#and i ate them all the minute the author published them

[thepoetsmanuscript13]

A football team ― Peter Pevensie modern au

author’s note: hello everyone! a weird first post honestly but i was feeling it after talking about it with my friend sooo... :) a totally out of pocket au in which the pevensies are all alive and well and live in this century and peter is a married man 🤭 i don’t know how i feel about this thing, though, like i’m having mixed feelings about it, but if i don’t publish it now i’ll never do it lol

pairing: peter pevensie x female reader

summary: Peter Pevensie had started being sure of things the moment he met you by accident during his first year of university. You two didn’t even study the same degree, but you’d happened to see each other frequently in the same spot at the library, and when he finally dared to ask you out, years passed in the blink of an eye. Nowadays, you’re happy to call him your husband and the father of your children.

warnings: female reader, reader is pregnant, modern au in which everyone is happy and alive (lmao), peter pevensie is a teacher and a football (soccer) manager, plot’s not even a plot (lol), too many children, fluff, english isn’t my first language (i don't think i missed anything)

word count: 1869 words

requests are open, i write for many fandoms (maybe i can make a list of them idk)

You couldn’t help but love your chaotic family. It was the best thing that had happened to you, along with marrying Peter. Your life was a busy one, but it was also full of love. You saw it in the mornings, when your household became a place of madness and your four children ran around the hallways while they got ready for school. You saw it when you got in the car with them―of course, one of those big cars with too many seats because you wouldn’t fit in a regular one―and your husband drove for more than twenty minutes to some place, leading to fights and shouts and cries. You saw it at dinner, when the six of you sat at the table and ate whatever Peter had cooked and they all talked about their day, screamed over each other’s voices, and protested about not liking peas or broccoli or carrots. You saw it at night, when you and your husband fell into bed completely spent once the house was, finally, silent and all of them were sleeping.

You had a lot to celebrate with a family like that. People―mums from school―usually asked you how you managed. How you and Peter could take care of a family like that and still have time to love each other. Your answer was that you loved each other while you took care of your children.

And, of course, leaving the kids with their aunts or uncle or grandparents when you two wanted to have a weekend for yourselves also helped.

But, most of the time, it was you and Peter, and you were happy like that. It was a life that’d been made for you. Because, being honest, you’d never wanted to get married or have children. You’d always said those things weren’t for you. That you’d be the single, cool aunt type.

Until you met Peter during your first year of university. It changed everything you thought you were sure of, and you realised you simply hadn’t wanted that kind of life because, until then, you hadn’t met a person you’d like to have those things with. With him, everything changed. You saw yourself walking down the altar. You saw yourself building a home with him. You saw yourself thrilled because you two were waiting for a child. You saw yourself growing old with him by his side.

You’d never believed in the “right person” thing until you met him. Once you had, everything fell into place. And now you were at the peak of your happiness after discovering you were pregnant with your fifth child. Well― Fifth and sixth. Twins.

It had been an accident, really. Well, kind of an accident.

When you found out you were pregnant again, you and Peter had agreed that this was going to be the last one. Four children were already a significant number. You two were managing quite well with your numerous offspring, and a fifth was already going to be a challenge. But you knew your man. You knew him well enough to know that he somehow would manage to trick you one last time.

He indeed did when the doctor announced that you were carrying twins. You remember Peter’s mischievous grin. And your first reaction―slap his arm and call him a bastard. But you weren’t mad. It was going to be a challenge, but you could never reject what was the product of the love you and Peter had for each other.

You sometimes regretted your thoughts, though, during your eighth month of pregnancy. Some days you felt like giving up and staying in bed all day. Your back pain was killing you, and those two babies were definitely Peter’s, because they knew how to kick to make themselves known.

“You don’t have to come, my love,” Peter told you, and pressed a kiss to your hair.

You scoffed. “But I will,” you replied.

Your husband grinned and leaned to kiss your lips tenderly. His hand snaked down your body to settle on your round belly, and he smiled in the middle of the kiss. Your babies kicked in that exact moment, like they knew it was their father greeting them.

A long “ew” was heard from the kitchen’s doorway, and you two turned your heads to look at your second son, Samuel, who was already wearing his football kit. A grin appeared in your face and you gestured to him to come closer.

“You don’t like seeing dad kissing mum, Sam?” Peter asked him while ruffling his hair. The little boy put his hands on your knees and pressed his cheek to your baby bump.

“No!” Samuel answered. “It’s gross!”

“Oh, baby,” you laughed and stroked his blonde hair―you were still wondering how it was possible that all your children had inherited Peter’s golden hair―while he interacted with his unborn siblings. “It’s not gross. We do it because we love each other.”

“You don’t kiss me on the mouth but you love me,” he replied, thoughtful.

His father chuckled. “‘Course not, lad. Those kisses are just for partners,” he explained with a smile, amused by his son’s reasoning. He was a clever boy, they knew that much.

“Hmmm…” he mumbled, and narrowed his eyes in deep thought.

You couldn’t help a grin. Samuel was always asking questions and making up his own reasoning about why something was one way or another. Peter said he reminded him of his brother Edmund, who used to spend the time with his nose buried in books, but with his youngest sister Lucy’s character, who was definitely much more adorable and less… Well, less “Edmund”.

Peter kissed his son’s head and went upstairs to get the girls, who were probably still playing with the last Lego they’d been gifted. Legos were a must in your house. Legos everywhere. In the bedrooms, in the bathroom, in the back garden, in the living room. More than once you had stepped on one, and they hurt a lot. You always told them to gather the pieces and put them in their box, but your words were often ignored and forgotten. As a mother of four, you were used to it by now.

You heard giggles coming from the upper floor. Your husband was such a girl dad. He did what was necessary to put a smile in Audrey’s, Ruby’s, or Emma’s face. From letting them do his makeup―the amount of pictures you had with Peter’s face covered in red lipstick was infinite―to buying them a little foam sword and teaching them how to use it. You were scared they would take an eye out with those, but he was chill about it. He said that his girls needed to defend themselves from the bad guys. You thought one day they would end up punching someone for real with all the things he taught them.

Football, swimming, using a sword, makeup… He’d even tried to teach Audrey how to bake―no need to say it didn’t end up very well, and he spent a whole afternoon cleaning the counters and walls and floor. To this day, you hadn’t seen a mess like that one.

Some minutes later, Peter came back with three little monkeys clinging to him, the monkeys being your three daughters. Emma, the youngest of them, was in his right arm, while Ruby, the one in the middle, was in the left, and Audrey, the eldest―seven already, how time flew!―was hanging from his back.

You were going to die from a heart attack one day.

“Audrey! You’re going to make dad fall!” you said, standing from the chair while Sam held your hand.

“No, mum! I’m Spiderman!” she said, making her father grin. Since they had gone to the cinema to watch the last Spiderman film, Audrey had been pretending that she had superpowers. It’d been funny until she tried to start climbing the walls and you almost had a heart attack.

You shook your head.“Peter, do something,” you scolded your husband.

“Audrey, darling,” he immediately said, and you smiled―so obedient―, “I wouldn’t like your mum to get mad at me.” When his daughter opened her mouth to protest, he added, “And we’re going to be late to the match if we don’t hurry.”

“Yes, football!” Both Samuel and Ruby cheered, while Emma mimicked her siblings’ words in her father’s arms. Your little girl was two years old and she was such a brilliant kid already. She loved to grab Mr. Badger, the cat, by his tail and to do all kinds of villainies to him. The poor cat endured too much with your daughter, but he also was extremely protective of her and always made sure she didn’t hurt herself.

“Football it is,” you declared, and winked at your children.

The whole of your family exited the house and went to the car. You sat on the passenger’s seat―not without great difficulty―while Peter took care of your children. With your big belly, you were grateful you could even walk on your own. You could barely wait until the birth day, not only because you wanted to see your babies, but also because it was exhausting, being pregnant with twins.

Once your husband had secured all of your children in their seats, he drove to the school. He worked there as a science teacher, and thought at first it hadn’t been an option, when the previous football manager―who’d been some maths teacher―had retired, the juniors didn’t have anyone to train them, and Peter, loving kids and football as much as he did, decided to take the responsibility. Now, you knew he couldn’t picture himself without being the manager of those kids.

When you arrived there, most of the team was already there, and so were their parents, and the rival team. Peter quickly kissed you and he, Samuel, and Ruby left to get ready for the match. Meanwhile, you, Audrey, and Emma went to sit at the stands. You couldn’t stand for too long, and you liked getting seats close to your husband so you could watch him close during the match.

It was adorable, watching him interact with the kids. He ruffled their hair when they walked past him, encouraged them to be their best, and treated them like adults. They liked Peter a lot and he liked them back, and all their parents, but especially their mothers, always told you that you had struck gold when you married him.

As if you already didn’t know that you were the luckiest woman in the world to have him in your life.

You were sure that Peter was almost like a second father for many of those kids. They spent a good amount of hours together every week, training and at the matches, and it was very easy to like your husband. Even if he got a little competitive during every football game.

“Pass the ball to your brother, Corin!”

Maybe too competitive.

“Eyes up, Alice! Eyes on the ball!”

But, whatever he did, it seemed to work, because the school’s team won most of their matches. After the game, the kids all cheered while their parents clapped. Peter’s eyes met yours for some seconds and you smiled.

[random-fandom-chaos]

hey! I have an Alexander request my friend! Maybe Reader is a fiction author and asks Alex for help on something and he just is astounded by all their works? And then gets really nerdy about their writing and wants to show them some stuff he did?

make sure you rest, get some food and water, and tell someone you at least tolerate them today!

Alright, on it! And of course I actually just ate and drank water, and I will try even though idk how to do it I’ll try tho! You too friend!

Pairings: Alexander Hamilton X Reader (Gender-Neutral)

(I will try not to use Y/N)

Time started: 5:40p.m.

Also, Reader is known for their works but Alex gets a secret little preview to one of their new works

———————————————————————————

You were a well know Fiction author, You picked up the hobby of writing a few years ago and have made a few novels, Adult fiction, or Children’s fiction, you did both and were admired by all ages

Especially since your Partner was the Secretary of State, a workaholic man that loved writing loving you? A person that loved writing novels, yeah. It was like a match made in heaven with you both loving writing

Right now, you were sitting at your desk, writing in a journal you kept with the ideas and drafts for your novels, you were writing with a pen in the journal with a dark navy blue cover, you took up a few pages because you couldn’t seem to find ideas with the novel, Your Partner walked in behind you, unbeknownst by you until his hand rested on your shoulder

“Ooooh can I see?”

Alexander’s voice spoke behind you, you nodded, you sighed

“Hey, Writer to Writer…Can you help? I don’t really have an idea for this chapter.”

Your soft voice asks, He nods sitting beside you, looking over your works

“Can I look through the journal first though, please?”

You nodded, he reached over and skimmed through your writings, his eyes showed astonishment

“Whoa…you’re so good at this!”

He said, you smiled softly, And then he starts just rambling about writing, about how he started writing and observed tips from other writers and that’s how he got interested into writing books and other things, it was a good 25 minutes before he asked

“Hey, can I show you some of my works? Please! please! please! Pleas-“

you laugh softly, and nod

“yeah, of course.”

He took out his journal and you started skimming through

“hah, you say I’m good, Look at your works! They’re awesome!”

You smile, He had this huge and adorable grin as you complimented his works, after a while of both of you geeking out

Though he did help you eventually, giving you a few suggestions to pick…

And a month later the book was publishes, of course at the end for acknowledgments you mentioned him. How much you loved him.

———————————————————————————

End time: 6:18p.m

No proofread

yes this is short I didn’t have much motivation lol, but I hope you liked it! thank you for requesting!! take care!

[merge-conflict]

🔫 FREEZE this is a STICKUP

gimme 5 great lines that you wrote (whether you’ve posted them or not) and 5 great lines someone else wrote (whether published or fanfic) and nobody gets hurt!!

🙌

‼️okay!! I am complying!! :3 Going to start with great lines someone else wrote, and I've used published authors because it is so much easier to just open up my kindle bookmarks on some recent books and pick out lines from some of my favorite books:

"The problem with sending messages was that people responded to them, which meant one had to write more messages in reply." - (Arkady Martine, A Memory Called Empire, Chapter 6)

"I said 'I need to check the perimeter,' and managed to turn and leave the crew area in a totally normal way and not like I was fleeing from a bunch of giant hostiles." - (Martha Wells, All Systems Red, Chapter 2)

"Emil could seem astonishingly harmless, but he did not look harmless at that moment." - (Laurie Marks, Fire Logic, Chapter 16)

"I mean, if I were thirty years younger– if I were twenty-five years younger– if I were eighteen years younger – God, if I were just ten years younger– if I were a year and a day younger– If I were a month younger– if you'd asked me just five minutes ago, four and a half even, if I'd just picked up on the first ring instead of the third, I'd transition." - (Daniel Lavery, Something That May Shock and Discredit You, Interlude XVI: Did You Know That Athena Used to Be a Tomboy?)

"I already pictured this sweet and mediocre girl saying something uninteresting like Oh, nooooo, oh my God, and I already knew part of me would be looking at her and thinking: You've never murdered for me." - (Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl, Nick Dunne: The Night of the Return)

and now some of the lines i've written that i like >.<

"Privately, V thought he might sound less bitter if he ate something, but the sudden influx of calories had imparted her with the newfound sense of patience and wisdom not to mention this out loud." – (the damn things overlap, syn,syn-ack,ack)

"There are springs digging into his ribs, and the wheezing air conditioner feels more like the fan in an oven, but Kerry falls asleep almost as his head hits the pillow and wakes to the bright gleam of the moon through the curtains and the sound of quiet conversation." (fleeting fits of reason, as long as we stay in this bed)

"She doesn't want to be this way, but she is." (thread-safe, four of swords: iamundernodisguise)

"No V, no Hand, just him." (the damn things overlap, old devils)

"His body staggers to the window as he drifts somewhere behind, lost, bewildered by the strange feeling his corpse has a mind of its own." - (let me die on stage singing the last song I know)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Were turkey and cranberry sauce on the table at the first Thanksgiving? There's plenty of supposition, but food historian Pamela Cooley says there's no official record that the pilgrims and Native Americans ate turkey and cranberries at that 1621 feast. No official record in the day's diaries, or newspapers, or Martha Stewart Livings.

It wasn't until 1796, when the first American cookbook was published that turkey and cranberries were linked in print. The book was called — (ready for it?!) — American cookery, or, The art of dressing viands, fish, poultry, and vegetables: and the best modes of making pastes, puffs, pies, tarts, puddings, custards, and preserves: and all kinds of cakes, from the imperial plumb to plain cake, adapted to this country, and all grades of life.

(You can page through the whole thing here.) The 18th century author Amelia Simmons said to serve turkey with cranberry sauce, but didn't give a recipe for it.

NPR remedies that oversight every year, by graciously permitting me to share Mama Stamberg's with our audience. For one thing, it's not a sauce at all — this Thanksgiving recipe I've offered NPR audiences for decades. It's a relish. Mama Stamberg's Cranberry relish.

And so, for 2022, here goes.

Mama Stamberg's Cranberry Relish

2 cups whole raw cranberries, washed 1 small onion 3/4 cup sour cream 1/2 cup sugar 2 tablespoons horseradish from a jar ("red is a bit milder than white") Grind the raw berries and onion together. Add everything else and mix. Put in a plastic container and freeze.

The Recipe's Origins

As Susan Stamberg learned long after its radio debut, her mother-in-law got the recipe from a 1959 New York Times clipping of Craig Claiborne's recipe for cranberry relish. In 1993, when she called to apologize for not crediting him, Claiborne said: "Susan, I am simply delighted. We have gotten more mileage, you and I, out of that recipe than almost anything I've printed."

Early Thanksgiving morning, move it from freezer to refrigerator compartment to thaw. (It should still have some little icy slivers left.)

The relish will be thick, creamy, and shocking pink. (OK, Pepto Bismol pink, according to some mis-guided listeners.) It has a tangy taste that cuts through and perks up the turkey and gravy. Its also good on next-day turkey sandwiches, and with roast beef.

Makes 1 and 1/2 pints.

That's it. Simple as mincemeat pie and much tastier.

Back to some history.

Cranberry sauce, presumably without the horseradish, was very popular by 1817. Food historian Pamela Cooley says the magazine Niles Weekly Register reported the amounts of ingredients eaten at Thanksgiving in Connecticut that year: 5,500 turkeys and 1,000 gallons of cranberry sauce. You really have to like those tart little berries to run up numbers like that.

Susan Stamberg's Other Favorite Holiday Cranberry Dish

I like them a great deal. But the cranberry dish I love is from the great Indian actress and cook Madhur Jaffrey.

Madhur Jaffrey's Cranberry Chutney

1-inch piece fresh ginger 3 cloves finely chopped garlic 1/2 cup apple cider vinegar 4 tablespoons sugar 1/8 tsp cayenne pepper 1-pound can cranberry sauce with berries 1/2 teaspoon salt (or less) ground black pepper

Cut ginger into paper-thin slices, stack them together and cut into really thin slivers. Combine ginger, garlic, vinegar, sugar and cayenne in a small pot, and simmer on medium flame about 15 minutes or until there are about four tablespoons of liquid left. Add can of cranberry sauce, salt and pepper. Mix and bring to a simmer. Simmer on a gentle heat for about 10 minutes. Cool, store and refrigerate.

