#at like 10 pm

[slytherinshua]

when you want a happy song to cheer you up but you stan txt 🧍‍♀️

[cuntylittlemama]

Hawkeye pierce is like if we gave bugs bunny war trauma

[thatonemacaronikid]

Ok I've got a cute batfam idea and I wanted to share.

Bruce gets all of his kids earlier than cannon, but he only ever finds out about them in one specific park.

When he first went to that park as Bruce Wayne he saw a poster for Haley's circus, he decides to check it out one night, comes back with a child.

Of course at the moment this is nothing else but a tragedy, and Bruce forgets about the park.

But about a year or so later he is in that park again after chasing some criminals in there as Batman, after catching them and tying them up for the police he makes his way back to the batmobile to find three out of four wheels missing and one freaked the fuck out kid.

He takes him home.

After this Bruce takes a minute to realize it's the same park where he saw the poster but adds it all up to a coincidence.

Until another year or so he takes Dick and Jason to the same park for some family quality time, as the two boys chase each other around the playground Bruce notices a small little boy staring at him from behind a bench, he approaches the kid since he seems too young to be there all alone, when he asks where his parents are the kid simply answers "Egypt", when he asks if there's someone else looking after him he just shakes his head

Bruce takes another kid home that day.

Now Bruce is starting to notice a little bit of a pattern, but again chops it up to coincidences.

Until he's once again in the same park chasing after a possible drug deal happening there when he hears rustling in some bushes, deciding to investigate he finds a savage little girl holding a knife and covered with blood.

He cautiously takes her to the cave, but soon she's welcomed to the home.

Now Bruce is starting to notice something, he decides he needs to be a bit more careful whenever he end up in that park.

But then some months later the kids insist on going there to play in the playground, Bruce caves in and takes them over, not even 20 minutes in Tim and Cass come running towards him hand in hand with a little blonde girl wearing a purple hoodie.

He does not take her home with him, but that doesn't stop her from coming over every other day, and she's always welcome.

Bruce has of course at this point accepted that this park is blessed cursed, considering he got four and a half kids from it, he decides to try to evade it just in case he somehow get four and a half more.

That is until he gets a message from Talia asking him to meet up at that exact park, he sighs, leaves, comes back with a baby.

Bruce decides to evade that park as much as he can unless it's for an absolute emergency.

Until about 3 year later he has to go to the park for a fund raiser event, in which toddler Damian sneaks away for a good 30 minutes, frantically Bruce runs through the entire park just to find Damian playing ball with another older boy in a yellow shirt.

Much like Steph he does not take him home with him, but the kid is always welcome in the manors walls along with the rest of his children.

Bruce has no idea how or why all of his children essentially spawned in the same park, and he's kind of given up on evading it, in the future his kids might joke about the coincidences and claim the park as their "spawn point" but for now, as surprising and stressful as they were, Bruce is completely grateful and happy with all of his children that that park provided.

[cheesecakewitch]

it takes all my sight to actually see you

[monstatron]

SUNILA ARKANS / LEADER OF THE AZURE

Sunila is the last of a lineage of famous hunting cetacean animans. She's one of the few remaining of her family that abandoned fame and hunting for a life of her own. She can often be found engaging with others through street fighting, a fun pass time and a good source of income for her. If you encounter be on edge… Well, not too on edge. She's one of the most hospitable animans out there! Even if she has a sharp, sassy attitude, she makes good company. In addition, she’s a trusted ally of Obasi. For the most part she’s here to keep the peace.

She's a well known street fighter among the smaller communities in Haderia. She even landed a fight against Noctis, the Iron Brusier. Of course, she came out on top. She currently lives in the Kyssaro district in Haderia, settling into her new life, and making a name for herself as a Haderian street legend. The Azure are a more violent vigilante group that's allied with the Phantoms (led by Obasi), and suffice to say, Sunila and Obasi don't always see eye to eye. Though, it can't be denied that together, Obasi and Sunila make for a tactical, effective, and powerful team of mind meets muscle. Overall, Sunila is a very boisterous, loud, and close-minded animan that likes to do things her way. One way or another she'll get the hang of teamwork…

i finished this a few days ago but i've been busy haha. been working hard on references for artfight, and i finally got another done! i think this leaves me at four more that i'm gonna hopefully have done before july... whew! this time, sunila makes a well-deserved comeback with both a new design and updated lore! i mention some settings and worldbuilding here that i haven't yet posted on tumblr, but if you're in my discord server then you may recognize some of the settings and groups mentioned.

i hope to draw and write more of sunila, as she's actually become quite an important secondary character in my book, "blade in the city"! sunila is such a fun character to write.

while i haven't shared any work featuring her yet aside from my book (which, i don't even know when that'll be done lol), i hope to change that with a drabble or two. she and obasi butt heads a lot mostly because sunila is a jerk that doesn't like to listen to others or take them seriously. she's got some personal growth to go through, but i still love her :P

[mashmouths]

i need to experience something beautiful and true or i'm going to dissolve into a wretched ooze i think

[mylittleredgirl]

kind of wild how i’m absolutely sure that going to bed every night at 9:30 pm without my phone would improve my life in every conceivable way, an action that’s both free and easy to do if it weren’t also somehow impossible

[slavhew]

2/3 i kept forgetting to post these

[devilledminion]

#he wants that cookie so effin bad

[emgeneticist]

emu doods cause i kinda love her

[iero]

Maybe this is a boomer opinion, but I will never forgive some of these fast food restaurants for changing their dollar menu into a “value menu” or whatever and then have none of said “value menu” items be less then, like, $3. Die.

[anachronismstellar]

SQH x Wine Peak lord

I would imagine SQH would teach the Wine Peak Lord modern drinking games and it goes from there. (IDK if it will go like the SVSSS extra if you know what I mean.)

HISHSDAUFHUSDHDF not only did SQH taught a modern drinking game, UNO is now canon in the SVSSS lol

AND FUCK YEA BODY SHOTS LET'S GO

A Peak Lady this time! :D Her lovely name was given by @busysavingtheuniverse, thank you so much and I hope you enjoy my wine aunty!!

Omg I'm so sorry it took me this long but *waves at the past weeks*

But to make it better this is ahahahah 13 pages long on my docs. :D

Why I am going a little insane ty for asking

BTW, this one has mild explicit content AND it has two adults getting reaaally drunk before having sex. Everything is consensual, but if that makes you icky, maybe skip this one

Now, on with the fic!

--------

The room was filled with the scent of incense and tobacco, the lights bright just enough to create an intimate atmosphere. Four people gathered around a low table, the clacking of ivory pieces mixed with their low voices.

And the wine, of course, flowing like a river, making laughter bubble free. They probably shouldn't drink so much, their week packed with meetings and trainings, but if their dear Mu Qingfang himself was indulging, who were they to say no to a bit of fun?

The stones were given to each player, some of them being exchanged back and forth, the match starting with their host setting down the first piece.

And as soon as the game began, so did the gossip.

"Has anyone heard from their disciples yet? Wei-shixiong?" Mu Qingfang asked as he poured wine for all of them while waiting for his turn in the game.

"Not me," he replied as he discarded his stone, cursing right after, trying to take it back, only to get a tap on the wrist by Qi Qingqi sitting on his right.

"Pong. Don't cheat." Qi Qingqi said as she moved her pieces at a speed that would leave anyone dizzy, already displaying a group of three identical stones, her eyes focused on the game, shoulders tense.

"I heard nothing from him as well," Mu Qingfang added along with his own discarded stone, moving way slower than his shijie on his left. "But I don't think he noticed the rumors yet."

"I don't wanna add to the fire," Zhang Qingyan started as she tapped her nails on her pieces, holding her pipe between her teeth to move her own blocks before continuing. "But I heard some An Ding disciples talking about Liu-shidi being the last victim."

"Really?" Mu Qingfang asked, genuinely surprised. "I thought he was scared of Liu-Shixiong?"

"Oh he is!" Wei Qingwei said a bit too excited for someone losing their third round or so. "But I heard that girl, what's her name? The An Ding Head Disciple? Qi-shimei, do you know who I am talking about?"

"Ye Ling."

"That's the one," Wei Qingwei threw another piece at the discarded pile, then sipped his drink. "She said Liu-shidi scared the soul out of Shang-shidi's body, and Shang-shidi grabbed him and threw Liu-shidi on the ground."

