#I insist that if we truly were supposed to hate him from the get go

[mostlikelytofangirl]

Was JGY supposed to be a villain, a sympathetic character, or both?

Well anon, this is completely my fully personal opinion on the matter, I'm not the writer and only she can tell what her real intensions behind the characterizations were.

To me, he is definitely a tragic character first and foremost, one who had as miserable a life as it gets, and was rarely given a break from misfortune until his very, very bitter end.

Now, that doesn't mean that he hadn't committed crimes, but you know what? For me, a villain is someone who purposedly sets out to cause harm and evil upon the world. You have WRH, for example. The argument can totally be made that what he did to NMJ was as villainous as it gets, and it would be correct! You see, he is someone's villain; he is the villain in NHS' story.

But from a classical narrative pov, with a hero and a villain that have personal stakes in each other's lives and plans... WWX had nothing against JGY. JGY had nothing against WWX. If the revenge plot had never been set in motion, those two could have gone on their entire lives without giving a casual thought to what the other was doing (kindasorta as WWX would still be dead lol).

Also, a villain is someone who throughout the story is shown to be this evil force that is bringing upon the world desolation and chaos. The cultivation world under JGY's administration was the most peaceful it had been in over a decade, he had social projects going on and all! He was doing absolutely nothing nepharious when the entire plot happened.

JGY is a polarizing character, a morally dubious one with heavy allegations weighing on him (the fact that some of those got never fully proven is vital to the parallel with WWX). But if he had been supposed to be seen as a full blown villain that all heroes despised, he wouldn't have been written to be so sympathetic, wouldn't have his good deeds shown as well, and he would have personal beef with WWX and the other protagonists.

So tldr, I personally think he is a both, but with the BIG caviet that the villain part only applies to a specific set of characters that are not even the "heroes" of the story. Ultimately, he is mostly a narrative foil to highlight the dangers and cyclic nature of mob mentality and cancel culture, and I think that's what's we are supposed to focus on more than whether he truly had it coming or not.

[the-power-of-a-pen]

Oh, How I Love Thee

Fandom: Spider-Man 2 (PS5)

Summary: A series of cute moments between Harry Osborn and reader based on Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poem How Do I Love Thee?

Word Count: 3061

Pairing: Harry Osborn x reader (romantic)

Trigger Warning(s): Cursing, 3rd to last scene is reader panicking

A/n: I don't remember the last time I wrote a fic, but I loved the new Spiderman 2 on ps5 and I'm obsessed with/gay for Harry Osborn. Also apologies: English isn't my first language. Also please give feedback -- I have quite a few more of these in my drafts that I'll only publish if these are well-received!

How do I love thee?

Planks, nails, screws, and metal bars were strewn haphazardly across the floor of the apartment you shared with Harry. His eyebrows were furrowed the way they always do when he's determined to solve something. You'd long ago surrendered the instructions to him after his persistent insistence that he could figure it out. Instead, you simply leaned against him as you began organized the mess of a dresser you had attempted to assemble.

"Okay, how the fuck am I supposed to know with one of these screws is the 40 millimeter one?" he complained.

You adjusted yourself so that you were lounging more comfortably next to him with your chin on his shoulder while he wrapped an arm around your waist. “If I had to guess,” you started, “I’d probably read what’s on the top of each screw.”

He scoffed playfully. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

You gestured for him to give you the instructions, which he reluctantly did. "It says we need to put the x12 screws into the L2 bar first. Then we- oh for fuck's sake, why does this manual have pictures only? We're trying to build a coffee table, not a fucking time machine."

"Let's just try using the power drill on these," Harry suggested. "There's probably tons of extra parts in here that we can use if we mess up."

"Okay, Brunel. I thought you were a biochem major."

"Hey," he laughed. "Let a man dream. Can you hold this piece up?"

You obliged, and Harry picked up the nearest 40 mm-looking screw and drove it into the wooden bar at an angle to connect it to the bottom of the coffee table. You gave each other a look. It didn't seem right, but it did what it was supposed to.

"Trust the process?" you suggested. "I'm not going to try and read that chicken scratch again."

Harry shrugged. "Fair enough. As long as it stands up, right?"

The two of you repeated the process for the other four legs and the rack under the table. Finally, you propped it up to stand. It was a horrible mess, slanted and barely standing up. Truly, it looked more like a modern sculpture than a piece of furniture.

After a moment of silence, Harry said, "I'm gonna order something pre-made and get us takeout."

"Yeah," you sighed. "That's probably for the best."

Let me count the ways.

"I claim Yoshi," Harry declared as he selected the character for the round.

"Basic," you jabbed back. "My main's Toad, anyway. Rainbow Road?"

"Obviously."

The rain pattered against the windows outside. It was a perfect night to stay in.

As soon as the countdown finished, Harry sent a green shell your way and curved around you.

"Cheater," you jabbed as you spammed your controller to get back up.

"Hate the game, not the player," he bantered. "Oh, fuck you, Peach."

"How funny would it be if the bots won over us?"

"Not gonna happen," Harry replied. He threw a banana at your mini-kart and, by pure luck, managed not to crash into you.

On Harry's side of the split screen, it showed that he was on his final lap, with you a decent distance behind him. With the finish line in sight, you pulled the last trick in your sleeve. You grabbed Harry's chin and pulled him in for a passionate kiss, making him entirely lose focus. By the time you two pulled away, you were out of breath, and your side of the TV read 1st Place.

"Now who's cheating?" Although he was trying to scold you, the way he was catching his breath took away from it.

"Oh, please," you remarked. "You didn't mind."

Harry dropped his controller and, cupping your face with one hand and pulling your waist towards him with the other, he mumbled before kissing you, "Damn right I didn't.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.

Your phone buzzed, stirring you from your sleep. Rubbing some sleep from your eyes, you fumbled around for it, barely reading 7:23AM off of it. You tossed it over your shoulder and rolled over, hardly getting anywhere before Harry pulled you back into him.

He pressed a soft kiss to your neck and nuzzled into you. "G'morning, babe."

"Morning," you yawned. Your eyes adjusted to the morning light and you tried to massage some warmth back into your hands. A flock of pigeons brushed by your window, tracking in a breeze that brought shivers to your spine. You stirred again, trying to get up this time.

Harry tried and failed to grab for your hand. "Where are you going?"

You smiled to yourself. Harry's morning voice never got old. "I'm just closing the window. It's freezing in here."

He propped himself up on his elbow and commented, "Well, word around town is that I make a pretty good personal heater."

You hummed. "I'll take that into consideration." You sat down on his side of the bed and brushed some wild stray hairs out of his face. "But seriously, just because we have the day off, that doesn't mean we should spend all day in bed. I can make us hot chocolate the way you like it, and we can sit out in the park, maybe try to find something good in Midtown?"

"That sounds great, baby." Harry leaned into your touch. "After a quick nap."

You scoffed as he grabbed your waist to pull you on top of him. "Nothing's quick with you," you remarked.

Your boyfriend just smirked at you. "Part of why you love me." You settled down onto him, resting your head on his chest and intertwining your legs. "Just... five more minutes, babe," he implored you.

"Five more minutes," you agreed, already drifting back off to sleep.

When feeling out of sight for the ends of being and ideal grace.

The movie you had been watching had run its course, and you were beyond tired. You resigned yourself to quickly run through your skincare routine and find Harry so that the two of you could go to sleep.

You finished rinsing the cleanser off of your face and stretched with such force that you got dizzy. Shaking this feeling off, you called for your boyfriend.

"In the kitchen!" he called back. And he was there, but sheltered behind the kitchen island on the floor with his laptop and countless papers strewn around him. The fans in his computer sounded like a helicopter about to take off. "I'm just finishing these last few emails," he yawned. "Then I've got to review the results of bee drones, verify the statistics Dr. Loughran gathered on the organ reproduction project, and then I gotta check if they repaired the particle accelerator yet and-"

You sat yourself down next to him and gently shut his laptop, kissing his temple. "Why don't we deal with this tomorrow?"

Harry sighed and leaned on your shoulder. "I've been putting this off for a while. I'm so close to finishing, just like 30 more minutes."

You ran your fingers through his hair and felt him fighting to stay conscious. "You and I both know that's a lie, babe. The weight of the world doesn't rest on your shoulders. Take a break. The work will be there tomorrow."

"But-"

"What did May always say?"

Harry sighed again, but relented and put his head in your lap. "You help someone, you help everyone."

You arranged the papers around you into a pile and grabbed a cushion from one of the kitchen island's stools to put behind your back. "Let the person you help today be you, okay?"

But Harry was already fast asleep.

I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need.

"Do you ever wonder what would happen if you used conditioner before shampoo?"

"Not really," you conceded as you took another bite of your ice cream from your place on top of the dryer.

Harry sat on the floor organizing the dark, white, and delicate clothes into piles. "I mean, it's probably better for your hair, no? Like, the whole purpose of conditioner is to break down unwanted particles and moisturize your hair. If anything, it's probably better to do it that way."

"Maybe," you agreed as you hopped down and put the first load in the wash. "But wouldn't that be the same as using fabric softener before detergent?"

"Nope. Fabric softener just coats your clothes in microplastics. It's a long-term way of damaging the bonds between the atoms for temporary comfort. Technically, we should be using something like vinegar instead."

"I'm not putting vinegar on my clothes," you objected.

"Maybe you need to be more open-minded," he teased.

"Maybe you need to keep your head in the game," you teased back, throwing his dirty T-shirt at him. You yelped when he threw a sock your way. "Oh, I'll get you back for that."

"I'd like to see you try," Harry challenged.

By sun and candle-light.

Harry raced past you in the hallway, tugging on a shoe while awkwardly hopping. You sipped your tea from the kitchen island as you stared down the morning crossword.

"Running late?" you asked as he grabbed an apple and tossed it into his bag.

"Yeah," he replied, out of breath as he roughly kissed your cheek and gave you a squeeze before rushing towards the door. "Pete's gonna have to deal with the donors on his own if I don't get there on time. Wish me luck."

"Good luck." You filled out the five boxes for 23-across whose clue read 'Oscar-winner Streep.' "I love you."

"I love you, too," he called as he shut the door. Almost immediately, he opened the door again. "Forgot my keys!"

"They're on top of your nightstand," you called as you heard him tearing your room apart. The jingle of the keys confirmed that he got them, and he bounded over to you again.

"I love you," he breathed, kissing your cheek. "You're the best."

"I know," you chuckled. You leaned around the corner to watch him leave for the second time before returning to your morning routine. You had just finished eating your breakfast when Harry came running in again.

"Missed me already?" you joked.

"Forgot my phone," he explained, grabbing it from beside you. He kissed your cheek again. "But that, too."

"Love you!" you called as he fumbled with the doorknob and you walked to the living room. "Kick ass today."

He gave you a charming wink then slipped out the door.

You turned on the TV and let a talk show play in the background as you cursed at your crossword. This time, it took Harry about 6 more minutes to realize he had yet again forgotten something important. He barged in for the third and last time, profusely apologizing.

"You wouldn't happen to know a five-letter port city of Japan, would you?" you asked without looking up.

"Try Osaka?" Harry filtered through the pockets of his coats in the laundry room until he finally found his wallet.

"That fits."

Harry returned from the laundry room and leaned down, pressing three kisses to your lips. "Okay, I'm leaving for real now. I love you."

"I love you, too, babe. Show 'em how it's done."

I love thee freely, as men strive for right.

"Oh my God, you should've seen the look on Hasan's face when Vijay showed up. Like, I get it, you dated way back in the day, but showing up in all white? So then MJ went to go pull the wine trick on him while I tried to distract Hasan so that he wouldn't notice anything was going on, but of course the universe wasn't satisfied." You huffed and caught your breath in the middle of pacing back and forth in the living room. "You know what happened after that?"

Harry, from his comfortable corner in the couch covered his mouth to hide his amusement. "Jess said something?" he guessed.

"Jess opened her fucking mouth," you continued. "And she was drunk off her ass because she always is, and she comes up to Hasan on his fucking wedding day and starts shouting about Vijay coming over. So at this point, Song is already asking Hasan 'Have you been cheating on me? Is that what this is?' And obviously Hasan would never do that but now Song's upset so the two of them go to argue in the backroom while Keith escorts Vijay out and MJ and I have to babysit Jess for the rest of the evening." You paused and took a sip of your mocktail. "It was literal hell."

At this point, you realize the smile taking over Harry's face. "What?"

He shook his head as he surveyed you in admiration. "You're hot when you're angry."

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

"Do I look good?" Harry asked nervously as he adjusted his tie.

You brushed his mess of curls away from his forehead. "You look perfect. You are perfect."

"I really need this interview to go well," he said, biting his lips. "Whatever this guy publishes is gonna be severely edited by Jonah, and if even half of what MJ said was warning enough, we're screwed."

"You're going to be fine," you assured him. When that didn't seem to work, you grabbed him by his shoulders and said, "Your mom would be so proud of you. Don't worry about what you can't control."

Harry took in a deep breath, and, hugging you before going into the meeting room, whispered, "Let's heal the world."

I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

"Good morning," chirped the barista as you walked in to the small café. "What can I get started for you?"

"Just a small pumpkin latte, please," you replied. You shivered and wrapped your scarf tighter around you.

"Anything else I can get for you? Maybe my number?"

"No, thanks -- that'll be all," you assured her, glancing behind you to look for Harry.

You jumped when he touched your arm. "I've got this one, baby," he winked and offered his card. The barista's eyes widened in realization, and she silently finished the transaction. One of her coworkers finished off the order and handed it to you on the other end of the kiosk.

You unlocked your car with your keys and laughed when Harry rushed to open the door for you.

"What's so funny?"

"You're jealous, aren't you," you jested.

Harry mocked offense as he got into the car on the other side. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to, your majesty."

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints.

Harry crossed your arms on your chest and hugged you from behind to give you that comfort of pressure. "Breathe, babe. It's gonna be okay. This feeling will go away."

Your breathing was erratic, your face tingled, and you felt so dizzy you might pass out. "I could've lost you," you managed to get out between gasps. "So much could've gone wrong."

"I know," he said in a low voice. "I know. But everything's alright. Pete and Miles have a handle on things, they always do. That thing's gone. I'm okay. Everything's gonna be okay."

You rested your forehead on your knees, but Harry didn't let go of you. "I tried to get through to you but that thing just kept on speaking to me, and Dr. Connors said you were too far gone and then MJ told me what happened at the Foundation- fuck's sake you were in a coma for three weeks and you just show up-"

Harry crawled in front of you and gently took your face in his hands. "It was scary for me too, love. I thought it was going to hurt you and-" He took in a deep breath. "The worst is behind us, okay? Let's focus on that."

You nodded and tried to slow your breathing. After a moment: "None of that was your fault, you know? It wasn't you doing it."

"I know." He rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes with a shaky breath. "I know."

I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life;

"Okay, what do you think of this option?" You came out from the hallway with a new outfit and gave him a spin.

"Gorgeous," he breathed. "You look like an angel."

You sat down next to him on your bed. "Babe, I love you, but if all you do is flatter me, I'm not going to know what to wear to the gala."

Harry traced his fingers over the folds of your sides as you fiddled with the invitation in your hands. "Not my fault that my partner's hot."

"But it will be your fault if we're late," you retorted. "This one, the dark blue one, or the black one?"

He hummed. "This one," he replied with a wink. "It'll be easier to take off later."

He got up to leave the room, but you grabbed him by the tie, saying an inch away from his lips, "We'll see about that, handsome." And with that, you strutted away.

And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

You moved the needle onto the vinyl, letting the smooth jazz of Thelonious Monk fill the room. You waltzed over to Harry, and, wrapping one arm around his waist and grabbing his other hand, you swayed to the beat.

"C'mon, loverboy," you taunted him. "Show me some rhythm."

"I'm trying," he laughed, shuffling his feet.

"Baby, a little less Electric Slide, a little more moving those hips."

"Why don't you lead me instead?"

You spun in his arms and put your dominant leg between his legs and hummed as you swayed in a circle. Harry put an arm over your shoulder and started singing along.

"Glee Club paying off," you joked.

He bumped your nose. "Very funny."

You spun Harry as the music signalled that it was near its end.

"Have I ever told you that I love you?" Harry asked as he caught his balance.

You dipped him with the flourish of the music. "More than I can count."

[annwrites]

— pairing: shane walsh x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: you & shane (mostly you) try to talk hershel into letting you take care of the walkers in the barn

— tags: talking

— tw: discussions of loss of loved ones

— word count: 1,009

It'd taken a good bit of convincing on your part to talk Shane down from going full-steam-ahead and using the walkers in Hershel's barn for target practice.

Numerous soft words, touches, looks, and kisses later—and right in his lap, at that—he'd finally calmed enough to let you go inside and try and talk to Hershel yourself, instead of risking Shane, once again, acting first and thinking later, if at all.

At present, you and Hershel are seated at his dining room table, Shane leaning back against the wall, eyes intently upon you.

You lay your arms upon the tabletop, hands clasped in front of you. You do your utmost to maintain a calm, sympathetic demeanor, in every manor, as you talk with him. Shane had already done enough damage. So much so that when you'd initially come to Hershel to talk, Shane right on your heels, he'd initially told the both of you to get out.

He'd only acquiesced due to you and your genteel femininity.

"How do you know? How can you look at me and tell me you don't believe there's a chance? For a cure? Something? Rick insisted the same thing, and my answer is the same now as it was then: we've been fighting plague after plague since the world began. And we've always survived, just as we will now. Just as...as they might." Hershel asks, voice full of doubt.

"You've been sheltered here. I can appreciate that. But you've still seen them. Their skin is rotting from their bones. Entire limbs...missing. Their organs have decayed. There's...there's no coming back from what they've become. And I hate to say it, because it's still so awful to even try and accept, to even grasp, but they're walking corpses. Who they once were? Your neighbors and friends, your family—people you loved and cared for? They passed away a long, long time ago.

“I think that, even if by some miracle, a cure or vaccine—treatment—one day becomes available…it won’t apply to them. They’re too far gone for any amount of saving. And I’m so sorry to say that. Truly.”

He’s quiet for a long while, staring at the window across the room, his breathing steady. You know he’s thinking; considering.

He doesn’t look at you when he replies. “You’ve lost people you love. By your age, I assume your parents?”

He glances to you then and you nod.

“Would you see things this way if they were in there?”

“I would.” And you mean it.

Shane sighs. “Man, let me tell you somethin’-”

You turn abruptly toward him. “Shane, stop.” You say it firmly.

He shuts his mouth.

Hershel then looks at him. “If you speak again, this meeting is over. You’re not the one I agreed to listen to. I let you in my house as a courtesy. Same with my farm, which you and your people were supposed to have been gone from some time ago after Carl recovered. But I’ve allowed you to stay longer out of good Christian charity, which runs lowers with every word you speak. Don’t you forget that.”

Shane shakes his head, looking away, thumbs threaded behind his belt.

Finally, Hershel looks back to you. “How would you do it?”

“I’d really prefer—if you do agree to this—that you and your family not be here when we…put them down,” you say it as kindly—as softly—as you can manage. “I don’t want all of you bearing witness to it—in any form. I don’t want to risk any of you seeing it, or even hearing the gunshots.

“I know it’s dangerous: asking all of you to leave. But it would be, at most, for perhaps an hour. We can get started on digging the graves now…if you have an estimate of how many may need created? And then, when it’s time, a couple of our people can go with you, maybe to the training area we set up, since it’s already cleared out.

“And when you come back, and they’ve been laid in their graves, you tell us their names—what you want put on their markers—and we’ll help you do that, too. You’ll finally have a place where you all can go to see them. To talk to them. To mourn them and grieve. They can finally be put to rest.”

You reach across the table, resting your palm atop his clasped hands.

Hershel stares at the table and he’s quiet again for a long time. Then, “I need time to consider this. This isn’t a decision I can make on my own. They’re not just my family and friends.”

You nod, bringing your hand back. “I understand that. Take all the time you need.”

“And if I tell you, once I’ve decided, that my decision is no? If I tell you all to get off my land once and for all?”

You glance to Shane and you see his jaw feather and then he shakes his head.

You look back to Hershel. “Then we would leave. But you need to understand that…if you leave them in there…it may only be a matter of time. A matter of time before they get through the doors. Or break through the sides of the barn. And if—when—that happens… We won’t be here to help you if they begin to overrun the house, or your farm. So, I guess it’s a good thing Patricia, Jimmy, and Beth went through training.”

He stands then, as do you. “I’ll consider this.”

You smile. “Thank you for being willing to. For taking the time to listen to me.”

You all three head toward the front door, until Hershel stops Shane with a hand to his chest, which he then drops. “She’s an extraordinary young woman. You could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve her. Perhaps you should take that into consideration,” he nods his head toward you. “For her sake, when you think about what’s truly best for her.”

Shane doesn’t deign to give him a reply. He simply takes your hand firmly in his, leading you outside.

[cummin-n-cryin]

The Camping Trip

Minors/Blank blogs Do Not Interact!

Jade Leech x gn!reader

Tw: Nsfw, dubcon, manipulation, drugging, aphrodisiac, yandere??? (I didn't write this with yandere in mind but I'll just throw it in), I think that's it lemme know if I missed any!

Wordcount: 4,470

Side Note: *drags their body out of a dark cave* Hey fellas it's been awhile huh? Anyway life's been a bit crazy I got sick with a nasty cold, my cats getting her teeth removed because her body is attacking them, ect. Anyway It took me awhile to write this and I hope you all like it! I'm still a bit awkward at writing nsfw but hopefully this turned out okay!

You had joined the Mountain Lovers club a while ago. At first you hated the idea of joining the club. Hearing your friends whisper of how the club leader Jade was cold, cruel, and manipulative, it kind of scared you.

However, after interacting with all the other clubs and their members, you found that none of them really held your interest like the Mountain Lovers Club did. In the end, you decided to say fuck it and just go for it, hoping that it would all go well.

And it did! It didn't take you two that long to become friends. Sharing his love of nature and exploration, you two found that you had much more in common than you originally thought!

While you couldn't say that you loved mushrooms as much as he did, you found his interest in them quite endearing. It was common for him to sit down with you and explain all the different mushrooms he had found after returning from one of his solo mountain treks. He'd answer every little question you had with a bright smile.

It was hard to see Jade in a negative light when he looked so happy with his little fungi. Watching him happily talk about how healthy his mushrooms are or how his mushroom spawn was finally successful after so much failure. To think that you used to think of him as such a horrible person...

If there was one thing that you didn't like about Jade it was how insistent he was on hiking alone. He would always tell you that, "You're not ready yet," or how he, "believes it would be safer if you didn't come along with him." It was very frustrating. Hiking in the mountains was one of the biggest reasons you even joined! Exploring the mountains is pretty much what the whole club was about!

So, why wouldn't he let you go hiking with him?

