#they assume they didn’t had time when Dark presented his world domination plan

[wowieeitsisa]

AvA 11 SPOILERS

Fake fans (/silly /j) turning against TCO… heh… may I remind you 🤓☝️

Victim stayed in a constant loop of torture almost daily for 9 months before escaping

She had time to heal, before her everything was taken away from her

The Chosen One spent 5 years locked as a pop up ad blocker (which canonically, is considered slavery)

[dalekofchaos]

Harbinger and The Illusive Man

Something I think would’ve fixed Mass Effect 3 while also keeping the plot and the dynamic of The Reapers and Cerberus as the main threat is making Harbinger the big bad and The Illusive Man as his puppet or as The Illusive Man could’ve put it his “partner”

My other ME3 metas

ME3 mistakes

ME3 ending fix

I cannot state how much I hate that Harbinger is almost nonexistent in this game. 

The thing that annoyed me most about ME3 is the fact that Harbinger is not the main threat. The Illusive Man is. Harbinger has been built up as the big bad since ME2. "YOU HAVE FAILED. WE WILL FIND ANOTHER WAY." He says as he discards the Collectors. Then his speech to Shepard as the base blows up. "Human, you've changed nothing. Your species has the attention of those infinitely your greater. That which you know as Reapers are your salvation through destruction. You will surrender your potential against the growing void. We return, and you will rise. We are the harbinger of your perfection. We will bring your species into harmony with our own. Your species will be raised to a new existence. We are the beginning, you will be the end. Prepare for our domination. Prepare for our coming." Then in Arrival, he came pretty damn close to unleashing quick subjugation and harvest upon an unprepared galaxy. Upon Shepard foiling his plans. "Shepard. You have become an annoyance. You fight against inevitability. Dust struggling against cosmic winds. This seems a victory to you. A star system sacrificed. But even now, your greatest civilizations are doomed to fall. Your leaders will beg to serve us. Know this as you die in vain: Your time will come. Your species will fall. Prepare yourselves for the Arrival." The perfect final villain right? Unfortunately, Cerberus was more focused on than The Reapers. My problem with Cerberus and no Harbinger is Too many Cerberus, too few Reaper forces in plot. We fight Cerberus more often than the reapers. Hardly any boss fight and the one with Reaper Destroyer on Rannoch was more an interactive movie than fight. During the Horizon mission in Mass Effect 2, Harbinger was solidified as the Big Bad. It was menacing and ominous, with just the right amount of annoying. It taunted us throughout the game, telling us how insignificant we were, and how our actions were pointless. It was willing to posses drones through the Collector General to fight us personally, and when we killed the host, it tossed them aside. Harbinger even gave the typical “You haven’t seen the last of me!” villain rant. It made any fire fight frustrating, and that made me want to kill it even more; I hated Harbinger. Many games fail to do that. Harbinger was an enemy which I looked forward to defeating. I had the desire to annihilate. In Mass Effect 3, I got a codex entry and a cameo. Harbinger just swoops in at the last second and blows my friends and I to hell(and lets the Normandy save them), then flies off. Personally, I would have loved to hear Harbinger’s menacing monologue, it drove me on. I would have felt a deeper motivation to take the fight back to Earth if it told me how much destruction the Reapers were causing, how many lives were lost. I felt cheated when I got to the final mission, only to suddenly realize it was largely absent from the game. Harbinger has been replaced. Replaced by the Illusive Man and Kai Leng. The former is an old acquaintance, albeit one now controlled by the Reapers. The latter is a space ninja from a terrible book.

I will admit. The Illusive Man is a worthy foe and someone worthy enough to be Harbinger’s Saren. Kai Leng however is a terrible counterpart for Shepard. 

Kai Leng. Sucks. Period. Here is a long in depth version on why he sucks. Even in the novels Leng is a terrible character. He’s a edgelord racist.  He couldn’t even kill Anderson, he almost got taken out by an aging Drell with stage 7 Drell cancer. Oh but he has snarky one liners and he sent that stupid fucking email after Thesia. KAI LENG SUCKS! He is not even interesting. I genuinely fucking sighed when he was introduced. When he killed Thane, all I could think of was “really?”. When he sent that little email I just rolled my eyes. When I saw him at the temple all I could think of was “not you again”. When he “beat” me on Thessia(I would have unloaded my N7 Typhoon and sent his whiny ass into oblivion, but game mechanics said I couldn’t) I just felt angry that such a stupid character ever made it past the writing board. Oh and BULLSHIT. Thane and Kirrahe would have killed Kai Leng. Even near his death bed, Thane could still kill Kai Leng. Kirrahe is a hardened veteran, he is AN STG MAJOR! Kirrahe would have killed Kai Leng in a blink of a fucking eye.  Here is my take on Kai Leng. He should have been killed on Priority:Citadel. If you do not save Kirrahe or don’t talk to Thane. Shepard should kill Kai Leng. If you saved Kirrahe but don’t talk to Thane. Kirrahe comes out of cloak and bombards Leng with Scorpion rounds and Leng blows up. If you talked to Thane, Thane would blow Kai Leng’s head off. The only reason why Leng is presented as a threat is cutscene logic and bad one liners. 

But back to The Illusive Man and Harbinger

To make Harbinger work as the big bad, we need to have Harbinger constantly “ASSUME DIRECT CONTROL” 

Near the end of the first mission, before Shepard contacts the Normandy, we would see Harbinger’s hologram appear like it did in Arrival. Harbinger taunting Shepard. that the harvest begins. 

Instead of suggesting Control, The Illusive Man is basically saying The Reapers can uplift Humanity and ascend them and dominate the other races. With Harbinger’s help, Humanity will be the ultimate force in the galaxy

Everytime we fight Reaper forces, Harbinger is there to “ASSUME DIRECT CONTROL”

Kai Leng dies on The failed coup on the Citadel. The Illusive Man does not care as he is close to finding The Catalyst 

On Rannoch, instead of a Destroyer Reaper talking to Shepard, Harbinger’s hologram will appear. Harbinger will continue to taunt Shepard, but Shepard shows that everyone is coming together to end the Reapers once and for all. Harbinger would not say that the Reapers are needed to keep synthetics from killing organics. He would say The Reapers are there to ascend and are your salvation through destruction. Harbinger’s end quotes from ME2 is basically the premise of The Reapers end goals. That's all it needed to be.

On Thesia, The Illusive Man will explain to Shepard that Harbinger chose him. After The First Contact War, TIM found a Reaper artifact. In that artifact, he was contacted by Harbinger. He lost his human vision, but awakened to the truth and because of Harbinger’s guidance, he founded Cerberus. Strength for Cerberus is strength for humanity. TIM believes he and Harbinger together they could uplift and empower humanity over the lesser races. The Illusive Man is to Harbinger, as what Saren was for Soverign. He will then tell Shepard, he plans on using the Crucible to finish what the Collectors started. Completing the Human Reaper. Then TIM sends a group of Phantoms, Nemesis and Cerberus Dragons to face Shepard in place of Leng. Thesia falls. 

