#the brought back parallel just GUTS me

[animentality]

guys.

guys. it finally happened.

blue lock finally brought me back out of the coma it was putting me in during most of the NEL arc.

hallelujah.

this new chapter is actually doing something fucking interesting for a change.

let's talk about it:

noa's betrayal was probably the only genuinely surprising development in the entire arc. I was worried it would get immediately ruined by Isagi surpassing noa in this match.

because Isagi glazers are the most annoying people on earth and they were starting to make me think Kaneshiro is a fucking idiot who'd actually let a 17 year old amateur beat a 30 something year old PROFESSIONAL.

thank god Kaneshiro isn't as stupid as Isagi fans want him to be.

now we're actually getting a proper build up for when Isagi faces off with him later.

Isagi grabbing noa by the fucking arm and challenging him in front of the entire world?

that was actually cool. I say this as the world's third biggest Isagi hater...

I can't deny. I am into that.

actually. you know what, Isagi.

that takes guts, and I actually like how fucking insane you looked when you did it.

beat that white man.

plus it actually gives their eventual face off in the future much higher stakes.

and it's like oh ... I forgot blue lock could be exciting. how intriguing.

but it's not just that either.

Isagi actually admitted he can't beat Rin alone. he can't beat geniuses head to head, just by being smart.

he needs to use other people around him... even if that means asking them for help, and not just manipulating them.

this is an amazing development.

because again. Isagi stans are out here insisting he can be the number one striker just because he wants to be. just because he's "ruthless."

well nope.

he cannot and will not ever be able to do the kinds of things other players do. he can't 1v1 Rin. he can't beat noa on his own.

but that doesn't mean he can't still win.

and man. man, I fucking dig it. Isagi, admitting he has weaknesses?

Isagi, admitting he has to sink further, he has to truly abandon everything, and break himself again?

I remember when that had meaning. Before NEL.

now... at the end, Kaneshiro remembers Isagi is an underdog and he needs to face hard truths and struggle every step of the way because he's not naturally gifted like the rest of these whores.

like shit. maybe I can root for you again. maybe.

and the best part too.

Isagi has to ask Kaiser for help.

he has to swallow his pride. he has to throw away his morality and his soul.

he will team up with his worst enemy to win...

that's fucking... good.

that's actually decent. one good fucking thing this arc, amazing.

I needed to see Isagi humbled, and he was.

I needed him not to be a fucking Gary stu who can do things on his own and can surpass everyone just through the power of yapping.

him having to team up with Kaiser...after Kaiser just broke himself down too...after Kaiser gave up on his hatred for Isagi because it was holding him back...

Oh my God.

blue lock remembered what parallels are? and setup? and actual emotional stakes?

blue lock remembering that Isagi was best when he was actually struggling and not effortlessly beating everyone else through the power of plot?

and the fact that he hates Kaiser... and Kaiser hates him... but they both want to win and defeat these geniuses so badly... they'll do the unthinkable and work together?

going back to its roots, of insisting that sometimes change is humiliating and painful, but you can never evolve, without abandoning all of it?

blue lock...are you

...are you finally back?

have you returned, prodigal son?

am I... am I coming back too...?

...

I don't know but God.

god please.

end this fucking arc.

I know you two can fucking do it.

and I need you to. and maybe it'll even be...good.

ugh.

I'm gonna be sick but...blue lock might be...it might actually be turning itself around...I'm not sure if my heart can handle this.

[starsreminisce]

When does Lucien look at Elain with longing?

ACOWAR Chapter 34

Not to me, I realized—to someone behind me. Pale and thin, Elain stood atop the stairs. Their gazes locked and held. But Elain said nothing. Did not so much as take one step downward. Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye—the longing and sadness.

ACOSF Chapter 58

He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing.

While it's not specifically Lucien "looking" at Elain with longing, one of the most overlooked Elucien moments arises when Feyre discusses her guilt for delving into his mind during the library scene in the same chapter.

ACOWAR Chapter 24

My gut tightened as I took a seat at the vanity and began braiding my hair into a coronet atop my head. Perhaps I was a coward, for not being able to ask it aloud, but I said down the bond, Was it a violation—going into Lucien’s mind like that? I can’t answer that for you. Rhys came over and handed me a hairpin. I slid it into a section of braid. I needed to be sure—that he wasn’t about to try to grab her, to sell us out. He handed me another. And did you get an answer to that? We worked in unison, pinning my hair into place. I think so. It wasn’t just about what he thought —it was the … feeling. I sensed no ill will, no conniving. Only concern for her. And … sorrow. Longing. I shook my head. Do I tell him? What I did? Rhys pinned a hard-to-reach section of my hair. You have to deem whether the cost is worth assuaging your guilt. The cost being Lucien’s tentative trust in me, this place.

Right from the start, Feyre sensed Lucien's longing, and we were given insight into why he might look at Elain with sadness in ACOWAR. Lucien has often expressed feeling unneeded and unwanted, a sentiment that was highlighted just before he and Elain locked eyes in the library. In that moment, he couldn't breathe because she appeared to him as the most beautiful fae he'd ever seen, and he felt a sense of belonging to her.

What's particularly interesting is the parallel between ACOWAR and ACOSF. In ACOWAR, Lucien looked at Elain with longing, yet she took no action towards him, instead declaring her desire to be with Graysen, only for him to reject her due to her mating bond. Elain's reaction was akin to being punched in the face. Yet, in their next encounter, she smiled at Lucien, followed his lead, and even invited him to live in Velaris.

This pattern repeats in ACOSF, where once again Lucien looks at Elain with longing, and once again she takes no action. Later that night, she offers Azriel permission, only for him to reject her, calling it a mistake after Rhys intervenes. Elain, hurt and confused, apologizes to Azriel, who in turn struggles to finish his own apology to her. Instead of hoping for Azriel to change his mind, as she did with Graysen, she returns his present.

Considering SJM's fondness for patterns, this second rejection after Lucien's longing gaze might just be the catalyst for Elain to finally address her mating bond.

Lucien seems to be in good company, as he's not the only one who has gazed at someone he's interested in with both longing and sadness.

ACOWAR Chapter 15

When I looked ahead, I found Cassian staring back at Nesta as well. I wondered why no one had yet mentioned what now shone in Cassian’s eyes as he gazed at my sister. The sorrow. And the longing.

SJM also made a point to illustrate Azriel's longing gaze towards someone.

ACOSF Chapter 22

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” Distant words—ones that prevented Cassian from prying further. He was still happy to be Mor’s buffer with Azriel, but there’d been a change lately. In both of them. Mor no longer sat beside Cassian, draped herself over him, and Azriel … those longing glances toward her had become few and far between. As if he’d given up. After five hundred years, he’d somehow given up. Cassian couldn’t think why.

Interestingly, Cassian couldn't fathom why even when Elain was in the room with them. Furthermore, Eris was devoid of longing towards Nesta, contrasting with how Cassian had looked at Nesta previously.

ACOSF Chapter 62

And then he turned toward the other subject in his letter, facing Nesta before he asked, “And my offer for you?” Not one ounce of affection or longing laced his words.

[manygeese]

Ok so I finished the first series of Percy Jackson sooo

MY THOUGHTS ON PERCY JACKSON & THE OLYMPIANS

Spoilers ahead but I think you know that

THE LIGHTNING THIEF

- amazing. impeccable. don’t remember shit because I read it a month ago

- THE PLOT TWIST WITH LUKE PUNCHED ME IN THE GUT but he was a little cartoony villain at the end with the scorpion. Cuz he was giving the villain of rocky and bullwinkle

- chapter titles? Masterpieces. You know the chapters gonna be good when “I BECOME SUPREME LORD OF THE BATHROOM” is at the top of the page

- fave character is probably Percy because well. He’s Percy. You can’t just not like Percy

THE SEA OF MONSTERS

- love love LOVE this book

- Tyson’s my new favorite because he’s got that big dumb boy swag

- love how the whole book is just a parallel to the Odyessy

- I love the battle between the cyclops vs. Percy, Clarisse, Grover, Anna Beth, and Tyson

- after they get back to Florida I thought they were gonna be on better terms with Clarisse but nooooo. Everybody hates clarisse…. I LOVE CLARISSE

- Hermes is my fav god

- I love Beckendorf nothing bad is EVER gonna happen to him I love Beckendorf

- idk why tf Chiron says KRONOS brought Thalia back to life because. Cmon. He’s in a million pieces. Which is more likely: the Golden Fleece, with nature magic comparable to the Wild God Pan, brought it to life or Kronos, who has been in a million pieces for a million years, brought it to life???? Think Chiron THINK

THE TITAN’S CURSE

- Thalia is great and all but I sort of want to punch her in the face

- Bianca is my favorite lesbian :)

- Scratch that Zoë is my favorite lesbian

- Thalia’s my favorite lesbian?

- fuck it they’re all lesbian and they’re all my favorite lesbian

THE BATTLE OF THE LABYRINTH

- ANNABETH GETS HER OWN QUEST? YEAH

- ngl it could just be my gay ass but annnabeth and Rachel’s feud for Percy is so annoying and I hate it

- THE PART WHEN PAN DIESS AHHHGGHGHGH

- RIP Castor RIP Lee Fletcher RIP whoever else died

- unrelated but there are so many twins in these books. Like there’s Connor and Travis. There’s Castor and Pollux. And they’re the only ones but like how many twins do YOU know?

- Dionysus has feelings?

THE LAST OLYMPIAN

- BECKENDORF NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

- I was expecting it to have more Hestia bcz she calls herself the last Olympian but nooooooo. Nooo

- speaking of Hestia why so many of the goddesses’ human forms little girls but there are no little boy gods? Artemis and Hestia are literally babies. And with Artemis that makes sense but why Hestia?

- ok first Lee Fletcher now Michael Yew. What’s up with the Apollo cabin and losing their head counselor

- The part when Percy dreams of May Castellan trying to take the spirit of the oracle is so sad. Like HERMES REALLY LOVED HER. HE WANTED TO MARRY HER. The “No! NO!” Is fan fiction coded

- related to that when Thalia Annabeth and Luke go back to May Castellans house in the flashback and Hermes holds her as she has a vision AHHHHHHH I am deranged

- Percy breaking the cycle ❤️❤️❤️ a true comrade

I GOT THE FIRST BOOM OF HEROES OF OLYMPUS BUT I HAVE TO WAIT FOR MY FRIEND TO FINISH THE LAST OLYMPIAN FIRST BEFORE I READ IT

[separatist-apologist]

What do you think about the theory that Rhysand was never supposed to be the main love interest? I can kind of see it, but was curious about your thoughts.

I disagree vehemently, and I would argue that there were a million obvious hints in ACOTAR that show Feyre was always going to end up with Rhysand. I think two things can be true: that she loved him and he was always going to be her first love AND that Rhysand was always meant to be her last love.

But just to back it up:

As early as page 15, the infamous:

I slung off my outer clothes onto the sagging dresser- frowning at the violets and roses I'd painted around the knobs of Elain's drawer, the crackling flames I'd painted around Nesta's, and the night sky-whorls of yellow stars standing in for white- around mine.



And then again, on page 31 when discussing why she'd chosen Isaac as a lover:

Relatively handsome, soft-spoken and reserved, but with a sort of darkness running beneath it all that had drawn us to each other, that shared understanding of how wretches our lives were and would always be.

When Lucien pays Feyre his backhanded compliment on page 53, he uses familiar night imagery often used to describe Feyre:

Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold.

Here, on page 87, an amusing bit of foreshadowing about Feyre's future:

Prythian was ruled by seven High Lords- perhaps this she was whoever governed this territory; if not a High Lord, then a High Lady. If that was even possible.

When Feyre is faced with the Bogge and wants to look, she soothes herself (pg. 90):

I stared at the coarse trunk of a distant elm, thinking of pleasant things. Like hot bread and full bellies....A starry, unclouded night sky, peaceful and glittering and endless.

On 116, when Feyre finds the map of Pyrthian of all 7 territories, only one is spared any detail outside of the place she currently resides:

The other six courts of Prythian occupied a patchwork of territories. Autumn, Summer, and Winter were easy to pick out. Then above them, two glowing courts: the southernmost one a softer, redder palate the Dawn Court; above, in bright gold and yellow and blue, the Day Court. And above that, perched in a frozen mountainous spread of darkness and stars, the sprawling, massive territory of the Night Court. There were things in the shadows between those mountains- little eyes, gleaming teeth. A land of lethal beauty.

On 125, Feyre considers what she might want if she were immortal:

Did Tamlin or Lucien ever grow tired of day after day of eternal spring, or ever venture into the other territories, if only to experience a different season? I wouldn't have minded endless, mild spring while looking after my family- winter brought us dangerously close too death every year- but if I were immortal, I might want a little variation to pass the time. I'd probably want to do more than lurk about a manor house, too.

The first time Feyre really starts to relax around Tamlin and find joy in Prythian and her circumstances is at the pool made of starlight, which is such a long passage I'm just glossing over. Tamlin does comment she makes TWO jokes that day, and I'm choosing to draw a parallel between this moment and in ACOMAF when Feyre smiles for the first time after her ordeal under the mountain during Starfall. Feyre feels most at peace surrounded by starlight. [pg 159ish]

On 169, when Feyre thinks of her nightmares:

And though my dreams continued to be plagued by the deaths I'd witnessed, the deaths I'd caused, and the horrible, pale woman ripping me to shreds- all watched over by a shadow I could never quite glimpse-I slowly stopped being so afraid.

When Feyre can't stay away on Calanmai / mating bond language that SJM loves (pg. 183):

There was a string- a string tied to my gut that pulled me toward those hills, commanding me to go, to hear the faerie drums...

And then obviously this, on page 188:

Standing before me was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen

Like Feyre, Rhys is couched in Night imagery (pg. 189):

As if he'd been molded from the night itself I could have sworn tendrils of star-kissed night railed in his wake (190)

On 235, when Rhys goes to visit Tamlin, he alludes to the fact that he has his reasons for aligning with Amarantha, which are later explained in ACOMAF:

Her whore I might be, but not without my reasons

Also Feyre describing Rhys through the entirety of the scene in the Spring Court dining room is like...a brick to the face (starting page 234): 

Rhysand smiled- heartbreaking in its beauty.

His voice dropped to a whisper- an erotic caress of sound that brought heat to my cheeks

Rhysand laughed- a lovers laugh, low and soft and intimate

And from the way darkness seemed to ripple off him, from those violet eyes that burned like stars...

No- I would never dare to pain that dark, immortal grace-

Rhysand, when he realizes Feyre (who he is beginning to suspect might be his mate) is there (pg. 237):

A flicker of excitement- perhaps even disbelief- flashed across his features

Again, described in the same night imagery:

The sunlight didn't gleam on the metallic threads of his tunic, as if i balked from the darkness pulsing from him

on 310, when Amarantha demands Rhys explain the mix-up with humans, she thinks this when he lies:

Humans all look alike...I didn't believe him for a second. Rhysand knew exactly how I looked- he'd recognized me that day at the manor.

On 312, once again hating Rhys but thinking this about him:

She must have allowed him more power than the others, then, if he could still inflict such harm while leashed to her. Or else his power before she'd stolen it had been...extraordinary, for this to be considered the basest remains.

The obvious on 328:

"Yes, I'd say almost my entire court bet on you dying within the firs minute; some said you'd last five, and"- she urned over the paper- "and just one person said you would win."

Amarantha frowned at her list, and she waved a hand. "Take her away. I tire of her mundane face. " She clenched the arms of her throne hard enough that the whites of her knuckles showed. "Rhysand, come here."

The bargain of chapter 37, too numerous to detail (this is already so long)

The entire scene of Feyre in his bedroom, but especially this on page 342:

Indeed, it was still Rhysand's face, his powerful male body, but flaring out behind him were massive black, membraneous wings- like a bat's, like the Attor's. He tucked them in neatly behind him, but the single claw at the apex of each peeked over his broad shoulders. Horrific, stunning- the face of a thousand nightmares and dreams. That again-useless part of me stirred at the sight, the way the candlelight shone through the wings, illuminating the veins, the way it bounced off his talons.

