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sordidmusings · 11 months

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Switching Up Roles - Part 1/2 (Buggy x Reader)

A/N: So the request got insaaaaanely out of hand cuz I can't shut the fuck up about this stupid clown 🙃 In the future I gotta have requests ask for headcanons, full fic, or headcanons with drabbles in the future so I can put a cap on my brain lol I had also been wanting to write Switch!Buggy learning to embrace the sub part of himself. I wanted to get part of it out and the set up cuts off pretty cleanly here. There is a taste of smut in it, but it stays with the style of the exposition for the most part instead of really delving into it.

Word count: ~1760 (The draft is at 8100 rn 🧍🏻‍♀️)

Warnings: afab!reader (no pronouns), switch!reader, switch!Buggy, NSFW, p in v, creampie, they're like probably too into each other, Buggy leans towards opla Buggy, I have a propensity to just keep sentences going man

I hope you enjoy a taste and thank you for your patience 🙏🏻

Part 2

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

You’d always had a hunch about Buggy. It started with little things like how his grunts and moans would sometimes slip in and out of something more whiny and breathy. How the look in his eyes would turn from something rabid and devouring into something desperate and uncertain. Maybe he was just more comfortable using the whole range of his voice than most men. Maybe that look just came from the insecurity in him that you were constantly trying to wring out with every lingering hug and reassuring whisper.

Speaking of those, he drank them up like an addict. Now, it’s not like you think it’s abnormal to enjoy soft touches and sweet words; everyone wants those from their partner in one form or another. The thing is, Buggy seemed to hang on those words with extra ardor. He’d focus on you like nothing else existed. He’d twist and turn both himself and his comfort zone in order to receive them. Whenever he accomplished something, whether it was as big as defeating a new enemy or as small as making a new joke, he would turn his face to seek you out like a plant’s leaves reaching to feel the sun. He’d go to you whenever he was uncertain. Difficult announcements were made with you within arm’s reach, vital decisions were made with you sitting thigh to thigh, and battles were fought with the two of you back to back.

Despite his status as captain, Buggy was always following you. Of course, he was the one in charge, the one who gave orders, but you were the one for whom he would change those orders or redirect his path. When you entered a room, he was the one to go to you. It was only on rare occasions that he’d order you to him like an owner would a dog. His calls for you were greetings, that is if he wasn’t getting up to lead you in himself. Buggy did know how to demand but he preferred to handle you with invitations.

Even so, you were well versed in Buggy leading you to touch or lay where and how he wanted. The extending months of your relationship have been filled with the two of you pushing and pulling at each other, empty of any thoughts and aims other than the need you had for each other. He has growled out commands and desires, expecting you to do just as he asked and he fit the role of manhandling you into a compliant sub very well. There were times when it seemed to be just that though - a role. Not every time; the more starved for your body he seemed, the more he’d take you just how he wanted. Now that you were months in and the pent up “what if”s were easing into the new joy of deep connection, his need for your body settled to hunger while his appetite for connecting to You became insatiable. Being able to allocate more time to exploring each other let latent behaviors break through the frantic way that you two tried to consume one another. Buggy had always aimed for your pleasure, hitting steady bullseyes, but now he was consciously seeking it and looking for new avenues to sate you and file them away for the future. He gained the clarity to observe while he was flooding himself with you.

You also noticed that with this change of pace came his need to chase your movements. You don’t think Buggy was even aware of the way he would lean his body towards you no matter the time or place, the way he would follow your lips whenever you pulled away, or the way his body would seek out your hands and happily mold to their movements like you were an artist working with clay. There was the way he seemed almost relieved when you would guide him. It appeared that he savored the time to unload the responsibility of decisions onto someone else but he had never known anyone he could trust to give him that peace before.

You understood that need. The rush you got when you only had to think of pleasing him and then hearing him tell you how good you were at doing just that? It was euphoria all on its own. It had you feeling like you knew in your core that you were doing something right and that you were making your love feel good - feel proud and happy. While you enjoyed partaking in it yourself, you had no problem taking control to give that to Buggy. Honestly it was a dynamic that was sounding tastier by the day. Seeing him act out of need for your direction and approval made you crave it more each time. You were eager to see him when he loses himself in the role of being what you want. You’re positive he’d take to it well; all you want is him after all, but now that he’s given pieces of himself to you, you want all of him. You want him to expose his needs to you, right down to the core of his desires, so that you could feel the thrill of holding that trust and vulnerability. You want to prove to him that he is always safe with you and that you can fulfill all that he wants and more.

One night a few weeks back, you got the final evidence you needed to feel confident labeling him as a switch like yourself. It was one of the few times Buggy was letting you ride him when he was close (he seemed to be embarrassed of the way it would pull out higher pitched moans from him, no matter how you complimented them), and he had let himself fall further into acting without thought than he usually would beneath you. His typical grapple with composure was replaced by him melting into bliss, leaving you a Buggy who was slack-jawed, glassy eyed, and trembling. You could still feel some hesitancy in the way he kept making his eyes focus on you even when they wanted to roll back or the way he would reign in his volume after a particularly (and deliciously) loud moan. His hands still went through the motions of guiding your hips, but this time your hips were pushing into that heavy grip instead of his hold directing the bounce and grind of your body on his.

Even though the feeling of his cock splitting you open and rubbing deliciously from your clenching entrance to the deepest stretch of your cunt left you struggling for thought, you were determined to keep an eye out for his tells that he would try to flip you back over. Whenever Buggy blinked some focus back into his eyes, you leaned down and captured his panting mouth in sloppy kisses. His eagerness to feel your swollen lips and teasing tongue made it easy to kiss his mind back into a blur. When he planted a hand down and sat himself up, you tightened your core to clench down on him and changed to the heavy grinds that made him weak with the way he could feel every hot, plush inch of you gripping him. He fell down to his elbow, but when you followed him to nibble at his ear and fill it with moans, he lost all his strength and collapsed back on the bed.

You kept at it because you needed to cum on top of him. The promise of a body shaking orgasm always came to you in the squeeze of your thighs around his waist, the grind of his pelvis on your clit, the way you could change your angle to have the head of his cock massaging whichever spot felt the most electric in the moment. It took hold of your mind with the way you got to look down on him spread out beneath you while he looked up at you with that desperate face. You could see how steeped he was in pleasure and need from his furrowed brow and shining eyes. Buggy always fell into the most beautiful, incoherent mess when you were the one leading him. His long blue hair spread out wildly, the few strands sticking to his face bringing out his pink flush. His gorgeous eyes, highlighted by stripes of blue makeup and long fluttering lashes, glistened up at you. His painted red mouth looked all the more tempting with how his kiss-wet lips parted for him to gasp in air and breathe out moans.

With little warning, Buggy sobbed out an overwhelmed, “Fuuu-hah-huuuuck,” and the next thing you knew strong hands yanked you down and he trapped you close in an iron grip. His forehead dug into your neck and his humid breath tingled down your chest. All you could feel, hear, smell was Buggy - so much burning skin, jumbled curses, lingering sea salt. His hands scrambled on your back, pulling you closer like he needed it to live, and amidst all the sensation you felt his cock pressed tight into you, twitching heavily with each wave of hot cum it pumped into you. It shoved you immediately far over the edge and you curled into him, squeezing and shaking and grabbing and gasping. You got what you were promised and your body shook, letting you get extra jolts of friction against his still pulsing cock.

The come down was slow and lethargic with the two of you molded to each other and unwilling to leave the moment behind. Your breaths eventually slowed while you both enjoy giving and receiving little trailing touches. Your brain was high from the intense orgasm and the building joy that you can finally open the door on this aspect of your relationship where Buggy lets himself submit.

That is, until he ruins it.

Both of you were too tired to say much of anything through the swift cleanup and release to slumber. You didn’t think anything of it, because it wasn’t the first time it happened. You did start to catch on to Buggy’s avoidance when he would find convenient ways to dance around the topic or disappear when you were leading up to it. It became unquestionable when he started to run out of clever escape routes. The final straw was when you approached him with an “I wanna talk about the other night” and he did a 180 with a panicked “forgot some captain stuff for the thing” yelled back to you. So you let it drop. For a time.

You spotted your opportunity just over three weeks after you’d dropped the subject. Buggy continued to slip around you for almost two of those weeks, approaching you with the same caution a child would when entering a haunted house on a dare. He held the same nervous excitement and insatiable curiosity too. The whole time, you pretended that you hadn’t noticed. You were well practiced in the art of playing blind; Buggy wore his emotions on his sleeve whether he wanted to or not, and he loved that you would let him pretend some of it didn’t happen. Even though he knew you sometimes played it to your advantage and still let most of your comments and cackles out during his outbursts and foibles. He just paid you back for those with his own tricks and teasing and all’s fair in love and war.

You knew not to strike right away. You needed to reaaaaally let him settle back into normalcy between you two so that The Incident wasn’t on his mind. Not that you’d been able to get it out of yours; you were endlessly replaying the memory of him being seized by instinct and impulse so violently that he clung to you like he could never be close enough while you made him cum so hard that his dick felt like someone was jolting a toy inside you. Whether the imagery came to you on purpose or involuntarily, it always had you squirming and looking for some way to get off.

Today had been especially filled with that memory, but luck was on your side, finally ready to reward you for your patience. Buggy had been getting a bit exhausted recently, prepping the crew, the ship, and everything on it for a risky raid happening next week. It would be the culmination of a few months planning, and he had been running himself ragged making sure that everything would go smoothly. And, when it didn’t, there was a backup plan and at least two more backup plans for that one.

He had been seeking rest from you more than interaction the past few days - falling asleep almost immediately after getting back to his room late, giving you long hugs where he’d close his eyes if only for a minute and let you hold up some of his weight, scarfing down his food so he could power nap with his head on your thigh while you finished your own meal. If he was doing something that only needed one hand, he’d send the other to you so he could have the comfort of your touch and the pick me up from feeling your occasional squeeze on it. He had to find and stop you the time you decided to massage his overworked hand, because the relaxing feeling had him zoning out through full conversations.

All that to say, the man clearly needed someone to force a break on him and take care of him. Just as clearly, Buggy was needing that care from you so much that he was allowing himself to seek you out in ways that he (wrongfully) feared would annoy or drain you. His exhaustion outweighing that sea-sized insecurity of his was the cue you’d been looking out for. If he really didn’t want to be submissive to you then that’s fine, but you’d be damned if it was just his own negative self-talk keeping the two of you from feeling that way again or from bonding even closer with another dynamic to exchange trust and affection. After all, that act of trust being met with affection is one of the best ways to chip away at his self-doubt and self-loathing.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

More to come - hope you enjoyed 🤍

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #opla buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #one piece #my writing #thirst hours #gn reader #afab reader #x reader

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thisisnotthenerd · 3 months

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the perils of xp leveling: junior year

now that we're a fair bit out from the finale, it's time for some analysis. i've covered parts of this previously:

the spreadsheet [d20 xp leveling]

the original post [rat grinders levels]

the first follow-up [bad kids level up through sophomore year]

mall madness update

pre-last stand update

the last stand exam

rock the boat update

statting out the rat grinders

file aaa-bkq-04-doj

same stipulations as before:

xp for encounters is evenly divided six ways

monsters are either taken directly from the phb and other source materials or i calculate their CR based on dpr and other statistics

some opponents/encounters will have contextual multipliers--generally these are applied to account for the number of opponents, but may also account for other complicating factors such as environmental hazards, puzzles/traps, and the addition of other objectives to the battles.

as always, this is a combination of statistics and my own meta.

let's get started.

the cult of the night yorb: i previously covered this in my initial estimation of the bad kids' xp gains, but we're repeating it here for the sake of archival consistency. as a reminder, the majority of the yorbies fought were out of battle, so they start with ~70000 XP gained from fighting the yorbies over the course of the summer. no contextual multipliers for this fight--it was pretty straightforward and appropriately leveled for the bad kids.

yorbies: CR 3. this category also accounts for things like the yath-mags. total of 15 fought in battle. 10500 XP.

the night yorb: CR 19. total of 22000 XP for the sealing

total XP count: 32500 XP, plus 70000 for the yorbies they fought previously, for a total of 102500 XP, or 17083 each.

mall madness: this one is tricky for a couple of reasons--first, the number of opponents, and second, the complicated interactions with cassandra. thus, this battle has a few modifiers to account for the difficulties. i do think it was initially leveled correctly--the bad kids were handling the threats appropriately and responding both to the time pressure of the fight and cassandra's crisis. the turning point came with the shrimp incapacitation. it was, at root, brennan exerting control over the battlefield to ensure the fight wasn't just the bad kids whaling on the enemies--it just ended up turning into worse consequences than maybe anticipated.

shatter-stars: CR 3, based on their abilities. total of 13 fought, 6 defeated. 1.5x modifier for number. 6300 XP

rage mages: CR 5, based on their abilities. total of 10 fought, 3 defeated. 1.5x modifier for number. 8100 XP

cassandra: i placed her at CR 22, equivalent to her stats as the nightmare king. since she shifted between being an opponent, an ally, and incapacitated, i placed a 0.5x modifier on her. 20500 XP

kalina: CR 18, as established in sophomore year. i modified her as well because we really didn't see her do very much during this fight. 10000 XP

total XP count: 44900 XP, or 7483 each

frostyfaire folk festival: the title is really long and i'm not doing the whole thing. anyway, this fight is of a comparable level to the night yorb fight, with modifiers applied for number of opponents and the additional objectives of the fight (saving gorgug's parents, evacuating the civilians, protecting ruben, the vulture dimension)

principal grix: CR 13, as an ~18th level spellcaster with lair actions. 1.5x modifier. 15000 XP

sex lawnmower: CR 10, with a 1.5x modifier, for 8850 XP

washer/dryer: CR 7, with a 1.5x modifier on each, for 8700 XP

dildo robots: CR 4, for a 1.5x modifier on each, for 4950 XP

total XP count: 37500 XP, or 6250 each

baron's game: this one was a fun one to stat out. i deliberately did not include the divine interventions as part of the encounter because they did not actively fight them, they only escaped them. otherwise, it's a fun little puzzle with pvp mechanics included as part of the fight.

baron from the baronies: the version we saw didn't have too many abilities beyond the mirror travel and possession mechanics. it's possible baron v2.0 might have been a more powerful opponent. CR 10, with a 1.5x modifier for the possession mechanics.

zayn darkshadow: essentially a ghosty 12th level spellcaster. CR 8. 1.5x modifier for the time mechanics and environmental factors. his particular bane (edgar) went unused against him. 5850 XP

gulsom: uses flesh golem stats. CR 5, with a 1.5x modifier for the time mechanics and environmental factors. 2700 XP

zara sool: same deal as zayn, but as a vampire warlock. CR 8. 1.5x modifier for the time mechanics and environmental factors. her particular bane (garlic) went unused against her. 5850 XP

jawbone: uses actual werewolf stats, at CR 3. his particular bane (wolfsbane) went unused and he was not actually faced in combat, thus a 0.5x modifier was applied. 350 XP

kalina: CR 18, as previously depicted. 0.5x modifier because she wasn't actually encountered but instead defeated by the destruction of the curse and escape from baron's dimension. 10000 XP

alt gilear/athenriel: we don't know what his actual abilities would have been, so i put him at a CR 12, with a 0.5x modifier. essentially this is the XP gain for breaking the curse of the armor of pride. 4200 XP

total XP count: 37800 XP, or 6300 each

the last stand: this one i covered in my in-universe meta as shared above; i did change it slightly after running it through some encounter simulators. everything gets a 2x modifier because they were taking a test at the same time and dealing with a literal mob of enemies, though the strategy was incredible. they also had some extraordinary luck in this encounter in terms of gorgug's crits, adaine not taking hits, and kristen's true sight. since i've gone through this already this breakdown is going to be very simple.

otyugh: CR 5 for 3600 XP

ochre jellies: 3 total at CR 2, for 2700 XP

gorgon: CR 5 for 3600 XP

hydra: CR 8 for 7800 XP

skeletons: 8 total at CR 1/4, for 800 XP

mimic: CR 2 for 900 XP

manticore: CR 3 for 1400 XP

shrimp dragon: using young black dragon stats, CR 7 for 5800 XP

roper: CR 5 for 3600 XP

umber hulk: CR 5 for 3600 XP

stirges: 8 total at CR 1/4, for 800 XP

wyvern: CR 6 for 4600 XP

crab man: using hulking crab stats, CR 5 for 3600 XP

rust monsters: 8 total at CR 1/2, for 1600 XP

pentacorn: using modified unicorn stats, CR 6 for 4600 XP

purple worm: CR 15 for 26000 XP

total XP count: 75000 XP, or 12500 each

rock the boat: another one i've briefly covered before; much like the last stand, the bad kids are running with multiple objectives, but the combat itself is very much hit point sinks. everything has a 1.5 modifier for the party and ship mechanics, since the bad kids had to split their turns between shepherding votes and keeping the ship in the sky.

black dragon wyrmling: CR 2 for 675 XP

white dragon wyrmling: CR 2 for 675 XP

green dragon wyrmling: CR 2 for 675 XP

blue dragon wyrmling: CR 3 for 1050 XP

young white dragon: CR 6 for 3450 XP

young black dragon: 2 total at CR 7 for 8700 XP

young green dragon: CR 8 for 5850 XP

young blue dragon: CR 9 for 7500 XP

adult red dragon: since it's functionally two dragons with the legendary actions of a single dragon, i modified it up to CR 21 for 49500 XP

ancient blue dragon: CR 23 for 75000 XP. oisin's grandma, killed by riz gukgak the dragonslayer.

nightmare king: CR 22 as normal, with the 1.5 modifier for environment. i halved that to 0.75 because of k2's divine intervention, so it ends up as a 0.75 modifier. 30750 XP

total XP count: 183825 XP or 30638 each

ragenarok: i covered this in the full year file, but it's been slightly modified since then. as stated by brennan, the rat grinders have 20th level class/subclass features without the hit points or strategy to back it up. reference statting out the rat grinders above for my commentary on the builds. they have the benefit of jace being 4 allied spellcasters in one, and porter being an ascending deity. everything gets a 1.5 modifier because of the additional objectives and the number of opponents; it would have been higher, but the bad kdis effectively avoided the environmental hazard of lava by using ice feast and ended up using it as a weapon.

shatter-stars: 3 total at CR 3 for 3150 XP

ivy embra: CR 11 for 10800 XP

oisín hakinvar: CR 11 for 10800 XP

ruben hopclap: CR 11 for 10800 XP

kipperlilly copperkettle: CR 11 for 10800 XP

mary ann skuttle: CR 11 for 10800 XP

buddy dawn: CR 11 for 10800 XP

jace stardiamond: CR 16, as a 20th level sorcerer. there are four of him, so this becomes 90000 XP total

porter cliffbreaker: in a logical progression from their previous fights, porter is CR 24, for a total of 93000 XP

total XP count: 250950 XP, or 41825 each

overall total and final comments:

over the course of fantasy high junior year, the bad kids earned 732475 XP, or 122079 individually. that's enough to get them to 13th level on just what they earned this year. it functionally triples the amount they earned in sophomore year, but works in a logical progression, since they tripled their gains from freshman year in sophomore year + oneshots.

they're looking at an overall total of 1091813, or 181969 individually, which would put them comfortably into level 15, assuming they immediately level up post-ragenarok.

if we go by my original rat grinding estimate, that would put them almost equal with the projected gains of the rat grinders at the beginning of junior year (assuming they're fighting rats, spiders, and twig blights with no variants).

now we know they weren't actually fighting rats, but instead xp farming larger creatures from the mountains of chaos--at some point i would love to figure out what they 'defeated' to get to their prospective level.

in terms of the general combat structures this season, we saw a return to the battlemaps. lots of puzzles, fun bits, and easter eggs from the art department.

we saw some tactics shift with character decisions:

fig's dip into paladin effectively made her a third melee fighter for the party while maintaining her mid-level spellcasting for AOEs and buffs

K2, while deeply silly and affirmed by the universe in her comedy, served as a second cleric that could keep the party up

gorgug did still serve as a raging tank, but leaned harder on the artificer side of his build to enhance the party through buffs (flash of genius), reactions (absorb elements), and unique parts of his subclass

riz worked with utility magic to enhance his tactics beyond just getting sneak attack

fabian and adaine retained and expanded on their previous builds--they served as pillars of stability as the party's tactics changed.

i do think we saw a major shift as the season went on; before the last stand combats felt difficult but appropriately scaled; just over the edge of deadly for the party, lots of puzzles and environmental mechanics, and variety throughout them. the xp gains align with that--in the first few battles, they're equal or underleveled in xp terms, which aligns with previous patterns from fantasy high.

furthermore, it fit with the themes of rage and stress, while providing impetus for organic narrative investigation post-battle:

the end of the night yorb battle segues into the first day of school

the end of the mall battle goes into fabian's party where we met the rat grinders

the end of frostyfaire leads to finding lucy and yolanda in the far haven woods

the end of baron's game leads to investigations in hell

they neatly fit the structure of battle-rp-downtime. this rhythm is maintained until episode 14, as the bad kids go into the last stand. afterwards, we get two downtime episodes that have major rp/lore reveals and then three consecutive battle episodes.

the last three battles (the last stand, rock the boat, ragenarok) all escalated the scale of combat to an almost absurd extent. it stands as a testament to the skill of the players as well as some absurd luck that the bad kids all survived the combats. i did feel a loss of tension to some extent--once they proved they could survive the last stand, the bad kids were pretty much unstoppable, both on and off the battlefield. i'd be excited to see how they could escalate from it in senior year if they ever decide to do it.