Sanctuary is used to create Husks and harvest humans to help create the Human Reaper

At Cerberus Headquarters, TIM says Harbinger knew more about the Citadel than Soverign. There is more than one Conduit and he found it. Vendetta will reveal that the Citadel was moved by Harbinger and taken it to Earth to complete the harvest

The confrontation between Shepard, Anderson and TIM happens but we know how TIM is on the Citadel and if you read my ending fix, you will know that Anderson would’ve went to the beam with Shepard and they are transported to the same place

Shepard will ask “Why didn’t Harbinger kill me?” “Because, we need you to understand and we need you to believe”

Same confrontation ends with either Shepard shooting TIM dead or TIM killing himself after Shepard uses paragon or renegade to reveal that Harbinger used him all his life

After Anderson passes. Harbinger “Assumes Control” over TIM’s dead body. Harbinger will explain the purpose of the Harvests. The explanation is the original ending of Dark energy. The Reapers as a whole were ‘nations’ of people who had fused together in the most horrific way possible to help find a way to stop the spread of the Dark Energy. The real reason for the Human Reaper was supposed to be the Reapers saving throw because they had run out of time. Humanity in Mass Effect is supposedly unique because of its genetic diversity and represented the universe’s best chance at stopping Dark Energy’s spread. We have a choice either Sacrifice humanity, allowing them to be horrifically processed in hopes that the end result will justify the means or use The Crucible to destroy The Reapers and find a way to stop the dark energy from spreading and it shows it is hopeful with a united galaxy. However, if we choose destroy, Harbinger will attempt to stop Shepard. A Reaperfied TIM appears and Shepard fights him, while The Normandy fights Harbinger. If we choose sacrifice humanity, Shepard will be the final catalyst to completing the Human Reaper.  But obviously no one will choose that choice as the entire point of the trilogy is to destroy The Reapers. So we get a hopeful ending. The united galaxy will work together to stop the spread of dark energy, as Hackett said “If we can put aside our grievances long enough to stop The Reapers, imagine what we can do together” 

There, I came up with a way to have the best of both worlds. Harbinger and The Illusive Man as the big bads. 

I also made The Reapers motivation to actually work. They are there to control the chaos. The harvests end with a creation of The Reaper and The Reapers are the pinnacle of evolution Harbinger’s speech at the end of ME2 was enough for a motivation. The Reapers are our salvation from the coming void. They want to ascend humanity to perfection. That makes complete sense and makes more sense than destroying everyone to save everyone????? WHo fucking wrote this Starchild garbage???

The point is, The Reapers and The Illusive Man could’ve worked as the big bads collectively together. 

[belit0]

Anonymous:

Hey can you do Indra with a partner who's equally power thirsty as he is? (s/o is already strong and absolutely a top)

Power couple goals!

Power couple goals for our King🧙‍♀️

After trying to kill each other countless times, Indra and [Y/N] finally understood that they could not erase each other’s existence. They are both highly powerful, and for every attack or defense that one presents, the other has an equally strong trump card up the sleeve.

Your life was relatively quiet until you came face to face with the deserter from the Ōtsutsuki clan, who with airs and graces of violence and revenge sought to increase his power at all costs. The problem is that you were looking for the same thing. Your story is different, you were not betrayed by your family, you were not turned away by your village, but the darkness hovers over your soul in the same way.

This is something that you notice in Indra from the first moment that you cross glances. How his only desire is to dominate, to destroy, to conquer, to impose himself. But this is a disadvantage in your plans, because in a world as broken as the one you both live in, there cannot be two rulers over the underdogs.

From your first meeting, you were both destined to try to kill each other. He underestimated you, believing that your power and intelligence would never compare to his, and it was at that moment that he condemned the encounter to an infinite draw.

The village you were in was big, with a largely developed self-sustaining system, a stable place to dominate and make your home, your empire. With determination, you knew that you would stay there, fight any villager or warrior who wanted to challenge your rules and build your much-desired kingdom.

And that’s what you’ve been doing for the past three months. You had found this place by pure chance while walking through the forest, looking for a location where you could rest and recharge your supplies to continue your journey. But just in the same way that you arrived as a terrifying stampede for the helpless village, so did Indra.

The people tried to fight against your orders, in fact, you annihilated almost the entire military unit that the village had. It was a struggle to be heard, you had to repress and punish them all over, but eventually, they dropped their rebellion, giving in to your inevitable command.

When things were going relatively well for you, a suspicious traveler appeared at the entrance to the village, and invaded the settlement carelessly. Killing villagers in the blink of an eye, the very same Indra Ōtsutsuki appeared in your home, attempting to steal everything that was yours.

Of course, you had heard the legends about this man. Myths run as fast as the shooting stars in the sky. But that did not mean that you believed the stories that reached your ears when you were traveling from place to place. If the tongues didn’t lie, this warrior wasn’t someone normal, but someone on your level. You were always smart and learned that underestimating your enemies was the fastest way to dig your own grave, so when Indra demanded to speak to the village leader, you waited and tested his patience.

“If you don’t bring the head of this wretched place here this instant, I will have to get rid of all of you, one by one… the choice is yours.”

Faced with the man’s threat, a desperate villager looked directly in your direction. Hiding among the sea of people watching Indra’s massacre, you listened to his speech. You prayed internally that this villager would not be so foolish as to give away your identity in front of your enemy, but of course, you could not expect much from people so inferior to you.

“[Y/N]-SAMA! PLEASE SAVE US PLEASE THIS MAN IS INSA- ”

Before he could speak any further, you pierced his right eye with a sharp Senbon, thrown towards your victim from a formidable distance. No one noticed the weapon that struck the villager, but of course, Indra was able to track and detect the movements, and when the villager fell dead in front of the crowd, he already had his eyes on you.

A long dark red cape covered you completely, from head to toe. Its hood covered your eyes, preventing your enemy from using his visual powers on you. That was the first thing you noticed when he burst into your village, confirming that the stories about him were real.

“What kind of leader is such a coward enough to hide among those who are the lowest followers… [Y/N]-Sama… I despise you; I should do you a favor and kill you here and now.”

“You should try, Ōtsutsuki Indra. I don’t guarantee your fate, anyway. Take the risk.”

That’s how the first fight between the two happened. It lasted an incalculable amount of time, occupying days, and nights of physical fatigue. The chakra exhaustion attacked the two of you at the same time, signaling the same level of accumulation. On the battlefield, where they had fought vigorously and relentlessly, they collapsed.

By the time you woke up, Indra was sitting next to you, and his intentions felt different. You were no longer detecting homicidal feelings towards you. The man was calm, relaxed in some way. His clothes were torn and dirty, and you assumed that yours were too. You were unable to move your body, as the pain spread mercilessly through all your limbs, so you just watched him.

