#BUT NOW SHE'S JUST FUCKING FORGOTTEN THAT AND I'VE BEEN TELLING HER THE WHOLE NIGHT TO PLEASE STOP OFFERING/SAYING YOU WILL DO THAT BECAUSE

[v1rtualsalvat10n]

𓆩♡𓆪 for the first time

― luigi thinks of you in his cell. that's it that's the fic.

notes :: thank you for all the support to show my appreciation i would like to throw a rusty screwdriver into your hearts i love u guys!!

The thing they don't tell you about prison is that it's really cold.

No, seriously. It's really fucking cold, even here in NYC where it's already cold to begin with - it's like you're in the back of a deep freezer in a shitty jumpsuit, because you kind of are. It's cold enough that I have to curl up into a ball on my "bed", knees to my chest in order to try and stay warm.

And because I have nothing to do, I find myself staring at the white, emotionless wall, and doing that sort of thing is kind of a surefire way to get your mind to wander. One of the tried and true methods, if you will.

It's lonely here. Sure, the inmates like me, they're nice, but I mean... I'm not really in the mood to socialize with anyone. This whole ordeal has sucked the energy out of me. I've been being thrown around the country for days, ever since they found me.

I don't even want to think about what's happening outside of this place, either. I'm sure people have lots of thoughts and things to say about what I did.

I wonder if she saw it.

The news, I mean. Of course she saw it, who didn't? I bet her and all my old classmates and friends are probably talking about it, about me, what I'd done - right now. Trying to pick apart my motive, maybe grieving about the life I'd thrown away. Guess I had a lot ahead of me.

Can't help but wonder what she's thinking. I wonder if she's disappointed in me. Or maybe proud. Why am I thinking so much about what she thinks of me? It was one fling, from ages ago, I can't even remember when... at one of countless parties, and yet I still see how she looked underneath me so clearly.

It wasn't really just a fling. I talked to her about it - about how the system was falling apart (if it was ever together to begin with) and I felt the need to put all this privilege I'd been granted to good use. How I felt like I had to do something. She told me about herself, too, how she'd been fucked over time and time again and how she knew countless others who felt the same way.

Actually, yeah, we spent a lot of time together, thinking back on it. She'd come over on those cold winter nights I remember so fondly and we'd keep warm together, whatever way we could find. She was kind of... below me, I guess. Lower class. Not that I cared that much, though. Didn't make her any less of a lover.

And then I went radio silent. Then I figured out exactly what that thing I had to do was, and I put all my effort towards it. I didn't have time for love anymore. I had to take the chance I'd been given and fix things.

So I started leaving her on seen, stopped answering my door, even when she'd yell that she knew I was there, stopped showing up at the places I'd loved before, I stopped everything. Dropped off the map and left nothing but a ghost in my place.

She probably hates me.

I'd like to think that maybe this brings her solace... that maybe the idea that "it wasn't because you did something wrong" made her feel better, but I doubt it does.

When I get out of here, if I even do, she'll probably have forgotten all about me, because everybody forgets. I'll be old news by the time that day comes, and everything we did, everything we wanted to do - would just be a hazy memory.

I still remember seeing her for the first time. I remember the way her eyes pierced through my soul, and I remember how it made me feel inside.

I wonder if she remembers that too.

[what-even-is-sleep]

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[stitched-mouth-vs-the-world]

Just For Research

Pairing: Professor! Rick Sanchez x College Student! GN! Reader.

Summary: When Rick discovers his top student is a virgin, he knows he must change that so she can write her paper on human pheromones.

Warnings: Smut, Intercourse (P in ?), Virginity Loss, Teacher x Student relationship, Age Gap, Virgin! Reader.

Writing Time: 30 minutes.

Word Count: 652.

Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 7.

A/N:

Woke up in the middle of the night and decided to just write this. Sorry for any mistakes, this is not proofread. I'm just really trying to make sure everything is written before October arrives so the quality is some fics might be lacking a little, this might be one of them. This is probably my shortest fic so far. Oh well.I also have completely forgotten what it was like in college. I did about 3 months of Combined Science in the UK before I dropped out for an apprenticeship instead and I don't remember anything about those 3 months. So this could be all completely wrong but tbh I really don't care.I tried really hard to keep it GN, which is getting harder and harder for me due to the lack of gender neutral terms in the English language but I'll keep managing.Hope you enjoy, I've been eager to write something for Rick for ages now.

Here is the masterlist for all my Kinktober works.

---///---

Thoughts were swarming your head, making it almost impossible to think about what was currently happening.

'How did this happen?' You thought, 'This couldn't of been an accident, but how then did it happen?'

You let out a torn scream, but Rick was fast to cover your mouth and silence it.

"Shut up little Whore, or the whole building will hear you." He huffed.

Just a second ago you and Rick was discussing your college assignment. Your assignment was to write an essay about the human and animal pheromones that tell them to breed and compare the two. Something fairly basic for a Combined Science class and as the class's top student, Rick expected this assignment to be a breeze for you.

But he had been wrong. For a top student with a bright future in Science, you had no idea about pheromones. Especially the sexual kind. It was the one thing you hadn't studied yourself in your own time nor had you experienced it.

You had come to Rick after class to hopefully explain the subject better for you or give you good resources to look up but once Rick found out you was a virgin, what you got instead was a private lessons on pheromones that included an experimental or practical that would give you the experience.

So now you were bent over his desk taking all of him like the good little one you was.

"Please..." You whimpered, tired and stretched out to the max. It had only been a few minutes but this was completely new to a virgin.

"Please what, Whore?" Rick glared down at you, still thrusting in and out of you at an ungodly pace.

Rick didn't think this was exactly the best way to show someone who had never experienced sexual feelings what they were like, but to be honest, he didn't care. He was just looking for a reason to fuck you. His prettiest most innocent and intelligent little Princess/Prince who always sat in the front row, listening to him with wide ears.

But this had been a good lesson for you. Your sexual desire and need for Professor Sanchez now more than alive, it was insatiable.

"Please more Sir!" You cried.

Rick was a little shocked, but more than happy to oblige. And quickly increased his speed, you looked down and moaned into the once clean desk.

"Yeah? You like this cock? You want more of it, my little cocksleeve?" Rick groaned into your ears.

"Yes!" You nodded eagerly.

Obviously, you came first. You did so with a scream and giant smile. Rick came not too long after you onto your back, with just a few loud grunt.

You was pretty confident now you was gonna Ace this assignment.

[ayu-stuff]

Party attire

"Why are you crying, sweetie? You begged us soooo much to be allowed to come with me. And now that we're here, you can't even form a whole sentence because of the childish temper tantrum you're throwing. How come??? Why is my wittle baby girl saaaad???

You craved so badly to attend Mommy's Big Girls party, and here you are! And you're the biggest of them all, cutie pie! Believe me HAHAHA. Have you maybe forgotten what you've gone through just to come with me tonight?

You agreed to Daddy's idea of tucking you in for ni-ni time at fucking 7 PM every day like the dumb, whiny toddler you are. You gave up on this month's cummies day just to prove us you were mature enough to enjoy a Girls Night with me. You accepted losing the last shreds of privacy Daddy and I allowed you to keep, so now you're always to make your peepees and pushies in front of one of us, if we're not busy eating each other out ;).

Bath time is also to be supervised by one of us in exchange for the privilege to join me tonight. And what about last month's baby-food based diet??? After weeks of eating only mushy prunes, I'm not surprised you've begged Daddy so many times these days to let you clean me out after fucking me raw. You just needed those proteines, right? HAHAHA.

And now that you've gone through all this ―Fuck! I almost forgot two of your favorite rules HAHAHA: 1) no clothes allowed at home except your big poofy diapers and a stupid bib!! // 2) Of course, dumb smelly babies like you don't walk. They just crawl. Today is the first time you've been allowed to use your big girl legs since ages!!! I'm so proud of you, sweetie HAHAHA― as I was saying, now that you've gone through all this, you don't want to get out of the car???? For God's sake, little girl!!!

What??? Speak up, kiddo. I can't understand you through your cute little paci. No, you can't spit it out. You know I'll spank you right here if you do. You don't like the outfit I picked for you??????? And you have the courage to tell me now????? I think you look delightful tonight, darling. Delightfully dumb, if I may.

I only wanted to show my friends what a cute little daughter my husband and I have now!!! Of course, it was your husband, but you were too much of a wimp to stand up to me. What could I do?? You know how sexy he is. Or have you already forgotten??? HAHAHA

So it's more than natural that I've taken you out only in your Moomy's Moo-Moo onesie tonight! What would you need a sexy outfit for? Your only purpose tonight is to become the party's laughing stock, honey. You should have known. That's why I haven't changed your poopy, stinky diapie before going out: my friends have specifically requested to help me with the baby's diapy change. Don't you feel lucky they want to meet you that much??

In fact, I think I'll leave you only in your pampies once we've padded you up all fresh and clean. Hair all messy from your tantrum, blushy cheeks, chin and neck all drooly thanks to your paci, and hard nipples because of the cold, you'll be the cutest girl at the party!! I bet they'll even put some baby rhymes for you to dance along!!

What, honey?? No, of course you'll have to keep that, stupid little girl! That's the cutest garment of your whole outfit! And we worked so hard today to make it perfect! Besides, it even matches Mommy's grown-up attire. Doesn't it make me so fucking sexy to have my face half-covered?

So you'll keep it the whole night, sweetie. If I catch you without your last pair of panties on your head, I'll make sure that everyone at the party smacks your bottom at least twice. I know it stinks, kiddo! Daddy and I made you pee all over it!!

But it makes you delightfully dumb to wear your last shred of dignity on your cute little head. That way my girlfriends won't even notice you're not allowed to use any make-up anymore. They'll just see a stupid, poopy toddler in a childish onesie, with her face half-covered by the best possible proof that she's a baby. A stupid, clueless, pissy and messy baby.

Let's get out of the car, OK honey??? And no, I don't care you can't stop wailing!!! HAHAHA".

[baronessvonglitter]

Vices

Din Djarin x OFC x bi! f!Reader x OMC

Word count: 4.3K

Summary: You're not one to be shy of your vices, but a night with a mysterious woman has you and your work partner Din chasing new highs.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, reader is bisexual so if that's not your thing then feel free to scroll on, group sex (kinda), jealousy, jealous!Din, oral (m & f receiving), p i v sex, f/f/m threesome, fingering, come eating, little bit of three way kissing, one night stand, playfully light dom/sub tones, subby!Din and dom-ish!Reader, Din's helmet stays on (mostly), shy!Din, creampie, no use of y/n (if i've forgotten anything please LMK)

Author's note: I don't know how I haven't already written about Din, who's actually how I even came to know Pedro existed in the first place. So here it goes - not 100% canon as I have screwed with some facts to suit my story - don't come at me. It's just fiction. Also I was feeling some Cyberpunk 2077 vibes, specifically Lizzie's Bar which was the inspo for my banner.

FULL MASTERLIST

"Just make a move, already. You've been watching her all night," you tell Din.

You hear him scoff just below his breath, his helmet unable to filter out every sound he makes. "I'm not watching, I'm just looking," he retorts curtly, averting his gaze from the person attracting his interest.

"Same difference," you say, finishing the dregs of your drink, giggling as your unexpected date for the night, known only as Elex, wraps his arm around your waist, tickling your neck with teasing kisses. You remember your promise to Din before leaving the ship: "If I'm getting laid, you're getting laid."

Din sighs, wishing he was elsewhere, feeling out of place here.

You're both taking some much needed R&R on Coruscant, and your natural instinct for vice and debauchery has led you to an underground club known mostly to those in the spice trade, pleasure seekers, and those just looking for an escape.

The club is massive despite its clandestine reputation; crowds of outlaws, outcasts, and delinquents congregate the dance floor and the bar; blue and magenta and violet lights lend a dreamy, lascivious glow to the multitude. Perfume scents the air, along with liquor, sweat, and the not-so-subtle aroma of sex: the result of the crush of many bodies together in one place. The music is deafening, bass pumping in your blood, harmonizing with your heartbeat once you get used to the roar, its melody effortless, the same notes over and over, only played at various speeds, circling and crescendoing until the bass drops and the whole thing starts over again, mindless, persisting.

No one comes here for the music even though many come to dance.

It's a dancer that's caught Din's eye, and you'd be lying if you said she hasn't caught your attention as well.

"She's beautiful," you poke his side with your elbow.

"I guess she is," he mutters, his eyes dragging up and down the outline of her body.

"That armor starting to feel a little tight in the pants?" you tease him. "Why don't you go talk to her?" you tell him again.

Din freezes, his face burning as you continue to goad him. "No way am I going to embarrass myself," he says stubbornly. He's aware he stands out already, stiff, a tin can compared to the constant flow of party people, moving, dancing, hustling, some even fucking.

Just then the dancer starts towards you three. "She's coming this way!" You elbow him again.

"Maker have mercy," he mutters as she approaches.

"Be cool, Din," you warn him. His heart thumps hard against his ribcage.

You introduce yourself and your new friend Elex. "And this is my work partner Din," you smile brightly.

"Pleasure to meet you," she replies in a sultry voice.

"Din was admiring you, but he's shy," you pat his shoulder, grinning because you just know under that helmet he's seething, quite possibly blushing. By now you've come to know his looks, despite the visor shielding you from them. And right now, this particular angling of his head, staring straight at you, he's signaling to you: you're dead.

"A shy warrior? Who would have thought?" the woman says smoothly, not hiding the fact that she's checking him out.

You nudge him to say something. "I'm doing all the work," you tell him through gritted teeth.

He clears his throat. "I, uh.." His mind draws a blank and he curses himself internally, struggling to form a coherent thought, let alone a full sentence. "You're.. pretty," he mumbles lamely, mentally kicking himself. Pretty? That's all he could come up with? Pathetic.

You force a laugh. "He's more himself when he's going after a bounty."

"Is that so?" she tilts her head at him, her laugh a musical sound that makes Din's heart skip a beat.

"Ask her name," you whisper, trying to enjoy your own date instead of spoon-feeding Din his lines.

His shoulders tense, fists clenching at his side, he asks her name, and she replies, "Saskia."

"Saskia," he repeats to himself, enjoying the roll of it off his tongue.

"A Mandalorian bounty hunter, huh? You look like you could do a number on someone," she says, running her finger along the beskar on his breastplate, shamelessly eyeing him.

"You should see him in action," you chime in, breaking away momentarily from your mini-makeout session with Elex. "He's unstoppable."

"Oh really?" Her eyes never leave his form, taking in all she can of this broad-shouldered, quiet warrior.

"Saskia, let us buy you a drink," you offer.

The glasses you're given are filled with glowing blue concoctions, vapor rising, wrapping the four of you in a haze as you offer a toast: "To trying new things."

Saskia's eyes flutter at Din, her smile coy and promising. "How about it?" she asks, her voice low and sultry. "Feel like trying something new?"

Go for it! you mouth behind her, catching Din's gaze, excited for him.

He steels himself, knowing at this point the only way out was to commit. "Yeah. Sure," he mumbles, shifting awkwardly under Saskia's ogling.

She leads you to a private room upstairs, the music dimmed but the bass still thumping and for a moment Din confuses it for the beat of his own heart. The room is spacious, empty of people but in expectance of them. A large sofa doubling as a bed takes up most of the center of the room, unmistakable in what the room is used for.

You playfully nudge his hip with yours before Elex leads you to a smaller loveseat, placing you on the edge of the arm as you begin to kiss.

Saskia is seated, and Din's eyes are drawn to her legs, slowly sliding apart as she leans back, her smooth shapely thighs revealed as her form-fitting outfit rides up.

"Don't you ever take that helmet off?" she asks as he sits next to her at a polite distance.

His eyes flick from her face to her legs, his mind running wild with ideas. "No. I don't," he answers. "It's part of The Way."

From across the room you suppress a groan, keeping tabs on their conversation, knowing women like Saskia enjoy banter, not lessons on the Mandalorian heritage. My buddy isn't doing so great. But you have your own thing going on. Elex gropes your curves as he slowly gets to his knees.

"If you never take your helmet off," Saskia's saying, leaning in close to Din, "then how do you kiss?"

He sucks in a sharp breath, once again speechless by her bluntness. He stumbles over his words for a moment before getting an answer out. "We- we don't," he mumbles awkwardly.

Saskia lets out a small snicker, wetting her full lips. "So what do you do?"

Din's face burns underneath his helmet. He's already so flustered by the situation, and wants to avoid an embarrassing conversation. "We have other ways.. of being intimate," he says at last.

"You wanna show me?" Her hand is on his leg.

As if seeking permission, Din seeks you out, finding you engrossed with Elex. A pang of jealousy shoots through him, taking him by surprise.

"Looks like your pretty friend's busy," Saskia smirks. "Do you want another drink?"

He's about to answer when he hears you let out a soft groan from the other side of the room. He turns his head to see you, pressed to the arm of the loveseat, skirt lifted over your hips as Elex's face is buried between your thighs, your head tipped back in ecstasy.

Din's whole body freezes, his eyes glued to the sight of you. He grips the drink glass in his hand so tight it almost shatters as his eyes rake over your figure, the way your body writhes in pleasure. Another pang of envy grips his chest, this one deeper and more intense than the first. He can't explain why watching you with this man - when he's heard you with other men before - has him affected so.

"Think we can outdo them?" Saskia's challenge rises to his ears, her hand rubbing his thigh, moving upwards ever so slightly with each brush forward, testing the waters.

She manages to bring him out of his stupor, reminding him that the woman beside him is just as real as the woman he's never thought of as more than a friend, currently with a man between her legs.

"Yeah," he bites out, his voice deep and rough. "We can outdo them."

Saskia smiles predatory-like and pushes him back to the sofa, taking a pillow and putting it down before she kneels on it, right in between his spread legs. "There we go," she coos, cupping his crotch, smiling as she hears the hitch in his breath. With a little maneuvering she has him freed from his clothes, large, hot, and pulsing in her hand. "Be as loud as you want, baby," she encourages.

His hips involuntarily buck into her hand, desperate for more. He lets out a shaky exhale, managing to choke out a response. "Fuck."

She enjoys how easy it is to bring him to life. "A very blessed warrior indeed," she whispers in awe before gripping the base of his cock and licking long stripes upwards, tongue swirling around the leaky head, gazing up at his visor as she spits, taking turns stroking him and sucking him.