Makes about 1 1/2 cups.

Whatever you choose, whatever you serve, have a very fine Thanksgiving.

(And our thanks to Kim Severson at The New York Times for connecting us with Pamela Cooley.)

[celticbarb]

Book: Laird of Flint

Author: Glynnis Campbell

Series: The Warrior Lairds of Rivenloch, Book 2

Book Length: 373 Pages

Publisher: Glynnis Campbell

Release Date: May 7, 2024

Overall Rating: 5/5 Stars

Blog Rating: 5/5 Saltire Flags

Scotland, 1159

Hew du Lac is a Rivenloch warrior who is physically very impressive to look at with his hammer making him look like his Viking ancestors, especially with his fair hair and braw muscular physique! Yet his personality is extra special as he is kind, caring, sweet, funny, honest, honorable and protective to those he cares about. His biggest problem is that he gives his big heart away easily, but also thinks he is in love every five minutes!

Sadly these disloyal women just thrash his heart and throw him away with a feeble excuse and break his tender heart! Of course he soon realizes it was more about lust than it was true love. His mum decides her son needs to take a break from women and these empty relationships. As there is a thief at the monastery and they want to discover who is stealing their wealthy religious treasures. It was the perfect place for Hew to mend his broken heart in a place surrounded by monks where women were not admitted.

Hew decides to ban all women and heal his broken heart at the Monastery. That is until he realized he was only going to be surrounded by monks who prayed all the time! Hew definitely missed women from their delightful smells, soft hair, rosy cheeks, wet lips, sway of their hips and their feminine giggles. Furthermore he was freezing in his monastery cell that had no warm hearth, the monks also ate each of their meals in silence as the size of their meals were for a small toddler. So Hew was starving not just for female companionship but for substance too, he was hungry on all fronts period!

That is until he sees Lady Carenza who is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen in his entire life! So much for banning all women as Hew already knew he was in love. Could she be the one? Is this the one true mate that would love him forever? This time he was going to take it slow, easy until one night when she was on medication and confessed her true feelings for Hew. This was absolutely killing Hew, but he pretended he did hear her until she started kissing him and telling him he would make a terrible monk!

Lady Carenza of Dunlop, who is a local Laird's daughter, who is not only the bonniest lass on the planet, but a kind and caring woman too. She loves with her whole heart and is a huge animal lover who is trying to save her favorite Highland coo from being slaughtered, which is called culling but she calls it killing. This is an animal she had been caring for the past six years.

She is also miserable being a Laird's daughter and doesn't like the idea of being married off just for a clan alliance as if she was getting sold by the highest bidder like a farm animal. Everything changes when she meets Hew and knows she has finally found her true love as he is the one person that makes her soul feel safe and at peace.

However soon they realize that Hew’s very life could be forfeit from the choices he has made from both choice and misunderstandings that could shatter both Hew and Carenza’s future. Will she lose the only man she has ever loved. Will Hew lose the one woman who owns his heart and soul? Plus the choices he might make might stretch his neck and some might feel he betraying the King

Decisions are not easy for these star crossed lovers and soon choices must be made. Will love win or the duties of clan loyalty. Which side will win? Read and find out in another fabulous Glynnis Campbell read.

I have been reading Glynnis Campbell books for many decades and she never disappoints. She is one of my favorite authors who is a brilliant storyteller and I am always swept away in her stories that makes me both giggle and gasp! This is another book readers don't want to miss. I highly recommend reading them all in series order, although it can be read as a stand alone book too. I personally feel readers will be able to connect the dots more easily in series order.

The Warrior Lairds of Rivenloch

BOOK ONE: LAIRD OF STEEL

BOOK TWO: LAIRD OF FLINT

BOOK THREE: LAIRD OF SMOKE: Coming Soon

[that-sokovian-bastard]

I'll Be Okay (1/2) - Jason Todd x Reader

Words: 6186 Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader, Bruce Wayne & Reader Featuring: Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson Warnings: Death, grief, crime-fighting, mentions blood, hurt/comfort Summary: Five years ago, you lost your best friend. Now, you think he may be back. Author's Note: This is based on Under The Red Hood. You and Jason were/are the same age and were dating before he died (in freshman year of high school!)

This is another fic for girl-next-door-writes's Bingo challenge! This is for the Hurt/Comfort prompt.

DC / Bingo / Full Masterlist

Part 2

---

BREAKING NEWS

Bruce Wayne's son, Jason Todd, reported dead after a bombing in Sarajevo, Bosnia.

In complete shock and fear, you sat staring at the bat-computer with Alfred when that segment came across all three screens. There wasn't any story yet, as it was just reported, and Bruce hadn't even called either of you. Heck, you were expecting them to come back that night since Bruce found where Jason was! That was the whole reason you were even at Wayne Manor because you wanted to give Jason the biggest hug when Bruce brought him back.

But now, you couldn't.

You weren't talking, you weren't crying, you weren't even blinking. Only did you move once the report switched to the weather in Gotham, and you turned to Alfred. "That...that can't be real, can it?" You asked him barely above a whisper.

"I'm," He paused. "I'm not sure. I will call Master Bruce right away," Alfred said, turning to grab two handkerchiefs, one for each of you. Once you took yours, he pulled the phone out and waited for Bruce to pick up. He called twice, both ending in voicemail. "Master Bruce, please return our call when you can," He said and ended the call, giving up until Bruce could call back.

"I thought they were coming back to Gotham today," You said. "What happened?"

Alfred sighed, wiping a tear off his cheek. "I know they tracked Joker down, but they were working together. I'm not sure what changed," He said.

You navigated over to the search engine and looked up Jason's name, seeing if you could find any more information on what you two just saw on the news. You clicked the first article to appear, which was published twenty minutes ago.

This week, Bruce Wayne and his son, Jason Todd, visited Sarajevo, Bosnia. We have been informed that Todd, 15, was in a bombing in Sarajevo and did not survive. Currently, we have no source of the bombing and no comment from Mr. Wayne.

They all said the same thing. There was no further information other than that Jason had died in a bombing, and it was driving you crazy that Bruce wasn't answering to confirm or deny anything.

Finally, a long hour later, Alfred's phone rang, and he put it on speaker so you could hear as well. "Master Bruce, we saw the news. Is it true?"

Bruce sighed and didn't respond for a moment. "Yes. Joker. I was too late," Was the only explanation he gave. "I will be leaving in the morning to bring Jason's body back. We will have a burial after I return," Bruce said.

"Are you okay, sir?" Alfred asked though he knew the answer.

"I'm fine," Bruce said, which you both knew was a lie, but it was best not to push.

Alfred looked at you, not sure what to say. "We'll see you tomorrow, B," You said.

It was a phone call no one wanted to make or receive. In a matter of hours, you lost your best friend after searching for him for a week. His adoptive father was feeling responsible, and the butler had no idea how he would keep the family together. You zoned out after you said goodnight, thinking about what would come next.

After Alfred ended the phone call, he insisted on getting you something for dinner. Though it was past midnight in Bosnia, it was only dinnertime in Gotham, and Alfred needed to make sure both his and your needs were met in this time of grief. And while you ate dinner, he made calls around to others to make sure Dick and Barbara would be able to be around for Jason's burial when Bruce returned.

How were you going to get through life now without your best friend?

---

Five Years Later

There were strange rumors going around. About a person all the criminals around were scared of but also working under, but you couldn't find the name. You brought it up to Bruce, and he said he would look into it. He hadn't been the same since losing Jason, especially not wanting to have others on his team that he could potentially lose.

It wasn't a great coping mechanism, but it was the only thing that kept you distracted. You liked sitting in the Batcave, on comms with Batman, listening to him go through all his patrols and missions, helping him from behind the scenes. When Jason was still Robin, you would only be there when you two did homework together or were just hanging out; you never helped with Batman-related issues. But once he was gone, you needed something to put your mind on; and helping Batman was a perfect way.

Bruce didn't like it at first, but it at least kept you from trying to be some type of Robin, and it kept you safe behind a computer. And you liked going to the Batcave, talking with Alfred, and seeing what Bruce was up to, and it was always fun when Nightwing came into town. It had been a while since you'd seen him, so hopefully, he'd stop by again soon.

You scrolled through your phone as you watched where the Batmobile was headed, following some truck to deliver something to Black Mask, as Batman said. Batman had an idea of what was inside of it and was determined to stop it before it made it to Black Mask. You had him on speaker so you could hear whatever Batman said, either to you or the guys driving the truck.

Once he stopped, you pulled up the nearest camera so you could see what was going on. The truck spun out, and whatever was being transported fell out the back. There were shipping containers all around the place. "Who are you working for?" Batman asked the driver, and he refused to tell Batman the answer. As the driver made more excuses, the box that slid out of the truck started beeping, and Batman secured the suspects to the damaged truck.

"It's called Amazo," Batman declared, and your head snapped around. Amazo? That would certainly be interesting.

You couldn't see anything once Batman threw a smoke bomb, so you just listened. He was grunting while fighting Amazo, which was normal, but you just wished the smoke would go away so you could watch. It sounded like Batman got hit and was thrown into one of the containers around, but you weren't entirely sure.

"Packs quite the punch for a toaster on steroids, huh? Need a hand?" You heard a new voice and immediately perked up.

"Is that Nightwing?" You asked into the comms, not expecting an answer. "Tell him I say hi!" You said.

Unfortunately, they were too busy for Batman to pass along your greeting. Bruce, of course, rejected Dick's help, but everyone knew he was going to help anyway. Now you could see the fight again, though not entirely, but it was a better view than before. Lots more grunting and punching, and they finished off Amazo.

You piped up again when you saw them hauling the broken Amazo body. "Batman, tell Nightwing I said hi!"

You couldn't see it, but you knew Bruce rolled his eyes when you heard his sigh. "We're busy," He replied, not adding any more to it. You didn't push it again, knowing that Dick would surely stop by after. There had to be a reason he was in Gotham, and you were pretty sure it wasn't for Amazo.

The two rigged up Amazo to get the driver and passengers to tell Batman who they were working for, and once they said the name Red Hood, there were gunshots. All three men were killed by a sniper, and immediately, Batman took off after him in his plane, leaving Nightwing to clean everything up.

Bruce was focused, so he didn't respond to any of your questions. You heard some conversation between Batman and Red Hood, but it was a tad confusing since you couldn't see what was happening. Then, quickly, an explosion was blasted through the speakers, and Batman said he was coming back and cut off the comms. You tried to see if you could reach Nightwing, but he didn't have his earpiece in, so you just had to wait for both of them to return to the Batcave.

Dick made it to the Cave before Bruce did, which you were thankful for. "Dick! I was wondering when you'd come by for a visit," You said, giving him a tight hug.

He smiled back at you. "Hey, kiddo," Dick said. "Yeah, I guess it all worked out timing-wise."

Once Bruce made it to the Cave, you moved out of the way so Bruce and Dick could look at the screens. "This bit of intel is what brought me to town," Dick said and held up a USB drive. "Good thing I've always had perfect timing. Take a look," Dick handed Bruce the drive.

The three of you watched the short video that zoomed in on the man Bruce chased tonight: Red Hood. "I got this shot from a snitch. He says this guy's been making some serious moves," Dick explained.

"The Red Hood," Bruce deduced.

"What happened out there?" You looked away from the screen and at Bruce. Bruce didn't look at you, but Dick did look down at him. "I heard the explosion; what did he say to you?"

Bruce didn't answer and instead started typing on the computer. You hated when he did that! "Bruce, what happened?" You pushed.

He stopped typing as he was searching his database for more information on past Red Hood users. "He confronted me about the past," Bruce said, and he left it at that.

You shot Dick a confused face before looking back down at Bruce. "You think this guy knows you?"

"Not sure yet," Bruce said and went back to looking at the database. After Bruce scrolled through a few of the previous "Red Hood" personas in his database, he and Dick deduced that it was time to visit Joker to see what he knew of this new user. Joker was, of course, the most popular criminal to use the name, so it was best to see him.

You knew what was coming when Dick turned to grab a mug from Alfred and ask another question. A small laugh came out of your mouth when Dick turned back around, asking about going to visit Joker, seeing Bruce already in the Batmobile. Dick set the mug back on Alfred's tray, taking off towards the Batmobile. "Can't you just once say let's get in the car?"

Alfred shook his head as he offered you your mug. "He'll never learn," You told him.

"No, I don't think he will," Alfred confirmed.

It wasn't too long after the vigilantes returned from Arkham that they were out chasing Red Hood again. It seemed like now that Red Hood knew Batman knows he's around, what's the point in holding back? Bruce heard Black Mask discussing a weapons delivery via helicopter, and they quickly left the Cave to take care of this. And sure enough, there was Red Hood, hijacking the helicopter.

You and Alfred sat and listened to Bruce and Dick chasing Red Hood; too much going on at once to really comprehend. It got quiet once they ended at the train tracks, only a few city noises in the background, and the two of them talking about if they lost Red Hood. A few moments later, both you and Alfred jumped when an explosion came through the speakers. "Are you guys okay?" You quickly asked, moving fast to try to find a camera nearby so you could see what happened.

Dick groaned, which was the only reply you got. It got harder to hear as a train was fast approaching. Once the train passed, Bruce sighed. "We lost him. Nightwing's hurt," He reported.

When you looked back at Alfred, he was already making his way over to grab stuff to care for Dick when they returned. "Do you need help getting him back?" You asked, and you knew Bruce would say no, but you always asked.

"No. We'll be back soon," He replied, and Dick continued to groan as you assumed Bruce was helping him up.

Sure enough, when they got back, it was clear that Dick was out for at least a few days. Alfred was wrapping Dick's leg, making sure it would heal properly and it wasn't hurt past what Alfred could treat; Bruce was reviewing footage from the chase earlier.

"He's got some moves, huh?" You asked, standing behind Bruce and watching the video on the computer.

"Yeah, our boy here has some skills. He's been trained, and trained well," Dick said. "Like right there!" He pointed when Red Hood jumped off the building, and one of Bruce's lines got caught around his ankle. "That. He sliced that cable off his ankle before it went taut. You don't just do that. That has to be practiced, learned," Dick concluded.

Bruce spoke up this time. "And then there's the knife."

You cocked your head to the side, not sure what he meant. "What about it?" You asked.

"You guys know many knives that can cut my lines?" Bruce asked, looking between you and Dick.

Dick responded. "Not many."

"No, not many," Bruce turned back to the screen.

Dick tried to get up once Alfred wrapped him up but flinched when his foot touched the floor. "Alfred, take him home," Bruce requested.

"Bruce, I can still help," Dick tried to argue, even though he knew Bruce didn't even want his help in the first place.

"You already have. Thank you," Bruce said sincerely. "Go rest up." And right back to the computer he went.

You watched Alfred bring Dick some crutches to make the walk out of the Cave easier. Laughing once you heard Dick confused about Bruce thanking him, and you made sure to get your goodbye hug in before he made it too far. When you made it back over to the computer, Bruce looked over at you. "You should go home, too." He said.

Immediately, you shook your head. "Nuh-uh," You declared. "You already got rid of Dick; you can't get rid of both of us. Besides, I'm far too intrigued over this case. I wouldn't be getting any sleep anyway," You said.

Bruce didn't argue, knowing there was no way to convince you now. Instead, he went back to scrubbing through the video. "Is this the train?" You asked, and your question was answered when the same explosion from earlier played through the speakers.

Red Hood was now in the middle of the screen, looking right back at Bruce. "You haven't lost your touch-" He said but was cut off by the train.

"He said more, right?" You asked, certain that you could still hear something under the train noise.

"Yes," Bruce said, clicking on the audio to clean it up. He scrubbed it again, and it was a little clearer but not perfect. Taking a few more moments to make sure the audio was perfectly clear, he played it again.

"You haven't lost your touch, Bruce!"

Bruce stood up so fast that he knocked his chair over, and you nearly did the opposite when you heard Red Hood say his name, having to put your hand on Bruce's shoulder so you didn't fall over. "He does know you," You said, barely above a whisper. "Who is this guy?"

He took a deep breath, checked to ensure you were still standing, and slowly closed his eyes. "Mind giving me a minute?" He asked.

You took a step back, removing your hand from his shoulder. "Go ahead," You nodded, and Bruce opened his eyes to make his point.

"Alone?"

"Oh, right, of course. I'll just..." You thought. "Go get a glass of water from the kitchen." You rushed over to the elevator out of the Cave, not wanting to bother Bruce anymore. You figured he already had an idea who this guy was under the mask, but you weren't sure. You had an inkling of an idea, but it was stupid.

It doesn't make any sense for Red Hood to be him. Jason's been dead for five years.

But it's also all that makes sense.

You started wistfully thinking, piecing stupid ideas together. Lots of people have it out for Bruce, but with this guy, crime is down; that doesn't add up to the regular criminals Bruce fights. He's trained, and some of his training reflects how Bruce trains, right? He's going by Red Hood, which Joker went by at one point, and Jason was killed by Joker. That might be a stretch, though. But this guy knows Bruce is Batman, and he seemingly came out of nowhere?

Mindlessly, you filled your glass with water and sat at the table to think. It was a stupid idea. Jason is dead and buried on the grounds just outside of the house; it's not possible. Besides, you weren't even sure if you wanted that silly idea to even be true.

As you slowly drank your water, waiting for a little while before going back to the Cave, you let your mind wander.

