to her skin.

Arthur’s hand in hers was a lifeline, his grip strong and unyielding. The rough calluses of his palm pressed firmly into her own, grounding her in a way nothing else could. It was more than just a physical hold—it was a steady reassurance that no matter how dark and unforgiving the night became, he wouldn’t let her go. Through the biting cold and the pounding of her own heart, that grip was the only thing that kept her from sinking into darkness.

Javier led the way across the hull, and when they reached the bow, he glanced over his shoulder. “We gotta jump!” he shouted over the roar of the wind and water. “The others are already in the river. No time left—vamanos!”

Without hesitation, Javier vaulted over the guard rail and vanished into the churning abyss below. Kate froze, her breath catching as she stared at the Lanahachee River. Its dark waters twisted and writhed like a living thing, crashing against the ship with a relentless, hungry fury. Each wave clawed at the hull, rising and falling with a deafening roar. The white foam frothing like the teeth of a beast. The faint lights of Saint Denis flickered on the horizon, their serene glow a cruel contrast to the chaos around her, as if the city itself was mocking her terror.

It whispered to her—abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

Arthur stepped over the railing, his boots squeaked as they gripped the slick metal. He turned to her, his hand outstretched. “C’mon, darlin’. I promise—it’ll be alright.”

But his words rang hollow, an empty comfort against the reality before them. The river was a churning tempest, its currents violent and unforgiving, ready to drag anything beneath its black surface. Even if they survived the fall, the odds of making it to shore were slim at best. Kate’s legs felt like stone, refusing to move as her heart thundered painfully in her chest, each beat a reminder of the uncertainty that loomed.

“I can’t,” she whimpered, tears returning to streak her already tear-soaked face.

Arthur glanced behind her, spotting the flash of metal and the heavy stomps of boots. The guards were closing in. He reached back and grabbed her waist, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m sorry love, but we don’t have a choice.”

“No!” she screamed, “No, no, please!” Pushing against him with what little strength she had left.

Arthur clenched his jaw, his heart aching at her resistance. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, more to himself than to her. 

A massive wave slammed into the side of the ship, sending icy spray cascading over them like shards of glass. The deck bucked violently beneath their feet, tilting sharply as the world seemed to lurch sideways. Kate’s scream ripped through the chaos, raw and desperate, as she instinctively reached for Arthur’s steadying hand. But when the ship groaned and righted itself, the space beside her was empty.

He was gone, swallowed by the abyss below.

“Arthur!” she screamed, raw and ragged as she lunged for the edge. The spray soaked her dress, and her eyes frantically searched the dark, rolling waves. There was no sign of him, no reassuring voice calling her back.

Her knees hit the railing, trembling as she braced to throw herself after him, her sobs choked and frantic. But before she could leap, something hard and unyielding struck the back of her skull with a sickening crack. The world erupted in a searing burst of white-hot pain, her vision splintering into blinding stars. The cold bite of the metal railing dug into her ribs as she swayed, bile surging up her throat. The roar of the river below seemed to call her, and she teetered on the edge, her body dangerously close to collapse.

“Kate!” a familiar voice roared from the darkness, full of desperation.

Everything faded to black. Her thoughts dissolved into a void, and all the pain, fear, and desperation slipped away, leaving only an empty, cold darkness.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Arthur’s mind and heart waged a brutal war, each strike tearing into the fragile remnants of his humanity. Clawing at his consciousness, rending the flesh of his soul, the agony was relentless. The icy water gnawed at his skin, but he barely felt it. The surge of adrenaline that kept his body moving was nothing more than a hollow echo in the void that had consumed him.

He stared, a deadened numbness suffusing his being, as the guards dragged her away. His woman. His Kate. His entire world. Ripped from him in a heartbeat, and it was all his doing. His fault.

A cruel, familiar voice slithered into his mind—a ghost from the days when he drowned himself in whiskey, trying to forget how he had failed the mother of his child and only son. Doomed to repeat the same mistakes.

Did you forget Arthur? No sleep for the wicked. Not for you.

The words coiled around his heart like a noose, pulling tighter with every beat. His gut twisted as the truth seeped into his marrow. 

You have blood on your hands. On your lips. On your teeth.

The weight of it crushed him, suffocating him beneath the silence of his own guilt. The river surged around him, uncaring, as the voice whispered its condemnation.

You can’t outrun it. You never will. You’re a curse and death follows you like a shadow.

It’s mocking echo rang in his ears.

Smile, Arthur. You’re the Devil’s favorite joke.

AN: I fear this chapter was kinda all over the place. The switching POVs probably got a little confusing. But WHEW! Talk about that ending huh? I had a few ideas for how this would go, but I think this makes the most sense. I hate torturing them, the last scene with Arthur was gut wrenching to write. But the show must go on.

Thank you for reading, I really enjoy writing this fic and seeing all your feedback. It means so much to me <3

Below are some inspo pics for Kate's dress!!

