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sempersirens · 11 months

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a bird in your teeth, III

masterlist

summary: joel deals with the aftermath of a traumatic experience

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+, mdni, neighbour!joel, age gap: reader is early-mid 20s, joel early 30s. no break-out. reference to past SA, trauma, nightmares, general symptoms of PTSD. eventual smut

a/n: hello lovelies! slightly longer part ahead. i've decided to make the next part the final installment of this mini-series, i wanted to explore some more intimate aspects between joel and reader that didn't quite fit here. i hope you enjoy! <3

word count: 3.5k

The sweet chirping of birdsong felt like Mother Nature was playing a cruel joke on you as you stood on the side of the street, arms hugged tightly around yourself. You felt as though the birds were laughing down at you, cackling at your wretched state, sharing an inside joke at your expense. As dawn drew in, her rosy fingers pulled at the remnants of the night's sky. The beauty of the orange and pink hues was wasted on you. To you, it served as a reminder that even as a new day rolled in, the memories swarming your mind wouldn't fade quite as swiftly.

When Joel's truck came hurtling towards you, all notion of time had faded away. You couldn't tell if seconds, hours, or even days had passed since you had lowered your phone from your face. Fifty dawns and dusks could've gone by for all you cared.

The heat from your pumping heart manifested into a blush that crept up your cheeks, and the consequence of your damsel-in-distress phone call settled in your gut.

Joel was here. You had called him, and he had come.

"What happened?" His expression was stern, hair disheveled, and flannel shirt almost comically misbuttoned. You would've laughed if you could remember how.

He grazed your bloody lip with this thumb.

"Sweetheart, what happened?"

"This was a mistake..." You became aware of his hands now on your arms. "Please, don't touch me."

The words tumbling out of your mouth must've sounded as limp and pathetic as you felt. Joel's eyes softened into confusion, and then concern. You didn't have the energy to pull away, but you couldn't bring yourself to look him in the eye anymore. You feared his gaze would open every locked door inside of you and allow the mess to collapse onto him.

He said your name, softly, removing you from his grip and opening the passenger door.

"Let me take you home."

As you had done all night, you silently obliged. Joel guided you into the truck, his hand hovering over the crown of your head. He closed the door gently and made his way into the driver's seat, starting the ignition in silence. Was he angry? You couldn't work it out. His knuckles were wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel they had turned white.

"Joel, please don't be angry with me."

"I'm not angry. I'm taking you back to my place, gonna get you cleaned up, and then when you're ready..."

"Is Sarah okay?" You interrupted.

"Sound asleep. I gotta take her to school in a coupl'a hours, but I'll come straight back to you."

This wasn't right. You shook your head in soft defiance, staring at your lap where your hands sat, fingers interlocked. As you thought of all the trouble you had caused him, you noticed your thumbnails digging into your hands so sharply that you had drawn blood. You turned your palms shakily onto your bare thighs to hide the fresh droplets.

"Honey, where are your shoes?"

Joel's soft inquiry snapped you out of your trance; you hadn't even realized you'd left those fucking cowboy boots on the bedroom floor in your rush out of the front door.

"I left them... I-I didn't think to..." Your breathing became erratic again, chest heaving with each rise and fall feeling like a weight was crushing into your ribcage.

"Hey, hey hey. Breathe. You're with me. You're safe with me, you know that." He reached across your lap and squeezed your still interlocked hands, filling his lungs with air and then exhaling slowly through his mouth like he was a midwife guiding you through childbirth.

You copied his rhythmic breaths, focusing on the emerging purple colors now littering the sky. It was cruel for the sky above you to be so warm and inviting.

You wished for an English February; for thick layers of ice coating the ground with black ice hidden underneath. You wanted it to be the cold that had caused your muscles to freeze, or the harshness of a dry wind to be clawing down your throat. You wished you could blame the weather for the way your body was reacting.

Of all people, you didn't want Joel to see you as weak. You internally reprimanded yourself for pulling him out of his home, away from his daughter to come and save you. Your body and soul had never taken to relying on others easily. Who had you become? You were supposed to be strong. You moved across the world all by yourself, for god's sake.

"What's goin' on in that head of yours?"

"Everything."

The remainder of the journey was silent.

Joel pulled into his driveway, soon exiting the truck and jogging to your side to help you out.

"Easy, darlin'."

He carried your handbag on one arm and looped the other to support your waist. With his free hand, he unlocked the door and closed it quietly behind him.

"Sarah's not gonna be up for another couple hours, you go make yourself comfortable in my bedroom, I'll bring everything y'need."

You gave him a pathetic nod before traipsing up the stairs you had watched Sarah scurrying up only six hours ago. Despite your years of friendship with the Millers, you had never actually gone into Joel's bedroom. You had snuck a peek or two inside whenever the door was left ajar if you passed on your way to the bathroom, but had never set foot inside.

His bedsheets were haphazardly thrown back, half dangling onto the carpeted floor. The fan on his dresser was still humming, sending ripples through his pillowcases. You were reluctant to make yourself at home as he had instructed, so perched on the edge of his bed eyeing the posters dotted on his walls. His bedroom looked like it hadn't changed since his 20s, reminding you of how young he must've been when he started a new life to bring up Sarah in a home he could call his own.

Joel appeared at the door, shutting it softly behind him. He was balancing a steaming mug and a first aid kit in one hand, and some pillows from the sofa under his other arm. He set the mug down on the nightstand beside his bed. Tears swelled in the corner of your eyes at what you recognized as the Yorkshire Tea he kept stocked in the cupboard, especially for you.

"Want you to sit back and get real comfy, alright?"

"Okay."

You hesitantly lifted your legs to rest on the bed, shuffling backward towards the headboard. Joel set the first aid kit at the foot of the bed and leaned over to place the pillows behind your back.

"That okay?"

You nodded your head without looking directly at him.

Wordlessly, Joel walked around to the other side of the bed, setting himself down with a barely audible groan. He brought the first aid kit into his lap and started sifting through the contents.

"You mind if I take a look at your lip?"

"No. I mean - that's fine."

You parted your lips slightly, Joel's fingers lifting your chin up towards him.

"Washed m'hands, promise."

He pulled your bottom lip down to inspect the wound, cleaning the now-dried blood from your chin. The silence in his bedroom made his touch even more intense. You'd felt his hand on your waist, or accidentally brush past your bare skin now and then, but this... You had never been touched by anybody like this before. His eyebrows were furrowed tightly as he put all of his focus into handling you with care.

You had been with your fair share of guys before; boyfriends, one-night-stands, whatever. But the way you felt under Joel's gaze in this moment, holding your chin between his thumb and index finger, made you feel like nobody had ever truly touched you before. Like you were brand new. It made you want to sob. You had to start regulating your breathing again to prevent your lip from wobbling, shattering your impenetrable exterior.

"M'I hurtin' you?"

Finding courage hidden somewhere deep inside of you, you leveled your gaze with his. This close to his face, you could've sworn you saw his pupils dilate.

"No. It's fine, thank you."

"You're doin' so well, honey. Keep breathin' for me." He moved his thumb to stroke your jaw as he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Joel."

"Don't say that. This ain't your fault."

"How can you say that? You don't even know what happened."

"Don't need to. But, I'd be grateful if you'd be so kind as t'fill me in."

You sucked a breath in and brought your knees up to your chest. The birds outside the window began mocking you with their song again.

"You get in a fight? W'that friend of yours who picked you up earlier?"

Oh god. He really had no clue.

"No, nothing like that."

"Somethin' while you were out? Sweetheart, someone had t'have busted your lip like that?"

"I said no."

"So what, you don't remember? You taken somethin'? You're scarin' me, darlin'."

He was pleading. It was dripping all over his face, this deep despair searching your features for the answers your voice couldn't quite give him.

"No, I do. I mean- I said it, I said no. To a guy. O-one second I was falling asleep and then... he was just there, Joel. He appeared out of nowhere. I thought he had gone home. And I was saying no but he was all over me. He was everywhere."

Hot tears were streaming down your cheeks, a dichotomy of relief and anguish flooding through your veins so intensely that any hope of maintaining a stoic facade had long washed away.

You didn't make a sound as you sobbed. Your entire body jerked with each breath, snot ungraciously dripping onto your upper lip. It didn't matter. Joel wrapped you into him without hesitation, your face nestled against his shoulder. He rocked you in his arms, back and forth, back and forth. Your sobs intensified into his t-shirt, eyes squeezed shut. You could feel the tears clinging onto the material, but all he did was hold you tighter.

"Oh, baby girl. It's okay, I got you. I got you now."

"I'm so sorry, Joel." You choked the words out.

"Don't you dare apologize. You let everythin' go. Give all that hurt t'me. I'll take it for you."

Joel pulled you into his lap, your legs collapsed underneath you. He placed a hand on either side of your face, holding you inches away from his own. He had never seen you like this. It shattered his damn heart. He had to keep blinking to fend off his own tears.

“You did the right thing, callin’ me.”

Every inch of him wanted to go back in time to you lingering in the doorway and ask you to stay the night. Hell, he would've gone back to that first time he saw you and taken you in his arms like a sailor returning home from years at sea. The only reason he'd even had the courage to turn up at your front door, mumbling something about burgers, was because Sarah had caught him peeking at you through the curtains for the first few days of you moving in. If you like her so much, why don't you ask her on a date? She had asked so innocently. But she was right; it was that simple. He fired up the grill before straightening himself up and jogging across the street. A Glenn Campbell record had been echoing through your house, something he found even more endearing when he was struck by that accent of yours.

He wanted to tell you that the reason none of his first dates made it to a second was because none of them were you. He was setting these poor women up to fail; how could they ever compete with you?

But right now, you were here. Safe in his arms. He was going to do everything in his power to bring that light back into your eyes.

An hour or so passed like that. You pressed against his chest, falling in and out of a dreamless sleep, Joel's fingers grazing soothing patterns on your arm.

The sound of Sarah's bedroom door closing jolted you awake.

"Ssh, it's okay. S'just Sarah getting ready t'head out. Gimme a minute to go say good mornin'."

You nodded in response, mustering a small smile.

You felt tiny alone in his bed, the absence of his body leaving you feeling hollow. You pulled the covers up to your chin and drew you knees up to your chest, dreading to think what Joel would tell Sarah. She called me in the middle of the damn night, what was I s'posed to do? Maybe she'll get the hint and leave. Imagined narratives swarmed your mind.

Why was it so hard for you to accept his help?

"Oh my god," you gasped, sitting up. "Daisy."

In your state, you had left her there all alone. Mark seemed like a nice enough guy, but didn't they all?

You reached for your handbag hanging off of Joel's door handle and searched for your phone.

14 missed calls. You tapped your foot against the floor anxiously as the dialing tone sounded.

"Moooornin' Ms. Cocktease. How's ya head?" She chirped, the relief that engulfed you allowed your body to slack back onto the bed.

"I am so glad to hear your voice." You breathed.

"That's romantic. You gonna tell me what had you scurrying off in such a hurry at 3am? Y'left your damn boots behind."

"I was... really worried about missing my 9am. It's with my thesis supervisor."

"Sweetheart, a love you but you gotta learn to relax once in a while. Let off some steam! Unclench your jaw, woman."

"I know, I know. I'll work on it."

"How'd you get home, anyway?"

"Oh, um. I called a cab."

"I feel like you're lyin', and I intend to find out what's goin' on. I swear to god if you're fuckin' that old man I'm not gonna know whether to be proud or-"

"Listen, babe, I'm glad you had a good night. Give me all the gritty details over coffee tomorrow?"

"Oh fine. Enjoy your meeting."

The line disconnected as Joel re-entered the room.

"Hey, sweetheart. I'm gonna drop Sarah to school, but I'll be right back. Need me to pick you anythin' up from your place?"

"No, that's okay. I should get out of your hair-"

"I'll be right back."

He walked over and placed a kiss on the top of your head.

---

Joel couldn't concentrate for the entire drive back to his place. He had to pass the street he had picked you up from hours prior to get to and from Sarah's school. The image of you standing there so broken, now knowing exactly why, filled him with grief for the version of you he knew and adored. He wished he had known there and then what you had endured. He knew how strong and capable you were of looking after yourself, so he had to fight every urge to raid each block of flats along the street to find the guy who had done this to you.

He flexed his knuckles back and forth over the steering wheel, forcing himself to go straight home. Back to you. However you decided to deal with this, whether it be today or in five years' time, he would be behind you.

What he would do to find that pathetic excuse for a man, that boy, and slowly take each finger off that he had dared to touch you with. He would make him hurt in ways he didn't even know he could feel pain.

Joel's mind flicked back to the image of you breaking down in his arms and he sucked a breath in to steady himself. He wished he could take all of your pain away and alter the course of the last six hours to have you waking up in his arms unscathed.

He returned home to find you curled up asleep in his bed sheets. He crept under the cover next to you, about to pull you back into his arms when you started thrashing your arms and legs.

"No, stop!" You murmured, still fast asleep.

"Sweetheart, it's me. Hey, hey, hey. It's me. It's Joel." He spoke, holding your face between his hands to try to coax you out of your nightmare.

"Wake up, darlin'. You gotta wake up. It's me, you're safe."

Your eyes finally widened, consumed with fear and confusion. You searched your surroundings and backed away from Joel's grip, still calculating where you were and what the threat was.

"You're okay. Nothing's gonna hurt you, baby."

"Joel... I'm sorry, I-"

"Stop apologizing, I'm sorry. I didn't mean t'scare you, honey."

You sat in silence for a few minutes, slowing your breathing back down and ridding the sound of blood pumping in your ears.

"Do you mind if I have a bath, please?"

"Anything. I'll run you one now. Sarah has some o'that fancy girl soap if you want?"

You smiled softly.

"Sure, that sounds nice. Thank you, Joel."

Before heading to the bathroom, he placed a small kiss on your forehead, lingering with his lips on your skin for longer than he had before. Your eyes fluttered closed as you listened to his footsteps out of the bedroom.

Part of you was desperate to scrub away Elijah's touch until your skin was raw. But, another part of you didn't want Joel's smell to fade from you. In his arms his scent had consumed you, replacing the smell of your laundry detergent with his.

You squeezed your eyes tightly and shook your head.

Stop this. You're projecting onto him. He's looking out for you out of the kindness of his heart and you're taking advantage of it.

You tried to distract yourself from the fixating on the feeling of Joel's lips against your skin by shedding last night's clothes and replacing them with his dressing gown. Which of course also stunk of him. Great.

"S'ready." He called.

Catching sight of you in his dressing gown, Joel had to remind himself to close his mouth.

"Suits you." He smiled.

The bathwater was obscenely pink, bubbles almost escaping over the side of the tub.

Joel stood uneasily as you smiled at the domesticity of the scene.

"I'll give ya some privacy. Make myself busy downstairs. You just holler if y'need me, alright?"

"Joel, wait. Would you... it's stupid."

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"Would you sit with me? I really don't want to be alone."

Joel’s response came so quickly you didn’t even have time to feel bad for being so forward.

"Of course I will. You get yourself comfortable, I'll wait outside the door."

You discarded his dressing gown onto the floor, sinking into the warm tub. You ran some more hot water, feeling unsatisfied until the water was hot enough to leave your skin red wherever it touched.

"Come in." You called, your torso submerged underneath the bubbles with just your collarbones and toes poking out of the pink waters.

Under any other circumstance, he would've dropped to his knees by the side of the tub and told you that he had never seen someone look so perfect before. Your flushed cheeks and hair bundled behind your head against the tiles made Joel feel like he was staring at an oil painting in a gallery.

He adored you. Fuck it, he was in love with you. From the very beginning.

Joel lowered himself onto the closed toilet seat, arms resting on his knees.

"Temperature okay?" Was all he could muster.

"I added a bit more hot, I hope that's okay."

"You women and your damn hot water." He teased. "S'absolutely fine, honey."

Neither of you spoke for a little while, you rested your head back and soaked in Joel's protective presence.

"Can I ask you somethin'?"

"Of course, Joel."

"Did he..."

"No. It's funny actually, he couldn't get it up." You said dryly.

"But he tried?"

"Yeah, he tried."

"I'll kill him."

Joel's protectiveness overwhelmed you, feeling for the first time in your life that you had someone unconditionally in your corner. You lifted your arms from the water to cover your face in embarrassment, revealing finger-shaped bruises that had formed on both of your upper arms.

"Fuck," he breathed when he caught sight of the way you had been mistreated.

He knelt down beside the bathtub, gently pulling your hands away from your face.

"What can I do, honey?" He searched your face for an answer. "Tell me how to take all this away for you."

"Joel, you've done so much already. More than I could ever ask from you."

"I just wanna fix it."

By nature, Joel was a fixer. He patched up Sarah's knees and elbows after soccer games. He bailed Tommy out of jail more times than he would admit. Hell, he even fixed things for work. It was what he did.

"I want you to take me back there." You exhaled a breath you didn't realize you had been holding. "To the apartment. I need to go back."

"Y'sure that's a good idea?"

"I am. But I need to go in alone. I just want to know you'll be waiting outside for me if I need you."

"Sweetheart, I'll always come when you call."

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #my fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #pedrostories #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #a bird in your teeth #a bird in your teeth fic #breakfastatjoels

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makeitastrength · 1 month

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Do you truly think they will get back together?

I really do, anon! With some other couples my answer wouldn’t be so confident, but Tim and Lucy have proven before that they have what it takes to make it through this.

Let’s start with Tim. Yes, he’s in a really bad place right now. But he’s shown us (and Lucy) over and over again that he’s able and willing to change. Every single time she’s called him out on his behavior, he has eventually accepted responsibility for it, learned from it, and changed it. Already, in the aftermath of this breakup, he’s accepted that he needs help. I fully anticipate that he will reach the point of being able to understand and accept what he’s done and take responsibility for it as well and work to make sure it doesn't happen again.

He’s also earned Lucy’s trust before. At the beginning she didn’t trust him at all - justifiably, given how volatile he was. But as he healed, he became someone she could trust on the job. And eventually outside of the job. She’s seen him change. She knows he’s capable of it. And I think once they’re communicating better and she understands what triggered him to walk away from her, she'll also be able to see that he's putting in the work to ensure he doesn't stay in this place where he might make the same decision again. With that understanding and seeing the changes, she'll be able to begin rebuilding trust.

And let’s not forget (something @timandlucy pointed out to me earlier) that Tim forgave Isabel. She disappeared, stole from him, lied, and cheated, yet Tim was willing to forgive her. He knows what it's like to be in that position. And again, I think once he’s in a better place, he’s going to understand that Lucy now has to do what he once did and that it’s not going to be easy.

Along those lines, let's talk about Lucy. From day one, it's been made clear that empathy is a core piece of who she is. She understands that people make bad decisions when they're in a bad place, but that this doesn't define who they are as a person. She’s understands why people do the things they do. She believes people can change, and she believes in second chances.

And even though right now she doesn't fully understand how deep Tim's issues run, she still knows him. She knows he struggles with his feelings and she knows he carries trauma that he hasn't dealt with. She knows he sometimes makes irrational decisions guided by his heightened emotions. She knows he struggles to ask for help.

But she also knows his heart. She knows he cares deeply. She knows he's willing to do anything for the people he loves (even if it's not actually the right thing to do). Tim is so scared of her finding out what he did and who he is - but the thing he can't see is that she already knows who he is. He says he can't give her what she needs, but again, she knows that's not true. Maybe right now he can't, but he is capable of it and she knows that, too. He just needs help getting to that place.

Is winning her trust back going to be easy? Absolutely not. And I don't want it to be. Lucy has every right to be hurt and angry and protective of her heart. She has every right to set boundaries and demand an adult conversation with him. You can be empathetic without being a pushover.

It's not going to be an easy journey and it's not going to be a quick one. It's gonna take a lot of communication and vulnerability and emotional maturity. But I really truly believe that once they can overcome these issues, they're going to be so much stronger.

(Sorry, that may have been a much longer answer than you were looking for. Long story short, yes. I do.)

#anon ask #asked and answered #chenford #lucy chen #tim bradford

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silverwhittlingknife · 2 years

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In issue # 110 of Nightwing (1996), why did Dick look irritated (and clench his fist) when Tim told him that Bruce considered adoption (which Tim rejected obvs), especially since Tim's dad was killed (and Dick knows that)?

ANON YOU HAVE ASKED ABOUT ONE OF MY FAVORITE ISSUES OF NIGHTWING OF ALL TIME <333

Very short answer: it's the trauma

So the thing is, this is a heartbreaking issue that requires a lot of footnoting, because the emotional undercurrents are BIG and POWERFUL but the dialogue is deliberately understated?? and Dick and Tim are often not saying what they mean?? or just straight-up lying to each other?? and they're TALKING PAST EACH OTHER because

they both suck at communication

they are not even TRYING to communicate their actual problems - like, if Tim straight-up said, "A bunch of people I love are dead and I keep having nightmares about how it's my fault and I'm guilty and miserable and lonely and avoiding Bruce and I came to your city because I was reeling and I missed you and I didn't know what else to do and now I'm scared you're mad at me," that would crack through Dick's determination to keep his distance because Dick's whole thing here is based on the conviction that Tim is fine, but of course Tim doesn't say any of that, and Dick can't read his mind. And Dick's not quite as determined a liar as Tim so Tim is able to figure out a little more of what's going on with Dick vis-a-vis insecurities, but Tim's still completely missing what a colossal mess Dick is right now, and again: this is because he's not a mind-reader and Dick doesn't tell him! And doesn't want to tell him! And doesn't want him to know! So Tim thinks that Dick's maybe acting this way because he's mad at Tim, and he tries to solve the problem from that angle, even though that's not at all what's going on and actually Dick's miserable and traumatized and mad at himself

I love it so much

So the short-ish answer to your question is, Tim's correctly guessed at some of Dick's insecurities here. Dick's not mad that Tim's in the city, but Tim's right that the adoption was a big deal to Dick, and he's right that Dick's a little threatened by the idea of Tim getting adopted too. (This wouldn't normally be the case! But Dick was kinda uneasy about Tim in the early days when his own relationship to Bruce felt very shaky, and right now Dick's feeling like he's lost Bruce again, and when he's insecure about himself he tends to slide into seeing Tim as a rival - both in vigilante terms and in terms of a connection to Bruce.)