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #dimension 20 meta #thisisnotthenerd's d20 stats #musings on the solisian school district #the perils of xp leveling #the bad kids #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #fantasy high

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humanpurposes · 1 year

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Just for a Moment, part iv

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, mentions of war and death, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut, Tom Bennett's daddy issues, death, mourning/grief

Words: 8100

A/n: This acts as a final part and an epilogue. Also available to read on AO3.

In early June, Lois Bennett knocks on the Wheelans’ front door. She has tears in her bright blue eyes and her hands are shaking.

“It’s our Tom,” she says, when Kitty has sat her down at the kitchen table and made her a cup of strong tea. “He’s missing.”

A hole tears itself in her chest.

His ship had been part of the evacuation at Dunkirk– a triumph, so the headlines say. But that’s the way of the world, she thinks, men lay down their lives, others have their lives taken from them by force, and all the while the press and the politicians declare each one a step towards peace.

“You think Churchill and Hitler give a flying fuck about peace?” her father says one night as he nurses a glass of whisky. “They want victory.”

Every night as she lies in bed, she imagines some new possibility. Tom could have run to safety, sought refuge in the town or gone elsewhere. Maybe he’s just biding his time, maybe he’s on his way back to her.

He can’t be dead. He just can’t be.

He promised he would come home to her.

Monday 2nd September, 1940

She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the sirens, that blunt, whirring, wailing noise that sparks a primal fear in her chest. Somehow she always wakes up before they go off, like her instincts can alert her of what’s coming just a second before the noise begins.

The baby starts to scream from the space beside her– since Lois has started working as an ambulance driver, she leaves Vera with them most nights. With shaking hands, Kitty takes her into her arms, keeping her close to her chest as she fixes a woolly hat over her head.

“I’m sorry darling, I know,” she says, pulling the hat over Vera’s ears. She keeps meaning to buy some earmuffs for her, but then, it’s not her baby.

It’s pitch black in the house, it has to be. No lights or candles allowed unless you want the Germans to drop a bomb on your house. Kitty keeps one hand on the wall as she finds the stairs, and hurries down to the kitchen. Mam and dad’s footsteps follow behind her.

They have a routine by now. Dad grabs a coleman and a box of matches, mam grabs a photo from the front room and a basket with bread and blackberry jam, and Kitty holds tight to Vera. Then they file out the back door, into the garden, down the ladder into the shelter. Dad shuts the door, lights the lamp, and finally they can all see each other.

Then comes the waiting. Some nights dad sings The Fields of Athenry and Kitty joins in. Vera seems to love singing, her eyes go wide and she lays completely still against Kitty, hypnotised by the humming in her chest.

After a few slices of bread to keep them going, dad lies along the bench and closes his eyes and mam takes Vera into her arms. “Get some rest, love,” she tells Kitty.

How can she? Beyond the shelter the world is nothing but uncertainty, sirens sounding, bombs booming, spotlights and distant fires cutting through the darkness. Only the morning will tell what the true damage is, once the sun starts to rise and the smoke and dust have settled. Houses and livelihoods will be left as rubble. More lives lost, people who didn’t sign up, people who couldn’t, people who thought they might at least be safe in their own homes.

She looks at the photograph mam always brings in from the house. It’s of the four of them, Eddie, Art, Stevie and Kitty, lined up in the front room before the eldest two Wheelans left for the continent, over a year ago now. Eddie and Art look handsome in their uniforms and Stevie is uncharacteristically glum. He hated that he didn’t sign up sooner, he said he didn’t want to look like the one being left behind.

They all came home after Dunkirk, a few precious weeks when the world felt normal again.

Only not quite.

Because she still spent every night alone, and Tom Bennett was still gone.

“Where’s Douglas?”

Kitty snaps her attention to mam, as dad starts to stir on the bench.

“Eh?” he grumbles, “he’ll be along now in a minute, I’m sure.”

They wait.

And keep waiting.

The bombs dropping on Longsight are louder than they’ve ever been before. Closer than they’ve ever been before. Each thunderous crash rocks the ground and the walls of their shelter.

BOOM– the roof trembles.

BOOM– dust and dirt fall from above them.

“We’ll be alright, here,” dad says, beckoning Kitty to sit between the two of them.

They huddle together. Kitty curls her knees into her chest like a child and leans into her father’s embrace. Mam has Vera on her lap and places a hand on Kitty’s knee.

BOOM– mam whimpers and Vera is crying again. Dad holds her tighter.

BOOM– Kitty reaches for one of Vera’s tiny hands, and she clutches tightly onto her finger.

Then a final, earsplitting BOOM. The bench jolts beneath them. Kitty clings to her family and squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for something awful to happen.

Only it doesn’t. The bombs become fainter.

They slowly pull away from each other, looking each other in the eyes and nodding, to make sure they’re all alright– as much as they can be.

When the all clear sounds, they make their way back into the house.

Glass litters the floor of the front room. The windows are shattered, so is the glass cabinet with mam’s best china, photographs are cracked. Anything that isn’t broken has been blown back by the force of a hit.

Through the tatters of the curtains and a haze of smoke, a fire burns out on the street.

Dad calls her name as she runs for the front door and yanks it open, but she can’t bring herself to step past the threshold.

The feels the heat against her face, as number 27 has been reduced to a pile of burning rubble.

The AFS arrives in time to stop dad from digging through the remains in search of Douglas himself.

Everything that belongs to the Bennetts is crushed under brick or goes up in flames.

It’s like losing Tom all over again. The house where he grew up, the kitchen where Josie used to feed the Bennett and Wheelan kids ginger beer and sandwiches, the bedroom that smelled of cigarette smoke, where he told her he loved her, exist only as memories.

She doesn’t go to bed that night– there are only a few hours until daylight anyway. She sweeps up the glass in the front room and the bedrooms while dad boards up the window frames. Hardly any light reaches inside the house, the air is still thick and hazy with lingering smoke, so they keep the back door open. It airs the place out, but lets in the cold too.

When Kitty answers the door in the morning, Lois’ back is facing her. She’s still in her uniform with her hair in a neat bun and a helmet in her hand.

“Lois?”

She turns towards Kitty with her lips slightly parted in a passive expression. “Dad’s gone,” she mutters. And once she says it the vacancy melts into grief. “He’s gone,” she cries, “everything’s gone!”

Kitty leads her into the house, but there’s nowhere comfortable to sit. The front room is in tatters and the kitchen is a mess with everything they’ve managed to salvage piled onto the table and chairs.

“Tea?” Kitty asks quietly, but she feels stupid for asking.

Lois leans against the wall and holds her face in her hand as she cries.

Kitty unsurely places a hand on Lois’ shoulder and tries to think of something to say, but all she can think of is “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

First her mam, then Harry, then Tom, now her dad. She must feel like her life is slipping away.

Mam appears from upstairs, dressed for the factory with Vera in her arms.

Kitty frowns as she hands the baby to her. Lois has lost her father and her home in one night, and her mother hardly looks phased.

“There’s still work to be done, Kitty,” she says, grabbing her coat before she leaves through the front door with her head and shoulders straight.

But this is just war. Men die in trenches and on beaches, bombs fall on cities, tragedy unfolds and they Keep Calm and Carry On.

Kitty carries Vera into the kitchen, but she doesn’t like the sound of her mother crying. Her little face goes red and twists before she makes a sound, then she’s crying too, burying her head into Kitty’s chest and clinging to her arms with those small, pudgy hands.

Lois doesn’t look up, like she can’t hear her daughter crying at all.

Sunday 29th September, 1940

Weeks go by. Douglas is interred with his wife, in the churchyard of St Jospeh’s. Kitty spends her days in the shop and her nights in the shelter, rocking Vera through the air raids, humming lullabies and muttering stories about her brave mam and her fearless uncle Tom.

The Wheelans never used to go to church every week, but mam insists now, anything for their family to be kept safe. As they head home, Kitty looks up the hill, to the gravestone she knows is marked Josie Bennett. She pictures Tom and Lois standing by the graveside at the funeral, twelve years ago now. It doesn’t feel that long ago they were all children.

She walks ahead of her parents– dad’s been having trouble with his knees and it slows him down. Her head is hung, she’s staring at her shoes, the same black pair of shoes she wears everywhere.

What’s she got to walk so fast for anyway? Their house doesn’t feel much like a home anymore. They at least have the windows fixed, but she tends to keep her curtains drawn, because where she used to look out to Tom’s bedroom window, there’s just empty space.

What’s the point in rushing home to a house that isn’t safe? That’s ghostly and quiet? That has a bomb shelter instead of a garden? What’s the point in carrying on when surviving the night is something they have to hope for? When each day brings a possibility that Eddie, Art or Steive could be missing or dead? What’s the point in clinging onto hope if Tom is truly gone? What’s the point? What’s the point? What’s the point?

Someone knocks frantically on one of the doors ahead, their door she realises. Her vision is blurry through tears, but she can make out the shape of a tall man, with dirty blond hair.

She blinks.

“Tom?”

His body collides into hers. He hugs her so tightly he crushes her chest but she doesn’t care. He could squeeze the life from her and she wouldn’t care, as long as she gets to hold him. Her hands find their way to grasp at his neck and his hair, pulling him closer and crying silently into his neck.

He doesn’t smell like cigarettes, which she finds unusual. He smells like dirt and sweat, and when he pulls away from her she realises he’s dressed in a khaki blazer, slacks that are too big for him and a mismatching grey shirt.

“What happened–”

He looks frantic, stroking his hands over her hair and down to cup the sides of her face. “Kitty, I’m sorry, I know it’s been a mad few months but where are they, dad and Lois? Are they safe?”

He doesn’t know. How could he? Lois tried to send a letter. Where would it be now? Collecting dust or sitting at the bottom of a pile of unimportant paperwork in a naval office because there was nowhere for it to go.

Her eyes well with tears all over again. His face is leaner, the lines of his jaw and cheeks more defined, the left side of his face littered with bruises and scars. She traces her fingers over his cheekbone, and down to the coarse, blond stubble along his jaw.

“Kitty,” he says, shortly, taking her hand away from his face. “Kitty, where are they? Tell me they’re okay.”

She glances over her shoulder. Mam and dad are approaching them now. Their faces mirror each other, confused, horrified, sympathetic.

“Come on,” she mutters, taking Tom’s hand and dragging him with her as she walks solemnly up Slade Grove.

They stayed joined at the hip as they walk, Kitty curling slightly into his arm, their legs brushing with every stride, bumping into each other and pulling themselves back in.

His hand is warm and his grip is firm, but she can’t stop herself from shivering. As much as she wants to gaze up at him, melt into his embrace again, kiss every inch of his face, she can’t help but feel guilty. He doesn’t ask any more questions, or so much as speak a word, but the concern is written all over him, the clenched jaw and the stiff shoulders that don’t sway as he walks.

She won’t be the one to tell him, she can’t be.

Lois has been living in a boarding house with Connie since the bomb hit. Mam had offered her a place at their house, but Lois wouldn’t take it. Luckily the house isn’t too far away, and when Lois opens the door, she’s utterly stunned.

Kitty waits outside, with her hands behind her back, leaning against the brick wall. Now her hands and her skin feel cold, so she tugs at her coat, keeping it tight around her body to keep out the autumn chill.

For a few moments she wonders if she hasn’t just made the whole thing up; Tom, waiting outside her door, running into her arms and vanishing again. She rubs her fingertips together. She had felt him as she feels her own skin now, she’s sure of it, the scars, the stubble, the hair on the back of his hand.

Tom Bennett, her Tom Bennett, though not quite the same man he was, before whatever happened at Dunkirk, before the war, when his place in her life was vague but at least it was consistent. She knows things will be different again when he comes out of that house.

She hears raised voices through the door, the unmistakable, raspy bass of Tom’s anger. Lois shouts back. Then it goes quiet again.

Her heart leaps out of her chest when the door swings open. Tom slams it shut and turns his head around, frantically, before his eyes find her.

He opens his arms and falls into her.

He lets out a few short gasps for breath as he leans his forehead against her shoulder and wraps his arms tightly around her waist.

She stays like that for as long as he needs, until he pulls back for breath. His face is red, it only makes his eyes seem brighter.

“Sorry,” he mutters with a sniff, “haven’t even said a proper ‘hello’ to you yet.”

Given the circumstances, she thinks that’s forgivable. She runs her hands over the sides of his face, his ears and his overgrown mop of hair.

“Hello,” she says.

Tom smiles, taking one of her hands in hiss and placing a peck to her knuckles. “Hello.”

They walk slowly back to Slade Grove. Tom is a little more subdued, but not quite settled.

She can only imagine the thoughts racing through his head. He wasn’t here to save his father, he wasn’t at the funeral, there was nothing he could save from his own home. Time has slipped by, the formalities have been carried out and Tom couldn’t have stopped any of it from happening.

Mam opens the door, takes one look at Tom, and purses her lips.

Kitty rolls her eyes and pulls Tom into the hallway.

The house has been cleared up a little better recently. They’ve gotten rid of everything that was broken, mended the curtains and the tears in the sofas, only the front room feels empty and impersonal without the china cabinet and the photographs they couldn’t save.

They walk on through to the kitchen, where dad is sitting by the wireless. He stands to take Tom’s hand. “Sorry for your loss, lad,” he says, giving it a short, firm shake.

“Cheers,” Tom mutters, “good to see you again, Mr Wheelan.”

Kitty makes tea and splits her rations of bacon and eggs between her and Tom.

“We were part of the evacuation effort from Dunkirk,” Tom explains, looking up to Kitty as she sits beside him. “I don’t remember much, but I woke up in a hospital in Paris, bullets and shrapnel in my chest, and the doctors were telling me the Nazis had taken the city.”

“Bloody hell,” dad sighs.

Mam sits stiffly in her chair and sips her tea.

“They were telling me I had to register as a prisoner of war, but there was this American bloke, a doctor, he told me they were trying out an escape route through Gibraltar.”

“We thought you were dead,” Kitty says. “Lois showed us the telegram. We all thought you were dead.”

She can see Tom’s hand flinch as if to reach out to her, but he stops himself and clenches his fist. He turns back to her parents across the table. “I had to die, officially like, they had some spare bodies and put my name to some poor bastard with 80% burns–”

Mam clears her throat.

“Sorry,” Tom says, trying not to smile. “Had to walk to Spain, then hitched a ride with these two blokes to Gibraltar. Onto Plymouth from there, and then…” he trails off. He has a distant look in his eyes that reminds her of Lois.

“Home?” dad says.

Tom shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, ‘spose so.”

“Will you stay with Lois?” Kitty asks.

Tom gives her a pointed look.

The raised voices, the slammed door. Maybe not.

“You could stay with us,” she says.

Mam tilts her head. “Now wait a moment–”

“Of course,” dad says, “we’ve got three empty beds upstairs, I’m sure we’ll be able to spare one.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Tom says, slipping his hand under the table and brushing his fingers over Kitty’s knee. She checks her parents aren’t looking at her and tries not to smile.

Dad holds up his hand in the way that means his decision is final. “Not at all, lad. We’ve known you since you were a childer, I think it’s the least we could do for you now.”

Lois drops Vera off at 5 o’clock, the usual time. She doesn’t ask about Tom, in fact she hardly looks Kitty in the eye as she hands the baby into her arms and places a bag by her feet. She presses a quick kiss to Vera’s head, and then she’s gone.

Tom is in the front room, splayed out on one of the sofas, flicking an unlit cigarette through his fingers– because if he smoked in the house, mam would actually kill him. He sits up when Kitty walks in with the baby on her hip.

She sits beside him and places Vera on her lap.

Tom takes one of her little hands, and his thumb is almost the size of her palm. “Can’t believe she named the kid after my fucking canary,” he grumbles.

“Tom,” Kitty chides.

“Fuck, sorry– fuck.”

Vera lets out a vague gurgling sound and Kitty giggles. “Say it enough, it might be her first word.”

He chuckles, and gently waves Vera’s arm about. “When do babies usually start talking?”

“Give her a chance, she can’t even sit up yet.”

He strokes his finger along the baby’s cheek, and grins when he coaxes a smile out of her. But it’s like he stops himself, pressing his lips together as his eyes darken.

“What happened with you and Lois?” Kitty asks.

Tom heaves a heavy breath and takes his hand away from Vera. “I lashed out.”

“Christ, Tom.”

“She left dad alone,” he says.

If she didn’t have a baby in her lap, she thinks she could throttle him. “It wasn’t her fault,” Kitty snaps. “She couldn’t have saved him. No one could have.

He turns to face her with a devastated look in his eyes, the kind of look he makes when he knows she’s right. “How did it happen?”

She shifts Vera in her lap. “We didn’t see, we were in the shelter. We heard the bombs getting closer, and when we heard the all clear…” she blinks a few tears from her eyes. She doesn’t mean to cry, and she feels ridiculous, crying over Tom’s father when he’s sitting beside her.

Tom shifts closer to her, and wipes her cheeks with his thumbs.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

Tom nods, running his hand over Vera’s head. “He died thinking I was gone. He didn’t know I was alright.” He draws his tongue between his lips. “But he’ll be happy now, with mum and that.”

“I hope so,” she says.

“And I didn’t leave things on a bad note,” he says, keeping his eyes on Vera, “like you told me. I shook his hand before I left.”

“See? When has my advice ever let you down?” she says, trying to sound as lighthearted as possible through the thick feeling in her throat.