One day you had enough and cornered the slimy eel. You bombarded him with questions until he finally caved, though it wasn't the answer you expected. "I was trying to find the best route for you," he stated simply. "Since it's your first time I thought it would be nice to find the best route so that you could truly appreciate the beauty of the mountains without having to worry about the rough terrain."

He held his hands together, a small smile tugging at his lips as he continued, "Besides I thought I should make our first hiking trip something truly special. I had only recently been able to acquire a tent and thought that we should try camping as well. But, if you have better things to do then I suppose I'll just go all by myself," he finished with a small frown on his face. His eyes turning away from you, he looked like he was about to cry.

You felt like slapping him. "Of course, I want to go camping with you!" you yelled at him.

Jade smiled at you, "Well then, seeing how enthusiastic you are, take this," he hands you what looks to be a guide for hiking. "Oh, and this as well." He gives you a list of things to bring for the trip. "How about we go tomorrow? My schedule is empty for the next couple of days," you responded with a thumbs up, and soon you both went your separate ways.

You may not have completely thought this through.

Sweat dripped down your forehead and your legs were shaking like a newborn deer. You were beyond tired of walking. Jade was quite far ahead of you and seemed far too distracted within his own mind to notice your miserable state.

With a heavy sigh you decided to sit on a nearby fallen tree. Thankful for the cold water you brought with you, you greedily gulped it down. You couldn't help but wonder how you thought this was a good idea.

Well, you don't completely regret your decision. Jade wasn't lying about how beautiful this place was. Looking around you, you can honestly say you've never seen so much greenery in your life.

Everywhere you looked there was some mysterious plant that was sprouting or growing. Even looking up, the trees formed a canopy above you, the sun's rays glittering through the tree's leaves gave the area an almost mystical feel.

Now that you think about it, how deep into the woods are you? You know that you and Jade had been walking for a long time but, just how long? How far was the school from here?

You suddenly felt an icy breeze across the back of your neck.

.

.

Your breath caught in your throat, goosebumps covered your skin as your hair rose. You swear something just breathed on you.

You didn't dare move.

The sound of a snapping stick caught your attention. You whipped your head in the direction of the noise.

"Oh, my apologies for running up ahead. I must have overestimated how much you could handle. My sincerest apologies for my oversight. I promise it won't happen again," he said. You sighed; it was only Jade.

While you would have been mad at his almost cheeky tone, you were still freaked out about what just happened. If that wasn't Jade then what the hell was that?

You're snapped out of your thoughts by Jade's voice, "Perhaps we should set up our camp here?" he asked, already setting his backpack on the ground. "Uh- um- yeah, let's do that," you stuttered, pulling off your backpack as well.

Jade approached you looking concerned, "Oh my, did something happen?" You laugh off his question saying that you were fine. Thankfully, he didn't pry further and instead focused on helping you set up the tents.

Maybe you were overthinking things and it was just a simple cold breeze. Heh, yeah. That's all that it was...

Setting up camp was not as easy as you thought it would be. The strings of the tent occasionally whipped you in the face or escaped your grasp as you tried to hammer them down into the ground. Thankfully Jade was there to help.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. Jade went hunting for mushrooms and you decided to wander around the area, never straying too far from the camp. Night soon came so you and Jade decided to have your dinner, eating some of the mushrooms he collected along with a few snacks you two decided to bring on your trip.

You both woke early, the sun just barely peeking through the thick canopy of trees above you as you both walked deeper into the mountain's woods. You were a bit worried about straying too far from camp but Jade reassured you that you both wouldn't be going that far.

The adventure was far more calming than when you both had first started hiking up the mountain. Jade spent less time walking and more time observing his surroundings, sketching or taking pictures of all the interesting little plants he finds and of course documenting all the fungi he finds.

You would occasionally ask him about the things he was drawing but mostly left him to do his own thing. While he did that, you wandered around looking at all the rocks and small ponds that were scattered around the area. You even borrowed Jade's camera to take a few pictures of some beautiful flowers you found. Whether it be a little snail on a leaf or a running stream that reflected the sunlight causing it to cast a rainbow-like effect onto anything nearby, you were there taking a picture of it.

But, looking out into the beautiful forest, you realized that you couldn't really capture all of the scenery that you wanted. If you could somehow get just a bit higher up then you could capture a whole lot more.

Looking around, you caught sight of a nearby boulder. You quickly looked over to Jade, he wasn't paying any attention to you, instead he seemed to be busy with his sketches.

Good.

Smirking to yourself, you firmly held onto his camera as you climbed up the boulder. Looking over to Jade again you see that he was still very much engrossed in his drawing. Now on top of the boulder, you carefully stand up not wanting to slip off and hurt yourself.

Woah! You could see so much from up here!

The view from atop the boulder was beautiful. You could truly see the expanse of the forest. You hold up the camera, stilling your hands, you hit the button with a resounding click. You take a few more pictures. Once satisfied with the pictures you turn to get off the boulder.

.

.

You slip.

A loud cracking noise hits your ears as you land feet first on the hard ground. A searing pain shoots up your leg and you scream.

Your scream attracts Jade's attention and he quickly rushes over. He tries to calm you down, telling you to breathe as he carefully helps lift you off the ground. Jade lets you wrap an arm around him as he assists you back to camp. Jade had stayed true to his word, you both really didn't go that far from the camp as you make it back quite quickly.

Jade sets you down in your tent, leaving you there while he goes to get supplies to help you. All you can do is lay on your bed and try your best to not move your injured leg too much. He soon returns and carefully looks at your injury. You hiss in pain as he moves your foot around.

"Thankfully, it appears your ankle is only sprained," he says while still moving your leg around. You want to yell at him to stop moving your leg around so much, instead you bite your lip just wanting him to finish fixing your ankle. Jade sighs, "Perhaps you've been spending too much time with Floyd? Seeing how reckless you've become."

Great Seven, you've never wanted to hit him so badly. Maybe after you both return to NRC you should go to the Mostro Lounge and order smoked eel. Just imagining the look of disgust he'd give you almost makes this worth it.

He carefully wraps your ankle and it's... nice.

Jade treats your injury with a certain tenderness that you didn't really expect him to have. You can't tell if he's being so gentle because he doesn't want to make your injury worse than it already is or if there's something else. You watch him. Trying your best to see if you could figure out if he had some hidden motivation or if he really was just trying to wrap your stupid ankle.

Though, as you observe him you start to feel a bit odd. You quickly become a bit too aware of the way his hands feel on your skin.

His hands were a bit rough, more than likely from his gardening and his mountain treks, but they felt quite nice against your skin. His hands wrapped your ankle in precise and calculated movements as if he's done this thousands of times before. You found the way his hands moved almost mesmerizing; their fluid motion was messing with your head. You started to focus more and more on Jade, seemingly becoming entranced by him.

As quickly as the strange haze overcame you it had left as Jade stood up, dusting off his pants. You reluctantly thank Jade and suggest that it would probably be best if you two made your way back to NRC to get a proper doctor to help you.

"Do you not trust in my abilities, Y/n? Besides, I'd be quite lonely without you here. All alone collecting these mushrooms," Jade trailed off, a small frown on his face.

You rolled your eyes, "I'm sure you did a great job fixing my ankle Jade. It's just that-" you suddenly stopped. Hearing sniffling, you looked up at Jade's face only to see he was crying.

"I apologize Y/n. It's just that I spent so much time trying to make sure that this trip would go well and I know how desperate you were to come hiking with me. But if you wish for me to take you back to NRC than I shall," he said while trying to dry his tears.

You suddenly felt a bit guilty. After so long of bothering Jade to take you hiking with him, you're both finally out here together and while you just wanted a simple hiking trip, Jade went out of his way to make your first time out in the mountains memorable. Who knows what he had to do to let Crowley allow him to camp all the way out here.

Actually, that's a really good question. Does Crowley even know you're out here with him?

Whatever, it's not like you're both going to be out here forever and this might be the only time you can go camping with him. A couple days of not being bothered by Ace, Deuce, Grim, or Crowley is a blessing that rarely appears, so may as well enjoy the trip while it lasts.

With a sigh, you give in, "Fine, I'll stay."

Jade gives a small smile, his tears drying faster than you would have liked, "I assure you, I'll take good care of you while we're here."

He really tried to keep you happy. He'd help you out of your tent so you wouldn't be stuck in there all day. Unfortunately, because of your injury you couldn't exactly leave the camp site but he'd sometimes guide you to different spots that he wanted to show you. Small ponds with the occasional frog and numerous small plants, groups of fungi growing on a decomposing tree and other interesting things. And if he couldn't bring you with him then he'd just bring the item to you. He'd bring small plants, many mushrooms and sometimes small animals that he somehow managed to get his hands on.

Jade would sometimes leave for long periods of time but you didn't mind as whenever he came back he'd talk to you about everything he saw and of course teach you about all the mushrooms he's collected.

You were glad his mushroom hunting was going well but, it does kind of suck that most of what you eat is the mushrooms he's collected. At least you have a few different snacks in your bag but you're sure that by the end of the trip you probably won't be eating mushrooms for at least a month after this.

Things were going quite well until the next day.

Hot chills shook your body as you tried to sleep in your tent. Your skin felt hypersensitive, every little thing that touched you made you very aroused. Even the slightest movement of fabric against your skin made you shiver in need. You didn't know why you suddenly felt so hot and bothered by everything that merely touched you but, something was definitely not right.

"My you look quite distressed," Jade said observing you from the door of your tent.

You didn't respond, instead you tried to hide under your blanket. You could hear him approach your huddled form. Listening as he hummed thoughtfully to himself before speaking, "Can you tell me what symptoms you're having?"

You tried to come up with something, you weren't going to tell him that you just woke up uncontrollably horny for some reason! That's a very awkward conversation that you really didn't want to have with him so, grumbling a bit, you finally settled on, "Everything's hot."

He seemed to think about your answer for a bit, "Do you have anything else? Runny nose, sore throat, headaches, or coughing?" he asked. "No," you replied albeit a bit quickly. You felt him move closer to you. You could feel his gaze boring into you even while hiding under the blanket and it made you very uncomfortable.

He was quiet for what was probably only a couple minutes but it felt like hours as you waited for him to say something. You could hear him mumble to himself but you couldn't make out any of the words.

Suddenly, he grabs your thigh. You gasp as his cold grip sends a shock through your body. You're quickly overcome with a strong feeling of arousal. Panicking, you throw off your blanket to try and get his hand off of you. Thankfully, he pulls away. Jade looks at you surprised before he gives a small smile, "I think I know what ails you and I can help but I need you to tell me that you trust me."

You hate the way he words things so ominously sometimes. It's not that surprising that he probably knows something you don't, besides you're not originally from this world so maybe the way you're feeling is something that just happens sometimes? But his request is a bit too specific. You can't help but feel like he's planning something.

As you think, you realize it's becoming more and more difficult to think at all. You feel like your mind is slowly turning into mush. You're thoughts keep turning to the way Jade's hand felt on your thigh, much to your dismay.

Seeing your apprehension, Jade pulls out a glass vial from his pocket. "Here's your cure," he states simply.

Your eyes widen and you try to grab it but he quickly pulls away, "No, no, you need to say you trust me first." You make a noise of frustration before lunging at him.

You both fall to the floor. You're on top of Jade as you desperately reach out for the vial. He wraps an arm around you and pulls you close to him. You stop breathing for a moment, completely forgetting about the vial as you become hyperaware of the way Jade's body feels against yours. You can feel his chest rub against yours everytime he breathes, his strong arm wrapped around your lower back to hold you in place and his hand holding onto your side.

You feel breathless as he leans up towards you. His breath caresses your ear as he whispers, "Say it and it's yours," his voice sends shivers through you.

You stare up at the vial being held above your head before daring to look down at Jade.

His eyes glow in the darkness of the tent and no matter how hard you try you can't look away. "Say it," he whispers, his voice lulling you deeper and deeper into the fog of lust slowly clouding your mind.

You can't stop yourself when you breathlessly whisper, "I trust you."

.

.

Your heart beats faster as a wicked smile filled with sharp teeth crosses his face as he gazes up at you, his eyes glowing with barely suppressed hunger.

You think that you may have just made a grave mistake.

Quickly, he flips you onto your back and you go boneless, only having the strength to look up at him now looming above you.

Jade sits up and straddles you, his legs on either side of you, as he places the glass vial off to the side, just out of your reach. He then moves one of his hands to the zipper of his jacket, slowly unzipping it before pulling it off of him. You admire the way his broad shoulders roll as he removes his jacket.

He moves his hands towards you, using one of his hands to hold him up, he uses the other to slowly trace a line from the bottom of your jaw all the way down to your chest and further towards your stomach before finally grabbing the hem of your shirt. He pulls it up and you try to help him get it off of you. You feel so hot, you want him to just rip your clothes off already.

You reach up and grab his face catching him by surprise as you pull him down and kiss him. He laughs into the kiss, "Quite needy, aren't you?" You only moan in response and he takes the opportunity to quickly slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. His hands caress your body as his tongue dances with yours.

You can't think at all anymore, your mind nothing more than a pile of mush. All you can think of is Jade and the way he's touching you. How his rough cold hands soothe your burning skin and how his soft lips feel against yours. It's almost overwhelming. You're so focused on the kiss and the way he's touching you that when he finally pulls back, a string of saliva connecting your lips, you don't even realize you're completely naked.

Jade changes position, opting to sit in between your legs. You feel his hands glide down your naked body. A moan slips out and you quickly bite your hand to try and muffle it. Jade smiles, "No one but me is going to hear you my dearest, I've made sure it, so please," he looks down at you, his eyes dark with lust, "be as loud as you want."

He grasps your hips lifting you up slightly as he leans forward. You can feel the hard bulge in his pants pressing against your core. He grinds into you and you almost pass out right then and there. He's so close, so close to giving you what you want.

"Jade please-" you're interrupted by another roll of his hips against you.

"Hm? Do you need something?" he asks teasingly, a sly smile on his face. You groan in frustration. If he's not going to give you what you want then you'll just take it for yourself.

You quickly sit up and reach out, grabbing his pants. You try to get them off of him, not wanting to wait any longer. But your lust leaves you weak, your hands are shaky and with little effort Jade pushes your hands away from him. He sighs, "You're so impatient but if this is what you want, I'll strive to live up to your expectations."

He undoes his pants for you and pushes you back so you're laying down again. He leans down and kisses you, shoving his tongue into your throat as if he's trying to devour you. At the same time, you can feel something hard nudging against your entrance. Before you realize what it is, he quickly thrusts himself into you.

Your nails dig into his skin and you let out a choked moan as you feel all the wind get knocked out of you. Jade pulls away from the kiss, breathing heavily as you squeeze around him. "So impatient," he mumbles against your neck. You moan and writhe against Jade, tears stream down your face as he waits for you to get used to his size.

He places kisses on your neck, occasionally nibbling the skin with his shark-like teeth as he very slowly thrusts into you. You can't help but think that if he really wanted to, he could probably kill you. It's a morbid thought but thinking about it sends a shiver down your spine.

His speed increases as you get more adjusted to his girth. His thrusts becoming harsher and his grip on you grows tighter, almost painfully so. He pulls his face away from you, looking down at you.

"I'm sure somewhere in your mind you must be wondering why you've become like this, yes?" You don't respond to his question. The only thing you can think about right now is the way his cock feels pounding inside you and how when he angles himself a certain way it makes you see stars.

But soon he slows down, his thrusting stopping altogether. You try to make him move again, pulling him towards you and whining in desperation but he easily holds you down, seemingly unbothered.

"Well," he continues, "You might have figured it out by now but the mushrooms I've been feeding you have aphrodisiac like effects. I'll be honest, I didn't believe mushrooms could effect someone in such a way. Originally, I was going to try them out on myself. But you just wanted to go on a mountain trek with me so, so badly and it made me think that perhaps, you would be the perfect test subject and well," he grabs your tear-stained face forcing you to look at him, "looking at you now... You certainly are perfect."

"Though," he suddenly continues, letting go of your face, "I hadn't intended to give you such a large dosage. I must have overestimated how much your body would be able to handle. I apologize for not keeping my promise." He feigns a sad expression.

"Sh- Shut up," you barely mumble out.

Jade's eyes go wide in surprise for a moment before he laughs, "Oh, so you can speak? I see..."

He reaches over and grabs the vial, "Well, considering that I've gotten what I've wanted, it's only fair that I give you what you want."

He pops open the glass vial, grabbing your face, he opens your mouth but as he goes to pour it, the vial slips out of his hand and breaks, the liquid spilling out onto the floor next to you. A small, "Oops," escapes Jade's lips as he looks at the now spilled vial.

"Oh, well I suppose we'll just have to cure you the natural way, hm?" Jade says with a smile.

You let out a long, frustrated groan.

Jade lightly takes your ear between his teeth before moving down to plant light kisses along your shoulder and neck as he roughly slams himself into you. His hands harshly grab onto your thighs and hip. His nails digging into your flesh as he slowly loses himself to pleasure.

"Ah, don't be like that. Besides," he sharply thrusts into you making you gasp, "You seem to be enjoying this." His thrusts increase in speed, his hips snapping into you, driving his cock even deeper inside you.

He leans down towards you, breathe heavy as he whispers into your ear, "And, if I had to make an educated guess, I think that truthfully this is what you really want."

It soon becomes too much for you and you can feel yourself tighten around his cock before cumming. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as the intensity of your orgasm leaves you breathless.

He slightly slows down but he doesn't stop. With what little strength you have, you try pushing him away as the stimulation becomes too much for you but he grabs your hands and places a kiss on your palm.

You can hear the cruel smile on his lips as he whispers, "I'm far from done with you."

[littlemisslipbalm]

Karaoke Nights at the Hooded Crow

Jake Kiszka x fem!reader

Absolutely impossible decisions were made in regard to this cover photo wow...jake is just so beautiful anywayssss my return to posting fics is a piece I realized was good enough and complete enough to finish and I haven't worked on in months so enjoy! Maybe eventually I'll work up a part 2 and then wait months to post that...anyway theres a potential for a josh moment in this let me know what y'all think hmmm...

Word Count: 8.4k | Warnings: swearing, drinking, angst, and some smut 18+ (just fingering?)

-

Josh found himself alone at this dive karaoke bar for a multitude of reasons. And he could count on his hand all the ones that made this Jake’s fault. 

Jake had insisted that the band do another outing to a bar for photographs, he had hated the ones from when they went to billiards and Josh had missed those anyway. This was supposed to make up for it. But then Jake had come down with food poisoning a half hour ago and Josh was already there. Sam and Danny had bailed once they heard Jake wasn’t going to make it. 

Why hadn’t Josh been late like the rest of the band? He had to walk because his car was in the shop and had left early to give himself ample time. And why –? Because of Jake. He had borrowed Josh’s car to take a quick camping trip up in the mountains the other week and an engine light had popped up when he returned it to Josh. So since Josh was already there and had no car to drive him home easily, he decided he might as well stay for a drink before walking the 25 minutes back to his home. 

That’s how he ended up with a beer in his hand watching drunken strangers absolutely demolish beloved karaoke classics. And he meant demolish in the worst sense possible. That is, until, one girl bounced up to the stage, a blue mini bucket of alcohol in her hand. She wore a pair of purple plaid pants that buttoned in the front and a matching yellow tank top, with black platform boots that made her seem taller than she really was. Her hair was in braids that swung hypnotically as she walked onto the shitty scuffed up raised edge that the bar called a stage. 

She grinned at a table that had people that were presumably her friends. She and them were the youngest people there besides Josh it seemed. After another long sip from the blue bucket, she placed it on the patched up stool that adorned the stage for people to sit on if they wished. She grabbed the mic from its stand and switched it between her hands a few times before looking out at the measly crowd. 

“How’re we doin’ tonight?!” 

There was a surprisingly large roar of response for how little people were there. Josh looked around the room and saw that most of the bar had livened up at her presence on the stage. If he had to guess, she was a regular. 

“Beautiful, my darlin’s, really. It’s good to see all my friends after such a long week,” She beams as she truly smiles at the majority of the crowd. Her eyes must roam past Josh quickly because he barely feels her gaze on his, but she certainly notices him. He doesn’t exactly fit in. “And any new friends, welcome to the best night of singing you’ll hear in all of Nashville.” 

The crowd laughs boisterously, with some hollers of agreement and Josh swears she just winked at him.  

A guitar riff begins to play softly and then louder, an unfamiliar song to Josh, but the girl nods her head along and smiles to herself before turning on her heels and walking to the back of the stage. 

“I take my time,” She begins to sing, “to walk a straight and narrow line.” Her body follows a straight line as she walks back to the front. She grins, “My mind’s a haze and I am stuck in just one place.” 

She continues to act out the song, performing it with vigor as her melodic voice belts the lyrics loudly. “No I can barely move, no I can’t get away… Well my vanilla shoes, they won’t let me escape!” 

She belts the chorus almost at a level that Josh might and he’s blown away, jaw slightly slack as his eyes track her every movement. She winks again and this time it’s not to Josh and his head is quick to look for the recipient, before realizing he needed to chill. 

For the second verse, she drops to her knees and Josh is in awe that she wanted more than just her shoes to touch the gross floor. Before he knew it she was back to the chorus and then the song was finishing up with a run of ‘la da da da, da da da’ that the bar joined in on and she was grinning from ear to ear singing it right into the faces of the tables closest to the stage. 

The song finished and she applauded the crowd as they applauded her. She laughed and then scooped up her drink and took another sip before returning to her friends’ table. 

Josh wanted to go talk to her but he wasn’t sure what he’d say. For once, he was at a loss for words. He didn’t want to just approach her and compliment her singing ability, that felt weird for a karaoke bar, but it was true. She was incredible, much too good just to be singing a single song at a random bar on the outskirts of Nashville once a week. 

Before he could make up his mind on what to say to her without looking like an idiot or worse, an asshole, he looked back to the table he had seen her walk over to when the song finished and saw that she was nowhere to be seen. Gone. His first instinct was to look around the rest of the room, look down the rest of the bar top and see if she was waiting for another drink…No such luck. Josh waited for another hour of wretched singing in hopes that she would pop back up, but she had seemingly left without her friends who still sat there laughing and drinking the night away.

Josh managed to drag Jake back to the bar the next Friday. The same bar where he’d seen that girl perform flawlessly. He was still in awe of how good she was just to be doing karaoke, even in Nashville. She was an incredible singer and performer yet it didn’t seem like she was trying to make it in Nashville, she was just there having a good time with her friends. Maybe she was just visiting but Josh had a hard time believing that any tourist would end up there on purpose and the way the crowd responded to her gave away her loyalty to this haunt. So he was left to hope that she was a regular who came in like clockwork and she would be there again tonight. 

At around 10:30, Josh was starting to get nervous that he was wrong and she wasn’t a local or she didn’t come every week on the same day and Jake was starting to get antsy no matter how many Jack Daniels neat Josh supplied him. But at 10:35, Josh was no longer worried, nervous still…maybe. 

