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mileycyprus-hill · 5 years ago

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An unfortunate update on “Three’s Company”, my Charles x Arthur x Reader fic:

I know many of you have been waiting patiently for part two of this fic, but after much consideration, I have decided to leave it unfinished. Instead I will post what I have created thus far and explain my reasonings.

I was so excited to create this, but a while back someone had been anonymously messaging my ask box venting me their frustrations on someone like me writing a Charthur x reader fic. Apparently they have issues with me—a white married woman— writing a threesome fic including a black/Native American character.

I have been answering them privately so as not to give them the attention they want because I don’t know if this person is trying to troll me. I can only say I’m sorry I angered anyone. I’m not trying to start drama and I certainly don’t want anyone to be angered.

I want it to be known that I have a love for Charles Smith’s character the same way I love John’s character or Arthur’s, or any other character in the RDR2 universe: not for their skin color but for their character development and good looks that is not involved with their skin tone. I am not “thirsting after Charles simply because he’s black” or “fulfilling a white girl fantasy”, these are outrageous accusations.

Once this person stopped, I returned writing Part 2. But for days, I have been sitting at my keyboard and have lost my desire to finish it. I wanted to create something romantic and fulfilling between these three characters. A polyamorous relationship, if you will. I wasn’t planning on just writing smut to “fulfill a white girl fantasy” as this person accused me of. I simply wanted to write a love story.

So instead of leaving you in the dark, I have my unfinished work posted below as is. Despite the warnings I originally wrote, there’s no smut and it’s SFW, as it only contains the buildup and some notes I wrote for myself towards the end. I imagine this explanation will be met with criticism, but I just wanted it to be known.

This story is open to anyone who wishes to take over for me. I openly accept anyone willing to take this for their own and finish it. I just ask that you message me first for permission and give me credit for the original story. (Who knows, maybe in time I’ll return to it when I’ve reached a better place mentally and if no one finishes it.)

Thank you for reading.

Three’s Company

Part 2 that leads to NSFW smut between you, Arthur, and Charles.

Summary: The three of you notice a particular tension growing between you, and decide to clear the air after an unfortunate event happens at the Rhodes general store.

A/N: Boy, this took me long enough—only b/c I wanted a particular scene to be perfect. This is my first writing a threesome, so I only hope I did well.

Warnings: Smut. And references to racial slurs from some a-hole Lemoyne Raiders.

Part 1 here.

—————-

Charles wakes just before dawn and feels his hand resting on his chest. Blinking his eyes to clear his vision, he suddenly remembers what he did in the middle of the night.

Before rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he freezes and cranes his neck to look up to you from his place on the ground.

Was it a dream? It had to have been.

But it felt so real. Charles still feels the phantom of your heat lingering on his skin.

From below, it appears you haven’t moved an inch and you’re still sleeping deeply. Your arm still hangs from your shared cot with Arthur.

Speaking of, Charles quickly darts his attention from you and notices Arthur’s awake and rising up off the cot, stretching his arms out to greet the morning sun. Arthur’s joints pop and crackle while he loosens the tension in his muscles. His arms and back bulge from within his tight red union suit. A small patch of sweat darkens the fabric in between his shoulder blades.

Arthur turns to Charles with tired eyes, squinting in the morning light. He greets Charles with a soft voice so as not to disturb you.

“Mornin’ Charles,” he yawns. “Sleep well?”

Charles stares into those blue eyes of his, becoming lost in thought. Those eyes, clear as the sky, look to him with friendly affection. Charles feels so guilty for taking such a small liberty with you while Arthur slept unaware.

Arthur stares back from across your sleeping form, curious about Charles’ hesitation.

Sensing the awkward, prolonged silence, Charles finally speaks, “Yeah,” he coughs, “for the most part. ‘Bout the same as sleeping on the ground anywhere else. But it’s at least dry.”

The side of Arthur’s mouth wrinkles with a lopsided smile and a dry chuckle rumbles from him across the way.

“Yeah, well...You’re welcome to stay here ‘til we get you a new tent,” Arthur says.

A gentle cough diverts their attention away from each other. They turn their heads to watch you wake and rub the sleep from your tired eyes. You groan in subtle pleasure while stretching your sore muscles and running your fingers through your hair, untangling any knots.

“Guess I should get out there before Miss Grimshaw comes in here screamin’.” You state, beginning the day with a dreadful realization. You don’t even bother to say ‘good morning’ as it could quickly turn into a foul one at any moment. Turning behind you, you grab your shirt from the table at the head of your bed.

Charles had forgotten you slept in just your gray, form-fitting union suit. You always found it much more comfortable than a long nightgown or chemise that would bunch up throughout the night. The top buttons are all popped except for one, which holds the fabric just over your cleavage. That one small button, a dot of pale wood holds responsible for keeping your breasts covered. The same cannot be said however, for the perkiness of your nipples, which poke through like small pebbles under a cotton sheet.

Charles’ eyes are immediately drawn to those tips poking underneath the fibers of your undergarment. His throat suddenly feels dry and rough, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows to calm himself. It’s a short-lived moment once you pull your shirt over your head. The little mountain peaks are now gone beneath another layer of fabric.

Which is lucky for Charles’ sake, lest you or Arthur catch him staring.

Normally you wouldn’t dare let the other men witness you dress and undress, but somehow you don’t mind Charles seeing. After all, if Arthur trusts him why shouldn’t you?

Arthur’s voice snaps Charles back to reality, and he draws his gaze away from you to his own boots.

Arthur says to you, snapping his suspenders over his shoulders, “Well, maybe you can come with me this morning. Got a tip ‘bout a stagecoach and I could use some help...and I know how cooped up you’ve been in camp.”

While you and Arthur redress, Charles sits awkwardly from his bedroll as he slept the night fully clothed, as usual.

Your eyes lit up as you pulled your trousers on. “Really? You think Grimshaw will spare me?”

“I’m sure she can. She’s got the other girls to help out,” Arthur points. “We can even take our time getting back and help Charles find a new tent.”

Charles perks his head up at the mention of his name.

“You don’t have to do that,” he tells Arthur.

“Why not?” Arthur asks. “Ain’t much trouble. We can stop on the way back after we all finish it.” He waves a hand, referring to the three of you.

Charles eyes now widen and his forehead softly wrinkles in surprise, “You want me to come with?”

“ ‘f course,” Arthur says blatantly. “Lord knows I can’t do it with any o’ these hot heads,” he mumbles. “Including this one.”

He points to you and you react with a slip of your tongue past your lips, followed by a soft punch in his arm.

A tiny smirk grows on Charles’ lips and he replies, “Sure.”

————

After the job, the three of you rode back to camp in a flash. It was truly successful: a stagecoach of a wealthy plantation owner who had their valuables hidden in the seats of the carriage. Thankfully, you didn’t have to resort to killing anyone to get it. You had lassoed the driver off the carriage, leaving him with bumps and bruises, while Charles and Arthur interrogated the passengers into giving up their goods. It was Charles’ keen eyes that caught the odd stitching on the leather seats inside the carriage, and found the three gold bars in the stuffing.

You all rode hard and returned with adrenaline still surging through your veins and smiles on your faces. It was the best score you’d gotten in so long. A gold bar would be given to the camp, another for Charles, while you and Arthur share the last one.

Holding the heavy bar in your hand, you look to Charles. The smiles haven’t faded from either of your lips, and your cheeks already feel sore.

You say to him, “Charles, I wanna buy you the biggest stakes and canvas I can find. You deserve a big spot in camp after this.”

Dropping his chin and scoffing humbly at your generosity, Charles responds, “You don’t have to do that. I can afford my own.”

“Please,” you continue. “It’s the least I can do. I wanna thank you for being such a big help on this job.”

Charles tries his best to keep his composure after hearing your sweet voice. His heart hammers in his chest, and not from the adrenaline this time. You have shown him nothing but kindness since he’s joined the gang, and will go out of your way to make sure he’s content.

Arthur speaks up from behind you, “Best let her do it, Charles. She won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” He chuckles.

Without turning, you quirk a brow at Charles. You hope to make him yield under your cool gaze. A drop of sweat trickles down the back of his neck behind his thick hair. The bead suddenly feels cold and sends a shiver to his skin.

Realizing his argument would be futile, Charles shakes and bows his head in defeat.

“Alright, fine.” Charles sighs. Lifting his head, he watches you smile as you relish in your small victory.

His attention darts over your shoulder to the source of a hoarse chuckle from Arthur.

“Good man,” Arthur laughs softly, to which Charles follows with a laugh of his own.

————

You had stumbled to bed first early in the evening, thanks to a bottle of whiskey you were nursing. The opportunity to run into town was postponed ‘till the morning, as you all wanted to celebrate your achievement.

Charles waited for Arthur to follow you to bed, but the man would not leave his spot at the campfire. Charles felt self-conscious about being alone with you in the tent. He’d feel safer with Arthur nearby— though he couldn’t explain why.

He could just bed down in the scout shelter, but it was currently being occupied by Bill and Javier. Besides, his bedroll is still in your tent. He didn’t want to wake you and be asked why he was moving out.

Because he’s worried he can’t control his urges around you and Arthur? Yeah, that’d go over well.

He’d be better off sleeping out under the stars on the bare grass tonight.

He had half a mind to until Arthur slightly pushed his shoulder.

“Hey,” Arthur said. “Fallin’ asleep over there?”

Charles was so busy with his thoughts, he didn’t notice Arthur watching him from across the fire. The rugged outlaw must’ve seen his drooping eyelids and stepped over to check on him. Charles didn’t even hear his light footsteps, which were muffled by the soft Lemoyne clay.

Arthur’s broad shoulders brush against his as he sits down next to Charles on the dry log. Their soft cotton sleeves rub against each other and each of them feel the other’s chiseled muscles against their own for a brief moment.

Keeping his voice cool, Charles answers bluntly, “I’m fine.”

“Always a man of conversation, ain’t ya Charles?” Arthur teases.

An ‘I told you so’ is cried by Uncle across the way, who sits drunk beneath a tree.

“Just because you never have anything interesting to say, doesn’t mean I don’t either,” Charles quips to Uncle.

Arthur holds a bottle of bourbon in his hand and brings it to his mouth with a dry, wheezing laugh. His plump lips wrap around the top of the bottle, gently slurping in the warm amber liquid.

Charles watches the large lump of his Adam’s apple bob as Arthur swallows the sip of bourbon. Wordlessly, Arthur hands Charles the bottle, offering it to him.

Charles obliges and takes a hefty swig of the smooth bourbon. It’s so warm, like a hot piece of caramel running down his throat, followed by a smoky aftertaste of maple. Heat flushes his cheeks and the feeling of his fingertips is numbed, along with his anxious thoughts. A wave of relaxation washes over him.

Arthur watches from the corner of his eye, noticing Charles relaxing and struggling to keep his eyes open.

He says to Charles warmly, “C’mon. Finish that bottle and head to bed with us...you ain’t gotta watch tonight, do ya?”

Shaking his head in response, Charles finishes the last tiny swig of bourbon and tosses the bottle into the fire. Those nervous thoughts are long gone and the memory of you sleeping soundly in your bed sends a warm feeling to his stomach.

Arthur continues, “Well, alright. C’mon then.” He pats Charles on his back, “Don’t want ya gettin’ ate up out here. The ‘skeeters are bad t’night.”

Charles follows him back to the tent and is greeted with your sleeping form on the cot, covered in a thin blanket. His heart flutters while he undoes his gun belt and kneels down on his bedroll nearby.

Arthur closes the tent flaps while Charles watches you sleep, undisturbed.

He whispers up to Arthur, who climbs in bed behind you, “You’re a lucky man, Arthur.”

“Thank you,” Arthur whispers, looking down at you with a loving smile. “I couldn’t ask fer a better woman.”

He tucks your hair behind your ear and presses his lips against the top of your cheek. A velvety groan softly rises up from your throat as you roll over to nuzzle your face into Arthur’s chest. An arm is tossed over his side and you cuddle him tightly.

The two men inside the tent chuckle softly in response and Charles lays back onto his bedroll, looking up at the ceiling.

He turns his head to the sound of Arthur’s quiet voice.

“You’re a good friend, Charles. G’night.” Arthur says.

“G’night, Arthur,” he replies with a smile.

“G’night, Charles,” your muffled, sleep-slurred voice calls from the comforting nook in Arthur’s arms.

—-——————

“Charles is a fine man, isn’t he?” You state, watching from your seat.

“The best I’ve come across,” Arthur answers with his hand in his journal. He scratches away with the small lead pencil loosely gripped in his fingers, sketching what he sees.

It’s quiet from your tent. The flaps are drawn up to let you watch the members of the gang go about their business. All is calm. The air gently rolls in to relieve you from the humidity. The birds chirp softly from their shady perches, and your eyes stay fixed on Charles.

Folding Arthur’s freshly laundered shirt, you continue, “I sure hope he finds someone.”

“What you mean?” Arthur asks, his attention still on his rough sketching.

“Oh...I dunno,” you reply, dropping a shirt onto the pile of folded laundry. “He doesn’t deserve to be so lonely like he is. I just hope he finds happiness.”

Arthur eyes you suspiciously, watching you fold his clothes onto a neat pile. He follows your gaze over to Charles, who readies a pile of fresh lumber to be chopped into firewood. Arthur watches Charles remove his rawhide vest before unbuttoning his crimson shirt to reveal his masculine form. His smooth skin glistens with sweat.

Arthur never noticed until now how very little body hair Charles appears to have. His chest shines with a bright, welcoming sheen that promises to be warm...bold...and fulfilling.

A sudden feeling catches Arthur by surprise.

It’s not jealousy. No, far from that.

A feeling of low self-worth is what it is, a blushing embarrassment that fills his stomach. For Arthur rarely gets jealous, but easily self-conscious. Could it be you have developed feelings for Charles?

Could it be Arthur feels them too?

Wait, what?

Arthur squints his eyes in confusion. He hasn’t felt this way since he first started courting you. That same flutter in his stomach that rises in his chest, he’s feeling it again.

“Arthur?” you ask. You pause your folding and watch his vacant stare. His eyebrows furrow for a moment as if he’s in deep thought, until he blinks them away at the sound of your voice calling him.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Arthur coughs. “*ahem* Yeah, I hope he does too.” He rolls his shoulders to relieve the sudden tension that was growing. With a pop of his neck and a clear of his throat, he resumes his sketching.

Your gaze doesn’t falter from Arthur, and he senses it. He feels you watching him with a curious look. The tension in his shoulders return and he struggles to draw in his journal under your stare.

With a frustrated huff, he looks up from his journal.

“What?” he asks, reserving his annoyance.

“Nothing,” you reply cooly. A quirk of your lip shows a subtle smile that quickly melts away, but Arthur catches it. He recognizes that little mischievous smile that fleets within a second.

It’s as if you already know.

Could you read him that easily?

——————

With a final strike of the axe and the tick of his pocket watch marking 11:00, Charles finishes his chore. Fixing the string that ties his hair back, he walks back to his trunk where his tent once stood. He grabs a clean shirt and his billfold, before stepping to the horse station to saddle Taima.

......

A/N: (This is where I stopped, everything else here is the rest of the rough draft riddled with notes. The three of you head to Rhodes to help Charles get new tent supplies. He goes into the store on his own while you and Arthur wait at the saloon for him. Two Lemoyne raiders at the saloon decide to give Charles trouble while you and Arthur defend him. Nothing physical, just the raiders saying nasty things and Charles decides its best the three of you leave to avoid an altercation. Luckily, the sheriff shows up anyway to put the raiders in their place. )

After the Rhodes saloon.

(All three of you pitch Charles’ tent, an a-frame much like john’s.)

You and Arthur talk to Charles who is brooding underneath a tree after the three of you left.

You both tell him you admire him. Arthur places a hand on his right knee, while you place a hand on his left, just above his thigh.

Charles looks to you both in confusion.

......

“Charles? You ok?” You ask him softly.

......

“We love you, Charles. You know that, don’t you?” You say, bringing your face closer to his.

“Yeah, I know.” He answers, turning his gaze to you. He assumes you mean in a familial way. That is, until your lips brush against his. He gasps softly at your kiss and looks over to Arthur in shock and confusion.

Arthur looks into Charles’ eyes and tips his head in permission.

“I...I don’t understand,” Charles says.

#threes company #rdr2 #charthur #arthur morgan x reader #charles smith x reader #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #charles smith #rdr2 fan fiction

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cyb-by-lang · 6 years ago

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it must be a thursday (3/?)

Kei has more friends than just Isobu, and it’s high time she ran into one.

Chapter Three: Path of the Seeker

Gustav surprised me with a gift on the morning we got to the first big stop I’d be around to see.

“You can’t make it anywhere in the Empire without papers,” Gustav said with a grin. In his ink-stained hands, he held a sheaf of papers and dropped them in her hands. “I didn’t know if you’d want a last name, so I just picked something that sort of sounded right. Just make sure to memorize it so the Crownsguard don’t catch you in a lie, all right?”

Given that I was not, in fact, named “Caretta Schiavoni” and probably didn’t look the part, I had to wonder where Gustav had gotten the idea. Aside from Molly, Desmond, and Gustav, I hadn’t exactly heard anybody else make much use of last names.

Ah, well. I’d been lying since I got here.

“Thank you very much, Gustav.” I bowed deeply over the glorified passport. “You’ve been very kind to me.”

“It’s all right. One good turn deserves another, and you’ve been a model guest.”

“Can you two please hurry that up? The station’s just around the bend,” said Desmond, and Gustav took his place at the head of the caravan with a spring in his spindly step.

Is that like your ninja registration number?

A little. As I checked on Isobu to make sure he was still locked in a costume trunk in the back of my wagon—driven by Ornna—I replied, In hindsight, I probably should have asked about official documentation before. I’ve just never been in a contiguous empire long enough to think about it.