344:

They grabbed for me, but he bared his teeth in a mile that was anything but friendly- and they halted. "No more household chores, no more tasks," he said, his voice an erotic caress. Their yellow eyes went glazed and dull, their sharp teeth gleaming as their mouths slackened. "Tell the others, too. Stay out of her cell. And don't touch her. If you do, you're to take your own daggers and gut yourselves. Understood?

When Rhys is trying to get a rise out of both Amarantha AND Tamlin on 349:

The Faerie Queen straightened a little bit- even Jurian's eye seemed fixated on me, on Rhysand. For the rest of my life- he said it as if it were going to be a long, long while. He thought I was going to beat her tasks.

Page 355, when they're talking (more mating bond foreshadowing):

Sadness flickered in those violet eyes. I wouldn't have noticed it had I had not...felt it-deep inside me.

His help in the second task, but especially this pep talk when she's breaking down over the thought of nearly dying on 366:

Don't let her see you cry. Put your hands a your sides and stand up. Stand. Don't give her the satisfaction of seeing you break. Good. Stare her down- no tears. wait until you're back in your cell. Count to ten. Don't look at Tamlin. Just stare at her. Good girl. Now walk away. Turn on your heel- good. Walk toward the door. Keep your chin high. Let the crowd part. One step after another.

369, this feels blatant:

It took me a long while too realize that Rhysand, whether he knew it or not, had effectively kept me from shattering completely.

Rhys visiting Feyre after that kiss and explaining why he's been making her dance, and what he hopes to accomplish on page 384:

Regardless of his motives or his methods, Rhysand was keeping me alive. And had done so even before I set foot Under the Mountain.

-and-

"When you healed my arm...You didn't need to bargain with me. You could have demanded every single week of the year." My brows knit together as he turned, already half-consumed by the dark. "Every single week, and I would have said yes. " It wasn't entirely a question, but I needed the answer.

A half smile appeared on his sensuous lips. "I know," he said, and vanished.

390:

Darkness rippled near the throne, and then Rhysand was here, arms crossed- as if he'd moved to better see. His face was a mask of disinterest, but my hand tingled. Do it, the tingling said.

394, Feyre once again drawing our attention to Rhysand during this horrible moment:

Rhysand's face had gone pale- so, so pale.

399, obvious foreshadowing:

Rhysand yelled my name again- yelled it as though he cared

400-401, more mating bond language:

Rhys's arms buckled as he fought to rise, and blood dripped from his nose, splattering on the marble. His eyes met mine. The bond between us went taut. I flashed between my body and his, seeing myself through his eyes, bleeding and broken and sobbing.

Chapter 45, when Feyre is dead but tethered to Rhys's soul, like COME ON.

412, more mating bond language as Feyre goes to Rhys:

I was pulled from sleep by something tugging at my middle, a thread deep inside.

414-415, two final scenes:

"You never told me you loved the wings- or the flying." No, he'd made his shape shifting seem...base, useless, boring.

He shrugged. Everything I love has always had a tendency to be taken from me. I tell very few about the winds. Or the flying."

-and then-

His eyes locked on mine, wide and wild, and his nostrils flared. Shock- pure shock flashed across his features at whatever he saw on my face, and he stumbled back a step. Actually stumbled.

Sorry this was so long. It escaped me BUT Feysand was always right there from the beginning. They were always going to be together, from book 1. SJM is a fated mates writer, and I think it's a blatant misrepresentation of the book she wrote to say ACOMAF is a retcon, and Feysand was never going to happen. People are free to disagree with me, of course, and say I'm wrong (but I'm not).

[veronicalodgefaghag]

"THOUGHT EXERCISE TIME you have to script one (1) hiram/archie kiss into the existing show somewhere. no plot impact at all, it's never going to be brought up again onscreen it just becomes part of the overall texture of everything that's already going on in canon between them. where does it go, for maximum high camp and/or dramatic impact (double spaced on lined paper by whenever)"

Well?

Didn’t answer this ask back when it was going around cause I wasn’t into Riverdale enough at the time to feel prepared to answer it. I’m on a riverblogging kick tonight and it’s been weighing on me so here goes:

My personal favorite answer is @normiewizard ’s post about Archie going for it earlyish in the grand scheme of things and Hiram just Knowing That about him and Having That Over him for the rest of the show, that was a stroke of genius on their part that makes me fucking insane.

As to answering the question for myself, so much has already been covered by more adept hirarchie scholars than I, so I’m gonna go with my gut feeling from the very beginning and say my answer from the very beginning of this question going around has been the possibly very basic scenario of “Archie kisses Hiram during the stabbing dream in No Exit.” As a first half of season 3 scholar before any other area with this show, and an Archie scholar this is just the obvious answer to me. I love Hiram as much as the next guy and am very interested in him because I’m obsessed with Archie and Veronica, but I don’t feel I know him quite well enough as a character. Whereas, I know Archie very well. Hirarchie is most interesting to me as the result of Archie’s relationship with Grundy and its/her shaping of him, so Archie’s desire for him which Hiram is quite aware of, finds amusing, plays into (and don’t get me wrong, Hiram is attracted to Archie of course, and as many have said, there was a sexual relationship there in the show on our screens if you’re watching one way. To think there are some people to whom Archie being forced to fight in a secret underground prison fight club is not forced sexual violence… we live in different worlds.) is most interestingly explored from the Archie’s character side of things in a situation like this where we are not seeing Hiram’s true reaction to anything, but Archie’s mind’s Hiram. To actually answer the question, I think that Archie comes into the room, picks up the knife and kisses Hiram as he holds it between them. Hiram’s sly smile in this scene is then a reflection of the knowing way he plays Archie wrt his desire for him and his vulnerability resulting from the Grundy relationship. We go to the shot of their shadows on the wall now, and shots of their faces and the knife stabbing in. Yes, Joaquin parallels but also season 6 Archiereggie stabbing to death/gay sex parallels. I also think that Hiram should be awful about it (Archie’s desire for him) in some way in Archie’s imagination, because Archie’s dreams in that episode are all cruel to him because he is cruel to himself, but specifically because the kiss alone (despite the stabbing) could convey the wrong idea about what Archie thinks of Hiram kind of? If that makes sense?

I think No Exit is perfect if we’re talking about it never being mentioned in the show like you’ve prompted because so much of that episode is never mentioned again. Archie’s dream sequences in No Exit lay bare so much of his subtextual conflict that is never brought up again and doesn’t really add to anything because it all already underlies his whole story—his having to kill his “soft” self most importantly, but also, like the other core three showing up in their first episode outfits, “are you working on any new music, Arch?” pushing the show to finally acknowledge that he does. not. do that anymore after so much of his story revolves around music for the first season. This is of course another thing Hiram is responsible for in large part. So then this sojourn of his from Riverdale, spurred by an event which involved his being kissed by Joaquin, during which he runs away with Jughead (acknowledged by the show as making then look queer), ending with his subconscious instigating a Hiram/Archie kiss that never gets mentioned again but sets the final tone for his return to Riverdale as a man revived from death works so beautifully to me.

I’m really torn on whether I think that, in this hypothetical version of the show, they have kissed outside of that offscreen, or they eventually do or what. Like is this Archie taking his own control of something Hiram already physically uses against him as he kills him? Is this him acknowledging not only his homosexual desire but the homoerotic capacity/side of the relationship with Hiram only in his near-death subconscious? Tangentially relatedly, what if Grundy is the game master who hands him the “kill the Man in Black” card instead of the warden who’s another of his dead sexual abusers anyway?

[drabbles-mc]

Once in Twenty Lifetimes

Takeshi Kovacs x Kristin Ortega

Written for the 2024 Candy Hearts Exchange!

Warnings: 18+, language, smoking/alcohol, light angst, slight steam

Summary: She had spent so much of her life making sure that she blended in, and she'd been successful at it the way she'd been taught. Now, though, it was all going to hang in the balance when the one other person left that knew who she really was, was getting spun back up. And of course he was getting spun up into the sleeve of her partner. (Envoy!Kristin AU)

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: i sat down thinking i was just gonna write a little something something for this au idea as a treat for the exchange but then i got super into it and fuckin carried away lmao. oh well! i had a good time! 😂

Altered Carbon Taglist: @garbinge @destinedtobeloved @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

“Takeshi Kovacs. Look me up,” he offered the statement to her with a smirk. It didn’t quite pass for charming, per se, although it probably wasn’t his intention anyway. From what she remembered, which was everything of their stint running parallel to each other thanks to Envoy’s total recall, that hadn’t ever really been his strong suit.

Plus she wasn’t in any mood to be charmed in that moment.

There were a million and one reasons that she shouldn’t have gone to seek him out. There were endless layers to the problems it could potentially cause. Bancroft selling out Ryker’s sleeve like a hand-me-down from an older sibling was bad enough, but putting Takeshi Kovacs into it? It brought the situation out of the realm of infuriating and into one of being unbelievable. Bancroft wheeling and dealing Ryker’s suit was a personal vendetta. Tak’s stack being put into it felt like a cosmic one. He should’ve been dead by now anyway. Same way she should’ve been, but a lot goes on in two hundred and fifty years, and clearly real death didn’t want anything to do with either of them just yet.

He said it, though. He confirmed it. She’d heard the rumors beforehand and there was an intuitive twist in her gut that told her there was some substance to them, but she didn’t want to believe it. He was looking her in the eyes and telling her his name and she still didn’t want to believe it.

“You can’t be who you say you are,” she said, partially to keep playing her assigned role but partially because she simply didn’t want to believe that it was really him. “All the Envoys died.” A lie. One that she would be living proof of even if Tak wasn’t.

“All except one,” he retorted easily.

Asshole. Another thing about him that had apparently stayed consistent across the centuries. What was it that he said to her back then? Every sleeve, every time? He wasn’t wrong about that at least. He was wrong about everything else, though. All except one? He’d been out of storage for five minutes and already felt comfortable making sweeping, definitive statements like that. Sleeve-jumping was a skillset they’d all developed, but still. That was a long time to stay down. And to turn up on a planet you’d never been to before? All that and over two centuries down and maybe she would’ve come off ice making the same grave mistakes. Maybe she could make his work in her favor. She just had to make sure that she could keep Takeshi and Elias separate.

She was so busy thinking about all of that, memories going in a relentless playback against the inside of her skull, that she almost didn’t realize that she was still talking with Miriam Bancroft. That part of her was on auto-pilot, or at least it was until she had to get herself the fuck out of there before she landed herself in even deeper hot water.

“Yeah, there’s your kid, there’s your car, and there’s your…” she thought on it for a moment, trying to pick something that felt honest to her feelings in the moment but would still feel like something Police Officer Kristin Ortega would say, not the woman she was back when Takeshi really knew her, “new pet terrorist. You’re welcome,” she added, mostly for good measure, but it also felt good to say it.

“The terrorist can hear you,” he spoke, just barely turning his head to follow her as she continued to walk, but not committing enough to the act to turn his whole body. “I’m standing right here.”

“Yeah, good,” she stared up at him, waiting for him to meet her eyeline, “’cause we’re not done, you and me.”

There was a moment when he was looking down into her eyes that she thought maybe he saw it. Maybe he saw the flicker of the person that he knew once, the person that she was back then. Dozens of sleeves ago but it was still her in most of the ways that mattered. Most, not all. He looked back and forth between her eyes and she waited to see recognition flicker in them. He’d always had that edge to him, after all. It got drilled into all of them during their training but there was something about the way that Takeshi was wired before he even became part of the Envoy core that made him take to it faster and better than most. She envied him for it back then, but maybe now they were more on the same playing field. Or they would be until he got his full footing.

Everyone thought they knew why it bothered her, but still they asked. They were probably hoping for some other nuggets of information, more vitriol about Bancroft and the rest of the meths maybe since she had such an outspoken issue with the lot of them. The rest of the precinct saw her anger and they assumed that it was all because of Ryker. Like she was a woman so simple as that. Elias was part of her frustration with this scenario of course, but the puzzle was so much more complicated than that. It was difficult in ways that she simply couldn’t risk trying to explain to any of them. All of the reasons that she feared Tak and the potential fall-out of him being taken off-stack, were all the same reasons that the rest of the precinct would no longer trust her if they found out the truth about her past.

She’d been born at just the right time, in her opinion. Born late enough to reap all the benefits of a stack, but early enough so that she could manipulate it easily to her benefit when she had needed to most. Data infiltration and manipulation was still easy when you knew the right people and had the right tools, but back then it had been so much easier. It also didn’t hurt that Envoys learned to be on the cusp of it all anyway. All of that was why she was able to wipe her entire past off the record, rewrite it the way that she had wanted to. She created someone who was just enough of a force that she wouldn’t have to water herself down too much, but it was dialed back enough to not get her put on a fucking watchlist. Or even worse, get her thrown into storage off the principle off it. They were all supposed to be masters of disguise, and it had served her well in the aftermath.

She sat in the precinct trying to play over every possible scenario in her head. She wanted to be able to see every possible outcome. If the two of them spent enough time running circles around each other, he was bound to figure it out, right? Figure her out? Eventually the fog would dissipate and he would see her. He’d see past the sleeve. There was no certainty for her in what she thought his reaction to it was going to be if and when that happened. Maybe she could get him thrown back in storage before she had to worry about it. Get Ryker back in his own sleeve. He was so much less of a problem on that front—all that time spent being partners and he still hadn’t even skated close to the chasm of truths that separated them. She hoped it stayed that way—it kept life simpler for the both of them.

Although if Takeshi got his sleeve torn to shreds in the midst of whatever this new deal with Bancroft was, she supposed that none of it would really matter for Elias anyway. What a mess.

She wasn’t surprised, to say the least, when she found him later, strung out and stumbling through the streets. It seemed pretty on-par for Tak—that specific brand of recklessness. For so many years she watched him equate the word Envoy with invincible even though they all knew that it wasn’t the case. It didn’t help that he wasn’t exactly known for his drive for self-preservation. Regardless, the drugs fell in alignment with the Tak she once knew, and she also knew that Ryker’s sleeve would soak them up like a sponge put into a pot of water. A disaster of a marriage.

“Bancroft spent all that money on a nice sleeve for you, and this is what you’re doing with it?” she asked sarcastically as she walked up behind him.

He turned around to face her, a stumble in his step that he was too far gone to even try and hide. “Didn’t think you’d give a fuck about me wasting Bancroft’s money.” He paused, eyes narrowing as his delayed processing caught up with the situation. “You’re following me.”

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug. “That’s what police do to psycho-terrorists.”

“Come on, you cannot call me that.”

He was stoned out of his mind on, well, it could’ve been just about anything. Or a combination of things. The longer that Kristin looked at him, the more she was certain that she could throw a dart at a board and it would probably land on something that he’d ingested since the last time she saw him. That wasn’t the point. The point was that he was stoned out of his mind and the reason that he was telling her that she couldn’t call him that was because he was being a petulant child, not because by calling him that she would be lumping herself into the exact same group. She knew that it wasn’t nearly that deep and yet she still found herself fighting the urge to flinch at the layers to the comment. Even if she hadn’t caught the physical reaction in time, she wondered if he would’ve even caught it with the state that he was in.

He wasn’t really paying her any mind as he tried to continue on his way. It was hard for him to come off as determined when he couldn’t think straight and he was in a place that he hadn’t ever been before. With each step she took to keep her stride with him, she was trying to separate out all the files in her head. She was trying to keep two neat piles, or even two messy piles if she was being honest with herself: one pile for Elias, and one pile for Takeshi.

She was just as much Envoy as Takeshi was—she could compartmentalize just fine for the most part. But it wasn’t often that she ran into the issue that she was currently facing, one that had so much overlap between sleeve and stack. She’d burned through so many sleeves back then, and continued to go through them albeit at a much slower rate even when she got out of the core. She’d watched others do it too, Envoys and civilians alike. But this wasn’t just putting someone’s stack into a new sleeve and needing to adjust to the new face. This was a face that she knew, the stack that belonged to it still fully intact somewhere in storage, and someone completely different occupying the real estate in the meantime. Someone else that she knew. And it wasn’t as though either of the men who made up the Venn diagram in her head were known for being uncomplicated individuals on their own let alone when they were tethered to each other.