She trounced up to the stage once more in a similar fashion as last week. An easy smile on her face and slightly droopy eyes from alcohol mixed with something else. She cleared her throat before pointing at the two girls at the high top table she had just thrown her jacket at. Josh couldn’t remember whether they were the same people as last week or not. 

Josh wondered briefly if she’d sing a similar song or if it’d be completely different. 

He didn’t have to wonder for very long because she pointed her finger next to the dj, subtly and steadily cueing for him to play the song now that she was settled on the shoddy stage. 

A bluegrass song began to sound and after one strum of the recording of the guitar she began to sing. Another song Josh didn’t seem to know, which puzzled him, but also delighted him at her thought-provoking nature. 

“C’mon down to where them tracks cross High Street, we’re gonna watch the whole world go insane.” 

She sang along to the words without looking at the monitor again, clearly knowing the song. Last week she had belted the lyrics with strength, this week, she was still strong, but she let a bit of a twang enter her voice and Josh wondered if it was just part of her performing the song because it sounded so authentic.

“Laugh if you want, really is kind of funny,” She regards the crowd after singing the chorus once more, “’cause the world is a car and you're the crash test dummy!” She points her finger and since Jake and Josh were seated at a hightop this week, about centered with the stage, it felt like she was pointing right at them. 

When she caught Josh’s eye for the third time in a row, Jake also leaned forward at her performance, whispering, ‘is that?’and Josh nodded before he could finish. Her eyes shifted to Jake and they widened a little bit. The twins noticed since they were watching so intently but before Jake could widen his smile or even half-smirk, her eyes had moved on and he was left feeling a little perplexed. 

The song was longer than the last one she had sung, but her energy was a little different. Not less, but shifted. She hadn’t greeted the audience and maybe it was because she had seemed late, given that she had run in and thrown her jacket on the table as if this was always her time. She also seemed more intoxicated than last week, but so was Josh so he couldn’t be sure. 

Afterwards she goes to the table with her jacket and as much as Jake and Josh want to go talk to her, someone comes up to them and interrupts. They ask for a picture and talk with the twins for a while, since the guys were nice and didn’t want to be rude to a fan. But when they look back up, she’s gone. Again. Her jacket was no longer on the high top where the two girls sat and Josh shook his head in dismay. Jake still looked around hopefully, making them sit there for another half hour in hopes that she would return. But as Josh had learned last week, she wouldn’t return for another week. 

The third week, Josh and Jake convinced Sam and Danny to come as well, hoping to see her once more. Entranced by the mysterious singer who was performing for free here, they implored their bandmates that this performance was worth the seedy location. Plus, the ambiance was starting to grow on Josh now that it was his third time visiting the establishment. Jake was happy to return as well, even brushing his hair for the occasion. 

Jake and Danny started with beers while Sam ordered a Topo-Chico seltzer and Josh got a Salty Dog, feeling the need for something stronger than a beer tonight. By around everyone’s third drink, it strikes the 10 o’clock hour. Then like clockwork at 10:34 she stumbles in and walks to the stage throwing her jacket at the bar today and grins at the bartender and gives him a two handed thumbs up and then a salute to the dj. Once again, she didn’t have a drink in hand, but she was clearly intoxicated. 

“Hello friends,” She smiles at the crowd, “Did ya’ miss me?” 

The hollers follow and she does a little bow as if she lived to serve this dive crowd. 

A familiar tune begins to play shortly after, the salute to the dj seemed to have been an indicator to begin the music. The four men look at one another before looking back to the stage to find her staring straight at their table. She salutes them as well and begins to perform a song that Josh, as well as the rest of the band, was almost painfully familiar with. Mountain of the Sun by Greta Van Fleet.

“The sun shines brighter from above and you’re the one that I love,” She sings, almost mimicking the way Josh sings it on the recording, “Climb the mountain even higher, kiss the sun and fight the fire!” 

She grins and gets the crowd ready for the chorus, acting out the words like always. 

“I’ll make you mine, you’re my sunshine,” She belts it and lets her voice sound a bit whiny as she hits different dips in the words. 

During the guitar solo, she does an air guitar and plays it superbly. Afterwards, Jake raises his hands over his head and claps loudly, bringing her attention back to their table. He was a little drunk by then but appreciated her attention to actually trying to make the chords on the imaginary guitar. 

The song comes to a close with an uproar of applause and shouting, a lot of it came from Sam and Danny who were truly blown away by her ability to hit Josh’s notes. She bows once more and moves to leave the stage with a slight wobble to her feet, the same platform boots she had worn the past two weeks as well. She makes a bee line for the bar, but Josh is one step ahead, waiting by her jacket for her. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” He tilts his head with his inquiry. 

“I’d never say no to a free drink.” She laughs. 

Josh laughs as well and asks what she’s having, she tells him a beer is fine. The speed of her blinking up close shows she’s plenty liquered up. He insists about what kind she might want. She waves him off saying any IPA is fine. Josh suppressed his chuckle, thinking of a conversation – an argument – he’d had with his two brothers about how pretentious it was of them to only drink IPAs. 

“Want to come sit with me and my brothers?” Josh asks once they both have fresh drinks in their hands. 

She gestures for him to lead the way and he smiles. At the table, Jake, Sam and Danny busy themselves with a random conversation in an attempt to seem like they weren’t watching their entire interaction at the bar. The smile she gives them is knowing though and they drop the pretense. 

“Hello,” She starts.

“You’re very talented,” Danny blurts out. 

She falters at the flattery and blushes a little, looking away from the table of men she had been so sure she was going to keep on their toes. 

“Thanks,” She mumbles and takes a sip of her drink. “What do I owe the pleasure of your band stalking me?” 

“Stalking?” Jake questions with a little laugh, embarrassed almost, his own cheeks pinking. 

She arches her brow at him. “Maybe not all of you, but I’ve seen you,” She directs her eyes at Josh as she speaks, “For the last three weeks. It’s why I dedicated my song this week to y’all.” 

“We appreciate it,” Sam speaks up. “How’d you know we’d all be here?” 

“I didn’t,” She laughs, like it was just a joke for herself. “Hell, if none of you had been here, I still would have done it. I love that song.” 

“What are you doing at a bar like this just singing karaoke with a voice like that?” Josh asks, tilting his head again. His hand fiddled with the little straw in his drink. 

“It’s just for fun,” She swigs her beer again and shrugs. “I like to come out here and act like a rockstar but I’d hate to actually be one…No offense.” 

“None taken,” Jake responds for all of them and her eyes flash to him, holding his gaze longer than she had before. 

She was between Josh and Sam with Jake and Danny across from her. They didn’t need to introduce themselves, she clearly knew who they were, but they wanted to know her. 

“So do you have a name, Ms. Insanely Talented But It’s Just For Fun?” Sam inquires, since everyone was wondering.

She laughs and smiles sweetly at him, tearing her eyes away from Jake’s. It was interesting to her how they all (except Danny) practically had the same eyes since they were siblings yet they looked so different surrounded by their features and the way they held themselves. 

“That’s it, how’d you guess?” 

They all laugh and then look at her seriously and she gives them her name. 

“Lovely name for a lovely girl,” Josh muses. 

Her eyes flash to his face now, “I figured your twin would be the charmer, but it also makes sense that you’d use that on a girl.” 

The rest of the guys laughed and Josh’s jaw dropped a little as he sputtered an apology, trying to tell her that it wasn’t supposed to be a flirtation, just something he would say to anyone. She clapped him on the shoulder and shook it a little, “It’s alright, kid.” 

She talks the night away with them. For once not absconding out of the bar the second her song was over. They learn a lot about her and she tells them it was nice to meet them. Jake offers to give her a lift home but she declines. 

“I’m an avid pedestrian,” She insists when he tells her that he worries for her safety. “Plus, I live just around the corner.” 

“Then let me walk you just around the corner,” He supplies, a pleading look on his face. He had been entranced with her since last week and after tonight he desperately wanted to get her number. To see her again not inside this dingy bar. But he didn’t want to ask in front of the rest of the band, it felt immature and like they’d mock him for it. 

She rolled her eyes, but secretly found it sweet. Letting him walk her home wouldn’t hurt. 

She waves the rest of them a farewell as they get into their shared cars or rideshares home. Josh winks at Jake and Jake just shakes his head shyly. 

She really did live just around the corner, but Jake manages to ask her a few questions before they reach the entrance to her apartment complex. 

“The song you sang last week,” Jake starts and she looks at him with interest. “I’ve been listening to the Devil Makes Three since then. They’re fantastic.” 

“You really think so?” She responds excitedly. “They’re like my favorite band,” She pauses and adds a little sardonically, “After Greta Van Fleet, of course.”

“Ha ha,” Jake shakes his head at her and his hair falls from behind his ears in a way she wants to push it back behind them. She liked his little ears. “But seriously, they’re really fucking good, I can’t believe I’ve never heard of them before.” 

“Yeah, I heard you guys were real pretentious about music. Figures you wouldn’t have that good of taste,” She goads him again and Jake laughs a little.

“You’re a funny girl, honey,” He says and she quirks her head at the pet name, the alcohol from earlier had metabolized and she was mostly just tipsy from the few beers she had with them. 

“So I’ve been told.” 

She pauses and Jake feels it, stopping with her. They had arrived at her apartment. It was time. 

“Could I get your number? As much as I enjoy hearing you sing and that shitty bar you hide out in, I’d like to see you in the light of day, somewhere not so…charming.” 

She raises her brows at his request, a bit of a smirk twisting onto her face. It masked her trepidation in the same way she’d been handling all of tonight. Coolly, but a little unlike her usual self. She wasn’t sure how she was doing what she was doing, but she had managed to charm an entire famous rock band and apparently one of them specifically. She was in awe, but in the moment she was rolling with it by exuding complete confidence. Normally, she was skittish, like a small woodland creature. At the bar she was cool so she had met them in that persona, that setting, allowing her to play it cool, teasing men she thought were beyond talented. 

“Sure, but isn’t it just so much more fun that you only know me there? I’ve got this whole life outside of it and so do you, yet we convene there and it made you want to know me more. Are you sure you would notice me walking down the street?” 

The smile that graces Jake’s face is almost in disbelief and it was so big he felt his cheeks hurt a little but he didn’t care. 

“Of course that’s your response.” 

She smiles genuinely, the smirky flirtation falling away as her giddy shyness creeps up. The reality of the situation dawned on her with Jake’s strong cheekbones and brows, his big brown eyes, soft-looking hair, parted lips puffing out breath into the cold night air all staring back at her. 

After exchanging numbers, she tells him to let her know where he wants to convene with her outside of the bar and he promises he will. Holding to his word, he texts her when he gets back to his own home, letting her know he got home safe at her request as well as an implorment to go out with him tomorrow. 

She finds herself at coffee shops and record stores, small gigs of big bands, nice dinners, quiet walks and of course the dive bar every Friday with Jake and his bandmates. It shouldn’t have been that easy. It shouldn’t have been a rockstar finding a girl in the last place he might have found anyone of interest. She thought she shouldn’t have wowed him the way she did. After every date, every day, every night, she went home and asked herself what it was about her that Jake found so intriguing for the last month. He had stolen a few chaste kisses here and there, but he didn’t press for more and neither did she. She couldn’t understand it. She wasn’t used to easy. It almost felt like Jake just wanted a companion not a lover. A friend but nothing more, which she didn’t necessarily mind. She just wanted to know why. 

On the third week of them going to karaoke together, Jake took her hand in his and asked if she wanted to do a song together. She had laughed and agreed when she realized he was serious. 

“What do you want to sing?” Jake asked.

“We should probably do a duet, right?” 

“Only if that’s what you want.” 

Her head tilts and she smiles up at him. He returns it with a small one. His brothers watched on as they conversed quietly with one another. 

“What’s the verdict?” Josh asks when he sees them nod at one another, her smile more giddy than his. 

“Don’t go breaking my heart, Elton John and Kiki Dee,” She beams and then gives Jake a little wink who chuckles. 

“Well isn’t that sickeningly sweet?” Sam interjects and she rolls her eyes at him. 

She had gotten to know the rest of them relatively well since their first official meeting all those weeks ago. Sam was the younger brother she never had but always wanted. He had learned he could never best her after their first real conversation, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still attempt to goad her. 

The first conversation consisted of them talking about their homestates, something normal for people who’ve just met to talk about she guessed. 

“So you’re from California,” Sam stated when she and him had been left to their own devices one night when Danny was stuck at the bar waiting to be served and the twins were talking to the act who had just finished up at a more private, nicer club in the heart of Nashville. 

“Yeah.” 

“That’s pretty cool,” Sam continues. 

“Yeah,” She says again, her lips curling at the sides, and he rolls his eyes and huffs a slightly annoyed breath. In the beginning she had been wary of them all, not sure if Jake was going to keep her around for very long or what was going on. Not that the last part had changed, but she was less wary of them all now. 

“I’ve been a few times.” 

“Like Los Angeles?” She replies. 

Sam hums in affirmation, taking a swig of a glass beer bottle and swallowing, looking like he’s ready to launch into discussing Los Angeles now, finally finding a common ground they could discuss. 

“Oh, I’m not from there,” She stops him. “And honestly? You haven’t really been to California, if you’ve just been there.” 

He gives her a bit of a glare and she laughs, unfazed. She went on to school him on the brilliance of California outside of Los Angeles and outside of any city in the state actually. He was left with a bit of wonderment for her ability to describe the California coastline and the different national parks that littered the state. After that, he liked her a lot more. He didn’t just see her as some random talented chick that he was confused as to why his older brother kept bringing around. He understood. She was fascinating. 

She didn’t know that, but whatever that special charm was that she held was maybe the reason Jake kept her around. And why he took it slow with her. Because he couldn’t quite puzzle her out yet. As much as they hung out, he still felt like he barely knew her. He’d ask a question and while she’d answer it, he’d be left with a hundred more in its place. All begging to be asked. 

She puts their names down for Don’t Go Breaking My Heart with the DJ, Jason, who was a good friend of hers. He laughed at her when she blushed about Jake singing with her. Jake and Josh watched on, the conversation she and the DJ were having unknown to them.

“Any progress?” Josh inquires. 

Jake chuckles and ducks his head, gazing into his glass, “Not even a little.” 

“I told you, weeks ago. She’s an enigma. Did she ever explain why she always would tear into here at the last moment before her song and then run off?” 

Jake shrugged and swirled his glass, taking a sip while keeping his eyes on her talking with the DJ. “Just said she was committed to coming here every Friday so even if she has other stuff going on she’ll still figure out a way to get here in time for the 10:35 slot. We just happened to catch her on the nights where she was otherwise preoccupied.”

“That is…” Josh trails off, watching her turn towards them with a dazzling smile directed at Jake. “Confounding.” He sighs and Jake looks from her back to his brother, for the first time wondering if her voice wasn’t the only thing that had brought Josh back to the bar time and time again. 

She looked at Josh and gave him the same smile, but shortly turned her attention towards Jake once again. The way the light shown on Jake made her never want to take her eyes off of him. It wasn’t exactly radiant on him the way it was with Josh, it was quieter but just as, if not more, meaningful to her. The light brightened his soft brown hair that flowed over his shoulders and whispered around his neck. It darkened the circles around his eyes and gave them a serious somber look, but it bounced off his perfect smile that offset the brooding eyes, making it impossible not to wonder more about him. Even if Jake confused her, she loved the absolute mystery of him. 

At 10:35, hand in hand, the odd couple made their way up to the stage. There were extra hollers tonight when the regulars saw she was bringing a partner with her onto the stage. It didn’t help that Sam and Danny were yelling at the top of their lungs and Josh was whistling as well. Jake gave them the finger, but she just grinned. This stage felt like home. Every. Single. Time. 

“Hey y’all…This is Jake, be nice to him, it’s his first time up on the big stage.”

She winked at Jake when he laughed wholeheartedly. It bubbled out of his chest and he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her cheek, she pushed at his chest in a playful way, loving the feeling of his soft lips on her. The poppy beat came in when she nodded at Jason. She wiggled her hips a little and Jake grinned down at her. 

“Don’t go breakin’ my heart,” Jake start, his voice strong and smooth but tinged with slight nerves.. 

“I couldn’t if I tried,” She smiles up at him, the pair staring into each other's eyes already. 

“Oh honey, if I get restless?” Jake smiles and widens his eyes, trying his best to play it up for her. 

“Baby,” She pushes his shoulder a little harder this time. “You’re not that kind.” She walks away from him and then flips around getting ready to sing the chorus. 

He twirls her around, deciding to bust out the dance moves he knew best. Her giggles sound through the mic and for once she gets lost in the feeling rather than the song. Jake’s hands in hers and the way he’s looking at her distracts her from singing all of the words. She falters on a few lyrics, but all she does is smile wider. 

He asks to kiss her when the song fades out and she blushes slightly but nods her head with a cheeky bite of her lip. The kiss is filled with more passion than she’d ever felt with Jake, more passion than she’d ever felt with anyone, to be honest. His hands clutched at the small of her waist, hugging her hips and legs as close to him as possible. She feels the tips of her boots bump his. His lips chasing hers and leaning her back ever so slightly as he pressed into her. She feels his lips move against hers and she feels hungry to kiss him back just as hard. Her hands slide from his shoulders and into his hair, toying with the ends for a few moments before the whistles of the crowd get so loud she remembers where they are and she pulls back. Breathless. 

“Where’ve you been keeping that?” 

“In my back pocket,” Jake winks and wraps an arm around her waist, this time leading her off the stage and back to their table where the boys had two drinks waiting for them. 

The kiss leaves her perplexed and wanting more. The rest of the night, Jake’s hand is hot on her hip, hugging her close to him. A physical reminder of his presence in her life. That kiss made her want more than just this limbo state that Jake was keeping her in. Was she his lover or his friend? Was she just a companion to keep around so he wasn’t lonely or did he actually want her, desire her? 

Jake couldn’t discern the look in her eyes for the rest of the night. They were bright and wide, but he could tell she wasn’t fully paying attention to any of the conversations, even the ones that she led. He’d see her eyes wandering around the room, behind the heads of his bandmates. Her mind was beyond the bar and he didn’t understand why. He’d squeeze his hand at her side to bring her back to him and she’d look at him for a moment with a soft smile on her lips before nodding at whoever was talking, pretending like she knew exactly what they were saying. 

Did she want to be with him or somewhere else? Someone else? Was what he gave her not enough to hold her attention? Was he her lover or her friend? Did she want a companion or did she desire him? 

In that kiss, Jake had given his all, begging with his lips for her to understand how much he wanted her. In that moment it felt like she wanted him too, but he couldn’t be sure because since then she’d been miles away. 

After saying their goodbyes to Josh, Sam and Danny, Jake walks her home like usual. But unlike usual, she insists that Jake come upstairs while he normally declines, citing various reasons for why he can’t stay. 

Once upstairs, she starts to make them tea and Jake wanders around her apartment, a mix of dark and light, of bright colors and deep browns. It could be classic but it holds a certain touch for the current style landscape that would never fit in the 60s or 70s. Jake’s fingers drift over the covers of the books that line the walls. Eyes over the prints and paintings. She tells him he can continue to snoop in her room if he wants when she walks out with a real tea set and two types of tea for him to choose from. She kneels on her rug, beside the coffee table and nods for him to sit. 

“Why do you always decline coming upstairs, Jake?” She asks. Simple enough. 

He begins setting up his tea and shakes his head with uncertainty. “I don’t know. I don’t want to rush anything.” 

“And look, you’re upstairs and I haven’t jumped you…The invitation wasn’t supposed to imply sex. I like hanging out with you. I always want to spend more time with you.” 

Jake nods, “Me too.” 

She takes a sip of her tea. The silence is deafening but she can’t bear to try and pick out a record right now. Her fingers were shaking just trying to make the tea. Jake still made her nervous. She was terrified that the truth might hurt her, but the uncertainty was eating away at her. She needed to know. 

“But,” She starts after a sigh. “Do you ever want to?” She trails off. “With me. Because I’m okay if you just want me as a companion, a bit of a friend but a little closer, that’s good and fine. I just want it to be clear…what we are.” 

Jake smiles down at his cup. “Do I want to?” He repeats. “Christ, honey, I fucking would love to, but I don’t understand you. We’ve been hanging out for, what, a month, but it feels like I still barely know you. And a companion? We’re dating, aren’t we?” 

“Dating?” 

“Yeah, at least that’s what I thought I was doing. Taking you out, introducing you to my friends. You know, the things couples do.” He messes with his lower lip and she knows it's a nervous habit of his. Her hands rest her mug on the table and reach for his hands, he relents. 

“You didn’t say they were dates so I didn’t want to assume anything,” She wraps her hands around his, looking up at him from her seat on the floor as he leans over his knees, sitting on the worn leather couch. “I didn’t think you actually would want to date me.” 

His deep brown eyes widen in surprise, his voice sounds hoarse. “Why would you say that?”

“Cause guys like you don’t date me. I’m nobody compared to the people you and the guys hang out with. We live in different social stratospheres. You’re in a famous band, your dream, and I’m still running errands for the position I want to have someday even though it’s not the career I actually want. We don’t make sense.” 

“Hey,” It’s Jake’s turn to grip her hands harder, tugging her body slightly closer to him. “Sure we make sense. As long as we both want this, it makes more sense than a lot of the fucked up shit in our world. Is that why you don’t want me to meet your friends or know more about you? Because you think it will put me off?” 

She nods and looks away, feeling on the verge of crying. 

“Don’t ever be ashamed of yourself, honey. I really like you, for all of you even if I haven’t seen it all yet. I want to know it all. You challenge me and I want to know it all.” He repeats his want to her and she looks back to him with a watery smile. 

“Jake…” 

“Yes.” 

“I was in a really bad place before I met you and this last month has been the best month I’ve had in awhile. So thank you, I’ll try to let you in more.” 

He grins down at her when she laughs at the tear that falls down her cheek. His hand leaves hers to have his thumb swipe it away. His caress gentle as ever. 

“C’mere,” He grabs her waist and pulls her onto the couch with him, cradling her in his lap. He pets at her hair with one hand while the other stays at her waist, giving it a soothing rub. He nuzzles his nose against her ear and whispers, “Never wonder if I want you, honey. I want it all.” 

She keens into his touch, feeling comforted by his warmth now. They sit in silence while her breathing evens out. Jake is patient with her as she presses closer to him, one of her hands resting on his chest and her other encircling around his shoulders, hugging him at a bit of an angle. Her face tucked into the soft but burning skin of his neck. He was so soft and smooth everywhere. She wanted to run her hands over every inch of him, mapping it into her memory. 

Jake speaks up after a reasonable amount of time, maybe it was 10 minutes, maybe it was 30, it didn’t matter. “You really thought I was just keeping you around for? Companionship?” 

He tilts his head to look at her and she lifts her face from its home against him. “Yeah?” 

“Oh honey,” He chuckles, and she raises her eyebrows at him. “I’ve literally got a built in life long companion already. Josh is by my side constantly, which I actually love. But what I want to do with you, what I hope to do with you, is something my twin brother can’t really provide.” 

She grins and feels her heart flutter slightly erratically. She felt an odd desire to consume Jake or maybe this moment. It was too soon to say he loved her but she felt loved in this moment. She felt so safe. She wanted to stay in his arms forever, feel his heart beating steadily in his chest. She wanted to grow into love with him because it seemed like it was possible with him. He was the first man she’d ever let herself imagine a future where things worked out. 

His eyes were steady on hers. He was no longer wondering what she was thinking or why she was miles away. He saw that she was present with him, her gaze matching his in adoration. His hair cascaded around his shoulders and she twisted her hands in it, breathing in the scent that was becoming recognizable as Jake to her. He winked at her when the staring got long and intense. She giggled at him, causing him to smile shyly. 

“You’re kind of like all I’ve ever wanted,” She mumbles as she presses herself further into him. Her nose bumping his before she placed a gentle kiss against his soft lips. 

When she pulls back, Jake hums, his hand on her waist pressing her back into him, not ready for the kiss to finish. After a more prolonged making out with one another, she pulls back breathless and laughs at Jake’s expression. Hungry. Needy. 

“Honey,” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair that had been significantly tossled by her insistent fingers, running and twisting through the tresses, entranced by the softness of it. “Please let me love on you just a little tonight?” 

“How could I say no to that?”

“Good,” Jake smiles again and she wants to make him smile for the rest of her life. He nuzzles his nose against her cheek and places a kiss to it and then her other cheek, her nose, eyelids, forehead and lips. She laughs with each one, wrapping her arms tighter around his back, bringing them closer and arching her back slightly as he leans her back. 

Her laughter soon turns to heavy breathing, a bit of yelping in surprise and finally a long unfiltered moan. Jake’s kisses had moved to her jaw and neck, suctioning and licking insistently at her skin. She held onto him harshly, fearful that if she let go she’d fall down with how he had her leaned back. 

She felt his smile against her skin when she moaned. He rasps against her skin, “C’mon let me hear you, honey. You make such pretty sounds on stage, I bet you sound even better like this.” 

She whimpers in response, pushing her hips against Jake’s lap, starting to feel the burning in between her legs. “Jake,” She sighs when he chuckles and sucks on her skin at the base of her neck and her collarbone. 

“Do you want more, honey? Just tell me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Just tell me and it’s yours.” His eyes are wild as he pulls back from her and stares into her face. His cheeks flushed as he took a deep breath, attempting to minimize how out of breath he was just from kissing her. 

“I want you to touch me…” She pets over his ruffled hair, adoring the way he looked at her with such intensity. 

He squeezes her shoulder and waist where he was holding her, “Was I not just touching you?” 

She rolls her eyes and wiggles her hips, “C’mon rockstar, you know what I mean.” 

If more lights were on, she would’ve seen the bright red that Jake’s blush turned at her words. “Yeah, okay,” He stutters a little. 

She smiles at his uncertainty, only slightly confused that he wasn’t super confident in this situation. He seemed like the kind of guy where sex would barely faze him, but it seemed that intimacy meant more to him than she might have thought. 

He shifts their positions on the couch, draping her over the cushions so that she could lie back. She fiddles with the buttons on Jake’s shirt as he moves them and he nods at her silent question. She tells him to do the same and he begins to work on the few buttons on her pink striped dress shirt as well. Shirtless, now, leaves both of them gaping at one another. She smiles shyly up at him and Jake dips down to give her a quick kiss. She giggles and runs her hands up his soft naked chest. His hair drapes over her shoulders when he lowers over her again. She reaches a hand up to touch his hair now, conflicted on where she wanted her hands to be on him. She wanted to touch everything. 

He sighed as her hand ran over his scalp and she felt him nudge against her clothed center. 

“Jake,” She sighs, “I want your fingers.” 

“Okay, honey,” He nods and trails them down her torso to the button on her pants. His lips follow the path, kissing as he goes. 

He looks up at her when he successfully undoes the pants and pulls them down, leaving her in a cornflower cotton thong and her black lace bra. One of his long slender fingers dances lightly over her clothed mound and her hips stutter as she tries to refrain from whimpering once more. It had been so long since someone else had touched her here and she was over the moon that it was Jake. 

He taps at her legs and she opens them wider for him. His hand trails down to travel down her slit, still teasing her over her panties. He presses his middle finger against her entrance and pulls back up to her clit that now felt like it was on fire. She was breathing heavily, her chest heaving with Jake’s watchful eyes going between her face, her chest and her pussy. 

“Fuck, honey,” He breaths. “You really need this, huh?” 

“Yes, Jake, please just take them off.” 

He nods with a bite of his lip and concentrates on his fingers curling around the blue fabric at her hips and pulling down. The cool air that floods the hot flesh that was just exposed is enough to offer some respite from this exquisite torture. For good measure, as if he knew, Jake leans down and blows more air on her pussy, spreading the lips to really make her squirm. 

“You look good enough to eat,” He mutters before swiping a finger through her folds, a noncommittal swirl around her clit before pulling away. It’s enough to make her whimper, she was so sensitive. 

“Your cunt is so fucking wet,” Jake sounds overcome with surprise and happiness. He runs his fingers along her slit once more and brings the fingers to his lips. “Like fuckin’ honey, I knew it.” 

She surpresses a smile and bucks her hips involuntarily. Jake continues to babble, in disbelief that she was this wet just from him kissing her and how sweet she tasted. 

When his fingers finally enter her, she cries out. A hand reaches out to grip Jake’s jaw, bringing his lips back to hers as he begins to pump into her cunt. His pink lips move against hers as he tries to keep his pace steady, but greedily he wants to see her fall apart around his fingers. He wants to see her face when he makes her cum so that he can memorize it. Conjure it up when he’s away from her and has his hand around his cock, imagine he’s fully inside her, bringing her this pleasure. 

His hand has sped up and she’s staring at him with a slack jawed expression. His fingers thrust into her with a wet sound as her juices soak his hand and her pussy. “Does it feel good, honey?” 

“So good, Jake. So fucking good. Keep going.” 

His thumb begins to circle her clit and she begins to moan louder. It slips against the nub, flooded with her slick. Her hips move with his hand and he grins down at her and she can’t take her eyes off his face, how happy he looks. 

“Will you cum for me, darling? I want to see you cum pretty with my hand in your cunt.” His fingers are massaging inside her walls and they both feel them tighten. His dirty words sent her over the edge. A mix of profanities fall from her mouth as her hips begin to shake and buck on their own volition. Her orgasm flows through her and Jake watches after giving her a hard kiss. Her chest rolling and her knees trying to close but his arms keep them open as he pumps her through it. 

After she comes down, Jake gently removes his hand from her and sticks his fingers in his mouth before wiping them on his jeans. She watches him with wide eyes and closes them when he runs his clean hand over her hair. “You are perfect,” He whispers. 

“So are you,” She replies with a slight laugh. “Can I?”

She nods at his bulge, but he shakes his head no. 

“Another time, honey. I wanted to do this without getting anything in return.”

“But, Jake, it must hurt a little? And I want to…” Her hand moves to flutter over it but he pushes it away and grabs her hand instead. 

“I promise I’m fine, but if you insist, I’m also not against getting off.” 

They laugh together before she languidly removes her hand from his, unzips his pants and pulls his cock out from beneath the boxers it was straining against. Her eyes flit between her movements and Jake’s face. He huffs out a breath of anticipation. Her light touch on him feeling like so much after getting so worked up over her noises and taste. 

His brows furrow as her hand begins to pump his length and he’s trying to contain himself, embarrassed by how quickly he’s ready to cum. She must sense his unease. 

“Just let go if you’re ready, Jake. I can imagine you’ve been wound up for a while. It’s hot that you’re already close.” 

“Yeah,” He huffed a laugh, his voice raspy. “I’ve imagined this for a month now and it’s just, fuck. It feels so good.” 

She smiles at him and leans over his tip before he can protest. Her lips envelop his head and suck it into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it gently, coaxing him to cum in her mouth while her hand continues to rub over his shaft. The wet soft suction of her mouth sends him over the edge he’d been trying to stay on top of, but he can’t stop himself from cumming down her throat. She hums in admiration as the warmth fills her throat and Jake throws his head back in exhaustion. His hair splays around him on the couch as his eyes tilt close for a moment as his chest heaves, attempting to calm himself. He couldn’t believe she’d just swallowed his load like that, no hesitation with no request. 

She tucks his softening cock back into his boxers delicately after cleaning him up and crawls up and cuddles into his side. He smiles with a sigh, his eyes peeking open slightly to look at her. Her hand runs up and down his chest, stroking the softness and cherishing his warmth. She smiles when he notices his gaze. 

“That was nice,” She suggests  in a whisper. 

“More than nice, honey. I think we’re going to continue doing that for a long, long time.” 

She giggles and tucks her head into the crook of his neck, placing a chaste kiss against the slightly clammy skin. 

“Okay, Jakey.” 

They settle into a soft silence. Content with one another. Jake strokes over her arm and hair while she remains hugged to his chest. Loving his warmth and firmness against her. 

-

should there be a part 2, lmk what you think inbox is open and reblogs (w comments and concerns, esp) are always welcome

[mariacallous]

He didn’t have to go. In August 2020, Russian dissident Alexei Navalny had been poisoned, probably at the direction of Russian president Vladimir Putin, who saw in Navalny one of the vanishingly few legitimate threats to his reign.

Navalny went to Germany to recuperate. While there, he managed to confirm that the poisoning had been carried out by Russian security services by calling one of his would-be executioners and pretending to be a fellow Kremlin goon. Mother Russia wanted one of her own sons dead.

So why return? “It was never a question of whether to return or not,” he wrote in a social media post in Jan. 2021. Several days later, he landed at Moscow’s Vnukovo Airport, where he was greeted by admirers.

We Russians in the West admired him, too. I saw in his return a refutation of the argument that all Russians wanted was Louis Vuitton boutiques—freedom and democracy be damned. He came back to remind us, whether we were in Brooklyn or Kaliningrad, that we were better than that. Or that we could be, in any case.

Navalny was promptly arrested on entirely fictitious fraud charges that were intended to keep him sitting comfortably at some Washington or Berlin think tank, no threat at all to the Stalinist project underway in Moscow.

He wasn’t supposed to come back. Only he didn’t get the message.

He would never see freedom again. An obeisant court found him guilty, then tacked on “extremism” charges for good measure. “They really do initiate a new criminal case against me every three months. Rarely does an inmate confined to a solitary cell for over a year have such a vibrant social and political existence,” he said in a typically sarcastic social media post conveyed via his representatives.

Navalny became a cause célèbre, one of the few figures within Russia we Russians could be proud of. In arguing that we were better than the country shelling Ukrainian innocents, we could always point to Navalny, even as he looked increasingly gaunt in the video footage made available by his jailers.

There, look at him. As long as Navalny lives, there is a hope of a better Russia. As long as he lives.

Finally, they did what so many of us always feared they were going to do. On Friday, Navalny died at the IK-3 penal colony in Kharp, a remote Siberian village. He apparently collapsed after a walk. He had been in poor health for many months, as he moved from one penal colony to another, suffering prolonged stretches of isolation and other privations.

I grew up in the same country as Navalny: the faded Soviet Union of the 1980s. The desperation of those years, and the chaos of the 1990s, drove many Russians (including my own family) to the West. Some of those who stayed only did so because they figured they could get rich. A seller of blue jeans could suddenly become a copper magnate, as long as he could survive the mafia hits that came with a regular cadence in Moscow and St. Petersburg throughout the go-go Yeltsin years.

An attorney by training, Navalny did not stay to get rich. He stayed for the same reason that would see him return in 2021. He truly believed in Russia, in the possibility of a democratic nation rising from the ruins of the Soviet empire.

Only that wasn’t the country that took shape. “I can’t stop myself from fiercely, wildly hating those who sold, pissed away, and squandered the historical chance that our country had in the early nineties,” he would later say.

Having never won an election, Putin emerged in 1999 to replace the inept and inebriated Yeltsin. He quickly arrogated every means of power, even as Western leaders like George W. Bush foolishly insisted that he was committed to democracy.

I returned to Russia for the first time in more than two decades in 2003. The country looked almost Western: Western-ish. I was impressed. The erosion of democracy, already underway, seemed like a small price to pay for upscale beer gardens where there had once stood drab cafeterias.

Then the price rose. In 2006, the investigative journalist Anna Politkovskaya was murdered for reporting on the brutality of Putin’s campaign to pacify the restive republic of Chechnya, as well as his repressions targeting every segment of Russian society. Politkovskaya saw clearly what was happening. "Who can say,” she wondered, “we are not returning to Stalinist ways under Putin?"

Navalny refused to let it pass.

If some in the West had had a too sunny view of Russia, as if it were nothing but a Harvard Business School case study in unfettered capitalism, there were others who grumbled that Russians were “incapable” of democracy, that something in the Russian spirit required iron-fisted leadership. But whether you believed in the market or the czar, both of these views deprived Russians of dignity and self-determination. We were always to be subject to greater forces wielded by larger-than-life figures, whether Mickey Mouse or Vladimir Putin. It was never our call.

Disenchanted by the cowardice of most Russians with any cultural or political influence, Navalny had, by the end of Putin’s first decade in power, become a full-blown dissident. He started blogging in 2008, then moved towards pure political agitation. It was a dangerous occupation: like Politkovskaya, most critics of the regime were murdered or, if they were lucky, chased out of Russia. “He’s taunting really big people and he’s doing it in an open way and showing them that he’s not afraid. In this country, people like that get crushed,” one Russian official worried to The New Yorker in March 2011.

In Dec. 2011, Navalny was arrested for calling into question the results of a sham parliamentary election. The West took increasing notice. The New York Times pointed to his “Nordic good looks” and “serene confidence,” observing that what “attracts people to Mr. Navalny is not ideology, but the confident challenge he mounts to the system.” He went to jail for the first time, for 15 days.

An authoritarian system always knows how to shore up its weakness. After a brief interregnum during which Dmitry Medvedev pretended to play the role of president, Putin returned to power seemingly determined to never cede it again. Since the 2012 election, he has sat unchallenged in the Kremlin. It is widely assumed that he will remain there until death.

Navalny was virtually alone in trying seriously to dislodge him, challenging Putin for the presidency in 2018 only to see his bid disqualified on invented legalities. “The process in which we are called to participate is not a real election,” he said.

By this point, many of us Russians in the diaspora had come to realize that no number of Moscow skyscrapers could disguise the fact that Putin had turned Russia into a gaudy embarrassment, a country that ran on petroleum and propaganda and aligned itself with Syria and Iran. The invasion of Ukraine shattered all remaining illusions.

It was to this Russia that Navalny returned. Soviet history is rich with artists, intellectuals, and scientists who refused to stay silent in the face of state-sanctioned atrocities. Anyone who grew up in the Soviet Union knows their names: Akhmatova, Sakharov, Sharansky. Navalny reminded us of this tradition, of the eternal need to rouse the people of this huge, complicated country, whose day-to-day lives can be so grindingly difficult that it is hard to think of anything but survival.

Navalny believed in ordinary Russians, in their desire for something more than the material comforts bought by Putin’s petrodollars. That is what he came back to. That is what he died for.

Today, a Russia free of Putin and Putinism seems almost impossible to imagine. But for the sake of Navalny, we must imagine it.

“My greatest hope for Russia is that dictatorships always appear solid until suddenly they aren’t,” Uriel Epshtein, chief executive of the Renew Democracy Initiative—who traveled frequently as a child to Russia, where his family is from—told me. “Putin may feel untouchable today, but he can still be proven wrong. At a certain point, some part of Russian society will decide that they can no longer live under his yoke.”

[joannaliceevans-fanficblog]

Evermore: Part. 2

A/N: Hello! I just wanted to thank everyone who has read and commented on the last chapter! That truly means a lot to me.

Warnings: There aren't many warnings, but to have tissues ready. It's been hard to write without crying every sentence.

Before I shut up, I just wanted to thank my lovely besties here. @hollybee8917 ! She made this wonderful mood board and edited this chapter! So thank you, babes!

Your alarm clock buzzed, and you moaned. You barely gotten any sleep and you didn’t want to get up. But you had to, because today wasn’t just an ordinary day. Today was a big day. Before you could even get up, the door opened and the sounds of tippy taps were heard. You smiled, and the sound of sniffing and then the 80 lbs. Alaskan Malamute/German Shepherd pup jumped onto the bed.

“Alright Sarg!” You said as he gave you wet kisses. You then pushed Sarg off, and he jumped off. It was a chilly, winter morning, so you grabbed your sweater and the moment you placed it on, you smiled. The scent of Bergamot and Vanilla filled your nose.

“In a few more hours, honey.” You said to yourself and wondered what he was up to.

And on cue, your phone rang and you quickly grabbed it and slid the green button.

Hi angel.

You smiled to yourself, “Hello Mr. Levinson, did you sleep well? And I thought you weren’t supposed to call me sir?”

You heard Ari laugh and you let out a giggle. He replied, “I did, surprisingly. And I know, I know. Andy forbade me from calling you. But I can’t go a day without hearing your voice. Even if it’s just for a brief moment.”

And that is true. Ever since you were 16, Ari would have called you. You weren’t dating then, but him being your best friend since you were teens, nothing could sway him from talking to you.

You scratched your head, “Is everything okay, Ari?”

“In all honesty? No. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Aww baby, is everything alright?”

“No, because you’re not here.”

A sad sight slipped from your lips, “How do I make everything okay?”

Ari laughed, “Oh angel, it will be in a few hours when you become Mrs. Levinson.”

The sound of that made your heart jump for joy. That is true. You heard Andy in the background, and you laughed.

Well, Mrs. Soon-to-be Levinson, I’ve got to go. But I’ll see you in a few hours. I love you.

You smiled, “Love you too, Mr. Levinson.”

You hung up, and Sarg jumped onto the bed, giving you a bark.

“Alright! I’m going, I’m going!” You said, getting up and heading out.

 **

A few hours later…

You stood in front of the mirror, making sure that everything was in place. Your hair was perfect, makeup was just the way you wanted it. A knock was heard and you turned around to see your college best friend Holly. In her hands was your bouquet of white, dark magenta pink, and baby pink Roses.

“You got something new and borrowed. But something is missing.” Holly said, as she placed your bouquet down and a small box appeared. You had curious eyes as your friend strolled towards you. The box opened, and you gasped.

A diamond pendant.

“I told Ari no expensive gifts!” You say, running your fingertips against the necklace.

“He knew you would have said that,” Holly said and handed you a small card. You placed the box down and opened the card.

I had a feeling that you would say something about the gift. I know we decided not to give expensive gifts, but you deserve it. Hell, you deserve everything in this world. I love you, Mrs. Levinson.

-Ari

You smiled and sighed.

“Let’s put on.” You say. You took the necklace and placed it around your neck.

**

The limo pulled up in front of St. Cecilia Catholic Church. The car came to a complete stop, and you took a deep breath and sighed. Then the door opened, and your best friend Holly came out, then your parents. You handed Holly your bouquet and got yourself out. It’s only been 30 minutes, and your feet are already hurting from the heels that you are wearing. You hated them, but Holly and your mother insisted you wear them. Thank the lord you brought your flats, and you would be changing into them after the ceremony. 

You fidgeted nervously as you stood in front of the double doors. With your dad next to you and your arm linked to his, he looked down at you, “Ready, Squirt?”

You giggled, knowing that was your nickname since you were a kid.

“I am daddy. And dad?” You asked.

“What is it?” He asked. 

You placed your hand on top of his and smiled, “Thank you for everything.” 

Your dad smiled and patted your hand. And with that, the doors opened, and everyone stood up. Your hands started to shake as the music started playing Yiruma’s Moments and you started to walk down the aisle. You shook a little until you looked towards the altar and your beloved Ari was looking back at you. The way he smiled at you made your heart soar. He was looking mighty fine. He wore his Army uniform, with his saber by his side. His thick beard and the way his long fluffy hair brought a smile to your face once more. (You had only a few months with him before he was deployed back to South Carolina for training new recruits) 

When you reached the front, your dad released your hand and placed it into Ari’s. You then stepped forward and faced Ari.

“Hi Angel,” Ari whispered. 

You wiped your tears and smiled, “Hi, Ari Bear.”

**

Wandering around the venue with a glass of wine in your hands, you spoke with guests. As you did, you looked over to the other side of the hall to see your now husband heading towards you. You handed your glass to Holly and by the time you did, Ari was in front you with his hand out. You placed yours into his and he took you to the middle of the dance floor. Ari gave the DJ a nod and a familiar tune came on. You looked up at Ari and he smiled. Your heart skipped a beat, “Is this-“

“Me and You?” 

Ari said, “Yes it is.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks and you placed your head against his chest.

“Everyday I live

Try my best to give

All I have to you

Thank the stars above

That we share this love

Me and You”

“You looked so beautiful walking down the aisle.” Ari whispered into your ear. 

“You knew that I liked your thick beard.” You said, as you still both swayed to the music.

Those are the exact words he has always said to you when he would write you letters, or send you flowers. But hearing him singing them to you made it even more special. You thank the stars that he came into your life. You then looked towards him and reached up to kiss him, “I love you.”

Ari kissed you once more, “I love you more.” 

**

You strolled with Sam by your side as you went towards Ari. Everything around you seemed like a blur, and nothing existed. Your heart was beating and breaking all at the same time by the time you got to his casket. You let go of Sam’s arm and stood for a moment, looking. But the second you placed your hand on top of the flag, everything went south with your emotions. Your tears, your feelings, your love for Ari, it all hit you. You placed your head down onto the coffin and balled your fists tightly. 

“Ari, I’m here now.” You whisper. 

You felt a hand behind you, and you knew that it was Andy.  

“Y/N, they have to retrieve him now,” Andy told you. 

You placed a kiss on top of the flag, and you stepped back, even if it was hurting. You held on to Andy, tears still coming down, and you watched on as your husband was being placed into the Hearst. The moment the door closed, Andy led you back to the car so you could go to the funeral home.

Good evening. I'm Jason Austel from NBC Boston. We start this evening with some upsetting news. A local hero, US Army Captain Ari Levinson from Concord, died today. He was deployed overseas and was in the Humvee when a bomb exploded in the car in front of them. He is survived by his wife and his 5-month-old daughter.

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

https://www.tumblr.com/ecoterrorist-katara/743680863675580416?source=share

I know that you have already talked about the "female gaze" more than once, but what do you say about this?