Din lets out a strangled noise, one gloved hand gripping her hair, pushing her head further down when her warm mouth surrounds him. "You're so kriffing good," he mutters, the pleasure close to overwhelming.

In the midst of your own pleasured haze, you look up to see Saskia obviously pleasing Din. You gasp, stunned, the sight of them momentarily taking you out of the intimacy of Elex's tongue in your cunt. You're not shocked at what they're doing but shocked at the lightning bolt of jealousy that goes straight through your chest. You watch them a moment, letting yourself seethe with yearning.

Not shy about your competitive streak, you get louder with your own lover. "Yes! Yes.. so good! I'm gonna come!"

Din's eyes flick up at the sound of your voice, his stomach flipping with envy, and in one brief moment of ire he wants to snap Elex's neck, but he keeps his eyes on you as Saskia shoves him deep in her throat, and his own breathing comes in fast, ragged gasps.

"Fuck!" you cry out, returning Din's gaze, a silent dare speaking volumes.

His jaw clenches, holding back the possessive urge to cross the room and rip you away from that man.

Saskia takes notice, momentarily slowing down her efforts. "You're so close, so tense," she remarks in a sultry manner.

Din is like a dam on the verge of bursting, his need building up in him, especially after seeing you with that guy, some idiot you only just met tonight. He tries to keep himself together, stay in the moment, keep himself under this beautiful woman's spell. "Please--" he chokes out, his voice rough and low, his control slowly unraveling.

You gasp as Elex bends you over the arm of the sofa, skirt going up as he pushes into you from behind, eyes closed as he starts to move.

Din's heart lurches in his chest, still fixated on you. If it was possible for him to burn a hole through you with just his stare he would accomplish just that.

You like watching them?" Saskia asks, gently turning him to her instead. "Feel me while you watch her."

She undresses him from the waist down, sensing his reluctance to be fully unclothed, revealing each delicious inch of flesh. Strong thighs with a light sprinkling of pale brown hair, his cock springing out perfectly from a nest of brown curls, her only clue as to what he looks like beneath his helmet. A perfect seat for her.

He needs a distraction, anything to pull his attention away from the overwhelming jealousy gnawing away at his insides. He's thankful for the teasing way in which Saskia divests herself of her skimpy clothing, her body lithe and obviously made for pleasure.

When she slides down onto him, facing away, long legs parting to fit over his, it feels like a miracle and a sin. He gives a strangled moan as she takes him deep, her grip on him tight and unyielding. She grinds against him as he bottoms out, savoring the delicious feel of him, and he grips her hips, commandeering the situation for the first time tonight, delighting in Saskia's loud gasp as he pushes up into her welcoming cunt, needing to push away the thought of you riding him. He needs this. He needs her to distract him.

You watch with thinly veiled jealousy as Saskia rides Din. Even through his helmet you can sense his need for her, his pleasure. You want to be the one responsible for his pleasure. Even as you close your eyes you can't block out the thought of Din being the one inside you instead of Elex. "Harder," you beg your partner. "Faster."

Din swallows a moan, eyes narrowed with envy and with competition as he hears you with Elex, the needful sound of your voice making his body tingle. He needs you, craves you, his possessive instincts flaring, unable to tear his sight away from you.

He grips Saskia's hips tighter, his mind racing. "Don't stop." he commands gruffly.

She smiles and rides him harder, thighs quivering with each collision of her flesh on his. "You could just fuck her, you know," she offers breathlessly. "It's pretty obvious you want to."

Din's breath catches in his chest. He does want you - so badly it hurts. "It's not - unh! that simple," he grunts out.

"Nothing ever is," Saskia gives a sharp gasp, still moving.

"I can't have her. She's not for me." His breathing is labored with the strain of keeping control. He has a need to outlast the man you're with, as if to prove a point.

"Why not?" Saskia asks, nodding to you and Elex, still going at it. "Is she for him?"

Din's jaw clenches at the sight of you with him, hates the way his stomach twists in knots. "She's not for anyone."

"Make me come," she moans. "It'll make her so jealous."

Show her what she's missing..

Saskia cries out as his hips buck up against her, and after a few rough thrusts she comes apart, moaning his name.

It takes immense concentration for him not to follow after, to remain unsatisfied. He needs something more, his body still humming with desire, desperate for the one woman his eyes have been on the whole night.

You glare daggers at Saskia, watching and listening as she comes, wishing it was you. Just then Elex speeds up, gripping your hips tightly, slamming into you so hard that you come as well, your eyes fixed on Din, who goes rigid watching you in return.

His breathing is shaky, heart thundering in his chest. He feels Saskia's hand on his arm, trying to get his attention, but he can't tear his eyes from you. He's frozen in place, mind filled with you and only you.

Elex pulls out of you, stroking himself until his warm cum splashes onto your ass, painting his release on you. Din instantly hates him for marking you so primitively. Elex cleans you off, giving you a pat on the ass before leaving, probably going in search of his next conquest. You roll your eyes. Guys are the same on every planet.

Now alone with Saskia and Din, you boldly approach them. "Excuse me, but you're in my seat," you tell her.

Saskia smirks and you want to wipe it right off her face. She doesn't look the least bit intimidated.

"Is that so?" she makes no move to leave Din's lap. "Looks like I've already claimed it."

You sit next to them, making yourself comfortable, shedding the last of your clothing. "I don't mind de-throning you." You kiss her softly, palming her supple breast.

She moans softly, reacting to your kiss, cunt squeezing around Din's still-hard cock, making him groan. He's about to lose control now that you're here, proving a point, making him want you.

"Is this how you're going to 'de-throne' me?" Saskia teases. "With sweet kisses and caresses?"

"That's only the beginning. I'm going to make you come harder than he can." With that, you bend down in front of them and she lifts herself up. You put your face to where they're joined and use kitten licks around her folds, sweeping your tongue in circles around her sex before wiggling your tongue against her clit, smirking to yourself at her barely-concealed moans.

Din hangs on by a mere thread, heart beating double time, now using all of his self-control not to either thrust up into Saskia and fill her up with his cum, or better yet to push her off and fuck you hard, spread-eagled beneath him like he's always fantasized.

"Is that all?" Saskia asks as you pull away a moment from your ministrations. "I doubt you'll be able to break me apart so easily."

"Get off his lap," you say in a low, authoritative voice, making no mistake that you intend her to comply.

Still kneeling, you have a perfect view as she slips off Din's lap, watching as Din's cock comes into view, slick with her arousal, and so thick, heavy under its own weight as it springs back up once Saskia rises. You want you mouth on it, to taste him and her. As she gets situated sitting next to him, you press two fingers deep inside her cunt, brushing her hand away when she dares to try to grab Din's flesh.

Din lets out a surprised sigh as your warm, wet mouth descends on his dick, and he thrusts up slowly, refraining from slamming his whole length into your welcoming throat as he desperately wants to do.

He's delicious.. but you force yourself away for a moment, kneeling between Saskia's spread thighs as you run your tongue up and down her crease. "I didn't think you'd be so.. talented." She threads her fingers through your hair, gasping and trembling, and you chuckle, letting the sound vibrate against her cunt.

"My first preference is always women. But occasionally.." your free hand strokes Din's cock.

Listening to his and Saskia's sighs you kiss up her body, sucking at her nipple while your fingers move inside her again. Her back arches, pressing herself to your mouth, her eyes darting from you to Din and back again, imagining scenarios you've likely already envisioned yourself.

"Din, you should taste her," you tell him, tempting him to lift his helmet up a little as you bring your glistening fingers to him, heart leaping as he reveals his pink, pouty lips that close around your proffered fingers. His tongue swirls around them, licking off every last trace of Saskia's nectar.

"Good boy," you can't help but murmur, going back to Saskia's needy cunt and wrapping your arms around her thighs. She trembles in your grasp, her body completely at your mercy, keeping a light grip on your hair as you continue your work, her breath coming in sharp gasps. You suction your lips around her bud, thrusting your fingers in and out of her slippery pussy. She cries out, body arching off the sofa, eyes squinting shut. "You're-- so.. good!" she gasps.

"You taste so sweet.. heavens, you're so wet," you murmur.

Saskia moans. "Please don't stop.. almost there.."

"Not gonna stop, not until this pretty pussy comes all over my face," you tell her, still lapping up her juices.

She lets out a strangled gasp, her svelte body tensing.

"That's it, come for me," you coax her.

It's a thing of beauty to watch her come, the way her body seizes up, tenses and releases, her tight little pussy clamping down on your invading fingers. Your clit throbs just watching her, needing your own release. Purring, you lap up every drop of her essence.

Saskia collapses against the sofa, body limp and trembling, breaths coming out in ragged gasps. She looks absolutely wrecked, completely satisfied and disheveled. She leans against Din's shoulder, eyes drifting to his naked lap. "And you," she breathed, "haven't gotten a chance yet."

"He will." You get up, heart pounding as you slowly straddle Din's lap. "Is this okay?" you whisper.

His body is taut, breathing shaky. Despite the cover of his helmet you can feel his eyes burning into you.

"Yes," he whispers hoarsely. "Please."

Your breath hitches as the bulbous head of his dick presses into you. Din trembles with restraint. "Kriff," he groans, voice rough. "You feel so--"

"Oh Din," you moan, slowly bringing yourself down on him.

"More," he utters. "Faster." His grip on your hips is tight, unyielding.

You savor the feel of him, bigger than you'd imagined, filling you, and at his command you move faster, the friction like lightning. His hands move to your thighs, pulling you down on him at his own pace. You cry out his name as he impales you over and over upon his rigid cock, bucking up into your tight channel.

He lifts his helmet again, just enough to reveal his mouth, brushing his lips across your neck, his warm breath on your skin the most intimate thing you've felt. He nips at your throat, stubble scratching against your skin as his mouth traces to your ear.

"I've always wanted this, cyare," he confesses, no longer the timid work partner, wasting no time in pressing his lips to yours, his kiss hungry and desperate, all his pent-up desire pouring into it. Still gripping your thighs he holds you down on him as he devours your mouth. With the entire length of him buried inside you, your cunt twitches around him, needing you or him to move.

You taste Saskia on his tongue, remembering she's still there, sitting close and watching your love play with Din, her hands running lazily over her body.

"Kiss him," you tell her. "Thank him for making you come."

Din keeps his helmet lifted as she gives him a soft, sensual kiss. Thank you seems inadequate for what he's given her tonight, but she says it, a low purr against his pouty pink lips.

He's so good," you murmur as they kiss, his fingers splayed against your ass, grabbing your cheeks as you continue to ride him. Greedily, you join their kiss, your lips and teeth and tongues clashing, a messy kiss indeed, but nothing about this night has been tidy.

He's flustered under your praise, storing the sound of it away for later, blushing and glad you can't see it. "I-- I need--"

"You need to come," you say simply. "But not yet. You made Saskia come, and now it's my turn."

Saskia chuckles, her fingertips trailing his arm. "She's going to completely wreck you, you know that?"

Din lets out a breathless laugh, body tensing as you move on top of him. You pull Saskia in for a kiss as she cups your breast, her other hand traveling to the apex of your thighs. Din watches the two of you, rapt, as she kisses your neck, lips moving down your chest, leaving a trail of soft kisses in their wake.

"You both feel.. so.. good," you moan, moving faster.

Saskia's teeth graze your neck, fingers pressing your clit. You caress her breast, giving her nipple a pinch before lightly swatting the firm flesh, then dipping your fingers into her wetness again.

"Ride my fingers, just like that," you swipe your thumb over her sensitive nub as you ride Din harder. "Want you both to come with me.."

Saskia's tight cunt flutters around your fingers, and Din groans as you pick up the pace.

"Doing so well," you murmur to both of them, Saskia's slick coats your hand. "Fuck yourself on my fingers, baby." You stay still while she does.

"Gods!" Your eyes screw shut tight as you rear back, your climax growing and radiating outward. "I'm coming!" you shout hoarsely as a strong, sweet shudder rocks your world. Saskia follows close behind, clenching as she comes undone on top of your fingers, and Din tenses before he comes deep inside you, thrusting up into you once, twice, thrice as a guttural moan tears from his throat.

Moments later, you chuckle darkly as you're all slumped over together, sweaty, satisfied.

Who knows how long you lay there, in and out of sated, dreamless sleep, until your comm device goes off. Grunting, you lean over Din to rifle through your discarded clothes to find it and stop its incessant beeping. "Damn it," you mutter. "We gotta go." You gently shake his shoulder.

He groans, reluctantly pulling himself from his relaxed, contented sleep. "Is it a client?" he asks. His voice is soft and groggy, making you desire him again.

"Yeah, new bounty. The signal here's choppy, I'm waiting for an image."

Din gets up, sore, and not just from the debauchery with you and Saskia last night, but from the times he'd been shot at, thrown around, and fought in the past few days. "I'll get the ship ready," he grumbles, stretching, reaching to the floor to get his clothes as well. "Hey, she's gone.." he says, puzzled.

You see the spot where Saskia had laid with you, now empty, as if she'd never existed.

"Where did she go?" Din asks.

You smile at his naivete. "I don't think she didn't want to say goodbye."

Once you're dressed and ready to go, your comm device beeps again, the signal strong enough to provide an image to go along with your new bounty.

"You've gotta be kidding me," you mutter in disbelief.

He snaps his head towards you, knowing that tone in your voice. "What?"

You almost laugh, showing him the image sent to you. "Take a look at our new target."

It's Saskia.

dividers by @firefly-graphics 👑

tagging those who showed interest in my snippet last week: @rivnedell @the-mandawhor1an @notjustjavierpena @evolnoomym @woopeingg @ice-echo26

[sun-undone]

okay so i'm rereading the poppy war for the sole purpose of trying to squeeze all the chaltan content i can get out of it and my god is it delivering already

this first one is something that i completely breezed past in my first reading cause i didn't even know who tf chaghan was yet but on a reread????? GAY (pg. 226):

you're telling me that chaghan and altan just happened to be together when chaghan felt tyr's death? in the middle of the night??? mmhmm yup for sure

now as willing as i am to fully chalk this up to a late night chaltan tryst, i will be fair and admit that i'm not super clear on how exactly chaghan got the tyr info here. it kinda seems like he's doing his monthly meeting with the hexagram goddess (in the dialogue he literally says "there has been a hexagram" and then he interprets 3 things from it), but first off, it seems too coincidental for him to just happen to be doing that at the very moment that tyr dies, and also why tf is he doing it in the middle of the night?? is he just being extra dramatic and making up some "we have to do it at midnight" bullshit to see what he can get away with (a la the infamous kitay horse piss incident) or is there an in universe explanation for that that i've completely forgotten?

OR is it a secret, gayer third option: altan and chaghan were already together when he felt tyr's death, which then prompted him to convene with the goddess and get the hexagram. and we just don't see the full process or really get much of a proper explanation cause we're in altan's pov and it's all mysterious and shit at this point in the book. that's the one i'm going with and i cannot believe that this is their first scene together. the intimacy is already so palpable and we don't even know chaghan's name at this point in the book.

and then of course there's THIS (pg. 227):

absolutely fucking bonkers i'm spinning on my head

is anyone else this gentle with altan ever????? i'm genuinely asking. who else in the cike would even THINK about pulling a move like this? also the added layer of chaghan originally being next in line for commander before altan took him out to the fucking valley for THREE WHOLE DAYS and then THIS is his reaction to altan officially inheriting said title??? we know from a later conversation that chaghan has with rin (pg. 337) that he's very aware of how unprepared altan was to assume leadership over the cike, which just makes this gesture from him even more meaningful and tender. "we are yours to command. i am yours."

this next one just made me giggle and idk if it's just my brain being broken from scouring source material for gay crumbs or if it's actually intentional but (pg. 285):

i mean. i mean. if anyone knows the extent of chaltan, it's most definitely qara, and a lot of these crumbs involve her so i'm taking it as more evidence and no one can stop me

speaking of qara being an icon (pg. 317):

i actually forgot how much she's in this book i am so sorry queen

so unegen also has a strong reaction to ramsa's dialogue, but if i may be incredibly nitpicky about it, i'd argue that qara snorting implies a sense of "yeah right now that's funny", while unegen spitting out his wine implies more pure shock than anything else. i'm sure the cike have some idea about chaghan and altan's relationship going deeper than meets the eye (if it's this obvious from the crumbs we get over the span of a handful of scenes i can only imagine how sick and tired they must be after an entire year of it), but once again, qara is likely the only one who really KNOWS. for obvious reasons.

then we have the iconic dramatic entrance where chaghan is officially introduced, and even before zooming into a specific piece of it to prove my chaltan agenda, just the very existence of this scene is so fucking insane to me. rebecca could've chosen any way to properly introduce us to chaghan, and this is what she decided on. you could argue that it sets up chaghan's dramatic and obnoxiously proud personality, and that him being hurt is so we can see how it affects qara (and also just to up the tension and stakes) BUT how coincidental that on top of achieving all that character and narrative stuff, it also succeeds in showing us a completely different side to altan. one that is specifically brought about by chaghan.

would altan rush out into a sea of federation soldiers to help any other member of the cike? yes. but rebecca chose to show him helping THIS member of the cike. in THIS dramatic of a fashion (and it's literally on a horse like that is so fractured fairytale romance of her actually). and it's also the aftermath that really clues us into something deeper between him and chaghan in particular (pg. 373):

along with qara, who is SOUL BONDED TO CHAGHAN BY THE WAY, altan is screaming at him for being reckless and how he could've gotten himself killed. intentionally or not, rebecca is clearly aligning altan and qara here, and i LOVE how it's shown in the way their dialogue is formatted. you don't even know who is saying which fragment. they are one in the same when it comes to the level in which they care about chaghan's wellbeing. and also when it comes to yelling at him for being an idiot! and if that's not love then idk what is

[big-mean-trans-dyke]

Kidnapping two gold star, absolutely cock repulsed TERFs. Disgusted by cock. Trauma, panic attacks, the whole thing. And chaining them on opposite sides of the basement.

Once they've had enough time to get to know each other, coming down, and letting them know they're enemies now. Every day, I'll come down, and each of them will try to convince me to use the other. It'll start easy, I'll just masturbate in front of one of them. I pick the loser, jerk my cock in front of her, kicking her when she looks away or closes her eyes, until I cum on the ground, inches from where she's chained.