She tried to toe the line with him, anything to get more information out of him. The pendulum swung back and forth between banter and sniping comments. It wasn’t as though either of them had any lasting impact on him. The comments rolled right off—either because of the drugs or the Envoy conditioning, she wasn’t sure.

“What was the other one?” she asked rhetorically as she downed her drink. “Oh, yeah. Icepick. I liked that one.”

“Yeah, that was a good one.” He looked over at her, a hoodedness to his eyes that would’ve almost come off as flirtatious if he’d been sober. “You should call me Icepick.”

She rolled her eyes, using it as a tactic to avert her gaze. “I never called you that,” she muttered, half under her breath.

“What was that?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as if to get a better look at her.

She looked him square in the eyes. “I said I’m not fucking calling you that.” She said it with enough conviction to sell it.

Another smirk, paired with hazy, drug-addled eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

The more that they fired back and forth, the more she wondered if it was possible that she had really changed that much. Apparent assimilation was supposed to be one of the key tools in their toolbox as Envoys, sure. But it was also hard to believe that she had done it so effectively that she was flying completely under Takeshi’s radar. It wasn’t humility—that was never her strong suit the way that charm hadn’t ever been Tak’s. It just didn’t seem to fit. There were so many things that seemed off about the entire situation, but she couldn’t quite name them no matter how much information she tried to pull out of Takeshi about Bancroft, about anything he was willing to give her.

Then there was a sharp sting in the back of her mind as the thought reared its ugly head. He should remember me. Her face scrunched, action unmitigated as she tried to beat the impending spiral of thoughts into submission—she couldn’t afford to lose herself to that right now.

He was already up and making his way towards the door. “I’m going back to my hotel.”

His voice snapped her back to attention. Shooting up out of her seat, she followed him. “You can’t really be staying in that fucking AI hotel.” She shook her head. “They’re like crazy ex-girlfriends, you know.”

He looked down at her as he adjusted the backpack on his shoulder. There was a smirk on his face, one that seemed slightly more intentional this time. “You know a lot about crazy ex-girlfriends, Ortega?”

She scoffed. “Probably not as much as you but—”

He cut her off, a shift in his tone, a seriousness that she could pick up on. “Give it a rest.”

She followed him clean out the door onto the sidewalk, trying not to let herself get discouraged by him ignoring her attempts to walk alongside him or, ideally, get in front of him to stop him. “Kovacs!” she called after him.

Without turning around, he waved at her over his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, Officer Ortega.”

She huffed, allowing herself to stop. She whispered loudly to no one other than herself, “Fuck me.”

Takeshi didn’t hide the surprise on his face when she showed up to the hotel later before anyone else in the police department managed to get there. He didn’t get the feeling that she had just been lurking outside the door. If that had been the case, the scenario wouldn’t have played out the way it did, gotten as out of hand as it did. Or maybe it would have—he had no idea how she operated. But she strode in confidently, despite the worry and frustration on her face. She looked around and took in the state of the mess and Takeshi had no choice but to sit there and watch her do so.

“Couldn’t even make it twenty-four hours out of storage without killing someone?” she asked as she walked over to him, gun still clutched tightly in her hand even though it was pointed at the floor.

Poe tried to intervene on Takeshi’s behalf. “If it weren’t for—”

He didn’t want anyone coming to his defense, even when he could do with a little bit of assistance. “Waiting down the block for this to happen?”

She shook her head at him, finally holstering her gun once she was standing in front of him. “Might as well have been.” She looked around the destroyed lobby once more. “Had a feeling trouble was going to follow you.”

“Any trouble that would be following me,” he paused briefly as the red and blue lights of other responding police vehicles started to filter through the front windows and door of the hotel, “should’ve stopped being trouble a few centuries ago.”

She reached out and turned his face to get a better look at the damage, not hesitating to touch him, fingertips still drawn to his chin and cheek like it was still Ryker knocking around inside that sleeve. The tension that resulted from her touch, the momentary fighting against it, reminded her that it wasn’t, but it was too late to take it back.

“Seems like you might be enough of an asshole for it to follow you around for a couple hundred years, Kovacs.”

He grunted, pulling away from her touch, hating the way his sleeve wanted to lean into it despite how badly he was trying to recoil away. “Maybe.”

“Are you going to tell me what the fuck this was all about?”

“Thought you just told me,” he said, rising to his feet so he was towering over her once more.

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“Can’t help it. Every sleeve, every—”

“Every time, yeah. Your consistency is admirable,” she snapped.

His eyes narrowed, chin dipping down so that he could study her face. “What—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his question. The other police officers came storming into the building, guns at the ready despite the fact that there was no more commotion coming out of the hotel. After all, it wasn’t as though there were other guests that were being disturbed. Once they all started taking stock of the situation, their guns disappeared back into their holsters as well. A few of them started peppering Takeshi with questions, although they didn’t seem as enraged about it all as Kristin had been. They stole his attention just long enough for Kristin to glean what she thought she needed from the scene and slip out without him noticing or being able to stop her.

Not only were Tak’s plans for the night effectively ruined by the men who stormed the hotel with every intention to kill him, now he also had Kristin’s words rattling around the inside of his skull like pinballs. She finished his sentence with no hesitation and what was bothering him the most was that he couldn’t say with absolute certainty if he said something while he was high out of his mind or not. He must’ve. There was no other way she would’ve known, no other reason. Or, at least, there would’ve been no other reason that felt at all feasible. The thought crossed his mind, but, no, there was no way that was possible. He’d had too many things happen to him too quickly after getting spun up again, that was all. Morning would come around and he’d had a perfectly good reason for all of it, one that didn’t make him feel insane.

The next time he saw her, she had the same air of confidence about her that she always did. He kept his expression neutral, not wanting her to know that he’d been turning her words over in his head ever since she’d spoken them. He tried to come off as impassive but he could feel the anticipation tightening in his chest, questions that he couldn’t ask and answers that he was in no position to get. He managed to keep his curiosity tamped down until he was dismissed by Bancroft’s lawyer, another situation that had more questions than answers.

He trailed Kristin out, taking no time at all to catch up to her. He was walking alongside her but he wasn’t looking at her. “Gonna need a couple minutes of your time, Lieutenant.”

She forced herself not to look at him either. “As much as I would love to give you a couple minutes of my time, Kovacs, I need to keep looking into who tried to kill you. You know, the thing that you asked me to do about two fucking minutes ago.”

He grabbed the side of her arm and pushed her into the next alleyway that they came across. She started to protest until she felt her back hit the brick wall behind her. He purposely invaded her space, bodies close but not quite touching. He looked down at her, not letting the anger in her eyes unnerve him.

She glared up at him. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Who are you?” he asked, voice low.

“What?”

“Who—”

“I fucking heard you.” She pushed him away and he gave in, not that she pushed with that much force but he figured maybe it would help get some answers. “You know who I am, Kovacs.”

 “No, I don’t. But you seem to know an awful fucking lot about who I am.”

She could see it in his eyes that he was skirting dangerously close to the truth. He would’ve already gotten there if he hadn’t allowed himself to put up a barrier of thinking that there was such a thing as an impossible outcome. Apparently being on ice for a couple centuries dulled the don’t expect anything so that you’re prepared for everything part of their training. Too bad Quell wasn’t around to chastise him for it—he’d undoubtedly enjoy it a lot more coming from her.

“That’s because it’s my fucking job.” She side-stepped, glad that he didn’t make any move to stop her. “Which, I’m trying to go do so that maybe you won’t have another group of mercenaries coming after you.”

“Not gonna keep following me around just in case?” He followed her. “What if—”

“Just call the precinct like everyone else in Bay City,” she told him dismissively.

“Right,” he replied with a chuckle.

Even though he couldn’t see the annoyed look on her face, Kristin was certain that he knew it’s how she looked anyway. “You work your case, if that’s what you want to call it. And I’ll work mine.”

She felt the distance between them growing as he stopped but she kept walking on. He called after her, a smart remark about seeing her soon. He was right, of course. Until they put Takeshi back in storage there was no way that she was going to be able to just keep avoiding him, not with Ryker’s sleeve on the line.

While she knew that there was no getting out of seeing him again, she certainly didn’t expect to see him before the day was out. She definitely didn’t expect him to show up at her apartment door, banging on the dense metal of it like he was a cop with a warrant.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Kovacs?” she asked, too tired to even sound properly annoyed.

“Found out some interesting news today,” he said, brushing past her and into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. He strode down the stairs, taking stock of the place as he went. “Some things that made the picture a whole lot fucking clearer on who you are and what the fuck you’ve been doing.”

Her blood ran cold for a moment. She went down the stairs slower than necessary, thinking maybe it was going to buy her some time. Tak was standing in the middle of the kitchen, palms flat against the top of the island as he leaned against it. His eyes kept darting around the room, taking as much of it in as possible, but they always came back to Kristin.

“I knew it,” he said with a shake of his head once she finally crossed the threshold into the kitchen. “I knew there had to be a reason you were so interested in all of this. And I was right.”

“Were you?” she asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as she could.

“Yeah.” He let himself return to a fully upright position, taking the few small steps to collapse the distance between them. He stared down at her. “When were you gonna tell me that they spun me up into your boyfriend?”

“Ryker is not my boyf—”

“What the fuck, Ortega?”

“What would it have mattered, hm? What would it have changed?”

“Well it would sure fuckin’ explain why so many extra people have it out for me. Can’t imagine cops with records like Ryker’s are exactly known for having a lot of friends.”

“Like I said,” she grit out, “it didn’t matter—wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Bullshit. You wouldn’t have cared about an Envoy running loose in your city if he wasn’t running around wearing your partner.”

He still hadn’t put those pieces of the puzzle together. Maybe finding out who his sleeve was, the relationship to her, maybe all of that was enough to sate his curiosity about why she was so invested in him. And sure, that was definitely a large part of it. The other part of it was going to make itself reckoned with sooner rather than later—Kristin could feel it deep in her gut. She could chalk it up to Envoy intuition but really at that point it was just common sense.

She paused those thoughts when remembered that she was in the middle of an argument. “That’s not true.”

“Wouldn’t be a priority of yours, though.”

“You don’t know that.”

He retreated farther back into the kitchen, rooting around to get his hands on something, anything that had alcohol in it. “So, what’s Ryker’s deal?” he asked, his head practically shoved into her fridge. “What makes him so special that you’ll run around the city to—”

“He’s my partner,” she said sharply. “It’s what you do for your partner.” She stepped so that she could lean back against the island. “Not that I’d expect you to understand that.”

“Why’s that?” he asked when he found a bottle of clear liquor on the counter. He opened it while he waited for her to answer, pulling a face when he wafted the scent of the alcohol. It’d still do the trick.

She couldn’t give her honest answer, one born from information about the people they were before. She watched him helplessly look through cupboards in an attempt to find a glass. She could’ve made it easier but she was getting a mildly twisted joy out of watching him go through the small struggle. “Being worried for someone else doesn’t seem like it’s your strong suit. Envoy compartmentalization, right?”

He finally found a glass, setting it down on the countertop with a surprising amount of care considering how tired and annoyed he was. He didn’t say anything as he proceeded to pour a hefty serving into it. Bringing the glass to his lips, he downed almost all of it in one go before setting the glass back down with a clatter, a scant amount of liquor still swirling at the bottom.

He let out a sharp exhale as the lingering burn from the alcohol in his throat subsided. “You don’t know anything.”

She wished she knew how to tell him just how wrong he was. Since she didn’t know just how to do that, she settled for, “You’re not as special as you think.”

He finished off what little was left in his glass, leaving it empty on the counter beside the bottle as he went back so that he was standing next to her. She was leaning with her back pressed against the island but he came and stood so that he was facing it again. Instead of placing his hands on top of it, he leaned so that his forearms rested there instead. He clasped his hands, staring at them instead of the countertop as he felt Kristin’s eyes studying him.

“Bet you didn’t talk like that to Ryker.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not him, so I guess it doesn’t matter, right?”

He turned and looked at her. “Make it sound like it’s so easy to separate it out.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t say that.”

“Right.”

Despite the instinctive urge to make another snarky comment, he stayed silent. He unclasped his hands, letting his fingertips drum against the smooth surface of the island. It wasn’t a habit that was his own, just the sleeve’s reaction to nicotine withdrawal. He never personally cared for smoking, and if he thought that his stint in this sleeve was going to be a long-term one he would’ve thought about putting in the effort to quit. That just seemed like too much work for too little payoff at the moment.

Kristin heard the familiar tapping of his fingers before she turned to see it. She hated that Elias smoked, always chided him about it. And she knew that Tak’s draw to the nicotine was because of the sleeve, not because of any intrinsic desire. Because of that she was perfectly aware of the fact that she shouldn’t encourage him, but it almost felt like a freebie given the circumstances. She wouldn’t have to tell Elias—he’d never know if she didn’t say anything.

Without a word, she pulled a pack of cigarettes from the back of the top drawer of the island. Elias didn’t think she knew about it, not that it was any great hiding spot.

Takeshi looked quizzically back and forth between her and the pack of smokes. From the second he got spun up all she and everyone else had been doing was chastising him for smoking. It felt like a trick.

She gave the pack a slight shake. “If it’s offered, take it,” she said passively.

His eyes narrowed instantly, his entire body tensing. “What?”

“Take it,” she repeated, “before I change my mind.”

She watched the conflict on his face and chose not to say anything. If he had a question he could ask it, if he had a thought he could share it. But she was done trying to pull information out of him—Tak and Ryker. He was the one who showed up on her doorstep, after all.

“So when you said that I knew you,” he said as he reached and took the pack from her, fingers curling around it and the lighter pinned to the back of it, “you meant that the guy riding my sleeve before me knew you. That any reaction, pull or push, I felt about you had nothing to do with me and everything to do with Ryker.”

She watched him put a cigarette between his lips and spark it to life. She raised her eyebrows, partially because she was surprised by how much she enjoyed watching him do it, but also because she was surprised at how much work he was putting into finding the wrong answer.

Finally, she shrugged when his gaze landed back on her. She watched the smoke curl out from between his lips. “Something like that.”

“What was he like?”

Kristin ignored how he referred to Ryker in the past tense as she chuckled, wondering if he really had any interest in Elias at all or if he just wanted to try and glean something more about her by watching how she spoke about him. Regardless, she decided that she would indulge him in the smallest way possible. “You two would hate each other.” She knew what the follow-up question was going to be so she answered it before he could really ask. “You have the wrong things in common.”

He had an urge to try and get her to elaborate, but he stopped himself. Tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette, he tried to figure out what it was exactly that he really wanted to say to her. He could feel the energy rolling off her in waves. It wasn’t tension, not in the traditional sense. He could feel that there were layers of depth that he hadn’t worked his way into. She was keeping him out. He was stopping himself. He wondered how much of the blame could be put on her, how much of it on him, and how much of it was simply old sleeve memory complicating things for him.

“You must’ve really pissed off Bancroft to get him to do this,” he finally said, gesturing to himself with the hand that was holding the cigarette.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Suddenly the empty glass and nearly full bottle of liquor were looking much more inviting than they had been. “You don’t have a monopoly on pissing people off, Kovacs.”

“Stiff competition,” the rebuttal rolled off his tongue easily before he pulled another drag off his smoke.

“Enough years doing anything and you become a professional, right?”

“How many years is that?” he asked outright, forgoing subtlety because there didn’t seem to be much point to it anymore.

She looked over at him. “Enough.”

“Ortega…” he started and then trailed off. He was scratching at the walls of the truth, could hear it rattling around on the other side. He ground out the butt of his cigarette, funneling his frustration into the action before letting it drop from his fingertips.

“Takeshi.” It was only when she said his full name that she realized how long it’d been since she called him that. Using it to talk about him when he wasn’t around was much different than using it while talking to him. Centuries had passed since the last time she used it so casually with him.

He read it all over her face, too. He could see the way that it felt foreign and familiar all at once. It sounded familiar, too. There was something in the tones of the word, undercurrents in his own name that he recognized even if the voice was different. He stared at her intently, head tilting slightly in thought as he tried to look past what he could physically see. He heard her voice from the alley. “You know who I am.”

His eyes widened just slightly as the realization finally began to crash over him. When he spoke again, there was a certainty to his tone that hadn’t been there before. “Kristin.”