"I promise, I'm fine," Jason said as he held his knee, trying to sound confident.

You rolled your eyes at him as you grabbed the first-aid kit. "Yeah, right, you're bleeding. At least let me clean it," You reasoned with him.

Jason sighed, sitting on your bed. He showed up, knocking on your window after he got into an argument with Bruce. He needed to blow off some steam and stopped some C-grade criminal robbing some shop, but he got knocked into a wall as he was leaving the scene. Finally getting away, he was near your family's apartment and thought going to you was better than trudging back to Bruce.

"I'll be okay," Jason persisted.

Once you sat across from him, you put the warm cloth on his bleeding knee. You'd seen Alfred heal Jason up plenty of times, so at least you had a bit of an idea of what you were doing. Jason cringed when you moved the cloth around to clean it, stinging a little. "I know you will be. But I'm going to clean the wounds," You said and pulled the cloth back, moving to grab the bandage wraps to put around his knee until he got home.

"I shouldn't have come," Jason said quietly. "I should've figured out how to deal with it by myself."

"Jay, you're fourteen; it's okay if you need some help from time to time," You reasoned with him. "Hell, you're lucky I didn't call Alfred. Give me your elbow."

Jason didn't respond when he let you look at his elbow. He was upset. And hurt. But he didn't want to admit that. "I know you're mad at Bruce, but you should go home. I'm sure both he and Alfred are worried about you," You told him, finishing wrapping up. "Look at me."

He listened, and you two locked eyes. "You're my best friend; you know I care about you. I don't want you to get hurt when you run off because you and Bruce fought," You said. "Do you want me to call Alfred so he can come to pick you up?" You asked.

Another few seconds went by as Jason thought about his response, and he slowly nodded. "Okay, I can do that," You said and got up to grab your phone, not before giving him a small kiss on his cheek to remind him how much you care about him.

You didn't realize it, but a lot more time had passed than you meant to. You were sure you could go back to the Cave, and Bruce wouldn't mind. After putting your cup in the sink, you headed back down there. Instead of finding Bruce at his computer, the Cave was empty, and you figured he went back out again, probably following Red Hood again.

You noticed the light to Jason's Robin costume was on, and you tried your hardest not to look at it. Why was it on, though? Was Bruce thinking the same thing?

It didn't matter. You couldn't get your hopes up and would talk about the Red Hood's identity once Bruce returned from wherever he was. You tried to connect to his comms, but he had them turned off, so you were stuck watching the map and waiting for him to get back.

Not too long after you were sitting in the Cave alone, Alfred made his reappearance after getting back from Blüdhaven. He offered to get you something to drink, which you gladly took him up on, and he made his way back to the kitchen. It was perfect timing because just as Alfred was heading out of the Cave, Bruce came back, and Alfred was able to get him something to drink, too.

"Where'd you go?" You asked, moving out of Bruce's chair so he could sit in front of the computer.

"Some assassins went after Red Hood. I happened to be there," Bruce informed you.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you saw the sword Bruce brought back. "Is that what I think it is?"

Bruce nodded slightly as he put it into the analyzer. "Yes, Red Hood's blood." Bruce didn't elaborate anymore, but he didn't need to. You watched as he pulled up the new Red Hood file to start analyzing, then brought up Jason's file, too. He did have the same thoughts as you, and you didn't know what you wanted the outcome to be.

Both you and Bruce watched the screen in silence, anxiety rising in your chest as it got closer and closer to completing the scan.

ANALYSIS COMPLETE

Another second passed before the bright red words came up above both photos. MATCH.

You gasped while Bruce's hands dropped as he stared at the screen. You were only brought out of your trance when there was a clanging behind you. Alfred saw the results and dropped the tray with the drinks, causing both of you to jump.

"It really is Jason?" You broke the silence, nearly ready to cry, but no one said anything else.

Bruce got up, leaving the match screen on the computer, and went to change. He didn't say anything, but once you saw him leave the Cave and Alfred told you where he was going, you followed. Alfred grabbed a lantern, and the two of you walked out to the grounds together, finding Bruce already digging up Jason's grave.

Once the coffin was uncovered, Bruce grabbed the crowbar and pried it open. Jason was still there, somehow. "Well, there you have it. He's still at rest," Alfred said.

"No, he isn't," Bruce picked the body up, and the hair fell off. It was a fake body, planted there by someone. Who? You didn't know. But you were sure Bruce did. Now, Bruce was only beating himself up about if he had looked inside when he brought Jason home, he would have known. But Bruce can't be blamed; all of you were grieving.

But Jason is still alive. He's out there, and has been, and now your hope has returned to you.

---

You were fuming.

Bruce had gone to meet with Ra's Al Guhl to figure out what went on five years ago, and on his way back, he had to stop to take care of Black Mask, Joker, and Red Hood. One thing led to another, Jason ended up with Joker and brought Bruce to Crime Alley. Jason tried to get Bruce to kill either him or Joker, but somehow Bruce found a way out of it.

And now he was back in the Cave, not wanting to talk about anymore past that, even though you knew there had to be more. It was driving you crazy that Bruce was keeping this all from you. Jason was your best friend and boyfriend; you grieved him just as much as Bruce did!

"Bruce, please, talk to me," You begged him as Bruce was non-stop walking from space to space in the Cave, trying to clear his head.

"There's nothing more to talk about, okay?" He exploded, then forced himself to take a deep breath. "Red Hood is Jason. He's alive. He wants to clean up Gotham by hurting more people, and he managed to get away tonight. I don't know what else you want from me."

You groaned. Bruce wasn't getting it. "I want to talk to him!"

"I don't know where he is," Bruce said, stopping in his tracks to make sure you heard him.

"That's bullshit. You're Batman; you know everything. You have to know where he is. Especially after you ran into him tonight," You crossed your arms, huffing.

Bruce shook his head. "I know everything?" He scoffed, still beating himself up over the discoveries from earlier. "We don't even know if he would want to talk to you. What would you say to him?"

"I just want to see him. It's been five years, Bruce. I know he's going through a lot, but maybe if I can get through to him, things will change and-"

"This changes nothing. That Jason we knew is still gone," Bruce cut you off, making you stop talking. "Look, I think you need to go home. Get some rest; you've been up for too long working on this case."

You cocked your head to the side, still looking at Bruce's face. "You're telling me to go get some rest? You haven't slept either!"

"Yes, I am telling you to get rest. Take the rest of the week off," Bruce deadpanned.

"Bruce, I can still help! We can find Jason, and I can talk to him!" You shot back.

"It was not a question!" He responded, much louder this time to make sure you were listening. "Go home. Get rest."

You stepped back a few, not expecting Bruce to raise his voice at you. Sure, it had been an eventful few days, but you were going through this together. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow night," You compromised.

"Next week," He tried.

"Tomorrow night," You said as your final word and walked to the elevator to leave the Cave and the mansion. Alfred saw you when you got out of the Cave and offered to drive you home since it was late, but you declined. You'd just take one of Bruce's cars if he wanted you gone so badly. Besides, you wanted to call Dick and update him on everything you found out and maybe complain about Bruce a bit.

Alfred gave you the keys to the car you usually used and hooked your phone up, immediately calling Dick when you started driving. "Hey, kid. What's up?" He answered before the phone even rang twice.

"Well, I think the case is closed for now. Have you talked to Bruce yet?"

"Not since I saw you guys. What do you mean the case is closed?" Dick asked, sounding concerned.

You sighed, making sure to not lose your focus on the street. Luckily, the longest part of the drive was actually getting back into Gotham from Wayne Manor. Once you were back in the city, it wasn't too long. "Uh, we know who Red Hood is," You said, trying to figure out what Dick's reaction would be.

"Really?"

"It's Jason," You spit it out. There was a pause on the phone, probably Dick thinking to himself and trying to figure out how the hell it was possible. "Ra's switched his body for a fake and put him in the pit. So, now he's in Gotham." Still, there was more silence. "Dick, you still there?"

Dick coughed to bring himself back to reality. "I'm sure that was a harsh discovery. Why's the case closed if you guys know who he is?"

Honestly, you weren't sure. "I guess the right wording is that this side of the case is closed. Bruce is still angry that he's hurting people, so it's not totally over. Jason tried to get Bruce to kill him or Joker, but of course, he found a way around it," You rushed through the events of the night, sure that Bruce would send him the file in the next few days. Or you would, once you got back to the computer and read the full report.

"I see," Dick started. "How are you?"

"I'm pissed!" You said. "I want to talk to Jason; I want to see him. But instead of helping me, Bruce kicked me out. He drives me crazy!" You were past frustrated, just wishing Bruce would have listened to you instead of sending you home.

Dick chuckled. "Trust me, I understand. But maybe once he gets over tonight, he'll help you out. Besides that, are you okay?" Dick asked. He was always the one to make sure everyone was in their right mind; he fits the role well.

"I don't know. Finding out Jason is alive after five years? I don't think I'll be anywhere near okay until I can see him," You said, much quieter and taking some deep breaths. You were almost to your apartment, which was probably a good thing. You'd never admit it, but Bruce was right. You needed some sleep. And some food, but mostly sleep.

"And that's perfectly fine. If Bruce doesn't help you, I'll make my way back to Gotham once I'm healed, and I'll help you find him. Maybe it would be beneficial for him, too," Dick promised.

You thanked him a lot. For letting you vent, listening to you complain, and agreeing to help you. Though Dick wasn't the greatest brother to Jason when he was first around, after his death, the two of you got closer. "I think so, too," You said as you pulled into your apartment's parking lot. "I just got home. I appreciate you letting me complain," You smiled into the phone.

"Anytime, you know that," Dick reminded you. "Get some rest, and I'm sure I'll talk to you once you're back at the Cave," Dick said. Both of you said goodnight, and you hung up and headed to your apartment.

It had been a few days since you were home, since you were helping Bruce with this case and taking power naps in the Cave. It did feel good to come home and be alone and just sit in silence. You locked the door and went into the kitchen to heat up some leftovers before you passed out for the night.

As you put your food in the microwave, you heard a noise. You tried not to react, as you knew not to, and kept moving slowly as you listened. There was creaking, and it wasn't the usual "settling" noises; it sounded like someone was shifting their weight. As the microwave started to countdown, you moved around to make it look like you were grabbing other things for your makeshift meal. Instead, you were actually getting to where you stored your taser in the kitchen so you could be prepared if there was someone in your apartment.

Part of you thought you were overthinking things, and there was no one here, but you have been out of the apartment for a few days, and it's totally possible someone snuck their way in. You had no clue if this person was dangerous, so it didn't hurt to arm yourself. As you were getting closer to your taser, you kept hearing these same noises, and you had nearly confirmed someone was hiding around the corner.

Quickly, you grabbed the taser and walked to the corner, the microwave still beeping and covering your noises. You got ready to make your move, and as soon as you turned the corner, you held the taser in front of you with your finger on the trigger and yelled, "Don't move!"

"Don't shoot!" The man said at the same time, putting his hands up in surrender. "It's just me." He said.

As your eyes adjusted to looking at the dark corner, you realized who was standing in front of you. "Jason?" You asked, the word barely making it out of your mouth. "Is it really you?"

Slowly, he nodded. You still had your hand on the taser's trigger. "It is, I promise."

"Take off your helmet," You said, not making another move in case it wasn't actually him.

He moved his hands from beside his head and grabbed the helmet, carefully taking it off and holding it in his right hand, using his left to take off the small black mask still attached to his eyes. He looked up at you with the slightest hint of a smile.

You quickly lowered the taser, then set it on the counter, rushing up to him. "It's really you," You said, standing only a few inches away. You cupped his face in your hands, examining him with your eyes, which were already starting to tear up. "I can't believe it. What are you doing here?"

Jason nodded, his smile growing. "I missed you. And now that you know, I had to come see you. I'm sorry it took me so long," He apologized.

"I think I can forgive you for that, granted I did think you were dead," You said and lowered your hands off his face. He moved to set his helmet and mask down next to where you put the taser on the counter. "I can't believe you're actually alive."

"I know," He sighed. "It's been a rough few years, but I'm here now," Jason said.

You stepped back to look at him from head to toe. "I can't imagine."

He shrugged. "I'll be okay. How about you?"

"I think so," You smiled.

The microwave beeped again, making you realize you missed it the first time. Nodding to yourself, you grabbed the food out of the microwave and set it to the side. You weren't even interested in the food anymore; you just wanted to talk to Jason.

You knew you wanted to talk to him, but the minute you made eye contact with him, all the stuff you had planned to say went out of your head. "I know a lot is going on, and I know we have a lot to talk about," You started. "And trust me, I won't tell Bruce I saw you."

"Really?" He asked, a bit confused at that.

"Really. But I wanted to ask you a favor," You said. Jason nodded, telling you to go on. "Can we have one night that isn't about Red Hood or Batman and just pretend to be normal?" You asked. "We can watch some TV, or just chat about life after five years, or eat some snacks."

Jason looked down and shook his head, and you were worried he was going to decline you. But when he looked back up, and the biggest smile was on his face, you knew. "I would love that."

You smiled just as wide as he was and told him to wait for a second. You ran into your room, ruffled through a drawer in your dresser, and ran back out. "Take this," You handed him the piece of clothing.

Jason opened the sweatshirt and was a bit shocked when he saw it. "Is this one of my oversized hoodies?"

"Alfred gave it to me after he went through your room. He thought I would want it," You explained. "But you can wear it again, and it should fit fine since it was oversized!" You encouraged him.

"I think that is a great idea; I'm glad you kept it," Jason said.

Soon enough, you and Jason were sitting on the couch together like nothing had changed, like it hadn't been five years without each other. There was some late-night show on TV as you told him about your life over the past five years, just happy that you were in his arms again. It was a weird dynamic, and you know he's done some things you don't exactly agree with, but he is your Jason. Bruce said he isn't the same Jason that died five years ago, but sitting here, cuddling with him, you have to disagree.

Maybe you two could work through the weird things together. Jason definitely took a more violent and lethal approach to cleaning up Gotham, but maybe you could help him get out of that habit. You didn't want to tell Bruce you did get to talk to Jason because you were still mad that Bruce wouldn't hear you out or entirely tell you what happened. Maybe once you were over it, but for right now, this night was about you and Jason.

Though it's been five years, when he softly kissed you, it felt like you were right back at a high school dance with your boyfriend, and nothing had changed. Maybe things would work out on this weird, five years later, normal you were living.

[mrs-gray]

MIDNIGHT GRAY – Part III

Michael Gray x female reader (OFC / OC) – A Peaky Blinders™ fanfiction

Summary: You needed a drink after the meeting with Tommy Shelby and Michael Gray. Unfortunately some drunk men harassed you...will someone save you?

Characters: Michael Gray, OFC, Tommy Shelby, Lizzie Stark (Lizzie Shelby), Isaiah Jesus, Finn Shelby 

Word Count: 6k

Status: Incomplete

Warning(s): English is my second language, melancholy, smoking, drinking, strong language, non-con elements

Published: March 2022

Part 3 of the ‘Midnight Gray’-saga

Author's note: Slow burn, (Fr)Enemies to lovers

Song recommendations for this chapter:

She Remembers – Max Richter

Oh My God – Adele

In a Sentimental Mood – Ella Fitzgerald 

Music To Watch Boys To – Lana Del Rey

Just When I Thought – Jacob Banks

WTF – Sasha Alex Sloan

Pervious Chapters:

Chapter 1 – Serendipity – a fortunate happenstance 

Chapter 2: Zemblanity – the inevitable discovery of what we would rather not know; the opposite of serendipity

꧁ ________________________꧂

Chapter 3:

Drapetomania – an overwhelming urge to run away.

What a troublesome night, haunted by bad dreams you thought once you opened your eyes after a very sleepless rest. You needed a moment to adjust to the still foreign environment. Then it hit you like lightning, your whole body shivered in return. 

Realization like an avalanche – Shelby Mansion, my new gilded cage. Furthermore the meeting with Thomas and Mr. Gray. What a nightmare and you just woke up from one…

You sat up in your canopy bed, starring out of the window for several minutes. You hugged your knees and your head rested on top of them. The grey sky so gloomy and drab, resembling your own inner mood.

You couldn’t decide what will turn out to be worse today – signing over your property, your goods and chattels, to Thomas Shelby or enduring Michael Gray while doing so? 

Your heart felt torn even though a little spark of joy kept on resonating within your stomach but you decided to ignore it and let it drift by like the cloudy weather waiting outside. 

He betrayed you. It hurt, badly. Don’t trust him again! Keep yourself locked from his charisma and the undeniable chemistry the two of you shared. It will be for the better...you thought.

You decided to go for a ride. Feeling the warm horse skin galloping under your saddle was a pleasant distraction. Once you came back after a couple of hours you took a bath, ate and enjoyed a few cups of tea while finishing Thomas Hardy’s Far from the Madding Crowd – you always enjoyed reading this novel, no matter how many times you’ve already delved into this fictional masterpiece.

It was time to get dressed you thought after observing the watch hanging on the forest green wall. You chose a black dress, tight around your waist with a pleated skirt. A white collar and matching wristbands should be suitable for today. 

You mascaraed your greenish blue eyes, added some rosy blush and lipstick. You tied your gold-coloured hair back in a ponytail, little curls swinging in the back around your rips. Modest pearl earrings would be enough for this meeting you thought and took a look in the mirror.

Your reflection showed a perfect image but it was the exact opposite to your troubled mind. Luckily you always seemed calm and firm on the outside, never allowing others to know how you really felt – today would be a good day to use this special boon. 

You walked down the stairs and asked one of the servants for Thomas. She informed you that he left the mansion hours ago and you were told to wait for one of his men to drive you to Birmingham. 

It’s funny how all the things that used to be ordinary and so very taken for granted seemed to become way more important once you’ve lost your freedom – you loved to drive ever since you got your first car; however you gave in to this strange, almost comedic situation and let one of Thomas’ men drive you to his city office. 

If only you could get rid of his henchman in the driver's seat and escape  – out of Birmingham, out of this perdition. The vehicle abruptly stopped in front of the meeting spot – The Shelby Company Limited.

Your driver got out of the car, lit a cigarette and attentively watched you while opening the door of Thomas’ city office. Liberty, more like self determination lost. 

You walked down the wooden corridor and a beautiful raven-black haired woman sat in front of you. She stopped writing and looked up. 

‘Miss Huntington-Coldwell?’ She assumed, navy blue eyes studying you. 

‘Yes. I am about to have an appointment with Mr. Sh…’ You said and she interrupted you.

‘Mr. Shelby will arrive a little bit later than scheduled.’ She stood up and added. ‘Please follow me.’

The secretary was a very tall and attractive lady, no wonder that Thomas hired her. Guardedness aside, he still is just a man after all. 

You came along an empty office, the inscription on the door saying ‘accountant’. 

Assuming that Michael Gray would most definitely be in his office by now gave you some hope and you inwardly sent up a quick prayer that he won’t attend the meeting. 

She gestured to the door that was left ajar and your eyes instantly locked with his. It seemed like someone cheered too soon. 

‘Mr. Gray.’ You greeted him, not out of joy but out of manner.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Coldwell.’ He rose to his feet and walked over to the bar. 

‘What's your poison?’ He asked while pouring himself whiskey in a crystal glass. 

‘You!’ You thought. His eyes met yours again and it seemed like the severity of your hatred towards him got the better of you. 

His signature brow lifted in a suspicious way, the other side of his mouth formed a smirk.

‘Did I just say that out loud?’ You asked yourself and started to panic.

‘I can’t blame you, Miss.’ He said casually, almost sounding amused. 

Fuck! I said it out loud. 

‘It’s shortly after 5 o'clock and you’re already drinking?’ You asked him, wanting to distract him from your awkward remark. 

‘Wakeful night.’ He drank some of the whiskey and continued. ‘Helps me to endure the long days.’

You stared at him, wanting to read his body language, slightly tilting your head while doing so. Apparently I haven’t been the only one having troubles sleeping tonight? He surely deserved it…you tried to persuade yourself. He indeed looked tired. It didn’t made him less handsome but the dark circles under his midnight blue eyes were a testimony to long working days and probably nights as well – you almost felt sorry for him... 

‘…it might help you to endure me, Miss.’ He cockily stated.

‘Right enough!’ You replied. 

‘Whiskey?’ He asked again. 

‘Scotch.’ You retorted. 

He wanted to pass you the glass filled with Scotch but you pretended to be occupied with something in your handbag. He sighed but he still had a smugly grin resting on his face.    

You grabbed the crystal glass from the table and raised it in the air. 

‘Here’s to cheating, stealing and drinking.’ You uttered mockingly.

‘Cheers.’ He raised his glass in approval, fully aware of your spiteful undertone.

The taste of the Scotch was heady and now you had to agree – day drinking might become your new passion. It will most definitely help you to endure the upcoming months. 

‘Miss Coldwell.’ He started and slowly strode a few steps inside the office. One hand still holding his whiskey glass, the other one nonchalantly resting in his pocket. 

You weren’t in the mood for his speech, he didn’t even gave you enough time to let the alcohol work and reach your blood – you exhaled deeply. He put his glass down on the table and his hands leant on the chairback, opposite from you. He avoided your gaze for a few silent moments.

‘I know I’ve hurt you.’ Then his eyes pierced yours, gleaming with truthfulness. 

‘I know that.’ He insisted so very intense. 

‘I…’ He arose again and rubbed his temple. 

‘It wouldn’t have made any difference.’ He declare himself.

‘On the contrary! It would have made a difference…to me.’ Your voice broke. You needed to swallow and drank some more of your Scotch. 

‘The moment I knew who you were…I.’ He paused and looked away, lost in thought. He deeply exhaled and regained his posture. 

‘I couldn’t dare to put you in danger.’ He reached for his drink and took another sip of his whiskey. 

‘It would have made everything worse, trust me.’ He laughed in a cruel way to himself, starring into the distance and lightly biting his full bottom lip. 

Thereafter he fastened his eyes with yours again and they begged for your forgiveness. You sat there in silence, studying him and trying to judge the trueness in his words. 

‘Sure, I could have smuggled you out of Birmingham, perhaps even the country…but Miss, I know what my family is capable of.’ His blue eyes matched his sad smile. 

‘I couldn't reconcile your destiny with my conscience and move one like I wouldn't be the one to blame for your death sentence.’ He lit a cigarette and audibly exhaled the first drag of tobacco, then absentmindedly shook his head. 

‘Not after I met you.’ He confessed, just above a throaty whisper. 

Your eyes locked again and you knew that he was telling the truth and it almost tore you apart. 

‘I know.’ You breathed and looked down, not longer able to hold his gaze. 

He came closer and sat down in the chair next to you, knees almost touching. 

‘Now I can do everything in my power to keep you safe, Miss. To protect you.’  You looked up again, apprehending his face – sincerity written all over it. 

‘Like I said yesterday, I will make up for it.’ He repeated sternly.

‘I promise.’ He breathed calmly. 

This moment was intimate. No physical touch needed, to feel connected to him... Suddenly the door opened and Tommy entered his office. 

‘Miss Coldwell, Michael.’ He shortly greeted and exhaled deeply while removing his coat and sat down right beside you.

Michael once again caught a fleeting glimpse of your greenish blue eyes and you wondered – how could he affect you like this? He was right. It would have made everything worse…hearing that he truly cared for you isn't helping matters. 

Thomas spread dozens of documents all over the table.

‘Miss Coldwell, you know that once the signing over is officially confirmed, your father’s hereditary debt is repaid. It becomes legally binding on your next birthday.’ Thomas informed you and it upset you but you kept your stoic facade. 

He kept on talking like you didn’t know that you would have to sell your soul to the devil, simply because your father made one wrong choice; trusting his friend who betrayed him in the end. One fatal decision let to this moment. 

‘If only your father didn’t get involved with the Shelby clan!’ You let your thoughts spin around in your head...

Surely they ended the feud between your father and his former friend but the Shelbys weren’t there to protect your father from being killed by one of his old friend’s followers. 

Down to the present day you couldn’t believe that your father agreed to this covenant. Transferring everything to Thomas Shelby in exchange for their help. That was very unlike him – he would rather die than shaking hands with some notorious gypsy gangster…

‘Let’s begin with the properties.’ Thomas decided and lit a cigarette, smoke tarnished the yellowish lamplight. 

Michael cleared his throat and laid down one paper after the other. Starting with Gosford House in Scotland, Drumlanrig Castle in Scotland next, Dyffryn House in Wales, followed by Bodrhyddan Hall in North Wales...

You’ve stayed silent the whole time, signing countless of papers and just like that your estates vanished. Funds, cars, stocks as well as art and paintings weren’t yours, not any longer.

You felt an overly forceful stare coming from Thomas and you looked right back into his sky blue eyes.

‘Is there a problem, Mr. Shelby?’ You held his gaze straightfaced. 

‘You’re surprisingly calm, Miss Coldwell.’ He acknowledged, his brows a bit furrowed – a sign of suspicion. 

You didn’t response but your eyes kept on saying everything you wanted him to know. 

‘Jewellery next.’ He said and his eyes ogled down to the platinum charm around your neck. 

‘No!’ You implied. 

‘You can take everything but you certainly won’t take this away from me!’ You insisted, your eyes ready to fight, your hand around the charm, gripping it so tightly as if your life depended on it.

‘It’s my mothers. It’s the only thing she left me.’ You said sternly, eyes drowning in wrath now. 

How could he be so greedy? 

‘You can have everything else…but not this.’ You were trapped in a hopeless situation but wouldn’t go down, not without a fight. 

‘Tommy!’ Michael appealed urgently, subtly admonishing his uncle.

‘I respect that.’ Thomas replied and lit yet another cigarette. 

__________________________________________________

Hours passed, ink dried.

‘Alright, seems like we’re done for today.’ Thomas declared and looked at his gilded pocket watch. 

‘What about my Cousin?’ You asked Thomas, eyes wide open. 

‘We will discuss this topic another time, Miss Coldwell.’ He replied dryly. 

‘This topic?’ You said disgusted by Thomas Shelby’s arrogance. 

‘But you said you would agree to get him out of captivity, once I cleared my father’s debt.’ You almost shouted.

‘So it will be.’ He replied so calmly, you felt the infuriation heating up your entire body. 

‘You will get him out...right? I signed over all that I had. You said you’re a man of your word, Mr. Shelby!’ Your eyes full of pleading and also temper. 

‘Miss Coldwell, the signing over covered the contractual conditions. Your cousin wasn’t a part of the deal.’ He said and lit a cigarette. 

‘You’re kidding, right?’ Your voice filled with fury, your rib cage raising from suppressed tension. 

‘Everything I have ever owned is yours now… What could I possibly offer you to get him out?’ You looked at him perplexed.

You could barely contain yourself anymore, being on the edge of your seat. All of a sudden you felt Michael’s left hand on your thigh, resting on top of your pleated skirt, trying to calm you down – you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. 

Thomas stared at you wordlessly and it felt like half an eternity until he finally responded. 

‘I will try to get your cousin out of his captivity and you will fulfil tasks for me?’ Thomas finally answered.

‘What kind of tasks?’ You asked and crossed your arms, brows furrowed. 

‘It depends on upcoming events. Once you’ll be needed, you will comply with my wish.’ He declared.

‘Settled!’ You stood up, grabbed your handbag as well as your coat and walked down the corridor. 

You pushed the front door open, not caring about the loud slam. You put on your gloves and the cold air was surprisingly refreshing, cooling down your nerves and mind. 

The man who drove you to Birmingham approached you. 

‘God!’ How much you hated this insanity. Your whole body stiffened and you couldn’t regain control over your mind. It was overwhelming, simply too much for you. Tears slowly building up and you didn’t want to show this kind of emotion, not in front of one of Thomas’ henchmen nor anyone else. Everything seemed forlorn, tears kept on running down your blushed cheeks.

It felt harder to breathe. Each gasp hurt more than the last one. Suddenly two hands grabbed your arms from behind. 

‘Miss Coldwell.’ A familiar velvety voice lingered in your ears. 

You turned around and Michael repeated his gesture, now facing you while his hands found their way around your upper arms. 

He kept some distance between the two of you in order to make you feel comfortable.

‘Thomas wants me to driver her back.’ The driver said non empathetically. 

You shot him a questionable look – he couldn’t be serious? 

‘Fuck Tommy’s orders! I will take care of her.’ Michael gave him a warning and the man finally drove off.  

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling down your reddened cheeks. Your feeling heart betrayed your otherwise usually emotional cold and reserved composure – how much you hated yourself for being so vulnerable, so very lost in this moment. You wanted to be the strong young women you always aimed for others to see, each and every single day – and there you stood in a complete turmoil.

You walked a few steps back in order to evade his touch and create distance between the two of you. Suddenly you felt bricks behind your back. 

Michael came closer and closer, ignoring your personal space which would have been more than appropriate and embraced you, tightly. You just stood there, unable to move, unable to think but still able to feel - and it scared you. It felt so right standing there, in his arms. 

Mixed feelings overwhelmed you and you suddenly pushed him away.

‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ You screamed in a hoarse voice. You wept bitterly and his eyes softened. You wondered if he honestly cared? 

‘Just leave me alone!’ You whispered scarcely audible, your head hung low. 

He couldn’t endure to see you like this – looking like a picture of misery. 

‘Come here.’ He said so self-evidently. 

This time you couldn’t fight back and truth be told, you even welcomed his tight embracement. It made you feel surprisingly safe, as if he prevented you from falling apart entirely. 

You smelled the rich smell of his musky cologne and inhaled it deeply. One of his hands holding your back, the other one resting at the back of your head, in the utmost gentle way. 

You didn’t know how long he held you in his strong arms but he made sure to hold you as long as you needed it. 

‘Thank you.’ You breathed, so very sore from crying. 

You ended the embrace and reached for your handkerchief, wiping away your fluid sadness. 

‘I don’t know if you should keep it or if I want it back?’ He said with a cheeky smile, never leaving your eyes. 

‘Pardon me?’ Your eyes widened in bewilderment. 

‘Your handkerchief. I mean...actually mine.’ He said showing you his perfect teeth now.

‘Oh.’ Your glazed eyes looked down at the tear-flooded fabric in your hand. 

‘I will clean it and give it back to you…this time.’ You replied shyly, your voice sounding innocent. 

‘No! Keep it…though I hope you won’t ever need it again.’ He replied compassionately. 

Your eyes locked with his blue ones and you gave him a sad smile in return before you absentmindedly let your head fall again. 

He put his leather gloves on, drew closer to you and his now gloved finger tenderly raised your chin, his action demanding you to look at him. 

‘Want to drown your sorrow, Miss?’ He raised his signature brow and awaited your answer.

‘I bet you won’t want to waste your whole life listening to my melancholy woe, Mr. Gray?’ You couldn’t hold back a small smile.  

‘I think I could spare a lifetime.’ He jokingly remarked and his facial expression reassured you. 

He led you through a few of Birmingham’s streets, his hand never leaving the small of your back.

‘Thank you, Mr. Gray…’ You struggled for words, not looking at him, yet you continued. ‘…and also for letting me vent, again.’

‘That goes without saying, Miss.’ The corner of his mouth forming an honest smile. 

‘If you please…’ He opened the door of a pub called The Garrison. 

You walked in first and he helped you out of your black fur coat.

‘Thank you. I’m about to powder my nose.’ You spoke out and disappeared in the pub’s lavatory.

You refreshed your maquillage and wanted to rebuild the perfect mask – powder, lipstick and some blush would definitely help to recreate your formerly neat appearance. You put some perfume on both sides of your neck, gently applying it by using the back of your wrist. 

You observed your reflection and were surprised that once again the old saying is indeed true – Appearances are deceiving. 

There was no evidence left of your emotional outburst, except for the mournfulness in your eyes but no make up in the world could possibly hide it.

You headed back to Michael, past dozens of men who eyeballed you, yet you didn’t pay attention to their staring nor comments, also a few whistles now and then – both of your eyes fixed only on one another. 

Michael’s hand casually rested in his pinstriped suit pants pocket, the other one holding a glass of whiskey. He looked so very attractive and his intense stare made you wonder what he thought about…

Michael lifted his head and he let his captivating blue eyes wander from your eyes down your body and up again, taking his time observing you – like a hunter and his prey.

You didn’t mind his attention, in fact you liked the idea of making him aroused, swinging your hips a little bit more than usually, while approaching him.

You saw an unfamiliar man standing next to Michael. He was tall, dressed just as dapper as the other Shelbys and his skin was tanned, shimmering amber-brown. 

‘Well, look who it isn’t!’ The stranger addressed me, visibly delighted.

‘Princess Harlow, right?’ He smirked smugly. 

‘I am not a princess. I’m Harlow.’ You calmly mentioned.

‘Isaiah.’ He introduced himself and placed a kiss on top of your delicate hand, never leaving your eyes. 

‘Well...you can be my princess any time.’ He said and he was so charming, you couldn’t be mad at him. His golden brown eyes winked at you in a flirtatious way. 

You smiled but didn’t replied anything. 

Michael stood there watching you and his friend Isaiah silently while sipping his whiskey. 

‘Your eyes are mesmerizing.’ Isaiah asseverated truthfully. 

‘I just wanted to say the same! I have never seen eyes that golden…like the sun is shining through them.’ You said sounding innocently. 

‘Not as hypnotizing and beautiful as yours, Miss Harlow.’ He refuted. 

‘Beautiful eyes?…I bet she never heard that before.’ Michael snorted and shook his head in annoyance. 

You shot a glance at Michael and didn’t understand his constant moodiness. 

You decided to focus on Isaiah and also Finn, who just came back from the bar; a beer mug in one hand, a champagne flute in the other. 

‘Thank you Finn.’ You said with kind eyes. 

‘I didn’t know what you wanted and I guessed you would like some champagne?’ He said a bit nervous, his ears reddened. 

‘Yes, that‘s so kind of you!’ You gratefully replied. 

‘She prefers Scotch!’ Michael said even more displeased than before. 

You bit your lip, trying to contain the aggravation inside of you. You couldn’t believe what he just said – your blood began to boil in your veins. 

‘I also like the taste of champagne, Mr. Gray…and you aren’t my spokesman, are you?’ You stated levelly but your eyes certainly showed the ire you were trying to hide. 

Both of you started a staring contest.

Isaiah spoke again and you faced him instead. 

‘Your eyes, Harlow, are they grey or green?’ Isaiah asked but it sounded more like a statement.

‘Blue!’ Finn interposed.

Isaiah came closer and closer until you felt his breath on your skin. You knew he would jump at the chance to be this close to you. 