"And that would do it, wouldn’t it? Liu-shidi is so odd…" Zhang Qingyan took another smoke from her pipe, then offered it to Qi Qingqi, who just refused with a shake of her head. She had lost the three last matches, and that mixed up with how much wine they had already...

Zhang Qingyan moved a little bit to the side, just in case.

"Who is missing then?"

"Almost half of the peaks, I believe."

"Do you think he's gonna sleep with all the lords?"

"A bit difficult, I mean, Gao-shidi has eyes only for his talismans. And Qi-shijie-" Mu Qingfang said as he took the pipe Qi Qingqi rejected.

"I won't touch men, not even if there's no one else in the world," she said as she put down her stone, glaring at Wei Qingwei.

"Don't look at us like that." Wei Qingwei gave her a wink, laughing at her face of disgust. "You haven't got the full Shang Qinghua experience!"

"It baffles me how he got himself into the bed of so many." She pretended to move her pieces around, just like Zhang Qingyan pretended not to see her take a piece from the discarded pile without the others noticing. "I tried to ask him where he bought his ink, you know the shimmery one? I couldn't open my mouth before he ran away like a scared rabbit."

"And can you blame Shang-Shixiong?" Mu Qingfang chuckled as he put his stone down, a light brush on his cheeks even though he had just a few cups. "Qingqi-shijie talking to a man of her own will is not something common to see. He probably thought you're going to ask for his liver."

"Hunf! I didn't need anything from him anyway." She flipped her hair back, as if she hadn't just confessed wanting to ask Shang-Shixiong a question. "My girls were more than able to gather all the information I needed to buy the ink."

"What I find really intriguing is that so far it has been all peak lords and no lady," Zhang Qingyan said as she poured another cup for Qi Qingqi and then herself, sighing at the taste of plum and spice. "Is he even interested in women?"

"Zhang-shimei, not you too," Qingqiu shook her head in dismay. "You are not considering-"

"The boys keep talking nonstop about him. And as Mu-Shixiong doesn't tell me anything-"

"It's doctor and patient confidentiality!"

"-I'm curious, that's all."

The entire table got dangerously quiet before exploding with noise.

"No, no, no, absolutely not, I have my money on Wu Qingfang being the next one!"

"Please don't indulge this nonsense, they are already insufferable as they are-"

"You should call him for the next game." Mu Qingfang took a sip of his wine, the red on his cheeks spreading down his neck. "He's been dealing with a lot lately, I bet he would enjoy the distraction."

She turned to look at him, eyebrows pulled up in surprise as she slowly let go of her smoke.

"Mu-Shixiong really thinks so?" She tapped her ashes in an empty bowl next to her chair, ignoring Qi-Shijie and Wei-shixiong bickering to focus on her dear doctor. "You-" she paused, glancing at the two other cultivators, certifying they were distracted before taking his hand and gently squeezing it. "You know him better than any of us..." She paused again, their eyes meeting, a heartbeat passing before he gave her a soft smile, glasses a little crooked.

"I know it's been a while since he had good wine." Mu Qingfang squeezed her hand back with a discreet shake of his head. "And if there's anyone I trust to show him a good time would be Zhang-shimei."

She nodded slowly as she clicked her cup against his before taking her sip, the sweetness of the wine tingling on her tongue, making her sigh.

"Besides," Mu Qingfang continued, taking his last piece from the face-down pile. "Shang Qinghua is not that bad. The secret is to hand in his paperwork on time and not ask for any last-minute favors. Then he doesn't care about the rest."

"Hah!" Wei Qingwei exclaimed as he waved one of his pieces at Mu Qingfang's direction, showing its symbol for anyone to see. "It also helps that you like sucking his-"

Smack!

The sound of Qi Qingqi slamming both her hands against the wooden table was loud enough to make them all stop and stare at her bright red face.

"Can we talk about anything else that's not Shang-shidi- Shang- the A-An Ding Peak Lord love life?" And at each stutter, her grip on the table got stronger, to the point of her knuckles going white. "Honestly, you are all worse than my teenage girls!"

They looked at each other before lowering their heads with soft mumbles of "Sorry Shimei" and "Sorry Qi-Shijie." Zhang Qingyan felt bad for her poor Shijie, Wei-Shixiong must have already talked her ear off about Shang-Shixiong if she got to the point of exploding like that.

They went back to focusing on the game, their silence lasting for three more rounds before Wei Qingwei opened his mouth and-

"But how long do you think it will take until he notices his disciples bragging about him fucking Liu-shidi?"

Qi Qingqi grabbed the closer bottle she could reach and took a big swing while Zhang Qingyan patted her shoulder, holding back her laughter.

-------

Shang-Shixiong and Zhang Qingyan had a very... Feeble relationship.

They were both close friends to Mu Qingfang, but they had never actually talked anything substantial outside of small talk.

If anyone asked Zhang Qingyan why, she would say they just hadn't much in common. She liked her wine and spending days and days in her peak, experimenting with all types of tinctures and salts, while he would never stop going on and on about paperwork and numbers, topics she wanted to avoid like demons after she closed her office doors.

She knew he was a good man, Mu-Shixiong wasn't one to praise freely. She just had been under the impression of Shang-Shixiong being a busy bee that cared only for his work, with no time to let his hair down. Literally.

Then came the rumors.

First was a joke that she caught among her disciples, then a bet here and there. Upon a bit of a digging, she found out a very interesting talk among the disciples of all peaks. She didn't believe it at first, and who would?

But then Wei Qingwei told his own story, and added to what she knew Mu-Shixiong and Shang-Shixiong would get up to...

One couldn't ignore all the evidence.

She got curious, of course she did. Did she believe that her invitation for a game of Mahjong would be accepted? Honestly, no.

Was she disappointed when instead of a polite decline she received a confirmation of his presence at their next gathering?

Absolutely not.

"This one would like to apologize to Shang-Shixiong for the absence of the other guests," she said as soon as they sat down on the low table, the set of Mahjong organized over it, ready for a game. "Mu-Shixiong had to cover his head disciple's shift, and Wei-Shixiong is lost in his forge, he said he was about to finish his last masterpiece and couldn't come."

"You mean his masterpiece of this month, right?" He took his wine cup from her hands with a small nod, waiting for her to pour her own drink before taking a sip. "Hoping he doesn't blow up another forge."

"Let's hope not, or he won't escape Qi-shijie's fury this time."

The name made Shang Qinghua tense, a weak laugh escaping his throat while he looked around, as if Qi QIngqi would jump from the curtains at any moment.

"Speaking of her, you said she was invited too...?"

"Oh, she's invited, but with Qi-shijie is always a wild guess,"

They left their talk trickle down as they both sipped their wine. When the silence kept going, Zhang Qingyan put her cup down to get her pipe. If she was going to host, she would have a good smoke.

"Do you want some?" She offered the tobacco. "I also have another wine, if Shixiong prefers something a bit stronger."

"This wine is perfect, thank you," he said as he rushed to take another sip, nodding his head. "But- uh. I wouldn't mind a smoke, actually."

He took his own pipe out of his robes, filling his pipe with fresh tobacco, shoulders dropping as smoke left his lips.

Deciding not to let the conversation die a horrible death, Zhang Qingyan poured more wine to them, hoping for it to loosen up Shang-Shixiong's tongue.

She wanted at least some gossip to tell Wei-Shixiong!

"I'm sad that I've invited Shang-Shixiong all this way for a match and we won't be able to play." Zhang Qingyan said after taking another sip of wine before starting the task of putting the Mahjong pieces away.

He quickly started helping her to put all the pieces in the silk lined box, picking up one or other to admire the hand work. "We could play something else, if you would like," he suggested when they finished putting everything away.

"Oh? What do you suggest?"

He patted his robes until he found a qiankun bag, taking a bundle of paper from it, setting on the top of the table. "Have you ever played Yi?"

She put the box aside, reaching for the papers, letting out a surprised "Huh" when she touched it, not finding it as flexible as she was expecting. And the colors! There were the ones with numbers, but also many drawings, some of them so detailed one could stare at them for hours.

"You've made these?"

"Oh no, no, I'm not an artist. But I know a lady that does some commission work, so all I had to do was describe the cards for her to make."

"They are beautiful..." she whispered while admiring a red phoenix delicately painted to look as if it was curling around the number nine. "How do you play it?"

