#I feel like I did a bad job of explaining and bringing my evidence

[bbyboybucket]

I’ve thought about this A LOT and I’ve been waiting for this conversation to be had, so I can’t help but add in my two cents here. I do agree with you that he’s probably never attempted because like you said, he would have succeeded. However, I firmly, absolutely believe that he was planning to after he crossed off all the names in his book. I 1000% think that those names, those amends, were Bucky’s loose ends he needed to tie up before committing suicide.

For starters, Dr. Raynor’s actress said in SEVERAL, not one, but SEVERAL interviews that her character’s purpose was to keep Bucky from killing himself. I know there’s AT LEAST 3 different interviews where she says that (and I’m not talking about different places quoting the same thing, she said this multiple times). So thanks to her, we know for sure he was having suicidal thoughts in the series, that part isn’t even just a head snob, it’s legit. I used to have links ready to source cause I planned on doing a post about this, but I’m gonna have to find them again 🥲.

Anyways, another piece of my theory is his lack of furniture and belongings. I think he bought the bare necessities because he wasn’t planning on sticking around long enough to need anything else.

But Bucky’s behavior also fits the statistical

warning signs of suicidal ideation (and the typical behaviors leading up to an attempt). He engages in incredibly risky behavior with lack of regard for his wellbeing, he’s withdrawn socially, there’s increased hostility and anger. But also even though these are symptoms of PTSD/depression/etc. they’re also considered warning signs: being unable to sleep and talking about guiltiness. Because Bucky doesn’t just feel guilty but he expresses it to everyone.

Also Bucky says things that fall in to the warning signs. He said he feels like he has “nothing left”. There’s the “I’m not going to kill you” and sarcastic “imagine my relief” exchange between him and Zemo. These seem like very little things that until you think of them in a larger context. It’d also explain why he seemed to be putting off working on the list…..I think that suicide was his plan until Sam made him feel wanted and gave him a reason to stick around. Anyways that’s just my theory, off the top of my head and probably incoherently cause I’m basically just rambling. But I had to share.

do you think Bucky ever tried to kill himself?

Thanks for the ask Nonnie. Trigger warning for suicide discussion.

I once saw an interview excerpt of Sebastian saying — along the lines of — it’s the thought of Steve that stopped Bucky from killing himself in the 2 years he went on the run. My headcanon is pretty similar to his.

TL;DR - I think Bucky would have had frequent thoughts of suicide, but did not make an attempt, because he would have succeeded. I also think that even though Bucky did not attempt it, he nevertheless engaged in risky, self-sabotaging behaviours that could have killed him.

In real life, while suicide attempts are more frequent amongst women compared to men, deaths from suicide (ie successful attempts) are far higher amongst men than women. This is usually attributed to the fact that men frequently choose more lethal methods. Coupled with the fact that Bucky knows he’s a super soldier, and my view of his personality (efficient with his missions and ruthless towards himself), as well as the one canon mention of a male super soldier attempting suicide (Bruce “I put a bullet in my mouth and the other guy spat it back out”) I think he would’ve chosen a very deadly method if he made an attempt.

But I think what often happens with men (and women too) is that...sometimes people knowingly engage in behaviours that are unhealthy or highly unsafe. They might not intend to die, but they wouldn’t mind if it kills them. The social norms Steve and Bucky grew up with is that men are not allowed vulnerability and weakness. There was no word for PTSD in those days, nor was there a word for depression. You just kept getting more “melancholic” until it’s bad enough to be classified as “insane”. And when you take that into the eugenic context they grew up with, it is likely their attitude is to cop it on the chin for as long as it takes to avoid a mental health review or diagnosis. But…that means the sense of distress and self-loathing keep building up and need an outlet.

In real life, people sometimes turn to drugs and alcohol, often with full awareness the harm it’s doing to their bodies, and I am partial towards headcanons of Bucky engaging in highly risky behaviour in the immediate aftermath of escaping Hydra. This might be drugs and alcohol, or it could be taking on risky missions with minimal attempts at self-preservation. You could argue the same about Steve after Bucky’s death: Steve jumping across the fire because Bucky yelled at him vs Steve putting the plane in water despite Peggy pleading with him.

When TFATWS first introduced Bucky breaking the law and jeopardising his pardon to terrorise former Hydra agents, that felt real to me. He was self-sabotaging and self-destructive, and his snarl that “if he’s wrong about you then he’s wrong about me” means his identity is tied up with someone who wasn’t there anymore and he was never going to get the approval he needed again.

I think, the other thing to consider too, is Bucky having survived 70 years of Hydra torture suggests an incredible mental and physical resilience. We know he’s not hopelessly optimistic — in CATFA he’s the one trying to dissuade Steve from joining the war — but there must be…a certain kind of faith and relentless hope that keeps him going. The fact that he has had not one, but at least two (or three, if you count Endgame) villain origin character beats and still does his best to fight for the good side, suggests he has an indomitable love for people and the world despite how much hurt it caused him.

So I tend to think that while suicide may have frequently been on his mind, and he may have frequently engaged in highly risky or harmful behaviours, he hasn’t attempted to take his own life because there is something (whether that be Steve or some other thing) that keeps him going and keeps him believing there’s going to be a better tomorrow on the other side.

[ukrfeminism]

Every day since arriving in Britain, Yvonne, a nurse in the NHS, has FaceTimed her two daughters back home in Zimbabwe. Often the calls end in tears. Other days, the younger girl, aged four, asks difficult questions like, “When can you send the aeroplane to come and get us, Mummy?” “It’s heartbreaking,” Yvonne says. “I don’t know what to do.”

Yvonne is one of dozens of migrant women who have been refused permission for their children to join them in Britain. Despite current rules permitting healthcare workers to bring family members, single mothers, many of them recruited to work in the NHS and care sector, are routinely having their applications denied.

The applications are being refused under a decades-old Home Office rule that a child may only be given a visa if both parents are living in the UK, unless the parent living here has sole responsibility. Many of the approximately 150 women who have come forward so far have supplied extensive evidence showing they are the children’s primary caregivers. But the applications have still been refused.

Yvonne says she moved to Britain to improve her family’s future. “We’re searching for greener pastures, to give our kids a better life,” the 34-year-old says. Before departing, she says, her employer reassured her that it should be simple enough for her daughters to join her.

So in March 2023 she left the girls in the temporary care of a nanny and boarded a flight. Two months later, after securing accommodation and starting her new job, she applied to the Home Office for the children’s visas.

Documents shared with the Observer show she explained that she had always cared for the girls, they had always lived with her, and supplied references from their schools, doctors and grandmother, along with consent letters from the other parent.

The application was rejected on the grounds that the girls could live with other relatives, and that Yvonne had not provided “compelling reasons” for them to come.

Ten months after she arrived, she is still battling the Home Office to reverse its decision. The girls are in the care of their grandparents, but Yvonne says this is not a long-term fix. “My parents are both in a bad position physically. They can’t carry the burden of looking after a four-year-old,” she says. “I have looked after my children all their lives. And now to be told I don’t have reason to live with them … that is the most painful thing.”

Another mother, Juliet Mupeni, said her 13-year-old son had been traumatised by the decision not to let him come. Mupeni, 37, a former university lecturer in cybersecurity, who moved from Zimbabwe in May to work as a live-in carer, supplied detailed evidence showing she is the boy’s sole caregiver, including a letter from the Zimbabwean authorities stating she has, and always has had, sole parental responsibility.

She also supplied letters from his school, doctor and church pastor, and a consent letter from the boy’s father, who she says she separated from a decade ago. But the Home Office rejected the application, questioning why the boy, who is staying with a family friend, couldn’t live with his dad.

Mupeni submitted a fresh application with further proof, but this, too, was refused. In a cruel twist, the rejection letter said the fact the child had been without his mother since she moved to Britain was proof he did not need to come. “My son feels I have abandoned him. After the second refusal he was very very emotional. He was crying for several days,” she says. “I moved here specifically for his future. If I thought he couldn’t join me I wouldn’t have come.”

In another case, a mother who was refused permission for her son to join her was told that as the boy’s father had contact with the child “occasionally and sporadically”, this was proof he could stay with him. The Home Office also said a letter saying the child’s grandmother had “chronic conditions” and could not care for the child long-term was not detailed enough, concluding there were no “compassionate and compelling circumstances” to grant the visa.

In other cases, women were asked to provide further evidence to support their applications so applied for court documents in their home countries. They had not needed them before as their separations or custody arrangements were informal. But the Home Office said that as the documents were dated recently, they had only been obtained for the purposes of securing a visa and refused the applications.

Carol, 39, a care worker also from Zimbabwe, who has been denied a visa for her 17-year-old daughter, said: “I don’t know why they are doing this. It is like we are not human beings. It’s like our families don’t mean as much as the families we are coming to look after.”

Lawyers and charities are calling for the cases to be reviewed, and the Home Office approach to be modernised, so that caseworkers give more weight to what is in the children’s best interests.

Current Home Office guidance does allow for exceptions, telling caseworkers that even if the sole responsibility test is not met, they can still allow visas if there are compassionate grounds to do so.

It explicitly says that a consent letter from the other parent would count in favour of their case. Yet many of the women providing such evidence are still having their children’s visas declined. Applicants can apply for a review but these can be costly, take several months and look only at whether administrative errors were made.

Sacha Wooldridge, head of immigration at law firm Birketts, said the sole responsibility test was intended to protect the other parent’s rights, but that it did not recognise “today’s modern society” and could be a “very blunt instrument”.

The Immigration Law Practitioners’ Association says the “sole responsibility” test is “completely out of step with current best practice”. Last year, the cross-party peers on the House of Lords Justice and Home Affairs committee said the policy was tearing apart families and should be revised.

Another mother, Amara, who moved from South Africa to Cheshire to work as a live-in carer, urged the Home Office to review the decisions and “show compassion”.

She has been fighting since July for her daughters, 12 and 14, to join her. “When I heard about the UK needing healthcare workers I thought, ‘OK, I would love to go and help out there.’ But it feels like the UK doesn’t care about us,” she said. “I would love the Home Office to be considerate and empathetic. I would ask them to put themselves in my shoes.”

[ateezreactionsandscenarios]

Publicity Stunt

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Reader

Genre: Fluff

CW: None

Word Count: 3305

Summary: Your comeback wasn’t doing as well as it needed to so your manager comes up with the idea of a dating scandal as a publicity stunt...the only problem being you’re single.

Part of StayTeez Trope’pril

Prompt List         Series Masterlist       MasterList         Buy me a Coffee

You were in the dance practice room again, drilling your routine into your brain over and over again despite already being in the middle of your promotion period. You couldn’t help but feel you were always doing something wrong, your comeback wasn’t doing so great, people weren’t interested and you didn’t know where you were going wrong.

“Y/n, why don’t you take a break for a bit?” Your best friend Seonghwa suggests, a worried look covering his face as he watches you push yourself to pure exhaustion.

“Nope, no time, I need to make everything better.” You argued back, not taking your eyes off your reflection in the mirror.

“Y/n it’s okay, everyone has a comeback that doesn’t work out, it’s part and parcel of the job, come on.” You continue to ignore him, your face focused and over analysing every step. Seonghwa had seen enough. Getting to his feet he turns off the music, bringing your dancing to a jarring halt.

“Hwa what the fuck!?” 

“You need to call it a day today, you’ll make yourself sick.” You knew you could carry on for a few more hours but you also knew not to argue with Seonghwa, you’ll only come out of it worse. You begrudgingly give in and accept the water bottle he hands over to you.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard y/n, just get through your promotions and learn from this comeback.” You sat on the small couch next to him, your body now feeling heavy as the exhaustion starts to set in.

“It’s just disheartening. I worked so hard on this and no one seems to give a shit.” You sigh, your head flopping onto his shoulder. 

“We all get times like this but we all grow and learn from it, you’ll be okay I promise.” 

You’re enjoying the comfort that Seonghwa brings to you. His advice and encouraging words were helping your mental state a little and you knew how lucky you were to have someone like him by your side. Just as you could feel yourself start to doze you were startled by the door to the dance room opening. Your eyes flick up to see your manager standing in the doorway, wide eyed and for some reason uneasy. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know your boyfriend was here, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” You can’t help but crack a giggle at your manager.

“No it’s fine, he’s just a friend and you’re not interrupting, what’s up?” 

“Oh...right. I was just checking in on you and wanted to see if you were almost ready for me to drive you home.” 

“Yeah I’m done for today, just give me a few minutes to get my stuff together and I’ll come find you.” You smile. Your manager nods in agreement and leaves you and Seonghwa alone. Shutting the door he pulls out his phone and quickly typing out an email to your CEO with an idea to get you the publicity you needed.

The next morning your manage pulls you into the CEO's office with no word of an explanation. Your anxiety hit the roof, you thought this was it for you, you did that bad they were going to cut you out of the company completely. You were planning out your apology and ways you could do better during short trip it took to get to the office, but once you were there it wasn't what you were expecting.

"Y/n as you know things aren't going to plan but we've come up with an idea that would hopefully get you the publicity and attention you need...that's if you agree to it anyway." Your boss says, leaning forward on his desk, hands clasped together awaiting a response.

"What's the idea?"

"A scandal." Now, you weren't a fan of the word 'scandal' normally when someone was caught up in one of those 9 times out of 10 it ended badly and quite frankly you didn't want your name getting dragged through the mud. The nervousness on your face was evident so he continued to explain.

"We were talking about getting you wrapped up in a dating scandal, all you'll need to do is go on a few public dates and make sure you're caught, the rest will do itself." You weren't opposed to the idea but there was one fatal flaw in their plan...you're single.

"But I don't have a boyfriend to get in a dating scandal to begin with...how will this work?"

"Fake dating. Your manager mentioned how you're very close to Park Seonghwa from Ateez, he even told me how he mistook you both for a couple last night." You nod along, quietly agreeing while you wait for him to continue.

"If your manager thought that, and he sees you everyday, then it'll be easy enough to sway the media and the public into thinking its real. I'm not asking you to do anything drastic, no big love gestures or anything like that but just go on a few 'dates', simply hang out together and you'll be fine."

"I...I'll have to discuss this with him first, I'm okay with it but I need to know he is too before I agree to anything." Your boss nods in understanding.

"That's ok, go make a phone call now, but do explain that this will bring Ateez attention too, I assume they could do with a little publicity seeing as they're on a break right now."

After leaving the office you make a quick phone call to Seonghwa, you were ready to explain everything but then found out he's just had the same conversation at KQ.

"Your manager called mine last night, they came up with the idea together." He chuckled. You both couldn't believe how sneaky they'd been but you had to give it to them, it was pretty impressive.

"I'm okay with it if you are, I need all the attention I can get right now." You sigh.

"Then let's do it, how hard can it be? We just hang out, get a few photos taken and there you go." His optimism made you smile and you were so grateful to have a friend like him who was willing to help you in this way.

"Okay, I'll go tell them...thanks Hwa I owe you."

The next day was the day of your first ‘date’ with Seonghwa and you didn’t know why you were nervous, he’s your best friend so you just had to act like you always do but maybe it was knowing you were both going to be all over dispatch that was setting your anxiety off. 

You were in the car with your manager, he’d just parked at the destination of your ‘date’.

“Okay, here’s where I leave you, I’ll drop you a text once I’ve sent an anonymous message to dispatch letting them know where you are that way you’ll get a heads up at least. You got this okay, just be like you usually are.” He smiled warmly at you hoping to settle your nerves a little.

“Do you really think this is a good idea? What if it backfires and people end up hating me?”

“I doubt that would happen, yes there will be a few fans that are upset but that’s going to happen. People love the both of you so why wouldn’t the be happy to see their favourite idols together?” You take a deep breath and nod before you head out of the car.

“I’ll be in work so give me a call if you need a ride home or not.” You nod again in thanks and shut the door walking off to your meeting spot.

To your surprise Seonghwa was already there, playing on his phone while he waits.

“Were you waiting long?” You ask, catching his attention.

“No I’ve only been here 5 minutes.” He smiles. “Shall we?” He offers you his arm to take which you do so but rather stiffly.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m just nervous for some reason.”

“You don’t need to be, it’s me, come on let’s grab a milkshake...my treat.” He nudges you with a smile making you smile back, your anxieties melting away slightly.

On your way to get your milkshakes you get the text from your manager telling you the message was sent out and you were surprised by how fast dispatch were to get the story they wanted as not even 10 minutes later Seonghwa was nudging you again.

"I guess they're here, there's one over there." He warns you gesturing lightly with his head to be more discreet. You make it look like your glancing around at the scenery so you could spot the photographer.

"I guess we'll give them what they want." He smiles, intertwining his hand with yours. You look at your hands held tightly together and then up at him to see a warm comforting smile on his face.

You both made sure to be very touchy with each other, holding hands, him throwing his arm around your shoulders or waist when you were stood still, long eye contact and anything else you could think of. Before too long though it seemed you’d both forgotten about being followed by dispatch, you found yourselves not looking around for photographers or worrying about if you were acting “couply” enough, you were just being yourselves and enjoying each others company.

The next morning you were woken by your phone constantly going off, notifications from Twitter and Instagram piling in by the hundreds. You look through your notifications to see what the hell was going on only to find the photos of your ‘date’ plastered all over social media.

“BREAKING: Ateez Seonghwa reportedly dating Y/n.”

“Idol star Y/n seen with Ateez Park Seonghwa on a date.”

“New power couple? Ateez Seonghwa and Y/n spotted together on a date.”

Those were just a few of the headlines you’d seen. You told yourself from the beginning of this plan that you’d never look at the comments out of fear of getting hate, but the curiosity got too much.

“This was such a surprise! They’re so cute together.”

“I don’t know how I feel about this, maybe if it was another girl then okay 😕”

“This has to be fake.”