‘Her left one is silvery blue, her right one icy green.’ Michael interrupted him and shot his friend Isaiah a warning glance, while his jaw tensed.

You furrowed your brows and pierced Michael, not understanding why he suddenly acted like this. 

‘I would say…’ Isaiah came even closer now and you guessed he did on purpose, also enjoying to provoke Michael even more. 

‘He’s right.’ You declared, addressing Michael. 

Michael raised his brow, smugness written all over his face. 

‘I know.’ He added shortly, his voice so very self-pleased. 

The mood was so tense, thanks to his arrogance. 

You drowned your champagne with one gulp, the little bubbles tickling your throat in a refreshing way.

‘Two things are missing in here, gentlemen...’ You started to say and looked around the pub, all 3 men listened to you. 

‘…some music as well as a goddam Scotch. Therefore I am about to go to the bar and get myself one, now!’ You facetiously exclaimed. 

‘…unless someone…’ Your eyes locked with Michaels again and you continued. ‘…disagrees with my reckless and bloody deed?’ You smiled so very alluringly in order to mock Michael knowingly and also willingly.

His tongue slid over his lip and he gave you a daring glimpse. You knew that he didn’t want you to carry this joke too far.

You went to the counter of the bar and your pent-up tension might added to the swing of your hips - and it seemed to work. Several men whistled at you and tried to gain your attention but you focused on the pecan brown liquid. Still you felt flattered, mainly because it drove him mad. 

His jaw clenched constantly on your way back to the them. 

‘As far as I can gather you already turned every poor blokes head in here.’ Isaiah commented buoyantly. 

‘Guess we��re not the only ones fancying you?’ He joked and smiled coquettishly. 

You laughed out loud and and shook your head. 

‘No!’ You stated and narrowed your eyes to underline your honest negation.

‘Or she simply enjoys to tempt all men?’ Michael retaliated, his dark blue eyes sharp as a blade. 

‘All men?’ You repeated slowly, your voice broke slightly. His rude comment hit so very deep and he knew it. 

‘I need some fresh air.’ You blurted and avoided everyone’s gaze, while you put on you leather gloves and raven-black fur coat. 

Finn wanted to accompany you, same as Isaiah but you denied. 

You pushed the door of the pub open and closed your eyes, inhaling the cold air of the night. How much you hated him!

‘Bastard!’ You spoke out to yourself. 

You felt ashamed for trusting him, again – crying in his arms not even one hour ago. Why did he do this to you? It seemed like he wanted to tease you in such a callous way. He enjoyed this game, his game. But why? You asked yourself.

Buried in thought two men approached you. One of them made you move back, till you felt the hard bricks of the house wall behind you. 

‘Today’s your lucky day, kitten.’ He reached for your hair and closed his eyes smelling the light scent of peonies and roses. 

You smelled the alcohol in his boozy breath, then you heard the clang of church bells in the distance. 

‘Seems like my fortunate day just ended, gentlemen.’ You stated and walked past him.

His other friend came closer and blocked your way. 

‘Where are you going, kitty?’ He firmly grabbed you by your hair and pulled you back. He opened your coat and it made you shiver. One of his hands grabbed your rip cage now, the other one squeezing your bum. 

‘Let me go!’ You pushed him away but he stood his ground and both men laughed menacingly, as his grip tightened even more. 

‘Don’t fucking touch her.’ Michael came into view, his hands rested in his coat pockets. 

It worked! Due to the distraction the man loosened his solid grip and you freed yourself from his touch. 

‘Well, look for another slag, mate!’ He spat out.

‘I won’t say it again.’ Michael threatened him overly composed. 

Isaiah and Finn joined the situation and their footsteps became harsher. 

‘What's going on here?’ Isaiah’s voice blazed.

‘I think we need to teach those fucking bastards a lesson.’ Michael addressed both of his friends. 

The other drunkard saw Finn and his mimic changed instantly. 

‘Fuck Pete! These kiddos are Peaky Blinders!’ Fear was visibly inked on his whole face. 

Michael exchanged a few words with Isaiah and turned to you again, his hand on the small of your back guiding you out of the street – his pace way faster than before. You turned around and wanted to see what would happen to the two drunk men. 

‘Come along! Let’s go to the car.’ He uttered resolutely.

‘What are you about to do to the…’ You questioned him uncertainly but he interrupted you right away. 

‘We take care of them.’ He answered vaguely and you turned into the left alley, where his car parked, not very far from you. 

‘You don’t kill them...do you?’ You asked obviously alarmed and searched for an answer, scanning his profile. 

Michael stopped dead in his tracks. 

‘Are you serious?’ His tone full of disgust and he drew nearer to you until you felt his heavy breath on you face. 

‘You tell me!’ You countered and mirrored his rage. 

Your eyes stayed locked for moments – then he regained his composure, lit a cigarette and his jaw tensed, yet another time.

‘What difference will it make, if those bastards live to see the next dawn?’ He distanced and turned his back on you.

‘They don’t deserve to die!’ You protested and ran after him. 

His right forefingers pointed at you and his eyes narrowed. 

‘Such unworthy rabble…’ He pointed in the direction of the men now but kept his eyes fixated on you. 

‘…they won’t deserve the air in their lungs!’ He yelled out every single word. 

‘…but death? I know they were dishonourable but…’ You began to speak.

‘Dishonourable?’ He spat out in disbelief and threw away his burning cigarette.

‘…but they only did what they did due to the alcohol!’ You responded in defence. 

He came closer again, eying you with squinted orbs. 

‘It’s true.’ He testified. 

‘What?’ You asked annoyed and frustrated. 

‘You really want to tempt every men.’ He smiled but his eyes told a different story. 

‘How dare you speak to me like that?’ You shouted equally hurt and outraged.

Your gloved hand found its way on the left side of his chiseled face. Surely, you were mad at those men but you hated Michael even more – nonetheless you whispered an apology straightway. 

His head turned to the side, once you hit him and Michael laughed cockily. 

‘Son of a gun!’ You thought – he liked it!

‘A little fire in you? I like that!’ He scoffed haughty. 

‘Really?’ Your brow raised but you remained serene. 

'In that case I will never hit you again.’ You promised, your eyes showed your incomprehension.

He reached for your gloved hand but you pulled away. 

It physically hurt to fight back the tears, swelling in your eyes. 

‘Fuck!’ He cursed and took a few steps back, both palms of his hands resting on either side of his temples. 

‘Miss Coldwell. I am sorry.’ His expression changed. 

‘I can’t stand to…’ He started to say but inhaled and it seemed like the oxygen tamed his grudge. 

‘The way those bastards…’ He pointed in their direction again. ‘… as well as all the other guys in the pub undressed you with their filthy eyes.’ His jaw didn’t stop clenching and he looked away and stared into the distance. 

‘Even the way Isaiah looked at you!’ His tone became sharper. 

Your eyes met and his mimic was imbued with revulsion, disapproval and even...jealousy?

‘You looked at me even more blatantly, Mr. Gray.’ You laughed out of frustration – he nodded. 

‘That’s true.’ He agreed and his proud overconfidence bothered you even more. 

‘You should not provoke their reaction like this!’ He exhorted you as if he had the right to do so. 

‘...and now you will kill them?’ You asked him again, this time even more irritated. 

He turned his back on you and his exhaled breath overclouded the weak streetlamp light. 

‘Are you serious? You better shoot me right away too! Problems solved once and for all.’ You shouted, your body shuddered and it felt like you were on the verge of collapse. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ He disgorged, visibly scandalized.

‘I would never want to hurt you!’ If looks could kill, his eyes would have. 

‘You are doing quite a fantastic job doing the opposite, Mr. Gray!’ You smiled at Michael in a taunting way and even clapped your hands.

‘If you were mine I would…’ He retorted but you stopped him. 

‘…lock me in a cage? Too bad! Your family already did that!’ You eyed him up and down and mirrored his angered mimic.  

‘I trusted you! Unfortunately again!’ The annoyance in your shouting voice filled the whole alley.

‘Funny how I lost your trust, even though I never betrayed you. How tragic!’ He mocked you and showed his perfect teeth in an evil half grin. 

‘You are also a liar!’ You counterattacked while your hands profusely gesticulated.  

‘A liar?’ He furiously asked the truth behind your accusation, almost sounding hurt. ‘You can't be serious!’

‘Yes! A fucking liar!’ You repeated stoically. ‘You lied and told me that you would take the next train to Southampton and still you came from London!’ 

He guffawed but not in a heartfelt kind of way. He turned around and came back to you, even closer than before. His lips were so close to your ear that the heat of his breath ran shivers down your spine.

‘…it never crossed your mind that I had business in Southampton first and London afterwards?’ He raised his brow and his smile became cocky but also unusually charming.

‘Oh.’ You closed your eyes for a few seconds, shame written all over your body. 

His blue eyes searched for yours and when you opened them again he looked all the way down to your soul. 

‘I’m not a fucking liar, Miss.’ His voice was soothingly even again as he repeated excessively smug. 

You looked to the floor, then up through your long lashes again. You gazed at each other – lost in this tense, almost intimate moment. He looked away, wetting his bottom lip and clenched his jaw thereafter.

Out of nowhere he forced you to walk a few steps back until you hit the wall behind you. He supported his weight with both of his arms, fists resting on the bricks – his body encircled you.

The intensity of his steady gaze was inexpressible. You instinctively moistened your plump lips, while his eyes followed your unconscious gesture. Michael bit his own in return and his eyes shot back to look at yours. He drew even closer, your foreheads nearly touching. 

Lips only a knife blade apart – you could almost taste the whiskey in his breath. Your heart was beating so fast and erratic, he must have heard it. All at once he let his right hand fall, shortly after the left one too – yet he didn’t walk away, didn’t take a step back nor loosed the closeness between you, coat hems already touching. 

Both of you leered at each other. You were furious with him as he drove you mad – but still you wanted to carry on this heated dispute, more like battle. It would have been so easy to grab him by the collar of his coat, pull him even closer to you and kiss him. Let your tongues continue this war.

A few heartbeats past by and he abruptly slammed his right fist against the wall, right next to your head. He inhaled deeply, not even blinking once and sternly kept a straight face – all while the blood ran down and covered his fingers crimson red. 

You reached for your, well, his handkerchief and observed the fresh cuts on his knuckles. You wanted to stop the bleeding and gently pressed the fabric against his wounds. 

Your eyes met and shared meaningful glances...

__________________________________________________

The ride back crowned it all. 

Not a single word came out of your mouth, Michael emulated your deeds. 

‘Thank God!’ You finally arrived at Arrow House and you would have never believed that you would actually be happy to be back at the Shelby mansion – just the absurd thought was ridiculous and beyond your wildest dreams. 

He parked next to the waterspout fountain, in front of the entrance. You reached for your handbag that you placed on the rear bench seat. The car door opened – of course he had to open it and you tried your best not to roll your eyes.

You walked the few steps to the front door and before you could even think through your next action, your head turned. Your gaze met his and you stared at each other – a mixture of regret, sadness, so much temper and also longing in each of your eyes.

You couldn’t stand his glare anymore and opened the door and shut it close behind you, the sound of tires rolling over the pebbles caught your ears. 

You hated him with every single fibre of your whole being – if only it wasn't for that damn unnecessary little thing called heart...

꧁ ________________________꧂

To be continued...

Thank you so much for reading my third chapter – sending you all much love & positivity! ✨💕💫

[thenuclearmallard]

‘Everyone knew it was coming’A dispatch from Russia's Republic of Buryatia, where mobilization is already underway

12:11 pm, September 22, 2022

Source: People of the Baikal

Storyby People of the Baikal. Abridged translation by Sam Breazeale.

According to available data, the Republic of Buryatia has been losingsoldiers at a higher rate than almost any other region of Russia since the start of the war against Ukraine. An analysis from the independent outlet Mediazona suggests that’s no coincidence: Buryatia residents, roughly 30 percent of whom are ethnic Buryats, make well belowRussia’s median salary on average, which has been a reliable predictor that a given region will have high losses in this war. Vladimir Putin’s September 21 mobilization announcementlooks unlikely to reverse the pattern: conscription-eligible Buryatia regions began receiving draft orders that same day. A new report from local outlet People of the Baikal describeshow the men were picked up from their homes early the following morning and taken to the military commissariat’s assembly point in the regional capital, Ulan-Ude. With permission, Meduza is publishing a lightly abridged translation of the story.

On Shumyatsky Street (Editor’s note: in Ulan-Ude, the capital of Buryatia), an elderly woman in a woolen headscarf holds a plastic bag containing five cartons of Peter the Great cigarettes. She’s waiting for her son-in-law to be brought to the recruitment center. Last night, the 35-year-old was served a military summons in his home district of Barguzinsky, and he should be arriving in Ulan-Ude soon.

“I have three sons who are there already,” the woman says quietly. “Now they’re taking my son-in-law. They all want to fight. All of them. Men have something wrong with their heads.”

The woman’s phone rings and she answers. First she's calm, then she breaks into a shout: “Pasha, are you here? Yes, I brought the cigarettes. Tell everyone there that you have four kids, you hear me? Tell them all! Maybe they’ll release you.”

Buses of conscripts have been arriving in Ulan-Ude since the morning. The men are brought to the Military Commissariat of the Republic of Buryatia’s assembly point on Shumyatsky Street, a large, fenced-in territory directly adjacent to a tall apartment building. Just a 10-minute walk from here is the city’s archery hall, where memorial services for soldiers killed in Ukraine are held.

TUVANS IN THE WAR‘They’re mostly after loans’Tuvans, trying to scramble out of poverty, are dying in a foreign war

11 days ago

The first conscripts to arrive are from the Tunkinsky district. According to a local government official, 130 people were picked upfrom the district, which has a population of about 20,700 residents. The entire Republic of Buryatia has about 980,000 people, and about 6 to 7 thousand of them are eligible for the draft.

According to a local government official who asked to remain anonymous, none of the people who have been conscripted so far have objected or complained. “Everyone knew mobilization was coming, and everyone was internally prepared for [the conscription authorities] to come for them,” he said.

It takes about 6–7 hours to reach Ulan-Ude from the Tunkinsky district. On the bus ride, the conscripts are given a lunch of buuz, a type of steamed dumpling popular in the region. “Each person ate 10 of them,” said one woman in a messaging group for soldiers' wives in the district. Members of the group have already begun collecting money for things like cigarettes and warm hats for the future soldiers. They’ve also discussed giving their husband bags of sacred sand from the Burkhan Baabai datsan, a Buddhist monastery in the district.

The Tunkinsky district residents arrive in two white Ford vans and two yellow school buses. When the vehicles stop in front of the gates of the assembly point, the conscripts — almost all in camouflage military uniforms — get out for a smoke break. Many of them are carrying bags packed by their wives or mothers.

People of the Baikal

“I’m 45 years old. I served a thousand years ago, and I wasn’t sent to a single hot zone,” says one heavyset, unshaven man. “But hey, I guess it’s my turn to do some shooting.” After the men finish their cigarettes and return to the buses, they’re driven through the gates to the assembly point. One of them shakes his fist and sings an upbeat song in a minor key as he waits for the others.

Ten minutes later, another batch of conscripts shows up, this time from the Yeravninsky district. Then buses arrive from the Zaigrayevsky, Kurumkansky, and Barguzinsky districts. Sergey, who hails from the Yeravninsky district, steps out of his bus with a bottle of cheap beer. He stands there for a moment in his plaid shirt and puffer vest, wobbling and smiling at a group of Kurumkansky residents. They stand in a circle, drinking vodka straight from the bottle. “Hey, come film me,” he says, waving his arm. “I think our country, or Buryatia, will crush old China — I mean, uh, Ukraine.”

Sergey is 49 years old. He served in the army once, but that was “a long time ago.” He has a wife and two daughters, the youngest of whom just entered the first grade. He says he’s not afraid of death. “Though I did tell my wife goodbye, and my daughters, too,” he adds, tears welling in his eyes. “But here we are: I’m headed to the front.”

All of the men being mobilized from Buryatia will be sent to either Chita, a city in Russia’s Zabaykalsky Krai, or Blagoveshchensk, in the Amur region, for training. From there, they’ll go to Ukraine.

[ajkal2]

the essay: childhood trauma, responsibility, and tma. part 1: jon

in a tma fic i published like six months ago, i left an authors note that promised an essay on jon and tim’s trauma to anyone who asked. several people asked, and so here i am!

the fic is called a deeply annoying child. it’s about being a kid and seeing something horrible, and it’s about jon and tim’s rocky relationship. 

this post isn’t actually about the fic. it’s a breakdown of jon’s mental state through s1-3. im going to make another post about tim, and then a final one linking it all back to the fic. i’ll chuck links to those on here when they’re posted!

but first, let’s talk about my boy, JON ‘JARCHIVIST’ SIMS.  