He delicately took the cards from her hands, setting one of each type on the table, explaining one by one along with the rules of the game. And during the entire time she couldn't help but feel impressed, her polite smile slowly becoming sincere the more he talked. And she could see that Shang-Shixiong was opening up too, his own lips curling up in a smile, eyes crinkling with joy every time she asked a smart question.

"And there are many ways you could bend the rules, some people back in my town would play it as a drinking game."

"A drinking game?" Zhang Qingyan immediately perked up, eyes glinting with mischief. "Would Shang-Shixiong want to try going against me? Really?"

He squinted his eyes at her, and she could see him biting the inside of his cheek, as if considering his changes.

"Yes, let's make it a drinking game."

Oh poor dear, he had no idea, had he?

It wasn't his fault, really. Zhang Qingyan wasn't the type to brag, and again, they hadn't spent enough time together for him to know what a terrible mistake he had just made. And before he could go back on his offer she brought a cheaper wine, pouring them both a cup full to the brim, pulling her sleeves up so they wouldn't get in the way of her handling the cards.

Shang Qinghua shuffled, cutting the deck in half and then shuffling again, giving each of them seven cards, picking one from the top of the remaining, a beautiful blue bird with the number 6 next to it settling the first color of their game.

And so it started. 

"Zhang-shimei is a fast learner," he downed his wine in one swallow, without blinking at the strong taste. She could see he wasn't expecting her to get the rules so fast, their first round ending with Zhang Qingyan's victory. "Maybe we should add more drinking rules."

"Shixiong is too kind," she batted her eyelashes at him. "But if you think you can keep up with this one, we could add a cup each time one has to buy two cards or more."

"Deal," he agreed with a smile that was too sharp and too dangerous, a glint in his eyes that made her giggle with anticipation. It was like she could hear Mu-Shixiong's voice laughing with her, poking at her ribs while saying proudly. "Told you he's not bad."

…She could also hear Wei-Shixiong too, a whistle followed by "Careful, Shimei~ you gonna fall for it~"

"I'm not falling for it," she thought as she shook her head while giving all the cards for Shang Qinghua to shuffle again, firmly ignoring the way her heart picked up pace when his warm hands touched hers.

They played another round, and then another, tricking each other as much as the cards themselves tricked them, drying one bottle then two, then four. At some point Shang-Shixiong had let his hair down, and Zhang Qingyan had lost her outer robe, both stacking cards as fast as they could just to see the other fumble, smoke and alcohol making the room spin softly around them.

"I didn't know Shimei was such a good drinker," Shang Qinghua set his card down, laughing as Zhang Qingyan cursed like a demon, picking up two cards before drinking her wine. "I should have proposed that we drank each time one has to buy a card instead of two or more."

"Careful, Shixiong, one could think you were trying to seduce poor little me," she replied with a sweet smile, while curling her hair on her finger.

"Oh shimei, if I were really trying to seduce you, I would suggest body shots," he laughed, then drinking his cup after drawing a card.

"What are body shots?" she couldn't help but ask, glaring at the bright green dragon in the middle of the table, her cards dancing in front of her. She had the card to change colors for a while now, but she could also make him draw four more cards.

Hmmm choices choices...

"Oh, uh," his hesitation made her raise her glance at his red face, surprised at how he had gone from relaxed and cheekey to embarassed in less than seconds. "It's- It's something from my town? But, ah, is a bit-"

"Shixiong," she set her cards turned down at the table, putting her elbows on top of it so she could rest her chin on her hands. "Is it a lewd game?!"

"Oh Heavens," he hid his face between his hands, groaning. "I should not have mentioned it, oh no, this is dangerous-"

"Now I'm even more intrigued," she leaned forward, head slightly tilted down as she looked up at him. "Shixiong wouldn't leave me curious, would he?"

She didn't think it was possible for him to become more red, but at this point he was about to let smoke leak through his ears. He coughed, recomposing himself only to lose it all over again after glancing at her neckline, mumbling a word she couldn't understand.

"I- I could show you?" his voice went up at the end as if he himself was doubting his abilities. But with a deep breath he took the wine bottle and drank a good half of it, setting the porcelain on the table with a sharp nod. "I will show you. But you have to promise not to be angry."

She laughed out of pure surprise, agreeing not to hit or harm him in any way. And the more Shang-Shixiong explained what he was going to do, the more she started questioning herself on why she had never seen him in one of Wei-Shixiong wild parties, or how the quiet peak lord had knowledge of such games.

And that's how she ended up with a cup of wine nested between her robes and her chest, and Shang-Shixiong standing right in front of her, brown eyes blown wide as he held her by her waist. They both moved slowly as if the air had turned into molasses, unsure of where the lines were drawn, Shang Qinghua's heated breath sending shivers down her spine.

It was mesmerizing to watch as Shang Qinghua bit the porcelain and threw his head back, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Clear liquid trickled down his chin, making everything messy, and probably it was not as graceful as he wanted it to be, both already drunk as they were. But then he went and licked the cup clean and-

He raised his eyes at her, and it was impossible for her not to hold his face, sinking her hands into his hair. She guided him into a biting kiss, both of them moaning, as his hands slid up and down her body, touching her everywhere as she did her best to get rid of his collared shirt, pulling him even closer by the back of his neck.

If the room had felt hot before, now it was boiling, her red robes hitting the floor right after his leather bracers, her dark lip tint smeared over his mouth and cheek.

Everything tasted salty and sweet, the haze of the wine making her entire skin tingle as he pushed her slowly until he was lying on the wooden floor. She felt as if she were floating under the brushes of his fingertips as he left her chest completely exposed to his gaze, tracing a swirling pattern all the way to her belly.

"There's another way to do a body shot," he said, and the way his voice went deeper with lust, oh Heavens, she might never recover. All of Mu-Shixiong's wildest stories weren’t able to prepare her for the vision that was Shang Qinghua completely disheveled, hair dripping down his shoulders, strong muscles peeking from his half opened shirt. "Shimei would like to learn it?"

She kept nodding while he took the bottle from the table, gasping when he pulled the cork with his teeth. "This might tickle," was the only warning he gave her before pouring wine in her bellybutton. She whined, nails scratching his arms with thin lines of red as he breathed over the cold liquid before sucking. And he drank it all up to the last drop, his tongue dancing on her skin, setting it her on fire, turning her whine into full moans as his mouth went lower and lower and-

"S-Shixiong!" She cried while grasping his hair tight, her back bending until it wasn't touching the floor for a second.

The slurping sound was obscene, it was divine, it was driving her into madness. She couldn't stop making noise, pulling her legs up until her knees were touching his head, begging for more, begging for mercy, begging and begging-

"I must say..." He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, pressing a soft kiss on the side of her knee. "This was much better than any body shot."

She kissed the smugness off his face, doing her best to reverse their positions, biting as she noticed Shang Qinghua was letting her move him around, allowing her to sit on his lap.

He was about to find out two could play that game.

"My turn," she said as she grabbed the bottle, pouring it all over his chest.

----------

She took her time getting dressed, feeling relaxed like she hadn’t in a good while, body sore all in the right places. Her guest had already left for his own peak, but not before making sure she had a good breakfast and some water, hangover tincture ready by her bed. 

And as soon as she could, she set foot to Mu-Shixiong’s peak, asking the first discipline that passed by if the doctor was in his office, not surprised at all by the affirmative answer.

"Mu Qingfang," she didn't slam the door open because that would be beneath her, but her entrance was dramatic anyway, robes fluttering as she rushed to get closer to him, crossing his office in a few steps. 

"What?" he asked as he paused by his examination table, his magnifying glasses perched up on his nose. And it was a testimony of their long friendship that she didn’t even blink at the sight of him bent over what seemed to be a tentacled creature; a scare thin knife in one hand, a pair of tweezers in the other.

“You were right, I was wrong.”

“Well, that’s a first coming from you. What was I right about?”

She took him by his wrist after he set all his instruments aside, making him sit before going through his shelves to get the good wine. Yes, she was still hungover, but she was in the mood for a celebration.

That and the fact that she would collect a big bag later from her disciples was also very nice, but not the point.

“Shang-Shixiong came by yesterday.”