She’d been doing nothing but agonizing over what would happen when he realized who she really was, but now that she could see that he had, all she felt was relief. Her shoulders dropped with the lessening of the weight on them.

“That took you a little too long.” She peeled herself away from him, crossing to the counter where Takeshi had left his glass. She refilled it and drank from it herself. “Still got tunnel vision.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” His voice was tight, but there was still a lingering sense of bewilderment to it.

“Well for one thing I didn’t think it was going to take you so fucking long to figure it out.” She poured more liquor into the glass. She let out a quick, quiet wince as the liquor burned down her throat again. “They don’t know.”

He didn’t need to ask her who they were, or what exactly it was they didn’t know. His time off-stack might have been limited this time around but he knew the danger that being known as an Envoy would put her in. “None of them?”

She shook her head, contemplating a third pour. “None of them.”

“Not even—”

“I said none of them.” The relief was starting to disappear, dread slowly starting to take its place, and she poured herself a third helping to cope.

“You think I’ll say something.” It wasn’t a question.

“I think that there are very few things that you have ever cared about, Tak. I know that Bancroft definitely isn’t on that fucking shortlist.” She paused. “I know that I’m not either—never was.”

She looked over at him and she saw the way that there was a flicker of hope in his eyes when she said that last part. He knew she was right, that even back then she was never someone he paid much mind to. His concern had always been Reileen, and then Quell. Apparently a couple hundred years on ice hadn’t dulled his devotion to the latter. Kristin had a feeling that she knew what he wanted to ask, but she was content to make him actually say it.

To her surprise, he didn’t ask anything. “You haven’t heard anything,” he stated.

She shook her head. “No. But I’ve never gone looking.” She could feel the tension in the room thicken at that. “It was a miracle that I made it out. I wasn’t going to waste that by—”

“It wouldn’t have been a waste.”

“Not to you,” she snapped. “You were Quell’s favorite—of fucking course you would’ve gone looking for her. I was just another Envoy. Dispensable. Part of what was offered.” She sighed, forcing herself not to pour another drink. “I managed to survive so I did what we do best. I blended in.”

“Kristin Ortega,” he said her name in its totality, exploring each letter of it with fresh eyes and ears now that he knew who she was.

“Not a far cry from before, no?”

He shook his head. “No.” There were so many things that he could have, and probably should have, asked her, but in that moment he didn’t care about any of it. He easily collapsed the distance so that he was beside her again. He looked at the way her hands were wrapped tightly around the edge of the counter. He copied her position, only his grip wasn’t vice-like the way that hers was. Their pinkies nearly touched. “If we’d been better friends back then, would you have said something?”

That got a scoff out of her that dissolved into a laugh. “There’s no lifetime where the two of us are friends, Kovacs.”

“Not even in this sleeve?” It was teasing, but not cruel.

She turned her head, still having to look up slightly to meet his eyes even though he was leaning onto the counter. “The sleeve was never the problem.”

“This is probably my best shot though, right?”

She smiled and it was genuine even through the exhaustion. Maybe all the liquor was catching up to her. “Probably.”

Neither of them moved. In the thick silence of the apartment, they could each hear the other breathing. They knew enough to know where it could so easily go. It wouldn’t be anywhere good, at least not long-term. But what did long-term even mean for them anymore? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. There was that unspoken mutual understanding, after all, that they were each looking for someone in the other that they weren’t ever going to find. He might’ve been wearing his sleeve but Takeshi was never going to be Elias. And Kristin might’ve lived through the same hardships and lived to tell the tale, she might’ve known the history and the fight, but she wasn’t ever going to be Quell. They looked at each other and saw the truth, but they were both still pining after delusions.

Tak’s hand moved a fraction of an inch, the movement smooth as it caused his hand to brush against hers. She let out a short breath and he could smell the alcohol on it. Her lips parted slightly, like she was going to say something. Maybe she was going to say it was a bad idea, maybe she was going to send him home. Whatever she had been planning to say, he saw it in real time as it fell by the wayside.

She pulled her hand away from his only to reach and place it on the back of his head instead, pulling him closer. His body moved of its own accord. Some of it was just the natural motions of things, but there was also the familiarity of his sleeve and hers, chemical reactions that were innate that he had no control over. For a moment he fought it on the principle of it all, but then he felt the hunger in her, every movement of her lips and tongue against his a taunt to get him to reciprocate in kind.

So he did, grabbing her and placing her up on the counter with ease. She looped her legs around his waist as his grip tightened on her sides. He leaned into her, bodies pressed as tightly together as they could be with the barrier of their clothes still between them. If he wanted to, he could chalk his eagerness up to too many years on ice, an abundance of hormones in a sleeve that had been in the tank, body mechanics operating outside of his control. He could’ve said any and all of those things and none of them would’ve been a lie, per se. But as his hand slid towards the button of her jeans, he knew that the full truth was much, much simpler than that—they were both just taking what was offered.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

TEARS TEARS TEARS OF SADNESS AND JOY, FRIEDRICH LOVERS WE’RE ARE SO BACK. That was so beautifully gut wrenching and hilarious. I LOVE friedrich and Hadrian’s dynamic it’s so funny, both of them got me twirling my hair n shi. My two sassy kings 🧎‍♀️‍➡️🧎‍♀️‍➡️OH AND THE COLT MENTION DONT GET STARTED, I MISS THE THREE OF THEM SO MUCH ITS NOT EVEN FUNNY 😢. The way he didn’t even know who Colt or Y/N were but still ached for them, Mira you really know how to break hearts ☹️☹️. Hadrian being drunk actually made me laugh so hard, this was such a treat. I love how we got to see more him and his personality, I esp loved how Hadrian nicknamed Friedrich, Freddy that got me giggling hard 😭. Ugh this fic just made me realize how RIDICULOUSLY FUNNY Hadrian is to me, like the way Hadrian was describing Y/N had me laughing my ass off. Friedrich saying “Unrequited love is tough, from what I’ve heard. I wouldn’t know, though.” OH BUDDY, IM GONNA HOLD YOUR HAND WHILE I TELL YOU THIS…And when Y/N and Friedrich reunited at the end, oh sweet heavenly lord everything about that part had me ascending towards the heavens, it was so beautifully written and just everything abt them had me bawling. This whole fic made my day, thank u sm for writing it. I’m so happy it was about Friedrich and included Hadrian, you had me jumping up and down like a madman🥹🥹 🫶

AHAHAH FRIEDRICH MENTIONED WE ALL CHEERED!! writing friedrich and hadrian together was really fun especially because we don’t really see them ever interacting in the main story?? it was also fun making hadrian act a bit more his age…i feel like y/n really emphasized and brought out his mature side so he always feels very practical and adult-ish but he’s still a teenage boy too yk 🥹 i also thought it made more sense for the amatas to be more wary of friedrich than they were of y/n because friedrich is this super tall offputting guy who you can TELL would very easily be able to kill someone whereas while y/n is the more dangerous of the two on a larger scale she’s very unassuming and it’s easy to just think of her as like. a pretty girl?? plus she was like the worst in hand-to-hand combat (iirc friedrich and/or colt were the best) so without any weapons she’s kinda harmless HAHA which makes her not as intimidating especially when you don’t know she’s a candidate and that’s why it’s easier for the amatas to be kind to her/befriend her/fall in love with her (cough hadrian cough)!!

LMAOOOO yeah er about that friedrich…bro doesn’t even know that “unrequited” (using that loosely because whatever he and y/n have going on isn’t unrequited it’s just weird) love is his whole thing 😭 WRITING THEIR REUNION WAS SO INSANE TBH I FORGOT HOW CRAZY HE IS ABOUT HER the way he’s literally defined by being in love with her is just wild to me like he doesn’t even know her but he KNOWS her they are so sick and twisted!! as much as i love hadrian colt and even marek (i have a soft spot for marek he’s my fav because of his physical parallels to y/n’s mental state) friedrich will ALWAYS be that guy like he truly made sith what it is i think 😩 i’m glad you ended up liking it though!! i had fun messing around with the characters again HAHAH

[topconfessions]

I'm so glad you're back!!! : )

I just wanted to update you about the 'tea' regarding TOP's casting in squid game 2. The director recently did an interview with a few journalists. It was uploaded on multiple Korean news outlets yesterday. (I'm Korean, btw) Apparently he spent half the time talking about TOP. I've yet to find a full translation of it in English, but I'll link one of the sources I've read here. Most articles, including the ones below, only quoted parts of the interview.

https://www.starnewskorea.com/stview.php?no=2025010215001441455&MS2

First, the director talked about how he came about with the character Thanos, emphasizing that he didn't create the role with TOP in mind. He said he was interested in issues such as crypto, drugs and wanted to cast younger actors compared to season 1. He was inspired by some of the contestants from 'Show Me the Money' (a Korean reality tv series by Mnet, where amateur rappers 'battle' each other through tournaments) and created the character 'Thanos', a rapper who garnered fame through a similar reality tv series, who also has drug issues. He auditioned 11 actors, but couldn't find the right person. He even considered casting Swings(스윙스) for the role.

Then, he talked about how TOP came to audition for the role. His production team had brought him a list with TOP's name on it. The director decided to ask TOP for an audition, but was skeptical TOP will try out for the role because of the negative parallels he shared with the character. After spending quite some time thinking about it, TOP accepted the offer. He had a total of 3 auditions. The first on was in person, which the director stopped mid-way because TOP was 'too nervous and sweated profusely'. So TOP sent an video tape instead, which the director liked. But when he announced the casting to the public (June, 2023), he received such heavy backlash that TOP had to audition a third time, while other cast members had a table read together.

After facing an unexpected magnitude of criticism, he said he took the time to 'find out why the public is unforgiving' regarding TOP. He said that at the time of the casting, he wasn't aware that TOP had once claimed he was retiring, and he has kept a passive-aggressive stance against fans and the public since. The director said that TOP may have 'made things bigger than it had to be', and he even considered cancelling TOP's casting, but he didn't want to discard TOP who 'had guts' to portray a character that was essentially making fun of himself. After he saw the results, he was satisfied with TOP's exaggerated performance of the character. He said that he had already expected the adverse reactions from Koreans and foreign audiences when it came to 'theatrical' characters like Thanos.

As for TOP's absence in promotional events, the director said that he had little to no say in the matter, and it was ultimately Netflix's decision. He argued that while Thanos is a memorable character he dies midst the season, which makes TOP a supporting role. And the fact that the promotional events only featured cast members with more important roles in season 3 has nothing do with the what the public thinks of TOP.

To my surprise, he carefully added that "I think (TOP) wanted to participate in promotional events. If he isn't planning on hiding from the public forever, he needs to clear up his controversies on his own. Honestly, though, having worked with him, I personally don't think he's the kind of person who could handle a bunch of people bombarding him with questions. But at the same time, I hope he finds the right opportunity to speak out his mind one day."

I was surprised because I think its the first time a public figure from the entertainment industry actually spoke on TOP's behalf. After almost certainly leaving YG on not so good terms, TOP has been blatantly avoided being mentioned by anyone famous in the k-pop industry or the acting industry. I've been reading other interviews from the director since, and I think he's the kind to person who likes to speak what's in his mind shamelessly and directly. I personally think he's telling the truth (at least his version of it) when it comes to how he cast TOP for Thanos.

I've read in your posts that you have your own thoughts regarding TOP's casting. It's fine if you don't want to share them. I'm just curious whether this interview brought some new insights to the whole situation.

If you have the time, make a quick search online. I translated this after reading Korean articles, so if you happen to find a more reliable English source, please let me know!

This confirms what I've been saying and thinking. Top isn't truly ready for a role like this on a show of this magnitude and This was a one off, practically handed to him regardless of the auditioning process. I feel after reading this PERSONALLY that the director is trying to clean up the whole backlash and distate of his apperance. Its giving damage control. I DO believe the parts of him being awkward and him not being fit to do press tours but while I do agree with netflix decision to not include him, he NEEDS TO BE PROMOTING the show, out there doing interviews, press conference and all of that cause it legitamize and reinstate his importance in the show Even if it's a supporting role.

It detracts from his entire involvement and really just makes it look like he is a guest star (how us americans call it) in the show for some razzle dazzle and thats it. Now, I know all about show me the money and I remember that show well, I know bobby from ikon went on there and many others.

Swings should've gotten the role and been an older has been washed out rapper with a more mature and darker personality. Squid game in character and in real life, you know you're 95% going into the game to agree to be killed. Its a voluntary suicide truly and everyone who goes there truly has no reason to live anymore or willpower. I feel while I appreciate a younger cast being incorporated into the season, it strips away the fabric of the crucial nature of it.

Even if thanos had a lot of playful banter with the girl and was cool with her, the cleverness yet the carelessness of him playing that bee trick on her adds to the show but also takes away from it to me. If this were real life thanos would be dead from the jump cause some people would've pushed him or took his ass down with them etc. But I digress.

I would like someone to tell me what episode he gets killed off in cause Although if I do watch it, I'll try to be fair, if its too much for me I'd like to skip most of those episodes and just get to the rest of the game.

Anyways, this all supports my stance that he is playing an exaggerated version of himself and poking fun at the entire stereotype of his image the korean public placed on him being a messy problematic star. He was still personally contacted and a lot of stars American and foregin are contacted to audition or given the role, but it still supports my stance that this is too close literally obvious that it was written for him.

Also, everytime he's in a movie his character always dies. It's redundant to me and upsetting. I need him to take on a SERIOUS role or a comedic role where it flows well. Tazza 2 was decent and that was one of his more solid performances. That military movie was a good direction but his character dies at the end I believe.

I need a denzel trianing day moment from him i need a wolf of Wallstreet or titanic from him. Or an oceans eleven. Or maybe a period drama from him, historical. There is something aboht his choices in roles that rub me the wrong way.

[doctorkinktraveller]

DOCTOR [behind door]: When did you first realise?

JACK: Earth, 1892. Got in a fight in Ellis Island. A man shot me through the heart. Then I woke up. Thought it was kind of strange. But then it never stopped. Fell off a cliff, trampled by horses, World War One, World War Two, poison, starvation, a stray javelin. In the end, I got the message. I'm the man who can never die. And all that time you knew.

DOCTOR [behind door]: That's why I left you behind. It's not easy even just looking at you, Jack, because you're wrong.

JACK: Thanks.

DOCTOR [behind door]: You are. I can't help it. I'm a Time Lord. It's instinct. It's in my guts. You're a fixed point in time and space. You're a fact. That's never meant to happen. Even the Tardis reacted against you, tried to shake you off. Flew all the way to the end of the universe just to get rid of you.

JACK: So what you're saying is that you're, er, prejudiced?

DOCTOR [behind door]: I never thought of it like that.

JACK: Shame on you.

DOCTOR [behind door]: Yeah.

[Yana's laboratory]

JACK [OC]: Last thing I remember, back when I was mortal, I was facing three Daleks. Death by extermination. And then I came back to life.

[Radiation chamber]

JACK: What happened?

DOCTOR [behind door]: Rose.

[Yana's laboratory]

JACK [OC]: I thought you'd sent her back home.

DOCTOR [OC]: She came back. Opened the heart of the Tardis and absorbed the time vortex itself.

JACK [OC]: What does that mean, exactly?

(Yana is crying.)

DOCTOR [OC]: No one's ever mean to have that power.

[Radiation chamber]

DOCTOR [behind door]: If a Time Lord did that, he'd become a god. A vengeful god. But she was human.

(Flashback to Parting of the Ways, Floor 500 of the satellite.)

ROSE: I bring life.

(Jack remembers his first coming back to life.)

DOCTOR [behind door]: Everything she did was so human. She brought you back to life, but she couldn't control it. She brought you back forever. That's something, I suppose. The final act of the Time War was life.

[Yana's laboratory]

(The words echo in Yana's head.)

DOCTOR [OC]: Time war, time war.

JACK [OC]: Do you think she could change me back?

DOCTOR [OC]: I took the power out of her.

[Radiation chamber]

DOCTOR [behind door]: She's gone, Jack. She's not just living on a parallel world, she's trapped there. The walls have closed.

JACK: I'm sorry.

DOCTOR [behind door]: Yeah.

JACK: I went back to her estate, in the nineties, just once or twice. Watched her growing up. Never said hello. Timelines and all that.