“My two babies TOGETHER! Excuse me while I go ugly cry.” 

“It’s refreshing to see him so genuinely happy, I hope y/n treats him right.” 

Just like your manager had said, there were some negatives but you were happy to see a good amount of positives. You two were blowing up, every page you went on it was people talking about you both, Instagram was flooded with the dispatch photos and you even had your friends sending you the same photos asking if it was true and why you didn’t tell them. You ignored the messages for now, you didn’t know how much you were allowed to reveal to close friends and whether or not you should be saying to fellow idols that it’s all a publicity stunt. Your thoughts were cut short when your phone rang.

“Have you seen your socials?” Seonghwa’s beaming voice asked.

“I have, we’re everywhere, dispatch are fast workers I’ll give them that.” 

“They are. I had a lot of fun last night, I know it was a fake date but it was fun.” You could feel yourself starting to blush, you felt like you were talking to some guy you’d met on a blind date not your best friend.

“I did too Hwa and thank you for the milkshake.”

“Well there’s more where that came from if you’re happy to go on another fake date with me.” Your heart was hammering in your chest, this feeling was otherworldly to you. It’s not like he was asking you out on a real date but at the same time you couldn’t help but feel flustered.

“I’d like that, when were you thinking?”

“How does Saturday sound?”

“I’ll be there.”

Over the rest of your promotion period you and Seonghwa made it a habit to go on two ‘dates’ a week, but now the only problem was the line between friendly dates and real dates was starting to blur for you. It didn’t help that feelings had started to creep in. Despite the whole relationship being fake you couldn’t help but feel it was real when you were with him and the dispatch photos only added to your delusions.

It was safe to say the plan had worked, you were getting more attention on social media and views on your music, the cheers at the music shows seemed to be louder and you’d even had your first win. The same went for Ateez, with Seonghwa’s name being all over social media they were gaining more attention without needing to do anything.

“Well this has been a great success.” Your manager says taking a seat next to you in the practice room. “Once these last few days are over with you can go back to normal, no more dating scandal, just normal y/n again.” 

You could feel your stomach drop. He was right once all this was over you and Seonghwa would go back to how you used to be, but you weren’t ready for that, not yet anyway.

“Yeah, no more being followed with cameras.” You laugh trying to mask how upset you actually were. 

You heard a faint knock on the door before Seonghwa’s head popped around the door.

“I'll leave you guys to it.” Your manager smiles before leaving, giving Seonghwa a welcoming pat on the shoulder. Seonghwa’s mood is overly bright in comparison to yours but seeing him smiling at you made you realise the feelings that were truly starting to blossom.

“Is everything okay?” He asks coming over to you.

“Yeah, he was just telling me that now promotions are coming to an end we don’t need to worry about the fake dating thing anymore.” You sigh but keep a smile on your face as best you can. You notice how Seonghwa’s smile drops slightly at the news, maybe he was just as disappointed as you.

“Does it need to stop this very minute?”

“I’m not sure, I think we have until my promotions end.”

“Then how do you feel about going on one more date? Close off the whole press thing.” He asks with a raised eyebrow. You felt your heart stop for a second and a brief flash of hope that you weren’t the only one feeling the way you do. You’d expected him to be glad it was coming to an end, but the disappointment on his face and the proposal of one last date got your hopes up.

“I’d love that.”

“Tomorrow it is then, be ready, it’s go big or go home.”

The next evening Seonghwa picked you up, a small basket in hand and a small flower.

“What’s all this?” 

“Thought we could go for a late picnic.” He smiled handing you the small flower. It’s moments like this you forget all the dates were fake and the affection you’re showing to one another is also fake...or it should be. 

Walking to the park Seonghwa was a lot more touchy with you, his hand entwined with yours as he walked shoulder to shoulder with you. You took a glance around to find no cameras around yet so you found it out of character for him to be like this when they weren’t around, but you weren’t complaining. 

He’d lead you to a park that was filled with flower beds and the lamps dotted around gave off a very romantic atmosphere. He’d really meant it when he said go big or go home because this had been the most romantic date you’d been on thus far. He let go of your hand and walked off a little further, pulling a blanket out from the basket and setting it down on the floor for you to sit on and pulling out the small dishes of food he’d made, laying them out nicely in front of you.

“You really went all out tonight.” You giggle waiting for him to sit with you. 

“I said we’d make this a big one.” He hands you a drink and you both talk like you normally do, that was until he caught you shivering.

“Take my jacket.”

“No I can’t you’ll be cold, I’m fine honestly.” The slight chatter of your teeth gave you away and Seonghwa rolled his eyes with a smile as he took of his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, rubbing your arms lightly to help warm you up faster.

You were too distracted by the affection from Seonghwa to hear the very faint click of a camera, but Seonghwa’s ears pricked at the noise. He was a little disheartened that the photographers turned up as quick as they did, he had a plan in mind but he ideally wanted to go through with it before they turned up.

“I have something for you.” He beamed reaching for the basket and your eyes widened with curiosity. He quickly rummaged in the basket for the small gift he kept tucked away at the bottom, pulling out a small pink Lego heart.

“I made this for you this morning, I know it’s not much but I hope you like it.” He says placing it in the palm of your hand. You wanted to cry, it was so simple but coming from him it felt like so much more.

“I love it.” You beam trying to blink back the happy tears that were threatening to fall. 

You spent the rest of the picnic talking about how much fun you’ve both had and how nice it’s been to be able to hang out properly even if it was just to get more attention from the public. It was getting late and you knew you both needed to call it a night. Without saying anything you both proceeded to pack everything up and get yourselves ready to go home, but that’s when Seonghwa held your hand stopping you from walking off.

“Since this is the last date do you think we should go out with a bang for them.” He asks nodding in the general direction of a photographer. You raise an eyebrow waiting for him to explain his idea, but no explanation came.

“Yes?”

“Okay, but what’s your plan?” He didn’t answer again. Seonghwa placed the basket down on the floor and pulled you in closer to him, his hand settling on your waist as the other came up to hold your face and pull you into him. He was firm but gentle with how he kissed you and it took your breath away. Your hands gripped the sides of his shirt like you were trying to ground yourself from what was happening. It was everything you wanted and better than you’d ever imagined, but it ended to quickly for your liking.

“I think that should be enough for them.” He smiles glancing over your shoulder. “But it wasn’t for me.” He pulls you in for another kiss and you can feel yourself melting into him. You both smile into the kiss and for that moment it was like you were the only two people to exist. Pulling away again his face drops but he still holds you close.

“Do we really need to end this, does it really need to be only for publicity, can’t we keep this up...maybe make it a real thing?” Your eyes widen again, you can’t tell if you’d really heard it or if it was your post kiss bliss making you hear things.

“What?”

“Can we be together for real and not just for publicity?” You could feel tears brim your eyes again as you nod at him, your smile beaming and his matching yours. 

Tag List:  @stardragongalaxy​ @kpopjust4u @whatudowhennooneseesyou @8tinytings   @jenotation @grim-adventures58 @owjohny   @ker1   @tinkerbell460   @haylstoney   @scuzmunkie   @halesandy @multihunbun   @kodzukein   @maskedmochii  @queenwiinks @hellomingi   @woosannie  

[bluenet13]

A Place to Call Home (a The Rookie post 5x14 fic)

"Huh," Tim exhaled, his brow furrowing as he had a sudden realization.

"What?" Lucy questioned, noticing the change in his expression.

Tim shook his head, trying to brush it off but one look at Lucy told him that wouldn't cut it. "It's just strange that this topic never came up when you dated Chris." Tim paused when Lucy made a disgruntled noise but continued anyway. "Sorry. But you were together for over a year. He even wanted to purchase a house. Tamara never brought it up then?"

Or

Post 5x14 Lucy tells Tim about her conversation with Tamara.

AO3

Tim and Lucy were snuggled up on the couch, enjoying a movie night after Tim returned from a night out with his new team. The peaceful atmosphere was a welcome respite from the chaos of the day and the thrill of Tim's new job. As Tim reached for the remote to resume the movie, after a brief pause to refill the popcorn bowl and pour more wine, he noticed that Lucy appeared to be lost in thought.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Tim asked, looking concerned.

"Oh, nothing," Lucy replied, but Tim could tell she was hiding something.

"Are you not enjoying the movie?" Tim probed, arching an eyebrow. "We can watch something else if you want."

Lucy sighed and leaned her head against Tim's shoulder. "No, the movie's fine. I'm just a bit distracted."

"What's going on? Is everything okay?" Tim pressed, looking directly into her eyes. He knew Lucy well enough to know that her gaze would give her away.

Lucy groaned, but eventually relented. "It's Tamara."

"What about Tamara?" Tim looked back at her closed bedroom door with concern. "Is it the family she's babysitting for? I thought we took care of that."

"Yes...and no," Lucy replied, a hint of laughter in her voice as she noticed Tim's confused expression. "It's not about the family," she explained. "Mom and kid are fine. Parents are getting a divorce but that's not too bad, all things considered. It's about why she was working that job and apparently, a few others."

Tim waited patiently for Lucy to continue, knowing she would tell him everything in her own time. He wrapped his arm around her and gave her a comforting squeeze, kissing her temple for good measure.

Lucy smiled but her worry was still evident. "She's saving up for an apartment. First month, last month, and security deposit."

"Oh," Tim said, at a loss for words. He had always known that Tamara was a part of the deal when he started dating Lucy, but he never imagined that she felt otherwise.

"Yeah, oh," Lucy said with a sad chuckle, burying her face in Tim's chest. "It came out of nowhere. And now I can't stop wondering if I did something to make her feel like she needed to move out."

"You haven't," Tim said firmly, despite his lack of complete knowledge about everything going on in the girls' lives.

"I don't want Tamara to feel like we're pushing her away or treating her as a burden," Lucy continued, her voice muffled against Tim's shirt as she spoke. "She's been a part of my life, our life, for years, and I never thought that would change now that we're together. I assumed it would be a smooth transition."

Lucy paused to catch her breath, allowing Tim the opportunity to interject. "Did you mention that to her?"

"Yeah, I told her we're family and that she's stuck with me," Lucy stopped, her thoughts turning to another part of their conversation. "But I'm not sure she believed me."

Seeing her blown pupils, Tim wanted to tease her, find out what else she talked about with Tamara, but he let it go for now, knowing that's not what Lucy needed. "Then we just need to show her. Next time, we won't let her skip movie night."

Tim looked back to Tamara's closed door with a sad smile. He had wondered why she had not watched with them this week, worried she didn't like his sci-fi picks. Now he wished that was the real reason.

"Do you think it will be that easy?" Lucy asked eventually, bringing his attention back to her.

"It doesn't matter if it isn't. Being together has always been easy," Tim said, brushing the hair from Lucy's face and kissing her softly. "But we're also good at handling the difficult things. We can handle this too. We just need to start somewhere, and Tamara has been through a lot, so she just needs some extra reassurance."

Lucy's expression lightened as a weight lifted from her chest. "Yeah, you're right. How about I cook dinner for the three of us on Friday night and we can talk to her together?"

"You want me to be there?" Tim wondered, hopeful but also scared to really accept he might finally be getting the family he's always wanted.

Lucy drew back, looking at him in confusion. But then, realization dawned on her, and she smiled. "Of course. This isn't just about me, it's about both of us," she said, clasping Tim's hand and placing a gentle kiss on his knuckles. She leaned back against him, keeping their joined hands in between them. "T loves you just as much as she loves me. She needs to know that we both feel the same way. Wherever we go, she goes with us. For as long as she wants to."

"Huh," Tim exhaled, his brow furrowing as he had a sudden realization.

"What?" Lucy questioned, noticing the change in his expression.

Tim shook his head, trying to brush it off but one look at Lucy told him that wouldn't cut it. "It's just strange that this topic never came up when you dated Chris." Tim paused when Lucy made a disgruntled noise but continued anyway. "Sorry. But you were together for over a year. He even wanted to purchase a house. Tamara never brought it up then?"

"No." Lucy shifted uncomfortably and looked away, fidgeting with the popcorn bowl. Tim gently turned her face back to him and raised an eyebrow, silently urging her to say more. "I… kinda never told Tamara." She admitted sheepishly, her cheeks flushing.

Tim's eyes widened in surprise, and he let out a loud chuckle. "What? Shut up!" Lucy squeaked, swatting his arm playfully.

"I haven't said anything," Tim said wryly.

"Your grin says it all," Lucy muttered, before kissing it away. "But that's beside the point. I don't know why I didn't tell her." She shrugged and took a sip of her wine to calm herself. "It just never felt like it was really going to happen, you know? So why bring it up?"

Tim's lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but his brain was stuck rebooting with the implications of it all.

While Tim was positively frozen, Lucy kept going as if her words were not everything he'd ever wanted to hear. "Chris always felt temporary. I think Tam knew that too. But you were… we are…"

"Inevitable," Tim whispered against her lips, that were suddenly so close. He wasn't sure who moved first but he closed the distance and kissed her with everything he's got.

"Yeah," she agreed when they broke apart, blue gaze locked to brown, and their bodies somehow pressed even closer than before.

"Yeah…" Tim echoed. He licked his lips, now dry, and then it was Lucy doing it for him. They hesitated for a moment, their brains trying to catch up with things their hearts had known for a while. But eventually they gave in to their deepest desires. Somehow, they managed to keep it PG-13, even though Tamara was past 18, only kissing and getting a little handsy before Tim pulled back and cleared his throat. "Want to finish the movie?"

Lucy nodded absentmindedly, lost in the moment and the sensation of his warm body pressed against hers. She reached up to fix his disheveled hair and snuggled back into his embrace as he hit play.

As the movie ended and the credits rolled, Lucy leaned back, tracing her fingers across Tim's chest, finally settling her palm over his heartbeat. "Thank you."

Tim smiled. "For what?" He asked, but before he could continue, Lucy pressed her lips to his, silencing him.

"Don't say 'doing your job'," she groaned.

Tim brought her closer and laughed his way into another kiss. And as his heart skipped a beat, he knew this was everything he had ever wanted, and more. Because sometimes all it took was the jagged edges of three broken pasts to form the perfect picture.

[irenes-journal]

Hi everyone, welcome to my brain being overly active at 2am because of medicine and an awful sleep pattern thanks to being super sick for like two and a half weeks.

So under that post I reblogged from aphtwt confessions saying they hated Laurance, I mentioned in the tags (before I changed them) about how Laurance sees Aphmau during the pregnancy “arc” (it was literally in the 97th episode so I’m not sure how much of an arc is really is) and I wanted to explain it further since I feel like I did a bad job doing it originally.

Disclaimer before I start: I don’t like the pregnancy subplot lol. I don’t think that’s necessarily unpopular either. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen so I’m going to to analyze it anyway, especially because what spawned this post specifically mentions it.

So obviously in canon, Laurance eavesdropped on Aph when she admitted to being pregnant to Katelyn, Zoey, and Cadenza. I always thought when I was younger that Laurance responding like he did (going full shadow knight and answering the calling of the Nether) ONLY because of a pregnancy was weird. Like that’s really dramatic of a response, and I really hated it. So I decided to ease the many questions that have plagued my mind for years by coming up with this explanation onto why he reacted so strongly.

Simply, Laurance put way too many of his feelings into Aphmau. She was a physical manifestation of his humanity in a way, the feelings he felt for her is what kept him in tact. He was holding out a hope that she will reciprocate those feelings to him, and practically “bring him back from the dead.” But she didn’t reciprocate those feelings, which in turn “killed” Laurance.

While I personally hate the narrative of “because I was here earlier, I deserve her more than you do,” it was obvious that was being written in MCD. Garroth did it to Laurance, and Laurance did it to Aaron. This mindset is what evidently “killed” Laurance off, he was holding out for something that was not going to happen. He unknowingly put his feelings of humanity on an unwilling subject, and that was Aphmau.

Laurance didn’t seem like he wanted to even admit that he had died sometimes. He wanted to continue being a guard, serving a lord and protecting people. He wanted to be that morally upstanding individual. He wanted love, pain, joy, sadness…he just wanted feelings. But the call of the Nether made it harder for him to feel that range of emotion. He became more short tempered, bitter, and pained. But a sliver of him had hope, that’s what kept him in tact. But his hope was attached to a person. There was a risk that would backfire on him, that he would be hurt and then lose control. That’s exactly what happened to him.

He could have been like Vylad, and try to detach/squash many of the feelings he has as he tries to gain better control over himself. Vylad was very controlled, and that’s why he tried to help Laurance like he did. But possibly there wasn’t enough time for Laurance to truly learn how to do that before his fragile state evidently cracked with something as deep and consuming as heartbreak. Since he could no longer find the means or the will to control it, he decided to leave. He probably thought that he was going to hurt those he cared about regardless of staying or leaving, and leaving at least ensured that they would at least be safe from him. That or he didn’t want to deal with it.

Aphmau is not at fault for falling in love with someone else. She did not choose to be Laurance’s emotional link to humanity, it was just unknowingly placed upon her. Despite how many people dislike aarmau or Aaron, being romantically involved with him isn’t an immoral act of her character. It’s just a disappointment to viewers who were long term garmau or laurmau fans.

Should Laurance have put his feelings humanity into something else? Probably. Putting all of your faith into a person (and their feelings about you) who could very well disappoint you, even if you don’t want to admit it, is not the smartest move. But that sliver of hope and feelings of love made him see the world, specifically her, through rose colored glasses. He didn’t logically make a decision to put that much level of importance onto Aphmau, it was his heart talking over his head. But he did, and that’s how he ended up digging his own grave.