We have been skating laws with wild abandon. Doing so is more fun. Isobu sent me the image of the inside view of the trunk to confirm he was still there, then added, Have you told any of them your plans?

Not yet. Once we get safely into town.

Isobu hummed a sad little note. Then, I hate this.

I didn’t have to ask what he meant.

Even putting aside how much freedom Isobu won for himself over the years, being slammed back down into a shape he didn’t ask for had to be a major setback. The freedom to move in the world didn’t feel complete when he couldn’t be sure he’d keep it. I didn’t know enough about this world to be sure if Isobu’s appearance would let him really wander freely, like he had when we were out in the Grand Line. Every day he had to spend like this, he was kicked in the face with reminders of his relative powerlessness. Worse yet, I’d heard him calling for his siblings late at night on my watch. There was never any response.

We’ll make it back to them, I assured him. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but we’ll go home.

Isobu grunted something indecipherable and ignored me. Fair enough.

Honestly, letting that conversation lie was as much for his benefit as it was mine. I didn’t really want to talk homesickness.

I did, however, want to talk about my job with the circus. Gustav’s passport thing said my work specialty was “sword juggling.” Being asked to prove that sounded like a terrible idea for everybody.

“Ornna,” I began quietly, “once we reach town and Molly and Yasha start their rounds, can I spend a little time on my own instead?”

Ornna snorted. “Do whatever you want. You’re a grown woman.”

No snide comment about how I’m not a member of the circus anyway? She must like me. “Thank you, Ornna. I’ll make sure tell Gustav.”

And to be honest, well, I might’ve just wandered around street corners and explored the town. New places with German names were definitely outside of my experience as either a jōnin or an adopted pirate, and I’d heard weird things about Oktoberfest in a lifetime or two. Even if this was just any fishing town, I at least wanted a chance to take a damn bath. I’d been listening intently to the carnival crew for any indication of what civilized life was like compared to the life of a roadie, though, since I hadn’t asked questions, I only knew that Molly was magnetically attracted to bathhouses. Road dust and road sweat and no internal plumbing made for a very grumpy Kei, gotta say.

But I started picking out little flickers of something as we entered Trostenwald.

I’d known for years that people with chakra suppression skills could slip by me if they were good enough, especially because my range was a fifty kilometer radius. The best of the best, like Orochimaru, tended to be the types who could waltz right up to me and do jazz hands behind my head without me noticing. ANBU weren’t quite as good, and most shinobi far less stealthy than that.

Rin wasn’t even trying.

I stuck around long enough to help set up the big top tent and the performers’ common areas. Yasha ended up not needing my help at all, so all I had to do after that was make sure no one else wanted an extra pair of hands in the mix. But after Ornna and Toya both shrugged off any assistance with makeup, because they’d done shows without my amateur ass before and intended to continue, I let Gustav know I’d be taking a day off and disappeared into the city.

I probably didn’t read half the signs, honestly. I skipped checking out breweries and apothecaries, didn’t get anywhere near Crownsguard strongholds or the seat of any government, and doubled down on my earlier resolution to avoid people.

This somehow put me on the opposite side of the entire city from the circus, still chasing the sensation of an autumn afternoon. Subtly, of course. (Or under a transformation technique to make myself look human again.) Even if I hadn’t seen anyone spit at Molly or Bo while on the road, I knew enough to guess a country with established racial slurs for my current appearance probably had an attitude behind it. The power to punch people out on a whim was more useful in lawless backcountry when the only people around wanted to use your bones as soup stock. In an established city? Hah, no.

The chakra jumped from one alleyway to the next in my mind’s eye. While perhaps not my best plan, I sent a pulse of my chakra outward as I passed in front of the second row of buildings. Rin wasn’t much of a sensor unless in the middle of an exam, but hopefully she’d pick up something about me she recognized.

It didn’t take that long.

As soon as I spotted a familiar figure, I was already heading right for her. “Is that really you?”

Rin, though short and slight compared to a lot of the local humans, probably would have stood out for other reasons. I hadn’t seen a single Asian-adjacent person in the week I’d been hanging with the circus. Logically, I knew small towns didn’t tend to be the most diverse places, but I’d met or seen at least twenty nonhumans. The only one with Asian features had been my reflection. Rin’s long, dark hair was bound up in a braid and she wasn’t wearing skirt and blouses she preferred in Konoha—due to transformation chicanery—but she was still recognizable.

Not exactly the same as my situation.

“It’d be hard for me to be anyone else.” Rin ducked her head a little and looked up at me through her bangs. “So. How was your week?”

Her normally-dark eyes were entirely different, reflecting light like a cat’s and her irises were streaked with blue, green, and purple. Her smile wobbled uncertainly. Rin’s hair caught the light strangely, reflecting red and violet in turn. Her chakra felt different, with an edge I couldn’t fully identify. Most of the chakra signatures I was used to were half-sensory data generally incongruous with people. I could compare them to shadows, or cheerful little fires, or lightning strikes.

I’d never run into a variation that felt like singing.

It felt like the damned mission objective from before this clusterfuck started.

Ugh, thought for later. I replied instead, “Not even a week. It’s…been interesting. Sorry I didn’t come find you sooner.”

“I mean, it wasn’t so bad. Not the worst survival training I’ve had!” Then she hugged me hard enough to make me think of crying uncle, if I hadn’t been doing the same right back. Dammit, I’d missed Rin. “But we’re both safe. That’s something. ”

“I went straight into survival mode,” I admitted after we pulled apart a bit. She still had one of my hands in hers, and was performing a medical scan even as I spoke. “There were some travelers who dragged me out of a river. I came in with them just this morning.”

“That’s…a little more adventurous than what I’ve been doing,” Rin said. She peered up at me, curiosity alight in her eyes. “Kei, you’re not using Isobu’s chakra, are you? It doesn’t quite feel like that, but your biology is very different right now. What happened?”

“Well…” I dropped the pretense of still looking human. “I got a makeover.”

Rin paused with her mouth dropping open in shock. Now that she knew where my horns were, she hesitated for a second with a fingertip a little above the central one. Even as she touched it, her expression was briefly unreadable even as her chakra started to jump up and down in excitement.

“Been thinking of filing that one down,” I mumbled.

“You look a little like an oni,” Rin breathed, a smile slowly spreading across her face. There was no way I was getting away from her now, and I’d never been happier to be on the recieving end of Rin’s fantastic gush sessions. “This is why your scan was so strange! Do those horns weigh you down? And the tail—that’s Isobu-san’s tail with fewer plates, isn’t it? Did someone modify pants for you? Are you feeling strange any other way?

“Um… So about...” I made a sweeping motion to encompass everything that had changed about my body.

“So I’m glad you’re here. You’re still Kei, even if you’re different-looking now.” Rin nodded firmly. “Aside from the obvious, nothing really changed! So, what else is different? You were vague about the week.”

“I… I’m pretty sure I joined a circus.”

Rin said nothing for a second.

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s what throws you off?”

“I really can’t imagine you wearing makeup and performing for the public.” Rin was obviously biting down a laugh. “You don’t even put on foundation during ceremonies back home!”

I rolled my eyes. “With one exception. And when you’re doing all the work for me.”

“Exactly!”

Still, we were making our way out of the alleyways and back toward the rest of town. I didn’t particularly care about being seen as a tiefling once I wasn’t alone. Some things invited a fight. A pair of foreign tourists would probably invite scams first, provided no one decided to ask for papers I was sure Rini didn’t have. It was Rin’s first time in a world where she wasn’t aligned with the legal authority anywhere. Konoha backed us. Nobody here would.

“I’m going to need to get Isobu to translate for you when I can’t,” I said while we walked. “The main language here is the same one those star people spoke. Sorry.”

To answer me, Rin sighed, “That explains a lot.” Rin’s focus stayed mostly on me as we walked through town, though I could see her glancing around at the various buildings that didn’t look at all like home. Hadn’t seen any steeple roofs yet, though.

I am about as happy with this as she is. The circus does not know I can talk.

Rin was adaptable, though. She got along well with Isobu in at least a theoretical sense, because to my knowledge they almost never directly interacted. Rin’s focus was on medicine, so she had a fantastic time quizzing me and other experts about how Tailed Beasts lived and could function as chakra given form. I’d never met a Tailed Beast I didn’t think Rin would gush over, because her fascination overrode what most people could consider healthy fear.

It was kind of the opposite of how Isobu interacted with most of the circus. Isobu had a lot more fun messing with them that he ever would with Rin.

“How’s this town been to you?” I asked instead.

“Not super great.” Rin put a finger to her lips as she thought. “I mean, I didn’t get anything like the negative reaction I’ve seen directed at other people, but I can’t talk to anyone here. I’ve been stealing a lot.” She paused for a second as we ducked past a pair of halflings hawking fish, sizing them up before continuing her thought. “Things feel tense here. It’s not just about me. You can feel it too, right?”

The humans are mobilizing.

I repeated this remark for Rin’s benefit, and her brow furrowed.

While maps were in short supply in the era before printing presses—which was a fact I hated for several reasons—I knew enough about the local geography to figure rural Trostenwald and the villages I’d passed were in the southern end of a massive empire. I couldn’t recall offhand what the other towns were called without a way to check my spelling, but I’d been listening to town criers. Such as there were, in such tiny communities.

Somebody up to the north and east was trying to start shit.

“That said,” I added once I’d explained my limited information, “I wanted to mention the whole ‘human’ thing we keep using as shorthand.”

“I know neither of us are fully human anymore, but I don’t want to call anyone ‘yōkai’ when it doesn’t fit.” Rin eyed the street again, and between the two of us we picked out at least half a dozen different races without a problem. A fifth of the town’s population seemed to be halflings, while humans made up a decent chunk of the other eighty percent. That said, there were also half-orcs besides Bo, a single humanoid white dragon without wings, and half-elves here and there. “It’s disrespectful even if no one else understands me. But do you know what everyone would be called?”

“I’d have to ask a few specific questions, but yes. Mostly.” I pointed at my face, at my flat yellow eyes and otherwise quite eye-catching palette. “I’m a tiefling, for example.” Or I looked the part, at least. “There’s another one in the circus, but he looks different. Ten to one Isobu’s influence is the reason I look specifically like this.”

I heard that.

“Interesting. That must mean there’s an established population, right? Or more than one. The horns are probably…genetic?” Rin looked thoughtful again. “Hm… Outside of Curse Seal transformations, I’ve never seen humans with tails or horns. That said, transformations outside of surface-level techniques are definitely possible. I’d only have to look at the Inuzuka clan know that.” She thought that over. “Any idea how this happened?”

“Not a damn clue,” I admitted. “I just—maybe that mission…” If only I could remember clearly what the hell had happened.

“Could be,” Rin agreed softly.

But the rest of that conversation was put on hold by a quick hand signal as I spotted a familiar duo winding their way through the streets. They hadn’t seen us yet, but frankly? If anybody could miss a pair like Molly, the walking kaleidoscope, and Yasha, death metal incarnate, as they passed out fliers with smarmy charm and a solid dash of silent intimidation, I hadn’t met them yet.

Rin followed my gaze in the brief second I gave myself away. “Circus?”

“Circus,” I confirmed. As we changed our path from aimless wandering to an intercept course, I added, “And they think my name’s ‘Caretta’ right now. In case it comes up.”

“I don’t speak their language, remember?” Rin reminded me mildly. When I looked, she had her hands clasped demurely and amusement sparked faintly through her. “I’m sure they’ll be looking to you first.”

Bleh. “We really need to get Isobu on this translating thing.”

Ugh.

Rin fell entirely silent as we sized up the Nestled Nook Inn, which was two stories tall and probably only large enough to have half a dozen rooms. Not impressive, but my standards were fucked and the circus probably had an established circuit even in these small towns.

Molly and Yasha wouldn’t stay long, because the shock of a walking rainbow headbutting his way into an unrelated conversation only worked so many times with witnesses. Which was why Yasha was there. Molly might’ve been taller than either Rin or Kei were, but Yasha could pick up two grown men and bash them together until they stopped causing trouble. Being a bouncer must’ve been interesting. No one would cause trouble this early in the morning, right?

With that middle finger firmly directed toward whatever patron of luck I’d already pissed off by existing, I headed inside anyway.

Rin followed, though she stayed back to keep any eye on the entire room from a spot beside the door. She was enthusiastic and bright when everyone around could understand her comments, but she wasn’t nearly as imposing as anybody in this roughneck place. She was happier keeping in the background unless she had to watch over genin. Or the civilians that genin inevitably ran roughshod over while trying to help.

Funny how Yasha was doing the same thing, just on the opposite side of the doorway. I didn’t make it past either of them.

“—It’s just five copper. A steal. At five silver, it would be a steal, at five gold?” Molly rattled off, his spiel landing two table’s worth of fish. I picked out two humans, a blue tiefling—who looked a lot more like Molly than she did like me—a half-orc and a tiny figure who might’ve been a halfling. There was a tiny part of my brain that said “adventurers!” before it went quiet under Isobu’s laughter. “Worth every penny. But if you’ve got the five copper to spend, we would happily have you all.”

The blue tiefling was starry-eyed already. “Do you perform?”

Molly hardly missed a beat. He did look like a sword-juggler or something, after all. I sure didn’t. “Ah. I’m less of a performer and more of an intermediary for these parts. I do on occasion perform. I can read fortunes—”

“I was going to ask if you read fortunes! Can you do one now?” the blue tiefling asked, almost bouncing in her seat.

Molly grinned. Hook, line, sinker. “I knew you were going to ask that.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re so smart. Look at this guy, he knows everything!” And with that, she made a space for him at her group’s table without a second’s pause.

“Yasha,” I said in an undertone, because there was no way I was throwing Molly off a roll like that.

Yasha did fix both odd-colored eyes on me, just for a bit, and Rin stood tall as she realized I’d called someone out by name. Especially a name she’d easily be able to pronounce. Yasha’s gaze flicked to Rin, widened a bit, but there was a nervous edge there. She wouldn’t want to talk about it.

“Is everything going well?” I asked.

“I think so,” Yasha said, already turning her attention back to Molly’s audience with an air of trying really hard to avoid a conversation. I didn’t know what that was about. “Um, excuse me.”

“Yasha’s quiet,” I told Rin once she was embroiled in that little scene. “You’ll like her.”

“Have we seen what we need to?” Rini asked, though she couldn’t quite hide the tiny spark of curiosity. It wasn’t as though this town was swimming in doctors or biological standouts other than the obvious. Her interests were pretty well self-contained.

“Yeah, mainly. I could try to catch them on the way out, but it seems like they’re busy.” A thought occurred to me. “You know, we kind of match?”

“Hm?”

“Brightly colored tiefling and someone with slightly less obvious nonhuman features. It’s kind of neat.”

Rin smiled, her long braid waving behind her as she swayed from side to side. “To Isobu?”

“Sure.”

In a town where the only famous export seemed to be three kinds of beer, ale, or whatever it was this week, people drinking in the streets probably wouldn’t have put most people off. But since Rin disliked the smell and taste of alcohol, we cut past the crowds wherever possible. In no time at all, we were in the circus staging area well ahead of the impending night crowd.

I managed to make introductions to the group without stumbling too badly over myself, or maybe Ornna was just taking pity on me for once. The line was pretty thin with her, and despite the language barrier Rin busted out the mission diplomat skill-set like it’d never gathered dust in the first place. It mostly consisted of bowing with perfect poise and prompting me with observations to translate when I couldn’t think of anything worth saying, but overall I think we made a decent impression. Rin even got to keep her real name, because Rin didn’t give a shit about nicknames.

Which she would get, and in spades, once the rest of the group got back. Probably.

Rin went to retrieve Isobu—who was apparently stalking Kylre to a degree that was genuinely worrying poor Toya—Gustav pulled me aside for a second.

“How can I help?” I asked automatically.

“I hate to ask,” Gustav said as I wrung my hands, “but do you mind just sticking around for the show tonight?”

“I—huh? I mean…” I blinked. It wasn’t like I was that familiar with this town. And even if I was, comfort zones were a thing. I was, by however narrow a margin, much more inclined to follow the circus around than I was to rent a room in Trostenwald with the money I didn’t have. “I mean, I don’t…”

I’d just introduced Rin to them., so I kind of wanted the afternoon off. And the evening. An afternoon of catching up was not making up for the week I’d avoided thinking about my situation for fear of triggering my homesickness like a rising tide. And Rin needed help getting around, too. I wanted to sit her down with a local encyclopedia so we could pool our ignorance and start figuring out how to get out of here.

“Not as an attendee,” Gustav clarified quickly, and suddenly his hesitance made more sense. Slightly. “Could you help out around the grounds for a few hours? I know we haven’t paid you, but it seems like Molly and Yasha are going to be drawing quite a crowd. We could use just a little help.”

Because I was a pushover, I said, “Just let me know where you need me.”

“And your…” Gustav paused, grasping at a word before settling in, “Partner? Well, she can hang around. And you can both attend the show for free if you like. I know Ornna will complain, but you’ve earned a ticket for anyone you can name. Just one, though, or Ornna actually will have me by the ears this time.”

I couldn’t decide if Isobu was going to be offended more over not being invited or not counting as a person.

Both.

You’ll be a closed-captioning device. It gives you an excuse to talk the entire time!

I thought you said people who talked in the theater went to hell.

Like that’s a deterrent for you.

True.

“I’ll be there, Gustav,” I said, and that was about the point when Rin and Isobu came back. I did my best to surreptitiously point them out to Gustav. “But I’ll be in the city instead of attending if I can have the evening off. I hope you understand.”

Gustav’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, I think I do.”

Isobu had wrapped both of his outside tails around Rin’s waist, with his hands gripping the shoulder pads of what only looked like a plain, long coat. His little spiked head poked out from behind Rin’s thick braid of faintly iridescent hair, and his eye glared balefully at me for having asked him to submit to such an indignity. As though he didn’t like riding on people’s shoulders and ordering them around.