[sleepnowmychild]

Prayers and hymns to Hypnos:

Anytime I find one in a book or site about ancient texts, I save it for later use. So here’s what I’ve collected so far.

Orphic Hymn 85 to Hypnos (Greek hymns C3rd B.C. to 2nd A.D.) :
"To Hypnos, Fumigation from Poppies. Hypnos, king of Gods, and men of mortal birth, sovereign of all, sustained by mother earth; for thy dominion is supreme alone, over all extended, and by all things known. 'Tis thine all bodies with benignant mind in other bands than those of brass to bind. Tamer of cares, to weary toil repose, and from whom sacred solace in affliction flows. Thy pleasing gentle chains preserve the soul, and even the dreadful cares of death control; for Thanatos, and Lethe with oblivious stream, mankind thy genuine brothers justly deem. With favouring aspect to my prayer incline, and save thy mystics in their works divine."

Statius, Silvae 5. 4. 1 (Roman poetry C1st A.D.) :
*prayer by an Insomiac

O youthful Somnus, gentlest of the gods, by what crime or error of mine have I deserved that I alone should lack thy bounty? Silent are all the cattle, and the wild beasts and the birds, and the curved mountain summits have the semblance of weary slumber, nor do the raging torrents roar as they were wont; the ruffled waves have sunk to rest, and the sea leans against earth's bosom and is still. Seven times now hath the returning moon beheld my fixed and ailing eyes; so often have the lights of Oeta and Paphos revisited me, so oft hath Tithonia passed by my groans, and pitying sprinkled me with her cool whip. Ah! how may I endure? Not if I had the thousand eyes of sacred Argus, which he kept but in alternate watchfulness, nor even waked in all his frame at once. But now--ah, me!--if some lover through the long hours of night is clasping a girl's entwining arms, and of his own will drives thee from him, come thence, O Somnus! Nor do I bid thee shower all the influence of thy wings upon my eyes--that be the prayer of happier folk!--touch me but with thy wand's extremest tip--'tis enough--or pass over me with lightly hovering step."

By Sophocles in Philoctetes:

''Divine Hypnos, god who knows no pain, Hypnos, stranger to anguish, come in favour to us, come happy, and giving happiness, great King! Keep before his eyes such light as is spread before them now. Come to him, I pray you, come with power to heal!''

[adeptune01]

alright sorry to go on a supernatural rant in 2023 but...

it makes me feel insane.

Not to beat a dead horse or anything but like destiel will be it for me. Nothing else will ever compare to it. Like a man is raised by an absent father- a father who demands to be obeyed without question. A father who praises guilt, who tells the man that he is his brother's keeper. That he is responsible for all of his actions and those actions affects on others. The weight of the world is on his shoulders and he must bear it alone.

This man, the one that is single-handedly trying to save himself along with everyone he's ever crossed paths with, fails. He sacrifices himself to save his brother and he dies. He's sent to hell, a land of eternal punishment. 'No less than I deserve' he probably thinks.

But then he is saved. Not because of anything he's done. Not because of a deal he or his brother or his father has made. He is saved by a cosmic being of unfathomable power because of his nature which has been deemed by THEE Abrahamic God as being fundamentally good. The man who has hated himself his whole life for not being enough, not doing enough, is declared to be good.

And he feels guilty as hell. He didn't deserve this. Of those hundreds of people he's helped over the years...one of them...ANY of them is better than him. If he's God's strongest soldier then God is going to lose. He is going to fail God just like he failed his own father.

The man spirals while the heavenly power that saved him watches from afar. The power understands the man. He understands what it's like to hold Father to the highest esteem. He understands what it's like to blindly follow orders, hoping for the best. He also understands that the man has the brightest hope-filled soul he has ever seen.

So the power decides to help, and to do so he breaks away from the rest of heaven's contingency. He grows into his name- Castiel. The shield of God (I am not joking that is what Castiel means), created to protect humanity. AND become a pair with the Michael Sword- the man who believes he is unworthy- DEAN.

Through the years- DECADES- there's ups and downs. Divots and cracks in the Almighty's plans. But nothing they can't handle. They grow close and become more than allies in the fight against ghastly horrors beyond comprehension, they become best friends.

They have wild west movie marathons in the basement room designated as Dean's own "Fortress of Deanitude". They hang out late at night at crappy diners eating crappy pie. They go out cruising the town. They listen to the same music. They play pranks on each other. They learn about and remember each other's interests.

Their relationship grows deeper.

They fight. They lie. They attempt to kill each other. They raise a son together. They try to mentor a daughter. They leave. They come back. They mourn. They celebrate.

Together.

Two beings- one human, one angel- who were alone- whose defining characteristic was who their fathers were- prove that it's possible to break free from predestination, from circumstance. Their love, first as friends, then as something more, is as strong as the force that binds the universe- stronger, even.

And then they die.

Separately. Both convinced that the one thing they've wanted, the unnamed thing they've been fighting for, is the one thing they can't have. Because their fathers said so.

