#its about the soul crushing devotion

[pinacoladamatata]

Here I am. The lone Gale x Minthara shipper.

#Hear me out ok #its about the soul crushing devotion #he would think he can change her/slowly realizing maybe she doesnt need to be changed #she just needs to calm down a little #while she's slowly getting over her reservations about not getting attached bc she's convinced hes gonna blow up #but god shes a VENGEANCE PALADIN #give me minthara absolutely hating and fucking spitful raging against Mystra #gale doesnt DO light-hearted romance #and also oh my god minthara's romance..... #'without lolth and the absolute i dont even know who i am. you do. i think.' #gales comments about how he's convinced she's got a heart of gold under her cold exterior #take me out #this is like half crack ship #half not

[rexscanonwife]

OUGGGGHHHHHHH I was doing some talking with Hirasol and a little with Ruby about...HYPOTHETICAL s/is...

I was thinking that she could potentially be a bounty hunter! I'm thinking she might have even met Nai before the events that kick off the series, I think that'd be kinda interesting bcs both Nai and Vash have been around for so long but I'll probably decide on that later when I've watched more of the series!

The point is its...possible that he would have attempted to utilize her bounty hunting skills to go get Vash for him, and I'm thinking things get VERY unprofessional very fast lol. My s/i is probably very world-weary, a little tough on the outside from surviving in the wastelands for so long, similar to Eurydice from Hadestown. Except instead of an Orpheus she gets like The Worst guy sjjfkg like

I was a little hesitant bcs Knives...has problems ajfjf normally I'm all for people shipping with villains, it's no big deal. But idk hating humans and wanting to wipe them from the fucking planet seems like it'd make the relationship a little awkward but I also think it'd be fun if I was just his One Human. They're all awful and should be purged except for this one she's mine! Not sure it's love, but tbh I think my s/i would go for it despite him being a walking red flag cause she's just so Tired. It beats sleeping outside and keeping your gun under your pillow thats for sure ._.

#jane journals #self insert talk #crush: 🔪 #IF YOU SEE THIS NO YOU DONT!!! #IM JUST RAMBLING A LITTLE #and listen. nai has his whole god complex thing going on and she wouldnt EXACTLY be an equal #but if she plays her cards right you never know #i think he has the potential to be wholly devoted or at least possessive lol #and im sure at first he thinks of her as a sort of pet #and thats sorta true but in the sense that a cat who hates u is still a pet and u cant help but love it #it sorta doesnt MATTER if it loves you back bcs its bewitched u body and soul #thats how im tryna be #tbh i think that metaphor could go both ways even #I DUNNO IM NOT WELL ABOUT THIS #IM WAITING IT OUT

[pinchofhoney]

broken promises, part one

part one | part two | part three »

coriolanus snow x fem!reader

word count: 1.8k

warning: none

summary: In Snow's world, only one thing mattered more than his family's reputation—you. But that was before he met Lucy Gray.

a/n: coryo is the type of person i sincerely hate and i'm glad that there are no such arrogant people in my life, who think they are better than others and who in crisis situations only care about themselves and to save their own arse. but at the same time i'm aware that young snow could be someone i'd catch a crush on at school. so why shouldn't i hate him even more?

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

taglist: you told me to tag you everywhere, so i'm back to doing it again; @wolfmoonmusic

gif is not mine, credit to the owner

The problem with snow is its tendency to melt, mirroring the way we once thought our feelings would endure forever. Yet, shouldn't emotions, particularly those nestled in our hearts, last longer?

You had known Coriolanus since childhood, and your families had always been close. You had grown up together, surviving the hardships of the war-torn Capitol side by side, and now, in the post-war era, you were still inseparable. There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you going above a simple friendship. Your connection ran deep, like the roots of the oldest trees in the Panem's forests.

Coriolanus was an intriguing character, a puzzle you had been solving together since you were children. He was the embodiment of Capitol charm, with his perfectly tailored suits, polished manners, and charismatic smile that could sway even the most skeptical of Capitol elites. But you knew that beneath that carefully constructed facade was a mind as sharp as a blade and a heart that carried the weight of his family's fallen reputation.

Yet, when he was with you, it was as if a different side of him emerged. The hard lines on his face softened, and his icy demeanor melted away. With you, he could be himself, unburdened by the expectations of Capitol society. It was a rare glimpse into the man behind the mask, and you cherished those moments even more than your favorite jasmine tea and the cat you found shortly after the war had ended.

You couldn't help but admire his intelligence, his quick wit, and his relentless determination to succeed in a world that often seemed stacked against him. His family's name might have been tarnished, but Coriolanus was determined to reclaim their lost glory. He was driven by a burning ambition that flickered like an eternal flame, and you were his unwavering support, the one who fanned that flame to keep it burning bright.

In your eyes, he was more than the sum of his flaws and ambitions. He was the boy you had shared secrets with under moonlit skies, the man who had held you when the world crumbled around you, and the person who knew you better than anyone else. With him, you felt safe, cherished, and loved in a way that no one else could replicate.

Your love for him was boundless, and you were content in the knowledge that you were his confidante, the one person he could be truly vulnerable with. Your relationship with Coriolanus was the envy of many in academy, a seemingly perfect match of two souls intertwined by fate and affection. You were the golden couple, a shining example of love and devotion in a world that often lacked both.

But you wished you had known sooner that it's often the things we love most that destroy us, as Coriolanus Snow's world was about to collide with that of a girl named Lucy Gray and you were not ready for it to happen.

As the day of the tribute's arrival approached, you had been by Coriolanus's side more than ever. The weeks leading up to this moment had been filled with your unwavering support. You had reassured him countless times, sitting together in your cozy bedroom, his head resting gently on your thighs while you combed your fingers through his soft blonde curls. It was a calming gesture, one that had become a comforting routine. You listened to his concerns, his fears, and his ambitions, and you were sure that everything would be fine, that he would be just perfect as a mentor, and that his scholarship and dreams of continuing his studies at the university were within reach.

Your words were like a soothing melody to him, a reminder that he wasn't alone in this daunting new role. He would look into your eyes with his cold ones, filled with gratitude, and you could see the weight lifting from his shoulders, if only temporarily. And in those moments, you felt like his anchor, the one who kept him grounded amid the chaos of his own thoughts.

Now, you both stood at the nearly deserted train station, the oppressive heat of the day hanging heavily in the air. The scorching sun beat down relentlessly, casting shimmering waves of heat across the empty platform. It seemed that most of the Capitol's citizens had chosen to stay indoors, seeking refuge from the sweltering weather.

The only other souls present were a handful of stoic peacekeepers, their pristine white uniforms stark against the dull backdrop of the station. The silence was broken only by the distant hum of the city beyond, a reminder of the bustling Capitol life that lay just outside the station's borders.

Coriolanus tightly held a single white rose plucked from his grandmother's garden, a symbol of his intent to make a lasting impression on his tribute. It was a stark contrast to the vibrant colors of your academy uniforms. The simplicity of the white rose spoke of his sincerity and dedication to this new role as mentor.

With no clear timetable for the tribute train's arrival, the two of you stood patiently, pretending that the day's weather didn't bother you, the weight of uncertainty hanging over you like a heavy cloud. Coriolanus shifted his gaze between the tracks and the single white bloom in his hand.

You observed him closely, and when his gaze finally met yours, you offered a reassuring smile. “Remember, Coryo,” you murmured, “no matter what, you'll be the mentor she needs; your sincerity and kindness will shine through.”

“I hope you're right, Y/N,” he replied softly, his voice filled with a hint of doubt. “I need her to survive on the arena as long as she can,” he added, as if the idea of a group of vulnerable youths engaging in brutal competition in just a few days were the most ordinary occurrence in the world.

But that was precisely what it represented for the Capitol residents – the Hunger Games, an annual spectacle of entertainment.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly under the unrelenting sun, and the station remained eerily devoid of any signs of life. It felt as though hours had passed, but in truth, you couldn't be sure. Beads of perspiration formed on your brows, and you could feel the heat radiating from the platform's surface.

You and Coriolanus were on the verge of giving up and returning to the cool embrace of your penthouses when, at long last, the distant rumble of an oncoming train reached your ears. The sound grew steadily louder, and you looked at each other, exchanging tired glances.

Coriolanus's grip on the white rose tightened as he turned his gaze towards the approaching train. As he rose from the bench where you had sat, his anticipation peaked. You stood beside him, wanting to be his support, but you had no idea that your role was about to change very soon.

The train pulled into the station with a hiss of steam and the screech of brakes, billowing clouds of moisture and smoke into the scorching air. The two of you watched the machine in silent, your heart pounding in your chest. This was the moment when you would come face to face with people from the Districts, individuals whose lives were so far removed from the opulence and extravagance of your own. It was a rare and humbling experience, one that left you with a slight quiver in your step as you clung to Coriolanus, seeking solace in his reassuring presence.

For what felt like an eternity, nothing happened. The train's doors remained sealed shut, as if holding its cargo of tributes in a reluctant embrace. The only thing that reached you was an unpleasant stench wafting from the carriages, a stark reminder of the grim reality that these young souls were about to face.

Finally the impatient peacekeepers took matters into their own hands. They descended upon the train, their authoritative presence enough to scare the tributes out of their temporary sanctuary. One by one, they were herded onto the platform, their expressions ranging from fear to defiance.

And then, your eyes locked onto a figure unlike the others. A girl stood there, her presence a stark contrast to the muted palettes of others tributes. She wore a rainbow-colored dress that shimmered with vibrancy, a flare of color and individuality amidst the sea of old attire. You recognized her immediately from the television screens, a girl whose name had already become a part of your daily life even before this encounter.

Lucy Gray Baird.

The very name whispered in the hushed tones of Capitol citizens as they watched her on the screens, intrigued and fascinated by her enigmatic presence from the Reaping. Her gaze swept across the platform, and for a brief moment, your eyes locked onto each other's.

You couldn't help but break into a warm, welcoming smile. With a cheerful wave of your hand, you signaled to her that both you and Coriolanus were eagerly awaiting her arrival, hoping to ease the initial tension of this life-altering moment.

Lucy Gray's response was a hesitant yet appreciative smile in return. Her steps were slow and cautious as she walked slowly toward you, a palpable sense of curiosity radiated from her, her eyes flitting between the unfamiliar faces that lined the platform.

Your gaze briefly shifted to Coriolanus, a subtle expectation in your heart that his eyes would mirror the warmth you felt. But when you looked at him, you noticed something different. It was as if his eyes were magnetically drawn to Lucy Gray, locked onto her with a nearly unwavering intensity that bordered on fixation. Those eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, now held an expression you had never quite seen before. It was as though he had stumbled upon a priceless museum exhibit, left captivated, awestruck, and undeniably intrigued.

A soft, knowing smile played at the corners of your lips, silently acknowledging his reaction to the girl before you. You gently squeezed his hand, a gesture of affection and solidarity. You understood that this moment bore immense significance for him, that he was on the corner of a journey filled with unforeseen challenges. Lucy Gray was the keynote of this new chapter in his life, and you couldn't help but admire her from a distance, captivated by her unique presence and the aura that surrounded her.

Before you could utter a word, Coriolanus took a determined step forward, his eyes still locked on the girl. He extended his hand, offering her the pristine white rose he had clutched throughout the wait and with a subtle nod, he greeted her in a tone that resonated with formality and welcome.

“Welcome to the Capitol.”

part two »

#do you hear that? it's the sound of snow falling #the hunger games #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games headcanon #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfiction #10th hunger games #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow scenario #established relationship #tom blyth #tom blyth fanfiction #hunger games #hunger games fanfiction #hunger games headcanon #hunger games x reader #ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfiction #lucy gray baird #sejanus plinth #x reader #x y/n

[luvlyhyunjin]

Carousel┃H.HJ SMAU

Fifty-Three - I was made for loving you.

warnings: mentions of weight, disordered eating. wc; 4.9k

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Hyunjin doesn’t get to think about how he ends up in front of your door, doesn’t get to comprehend the impulsive thoughts invading his mind. Not when he’s only known himself as a follower, so he follows, he follows where he knows you’ll be and maybe that’s why when he’s faced with his reality, he’s only capable of blaming you. For the ache in his heart, the fire he feels running alongside his blood and the recklessness coated by love that douses his actions. He blames you for everything even when his dignity curls by the corner and it disdained him. Weak, was it his lack of power or his faux hatred for you?

He tells himself he should leave, the small remaining bone of logical thinking tells him, screams that this is a bad idea, and he wholeheartedly agrees but his legs won’t listen to him, stubbornly glued to the floors of your familiar doorway in desperation and whispers of ‘I love you’s that had fallen from your lips right into his heart on this same spot. He sees it all, the phantoms of you kissing and then you’re smiling at him with your honey-soaked lips, dripping with unyielding affection that only ever manifests for him, in front of him as you tell him.

“I’ll wait for you,” and he feels like crying, or maybe he feels more like dying. He’ll ask you to bury him with your hands, right next to your dead flowers of love. Perhaps only then you’ll be able to witness the pain your name leaves on his heart, its scratched and blue. but he still misses you and it’s nothing less than pathetic. Mundane madness.

If he’s not allowed to die then he wishes he could break free of this leftover self-respect and allow himself to break down at your door, ugly and valiant and filled with piteous desires that you’ll take him. Right into your arms and through the gates of your so-called heaven. If he’s not allowed to die then he’ll kneel and beg you for an escape from you, any sort of drug that will help him numb you. maybe if you allow him to become one with you, mesh himself with your bones and your blood he will feel nothing but love for you, maybe if you drive him further into his awaited craziness this will all be okay, and he won’t have to see you whenever he closes his eyes.

It’s a maybe followed by another maybe and maybe and he feels nothing but overflowing pain the longer he stands here.

You’re nothing but hell so how come his heart has grown to be a masochist? yearning to be burned by your gentle wandering touches.

He wonders if his masculine pride is getting secondhand embarrassment of his soul crushing devotion for you. However, his thoughts are stuck on that point when you open the door as if somehow you knew he’s waiting outside. You’re shrouded in one of his old hoodies, one that he forgot behind when he packed his stuff and didn’t have the courage to face you once more to ask for it back. Or perhaps it’s simply a purposeful blunder to leave you with a piece of him in hopes it will haunt you.

His gaze is somber as they study the dark circles under your eyes and the red rimming your once glowing eyes, evidence of the tears that you shed not long ago. You’re pale, almost sickeningly so, fragile, and thinner than he had ever seen you. a part of him is almost glad he’s not the only one withering away with your dying garden of love.

“Hyunjin...” you’re the first to speak, in opposite to his, your gaze is surprised mimicking your tone. He doesn’t look like himself, but rather a ghost of what was once him. He’s the same man who crawled into your bed at night, the same man who littered kisses down your neck yet it’s not him. It was an ebbing version of him, one that had similar darkening circles to yours, exhaustion that had his back curved in a slouch, evidence of yet another crime you committed, a knife plunged into his heart and his blood on your hands. It makes you sick to your stomach.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, softly and tentatively.

And he closes his eyes at your voice, hoping it’s enough to cover the ears of his heart. To block out the reminiscences of you and how your voice manages to pull him right into the field of you he tries so hard to run away from. But everything leads back to you, in hindsight he’s sure you’ve made your mark on his fate like a plague. He has no choice but to be an extension of you, roaming around in hopes to be reunited with his home one day.

When he opens them, pain torrents from your eyes and he feels like glass, not like the expensive little statues you have around your apartment, but rather cheap, debilitated and easily broken with the delicacy you’re covered in when you call his name. No one will ever call him this softly, no one could ever be as cruel as you.

“Is it true?” he asks, ignoring your question because there’s no logical answer he could give. There’s no answer that won’t break him.

“w-what is true?” you ask. Voice weakened by your quiet nerves.

“Is it true that your dad is setting you up on dates and you agreed?” The frost in his voice melts as he spits each syllable out, replaced with unjust anger.

“Who told you this?”

“Does it fucking matter? Just tell me if it’s true or not.”

You grow quiet, your silence only plunges the knife further into his heart and the way your eyebrows furrow in a way too familiar conquest. Your futile attempts to string together a sentence is like grey clouds collecting above his head, leaving him foggy and stormy. So, he scoffs.

“So, was it all lies again? Your whole speech about how you’ll never give up on us how you’ll keep trying. It all meant nothing to you, didn’t it?”

“you’re being unfair Hyunjin.” You shake your head, a fresh set of tears collects in your waterline, and it only angers him, pushes him further into the abyss. He’s overwhelmed with the emotions raining on him “Am I supposed to sit still and wait for you forever when you’ve made it so clear you don’t want me anymore?” It’s all lies because deep down you know you will wait for him forever if you need to.

Sadness, anger, disappointment, it’s an endless symphony of terror that has him locked up and the key is in your hands. You’re refusing to let up and he refuses to come undone before your eyes.

“Do you want to know what’s fucking unfair Y/N?” you look away, the pain taking claim in his iris is enough to have you choking, it’s excruciating so your eyes run away but then he’s all up in your face, ruthless fingers gripping your jaw as he forces you to face him.

“Placing bets on people’s heart as if they’re puppets and not human beings,” his breath hits your cheek like little knifes and each one scratches with ferocious hatred “lying to me while looking me straight in the eye, playing games behind my back when I asked you time and time if there’s anything I should know about.” You sob, overwhelmingly ashamed and unable to keep eye contact with him, you try to break away from his grip, try to look away from his fiery gaze but it’s all useless when it only tightens around your jaw.

“Breaking my heart again when I so willingly handed it to you with so much trust in you.”  your heart falls apart at the way his words weakened towards the end “That’s fucking unfair.” His anger is displaced by exasperation that has you shaking.

“I’m sorry Hyunjin. I want to explain myself I promise there’s so much more to everything than you think.”

He laughs, humorless and cruel. Your words remain woefully inadequate, and it only has him dwindling further into his disappointment and he grows to feel idiotic, for coming here, for thinking he has any sort of authority over your actions. He’s only driven by his anger and longing for you, and he resents it. His grip on you loosens, and when he goes to take a step back, he’s stopped by your fingers circling his wrist.