DOCTOR [behind door]: Do you want to die?

JACK: Oh, this one's a little stuck.

DOCTOR [behind door]: Jack?

JACK: I thought I did. I don't know. But this lot. You see them out here surviving, and that's fantastic.

DOCTOR [behind door]: You might be out there, somewhere.

JACK: I could go meet myself.

DOCTOR: Well, the only man you're ever going to be happy with.

JACK: This new regeneration, it's kind of cheeky.

DOCTOR: Hmm.

[as-warm-as-choco]

How Do You Live? (boy and the heron)

just came back from the cinema celebrating Miyazaki's birthday finally watching BOY AND THE HERON i wanted to cry the whole time i was speechless just overflowing with magic the direction divine the many distant shots of Mahito within vast space (which was just magical backgrounds) the music (especially when pelicans started eating the warawara) the lore of it all my heart couldnt take it i just wanna stay inside hayao-san's worlds forever i dont wanna get outtt omg THE SHINYA OHIRA opening scene >_< *pukes stars* the young parallel world KIRIKO jumping on the gigantic fish and slicing it in two till the tail and giving mahito to try and THE GUTS all spilling and burying him under T_T_T_T when the heron first started talking and the fuckin design and voice acting was haunting(ly beautiful) when he was making the bow and the arrow and stealing tobacco and give it to the grandpa when he raised the stone and just the blood started rushing so so so much ?? when he was first crying and there were 2 tears on both corners of the eyes plus one all 5 of them standinggg the parakeets which brought so much more cartoony life lmao the granniesssss and their designs?? when he found his mom and those paper devils just flew around hurting/burying them both till his young version of his mom burned them the warawara for real they just had fun animating them also the crowd scenes also the backgrounds ill say that again i mean my eyessss my soullll is healedddd (of course im gonna go watch it at least 5 more timessss lmao) happy birthday you magical madman of a grandpa i love you with all my heartttt i thank you for everything thank you for existing thank you for raising me and feeding me dreams and eternal fantasy thank UwU forever i love you i have so much more to say about teh movie so much livelinessss when they caught the fish and the sea suddenly was full of insane trees and the boat shadow creatures THE FACT WE GOT TRIPPY SATOSHI KON SCENES when the heron showed mahito his mom and she started melting then the ground swallowed tehmmmmm ughhhhh the corridor to his ancestor who was playing with those blocks im glad i exist every time i existing in your films thank you for creating the safest weirdest most magical places for me to call home

okay okay when his new mother caressed his bandage and she said its her fault she let that happen to him. when the heron made THE FROGS AND MUDSKIPPERS AND another creature climb all over mahito and swallow him till his mother threw the arrow that was the second time i lost my mind completely after the ohira scene T_T

<3 i'll make it out of here for you and because of you i promise <3 joe hisaishi played while i biked in the darkness back

[virgoingfaraway]

Homesick

The other day I heard this Noah Kahan song for the first time. I love his music but I've never sat down and listened to an album of his from start to finish. I have a tendency of doing that with the most beautiful of artists. It stems from some deep-seated fear, I guess. I don't know. I couldn't fully articulate it if I tried. But anyway, I heard the lyric, "and I will die in the house I grew up in..." for the very first time and I wasn't fully focused on the song because I was vibing and driving but that one line was like a punch to the gut. I immediately started weaving this web in my head. It just really brought me back to all the times when I was younger and I'd think to myself, "I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home." All the while fully knowing that my own home didn't actually feel like the safest of spaces, but wishing that it did, and wishing I could just exist vulnerably and outside of survival mode. But I existed in my body. My whole life was in my mind, it seemed; and my mind has not always been the kindest of places... so to me these lyrics specifically parallel the very nuanced reality of being stuck with yourself and the fantasy of the kind of love and support some of us have only dreamed about. Am I homesick because these walls of mine do not feel like a home or am I homesick because I have never felt peace within myself? Suffice it to say my mind will die within this body- even if this body does not die within these walls.

[starswallowingsea]

oops 11pm typing up a review for What Lies in the Woods by Kate Alice Marshall

I got this as my book of the month back in January and after reading the first chapter, kinda put it off because it felt too much like the Slenderman Stabbing case which is a bit too close to home. Picked it up again recently after my wifi went out again and I needed something to read and ended up enjoying it (although my gut feeling was kinda proven right at the end unfortunately). 4/5 stars, full review under the cut, spoilers ahead.

So first things first, this is supposed to be an adult thriller, but it very much reads like YA which doesn't bother me that much but it does for other people so just a heads up on that.

Now to the meat and potatoes. This book follows Naomi Shaw, a mid-30s woman from a middle of nowhere town in Washington state who survived a stabbing attempt when she was 11 while her two best friends watched on. It left her permanently scarred and brought the three of them closer together during the recovery process.

Our story begins when the person they accused of being the one who stabbed them and also of being a serial killer with at least 6 other victims dies in prison from cancer. Naomi gets a call and returns to her hometown for the first time in years and meets up with her two friends who survived the attack with her and one of them says she's tired of hiding their secret.

Oh yeah. When they were 11, they found a skeleton in the woods and began worshiping her as a goddess based on this bead bracelet on her wrist that read Persephone. They had 7 rituals to complete to show their dedication to the goddesses of varying degrees of severity, up to and including self mutilation. Typical 11yo things.

It's not too long after this that the friend who wants to tell their secret winds up dead in the same woods with a gunshot to the head, ruled a suicide despite no weapon being found at the scene and a lack of gun powder on her hands that would indicate self infliction of the wound.

At this point, Naomi suspects there's something going on and decides to look into it more with the help of this podcaster that's been snooping around about the case. There's a lot that begins to happen around this time in the book that gets everything going and makes it a much easier and quick read.

I will say that a lot of the ensemble cast, even the best friends of Naomi, weren't always super well defined but we do have an unreliable narrator in the first person so her biases color a lot of things with regards to the Mayor's family especially. The pieces come together pretty quickly too once you start unraveling the threads of the story and I personally wasn't really gotten by any of the twists all that much. They made logical sense when they were revealed regardless of if I had predicted them or not.

Is it the best thriller out there? No. Is it a good read for the end of summer? I think so. I've been in kind of a reading slump and needed a quick easy read like this to help pull me out and it was still pretty enjoyable. Though I'm still not sure how I feel about any potential parallels with real world cases (again, the slenderman stabbing seems awfully close to what happened here, just without the false accusation of another person as the attacker).

[tokiro07]

Was I the only one who briefly thought Billy daughter was Lucy, the Unhealth negator that Andy met that one time? I had to check the name on the wiki to make sure it wasn't her. Mostly the snotty nose was what threw me off.

Another one that I brought up in my review, no, you are far from the only one

Like half of the comments on MangaPlus were people freaking out about Lucy being Billy's daughter, despite the fact that that's absolutely impossible with the timeline

Now, admittedly, my gut reaction was also "IS THAT FUCKING LUCY?!" but then I stopped to think for a second and realized that it was just a visual parallel, not the same literal character

It's possible that Veronica and Betty are related to Lucy in some way, but I think it's more likely that we're being set up for Billy to find a new family in Loop 101, especially since Tatiana is more than likely going to be back with her family

Of course, I still think that Billy is going to be a father figure for Tatiana, but who says a man can't have two adopted daughters?

[scribbledonausednapkin]

Azula Always Lies

Azula & Zuko childhood stories (cross posted on AO3)

An exploration of Azula and Zuko’s relationship before and after Ursa is banished. Fire sibling dynamics including trauma and drama.

Chapter 1: Jealousy

“Did you know I can do all the basic forms now?”

For a seven year old, Princess Azula was already well spoken, disciplined, and manipulative. Her appearance was unwelcome, but unsurprising. Her caramel eyes examined her older brother with intense scrutiny just as their father’s always did. Prince Zuko didn’t want to know why she was bothering him while he practiced his basic forms for the third time that day.

Late afternoon waned to evening in the west courtyard of the palace in the Fire Nation’s capital. The prince’s footsteps made firm slaps against the cream stone as he punched forward with strength, keeping a low stance on bent knees. His ponytail swung sharp in the air while beads of sweat slid from his hairline down his nose and into the crevice of his eye, stinging his tear ducts. Focus, that is what he needed to do.

“Are you ignoring me?”

Azula frowned. Her arms crossed in front of her red and black tunic, her feet pointed out, her shoulders drawn back like a military general: she always demanded attention. Two perfectly aligned black tails of hair swung softly on either side of her face and she pursed her lips as Zuko’s tensed hand sliced through the air.

“I’m busy Azula,” Zuko replied through gritted teeth as he continued his form to completion. A measly flame popped out from his fist, nothing like what he wanted to happen. Like what was supposed to happen.

“Ha.” Azula laughed and Zuko jerked to her scowling. “Busy with what? Baby flames?”

“It wasn’t a baby flame!” Zuko’s face turned red and he clenched his fist stomping down one foot in frustration. Azula smiled, licking her lips like a predator eyeing its prey.

The princess stepped forward purposefully, stopping for only a second to take a breath before and nod before she began the same motions Zuko had practiced just moments before. She was quick, precise; each movement was powerful as she brought her weight forward with confidence. Quick breaths in through her nose partnered with well timed exhales through her mouth went parallel to her bending exertions. Then she went further, extending the formation and coupling it with the last basic form all young firebenders must master. Small flames flicked off into the air as she continued without hesitation. She gave kick high into the air, perfectly arched and it curved above her head before sweeping back as she braced herself on her front foot. With her knee locked and stance strong, she bolted her arms together in a pushing motion ahead of her. A large crackling flame shot out of her palms soaring forward until it seared against a blood red column by the gate.

The sunset laid golden shadows over the courtyard as Azula’s flame sizzled from existence.

“See? It’s easy.” Azula returned to the straightened stance of a practiced royal. She was a natural with her element and her role in society.

Zuko huffed in his position in front of her, face flushed, but eyes wide as he watched his sister’s effortless production of golden orange flame. There was a hollow feeling digger deeper into his gut and he swallowed any emotion threatening to show off in front of Azula.

“Yea, for you,” Zuko looked down at his feet in disappointment. He kicked the barely visible dust, feeling the small particles cling to the bottom of his bare foot. Everything came easy to Azula.

“Oh dum-dum, it’s not hard. Why don’t you try again?”

The seven year old smirked. Zuko gazed off to the side of the courtyard, eyes trailing up to the sky, a blend of yellows, oranges, and reds; a smear of thin, wispy clouds gave it a grainy appearance overhead.

“What good would that do?” His voice was singed with venom and emptiness. Azula’s brother shot her a parting glance, turning away and stalking back toward the palace doors.

“I’ll tell you what you’re missing.”

“How would you know?” He shot, feigning indifference, but in actuality he was curious to what she meant. Still, his annoyance kept his feeling walking forward.

“I’m the expert arent I?”

“You’re not an expert.” Zuko rolled his eyes.

“At least I’ve mastered all the basic forms,” she retorted. He stopped.

He took a breath thinking of his father’s disappointed face when his golden eyes watched Zuko’s attempts at firebending. Then a flash of what they looked like when Azula hit a perfectly timed kick. He turned around to her satisfied glare.

“Fine.”

He repeated his forms, concentrating so intensely the creases in his eyebrows felt stiff and unmovable. His breaths were short and pointed. Still, nothing more than an ember appeared when he punched out toward the gate. He sighed and his shoulders dropped in disappointment. His eyes found Azula’s which were crinkled in amusement.

“So?”

“Hmm,” Azula took a small step to the side, eyeing him from head to toe. Her body found its perfect posture yet again, arms clasping behind her.

“See, the problem is, you should never tried in the first place.” The edge of her lip quirked up in victory.

Her brother panted, still recovering from his attempt at a fire fist. As he realized he had been played by his younger sister, yet again, he winced; a half groan half yell reverberated from his throat and his foot turned sharply in the opposite direction guiding his heated being away from Azula. He should have known better.

Anger bubbled in his belly as he stomped toward the palace doors. Zuko was trying to do what his mother said and leave when his sister got like this. Azula was a girl. Azula was younger. He should be the bigger person, she was only seven.

“Where are you going? Too embarrassed to say anything? Why don’t you just admit you’ll never catch up?”

She was quick on his heals as he took his first step on the short palace stairs.

Her tone? Arrogant. Her hovering? Suffocating. Her throwing her perfect prodigy naturally gifted glorious flame having hands in his face? Insufferable.

“Fine! You’re better!” Zuko turned around rapidly, arms flailing as he rounded on his little sister. She stepped back as he barged forward down the single step back into the middle of the courtyard. “You’re better! Is that what you want to hear? You’re better than me, Azula! You win!”

Azula had maintained the space between them as Zuko shouted at her. It was what she wanted he knew, but he couldn’t help it. She knew just how to get under his skin.

“You don’t deserve to be firstborn.”

The little girl replied loudly with a smile on her face, bronze eyes narrowed. Her hands moved to her hips, hinging forward as she taunted him.

Zuko exhaled deeply, brows knitted, teeth grinding.

“Even father thinks so.”

Without a thought Zuko lunged at his sister in rage and shot a fist through the air. A bright orange flame, much stronger than any he had previously conjured, exploded from his clenched knuckles, hitting Azula square on the shoulder.

—

Zuko awoke with a throbbing headache. The room was dark, but as his senses regained themselves he could feel the damp sheets under his back, a chill washing over him. His eyes were still heavy with exhaustion, but he could faintly hear a familiar, soft voice strained in a argument with a low and commanding sound that shot terror through him like electricity.

“He is just a boy, two hours in the sauna was far too long,” his mother pleaded by the door way. He kept his eyes low, but just over the edge of the thin red blanket covering him, he could make out her form, a silhouette in the dim light.

“If he wants a flame so badly, he will have to earn it.” His father’s voice was oozing with disgust.

Earn it. Yes, now he remembered. The heat of the sauna burning him from the inside as the clock ticked away minute after minutes. At first, he had tried to use it as an opportunity to center himself; maybe if he concentrated he could achieve true flame. He had finally done it thanks to Azula’s teasing; his anger had made him stronger. He meditated cross legged as long as he could on the wooden planks of the sauna floor until the dryness in his mouth spread to his throat and then his lungs burned with every breath. His vision had blurred and the black edges had taken over as embers stung his every pore.

“That is not what this was about.”

A deep scoff.

“Azula told me what happened. The boy can barely produce a puff of smoke, so he attempts to bully his sister out of jealousy. He is weak, pathetic.”

A gentle shake the shadows head.

“No, you’re wrong-”

Her breath hitched, scratchy and quick. Zuko stiffened lowering the edge of his blanket as he forcefully pressed his body deeper into the mattress. From this more open position he saw the black shadow of an arm protruding from his mother’s throat.

“I am never wrong.”

A gasp. His mother was released as quickly as she was seized. There was a light cough before she replied, voice low and firm.

“Fine, but do not be sure that your daughter is telling the truth. Azula lies; she always lies.”

[rainswept]

alright FINE i guess i'll elaborate. (you better be asleep by the time i send this.)

dazai and kaz are so similar and yet so different in a fascinating way. aside from the obvious parallels—ambiguous morality, unsettling auras, and terrifying intelligence—there are a few notable differences. kaz is fuelled by a deep desire to avenge his brother and tear down his enemies 'brick by brick', while dazai strives to live a good life and fulfill oda's last wish. they both live for the memory of someone dear to them, but one memory pushes them to vengeance, while the other pushes them to solace.

this is only slightly related, but i said before that akutagawa is a person who inherently lacks purpose, and honestly i would argue dazai is the same. (i wonder if that is why dazai treats him the way he does... if he sees a kindred spirit in him... if he resents the way akutagawa clings to him so desperately, because he knows that will never achieve him true wholeness, so he refuses to give it to him.) before, he cared very little about whether he lived or died; he had no morality nor values of his own. he was just a blank slate, covered in shadows and bloodstains that did nothing to hide its barrenness.