Tom keeps his chin tilted down but he looks up to her. He looks more peaceful than he did this morning. His lips are settled in their natural curve, his brow is soft, and there’s a sadness in his eyes that he won’t allow to become more than a glisten.

“Never has,” he says with a smile.

He shuffles closer to her, cautiously cupping the side of her face like he’s forgotten how.

She instantly leans into him, bringing their foreheads together until she can feel his breath echoing over her lips.

It’s been so long since she’s felt him in the way she wants. She’s hardly given herself a moment to even realise that he’s here, that her months of anguish are finally done because he’s safe, he’s alive, and he still didn’t break his promise to her.

“I missed you,” she whispers. If she speaks any louder she worries her voice might falter.

Tom draws his thumb over her cheek and nudges his nose against hers. “Kitty,” he utters. His lips twitch like he can’t quite find the words he wants.

“I know,” she breathes. “I know.”

He angles his head a little before he leans in closer and presses a soft kiss to her lips, and her heart breaks a hundred times over. She feels his sadness in the tentative movements of his mouth, like he’s still scared, like he’s waiting for something bad to happen.

So she pours all her longing and reassurance into him, as far as she can without speaking or pausing for breath. She holds onto his neck and deepens their kiss with firm lips and a deft tongue.

She wants to feel him, long after they’ve parted. She wants to remember how he feels, the warmth he gives her, the way his little hums make her feel weightless and set her skin alight.

Now, in this moment, the world feels perfect.

Until Vera makes a whining noise that means she wants attention.

Kitty pulls away with a short gasp, moving Vera to her hip and she stands and tries to bounce her into content.

“She’s probably hungry,” Kitty says, and nods to the bag Lois dropped off earlier. “Her formula’s in there, bring it into the kitchen.”

Tom does as he’s told and pulls the tub out of the bag. He walks into the corridor first, and as Kitty goes to follow he stops, and turns to her.

“You look good with a baby by the way,” he says with a grin.

She scorns herself for the thrill it sends through her stomach. “Don’t, you’ll give my mam a heart attack.”

At 6 o’clock, they put the lights out for the blackout, with only the fading sunset to light the kitchen as Kitty makes a vegetable stew and spuds for dinner. Thankfully they have some beef stock she can throw in as well, which stops dad from complaining that “just veg doesn’t count as a meal.”

Evenings are tense and uncertain now. They all try to make small talk with each other over dinner, but silences are frequent and imposing.

Once they’ve eaten, Kitty puts Vera to bed and mam and dad head upstairs shortly after, hoping to get as much sleep as they can before the sirens start.

Tom sits in the lounge, on a sofa by the window, keeping the curtains open just an inch, but all there is to see is black.

“It’s cloudy,” he says as Kitty appears in the doorway in her nightie. “Can’t even see the moon.”

She comes to join him, curling up into his lap and placing her head on his shoulder. “That’s good news for us.”

Tom wraps his arms around her and kisses her head.

The sky stays cloudy and quiet all night, no droning of planes, no sirens.

All she hears is the sound of his breathing and his lips against her skin as he nuzzles into her neck, kissing and nipping at her skin.

“Did you miss me?” she finds herself saying.

Tom pauses and pulls his face away from her with a furrowed brow. “Do you really think I thought of anything else?” he says. “It was all that got me through, the thought of coming home to you.”

In the morning she wakes with a sliver of sunlight creeping over her eyes, still in Tom’s arms, still clinging to him.

Lois comes to collect Vera before Kitty leaves for her shift at the shop.

“Is Tom with you?” Lois asks as kitty lowers Vera into the pram.

Kitty hesitates. “Yes,” she says, bracing herself for Lois to storm in and start shouting at him.

He appears in the doorway, with his head down and his hands in his pockets.

“I’m going to the churchyard,” Lois says to him, “if you’d like to see mum and dad.”

Tom looks to Kitty and she sighs, overemphasising the movement of her chest as she breathes. Don’t leave it on a bad note.

He looks back to Lois and forces a small smile. “Yeah.”

Tom stays with the Wheelans, sleeping in the boys’ bedroom, in the bed closest to the door. Each night, once Vera and her parents are asleep, Kitty steals into his bedroom and tucks herself into the space beside him.

“It feels funny like this, doesn’t it?” she whispers to him, brushing her lips over his cheek as she throws her arms around him and presses herself into his back.

“What, you being the one sneaking around?” he says, falling onto his back so she can drape herself over his bare chest.

“It’s exciting,” she says, kissing a path along his jaw and down his neck. “I don’t see why you got to have all the fun.”

“Made it worth your while, didn’t I?” She can hear him grinning as she reaches the hollow of his throat. She swipes her tongue over his skin and delights when he suppresses a grunt and grasps at her hips.

She sits herself up, letting her nightgown hitch up to her hips as she starts to rock against him.

Tom slips a hand between her thighs and smiles when he swipes his thumb over her bare cunt. “Right little whore I’ve turned you into, hmm?”

Kitty braces herself against her chest and nods, as Tom presses into her, dragging from her entrance to her pearl.

“So fucking wet,” he whispers. “All for me?”

“All for you,” she breathes as he starts to circle over her most sensitive spot. “Fuck–”

Tom places a finger to her lips as he keeps working over her. “Shh, you have to be quiet, you know that.”

She nods again, dreamily, moving her hips against him, adding and withdrawing pressure to his movements, treading the line between pleasure and longing. Until she falls apart, shuddering, pressing her lips together tightly and snatching back the one wanton whimper that sounds in her throat.

“Good girl,” Tom snarls. His hips are bucking against her and his jaw is tight. “Good fucking girl.”

She wastes no time slipping his cock free from his briefs and sinks herself down onto his length. He’s done for with only a few rolls of her hips, pulling out before he finishes and spilling himself onto her stomach.

He’s so pretty when he comes, with a silent sigh, his jaw hanging open and his nostrils flaring. Every part of his body tenses, his abs, his neck, his shoulders, as he squeezes his eyes shut tight and throws his head back against the pillows.

Another perfect moment, she thinks, bright and beautiful, and already slipping away.

He registers with the navy again, and in a few weeks he has his next assignment.

Before he leaves, Kitty insists on getting out Eddie’s camera (even though he’d kill her if he knew he went near it), and takes some photos of Vera for Tom to keep while he’s away.

She takes some of him too. They’re hardly high art– he wouldn’t stop laughing at his own snarky comments, but she manages one ‘serious’ one.

His mouth is halfway to a smirk, his smile lines apparent around his mouth, but his eyes are dark and almost sinister. He hates it but there’s nothing he can do to stop her from keeping it in the envelope of one of his letters, under her pillow for safekeeping with the rest of the pieces she has of him.

He has leave in the new year, and then he’s back in October, just over two years since he first left.

By then Lois is gone. She had come into the shop, with a letter for Tom and Kitty in the pram. She had said she was going to leave her with Robina.

“Over my dead body you are,” Kitty said before she could think it through. Mam and dad were slightly horrified when she came home early from work with baby Vera in a pram and all of her belongings in a bag.

Vera is a right little character now, a stubborn but happy girl. When Tom comes back to Longsight, he stays with the Wheelans again, and he’s utterly devoted to his niece. When Kitty’s at work, he walks into the shop with Vera in his arms to buy her a bar of Cadbury’s ration chocolate. It’s awful and bitter, but it’s the only kind Vera has known and she treats it like gold dust.

When Mr Gregory gives Kitty a few days off, she and Tom take her for walks to the park. It’s freezing, but she’s happy enough wrapped up in a coat and a woolly hat, squealing with delight when Tom picks her up and places her on his shoulders.

How remarkable are kids, that they can so easily forget about worries and fears, as long as they have something that keeps them happy.

Even with Douglas and Lois gone, she hopes Tom knows that something still remains.

Time slips away too quickly. Suddenly Tom’s in his uniform again, ditty slung over his shoulder. He takes Vera into his arms and hugs her tightly into his chest. “Be good for your aunty Kitty,” he says, “and take care of her until I get back.”

Vera nods frantically.

He says goodbye to dad like an old friend, and even mam has warmed to him a bit now. Kitty sees the way her mother looks between her and Tom, the knowing nod of her head. It’s acceptance, and she’ll take it.

“Shall we?” Tom says, taking Kitty’s hand and leading her through the door.

It’s a short walk to the bus stop, then a twenty minute ride into the city. She keeps a tight hold of Tom’s hand the entire way.

They settle in seats at the back of the bus. It’s the middle of the day, kids are in school and their parents are at work. Only a few other seats are filled.

“Thank you,” Tom says as the bus pulls away from the stop.

“For what?” Kitty says.

“For being there,” he says, “for looking out for dad when he was around, for taking care of Vera, and me.”

She wants to frown, but can’t bring herself to. “Of course,” she says, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand. “Of course.”

Tom’s been assigned to HMS Prince of Wales, docked at Scapa Flow in Scotland. His train leaves within the hour, and the moment they step off the bus onto the busy streets of Manchester, she feels herself walking slower.

Tom keeps going, letting her fall behind him slightly, but never letting go of her.

No matter how she tries to drag this out, she cannot stop time altogether and they eventually reach the train station.

She could spend an eternity in his arms, cheek to cheek, breathing along with the rise and fall of his chest.

“I want to do right by you,” Tom says.

“What do you mean?” she mutters.

They still hold each other close; she doesn’t think she could bear to look at his face.

“Once the war is over, I’ll save up my wages, get us a place of our own. It’ll just be the two of us.”

“And Vera,” she adds.

“Yeah,” he says, stroking his hand up and down her back. “I’ll get a proper job. You should do that clerical training you’ve always talked about.”

No more sneaking around. No more nights cut short when he has to leave her.

He pulls away from her, keeping his hands on her waist. “I know your parents don’t trust me and your brothers think I’m a no-good-thieving-bastard. But I love you, Kitty, and I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.”

“Once the war is over?” she says.

“As soon as.”

“Tom,” she sighs. She doesn’t want to imagine the possibility, or speak it into existence, but it’s still there. “What if you don’t come back?”

Tom smiles with a small hum. “I’ve died once before, didn’t stop me coming back to you, did it?”

Kitty believes him wholeheartedly.

Thursday 11th December, 1941

Vera’s being fussy about her nap again. No matter how much Kitty tries to hush her, rock her, or hum a few lullabies, she just won’t settle.

Eventually she tries just holding Vera close to her chest, letting the side of her little head nestle just over her heart. She stops crying almost immediately.

“How hard could it be to look after a baby?” she asked herself when she refused to let Lois leave her daughter with Robina Chase. Quite hard, as it turns out.

The peace doesn’t last for long. Mam’s shoes come clattering down the stairs, the doorbell rings and Vera starts wailing again.

“Oh come here,” mam coos, taking Vera from Kitty’s arms. “You get the door, I’ll see this one gets her nap, eh?”

Kitty takes a quick breath before she opens the door. Hearing Vera cry makes her want to cry too.

The postman stands below the front step with a telegram in his hands.

“Catherine,” he says with a polite smile, “haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Been… busy,” she says through Vera’s wails.

The postman hands her the telegram and she reads over the address: Lois Bennett, 27 Slade Grove, Longsight, Manchester, only there’s no house for it to be delivered to, and no Lois to take it.

She feels the tears start to prickle in her eyes as she waves him off, and when she shuts the door she can no longer stand. Suddenly she’s on the floor, her back against the door, unable to catch her breath as hot, stinging tears stream down her face and the telegram crumples under her fist.

She thinks maybe Vera keeps crying and mam calls her name, trying to get her to stand but she can’t. She just… can’t. A sinking feeling washes over her and keeps her pinned down, like the waves pummeling against the shore, over and over again.

If there’s a telegram addressed to Lois, it can only mean one thing.

Tom.

Monday 24th December, 1945

The bus to Longsight stops outside the shop. She lifts Vera under the arms of her little red coat, onto the pavement, and takes a mittened hand in hers as they head inside. Mr Gregory sold it a few months ago and she doesn’t know the name of the new owners.

The woman behind the counter smiles down at Vera. “Aren’t you a gorgeous little madam?” she coos.

Vera rolls her eyes. “I’m not a baby, I’m five,” she says.

Kitty smiles to herself. “Bottle of sherry and a bag of Yorkshire mix, please,” she says. She crouches down beside Vera and spots a shelf of Christmas wrapping. “Go and pick out some ribbon for the bottle,” she whispers.

She pays for their items and Vera comes back with a bright red ribbon.

“Perfect,” Kitty says, and ties it into a bow around the neck.

As they walk towards Slade Grove, Kitty picks out some red sweets for Vera and a pear drop for herself. The rest she saves for later, finding she now prefers the sweets she never used to eat.

It’s nice and warm inside number 28. A Chorus of Christmas carols plays through the wireless from the kitchen, a backdrop to the bustle of the house. Mam is in the kitchen, making her final preparations for tomorrow’s dinner. Art helps her, albeit, his version of helping is pouring out gin and tonics. Dad, Eddie, Stevie and Connie are sat around the table, engrossed in a game of cards. But everyone stops when Vera comes bounding into the room, Kitty close behind her.

They each take their turns to smother her, and it feels good. Stevie practically jumps up and down as he hugs her, Art hands her a drink and Eddie hugs her the tightest.

She manages a sip of her drink and places it on the table as she goes to greet her dad, still mulling over his hand of cards as he kisses her cheek. Then she goes to her mam, and hands her the bottle of sherry.

“I chose the bow!” Vera proclaims proudly.

“And a lovely bow it is!” mam beams, placing the bottle amongst their Christmas stash of whisky, gin and dessert wine. “I have something for you, love,” she says.

“Oh?” Kitty asks as mam disappears into the front room. She comes back with a pot of poinsettias in a red pot, thick green leaves with bursts of blood red petals and golden seeds at their hearts.

“I thought we could put them out, tonight,” mam says.

Kitty opens her mouth to thank her, but she can’t. She nods as mam places her hand on her arm.

Even months after the war has ended, meat is still scarce, especially at this time of year, but mam had saved up her rations for a beautiful joint of beef, which she presents in the centre of the table.

It’s a cheerful occasion. The boys are rowdy, dad is quizzing Connie on her latest gig with her new band, mam is fussing over Vera.

Kitty watches them all. It’s hard not to feel like a ghost, an outlier, simply observing. Sometimes she thinks the others are still too scared to talk to her, in case she bursts into tears or shatters completely. She knows she won’t though. It’s Christmas. She’s supposed to be happy, surrounded by family and people she loves.

“We’re going to see her daddy for dinner tomorrow,” Vera says, stabbing at her boiled carrots.

“What’s Christmas dinner with Robina Chase like?” Stevie asks Kitty.

Her face freezes into a terrified smile to the others’ amusement. “No, it’s fine really,” she says. “Your grandma spoils you rotten, doesn’t she missus?”

Vera nods enthusiastically.

She’s such an easy girl to love. She has bright blue eyes, plump, rosy cheeks and dark brown curls, like her mother’s, kept in pigtails. But while her face is deceptively sweet, she has an awful habit for mischief and stubbornness. Kitty doesn’t mind that though. Girls should be stubborn, she thinks.

Stevie and Connie are expecting now. Dad insists it’s going to be a boy because he saw four magpies in the garden last week. They have a modest little house a few streets away and they’ve made it nice and homely. She’s had tea there and helped Stevie set up a crib for the nursery.

After they’ve eaten, dad insists they all go to midnight mass, as he does every year, despite Kitty’s insistence that it’s much too late for Vera. Still, she puts her in a pretty blue dress and shiny black leather shoes, and makes Stevie promise he’ll be the one to carry her home.

The church is mostly shadows at night, a few candles and lamps doing their best to fight off the darkness and the cold. Vera hates it. She pulls her woolly hat over her ears, swings her legs and on three occasions asks “is he done talking yet?” She likes the hymns though, even if she doesn’t know the words, mouthing some kind of nonsense that has them all in fits of giggles.

And once it’s over, they don’t follow the path down to the street. Kitty leads the way, with the pot of poinsettias in her hands. Stevie follows behind her, carrying a sleepy Vera in his arms, curled into his chest.

She stops before the grave she first stood by seventeen years ago.

Josie Bennett

Douglas Bennett

and in loving memory of Thomas Bennett, 1919-1941

Kitty crouches down to lay the poinsettias down when Vera gives a little squeak in protest. “I want to do it!” she cries.

“Come on then, missus,” Kitty says.

Stevie lowers Vera and she rubs her tired eyes as she staggers to Kitty. She tries to take the pot but with her mittens she can’t get a good grip on it.

“Together?” Kitty asks.

“Yes please,” Vera says.

They place the flowers down together, making sure they don’t obstruct the names.

“There,” Vera says with a little huff. She reaches out and puts her hand on the stone, brushing over the names of her granny and granddad Bennett, and then she traces over the letters of Tom’s name.

Even seeing it written in stone, she doesn’t think it will ever truly sink in.

A report said Tom had been in the makeshift aid centre on the main deck of the HMS Prince of Wales, when the final bomb hit. He could have run for the lifeboats. He would have had plenty of time. But he didn’t. He died to save his injured crewmates, men who would have never seen their families again.

For all the times he told her he would come back, for the life he promised they would make together, for all the nights she clung onto hope, she wanted to hate him for throwing it away.

She knows now that she can’t hate him. She could never hate him.

Vera falls back into Kitty’s arms. She catches her and places a gentle kiss to her soft cheek. “They would have loved you, you know,” Kitty says. “They would have loved that you’re brave, and funny, and that you drive everybody round the bend.”

Vera giggles and turns around, flinging her arms around her neck. “I love you, aunty Kitty,” she says.

Kitty hugs her tightly into her chest, with that strange sort of urge to just squeeze her and squeeze her and never let her go. “I love you too,” she whispers, so Vera won’t hear the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

Vera manages to walk down to the gate before Stevie has to carry her, and by the time they get back to the house, she’s fast asleep.

Kitty takes her in her arms and carries her up to the little box room. Connie and Stevie have the other big bedroom, and Eddie and Art are roughing it on the sofas in the lounge.

She places Vera down in the bed, as gently as she can, and takes off her shoes and coat so she won’t have to sleep in them.

It’s almost like a ritual now, but every time she finds herself in her old bedroom, she unlocks the window and brushes her fingers over the scuff mark on the windowsill.

Vera stirs slightly when she joins her, curling into Kitty when she places an arm around her. The bed is hardly big enough for the two of them, how she and Tom ever managed to fit seems somewhat miraculous.

Tom Bennett should have been hers to keep. They should have spent all their savings on a little terraced house or a flat in Manchester, squabbling over the things husbands and wives argue about and making up between the bedsheets. In the winters they would have walked home from the pub through the snow, hand in hand, and huddled for warmth at night. In the summers they would have spent their evenings in the park with a punnet of strawberries, taking the train to the coast on the weekends, to Southport or Blackpool. Maybe they would have had kids of their own. She often pictures a little girl with big blue eyes and a bright smile. They might have named her Josie, after Tom’s mother, and Vera would adore her.

There is so little left of him now, the bomb that hit the Bennett’s house ensured that well enough. She would have liked to have kept his lighter, his wristwatch, maybe some of his shirts.

Instead, she finds other ways to remember him. She reads his letters every night tracing over his terrible handwriting, the imprint of the words in the paper and his fingerprint in a smudge of ink. And she has the photo she took of him on Eddie’s camera. She keeps it framed, proudly on display on the mantle in their flat in the city.

She feels him, in the smell of grass, the flick of a lighter, the smoke from a cigarette, whispered secrets between lovers and Vera Bennett’s laugh, the way she squints her eyes and shows her teeth, just like he did.