Despite everything, in the end, their fathers won. Dean died on the job he couldn't quit from an accident he couldn't help. Cas died obeying the first and most important commandment his Father gave him- to love and protect humanity.

THAT story is what I will never be able to get over. Not mentioning the gothic Americana aesthetic, the clear Protestant 'for by faith' message, the criticism of hyper-masculinity, the exploration of the 'American Dream'.....

[mentha-vacciniumrainbow]

Zestmilla tickle fights with the girls?

Nice idea, can do! (Hope you enjoy, is a silly little thing 💜)

《Clara, no 》 warned Carmilla, but it was all useless, as her daughter got ready to pounce on her

《Clara yes! 》 The kid screamed, jumping from the top of the wardrobe and onto her mother, her little hands busy tickling her 《I got you! Mum is my prisoner now! 》

《Stop it! I'm serious! 》 scolded Carmilla between laughters, carefull to move herself so that both her and her daughter would hit a soft surface when they would inevitably fall 《No TV the whole weekend! No spicy chips! No... No skateboarding! 》

《Worth it! 》 giggled the child, well aware that none of those threats would be followed by action. Her mum liked to act as she didn't enjoy their surprise attacks, but truth was, she could always see them coming from a mile away and never did anything to stop them from happening

《Stop! 》 She ordered again, as they fell on the bed and her dearest friend entered the room, alerted by the noise but not particularly panicked

《Zestial, a little help, please! 》 She pleaded, but Zestial, her oldest friend, the almost father of her daughters, her lighthouse in the storm, simply watched her with a knowing smirk, as he made his way towards them

《Thou doth not seem to particularly mind, mine dear 》 he noted, simply standing as her hyperactive child had the time of her life tickling her and undoing her neat updo.

So, apparently that was how he wanted to play, this time

《Traitor 》

《At least thou art getting cuddles 》 he comforted, and Clara stopped her assault to look at him dead in the eyes, a fanged smile brightening her round little face even more

《Don't worry jefe*, we won't make you feel left out》

《We? 》 asked Zestial, starting to look around the room, but it was already too late

《SURPRISE ATTACK 》

《Odette! 》

The child threw herself from the chandelier, successfully managing to knock Zestial to the ground and climb on him to deliver her own ticklish assault

《I'm speed, I'm stealth, I'm grace, I'M THE INVISIBLE TICKLER! 》

《I see thee perfectly, little lambkin 》 he laughed, still a bit out of breath, as he tried to rise, but his daughter was of a different opinion, and climbed on his chest as she pulled a long feather out of her sleeve

《Not for long! Feather attack! 》

《No! Not the feather, my only weakness 》 he played along 《show some mercy, I beg thee! 》

《No! Clara, I need help, dad is too tall to tickle alone! 》

《Reinforces are coming! 》

Assured the other, climbing off of her mother and joining her twin in her endeavour.

As his two beloved little menaces went wild on him and his poor clothes, Zestial noticed his dearest swiftly recomposing herself and preparing to slither out of the room

《Carmilla, mine dear... 》

He tried in his meekest voice, but this time it was her turn to smirk as she watched from above

《Na-ah. You were ready to leave me to my destiny, I'm leaving you to yours. Good luck, dear friend! 》

With a satisfied smile, she made her escape and closed the door behind her.

"Oh well, I deserved it." He thought "Yet, I shall nonetheless have my own ticklish revenge on mine loveliest lady... after our little ones are settled for the night, without a doubt."

*"Jefe" is the Spanish word for "boss", but is also affectionately/respectfully used for one's parents. I have a whole headcanon around it -used in my main fanfiction "You bring back my Springtime"-, but long story short, it's Clara's way of indirectly recognising Zestial as her dad, where Odette is more explicit.

[sogoodtoheritsvicious]

it’s tiiiiimeee

i haven’t watched this show in full in five years 😵‍💫but it’s october and i was gonna watch thee byeler episode aka 2x02 on halloween anyway so i thought i might as well rewatch the entire show and make it everyone’s problem

forgot about the jumpscare being right at the beginning

baby will <3

they were all BABIES and now they’re all grown and the damn final season still hasn’t premiered lmao

dustin was so adorable

“it was a seven.” “huh?” “the roll, it was a seven. the demogorgon, it got me.” the way will was incapable of lying to mike, GOD, i feel sick

fun fact: will’s adorable little “see you tomorrow!” is immediately what made him my favorite

“kiss your mom ‘night for me!” lmfao

forgot how damn good the jumpscares are

gonna need mike to see will with a gun at least once before this show is over

“damn,you look like hell, chief!” “oh, yeah? well, i looked better than your wife when i left her this morning.” HELP

“lonnie used to call him queer.” “is he?” FUCKING HELL, HOPPER 😭 i completely forgot about that scene lmfao

EL, MY BABY

benny was such a good man :( he didn’t deserve to die

that poor dog was so hated irl 😭

“you think we got a problem here?” my brother in christ, a boy is missing

“i’m the only one that cares about will!” mike loves will so much, i’m gonna cry

i completely forgot about hop’s daughter

mike sneaking out while steve’s sneaking in 😭 this show is also a comedy

winona ryder the actress that you are

chapter 2

maybe i’m going to find out in this ep i can’t remember if they ever investigate benny’s death or link it to everything else that was going on

“stop it, you’re freaking her out!” “she’s freaking ME out!” lucas was the only real one in the beginning

poor baby. el didn’t even know what privacy was before this moment.

“oh, you can speak!” she gets that a lot 😭

mike and el had so much potential as friends, FUCK the duffers for ruining them by making it romantic. now they don’t even seem like they like each other

i hope s5 focuses on more on will and lucas’ friendship

jonathan was such a good brother

brenner. always at the scene of the fucking crime.

mike naming his dino ‘rory’ because he roars 🥹

FUCK BRENNER ALL MY HOMIES HATE BRENNER

karen was such a good mom in the beginning

i hate lonnie with a passion, he’s an abusive piece of shit who should’ve been killed off

i don’t blame lucas at all for the way he was acting with el at first

“one kid goes missing, the other one runs wild? some real fine parenting right there.”

they kept pointing out so many similarities between will and el, i can’t believe they didn’t go anywhere with it

“can’t ask a corpse a question.” die. just die.

nancy: *losing her virginity*

barb: *losing her life*

chapter 3

“no one breaks in here.” yeah, they just break out

love jonathan but steve wasn’t exactly wrong about the pictures

joyce byers the mother that you are

mike wanted nothing to do with el once they found will’s “body” but we’re supposed to believe that he loved her the second he saw her in the woods.

chapter 4

i can’t believe they showed that mike has all of the drawings will has created and expected us to be normal about it

“screw his funeral!” “what?!” TEARS

jonathan loves joyce and will so much 🥺

steve was such an unbearable asshole

can we PLEASE talk about charlie being able to hold his own with winona in that scene about will’s body? we already know winona’s gonna blow it out of the water but he did just as well

completely forgot about mike doing el’s makeup this episode dkfkgjd

“where are you from, exactly?” “bad place.” 😭

that troy scene still sends

“the kid is dead. end of story.”

they put too much pressure on el. i hope when all this shit is over she’s able to just be a normal kid.

this show used to be so fucking good

i love how hop tries lying to the state trooper and when that doesn’t work he just knocks him the fuck out 😭

I FUCKING HATE LONNIE

i’m so glad they had jonathan realize that joyce was telling the truth about everything that was going on instead of just dragging it all out.

chapter 5

hate lonnie for taking advantage of joyce when she’s clearly in a vulnerable position

“wait until we tell will that jennifer hayes was crying at his funeral” lmao

all this season is showing me is how severely they’ve robbed us of joyce and will scenes in future episodes

“man, these aren’t real nilla wafers.” mr. clark must think they’re horrible friends, i’m crying. dustin is right, though, fake nilla wafers suck.

“it might even swallow us whole.” and that’s exactly what’s happening by the end of s4

“he’s wanted to go to nyu since he was six. years. old!” she should’ve killed lonnie right then & there

can’t prove it but jonathan fell in love with nancy the second she shot that can on her first try

jonathan clocked nancy’s ass BAD in the woods

forgot just how much lucas hated el this season

byeler and jancy have paralleled each other too many times for it to just mean nothing in the end.

chapter 6

the jumpscares in this show are top tier

what i love about this show is how it still has me holding my breath even though i already know what’s going to happen

“i don’t wanna be alone. do you?” “no.” i was gonna say he wouldn’t be alone cause joyce is there but i remembered he doesn’t wanna tell her til it’s all over

early jancy were so awkward, i love them <3

“i could have been killed!” “which is exactly why we need her. she’s a weapon!” but mike loves her at this point, right?

lucas loves will so much, it’s a shame we haven’t seen much more of their friendship

“you’re my best friend, too.” “okay :D” dustin looked so happy 😭

“what’s the weirdest part? me or the bear trap?” “you, definitely you.” pls

jonathan beating the shit out of steve was so satisfying

“only love makes you that crazy, sweetheart.” i’m not even gonna say anything. you all know.

we don’t give mike enough appreciation for being such a selfless person. he did everything he could to find will, he almost killed himself to protect dustin, he let el live in his basement without even knowing her, etc.