HOWEVER prior to oda's death, before he became mafia traitor dazai osamu, he was the youngest mafia executive in history. that is the dazai that i associate that quote with. of course, his bloodied reputation isn't wiped clean so easily, and of course it lingers like a noose around his neck even when he is a part of the agency. but back then, it is so much more powerful when he is actively cultivating an image of a ruthless monster.

when everyone knows you’re a monster, you needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing.

isn't that true? who knows if every atrocity tied to his name was even done by him, or some other creature that lurks in the dark. the only thing that truly matters is that people think of him as merciless, dangerous. his hands have brought so much destruction that he doesn't even have to kill someone to stop their heart, the suggestion is enough. for a creature that spills blood on a whim (he is very careful with who he kills; death is useful move, but he would be a fool to waste a pawn), whose empathy couldn't extend to another if he tried (his emotions are buried, but they are still there), what else would they expect?

what would a monster be, if not monstrous?

so. that's my elaboration. i feel like it is underwhelming, sorry. obligatory THIS IS ALL MY INTERPRETATION dazai is a very complex character but a lot of him is still a mystery in the story, and i am foaming at the mouth waiting for more of his past to be revealed.

ambiguous morality, unsettling auras, and terrifying intelligence

guys i think i have a type!!1111

this is only slightly related, but i said before that akutagawa is a person who inherently lacks purpose, and honestly i would argue dazai is the same.

aren’t we all? 🤨 what purpose does life have but what we give it? (and what purpose can be given by someone who has no desire to obtain one?)

if he resents the way akutagawa clings to him so desperately, because he knows that will never achieve him true wholeness, so he refuses to give it to him.)

GOD DAMN.

before, he cared very little about whether he lived or died; he had no morality nor values of his own. he was just a blank slate, covered in shadows and bloodstains that did nothing to hide its barrenness.

HELLO??/?/ poetr.y. killme neow

and of course it lingers like a noose around his neck even when he is a part of the agency.

noose. Dazai. oh my hod avery ur gonna be the dEATH OF MEEEEE

ok actually i need to stop quoting things because every single line in this was like a punch to the gut and i’d just end up screaming over every single one holy SHIT. pls tag me if u ever write a dazai fic (throws up)

(he is very careful with who he kills; death is useful move, but he would be a fool to waste a pawn), whose empathy couldn't extend to another if he tried (his emotions are buried, but they are still there)

ok i lied about stopping because GOOD GOD. AVERY??/?// IM GOIJGNTO DIE/ WHATTHHE HELL. THIS IS SOMGODO

UNDERWHELMING???? UNDERWHELMING????/?/ NUH UH. NUH UH. MASTERPIECE

[peakyswritings]

Alright, this is going to be messy, I don’t even understand what the hell I’ve written, but I have too many thoughts to write them clearly. So here’s my stream of consciousness

First of all, the first part brought back all the pain of John’s death, and it hurt even more considering how special his relationship with Heaven was. He welcomed her into the family as if he had known her all his life, and he never made her feel out of place or like an intruder like someone else did *accusingly*. He’s been a pillar, in some way, and now that pillar is gone.

The parallels between the witch trial and John’s funeral was gut-wrenching. Maybe it’s just an impression and I’m wrong, but I feel like Heaven’s way of dealing with her trauma was to close the door on it. But on occasions like these, it’s impossible not to remember. My heart aches for her.

Also, my heart aches for Arthur as well. He’s in the wrong, he made a terrible mistake, nothing’s going to change it. But his vulnerable demeanour shattered my heart in a million pieces. It’s clear how much they need each other, and how it’s killing them to stay separated. The way you have built their relationship chapter by chapter has led to such connection between them that it’s impossible to imagine them apart. They belong to each other, and I might say that they’re linked, but I feel like not even that word is enough to represent the depth of their bond. It’s truly wonderful what you managed to creat with the power of your words.

"And Aberama Gold will do the rest." Tommy completed his brother's sentence as if he was an extension of himself

You perfectly caught the essence of Tommy and Arthur’s relationship here. They are the extension of one another. This will make everything way more painful if Arthur were to learn about Tommy’s betrayal.

She wouldn’t admit it but her trust in you had never been the same from this moment.

This made me realise how much things changed from the beginning. It’s so sad how Ada has been Heaven’s number one defender since day one, but now she can’t find it in herself to trust her again.

The bright smile you bore soon vanished from your plumped lips when your winter eyes met with the dark silhouette of your brother-in-law, standing in front of you with his calloused hands in his pockets and his cold gaze staring at your angelic complexions with an unfathomable look.

He just can’t help himself, can he? At least it seems like he’s learned his lesson about invading her personal space.

The following part was pure art and had me holding my breath. The way Tommy’s trying so hard to put on a brave facade when he’s actually scared of her… The whole description of him acting like a feline surrounding his prey was probably my favourite part of this chapter. I loved how you set the atmosphere and described the whole scene, it got me on the edge of my seat.

"Disgust."

Now you talked about people shipping Tommy and Heaven and I can see why. THE WAY YOU BUILT THE TENSION BETWEEN THEM- amazing, brilliant, otherworldly. BUT, although they DO have chemistry, I just can’t root for them. I get the whole enemies to lovers appeal, it’s one of my favourite tropes as well, but I just can’t bring myself to sympathise with Tommy here. If he has a hundred haters I’m one of them, if he has one hater it’s me, if he has no haters I’m dead. There’s something deeply unsettling in the way he acts with Heaven, something you convey in such a subtle yet clear way that prevents me to ship them. His predatory demeanour makes my skin crawl, I’m not going to lie. And of course, it is the consequence of your brilliant writing. You’re able to set the scene and portray the characters’ emotions so well that it feels like being catapulted into the story. And I side with Heaven 100%. And speaking of siding with Heaven, let me take a step back to the first part of the chapter - If bringing him back was out of your abilities, at least you could avenge him by bringing upon every single man who plotted his death a demise worse than death. - For all of the wicked things she will do do, I will be no Heaven apologist because she has nothing to apologise for. Alright enough rambling, I’m going on with the chapter.

No, but before I truly go on, THIS - (…) trying his best to keep his composure at the realization that he would never be able to predict you. Never be able to control nor to own you. - THIS is what I was talking about. He doesn’t seem to care about her. He wants to control her, to own her. It’s like he wants her for selfish reasons, to prove something to himself, or maybe because he just can’t stand that he can’t have everything he wants. Okay now I’m moving on for real. God, I’m so invested in this.

"I know, love and I'm sorry about it but you wouldn't have come if I told you that Tommy was here." Her cold and sly hand gently squeezed your arm in a gentle gesture, so soft and full of motherly love that you couldn't really blame her anymore.

Polly’s motherly behaviour towards Heaven is one of my favourite things. Again, it might be me and I might be wrong, but is it possible that the reason behind their relationship is that Polly lost a daughter just like Heaven lost a mother, so they need each other to some extent? I could write a whole essay about this thought, but this comment is an essay itself, and writing an essay-within-the essay doesn’t seem like a good idea lmao.

“I want you to meet Luca Changretta."

Tommy, if you want to get rid of her I guess you’ll have to find another way, cause she’ll smash his lungs before he can lay his eyes on her.

Shelbys, you swore. Sometimes you wondered if they had some telepathic shit going on between them.

Again, you perfectly captured the essence of this family’s relationship.

"When Apocalypse comes, it seems like even Thomas Shelby wants the Devil on his team."

Now this is just how I imagine Heaven’s exit after DROPPING THIS. I love her.

All you wished was to protect your man and show the world that they better fear Arthur Shelby's wife as much as him if it isn't more.

Do you know what we stan more than a man ready to burn down the whole world for his woman? A WOMAN READY TO BURN DOWN THE WHOLE WORLD FOR HER MAN

Now, the whole plan is thrilling. I loved how you bent the original plot to create something new that would fit your series. I can’t wait to see Heaven and Luca’s interaction!

Despite everything you’ve been through lately, including the indescribable disappointment due to his drug relapse, you had allowed your relationship to slowly heal. You had been crystal clear, now the ball was in his court.

I’m so glad she’s giving him a second chance, and I hope Arthur won’t take it for granted now that he’s got the demonstration that saying sorry is not enough, and that it will be acts and not words to grant him forgiveness.

Anyway, Heaven’s loyalty to Arthur is unmatched. Polly and Tommy should’ve expected her to tell him the truth, they couldn’t possibly believe that she would betray him like that. The following part with their intimate scene just made me even more convinced about what I said before about their bond. And the wolf/lamb dichotomy was brilliant, you perfectly gave the idea of that double dimension. They might seem opposite images, but they’re actually two faces of the same medal.

About the last part: I ADORED it. It was so interesting to see how Heaven is perceived from the outside, from people who don’t really know her.

“A lamb… When your eyes meet Heaven Shelby’s nobody can’t tell if she wanna braid your hair or eat your heart. Lamb she’s not. Don’t get fooled by the dresses and heels, she’s not playing doll. She only makes violence look better.”

This part was pure🔥🔥. Loved it.

Shark, your talent never fails to amaze me. This was such an intense and amazing chapter, and I’m so excited for what’s to come! Thank you for sharing this with us🤍

Sorry for the long comment, I couldn’t help but share all my thoughts (and some live reactions as well) - although I still feel like I’ve missed something

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  Running from your past doesn’t work anymore now that you’ve been directly involved in the Vendetta. Between violence, threats and schemes, you understand that you will only retrieve your peaceful haven with Arthur if you get out of this war with blood under your nails. featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 7.5k

TW: alteration of canon events, canonical violence, graphic depiction of murder, SMUT +18, hint at gunplay, cockwarming, piv, non-protected , obsessive love, extreme co-dependent relationship. They are sincerely deranged, sorry about that. No proofreading, we die like men.

Notes:

✞ This is the last quiet chapter of Act II, shit will start to get real in the next part. Also, the smut is just a part of the chapter, not the entire thing.

✞ This is chapter 14 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alone but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

The crackling symphony of burning wood whispered to the stillness, each pop and hiss forming the melody of a sorrowful farewell to John Shelby. Amidst the flickering glow you emerged, your white hair cascading like a waterfall of moonlight around your shoulders to the small of your back. The firelight waltzed upon your features, bringing up the mesmerizing interplay of diamond dust and frost that composed you.

How many more?

The question flashed in your thoughts, leaving a trail of caustic soda that scorched your skull from the inside. How many more of your loved ones should you see burn, their flesh eaten by a voracious fire, until God decided He had enough fun tormenting you? Two faint dimples appeared on your cheeks as you gritted your teeth, the cold winter wind blowing at the black veils of your long and seductive black dress that floated elegantly behind you like the sinister drapes of the Reaper's cloak. In utter silence, Arthur lowkey shifted his focus from the vardo to you with concern and, taking notice of the destructive sparkle in your eyes, pulled you closer. The sensation might have been comforting but your body didn’t answer to his affection, remaining limp and disconnected. To be completely honest, you were feeling so physically and emotionally cold that you would have believed you were made of frost if his coat, which was resting over your shoulders, and his comforting hand, that was on your lower back, weren't there to offer you a bit of warmth.

As the scent of Arthur's reassuring cologne kept you anchored to reality, you finally woke up from your gluey negativity and instinctively nestled against your husband, who placed a discreet and tender kiss on the corner of your lips. The familiar ticking of his facial hairs on your skin sent a wave of comfort through your soul and reminded you that, despite everything that had been going on between the two of you lately, he had been, still was, and will always be your only saving grace. You wondered if, maybe, it was time for you to go back home. Not that his betrayal had been forgotten or forgiven, but you needed him more than ever. For a shit ton of reasons.

“You’re frozen, angel. You sure you wanna stay hm?” He whispered, the tender gravel in his voice clearing your morbid contemplation of the burning vardo, which brought to your mind the sickening memories of your mother and little sister burning at the stake. A long exhale escaped from your fleshy lips as you tried to keep the demons of your past on a leash — and ignore a sudden wave of nausea.

“I’m not going anywhere. If John is burning I might as well freeze.” Your reply was a bit blunter than intended, but Arthur got it. The way you watched the flames climb higher and higher left no doubt about the devastating anger raging inside. They will pay, you silently swore to John, convinced he could hear you from where he was. If bringing him back was out of your abilities, at least you could avenge him by bringing upon every single man who plotted his death a demise worse than death. Just like Thomas Shelby, they would soon know how much pain you could inflict with your tiny and delicate hands, the holiness of your appearance being nothing more than a facade to mask the methodical killer you were. To hell with the promise of not killing again, having blood on your hands seemed to be the price to pay for Arthur and his love. While you lost yourself in the meanders of your thoughts, the cacophonic detonations of gunshots roared in the quiet meadow.

You had barely heard them when, with movements nimble and quick, you pushed Arthur to the ground and stood still to protect him in a reflex you couldn’t fight. The booming sounds might have been loud, they didn’t made you flinch. Quite the contrary, your aquamarine eyes stared at the horizon in search of the slightest threat, just in case the shots fired hadn’t come from the Gold. For a very short while you had been the only one standing, all the Shelby clan on the ground with hands covering their head. Even Tommy, who had schemed the attack, played the safety card and remained covered just the time to make sure the shootings came from their side.

"For fuck's sake, Heaven." Arthur barked at you as he stood up on his long legs, ignoring Tommy in the background who was keeping everyone under his control by yelling. The lanky gangster's hand grabbed your fragile wrist firmly and pulled you closer to him again, steel blue eyes glowing with disapproval at your reckless behavior.

"That was Thomas’ plan right?” You simply replied, your reliable source of information being Aberama and Bonnie themselves -- it was a part of the many perks of living with them in the nearby woods.

“Come on, Angel! A plan ain't going to be always working ay. It could have been the Ital—“ The oldest Shelby brother, with his thick brows furrowed, could not finish his sentence for you hushed him by cupping his face with your freezing little hands. Falling silent, the wolf turned into a lamb as you gently pressed his cheeks, forcing him to look at you.

"Chéri." You started, the pink tip of your tongue moistening your enchanting lips. Each of your movements seemed to bewitch him, to the extent that he almost forgot why he had been that irked, the inferno of his rage instantly cooling down, "I am fine see?” Despite the softness of your voice, he could sense a bit of impatience in your steady tone. Without leaving any time for questions or protests, you laid a small kiss on his cold lips, "We are fine." The melody of your voice was merely a whisper that vanished in the howling wind when your winter lips met his a second time for a deeper kiss. Soft and glossy flesh against rough one. A wild storm of happiness coursed through Arthur at the sensation of this long-awaited mark of affection tingling on his skin, and electrifying his heart. A rapture so strong that the world blurred around him for a moment — he would have probably slipped his tongue in your mouth if the moment wasn't inappropriate. When you pulled back from him, your lips curled in a faint but sincere smile before you squished his scruffy cheeks and released his face from your cold grip. After three years together, it was only at this very moment that Arthur understood that he wasn’t the true guardian and fellow protector of the couple. You were.

Fiercer. Crazier. And certainly far more dangerous.

"Put us out there on purpose... To use John's funeral fire as a fucking beacon!" Aunt Polly's outraged and trembling voice erupted from behind, her words stabbing Tommy like red-hot daggers. If they hurt, he didn’t let it show though. Forced to part from you before his brother and aunt went for each other’s throat, Arthur intervened.

"We were never in any danger, Polly."

"You set a trap. You set a trap with us as fucking bait." She blurted out, standing from her chair and walking to Tommy with steps so furious you were pretty sure she was going to plow into him. Indignation was radiating off her, her dark eyes wishing they had the power to kill. If it had been the case little King Shelby would have been already lying in a pool of his own blood, "Who's dead?!"

After his younger brother had tried to explain to the old harpy that the victims were two Italians, Arthur went on, "We got word to them about the funeral, the where, the when… Told them where to stand for the best shot."

"And Aberama Gold will do the rest." Tommy completed his brother's sentence as if he was an extension of himself — which was the case, you reckoned, when he wasn't busy criticizing you for breathing. From then, the voices only escalated, trying to overcome one another and win the argument by screaming louder than the other until someone eventually gave up. Which was a miracle that would never happen since we were talking about Tommy and Polly. Both of them were two equally stubborn mutts fighting for the same bone and how this argument ended had been predictable: The fierce aunt left, Hell shaking under her heels.

Now was the perfect opportunity to talk.