Pff.

“Oh, hey Gustav?” I said, before the ringmaster could amble away.

“Hm?”

“Watch this.” I cleared my throat and, with a wicked little smile hidden deep down, I said, “Isobu, speak.”

Isobu glared at me harder. “I am not some pet performing tricks! I demand compensation for this flagrant abuse of my talents.” Silently, while Gustav looked between the demonic turtle and Rin—who was looking as innocent as a possible ventriloquist could—Isobu added, Did I do that right?

Perfectly.

Even with her charming smile I had to admit Rin was a likely culprit, and Gustav zeroed in on her immediately. “Nice trick.”

Rin shrugged, once she’d heard Isobu’s quiet translation. “I can’t tell him what to do.”

“Damn right.”

Isobu and Rin ended up spending most of the afternoon trailing me around. While they did get to have lunch with me and the circus crew—though Isobu didn’t eat—most of their day consisted of training. I worked to help set up the evening’s show, as biddable as any roadie, though sometimes Ornna would pop by and tell me to tie knots differently or else something would tip over. Sometimes I’d overhear Isobu and Rin’s bursts of Japanese as the pair talked, with Isobu acting sort of as a guide where I couldn’t.

“That is Kylre, who smells as much like sulfur as fish. Kei told me he is a lizardfolk, and he is very close with Toya.” Isobu said while they walked past the “dressing room,” which Kylre was about a half a meter too large on each side to fit into. Luckily, his Devil Toad act didn’t really require anything.

Rin didn’t hold her as they passed, but it was clearly a close thing. “You can smell that too?”

“No, but Kei did.” Isobu swung so his weight was mostly on Rin’s right shoulder, allowing him to peer over the left better. “Toya is their singer, and she sings almost as well as me.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Rin told him, clearly humoring my anti-conscience.

“Caretta, I need you over by the stage to help Bo!” Gustav called.

“Got it!” I responded, and left them to their work.

(“Not to make a judgement, but doesn’t Kylre feel…strange somehow? He reminds me of you, but only now that I can see him properly.”

“I noticed that, too. No one else seems to want to make a fuss. Or they are oblivious.”

“I see.”)

Eventually, the sun started setting. On my chore route, I’d passed Molly’s fortune-telling station and waved to him, though he’d been busy with a pretty clueless customer and I’d been carrying ten kilos of rope and another coil of safety lines. He winked back, and I was already on my way to the tent to help sort out whatever needed sorting. I wouldn’t get to see the show, but there’d be other nights. I liked Gustav’s crew well enough, but I’d been to the Ringling Brothers show once. I had some idea what everyone was in for.

Only there wouldn’t be any motorcycles.

“Time to go,” I said, once I had passed my last coil of rope off to Bo. The half-orc waved me off, wishing me a peaceful evening, and I joined Rin and Isobu before we all disappeared into the night.

See, my only real plan was to find a used bookstore and introduce Rin to local literature, solely because she had to be dying of boredom in a country where she couldn’t speak the primary language. Maybe we could have sparred a bit to make sure neither of us had lost our edge despite the changes my body had gone through. Hell, we could have watched moonrise just to enjoy having someone else around who understood our situation.

I heard, the next morning, that the carnival’s show that night turned into a horror movie.

So did mine.

#it must be a thursday #Rin Nohara #Keisuke Gekko #Isobu #critical role #crossover #Mollymauk Tealeaf #Yasha #Gustav Fletching

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twistedrunes · 7 years ago

Text

George - Chapter 19

A Peaky Blinders Fanfiction

This is a series. If you’re new here welcome! I would recommend you start at the beginning: Chapter One

More chapters of George are available on the Masterlist

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters, settings etc. are the property of their respective owners. All original work is my own

Hello, my lovelies,

Here’s the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you to all of you who have liked, reblogged and sent me feedback. You are all so wonderfully supportive it makes writing a joy. I need to give a particular shout out to @blinder-secrets for being my muse in this chapter and to @peakyblinders1919 for their chat today which helped me really focus on who my protagonist is. The PB fandom really is a wonderfully kind and supportive place. Anyway my treasures, until next time. xxoo

Chapter Nineteen: The Pearl

This is a very dark chapter - please if you’re at all triggered by violence and or sexual abuse perhaps leave this one alone - you can send me a message if you’d like a synopsis without the yucky bits.

Warnings: NSFW, sex, language, threats of violence, actual violence, sexual assault, rape, racial slurs, ethnic slurs, torture, character death, pain and suffering. Just the tiniest bit of fluff.

Who the hell rings at this hour you think anxiously, wrapping your dressing gown around yourself tightly, racing across the freezing floor. You are reminded, yet again, you needed to get a longer cable for the phone so you can put it next to your bed.

“It’s a girl.” Alfie’s voice booms in your ear.

“A girl! That’s wonderful news Alfie, and Selene?” You replied relieved it wasn’t more sinister news.

“Fuck me if she isn’t amazing.” Alfie gushes. “She’s doing marvellously. Just feeding the little one now.”

Goliath comes and wraps his warmth around the back of you, chin resting on your shoulder. “Alfie?” He mumbles in your free ear.

You nod holding the receiver away from your ear, Alfie’s voice filling the room. “She’s beautiful. Right? Takes after her ma obviously. Fuckin’ perfect.” Alfie carries on.

“Alfie?” you try to interrupt him, but he’s too busy describing the exquisite details of his new daughter. You feel Goliath’s chuckle spreading through your body. You push on “Alfie I’ll give you to Goliath. Give my love to Selene.” You say handing the phone over and hurrying back to bed.

You were nearly asleep again when Goliath plopped himself down on the bed next to you. “I told him we’d go ‘round this afternoon.” He says kissing the tip of your nose. “I’m off to training.”

“See you later.” You say rubbing your hand over his cheek and guiding his face to yours for a proper kiss.

“She’s a beautiful thing isn’t she?” Goliath says again. A statement he had made about once a minute since you’d left Alfie and Selene’s. He leans back in the seat and looks across at you glassy-eyed and smiling wonkily.

“Yes.” You agree, again. “How much did you two drink?” You ask.

“Had to wet the baby’s head.” He asserts.

“So a lot then.” You smile.

“Fuck you’re beautiful.” He says sliding over and putting his head on your shoulder, looking up at you adoringly. “How’d I end up with a girl as amazing as you?” He asks wondrously.

“That’s not an answer.” You say patting his thigh and pulling the car up outside the brothel.

Thankfully Goliath is able to manage the stairs on his own. Once in the door, he pulls you in for a kiss. Lifting you and carrying you into the bedroom. “I have to go to work.” You remind him gently.

Goliath sighs as he puts you down and begins undressing. You pick up his discarded clothes and hang them on the back of a chair. He flops down on the bed, catching your hand and pulling you down to sit next to him “Makes you think doesn’t it?” He says entwining your fingers.

“About what a lightweight drinker you are?” You tease.

“No. About having a family.” He says caressing your thigh.

You freeze. “That’s the booze and too much time with an emotional Alfie talking.” You say stalling, unprepared for the conversation you should have seen coming.

Goliath reaches out and strokes your face “You’ll make beautiful babies.” He says smiling.

“I have to go to work.” You say standing.

“Don’t go,” Goliath groans throwing his arm around your waist and pulling you on top of him. “We need to make babies.” He says kissing you.

“I think you just want sex.” You say patting his chest as you push yourself up, so you’re straddling him.

“Mm, sex.” Goliath agrees nodding, his hands resting on your thighs. “And then babies.” He says his voice becoming serious. “I want to make babies with you.” He says, tugging your shirt out from the pants. Resting his palms on your hipbones, he caresses your stomach with his thumbs.

You peck his cheek. “Perhaps this is something we should discuss another time. When you’re sober.” You say, slipping off him and the bed. “I’ll see you in the morning.” You say dropping a quick kiss on his forehead.

“Let the minutes show that the annual general meeting of Shelby Company Limited is concluded at nine-fifteen am,” Tommy says lighting a fresh cigarette and looking over his assembled family. Michael packs the papers away as Tommy begins speaking again. “Lord Tarwin is planning a Gala Ball to celebrate the first anniversary of Alea House and the partnership between his family and ours,” Tommy says taking a deep drag of his cigarette.

Arthur, John, Michael and Finn grin at each other in anticipation of the party to come.

“Lord Tarwin tells me it will be the most spectacular event ever held this side of the Thames. There will be music, dancing and fireworks.” Tommy continues, his words rising with the smoke drifting out of his mouth.

“We should invite Anna,” Finn says. Tommy turns his gaze on him. “She’s the one who started it all.” Finn insists.

“No,” Tommy says. Finn shakes his head and slaps the table. Tommy glares at him. “She’s out of it now.”

The smell of blood, and piss, and vomit fill your nose.

You can taste vomit too. And blood.

You open your eyes. Only one obeys. Your view doesn’t change. Murky darkness.

Your tongue probes your lips. Swollen and crusted with blood. You lift your hand to your mouth to feel the damage. You can’t reach. Bindings dig into your flesh as you struggle.

You can hear people talking but can’t understand a word.

A wave of nausea washes over you.

Retching you remember.

Goliath is dead.

The two of you were on your way to get lunch. It was something you did most days, the few hours between Goliath’s training ending and your work starting, becoming some of your favourite of the day. It was a typical late autumn day, cold and wet. You had wanted to stay in. Preferably in bed.

But Goliath had insisted that he needed fresh bagels, and you needed fresh air. Begrudgingly you had bundled up and hurried down the side alley towards Alfie’s bakery.

Goliath wrapped his arm around you. Pulling you into him, engulfing you in the fabric of his coat, offering you his warmth. You laughed together as you tripped over each other’s feet.

He had been teasing you about the fruit and vegetable vendor on the corner. Accusing you of flirting with the elderly man after he had offered you an orange when you stopped to say hello. You’d pushed against his chest playfully. He’d dropped to the ground. You thought he was joking, as you reached out offering him a hand to get up.

Until you looked at his face.

Staring straight up at you. Nothing behind his eyes. Blood pooling in the neat hole in the middle of his forehead.

Cold water brings you to. You splutter, finding your ankles bound together, hands tied behind your back. Having adjusted to the light, you look at Darby Sabini out of your good eye, still not able to open the other.

Sabini strides forward and hits you across the face with the back of his hand. You feel your lip split again and taste fresh blood in your mouth. You spit the blood out, smirking as it splatters on his thigh and spreads over the light grey fabric of his expensive silk suit.

“Did you and the Jew really think you could fool me?” He asks gripping your jaw and slapping you again.

You don’t respond.

“You know I might have let it go,” Sabini says benignly. “Victor was a useless piece of shit anyway. But then,” He holds his finger in your face. His face flashing with anger. “But then, you, the fucking Gypsy’s and the fucking Jew started fucking with my business.”

You hold his eye as best you can with your half-lidded one.

Sabini straightens, moving away. Motioning another man to take his place. The new man drags you to your feet by the front of your shirt. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Sabini spits, face inches from your own “Stealing my whores, my fucking whores, and putting them to work for you? Right under my fucking nose?” Sabini spews. Another man punches you in the stomach.

All the breath leaves your body, leaving you gasping for air. Your legs collapse under you as you fold in half, your head coming to rest on the rough floor. Gasping you lift your head smiling as best you can. “They came to me.” The men drag you to your feet, and the man again punches your abdomen, higher this time. Again, your breath leaves you and your lungs burn. You fall to your side this time. You turn your head and look up at Sabini. “Not my fault you couldn’t keep ‘em satisfied.” You pant, sneering defiantly.

Sabini buries his foot in your ribs. You scream as you feel them crack. The momentum rolls you to your back. Still, you lift your head, “Ha!” You bark weakly. Sabini grabs your hair dragging you to your feet. His men take an arm each as he punches your stomach again.

“You shouldn’t let him hit people before you do.” you wheeze “Tickles when you do it.”

Strong hands grab your armpits and drag you across the room until you kneel in front of a trough of water. Sabini stands behind you, foot between your shoulders blades, he pushes you forward, forcing your head under the water. You begin to panic. Thrashing as you run out of air.

Sabini releases you. Sputtering you lift your head out of the water trying to suck air into your lungs through the veil of wet hair. You are saturated to your waist. Water streaming down your face. Before you can get your breath back he shoves your head back under the water. This time you manage to control yourself more, but still you are panicking before Sabini finally releases you. You collapse on the floor.

“I’ll be back for her later.” Sabini instructs.

“What do you want us to do with her?” Someone out of your field of vision asks.

“Teach her a fucking lesson.” Sabini replies over his shoulder.

A hand grabs your throat. Pulling you to your feet. “Hello, Anna.” A vodka laden voice thick with a Russian accent leers. “Do you remember me?” His hand grabs your tit squeezing it viciously.

You close your eyes. Its Victor’s cousin, Zamir. Your skin crawls, bile rising in your throat. You would never forget Zamir. Middle-aged, with buggy eyes, he was the vilest man you had ever encountered. He seemed to get off on hurting you more than fucking you. Many of the scars on your back were from him cutting or whipping you.

“Have you been a naughty girl?” Zamir’s hot rank breath, pants against your neck as he unfastens your belt, pushing your pants to your ankles.

The tip of a knife dances against your skin. You bite your lip, inhaling deeply through your nose as he slashes your underwear and flesh. You shiver slightly as your panties fall away leaving you exposed. Shoving you against a crate, he pushes you forward, pressing your chest on top of it. He grunts as he forces himself into you.

Sinking your teeth into your lip, you close your mind, knowing resistance will only result in exciting Zamir further.

“Come on” George whispers excitedly finding your father already passed out when you get home from the shop. He grabs your hand and pulls you down the alley.

“Where are we going?” You ask, already anxious about what your father would do if he woke to find an empty house and no dinner on the table.

George stops running and pulls a handgun from his pocket. “I’m gonna teach you to shoot.” He says breathlessly as he lines old cans up on the wall. He hands you the gun and stands behind you. “Take a deep breath, down here.” He says placing his hand on your lower abdomen. “Now look at the can you want to shoot. Through here,” he taps the sight “then when you’re ready, squeeze the trigger gently.” He says, tucking his face next to yours and softly placing his hand on yours.

You hit the can first go. You spin around, and George hugs you excitedly. You both freeze, eyes locked. George leans forward until your lips touch. Hardly there but sending a bolt of electricity through you. Your heart stops in your chest, and you press back tentatively. You can feel George’s lips moving into a smile against yours.

“What the fuck are you two up to?” Mr Maloney calls down from his second story window. “Fucking shooting at shit. Get home to two of you before I flog ya.”

Zamir’s hand tightens on your throat as he approaches climax. Darkness draws in like a curtain. You straighten as soon as he releases you, gasping for air.

“You’re not finished yet.” Another voice slurs, as your face is slammed back into the top of the crate.

“What’s this then?” Arthur asks plucking your cap out of your jacket pocket. He snaps his wrist unfolding it before peering at the brim and seeing the blades. He stops walking.

You, John, Arthur and Michael were on your way to the Garrison. Polly having run you all out of the house when a glass got broken due to your rough-housing. John and Michael were walking slightly in front of you and Arthur.

“Tommy gave it to me.” You say quietly, stopping too and looking at the ground intently.

“What’s up?” John asks, noticing the two of you had fallen behind.

“Tommy gave George one of these,” Arthur replies seriously holding your cap out for them to see.

John nods in consideration, looking you up and down as he walks back to you. He snatches the cap from Arthurs' hand, checking the brim “So why the fuck aren’t you wearing it then?” He asks, grinning and slapping the cap on your head.

You stare at him. You’d been so sure John, in particular, would be annoyed that Tommy had made you a Blinder. “But,” you say shocked.

“I’d say you fucking earned it.” Michael chips in grinning and patting your head. John and Arthur join in, all being overly enthusiastic. Their patting turning into playful punches.

“Fuck off.” You grunt, laughing as you slip between them and run off down the road. The threesome set off after you.

Harry looks up at the rowdy group tumbling through the doors of the Garrison. He sighs and pulls a new bottle of whiskey from under the bar.

“Whiskey Harry!” Arthur cries.

“We need to welcome the newest member of the Peaky fuckin’ Blinders.” John bellows throwing his arm around your shoulder.

“Hello?” Selene answers the phone on it’s third ring.

“Sorry to disturb you, Selene. Alfie around?” Will asks

“No, he’s gone to Alea House for the Gala,” Selene replies. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure. Can’t find Anna or Goliath. No one’s seen them since they left for lunch.”

“Have you called the gym?”

“Not there. We’ve been to Goliaths house and no-one’s answering.”

“Ah, young love,” Selene says her voice betraying the smirk on her lips. “They probably just lost track of the time. I’ll bet you’ll have a very red-faced and dishevelled Anna bursting through the door at any moment with some lame excuse.”

Will chuckles in agreement.

“Why aren’t you lot in the fucking truck?” Sabini’s snaps entering the cellar, door slamming behind him.

The man on top of you grunts, fucking faster so he can get off before handing you over to his boss. Moaning he finishes. Despite the heat of the man pressed against you, you’re shivering with cold.

“Get her up,” Sabini instructs. You feel semen sliding down your legs as you are brought to your feet. “Fucking cover her up,” Sabini says disgustedly. Your pants are yanked up and belt fastened.

“So have you learnt your lesson yet?” He asks you coldly.

“That all you wops have tiny cocks?” You reply through chattering teeth.

Sabini smirks “Bitches like you need to be kept in place. Something that fucking Jew and the Gypsy’s obviously couldn’t manage.” He backhands you again “You’re like a rabid fucking dog spreading disease to all the other bitches. You should have been put down long ago.” He cocks a gun and holds it against your forehead.

You close your eyes and lean forward against the barrel, silently daring him to pull the trigger.