“Oh?�� and that was what made him shift his entire focus towards her, fingers intertwined on the top of his desk. “And how was it? Did you guys play Mahjong?” and then he dared to wiggle his eyebrows at her, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Stop it, I just told you that you were right," she poured him the wine, waiting for him to sip first before tasting it as well. “And I have to admit, I didn't know fingers could move like that. And don't tell Qi-shijie but- his tongue?"

"I know," Mu Qingfang let out a dreamy sign.

"And how long can he hold his breath? I mean-”

"I know," he sighed again, a silly smile on his face. Before, when she was the one on the other side listening to him sing Shang-Shixiong's praises, she would roll her eyes fondly, saying that he was a man in love.

Now? She understood. She completely understood..

The entire time Shang-Shixiong had been the most polite, making sure she was comfortable, taking what he wanted but not taking it for granted. He asked permission in the sweetest ways, teasing her when she failed to use words. And at the end of it all, he had taken time to massage her sore thighs, kissing her feet, treating her like an empress.

It made her heart race but she wasn't a romantic woman. She liked to have fun but relationships? Hah! In a world controlled by men, to become someone's wife would be the same as giving away her power and titles.

Mu Qingfang, on the other hand...

"Are you... Are you alright with all of this? I know how deeply you feel about Shang-Shixiong." She took his hand between hers in a similar gesture all those days ago, searching in his eyes any sign of pain. "Just say the word, and I go after him to give a strong talk."

He laughed, a genuine belly laugh that made her relax her shoulders, the band around her heart releasing a bit.

"This one thanks his Shimei, but she doesn't need to worry. My relationship with Shang-Shixiong is not like that. We love each other, but I know he wasn't meant to have only one lover."

"That's a way to say it," she tsked as she patted his hand again, letting it go to pick on the sleeves of her robes, still a bit out of it from the previous night. "The man is turning the Sect into his personal harem… And I don't think he knows it."

"He has all of us wrapped around his fingers, doesn't he?" And then it was his turn to take her hand, checking her pulse and Qi levels out of habit. "Now, what else did you do last night?"

"Shixiong!"

"What? Is nothing I haven’t seen before, at least from his part. And I’ve told you worse and you know it."

She groaned, caught by his sound argument. She hid her face between her hands, feeling her ears burning up, face almost scarlet as her robes.

“Well?”

She peeked at him between her fingers, pouting. But when he just crossed his arms she knew she would have no escape. "Fine. But first-" she took his cup of wine, drinking it up in a gulp, the burning on her throat matching the burning of her face.

She started talking.

--------

The plan for this was:

They played mahjong cards

They got drunk

Sqh: uhh body shots is uhh a game but is not appropriate to play with decent company Zqy: good think I'm far from decent then ;)

BODY SHOTS

Uhhhhh, as spicy as we can get

And my brain couldn't think of any creative name for their UNO version so I went with the number one in Mandarin aaaaaa

Holy shit y'all I can't believe we are 7/12 already?!?!! sdhfuishdf Send help aaaaaaaaa

aaand next on the line is Beast Peak Lady, Wu Qingfang!

here is the masterpost of all the other achievements

thank you again for this ask and for giving it a read!!! :D

Beast Peak here we gooooo~

[theegoldenchild]

Chapter Eight: Daddy’s Little Girl

Warnings: 18+ | Mentions of light BDSM | Blood | Death(?) | Angst | Wanted to nut but I’m crying in the club

Outside, the Mississippi heat simmered, but inside The Devil’s Tongue, cool shadows lingered, pierced only by slats of honeyed light through half-open shutters. It was quiet, but not silent. Too many things stirred beneath the surface for true peace.

Sera padded barefoot across the smooth floor, her legs bare and her body wrapped in one of Stack’s white button-ups—thin, oversized, and left undone at the top where her collarbone and a teasing slip of soft brown cleavage peeked through. The hem brushed the tops of her thighs and swayed with each step she took, revealing just enough to make the silence hum. She hadn’t bothered with putting on her underwear since she couldn’t find them. There was something sacred in the fainting throb between her thighs, something unspoken she wasn’t ready to cover up. Not yet.

She wandered around with a lackadaisical purpose, fingers trailing across the edges of makeshift tables, overturned crates, and the old piano Smoke had dragged in just three days ago. Her ginger curls were still damp from the wash Stack had insisted she take, and her skin shimmered faintly with the almond oil he had massaged into her thighs and hips while muttering something about “bruises that don’t belong on delicate things.” She didn’t protest. Not when his hands had been so gentle after being so wicked the night before.

Smoke stood near the long bar that stretched across the left side of the room, sleeves rolled up and eyes squinting over a dingy ledger as he scribbled figures in the margins. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his lips, unlit and forgotten. Beside him, Stack moved like a phantom, counting bottles on the shelf with one hand and tossing an empty one over his shoulder with the other. It shattered against the far wall and neither man flinched.

Both of them watched Sera out of the corner of their eyes. They always watched her. Like two wolves, one cold and calculating… the other wild and impulsive… tracking their prey even after the hunt was long done. Their eyes followed every sway of her hips, every turn of her neck, every flutter of her lashes as she bent to pick up a stray rag and wrung it absently between her fingers. She wasn’t trying to tempt them this time, not on purpose, but she wasn’t hiding either.

She was still learning what it meant to be touched, kissed… Worshipped with mouths and hands until she shattered like a glass bottle thrown against a wall.

Stack was the first to speak, voice laced with teasing danger. “Ain’t no shame in glowin’, baby girl. You look good in my shirt… Real good.”

Sera glanced over her shoulder, lips curving just slightly, unsure if it was pride or embarrassment that warmed her cheeks. “You got a lotta nerve talkin’ like that Mr. Stack… after what you did to me.”

Smoke didn’t look up from the ledger, but the side of his mouth curled with dark amusement. He liked that Sera was getting comfortable enough to sass them and wanted to hear more of it from her. “Ain’t even do half of what we could’ve. You still breathin’, ain’t you?”

Stack chuckled. “Barely.”

Sera shook her head but kept moving, pretending she wasn’t trembling under their gaze. “You always this loud in the morning?”

“Only when the night before was that sweet,” Stack said, licking his bottom lip.

Smoke finally looked up, eyes dark brown like fresh roasted coffee. “Stack, count again. I ain’t payin’ foe guesswork. And stop runnin’ your mouth… leave our woman be.”

That earned a tsk from Stack, but he obeyed, dragging his eyes away from Sera to focus on his assigned task. “We down six bottles of rye, four of corn, and two of the apple shine.”

Smoke’s brow furrowed. “That ain’t bad. If we keep the mixin’ tight and don’t let these fools pour heavy, we should pull close to two hunnid profit just tonight. Maybe more if Randy people show an stay too long.”

“Randy people?,” Stack quizzed, snorting. “After what we did last night, I doubt they gonna show at all.”

The barn-turned-juke was cleaner than it had a right to be after what happened outside just hours earlier. Blood never touched the floorboards, but the memory of it clung to the twins like cologne. Smoke’s hands still lingered with a scent of gunpowder. Stack’s boots still carried dried earth from where he’d dug one of the graves. They hadn’t planned to kill anyone. Not that night. Not before sunrise. But Samuel’s little “lesson” had come too early and been too bold. And now six men lay rotting behind the tree line.

Sera didn’t ask about it but she knew something happened last night. She felt it in the way Smoke’s voice lowered when she was near and how Stack’s smile didn’t fully reach his eyes today. It was in the tension stretched between their shoulders and the way they watched her like something holy that had almost been snatched away. They weren’t sorry. But they were… different. Quieter. More possessive.

Stack reached for another bottle, paused, then turned his head slowly toward her. “You eat enough this morning, sweet girl?”

She nodded. “I ate all you fed me.”

“That don’t answer the question.”

She looked down at her belly, smoothed the shirt over it, then nodded again. “M’happy.”

Smoke’s gaze sharpened. “Come here.”

Sera blinked and shifted her weight on each foot before listening. Her legs moved on instinct now. Like the imprint of last night was still guiding her steps. She reached him, and he tilted her chin up with his fingers, calloused and firm. “You still got that tingle?”

Her eyes flickered between his and Stack’s. “A lil’…”

Stack grinned. “Good.”

Smoke gave a warning glance to his brother before brushing his thumb across her bottom lip. “You say somethin’ if it gets too much. Got some that can soothe it… Understand?”