"Arthur," Your divine voice hailing him, resounding in the meadow like a haunting siren’s song, its unsettling melody sending shivers down Ada's spine. She glanced at you and, for a quick second, the memory of you covered with blood flashed in her mind. Years had passed since you murdered Father’s Hughes accomplice with a pair of scissors but she still couldn't forget what happened back then. She wouldn’t admit it but her trust in you had never been the same from this moment.

Snatched from his thoughts, Arthur turned around, frowning. The family argument had soured his mood.

"Hm?"

"Now I wanna leave." You stated, your seraphic tone as sharp as the razor blades in your man’s cap. This hostility wasn’t aimed at him though, but at Tommy for you had pronounced these four words while glaring at him, indescribable hatred burning in your frozen iris. You might have been aware of the plan, it didn’t mean you agreed with it: the idea of using John’s funeral still infuriated you but your mourning soul hadn’t the strength to fight it. "I'm going home.” Arthur's heart missed a beat, afraid of seeing you disappear again in the depths of the woods. It had been one hell of a harsh week without you and while he — hardly — understood that you needed space, his patience was growing thin, worn out by jealousy and overwhelming dependence. After all, if Aberama was a thief, why wouldn’t he steal his most precious treasure? Or worse, he’s son. Younger, healthier and so much more handsome than him, he thought with gritted teeth and hateful eyes.

"Oh yeah? " Coming closer, Arthur tried his best not to let his murderous jealousy talk and, instead, took a long black key from the pocket of his dark duffle coat "Home ain't with the Gold. Home's—"

"57 Watery Lane. I go there, lock the door and wait for my husband. S'that what you wanted to say?" You suggested, one eyebrow raised and your pale eyes staring at him like two fathomless and cursed jewels. Arthur swallowed nervously, the intense eye contact feeling like an eternity. Besides immediate regrets, the reason for his silence was that he was convinced he messed up again, judging by your sudden cold demeanor. So, afraid you’d lash out at him for his sudden jealousy, all he did was nod and try to keep his composure in front of everyone to pretend he was the one in charge. But you knew him too well not to recognize the sadness in his beautiful but vacant steel-blue eyes. You knew exactly what was going on in his head: he was expecting you to reject him in front of everyone, just like Linda used to do. “Alright” You articulated, and yet your reaction was the strict opposite of what he thought you’d do. Bringing your hand to his, you gave it a gentle squeeze before taking the key, "That’s the home I was talking about, love." You added, your glossy lips curling in a faint but oh-so-reassuring smile that made him swoon with indescribable fascination. Punctuating your sentence with a little wink, you finally turned your heels and left the meadow, your walk as elegant and confident as a fearsome lioness coming back from the hunt.

A predatory and frightful confidence that disappeared as soon as you reached your house. You had barely heard the sound of the door closing when, sick in the stomach, you rushed to the toilets and dropped on your knees to throw up.

"Fuck..." The curse escaped from your trembling lips as you quickly wiped them with a towel, tears beading at the corner of your aquamarine eyes. Polly was right: you did know when to pick your moment. As strong as you were, you had trouble coping with the news of your unexpected pregnancy. So much trouble that you couldn’t rejoice and that lack of enthusiasm only added a layer of guilt to your restless mind. “Fuck!” You snarled, teeth bared. Fuck you, them, all, and everything.

The sound of your platform boots' sharp heels echoed in the sanitized corridors of the hospital as you headed towards Michael's bedroom, your hips elegantly swinging to the rhythm of the silent savage drums of your heart. Tommy had called another lengthy and boring meeting to discuss both the Shelby Company Limited's new installments and the Vendetta, and as well as you dreaded his presence you had to be a part of it now that you were a Shelby. Moreover, the whole mess got even more problematic since Luca Changretta had managed to find a way to break into the Shelby factory and directly talk to his turquoise-eyed opponent for the sole pleasure of seeing a sparkle of panic in his eyes when he threatened to kill the rest of his family.

Surprising as it may sound considering your deep resentment for Tommy's long speeches and the man himself, you arrived pretty early. Not for him, but for Polly Gray. By coming earlier, you knew you'd have a bit of time to talk privately with her about the baby, for she had been the one discovering your secret pregnancy. “Hey Pol’!" You cheered, a wicker basket filled with pastries dangling at your wrist, "I've brought some croissants and éclairs. Thought it could help put up with today's meeting." The bright smile you bore soon vanished from your plumped lips when your winter eyes met with the dark silhouette of your brother-in-law, standing in front of you with his calloused hands in his pockets and his cold gaze staring at your angelic complexions with an unfathomable look. Turning into ice again, your small hand immediately reached for the door handle.

"Stay. We have to talk." He stated, his tone cool and composed. As much as he wanted his sentence not to sound like an order, he ultimately failed. As he talked, all the muscles in your body tense and you felt already irked by his presence.

"Don't." You snarled, your crystalline eyes squinting when they shot him a lethal glare, "Don't fucking come any closer." The sour and threatening expression on your face had been enough to stop Tommy. He was now clenching his perfectly carved jaw. Admittedly, he had never particularly cared about your personal space, invading it on every occasion he could just to push you to your limits and make you feel cornered, but since he had a taste of the ghastly and inhumane gift you had he'd rather be cautious.

"Alright," He said, pinching the bridge of his nose before rolling his eyes and moistening his lips in a surprisingly effusive pout. "No need to be that aggressive eh. Please have a sit." He instructed then, indicating a chair with a brief gesture of the hand.

"I ain't gonna sit. Polly tricked me.” You gritted through your teeth, spiteful at the thought of her betrayal. Your voice echoed through the room like sharp shards of frost falling from a winter sky. "You both knew that I didn't want to be left alone in a room with you anymore and still you schemed this twisted little plan." The cadence of your speech, though measured, carried an Arctic chill that made Tommy shiver. Even with the short distance that separated you, he could almost feel the ice you were made of burning his skin through the many layers of his expensive three-piece suit. In fact, you might be calm but Tommy could still feel the rumble of the storm hidden in that soft and enchanting lilt of yours.

"No one tricked you, and yes, indeed, I knew it. That's why Polly will be here with us. She's coming in any minute. Feel better now? Can you fucking sit?" Your only reply was a mocking snort that was quick to stir anger in Tommy's heart despite the placid expression etched on his face. But no matter how fine and cold the marble he was carved from was, you could see the tumultuous current beneath it. Maybe that was one of the main reasons why he hated you: no matter how hard he tried, you always managed to get under his skin and make him falter.

Silent fell in the hospital room, the two of you staring stonily at each other as you both attempted to decipher the opponent's intentions. "Seriously," Tommy was the first to move, coming nearer despite your warning — part of him did it only to prove to himself that he wasn't afraid of you. As he approached, your sharp sense heard the faint sound of his heart beating slightly quicker than usual and his breath struggling to keep quiet. Closer he came, until he stood only inches away from you, the warmth of his body brushing your skin without even touching it, and the musky scents of his cologne ticking your nostrils. " I meant it you know ay. I meant it when I said we have to end this war between us," You remained motionless, eyes staring at him, "Shut the door on it". In the hushed ambiance of the bedroom, he started to move around you with a gait that mirrored the stealthy elegance of a beast navigating its territory. His steps were a silent predatory waltz, a calculated and deliberate one that could have been dizzying if he wasn't walking around you this slowly, "At least temporarily." The air seemed to ripple with a subtle tension as he circled you like a panther, hiding his fear of you behind an aura of primal confidence, "I'm sure we could both benefit from it, ain't that the truth." You slowly exhaled as he talked, realizing you've been holding your breath for a while.

"What about backing off me and shutting your mouth until Polly comes?" You whispered, your aquamarine eyes carefully following every step he took. Admittedly, there was an undeniable magnetism in the way he moved, almost too smoothly and captivating to be human. In a primal reflex, your lips curled and you showed your pearly teeth. Beneath the shared expanse of your untamed wilderness, a silent battle waged within, as his large and strong hand delicately found rest upon your arm. The skin-to-skin contact sent an unpleasant thrill through your body. Tommy was like a big cat facing another one, testing the waters and carefully studying the line he shouldn't cross for you to snap. All in all, it was a contest whose goal was not to be the first to shy away. His fingers ghosted over your arms, trailing down your skin with an unsettling tenderness. Unwilling to cause another scandal or murder him, you gathered all your willpower not to react even when he leaned above you, looking down at your seraphic traits with curiosity gleaming in his turquoise eyes, "How did it feel when we kissed?" His words, like tempestuous whispers, stirred a sudden symphony of panic and indignation within. "Because you've... Felt."

"I did." You finally admitted, tearing through the silence you've been walling yourself in. All the ice melted in a few seconds, and your face relaxed a little bit. Two hopeful details that ignited both Tommy's gaze and ego -- of course you did, he thought.

"Look at me." His voice turned a bit softer as you slowly raised your gaze to his face.

"Do you really need me to say it out loud, Tom?" As you inched dangerously closer to him, he heard the ambient sounds of the crowded hospital fade into a distant murmur

"I do." The drumming of his heart fastened as a faint smile toyed on your lips. The proximity of your mouth, bewitchingly close yet not quite touching, was killing him. Let alone the brush of your skin under his fingertips and the shared warmth of your breaths mingling in the same intimate airspace. How beautiful you would be together. How fierce. How... Unstoppable. That was all he could think of.

"Disgust." It fell from your mouth with the softness of a chainsaw blade cutting through his guts. Tommy's eyes widened, his ego crashing on the ground and shattering like a broken mirror. He didn't react at first, confused by your harsh words, which contrasted with your angelic smile, "I felt disgusted." You tilted your head to the side, your face turning into winter again, "Now you better move from the way if you don’t want me to crush your lungs."

Tommy was about to back off in terror when he saw you moving your fingers in that peculiar way he was too familiar with.

"Sorry for being late." Polly's voice erupted in the room, saving you from spending another minute alone with Tommy. God blessed her.

"Let me help you with that." He finally said, trying his best to keep his composure at the realization that he would never be able to predict you. Never be able to control nor to own you. His fingers closed on the basket’s handle, right above your reddened wrist, and they lifted it to relieve your frail arm from the pain before he quickly stepped away from you.

"Alright, glad to see the two of you didn't butcher each other in my absence. What a wonderful improvement."

"An improvement that is." Tommy replied, pressing his palms against the table now that he had put the basket on its wooden surface.

" I was talking with the doctor about Michael's health. We have a very short time left: he's almost done with him, and both Ada and Lizzie are coming. Heaven, dear, what about Arthur?" Polly inquired, her black eyes meeting yours.

"He's still in his office at the Shelby factory. But I must admit I thought that it would be only you and me." You stated resentfully.

"I know, love and I'm sorry about it but you wouldn't have come if I told you that Tommy was here." Her cold and sly hand gently squeezed your arm in a gentle gesture, so soft and full of motherly love that you couldn't really blame her anymore. Taking a quick look at the clock on the wall, you sighed and took place on a chair just like Polly did.

"Hurry up. Tell me what's about."

"Ain't going to keep you waiting,” Tom started and went straight to the point, motivated by the desire to see you leave this room as soon as possible, “ I want you to meet Luca Changretta."

"Thomas!" You exclaimed.

"No. You listen to me now," The gangster replied, pointing at you with his index finger, "As you know I've encountered him in the meeting room of the Shelby Company factory. We came to an agreement that stipulates that women and children shouldn't be included in the Vendetta. With that, we can guarantee a certain safety for you, Polly, Ada, Finn, and the kids."

"How... Quaint." You stated, pursing your lips in a bratty pout, "And what's the link between your deal and me potentially meeting the man who wants to see my husband dead?"

"Considering this, one of the women of this family can approach him. The idea was that Polly could meet with him and ask him to spare the family, especially Michael. In return, she would lure me into a specific place and at a specific time so that this bastard can set an ambush and kill me." As Tommy explained the original plan, you side-eyed Polly who nodded at each sentence in an attempt to reassure you.

"The problem is Luca knows the strong bond I have with my nephews. Even if I use the role of the mother ready to do everything to save her son, I fear it won't be enough to convince him. But you..." She left her sentence hanging, Tommy's raspy voice completing it. Shelbys, you swore. Sometimes you wondered if they had some telepathic shit going on between them.

"You despise me as much as Luca does but still bore the name Shelby. You'd be perfect." His gaze almost burnt you.

"Makes sense." You replied, fingers playing nervously with your dress' fabric under the table as you swallowed all the information just heard. Against all odds, his idea was impressively clever — Tommy might have a plethora of flaws but stupidity wasn’t one of them.

"Polly will help you arrange a meeting with him in a club. You talk with him, explain how you do this to save your husband, and if he asks more questions proceed with talking about our relationship." Now that they had finished revealing their plan, Tommy and his aunt were both staring at you, impatiently waiting for your answer.

"Well, I've heard enough." You simply said, getting up from your chair and making your way to the bedroom's door under the two pairs of confused eyes. Once you reached it, you grabbed the handle and watched them from above your shoulder, an amused but sharp grin dancing on your lips. "When Apocalypse comes, it seems like even Thomas Shelby wants the Devil on his team." You teased, entertained by the situation. No matter his neutral demeanor, he needed you. And that was a satisfying feeling. "That's fine with me." Your quick agreement was certainly not something Tommy and Polly expected, judging by the way they looked at you, and then at each other to make sure they heard well. But as illogical as it seemed, the reasons behind your will to get involved in the Vendetta were a matter of course: You were sick of playing the nice and fragile wife who nervously waited for her husband. You didn't come all the way back to Birmingham to be a quiet and patient little thing. You came to make them all shatter and shake at your fingertips. All you wished was to protect your man and show the world that they better fear Arthur Shelby's wife as much as him if it isn't more.

Polly followed on your heels when you opened the door, grabbing your arm and leading you outside.

"The hell you're doing?" You inquired, surprised by her sudden strength.

"One last thing. I need you to keep Arthur busy and to make him come too late for the meeting." The fierce aunt's grip closed a bit firmer around your wrist, making you wince.

"Why that ay? He has every right to attend it. He's the vice president deputy of that company as well as the oldest brother." If there was one thing Polly expected, it was you defending your husband tooth and nail. And yet she had many tricks in her sleeve.

"We don't want him to pull the trigger anymore. It's time for him to delegate and stay out of the battlefield. We didn't climb the social ladder this high to keep dirtying our hands."

Polly's speech made you blink, astonished one could scheme behind a family member's back. "Hey, that's freaking unfair for Art. You have to discuss the matter with him, it's his job we're talking. Ouch!" You whimpered when she squeezed you harder, her eyes begging you to listen.

"Think about the baby! It will need its father! We don't want him in danger any longer so please, please keep him busy just like we, women, know how to do. It's the modern approach, White Devil."

"Modern approach. Of course.”

"Oh, Angel." Arthur said, his gravel voice underlined with a light surprise when he saw you entering his office. He was putting on his long black coat, ready to leave for the family meeting. As soon as his piercing blue eyes landed on your delicate frame he walked towards you, "Why you here? You alright? " He immediately inquired, his protective nature had grown far bigger since you'd joined him in this cursed city. The soft glow of affection shone in your eyes as you looked at him, your glossy and plump lips greeting him with a bestowed smile so sweet and radiant with love that the hurricane of worries in Arthur's skull hushed down.

"Everything's alright!" You hung your coat on a hook.

"Ain't it good news, ay." He cheered despite being in a hurry, before putting his large and rough hands on your forearms with an adorable bluntness so specific to him and rubbing them to warm your skin up, "Well look, lovely to see you but I'm late for a meeting."

"Just five minutes." You asked, coming closer until your breasts flattened against his chest, "Five teeny-tiny minutes, please?" The way your eyebrows raised and your mouth pouted enlightened your angelic face with an irresistible bratty look that never failed to get him on his knees. Arthur quickly moistened his lips while weighing the pros and cons, but it didn't take long for him to make up his mind. Especially when gazing upon that woman-child face of yours.

"Alright, alright." His raspy voice blurted out. Arthur brought his fingers in your hair to slip one of your long white locks behind your ear with an indescribable tenderness. "Needy little thing already missed her husband eh?" He cooed with amusement, his strict facial traits melting as he talked to you, tamed by your presence.