“I never meant to break your heart, jinnie.”

“But you fucking did Y/N! it doesn’t matter what you meant to do, don’t you get it?” his tone rises, breaking towards the end and rendering you the same kind of broken.

“Okay yes, I did! I wish I didn’t, but I did. I get that but you can’t keep blaming me when you won’t even listen to me.”

“This is fucking stupid.” he chuckles incredulously, running his hand through his hair and then he’s shaking his head in disbelief.

“Forget it.” He spits then swivels away from you, abandoning his heart alongside his dignity.

But he doesn’t get to make it far, doesn’t even take the first step down because the sound of your body breaking down and your knees hitting the ground is enough for him to look back at you in panic, the vision of your limbs weakened on the floor is enough to have him rushing by your side.

“Y/N.” his arms are around your shoulders; your labored breaths have his eyes widening in worry.

“what’s wrong?” he questions; eyes raking through your features anxiously.

Your eyes have gone hazy, pupils dilating as they lose focus and it sets his soul ablaze with crippling fear, with a trembling absentminded cradle of your cheek “baby, can you hear me? come on focus on me.” He’s tapping your cheek gently, slightly panicking as his other hand rubs soothing circles on your back and you blink at him, regaining some of your fumbled mind.

“I-I’m sorry I just felt a little dizzy and my head was spinning-“

“Shh it’s okay.” He lets out a breath of relief when your eyes focus on him, blinking rapidly “when was the last time you eaten?” his voice is gentle in complete contrast to how he was speaking moments ago, breaking through the collecting clouds in your eyes. He pulls you to his chest, gathers you in his arms and despite the aching in your body you could only think about the familiar scent of peaches invading your senses. The comfort of his warm embrace has you clutching onto his shirt desperately.

“I don’t remember.” You murmur, you feel cold sweat collecting at the roots of your hair, your limbs growing weaker as if they weigh nothing.

“For fuck’s sake Y/N.” his warm palm that rests at your forehead brings a comfort akin to fresh air that you desperately breath in “can you stand up?” Despite the bells ringing in your ears, you still manage to nod, or at least you think you do even if you’re not sure with how lightheaded you’re feeling.

When he helps you stand up your words are meaningless as your body slumps into him, weak and drained of energy, without saying a word he takes it upon himself to carry you inside. The alarming lightness of your body as if carrying a singular feather has his heart tightening. You’re somewhat present yet not fully there when you press your face into his neck, your tears sting against his skin, burn him and he’s sure you’ll only leave another mark of yours on his body.

“I’m sorry,” you kept crying into his neck and Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say, not when his heart hammers against his ribcage begging for an escape from you, you who once was his sanctuary. Who is he supposed to find solace in when the cause of his heartbreak lies between his arms?

You don’t remember much of what happens after, you only remember flowing out of consciousness when he placed you on your couch, the familiar cushions are comfortable against your body, his presence brings ease to your loud mind and it quietens it for mere minutes that are enough for you to fall asleep, for the first time in a while. You can’t recall It perfectly, but you swear you felt Hyunjin’s colder hand in yours.

When you wake up it’s 9 p.m. The scent of cooked soup, specifically chicken soup erupts from your kitchen, filling the space of your small apartment and has your stomach growling in hunger. A dull ache has latched itself on your every muscle as if you’re a corpse who just gotten back to life. You run a tired hand over your face, a headache starts to form as soon as you sit up.

“you’re awake,” Hyunjin’s voice startles you, have not noticed him standing there. Eyes locked on you and you only nod in response. Your throat is parched.

“Water?” he asks when he notices your lingering silence and you nod, averting your eyes as he disappears back into your kitchen. When he’s back there’s a tray between his hands, carrying a glass of water and a bowl of what you assume to be the soup you smelled.

“Here.” He mumbles, a tinge of awkwardness clings to his fingers as he brings the glass to your lips, your eye contact has you feeling lightheaded for reasons other than the lack of food in your system. His thumb rubs circles on the insides of your thigh as you sip diligently. His touch has you almost doubling over for more, your longing expands and takes space over every cell in your body.

You miss him more than you miss breathing in air.

“Thank you,” you finally reply as he places the now empty glass back on the table, he doesn’t say anything back and instead pushes the tray of food towards you “eat.” His tone is banal, he avoids the longing in your glance, yet this thumb remains in its place, spreading the warmth of something you know is counterfeit. It has your throat tightening.

“How did you make this?” you ask as you swirl your spoon around the bowl.

“I had to go grocery shopping. Why is your house so empty Y/N?” He’s not looking for an answer so you don’t give him one. Instead, you busy yourself with eating as silence settles in between you two.

Hyunjin keeps his gaze locked on the dark screen of your tv and you force yourself to find a domestic alleviation in the act. In the quietness that is nowhere near as comfortable as it once was, in the rigid lines of harshness on his face. It’s all a charade, you’re aware of it but you pretend that there’s still love in these walls, in the couch you both are sitting on and it’s not filled with disappointment as it witness the growing distant between you two.

“Good?” he asks when you set your half empty bowl back on the tray.

“mhm,” you murmur, your eyes studying the side of his face and the longer he refuses to look at you the deeper your agony settles into your soul, a remorse nestled into the bit of your stomach and you could see it all when your hands reaches for his slender fingers and his body tenses as if your bodies didn’t belong together.

The walls of your living room laugh in mockery when your fingers squeeze his, lucky enough to witness this pitiful parody of what was real once. What you killed. But you never got time for it, instead Hyunjin is somehow sitting next to you, filled with quiet resentment for himself and then for you and thirdly for this foolish thing we like to call love.

“I’m so sorry about everything Hyunjin.” you say, hardly audible.

“You should be feeling sorry for your body Y/N.”

“I don’t care about my body, any sort of emotion that runs through my body is for you. it’s because of you.”

“Why did you do it then? Why did you have to kill us so brutely?” when he looks at you, you feel your heart constricting in your chest, longing for comfort that only exists within his fingertips.

“I was stupid,” you admit through swallowing down the lump forming in the center of your throat “I was jealous, and it brought out the worst in me. I had never seen you with a girl before and I just- “you suck a deep breath in, the stupidity of your actions dawns on you the longer you try to explain.

Your eyes comb over his features, the anguish clouding his iris has you melting away in the blues of your rushed decisions.

“It killed me knowing you might have fallen for someone other than me.”

“So, you decided to punish someone innocent over the faults of our hearts?” you long for evidence of his adoring for you, searching the flickers of dark in his eyes for a missing piece that feels it has been snatched away from you. You’re disappointed when you can’t find anything, it’s blank.

Who knew a simple feeling could alter someone’s gaze this much.

“I fucked up, I know I did.” Your voice breaks with anxiety at the thought of losing him “at first it was just that but when I found out that her mom was my dad’s mistress it only got worse.”

Hyunjin lets out a breath of disbelief but doesn’t complain when your nails start digging into his palm, a pathetic claim to cling onto him.

“It felt like she kept taking everyone from me it was you first, then my dad and then my mom kept comparing me to her I just felt like I wasn’t enough, yet no one was feeling my pain.” A small whimper escapes your lips, one that is filled with enough despair to has him shutting his eyes and his teeth latching painfully around his lower lip, as if trying to prevent himself from saying anything.

“I was in so much pain I just wanted to hurt everyone else around me and specifically her. She was everything that I wanted to be. Everything that everyone wanted me to be, but I was nothing but a failure that longed for your love. I was too much of a coward to say it.” You take a deep breath in, your fingers tremble between his, and you feel like an ugly monster who taints everything it touches red with fiery and resentment, it flows from your fingertips.

You feel like nothing but a weakling destruction, an abandoned ground of all the people you could have become.

“I know it’s not right if I could go back and change it trust me I would. I hate myself for it every day, I can’t even look at myself in the mirror for what I did. I was punishing her for something she didn’t even do. I was filled with hatred and anger towards the world, and I took it out on her.”  

A winding coil is waiting to snap behind your eyes when Hyunjin frees his hands from you, a shaky exhale escapes and he stands up, you feel him slipping through your fingers, see the fragments of him leaving you once again. It has an unmistakable tightness pulling at your chest. Anxiety, a monster known to make an appearance simultaneity with your darkening thoughts. It snaps when a pregnant silence follows as Hyunjin paces relentlessly before you from left to right as if trying to make sense of your words.

Regret, a color you were so familiar with, has been painted in so many times but this darkening shade you’re drowning in right now doesn’t even compare to anything you’ve felt ever before. It something so much more. A colossal amount that has painful tears cascading down your cheeks in a silent plea.

“I wanted to call it off, but Yeosang didn’t want to. He started threatening me with telling you everything and back then i-I just wasn’t ready to relive the pain of what happened with Seungmin once again.” You wince, your hands shake as your heart grows heavier with every word, with every step of his “When i-I was ready everything came crashing down and it was too late. I wanted to tell you so much sooner.”

“You don’t get it do you?” he finally speaks, voice doused with raw and unfiltered betrayal. You’re only brought back to life to be killed once again “It’s the fact that you did it in the first place that breaks my heart Y/N.”

You open your mouth to respond but no words make appearance in your mind, it’s all blank and misplaced judgments “I don’t know when you became this person. This is not the person I fell in love with. I knew you had your flaws, but I thought you were changing, I thought you left it all behind,” His eyes are devoid of vibrancy as they stare you down, a manifestation of the sadness residing in his heart “I didn’t know what you were hiding in the dark was so much worse than I could ever imagine.”

“H-how do I make it better? How do I fix it?” Your legs hurt when you move to stand up before him, a throb in your body due to how weak you grew in few weeks of abandonment.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, looking away in yearning for a fleeting respite. It’s out of reach when your hand hesitates to touch him. Why does it pain him so much when your hands linger awkwardly between you two? As if you grew to be strangers in a few counted seconds.

“Please tell me how do I fix it.” You plead, voice hoarse as your tears run like an endless steam “I wish I could go back and never make that stupid bet. I wish I could go back and fight Seungmin properly-“

“Don’t bring him up.” His brows furrow and your heart sinks.

“I never wanted to sleep with him-“

“I know. I believe you.” He interrupts you again and you realize the darkness taking over his eyes, doused in pain, is not because of betrayal but rather unexpected. It’s the same entity that you know is etched all over your being too.

Regret.

“I never blamed you for anything that happened with Seungmin.” Your hand finally touches him, cups his cheek in lovingly manner like all the destined lovers are meant to hold each other, he leans into the soft skin of your palm in broken tenderness. A shaky fuck tumbles out of his lips. He hates how you manage to see through him without him uttering a single word. He hates how delicately you touch him, he hates how his heart is wounded because of you and yet bleeds with you, for you. How your sorrow has his anger disappearing into thin air as if it never existed. And he only aches for you, for all the pain you had to endure alone.

He hates that he can’t actually hate you.

“I couldn’t protect you.” He sounds shattered when he speaks, it shatters your soul with it.

“I’m sorry,” he says shakily, and, in that moment, you think you finally understand what’s it’s like to be absolutely broken, to feel pain run through your veins as if it’s your blood, as if it’s a part of you that won’t ever relent. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into you and he comes with ease, your face disappearing into the junction of his neck and shoulder “it’s okay, there’s nothing you could have done. It’s not your fault Hyunjin.” You speak against it, and he shakes in your embrace.

It was such an odd situation, to comfort the boy you filled with despair. It has reality sinking into you at that moment, the fact that the broken pieces of your relationship are much smaller, much sharper than you anticipated and you’re not sure how to pick them up without any of you two bleeding to death. The damage you left, the scars of your past, the unshed tears and all the broken promises are evidence of how you two are incompatible with your love. And it’s excruciating.

You pull away far enough to look at him, his eyes glisten with sorrowful water and you cradle his cheeks, wiping at the few drops that managed to escape “it’s okay.” You murmur, unsure if you’re trying to comfort him or yourself.

“I don’t know if anything will ever be okay again. I don’t know if we will ever be okay.”

“If I fix me then will you love me again?”

“Don’t talk as if you’re a mere object and not human.” He scolds and you feel as if your heart is being carved out of your chest at his care for you despite how wrong you are, how everything is your fault “It only pains me when you talk about yourself like this. When you starve yourself as a way to punish yourself.”

“What should I do then? How do I end your misery? Please tell me.”

“Bring back the girl I fell in love with. The one with infectious smiles and the gleam of the moon in her eyes,” His words hang over you like a gloomy cloud.

“Will you able to forgive me then?” you ask, sad and small.

“I don’t know.” He answers truthfully, an answer you weren’t looking forward to, and it feels like an arrow has been shot through your heart “but if you’re trying then I’m willing to try too.”

Hyunjin leaves soon after, a mountain of unspoken words lingers between you two. Nothing like the secrets you had kept till now, a foreign void forms in your heart and a rather bigger weight burdens your shoulders shrouded in your relationship that’s falling apart. Hanging by a thread that you’re holding onto as if it’s your lifeline. And that’s why you stop Hyunjin by your door. Both of your cheeks flushed and eyes puffy.

“I think I was made for loving you,” your words spill like an explosion that you cannot hold back, enamored by how your soul intertwines even when you’re refusing to touch “Even if you think we seem hopeless right in this moment, and I am only ever wrong and confused. I might be a fool who does not know anything but all I know is I was made for loving you so this is my last promise, I will try my best to make everything better, to be better.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything back, there’s no right answer that he could muster up so instead he saves your words in his pocket, and you capture the look of his dreary eyes swimming with endless adoration for you in your mind.

You know it’s true, you love him without being good for anything else.

It’s not until a week later that you see Hyunjin again, right as the first snow of the new year falls. You welcome winter with a dull ache that has spread through your soul. A tempest of memories curl in the folds of frigid winds. It dances through your hair and through his when you see him right outside of your apartment complex. A thick dark blue scarf looped multiple times around his neck, remains of half-finished cigarettes at his feet gives away his building nerves as he waited for a glimpse of you.

“Did you really mean it when you said you want to be better?” When he looks at you, you envision fragments of summer in him. Mere centimeters separate you.

“I meant every word.” Your voice is as soft as the ray of sunshine slipping through the grey clouds.

“I don’t know if there’s gonna come a day where I’ve fully forgiven you. I don’t know if there’s a way for my heart not to throb painfully as it calls your name,” a pause, enough to have you holding your breath when his dark eyes flit across yours “but I think I want to be next to you when it happens.”

He closes the small space between you two and stands before you, looking down at you as if you were 16 again in the middle of your school hallway, your last book ended with bloodshed and deep scars but that never means there’s no room for healing and when Hyunjin extends his hand to you, a youthful smile taking place on his face you feel the truth bloom in you. You see fate rewrites itself into new pages, scribbles of poetry that won’t have to be filled with lies and fearful tears.

“No more secrets?”

“No more secrets.” You answer, with a similar smile.

Despite the bitter winter you feel the warmth of sun seeps into your being when you take his hand in yours. It’s as sweet as peaches and embraces you in overwhelming comfort. a peaceful buzz that settles through the center of your heart, a fresh new color, so bright and foreign but more than anything welcomed.

It’s hopeful and it screams stay, stay, stay.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

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Masterlist

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Taglist: @annybah @christopherisfoive @realrintaro @kkamismom12 @nujeskz @wolfietara @luvvvash @pnkcasket @shyshyshytwice @samhomo @babrieeee @nhyunn @enzstr @feelikecinderella @linocvp1d @amarecerasus @itgirlalisaa @arikazu @hyundumpling @cupkiki @avokralaim @super-btstrash-posts @mellhwang @kaiyaba @finnbbl @rockyhedgehog @heyhaez @anjian03 @jihanniee @skvrze @enzos-shit @lilliansreality @certified-lana-del-rey-lover @chartrucewhore @skz1lov @dreamerwasfound @lixie-phoria @sillygoosegoose @siriusly1 @iheartchaes @20crowsinahoodie @hyunjinhwang-23

@rylea08 @partyparty-yah @anajujujujjuuu @rebecca-johnson-28 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21

@skz143-channnn @jeonginsdoll @lordmaahes-nsc @lukeys-giggle @hynjinswrld @littlegothishh @shecheatedwithme

(bold can't be tagged please remember to check your settings so i can tag you!)

#hyunjin angst #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smau #hyunjin imagines #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz smau #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids smau #hyunjin social media au #hyunjin fake texts #skz social media au #skz fake texts #stray kids fake texts #stray kids social media au #hyunjin series #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #hyunjin au #hyunjin scenarios

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Kim Novak (Vertigo, Bell, Book, and Candle)— She fought as much as she could to be able to preserve her own identity within the crushing hollywood system. She refused to change her czech last name and fought for a higher salary once she discovered her male counterparts were getting payed significantly more, which was an incredibly risky thing to do. She went through so much hollywood bs like she was forced to drop her affair with Sammy Davis jr. She played her iconic role in Vertigo thinking about her own oppressive and significant changes she had to undergo in order to fit in the tight hollywood mold which i think is partly why the movie is so beautiful and timeless. She is a gorgeous soul and a great artist.