And probably the main reason Dick's so stunned - and a bit angry - here is because Bruce didn't tell him, and although this is very different from Bruce not telling him about adopting Jason... it's still jabbing at those old wounds.

BUT THE LONGER ANSWER is important! Dick loves Tim, a lot!! SO MUCH. He watches Tim sadly from a distance and thinks about how much he loves him in this very comic! So why isn't Dick more enthusiastic about the potential adoption? Why is he skulking around in alleys being miserable and self-destructive and avoiding Tim so determinedly that Tim's convinced he's offended Dick somehow? What's going on???

Well, Dick's life has been imploding.

So to really answer your question, we have to back up a bit and get the context of what's going on with Dick and Tim prior to this comic.

I started writing about this and it got way out of hand, so below please find a guide to my four-part manifesto about Nightwing 110 and what's going on and why I think it's great:

Background: Dick + Tim + Trauma Conga Lines

Background: War Games Aftermath

Nightwing 110

Fix-It Fic Ideas

rambling manifesto is below the cut

Background: Dick + Tim + Trauma Conga Lines

Images: a reporter is shot and killed in front of Dick in N 93; a few days later, Darla is shot and killed in front of Tim in R 129; a blood-covered Dick turns from Blockbuster's body in N 93; a blood-covered Tim stares at his father's body in IC 6

Timeline-wise, we're in The Bad Year for Dick and Tim. Dick's life has been FALLING APART. Blockbuster figured out his secret identity and started murdering his entire supporting cast: Blockbuster hired someone to attack Haly's Circus, blew up Dick's entire apartment building, and shot a reporter in front of Dick. In the climactic confrontation, Catalina Flores killed Blockbuster and raped Dick.

More or less simultaneously in War Games, Tim's life has ALSO been falling apart and his supporting cast has been getting gruesomely murdered. In quick succession, Jack figured out Tim's secret and Tim had to quit, Steph got hired and fired as Robin; Steph accidentally started a gang war; Darla got shot and killed in front of Tim during the gang war; Steph got killed by Black Mask; and Jack Drake got killed by Captain Boomerang.

It's a grimdark time in DC comics.

Background: War Games Aftermath

Dick's slowly recovering in the Manor as Bruce recaps recent events to him (Batman 634)

Now, Dick's actually part of War Games - very briefly. A day or two after Blockbuster's death, Bruce calls Dick for help, and Dick comes to Gotham. Dick and Tim briefly interact but Gotham is in flames, they're both freaking out, and they don't really help each other - Tim tries to tell Dick about Darla, and Dick shuts him down (not realizing Darla is actually Tim's friend); Dick has a panic attack in front of Tim and Tim drags him out of danger but gets snappish instead of worried.

AND THEN, midway through the gang war, Dick gets shot in the leg and ends up in a coma for a while. By the time he's recovered enough to wake up and walk around, Steph's dead, Jack's dead, the funerals are over, and Tim - who's avoiding Bruce - has moved to Blüdhaven.

Here's Dick trying to get answers out of Alfred in Nightwing 99 (Alfred and Bruce aren't telling him anything, either because they can't stand to talk about it or because they're worried about impeding his recovery):

Somewhere around here - presumably whenever he first learns about Jack's death? - Dick calls Tim, who doesn't pick up, in IC 7:

In Nightwing 99, it's implied that Dick leaves the Manor almost as soon as he wakes up, after confronting Bruce:

Dick can't bring himself to confess Blockbuster's death, but obliquely admits his own distress: "…Bruce, I'm lost." Bruce wants to solve things by throwing themselves into The Mission in Gotham: "It's just you and me again, Dick. But there's plenty of work to do." As he talks, Dick grabs his crutches and leaves. He confronts Catalina, arrests her, and tries to turn himself in... but Amy doesn't let him. As he's walking out, angry at Amy and at himself, a prisoner offers him a card.

Meanwhile, in the Batcave, Alfred's stunned to discover that Dick's abandoned his costume:

In Nightwing 107, we learn that Dick has ditched everything and apparently joined the mob - or is he undercover? Dick ultimately comes up with justifications for what he's doing, but a lot of what he's doing is punishing himself and hiding from his life. He's in Detroit for a while, but then has to go back to Blüdhaven, where he sees Tim...

...and now we're caught up with Nightwing 110.

Nightwing 110

I haven't had a chance to see Robin in action since the beginning of the gang wars in Gotham. It seems like just yesterday he was an earnest little computer geek too smart for his own good. He's still too smart for his own good and he can still kick butt with a search engine, but now he's a full-fledged superhero, to boot. Wonder if he knows how good he is? Not just at the fighting, but at keeping the whole thing on his terms. That's really hard to do, and Tim - he's been through so much, and weathered it so well.

Dick's been staying mostly in Detroit rather than Blüdhaven for various reasons, but one very important one is that he's been avoiding Tim.

Dick and Tim's relationship always suffers when Dick's self-worth issues get in the way, and this is probably the most dramatic moment AND IT'S SO SAAAAAD *wails*

From very early on, Dick has had a very high opinion of Tim, and - like Bruce's conviction that "you're better than me, Dick" - this is

very heartwarming and an expression of Dick's faith in Tim

very important to Tim, who tries really hard to impress Dick and (like Dick) hangs a lot of his self-worth on being needed and useful

a source of many sweet moments

but also

a source of problems in their relationship, because Dick's high opinion of Tim and low opinion of himself means he consistently underestimates how important he is to Tim, wonders if Tim would be better off without him, and sometimes thinks that keeping his distance is good for Tim so that Dick doesn't bring him down... and meanwhile Tim interprets Dick's distance as disapproval or hostility

When Dick's down on himself, he'll continually compare himself unfavorably to Tim - Tim questions more, Tim's better with Bruce, Tim's got better computer skills, etc. etc.

And that's what's happening here, when Dick watches Tim fight from a distance:

Dick: Still, Timmy played it through nice and clean. Disarmed the perps, protected and avoided the cops, kept any civilians from being shot... God, I love that kid. Too much to let him see me like this.

This isn't a neutral assessment of Tim's skills. This is Dick castigating himself. The implication is: Tim plays it nice and clean, Tim kept civilians from getting shot... unlike me. Elsewhere in this arc, Dick's been convinced that he's "poison."

He can't bear to see Tim because he's certain he'll only bring Tim down.

... There's a problem with his plan, though. Tim's spotted him.

Narrator voice: they were not okay

I LOVE THIS PANEL SO MUCH

Tim spots Dick before he can sneak away, and chases after him. At first he tries to tease light-heartedly - "Look at you! Back on your feet!" - but when Dick looks away grim-faced, Tim sobers and we get a bit more of his actual worries. (Tim will sometimes fake cheerfulness when under stress - both Babs and his friends comment on this in War Games and in Teen Titans.)

Now they catch up. Tim asks Dick if he's okay. (Dick says he is. He's not.) Where he's staying. ("Some people" are the mobster family.) Dick asks Tim how his step-mom is. (Tim says she's okay. She's not. She's had a breakdown.) How school's going. (Tim says school's okay too. Actually, he's dropped out.)

And now at last we've looped back to the panels at the top! Dick tries to retreat, and Tim - convinced that Dick is mad at him, which is really not the case - tries to figure out if Dick is mad at him for coming to Blüdhaven without permission, or about Bruce's offer of adoption. (Tim's self-worth issues mean that Tim's convinced that Dick is mad at him about something, as opposed to the truth, which is that Dick is spiraling and it has nothing to do with Tim.)

Dick (turning away): We - we shouldn't be talking like this. Tim (fake-cheer, acting as if Dick means "we shouldn't be talking with you in costume and me out-of-costume"): Well, go get your gear! Dick: I can't do that. Tim (more serious now): You're not mad I'm, like, in your city or anything? Dick (shocked): NO! No. I'm honored. You have more of a right to be here than I do. Tim: Is it the adoption thing? Dick: The what? Tim: 'Cause I was a little worried about that. That's kinda part of why I said no. I mean, that and the uncle thing. I was just thinking it wasn't really all that long since he officially adopted you, which was kind of a big deal, emotionally or whatever, and to me you're like totally his son and I don't wanna step on that or anything.

Dick (whirling): What are you talking about, Tim? Bruce is going to adopt you? Tim (hands up): No! I mean, he was. But he's not now. I've got this uncle… So I don't need, you know, anything really… from Bruce, or… You, uh. You didn't know. I'm sorry, I figured he would've talked to you about it or something. Dick (turning away, jumping off the balcony): Yeah, right. Fat chance. Tim: Well anyway, it's not gonna happen, so you don't have to worry about it... right?

Dick's unnerved by the adoption offer mostly because it drives home his distance from Bruce - he didn't know Bruce was offering this, and since Dick's been thinking of himself as Estranged from Everyone Forever, it feels like Tim joining Bruce's family - replacing Dick - instead of Tim joining Dick's family. So he reacts badly - EVEN THOUGH!!! AGAIN!!! DICK LOVES TIM A LOT!!!

So Dick emphasizes the distance he's trying to create: tells Tim that whatever he does is up to him and Bruce, not Dick, because Dick's withdrawing from everything. Actually, Tim should forget that he ever knew Dick:

Dick (pulls his hood up, turns away): Look, Timmy, I'm sorry. I don't care what he does. If he can be of help to you, you should take him up on it. I wish I could offer to help you myself, but I can't. I'm not part of this anymore. This whole thing… I'm out. Tim: Yeah, right… Dick: From now on, it'd be better if you forgot you ever knew me. Tim (echoing what Dick said): ...Fat chance.

Tim's hurt by this, and he's been pretty oblivious about what's going on with Dick, but he's not an idiot, and after a moment of hesitation he correctly figures out from this ramble what Dick's not saying, which is that Dick's feeling like he's worthless to Bruce, that Bruce doesn't value him, that he's lost that relationship. So Tim impulsively tries to reassure him that Bruce does need him... but Dick's in a lousy headspace and it doesn't work:

Dick's walking away. Tim chases after him again. Tim: Hey, uh-! Remember how I once told you that Batman needed a Robin? Well, that's still true, but even more than that, he…he needs you. You know, not like every second or whatever, but at the end of the day, he needs to know you're still on his side. It's…important. Dick kicks over a newspaper stand. Dick (glaring): YOU- ! - you have no idea how much of my life I've wasted believing that was true. Dick pulls up his hood again and walks away.

(Side-note: forever wonderful to me that both Dick and Tim use "need" as a synonym for "love." Issues: they have them.)

Fix-It Fic Ideas

I have spent a lot of time thinking about potential fix-it fics for this comic (TRAGICALLY AFAIK NO ONE HAS WRITTEN ANY, FEEL FREE TO BE THE FIRST). An idea that I offer free to a good home:

A bit after Dick leaves, Tim winds up in trouble and gets injured and Dick has to rescue him (how does Dick find out about it? I dunno)

Tim's injured so naturally Dick's gonna take him back to his home with his stepmom and/or uncle

. . . except the uncle is an actor and not a very convincing one; Tim's entire edifice of lies collapses

Dick realizes that Tim is not actually weathering things well

Dick still thinks that he's poison and terrible and awful and (insert self-hating monologue here) BUT Tim living on his own after his dad is murdered is so bad as far as Dick's concerned that clearly SOME kind of intervention is necessary

Tim insists he does not need an intervention

Dick's sense of responsibility and worry over Tim now force him to carve out time from his major project of hate-myself-and-feel-bad to try to look out for Tim

Dick insists that Tim stay with him until his stepmom is better

They share an apartment for a while

They are both still super-super-super traumatized

???

eventual hugs and healing on both sides

profit

Alternate fix-it:

Tim follows Dick back to the Tevis' house like the little stalker he is, and then introduces himself in disguise as Alvin Draper

Dick's furious and frustrated but can't do much about this without screwing up his own disguise

Tim's determined to figure out what's going on with Dick partly for altruistic reasons and partly because he's also running from his own life, but Dick doesn't figure out the second part until way later

Dick's so frustrated with Tim being here when Dick told him to go - plus wrapped up in wondering what Tim knows, and being paranoid about what he might figure out, and hating being observed - that it takes him a while to start wondering questions like, "wait, shouldn't Tim be in school"

Dick and Tim are pretending not to know each other - or pretending to have a hostile relationship, or something - so any real conversations have to be in snatches in secret

Dick tries to bluff/threaten Tim into leaving (for his own good!!) but it doesn't work

Slow crawl toward mutual awareness of trauma which they're both super-self-conscious about - Dick hears Tim crying at night; Tim hears Dick's nightmares or sees another panic attack

At some point it becomes increasingly obvious that they know each other / that their story about their relationship is fake, and when the mobsters confront them, Dick says yeah, he lied, actually Tim's his little brother, and he gives some kind of stylized version of the truth which doubles as an emotional speech to Tim who gets all choked up and hugs him

and it's very touching and emotional because remember Tim HASN'T been adopted so they're NOT brothers and Tim was worried maybe Dick didn't WANT to be brothers but Dick CONSIDERS him a brother so ;_;

??? i don't know what happens next. do they quit the mob? does Dick now explain his mob-infiltration plan to Tim?

meanwhile off-panel Bruce stops Deathstroke from blowing up Blüdhaven, well done Bruce

oh wait or maybe Cass does??

anyway Dick and Tim have hugged so then there's a happy ending

In Conclusion

IN CONCLUSION Dick and Tim should hug more and this comic proves it. Look at them! They both need hugs! They're standing so close to each other! THEY ARE MIRROR IMAGES OF TRAUMA AND BAD COPING MECHANISMS they need each other and they don't know how to say it - they want to help each other and they also don't know how to say it - they don't know how to talk to each other or to anyone else - Dick lashes out and Tim lies and they both isolate themselves and withdraw into depression loneliness even though they could help each other! and would want to help each other! but they won't ask for what they need because they don't think they deserve it and they don't realize how important they are to each other

i just think they're neat. i want to study them like bugs and rattle them around in a jar until all the masks come off and they can actually see each other clearly

#dick grayson #tim drake #dick & tim #long post #i LOVE this comic SO MUCH #the way they echo each other's phrases??#the miscommunication??#the tragedy??#the fact that underneath it all they both still love each other and they're TRYING??#ask tag #i know a lot of this wasn't really about your question anon but thank you for letting me ramble <33

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moeitsu · 29 days

Text

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 13 - Though Mine Beat Faster Far Than Thine (Part 2)

Summary: Arthur’s life is ebbing out like the tide. Kate must work quickly and diligently to reverse the cruel hands of fate. She is aided by the help of an unexpected ally.

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

TW: Blood, Body fluid. Injury recovery.

A/N: Low-key made myself tear up writing this one. ~7k words.

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig

**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

The journey back stretched on endlessly, each passing moment burdened with the weight of exhaustion and despair. Kate's body grew numb with cold, the blood from Arthur's wound staining her clothes, a chilling reminder of their ordeal. Arthur's once-warm body now felt icy against hers, his warm breath the only sign of life as he rested his head on her shoulder, his panting offered a fragile reassurance.

Exhaustion etched lines of stress and fear on Kate's face, her features reflecting the toll of their harrowing journey. Arthur had succumbed to unconsciousness shortly after they set out, leaving Kate to bear the weight of his limp form behind her. With trembling arms, she struggled to keep him upright, her own strength waning with each passing moment.

Lorena, too, felt the strain of their journey, her steady gait faltering under the weight of fatigue. Belle, injured and weary, added to the challenge, requiring constant coaxing to keep moving forward. Each tug on the reins filled Kate with guilt, knowing the mare's fear and exhaustion mirrored her own. But they couldn't afford to stop, not when time was their most precious commodity.

During their frantic journey back to camp, Kate made the decision to flick off the switch of her emotions. She knew that upon their arrival, she needed to confront the situation with a clear conscience. Despite her fear, she understood the gravity of suppressing her emotions and presenting a facade of strength. This was a matter of life and death, and she couldn't afford to let her trivial feelings interfere.

River had instilled in her the necessity of shutting off her emotions long ago, albeit unintentionally. He had warned her that her empathy would only serve to endanger her life, emphasizing the need to remain cold, unforgiving, and fully present in the moment. Following his advice, Kate embraced this mindset wholeheartedly.

As they burst back into camp, Kate's demeanor was that of someone leading a charge in battle. She disregarded any semblance of decorum, screaming for the others to wake up and rallying them to action. Her urgent cries echoed through the night, disregarding any concern for the late hour. With determination, she guided Lorena directly to Arthur's tent, paying no heed to the camp rules about horses in living quarters.

The first to respond to the commotion was Miss Grimshaw and the other women, their tent positioned adjacent to the camp's entrance. The shock on the old woman's face was palpable as she gasped, her hands instinctively flying to cover her mouth at the distressing sight before her.

Kate dismounted Lorena with a determined yet gentle grace, her arms already reaching out to lift Arthur's heavy body. He stirred from his sleep, groaning softly at the sudden movement. In an instant, Hosea and Charles appeared by her side, their faces etched with equal parts concern and fear. Together, they silently maneuvered Arthur to his cot, their actions speaking volumes of their care and solidarity.

As if summoned by the urgency of the situation, a small crowd gathered around the back of Arthur’s wagon. Composed of Tilly, Mary-Beth, and Karen, their nightgowns billowing softly in the night breeze. Fear and horror danced in their eyes, mirroring the turmoil of the moment.

"Is he going to be okay?" Tilly's voice quivered with worry, breaking the tense silence.

"Kate, what the hell happened?" Mary-Beth's question was laced with urgency.

"Jesus, is he even still alive?" Karen's comment hung in the air, heavy with concern.

Kate felt the weight of their questions pressing down on her, but she couldn't afford to be distracted. "Not now girls!" She replied sharply, her tone unintentionally dismissive. She knew they were only expressing their concern for their friend, but she couldn't allow herself to be pulled away from the task at hand. Despite the pang of guilt that stabbed at her heart, she pushed aside her own emotions, focusing solely on Arthur's well-being.

"Miss Grimshaw, I need you to bring me hot water and as much clean cloth as you can find," Kate instructed urgently, her voice carrying the weight of conviction. She turned to Hosea and Charles, her gaze unwavering. "Hosea, gather whatever tools you have for cleaning and stitching wounds. Charles, grab me the strongest alcohol we've got," she dished out her orders swiftly, each word heavy with a sense of importance. Time was slipping through her fingers like sand in an hourglass. "And find me something he can bite down on," she added hastily, her mind racing ahead. The two men nodded without question, already moving into action.

Kate wasted no time, swiftly lighting the few oil lamps beneath Arthur’s makeshift room. Miss Grimshaw returned moments later with a bucket of hot water and wads of fresh cloth. She placed them on the table behind Arthur’s cot, efficiently clearing the space for Kate to begin her work.

A nod of appreciation passed between them as Charles reappeared at her side, a large bottle of whiskey in one hand and a pair of Arthur’s leather suspenders in the other. "I can fetch more from the chuck wagon if you need," he offered, his concern evident in his voice. "The leather will be the most gentle on his teeth," he suggested, his eyes searching hers for approval. Kate accepted the supplies gratefully, taking the suspenders and folding them in on themselves to create a thicker object for Arthur to bite down on.

Arthur stirred, his groans morphing into soft cries as pain flooded his senses in relentless waves. He struggled to open his heavy eyelids, the whites of his eyes still tainted a violent red. "K-Kate... I-I have to w-warn–" he managed, his words fragmented by shallow, forced breaths. Confusion and agony clouded his mind, a lingering aftermath of his torment.

"We're home, honey. You're safe now," Kate reassured him gently, her voice a comforting anchor in the midst of turmoil. With efficiency, she retrieved her hunting knife from her belt, swiftly cutting away the remnants of his union suit. Each movement deliberate yet tender, exposing the rest of his battered form to the humid air of Lemoyne.

Arthur recoiled, a feeble protest escaping his lips. "Ngh–n-no, stop... p-please stop," he pleaded, his voice laced with anguish. Memories of humiliation and shame flooded his mind, unseen hands groping and poking his wounds, violating his most vulnerable spaces.

Undeterred, Kate continued to strip away the blood and filth soaked fabric, revealing his raw, wounded flesh. With a sheet draped over his torso, she shielded him from prying eyes, her touch gentle yet purposeful. "I know, Arthur. I'm sorry. But I have to. I need to see the extent of what they did. These hands won't hurt you, sweetheart," she murmured soothingly, guiding him through each step with care.

As she worked, Kate fought to suppress the flood of memories threatening to overwhelm her. Just a week ago, she had stitched a small wound in his side, marveling at his strength and resilience. Now, under the dim light, she beheld the extent of his suffering, his once robust form marred by bruises and scars. Shuddering at the stark contrast, she longed for the sight of him untouched and whole, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight.