Sera nodded, heat rising again low in her belly. It wasn’t fair. The way they could talk about bottles of liquor and body counts and still make her thighs press together with just one look. One touch.

Smoke stepped back, letting her go with a sharp inhale. “Go sit, sweetheart. Can’t have you wanderin’ all over this place with no drawers on.”

Sera quietly squeaked and turned quickly with her cheeks burning as Stack let out a laugh so loud it bounced off the rafters. She walked toward the velvet loveseat in the far corner. Every step felt like a reminder of who she belonged to now. Of what her body had learned in the dark. The twins went back to work. But neither of them stopped watching. And neither of them planned to let her wander far. Not tonight. Not ever again.

Smoke scribbled one final figure into the margin of the ledger, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he mentally tallied the math. Profits looked promising. Folks had been whispering about The Devil’s Tongue all week, buzzing like flies around honey. If tonight went smooth, they would have more cash than they knew what to do with and a new kingdom to rule. Bootlegging, blues, bodies—it was all lining up.

Stack crouched near the lower shelf behind the bar, counting the last row of bottles, but his gaze kept drifting to Sera.

She was perched sweetly on the velvet loveseat in the corner, curled with her knees tucked to her chest and his shirt riding dangerously high along her thighs. Her eyes were drifting, heavy with leftover sleep and the itis. Every few seconds she’d stretch one leg, then the other, as if trying to find a way to sit that didn’t remind her of how they’d left her the night before.

Stack grinned to himself, licking his thumb and rubbing it across a dusty bottle of peach liquor. “She’s real tender today,” he stated, not really intending to be heard.

Smoke kept his eyes on the ledger. “That your way of sayin’ you sorry?”

Stack’s grin widened, voice dropping even lower. “Nah. That’s my way of sayin’ we need to think ‘bout jade trainin’ her. Eventually.”

Smoke froze and the room went still. The soft clink of bottles, the scratch of pencil, even the breath of the room seemed to pause for just a moment. Then Smoke slowly lifted his head, his eyes hard and cutting like steel. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Stack straightened, bottle still in hand, brows raised like he was daring Smoke to make this something it didn’t have to be. “I said what I said.”

“Nah nigga. Run that by me again?” Smoke asked, not loud, but sharp like barbed wire.

Stack dusted his palms on his slacks, gaze unwavering. “I say we jade train her. Like we used to. You know… soft stretchin’, light discipline. Build her up right foe’ we take that next step.”

Smoke’s eyes darkened. He turned fully now, shoulders squared and breath slow. “She ain’t like them sorry ass girls you used to pull from whorehouses out west,” he spat out. “She’s pure. A church girl. She don’t need all that.”

Stack’s expression twisted, his usual playfulness curdling into something sharper. “Don’t stand there actin’ holier than thou. You the one who taught me how to train a woman, Elijah.”

“Yeah, and I regret teachin’ you anything when you throw it ‘round like it don’t mean nothin’, Elias. Her daddy done enough damage to her.”

“It does mean somethin’!” Stack snapped, chest rising. “It means takin’ control. Breakin’ her down real slow so we can build her back up better. Softer. Obedient. That ain’t abuse, that’s moldin’. That’s what you told me!”

Smoke took a step forward. “That was for women who wanted it. Who came to us already half-ruined. You think Sera’s ready foe that? She still blushin’ when we kiss her, still squeezin’ her damn thighs together tryin’ to understand what we did to her.”

“She ain’t stupid,” Stack shot back. “She felt everything and she liked it. I saw the look in her eyes when she was rockin’ against you like her soul was on fire. You think she ain’t crave more?”

Smoke’s jaw ticked with frustration. “It ain’t about what she crave it’s ‘bout what she can handle.”

“You scared she’ll love it too much?” Stack pressed, stepping in closer. “Or is you scared you will? Huh?”

Their bodies were close now… twins face to face, tension simmering hot enough to spark.

Stack’s voice dipped into something darker. “You remember how you used to be? How many women begged to be your doll? Lucille, Dorothy, that pretty chocolate woman from Baton Rouge. You used to own ‘em. Used to bend ‘em over velvet couches just like that one and make ‘em beg with tears on their cheeks and spit hangin’ from their mouths. You don’t get to stand here and act like Sera’s too precious for that just ‘cause she pray on Sundays.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

Smoke didn’t answer. His eyes flicked over to the velvet couch where Sera now lay sprawled out like she’d been kissed by exhaustion.

Stack caught the look. “Don’t lie to me, Smoke… You want it too. You want her kneelin’ tween’ your legs with a jade plug stretchin’ her pretty lil’ ass while you tell her she’s been a good girl for takin’ your discipline.”

“Shut your damn mouth.”

“You want her wearin’ a collar so everyone from Mississippi to Illinois know she belongs to us.”

“I said—”

“You want her trained. Just like I do.”

Smoke moved so fast the ledger hit the floor. In one stride, he was in Stack’s space, gripping the front of his shirt, breath hot and sharp through gritted teeth. “She ain’t ready. And you don’t push her. Not unless she ask for it. You hear me?”

Stack didn’t flinch or blink. He was the only person on this earth his brother couldn’t intimidate. “She’s askin’ already. Not with words. But with her body. You think she don’t feel it? That ache tween’ her thighs? That emptiness we left her with?”

Smoke’s hand flexed and he nearly shoved his other half down to the ground. But Sera stirred then, shifting on the couch, making a soft and broken sound that immediately silenced both men. They looked over in unison. Her legs stretched slightly, shirt slipping higher up her thighs as she turned and tucked herself into the cushion, sighing like a kitten half-remembering the dream she just left behind.

The tension deflated a notch. Just barely.

Smoke stepped back first, running a hand over his hair as he looked away. “We go at her pace. That’s final.”

Stack smirked, though there was something bitter behind it now. “Fine. Her pace. But when she starts beggin’ for more, don’t act like it’s a surprise. You the one who taught me how to turn angels into demons.”

He stepped back, the heels of his boots dragging slightly across the old wood planks as he moved toward the liquor shelf again. He looked casual on the surface, but his jaw tightened with quiet defiance as his mind started plotting. He crouched again and plucked a half-full bottle of corn whiskey from the bottom row, then straightened slowly and tilted the bottle just enough for the liquid to swirl like it was mocking the tension still hanging between them.

“Bo’s got a new shipment comin’ in today,” Stack said offhandedly, but there was a sharp edge laced in the calm. “Chinese stuff. High-grade. All kinds of trinkets.”

He turned, leaned against the shelf, and took a mocking sip straight from the neck of the bottle. His eyes slid to Smoke like he was measuring just how far he could push him. “Imported jade. Premium glass. Leather cuffs softer than rabbit fur, strong enough to hold a horse.” He smirked around the mouth of the bottle. “Said he’s got some real rare pieces. Thought I’d stop by and pick up a few things… just in case her pace changes.”

Smoke’s eyes snapped back to him, flint meeting flame. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Stack asked, playing dumb as he rolled the bottle between his palms. “You said we wait on her, right? So I’m just preparin’. You know… like how you always taught me big brother. Be ready. Never let the opportunity come knockin’ and find you empty-handed.”

Smoke took a step forward again, this time slower and measured. “I ain’t lettin’ you put no damn plug, no collar, nothin’ on her without her beggin’ for it so hard she can’t breathe. And even then,” he growled, “I say when it’s time.”

Stack’s grin faded as he held Smoke’s piercing gaze. “She ain’t just your woman and I ain’t gonna hurt her, Smoke,” he whispered. “But I am gonna teach her. And if she starts beggin’? If she comes crawlin’, red-cheeked and teary-eyed, sayin’ she don’t know why her belly won’t stop cryin’ unless one of us fills her from behind—”

His voice dipped further, like poison in honey. “Then I’ll be ready. Cause’ you made me this way.”

Smoke silently glared at his brother. Nothing Stack said was wrong and that’s what he hated. Sera was different and he knew that… his heart knew that. But every time she would call him Mr. Smoke or Elijah… the sadistic part that he tried to keep buried away stirred inside of him begging to be released.

His voice was flat and dangerous. “You bring that shit back here and touch her too fast, I’ll put you in the ground right next to Samuel’s boys.”

Stack scoffed, pushing off the shelf. “You gonna kill me for doin’ exactly what we both dreamin’ ‘bout?”

“I’ll kill ya for gettin’ greedy.”