Marlene Dietrich (Shanghai Express, Witness for the Prosecution, Morocco)—Bisexual icon, super hot when dressed both masculine and feminine, lived up her life in the queer Berlin scene of the 1920s, central to the 'sewing circle' of the secret sapphic actresses of Old Hollywood, refused lucrative offers by the Nazis and helped Jews and others under persecution to escape Nazi Germany, the love of my life

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Kim Novak:

Marlene Dietrich:

ms dietrich....ms dietrich pls.....sit on my face

its marlene dietrich!!!! queer legend, easily the hottest person to ever wear a tuxedo, that hot hot voice, those glamorous glamorous movies…. most famously she starred in a string of movies directed by josef von sternberg throughout the 1930s, beginning with the blue angel which catapulted her to stardom in the role of the cabaret singer lola lola. known for his exquisite eye for lighting, texture, imagery, von sternberg devoted himself over the course of their collaborations to acquiring exceptional skill at photographing dietrich herself in particular, a worthy direction in which to expend effort im sure we can all agree. she collaborated with many other great directors of the era as well, including rouben mamoulian (song of songs), frank borzage (desire), ernst lubitsch (angel), fritz lang (rancho notorious), and billy wilder (witness for the prosecution). the encyclopedia britannica entry im looking at while compiling this propaganda describes her as having an “aura of sophistication and languid sexuality” which✔️💯. born marie magdalene dietrich, she combined her first and middle names to coin the moniker “marlene”. she was a trendsetter in her incorporation of trousers, suits, and menswear into her wardrobe and her androgynous allure was often remarked upon. critic kenneth tynan wrote, “She has sex, but no particular gender. She has the bearing of a man; the characters she plays love power and wear trousers. Her masculinity appeals to women and her sexuality to men.” in the 1920s she enjoyed the vibrant queer nightlife of weimar berlin, visiting gay bars and drag balls, and in hollywood her love affairs with men and women were an open secret. she was an ardent opponent of nazi germany, refusing lucrative contacts offered her to make films there, raising money with billy wilder to help jews and dissidents escape, and undertaking extensive USO tours to entertain soldiers with an act that included her a playing musical saw and doing a mindreading routine she learned from orson welles. starting in the 50s and continuing into the mid-70s she worked largely as a cabaret artist touring the world to large audiences, employing burt bacharach as her musical arranger.

First of all, there are those publicity photos of her in a tux. Second of all, I have never been the same since knowing that she sent copies of those photos to her Berlin lovers signed "Daddy Marlene." Not only is she hot in all circumstances, but she can do everything from earthy to ice queen. Also, she kept getting sexy romantic lead parts in Hollywood after the age of 40, which would be rare even now. She hated Nazis, loved her friends, and had a sapphic social circle in Hollywood. She also had cheekbones that could cut glass and a voice that could melt you.

Her GENDER her looks her voice her everything

“In her films and record-breaking cabaret performances, Miss Dietrich artfully projected cool sophistication, self-mockery and infinite experience. Her sexuality was audacious, her wit was insolent and her manner was ageless. With a world-weary charm and a diaphanous gown showing off her celebrated legs, she was the quintessential cabaret entertainer of Weimar-era Germany.”

The bar scene in Morocco awoke something in me and ultimately changed my gender

"Her manner, the critic Kenneth Tynan wrote, was that of ‘a serpentine lasso whereby her voice casually winds itself around our most vulnerable fantasies.’ Her friend Maurice Chevalier said: ‘Dietrich is something that never existed before and may never exist again.’”

"Songstress, photographer, fashion icon, out bisexual phenom (notoriously stole Lupe Velez and Joan Crawford's men, and Errol Flynn's wife, had a torrid affair with Greta Garbo that ended in a 60-year feud, other notable conquests including Erich Maria Remarque -yes, the guy who wrote All Quiet on the Western Front- Douglas Fairbanks Junior, Claudette Colbert, Mercedes de Acosta, Edith Piaf), anti-Nazi activist. Marlene was a bitch - she had an open marriage for decades and one of her favorite things was making catty commentary about her current lover with her husband, and her relationship with her daughter was painful- but she was also immensely talented, a hard worker, an opponent of fascism and the hottest ice queen in Hollywood for a long time."

"She can sing! She can act! She told the Nazis to fuck off and became a US citizen out of spite! She worked with other German exiles to create a fund to help Jews and German dissidents escape (she donated an entire movie salary, about $450k, to the cause). She looks REALLY GOOD in a suit. If you're not convinced, please listen to her sing "Lili Marlene". Absolutely gorgeous woman with a gorgeous voice."

Gifset link

"Bisexual icon and Nazi-hater. Looks absolutely stunning in the suits she liked to wear. 'I dress for the image. Not for myself, not for the public, not for fashion, not for men'."

"would you not let her walk on you?"

#marlene dietrich #kim novak #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 4 #Youtube

[makeyoumine69]

Being Bateman’s Soulmate | HEADCANON

Pairing: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader; CW: Romance & Angst; Links: [MASTERLIST]; Song Rec: The Cure — Lovesong; A/N: This is dedicated to everyone who is madly in love with their fictional crush! 💗 If you find any mistakes regarding gn!reader, please let me know!

— “Soulmate? What the fuck does that word even mean?” Bateman would say the first time you mentioned it. His reaction would amuse you at first, although you knew that Patrick would understand its meaning in time, and that feeling when you could touch another person's soul as if it were material. The feeling of wanting to scream because you were so in love that you couldn't even believe it was possible to have such feelings. All of this would eventually overwhelm him, and then he'd never want it to end.

— "You think I have a soul, huh?" He would smile whenever you had sentimental conversations, and even though Bateman kept repeating that he didn't like them, you would sometimes see him sitting alone, thinking about his life before he met you. Did you make his life better? Well, was it even possible to judge such things? Since nothing in this world could be black or white, it was always gray.  But with you, his life was painted in new colors.

— “I remember you telling me that your favorite color was red.” Red like the blood that spilled on his perfect sheets whenever he treated you too rough, but you never asked him to stop. Sometimes those little scarlet spots on the white sheets could look like petals from the red roses Bateman used to give you, even though he knew how clichéd that was. "Why didn't you tell me to stop?" The man would ask, tracing his long finger over the red marks on your hip.  Sighing, you would roll onto your stomach and give him your most devoted look. "Because I like it," and that was all he needed to hear from you. "I'd tell you if I didn't." Having said that, you would sit up to find his lips and kiss him, slowly but eagerly, transmitting all the love and emotion you had for him through that kiss.

— "If you say you love me, why does it hurt so much?" He would ask you this question over and over again after he had a breakdown because he was so overwhelmed by everything you were giving him: your care, your affection, your understanding, and your support. Eventually, it all became too much for him, and when Patrick realized that he was probably in love with you, a sharp pain coursed through the very small pitch of his body like an electric impulse. He loved you so much it hurt.

— One night, you were sitting in the living room in Bateman’s slick apartment and watching some classic romantic comedy from the 1930s, the scenes from it made you think about something you never expected you would. "Patrick, have you ever thought about death?" You asked suddenly, holding his hand and noticing how tense he became. "I mean... I'm afraid of death because I don't want to be without you, if that makes any sense." At first, Patrick just laughed and gently moved closer to you, hugging your shoulders possessively. "Can you promise me that... if there is an afterlife, you will find me there?" Nearly sobbing, you looked into his dark, brown eyes, at the way his eyebrows furrowed as the man considered his answer. "And we will be together even after death?" Your voice cracked at the weight of your words, never before had you dared to speak of such things.

— The question of death, an abstract yet intimately familiar topic, drew a thoughtful arch to his brow. Death was not a stranger to him, nor was it an adversary he feared-not in the way that the average person might. "Death," Patrick began, his voice tinged with a cold amusement that belied the gravity of the subject. "It's the only certainty in life, isn't it? A final transaction, one we all must make." His arm tightened around you, a gesture that feigned warmth but held an undercurrent of something sharper. Bateman met your gaze, the hazel of his eyes unreadable yet intense, reflecting the black-and-white dance of images on the screen. "If there is an afterlife," he continued, weighing each word like a coin on a scale, "I'll find you. But let's not be so morose, darling." The man leaned in, his lips brushing your ear, his breath a whisper that carried the scent of the red wine you had shared earlier. "Life is for the living, and I intend to savor every moment I have with you. Making promises about the afterlife is... morbidly romantic, but unnecessary. I have you now, and you have me. Isn't that enough?"

— And that was even more than enough.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines #patrick bateman x male reader #gn reader

[lirotation]

Ever since a discussion about the mortality of my human Tav with my fellow Tavs on Tumblr, the idea has become an intrusive thought🤣. I couldn't shake it from my mind, so I decided to confront it. I chose to explore the worst-case scenario.

Astarion X F!Tav, warning, character death.

Oh my gosh, I couldn't think about anything else! But now I feel better =) The lyrics are from the song "Let Me Down Slowly" by Alec Benjamin, which seems to be popping up everywhere for me recently! It was meant to be.

_____________________

The rain poured down in relentless sheets, obscuring the old gothic manor in a heavy gray veil. Inside, the candles flickered softly as Astarion combed his fingers gently through Amaara's hair. Her skin was pale and cold under his touch, she had passed in her sleep, her life of many decades finally at its end.

Astarion dressed her in finery befitting his princess, never taking his eyes from her still face. He lifted her fragile body, holding her close to his silent heart, and carried her through the corridors of their home, the echo of his steps filling the emptiness left behind.

Down into the secret crypt below he took her. The chamber was illuminated by candles that cast dancing shadows on the stone walls. He lay her gently in an ornate double coffin, positioning her with care one last time. His vision blurred as tears threatened to spill out at the thought of an eternity without her laughter to drive away the dark.

So soon...too soon...

A dry, wrecked sob clawed up his throat as he stretched his lean body beside hers inside the casket. He turned to face her, drinking in every beloved feature - the graceful arch of her brow, the gentle slope of her nose. With infinite tenderness, he ran the back of his hand against the line of her jaw, tracing its elegant curve.

He threaded his long, pale fingers into her thinned silver hair, soft strands pooling like mercury in his palm. He cradled the nape of her neck, his thumb caressing the tender skin behind her ear just the way she always loved. Each gesture was etched with reverence and sorrow, communicating wordlessly all the affection and devotion that overflowed from his shattered heart.

In the muted candlelight, she could have been merely sleeping, poised on the cusp of awakening. But her skin was growing colder under his touch with each moment, the last of her warmth fleeing to merge with the eternal night. Soon all that would remain of his beating heart would be a decomposing shell. The anguished realization tore through him anew, and he released a thin, keening cry like a creature skewered through the soul.

At last, Astarion forced his quivering fingers to release her. With agonizing restraint, he gently smoothed back a few errant strands of her pale hair, arranging them flawlessly across the plush satin pillow.

He shifted slowly onto his back beside her. Reaching up with a leaden arm, he grasped the ornately carved lid of the casket. As he gradually pulled the heavy cover down, shadow crept over their forms. Her alabaster features were swallowed up inch by inch in the hungry darkness.

With a muffled thud that reverberated through his entire spirit, the cover closed completely. The chamber became at once a bridal suite and a tomb, its occupants trapped by cruel fate.

Astarion shuddered in the darkness. The familiar confines of a coffin, once a hellish prison, now served as his refuge from the fresh anguish threatening to consume him.

When Cazador had buried him years ago, the crushing isolation and helplessness nearly shattered Astarion’s sanity. But here, cocooned with his lost beloved, the cold casket took on the bittersweet air of a marriage bed on their final night together. He welcomed the isolation, sought solace in it. Here he could muffle the bleeding, gaping wound in his soul with the old, healed over scars of past trauma. By wrapping himself in familiar pain, its sharp sting would numb the fresh, unendurable agony of Amaara’s absence.

In this chamber of death, Astarion found his only chance for even transient peace. Here he could hold the cruelties of time and fate at bay, if only for a few decades of dreamless slumber next to his beloved. Here he could forget, could almost pretend the sweet burden in his arms still drew breath... before mere memory of her touch faded like everything else into the hungry dark.

#You know who you are lol #This did not really happen to my couple #just an exercise #now I can go back to my WIPs

[seroh]

curiosity killed the cat

atsumu, f.reader. angst.

words: 2K

tags: cheating, explicit mentions of sex, brief mention of an alcoholic dad.

notes: this one is a repost from my other blog. i edited a few things, but didn't change much. we're still in the cheaters era, but this time atsumu is the shitty boyfriend.

Ever since you were a child, just old enough that you understood the world around you but not enough to know what to do about it, you had been terrified of being cheated on. The idea of entrusting your heart and soul to someone, doing everything to keep theirs safe, only for them to add yours to a collection you didn't know they had was something that kept you up at night, trembling in deep-rooted anguish.

You blamed your father, as many did when something went wrong in their lives. The man who was meant to protect you, love you and care for you. The man that made you realize, at your short 11 years, that love was nothing but fickle. You still remembered the exact moment when you had this revelation. The date or day of the week you couldn't recall, but it was evening, which meant that your father was drunk out of his mind and yelling around the house about whatever little thing had set him off that day. Like it tended to happen, his yelling was eventually directed towards your mother, wild and unsubstantiated accusations slicing and stabbing her like daggers.

And you remembered thinking, hidden behind a wall and listening to every word, six simple words that shook your view on love: It takes one to know one. A replica of something you had heard your teacher say that very same day, although in a different circumstance. The words came to mind unprompted, and suddenly everything made sense. Why else would he accuse your mother, who was devoted to your home and family, of cheating if it wasn't out of fear of her doing the same things he did? She rarely left the suffocating walls of your house, and when she did it was only ever with her children in tow.

What is a young girl to do with such a revelation?

From that moment and for the rest of your life, it was a weight you carried everywhere you went, to know your father was willing to do that to the mother of his children, to you and your siblings. How could you trust other men wouldn't be the same if the first man of your life had betrayed that trust before it got the chance to be built? If not even having a family could stand in the way of his adultery, why would other men be loyal to one woman? You'd rather die than be like your mother, trapped for years in a relationship with someone who didn't know what being faithful was, till death do you part. Or until the truth hit you, crushed you, with the force of a boulder when you least expected it.

You'd heard horror stories, cautionary tales, about people in years, decades long relationships that seemed perfect in every way. Relationships where they respected each other's privacy with great care, where they were so trusting they would've never thought to breach that trust. Until one day one of them had a moment of weakness, and decided to check what could be so private that needed to be kept hidden from them. They all went in half expecting to find nothing, telling themselves they were being paranoid, only to realize their oh so loving partner had been having an affair for years, sometimes for the entirety of their relationship.

You refused to end up like that.

Instead, you let guilt eat you up every time you had the chance to get your hands on your boyfriend's phone without him realizing it. Each and every time you would hurriedly go through every app, every photo, every call and text you could find. You would sigh relieved when you proved to yourself you had nothing to fear. Then, you would erase the trace and leave the device back in its place.

It was a necessary evil, you believed. Sure, invading his privacy was far from okay, but you had convinced yourself that, at the end of the day, it didn't really matter. What mattered was that you left the phone feeling reassured and at ease. What mattered was that he had nothing to hide. It was a way of telling yourself, "see, there's nothing going on. You're just overthinking." A way to calm your fears. And as long as he didn't find out, and you didn't find anything, everything would be fine. You kept telling yourself that, in the grand scheme of things, if you actually found something incriminating, hiding an affair beat snooping through a phone in the race of bad things. And with that you squashed the guilt of not trusting Atsumu until it was nothing but a whisper.

At some point, going through his phone became a habit, more done out of boredom than actual suspicion or insecurity. So when you stepped out of the shower and out of the bathroom, and Atsumu was still singing under the warm water—he always took extremely long showers—your first instinct was to grab his phone. You got comfortable, made sure the towel on your hair wouldn't fall, and unlocked his phone with your fingerprint.

Almost with apathy, you looked through his photos app, from the images sent to him and by him, to the hidden folder and trash. You snapped a photo of yourself and set it as his background in case he caught you with his phone in your hand, and moved to the next app. There was nothing in his messages, nothing in his calls, nothing on his Instagram app, or anywhere else. As usual, he wasn't hiding anything. You smiled to yourself and let yourself sigh as you got more comfortable in bed.

Before you could lock the phone, your finger hovered over the Google app and a wave of unease crashed into you. You’d never really thought of checking his Google tabs. Without a second to spare, you clicked on it. All air left your lungs as an instagram account, one you didn't recognize, greeted you. Your eyes took in everything all at once: the profile picture, so unmistakably him; the name and last name, so obviously false; the description that displayed his location, age and relationship status—”single.”

As if in a trance, you uncovered every bit of information you could get. The women he followed, the ones he messaged sometimes, the ones he constantly talked to, his reactions to their posts and stories. Absolutely everything. You needed to know it all, craved to find it all. If it was there, you would find it… and there was so much to find. So many women he gave his attention to. Most only went that far, flirty conversations and maybe some pictures exchanged. There were a few, however, that were the last nails in your coffin.

That weekend-long work retreat he told you about? It was actually a trip to Kyoto with another woman. Working overtime every now and then? Actually fucking a plethora of women. In cheap hotels, in their apartments, in god damn parties and events with his colleagues, the ones that knew you and treated you so kindly. His best buddy's birthday party that you weren't allowed to attend because it was men only? Two women. He hooked up with two women there, and then proceeded to talk to them about how hot it had been, how he couldn't wait to put his hands on them again, how each one was the best he ever had. It seemed they didn't know about each other either.

The absolute worst discovery came in the form of his coworker, a manager assistant. Ever so sweet at team events, always so eager to make you feel included. Always so eager to sneak behind your back to suck your boyfriend’s dick and get fucked in your bed. That is, apparently, when they even made it behind closed doors instead of just going at it on his back seat.

You found out you had almost caught them once. In their latest conversation, they made fun of how oblivious you were to the mess in the room, so obviously telling of what had been going on prior to your arrival. You remembered now that Atsumu’s clothes had been thrown around carelessly throughout the room, his shirt waiting outside the bedroom door. His body had felt sticky with sweat when you hugged him, a faint smell of lavender lingering on his skin, on your bedsheets. You hadn’t even noticed anything weird. She had been hiding under your bed as you sat and told your boyfriend about your day before undressing on your way to the bathroom. And while you showered he finished fucking her on the floor before leading her outside, cum leaking on her panties and clothes untidy.

You stared at the screen, unsure of what to do, how to proceed. You had never, not once, thought you'd find something in his phone. Never. 

The sound of the shower cutting off took you out of your trance, and you hurried to close the tab, delete the apps history and connect the phone to his charger. By the time Atsumu walked in the room all dressed and ready for bed, you were combing and drying your hair.