Let's get the easier parts out of the way:

1 - The showrunners consider Aang the angel on Katara's shoulder on The Southern Raiders because Avatar is a kids show and the moral of the episode was "Hey, kids, even if you ever meet a truly horrible person don't immediately respond with violence, it could backfire horribly or push you to do something you'd regret later" not because they think she's an object that Aang gets to posses and control - hence them having Aang give her advice on what to do, but not try to prevent her from leaving nor judging her for not forgiving her mother's killer.

2 - Katara's point was NOT central to Zuko in that episode, at least not at first. By the end of the episode he understood and felt compassion for her and her family, but at the start he was only looking for a cheat-code to make Katara stop hating him because it reminded him of his screw ups. It was Zuko being entitled and trying to avoid consequences.

3 - "This thing is like the PLATONIC version of a thing that sometimes happens in romance" If it's platonic (you said it, not me) then it's not a "win" for your OTP. Zuko and Iroh's falling out after Ba Sing Se has lots of dramatic, super intense and heartbreaking moments, just like romances do - but their storyline is obviously not a romance and they are explicitly treated by the narrative as father and son.

4 - "Katara isn't hiding any side of her personality from Zuko" Katara doesn't hide any side of her personality for ANYONE - family, friends, rivals, enemies, strangers. Highlighing that she is herself with Zuko is pointless because she is herself with everyone, including people she does not like, which was the category Zuko fit into at the moment.

Now, onto yet another absurdly long take by this annoyed feminist that has had enough to the "Male Gaze VS Female Gaze" bullshit.

(Check this previous post before reading the rant in case you don't know these terms or what they mean/were supposed to mean)

Zutarians gotta learn that just because a trope is popular, that doesn't mean it is present in every story, and that NO TROPE appeals to a whole group of people, no matter how much they keep insisting that their ship is the "female gaze" - like that thing could ever even exist.

To give a practical exemple so people understand what I mean: Imagine that a woman wrote screenplay about a lesbian romance, which is then filmed by a female director, and edited by a woman. The actresses playing the lead roles also have their own perspective on the story and characters. The movie is then shown to 200 women, every single one of them has their own opinion on it.

Which of the women I mentioned above is going to speak FOR HER ENTIRE GENDER, and decide if that romance fits "the female gaze"? Do we take a survey and whatever points are repeated the most are taken as objectively correct due to being how the majority feels, and thus any differing opinion is treated as lesser and "not what women like" regardless of how many women feel that way? Do we only listen to the proffessional criticts in that audience of women and completely disregard the opinion of any woman that didn't study anything regarding cinema and writting?

Even if somehow it is decided that the movie fits into the "female gaze" - if all those women rewatch the movie years later and some of them feel differently about it, would that affect the definition? If their grand-daughters watch it 50 years later and don't agree with their grandmother's takes on it, does the definition change? If the movie is shown to other groups of women, from different countries, and they all have their own opinion on it that is radically different from that of the first group, which group of women gets to say "OUR culture's way of interpreting this story is the TRUE way women feel about it, everyone else doesn't count"?

If the movie is then shown to 200 men and they all like it, does that turn it from "female gaze" to "unisex gaze"? Does it become "Male Gaze" if the guys get aroused by it, even if the movie was designed to appeal to women and not to them AND there was no exploitation involved? If the 200 women then watch a movie that has scenes that are considered as having been made to appeal to guys, but some or all of them ALSO enjoy it (story of my life), does that make it change from "male gaze" to "Female Gaze"?

Gender is simply ONE out of many, many, many things that can impact how one views fiction - and it doesn't exist in isolation, being affected by generation, culture, language, religion, class, etc. The "Female Gaze" doesn't exist. It CAN'T exist because humans are more complicated than that. It is a concept that is almost fully divorced from reality.

Also I can't help but notice that, because of the way these terms work in the assumption of absolutes, no room for nuance, "MALE Gaze" is meant to describe lazy writting/film-making that is sexist towards women and cases of full on exploitation and abuse in which men were the abusers, and sometimes the label even gets attached to harmless things as a form of bad faith criticism just because guys like it - but "FEMALE Gaze" is NOT about lazy writting/film-making that is sexist towards men (say stories that full on say that a guy hitting a woman is bad, but a woman hitting a man is funny, or using "guys always want it" as justification for scenes of female characters forcing themselves on the male characters).

Instead, Female Gaze is meant to either neutral or POSITIVE. "This appeals to women" is used for praise, "this appeals to men" is used as criticism. Women are harmless, men are dangerous. Women are helpless victims, men are evil abusers. Women need to be protected and put on pedestal, men need to be hated and feared. Female desire is inherently pure, male desire is inherently objectifying. And, of course, any woman that disagrees is bad and a traitor and needs to be "called out for being anti-feminist" (aka be condescended to or full on attacked).

This is sexism, pure and simple. Anyone can be a victim, anyone can be an abuser. Anyone can like any kind of story, trope, genre, ship, etc. Desire is a morally neutral thing, and it doesn't become "pure" or "inherently corrupt" depending on the gender of the person who feels it.

The "Male Gaze VS Female Gaze" thing is nonsensical at best and perpetuates a dangerous double standard at worse, and I'm so fucking tired of it never being questioned because people are afraid of being labelled misogynistic.

[inopinatus-ea]

2

Chapter 1

First meetings, and first impressions...

“Drach, do you think you can shift and we can fly away now? Do you think they’d risk shooting you down?” Adelia had a soft smile firmly in place, but inside she was dying from what she knew was going to be an arduous ordeal of diplomatic niceties. She did not want to be in Annisgwyl. She did not want to be meeting Prince Emery, let alone marrying him. In fact, all of this was the last thing she wanted to be doing. In two weeks she was supposed to have been marrying Duke Alaric, but instead here she was because of her father. Her wonderful father, the King. She hated him and had for years, since he had insisted her brother be the first to wed and kept putting off her own engagement.

“Darling, if I could get away with it, we would be gone. However, we both know they would hunt us both down. I’ve already had my wings clipped once, and did not enjoy it. They have finally healed after over a century, let’s save that fact, and the surprise that I can fly once more, for if we really need it. Shall we?” Winking slyly at the Princess, the Knight assigned to guard her kissed her cheek lightly. Drach had been assigned at her birth to guard her because of his special gifts that few knew of. Shifting into a dragon, breathing fire, and being able to consume humans whole being the paramount amongst those. A tight friendship had grown between the two and he was far more protective of the Princess than any other in her life, including either of her parents.

“If you insist, but if I truly hate him, will you at least promise to eat the Prince then we will both claim innocence and ignorance.” She looked up at him hopefully as her mother futzed with her bejeweled taffeta ballgown over by the lead car. Once more her mother’s vanity was giving her ample opportunity to get her own mask of regality in place. The two women couldn’t be more different, although it was not as if the Queen would ever have noticed.

“That I might be able to do, little one.” Another wink and Drach had to keep from laughing. He did enjoy his young charge’s spunk at times. She kept him on his toes. For a being as old as he, that took some doing.

The doors to the palace before them opened and an older stately gentleman appeared, joined by a woman who seemed to be his equal. Adelia curtseyed, Drach still lending her his arm bowed deeply. They could both hear her parents joining them from the side. Apparently her mother had finally gotten her gown and tiara in order. Small wonders never ceased. Both hoped that the introductions would be short and that they could find the liquor and a quiet corner, but doubted that either would be that lucky. Neither wanted to be there, for very different reasons.

It was shortly after the Kings and Queens had made their introductions that the Princes were called forward. Both Adelia and Drach were studying them. Enough intel had been sent to the castle for her to tell which was Emery and which was Raiden. At least they both were handsome, but from all accounts, that was as far as Emery’s positive attributes went. Raiden’s, from all accounts went much further, but alas he was the younger of the two brothers. Of course, she was cursed with this mating by her father after all.

Raiden was fairer, more conventionally handsome, and just slightly taller than his brother. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the sunlight as he smiled over at Drach and Adelia. She couldn’t help noticing that he was already trying to be charming; interesting. Emery on the other had looked more serious. His hair and eyes were far darker than his brother’s, and there was a brooding air about him that Adelia found slightly off putting. It wasn’t that he was unattractive, but his gaze was intense and his demeanor almost aggressive. She could see how just from looks alone he would be viewed as hostile, and she had yet to formally meet him.

“Ah, Crowne Prince Emery.” King Mavroc grinned wide as he stepped forward to greet his future son-in-law. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He turned towards where Drach and Adelia were still standing. “Your intended, Adelia,” he gestured to her, and Drach began to lead her forward, “and her Royal Knight Drach who has been with her since birth, and will guard her innocence until your wedding night.” There was a slight sneer to his voice at the end of his statement.

“Now, Mavroc, I’m sure that won’t be necessary. My sons are both men of honor.” King Branoc insisted, his brows drawing together. He had not been informed of Drach becoming part of the pre-wedding arrangements. Why the other King would feel such a move necessary confused him.

“Is that why his former paramour Siara is with child on the coast?” Adelia’s mother inquired with a saccharine smile on her face and condescension dripping from her voice. She loved being able to surprise and verbally destroy those she considered lesser. To have such a piece of information at her diposal currently made those before her far lesser.

Raiden’s face went blank as he stared at Emery. What had his brother done? His eyes closed as he took a deep breath. The dishonor of it! Finding out now and from the other royal family only made it worse. At least his brother could have warned their parents.

Adelia gasped slightly and took a step back, her eyes going wide. Drach’s hand came atop hers on his arm to stop her from bolting back to the car. Let the Prince be the center of attention that he so rightly deserved. Oh, being a dragon was so fun when you could obtain information that was useful. This tidbit was the best so far, or at least he had thought so before he saw the complete look of shock and horror on the Prince’s face.

“EMERY?!” Branoc’s voice boomed off the stones around them all and seemed louder than should be possible. Everyone else winced but his eldest son stood still as Adelia’s eyes cut back and forth between father and son.

“IF she is,” Emery closed his eyes and cursed the gods above, “it is not mine.” His jaw clenched. He did not know whose it was, but on this he wasn’t lying. Now not only was he humiliated in front of his fiance-to-be, but his father was most likely going to literally beat him until he couldn’t breathe at the earliest convenience.

“How about we all go inside?” His mother’s voice was thin and strained, the smile on her face tight and not meeting her eyes. She looked at the King and Queen before her, trying not to lose more face than had already happened as she curtseyed and then gestured to the door behind her, Raiden thankfully having already moved to the side.

Reblog banner - @cafekitsune

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Pacify Him" - Tenth Doctor x Reader

🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀

SUMMARY: It's your boyfriend's birthday! The Doctor insists on tagging along as a friend, of course. Maybe you did tell him to be 'decent' but how could he know that 'not getting into a stand-offish argument with your boyfriend' fell under that category? Despite all reason and evidence, he still claims to not be jealous.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.8k

A/N: I'm in my Melanie Martinez era and I will not apologize

"Where are you going, mister?" you asked the Doctor when you noticed him following you out of the TARDIS. He was supposed to drop you off for your boyfriend's birthday party and pick you up a few hours later. In your mind, it would do you both some good to have a rest from each other's constant presence. The Doctor as it turned out had a different opinion.

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Come on, I love a party!" The tone of his voice sounded nearly as if he was offended.

"Yeah but not domestic ones."

It wasn't something he could argue with - whenever anything akin to a family dinner turned up, he always found a perfect excuse or ruse to get out of it. The only parties he attended were the ones with no strings attached. For a lack of better expression, he was a 'hit and run' kind of man.

"Well, you're not married, you don't even live together, so it's not really domestic, is it?" The Doctor said those words with seemingly no seriousness and so you were sure he remained oblivious to your own desires and worries: you were thinking about taking your relationship with Mark further but doing so while travelling through all of time and space did not seem like a good idea. It would definitely... complicate things.

But perhaps Doctor's sudden interest in familial intimacy was something positive - perhaps he was beginning to recover from his 'brooding loner' persona. In that case, you simply couldn't deny him that moment of bravery.

"Alright," you said with a sigh, "I'm bringing you with me, but!" You pointed your finger at him. "Be decent, I'm begging you."

"I am wearing pants, see?" The Doctor pointed at his usual dress pants. He even gave you a twirl as if there was anything worth showing off - he wore that very same outfit every day, after all. Despite the suit being clearly worn out he was still going to be the most elegant-looking person in there.

"No facetious comments and alien technology, alright?"

"I'll do my best."

He shut the door behind him but you couldn't actually hear it over the noise of the party going on in your boyfriend's house; the loud music was audible from the street. Looking up through the windows, you could see some familiar and unfamiliar faces laughing and drinking from plastic cups. Compared to what you've been through the past few months, that sight was so mundane you couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness. One day you save the universe and the other you drink cheap tequila with blackcurrant juice.

You gave the Doctor a quick glance only to notice a slight grimace on his face. He didn't even make it to the party and he was already hating it. But if he truly had no desire to mingle with your friends, why was he forcing himself to?

"Second thoughts?" you asked him in a joking manner.

"Nah, I've been through worse."

"Serious question," you said to grab his attention. Doctor's eyes opened wider as his eyebrows raised - all of the universe around the two of you and he cared only about your words. "Which one is worse: arm wrestling a Cyberman or going to a house party?"

He looked away for a moment before answering. "I- well... Do I get time to prepare?"

"Sure." Your shoulders shrug slightly.

"Maybe I could even win..." he quietly considered for a moment. "What's the prize?"

"You can't be seriously considering arm wrestling a Cyberman."

"Hey, it was your idea! Now come on, we don't want to be late."

You shook your head at him despite the wide smile on your face. The Doctor was magnificent at putting on a light-hearted facade that you liked to pretend was genuine; it was a lovely sentiment to hold even for a minute that he wasn't a man haunted.

The doorbell rang only once when you heard someone unlocking the door - you were expected if not awaited. There, behind the door, stood the one person you have missed the most. His face lit up when he realized he was actually seeing you. Shortly after, Mark was already hugging you tightly.

"Oh, baby," he murmured against your hair. For him, it's been three months since he last saw you, so such a reaction shouldn't come off too bizarre.

"Hey, babe," you greeted him. His reaction was slightly amusing to you, mainly because you've never seen him being so clingy. It felt nice to be missed, to be cared about so much.

Mark leaned away to look at you again as if he still was unsure that you really were in front of him. His smile was so wide it nearly looked painful - as if happiness could have a face.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't make it."

"Are you kidding me? I'd go back in time if I had to!"

Your little joke earned a quiet chuckle from the Doctor, who was patiently third-wheeling. It wasn't visible on his face but he was feeling uncomfortable at the show of affection - part of him wanted your fondness to be an exclusive good, something he wouldn't have to share with anyone.

"Doctor, this is Mark, my boyfriend. Mark, this is the Doctor, my... research partner."

"The Doctor?" Mark repeated in confusion.

"Yeah, we all just call him that. The entire team." No matter how vile it might sound, you were really good at lying to your partner. For better of worse, you never though it would be a useful skill to have.

In the distance, you noticed a familiar constellation of blonde locks, denim jackets and black high heels - your high school friends. It wouldn't be a stretch to say you haven't seen them in literal years. You could feel your heart start to beat a little faster as pure excitement made the tips of your fingers tingle.

"I'll leave you to it, boys. I'm going to catch up with girls," you said while pointing at a group of women around your age standing in the faraway corner of the room.

The Doctor watched you run away to the group. Judging by their exclamations and tight hugs, the excitement and longing were mutual. Only after witnessing that scene, yearning to one day touch your heart in the same way, did he turn back to your boyfriend to attempt a polite conversation. Maybe he could try and learn what exactly you were seeing in him. "So, Mark, how did you two meet?"

"She didn't tell you?"

"No, must've slipped her mind. In fact, she doesn't talk much about you at all." Although it was true, there was no need to rub it in. Unless someone was looking for malicious satisfaction.

"Oh, really? Anyway, we met in high school through a mutual friend but didn't date until university. She was on the experimental research team, I was sure I was too stupid for her to date me."

"Yeah, I can imagine," the Doctor nodded along.

"Hey, man, can I tell you a secret?"

"I love secrets."

"You can't tell her, alright?"

"Scout's honour." He wasn't fond of the direction the conversation was heading into. There were only two things men wanted to keep away from their significant others and Mark did not strike him as someone capable of adultery.

"I want to propose."

"Oh." For a moment, the entire universe stopped. Only static was resounding in the Doctor's head but heart-wrenching panic set in rather quickly afterwards. He knew that if Mark was to ask you to marry him, you'd say yes. And he wasn't sure what he was going to do if that was to happen...

"You spend a lot of time working with her, right? I thought you could help me out a little."

"Oh, yes, we spend a lot of time together. It's practically only the two of us, all the time."

"Thank God, because I feel like I'm starting to overthink things, you know?" Mark appeared completely oblivious to the sublime message in Doctor's words. The thought of having 'competition' never crossed his mind, it seemed. "I thought of buying a minimalistic ring. Thin band, a small diamond, you know the lot."

"She'd hate it," Doctor answered with a shake of his head. A grimace appeared on his face as he imagined the scene. "Yeah, no, too common. It should be something rare and interesting. She absolutely hates ordinary things. Shouldn't you know that? You're her boyfriend. Never mind that, don't you think she deserves something more thoughtful?"

"That's why I'm asking for a second opinion! I don't see her often these days..."

"See, Mark, here's what I don't get. You don't see her often, you talk about proposing to her and when she shows up, you don't even talk to her? You want her to be your wife and you've talked to me, a total stranger, more than you've talked to her. I'm about to think you want to marry me."

"You're a funny guy, you know? Come on, she just went to talk to her friends." Mark either did not pick up on Doctor's passive-aggression or he purposefully ignored it. "And here she is coming back."

For some reason, those two were exactly where you left them - at the door. Although they were talking, you could tell there was some tension between them: Mark folded his arms and Doctor stood with his hands in his pockets. If the two most important men in your life, at the moment, were going to get into a fight, your reality was going to become a lot more complex than it already was.

"Are you two going to stand here all night? Let's get a drink!" You pulled both of them in the direction of a table with alcohol, soda and juice. The Doctor knew he was in for a long and frustrating night but at least he got to spend it with you.

Although at first you were preoccupied with retelling Doctor all the hilarious or outrageous stories your friend had told you, you quickly noticed something was off about him.

"From my perspective, it looked like you were acting jealous."

"What? No, I didn't."

"Look, I get it. I really do. We spend so much time together, just you and I, then suddenly my attention was someplace else. It's okay to feel upset."

"Why would I be jealous? I already know I'm your favourite."

The two of you laughed and the situation was momentarily defused or so you thought - the Doctor kept on thinking about your words and his own feelings. He knew perfectly well (he witnessed it) that you had so many lovely people around you. Even without him, your life was whole. Tragically enough, without you, his life was about as empty as the Void and he refused to openly admit that to himself. It wasn't doing much good though: his lungs were filled with smoke, yet he pretended there was no fire.

He didn't yet know how but he knew he had to make a move soon if he wanted to be a little more than an adventure.

[skzhocomments]

THE WHITE LILY (Mafia Book #1 - Bang Chan) - Chapter 3 - Borrowed time

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

General masterlist

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

---

Chapter 3 - Borrowed time

chapter word count: 1.2k words

"We need to know your speciality, Emilia, so we know who to team you up with."

"I'm more of an in-the-field kind of person." I replied confidently.

"Yea, we've seen." The girl called Hyo rolled her eyes.

For some strange reason, I hated her guts. Leaving her snarky remarks aside, it just seemed to me that she couldn't be trusted...

"After all, you did sooo good at your latest in-the-field mission." She insisted.

"Oh, shut up, the plan would've definitely worked if I wouldn't have been betrayed." I returned her attitude.

"Sure, like Chris would ever sleep with you." She replied, spiteful.

So they don't know, I thought and threw Chan a look and a slight smirk, which made him clear his throat and avert my gaze.

"So what's the mission, Boss?" Hyunjin asked, curious.

"We've gotten a tip from one of our informants about a trafficking ring going on. Young girls..."

"Those fucking bastards." Momo spat out, hitting the table with her fist and interrupting Chan's speech.

"Truly disgusting. Who is behind this shit?" Changbin asked, clearly annoyed. "Let's beat them up."

At least we got the same morals here.

"It's the Knife Devils."

"What a dumb name." I laughed, earning a small chuckle from everyone.

"So what are we doing?" Hyo asked, annoyed by my 10-seconds of fame.

"We must first get an address from our informant. The plan is to infiltrate the house and rescue those girls. They are currently being held in God knows what conditions... Emilia, we still have to see what you're capable of, so you'll pair up with Changbin, who is the best there is when it comes to these kind of missions."

The dark boy smirked proudly, hearing his Boss' praises.

"Hyo, you will help Seungmin install microphones and small cameras after we get our address tonight. Lix and Jeongin, you will keep watch while Emilia and Changbin go in tomorrow night. We'll work out the strategy today, I already have an idea but need to make some calls first to find out exactly where the girls are and an approximate number. We're guessing there's about 10, might be more."

My stomach turned. Kidnapping and selling young girls was... sick. Not unusual, though, unfortunately. It's a men's world after all.

"We will get those girls, ok?" Bang Chan said assuringly, noticing my face changing colour.

~

"So, a doctor, huh? You did look pretty smart 5 years ago. And knowledge is sexy." I winked, teasing the young fox-like boy, who blushed at my remark.

"It's all thanks to you. After you saved me that day... you just gave me a purpose. I realised I wanted to help others just like you did that night..." Jeongin replied, his lips turning into a kind curve.

He took my hands in his, like earlier in the garden, and held on to them for a bit.

"I kept thinking... if you wouldn't have been there to stop the bleeding..."

"Don't think about that." I smiled gently.

"I can't not think about it. I feel like I'm on borrowed time. I was supposed to bleed out to death. I was supposed to die in that dark room." He said grimly, his eyes turning distant.

"Jeongin, all of us are on borrowed time. You could've gotten hit by a car when you were 5, but the driver randomly took a left instead of a right turn that day. You could've choked while eating an orange and suffocated to death when you were 10... or you could've bled out that night. But you didn't. Circumstances don't matter. I'm also on borrowed time, thanks to Chris. If it was anyone else... I would've probably been 6 feet under right now instead of talking to you."

Jeongin looked down to his feet.

"What I mean to say is, don't focus so much on the past. Instead, look at the future like an opportunity. Some aren't so lucky..." I patted his shoulder and glanced out the window, getting lost in thought.

~Flashback, 3 year ago~

"Shade, fuck, I've been shot!"

"Where?! Where are you?!"

I could hear my partner groaning through the earpiece, while I ran aimlessly through the rooms of the abandoned building.

"The bastards... shot me in the stomach... I don't think I'll make it. Fuck. Please run away."

"San, don't say that! I'm coming right now!" Tears started running down my face. "Just tell me where you are. I can't find you..." I continued with a shaky voice.

Not in this room, not here either, this is a bathroom, fuck. Fuck. FUCK!!!

"San, answer me!" I screamed in the earpiece, hoping to hear from him.

"Shade... please listen carefully." His voice was quiet, too quiet.

"You have to get out of here. Fuck... I was such a coward... too much of a coward to tell you how I feel about you..."

"Just tell me where you are, please!" I pledged.

"I want you to leave this place and... to live. For me, yea?"

"No, no, no, don't say that. DON'T SAY THAT. I would never leave without you. I'm on my way!!!"

"No... Shade... Emi... I love you, even if you don't feel the same... Please... promise me that... you'll leave this fucking mafia... and be happy..."

My feet were killing me. I was out of breath, but I couldn't stop running, not unless I found him.

San was the only person I could trust in this damn mafia gang – or rather, in the whole world.

"Emi... fuck... I think they are-" San started coughing powerfully, unable to speak further.

He couldn't die.

No.

I wouldn't accept that.

"Look at this bastard, he's still hanging on!" an unfamiliar voice was heard through the earpiece.

Two gun shots, then silence.

~End of flashback~

"Emilia, you okay? I lost you for a minute there..." Jeongin started, bringing me back to Earth.

"Sorry, did you say something?" I pulled myself back together, locking San's memory deep, in one of the hidden compartments of my brain I didn't want to access ever again.

"I just... I'm wondering what you were thinking of..."

"Mm. It's nothing." I smiled, ruffling his hair playfully. "Let's relax until the mission tonight, mkay?"

"I.N, Shade! Come quick!" Han shouted at us from the other side of the house.

~

"The informant has been killed." Chan told us sombrely. "We can't stick to the original plan."

"What now?" Momo asked.

"We have to... think of something else. Another way to find the girls."

"You surely have something in mind. Let's hear it." Seungmin said.

"No... it's... too dangerous." Chan shook his head.

"Can I make a guess?" I intervened. "You want one of us to get kidnapped, right?" I continued, pointing to me, Hyo and Momo.

"Absolutely not." Said Changbin, making the other boys agree.

"Why not? It's a good plan." I retorted.

"It's just as Chris said, it's too dangerous..." Jeongin replied.

"Plus, we all know how that turned out last time we tried something like this." Changbin continued, eyeing Chan.

"I stand by what I said. It's a good plan." I continued.

"Then you should be the one who gets kidnapped!" Hyo clapped her hands once with a happy smile on her face, just like a kid who's finally found the solution to a math problem they were struggling to solve.

"Sure, but how will I get myself kidnapped?" I ignored the spitefulness in her tone.

"Our informant found out about this trafficking ring from Club 64. Apparently, some guys from the Knives frequent it and pick their victims there. We will pretend we're together, go there and have a 'fight', you will go to the bar sulking and attract their attention."

"Chan, it's too much..." Jeongin tried to talk the leader out of the idea.

"If Emilia agrees to do it..."

---

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

[anukulee]

His Morning Sunshine

Starring Tom Hiddleston as Loki

Alongside Emily Skinner and Valentina Zenere as Lucia Ortiz

A/N: I thought I would try something new with a grumpy sunshine routine, so I hope you all enjoy it.

The single groan that escaped from Loki's throat was one full of such husky, sultry, and seductive energy, that one might assure was a moan, given the husky nature of it. Yet rather than it be a moan driven out of pleasure, it was instead driven out the usual morning displeasure. As his green eyes slowly blinked open, as he cupped his hand against his eyes, so as to try and block out the early morning rays that were shining through, the curtains of his room.

For he had never been one for mornings, even in Asgard, he saw it as a waste of the day, for him mornings rarely held precious memories. Reminders of being forced to sit around the table, and put off the early morning antics of his family. For if he desired to hear Odin bark his cruel words, or Thor stuffing his face with all the food the palace had to offer, he could've just come during a feast. Other then that morning only reminded him of the long day that faced him. Yet despite everything in him crying to shut his eyes again for more sleep, he forced his eyes to remain awake, to slowly adjust to the morning light. 

With each moment passing, Loki began to grow more accustomed to the morning, bit by bit slowly sitting up trying not to stir the bed. “Another shitty day,” he proclaimed in a mutter to nobody in particular, the proclamation was grumpy as one might expect. Even with this, he didn’t even spar a glance to the other side of his bed, a side that perhaps would rid him of his morning mood. Slowly he allowed his fingertips to gaze at his forehead, slowly rubbing them, as despite everything he continued to force himself awake. 

Through every movement he made, he was still as grumpy as ever. His eyebrows soon formed a crease despite it being far too early for such matters, through for him it was never too early. “Norns, I hate morning,” Loki proclaimed once more to no one in particular. Yet rather than be greeted with silence as he had before, there was another voice, a voice that belonged to her and her alone. 

“You say every day,” her voice proclaimed, this one more feminine than her counterpart. 

“Because every day it's the same,” he retorted. 

“What even with me around,” his companion replied, going so far as to beat her eyelashes together, sounding almost hurt by his statement. Upon hearing this, his gaze now drifted to the other side of the bed, finally now registering that he wasn’t alone anymore. 

“You’re still here Lucia,” Loki asked, his tone lacked with sacrasm, as if he hadn’t been the very god to invite her in.

“What do you want me to leave, Loki,” Lucia asked with a pause, as slowly she began to sit up. “How cruel kicking me out of your bed, and after all we did,” she said, taking this chance to put her hands at her chest in mock offense. 

To this, Loki gave her to him, a well deserved eye roll. “As if you didn’t enjoy it,” Loki said, as a slow and sensual smile began to cross his face.

“Now, I never said that, did I?”

“Didn’t you through,” Loki teased, his voice sounding more akin to his usual games.

“Just like you like to pretend you hate mornings.”

“But I do," Loki insisted, which may have worked for anyone else. Sadly for him Lucia knew far better then what he claimed, yet still she played along with it.

“Do you truly,” Lucia asked, her tone implying a more skeptical note to it.

“Yes,” Loki responded in a deadpan manner. 

“Than I suppose if you hate mornings so much, perhaps I shall make my way elsewhere,” Lucia said, slowly getting up from the bed, but not before Loki had caught her wrist. Going so far as to roll over her and pin her down, his hands now holding her waists, in a way that she could escape if need be. Yet both knew that wasn’t likely to happen.

“You shall do no such thing,” Loki proclaimed now looking down at his pinned companion.

“And why shouldn’t I?”

“Because I won’t let you.”

“Won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And here I thought you hated mornings.”

“Must you do this right now,” Loki asked, very amused by Lucia current attics. 

“Always,” she remarked with a grin spread across her face, much like the Cheshire cat.

“How I hate when you are like this,” Loki proclaimed as if he didn’t secretly love her, especially during moments like this. As his eyes mirrored a different story, eyes full of what one might expect from someone who desired another, with love in between the lust.

“Do you truly?”

“Yes,” Loki as if his eyes weren’t screaming bedroom eyes. 

“Your eyes seem to be saying different,” she proclaimed stubbornly despite her current position.

“And what do my eyes say,” he asked playing along with her bluff. 

“They say you want to,” Lucia said, as she leaned up as close as she could, before saying certain words, far dirtier than any parent might let their child hear.  Despite not being new to her words, this seemed to startle Loki, enough that he lost his gripe enough that the woman freed her own hands. As she flipped them so she was now on top of him. “Looks like you are the one on the bottom now.”

“So I am,” Loki trying to act calm, as if his heart currently wasn’t beating out of control, both of our love and desire by the very women who were holding him down. Yet rather then use his ready avaible seidr, Loki was far more interested in what she might do, thus he held off, despite the very yeaning feeling in his loins.

“Now what shall I do, with you? Perhaps I should teach you a lesson, leaving you aching for my every touch.”

“As if I don’t already.”

“Yes, I know, but perhaps I should try more,” Lucia asked, allowing one of her hands to caress his head. 

As she positioned herself firmly on top of Loki, right above a certain area of his body. 

“Such as,” Loki asked, as if he was in any real position to resist her.

“Who knows, maybe I should try,” Lucia began to say, still pressed firmly against Loki. Leaning down as she kissed the shell of his ear, going so far as to tug just a little, in just the way she knew he liked. As a single husky moan escaped his lips, very much aroused by her actions, and now unable to hide it. Lucia seemed to take delight in this, as a smile crossed her features once more. “What do you like this,” she asked, as she continued her movements, now on his face. One by one placing sensual kisses on it, until she reached his lips, putting even more weight on him, and even stirring her hips above his. Her lips captured in his, as both fought for dominance, and in the moment he thought he won, she parted her lips from his.

“Hmmm,” Loki whined already missing her lips, this only causing the woman to gain more of a confident smile. Now far too distracted to think of how to escape much less use his seidr. 

“So I take it you liked it,” Lucia asked, before descending further down leaving just as sensual kisses as before.

“You know I did,” Loki proclaimed, his voice now taking on a more dangerous husky tone, one that should’ve warned her, yet as expected she didn’t listen. 

“Yes, I did,” Lucia remarked with a grin as she seemed set to continue on her path to torment him, leaving kisses each as sensual as the last. “Now you have two choices,” she offered.

“Oh and what are they,” Loki asked, his eyebrow-raising just a bit, in curiosity. 

“Either you can admit that maybe you don’t hate mornings as much as you claim or….”

“Or what?”

“Or I continue this.”

“Will you?”

“Yes,”  Lucia said, her eyes clearly showing her unwillingess to give up, something Loki found even more arousing if that was even possible. 

“Then I suppose I could give in or…..”

“Or what?”

“I could do this,” Loki said, as with his own smirk, along with his arms, he proceeded to caress the curve of his partner's ass. Carassing in just the way he knew she liked it, as slowly the woman seemed to forget her initial task, the man taking this chance to flip them back to their original positions. Through with something now peeking out that hadn’t been before. “Now what were you saying about me giving in,” Loki asked as if his godly morning wood wasn’t in clear view.

Rather than a clear statement a whimper seemed to be all that came out of the Lucia's beautiful lips.

“That’s what I thought,” Loki said, the smirk still ever present on his face.

“I hate you,” Lucia spite out, through both parties knew that was far from the truth.

Despite this Loki didn’t seem deteriorated by her words at all, as it only seemed to make him more confident. “So you claim, yet here beneath me, almost as if you are submitting to my every desire.”

“So what?”

“Well, if you were perhaps a good girl, I might reward you.”

“Will you Daddy,” Lucia asked, and despite the number of kinks that Loki found arousing daddy was not one of them. Likely steamed from his own years of daddy issues, making him never being one for it.  As a frown became evident on his godly features.

“If I were your daddy we wouldn’t be in this position.”

“Wouldn’t we, perhaps you are my sugar daddy.”

“Are you sure you want to play this game with me,” Loki asked, a clear warning in his voice.

“Whose to say, would you like it?”

“Perhaps,” Loki hinted, yet proceeded to pause. “But if we did, you might not get the answer you seek.”

“Which is.”

“You might be right.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Only if you agree to be a good girl, and stop protesting.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I might have to punish you.”

“Will you,” the woman asked her own eyes now filling with arousal at the suggestion.

“Yes.”

“Well we can’t have that now can we?”

“No, so will you stop this nonsense and allow me to speak.”

“If I must,” Lucia said with a pout knowing that consciences would be far worse, and besides his rewards are always better than his punishments. 

“Good girl,” Loki before leaning down ever close to her. “I was never a morning person, but then I started waking up to your face and….”

“And what?”

“Perhaps, mornings aren’t that bad, after all.” 

Whoever made the next move couldn’t be determined all that was known was the two might’ve been stuck in bed for a little while longer inducing in certain morning pleasures. As the once morning grump Loki might’ve changed his tune just a little, though he would never admit it, after all, if he did, he might be without his morning pleasures, and besides what was he, if he wasn’t Lucia's morning grump?

@mochie85 @mochie85-archives @simplyholl @sailorholly @smolvenger @lokisgoodgirl @lokisgoodgirlbackup @lokischambermaid @lokischamber @november-rayne @lokisbirdofhermes @evelyn-kingsley @chantsdemarins @skymoonandstardust @lotsoflokilove23 @five-miles-over @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @villainousshakespeare @xorpsbane @immyowndefender @redonael @ashereads @kateslife15 @liminalpebble @gigglingtiggerv2 @michelleleewise @lokis-dark-queen @acidcasualties @friggadottirr @chokeanddagger @jennyggggrrr @rahne85 @superficialdomina

[somewhatsentientspellbook]

Personal Take Incoming (Critical Role)

Consider this a diary entry explaining some of my thoughts on a few Critical Role characters. Avoid reading this post if you don't want my takes on Keyleth, Fjord, Ashton, Orym, Imogen, Percy, and Caleb.

So, I've noticed a common trend with my favourite characters across a variety of fandoms. I personally am an individual who gravitates towards characters with integrity, and rules for themselves that they follow. Characters that have lines in the sand that they can draw and then defend. It doesn't necessarily have to be rules put in place by society, it can be ones they made up for themselves. These characters oftentimes end up becoming the moral centre of their party, which adds another fascinating angle as they try to navigate maintaining their morals with a wider group filled with diverse opinions.

I suppose that is why Keyleth was my favourite Vox Machina character from pretty much the get-go! Her integrity was what endeared me to her throughout the entire campaign. She had opinions of what she thought was right and wrong, and she tried her hardest to enforce that view. Were there times when she learned she was wrong, yes. But she kept what she learned in mind and adjusted her internal monologue to see fit. Keyleth's integrity and unwillingness to engage in the overly amoral actions of Vox Machina created a lot of interesting dynamics.

In campaign two, Fjord quickly became my favourite for very similar reasons. He was the one to ask Beau to apologise to Toya and insist that the party help the Schuster kids so that they wouldn't be put in an orphanage. He also maintained a certain level of honesty with the rest of the party about his history and his mysterious dreams. In this case, Fjord wasn't necessarily 'good' (as he was comfortable with doing some pretty shitty stuff), but he still had expectations of himself and rules that he would not break.

I guess that is why Asthon and Orym are currently my favourite members of Bells Hells too. They both have convictions that they will not stray from and a certain level of integrity that the party honestly needs. Now, whether or not they are right is another discussion entirely, but the point is that they have the courage to stick to their guns even when the group is leaning in another direction.

People have been complaining that the takes on Imogen Temult are unfair, and some of those takes are unfair! But I won't shy away from the fact that Imogen is my least favourite member of Bells Hells (I still think they're all fantastic - including Imogen herself). She is my least favourite for exactly the reasons above. Imogen supposedly has internal rules, but we've seen her be more than happy to break them when they don't suit her at a given moment. She's said that she hates to pry into people's minds and that she avoids it wherever possible - but we see her willingly dive into the minds of people like Dorian without their consent. Imogen has stated that Laudna is the most important person in the world to her and that she loves her more than anything - but Imogen cannot look Laudna in the eyes and tell her that she won't side with Laudna's murderer. That doesn't make the character any less interesting, but it definitely makes it harder for me personally to like her.

I've seen a handful people across socials imply that if you like Percy or Caleb, but not Imogen - it's because she's a woman. This is where I wholeheartedly disagree. While the overly negative opinions of Imogen are harsh and unwarranted, Imogen is the first character whose allegiances I am genuinely uncertain about. Percy and Caleb have said and done truly awful things; I think we can all agree on that. And while they have considered leaving the group, it was under very different circumstances. For the longest time, Percy had nothing waiting for him outside Vox Machina, so the only time I feared he would leave the group was when he died (since Tal confirmed he would've been happy to stay dead). Caleb too, had very little beyond the Mighty Nein and he considered leaving them on multiple occasions. But never once did he consider leaving them to join their enemy. Now, had the M9 faced the Cerberus Assembly earlier in the campaign, that might have been different - but I never feared that Caleb would switch sides in the campaign we did get.

The thing is, Imogen does have something waiting for her: Lilliana and Predathos. I'm not sure about her allegiance, and that's where Imogen, Percy, and Caleb are different. While what Imogen has said/done has been tame compared to what Percy and Caleb have said/done - I know that the line Imogen is toeing is one neither of the others had dared to cross. Percy would never have considered joining forces with the Briarwoods, Thordak, or the Whispered One. Caleb would never have dared to join sides with Avantika, Obann, or Trent. But Imogen might.

That is fascinating. And dangerous. The future isn't set in stone, and all I can do now is bite my tongue and wait for episode 50.

[kindred-sims]

Bedtime in the Wakefield home held a very specific routine to it.

Jo would tend to the girls first, ensuring that they were tucked in and settled, before leaving to go to Henry's room. And every night, she would find the same sight waiting for her. Her son, seated on his bed, with his book in hand.

Tonight was no exception.

She walked into his room, and right on schedule, there he was. His pajamas remained in a heap on his dresser, while he leafed through his poetry book, an intense expression on his face. Not even his mother's presence was enough to deter him from continuing.

"Darling, you know I hate to interrupt your reading, but you really must get to bed now," Jo gently scolded him, receiving a sigh in return.

"Can't I just have five more minutes, Mama?"

"No, because five will turn into ten, and then ten will turn into another whole hour," chuckled his mother. "Trust me, dear, there will be other times for it. But as it stands, we have church in the morning, and I'd really like to be out the door on time for once."

Reluctantly, Henry shut his book, setting it on his nightstand beside him.

"Alright..."

He began to ready himself for bed after this, not noticing the concern on his mother's face as he did so. Truly, his late-night reading didn't bother her that much, it was good to see him have such a healthy appetite for books, but...she did have some worries as of late.

For example, in every night that she'd come in here, Henry had always had the book close to his face, and his eyes would be squinted. He'd admitted to Jo once that the words were too blurry otherwise, and she'd tried not to worry about it too much -- after all, his eyes could just be tired from all the late nights he'd spent up reading, but it was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

Especially when Carrie had said that he'd been doing the same thing at school.

So once Henry was all settled in, she'd gone downstairs and confronted Caleb with her concerns.

"I know this may just be me being a hysterical mother," she fretted. "But I'm worried about him, Caleb. What if this starts affecting his grades, what then? I'd hate for him to fall behind..."

"As would I..." Caleb looked just as bothered, a hard frown crossing his features. "I don't fault the boy for his reading, but if only he didn't insist on staying up so late..."

"Do not blame his reading, this could've been happening much longer than either of us ever knew," Jo promptly pointed out. "What matters now is that we do something about it before it gets worse."

Caleb nodded solemnly, mulling it over for about a moment.

"Well...I suppose we could take him to see an oculist," he finally concluded. "We do have a bit of money saved up from the last harvest, after all, it shouldn't be a problem. We can have him excused from school on Monday and I'll take him into town with me, I'll just need you to write a note for Miss Thompson."

"Of course, whatever needs to be done." Jo agreed quickly. She tried to convince herself that this wasn't too serious of an issue, at best, Henry would just need a pair of glasses and all would be well. Being his mother, though...that didn't excuse her from continuing to worry about him.

[trashbag-baby666]

Sweet Treat O’Clock-Buck/Bucky

Summary: Based off this headcanon by yours truly. I wrote two versions of this because I couldn’t decide which was better!!! Enjoy!!!

WC: 1,300

C/W: Hints at NSFW but if you squint at one part.

MOTA Masterlist!

Version One:

Buck was supposed to be reading his book right now, school started in three days and he hadn’t even bothered picking up his summer reading book. He had spent his summer being stupid in love with John and now the actions were facing their consequences.

“Oh, hey handsome.” John's attention from Fortnite getting pulled out right from under his feet. Gale came out of the bathroom in his flannel pajama pants shirtless, but to top John's sundae off, he had his glasses on. Lord the things those tortoise shell colored, square glasses did to him.

“I’d love to give you a blowjob but I need to read this stupid book.” Gale sat down on his side of the bed, delivering a kiss to John's cheek.

“Fuck that book, that books cock blocking me.” John flipped off the cover of Gale's book.

“Yeah, fuck this book.” Gale stared down at the cover of Jane Eyre, he did not want to read this book, “Croz and Rosie already finished it. Croz loved it, but well we both know why Croz liked it.”

Croz always seemed to find a niche in liking most of the classic books they had to read for class that no one else liked. Frankenstein, Dracula, The Catcher and The Rye. worst of them all…A Farewell to Arms by Hernest Hemmingway. He always could read them in a somewhat more complex way of understanding the story and the characters.

“Do you want me to go downstairs?”

“No it's okay, you weren’t playing on call right?”

“No Croz is at his Grandma's house,” John set the controller down and looked at Gale, “God you’re so beautiful, I’m so jealous of Jane Eyre.”

“You’re so cute,” Gale snickered, giving him another kiss on the cheek, “Okay now for real I gotta read this book.”

Gale could feel his eyes completely glazed over and he certainly had not been actually paying attention through the last few chapters he had been reading. “I hate this stupid book.” Gale let it collapse onto his chest. He wasn’t even half way in and he wanted to throw this book across the room. Spark notes seemed very tempting but he had heard the stories of the 12th grade lit teacher and how she knew if you read the book or not.

“Can we go get a little treat?” John tapped his finger tips together like a supervillain about to steal the moon.

Gale tipped his head back against the pillow letting out a huff. He needed to read this book but he needed to take a break at the same time. He knew he wasn’t going to win the sweet treat fight with John and that man would be getting his fix tonight.

“Where do you wanna go?”

“Walmart…I get a discount and I’m really craving cupcakes.” John rolled onto his side wrapping his hand around Gales bicep, “Please babe!”

“Fine, but when we get back I need to read that damn book. No distractions mister.” Gale held out his finger like he was scolding him.

“No distractions I promise…I just need a cupcake or two?”

“We can get a pack because if the girls find out we had cupcakes without them again. There will be mutilated Barbie’s that are supposed to be us in our future.”

Version Two:

John was sprawled out on the couch, Gale laying between his legs. It was winter break and the two were laid up at home, because John had done quite a sprain to his ankle. He had been stressed out and insisted he needed to go for a run to clear his head. Gale kept telling him that he shouldn’t because it was still icey. But you know, John, stubborn as a mule.

So, Gale was not surprised when John called him to come pick him up. Because he slipped on ice and now his ankle is swollen and throbbing.

Now here they were stuck home while his parents and sisters were at the Lake House having fun.

“Buck?”

“Buck?” John nudged his side.

“Hm?” Gale's eyes were fixated on the TV as they watched the season two Superstore finally, they’d been binging the show all day long and Gale was invested.

“I want a sweet little treat.”

“We probably have something here?”

“No, I want Little Debies and ice cream so bad. They may heal my ankle, so I think we should go to the store and try it?” John rested his head on Gales shoulder.

“What's in it for me, John?” Gale smirked, tilting his head back to look at him.

John let out a sigh, “I’ll buy you a little treat? Well you’ve been such a good nurse for me you deserve it. Well what do you want the bribe to be then?”

“Hmmm,” Gale tapped his chin dramatically looking off to the side for a moment.

“Spit it out,” John whined tapping his side again.

“After you're healed, next time our bathroom needs to be cleaned it's your turn to clean it. Maybe a box of Nutter Butters if you’re feeling generous?” Gale kissed his cheek.