You fling the door of Finn’s room open, eager to tell him how furious John was discovering you were better at darts than him. Much, much better. So much better he had threatened to shoot you in the hand. Everyone had pissed themselves with laughter when Michael pointed out that you’d be safe as long as you stood more than six feet away from him.

You had scored eight bullseyes to John’s one.

The sight of Daisy lying back on Finn’s bed, cheeks flushed and eyes closed, skirt and petticoat around her waist, fingers locked into Finn’s hair, gasping as he knelt between her legs stops you short. You stand shocked and open-mouthed, unable to move or speak. To his credit, Finn doesn’t falter.

“Oh! Fuck! Finn!” Daisy cries, shuddering as her orgasm rocks through her.

As if the spell had broken you shout “Bullseye!” Mortified you turn tail and bolt, slamming the door behind you.

“The fuck?” Finn cries flying to his feet, only to see his door shaking in the frame as it slams home.

You were on your second whiskey when Finn called out from the hallway that he was taking Daisy home. You say nothing, rendered mute. You were on your fourth when Finn returned. He pours himself one and sits opposite you. Neither of you is able to look at the other.

“Good to see you got that tongue thing sorted.” You blurt.

“Fuck!” Finn groans pegging his cap at you, hitting you squarely in the face, he throws his arms up victoriously. “Bullseye!”

Your eyes meet, and you collapse in laughter. Tears streaming down your faces. Every time you catch the others eye a new fit of giggles erupts.

Polly’s appearance in the doorway, causes both of you to stop, trying to maintain a serious expression. You manage about five seconds before again glancing at each other and collapsing in another fit. Polly regards the two of you with a cocked eyebrow and nonplussed expression. “You’re both fucking mad.” She says closing the door again.

You giggle.

“What the fucks so funny?” Sabini spits.

“Bullseye.” You laugh harder. Fuck it hurts to laugh, but you can’t stop.

You feel the muzzle move from your forehead. “Fucking crazy bitch. Get her in the fucking truck.”

The ballroom is full to capacity. People are dancing, drinking and having a good time. The Gala is a success. Tommy stands quietly in a corner, cigarette in one hand, whiskey in the other. Carefully avoiding the gaze and attempts at conversation from the FG’s congregating around him. Gotta be at least a million in this room in jewels alone, he thinks, his attention momentarily caught by the flash of a brilliant diamond tiara. An attendant appears at Tommy’s elbow. “Mr Shelby, Lord Tarwin would like to extend an invitation to you and your brothers for a quiet drink in the library.”

“Certainly.” Tommy nods once. Another small jerk of his head brings his three brothers to his side.

The ride in the back the truck is long and uncomfortable. Every bump and cobblestone finding a new bruise or broken bone. Between groans, you focus on loosening the bindings on your wrists, now thankfully bound in front of you rather than behind. It’s difficult, you’re trembling with cold, and it’s dark. Finally, the truck stops, you can hear muffled music and voices. A party you wonder. You temporarily stop working the strands of hemp and focus on the conversation outside the truck.

“Bring her in the back. Put this over her head.”

Hands grab your shoulders roughly as you are escorted over gravel before stumbling up some stairs. A sack is pulled over your head. Your guard’s huff as they try to manoeuvre you up what you guess is a very narrow staircase. The help’s staircase you think, realising you must be in some sort of stately home. Once up the stairs, you come to a halt, your captors delivering a sharp kick to the back of your leg to bring you to your knees.

“I understand we have a mutual acquaintance, Mr Shelby. I hope you don’t mind if he joins us.” Lord Tarwin says conversationally, as his butler hands around glasses of cognac. He pauses swirling the glass and sniffing its contents deeply.

Finn and John look at each other before copying Lord Tarwin’s action. Nodding formally at each other after taking a sip. Arthur ignores them all and swallows the entire amount in one mouthful.

“Of course,” Tommy says amiably taking a sip from his glass, his tongue flicking over his lips chasing the amber liquid.

The butler opens the door at the far end of the room. “Yet again Thomas you are out of your league.” Sabini scoffs entering the library with a group of armed men. “Now be good boys and hand over your weapons.” He says, his men quickly accosting the Shelby’s.

“Not fuckin’ likely.” Arthur roars, pulling his gun from its holster.

“Leave it, Arthur,” Tommy instructs, holding his hand up slightly.

“Watch that one,” Sabini says gesturing at Arthur. “He’s a fucking animal.”

Finn, John and Arthur are patted down and their weapons removed. Arthur smashes his cognac glass into the face of the man patting him down. Resulting in a minor scuffle and him receiving a kick to the head. Sabini’s man left with blood pouring from his face.

Sabini disarms Tommy himself, plucking the gun from its holster between two fingers as if handling something distasteful. However, once it is clear of Tommy’s jacket, he examines it more thoroughly. Testing its weight in his hand and fingering the delicate inlay. “Custom made Mr Shelby. Very nice.” He compliments sliding it into his coat pocket. “And where did you acquire such a beautiful item, not in Birmingham surely.”

“That gun was made for me by a friend, and when this business is done, I’ll be having it back,” Tommy replies, cigarette bouncing between his lips as he speaks. He turns slightly towards Lord Tarwin “Speaking of business,is there something you wish to discuss.”

Lord Tarwin clears his throat “I have decided to award the managerial rights of Alea House to Mr Sabini.” He says.

Tommy’s eyes widen slightly, a bemused expression on his face “We have a contract Lord Tarwin.”

“You don’t understand what is going on here Mr Shelby. This is merely a formality. The deal is done. You’d best accept it and move on.” Lord Tarwin says.

"And why the fuck should we do that?” Arthur snarls.

“I’m glad you ask.” Sabini smiles coldly. He raises his hand and motions to the man at the door.

Two men grab you under your armpits and drag you, your feet trailing behind, across polished floors. Before dropping you on the ground again. You hear Sabini’s voice “Because if you don’t, all your women will end up like this.” The hood is whipped off your head and your recoil in the sudden light.

“Fuck me,” You hear Arthur snarl.

“Anna!” Finn cries, struggling against the man holding him, earning a punch to the stomach.

“This little whore and her boyfriend have been fucking around in my business. This slut,” Sabini kicks you in the side, you roll over groaning, face down on the floor concealing your hands, breathing heavily through your nose “has been stealing my whores. Her fucking boyfriend has been fixing fucking fights. Fixes that don’t benefit me.” Sabini growls. “So we thought we would give you an example of what happens to people who don’t comply.”

You look at each of the Shelby’s in turn, meeting their eyes and smiling as best you can with only one eye and chattering teeth. Only Tommy doesn’t meet your gaze. His eyes locked with Sabini’s.

“So your plan is, that we leave or you’ll beat our women?” Tommy asks sarcastically.

“Kill them, and your children. I understand you don’t have a woman at the moment. Although this one seemed to hold your interest for a while.” Sabini sneers. Fishing Tommy’s gun from his pocket Sabini presses it to your head.

You snort. “You need better spies mate.” Tommy’s eyes flick to you, and back again so quickly you are unable to read his expression. Sabini punishes your outburst with another kick to the ribs. You coil up, gasping.

“No,” Tommy says plainly.

“So she doesn’t matter to you?” Sabini asks incredulously.

“No.” Tommy shakes his head. “And you won’t be taking Alea House.”

“What makes you think that hmmm? You’re out-manned, out-gunned and out-classed.” Sabini gloats.

“It’s funny Lord Tarwin, that your friend came tonight,” Tommy says ignoring Sabini and turning towards the Lord. “Because one of my friends is here from London too. I think he knows Mr Sabini as well. I hope you don’t mind I invited him to join us.”

“Tommy. Shalom. Shalom” Alfie cries joyously as if meeting an old friend unexpectedly, as he and at least twenty of his soldiers stream through the doors at either end of the room guns drawn. Tommy nods in acknowledgement. Alfie point’s his gun at Sabini’s head.

Sabini’s fingers dig into your hair and drag you to your feet. His hand goes to your throat as he pulls you in front of him as a shield. Still pressing Tommy’s gun to your head.

“Alfie, what the fuck are you doing with these cunts?” Sabini cries. Squeezing your throat tightly.

“Well, we have a lot in common right.” Alfie begins. “Oppressed peoples we are. Yeah? Tommy, he’s a fucking Gypsy. Gypsy’s right, fucking persecuted all over the world just like my own fuckin’ people.” He turns to Tommy, who nods once in agreement. Alfie crosses the floor standing in front of Sabini, so close your body is pressed between the two of them. Alfie nods as he makes his next point. “Just like my friend Anna here. See, now, she’s oppressed just because of what’s between her fucking legs. Or rather what ain’t.” Alfie’s eyes flick to you, a flash of anger in them as he takes in the state of you.

“I have no issue with you Solomons just fucking walk away.” Sabini loosens his grip slightly.

Tommy blinks slowly, eyelashes stark against his pale skin. You notice the blue hue beneath his eyes betraying his fatigue. “Now that’s not much of an offer is it Alfie?”

“No Tommy. Insulting that is. Fucking insulting.” Alfie nods in consideration.

Sabini gapes at him.

“You see Mr Sabini, Lord Tarwin.” Tommy says looking at each of them in turn. A hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “We’ve been onto you since the start. Gypsy magic.” He taunts wiggling his fingers “Alea house is surrounded by my soldiers. In fact,” he fishes his fob watch out of its pocket and glances at the face. “by now we have control of the building. Our women and children are safe, protected by those we trust.” Tommy says, his voice quiet, level and calm compared to Alfie’s verbose utterings. “In addition, Alfie’s men and my own are currently seizing all your assets right across England. It’s all ours. You’re both finished.”

“The fuck?” Sabini cries, his anger causing him to jerk the gun from your temple and lose his grip on your throat.

You drop your hands and the rope pools at your feet. Pulling your concealed knife from your belt you spin and using one hand to push the arm holding Sabini’s gun away, the other stabs him in the neck. The gun goes off. The percussion knocking you backwards.

You fall, bringing Sabini with you. Your fingers, slick with blood, slip from the hilt of the knife. In the confusion, Sabini’s men are quickly disarmed. Tommy’s gun clatters to the floor. Sabini’s eyes are wide as blood pours from his neck over you. Shaking your head to clear it you pull the knife from his neck and rhythmic spurts of blood arc across the floor. Sabini’s hands grasp at his throat as he gurgles desperately.

Alfie pushes Sabini off you with his foot. He reaches down, holding out a hand to assist you. “They killed Goliath.” You say hollowly, looking up at him.

Alfie’s eyes blaze. He helps you to your feet before turning away. He begins pacing in a circle, eyes closed, muttering under his breath, ignoring all other activity in the room. Sabini lies on the floor twitching and gurgling, one hand pressed to his throat as the other claws at the air desperately.

Arthur, John and Finn appear around you. Arthur and John wrapping their arms around your waist supporting you. You hiss as John presses against your ribs.

“Come on love sit down,” Arthur says as he turns you gently lowering you into a chair.

“Give me your cocaine.” You say through gritted teeth.

“I don’t think,” Arthur begins

“Fucking now.” You say holding your hand out. Arthur glances at John before shaking his head slightly as he hands over the vial. With shaking hands, you tap the white powder out onto the back your hand. Raising your hand to your nose, you inhale deeply. “Fuck.” You hiss as explosions go off in your head.

Behind you, you hear Tommy. “Lord Tarwin sign here. Here. Here. Here. Here.” The instructions interspersed with the sound of pages turning.

“You can’t do this.” Lord Tarwin protests. “No-one will believe you obtained the properties legally.”

“Of course we did,” Tommy replies flatly. Bundling the papers and tapping them on the table top to order them. “You defaulted on your loans, and the bank called them in. We were good enough to meet your obligations. It’s also why you are going to walk out of here without the beating you so deserve. If you ever try to cross me again, you won’t be so lucky.”

“I’ll tell everyone what you’ve done here, no-one will believe the word of a Gypsy gangster over my own.” Lord Tarwin says pulling himself up to his full height.

“If you prefer you could take your own life to avoid the shame.” Tommy threatens banally. Lord Tarwin swallows hard.

Alfie having finished his private contemplation turns again to Sabini. He lifts him by his shirt front yelling at him. Italian you think. Then he releases his anger upon him. Curses falling from his lips with each breath. Blood and gore spraying onto the walls and furniture.

Lord Tarwin’s gaze turns to Alfie, eyes widening. Tommy pulls fifty pounds from his pocket and hands it to the Lord “France is lovely this time of year.” he says. Then nodding to Finn and John, they escort Lord Tarwin from the room.

Tommy strolls over to join you and Arthur, all three of you watching Alfie empty his rage into Sabini. Tommy places his fingers under your chin and lifts your face to him. His jaw flexes. “You need to get to hospital.” He instructs

“No, I have business here.” You say, jerking your face from his touch.

“We’ll deal with this,” Tommy says sternly to you. “You’re not part of this.”

You stand. “Really? Because from where I’m standing it feels like I’m fucking involved. My boyfriend is dead, and I’ve been kidnapped, beaten and raped.” You’re no longer speaking but now yelling, you’re eye flashing with anger. You feel Arthur and Alfie both straighten, curses mixing together, filling the air with crackling tension. Alfie lays into Sabini again with renewed fervour. Even Tommy’s eyes flash with something other than calm briefly. “So tell me what needs to happen for me to be considered part of this?” You demand as you hold Tommy’s gaze, straightening as the cocaine starts to take effect.

Tommy says nothing.

“Right, so you toddle off and attend to your grand fucking plan, and I’m going to deal with this.” You conclude, motioning for him to leave.

Alfie grunts in agreement finally finished with Sabini. You look up at him “I want every fucker who was in the truck they brought me here in.” You say flatly.

“Get them,” Alfie instructs two of his men, turning back to you his brows furrowed.

John returns “Everything’s under control out there.” He says to Tommy.

Tommy glares at you before turning away without a word. “Arthur.” He calls heading for the door.

“I’ve got work to do ‘ere.” Arthur grunts, eyes burning across the men still being detained by Alfie’s soldiers. Arthur removes his jacket hanging over the back of a chair, he then rolls his sleeves to his elbows.

Tommy shakes his head but leaves.

Alfie undergoes a similar procedure to Arthur, adding his hat to the pile and wiping his face and hands with his handkerchief. Sabini gurgles from the corner of the room, blood bubbling out of his nose and mouth.

Alfie’s soldiers enter the room with three more men. “These are all the ones with the truck Mr Solomons.” One of the soldiers says. Zamir is amongst them.

“Put ‘em with the others,” Alfie instructs. He moves closer to the group of Sabini’s men stood in a row near the fireplace. Starting at the first of Sabini’s men, Alfie walks along the row looking at each man with a withering stare. He rolls his shirt sleeves to his elbow as he walks. On his return journey, he pauses grabbing a man by the throat and lifting him off the ground. “Where’s my nephew’s body?” He asks quietly. None of the men responds. A pained cry comes from the man Alfie is holding by the neck, as Alfie’s fist slams into his nose. Blood runs down Alfie’s arm and blooms up his sleeve. Adding a vibrant streak to the already rusting blood from Sabini. “Where’s Goliath’s fucking body?” He repeats, his voice a threatening growl as he pulls his arm back ready to strike again. Again no answer. Alfie’s fist meets the man’s jaw with a sickening crunch. Alfie drops the man to the floor. “Never known Italians to be so fucking quiet.” Alfie grumbles “Normally it’s fucking impossible to shut the fuckers up.”

Arthur snorts at the irony.

“Get them to strip.” You suggest to Alfie. He nods and gestures for his men to carry out the task.

Alfie walks backwards and forwards along the line of Sabini’s men as they are stripped. His right hand glistening with blood, small droplets dripping to the floor, looking like a gruesome trail of breadcrumbs.

“You don’t have to stay.” You say to Arthur.

“Nah. It’s all just thinking out there now.” Arthur replies under his breath, ducking his head so you can hear him. “Tommy reckons he does enough of that for all of us. This is what I do.” He concludes.

“Thank you.” You say.

“I’m sorry about Goliath love.” He says placing his hand on your shoulder. “It’s bad fucking business.” He shakes his head.

Fatigue washing over you, you rest your head against his shoulder. You look up and notice the men are all stripped down to their boxers. “Stripped, naked.” You say to no one in particular. Alfie grunts confirming your order.

Alfie having reached the end of the line again stops at his jacket and pulls out the gun you made, and Tommy gifted him. He chooses a man from the line, already stripped with his hands covering his modesty. “Kneel,” Alfie instructs. The man resists. Alfie stands next to him, kicking his leg out to the side and smashing his foot against the man’s knee. The man screams as his knee dislocates and he falls to the floor. Alfie grabs his cheeks holding his mouth open as he forces the gun inside. “Where is my nephew’s body?” Alfie repeats.

“At the club.” The man screams around the barrels.

Alfie drops him and turns to you and Arthur. “I need to make a call.” He says leaving the room.

You smirk looking at the men all desperately trying to hide themselves with their hands. “Why are you all so shy?” You ask, pitching your voice higher than your normal tone. “No-one was this shy a few hours ago. Everyone wanted to show me their cocks.” You hear Arthur grunt with displeasure behind you. “How about you all put your hands behind your backs, mmm.” The men hesitate.

“Bad at following instructions these ones,” Arthur observes. Casually, tapping cocaine onto the back of his hand. “How about we get the lads to the tie them back.” He suggests snorting the line.

“Would you mind lads?” You ask Alfie’s soldiers pleasantly. Alfie’s soldiers proceed to tie the naked men’s hands behind their backs, using their own ties. “So who killed Goliath?” You ask. Sabini’s men remain silent. You tut in irritation “Kneel.” You instruct. No one moves, Alfie’s soldiers shove the men roughly to the ground.

Once the men are kneeling, you move closer. “Not much to look at.” You comment glancing at their crotches. ‘Why don’t you all spread your legs?” You suggest slipping your foot between the thighs of the first man until his knees are a foot apart. You carry on down the line repeating the process for each man, parting their knees.