It was hard to smile back at him. His grin no longer excited  the dormant butterflies in your stomach, now it stomped them and tore off their wings, cruel in its every move. How many women had he smiled to like that? It was hard to accept the kiss on your cheek. You trembled under his touch in what he mistook for delight, but was nothing but pure heartbreak. Had he kissed other women that way?

It was even harder to keep the tears at bay, to pretend you weren't falling down a spiral. Part of you thought you were doing a great job at hiding it. The other part thought Atsumu just didn't care. You didn't know which idea was worse.

"Babe, you done?" He mumbled from the bed as he scrolled through his phone. His eyes didn't even look up.

It took you a moment to unplug the hairdryer, too busy looking at the new smile splitting his lips. He was typing. What was he typing? Was he texting someone? Who was it? Were they flirting? Was he asking them the same things he asked you when he was pretending to want to know you better?

You opened your mouth to speak, a question tugging at your tongue. Instead you said a simple "yes." You turned off the light and dragged your feet to the table. Immediately, Atsumu deleted the tab he was on and locked his phone. He opened the blanket for you to jump in and welcomed you with warm arms and a kiss to the forehead. Tears threatened to leave your eyes.

The way your bodies curved into each other felt almost magical. As if that's how your bodies were meant to be, molded up against each other, basking in the shared warmth. His arms around you, legs tangled. Your head on his chest, his heartbeat against your ear. It was where you belonged.

It was also where all of those other women belonged. You weren't special or any different, just more of an idiot.

You found yourself smelling the sheets, looking for her scent and finding nothing but his biting cologne. It occurred to you that might be the reason why he always chose fragrances so strong, to drown out the perfume of his lovers.

With all the strength left in you, you stopped yourself from falling apart and buried yourself deeper in his arms. One last time, just one. You would allow yourself to enjoy your loving relationship for the last time. Once the sun rose and the skies cleared, you would pack your things and leave to never look back, but for the time being you would bask in his arms, delight yourself in the fact that you were in your shared apartment, your shared —and soiled— bed, wearing his clothes.

Tomorrow you could afford to lose it all, tonight you needed Atsumu to hold you tight just one last time.

SEROH 2024

#atsumu angst #haikyuu angst #atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu angst #miya atsumu x reader #hq atsumu

[tragedyslut]

♱ surrender yourself to me ♱

✶ [ a.anderson ] ✶

♡ SUB!ABBYANDERSON X DOM!FEM!READER ♡

🩷 SUMMARY — abby was a devout Christian. liking you was a sin. you two could 'never' be together. dacryphilia, religion play, degrading. creds @atyourmerci since i got the idea of christian!abby from her fic 'repent' its amazing, so go read that 🪽

you had been apart of the wlf for a bit less time than most people. most people had years under their belt, but you hadn't been there that long. there was this girl that caught your eye, Abby Anderson. her muscles, that braid. whats not to love about her? except that she wouldn't look at you. not even for a second. you had tried to befriend her, in hopes to maybe get her under the sheets but you were met with a glare every time.

during a completely normal patrol, you had been wandering and found an abandoned church. you weren't Christian, to be fair, you were the opposite. but still you found yourself wandering inside, to your surprise, and amusement you found none other than abby in there. on her knees, begging for gods mercy. she looked so pitiful doing that, and you loved it. you stepped closer, the years of sneaking around abandoned buildings filled with clickers paying off. you then started hearing some of what she was mumbling about.

" please.. lord forgive me. i have a boyfriend.. im- im devoted to you! i wpuld never have sex with that girl.. y/n- i only looked at her once. ill cleanse my soul of her sins and unholiness... please lord. "

she was repenting, about you. her love for you, or some weird kind of crush. you decided to get your amusement out of this. you leaned down next to her, getting into the same position.

you started praying, or was it praying? more like a chant. you said your love to her, and somebody heard. maybe god, maybe someone else.

you locked eyes with her, smirking as she blushed, and repented even louder, begging. it felt so good too see her beg. once you were done, you stood up, angling over her. " go on, read me a verse of that bible. spill it out that pretty mouth of yours. " you teased, as she shot you a teary eyed glare. " go on darlin', give me your worst. "

you hadn't locked eyes or said a word to each other since that day.

until you were on patrol again. you knew she would be at that damn church again.

you were right.

she was desperately praying, nearly sobbing.

her voice was like liquor. if you'd have heard her praying that desperately, you would've returned quicker.

you appeared behind her.

" come on, surrender yourself to me. no amount of praying is gonna change anything.. or will it? " you teased. her tears were suddenly dry, as she looked up at you pleadingly, awaiting your touch.

" awhh, you want me now huh? " you said, your sultry tone evident as you maneuvered yourself to sit on her lap. she nodded crazily, like a wild animal. " what'll your poor god say about this huh abby? " you mumbled, running your hands down her neck and back.

" i don't.. i don't care what he'll think- i just.. i need you " she mumbled, giving you a pouted look.

you tugged on her braid, pulling her down to the christ monumental in front of the church, the podium staring down at you both in displeasure as you made abby get on her knees, stripping her completely. her perky breasts on display as she stared half lidded at the podium. you slipped off your own clothes, reaching your back and bringing out the dildo you had brought along, just for the occasion.

you began pounding into her from the back, hearing her moan loudly and whisper out prayers under her breath. with each word she uttered, you only got rougher with her. spanking her ass, and pulling on her braid, telling her how much she'd sinned.

eventually, she was in tears. begging her lord for forgiveness as she moaned pathetically. you finally pulled out of her, she was soaked, her cum leaking all over her bare thighs.

" are you gonna repent now hmm? " you said, grabbing her hips and roughly pulling her to sit on your bare lap. you gripped her ass, giggling as you heard her whimper.

" i need.. i need more. " she mumbled, seeming to utterly ashamed, but desperate.

you only chuckled, pushing her onto her back as you spread her for you to see everything. you plunged your sinful fingers inside of her pretty pussy as she moaned, throwing her head back and meeting the eyes of her disappointed god. but at this point, you were basically her god.

she moaned your name as you continued to plunge sin into her, but her sinful acts were the last thing on her mind. the only thing she was possible of thinking about now was you.

she felt you tugging her braid, as she only got louder and more pathetic. her muscles and strength were nothing now.

as she had her second orgasm, she threw her head back, moaning your name loudly.

her eyes were half lidded as she was roughly pulled up by her braid, meeting your eyes.

" you're mine. you aren't the property of gods, your my property. i am your god, you got that hmm? " you whispered seductively.

" yes.. yes.. i promise. im yours. " she moaned out.

#Spotify #ellie tlou #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou #tlou2 #ellie tlou smut #ellie williams smut #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby anderson #abby is scary as fuck #abby being the dom bitch that she is #sub abby #sub abby anderson #abby angst #abby x fem!reader #abby x dom!reader

[002yb]

Besides bottom!Jason and Robin!Jason, what are your favorite jaydick headcanons/tropes/AUs/scenarios? Mine are sparring as foreplay, Bruce POV and/or worried-about Bruce's-reaction-drama, and unconventional soulmate marks (ex: Jason's death and/or resurrection cause the marks to disappear prematurely, come in late, etc.)

Anon's favorite tropes are so lovely and quality, yessss!! As for me, huh. Put on the spot, my mind goes blank. (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄ This isn't a comprehensive list, but they're the things that initially come to mind!

Tropes

Prerelationship!! Specifically when the interest is apparent but Dick and Jason are caught in that will-they-won't-they phase. Where the flirting is about plausible deniability. Where there's no expectation, only butterflies. Playful taunts, cheeky challenges; banter (with sharp tongues, biting wit, etc etc). Where Dick feels giddy and young with a silly pep to his step and Jason bites back smiles, bashful and soft.

Unsaid Romance!!! Where it's all about the longing and the lingering; the almost. This playing into an undercurrent of self-worth issues, of not wanting to ruin each other because Dick/Jason think of themselves as poison. So they keep each other just out of reach although they're both caught in each others' gravity. Wanting, but not taking (because it's all too gentle and neither of them have ever been anything soft). In a similar vein, starcrossed lovers.

Worship Blinds, Devotion Corrupts!! Where Jason overlooks many of Dick's faults (he's always been good about writing off red flags) and Dick, whether intentionally or not, moves his line/boundary for Jason.

Subverted Expectations!! Where Dick is surprised whenever Jason loses that sharp edge of his and lets himself be soft and Jason loses his footing when Dick becomes cruel in his passions.

AUs

WtMBU

Renegade AUs

Mob wifey!Jason AUs

Monstrous!Dick Grayson AUs

Nightwing/Civilian!Jason

Scenarios

Rooftop chases. Where Jason instigates and Dick pursues. Where Dick steals Jason out of the skies and they tumble across roofs until one of them is pinned. And it's intimate; it's electric, but there's no talking, no kiss to break the moment. Just hovering and a smirk before they take off to chase each other again.

Flirting banter over family comms. Where Jason insists its not flirting, Dick plays dumb, and the family is wildly exasperated at the shenanigans.

Roughhousing. Where it's foreplay playfighting or fighting fighting but always ends up with someone pinned and liking it.

Headcanons

Top!Dick, bottom!Jason

Competent!Dick and competent!Jason coexisting in time and space and being at a level where a fight can go either way but they kind of like it when the other wins or surprises them by playing dirty

Dick loves the chase and Jason loves being chased

Alternatively: Dick needs to be challenged sometimes and Jason is both challenging and a challenger

Jason's first crush is Dick Grayson. Said crush persists even after death and Jason is truly exasperated with himself over it.

Out of all the Robins, Dick has always connected most with Jason. Because Jason is the hurt child [that Dick was/is] that Dick shunned, the ugly parts of himself that Dick denies. Just Jason representing vulnerability and freedom that Dick is too scared to take or accept. Jason will never be Dick's soulmate because Jason has always been his twin flame; they're of the same soul

Dick is genuinely shameless; he can't be embarrassed/flustered - Jason tries and ends up embarrassing himself

Something something Dick being more monster than man. Jason being one of the few to see this. It's something he actively encourages, but passively soothes because something something Dick = hope, Jason = humanity.

#dickjay #jaydick

[the-marigold-reception]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do Mordecai writing a love letter confessing his feelings to his love interest. I believe he wouldn’t be as poetic as Rocky, but since he is so into reading and talking with big words I do think it would be a little dramatic letter. Just a paroxysm of everything he may feel.

If you don’t like that idea, how about him as a secret admirer? (As you may have noticed, I am quite a big fan of love letters, lmao). How he would struggle to leave his letters without being seen and the way he would try to get his crush to say anything about it while not looking suspiciously involved.

Thank you very much. Your page is my favourite, so I hope you don’t mind taking one of my ideas.

To Whom It May Concern,

I have admired you for some time now, and I must confess my feelings. Your presence captivates me, and I find myself thinking of you incessantly. I harbor a deep affection for you that cannot remain unspoken any longer.

Yours Truly,

A Secret Admirer

It takes him a while to actually place the letter somewhere you’ll find it

He’s so nervous to be this vulnerable about his emotions

When he finally posts the letter into your letterbox, in the dead of night, fully decked out in black so no one- not even you would be unable to spot him

The next night he’ll come back and see the letter is gone- now he knows the waiting game is afoot

He won’t have to ask you if you’ve received any weird mail because you’ll come straight to him

(He’s very happy that you depend on him for help with simple things)

“Mordecai! I got this letter and I realllllly want to know who it is- can you help me draw up a systematic chart of likely to unlikely?”

The strong urge to tell you it’s him starts there

But he is flattered when you write his name down first out of anyone-

If you don’t figure it out after the first letter, he’ll send you another

To Whom It May Concern

It is with a trembling hand and an eager heart that I pen these words to you. The world around us is a tempest of change and noise, yet in your presence, I find a sanctuary of calm. The bustle of the city, the clamor of the jazz bands, all fade into a distant murmur when I am with you. It is as if time itself pauses, granting us a stolen moment of eternity.

How I wish I could express these feelings openly, but alas, the constraints of our world bind me to the shadows.

Yet, let this letter serve as a beacon of my affection, a silent testimony to the depths of my devotion. Until the day we can walk freely under the sun, I shall remain, faithfully and fervently,

Yours, in silence and in longing.

He’s a bit worried about what your reaction will be when you figure out it’s him

If you figure out it’s him-

You definitely know

You snuck into his office and checked the penmanship, the speech pattern was the same as Mordecai’s and he’d started to get increasingly nervous around you

One day a letter is slid under Mordecai’s office door whilst he’s working

To my Longing Admirer

Your letter found its way to my heart as surely as a sunbeam pierces through the morning mist. Your words, so tender and earnest, have stirred within me a curiosity and a longing I can scarcely describe.

It is with a blend of trepidation and exhilaration that I respond to your heartfelt confession. The sentiments you have shared resonate deeply with my own unspoken dreams and desires. Though the world may impose its boundaries upon us, I find myself yearning to transcend them, if only for a moment.

Might we dare to meet, and allow our hearts the luxury of true connection? If it pleases you, let us rendezvous at the Serendipity Tearoom on the corner of Elm and Rose, this Saturday at three o'clock. There, amidst the soft murmur of whispered secrets and the delicate clink of teacups, we may find solace in each other's company.

I shall be the one with a single gardenia, tucked gently in the folds of my dress. Until then, I remain,

Yours in hopeful anticipation,

An Enchanted Soul

[should I do a Part 2?]

#lackadaisy x reader #lackadaisy mordecai x reader #lackadaisy mordecai #mordecai heller #mordecai heller x reader

[pennyserenade]

snapshot

pairing: sejanus plinth x reader

warnings: smut, mentions of death, depression, angst. hurt/comfort

a/n: this was a very spontaneous drabble and i don’t have much to say about it. it’s a short little thing and i hope you enjoy it <3

sejanus plinth. you’ve never met a lamb so hellbent on the sacrificing of itself. some days you want to ask him why? he makes you a disquieted mess, full of worry, consumed by love. he is audacious, brave, foolishly stubborn. religion is a thing of the past, a concept learned more than a practice, but you understand enough of it to know it when you see it. his bread crumbs and the burning embers of his rage. his myopic beliefs. his warm hands and delicate whispering. he kneels at the alter of people he’d scarcely be able to recognize passing on the street and he says he would die for them. this is a sentence he’s uttered to you. it was a self evident truth.

you don’t ask why. it’d be a fruitless endeavor, a circular fight that would only break your heart. with sejanus its best not to consider all the ways in which he is a ticking time bomb. he is a snapshot and you hold the camera. witty and brilliant. kind. curly hair, doe brown eyes, a mole on his cheek. full lips. best not to remember the way rage fills him. best not to remember the thrown desk, or the tribute named marcus, or the weeks he wasted away from grief and a defeat that reeked of finality. worst of all would to be remember the arena because then you remember: i would die for them. the self evident truth of your self sacrificing lamb.

your camera lens mind focuses, shutters down on this: he is beneath you, bare, full of devotion. you rock into him, draw out a sharp gutural moan that vibrates into your soul. the afterschool special, he jokingly called this. your red school uniform abandoned at the foot of his gaudy bed. his hands on your breasts. his mouth. oh, his mouth. warm and wet and loving. it is hard to imagine in moments like this how angry he can get. hard to imagine that half the time he is a fire pit of sorrow and steely determination and bitter anger. you are full of him, above him, and all he appears to be is wanting, pleased, loving. you pin his curls back from his forehead and grind into him. he can get no deeper and yet you try anyway, because he is sejanus plinth and there are a million ways this can end and only a few are ones you can stand. maybe, you hope against hope, if you fuck him good enough then he will be sated. maybe love will be enough. it’s something he’d like to think. you crush your lips against his and he digs his fingers into your hips.

tomorrow you lose this man to district 12. they will shave his hair and feed off his fury. you know he hasn’t thought about it, not the way he should, but there is coriolanus, all alone, shipped off, and sejanus plinth’s love knows no bounds. he’s so excited about the surprise. he’s going to take him his mother’s cookies. you don’t ask why. you ought to be brilliantly angry with him. you should. explode, your mind pleads, but you rock your hips into his again and your heart soars. you don’t ask because you know why. you know why: because coriolanus snow. because he would die for them. because he is sejanus plinth.

you will remember this boy. your snapshot lover.

#sejanus plinth #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus plinth x you #josh andres rivera #josh andrés rivera #the hunger games #tbosbas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #sejanus plinth smut #sejanus plinth fanfic

[joenotexotic99]

Idk if you're still making this, but I want to let you know that we're waiting for BoB Lovetropes p2. My suggestions: Toye, Eugene, Malarkey, Guarnere, Luz, Sobel. Hope you're doing okay <3

A/n: I've been dealing with some stuff lately and now finally have a little time to catch up on old stuff. I also want to apologize anon I couldn't bring myself to soble. Sorry couldn't do it.

-Warnings: fluff, tiny bit of language, got wayyy to carried away with malarkey’s, oops. Might have to turn that into its own thing, if it's not already. Luz is slightly spicy, nothing crazy but you cant miss it.-

Masterlist

Joe Toye

-grumpy vs sunshine trope. Omggggg, the idea of this has me kicking my feet and giggling. Joe Toye is rough around the edges, tough skin. You on the other hand have always been the positive one, keeping the people around you spirits high. Being an optimist of sorts. Maybe not cheerful but you could definitely make someone's day. Yet behind his grumpy facade, he can't help but notice your unwavering optimism. He wasn't opposed to love; he just never expected to be swept off his feet so quickly by one person. Your personality was anything but the same. Never in a million years did he think he was going to fall in love with a bright and shiny person, which was the exact reason why he loved you so much. You two were like night and day. You were the beacon of light in all the darkness. I feel like Toye would also be super protective over you. Kinda the same vibe as liebgott. But that's for another time. 

“Is that a smile I see on your face toye?” “I'm one lucky bastard you realize that?”