If for some reason he decided to kill you at that very moment, there would be nothing you could do to prevent it. But instead, he simply stared at you when he heard your groans of bodily pain, and you gazed in confusion at his countenance. The man who fought you seemed to have vanished.

“Why didn’t you kill me? Keeping me alive and watching me die is quite cynical…”

“I have no intention of killing you, not yet. You have proven to be efficient, and you could work in my plans.”

“Your plans… Why would I be interested in participating in them? Just kill me.”

“I’m afraid I won’t do that. I’m proposing an alliance, if you don’t accept, I’ll leave you here on the floor, incapacitated and at your mercy. You know, someone said to me a few days ago ‘You should try Indra, I’m not assuring your luck, anyway. Take the risk’. I don’t assure your luck [Y/N], take the risk”.

“Shut up, you idiot, cocky, annoying, fucking asshole… Did you say days? Has it been days?”

“You know how to fight, but you don’t know how to calculate the time it takes to beat your opponent… too bad, you’re missing points. Are you in or not?”

“What exactly should I do…”

“Help me, to form my clan. Once you conceive my heirs, you are free. Until then, you are bound to comply.”

“You’re crazy to think I’ll help you with that.”

“Very well, then, I will set out again on my journey. It’s a shame about your dreadful village… we killed everyone with our fight and destroyed the land. Good luck surviving.”

“Wait! … Shit… I’ll go with you, but we’ll share the power equally.”

“You think you’re in a position to negotiate? How delusional.”

“Not at this moment, but when you want to impose yourself again, we’ll solve it by fighting.”

“You sound very confident… I accept, but when you have to surrender to me, don’t expect me not to enjoy the victory.”

"Be quiet and help me.”

Abruptly, he stood up as if nothing had happened, and lifted you off the ground with him. Quickly, you were positioned on his shoulder, just like a rag doll. The only thing you could focus on was the painful ways your body bounced with each step from Indra, who showed no compassion for your poor health.

That’s how the two of you started a complicated relationship, which, between fights and provocations, became something addictive that neither of you could give up. Suddenly years had passed since the first encounter, and your days were filled with challenges for power.

Neither of you wanted to give in to the other. You knew that Indra would not abandon you even if you continued to extend the time to conceive his heirs, you could feel it in his soul and see it in his eyes. The Ōtsutsuki had developed a strong attachment to you, love, I would dare to call it, and even if it took a lifetime to form your family, he would never change you for anyone.

So, in the meantime, both of you were playing a little game. Your routine was based on constantly provoking the other, pushing the other to the limit so that the situation would end in an inevitable fight to the death. The funny thing is that, as both maintained the same level of power, there was never a winner. Weeks could pass in a single confrontation, but no one was ever victorious over the other.

For years, the two would travel around the world. With no need to settle in one specific place, terrifying legends about the couple spread throughout the villages and towns, telling how the most powerful partners in history wandered the Earth, looking for power and control to feed on. Your days were joyous as you found a small village to destroy together, delighting in the screams of the villagers, making love over the blood of the murdered people.

Everyone began to fear your presence, escaping the sighting of [Y/N] and Indra, reincarnations of hellish beings.

At some point, Indra became somewhat impatient. Without warning, he began to show the need to find a place to build a real-life for both of you, where he could give birth to his family with you. Without any complaint, you accepted the request and decided that maybe it was time to listen to his desire.

A déjà vu hit you when you found yourself standing in front of the big door of a village, your man next to you, looking straight at the frightened people who were turning pale in front of you both. The satisfaction of power ran through your veins, and from the strong grip Indra held in your hand, you knew he felt the same way.

The Ōtsutsuki began to talk to the villagers, explaining what you both wanted from them, when you felt it necessary to interrupt him and continue with the task yourself.

“We are here to take control of this community. We don’t care who the ruler is, we are both the leaders now. Whoever opposes our supreme authority will perish on the spot. Inform your people of this, for we have come a long way and only wish to rest. When we deem it appropriate, we will announce the changes to come”.

In terror, the people who received you two at the door looked at the floor and nodded their heads. Without saying anything, they slipped inside, carrying out your errands.

One of them guided the two of you towards the main house, where there was privacy.

“I was in charge of the situation [Y/N].”

“Oh honey… I can’t help but think that since you want to start our family you have become a little more… Weak? Soft? I don’t know… I think I’m the only one who still wants to dominate everything around here…”

“It would be unwise to start a fight in the village we just occupied.”

“Are you chickening out? Where is my Indra and what did you do with him, stranger?”

“[Y/N]… you are really getting on my nerves…”

“I’m glad, darling.”

“You know what? If you want to fight so bad, fine, let’s do it. But this time, the rules are different.”

“Well, well, what do we have here? Indra-Sama wants a harder challenge… tell me, with weapons? Without Jutsus? Blindfolded?”

“No dear… I’m not talking about any physical fight you can imagine.”

“So…?”

“Whoever exhausts the other in bed first is the absolute leader of this filthy place. Until our clan rises above the unpleasant people who live here.”

“If I manage to dominate you during our entire fuck, will I be the supreme leader? No tricks, Ōtsutsuki.”

“No tricks, love.”

“Let’s get started.”

[olivinesea]

A Mixed Blessing

Chapter List

chapter eight: starting to rust

a/n: Just barely coming in at under a month, oops. I think I’m going to take a break from this one for now, it seems to be a little too much while my thoughts are occupied with school things. When I planned this all out originally, this chapter was a possible ending point but then I got ambitious and there’s quite a bit more plotted out after this. But it might be a while before I come back to it, we’ll see. Anyway, thanks for coming along for all the torture, I know it wasn’t a pleasant time but the hurt can be nice occasionally? I’ll try to write something a little kinder in the future. Warnings for all the same things —substances, abuse, some very dark thoughts and themes. ~5.7k

Aaron tries to keep it all together but the world is indifferent.

He tried to stay away, he really did. As if he could see into the future, he could imagine how quickly he would tarnish her smile, could picture it fading right in front of him. He had nightmares where Haley sat, unresponsive and slowly dissolving. But she was insistent, seeking him out, towing him along with her through her day. She’d find him at lunch and push half a sandwich at him once she realized he hadn’t brought anything to eat. Brought him along after school to loiter in the sun with the other theater kids killing time between the end of class and the start of rehearsals, loudly asserting their presence on the world. Aaron hung back, uncomfortable around such casual chaos, everyone moving too fast, speaking too loudly. Compared to his world, Haley’s life was bright, unrestrained, and viscerally present. He didn’t fit there. He stuck out in his silence, dressed in his dark clothes, still too big on him though he was finally starting to grow.