The next day, it's a little worse. I'll take the loser's chained up hand and use it to jerk myself off this time. Unfortunately, it's the same girl again. And the same girl the next day, when I rub my cock all over her face. And the next, when the ring gag comes out and I use her mouth, careful to cum on her tongue. Of course, their arguing and pleading is completely meaningless, I know every morning before I go in I'll be raping the same one, but they sure don't. Finally, the day comes. I let them know whoever loses today will be getting a nice, deep creampie.

And so, when that same girl 'loses' again, I walk over, unchain her, and manhandle her onto the ground, face against dirty concrete, ass up in the air, and I finally steal that gold star from her. I fuck her hard, I spit on her, I smack her ass. And then, finally, I empty my balls in her, stand up, and leave. I guess I must have 'forgotten' to chain her back up again, though.

I give her plenty of time to work out her frustration before I 'realize my mistake' and walk back in, giving myself a couple minutes to enjoy the way she's beating her rival, still chained up where she'd always been chained up, before I pull her off the poor girl, pin her to the ground, and look at the beaten, shaking victim. She nods enthusiastically when I ask whether the girl that'd just beaten the shit out of her deserves to be punished, and gets to watch as I cuff her arms and legs, spread her cheeks, and rape her anal virginity away too.

The next morning, I finally decide it's time for the grande finale. When I walk down to the basement, The two of them are already glaring at each other. I'd heard them screaming at each other all night. So when I let them know this time will be worse than any of the others, each of them gets a glimmer of fear, quickly swallowed up by sadistic glee as they imagine watching what the other is about to go through.

And this time, I get to savour the disbelief, the sudden breaking, of the second girl, as I pick her this morning. And I turn to the girl I've been raping all week, who'd pounced on her and beaten her the previous day, and tell her she'll be in charge today. Whatever she does, I'll do to the girl who's been 'in charge' of her torment the whole week. She gets a full 8 hours.

She doesn't need to know whatever she chooses to make me do, she'll be getting tomorrow.

[sixhours]

i know you by heart - chapter 1

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Prospect, Joel Miller x Ezra, Joel & Ellie, Ezra & Cee, Joel is bad at feelings and relationships, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), mostly follows canon after season 1, SMUT, gay sex, bisexual!Joel, period-typical homophobia, light angst, romance, age gap (~10ish years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

“Tell me again how it happened.”

It’s a standoff in the kitchen. Ellie’s face, flushed and furious, twists in a pout. Joel grips the back of a dining chair with one tight fist.

One week. It’s been one fucking week since school started, and Ellie has already come home with the pink slip of all pink slips.

“She tried to take my pen. Twice.”

“And?”

“So I…I took my knife out…”

“Uh-huh.”

 “...and I stabbed it into her desk…”

Joel winces.

“...and I told her if she tried that shit again I’d do the same to her fucking finger.”

“Ellie–”

“It’s not my fucking fault no one taught her to keep her hands to herself!”

“I know, and she–she shouldn’t have done that, Ellie, but you can’t just–”

“It’s not like I actually stabbed someone, Joel!”

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter, kid. You can’t–you can’t do that shit here. This ain’t FEDRA. There’s no hole. Keep it up and they’re liable to put us outside the damn wall.”

“Tommy wouldn’t–“

“He doesn’t run this place. An’ Maria’s already on my ass about…everythin’.”

“Maybe we should leave, then,” she huffs.

“You don’t mean that.”

“We made out okay. We could do it again.”

“Ellie,” his voice softens. He draws his palms down his face. The start of a headache pulses behind his eyes. “Look, I know it’s…different. But we’re here now. We gotta make do.”

Four months in Jackson. Four months since he shot his way out of a hospital in Salt Lake City and carried the unconscious girl to safety. Four months since she asked for the truth and he told her the whopper of all lies instead.

When he thinks about it that way, things are going about as well as he has any right to expect.

He’d hoped going to school would give her some structure, that she’d make a few friends, but so far, every morning has been a trudge, every night a standoff. When she’s not clinging to his side like a lost lamb or waking from nightmares to crawl into his bed, she’s hurling sharp words and slamming doors and stomping around.

Months on the road together, but he’s never seen her so goddamn bratty.

He’s taking a lot of deep breaths. He’s counting to ten. He’s trying not to see the judgmental frowns from his sister-in-law when Ellie storms out of a family gathering or calls him an asshole at the caf in front of the whole fuckin’ town.

She’s never had the space to act out, he reminds himself. She’s never been fed enough, warm enough, safe enough, loved enough, and he gets the brunt of her anger. The way Sarah would come home after a long day at school and turn into a grouchy wildebeest for him after being an angel for her teachers.

It’s normal, he tells himself on the worst nights. Ellie’s making up for fourteen years of repression.

But he’s tired and she’s strumming his last nerve like it’s a fuckin’ guitar.

She’s holding out another note, this one hand-written and co-signed by members of the council. He notes Maria’s signature at the top with some disdain.

“Counseling,” Joel sighs, skimming it. “Mandated. Twelve weeks.”

“You’re not really gonna make me go, are you? C’mon, man, it’s a death sentence!”

“Hardly. You’re lucky they didn’t suspend you.”

“I wish they had. Then I wouldn’t have to go to that stupid fucking school.”

“Ellie–”

“I hate it here,” she spits out. Her lower lip trembles and he has to look away, eking out a tight breath.

“Yeah, kid. I know. But you gotta give it a chance.”

“I did, and it sucks.”

“You’re not giv–”

“Going to my room,” she huffs, already moving for the stairs. 

“You need to eat first,” he says, gritting his teeth when she rolls her eyes. “And you’re grounded.”

Those words have never come out of his mouth. He doesn’t even know what being grounded looks like in this day and age.

“What?! Joel–”

“You heard me,” he says, making it up as he goes. “Two weeks. You’re back here every night after your assignments. No wanderin’ around with your friends.”

“Lucky for me I don’t have any fucking friends.”

“That ain’t–“

“This is bullshit,” she seethes, then turns on her heel and stomps up the stairs.

“Damnit, Ellie, you need to eat–”

“I’m not hungry!”

The door at the top of the stairs slams shut, ending the conversation and leaving Joel to collapse into a chair with his face in his hands.

“Yeah,” he mutters to himself. “Yeah, this is bullshit.”

One week later she’s sulking over breakfast at the house.

“The guy wants to talk to you,” she says through a mouthful of eggs.

“‘The guy’? And close your mouth when you chew.”

Ellie wrinkles her nose, opening her mouth wide to show him her half-chewed breakfast, a move that’s painfully reminiscent of a different time, a different kid.

“I told you at dinner. The counselor guy.”

He frowns. “It’s a guy?”

She rolls her eyes. “And women can even be doctors! Dude, you are so old .”

“S’not what I meant, smartass,” he mutters. “I just…I know you’ve had some, uh…issues with…guys.”

Since Silver Lake , he doesn’t say.

“Only the creepy ones,” she says, stabbing a piece of potato. “Ezra’s not creepy. He’s, like, cool. He has a huge record collection.”

“Uh-huh. An’ he needs to see me why?”

“I don’t fucking know, dude. Unlike you, I didn’t give him the third degree.”

He bites his tongue. “Alright. When?”

“Before school. Today.”

Joel looks at the clock, then back at Ellie. 7:50 .

“So we need to go…right now,” he mutters, draining his coffee and gathering his dishes to put them in the sink. “Thanks for the notice.”

“I told you last night! Not my fault you’re deaf.”

Admittedly, she’d talked a lot at dinner last night. Mostly about how some kid named Dina was a jerk who deserved to have her finger taken off for being a ‘fucking klepto’ with her pen. But he’d been so tired and the headache behind his eyes won’t give him a rest.

“Alright, let’s go,” he sighs. “Don’t forget your bag.”

They step out into the streets of Jackson on a mild September morning. It’s the rush hour–if a town of a few hundred can be said to have a rush hour–with shift changes on the wall and everyone off to their assigned duties. They pass familiar faces; neighbors Joel still doesn’t have names for, kids he recognizes from Ellie’s school who give them a wide berth. Joel hunches inward, following the maroon cast of her sweatshirt through clusters of Jackson residents.

“You don’t have a brother, do you?” she says out of the blue.

“You know I do,” he frowns.

“No duh. But you don’t have another brother, right?”

“Not that I’m aware of, kid.”

“Like, what if your dad had a secret family–”

“Christ, where do you come up with this stuff?”

“C’mon, it can happen! I just–I wondered–”

“What the heck are you gettin' at, kid? Spit it out.”

“It’s nothin’,” she says, but there’s a weird little smile on her face. “You’ll see.” 

She leads him to the little house at the other end of town and knocks on the blue door. Ellie keeps looking up at him with the same funny smirk.

A dark-eyed man answers, peering through the screen. Dark, fitted T-shirt, slim black jeans. Younger than Joel by at least ten years, probably more, with a wide smile and messy black-brown curls with an odd streak of white at his temple.

He looks like a fuckin’ punk.

“Hi, Ezra,” Ellie says breezily. “This is Joel.”

“Hello, young prodigy,” he smiles, drawling in a southern accent that Joel can’t quite place. “Come in, come in both of you…join me in my humble abode.”

He leads them inside and to the right, to a little den just off the entry. It’s a snug office with a couch and chair, a coffee table in the center, and bookshelves lining the walls on either side. A record player sits on a podium in one corner.

Joel puts out his hand, realizing too late the other man isn’t able to reciprocate, lacking an arm with which to do so. Ellie watches with a smug smirk, lips twitching a little as Joel drops his right hand and fumbles through a handshake with his left. He shoots her a glare.

Couldn’t have mentioned that?

She shrugs, feigning a wide-eyed innocence, then looks between the two men with a kind of manic glee, as if waiting for something.

“...what?” Joel finally asks.

“You don’t see it?” She gestures to the other man.

“I don’t–”

“Jeez, I know you’re deaf but I didn’t think you were blind, too,” she groans. “He looks like you! If you weren’t, like, ancient.”

Joel’s face flushes as Ezra tries to hide a smile behind his hand.

“Enough of that, you little shi–smartypants,” Joel mutters.

“I suspect your young prodigy here gets the sense we might be of blood relation based on a similar, uh, distinguished profile.”

“That’s not, uh…that’s not possible, kid.”

“I agree,” Ezra says smoothly. “The universe is rife with serendipitous occurrences, and I do believe that’s what we have here. The mind is a funny thing. We see what we want to see, Ellie.”

“Seriously?!”

“Your dad here–”

“He’s not my dad,” Ellie corrects automatically. Joel can’t help but feel a pang of indignation at the speed with which she pipes up.

“My apologies,” Ezra murmurs. “I stand corrected. This is your…?”

“He’s just Joel.”

“Of course, gem. Just Joel,” Ezra smiles in his direction. “So I asked your Joel here to ensure you understood what we’re doing. As your guardian, Joel needs to be an integral part of this process.”

“Yeah, ‘bout that–what exactly are we doin’ again?” Joel asks.

“I suspect your young prodigy here is finding the adjustment to life in Jackson a bit…finicky. I’m here to help ease that transition in whatever way I can.”

“You can start by telling the other kids to stop fucking touching my stuff,” Ellie adds.

“Christ, Ellie–”

Ezra holds up his hand, cutting off Joel’s growl and addressing the girl. “Let’s not get weighted down by the minutiae of the situation we find ourselves in, gem. Suffice it to say, we have some work to do, and we need to do it cooperatively.”

Ellie crosses her arms and huffs, but Ezra’s easy manner seems to soothe something in the girl.

“Now that you’ve delivered your…Joel…to me, he and I are going to have a little tête-à-tête . Nothing damning, just the facts. And you, if I’m not mistaken, will be late to school.”

He leans down to scribble something on a notepad, then hands it to Ellie. “Give this to your teacher.”

“You go straight to school an’ home after chores,” Joel adds, watching the late slip disappear into the pocket of Ellie’s jeans. “You’re still grounded, ‘member?”

“Like you’d let me forget,” she mutters, trudging out the door, leaving it cracked slightly.

They hear the front door open and shut, but Ezra holds up one finger, watching the entry with sly eyes.

Wait.

Joel catches his drift.

“Ellie,” he says.

“Aw, c’mon, man,” she grumbles from the entry. “If you’re gonna talk about me, I should get to hear it.”

“We’re not going to talk about you, gem,” Ezra says. “But this is a private conversation between your esteemed guardian and myself. Please give us your discretion and make haste.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Ezra goes to the office door and gently shuts it. Suddenly closed in the small room with a stranger, Joel feels a familiar but unwelcome prickle of fear take root. It’s the same feeling that has him sleeping with a gun under his mattress and locking his door at night, despite Tommy’s assurances that Jackson is safe as houses.

Without thinking, he reaches for his holster–the holster that isn’t there, because he doesn’t wear it unless he’s on patrol, because Jackson is a community and not the fucking QZ. It’s a subtle tic, but Ezra notices.

“We can open it if you’d prefer to partake of the fresh air.”

Joel swallows his fear with a dollop of shame. “S’fine.”

Ezra nods. “Have a seat if you like.”

He takes the chair across the small room, considering Joel through thick lashes. His face is kind, but something about the man’s gaze leaves Joel uneasy, like a bug under a magnifying glass. There’s a warm, simmering coil of tension in his gut that he can’t place.

Indigestion , Joel decides. Too much coffee.

He settles on the couch, old cushions and springs protesting, then leans forward on his knees, glancing around.

“You, uh…you like music?” he says, gesturing to the shelves of vinyl just behind Ezra.

“I do,” he says. “I was fortunate to find this sizable collection in the attic upon being assigned a house. I’ve added to it as I find new treasures to trade. And you?”

“Huh?”

“Do you enjoy music, Joel?”

“Uh, sure, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his lips self-consciously. “Play a little here and there. Guitar.”

Ezra’s face lights up. “Ah! A musician!”

“Hardly.”

“Speaking as one who can’t carry a tune in a bucket, color me impressed.”

The office window is wide open, a cool autumn breeze floating through and rifling the other man’s already unruly hair, but a deep heat has settled at the base of Joel’s neck and the room suddenly feels like a hot summer’s day.

He clears his throat. “So, uh…Ellie says you’re a counselor?”

“Indeed.”

“An’ you have, uh, qualifications? Somethin’ that says you’re the man for the job?”

Ezra grins at this. “I know I don’t look the part of the sage, and I can appreciate your frank concern. I do have some experience in this area, surprising as that may be. Before the outbreak, I was a Master’s student in clinical psychology. Although I didn’t get much opportunity to practice for reasons that should be quite obvious.”

“Right.”

“The fine folks of Jackson have been kind enough to give me a place and a profession that suits my abilities. I’m not much use drawing a plow or riding a horse, I’m afraid,” Ezra continues, nodding to his right shoulder.

“But before we proceed, I should like to understand your expectations and to set a few of my own. For one, I’m not here to play Freud. And I’m hardly qualified to make a diagnosis of any sort,” he continues. “A diagnosis isn’t worth a damn in this day and age, and I suspect you’d agree.”

Joel bites his lip. “Look, uh, I’ll be honest. Last time I set foot in a place like this, it did jack shit and ended in a divorce. So you’ll forgive me if I ain’t entirely comfortable with my…with Ellie…comin’ in here and talkin’ your ear off.”

“Trust that you are not the first to express concern or have a, let’s say, downright suspicious quality about this particular practice. But I hope you’ll humor me when I say that I, like you, only want what is best for Ellie. She’s a bright girl, that one. Very perceptive.”

Joel huffs softly. “Too damn smart for her own good sometimes.”

This elicits a tiny smile, leaving Joel worried he’s spoken too harshly.

“But she’s a good kid,” he adds quickly. “A really…good kid.”

Ezra nods. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I think she could benefit from the ear of a friend. As I said, she’s bright. I wanted to try to get a clearer picture of her through your eyes. Your family dynamic, if you will. I take it there’s no Mrs. Joel? Or…Mr. Joel?”

Joel snorts. “Just me an’ her.”

“And she’s adopted?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Joel murmurs, scratching his chin. “We, uh…I had a job to move her out here. From Boston. Was supposed to find, uh…her relatives…but that didn’t work out and my brother, Tommy, gave us a place here.”

Ezra nods but doesn’t say anything further. He sprawls in the chair, legs spread, almost slouched, one forearm draped over the side. Relaxed but intent, eyebrows drawn together with an unspoken question. Joel swallows, finding his mouth suddenly dry.

“You, uh, need to write this down or anythin’?” Joel coughs, gesturing to the notepad on the coffee table in front of them.

Ezra shakes his head, smiling slightly. “No…no, we’re just having a conversation. No need to put it on the record for now. So…Boston to Jackson. That must have been quite the excursion.”

“You could say that.”

“I expect it wasn’t exactly uneventful?”

“No,” Joel says, almost too quickly. “No, it was, uh…she went through a lot. Stuff no kid should have to see…to do. You’ll have to ask her about it, though. S’not my place to talk for her.”

“I intend to do that,” Ezra nods. “I look forward to getting to know her over the next twelve weeks. And hopefully beyond, if she’ll give me the chance.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Joel mutters. “She’s a bit…gunshy. Especially around, uh, men. Even Tommy…she can’t be alone with him, an’ he’s about as tame as they come.”

“But she feels safe with you?”

“Think so. I mean, I’m all she had for months…out there,” he shrugs. “But that went both ways. We’re prob’ly what you shrinks call, uh…codependent.”

Ezra nods, voice softening. “A little codependency can mean the difference between life or death in a difficult time. And I imagine it’s been an adjustment…all this. I know we–I–found it difficult at first. Even the thickest of walls aren’t enough if we don’t feel truly safe in the heart and mind.”

Joel bites his lip. “Yeah…yeah. It’s different.”

“And how about you, Joel?”

“How ‘bout me what?”

“You’ve been through a similar ordeal, I presume, traveling together. And now you find yourself the unexpected father figure to a dynamic and spirited young lady–”

Joel bites back a scoff. “This ain’t about me.”

Ezra shrugs. “I don’t mean to pry, and you’re free to pass on anything you don’t feel comfortable answering, of course. I’m just trying to build a picture in the interest of aiding my work with Ellie.”

The temptation to pass is strong, but that heat in his gut is still there, a distraction loosening his tongue. 

“Yeah, I guess it’s, uh…it’s been a lot. For both of us, but mostly her,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “She’s not used to havin’ someone in her corner. She’s…she was an orphan…before.”

He sighs, allowing himself to sink back into the couch cushions, shoulders loosening a fraction.