Eugene roe

-office romance/forced proximity. I didn't exactly know what to call this one. Both you and roe are easy company medics. Gene from the start, harbord a crush on you. And mean big time crush. Thinking about you he got butterflies in his stomach. You both spent significant time together. Typically the only times you were separated is when you were attending to fellow paratroopers. Bastogne was a turning point. You were in a jeep headed to the church, your hand and a cloth being the soul thing keeping a man alive. You almost made it before the church burst into flames. When Gene heard what happened he got the first ride possible to bastogne. When he saw you, hand now on a clearly dead man, he took you into his arms. He brought you back to the Adrennes forest. As usual you spent the night in genes fox hole the only difference was you both saw what was right in front of you for the first time and kissed. It wasn't until Austria where he gave you a promise ring where he promised to spend and devote the rest of his life with you.

“you make me the happiest man you know that y/n?”

“Tell me that again at our wedding”

Donald Malarkey 

-friends to lovers? Maybe a sprinkle of enemies to lovers?? I don't know but here me out. So you join the paratroopers as a female, the reason you got in was from connections in the army. Seeing how even if you are the most talented female there is, it's still the 40s here. I wouldn't think that the Toccoa men would flat out bully you, but would more just not believe in you. Probably leave you out of a lot of things. Kind of just pretend you weren't there. But not malarkey. He saw something in you that the rest didn't. Honestly he was shocked to see how they treated you. You were the best paratrooper there was in this company. You stood your ground. You met and exceeded in all categories. Passed each test with flying colors. You also were able to do it with the most incredible smile. As much as you disliked it, he stood up for you. Complimented and congratulated you when you did well. You really liked him. He was cute, kind, and not a douche wad. But sadly, most guys here if they weren't mean, they were trying to get Into your pants. As much as you wouldn't mind that with malarkey, you weren't here for that. One day in Aldbourne England you had enough. You weren't going to get swooned into bed and he had to know it. When you had a spare moment you grabbed him and pulled him aside and told him to stop. He was bewildered that this is how you perceived him. He explained to you that was not his intention. You could hear the sincerity of his voice. He meant it. This was the start of your friendship. You both were like a thing but not? Kinda a situationship. But it wasn't official until Haguenau. The effects of war painted across your faces. In one of the houses you laid in one of the beds, trying for the hundredth time to get some rest to no avail. He came and found you. There was little and a lot to say. Instead he kissed you. The past two years of friendship melted instantly into a lifetime of love. 

“god i've wanted you to do that for a long time”

“What happened to ‘I'm not here for a relationship’?”

“shut the fuck up and kiss me again would ya”

William Guarnere

-Enemies to lovers. Come on, this is so perfect. Guarnere is a natural bully. He bullies everybody all the time, but you? He loves bullying you. He always has an insult special for you up his sleeve. However, that's a lie. He hates it to his core. You are the sweetest person ever. All he wants to do is not bully you. He's somewhere in the middle of liebgott and Speers. He doesn't want to be seen as weak. He has this demnor he feels the need to uphold and that everybody around him expects. Not some ooey gooey man. Even though if he could he'd probably worship you. You were perfect in his eyes. He hates himself more and more but the more he digs himself into this hole the harder it is for him to get out. He finally cracks when someone else makes a particular mean stab at you one day at a bar in holland. He can hate himself all he fucking wants for bullying you. But somebody else is doing it? Hurting you? Not going to happen. He breaks his nose, jaw, maybe a rib or two, black eye and busted lip, all before he could get ripped off this guy. You get wind of this later. Within minutes you're confronting him. Before he shuts you up with a kiss.

“I thought you hated me”

“Hate you? No, For fuckes sake sweetheart, I'm in love with you”

George Luz

-meet cute. You originally met just before you signed up to be paratroopers. And I mean just before. You were getting blood work done to test how fit you were to fight.  As you waited in the lobby to fill out paperwork, you went to reach for your pen. That's when you realized it wasn't there. It just so happens that a very cute guy next to you had an extra with him. You quickly filled the paper and exchanged names and conversations. On the way home you couldn't get him out of your head. So couldn't he. Later when you were assigned to easy company you found the one and only George luz. The same extremely handsome guy at the clinic. He immediately recognized you. How could he not? Your face and laugh had been at the front of his thoughts a lot lately. You tried to keep both of your composure during Toccoa seeing how you didn't want to get into any trouble. But that all fell apart after one weekend with a pass and some alcohol. Kisses were shared, clothes were shed and hands roamed. After that night you made it official. Luz also started writing his vows.

“you know I've never felt this way before”

“What the sex or me? Because If it wasn't the sex let me know so we can go again”

“both luz, but I can't turn that offer down now can I”

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers headcanon #band of brothers x reader #joe toye x reader #eugene roe x reader #Donald Malarkey x reader #george luz x reader

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 14 - A Hundred Months ‘Twas Flowery May

Summary: As Kate navigates Arthur’s recovery, she discovers that true strength lies within her trusted companions, finding relief in their unwavering support during the trials of his healing journey.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

A/N: ~10.6k words. Sorry this chapter took longer than I anticipated. It's more of a filler than anything, but lots of fluff/comfort nonetheless :') (trying out a new layout!)

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

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

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

Nearly three months had slipped by since Kate and Arthur's lives intersected on that fateful day at Emerald Ranch, though to Kate, it felt like an eternity. The days following Arthur's return with her had stretched out endlessly, each moment laden with uncertainty and worry. It seemed as if a hundred months could have passed in that single week alone, as Kate grappled with the ever-present fear that each day could be Arthur's last. Despite the relentless onslaught of challenges and worries, Kate found herself adapting to the rhythm of each new day.

Determined to provide Arthur with the best possible care during his recovery, Kate took to heart the doctor's instructions. She made it her mission to ensure Arthur's comfort, meticulously tending to his wounds and faithfully administering his medication. She gave him the penicillin each day, crushed and mixed with a spoonful of honey. And yet, every day brought its own set of trials, but Kate faced each one with unwavering resolve.

As Arthur battled against the fever that ravaged his body, Kate remained steadfast in her optimism. Though his skin burned hot to the touch and his body trembled with chills, Kate saw the fever not only as a sign of infection but also as a testament to Arthur's fighting spirit. With each passing hour, she held onto the hope that Arthur would prevail in the battle against the illness that threatened to consume him. Only time would reveal the outcome of their struggle—where victory hung in the balance between sickness and survival.

Kate tended to Arthur's needs with resolute care and devotion. She recognized the subtle cues indicating his thirst, gently offering him water-soaked cloths to moisten his parched lips, ensuring he stayed hydrated despite the challenges. When his stomach rebelled, she was quick to react, keeping a bucket nearby and assisting him to sit up, determined to prevent any mishaps like before.

The day following the doctor's departure, Kate took on the task of bathing Arthur herself. Knowing he would be more comfortable in clean skin. With a bucket of warm water and fresh cloths in hand, she ventured into his makeshift room, drawing the canvas flaps closed to provide them with privacy. As she worked, memories flooded her mind—recollections of the night Arthur had confided in her about his body, merely days before he would be tortured. He didn’t have to say it, but she knew he felt ashamed of the way he looked. Though the reasons why were beyond her, his body was perfect in her eyes. 

And yet, on that haunting night when she found him again, she had seen beyond his physical scars. His whole body laid before her, his most vulnerable secrets exposed from the cruel hands of fate. Scars carved so deep she knew they would reach his soul. Kate knew how violating it felt, and she vowed to respect every part of his body with tenderness and acceptance.

Regret weighed heavily on Kate's heart as she took in the sight of him, wishing she had expressed the admiration she felt for him during their intimate encounter. To her, Arthur's form was a testament to his strength, he was a strong man built to withstand the storm. But he was also gentle and soft. It was a canvas of stories waiting to be discovered. His body carried with it the song of his past, and Kate longed to hear it. 

Lost in her thoughts, she entertained fleeting fantasies of exploring his body with affection and adoration. Lips gently brushing over every insecurity. Warm hands wandering over every inch. 

Kate shook her head at the thought, jolting herself back to reality with the pressing tasks at hand. Blushing at her own thoughts, she refocused her attention on caring for Arthur, knowing that there were more immediate concerns demanding her attention. 

Deep down, she cherished the secret longing that stirred within her—a silent promise to honor every aspect of Arthur, body and soul.

Starting with his face, Kate delicately wiped away the layers of sweat and grime, unveiling the sun-kissed skin beneath adorned with a constellation of freckles. As her fingers trailed across his beard, she marveled at its softness, each stroke a tender caress. With gentle, wet fingers, she combed through his hair, untangling knots and brushing away dirt and dried blood, restoring its natural silky luster.

Moving down to his arms and abdomen, she carefully pulled back the sheet to reveal his stomach, noting the dampness of the blanket beneath him from sweat. Making a mental note to replace it, she reached for more cloth. The water, now cold, offered a refreshing contrast against Arthur's fever warm skin. Despite the chill, each touch was infused with tenderness.

Kate hummed a quiet melody, her touch gentle as she traced the cool cloth over Arthur's skin. His face twitched, rousing him from his slumber. Blinking wearily, he uttered her name, his voice a whisper in the dim light.

"I'm right here, honey. Need to sit up?" Kate's voice was soft, friendly. As if they were discussing the simplest of tasks.

Their eyes met, Arthur's still bloodshot but slowly regaining their vibrant blue hue. He shook his head, a silent response to her question.

"Did I wake you?" Kate inquired, her head tilted with concern. Arthur nodded, his weariness evident even in this small gesture. "I'm sorry, hon," Kate offered with a jaded smile.

"S’alright," Arthur breathed, his eyes closing again, reassured by her presence. "Feels good. M'really hot," he mumbled, words heavy with fatigue.

Kate hummed softly, dipping the cloth back into the cold water, letting its refreshing droplets cascade over his overheated skin. Arthur sighed in relief, savoring the cool sensation. "Feels good," he repeated, his voice muffled by exhaustion. "You washin' me?" he asked, words tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

"Yes," Kate replied honestly, her touch tender as she continued her ministrations. "Is that alright?" She was prepared to stop if he was uncomfortable.  

Arthur nodded once more, "S'rotten work, Kate," he murmured, the echoes of past torment still haunting his thoughts. His expression a mixture of gratitude and self-deprecation.

Kate paused, her hand resting on his now-clean cheek, he opened his blue eyes meeting her gaze with unwavering sincerity. "Not to me," she whispered, her words carrying a depth of emotion. "Not if it's you."

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As the days passed, life in the camp gradually resumed its familiar rhythm. Kate, Lenny, and Sadie took turns tending to Arthur, but Kate remained a constant presence by his side, especially during the long, dark hours of night. Only swapping shifts with her trusted companions when she needed to eat or bathe. 

Arthur spent most of his time asleep, rousing only when he needed something. Kate felt immense gratitude for the assistance of Charles and Hosea, especially during the more intimate moments of caregiving. Their help spared Arthur any unnecessary embarrassment, allowing him to retain some semblance of dignity amidst his recovery.

Despite her body's protests, Kate stubbornly refused to leave Arthur's side for a proper rest. Nights were particularly challenging for him, the fever raging through his body like a wildfire, casting his veins in searing, white-hot flames. With just a week's supply of antibiotics remaining, Kate found herself praying fervently for them to be effective, desperately hoping they would be enough to quell the relentless onslaught of infection.

Arthur's evenings were plagued by haunting night terrors and feverish delirium, his mind a battleground of fear and confusion. He would often awaken in a state of panic, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he grappled with the phantoms that tormented his dreams. 

In the quiet of the night, amidst the shadows that danced around them, Kate would find herself stirred awake by the sounds of Arthur's restless slumber. His cries, soft yet troubled, echoed through the stillness of the camp, tugging at her heartstrings like a grim melody. With each silent hiccup, his face contorted in pain, resembling that of a child lost in the throes of a nightmare. It was a sight that weighed heavily upon her, casting a veil of sorrow over her weary soul.

Drawing closer to him, Kate would perch on the edge of his cot, her presence a beacon of relief in the darkness. With tender care, she enveloped his uninjured hand in her own, the warmth of their touch a fragile lifeline amidst the turmoil of his dreams. Her fingers traced soothing patterns through his tousled hair, a gentle caress to ease his troubled mind. In whispered words, she offered him a remedy, weaving a tapestry of reassurance around him like a protective cloak.

In those moments, as she sat vigil beside him, Kate found herself transported back to a distant memory, a bittersweet recollection of her infant daughter Lorena. The late-night awakenings, the cries for comfort that echoed through the still darkness—each moment a testament to the unbreakable bond between a mother and her child. Kate offered him the same unwavering love and protection that had once been bestowed upon her own flesh and blood.

Reflecting on those tender moments of bonding with her newborn daughter, Kate's heart swelled with a mixture of nostalgia and longing. The sleepless nights, the endless feedings, all intertwined with an indescribable sense of purpose and fulfillment. It was a journey marked by both exhaustion and euphoria, a testament to the depths of a mother's love and devotion.

As she gazed upon Arthur's sleeping form, a soft smile graced Kate's lips, her heart swelling with a bittersweet tenderness. The trail of tears that had once stained his cheeks had now dried, replaced by the tranquility of peaceful slumber. With a soft kiss pressed against his forehead, she allowed herself to be enveloped by the comforting embrace of sleep, where memories of her daughter awaited her in the quiet space of her dreams.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As Arthur’s first week of recovery drew to a close, the camp adjusted to his absence, each member picking up his slack with newfound determination. No longer the camp's handyman, Arthur's absence was palpable, highlighting the countless tasks he once effortlessly juggled. Even before his injury, he never knew a moment's rest, always putting the gang's needs above his own.

The afternoon sun bore down on the camp, its intensity softened by rare clouds that offered brief reprieves from the oppressive heat of a July day in Lemoyne. Despite the welcome shade and gentle breeze, the air remained thick with humidity. In Arthur’s tent, Kate sat perched, using a folded newspaper as a makeshift fan to combat the stifling heat. Exhaustion threatened to overtake her, her eyelids growing heavy as she battled to stay awake, the weight of fatigue pressing against her.

Kate sat upright, shifting uncomfortably on the hard wooden chair, as the sound of John's urgent call echoed through the camp, accompanied by the quick patter of footsteps. "Jack! Get over here!" John's voice rang out, his own footsteps hastening toward the tent.

Suddenly, Jack's eager face appeared at the tent entrance, his eyes alight with excitement. "Uncle Arthur!" he exclaimed with a wide grin, poised to step inside before he was swiftly scooped up by someone outside, his protests muffled by the canvas flaps.

In Jack's place, John's weary face appeared, offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry 'bout that," he said, his arms occupied by the squirming boy. Jack wriggled against his father's hip, clutching a book in his small hands. "Put me down! Why can't I see Uncle Arthur?" he demanded with a hint of frustration.

Kate rose from her seat, bridging the distance between them with a reassuring smile. "It's alright. I can keep an eye on him for a bit, John," she offered warmly, her words soft and comforting.

John hesitated, lowering Jack to the ground. Uncertainty etched in the lines of his face as he glanced at Arthur's slumbering form. "Y’sure? I don't want to..." he trailed off, his grip tightening on Jack's hand, “trouble you.” He silently noted the tiredness in her eyes.

With a gentle smile, Kate reassured him, "It's no trouble at all." She crouched down to Jack's level, her eyes sparkling with kindness. "Did you bring Arthur a book?" she asked with genuine interest.

John sighed ponderously, ruffling Jack's hair affectionately before departing. Kate watched him go, a soft smile playing on her lips as she noticed John's growing presence in Jack's life.

"Papa Hosea taught me a lot of new words. I wanted to show Uncle Arthur," Jack piped up excitedly, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.

Kate's smile widened. "That's a wonderful idea, Jack! Why don't you come sit on my lap, and we can read to him together?" she suggested, voice warm with invitation.

Jack nodded eagerly, allowing Kate to lift him into her arms as she settled back into the familiar wooden chair. His gaze shifted to Arthur, a puzzled expression on his face. "How long is he gonna sleep for, Auntie Kate?" he asked with innocent curiosity. 

"I'm not so sure. He'll sleep as long as he needs to, I suppose," Kate replied honestly, gentle yet tinged with uncertainty.

Jack turned his gaze back to Kate with a worried frown. "Is he gonna sleep forever?" His voice trembled with a hint of fear, his young mind grappling with the concept of mortality.

Kate could sense the weight of Jack's question, knowing that he had been exposed to the harsh realities of life at a tender age. She struggled to find the right words to comfort him, to shield him from the harsh truth that lingered in the air.

"Arthur will wake up when his body is ready, Jack," she reassured him, offering a comforting squeeze. "Right now, he just needs all the rest he can get so he can keep up with you once he's feeling better." She playfully tickled his sides, coaxing a bright giggle from the boy as he squirmed in her lap.

After a moment, Jack's expression softened as he revealed his longing. "I miss him," he admitted softly, voice tinged with sadness.

Kate's heart swelled with empathy as she felt the depth of Jack's affection for his uncle. She fondly remembered Arthur's dedication to the boy. Abigail had told her how he stepped into the role of a father figure during John's absence from the gang. The thought of their bond being severed filled her with a profound sense of sorrow.

"I miss him too, Jack," she whispered softly, pressing a kiss atop the boy's head, her touch warm and comforting like that of a mother's embrace. "But I know Arthur would love to hear those big words you've learned." Her smile radiated reassurance, instilling confidence in the young boy.

Jack beamed back at her, his grin revealing a gap where his tooth had recently fallen out. With newfound enthusiasm, he eagerly opened the book, its size seeming comically large in his tiny hands.

"The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn," he announced proudly, each word spoken with growing confidence.

As Jack read in her lap, Kate marveled at his proficiency, surprised by his advanced reading skills at such a tender age. Since the day she joined the gang, her mind recalled memories of Hosea's patient efforts in teaching Jack, a heartwarming display of mentorship and care that would surely be treasured by the boy for years to come. 