Uncorking the weighty bottle of whiskey, Kate poured a liberal amount over her own soiled hands, tainted with dirt and streaked with his blood. "Arthur," she began softly, angling her head to meet his gaze directly, "we're home now," she reiterated like a sacred chant, "I'm going to take care of you, but I need you to bite down on this hard, okay?" Before he could object, she gently pried open his jaw and slipped the leather between his teeth. "It's going to hurt, but it will be over quickly. I just need to disinfect your wounds."

Hosea returned, clutching a small black box containing lock-picking tools, along with a needle and thread. "I've already sterilized them over a flame. They should be ready for use now," he explained briskly.

"Thank you, Hosea," Kate acknowledged, motioning for him to position himself on her other side. "I need you to hold him down if he starts to move." Hosea nodded in urgency, his hand already resting firmly on Arthur's uninjured shoulder, his gaze lingering on the gaping wound on his other side.

Taking a moment to steady herself, Kate drew a deep breath. Picking up the bottle once more, she held it poised over the wound in Arthur's abdomen. This was the most critical issue; she needed to staunch the bleeding first. "Take a deep breath, Arthur," she instructed, waiting until she saw the rise of his chest before pouring the whiskey over his stomach.

Arthur gasped sharply, his body recoiling at the searing pain coursing through him. Charles swiftly maneuvered to the foot of the cot, securing Arthur's legs to provide stability. Meanwhile, Kate seized a bundle of damp, warm cloth, swiftly commencing the task of cleansing the area surrounding his stab wound, a grisly mix of blood and filth. Biting the leather straps, Arthur let out a muffled groan, his jaw clenched in agony. "Keep breathing, Arthur," Kate coached, her voice steady and reassuring. "You're safe now. We're almost through."

As Kate worked, the sting of whiskey on his wound drew another pained whimper from Arthur, yet she pressed on, discarding soiled cloth as Miss Grimshaw replenished her supply with fresh cotton. Hosea, in his resourcefulness, passed her a pair of tweezers from his lockpicking kit. Beneath the faint glow of the oil lamp, Kate meticulously cleared the wound of debris, extracting dirt and tiny fragments of grass until it gleamed as clean as possible. With a final cleansing douse of alcohol, Hosea deftly threaded a needle, handing it to Kate who skillfully began the task of stitching him closed. Though the wound spanned a mere two inches, its depth hinted at internal damage. Kate silently prayed that her efforts had stemmed the bleeding, if only temporarily.

Approaching Arthur's tent, a new set of footfalls announced Dutch's arrival. "My son..." his voice trailed wearily, concern etched into every syllable. "Is he going to be alright?"

Annoyance flickered within Kate as Dutch finally showed concern, likely stirred by Arthur's cries that had surely pierced the night, rousing the camp from its slumber. They now loomed in the shadows behind Dutch, silent spectators unsure of their place.

Without lifting her gaze from her task, Kate's response was curt. "I'll let you know you when I'm finished," she retorted sharply, her exhaustion seeping into her tone. Her circle was reserved for those who truly showed care for Arthur, those who stood by him, aiding her in his need.

If only Dutch had said something about Arthur’s absence, perhaps this all could have been avoided. She placed a partial responsibility for his tortment on him. Why hadn’t he said something? Did Hosea know Arthur was supposed to meet them? Arthur spoke highly of Dutch, and Kate knew in a way he was like a father to him. Her questions festered in the back of her mind as they remained unanswered.

With each discarded cloth, Kate worked diligently, ensuring the wound was clean enough to be wrapped. Charles and Hosea delicately maneuvered Arthur's body, allowing Kate to envelop his torso completely in the protective layers of cloth, securing it tightly above the injury.

Seated on a chair thoughtfully provided by Miss Grimshaw, Kate afforded Arthur a brief respite from the relentless assault on his body, allowing herself a moment to catch her breath. With gentle care, she reached out, tenderly brushing the sweat-dampened hair from Arthur's forehead, his distress evident in the beads of perspiration and the furrow of pain etched upon his brow.

"You've been incredibly brave, Arthur," she murmured, her touch soothing against his tear-stained cheek. His bloodshot eyes sought hers desperately, finding solace in her presence, as if she alone tethered him to reality, a lifeline amidst the darkness threatening to engulf him once more. With a reassuring tone, she continued, "I'm going to clean your shoulder now, alright? I'll be right here beside you, every step of the way." In that shared gaze, a silent pact formed, an unspoken trust that his life rested in her capable hands. Arthur's response was a subtle nod, a fleeting acknowledgment of their connection.

"Keep breathing deeply," she coached, demonstrating with a slow inhalation, Arthur following suit, never breaking their gaze. "That's it, good. You’re doing great honey," she encouraged, her words a balm to his weary soul, wrapping him in a comforting embrace of reassurance amid his fear and exhaustion.

Once more, she seized the bottle, its pungent aroma of whiskey assaulting his senses before a drop even touched his skin. Arthur clenched his eyes shut, fighting back the flood of memories, anchoring himself in the present. Here, with Kate by his side, he was safe.

As the icy liquid cascaded over his shoulder, a fresh wave of searing pain tore through him, igniting his nerves like flames licking at his flesh. The mingling scent of whiskey and agony turned his stomach, each inhalation a struggle against the bile rising within him. His bite on the leather tightened as he clenched down, saliva pooling at the corner of his mouth. Yet amidst the turmoil, Hosea's reassuring touch pressed against his chest, grounding him. "Deep breaths, son," came his gentle whisper, a reminder to draw in each breath despite the growing discomfort. With effort, Arthur obeyed, each inhalation a battle against the rising tide of pain and unease.

Kate's voice drifted to him once more, a soothing melody in the chaos. "That's it, sweetheart," she murmured, “the worst is almost over,” her hands working diligently on his shoulder, the warmth of wet cloth cleansing away the layers of blood and grime, revealing the rawness beneath. Another pour of alcohol elicited a primal scream from his throat as his back arched in agony, the bullet wound laid bare and vulnerable.

With steady hands, Kate poured whiskey over the set of tweezers, the bullet still stubbornly lodged within. A glimmer of hope flickered in the darkness; perhaps Arthur's left arm would yet see use again.

Through panting breaths and tears, the overwhelming pain threatened to engulf him, each sensation pulling him closer to the precipice of unconsciousness. Kate's voice, a lifeline amidst the tumult, echoed in his mind. "You can let go, Arthur," she whispered, as if sensing his perilous dance with darkness. "I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."

With those words, Arthur surrendered to the bliss of sleep, his weary mind finding solace in its embrace. His eyes fluttered closed, the tension in his jaw releasing as he placed his trust in Kate's capable hands. In her words lay the promise of a future, each syllable a gentle encouragement driving every beat of his heart.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Picture a man. Like a speck out at sea as you gaze upon him from the shore. He’s swimming beyond the breakers, like he’s done this all before. He sees the coming of the swell, and knows it will drag him out a greater length. Far beyond the shallows of the bay. But he knows his strength, he tries to gather it. And he swims on, turning back to shore again. He feels the rising of the wave and knows at once he will not withstand it.

Like that man, Arthur sinks down into the depths. The water burns his lungs, his body aflame as he exerts himself to stay afloat. The darkness engulfs him, a starless night lost at sea. He fears he will drown, but then, her voice returns to him. Ushered down from the sky above him. Like a beacon in the night, a melody that lights the path before him. A distant lighthouse, guiding his willing soul to shore.

Her words flow through him as he swims against the current. All of his loss threatens to pull him under, but all he can think of is her. The light that leads him, and the air that fills his lungs. Command a new life that breathes into him.

Amongst the shadows, he witnessed two figures upon the shore. They gaze upon his struggling form. But he feels no fear, he swims on towards them. Kate's words command his every movement, keep breathing Arthur. All of her goodness is with him now. This woman, who never once asked him about the wrongs he committed. So persistent in her devotion.

He was housed by her warmth; transformed, reborn. Like a bird he flew to her now, swimming against a sea of fire. The blinding light of her voice shown upon the figures in the sand. Arthur could see a large shadow, next to a much smaller one. They held out their hands, frozen like angels beneath her radiance.

Their spirits reached for him, unfazed by the darkness of his heart. The waves leapt and violently crashed at their feet. Arthur could feel their love, though mere aberrations, their hands were warm and strong. Pulling him swiftly back to land.

They laid him down soft and sweet, in her low lit light beyond them he could finally see the features of a man and a young girl. He blinked, realization dawned that a mere child had rescued him. Though their faces remained unrecognizable.

The man reached down and helped him to stand, keeping a steady arm on his back. The young girl looked up at him with a familiar warmth in her smile, she took her small hand in his.

“My momma is gonna take real good care of you Arthur.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate toiled tirelessly through the night and into the early embrace of dawn, the gentle symphony of birdsong heralding the arrival of a new day even before the first rays of sunlight graced Clemens Point. Sometime amidst the evening, Miss Grimshaw had taken it upon herself to gather extra canvas cloth, draping them around Arthur's makeshift abode, providing a semblance of privacy to his recovery

After extracting the bullet from his shoulder, Kate meticulously tended to the wound, carefully wrapping it in cloth to secure it tightly. Already, signs of infection were beginning to manifest, but she remained hopeful that with diligent cleaning, she could impede the progress of bacteria before sepsis set in.

As the night wore on, Kate turned her attention to Arthur's other injuries, dismissing Charles and Hosea to their rest. Though they hesitated to leave her side, she reassured them with a determined nod. Rest was a luxury she couldn't afford until she had assessed the full extent of Arthur's injuries, strategizing for his slow recovery. His life hung precariously in the balance, and Kate was resolute in her commitment to remain by his side, in his hour of need.

With steady hands, Kate fashioned a splint for the broken fingers of Arthur's injured left arm, the paleness of his skin betraying the severity of the damage. Despite the faint pulse she detected, she couldn't shake the fear that his arm might be lost if the sensation in his hand failed to return entirely. The bullet, though mercifully, hadn't shattered his shoulder completely, which still offered a flicker of hope.

Turning her attention to his feet, Kate's heart sank at the sight of the swelling and the telltale blackness of his toes. Lacerations from shackles bruised his skin. The harrowing signs of prolonged suspension and the loss of circulation. She dared to pray that with time, the swelling would subside, though the realization of how long he had been hanging upside down twisted her stomach.

The bullet wound in his ankle presented its own challenge, having narrowly missed the bone yet tearing through muscle. It spared him the ordeal of shattered limb, but promised a long road to recovery, rendering walking a daunting task.

After cleansing his body with the last remnants of cloth, Kate reached for a salve crafted from sage, honey, and pine. With gentle strokes, she massaged the soothing balm into the myriad of cuts and burns that adorned his skin, paying particular attention to the rope burns on his wrists and the torn flesh around his ankles. It was a homemade remedy passed down by River, renowned as a 'Cure-All' within their tribe for its effectiveness in treating various skin injuries.

Satisfied with her ministrations, Kate settled back in her chair, her own needs forgotten as she watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Arthur's chest. Her eyes, heavy with dark circles, never left him. Slowly, exhaustion enveloped her. Attempting to blink back the darkness, she succumbed to its embrace, her head lolling as she drifted into a dreamless slumber.

Mere hours later, the soft glow of early morning seeped through the cracks of the small room, casting a gentle light upon the stillness within. The usual hustle and bustle of the camp was conspicuously absent, the tension of the previous night lingering in the air. Kate stirred from her sleep, roused by the faint sound of Arthur's muffled cough.

Blinking away the heaviness of fatigue, Kate's body protested against the soreness and hunger that gnawed at her. Arthur, writhing on the cot in discomfort, sought to sit up, his face twisted with pain. "Easy, Arthur, you're alright," she murmured wearily, her voice a tired yet comforting presence as she reached over to ease him back onto the cot. Knowing his agony must be unbearable, she thought to brew him an elixir, one of the remedies River had taught her, to alleviate some of his pain.

With sudden force, he pushed against her. “Mmf…m-ove,” his groans muffled yet urgent. Confusion furrowed Kate's brow as Arthur's movements grew more frantic, his right arm struggling to lift his heavy frame from the bed. Before he could tumble to the floor, Kate swiftly caught his head in the crook of her elbow.

"Arthur—" she began, her voice tinged with concern, her hands moving to guide him back onto the bed to prevent any further harm.

But Arthur's breathing escalated into dry heaves, his grip on her arm tightening as he pleaded, "Kate... m’move!" His words were strained, pushed out with desperate force. Before she could react, his head jerked forward, a guttural whine escaping his throat as warmth spilled over her arm, coating her lap and legs in sticky heat.

A chill washed over Kate as she looked down, her heart freezing at the sight of dark red blood mingling with the acidic contents of Arthur's stomach, forming gruesome clots. Her efforts had not been enough; he was bleeding internally, and there was nothing she could do.

Kate's breaths quickened, shallow and panicked, as she held him close. Arthur's body trembled with violent shudders, tears and bloody drool mingling as they cascaded down his chin. "M’sorry…m’so-sorry Kate," he mumbled, voice muffled against her arms. As he hid his face in humiliation.

Frozen with fear, Kate's arms trembled as she clung to him, a silent witness to the cruel fate that now enveloped them both.

Like the steady light of a distant train cutting through the quiet of a forest on a moonlit night, fragments of Kate's past came hurtling down the tracks of her memory. She couldn't help but recall her late husband, his figure fading in the dim light of their shared bedroom. His body was ridden with disease that cruelly spared her. Months of relentless coughs had ultimately led to the collapse of his lungs, his final breaths accompanied by the heavy wheezing that echoed hauntingly in her mind. Countless nights were etched in her memory, each one marked by his desperate struggle for air, the taste of blood staining their shared existence.

It was happening again.

With a heavy heart, Kate sat up, her hands tenderly cradling Arthur's head as if he were a fragile newborn. Slowly, she guided him back onto the cot, her voice trembling with emotion as she sought to offer comfort in the face of impending tragedy.

"S’alright, honey," she cooed, “not your fault.” Her words a fragile attempt to reassure him, though tears threaten to betray her facade of strength. Despite the weight of her own grief, she desperately tried to remain calm.

The clamor lured Hosea to the tent, concern etched on his features as he approached. "Kate, what hap—" His words trailed off as he caught sight of her blood-stained attire and Arthur's bloodied mouth. With swift determination, he reached Arthur's side, quickly pulling the sheet from his torso, revealing the gruesome display beneath. Kate's breath caught in her throat.

Pale white, mottled skin surrounded his knife wound. Dark spider-like veins branched out like a twisted oak tree.

As the walls of her resolve crumbled around her, Kate felt fear and trepidation seep into the cracks of her psyche. She fought valiantly to suppress tears, her gaze pleading with Hosea for guidance. "Hosea..." she whispered, her voice trembling with uncertainty, "I-I don't know what to do." The words choked out as the dam of her emotions finally burst.

Hosea, sensing the urgency of the situation, took in the sight of her with a gentle yet urgent tone. "We're getting a doctor," he declared decisively, wasting no time as he rose to his feet and strode towards the entrance of Arthur's tent. With a firm hand, he pushed aside the flap and called out to Lenny and Sadie, who sat nearby at a table. "You two, go to Rhodes and find a doctor! No excuses, spare no expense. Bring him back here, by any means necessary!" His words carried the weight of authority, a stern directive from a father to his wayward children.

Lenny and Sadie sprang into action, disappearing into the distance with a sense of urgency. Meanwhile, Kate struggled to steady her breathing, her chest heaving with each sob that wracked her body. Emotions boiled over, threatening to overwhelm her fragile composure.

Returning to her side, Hosea gently grasped her arm, his touch a comforting anchor amidst the turmoil. "No. No, Hosea, I can't leave him," Kate protested hastily, her eyes pleading for understanding even as her heart screamed for reassurance.

"You need to rest, Kate," Hosea's gentle voice broke through the haze of exhaustion, his concern palpable in the warmth of his suggestion. Reluctantly, she closed her eyes for a moment, summoning the last reserves of her strength before nodding in acceptance.

With his steady support, Kate rose to her feet, allowing him to guide her towards the entrance. His reassuring squeeze spoke volumes, a promise of gratitude and solidarity in the face of adversity. Retrieving his bandana from his vest pocket, he whispered softly, "You've been so strong for him. Thank you." As he tenderly wiped away her tears, Kate offered a tremulous nod, her lips quivering with emotion.

In a daze, she made her way to her own tent and bedroll, each step heavy with fatigue. Discarding her boots with weary resignation, she found herself lacking the strength to remove her soiled clothing. Instead, she stumbled towards the shoreline, the cool embrace of the water beckoning to her.

Sinking to her knees in the shallows, Kate began the arduous task of scrubbing away the blood that clung to her skin, each stroke fueled by a fearful urgency. Her nails scraped against her flesh as her breathing quickened with the intensity of her movements. The blood, stubborn and unyielding, seemed to taunt her, clinging to her body like a relentless specter of the past.

It was happening again.

Quiet sobs escaped her lips as panic tightened its grip around her, her body tensing with the effort to hold herself together. Her heart pounded in a desperate ritual of purification.

Kate remained lost in her torment, oblivious to the sound of Charles's approach as he waded into the water. A startled gasp escaped her lips as he enveloped her in a comforting embrace. "It's alright, Kate, I've got you," his deep, reassuring voice washed over her, instantly recognizable and soothing in its familiarity. His arms encircled her, offering solace and protection.

In that moment, Kate allowed the walls she had built around herself to crumble. She sobbed openly into Charles's arms, her anguish pouring forth unchecked. "You did everything you could. It's okay," he murmured gently, his words a balm to her wounded spirit. "Arthur owes his life to you," he added, a testament to her unwavering dedication.

With a hiccup, Kate confessed, "It's happening again, Charles." Emotions long suppressed surged to the surface, memories of loss and grief flooding her mind, her late husband's foremost among them.

"Shh, don't speak like that. We're getting a doctor for him," Charles reassured her, his voice a steadfast anchor in the storm of her emotions. "Arthur is resilient, Kate. He's a fighter."

"When will it be enough?" she pleaded, her voice raw with anguish. In response, Charles simply sighed and pulled her closer, offering silent support as she wept in his arms, their shared grief binding them together in solidarity.

As Kate's sobs gradually subsided, Charles continued to hold her, the gentle lull of the water surrounding them like a protective barrier against the outside world. Sensing the weight of her burden, he spoke softly, his words infused with understanding and compassion.

"Kate," he began, voice tender, "you don't have to carry this alone. You've put on a strong arm for so long, but you don't have to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Kate's breath hitched at his words, a mixture of relief and uncertainty washing over her. For years, she had believed that strength meant shouldering her burdens alone, but now, in Charles's embrace, she allowed herself to be vulnerable, to seek solace in the arms of those who cared for her.

"I'm scared, Charles," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, her fingers clenching the fabric of his shirt as if seeking an anchor in the tumult of her emotions.

"I know, Kate," Charles replied, his tone gentle yet resolute. "But you're not alone in this. We're all here for you, for Arthur. Every step of the way."

With a shaky exhale, Kate allowed herself to lean into Charles's figure, finding solace in the warmth of his presence. In that moment, surrounded by the soothing embrace of the water and the unwavering support of her friend, she felt a sense of relief ease off her tired soul.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

With just enough time to change her blood-soiled clothing and hastily consume a small meal of dried meat, Kate had brushed off Hosea's well-intentioned advice to rest. Though Charles's comforting presence provided some measure of relief, she knew that sleep would elude her unless she was by Arthur's side. His condition could turn on a dime, and she wanted to make sure she was there to comfort him. As the distant sound of approaching hoofbeats echoed through the camp, she emerged from her tent, her gaze fixed on the large wagon rumbling towards the entrance, its contents jostling on the uneven terrain.

Lenny's figure emerged from the midst of the commotion, leading a man towards Arthur's tent—the long-awaited doctor had finally arrived. Without hesitation Kate lept to greet them.

The sudden disruption caught Dutch's attention, his annoyance palpable as he emerged from his tent, demanding an explanation. Before he could voice his protest, Hosea intercepted him, offering a gentle diversion as he ushered Dutch back into his tent to address the matter in private.

Meanwhile, a young black man clad in a gray suit, adorned with a vibrant purple vest, dismounted from the wagon, his demeanor professional yet compassionate. Kate was surprised at his age, most doctors she knew were older. She noted the side of his wagon; Dr. Renaud’s Traveling Medical Company.

As they approached Arthur's tent, Lenny briefed the doctor on the situation. "Kate brought him in last night. He's in bad shape, Doc—bullet wound to the shoulder, knife to the stomach," Lenny explained tersely.

The doctor nodded solemnly, acknowledging the severity of the situation. With a sense of purpose, Kate accompanied them into the stuffy makeshift room. Lenny bid them farewell and goodluck before departing, leaving Kate alone with the newcomer, the supposed savior who held the key to Arthur's survival.

Surveying Arthur's broken form, “oh my lord,” he muttered to himself. The doctor pressed his fingers to his neck, checking Arthur’s pulse, then turning his attention to Kate. "I presume you're Kate?" he inquired, his voice carrying a mix of professionalism and empathy. Kate offered a hesitant nod in response.

"Dr. Alphonse Renaud," he introduced himself, extending a hand. Kate accepted the handshake, her movements awkward and uncertain, her mind racing with apprehension. Arthur's fate, and by extension her own, hung in the balance, resting upon the skill of this newcomer.

"Are you his wife?" Dr. Renaud's question jolted Kate from her anxious reverie.