There was another pause. Both men stood chest to chest and the shadows around them stretched long and sharp across the dusty floor between them. The only thing breaking the tension was the quiet shift of Sera’s breathing in the corner, soft and innocent. Completely unaware of the storm brewing nearby.

Finally, Stack stepped back and his smirk had returned—but this one was filled with mischief. He wouldn’t be able to bring his brother on board just yet, but he knew he would come around in due time. He just had to help him see the vision clearly. “Relax, Elijah. I ain’t touchin’ her like that til’ she asks for it.”

He turned, walking back towards the bar, voice thrown over his shoulder like an afterthought. “But I’m still stoppin’ by Bo’s. Be a damn shame to miss out on good inventory.”

One hour turned into two. Then three. And by the time the clock inside the juke struck noon, the light bleeding in through the warped windowpanes was thick with summer heat… like God himself had turned His face from the Delta and let the devil take over.

Sera hadn’t meant to stay this long, but after breakfast and a much-needed nap, she couldn’t find her main two dresses and decided to wear the only thing that wasn’t missing, her thin, tinged-yellow slip. The cotton clung damply to her hips, more translucent now with every drop of sweat and shift in light. The heat had softened her edges and left a light sheen on her skin, and though she tried to cross her legs modestly on the couch in the back corner, the fabric rode up high each time she shifted.

She didn’t know that Stack had tucked her dresses behind a row of whiskey barrels in the far stall, where no woman would dare venture in fear of snakes or spiders. And she sure as hell didn’t know that Smoke… Mr. Smoke… the epitome of indifference and self-righteous perfection was currently carrying around her drawers like a thief with a holy relic stuffed in his back pocket. Folded neatly, pressed against the curve of his thigh like some shameful treasure.

“You forgot the goddamn kerosene,” Smoke snapped, bending near a battered crate of lanterns. Sweat darkened the fabric of his undershirt along the spine and under the arms while his broad back flexed with every move. His voice cut through the stagnant air like a blade.

“No the fuck I didn’t,” Stack yelled, tossing a hammer onto the floor with a metallic clatter. “You the one who said, ‘make sure we got extra nails.’ Which we DO. So stop all that lip flappin’.”

Sera flinched a little at the sound, but didn’t move. She was starting to get used to their arguing. It was always loud and always sharp but never dangerous. Not to her, at least.

She stretched her arms above her head and let her spine curve into a long, sweet arch, unaware of just how much she revealed as the hem of her slip inched up higher on her thighs and her breasts subtly outlined beneath the dampened fabric. Her wild ginger curls stuck to the sides of her neck, and when she turned slightly to fan herself, she didn’t see the way Stack’s eyes followed the movement like a hawk tracking a rabbit.

“Why she take my shirt off an wearin’ that slip?” Stack asked suddenly, wiping his brow with the back of his arm, a glimmer of mock innocence in his tone.

Smoke didn’t answer. Just grunted and pulled out a rusted lantern to test its wick.

Stack grinned, knowing damn well what he’d done. “Ain’t like she got nothin’ else to wear…”

“She had other clothes,” Smoke muttered, but there was no conviction behind it. No real protest.

Stack kept pushing. “You sure about that? ‘Cause I ain’t seen hide nor hem of them dresses since breakfast.”

Smoke shifted uncomfortably, reaching into his back pocket and brushing his fingers against the soft cotton stored there. Her underwear. White, ruined, and still drenched with her juices folded tightly. He didn’t know why he’d done it. He just remembered seeing them tucked into a corner of his bedroom after she’d gone back to rest. One look at the way they curled like silk petals in the morning light, and something in him snatched them up before reason could catch up.

Now, they were his little secret. And it was eatin’ him alive.

Sera stayed quiet, perched on the couch with her knees pressed together, the hem of that thin yellow slip barely reached her mid-thigh. Her eyes danced cautiously between the twins like she was watching twin Goliath’s fight for dominance.

Stack stopped working and leaned against the wall just a few feet away, arms folded as his gaze unapologetically raked down her legs so bare, smooth, and glistening faintly with heat. His eyes dragged ravenous, over the curve of her thighs, the bend of her knees, the delicate arch of her ankles. He wanted to taste her again… A sly grin curved his lips as his gold tooth glinted in the light.

“Ain’t said nothin’ since breakfast,” he quipped, voice silk-drenched and quiet. “You fallin’ asleep with your eyes open, little dove? Or just tryna drive a man crazy sittin’ there lookin’ like a glass of sweet tea on the hottest damn day of the year?”

It was like Smoke could read his twin's mind and his voice cut through the heat like a bucket of ice cold water. “Control yourself.”

Stack gave a quiet laugh but didn’t look away from Sera.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, voice softer than usual. Her fingers twisted the fabric of her slip in her lap, eyes cast downward. “Just… thinkin’. I—I think I’m ready to go now.”

Silence wrapped around the room like a noose. Smoke straightened from the crate he was leaning over, the muscle in his jaw ticking once… twice… before he finally spoke. “Go where?”

Sera swallowed. “Home. I… I didn’t mean to stay so long. I missed church this mornin’. My daddy probably worried sick.”

Her voice faltered at the end, lips parting like she wanted to say more but couldn’t bring herself to. Her eyes didn’t lift. She couldn’t bear the weight of theirs, not when her whole body still throbbed with the memory of what they’d done to her last night. Not when her soul still felt tangled in the sheets of their sin.

Smoke stepped closer, his feet heavy on the floorboards. “You sure?”

Sera nodded once, still twisting the fabric of her slip. “I just need to… check on things. I—I don’t wanna make it worse by stayin’ away. Not today… Not on the Lords day.”

Stack pushed off the wall, a flicker of something indistinguishable passing over his face. “You think that preacher man ain’t gon’ raise all kinds of hell the second he sees you in that?” He motioned loosely toward her slip, eyes narrowing. “He see you walk in with that and smellin’ like us? He gon’ throw a damn fit.”

Sera stiffened. “I’ll change,” she whispered. “If… if I can find my other dresses.”

Stack opened his mouth to respond, but Smoke shot him a look that made his brother fall back a step and press his lips into a thin, crooked smirk.

Smoke crouched in front of her, lowering himself until he was eye-level. His voice was softer now, deeper in tone but edged with something tight beneath the surface. “You sure this ain’t about guilt?”

Sera’s honey brown eyes finally lifted to meet his, wide and glistening. “It’s about what’s right.”

“You think what happened last night was wrong?”

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Instead she looked away and nibbled on her bottom lip.

Smoke didn’t press her for an answer. Just stood. “If you ready, you ready,” he said, voice clipped. “I’ll take you.”

Stack scoffed and dramatically threw his hands in the air. “This nigga…”

Smoke started toward the barn’s back room where his coat hung on a hook and paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder. “You got five minutes to find ya other dresses, my love.”

That nickname… that damn nickname that made Sera’s heart race a million miles per minute almost made her rethink wanting to return home. Almost. She stood slowly, bare feet padding quietly across the floor as she moved towards the back and began her search. She didn’t ask where her other dresses or underwear were, didn’t accuse, didn’t cry. She just kept her head down and her fingers tight around the edge of her slip.

As she searched, Stack watched her go and his grin was long gone, replaced by quiet calculations. Smoke came back out with another cigarette between his lips, her drawers still tucked tight in his pocket.

“She ain’t stayin’ gone,” Stack said flatly.

Smoke didn’t answer. He just struck a match, lit the cigarette, and let the smoke curl around his head like a halo from hell.

The ride back to Sera’s home was quiet. Too quiet.

The iron-bell rumble of the C.R. Patterson filled the heavy air as it trundled down the long dirt road towards her home. Dust curled behind the wheels like smoke from a slow-burning fuse, and the sun overhead bore down in wide, unrelenting strokes. No birds sang. No breeze stirred. Only the grumble of the motor and the crackle of gravel beneath the tires marked time as the juke joint faded into the horizon behind them.

Sera sat in the back seat, small and still, with her knees pressed together and her arms wrapped tightly around her waist like she was holding herself in place. The tinged yellow slip still clung to her body, too thin for the sun, too sinful for Sunday, and too revealing to return to a preacher’s home. But she hadn’t found her dresses because Stack hadn’t let her. And Smoke had said nothing.