(fair warning- this isn’t a fully backed up meta post, it’s my interpretation of canon. any thoughts/queries/additions welcome! my askbox is always open <3) 

part o: a note on guilt

hey, you know what’s fucked up? an eight-year-old kid with survivors guilt. 

as a child, jon watched someone he knew die, due to circumstances that, while they were not his fault, were set in motion by his actions. children (and often teens!) think in black-and-white. complex logic often just doesn’t occur to them.  jon, at 8, looks at what happened, and says that’s my fault. i did that. jon didn’t like his bully, and wanted him to go away, and then he did. that instinctive reaction is something i think he never grows out of. when you already hate yourself, it’s easy to pile more fuel onto that flame.  he doesn’t think about risk, not to him, because he deserves whatever happens. he let someone die. he doesn’t ever forgive himself for that.

part i: belief (precanon+s1)

now, i have a headcanon about why jon doesn’t believe statement givers, and imma lay it all out for you right here. 

when jon was 8, and freshly traumatised, i think he tried to tell someone what happened. beneath all the layers, jon is compassionate, and tries to help people. now, picture this. a kid, one with a history of troubled behaviour and an atypical home life, goes up to someone (a police officer, his carer, a teacher) and tells them a giant spider ate someone. what’s that person, someone who is a rational adult, someone who doesn’t believe in silly things, going to say back? are they going to believe that kid? 

no. no way. they’re going to tell that kid that they’re making up stories, that they had a nightmare, that they should stop making jokes about someone who actually disappeared, jon, you need to be more sensitive about these things. 

now, that kind of dissonance- ‘this did happen, it was real’ and ‘everyone i talk to is telling me it’s not real’- is hard on adults. to a kid? devastating. 

jon, because he’s jon, would have been desperately searching for a way to explain this, and i think the thing he grabs on to is evidence. if he had some evidence of what happened, if he could prove what happened, people would believe him.*

but he doesn’t have evidence. and he resents that, and he resents that so much that by the time he’s an adult he’s settled into a mindset towards the supernatural somewhat akin to ‘i didn’t get believed, but you think you should be believed? what’s so good about you? you think you’re better than me?** fuck you! i don’t believe you!’   this is also a way of keeping himself safe. if the monsters aren’t real, they can’t hurt him.

and then, through s1, that mindset is chipped at. the statement givers start being real people, who come into jon’s office and cry when he dismisses them, and that clearly makes him uncomfortable. martin gives his statement, and martin has evidence. jon knows martin, and knows that he’s a good person, so martin having evidence isn’t likely to be an attack at jon. 

jane prentiss attacks the institute, and then suddenly jon’s shield of denial and anger is ripped away, because the monsters are real, and they can hurt him. 

*would they? i don’t know. people can be very attached to believing that the world is good, and kids are misguided, and there are a hundred thousand ways to explain away a piece of evidence, as jon comes to know well. 

** this ties into jon’s self hatred, as people saying they are better than him kicks him right in the Issues. 

part ii: paranoia (s2)

after prentiss attacks, jon is left floundering. his old I Do Not See It mindset has been smashed to pieces, and underneath all the trauma he’s been brutally suppressing is bubbling up. jon has no real experience in judging threats, because for the last 20 years he’s been burying his head in the sand and yelling he can’t see any threats. so he overcompensates, and assumes everything is a threat. his experience re:not being believed tells him that everyone around him is stupid and wrong and the only person he can rely on is himself.  

so he investigates. he’s convinced that his life is in imminent danger, that everyone around him is plotting to kill him. he doesn’t hold back, because you don’t hold back in a life-or-death scenario.  he knows something is wrong. something is very wrong. he’s sure it’s a threat to him, a threat to his life. but he can’t put a finger on what it is.

this is when his friendship with tim breaks down. i’ll talk about tim in a minute. 

jon spirals, and obsesses, and wrings answers out of the ether until it all falls together. he understands what is wrong, that it’s sasha that wants him dead. or, well, not sasha. he’s been winding up tighter and tighter all series, and he lets loose by striking out, acting for once instead of reacting. it is remarkably easy to buy an axe in central london, after all.

and then, well, that doesn’t go well. 

 part iii: desperation (s3)

after what jon did backfired so badly, he goes to georgie, because he has no other option. and he thinks, what went wrong? and the answer he comes up with is i didn’t know enough.* that’s why it all went wrong, because he didn’t know what he was dealing with. and so the solution is to find out more.

he’s starting to realise that he’s changing.** he wants to find out more about that as well, to control it. 

so he goes and finds out more. or, tries to. he doesn’t have many leads.*** jon is not good at judging threat, and doesn’t know the danger he is putting himself in. he’s stubborn, and locked onto getting more knowledge like a dog and a bone.****

and then he does get more knowledge, but it’s the knowledge that the world is ending, and he’s the only one who can fix it.***** he can’t process his trauma. he doesn’t have time. the world is ending. 

in late s3, jon is desperate. he’s overworking himself. he feels alone: daisy’s at his throat, elias is dangling information over his head, tim... 

we’ll talk about tim later. 

basira doesn’t trust him, georgie isn’t happy with him, melanie’s never liked him. he gets kidnapped for a month, and no one notices. the only person jon has firmly in his corner is martin.****** and he doesn’t have time to talk to martin, because he’s getting kidnapped, and jetting across the world chasing shadows, and desperately, desperately trying not to fuck everything up again. 

and he doesn’t! they build a plan. it’s dangerous, sure, but jon doesn’t even know what that means anymore. his whole life is dangerous. jon going into the unknowing is cautiously, waveringly hopeful. maybe this time it won’t go wrong. this time they know what to do, they know what they’re dealing with. 

and, the tragedy is, it doesn’t go wrong. they save the world. they send elias to prison. it all goes to plan. and tim is dead, and daisy is buried, and jon is lost in dreams. 

*👁️ **👁️ ***👁️ ****👁️  ***** he’s not the only one, of course, there are a whole team of people working on stopping the Unknowing, but jon is the Archivist. he’s the heir to gertrude’s legacy. 

****** this is where they fall in love, after all. which is a good thing, of course, but it adds an extra weight to every interaction they have, guessing and double-guessing how the other feels, until jon actually can’t talk to martin, not how he wants to, because he’s not sure if they’re there yet. (martin is there. jon doesn’t have time to be.) 

see yall next time 

i would like to cover s4 and s5, but this post is 1.5k already, and i’ve covered up to when the fic takes place! next time i will be ranting incoherently about timothy stoker, punctuated by bursts on uncontrollable sobbing. when that’s up, i’ll chuck a link here, and on the author notes of the fic i’m doing this for. see you then!

[ilovefinncole]

The Sweet Angel

Synopsis: We all know Michael now as a gangster, a drug user and a prisoner but lets turn the clocks back to when he lived in the village, he was The Sweet Angel.

Characters: Michael Gray, Mrs. Johnson, Mr. Johnson, Jack Johnson, Polly Gray, James Gray and Tommy Shelby. 

Word count: 1,059

Warning(s): English is my second language, drinking and smoking. 

Author`s note: This is my second Michael fic, Its a bit short. I hope you all enjoy it 

Published: 31st March 2022 

Gif by @finncoledaily​ 

Michael Gray, everyone knows him to be a gangster, a peaky blinder, a prisoner, turn the clocks back to April 1903, on the 23rd Sweet Michael was born to Polly and James Gray at 9:30 am, he was a cute little thing, with blue eyes. They were delighted to welcome there son into the world. 

He was there first child, there first born, there first Gray that they have called there child, he was a sweet boy and when his sister came along, he was happy to share everything with her, he was a kind sweet brother to Anna. “That's it Michael, share your toys with Sally.” Polly said, as she smiled

Her children were playing nicely together, they were good kids the best. After there father, Mr. Gray died drunk while being killed between a boat and a dock, when Michael was three and Sally was a few weeks old.

Polly was devastated, she was absolutely heartbroken, her husband, her man and her everything is gone, the father of her two young children wont ever come back. She was lost for the words, she went to the funeral with Michael, Sally stayed at home while being looked after by a friend. 

A few years later, one night they were all having dinner together and there was a sudden knock on the door, “I`ll be back in a minute darlings, a wonder who that is.” Polly said, “Ok mummy.” Sally said, as her and Michael eat dinner. 

As Polly walked to the door and opened it, three police officers were standing at her door, “What do you want?” she said, they barged past her and took Michael and Anna away, she begged them not to take them away from her but they did.

She shouted and screamed at them, they were her only children, her only hope she lost her husband and now she has lost her children too. All she has left is the Shelby`s, who are her family. 

After Michael and Sally moved in with different foster families, they never saw each other again and Polly moved in with the Shelby`s. Polly was heartbroken, Michael was five, almost a few weeks from being six and Sally was three.

Michael enjoyed is life with the Johnson`s but he wasn`t known as Michael, he was known as Henry and Sally lived with a family Stafford with a station master as her father, she kept running and catching trains to reach to Birmingham but the police always caught up with her. She was a runaway.

In June 1916, in the Johnson`s garden, Henry was playing along nicely with his adopted brother Jack, they were playing football on the grass where the sun was shining, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson sat on the ground to have a picnic.

“Play nicely boys.” she said, “We will mum, come on Jack lets play.” Henry said, it was a lovely day, he was a kind brother, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson kept the truth from Henry he was too young to know who his real mother and family really were, they were gypsy`s and gangsters. They were the Peaky Blinders. 

He doesn't remember much about his real parents, he remembers that his dad had blue eyes, he was tall with dark brown hair and his mum had brown hair and a lovely smile and his sister had brown hair. 

“So what are we doing today then?” Henry asked, then he ate a ham sandwich in the garden at the family`s picnic, “Well we thought that we`d go down to the fair, its on today” said Mr. Johnson he seemed like a nice man.

“Alright, sounds fun Dad.” Henry said back, eating another sandwich they all smiled at each other. Mr. Johnson inhaled a cigarette. 

They went to the fair and Henry and Jack went on the merry-go-round, having fun while Mr. and Mrs. Johnson got drinks, they had a wonderful time. “Rosemary why don`t we tell Henry the truth? He`s old enough now” Mr. Johnson said as they sat down at a table with there drinks.

“No darling, Henry is not old enough, he`s still a boy, he`s only thirteen he`s got his whole life ahead of him and he`s doing so well in school. He`s making us so proud. Please lets wait till he`s older yeah?” she said.

“Alright Love.” he says with a smile, they drink their drinks. “Hi dad, alright mum. That was so much fun you two should defiantly try it.” Henry says, “Aw that's great Henry.” Mr. Johnson says, looking at Mrs. Johnson. 

When Sally and her foster family went on holiday to Australia in July 1918, she got sick quite quickly while playing at the beach with her three siblings Nancy Mary and Charlie, she later passed away from spring fever at the age of twelve.  

Her foster family was saddened by Sally`s passing and she was buried in Australia a few weeks after her passing. Henry and Polly never knew about Sally`s death until 1921.

In 1921, Tommy Shelby told Polly the mother of Henry and Sally that Sally is dead and her son is alive, Henry. Tommy promises to get her son back, so he met him in Sheffield at his house in the garden, he gives the boy Polly`s address. 

The next day, Michael meets Polly at her house and he meets the rest of his real family, he becomes a Peaky Blinder and lives with them, he never looked back on his foster family, he reunited with his foster mother, Rosemary after he was shot by an Italian on Luca Changretta`s orders, but John died and Michael survived.

She visited him at the hospital after he was shot and wounded, they never met again and the night before Michael would be released from prison, as he has a mission to get on with and that is to kill Tommy. Michael had a nightmare about him and Sally being taken away from there mum, by police and the authorities.

He saw a vision of Sally when she died and when he woke up from his nightmare of her and his life before being Michael Gray, Sally sat on his bed in prison in his cell, “Michael I`m here, I've missed you Michael.” she said with a sweet smile. He shouted and screamed. 

Michael was The Sweet Angel. 

Tag list: @mrs-gray​ @blueeyedheizer​

[peachycheol]

| breakfast in bed |

➸ summary: something tells you that seungcheol’s idea of breakfast is not a quick bowl of cereal and milk. not that you mind. ➸ genre: pwp, just pure smut here baybee ➸ pairing: brother’s best friend!seungcheol x reader ➸ warning: dirty talk, spanking, fingering, slight daddy kink, unprotected sex, perhaps a slice of a creampie, this is my first time writing smut so that is also a warning 👉👈 ➸ w.c: 2.4k

➸ author’s note: hi i’m dove! this is my first smut that i am publishing on my very new svt smut blog, @peachycheol​. tbh i’m reposting it because the tags didn’t work the first time 🥺 anyway, hopefully this works. i hope y’all enjoy!

“Is that for me?”

You jump a little at the sudden feeling of Seungcheol’s lips brushing ever so lightly against your ear. The way the tenor of his voice sends small vibrations down your neck immediately has you pressing your thighs together. You bite back a smile and keep your eyes trained forward as you try to focus on pouring milk into your cereal. But it’s pretty difficult to focus on anything when your older brother’s best friend is standing so close you could feel the warmth of his body against your back. “Make your own breakfast,” you whisper back.

You feel, rather than see, his lips turn up into that cocky grin. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you feel your arousal seep into your panties. His fingers teasingly graze up your thighs, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps, only to slip them underneath the waistband of your shorts so he can rub small circles into your hips. A soft sigh leaves your lips and you unthinkingly melt into his soft touches. “Can I have breakfast in bed then?” he asks, shifting closer so that his body presses yours against the cool marble of the countertop.

It was obvious that he wasn’t wearing any underwear underneath his pants and the thin material of your sleeping shorts certainly did nothing to conceal his growing bulge. You do your best not to whimper, instead scoffing playfully. “Seungcheol, that is so corny--ngh!”

His grip on your hips suddenly tightens, and this time, your back arches when you feel him grind up against your ass again. “I bet it still got your little panties wet though. It’s just so easy to get that cute little pussy nice and dripping for me. Isn’t that right, baby?”

Though you could feel your slick pooling in your underwear, you never liked to give in to him so easily. “N-No,” you manage to stutter out. “Corny jokes don’t make my panties wet.”  

“No?” Seungcheol turns you around, caging you between his arms so that you’re forced to meet his unconvinced gaze. Your defiance immediately crumbles at the sight of him; it was almost unair how hot he looked in a simple white t-shirt and sweatpants. His eyes bore down on you, dark and hungry, one of his eyebrows cocked in a challenge. “So you’re telling me that if I touch you right now, I won’t feel your pussy soaking through your tight fucking shorts? I find that a little hard to believe, considering our past exploits.”

In a last ditch attempt to keep up your cheek, you shift your focus to the chain necklace he always wears around his neck, but that only makes your mouth water even more. You were aching for him to get his hands on you again.  “I guess you’ll just have to touch me and find out.”

“Mmh! Harder, please!” you cry out. Your eyes roll to the back of your head when Seungcheol brings his hand down to land another hard spank on your ass, leaving behind another bright pink hand print. ”A-Ah!”

Seungcheol chuckles as he looks at you bent over his knee, your shorts pulled down just enough to expose your ass. The two of you seemed to find yourselves in this position more and more frequently lately. He reaches between your legs and runs his thick fingers through your soft folds, nearly groaning when he feels how you gush out onto his hand.

“Even your punishment has you leaking all over my lap, baby. There’s no use denying it. I could probably even...” Rather than complete his thought out loud, he peels your shorts all the way off and eases two fingers into you. They slide in without any resistance, the lewd sounds of your wetness filling your room as he begins to fuck his fingers into your tight pussy. This time, he can’t hold back his low growl. “Fuck, your pussy’s always so wet for me. I can’t wait to make a mess of your tight little cunt, baby. You’re always making such a mess on daddy’s cock, isn’t that right?”

You clench around his fingers with each filthy word he utters, spreading your legs wider so that he can reach even deeper. “Y-yes daddy!” He stills his thrusts and simply rubs the pads of his fingers against your velvet walls, urging you to continue. “I a-always-- ngh-- make a mess on daddy’s m-massive cock. I c-can’t-- mmh!-- I can’t help it! It just feels too good. Hah-- please!”

“Such a good girl for me today.” His praise only makes you whimper and wiggle your hips needily. He rewards you with several deep thrusts that have your back arching in an attempt to feel him there again. You let out a shaky moan when he finally brushes against your g-spot, and Seungcheol watches in awe as you move your hips back to fuck yourself deeper onto his fingers. He is unbelievably hard. “Fuck.”

In one swift motion, he pulls out of you and takes a hold of your waist, flipping you so that you’re lying on your back underneath him. Any protests you might have had about the sudden emptiness are silenced when he pushes his digits, glistening with your slick, past your lips, and you don’t hesitate to suck them clean. You moan at the taste, closing your eyes as you sloppily lick his fingers. Seungcheol is intent on etching each detail of this moment in his mind, from the way your hair splayed on the mattress to the way you so willingly wrapped your lips around him. When you feel Seungcheol rub himself against your thigh, your eyes flutter open to see him watching you intently. It makes you clench around nothing.

Although he's obviously straining through his pants, Seungcheol still takes his time, slowly dragging his fingers from your lips and trailing them down your neck to the swell of your breasts. A dimpled smile spreads across his cherry red lips when he sees how your cropped tank top does nothing to hide your hardened nipples, which only makes it easier for him to rub them through the thin fabric with his moistened fingers. “O-oh,” you whine, arching into his touch. He pushes your shirt up to reveal your breasts, but he couldn’t be bothered to take it all the way off. There were much more pressing matters at hand, like leaning down to lightly bite on a pert bud, his tongue flicking at it teasingly.

You shiver when the cool metal of his necklace presses against your hot skin, as if it had sent electricity through your veins. “S-seungcheol,” you moan, your fingers tugging at his dark hair as you feel your own slick coat your inner thighs, making a complete mess of you. “Please, I need you so badly.”