“she’s our friend and she’s crazy!” i love dustin with my whole heart

BABIES 🫶🏼

chapter 7

“if anyone asks where i am, i’ve left the country.” this season is really reminding me why mike was my favorite in the beginning

i wanna hug el so bad

“our son with a girl?” ted, to mike:

“a psychotic child broke his arm!” “a little girl, chief. a little one.” “that tone! do you hear that tone?” “honestly, i’m just trying to state a fact. it was a little girl.” this entire exchange is sending me so bad

“you couldn’t take jonathan byers.” get his ass!

it was such a great choice to have joyce be the first one to ever give el comfort because she’s such a soft, comforting person and i can’t think of anyone better

chapter 8

made it to the finale! gonna be honest, i didn’t think i’d get here in only two days but this show sucked me in the exact way it did the first time

“go to hell.” joyce is everything

waiting til this episode to give flashbacks on hop’s daughter was an excellent choice

steve just wanted to apologize to jonathan and now he’s an exasperated mother of seven. life comes at ya quick!!

choosing not to acknowledge that scene beyond this for the sake of my mental health

el is a badass but she shouldn’t have to be

brenner should’ve never made it to season 4

these kids acted their ASSES off in this show

GOD THIS JOYCE, HOPPER AND WILL SCENE

you’d think everything that went down would make nancy and karen care more about mike and pay attention to him but it doesn’t. mike deserves so much better.

will is in a hospital bed worrying about jonathan’s hand. I LOVE THIS KID.

byeler hug <3

they all really wanted to tell will about jennifer hayes crying 😭

“her name’s eleven.” “like the number?” he sounded baffled lmaooo

getting will back must’ve been so bittersweet for nancy

hop keeps throwing away lit cigarettes and all i keep thinking is that he’s gonna start a wildfire eventually

mike’s soft ‘see you, will’ 🥹

the camera!!

“your wife doesn’t have time to cook for me.” pls

the byers family 🫶🏼

my love for this show has officially been revived. rewatching this reminded me why i loved this show so much in the first place. the acting is amazing, especially from the kids, the writing was great, and the fucking jumpscares were incredible. i’m so excited to start season 2!!

[fictionalmenxyn]

Heya! I wanted to request how the task force 141 and Los vaqueros member interacts with their s/o who has kinda of a childlike energy! (Like, rambunctious, loud, funny, very affectionate- not like a creepy way lmao)

I hope you are doing well :]

Hi, I’m doing fine thanks :) hope your okay as well <3

And yeah I’m definitely going to do this as it’s a good idea!

Ghost

At first before he became your s/o he kinda thought of it as annoying. As you always liked to joke around and be affectionate with the others as you knew he wasn’t thee type of guy to be energetic. But in really he was a bit jealous.

Once he became your s/o he love that no matter how moody or stressed he was you’d always find a way into making him feel better and making his day feel better.

He loves that you are very affectionate towards him because he never really felt that anyone he knew would do stuff like it.

When your loud and rambunctious he’ll let you do your thing. He knows this is what your like so he isn’t exactly going to tell you that you can’t be you.

When your both laying in bed I feel like this would be the most time you’d be affectionate as you know he’s a private type of man. So when your both laying together in bed you’d cuddle him, tell him you love him, ask how he’s feeling even if he doesn’t want to tell you, ask how his day went, etc.

Your are very funny and a good person to have a laugh with. Although you can’t see his smile you can tell when he is.

If you got out of missions he’ll tell his famous dad jokes and you try your best not to laugh. Knowing your currently on a mission.

You have a lot of creative skills since your always wanting to try new things out. So why not try something new that could be a gift for Ghost? So you ended up making him a new mask. And to this day he’ll wear it, what if it breaks? He’ll ask if you fix it and to your handy dandy skills you’ll do how fix it to be brand new.

One thing which is a win in Ghosts eyes is that your quite simple. Like if it’s choosing something or food wise. Sometimes he won’t need to ask for certain things because he’ll already know the answer.

Soap

Matches your energy. He loves that you are so energetic and loveable.

He likes to show you his drawings and would love to teach you to draw. It makes you giddy that he loves showing you his interests.

You like that he matches your energy cause all the people you’ve met they’ve either try to match your energy or hate it. But him he matches it 100%. You love he gives your the same amount of effort into showing you affection as you do to him.

He knows that your love for trying to make everyone happy so he lets you know that you make him happy everyday and that you’re amazing!

If you are not in the military, you would FaceTime and show him everything you’ve bought things like clothes or books and he’ll ask about it and listen to you ramble about why you got it, how you got it and where you got it.

You can be loud at times but he’s fine with that. As long as it’s not in the middle of the night. You love that he is fine with you being a loud person cause sometimes he can be just as loud.

He loves that you can be affectionate cause he loves that he can show it to you as well. You both are able to express and except each other’s affection which is great! It’s not like neither of you push the others away.

He adores you overall and is very grateful that you have become apart of his life. Although people may think you always act like a child and are/is childish. He doesn’t care, he loves you for you.

Gaz

He is totally into you even more. As at first you were quite shy but as soon as you became comfortable around him.. boom! But he knew you were the one and he loves that you are comfortable around him.

He loves that you give him loads of affection. He loves that you give him cuddles, but him things that reminded you of him, say things that makes him feel better, etc.

He is totally fine with you being wild as he shows you that he loves that you can be yourself and not feel shy or embarrassed about it. He wants you to feel like yourself, he knows that if your happy then he’s happy.

He loves how you can be into many things and enjoy them all. He loves you that you try your best with every new interest and he helps you if needed.