"N-no," she stammered, her nerves palpable. Gathering her composure, she clarified, "I'm not his wife. Just a friend." The weight of responsibility settled heavily upon her shoulders, a silent acknowledgment of the magnitude of the situation. "I managed to stop the bleeding last night. But I'm afraid he's still bleeding internally, he was vomiting blood this morning." Kate explained, her words rushed and urgent, wasting no time in conveying the severity of Arthur's condition.

Dr. Renaud clicked his tongue in response. "A knife to the stomach will do that to a man. How did this happen to him?" he inquired, gently shifting the sheet covering Arthur's abdomen to assess the extent of the injury.

Kate hesitated, unsure of how much to disclose about their precarious circumstances. After all, Arthur was a wanted man. She couldn't just disclose to a stranger the details of a violent gang feud between outlaws, he would surely leave in a heartbeat. "Tortured," she replied tersely, her tone brooking no further discussion.

“Oh, my deepest sympathy for your friend,” he replied with a solemn nod. Dr. Renaud moved to open the flaps on the side of the tent, allowing sunlight to stream in and illuminate the extent of Arthur's wounds. As he gazed upon Arthur's face, now bathed in the soft afternoon glow, a flicker of recognition crossed his features. "Wait a moment," he murmured, gently turning Arthur's face towards him, "I know this man... Arthur, isn't it? Arthur Morgan."

Fear gripped Kate as she processed the doctor's unexpected recognition of Arthur. How could this man possibly know him? A myriad of troubling scenarios raced through her mind—had he seen the wanted posters plastered across towns? Or worse, had Arthur crossed paths with him in a less-than-favorable manner? The weight of uncertainty bore down on her, her heart pounding with dread. If Dr. Renaud refused to help them now, Arthur's fate would be sealed.

To her relief, Dr. Renaud's expression softened with understanding. "Mr. Morgan saved my skin a few weeks back," he explained, his voice tinged with gratitude. "Some racist fellas, calling themselves Lemoyne Raiders, stole my wagon. I knew if I went after them myself, they would surely lynch me. So Mr. Morgan set out to retrieve my belongings." Kate's breath caught in her throat as she released a shaky exhale, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.

"He wouldn't even accept payment for his troubles," Dr. Renaud continued, his determination evident in the clasp of his hands. "Now, it seems fate has afforded me the opportunity to repay his kindness." Kate felt a surge of emotion welling within her. She wanted to cry; tears of joy, tears of hope, tears of heartbreak. Because of course, of course, Arthur had gone out his way to help this young doctor. That was just the kind of man he is. So clouded by his own demons, he still can’t see the pure heart that glimmers beneath the surface. By some twisted dance of fate, his kindness would grant him the opportunity for a second chance at life.

In that moment, Kate knelt beside Arthur's cot with renewed purpose, her gaze fixed on Dr. Renaud with determination. "What can I do to help, Doc?" she asked, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions swirling within her. This was their chance—a chance for Arthur to receive the care he so desperately needed, and for Kate to play her part in ensuring his survival.

Dr. Renaud carefully examined the wound on Arthur's stomach, his fingertips gauging the heat of the inflamed skin. "I can stop the internal bleeding," he observed, "but you'll need to keep a close eye on his recovery. Regularly cleaning the wound is crucial. Sepsis can be deadlier than bleeding out." Kate nodded eagerly, absorbing his instructions.

His focus then shifted to Arthur's shoulder wound. "You've done a commendable job stitching this," he acknowledged, but pointed out the yellowing skin around the starfish-shaped crater. Pressing gently, he noted the alarming signs of infection. "The infection's already taken hold here. It's eroding the muscle. If it spreads to the ligaments, he could lose his arm entirely.” Kate nodded quickly, understanding the gravity of the situation.

Taking Arthur's injured hand, the doctor examined it closely. Kate watched as he ran a fingernail over the calloused skin of his palm. Arthur's fingers twitched slightly, prompting a glimmer of hope. "That's promising," Dr. Renaud remarked. "And the bullet?" Kate nodded silently, confirming its extraction. "Excellent. You have a natural talent for this, Kate," he praised with a reassuring smile. Though Kate tried to reciprocate the smile, her concern for Arthur remained paramount, her gaze fixed on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, each breath a testament to his battle to remain alive.

Returning his focus to Arthur's abdomen, Dr. Renaud placed an open palm on his stomach, tapping it lightly. A swishing hollow sound reverberated in the air. "Hear that?" he asked, glancing at Kate. She nodded, her brow furrowed with concern. "It’s filled with fluid, most likely more blood. After I close the wound, his stomach will be sensitive for some time,” his tone gentle and informative. “He might struggle to keep down food and water, so make sure he stays hydrated, okay?" the doctor advised. With practiced ease, he retrieved a small vial of orange iodine and a pair of rubber gloves from his briefcase.

"Put these on and start applying this over his stomach. I'll go grab my tools from the wagon," he directed, handing Kate the supplies. She nodded in acknowledgment and began spreading the iodine as instructed.

As they worked, a gentle breeze wafted through the makeshift room, carrying with it the scent of lake water and grass. It offered a brief respite from the heavy atmosphere of blood and sickness. Refreshing her lungs with strength and clarity. Dr. Renaud administered a shot of morphine to Arthur, providing temporary relief from the pain. In focused silence, Kate followed the doctor's lead, handing him tools and meticulously cleaning the wound.

Kate's breath caught as Dr. Renaud delicately reopened the wound on Arthur's stomach, using a slender blade to extend the incision. She gripped the forceps, holding them open. Steadying herself as he meticulously stitched the lining of his stomach back together. The tension in the air was static with urgency, each movement of the doctor's hands deliberate and controlled. Kate watched in silent admiration, marveling at his skill and composure amidst the lethal task ahead.

An hour later, Dr. Renaud had painstakingly resealed the wound, layering on another dose of antiseptic before dressing it in clean cloth. He then turned his attention to Arthur's bullet wound, methodically cleaning and rebandaging it. Explaining that he may never regain complete mobility of his arm again.

He examined Arthur's eyes, reassuring Kate that the swelling and bloodshot appearance would gradually subside over time. Concluding his service by informing her that his feet should return to their normal color, but he may have difficulty walking on the ankle even after it heals.

Kate’s heart throbbed with his every word. Arthur would never be the same after this, if he even survived. He was a cowboy, a gunslinger. His skills on horseback were carved into his identity. His quickdraw was paramount for the survival of his kind. Kate knew he prided himself in his work, afterall he was Dutch’s second in command. She understood what it felt like to have your integrity challenged in the face of death. To say goodbye to a part of yourself.

Dr. Renaud packed his things as he prepared to leave once he was satisfied with Arthur’s care. "It's going to be a challenging road to recovery," he remarked solemnly, "I can't make any promises, Kate. It's ultimately up to Arthur to fight through this."

"But what about the infection?" Kate interjected, her voice tinged with concern. No amount of determination on Arthur's part would matter if the infection spread unchecked throughout his body.

Dr. Renaud retrieved a small bottle from his briefcase and presented it to her. "This is a new antibiotic called penicillin," he explained, handing her the glass bottle containing small white pills. "It's groundbreaking medicine, but still in testing. I advise you, use it cautiously."

Kate nodded gratefully, clutching the vial of hope close to her heart. "Thank you, Doc. Please, let me pay for it," she insisted, reaching for her satchel.

Dr. Renaud halted her with a gentle touch on her wrist. "As I've said before Kate, the debt is already settled. Medicine is my calling, and meeting Arthur breathed a new life into me. He gave me a second chance." He shook her hand firmly and bid a farewell, “we need more of his kindness in this world.”

Kate remained seated beside Arthur, her ears catching fragments of Lenny and Sadie's conversation with the young doctor. Their voices drifted like distant echoes, discussing Arthur's condition and treatment plan. A surge of gratitude swelled within her, a profound appreciation for the doctor's expertise and the reassurance he provided. It was a stroke of luck, she thought, a lifeline thrown to them in their darkest hour. Kate couldn't shake the disbelief at their fortune, it was as if her prayer had been answered.

The depth of human connection astounded her, the way lives intersected in unexpected ways, offering solace and support when it was needed most. It was a testament to the human spirit. Kate knew Arthur was not a bad man, no matter how much he believed himself to be. So blinded by self-hatred he couldn’t see the kind loving man beneath it all. She longed to bring out that side of him.

Tears pooled in Kate's eyes once more, a bittersweet blend of grief, relief, and gratitude. Leaning closer to Arthur, she pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, her gesture a silent declaration of love and unwavering devotion. "Someone up there is on our side, Arthur," she murmured softly, her voice choked with emotion. "We’re going to be okay.” A widow's vow to remain by his side, till death do them part.

---

AN: I'm pretty proud of Kate's development in this chapter. I feel like we see a lot more of her emotional struggles.The next chapter will include a lot of recovery as well as interactions with the other camp members as Arthur is healing. Lots of fluff and comfort too :)

(pls ignore how inaccurate the medical stuff is to the time period, I'm lazy)

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biasbuck · 1 month

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BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fridays

Happy Friday everyone! This is my first 911 ficrec post (I'm usually over here if ill-fated hunters and their angel husbands are your jam) but I've been DEEP in the Evan Buckley hyperfixation throughout April so come with me for what I've been reading!

This is a combination of Buddie and Bucktommy and buckeddietommy (aka buckeddie and meatballs, heh!)

26 April 2024

tell me about despair by @hattalove was the first fic I read, specifically because I wanted to get inside Eddie's head more as on first viewing I found him a little trickier to grasp...but yeah...that might just be because I am he and he am I. This fic was an wonderful way in to understanding his inner workings. His queer awakening and the associated traumas he has to work through were handled with such care, and the character voices were just gorgeous. "Eddie's not entirely sure he believes in getting help, at least not for himself. There's only so much healing to be had for a body torn apart by bullets, for a mind that's only half there, for a man who's been leaving pieces of himself behind all his life with nothing to take their place. Except, as it turns out, falling apart happens in increments, and healing does, too"

evan, elated and euphoric by @gayhoediaz 16500 words of bucktommy first time smut anyone?? "Buck likes it - not just being with Tommy, being with a man - that part is obvious, but he… likes that he likes it. He loves that he likes it. Truthfully, he doesn’t think that he has ever felt more at home in his own body than he does in this very moment." This is such a delightful exploration (through copious amounts of sizzling sex) in Buck feeling fully present and fully himself in his sexuality, and it's gloriously decadent as well as sweet and sexy as hell. I loved this characterisation of Tommy.

Both Bermuda and Golden (Lost but Doing Just Fine) by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels all hail the threesome fics! In which the correct answer is always - Both? Both is good! This one is gloriously kinky and sexy and I love the 'guiding hand' aspect and how both Buck and Eddie allow themselves to be led. "It's not that Buck's not happy with Eddie. It's just that being with Tommy taught him things about himself, things he wants, and he doesn't quite know how to ask Eddie for those things. He shouldn't have underestimated how well Eddie knows him, or how willing Tommy is to lend a helping, instructional hand."

Heart of Flowers / Heart of Gold by @elvensorceress is a gorgeously written allegorical tale with PEAK Buddie and Christopher family vibes set between S4&5. "In the aftermath of the sniper attack, Buck has to keep going without his partner while sorting through the layers of everything they are to each other, while Eddie fights for his life and through all his internalized trauma and regret for everything they never managed to say. aka After nearly losing each other, Buck and Eddie find their way to each other and their family’s happily ever after." My absolute favourite thing about this fic is the thread with the bedtime story that Christopher and Buck have created together. Just beautiful.

five ways to fall in love with the man in the mirror by @buckttommy is a bucktommy fic but crucially a Buck absolutely revelling in the poetry of getting to know your own identity. It also crucially gives me Jay Hulme vibes (iykyk) "Buck meets God at a gay club. He finds him in an oil-slick puddle on a damp night, neon lights reflecting off the kaleidoscopic liquid in the parking lot. or; Evan Buckley falls in love with himself."

and i know how i feel by @middyblue is a very sweet Buck coming out to Bobby fic, written I believe between 7x04 and 7x05. ALL the Dad!Bobby feels. "Buck stares off over the hills of Los Angeles, hugging his knees. He half wants to take out his phone and start playing Nine Simone (it’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me, and I’m feeling - ) and half can’t bear to drown out the thin peace of bird calls in the quiet blue of the morning. Footsteps scrape on gravel behind him and he turns, half-expecting another hiker, but it’s Bobby, carrying a coffee tray with two to-go cups and a paper bag."

Short and sweet fic:

For All Occasions by @storybelle FIREFAM FEELS! In which of course, as per tradition, Hen makes the 118 a cake. I neeeeeed Hen and Buck queer camaraderie show, I need it, and just like this!

Wedding Bell Blues by @klutzygirl - much needed supportive parents actually fic! "Margaret and Phillip meet their son's new boyfriend when they arrive in town for Maddie's wedding." it doesn't go how Buck would expect, in the best way.

PS - if you have any henren authors/fic recs I should check out PLEASE let me know! I'm new and I love them!

#biasbuck recs #911 fic #911 ficrec #911 abc #911 on abc #buddie #bucktommy #kinley #tevan #evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #tommy kinard

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bullet-prooflove · 5 months

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Scars: Bobby Reyes x Reader

Tagging: @trublu2u @yezzyyae @witches-unruly-heart @kmc1989

Bobby’s been told from an early age that he’s broken, unwanted. It’s a message that’s been carved into his soul through years of abuse and neglect in the foster system. Everyday when he looks in the mirror he sees those scars, the cigarette burns etched in a pattern up his torso.

When things start to get serious between the two of you, he’s shy about showing you his body. The echoes of his history litter his skin and he isn’t sure he’s ready for you to see the ugliness of his life.

In his world you’re the sunshine, the warmth on his skin as he steps out into the springtime air. You don’t know about his darkness, the nights he can’t get out of his own head because he’s reliving the suffering he’s endured.

All of that goes out of the window the evening that you undress for him. It’s been getting heated between the two of you, needy kisses and slow grinding on the couch that leads to you coming on his fingertips, his hand thrust into your jeans. You look beautiful underneath him, fucked out with swollen lips from his kisses.

“There’s something I need to show you.” You say in the aftermath, slipping from the couch and raising to your feet. “It’s the reason we’ve been taking things slow.”

You don’t look at him as you unbutton the blouse that you’re wearing, you strip off the fabric to reveal your skin and he sees he’s not the only one that’s been keeping secrets.

Four years ago, there was an SVU investigation into a sex trafficker called Herman Holmes. He used to brand the girls with his initials, always in the same place, upon the curve of the left breast. He wanted to be able to see it when he fucked them, to know what they belonged to him. SVU had managed to get an operative into the organisation, a female detective to posing as a madam. It had turned into a shitshow when he’d taken a shine to her, decided to make her one of his girls. Bobby knows the story, every cop in Manhattan does because it’s a UC’s worse nightmare.

When he sees the brand on your skin, the ridges of it bright pink against your flesh, his jaw clenches. You were missing for over fifteen hours, and he knows the kind of bad shit that can happen in that time.

When you see the expression on his face, he feels you withdrawing. You swallow hard, your gaze turning distance as you begin to button up your blouse.

“Yea.” You say focusing on the task. “I thought as much.”

It’s happened before, he can tell. Someone has looked at you and decided you’re not worth their time, their effort. They’ve told you that the trauma was too much to handle, that you’re too much. That’s not Bobby though, he sees the beauty in you, the compassion, the kindness.

He captures your hand before you can bolt, his fingers threading through yours as he draws you back into his lap.

“You’re not the only one who knows how cruel this world is.” He tells you, taking your palm and guiding it underneath the hem of his Henley. He exhales as your fingertips trace over one of the cigarette burns. “Who knows what it’s like to be marked by it.”

“Bobby…” You whisper and his thumb ghosts over the apple of your cheek.

“You’re not ugly.” He tells you, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and I’m sorry you felt you had to hide this from me.”

“You know that goes both ways. You’re an attractive man, I’d be lucky to have you” You say as you look into his eyes and in that moment he believes you, because you’re the same you and him, both battered by the world, scarred by it but not broken, never broken.

“You do have me.” He tells you, his lips brushing over yours. “You’ll always have me.”

Love Bobby? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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#bobby reyes #bobby reyes x reader #bobby reyes x you #law and order organized crime

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maladaptiv3 · 1 year

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i'm sorry (pt. 2)

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Content: JJ’s dad is back, JJ self-isolates! This is the aftermath after he gets back...SMUT

Warning: allusions to past abuse, angst, past trauma, SMUT. (18+), JJ is mid-20s in this, I don’t like to write teenage characters (since I am not one)

part 1

Word Count: 2,642

this playlist would be nice to listen to while you read

tag list: one-sweet-gubler @tremendousstrangerpatrol

*original content by maladaptiv3* please do not repost my work

JJ sat down on the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around your waist, and pulled you closer to him. You laced your fingers behind his neck slightly tugging at his hair. He crashed his lips into yours, he was urgent. He pulled you over him, so you were straddling his lap. You leaned your head back a bit, giving him access to your neck. He trailed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. You were brought back to the moment when you heard the TV from the living room. You caught JJ's face in your hands and leaned back signaling him to stop, "J, stop." His eyes scanned your face, "What? Why?" You took a deep breath, "If we have sex right now, we will never talk about the last four days. Plus, Sarah and John B. are in the living room." He smirked and started to nip at your neck again, "Oh, come on. Nothing they haven't heard before." You relaxed back, sitting on J's thighs, "I'm serious." He sighed and his shoulders dropped, "I know."

You pushed his unkempt locks out his face and he winced a bit. Your brow furrowed as your finger guided his chin back, illuminating his eye in the moonlight, "Jayj..." He took your hands in his, "It looked worse four days ago." "Is that why you didn't come home? I can handle a black eye, babe." He ran his hands up and down your thighs, "I didn't want to scare you." "You not coming home for four days scared me, JJ. How did it happen?" He bit his bottom lip like he was scared to tell you the answer, "I punched my dad." You took a deep breath, "Oh, JJ. I'm gonna tell Sarah and John B. they can leave, then I'll draw you a bath." You got up and started to walk toward the bedroom door until he grabbed your wrist. He put on his best tough guy act, "I don't need you to give me a bath." You playfully rolled your eyes, "I'll meet you in the bathroom in a few."

You thanked Sarah and John B. for their support and assured Sarah you would call her later in the day once you and JJ had a chance to catch up and talk about the last few days. The bathroom door was cracked and the light was peeking out. You lightly knocked on the door and pushed it open. JJ was examining his black eye in the mirror. You came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso, hands sneaking just under his shirt so they rested on the warm skin of his abdomen. His breath hitched slightly and you knew it was because the tips of your fingers are always cold. He turned around to wrap his arms around you and kissed the top of your head, "Hey, baby." You wiggled out of his arms and took the first aid kit out from under the sink, "Lemme clean your cut." He began to rifle through the kit, "I can do it." You took his hands in your eyes and met his gaze, "I know but I want to." He didn't argue. You set up your peroxide, Neosporin, and a small butterfly-style bandaid on the counter. You wedged yourself between the blonde in front of you and the counter, "Help me up?" JJ lifted you up onto the edge of the counter. You placed two fingers under his chin, slightly lifting his head up to move his eye more into the light. He leaned into you a bit, between your legs, with his arms on either side of you. He sucked in a quick breath and winced a bit when you dabbed some peroxide and his very clearly not well-cleaned cut above his eyebrow, "Are we gonna talk about what happened?"

He swallowed hard and kept his eyes on his reflection in the mirror, avoiding eye contact, "I punched my dad." You brushed his hair slightly to the side with your fingers and lightly cupped the side of his face, he melted into your touch, eyes meeting yours, "J, what happened?" He took a deep breath and bit his bottom lip to keep it from quivering, "After I went to see John B., I went and saw my dad. He's staying at that broken-down motel." You never took your eyes off his. "He really thought I was gonna be happy to see him. He hugged me and I just stood there." Your eyes scanned his, searching for what he was feeling, "Did you guys talk about anything?" He shook his head no, "He asked for money." You weren't surprised, "Did you give him any?" JJ placed his hands on your thighs, slowly moving his hands up and down, a self-soothing motion he's been doing since you meet him, "I gave him what I had in my wallet." You asked the question you were dreading and one you already knew the answer to, "Did he hit you?" His calloused thumb traced your jawline and the outline of your lips, lingering for a moment, "You know, word still travels fast on this island." You were confused, "What does that mean?" "He asked about you and said some things he shouldn't have." Your stomach dropped and your heart sank, "You hit him first, didn't you, Jayj?" He just shook his head yes, "I'm sorry I didn't come home." Your hands found their home on his abdomen once again, you pressed a long, soft kiss to his lips, "I know."

He pulled you into a hug, the both of you trying to hide your tears. You missed the way he smelled—oranges, the cinnamon toothpaste he insists is better than mint, and just a bit like sweat. You inhaled, savoring the scent as it overtook your senses, "God, I missed the way you smell." He let out a small laugh and pulled back to give you a contorted look, "I've been on a boat for four days. I probably don't smell that great." "You'd be surprised." He just shook his head at you, sauntering over to the shower. You expected something sinister to come out of his mouth next, "Will you wash my hair?" You raised your eyebrow at him and hopped off the counter. Your tone was teasing, "I thought you didn't need me to give you a bath?" He reached out to pinch your thigh, "I don't. I just like when you wash my hair." You rolled your eyes, "Of course, I'll wash your hair." You went over to turn on the bath and he pulled on your wrist. He pouted a bit, "No, in the shower. I want you in there with me." "Okay, fine. But no shower sex. You know I hate it, it is nothing like the movies." JJ laughed at you, "Yes, I know. Don't worry. No funny business." You let the shower heat up while steam filled the bathroom and condensation formed on the glass doors.

You pulled JJ closer to you by the hem of his shirt. You slowly lifted his shirt up and he discarded it in a heap next to the bathroom door. His fingertips ghosted over the hem of the shirt you were wearing. It hit you mid-thigh. He slowly pulled it over your head and added it to the pile with his, your eyes staying connected the entire time. He dropped his head down, crashing his lips onto yours. You pulled at his belt loops, undoing the button and zipper and pushing his cargo shorts and boxers down his thighs. He kicked them to the side, pulling your underwear down. Your bodies were pressed together. One of his hands was gripping your hip while the other just barely traced the outline of your breast as he moved his hand up and down your side. You wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged his head back by the hair on the nape of his neck, "Hey, you said no funny business." He smirked at you, "I remember."

He took your hand in his, leading you into the steamy shower. You both stood in the cascading water—lips and tongues fervently wrapping around each other. You raked your nails down his exposed back as he sucked on the taut skin of your neck, leaving a trail of fire as his tongue licked a swipe on your jawline, his lips finding yours again. His rough hands explored every inch of your body, the water making it easy for him to glide over his favorite parts. There was something achingly delicious about just making out with JJ. It was so needy yet slow at the same time. You needed a second to catch your breath. You could barely get the words, "JJ, babe." His lips were swollen. He moved back just slightly, enough for his eyes to meet yours, "Stop distracting me, woman. I said no funny business." You playfully shook your head, taking his body soap off the shower shelf. He tutted and shook his finger, "No, no. Use yours." Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew you loved the way your body wash smelled, like vanilla and brown sugar, on his warm skin just after a hot shower.

You pumped some of your body wash between your hands and rubbed them together making the soap a bit foamy. You pushed up on your toes, pressing a soft kiss to the skin underneath his ear lobe and then his collarbone. You began to trail your hands down his shoulder and arms then over his chest as you continued to press kisses wherever you could manage to get your lips. His head dropped back. You noted the effect you had on him as you pressed another kiss right to the middle of his tan torso. The last four days he spent on the boat reflected in his sunkissed skin. He took your shoulders and turned you around, pulling you back into his chest for a moment, "Your turn." He kissed your shoulder before lathering your back, reaching around your front, covering you in body wash, and giving your chest a light, playful squeeze. You yelped when he took one of your nipples between his thumb and index finger, rolling it between the fingertips. You quickly snapped around, pretending to be upset, "No funny business." He put his hands up in surrender, pretending to be sorry, "I couldn't help myself."

You squeezed some shampoo into your wet hands. JJ leaned down so you could tangle your fingers into his blonde locks. He let out a relaxed sigh as your fingertips worked through his hair, massaging his scalp, "You're so good at that." You smiled at him and moved his head slightly to rinse the shampoo away. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing up on your toes to meet his lips. You spoke against his lips, "Go get ready for bed, I'm gonna wash my hair. I'll be out in a few." He knew better than to come between you and your shampoo routine, "Oh, come on. I'll watch." He looked you up and down and winked. You playfully swatted at his chest, "Get out of here." He scrunched his nose in defeat, "Fine."

It was very early in the morning, but still dark outside. The moon was big tonight and the light was coming through the blinds. You walked into the bedroom to see JJ scrolling through his phone. His hair was still damp and sticking out in every which way. He was on top of the covers, basketball shorts hung low on his hips, and his tan torso was only slightly visible from the moonlight and light coming from his phone screen. You stood in front of the dresser and dropped your towel, feeling his eyes on you. You rifled through your drawer for a minute and dug out a pair of underwear and pulled on one of JJ's shirts. You knew he was watching you get dressed, probably smirking to himself about how your shirt wasn't going to be on long, so why even bother...

You climbed up on the bed crawling on top of him. You straddled his waist, taking his phone out of his hands and placing it on the side table. With his features soft in the moonlight and his hair still messy from the shower, you swore he was the prettiest boy you'd ever seen. Your fingers danced along his chest as you leaned down to kiss him. It was soft at first. He deepened the kiss, his tongue slowly licking your bottom lip to gain entrance. Your hips rolled into his and he squeezed your waist. He slowly traced your waistband, "Can I?" You nodded and smiled into the kiss, "Yeah." His hand slipped past your waistband and his thumb began to work itself in circles. You moaned into his mouth. You were putty in his hands and he knew it.

He sat up and wrapped your legs further around his waist. His thumb continued to work against you as he peppered sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your neck. JJ removed his hand and you huffed in annoyance. His voice was low, "Open." You opened your mouth and two of his fingers met your tongue, "Suck." You did as you were told. Once his fingers were wet and slick with your saliva, which he really didn't need, his hand dipped back beneath your waistband and he sunk two fingers inside you. You clenched around his fingers as he pumped them in and out of you. He moaned into your mouth, "God, you're wet." You broke the kiss and looked at him, his bright blue eyes had darkened and his pupils were blown out, "I wonder why." He had a devilish grin on his face as his fingers began to move faster. You wanted to savor the moment. You fought every instinct to ride his fingers into oblivion, "S-slow down." He was cocky, "You want me to stop?" You rolled your eyes as his fingers made a dead stop inside of you, "Please, no. Just slow down."

You were a mess in his lap as he started moving his fingers again, slower. As he pumped his fingers in and out of you, you rolled your hips into him, desperate for some sort of friction. You were close. You could feel the knot in your stomach getting tighter. Your head fell back as you continued to work against each other. He practically growled at you, "Look at me." Your eyes met his, "J, I-I-I'm..." You were stuttering and could barely get a word out. He kissed you hard, his fingers began to move faster, "You gonna come for me?" You fervently shook your head "yes," reconnecting your lips. Sweat began to form on your forehead as you began to reach your high. You clenched around JJ's fingers, hard as you came crashing down, right in his lap. He kissed your jaw, "Good girl." His fingers stayed inside you as you caught your breath. Your chest was heavy as it moved up and down. JJ's fingers slipped out of you and you whimpered at the loss of contact.

You sat there, your legs still wrapped around his waist, and foreheads pressed together. You laughed a little, "Thank you." You were giddy and it felt like the first time he had ever touched you. A slightly puzzled look spread across his face, "You're welcome?" His voice raised a bit like it was a question. You blushed, "What? That was good." He pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was soft and innocent, nothing like the mood a few moments earlier. He pushed your hair behind your ear, "I really am sorry." You kissed him back, "I know."

part 3? requests?

#jj maybank x reader #jj obx #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank smut #jj outer banks #jj maybank #jj obx fic #jj obx imagine #jj obx smut #jj maybank x you #jj maybank adult #obx #outer banks #jj

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lady-ashfade · 2 years

Note

steve x female reader

during the aftermath of being attacked by vecna, steve takes care of reader, by giving her a soothing bath and lots of cuddles.

Baths and cuddles.

Steve Harrington x gender neutral reader.

Thank you for requesting something! Means a lot .

Notes: Not sad but also kinda sad at the end but not angst…

Warnings: Actions that involve nudity, aftermath of a trauma experience, Protective and soft Steve.

It happened to fast for Steve’s liking. You started to get head aches, nightmares and then nose bleeds. He remembers how he felt when they put two and two together and knew you had been targeted by Vecna.

He saved you though. He knew your favorite song at the top of his head because you always played it in the car on your late night car rides or dancing around the living room together.

He needed to take care of you. Because he knew how scary it was for him so he couldn’t imagine what you felt like. He was at your side through everything. He took you home quickly.

He took your hand and lead you inside to your shared apartment. You were still very shaken up after it all and he understood that. “What do you say to a bath?” He looked at you softly almost as if one look could break you, you agreed and he took you into the bathroom.

He left you alone for only a minute, asking first, while he grabbed you new clothes and a speaker as you got undressed. He came back and started the water and getting all the products you liked, and as soon as it was ready he guided you in.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t do it yourself but you still had the deer in headlights look and you needed someone to take over everything for a minute. He washes your hair and body softly as your favorite song music played in the background. But as soon as he started to softly sing along you smiled at hearing him even if he wasn’t the best, and as soon as he saw you smiling again he continued.

After the bath and you got dried up he grabbed lotion and but it on your arms, legs and anywhere you would usually do it. “Promise, I’ll get you more of it” he would leave kisses on the area he was about to place the lotion. Then if you needed any hair protects or had a hair routine he did it for you as you rested you back onto his chest.

Then he was taking you to the bed room and made sure you had everything you needed, to pills, food or just anything. He cover you and got into bed right away to hold you close. “Come here, sweetheart” He pulled into his arm and laid you on his chest. He would start to stroke your head and back saying sweet nothings or just sweet things.

“You’re always going to be safe with me around”

“I love you so much”

“You mean the world to me”

He kisses your head and fingers everything second he could. If you wanted him to talk he did and just rambled about anything, and if you wanted him to be quiet he did that too.

As soon as you feel asleep he felt the weight of every that happened. He couldn’t believe that he almost lost you and that killed him inside so he cried softly to himself while holding you, trying not to wake you up. He was going to do everything he can to make you happy and protect you. You were his everything.

Right before he feel asleep he gave you one last forehead kiss.

“I love you, and I’ll keep you safe”

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington #steve harrington fluff #Steve Harrington x reader fluff #comfort #Steve Harrington x gender neutral reader #stranger things

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shifuto · 9 months

Text

I wonder if Lu Guang is that way because of his power

I finished rewatching season 1 and, honestly, it feels like his power is a curse: he is able to observe the past through photos, going as far as 12 hours in the "future" of these photos. He cannot change that past or intervene in any way

he has no choice but think/act critically, to remain detached, and it makes me wonder how much of the "future" has he seen through photos, about his own future, about his family, about his friends. We know very little about him and absolutely nothing about his past

of course, things started changing when he met Cheng Xiaoshi and they were able to use their abilities together - it was a perfect fit after all: an observer guiding the actor, judgment and execution

but their personalities are just too different so a lot of conflicts arise..

in episode 5, I guess was the moment when the cracks start to show.. so far, Lu Guang have been observing and, while with Cheng Xiaoshi, walking through the past while trying to not change much - and he is right after all.. changing the past can cause the future as they know to stop existing, which would mean even their lives could be no more

did he take that risk before? Or was it just preventive? Is he scared of changing the past if he had the opportunity to do so because that would mean a new present? He won't touch on certain nodes and paradoxes out of a taboo of sorts?

I guess, logically, it seems easier to be a mere spectator (while, if you're the one dealing with something, of course you'll want to change a "bad" outcome or make a move) but is it really easier.....?

and, if I understood his power well, it really does mean he can see the future. If he sees a photo from the "present" moment, let's say.. taken minutes ago, he would still be able to see 12 hours ahead, huh? He can know what will happen to anyone at anytime and he's absolutely powerless to do anything about it (if he so wishes)

I wonder if his overall detachment has to do with that, with the pain of merely observing through a power he probably had no choice but obtaining/being born with, with all the prospective loss and death he must have witnessed (when the "links" are lost and he can't see any further), maybe there's a fear of getting too close to someone, anyone, just to lose them in the end

Lu Guang approached him, Cheng Xiaoshi "picked" him up and they became friends and work partners. Because their powers are a complement to each other, their relationship has, at least, that common point. It's interesting to see Lu Guang being constantly "tested" by Cheng Xiaoshi's "unpredictable" predictability, and seeing how he adapts and changes

it is also interesting seeing how his detachment put a huge strain on their relationship at times. Cheng Xiaoshi has no intention of changing him after all, that's where and how they met each other, that's how their relationship started and how it's been working so far (and the feeling is probably mutual, too.. it explains why Lu Guang goes "with the flow" more often than not, even if he's the one that has to fix the other's mistakes as they come)

"please, show that you care"

"I can't"

he cares but he shouldn't care, that will only cause pain

I also wonder about Cheng Xiaoshi's power a lot.. it seems he has not used it before on his own?

I wonder if his power is actually an extension of Lu Guang's, since he's the one that seems like the person who made the "terms" in which his power is activated ("the promise of a high five" explained in episode 9)?

so we have the mysterious Lu Guang, who seemed knowledgeable of these powers and their implications and consequences, and Cheng Xiaoshi, who started dealing with the aftermath and trauma of these "dives" first-hand

...

it's likely we'll never get explanations for most these questions.. but I guess that can be a good thing, too

now onto season 2 rewatch..

#link click #shif writes

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indierpgnewsletter · 4 months

Text

New Games From December 23 and January 24

I. Dear Reader Another regularly scheduled roundup of games that have been released on itch.io that caught my eye over the last two months. Usual disclaimer that I haven’t really read or played these games; they just seem cool based on the pitch alone. Also, most of them now come to me by people using this form.

Protect the Child: A Forged in the Dark game about monsters caring for a strange, mystical child. Playtest version. (Mintrabbit, Free)

Aftermath: A solo-friendly sci-fi about a team of first responders trying to make the world a better place after a terrible war. (Ember and Ash)

Space Aces: Voyages in Infinite Space: A comedy scifi sandbox inspired by the Hitchhikers’ Guide. (Stephen Hans)

The Connection Machine: A cerebral scifi game about exploring a dreamlike world and overcoming trauma. (Tanya Floaker & Julia Nevalainen)

Daybreak on the Battlefield: An unofficial set of extra playbooks for Girl by Moonlight, the excellent magical girls game. (Ben K Rosenbloom)

Buried in Ice: A mystery for Apocalypse Keys, the Hellboy-inspired PbtA game. Something trapped in a glacier thaws out and causes havoc. (Morgan Eilish)

Boyfriend Dungeon: Life on the Edge: The videogame gets officially adapted into a PbtA game. Explore your inner psyche, confront you fears, and also smooch swords. (Trumoi)

Like Real People Do: A two-player prompt-driven game about a mage trying to keep secrets in a vault but the vault wants to be a real person. (Meghan Cross)

The Mystery Business: Scooby Doo-inspired mystery solving game with no combat. You beat the baddies by setting traps to catch them. (Greg L)

The Flood Bell Tolls in Saint Magnus: A system-neutral campaign set in a drowning city on the verge of rebellion. (Tempest RPG, PWYW)

Also, cheeky last minute addition, the Showcase Zero bundle features games that came out of my playtest community. It’s got my scifi horror game, This Ship Is No Mother, as well as the mecha game of friendship and war, Spectres of Brocken and more.

II. Media of the Week

People Make Games take a good look at jubensha, a gaming phenomenon in China that started out just as spiffy murder mystery party games but has transformed into much more, including what sounds like scripted larps where everyone cries at the end. Really cool story.

youtube

The new season of DiceExploder is back with John Harper talking about Psi*Run, a unique game by Meguey Baker that should’ve inspired a slew of games but inexplicably didn’t.

Please consider joining 100+ other patrons and support the newsletter on patreon to help keep me going.

If you’ve released a new game on itch.io this month, let me know through this form so I can potentially include it in the end of the month round-up.

III. Links of the Week

Reviews

Indie Game Reading Club reviews Stonetop, the community-focused iron age fantasy game from Jeremy Strandberg.

It’s a solid review and also features this neat bit of analysis about how PbtA developed: “Monsterhearts spawned the branch of PbtA games that are concerned with constrained, evocative moves with a strong editorial voice. Dungeon World, conceived as a reverse-engineering of Dungeons & Dragons style play, is concerned with efficiently resolving tasks, boiling down the activity to its core essence.”

Cannibal Halfling reviews Free League’s vanilla-ish fantasy game, Dragonbane: “…when we live in the world of Old-School Essentials (also a translation, though from Gygax to English instead of Swedish to English), there’s clearly recognized value in taking an old system, cleaning it up, and sending it back out.”

Explore Beneath and Beyond has a blog series reviewing and discussing all the early adventures and scenarios published for D&D. This is part one.

Possum Creek Games publish their 2023 year in review including completing the mammoth Yazeba’s Bed and Breakfast.

DIY & Dragons explains why we should all probably stick to calling it “Jaquaysing”.

A short post about the oldest ttrpg forums – usenet groups.

Misc

ZineMonth 2024 is around the corner and since the “official” site isn’t ready yet, there’s an unofficial” page listing all the projects being crowdfunded. Take a look and submit your own if you’re doing one.

There’s a game jam to create a megadungeon in honour of Jennell Jaquays.

From the archive

Skerples’ cool blog post about how to portray aliens and alien intelligences in your game, approaching it from a bunch of different angles. (Issue #8, Sep 2020)

View On WordPress

#gaming #rpg #ttrpgsolidarity #indie ttrpg #ttrpg community #ttrpg #ttrpg design #Youtube

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sexybabystevie · 2 years

Text

Steve Harrington Masterlist

*Please note that fics that do not use any specifically gendered terms or pronouns are listed simply as "x Reader" or "x (description)!Reader."

Full Length Fics

Up to the Gods [9k]

Protective Best Friend!Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Summary: The time you have left to save Max is speeding away, so you come up with a last-minute plan. Your best friend Steve, however, isn't so keen on you following through with it.

Apple of My Eye [5k]

Boyfriend!Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: You have an upcoming eye exam and you know you're going to end up in glasses. Your boyfriend Steve Harrington is right beside you to guide you through all of your insecurities.

His Knight in Shining Armor [5k]

Boyfriend!Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Even as Steve's long-term partner, you've never once seen him cry. In the aftermath of the final battle against Vecna, and in the very hospital room where a barely-living Max Mayfield lies, that changes.

Small Hands, Big Heart [3k]

Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Steve Harrington has a massive crush on you, but his recent lack of luck in the romantic sense has him stuck on how to make a move. Plus, something about you makes him nervous in a way he's never been – in a way he likes.

His simplest solution? Flirting via the old 'comparing hand sizes' method.

Headcanons

Enchanted To Meet You [>1k]

Modern Scoops!Steve Harrington x Taylor Swift fan, fem!Reader

Summary: Headcanons on how Steve would confess to a girly, Taylor Swift fan Reader, set in a modern Starcourt.

Platonic with a Capital P [1k]

Steve Harrington & Robin Buckley

Summary: A series of headcanons about best friends Steve and Robin.

Love in the Form of a Cupcake [1k]

Best Friend!Steve Harrington x Baker!Reader

Summary: Headcanons on how Steve confesses to his baker best friend.

Mixtape Confessions [1k]

Steve Harrington x Sarcastic!Reader

Summary: Headcanons about Steve confessing to a very sarcastic close friend of Robin's.

Saturday Night Sleepovers [1k]

Best Friend!Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Headcanons where you make an impromptu confession to your best friend Steve.

Steve Thoughts

Steve Thoughts are small drabbles written as a way for me to interact with my followers. They send in a concept – called a Steve Thought – and then I respond to it and give any commentary I might have. This is totally informal and is more like throwing around ideas rather than fully writing, but I would totally be willing to expand upon them in actual fics as well!

Steve Likes Braiding Hair (Especially the Kids')

Steve Has a Really Good Singing Voice

Steve Gives the Best Hugs

Steve Gives the Kids Plushies

Steve Keeps Track of Robin and the Kids' Favorite Things

Steve Deserves to Process His Trauma

Steve Being Mediator When the Kids Make a Rude Comment

Steve Loves Comedy Movies (And Is Insufferable About It)

Steve Being Dyslexic and Getting Reassurance About It

Steve Helps You Reach Something on the Top Shelf

Steve Is Always Checking Your Injuries (Even Minor Ones)

Steve Being Very Affectionate When Sleepy

Steve Hates Spicy Food

Steve Makes Notes in Your Daily Planner

Steve's Favorite Date Locations

Steve Loves Forehead Kisses From You

Steve and You Give the Kids Relationship Advice

Steve and His Favorite Taylor Swift Albums, Songs, & Music Videos

Steve as a Volunteer Firefighter

Steve and Robin as Radio Hosts (ft. The Kids' Shenanigans)

Steve Learns How to Make Your Favorite Meals From Your Family

Steve When You're Jealous

Steve and You Sharing Books in High School

Steve and You Wiping Each Other's Tears with Your Sweater Sleeves

Dating Steve Includes... Sharing EVERYTHING

Steve Loves Wearing Your Scrunchies

#.nav

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mr-buisson-bosquet · 1 year

Note

Am I the only one who thinks that Kouen (Enma)‘s treatment in the second movie was quite messed up ?

I mean- The kid was assigned as king but his second in command legit locked him up and asked him for resignation because he thought that he wasn’t worthy of his title. I know that kouen could easily escaped from it but you can’t deny that it’s not fucked up.

And ngl, Zazel feels like a character that can’t cope with the loss of his previous lord.

Absolutely not ! You're not the only one, I also think Kouen's treatment was just... absolutely messed up in the second movie ! Not only was he completely mistreated, but Zazel also made it ten times worse...

There's a lot to talk about as far as they are concerned, but I tried to keep it as short as I could ! I apologize in advance for any mistakes or if it is overdevelopped ! Also don't hesitate to send me any other questions about Yokai Watch !

I feel like the end of the second movie does not answer the issue their story wanted to tackle.

The whole point was to help Zazel moving on from his trauma of losing Ancient Enma from very probably a disease (which is even more cruel considering it must have been killing him since numerous years), and finaly enabling him to move on and accepting Koen as the new ruler of the Yomakai. Sadly, instead of actually showing us that even if he appears as evil, he remains a father figure deeply caring for Koen, a litteral child ! By admitting his faults and showing affection towards him... they prefered to show us that in the attitude of Koen, Zazel still saw Ancient Enma in him, as shown below.

Which is totaly the opposite of what the meaning of this story was supposed to be ! By this action, Zazel doesn't only shows us that he still is not ready to move on, but even worse ! He is still trying to cling to the last remainings of his beloved king that he sees through Enma.

Which would also explain a lot of things about him. For example, why he chose a sickness over every other ways to restrain Koen without it appearing suspiscious. The same sickness that took away Ancient Enma. Another example would be how he quite litteraly locks up Enma in his own palace to make him fill up paperwork. And apart from his obvious hatred of humans, it could also be interpreted as a desperate need for control. To be able to protect at all cost the "New body of Ancient Enma", while shape-shifting it to his heart's content in order to make him act exactly like his predecessor.

And obviously, such an unhealthy relationship couldn't bring any good to a young and manipulable child such as Koen.

Firstly, he was assigned as king in his early childhood, very probably because of the chaotic situation surrounding the aftermath of his birth, as seen in Forever Friends, which burdened him with way too much responsabilities and duties.

This very probably is an element explaining his quite rebellious personality, especially towards authority.

But as if it wasn't enough to mess him up, he could not even be comforted and guided by his only parental figure left after Ancient Enma passed away ! No wonder he purposefully stayed trapped by Nurari to beat him right after with absolute rage. He simply doesn't know how to respond to stress and his emotions in general other than through anger.

Furthermore, he could not even express his personality, as Zazel would not give him any chance. This could also be the answer as to why he runs away to the human realm so often in order to finally express himself. All he did was trying his best to keep up with all the standards he had set up for himself, while begging for guidance, and acting like the child he is.

#yokai watch #yo kai watch #nurarihyon #zazel #enma #Ancient Enma #YKW #Yokai Watch the movie 2 : Enma Daio and the five stories nyan!

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andiwriteordie · 1 year

Note

mike wheeler and firebending, thoughts? 🎤

maddy i am so late to this mostly because the atlagate asks piled up and i panicked and was like AH I NEED TO WRITE A LOT OF STUFF DOWN BUT I DON'T HAVE TIME.

but i'm here now! catching up on more mike wheeler and firebending thoughts.

mike's firebending is a representation of how mike needs to be needed/how he thinks he has to offer something to someone else in order for them to reciprocate his love and his care for them... so obviously, his relationship with his bending is something that's complicated. he spends so much of his time trying to be something he's not, trying to live up to nancy's standards, trying to improve his bending to better protect his friends (namely will), trying to just be good enough and useful enough for the people he loves (and really, for himself).

which then makes me want there to be a point in this story where mike loses/nearly loses his ability to firebend.

look, we all know that i'm a huge fan of the mike wheeler gets vecna'd storyline in s5 (please i am still on my knees begging for this i want it almost as much as i want byler.) so, again, still throwing rocks around in my brain, still bothering nic and getting their thoughts as well, still putting the pieces together of this little (*cough* massive *cough*) au, but nic and i had talked about wanting at some point to have a moment where will nearly loses mike. expanding on our ideas on that will come later (because that's a whole huge separate ask on its own LOL), but long and short of it, it's essentially the idea that mike, like max, gets targeted by henry and nearly dies from it.

anyways, where my brain is wandering to on its own is the thought that, i've discussed how max loses her sight in the aftermath of what henry does to her (because of the lack of oxygen to the brain leading to blindness in her case) how eventually she learns to earthbend again using toph's seismic sense technique. i've discussed a little bit how will struggles to airbend again because of his own encounters with henry affect his ability to breathe—both from a physical sense of like... fucked lungs and such, but also because of the trauma/panic of being reminded of that ordeal every time he tries to bend.

but now imagining mike after being targeted by henry? mike wakes up, only because will was able to help him keep breathing until help came (oop a max and lucas parallel right there!). mike's lungs not functioning as well because of the damage of henry's airbending techniques. mike being hardly able to breathe without assistance, having to go through the same kind of airbender guided physical therapy as his lungs recover.

and what do we know about firebending?

that it comes from the breath.

so, the stakes are higher than they ever were before, because henry is stronger than every and beginning his assaults on hawkins, and mike... mike is effectively benched for the time being. he's just beginning to come to his own as a firebender, and then this happens, and he's angry. he feels useless and terrified, and he hates the idea of his family, of his friends, of will going back out there into this fight against henry, while he's back here, struggling to breathe and do even basic firebending again.

but we get the reversal of what we saw when will had similar issues with his airbending, where now will is the one helping mike relearn how to breathe. and mike confides in will and confesses to him that he feels so useless—that he doesn't know who he is without his firebending and sure, it's always been mediocre, he's no nancy, but at least, he's been able to do the basics. he can throw himself into danger even if he's not so good at bending, and he can be there, fighting alongside his friends. but now? now, mike doesn't know if he can do that, and he's scared because he knows will is going to end up going up against henry again too. he feels entirely useless.

and we just... we get a moment—i suppose the semi-equivalent of the van/heart moment—where will gets to affirm mike and remind him of his value that exists outside of his bending and even more than that, outside of everything he feels like he has to give to the world in order to be loved. it's a moment of pure love, because will has never needed mike to be great at bending or be able to protect him in order for will to love him. will just loves mike for who he is—kind, loyal, brave, intelligent, and so, so full of love.

interruption trope occurs because mike absolutely almost kisses will after this, since it's becoming more obvious that their feelings for each other are Not Platonic. gotta love a good byler interruption trope

#andi's asks #atlagate #stranger things/avatar au #making mike wheeler get vecna'd is my brand #even in aus apparently

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moeitsu · 9 days

Text

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 15 - When Up The Hilly Slope We Climbed

Summary: Arthur struggles to adjust to his new disabilities. Meanwhile Kate finds a job outside of camp for them, providing a few days respite and some much needed alone time. Arthur finally reveals his feelings.

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter /

A/N: Sorry this one has taken me a bit long folks! I've been super busy w/ work and moving into a new apartment. This chapter was supposed to be broken up into two days, but it's super long already (12.5k words). So day 2 will be apart of chapter 16.

TW: Slight nsfw, some steamy moments and kissing but nothing graphic. Implied ptsd and anxiety, night terrors.

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

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

Wide open plains stretched out as far as the eye could see, a sea of golden grasses swaying gently in the breeze. The cool wind rustled through Arthur's hair, carrying with it the scents of earth and freedom. Beneath him, the powerful, rhythmic breathing of his horse was a comforting constant, each hoofbeat a reminder of the boundless horizon that beckoned. The cold iron on his hip, always loaded and ready, was a familiar weight, a testament to the life he had chosen—a life of danger and defiance, a bandit perpetually on the run from the law. His deadeye and quickdraw ability were crucial in these untamed wild lands.

Nights were always spent around a crackling campfire, the warm smell of fresh meat sizzling over the flames mingling with the rich, smoky aroma of burning wood. Somewhere deep in the heartlands, under a blanket of swirling, twinkling stars, the heavens seemed to watch over them with a knowing smile. A beautiful woman sat by Arthur's side, her voice a soothing melody that wove through the night air, her eyes reflecting the flickering firelight with a bright, mesmerizing glow.

These were the moments Arthur cherished, the simple yet profound pleasures of a life lived on the edge. It was not a perfect life, but it was his, and he owned every moment of it. This was the life Arthur had always known—a life that now is nothing more than a distant dream.

—

It had been over a month since the day he was bushwhacked by Colm’s men, a day that had shattered the illusion of invincibility he had once held. The wounds on his body mirrored the scars on his spirit, each one a reminder of a brutal reality that had forever altered his existence.

Arthur’s fever broke shortly before the last of the antibiotics ran out, a small victory that brought a wave of relief. The gang, though worn down by worry, had always believed in Arthur’s resilience. His recovery, quicker than anyone expected, seemed almost miraculous. Kate remained by his side those crucial first few days after he woke up. She helped him walk on his injured ankle, offering a steady arm for support, and guided him through exercises for his left shoulder, her presence a constant source of encouragement. To her, Arthur was nothing short of a miracle. To Arthur, however, it felt more like a punishment. If not a death sentence for his sins, then a disability.

The feeling in his hand gradually returned, but a persistent dull ache haunted his arm whenever he moved his shoulder too much. And a warm throbbing often emitted from the site where the bullet had lodged into his flesh. On particularly strenuous days, an obnoxious tingling in his fingers, as if millions of tiny pins were stabbing into his skin, tormented him. Despite Kate’s efforts with physical therapy, he found himself unable to lift his arm above his head. No matter how hard he tried, his arm would tremble with the strain of effort. Kate assured him that it might improve with time, but Arthur was already swirling in doubt.

From the moment he woke up, Arthur insisted on being up and about. Having spent too much time confined to his cot, he longed to feel useful again and be a part of the group. Kate warned him that he still needed time to rest his ankle, but Arthur didn’t listen. Determined to regain his independence, he pushed himself to move around the camp. Kate, seeing his stubbornness, fashioned a crutch for him to use when he wanted to walk.

Arthur ignored the throbbing pain shooting up his leg for as long as he could. The first few days were the hardest, each step sending jolts of agony through his body. He clenched his teeth, determined not to let anyone see how much he was hurting. The gang watched him with a mix of admiration and concern, most of them offering support whenever they could.

Yet, the pain never seemed to cease. It became like a parasite gnawing away at his resolve. Whether it was the persistent dull ache of his shoulder and arm or the splintering agony in his ankle, Arthur’s body was never granted a moment's rest, not even in sleep. His nights were fragmented by vivid nightmares, a cruel reminder of the torture that had shattered his once peaceful evenings. Sleep, when it came, was fitful and brief, leaving him exhausted and irritable.

Arthur’s misery seemed to contrast sharply with the relief of the other gang members. They commended his survival, their laughter and cheer as a stark reminder of how isolated he felt. He knew he should be grateful, but instead, he felt like a different man—a shell of his former self. The transformation turned him into a frustrated grouch, snapping at those who simply wanted to help him.

Every attempt to regain his independence was met with well-meaning interference. “Let me get that for you,” someone would say, whether he was trying to fix a meal, complete a chore, or simply light a cigarette. Each offer of assistance, though kindly intended, only deepened his sense of uselessness.

Arthur now sat alone, perched upon a wooden chair outside his tent, nursing a cup of bitter hot coffee. The morning air was refreshing, the brief release before the dry heat of Lemoyne settled in for the day. The sounds of mourning doves waking up mixed with the usual clatter of morning camp activities, as everyone gathered for breakfast and prepared for the long day ahead. Arthur watched them move about from beneath the brim of his hat, its shade shielding his eyes from the bright golden sun. He idly flexed his left hand and rolled his wrist, a new habit he had formed to find some relief from the constant tingling sensation in his fingers.

The camp buzzed with familiar routines. He watched the girls collecting laundry and bringing heavy baskets to the water's edge. Javier and Lenny were engaged in a lively game of dominos, their laughter punctuating the morning air. Behind them, Pearson hummed softly to himself as he cracked eggs over a pan, the aroma of cooking breakfast wafting through the camp. In the distance, Bill’s voice could be heard taunting Kieran as he tended to the horses. Everything was as it should be, exactly how Arthur remembered it. But now, instead of being a part of it, he simply watched with growing envy.

Arthur was so deeply lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear the sound of Kate returning to camp. She had been gone with Charles and Sadie, hunting together for nearly three days. He missed her presence dearly; she was one of the few people he could tolerate amidst his pain. Arthur knew of the sacrifices she made for him, and continued to make. He could only hope to be given half the chance to repay his gratitude. She had become a constant source of relief and comfort. Kate’s brief absence had left a void, one that he felt acutely every day.

Kate approached quietly, taking in the sight of Arthur sitting alone. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he flexed his recovering hand, and her heart ached for him. She knew how hard it was for him to feel sidelined, to watch life go on without him being able to fully participate. But she couldn't help but feel immensely relieved with each passing day, Arthur was alive after all. A testament to his spirit, as well as her own dedication.

“Good morning,” Kate called out softly, her voice a gentle intrusion into Arthur’s trance.

Arthur’s gaze was distant, his side profile illuminated by the golden morning sun. He seemed lost in thought, his mind wandering far beyond the bustling camp around him.

“Arthur,” she repeated, closing the distance between them. This time, he looked up, surprise and relief washing over his features.

“Kate,” he greeted, his voice still hoarse and groggy from a restless night. “Didn’t hear ya come in. How was the hunt?” He lifted his silver cup of coffee to his lips, the steam mingling with the crisp morning air.

Kate took a seat on the trunk at the end of Arthur’s cot, a gesture that brought him a sense of comfort. Her presence calmed his troubled mind. “It went well. We brought back plenty of game. Charles and Sadie are already getting it sorted with Pearson.”

Arthur nodded, his eyes drifting back to the camp. “M’glad you’re back. Place felt emptier without you.”

Kate chuckled, a light, melodic sound that filled the space between them. “I’m sure it did. How’ve you been holding up?” she inquired, her tone gentle but probing. She had been reluctant to leave for the hunt, worried about how Arthur’s condition was affecting him mentally.

Arthur sighed, leaning back in his chair, his tired eyes meeting hers. The vibrant blue of his irises had returned, a sight Kate had dearly missed. “Same as always. Though I haven't moved much from this spot,” he gestured with a shrug of his hand. “Seems like I can’t even pour my own cup of coffee nowadays,” he added with a hint of mockery and sarcasm, his frustration evident.

Kate hummed in acknowledgment, pulling a small folded piece of paper from her pocket. “I’ve got a job for us,” she said finally, not commenting on Arthur’s supposed helplessness.

Arthur perked up slightly in his chair, curiosity lighting up his features. “Really? Doin’ what?” he asked, trying to bite back the eagerness in his voice. He longed to be back in the saddle, away from the confines of camp.

“Seamus sent me a telegram. His broodmare is going into labor soon, and his family is going to be out of town for a few days. He asked me to watch the place for him and keep an eye on her, in case she has the baby.” Kate smiled, hoping the task would give Arthur a sense of purpose and a much-needed break from camp life. She harbored a silent hope that it would also give Arthur a glimpse of what his life could look like, if he abandoned his title as an outlaw.

Arthur’s interest was piqued, and he leaned forward, the dull ache in his arm momentarily forgotten. “That sounds like somethin’ I can handle. When do we leave?”

Kate's smile widened, pleased to see a spark of enthusiasm in his eyes. “Let’s head out after breakfast.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Eager to leave, Arthur opted to skip breakfast. Determined to feel like his old self, he made his way to his mare, Belle, without hesitation. He could see her white coat gleaming in the distance, reflecting the golden rays of the morning sun. Abandoning the crutch Kate had made for him, he limped forward, gritting his teeth against the pain. He longed for normalcy, for the feeling of being whole and capable again. The next few days promised him the opportunity to work and contribute, and he was damned if he would spend more time resting when he could make himself useful.

Reaching Belle, Arthur whispered soft greetings to her, brushing her sleek coat with gentle strokes. The mare nickered softly, enjoying the attention. He snuck her a couple of oat crackers, watching with a small smile as she eagerly nibbled them from his hand. As he turned to gather his saddle, he heard footsteps approaching and glanced over his shoulder to see Kate.

“I was thinkin’ we’d take Lorena together,” she suggested kindly, her eyes filled with concern.

A twinge of disappointment shot through Arthur. He ached to ride, to feel that sense of freedom he had been missing. “M’fine, Kate. I can still ride,” he answered, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. He knew she was only concerned for his well-being, but the idea that he might not be able to ride terrified him more than he cared to admit.

Kate approached Arthur’s side, petting Belle affectionately. “I know you can,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s Belle I’m worried ‘bout. Kieran and I have tried to saddle her, but she’s still reluctant to leave the camp. I don’t wanna push her if she ain’t ready.”

Arthur gave her a sad but understanding look. He nuzzled Belle’s snout, whispering apologies to her as she nibbled at his hat affectionately. Her familiar warmth and the gentle nudge of her muzzle were comforting, yet a poignant reminder of the torment they shared.

Kate whistled for Lorena, who was only a few feet away, staying protectively close to her companion. “You wanna saddle her up for me?” she asked Arthur, her voice kind but encouraging.

“Sure,” Arthur nodded appreciatively, gathering Kate’s buckles and saddle bags from the hitching post.

Arthur worked quietly as he saddled the large black Hungarian horse. There were moments when he faltered, the weight too much for his weakened arm. But Kate never once interfered. He stumbled and cursed under his breath, frustration simmering beneath his determination. Each setback was met with another attempt, his resolve unwavering. It took him longer than he would have liked, but once Lorena was ready, he felt a small sense of victory.

Kate watched him work, her eyes filled with silent support. She knew better than to offer unsolicited help; Arthur needed to do this on his own. When he finally finished, he gave her a small nod, a flicker of pride in his eyes. Kate grabbed the reins and held them out to Arthur.

A moment of understanding passed between them as Arthur realized Kate was doing this for him. She was giving him the tools to be independent again, one small step at a time. His heart swelled with gratitude, and he couldn’t bite back the smile that spread across his cheeks.

He lifted himself onto the horse slowly from the right side, using his good arm to pull himself up. His ankle throbbed under the weight of his body, but he swallowed the pain. In moments, he was in position, like he had done so a million times before. Poised and ready to take off like a bandit in the night, he felt a spark of the old Arthur Morgan returning.

With his good arm, he reached out a hand to Kate, who accepted the kind gesture with a smile. She settled herself behind him, a stark difference from the last time they rode together, when Arthur’s blood had stained the cracks of her leather saddle. She pushed the haunting memory down and playfully patted Arthur’s thigh. The leather of his chaps was warm beneath her fingers from the summer morning sun.

“I’m ready when you are,” she said joyfully, her voice full of light. Arthur glanced back, flashing her a grin that made her heart skip a beat.

With a click of his tongue, they took off down the vibrant green path that led out of Clemens Point. The rhythmic thudding of Lorena's hooves was like a heartbeat, steady and strong. The morning sun cast long shadows over the landscape, the world awakening around them. Birds sang from the treetops, and the scent of blooming wildflowers filled the air.

Kate's arms wrapped securely around his waist, her presence comforting. The warmth of her touch seeped through his shirt, grounding him in the moment. Arthur felt the wind in his hair and the familiar weight of the reins in his hands. Each stride of the horse brought him a little closer to the man he used to be. The pain in his ankle and arm faded into the background as the thrill of the ride took over.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

They rode past fields of tall grass swaying in the breeze, the golden tips brushing against their legs as if nature itself was greeting them. The sunlight spread through the horizon, painting a warm glow over the countryside. They crossed a sparkling creek, the water bubbling merrily as it wound its way through the terrain, a glistening ribbon of life cutting through the earth. Arthur and Kate shared smiles and stolen glances, their anticipation for what lay ahead growing stronger with each passing mile.

Arthur felt the tension ease from his shoulders, the rhythmic motion of the horse beneath him a familiar sensation. He knew he had been petulant the past couple of weeks, his frustrations spilling over onto the camp members. Guilt gnawed at him, but at this moment, all he could think about was Kate.

Her voice was a soothing sound as she pointed out sights along the way, her laughter blending harmoniously with the hum of nature. It was a healing song to his soul, mending the frayed edges of his spirit in ways he could never have imagined. The warmth of her body pressed against his back, her fingers gently hugging his sides as she held onto him, brought a sense of belonging he had longed for.

For a while, they rode together in a comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft clop of Lorena’s hooves and the rustling of the wind through the grass. The landscape unfurled before them like a tapestry, each new vista more beautiful than the last. Arthur felt a boldness stir within him, a desire to express the gratitude and affection that had been building in his heart.

“Kate?” he called, gathering her attention from whatever had caught her eye in the fields. Her gaze shifted to him, a soft hum of acknowledgment escaping her lips.

“I’ve said it before, but—” Arthur breathed deeply, sincerity filling his tone. “Thank you. I know takin’ care of me wasn’t easy.”

Kate squeezed his thigh affectionately, her touch a gentle reassurance. “Nothing in life is easy, Arthur. But I would do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant you’d still be here,” she said softly.

Arthur let her words sink in. She wanted him around. There were days when Arthur thought he had nobody, that he was better off alone or even dead. To hear her say those words filled him with a sense of purpose, a reason to keep fighting. He recalled the night he stumbled upon her letter in his journal. The weight of her confession felt heavy in his satchel now, a constant reminder of the unspoken words between them. He had found the courage to write down his feelings next to hers, but some part of him still lacked the bravery to bring them to light.

“Still don’t think I deserved it,” Arthur mumbled, more to himself than to Kate. Self-doubt simmered beneath his appreciation, a constant shadow in his mind. “You’ll have to let me repay the kindness someday,” he admitted.

Kate smiled, her hand resting warmly on his thigh. “No need to repay it. You can lean on me when things get hard. That’s what friends are for,” she said softly, giving him a gentle squeeze from behind in the saddle.

Her words from the first night she stayed at camp echoed in his mind, the night he realized he was falling for this extraordinary woman. She had been quietly singing a lullaby to her horse, and unknowingly, to Arthur as well. It was the same night he received a troubling letter from Mary, his heart filled with confusion and ache. Yet her presence brought him a sense of truth he had been longing for.

Helping others isn’t a weakness, Kate had said, it’s a testament to our humanity.

Those words had struck a chord deep within him. Kate was the most human person Arthur had ever met. She embraced him as he was, with all his flaws and scars, and proved her loyalty and friendship time and time again. She had a way of making him feel seen, understood, and valued—something he rarely experienced in life.

“Can I ask ya for a favor?” he said suddenly, changing the subject.

Kate giggled, her laughter a sweet whisper on the open air. “Of course,” she breathed, curious about his request.

“Will ya sing me somethin’?” Arthur asked, a touch of bashfulness creeping into his tone. He was sure she would sing; Kate loved to sing, and Arthur loved to listen to her. Like the prettiest song bird he ever did hear.

Kate’s eyes sparkled with surprise and delight. She shifted slightly, tightening her hold around his waist, her breath close against his back. “I’d love to,” she whispered.

Arthur felt a shiver of anticipation as Kate began to sing, her voice soft and melodic. He could feel the breath in her lungs and the vibration of her vocals behind him. The song she chose was an old folk tune, one that was filled with love and sweetness. Her voice floated on the breeze, mingling with the rustling leaves and the distant call of birds. Each note wrapped around Arthur like a warm hug, soothing the lingering stress in his body and soul.

Give you my lovin', seven days a week

I'll be your honey, if you'll be sweet

I know, I'm the only one for you

I know that you think this is not true.

See you in places, I'm followin' you

You'll be upstairs, and I'll be there too

Everywhere you go, I will follow

I know it won't be the same tomorrow.

People give me warnings, to stay away from you

They say you'll hurt me, I don't think that's true

When I see you, I wanna kiss you

But I know that ain't right, so I ask if I can hold you.

Oh, honey, I need you so bad

Oh, honey, I only want to make you glad.

Arthur felt a fluttering in his chest at her choice of song. The lyrics felt personal, as if she were speaking directly to him. Her voice filled him with confidence and reassurance. At that moment, Arthur knew he would give her the letter when they arrived at Emerald Ranch. The very place where it all began, where their paths had crossed during their unlikely task.

“Gosh, woman,” Arthur mused with a playful smile, “I gotta get’chu a guitar or somethin’.”

Kate chuckled. “Can you imagine? I’d never shut up if I had one of my own!” She laughed out loud, unaware of how much Arthur longed to hear her sing, like a songbird perched outside his window every morning.

“That’s the dream, darlin’,” Arthur replied softly.

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Taking a look around the inside of the little farmhouse, Arthur marveled at how cozy it was. From the outside, it looked like your typical run-down ranch house, weathered and unassuming. But on the inside, it was a warm and welcoming home, filled with the tangible essence of years of hard work and family moments. The walls were adorned with faded photographs and handmade decorations, each telling a story of its own. The wooden floors creaked with a comforting familiarity, and the scent of aged wood mixed with the faint aroma of bread lingering in the air.

Arthur had only ever known Seamus as a rancher who ran a side business as a merchant. He had never imagined the man’s home to be so inviting, so filled with life and history. The mismatched furniture added to the charm, each piece seemingly holding its own tales.

“So, this guy really trusts you to stay in his house for a few days?” Arthur asked skeptically, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. “How’s he know you won’t rob ‘em?” he added incredulously.

Kate huffed a laugh, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Cause I’m no thief,” she emphasized, her tone playful and firm. “Seamus is very good to his ranch-hands. They do a lot for him, and he always repays their honest work.” She gestured towards the kitchen table, a short letter indicating instructions for her while he was gone as well as a wad of cash. As if he already knew Kate would show up for the task. “Besides, his broodmare Dolly can be a real handful. But she always liked me,” she added with a playful wink, a hint of pride in her voice.

Arthur couldn't help but smile at her confidence and ease. She was a reliable, trustworthy woman. He followed her as she held open the front door, indicating she would give him a tour of the rest of the property.

Together they walked over to the barn, the familiar sounds of cows lowing and chickens clucking filling the air. The occasional whinny from a horse echoed in the distance. The barn itself was sturdy and well-kept, with bales of hay neatly stacked and the scent of fresh straw mingling with the earthy aroma of the animals.

Lorena was bareback in the pen, nibbling on the hay with the other horses. Her sleek black coat shone in the soft light, a picture of contentment. Arthur admired how the horses seemed at peace here, a reflection of the care and attention they received.

As they walked, Kate pointed out various aspects of the ranch, sharing anecdotes and bits of history. “Seamus built this barn himself, you know. Every plank and nail. Took him the better part of a year,” she said, voice filled with respect.

Arthur listened intently, appreciating the glimpse into a world so different from his own. “Seems like a good man,” he remarked, nodding thoughtfully.

“He is,” Kate agreed. “He’s one of the few who understands the value of hard work and loyalty. And the payoff of living an honest life.”

Arthur chuckled, “if my memory serves me right, he had me and Hosea rob his cousin a few months back.” He said scratching his chin.

Kate shot him a knowing grin, “oh I remember. I got stuck babysitting you morons,” she teased. In a more serious tone she added, “but he’s got a family to take care of. And life ain’t easy.”

They paused at the edge of the pen, watching the horses for a moment. The golden afternoon sun bathed the ranch in a warm glow, casting dark shadows and highlighting the beauty of the surroundings. Arthur felt a sense of peace here, a welcome relief from the chaos of their usual lives.

Kate turned to him, her eyes shining with a mix of pride and contentment. “Ready to meet Dolly?” she asked, a smile playing on her lips.

With a nod from Arthur, Kate led him to the back of the stables, where the broodmare was kept. The area was a safe distance from the other mares and stallions, ensuring a quiet and secure environment for the expectant mother. Dolly, a large dapple gray Andalusian with a white muzzle and a distinctive white stripe down her forehead, stood regally in her stall. She was too old to be working but too young to be retired, so she had become a mother to a handful of strong young fillies.

Kate had worked around Dolly for a few weeks and initially suffered accordingly. The mare had a reputation for being temperamental and unpredictable. Dolly had once nearly kicked Kate’s head off when she attempted to re-shoe her. She was the one horse that genuinely frightened Kate, which said a lot considering Lorena’s temper.

But like any challenge, Kate approached it with patience and conviction. She spent countless hours with Dolly, speaking to her softly and handling her with care. Gradually, the mare's wild eyes softened, and she began to form a bond of trust with Kate. Dolly acknowledged that Kate was the master, and she the hound. While Dolly remained fierce and powerful, Kate was the only one who could tame her.

Kate greeted the large mare warmly, her eyes softening at the sight of Dolly’s swollen, round belly. “Hey mama. Good lord girl, you are ready to pop!” she exclaimed, scratching under Dolly’s snout. The mare snorted and flicked her ears, reacting to Arthur’s unfamiliar scent in her territory.

“She’s a beauty,” Arthur remarked, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance.

Kate smiled, continuing to scratch Dolly’s favorite spot. “She is, isn’t she? Took some time, but we got to understand each other.” She glanced at Arthur, her eyes twinkling with pride and affection. “She’s still got some spirit in her, but she knows I’m here to help.”

Arthur admired the way she gently stroked her snout, “You’ve got a way with these animals, Kate. It’s somethin’ special.”

Kate’s smile widened, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “Thanks, Arthur. That means a lot coming from you.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, watching as Dolly nuzzled Kate’s hand. The soft sounds of the other horses in the stables and the gentle rustling of hay created a peaceful atmosphere.

Kate turned to Arthur, her hand still resting on Dolly’s snout. “Wanna give it a try?” she asked, nodding toward the mare.

Arthur hesitated for a moment, but then he took a breath and stepped forward. He reached out slowly, allowing Dolly to catch his scent. The mare flicked her ears again but didn’t pull away. With a gentle touch, Arthur stroked her neck, feeling the warmth and strength beneath his fingers.

“She don’t seem so bad,” he muttered as her whiskers tickled his other hand, a tentative smile forming on his lips.

Suddenly, Dolly shrieked loudly and stomped her hooves, causing Arthur to jerk back slightly. Kate laughed, a sound like tinkling bells, and said, “Oh, stop it, you’re embarrassing me,” she spoke to the horse scoldingly. “He’s harmless,” she added softly, grabbing her reins and gently coaxing her back to Arthur’s presence.

Arthur watched in admiration as Kate handled the mare with such ease and gentleness. The way she treated Dolly, her own horse, and every beast with respect and concern showed a depth of compassion that extended far beyond human interactions. It was as if her love and care were boundless, touching every living thing she encountered.

The tempered mare approached reluctantly as Arthur pulled a peppermint from his satchel. He smiled to himself as Dolly hesitantly lowered her head again to accept the irresistible sweet treat. “You’re not the only one with a sweet tooth,” he muttered, popping one of the candies in his mouth and seizing the opportunity to pet her snout.

“Look at that, friends already,” Kate said, clasping her hands together with a look of satisfaction. She turned to Arthur, her gaze filled with anticipation. “You ready to get to work?”

Arthur nodded and made a gesture with his hands, “Ready as the day is long,” he said with a smile. “What can I do?” he asked, looking around the barn, eager to contribute.

Kate placed a hand on her hip and followed his gaze, contemplating how they would split the work. She wanted to give him enough labor to make him feel useful, but nothing that would be too strenuous for him. Arthur glanced at her with a hint of amusement, appreciating her thoughtful consideration. In that moment, they weren’t just friends or potential lovers—they were simply a couple of ranch hands ready to tackle the day’s work together. She had a way about her that made him feel human again.

“Well,” Kate began, her eyes scanning the barn, “we need to muck out the stalls and make sure all the animals are fed and watered. After that, we can check on Dolly again and make sure she’s comfortable.”

Seamus usually had at least three to six ranch hands depending on the season. Most of them were his own kin, which meant they were short a few hands. The sun had begun its descent past its peak at noon, casting long shadows across the ranch. Only a handful of hours remained before dusk would creep in, and Kate estimated that their work would take them through the rest of the afternoon.

“Think you can start with the stalls?” Kate inquired, her mind already planning out the evening's tasks.

“Absolutely,” Arthur’s voice broke through her thoughts, filled with determination.

Kate nodded with a smile, slipping on a pair of leather gloves. “I’ll be around if you need me. Just holler,” she said, ready to tackle her own chores.

As she turned to leave, Arthur stopped her. “Hang on a moment.”

Kate paused, watching as Arthur pulled out a folded piece of paper tucked into his journal. His hand trembled slightly, whether from his injury or nerves, she couldn't tell.

Kate accepted the paper with a furrowed brow, her fingers itching to peek inside. “What’s thi–”

“Read it later,” Arthur blurted out, the words tumbling together like a stampede. “Please,” he added softly, trying to swallow the heat rising up his neck. He had never considered himself a ladies' man, and he wondered every day how he ever managed to catch the eye of a woman such as Kate. Writing in his journal was the purest way he could communicate his thoughts, and Kate had learned to understand his language, which still felt surreal to him.

Standing there like a proud young stallion, Arthur held his hat to his chest, an adorably sincere gesture he had done a few times around Kate. She knew then what the little paper contained within its folds. He was baring his heart to her in the best way he knew how.

She smiled warmly and tucked the confession into her breast pocket, close to her heart. “I’ll read it later, Arthur,” she promised.

Arthur headed to the stalls, grabbing a pitchfork and setting to work. Each movement, though painful, felt purposeful. He shoveled the muck with a steady rhythm, the repetitive task giving him time to reflect on the note he had given Kate. He wondered what she would think, how she would react, and hoped that his words would convey the depth of his feelings.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The hours passed by in a whirlwind of tasks. Kate tackled the heavy labor, her muscles straining with the effort as she moved bales of hay, repaired fencing, and carried buckets of water to the troughs. She welcomed the physical challenge, the work offered a familiar routine she had been missing. It kept her focused and grounded, and she found a certain satisfaction in the job.

Arthur, meanwhile, took care of the barn duties. He mucked out the stalls, cleaned the tack, and ensured the animals were comfortable. Every now and then, he would pause to stretch his sore shoulder or lean against the stable gate to rest his ankle. Despite the aches in his body, he felt a sense of accomplishment with each completed task. The familiar rhythm of ranch life created a comforting sense of normalcy. Unlike his usual work, it brought him domestic bliss. Something he had always longed for.

As the afternoon wore on, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long, golden shadows across the ranch. The air grew cooler, and a soft breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees. Kate paused to take in the moment, leaning against an upturned trough. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, her gaze drifting upward.

The sky had taken on a dramatic hue, the once bright blue now a tapestry of darkening clouds. The sun dipped on the horizon, creating a fiery glow that contrasted sharply with the ominous gray that was slowly overtaking it. The scent of rain was in the air, a fresh, earthy aroma.

The day's work had taken its toll, and she felt a pleasant exhaustion settling into her bones. She figured it was time to call it a day anyway; the approaching storm and the growl of her stomach made the decision an easy one.

Before they could retire for the night, one task remained on Kate’s mind. She sought out a secluded spot under a nearby tree, the gentle rustling of leaves providing a soothing backdrop. Kate tugged her gloves off with her teeth, simultaneously pulling the letter from her pocket. Her fingers traced the folds, her heart racing with anticipation and a twinge of uncertainty. Whatever lay within these pages would change their relationship forever; Kate fervently hoped it was a change for the better.

Feeling the weight of Arthur's words in her palm, she carefully unfolded the handful of papers. The edges were smooth yet serrated, as if he had meticulously torn them from his journal. The folds were straight and pressed, resembling the careful sealing of an envelope. Kate marveled at his genuine care for something so simple.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she filled her heart with clarity and began to read his words:

My darling Kate…

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

~ 3 days ago ~

In the depth of night, the moon had carved its way across the sky, a silent sentinel overseeing the world below. Even the creatures of the shadows were preparing to sleep, the sunrise just beyond the horizon. The sky was an inky black canvas, streaked with gray clouds, as the world beyond began to stir.

There were no stars that night, as if the universe mirrored Arthur's loneliness. Only the glowing black and red coals of a dying campfire kept the midnight chill from seeping into his bones. Despite the faint warmth, his hands felt as cold as his aching heart. He had woken from another restless sleep only hours ago, haunted by memories that burned in the back of his mind like a shot of whiskey, distorting his sense of reality.

It had gotten better with each passing day. Most nights, Arthur managed to talk himself out of his terror, reminding himself where he was, that he was not in danger, that the lives of the gang were not in danger.

But there were nights, like tonight, when Arthur would wake with a sense of urgency and panic. His sleepless, tormented mind was confused and afraid, desperately searching for a way out. Everything around him was shrouded in darkness, and he couldn't distinguish memory from reality. The ghosts of his past torment mingled with the shadows of his present, creating a suffocating void that threatened to swallow him whole.

On these nights, Kate was always there for him. Though these episodes were infrequent, she never failed to appear when his sense of panic neared the brink of danger, for himself or for others. With gentle coaxing, she would guide him to sit with her by the fire, her presence calming his frayed nerves. She would reassure him, answering any and all of his questions, no matter how many times he asked. Her voice, soothing and steady, became his anchor in the storm.

When Arthur finally calmed down, she would speak softly to him for hours until he was tired enough to return to sleep. Sometimes, they would sit in companionable silence until the first light of dawn broke through the horizon, the crackling of the fire and the quiet sounds of the night their only company.

But tonight, Kate wasn't there. She had left with Charles and Sadie at first light, eager to provide for the camp and savor the thrill of the hunt. Arthur remained behind, confined by his injuries. He knew it was ridiculous to feel jealous of their outing, but it wasn’t just the escape he longed for—it was Kate.

Her presence was a constant source of relief amidst his pain and frustrations. When Kate was with him, the burdens of his injuries and fears seemed to lift, carried away on the wind. It didn’t matter if she was idly chatting over breakfast, her laughter mingling with the morning light, or helping him with the simple tasks his injuries had made difficult. Her kindness and care infused every moment with warmth and comfort.

But now, in the stillness of the night, Arthur felt a deep, gnawing loneliness. His friends slept just ten feet away, their soft snores and shifting forms a reminder of their presence. Yet, he couldn’t stand the way they looked at him now, as if he were helpless and weak. They commended his strength and recovery, but there was a change in their demeanor, a subtle shift that made him feel more isolated than ever. They saw him in a different light, and he hated how it made him feel—like an outsider in his own family.

Arthur’s thoughts turned to his satchel, to the old leather journal tucked inside. He hadn’t so much as opened it since the day his heart was laid bare, his private words exposed in a way that felt humiliating. Those pages now seemed tainted, the words within soaked with memories he wished he could forget. The journal had once been a refuge, a place where he could pour out his soul, but now it felt like a canvas painted with malicious strokes of red ink.

Needing an outlet for his swirling thoughts, Arthur reluctantly opened the journal, the pages heavy with memories. He flipped through drawings, entries, and little notes, each one a fragment of his life. Portraits of Kate mingled with sketches of flowers and scenery, their delicate lines capturing moments of fleeting beauty.

His fingers paused on one particular page, the image stretching across both sides of the journal. On the left, a tender depiction of Kate laying in the grass, sleeping against her saddle. Her face was serene, her features softened by slumber. Lorena, her loyal mare, had her head nestled on Kate's chest, equally deep in sleep. The scene was a perfect snapshot of peace and companionship.

On the right side of the page, Arthur had sketched the familiar rocky shoreline of Clemens Point. The sun was setting, its rays kissing the horizon and casting a glow over the water. The waves lapped gently at the rocks, the rhythmic motion almost audible through the drawing.

In Arthur’s print, a simple note read: My world.

The words echoed in his mind, resonating with a profound truth. Kate was his world. She brought color to his sketches, life to his drawings, and hope to his weary soul. The two images revealed everything he held dear—the serenity of nature, the warmth of company, and the beauty of the young woman who had captured his heart.

He recalled the day with a light smile, the memory warming him from within. Arthur had been fishing, enjoying one of the rare days when he had time to himself. He had found a secluded spot hidden by a formation of rocks, where the world seemed to fall away. The afternoon and evening were spent indulging in the simple pleasure of fishing. Captivated by the scene around him, he captured the moment by sketching the view, the gentle ripples of the water, the play of light on the surface, and the dense trees framing the landscape.

Sometime later, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, Kate had wandered into the small clearing nearby. Unbeknownst to her, it was right behind Arthur’s fishing spot. He watched her quietly, drawn to the scene by the sound of her voice, a soft melody that carried on the gentle breeze. She was singing to her mare, Lorena, like she did most evenings. Her voice was tender, filled with a love that touched Arthur deeply.

Kate brushed Lorena’s coat with slow, deliberate strokes, her fingers combing through the mare’s mane with practiced ease. Arthur could see the bond between them, the trust and affection that had been built through countless moments like this. The sight was mesmerizing.

After a while, the soft singing ceased, replaced by the low hum of cicadas and the occasional chirp of tree frogs. The evening light cast a golden glow over the clearing, making it feel like a scene from a dream. He glanced back and saw Kate lying in the grass, sound asleep. Her chest rose and fell with the gentle rhythm of her breathing, and Lorena rested her head protectively near Kate's.

Without wasting a second, Arthur pulled out his journal and filled the blank page next to his first sketch. He captured the pleasant image of Kate and Lorena with delicate, careful strokes, the grass bending softly around them, the mare's head nestled close to her, the light framing them both in a warm embrace.

Arthur continued to flip through the pages of his journal, his breath catching at the jagged edges of a torn page. The memory of someone having taken one of his portraits of her resurfaced, a sting of loss mingling with shame. He swallowed the memory and continued flipping, searching for a blank page.

He paused when he reached an unfamiliar script. The handwriting was smooth and fine, the elegant cursive of someone properly educated. It was a woman's delicate handwriting. The heading caught his breath:

My dearest Arthur

The words swam through his mind as he took in each stroke of the pencil. His heart swelled with adoration and yearning, and his cheeks warmed with the emotion that welled up inside him. Kate’s words, tender and heartfelt, brought silent tears to his eyes. Arthur didn’t know what he had done to deserve such love, what higher power had put him through hell only to provide this light at the end.

The fear and doubt that had plagued him still lingered, but in this moment, Arthur knew he had to answer her letter. He felt an urgency, a need to reciprocate the love she had so freely given. For the rest of the evening, he put together his thoughts onto those pages;

My darling Kate,

Forgive me, if it seems cowardly, doing things this way. But I’m afraid it’s the only way I know how. It’s really hard for me to face you sometimes; I get choked up and the words don’t come out right. You smile, and my heart just leaps from me. Your company is a great comfort to me, more than you could ever know.

I’m not very good at all this—feelings, and just life in general. In my years I have only ever known mayhem. I was born with blood on my hands and I have never allowed myself a moment of peace. I’ve spent so much time living on the run, thinking only of survival and the next job. I was scared to live, and I was scared to die.

I never thought I would dream of a quiet life, a good life. But you’ve changed that, Kate. You’ve shown me a kindness and warmth I thought I’d never feel again. I don’t deserve it, and yet you’ve given me a reason to believe that maybe there’s more to this life than hurting and hiding.

When I look at you, I see a future I never dared to dream of. I see us together, building a life filled with simple joys and quiet moments. I see a place we can call home, where I can watch you shine and spread your wings like the angel you are.

I know I don't have much to offer you. My life has been a series of hard choices and rough roads, and I carry the weight of those years with me. But what I can offer you is my heart. My affection, my strength, my loyalty, and my love. It’s not much, but it’s yours. All of me is yours.

You’ve brought light into my life, Kate, and I want nothing more than to drown myself in the rays of your beauty. To be by your side is the greatest gift you could ever give me. I want to wake up each morning in our home and fill it with memories and laughter, to create a place where love and joy are as natural as the air we breathe.

I always worried that I may never live long enough to see the whole world, but now I’ve found that I already have. When I look into your eyes, I see everything I've ever searched for.

So, if you’ll have me, I’d love to chase that dream of a wooden house with you.