"I did.” You purred with a quick but oh-so-sincere smile, “But I also need to talk to you. Sit, please?” You suggested, the amusement of your tone brightening up his dull day. Joining motion to speech, you gently pushed him back with your two index fingers pressed on his chest. Arthur followed your movements, a bewitched smirk etched on his mouth. Just like your own reflection, each time you took a step forth he took one back until the back of his knees bumped against the desk chair. Enthralled and with lust-dilated pupils, his eyes spoke a love that transcended words. Arthur’s body finally dropped on the chair, and if he was already focused on nothing else but you, the whole universe faded into utter insignificance when you sat on his lap, straddling him. The contact between your two hips ignited a vivid desire within, which spread through his bones like wildfire and got a satisfied “hum” from him.

“What it is ye want to say?” Arthur asked, the hoarseness of his voice carrying a softness no one suspected him to hide. Despite everything you’ve been through lately, including the indescribable disappointment due to his drug relapse, you had allowed your relationship to slowly heal. You had been crystal clear, now the ball was in his court. Arthur was obviously still on trial, well aware that he needed to outperform himself to gain your precious trust back but at least you came home right after John’s funeral, and that was all that mattered.

A very short but comfortable silence floated over the room at his question, your reply taking the form of your fingers losing themselves in his slicked-back hair, massaging his head.

“Are you really in a rush?” Your voice, a delicate dance of enchantment and teasing, wove through the air and left Arthur even more captivated than he already was while you relished on every little adorable of his face — his myriad freckles were surely one of your favorite features of him. Finally, a long exhale escaped from your nostrils. How much you would have loved to stay locked up here with him forever, just you, him, and the baby, far away from this cruel world… “Peu importe ce qui se passe tu sais que je serai toujours à tes côtés, n'est-ce pas?” (translation: No matter what happens you know I'll always stand by your side, don't you?)

"I know." He replied in English. The sensation of your fingertips applying the perfect pressure on his head combined with your haunting French got him definitely wrapped around your finger. The lanky gangster was at the very edge of purring, his eyes half-closed and his piercing and intoxicated iris looking at you through his dark lashes.

As he enjoyed your massage, Arthur made the most of your proximity and let his palms wander on your dainty body, unable to keep them off you. In truth, it was nearly impossible for him not to become all handsy when you were around, no matter the where and the when. His rough hands roamed all over your being, invading every part of you. He was everywhere, softly kneading your small breasts, then trailing down your ribs to finally end his exploration on your hips he seized more firmly, almost bruising them in the process “I must say ya one hell of a cruel witch, love. You come here all hot and bratty.” He cooed, the gravel in his voice rumbling. It was so low, so powerful that it didn’t even sound like a voice but a feeling. His peculiar tone was an inextinguishable fire that enveloped your body, scorched your core, and wrapped your tired mind in a comforting haze. “Makes me feel bad to leave without taking care of ya like a good husband would do, right here on me desk…” You replied with an adorable giggle and Arthur slightly bucked his hips to press himself more against you, just for the sole pleasure of feeling his body colliding with yours. It’s not enough, he thought. It was never enough. There was always too much fabric, too much space, too much of everything between you except when he was buried deep inside of your core, both of you making one as you were meant to be. Another wave of excitement coursed through you, and you had to fight against the irresistible haze he stirred within. Delicate as a feather, you put your two tiny hands on his cheeks and raised his face for your eyes to meet — flaring steel sinking in lethal frost. “But tell me, what's that important hm?”

“First you have to promise me to stay calm. Will you?” You asked, batting your eyelashes like an untamable child about to tell her dad she had just destroyed the expensive family vase. The kind of look that drove Arthur crazy. Sometimes he still found himself astounded by how your face could go from terrifyingly cold to adorably childish. Saying that your words didn’t awaken a bit of worry inside of him would be a lie, but one sole glace at your angelic traits was enough to keep his rage leashed.

“Gonna try me best for ya, hm.” His dark blue irises were enraptured by the movements of your lips each time you spoke — your words were blurring, and his attention was turning into obsession: He missed you. Body, heart, and soul. “Hev…” He sighed in delight as your small hands abandoned his face to strip him from his vest, unbutton his shirt, and then paw at his chest.

“You won’t interrupt?” You mused, nuzzling your nose in the crook of his neck and mouthing against his warm skin. Your thumbs were now tracing circles on his chest, smoothing his hairs. 

“Told ya, angel. Your Arthur will try to be a good boy.”

“Well… I went to the hospital to keep company to Polly. I thought we would discuss trivial things but then she asked me to keep you busy.” You finally admitted, “She and Thomas wanted you to miss today’s meeting.” As painful words melt with the delightful sensations of your caresses, the sky in Arthur’s eyes darkened with black and stormy clouds. His body stiffened under yours.

“What the fuck that’s s’posed to mean?”  He growled, anger already boiling in his veins like a dangerous geyser about to burst. Fortunately enough, your calming presence helped him contain his violent temper — such was your almost supernatural effect on him. Different and yet so similar, Arthur Shelby was made of destructive fire that burnt the people around him as much as him. And yet, his fire never really intended to hurt: quite the contrary, it sought to stay warm and inviting, like a low fire dancing in a hearth. When it blazed out of control, even he couldn't prevent the damage done. You, on the other hand, were made of water. Just like a dangerously cold ocean, you were terrifying, infinite, and relentless, your calm prone to silent but always deadly tempests. “Why the fuck would they do that?!” He cursed louder this time. Feeling your man’s temper wearing thin, you gave a gentle lick on his neck to snatch his attention from his corrosive emotions. Your flat tongue trailed up his sharp jaw to his earlobe — the wet and hot caress on his skin sent thrills of arousal all over him and allowed his mind to focus on something more pleasant than this cruel betrayal.

“Because they want you to stop pulling the trigger.” You explained as quietly as you could, gently rubbing your cheek against his like a cat looking for both affection and attention. It seemed to do the trick: his face was still distorted with latent rage, the thick vein in his temple pumping, but at least he wasn’t turning the office over with his fists nor was he yelling so, overall, it was still a win.  “Modern approach they call it.” You added, using Polly's exact words to the difference that you peppered his lips with small pecs, talking between each pair of smooches to make the pill easier to swallow, “You become a general and Aberama takes care of Changretta… That’s their plan.”  

Breathing loudly through his nose, the gangster pressed his lips together until they formed a very thin line, “Modern approach ay?” Anger coiled like a snake amids the hurricane of his resentment, its hiss echoing through Arthur’s skull.  “They just wanna take me job away.” He stated, more for himself than anyone else, still digesting the news. “And they want to use ya against me? Bloody pricks.” Overpowered by an immense feeling of injustice, Arthur didn’t realize that he was digging his fingers in your thighs a bit more painfully than intended, but his roughness only fanned the flames of your own wickedness. Your skillful fingers explored him, nails brushing his ribs, then palms caressing his slim abs as if seeking to defuse the ticking bomb he was.

“I wanted to tell you everything because nothing in this fucking world will make me stand against you... I may agree with the idea of keeping you safe from harm but not at the expense of your trust.” You confessed,  finally pulling your face from his neck and wrapping him in a relieving hug with your frail arms. If he hadn’t kept his eyes open, he would have sworn that it wasn’t your arms that were surrounding him but two soft and protective feathery wings. His rough hands, which hadn't moved, spread your thighs further to feel your warmth through the thin fabric of your lace thong. Fireworks exploded in you at the hard bulge that was pressing between your legs, making you bite your fleshy lip. Arthur finally let out a long sigh and shook his head, wanting the only thing that could wash away the rage that was eating him up — one of his hands left your flesh only for his fingers to slip between your parted thighs and shift your undergarment to the side.

"C'm'here," He ordered, his breathing increasingly louder and faster.

"Love, you should really go to this meeting." You advised, shivering at the feeling of his long fingers fondling your slit.

"To hell with their meeting, they don't even want me here eh. Need ye right now." With skillful movements, he unzipped his fly and lowered his trousers just enough to free his half-hardened cock and slid it between your sensitive folds, the pleasure and anticipation crashing against you like a rogue wave against the shore. "I feel me bloody mind drift again... And I know I'mma butcher someone if yer lovely lil' cunt doesn't keep me warm." The ghost of a little smirk danced on his lips, mustache lifting on the right side of his mouth when he noticed that his words had the effect he wished for: More of your wetness trickled along his shaft and you had started to grind against him, low key moaning. “I don't fucking know what I'll do without ya..." Without waiting another minute, the gangster lined up with your begging entrance and slowly pushed his swollen tip inside.

"Yes, f-fuck them." You sighed, your nails digging into his back and your legs quivering at the overwhelming feeling of him stretching you. Usually, Arthur wasn't the patient kind and, as it was the case at this very moment, all he wanted to slam his far-too-big cock in you in one forceful thrust to have you whimper and wiggle above him, and yet, he wished to keep it languid for now. It wasn't a rough fuck he wanted, at least for now, but sexual and emotional comfort. The first sweet fantasy that plagued his mind wasn't to cum, but rather to enjoy the blissful and addictive sensation of his thick length opening your throbbing walls inch by inch and filling you entirely.

"There, I know ye can take it all." He gently bumped your cheek with his nose while his smirk turned into a sharp-toothed grin pitching half between the remnant of his anger and satisfaction.

“S’too big…” You stuttered, eyes shut and the telltale of a blush painting across your doll face. With toes curling in your high heels and your arms around his neck, you rolled your eyes in the back of your head as he pushed further. It never seemed to end, and yet it always ended up fitting despite your size difference.

“Bloody Hell, how are ya so tight after years of me ruining ya?" His words were spoken with animal growls — The truth was he had always loved the fact you were too small for him in every sense of the term. Despite the pain, a frail whimper escaped from your mouth, soon accompanied by your legs naturally parting more, instinctively submitting to him and his needs. With a meaner thrust, Arthur had no other choice but to force the way one last time to fill you completely, and when it was finally done, he let out a loud moan at the way your tight walls hugged him. "Shh, shh, that's okay." His strong hands seized your hips stronger to keep you from wiggling and pulling them back in reflex, "A good girl ye are hmm?" You nodded. It was only when his length hit your deepest spot that Arthur stopped, buried inside of you, hard and unmoving, your bodies entirely connected. Another whine escaped from your mouth, a little protesting sound that drove him mad with lust and almost made him forget that his initial desire was just to keep you sitting nice and quiet on his cock. “C’mon love, t’wasnt that hard. Ye should be used to it.” The only reply he got was you rolling your hips to adjust to his size for a comfortable cockwarming session — the most effective thing you had found to tame his wicked tantrums or his adrenaline-fueled passions. The first time had been hell for him, who seemed to be unable not to pound you once he penetrated you — and yet he had learned to love every little thing of it: The intimacy, the constant but manageable pleasure, the cock-drunk and appeased look on your face…

"Missed you, Art'...'" You breathed and hummed, barely rolling your hips but still slightly moving on his cock to enjoy it massaging your velvety walls, "Aren't you angry anymore?" You asked a bit too sheepishly to be true, laying a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Nah, not anymore 'cause yer a nice angel for your husband,” He grabbed your ass firmly, long fingers adorned with cold rings spreading on your cheeks to have a wider grip “Making him find peace between your legs ay?” The stretch had become comfortable by now, and you were both fully enjoying each other, him completely high by your warmth and wetness. “Making him pray God with your holy pussy.” 

“God…” You sighed, throwing your head back, feeling perfectly full — maybe a bit too much even though pain blurred with exquisite ecstasy. “B-But think about it, Arthur. What about letting Aberama do the job? We would stay locked up in the house and do nothing but fuck until the whole Vendetta is over and we go back home?” You suggested, flush burning your porcelain cheeks and giving them a rosy color. The melody of your words — along with how good he felt deep inside of you —snatched a low moan from him. Yet, as much as he yearned for your offer, his conscience needed blood. 

“Got no choice, love.” His two hands left your body shortly to grab each side of your lace dress and take it out, throwing the garment somewhere in his office to have you exposed and vulnerable while he was still fully dressed. Once naked, he cupped your small breasts and started kneading them with blunt caresses that made you squeal: you were already sensitive due to your hidden pregnancy. “John wants me to do it.”

"Fuck!" You cursed when he moved along with you, your hips dancing together and intensifying the burning arousal that was saturating your senses. Soon, splitting you open and having you moaning on his cock wasn't enough anymore. His arms suddenly wrapped you possessively, pulling your two bodies even closer. So close the cold gold of his cross necklace on your skin sent thrills of pleasure down your spine. "He wouldn't want you to risk your life."

“It was me who shot the old man.” Arthur’s mouth, eager to find yours, crashed against your lips in a kiss so passionate that it took your breath away. One of them rough hands stroked your back in an overwhelming cocktail of caresses and scratches, waltzing on every inch of your skin while the other pinched one of your nipples. A second kiss captured your mouth, his tongue making its way into your parted lips to seek yours, not minding the thin trickle of saliva at the corner of them. “John is dead because of me,” He breathed between two savage kisses, “And I’m gonna make it right.” His voice was merely a low whisper combined with ragged breaths and low, gravelly moans.

"S'that was you want?" You managed to ask, losing your fingers in his hair and your mind in a fog of carnal delight. Forehead pressed against forehead, you reopened your frozen eyes and dived into his, words becoming more and more useless as a tornado of raw emotions and sincerity swirled in the blue of his iris: His need to avenge John was visceral and you understood that his mind wouldn't be able to find rest if he couldn't kill Luca Changretta, hence putting an end to the vicious cycle of vengeance. And you definitely hadn't the heart to deny him this unhealthy yet efficient way of exorcising both his guilt and his baby brother's death. “So be it.” You finally granted, endless love shining in your eyes. After all, if there was something you could understand it was vengeance. Torturing and butchering five men didn’t bring your family back, but the pleasure of watching life slipping away from them had nonetheless helped you put up with that excruciating wound, "But when you’ll kill that bastard put two bullets through his head. One for you, and one for me.” You concluded, shifting your body slightly to take the gun that was on his desk before wrapping his neck with your two arms again. And then the mask of the lamb fell, shattering on the ground and revealing the wolf you were. A wolf that was smiling and moaning, its thumb softly caressing the weapon’s metal.

"I'll do that, little one." A smile beamed on his face as you allowed him to carry on his personal vendetta — or as he felt the sensation of the gun resting against his back, his joy finding a delicious echo in his body. The circular movements of his hips turned into deep and full-length thrusts that had you throwing your head back and chanting his name.

“Mr. Shelby! “

“I’m fookin’ busy!” Arthur’s booming voice roared in the office as he slammed the door right at the man’s face. The access to the room might have been forbidden to him, but the cacophony of savage fucking and the noise of the office’s blinds being shaken left no doubt on what was happening. He finally gave up, well aware that nothing would make his boss come. It was only when he told him that two intruders had been spotted in the factory that Arthur stormed out of the room, disheveled, shirt quickly buttoned u,p and with a hammer in one hand. A bloodbath was coming and since nothing could be done to prevent it, Ben went back to work and tried to ignore the upcoming mess. With a bit of luck, they would manage to put down the rabid beast Arthur Shelby was. Soon after his departure, the white-haired girl left, snuggled up in her white fur coat and walking as elegantly as always, even if she was slightly staggering on her heels after what the gangster did to her.

“Poor girl.” Barney — another worker recently hired — stated, glancing at you as you passed by. “She’s nice. Y’know she brings us treats and pastries sometimes… What a shame that young lady had been forced to elope with this bastard.”

“Poor girl?” Ben replied to his colleague, almost choking. “Forced wedding? You’re really new here, mate. Can’t believe the doll blinded you. Something’s off with her. And forced wedding… All you have to do is pay attention to the way they look at each other and then you’ll understand. And it will frighten you.”

“Ya really talking about sweet lamb Heaven?”

Ben scoffed, “A lamb… When your eyes meet Heaven Shelby’s nobody can’t tell if she wanna braid your hair or eat your heart. Lamb she’s not. Don’t get fooled by the dresses and heels, she’s not playing doll. She only makes violence look better.”

Barney became silent at his friend’s sordid statement, the far away sound of Arthur yelling, bones breaking and agonizing screams resounded in the depths of the factory along with the machines’ roars. Amidst the smells of hot metal, sweat, and paint, lingered the spring-like fragrances of your perfume, which confused him even more.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick@kxnnxy @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd