#But he sent us a small sum each month

[mandareeboo]

Until my father's death certificate arrives, we're officially out of any money. We have absolutely nothing for at least a week or two- the funeral has yet to be planned. If anyone has some time or cash to spare please consider commissioning me or donating to my paypal or ko-fi! Any donations can be clocked in for commissions later! My paypal is mandaree100@gmail.com!

[ashc-from-ao3]

You’re really soft

tASM peter Parker x male teen reader

(Y/n) was walking hurriedly towards his home, a friend had thrown a party and invited the whole school and naturally when everyone got together some idiot brought booze. And of course other idiots drank said booze, (Y/n) was one of those idiots, he was drunker than he had ever remembered being and in his drunken state walking home, alone ,past midnight, in the slightly shady part of New York seemed like a grand idea. He giggled as he stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, up ahead a stray cat was startled by him and yowled before running into a alleyway.

"OH MY GOD! KITTY, KITTY COME LOVE MEEEEEE!" The drunk teen stumbled into the alleyway intent on loving the poor stray cat.

"Well lookie what we have here, a little boy. All by himself at night, need some help getting home sweetie?" Normally (Y/n) would have the common sense to turn around and try to get away from the large man that now loomed in the back of the ally. Said man lunged forward and grabbed his arm startling him and causing him to scream. Half a second later a white object hit the man's arm and attached it to the brick wall closest to him. Three more projectiles darted forward, one attached to the man's other arm and one grabbed (Y/n) around the waist and tugged him backwards into the embrace of one Spiderman. (Y/n) giggled at the mob,net and snuggled into the superheroe's arms. He could practically feel the hatred that the web slinger was shooting at hisattacker when suddenly both him and spiderman where swinging from building to building (Y/n) gave a short yelp when the ride started but as it continued he calmed down and laughed as the lights of the city flew past, he could have sworn that he heard a soft chuckle come from Spiderman but he had little time to dwell on the fact before he was setting him down in front of her apartment.

"Are your parent home? Do you have anyone staying with you?" (Y/n) Shook his head vigorously, his parents where rich, almost as rich as the Osborne family and never wanted a child, when he was born they bought an appartment and hired a nanny to take care of him 24/7 as he grew they continued sending, what to them was small meaningless amounts of money and they lived their lives without ever actually seeing him. Most people would grow up hating their parents and being snobbish but he had grown up nice, caring and with a big heart, he never used the full sum of the money his parents would have automatically deposited into his bank account each month so he often sent it to people who needed it more. He bought cloths at Value Village and bought half price food, now that he was old enough he no longer had a caretaker and he was doing fine. The drunk boy tried to tell Spiderman this but only came up with.

"Noooooooppppppe, me alone" before almost falling, Spiderman sighed and swept an arm under his knees and brought him back into his arms, he questioned him about where he slept and he pointed it out after some difficulties. The masked man seemed very familiar to him but he couldent place his finger on what it was. When he reached his room he placed him under the covers and was about to leave when.

"Stay" he turned around and sighed, Peter had had a huge crush on (Y/n) for ages now, he figured a rich, handsome boy would never look at him twice so he never made a move or showed any affection towards him. He finally made up his mind and, still in his outfit slipped under the covers.

(Y/n) Woke up with a yawn, he had sleep for a few hours and felt a little better. His hangover hadent hit yet but the alcohol was no longer in his system. Something shifted beside her and a gentle 'hmmm' was heard, he twisted around to see who it was and almost shrieked, it was Spiderman but his mask had come off during his sleep and showed the face of the one classmate he would never suspect. Peter Parker, he always wanted to be friends with him but he was always distant, it hurt him as he had developed a small crush on the bruenett. He figured he thought he was snobbish and rude and hence why he avoided him, so he kept his crush under lock and key and only told his close friend Gwen Stacy. Giving into temptation (Y/n) reached over and gently ran his hand through his hair, Peter mumbled and reached up and grabbed his hand before pulling it down to rest on his chest. His eyes blinked open and stared in shock at (Y/n) when he realized his mask had come off. An adorable smile broke over his face and a giggle escaped him.

"You're really soft." He said looking a little sheepish at getting caught. Peter smiled as well and chuckled.

"Am I now?" (Y/n) Nodded and looked thoughtful.

"So um.......you're Spiderman? No wonder you never wanted anything to do with me, why would you want to hang out with me when you could have literally any girl or boy in New York, I mean they all adore you." Peter looked confused.

"I thought you didn't want anything to do with me, after all your rich and handsome.....no you're beautiful and nice, and I have had the biggest crush on you since like forever. and I could go on but I'm going to stop before I make a bigger fool of myself."

"Y-you have a crush on me? Oh wow, I thought you thought I was just a snotty, snobbish, rich boy. But you have a crush on me. Plot twist, my crush actually likes me back!" In his excitement he didn't notice Peter move closer to her until he felt the gentle pressure of peter's lips on his own. His surprise froze him for a second before he wrapped his arms around his neck, threaded his fingered in his hair and kissed back. Peter placed on hand between his shoulder blades and another at the small of his back before pressing himself even closer to him, he licked (Y/n)'s bottom lip and when he opened his mouth his tongue explored eagerly. (Y/n) Pulled back before it got too heated and snuggled into Peter's chest.

"So (Y/n) wanna go out on a date with me?" (Y/n) Nodded and wrapped his arms around Peter's waist.

"That's would be nice, I am still having trouble wrapping my head around the fact that you actually like me." Peter smiled and started moving backwards to snuggle with (Y/n) while lying in a comfortable position. The two started to drift off again, it was still early after all and just as they fell asleep Peter mumbled.

"You know, you're really soft to."

[crusadingcookie]

Hey i was wondering if maybe u can do a fic where reader is part of taskforce 141 and most of the time is super focused on the mission and her orders but seems out it it bc its her daughter bday or sum ,and they find out she used to have a family (husband,children the while shabang) but they were murdered or died in a terrorist attack. I just want something really angsty 😭💀

spring daffodils

Also on AO3!

Pairing: TF141 & fem!Reader, mentioned Reader x unnamed!Husband 

Summary: It’s been years since the tragic death of your husband and daughter at the hands of an enemy target you were tracking at the time. On the day of what would have been your daughter’s birthday, something in a mission causes you to break down in front of the rest of the task force. Or: 3k words of the reader crying and Task Force 141 comforting her

Word Count: 3k

Content Warnings: fem!Reader, angst, hurt/comfort, crying, brief argument with Ghost at the beginning but nothing too bad, Reader was married and had a child, mentions of death (including death of a child), brief mention of blood, Reader has the codename “Tigress”, this is all strictly platonic, Tigress has that widow trauma so no time for romance, no beta we die like Tigress' family, it's for the angst plot guys I swear

A/N: Thank you for the request, I’m sorry this is kinda late but I hope you enjoy it! The ending is a bit meh but I already felt bad with how late this is. I tried to make this as angsty as possible but with some comfort and a bit of fluff at the end. 

It was spring when you first met him. You were back home after a long, tiring time of non-stop tours and missions. You decided to take a small break of a couple of months before specialising further in your military career. A new café had opened near your home and you often found yourself there, spending the afternoon in the cosy shop. It was where you first met him. You had just picked up your cup of coffee when something bumped into you from behind, causing your coffee to spill all over the front of your shirt. You turned around, ready to have a word with whoever knocked into you when you were met with a ramble of apologies and promises to buy you a new coffee. Soon you found yourself sitting with the man in a private corner of the café, a hot cup of coffee in front of you and a promise of a new shirt to replace the coffee-stained one. One date quickly turned into two, the both of you enraptured with each other. And after a few years, a golden ring adorned your finger. After a year or so of the two of you being married, your daughter was born. A little human being who brought joy and innocence to your life, who did not know of the true horrors her mum faced to keep people like her safe.

=====

And it was spring when they died. The trees were starting to bud and the flowers were starting to bloom again. The sky was finally clear after months of grey clouds and cold winds. Mother Earth was once again encouraging and welcoming new life when their light was snuffed out. A bitter irony. 

The family of crows which lived in your back garden sat in the branches of the tree overlooking your driveway. Watching as you made your way across the driveway and to the front door, observing like a bad omen. Only for you to discover the bodies of your husband and daughter. Shot dead in the very living room of your own home. It was like a silly game of Cluedo, whodunnit and with what? Except this wasn’t a silly game of Cluedo. You knew exactly who had ordered this to be done. 

Their deaths were because of your line of work. A tragic event born from a multitude of failures. The target you were chasing at the time with your old squad had sent out the hit on your family. In a last-ditch attempt to attack your squad in some way. And if he couldn’t get to your squad directly, then he would hurt them indirectly. And that he did. Somehow it got out that you had a family, it shouldn’t have. Someone back at base fucked up because that information should have been strictly secret to prevent these types of situations in the first palace. It should have been redacted behind a big block of black ink on your file. But in the end, your target was the one with the last laugh whilst you were forced to deal with the sight of your husband and daughter murdered in your own home. 

Since that day you have thrown yourself into your work. Sinking in an endless ocean of mission after mission, wanting to give up and stop swimming and yet just as the last breath of air leaves your lungs you find yourself breaking the surface yet again. A never-ending cycle of peace until the storm of grief strikes anew.

Without anyone left back home, it was easy to dedicate everything to the military and a few years later you found yourself recruited by no other than Captain John Price himself. This new task force, the 141, was the closest thing to family you had experienced in a long time. And yet, you still couldn’t find it in yourself to tell the boys about them. About your husband and your little girl. A part of you reasoned that there was no need for them to know, what was the point when their fate has already been engraved in stone and nothing can change the outcome of what happened. Or maybe you were just too much of a coward to confront what happened that day.

What you couldn’t ignore was the current date. Its significance is seared into your mind, a constant reminder of what could have been. Of what you have lost. And of course, the task force was assigned a mission on this day of all days. At first, the mission you and the rest of the task force were on was going well. You always prided yourself in being professional and focused when it came to missions. You knew the seriousness of the situation and followed orders given to you. 

And then it all went to shit. You were already feeling off the moment you woke up. Not even looking at the small desk calendar to remind yourself of the date. As if you haven’t been counting down the days. Like clockwork, waiting for the guilt and grief to wash over you until the tsunami passed and you waited until another 365 days passed to repeat the process.

You and your team had cleared the abandoned village the enemy had set up base in. You were ordered to search and clear one of the buildings in case there were any enemies in hiding. As you methodically made your way through the house you came across what clearly used to be a child’s room. Toys were strewn about, but what caused you to pause was the sight of a teddy bear dropped at the foot of the bed. Intel had informed you that the village was forced to flee as the enemy forces occupied the area, some resisting and resulting in civilian deaths. Your eyes zeroed in on the blood splatter on one of the teddy’s ears, the fake fur matted with the dried liquid. 

“Mum, can I get that teddy pretty pleaasee?”

“Alright sweetie, but only this one okay?”

“Yay thank you! I will name you… hmmm… Sir Stripes!”

You honestly did not remember much after that. The rest of the village was deemed clear and soon you were on the flight back to base. You fought to keep yourself together just for a few more hours until you were back on base and could grieve alone within the confines of your own four walls. Your team watched with concern as you sat, back straight and staring ahead at the hull of the plane. 

A hand on your shoulder jolted you out of your memories. You recognised the face of the pilot and it took you embarrassingly long to realise the rest of the team had already disembarked the plane. You mumbled what you hoped was an intelligible apology and made your way over to the locker room. Thankfully the room was empty, you loved your teammates that was without question. But right now, you didn’t think you could make it much longer until you broke down. With practised ease, you stripped yourself of your gear and it seemed you were lucky enough that no one came to find out why you were taking so long. You should have known by now that luck typically doesn’t go your way. Just as you put away the last of your gear a voice from the doorway interrupted you.

“Care to explain what’s up with you today?” With a deep breath, you turned and faced Ghost. Your lieutenant was standing in the doorway of the armoury, already out of his field gear, although he looked just as intimidating in his normal attire. 

“I don’t know what you mean, the mission was a success.” You said, attempting to feign ignorance. Of course, Ghost saw through that.

“You were out of it” Ghost replied, his eyes piercing into yours, his sharp gaze never leaving you. 

You stayed silent, hoping that he would drop it and let you go so that you could inevitably cry in peace. The two of you stood in silence, staring at each other until Ghost crossed his arms over his chest, looking even more imposing in the doorway.

“Don’t bullshit me Tigress. You were clearly out of it, hell even Soap noticed and you know it takes him long to figure this kind of shit out.” 

“The mission was a success, so I don’t see why this is an issue.” You huffed, starting to get irritated at the man’s persistent probing. Any other day you would be happy to know that the infamous Ghost cared. But right now? Right now you just wanted to be left alone. You just wanted to stew in your grief, let the dark thoughts remind you of what happened. You had to keep the walls up. They can’t know how fucked up your life was. How you failed to protect them. You don’t deserve their comfort.

Ghost shifted at the slight tone in your voice. If it wasn’t clear before that something was bothering you, now it definitely was. “It becomes an issue when one of my soldiers is not thinking clearly in enemy territory.”

“Look, Lieutenant, it's getting late, we’re all tired. This won’t happen again.” You sighed, exasperated by both the exhaustion from the mission and the emotional toll it took on you.

You pushed past the man and made your way to the task force’s shared kitchen area. Hoping to get a fresh glass of water and some snacks before your inevitable break down. Of course Ghost, the stubborn man that he is, followed you. He wasn’t done with this situation and in his own way wanted to make sure you were okay so that you wouldn’t be distracted in future missions. You ignored the rest of your team sitting in the room and beelined straight for the kitchen cupboard, taking out an empty glass.

“This isn’t a joke Tigress. One mistake and it can cost you your life out there” 

“I know that!” You exclaimed in response to Ghost’s voice, not turning around to face the man who had followed you to the common area.

“Do you? Do you know that? Because today, out there it seemed like one of my soldiers was ready to put her life in danger because she wasn’t aware!”

Ghost waits for an answer but when he gets none he continued, “I can’t have you out there acting as if there is nothing for you to go back to back home”

“Well, there is nothing back home!” You yelled out, setting the glass not so gently on the counter. Immediately you closed your eyes in regret of your outburst. 

Ghost faltered for a second, the rest of the team watching you with your back turned to them

You faced the wall, feeling the sting grow stronger in your eyes. You tilted your face up towards the ceiling, hoping it would stave off the tears. The muscles in your jaw tensed as you clenched them in an attempt to keep your composure. 

“Tigress?”

You took a deep breath and turned to face your team. They watched as you faced them, your lip quivering as you fought to contain the sobs building in your throat, eyes brimmed with tears threatening to spill down your cheeks at any second. You rapidly blinked your eyes at the moisture building up in them. 

“I’m gonna go to sleep,” you said with a shaky voice.

“Hey, don’t pull away from us, please. Tell us what’s wrong” Gaz was the first one to break the silence, he got up and moved to stand in front of you. “Are you alright?” he asked, stretching his arms out towards you in a silent offering.

At the sound of his gentle voice the walls you so desperately built to shield your own heart broke. And with them your last composure. You sniffled a few times, inhaling the air up through your nose as your face twisted with both the emotional pain and the effort of not breaking down. You shook your head softly at him, words failing you at this moment due to the lump in your throat and the tight coil wrapped in your chest. You practically dove into Gaz’s outstretched arms, allowing yourself for the first time in years to have this comfort. His arms came down to wrap around you and in the safety of his embrace, the first sob escaped from where you tried to bury it down. The tears quickly followed and found their way down your cheeks. 