You reach Zamir. “Can’t get enough of me?” He leers spreading his legs willingly. Bile rises in your throat as you realise he’s at half-mast.

Alfie returns, he has apparently made an attempt to clean himself up as his face, hands and forearms are no longer smeared with blood. He heads directly to the sideboard and pours three glasses of cognac. “Anna.” He says motioning for you to join him and Arthur.

You take a sip before turning to Alfie. “So what’s cognac the drink for?” You ask.

Alfie runs his palm over his mouth, fingers working the hair on his chin. “Well, cognac it’s from France innit.” He nods agreeing with himself “So it’s gotta be for sending fuckers to hell. Yeah?”

“Fuck me,” Arthur growls raising his glass. You and Alfie raise your own in a silent toast.

“Gentlemen,” You say looking from Alfie to Arthur and then to naked men in front of you. “Do you mind?”

“Ladies first,” Arthur says stepping aside.

Returning to Zamir, you stand behind him, pulling his head back by his hair forcing him to look up at you. “I’m going to grant your every wish tonight Zamir. I’m going to show you just how naughty I can be.”

Zamir’s eyes bug-out further than usual as he licks his lips. You do a lap around the men. Zamir spreads his legs further as you reach him. You drive your foot between his legs. For probably the first time in your life, you wish you had a pair of Polly’s pointy-toed heels. Zamir’s legs snap shut as he falls on his side, gasping like a fish out of water. A pool of blood quickly forming around him. Struggling against the restraints Zamir desperately tries to bring his hands to his cock for protection and comfort.

“Who shot Goliath?” You repeat. Again no one speaks.

Zamir continues wailing, you snatch up his boxers and shove them in his mouth muffling his screams. “Get him up.” You instruct the soldier behind him. Zamir is dragged back to his knees. Zamir is still folded in half squeezing his legs together. Tears stream from his eyes and snot from his nose. “Make him sit up nicely.” You instruct Alfie’s man, he grins at you wolfishly, grabbing a tuft of Zamir’s hair and pulling him up. “Open your legs Zamir.” You say quietly. Zamir shakes his head, snivelling. “Zamir.” You repeat, lifting your foot and pressing the heel between his thighs and sliding it up to press above his pubic bone. He squeals, huffing around the gag in his mouth. “Open them, or I will have the boys do it for you.” Sobbing Zamir spreads his knees by about an inch, his breath catching as he does so. “Further.” You direct, pushing down with your foot. He opens another inch. “I’m losing my patience Zamir.” Shoulders slumping and sobbing Zamir complies with your request. “Good boy.” You say patting his cheek as you grind your heel into his crotch.

Behind you Alfie leans towards Arthur. “You say you’re an Old Testament man?” He asks voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” Arthur grunts quietly, eyeing Alfie distrustfully.

Alfie raises a jewelled hand in your direction “Well that right there, yeah, is the fucking wrath of God.”

“Too fuckin’ right.” Arthur agrees.

You turn your attention back to the remaining men, walking along the row. Tapping their knees apart as you go. “Who shot Goliath?” Again there is no response.

Pausing at the fireplace, you put the poker in amongst the coals before taking the ash shovel from the stand. Walking back to the men you spin the shaft of the shovel with your fingers. You stop in front of one of the men. You turn away investigating the shovel before spinning rapidly and slamming the shovel against this head. The man yells in pain, the soft skin at the tip of his eyebrow has split, and blood is flowing down his face. “Who shot Goliath?” You say raising the shovel above your head again. The man flinches away from you, and you laugh.

Even to your own ear, it’s hollow and mocking. You start to cough, wincing in pain with the movement of your lungs. You hold onto the back of a chair for support.

“You right love?” Arthur says placing his hand on your back.

You nod. Alfie hands you another cognac. You take it in one shot. Alfie points to the assembled men, eyebrows raised questioningly. You nod leaning back against the chair.

“Shall we?” Alfie says to Arthur.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Arthur says clapping his hands together.

Arthur and Alfie stand side by side in front of Sabini’s men. Watching their backs you smile, thinking how unlikely it was that these two men would be working together.

“Who killed fuckin’ Goliath?” Arthur growls. No one answers. After a moment’s hesitation both Alfie and Arthur launch on the men in a flurry of fists, knees and elbows.

“Antonio!” One of the men cries. Alfie and Arthur pause, looking at the man who has called out. The man jerks his head at the man to his left.

Alfie and Arthur glance at each other. “You have this one mate,” Arthur says holding Antonio by the hair.

Alfie grins and grabs the man by the throat “Thank you, Arthur.”

It’s surreal, you think watching the scene in front of you. You nearly laugh at Alfie and Arthur’s civility amongst the carnage, both smeared with blood, sweat running cleansing rivulets through the gore. Minding their P’s and Q’s.

The violence begins again. This time directed solely at Antonio. Alfie and Arthur both grunting expletives and the occasional slur as they beat him.

In the melee, Zamir gets knocked to his side. He’s still bleeding, and it appears you had ruptured something important. You can feel the effect of the cocaine beginning to wane, fuzziness returning to your brain. You sway slightly, you grit your teeth determined to finish punishing Zamir. Stumbling you retrieve Arthur’s jacket from the chair and find the blue vial in the inside pocket. Tapping it on your hand, you snort deeply. The irritation in the back of your throat sets off a new round of coughing. You pour yourself another cognac and sit heavily at the desk. Blood flies from your mouth, leaving a stippled impression of your glass on the desk blotter. Realising time is limited you make your move.

The handle of the poker is warm, and the tip glows white. Your vision narrows so you can only see Zamir, you shake your head to chase the encroaching darkness away. Not yet, you will yourself. You want to talk, to tell Zamir that he needs to suffer, to carry the scars like you do. But your tongue is thick and heavy, and your lips are stuck together, making it impossible to form words. You want to tear the man who killed Goliath limb from limb. But your limbs, are beginning to feel like lead. Using only will you raise the poker above your head, bringing it down on Zamir’s huddled frame again and again. You can barely hear the screams over the noise of your blood pounding in your ears. You can’t tell if they are yours or his.

“He’s dead.” A voice says catching your wrist before taking the poker from your hands. You wail in disappointment at the loss of your weapon. The seething hatred seemingly boiling up and out of you, as larva-like, black and red vomit cascades from your mouth. You crumble to your knees retching. “Fuck.” You hear the voice say, as hands help you to your feet. “You need a hospital.” It’s Tommy.

“No!” You scream, slipping in the pool of vomit as you struggle to get away. You’re caught and held before being scooped up and carried out of the room. You continue to struggle, panic blinding you to any pain your struggle is causing. Unable to free yourself you grab Tommy’s lapels and beg. “No hospital.” Tommy doesn’t look at you. Reaching up you slap him. It’s not even hard enough to raise a red mark, but Tommy looks down. “Please Tommy.” His scent is slowly filling your nose, and you curse the calming effect it has on you. “Please.” You mumble pressing your head against his chest.

“Finn open the door.” Tommy orders. Settling you on a chair, he turns back to Finn “Get the doctor.”

“Doctor.” You agree slumping backwards in the chair breath coming in shallow bursts, as you allow your eyes to close.

Tommy is standing above you, watching you when you open your eyes as your breathing steadies. “Diversion or punishment?” You ask him.

“What?” He asks brow furrowed.

“Was I a diversion or were you punishing me?” You clarify.

“What?” Tommy asks again.

In different circumstances, you would have enjoyed watching him confused. As it was usually you that had no idea what was going on in discussions between the two of you. “Were you using me as a diversion for Sabini? Or did you just decide to let him take me and kill Goliath as punishment for whatever wrong you perceive I have done against you?”

Tommy’s eyes close, and he pulls a cigarette and lights it. Blowing a thin stream of smoke at the ceiling before answering. “Neither, I thought you were safe in London.” He says.

You snort, and it turns into a cough. Tommy hands you his hanky. You hold it over your mouth until you stop. Crushing it in your hand, when you’re done so Tommy can’t see the blood you know is there.

“There was no hint he was interested in anything other than Alea House.” Tommy continues quietly. “After you sent Reginald away I got Alfie to keep an eye on you.” You scowl. Tommy shakes his head. “He watches Goliath anyway. There was nothing to indicate you or Goliath were in any danger.”

“Watched.” You correct him.

“Pardon?” Tommy says.

“Alfie watched Goliath, past tense.” You close your eyes for a moment. Tommy’s hand slides to your shoulder. You shake it off. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You ask.

“I was going to.” You open your eyes looking up at him in disbelief. “You wouldn’t listen.” He accuses.

“When?” You snap.

“The day you left,” Tommy says matter-of-factly.

“You broke into my house, Tommy. You accused me of putting your family and business in danger. You kept babbling about my Birthday.” Realisation suddenly dawns on you “You thought I’d met with Sabini when I ran out of petrol?”

Tommy’s jaw tenses and he shakes his head. “No.” he pauses “For a minute, but you were right, even if you were, you’re too smart to call first and leave your car unattended on a major road.”

There’s a knock at the door. Alfie’s head appears he’s sweating and puffing slightly, and blood stains his shirt. You try to stand but nearly pitch forward. Tommy catches you and lowers you back into the chair. Alfie comes and squats down in front of you. He brushes a piece of hair from your brow. Before he can speak, you collapse against him “I’m sorry.” You sob.

He wraps his arms around you carefully. “Shush. It’s not your fault.” He says firmly. “They all paid.”

“I killed your nephew.” You whisper.

“No,” Alfie says firmly. “You didn’t, the fuckers who hurt you did, the fuckers who shot Goliath did. This is not your fault. I thought the two of you were safe. I stopped watching you, so we had more men for this business.”

Another knock sounds at the door, Doctor Prendergast steps in. “You two out.” He says before his eyes have even finished their sweep of you. “Get someone to bring me a basin of warm water.”

Alfie presses a quick kiss to your forehead, and Tommy nods as they leave the room. The Doctor turns to you. “What hurts?” He asks opening his bag and beginning to unpack his equipment.

You slump in the chair your eyes closing “Everything.” You feel the Doctor pat your knee kindly.

“Anna?” Doctor Prendergast asks quietly.

You half open your good eye “Hmm?”

“You need to go to hospital.” The Doctor says cautiously.

“No!” You refuse, sitting up and opening your good eye as much as possible.

“I need to do some x-rays and some other things I don’t have the equipment for, here or in my surgery.” He tries to explain carefully.

“No! I’m never going back there.” You reiterate.

“We’ll go to London. The heads of one of the hospitals there worked with me in France, it’s safe. I’ll be with you the whole time.” Doctor Prendergast explains cautiously.

“I have to go to Goliath’s funeral. It will be today. He told me once that Jews have to bury their dead as soon as possible. I need to go.” You say inching your way across the bed.

There’s a knock at the door. “Come in.” Doctor Prendergast answers.

Tommy crosses the threshold. “I couldn’t help overhearing.” He says.

“Anna needs a hospital.” The Doctor tells him.

“What I need is to go to Goliath’s funeral.” You say directing your comment to the Doctor rather than Tommy.

Tommy’s eyes close for a moment. “The funeral is this afternoon. We’re all going. We’ll take Anna and then she can go to the hospital afterwards.” He concludes.

Doctor Prendergast shakes his head “If her rib punctures her lung,” He warns.

“I know the signs,” Tommy assures the Doctor with a nod.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital.” The Doctor concedes.

“Thank you.” You say gratefully.

“I’ll give you something for the pain before you go. Not morphine.” He says before the words have left your mouth.

The gaping maw of the grave beckons you, a strange sense of vertigo drawing you towards it. You sway slightly. Polly squeezes your hand. She hasn’t left your side since she arrived at Alea House. She had bathed and dressed you. Providing you with all black clothing and a hat with a veil to hide your face from prying eyes. A compassionate gesture. Your appearance was monstrous’ your eyes swollen shut and purple with bruises, lips bloated, dry and cracked and grazes everywhere there wasn’t a bruise.

The medication the Doctor had given you numbed you. Oblivious to the words the Rabbi and then Alfie spoke. Barely aware of the mass of Alfie’s soldiers, the boxing fraternity, the friends from Selene’s brothel, Jew’s from all over London and a much smaller but still visible group of Shelby’s. You were impervious to the needle-like rain squalling around you, wind gusts tugging at your skirts.

“I had lunch with Selene today,” Goliath says, leisurely tracing patterns on your arm as you lay entwined.

You were enjoying a rare evening together. You had needed to meet with suppliers during the day and so had swapped shifts with Dolly the day girl. Goliath had cooked dinner. Then you had spent a peaceful evening together culminating in passionate lovemaking.

“Mm?” You reply lazily still fuzzy from your orgasms.

“She told me that you’re like a pearl oyster.” He says.

“That was kind of her.” You say sarcastically.

“She asked me what my intentions were. I told her that I cared deeply for you that I want a future with you, but that I didn’t know if you felt the same.”

Your heart stings “Goliath,” you begin.

“No, let me finish.” He says softly.

“She told me that she grew up in the Pacific, her parents were missionaries.” You grin at the thought of the preacher's daughter turned whore and married to a Jew. It did explain her hostility towards street preachers though. Goliath glances down at you to see if you’re listening. You nod, and he continues. “She said pearls come from inside an oyster, they make them inside themselves. You’d never think such a beautiful thing as a pearl would come from an oyster, hard and ugly on the outside but they do, they’re like precious gifts.”

“So I’m hard and ugly?” You ask confused.

“No!” Goliath moans “Well yes, I mean the oyster is a soft animal inside a hard shell. A pearl starts out as a tiny spec of sand or grit, and the oyster builds up layers and layers of protection around it, making it firmer and more beautiful with each layer. Until it’s this precious gem. If you open up the oyster too early, the pearl isn’t developed enough, and so it’s soft and crumbles. Selene said that to grow a pearl the oyster needs the right conditions, it needs the right environment.”

“I’m a pearl?” You ask now entirely lost in his analogy.

“Yes, No.” Goliath groans. “You’re the oyster, the thing inside. Soft and squishy. But you have a hard shell. But inside you, there’s a little bit of grit, a little bit of love. But it’s never been in the right environment to grow. You need the right conditions, you need to be nurtured and supported for love to grow. For it to get strong and beautiful so you can put it out in the world. But it’s going to take time.”

He stops looking down at you, face etched with worry. “What I’m trying to tell you is, I’m ready, my pearl is mature, I want to give my love to you.” You lay your hand on his chest, fear clutching at your heart, your expression pained. Goliath smiles. “But you’re not, and that’s okay.” He takes your hand and squeezes it tenderly. “You can’t be impatient with a pearl, it has to grow in its own time.” He lifts your chin with his fingers making sure to hold your eye. “I’ll help you nurture it. I’ll help it grow. And I’ll wait.”

As always I look forward to your thoughts, comments, questions and suggestions. I’ll see you all again for the next chapter.

Chapter Twenty: Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart > > >

More chapters of George are available on the George Masterlist

Interested in my other work? Find them on my MASTERLIST

#peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby imagine #alfie solomons imagine #arthur shelby imagine #john shelby imagine #finn shelby imagine #michael gray imagine #polly gray imagine #twistedrunes imagine

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stargleeksil-blog · 7 years ago

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Criminal Minds s01e01 - Extreme Aggressor - review.

Episode 01 – Extreme Aggressor

OK, so I’m starting to watch this thing from the beginning after my brother got me hooked on it from season 3. I’ll be completely frank and say that I fell in love with Shemar and Kirsten. If’s not funny, it’s serious here.

Let’s get straight to it. Reviewing Criminal Minds from the beginning … oh boy.

Seattle!!!! Never actually been there. Going on my bucket list.

Lovely music.

Wow, I keep forgetting this is from 2005, old technology, lol laughing so hard at this. And what kind of weirdo trusts anonymous chats and goes to meet the guy to see his car and get into it without questioning? Ugh.

But God do I love big cities in the rain. So pretty. Smelly, but I love it.

And here we go, abduction, dun dun dunnnnn!

You’re already abducting her, you locked the doors, why I are you punching her?

So Aaron Hotchner, super cute!!!! His wife is familiar to me.

And who still uses faxes? Oh, yeah … 2005….

SHEMAR!!! Oh my God it’s not fair how hot this asshole is…

Inigo Montoya XD amazing that they got him into this thing, so awesome! I love Mandy. His face is so expressive and calm and blank all at the same time that it drives me insane.

Aww Gubler! When I saw a bit before I started this I got obsessed with him.

Who the hell does Hotch think he is that he’s bossing Gideon around?

A serial killer crying out for help? Kind of oxymoronic …

Who the hell wouldn’t want Gideon on their team?

Awwww old school show-opener

Yeah, I’m gonna write down only the final quotes, it’s too random at the start

Oooh, private jet! Awesome!

“Better killer” She’s already in a cage, why blindfold and gag her? And now he’s clipping her nails … what the hell kind of sick bastard are they dealing with? Ugh

“Dr. Reid, our expert on, well … everything”

I thought Hotchner was the hardass? He’s funny.

Unsub? They should explain their terminology.

Youthful arrogance. In front of Morgan? OK, dude…

Doggy!!!!!!

“The Reid Effect” I love Hotchner so much.

Seriously, Gubler is beyond amazing, I can’t believe he was a model before. And he needs to stop spinning his chair cuz it makes me dizzy.

Why is the music overwhelming?

How the hell are they ready? Gideon hasn’t spoken at all!!!!

Major depressive episode instead of nervous breakdown? Kind of more alarming.

I love it when it’s obvious they’re standing in front of a green screen and describing the scene behind them. It’s obviously fake and yet so awesome, not many shows can pull that off.

Is that the appropriate time to use the word ‘inject’?

Drama!!!! Oooh, Lola! So hot!

Haha it’s the guy from Supernatural who’s obsessed with Dean and Sam, I forgot his name.