The other kids eyed him suspiciously, muttering quietly about him when they thought he couldn’t hear. Only Haley’s position at the top of whatever social apparatus they operated by kept them from outright excluding him. He didn’t mind too much, he’d heard worse, what did he care what these kids thought of him anyway? What did they know with their golden lives, their excitement, their expectations for the future? Haley’s people believed that the world was for them, would provide what they wanted when they wanted. He found it odd, watching them as they screeched and tackled each other, a blur of color so jarring he had to squint.

He could feel how his difference was noted, their eyes making the back of his neck itch. More than once he tried to disappear but every time Haley slipped her hand into his, squeezing gently, pulling him back toward the group. She’d smile, encouraging, her belief that it would all work out, that he could assimilate given enough time, was unwavering. Her optimism baffled him, sometimes even irritated him. He would inevitably feel guilty about that. Surely it was ungrateful for him to find fault in this girl who had welcomed him when there was absolutely no need for her to do so.

Not everyone was tolerant of Aaron’s presence. The drama teacher regarded him with suspicion, allowing him to stay but making it clear that she was doing him a favor. It helped that he was able to sing, shoring up the weak lower register of the female dominated cast. He was given a minor role, nothing too complicated, nothing that would embarrass them if he failed, as she assumed he would. Some of the other kids caught on to this disapproval, emboldened by it they became less subtle in the ways that they mocked him. Aaron tried to mind his own business, even skipping out on rehearsals when the attention became too much. But Haley inevitably found him, running to catch him after school as he tried to escape out a side door. She dragged him back again and again, refusing to give up on him. Insisting she had seen something special, something she thought she could coax out if given enough time—like a stray dog, so used to mistreatment that he bristled when people came near but still craved affection.

He followed reluctantly, acutely conscious of the growing dislike, mutiny thickening the air. Everything was too sharp these days, he’d lost his sources for getting high. All he had were his cigarettes, too afraid to steal alcohol from his father. He desperately wanted to go back into the woods, to fall back under the quiet spell of muffled words about nothing, watching the light filter through the branches, sparkling as the leaves moved with the breeze. He hated it here, in the building, surrounded by these people with their constant need to be heard, each louder than the last. The smells of the theater, new paint and old fabrics and so much dust made it hard to breath. The too bright lights, unnaturally hot against his skin, and the way every sound echoed made his head ache. He’d be long gone if it wasn’t for the way Haley’s touch made his heart skip, her fingers lightly brushing across his arm to get his attention. Or the way she looped her arm through his as she caught him in the hallway and insisted on walking with him to class, leading him along her sheltered path.

Aaron wondered at the lightness of her head rested against his shoulder as they sat in the grass, sticking her tongue out at something stupid another kid said, then smiling when she heard his smothered laughter. He let his attention drift, eyes wandering until he saw a group in the distance. He watched as they moved away from school, easily guessing where they were headed. He felt a pang of longing as he watched them leave, wishing he could still be part of that. He wasn’t sure he had been happy with Cole but he had at least felt like he was in the right place, like he had found someone who understood him. No one here was like him, no one less so than Haley. He was attracted to her in a different way, fascinated at how she viewed the world and how the world viewed her. He’d never known anyone who moved so easily through life, who was loved and desired by everyone she met. He couldn’t begin to imagine what that felt like though he agreed with the rest of them, she was something special. He didn’t understand why she wanted him around but he wasn’t going to contradict her. Still, he wished to be gone with the group as they sought out unobserved spaces.

“Aaron?” Haley squeezed his knee, drawing his attention back.

“Hmm?” He had no idea what she had been saying.

“Do you want to come to Mike’s house after rehearsal tonight? His parents are out of town.”

Aaron looked dubiously across the group at Mike, someone who was clear in his dislike of Aaron.

“Please?”

Aaron shrugged a shoulder, shifting uncomfortably and causing Haley to sit up.

“It’ll be fun. And it’ll be good for you to get to know everyone a little better. You’re so quiet all the time.”

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Aaron murmured, watching as Mike narrowed his eyes in their direction.

“Don’t be silly,” she said as she hopped up. “C’mon, let’s go inside, it’s almost time.”

He looked up at her, now standing above him. Their eyes met and she smiled. She was pleased with how much he’d been softening. It had only been a few weeks and already he seemed more comfortable, at least with her. She congratulated herself a little, privately, on her success. People had gone out of their way to warn her when she started hanging out with him, bringing him places with her. He was bad, he was dangerous, he would hurt her. But she knew, had known from that first time she saw him looking at her, he wouldn’t hurt her, not ever. He wasn’t so complicated, she reasoned, they were all just scared away by his dark features, his perpetual scowl, the whispered rumors about his family. She, Haley Brooks, was better than that, deeper and more sympathetic. He wouldn’t be the first broken creature she’d healed, but he would be her biggest project yet. She didn’t imagine it could be that hard. Everyone was always happier around her, she could fix this.

He sighed, shaking his head and stood up. Sometimes he could see her watching him and he wasn’t sure he liked the look on her face. Like she was assessing him, marking his progress along some scale she had in her mind. Noting when he ate, when he was rested, when he laughed. He felt a little bit like an animal in a laboratory. But then she would smile at him and he forgot all his hesitation, forgot how he disliked being watched, how much he hated people thinking they knew what he needed. No one had ever cared like her before and he wasn’t sure what she expected in return. But he let himself forget all that and follow her where she led for another chance at that smile, another chance to hear her say his name, sounding so different coming from her lips that it might be a different name entirely.

One of her friends, already halfway back to the building, called Haley’s name and she skipped over to her, confident that Aaron would follow. He watched her go before turning back to pick up his backpack. When he straightened up, Mike was standing very close to him. Aaron wondered at how he’d moved so quickly.

“I hope you don’t think you’re coming to my house, loser.”

Aaron stared at him, debating what to do. He didn’t particularly want to go to this party, he’d really prefer not to go. But Haley had invited him and he didn’t like the way this guy was always looking at her possessively, then looking at Aaron like he’d like to strangle him. Not exactly subtle.

Mike stepped in closer. “Did you hear me? Or are you too high?” He turned to his friends and forced a laugh, “Maybe you shouldn’t have fried your brain with your little homo boyfriend.”

Aaron didn’t think, he just reacted, fist swinging up and punching the other boy in the jaw. He stumbled back, holding a hand to his face, eyes frozen wide in shock. Aaron didn’t pause, only advanced on him, swinging again. It felt good, the anger that was always simmering in his chest, the anger he only barely distracted himself from, finally had an outlet. It probably wasn’t a fair fight, Mike had been expecting Aaron to quietly take the insults as he’d been doing, pretending to ignore them as they needled him whenever Haley was out of earshot. But this insult was too far. More of a mean jab in the dark than an actual accusation, his words had hit a nerve and unlocked a force within Aaron.