Kate entertained the idea that Hosea must have been the one to teach Arthur to read. She pondered this as her gaze drifted to Arthur's journal, a testament to his inner thoughts and reflections. Despite his reserved nature, Arthur was diligent in recording his thoughts, a habit that intrigued Kate endlessly. What tales did he document within those pages? Did he share his dreams or pour out his frustrations? And amidst it all, did he ever write about her? The questions swirled in her mind, a curious blend of wonder and anticipation.

Although Arthur's journal sat tantalizingly close on his bedside table, Kate resisted the urge to pry into his private musings. Instead, she harbored a hope that one day he would willingly share his thoughts with her, trusting her enough to confide in her the words he committed to paper.

Jack nestled comfortably in Kate's lap, his small frame relaxed against her chest, his feet swaying gently. The rhythm of his soft voice, intertwined with the gentle cadence of his breaths, lulled Kate into a serene half-slumber, the cares of the world momentarily forgotten.

Minutes later, her peaceful reverie was shattered by Jack's urgent grip on her arm, Kate jolted awake, her eyes snapping open in alarm. Startled, she sat up abruptly, her heart racing as she followed Jack's pointed finger to Arthur's cot. 

Kate's gaze shifted to Arthur, his discomfort palpable as he shifted restlessly, his brow glistening with sweat, signaling the onset of nausea. With a weary sigh, Kate sprang into action, moving him from her lap. She swiftly lifted Arthur's body while shielding Jack from the distressing scene unfolding before them. With practiced efficiency, she reached for the bucket, ready to offer relief to her ailing friend.

As Arthur lay back on his cot, Kate's gaze shifted to Jack, her heart twisting at the sight before her. Jack stood by the entrance, his book clutched tightly to his chest, his lips pursed and cheeks stained with tears. His big, sad brown eyes met hers, his voice barely a whisper as he choked out his question, "Is... is he going to die?" The words hung heavy in the air, trembling on his tongue.

"Oh, Jack," Kate murmured softly, lowering herself to her knees to meet his gaze at eye level. "Arthur's fighting with all his might. He just needs some time, sweetheart," she reassured him, reaching out to grasp his small hand in hers, her touch warm and steady, enveloping him in comfort. "And a whole lot of love," she added, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Jack nodded somberly, wiping away his tears with a sniffle before darting off without another word. As the tent flaps billowed in his wake, Kate sighed, understanding his fear but determined not to let him dwell too deeply on Arthur's condition.

Kate eased back into her chair, a low groan escaping her lips as she massaged the soreness from her back, her fingers kneading the tension from her shoulders as she rolled her neck. Suddenly, a groggy voice broke the silence, startling her from her trance. "Did I scare the kid?"

Arthur's tired pink eyes met hers, a hint of blue returning with each passing day. Kate offered him a solemn smile. "He'll be alright. You need somethin’?" she asked gently, weariness lacing her words.

Arthur let out a deep sigh, his good hand dragging down his face in a gesture of fatigue. "I feel like I'm losing my mind, Kate," he confessed, his voice raw with honesty. "I don't feel like I'm in control."

Kate's expression softened with understanding as she realized he was speaking about his night terrors. Tainting his once quiet evenings with haunting shadows. "It's just the fever, Arthur. The dreams will fade with time," she reassured him, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

Arthur glanced up at her, his eyes tinged with sadness, and she sensed the weight of his torment mirrored in his gaze. "Seems all I’m good for is makin’ people suffer, and it’s finally caught up to me."

“I don’t think that’s the case Arthur,” she added soothingly, leaning closer to him. “You’re suffering is not a punishment, it’s a second chance.” Her thumb traced gentle patterns against his warm skin. Lulling him back into a blissful slumber. Her sweet words like a sugar cube, disappearing into the heat of a dark cup of tea. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the evening air took on a refreshing chill, carrying the aroma of Pearson’s savory beef stew. Kate’s stomach, stirred by the tantalizing scent, demanded attention, and she finally complied, settling into her chair beside Arthur’s slumbering figure with a steaming bowl cradled in her lap. With each spoonful, the warmth of the hearty stew spread through her body, offering relief amidst the trials of the day.

With dusk settling in, Kate made the decision to open the tent flaps of Arthur’s makeshift shelter, inviting in the cool embrace of the summer night. The once stuffy confines now filled with a gentle breeze, carrying with it the symphony of the wilderness awakening with the ascent of the moon. The chorus of crickets, the rhythmic chirping of cicadas, the haunting calls of owls, and the resonant croaks of bullfrogs formed a comforting backdrop to the solitude of the evening.

Amidst the serene ambiance, Kate discerned the approach of two sets of footsteps, drawing closer to Arthur’s tent with purposeful intent.

"Hey Kate," Bill's familiar, slurred voice cut through the evening calm, accompanied by the shuffling footsteps of Micah behind him. Kate let out a weary sigh, her hopes of enjoying a peaceful meal dashed by their unwelcome intrusion.

"Seems Arthur’s gone and turned himself into a real crybaby," Bill jeered with a drunken swagger, casting a mocking glance at Micah. "Think when she’s done playin’ nursemaid, she’ll wipe my ass if I get shot?" His words dripped with alcohol-infused arrogance, punctuated by a bitter laugh that grated on Kate's nerves.

Kate leaned back in her chair with casual indifference, reaching an idle hand for her pistol that rested on Arthur’s table, “you wanna find out?” She retorted, her voice cool and composed, tinged with a hint of warning.

Micah chuckled at her bold response, while Bill's face flushed with embarrassment, his drunken bravado deflated. "Relax, princess," he muttered gruffly, “was just pokin’ fun.” He retreated back to his seat by the campfire. Micah lingered near the tent, his hands resting casually on his gun belt.

Kate stifled a deep yawn, rubbing her face wearily. Feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her like a heavy blanket. Each movement was a struggle against the fatigue that threatened to overwhelm her. Micah's chuckle grated on her nerves as he closed the distance, casually leaning against the makeshift table that served as one of the walls of Arthur’s tent. He lingered like a pesky mosquito, buzzing around her head. 

"Poor little cowpoke is tired," he remarked with feigned amusement.

Rolling her eyes, Kate brushed off his comment with a sharp retort, "Spare me, Micah. I’m not in the mood for this."

Micah raised his hands in a mock surrender, his smirk still evident. "Just making an observation," he quipped. "Why don’t I take over for a bit? Me and Arthur got some catching up to do anyway."

Kate's response was swift and sharp, her tone laced with defiance, "Over my dead body."

Micah sighed, a moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them as he eyed her with suspicion. "How were you able to find him, anyway?" he asked, curiosity and skepticism coloring his words.

Kate's patience wore thin, her fatigue adding to her irritation. "Dumb luck," she snapped curtly.

Micah huffed, his disdain evident in the tilt of his head. “Sure don’t seem like he got too lucky.”

Kate's gaze turned steely, her eyes flashing with spite. "If only someone had spoken up sooner when he didn't show up after the parley."

Micah shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t call the shots ‘round here, sweetheart,” he replied dismissively, showing no hint of remorse for Arthur’s condition.

“Oh, really?” Kate shifted in her chair, facing Micah directly. “Because it seems to me Dutch has quite the worm in his ear.”

Micah's grin was wolfish, his amusement unsettling. “Care to explain that?” he challenged.

“I don’t buy into your games, Micah,” Kate spat, dripping with contempt. “And Arthur doesn’t either,” she added, gesturing toward the sleeping figure beside them.

Leaning in, Micah loomed over her, his presence imposing. “There’s no game, Kate. Arthur is nothing more than an old dog at Dutch’s heel, just begging for scraps,” he growled. “He’ll do whatever that man asks him to do. You’ll see that soon enough.” With a final tip of his hat, he vanished into the darkness without another word, leaving Kate alone with her thoughts and the quiet of the night.

Kate sighed, feeling burnt out as the weight of exhaustion settled on her shoulders while she observed Arthur's slumbering figure. "Quite the friends you got here," she murmured to him, words tinged with weariness. Yet, her moment of respite was short-lived as the sound of approaching footsteps reached her ears once more. With a groan, she buried her face in her hands, bracing herself for whatever interruption was to come.

Turning her gaze towards the source of the noise, Kate spotted Jack hurrying towards the tent, dragging something bulky and hollow-sounding behind him. Javier trailed close behind, calling after the energetic boy. "Más despacio, hermano!" he urged, his voice filled with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

Furrowing her brow, Kate strained to make out what Jack was hauling in the fading light of dusk. As he reached the entrance, panting heavily, it became clear—he was bringing her Javier's guitar. "Auntie Kate!" Jack called out eagerly, his small frame vibrating with urgency. Kate's heart softened at the sight, touched by the earnestness in the boy's actions. "You have to sing to Uncle Arthur!" he insisted, presenting the heavy wooden instrument to her with small mighty hands gripping its neck.

Kate's chuckle resonated softly in the tent as she cradled the guitar in her lap, its weight a comforting presence against her. Her gaze lifted to Javier, who had followed Jack inside. "Sorry for his antics," she murmured. Apologizing on Jack’s behalf for his uncanny thieving. Her tone tinged with a hint of amusement, "do you mind if I borrow this for a while?"

Javier brushed off her apology with a warm smile, his demeanor relaxed and jovial. "Little hombre insists your voice is the best medicine," he remarked. “How could I argue with that?” A fondness was evident in his tone. Stepping closer, he regarded Kate with a hint of concern, his brows knitting together in a silent question.

Kate's surprise flickered briefly across her features as Javier's hand gently guided her chin upwards. His touch was tender, filled with a quiet concern that spoke volumes. "Ay, cariño," he murmured softly. "Have you been getting any rest?" His eyes searched hers, Kate’s dark circles and tired hollowness not escaping his notice.

A reflexive instinct prompted Kate to pull away slightly, a feeble attempt to shield her exhaustion from Javier's perceptive gaze. "M’fine," she replied, her voice carrying a weary resolve. "Just a little tired, s’nothing I can't handle." Her reassurance was touched with the gravity of her fatigue.

Javier's worried expression softened into one of understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the burdens she bore. With a nod of farewell and a gentle squeeze of her shoulder, he left Kate with her little companion.

Jack had nestled himself into Arthur’s cot, finding security in the space beneath his uncle's uninjured arm. Curled up like a beloved house cat, he nestled snugly against Arthur's side, seeking comfort in his embrace.

Kate's heart swelled at the sight, her lips curving into a tender smile. Jack's innocent affection for his uncle made her feel like she could endure every sleepless night if it meant they would be reunited again.

As she adjusted the guitar strings to her liking, Kate's voice softened to a gentle murmur. "Jack, sweetheart," she began, warm with affection, "where did you get the idea to sing to Arthur?"

A warm virtue radiated from Jack's heartfelt gaze. “Mama told me Uncle Arthur was having nightmares,” he said honestly, “you have to sing him a lullaby so he knows he’s safe.” His wide eyes reflected honey-brown in the low lamp light. Radiating a genuine sincerity. Kate adored how big his young heart was, and she prayed he would retain that kindness long into his adult years.

Her mind wandered to a cherished memory—the night Arthur had kissed her. The warmth of his touch, the tenderness in his eyes. Kate was lost in her emotions as she sang Jack to sleep, and Arthur’s presence was like warm sunshine after rain. Shrouding her in comfort and protection amidst the storming clouds of her loss. She began to notice that Arthur always brought out a tender side in her, one she had long thought vanished with the woes of her past. 

A soft chuckle escaped Kate's lips at Jack's earnestness, her affection for him overflowing. "Arthur is lucky to have you, Jack," she murmured, her voice filled with admiration.

With a quiet hum, Kate's fingers began to dance across the guitar strings, weaving a melody that echoed through the tranquil night air. Each note resonated with the quiet beauty of their makeshift home in Clemens Point, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of their nomadic existence. As she sang, the words flowed effortlessly from her lips, a heartfelt lullaby born from the depths of her soul.

I don't know what steps to take, I do the easy ones until it helps.

Little acts of conversation, I don’t think I really like myself. 

Am I comfortable in this silence, or is it eating me alive? 

Nothin’s ever really quiet when you need distraction to survive. 

It’s part of me, wouldn’t you believe it’s nothing? 

I’m already going under, nothing I can do but sit and wait. 

Are you really having fun, or do you like becoming what you hate?

Am I comfortable in this silence, or am I waiting till it ends?

You were just too stubborn to pretend. 

It’s all you need, to keep the rain from coming. 

I’m good at letting you go, I’m good at letting it get to me. 

I’m good at letting you go. No, you were never the enemy. 

Kate's fingers danced over the guitar strings, the soft melody lingering in the air even after she had stopped playing. Her eyes were fixed on the tender sight before her: Arthur and Jack, their bond unbreakable in the way Arthur's arm had moved to enveloped the small boy, a gesture of pure love and affection. Defying the trials of his torment. 

A heavy sorrow settled over Kate, like a thick fog descending upon her weary soul. The burden of her exhaustion pressed down on her being. Her eyes felt raw and heavy, strained by the lack of rest. It was a relentless force that threatened to overwhelm her at any moment. In the quiet of the tent, emotions swirled within her, a tempest of longing and love that stirred her heart. She fought the urge to surrender her resolve. 

Kate watched Arthur and Jack, a lump forming in her throat as she struggled to contain the torrent of emotions threatening to spill forth. It wasn't just concern for Arthur's well-being that kept her rooted to his side, but a deep-seated devotion that bound her to him in ways she couldn't fully comprehend.

As she looked upon Arthur's sleeping form, a pang of fear gripped her heart. The shadows of her past loomed large in her mind, casting a dark shadow over her hopes for the future. Like some divine conspiracy was once again taking a man of her heart from her grasp. But she had vowed to do better, to not let Arthur meet the same fate. 

Though exhaustion threatened to drag her into the depths of sleep, Kate remained vigilant, her eyes fixed on Arthur's face, her heart remaining unshaken to see him through the storm.

As her emotions threatened to spill from her tired eyes, she sighed and put the guitar down. In a moment of spontaneity, she reached for Arthur’s journal. Flipping to a blank page, she grasped his worn dull pencil and spewed her plaguing thoughts onto its pages: 

Dearest Arthur, 

As I write these words by the light of the moon Jack has curled up by your side, sleeping peacefully. He insisted that I must sing to you, to chase away those bad men that haunt your dreams. How could I refuse? His heart is as vast as the sky above, and he holds you in the highest regard. Oh Arthur, one of life’s greatest tragedies, is that you will always be loved more than you’ll ever know. 

In these quiet moments, I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on my life. I've come to understand the depth of my feelings for you. They have come on gradually from the day we first met and I have been ever so sweet on you since. 

Arthur, there are no words sufficient to convey what you mean to me. And yet, some part of me fears that you will never hear these words from my lips, so I commit them to these pages in the hopes that they'll reach you when you return to this journal.

I yearn to live an honest life, and never be cruel. A quiet life, where I can be good to you. A life filled with family and friends, where we soar like birds in the endless sky. But I fear we may never change, that we may never learn from our past. 

In my fleeting moments of slumber, I dream of a wooden house. Filled with our laughter and love. Where we can sit upon a porch swing, admiring the sunset. As we whisper to each other and say, “it was hard, but we made it.”

As challenging as it has been, to sit by your side in these dark times. My heart aches to see you back in the saddle, riding free across the open plains. To witness once again the spark in your eyes and the warmth of your smile, the very essence of the man I hold so dear.

You are a beautiful soul, Arthur Morgan, and I am blessed beyond measure to have crossed your path. If you'll have me, I will give you the beautiful life you deserve.

With all my love, Kate 

p.s. On my honor, your words contained within have not graced my eyes. They belong to you, and to you alone.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

With a weary sigh, Kate closed the heavy leather journal, the weight of its contents lingering in her thoughts. As she rose from her seat, she stretched her arms wide, her tired muscles protesting the day's strain. "C'mere, little love bug," she whispered softly, lifting Jack's sleeping form and cradling him in her arms.

Like a mouse with gentle steps, she navigated through the camp, the darkness enveloping her like a comforting shroud. Intending to settle Jack into his own bed. She returned to Arthur's tent, only to find Hosea occupying her usual spot.

"Evening, Hosea," Kate greeted, her voice soft with fatigue, though her smile held a flicker of warmth.

Hosea nodded in response, his gaze distant, lost in the recesses of his thoughts. "A fine evening it is," he murmured quietly, his tone tinged with a hint of melancholy.

Leaning against the post of Arthur's tent, Kate studied Hosea's weary demeanor, a pang of concern tugging at her heart. "Something troubling you?" she inquired, her voice laced with genuine curiosity despite her exhaustion.

“I can't shake this feeling that I should have done things differently,” Hosea confessed, his voice tinged with regret. “I raised him to be the way that he is. I’ve come to realize that my teachings were a death sentence.”

Kate took a moment to absorb Hosea's words before responding. “Hosea,” she began softly, “you've been a father to Arthur in ways that go beyond his actions. You gave him guidance when he needed it, and stood by his side. You gave him a home and the tools to navigate an unforgiving world.”

Hosea let out a rueful chuckle, tinged with bitterness. “Taught him how to kill and steal, and look where that got him.” He gestured to Arthur’s sleeping form. 

“Arthur was taken by Colm,” Kate gently reminded him, “protecting what he holds dear. Because he was taught to fight for his family.”

With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of years, Hosea leaned back into the chair, his eyes fixed on his son's still form. The lines etched on his weathered face told stories of countless battles fought, both on the frontier and within himself. After a moment of silence that hung heavy in the air, he spoke up again, his voice tinged with a vulnerability that seldom surfaced.

“Do you mind if I stay with him tonight?” His request was simple, yet carried a profound sincerity that resonated with Kate.

She smiled softly, a tender expression that spoke volumes of her trust and respect for the older man. She would have hesitated to leave Arthur with anyone else, but she knew he was in loving hands with Hosea by his side. With a nod of understanding, she gathered her belongings, preparing to take her leave. But before she could step away, Hosea called out to her once more.

“By the way,” his voice carried across the dimly lit tent, “Abigail is looking for you. I believe she’s over by the chuck wagon.”

As she stepped out into the cool night air, the stars above seemed to twinkle with secrets, whispering tales of uncertainty. What could Abigail possibly need her for at this hour? Perhaps she doesn’t want Jack to be around Arthur too much, or maybe she wants Jack to visit him more to give herself a break. With each step Kate felt the world bearing down on her shoulders, her muscles aching with the weight of her own body. As much as she loved the little filly, she was growing increasingly more drained with each encounter. Kate's heart ached with the weight of her responsibilities, the constant juggling act of tending to Arthur's needs while fulfilling the demands of their community.

As she neared the back of the chuck wagon, the soft murmur of familiar voices reached her ears, weaving a tapestry of comfort and familiarity. With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, she rounded the corner, her eyes alighting on the gathered group before her.

"What's all this?" Kate exclaimed breathlessly, her eyes widening in astonishment. There, amidst the soft glow of lanterns and the gentle summer breeze, stood Abigail, flanked by Sadie, Mary-Beth, Tilly, and even Karen, gathered together in a tight-knit circle. They had fashioned a cozy enclave behind the bustling chuck wagon, cocooned by canvas blankets that offered a sense of sanctuary from the outside world. The space was dimly lit by flickering candles and oil lamps, casting warm shadows that danced across the makeshift walls.

In the center of the little haven sat a large wooden wash barrel, steam rising from its depths like wisps of magic. Nearby, a small table was adorned with a bounty of provisions: fresh fruit, savory meats, and an assortment of cheeses, a feast fit for royalty.

Overwhelmed by the gesture, Kate felt her eyes welling with tears, her heart swelling with gratitude. "I... I don’t—" she stammered, unable to find the words to express her emotions.

Abigail approached her with a gentle smile, her eyes shimmering with warmth and compassion. Taking Kate's trembling hands in hers, she guided her into the cozy sanctuary. "You've been working so hard, Kate," she murmured softly, her voice like a soothing lullaby. "We thought you deserved a proper rest."

As Kate stepped inside, she was enveloped in a hug by Mary-Beth, who stood by her side with a reassuring presence. "We turned the storage wagon into a room for you," Mary-Beth whispered, her voice filled with tenderness. "You can use it for as long as you need."

With a heartfelt smile, Kate allowed herself to be led into the haven of peace and comfort. The weight of the week’s burdens seemed to lift from her shoulders as she stepped into the warm embrace of the steaming bath. Had it not been for the supportive presence of the girls, she feared she might have collapsed to her knees from the overwhelming gesture of kindness.

With tender care, they helped her undress, their movements gentle yet purposeful. They said nothing about her scars, silently embracing every aspect of her being with no questions asked. 

Mary-Beth meticulously washed away the grime of the day from her arms and body, while Tilly worked her nimble fingers through the tangled knots of her hair. Karen, ever the nurturing soul, offered her bits of succulent fruit and creamy cheese, providing nourishment for both body and soul. Meanwhile, Sadie tended to the bath, ensuring that the water remained at the perfect temperature, adding more as it threatened to spill over the sides. Eventually bringing her a fresh clean pair of clothing to change into.

By her side, Abigail sat with a comforting presence, her skilled hands kneading away the tension from Kate's shoulders and palms. The warmth of their collective care enveloped Kate, soothing her weary soul in ways she had never imagined.

As she surrendered to the comforting embrace of the bath and the love of her companions, Kate felt a swell of emotion rising within her. Overwhelmed by a mixture of love and exhaustion, she could no longer contain the flood of tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Hot droplets mingled with the bathwater, forming a poignant symphony of release. Her sniffling hiccups echoing into the night.

They held her close, offering silent comfort and understanding as she allowed herself to be vulnerable in their presence. Their actions showed no judgment for the state she was in. 

Abigail tenderly tucked Kate's head against her chest, her fingers tracing soothing circles on her cheek as if she were comforting a crying child. "It's okay, Kate. We're all here for you," she whispered softly, the warmth of her embrace a comforting balm to her shattered spirit.

Kate sniffled, her voice quivering with emotion as she struggled to articulate her overwhelming grief. "Christ," she choked out between sobs, "I've barely graced his life. I just–I can't–I thought I had more time with him." Her heartache was palpable, the ache of longing for the man she had grown to cherish threatening to consume her.

Karen's voice broke through the heavy tension, her words carrying a mixture of tenderness and determination. "Arthur won't go down without a fight, sweetpea," she reassured Kate, "but you need to look out for yourself too."

From behind her, Tilly's gentle voice joined the chorus of support, her hands working magic as she massaged Kate's scalp with a tender touch. "You can't take on all these burdens by yourself, Kate," she urged softly.

Abigail echoed their sentiments, her voice filled with unwavering solidarity. "Anything you need, you've got us girls. Just say the word, and we'll be there," she promised.

As Kate nodded in silent acknowledgment, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirled within her soul, painting the canvas of her heart with hues of gratitude and awe. In that moment, she realized she was not just an individual navigating the tumultuous seas of life, but a cherished member of a sisterhood, bound together by threads of resilience and unwavering love. 

Each tear that traced its path down her cheek was a testament to the profound impact these women had made on her life, transforming her solitary journey into a tapestry of shared experiences and dreams. With them, she found solace in the embrace of kindred spirits, a sanctuary where her fears were met with understanding and her joys amplified by celebration. They were the pillars of strength that held her aloft, the guiding stars that illuminated her path through the darkest of nights. And in their warm embrace, Kate discovered a sense of belonging, a home within the hearts of her newfound sisters, where she was cherished, accepted, and loved.

Kate had found family once again, and they had become her fortress. 

As Kate whispered amidst the tide of tears, her voice trembled like the flickering candlelight around them. Each word carried the weight of a soul laid bare, grappling with emotions too vast to contain. "Thank you," she confessed softly, her words barely audible above the rustle of water and fabric, "I don't know how to say it. Arthur he– I just... I..." Her voice trailed off into the night, lost in the labyrinth of her thoughts as exhaustion cloaked her in its tender embrace. With each passing moment, she felt herself surrendering to the warmth of their love and care, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of her mind.

Mary-Beth's voice, filled with gentle understanding, saw the depth of her heart. "You love him, Kate," she murmured, her words laden with shared experiences and whispered confidences. Kate's nod was accompanied by a choked sob, her cheeks flushed with the heat of her emotions. Once more, the girls gathered around her, their arms forming a protective cocoon against the harsh realities of their existence. 

"But what kind of woman loves a man she barely knows? I may never know if he even feels the same," Kate lamented, tinged with doubt and longing.

In that moment, the air seemed to shimmer with unspoken truths as the girls exchanged knowing glances. They had witnessed the subtle nuances of Arthur's heart, the tender gestures and lingering gazes that spoke volumes of his affection for Kate. Though shrouded in the shadows of their unfavorable situation, his feelings were as undeniable as the stars that adorned the night sky. All he needed was time, and perhaps a gentle nudge, to unveil the depths of his love for the woman who had captured his heart.

Tilly's soft giggle cut through the heavy air, a beacon of light in the midst of Kate's swirling doubts. "You and Arthur, my oh my. You two are like a match made in heaven," she chimed, her voice dancing with warmth. Drawn from her reverie, she could hear the smile in Tilly's words.

"Really?" Kate's voice trembled with uncertainty, her heart hanging on the edge of Tilly's response. The other girls exchanged cheeky grins, their eyes sparkling with mischief as if they were engaged in the usual camp gossip that takes place during their shared chores.

"If I were none the wiser I’d say your souls were meant to find each other," Karen interjected, her fingers delicately plucking a piece of fruit from the tray Kate had abandoned. 

Abigail, ever the beacon of reassurance, enveloped Kate's shoulders in a comforting embrace. "Love waits for no one, Kate. It has no rhyme or reason, it comes when it comes," she whispered.

As Kate nodded, her vision blurred by tears she couldn't contain, Sadie's strong hands enveloped hers with a tenderness that belied her fierce exterior. Kneeling before her with unwavering sincerity, Sadie met Kate's gaze with an unspoken understanding born of shared loss and unwavering resilience.

"I understand what it's like to lose a husband, Kate," she began softly, her words drawing from the depths of sorrow. "That fear of losing someone you love, it can weigh heavy on your heart for a long time." A silent understanding passing between them. "But you can't let that fear chain you down," she continued, her tone urging Kate to consider her own well-being. "You've got to rise above the waves, put yourself first to stay afloat. Or else you’ll drown in that fear."

As Kate felt the weight of Sadie's words sink in, she was overcome with a sense of gratitude for the support surrounding her. Abigail stepped forward, eyes brimming with admiration. "You're the strongest woman we know, Kate," she said with a warm smile. "But even the strongest need time to rest."

With gentle hands and loving care, the girls helped Kate dress in fresh clothes, their actions speaking volumes. As she settled into the cozy embrace of the transformed wagon, now a sanctuary of comfort, Kate felt a wave of tranquility wash over her.

With a whispered "thank you" to her companions, Kate allowed herself to surrender to the embrace of sleep. In the warmth of their support and the quiet comfort of the unlikely bedroom, she found peace, knowing that she was not alone in her journey. And as she drifted into slumber, she silently hoped that Arthur also felt the love and support of his makeshift family. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate slept through two moons, rising with the dawn of the third day. She felt like a new woman, rejuvenated and ready to tackle the challenges ahead. The girl's kind gesture had filled her with an undeniable surge of gratitude and strength. She knew Arthur was in good hands, and together, they would see him through his recovery.

Rising from her cozy makeshift bedroom in the back of the storage wagon, Kate stretched her limbs with a satisfied groan, feeling every muscle come alive. She stepped out into the fresh morning air, the camp bustling with the start of a new day. The sun cast a golden hue over Clemens Point, and the familiar sounds of morning chatter and clinking pots filled the air.

Making her way to the chuck wagon, she was greeted warmly by Mr. Pearson, who looked up from his preparations and smiled. "Well, look who's finally up and about! You look refreshed, Kate. Like your usual self."

Kate returned the smile, her heart lightened by his words. "Thanks, Pearson. I feel much better."

Pearson wiped his hands on a rag and approached her. "I was thinking of heading into Rhodes later to get some ingredients for a soup. It would be easier on Arthur’s stomach and help him keep down food so he can recover his strength."

Kate nodded appreciatively, touched by his thoughtfulness. "That's a great idea. Thank you. It's good to know everyone cares about his well-being."

As she savored a hearty breakfast, Kate realized it wasn't just the girls who were looking out for Arthur. The entire camp shared the burden of his recovery. Pearson's gesture struck a chord in her, reminding her of the importance of community and the support that surrounded them.

With newfound energy, she decided to make some house calls to the other members, expressing her gratitude and checking in on their needs. She was determined to give back to those who had shown her such kindness.

While the women normally took care of the chores, Kate knew the rest of the gang had stepped up in Arthur’s absence. She finished her meal with a sense of purpose, ready to contribute in any way she could. Rising from her seat at the table, she made her way to greet her mare, Lorena. She had been neglecting her faithful companion, only tending to her in fleeting moments when she could steal away from her duties.

As she neared the hitching station, a tender sight met her eyes. Lorena’s familiar black coat lay next to another horse, Belle, whose brilliant white contrasted sharply with Lorena's midnight sheen. The two horses were comfortably sprawled in the grass together, nuzzling their heads in a display of equine affection. The scene warmed Kate’s heart, momentarily lifting the weight of her worries.

Approaching them, she was suddenly interrupted by a wavering voice calling from beyond the treeline. "I-I wouldn’t get too close to them!" A moment later, Kieran stepped into view, visibly relaxing when he saw her. "Oh, it’s just you."

Kate smiled warmly, appreciating the sight of the skittish young man. "Morning, Kieran," she greeted. Raising a curious eyebrow, she asked, "Is something the matter with them?" referring to his earlier warning.

"N-no! Nothin’s wrong," Kieran stammered, scratching his neck nervously. "It’s just, um—your mare, Lorena. She don’t really like when anyone gets too close to Belle," he explained, his voice trailing off. "She’s become real protective of her since, um, you know." Kieran looked away, a guilty expression crossing his face.

Kate’s eyes softened as she regarded the two horses. Lorena’s protectiveness over Belle mirrored her own feelings toward Arthur.

Kate recalled how Kieran had come to join the gang, once a reluctant member of Colm’s crew. His past affiliation with the O'Driscolls had initially cast a shadow of doubt over him, but over time, he had proved himself loyal and trustworthy. Nodding in understanding, she approached the horses cautiously. Lorena, recognizing her rider, whinnied in excitement, while Belle's ears perked up with curiosity.

“I’ve missed you girls,” Kate cooed, bending down to scratch their snouts affectionately. As she ran her hands over Belle, she noticed the horse's wounds had been carefully stitched and tended to. “You did this?” she asked, turning to look at Kieran, who stood awkwardly nearby.

He nodded, shuffling his feet. “I did the best I could. She’s still a little skittish about getting the saddle on, but she should recover fine.”

Kate beamed at him, her heart swelling with gratitude. Arthur would be immensely thankful for Kieran’s care, she was sure of it. “Thank you, Kieran. Really, you’ve been a huge help. I don’t know how I can repay your kindness.”

Kieran shrugged modestly, brushing off her gratitude as a faint blush colored his cheeks. “No need for that, Kate. Just glad I could do something useful.”

“I’m serious, I would be lost without my girl. Arthur too. I’m really grateful for your help.” Kate urged. 

A wide smile tugged at Kieran's lips as he looked down bashfully. "Oh, s’nothing. I just really love horses. I’d do it for any of ’em," he said, gesturing to where the other horses were idly grazing.

Feeling a new sense of confidence, he joined Kate on the grass, running his hand along Lorena’s strong neck. "You know, I tried singing to her."

Kate chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? How’d that go?" she asked, her grin cheeky.

Kieran raised his brows in amusement. "Oh, she loved it so much she nearly bit my ear off!" He laughed, the sound rich and genuine. Kate couldn't help but join him, their laughter mingling with the gentle rustle of the trees.

As their laughter subsided, Kate found herself reflecting on Kieran's presence in the camp. She had never had much of an opportunity to get to know him, but she was finding him to be quite pleasant. A pang of guilt struck her heart as she recalled how some of the other members, especially the guys, had treated him with suspicion and disdain.

"I took the hint after that," Kieran added, shaking his head with a chuckle.

Kate's smile softened. "Well, sounds like you've done a great job with them, Kieran. They look happy and healthy. Arthur’s gonna be real happy  when he sees how well you’ve taken care of Belle."

Kieran's eyes lit up at her praise. "Thanks, Kate. That means a lot. I just want to be useful, y’know?"

Kate nodded, understanding all too well the desire to prove oneself. "You are useful, Kieran. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. We all have our roles to play, and you’ve found yours."

A moment of comfortable silence passed between them as they groomed the horses. The simple act of brushing the horses' coats brought a sense of normalcy and peace to Kate's heart. The rhythmic motions, the gentle rustling of the leaves, and the occasional snort from Lorena and Belle created a tranquil atmosphere.

Kieran suddenly faced her with a hesitant expression. “Kate, I-I’m sorry for what happened to Arthur,” he squeaked, his voice shaky despite his earnest apology.

Kate’s expression softened as she looked at him. “S’not your fault, Kieran. You got nothing to apologize for.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, s’just… Colm, he’s a nasty man. Scares the piss outta me for sure. I’m terrified he’s gonna find me one day, and Arthur he’s—” Kieran hesitated, searching for the right words. “He’s lucky to be alive. I’m honestly shocked Colm let him live.”

The gravity of his words sank into Kate, a cold shiver running down her spine. She had never met Colm, but after what he did to Arthur, their feud had become personal to her as well. They had tried to take someone from her, and she had vowed long ago to never let anyone make her feel so powerless again.

“I’m sure Colm will get what's coming to him,” she said gravely, her gaze distant and hard.

Kieran scoffed, shaking his head. “That man is like a cockroach. Every time you think he’s dead, he ain’t. And somehow he always comes back with more men. And he will come back.”

A heavy silence enveloped them, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the breathy whine of the horses. Kieran kept his focus trained on the horses, his hands moving methodically through their manes. After a moment, he spoke again, his tone serious and low. “Colm don’t care what Arthur means to you, Kate. If you were wise, you’d keep your head down and out of the crossfire. 'Cause he’ll kill you too and won’t think twice about it.”

Kate swallowed hard, the weight of his warning pressing on her. She understood the danger, but the thought of hiding away while others fought for their lives felt unbearable. Micah’s words hung heavy in her heart ‘Arthur will do whatever Dutch asks of him’. As much as she despised the greasy blue-eyed snake, she couldn’t help but feel his words held some truth. She glanced at Kieran, his face etched with genuine concern, and gave a resolute nod.

“I hear you, Kieran,” she said softly.

Kate bid Kieran farewell with a gentle smile and a grateful nod. She watched him for a moment as he continued to tend to the horses, his quiet dedication a testament to his loyalty. With a sigh, she turned and made her way across the camp towards Dutch’s tent. Each step felt heavy, laden with the weight of the confrontation she knew was coming.

Dutch's tent stood at the heart of the camp, its presence grand and imposing. As she approached, she felt a mixture of determination and apprehension. Dutch had always been a commanding figure, his charisma and vision drawing people to him like moths to a flame. But beneath his charm, Kate sensed a deep responsibility that he sometimes seemed to neglect. She felt that Dutch bore some responsibility for Arthur’s condition, and he had not even so much as glanced in his direction nor asked about his recovery. It made Kate’s blood boil, the facade of brotherhood and family that he so often preached about. But was never a man of his words. 

She stopped outside the entrance, taking a deep breath to steady herself. The flap of the tent was slightly ajar, and she could hear Dutch inside, muttering to himself as he pored over maps and plans. Steeling her nerves, Kate stepped inside. Slightly surprised to see he was sitting alone, Molly must be occupied elsewhere.

“Dutch,” she called softly, her voice firm but respectful. 