Two decades of friendship and it wasn’t enough time. They should have known sooner, she should have knocked on his door more often and he should have spent less time getting into trouble. She should have told him to join the pacifists while it was still an option, she should have convinced him not to go away, she should have held him tighter and never, never have let him go.

In the end though, she doesn’t linger on the times they weren’t together. She remembers them being children together. She remembers the first night he climbed through her window. She remembers his warmth and his infuriating smirk. She remembers the first time they kissed and the nights they spent together, when she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. She remembers every time he told her he loved her, and she remembers every time she said it back.

She falls asleep to Vera’s fluttering breaths, the sound of the lads and Connie in the front room and the hymns playing on the radio.

The world is cruel and cold, but through it all she finds moments like these, when the tightness in her chest is replaced by something light and hopeful.

She clings to that feeling because tomorrow she’ll wake up surrounded by her family, and Vera’s little face will light up when she sees the gifts they’ve been saving for her. Dinner with Robina Chase will be worth it for the moments Harry will get with his little girl, and in the evening she’ll come home and laugh herself silly over glasses of whisky with her brothers.

For all the grief she remembers how he loved her. She’ll keep clinging to that feeling because Tom Bennett was hers, if only just for a moment.

Disclaimer: I only skimmed through the episodes that Tom wasn’t in and don’t actually know what Lois’ deal was, so I’m taking some creative liberties here.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

Series taglist: @hanula18 @azxulaa @whoknows333

#my fics #tom bennett #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #world on fire #wof #world on fire bbc #world on fire season 2 #world on fire fanfiction #tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x female reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennet x reader #ewan mitchell #tom bennett smut

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sissy-amber14 · 7 months

Text

also have to follow these listed rules every time I hit the following number of notes. So please stop spamming the comments!

300 notes: Use a medium plug now

600 notes: Spend $20 on sissy clothes (must be pink)

900 notes: Wear panties 24/7 from now on

1200 notes: Spend $40 on sissy clothes (must be pink)

1500 notes: Sit on a 6-inch dildo once week for 30 min

1800 notes: Listen to 1 audio file of sissy hypno before bed

2100 notes: Wear androgynous or feminine clothes at home from now on

2400 notes: Practice deepthroating the current sized dildo twice a week

2700 notes: I can cum only once a month

3000 notes: Sit on a 7-inch dildo 2 times a week for 30 min

3300 notes: Wear androgynous or feminine clothing in public from now on

3600 notes: Wear only slutty or pink sissy clothing at home

3900 notes: I have to wear a corset under my clothes everyday

4200 notes: Use a large plug now

4500 notes: Use a smaller cage

4800 notes: I can only watch/listen to girly media, anything masculine or geared towards males is banned

5100 notes: Sit on an 8-inch dildo 3 times a week for 30 min

5400 notes: Listen to sissy hypno every time I do anal

5700 notes: I can only cum when I'm riding a dildo and it's changed to 1 cum every 3 months

6000 notes: Make a Twitter account archiving proof and progress

6300 notes: Every week either post proof/update pics of locked chastity, gif of current dildo riding, gif of current plug insertion, and pics of current sissy outfit that I'm being made to wear from these tasks

6600 notes: I have to permanently use she/her pronouns

6900 notes: Sit on a 9-inch dildo 4 times a week for 30 min

7200 notes: Lock myself in ballet heels for 3 hours every day

7500 notes: From now on edge every day for 2 hours

7800 notes: Use a smaller cage

8100 notes: Every 3 days I have to use a chastity cage with a sounding rod

8400 notes: Buy the most embarrassing humiliating sissy pink dress I can find (with all the ruffles and it locks when zipped up)

8700 notes: I can only wear a dress or skirt in public from now on

9000 notes: Get Started on Estrogen

9300 notes: Every 3 days either post proof/update pics of locked chastity, gif of current dildo riding, gif of current plug insertion, and pics of current sissy outfit that I'm being made to wear from these tasks

9600 notes: I now have to use a sounding chastity cage from now on

9900 notes: Sit on a 9-inch dildo 5 times a week for 1 hour

10200 notes: Once a week, I have to replace my plug with a dildo while I'm out in public for the day

10500 notes: I can only cum once a year

10800 notes: Buy a fucking machine

11100 notes: Buy and use sounding rods 3 times a week for 30 min

11400 notes: Buy breast/nipple pumps and use it twice a week to increase the size

11700 notes: Put on an inverse chastity cage from now on and no more edging or unlocking

12000 notes: Start an OF

12300 notes: Clicker train myself to get horny to the thought of cocks

12600 notes: I can only cum from anal

12900 notes: Make an Amazon Wishlist and add 100 toys and clothes for anyone to buy. Anyone who buys them will get a free show with what they bought

13200 notes: Use an XL plug now

13500 notes: Only use 10-inch toys from now on sit on it 6 times a week for 30 min, once a week use a 12+ inch toy

13800 notes: glue the lock shut, flush the key down the toilet, the only way I'm getting out now is if I hit 15000 notes

14100 notes: Listen to Bambi Sleep files

14400 notes: Get a tattoo right over my clitty that says "Property of _____"

14700 notes: Get nipple piercings

15000 notes: Bottom surgery (My Life is Over). However I have to spend at least 25% of the entire chastity sentence in a cage before I get bottom surgery to prolong this even longer.

This will run for one month, Feb 12- March 12

#feminization kink #sissi femboi #sissifyme #sissy cd #beta faggot #locked and denied #locked in caged #locked cock #chastized #feminine sissy #force feminization #feminization captions #panty sissy #pantylover #virgin loser #censored for losers #pathetic loser #sissy loser #loser slave

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everlastiingiimmortals · 6 months

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Theory: History of the Laurel Wreath Galaxy

Fair warning that I went nuts with this one and am absolutely reaching in some cases. Also, this will contain leaks about the upcoming Sigonia relic set lore, so please keep that in mind!

I established in a prior HC post that Ratio, as far as I'm concerned, is from the Laurel Wreath Galaxy. However, it was while thinking about this that I realized I missed something crucial from a Memory Bubble in the game: Rationality's Fall was a direct consequence of the Mechanical Emperor's War (referred to hereafter as MEW).

We learn from this bubble that the Philosopher's Union was overrun by robots after they massacred all of the philosophers, as well as destroyed most of the planets in the galaxy, before sentencing the Philosopher King Aurelius to his death by the Union's own laws and demanding he drink poison. We also learn that he does in fact do this, and this part of the war is what is known as Rationality's Fall, supposedly.

We also learn from Fu Xuan through Glimpses Into the Beyond that it was in fact Aha's followers who infected the robots with a virus called the "Philosopher's Poison," overthrowing the mechanical army in the Union with irony and a taste of their own medicine.

Naturally, this sent me down a long and spiraling rabbit hole, trying to place the time of this event.

My conclusion: Fucking Ancient.

You see, we know from Baiheng's journal that Screwllum is at least 800 years old in the Star Calendar, as Planet Screwllum had already been established during her travels. Do we know how many Amber Eras (AE) that is? No. Is there any sort of means of comparison or consistency for AE? No. Do we know how long the Star Calendar (SC) years are? No. But it's different from the Trailblaze Calendar, which is the closest to the Gregorian Calendar, and I guess we can assume that based on the Xianzhou's inspirations, the Star Calendar would be more similar to the Lunar Calendar. Regardless! This doesn't help us with the Amber Eras, but it's a nice point of reference all the same given that the MEW had been happening since before 3287 SC. The year now is around 8100 SC. Furthermore, we can't really tell whether Screwllum established Planet Screwllum while Rubert I was still alive or not, but it is implied to have been after Rubert's death, given the Anti-Organic Equation still infects machine life to this day and Screwllum isn't... exactly sure of the circumstances of Rubert's death. We do know that it happened many years ago, as it was "countless Amber Eras" ago. I'm going to choose a nice round number, overestimate how long the war lasted, and say maybe 5000-ish SC. That gives us 3000 years to the modern year.

So Rationality's Fall happens some time in this era, long before 5000 SC, and much of the Laurel Wreath Galaxy is destroyed as a result. What happened to the survivors?

This is where the theory gets wack.

We know that the people of the Laurel Wreath Galaxy were a space-faring people, as they were able to travel to the center of the Galaxy to engage in the Philosopher's Union with the King. Those that could escape likely did, traveling to other planets to seek refuge. I don't think it is too far of a stretch to suggest that Sigonia may have been one of those places.

Situated near the convergence of three major star clusters, Sigonia-IV has long been subjected to stellar winds from multiple stars, earning its reputation as the "eye of the storm" throughout the Cosmos. The planet's surface environment is extremely harsh, leading many civilizations to either migrate to other celestial bodies or succumb to natural disasters.

Such a harsh environment would not necessarily lead to widely available resources for space-faring -- we see this as it is with Belobog, a perfect in game example. Nor is it exactly an optimal location to settle in either, but when faced with the alternative of certain death, who wouldn't consider it? They were desperate. Is it not possible to consider, then, that perhaps the Laurelian escapees sought refuge on Sigonia, only for many of them to find they were unable to adapt to the environment and thus move on, while others attempted to survive? I posit this theory for a few reasons:

Ratio and Aventurine obviously share similar eyes, and yet only Aventurine's are commented on as being Sigonian (yes, I know this could be because of Ratio's dumb headpiece, but he also doesn't make any sort of indication towards the similarities himself, so hush).

We know from the Sigonia relic lore that the Avgin genocide was relatively recent, happening in modern history as Aventurine was just a boy when it occurred. This gives plenty of time for the Laurelian settlers to undergo genetic divergence and ultimately evolution to adapt to Sigonia's environment (under high evolutionary pressure, adaptation can happen fairly quickly as well, so at least 3000 years ish of extreme evolutionary pressure is admittedly nothing to sneeze at).

This is admittedly something I believe is more of a funny coincidence than anything, but I love to chew on regardless due to my fascination with the evolution of language, is that αυγή (avgí) in Greek means dawn. If you know, you know.

So by the modern year, the Sigonians and the Laurelians are genetically distinct enough to not be recognized as similar people, but the Sigonians could, theoretically, trace their lineage back to the ancient Laurelians.

To give a general recap of the Laurel Wreath Galaxy with this context:

The Philosopher's Union has expanded throughout the entire galaxy, championing as one of the most profound galaxies for critical thought and where countless philosophers flock to vie for a seat in the Union.

The MEW occurs, taking with it much of the galaxy, destroying the Union, and killing the last Philosopher King, Aurelius (who, by the way, was named after the Roman Emperor). This is the incident known as Rationality's Fall.

The survivors who could flee did so, some of them eventually settling on Sigonia. Those who survive evolve and adapt to the harsh environment, or perhaps remain stranded on Sigonia and must make do.

Aha's followers introduce the Philosopher's Poison into the robots in the Union and overthrow them.

Eventually, life in the Laurel Wreath Galaxy recovers and stabilizes, now with robots joining their ranks, though the Union remains a vacant amphitheater -- more an ancient monument than anything else. Nobody takes up the throne of the Philosopher King.

The IPC encounter Sigonia and try to profit, as they do.

Fast forward to the modern era, where Ratio and Aventurine are born.

...and the rest is history, if you know your lore and your leaks.

Admittedly, I do have a bone to pick with this theory, outside of the blatant overreaching, and that is Rationality's Fall. From the Curio it's my understanding that Rationality's Fall was a civil war wrought by the folly of man, and yet every other source I see, like the Memory Bubble, implies an invasion of the Union by Rubert's followers. I see two possible explanations here, one of which is more heavily likely than the other:

There were two Rationality's Falls: one by the robots invading and another after that WAS the civil war, which was man and machine alike. This is unlikely, weird, doesn't make sense, and thus I don't think this is the case.

The robots were in fact native to the galaxy and revolted after being subjected to the Anti-Organic Equation. This is more likely and a method Rubert used for converting machines to its cause, and thus it makes sense. It's possible the robots of the Laurel Wreath Galaxy didn't have sentience until the MEW, so there's little conflict here.

I had a hard time admitting to the second possibility because it meant needing to adjust my prior headcanon somewhat and it still doesn't sit right with me given the initial description of civil war, but I'll address that here:

I maintain that Ratio was from the Laurel Wreath Galaxy, and perhaps a warmongering trait still remains within his blood, but maybe it is because of this trait of his people that the Laurel Wreath Galaxy was so focused on by Rubert during the MEW in the first place. We know Rubert accused organic life of being flawed in calculation, leading to their own end and destruction, and thus needing to be eradicated. Does this not sound familiar? Rationality's Fall, the collapse of mankind, which prides itself on the ability to think and reason -- that is rationality, not calculation and probability -- and thus the world's impurities, in this case, is not referring to arrogance nor ignorance, the original philosophy of the Union, but to rationality itself, to mankind as a whole.

So, fast forward once again to the modern era. Where does this leave Ratio? A descendant of survivors who managed to stay on what few habitable planets of the Laurel Wreath Galaxy remained. Someone with personal ties and reason to care so much about the Philosopher's Union and its history. Someone who, inflamed by curiosity and with an insatiable hunger for knowledge, ends up chasing the very same philosophy that the Union, which no longer exists, prided itself on. If the previous era of the Philosopher's Union were the Roman Empire, with all of its Ancient Greek associations as well, then Ratio's era -- Ratio himself -- is the Italian Renaissance, the revival of ancient Greco-Roman culture, and thus one could argue the inheritor of the Philosopher King's legacy.

#Willow Rambles #//about; (DOCTOR OF TRUTH)#hsr leaks #shout out to starry for the ανγή thing she found it first #i'm still miffed on the rationality's fall thing but it's like w/e #this is fine as is. i'm happy with this take all the same #i mentioned this to ventium also but as a tidbit like #re: all the latin in ratio's kit and everything i imagine it to be the equivalent to how it was during the renaissance #where latin was like the 'learned' language that showed you were educated #ratio grew up speaking whatever greek equivalent (and maybe the italian equivalent too) and learned latin from his mother and in school #holy shit how many words is this.... 1.6k WOWIE!! not my longest but still a chonker #anyway it's past 3 am here HAHA i'm going to pass out

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20th-century-railroading · 8 months

Video

One last Espee at Mount Hebron by Greg Brown Via Flickr: For railfans, 1999 was the last decent year for Southern Pacific imagery on the Shasta Route. While the hotshot Z trains were mostly an all-Union Pacific show, the lumber drags were still pulled by SP units.

In September 1999, this westbound drag is winding up for the climb to Grass Lake at Mount Hebron. In Espee days, the 8100-series GE units were somewhat rare. The following year they would go out in a blaze of glory, operating in four and five unit sets on certain I-5 corridor intermodals.

#up #union pacific #sp #southern pacific #1999 #trains #freight train #history #mount hebron #california

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ohmeadows · 1 year

Note

very interested to hear your fu xuan thoughts now that she’s out !

first of all love her second of all i'll just do this in bullet points because my brain is soggy cereal today:

starting with her character stories, so spoilers under the cut:

she hails from the xianzhou yuque, famed for their divinations and jade abaci export, and it mentions that "centuries passed" so. she's at least, at the barest minimum, two centuries old, probably older. she ran away from the yuque to attempt and avoid a foretold destiny, namely that she would kill her teacher. indeed her teacher even says it was part of the reason why he took her on as a student.

this is interesting because it ties into her teacher's prediction that she becomes master diviner of the yuque, a destiny she defies by running away. but...

xianzhou fleet follows star calendar dating, and in 8072, third abundance war happened, a decisive year for many on the luofu. (caiyi dies in this war, as well as dan shu's love.) fu xuan, annoyed that the divination commission can't do much to help in the battle, devises a plan to use the cloudpeer telescope, putting it on the battlefield and calling down lan's arrow to raze it, winning the fight. jing yuan agrees to her plan, but takes responsibility for it. as a way to protect her.

she is willing to go down and be the one to call on lan. but no. the person who goes down with the cloudpeer telescope... is her mentor. he dies. as does many. but the battle is won.

this battle happens roughly 30 years before current timeline in-game, where while it's not confirmed 100%, we can guesstimate that we are around 8098 or 8100 SC (xianzhou reckoning, we know it's 2158 Amber Era, IPC calendar) which, sidebar, jingliu was ""killed"" by jing yuan in 7380. that's almost 700 years of the high cloud quintet survivors being tormented in various ways.

not sure of the timing of this report, but lan is on the move again.

the third war is very interesting because it left part of the hexafleet struggling to recover; luofu only recovered because of widening trade, something we see reflected in tingyun, yukong opting to work in the skyfaring commission, and aurum alley. and it was won because of fu xuan's choices.

in the time since, she seems to have come to terms with destiny being impossible to change. she writes in this letter (emphasis mine):

Let me be more straightforward here — the way the Matrix of Prescience Ultima operates is like a black box. We know that we can derive a frighteningly accurate prediction from the Chaos system by "observing our observation," but no one knows how it works nor can anyone explain it. Many, including my colleagues from the Divination Commission, consider this to be an example of how humans can change or select the future with their own power. But for me... I will interpret this from another perspective... The past, present, and future are not diachronic, but synchronic. (This statement denies the existence of time, so the use of "diachronic" and "synchronic" might be slightly inappropriate.) Every moment in the universe has been predetermined since the genesis. That is to say, it is impossible to change the future.

i find this very fascinating because we can thus also trace what that war did to her mindset and point of view; she doesn't think the future can be changed and that the universe is a deterministic one. (note that i don't think it's proof it is, as we saw with kafka and our choices in her quest, she also grapples with the question of if everything is predetermined or not. these are their point of views.)

now, some other observations and picking at her voicelines:

so, the omniscia/third eye she has is a gift from nous the erudition, also known as the wisdomwalker on the xianzhou. she writes in glimpses into the beyond that she has had at least one audience with nous, and regards them highly. (i also wrote more in-depth about that book here already, so i won't dig too deep right now.) she's had it most of her adult life, even before the third abundance war, before leaving the yuque.

despite being harsh sometimes, she's not mean. this comes across very well in march 7th's quest, i think: she does care what people think about her, but she's not about to go simpering or sucking up to get liked. i really respect that in a character, especially female? i've seen men write her off as a walking red flag of a personality, which is hilarious to me. she's a delight! just not your soft uwu waifu.

she loves her boba and milk tea. she claims it eases her constant pain from the third eye, which kind of tracks for me, i usually need to have caffeine in some form to help alleviate migraines. she likes them far too sweet for my liking, however, but she's big on teas. (it's suspected she is the one arguing that startaro tea is amazing and everyone else is just a loser and hater.)

and the pain. so, xianzhou natives, because of the abundance's blessing, are constantly healing. nous implanted a third eye into her that if it had been made by mortals, would have just been rejected. her body is constantly fighting this third eye, pushing it out, but it does not budge because of nous' powers. hence, unending pain until the day she dies. she even refers to it as an eternal punishment.

also worth noting how she's a follower of nous, while being on qlipoth's path.

her trigram talk sounds a lot like the i ching to me, and she's constantly consulting it, sometimes several times even before breakfast. implication? that she does not like surprises, perhaps. that knowing the future is her greatest security.

in march 7th's quest, i feel like we get to see a very protective side of her. she does not take lightly at having her work interfered with, even by fuli's followers, and you can see a glimmer of why she follows both qlipoth and nous here: intense desire to protect, and intense desire to know the truth at the bottom of it all, even if it makes her unhappy.

i also think her desire to be general stems from her preservation path, beyond just ambition. sure, she wants power, but to me she seems to want power to ultimately protect and guide.

ignorance is not bliss to fu xuan, to put it lightly.

she notes that the trailblazer doesn't have a trace of future destinies around them, and calls it strange. gestures.