The two of you stood there for what felt like hours, Gaz gently rocking you from side to side. Years of built-up grief and anguish finally escaped from where you had buried those feelings deep within your heart, bubbling up into a series of broken sounds escaping your lips. After a few minutes, your sobs calmed down to a few quiet hiccups and sniffles. Another arm joined to draw comforting circles on your back, you tilted your head from where it was resting against Gaz’s chest to see Soap standing next to you. A warm smile on the Scotman’s face. 

“I- um…” you trailed off, your words interrupted by yet another sniffle. 

“Take your time lass,” answered Soap

You sent him a watery smile and pulled your sleeves over your hands to wipe at your eyes as well as your running nose. You coughed to clear the croakiness in your voice and took a deep breath in an effort to calm down.

“I had a husband years ago. We were married and even had a little girl together. This was before I joined the task force and everything,” you paused to accept a tissue from Price, you blew out your nose before continuing. “And well, they were both killed because of my involvement in a case. The target we were tracking sent out the hit.”

“Kid, I had no idea.” Price said, taking your used tissue from your hand and replacing it with a clean one. He may deny that he is the dad of the team, but all of you knew he cared for every single one of you.

“I didn’t want any of you to know. I tried putting that shit behind me. Didn’t want to talk about it, so I left it out of my file.” You explained and with a weak laugh you continue, “she would have been eight today. Her dad would always buy her those supermarket cakes, and if I wasn’t home she would insist I get one as well so that I could eat some cake too.”

All of your teammates’ hearts ached seeing how much pain you carried, how long you probably suffered and grieved for their losses without having anyone to comfort you. Never before had they seen you with this much pain in your voice, you were always the one who got the job done on missions. Who seemed like they had their life together and returned on leave to a happy home life.

You looked up after dabbing at your eyes with the tissue to see Price standing in front of you. You didn’t think you had any tears left in you but at the sight of your Captain, the unofficial dad of the team, with his arms out wide offering you a hug and a soft look in his eyes you felt the tears well up once again. 

You accepted Price’s hug and you felt the distinct lump in the back of your throat build up again and as much as you tried to will it away, it persisted and soon more sobs were forced from you. The smell of cigars and smoke enveloped you in the warmth of his embrace. Price only pulled you closer to his chest at the sound of your sobs, allowing you to fully bury your face into his shirt, no doubt wetting the fabric with your tears.

Soon Gaz joined you two, tears of his own in his eyes. Price reached up with one of his arms and pulled the younger man in. Soap followed shortly after and finally, you felt gentle yet firm arms enveloping all of you. You looked up to see Ghost, a rare soft look in his eyes and a silent apology for having pushed you for answers earlier. 

You felt safe here in the big, warm group hug of your teammates and slowly your sobs dwindled until they completely died down.

“I have some pictures I can show you guys,” you disentangled yourself from the group hug to move to one of the couches and took out your phone, scrolling past pictures of the task force members as well as pictures of your old team. You finally found your favourite picture, it shows your husband and daughter together, a tiger plushie clutched in your daughter’s hands. Your team gathered around as you showed them the picture.

“Wait, is that why?” Soap began to ask and you nodded.

“They were her favourite animal. And when she found out about codenames, she practically insisted on that being my codename”

“So like a secret spy!”

“Yes sweetie, it’s a secret spy name”

“Can you choose your own?”

“We can, or it’s a nickname given to us by our friends”

“Ooo how about Tiger? No! Tigress!”

“That’s an amazing idea, honey”

You took a moment to stare at the picture, smiling at how happy they both looked in it. Your hand which held the crumpled tissue reached up to lightly dab at the tears welling up in your eyes again. You accepted another tissue from Ghost this time, where he got them from you had no idea but you were grateful for it anyways. 

The rest of the evening was spent with all of you sharing various stories from over the years. Tucked in between your teammates, tired from the emotional day, you felt a sense of home. Something which you hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

[pterodactylterrace]

*less than two months ago*

Beloved? You sure about that Condal? Just… forgot about the mass murder at the coronation? Never happened? Not one of those small folk remembered when she killed hundreds of them for absolutely no reason other than to stare at Aegon and then fly off?

If you were going for a more realistic reaction, they would have been cheering that the dragon and dragon rider that slaughtered so many of them answered for their crimes.

So, according to Condal, hanging a dozen rat catchers (I believe?) to ensure no other assassination attempts befell the royal family would turn all the small folk against Aegon, but the dragon that killed HUNDREDS of them was “beloved”? Did Aegon not meet the quota for small folk slaughter to be beloved or something? Is that it? You have to kill at least 200 before they go from hating you to loving you?

Someone get Condal’s dumbass out of the writing room. Let like 3 hardcore fans take his place. One TB, one TG, one Team Smallfolk. They will make a MUCH better and balanced show. And maybe something interesting will happen. I mean, do we really need five episodes of Rhaenyra’s council not listening? And huge chunks of those episodes just being a bunch of old men squabbling about “women can’t!” While Rhaenyra continues doing fuck all but getting upset about it?

Jesus, show us Aemond decimating the blockade with Vhagar now that Meleys’ patrolling isn’t an issue. Show us Sunfyre’s wounds and the men left to guard him! FFS, stop just standing around talking about what they should do and actually DO something already! Fuck, after Jaehaerys assassination why didn’t they all jump on their dragons and just burn down Dragonstone in the middle of the night? Riders without their dragons are just people. Dragon fire can cook them through the stone walls (see Harrenhal) but nooooooo. Just have a bunch of scenes of people blaming each other and doing nothing about it. Super compelling TV.

Season 1 I rewatched several times because there was usually something going on. Season 2, I was able to catch husband up on the entire season in under two minutes. “Aegon wants to be a good king, his son gets killed by assassins, Rhaenyra grieves the loss of her son, Daemon left for Harrenhal after Rhaenyra found out he sent the assassins. Cole leads an army through the crown lands, sets a trap at Rook’s Rest, Aegon drunkenly interferes and ends up getting roasted by Vhagar. Aemond is now regent.” Tada, five episodes summed up. Hit all the major plot points. Most of which weren’t even impactful.

The only two major events have been B&C and RR. We are over halfway through the season, and we have had less action and interesting things happening than the last three episodes of season 1.

We were promised all out war. Is the all out war in the room with us?

[childlikegoblinqueen]

Grimwalker Lore: The Boy of Clay and Bone.

Another in universe Grimwalker Scary Tale with an afterword by Flora D'Splora.

TW for gore and other nasty stuff.

THE BOY OF CLAY AND BONE

Once a married couple sent their only son to war. It was a demand of the ruling king that one child of every peasant family between age 12 and 21 be sacrificed to the service as a soldier. 

They prayed every night that the Titan would grant his safe return – and one night a knock came to the door that they hoped was their child, but instead it was a castle guard. 

“Your boy has been lost in his noble service to the crown.” The guard bowed their head and handed the mother a small blue stone. “In return the King offers you a gift.”  

“We have lost our only joy in the world.” The father growled, “In a war we did not begin and the King repays us with a gemstone? The life of our child cannot be bought!”

“In return for your sacrifice, the King has given you a galderstone. It can be used to make your spells more powerful – or you may sell it for a sum that will grant you a life of luxury.”

The guard then drew three more spell circles, and out popped a box wrapped in gold, a box wrapped in silver and a box wrapped in a shiny red. 

“So the King wishes to bribe us for our grief.” The mother sighed. “I suppose the three boxes are filled with gold, fine silver, and silk for fine clothing?”

The servant shook their head and gestured to the golden box. 

“In this package, you will find the skeletal remains of your son. Bone of Ortet.” They said.

The servant gestured to the silver box. “In this box you will find the lungs of a stone sleeper.” 

The Servant gestured to the ruby red box, “In this box you will find the scales of a selkidomus. If you head into the forest under the full mood and retrieve a branch of a palistrom tree, you may use the galderstone and these ingredients to recreate your lost child in the form of a grimwalker servant. But heed this warning. If you do so, you must add iron ore to the soil so its bile sac shrinks to the size of a goreberry. He may rise and look like your son, but these werms* are not true witches. It is forbidden by the rule of the land to raise one with magic like a true witch.”

“And if we do, will the King Strike us down?” The father asked.

“If you do, you will seal your own doom.” The servant replied. And with that, he turned and left the couple behind. 

The couple mourned their child for three months and often passed their neighbors at market – many others had perished in the battle and it had become more common to see a family out for a stroll with a replica of their dead child in tow – nearly identical were many to the originals, though some variations did arise – but each one shared a particularly unsettling feature with the next. Each one had eyes as red as blood that glowed when it was dark. 

After a while the couple relented. Overcome by the void of loss they harvested a palistrom branch and buried the galderstone along with a rib bone of their lost son and the other ingredients in the clay beside the grave they had made for the original. 

But they had forgotten to add the iron ore as instructed.

After the allotted time, a hand rose from the pit of clay twisted as a rotten vine. It was followed promptly by a head. Then a body, full grown and naked and bathed in the full moonlight.

The couple were overjoyed! This creature had an uncanny resemblance to their son as he had been before death at age 13! The mother and father rushed to embrace the creature – but when it opened its eyes it locked the parents in place with a hypnotic red glare. 

Without a second thought the creature ate them from head to toe and headed into town where it  met a trickster kitsune* demon on his way to market to sell his wares.

“Well, what have we here?” It crooned. The creature just stared back with blank red eyes that the kitsune just knew meant this was a lost grimwalker. “So someone has misplaced their servant!” His tails waved with interest, “I’m sure you are needed around your master’s home for chores – but you have crossed my path and I know you will fetch a good price at the market.” 

The kitsune waited for a word of protest from the creature, maybe a declaration of that its owner was down the road, but nothing came.

“Not a bright one I suppose,” The kitsune shrugged. “Well,they often prefer it when you creatures mind your voices. Submit to me and we will find use for you in the home of a wealthy noble.” 

So pleased was the kitsune with its find that even its very keen ears missed the sound of the grimwalker’s growling stomach. The creature locked the demon in place with the magic in its eyes and ate it, leaving only a rib to pick the flesh out of its teeth. 

Eyes redder than ever, the monster moved towards the walls of a castle garden. With magic from its cursed bilesac it summoned the ground below to form steps on which it climbed the wall in two leaps. 

Now this was the king’s favorite garden where only the royal family was welcome – and on this night it happened that the young princess had snuck out to play amongst the red roses that bloomed only under a full moon. 

Foolish was she that she defied the king the last three times he had caught her in his garden after dark – and so confident was she that her magic would protect her from harm that she barely flinched at the sound of footsteps that approached – until a savage roar filled the air. 

The princesses head snapped up to meet two hungry eyes – red as the roses she loved so much. 

“Hello,” she greeted. The creature didn’t answer as the princess made out the shape of its body. Now the princess had been sheltered and raised by a nanny of a daft stack of scary tales where girls such as she were spirited into the night by mysterious suitors – thus she could not sense the intention of the vile thing that approached. 

“Why you’re just a boy!” She laughed. “And you are no older than I am!” 

The creature cocked its head at her curious tone, it did not approach – but the princess closed the space between them. “Your eyes are the prettiest I have ever seen! Come into the light, I bet you are my one true love come to take my hand in marriage.” 

And the monster seemed tame for the moment – and some may say that it was the princess’s gentle nature, perhaps her gentle tone, but alas – it was the smell of flowers that rendered the creature still, momentarily unable to smell the stench of its own rotting flesh. 

But the princess laid her bare hands on its cheek and reminded it of its insatiable hunger, and it did not hesitate to leave her a pile of bones for her father to retrieve at sunrise. 

______________________________________________________________________________________________

*"Werm" is an old Lovoeden word for "vermin", often associated with grimwalkers in the pre-Deadwardian times. Some texts suggest this term was used even earlier in reference to Basilisks.

** This tale is quite unfair to kitsune! We no longer see them as trickster demons. -- FLORA D'SPLORA

[bullet-prooflove]

Vacation Days - Terry Bruno x Reader (NSFW)

Because apparently I am obbessed with side characters :)

You had never been to Belize; in fact, you had never been anywhere outside of the US. You’d never had the means or the opportunity, you and Terry had always talked about travelling but it had been a pipe dream, something to think about after the two of you retired.

Then that whole shitstorm had happened with Bronx SVU, he’d been fired trying to advocate for those girls, for doing the right thing in that hell hole. When he sued them, he hadn’t been looking for a pay-out.  He’d been looking for justice because Bronx SVU was in a state of crisis and those victims, the new ones and the old ones they were simply a file shoved underneath a forgotten coffee cup. He’d received a healthy sum in return for blowing the whistle on the higherups, and he was back in a job, correcting the wrongs that had been perpetrated against those victims.

The two of you needed a break, you were exhausted and overworked from your stint in Homicide and Terry had been putting in all the hours God sent trying to fix the problems that his previous Captain had papered over. When he’d surprised you with a trip to a private island in Belize, you were gobsmacked. You tried to refuse but Terry wasn’t having any of it, the two of you had barely managed to snag more than a couple of hours together and he wanted this, he wanted to spend his money on something worthwhile. Somewhere secluded, where you could just be yourselves, take the time to relax and enjoy one another.

Sun, sea, sand and you. He couldn’t ask for anything more.

You had barely been here a day and he was already beginning to shed the stress that had manifested over the past few months. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this free, that he’d been able to actually breathe.

You were lying on a blanket on the beach when he approached you with a chilled bottle of water. Your book was resting beside you, face down. You were clad in orange bikini bottoms, that hugged your hips just right and nothing else. The advantage of a private island.

You looked delectable; he felt a stirring in his groin as he drank you in. Your eyes were closed, your expression blissful as you lay beneath the parasol. His gaze slipped lower, those beautiful breasts, sensitive nipples he wanted to get his mouth on and lick until you were keening against him. He remembered how good you felt under his hands as they glided down your waist.

He dropped down beside you, setting the water down alongside your book. His fingertips plucked at the string holding your bikini bottoms in place, toying with it between his fingers.

It felt like he hadn’t touched you like this in age, there were stolen moments, quickies in between shifts but he hadn’t had the chance to take his time, to savour you the way he wanted to. He started at your knees, his lips brushing over your skin as his palm chased up along the inside of your thigh. You tasted of coconut, sighing under his touch as he doodled a small pattern even higher. He smiles because he knows that noise, knows that you are relaxed and contented. Already he can see the moisture gathering between your legs, a slight damp patch on the cleft, marring the fabric. A low moan rolls off your lips as he brushes his finger over it.

“Do you want more baby?” he asks you, using two fingers to draw a circle on your clit.

“Please Terry.” You murmur as his fingertips trail along your wet folds. You want to sink down on his fingers, for them to fill you, he can feel it in the way you arch your hips each time he sweeps over your needy cunt.  

He shifts until he’s situated between your legs, his fingers still running over the fabric of your bikini bottoms. His fingertips toy with the elastic as that devilish smile crosses his features as he lowers his mouth to your clothed mound. His breath ghosts across your clit, causing a whine to escape your throat.

“I love having you like this, love being able to do whatever the fuck we want.” He tells you as tugs at the string holding your bottoms in place. He strips away the material before pressing his mouth to your clit. You cry out at the sensation of heat engulfing your system as he kisses that delicate bundle of nerves the same way as he kisses your mouth. It’s soft and tender, almost exploratory as he maps out the shape of you with his tongue.

It's been a while since he has loved you like this, since he’s been able to lose himself in the act of pleasure and he wonders how he could have possibility of gone so long without it. Your distinct taste under his tongue, your fingers in his hair, the way you arch your hips… Fuck he wants more, he craves it. He adds one finger at first, just enough to tease you. You meet each gentle thrust with a whimper, the delirium chasing through your veins like a narcotic.

You’re an addict who needs their fix, you want the rush, but Terry is slow and methodical, he builds you up, drawing out the rapture until you feel yourself on the cusp. He leaves you there, suspended in the euphoria, skin flushed and breathing ragged. Just as you start to come down, he adds another finger. He thrusts them even deeper, hitting that deviant little spot inside you that sends you hurtling over the edge.

It's like a wildfire exploding through your synapses, you drown in the sensation as it erupts inside of you, tearing his name from your lips as he fucks you through it wringing every last ounce of ecstasy from you. His tongue replaces his fingers as he laps up every drop of candied honey, cleaning up that sensual mess.

“Think you can give me another?” He whispers against your inner thigh, looking up at you with feverish eyes. “I need more.”

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

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[boricuacherry-blog]

"Much of what we think we know about Holiday, however, is questionable, and over time accounts of her life have been bent to serve some other purpose than telling her story," John Szwed wrote in his 2015 book Billie Holiday: The Musician and the Myth.

At least a half a dozen biographies have set about separating the fact from fiction (even her FBI file was thin, Szwed notes), leading authors to wonder why more pages weren't devoted to her songs. Pretty much all studies of Holiday have agreed that her musicianship, as revered as she remains as a singer and entertainer, was woefully underrated in her day and for decades afterward.

But however unreliable a narrator Holiday may have been [for example, her parents were never married but she claimed they were in her autobiography], all the later work bloomed from the seed she planted with Lady Sings the Blues, for which she received a $3,500 advance and 65 percent of the proceeds, to her co-author and friend William Dufty's 35 percent. The book later inspired the 1972 film of the same name, starring Diana Ross. Andra Day starred in the film The United States vs. Billie Holiday, another film about Billie.

In 1939 she was introduced to Buddy Tate, the tall elegant saxophonist from Count Basie's band, and the two became an item. But when he realized the role alcohol and marijuana played in her life he told her, "Lady, you can't get high all the time, not every day."

In 1941, with her affair behind her, Billie married a small-time drug dealer named Jimmy Monroe and subsequently gravitated to opium for her highs. That all changed when heroin began to fill a void caused by the wartime shortage of opium. For awhile she used intermittently, but then succumbed to addiction, spending vast sums of money indulging herself and her former drugs runner Joe Guy - now her new boyfriend - in monumental highs.

She would go on to have a sordid relationship of violence with John Levy, a small-time nightclub owner, followed by marriage to Louis McKay. He had convinced her to marry him so he wouldn't be forced to testify in court. He'd already been buying property with her money, and putting it in his own name. This was all interspersed with brushes with the law. Yolande Bavan, a friend of Billie's, said that McKay had once spit at her. "She seemed to always be attracted to assholes." Holiday was also open about bisexuality, and dalliances with fellow women prisoners. Two women she was rumored to have had relations with were wealthy heiress Louise Crane and Tallulah Bankhead.

At 10 she was raped by a neighbor, who ended up only serving three months in jail for the crime. But Billie was oddly enough, punished too. She was sent to the House of the Good Shepherd for Colored Girls, a reform school. Her street-smart ways, from being on the streets of Baltimore at a young age, was not appreciated by the nuns. One nun, Billie claimed forced her to spend the night with the body of a dead girl to teach her a lesson.

In 1928 Billie and her mother moved to Harlem, where the jazz age was flourishing at that time. Billie and her mother Sadie earned income working in a brothel. The two of them were arrested for prostitution. Billie, who was only 14, claimed to be 21. She was sent to Welfare Island just off Manhattan, and here she spent 100 days in a workhouse for vagrant adults.

In Harlem there were a group of dancers, singers and comedians who would go performing from club to club for free, performing all night long. Billie would go from table to table singing the same song, but singing the chorus differently each time, teaching herself to improvise. One night while singing at a club, a young record producer, John Hammond, walked in. He'd never heard an improvising singer like Billie. Hammond teamed her up with Benny Goodman, and an 18-year-old cut her first record. People who encountered her described her as having a "don't care" attitude and speech casually laced with profanity.

"She had enough courage to play with the music," said Maya Angelou. "The beat is insistent - it says, 'follow me' - but she managed just to hang right behind it."

It was said she was a master at using pitch intonation as an interpretive element.

"She completely flattens out the melody - maybe the wrong word - more like, distills the melody to its essential line. Really underscoring the swinging rhythm and also, the language contour, so the punchline becomes highlighted, and it becomes like a little trumpet rhythmic riff she sings it on," said one listener. "Life is lived in that space between the notes, and that's what you hear."

The late Gunther Schuller, prolific on the subject of Billie Holiday, liked to say that her voice had "the reedy timber of an English horn." She modeled her phrasing after horn players. Others say they hear her sing like a sax.

Billie's mother borrowed large amounts of money from her daughter to fund a restaurant. But her mother wouldn't return a cent. This caused a rift.

Maya Angelou was performing one day, and she started by introducing the crowd to Billie, who was in the audience. They all popped up and applauded, but Billie didn't seem to notice their applause. This was also during a time when she was deep in her addiction. "Then I began to sing," said Angelou. "I sang an old blues song - 'Baby please don't go, baby please don't go, baby please don't go...back to New Orleans, they'll feed you rice and beans, worst you ever seen, baby pleeease don't go" - I sang one verse and she screamed, 'Shut that b**ch up! Shut up! You remind me of my mother! Shut up!' And she got up and ran into the toilet. So I left the stage and went in. She said, 'You know why all those people stood up when you mentioned my name? They wanted to see a black woman who'd been in trouble for drugs. That's the only reason they look at me.'"

A month later, completely emaciated, she collapsed. One hospital wouldn't take her, but they eventually found a hospital that would and found she was having liver failure. She eventually got better, but then was arrested again for possession, but she was hospitalized until she was stabilized enough to appear in court.

In the meantime, her husband Louis McKay, visited. "I saw Louis in her room," a friend said. "He had a Bible open in his hands, and she seemed to be moribund. He was doing the Protestant ritual - 'the lord is my Shephard, I shall not want and he maketh me lie down in green pastures' - so it scared me to death, because I thought, 'oh my god, it's too late,' and eventually he slammed the Bible shut, tiptoed down the hall and left. So I waited for a minute, tiptoed into the room, and at that point Billie opened one eye... and said, 'is he gone?' And I said, 'I think so.' And she sat up in bed and said, 'You know, I always been a religious b**ch, but if that dirty motherf**cker believes in God, I'm thinking it over.'"

Another friend recounted how she refused to eat mustard, that she couldn't stand the smell. When pressed, she revealed that she had used mustard to abort her pregnancy when she was younger, saying, "And that baby was all I ever wanted." Raised as a Catholic, Billie, according to at least one biography, may have seen her inability to conceive when she was married as divine retribution for having aborted a teenage pregnancy by sitting in a bathtub full of hot water and mustard.

[just-another-scribe]

[the year is 2016 (so before deepfake)]

I stare at the projected screen in court with bewildered amusement. I have no idea what I just saw but no way in hell am I going to complain.

My lawyer glances at me from his seat and gives a small wink.

I raise my eyebrows slightly.

I paid half a million dollars on the dark web for this guy, and it seems it was worth it. However, he definitely has a cocky streak.

The rest of my trial proceeds flawlessly, with the defense being unable to combat my lawyers trump card.

While waiting for the trial to finish and my ass to slowly go numb from the hard wooden bench of the counsel table, I speculated how the lawyer might've pulled it off… the video, I mean. Do I have a doppelganger I'm unaware of? Was I one of those twins separated at birth for a psychological study?

Regardless, the thing that blows my mind the most is that the cricket match which "I" supposedly attended featured my two favorite teams playing against each other. Actually, the job had run overtime. I was planning on attending the match afterwards.

I was startled back to reality by my lawyer grabbing my shoulder. A brush of air passed me and sent a shiver down my spine as he bent down and whispered, "it's over, let’s go."

I inserted my hands into my pockets and followed my lawyer out of the courtroom distractedly. Regardless of how distracted I was, I managed to break the haze for a second and smirk at the prosecutors- huh, I guess I also have a cocky side.

I took a deep breath in. I really didn't think that I'd be walking free tonight.

My lawyer and I spoke at the same time.

He grinned, "well that was-"

"So how did you-" I began.

We looked at each other.

Simultaneously, we told each other, “You first."

He laughed. "As I was saying, that was the easiest case I've ever worked with! And one of the most profitable! I'm curious though- why did you spend so much if you didn't actually commit the crime? You had me thinking you were a killer, my friend!"

"Huh." I stared at him. "I am. I killed that man. What I'm wondering is how you managed to get that video…"

My lawyer stopped in his tracks.

"But… there were witnesses who all said they saw you in the stadium at the time of the crime. Do you have an identical twin or something?" He shook it off. "There's no way. The receipt and all the identification from the ticket kiosk checks out to you.

"I don't have a twin, at least I don't think. And I remember killing him. I can tell you in detail what transpired that night. I have no idea why the information tracks back to me. I wasn't there."

At this point, both of us were standing face to face on the sidewalk, and people were beginning to stare.

The gears of my mind factory had begun churning.

Unfortunately, it seemed like my brain cells had unionized and refused to work.

I made an executive decision on behalf of them.

"I'll pay you another half a million if you figure out how "I" was at the stadium."

The lawyer looked at me like he was a spoiled child who had just been told that this year, there were two Christmas's.

"Done deal good sir!"

"However," I added, "you only get paid after you 'close the case'."

"My beloved employer, I guarantee you I will find the man at TWICE the speed detective Conan would, for that sort of money- Er, I mean, for the well-being of such a wonderous gentleman such as yourself!"

I rolled my eyes. He was almost drooling.

I'd inherited a large sum of money from an unknown relative (I know, just like the stories), so money was never a problem for me.

Thankfully, neither was patience, and now, all I had to do was wait.

~~

The lawyer wanted to bang his head on the wall.

It had been three months and he was still wrapped up in this hellish case.

Literally ALL the evidence he'd uncovered, even the pieces he got from stalking the CCTVs, seemed to yell that his client was not the killer, and just another cricket fan.

Yet the man claimed he had committed the crime.

This was by far the oddest situation he had been in.

Furthermore, it seems that he'd found another man who seemed to be the actual killer. And that guy was decidedly not his employer.

He flung himself onto his couch dramatically and reconsidered his life so far.

Perhaps he shouldn't have gone to law school. Scratch that, perhaps he shouldn't be a money hungry capitalistic mongoose.

He sighed. Oh well. He didn't choose his personality. According to an online test he was an ENFP, so his dramatic mood swings were fully justified.

He turned around mirthlessly. Something caught his attention.

His floor was a collage of documents and amongst them peeked out his client’s medical history.

He had accessed this illegally out of curiosity a month ago but had lost it before examining it.

He twitched and sat up abruptly.

He didn't have his glasses on, so he pulled the document close to his face. His eyes grew wide. He laughed aloud and ran a hand through his hair.

He spoke to himself even though he knew no one was listening.

"All the pieces finally fit, and what a twisted picture this puzzle has revealed."

~~

I am sitting on a bench near a bridge at a busy park waiting for my lawyer. That man is always late.

He says that he is bringing my doppelganger, though, so I suppose this time it is permissible.

~

He has appeared but he is empty handed. I am disappointed but I decide to hear him out.

~

He isn't empty handed; he's holding a picture. I ask him to show it to me.

~

It's an ugly mirror selfie I took two weeks ago. What? How the hell did he even get that?

~

He says he is going to explain everything. About time.

~~

The lawyer cracked his knuckles. It wasn't particularly hot outside, but he could feel himself beginning to perspire.

He cleared his throat and began.

"My dear client, I agree with you, you are a killer, but not the killer you think you are."

His dear client stared at him.

"Were you ever going to tell me about your past? Well, I suppose you couldn't, because according to the doctors, you don't remember."

He was rambling.

"Around thirty years ago, you killed [name]. Your father, to be precise."

His client twitched. Oh no. He continued regardless.

"You killed him at [same address as the murder protag was accused for]. This was your old house…. your father, well, he was abusing you. Severely."

"I am told that you were on the verge of dying yourself when you stabbed your father with a kitchen knife and hit a vital artery. After this, you fell into complete shock and forgot the whole event, even your whole childhood with your father."

He stared at the sky.

"On [the day of the murder he was on trial for], you were indeed on your way to a cricket match. But you got lost on the way there and for some reason ended up at your place of residence."

"Your muscle memory took over. Your father had trained you to come home directly after school and prepare tea for him in the kitchen. You found the hidden key under the doormat and went inside to the kitchen."

"Incidentally, the kitchen was the site of the murder. You apparently witnessed the crime take place and the houses' present owner get stabbed in a freak coincidence. Upon seeing the scene, instead of being horrified, you broke into babbles and started mumbling about how you had killed someone and would surely go to hell."

"This thoroughly confused the real killer, who would've otherwise killed you, but instead, I suppose he got a bit scared himself and escorted you, a sobbing middle-aged man shouting that he was a killer, outside."

"I think he was afraid you'd blow his cover. Anyway, he saw the ticket receipt for the cricket match on your phone and called you an uber to get there… he stole your car and drove away."

"In the duration of the cricket match, it appears that you were completely zoned out and talking to yourself. I talked to your old psychiatrist and apparently, you'd done this before. You have a very active imagination. Your brain had seen the scene you had just witnessed before, and this time, at 38, you were able to accept that you were a killer, and for some reason your mind convinced yourself you were a mafia boss."

"According to your search history, the night before, you'd watched 'The Godfather', so that might explain that. Anyway… in conclusion… you have no doppelganger, and you are a killer, but not in the way you'd think… you're completely clean on the legal front… do you have any questions?"

"Oh and, I've anonymously reported the evidence of the real killer, so that case should be wrapping up soon."

He finished his soliloquy and looked at his client.

"Oh shit…"

~~

I woke up next to a very familiar old man.

I squinted. "Father…?"

He laughed, "don't you remember, it's 'Doctor Father' to you."

Something clicked. Before I could process it, my lawyer burst inside.

"THANK GOD HE WOKE UP I THOUGHT I KILLED HIM. You're lucky I had this guy on speed dial y'know." My lawyer waggled his finger Doctor Father. "Not gonna lie, this was by far the most interesting case I've ever worked on."

My lawyer hesitated…

"Are you okay though? I know that was a lot to take in."

I stared at him.

Honestly, it was a lot to take in, but it all made sense. My life after I'd thought I'd killed someone… it was defiantly weird. At points my entire personality shifted and at other times everything was fragmented. Looking back, it certainly wasn't normal. Or at least, it wasn't me.

But who even was I?

I think I was visibly distressed. Doctor Father placed a hand on my shoulder and looked at my lawyer.

"You've done enough, my dear, I'll take it from here. I'll take care of your fees as well. You are dismissed."

"Um, ok." My lawyer seemed a bit startled. He looked like he was about to speak but he shook his head, half-smiled at me, and left.

Doctor Father gave kindred smile. It felt like the warm hug I never knew I'd needed.

I relaxed. I was no longer bewildered or amused. I was at peace. I was safe. I was… innocent...

You are in court for murder, when your lawyer shows a video of a sports game with you in the audience and proves that you are innocent. However despite having the ticket and the claims of having gone to the game, you actually did commit the crime and have no idea what you just saw on the video.

[babblydrabbly]

Trust Me Pt. 2 (Rick Flag x Reader)

[Gif]

Pairing(s): Rick Flag x Reader

Characters: Rick Flag, Mentions of Amanda Waller.

Rating: General

Word Count: 1k+

Warning(s): Language, mentions of blood/violence; Suicide Squad (2021) spoilers, mentions of Suicide Squad (2016).

Summary: You were Waller’s rat. Her eyes and ears where technology failed in the field. You represented Rick’s failures and Amanda Waller’s iron grip. So why does he give a shit when you get yourself hurt on a suicide mission? Rick’s first impression has changed a lot since then, but so has yours. Part 2/?

A/N:  Pt 1 

Taglist:  @rrtxcmt @to-be-or-not-to-be-2021

---

You were infuriating. 

You hadn’t spoken two words to Rick since your initial introduction. She’ll be observing operations and providing support on your next mission out, Waller had said smugly. 

Rick threw open your thin dossier when it showed up on his desk for the first time, noting your standard experience in the field. Standard marksmanship. Standard everything. Your speciality was data analysis, for fuck’s sake. When the fuck would Flag need one of Waller’s number-crunching desk jockeys during a life or death mission? 

He even caught you rolling your eyes at his pep talk as the jet took off on your first flight out. Granted, it was the same speech he gave all the new members, but you certainly hadn’t heard it before— And it wasn’t for you.

But you played your part. Not a word during mission planning or the briefing— Not much chatter during the mission itself either— But a hell of a lot during debrief afterward. You even sent Waller a secondary report to be noted off record; A long laundry list of what could have been done more efficiently under team leader’s command. Him. You typed up a 2,500 word document just to drag him through the mud.

Which he read, of course. Several times. 

When his secret contact in Waller’s war room handed him the report, Rick noticed how nervous the man looked, and how quickly he hustled away. Rick wouldn’t have guessed half the bullshit you bothered to put in writing. 

“’Occasional pushover?’” Rick later says abruptly, interrupting your lunch. You jump as he slaps the report down on your desk. There’s stacks of paperwork everywhere, of information about every potential suicide squad member, every past one. Waller has you juggling multiple angles in between your mission outings.

You swallow what’s left of your wilted salad, turning pale, “Where did you get that?”

“’Tendency to be lenient toward prisoners.” Rick continues. He falls into the chair across from you, leaning back with casual disdain. 

“You weren’t supposed to—”

“What? Know how incompetent you think my command is?”

“I didn’t say incompetent.” 

“No,” He agreed, “You used every other word in the damn dictionary to say it.”

“Would you let me talk?” You crossed your arms and faced him. 

Rick threw a hand up, then calmed down. He watched as you stood, hurrying over to your office door to close it quietly. 

“It wasn’t personal.” You say as you sit back down.

“It’s a five page essay.”

“This isn’t high school, Flag.” You snapped. You spin the printed document around to look down at it. Rick leaned forward, a giant in your small guest chair, his elbows resting on his spread knees. He waited for you.

You exhale. “It’s... basically just what Waller wants to hear. What she already thinks of you. I didn’t say anything she doesn’t already complain about.”

Oh good. 

“Nice.” Rick huffs. “Good to know what kind of job I’m doing.”

“Why do you give a shit?” You suddenly ask. It wasn’t like Waller was keeping him from leading the task force. He was still a Colonel. You want to say as much, wondering how any of this could possibly get to someone like Rick Flag.

You observe how he looks away. How his brows pinch together. It was your job to take in the details. To convert it all into a sum game. Months ago, a good chunk of the stacks on your desk pertained to Colonel Rick Flag and Task Force X’s first run. When Waller told you what you would be doing, you wanted to be prepared.

So you read the data. Saw what he was like on paper. You conjured what you considered a total picture of the man before you ever met him. 

Which was why, after seeing him in the field yourself for the first time, you didn’t know what to say. 

You had seen what other security personnel were like at Belle Reve. The humiliation and the torment. You didn't have to go down to the prison building often, but you could hear the screams and the violence on the other side of the wall just the same. 

You read about the nano-bomb protocol, and how Rick initially had the power to blow each and every member’s brains out right there on his wrist— How he didn’t hesitate to use it the first time it happened. 

After that first mission, it was like you’d studied a totally different person. 

The man in the chair before you sighed, putting something heavy away behind his eyes before giving you a small shrug. “Guess I don’t.” He says. And when he leaves, you watch as he purposefully does not take the report with him. 

---

If the shouting match in Rick’s car hadn’t given you a headache yet, this lecture certainly would. You sat in your chair obediently as Amanda Waller ripped you a new asshole. You nodded your head in the right places. You wondered what Rick wanted to say to you, but didn’t. He was right—You weren’t fired. But you sort of wished you were if it meant you could just stop listening and get some rest.

“—Understood, [L/n]?” Waller finished firmly, eventually. 

You nod, giving an apologetic, “Yes, Ma’am.” 

You shuffle out of the war room with your debrief packet in your good hand. You feel a dull ache pulsating from the side of your face. When the warm night air hits you as you exit the building, you realize you don’t know where you’re going. 

“You ready to go?”

You blink up. Rick is closing his driver’s side door shut in an empty parking lot. He waits for you to come down the steps until you’re standing at the bottom in front of him. 

You glance around, “You’re still here?”

A faint look of bemusement. “I said I was getting you home after, didn’t I?”

“To the barracks?”

Rick unfolds his arms and approaches you closely, looking you over in the dark. “You’ve got a week’s leave, [L/n]. Did Waller even talk to you?”

You find yourself being ushered back into the car, and Rick does that thing where he closes the damn door for you like you can’t do it yourself. Like he’s taking care of you. 

“So, you gonna tell Siri where I’m takin’ you or what?” He quips, saddling into his seat. When you look at him his smirk dissipates. Suddenly, there’s a warm touch holding your chin in place, a thumb and forefinger turning your head as Rick examines you carefully. You feel a light puff of breath graze your cheek he’s looking at you so close.

“You popped a stitch.” He murmurs, concerned. As he says it, you feel the trickle of fresh blood seep down to the corner of your eye. You feel the exhaustion of three days without sleep wash over you, of all the adrenaline finally flushing from your system in one last sigh. You pull away from his careful grasp and lean back in your seat, closing your eyes.

“Just head into town.” You hear yourself say. You ramble off the cross streets and building number before finally slipping into something like sleep. 

[inkandpen22]

The Heiress and the Gangster (1/?)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Female!Reader

Warnings: violence, swearing

Word Count: 2.7k

Part Summary: Y/N Adair, an American heiress, is visiting London for the social season with her fiancé Alfred Bamford. Alfie Simmons and Tommy Shelby have formed a plan to kidnap Y/N and hold her for ransom, that is until Tommy changes his mind...

Masterlist

Y/N

The car rolls up to the entrance of the race track. My driver, Mr. Richards, comes to a steady halt and immediately hops out of the car.

"Ready, darling?" Al questions with a grin beside me.

I pull back the velvet curtain covering my window to peer up at the arena. "As I'll ever be."

Mr. Richards opens the door and offers me his glove-covered hand. "Miss Adair."

I step out gracefully, my wide-brim hat blocking the beaming sun from my face. Al crosses behind the car to join me. His head finds its way to my back securely. Robert, my main bodyguard, climbs out of his own car with two more security my father hired. Al escorts me inside the stadium to the boxes. Robert leads the way with his two henchmen behind us. It's like being put into a human box.

When we arrive at our box, we're greeted by our friends in attendance. It's rare that we make it over to England, so when we do it's nice to see everyone. Al and I perform our social duties, making small talk and asking about everyone's families as though we all didn't have dinner together last night. It's the same couples in different settings for the entire month we're here.

_________________________________

Tommy

I watch from one of the pub tables at the top of the box with John as posh folks shuffle in to find their spots. When news broke that Y/N Adair would be visiting London for a month, both American and England were over the moon. The youngest child and only daughter of William Vincent Adair, the richest banker in America. She will inherit a third of his multi-million dollar fortune. It's a known fact amongst the public that's she's the favorite child so the percentage may be greater than just a third. My boys and Alfie's team are banking on that rumor. If she were to be kidnapped and held for ransom by a couple of English gangsters, it's certain her father will pay a hefty sum for her safe return to The States.

John nudges me subtly to avoid attention. "There she is!"

My eyes flicker away from the hustle and bustle of the crowd toward the entrance of the box. A young woman in an all-white lace dress crosses our path. A gentle smile rests across her lips as the Viscount and Viscountess Furness approach her, each greeting her with an embrace. Her Y/H/C hair peeks through beneath her lavish matching hat. For a moment, I experience hesitation. She's not what I expected at all.

John nudges my arm with a snicker. “You alright, Tom? Look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” 

I shake my head, taking a smoke from my cigarette. "No, that can't be her. She's far too young."

"Of course it is!" John argues.

A young gentleman in a brand new navy suit follows close beside her, keeping a protective hand pressed to her back. He shakes hands with his peers, charming his audience as he and Miss Adair are greeted with cheers.

"And her arrogant playboy fiancé, Alfred Bamford." My brother scoffs. "His family owns more railways in the U.S. than any company in the entire world!"

As my brother babbles, I watch closely as Y/N stands beside Alfred with a restrained, but convincing, smile. As he gloats and encourages banter with their fellow posh folk, she's quiet and glancing about the arena.

"Their marriage will create a media frenzy!" John describes in my ear. "Adair Banks and Bamford Rails, it's a match made in posh people heaven. Shame she'll never live to see it," he snickers.

I press my cigarette into the ashtray and turn my body toward my brother. "As soon as the gun fires that's when Alfie's man takes the shot.” I check my watch. “He'll be here in five minutes. That's when you leave and fetch the car. Understood?"

He nods sharply, "right, Tom. Got it."

___________________________________

Y/N

Anticipating the race, Al and I stand right against the rail with our dainty gold binoculars, searching for my family's horse.

"I need Olympus to win," I worry outwardly. "I need to prove to my father that this trip was worth it."

"I’m certain William will be pleased no matter the outcome."

"You don't know my father then," I chuckle.

"Excuse me!" A voice announces over the chatter of the box.

I glance over my shoulder as a well-dressed middle-aged man hurries up to my security. His brow is sweaty and his white suit wrinkled. He rushes out words to Robert before being escorted over to me.

"Welcome to Ascot, Madam," he welcomes, gesturing to the large building. "I'm John Wilkson and I'm a partner at the track. May I get you anything before the festivities?" He rubs his hands in circles nervously.

I offer John my hand with a warm smile. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. If possible, I would like a pot of Earl Grey."

"Oh yes! Yes, definitely!" The man gushes as Robert leads him toward the door. "Right away, Madam!"

"Thank you!" I nod, maintaining my smile until he's out of view.

Al chuckles beside me at the man’s expense as he rubs his palm up and down my spine. "How are you enjoying it so far, My Dear?"

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," I remark. " It doesn't appear any more luxurious than Arlington Park."

"You are far too difficult to please, darling," he teases, scooping up my glove-covered hand and planting a kiss to the back of it.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen to today's festivities..." the announcer begins, causing widespread cheering across the crowd.

Al and I clap our hands along with our friends.

"Your tea, Miss Adair, a young waiter informs me as he sets down the set on a side table by our chairs.

I thank him quietly before he dismisses himself.

"Don't forget, tonight is the dinner with Prince Albert and Lady Elizabeth," Al reminds me.

"Aw yes, thank you!" I express with relief as I step back to pick up my teacup and return to my spot beside him. "They're quite lovely, aren't they? Their engagement is such delightful news." I bring my cup to my lips for a sip.

"I'm certainly looking forward to the wedding, it'll be a spectacle." He smirks. “Another excuse to return in the spring.”

I narrow my eyes mischievously, sharing the same agenda as him. "They can be the social event of the season in England, but we shall claim America."

Tommy

Two of Miss Adair’s men are positioned outside while his Head stands against the far wall, just a few feet from her. Alfie's hitman enters the tent without suspicion, dressed like a posh race-goer and his gun well concealed. He glances in my direction, giving me the signal to release my brother. I give John a brief nod and he disappears through the opening in the curtain.

"Jockeys! Prepare your horses!" The announcer declares, marking the start of the races.

I clap along with the crowd. Everyone in the box is zoned in on the gates where the jockeys are mounting their horses. Alfie's man claps as well, keeping his eyes on the horses to blend in as he continues toward Miss Adair and Mr. Bamford. He stops in the second row, just behind the couple.

My eyes flicker to Y/N. A glowing smile forms across her face as she switches her sight away from the gates toward her fiancé. Her eyes glimmering with optimism and excitement. There’s a youthfulness in her I haven’t seen in anyone since the war. She has no idea that the man behind her has been sent to point a gun at her head and kidnap her. Her attention travels about the box, at her friends and peers. Her eyes glance in my direction, her soft Y/E/C eyes meet mine. Her radiating smile softens as her hands slows to a steady halt. Then, something in me just... snaps.

My attention changes to the man on the field lifts his gun into the air. At the same moment, Alfie's man reaches into his coat pocket.

"No! Wait!" I shout, knocking the table out of the way. "Everyone down!"

I leap over the chairs and tackle Alfie's man. He sets off the gun as we stumble to the floor, chairs flying all about. Screams ensue as we wrestle on the floor. A man I recognize as the Head of Y/N's security steps on Alfie's man's hand. With a hiss, he releases his fist around the gun and the security knocks it away. I rush to my feet to inspect the damages, to see if Y/N was hurt, but I see no sign of her. Where did the bullet hit? A hanging bit of cloth that was once the awning answers my question. The arena is in chaos as people travel upstream toward the exists. People are being trampled and pushing each other about.

I work against the traffic down toward the railing to where I last saw Y/N. I shove people out of my way in a hurry. Then, that's when I spot her hat, squashed flat on the floor. I lean down to pick it up and that's when I finally find her resting against the wood base of the rail, holding her head with a bloody hand.

Y/N

I remove my hand from my stinging forehead to see my once white-glove soaked in blood. One minute I was scanning the reaction of the crowd behind me, then there was a shout. The shot for the race to begin rang and I was knocked forward. My head hit the metal railing and I fell to the floor. My forehead was stinging and I realized I was bleeding. Then, I swear I heard another gunshot. I've tried to stand up, but everyone’s scrambling to get out. Plus, my head is throbbing

Suddenly, a man appears hovering above me. He stares down at me with a clenched jaw and a look of determination. He leans down, scoops up my unscathed hand. Before I utter a word, he begins to usher me through the chaos. My feet shuffle across the floor briskly to keep up as he grips my hand tightly. People continue to shout and scream for their loved ones, frightened.

"Who are you?" I ask loudly over the noise.

He ignores me, guiding the way through the arena. People rush down the closest stairs, eager to reach one of the main exits. This man, however, avoids all the staircases and remains on the walkway of the top floor. I sense he's leading me to the furthermost end and hopefully to an emergency exit.

"Answer me this instant!" I demand, attempting to yank my hand free. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, Miss Adair, I do!" He finally answers and whips his head around to meet my gaze. "Now, if you wish to not get shot, I suggest you follow me!"

I check over my shoulder for Al. "But my fiancé-"

"They're not after him," he states turning his attention back ahead.

My stomach drops. "You mean you know who's behind this?"

"I know enough..." His answer is vague and it worries me.

"Why do they wish to hurt me?"

"Your family is the wealthiest in the United States! You should really travel with more security," he suggests over his shoulder.

My prediction was correct, the man takes me to the furthest end of the platform to a fire escape of sorts behind a curtain. It's much less hectic than the main stairwells other than some workers attempting to escape. The man never releases my hand as he leads the swift way down the metal stairs. Once we're on solid ground, we weave through various parts of the arena. Booths and vendors scatter the area. The man seems to know this well, making a bee-line for a large white tent tucked away near the main staircase where Al and I first entered the race track.

When we rush into the tent, I first note a series of telephone booths, the dirt floor, and the absence of any of else. The man releases my hand and starts marching around. I assume checking to make sure we're alone. I spin around, checking my surroundings, frightened that one of these men this stranger speaks of will attack me suddenly.

My head is pounding and I can feel the warm blood twinkle down my cheek. My hair must look a fright. Who am I kidding, my white dress is covered in blood and dirt, every part of me is messy.

Tommy

Y/N and I both struggle to catch our breath. I double-check that neither Alfie nor any of his men are hiding out in here. "We should be safe in here," I announce.

"Don't you think we should fetch a car or something!" She rushes out worriedly. “My car is parked just-”

I shake my head, moving back toward her. "No, not yet. They'll be expecting that."

Now that her hand is away from her head, I can inspect her injury properly. A minor gash above her brow. It doesn't appear awful, won't need stitches, but she has significant amounts of blood down the side of her face and cheek.

Y/N

"Here." The man reaches into his pocket square and pulls out his handkerchief. He brings one hand behind my head and the other presses the fabric to my forehead. "We'll have someone look at this once everything is settled."

I nod, still a tad dazed to say the least. "Thank you," I mumble as my eyes fall to his tie directly ahead of me.

For a moment, despite the chaos outside the tent, there's a sense of peacefulness as the stranger pats my cut.

"So, you know my name, what's yours?" I ask. Considering he saved my life, I don't think we should be strangers anymore. “Since we were in the same box, I suspect you’re friends with the Bowes-Lyons.”

"Thomas, Thomas Shelby," he answers directly without much emotion.

"Well, despite the circumstance, it's pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir. I'm surprised we've never met before considering we share friends."

A faint snicker escapes him as a smirk creeps onto the edge of his lips.

I grin. "What's so funny?"

"An heiress calling me "sir," he chuckles, glancing down from my forehead to meet my gaze. "It's not exactly something I thought I'd ever hear."

My brows scrunch together in confusion. “But aren’t you-”

"Tommy!" A voice calls from behind me.

Frightened, I rush to stand behind Mr. Shelby. My hands wrap around his bicep as I peek around his shoulder. His arm reaches around to keep me close to his back.

"In here Arthur!" He hollers.

Wait, he knows the person?

Suddenly, a lengthy man with a mustache marches into the tent. When his eyes land on us, his brows scrunch together. "What's this? What happened to-"

"Change of plans," Mr. Shelby states, physically relaxing at the sight of him.

The man switches his sight between me and Mr. Shelby. He rocks on his heels nervously. He steps to the side to get a better view of me. "Oh uh... hello then... Miss Adair. Nice to meet ya," he greets.

"And he's a friend?" I ask Mr. Shelby quietly.

He chuckles. "Yes, he's my brother. He's safe."

I step out from behind him hesitantly. I redirect my attention to Arthur and remove my glove to offer him my hand slowly. "Pleasure to meet you as well."

His brows rise at the sight of my hand, but he shakes it nonetheless. He chuckles. "She's awfully friendly," he tells his brother.

"Did you happen to see my fiancé? Alfred Bamford," I ask, growing worried that Al may have been hurt.

"He was escorted to your car I believe by one of your security."

"And the others?" I press urgently. “Are my friends alright? What about Lord and Lady Elphinstone?”

His features fall. "I lost them in the crowd, Miss..."

My eyes grow wide. "I should go find them!"

I go to head back outside, but Mr. Shelby grabs my wrist and steps to block my path.

"The men trying to harm you may still be out there," he warns.

"But my friends! Alfred!” I argue. “They’re probably worried sick! I’ll find my car and have them take me back to the hotel!”

"They'll be searching for you there! I'm sure they already have it staked out."

I huff. "Then where do you suggest I go?"

His eyes flicker to his brother and it's evident a thought has crossed his mind.

"I have an idea..." he states vaguely.

Oh no...

_______________________

Masterlist

[ashc-from-ao3]

You’re really soft

tASM Peter Parker x female teen reader

(Y/n) was walking hurriedly towards her home, a friend had thrown a party and invited the whole school and naturally when everyone got together some idiot brought booze. And of course other idiots drank said booze, (Y/n) was one of those idiots, she was drunker than she had ever remembered being and in her drunken state walking home, alone ,past midnight, in the slightly shady part of New York seemed like a grand idea. She giggled as she stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, up ahead a stray cat was startled by her and yowled before running into a alleyway.

"OH MY GOD! KITTY, KITTY COME LOVE MEEEEEE!" The drunk teen stumbled into the alleyway intent on loving the poor stray cat.

"Well lookie what we have here, a little girl. All by herself at night, need some help getting home sweetie?" Normally (Y/n) would have the common sense to turn around and try to get away from the large man that now loomed in the back of the ally. Said man lunged forward and grabbed her arm startling her and causing her to scream. Half a second later a white object hit the man's arm and attached it to the brick wall closest to him. Three more projectiles darted forward, one attached to the man's other arm and one grabbed (Y/n) around the waist and tugged her backwards into the embrace of one Spiderman. (Y/n) giggled at the mob,net and snuggled into the superheroe's arms. She could practically feel the hatred that the we slinger was shooting at her attacker when suddenly both her and spiderman where swinging from building to building (Y/n) gave a short yelp when the ride started but as it continued she calmed down and laughed as the lights of the city flew past, she could have sworn that she heard a soft chuckle come from Spiderman but she had little time to dwell on the fact before he was setting her down in front of her apartment.

"Are your parent home? Do you have anyone staying with you?" (Y/n) Shook her head vigorously, her parents where rich, almost as rich as the Osborne family and never wanted a child, when she was born they bought an appartment and hired a nanny to take care of her 24/7 as she grew they continued sending, what to them was small meaningless amounts of money and they lived their lives without ever actually seeing her. Most people would grow up hating their parents and being snobbish but she had grown up nice, caring and with a big heart, she never used the full sum of the money her parents would have automatically deposited into her bank account each month so she often sent it to people who needed it more. She bought cloths at Value Village and bought half price food, now that she was old enough she no longer had a caretaker and she was doing fine. The drunk girl tried to tell Spiderman this but only came up with.

"Noooooooppppppe, me alone" before almost falling, Spidernam sighed and swept an arm under he knees and brought her back into his arms, he questioned her about where she slept and she pointed it out after some difficulties. The masked man seemed very familiar to her but she couldent place her finger on what it was. When he reached her room he placed her under the covers and was about to leave when.

"Stay" he turned around and sighed, Peter had had a huge crush on (Y/n) for ages now, he figured a rich, pretty girl would never look at him twice so he never made a move or showed any affection towards her. He finally made up his mind and, still in his outfit slipped under the covers.

(Y/n) Woke up with a yawn, she had sleep for a few hours and felt a little better. Her hangover haven't hit yet but the alcohol was no longer in her system. Something shifted beside her and a gentle 'hmmm' was heard, she twisted around to see who it was and almost shrieked, it was Spiderman but his mask had come off during his sleep and showed the face of the one classmate she would never suspect. Peter Parker, she always wanted to be friends with him but he was always distant, it hurt her as she had developed a small crush on the bruenett. She figured he thought she was snobbish and rude and hence why he avoided her, so she kept her crush under lock and key and only told her close friend Gwen Stacy. Giving into temptation (Y/n) reached over and gently ran her hand through his hair, Peter mumbled and reached up and grabbed her hand before pulling it down to rest on his chest. His eyes blinked open and stared in shock at (Y/n) when he realized his mask had come off. An adorable smile broke over her face and a giggle escaped her.

"You're really soft." She said looking a little sheepish at getting caught. Peter smiled as well and chuckled.

"Am I now?" (Y/n) Nodded and looked thoughtful.

"So um.......you're Spiderman? No wonder you never wanted anything to do with me, why would you want to hang out with me when you could have literally any girl in New York, I mean they all adore you." Peter looked confused.

"I thought you didn't want anything to do with me, after all your rich and pretty.....no you're beautiful and nice, and I have had the biggest crush on you since like forever. and I could go on but I'm going to stop before I make a bigger fool of myself."

"Y-you have a crush in me? Oh wow, I thought you thought I was just a snotty, snobbish, rich girl. But you have a crush on me. Plot twist, my crush actually likes me back!" In her excitement she didn't notice Peter move closer to her until she felt the gentle pressure of peter's lips on her own. Her surprise froze her for a second before she wrapped her arms around his neck, threaded her fingered in his hair and kissed back. Peter placed on hand between her shoulder blades and another at the small of her back before pressing himself even closer to her, he licked (Y/n)'s bottom lip and when she opened her mouth his tongue explored eagerly. (Y/n) Pulled back before it got too heated and snuggled into Peter's chest.

"So (Y/n) wanna go out on a date with me?" (Y/n) Nodded and wrapped her arms around Peter's waist.

"That's would be nice, I am still having trouble wrapping my head around the fact that you actually like me." Peter smiled and started moving backwards to snuggle with (Y/n) while lying in a comfortable position. The two started to drift off again, it was still early after all and just as they fell asleep Peter mumbled.

"You know, you're really soft to."

[girlmeetsliv3]

Cruel Liaisons

~~ Previously Lingerlust ~~

A/B/O!MiniMoni x Reader; Poly BTS

“When one strikes the heart of another they seldom miss, and the wound is invariably fatal.”

Release Date: May 7th, 2021 @ 12:15 p.m. (GMT-5)

Apologies for the late update. Hope you enjoy it.

Trigger Warnings: blood and gore.

February 2nd, 2022

           “Please state your name for the record.”

           “Jeon YN.” YN stared at the recording machine in front of her, it looked antiquated like the type that wasn’t automatically connected to a cloud or storage system. “Those types have to be manually saved. Which can come in handy.” The officer’s cleared their throats, drawing back YN’s attention. What were their names again? “We need you to state your sub-gender as well.” The one on the left spoke lowly, his voice coming out a bit tense and nervous. “Beta.” When YN tried to smell them, she noticed both were wearing scent blockers, though her sense of smell was never her strong suit.

           “This is officer Park Sooyoung and officer Kim Jisoo.” The taller one stated, her tone dull, as if she rather be anywhere else. Judging by the bags under her eyes and the large cup of coffee in front of her – a bed seemed to be her choice. Officer Kim reached to the ground and placed a file on the desk, she opened it to reveal a series of photographs; five to be precise. Males and females from around a same age group are placed with one female in the center, she looks strangely familiar to YN. The rounded tip of her nose and arched brows but she can’t quite place the face. There is someone YN does recognize though, a face she saw just a few days ago.

           “Anyone you recognize?” Officer Kim asks, her tone is serious but airy. The smile on her face after every sentence lets YN know that she’s the ‘good cop.’

           YN points at the second photo from the left, “Him. I saw him in a missing persons ad on the news, but he didn’t look this old.” They had likely picked a picture from when he was younger, the man on the news held a bright smile. His jawline sharp and his cheekbones high but not defined. The man in the photograph in front of her had a pronounced jawline, hollow cheeks, and an ugly scowl that did nothing to mar his features. ‘K.T’ read the bottom.

           “What news channel and around what time?”

           “KBS, maybe late evening. I watch it before I go to sleep.”

Both officers nod, as Park shifts around on her seat. Now facing directly at YN, resting both elbows on the metal table. “Are you aware of the reason you were brought into the station today?” Officer Kim jumps in before YN can answer, “Just so you know you aren’t being charged with anything.”

Yes. “No, I don’t know.” She shrugged, keeping her eyes level and gaze neither too intense nor too bored.

“You’re here due to your affiliation with Alpha’s Kim Namjoon and Park Jimin,” Park spoke, “They’re your employers, correct?” There was an edge to her voice that YN recognized. Many people weren’t fond of them – many had a reason not to be.

“Yes.” YN nods.

“How long have you worked for them?” Kim asks.

YN notes how neither women are writing anything down, nor looking towards the one-sided mirror behind them. Are they perhaps recording this with a second device? If that’s the case it's not just her voice YN must be cautious of, but her expressions as well. “Around nine months, I’m their housekeeper and take care of Hyunwoo.” After a bit of silence from the police, she elaborates more, “I cook, clean, and help the child with his homework.”

“That’s quite a lot for just one person. Especially considering you have little background in those areas before you were hired, correct?”

They’re trying to bait me. “I’m used to doing those things at home.” YN shrugs, she can see the growing frown on Park’s features.

“How exactly did you hear about the job?” Kim leans forward, but one of her hands drops below the table. Park’s eyes dart over to her partner for a second, but YN catches it. Kim likely gave her a signal or something like a reassuring squeeze, YN hopes it’s the latter. “What was the hiring process like?”

“From an acquaintance Dr. Sihyuk.” Both officers nod along, they don’t seem to recognize the name. “Bang’s dead. Unlikely anyone will find something there.” They always knew to cover their bases. “Um, normal, I guess. I sent in an application and then had an interview.”

“You made a lot of money as the Kim’s housekeeper. Did you never ask yourself where that money was coming from?” It seemed the officers were done trying to be subtle.

“No, it wasn’t my place. Plus, most of the money I earned went into paying family debts.”

“Do you know Kim Namjoon’s or Park Jimin’s source of income?”

“Again no. I just did what I was supposed to do.”

“You never thought to ask?”

“No.”

Sooyoung smirks, “Interesting how everyone around the Kim’s just accepts things at face value. Their co-workers, drivers, bodyguards, even their housekeeper just does what their told. You weren’t even a little bit curious as to how they could possibly afford the lifestyle they have?”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” YN’s arms were clenching around the chair, trying to hold herself back from reacting negatively to the hassling.

“But we aren’t cats.” Sooyoung remarks and for a second YN feels like she’s lost a battle. Jisoo points to the picture in the center, it's a beautiful young woman with flowy hair and a bright smile. Her delicate features give away her omega nature. Though the closer YN inspects the picture, they’re bags under her eyes, permanent frown lines etched onto her face, a hollowness to her eyes. She looks somewhere between life and death. “Do you recognize this woman? You lingered on her a bit longer than the rest of them.”

The longer YN stares at her the more she starts to piece things together, but it still feels like she’s missing something. So she gives a generic answer. “She looks kind of familiar. Has that kind of face.”

“What kind of face?” Jisoo questions.

“Like…pretty, popular, all over billboards kind of face.”

It's enough to satisfy them for now. They slowly start removing all the pictures while leaving only the woman’s, the longer YN sees it the more unnerved she becomes. Her head begins to hurt as another migraine begins to pound at her temples. Creating a sort of hazy fog over YN’s mind. Both officers’ then hold up the picture and flip it revealing a picture of the same woman holding a young child wrapped in blankets. She looks so much happier, so full of life. Instantly YN places her, recognizing the toddler wrapped in blue velvet.

“This is Hyunwoo’s mother. The last time anyone saw her alive was three weeks ago when she just so happened to be having dinner with your employers.” Fuck.

Present

           YN’s phone dings as another text from Mark appears on her screen: ‘boss wants to know when you’ll start paying?’ She groans exhaustedly, responding with ‘I have been paying. He gets half my salary every week.’ Which hasn’t made living very comfortable for YN, but she makes do with what she can.

           Mark: It’s not enough princess, not with the way daddy’s been spending money.

           Me: What am I supposed to do if you keep giving him money?!

           Mark: That’s not up to me. So, the money?

           Me: I’m looking for a second job. One that pays better.

           Mark: Just go sell your eggs or something. Not like you have any use for them.

           “Asshole.” YN muttered, muting her notifications. She looked up to the entrance of the fertility clinic debating whether or not to go in. It wasn’t like she had much of an option; she needed the money and fertility clinics were the only ones willing to provide big sums of money fast. Not to mention she had missed a day of work to make the appointment, which meant less money to give to Mark. I hate this. I hate this so much. YN was about to walk away, leave everything when she spotted a black BMW parked on the curve. Its driver observing her intensely. She knew what it meant.

           Mark was getting pushy. Meaning his boss was getting pushy and YN didn’t need to be on the bad side of some loan shark – not again. So, she mustered up the courage and opened the glass doors, being hit with the smell of lavender and pheromones. It reeks. Nonetheless, she forced a smile on her face and walked towards the front desk. “Hello, I have an appointment with Dr. Sihyuk.”

 “Unfortunately, there is a limit to how many eggs we can safely remove from you. Betas aren’t like omegas, you have a set number of eggs. Removing the majority of them would leave you infertile. We’d also be unsure of whether the eggs are useful or not without running the proper examinations which can take weeks.” Dr. Sihyuk explained as he went over YN’s medical file, each sentence uttered destroying her hope little by little.

“I understand but I am quite fertile. I carry a recessive gene from my father who is an omega. Not to mention I’m not interested in having children so I would have no use for my eggs,” she could sense the doctor’s hesitation, “unlike someone who might benefit from them.” I just really need the money.

“Oh, I know, you betas are lucky in that sense. Don’t have to worry about population growth.” Though it was said jokingly it still made YN uncomfortable, let her know he wasn’t buying her bullshit. The doctor closed the file, “Why exactly are you interested in donating your eggs? Is it for the money?” He saw right through her.  At her silence the doctor sighs, “We get one of you every once in a while. Always wrapped up in some business started by a family member or mistakes you’ve made.” Sihyuk opens a file cabinet beside him and shoves her file in there, “Unfortunately for you there’s no market for beta eggs.”

YN sags exhaustion and fear taking over her, “I –” Sihyuk takes a small white business card out of the cabinet holding it out towards her. “Fortunately for you, I happen to know someone hiring. They specified only betas applied.” Hesitantly YN takes the card, “What kind of job?” Though she knows one should never look a gift horse in the mouth it feels to good to be true. “A housekeeper for an alpha couple. They’re long-time associates of mine. Give them a call you won’t regret it.”

 Evening of June 20th, 2021

           Hyunwoo wouldn’t stop crying. YN truly regretted feeding him chocolate before bed, he had nightmares that had not let the three-year-old rest. Though YN had time and time again reassured them there were no monsters under his bed or strange men coming to take him at night, he wouldn’t hear of it. Insisted she had stayed in bed with him and when that didn’t work cried out for his daddies. The issue being his daddies were currently busy, in the middle of their ruts with their weekly guests. Thankfully, their bedroom was across the apartment from Hyunwoo’s, or else she’d have to explain to the child that the screams being heard didn’t belong to ghost.

           “I want papa! I want daddy!” Hyunwoo shrieked, snot and tears dribbling down his face. At this rate, he’d get himself sick if he didn’t permanently injure his vocal cords – or her hearing.

           “I know. I know, but they’re busy right now. I can go get them later.” When their guests are gone and they’ve cleaned their bedroom. YN never quite knew how they manage to sneak them out and clean up so fast, but she didn’t question it. Less work for me.

           “NO! I want them now!” Hyunwoo bolted towards the door, his little legs running as fast as they could. Though they couldn’t compare to YN’s.

           She hugged the toddler, “Alright. I’ll go get your daddies but you have to promise me you’ll wait in bed.” Hyunwoo began to shake his head, “Come on Woowoo, imagine what they’ll say if they hear you threw a tantrum. What would daddies say?”

           That seemed to sober him up a bit, “They would be disappointed.”

           “Exactly,” YN led him back to bed, gently tucking him in. “I’ll be right back with them soon, okay?”

             The hallway felt eerily long as YN struggled with how to politely interrupt without being subjected to the alpha’s rages. Ruts were an especially tricky time and there would be very little she could do to protect herself if it took a turn for the worse. Not to mention she was breaking one of the very few rules set by them: no bothering us after nine pm. YN glanced at her watch, it was currently 11:43 pm. I am so going to lose my job. But Hyunwoo needed his parents, and she didn’t want to risk the toddler running into their bedroom and being witness to something that would certainly cause trauma. Not to mention I might get sent his therapy bills. More debt. YN reached their bedroom doors. A light red hue leaking from the bottom, she willed all her courage and knocked.

           “Come in, darling.” Jimin spoke, his dulcet tone sounding a little rougher than normal. Surprisingly the door was unlocked, so YN opened it. At first, she saw nothing out of the ordinary, just Kim Namjoon and Park Jimin laying in their bed. The red silk sheets, she so often had to wash, concealing their more intimate parts. It wasn’t until YN noticed the stains covering their bodies and the walls. It caused her eyes to dance around the room until she landed on what had caused such a mess: the two dismembered bodies lying on the floor. The red lighting of the room serving to conceal what the stains truly were: blood.

           Namjoon beckoned her inside with a wave of his hand and YN felt obliged to obey. She could still smell the pheromones in their air, still feel their rut. Not to mention, Hyunwoo might have been following her. She locked the door behind her.

           “To what do we owe the pleasure?” Namjoon spoke, smirking and showing off his blood-stained pearly teeth.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How the IMF loan-sharks the global south

When you take out a loan or get a credit card, the headline figure is the “APR” — the annual percentage rate of interest. But anyone who’s ever borrowed because they were poor and needed money has learned the hard way that APRs are pure fiction.

To get the true APR (what economists politely call the “effective” APR) you have to factor in the fees, penalties and other gotchas that turn reasonable seeming interest rates into perennial, inescapable debt-traps.

Take student debt. During the 2020 presidential campaign, we had a debate about student debt forgiveness, whose opponents frequently cited the “unfairness” of allowing people to “escape their responsibilities.”

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/04/kawaski-trawick/#strike-debt

In their telling, student debt forgiveness would reward fecklessness, allowing people who got the benefit of an expensive education to duck the costs.

Now, even if you ignore the farcical inflation in university tuition and expenses (for example, the 1000%+ hike in textbooks driven by ed-tech monopolists), that’s still a highly selective account of how student debt works.

Student debt is negotiated from a position of weakness and naiveté, which allows lenders to attack the poorest grads with incredible fees and penalties. “Chris” took out $79k in student loans in 1982. He’s paid back $190k. He still owes $236k.

https://taibbi.substack.com/p/student-loan-horror-stories-borrowed

That’s not the magic of compound interest. It’s the magic of loan-sharking. If you’ve ever used a payday lender (aka a “fintech startup” AKA a “loan shark”), none of this will be the least bit surprising. This form of usury is as old as Christ casting out the money-changers.

The payday lending industry didn’t invent these tactics, but they refined, automated and industrialized them, then they spent millions at Trump hotels and (in a stunning coincidence) all those tactics were blessed by the US finance regulators.

https://www.propublica.org/article/trump-inc-podcast-payday-lenders-spent-1-million-at-a-trump-resort-and-cashed-in

The normalization of loan-sharking sent the entire finance sector into a race to the bottom. America’s largest banks saw their profits soar during the pandemic due to record overdraft and other fees — in other words, collecting fines for being poor.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/22/ihor-kolomoisky/#usurers

The sums are jaw-dropping. In 2020, Jpmorganchase made $1.5b on overdraft fees, Bank of America made $1.1b and Wells Fargo made $1.3b. The biggest rake came from the worst months of the pandemic.

https://prospect.org/economy/big-banks-charged-billions-in-overdraft-fees-during-pandemic/

78.3% of all overdraft fees come from just 9.2% of bank customers. At $35 a pop, these fees turn the banks’ overdraft facilities into loans with an “effective APR” of 3,500%.

Three thousand.

Five hundred.

Percent.

These are the cold, bloodless numbers of the debt trap. They conceal a vicious cycle in which those with the least pay the most, a cycled that can’t even be outrun in death.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/19/zombie-debt/#damnation

Take a moment to (re)read Molly McGhee’s Paris Review essay from May 2021, “America’s Dead Souls,” about her mother’s death. McGhee’s mom made less than $10k/year and suffered “debilitating depression while caring for aging parents.”

https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2021/05/17/americas-dead-souls/

Her mother was haunted by two warring clans of ghouls: debt collectors who harassed her through legal and illegal means, and con artists who located her through databases of struggling debtors and tried to sell her predatory consolidation loans.

48 hours after her mother’s death, these blood-suckers switched to harassing McGhee, as she grieved her loss. Unlike her mother, McGhee had the resiliency and wherewithal (a credit card) to hire a lawyer, whose boilerplate letter reduced the debt by 90%, over $250k, poof.

If you can afford a lawyer, your parents’ debts don’t become yours. If you can’t, you enter a cycle of intergenerational poverty, with each generation sinking deeper into debt.

When you have nothing and owe everything, debt collectors know that they have to terrorize you into putting their bills ahead of the others. The cruelty is literally the point — without it, you might pay your rent ahead of your mother’s old credit-card bills.

To quote Umair Haque, “America is the the world’s first poor rich country.” an “advanced economy” where a sizable portion of the population lives in conditions typical of the global south.

https://eand.co/the-worlds-first-poor-rich-country-c411afc68539

Not for nothing. The same tactics that impoverish the vast American underclass also work to keep the world’s poorest countries — rich in resources and talent — poor. The loan shark here is far more powerful than a payday lender or even JP Morgan — it’s the IMF.

A new report from the Center for Economic and Policy Research dissects the way the IMF uses fees and penalties to trap the poorest countries in the world in unbreakable cycles of debt — fees that drive up the IMF’s notional APR to dizzying, usurious heights.

https://cepr.net/wp-content/uploads/2021/09/IMF-Surcharge-Report-2.pdf

Like any predatory loan, these “surcharges” are levied against the countries that have the least ability to repay. They target countries whose debt:GDP ratio passes an arbitrary line. For the poorest IMF debtors, surcharges account for 45% of all non-principle repayment.

These numbers add up. In Egypt, surcharges gobbled up $1.8b between 2019–24 — triple the cost of fully vaccinating the whole country. Small wonder that the world’s 64 poorest countries spend more on external debt payment than they do on their own health care.

In its defense, the IMF offers the same tissue-thin responses that any arm-breaker offers. The claim that penalties and fees are a way to “incentivize” debtor nations not to overborrow, and to seek their credit from the private finance sector.

But these countries are borrowing to pay off their debts — often debts that date back to colonial times, in which the rich (white) world mercilessly looted their resources and fomented destabilizing political divisions.

This undermined domestic resistance to imperialism and allowed kleptocratic, corrupt leaders to thrive — leaders who borrowed heavily to finance vanity projects, corrupt enrichment of domestic elites, and militarized suppression of opposition movements.

All of that was funded by debts, often from the IMF, who tied lending to the dismantling and sell-off of state enterprises, from power to water to sanitation — which is how the world’s poorest get gouged by the world’s richest to drink their own water.

These countries don’t borrow because they want to live outside their means — they borrow because they want to live. They don’t borrow from the IMF because they’re too lazy to ask a multinational bank for credit — they borrow because they can’t get credit elsewhere.

But the IMF has another excuse for this: they claim that the fees they extract allow them to originate more loans, creating a virtuous cycle. But as the report makes clear, this is absurd on its face.

The IMF went into the pandemic boasting about $1 trillion in “firepower” (that’s creepy-cutesey IMFspeak for “cash reserves”). Meanwhile, the annual revenues from these fees is $1b — that’s three orders of magnitude less than that “firepower.”

That means that the IMF could simply give up on these punitive fees, levied against the poorest people in the world, at an annual cost of 0.01% of its reserves. Literally, the cruelty is the point.

The point of all of this? The victims of usury are all in the same boat — in the USA and around the world. The same tactics, the same excuses, the same misery, from Cairo to the Caribbean to Cleveland.

Not all debt is created equal, of course. If you’re Elon Musk or Peter Thiel, you can get sweetheart loans and roll overs that let you avoid almost all taxation through the fiction that you earn no income, even as you amass hundreds of billions.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/08/leona-helmsley-was-a-pioneer/#eat-the-rich

And of course, if you’re a government with debts denominated in the currency you issue, it’s not really “debt” at all — the only way the US government can run out of dollars is by ordering its employees not to type more dollars into existence in a central bank spreadsheet.

Indeed, you couldn’t ask for a starker example of the difference between monetarily sovereign nations and postcolonial countries that owe debts in the currencies of their former conquerors. Venezuela can’t spend its way out of US dollar debt by creating bolivars.

Like McGhee’s mother, whose debts turned out to be fictions that disappeared as soon as a professional with credentials and access to the levers of power printed out a boilerplate letter, these countries’ debts are cruel fictions.

The powerful and wealthy can indulge these fictions or ignore them, as they choose. For example, finance-friendly politicians can insist that the “debt ceiling” must not be raised, for political purposes.

When the US declines to do the trivial data-entry that would make the money to pay its sovereign “debts,” the consumption that the money would have funded still takes place — financed not by the democratic state, but rather by a loan-shark.

National financial “prudence” interrupts the normal and benign process of sovereign money-creation, opening space for usury — private borrowing from the vampires and ghouls whose 3,500% APRs are redeemed through terror.

The cruelty is the point.

Image: Sbw01f (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Developed_and_developing_countries.PNG

CC BY: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

Image: А. Н. Миронов https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:%D0%98%D0%B7%D0%B3%D0%BD%D0%B0%D0%BD%D0%B8%D0%B5_%D1%82%D0%BE%D1%80%D0%B3%D1%83%D1%8E%D1%89%D0%B8%D1%85_%D0%B8%D0%B7_%D1%85%D1%80%D0%B0%D0%BC%D0%B0._XXI_%D0%B2%D0%B5%D0%BA.jpg

CC BY-SA: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[aziraphales-library]

What are your top “angst with a happy ending” recs?

Hello anon!

I have put together a quite a long list here and here.

To add to that I would also recommend:

Car Trouble [E] by summerofspock

Aziraphale's car breaks down so he takes it to the first mechanic he can find. From there, his mundane life changes drastically as he finds himself befriending the man fixing his car.

Old Vines [E] by Sevdrag

A.Z. Fell, one of the most respected names in wine and food blogging, has been sent on assignment with his assistant Warlock Dowling to spend six months in California Wine Country. Under direction (by his boss, Gabriel) to use this experience to double his blog followers and write a novel, Aziraphale is both excited and anxious about the opportunity.

Anthony J. Crowley is the owner and viticulturalist of Ecdyses, a winery that unexpectedly fell into his lap eleven years ago when he hit rock bottom. He may be in debt, yeah, but he’s paying off his loans — and despite pressure from his lenders and their team of inspectors, Crowley has found a kind of contentment tending his little corner of terroir and producing extraordinary wine. Crowley’s old vines are the heart of his vineyard, and he’s never let anyone in.

Crowley finds Aziraphale intriguing; Aziraphale finds Crowley enthralling. Turns out a famous wine expert and an experienced viticulturalist can still learn things from each other. The summer of 2019 unfolds.

Heaven is a Place on Earth [M] by soft_october

“I’m just sneaking a break from the festivities, as it were.” Crowley twists his hand in a gesture meant to sum up the circumstances which led him here. “I haven’t taken up residency in the back of a bookshop in the middle of paradise.”

“Ah, well, we clearly disagree over what, precisely, paradise might mean.” Aziraphale's eyes are sharp, and through that initial mask of annoyance, a small smile is curling.

Crowley came to Lower Tadfield, the UKs version of San Junipero, to have a good time, try out the software, step out of his old and failing body into the magic of a virtual world with no consequences. At least that's what he had planned, until one night he stumbles into a bookshop and meets a buttoned up, blue eyed wonder with pale curls and a perfect smile.

No church in the Wild [E] by hanap

The stem of the wineglass in Aziraphale’s hand snaps cleanly in two, but no one seems to hear it—every eye in the room is trained on the redheaded dancer sashaying to the gleaming silver pole, centre stage for all to see.

Oh, Aziraphale thinks faintly. Good lord.

[Or: the one where Aziraphale gets assigned to the red light district.]

Sanctuary [E] by Leilakalomi (19/20 chapters)

Aziraphale, raised by the Archangel Gabriel in Lower Tadfield's cathedral, meets a beautiful dancer on his first foray out of the church. When Aziraphale's furtive adventure ends in disaster, he gives up on ever venturing out (or seeing the dancer) again. He doesn't expect the dancer to need his help, and he definitely doesn't expect to fall in love—or anything that comes after.

Based on Disney’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

~Mod N

[moral-turpitudes]

Silver Linings: Part 1

Masterlist | Rules | Peaky Prompts

A/N: Excuse any of my terrible math skills and if this seems rushed. This is the best I could come up with lol, I hope you all like it though!

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Slight Fighting, Descriptions of Drug Use, Drinking, Familial Drama, Fluff, Mentions of Adoption, etc.

Word Count: 3,972

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Adopted Daughter!Reader + Michael Gray x Alfie’s Adopted Daughter!Reader

Summary: After growing tired of hiding, Y/N decides to venture out from the back of her fathers shop, not knowing she’d quite literally fall for one of her father’s enemies who happened to be lurking around the corner. But with tensions growing between the two families, one decision could change the course of their lives as they know it, for better and for worse.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | *Part 4* | Part 5

“Alright Y/N, now when you aim you gotta line yer eyes up with the sight. Take a deep breath, and on that exhale of yours yer gonna pull that little trigger right there.” Alfie said, the teenage girl only coming up to around his chest, her hands shaking slightly as she aimed the small hand gun for one of the flour sacks in the back of the shop. With a small exhale she fired, the bullet whirling through the air and into the target she’d helped draw on it the day before.

“See that’s not so hard innit?” He asked, smiling at the new light in his life.

Y/N heard her father calling for her upstairs, bringing her out of her daydreams from years ago. That was during the first week she’d lived with him after he adopted her from the nearby orphanage. She had no adoptive mother, and no other friends except their dog Cyril, seeing as she had to be practically hidden away on a daily basis. The only time she really went out was to work in her fathers shop, where she’d do her best to avoid being spotted by her fathers business partners-some of which who had strained relationships with him and his men.

Shaking the memory from her brain, she hesitantly walked up the stairs, the creaking of the wood announcing her arrival.

“There you are love. Listen...I’m having Mr. Shelby come by soon so you’ll have to work in the back alright? I know you’ll get me for it later but I’ll make up for it mmkay?” He said, looking his now 21 year old daughter in the eyes. People often found him intimidating, but over the years she grew used to him, knowing deep down he was a sweet person. With every interaction she observed, she could see the pain in his eyes over not being able to really introduce her, knowing it would put her at risk. But deep down there was a mutual understanding between them that it was going to be inevitable that someone would find out, but neither of them thought it would be so soon.

With a sigh, she reluctantly walked towards the back where the other “bakers” worked the ovens and inspected shipments. While she organized bricks of cocaine for shipment, she felt her stomach drop as she realized she’d left her gloves in the front of the shop. She often hated the texture of the bricks as she packed them away, the fabric gloves being her only solace when she was given the task.

Swallowing hard, she nervously crept around the corner, eyeing Thomas Shelby and some of the other blinders in her fathers office as she continued, not noticing the man she collided with as she stumbled back slightly.

“Oi! I’m so sorry sir...wasn’t even fuckin’ looking.” She said, brushing a stray hair from her face and tightening her apron around her waist.

“No problem love, you alright?” He asked, looking concerned as he adjusted his well tailored suit.

“Y-yeah. Just looking for my gloves. I have to go.” She said, knowing she wasn’t supposed to be out for long while the blinders were there, yet trying to not look the dashing man in the eyes.

As she walked away, his eyes followed her to her station where she usually rolled dough and decorated pastries, grabbing her gloves which were tinted white from the previous cocaine shipment she handled earlier in the morning.

“Hey...miss? Before you go...what’s your name?” He asked, a crooked smile spreading across his features as she neared him.

“Uhm...it’s Y/N. What’s yours? You don’t look like you’re from ‘round here.” She said.

“I’m Michael, Michael Gray. I’m with the blinders.” He said.

“Oh....um, well I have to get going. It was nice meeting you...Michael.” She said, awkwardly putting on the gloves as he recognized the powder falling off them.

“What do you around here anyway? I know that’s not flour on those gloves.” He said with a smirk. She swallowed hard before answering, her eyes flicking to the window of her fathers office.

“Um...I bake, and...I organize things. Listen...I really do have to go. I’ll see you ‘round sometime, yeah?” She asked. He followed her gaze to the window, noticing the nervous look on her face.

“Alright. See you around, Y/N.” He said with a wink, walking back to his lookout spot in the corner.

She smirked slightly as she passed him, reluctantly heading straight to the back, the other workers paying her no mind as she resumed packing the bricks.

As she worked, she could hear shouts coming from her fathers office, her stomach tightening in knots at the tension she could see forming in the room. Thomas and him standing close to each other, most likely mumbling threats under their breaths. A few moments later, she saw the men exit the tattered room, putting their razored caps on and storming out the door. Michael ultimately leaving with them, but catching her staring as he looked back towards the room she was in. She smiled lightly as he smirked, shutting the door behind him.

She shook her head as she turned back, getting the rest of her packing done while shaking away the thought of someone like him ever taking an interest. She knew her father dealt in dangerous business, so she wasn’t afraid of the blinders and her father doing business necessarily, but she couldn’t deny that them feuding terrified her, knowing even one slip-up could put her or her father at risk. Blowing their years-long cover.

As she was lost in thought, Alfie walked down after they left, smiling as he grabbed a bottle of rum from one of the crates and locking it back.

“You don’t have to organize all those love. How about we go call it a day aye? I know you’re probably wanting summing’ because your old man made ya work back ‘ere all day.” He said. His words annoying to her ears as of late as she grew bored of her life at the shop and at home. One question forever buzzing in the back of her mind as she continued her monotonous tasks.

“I was wondering something....” She said, taking her gloves off and turning towards him.

“Yeah? Wondering about work or what? I’m all ears now you know.” He said, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand.

Her stomach tightened again as she looked her loving, yet over-protective father in the eyes.

“I was uh...wondering how you would feel if I moved out?” She asked, the thought barely working its way through her anxious mind before spewing out of her mouth.

“What?” He asked, his eyes squinting as he cocked his head to the side.

“I-I just think since I’m an adult now, I’d like to have a place of my own. That way I won’t come between ya and the business as much. I’m tired of hiding, dad.” She said, throwing the gloves on the table as she sat next to him.

“What devils gotten into your bones? Have you been sniffing the snow or drinking me rum?” He asked.

“No dad....I just...I just want to be more independent that’s all.” She said.

“I’ll tell ya what...if you pack the snow for the next month I’ll up your pay so you can get you a place. I’ll chip in some too but getting it on your own will be good for ya. I taught you to shoot but I didn’t teach ya about life aye?” He said.

“No not really. But spare me the lectures. Let’s get home. I’m starving.” She said.

“Alright. Let’s get on with it then.” He said, walking with his cane as they made their way to the car.

As the next few weeks passed, she found herself going into work with a smile. Knowing she’d get to work towards her own place, and for the chance to see the dapper blinder who’d been making regular appearances lately, and to her surprise, for more than business reasons.

He’d been sent by Thomas to crunch numbers and talk bets with Alfie, knowing that he was sent to handle more of the legitimate business than the illegal stuff.

But if Y/N learned anything throughout her years, it was knowing when to make herself known.

She waited until Alfie closed his office door, watching Michael walk down the creaky steps as she did a small whistle.

He turned around and grinned, walking towards her, as was becoming their habit recently.

“Y/N, didn’t think you were here, love. Must’ve been in the back again aye?” He asked, quietly. She nodded and led him to one of the women’s lavatories.

“W-why are we in here? I haven’t even taken you on a date.” He asked, a mischievous grin on his lips.

“Shh. There’s no other place right now for us to go. I haven’t told him.” She said.

“Told who?” He asked.

“My-my father. Alfie.” She said, nervously biting her lip as she removed her hand from his. Crossing her arms over her chest.

“Wait...your father is Alfie fucking Solomons?” He asked, his face hardening at the fact. His usual happy demeanor fading.

“Well, adoptive father. He uh adopted me when I was 16 from an orphanage ’round here. He wanted to protect me...from uh...people like you. I guess he’s had some bad history with the blinders and other groups so I’ve been most my life, just working here to pass the time.” She said.

“People like me? What...are you afraid of me?” He asked.

“What? No! I’ve been around dangerous men all my life. I’m just saying that your blinder cousins may not take a liking to me and neither will my father to you. I just have a bad feeling about it.” She said.

“So...what are we to do? Fucking talk in the bathroom every week or what?” He asked, a small smirk playing at his lips.

“We’ll do what I do best. We’ll have to hide.” She said. He looked at her with a confused expression as he put his hand on her hips.

“I get off at 4pm and my father won’t be home until late at night. I usually go straight home, but meet me at the warehouse later around 7pm, yeah?” She asked, seeing him smirk.

“Michael I’m deadly serious. If Thomas or my father finds out we’re as good as dead.” She said.

“Fine...I’ll meet you, but I want you to bring some of the snow. Can you sneak it out?” He asked.

“Yeah. Alright, now go, the workers are coming down the hall.” She said, hearing the plethora of Alfie’s men stomping down the dark hall, making it easier for Michael to slip out un-noticed.

“See you then, Y/N.” He said, pecking her cheek before he left.

She rubbed the spot, her cheeks flushing at the brief contact.

“Y/N?” Alfie’s voice rang from the hall, making her heart race as she thought of all the reasons he could be asking for her, internally praying that it wasn’t because he caught Michael leaving.

“Yeah dad?” She asked, quickly stepping out of the restroom.

“Thought ya ran off love. I was just gonna remind ya I’m working late again.” He said.

“Alright, how many nights are you working late?” She asked.

“Well, probably every day for this month. Thomas and the rest of his blinders are damn near making me lose me mind.” He said.

“Oh...ok. Well I’ll keep an eye on Cyril then. Is it ok if I go out to the shops later? Been wanting to stock up for the new place, for whenever I get it.” She said.

“I mean I’m not going to be there so I can’t stop ya can’t I? You can but remember your gun and that knife. You remember how to use it aye?” He asked.

“Yes dad, I can’t really forget stabbing a man for you, nor can I forget putting a bullet through his head.” She said, shivering slightly at the memory of when things got tense at the shop with a disgruntled employee. Alfie had beaten the man unconscious and dragged the man to the back, telling her that it would be good practice. And it was, but after it was done, she vowed to herself that she’d never use such weapons unless she had to.

“Right, well I have to go deal with some business. I’ll let you off at 4 like usual alright?” He asked.

“Okay, thanks dad. I’ll see you...I guess tomorrow depending on how late you get in.” She said giving him a hug before walking back to her station.

The last few hours dragged on as she reminisced over the past couple of weeks. Her heart skipped a beat thinking about how they’d secretly talk and make out behind the shop where her dad couldn’t see, and how on days like today she had to drag him into the restroom as her heart beat out of her chest at the rebelliousness of it all. It was nothing compared to what she planned to get away with tonight, and for hopefully weeks to come, but it was a small step towards her independence, even if they had to hide their relationship from the world.

As the clock struck 4 she headed towards the back of the building, snagging a bottle of rum from an opened crate and replacing it with one that had just came off the line for the night. Shoving the bottle in her purse as she grabbed a rather small brick of cocaine, it being one of the various runts in the pile they’d received that day.

With quick steps, she went out the door and down to the car that was waiting for her. The purse growing slightly heavy as she continued on. Her father didn’t want her walking home alone of course, and so he arranged for one of his men to routinely take her home, ultimately becoming a blessing and a curse for her independence she was so desperately trying to achieve.

“Hello Tim, I have an odd request today.” She said, counting the huge wad of cash in her purse she’d managed to save up well before asking about apartments

“What’s that Ms.Solomons?” He asked, hid old face wrinkling with a smile.

“Can we stop by the housing department? I’ve had my eye on an apartment for a few weeks. Don’t worry though, I’ve already gotten my fathers approval.” She said, pulling off her biggest lie yet.

“Alright, after that do you wish to go home? He asked.

“Yes please.” She said, watching as the streets zipped by.

Once at the housing department, she told the landlord where she’d like to stay and she followed her to the requested location. Her eyes lit up as she saw the rather grand place. It was just close enough that her father needn’t worry too much while also being just enough of a distance away from the shops she loved going to. It was a rather safe area given the town and her fathers plethora of men protecting her, but she enjoyed the new sense of independence as she gave the woman a cash deposit, along with enough for the years rent.

The woman’s eyes lit up as she saw the amount of cash, Y/N rather un-phased given her fathers business.

“Are you sure Ms.? This is so much in advance.” She said.

“Yes. When shall I move in?” She asked. Checking her watch and seeing it was just after 5pm.

“Oh I’d say ‘round any time next week. Here’s your key, just drop by before you begin moving in.” She said with a smile as she got in her car and left.

“Alright Tim, I’m ready to go home.” She said, a satisfied smile on her face.

“I’m impressed. You got this place yourself? Alfie must be proud.” He said.

“Mhmm.” Y/N said, nervously fidgeting with her hands as she remembered the lie. He’d have her neck if he knew she’d already bought the place earlier than he would’ve liked. But what could it hurt?

The minutes passed rather quickly as she was dropped off at her house, walking inside to see Cyril’s tail wagging as she came through the front door. The house was dimly lit and quiet, just as she’d left it that morning. She played with him and made sure his water bowl was filled, seeing as the maid would help feed him later, but she still loved helping wherever she could.

“Ms. Y/N, I have your dress ready. I’ll feed the dog later and make sure the house is kept before leaving. I hope you enjoy your date.” The older woman said, a genuine smile on her face.

“Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much you’ve helped me these last few weeks. Here.” She said, giving her a few slips of cash from her purse.

“Just as a thank you. I’ll be moving in next week to my apartment. Dad doesn’t know though so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell him.” She said.

The maids eyes widened at the cash in her hand, agreeing with a small smile and a quick nod before returning to her duties. As much as she loved this house, she wanted to do things on her own terms. She wanted to meet people on her own terms, and finally not hide herself. To make more friends than just the maid. To start actually living.

With an excited smile she ran up the stairs, putting the casual dress on and doing her makeup, deciding to leave her hair as-is, then anxiously making her way outside. The purses weight tugging at her shoulder as she walked down the quiet streets, her gun in her purse and her small knife in hand.

Once she neared the warehouse, she sat around the back, taking a swig of the rum before Michael got there to calm her nerves.

She watched the sun set over Camden Town, the birds songs ending as the insects buzzed about, the air turning a bit colder as she looked at her watch. It was just after 7pm, her heart sinking in her chest as she thought he’d stood her up. But after a few moments, she heard footsteps, making her panic slightly not knowing who was behind them. She carefully drew her gun, aiming at the man as he walked closer, his hands soon up in surrender.

“Y/N? It’s me. Michael.” He said, a smirk on his face, lowering his hands.

“I figured you were ‘round back, didn’t think you’d try to shoot me though.” He said.

“Sorry. You never know out here.” She said, putting her gun away and retrieving the cocaine and rum.

“You carried all that here? I’m impressed.” He said, inspecting the cocaine as she opened the bottle, taking another swig from it. She cringed internally as the liquid burned her throat. She’d only drank a few times, not to any huge extent, but now that she was older and more capable, she figured she at least could drink how she pleased.

“How’d you score this rum?” He asked, taking a swig from the bottle as well.

“I stole it from my dads stash in the back. And that coke is one of the runts of the batch, it was too small to pack in the big crates. Figured I’d bring the whole thing since you seemed to know about it a couple weeks ago.” She said, smirking at the memory of their first awkward meeting.

“Have you tried it?” He asked, leaning back against the wall of the warehouse.

“No.” She said turning away from his gaze as she nervously brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It’s easy. Watch.” He said, unwrapping it and shaving off a sliver of the white substance with her knife. He sat it on top of the brick and made sure it was all crushed, forming it in a straight line.

He handed her the brick carefully as she held it up towards his face, him inhaling the powder through his nose in one fell swoop.

“You want me to shove that shit up my nose? Are you mad?” She asked, giggling as she took another swig from the rum.

“Yeah. Can’t hide from everything love.” He said, his words hitting home probably more than he realized.

“Alright, if I die, my fathers gonna have your head on a spike.” She said.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He said, preparing a smaller amount of the drug and holding it up to where she could inhale it through her nose. Her nostril burned as she did so, the foreign particles lacing their way through her system.

She laughed and shook her head, wiping her nose of any excess powder as she looked up at Michael who was chuckling slightly.

“That was so odd. I’m not doing that again. Not right now anyway.” She said, handing him the bottle of rum as she curled up next to him. It had only been about a month since they’d met, but even then, their interactions became more frequent.

Over the next few weeks, it was as if they’d known each other for years the way they got on. His aunt Polly eventually seeing a spark in his eye that wasn’t there before, and the same went for Alfie.

“You’ve met someone. I can tell.” Polly said one night, catching him coming in drunk on more than one occasion.

“Yeah I did. Tommy can’t do anything about it. It’s not his concern so don’t go telling him.” He said as he stumbled into the house.

As Michael grappled with the weight of seeing an adversaries daughter, Y/N had gradually moved things into her apartment with the help of her driver, all under her fathers nose. But she knew that once her room was more vacant, he’d catch on. Knowing if the blinders didn’t anger him enough, her leaving suddenly surely would.

One night after a drunken date with her mystery boyfriend, Alfie confronted her. Holding the small brick they’d chipped away at over the previous weeks.

“Oi! You wanna explain this? No daughter of mine is going to be sneaking drugs in me house. Do you really think I’m dumb? Cuz I guarantee you I’m not. This can’t happen. Not under my roof.” He said, lighting his cigar.

“Well if you didn’t want to pack it anyway I thought I might as well put it to good use. But uh, I’ll be sneaking it under me own roof from now on. I’ve bought a place if you couldn’t already tell from barging in my room to find that.” She said, folding her arms like she often did when she was frustrated.

Alfie stepped closer to her, his eyes not leaving hers as she barely flinched.

“I’ll find out who you’re doing all this for. Once I do, you’ll wish ya never stole a thing.” He said, walking towards his chair he usually sat on in their grand living room.

Y/N shook her head and chuckled to herself, stomping off towards her room. Her mind raced as she thought about what to do, grabbing what was left of her clothes and hurling them into her suitcases, deciding to leave the house for good in the morning.

Alfie sighed and sat back in his chair as he heard Y/N rummaging around upstairs. The sweet girl he helped raise all of a sudden wanting to leave the nest. 

It seemed like everything was fine in their lives until the peaky fucking blinders waltzed into his shop. Not caring who they destroyed as long as they got their money, their rum, or their drugs.

[themalhambird]

No storm came on The Dragon’s wings:

It stole down in the night.

But the villagers awoke to see

The mountain set alight. 

What sky was spied through heavy smoke

Was burned a hellish red

A coat of ash scorched every throat

And all were filled with dread.

Rumour raced around and soon

They sent word to their Lord:

A mighty wyrm had claimed his  land, 

And marked it for Its hoard. 

The fire blazed until the rain

Broke forth and drenched it out.

For no man dared form a water-chain

On what might be a dragon’s mount.

Weeks passed without a second strike,

But still the village feared.

And the fear grew greater still

When their Lord appeared.

He came with  wearied, ashen face, heading

A train of battered knights

And summoning his subjects ‘round,

Confirmed that they were right. 

“A dragon has settled up there- the beast

Very nearly killed me. 

And yet…it offered me a chance 

to sheathe my sword, and treaty.

Like all its’ kind the creature has

A dreadful lust for gold. 

If we send it monthly offerings

It will let our babes grow old.

Remain content within it’s lair-

For I myself have proffered

The dragon to hunt within my woods

And take what they can offer.

Your lives and land will not be touched,

Though you may have lighter coffers

A costly but a certain peace

Is what this bargain offers

(For we could engage a Dragon Slayer-

Give Kings’ ransoms to some outcast

And pray to all the gods there are

The man’s both skilled and steadfast

For if he’s slain, the dragon’s wrath

Will send us all down to the grave.

Or else we learn we’ve given all

For naught, but to a knave

Who leeches every lick of gold

From all your worthy hands,

And, with his pockets richly lined

Flees to distant lands)

But hear me! I’ll be ruled by you!

Good people, give me advice:

Shall we risk hiring a thief-

Or simply…pay the tithe?”

The Lord had scarcely stopped his speech

As their  verdict was returned:

A little extra tax was naught

If their lives could be preserved!

And so each month the Lord sent men

He personally commanded

To collect and safely move such sums

As the hateful beast demanded. 

The months turned in to years, the years

Somehow became a century,

And the tithe had grown to such vast sums

Few villagers staved off penury.

A deputation travelled to

The Lord with a petition

“Send for a Dragon Slayer, M’lud!”

But his Lordship would not listen.

“Your grandfathers,” His lordship sneered

“Begged mine to make this treaty. 

I’ll not undo it on a whim because

You common folk grow greedy.

Besides, my coffers- you can be sure-

Are just as sparse as yours. 

A Dragon Slayer’s prices

Are not such as we could afford.”

He dismissed them and, as they traipsed,

Back out into the night

The  blacksmith muttered to the miller:

“The bastard’s robes are samite.

“Can’t afford it-kiss my arse!

I’ve heard he’s eaten orange.

Whatever the fuck an orange is-

He’s not living off pottage.”

They journeyed back, a weary group-

Denied, but not defeated

For as they travelled they’d all agreed:

They’d raise the funds they needed.

It took some time, it took some skill

(it took a small amount of cheating:

The Brewer made sure to overcharge

Any knight who fancied drinking.)

Winter turned to Spring Spring turned

To Summer- Autumn followed.

The farmers’ fields were bountiful-

Their childrens’ cheeks were hollowed.

And Gwenllian, the Blacksmith’s daughter,

Took his work to City Market:

Some swords, some knives- she also had

Gold hidden in her pocket.

Every sale she made that day

Grew the little stash,

Until at last she closed her stall 

And counted out the cash.

More than she had ever seen-

But probably not sufficient

To tempt a man to try to kill

A fire breathing Lizard.

Gwenllian half shrugged and pushed

Away any misgivings.

Dragons weren’t common enough 

For their deaths to make good livings. 

So any amount of money might do-

Call it a- a deposit. 

Slay the dragon, take-

Say half the hoard? For the mighty hero’s profit.

She headed to the tavern:

Where -so weeks of rumours said-

Some disgraced- banished- errant knight

Worked for board and bed. 

She told the woman tending bar

“I’m needing a skilled swordsman.”

“Aren’t we all, my duck!” she cackled, 

Then: “But I s’pose you’re meaning Cadvan.

And a pretty lass like you-why not,

Gawk all you want my dear,

No harm to me if you

‘Sit there sipping beer.

You have this- first tankard’s free,”

She poured Gwenllan a beer,

Then yelled across the crowded room

“CADVAN! GET OVER HERE!”

A man appeared, of Gwenllian’s age-

His hair, like hers, was golden.

A sword hung from his belt; he bore

A pair of mismatched pauldrons.

“The Lady wants a word- be sure

You make it entertaining,�� 

The hostess winks and bustles off

As Gwenllian begun explaining

Who she was, from whence she came

And the money that her neighbours raised.

“You’re a knight of some kind, are you not-

Will you kill monsters, if you’re paid?”

Cadvan said, gentle-toned

“Give me three hours to prepare.

You know where in the hills the monster lives-

You can guide me to its lair?”

Gwenllian confirmed, Cadvan bowed-

Well, more inclined his head. 

He left her and she left the Inn to wait 

with her donkey and wagon instead.

When Cadvan returned, Gwenllian saw

He was clad in well-kept  armour. 

He pulled himself in to the cart, 

Sat quietly beside her. 

The journey to the village passed

In companionable silence,

Interspersed with small talk, and beneath

A cloud of looming violence.

“Have you ever,” Gwellian asked

“Slain a dragon before this?”

“No,” Cadvan gravely replied.

“But…other monsters? Yes.”

His mismatched pauldrons glinted

In the evening’s failing light. 

Gwenllian said: “tell me of it,

If we survive the night.”

She struck a tinderbox and lit

A torch to give them light,

And guided him to the lair of the beast

She’d brought him there to fight

“How is it,” he asked quietly

“You know where this thing nests?”

“My Lord’s grandfather knew it first;

He told all the rest”

A cave mouth, like a gaping maw

Scarred the barren hillside.

Ink-fingered shadows swallowed them up

The moment they stepped inside.

They still pushed on, Cadvan drew

His sword in controlled readiness.

Gwellian wished the torchlight burned

With a little bit more steadiness:

The light it cast made monsters loom

With every shelf and stalactite.

Her heart pounded in her breast

As she tampered down her fright

They hadn’t gone above a mile

Down in to the damp and cold

When the path curved round 

And they came upon the gold.

A handful here- a handful there

Petty little hills

Not nearly what there should have been

For a century’s worth of bills. 

And in the middle of the coins

Scattered through the cavern,

Loafing like cats do on laps

There was a tiny dragon.

“‘Tis but a hatchling,” Gwenllian said

As Cadvan sheathed his sword.

“Tis not the mighty wyrm that we

Were told of by our Lords!”

The knight stepped forward-The dragon lept!

 And landed on his shoulder

It purred and curled around his neck

And tried to groom his armour.

“What does this mean?” asked Gwenllian

Cadvan turned and anger shone

Deep in his eyes as he said

“Your dragon-tithe’s a con.”

Her face grew cold- her fury blazed-

She slowly clenched her fist.

“I do not care the price I’ll pay-

I swear, he’ll pay for this!

‘Tis treason to depose a Lord,

But what do we owe to a King

Whose lordlings commit such vast thefts

As would see a peasant swing?

Try and stop me if you’re sworn, Sir Knight, 

But-” She fell quiet- he shook his head.

“You’ve paid me, Mistress Gwenllian,

To see a monster dead.

And I would have no honour if

I took his Lordship’s part.

Gwenllian- I was banished because

I stabbed my leige- lord through the heart.”

She stared, he grimly smiled.

Eyes blazing as he said:

“Such a noble man he was,

Forcing women to his bed!

And as a knight is sworn,

In chief, to protect those in need

I have no regrets for what some may call

A blasphemous misdeed.

But soft- let me take you home.

First, tell the village what we’ve found.

If we have numbers at our backs,

We’ll stand on firmer ground.”

Gwenllian agreed, and they walked back

To where they’d left the cart

The sapphire hatchling hanging on,

Refusing to depart.

They arrived back at the village

As dawn kissed dark skies gold. 

They roused each house and asked them

To come hear their tale be told.

It was the day the tithe was due

And everyone expected,

Seeing a knight, that they would learn

The money need not be collected. 

Gwenllian explained that there had been

But spare change in the hoard

Most of the coin they’d sacrificed

Went straight unto their Lord.

The village heard what she said, and

When the tax-men came that night

Though they knocked ar every door

No one was in sight. 

And a mob stormed toward the castle

Armed with torches and with scythes

Demanded to speak with the Lord

Would not be denied.

The Lord came out to meet them-

With his knights all at his back.

He heard the charges made at him

And answered the attack:

“Dragons live for centuries-

Because it’s small, it can’t be old?

My friends- this is a stranger’s ploy

To run off with the gold!

“After all, it’s common knowledge that

There are two things you cannot trust-

A dragon slayer, and a wench who

Looks at him with lust.”

Some of the mob grew doubtful-

They muttered twixt themselves,

Till Gwellian asked him sweetly

“Then may we see your cells?

Your garrets and your halls my lord-

Let us all explore:

Let us see your empty treasury and

We’ll trouble you no more.”

The Lord considered briefly,

Turned to his men and softly said

“The secret’s out- draw your swords

Strike every man here dead.

My lands span half this valley-

So one village has run dry.

I own a dozen others where

I can give this a try.”

He turned back and said

To the mob: “Please, friends- step inside.

Satisfy yourselves that I 

Have nothing I should hide.”

He walked back behind the castle walls-

And his soldiers all closed ranks,

They lunged toward the villagers

With sword and mace and axe.

Some fought back-many were killed-

Others quickly fled

Cadvan seized Gwenlian’s hand,

Pulled her down among the dead.

He put his armoured body

Between Gwenllian and the battle

And tried to shield her from the sight

Of her people slain like cattle.

‘Twas inky black when all went still

But for the moans of those still dying.

And the guards had all given chase

After those who were fleeing.

Cadvan pulled Gwenllian to her feet-

She struck him across the face

“You said, with numbers-” she gestured wide-

“Well, look at our mistake!”

“I did not foresee,” Cadvan confessed

“That he would attack-

I thought in the face of those he’d wronged-

He’d give the money back.”

“I’m getting in that castle,”

Gwenllian vowed

“It it’s the last thing that I do I swear

I’ll take the bastard down.”

“The guards are gone,” Cadvan said,

“On the chase- we can walk in.

Just pray before his men come back

We’ve found out where he’s hiding.”

Side by side they went-

Methodically they hunted,

The hatchling lodged in Cadvan’s plate

Snuffled, yawned and grunted.

Then all at once was wide awake-

It ran off- it was hell bent

On following the trace of gold

Of which he’d caught the scent

The humans both went after it,

Fearing someone would see

The creature and raise the alarm

Of a potential enemy.

And so it was they found themselves

Face to face with the lord

Who was sitting basking in 

The glow of his great hoard.

More coins than he could ever need-

Than he could ever spend!

Cadvan drew his sword and said:

“This is at an end.”

The Lord sneered and grabbed at his own blade-

He slashed at Cadvan’s throat.

As Gwenllian stepped forth and brought

Her torch down on his lordship’s cloak.

She watched, her face as stone until,

At the sound of people running

Cadavan took her hand and said

“If you would live, we should be going.”

Distracted by their master’s screams,

No servant stopped stopped the couple,

Assuming the knight was one of theirs,

Hunting down the cause of trouble.

So Gwenllian and Sir Cadvan fled-

Where to, I will not say

For well ye know the King’s own spies

Hunt them to this day

Do not but hear- listen,

Listen and then spread

This tale for, all ye peasants. your

lords would see you dead

If it but brought them pennies,

Never mind true power and wealth.

If you can’t follow her example then

At least drink Gwenllian’s health!

A dragon has been demanding tribute of gold from a small village for years. And when they finally hire a slayer to deal with it, the slayer finds a dragon thats barely a hatchling