Once he landed the first punch, his vision clouded over with anger and he continued to swing at the other kid. The other boys quickly jumped in, once the surprise of seeing Aaron actually fight back wore off, once they realized he meant to do real harm to their friend. He already had Mike pinned on the ground, lip bleeding, hands covering his face, before two more of his friends managed to drag Aaron off. He swung at them too, no technique but plenty of experience on the receiving end. He knew what would hurt and he had enough rage to power him through a dozen opponents. One of the others pulled him off balance, using his grip on Aaron’s wrist to fling him to the side. They blocked his path to Mike, who was scrambling backward on the grass, putting more distance between himself and this suddenly rabid opponent. Breathing hard, Aaron glared at the group, realizing he didn’t have enough strength to overpower them all, despite his murderous desire. He spit in their direction, then grabbed his bag and stalked away.

He didn’t have to think about where he was going. There was only one place to go. He’d tried to be a part of the regular world, a part of a world where time continued evenly, where lights turned on when it was dark and spotlights burned brightest on those with merit. He’d tried to fit himself into that space for Haley’s sake but he had only been fooling himself. They’d known he didn’t belong and he’d finally overstayed his welcome. It was time for him to retreat to the unlit corners of the world, return to the margins of society where people could avert their eyes, where it was easier for them to pretend they didn’t see the wrongness of the boy in front of them. He’d go back to the place in the woods and hope there was someone there that could give him what he wanted, could help him disconnect from this too bright reality. He was as sick of it as they were of him. He allowed himself a brief flicker of hope that he might find Cole out there, with his understanding and their shared history he didn’t have to think about his walls so much. But he stomped down hard on that desire, reminding himself how he had still ended up alone. No, it didn’t need to be Cole, it didn’t need to be anyone in particular, as long as they had something to get him high he didn’t care. It wouldn’t matter for very long anyway.

He crashed across the grass, his anger making his steps heavier, his thoughts louder. He didn’t realize he was being followed, that someone was calling his name. He didn’t notice until there was a hand tugging at the elbow of his jacket. He spun around fast, ready to fight. Haley shrank back at the anger in his face, the wildness in his eyes. He clenched his fists when he recognized her, trying and failing to pull back the storm of emotion that had been knocked loose. He never wanted to scare her but she was following where she didn’t belong. He only had so much control.

“Go away.”

“Are you hurt? Where are you going? Why’d you attack—”

She didn’t even have the question fully formed before he turned and started walking again, unwilling to be accused of something that wasn’t remotely his fault. He didn’t like the way it stung him, hearing that she assumed his guilt. He didn’t like that he’d let her get so close, let her have such influence over him. She ran a little to get ahead of him, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She was frightened by his fury, but she wouldn’t let him go this easily. Not after she’d spent so many hours persuading him to join her world.

“Aaron.”

He stopped short when he heard his name, looked at her with some of his anger melting into sadness, feeling betrayed even though he knew he had no one to blame but himself.

“I didn’t start it,” he could barely get the words out, hated how much he wanted her to believe him, hated that he had to explain himself.

She rubbed her face, trying to think as she pressed her palm against her lips. She found she was more frightened of this new emotion than she was of the anger. He looked so hopeless.

“I’m sorry, I just…” she didn’t know what to say now that she’d gotten him to stop, now that she could see past the heated front of anger and could see some of the broken edges he did so much to hide. Wasn’t this what she’d been asking for?

He watched her struggle with what to say, saw the moment the pity started to creep into her eyes. Before she could say anything else, before she could make him feel worse, he started walking again, pushing past her. “Just leave me alone,” he muttered. He didn’t bother to check if she followed.

When he reached the clearing it was empty except for one person stretched out on a broken down couch. At first all he could see was the back of their head, the dirty blond hair sticking up in places. The recognition was a visceral feeling, clawing through his chest. He almost couldn’t believe it was real, that he was getting exactly what he hoped for. Cole sat up when he heard Aaron’s heavy footsteps cracking through the dead leaves and sticks littering the ground. He remained seated, looking at Aaron idly, as if no time had passed, as if he’d only been waiting for Aaron to turn up after class. Aaron felt so many conflicting emotions, had so many things he wanted to say that he could only stand with his jaw clenched against the flood of words he knew he would regret. Cole twitched the corner of his mouth in a slightly mocking smile and Aaron snapped. He grabbed Cole by the collar, pulling him to his feet, unsure whether he meant to strangle him or kiss him. Cole’s gaze shifted to look behind him.

“Why’d you bring your girlfriend with you?”

Too caught up in the charge of the moment, Aaron didn’t understand what he was talking about. Cole pulled away and lifted his chin in the direction he was facing. Aaron turned and saw Haley. She’d continued to follow him, concerned about what he was planning on doing, haunted by the hollowed out look in his eyes. She stood, apprehensive, eyes darting between the two.

He scowled. “Go back to school Haley.”

“But—are you okay?” She stumbled over her words, staring openly at Cole. She’d seen him in the distance, even noticed how Aaron sometimes watched him when their paths crossed. He looked even more menacing up close.

“I’m fine.” His mouth pressed together, biting his lower lip to keep his composure. He didn’t understand why she was being so persistent, why she wouldn’t just go away like everyone else. When she still hesitated he got impatient. There were things he needed to handle and he didn’t need her here getting in the way. He waved his hand at her, brushing away her attention. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

From behind him Cole fluttered his fingers at her with false sweetness. She hated the way he was grinning at her, his obvious confidence that he was the one in charge of the situation. She glared at him and he laughed.

She looked one more time at Aaron, who was no longer paying attention to her, had turned back to Cole entirely. She shook her head. Fine, if he wanted this it was hardly her problem.  What did she even know of his life anyway? Trying not to feel like she’d lost, she retraced the path back to school.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Aaron started in on Cole. His thoughts were disorganized and barely coherent but he’d spent weeks trying to understand the sudden distance. He needed Cole to explain, to know his reasons for turning on him so quickly after all that they’d shared.

“What the fuck—” He hadn’t finished his question before Cole clamped his hand over his mouth.

“Shut up.”

Their eyes met and there was a mental struggle for the upper hand. One thing that had changed in the past few weeks was Aaron’s strength. No longer constantly submerged in a haze of intoxication, he felt everything more pointedly and he was ready to direct that pain elsewhere. He wanted to bite Cole, to scratch at his face, to scream at him for way he’d been abandoned, the sickness and shame he’d had to endure on his own. But the warmth of Cole’s palm, the familiar smell of his skin, the muscle memory of being in this exact position was too much. He relented almost instantly, sinking into the couch, pulling his knees up against his chest and waiting to see what Cole would do next.

Cole watched him thoughtfully, interested by this new spark of resistance but also pleased that he hadn’t made it too far on his own. A little fight kept things interesting, staved off the boredom Cole so often felt. It was probably that girl he’d been with, giving him ideas. He could see he’d have to do some damage control to bring Aaron back completely.

“I’m sorry,” he looked down, measuring drops of sincerity. “My grandma, she saw…she said she was going to report you.”

Aaron was confused, he didn’t know exactly what she could report about him but he heard the edge in Cole’s voice, knew better than to dig deeper. Cole sat down beside him, pulling one of his hands loose from where he’d wrapped it tightly around his legs. He traced Aaron’s palm with his thumb, looking into his face again.

“You know I didn’t mean it right? I didn’t have a choice.”

Aaron recoiled, sickened by the number of times those words had echoed through his life. Worse though was how easily he was willing to give into them if it only meant he could have back a little of that warmth he had found. He ducked his head and shrugged.

Cole squeezed his hand. “Good, cause I think I’ve got something you’ll like.” He let go and dug around in the couch cushions, pulling out a crumpled paper bag. When he smiled at Aaron, that familiar greedy smile, Aaron admitted to himself that he wasn’t here to fight with Cole, that he had never been coming for that. This was all he wanted, was all he was good for: to be lied to and to be led astray. He didn’t mind as long as he didn’t have to be fully present for it. He sat up a little straighter.

“Alright, let’s do it.”

They fell back in with one another but it remained uneasy. Aaron was still not allowed back at Cole’s house and he was afraid to miss too much class. Lately his father had been grumbling about sending him away and he wasn’t entirely sure he meant away to live somewhere else or away from life entirely. There were no peaceful interactions between them, only lucky days where Aaron successfully avoided being seen. A sudden increase in truancy calls would not work out well for him. If he had been a little more mature, a little less caught up in his own teenage drama, he might have noticed the changes in his father’s face, the way the lines grew deeper as his frame grew thinner. As it was he only noticed as much as he needed to know to keep himself out of the direct path of destruction. He once might have cared to notice his mother crying more, even when his father wasn’t there to be the cause of it but he was long past feeling any sort of connection to her. If she was troubled, she could find someone else to support her. She certainly hadn’t done anything to help him all these years. Nothing that he could see.

At school Haley continued to pester him. She stood up for him against the accusations that he had attacked Matt for no reason so he was still allowed at play rehearsals. He went grudgingly, only because he couldn’t shake the way he felt bewitched by Haley. Now he tried even harder to stay out of any social situations, to keep things strictly professional with the group of theater kids. However, he couldn’t help but enjoy Haley’s company at lunch and in between classes. Much as Aaron had disliked her friends, he couldn’t resist the brilliance of her personality. She made him feel like being a whole person was possible, made him forget for a few moments what he really was. She may have made him a little uncomfortable but she was relentlessly kind, and he was more than expert at keeping things hidden so he let her think she was doing some good as she badgered him into eating more and forced him to study. Even if it was only pretend, they were both getting something from it.

Only after the school day was over would he would slink away to the woods where he’d meet Cole. Cole still wasn’t speaking to him on campus, too aware of how their obvious closeness before had been risky. He hadn’t changed in their time apart either, his mood still swinging wildly from affection to disgust. It didn’t feel great but Aaron needed him, needed what Cole could give him. Attention and a steady supply of drugs. He didn’t have to worry about his insufficiencies around Cole, they were too similar for him to care about hiding the difficult parts of his life, didn’t have to worry about being pitied, about someone trying to fix him. They’d dragged more furniture into the abandoned shed, found an old metal trashcan they could burn things in to warm the place as the months crept deeper into the dark end of the year.

By the time Aaron’s sixteenth birthday came and went he felt like he was leading a completely fractured life. At home he was a ghost at best, a target when not; with Haley a treasured curiosity, constantly examined and prodded into a more acceptable shape; and with Cole, he was himself, angry and violent but self-medicated to the point where none of it mattered. Any gentleness that had existed between them over the summer was gone, every interaction was rough and scrambling, followed by a shame that only dissipated once the high kicked in.

It became harder to hold all the pieces together. He would look at himself in the mirror and struggle to remember his own name. He started smoking pot during the day again, just to ease some of the jarring transitions. At lunch, Haley talked and talked and he wouldn’t notice when she asked him a question until she poked him in the bicep and he jumped like a startled cat. When she tried to ask him about it he got annoyed, snapping at her and walking away from school, not caring that it was the middle of the day and that this bad choice was sure to come back to him that evening.

The show opening got closer as he missed more rehearsals. He missed so many that he didn’t know what he should be doing when he was there, very obviously sticking out when he went one way while the rest of the corps moved in the other direction. The drama teacher pulled him aside, giving him an ultimatum that he needed to be present at every subsequent rehearsal or he would be cut. Not so secretly hoping this would be enough to get him to leave. He started to say he didn’t give a shit about her stupid play when he saw Haley anxiously watching their conversation and swallowed his insults, only nodding, looking away so the teacher wouldn’t see his contempt for someone who could think something like a high school play mattered at all.

He made it to all the rehearsals but he was sure to be high, not enough that he would be caught but enough to be clear that it didn’t matter to him if he did. He wasn’t sure why he continued to come, why Haley had such a pull on him. It didn’t make sense that he wanted so badly to make her happy when she was so different, so far removed from everything else in his life. Maybe it was that he knew that without her, there was nothing tying him to the regular world, the place of school and society and jobs and futures. She was the only person that seemed to care if he was around, an emotion he was long past feeling for himself. She was the last reminder that he was a human being, that he mattered to someone. It was the only thing standing between him and completely giving in to the destructive force that had been whispering promises of an easy solution to his problems.

It was just enough to keep him behaved around these people who hated him without knowing anything about him. They hated what he represented, hated the way he forced them to see that the world could be ugly and painful. They were offended that he dared to show himself among the normal people when he so clearly belonged to the underside. He kept quiet and kept close to Haley when he was at school, when he was in the theater. He wore the stupid costume, the silly hat, followed the directions barked at him, sang just loud enough to carry the rest. Then he slipped away as soon as he was able.

The week of the opening performance was a bad one. Cole, having recently gotten his hands on some speed, was off on a manic high. Aaron had tried it once but hated the way the uppers spiked his anxiety, the way he felt every eye on him like his skin had turned inside out. After that first time he had declined, preferring to find oblivion in whatever downers were available. But Cole liked it quite a bit. It made his already unpredictable nature even worse, even more dangerous. He’d spend these highs running all over town, breaking car windows for fun, stealing anything worth a couple dollars. Aaron hated it and did his best to hide from him while he was strung out like that.

The afternoon of the show’s opening he’d gone to an old, private hiding spot after school with the intention of getting so stoned he couldn’t feel anything that might come his way later. He succeeded only to remember belatedly what day it was. Haley had tried to remind him several times during the day but he’d been too high, too distracted to listen. Swearing, he ran back to school, not sure what time it was or what time he was supposed to have been there.

The house lights were already off, the audience quiet as the opening bars played. He raced to get into his costume, having to re-button his shirt more than once as the tiny objects refused to line up properly. He gripped his hat as he stumbled into the wings to the sound of the chorus coming in—the chorus he was supposed to be a part of. He thought he could probably just slide onto the end of the line without attracting too much attention. Unfortunately, he found his path blocked by the drama teacher, her face dark and angry, completely out of patience for this mess of a teenager. She stared at him, his eyes red and glassy, skin pale, insultingly obvious in his intoxication.

“No.”

He looked at her unfazed, barely registering her as more than an object to move around. When he tried to step past her, she blocked him again.

“Go home Aaron,” her voice was quiet but unfriendly.

He shook his head, “I’m going to miss my cue.”

She frowned, surprised that he was aware enough to even know when his part was. “You’re high, you can’t be on school property.”

Aaron glanced into her face now, paying attention. No teacher had ever mentioned being able to tell he was not sober before.

“If you don’t leave now, I will call the police.”

He stepped back, narrowing his eyes, gauging how serious she was, if she would really draw that much attention to the situation. Her expression didn’t change and he could tell she meant it. He looked past her once more, seeing Haley step forward into the spotlight to begin her solo. His heart twisted, thinking about how disappointed she’d be that he couldn’t make this happen for her. He’d tried, tried so hard to keep it together for this. She’d been so excited and even though he couldn’t feel any of that, he liked the way it lit up her face when she talked about the performance, about how her parents and her sister would be in the audience, about how she wanted them to meet him. He’d never planned on staying for that but he’d wanted to at least be part of the show, to at least give her that.

“Now, Hotchner,” she insisted, voice cold and unsympathetic. He shrugged and tossed the hat on the ground by her feet before turning and walking out.

He headed straight for the shed, knowing there were supplies there that he had slowly siphoned away when Cole was too high to notice. He’d been saving them, watching his little stockpile grow larger. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was saving it for, exactly what his intention was but now seemed as good a time as any to find out. He hoped Cole wasn’t there, at least not until he could get his fix. Nothing would matter then.

Once inside he turned on the camp lantern he’d stolen and climbed onto a rickety chair to reach the seam between the roof and the wall. He pulled out his supplies, examining them as he settled back down on the dirty old cushions on the floor and wrapped a blanket around himself. It was an old army surplus thing, scratchy and smelling of smoke but effective against the chill. He considered his options. There was a good amount in there, probably enough for two people if he waited for Cole to turn up. He could maybe ease him out of his frenzy, bring him down to Aaron’s level, to the place where they could float through time without moving, without worrying. He thought about the last time he’d seen him, the way his eyes had moved past him without any real recognition. He thought about the dark purple bruises on his wrist where Cole had grabbed him, twisting his arm and insisting Aaron give him whatever money he had.

Fuck him, he decided.

Cole would probably be angry if he came here and found Aaron high without him, would be suspicious of how that had come to be. He would probably regret not leaving any for him but just at that moment he didn’t care. Hurt and love and shame and desire were all the same to him, all more than he wanted to feel. He just wanted to feel nothing. He set himself up quickly, well practiced and sure of his movements. He glanced around the shed once, really seeing his surroundings, seeing how far he had sunk and he laughed as he pressed the plunger down. Anyone who heard him would have been alarmed, the sound more like an animal caught in a trap than an expression of human joy. His last thought as he sank back into the ground was that it really was too much for one person. Too much to be doing alone. Then he got what he wanted and everything was just black.

[jeannereames]

Writing Historical Fiction (Well)

From an anonymous ask:

"What advice would you give to someone who wants to write about Alexander?" Sorry I didn't clarify, I was thinking of writing a fictional novel (but do not plan to publish it, lol)

If you’re just writing for yourself with no plans to publish, you don’t have to worry about constraints like wordcount and publishability. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to sell mainstream historicals. Selling a genre historical is easier (historical fantasy, historical mystery, historical romance). But there’s a reason it took me 30 years to get Dancing with the Lion into print. Yes, some of that time I was actually writing it, but much more was devoted to finding a market for it, and notice that I did, finally, have to sell it as genre even though it isn’t really. (It was that or shelve it forever.)

Yet if you’re asking for my recommendations, I assume you want to write something that’s marginally readable. Ergo, what follows is general advice I’d give anybody writing historical fiction.

For historicals, one must keep track of two things simultaneously: telling a good story, and portraying history accurately enough. It’s possible to do one well, but the other quite badly.

First, let’s look at how to write a good story.

There are two very basic sorts of stories: the romance, and the novel. Notice it’s romance small /r/. A romance is an adventure story; in romances, the plot dominates and characters serve the plot. A novel is character-driven, so plot events serve character development. Dancing with the Lion is a novel.

Once you’ve decided which of those you’re writing, you have a better handle on how to write it. You also need to know where you’re going: what’s the end of the story? What are the major plot points? Writers who dive in with no road map tend to produce bloated books that require massive edits. That said, romances will almost always be faster paced, in part because “what’s happening” drives it. Whereas in novels, the impact of events on characters drives it. Exclusive readers of romances are rarely pleased by the pacing of novels. They’re too slow: “Nothing is happening!” Things are happening, but internally, not externally.

Yet pacing does matter. Never let a scene do one thing when it can do three.

You will want to pay attention to something called “scene and sequel.” A “scene” is an event and a “sequel” are the consequences. So let’s say (as in my current MIP [monster in progress]) you open with a fugitive from the city jail racing through the streets with guards following: he leaps the wall of a rich man’s house and ends up in the bedroom of a visiting prince. That’s the scene. The sequel is the fall-out. (House searched, prince hides fugitive, prince gets fugitive to tell him why he’s running.) Usually near the end of the sequel(s) to the first scene, you embed the hook to the next (a slave of the rich man has been found murdered outside the city walls). The next scene concerns recovering the body and what they discover (then fall-out from that). Etc., etc., etc.

That’s how stories progress. Or don’t progress, if the author can’t master scene-sequel patterns.

It also means—again—you need to know where you’re going. Outlines Are Your Friends. But yes, your plot can still take a sharp left-hand turn that surprises you…they almost always do.

When I sat down to write Dancing with the Lion, I knew three things:

1)     I wanted to write about Alexander before he became king.

2)     I wanted to explore his relationship with Hephaistion.

3)     I especially wanted to consider how both became the men they’d did.

With those goals in mind, I could frame the story. Because I always intended Hephaistion to be as important as Alexander, the novel opens in his point-of-view to establish that. And because I didn’t want to deal with Alexander as king, the novel had to end before he became one. History itself gives a HUGE and obvious gift in the abrupt murder of Philip. Where to open was harder to decide, but as I wanted to explore the boys’ friendship and its impact on their maturation into men, I should logically begin with their meeting, and decided not to have them meet too young. From there, I spun out Hephaistion’s background, and his decision to run away from home to join the circus, er, I mean Pages. 😉

IMO, Alexander’s story is Too Big to do in a single novel, or you get an 800+ page monstrosity like Chris Cameron’s God of War. The author must decide on what piece of the story she wants to tell. (Or, like me, view it as a series.)