#ask meadows anything #honkai star rail #fu xuan #i'm also extremely in love with her from a gameplay perspective #but that is a whole nother post #anyway i rambled on for too long

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popcornforone · 1 year

Text

Teasing & Tweezing

Part of the Attending Mr York Fan Fic Series

Master list

This is all your fault.

You voted for back to back Dave York. I really didn’t think he would win. So here I am. Posting another Chapter to our Dave York universe on a Saturday… you’d better have your pancakes or grapes ready peoples. This is very intense.

Synopsis:- After asking a rhetorical questions, you find out Dave isn’t as squeaky clean & normal as you think. But your loyalty is put to the test a few days after finding out his secret when he arrives at your apartment at 3am.

This chapter is referenced as moments & memories in one week with Dave York. (Defiantly the Thursday & Saturday afternoon chapters).

Word count:8100

Warnings: EVERY WARNING UNDER THE SUN DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18! DAVE YORK COMES WITH HIS OWN WARNING…& I MEAN IT!!!! Cheating, adultery, boss employee relationships, controlling at points but not at others, fingering, anal sex, sex toys, bath sex, oral sex, blood, injury detail, repairs, swearing, angst, anger, alcohol, pain killers (in real life please don’t mix then) This gets grim at points for both injury & intimacy, secrets, assassin work.

Yea you have been warned

Thank you all so much for reading this, it’s always a pleasure writing Dave & thank you all for reading last weeks one off. All feedback is welcome in anyway shape or form. Enjoy peoples.

“Mr York?” You pop your head around the office door on a Wednesday afternoon. It’s not unusual for him to ask to see you on a Wednesday, before you do the grocery shop before getting the girls from school, especially as he likes to cook on a Wednesday night. You’ve never found out why, he just likes to do it. It also means you get more time to paint & curate your art portfolio, your eventual out from being a house keeper one day. Although this is much better than the 9to5 grind you used to have. It pays better too.

“Ahhh perfect timing, quick close the door this won’t take long” he spins round in his chair to face you, man spreading for you to see. He’s not hard but you know you could do certain things to make the man who 75% of the time ignores you in this house, to then turn him into the 25% which wants to plunder & pleasure you.

You notice he’s got shredding going on & lots of printing & a building plan laid out across his sofa, lots of post its notes & red crosses covering it. You grab a pen from his desk & tease it in your teeth waiting for him to tell you what he needs so you can jot it onto a post it note. You tease doesn’t go unnoticed.

“What can I help you with today sir…”

“shopping!”’he abruptly interrupts to make you slightly startled as to how quick his response was “I need the following items please & if they don’t have them in the store please can you go to different stores tomorrow to get them, they are all essential items”

“okay Mr York I understand, I…” he interrupts again.

“I would say today but I know it’s Wednesday & your art time. our deal is still the same, that you can work on whatever it is you make, I don’t want to make my house keeper unhappy, unless it’s tears of pleasure” he smirks facing back to his screen & you dampen your knickers instantly. He has very quickly worked out some of your kinks & weaknesses as to how he can make you feel good. He knows certain words get you going & he can also see your an open book when it comes to him & how he makes you scream. Your ex must have been atrocious, but that is Daves gain. It’s only been a few months of sex, but he’s really enjoying getting his frustrations out on your body & how you respond. Carol doesn’t even put in any effort anymore.

Dave lists off the most random shopping list. 2 fishing lines, sand, bleach, 3 bags of sugar, nail scissors, typex, a towel, hand sanitiser, a pack of metal coat hangers & as many packs of pain killers as you can find.

“Is there anything you think I need?” He asks when he’s done.

“Well that’s quite an extensive list mr York, I mean why fishing lines why not…”

“oooh & cable ties & condoms” he interrupts back to facing you & pointing. You blush. You were now on the pill, so you could feel Dave bare filling his seed inside you. No more rushing to the pharmacy to get the morning after pill or him withdrawing, which was rare of him to do. So who else was he having sex with other than you & Carol? Your face can clearly show your thinking this as he then answers without asking“… this is all for work, your my only discretion” he’s not lying you can tell that, you’ve worked out when Dave lies.

“wow that will be interesting for you to put down as expenses” you chuckle as you read the list back to yourself “I mean unless you plan on killing your boss, that’s the only way you could get away with it” you catch Daves eyes which are darting around the room desperate to check he’s not left anything in evidence out. He then looks at you sternly & you realise your hypothetical question might have some truth in it.

“David?” You ask concerned. You hardly ever call him David unless he really hits the spot inside you & you forget your manners. This breaks him out of his worried trance. He likes it when you say his name. If he wasn’t so controlling he’d let you say his name more often but you calling him Mr York for all situations makes his cock throb with anticipation. “Do… do you…” your voice is trailing. you want to ask but you also don’t incase knowing this will put you in danger, but you need to know. Daves business trips usually are on weird days & a pick up at a weird time. Dave sighs deeply shaking his head before his eyes meet yours.

“What I’m about to tell you is highly classified.” He groans . His eyes are deep. Dave is worried he’s about to lose his nanny, house keeper & fuck toy in the next 3minutes. How will he explain that to Carol. He stands up & heads to the family picture on the wall which has a safe behind it “I need to record exactly what i am about to talk to you about & I need you to consent to everything I am about to say” as the safe pops open he pauses & notices you’ve sat on the edge of his desk. “If you want you can leave now, I will pay you a years salary on the spot & you can go” he says & your eyes meet. A years salary is more than generous & could change your life. He is giving you an out. You can pack up your bags & never see the Yorks again, but could you do that to the 2 little girls who finally get you & are happy you play with them, no. Could you then also sit at home if you did leave even with that money in one go & think about the family if the worst happened to Dave, no.

“Tell me David, tell me everything”

“please don’t call me David…” oh fuck you think “… if your going to call me anything other than Mr York, call me Dave” & he hands over a secrets act file for you to read & sign as he hit records on the tape in his hand, all of which has come from the safe, to start telling you what you can know & what he actually does do. David Christopher York is a hired killer & assassin.

10 days later

You stumble into your studio apartment at 11:30pm. You know you’re needed at the Yorks for lots of morning rushes this week so today & tomorrow is your real chance to stay in your bed. They have given you Saturday night & part of Sunday off as a thank you. You’ve been out for a movie, dinner & drinks with your friends. You’re pretty sure that one of thems brother Steve was trying to flirt with you, but he was so wasted by the end of the night that you decided not to go back to his place. Your own bed & your own pleasure would be enough for tonight, especially if when you get to the Yorks, Dave has been on a successful business trip & will want to have sex with you. You slide out of your dress & put on your jammys. It’s summer so very short sleep shorts & a floaty vest are all that’s needed. Make up removed & teeth cleaned, you glide onto your bed & put on your pleasure playlist as you grab your 5inch toy & lube it up. The tip as it vibrates makes you shudder & moan as you carefully edge it inside you. You’re still getting used to having a vibrator which you purchased on impulse after your ex broke up with you. “Dave!” You moan. It’s the first time you have moaned Dave out loud when you’ve been alone & you really really like the way it rolls off your tongue. He’s having that much of an effect on you at the moment. You gasp at saying it & inch it in further turning up the vibrations wondering when Dave will next be on top of you, pounding inside your core.

THUD THUD THUD

You leap up & hear this pounding noise. It’s not a hangover throbbing in your mind or the next door neighbours having an orgy, they like to do that sometimes & you try to stay at the Yorks when you know it’s going to happen. But there’s a banging noise going on. As the thudding happens again you click your bedside light on & see the clock says 3am as you head to the door a few feet away. Being a studio apartment everything is close together. You look though the keyhole & see Daves face in anger on the other side.

“Let me in sweetheart please!?” He says with pain in his voice. You don’t even hesitate to undo the latch, the second your hand twists the lock he barges in, flinging the door almost directly into your face & almost collapses on the floor. There is blood oozing from his shoulder & is seeping down his arm. He throws his back pack across the room & it hits your bed bouncing back towards you both.

“VODKA” he screams as you lock the door shut but are frozen to the spot in a panic. “DONT MAKE ME ASK AGAIN!” He is enraged. The second shout means you run over to your dresser, which has clothes stationary & alcohol in it. You find the bottle of vodka & head to the kitchen area to get a glass. “IM IN FUCKING PAIN. I HAVE NO TIME FOR A GLASS!” You almost drop the bottle at his growl. It’s scaring & arousing you. The idea of Dave being really dominant to you during sex was not one that had crossed your mind, or be it with anyone actually, but he has those traits. You would submit to him so well. You kneel next to him & hand him the bottle, cap already off & he has 2 large gulps almost spluttering out the second. You’ve still not said a word since you woke up 2mins ago. He eventually calms down a little as your hand soothes his back, tracing across his spine & he reaches for his bag but his agony stops him “Bag! pain killers” he musters & you lean & bring it across to the two of you but when you see what’s in there your drop in it shock, scattering part of its contents across the floor, including the small pistol inside it.

Imagine if Dave hadn’t told you 10 days ago what he did for a living. This is still pretty intense & your mind is racing that he’s come to you for help. You are in as much shock as he is pain. But seeing various items you had purchased him sitting it that bag from the other week & a gun & a knife, that made you flinch a little too much.

“Mr York…” you mumble “i… I… im not qualified…”

“you have health & saftey & cpr to work for us, this is just the next 4 steps up” he interject, as he grabs the tablets to take. They, luckily for you, dropped right in front of him. “You said you’d do anything for me & the Yorks & I need this one time favour please please?” He pleads as he drinks more vodka to take the tablets which you both know is highly irresponsible, but he’s suffering badly. You pace a little while he tries to stand wondering what to do. No way are you or your apartment equipped to deal with whatever has happened to Dave.

“A one off? “ you reply “I never have to sort you out again”

“yes I promise, you can quit afterwards for all I care, I just need this to look a little bit cleaner before I go to the emergency room” his breathing is almost calm, & back to what it would be if he had just orgasmed.

“Why can’t you go there & first” you ask.

“That’s a story for another day but right now I need you to try & stop this bleeding please?” His frown tells you he isn’t joking, he has come to you for help. Maybe this is a loyalty test to prove what you would do for the Yorks.

You take a deep breath before the word “okay” stutters out of your mouth, your head trying not to think of what you’re about to face. You walk back over to Dave & offer him your hand to help him up, which he takes. He’s always so strong but this grip isn’t want you’re expecting he’s unsteady & needs support.

“bed” he groans as he realised his legs are going to give up from beneath him, so you grab the shoulder that isn’t bleeding to help him turn & then lower him on the edge of the bed. He winces. Then you can see what’s happening to the shirt. You can see that the pool of blood is still growing, but there is a pattern to it that it is starting to seep out from underneath his T-shirt & trickle down his arm over the elbow, an elbow you want to ride until you can’t think straight anymore as it pushes against your pussy.

“Dave” you say realising it’s the first time you’ve really said that to him “I need you to help me with this, it’s not a cut knee or a bruised foot, your bleeding heavily” & you can see it start to drip onto your bed sheets, which you know no amount of stain remover will get this fully out.

Dave glance at your face as he picks up the bottle of vodka to swig again, & sees the concern in your eyes. “You’ve got this sweetheart, did you every play operation as a kid?” He asks & you nod. Dave can feel his shirt getting wetter from the blood trickling out of his collar, so he removes it straight over the top of his head screaming slightly from the pain it causes, but not loud enough for the rest of the building are hear, but enough if your neighbours were in they would’ve heard that. He can feel your eyes train on every single inch of his abs. His muscular stomach, his broad shoulders & his chest, gleaming with sweat & the blood that has slid down the side from where he has been shot. it is only now that you can see that his wound is more than just of flesh one. He has been shot & you can see as you stroke his back up & down from behind, that it’s not come out the other side. Your face drops. You know you’ve got to help him try & get this bullet out or at least stop the bleeding to make it look like it’s okay before he goes to the emergency room later. He catches the look of concern in your face which is now one of complete paralysis. “It’s not come out has it?” Dave asks. Silence fills the room as your eyes meet. Yours which are filled with concern now, turn into ones which are soft. His glint back at you to say it’s okay & he will be okay. His hand takes yours & the bloodied hand rolls across your knuckles. You take his ruined shirt & apply pressure to the wound.

Dave so far has always been in charge of making the first move or kiss, but right now you can’t control yourself & your urge. He might be bleeding still, but his lips are parted. You hold onto his chin keeping his face looking at you as you crash your lips into his. It smooth & succulent. Two wet plump mounds taking over the other. He’s shocked at first that you’ve done this, it’s always been his decision when this is instigated, but he can’t help himself. He goes with it as his hand leaves your to caress your face before going into your hair. He is now panting but he’s relaxed a little & you can feel the stress leave his body slightly. He softly moans your name as you part, & both your eyes open. “Sorry” you say “but I needed you to be calmer for me to have any attempt at this” he raises an eyebrow.

“That’s the best excuse for a kiss I’ve ever heard” & as he says this you hear a ripping sound of your bed sheets. He’s got at least a quarter of it as he straps a small amount around the lower part of his arm to tighten it. Clearly this isn’t his first injury.

He gestures at the bag & points. “You need to find nail scissors, tweezers, the condoms, lighter & hand sanitizer” he says before realising half of the bag is now scattered across the floor. He laughs at this before yelping as the next part of your bed sheet he’s torn away makes a connection

“a laugh wow didn’t think I’d hear that when you arrived a few mins ago”

“well your studio now looks like someone’s burgled it after you dropped my bag. Also do you have a stronger light that this bed side lamp? You’ll need as much light as you can get to help me.” Dave groans as he leans down to grab the pain killers as well but he stops half way as pain shoots through his body.

“Let me have you in the Bath” you blurt out.

“what!” Dave replies shocked “I don’t think…”

“oh not like that Mr York, my bathrooms got mirror lights & spotlights & white walls, so it’s bright. also it’s easy to clean afterwards & stops you from ruining my bed.” You snarl back. He likes you being in command, it makes his groin twitch at the idea of what else he can one day make that mouth say.

“Oops sorry, force of habit to take whatever is near me to repair something, I’ll replace them. I like your thinking though” & with that he leans his intact shoulder across yours. “Help get me to your Bath then” & the two of you tentatively stand up & you help him hobble to the bathroom. However he’s distracted. He’s looking down at to your almost bare back & a neck free for kisses, which he starts to peck at. His lips igniting your core with each smooch down your radiating skin. Radiating for him alone. You gasp as he licks up your neck behind your ear. You can’t really stop him due to having to carry his weight with you to the bathroom. It may only be a few feet away but it still takes a while. Also you don’t want needy Dave to stop.

Your bathroom has the bare minimum in it. A shower at the end of the bath, sink, toilet & a clothes basket for laundry. But it will do for now. “Mind the ledge Mr York” you say as he plants his first foot in the tub. When both feet are in steady ground you help him lower in & he also takes off his trousers, so he’s just in his boxers. Maybe he did just have sex on his mind.

“I’ve got spare clothes in the bag I can change into, but can you bring back the booze & pain killers before the rest of that list first” he says as he hands his jeans across to you. They are as black as the night sky. So if there was blood in them it would be hard to notice, unless you knew. Once he’s happy in the bath, you’ve given him a spare bath Mat to kneel on & an old cushion to lean on the edge of the bath, you go get the rest of the items as he takes one more pain killer. All but 2 items were still in the bag, those 2 were that hand sanitiser & condoms. As you head back into the bathroom with the rest of your bed sheet to mop up the blood, which he had torn already you ask.

“why condoms for a repair?” You notice these were the ones you picked up last week.

“Evidence bag” he states as his lips detach from the bottle of vodka “especially these ones, good choice by the way. They are sturdy don’t break & leave all finger prints on what’s inside, nothing ever escapes this unless it’s really rigorous “ & you blush. You can imagine Dave has tried that out before, but inside your mind wonders to think with whom & would he pound you that hard?

You go to step in the bath with him but he shout “no I need you outside, if you slip & fall, were done for”

“Dave it’s my Bath I should no how to bal…”

“not if you make a mess of this, but I have faith. You got this sweetheart” you take a few deep breaths & stand right in front of him, you thin sleep shorts separate his mouth from your mound. You liked it last time when he performed oral sex on you. His tongue lapping away at you, humming as he tasted each drop. His fingers felt fantastic too, so long & fat, curling away rubbing against your walls as his thumb danced across your clit, sending you spiralling out of control. Dave sniffs as he can smell your arousal. If he wasn’t in a so much pain & this wasn’t so urgent your shorts would be off & he would be fucking you, but that would be too much of a distraction. He needs you coherent.

“So what first Mr York?” You ask with everything you need on the side.

“Hand sanitizer for your fingers & my wound, we need you clean & the hole slightly numbing it cos you’re going to have to cut it a little bigger than it already is”

“what?” You screech as you open the bottle, “what if I hit…”

“it’s ok it’s okay…” Dave says as he sees you go into panic mode “ there is nothing you can butcher too much up here, oooh you’ve got your phone right? because I need to see where the bullet is when you get inside?” This is all now becoming a little bit too much. You’ve seen this on tv shows & always thinks they make it look so simple & easy to heal a bullet wound or stab. But now you are faced with this as a first repair job for Dave you feel physically sick.

You go to grab the vodka but Dave holds it away from you “I know you’re nervous, but this won’t help you, trust me” he can see your pale & freaking out inside. “Breathe with me sweetheart come on” & you do 3 lots of 5 in & out & as he starts the 4th you sigh & drip the sanitisers across his injury. His yelp is small & you use half the bottle, “quick 4cms towards my neck go in through the existing hole” he cry’s putting a dry part of the bed sheet in his mouth. Even if this was a pro doing this he knows he would scream at this. You slowly & carefully start to snip at his flesh opening the hole wider, blood trickling out to start with. You go to mop it up but Dave moans as he shakes his head. “Clean up when we are done” he muffles biting into the bedding for all his life. Considering you’re new to this he’s impressed you’ve not put him in more pain. You slowly snip away, amazed at how calm you are & amazed at how the human shoulder & collar are constructed. So much so that it only when Dave shouts yet it’s still muffled “no more snipping” that you stop.

“Sorry Dave, I was…” you feel a bit embarrassed by saying this “I… I was admiring the way you were constructed.”

“If I come out of this in one piece sweetheart, you can admire all you want” You look into Daves eyes, he’s not playing games or teasing he’s being serious.

Dave then gestures his eyes at the tweezers which you grab. He keeps your hand in place over his shoulder. But it’s not just for pressure on his oozing wound, it’s for reassurance for the two of you. He wants to feel your touch & he want to make you aware that he needs you. You face him again.

“It’s going to be okay Dave trust me” your calming words actually fool you both. You’d said it to make Dave feel at ease but it was also you tel yourself you could do this.

“You need to use the tweezers to open the cut up a little bit & then I need you to take a few photos so I can see how bad it is.” Daves slowly getting calmer in his tone, but he’s sweating a lot. Clearly his adrenaline has now warn off too. Maybe his shallow breathing & loss of blood is having an effect on him.

He winces as you carefully open up your fresh cut, & try not to turn your head away, as the seeping continues.

“Sweetheart you’ve got this, I trust you, look at me” your eyes meet Daves in solitude. “You never have to do this again I promise” you click a few photos, the flash almost blinding Dave in his eye, it’s so bright he will see that little outline in his eyes for a few minutes for sure. You hand him your phone. His blood soaked thumb zooms in on the screen. “I can see 3 obvious bits but you see this bit” he turns the phone around & points at a piece that’s hanging onto something inside his shoulder & collar. “That’s causing the bleeding”

“Okay Dave is it as simple as me just using the tweezers or…”

“Ha” he cackles “I wish it was” he sighs deeply “if you do this half as well as I think you can sweetheart , I might have to train you up as a medic.” You raise an eyebrow at Dave. “Jokes are getting me through this sweetheart, that & the fact that you’re right cunt at points has been inches away from my face, desperate for me to lick it. A taste of that would make all the pain go away” Daves breathing has ramped up casising his blood to pump more.

“Calm Dave” you say as you go to clean the tweezers with hand sanitizer but Dave grabs you hand.

“Stop!” He shouts.

“Why Dave? I thought…”

“The lighter, you need to heat the tweezers up”

“What?!”

“He hand sanitizer is alcoholic, it will be a blaze in seconds” his eyes are worried at what you were going to do “what are you an amateur?”

“Yes Dave I am” you snap back at him “you could easily be in the emergency room right now, but no here I am helping you out at good knows what time I’m the morning” your half tempted to walk away but a dead assassin in your bath tub wouldn’t be the best idea either. You’re in too deep. “Sorry Dave, I shouldn’t have snapped” you say calming yourself down. Trying desperately not to look in his eyes that you know will be raging because you answered back. “I know you know what’s best, & I’m trying my best, this is all so much to take in”

“I’m sorry to sweetheart” you make eye contact this time. Dave never apologises to anyone, for anything, even when he knows he’s wrong. His face is pleading for forgiveness too. “I mustn’t treat you like medics who stitch me up or help. As much as I employ you, you’re not trained for this. I’m sorry but this is the only way” he grips your shoulder with his clean hand, he’s been very deliberate to make sure one hand stays clean throughout this, with no blood contamination. He strokes you to sooth both your sets of anger away & it works almost instantly.

You follow Daves carful instructions. Heating up the tweezers for 30 seconds on a low heat to nudge the bullet away before then scorching the surrounding are & then attempting to fish it out, putting it straight into a condom, so he can have it analysed. He screamed 3 times as you did this, his face wincing in pain when a few nerves were hit, but he then asked you to try & get the second & third piece out using the same technique. It’s as you’re getting the 3rd piece out Dave screams the most. It’s high pitched & straight in your ear.

“Fuck, what are you tugging on I need to see” He screams & you while leaving the tweezers in place so the hole is open take a photo. Daves face drops. “Put that back where you found it right now. It’s stuck in a nerve. If it’s too far lodged it can’t come out, or I might lose some feelings in my fingers. I then can’t do my job.”

“Okay Dave” you slowly place in back into his shoulder, as well as you can but then he scream again & you almost nip at a vein as you drop the tweezers. “What did I do wrong?” Your voice is panicked.

“Lighter on tweezers for 10 seconds then push them against where you’ve just been, keep doing this until I tell you to stop.” His face is contorted as he growls this.

“But Dave what if…”

“This isn’t operation anymore sweetheart, just do it” he viciously interrupts & you start doing what he said with the tweezers. Fresh blood is now coming out of him.

Every 10 seconds you push the heated metal against him & each time he’s moans & gasps for air. Then you remove it & do it again & again. But it’s not helping. & then you see the hand sanitiser on the floor.

“Do you trust me Dave?” You ask in a hurry as you plunge the tweezers into the liquid.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No” you click the lighter on & the tweezer start to blaze.

“Are you fucking crazy woman? What the…” but you thrust the molten tweezers into his wound. “FUCKKKKKK!!!!!” You know that people asleep on your floor have probably just been work up due to Dave’s cry. “FUCKING HELL WHAT THE FUCK!!!! YOU FUCKING BITCH!!!” Daves eyes are tightly scrunched together in pain. He’s engulfed by heat too. But you don’t care. You’ve worked out this might be the only way of heeling him. To stop the bleeding. He might always have part of a bullet inside him but it will save his job & life if you fuse it to his nerves. So that’s what you do.

You’ve notices it’s working. His fingers & hand that are covered in blood are still twitching. He has some control or maybe it is second nature, to check that he can still move & work everything. A smile spreads across your face as you then reheat the tweezers with the lighters & hand sanitiser & do it again. Daves scream less in shock this time. The blood slowing down, his breathing calming. In your own panic you accidentally came up with an idea that is actually working better than his.

“I gotta say I thought you were gonna kill me doing that,” Dave eventually says when he’s back in the here & now, eyes no longer stinging.

“Well I wasn’t sure it would work Dave, I just had to try something, I couldn’t let you bleed out.” He hisses as you apply pressure on where has been scorched to make sure it’s sealed.

“You’re a fucking crazy bitch you know that?” He says still in pain drinking a bit more vodka before then picking up the condom with the pieces of the bullet inside it to seal it off.

“I will take that as a thank you” you calmly say, As you remove the tweezers & rush to your first aid kit that you brought in with the other bits earlier. His eyes rolling at your sarcastic comment but he knows you’ve done well. You grab a needle & thread & start to get it ready to stich Dave up.

“I’ve seen you learning to sew so this should be fun, you drop stitches all the time” he cackles before taking another painkiller with some more vodka.

“Well Dave if you swivel your shoulder this way slightly I can lean over the top of you & make sure that this holds until you get to an emergency room, that’s all I can promise. I can’t even promise it won’t hurt.” You mumble & then get him in the right spot. “Sorry Dave you’re in a bit of a tight spot here just bear with me. Keep drinking that vodka” he sees the genuine smile on your face & he starts to smile back at you, before he whimpers as you dig the needle in him.

“Fuck, why does this never get easy”

“Sorry Dave but I need the extra light, don’t want to make to much more of a mess” You can hear Dave moaning as you try to do the best job you can.But then your body jitters forward. A sensation you’ve not felt for a while as he slips his fingers inside your pussy ,as he starts saying “you’re not the only one who is working with a tight space”. His fat finger on his clean entering you easily, having their way with you, making you clamp around them instantly. You hadn’t even realised he was near your entrance or in a teasing mood until he was inside you.

“Dave stop Dave stop” you moan as the two fingers start to curl inside you,

“Beg” he cries as you accidentally dig the needle in further.

“I’m gonna make a mess if you continue” you moan griping into his other shoulder trying to concentrate as he works your pleasure. You’re trying not to moan or gasp but when Dave brings you pleasure it’s always hard to concentrate on anything else. Especially as He strokes his thumb across your clit.

“That’s the point sweetheart” he growls & looks you dead in the eye “it’s distracting us from the actual mess your doing to my shoulder & collar,” his breathing becomes enraged as his hand becomes slicker from your arousal. His pace picking up. Making you want more than just his fingers. Making you bite your bottom lip as your hips start to roll.

“Don’t blame me if I stab you” each word is panted amour of your mouth. He’s watching intently as your eyes become filled with desire.

You both scream in different tones, one of pain & one of pleasure when the third finger joins the party. His thumb Stimulation around your clit just making you want to grind onto him. It feels divine. Daves more concerned as he keeps his rhythm up about what your own hands are doing.

“That will do sweetheart” he says as he pulls you closer. His fingers are pulsing away making you want his fat cock buried inside you. The squelching & your moans now the sounds track to your bathroom.

“Fuck dave, oh fuck yes, oh god, I need this, I fucking need more” your almost growling as Dave sometimes does, as you drench his hand, spilling out & you hold the side of the Bath for balance as your legs turn to jelly from the intensity of your orgasm. “I knew you were good but I didn’t know your hands were that good baby” you whimper.

“Well it’s better than that pathetic excuse of a toy you have on your bed side table sweetheart.” You blush. Even in pained state bleeding out earlier, he had clocked your vibrator you had used earlier. you try to gather the words before Dave cackles. “What you’ve purchased might be okay for a one off but what you need is something more pleasurable” Daves smooth silky words in his seductive tone make you want his fingers back inside you at a minimum.

“Well you weren’t here to satisfy my needs.” You say as you edge to the basin to get a cloth for yourself as Dave dampens the last part of the bed sheet to mop up his dried blood.

“I promise you, that you will never need to look for satisfaction anywhere else when we’re done sweetheart.”

“Are you teasing me Dave?” your ask as you take his hand & help him out of the Bath. He’s in your personal space & his lips are just begging to be taken by yours.

“Well you’ll just have to wait & find out”

12 hours later you are in a hotel lobby, waiting for Dave. After you finished stitching him up, he told you to sleep on the sofa & that he would sort everything out, before a tender thank you kiss before he left to go to the emergency room. You got 5hs sleep before there was more knocking at your door. Clean up had arrived & by clean up, it means part of Daves team who had spent most of the night sorting out the place where Dave had been shot. Your flat was spotlessly cleaned, new sets of bedding were out on your bed along with 3 other new sets, more expensive that youve ever owned & replacement vodka also put in your cupboard. You had to sign NDA forms once it was all done, to never speak of last tonight to anyone other than Dave or the people in the room with you who were cleaning.

The thing that freaked you out the most though was the call from Carol at 11am saying she was sorry you had a sickness bug & would call someone else for the next 2 days to help. You went to protest & she said that you had called Dave who’s still away on business earlier to tell him. As you’re speaking to her you see Daves messages appear on your tablet to say that this is all okay & to meet him at a designated hotel later for a real thank you. So here you are at 5pm at the Drove hotel waiting for Dave, wondering what or how he is going to say thank you.

“Sweetheart?” You turn around & see Dave who extends his hand & pulls you up inches away from his face.

“Mr Yo…” he’s hungrily kissing you before you can finish the word York. His embrace & his lips only leave your mouth to kiss your neck for the entire journey through the lobby, into the lift & into the suite he’s hired. It’s the honeymoon suite & it’s so romantic in there & grand, not that Dave is the romance type at all.

“I told them I was here for 2 days & hadn’t seen my girlfriend in 6months, being persuasive does sometimes get you exactly what you want” Dave is seducing you with his own words, no persuasion is needed here, your already under this man’s spell.

“I didn’t have you down…”

“I’m not romantic in the slightest, but as this was already here when i arrived I thought I’d keep it. Make you feel like the bride. Make you feel romantic. So that then when you beg me to keep fucking you, you remember how sweet a girl you are. That you’re not my fuck toy.” Daves demeanour changes, his eyes dark & dilated & he gestures to the bed. “I do want to thank you though for what you did & not telling Carol earlier, she doesn’t need to know.” You sit on the bed & take your shoes off.

“I did promise to obey & attend your needs Dave,I just never expected that to be what was needed” you coyly look up at him. “We did it as a team”

“You did an amazing job sweetheart in everything & I am still giving you the opportunity to quit tomorrow, However…” the devilish smile that arouses you creeps over his face. “… you need a proper thank you & an eduction” Dave then dumps a black bag on the bed & unzips it. Your face turns red & blushes.

“Dave what the actual fuck” you hold the first box up & then the second. His bag is filled with unboxed sex toys.

“Sweetheart, I saw your toy, it might give you a few moments, but it’s never going to match me. So allow me to pleasure you, so you know what you like. You will then know what gets you off, so I know how to make you cum so hard. I like sliding into you, your arousal hardly ever needs me to lube up” Daves words embarrass you but also make you feel good. He wants to take you on a sexual adventure. & you’re here for it.

After looking at the various boxes you pick a very small stimulator to start with.

“Ooh starting small & working up are” says Dave mischievously. “I’m sure there would be some girls who run away after being presented all of this, but no you sweetheart, you are a slut. You present as the helpful house keeper so well & I bet you were loyal to that ex of yours but damn you want your fill don’t you. You want to feel my fat cock, in your cunt, pounding away don’t you.” You’re speechless & just nod. Dave, since you’ve started having sex has been dirty in his talk, but never like this. Your knickers are already damp. You bite your bottom lip which makes Daves cock twitch. That’s his sign for she’s all mine, so he pounces, turning you around on the bed so you’re lying on your stomach.

You’re stripped in seconds except for your knickers, your tights shredded & thrown across the room. The dress & bra flung somewhere for you to find eventually. Your mind is now on the fact that you can hear Daves belt hit the floor behind you too.

“Dave please”

You groan as he he kisses both your arse cheeks & then slowly rolls your knickers off your arse. You’re dripping for him already & he sees it pooled in your material as he removes them.

“Is my little slut already gagging for me?” He groans. You hadn’t heard his trousers or boxers come off, but your arse suddenly feels his bare penis rubbing against it. “I can use this” he say smirking rubbing his erect penis through the slick which has gathered, leisurely pumping himself. You then see a bottle of lube lying next to you on the bed, before it is gone in a blur. You moan & go to ask before he speaks. “I need to work you open first or…”he says smacking your arse cheek making you yelp, “maybe your arsehole is already puckering for me” he’s going to have sex in your arse. You have never done this before & you instantly tense up.

He takes the bottle of lube & covers your other enterance for him & you instinctively rock your arse back towards him, making his cock edge nearer your arse. No man has claimed it before, but this is Dave York & you are all his. He can fuck any hole he wants.

“Dave no one no, oooh baby” your words are interrupted, you didn’t realise he had the stimulator in his had that had been on your clit for the last few minutes, but your body shudders as the vibrations ignite your desire. Dave was right you did need educating to be his fuck toy & you can already feel your climax approaching.

“Ooh your cunt loves anything baby, that’s it rock, let me watch you enjoy yourself,” Daves desperate to start ramming you. But his eyes are hypnotised as to how quickly you settle into a rhythm. He ups the setting to make you moan more, almost losing his grip from the slick gathering.

“I know your nervous sweetheart” he whispers into your ear, you own hand now taking the toy to pleasure yourself with, as he reads himself”… but I promise to stop if you find it uncomfortable at any point okay, im going to take this slow & we will build up to more” you nod through your moans silently, unable to speak through pleasure. Dave then grabs your jaw firmly”consent sweetheart” it’s a snarl.

“Yes Mr York”

His penis covered in your slick & your arse covered in lube, he makes his slow approach seem like it takes forever. But the sting as it slips inside you, has you panting & gasping desperately.

“Dave oooh fuck” he stops & pulls out & then you say “again”. Each time he gets a little further inside you. Your cheeks parting, waiting to receive him. The stimulator was actually a brilliant idea as you move it to get more pleasure it’s distracting you from what Dave is doing to your arse.

“God everyone else has missed out on this delight” Dave states as he edges deeper inside you. “I’m the first, I’m taking your arse virginity, everyone else might have had that tight little cunt, the most gushing of pussys but this…oooh fuck” Dave can feel every inch on you as he’s half way to being fully inside your area & he stops. “I’ll properly destroy this another day, I’m sure there will be more occasions I need to thank you for.” & so Dave starts, his penis taking your arse, & you are having a pleasure over ride. “Say red of you want me to stop” he says as he gets going.

You lie in the big bath tub the next morning after having sex with Dave all night. A nap here & there interrupted by the sudden feeling of his lips sucking your breasts or his hands wandering to pleasure you. Dave has all the stamina in the world & he’s proving that right now as you swallow every last drop of his cum after his morning blow job. His face a delight watching you gulp him down.

“You are a cum hungry little slut sweetheart aren’t you.” He rubs your face & then lowers himself behind you in the Bath.

“I only get to taste the saltiest though Dave” you giggle as your wash yourself. You both reek of sex, but it intoxicates you both.

“So what we did last night, was that okay? You’re not to sore this morning?” Daves voice is one of genuine concern “if you don’t want to do anal again I understand, but”

“I ache Dave I’m not going to lie but” Dave is initially upset when you interrupt him you go to apologise but then you see his face nod to say keep going “…I am here to attend to your needs, & if that pleases you, we can work up to it & do it from time to time”

“So that’s not a no?” Dave smirks, he’s stoking his length in the Bath ready to give you another filling. “I mean no one else has fucked that glorious arsehole before, so it’s officially mine, I own it. No other bastard has fucked all your holes. Just me, just you assassin fuck buddy.” He lifts you up ready to place you on his lap.

“Only you Dave only you,” he slowly lowers you onto his penis as it effortlessly slides all the way into your arse. Your moan is deep & it’s stings but you feel invigorated. “Dave oooh Dave” he starts to bounce you in the tub.

“Stay sweetheart, let’s me keep thanking you,” he says as the water slashes as you start to get moving & into it & even enjoying it. “I promise you will never have a boring life looking after me & attending our needs”

31 notes · View notes

ukprotestnetwork · 11 months

Text

Protest Advice (!!UK ONLY!!)

*UPDATED 18/11/23 TO ADD INFO ON PROTESTING AS A TRANS INDIVIDUAL*

DISCLAIMER: Some of these notes are copied from a card I have recieved during protests. I will try to update if information changes.

Advice on Arrest

Say "NO COMMENT" to all police questions during casual chats, 'booking in' & interviews.

At the police station you may wish to give your name, address and date of birth to speed your release.

For your protection and that of other people don't answer further questions.

Do not accept CAUTION without advice from a recommended solicitor. This is an admission of responsibility and goes on the police national computer.

You have the right to FREE LEGAL ADVICE at the police station. Duty solicitors don't always have experience with protest laws, instead ask the police to contact one of the following:

ITN (Irvine Thanvi Natas): 020 3909 8100 HJA (Hodge Jones & Allen): 0808 274 8226 Bindmas: 0207 833 4433 / 020 7305 5638 (out of hours)

You have the right to have someone informed of your arrest (make that the Protest Support Line unless otherwise arranged: 07946 541 511)

You have the right to an interpreter if English is not your first language.

If you are or appear under 18 an appropriate adult should be called.

Legal Questions aboud Protest?

STOP AND SEARCH: You're not legally required to give your name and address under any stop and search power, see below website for more details. Legally you must be told the reason and the power that you are being searched under. "Under what power?"

If you witness an arrest, want support or have legal questions about protest:

[email protected] 07946 541 511 This email address can also be used if after arrest &/ or you gace a court date and want advice.

Legal Observers are independent volunteers who gather evidence on behalf of protestors and act to counter police intimidation and misbehaviour. Read more about your rights and protest legislation:

www.greenandblackcross.org

Advice for Trans People

Here is a link to a 22 page pamphlet (dated 2017) written by the Green and Black Cross on protesting as a trans individual.

Although this is specific to trans people, this includes detailed information that the previous advice doesn't have and may be useful to non-trans people too.

Information this booklet includes:

- Your rights under the Equality Act 2010 - The GBC key messages - What happens when you are stopped and searched - What happens when you are arrested - recommended solicitors - FAQs

Link to protest advice tag

#ukprotestnetwork #protest advice #uk politics #palestine #trans rights

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retlasute · 7 months

Text

॰ In The Rich Man's World ॰

Word count: 8100

☆ Table of contents

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 18 - Life Has Just Begun

"What a chubby, mean face!'' You leaned over to peer, fascinated, at the pink-coated wax figure standing menacingly on one side of the wax museum hall. The figure was shorter than you, with hostilely curled blond hair framing a low forehead and drooping, pink-painted cheeks.

"Well, he was a short, chubby guy.'' Thom agreed, amused. "But quite a president, at least compared to his predecessor on the other side.''

He waved his hand, indicating the taller figure of Grover Cleveland on the other side of the hall, his noble gaze lost in the distance, in a blue velvet coat with a white ribbon, proudly ignoring Franklin D. Roosevelt.

"But that nice man in pink was called Funny Valentine.'' Thomas turned to the wax figure, more colorful than the rest, impassive in his knee-high pink boots and coat covered in gold buttons and embroidery. ''Funny, that's absolutely right. I'm glad he caught your eye.''

''Why? Is he the official sponsor of the Steel Ball Run, right?'' You played your hunch, although you were sure of it. ''Apart from the Speedwagon Foundation, of course.''

''Hm, yes, exactly.’’

''Is that why he was such a great president?'' You scoffed. ''He doesn't seem to have anything special from the other presidents, just a great sense of fashion.''

''Oh, yes, he did... He was a soldier, just like his father. I have to say he was the most patriotic of the presidents, as well as the craziest. He took the fight against terrorism seriously enough to die fighting them.'' Thomas said, with a strange air of admiration, but with a sense of reality. ''His government was also a reign of terror for the native population, I must say, of course. He made deals with big corporations, invaded native lands, persecuted rebels and survivors. Women and children were left to starve and men were shot wherever they were, without any concern for finding out whether they were actually rebels or not. An old friend of mine said that 'he made a cemetery and called it peace'. After the Bear River massacre, I believe that was the most violent period for the natives.''

Ah, yes, the massacre of the natives, present since the discovery of America. You'd heard many times that it was the longest Holocaust in history, and you weren't surprised to hear what Thom had said.

"The Speedwagon Foundation was one of the companies that made these deals, wasn't it?''

"The main company. But his death was a problem and they couldn't buy as much land as they wanted.''

''Hm, those terrorists did a big favor.'' You observed, pausing to think. ''Why were they terrorists? What was this movement? Were they natives too?''

You looked at him curiously when he fell silent and nodded towards the laminated glass display, through which the items and weapons from the Wounded Knee massacre camp were perfectly visible and a group of hippies were taking photos, posing.

"No.'' He answered, holding out his hand to you. ''No, they weren't. That's another story. Do you want to go outside?''

It was cold outside, with gusts of wind blowing two military flags fluttering atop flagpoles on either side of the grounds.

"A wax museum making a historical denouncement.'' You commented as you followed him. ''Now I know why you wanted to take me here.''

''Ha, I knew you'd like it.''

Thomas noticed that you were shivering and pulled the hand on your arm close to his body, bringing you closer. He thought he was going to explode with the sudden wave of happiness that touching you gave him, but he tried to disguise it by taking refuge in a historical monologue.

"A local community organized the whole thing. But I don't think it will last long.'' He explained. ''About those terrorists you mentioned... I thought we'd better talk about it alone; I don't want to bother any more ears with my academic lectures. The terrorists in question were participants in the Steel Ball Run. In general, their real motivation is a mystery, but the most popular guesses revolve around wealth and social justice... And, well, Ecclesiastes. But in any case, Funny Valentine disappeared in the last stage of the race, as did many of these terrorist runners.''

''Disappeared? Just that?''

''Hm, no. His death is full of legends and misunderstandings. They say his body was found with around seven gunshots, several bruises and, above all, bald.''

''Bald?''

''I know what you're thinking, it's what all my colleagues are thinking. But no, he wasn't scalped. They say he was killed by an Indian tribe because of that, but no.''

''And how do you know he wasn't?''

''Because those terrorists were exclusively runners. The only Indian runner was known as Sandman, and he died months before, drowned in the Mississippi River.''

''That could be just one more reason why he was killed by native rebels. Maybe they wanted revenge.''

''No, there's no reason to seek revenge. I haven't told you one detail: Sandman competed without a horse, he conquered the first places in the rankings on his own two feet. Nobody killed him but himself; it's just a bit ironic that he drowned in the river, and suspicious too.''

You shook your head, laughing.

"You're kidding, right?'' You slapped him weakly on the shoulder. ''It's impossible to know when you're serious or joking with me!''

He laughed too, the expression lines framing his porcelain-white smile.

''I swear I'm serious! I can show you my Steel Ball Run collection, I have all the results from all the stages of the race, and Sandman is there, without a horse, in first place!''

"God, were the other competitors running on ponies?''

''Haha! I wish, it would be much more interesting, honestly.'' He joked, good-naturedly. ''But that's just a small historical error that I accept as fact, they didn't write anything where the breed and name of his horse should have been, so I assume he took part on foot.''

''And you're a historian! You should study these mistakes.'' You said, looking sarcastic.

"That's why I know it's a mistake.'' He smiled, shrugging his shoulders.

"What's a mistake?'' Louise poked your shoulder, making you open your eyes, confused. ''(Y/N), did you sleep?''

''Ah? What?''

And there you were, rattling over barrels of gin, back on the boat.

''You slept.''

"No...'' You answered automatically. "No, I'm awake. I'm fine.''

''Do you always talk in your sleep?''

''No.'' You sniffled, rubbing your eyes. ''That's why I wasn't asleep.''

''So you were talking to yourself? What's a mistake, then?''

"I don't know.''

The boat trip to Staten Island was pleasant, despite everything. It was one of those cloudy, quiet but bright days. With a hearty breakfast in your stomach, thanks to Gyro, who had listened to Lucy's advice on the choice of boat. One of your lunches was packed in a basket with Louise, her long hair blowing in the wind, trying to get rid of the guy who insisted on giving her more and more bottles of gin and peanuts. You were beginning to think that everything was going to plan.

"We're getting close.'' Johnny said, exultant and almost green at the sight of the beach ahead. "So close!''

"You can do it, Johnny.'' You said, now sipping your coffee, aware that the smell didn't help his nausea at all. ''Don't die off dry land.''

"And don't die on dry land either.'' Gyro added, then looked at you. ''Do you know how to help him?''

''Why should I know?'' You asked, raising an eyebrow.

''Aren't you the smartass here?''

''I'm an archaeologist, not a pharmacist.''

''Gyro, you're a goddamn doctor!'' Johnny cursed, as babbling as the waves that hit the ship's hull and resounded directly in his stomach.

"I'm sorry, I was never taught how to treat sea-sick girls!'' Gyro spat, offended. ''Just broken bones and failing organs. And your stomach, Johnny, seems to be working better than it should.''

The mention of organs and bones was the last straw for Johnny, who leaned on the railing of the boat and threw up everything he hadn't eaten.

Gyro, despite having exceptional medical experience, didn't seem to be very efficient or patient when faced with cases he considered entertaining or merely ridiculous, such as Johnny's nausea on the open sea. But you didn't have the same cold blood to grimace and walk away - after all, if you left Johnny alone vomiting on the balustrade he'd probably fall into the sea and you'd lose a considerably important ally and definitely more useful than Gyro.

"Hey, hey, Johnny, take it easy!'' You said, not expecting it to have any effect, but holding him by the shoulders and taking off his cap to prevent it from falling off.

He tried to reply, but it wouldn't have made any difference, all you heard were moans of agony interrupted by more waves of vomit. A mixture of black tea, coffee and cookies for the fish.

"Oh, shit, it'll be okay, Johnny.'' You kept repeating it, imagining that it wasn't much different from looking after a drunk friend, so you held his sweat-soaked blond hair back.

Johnny vomited a torrent of browns and greens that he couldn't remember ever ingesting, gasping in his own effort to breathe until, eventually, there was nothing left but guts to expel.

"Water...'' He said, hoarsely.

"No.'' You replied coldly. ''Not now, you'll throw up again.''

''Water!''

"Jesus, Johnny, wait two minutes!''

And, much more easily persuaded than Gyro would ever be, Johnny waited, but with his appropriate dose of drama, sitting down while slowly dragging his back on the balustrade, staring into nothingness, absorbed, like a dead fish. You refrained from commenting on this, fearing that talking about fish would also be a trigger for him.

You leaned on the balustrade next to him, still holding his cap as you watched the sailors stop staring at the two of you and return to their lunches. Seeing this reminded you that, however unwelcome your presence, you were still entitled to your own lunch; and Louise was willing to take advantage of this with her basket protected by a checkered cloth, heading for the little sailor who looked more like a barman.

When you saw that Johnny seemed stable - or at least alive - you gave in and gave him the canteen of water, which he drank like a poor starving hamster.

"Why do short guys always look for tall women?'' After a while of silence, you suddenly asked. Your voice echoed Johnny's thoughts with a strange precision, and not for the first time.

He sniffed, drank some more water and leaned his back again.

"The moth and flame syndrome?'' He suggested, frowning at the tiny sailor's obvious fascination with Louise. You and he were near the bow, watching the little man finish filling Louise's lunch basket, while she loaded up on gin and dark beer to accompany her meal.

The young sailor, who reached the height of Louise's armpits, was jumping up and down, offering pickled eggs and slices of smoked tongue, his eyes rolling in adoration at the red-haired goddess in front of him. From her laughter, Louise seemed to find the guy "funny".

"My mother always told me never to get involved with short guys, and I say the same to Louise.'' You commented, observing the scene.

"Really?'' Johnny said dryly. ''For some reason, I don't see you as an advisory friend.''

You laughed, indifferent to his momentary bitterness.

''Well, I'm not, not really. But when you notice an important principle like this, it seems a duty to pass it on."

''Do you have a problem with short men?''

''They tend to be stingy if they don't get what they want.'' You said. ''Like those little dogs that bark non-stop. They're cute and cuddly, but if you go against them, you'll probably get a nasty bite on the ankle.''

Johnny laughed, remembering the many short men he had met and realizing how accurate this comparison was.

''This comparison is the result of personal experience, I suppose?''

"Oh, yes.'' You laughed, shaking your head and looking at him. ''I've never met a finance manager taller than me. Perfidious little guys, practically all of them. But tall men, well...'' You hesitated for a moment, realizing that you were talking to a man. "Well, most of them are sweet and kind, I think.''

''Kind, huh?'' Said Johnny, with a cynical look at Gyro, who was watching the little sailor chop up a pickled eel for Louise. Both Gyro's and Louise's faces expressed cautious disgust, but she leaned forward, wrinkling her nose as she accepted the piece offered on a fork.

"With women, I guess.'' You clarified, also understanding that Gyro wasn't a model of gentleness and kindness, but he was, in fact, tall. ''Maybe it's because they don't need to prove much; when it's obvious that they can do whatever they want, whether you want them to or not, they don't need to prove it.''

"Unlike a short guy.'' Johnny encouraged.

''Unlike a short guy, who knows he can't do anything unless you let him or he has a knife in his hand. Knowing this drives him crazy, so he's always trying something just to show that he can do it.''

''Mmmhumm...'' Johnny emitted a sound of agreement from deep in his throat, still feeling a little nauseous, but intending to show both admiration for your insight and a general suspicion of what the sailor was trying to prove to Louise as he cut into that eel.

"Thank you.'' You heard Gyro say to the sailor, who pushed the last packet of peanuts over the counter to him. "Ready?'' He asked Louise, who nodded.

The sea was calm and the wind was slow, but it was pleasant for you, with the sun gradually taking its strength, warming the cold, wet wood under your feet. Heavy with lunch, Gyro and Louise felt drowsy and, shortly afterward, each slept on one side of the bow, their heads resting on hard barrels. You and Johnny continued to sit quietly side by side, watching your two friends.

This brief conversation and the air of companionship resulted in a significant improvement in Johnny's seasickness, and he was even willing to admit that the view was beautiful from there, although he didn't want to look directly at the sea.

"What about the tall and short women?'' Johnny asked, resuming the previous conversation as he saw you sitting there, blinking but still awake. He looked over his shoulder, observing the length of your legs stretched out beside him. ''The same? Short girls are more annoying?''

You shook your head thoughtfully, your hair starting to come loose from its makeshift clip.

''No, definitely not. Women don't have to prove anything, short or tall, skinny or chubby. At least, it has nothing to do with the body. It's more a question of seeing men as a threat, as enemies or just as men and, in general, deciding which is more detestable.''

"Ah, you're talking about women like you, right? Modern ones.''

"No, not at all.'' You said. ''I know that you see the same types of behavior from men and women in 1892 that I see in 1976. Some differences, of course, in the way each behaves, but not so much in how they behave towards each other."

You looked at the clear water in the distance, shielding your eyes with your hand. You were on the lookout for sharks and other larger fish, having little idea of Raritan Bay's aquatic biodiversity. But Johnny thought that gaze scrutinized a little beyond the waves of the sea on the opposite shore.

"You like them, don't you?'' Johnny asked without thinking, regretting it at the same time. "The tall men.''

You smiled slightly, without looking at him.

''I liked one.'' You said softly.

''So you will... you intend to go back to him, don't you?'' He corrected his posture momentarily, watching you.

You took a deep breath before answering. The wind turned Johnny's cheeks pink as it molded the fabric of your white blouse against your body, highlighting details of your torso. He then thought, also remembering your friend. Louise was too young to be a widow, you were too beautiful to be alone.

"No. I don't want to go back for him. I want to go back, but because I promised Louise we would. I promised myself that I wouldn't let anything happen to her again. It's my fault that we're here, after all, and everything that's happened since is my fault too.'' You said, your voice was a little shaky. ''But thinking about it... about facing him after everything I've done, after what happened... and going back to the Devil's Palm...'' A tremor ran through your body, making you close your eyes. "It's indescribable, you know.'' You continued; your eyes still closed as if you could see behind your eyelids the claw-shaped rocks surrounding that crater. "It was horrible, but horrible in a different way from other horrible things.'' Then you opened your eyes, giving Johnny a lopsided smile.

"Oh really? Well, you’re right. I've been to that place too.'' Johnny shuddered, involuntarily.

That night, two years ago, when Mountain Tim and the Boom Boom family were there. And also when Sugar Mountain led him and Gyro into a death trap. They weren't memories he liked to bring back to mind; but they came back to him in nightmares time and time again.

"It's like being ripped apart, isn't it?'' He said, his blue eyes intensely fixed on yours. ''Something pulls you, tears you, drags you, and not externally, but from the inside.''

''Well, if you're awake, yes. But you're asleep and you wake up there... well, my head hurt a lot and I knew it wasn't because of the drink. It felt like my skull was going to be blown to bits at any moment, with a horrible ringing. And then you feel it all over again when you discover that you've woken up in the past century.'' You shuddered again, Johnny's face becoming slightly pale.

"You kept feeling it outside the Devil's Palm.'' He said. ''You didn't tell me.''

"It didn't seem important.'' You examined him for a moment, while yawning. Then you added serenely. "Louise said she didn't feel anything.''

''I see.'' He now looked across the sea, where a small boat was spreading its V-shaped wings in the water. Further away, the waves from the passage of a larger boat hit the rocks and came back, joining together again in the middle of the sea, creating a long, humpbacked ripple in the glistening water.

"Why?''

"Nothing special.'' He lied.

He was willing to say what he wanted, but then he realized that maybe it was too much for you. Perhaps it was the unusualness of the situation – sitting there, calmly asking himself if the woman who had accompanied him, as well as running the unimaginable risk of being in an unknown past, could also develop some ability within the Devil's Palm.

Whatever the cause of his uncertainty, it suddenly seemed not only possible, but probable and real.

"You're an archaeologist, so you know about dinosaurs, right?'' He asked, not only to give his troubled feelings some time to calm down, but also out of an inviolate curiosity that not by chance the conversation about short men had brought up.

"Yeah, I love dinosaurs, actually.'' You said proudly. "I must confess that they’re the main reason I chose archaeology. But I began to delve into history before completing any specialization in paleontology.''

He subtly widened his eyes.

''So you studied three things at university? ''

''Oh, I wish. All in all, there were a few dozen subjects I needed to study. And I intended to start geomorphology, but now I have other worries.''

"That's fascinating, I thought Gyro was the smartest person I knew, but I guess I was wrong.''

You laughed, getting another wave of wind in your face.

''But why do you ask? I'm surprised you know what dinosaurs are.''

"What do you mean?''

''Ah, I mean, don't get me wrong! How many years ago were dinosaurs discovered, seventy? It's not common knowledge here. You've met an archaeologist, haven't you? I remember you mentioning it.''

"Ah, yes... Doctor Ferdinand. He wasn't a very nice fellow, but he showed me some... dinosaurs.''

''Oh, really?'' You suddenly straightened up, keen to listen. Johnny seemed to have noticed the gleam that lit up in your eyes, but he didn't seem too pleased about it; as if it wasn't a reaction he expected you to have. ''What were they like? Did he have complete fossils? Did he do archaeological digs?''

He stopped to think for a moment, like someone taken by surprise. But why? Was he lying? It didn't seem like it, you remember him mentioning this name with Gyro; maybe it was just an experience he wouldn't want to remember, so you made a mental note not to keep this subject any longer than necessary.

"Well, they definitely had all the bones, but I have no idea what kind of dinosaurs they were.''

''They? Are you telling me he had more than one whole fossil?''

''Oh, yes, dozens.''

"Seriously? In 1890?'' You said, interested. It wasn't impossible, anyway. ''What did they look like?''

"Ah, small and voracious.'' He said, finding it funny, as if it were some kind of inside joke that you would never understand. ''With long tails, sharp teeth, short arms and they were... I mean, they seemed to be very fast.''

''Hm, did they look like predators?''

''Yes, definitely.''

''Were they bipeds?''

''What?''

''Oh, I mean, did they walk on two legs?''

''Yes. I mean... I don't know. Maybe.''

''If they were fast and voracious, they could be Velociraptors, but there are hundreds of similar dinosaurs. It could be either a baby Coelurus or an adult Compsognath, there's no difference if you look quickly.'' You finally said. You didn't look at Johnny, but kept your eyes averted. His mouth twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. ''Do you think those voracious little guys are older than the Devil's Palm?'' You said abruptly.

''I don't know. Do you?''

''How would I know?'' You said. ''Maybe yes, maybe no. Probably yes. But, at the same time, probably not. But... no, those rocks were made by something or someone. More something than someone. We didn't even come close to living with the dinosaurs, you know. We appeared some sixty million years later."

His eyes widened like those of a child discovering something new and ready to spread the knowledge to his friends.

''Million? Sixty million?''

''Sixty-six million years, more specifically. That's when the dinosaurs became extinct, in the Cretaceous period.''

''Oh, and to think that the corpse...''

"It's only two thousand years old, yes.'' You added.

''What took us so long to show up? How old is the world, anyway?''

''Oh, the Earth is insignificant, Johnny, and we're even more so. A species two hundred thousand years old on a planet four billion years old. And I still ask you, how old is the Devil's Palm? Older than humanity, that’s sure.''

"But you said that someone made the claws.''

''Oh, yes, of course, the claws. But not the crater.'' You corrected yourself. ''But there is something... maybe it's not my best thesis, but it is something. I'd never thought to mention it to Thom.''

''Hm, I'm all ears.''

''I'm sure those claw-shaped rocks aren't a natural phenomenon, they were built to mark something. It doesn't matter who or what erected them, but why. I'm sure that the corpse is linked to this; more specifically, each part of it. And if they were erected, it means that there could be a lot of places where it was marked. It makes sense if you analyze how important and frightening this place seems to the natives and also... who the corpse belongs to.'' You tilted your head to the side, pushing the windblown hair away from your face, and gave Johnny a lopsided smile.

"So... what does that mean?''

''What if, when the parts were scattered across the continent, they formed other kinds of Devil's Palms? What if they didn't dissipate even after the parts were reunited? What if those places are still out there, wandering?'' You took a deep breath, unable to find any more words for your reasoning. ''That would make things easier.''

''Make what easier?'' Johnny felt confused by the rapid changes in the conversation.

''The way back home. And if there are other... places...'' You gestured broadly in the direction of the sea. ''Underwater, for example? The Devil's Palm is always on the move, after all.''