“I told her not to bring that damn knife to school in the first place,” he says, glancing down at his broken watch. “But she needed it when we were on the road. She’s prob’ly needed it all her damn life. Seems wrong to ask her to give that up when we’ve only been here a few months. Not that she’s s’posed to be waving it around at folks, or…y’know.”

“Mmm,” he says. “Well, I don’t intend to lay blame here. Raising a child…alone…comes with its fair share of hardships and trials. Regardless, it’s a noble endeavor, to take one into your care.”

He snorts. “Think she’s done more to take care of me than the other way around.”

“If I may be so bold…I suspect you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

“I’m sure she’ll tell you,” Joel says drily. “Kid’s not one to hold back.”

Ezra grins. “I sensed as much.”

He stands, offering his hand, and Joel takes it. The man’s grip is firm and warm and the memory of his touch lingers on Joel’s skin long after he’s left. That warm flare in his gut throbs, a not-unpleasant heat licking gently at the base of his spine, and he finally places it.

It’s been so damn long since he’s felt that particular burn, being on the road for months, never safe, never alone given Ellie’s constant companionship. There was probably a time or two in his early days with Tess when he found himself surprised by desire, but it was easily smothered, tamed, wrested into submission.

That night, Joel tosses and turns and finally gives into the low-level arousal that’s plagued him all damn day, palming himself roughly through his sweats until he’s fully hard.

He imagines Ezra’s eyes on him, watching, remembers the feel of the man’s skin against his palm. He bites back a groan of pleasure when he eases his waistband over his cock and takes himself out, allowing his grip to tighten and find a familiar, easy rhythm. He can’t get the younger man’s voice out of his head, that low, rumbling baritone, so oddly soothing.

He presses his face into the pillow to muffle the sound when he comes.

[whoiwanttoday]

I've been through a lot of breakups in my life. This isn't shocking given I am innately unloveable and quite frankly a lot to deal with. Probably the closest I ever got to warm feelings post break up was, "I love you but I am exhausted". Totally fair, I can barely handle me most days and I don't have a choice in the matter, so I get how it's too much for someone else. I remember a fight with that ex and at some point me uttering the phrase, "Oh, like it's my fault your friends suck". Guys, I am here to tell you that did not de-escalate the situation like you might expect. No one likes it when you're absolutely right in an argument. Anyway, I think about these things sometimes because I think we all often try to look for meaning in things that don't necessarily inherently have it. That's because we kind of need major events to be about us because the other option is soul crushing. Like, if my heart is ripped out and torn in two I sure would like to think it's about me rather than not actually about me at all and instead I am just an incidental casualty because not only is life cruel and random I am not that important. I mean, look, Hamlet was miserable but at least they named the play after him, we'd all rather be the star than the attending lord who exists to swell the progress of a scene or two. Those guys got their heads cut off and didn't get their own play for centuries.

My therapist says dwelling on this stuff isn't great for me but I always feel like she's being kind of smug, like she's so fucking smart. You're not the only analyst in the room, lady, I went to college too but I don't sit in an office analyzing poetry at people to show off that fact, even though I once wrote about the Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock and my teacher not only told me how good it was but that I had a real 'knack' for analyzing poetry and she would really like to help me explore that more if I wanted. And while I am at it an insecure person would read the knack in quotes and think the whole thing was sarcastic but I know it was because she didn't believe in knacks but through hard work and didn't want to diminish that. Tricks on her, I wrote that paper in one sitting the night before because I do have a knack for using a lot of words to get to something. It really can pull the wool over someone's eyes for a few semesters but at the end of the day eventually runs thin and people tire of your charm, thus the many break ups. Which brings us full circle and that's how you do this nonsense, you fill up a lot of space sort of talking about nothing but if you can turn a phrase with a little skill people will be distracted long enough and I am bringing that up today because I don't actually have anything new to say about Sydney Sweeney but that's the whole point, do I ever really? No, not really but this is how you drag all that out and fill a page and she has me thinking about all this because I am thinking about someone who doesn't like her very much but used to like me and now probably has forgotten I existed. Which is vague but that's how it works sometimes, but I promise you that's a second full circle. They're not concentric, the both intersect at the start. Today I want to fuck Sydney Sweeney.

[pacifymebby]

t r o u b l e / chapter thirty five

Isaiah

I sat beside Bonnie on a deep red leather sofa in Tommy's office. The younger lad didn't exactly look uncomfortable to be here but I could tell he wasn't so used to long afternoons of knitted brows and Arthur Shelby's fucking pacing. I wondered if he knew the extent to which the trouble Tommy had called us in to discuss really stretched. The roots to which the rot had already penetrated.

When he'd first called everyone in for a debrief the office had been packed. Everyone had answered his middle of the night call to arms, his brothers and his right hand men, the travellers who had arrived in a steady flow throughout the night until there were caravans and trucks littering the lane like a steady flowing river all the way up the road to arrow house. Everyone had stacked into the office to listen to him. The bringer of bad news. He'd talked of the vendetta, the war about to waged not only upon his family but any family honest enough to honour their bond with the Shelby's.

I'd stood behind my father in his chair and listened to grave retelling of the hit on Arthur and John. I'd seen the photographs taken of Michael in his barely alive condition. I'd swallowed a lump when Polly had teared up, when she'd had to lean on Arthur to hold herself up straight. I'd stood by and listened as Tommy doled out orders to each and every man. No one left unaccounted for. No one without a role to play. I'd nodded to my father when Tommy had patted him on the shoulder, shown him the sign of the cross and sent him away. I'd watched everyone else leave until only myself and Bonnie Gold remained.

"Sit down lads," said Tommy, "make yourselves at home it's gonna be a long night." He'd met my gaze with a quiet look of confirmation, as if to tell me 'I know what you're thinking and you're right.'

I knew what was coming next. Knew enough about the wayward Fens who had all but abandoned the family and rejected the name Shelby. All but forgotten their darker roots. The Fens who went by the name Gray these days and who spent their lives wrapped up in luxury, all grace and class.

I'd known then just what it was he had in mind for us. Not Bonnie though, he was sitting there, quite comfortably, one arm outstretched along the back of the sofa, taking in his surroundings with that quiet smirk he so often seemed to wear. We'd always gotten along, me and Bonnie, but I'd always known we were cut from a completely different cloth. "As you know I'm bringing the whole family in until I've deciphered exactly what and who is threatening us, the Changrettas and Z

Sabinis have declared war on me and my blood and until we know exactly how to fight it i want everyone who may be at risk right where I can see them... Now, Arthur's gone to fetch Ada and the kid back up from London, and when she gets here I'm sure she'll give me hell for dragging her back, but I'm not really worried about Ada. She's a sensible lass and she knows the risks that come with the Shelby name, she's seen enough shit to take all this seriously and she won't want any harm to come to little Karl so I expect that once she's said her piece she'll toe the line..." When he paused he took a sip of whiskey and he smirked.

"But, the same cannot be said for my other little sisters.." He sighed and I couldn't help but chuckle as he poured a glass for me and one for Bonnie.

"Why do I get the feeling whatever you're about to ask us is gonna require more than a sip of whiskey Mr Shelby..." Smirked Bonnie, his cheeky smile not quite matching up to the grey trouble in his eyes. He wasn't naive.

"Drink up soldier." I said with a dry smirk which did little to ease the tension rising in the room.

The Fens didn't have a lot to do with their brothers or the family in general, I'd grown up in the bossom of the Shelby's, half raised by Aunt Polly myself and still only seen those girls a handful of times. The last of those times being when little Sonya and Sylvia Shelby were 11 years old in ballet frocks, still small enough that they could sit one on each of John's hips, their hair in little french plaits, still so similar you couldn't tell who was who.

I'd seen them since of course, it wasn't as if they'd been forgotten about by their family and their Aunt Pol was so proud of them that whenever a new video, a new photograph emerged online of them on the stage she'd make sure everyone saw it at least ten times. They cropped up in the Rags often enough too, the primadonnas with mafia ties, dainty little socialites with all their sophisticated talents, whose money came from drugs, murder and all kinds of corruption. If one of us ever made an appearance in court, if one of us ever got caught up in another violent clash, if we were photographed leaving a notorious club in the wrong end of town, you could almost guarantee that some lowlife pap had done their best to get a photo of the delicate ballerinas in distress somewhere outside their school or the theatres.

As they'd gotten older they'd done their best to distance yourself, but how far can you ever really get from the Shelby shadow. And they were, after all, their brothers sisters. As children they'd been tearaways and if there was one thing I'd learned knowing Ada as well as I did, it was that the wildness is never quite tamed. The Shelby curse never skips a generation.

No, I might not have known them so well, but I knew enough to know that Bonnie was right. If Tommy was about to ask us to guard his little sister's, I was gonna need more than a swig of whiskey to temper me through the trouble they would cause.

"Isaiah, you'll remember the Fens," said Tommy, "so I'm sure you can answer our lads questions eh?" He was smirking and I could tell he was holding back not for my sake but for Bonnie's. "No," he said then, cracking a wider grin, "no, Sonya's quite tame, emotional but tame," he said but the look in his eyes told us both he wasn't finished. "To be quite candid with you boys I haven't spoken to my little sisters for a long time, and perhaps I don't know them quite as well as I would like to now but, they made it very clear a long time ago that that was the way it was to be. They won't want to come home, in fact I should imagine this house is the last place they'd think to call home these days, sorry as that seems," I knew he'd added that for Bonnie's benefit, because Bonnie's family were tight, because he'd been raised much like Tommy, to value family above all else. "But circumstances have changed and so home they must come... And when they get here they're under your care, I want you to stick to them like glue, never a second out of your sight. It's like I said, I don't know them half as well as I should and so, I can't trust them half as much as I would like... I don't know that they'll listen to us or believe us when we tell them of the threats hanging over their heads, we've always done our best to keep them out of the family business and so, as much as I'm sure they'd like to believe they understand what we do, they don't. They don't know anything, don't understand the dangers... They're far more vulnerable than I'd like to believe, a mistake of my own making I'm sure, and I'm not gonna be around all the time to keep them safe. Can't guarantee my brother's will be here either. That's why I need you two to keep and eye on them... More than that I need you to look after them like you would your own sisters."

"Course Tommy," I said, nodding, saving my words because the gravity of the situation was looming and I could see the devotion in his eyes. There was a fear there he didn't often show, a grave shadow in his eyes.

"I know they haven't been around for a long time, don't even call themselves Shelby anymore, but theyre still family and they're fucking precious, so you keep them safe... No matter what happens that's you're priority from here on out, don't give a fuck what you have to risk for them, don't give a fuck if you put your own life on the line... Those girls come first alright?"

"Understood Mr Shelby." Nodded Bonnie, a grave look in his own eyes now as he watched the floor, slight downward turn of his head, thoughtful. We looked the same then, with our caps shadowing our eyes. The two of us taking it in, bearing the weight cast upon our shoulders.

"Now there's another matter too, should the worst happen..."

"Ain't gonna happen Tom..." I started, teeth gritted because I recognised the doom in his voice.

"Should the worst happen..." He reiterated, "and we lose this war, if someone gets a hit on me or any of my brothers, if you can see the dominoes begin to fall..."

Bonnie had had his hand in his pocket until now but as Tommy's tone took a darker tone his hand wandered and his fingers stroked his chin and then the back of his neck. He had a faraway look in his eyes and I wondered what depressive imagery was shadowing his mind in that moment. Forced myself not to think about it, knew I couldn't afford to let those kinds of thoughts in.

"If me and my brothers fall I want you to get those girls as far away from here as you can... You make sure they live and you keep your duty to this family, to me, for as long as they live..." If I'd had any doubt in my mind about Tommy's ability to survive anything then it would have been an unreasonable request. But I didn't. So I didn't pay it any mind. Just nodded my head and swore on my life without a second thought. Telling myself it wouldn't matter anyway. Because the war wouldn't last more than a week or two. Because we would come out on top the way we always did.

"It won't come to it Tommy," I said, "but you have my word."

"And mine," said Bonnie a moment later before he rested his chin in the L of his thumbs, hands pressed palm to palm as if in prayer. And perhaps that's what he was doing. I knew I had the urge to return to my father's church and kneel at the alter in that moment. Ask someone to watch over us. Because Tommy hadn't told us the half of it and I knew it. The love which ran deep for those girls. He probably never would express the true extent of the depth to which he cherished them, vulnerable as that would make him. But I knew it because I'd heard the stories and I saw the truth of them now in his eyes when he spoke of them. How the twins had been with their mother the morning she'd passed. How they'd been the last to see her living. How they'd been carried home by their Uncle Charlie, too young to understand what they'd seen. How the brothers would never say it, but always saw their mother in them. As if they were the last connection to her, as if they carried her weathered wild soul with them now. I knew that when Tommy told us we were to die for them if we had to, he was telling us he would die for them too. Knew that if he could he would in a heartbeat. I looked to my left, to Bonnie with his troubled water expression and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he gazed, taciturn, at the legs of Tommy's desk. I wondered how much of those stories he had heard over the years. Wondered whether he knew the weight he now carried on his back. "Now, Bonnie, I've decided you're to take care of Sonya and Isaiah you'll have Sylvia... I don't expect they'll be particularly charmed by this arrangement, but you're canny lads... I'm sure you'll manage.."

And for a moment I'd thought he was finished. He said goodnight to Bonnie, gave him one final piece of advice - told him the girls had forgotten their gypsy roots, told him it might do Sonya good to remember - and then he'd sent him on his way. Told him to rest up, he'd need it.

I'd expected him to say the same to me but he didn't. Instead he had kept me behind a little longer. "Forgive me for sparing the lad the gory details," he nodded to the door Bonnie had just left through, "but I didn't think it'd do any good to worry him... You however, you already know the twins..."

"Hardly Tommy, last time I saw em they were this tall..." I said with a smirk, trying to chuckle though it was hard to conjor amusement.

"So just as well as the rest of us then," he smirked along, "all the same Isaiah, there's rumours going round London about our girls and I don't yet know the truth of em, however the Fens have their mother in their blood so I wouldn't be surprised to learn there's some truth in them..."

"Can't be that bad surely, what trouble can you cause at ballet school eh?" I wasn't sure I should be joking but my uneasy grin was the best I could manage in that moment when I didn't know the severity of their situation.

"I'd hate to think we underestimate them."

"So, lay it on me then, I'll brace myself..."

"Rumours going round that my baby sister Sonya's been in bed with the enemy..." I couldn't hide the surprise from my eyes then, looking back at him with raised brows, trying not to wear my nervous smirk.

"Sonya?" I asked, "fuckin an Italian?" "Freddie Sabini to be exact..." Said Tommy, sucking his cheek in before pouring another drink. "Theres talk of Sylvia getting herself into trouble too, but those rumours are far more vague..." It was the way he shook his head that concerned me, the memory of the girl I'd once known that left a bad taste in my mouth.

The way I remembered them Sylvia had always been the softer girl, a little quieter, a little more pensive, wild like a Shelby with the woodlands in her soul for certain, but frail. Sonya had always been more starlet, more optimistic. There'd always been something melancholy about her sister.

"Our men in London tell me she looks sick, tell me she spends all hours of the night out in Solomons' territory. Course she's safe there, but I don't like the thought of it..."

"Naturally." I swallowed, tried to imagine what those men might mean when they said "sick." "What kind of sick Tommy?" I asked though I'd seen her on Instagram and I already knew the answer.

"Thin," he shrugged, "a real cliche of her genre I suppose."

"And she's spending her nights in Camden Town?" I had a feeling I knew what that meant too. "Could be drugs," said Tommy, "not that I think Alfie's stupid enough to sell to her... She was always a canny lass, sure she could exploit a weakness or two to get what she wants..."

"Think so?" I asked swallowing another gulp of whiskey, letting it warm and burn, trying to remain still and composed despite the thought of the girl I'd always had a soft spot for succumbing to the same darkness which took her mother all those years ago.

"I'd like to hope not but you know me..." "Aye," I nodded, "I know you Tommy." I said before standing up, placing my empty glass on the desk in front of him. "I'll look after Tommy, keep her safe... Didn't need to ask me, I'd have died for those girls in a heartbeat anyway."

"Aye," he nodded, "you're a good lad Isaiah."

She looked ever so tired then as she drifted down the hallway ahead of me. All day Sylvie had me treading eggshells, her volatile streak sharper than I'd expected. She was more wild now than I could ever remember her having been before. When she was much younger, though she still looked too young now. In fact just then as she slipped past Alfie carrying her ballet slippers strung from her feeble wrist, she looked painfully young. Too young to have pulled off any of the stunts she had.

Seeing her like that only sparked my loathing for the man who stood before me all the more. Seeing her appear suddenly paled and vulnerable. Suddenly frail where she hadn't been even just five minutes before.

When she was dancing she was ethereal, some unearthly creature, her beauty uncanny as she spun slowly on the spot, tiny body contorted in ways she didn't really look strong enough to hold. But she must have been, because she had held that dainty pose with such grace. Until he'd scared her and sent her tumbling to the floor, her caving in beautiful despite the fear which shot through me at seeing her waver and fall.

So when I fixed Alfie with that cold, unforgiving glare I meant the threat with which I spoke. Wanted him to know how much I hated him in that moment.

I'd have taken his eyes just for looking at her, the smirk on his lips as he watched her drift down the hallway enough to make me consider killing him there and then.

"You wanna look after her mate..." He said nodding to her flickering shadow as she disappeared round the corner, "looks exhausted if you ask me..."

I narrowed my eyes at him, shook my head with a bitter smirk.

"Fuck off." I said before turning away, following Sylvia back to our room with my hands I'm my pockets and my shirt slung over my shoulder.

I heard his chuckle echo down the hall, knew I was supposed to feel like it was following me. Knew it was supposed to haunt me, send a little shiver down my spine. But I wasn't scared of Alfie Solomons. Not when I knew we were playing the same game for the same side. Alfie wouldn't harm a hair on Sylvia's head, wouldn't harm me as long as I was there to protect her. He wasn't half as insane as he wanted people to believe, he wouldn't start a war he couldn't win. Not if he didn't need to. And not over a teenage ballerina.

When I opened the bedroom door I saw her already lying on the bed, eyes fluttered shut. She'd changed into a black t-shirt and a pair of woollen socks which had slid down her shins and bunched up around her ankles. She wasn't sleeping but when I closed the door behind me and crossed the room to sit in the chair by the door she didn't stir.

She looked peaceful but I knew it wasn't peace which held her so still now. She was tired. To the bone tired. Lying on her front, the t-shirt which covered her hardly covering her at all. She'd not bothered to pull the covers over her and I could see the goosebumps on her thighs.

I remained quiet, lent into the back of the chair to try and get comfortable. Rested my arms on the arms and tilted my head back against the wall. Closed my eyes for a moment but only as long as that. Opened them again when I changed my mind, decided I couldn't take my eyes off her just yet.

So I stole another glance at her soft silhouette, admired the way her edges seemed to fade into the sheets, the way the lamplight glowed on her skin.

And then she stirred, pushed herself up slowly, lethargically turning her head to look back at me from across the room.

"What?" I asked with a smirk when her sleepy eyes locked with mine, she looked so expectant, a little confused. For a moment I couldn't work out why.

"I thought you were tired?" She frowned.

"I'm fine," I shrugged though it was obviously a lie. I was exhausted. Not so much physically - though my muscles ached and my head was undeniably heavy - but emotionally, mentally. She'd put me through the fucking wringer over the last 24 hours and I felt absolutely wired. Head static electric buzzing in a way I knew meant that even if I did shut my eyes and try to sleep, I wouldn't get any rest.

I'd been hoping to burn some of that adrenaline off in the gym earlier but any pent up frustration I'd managed to unleash had quickly been worked up all over again by her. The sight of her teetering so delicately, the realisation of her fragility when Solomons had knocked her balance, fucking Solomons himself and his relentless little jabs. It was taking all my self control not to leather him, to let his comments wash over me, water off a ducks back. Not that I was letting them wash over me. I'd never been very good at letting things go, always a little too quick to rise to a fight, always holding grudges and resentments. And my resentment for Alfie was building by the second. I was holding myself together for Sylvie's sake. Doing as I knew Tommy would tell me - staying calm, rising above the old man's petty jabs - because if I didn't it would be Tommy I had to answer to when shit hit the fan.

If I lost my temper and Sylvia suffered for it, there'd be no forgiveness spared for me.

"I'm fine," I said again when she fixed me with a smirk. "I'm watching the door."

"Bullshit." She coughed, the tinkle of laughter in her voice catching me out.

"Doin my job sweetheart..." I said gritting my teeth, trying not to let her wind me up. It was difficult, she really had a way of winding me up.

"You're falling asleep." She said, her voice deadpan as she let herself fall back down against the pillow, her voice a little muffled by the sheets when she called out to me. "Come on Saiah, share the bed, don't be a pussy..."

Her tone was mischievous, and the sweet sleepy way she had looked at me from the pillow made it so hard to remain frustrated with her. Even when I could tell she was trying to push my buttons.

"Not gonna be much of a bodyguard if you don't get some sleep," she said then, her voice a soft sigh as she yawned and nestled into the bed a little more. I heard the shifting of cotton over cotton and when I opened my eyes and looked back at her I saw that she'd rolled over. That her t-shirt had ridden up and gathered at her hip. That she was looking straight at me with dusky glowing eyes, her dark curls slipped from behind her ear. Her cheek was resting on her hand and her body looked lazy and soft.

I wasn't exactly sure how much sleep I was going to get either way. Lying beside her or watching over her from the armchair in the corner of the room.

It wasn't her teasing however that made me give in to her. It was something else. Something fleeting, something I only really thought I saw. A flicker of doubt in her eyes. A flicker of trouble which reminded me of the Sylvia I knew when she was young, when she was little Fen Shelby running riot through small heath with her sister. When she'd been the twin who shied away, the twin who hesitated. The twin who often looked to me with worried brown eyes when her older brothers would lower their voices and suddenly start speaking in lower tones.

For a moment she looked scared.

Scared and young and so very very tired.

She looked like she needed me to give in, lie down beside her, yawn and drift off like drifting off was easy. So she could kid herself that drifting off was easy.

So I did just that. I stood with a sigh and i gave in.

I crossed the room quietly and kicked my shoes off, sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled my t-shirt off. And when I twisted to reach over her for the duvet I met her gaze again and saw that the Sylvia I knew had gone again. That all her doubt had disappeared, been replaced with that cold smirk, a different kind of trouble glowing in her eyes.

"Don't worry," she said, "I won't tell Tommy..."

And because we were suddenly in such close proximity, and because I was tired and my head was absolutely wired, those words were enough to throw me for a second. Enough to leave me frozen, looking down at her with a small frown on my brow. Enough to remind me how quietly surprised I'd been the morning she'd sat down in the garden, her cheeks angry and flushed. How even with the vitriol in her voice when she'd snapped at me, her prettiness had struck me. How I'd seen her then in a light I'd never seen her before. How I'd been reminded that whilst I'd grown up she had too. Wasn't just Tommy's little sister anymore. Was her own woman, somehow all the more defiant than she ever had been before. We'd always called her Trouble when she was a little girl, because both the twins had been just that. But now she was something more. Trouble in its most tantalising form, a trouble that was irresistible and infuriating in equal measure.

And she was lying there on her back, looking up at me with silent laughter in her eyes. Teasing me.

By the time my brain caught up with the rest of us she was already smirking at me. My silence more amusing to her than anything I could say.

"Why not love? He's already gonna kill me..." I said, propped up on my elbow, watching as she rolled her eyes and told me not to be so dramatic.

"I'm still alive aren't I?" She said nonchalantly, rolling over and nestling into the pillow, drifting off within seconds. Leaving me to fall down beside her, to try not to think about how close to her I was. To try not to dwell too much on our conversation. The murderous thoughts her brother almost definitely held me in for getting her this far.

Because as much as I believed by now that Sylvia would have torn away without me and probably could have gotten this far by herself, I couldn't deny that I'd helped. I'd killed a man for her, stolen a car for her, walked her right into Solomons office and stood by whilst he threatened us both. I'd already made a hundred decisions Tommy would have crucified me for. And whatever happened to us now, it was my fault. In Tommy's eyes his little sister's fate was entirely in my hands.

And as much as she put the fear of god in me with her unpredictable temper, that burning indignant streak, I knew she wasn't like us. Knew she hadn't been raised amid the violence, didn't really know the horrors the rest of us had seen. Because if she had she wouldn't have wanted to see Michael. If she had she wouldn't have left the safety of arrow house.

It was knowing that which made me certain I'd done the right thing in helping her. She'd have tried it without me and she'd have gotten far enough to kill herself. She might not have wanted it, or thought she needed it - or perhaps she did know and that was the root of her cruel streak - but she did need it. My protection that is. Or at least someone who knew her well enough to keep her safe from herself, the Shelby in her.

Looking down at her as she slept then, the sweetness which glowed all innocent on her somnolent expression, I was growing more convinced that perhaps now, after the last 24 hours, I was the only person who really knew her at all. And I didn't really feel like I knew her.

So despite the ache in my muscles and the exhaustion I felt permeating my whole body, my mind too, I couldn't sleep. Not properly.

Couldn't drift off and succumb to my exhaustion the way I realise now Sylvia had been hoping I would.

I couldn't tell how long I'd been lying there waiting for sleep to take me when she stirred. Only that the streets were still dark and the moon through the window still cast her in an ethereal glow. Only that I was still exhausted and the long wait for sleep had done little to calm my temper or my nerves. So when she tried to slip away from the bed instinct kicked in and before she could move I'd thrown an arm around her, dragged her beneath me and rolled on top of her, her hands pinned above her head. My nose brushing hers, eyes flaring unforgiving into her wide dear in the headlight eyes.

But her innocence was feigned and the second she tried to struggle against me and slip away, the second she realised there was no way in hell she could fight me off, her eyes narrowed and her venom took over.

"Get the fuck off me peaky boy..." She snarled, her wicked little smirk and the mischievous light in her eye sparking my temper.

"Are you fucking insane?" I whispered, struggling to swallow down my anger. My heart was racing, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I knew exactly what she had thought she was going to do and the hatred she had sparked in me then, the resentment made it difficult for me to control myself. "Sneaking off to see Michael? That where you think you're going? Are you fucking stupid?"

"I wouldn't have to sneak if you weren't so up my brothers arse!" She shot back, narrowing her eyes, trying to get under my skin. But I wasn't going to let her take shots at me when in trying to sneak out she'd proven just how naive she really was.

"You might have a bloody death wish Sylvia but I don't want your fuckin blood on my hands." I could feel myself shaking, my fingers wrapped round her wrists too tightly, the weight of my body on top of hers too much. But I was angry, and the girl needed scaring. That much was obvious when she rolled her eyes at me again.

"Solomons is hardly gonna kill me is he." She said, her voice drawling and bored. As if I was over reacting.

"Far worse our enemies would do to you if they got their hands on you sweetheart!" I said fixing her with an unforgiving stare. Her eyes locked with mine. An understanding flickering in them for a second before she tried to glaze over again. Tried to pretend my words hadn't reminded her of something she didn't want to remember.

"You can't stop me seeing him," she said, her whisper still so determined, there was something there though now, something which almost sounded like a real emotion, only served to piss me off more, "I'm not a fuckin child, a few cuts and bruises don't scare me..."

I had to bite back a laugh then. It was spiteful, mirrored the venom she was spitting at me. Might even have wounded her if she'd cared anything for me.

"They left your cousin for dead sweetheart, maybe you should fuckin see him eh, maybe you'd rekindle a bit of respect for the sanctity of life!"

She didn't try to hold her laughter back. Her giggle melodic but cutting. She didn't need to say anything to leave me swallowing down the urge to say something cruel, but she did.

"Have you heard yourself?" She sneered.

"You wouldn't even recognise him Sylvia, it was a thousand times worse than anything you've seen at ballet class."

"Don't patronise me Isaiah."

"Don't be so fuckin stupid then." I hissed back, forcing her back down into the mattress when she struggled again. Her leg squirming under mine because she was trying to kick me. "And if you ain't stupid you're fuckin selfish..."

She held my gaze, unflinching. Her glare cold. Perhaps more unforgiving than my own.

Beneath me she felt so small. I had to force the image of her trembling frame down, has to force myself to forget her dainty form as she had spun slowly, teetering on one leg, ethereal and delicate in the middle of the gym. Had to force myself to forget how sweet she'd been as a younger girl, how sweet I was determined to believe she still was. If I let myself believe she was anything but a liability, a threat which needed to be neutralised somehow, I'd let her do something stupid and we'd both wind up dead.

With my chest pressed to hers I could feel her heart racing against mine. Could feel the tremble of her body, something she didn't want me to feel. I knew I was getting to her even if it didn't look like it. Even if she had that dead behind the eyes kind of Shelby cool to her.

"If the Changrettas get a hold of you, anyone gets hold of you sweetheart, they won't fuckin kill you, won't be worth very much when you're dead... Know what they will do though? They'll chop you up piece by fuckin piece to get to your brothers, you'll break Pols fuckin heart, and Esme and Ada. How many fingers and toes do you think you can lose before you start missing em eh Syl?" I asked gripping her wrist a little tighter than before, raising it to make a point, forcing her to look at her forearm, "think you'll still be dancing swan lake when some Sabini cunts taken a fuckin cleaver to your elbow?" She didn't say a word, just kept glaring back at me, determined not to let me scare her, but I was determined to do just that, determined to try and drive the point home. "Ain't a single fuckin Shelby wouldn't lay their life down for you so you might think about being a bit more fuckin careful with yours eh?"

She held my gaze but she didn't say a word and when she stopped struggling, stopped smirking, stopped speaking back, we simply stayed there, caught in a frozen moment. An unforgiving moment in which the two of shook subtly, me with rage and her with a spiteful determination.

"Trust me sweetheart death is not the worst thing...."

Her lips were pressed together and pouting, my body hovering above her held her sullen features in shadow. I could feel her breath on my skin and knew she could feel my breathing too. My nose skimmed hers as I thought about trying to explain myself again but in the end I didn't.

When she didn't say a word more I gave up. Rolled off her but kept a hold of her wrist. She didn't try to move though. Just lay there completely still. Eyes open, starring up at the ceiling. Her silence leaving me to wonder what she was thinking. Because the look on her face was glazed and cold, dead behind the eyes.

"Go back to fuckin sleep." I grumbled, my sigh accompanied by my hand to my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose as I despaired. Already the guilt was prickling away at me, already the shame of having used that quiet kind of violence to stifle her, was sitting heavy in the pit of my stomach. But there wasn't a single thing I'd said to her that wasn't true. I might have been cruel to detail, but I hadn't lied or exaggerated. I'd simply told her the truth her brothers wouldn't. A truth she needed to understand if she was going to cut around pretending she already knew it all.

I lay on my back for awhile just listening. Stewing. Trying not to let her piss me off anymore than she already had. Trying not to let the guilt tug away at my heart strings. Trying to remind myself why I'd behaved as I had. So violently, so unforgiving.

Tried to remind myself it probably didn't matter. She hadn't given up because she was scared, she'd given up because she knew it wasn't reasonable or worth it to keep fighting me. She'd realised that in that moment trapped beneath me she couldn't win. That was all.

If I let go of her wrist she'd probably try again.

If I fell asleep before the sun began to rise she'd probably try again.

But in the end I did fall asleep. To the sound of her faint breathing and the city outside, London's halfhearted dawn chorus. Birds chattering and cooing, cars starting up, traffic sounds. The first footfalls along the pavement. Somewhere amid the rest of the worlds waking up I drifted off and when I awoke once more it was to an otherwise empty bed. A sinking feeling in my stomach. Not quite able to feel let down because I'd known all along that she'd leave me.

I let my hand rest in the space she'd occupied only hours before, flexed my fingers and groaned as I dragged my palm down my face and squeezed my eyes shut.

"Fuck." I hissed through gritted teeth.

I couldn't have slept for very long, an hour or two at best. I had that sluggish kind of sting in my eyes and my throat, that clinging lethargy. The rest had only served to highlight the extent of my exhaustion.

"For fuck sake..." I groaned as I pushed myself up and out of the bed. My heart had already started racing again, I wasn't going to panic about the situation but I was certainly feeling uneasy. Certainly already racing through the options in my head. Which way she'd have gone, how she'd have left. How she might have tried to get to the hospital.

She wasn't stupid enough to walk it, but then if she'd had no other choice. I could only pray she hadn't been naive enough to hail a cab in this end of town.

But as my feet hit the bedroom floor and I let out another sigh of despair I heard something which stopped me in my tracks. That fae like laugh, it drifted to me from the corner of the room.

And when I opened my eyes properly I felt a rush of shame at the way my heart lifted - not just with relief but with something else too.

Because she hadn't left. She hadn't really gone anywhere at all.

"What's the matter Saiah, bad dreams?" She smirked at me from where she was sitting curled up in the arm chair. Her legs dangling over the arm, one ankle crossed over the other, her feet and toes taut and pointed.

She held my gaze, her eyes bright and smug. She could see the panic Id been trying to swallow down and she would be more than happy to use it against me if I let her.

I didn't say a word, just fixed her with the same cold glare I had in the middle of the night. My lips pressed together, hands gripping the edge of the bed to steady myself. Because I wanted to snap at her again. Wanted to say something cruel, take all of my frustration out on her. Because even after everything Id told her last night, she still had the look of a little girl playing games. In fact now there was something spiteful in her eyes and I had a feeling I'd poked the bear. Had a feeling I'd made things a little harder for myself once again.

"Surprised to see you here." I said nodding to the window, "didn't fancy pulling a cat woman then?"

"You told me not to remember?" She said, forcing a pout, managing to hold her wounded look for two seconds before the sorry glow in her eyes was replaced once again by that dull antagonising smirk.

"Give over sweetheart." I said standing up properly, pulling my shirt on and walking to the window to look out over the rooftops and down into the courtyard where there was a young lad sitting on a bench with a cigarette. He looked up when my shadow caught his eye, confirming my suspicions. "Solomons is having us watched..."

"Obviously." She said.

She looked pissed off and when the penny dropped I couldn't help but chuckle.

"That why you're still here?" I asked, unable to help myself poke at her wounded pride, "didn't fancy trying to sneak out after all?" I grinned looking between her and the view from the window. It was just one lad and his dog and I couldn't imagine that would be enough to perturb her after everything she'd already dragged me through.

"Told you why I'm still here dickhead," she sighed slipping from the chair to the rug, crossing the floor to stand just in front of me, arms folded over her chest as she looked up at me sullenly. Her lips a downward curve. Something uncannily sweet about her now that she was stood so close to me. "If I'd wanted to go I'd be gone." She said so plainly that I knew once again it was true.

I thought about meeting her with the same fleeting honesty, a moment of genuine understanding. Thought about apologising for the way id pinned her down in the middle of the night, whispered all those evil images to her to try and frighten her into place. But then I remembered just how quickly she had turned on me before, just how quickly that glazed look in her eyes could take over. How swift the feeling was to drain from her. So I just sneered and pinched her cheek, something I'd regret much later.

"Oh Sylvie," I smirked, not needing to say anything else to upset her or rile her up. Only having to wink and turn away from her to leave her standing there with a quiet angry flush about her. Could feel her glare burning into the back of my skull.

Perhaps if I'd have realised what was waiting for us downstairs I'd have done more to keep her close to me. Perhaps if I'd been a better man I'd have realised that for the briefest of moments I'd seen the old Sylvia trying to drag herself back from the hollow place her mind had locked her away. Perhaps if I'd have reached out to her then, understood that we were on each others team, I'd have been able to keep her close enough to save her.

But I wasn't the better man. I was foolish, with a wounded ego, too easily scorned by her. So when we went downstairs and met Alfie in the kitchen, his feet kicked up on the table, lips wearing a smug little smirk, I didn't put up enough of a fight.

"Morning Alfie." I started already trying to hold onto my patience, already trying to anticipate the shower of shite he was about to start talking.

He didn't say it back, didn't even really look at me.

He was lounging on the sofa which stood in the bay of the window, the morning sunlight washing over him, catching the ginger flecks in his hair. He didn't look much like the suited gangsters I was used to, but then Alfie often didn't. In his white tshirt and a pair of black jeans, Cyril lazing on the sofa with his head in Alfie's lap. He didn't look dangerous and when I turned to glance at Sylvia I felt a disquiet stir inside me, because there was something a little too trusting in her eyes when she looked at him. If not trusting, something worse - wanting.

"I've been ruminating," he began, his fingers combing through Cyrils fur, giving him a gentle scratch as he spoke, "you know what that means lad?" He raised his brow at me. I didn't say anything because I didn't have anything nice to say. "Nah, well, never mind never mind, it's a big word ain't it, Ollie!" He called out suddenly, "Ollie my boy get in here would you!"

I turned slightly to look over my shoulder at the kitchen doorway, catching Sylvia's eyes as I turned. But when she met my gaze she looked straight through me.

A moment later Ollie came running in, a panicked look in his eyes behind his glasses. Even when he corrected himself and stood up straight, there was a nervousness about him as he anticipated Alfie's temper.

"There you are Ollie my boy, clever lad is our Ollie, any word you fancy, anything that stumps you yeah, can always rely on our Ollie to sort you out and see you right, yeah..." Said Alfie, "Ain't that right my boy?"

"Uh yes Alfie," he said adjusting the glasses on his nose. There was a look of nervous understanding in his eyes and I wondered how familiar he was with this routine. Had my question confirmed when he took a little dictionary from his trackie bottoms pocket and opened it. When I glanced back at Sylvia she was smirking, a wry little smile, the same bored look in her eyes.

"Now then, Peaky Boy, just you tell our Ollie what it was I said that confused you yeah, he'll be more than happy to help you out won't you Ollie lad?"

I fixed Alfie with a glare, gritted my teeth. Breathed in through my nose slowly. I didn't answer him, just held his gaze. A quiet challenge I knew I was going to have to lose.

"Well go on peaky boy, this is all for your benefit see, cause in a minute yeah, in a minute I'm gonna carry on discussing my here ruminations on a particular close-to-your-heart-matter and I wouldn't want you to get left behind right, cause that wouldn't be very hospitable of me would it?"

When still I didn't say anything Alfie chuckled. Ollie appeared to be growing more uneasy by the second. When I glanced at Sylvie, who stood a little in front of me, she didn't even really look like she was listening. She looked distant. Like she'd already turned and left the room, occupied her mind with other matters.

"Go on lad don't be shy, what word would you like our boy Ollie to look up for you... He's very fast ain't you Ollie, our literary prodigal son is our Ollie, can do it with his eyes closed standing upsidedown on one leg can't you boy..."

"Uh, yes Alfie..."

I remained as cool as I could, remembering the speech Tommy had given me when he'd asked me to look after his little sister. She was vulnerable even if she didn't believe it herself. And his men in London hadn't been lying. She did look sick, not so much sick as frail. Thin was the word I'd have used too. Stretched too thin, like she was trying to be too much, too many things all at once. Unsustainable was the word I'd use to describe whatever death wish trip she was on. And whether or not Alfie was pissing me off, humiliating me, trying his best to immaculate and demoralise me, I had to put Sylvia first. Couldn't start anything that might put her at risk.

But when I opened my mouth to bow down and give in the word left someone else's lips.

"Ruminating, quick as you can Ollie please," said Sylvia, "since this conversations clearly fuckin scripted..." She added with a little smirk, leaving me with gritted teeth trying not to show my frustration. Trying not to let Alfie see how nervous her erratic behaviour was really making me.

"Mind your manners little Shelby ain't your brother told you about minding your manners... Said it before and I'll say it again, need a fuckin father figure you, it's just fuckin sad at this point... Yeah yeah, alright, what have you got for us then Ollie my boy, Ruminating, R U M I N A T I N G, ruminating..."

The young lad stuttered a little, adjusted his glasses as he held the book up to his face and squinted at the tiny writing on the page. His accent was a lot more sophisticated than Alfie's, in fact he sounded similar to Sylvia and that put a smirk on my face, because he didn't exactly sound like he should have been running with Solomons.

"Uh, To Ruminate, verb... gerund or present participle: ruminating..."

"See, he's a clever boy is our Ollie, I paid to put him through school didn't I, fuckin generous old bastard me, and ain't it paid off..." Alfie spoke over the lad, lowering his voice, addressing the room as opposed to me or Sylvie. "Shame your big brother ain't so generous eh, think what you coulda been peaky boy... All that wasted potential..."

I remained stoic, turned my attention back to the poor lad reciting the dictionary behind us.

"To ruminate is to think deeply about something for example, "we sat ruminating on the nature of existence...." Carried on Ollie, his voice a little shaken in places as his eyes flickered between the three of us and the pages of his book.

"There we go see," began Alfie, giving Ollie a little applause, insisting he took a bow, "and this morning I woke up bright an early yeah, crack of dawn, and I sat outside yeah, cause that's what I like to do in the morning you know, nice cup of herbal tea, lemon and ginger, beautiful aromatics, fuckin lovely stuff is lemon and ginger herbal tea right..." he said gesturing a kiss with his hands as he leant back into the sofa cushions. "So, I like to sit on my bench outside in the courtyard and me an Cyril yeah, we like to listen to the birds for awhile don't we boy..." He said scruffing up the hounds coat as Cyril nestled into his lap. "Cause it's good for the soul that, birdsong, very healing, very grounding... Tell everyone that don't I, birdsong, it's good for the fuckin soul Peaky Boy."

"And so that's what I did this morning right, I thought to myself, here Alf, don't those little birds outside sound lively this morning, all their little chirpin an tweetin, fuckin beautiful right, and I took myself outside and I sat back under the shade of my old hawthorn tree, and I ruminated yeah, I sat ruminating on the nature of our here predicament..."

"And what predicament might that be Alfie?" I asked dryly.

"Oh you know," he said, one arm stretched along the back of the sofa, lazy gesture as he pushed his hair back, "the little gypsy wants to see her cousin don't she Peaky Boy, and she's a stubborn little miss ain't she... Doesn't seem to care that visiting the silly bastard could get you both killed does she... Don't seem to realise what a fuckin 'orrible ugly mess those Italiano cunts made of the poor sod..."

"Doesn't sound like much of a predicament to me Alfie..." I said coldly, trying to reason with him quietly, realising my mistake a moment too late. This was Alfie Solomons. You didn't reason with him, you only showed him your weakness, told him what you didn't want him to know.

"Well you see the thing is peaky boy, I'm doing my best to be hospitable here, ain't all that often a notoriously miserable old man such as myself finds himself with guests is it, better make the most of it hadn't I?" He offered me a little sneer, a taunting light in his eyes I'd have shot clean off his face if I could have, if I hadn't had to think of Sylvie first. "And well it occurred to me whilst I was ruminating yeah, that keeping the little princess all locked up here, well that ain't all that hospitable... Is it?"

"You're going to take me to see Michael?" Asked Sylvia. The hope in her voice almost broke my heart. Certainly struck fear into my heart.

"Yeah," he said, "yeah why not eh, a little Alfie/Sylvie bonding time yeah... You'll have to stay here mind lad," he said to me, finger pointed towards my chest, "I need some kind of guarantee don't I, you'll have to play collateral I'm afraid, case any of your lot get the wrong end of the stick and start throwing accusations around."

"Fuckin no chance..." I grinned in disbelief, shaking my head and turning to Sylvia, but Sylvia wasnt looking at me. She was looking at Alfie, her eyes glowing with hope.

"Oh come on lad you know how it is, can't just go galavanting around town with Shelby royalty when there's a war on, and not keep some kind of bargaining chip safe at home... You know how it is lad? She don't seem too enamoured with you right now either... Coupla hours apart might do you good yeah? Absence makes the heart grow fonder, ain't that what they say..."

"I said no, fuckin no..."

"I'm going." Said Sylvie without looking at me. Leaving me to freeze, speechless and full of dread.

"There we go see, look at that eh Peaky Boy, you see her face, how's an old softie like me sposed to say no to that delightful little smile?" He asked me, his eyes challenging me quietly to fight him, to try and deny Sylvie something he'd already promised her. The hope he'd dangled in front of her.

I was the enemy now. As simple as that.

"You said it yourself Alfie, she could get herself killed..." I started, knowing that nothing I said now would change Sylvia's mind. Feeling a devastating kind of desperation rip through me when I looked back at her and saw the decision had already been made.

"I'm sure Alfie can handle a couple Italians..." She said fixing me with a cruel determination. Daggers in her eyes. And I wondered then which of my actions had been the final nail in this coffin. Had it been the way I'd spoken to her this morning, so unforgiving, spiteful tone, or had it been last night when I'd pushed her down into the mattress, kept her trapped beneath me as I tried to strike the fear of god into her. When had I made myself the enemy? When had she decided to put her trust in him and not me?

"Oh aye, course I can, couple of Changretta's, a sprinkling of Sabinis, piece of piss, piece of pumpkin bloody pie, don't you worry peaky boy, I'll keep her safe..."

I swallowed a lump in my throat, fist clenched at my side.

"I'm not letting you go alone Sylvia!"

"You fuckin are mate those are the parameters as laid out by me, master of this here fuckin house... You either wait at home like a good little pup whilst me and the little miss head out on the town, or she don't fuckin go... Now I don't know about you but if it were up to me, I'd pick my fuckin battles yeah..."

"Sylvia..." I groaned.

"I'm going to see my cousin Isaiah..."

"For fuck sake girl! I'm not about to let you go an get yourself killed!"

"Oi, Peaky boy!" Alfie suddenly bellowed, his voice silencing the both of us, ringing out around the kitchen, startling Ollie so that he dropped his dictionary and began scrambling for it on the floor. "You don't fuckin swear at girls like that who do you think you are?" Snapped Alfie, squaring up to me, his finger jabbing into my chest as I stared coldly back at him. Met his eyes with a silent challenge. "Raising your voice at young girls like that, fuckin disgusting..."

I looked straight through him and then turned on him, crossed the room to Sylvia. For a moment I was furious, gripped with rage. Rage at the humiliation she was forcing me to endure, rage at her indignance, her selfishness. The anger sparked in me every time Alfie opened his useless mouth.

And then all at once I wasn't.

In the second I snatched at her arm and saw it - the bruise I'd left on her arm the night before, the shape of my unforgiving grip in a bracelet around her wrist - I lost just enough fight to give up.

I picked up her hand and turned her palm over in my mine. I felt the guilt twist inside me when I looked down at the mark I'd left. Felt like a hypocrite as I tried to plead with her once again.

"Sylvia I gave your brother my word... I ain't about to break it by letting you go running off round London with a f... psychopath..."

I looked down at her, met her cold eyes again. They were full of shadows. She was out of reach again and I could feel the hopelessness returning to me. The heavy feeling in my heart. Because she was determined and unfeeling and it hurt to see her so removed. Not quite a ghost but almost. Not quite a girl either. Knowing I'd pushed her into this corner. Knowing that if I'd been a little more gentle things might have been different.

"Now to be fair mate, to be fair right, she was already doing that wasn't she... Running round London with a murderous bastard... There ain't no denying that's what she was doing is there?"

I ignored Alfie. Sylvie just smirked. Held my gaze and smirked. I wondered if she could feel a thing. Had to lie to myself and believe it was all just an act. Believe I hadn't seen this look in her brothers eyes just before he gave the order to kill.

"Gave your brother my word..." I said again, losing all hope in the silence that followed. Losing all hope in the moment I saw her lips move around the words.

"Fuck my brother."

"Now now darlin there's no need for that eh, the boys only followin orders ain't he, like he said he just wants what's best don't you Peaky Boy... No need to swear eh, no need at all..." Said Alfie stepping up behind her, his hands on her shoulders, smoothing down her arms as he met my gaze with a smug glint in his eyes. "Now don't you worry Peaky Boy, she'll be perfectly safe with good old Alfie right, I'll look after her I promise... In fact you know what, you know what... You have my word."

And I knew there was no fighting them then. Knew that Sylvia had cut herself off from me, that she was out of reach now. Unfeeling and determined. I knew then that I'd lost her, that if anything happened to her now it was my fault. That I hadn't done enough for her and yet couldn't do anymore.

"Alright little darlin," said Alfie with a much sweeter smile when he looked down at her, his hand rubbed her back in a smooth circle and I felt my hatred for him twist deep in my stomach. "You run along and get your things, here I'll even let you pick the car eh, how about that?"

Taglist (sorry if you're on here and don't want to be I lost my taglist for trouble and I'm away and working from mobile so just had to copy the old one for everything)

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[scaly-freaks]

so wait wait wait

larys tells aegon that aemond been plotting against him

alysmond confirmed

alys showing amara visions with "the king is dead long live the king", encouraging her distrust and dislike of aemond

amara gets a note with "the king is dead long live the king"

the strongs and aemond are scheming. but amara discovering them was def a surprise for both alys and aemond. and why the hell were they sleeping together on her bed???????? i mean i guess they knew she was with aegon but why take that risk if they didn't want to be found?

idk aemond has been weird about amara for a while now.

“Why don’t you like her, Aemond?” Aegon asks, deceptively affable. “I’ve always wondered. Did she do something to you? It feels…personal.”

"Make me laugh, the way you did my brother." - from the dream

i know that alys told her that the dream wasn't real and it was influenced by her dislike of aemond, but considering the note she just got with "the king is dead long live the king" i'm not so sure anymore.

why did aemond care so much when he heard aegon wanted to make her his queen? if he is plotting against his brother, marrying amara would def weaken aegon's claim in the eyes of the nobility. also amara did end up keeping her end of their bargain. she got him baela's pardon. his dislike of amara makes no sense.

i mean aemond wants everything aegon has, but it feels sinister. very on brand with alysmond creepy vibes.

sorry for the long ask. i've been enjoying your fic so much!!! praying that aemond won't do something creepy to amara next chapter :(

thank you so much! sorry if the ask is too long :( <3

Gonna be a spoiler-y kind of answer *-* Or not, depending on how the plot of the chapter changes, because I am quite impulsive with it.

I won't answer the bit about the king is dead because that would become an actual spoiler.

Alys and Aemond in Amara's bed...honestly they're both the kind of people who don't give a fuck. Aemond definitely has a weird thing about his future sister-in-law though so it probably turned him on fucking another woman in the same place Amara sleeps every night. There's a very twisted thread between them that isn't pleasant at all, but isn't so easily ignored either. He's always had a thing for anything Aegon "has." He used to flirt with Cassandra to piss Aegon off, but it turns into something entirely different with Amara because I think he knows and is jealous that something is working out for Aegon and isn't for him (his marriage to Rhaena is not happy and they'll probably never fall in love which is why I didn't tag the ship).

With the Saera Targaryen lie, and the Dornish nobility (Hellholt and their 20000 strong army of men) Amara is a political and symbolic asset if anything. It's going to bolster Aegon's claim, because he just sidestepped the pitfalls of choosing another nobleman's daughter from the rest of Westeros and tipping the scales of government in their favour. The Ullers answer to the Martells, so they won't be vying for small council positions any time soon - they're just content knowing Jaehaera is of their blood and will have a dragon, so naturally, that's an alliance they can call upon. And plus the whole Cinderella story of oh, she was a noble all along is just irresistible to bards, so I imagine they'll be singing the tale all over Westeros and getting people used to the idea that a woman can climb the ladder that quickly and with such a strange backstory.

I think what it boils down to is that Aemond is extremely creepy (just like his brother, but because he's more intense, it's more obvious) and he's got a sick fascination with Amara that isn't going to lead anywhere good if he doesn't put a lid on it. That whole adage about little boys pulling the pigtails of little girls (and in his case, it's sexually assaulting the crush in question...she hasn't forgotten the sword incident, and she kept his hair in case she needs to curse him). It's very much enemies, but Aemond would willingly fuck her just to fuck her rather than to get back at Aegon which should say something about the growing obsession. Amara wouldn't want to, and in that vision she had, she didn't have a choice.

Deliberately not mentioning Alys's involvement as there's stuff to be unveiled in the next chapter but it's safe to say she isn't as creepy as Aemond (and her reasons for having sex with him....well, wait and see)

[inposterumcumgaudio]

Poedit Cut/Unused Content: Hallucinogenic_Salad

or "Remember Remember"

Objectives:

Find Ed Frankland

Listen for Clues

Listen for More Clues

Just a Few More Clues

Charm the Chemist

Talk to Ed Frankland

Find the Hallucinogenic Recipe

Quest Notes:

he's supposed to be somewhere in this house. i wonder where the lab is?

he's supposed to be somewhere in this house. where would you put a lab if you were in the garden district?

i'll need to listen and see what i can learn about him that only someone who knows him would know.

the actress and the bishop, eh?

i'll need a little bit more than that

he stole a bobby's hat with a mate and some girls? i've certainly done that. why not with him?

i think i almost have enough.

when people believe your ridiculous stories, you have to believe theirs. he swears his parrot wasn't really dead? i can believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast

maybe if i convince him i'm a friend he just doesn't remember, he'll let me know what he's discovered. the old one wild night gag.

i just have to convince a man who's never met me that we had a wild drunken night together. well. i've done it before.

men will believe anything if they think they'll get into your knickers.

he's got 99 bad recipes and one good one. where's the good one?

sorry ed. it was a fabulous night, but everything has to end some time.

Dialogue:

000 PC_Sal Ed Frankland's doing research on Histoplasma mushrooms in the Garden District? I've never managed to make a decent extract. Maybe I should pay him a visit.

002 PC_Sal Let's see what Stewart's got to say for himself.

002 WellM Ed hasn't come down from the attic in days.

004 WellF You know how paranoid he gets when he's doing chemistry. Someone might steal his thoughts!

006 PC_Sal Sounds like someone's been taking too much of their own medicine. I wonder if I can charm him into revealing his secrets.

008 PC_Sal I should probably snoop around a bit before I try to talk to him.

010 PC_Sal How can someone who lives like this do any science at all?

011a WellF You know how paranoid he gets when he's doing chemistry. Someone might steal his formula!

011b WellM Look, don't get me wrong, we're mates, right? Back in the day, me and him and some birds stole a bobby's hat. Haw. But as a chemist, well, I still feel bugs crawling in my hair.

011c WellF You don't have any hair.

011d WellM I don't have any bugs either. But I feel'em.

011e WellF Remember back in the Village, he had that dead parrot?

011f WellF And he insisted it was just sleeping? And then he said it "flew away"?

011g WellM See? Bugs.

001h WellF Well he's got a whole new recipe now, he says, and it's perfect.

011i WellM I hope it gets rid of the goddamn bugs.

030 WellM "No, those are the nuts. No, THOSE are the nuts." How long has he been telling that stupid joke? I swear if I have to hear it again, I'll kill him. See if I don't.

034 WellM Tattoo it on his bloody arm. "You already told everybody the stupid fucking joke about the actress and the bishop."