With all my heart,

Arthur

p.s - Your words make me forget the pains of my past. So, thank you, for healing that part of me too.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The winds picked up, carrying with them an electric scent that announced a coming storm. The smell of grass and hay mingled with the atmosphere, creating a heady mix that filled the air. The breeze swirled around Kate, shaking the leaves above her with a growing intensity. Her heart mirrored the uproar around her, a storm of emotions raging like a hurricane through the Midwest. The rumble of thunder echoed the drumming of her heart, each beat resonating with the power of the approaching storm.

Wiping her tears with a trembling hand, Kate gently folded the letter and placed it back in her breast pocket. The rain began to fall in gentle sputters, mingling with the warmth against her cheeks. Each drop felt like a kiss from the sky, a reminder of the heartfelt joy she hadn't felt since her old life—the life she had been forced to leave behind. She had once thought she might never reach such peace again, but here she was, on the brink of a new beginning.

Everything was going to change. Once again, fate had taken her life in a new direction, an unexpected but welcome turn amidst the troubles and turmoils she had experienced. Arthur was the beginning of a new life, a second chance at feeling whole again. His love was like a lantern, its warm glow guiding her through the darkness and giving her hope for a future she had only dared to dream of again.

The rain began to fall more steadily, each drop a mark on the story of her life. Kate’s mind raced with thoughts of Arthur, the man who had captured her heart with his quiet strength and unshakable loyalty. She felt a sudden sense of urgency, a desperate need to be with him.

She stood up, the wind tugging at her clothes as if urging her forward. The rain began to fall harder, but she hardly noticed. Her mind was filled with thoughts of Arthur—his rugged handsomeness, the way his eyes softened when he looked at her, the warmth of his touch.

With purposeful, quickened footsteps, Kate made her way to the barn in search of him. She noted how clean the stalls looked, the horses and barn animals contentedly eating their dinner and settling in for the night. Her heart pounded with each glance as she searched for him, her excitement building with every step.

Rounding the corner, she finally spotted him. Arthur had his back turned to her, his broad shoulders moving rhythmically as he spread hay through the birthing stall, preparing it meticulously for Dolly’s comfort. The muscles in his back and arms flexed with each movement, showcasing the strength and care he put into every task. The sight of him working with such dedication sent a thrill through her heart.

Kate quickened her pace, her feet barely touching the ground as she approached the stall gate. The soft jingle of the latch caught his attention, and he turned to greet her, his expression shifting from focused determination to warm surprise.

He rested his injured arm on the pitchfork, his eyes lighting up as they met hers. “What are you smiling at?” Arthur asked playfully, noting the tear-stained cheeks and the rosy hue that adorned her ear-to-ear smile. It was a sight that never got old to him. In that moment, he knew she had read his letter.

Kate giggled softly, her voice filled with joy. “For a mean, nasty outlaw, you sure can be pretty damn romantic,” she teased, her smile widening as she bit her bottom lip. She felt like a giddy teenager in his presence, her heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and love.

Arthur grinned, a bashful look crossing his face as he turned his head, scratching his neck awkwardly. “I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout romance, sweetheart,” he mumbled, his voice tinged with self-consciousness.

Kate opened the gate, stepping inside the stall with purpose. Arthur dropped the pitchfork, his eyes locked onto her as she closed the gap between them. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her voice a breathless whisper, "Oh, shut up and kiss me, Arthur."

Arthur's eyes widened, his pupils dilating until the blue of his irises was barely visible. He wasted no time winding his arm around her waist, his good hand sliding up to cup the back of her head. Her warmth was intoxicating, he felt blessed to get drunk on her love.

And he kissed her.

Deeply, passionately, achingly. Their lips collided with an intensity that spoke of all the emotions they had kept bottled up. Their noses brushed against one another, moving in a delicate dance like swans in courtship. The soft rub of their cheeks, the fervent joining and breaking of their lips, created a symphony of love and desire. Breathless sighs of pleasure filled the air around them.

The wind picked up, whipping through the stalls and causing their hair to flutter and tickle their cheeks. The distant rumble of thunder signaled the approaching storm, but nothing could break them from their shared moment of passion.

Kate cupped Arthur's cheek in her hand, savoring the softness of his beard beneath her fingers. She trailed her hand to the back of his neck and gently tugged on his hair, eliciting a deep moan that she eagerly swallowed. Arthur’s tongue played at her lips, seeking permission for deeper intimacy. Kate welcomed him, her tongue meeting his in a dance as old as time. The taste of peppermint mixed with the scent of his musk filled her senses, making her dizzy with desire.

Arthur groaned at the sensation of her gently sucking on his tongue, pulling her body tightly against his. The heat between them was palpable, their bodies pressed so close that not even the wind could come between them. Each touch, each kiss, and every heartbeat only elevated the burning tension between them.

Their surroundings faded away, the barn and its animals, the impending storm, all became insignificant. In that moment, it was just the two of them, lost in each other. Kate's fingers threaded through Arthur's hair, her nails grazing his scalp in a way that sent shivers down his spine. His hands roamed her back, memorizing every curve and dip, pulling her even closer as if he could never get enough.

Kate gasped as he took her bottom lip between his teeth, a tantalizing hint of pain and pleasure that sent a warm flood to her core. Then he attacked her mouth again with such ferocity that she felt she might stumble backward. But Arthur's hand was splayed across her lower back, fingers tracing circles against the curve of her spine, holding her protectively in his embrace. She rolled her hips forward against his, eliciting a deep grunt from him as his grip tightened on her hair. Pure bliss filled her heart and mind, every sensation magnified by the intensity of their connection.

A sudden, earth-shaking clap of thunder, followed by a brilliant strike of lightning, lit up the air, startling them both. So enraptured were they in each other that for a moment, the world outside had ceased to exist. The rain began to pour in heavy drops, pattering rhythmically against the tin roof of the barn, creating a symphony of nature's power.

Kate glanced outside, breaking the kiss as the storm raged on. The intensity of the moment left her breathless, her lips tingling from their passionate exchange. Arthur panted, his gaze never leaving her features, his eyes dark with desire and affection.

"Kate," he breathed, his voice a husky whisper. "You drive me wild."

She looked up at him, taking in the sight of his lips swollen and red, nearly matching the pink of his cheeks that reached all the way to his ears. His hat had blown off, landing somewhere in the hay, and his hair was delightfully disheveled from both the wind and Kate's delicate fingers. His blue eyes met hers with such contented bliss, heavy with warmth. Wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes from the smile that spread across his lips. Kate wished she could freeze this moment, capturing it forever, safe from the tricks of time.

"Arthur," she replied, his name a sacred prayer on her lips, carrying all the love and adoration she felt for him.

He leaned in again, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, his touch tender and reverent. “Was a little worried you might not feel the same,” he murmured against her skin. “After I woke up ‘n all,” he added, a hint of doubt lacing his voice. The memory of his injury and the changes it had wrought in him weighed heavily on his mind. He felt different, diminished somehow, and it gnawed at his confidence.

Kate scoffed lightly at the absurdity of the idea, as if she would ever dare to think less of him. “Really? Why would you think that?” She asked, nudging her head to get him to look in her eyes. They held each other close, gently rocking against each other with the rhythm of the rain.

Arthur held her gaze, his blue eyes reflecting a deep-seated self-doubt. “Dunno, I knew I wasn't the most striking bachelor before. And now I—” he hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He thought of himself as half the man he used to be, the injuries a constant reminder. “Sometimes I just think I’m undesirable.”

Kate tightened her hold on him, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on his back. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the self-doubt that weighed heavily on him. "Arthur," she began softly, her voice filled with conviction, "You are a wonderful, beautiful man. Your strength, your kindness, your heart—that’s what matterns. You are always worthy of love."

Arthur's eyes softened, the weight of her words easing his troubled heart. He leaned his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. “What did I do to deserve a woman like you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kate smiled, her heart brimming with love. “You’re more than enough for me, Arthur. And you always will be.”

They stood there for a few moments, the barn providing a sanctuary from the storm. The rain continued to patter against the roof, creating a gentle symphony that seemed to echo the rhythm of their shared heartbeat. The air was cool and fresh, carrying the scent of wet hay and earth, mingling with the warmth of their closeness.

Arthur sighed, his reluctance evident as he spoke. "I reckon it's about time we called it a night, huh?" His voice was soft, almost wistful. He began peppering little kisses over Kate’s cheeks, each one tender and filled with affection. She giggled softly, the sound a melodic contrast to the storm outside.

She responded in kind, launching her own playful attack of kisses. Their laughter mingled with the rain, filling the barn with a lightheartedness that made the moment feel timeless. "Oh, but you make it so hard," she whined teasingly, her voice dripping with playful frustration.

Arthur's hands roamed her back, his touch gentle and loving. "I’d be happy to bed you right here in this barn, Kate," he murmured against her skin, his breath hot on her neck. He captured her lips in a final, heated kiss, their desire deepening with each passing moment.

Kate shuddered at his words. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, she pulled away from his embrace. The absence of his warmth was immediately palpable, a stark contrast to the heat that had enveloped her just moments before. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of love and longing.

"We should get inside," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of passion. "There's a warm fire and bath waiting for us."

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Escaping the rain, they quickly discarded their muddy boots at the door. The room was filled with the warmth of the crackling fire as Arthur stoked the flames. Kate moved to prepare a bath, her cheeks tinged with a blush as the thought of what was to come flitted through her mind. When the water was ready, she approached Arthur, her heart pounding with anticipation.

"The bath is ready," she said softly, a shy smile playing on her lips. Unlike the spacious bathhouses in hotels, this was a small wooden tub, designed to fit one person.

Arthur approached her, taking her small hand in his large one. "Could I ask to repay the favor tonight?" he asked, his voice filled with a tender longing.

Kate looked at him, confused. "What favor?"

"When you bathed me," he said softly, his eyes searching hers. Kate blushed, slightly shocked that he remembered that moment amidst his raging fever.

A smile tugged at her lips. "Only if you join me," she answered.

Arthur breathed deeply, a wave of desire washing over him. He wanted to capture her in a kiss right then and there, but he knew there was a deeper moment of intimacy awaiting them. She led him to the washroom, holding onto his hand.

The room was small and dimly lit with a few candles adorning the walls. A quiet fire crackled in a little hearth, used to heat the water. Clouds of steam filled the space, carrying the rich scent of lavender and pine. The water glimmered with bath oil and small bubbles, inviting and warm.

Arthur followed her into the room, closing the door behind him. He approached Kate from behind, enveloping her in his arms as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. His hands splayed across her abdomen, fingers tracing the buttons of her blouse. Kate swallowed as the heat rose from the pit of her stomach. She sighed blissfully and leaned into his embrace, her hands moving to meet Arthur’s, encouraging him to remove the fabric.

Their bodies moved in unison as she turned to meet his lips. He pushed the blouse off her shoulders, and she quickly unbuttoned his shirt, tugging it off him to reveal his chest. The dampness from the rain still clung to his skin, and the scars from his injuries were healing with each passing day. The once deep purple bruises had faded to a pale shade, marking his progress.

Arthur untied her undershirt, revealing her breasts to the thick, warm air. Her eyes sought his, and she found them gazing upon her with love and adoration. Leaning down to kiss her neck, his hands traveled to the button of her trousers. Kate gasped at his touch, her hands following his movements.

They stood completely naked before each other, their chests heaving with desire. Arthur stepped into the hot bath first, then held out a hand to Kate, silently inviting her to join him. She bit her lip with anticipation and allowed him to pull her naked body into his embrace. The water was hot and soothing, relaxing all of her muscles as she settled into his lap.

Arthur’s strong arms wrapped around her, holding her close as they both sighed with contentment. He gently kissed her shoulder, trailing soft kisses up her neck. Kate leaned back against him, her fingers tracing the muscles of his arms, feeling the strength and tenderness in his touch.

The warmth of the bath enveloped them, the fragrant steam mingling with their breaths. Arthur’s hands roamed her body, exploring every curve and contour with reverence. Kate tilted her head to the side, giving him better access to her neck as she moaned softly at his calloused wandering hands.

He whispered sweet nothings in her ear, his voice husky with desire. "You are so beautiful, Kate," he murmured, his lips grazing her earlobe.

Kate turned her head, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. Their tongues danced together, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through their bodies. She could feel the hard length of him pressing against her back, and she shifted slightly, eliciting a groan from Arthur.

"Easy now," he whispered against her lips, his hands moving to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. "We’ve got all night."

Kate’s breath hitched at his touch, her body arching into his hands. His fingers rolled the small buds, the oil of the bath making them slick. A shuddering moan escaped her lips. She could feel the intensity of his desire, matched by her own. "Arthur," she whispered, her voice trembling with aching desire. "I need you."

He kissed her deeply, one hand sliding down her body to rest on her hip. Fingers kneading at the soft flesh, tauntingly close to her heat. "You have me darlin’," he replied, his voice thick with lust.

With a gentle but firm touch, Arthur guided Kate to turn around and straddle his lap. The water sloshed around them as their bodies pressed together in an intimate embrace. Kate wrapped her arms around his neck, gazing into his eyes with yearning. Her body slid into place in his lap like the final puzzle piece, the bath oil making their skin velvet soft to the touch. She met him in an open-mouthed kiss, their passion raging like the storm outside.

Arthur moaned against her lips, his hands wandering her back and holding her close. He squeezed the flesh of her bottom and nipped at her neck. She shuddered and gasped at his touch, his lips tickling the sensitive skin. Moving his attention down to her nipples, he took one in his mouth, sucking and flicking his wet heat over the small bud. The sounds of her pleasure drove him wild, a feeling so strong it overwhelmed all his senses.

Kate's hands traced his chest, following a path over his stomach. Her touch felt like fire against his skin, igniting something deep inside him. His pleasure made itself known as his hard length pressed proudly into the flesh of her abdomen, desperately seeking the suffocating warmth of her core.

Her gentle fingers moved between them, gliding down to the soft curls below his navel. Her nails tickled his skin, sending a sudden chill up his spine. The wind picked up outside, its cold air seeping through the cracks of the old windows. It fluttered the candles and stuck to Arthur’s skin like tar. He tried to swallow the feeling that was building in his stomach.

Kate kissed his cheeks fervently, the pads of her fingers brushing against his tip. His erection twitched at her touch. Arthur’s breathing picked up as she moved her hand to wrap around him. He bucked his hips at the sensation.

Arthur suddenly felt dizzy with a mix of arousal and uncertainty. Her touch felt incredible, but something stirred in the back of his mind. It crept up his throat and suffocated his lungs. He recognized the feeling: it was fear. His heart raced and his breathing became ragged as he shut his eyes, trying to make sense of his mind.

Kate was with him now. He knew he was safe. Her touch was gentle and filled with love and desire. It was clear she wanted to share in this pleasure with him. So why did he feel this way? Arthur couldn't make sense of it, and in turn, it only heightened his anxiety. Clouding the blissful moment with dread. As her hand wrapped around him, he sucked in a breath and gripped her arms.

“Kate,” he said shakily, “S-stop…please.” Arthur wanted to shout at himself. He had waited and dreamed of this moment since the day he fell for her, never thinking such intimacy would grace his life again.

Hearing the panic in his voice, Kate immediately ceased her actions, turning her full attention to Arthur’s shuddering form. She had mistaken his recent reactions for pleasure, not anxiety. With one hand placed on the edge of the tub and the other cradling his face, she brought his eyes to hers. “Oh honey, are you alright?”

Arthur swallowed, memories suddenly firing through his mind like a million lawmen aiming their guns at his heart. The cold cellar, the wandering hands, the touching and groping. He squeezed his eyes shut as the feeling of humiliation washed over his body once again. “I-I don’t…I don’t know. It’s like I’m havin’ one of them nightmares,” he said finally. “But I think they’re memories. I think they–” he swallowed again, “I-I can’t remember what they did to me.” He suddenly choked, his hand flying to cover his mouth as he held back a sob.

Everything was pouring forth at once, and he couldn't stop the flood. It felt like a dream but somehow different, like he was being forced to confront his torment. His emotions had been at their highest; love and desire filled him in a way they had not for so many years. Yet somehow, grief and panic had managed to find a crack and send the whole thing crashing down.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Kate cooed softly, her touch grounding him. “They’re only memories, they can’t hurt you,” she whispered, gently pulling him into her embrace as the water moved around them.

“My body has been hurt in a lot of ways, but what they did,” he trailed off, taking a deep breath. Her hands moved in soothing circles over his back.

Kate’s heart flooded with grief and understanding. “I know,” she interrupted, “there are no words for it, Arthur.” She recalled memories of her own assault many years ago. Their touch still lingered in the wrinkles of her skin. They shared scars that ran so deep they were not visible to the naked eye, only revealed in moments when their souls were laid bare.

Arthur’s breathing was still ragged. “It’s like it’s all happening again, Kate. I thought I could get past it, but...”

“But healing isn’t a straight path,” she finished for him. “It’s messy and painful, and it takes time. You can’t brute force your way through it.”

His eyes darkened, glistening with warm tears. “I just feel so...different. Like I’m some pathetic good-for-nothin’ washed-up–”

“Enough with that,” Kate said sternly. She sat up in his lap and took his face in her hands. The fear and grief were swirling into anger and frustration. It was as if she could see the storm in his eyes, a deep blue sea raging within them. The water in the bath had begun to settle into a lukewarm embrace, cooling with each passing moment.

Shaking his head, his voice rose with an anger that Kate knew was not directed at her, but still struck a chord in her heart. “I can barely run, I can hardly shoot. I don’t know if I can even ride a horse without help,” he listed off his frustrations. “Christ, I can't even be intimate with a woman. What the hell am I good for?” Arthur suddenly made a move to leave the bath.

Standing up and stepping out of the tub, Kate followed him as she grabbed a towel. “Don’t say that, Arthur–”

“No one looks at me the same, Kate. No one!” He shouted, wrapping a towel around his waist as he paced the bathroom floor. “Am I that fucking pathetic?” Thunder echoed outside the ranch house, shaking the walls and fluttering the candles. Arthur leaned against the vanity, the sudden ache in his shoulder and ankle made itself known, only elevating his pains.

Kate swallowed thickly; she had never seen him so upset. Even on the rare nights when his tormented dreams distorted his reality. “You are not pathetic, Arthur,” she said gravely, trying to calm his frayed nerves while also reassuring his broken heart. Only moments ago they were engaged in a heated moment of passion, which now felt far away.

“Dutch won’t even fuckin’ look at me no more! Like I’m some sick dog he’s waitin’ on to die so he can replace me.” His face was red with emotion. The heat of the hot bath mingled with his frustration and shame that boiled beneath his skin. It pained Kate to see how much his self-worth relied on Dutch’s approval, as if he believed he were less than nothing without that man’s good graces.

“He’s not going to replace you, honey,” she replied softly, although she wasn’t entirely sure her words held any truth. Taking small steps toward his figure as if she were approaching a frightened gelding, her movement was purposeful yet calming.

“I could barely stand to look at my own body before, and now” he sighed as Kate grasped his shoulders gently. “I want your touch, Kate,” his hand moved to cover hers. “I crave it more than anything. But I can’t even be with you without—” he moved his hand up to hide his face in distress, attempting to shield her from the new flood of tears that were escaping down his cheeks and into his beard.

Gentle fingers pulled his hand away, revealing the broken man beneath them. She knew that strange words come out of a grown man’s mouth when his heart is hurting. Cupping his face, her thumbs traced circles over his cheeks. “No one said we had to move so fast, Arthur,” she kissed away his tears. “We can take as much time as you need, my love. This isn’t something we have to rush.”

A shuddering breath escaped his lips as he leaned into her touch. “Sometimes I just don’t know who I am anymore.” He whispered.

He pulled himself into her embrace, letting the emotion wash over him. Kate held him with unwavering strength, taking in every word and embracing the vulnerability he was sharing with her. “Your days as an outlaw may be coming to an end, but that doesn’t mean you are too. People change over the years, it’s just part of life. Some chapters don’t have happy beginnings, but you can still find moments of joy in the journey.”

He squeezed her tight to his body, afraid that she may slip away and wake up only to find it was just another cruel dream. Terrified that he may one day wake up in that dark cellar again, alone. “I’m afraid I don’t know what’s real, Kate.”

“If you can’t trust your mind, Arthur. Just ask me and I’ll tell you.” She said, pulling her head back to look into his eyes. The corners tinted red from his tears, reminded her of the days of his recovery. But the blue was as bright and vast as the morning sky. She kissed his chin, and he leaned down to place his forehead against hers.

“You still want me,” he said quietly, almost hesitantly. “Is that real?”

“As real as the ground beneath our feet.” Kate kissed his cheek, “and the birds in the sky,” a kiss to the nose, “the sun against your skin,” a peck on his temple, “the air we breathe,” lips brushed over the healing scar on his brow, “as real as you and me.” Her lips found home against his own. Rough and sweet, and full of longing.

~~~

A/N: AHHH!!! Their feelings are finally out!! We’ve reached a big milestone in their relationship and I’m very proud of them for being open with each other. There’s more feelings that need to come to light of course, but that will have to wait for the next chapter. I know I said in the beginning that the next chapter will include day 2 at emerald ranch, but I also want to let you know I will be returning to the original game plot as well. Starting with “A Short Walk In A Pretty Town”…so yeah. Things may be looking up rn but they’ll plummet soon enough🥲

Thank you again for being patient with me. I wish I had more time in the day to work on this fic but unfortunately I can only work in small increments at a time. I’m wrapping up my work for the summer as well as moving to the city! So there’s lots of big changes going on rn. But thank you as always for reading/commenting/reblogging!! I love you guys!!!

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