"And that would be a time corridor, a passage... Whatever?'' Johnny stared absently at the waves, perplexed by the idea.

"It would make a lot of things easier.'' There was a hidden smile at the corner of your mouth. Johnny couldn't tell if you were serious or not. "What if there are other places like this, what guarantees that Louise and I are the only ones? What if, I don't know, some prehistoric creature was the first victim to pass through that crater and that's why we hear stories like the Loch Ness monster? What if it was just a plesiosaur lost in the fabric of space and time?''

"Ah, that would explain why there are so many stories about it.'' Said Johnny, becoming increasingly intrigued by the idea, even though it made no sense to him.

''And it would explain why the creature or creatures have never been captured and can't always be seen. Maybe they pass through to the other side, too, so they don't stay there all the time.''

"What a crazy idea!'' Johnny said. You laughed.

"You know what?'' You joked. "That's definitely not my best thesis.''

Johnny laughed, bumping into a bottle of wine that abruptly hit the floor and woke Louise up. She snorted, sat up abruptly, blinked, then lay down again, her face red with sleep and, within seconds, breathing heavily.

"She stayed up late last night, she couldn't sleep.'' You said, taking her defense.

Johnny shook his head distractedly, watching Gyro sleeping as heavily as Louise.

"Gyro's like that too.'' He said tenderly. "He can lie down and sleep anywhere.''

''Even on the race?''

''Especially on the race.'' He smiled. ''I've seen him sleep under the snow, on a rock, on top of Valkyrie...''

You laughed, leaning more languidly on the floor of the boat, letting your hand run over the rattling barrels. A small cloud obscured the sun, turning the sea suddenly gray, with dozens of small waves rising to the surface as the light wind intensified. Below, in the wake of the boat, the water was dark and unfathomable. Raritan Bay wasn't very scary, nor very deep, but it was terribly cold. What could live in such a place?

"Would you go down there, Johnny?'' You asked softly. ''Jump off the boat, dive in, keep going down into the darkness until your lungs feel like they're exploding, not knowing if there are monsters with sharp teeth and big, heavy bodies waiting for you?''

Johnny felt the hairs on his arms stand on end, and not just because the sudden wind was freezing. But also because he had seen many monsters with sharp teeth and heavy bodies.

"But that's not the whole point.'' You continued, still staring at the mysterious waters. ''Would you, if Gyro were down there?'' You straightened up and turned to face him. "Would you?'' Your eyes stared intensely into Johnny's, as steady as a falcon's.

He moistened his lips, dry and chapped by salt and wind, and cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Gyro, asleep. He turned back to face you.

"Yes, I think I would.''

You stared at him for a long moment, then shook your head without smiling.

"I would go for Louise too.''

Lucy Steel's house on Staten Island was in a place called Pleasant Plains, not far from the beach where you landed. Johnny thanked the captain and God that they hadn't landed in a harbor and you soon understood how much better it was for you and the horses to be able to reach dry land calmly and quietly, without a whirlwind of people on all sides. The only downside, in this case, would be the exceptionally cold breeze from the beach and the sand in your shoes.

"What now?'' Louise asked as she stroked Vegas's muzzle. ''Do we know where the address on the letter is?''

''Definitely not.'' Johnny replied, frustrated. ''Let's get off the beach first. Then we'll look for information.''

''Sounds like a good plan.''

The two men rushed towards the small thicket that covered the edge of the beach, with a small, well-marked path running through it. It shouldn't be an uninhabited area, you thought, analyzing the fences on the sides of the path and the small sign adorned with flowers that read "Mount Loretto Beach". The shore was small, narrow, just like the trail. The slightly disturbed sand meant that the seagulls weren't the only passers-by.

"So?'' Gyro asked halfway along the path, looking at an empty pier not far from where he was standing. ''What the hell are we going to do?''

''What do you mean?'' Johnny asked.

"You know what I mean. Are we going to play detective? Do it all over again?''

''You know things are different now.''

''No, I don't.'' He grumbled, looking at Johnny sidelong, noticing that he still didn't seem to have fully recovered from his nausea. ''All right there, Johnny? We can rest if you want.''

"I'm fine.'' He insisted. ''Don't worry. Let's just get this over with.''

Gyro patted Johnny lightly on the shoulder to make sure he was still alive and moved on, you could see the shadow of a smile on his face in the distance. Everyone pulled up on their respective horses, you lagging a little behind as you tried to cordially persuade Judas to do the same without head-butting and biting. For a moment, it seemed to work.

It was a deserted part of the island - not surprisingly, most of Staten Island shouldn't have been inhabited at this time - and you wondered where and when you would find Lucy Steel.

Despite the distraction offered by Judas, you could see the white lines of the surf moving rhythmically on the small half-moon of the beach. It wasn't a placid tourist beach - small pockets of sand spread out in disorder, filling and emptying with the churning foam, among the mounds of seaweed, gravel and jagged, protruding rocks.

The only sounds, apart from the seagulls, were the gentle lapping of the waves, the hum of the wind through the bushes and, eerily, the distant murmur of voices.

Should you make any noise? You asked yourself. The wind blew hard enough to keep the trees and bushes in constant motion, masking the sound of footsteps on the sand and that of anyone else who might be approaching. Gyro seemed to be asking himself the same question as you, but made up his mind more quickly, looking ready to say something when he was interrupted.

"Lucy, we've been here two days ago, why do you insist on coming back?'' A strong male voice asked, and the name it said was enough to make you freeze.

"You're pale as a ghost, darling.'' A female voice replied, much calmer. ''You need sun and sea. Did you know that beach water is rich in zinc? That could be good for you.''

"I feel perfectly fine, you don't have to worry about me.'' The voice sighed. ''Did you finish yesterday's book?''

Very inconveniently, you felt a little nauseous and more than a little dizzy. You felt more and more disoriented as anxiety and nervousness crept into your chest. How would you act? How would she react? What would you say? What would she ask? You begin to feel your fragmentation between day and night throughout your journey to this island.

During the night, you were a creature of thought alone, escaping from your drowsy immobility by a disciplined and obstinate recollection of plans and ways out of your situation in the avenues of thought and meditation, seeking refuge in the crackling of fires while reading and re-reading the useless file folder in your saddlebag and staring forlornly at your flashlight that you never dared to turn on. But with the sunrise, all reason disappeared, immediately succumbing to a sense of terror and doom as that bright ball emerged into the pure, fresh sky like a beast to blind your restless eyes.

You stared at the sand as you walked alongside Louise, listening to the compact clatter of the horses' hooves just behind; your conscience sharp enough to prevent you from stumbling, despite the heavy burden. Judas was hesitant, he wouldn't accept being pulled so easily by a ridiculous creature like you, so a little more effort was required of him. Your sweat cooled in the breeze as if you shared the horse's fate.

"Is that them?'' Gyro asked, not knowing exactly whether to himself or Johnny.

"Yes.'' Johnny confirmed. ''Were they already waiting for us?''

''No, they're not that idle. Maybe they're just here for a walk.''

What could you say? Nothing, you thought. Absolutely nothing. There was nothing to be said now or when you see the girl. You wondered if this feeling was the same as that of a time traveler seeing their parents when they were young.

You were still pondering this as Gyro led the way down the narrow path. What about her husband? Could you disguise your strangeness when you looked at him? Every time you heard Stephen Steel's name, it was uttered by Thomas Foster. While Lucy's name was always seen handwritten in calcography on your desk, on top of a pile of documents and letters, the ink aged and faded by time, the original color transformed into a sepia tone. Unlike Thomas, you didn't just recognize Lucy as the wife of a decrepit promoter.

Besides, how old was Lucy when she married him? Fourteen? You knew that such marriages were not uncommon, but fourteen years? You knew people who got married at nineteen and considered it a way of condemning their own lives.

The further Gyro and Johnny went, the more you and Louise slowed down. Louise did it automatically because she was walking alongside you, but you did it as a way of trying to avoid the inevitable; to avoid a flood of dilemmas and paradoxes that you knew would soon flood your mind.

"Do you see them?'' Louise asked, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head to peer above Johnny.

"No.'' Johnny said. "But I see footprints and the voices aren't far away.''

"Let's follow them, then.''

Louise seemed excited, in a way. You couldn't understand how she still managed to maintain her energetic, full-of-life air after everything that had happened.

You wandered along until the path opened out into a dirt road; it wasn't a totally isolated area, you thought again as you spotted a few lampposts. You'd even convince yourself that you weren't in the past, but the wooden structure was too rustic and there was a rancid smell of lard - a good substitute for oil and electricity to light streets.

However, it didn't seem to be a very frequented place, so there was no point in lighting it if it wasn't in some upscale area.

The trail was not long, but it was quiet. Both Gyro and Johnny were focused and even looked worried, probably for different reasons. As for you, you were busy thinking, not only about your past and present, but also about the immediate future.

Lucy Steel had been the closest thing you'd ever had to a guide or a distant mentor. Due to circumstances, most of your references throughout your life were men; there were no other women archaeologists, historians or even geomorphologists, and the natural abyss of her death, which occurred three decades before your birth, prevented more than a superficial knowledge of a woman who became indispensable in your work. As for the women in Thomas' circle and at work, the secretaries in the departments and the wives of other managers... of all of them, you only had Louise, a lifelong best friend.

Above all, however, there was the certainty that, of all the people in the world, Lucy was the one who should care about the Ecclesiastes project as much as you did - if not more, much more.

You were looking forward to seeing Lucy, but you couldn't help wondering how she would receive you, it was impossible to get rid of the hammering in your mind.

The horses could now follow side by side, as could your group just ahead of them. Judas obediently slowed down when Gyro's mare stopped, then turned at your pull command and headed straight down the road, following the unlit lampposts. Ahead, there was a clearing and something like a carriage in it, half-hidden by a vault of alder branches, but no Lucy.

At least not from that side, you thought, and turned to the other side of the road; an area overlooking the beach, clear of trees. From that distance, you could see a small gray dot in the sea, the boat was returning to the port of Keansburg, and Lucy was watching the gray dot disappear into the blue expanse next to an older man in a green suit.

It was only when the girl's face turned in your direction and a nod appeared in your field of vision that you finally felt the mantle of the human condition fall over you. Body and mind came together again as you prepared to meet Lucy Steel.

"Lucy?'' Johnny raised his voice and asked foolishly, preferring to confirm that it was really her before saying hello. ''Lucy Steel?''

''Jojo!''

A smile lit up her face, displaying a pair of large incisor teeth, white, shiny and perfect like those of a squirrel. Lucy had very intriguing, beautiful, slightly asymmetrical features, like a Modigliani painting, and long blonde hair, loose around her shoulders, interspersed with damp strands. She was young, about sixteen as you'd imagine, with rosy lips and dusty cheeks. She was dressed soberly; a long pink linen dress, suitable for the beach, and a hat too. It didn't look very different from what someone from your century would have worn, you thought.

Seeing Johnny, she hurried as fast as her skirts would allow, her cheeks flushed in a way that reminded you of a bright poppy; leaving the older man behind, stunned as he watched both the scene and the four of you. Slowing down as she approached, she hugged Johnny; as cordial as it was thrilling, that hug.

Johnny, although surprised, didn't take more than a few seconds to shyly return the embrace. When she pulled away, she could see Gyro.

"Oh, Mister Zeppeli!'' Her smile opened wider, genuinely. This was the first time you'd seen her, but it was clear she wasn't used to smiling. ''What a wonderful surprise!''

She seemed inclined to want to hug him, but controlled herself and just shook his hand energetically, her blonde hair like that of angels in chapels fluttered and knocked off her capeline hat. The older man, following just behind her, bent down to pick up the hat and reached out to shake the sand. Stephen Steel, you recognized him, tall, blond with grey lines, a long nose, a sparse, unshaven beard, grey to the point of making him look covered in a layer of sugar. He looked at Johnny in surprise and amazement.

"Joestar?'' He asked, looking at him as if he were a ghost of a relative. ''You... How?''

Johnny didn't say anything, nor did Stephen, but they both knew what he was talking about. He looked at his own legs for a moment, then turned his attention to Stephen.

"I thought Lucy had mentioned it.'' He said amiably, holding out his hand for a firm shake.

''No, she didn't.'' Stephen returned the handshake with the same firmness and confidence. ''Forgive me, but how the hell? I thought it was... ah, well, irreversible. How are you standing?''

You were willing to listen to the conversation, but someone nudged you and took all your attention away. Louise was still standing next to you, possibly more confused. The two of you watched in silence; the impact of that reunion didn't warm your souls.

"Do you know him too?'' She murmured. You were at a safe distance to whisper discreetly.

''Probably Stephen Steel. Her husband.''

''Husband? But...'' She grimaced. ''I knew she was married, but isn't this guy too old?''

''Yeah.''

''And what are they talking about? Why is he so impressed with Johnny's legs?''

''I...'' You hesitated, looking at her and then at them to make sure it really was safe to talk now. You whispered as quietly as possible. ''I don't think he could walk. Somehow, now he can.''

''Ah... so that's it.''

"I see you have company.'' Lucy said sweetly, walking a few steps towards you. The day and the joy of the reunion left her unaware of why Gyro and Johnny were here, but the final need for an explanation brought the enormity of it all crashing down on her. ''Partners, I imagine?''

''Yes...'' Johnny confirmed, but then choked on his own words when he saw Lucy's arched blonde eyebrows rise. ''Oh, I mean, no! They're partners, but not as you think.''

Gyro laughed his typical laugh, amused by the sudden blush on Johnny's cheeks. Lucy held out her hand and you, ignoring all the shivers and alarms in your body, returned the shake, feeling sure that she felt your hand as cold as a dead person's.

"This is (Y/N) and Louise.'' Sensing the instant freezing of your tongue and Louise's nervousness, Gyro took it upon himself to introduce you.

"Lucy Steel.'' She said, making no slips in her politeness and courtesy, although you knew very well that she would want to know who the hell you were and what the hell you were doing there.

"It's a pleasure.'' Louise said with a smile, shaking her hand right after you. ''We've heard a lot about you, me and (Y/N) were really excited to meet you!''

"Well... we'll have time for that.'' Stephen butted in, walking behind his wife, but towards Gyro. ''For introductions and explanations, I believe. Mister Zeppeli, getting shot has done you more good than me, I must say.''

Noticing movement behind her, Lucy turned to look at the two men, stopping just in front of you. She was short, barely reaching Louise's first rib. Your gaze rose, attracted by a strange tension between Gyro and Lucy's husband, shared, apparently, by common experiences involving bullets.

"Nyo-ho! I'm not as whole as I look, Mister Steel. But you look fine.'' He was clearly lying, you thought, observing Stephen's gentle hump and deep wrinkles. Although he looked old and weak, he didn't look the least bit harmless for his age. He was tall, very tall, and sarcopenia had not yet taken away the width of his shoulders and shoulder blades.

"Oh yes, I'm better than they planned. Alive, at least.'' He then turned to Johnny. ''I imagine you've just set foot on dry land, judging by the smell.''

''I've been worried. The letters I sent you months ago haven't been answered.'' Lucy added.

''Ah, well...'' Johnny stammered, remembering a brief part of the letter that asked him not to mention more serious matters around Stephen. ''Maybe it's because I'm never in one place, so I don't get most of the letters.''

"Oh, so you're not at Bastille anymore?''

You frowned for a moment. Did she know the Bastille Tavern too? You'd seen Gyro mention the place on his first day, and now Lucy? What's in that place, anyway? It just looked like a brothel for travelers, nothing much.

"Yes and no. I still visit, I help the girls, but nothing more. Why are you here, anyway? I thought you didn't want to leave Manhattan.''

''And why here?'' Gyro asked Stephen, annoyed by some mosquitoes and the sticky feeling of the sea air. "I see nothing but sand and trees.''

''Lucy didn't feel comfortable with the life in Manhattan and we lived in a very bad neighborhood, quite frankly.''

''Now your new neighbors are mosquitoes, huh? They don't seem very friendly.''

Gyro was right, those mosquitoes were voracious to say the least. But your head wasn't present enough to bother with that.

"I'm glad you've arrived safely.'' Lucy said, casting a strange but harmless glance at you and Louise; she didn't seem to understand what you were doing there and, no doubt, there was no greater rudeness than a guest calling someone else, especially a stranger. ''Forgive me, where are my manners? We're on our way home, it's not far. We have good facilities for the horses and for you too. Please come with us.''

"Yes, Lucy's right.'' Stephen agreed cordially. "I think you two have a lot of catching up to do. What are you doing here, anyway? Are you still working with bounties?''

"Ah... yeah.'' Johnny answered shyly. ''That's part of the reason. But we also knew you were here, I saw the addresses in Lucy's last letters. I just didn't expect us to meet the moment we arrived.''

''One of the advantages of living near the beach, but we were just out for a walk, I think it was a coincidence.'' Lucy said, a little less euphorically. ''Margaret should be starting to prepare dinner by now, shouldn't she, dear?''

''With her sense of quantity, I'm sure there'll be enough food for everyone here and still plenty for the rest of the island. I see no reason not to invite you.'' Stephen added friendly.

If you'd found Lucy interesting before, now you were fascinated. So this was Stephen Steel's wife, commanding enough respect to maintain a considerable influence on her husband's choices; being able to invite friends and to dinner right in front of him; as well as making him buy a house in another state for her comfort. Being the wife of such an old and influential man seemed a considerable weight of male expectation for such a young girl to bear, but she seemed to cope with it very well; and so far Stephen didn't seem the most threatening man - nor perverted, if you were honest.

But pervert or not, Stephen was also fascinating. You listened to his conversation with Johnny – Gyro seemed too distracted and tired to participate – and gleaned a considerable amount of information. He was a prosperous partner of importers of wines and other alcoholic beverages, as well as a promoter of events; the Steel Ball Run, although controversial, highlighted his competence among businessmen and the rest of the elite, who tended to ignore all media fuss.

Lucy assured you that her house was not far away, but for reasons of convenience and space, you would have to accompany their carriage on horseback. Along the way, Louise seemed confident enough about Vegas' obedience to stand by the carriage window answering Lucy's questions; you stood right next to her, but quietly, there wasn't much to say unless asked.

"Forgive me, you're Miss (Y/N), right?'' So you were asked, and you vowed to bang your head against the first wall you saw if your brain wasn't capable of answering something so simple.

"Oh, yes.'' You said, turning suddenly to see Lucy leaning on the window.

"Have you known Johnny and Gyro for a long time?''

You hesitated, but disguised it.

"Well, long enough.'' You said. ''It's a complicated story, but you'll understand. I hope we won't be a bother until then.''

''Oh, no! Of course not!'' She said, suddenly embarrassed. ''Oh, forgive me if I made it sound like that. You're not a bother at all! I just... well, if Gyro and Johnny trust you enough to let you travel with them, then who am I not to?"

"Oh, you trust them that much?'' Humorously, Louise intervened in Lucy’s apology. ''Don't you think they have a screw loose?''

She smiled, refraining from laughing, although you could see an amused glint in her eyes.

''Well, you're the ones saying...''

''You're not far enough or talking quietly enough.'' Gyro butted in, just ahead, pretending to be angry, but smiling. ''I'm offended that, of all people, you two are saying we're crazy!''

Realizing that you hadn't done this for a few hours, you smiled when you received a curious and incisive look from Lucy.

"Don't listen to him.'' You said mockingly.

#jojos bizzare adventure #steel ball run #diego brando #diego brando x reader #gyro x reader #gyro zeppeli #jjba part 7 #johnny joestar #johnny x reader #ao3fic

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