Seungcheol’s cock throbs at your neediness. He always loved it when you begged. “Okay baby, I’ll take care of you,” he whispers, lifting up his head to press a burning kiss to your lips. He parts from you for a moment to  quickly yank his t-shirt off, and he smiles down at you when your hands automatically slide over his bare chest. His skin feels hot beneath your fingers and you grip at his shoulders to pull him down for another wet kiss, while he kicks off his sweatpants.

Your fingers dig crescents into his shoulders when you finally feel his hard member glide through your sopping folds. “Ngh!” You throw your head back when you feel the head of his cock nudge against your sensitive clit, jolting at the sudden ripple of pleasure.

“Do you like that, baby? You like it when my cock rubs your little clit?” Seungcheol’s lips brush against yours as he starts to guide his cock to grind into you with more fervor. You can only nod frantically, nearly delirious from how unbelievably good it feels. “Your clit is always so sensitive. You came so hard when I ate you out last week and we were alone in my car for only five minutes. I bet I could make you cum just like this, hm?”

At this point, only incoherent whines fall from your lips as Seungcheol continues to rub the head of his cock into your nub. There is no denying the heat simmering in your lower belly, and it’s only a few more moments until you cry out, squirming as your orgasm washes over you. “Mmh!-- O-Ohh!” Rather than sate you, it only seems to stoke the longing within you as it continues to lick up your insides until your aching is simply unbearable. One breathless ‘please’ from you is all Seungcheol needs to hear to grab your legs and spread them apart until your pulsing pussy is on full display.

He groans at the tantalizing sight and holds you open just so he can watch how his cock slowly sinks into your entrance. “Oh, fuck-- How are you always so fucking tight? You’re just sucking me in, baby.”

He bottoms out in one quick thrust that has you gasping for air. You whimper, relishing at how his thick cock seems to always fill you in the most delicious way. Seungcheol wastes no time and begins to fuck into you deep and hard, just like he knows you like it. “Mmh-- you’re so-o b-big!” The last word melts into a mewl when he suddenly pistons his hips up into you without warning, which immediately has you clenching down on him. “H-hah, Seungcheol!”

Seungcheol grunts in response, leaning forward to lick and nip along your neck and collarbones. In an attempt to somehow ground yourself, you wrap your arms under his shoulders, but if you’re honest, you had long been consumed by the rough drag of his cock against your walls. “You’re doing so good, baby,” he groans into your ear, tugging lightly on the lobe. “Does it feel good, sweetheart?”

“S-so guh!--good!” The new nickname makes your heart skip a beat, and a different kind of warmth spreads across your cheeks and fills your chest, but it leaves you attempting to clutch Seungcheol closer all the same. At this angle, Seungcheol’s hips hit deeper, pounding right into the spot that has you seeing stars.“Mmf-- F-fuuuck! Right there!”

Every one of your senses feel as though they have been dialed up to 10, and your thighs shake from sensitivity overload; the soft drag of his lips, the rough scratching of his chain necklace, the loud slap of his skin against yours, all have your toes curling and your hips moving to meet his thrusts.

“Shit, sweetheart, you look so good like this,” Seungcheol’s voice is hoarse, a little shaky as he continues to fuck into you with vigourous precision. When you can only answer in curses and pleas for more, he flashes you that dangerous smirk of his again. Then, his fingers dig into your waist, pressing you down as he begins to pound into you quickly. Each of your needy movements, each of your sinful moans, were bringing him closer and closer to his end, but he was determined to have you cum again before he did. The bed frame creaks along with his efforts as he continues to fuck you into the mattress, a light sheen of sweat forming at his temples. You keen loudly, your blunt nails scraping down his back.

“Ch-cheol-- unh-- I’m so-- oh! I’m so c-close, please,” you manage to say in between all your unintelligible moaning, and he brings one of his thumbs down to rub harsh circles into your swollen clit. The whole world seems to come to a halt, and all that exists is you, Seungcheol, and your insatiable appetite for the ecstasy only he can give you.

A broken sob gets stuck in your throat as your orgasm rips through you, your body going rigid as you cum hard. The force of your orgasm has your legs shaking and you whine in complete bliss, grasping for Seungcheol while you ride it out on his deliciously hard cock.

Seungcheol’s head falls to rest on your shoulder, his thrusts falling out of rhythm as he finally chases his own high. “F-fuck, baby,” he grits out. He fucks into you desperately, groaning into your neck, his orgasm quickly approaching. When he comes undone, he pushes deep into you and stills, shooting his hot release into your spent pussy, your name tumbling from his lips.

After a moment’s rest, he gingerly pulls his softening cock out of you and watches as his cum gushes out of you and onto your sheets.

“No!” you yell too late, and sit up to examine the dirtied covers. You pout at Seungcheol and flop back down in a huff. “I literally just washed these!”

“Told you you make a mess,” Seungcheol grins. Before you could make your own snide remark, you hear the front door open and close downstairs, and the both of you look at each other with wide eyes.

“Hey guys! I brought McDonald’s breakfast! With fresh hash browns!” Joshua, your older brother, calls out from downstairs. “Guys?”

You scramble to pull your tank top down, blindly grabbing Seungcheol’s sweat pants and pulling them on. Seungcheol makes a small noise of protest. “Those are mine! What am I supposed to wear?” he whispers loudly at you.

“You’re supposed to shut up and hide!” you say back as you pick up his shirt off the floor, which you quickly throw into the closet along with the naked man. “Now shh!”

Right as you close the closet on Seungcheol’s pouting face, you hear a knock at your bedroom door. “Hey, you gremlin! I brought some breakfast!”

“Okay I’m coming, jeez!” You swing the door open, and Joshua immediately covers his eyes in disgust.

“Oh my god, put a shirt on, you harlot!” he shouts. “This is a house of God-- it is no place for your debauchery!”  

You roll your eyes and snatch the McDonald’s bag from his hand. “This is a shirt!”

“For a toddler, maybe!” he grumbles, stubbornly keeping his eyes covered. “Did you see if Seungcheol left, by the way? He wasn’t in the guest room when I came home.”

You let out a very convincing hum. “Hmm, no I have not. I kinda just woke up.”

“Huh, that’s weird. Maybe I should call him,” Joshua’s eyebrows furrow, and he almost reaches down to take out his phone until he realizes that that would leave one of his eyeballs defenseless against your gag-inducing excuse for a shirt. “Ugh! Ew. I’ll just call him later. You can have his McDonald’s too, I guess.”

“Really? Sweet!” you say excitedly. “I’ll make sure to thank him for the breakfast!”

[haylanmakesstuff]

Day 25

Today was reserved for a trip to Mount St. Helen’s National Volcanic Monument, which has both a state and national presence of several different agencies. This reserve of land was established just a few years after the infamous eruption in spring of 1980, which devastated the surrounding area and took the lives of 57 people.

I got my Junior Geologist Badge! This badge is dedicated to CS for not only donating to my cause but being dedicated to what he does by jumping feet first, full throttle into conservation and caretaking for the park he manages. He also has created and raised two fun, adventurous kids that I always enjoy talking to, on top of all that responsibility. He offers them a life of adventure and opportunity that I could have only dreamed of having.

Mt. Saint Helen’s was strikingly different from Mount Rainier; that distinct waft of sulfur hit me as soon as the car door opened at the National Forest visitor center. The mountain is moody and dirty and steaming. The land around it ravaged from the 1980 eruptions superheated mudslides and pyroclastic flows. It was a true sight to behold.

I earned my National Monument Junior Ranger badge up mauka on the slopes of the beast. This badge is dedicated to Leon, for donating, and giving me a nice surprise of a dream come true. You see, he found and read a book I wrote, even though he lives across the world. In a Welsh bookstore, he picked up my third book Ronnie vs. The People of Texas City and afterwards reached out to tell me how much he liked it. We’ve chatted every since and it’s such a dreamy way to make a friend across the globe. Thanks, Leon, for donating, and to making this little author’s heart happy. If anyone is interested in reading any of my novels, they are temporarily available again on Amazon at this link as both paperbacks and e-books:

https://smile.amazon.com/Haylan-Teel/e/B00BZIRQUS?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1661015317&sr=8-1

I plan to donate any royalties I make from this temporary re-release before they go back into partial hibernation while I look for a traditional publisher. Overall, Mount St. Helen’s was a very touching place that had a somber feel to it, the way that Cliffs of Moher did. A place of power, violence, and possible destruction that should be respected and revered. It’s an awe-inspiring mountain, not just for its alien landscape, but for its story and capabilities. Watching the steam rise and seeing the discolored snow and glaciers (from ash settling and landslides), made me feel very lucky to have worked at Crater Lake in Oregon, which was a much larger and destructive flow by at least 50 times. How humbling this world can be!

We had some daylight left, so we headed about 40 minutes away to Halloweentown; St. Helens, Oregon. This is the quaint and charming town where multiple movies, including the Halloweentown series, were filmed. Although it was disappointing that their vending machine of Halloween themed merchandise was jumbled when it was stocked, so both things I paid for and received were incorrect, I still liked this town and hope to go back during Halloween time someday. 

We cruised the streets and eventually ended up at a weekly town fair where we listened to music and ate ice cream. We did come to the conclusion that it seems like a very happy place to live and may be entirely filled with and run by children, who seemed to run wild in the streets in numbers I haven’t seen since before smart phones took over our brains. Oh, not only children, but dogs. There are so many dogs to pet here that your wrist will ache.

Until next time,

Haylan

[theycallmebecca]

Drabble: The Clause in the Will

I never planned to write a Ransom story. And then @eurynome827 posted her 2K Celebration and the opening to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice was one of the prompts. I’m a whore for anything Pride and Prejudice... and my brain automatically connected the quote with Ransom. And would not let go.

To make an already complicated drabble even harder... I decided to write it with each section being exactly 100 words. It was both a blessing (this story could have SNOWBALLED quickly) and a curse (if you’ve written a 100 word drabble, you get it).

But it’s finished and I love how it turned out! And I was quite proud of myself for the very-Eury way I ended it.

So to @eurynome827​ congrats again on 2,000 followers!

Title: The Clause in the Will

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: some language, some minor violence/threats, suggestive

Note: This is AU and it uses the characters from Knives Out but doesn’t follow the story.

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

“Bull. Fucking. Shit.” Ransom Drysdale muttered as he wadded up another of his late grandfather's marriage-related quote notecards. They were hidden everywhere.

It had been nearly a year since his grandfather, the famed author Harlan Thrombey, had passed away, leaving Ransom as the head of Blood Like Wine Publishing. A role that he had spent the last twenty years being groomed for.

Ransom had worked his way through the ranks of the company following college and had been prepared when the time had come.

Well, prepared for everything except his grandfather's cluttered office.

At least the houses weren't his problem.

-- -- -- --

You’d started at BLW Publishing as an marketing intern after college and you’d climbed your way to the vice president of that department in the twelve years that had followed.

You loved every single part of your job.

Or at least you had until Mr. “Call Me Ransom” Drysdale had taken over the running of the company.

He had spent his years at the company floating between departments, to learn everything he could. Which meant the two of you had worked together multiple times.

But he seemed to enjoy pushing your buttons. And knew exactly what buttons to push when.

-- -- -- --

"You told me months ago that the marriage clause wasn't legally binding," Ransom fumed. "And now you're telling me it is?!"

His lawyers avoided his gaze.

"Get out!" Ransom shouted and they scurried out.

He had seven days to find a wife and marry her.

If he didn't, he lost the company.

It was just like his grandfather to pull a stunt like this. Even from the grave.

He should just let his prick of an uncle have the company. Just to prove a point.

But he knew he couldn't.

His uncle would ruin everything.

Ransom wouldn't let that happen.

-- -- -- --

"You're not the pizza guy," you said, opening your front door to find Ransom standing on the other side with a bouquet of roses and your pizza.

"Met him in the elevator. Can I come in?"

Stepping aside, you let him in. Only noticing as he passed that his normal confident aura was missing.

"What's wrong?"

He explained everything while the two of you ate pizza.

"Walt would destroy everything," you commiserated.

"Exactly."

Then he pulled out a ring box.

"Will you marry me and help me save the company we both love from ruin?"

How could you say no?

-- -- -- --

"I got married."

Ransom had chosen a public setting to share his news in hopes that his uncle wouldn't make a scene.

The fact that it was day six of his seven day window was pure coincidence.

Glancing at his wife, he found her staring across the table at his uncle, who, Ransom soon saw, was nearly purple with rage.

"This can't be legal!" his uncle shouted over the congratulations from the others. "It should have been mine! All of it!"

Then Walt pushed his chair back and stormed out of the private dining room, his wife and son following.

-- -- -- --

Logically, you knew marrying Ransom would mean moving into his house, but you'd thought you'd have more time.

But with his uncle looking for any reason to question the legitimacy of the marriage, you and Ransom agreed it had to happen now.

The two of you packed up your apartment and then had everything you were keeping moved to his house.

To his credit, Ransom made as much room for your stuff in the common areas of the house as possible, wanting you to feel at home.

But the only place that truly felt that way was your private bedroom.

-- -- -- --

Ransom sat in the hall with Walt as their lawyers met with a judge behind closed doors following another of Walter's attempts to fight the will.

"I’ve heard rumors," Walt said, his tone was nonchalant, but it was laced with venom. "About how your wife became v-"

Ransom had his hand around his uncle's throat before Walt could make another sound.

"That is my wife," he growled. "You will not say one more fucking thing about her or I will sue you for libel. Do you understand me?"

Walt let out a squeak of acknowledgement and Ransom let him go.

-- -- -- --

You'd known Ransom for years.

But after living with him for a few weeks, you realized you hadn't really known him at all.

Work Ransom demanded the respect and attention owed to the boss.

Home Ransom was softer and wore faded blue jeans instead of three piece suits.

He liked spending Saturday mornings at the market and he loved to cook.

And boy could he cook!

The one on one time with him at home had given you a whole new appreciation for your husband.

He opened up to you about things you were sure he'd never told anyone else.

-- -- -- --

Ball buster.

That's how he'd described her the first time he had worked with her on a project.

It was the reason he had recommended her for the vice president role when it had opened up.

Kind. Funny. Caring. Passionate. 

Those were the words that came to mind now when he thought of her.

She was the type of woman who could tell a dirty joke one minute and then have a serious conversation about his upbringing.

He'd been hesitant to include her at first, but their Saturday morning shopping trips were quickly becoming his favorite activity of the week.

-- -- -- --

You loved Ransom.

It hit you like a ton of bricks as you sat in the middle of a meeting at work, a month later.

You were supposed to be paying attention, but your eyes kept going across the table to where Ransom sat.

You couldn't explain how you knew, you just did.

When had it happened? You didn't know that either.

All you knew was that he was handsome and he was all yours.

At least on paper.

The joy faded from you as you remembered the two of you were roommates. Nothing more.

You wished that could change.

-- -- -- --

Ransom didn't know when it happened, but he realized one Saturday morning, a few months in, that he was in love with his wife.

He hadn't planned to fall in love with her. He'd envisioned them being married for a few years, to solidify his role at the publishing company, and then divorcing as quietly as they had married.

Being in love complicated things.

It made him think about her happiness above his own.

Was she happy with him?

If she wasn't, was he prepared to walk away from her and the company to ensure her happiness?

Yes, he decided.

-- -- -- --

"We need to talk," he said, setting a manilla envelope on the kitchen counter.

"What's that?"

"Annulment papers."

"What?!" you asked in complete disbelief.

"I love you," he confessed. "If you're not happy, I'm -"

"I love you, too," you cut him off, joy filling your heart.

Moving around the island, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for a long, slow kiss.

"An annulment would have cost you everything," you said.

"Your happiness means more to me," he said. "Even if it meant giving everything to Walt."

"The company is yours," you told him. "Forever."

"Ours."

-- -- -- --

"Are you coming in?"

She stood in the doorway to what had been his bedroom.

After their declaration of love, he'd properly courted her.

Taking her out on dates. Sending her flowers just because.

They'd kissed a lot and had made it to all the bases, as they say, except home.

That was the plan tonight, she'd told him.

They'd gone out for dinner and then she'd asked him to take her home.

Home to their home.

To their bedroom.

Her eyes met his as she reached behind her back and unzipped her dress. Letting it fall to the floor.

[thesaltyoncologist]

Trigger warning: suicide

This NEJM Perspective piece addresses an incredibly important problem during medical training. If you’re in medicine, take a minute to read this. And if you’re struggling yourself with mental health, especially during training, PLEASE feel free to reach out to me personally. We want to help. You are not alone in this. Click the keep reading link to view the article in its entirety.

My Intern - R.E. Leiter

Bobby hasn’t come in yet today,” one of my chief residents told me. “He isn’t picking up his phone or answering his pager. Could you go and check on him?”

I was in my final year of my internal medicine residency and was on a 6-week rotation as the assistant chief resident. In this role, I organized educational sessions for the residents and medical students and helped with administrative tasks. Most important, I learned how to support other residents and respond to their needs, which is what much of my job as chief resident would entail the next year.

Bobby was an intern in our program, and he and I had worked on a team together in early July. Bobby became my intern, and I was his senior resident. It was a role I cherished, and I tried to teach him all I could about caring for multiple sick patients simultaneously and navigating the systems, personalities, and politics of a large Manhattan hospital. We stayed late as we struggled to place an ultrasound-guided IV into the arm of a patient whose veins were shot from years of dialysis. Perched side by side on a windowsill, we nearly missed morning rounds as we listened to a dying patient recount his journey from India to the United States. By the end of our long, busy month together, I was proud of the doctor Bobby had already become.