“Deal.”

“You better not fall again though, I swear if you end up stress fracturing your ankle you’re not going to be playing baseball in spring.” Gale got up off the couch and helped John up, handing him his crutches. It was like trying to watch a baby giraffe walk every time Gale looked over at him, “Are you gonna hobble around Walmart?”

“No, I'll get one of those scooters.”

Gale pulled his lips into a small smirk shaking his head, “Let’s go get our sweet treats.”

“Watch out,” John swung the scooter towards Gale as they went down the freezer aisle.

“I’m gonna pull you over,” Gale shoved John’s shoulder gently, “At least I don’t have to carry the basket.”

“See the scooter is a plus, you don’t have to carry a basket and I won’t accidentally run your heels over with a cart.” John stopped in front of the ice cream.

“Well there’s still time for you to run over my heels with that. What ice cream do you want?”

“Rocky road mother fucker.” John waved his hands in the air making a siren sound obnoxiously.

“Damn band kids,” Gale said, setting the ice cream in the basket on the scooter, then reaching back into the freezer for his Ben & Jerry’s.

“You got me there, but you’re calling Rosie out too then.” Gale started the scooter down to the next aisle.

“Well Rosie is more of one of the annoying theater kids than an annoying band kid.” Gale defended his answer. Instead of playing Tequila in the hallway after pep band and playing the among us imposter sound. Rosie would randomly start humming or singing show tunes and dancing. He especially really liked Heathers right now and if they had to hear Rosie sing Meant To Be Yours one more time they all might go nuts.

“Do you think I’m a better singer than him?” John snickered, turning down the next aisle for their Little Debbies.

“I feel as if I shouldn’t answer this question? Let me just say there's a reason they casted him as Danny in Grease.” Gale shrugged glancing over at John, “Although I do think you put on the best performance ever as Sebastian in the Little Mermaid, though.”

“That was pretty good wasn’t it?” John let a shit eating grin grow on his face. John had looked so good in that red suit that was his costume.

“You’re a star John, you’re a star.”

“Please I’m a star! I’m a star!” John did his best Mia Goth impression, “Get me an Oscar for that one.”

“Why don’t we get our sweet treats first? Then we can conquer the Oscars.”

[dogmetaph0r]

SIC 'EM

Chapter 5: Wait

A/N: I have no clue what a mews is supposed to look like and at this point I'm too afraid to ask! We're having a lil fun with this one because I decided the Angstiest People In The World deserve a little break and to have a nice time. Plus some... plot :) (we are going to ignore the fact that the soundtrack is entirely Hozier lolllll shhhh it's a nice summer at Arrow House don't judge me)

Pairings: M!OC x F!OC, M!OC x Tommy Shelby, Tommy Shelby x Grace Burgess, F!OC x Grace Burgess if you squint real hard

Warnings: descriptions of violence/blood and injury (flashback only)

Soundtrack: Wildflower and Barley - Hozier & Allison Russell // Do I Wanna Know? - Hozier (cover) // Sweet Thing - Hozier (cover)

Summary: Summer in Warwickshire brings a much-needed reprieve from the violence and fear upturning Fia and Sam's life. Fia makes a much-needed friend, Sam faces his fears, and Grace convinces Tommy to be a good host for once. A thought in the back of Sam's mind bothers him again... but what else is new?

Things happened quickly, far faster than what Fia would’ve liked. Under the solemn cloak of night, hoofbeats on cobblestone were the only sound to disturb the eerie silence. The axels had been greased, everything fastened down in such a way that not a single rattling thunk reached the world outside. On top of that, the lantern and fires were both out– Lord only knew how Sam could see between the thick darkness and the solid knock to his head, but he insisted on driving the horses onward himself so as to not put her at risk. Gentlemanly, yes, but ultimately a bit of a foolhardy task with no fucking lights.

Fia braced herself by wedging into the space between the hard outer wall of the fireplace and the drawers bedecked with delicate hand-painted chicory blossoms. Idly, or out of lack of control for any other element of the situation she found herself in, Fia prayed that Sam would drive on carefully enough that the heel of her riding boot wouldn’t scratch the varnish.

She only wished that she were slightly less pregnant at the time, because as it stood, the little one had very contently wedged themself into her bladder. It was, as one might imagine, a problem. This was exacerbated by the next big problem: she wasn’t sure she could get up from this spot without help. Bitterly, she thought back to when Sam insisted she sit on the cushioned bench at the very least, but Fia, an evident strategist, had chosen the fucking floor because she figured being out of sight would be safer if they were being followed by hidden assailants. Genius, that. Truly an intellectual choice.

So yes, perhaps she was a bit upset. And uncomfortable. And exhausted from the worrying she’d been doing. And— oh look at that, she’d picked the old scabs on her thumb until they became new scabs.

Fuck Tommy Shelby, she thought. Fuck every ounce of his miserable existence. Fuck his stupid razor gang, fuck his stupid accusations, fuck his stupid hoardes of wealth. Unable to sleep, she occupied her time listing the ways in which she detested the leader of the Peaky Blinders as though counting sheep. One strike, two strikes, three strikes, four, five. Fia must’ve spent all night indulging in her new hobby, because by the time she’d moved onto hating his stupid ears, the dark around her had turned a pale periwinkle and the noise and smell of the city was long forgotten.

In its place came birdsong. The sweet, earthy smell she could only describe as being overwhelmingly green. The blessed sight of a blue sky peering back at her through gaps in the clouds— real clouds, not the choking smog of the city. It had only been a couple of days, but she had missed it fiercely.

Sam was a bit cross with her when he opened the door to find her crouched in the most uncomfortable (safest, thank you) corner of the vardo. She had every right to be unhappy in turn, as Sam looked about ready to fall asleep standing upright, eyelids drooping and hair mussed from where he’d rested his head on his hand despite knowing full well that Fia had volunteered to take a shift at the reins. But of course, Sam and his self-punitive nature insisted on proving himself the man of the house at every opportunity. As if she cared, really; she’d rather have a meek and unassuming Sam than a dead-in-a-ditch-from-exhaustion Sam. But she couldn’t stay angry for long, not about something like this. Because this place, this haven he’d taken them to just as the sun began to crawl slowly up to the treeline, could just about be the most beautiful place they’d set up camp so far.

This was where they found themselves in the hot days of summer, parked beneath a grove of fragrant trees and within walking distance of a crystalline stream. They’d only been graced by Tommy’s presence but the one time, which should’ve been a blessing. And yet…

“Sam,” she called from where she dangled her legs from the narrow deck of the vardo, darning a sock she’d snagged on a blackberry bush.

He rested in the grass just a few yards away, having made a successful venture into Kenilworth to treat a gentleman’s dressage horse and pick up some food for the next few days. It wasn’t the sort of trip sanctioned by the man hosting them— for their safety, Tommy preferred to send out his staff to gather what they needed —but damn it, she’d been craving biscuits, and Sam had been practically tearing up the cushions for something to do that wasn’t sex or taking the horses for a trot around the acres surrounding the giant mansion in the distance.

When Sam tilted his head back to look at her, she couldn’t help but smile. The lack of stress had done him well; the healthy bronze glow had returned to his skin, and in the late afternoon sunlight his eyes shone like silver. The dark circles had begun to fade from beneath his eyes, his face less gaunt and gaze less hollow. Sam had a new gentleness to him that the war had made scarce. He was beautiful (if it were up to her, they certainly wouldn’t run out of things to do, but Sam was unfortunately limited by human stamina), but most importantly, he was rested. The nightmares had lessened in frequency and potency without the stress of survival and isolation looming over them. Now, their nights were peaceful and quiet more often than not. With the rib fracture largely healed, he could sleep comfortably on his side without tossing and turning.

Fia shook from her reverie when Sam laughed, a cheeky smile broadcasting just how much he preened on Fia’s admiration. “What?” He stretched like ivy sprawling across the ground, long limbs taut before he relaxed with a contented little huff.

“Nothing. Was just thinking,” Fia said, “that we haven’t seen Thomas in a while.”

Sam arched his eyebrows like she’d just offered to diddle the Pope. “Tommy, too? Oh, Fi, you’re insatiable!” He brought his arms up to protect his face, giggling, as Fia lobbed the balled-up sock at him.

“You are so—!” She groaned instead of finishing the sentence, unable to stop a smile from creeping across her face. “Christ, I just wanted to hear updates on Aintree. See if they found anything that could explain who those people are. Would you ask him for me?”

It was Sam’s turn to groan then, head falling back, grass parting with a gentle hiss and crackle. “I’m so comfortable,” he whined. “It’s nice out.”

Well, that was rather inconvenient. For all his eagerness to do anything but lay around, Sam had picked the perfect time to fall victim to a nice warm beam of sunlight. Well, she thought, if you want something done right, you must do it yourself.

“I’ll go then. Help me down,” she said, not waiting for him before she was stretching cautiously to land barefoot in the grass. Sam was up in the blink of an eye, an arm under hers and a hand supporting her belly.

“Not alone, you’re not,” he tutted, indulging his hope that he’ll feel a kick by keeping his hand on her bump for a moment longer. “It’s dangerous.”

Fia leveled him with an unimpressed glare. “It’s just up the hill. It’s a mile away.”

“A mile away and into a stranger’s house,” he added.

“A stranger who you trusted to keep us safe,” she countered, and by the sigh he heaved she knew she’d won. But it wasn’t the only point she needed to make. “You get to roam the property,” she said, smoothing her dress with her palms, “while I sit here and do… well, not much. Gripe to myself about my feet swelling, perhaps? Waddle to the creek? Darn some socks?”

Sam nodded, brows furrowed. He handed her the old pair of riding boots she’d nicked from Danny, not without apprehension and a side of disapproval. “Fine,” he ducked down to offer some stability as she slipped them on, then tied the laces for her. “But take Ypres.”

Fia rolled her eyes. “Yes, dear.”

—

Not but 15 minutes after Fia set off for Arrow House did Thomas Shelby emerge from the treeline astride a well-muscled Friesian. Of course, Sam thought, having a private laugh. Never where we want him to be, is he? He raised a hand in greeting from where he slumped back against the wheel of the Vardo, an old jam jar shining amber with a dram of cheap whiskey in his hand.

Tommy and that stunning horse approached, the gelding unburdened by a saddle and difficult to look away from as he demonstrated that signature high-stepping trot. They crested the low curve of the hillock separating the two thickets of beeches and oaks, stopping just close enough for Sam to leave his too-warm whiskey behind and meet them halfway in the field.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Sam drawled, feeling quite ridiculous trying to borrow John’s words and confident demeanor for… what, a chat in a field?

“Likewise,” Tommy said, adjusting his posture as the horse shifted impatiently. “Everything well out here?”

Sam hummed in the affirmative, taking a good look at the steed now that he was close enough to reach out and pat him. He was sturdy and tall, not cute and stocky like Ypres but something imposing in his bulkiness; the sort of horse belonging to the knights of old. Definitely a Friesian, he thought, daring a good fuss above the nose only to be met with a curious snort and a flexible upper lip attempting to return the favor.

“Who’s this fellow?” He asked, in awe of the inky blackness of the coat. Completely undisturbed by mottling and marking, nearly ravenlike.

“This is Charon,” Tommy said, and there was a sort of delight in his voice that Sam had never heard from him before. “Beautiful, aye?”

“Oh, stunning. Absolutely boss.” The big gelding blinked, lip loose and amicable as Sam moved, unafraid of a bite, onto the velvety softness of his chin.

Tommy arched one brow, a slight hint of a smirk gracing his lips. “Boss?”

“Well… yeah,” he said, the tips of his ears pinking. “Y’know. Like. That’s boss, that’s great, yeah?”

And then Tommy, in such clarity and lack of restraint that it must’ve been some sort of apocalyptic anomaly, laughed.

“That’s strange,” he said. “Boss. Never heard that. Is that something you say up in Liverpool?”

Sam shrugged. He… didn’t like that. Didn’t enjoy the uncomfortable way his stomach swooped and the back of his neck itched as a flush crawled up to his face. Didn’t know how to feel about the fact that it felt bad to hear him laugh, that it felt like he was losing something good. Or gaining something awful.

Sam averted his eyes, returning instead to the comfort zone that was horse talk. “He’s not a wagon horse.”

“No,” Tommy said. “I’ll be training him for it, though. Word is that Friesian crosses are the future for us. Vanners, they’re calling ‘em. Cobs.”

Charon nickered, sniffing at the ground for more delicate shoots of grass to eat. The shudder of his flanks reminded Sam that Tommy’s only grip was the strength of his legs across the horse’s back, with no saddle to be found and reigns dangling limp around Charon’s neck. It was impressive, for a man raised in the city. Sam didn’t think he would have had much opportunity to learn the traditional ways.

“You ride bareback often?” Sam’s hand slid smooth and gentle across the shimmering dark neck of the horse.

“Always preferred it,” Tommy said, looking out across their modest camp. “When you sit without a saddle, you can feel every heartbeat. Every breath. It’s like reading his mind, in a sense.”

Sam had never thought of it that way. Had never thought of it at all, really; this was just the way he was raised. Who would sit and ponder why they always tied their right shoe before the left? Or why they climbed trees barefoot to reach the most flavorful apples? It didn’t need a justification. It simply… was.

“Not without consequence,” Sam replied. “S’pose if you can feel him breathing, he can feel you tense up. Tremble in fear. And I’m sure he can feel your heart beating, too, through the legs.” He nodded in the direction of Tommy’s femoral artery, where the blood rushed with force.

Tommy hummed, eyes lost off somewhere in the distance. “Is that a consequence? Or is it closeness?”

Sam tilted his head knowingly. Men like you and I, men who have been through what we have… we know the answer. And it’s not pretty. “What’s the difference?”

And, like beast and master, Tommy read his mind right back. There is none. There is none.

“Where’s Florence?” Tommy asked, the silence snapping like spider silk stretched thin. His expression molded into that of concern, subtle on him but impossible not to notice when it had been his expression for an entire weekend.

“Out looking for you,” Sam remembered, anxiety prickling up his spine. “She went to the house. You didn’t see her?”

Tommy shook his head, a bit too calm for his liking. He nodded at a spot just beyond the camp, a lush dell where Queenie placidly munched on a tall stalk of meadowsweet. “Did she take a horse?”

“Yes,” Sam replied quickly, knowing where this was going. “We should check the stables.”

“Agreed.”

—

Arrow House was… imposing. Standing at the base of the stairs, Fia needed to crane her neck so far out she almost toppled backwards just to see either end of the building. An almost sickening display of wealth, if it weren’t so pretty. Who could possibly need so many windows? Extravagance and fine detail, she could understand. It wasn’t too different from the bright paints and swirling designs on a vardo. But this much space? He could’ve had the whole family and then some living in this house. That wasn’t to mention the stately mews house, the attached stable, the groundskeeper’s house, the steeple of a distant chapel, the sprawling green lawns…

Fia hurried inside at the sound of wheels crunching on gravel in the distance, instinctually a little nervous being caught so close to a mansion like this. Would she be apprehended? Had she mistaken this house for someone else’s gigantic manor? But she’d been frozen in place in the opulent entryway for longer than she ought’ve, and had hardly taken in a thing. A grand wood staircase led up to some additional floor beyond sight… could she make it that far? She didn’t trust her knees to make it all the way, but perhaps she could hide on the landing somewhere before that grand family portrait. A child, round-faced and looking adoringly at his father. And was that… Thomas Shelby? Well, thank the lord she was in the right place at least. And there on the right, a pretty blonde woman draped in crimson. So this must’ve been—

“Oh!”

Fia startled, head whipping around in preparation to defend herself with… well, nothing really. But there she was: gold waves of hair, swanlike neck adorned with an undoubtedly expensive silver necklace, a hand caught digging in her purse. Grace Burgess.

“Hello!” Grace called out warily, hand still hidden within the bag. “May I help you, miss?”

Fia’s mouth moved soundlessly, cold sweat itching at her hairline. As she turned the rest of her body, protective of her belly, Grace’s eyes softened and her posture changed, shoulders relaxing.

“Ah,” she said, dropping whatever it was that she’d been clutching in her bag. “You’re Esme’s sister, aren’t you?”

On a delay, Fia nodded, slowly and then rapidly as the heart-pounding fear faded. “Yes,” she said. “I- I am.”

Grace smiled, striding forward to greet her. “I’m Grace. And you are…?”

“Florence-Maria,” she stammered, “uh, Lovell. Florence-Maria Lovell.”

“Florence-Maria,” she said, the syllables gliding over an accent that sang Galway in its origin, woven with a variety of places. A fellow traveler, Fia thought, smiling. Not a traveler like me or Sam or Tommy, but a woman who’s seen the world nonetheless. Grace’s brow furrowed in thought. “Lovell… oh! I didn’t realize you two had married.”

“We’re- we didn’t,” she said, flushing red. “I… I don’t know why I said that. We’re not.” She let out a nervous chuckle, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Grace laughed, not unkindly. “Here, it’s too warm outside.” She beckoned her to follow, walking them towards a sitting room with windows facing a little rose garden, drenched in light and warm wood tones. “I’ll have someone bring you water and something to eat. You must be tired.”

Fia shook her head, though she could feel the ache of sitting on a horse creeping up her tailbone and hips. “We’re not far away,” she said. “Just down by the stream around back.”

Grace gave her a knowing look, one brow arched in a manner that reminded her of Tommy. Had Grace picked up the habit first, or had he? “At… how many months, now? Six? Seven? At the very least, come sit.”

Fia obliged, but perched delicately on the silk brocade of the couch she found herself on. It felt wrong to disturb the fabric too much, like sitting on part of a museum exhibit. The more Fia looked, the more the room did remind her of an exhibit: empty, unused, set up neatly and swept of dust to keep tidy. Like a little dollhouse. Did they not receive guests? She knew full well that the Shelby boys were not the type to be separate for long, but she couldn’t find a trace of the room being lived-in by the extended family. The ashtrays sat empty, and the chintz pillows undented.

“The sitting room,” Grace said, observing her with something like scientific curiosity behind the warmth in her stare, “is usually not where we host. Tommy prefers his office, and I’ve been a bit reluctant to host any gatherings myself after having Charlie. But I hope it’s to your liking?”

Wide-eyed, Fia nodded and looked upward at the high coffered ceiling. “It’s… large.”

Grace laughed. “Yes, it’s something Tommy wanted. He seems preoccupied with image, but I know his heart’s in the right place with it. Wants me to be comfortable.” She paired that with an eye roll, as though this was something they’d discussed more than once.

Fia could understand why, though. Growing up on narrowboats and caravans and slim houses-turned-betting shops all his life had turned him into a man who needed space, or space from his family at the very least. Of course, she couldn’t deny that it was a pretty manor, on top of that. A high class wife, a high class house, a high class man. If only he humbled himself now and again and deigned to at least let her know he remembered their existence on the edge of his land.

“By the way,” she said, holding onto that loose thread of a thought, “where is Thomas?”

Grace stood by the window, illuminated blue and pink by the light cast through clouds and rose petals. “Probably out on one of the horses, if I know him. He gets like this; needs to run when his mind is busy.” She shook her head fondly, lips pursed like she was holding back some private insight. “It’ll be a while, is all I can say.”

She nodded again, fingers tangling in her dark locks. The silence stretched between them, a little awkward with the chilliness and sheer size of the room, and only worsened as a maid of all people brought her a glass of water. She held herself tense and tight on the couch, remembering her mother’s very few insistences on etiquette. Don’t sit like that in a skirt. Say “please” and “thank you”. Quit fidgeting. Carry a knife in your boot, just in case. Perhaps not that one. By the time she hid her hands beneath her thighs, remembering to quit picking at your curls or they’ll go limp and frizzy, Grace had cottoned on to her discomfort.

“Well,” she said, clapping her hands together. “I’m sure you’re bored, sitting here and waiting. Why not play chess? Or I can play the piano. Or you can, too,” she added quickly, “whatever you want.”

Fia had never learned to play chess, nor piano for that matter. What use were they in a space where every bit of storage was used up by essentials? And where would she even fit a piano? Admitting to Grace that she never learned either was only slightly less painful than yanking out her own tooth, but Grace’s eyes only lit up in wonder.

“I’d be delighted to show you, if you’d like.” At Fia’s shy smile, she held her by one hand in hers and the other at her back to get her upright again, apologizing when Fia winced at her spine and knees protesting.

“I learned piano from my mother,” she said, leading her past portraits and statues and vases that were likely older than her great grandmother, “as well as singing, hosting… needlepoint,” she said that word with a healthy dose of disgust. Fia giggled, imagining Grace grumbling and cursing through dozens of warped canvases and missed stitches.

“But my father taught me self defense. And chess,” she said, fond and wistful. A hint of sadness there too, or perhaps longing. “It’s all about knowing your enemy, calculating your moves.” She snapped the attention of bright eyes back onto Fia. “And you? What are your hobbies?”

Hobbies! Fia was stumped. Much of what she did was work, really: tending the horses, keeping house, foraging… “I swim, sometimes,” she said, “when it’s hot out.” She thought on it a bit longer, smiling to herself as the memories flickered like a moving picture in her mind. As they settled into another sitting room— not quite as big as the last, but still grand —she recounted her childhood. Her brothers teaching her how to balance on a horse and break a boy’s heart, her sisters teaching her how to hold a baby and how to shoot a pistol. Her mother teaching her math, how to read, how to write. Her father teaching her that it’s okay to cry, and that she should expect respect. Uncle Ephraim sitting her gap-toothed younger self on his knee behind the wheel of that flashy new motorcar and steering in circles as she squealed in delight. “And Esme,” she said, finding herself sitting next to Grace on a piano bench before she knew it, “Esme taught me how to cuss like a sailor. And how to kick a man in the balls.”

Caught off-guard, Grace guffawed, doubling over and resting her forehead briefly on the music rack. It was authentic and undignified enough to surprise Fia, who in turn laughed as she basked in the melting away of awkward politeness.

“My!” Grace caught her breath with one hand resting on the delicate silver chain of her necklace: a locket, heart shaped. “That’s… wow,” a sigh, their cheeks still smarting with the force of wide smiles. “It seems like you had a lovely childhood.”

Fia hummed, pressing one high key down to hear the crystalline ring of the piano. “It was a lot of work,” she said, watching and listening as Grace’s hands danced across a scale: do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do. “But it was beautiful.”

“Tell me more,” said Grace, two hands now perched over the keys. “I’ll play for you.”

—

The sound of laughter and music, confident arpeggios followed by hesitant responding keystrokes, soothed Sam’s worries as quickly as the sight of Ypres’ velvety snout poking out from the split stable door in the distance. To his right, Tommy slowed and disembarked from Charon in one smooth motion, landing light on his feet. He, too, held less tension in his brow than he had on the path. A smile crept up nearly invisible on his face as a voice, accented with Irish inflection, flowed through a drinking song melody he’d heard a handful of times before with a handful of different lyrics.