He can match your energy at times as your both childlike. Feel like since he’s the youngest in 141, feel like he’d still feel like he still has childlike qualities. So he can match your energy.

You both love making each other laugh. You both show each other memes or TikTok’s and laugh together. Sometimes when your both free you play make it meme (I recommend playing the game it’s good especially with friends) you’ll both laugh your heads off till either your ribs hurt or till you both rush off to the toilet.

He loves when you’ve both calmed down the for night and are both laying on the sofa and cuddling. Since you tend to fidget you usually fidget with his hands. He loves when you do it because it not just calms you down but it also comforts him.

He loves that you can feel free and comfortable around him and that’s all that matters to him and yourself.

Price

He loves that you can be you without a problem. Price loves to show people how great of a person you are and how great and energetic you are.

He loves that you are affectionate towards him but in different ways. You love giving him small gifts to see him smile also to cook for him as he loves the food you make. He loves when you sit next to him in his office and draw or doodle till he’s finished so you can talk to him.

He loves sitting on the sofa next to you while you tell him about your day or what you did. You can talk his head off but he doesn’t mind it.

He likes if/when your wanting to explore. So he’ll ask if you want to go by the beach side (if there is one near you or not however you want to think of it as) or he will ask if you want to go on a walk or hike.

Loves taking you out places so your mind can run wild especially if it’s like a art gallery, museum or whatever you enjoy he’ll take you there.

Like before if you cook/want to you sometimes make Price cookies if your bored and he’s busy. It makes his day.

If you feel like you haven’t shown Price enough love to Price you’ll give him kisses on the cheek and forehead and tell him you love him. He’ll kiss you back and tell you the same.

You like when Price teaches or tell you facts that he knows that will make you happy or make your day.

Alejandro

Feel like he loves it. He loves you and your childlike personality. He cherishes you and he makes it clear how much he loves you for you.

He loves how affectionate you are and he will be just as affectionate you are towards him. You both show it in different ways.

He definitely likes how loud you are. Feel like he hypes you up to be confident and loud. Because he will join you in being loud.

When it comes to your interests he’s all for it. Want to do those interest together? he’ll do it. Want to buy things for it? He’ll order it or you both can spent the day out and look around.

Love talking? Especially if you want to learn new languages? He’ll teach you Spanish. Then you both try to learn another language but it usually ends up in loud laughter as you find it funny how he’s trying to learn another language while you can still hear the strong Spanish accent with it. You don’t know why it’s funny but it is and he also finds it funny.

He loves how excited you get if you have been gifted a present or if he does a act of kindness for you. You especially love if he cooks for you cause he’s really good.

He usually lets you set up a date if you wanted as he knows whatever you pick you’ll both enjoy and have fun. Also because you’d get really focused on the task and you (might) enjoy planning fun things to do.

If you go on holidays you enjoy going out finding cool things to see or to eat at. You love taking pictures of anything you find interesting. Even if it’s a cute dog you found or a gift cat that is wondering around.

Rudy

At first he was intrigued how energetic you are and how loud you could be. Not that he didn’t like it he actually fell for you once he got to know you more.

He asks what your interests are so he can keep in mind and to make sure he gets to know what it’s about.

Loves how affectionate you are and can be. He loves to give you the same love and kindness back as he knows you like to be treated the same.

He loves giving you small trinkets from the places he’s been. He also takes nice photos of the area if he has time.

Loves giving and having hugs. You swear he’s one of the best people to have a hug from. You both hug each other when you fell like one is need or wanted.

Likes making cool ideas or challenges to do with each other either it’s you or him making those ideas. You both could one day see who makes the best pillow fort or who can make the best hot chocolate.

Loves cooking with you. You both learn and try to make new things. You both feel proud when you both make the food right without it burning or tasting bad.

Enjoys your company and you definitely enjoy his company. You can be wild and rambunctious while he happily watches you be you and he loves you can express yourself like that in front of him.

Hope you like it! Also feel free to ask for more things but know that it all won’t be out straight away. Have a good day/night! :)

[shaylogic]

Fellow Edwin fans, have you hit the stage of staying up listening to Oscar Wilde's trial and works, leading to the Lord Alfred Douglas poem "Two Loves" yet like I did?