Bobby lived in a building across the street from the hospital. New York prices being what they are, most teaching hospitals provide their residents with subsidized housing in the neighborhood. It’s a strange, almost dormlike environment, with residents working and living together in close quarters.

It was a cloudless yet cool August day when one of the other chief residents and I stepped out the side door of the hospital. When Bobby didn’t answer our knock, we explained the situation to the building’s staff and they sent a maintenance worker back up with us. We soon discovered the incomprehensible reality: Bobby had jumped out his window. The usual din of the Manhattan street below was eerily quiet. Cecil’s Internal Medicine lay open on his tiny kitchen table, the pages gently flapping in the breeze from the open window.

Somehow, we ended up in the emergency department and witnessed a compassionate but ultimately hopeless resuscitation attempt. While our program director broke the news to the other residents, we returned to the apartment and gave our statements to the police.

The sudden death of a colleague would shake any workplace; in a medical training program where the boundary between the personal and the professional blurred into near nonexistence, its effect was seismic. When Bobby died, we asked the same questions of ourselves that others do when a close friend dies by suicide: What could we have done to prevent it? What had we missed? But we also had a different set of questions: Had something happened to our colleague in the hospital the night before he died? We knew he had been on a particularly brutal rotation. Had he made a mistake? Our uncertainty precipitated the fear that we could be next.

A few days after Bobby died, my program director, one of the chiefs, and I flew to his small, Midwestern hometown to represent the residency program at his visitation. As I gave my condolences to Bobby’s sister, she enveloped me in an unexpected hug. “Bobby told me you were the perfect resident; he wanted to be just like you.” Though she meant it as high praise, her comment left me rattled. I couldn’t escape thoughts that my expectations were too high or that I should have picked up on something wrong while I was working so closely with him.

Residency leaves little time for self-reflection, though, and even less time for personal grief. The wards were as full as ever, and our patients and their families needed care. Because there was no one to replace us, we went back to work and processed the loss as well as we could. In the days and weeks that followed Bobby’s death, the program directors, chief residents, and I worked to rearrange staffing, but the hospital’s needs limited the changes we could make. Even when we did have flexibility, we nonetheless made scheduling mistakes as we tried to triage which residents and teams required the most support. We could all adapt to one or two residents taking time off for family, health, or personal reasons, but managing our collective trauma was entirely different, and our blind spots added to everyone’s emotional and physical exhaustion.

I threw myself deeper and deeper into my job, hoping that working to heal my patients’ suffering would shield me from my own. I kept my head down on my way into the hospital each morning, lest I catch a glimpse of Bobby’s window. Predictably, this strategy was unsustainable. Evaluating a new patient in the ED, I found myself in the same corner where I had watched my colleagues work on Bobby. I couldn’t muster the wherewithal to inhabit my role as a physician while also containing my terrifying memories. After rounds, I sobbed in my chief resident’s office. I saw Bobby’s death as a sign of my failure. I had failed as a resident. I had failed as a teacher. Bobby was my intern and I had failed him. I was terrified of working with another intern, let alone of serving as a chief to nearly 150 of them, many of whom would struggle with their own mental illness.

Each year, approximately 300 physicians in the United States die by suicide.1 Medical students and residents are particularly at risk, facing new professional responsibilities with the highest possible stakes, deep uncertainty about their own abilities, constant sleep deprivation, and isolation from family and friends. When I had a few seconds in residency to scroll through my social media feeds, I would see pictures of a world from which I felt completely removed. On Saturday nights, other people my age discovered new bands and ate at trendy new restaurants; I fought with the electronic medical record to input orders for laxatives and stood in line to perform chest compressions on a dying mother of two young children. These stressors form a dangerous and potentially toxic mix, particularly for trainees with preexisting or emerging mental illness.

Thankfully, I received the psychiatric services I so desperately needed. I still have a scar, but it’s well healed. I wonder, though, how many residents in our program remained isolated in their suffering. Bobby wasn’t only my intern; he was our colleague and friend. In the aftermath of his death, how many of us should have been working at all?

Six years after he died, I no longer worry about having failed Bobby. But I do think the system of medical training failed him and continues to fail every trainee it puts in harm’s way. Although there will be no easy solutions to this crisis, we cannot accept the status quo. We are losing too many young physicians to suicide for the current system to remain morally defensible. Seeking to improve the lives of others shouldn’t cost our trainees their own.

If you or someone you know is having thoughts of suicide, a prevention hotline can help. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is available 24 hours per day at 800-273-8255. During a crisis, people who are hard of hearing can call 800-799-4889.

Disclosure forms provided by the author are available at NEJM.org.

The intern’s name has been changed to protect the family’s privacy.

This article was published on March 13, 2021, at NEJM.org.

[girlactionfigure]

Only when he got older he realized just how fortunate he and his family were to be alive.

“The extermination of most of his relatives and millions of other Jews by the Nazis; the intrusive, unemployed immigrants who survived and crowded his parents’ small apartment; his sickly childhood; his mother’s dark moods; his own ever-present depression” - all of this, he survived, according to Patricia Cohen of The New York Times.

He was born in Brooklyn to Polish-Jewish immigrant parents on June 10, 1928.

One of his earliest photographs (attached to this story) shows him as an infant - “a plump, round-faced, slanting-eyed, droopy-lidded, arching-browed creature” held by his mother, with his older siblings, according to writer Margalit Fox.

Growing up, Murray as he was then known “har­bored ongo­ing fear of the per­ils that might lurk out­side of his home and neigh­bor­hood” and remembered how he cel­e­brat­ed his bar mitz­vah, according to writer Stephen Whit­field. 

That's when his father discovered that much of his extended family had died in concentration camps. The young boy thought he had "done something very bad, that I had made him suffer more than he had to."

“The death of members of his extended family during the Holocaust . . . exposed him at a young age to the concept of mortality,” according to NPR.

“As he got old­er, he was con­stant­ly aware of his mar­gin­al­i­ty and dif­fer­ence,” wrote Whit­field.

He seemed to be always sick, but when he was well, he could be naughty. He remembered his mother often called him “vilde chaya”, which in Yiddish meant "wild animal".

“His view of the outside world was often limited. . . and the little that he could see from his window,” according to PBS. “It was during this time that he began to draw and to allow his imagination to run free.”

He made a name for himself as an illustrator. When he received an opportunity to write his first book, he used the title "Where the Wild Horses Are" - unfortunately, he realized he couldn't draw horses, so he told his editor. His editor would respond, "Well, what can you draw?"

He would answer "Things."

He would become “the most important children’s book artist of the 20th century, who wrenched the picture book out of the safe, sanitized world of the nursery and plunged it into the dark, terrifying and hauntingly beautiful recesses of the human psyche,” according to the New York Times.

He remembers receiving a letter from one fan:

In an interview with NPR, he is quoted as saying, “A little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children's letters – sometimes very hastily – but this one I lingered over . . . I wrote, 'Dear Jim: I loved your card.' Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said: 'Jim loved your card so much he ate it.' That to me was one of the highest compliments I've ever received . . . He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.”

~~~~~

“Maurice Sendak has been one of the most consistently inventive and challenging voices in children’s literature,” according to PBS. “His books and productions are among the best-loved imaginative works of their time. Like the Grimm brothers before him, Sendak has created a body of work both entertaining and educational, which will continue to be popular for generations.”

“Roundly praised, intermittently censored and occasionally eaten, Mr. Sendak’s books were essential ingredients of childhood for the generation born after 1960 or thereabouts, and in turn for their children,” wrote Fox. “He was known in particular for more than a dozen picture books he wrote and illustrated himself, most famously ‘Where the Wild Things Are,’ which was simultaneously genre-breaking and career-making when it was published by Harper & Row in 1963.”

He brought “to life a world of fantasy and imagination,” according to PBS. “His unique vision is loved around the globe by both young and old.”

When he died in 2012, the Washington Post wrote:

“They say that a creative adult is simply a child who has survived. Sendak survived a great deal, losing relatives in the Holocaust and struggling through a childhood that he remembered as “a very passionate, upsetting, silly, comic business.”

“And his books captured this — never talking down, yet always reassuring.

“The best writers are the ones who trust their audiences. Sendak did. And we trusted him right back.

“Sendak did not lie to children. He did not attempt to say that the world was more or less difficult than it was.”

~~~~~

In 2008 in the New York Times, Sendak revealed that he was gay and had lived with his partner, psychoanalyst Eugene Glynn (February 25, 1926 – May 15, 2007), for 50 years before Glynn's death in May 2007.

In that article, Sendak said he never told his parents: "All I wanted was to be straight so my parents could be happy," he recalled. "They never, never, never knew."

In a 2011 interview with NPR host Terry Gross, Mr. Sendak said "finding out that I was gay when I was older was a shock and a disappointment. I did not want to be gay. It meant a whole different thing to me — which is really hard to recover now because that's many years ago. I always objected to it because there is a part of me that is solid Brooklyn and solid conventional and I know that. I can't escape that. It's my genetic makeup. It's who I am."

Elisabeth Hoffman of the Baltimore Sun wrote, “Why do we pass laws that isolate, demean and shame people for something so utterly personal? It's no surprise that gay teens are bullied. No surprise that Maurice Sendak had to hide part of his identity from his parents — and from his readers.”

“In that often emotional NPR interview, Sendak also said: "I have nothing now but praise for my life. I'm not unhappy. I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more. What I dread is the isolation. There are so many beautiful things in the world which I will have to leave when I die. But I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready."

~~~~~

“His work . . . did not seek to for­get the emo­tion­al threats that scarred his life,” wrote Whit­field. “Sendak’s rec­ol­lec­tions of dread and dan­ger instead became the source of a painstak­ing cre­ativ­i­ty that [Golan Y.] Moskowitz [author of “Wild Vision­ary: Mau­rice Sendak in Queer Jew­ish Context”] read­i­ly calls illus­tra­tions of ​“genius.” Sendak believed that his fan­tasies must instill truths, rather than con­firm the con­ven­tions of inno­cence, and this think­ing rev­o­lu­tion­ized the way that young peo­ple were under­stood and addressed.”

In that last interview with NPR, “the beloved children’s writer and illustrator was 83 years old and in declining health. He was feeling the loss of people close to him who had died in recent years. Inevitably, the discussion turned to issues of mortality … By the time it was over there were teary-eyed people in cars all across North America. One listener, Brent Eades, left a message on the NPR Web site: “I happened to be listening to this extraordinary interview while on the early-morning commute from my small Ontario town to Ottawa. I was entirely absorbed in it; and the final couple of minutes left me with tears streaming down my face, which I’m sure nonplussed my fellow commuters.”

~~~~~

In “Where the Wild Things Are”, Sendak wrote:

“ . . . the wild things cried, “Oh please don’t go we’ll eat you up-we love you so!”

And Max said, “No!”

The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth

and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws

but Max stepped into his private boat and waved good-bye

and sailed back over a year

and in and out of weeks

and through a day

and into the night of his very own room

where he found his supper waiting for him.”

~ jsr

The Jon S. Randal Peace Page

[rainydaydream-gal18]

The Bad Batch: The Beast Within (non-reader insert)

(Author’s Note: Heyo, here is a request I got a little while back.  Sorry it took a while.  I had other fics I was in the process of publishing XD  Thank you for waiting, and I hope you like it, Anon.

Original ask: Can I request Werewolf tech, where he transforms and his brothers start shooting at him, so he runs away to hide but they watch the footage and find out they were shooting at their brother so they try to find him and comfort him, if you don't mind)

   When Hunter stretched and grabbed his early morning caf to watch the sunrise on this quiet planet, it seemed like it would be a relaxing day.  His brothers were still asleep.  All was well.

   That is, it appeared that way.  

   Things changed when he heard some unnatural sounds coming from Tech’s quarters.  It sounded like his brother was in distress, but before Hunter made it into the ship, it suddenly didn’t sound like Tech anymore.  A roar echoed down the hall, causing Hunter to freeze in his tracks.

   “That thing ate Tech!” 

   At the sound of Wrecker’s booming voice, Hunter’s jaw set as he hurried to meet his teammates.  He hadn’t heard the creature board the ship at all.  Somehow it had gotten past their defenses.

   Hunter took in Wrecker’s wide eyes.  Said creature had broken out of Tech’s quarters and raced down the hall, past Hunter himself.  He thought quickly and lunged for the creature, but it whirled around to snap at him with its teeth.  It missed, but in the process of dodging the blow, Hunter lost his grip on it’s torso.  It clambered down the hall, and Crosshair emerged from his room with rifle in hand.

   “What is it?” Crosshair hissed.

   “I...I don’t know,” Hunter growled.

   “Shouldn’t we go after it?” Wrecker stood at Tech’s doorway, casting a look inside.  Hunter followed his gaze and saw some of Tech’s gear scattered on the floor and shredded clothes.  He snapped his head away from the remains of his teammate, lips pressing into a firm line.

   “I’m not sure how this happened,” he admitted, voice tight with pain.

   “Look, we need to go after that thing,” Wrecker insisted.  His fists were clenched.

   “One weird wolf creature, coming right up.”  Crosshair loaded his rifle.  Hunter watched as his teammate raced down the hall, Wrecker in tow, to fire a few shots at the escaping creature.  Hunter could hear the creature’s snarls, single shot that Crosshair fired, and the footsteps receding.

   Why was the creature still escaping?  Hunter regrouped with his team, bucket over his head as he analyzed the situation.  “What happened?” he demanded.

   “Crosshair missed,” Wrecker mumbled.  Hunter turned his gaze to a conflicted looking sharpshooter.  

   “Crosshair?”

   He lifted his gaze to meet Hunter’s.  “It was an easy shot,” he admitted.  “I could’ve taken it down, but...something told me not to.  Something was different about it.”

   Crosshair was not one to hesitate to pull the trigger.  Sure, he was wise and careful about his shots, but rarely did he feel the need to purposely let an enemy go.  Then again, the group was mostly used to battling Separatist droids.  This was a live creature, and it seemed scared.  Well, aside from the fact it went after Tech.  Hunter’s hands balled into fists.

   “I didn’t hear it coming,” he said.  “I should have heard it board the ship.  I should have heard something.”

   “We need answers.”  Wrecker cracked his knuckles.  “That thing was...weird.”

   “Yes,” Crosshair nodded.  “But what I want to know is, why did it go after Tech?”

   “That’s a good question.”  Hunter’s gaze went to the floor before it snapped back up again.  “The security footage.  Tech had security cameras installed not too long ago.”

   “Great timing if you ask me,” Wrecker said.  “You don’t think...you don’t think he knew something like this would happen?”

   “I’m not sure,” Hunter scratched his chin.  “But let’s check it out.”

- - - - - - - - - -

   The remaining members of the Bad Batch gathered around one of Tech’s holomonitors to watch the footage.  What they saw stunned them into silence.

   Tech was in the hallway in the early morning, looking rather uncomfortable as he leaned against the wall with hand over his forehead.  A few low groans eventually morphed into loud growls, which was what Hunter had heard.  Fur sprang through his gear as Tech hurried into his quarters to finish the transformation.

   Crosshair finally broke the silence.  “That thing...he...he’s Tech.”

   “Tech,” Wrecker ran a hand over his shaved head.  “We need to find him!”

   “Yes, and fast,” Hunter agreed.  “Bad Batch, let’s move!”  The group hurried outside the ship, leaving armor and weapons behind.  Fortunately, Hunter was able to pick up Tech’s trail.  He hadn’t gotten too far.  He must have just wanted to get out of the immediate danger, Hunter figured.  “This way, men.  Tech’s trail ends just ahead.  He’s behind that bush.”

   “Well, what are we waiting for?” Wrecker questioned.  Before he could hurry over, Hunter stopped him.

   “We’ve got to make sure he knows we aren’t going to hurt him.  Go ahead and call out to him first.”

   Wrecker nodded.  “Good idea.”  He cupped his hands around his mouth, as if he even needed to with a booming voice like that, and bellowed “Tech!  It’s us!  We saw the security footage, and we know it’s you!”

   Two curious eyes peered at them from just over the bush.  The furry form began to creep around to face them, though his movements were slow.  He didn’t seem entirely convinced it was safe, and it made Hunter’s heart sink.

   “It’s alright,” he said.  “You caught us by surprise, Tech.  I’m sorry about that.”  This time, Tech started approaching with more confidence, eyes brighter and less narrowed with suspicion.  Hunter reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder reassuringly.  “We’re going to figure this out.”

   “We’re here for you,” Crosshair added, resting his hand on Tech’s other shoulder.

   “Always,” Wrecker said, doing the same.

“But doesn’t this bother you?” Tech finally spoke, his voice lower than usual.

   “We spent several minutes thinking you got eaten,” Hunter assured him, brows furrowing.   “Finding out you’re alive and well is a much better alternative.” 

   “So, how long has this been going on?” Crosshair asked.  

   “A few times,” Tech informed.  “It is why I installed the security cams...in case this ever happened and I couldn’t hide it.  I wanted you to be able to find out it was me.  You might not have believed a talking wolf.”

   “Look at you,” Hunter said proudly.  “Always thinking ahead.”

   “That’s our brother!” Wrecker exclaimed.