So now she rode like this. Silent, soft, and her curls pinned back but frizzing from the humidity. Her bare thighs stuck to the warm leather seat each time the car hit a bump, and every so often she tugged the hem of the slip lower as if modesty could be wrung from fabric already see-through in the light.

Smoke drove with his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his jaw sharp and a cigarette twitching between his lips though it had long since burned out.

Stack rode beside him, arms folded tight across his chest, hat tipped low but not enough to hide the scowl twisting his mouth. “You really takin’ her back there?” He muttered under his breath, voice sharp like a blade being dragged across leather.

Smoke didn’t look over. “Not now.”

“She’s sittin’ there half-naked, and you gon’ put her back in that house like it’s fine?”

“I said not now, Stack.”

“You think that bastard won’t smell us on her?” Stack snapped, tone just low enough not to carry to the back seat. “You think he won’t notice how she walkin’ slower? How she can’t even look either one of us in the eye for too long without her breath catchin’?”

Smoke gripped the wheel tighter, the leather creaking beneath his fingers. “Keep ya damn voice down.” My

Stack glanced back at Sera. Her soft, solemn profile lit with that tender glow from the window and then leaned in closer to Smoke, lowering his voice further, words slipping like venom through clenched teeth.

“You sendin’ her back to that man? The same man who beat her and locked her in a room like she was livestock?”

Smoke didn’t answer.

“She your woman now,” Stack hissed. “Ours. And you treatin’ her like she just some stray we borrowed for a night and now we takin’ her back to the pound.”

Smoke’s voice was barely above a growl. “You think this ain’t killin’ me too?”

“Don’t look like it,” Stack spat. “Look like you pacifyin’. Like you tryna pretend last night was some fever dream and not the start of the rest of her damn life.”

Smoke pulled the cigarette from his lips and crushed it dead against the dash. His eyes flicked once in the rearview mirror, landing on Sera just long enough to watch the way her lashes brushed against her freckled cheeks and her delicate hand rubbed over the bare skin of her sun kissed arm.

“She needs to want it,” Smoke said, barely moving his lips. “The blood, the break, the end of that bastard’s reign… it gotta come from her. Not us. Or it’ll never stick.”

Stack scoffed. “So what, we just drive her up the road and toss her back into the fire, waitin’ for her to crawl back blackened and burned?”

“She’s stronger than you give her credit for.”

“No. She’s softer than you wanna admit.”

They were both quiet for a moment. The car dipped in a rut, and Sera jolted gently in the back seat, adjusting her posture with a soft wince that didn’t go unnoticed by either man.

Stack ran a hand down his face, agitated. “You keep talkin’ about lettin’ her decide if Samuel dies,” he said after a beat, voice a harsh whisper again. “But the longer you wait, the more shit he stacks up on her shoulders. You think it’s gonna help her to walk back into that house lookin’ like she just rolled outta bed with the Devil himself?”

Smoke’s jaw flexed. His thumb tapped the wheel.

“She goes back now,” he said, each word drawn tight like a tripwire, “and she sees how different everything feels. How ugly it looks compared to where she just came from. How small he is. How loud we echo, even in silence.”

Stack shook his head and focused his eyes on the road ahead. He didn’t agree with this plan.

Smoke went on. “She’ll want blood soon enough. We don’t gotta ask for it. She’ll beg for it.”

When they finally arrived Sera stood outside her childhood home with her heart hammering behind her ribs and a fire bubbling low in her stomach. Smoke stood on her left. Stack on her right. She could feel them both watching the house ready to burn it down. But this—this was her fight.

She took a breath as deep as the river, held it in her chest, and stepped up onto the porch. Her bare feet brushed the warped wood slats, worn soft from years of Sunday shoes and silent retreats. The screen door creaked softly in the breeze, hanging slightly ajar. That was her first warning. The second was the smell. A thick whisky aroma clung to the air. It was sour, sharp, and it slapped her in the face the second she stepped over the threshold. Her nose crinkled. She looked around, brows drawn in confusion. Her father never drank. Never even kept it in the house. Had called it the Devil’s water since she was a child.

But now? A bottle sat open on the table next to Pastor Samuel's favorite chair—his Bible in one hand, his glass in the other. He was slumped in his seat, eyes bloodshot and brooding, lips moving silently over some passage as his thumb dragged across the underlined verses. The room was dark despite the daylight. Curtains drawn and a fan clacked softly overhead.

She took one step in, and the floor creaked. That was all it took before his eyes lifted and fixed on her. Suddenly it felt like Sera walked into a freezer the way a chill crawled down her spine.

“Close my damn door.”

Her fingers trembled as she obeyed, pulling it shut behind her. The latch clicked softly, and the silence between them became unbearable.

She swallowed. Hoping if she pleaded her case Samuel would be understanding. “Daddy, I—”

“Don’t call me that.” His voice was bitter and full of disappointment. “Not after what you done.”

Sera stepped forward cautiously. “I only stayed one night. I was safe. I came back...”

“I wanted you back ‘fore they touched you,” he snarled, standing slowly, the Bible still in his hand, knuckles red and split from God knows what. “Not after they finished with you like you some field whore they picked up for sport.”

Her face crumpled, shoulders drawing tight. “They didn’t—Papa, it wasn’t like that. They care about me.”

“They own you now!” he foamed at the mouth, stepping forward, eyes wild. “You walkin’ around dressed like your mother, talkin’ like her, thinkin’ a man—or two… Lord help us—can fill the God-shaped hole in your chest!”

Her voice was a whisper. “Why are you drinkin’? I’ve never seen you—”

“I’M drinkin’,” he shouted, spit flying from his lips, “because my daughter let not one but TWO killers lay with her like dogs, and now the whole damn town gon’ whisper about how the preacher raised a harlot!”

Sera recoiled, one hand pressed to her chest.

He stared at her, eyes roaming her slip, disgust carved into every crease of his face. “You couldn’t even pick one man like a regular whore? You had to take two? Two, Seraphim? TWO!?”

“They… they care about me,” she said, but the words were faint and trembling.

“They defiled you. And you let ‘em.”

And then—he raised his hand.

It happened so fast, it was barely a thought. His Bible slipped from his fingers and thudded on the floor, and his arm came up like it had done plenty of times back when she was a child and talked too loud in front of the church elders. That same heavy weight in his palm, same heat in his eyes.

But this time… his hand never reached her. The door burst open behind her so hard it slammed against the wall, and the air rushed out of the room. Smoke entered first like a hurricane moving in slow motion.

Stack followed, and he saw red. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t shout. Didn’t warn. He stormed over to Pastor Samuel and drove his fist into the man’s jaw with a crack so sharp it echoed like gunfire.

Samuel stumbled back, crashing into the armchair, glass shattering on the ground beneath him.

“DON’T YOU FUCKIN’ TOUCH HER!” Stack roared, dipping low and drawing his blade from the sheath at his hip, “I’ll gut you like the bloated fuckin’ coward you are. Say I won’t.”

Samuel groaned, clutching his jaw, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Get off me—get your devil hands off me—!”

Stack yanked him forward by his collar, pressing the tip of the blade against his ribs, slowly pressing the tip into his flesh. “I’ll carve out that lying tongue first, preacher man. Then I’ll go for the lungs. You won’t make a sound in ya own house eva’ again.”

“Stack.” Smoke’s voice rang out, sharp but quiet. He was standing beside Sera now, one hand hovering over her back. His eyes never left Samuel. “Wait.”

Stack looked at his brother with a bewildered expression. “You have got to be fuckin’ kiddin’! You saw him raise that hand!” he growled. “You saw it!”

“I did.”

“He don’t get to live!” Stack’s voice was sharp, crackling like heat off a skillet. His chest heaved with each breath, rage making his hands tremble around the knife still slick with threat. The veins in his neck bulged. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it hurt to speak.

Smoke didn’t blink and didn't look at Stack. Instead, he kept his gaze locked on the preacher slumped in the chair, blood blooming at the corner of his mouth like a bitter communion.

“He doesn’t,” Smoke said finally.

Sera inhaled sharply. Her head turned fast and her eyes darted between the two men. “Wait… what does that mean?”

Smoke turned to her, slow and sure, as if this wasn’t something sudden but something inevitable. He wished it could’ve played out differently but this moment had been circling the horizon since long before any of them were born.