036 PC_Sal I think I've got enough. I hope I can pull this off.

038 PC_Sal Ed! I found you!

040 WellM Who are you?

042 PC_Sal Ed, don't you remember me? Sally! Sally Boyle?

044 WellM Do I … know you?

046 PC_Sal Don't you remember?

048 WellM No… I don't remember you at all. Are you a spy? Are you trying to steal my thoughts? GET HER OUT OF HERE, SHE'S TRYING TO STEAL MY THOUGHTS!

050 PC_Sal You told me that hilarious joke about the actress and the bishop!

052 WellM Ohhhh. Was it … at the pub?

054 PC_Sal And then we got a little excited and … well, don't you remember stealing that bobby's hat? That was very naughty of you.

056 WellM You were there?

058 PC_Sal I can't believe you don't remember me! I have never forgotten you!

060 WellM Were we … close …?

062 PC_Sal I'd say we were pretty close that night. And then you never called me again.

064 WellM Ohhhhhh.

066 PC_Sal You had that parrot that everyone said was dead, but you said it was just sleeping, and sure enough, it flew away!

068 WellM Yes! Nobody believes me about that! Yes, exactly!

070 WellM See, lads! It was alive! This is Sally! We were close. For a--

072 PC_Sal --short while. Are you studying histoplasma mushrooms? I've never managed to make a proper extract.

074 WellM Oh, of course. You're a chemist, too … I guess? Believe me, it's not easy. That box is full of ninety-nine failed recipes and one good one.

076 WellM Oh, gosh, I'm so excited to have someone to talk to. I ah … I'm sorry, I just have to … Nature calls! Bit of an infection down there. More than you need to know about. I'll be right back. Do not go away!

078 PC_Sal I'll be right here!

080 PC_Sal So that's the box with his recipe for hallucinogenic extract!

082 WellM Why didn't you call her back, you idiot! She likes you!

084 PC_Sal Sorry, Ed! Must dash! Back soon!

086 PC_Sal Well, there you go, Gwen. Men will believe anything if they think it'll get your knickers off.

Cut quest for Sally. The second italicized quest note is for a second, slightly different activation text for the first objective, FindThe Researcher. Line 002 I think is just misplaced.

Given that this is so developed compared to Arthur's quest on the same set piece, I have to wonder if the histoplasma house wasn't actually designed for Sally's quest and only given Arthur's later so as not to waste it.

The objectives and quests notes don't specify that this is how Sally would learn to craft hallucinogen, but it is described as an extract in its item description and the formula in this quest is also described that way.

Ultimately, I think this was cut because it undermines Sally's character. Her story is about feminism being an objectively talented chemist who is arguably more brilliant than all the men around her but not feeling secure in that talent enough to rely on it instead of her beauty and charisma. In this quest, she states she's been unable to figure out how to synthesize a histoplasma extract on her own and needs to steal the formula from a man who did. If Sally's really as good a chemist as the game would have you believe, she cannot be out stealing work from men.

Aside from the gender power struggle element though,t his is not really that different from having to ask the Witches for help. However, I think there's an argument that Sally's not asking for their them to work out the formulas per se but for their intimate knowledge of the local flora and fauna, which Sally lacks. That is, Sally probably could figure out the formula on her own (which she probably did do for Strawberry) if she already knew what ingredients she could use to substitute, already knew the chemical makeup of those new ingredients or had time to deconstruct them to find out, and didn't also have to forage for them first.

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

Lights of the past - part 3

(Moldova [my oc of the region in Romania] × Lithuania, which I am baptising as MoLiet)

If you're confused by the Moldova part, please read this post.

Two months passed since the already forgotten meeting. It was Estonia's birthday??? Name day??? Prom night??? Who gives a shit, he threw a party. A rave party, to be exact.

Like any Eastern European man, even though he promised himself to stop drinking this year, Lithuania was laying under a bench somewhere in Talinn. He was waiting for the bus, apperantly. Through his numb senses, a familiar melancholy feeling seeps in his veins, poisoning his body even more than the alcohol can. He takes out his phone, scrolls through the numbers and calls the only person he could think of at that moment.

1920 km is the distance, but the time is the same when the call is placed and when it rings. Moldova was in her room, sewing fabrics together out of boredom fueled creative endevor. The number is strange, but she takes her chances, a confused greeting meeting the reciever.

"Moldova... hi! It's me, Lithuania... How are you?"

"Lithuania?" She giggles but tries to remain calm and focused "Where are you? Where does it still snow in Octomber?"

"I'm at Estonia's... he threw like... a big ass party... and he had just the best alcohol you can imagine... he tricked me again, Moldova! He tricked me again... he said the thing with 'I hit the bottle so now all the demons are out, you won't get drunk' fucking liar..."

Moldova was using her whole willpower to not burst out laughing

"Oh, I can tell. You told me thrice in the same sentence, I can feel your rage. But you really shouldn't be sleeping in the snow. Can't you get to Estonia's house?"

"'M waiting for the bus... the... 43N, I think? But the thing isn't coming... I've been here... for an hour and still no bus."

"Are you sure you're at the bus stop, buddy?"

"Of course I'm at the bus stop, where else could I... oh... but Estonia said go straigh and right and isn't this the... Moldova... which one is right?"

"The one with the thumb to the left"

"... uh um... well fuck... I'll go to the bus station... can you stay on call in case I get lost?"

"Sure, buddy, sure..."

The line was quiet, the distant hot slow breathes of Lithuania and his heavy footsteps on the fresh snow. Moldova knocked on wood and shook her head at the absurdity of the whole thing, but didn't hang up.

"I'm on the bus... it's so hot... I think I'm melting..."

"You'll be fine, don't worry." Moldova was trying to be more gentle to him, it wasn't fun making fun of strangers.

"Sometimes I think back to when I lived with Poland... one day he brought in a feral child, that's you, and he looked quite pleased with himself. But inspite of his, frankly absurdly large, castle, he only had a small room for his colonies. So I had to share my bed with you. You were so soft and nice..."

"I remember you using me as a pillow, crushing my stomach and intenstines in the process."

"It's not my foult you were a chubby kid! Ah... I wish we could go back... those weren't good times... but... thank you for picking up the phone." Lithuania's voice was soft, like he was a tired parent trying to stay awake while singing a lulaby.

A small genuine smile appeared on Moldova's face.

"Call me when you get home, alright?"

"I make no promises I cannot keep..."

"Then goodnight, sweet prince~"

[lusthurts]

wip wednesday!

thank you @daisyishedwig and @calsvoid for the tag -- actually very excited this week about this because it's the first major progress on this fic I've made in months lol, been basically working on the how bright we burn senior year fic nonstop for three days so it was hard to figure out what part of the first four chapters I wanted to share! but here is some for you ;)

“What are you two talking about?” Emma asks, jumping into a landing behind them and immediately wrapping an arm around each of them. “Fucking Sebastian Smythe.” Nick shakes his head defeatedly and has another sip from his beer, then passes the joint to Emma.  “Hate that guy,” Emma replies before starting a coughing fit.  “You don’t hate him,” Blaine points out with an eye roll.  “You’re right. I just pretend to hate him,” she says with a dramatic wink. “Why are we mad at Sebastian?”  “I told him I love him!” Blaine blurts out. “Awww,” Emma and Nick both say in unison. Blaine shoves Nick and grabs the joint from Emma’s fingers. “No, not aw. He didn’t say it back! And he’s not going to, either! He said he feels ‘ineffable.’ That’s a real fancy, complicated way of saying absolutely fucking nothing!” The words are spilling out of him before he can consider whether he wants to contain them. Emma and Nick both look at him like he’s just uttered paragraphs of gibberish, and maybe he did. Blaine’s already forgotten what he said.  Nick squints at Blaine, then glances at Emma for clarification. “Ineffable?” he echoes, face scrunching up in confusion. “What does that even mean?”  “Fuck if I know,” Blaine says. He chugs the remainder of his beer.   “It means,” Emma starts, taking the joint back from Blaine and puffing on it thoughtfully, “that he can’t put his feelings into words. Which is bullshit if you ask me.”  Blaine nods. He knows what it means; he just keeps hoping its meaning will change.  “Well, maybe it’ll take you another whole school year to get him to admit he loves you,” Nick says.  Blaine can tell he’s joking, but it’s deeply unsettling to hear his love story with Sebastian whittled down to that. Nick’s right; it took Sebastian a whole school year to admit his feelings last time. Blaine’s not sure he can handle nine more months of this, though.  “I don’t know if I can wait that long,” Blaine admits quietly. He leans back against the wall and stares up at the night sky, the blurry stars that bleed into each other and mirror his muddled thoughts. “It’s like, every time I think we’re finally getting somewhere, we just hit another wall. First it was feelings, then it was his past relationships, then it was his mom, and now we’re back at square one again. It’s a little unfair, don’t you think?”  Emma passes the joint back to Nick, who takes a long drag before speaking. “Relationships are fucking hard, man.”  “I’ll drink to that,” Emma agrees, raising her plastic cup for cheers with them. 

I cannot think of tags at the moment lol so anyone who would like to participate definitely should!

[ch4rryc0smos]

REVERIE | 15

RATHER LIE THAN TELL YOU I'M IN LOVE.

synopsis ┊kenji sato returns to japan, leaving behind everything he's ever known. and fate plays a cruel joke on him, when hazel vellichor walks back into his life, albeit not by choice. she makes a trip to japan, for a charity event, for another speech, and somehow; media wrangles her in for more drama. what they don't know is that she's ultrawoman, and kenji's ultraman, and there's more than to the eye here. they're well intertwined and every time they tug away, the knot gets tighter. everything leads them to each other, and now japan is in their hands, and they have to unravel every secret they refused to acknowledge prior to this. and they have to accept every role bestowed upon them, whether they like it or not. somehow, all of this leads to is them learning that there was always more to their friendship, and that they were truly two puzzle pieces, fit right next to each other.

genre ┊ childhood-friends-to-strangers-to-lovers, slight angst, tooth rotting & chaotic fluff, co-parenting (?)

pairing ┊ken sato x fem-self insert/oc, ken sato x public figure!self insert, ken sato x childhood-friend!self insert

warnings ┊ mild cursing, mentions of drinking, trauma, heavy topics (?), events in ultraman: rising take place alongside this story.

word count ┊1.3k

author's note ┊angst, huh, what's that? i didn't know that existed! have fun, it's not too long, i think, but we're reaching the end of reverie soon, kinda emotional because i've barely had the chance or energy to write recently, this made me feel great, right before i was short of time. happy reading?

prev | next

Over the next few days, neither of them mention what happened that night Ken returned drunk. They don’t have to, and Hazel hopes they won’t. She honestly thinks Kenji might have forgotten, but he doesn't say anything about it. The days roll around that they can finally be free from their bandages and casts, and all of the wrapping that would aid in their healing. Ken’s beyond elated, and he offers to drive. Hazel’s a bit more exhausted, more so mentally than physically, but it’s enough for her to agree without much fight. 

Ken’s humming as he drives them to the hospital, and that’s about the only sound that can puncture the silence that surrounds them. The right side of Hazel’s face is pressed against her window, and she’s about to doze off, but then Ken’s phone goes off. She glances at him, holds it up for him. It’s one of his teammates. 

“You can pick it up,” he says.

She picks it up, puts it on speaker.

“That night was amazing, Ken—” someone’s saying, really loud. Hazel thinks he might just be speaking right into the speaker.

“I know, dude.” Kenji laughs.

“Didn’t know you had a wife, though!” the guy on the other side is saying, and laughing. Ken tenses, looks at the phone with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t have a wife?” his tone is questioning. His lips are parted in confusion as he stares at the road ahead. 

Hazel’s eyes are plastered on him, and she mouths the word ‘what?’

“You left early because you said you had a wife to get back to!”

Hazel feels a lot warmer, although she has no fucking idea who this guy could be referring to.

“I don’t have a wife, oh my god,” Ken says, laughing.

His teammate and him argue for a bit, albeit jokingly. And Ken ends up winning the argument about whether he has a wife or not. Hazel’s silent the whole time, and she feels really warm, and like there’s a pit in her stomach. She doesn’t even realise when they’ve arrived until the car stops and she has to act like she’s not been in her head the whole drive. She stumbles out, opens Kenji’s door for him. He steps out, offering his hand to her. She accepts it, tentatively. 

 When they walk in, Ken’s doctor is already greeting him. But what she says leaves Hazel’s mind in complete shambles.

“You’ve brought your girlfriend along?” Her tone is the sweetest, more inquiring thing ever. But when Hazel looks up at Ken, he’s redder than a cherry.

She looks away.

“She’s not my girlfriend—Just a frie…” he trails off. The doctor laughs, not pressing and she escorts him away. Hazel’s left waiting outside. 

Her heart is sinking, though.

They never confirmed what they may have been, but friends don’t kiss each other, and almost leave hickies, and raise an infant kaiju together, they don’t do any of the shit that Ken and Hazel do. Friends wouldn’t have seen each other naked, or spilled their guts like that. 

She’s looking at the floor when Ken returns and his left hand gingerly brushes her shoulder. She flinches. And she hates that she’s relieved. She’s also mad, but she just can’t tell if she’s allowed to, to begin with. 

“Hey? It’s your turn, your doctor’s waiting.” 

His fingers are about to brush her chin, but she stands up abruptly, making him stumble a few steps back.

She smiles at him, as much as she can while she’s feeling conflicted. He asks her if he should come along, she shakes her head and asks her doctor to lead the way. They leave Ken looking at Hazel, confused. Hazel thinks he shouldn’t be. 

She can’t deny it, but she misses his presence in the room when she goes in for check ups, but she’s willing to act like she doesn’t. When she returns, she wordlessly gestures towards the exit. Ken opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“Come on,” she whispers. She may be mad, but she won’t be unreasonable. She repeats that in her head. She leads him back to the car, and she gets into the passenger seat. He drops beside her, and the car vibrates underneath them as the engine starts. 

“Hazel?” he asks, finally starting to drive off. Hazel turns to look at him, he gulps. Now she feels terrible. “What’s wrong?”

She’s trying to not snap into pieces now. “What’s wrong? Kenji… What are we?” she whispers, her voice starts shaking and she curses herself mentally for it. 

“I—” and he hesitates. That makes her want to tear her heart out.

“Kenji, friends don’t fucking kiss each other.” She balls her fists in her lap. 

He can’t even meet her eyes anymore. And that hurts her too. 

Then she does the one thing she thought she wouldn’t. She brings up the night he returns drunk. “Friends don’t go naked in front of each other, they don’t try to leave hickies. They don’t—” Her words die in her throat when Kenji’s head snaps up, and their eyes meet.

And she thinks it’s so unfair that he can have this effect on her when she wants to break him, but she wants to kiss him too. But he doesn’t deserve that if he can’t accept that they were never just friends.

“When—” he starts, but it seems that realisation dawns on him before he completes his sentence. 

“Ken, don’t play with my heart.” Hazel looks away. She doesn’t need him seeing the way her eyes well up with unwanted tears. She stares out at the streets. 

“Of course not!” he sounds terrified, but she only spares him one glance, and her lips tremble, her frown deepens.

“If you weren’t playing with me, it wouldn’t be so hard to just call me your girlfriend, no?” The indignation is clear in her tone when she says these words, voice shaking intensely, knuckles white with the pressure she was exerting. 

“Hazel, I swear,” Ken whispers, he sounds like he’s begging, Like he might be in tears. 

“Ken, what the fuck are we? You’ve had my heart for so long, but you’re scared to call me your partner?” She finally looks at him, and she has to bite her lip to fight back any strangled sobs that threaten to spill over, she can’t even hold his gaze for long, she’s looking away, wiping furiously at her face. She’s trying to not heave, because she knows that’ll hurt her abdomen. 

“I’m not.” He isn’t looking at her anymore, and Hazel thinks he might just leave it here, hanging, but then she notices that he’s driving back to their his place.

���Take me back to my place.” Hazel looks at him. His whole face falls. She has to fight the urge to cup his face in her hands. He doesn’t deserve that comfort. 

“Hazel, please…” his voice is much quieter.

She shakes her head. And resigned, Ken starts driving away. She retraces every street as he drives her back. And when he stops in front of her house, she hesitates for a minute. She thinks he might be hopeful of her changing her mind, but then she opens the door, and steps out. If Ken says anything, it falls to deaf ears as she starts walking away. 

She only faintly registers the sounds of an engine as she pushes her door open, and she just thinks it’s so unfair that this doesn’t feel like home anymore. Or the fact that half of her closet is left at his. She groans, lets the door slam shut as she falls onto her couch. She shoves her face into her hands, tries to fight back sobs that threaten to wreck her body. She fails. Tears are staining her sleeves as she shakes with the force of every sob.

She shouldn’t have bared her heart at all, because now it would be no one else’s. And what about Emi? What was she going to do? Her own house doesn’t feel like hers. It’s not home.

ch4rryc0smos © 2024 … do not repost, alter, translate, or steal my work.

[whatisbirds]

Limits of an Invitation

After a near-fatal shop accident, Eliza Danielson is ripped from death's maw by her theater's carpentry head. In exchange for a swift recovery she forges a bond that swiftly entangles her with the precarious politics of her university's unlife scene. Anatol Stamatin, a builder of many mediums, is just happy to have a sympathetic ear. After all, the nights stretch long and lonely when fasting to break a vaulderie spanning centuries.

Heyhowdy! So I've been working on this fic based on a Tzim ancilla PC of mine since about January, and it's finally polished up enough for me to feel comfortable publishing it! First chapter can be read on Ao3 here: Mrs. Danielson and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Lathe Aiming for a bi-weekly publishing schedule (Every Thursday/Friday) and as it stands it should be somewhere between 8 - 10 chapters long. (For folks who prefer to stick to the blog, the chapter is posted below the cutoff)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been a slow night in the shop. It always got dead at the end of the semester, students preoccupied with wrapping up finals and productions going dark for the winter gap between fall and spring terms. Oftentimes Eliza would find herself alone at her paint station, her footfalls reverberating through the whole of the loading dock whenever she had to grab whatever scrap or tool her project called for next. As lonely as it was, the insectile skittering of her brush echoing back to her provided a company that her studio apartment lacked.

But tonight she had not resigned herself to the paint rack. Earlier in the evening, while fetching fresh water to clean out her brushes, she noticed the shop manager’s office was not only unlocked, but empty. In plain view, hanging off an uneven line of nails, were the keys to every piece of equipment currently locked in the machinery cage. 

Better to ask forgiveness than permission, her mother would always say.

Eliza had hoped that, wherever Mr. Stamatin had fucked off to, it’d be for more than five minutes. Upon checking, she spotted his Impala was parked in the same far corner it always was, the mirror opposite of her baby blue Fortwo nestled next to the dock entrance. Her assumption had been he was in the building, but tied up in a faculty meeting or some other administrative business. Whatever it was, she had hoped to seize this window and be done before he returned.

But she had forgotten a key part of the equation–her rotten ass luck.

The second the cage unlocked, she might as well have tripped an alarm because she found herself in his long shadow in no time.

“Ms. Danielson?”

She slipped the keys into her tote as she turned to face him, “Oh, hey Mr. Stamatin! I didn’t know you were still in today.”

“I’m always ‘in’ .” Mr. Stamatin stood a full head taller than Eliza, as well as the vast majority of the students. A fact that left every interaction with him, no matter how mild, with the distinct sense of being lectured by a parent. “I will ask again– what is it that you are doing ‘ in’ the cage, Ms. Danielson?”

 “I, uh, was just gonna fire up the lathe for an end table I’m working on.”

“You are aware you need to check keys through me, are you not?”

“I am aware.” Eliza chewed the inside of her cheek as her gaze drifted past him and to the cage door behind him. Between that and the closed shop doors, she had no idea how he had managed to sneak up on her. Doing her best to bite back a frustrated frown, she looked back up to him. “I was in a rush and you weren’t in the office. I wasn’t sure when you were going to be back so I figured I’d go ahead and set up while I waited.”

There was no telling if he bought this little half-truth–she’d have better luck getting a read off one of the wood planks than Mr. Stamatin. “...I see. Well. I would be happy to assist now that I have returned.”

“Awesome!” She said, feeling the opposite. He propped the cage door open and helped her guide the heavy machine out of storage and to its designated spot.

As vague as it might be, there was a reason hardly anyone in the department fucked with the aloof shop manager. Every conversation with him was a struggle no matter what angle he was approached with. She assumed English wasn’t his first language with how often he’d clip his sentences down to the bare essentials–simple, direct and sharp. Though he clearly had enough of a grasp to understand what was said–she also doubted the university would hire someone who wasn’t at least partially fluent. Regardless, he left many a freshman ego wounded with nothing more than a single word or observation… and his curtness only worsened with the grads.

You could not design a more intimidating Russian.

He held his hand out expectantly. “Keys.”

“Pardon?”

“The switch keys. You have them?”

She sighed as she reached into her bag and tossed them over. I’ll make copies another time. “Oh, right. Here ya go.”

“Thank you.” He turned the switch over and the indicator light blinked to life. A low electric thrum confirming the lathe was powered and ready to go. “Do you need lumber?”

“I got it covered, thanks.” She set her tote down and unloaded the four 2’2 pine boards poking out the corner of the bag. Their edges were beginning to splinter–they’d been knocking around the passenger seat of her car for a little too long–but a perfect fit for the drawer she already had built out. 

Mr. Stamatin’s brow furrowed. “...that is softwood.”

“Yeah. It’s cheap.” Eliza began loading one of the planks into the lathe. “Why?”

“Hardwood is better for turning. Also–forgive me–” He apologized before taking one of the planks, running a finger along the splintering edge, “You see this? This fray? Whatever you carve, will fray the same way. Your table will not last.”

“...it’s what I had around.” Eliza mumbled as she clamped the board down. “And it’s a gift for my mom, I’m not selling it or nothing. I don’t think she’ll mind if it gets a little worn. Actually I think she might prefer it that way.”

“I can cut you some maple.”

“...I mean. I already made the top. It’d look mis-matched.” Eliza’s frustration was beginning to peek through as a tight tenor underscoring her speech. “And I already have it loaded in. So–”

“No. Nonono. Eliza, I expected more from someone of your talent–this is shoddy. Especially for a gift.” Mr. Stamatin ‘tsked as he pulled the key from the power supply, cutting it.

“Uh. Thank you?” This was the first time she’d heard anything resembling praise from him–not just directed at her, but at anyone, period. Backhanded? Yes. Flattering? Also yes.

“You are welcome.” He pocketed the key. “I will fetch the maple. Be right back.”

He disappeared around the corner into the loading dock, and Eliza sat down on a nearby stool with a sigh. Huh. This was… weird. Sure she had only been in the program for about a year and a half, but she felt like she had at least a general sense of who Mr. Stamatin was. She’d met his type time and time again in undergrad– reserved, a harsh perfectionist. Prone to hyperfixation so intense it turns his projects inside out. He had spoken to her maybe once… twice unprompted over the two and a half months she worked with him on that Endgame set? Hell, she didn’t even know his first name. He never shared it and on the university website only listed him as “A. Stamatin”. 

But now suddenly he’s playing at being her mentor? Fuck off.

She checked her phone. 

11:45. December 23rd, 2014.

Two missed calls from “Maw”.

Three new texts from “Maw”.

Eliza’s heart remained firmly sunk into her gut as she pocketed her phone; she was almost relieved when Mr. Stamatin returned. He handed her four 2’2 planks and the lathe key. “There. Hardwood makes for better furniture. Pine is better suited for sets.”

“...Thanks.” Eliza got up and began to load the first leg into the lathe “So… you’re staying in town for Christmas?”

Mr. Stamatin took her spot on the stool, watching over her shoulder as she powered up the lathe. “I am. Yourself?”

“My mom lives in Des Moines. So, at this point, yeah. No point in leaving now.” She shrugged as she finished fastening the plank into the machine. “You got family anywhere?”

“We’re all local.”

Eliza scoffed. The man had an accent thicker than pine tar. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He did not. 

Eliza sized him up for a beat, frown weighing the corner of her mouth. It was only now that she really got a good look at him, and noticed that… he kind of looked like shit. His skin was sickly pale, dark circles well defined below his eyes. If he told her he had not slept in a week, she’d believe him. However there was nothing in his stature that implied impairment, his posture was straight and his hands steady. Maybe it was just the shop lights? “You’re local?”

“Not local- local. I did not grow up here…” He trailed off, his mind elsewhere. “It’s a long story. What matters is this is where they’ve settled. Now a question in kind: how long have you been working as a carpenter?”

Eliza shrugged as she watched the lathe gain momentum. “Four years professionally, eight years if you count the work I did in undergrad.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Oh boy, do I.”

Mr. Stamatin snorted, “Passionate.”

“It’s almost midnight on christmas eve, I’m tired. I don’t really have the bandwidth for this, I just want to get it over with.” Eliza took a step back as she scrolled through the measurements she sketched out on her notes app. “Sorry. You’re making small talk. I’m being an asshole.”

“You are. But I get it.” Mr. Stamatin paused again, a consideration. “I’m playing teacher while you’re clearly crafting an apology.”

“An apology?”

“It’s christmas eve. You’re hundreds of miles from home. Your phone’s been buzzing in your pocket and you barely bother to check. Trying to not think of your mother, sitting alone in the dark this holiday?” 

Eliza turned to face him, taken aback. “How old are you?”

“Thirty.” The number hit the ground between them with a thud, utterly detached. 

“You talk like my grandpa.”

Mr. Stamatin leaned back in his stool, clearly thinking he struck a vein. “Does he chastise you for ignoring family calls?”

“You’ve barely spoken to me since I started grad school despite us sharing space and equipment six evenings a week for over a year. You have not earned the mileage to be this fucking petty with me, I don’t care if I stepped on your toes or whatever by taking the keys.” She turned away from him and pocketed her phone, stepping back to the lathe. “You don’t get to talk to me like I’m five.”

The stool scraped across the concrete as he stood abruptly, “Eliza–”

“First name basis already? When it’s only been a year and a half? You’re rushing me, Mr. Stamatin–” Eliza didn’t get to complete that thought. She had been reaching over the lathe–first mistake. She had left the spindle gouge on the table and had went to grab it when suddenly her sleeve–and her arm–was yanked down into the headstock spindle. She should have taken off her sweater, but it was frigid in the shop so she hadn’t. That was her second and far more fatal mistake.

She heard her bones snap before she felt it.

Her right hand folded, twisted and tore in a wash of undefined, white-hot pain. Pain that screamed up her arm almost as fast as the limb itself was fed into the machine’s momentum. Instead of the sawdust and cold concrete of the shop she swore she smelled the feet-deep peet of prairie, the putrid-sweet smell of sweat and the salt-licking bees it attracted. Woodrot and moss, earthen morels and creek-dampened locust-tree shade.

Eliza’s short life overwhelmed her–the final buffer before the churning force of multiple tonnes subsumed her.

But it never did.

What felt like a molten rod drove beneath her shoulder blade and with another, definitive CRACK she was no longer being pulled into the lathe but away. She felt something– a hand? Who’s hand? --pressing and pulling where the agony had localized in her shoulder socket as she felt her back press up against another body before she was spun around. 

“Look at me.”

Eliza’s gaze drifted, her vision swimming. A vacant, distant part of her recognized the various landmarks of the shop–the bay door, the prop cubbies, the wall where the unused stage lights hung and the plastic tub of unsorted gobos languishing beneath them–but it was all stained. Tinted. She felt like she was looking through stained glass, into somewhere else, somewhere far off. Pain twinged through her torso as she felt the hands on her shoulders shake her.

“Look at me.”

Her reptile brain snapped to attention, her eyes snapping up to meet Mr. Stamatin’s. It was surreal, seeing any emotion there, especially the mix of terror and panic that kept his gray eyes wide and his cheeks colorless. He held a finger up between them, and her eyes tracked its movement without issue. “Eliza. You should sit.”

The lathe was still whirring in the background. It was only then that she registered what felt like warm rain pattering against the back of her neck. With her remaining hand, she reached back and dipped her fingers into the moisture, looking down to see blood smeared across her fingertips. Her blood. Her blood was still being sprayed out by the lathe.

Eliza opened her mouth to speak, but only bile came out. One violent retch shook her body as the acid stained the fronts of both of their shirts. The last thing she saw before knees gave out was a bit of knitted scrap unspun on the floor between them. 

The remains of her sweater sleeve, drenched in blood.

****

When Eliza came to, she was laid out across a cot.

Bleary-eyed, she squinted against a bright light of a surgical light haloing her. The hospital…? The smell of alcohol and disinfectant hung heavy in the air. A dull headache thrummed in time with her pulse as her gaze drifted to the IV taped to her arm, tube coiling dull crimson from the crook of her elbow to the transfusion bag. Further down her arm, a leather strap cuffed her wrist to the surgical bed–not that she was in any position to move her arm. Stare at it all she liked, she could not will it to move. Anything from twitching her finger to rolling her shoulder. Alarm as dull as the throbbing between her ears rolled over her as her mind reach out to the other–

A wash of blood drowned her senses. 

Whirring machinery.

Snapped bones. 

A scrap of sweater wetly slapped at her feet.

Nausea rolled over her. With an empty stomach she was left to wrestle with dry a heave as she struggled to shove the memory out of view as quickly as possible.

It’s gone.

It’s gone.

I’m never working in a shop again.

“Awake?” 

It took great effort, but Eliza was able to turn her head toward the voice. Flush beside her bed was a stainless steel worktable with what she assumed was a mannequin arm laid across it. Mr. Stamatin was hunched over it as he fiddled with its wrist. She had to clear her throat to find her voice. “...yeah.”

He did not look up. “Good, good.”

“What… happened? Is this the hospital? What…” Eliza trailed off as she felt her heart pick up pace, the pressure in her skull increasing. Fuck. She sucked in a shaky, steadying breath. Grateful for whatever IV cocktail she’d been put on because drug weight seemed to be the only thing grounding her. The space outside of their halo was dim, but not indiscernible. More of what you’d expect from a typical OR– equipment she barely recognized, messes of tubes and bags and lcd monitors. Most of it appeared a couple decades out of date, but not so old as to be unrecognizable. 

But mixed in between the islands of sterile surgical steel were more commercial-looking workbenches and organizers. Stations more befitting of the scene shop they shared than a hospital. Squinting past the darkness, she could swear she saw five… maybe six ornately carved wood panels lined up along a far wall–and if she focused she could smell sawdust underscoring the sterile sharpness of the cramped room.

Mr. Stamatin took a few moments to wrap up his work before pulling away from the arm, directing his attention fully on Eliza. She hadn’t noticed before, but despite the clear cut and peeled back skin around the carpal bones, he held no blade or tool in his hand. He wasn’t even wearing gloves–his bare fingers shone bright red in the lamplight. “You are in my surgery. Your sleeve was pulled into the lathe, along with your arm. Thankfully the rest of you did not follow.”

‘My’ surgery? “...is that my arm?”

“Not the original. That was irrecoverable. However, I happen to have a spare that should substitute just fine, with a bit of tailoring.” He turned back to his work. The tips of his fingers peeled back to reveal bleached bone tips, sharpened to fine points which easily manipulated the fine bands of tissue of the substitute hand. 

Eliza blearily blinked past this, squeezing her eyes shut until she saw stars and looked again. The bare bone was still there, still fraying away loose tendon string. Okay. Cool. Meanwhile, Mr. Stamatin’s words glided across the IV-glossed surface of her brain like a skater on fresh ice. Lost an arm but don’t worry. You’re getting a new one. As you do. “It looks dead.”

He nodded. “It is. For now. Once it’s attached to your circulatory system it should start waking back up– expect pins and needles for at least the first 12 hours, if not a full 24. Should be indistinguishable from the old one within the month.”

“Where did you get it?”

Silence. A small smile.  “You are taking this in stride.”

“I’m so fucked up I can’t even move. Not much of a choice.” Eliza’s attention turned toward her legs. With some effort, she was able to wiggle her feet around but not much else. “What am I on?”

“A cot.”

“Drugs. What drugs am I on?”

“A cocktail of barbiturates, saline solution and blood.” He glanced up at her, “would you have preferred I held off on the painkillers?”

When Eliza tilted her head back, the muscles in her neck seized painfully. Maybe he hadn’t given her enough. “...where did you get the blood?”

“Self-donated.” He gestured toward his arm, where she could see the tell-tale bruising of a heavy blood draw. “Lucky you, I’m a universal donor.”

Eliza lifted an eyebrow. “Was the arm self-donated as well?”

“...well, I had it on hand and am giving it to you. So, technically, yes.”

“Who’s arm is it?”

“No one you know.” He cracked his knuckles and leaned back, admiring it. “And its originator gave it to me freely, so you can let your conscience rest. No mutiny from this one.”

Eliza’s heart was shrieking in her chest, but she felt a part of herself nodding along. Maybe it's a dream? And if it isn’t… that arm looks pretty goddamn real, and fresh. She thought back to an uncle of hers that had his pointer finger lopped off by a butcher knife, how they iced it and stitched it back on. Less dexterous, a bit more pale, but functional. He seems stable. Like he knows what he’s doing… I think. She let her head fall back onto the cot with a sigh. “...are you, like, a med school dropout or something? Is patching people up a hobby of yours?”

Mr. Stamatin stood, looping around to the cot’s open side. His hands reached toward her butchered shoulder, disappearing from her field of view as she felt the pin-prick sensation of something tugging along the outer socket.  “All I ask is for you to trust me. Trust that I will do right by you, as someone under my care. Can I expect that from you?”

Eliza met his gaze. His eyes level with an intensity that honed onto the hairline fractures of her doubt, splitting it apart. Maybe it was something in that cocktail being mainlined into her veins. Maybe it was the shock of the situation. Whatever the cause, it wasn’t as tall of an ask as it should have been. “Again--not much of a choice, is it?”

He sat on this for a moment before turning his attention back to the socket. “How about this– if you aren’t pleased with my work, I will take you straight to the hospital. I brought you here since my home is a stone’s throw from the theater and you weren’t in stable condition. But now that you are stable–”

“--can’t you take me now?” Eliza shifted uncomfortably under the increasing burn of whatever was being done to her shoulder. “Get a professional to stitch up my arm?”

He scoffed. “A surgeon wouldn’t be able to apply this arm.”

“What do you mean a surgeon can’t? Isn’t that what you’re attempting?”

“What I’m doing is something a little more esoteric than surgery.”

“Oh, esoteric. ” Eliza groaned, “just what I want from my doctor–out of pocket procedures from Alister Crowley's big book of limb re-application.”

Mr. Stamatin’s stoic composure cracked slightly, “Oh please my practices predate him by over a millennium.”

“You’ve been doing this for a millennium?”

A wink. “Promise you won’t tell?”

If Eliza had a working arm, she’d have crossed herself. “On my grandpa’s gr–AAAHHFUCK!”

The burn flared out into an agonizing flame, hastily extinguished when Mr. Stamatin pulled back. “Shit. Forgive me, I forgot to sever the nerves.”

“What the fuck?” Eliza gasped.

“Stay with me. Talk. Let’s talk.” He caught her gaze with his own as he went back to work, “Who introduced you to carpentry?”

“Nobody–I watched some youtube videos and improvised from there –fuck! ” The pain flared again then dimmed with a snap–replaced by an unsettling numbness. “This feels like an interrogation. I feel like I’m being tortured.”

“...it does, doesn’t it?” Mr. Stamatin cleared his throat, an uncomfortable beat of silence as he searched for words. “Would you prefer to keep asking the questions? Would that help? I talk, you focus on the mend and listen?”

“Yeah…” Eliza’s attention drifted back to the wood panels. The one closest to the light depicted a tirelessly detailed oak tree, where every branch served roost to a host of different birds. They were difficult to differentiate, fine details bleeding together in the dark. It was a riot of fluid, fluttering plumage and verdant canopy. “Two questions. First: What is your name? Your full one. If I’m going to stay in your SAW basement I should at least know that. Second: If you didn’t go to school… where’d you learn to do… whatever this is? With the arm?”

“To the first–Anatol. My name is Anatol.” He stood, walking back to the arm. He gingerly picked it up, slowly turning it over in his grasp. “To the second–I will tell you on the condition that, should you be happy with your… miraculous recovery, you swear to keep what occurred tonight as a secret between us. On your life. Fair?”

“...fair.” Eliza resigned. “On my life.”

“Thank you.” He sat back down next to her exposed shoulder, aligning the humeral head of her arm with her shoulder’s socket. “This will hurt, but it will be brief. On three?”

A knot formed in her throat as she nodded. “On three.”

He adjusted his grip. “One.”

She clenched her jaw. “Two.”

“Three.”

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