Why is he smiling like a looney?

Emerson: “All is riddle. And the key to a riddle, is another riddle.” – please let me know when they decide to pick guys who make sense for their annoying quotes.

Yay, he has mommy issues cuz she died.

“Next time show a little leg”/”Morgan, the only time you are going to see a little leg from me is when I’m about to kick your ass.” God I love this show so much already!

A man who has a kid’s room, well, this bespeaks of serious trauma and whacakdoodleness

Haha how the fuck did Morgan know that the computer was going to do that? He’s definitely more than a pretty face.

Why the Chinese checkers?

“Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” – Samuel Beckett… again, why don’t they ever make sense?

“Try not. Do or do not.” – Yoda …. Just fell in love with this thing all over again.

And yes, I have major issues with real wounds and blood and shit, but it’s soooo good intellectually that I can overlook it. Never thought I’d live to see the day when I admitted it.

Why is the unsub carrying a clipping of a newspaper with Gideon’s face in it? Lol.

Multiple personalities now? Ugh. This is going to be a long one.

Good-to-know facts about CPR.

Wow. This guy is seriously beyond weird. His mom is treating him like a kid? “Cookies for Good Boys Only”… talk about growth complex.

Ooh, Hotch’s intense look is so mysterious.

Yay they finally figured out that the chick is still alive.

I hate it when people say they’re fine when they’re not… kind of ruins the whole façade cuz no one believes you.

The way they talk about rape and murder so nonchalantly is beyond disturbing. I have a whole new respect for cops who investigate this kind of crap.

Aww, cute old lady!!!

“You’ve reached Penelope Garcia, and the FBI’s office of supreme genius.” – and people wonder why everyone loves her.

“Well, gorgeous, you’ve just been handed to the office of too-freaking-bad”. Someone please snatch up the writers of this show, cuz they are amazing and need to be heralded as gods.

Whoa, watching Morgan go through the unsub’s routines is both disturbing and attractive. I think something’s wrong with me :O

Aww, they still have CD collections in 2005. Bless.

I respect Dr. Reid! I do!

Winston Churchill: “The farther backward you can look, the farther forward you will see.” – damn this is beyond cryptic and annoying.

Ooh, prison scene. This should be good.

Great. The other suspect is dead. Which leaves the kid from Supernatural (I’m not about to IMDB this guy, there are going to be too many and I need my brain energy to write awesome reviews of each episode of the next 12 seasons, ain’t happening).

The key is tied to his belt. That should be important. They don’t film stuff for nothing. Why racial profiling, Mr. Guardsman? You’re white, too.

Timothy Vogel. He sounds like a bad guy.

Ooh, they’re gonna freeze the information out of him! That would work on me only if the temp was below 18 Celsius.

Reid!!!! I love him.

Haha that scrawny kid was listening to hard metal? What?

Metallica makes him sleepy? What? Someone needs to check that kid’s head.

Ooh, they got the sirens going, somebody’s in trouble!

Ok, so they’re arresting a guy on the run in the car that abducted the poor girl. Way to go full circle. I like it.

How is Elle not freaking out? She’s kind of a badass.

And it’s not the right guy. Awesome.

And they’ve got a feed of the missing girl? Wow, talk about psychos.

So everyone on this team are geniuses. I love watching hot guys acting smart and doing science stuff.

And Garcia’s worked her magic.

Turns out the chick is on a boat. Nice. Very romantic to abduct a girl and take her for a midnight sail.

And Supernatural boy just gave it away. You go, Aaron!!!!

Ok, they’re just sitting and watching the events unfold, talk about helplessness.

Whoa! That girl is feisty! Even after being tortured she still kicks the bastard and tries to get away? God, I love watching this show.

Please somebody get that bastard. Please.

“I think you’re an absolute moron” – um, not the best way to approach a guy with a gun to the girl’s head. And Gideon is obviously shot. I mean, seriously? That was like the most stupid thing to do, Mandy! Come on!

Gideon – in Hebrew means might warrior … hmmm… not quite true. Technically, Gideon was the son of Yoash, who was the fifth judge in the Book of Judges in the Bible, who saved the Israelites from Medain and Amalek. If you’re gonna get your cross-culture references on, at least make sure your folklore facts are true. Kay? Sure the name stems from the concept of a might warrior, but it’s actually a reference to a guy who saved people, not the actual meaning of the word… I hate when they do that.

Sleeping Morgan… that should be NSFW … aww, baby Reid just turned over in his sleep! So freaking cute!

So baby names. If you go with Charles, Hotchner thinks of Manson. Henry – Lee Lucas. Jeffrey – Dahmer. Nice. Come on, just pick a freaking name! It’s not like he’s gonna grow up to be a serial killer with a dad like that, right? Right? ...

“Think you can hide it from an old profiler now, did ya?” hahaha I love you Mandy.

Nietzsche: “When you look long into an abyss, the abyss looks into you.” What a creepy quote to pick.

OK, see, this is seriously scary. Gideon just happens to walk into a gas station where the guy he talked about in the beginning of an episode works? I mean, odds? Way off the chart here.

General review: So amazing! Awesome acting, such intricate plots that it’s hard to keep up with yet immensely captivating, and they know how to alleviate the seriousness of the show. I mean, no wonder it’s lasted so long. Can’t wait for the next one.

#criminal minds #episode review #s01e01 #extreme aggressor #mandy patinkin #shemar moore #thomas gibson #matthew gray gubler #kirsten vangsness #lola galduini #awesome #love it

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womenofcolor15 · 5 years ago

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REPORT: Black Model & Her White Fiancé Were Brutally Beaten In Alleged Racist Attack!

It's 2019 and racism is still very much alive. A black model and her white fiancé were brutally beaten in an alleged racist attack. They've stayed strong through this entire horrific incident. The full story inside...

It's a shame we even have to share reports like these.

A black model and her white fiancé were reportedly brutally beaten in an alleged racist attack by star Rugby players!

Top Model Mirriam Ngomani, 38, and her white German businessman fiancé Tobias Zehetleitner, 36, had been enjoying a night out at a casino called Time Square in Pretoria, South Africa, when they were reportedly targeted. A group of at least five white men allegedly attacked the couple around 3AM on July 11th, leaving her with broken leg and she suffered a broken shin. Her fiancé was punched in the face, knocked unconscious, and left with a swollen eye. They both went to Pretoria hospital where Mirriam will undergo surgery.

By the way, they are a super accomplished couple. She is known as the Naomi Campbell of South Africa and she is also known as the Catwalk Queen for her distinctive walk. Zehetleitner the chief executive officer of the charity TMT Sports Group, which was founded by his fiancée and helps poor children in townships.

View this post on Instagram

You never fail to amaze me; everyday there is something new that makes me Love You even more

A post shared by Mirriam Ngomani (@mirriam15) on Feb 17, 2019 at 5:30am PST

So here's what happened, according to Ngomani and Zehetleitner.

The couple said they were hanging out at the casino, holding hands, enjoying one another's company when they were attacked at the popular Time Square in Menlyn. Tobias said a man flicked a cigarette in his direction without any provocation.

"I asked what he was doing and he said, 'What is wrong with you? You're dating a baboon, a monkey?," Zehetleitner said, adding that the man was pointing at Ngomani.

Ngomani said one of the man's friends pulled him away from them, but 15 minutes later they ran into the group as they were leaving the casino. The man who disrespected them earlier started insulting Ngomani again, calling her a monkey, a black bitch and the k-word. The k-word he's referring to is "kaffir," which is a racial slur used to refer to a black person.

"Tobby walked up to him in an attempt to reprimand him," Ngomani shared.

Next thing you know, Zehetleitner was punched in the face by one of the men and a brawl broke out. Ngomani said she as she was being attacked security and waitresses looked on without stepping in.

"Two of them attacked me, my hair was flying, I was being pulled in every direction with waitresses and security watching like it was a show."

"Then they all attacked me at once. I can handle three but five or six or seven or however many it was was too much and I was beaten unconscious and when I came round they had all gone."

The casino confirmed the attack and said they have video footage of the incident.

"Video footage shows that the first Time Square Close Protection Officer was on the scene within 20 seconds. Within a minute approximately seven officers had intervened to stop the fight. Paramedics tended to an injured woman at the on-site clinic," said Brett Hoppe, Time Square general manager."

"Time Square is currently reviewing all the CCTV footage for an internal investigation, but we vehemently refute the version of the incident as previously reported [as claimed by the couple]. We are supporting South African Police Service in their continuing investigation," said Hoppe.

Given the injuries she sustained, her modeling career could be in jeopardy.

Now, the couple is looking to pursue a civil case against their attackers.

"We will pursue a civil matter, they have to learn that they can't just beat up people in a racist attack. It makes me sick, It's disgusting," Ngomani said from her hospital bed.

Zehetleitner said he expected an arrest would be "made quickly" since they are well-known rugby players. And he vowed to end their professional careers since they had no regard for his fiancée's.

"I have been asked not to say more until the police are ready to make arrests but these guys are rugby players from a well known rugby team so this is all very sensitive," Zehetleitner said.

"As an interracial couple we have never had any trouble in townships or in Cape Town or Johannesburg, but in Pretoria where we both live we get vile racist abuse all the time," he continued. "So many people see it is as wrong for a black woman and a white man to be together. How in this age can people call a black woman a baboon or a monkey or use the K-word?'

"It is just so wrong to have to put up with this sort of racial abuse," he said.

Horrific. We're so tired of people hurting other people. We sincerely hope they receive justice.

Photos: Mirriam's IG & FB

[Read More ...] source http://theybf.com/2019/07/18/report-black-model-her-white-boyfriend-physically-assaulted-in-alleged-racist-attack

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thingsbeforeimthirty · 5 years ago

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Top ten emotional sitcom moments!

Marshals Dad dies - How I Met Your Mother. Marshal is so excited about his news from the fertility clinic and the first person he wants to tell is his best friend, his dad! It punches you right in the gut that first time and doesn’t get any easier upon repeat viewings. Also knowing that Jason Segal wasn’t aware that it was going to happen and that his reaction is one of genuine shock and raw emotion makes it all the more heart-breaking. Don’t get me started on the countdown.

Doctor Cox is actually attending Ben’s funeral - Scrubs. This is scrubs at its finest, taking you in one direction, big laughs full on humour and then pull the rug from under you! They set you up with this loveable, goofy character, the complete opposite of Dr Cox (very similar to JD), despite this they’re best friends. Only to realise that at the end of the episode, Ben’s cancer treatment didn’t work, he actually died and they are attending his funeral, not his sons birthday party. The sad musical accompaniment of Joshua Radin’s, Winter is enough to make the coldest hearts break.

Will’s dad leaving again – Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Throughout the series, Will’s parents are both fairly absent, (the premise of the show is him moving to live with his Aunt and Uncle). However, his dad abandoning him as a child, then popping back up when he realises that Will is living in Bel-Air and that he might get some money from him, then bailing again is generally awful. However, it is the reaction of Will, “Why don’t he want me man?” and the embrace with his father figure Uncle Phil, gives the final blow!

Chandler at the adoption agency -FRIENDS. When Erica mistakes Monica and Chandler for a reverend and a Doctor and they pretend that’s true, subsequently Erica decides she won’t let them adopt her baby. A sweet moment ensues in which Chandler explains to Erica just how ready and committed they are to having a baby. “My wife, she’s already there… she’s a mother, without a baby” It’s the contrast of such a tender moment being delivered by the sarcastic, joking Chandler.

The family reacting to Paul’s death – 8 Simple Rules. The circumstances surrounding this episode are really what make it so devastating, John Ritter, the actor who played Paul, died in real life of a heart attack. The reactions to his death on screen are real, genuine emotions from his TV family. Also the death being something so normal and relatable, makes it more distressing, the family churning over their last words spoken to their father, tears every time.

Kitty’s grief over Red’s mother – That 70’s Show Another relatable death, sometimes people die who we don’t have the best relationship with, it’s hard to process those emotions, the what if’s, the wasted time. In this episode, Red’s mother dies after being her usual spiteful self at a family dinner, all of the families reactions are upsetting, but it is Kitty, the maternal, nurturer of the show that hits hardest. Kitty goes into over drive, baking and taking care of things, until she runs out of ingredients and has no form of escapism left, ultimately breaking down in the arms of her husband and son. TEARS!!!

Howards mother’s death – The Big Bang Theory. Another scene brought about by genuine tragedy, the death of the voice actress who played Mrs Wolowitz, meant that the character also died. It opened up some heartfelt discussions from the characters about times spent with Howards mother, a strange one for the audience as we never actually see her on screen, but feel their loss and pain all the same.

Terry gets racially profiled – Brooklyn 99. Brooklyn 99 is big comedy, huge laughs and general silliness, however a show about cops in America would be foolish not to take the opportunity to reflect what is happening on the streets in their country. Terry the most loveable, honourable guy in the precinct is stopped, whilst looking for his daughters blanket, simply because he is black. Later, Jake and Amy try and gently discuss the incident with Terry’s kids. It is awful to watch and even more awful when you realise this actually happens to innocent people everyday. I’m not crying…well I am, and so are you!

“Do it for Her” – The Simpsons. I could write a whole list based on The Simpsons episodes that make me cry but this one is a real hard hitter. In a flashback episode, brought about by looking at photo albums, Bart and Lisa wondering why there are no photos of Maggie. We learn that Homer had just left the Nuclear Plant, and was working a job that he loved and was fulfilled, however after they discover Marge is pregnant, Homer is forced to grovel to Mr Burns for his job back to support his growing family. The closing scenes we see Mr Burns installing a sign “Don’t forget you’re here forever”, we see that Homer has a whole collection of Maggie photos, strategically placed to make the sign read “Do it for her”! maaaaaan, I’m tearing up!

Dwight & Jim’s Heart to Heart in the stairwell – The Office. Another show hitting you in the feels on several occasions, but this one is a more subtle episode, Jim and Dwight connecting over their shared heartbreaks. It’s a genuinely sweet moment, and proves that their friendship is more than just Bears, Beets and Battlestar Galactica.

#sad sitcom emotional tv himym scrubs freshprince friends 8simplerules that70sshow bigbangtheory thesimpsons theoffice #sitcom #emotional #scrubs #himym #freshprince #friends #8simplerules #that70show #the simpsons #theoffice

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biofunmy · 5 years ago

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ASAP Rocky to Remain in Jail in Sweden, as Protest Clamor Grows

It started as a quarrel on a quiet Stockholm street, but the case of ASAP Rocky, the rapper detained in Sweden on a preliminary charge of assault, has escalated into an international incident, with politicians and diplomats weighing in, and his celebrity backers pulling strings at the White House.

On Friday a court in Stockholm approved a request from prosecutors to hold Rocky in detention for at least six more days, on the grounds that the rapper was a flight risk. A spokesman for the Swedish Prosecution Authority said another hearing would be held on July 25 to determine whether he would be detained further.

Rocky, 30, whose real name is Rakim Mayers, is accused of assaulting a man in Stockholm on June 30 while he was in the city on tour. The rapper and two other men were detained on July 5 so that prosecutors could investigate. (An investigation into a fourth man, Rocky’s bodyguard, ended without the man being detained.)

Since then, Swedish officials have been defending the country’s justice system from accusations of racism and its prisons from charges of human rights abuse — unexpected indictments against a nation often seen as a paragon of social liberalism.

The cause has been taken up by musicians, including Justin Bieber and Diddy, who decried Rocky’s detention and shared the petition on Instagram. Several rappers said they would never perform in Sweden again. “No more Sweden for me, ever,” said Tyler, the Creator, in a tweet.

Several members of Congress, including Representative Adriano Espaillat, a New York Democrat representing Harlem, where Rocky grew up, also have called for his release. “This incident serves as yet another example of the racially motivated focus and prejudices young men of color are subjected to around the world,” said a joint statement from the five House members.

The worlds of music and politics came together to rally for Rocky’s cause when Kanye West, the rapper, asked his wife Kim Kardashian to call President Trump’s son-in-law, Jared Kushner, to see if something could be done, according to a person familiar with the communications who spoke anonymously because they weren’t authorized to discuss them.

Ms. Kardashian called Mr. Kushner, who raised the issue with the president, the person said. Mr. Trump directed Secretary of State Mike Pompeo to work with Swedish authorities to make sure Rocky’s conditions of detention were fair and that the State Department received regular updates.

On Friday, Mr. Trump, who has faced a bruising week over his record on race relations for telling four nonwhite congresswomen to “go back” to their home countries, offered a different account of how he got involved, saying he had received calls from his African-American friends urging him to help. He also credited the first lady, Melania Trump, with bringing the issue to his attention.

“We are one,” Mr. Trump said. “We hope to get him home soon.”

He later said on Twitter that he had just spoken with Mr. West and would be calling the Swedish prime minister about the case.

Rocky himself has said he had acted in self-defense. In a clip posted by the rapper on Instagram, he and his entourage repeatedly tell two men to stop following them. “We don’t want to fight you,” Rocky says in the video.

But a video clip published on July 2 by Aftonbladet, a Swedish newspaper, appeared to show Rocky lifting one of the men off his feet and throwing him to the ground. Another clip posted by the gossip website TMZ appeared to show the rapper and two members of his entourage punch and kick the man while he was down.

Even so, the rapper’s team started a Change.org petition demanding his release. The petition said that the rapper was being held in “horrific” and “unsanitary” conditions in “24/7 solitary confinement.” More than 600,000 people have signed it.

The accusations have kept coming, even as Swedish officials countered that their courts were fair and their jails were world-leading.

Karin Olofsdotter, Sweden’s ambassador to the United States, said in a telephone interview on Thursday that she was concerned about “misunderstandings” that had arisen. “We have a fair and just legal system,” she said.

Rocky is allowed to be with other inmates for up to three hours a day, Ms. Olofsdotter said. Giving detainees their own room, rather than making them sleep with other inmates, is “a good thing,” she added. “That is not solitary confinement.”

Henrik Olsson Lilja, Rocky’s own lawyer, undermined his team’s accusation that the rapper was being kept in inhumane conditions in an interview with Dagens Nyheter last week. The lawyer, who visited Rocky in his cell, said he was being “treated fairly” and that, contrary to what the Change.org petition said, he had access to food.

Mr. Olsson Lilja said that sometimes the cells, which have no toilets, smell of urine, but this is usually because inmates have relieved themselves in the sink.

Two days later, Rocky changed his legal team.

Ms. Olofsdotter said she had written to the congressmen explaining their claims were wrong. “It’s always important when one is a public figure one has to deal in facts,” she said. “That’s how we have trust in society.”

Later on Thursday, Ms. Olofsdotter also confronted allegations of racism when she appeared on the syndicated internet TV show “TMZ Live.” “What do you say to people that are contending that it’s not safe to travel to Sweden, frankly, if you’re black?” one of the show’s hosts asked. “Well, I would say that they are more than welcome,” Ms. Olofsdotter replied.

Linnea Wegerstad, a lecturer in criminal law at Lund University in Sweden, said in a telephone interview on Thursday that ASAP Rocky’s detention was “not unusual” for a foreigner accused of a crime like assault.

Suspects can be detained before they are charged in four circumstances, she said: if there is a risk they will reoffend; if there is a risk they may try to interfere with an investigation; if the crime is severe; or if they pose a flight risk. ASAP Rocky was detained on the last point, Ms. Wegerstad said.

Sweden does not have a system of bail and alternative ways of stopping people leaving the country, like taking their passport, are rarely used, she added. “If you live in a country where bail is possible, I understand you’d be surprised,” Ms. Wegerstad said.

Anne Ramberg, the secretary-general of the Swedish Bar Association, said in a telephone interview on Thursday that Sweden had been criticized by the United Nations and the European Union for detaining suspects for long periods without charge.

But Rocky’s was a simple case, and all foreigners facing similar charges would be detained as flight risks, she said.

Ms. Wegerstad said she understood that the situation looked different when viewed from the United States. “You could say it’s a problem that Swedish citizens are treated very differently from how foreigners are treated,” she said. “I guess the reason why it has involved so many feelings is because this is a very famous person.”

Joe Coscarelli and Katie Rogers contributed reporting.

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lethe-distillery-blog · 6 years ago

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Un Bel Rosso

The music surrounded me like a living thing, pulsing and alive it surrounded me in a claustrophobic cocoon of sensation and pulsing electronic beats that pulsed against my chest like another heartbeat. Every part of me felt engulfed by the thrashing sound that sounded like I had hooked a speaker up to an electronic keyboard and threw it down a couple flights of stairs with a random assortment of discordant guitar sounds, vocals, and other strange things that I couldn’t even place for an assorted variety. You know, in case listening to someone trying to choke out a computer using a dial up connection was too much. I sighed and did my best to ignore the dull throb that started between my temples at the concussion blasts of bass from the speakers as I picked up my gin and tonic from the bar counter, leaving a couple bills before working my way towards the large expanse of windows that left the entire south wall open to city lights, outside traffic, and a semblance of sanity. It wasn’t a deck, or even a fenced off pavilion, but it would do. And there, I would be left to my own devices, and maybe then the double takes, the odd looks, and the confused frowns would stop. I knew I was an outsider, and it only took me walking into the establishment to figure that out.

I found a corner and pressed myself into it, one shoulder pressed against the cool glass window, allowing the comfortable chill to flow into me. It wasn’t crowded exactly but stuff a hundred bodies anywhere and the ambient temperature was bound to rise. Get them moving, I wasn’t quite intoxicated enough to call this light and sound show and resulting seizures dancing, and it was going to get even worse. Most times I was alright with being alone, hanging by the fringes of a society that confused me more times than it ever made the slightest amount of sense. But tonight, tonight I needed out. My walls of my condo had been closing in around me, even my books hadn’t helped much. After reading the first paragraph three times and not remembering any of it I had finally decided that I needed to socialize. Now that I thought on it, I didn’t remember the last time I had bothered to talk with another person.

Funeral Directing was an isolating profession. And while I couldn’t stand the small talk that people exchanged as some sort of constructive exercise there was something to be said for not isolating oneself from the world either. It had been touch and go the last few years after Mom was killed in a car accident. She had been the person I was closest to; it wasn’t really that she knew my darkest secrets or my innermost thoughts but she understood me enough that she could pull me back from inside my head. So, it had been hard for awhile after that, forcing myself to pay attention more than I normally would, and stopping the house to see Dad and see how he was handling things. I was the one that lived closer anyways but it was Phillip that called and stopped by when he could. Still, I had tried.

My roaming eyes stopped on a ground of young folks, on a more thorough look they seemed to be surrounding a girl. She didn’t look that old, eighteen maybe? Pretty, blonde hair, too light to be natural. She looked to be both a little more intoxicated than necessary, and a little uncomfortable. They looked to be pressing on her to drink more, if the ruckus and her furtive glances to a line of shot glasses were any indication. Peeling myself from the wall I decided that I would use the local facilities. Coincidence that I had to walk by the loud group of young things that wore such an odd ensemble of clothing that I half wanted to check ID’s to make sure they hadn’t raided old trunks for their garish getup and were playing ‘Grown Ups.’ One young, acne faced lad, looked to be straight out of the movie Greaser, slicked back black hair, jeans, white shirt that had seen better days and an old, patched, black leather jacked that didn’t fit the shoulders quite right. Another had on a local highschool jacket, the girls weren’t exactly dressed the same either. One had a hairstyle that seemed like she had gotten into a fight with a weed whipper and lost before getting her face plunged into a bucket of acrylic paints and sharp bits of metal. It was a shame, she had a cute enough face but the large hunks of metal drooping from nose, eyebrows and lips dispelled the illusion. Not to mention the hideously applied makeup that made brown eyes sink into a pit of navy blue and lips stand out a harsh garish slime green. Though I was likely only a half dozen years their senior I didn’t exactly know what to do with, these, children. However, I wasn’t allowed to just ignore them. Oh no, that would imply some sort of justice in the universe that I could spend the night remembering why I preferred my quiet, often solitary, existence.

No. I just had to be a white knight.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Beneath the jacket he was scrawny, gawky even. The excess bulk of him crumpling under the leather as I slammed him against the wall, hand around his throat. The girl, having been halfway to her own pit stop came hurrying back. His friends kicking up enough of a fuss to bring over the bouncers. I didn’t care.

“What the fuck man?” The whiny tone was choked off as I squeezed my fingers around his throat, my entire vision going dark, the little punk was lucky I had enough reign on my temper that I had simply slammed him into the wall. I desperately wanted to give him a facial reconstruction, without anesthetic. And I knew enough about human anatomy that I could make it count.

His friend tried pulling me off but I shrugged him away. “So,” I seethed, “why did you do it?” My voice was coming out in a growl, my fingers tightening so much that the greasy little shit’s eyes started to bug. The blonde girl was crying somewhere out of my periphery vision, I was yanked backwards, and since I was six four and just over three hundred pounds, that took a bit. The animal inside me wanted to lash out, to throat punch the bouncer, rack his friend, and then take the piece of shit kid to the floor and break his face until nothing was left but bone shards and gore. But, cooler heads prevailed. I still seethed, I still wanted to break the kid’s face. But I didn’t.

The Jock came over, the punk girl consoling the pretty blonde. “What the fuck are you doing?” I admired his tenacity, but he was too drunk and I knew I would ruin whatever scholarship the football brat earned if I broke bones. Besides. He wasn’t the one I was pissed at.

I glared with a fury that one could only describe as hatred at the little greaser, my knuckles ached from the memory of when I shattered them against a concrete wall. That lovely experience had taught me to get a hold of my temper, alright, well, a better one.

I heard the bouncer mumbling something to his buddy and they started shoving me towards the door. “Wait.” Of course they didn’t. I tried again, the truth coming out of me in a vicious snarl. “That little punk spiked her drink!”

Everything went silent for at least twenty feet around us. The epileptic seizure crowd still blissfully unaware of the commotion, though one of the bartenders was coming over. “The fuck is going on here?” He sounded angry.

The little punk went on the defensive. “He just slammed me against the wall for no reason as he was walking by! I didn’t do anything, especially not spike her drink as he’s saying I did!” His hand was still around his throat, coughing, though it did sound exaggerated.

The bartender, Steve, if I remembered, looked at me. His eyes were no longer the friendly easy going look I remembered from when I had ordered my drink. “Is that what’s going on?” I nodded, he looked to the young punk who had the audacity to sneer at him and me.

“He wouldn’t do that,” a very quiet voice came from beside us somewhere, Steve and I looked over to where the blonde stood, her makeup had run and gave her a rather goofy looking racoon appearance. “He’s my boyfriend.” She came over, and she wrapped her arms around his waist and the arms wrapped around her.

Naive little girl. People will hurt you no matter who they are to you. It doesn’t matter, so long as they can have control over you in some capacity. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my keys and flipped to a larger one. I popped out a creamy white disk and held it between my fingers. I was a paranoid bastard, last thing I needed, with my career, was something happening. I looked over at Steve. “You know what one of these are?”

He nodded. “Date rape drug tester right?” I nodded and held it to him. I didn’t miss the eyes starting to bulge on the kid.

“You seriously don’t expect something like that to work?” He sounded cocky, and a little scared. “It’s likely a fake, something for him to get his jollies off in bossing people around and kicking people out.”

Steve glared at the punk. The jock and the other girl standing beside him and voicing their own concerns as to why I was faking it, how they couldn’t prove it, How there was no reason he’d ever do something like that, how this was prejudice and racial profiling. How they managed that last one since the only one of us that was something other than white was the very large native american bouncer to my left, was beyond me. My guess was because I didn’t exactly fit in with the, general appearance of everyone around us. While most were casually dressed in jeans and tees or girls in shorts and tank tops my personal definition of dressing down resulted in slacks and a button down shirt. I wanted to break in, to tell them that I worked with dead people all the time and I had seen all of it. But I knew it wouldn’t help. No story I told them about vicious rape murders, drunk kids driving and deciding to take flying lessons out of a windshield would help them. I, was the bad guy right now and I was oddly alright with that, because I knew I was right. It was the punk kid that was throwing a tantrum as Steve took the drink, pulled the foil off the tester, dabbed his finger onto it and placed a drop onto the disk.

One minute, three seconds passed by in tense silence.

The indigent cry told me all the information I needed to know. The fine gentleman to my right moved forward and slammed leather clad punk to the floor and cuffed his hands behind his back before the hand he had pulled back to swipe the drink off the table even made it to the apex of his swing. That level of commotion, and Steve’s shout to the bar for someone to call the cops got the seizure spastic people’s attention. Young punk was hauled towards the door, Native American bouncer, his name tag read Lance, turned to me. “That’s a really handy thing. Where do you get it?”

“I order them online, I don’t know if their sold in brick and mortar stores or not but they’re called SipChips.”

He nodded and made a note of that, thanked me, and took off for the door, the young brat making a bit of a fuss it seemed. What was really uncomfortable afterwards was the three friends thanking me. Profusely. I wasn’t one to gloat and all the attention made me highly uncomfortable. I felt bad for the little blonde though, all of her faith had been in the wrong man. At least I had been able to stop things before they went too far. I’d rather feel bad because she had a broken heart than to know she had been raped, or worse.

Steve wasn’t at the bar when I went for another drink but word had apparently travelled fast. Apparently my drinks were covered. Not really that I drank that much, they wouldn’t be covering much. One more after this and I would be done for the night. The old fashioned was good, a bit strong, but it helped take the edge off my anger, and discomfort as people looked at me and whispered. I sighed. For once, I wished I could dress like a slob and blend in with the rest of the population. But no. A tall man wearing black slacks and a button down shirt with patent leather shoes fit only one person here. Me.

I was suddenly grabbed from behind, my whole body tensed. Fight or flight flickered through my mind and as instinct reflex kicked in and I went to reach down and break the hold I paused. The arms were a woman’s with large hands with long pianist fingers, what’s more, I recognized them. I turned in the arms and was greeted by a face full of red hair. Yep, I knew her. “Emma.” It was part relief, part annoyance, part curiosity, and a great part affection. She was one of very people that I let into my inner circle, or rather, she had wormed her way in there the day we had met so very long ago. I was greeted to sparkling green/gold eyes that had stolen my heart years ago and a dusting of freckles. I even knew how many there were; thirty six, at least on her face.

“I knew it was you.” She just shook her head. “You just can’t seem to help yourself can you.” She shook her head again and laughed. “No, I suppose you can’t.” She knew me better than anyone, even my own brother. Where Phillip and I had always fought growing up Emma Prinsen, or, Emmeline on the days where I felt like annoying her, and I had been thick as thieves. We had grown up together, her mom and dad were very good friends with mine and we spent many afternoons together getting into all sorts of nonsense. She had moved off to college after high school and though we had lost touch for the most part, she was the best thing that ever happened to me. “You were always such a gentleman.”

“I do my best.”

She laughed at my response and tugged me back towards the windows, but instead of finding a table to sit and chat at, she found us a pool table. Oh gods. “You know I’m going to kick your ass right?” I was awful, like, really really awful. Still, I couldn’t let her know that.

She handed me a cue and grinned, “take it easy on me, I’m not very good. Just figured it would be better than sitting around and talking.” Well, she was right. Besides, I wasn’t so big of a gentleman that I didn’t appreciate the view when she bent over to put the rack of balls onto the table. I had my secret fantasies, and my silent truths, things that no one but me needed to ever know.

I broke for the first round, and as we played we shared some snacks I ordered. What’s the point of drinking if there were no snacks. I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the snacks here. Most places had food that I swore was either simply deep fried or microwaved but this actually tasted like food. The first couple games were fun, good natured banter coming as easily as though she had never gone to college. Though we did meet up a few times over the last few years, the last had been at Dad’s wedding. After ten years he had decided to move on. I couldn’t blame him. He had been forty eight when mom passed. Old enough but still, it would be hard to live for another forty or so years ago. It had been nice then too and we passed time at my place with her boyfriend, Chad, Phil and his then girlfriend, now wife Carissa. It had been fun, playing some board games, dusting off my gaming systems and kicking ass at Mario Kart. It had been nice, even if Chad and I didn’t see eye to eye on things I had at least tolerated him and had taken some personal satisfaction in trumping him in Mario.

Game three was when I started noticing something more than a simple game of pool. Call me dense but it took me Emma grinding herself against me when she bent over to take her turn to have reality break through my perverted thoughts. Sure, I had wanted to pretend she was bending over more to give me a succulent view of her jean short clad ass but I was pretty sure it was only me that had ever had such wicked fantasies about the other. To her, I was sure I had been always relegated to brother status. The way that she pressed into me, I took a calculated risk. I gripped her hips and pulled her back into me as she finished her shot. Giving her plenty to pull away from me but giving her a full sensational feel of my erection pressed against her. And, as I hoped, yet couldn’t believe, she pressed further back into me. “Finally.” It came out a low sensual purr as she leaned back behind her and cupped my head down to her shoulder as she rotated her hips in a slow circle. “I was worried you weren’t interested.”

I laughed softly in her shoulder, breathing in deeply. “And here I was scared I was being a pervert.” She smelled heavenly, of vanilla and cinnamon though she did smell of beer. “You’ve been drinking.” It was amazing how quickly a game of pool could be forgotten as I hadn’t even remembered we had been playing as she turned around, her arms wrapping about my middle.

“Brock,” her word was a soft sound, barely above a moan as she looked up at me, “please.” I couldn’t have rejected her even if she was plastered. Morals be damned. I wanted her. No, I needed her. We shared our first kiss surrounded by ruckus drunks and loud music, not quite the romantic candlelight or chaste promise at the end of the first date I had always hoped for as I swept her off her feet in my dreams but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Our lips crushed together and any sort of nervousness or reservations I held fled as passion positively overwhelmed me, my control buckling with the weight of it. Our lips massaged one another in the most tender of lovers while our tongues thrashed in a dance of aggressive dominance. She pressed herself against me, not an inch of her was separate from me and it was only as we came apart did I realize that this was because I had pressed her against the windows, her back bowed awkwardly over the hand railing but still she looked up at me with eyes that glinted gold. My own breathing was coming out in harsh pants, every inhale slurring with the starting of a snarl. I wanted her. And nothing was going to stop me taking what I wanted. Not this time.

The taxi took forever, and though we passed the time with her in my arms and making out like horny teens. Part of me knew that this was wrong, she was drunk, and so far as I knew, she was still with Chad, and there were so many other reasons why this wasn’t a good idea. But, I couldn’t stop myself, worse, I knew that no matter how wrong this was, no matter how much I tried to rationalize everything and stop. I knew that I at least, wouldn’t regret this. We climbed in, I was grateful that it was only quarter past one. I didn’t feel like sharing. I had barely gotten my address out before she pressed her lips back to mine, her fingers brushing over the piece of my anatomy that was screaming for her attentions. She stroked me through the fabric, driving me to madness and making spots dance in my vision. It was insane, though I wasn’t a man whore I wasn’t exactly alien to the carnal pleasures, but she made everything feel new, so radically different and incredible that I felt as helpless before he as a stumbling virgin. Damn her shorts, they made it fucking impossible for me to reciprocate and I wanted to please her, taxi driver could enjoy the view for all I cared. I wanted her, I needed this. Before she came to her senses and shoved me away for all the reasons I was terrified she would.

I was quickly losing a grip on my sanity. I handed the driver some bills, I knew it was enough to cover, beyond that, I didn’t exactly care. Emma practically dragged me into my condo, kissing me impatiently as I fumbled for the right key. Hard to think when all your blood is being used for something else other than brain activity. That impossible task done I took her hand and ran with her to the elevator and before it even closed I had her shoved against the back wall, her wrists above her head as I struggled for control and out lips locked together. She was more than a craving, I needed her as desperately as a man needed to breathe. Without her, I had always felt like I was floundering, struggling to find a purpose. And with her here, her lips on mine, her moans swallowed into my chest, her breasts mashed against my chest, my purpose became clear. Her.

My door slammed behind us, aided by my foot, the automatic lock clicking into place. I looked down at Emma. Her lips were swollen from my kisses, her red hair a mess, her eyes golden with hunger, her breathing coming out in ragged gasps that made my cock jerk as I watched her breasts rise and fall. “Emma,” my word came out a long ragged sound, barely even human, I needed to ask this before I went over the edge. “Are you sure you-.”

My words were cut off by another kiss, my open mouth plundered with a desperation that made it impossible to focus on much of anything, as much as I was trying. “Brock,” her voice was a sensual purr in my ear, a wicked promise of pleasure and of satisfaction, her hair tickling my skin and making everything come alive. “I’ve been wanting you for so long I don’t remember what it’s like to not want you.” Her breath was scorching my skin, Everything in me screamed for me to take her, right here, right now.

“Please,” the sound was more desperate than I wanted it to be. “Don’t regret me.”

We barely got to the bedroom, our lips only separating to breath and to pull her shirt over her head. Mine lay behind us with every button popped off and I couldn’t bring myself to care. By the time we entered the bedroom I was naked but for my socks, going commando had it’s perks, and she was wearing nothing but her socks and a skimpy scrap of cloth that could liberally be called underwear. She barely got those off before I pressed against her and she fell onto the bed. The sight of her, pale skin and rich garnet hair spread over my chocolate brown sheets would burn itself into my thoughts to stay for an eternity. She looked exceptionally small and fragile there spread on the kind sized mattress, her eyes flashing gold from the streetlights outside that illuminated her just enough to be mouthwatering. “I am,” it came out as a low demanding growl that ripped itself out of my chest, “going to devour you.”

“Oh yes,” her voice was a soft breathy moan that made everything inside me come to life, “please Brock, I need you. Now.” I couldn’t deny her when she used that tone with me.

I climbed in on her, the scent of her arousal hitting me fully, it was sweet and spicy. It was intoxicating. But here, now, I was too eager for foreplay, too desperate to claim her to take the time to please her as much as I wanted to. Here, in this moment, I had lost my sanity, had lost the internal fight to hold on. I watched her eyes widen with a satisfaction as I slammed her wrists above her head. My breathing coming out in low desperate snarls now. Every conscious thought inside my head had stripped down until nothing inside me remained but my eager and desperate hunger to have her. She wasn’t denying me, she wasn’t even trying to stop me. Instead she spread her legs for me. Opening herself up for my hunger.

I slid into her with a savage thrust, our hips connecting with the slap of connecting flesh, my hips against hers, accented with her moan and my growl. I knew what I wanted, I knew what I could provide for her, and I was going to make sure that she didn’t regret me. Never me, Never from my Emma.

Her breasts bounced with every thrust I drove into her, her tight warmth gripping me as I slid in and out of her, her body so tight, so hot, so welcoming, for me. She cried out beneath my onslaught but her cries and whimpers did nothing but drive me forward, encouraging me to take her harder, deeper. Her words were broken down into meaningless sound that simply promised her pleasure. My sanity buckled beneath the animal like hunger as my teeth sunk into her shoulder, her cry of wanton pleasure driving me on harder. “More,” the sound of her voice was desperate, a woman on the edge, I increased my tempo, the thrusting turning erratic as my own climax climbed on me. “Oh gosh, yes!” She built to a crescendo, I could feel her whole body starting to shudder beneath me, her arms pulling at my grip on her wrists. I kept going, fueled on by the desperate need for more. More, more more! I came with a shrieking howl that ripped through my psyche as the white hot pleasure pain of my climax crashed over me, shredding me apart until nothing was left but a beautiful blank nothingness.

I came back to myself nearly ten minutes later, my muscles still shook as my orgasm ricocheted through my system causing uncontrollable shudders and snarls. Emma simply held me close, my head to her breast, her fingers in my hair, her lips to the top of my head as she helped me ride out my orgasm. I shuddered and growled, my back tightening as an aftershock hit me, “Shh,” her voice was the sound of an angel and she pulled me a little closer. “I have you.” She did, all of me, it was why I had never dated anyone seriously. Emma had my heart. And I never wanted it back.

I woke up to an impact on my chest. What the-. I cracked open my eyes to be staring in the black bead eyes of a very old stuffed seal; the white fur was a pale grey from age, one eye had the beginning of a spider crack in the center I had stopped with some epoxy. I looked up, the night before slamming into me with clarity as I saw the beautifully naked visage of Emma. She looked like a goddess. Red hair all a tangle and askew, her pale skin practically glowing making the spread of freckles that spanned her chest stand out even more. The belly button piercing glistened in the sunlight. She looked like she belonged here.

“I can’t believe that you still have that little old thing.” Her voice held a smile but there was a catch to it.

I shrugged a shoulder and ran my fingers fondly over the old stuffed creature. Long ago memories coming back again. “What can I say?” I looked up into her eyes, naked before her in ways that had nothing to do that I was only wearing a sheet. “Those are some of my favorite memories.”

Her eyes took on a weepy expression as she set her coffee on my nightstand, climbing on the bed beside me. “I always thought you would be a great father.” I shrugged and looked down at the little creature. The taste of it still prominent in my mouth, even after twenty years. Days when Emma and I, as young children, had carried my stuffed seal and her matching one, around in our mouths, played with them, pretended that we were animals and they were our children. We spent hours playing house, rocking fussy babies and singing them silly songs, pushing them on swings, carrying them in our mouths as we walked on all fours. I looked up into her eyes again, her lips moving into a shaky smile as she squeezed my hand. “Would you,” she swallowed hard, I didn’t rush her, I couldn’t speak either. “Would you believe me if I told you I still have mine?”

A phone call ruined the moment, I looked to the clock as Emma dug her phone out of the pocket of her shorts giving me an ample view of her backside, the skin still quite red from where my hips had been slamming against it. I smiled in masculine satisfaction. I set the small seal on the night stand on my side. “Hey babe.” It must be Chad, I could hear the yelling from here, I started to get up to leave them to their privacy, last thing Emma needed was a witness to Chad and his temper. I knew I had no room to judge him for it, since I had been just as bad if not worse during my glory days but still I had at least gotten it under control, Chad still had a long ways to go, if he ever managed to get there. “Yes, I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Emma sounded in a tiff, but she stopped me from rising by sitting next to me on the bed and pressing her head to my chest and met my raised eyebrow with a smile. Instead she started pulling down the sheet, her hungry look scanning every inch of skin she exposed. “I went with Brock back to his place, that’s why Desiree couldn’t find me.” She winked at me, as she finally exposed what she had been looking for and started stroking my hardening shaft, her touch silken soft and delicate. “I’m just getting breakfast ready.” She licked her lips as she moved down my body, I was too stunned to move. “Sausage right now.” She licked the head and I fidgeted, my whole body shaking beneath her ministrations as she swallowed the head for a moment before using her hand again. “Yeah,” I’ll talk to you later when we get to Mom and Peter’s.” She squeezed the base of my shaft again and sighed as she hung up the phone tossing it aside and going back to teasing me to madness. “So,” she looked up at me, a sensual seductive grin making my cock twitch in her grasp. “Think we can go for another round before we get our cars and get to your Dad’s birthday?” The only answer I could give her was a low growl making her chuckle before she took me into her mouth again.

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spynotebook · 8 years ago

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I’ve been a huge fan of Aziz Ansari’s Netflix comedy, Master of None, since its first season. However, if you’ve inhaled Season 2 like I have, you already know that this installment of Dev Shah’s story takes things up to a whole new level. What’s more, it’s exactly the kind of show that can contribute to saving the world. Or, at least saving television. **SPOILERS AHOY IF YOU’VE NOT YET WATCHED MASTER OF NONE S2**

After his break-up at the end of Season 1, Dev is single and has a life-changing time studying pasta making in Modena, Italy for several months. As was the case in Season 1, we walk with Dev (Aziz Ansari) as he tries to find love, but we’re also with him as he garners some greater success in his career. However, it’s the kind of success that’s financially lucrative, but doesn’t necessarily feed his soul. At the end of the day Dev, like all of us, wants to feel like a part of something bigger than himself in order to find fulfillment.

However, even more than was already the case in Season 1, it’s not just about Dev finding fulfillment. Ansari seems to be trying to give voice to the wants and needs of a diverse swath of New York characters. In addition to the diversity of voices, Master of None is also a platform for diverse ideas: about relationships, gender, sex, career, and aging.

Through the prism of this diversity, the show explores the very millennial fear of FOMO (fear of missing out) and how many thirty-somethings these days are struggling with needing to choose between emotional and financial fulfillment/success, and figuring out whether they’re making the right choices for their lives.

Here are five specific ways in which Master of None is single-handedly fixing television (and quite possibly making the world a better place in the process):

It’s a Dude-Focused Unapologetic Rom-Com

Usually, we’re all about having female-led projects all up in this piece. However, when it comes to media’s role in subverting gender roles, it’s equally important that there be alternative versions of male stories that don’t buy into the cookie cutter shoot-em-up-punch-it-in-the-face destruction narrative men are constantly fed. Master of None being a genuine romantic comedy from a male perspective is hugely important. People are doing a lot of comparing to Woody Allen (ugh), but in his projects, or a zom-rom-com like Shaun of the Dead, the films feel like they’re apologizing for being romantic comedies. They’re very much male movies.

This isn’t to say that Dev isn’t “acting male enough,” but the show makes no apologies for stereotypically “feminine” qualities. It is unapologetically sweet, and kind, and the characters (both male and female) are genuine and earnest when talking about their emotions.

It Shows a Kind of Male Friendship We’re Not Used to Seeing on TV

When men are friends, they totally don’t sit around talking about their feelings. In fact, if we’re to believe what we see in media, men generally just grunt at each other and never talk about emotions at all. When they do talk about feelings, they make jokes about them, lest anyone think they’re actually talking about their feelings. All of that is true, right?

Dev and Arnold on Master of None shows us something else. These guys are plenty funny and snarky with each other, but it has nothing to do with covering up or apologizing for their emotional lives. When they’re sad or confused, they’re sad or confused, and they go to each other to figure stuff out.

When Arnold bemoans his ex getting married to someone who looks very much like him, Dev listens patiently and tries to make him feel better, then gently points out that Arnold has been on a dating app called “Hi Cuties” swiping on a full stable of women he’s been dating. He knows his friend, and he knows that as much as Arnold is lamenting the loss of this particular girl, he’s not actually looking to settle down just yet.

As Dev confronts his emerging feelings for Francesca, Arnold is an encouraging bud, but he also keeps it real and lets Dev know when he should pull back, or stop thinking about it.

And then there’s the unabashed fun they have together: singing theme songs about their favorite things, role-playing confessions of romantic feelings, Dev leaping into Arnold’s arms when he sees him after a long time away in Italy…these two are not shy about expressing how happy they make each other, and that’s amazing to watch.

It Actually Portrays New York City As the Diverse Place It Is

So many TV shows are set in New York City, and as a native New Yorker, I always find myself getting pissed off by how white the shows often are. Granted, it’s very true that people tend to congregate and form friendships with people who are like them. Girls, for example, didn’t bother me because the four protagonists were white. There are plenty of all-white small groups of friends in New York. What bothered me was that damn near everyone else around them was white, too! I was like, “What New York are YOU living in?”

Meanwhile, Master of None does two things really well. First, it portrays Dev as having the mixed and inclusive friendships I experienced in New York. He has a “token white friend” in Arnold, a Korean friend in Brian, and his childhood bestie, Denise, who is a black lesbian. He also has Indian friends with whom he can commiserate. Dev doesn’t hang with one type of person. He regularly interacts with people from all over the racial and ethnic spectrum, because that’s how you do in New York.

Second, it portrays the wider diversity of the city. When Dev dates, he also dates all over the racial and ethnic spectrum. Season 2 found him dating and pursuing white women, black women, Indian women, etc. And then there’s the brilliance of Episode 6 of the season, “New York, I Love You.”

In this episode, we stray away from Dev and his friends and instead follow a diverse swath of random New Yorkers living their lives. There’s the Latino doorman who’s privy to way too many resident secrets. There’s the deaf couple in a store signing “loudly” to each other about their sex life to the point where the mother of a child who speaks ASL comes up to them to reprimand them for saying “vagina” so often (this segment had absolutely no sound, which was an added touch of brilliance). There was the African cab driver who sleeps in bunk beds in an apartment with four or five other dudes and they all go out for a night of clubbing and end up meeting a group of pretty women and hanging out all night after-hours at a fast food restaurant.

Master of None doesn’t give a crap about making New York “palatable for middle America” by whitening it up, or only showing an affluent New York. It shows New York as it is. I moved out to L.A. five years ago, and I’ve come to love it here, but Master of None makes me remember all the great things I loved about my hometown.

Master of None Zooms In on People and Things That Don’t Normally Get Attention

Rather than devote the entire 10-episode season to Dev’s search for love, Ansari chose to have standalone episodes that dig deeply into groups and situations that don’t normally get media attention. In addition to the aforementioned “New York, I Love You,” there was also the third episode of the season, “Religion,” which was entirely devoted to Dev and his family’s relationship with Islam as they are visited by devout relatives, and Dev’s dad demands that they put on a show of how devout they are while the fam is in town. Meanwhile, Dev’s young cousin wants to try pork for the first time. Dev lets him, and his cousin lets loose, wanting to go to a food festival and eat all the pork things. In the end, Dev must confess to his relatives that he’s not as devout as all that. At first, his mother is upset, not because she’s particularly devout herself, but because she sees Dev’s lack of interest in Islam as a failure in her parenting. Dev meets her halfway, and starts thumbing through the Q’uran. It’s a beautiful look at average Muslims engaging, or not engaging, in prayer and tradition, and navigating all of that in a way that I’m sure people from every religious tradition navigate those things. In fact, the episode starts with a series of children of all faiths being dragged to houses of worship against their will.

The masterpiece of the season was the episode “Thanksgiving,” which we’ve already talked a lot about. Here, we see a coming out experience for a woman of color, a rarity when so much gay media is devoted to the coming out stories of skinny, white men. An amazing performance by guest star Angela Bassett as Denise��s mom anchored a beautiful telling of Denise coming into her own as a queer woman. Over a series of Thanksgivings from the 1990s through todayin which Dev takes part every year, Denise comes into her own, eschewing dresses for baggy pants and baseball caps, realizing that her interest in hip-hop videos and Jennifer Aniston have more to do with her interest in women than it does with either hip-hop or Friends, and she eventually comes out to her mother and starts bringing girls home. Her mother, meanwhile, has that all-too-familiar push-pull of shock, and fear. Wanting her daughter to be happy, but also being afraid for what might happen to her. In the end, Denise and her mom end up solid when her mom sees her with a woman that’s actually good for her, and who actually makes her happy. And who doesn’t have a really obscene Instagram handle.

These two episodes in particular shine a spotlight on groups that deserve a spotlight, but rarely get one.

Let’s Hear It For Women and Older People!

One of the things I love about the character of Dev Shah is that he genuinely cares about women as people, and he’s not a person who’s dismissive of his elders. These are two things that don’t need one-off episodes at this point, because they’re baked into the DNA of the show.

One of the main storylines this season had to do with Dev’s latest gig hosting a show called Clash of the Cupcakes, which is Executive Produced by an Anthony Bourdain-inspired chef and TV personality named “Chef Jeff” Pastore (played brilliantly by Bobby Cannavale), who becomes a good friend of Dev’s, and gives him great opportunities, and who seems like a really cool, down-to-Earth dude…until it emerges that he’s all about sexual harassment. Dev has become friends with a female make-up artist on the show he ends up doing with Chef Jeff, and when she suddenly leaves the job, he finds her and asks her where she’s been. She tells him that Chef Jeff started getting really inappropriate with her, and that she wasn’t the first or the last.

Rather than not believing her and “siding” with his friend, he immediately gets uncomfortable and suspects that she’s telling the truth. It’s a small thing, but in a world where real-life women have trouble getting actual law enforcement to believe them about sexual harassment and assault, it’s important.

And then there’s Dev’s parents and Brian’s dad. Dev’s parents (played by Ansari’s real-life parents) were a standout in Season 1, and they are equally important to Season 2. In both “Religion” and in the episode “Door #3,” Dev’s dad plays an important role in teaching Dev the importance of devoting yourself to the things and people you love, even if it means doing things that are difficult (like pretending to be religious sometimes, or doing a TV show that isn’t exactly art). Dev’s mother is hard on him, but always lets him know that she’s proud of him and that she respects him as a person. Both parents are fully fleshed-out characters who are unique in the TV landscape.

Brian’s dad got a dating storyline this season and had to choose between two women he was seeing. The wonderful thing is that Brian talked to his dad about it enthusiastically. There wasn’t any sarcasm or eye-rolling involved, but rather, genuine interest and love. At first, Brian’s dad tried to have an open relationship with the two of them, which is certainly not conventional to portray on a TV show (especially in a media landscape that likes to pretend that older people don’t exist period, let alone have love lives), and then when they’re not into that, he at least gets to have a dog (which he may or may not have stolen from one of them).

Master of None treats all people with respect, and pays them the respect of giving their voices a platform. I desperately wish that more television shows would follow Master of None‘s example. This show proves that one isn’t sacrificing “being universal” when one chooses to be inclusive and culturally-specific. In fact, it’s being specific when it comes to race, ethnicity, body type, religion, ability, age, or class that allows a show to speak to more people.

Thank you, Netflix. And thank you, Aziz Ansari. Your world and media-saving efforts are appreciated.

(image: Netflix)

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