I dreamed I stood upon a little hill, And at my feet there lay a ground, that seemed Like a waste garden, flowering at its will With buds and blossoms. There were pools that dreamed Black and unruffled; there were white lilies A few, and crocuses, and violets Purple or pale, snake-like fritillaries Scarce seen for the rank grass, and through green nets Blue eyes of shy peryenche winked in the sun. And there were curious flowers, before unknown, Flowers that were stained with moonlight, or with shades Of Nature's willful moods; and here a one That had drunk in the transitory tone Of one brief moment in a sunset; blades Of grass that in an hundred springs had been Slowly but exquisitely nurtured by the stars, And watered with the scented dew long cupped In lilies, that for rays of sun had seen Only God's glory, for never a sunrise mars The luminous air of Heaven. Beyond, abrupt, A grey stone wall. o'ergrown with velvet moss Uprose; and gazing I stood long, all mazed To see a place so strange, so sweet, so fair. And as I stood and marvelled, lo! across The garden came a youth; one hand he raised To shield him from the sun, his wind-tossed hair Was twined with flowers, and in his hand he bore A purple bunch of bursting grapes, his eyes Were clear as crystal, naked all was he, White as the snow on pathless mountains frore, Red were his lips as red wine-spilith that dyes A marble floor, his brow chalcedony. And he came near me, with his lips uncurled And kind, and caught my hand and kissed my mouth, And gave me grapes to eat, and said, 'Sweet friend, Come I will show thee shadows of the world And images of life. See from the South Comes the pale pageant that hath never an end.' And lo! within the garden of my dream I saw two walking on a shining plain Of golden light. The one did joyous seem And fair and blooming, and a sweet refrain Came from his lips; he sang of pretty maids And joyous love of comely girl and boy, His eyes were bright, and 'mid the dancing blades Of golden grass his feet did trip for joy; And in his hand he held an ivory lute With strings of gold that were as maidens' hair, And sang with voice as tuneful as a flute, And round his neck three chains of roses were. But he that was his comrade walked aside; He was full sad and sweet, and his large eyes Were strange with wondrous brightness, staring wide With gazing; and he sighed with many sighs That moved me, and his cheeks were wan and white Like pallid lilies, and his lips were red Like poppies, and his hands he clenched tight, And yet again unclenched, and his head Was wreathed with moon-flowers pale as lips of death. A purple robe he wore, o'erwrought in gold With the device of a great snake, whose breath Was fiery flame: which when I did behold I fell a-weeping, and I cried, 'Sweet youth, Tell me why, sad and sighing, thou dost rove These pleasent realms? I pray thee speak me sooth What is thy name?' He said, 'My name is Love.' Then straight the first did turn himself to me And cried, 'He lieth, for his name is Shame, But I am Love, and I was wont to be Alone in this fair garden, till he came Unasked by night; I am true Love, I fill The hearts of boy and girl with mutual flame.' Then sighing, said the other, 'Have thy will, I am the love that dare not speak its name.'

[moralina]

WILD NIGHTS - WILD NIGHTS! | JJ MAYBANK

Summary: JJ decides to take you on an unusual date, and maybe you should've known that with him you could possibly end the night running away from security.

Warnings: nothing to do with the poem except for the title and i thought it'd be a great way to cut the scenes with lmao, also quickly edited, wanted to write more but also wanted to post this today. fem!reader.

Wc: 1.5k

Masterlist

My latest jj blurb

Not my gif

Wild nights - Wild nights!

Were I with thee

Wild nights should be

Our luxury!

Your feet met the slippery grass with a thud, making you slightly lose your balance but quickly adjusting your footing back as soon as his hands touched yours. 

"Where are we going?" you asked, hands pulling at the sleeves of your sweater trying to find warmth within. "I'm not complaining but i'd rather stay under my warm and soft blankets, y'know"

"it's worth it, i promise." he whispered even though there was no need to. Your parents were gone for a week, letting you by yourself while they visited some distant family member who you've never really met. "now c'mon" 

his right hand closed around yours, pulling your arm and bringing you with him to the parked van on the other side of the street.

"jj" you whined, sounding too much like a child but too cold to really care. 

"it's warm in the van" 

You hummed, still dreaming about your comfortable bed. 

Yesterday you had agreed to go on a date with jj - your first official date - but it didn't cross your mind to check the weather. How would you have guessed tonight would be as freezing as the inside of a freezer, when just yesterday night you were wearing a bikini and chilling in JB's backyard with the rest of your friends, relaxing in the warmth of the night. 

However, the weather betrayed you, and decided to suddenly change drastically on the exact day you and jj decided would be your date night.

"Ohmygod." You exhaled a breath of relief, relishing in the slightly warmer atmosphere of the van. 

After a few moments of staring and smiling like a fool in love, jj started the van. 

Futile - the winds -

To a Heart in port -

Done with the Compass -

Done with the Chart!

"That's our date?"

"C'mon baby! A kook's pool all to ourselves? It's the dream!" "They have a heat pump!" His eyebrows wiggled and you stared, not really sold

"No" you shook your head "no no no- jj, if we get caught we're screwed."

"Yeah but we won't."

"And how are you so sure?"

"The cameras stopped working after the storm last week and they haven't changed them yet" he spoke matter of factly "plus, there's no one taking care of the house, they're basically asking for it" you deadpanned and he smirked. 

Typical jj behavior, you thought to yourself, should've expected it.

How on earth did you fall for this reckless boy?

"Hey, be fun at least once in your life." He said, poking your side with his index finger

"Excuse me, i am fun." 