“S’pose that’s Grace?” Sam wondered aloud, sliding from Queenie’s back and patting the strong base of her neck.

Tommy nodded, gathering the reins of his horse in one hand. “They’ll be alright. It’s…it’ll do good for them, to have this.”

Sam knew it well, the meaning behind those words. Loneliness plagued those who forewent family. Friends. Traveling away was a heartache for him, yes, but for someone as close to her family as Fia, to suddenly be without them was agonizing. He found her praying, sometimes, when she thought she wouldn’t be noticed. An icon of Sara e Kali clutched close to her heart, she would sit on the stoop of the vardo and watch some distant horizon, silently mouthing her hopes. Safety. Comfort. Prosperity. Reunion.

She had no friends to go see. Too long had it been since she saw the Boswells or the Chilcotts to justify seeking them out, and the Maughans had returned to Ireland for good. Nobody would want to be associated with the two of them, either. Not with Mad Henry’s son. Not with his runaway girl, or his bastard child neither.

Tommy Shelby bore such a reputation that would drive even the most ardently open-minded of their community away. A gangster, born of the king of sleaze and a woman driven to untimely death. Even if he had redeemed himself in gadjo society— what with his posh soon-to-be wife and a big, empty manor to make his swindling socially acceptable —he likely had no friends there, either. Just hangers-on and vultures circling a profit. Stuck alone with the two of them all day, loners that the two men were, Grace and Fia were probably sick to death without female company.

“Yeah,” Sam said, wan smile on his lips. “We’d best leave ‘em to their afternoon.”

Tommy hummed in agreement. “Come,” he said, leading Charon towards the mews around the back of the manor. “You can stable your mare here.”

Sam perked up. “You’ve got a racehorse, don’t you? The gray?” Grace’s Secret. Second place at Epsom, in her first ever big name race. From then on, second at two other, smaller qualifiers, and then first at this year’s Newmarket. Her betting price was high. Her farrying fee was higher. Oh, yes, Sam knew about this one.

Tommy pointed her out after Queenie was settled with a bag of hay and fresh, temperate water. The filly’s head bobbed once against the summer flies as though to greet them. The air in the court was sweet with hay and musky in the way only an animal could be. Sam took in a deep lungful, brought back to summers of his childhood spent mucking stalls in the stables of rich men. Dirty work, but noble and much appreciated by the horses. His father would whistle tunes while he went through the muscle memory of farrying, the words of the songs seeped out and long gone through the cracks of a battered skull. When it became difficult for his numbed hands, or if Da had to remember the steps a bit more than was comfortable, Sam would step in and finish the job. A farrier’s son taking up the mantle.

“Just back from the trainer,” Tommy explained as he gave the filly a scratch behind the ears. “She’s a good woman, May Carleton. You’ve probably heard of her.”

Sam nodded. At least, he certainly heard of her late husband; in Ypres, the cavalier’s horse had fallen to a throat shot mid-rear and crushed the man’s spine. Sam hadn’t watched him die, but he heard about it from the American horsemen. Brutal, that. At night in the trenches, sometimes men would swear they heard the squeal of a horse laid dying in the mud. “I might’ve,” he said instead, avoiding eye contact with the gray horse nuzzling at Tommy’s hand.

Conversation bled into easy small talk of horse-related matters, as it often did— what’s her pedigree? Do the Lovells work at racetracks often? How do you pick your horses, Thomas? I look into their eyes, Samuel —but Sam’s concentration trailed off at the excited snort and stomping across the court. The braying neigh that accompanied after was like a royal bugle, clear and bright with robust confidence. Sam was stopped in his tracks.

“That,” Tommy said with no small amount of pride, “is my newest acquisition.”

Sam was drawn across the cobbled court to the opposite stall, compelled by a flash of copper in the sun. So red he appeared painted with blood, the chestnut Thoroughbred with his close-roached mane pawed and stomped at the ground. Sam dared to stand within close enough distance to feel the humidity of his huffed breaths, the scent of warm horse hair thick in the air.

He let out a soft wow, staring down a long face like the barrel of a shotgun. “What’s his name?”

“Doesn’t have one,” Tommy said, dragging a cigarette across his lower lip. He let it hang there from his lips unlit, the white paper bobbing distractingly as he spoke. “We’ve been calling him Chance, but we can’t register him under just that. It’s already taken.”

Sam hummed, he and the horse’s gazes locked. Chance. He thought about what it felt like for Tommy to point that gun at him, safety off and finger on the trigger. One hell of a game of chance, that. Sam wasn’t sure whether he would live or die in that moment, but the calm that washed over his body told him one thing: whatever happens, you can’t stop it. If Tommy wanted him dead, he would die. If Tommy thought he was a traitor, he was a traitor. And if Tommy offered him a different kind of chance— the chance to run away, to seek safety, to prove the papers wrong —then he would take it. His life, his odds in the hands of a one-time nobody from Birmingham.

“Birmingham Chance,” Sam said, quiet like a churchgoer. “Name him Birmingham Chance.”

Tommy seemed pleased with that answer. “Birmingham Chance, then.”

They stood there in companionable silence, just watching the horse scent the air and shiver at the withers with the bothersome buzz of a fly. Tommy reached in to swat the damned thing, laughing when a responding skyward flick of Birmingham Chance’s head knocked Sam’s nose.

“Christ!” Sam jolted, rubbing the bumped bridge of his nose, only recently fully healed. “You could sign him up to be a boxer. Make more money than racing.”

Tommy laughed, offering him an apologetic pat on the back. “I’ve been hoping to stud him, actually,” he said. “He and Grace’s Secret would create champions, I’m sure.”

Stud him? Oh, hell. A look beyond the stall confirmed what Sam had dreaded.

“I didn’t realize he was a stallion,” he stammered, taking a few steps back. Birmingham Chance’s nostrils flared, and he rumbled a whinny from low in the barrel of his chest.

“You don’t trust stallions?”

Look out! Thrown from a height, column of bone cracking underhoof, eyes bulged and bloodshot, blood seeping into dirt, twitching gurgling groan. Oh, god! Oh, god! Don’t look, mon petit!

“I’m not the biggest fan,” he chuckled nervously.

One swift kick and thud goes Da, now. Face twisted to ugliness in rictus, arms curled up and in, fingers harsh and clawed. Piteous whine, then silence. Maman screaming, falling to her knees. Racing heart, nausea. Mud, blood, horsehair.

“It’s alright,” Tommy said, snapping him from the pain of the past. “He’s just piqued from all the ladies around. Can probably smell your mare. He’s very gentle, see?”

Sam felt his stomach sink when Tommy stepped forward, well into the stallion’s space, and put his palm to the blaze on the horse’s forehead. Instead of biting, or rearing or kicking or leaping to— instead of anything, Birmingham Chance nickered and pressed closer, blinking slow and docile. Sam sighed, relief washing over him, and leaned against the wall by the stable door to watch Tommy in his element.

If Sam were any good at it, he’d paint this scene: Tommy taming the red stallion, the long dark lashes on both haloed by white afternoon sunlight. His hand outstretched, callused workman’s fingertips catching on the wiry hairs of the horse’s carmine pelt. Shoulders confident, held deceptively tall and strong for how slight he was without the thick squareness of the overcoat. Dressed down from his typical three-piece, just the crisp white shirt unbuttoned from his pale throat and a quicksilver waistcoat hugging his form. Hair ungelled, as raven dark as his Friesian, shining iridescent with those hidden warm undertones. Eyes so blue they glowed near white in the backlit scene— a chiaroscuro. Something priceless and framed on the wall of a cathedral, he imagined. Saint Eligius, perhaps, of gold and horses and smoke sighing from the furnace. Those eyes turning towards him, fondness and warmth and, and…oh. Oh no.

No, no, no.

“When I saw him,” Tommy murmured, low and reverent, “I didn’t think about his pedigree. Didn’t think of his history or his temperament.” He turned back to the horse, another hand cupping the roundness of his cheek. “All I thought was just… this. This is the one. I need to have this one.”

Sam’s mouth was dry, heart beating hummingbird fast.

Those eyes again, cast upon him. “It’s greedy,” he said, but with no sharpness. No guilt. “Selfish. But can you blame me? He’s beautiful.”

Sam swallowed. He had no interest in looking at this wine-red horse. “Yeah,” he said, focused wholly on the curve of light now casting a holy glow on Tommy’s high cheekbone. “He’s stunning.”

—

It became a routine over the course of the next weeks; on dry and warm days, Tommy might take a pair of horses on a hack down near the creek, where Sam would join him the rest of the way. It was pleasant, easy conversation between the two of them. Sam, restless, was more than happy to have something to do and often offered to come muck the stables or give the horses a baseline health check after. He was fascinated by the large swaths of nature out behind Arrow House— and here Tommy was assuming the man would’ve had enough of the trees and trails with all the time he’s spent on the road! Tommy couldn’t help but indulge his requests.

“Where does that path lead?” Sam might ask one day, and the two of them would set out farther and farther from the property. More and more time on the horses. “What river is that?” “Which street?” “How far are we from the market?”

He was always curious. And without the fear of death on his mind, Tommy came to realize Sam was a cheeky fucker, as well. He’d let Sam and Queenie (or Chiron, or Mullo, or Foxhunt, or Captain, or whichever horse Tommy brought for Sam to meet) trot on ahead, only to be left in the dust when Sam clicked his tongue for a sudden gallop. Now and again, Tommy would give chase, but he was just as happy to watch Sam work off that impulse to run. Strange, he thought, that a man as subdued as Sam could be so self-assured on horseback.

Like a boy with a fistful of dirty wildflowers for his schoolyard sweetheart, he’d return bashful and red-faced. “Sorry,” he’d stammer. “Dunno what came over me.” And yet, sure as the sun rose in the sky, he did it again every time.

Another new regularity was Florence’s presence in the house. Bored to death alone and with a new enthusiasm for chess and literature, she and Grace would often sit in the drawing room and “gossip” beneath the melody of Grace teaching her to play the piano— if Tommy knew his Grace, it was more likely that they were plotting something. And that something came as very little surprise in mid-August, when the sun was broiling hot and the meadow grass turned whispery and dry.

“Do you think we ought to invite Sam and Florence to stay in the house?” Grace asked innocently one morning, fingers splayed across her hair as she gently combed and gelled the golden locks into soft finger waves before the vanity.

Tommy, tie undone and hanging around his neck, shrugged in the bathroom mirror. “They haven’t asked,” he mumbled around a toothbrush. “They’re fine. They’ve always traveled.”

Grace hummed, a short little tone that indicated she thought otherwise. “Perhaps they need a little reassurance that they’re welcome to stay awhile?”

Her kind way of saying they wouldn’t ask you, necessarily.

The corner of Tommy’s lip twitched in a near-smile. Grace had a talent for diplomacy in a roundabout way that his own blunt approach could never accomplish. “Why, you think they’re afraid to ask?”

“No.” Yes. “I just think Sam might think it impolite to impose himself. He doesn’t ask us for much, you may have noticed.” Satisfied with her work, Grace rose from the vanity and untied the sash of her dressing gown.

Tommy knew full well that Sam was a grown man who could make his own decisions, but Grace seemed to stay under the impression that his big, sad eyes (emphatically her words, not his) warranted a bit of emotional coddling. He also knew that inviting Sam in, a fugitive of the law and presumed political assassin, would bring a whole host of troubles. It was one thing for a traveler to set up camp on his property— Lord knew he had provided safe harbor to Johnny Dogs escaping a spurned woman more than once —but it was another for the most detested face in Liverpool to have free reign of the guest wing, innocent or not. One thing to ride around the property and be friendly through the warm afternoon, another thing entirely to share a roof. People might recognize him. Neighbors might talk.

“Florence slipped in the creek yesterday,” Grace continued, buttoning a blouse as Tommy buttoned his own starched shirt. “Thankfully not all the way down, but just imagine if she had.” The very image of subtlety, she was. An arched brow and a pointed look followed. “She’s almost due.”

“She is,” he agreed. And here it came: the negotiation.

“She’ll need a midwife,” Grace added, a deep green skirt swishing around her knees as she pulled on the sensible pair of shoes she always chose when she knew she was going to be chasing after a Shelby’s short attention span. That’s right, he thought, cursing himself for forgetting. Esme and John are taking the kids to look at country houses today. That’s why we’re talking about this now.

“Perhaps.” A swift motion and his tie was secured. Waistcoat next, shrugged on over the shoulders and fastened.

“This would be her first,” Grace remarked, as though it were an afterthought. “And she’s so tiny, and Sam… well, he is quite tall.” A cloud of palmarosa and geranium announced her finishing touch: exactly two sprays of Floris eau de parfum.

“Hm.”

“It’ll be a hell of a labor.”

“Mhm.”

“All alone, just them out in the woods…”

“Grace,” he warned.

“And,” here it came, the pièce de résistance, “I’m sure Esme would be so glad to know her sister is among friends.”

“Alright,” he huffed, tugging perhaps a bit too harshly at the cuff of his sleeve. “I’ll offer the idea up.”

Grace’s smile was so sweet that it made the idea of an imminent police raid and conspiracy charge worth it. She kissed his cheek, laughing as he grumbled despite the pink flush overtaking his face. Grace hummed as she fiddled with his hair, nothing more than an excuse to stand close to him and just exist for a while.

A squeal echoing from downstairs heralded Esme’s arrival, and off went Grace like a bullet from a gun. “I need to grab Charlie if he’s to see his cousins,” she said, dashing from the room.

In the foyer, Esme and Florence rocked back and forth in as tight a hug as the younger could comfortably manage, giggling like girls as Sam and John exchanged awkward greetings. The kids— and there were many of them, bless ‘em —darted this way and that, tugging Esme’s skirt to ask a question and holding fast to John’s leg and chasing one another perilously close to several breakables. Tommy’s eye twitched.

“Tom!” John called to him, right arm spread wide like a victorious gladiator rather than a man with flecks of a baby’s spit-up staining one shirt sleeve and the baby in question teething on the other. “Brother!”

They exchanged a hearty back pat and pleasantries, relieved to be separate from the fray for just a moment while Esme and Florence gradually disentangled from one another.

“Hey,” John leaned in conspiratorially, patting a shockingly red-headed little Flora on the bum as she babbled in his ear, “you hear about Arthur’s new girl?”

Tommy thought for a moment, rifling through a roster of women that Arthur had brought home and claimed would be The One before settling on the most recent. “The Quaker girl? The one working at the soup kitchen?”

“Yeah,” John nodded enthusiastically. “I think they’re serious, mate.”

This had been a point of contention between him and Arthur for some months now. Newly inspired (by the snow, no doubt) to forge a path to the pearly gates, he’d begun offering a clumsy hand to just about any Christian volunteer program he could find. This pursuit led him right to one Linda Woodard, a sheltered sort of teetotaler girl with her heart in the right place and her hopes higher than what Arthur could likely deliver. She’d been weaning him from the snow, the drink, the smoking, the fighting… and the life. Tommy couldn’t begrudge the concept harshly because he himself had taken a step back from the dirty business to focus on Grace and Charlie, but Arthur was different. Arthur needed things to do, or he’d tear up the couch cushions. There was no taming him, not for good, and the sooner he and his newest obsession realized it, the better.

“Well, I’m happy for him,” Tommy said dispassionately. “It’ll do him good to keep her as long as he can.” Which won’t be long went unsaid, but John snickered anyway. He pulled a filterless Sweet Afton cigarette from his waistcoat and ran the end of it over his lower lip, before slowly sliding it back into his pocket at Flora’s disapproving little nose wrinkle. Just like her mother, that one. God help them all.

“She’ll be at the wedding, no doubt,” John said. “Just warning you ahead of time, yeah?”

Tommy sighed. Great. Plenty for a pious woman such as her to comment upon at his wedding. “I appreciate it, John.”

Then again… he looked at Sam, crouched low and nodding along to little Daniel’s babbled nonsense story, eyes wide and attentive. Sam was very religious, wasn’t he? And he’d had no problem with his and Grace’s son. Minimal issue with this life, too, so long as he would profit without blood on his hands. He was an unmarried soon-to-be father himself, with no anxiety looming about hurrying along that particular milestone before the baby’s birth. Perhaps rediscovering religion could work out for Arthur. Or, more likely, it would go up in flames. But it could work.

“Charlie, look who’s here!” Grace stood on the staircase behind him, bouncing their boy in her arm as sleepy eyes threatened to close again. He snuggled into Grace’s shoulder, rubbing his face with one pudgy balled-up fist. “Look there, there’s Uncle John.”

On cue, John took the stairs two at a time to plant an exaggerated kiss on Charlie’s cheek. “What’s going on, eh? Are you sleepy?” John tickled him under the chin, drawing out a squeal of delight. “Sleepy, squeaky little piglet, eh? You wanna come down and say hello?”

Unsurprisingly, Charlie beamed. He was always far more social than Tommy, rivaling Grace for charisma and absolutely stealing the show on those rare occasions where they had guests. And of course, with so many people to charm, Charlie got right to work. Like a little politician, he grabbed Katie’s finger and let her shake his hand with a how-do-you-do and a giggle at his gummy smile. When John Jr. wanted to hold him, he sat patiently in the awkward grip for an astonishing 10 seconds before stretching his arms back up to Grace. Of course, he adored Esme and Florence. More specifically their curls, which he delighted in grabbing.

“Alright,” Grace chuckled apologetically as she helped Esme unravel a coil of Florence’s hair from those little fists, “maybe that’s enough of that, mister.”

“Oi,” Sam called out in mock offense. “We forgetting someone, little man?”

Sam and Charlie had struck up an odd sort of friendship in the last few times they’d seen each other. It was another little routine that had cropped up with Sam and Florence’s arrival: whenever Sam’s presence in the stables happened to coincide with Charlie’s, they would debate. Charlie would babble nonsense, Sam would rebut this with his own string of disconnected syllables, and Charlie would frown at him for a while before moving onto a new topic. This typically involved him pointing at a stall and saying something that sounded like the first step towards “horse”— his favorite word to try and imitate besides “Mama” and “no”, it seemed.

Grace flashed a radiant smile, having seen their philosophical discussions more than once. “Charlie, do you want to say hello to Uncle Samuel?”

“Gah!” He stretched his arms high in the air, feet kicking out like a little frog in the water.

Sam laughed, taking the baby from his mother’s arms with an exaggerated roar. “And what’re they feeding you, eh, pal? You weigh a right ton, you do.”

The little boy squealed as Sam hiked him up on his hip, dipping him low until his fine blond hair hung upside down. Florence looked on so fondly Tommy feared her heart might explode if the man continued on the way he did. He found he couldn’t blame her in the least, which was… a strange feeling, to say the least. One he didn’t have time to analyze before Charlie was reaching for him, babbling a stream of da-da-da-da-dah’s.

By the time John, Esme, and their gaggle were ready to leave the house in a veritable Shelby family parade, the noon sun was already high in the sky. Grace and Florence took Charlie outside to pet Ypres, and Sam sat on the stoop at the entryway of the house, long legs sprawled out before him. Next to Tommy’s sharp three-piece suits, Sam would look out of place, but it was clear that this— the countryside, the sunlight, the open space —was his element, and Tommy was the interloper. That made him remember Grace’s earlier point, one which she made sure to remind him of with another pointed look before the two women went off to the mews.

“So,” Tommy started, feeling a bit clumsy.

Sam looked at him strangely, drawing one knee up to rest his arm on it. “So?”

Tommy opened his mouth, and then stopped, sighing. Why was this difficult? They were friends, after all. Friends who saw each other every few days, practically sharing the stables at this point. What was one more building?

“I wanted to ask,” he cleared his throat, then dug through his pocket for a cigarette, “whether you two had decided to stay for the winter.” Tommy frowned when he couldn’t find his lighter, eyes snapping to Sam when he heard a click.

“You dropped this,” Sam explained, holding the engraved lighter aloft and already blazing with a flickering orange flame.

Tommy muttered his thanks, sitting on the stairs next to Sam to light that cigarette. The motion brought them closer than Tommy thought, only a few inches separating their shoulders. Tommy didn’t move away. Neither, strangely, did the ever-flighty Sam.

“Didn’t really think about it,” Sam remarked. “Guess we just figured… well, I dunno,” he chuckled nervously, running a hand through inky black locks of hair. It was just a bit overgrown now, curling around the shell of his ear and brushing the base of his neck. Tommy would never have noticed if it weren’t for the way that Sam often ran his fingers through it in the summer heat, fingers brushing sweat-dampened locks away from his forehead in the stables or off the back of his overheated neck along the wooded trail. “I don’t wanna impose,” Sam said, an echo of Grace’s words.

“You should,” Tommy said quickly.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I should… impose?”

“No,” Tommy corrected, clearing his throat. Where the hell was this coming from? He was the collected one, not Sam. Sam was awkward and unpracticed at conversation, not him. “No, I mean… you should stay. For the winter.”

“Oh,” Sam chuckled, mussing his hair again, fingers now running from back to front. “I- I appreciate that, yeah. That would be… I’ll talk to her. Fia. Florence, I mean. But she’d agree, I’m sure.” Sam’s ears were flushed a deep red, and he avoided looking at Tommy head-on.

Well, at least that was somewhat better than the unnerving conversational advantage Sam had on him before. Tommy cleared his throat again, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Glad that’s settled,” he said, letting the wind carry the little ball of ash away from the lit end of his Sweet Afton.

“Right.” Sam chewed his lower lip. A bit of a distracting habit, Tommy had noticed, but whether it was the odd glimpse of a missing premolar or the way he occasionally split the skin to pinpricks of blood that made it so was beyond him.

Tommy slapped his own knees with both clammy hands (what the fuck was that even for?) and stood, ashing his cigarette in the dirt with the toe of his shoe. “Well, I can ask John and Arthur to come by next week to help you move any heavier things, but I can have Frances get the guest wing made up as soon as tomorrow if you’d like to come in earlier.”

Sam blinked at him, croaking a few half-formed words before landing on “wait, you mean now?”

Tommy shrugged. “Better now than after the baby, trust me. If Florence is keen on the idea, I’ll have it done.”

Sam processed for a few moments, face contorting into several layers of confusion and surprise before he broke into a laugh. “I mean… yeah,” he said. “Sure, mate. Yeah. Don’t see why not.” He stood, dusting his hands on his pants before meeting Tommy in a firm handshake.

“It’s a plan, then,” Tommy said, feeling his heart rate pick up at the impulsiveness of it all. It reminded him of his early childhood summers with the Boswell side of the family, Grandmother deciding seemingly on a lark to follow after various family friends of hers: Mincéirs and Roma, Strongs and Chapmans, English Romanichal and Welsh Kale alike. Today, it was his turn to shack up with Lovells and Lees. Fuck what their posh neighbors might say.

“Yeah.” Sam’s wide grin only encouraged him more. “It’s a plan.”