He reached out and gently tucked a loose frizzy curl behind her ear. His voice was steady and barely louder than a hum. “I need to ask you somethin’, my love,” he whispered in a gentle tone.

Sera blinked, her heart hammering. “What?”

“If I protected you—if I did what needed to be done… would you ever hate me for it?”

Her lips parted, confusion creasing her brow. “What kind of question is that?”

Smoke’s eyes didn’t waver. “Just answer it.”

Sera pondered on the question for a long minute. She knew the twins were dangerous but she wasn’t quite sure how dangerous they were or what methods Smoke and Stack would use to protect her. And right now, after what her father told her… she didn’t want to think for herself. “I… No. Of course not.”

He nodded once, like that confirmed something inside him. Something he’d been holding back. Something that had been pacing behind his ribs for far too long.

“Go upstairs,” he said gently before tenderly kissing her forehead. “Take your time. Get whatever you want to keep, my love. You ain’t stayin’ here no more.”

Sera hesitated, looking between the twins. Stack was still vibrating with fury, standing over her father like a storm about to strike. Samuel wheezed, a dark wetness bubbling in his throat, but there was no remorse in his eyes when he looked over at her only resentment. “Whore.”

Sera swallowed, then gave a quiet nod and moved toward the stairs. She didn’t ask any more questions and didn’t look back. She trusted the twins to make the tough decisions she couldn’t make herself. The moment her bare feet disappeared up the steps, silence fell heavy in the room. Smoke didn’t look at Stack. Stack didn’t look at Smoke. But the air between them sparked like fireworks on the white man's favorite holiday. No words. Just a slow exchange of breath, memory, and pain.

Smoke gave the faintest nod and Stack’s shoulders dropped like he’d just been given permission to become what he’d been holding back. Without a word, he turned and grabbed Samuel by the collar, yanking the older man to his feet like he weighed nothing.

Samuel screamed. “NO—NO PLEASE—NOT LIKE THIS—!”

Stack punched him in the face again before dragging him across the floor, his boots thudding heavy against the worn wood.

“I’M A PASTOR! A MAN OF GOD! YOU TOUCH ME AND THE WHOLE TOWN—!”

The rest of it was lost in the slam of the back door flying open.

Smoke didn’t move. Just stood there, still as a statue, staring at the blood-streaked Bible on the floor. He bent down slowly and picked it up with one hand. Flipped through the pages. They were smudged and torn in places. One of them had a faint reddish smear right through Corinthians.

Love is patient. Love is kind.

He hummed and shut the book.

Outside, the sounds of struggle grew louder. Stack’s voice was deranged and Smoke could hear him somewhere near an old smokehouse. “You think ‘cause you wore a collar and stood behind a pulpit, you was safe, nigga? We warned ya ass.”

“PLEASE—PLEASE—SHE’S MY BABY—”

“She was,” Stack growled. “Now she’s ours. And you tried to put your hands on OUR woman.”

There was a thud. A grunt. Then more dragging.

Smoke still didn’t move and he didn’t flinch when Samuel screamed again, this time raw and animalistic. The sound echoed through the backwoods like judgment day had arrived on four legs and no mercy.

And then silence fell over the land. A door shut somewhere out back.

Smoke exhaled through his nose and looked up the stairs. He listened for Sera’s footsteps, the soft creak of the floor above. He imagined her kneeling at her old bed, folding a dress she hadn’t worn in two summers. Maybe she’d pause at the windowsill where her mother once planted violets. Maybe she’d run a finger across her old Sunday school book before leaving it behind.

He hoped she didn’t cry because after today… after what he let Stack do… after what he would do… there would be no going back.

And if she did cry… He hoped it wasn’t for that man. He hoped it was for all the things she’d finally been freed from and what he and his brother would show her.

The stairs creaked under Sera’s feet as she descended, a leather bag strap dug softly into her shoulder. It was a worn thing—her mother’s old market satchel, faded and stitched at the sides where time had aged it but it now held all the pieces of her she couldn’t bear to leave behind. A pressed church dress that still smelled of gardenia. Two dog-eared Bibles; one hers, one her mother’s with passages underlined and scribbled margins full of long-forgotten notes. And a photograph. Just one.

She took her time on the steps. The house was too quiet. Unnaturally so. The fan overhead still hummed and somewhere outside, a crow called once, then went silent. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she paused. Smoke and Stack were waiting. Just like she expected them to be. But something about them was different now.

They didn’t stand shoulder-to-shoulder like usual. Smoke had one hand tucked into the crook of his arm, his weight shifted to one hip, gaze calm but distant. Stack leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, the buttons of his undershirt undone halfway down like he hadn’t bothered to fix himself back up. Neither wore their jackets. Neither looked like they had an ounce of regret between them.

But it was the details that caught her. Stack’s sleeves were unevenly pushed up, and his slacks—dark gray wool, usually spotless—had irregular speckles dotting the fabric, just above the knees and down one thigh. A deep burgundy-brown. She blinked at it but said nothing. There were faint scratches along his forearm too. Raw and recent.

Smoke… he had cuts. Clean and shallow, but unmistakable across the tops of his knuckles. The kind that came from skin meeting bone. She could see where he’d wiped away the blood but hadn’t tended to it properly. His sleeves were also rolled up, exposing tendons and veins, and his shirt hung open at the throat. One collar tip was crumpled.

They looked like they had gone somewhere the devil would be too frightened to travel. Sera swallowed a nervous gulp and she still said nothing. Instead, she shifted her bag on her shoulder and let her fingers trail along the banister as she stepped down the final stair.

Stack straightened when he saw her, eyes scanning her face like he needed to know if she was alright with just a look.

Smoke tilted his head slightly. “You ready?”

Sera nodded. “I… I took what I could carry,” she said softly. “Some memories. Some… pieces.”

Smoke gave a small nod of understanding. Stack offered the tiniest, crooked smile that was soft, despite the hardened edge in his jaw.

She hesitated then, her voice wavering as she turned toward the kitchen. “I was gonna leave a note. On the table,” she said quietly. “Just a goodbye. Let him know I ain’t runnin’ from him. Just… choosing something different. Think he’ll write back?”

Smoke’s eyes flicked toward the hallway behind her towards the back door. Just for a second. Then he stepped forward, slowly, and brushed his thumb along her cheek. “He might,” he said, voice warm and sweet in the same way a parent would address a child asking about Santa. “But don’t hold your breath, sweetheart. Sometimes men like that… they already decided what they wanna hear. Nothin’ you write gon’ change their mind.”

Sera nibbled on her bottom lip. “Still feels wrong, leavin’ without sayin’ it.”

Stack heard enough and stepped in beside her then, reaching down to lift her bag from her shoulder and toss it over his own. His arm brushed hers. She felt his fingers graze the back of her hand—barely there, but firm enough to anchor her.

“You did say it,” Stack comforted her. “You just finally said it with your feet instead of your mouth.”

Sera turned back to Smoke. “So I shouldn’t leave the letter?”

He gave her a small smile gentle, that couldn’t hide his tiredness. “Leave it if you want. But write it for you. Not him.”

She stood still for a moment, caught in the middle of a house she no longer belonged to, between two men who’d done something while she packed up her innocence upstairs. Something she hadn’t seen, but felt. In the walls. In their skin.

Whatever had happened while she was gone… it was finished now. And they weren’t going to make her carry the weight of it. Smoke reached for the front door and held it open. Stack touched her lower back to guide her through. She stepped out into the sun, bare feet on the porch wood, the hem of her yellow slip dancing around her thighs in the breeze and didn’t look back.

The door shut behind her with a quiet click.

It sounded a lot like a lock turning.

Or a chapter ending…

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No one:

Sera after the twins ctrl+alt+deleted her daddy:

Authors Note: For anyone confused about ‘Jade training’ it’s basically anal training. Sex toys in the 1920’s weren’t common BUT glass and jade anal plugs existed (very rare). Listen… it’s fanfiction and if you’ve read my other work it was only a matter of time before I figured out how to incorporate toys while keeping things historically accurate 🤭🤭🤭

Tag list:

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[corallapis]

[phantomrose96]

I actually think it's not the 4:15 sunset time that's the winter problem. I think it's the 2:10 pm "oh the shadows are getting long"

[foxett]

Three more days for sunkel week. Im too lazy as to post them separately. Mischief/errands (day 2), Late nights (day 3), Birthday (Day 4)