[mihai-florescu]

i also told half my friends about that poll and it was like, kind of doubly insulting of a comparison because i watched II when i was like 13 and am actually familiar with it. and it getting so many votes was kinda shocking to me (beyond the size/prominence of enstars' fandom playing a part) because 1. i still thought object shows were relatively niche or obscure and didnt know there were enough fans to give it so many votes in the first place and 2. the entire story is constructed so badly that there isn't even like a story to talk about. if you asked me about the plot of II i'd have to explain the history behind its existence and then how there is no concrete plot because the writers are hobbyists who don't know how to make a comprehensive story. it's so bad, it was already bad enough but then sometime way in they introduced a plotline about a corn version of steve jobs stealing alien eggs to fuel his iphone production line. his name is steve cobbs. this was meant to be a total drama esque show, what are the writers on?

anyway i dont have to explain to you how greatly interesting wataei is but i hope you know my pain at that poll. discussing enstars is getting to talk about themes and ideas and how they interplay and contrast and parallel between characters, it's stuff you can chew on. discussing inanimate insanity is just talking about the 3 simultaneous ideas they had for a show that they tried to write and failed horribly each on an individual level and also it all just clashing egregiously in tone. they wrote an entire spinoff alternative show because they knew they couldn't salvage it and were sick of making it.

so yeah even as a former fan of inanimate insanity in my childhood they just ... it's not a comparison you can meaningfully make, it's like comparing a delicious pudding to nickelodeon gak. you can do it but what's the point? they aren't the same thing, you have to talk about each in a totally different way.

also lightbrush isn't even canon because there are no romance plotlines in II (thank god). i really shouldnt have felt so strongly about the poll as i did

It's all such a fever dream of an event... but i somehow feel like the enstars fandom on tumblr is very small compared to other social medias (good. Well, either this or i live in my beautiful bubble of very lovely followers & very lovely people i follow. It's most likely the latter). Yet i cant imagine it's smaller than the ii one... but i remember it breached containment and ii fans were promoting it on twitter. At some point it became less of a "looking at it objectively" and more of a "we should win because...we should?" on both sides. For us it actually made sense tho. Were the lightbrush fans writing thousands of words and bringing dozens of screenshots to compile a measly showcase of maybe 10% of their ship's canon relevancy like i was? (Or we were, probably, i dont think i was the only one but i only focused on doing My Part, didnt really look at what others were doing. My discord name is still "brave wataei warrior" to this day after that event) No. They couldnt. We all knew that. Which is why the whole thing was baffling and infuriating. They just wanted to win for the sake of winning something despite the objective evidence. Haha lack of objectivity in the object show fandom *badum tss* thank you thank you im here all day.

[dogmetaph0r]

SIC 'EM

Chapter 6: Heel

A/N: Hiiii did y'all miss me...... so I actually adored writing this even though it was so long and so complicated and took so much out of me and also killed me dead and spit on my grave. But other than that I loved this one :) :) :)!! Disclaimer, I'm not yet fluent in Polari so my grammar is probably pretty clumsy. It's heatin up in this soup pot. A certain someone of course is gonna go really ham-fisted with the dog metaphors but y'know what? I wouldn't entrust shenanigans to anyone else.

Pairings: M!OC x F!OC, M!OC x Tommy Shelby, Tommy Shelby x Alfie Solomons

Warnings: Anti-Romani microaggressions, Alfie being Alfie in general, past child abuse, brief ableism, homophobia

Soundtrack: POWER - Kanye West (i know and i hate him sorry) // Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair - Arctic Monkeys // Fido, Your Leash Is Too Long - Light Sleeper (cover)

Summary: Tommy has some business inquiries to make. Sam tries to be helpful, which is something that always seems to backfire. A conversation with a friend brings up some latent complications, and tensions threaten to boil over. There are two very good dogs in one room.

“Not fucking happening, Tom!”

Tommy rubbed both hands over his face. “I’ll pay you double.”

“Get John to do it,” Arthur begged, hands tucked beneath his armpits as he paced circles into the faded persian rug.

“John’s handling export issues in Wales,” Tommy explained for the umpteenth time, though whether Arthur was intentionally forgetting the fact or had simply lost track of it in the snow-covered landscape of his brain was unclear. Try as she might, Linda was evidently having a difficult time getting him off the stuff. “I’m asking you because I can trust you to have my back, and I know he’ll be happy to see you there.”

Arthur sniffed, petulant. “I don’t give half a fuck what makes him happy,” he grumbled. “I hate ‘im, and I’m not fucking going.”

They’d been at this all morning. Frances had come and gone with offers of tea twice now before giving up and bringing them some whiskey, which hardly had time to breathe before it was gone. Didn’t cool the temperature of the room much, but it did wonders for the headache Tommy was smarting with. Arthur flopped onto the couch, hands fisted on the knees of his trousers like they were the only thing keeping him from blasting through the wall like a mortar shell.

Tommy did feel bad about it, sure. It was his fault for putting him in this position, just as it was his fault for sending Arthur in his place that one time. But business was business, and it needed to be done by someone. Arthur just happened to be the only Blinder he knew wouldn’t wet himself in fear when faced with the sort of hazing in store for anyone playing a second to Tommy. A low bar in Tommy’s mind, but in unique circumstances such as these he was hard-pressed to find anyone better for the job than Arthur, hotheaded though he might’ve been. Arthur was not easily cowed, and certainly not by this man.

“I need you there, Arthur.”

Arthur snapped, snarling and red. “You bring me there, I’ll kill ‘im! With my own hands, I’ll kill ‘im!”

There was a knock at the door. Before he could stop him, Arthur was up out of his seat and storming across the room, whipping the door open with fingers wrapped white-knuckled around the handle.

Sam blinked at him on the other side, practically nose to nose. “Arthur,” he said impassively, only a flicker of surprise at the proximity. “Is Tommy still here?”

“Let him in, Arthur.” Tommy ashed his cigarette perhaps a bit more forcefully than necessary, the darkened end crumpled alongside the rest of the pack in the crystal tray.

The tall man glowered for a moment longer before stepping aside, pushing the lank strands of hair from his face. Sam stepped in, cautious but not frightened, even patting Arthur on the shoulder amicably on the way in. Predictably, Arthur bristled, but did nothing about it; he had a brotherly soft spot for Sam, having known him as a shy little boy and now an endearingly awkward grown man. He confessed feeling some responsibility still for the fight in the tent, John replacing Arthur in anticipation of his hot blood getting the better of him only for it to still turn out poorly.

Then again… if Arthur had threatened him at that moment, Tommy wasn’t sure that Sam’s reaction would’ve been any different. In the months he’d known Sam, the man had only ever panicked in three conditions. One was highly unusual on principle; he doubted that there would be any stallions there, regardless. Another was a flashback unlikely to be triggered by a simple sit-down meeting, and men like them didn’t fuck around with the residue of war left on the brain. Too risky and too cruel. Dishonorable, even for their line of work. The third being any time those mysterious notes showed up. Framing an unsuspecting man? Now that was not out of his contact’s wheelhouse by far. But if this hunch was true, and he really was their suspect, then Tommy could accept Sam throttling the man to death for his troubles. Fair was fair.

Sam leaned on the corner of his desk and cast his eyes at the ground, a significant tell of an incoming big ask. Last time, he’d asked to take Grace’s Secret for a gallop— in the height of race season, no less —and the time before that he’d wanted to take Florence into town. Tommy, naturally, had a hard time not indulging him. He’d created a monster, it seemed.

“Was just wondering,” he started, coughing and shifting his shoes about, “I mean— well. It’s been a while since we’ve heard from them. I don’t think they know I’m here.”

They, of course, being their mysterious foes up north. Sam had taken to calling them The Horsemen, unsettled by their revelationist message early that summer and their possessiveness over the racecourse. And he was correct— the one and only time they’d contacted anyone was weeks ago, and they’d sent their letter directly to the house on Watery Lane. The message, Proverbs 28:13, was read loud and clear: come out, come out, wherever you are. Petulant. They were at a loss. Even Arthur, still tetchy from the comedown of their argument, preened at their skilled evasion.

Tommy nodded, sure he knew where this was going. “And you want to stretch your legs a bit, do you?”

Sam flushed at being caught onto. “Well, erm. If that’s okay.”

Tommy might’ve considered that a step too far, a leap too risky, if it weren’t for his lack of backup for this damned meeting, posturing though it may be. And, regrettably, if it weren’t for Sam’s damned hands. Blunt nails on big, calloused hands picking at the crackling of varnish along the edge of the desk. And he knew, didn’t he? Knew how to distract and supplicate. Otherwise he wouldn’t do it so often, skimming his fingers over meaningless trinkets that a second ago had slipped Tommy’s mind. Sam was curious and cheeky. Two observations, independent and fused. Fuck.

He looked at Arthur. Back at Sam. Measured them in his mind, the length of one leg to another. He’d fit Arthur’s navy suit, if just barely.

“How’d you like to go to London with me? I need to visit an old friend.”

When Tommy said London, he imagined clubs and restaurants. That big clock tower, maybe, or the Royal Palace. But the London they’d paid for a swank hotel in was as smoke-sick and gray with rainwater as Birmingham. Perhaps a fair bit bigger, with men and ladies in nicer clothes, but not the glamorous epitome of wealth he’d been taught that the world aspired to. Camden Town, the little neighborhood on the outskirts, might as well be Small Heath if one took away the trash fires and replaced them with the disconcertingly incongruous smell of fresh-baked bread. A bit disappointed, Sam fussed with the way his hair sat under the hat.

It was Arthur’s spare, apparently. Woolen and itchy on the outside, but lined with silk that stuck to his overgrown fringe, prickling his fingers with static as he tried to smooth the flyaways down.

“Quit fussing with that,” Tommy said, eyes never leaving the road. “You’ll cut a finger.”

That— being strapped with weapons head to toe, that is —was perhaps the biggest adjustment he’d had to make about London. Sam had personally never had a friend he felt the need to bring an armed guard around to visit, even just an impostor for show. Then again, Sam had never been a gangster before. The suit, the razor-edged cap, the gun holster digging into the crease of his underarm… all very new. Any confidence the ensemble might’ve given him melted away without a fight at the basement entrance to the warehouse, where two broad, bearded men flanked a nondescript side door. Hasidic, he figured, what with the payot. They eyed him up and down, the slimmer of the two subtly moving his coat aside to reveal the gun at his hip

“Straighten up,” Tommy said, patting the lower curve of his spine. “You’re near two meters tall. Use it to your advantage.” Sam obeyed, face a bit hot at the contact.

Tommy let the men search him, then Sam; a formality at best, because neither the gun nor the hat nor the knife strapped to his calf were confiscated. Hell of a power move, Sam reasoned. Let them wield it all at their own risk. It wouldn’t matter in the end.

Sam’s instructions were simple: do as Tommy says, and no else. You don’t speak to anyone, Tommy explained. You only respond to Rokka. You don’t react. Ever. You don’t escalate. You don’t draw your weapon before me. Arthur warned him, too: don’t trust what the mad fucker says. Grace just laughed when she saw them leaving, shaking her head. Oh, good luck, boys. Have fun.

The distillery (as it now evidently was, with the stacks of barrels lining the narrow basement and the sweet chemical scent of rum flavoring the air) swarmed with workers, aproned like bakers but hands sticky with a thin film of molasses. They seemed not to even notice them, nor pay them any mind besides an occasional glance and below-breath mutter. All except for one man, wiry thin and striding towards them with a purpose. He wiped his hands on a white apron before reaching out to shake Tommy’s.

“Ollie,” Tommy said, “this is Samuel.”

“Mornin’.” The man, Ollie, extended his hand towards him. But Sam had his orders. He stood still, glancing at the man’s hand impassively before looking to Tommy.

“Go ahead,” Tommy told him, Rokka replacing English. Sam obeyed and returned Ollie’s less-than-enthusiastic handshake.

Ollie looked… not quite impressed. Filled with dread, perhaps, by the way he whale-eyed Tommy.

“Warning you now, Tom,” he gestured at Sam, “he’ll have fun with that one.”

“I bet,” Tommy replied, sighing fondly. And what the hell did that mean?

He hardly had the time to ponder it before a shout reverberated through the cavernous tunnel. “Boss on the floor!”

Like a hypnotist had snapped their fingers, the shouting of the distillery went quiet. Eerily so, even with the sounds of light machinery still hissing and groaning in the background. Men sitting around having a lunch break scattered, laborers walking down the center aisle parted down the middle as though cleaved in two. Still looking busy, but conveniently far away from where he, Tommy, and Ollie stood waiting for… someone. And then there he was.

A broad, bearded man at the base of the stairs opposite them seemed to dwarf everything around him. Like a pirate of old with his wide-brimmed black hat, shiny shoes, flecks of blood at the collar of his shirt, and thick, bruised knuckles glittering with gold rings. And then he lumbered leisurely toward them, ursine and heavy-gaited, cane clicking on the floor with an echo at every other step.

“Thomas Michael Shelby,” a voice boomed, the strong cockney accent bouncing off of oak casks and cellar walls. “You got some fuckin’ nerve, mate.”

Tommy’s face would’ve radiated boredom if not for the way the corner of his lip twitched upward ever so slightly. “I assume you got my message last week?”

The man scoffed, now close enough that Sam could see that he actually… wasn’t that tall. He had maybe a few inches on Tommy, but all of the grandness he radiated came from the span of his shoulders and the commanding way in which he carried himself: chest puffed out, head held high. Sam straightened his posture again, remembering Tommy’s words.

“Treacle—“ and that was unusual, humorous for someone so rugged, but he kept a straight face, “—if by message you mean one of your fucking leftovers from… what, Hoxton Gang? Their rat-faced little spy what’s been sniffing around my neighborhood? Then yeah,” he cracked those bruised knuckles, and now Sam could see the rusty dried blood settling in the crevices of his rings, “I got your message.”

“Good.” Tommy did smile then, very faint but noticeable for those who knew what to look for. Something mischievous sparkled in the man’s eyes for a second as he opened his mouth for another quip, but Ollie cleared his throat. The man took a slow look in the direction of Ollie’s pointed sidelong glance, then practically jumped out of his skin.

“Oh, fuck me! What is that?”

Sam whipped his head around, expecting some unseen assailant, but flushed red when he realized Tommy’s associate was talking about him.

“Alfie,” Tommy said, “this is Samuel. He’s a mute.” Mute? Sam shot him a look, but Tommy’s face read stop reacting loud and clear.

The broad man guffawed, clapping Sam on the arm. “Seven hells, mate. Thought you were a ghostie or a ghoul of sorts.”

“And Samuel,” he said, switching languages once again, “this gentleman is Mr. Alfred Solomons, Jr., a business associate of mine.”

Alfie scowled, recognizing his own full name even through the layer of an accent. “Oh, yeah. Real cute, Tommy. Very mature. Bet you’re all geared up to say summat about how I started it, ey? Callin’ after you all proper like a wrinkly old nanny and in turn you play the junior card? Speakin’ your unholy tongues and all, you call me Junior?”

Tommy shrugged, a brand new shit-eating grin plastered on his smug face as Sam struggled to not scowl at the slight. Alfie grumbled, eyeing Sam up and down for good measure before turning on his heel and marching off. Tommy motioned for Sam to follow, Ollie trailing quietly behind.

“New guard dog then, ey, Tom?” Alfie asked over his shoulder, leading them into the labyrinth of the distillery with those wide, limping steps that Sam very quickly began to realize were not put-upon in the least.

Tommy was impassive, even as Sam wrinkled his nose in distaste behind the bearded man’s back. Where the hell did he get off?

“Don’t suppose you’ll be sending our Arthur my way ever again, after the lovely Pesach dinner what’s been wasted on him?”

Aw-fah. What a strange way of speaking!

“Something like that.”

“What tricks have you taught this one, eh? Sit? Stay? Roll over?” Sam didn’t like the salacious rumble to Alfie’s voice as he said it.

“Bite,” Tommy replied, deadpan. “He hasn’t got the hang of let go yet.”

A chuckle as Alfie led them up the stairs, leaning heavily on the cane and shaking his head with a curse. They reached a second floor— an actual bakery, to Sam’s surprise —and then another gangway, where Alfie beckoned them all into his office.

He slumped into a worn leather chair, and with Tommy’s nod, Sam sat ramrod-straight in one of the two wooden armchairs adjacent to the mahogany desk. Alfie liked comfort, Sam noticed, taking in the high quality of the furniture around him. Despite the dust and clutter, it was clear that he took great pride in his belongings. But there was a roughness to the place all the same— bullet holes puckering the wallpaper behind him, panopticon windows cracked in places, flecks of dried blood on the armrest of the chair. Desperate, panicked scratch marks gouged on the inside of the door. Sam shuddered involuntarily. Then he startled, heart in his throat at the rhythmic thump from an unseen corner behind the desk.

Tommy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as a whistle-whine yawn announced the leisurely awakening of a podgy little dog, wet nose nudging at Alfie’s palm for a pat before ambling wiggle-bottomed to Tommy. He indulged the little fawn-furred mutt despite the glare he cast on Alfie.

“Oh, don’t mind ‘im none.” Alfie turned his head to address Sam as the dog sniffed at his trouser leg. “That’s Lawless. He’s friendly. Law! Go to bed, now, attaboy.”

Lawless willfully disobeyed, dancing like a wriggling fish over to Ollie’s position by the door. Some of the tension bled from Sam’s spine; ruthless and of dubious sanity, but an animal lover. Sam could work with that. There was humanity in it.

Alfie cleared his throat, shaking open a newspaper and perusing it behind the rims of his reading spectacles with great interest. He hemmed and hawed, stroking the whiskey-red shine of his beard now and again. A grandfather clock tucked into the corner ticked rhythmically, setting Sam more on edge with each passing second. Tommy cleared his throat.

“Are we doing business, Alfie?” Tommy’s Birmingham drawl gave the image of boredom, but Sam could see the way his fingers rapped agitatedly on the armrest.

Alfie looked up, as though only just remembering his guests. Peeved, almost, like this was some random inconvenience and not a meeting scheduled far in advance. He huffed, tapping the surface of his newspaper with his knuckles for emphasis. “I’ve got a crossword that needs finishing first, Thomas.”

Sure enough, he flipped the paper around and the two were greeted with that trendy new puzzle of squares that Grace and Fia would pour over when they had tea. Only this time, none of the squares had been filled, despite Alfie’s rapt attention to the page.

Tommy looked unimpressed. “You haven’t started it. Are you even writing the letters down?”

Alfie scoffed, tutting at Tommy like this was a ridiculous observation to make. “Don’t need to.” And with that, he returned to his crossword.

They waited in silence, the clock’s staccato tick-tock-tick joined by the dog’s panting breaths and the distant sound of machinery.

Eventually even Tommy had his limits. He sat higher in the chair, hands clasped and elbows on the armrests, a picture of power and control. “We have a deal to discuss, Mr. Solomons.”

Alfie glared at him over the top of the page. “Yeah, we do, don’t we?” Then, finally, he set the newspaper aside, hands folded on his lap. “I’d like to start with the telephone, honestly. You know that thing goes two ways? I leave my messages with your lovely receptionist, and yet you never—“

“Lizzie does her job just fine,” Tommy snapped.

“I know that,” Alfie fired back. “Great secretary, yeah, always keeping your fucking whereabouts lock-and-key-like.”

Tommy said nothing, but that sly smirk was back. Sam shifted uneasily in his seat, sneaking a look behind him at where Ollie stood guarding the door. If the rumors about the King of Camden were true, his temper could flare at any time with the way Tommy seemed to enjoy provoking him.

Tommy caught on to his discomfort, perceptive as always, and gave an assessing glance at Ollie as well. Taking this to mean it was play time, Lawless’s nails click-clacked on the hardwood as he wormed his way between the chairs, licking Sam’s palm and pawing at his shoe.

Tommy sighed reproachfully. “Does the dog have to be here, Alfie?”

Alfie scoffed, once again offended by an apparently stupid question. “Well yeah, ‘s only fair. You have your guard dog and I have mine. We’re even.”

“If that’s even, then what’s Ollie still doing here?”

The aforementioned Ollie shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting between Sam, Tommy, and Alfie before landing on his own shoes.

“Well,” said Alfie, “have you seen the size of your friend? Practically a Great Dane, that one. Are you Danish, mate? Been to Denmark?”

Sam, startled at being acknowledged, ignored Tommy’s warning look and shook his head. “No, sir.” He realized his mistake the moment the words spilled out, ice-cold fear twisting his stomach.

Alfie’s heavy brow furrowed. “Huh. Pity, that. You’d’ve made an excellent net fisherman.” A wink at Tommy. “Hell of a talented mute.”

Tommy was glaring at him. Sam felt himself shrink under the scrutiny, knowing he’d been tricked.

“Don’t engage. Just follow my cues and don’t intervene.” Tommy hissed the command in Rokka under his breath. Then, icy blue eyes back to Alfie, he continued: “I wanted to talk to you about Aintree.”

That caught Sam’s attention. Resigned to following Tommy’s orders, he kept his reactions to himself, but he felt his fist clench into the leg of his pants as his pulse jumped.

“Aintree? Mate,” Alfie rubbed a hand down his face before his nails strayed almost compulsively to claw at an angry-looking patch of rough, inflamed skin on his neck, “you seem to be under the impression that I give a fuck about your lot taking over shit-stinking Liverpool.”

“I’m not,” Tommy replied, cool as water. “But I know you give a fuck about being paid for protection.”

Alfie held onto that little detail, quirking one brow. “Paid for protection, ey? You think I have the men to spare to send to Aintree on a lark, what with Hoxton up our arses in the metaphorical?”

Tommy shrugged, lackadaisical. “Contact your family.”

Alfie bellowed a laugh, slamming his wide palm down on the desk so hard it rattled everything but Tommy, still staring through him impassively. “My fucking family, he says! The wanker, he says contact my family! Thomas, I don’t know how it is with your free-range people—“ he nodded his chin to indicate Sam, who felt angry, defensive heat rise to his cheeks despite himself, “—but I don’t just have a thousand ill-begotten cousins to pull out of thin fucking air from all corners of the King’s country. In Boston I have Solomonses up to the gills, yeah, but we’re not in fucking Beantown, are we?”

“I’m offering you a good opportunity, Alfie. An untouched racecourse and a new region to expand into.”

Alfie pondered that as his eye twitched, staring down at the surface of the desk for a moment. “No. If I am going to dedicate the time to get my men out there, I want to make my profit on the gambling, too,” he said. “But I can’t spare my bookies from Epsom because unlike you Birmingham thugs they live in fucking London like civilized folks, and I don’t have the time to train some illiterate fuck off the streets.”

A muscle in Sam’s jaw jumped.

“Then call up the local bookies in Liverpool or Manchester,” Tommy said. “Invite them to do their business inside the tracks for a fee, and you can collect a percentage of their earnings. I’m sure the Jewish population of Merseyside will have some respect for your standing.”

Alfie looked taken aback, suddenly quite serious. Sam caught a glimpse of the bearlike giant standing at the other end of the hall when they’d arrived, so frightening from afar and now even more terrifying leaning into Tommy’s space. He knew to respect the orders he was given, but Sam mentally prepared to draw his gun.

“Do you think,” Alfie growled, eyes manically wide, “that just because I’m a Jew, I must know every fucking son of Abraham in the country? Ey, Tom? That’s what you think?”

Tommy said nothing. Alfie sat slowly back in his chair, maintaining that unblinking eye contact the whole way. “Because I do, for the record. Fucking know everybody, don’t I?”

Sam let out a quiet sigh of relief. Tommy, unfazed as ever, made a motion with his hands as though to say well there you go. “We can draft an agreement to edit the next time I’m in London,” Tommy said, cocky now that he’d won.

Alfie ignored him for a moment, burying his face in the newspaper again and grousing under his breath about Liverpool and horse money and Boston baked beans. “We can write up a final deal here and now,” he said, peeking over the edge of the paper, “if you indulge me for a mo’.”

An almost imperceptible sigh from next to him. 

“Now,” Alfie said, cracking his neck. “Since you have decided to make me talk business on a crossword sort of day, I’m going to make you,” he pointed at Tommy, “solve a crossword for me.”

Tommy grit his teeth and nodded almost imperceptibly, slow and calculated. Oh, he was properly pissed now. Sam almost missed that look of frustration and superiority in his eye, as though everyone around him was an idiot and he was the only reasonable player in the game.

“Tommy, you’ll guess this one.” Alfie pointed at a chain of squares on his newspaper, now animated and jovial again. “It’s something I like to call you. Starts with a T.” He leaned across the desk to show Tommy the blank crossword, hand covering the clues. How he remembered where each letter went was a mystery, considering Alfie still hadn’t made a single mark in all the time he spent pondering it. “I’ll give you a challenge, right, since you’re a smarty. It’s one of these words between five and seven letters, and I’ll let you guess which chain. And that’s your challenge, yeah, you’ve got to guess: five, six, or seven letters. Starts with T.”

Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh. “Is it a variation of my name? Thomas, Tommy?”

“No, silly lad! C’mon, it’s easy but not that easy.”

Tommy gave him a dead eyed glare, thoroughly unimpressed. “Tosser.”

That provoked a full-on chuckle from the bearded gangster. “Funny, mate, very funny. But no, alas, it’s summat a bit nicer. They’d never print that, no.”

“It wasn’t a guess,” Tommy muttered under his breath. Samuel bit his lip to keep from laughing; he’d never seen Tommy so petulant and rude. He looked at Sam, eyes dull and lifeless like an old teaching horse put to one too many rides. “Guess, Samuel,” he pleaded. “Play by his rules. Put me out of my misery here so we can move on. Speak, I don’t care. I hate this fucking game.”

It was difficult, playing an invisible crossword with no schooling to speak of, but the letter T was easy. T for Tommy. T-T-T. Sam thought back to when they’d first entered the basement of the warehouse. The strangeness of Alfie’s speech, the way he picked words like fruit and discarded all but the ripest choices. And then an idea came to him. “…Treacle?”

Alfie looked at him in surprise, as though he forgot Sam existed. With the way he had been watching Tommy, analytical and carnivore-sharp, he very well could’ve. A broad smile spread across his bearded face. “Oh, very good guess, Samson.”

“It’s Samuel,” Tommy corrected, drawing a cigarette to his lips. Alfie snatched it away, chiding him about smoking in a distillery. When Alfie turned his full attention back to Sam, Tommy seemed simultaneously relieved and put-out.

“Shmuel, you’ve made a good guess, but not quite.”

Tommy reluctantly gave him a permissive nod, elbow propped on the armrest and fingers curled as though still holding his cigarette. Sam swallowed, thinking about how easily his fingers curled around that gun. How he pointed it at Sam’s bruised and battered head without a second thought, hooking the trigger, safety off, painting him the villain, calling him a—

“Traitor.” Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, willing his molten blood to cool, willing his mouth to stop imagining the bitter, metallic taste of a gun. He gulped against the saliva pooling behind his teeth. “Is- is that the one?”

Alfie’s left eye twitched and he scratched at his beard again. Interesting… he’d done that just a few minutes ago when he dangled the idea of an alliance in Tommy’s face. “Not that,” he said, drawing out the vowels. Sam must’ve been onto something.

Sam guessed three times more. ‘Thin’, the wrong number of letters. ‘Champion’, not starting with a T, even though it bloody well sounded like it. An agonized guess of ‘torture’ forced Tommy to restrain a laugh, but that wasn’t the answer either. Before he could try again, Tommy had evidently had more than enough. “Alfie, I didn’t come here to watch you play word games.” Below Alfie’s sight line, he signaled with his hand: that’s enough. Sam frowned, still unused to being bossed about by someone he’d begun to consider a friend.

Alfie’s gaze sharpened and locked onto Tommy’s as he folded the paper up and set it aside with a pat. “Alright, mate. Fine.” He beckoned with his hands. “Give me the pitch.”

Tommy blinked hard, the sharp lines of his face betraying annoyance. “I’ve got Aintree to meself right now,” he said. “That’s the Grand National, plus the Meetings from October through to Boxing Day. But if we take the tracks alone, that’s risky. Suspicious. Now, we can hire your men as our own security, but if you’d rather have the books yourself,” he hung another cigarette between his lips, leaning back in his seat so that Alfie couldn’t snatch it away again, “then I will be charitable and allow you a tenth of the space.”

“Fuck off,” Alfie called out, foghorn loud. “Fifty-fifty.”

“I’ll give you fifteen,” Tommy conceded, even and calm. “Consider it a gift.”

“I’ll consider it a gift when it looks less like another metaphorical gaping fucking maw to feed,” Alfie grumbled, hunched over his desk with hands folded. “Give me something that matters, Tom, because as it stands now I have absolutely no interest in Aintree.” He scratched that spot on his beard, eye twitching again. Sam was immediately on edge.

They volleyed numbers back and forth, a greedy push and pull process to grab up as much space as was available as Tommy quickly smoked his cigarette down to a burnt stub. Sam zoned out, not so captivated by the display as he was by the little autochrome photograph tacked up in a modest frame on the wall behind Alfie’s right shoulder. He squinted. A high-headed buckskin thoroughbred, male. Gelding. Four black half socks, common enough. One white pastern, back left leg, with an odd little stripe of white through an otherwise black hoof. Sam fucking knew that hoof. His heart pounded in his throat. King Solomon. Of fucking course.

“Tommy,” he hissed as Alfie dug in his desk for a fountain pen and a scrap of paper— something about splitting up territory down to the square footage.

“One second.”

“Tom.”

No response. Sam suppressed a howl of frustration. He fucking knew that hoof. He knew that horse. He knew the jockey. Young Jewish lad, good stability. Solid hold on the reins. The duo placed just below George and Tsarina in the rankings. He was at the track that day, and would have every reason to want his rival gone. No interest in Aintree, my arse.

“Tommy, listen to me.”

Rokka. Tommy’s eyes widened a fraction when he looked at Sam, ice blue on raw pearl white. Alfie had been digging through the desk for an awfully long time. Suspicious. There was a pen and notepad already within reach on the desk. Very suspicious. 

“What, Samuel?”

“He’s bluffing.”

Tommy’s eyes followed the path of his stare, and then all hell broke loose. There was a flurry of activity as guns were drawn, Tommy’s at Alfie, Alfie’s at Tommy, Ollie’s at Tommy, and Sam’s at Ollie. A beat, stalemate. Sam could feel his blood quickening just below the skin.

Alfie looked pleased as punch with the circumstances— downright giddy, by the rumbling chuckle and the lax way he wielded the revolver.

“Come now, sweetie,” he drawled, patronizing and sugared, “you think so little of me.” From within the desk, he drew out an embossed envelope, tossing it carelessly across the table. “Now let’s put the guns down and talk about this little slip of paper here, eh? Use our civilized words.” A pointed jab, with a sidelong glare at Sam.

“You’ve gone too far with this one, Alfie,” Tommy growled, ignoring the request. “If you wanted Liverpool to yourself, that’s one thing. But going after me own over it, that’s another.”

Baffled, Alfie wrinkled his nose and put his hands out in pacification. To Sam’s distress, that put the gun in line with his throat. “Alright, mate,” Alfie said, slowly and firmly as though reasoning with an unruly child, “while I usually have many clues as to what’s flared your particular neurosis at any given moment, I’ve been bested this time.”

Tommy didn’t relent, whole body rigid with anticipation. “Psalms 94:1. That’s you, isn’t it? Right out of the Hebrew Bible. I should’ve known.”

“You must be havin’ some sort of a fanatical episode for your heathen arse to be quoting holy books at me,” Alfie warned. “So let’s put the gun away, right? Before we put a hole in someone.”

“You’ve left us messages. Warnings to stay away from Liverpool,” Tommy growled. “All disguised in verses, and now you want to play dumb? Shooting that woman and putting it on us, that’s your idea of a warning? You want the racecourse all to yourself, don’t you?”

Something clicked, and Alfie sagged in his chair, tucking the gun away. “Treacle, this is a new low. If I wanted Liverpool, you think I’d just willy-nilly go and shoot a woman? A politician’s wife? At the biggest event of the year for that fucking dump of a city?” He tsked, shaking his head like Tommy had just thrown a tantrum rather than threatened his life.

Tommy narrowed his eyes for a moment before slowly holstering his own gun. Sam did the same as Alfie scolded Ollie, whose reluctant compliance Sam was not comforted by. Not Alfie, then. Sam’s jaw unclenched a fraction as Tommy apologized for the interruption.

“All’s forgiven. We’re good, yeah. That’s over.” Alfie gave Tommy a cautious once-over. “Whatever the fuck that was. Now take a look-see at that there, eh?”

Tommy opened the envelope and drew out the contract. Sam could see it over his shoulder, but in hushed tones, Tommy read it aloud for his benefit: a Bill of Sale, agreed between some horse breeder up north and one Alfred Solomons, Jr., for a gelding colt.

“Harry’s wife has a nephew,” Alfie said, fiddling about with a paperweight. “Very nice boy. Over in, ah…” he thought for a moment, eyes squeezed shut before he snapped his fingers, “Bristol, yeah, that’s it. Over in Bristol. I promised him that fine creature there as a Bar Mitzvah gift, since he’d been taking lessons. That was some years ago. He’s a proper jockey now. Good investment, yeah?”

“Thought you didn’t talk to Harry much anymore.” Tommy reached a hand up to ash his cigarette in the wordlessly offered tray as opposed to letting it smolder perilously on the desk, the little crystal dish evidently another treasure from Alfie’s cluttered desk.

“Well, you know how my brother is,” Alfie sighed, resigned. “Anyway, he’s a jockey, right? The nephew, that is. Making a name for himself.”

Tommy hummed. “You want me to fix a race?”

”What I want,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “is for my little investment to take flight. Now you might not know this, being of a provincial people and all—“ he glanced at Sam, already anticipating the way he fumed at the slight, “—but in high society, poncy gentlemen might purchase a share on a high-performing racehorse just like our King Solomon here. Nothing more than posturing and something to talk about with their fellow vapid old men, but they like to think it’ll make them even richer. And as the owner of that treif beast eating and shitting his weight in money, I would greatly enjoy the opportunity to make some of that investment back and support my nephew-in-law’s early career.”

Sam thought about that. Horses were expensive and delicate… how could anyone’s share break even, much less turn a profit, if the owner of the horse wasn’t making much money either? But by the glint in Alfie’s eye, perhaps he knew that.

“I need an endorsement,” Alfie said. “Somethin’ flashy and new like Shelby Company, Ltd., now that draws attention. And I mean, come on, Tom.” He leaned back, looking him up and down. “Folks like you know a good horse when you see one. And folks like them? Those dunderheaded old farts? They’ll believe just about anything if there’s a little mysticism thrown in.” He wiggled his fingers there to emphasize, like some sort of children’s magician.

Tommy sighed, rubbing his temple. “You want me to do… what, the endorsement equivalent of the powder trick for your nephew’s horse?”

Alfie shrugged coyly. “A little rumor of bohemian horse-charming never hurt nobody.”

Tommy crossed one leg over the other. “And what do I get?”

“For you, biscuit, I will accept your offer of limited co-authority over the racetracks. Just to put your maternally-derived fear of being left on your lonesome at ease, you little nudzh,” he said. “80-20 share. Favoring the Blinders, of course. And if you’re on your best behavior at our next meeting, I might even help you unravel whatever the fresh fuck your little outburst was about.”

They waited stock-still and silent for a while, and just when Sam thought for sure Tommy would say no, he spat in his hand and shook Alfie’s. The bearded man’s responding grin made Sam uneasy, but there was hardly time to comment on it when Tommy was already rising, saying his goodbyes, and nodding Sam towards the door. He was well pleased to follow Tommy out, grown sick of the bickering and sore in the head with nerves.

“Ah, just a minute, treacle,” Alfie called after them. “We have something else to discuss. Few things, actually, yeah.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Is this a private conversation?”

Alfie shooed Ollie off without breaking eye contact with his target. The nervous-looking man ushered Sam out with a hand on his upper arm, trailed happily by little Lawless with a slobbery leather ball in his mouth. “Go on, then, Tall Saul,” Alfie called after him, “and mind your keppele on the rafters, won’t you, poppet?”

Sam bristled.

When the door closed behind them, he shook off the grip and whipped around to go nose-to-nose with the lanky baker. “Tommy didn’t fucking say I should leave,” Sam growled, hooking his thumb into the band of his holster— a stupid move, threatening a man on his own turf in plain view of an entire bakery-slash-distillery, but after the display he just saw he wasn’t feeling terribly rational.

Ollie didn’t look surprised, or even bothered by the fact that their… bosses? Co-conspirators? Were behind a closed and— click! —locked door. Instead he turned, exhaustion hunching his shoulders, as he took to the stairs. “Trust me,” he said as he went, “you’ll wanna be elsewhere for a while.”

Sam took one last look at the windows as Alfie pulled down the blinds one by one, sighed, reasoned that Tommy knew what he was doing, and followed Ollie out.

Tommy seated himself again as Alfie kvetched about the bad weather and his stiff leg. The London gangster was typically unafraid to mention his old war injury, but on a bad pain day like this, he often became quite cagey about it around strangers like Sam. Ironic. Even the most irreverent, crude man in all of Camden Town had soft spots that ran deep. It was never something he hoped to exploit. They knew each others' weak points too well for the sort of nonsense that plagued their early... whatever this was.

Tommy cleared his throat. “You wanted to speak further?”

Alfie looked at him as though he forgot Tommy was still sitting there, but just like everything else, it was an act. Another trick up his sleeve to distract and disarm. “Yeah,” he mused, placid like an addled grandfather despite being not much older than Tommy, “yeah I did, didn’t I?” He leaned forward, folding his hands before him on the desk and staring pointedly into Tommy’s eyes. It was a callback to the warning he was given as a boy: never make eye contact with a wild animal. Even as a child, he disregarded that rule.

“This whole…” Alfie made an exaggerated gesture, “…Psalms mess, that’s not me. Alright? I swear that on me dear mum’s grave, that woman gone brown-fucking-bread many years ago and not often sworn upon.”

Tommy hated when he said things like that. Mentions of the grave always gave him a chill; a blast of mildewing air from the depths of a crypt. He nodded anyway.

“But I don’t exactly know what the mess is about,” Alfie continued, tapping his fingertips together. “I don’t suppose you’ll enlighten little ol’ me? You know, the man you pointed a gun at.”

You said you were over it, thought Tommy, but he knew better than to fall into Alfie’s trap. “What do you want to know?”

He could tell that Alfie wasn’t impressed with the non-answer. Rather than countering with another question, Alfie reached behind him with a grunt and pulled a book from the shelf. Tehillim, he called it, and waited patiently for a moment to see if Tommy would hiss and recoil at the sacred name— a favorite little gag of his as of late, checking to see if Tommy was a demon.

“You don’t trust me with your problems enough,” Alfie said, pointing the book at him with the irreverence of a man who saw himself as above any law. He thumbed it open, peering through those incongruously delicate spectacles until he found what he wanted. “Chapter 94, first verse, you said?”

Tommy nodded.

Alfie read. And then read it again. Then another time, now whispering the words under his breath in a language spanning generations. He looked up. “Tommy.”

“Yes?”

“You are so very fucked, mate.”

Alfie’s expression was as blank and wide-eyed as it usually was when he was putting on a show, and despite the seriousness of the situation, Tommy couldn’t help but breathe a laugh. It tugged Alfie’s face into one of those genuinely delighted grins.

The very real threat was unavoidable, though. Tommy would have to consider spilling the whole story out before his ally and rival, and Alfie was looking at him expectantly. It was only a few moments’ standoff, but Tommy gave in. “Alright,” he said, “here’s the problem.”

The more Tommy explained, the more concerned Alfie seemed to grow. The lines betraying his age drew shadows on his face, sober and contemplative, as he stroked his thumb over the scar interrupting the red of his beard— a souvenir of the Great War.

“I really don’t know, Tommy.” He sighed, furrowed brows folding creases into his forehead as he read the passage again. “Never heard of no gangs up there, nor theologians with an axe to grind. All I know’s that your secret admirer is of a Christian persuasion. The Revelations—“

“Revelation,” Tommy said. “Singular.”

Alfie glared at him. “Revelation. The Revelation verse is your lot. We don’t do that. Awful fucking mess, that wicked fever dream.” He thought for a moment, stroking his beard. “Here’s a strange thing,” he said. “The ink was still wet, right. Who the hell brings a pen and ink to a race? Use a fucking pencil.”

That gave Tommy pause. “Racketeers,” he said. “Ready to forge a signature at the drop of a hat.”

Alfie leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “Hah! It is a gang, then. A rival gang none of us know about, with the means to carry out a public assassination and stalk you in your own home.”

Not the most comforting thought. Alfie gave him a knowing look.

“I’ll confess it, Tommy,” he said, “I already know about your so-called assassin.” He flipped his newspaper to the opening page, and Tommy’s shoulders slumped. Search Continues for Hangdog Killer, the headline said, accompanied once again by that damning sketch. “But I know he’s no assassin, because he’s slower than molasses on the draw. Now usually I’d go after the reward money being offered, but I don’t gain much from throwing away a perfectly good secret to hold over you.”

Tommy said nothing, but nodded nearly imperceptibly. It was as close to a truce on their back-and-forth game of betrayal as he was likely to get. Putting all he knew about their involvement— and lack thereof —on the table was Alfie’s way of showing his cards.

“Right!” He clapped once, a manic glint in his eyes. “That’s enough business talk, innit?”

Tommy startled, betrayed only by the slight jump of his shoulders. Sometimes it was difficult to keep up with Alfie’s moods, even the positive ones.

“I want to have a chat with you. I think you know about what.” Alfie had the kind of look on his face that Tommy always associated with trouble.

He braced himself, sighing deeply. “What kind of chat?”

Tommy regretted the question immediately at Alfie’s response: “Been a minute since we had ourselves a little polari, treacle.”

Ah, fuck. Polari. The talk. The language of outcasts: thieves, whores, traveling sorts… and men like them. Omi-polone. Queers.

His father forbade that language in the house— or anywhere, really. It was below them, he’d said. The speech of idiots and hedonists, a bastardization of languages not meant to be mixed about. A slight at Tommy’s mother; she spoke The Talk as well. For a time, Tommy wouldn’t take John with him to the fairgrounds to see the circus performers because he knew it’d be a flogging for him when the little one inevitably began copying his big brother’s conversations. Babbling about their father drinking their gelt away in the bungery, asking their mother to patch a rip in his clobber. You’ll make him a sissy, Arthur Sr. would hiss between bruising blows. Do you want your brother earning his keep in a molly house? Do you want the boy’s whore money in your pocket?

Do you, Dad? He should’ve asked, just to make him confront his sins out loud, but he had the nerve smacked out of him at that young age. Hadn’t yet reached the size Arthur had where he could finally hit their father back. So Tommy decided to keep it to himself. Listened to the sailors talk about dilly boys at the docks. Watched the pickpockets evade the charpering omi. Learned it all while he nursed a black eye.

“C’mon, Tom,” Alfie begged.

Tommy sighed, swallowed his pride, and let the words come to him. “Only a quick polari, aye? And nishta leaves this room.”

Alfie grinned. “There she is. The bitch is back.”

They went about catching up in such a manner for a while, Alfie reveling in yet another game of wits and words while Tommy mostly just tolerated the embarrassment. It was almost soothing, in a way. Alfie’s growling voice maneuvered smoothly, eloquently through the vocabulary of his childhood secrets. Tommy’s speech was more stilted, uncharacteristically reserved. He didn’t run in the sort of circles Alfie did; wasn’t out, as they say. All he’d known had been stuffed into a box to be forgotten, shameful and secret. No London drag ball for him.

“Let’s not cackle on ‘bout nishta,” Alfie urged after a less-than-respectful description of how badly he’d beaten that Hoxton spy Tommy had sent him. “You need to tell me about that dolly chicken you brought ‘round today.” The meaning? Tell me about pretty-boy.

Tommy swallowed around a burning mouthful of whiskey, nearly choking as his heart rate kicked. “What about him?”

Alfie looked at him as though the answer ought to be obvious. Perhaps it was, but Tommy didn’t want to think about Alfie’s ulterior motives. Not towards Sam. 

“Is he ‘so’?” Is he a homosexual?

Tommy made a face. “Samuel? Come on, Alf, that’s naff. Proper naff.” Unfuckable territory, Alfie. Take a step back.

“Pshh!” Alfie leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “On what fuckin’ authority? I took a good vada, I did, and I didn’t find anything I could clock as cod ‘sides the fact he might be a little dizzy.” I got a good look at him. Didn’t seem too bad except that he might be a bit stupid. Is he stupid?

Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose. He had no stake in what Alfie got up to outside of their unique alliance, but this was angering him in a rather troublesome way. Made something ugly tighten up in his chest, unsure if he was possessive of Alfie’s attention… or the unthinkable other option. “He’s got a palone at home. Dally one, her.” I meant that you should leave off. He’s got a lovely girlfriend. He knew this. So why did it feel like he was reminding himself?

Alfie smirked, vicious and arrogant. “You know that don’t turn me off. With plenty of trade you don’t know what you’re missing ‘til you’ve got ‘em in a doss, innat right? And rough trade? That’s the real bold type.” Plenty of straight men are not so straight when it comes down to it. Right, Tommy? To make his point, Alfie raked his eyes over Tommy’s figure. Blue-collar men like him? They get eager. Tommy rolled his eyes; no such thing as subtlety with Alfie.

“Well, you can’t blag Sam,” Tommy stated, feeling his ears go warm. You can’t have him.

“Why not?” Alfie leaned forward, mischief written on his face.

“He’s not…”

“Could be,” Alfie taunted. “Unless that isn’t your issue?”

“Hasn’t dropped any hairpins,” Tommy countered, raising a brow. He hasn’t hinted at queerness.

“Oh, and you’re absolutely bonaroo at clocking that, are you?” You’re terrible at catching a hint!

“If you would hush and Aunt Nell me for just a second—“ Listen to me! Christ!

Alfie found the weak point and dug in. “Tommy, sweetie, is it possible that you’re all out of sorts about this because you’re alamo for him?”

You’re attracted to Sam, aren’t you?

Tommy shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked, beet red and speechless in a way he hadn’t been since he was a youth caught staring at Arrow Collar Man ads. If it were even possible, Alfie became even more smug.

“Ohh,” he gasped, faux-pitying. “You are.”

“No.” Yes.

And he was, wasn’t he? So sue him. He thought Sam was… pretty, in an odd way. Melancholy features arranged just so, not strikingly beautiful but striking like lightning. It was difficult to pinpoint when he started noticing Sam. Before he took up in the guest wing, certainly. Before he even arrived at the house. Was it when he gripped his hand at the hospital? Or the van? Maybe it was when they sat around the fire and remembered the war? No, he resolved. Before that. Perhaps the moment he saw him.

“I figured as much,” Alfie crowed, “when I saw the way you ogled him up and down. Like he was a challenge. Taming a stray, are we?”

Tommy frowned, and not only for the way he’d been caught. “What, you’re not looking to charver him yourself?” You’re not interested?

Alfie scoffed. “Nanti. He’s got lallies a mile long, sure, but… well, not much of a dish back there, innit?” Nah, he’s all legs and no arse.

“It’s just fine,” Tommy snapped. “It’s a bona dish. It’s normal.” Leave his arse alone, it’s decent enough.

Alfie just laughed. “Fuck me, you’re in deep. You meshigener.” You’re a fucking nut. “But remember, right, that fucking and feelings do not mix.”

Tommy nodded morosely, staring out at the warped world beyond the glass block windows. Fuck, he couldn’t let this get away from him. Already he found himself thinking of Sam more than he should, more than was necessary for a guest in his house. And what if he got too attached? Each of them had their own lives, Tommy engaged and Sam with a baby on the way. This wasn’t anything like the anonymous dalliances of his bachelor days.

“You know,” Alfie said, uncharacteristically sincere, “you’re always welcome in my slice of London. Safehouses, clubs, hotels, the like. Just in case there’s… well, I’ll keep an eye out for trouble, ‘s what I’m saying.”

Tommy nodded, quiet but appreciative. London had proven safe enough so far. If they needed to evade The Horsemen yet again, at least here there’d be two powerful gangs watching Sam’s back. And Florence! Florence and Sam. Both of them. Right.

Alfie must’ve taken the silence as a sign that their business was done, because when a light thud on the desk caught Tommy’s attention, he found himself sitting before a bottle of white rum.

“A drink before you go?” Alfie asked, raising his brow suggestively. “I’m not that loyal stray of yours, but you never seemed to mind before.”

Their conversation… both conversations weighed heavily on his mind, distracting and stomach-twisting. He couldn’t let the proximity get to him. Couldn’t trust himself to be rational if it all went sideways. If he was rejected. If harm came to anyone. Too many moving parts at play, business and loyalty and the beating of his heart all crescendoing every time he thought about the what if, what if, what if.

“I’m getting married,” he said instead of admitting the crushing force of worry on his lungs. Could he even fucking perform, bogged down like this?

Alfie nodded slowly, brows furrowed in confusion. “Right, mate,” he said cautiously, catching the rolling storm of Tommy’s stress on the wind, “we don’t have to. But I will say, six months ago you was also going to tie the knot and it weren’t no bloody moral objections then. And last year we had several meetings, didn’t we, where you cut the business-talk quite short because you needed your fix. Marriage and your little bundle of joy not on the mind back then, yeah.”

Tommy smirked. Yes, he preferred this: Alfie knocked out of that state of supernatural wisdom, back to earth, back to the present. Not playing shrink, just wanting something simple and fun out of him.

“Fine,” he said, holding out his glass for just enough rum to have an excuse, “have it your way.”

Alfie grinned, dark and cunning as he poured. “You never finished guessing the word, treacle. Something I call you, five to seven letters, and I think you know what it is.”

Tommy looked the man up and down slowly, the tip of his tongue running over the backs of his teeth, stopping at one sharp canine. He watched Alfie follow it, setting a fire in his blood that he couldn’t quite blame on the rum. “Tease. The word is tease.”

Alfie downed his own glass in a gulp, expression proud and hungry. “Atta boy.”

Thirty-eight minutes. Not that he was counting. It took Tommy that long to wrap up his conversation and meet him outside by the car, looking for all the world like a man who got into a fistfight after turning away his only backup.

Sam didn’t care about the wait too much beyond the pointlessness of his sitting around. Camden Town wasn’t too terrible, and a portly little fellow named David had apologetically gifted him a loaf of bread for the road and a dram of brown rum from the basement. Something about working men looking out for one another. It tasted like shit, but drink was drink. Besides that, Lawless was rather content to have someone to play with in that time, chasing whatever pebble Sam kicked across the alley and returning for a good fuss on the flank and head. He stared at him with big, simpering eyes before Sam pitied him enough to break off the crunchy heel of the loaf and toss it for him. That’s how he got so chunky, he realized, and had himself a private laugh at the idea of Alfie and Ollie and countless other gangsters buckling to the begging of that precious little face.

When Tommy did return, it was instead the state of him that made Sam angry. Hair mussed, cheeks flushed, tie slightly askew and a button missing from his shirt. Why the fuck did he bring Sam, a man he knew could hold his own, if he was just going to get into a private one-versus-one with the King of Camden anyway? It rankled him something fierce, the casual way in which he motioned Sam into the car. Rankled him worse when he slid behind the wheel with a wince.

He fucking smelled nice, unfortunately. Rum and sweat and a strangely familiar vetiver-musk cologne he was sure Tommy hadn’t been wearing earlier. Where did he get that? A gift from Solomons? A tang of salt, metal… blood from the fight most likely, and fucking vegetable oil of all things. Sam sulked. Did Tommy just bring him around to be bullied by some rum smuggler? He felt ridiculous in the gangster getup, the jacket pinching him in the underarms, the pants too short and in danger of ripping down the crotch if he sat too quickly. Not to mention the hat, static-shock silk lining clinging to everything on his head. He threw the damned thing onto the back seat with the bread as they drove off, his clammy, crumb-dusted palms not a better sensation as he ran a hand over his hair.

“Good conversation?” He sneered, ill-tempered and overtired after too much Alfie in one day. Tommy didn’t dignify it with an answer, but his hands gripped tighter around the steering wheel.

“What happened, ey?” Sam slouched petulantly in his seat. “You’ve seen me fight. I could’ve backed you up in there.” You still don’t trust me.

“Next time,” Tommy chastised, ignoring his questions yet again, “just do as I say. You need to control your impulses or you give too much away.”

Sam blinked incredulously. Next time? “He caught me off guard,” he said. “And besides, I helped you, didn’t I? With the horse thing.”

“The horse thing could’ve gotten someone shot,” Tommy snapped, his low voice warning like rumbling thunder. “You couldn’t just let the insults go, could you?”

“He was talking about us— about Roma, us! —like the dirt off his shoe.” Sam was beginning to rile, fueled by the memories of slurs and clutched purses and globs of spit hurled at his feet. “You sat by and let him say whatever he wanted, and all the while you just looked at him like… you looked at me like—“

“He’s a madman,” Tommy barked. “He says all sorts of things. You knew this and you let him get in your head.”

“You two treated me like I was your dog, Tommy!”

The car stopped with a jolt. Tommy’s glare was a dangerous, electric thing that he determinedly kept fixed on the road.

“If you don’t want to be heeled like a mutt,” he snarled, quiet and definitive, “then don’t fucking act like one.”

Sam raged and roared in his own head the whole way back to Warwickshire.

[thenerdofthegroup]

Okay so we got a tiny promotional video with a lot of clips we’ve already seen and fun ‘PowerPoint slide’ type clips. Imma talk about it

Here is the video ^

Now the last time I talked about this it didn’t go… great so I will word it better so as to avoid that again <3

Now we’ve gotten that billboard my excitement is out on an all time high again but there are a few things in this that I want to point out:

Firstly we will get the obvious out the way- RIO SAYS HER NAMEEEE AND ITS SO PLAYFUL. We have physical evidence that she at the very least knows her name haha.

Secondly the rest of the voice are very interesting. So we definitely have Billy- sorry I meant Teen in there, and Lilia at the end but the rest are all male voices. Now I can confidently identify the ver deep one as Herb from WV. And given it’s a tiny promo teaser I think all of these voices are from what we’ve seen before. Maybe one surprise new one but very unlikely. I think I can hear Dottie’s husband in there but the rest I can’t identify (men usually sound the same to me). So if we use that theory, who says what? I think there are about 3-4 voices I cannot place. AND when do they say it? My theory is that these kind of go chronologically and that she hears them say these in episode 1 as hallucinations or episode 2 when she’s collecting her coven

Thirdly, all the photos are gorgeous and they fall into one of 3 categories

One category is clips from WV. Now the only one I can theorise on is this 70’s one but it was amazing to see her gorgeous face (ignore my shoddy handwriting I’m a physicist it’s part of the job description)

Another Category is hints/clips to parts of the show. I will describe in chronological order, missing the two that go in the next category: Mare of Easttown Detective Agatha, Agatha search online, Agatha tarot card with the moon (moon is very important we all know this), Agatha with the orange magic (I don’t know what font it is but it feels like I should), Olden Agatha with pretty writing, purple smoke screen with Agatha font used in other things, Plants in an almost ‘weird detective’ way (I don’t know how to explain it but like those cutscenes in a detective where they put stuff in a lab… god I’m bad at this), something that almost resembles AHS but in general is a weird black pattern, Agatha twitter (she would be hilarious on there), red ‘Agatha’ that is linked to that demon scene and a beautiful purple glowing ball that is just general mystic-ness. All of them amazing, all pointing to different parts of the show

Now, the two to single out actually have writing on them

I’ll put my theorise down and thank you to my friend who helped because I was trying to think deeply and they gave me the obvious answers because I’m too dumb to do all of this on my own haha

The one on the left feels like a childhood story. It’s written in even lined with pretty patterns on the side. I think that it’s a story about her killing her coven. This would also cement the idea that she is famous (in a not great way) and support a little fun theory I had that she is almost like a spooky story witches tell their kids at night. Like the boogy man. “Don’t misbehave or the evil purple witch will come and get you” kind of thing (you would never guess that I write).

It also brings in a fun question everyone has: was she born with purple magic? Because by all logical accounts she had to have been because the darkhold didn’t turn Wandas magic purple (I know it did Stranges but sorcerers are different, I think it acted like a filter to the outside magic since that’s what sorcerers use, whereas witches have it born into them and their DNA so you can’t put a filter in it) and it would make sense story wise. Born with it and everyone was terrified and hated her from the beginning. Self fulfilling prophecy and all that. It’s not a problem if she isn’t, because the other works just as well, her wanting to rebel so much that she picks up dark books etc etc. but it is one of the aspects I’m deathly excited to see.

The right hand side one is a newspaper. Now given the placement of the name and the lack of anything either it’s her actually putting her name in for people to see/ some kind of clue thing OR the more likely option is a bounty on her head. Which would make sense: if this is a witch paper, everyone seems to want her dead so I mean… go for it. She gets a little snack out of it

Those are my current thoughts and if you’ve read this all then thank you for your time. I like getting other peoples opinions so if you have any then always feel free to say even if it’s telling me I’m stupid and pointing out the obvious haha

Anyway here is your gift for making it to the end: Sexy ladyyyyy

[kayhi808]

More Than Our Scars - Part 21

The nurse on duty made Mark leave the critical care unit to take his call from Frank.

Mark paces, waiting for Frank to pick up, "Sorry, I couldn't answer earlier, no wireless devices in Critical Care, but you need to get down here."

"Who's in Critical Care? What's going on? Kate said that Y/N thinks Bill's in the hospital & you were driving her to Sacred Saints. I got a bunch of missed calls from Y/N…"

"Y/N got a call from Mr. Russo's doctor saying he was at Sacred Saints. There was an accident & that she should get down here because it didn't look good. They are prepping him for surgery. The doctor was just taking us back to see him."

The confusion is evident in Frank's voice, "What?! Bill hasn't been in an accident. We were at Homeland & he just left to meet up with a client, 15 minutes ago."

"No, that's not right. We were already enroute here." Mark looks back through the door to Critical Care. "Fuck, I'll call you back!" He hangs up on Frank & runs back to the room Dumont was leading them to. He enters & pulls back the drapes to an empty room. "Son of a bitch!" He hurries out to the nurses station. "Excuse me. Excuse me! Hey! I was in here earlier with a Dr & a lady, where did they go? They were going to visit William Russo, who was prepping for surgery in that room there," pointing behind him.

"That room is unoccupied. I'm not sure where the women went. It's not my job to monitor the physicians where abouts."

Holding down on his temper, "I'm sorry. Could you page Dr.Dumont? I need to find, Y/N, the woman we were with. Thank you." Mark paces, waiting for Dumont to call in, but he's got a feeling in his gut that she won't. After a few minutes, he writes down his contact information with the nurse's desk and leaves the hospital. Russo is going to kill him.

*****

Frank brings one of Anvil's sales reps with him to get Bill. The Rep takes over the meeting while Bill sees Frank in the hallway. Bill's annoyed but as soon as he sees the look on Frank's face, he knows its serious. "What's happened? What's going on?"

"I'll tell you in the car." Trying to keep it short until Bill's out of the building because Frank know's Bill's going to lose control. They get in the car, Frank's driving. "Y/N is missing."

"What the fuck do you mean she's missing? She's at the Loft." Frank shakes his head. Bill pulls out his phone & tries to locates the tracker on your phone. You aren't in the loft. It shows you wandering in a sketchy part of the city. "What is she doing?" He calls your number but you don't answer.

"I already got our guys headed to that location."

Pinning Frank with a glare, "Tell me what the fuck is going on?!"

"Dumont called her this morning saying you were in a bad accident." Bill frowns. "I don't know what was exactly said, but it was enough to convince her to go down to Sacred Saint." Frank continues to explain what happened, but it's hard for Bill to concentrate. You're gone. You're gone. His girl is gone. A fire ignites in his chest & radiates out until his entire being is filled with rage.

"Hey! Russo! I need you to focus!"

"Take me there!" Bill searches his pockets for an ear piece to communicate with the guys sent to you. Frank points over to the glove compartment, where he keeps extra links.

"It's Blackbird. Do you have her?"

"Copy. ETA 3 minutes."

Billy punches the dashboard. He rakes his fingers through his close cropped hair. He loosens his tie, feeling like its strangling him by the second. Sufficating him. His breath coming is short pants.

"Keep it together, man!" Frank pulls up to a red light, turning to Billy, he grabs him by the scruff of his neck. Frank is unnerved by the quick change in Bill. Rage to lost boy. Billy fixes on him with his dark wide-eyed gaze. "We'll find her & get her back, ok?

Bill nods, "I need her back, Frankie."

Frank starts driving, "I know. We're almost there."

*****

It feels like an eternity, but they pull up to the location, Bill recognizes Anvil vehicles parked in an alley & he feels nauseous. "Talk to me!" he orders into the comlink.

"She's not here, Sir."

Billy jumps out of the SUV even before Frank comes to a stop & runs over to the alley. There's 3 agents surrounding a meth head sitting on the ground with his back up against the wall. One of the agents holds out your bag to Bill.

"He had this on him. Said he found it in a dumpster. Her phone & everything is still in it. We sent 2 guys back to the dumpster by the hospital."

Bill pulls out his gun & storms over to the scrawny meth head, pulling him up & slamming him against the wall, pinning him by his throat. In a cold deadly whisper, "Where is she? Huh?" Bill presses the muzzle of his gun to the druggie's forehead with enough force to make him cry out.

"I dunno...i dunno. There was no lady." Bill backhands him with his gun

Frank runs up, "Shit, Bill!"

Bill flips off the safety. "This piece of shit is going to tell me what he did to Y/N."

The druggie starts crying, "I didn't do nothin'! There ain't no lady!"

Bill angles the gun to the side and fires a round into the trash returning the hot muzzle to the druggie's temple. He pissed himself and starts flaying about, crying harder.

Frank pulls Bill off the meth head. Frank nods at the other guys to shut him up as he steers Bill away.

"What the fuck?! That guy doesn't even know what day of the week it is!"

"He coulda saw something!" He paces along the car.

"Just get in the car." Bill gets in and they head back to Anvil.

@idaofinfinity @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @e-dubbc11 @celestialams @winterschildren17

[chaos-in-elysium]

People can claim I'm entitled and cuildish but if roles were reversed, they would want an explanation and evidence to. You can't make accusations against a person then proceed to never let that person in on what's going on, it doesn't work like that.

"He said to not blast music and you threw a fit" did he also mention that 1 I started turning my volume down after he mentioned it and 2 it was because he instead of leaving the call isti n silence. I was watching tiktoks even after I turned my volume down he would complain that I'm not paying attention to him.

I'm childish? But the person who accused me brought up stuff from 2 years ago. The sexual abuse claim makes very little sense to me, if he doesn't make it obvious that he is uncomfortable or did not want the interaction how was I suppose to know? He never gave any slightest hint he was uncomfortable,he never stated it either, in fact he consistently gave enthusiastic consent.

"If him crossing your boundaries bothered you why didn't you block him?" Cause he was my fp (favorite person) at the time I would have let him treat me anyway he wanted if that meant I wouldn't be abandoned. Also ask him the same question when it comes to the sexual abuse claim.

"Get therapy" I honestly don't have the money nor does my insurance cover it, also as someone who says they have bpd you would know how utterly difficult it is to find a therapist willing to work with a pwbpd(person with bpd) due to the stigma.

And even without the bpd the fact I told him more then once to please refrain from doing certain things that upset me, he should have stopped, because that's not ok no matter who you are.

And I'm kinda entitled to evidence that deals with claims made against me. And that deal with any screenshots from private dms.

Also I blurred his name his pfp from what I can tell is portal fanart it has no signifying markers to who he is, I even gave him an alias.

On the topic of things I said. I said something that seemed to bring down the mood in the server- 1 time. "TlYou should have gotten a warning then" Yeah I should have. That's kinda proving my point on people not doing their job.

When it comes to the Andy thing that was honestly meant to be a joke,and only a joke, if he had told me he was uncomfortable with it, or with that type of joke I would have stopped.

Based of how you reacted to the incident I stated where we kicked someone for faking osdd (Which was agreed upon by orb) that gives me the feeling that you are the person we kicked. If you aren't my bad that's just the way you came across. But if you are know that even Orb saw through you and said you were faking I still have the screenshots.

I don't block people because I "Know they're right" I block people because simply don't have the energy to deal with their harassment, they made a whole account just to slander me and try to silence me.

I only ever wanted answers and to defend myself. There was no harm in letting me see the evidence,there was no harm in letting me try to prove my innocence, you all could have still chosen to not believe me, chosen to ignore me,chosen to block me. Yet that didn't happen instead of taking the high road and letting me prove my innocence, then move on you all chose to slander,harrass,and attempt to silence me. It shows that somewhere deep down there is insecurity and part of you knows that the mods have some blame in this.

I admit that I don't always handle things the way I should, I'm prone to over explaining,not letting things go,and jumping to extremes when threatened. It's something I have always struggled with, that however doesn't mean that I am malicious,lying,ot manipulating anything. I'm showing my end of the story.

The reason I never came forward sooner is because due to a lot of what I've been through it takes me a while to realize the way someone treated me wasn't ok, and me and him at that point had calm down,started to be friendly,and left each other alone. I didn't see the point in bringing it up especially since I knew with the stigma surrounding bpd, that no one would believe me.

I am prone to anger especially back when "elm" and I met, I had just found out a year prior that I had bpd and had been struggling to work on it since I couldn't and still can't afford therapy. I had told him from the start about it and explained what I knew about the disorder,I even told him about the stigma surrounding it and hour abusers tend to target pwbpd and turn them into the abusers. He used this against me continued to push and push. I was splitting so much that I felt like I couldn't breath. That every move I made had to be dictated by him. This isn't me using it as an excuse this is me showing how it effects me. When I told him that his actions were causing splits, he honestly should have stopped. He would always claim "Oh I'll do better." But never did at some point I gre bitter and thought "Why should I have to change but not him? Why should I work on myself but not him? Why does he pin everything on me? Why?why?why?" Then we mostly cut contact and what do you know I was no longer splitting 2,3,4 times a week. Finally I could breath. Then this happened, I don't know why he would start all this up, I can't pretend to know. It has been 2 years yet in a time of peace and silence he throws a rock into the pond and attempts to ruin what calm I had finally built. He knew I wouldn't go quietly,he knew I would cause a fuss. I played into his hand out of my own instinct to protect myself. I was a idiot, I still am and Idiot.

At this point I want silence and I want peace. Believe me to be the villain,believe that I'm a horrible abuser. Feed into his lies. I don't care anymore, I'm going to continue with my life and work on healing from all the damage he caused. I'm going to enjoy doing stupid shit with my closest friends,friends who don't push,who know I'm not a malicious person. Friend who care for me deeply. I'm going to live and exist in my own space, and you all can continue stabbing and howling in the distance to anyone who will listen, but I won't hear you. Live your lives,enjoy your friends,and be happy.

[sillylittlevulpine]

Ngl, DID when you're trying to explain wtf is going on with you does feel like possession.

Like this guy with totally different opinions than me just decided he wants the vessel today. It's his turn with the body and we are listening to 70's music. Music I don't typically like to listen to. And he's also gonna sit there and lecture me about my living style. About his beliefs about religion and I'm like, can I have my body back please?? And he'll be like, no-

You visit the therapist and they're like, nope, you're just certified with, I'm going to diagnose you with Schizophrenia as an excuse to never listen to a word you say ever cause I don't like doing my job.

So you bring loads of evidence of several situations that have happened to you, and they realize your autism makes you really sucky at explaining fucking anything. Your family mistreating you was very obviously not a delusion. And your ptsd is so bad it is making you panic for the tinienst things. And then they just go, oh, well then it's not Schizophrenia, I dunno then. You're just weird and stressed and traumatized. Also DID is rare stop asking about it.

Then after seeing therapists since you are young, you get moved to someone that decides she wants to listen.

And it's like, there is this man in my brain that just talks to me and tells me how to live my life since I was a kid and every once in a while he takes control of me. I don't hate him, he doesn't tell me to do shit I shouldn't do, he's actually genuinely helpful. But this is scary and no one listens to me about normal shit cause I explained him as a spirit and my family called him a demon, help.

And she pulls out the dsm-5 which none of my previous therapists have ever bothered to do and looks at the criteria for DID and goes, let's look at this and keep exploring it. This is very likely the cause of what is going on.

[probably-autistic-moss]

Moss vents

JUST A LITTLE SILLY

-

I saw this TikTok and a lot of other videos made with that sound, and it makes me so angry, because it reminds me of everything people said to me when I talked about my suspicion of being autistic.

I'm not autistic, just a little silly!

I can't touch some texture without feeling pain, I can't sleep comfortably if the sheets don't have the right texture, I have to avoid certain foods despite their good taste because of their texture, but that's unrelated!

I can't go to certain places without getting a bad headache because the lights are too loud, I can't sleep or focus because the washing machine on the other side of the house is vibrating too much, I have to wear earbuds everytime I walk outside because all the noise will make me nauseous, but that's unrelated!

I can't handle parfumes because they're so strong they make my skin crawl, I can't have flowers because I love the smell but it's too much, I can't wear deodorant or I'll feel like I have fire on my skin and the smell is uncomfortable despite being good, but that's unrelated!

I'm not autistic, just a little silly!

I don't like gifts or watching new things unless they're part of my special interests because I need to know what's gonna happen or what kind of reaction people expect from me, I need to plan conversations and I panic when I can't follow my scripts, I don't handle well surprises, but that's unrelated!

I need to regulate myself by doing repetitive things, I need to mask said stims to not get mocked even if it's painful and my emotions become too much, I can only eat my safe foods unless it's a weirdly good day or I'll rather starve, but that's unrelated!

I can't stop thinking about my special interests even when I really need to focus on something else, I use characters I love or songs lyrics to express myself because sometimes I don't know how to do that, I only relate to character that I now recognize are all aliens and/or deeply autistic coded, but that's unrelated!

I'm not autistic, just a little silly!

As a child I was mocked for what I now know are autistic traits and I still can't easily make friends, people often find me off putting because I hate eye contact and because I over-explain what I mean, a friend of mine got her diagnosis because she relates to me and her doctor was convinced I must have a diagnosis since I'm clearly autistic, but that's unrelated!

Every single time I see something relatable I see the tags and it's an autistic thing, my mother gets angry at me and calls me Sheldon Cooper just because she hates the fact that I have evidence of me possibly being autistic, all the real people I heavily relate to end up declaring they're autistic, but that's unrelated!

I've always related to animals more because they don't judge me, I sometimes can't talk and express myself in noises, I experience sensory overloads and meltdowns, but that's unrelated!

I'm tired of this shit.

I'm tired of having all the pain autism can bring me, and yet- I'm not autistic, just a little silly!

I'm AFAB, I can't be autistic. Only cisgender white men can be autistic.

I don't look autistic, nah, I'm not ugly or odd looking. Autism makes you animalistic and ugly.

I can talk about sex, think about it, even read or write smut. We all know that autistics are too pure and childish to do that.

I have a job and I can do serious things like chores and pay bills. Autistics are all unable to do that, obviously I'm not one.

I can't talk about ableism.

I never knew much about autism before my journey of self discovery, but I never thought ableistic things about autistic people. But now I know more, now I'm discovering myself, but I still can't talk about it, because "you're just trying to fit in a group you don't belong to".

I can't even talk about the researches I did, or people will say I'm influencing myself.

I stopped doing active researches for that reason, so I wait to randomly find a relatable post, when I see it's an autism thing I look it up, and I can't influence myself if I relate to something I didn't know before, right? People say it's still all in my head.

For them, I'm not autistic, just a little silly! All the proof of me being autistic are there, but that's unrelated!

[thecrowandtheraven08]

Act 3 time! Hell yeah! I’ve been thinking about it a lot about this, so time to get this all out :3c

Have fun! And spoilers of course.

Since I have once again forgotten things in my excitement, here’s just one big thing that explains how they feel about the shadow curse. Cassian really gets along with Halsin and wants to help out with this. They approve of you playing with Oliver and just trying to finally break the curse in general. They also really like Jaheira. Back to Act 3 :3

Firstly, Cassian finds the circus so charming. They’re trying to hide their excitement, but they’re doing a poor job of it. They also gain approval if you ask them to go on stage with Dribbles (they totally tried, and failed, to act like they weren’t interested in the idea and would rather do anything else). Their disappointment will be evident when they find out Dribbles is dead and will want to help find him.

With the circus out of the way, Cassian has a soft spot for children, especially those in tough situations, so they’d want to bring in Yenna. They’d even have a little scene of them talking with her and giving her a toy they stole found. You’d have options to say that you’re surprised that Cassian is good with children (you can even bring up how they acted with the Thieflings if you’ve had Cassian interact with them). They would just tell you that they know how hard it is for a child to be on their own. They don’t want a lot of children to end up in a situation similar to their own at that age. On a good run and romancing them, they’d mention they’d thought about having their own one day, but they’re not sure how good of an idea it is. You can encourage or discourage them on the topic.

With the murder plot, Cassian would be rather pissed that they’re immediately blaming the murder of the priest on the refugees. They’d want to immediately figure out who actually did it. Good or evil, Cassian is not a fan of those who haven’t done anything getting blamed for crimes (personal trauma reasons woooo).

When meeting Astarion’s “siblings” in the tavern nearby, Cassian approves of you just letting Astarion handle everything, but disapproves if you agree to let him ascend. They just don’t think it’s a smart idea considering they don’t know the details of the rite and if a demon might have Astarion’s soul.

Some other Approvals and Disapprovals are:

- Approves if you find the sabotaged toys in the refugee camp and help them

- Approves if you let the refugees take Arfur’s Mansion

- Approves if you talk with Tara (they want to pet her so bad)

- Disapproves of you making a deal with Gortash

- Disapproves if you side with Wulbren (they can’t stand him)

- Disapproves if you take Raphael’s deal

- Approves if you help Aylin kill Lorroakan

- Approves if you recruit Minsc (they’re more interested in Boo)

- Disapproves if you give all the money stolen from Rakath back

Depending on which of your companions are kidnapped, Cassian will react differently. For Halsin, they’d react a bit more frantic and comment that they need to go save him. Halsin’s been through so much and just expects others to not help him. They have to! For Gale, they’re incredibly worried and would ask you to try to save him as soon as you can. “What will we do without our wizard?”. For Lae’zel, they’re incredibly pissed and want to go fight. They blame themself for not noticing something was off. They’re just really sad if it’s Yenna. They’re worried about the little girl and they’re incredibly sad about what happened to the cat. They don’t want to eat for a bit.

A thing to know about Cassian, they can’t stand Wyll’s father. Perhaps some of it is projection because they also had a shitty father, but they really can’t stand him. They’d be quite mad if Wyll continues his contract with Mizora just to save his father. If you don’t choose to let him do that, they’d be very glad to see that Wyll is going to be free of his contract. They only feel bad that Wyll will think he’s selfish for this choice. If you manage to save Wyll’s father in the Iron Throne, Cassian will make remarks of how they hope Wyll’s father regrets what he put Wyll through. They don’t understand why Wyll cares so much for his father after what happened.

For Shadowheart’s quest, no matter what path you’re on for her, Cassian isn’t a fan of her, but wants her to choose her own path. No matter which goddess Shadowheart wants to follow, that’s her own choice. And once Shadowheart figures out who she wants to be and follow, they start to like her more. They also really would love to kill Viconia, but that’s not those decision.

They also really don’t want Gale to go back to Mystra, but also they’re aware it’s the only way for him to get rid of the orb for good (they aren’t too interested in him becoming a god). So they won’t be too upset if he does decide this. Though they’d urge him to maybe try and see if there are other paths he can take. They don’t want him blindly following Mystra after all.

Cassian really wants to help Astarion kill Cazador, no matter what happens. They care a lot for the vampire and don’t want to see him hurt by Cazador anymore. They aren’t keen on Astarion Ascending and would try to say something to make him stop. No matter what decision you make though, Cassian promises to remain Astarion’s friend.

The House of Hope is not a place they like being. Cassian can’t say they like Avernus all too much. They’d want to snoop around and take as much from Raphael as possible. If you find Mol’s contract, they will rip it up on sight. They’re not letting anything happen to her or the other Theiflings. They’d prefer you not have sex with Haarlep, but they won’t judge. They get the appeal. They’re indifferent about saving Hope, but if it pisses off Raphael they think it’s worth it. As long as you get the Orphic Hammer and kill Raphael (for funsies).

Cassian would do anything for Karlach and so want to help her kill Gortash. They do what they can to be there for her, in their own way. They really don’t want her to die and hope that you can find a way for her not to.

When they come to the Temple of Bhaal, they’re completely shocked. Their main concern is saving their friend though. On an evil run, they’d make comments on admiring the handy work. They don’t see this sort of thing in the Underdark too often. Though they think some of it can be a bit more organized, but that’s their opinion. If a good run they look a mixture of impressed and a bit horrified, but they won’t make many comments.

If you’re playing a Durge run, Cassian is never judgmental about it. They’ve been as understanding as they can be and even offer their support if your approval is high enough. They’d be more inclined to see you break away from your father, but if you don’t, they’re still with you. Especially if you romance them.

For their Act 3 main story, they finally tell you about what happened with their parents and how only real family they ever had threw them out. How they’ve always felt this rift between them and Lolth. They’d bring up how your words have helped them a lot, but they’re still unsure about what path to take. If you take Cassian to Rivington, group of Eilistraean followers can be found near the refugee camp and they’d explain how they’ve been running into some issues. You have the choice to either encourage Cassian to help them or to listen to Lolth, who would have them kill the group.

If you choose to help the Eilistraean followers, Cassian would ask you to maybe go with them so they can learn a bit about Eilistraee. If you kill the group, Cassian would take you somewhere to show you the blessing Lolth has given them. There is a hidden third option if this is a Durge run. After killing the group, you can choose to try and convince Cassian to join you and worship Bhaal instead. If you have high enough approval they will agree.

As for the Netherbrain, depending on route you take them it changes. So “good run” they would rather you just kill the thing and “evil run” they would be interested in you taking control. Might as well be you if anyone.

Tav Question

Pretend for a minute your Tav is an origin character. Origin characters have a main story with scenes in each of the three acts, as well as a three act romance structure (usually with check points in the form of their main story scenes but sometimes with affinity). I will be doing questions for each act, both the main story and the romance story.

What is your character’s ACT THREE main story? How do you meet them? What do you learn about them in act three? Do any special scenes trigger for them?

Act One Question

Act Two Question

[kaijime]

watch your mouth

includes. osamu miya x f!reader

cw. corruption kink, virgin reader/first time, osamu wants to breed u <33, dubcon, kitchen sex? [it’s in his shop so?], fingering, pierced dick [prince albert piercing], vaginal penetration, size kink, praise kink, tummy bulge, breeding kink, slight dumbification, creampie, thigh slapping?

wc. 3k

a/n. my piece for @seita’s corrupt-a-virgin collab, thank you for letting me join!!

osamu miya likes to think he follows a strict routine. he wakes up early, shows up for his job, works, and goes home, waiting for tomorrow to arrive and the cycle to repeat itself.

but ever since you've entered his restaurant, you've become a part of his routine.

he sits behind the kitchen counter, watching in admiration how you tend to the customers. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't staring at your ass, but it’s not a lie if he doesn't say it right?

"samu?" there's that nickname again, the one you deemed him ever since that interview for the part time job. "this customer says you forgot to give her a part of her order"

"no i didn't"

"yeah, look" you approach him with the receipt in hand, pointing to a small part of the inked writing. "see?"

he can't see. or at least he can't see the receipt. he's too focused on you, pressing up against him. he knows you're not at fault, but you couldn't be that innocent.

you couldn't be innocent enough to not know the things you were doing to him, the things you were making him feel, the urges that blossomed with every lingering look and longing touch you left on his body. you just couldn't be.

right?

yet, even when his idiotic brother dropped by his shop and shamelessly started flirting with you, you, it seemed like you didn't catch onto what he was doing.

"what's the freakiest place you've ever had sex in?" the fake blond asked, and osamu would've stopped him, if he wasn't curious to hear the answer for himself. still, he doesn't drive his full attention away from the counters he's been wiping, seemingly focused on the simple task.

you chuckled awkwardly under your breath. "that's inappropriate, tsu-"

"c'mon, tell me" he bumps his elbow against yours "can't be that bad"

"no i-... i've never uhm..." osamu can tell you're stumbling and stuttering to find an answer, so he lends you a few helping words.

"'tsumu” he calls "will ya stop harrassin' my employees?"

"'m just talkin' to her samu, no need to make a big fuss" he downs the last of his food and leaves, supposedly in a sudden rush.

it doesn't seem like it’s been hours since then, but the moon hangs low, and the crickets sing outside the window in spite of the late hour. despite the passing of time, not a single word has been said between you and your boss about the conversation you had with his brother, and every minute that passes only seems to thicken the tension between the two of you.

"shit" you mumble, mostly to yourself. you didn’t expect him to shoot up from his place, bent down searching through the lower cabinets.

"watch yer mouth" he says, an evident frown on his face, where he would once smile at you and nod in greeting.

"sorry" you reply, lip pouting slightly while you cleaned off your finger with a paper towel "just got a papercut" the blood tints the paper red and you wince at the stinging sensation.

"here" he holds out his hand to examine yours, even though you already cleaned most of it off, there's still a slight trickle of blood. he wipes it out with the towel he always hangs on his shoulder.

as he cleans your hand, he can't help but think about how it'd look so pretty wrapped around his cock. it would certainly bring more relief than his fist after all this time he's spent thinking about you while stroking himself late at night.

it’s not the first time thoughts like these cloud osamu's mind, but this time he's a little less discreet about it. he stares at your hand like he wants to devour it, and you'd be a fool not to notice it.

"samu?" you call out to his faraway mind, and he snaps out of his thoughs, loosening his grip around your hand.

"right" he mumbles, clearing his throat "sorry"

"thank you" you almost whisper, if he wasn't so close to you, he probably wouldn't have heard it.

he turns and goes back to the cabinets, thinking about what you answered earlier. you'd never what? had sex? were you that uncorrupted?

it would make sense to him, and it would help ease the pain of seeing you let his brother flirt with you like he wasn't even there, but those are all selfish reasons he wants to believe, and he's too scared to ask.

apparently not scared enough.

“what were ya talkin’ about with my brother” he asks, nonchalant as ever, making your breath hitch as you turned around hesitantly.

“we were just chatting” you say, the slightest purse on your lips that tried to relieve the nervousness of the conversation.

“sorry about that” he apologizes. “he can be annoyin’ sometimes”

“oh no, he wasn’t” you lie, clenching around the table cloth you held in your hands. even if the talk had been going smoothly, you still felt on edge after the question his brother left you thinking about. “he was really friendly”

“really?” his hands find comfort in his pockets, and if you’d looked close enough, you would’ve seen the slight smirk in his lip, one that indicates how eager he is to hear what you had to say. “then why didn’ you answer his question?”

if only you knew how much it mattered to him, to know if you were a pretty untouched virgin or not. osamu miya likes to go for girls like you, college girls who look for a quick cashgrab as a part time employee, innocent little girls who unknowingly fall for his charms and next thing you know he’s ruining them with his cock.

but you feel different, you feel delicate. like a pretty piece of porcelain he might break if he continues to toy with you under his calloused hands. yet, he can’t help but think about how perfect he finds your body. perfectly ripe and ready to be filled to the brim with his seed, the perfect age to be plump and round with a child. his child.

“does it matter?”

oh, it does, especially when he pins you against the counter and grips your cheeks between his thumb and his index finger. “samu?” you ask, displaying that innocent look on your face he’d grown to hate.

“i told ya to watch yer mouth” his hands roam down your body until they grab at the back of your thighs. “now jump”

“samu i- i’ve never done anything like-“

“i said jump” hesitant with your actions, you jump and wrap your legs around his waist as he settles you on the shop counter, where he takes off your pants and runs a finger over your clothes slit.

“please” you grip his wrist and beg in hopes for him to stop, but he slaps it away, pinning them behind you with his other hand. he slides your panties down your legs and plays with your clit, circling the nub with his fingertips and watching as your expression changes from one of fear to pleasure.

“please what?” his breath shudders against your neck, where he nuzzles his head and finds comfort in your scent. he slowly inserts a finger into your hole, scanning your face and searching for any signs of discomfort, despite him practically forcing you into this position.

you’re not strong enough to answer him, too lost in the way his fingers feel inside you. you’d been too afraid to do anything by yourself, but god did it feel so good when you gave yourself up to him, slightly bucking your hips into his thrusting fingers and arching your back into his frame.

he’s fond of every little expression you make, the bite of your lips, the clench of your thighs around his hand, and the tilt of your head, willingly granting him access to the skin, all for him to mark, bite and suck. all for him to claim as his.

“d’ya like it?” he asks, putting another one of his fingers to use inside your tight walls, feeling them clench and suck his fingers back inside every time he was close to taking them out.

“yes! yes! i-i... mmh!” you can’t even finish the sentence, not only because you’re sobbing and clenching around his digits uncontrollably at the foreign yet pleasurable sensation, but also because his lips suddenly enclosed yours in a hungry kiss.

he didn’t even have to put up a fight with you, pleased to find you let him do whatever he wanted with your mouth. his tongue tangles with yours in a passionate clash of lips, until he pulls away at the feeling of your hips wildly bucking against his hand, a sign of your inevitable orgasm approaching.

“feels weird ‘samu! ‘s-‘samu please!” the implication of your sensations being new to you made his cock strained against his pants, threatening the thick fabric of his jeans to snap if he grew even harder. the tight knot in your stomach finally snaps when he curls his fingers, sending you into ecstasy as your vision blocked out and you moaned uncontrollably loud.

still, after everything, osamu hasn’t forgotten where he is, and he knows his shop isn’t a decent place to lose your virginity. so he puts you down with shaky legs and slips up your panties, catching you before your trembling thighs can treason you and make you fall.

“do ya have a car here?” he says, grabbing his keys from the counter and puts a hand on your hip, guiding you over to the door which he locks before he continues to walk to his car. the dim lighting of the parking made this the perfect spot, if he were to fuck you in his car, no one would see it. but he has self control, or at least he tells himself that.

“no, my friend usually picks me up” he hums an answer and opens the passenger door to his car.

“i live a few minutes from here” he explains “wanna come over?” he asks, fully aware that he’s taking a leap of faith and you could just refuse him. but that’s not the case, and he’s more than happy to see you hesitantly get in his car and put your bag in your lap, covering yourself as much as you can since he ‘forgot’ to give you back your shorts.

the short ride to his house is awkwardly silent, and terribly torturous. his hand had found home in your thigh, and it had only sent an ache between your legs like you’d never felt before, prompting a clench from your thighs every so often.

he wasn’t lying, he only lived ten minutes away from his shop, but the distance seemed so much longer when his lingering touch would leave you high with the need for more.

“you ready?” he asks, holding the door open for you again as he waits for you to take his hand and get out of his car. he’s quick with hoisting you up and wrapping your thighs against his hips, carrying you to his doorway and leading the way to his room. there, he gently placed you on the bed and stripped off his clothing, taking off the apron he should’ve taken off at the shop, his shirt, his pants and—

“eager?” he can see the wanting look in your eyes, he’d be a fool not to notice it. his voice only startles you out of your thoughts, enough to make you stand up and take off your shirt as well, now fully exposed to him if it weren’t for the bra covering up your tits. there’s only so much he can hold back, but right now, with those pretty puppy eyes you unintentionally give him, he just can’t help it when he takes off your bra and slightly suckles at your nipple, circling his tongue around your perky nub and watching your face warm up in embarrassment.

he takes you to his bed again, this time while he plants kisses all over your neck. he’s hungry with the way he nips and bites at the skin, leaving a trail of teeth marks that would need to be covered up in the morning. in the morning, because right now, you couldn’t be bothered to care about anything else other than the way he rutted against you.

his cock already seemed big when he hadn’t taken off his briefs, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he slipped them off and rubbed his tip against your clit, right?

he was huge, thick tip dripping precum, with a girth that looked too big to be real, pulsing against your pussy. he positions it against your drooling hole, using your slick to lube up his tip and feeling— metal?

you sit up, leaning against your elbows to see the prince albert piercing that runs along his tip, metal jewelry threatening to slip into your pussy, but you put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“i-it won’t fit!” you kick and shake your thighs around him, only for him to put your ankles together and fold your legs over his shoulder, pinning you down and slipping in the pierced head of his cock. you wince and gasp at the sudden stretch, silenced by his mouth clashing against yours, eagerly nipping at your bottom lip, desperate to drink in all your saccharine moans.

“good girl” he praises, slipping in inch by inch of his cock into your tight virgin walls “fuck- this tight little cunt is suckin’ me in, want ma cock princess? yeah? gonna stuff ya full of me ‘til ya can’t even speak, you’ll just be a dumb baby for me”

“hurts!” your words only drive him closer to shoving himself in one smooth thrust, but he holds back, he sees how much you struggle to take barely half of him, he wants to make this good for you to. he wants to make your first time your best time, the one you’ll remember and think about if you ever fuck another man. he wants to mold your insides to fit his cock perfectly, he wants to train you to be his perfect little girl who won’t find another way to get off if she doesn’t have his cock, he wants you to depend on him to always make you feel good.

“‘s ok princess” he leans down, folding you into a mating press as he kisses your neck and slips in the last of his cock, covered in a thin layer of white sheen. “my good girl, creamin’ around me” he mumbles against your ear while he starts a slow pace into your pussy, carefully rutting his hips into you, almost afraid he would break you. “so pretty”

“please!” you sob, tears stream down your face despite his carefulness, it would break his heart, but he can feel the way your own body betrays you, clenching around him and pulling him in for more of the delicious sensation of his cock dragging against your walls. “so big! c-can’t take it!”

“sure ya can, look” he puts a hand to your tummy, guiding you to do the same as he puts his hand over yours. there’s a small bulge, that appears and disappears whenever he thrusts in and out. “you’re takin’ it so well princess, keep yer hand right there” his other hand starts working tight circles against your clit, making you throw back your head at the sudden sensation.

“no! if you do that i-!”

“what are ya gonna do? cum? clench around my cock like yer doin’ right now every time i praise ya?” you fist the sheets to your sides, anything to relieve the aching between your legs and the tight knot that keeps forming in your stomach again.

“please don’t!” you desperately paw at his wrist, only to be slapped away and for him to increase the speed of his cock, rutting into your with more force. suddenly, the head of his piercing hits a different spot, one that left you gasping for air and arching your back against the mattress. “ah! right there- right there ‘samu!”

“yeah? you like it when i fuck ya right there?” he parrots, angling his hips at the same spot over and over, abusing it until he’s sloppily thrusting into you, on the verge of cumming and spilling all his load into you. “my pretty girl, moanin’ like a bitch in heat, all because i’m makin’ ya feel good”

“yes ‘samu! please please, please m-make me feel good! wanna cum, please!” fresh tears roll down your cheeks as you scream and beg for him, unwillingly rutting your hips against him as you cum around his cock, your high too much for your sensitive body as you whine uncontrollably when he doesn’t stop. you’re too overstimulated to say a word, gone too dumb on his cock to even realize that you’re babbling little nonsense words about how good you feel, and how much you want him.

“dumb lil’ thing” he says, giving one sharp, final thrust before he empties his load between your legs, deep inside you, careful not to move you too much in fear of his cum spilling out of your clenching hole.

he’s right, you are a dumb little thing, because as soon as he pulls out you’re desperately bucking your hips, blindly searching for him in hope he would fill up the sudden emptiness in your pussy, unintentionally spilling all his hard work between your thighs.

“no!” he grunts, slapping your thigh and grounding you to the mattress as you wince in pain, dark color blossoming at the skin where he’d placed the spank. “look what you’ve done, bad fuckin’ girl” he says, the sudden tone shift sends a tinge of fear all over your body, and you’re reduced to nothing but a kin to a stray puppy, a terrible look of guilt in your eyes, even if you don’t realize what you’ve done wrong.

“look at the mess you made” he mumbles, flipping you over and placing ass up “now i’m gonna have to fill ya up all over again”

©️ kaijime 2021 | all content belongs to kaijime, do not modify or repost

[thoughtless-gay-frog]

I know about the first trilogy so talk to me about Apollo and his gang, what’s goin on with those guys

Oh god where do I start with this band of idiots

For anyone who hasn’t played apollo justice Im gonna say right now MAJOR spoilers, actually I’m gonna put a little keep reading doohickey just to make sure I don’t spoil anything. Ok bye

Okay so. Apollo justice: ace attorney takes place well after the original trilogy has ended. Apollo is a rookie lawyer who works under the office of Kristoph Gavin, a lawyer who’s title is the “coolest defense in the west,” because he’s always so dang level headed during his trials. He’s an incredibly successful attorney and he’s your assistant during the first trial of the game. Your job is to defend the legendary Phoenix Wright; who’s now been charged with murder.

And like. Phoenix is a celebrity to Apollo. Apollo’s looked up to that man for all of his law school life. And now he’s defending him??? Shit is crazy!!! Even crazier, you go through that first trial and it turns out Kristoph is the one that killed the guy Phoenix was charged for murdering! Once Apollo picks up on this face Phoenix actually just like. Swaps places physically with Kristoph and suddenly it’s Phoenix as your assistant and you’re questioning your boss which is SO weird and I feel SO bad for Apollo because at the end of that first case Kristoph is proven guilty of murder and like. It was Apollo’s first real case and he’s immediately out of a job. He also, in a fandom famous moment, socks Phoenix in the jaw after the end of that case, because Phoenix admitting to using forged evidence to win the trial against Kristoph. The evidence was a replica of something Krisroph had stolen from the scene, and without it they would’ve lost, and Apollo is rightfully pissed and so he just. Hits him real hard.

But it’s fine because Phoenix hires him later! Only, uh oh, he’s been lawyerless for 7 years so he doesn’t really have the money to pay Apollo? It’s fine no one ever brings it up so somehiw it isn’t an issue even though Apollo makes several snarky comments about not ever getting payed. Anyway now Apollo is working for Phoenix. He’s also subsequently working with Trucy Wright, who is Phoenix’s adopted daughter. She’s kind of crucial to Phoenix’s past because if he hadn’t had a child to take care of he very may well have fallen into some realllllllly unhealthy coping mechanisms during the 7 year gap where he didn’t have his badge. “You keep mentioning this 7 year gap, how did he lose his badge?” you may be asking. WELL my friend I am happy to explain it to you

Remember how Kristoph killed someone? Well, 7 years ago that same man, Zak Gramarye, was charged for murder. Zak was a magician; he performed in a group called Troupe Gramarye, with his partners Valant, Thalassa, and Mr. Reus. The grandmaster of this troupe, Magnifi, was on his death bed, and set up a test for Valant and Zak to see which one would inherit the secrets of his big magic master secrets when he was gone. In this test, he asked each man separately to come in at different times and shoot him. If either actually shot him, they’d fail the test and no one would get the magic secrets. Ultimately Zak came in first and couldn’t bring himself to shoot, which was the answer Magnifi had wanted. Later, Valant came in and couldn’t bring himself to shoot, either, but Zak had already gotten the secrets and so he was told he failed the test. Magnifi then shot himself and instead of telling the doctors “hey this guy just committed suicide,” he decides to frame Zak because he’s mad he didn’t get the magic secrets. Zak is then arrested.

Kristoph was almost chosen to be Zak’s defense attorney. But Zak was a little weirdo and decided that he would only take a lawyer who could beat him at poker, and Kristoph lost to him so he chose Phoenix Wright to defend him instead. Kristoph got pissed and decided to get revenge on Phoenix, and he planted a piece of fake evidence on Phoenix. He then told the prosecutor of the trial that he knew Phoenix was going to use some forged evidence; the prosecutor, by the way, is Kristoph’s younger brother, Klavier. Klavier is young and naive and believes him, and when Phoenix presents the fake evidence in court, Klavier calls him out on it. But before anyone can react to that, Zak disappears. That’s right. The defendant of the case straight up vanishes, in a puff of smoke just like a magic trick. No one ever saw him again (you see him again in a later apollo justice case but it’s more cryptic this way). After the court settled down from that, Phoenix was disbarred for his use of forged evidence and was left alone. Alone, save, for an eight year old Trucy Wright, formerly Trucy Gramarye. That’s right. Zak left his little daughter behind when he disappeared that day, and Phoenix was left to raise a child without his source of lawyerly income. And 7 years from that is where Apollo Justice starts.

So Trucy serves as Apollo’s assistant during the rest of the game. Most of the cases relate back to the Zak Gramarye backstory, you slowly get the whole picture of what really happened as each case goes on. Klavier is your primary prosecutor for this game. Klavier is my absolute favorite because he’s such a freak. In the Japanese games he sprinkles American phrases in his sentences because America is really cool over there, but the way the localization works American references have been switched to German references, and so Klavier turns into this weird German wannabe guy who says things like ‘achtung!’ and ‘ach’ and ‘wunderbar.’ In addition to being a prosecutor he’s in a rock band, so he wears a lot of leather and one of his court sprites in an air guitar. He just riffs on the air for a good ten seconds. He’s so stupid and very much one of them hot idiots and I love him so much. His and Apollo’s dynamic is a beautiful succession to the Edgeworth/Phoenix romance rivalry. The first time we see him he’s staring us down with his hands on his hips and he says ‘I’m used to being inspected by the ladies, but I’ve never felt this way with a man.’ And I just. God he’s so gay. He’s so gay how could he not be. He’s so fucking gay just look at him look him up he is a disaster mess I fucking love him for it

The detective in Apollo justice is also my favorite!!! You remember Ema Skye? The assistant you get in the bonus case of the first ace attorney, the girl who wants to be a forensic scientist? She’s back! It’s her! She’s not a forensic scientist (though in Spirit of Justice she finally gets to that position and she’s so happy and I’m so happy for her) and so she’s pretty grumpy all the time, since she’s stuck doing detective grunt work essentially, but her sprites are full of such emotion and I really adore her character design. She’s very passionate about fingerprinting and spraying luminol fluid and she is what got me hooked on forensics but that is not important she is super passionate about her dream job and she hates Klavier with a burning passion. He tries to be her friend and she is Not Having It. Ever. It’s so funny.

Taking a step back, Trucy and Apollo are actually biological siblings!! They share the same mom, though it’s never said in canon that they figure that out. Thalassa Gramarye, the one from the magic troupe, left the troupe when she was very young and met a musician named Jove Justice. They got married and had a son, Apollo, but while traveling to another kingdom Jove was killed and in the chaos of it all Apollo was lost. Thalassa was devastated and went back home, got married to Zak Gramarye, and had another child, Trucy. Thalassa was supposedly killed during an accident during a magic show, but she actually just lost her memory and wandered the world as a mysterious singer trying to live her life without knowing anything about herself. The siblings never know of their relation, but man that doesn’t stop the sibling energy from shining through. They have SUCH the dynamic of older brother little sister like it’s insane. The first trial Trucy co-counsels for she does this dramatic thing where she pretends to be kidnapped to buy them more time but Apollo thought she was actually kidnapped and he almost cries it’s very funny and also cute. Poor guy. Honestly all of apollo justice could be summed up by looking at Klavier and Apollo and saying poor guys.

Anyway I’m sleepy and I wanna finish all the asks I got so hopefully that is what you wanted! Sorry if this was too long I really like the apollo justice era. It’s such good story and the characters are my favorites, I enjoy them more than any other group. I hope this all makes sense.

[actual-changeling]

If this weren't my own post I'd feel about about the reblog I am about to write because this will get long—but since it is, I do not.

Let's dive into it because I think there have been a few misinterpretations.

… This doesn't make sense. That's like saying their relationship is toxic or abusive bc ngl, using love as a way to control another person is fucked up

Yes and no. I would not say it is about love itself but more about the expression of it, and while it can be abusive, most of the time it's simply an unhealthy part of a relationship dynamic that the people involved need to work on.

If two people get into a fight, one might be upset and withhold affection that is otherwise a normal, daily thing. There's a difference between needing space to process and think and refusing to listen to your partner to sulk in a corner, to kick them out of the bedroom, to not offer them a kiss when they leave for work for no reason.

In people's brain withholding affection is seen as an appropriate punishment for causing negative emotions. Does that automatically make that relationship abusive? No. But it's not healthy either. I know exactly what it looks like when this is part of an abusive dynamic and it's not pretty.

Aziraphale doesn't use it as a carrot or a stick. Aziraphale can't control Crowley any more than Crowley can control Aziraphale.

Yes, technically the opportunities for that are equal, and yet Crowley seldom tries to manipulate or control Aziraphale, while there is canonical evidence that Aziraphale does it with Crowley.

And Aziraphale not knowing love as a comfort — like he does. He's probably the foremost occult being who knows what comfort feels like.

Love as comfort—mostly for himself. When he does offer it to Crowley, however, it is conditional. Just look at the first argument they have about Jimbriel, Aziraphale not only refuses to take his concerns seriously but also kicks him out. The message here is very clear: If you do not do what I want then you will no longer get the comfort I allowed you before.

There are many good aspects of their relationship, of course there are! However, there are also many unhealthy and outright bad parts too, and they are such an intrinsic pert of their dynamic it relies on those to function—which is bad.

Crowley would not be half as obsessed as he is with Aziraphale if he wasn't bringing him refuge and safety and companionship and comfort.

To a degree, yes. But once again, there is canonical evidence that Crowley does not and cannot trust Aziraphale with emotional matters. Look at season two: Aziraphale constantly and continuously degrade his fears, any attempt at talking about them is either met with dismissive annoyance or "you're being silly".

Everyone is always on about Crowley not talking to Aziraphale about his trial in heaven, but if you were in his position, would you tell him? Would just sit down with the person who yes, is your friend and who loves you, but still calls you a demon, evil, a liar? Who has no concept of falling and hell and historically hasn't taken you seriously when you tried to explain it?

There are different levels of safety and comfort, and they have some but not others.

"it was never heaven and hell keeping them apart, not really. unless they disturb the cosmic dials they are more or less allowed to just live." no the fuck they weren't.

Yes they were left alone. They were. It's right there in canon.

There has always been an apocalypse on the horizon, but in the six thousand years leading up to that? Heaven in particular did not give a single shit unless it interfered with their plans, e.g Job and later the Anti-Christ. While Hell cares about collecting souls and have a way tighter grip on Crowley, heaven is so far removed from earth and what he is doing on earth that they couldn't blend in with humans even if they wanted to.

Aziraphale's qualms about their relationship come from within, not heaven's control over him—which, again, is almost non-existent until apocalypse Nr. 1. His trauma influences it, yes, but there's a difference between heaven-based trauma contributing to his internal moral dilemma and Crowley being tortured in hell for doing one good deed.

Aziraphale simply does not understand what it means to be a demon, but he wants to be a 'good angel'—and good angels do not work with demons. There are always two main convictions butting heads:

Heaven is cruel vs. Heaven has to be fundamentally good.

Crowley is a demon and evil vs. I have seen him do kind things which demons cannot do.

His solution is to separate them and peel back the layers depending on what he needs/wants in that specific moment.

Like Aziraphale extending a wing over not only over Crowley but also Adam and Eve was confirmed to be intentional by the director. It's already a declaration

It's simply a neat little thing they did to show that to us as the audience, yes, but it is not something Aziraphale did on purpose? Subtext, that's all, so I don't see the relevance.

Edit: and another thing. "they both learnt their love from Heaven and it shows" so you could leverage that against Aziraphale and Crowley, who has more less manage to distance themselves to some degree from Heaven and Hell and work closely with humans, BUT NOT AGAINST GABRIEL AND BEELZEBUB????

Of course it also applies to those two, no one ever said otherwise? The main difference is that Beez and Gabriel love each other like a demon and an angel, their concept of partnership is fundamentally different from Crowley's and Aziraphale's, which is based on human love.

Crowley wants to break out of his role as a demon, Beez doesn't care! They are each other's heaven and hell, they do not mind or give a single shit about the whole demon/angel dynamic. Same with Gabriel, he still sees himself as an angel, he just doesn't care about his former job, and whatever they get up to in the stars is going to be very different from Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship.

To summarize: The original points still stand.

Of course there is nuance to it and discussion to be had, but that should be taken as a normal part of any post without everyone having to put a "this is not a black and white issue" disclaimer at the top.

they love each other and that's the problem.

i don't mean love in the romantic sense, i mean it in a "we have been alone together for six thousand years" way. you do not simply give that up, no matter how much you hurt, how many rejections you need to experience, how much time you spend apart.

they clung to each other until aziraphale asked for the one thing in the universe crowley cannot and will not do (and rightfully so).

we could have been us—i would have done almost everything for you, but not this. never this.

aziraphale loves him, and he treats him the way he does because he loves him and despite loving him, both at the same time. it doesn't excuse it, mind you, but it makes it feel even more painful. he loves him, underneath it all, and yet he cannot express it, not the way he is.

it was never heaven and hell keeping them apart, not really. unless they disturb the cosmic dials they are more or less allowed to just live. crowley tried to make him see what he was forced to learn what he fell, he gave him the chance he never had—and aziraphale did not take it.

crowley kept offering because he loves him. aziraphale kept trying because he loves him.

yet in the end, love did not and could not have saved them, and that is the real tragedy of it all. they had to part this way. they are so twisted around one another that they were suffocating, the space to breathe is long overdue for both of them.