"Keep telling yourself that." He mumbled and you huffed a laugh, eyeing him up and down 

"If the cops get us-" you started saying, slowly getting closer to him "i'll throw you to the lions and run as fast as i can"

"Deal!" He exchanged his arm, a cocky grin on his face

After jumping over the gate with jj's help you waited for him to do the same, eyes traveling around the huge backyard. You've never seen a pool so big in your life. Its was probably the size of your house.

"Those kooks, man." You muttered as jj appeared beside you.

"Yeah." He said, also taking a moment to look around the whole place.

"How did you know about this?"

"I cut their grass last week" he shrugged, "heard someone talking about the security cameras not working." 

"Oh so then you decided it'd be a good idea to just… break in?"

"Yes." He said casually. 

You rolled your eyes, but followed him nonetheless as he started walking towards the pool. 

"Even the air feels different here." 

His comment made you laugh. He wasn't necessarily wrong. Everything felt different on figure eight. Didn't mean it was better, though.

"What are you doing?" You hushed when you noticed jj taking off his sweater

"What do you think im doing?" You lifted a brow quizzically "i'm not getting into the pool with my clothes on now, am i?" 

"Yeah, but it's free-"

"Freezing, i know, i know." His sweater was thrown aimlessly to the side "But the moment i turn this pretty thing on it'll be like a huge jacuzzi, baby!" 

You waited for him to do exactly that, and when the water seemed to be at a decent temperature you began to take off your shirt. However, your eyes wined when you glanced at jj and he was moments away from getting all of his clothes off.

All of it.

"Jj" you hissed "what. Are. You. Doing!?"

"I thought skinny dipping would be more romantic." He winked before finally discarding his sweatpants and underwear to the side 

Not even a second later he started running, and before jumping straight to the water he let out the loudest scream he could master.

"We're fucked." You breathed out.

Definitely the whole neighborhood heard that, and then security would get here and see you and your-not-yet-official naked boyfriend 

"Are you planning to run away from the cops with your thing dangling between your legs?" You questioned when his head finally came back to the surface

He chuckled at your comment, once again too loudly for your liking.

"I'll give them a show, princess." His hand ran through his wet hair and something inside you clicked. The urge to throw him against the pool walls and kiss him for hours being stronger than anything else "Now get in the water." 

You hesitated, but decided to go against your gut feeling, and I guess be fun for once in your life.

When your left foot touched the warm water you allowed yourself to breathe normally again, not noticing how your breath seemed shallow before. 

Slowly, you entered the pool, your underwear getting soaked in the process. You decided not to follow jj's idea for at least this one thing. You were not getting into someone else's pool naked. And you were not going to run from the cops naked either.

Rowing in Eden -

Ah - the Sea!

Might I but moor - tonight -

In thee!

"Get back here!"

"It was nice seeing you again, Carl!" Jj waved at the poor security guard. 

As he ran in front of you, with his pants worn inside out, and his shirt not making all its way through covering his torso, was definitely a funny site, but as much as you wanted to laugh, you also needed air to keep on running.

A scream of joy left his lips and you felt so much adrenaline running through your body. Something you only really felt with jj. I mean, he was the one always dragging you around and making you participate in his wild plans. 

"You're too slow!" He screamed, momentarily looking behind him to see you running a few meters behind. 

"I'm not used to running from the cops as much as you!" You exclaimed, extending your arm forward so he could grab onto you and take you with him.

When he caught your hand you almost fell to the ground, losing your balance, once again this night, for a short second, but your legs were quick to catch on to his speed.

You only stopped running when you reached the sand. The beach was dark at this time of night, a few lights coming from the street that weren't enough to illuminate the open space.

"That was-" you heaved, trying to speak but also catching your breath

"Amazing? Thrilling? The best night of your life?!"

"It's a way to put it, yeah." You nodded your head, mouth open still trying to even your breathing.

"Did you like it?" Jj asked after a moment of silence, speaking up once again after you gave him a questioning look "our date. Did you like it?"

"It was… something." You laughed. 

Definitely an adventure. It made you feel more alive than ever, but you wouldn't say that aloud, not wanting to give jj more motivation to take you to any more fun dates

"Something good or…" he trailed off.

You couldn’t see it, mostly because he wouldn't show it, but jj was nervous. He wanted to give you a memorable date. You've already gone out thousands of times together. Sometimes only the two of you, other times as a group with all of the pogues, but you never called it a date. Before tonight your relationship didn't have a label, and he really wanted it to have. He wanted you to be his girlfriend, and he wanted to be your boyfriend. 

So yeah, it was kind of a stressful night and maybe he went too far, but hey, you had the biggest smile on your face right now. You didn't look mad. Not one bit.

"Good." You told him finally

"Good" he repeated, feeling his muscles relax.

"But we're not doing this again."

"Yup! Definitely… not doing this again."

"Jj…" 

"What? You have my word."

"Yeah, no. Definitely not trusting that."

A/n: im so anxious rn, you guys have no idea. Anyway, did this so fast I'll probably edit it again when i wake up tomorrow oof