Dutch looked up, surprise flickering across his features before he masked it with a charming smile. “Kate, my dear. What brings you here?”

She met his gaze steadily, refusing to be swayed by his easy charm. “I need to talk to you about Arthur.” As frustrated as she was, she dared not to challenge his command.

Dutch’s expression shifted slightly, the charm dimming as he registered the seriousness in her voice. “Arthur? Worry not. I’ve already got a plan to get back at Colm. We’ll show the O’Driscoll’s who’s in charge ‘round here.”

Kate shook her head, frustration bubbling beneath her calm exterior. “You know that’s not what I mean Dutch. He needs to see you, now.” Her words came out with a sharp bite. 

Dutch leaned back in his chair, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. “Kate, you have to understand. Everything I do, I do for the gang. Arthur knows that. He understands the bigger picture.”

Her patience waning, Kate took a step closer, her eyes flashing with determination. “I don’t care about the bigger picture. Arthur is fighting for his life. He needs you by his side. Not plans, not strategies. He needs you.” Kate emphasized her words, straining to get her point across without insulting him. 

A heavy silence filled the tent as Dutch stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. He looked away, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he struggled to maintain his composure.

“Kate, you have to trust that I’m doing what’s best for all of us,” he said, his voice softer but still laced with stubbornness. “I had a plan to get Arthur back–” 

“Enough about the plans!” Kate shouted, her voice echoing through the tent. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Dutch's eyes widened in surprise, but his hard gaze never left hers. At that moment, Kate realized it wasn’t about the money, nor the family Dutch claimed to have created. It was about control.

Dutch always had to be the one in control, dishing out orders, calling all the shots. Kate knew, deep down, there was a part of Dutch that truly cared for Arthur. But his disappearance meant little to nothing to him; he had bigger plans, different goals on his agenda. Now that Arthur was back, Dutch seemed confident he had regained his throne, as if Arthur's torture were nothing but a minor setback in his grand scheme.

The realization made Kate seethe. Dutch treated Arthur like a soldier, cannon fodder in his relentless pursuit of power and influence. His indifference to Arthur’s suffering was a betrayal of the brotherhood he so often preached about.

“Don’t you get it?” Kate's voice was raw with emotion. “You talk about family and loyalty, but where is that now? You say you make all these grand sacrifices for the gang, but where is your sympathy for the sacrifice Arthur made?” Her voice boomed, and though she knew she was losing composure, she couldn't hold back.

Dutch's eyes softened slightly, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Kate, it was a miscalculation. I had no idea that—”

Kate cut him off, stepping closer with an accusatory finger, like a mother scolding a child. “You should count yourself lucky it didn’t cost him his life. He may never use his arm again, did you know that? His ankle was nearly shattered. It’ll be a miracle if he can even ride.”

Her worries and fears bubbled to the surface, and she poured every ounce of frustration onto Dutch, heedless of the consequences. “He ain’t gonna be the same, Dutch. And I’m real worried because you haven't shown a care in the world. Like he’s just some retired workhorse.”

Dutch's gaze hardened again, but he rose from his seat, his posture stiff. “No, no, of course not,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Arthur is... Arthur is more than that.”

Kate's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she continued, her voice softening but losing none of its intensity. “Arthur thinks highly of you, Dutch. He looks up to you, always has. And now he needs you more than ever. He’s lying in that bed, fighting for his life, and he needs to know you’re there for him.”

Dutch swallowed thickly, his expression grave as he nodded silently. “Alright, I'll go to him,” he said, his voice carrying a weight of solemn determination. With a final, meaningful glance at Kate, he bid her farewell, his footsteps heavy as he left the tent.

As Dutch's departure left Kate alone with her frustrations, she couldn't help but feel a weight being lifted from her shoulders. Though uncertainty lingered, she found solace in the knowledge that her words had struck a chord with Dutch. For the first time, she dared to hope that perhaps things could change between them. That Arthur can be the kind of man he wanted to be, despite the changes in himself that lie ahead.

~~~

A/N: My lord, I wrote way too much. That last section with Kieran and Dutch was added last minute because I forgot about the horses and then that reminded me of Dutch and I was like AHH! So much tooth rotting fluff coming up next. Also lots of healing and tender moments. Things between Kate and Arthur are finally beginning to pick up pace. I’m sorry for making y’all wait so long…sometimes I have to remind myself this is a slow burn.

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #ao3 fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x reader #red dead fandom #ao3 #red dead redemption community #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x oc #hurt/comfort #lots of angst #healing #rdr2 community #rdr2 dutch #dutch van der linde #charles smith #orginal character #oc x canon #ao3fic #ao3 link #ao3 writer

[heartfullofleeches]

Need more of THIS please. I. Am b e g g i n g.

[Orion (Demon lord) and Priest Reader for context]

"Priest...."

A crimson pendant hangs before your eyes; chain puppeteer by pale flesh which coos to you so sweetly from the shadows. Mutted wails flicker along its cracks; a cry etched so deeply into memory you could hear them as clear as day. Forgiveness your most sacred virtue; you held no anger nor joy at the fruits of your comrades blasphemy. A fool who sought for might greater than your all power lord's, only to be crushed beneath its heels.

To add more fuel to the fire they've started, the devil would not leave after taking their soul. Just like mankind, he had succumbed to greed and longed to corrupt at least one more of god's soldiers before he returned. A delectable feast despite its ease. One could only imagine his delight when you all up ignored him on your first meeting. His promises of riches and fame did little for you, but your passiveness of his presence did wonders for him.

Stalking you to learn your life desires lead to poor success, but something about your devotion was...charming. He soon wondered what it would be like the subject of your prayers. The one who's glory was your own. To have his name rolled off your tongue as easily and life bearing as a second breath. In an urge to satisfy these thoughts, he offered not to take your soul, but instead a prayer for a single wish of your choice. How deliciously cruel was the smile you gave him that day.

"Know they're still alive. You can saved this damned soul and lead them back to God's house if you give me us one thing."

"Hmm.." You light another candle with the wax held in hand, preparing for service as always. "I know that it is in your nature, but please do not lie to me, demon. Even if they were still living, they've choose their path and I aim unable to provide them anything but a mention in prayer."

Orion scoffs at your words. "It may be a common tactic, but I have never lied to you, Priest. My precious diamond. Their body lies in the hospital, correct? Wasting away after that awful fire, but still breathing. Just say the word and they're free to go."

"May we continue this at a later date? I have to open the doors soon."

The embers of the candles die with a gush of wind. Peeling from the cover of shadows, Orion stalks over to you and advances until your back hits the alter. It is part of what drew him in, but how he tires of this little game you play. Stop worshiping a dead idol and give your love him already. In the face of a force overpowering you in both stature and strength, you merely smile as if greeting an old friend. He pins you in place by slamming his fists into the table, sweeping its contents onto the floor as you fall back against it. More hands appeared from the crater in his spine, locking around your legs and waist.

"Don't think you can ignore me, Priest." He hisses. "I will have what I want. Your mind, your flesh, your affection - all will belong to me. Your Creator is dead. Gone. I am all that will ever remain of their former glory so you. are. mine."

A laugh breaks through the quiet halls of the church. A haunting melody, which rings to the heavens and through the devil's skull. He is unsure whether to kiss you, or shut you up and drag you back to hell. In a complete change of direction, you reach for his hand. Yours doesn't even fit round his wrist, yet he follows your command as you bring it to your lips.

"If that is the case, why are you the one who comes to me? Obsessing over the attention of someone with not even a fraction of your lifespan or power. It's as clear as day that you need me. Not the other way around. You worship me, even if you are unaware. Before anything can truly be accomplished you must accept one thing."

His hand siffens as your lips connect with it, smile played against his skin.

"I am your God."

#Kinda popped off here imo #yandere oc #yandere #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #male yandere #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere drabble #yandere demon x reader #yandere teratophilia #yandere monster #Orion my oc

[elspethdekarios]

Stolen Glances

It's been a little while since I've posted a fic! This is just a little fluff piece about Gale's early longing. Post-Elminster calming the orb, pre-act 2. I've been wanting to write something that takes place in the Mountain Pass camp, since it's probably my favorite place in the whole game.

Gale x Female OC fluff, early game longing

cw: Gale pondering sacrificing himself

The vista of the mountain pass was the most stunning place Gale had seen yet throughout these adventures. Whimsical and awe-inspiring as the glowing landscape of the Underdark was, the glorious valley sprawling around the Rosymorn Monastery ruins had an overwhelming sense of romance and serenity. Even after receiving Elminster's message from Mystra, Gale felt at peace for the first time in over a year. Perhaps it was the orb being quelled, or perhaps it was the view. Realistically, it was a mixture of both, but he couldn’t deny that Elspeth’s company was certainly a factor as well.

With the orb sated for the time being, he felt a little less anxious about flirting with her. She still made him nervous, of course, but it was an exciting nervousness now, like a schoolboy with a crush rather than the liable-to-literally-explode-if-I-let-myself-feel-something-for-her nervousness he was used to. The past couple of days, he let his gaze linger on her a little longer, let his imagination roam a little further than he had dared previously. 

She seemed to glow from within. Perhaps it was the excitement of being able to actually admire her beauty, or perhaps it was the setting they found themselves in. Something about the holiness of this place brought Elspeth’s already-bright light to the surface. The cleric in her stirred at the divinity of the temple ruins, he presumed. She worshipped Corellon, but with the brightness and renewal that seemed to radiate from her, it wouldn't be far-fetched to presume her a cleric of Lathander. Part of him missed being so devoted to a deity. That touch of divinity, metaphorical and physical in his case, became an anchor, a beacon to hold on to when life was turbulent. It was grounding and ethereal at the same time. To earn Mystra’s forgiveness… perhaps his soul could land somewhere among such a feeling if he obeyed her command. It was a thought that gave him a modicum of peace amidst a terrifying prospect.

He often saw Elspeth sitting out by the stream downhill from their tents. Sometimes she was kneeling in prayer, deep in a meditative state aided by their surroundings. Other times, she simply sat by the stream and stared out into the vast landscape, a hand dipped in the water, letting its gentle current flow past her fingertips. Gale couldn't help but admire the way she made time for solitude and reflection. She was quite the extrovert, and after somehow falling into the role of leader, he couldn't imagine the pressure she must feel to always act the part. 

Gale had taken to his own evening reflections in this camp, often sitting on a stone bench nearby reading or watching the birds. He tried not to disturb her, but she had invited him to sit with her once before. They ate apples and he thought about how much he wanted to kiss her. To feel her skin under his palms. To feel her breath against his ear as she whispered his name. But he would be happy just to sit with her, especially here in this beautiful place. 

He'd come bearing food, he decided. He wasn't cooking tonight thanks to their rations of fresh fruit, stale bread, and cheese. He grabbed a small basket and some linens to wrap the food in–who knew what that basket had seen before it was in his possession–and packed enough for the both of them before following the stream downhill. 

Elspeth was facing the late afternoon sun over the enormous valley, the light golden on her skin. She looked over her shoulder as he approached. 

"Hi," she said, her face softening when she saw him. "Do you need something?"

"Not at all. Just thought I'd bring you some dinner before all the best bits get taken."

"Thank you, Gale. That’s very kind," She smiled up at him and patted the ground next to her. "Join me?"

"Of course." He sat down beside her and began untying the linens holding the food.

"You know," she said. "You may be the most thoughtful man I've ever met."

A soft laugh left his lips as an involuntary blush rose in his cheeks. He was suddenly self-conscious about if he was smiling too wide, too eagerly. 

"I mean it," she said as she tore off a piece of bread. "Despite the horrors of our situation, you think of my wellbeing."

"Of course I do," he said, the green of her eyes striking from the setting sun. "You're...." He cleared his throat and turned to the landscape in front of them. "I care about you. You--well, you mean a great deal to me."

There was a moment of silence before she replied.

"You mean a great deal to me, too."

They didn't speak while eating their meager dinner, instead letting the chirping birds and wind in the trees envelop them as if they were meant to be there, a part of the overgrown landscape rooted to the ground. 

"Gale?" El broke the silence as she bit into a strawberry, the juice pooling between her lips, leaving them pink and glistening in the orange sunlight. 

"Hm?" He was trying to look her in the eyes, but her lips and the half eaten strawberry she still held near them were making it terribly difficult. 

"Please don't use the orb."

That did it. Forget the lips. Her eyes, staring straight ahead instead of looking at him, were glassy and sad. Her brow furrowed.  

"I--," he stuttered, unsure of the right thing to say. In truth, he didn't want to do it. But he feared disobeying his goddess once again, and he hoped that sacrificing himself would give his sorry life meaning at the very least. But the look on Elspeth's face gave him pause and another reason to reconsider. She looked pained by the thought. She looked like she cared, truly cared. "I can't make any promises."

El turned her head away from him, but he could see her wiping away a tear with the back of her hand. "She could have helped you," she said, locking eyes with him, her gaze fierce and passionate. "She could have alleviated your pain, all this time. But she didn't, Gale. She chose to let you suffer." 

Her tears were falling freely now, heavy, landing on the grass like morning dewdrops. Gale didn't know what to do, how to comfort her when the only thing that could comfort her was to forsake his goddess. But as he watched the light shimmer in Elspeth's eyes, the stain of pink still on her lips, the way she currently had one hand clutching a handful of grass as if she were ready to rip the earth itself apart--he realized that he would. He would forsake his goddess for her. He would do anything for her. 

"I know devotion," she continued. "Trust me, I do. But she has no right to ask such a thing of you. Gods are forbidden from meddling in mortal affairs. Is taking petty revenge on an ex lover not a mortal affair? Is taking a mortal lover in the first place not meddling?"

Very few people in Gale’s life had left him speechless. Elspeth could now be added to that short list. 

"I don't know what to say, El. It could be the only way to destroy the Absolute for good. I don’t want to do it. But I can't say for certain that I won't." Almost involuntarily, he placed his hand over hers. "No matter what happens, I want you to know how very dear you are to me. You... awoke something in me. Something that's been dormant for quite some time."

"Don't do that," she said, dropping her head. "Please."

He moved his hand away, hurt and embarrassed. His chest felt tight, his face suddenly hot. 

"No, that's not what I meant," El said, grabbing his hand before he could place it back at his side. She held it with both of her own, one gritty with dirt from clawing into the grass. "Don't tell me how much I mean to you if you intend on leaving me."

With the same quickness it dropped into his stomach, his heart soared at the touch of her cool palms pressed against his hand. He was, again, speechless. It had been so long since someone held his hand. Now that he thought about it, Mystra never held hands with him. Was she really an ex lover worth killing himself over? It wasn't just about him, though, he reminded himself. It was about the Absolute. And his sacrifice could save the lives of countless others. 

But what about him? Allowing himself to be selfish for a moment, he imagined a world in which he had a future. Back home, no orb, enjoying tea with his mother and Tara. A partner waiting for him to return home for the day, greeting him with a kiss when he stepped through the front door of their tower. Someone to cook dinner with, to read in front of the fire with, to hold at night as they whispered their deepest desires and fears and to be held in return when he told them his own. He wanted that more than anything. More than Mystra’s forgiveness. 

And, gods willing, he wanted that partner to be Elspeth. 

"Please don't leave me," she whispered, bringing his hand up to her face, the soft skin of her lips brushing against his knuckles. It wasn't so much a kiss as it was a prayer. "I… I think I..." 

She trailed off. Gale reached out his free hand, caressing her shoulder and down her arm, wondering if he was dreaming, when the sound of reckless footsteps began to invade their sweet sanctuary. The footsteps were followed by playful barking and chirping, and in an instant, Scratch and the owlbear cub were bounding down the hill towards them, their game of chase unbothered by the humans sitting on the ground. The owlbear cub ran straight in between Gale and Elspeth, knocking them apart from each other, leaving a few stray feathers in his wake, Scratch right behind him. 

"Awww, look at them! They're friends!" Karlach's voice shouted from behind them as she moved closer to play with the two animals. Soon she was on the ground, being smothered with licks and beak nudges and laughing so loudly it echoed in the valley around them. When she got up, Scratch and the owlbear beckoned her to join their game of chase, and the three of them ran off towards camp. 

Gale and El looked at each other again, the sun almost gone now, the intimacy of the moment gone with it. 

"We should probably get ready for bed," she said, rising to her feet and dusting the grass off of her pants. 

"Yes, I suppose we should" Gale replied, pushing himself up, sore knees protesting as he did. He picked up the basket and linens and walked with El up the hill in the dim twilight. The backs of their hands brushed together as they walked, and he desperately wanted to grab hers, to pull her in towards him, to grip her waist and kiss her and never let go. 

They neared the camp, still obscured by a crumbling wall, and Elspeth stopped. 

"Thank you for having dinner with me," she said, smiling shyly. 

"Thank you for allowing me your company." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the sight of El being shy–a character trait most unusual for her. It was adorable, the way she ducked her head slightly and looked at him through her eyelashes, holding one arm with the other as she swayed slightly on her feet. 

Sunset had come and gone, the mountain now shaded in hues of blue and gray. The chatter of their companions sounded distant even though they weren’t far. Gale didn’t want to be the one to walk away, to end the conversation. He’d stand here all night if she wanted him to. Then, in one swift moment, Elspeth stepped toward him on her tippy toes and kissed him on the cheek. 

Every atom in his body came alive at the touch of her lips. Time was somehow going too fast and had come to a complete halt. She moved to take a step back, and Gale couldn’t resist any longer: he grabbed both sides of her face and pressed his lips to hers with an intensity he hadn’t felt in ages. She kissed him back, her arms wrapping around his shoulders to hold him close. 

As quickly as it happened, it was over.

They stared at each other, hair slightly unkempt and faces flustered. Gale could hear their names in conversations happening behind the stone wall. 

Elspeth backed away with slow steps, not taking her eyes off of him.

“I meant everything,” she said. “Including that.”

Gale could only stare as she disappeared behind the wall, the faint sweetness of strawberry on his lips.

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