So that’s (in a nutshell) how you construct a story.

As for the historical side, there are three levels here:

1)     What the world looks like (details).

2)     The events that take place.

3)     How people living in that world understand life, the universe, and everything.

Number two is probably the easiest. Numbers one and three require deeper research on all sorts of things. Sometimes historical novels spend all their time on number one and completely forget number three exists.

The past is a foreign country. Just as you wouldn’t (or at least shouldn’t) write a novel set in Japan (if you’re American) without learning something not only about the physical country but also the customs…same with stories set in the past.

This is why the Oliver Stone movie failed. He put modern people in a costume drama. He didn’t understand how ancient Macedonians (or Greeks or Persians) thought. So he committed crazy anachronisms like the oedipal complex between Alexander and Olympias. Freud may have named his theory after a Greek hero, but it’s largely a foreign idea to the Greek mind. (Whether it’s valid at all is a topic for another day).

The author has to let ancient people be properly ancient.

Problem: what do you do when they’re SO foreign they’re impossible to understand for modern readers—or their attitudes are outright offensive?

Well, if you don’t plan to get your story published, you don’t have to worry about that. Or not as much. But if you want to share it with others, you might still want to consider it.

There are two basic approaches:

1)     Introduce your world through a “stranger” who enters it.

2)     Spread out more “modern” views among various characters in the story, to give modern readers something familiar to hang onto.

The first of those is by far the most common. So in Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander, Claire Randall—quite literally a modern woman—introduces the modern reader to Jacobite Scotland. As she learns about her new world, so does the reader, and in Claire, the reader has a voice to express both their fascination and their horror of that world. In Judith Tarr’s Lord of the Two Lands, she uses Meriamon, an Egyptian priestess, to enter the Macedonian world of Alexander. Judy can then contrast Egyptian and Macedonian cultural values in order to explain them. Meriamon asks questions the reader wants answers to—or Niko (or Alexander) ask questions of her about Egypt.

The second choice (which is what I did in Dancing) is to identify cultural mores likely to offend modern readers: indifference to slavery, glorification of war and conquest, Greco-Macedonian attitudes towards women, and Greco-Macedonian attitudes towards sexuality. Then to assign one of the characters to voice a more modern view. Alexander gets to be a proto-feminist, and I gave points of view to two women. One of those women, I made a slave. Hephaistion gets to express a more modern view regarding the horrors of war. Sexuality was a bit tougher, but I used the boys’ atypical relationship—that the younger is the one of higher status—to illustrate Greco-Macedonian assumptions about what a male-male relationship should look like.

That approach presents more hurdles, but for my purposes, I preferred it.

I harp on this because it’s the biggest problem for historical fiction: not having historical characters! It wrecks what might otherwise be decent research into the details. No matter how much you look up what they ate, how they dressed, the way their houses were laid out…if you have them behaving anachronistically, it’s a bad historical. Or if you have circumstances that just wouldn’t occur.

Let me give an example. I’ve said before that, when I started writing the novel in December of 1988, Dancing always began with a run-away boy (Hephaistion). But in my initial version, he showed up in Pella incognito. The more I read about Macedonia, however, the more I realized that was virtually impossible. There just weren’t that many Hetairoi. He’d have been recognized, and probably sooner rather than later. So I went back to the drawing board and, instead of having him try to hide, he comes right out and says who he is, and that he wants to join the Pages. It might take away the “mystery,” but set up more interesting dynamics: would Philip let him stay? What would his father do? Etc.

That requires the author know enough about the culture to know what’s possible, probable, and impossible. It also requires the author to be willing to change original plans in order to reflect reality, not insist on doing ___ anyway.

A good example of jettisoning history in favor of “what I want to do!” can be found in David Gemmell’s Lion of Macedon. So many, many things wrong with that book, starting with his choice to make Parmenion a Spartan for no historical reason whatsoever—but (I assume?) because Spartans Are Sexy. Parmenion likely belonged to the royal house of Upper Macedonian Pelagonia. Although even if he didn’t, absolutely nothing suggests he wasn’t Macedonian, and quite a lot says he was. The whole duology (with included The Dark Prince) was essentially Blue Boltz ™ Epic Fantasy Does Greece. The fact he actually included a bibliography in back, and got weird, isolated details right only added insult to injury.

Yet Gemmell was a best-selling British fantasy novelist who knew pacing and how to spin a good yarn. For a reader with zero knowledge of Alexander, it would stack up as a predictable but tolerable fantasy set.

Remember that as an historical fiction author, your job is to practice the art of getting it right. If that isn’t important to you, please God, write something completely made up.

At the spectrum’s other end is Showing Notecards on Every Page. You’ve done ALL that hard research, and you’ll be damn sure the reader knows it!

Um, the reader doesn’t care. The reader wants to be transported to another world. How locals in that world shoed horses (or if they shoed horses at all) is irrelevant. It matters only if your main character’s a farrier. And even then, it matters only if said-farrier is having a conversation with someone else while shoeing a horse.

If people want all the little details of history, they’ll read a history book.

Now, how much detail is “too much” can vary from reader to reader, and often has something to do with the genre.

Regular readers of historical fiction are fans because they enjoy history. So they’ll expect proper world-building. But they don’t want the Dreaded Information Dump. Weave in details. The Dreaded Information Dump is a common beginning-author error across the board, but especially bad in certain genres, such as historicals, fantasy, and SF.

What’s an “information dump”? It’s where the author provides details the reader doesn’t need at that point in the story. What the character looks like, is wearing, their family background, what they had for breakfast….

As mentioned, details should be woven into the story organically. What your character had for breakfast matters only if, later, it’s giving him/her gas: “Damn those beans in my breakfast burrito!” Some details may be useful to set a scene and prevent characters from walking around, having conversations in a void, but again, a light touch.

Similarly, One scene, One head. We do NOT need to see everything from each character’s point of view. No, really. We don’t. And dear God, please don’t “head-hop” inside of scenes (unless you’re writing omniscient, but be sure you know what omniscient IS). Drives me BUGGY.

Anyway, back to the Notecard Showing Problem. As noted above, genre expectations and reader preferences often dictate what IS “too much detail.” Generally, historical Romance (the genre) and historical mysteries go lighter on detail than historical fantasy or plain historicals. That’s because the former two have genre conventions that work against it. Romances preference the love story front-and-center at all times, and mysteries have a mystery to unravel. E.g, they’re plot driven. By contrast, historical fantasies tolerate more world building because world building itself is a feature of fantasy (and science fiction too). And the appeal of mainstream or literary historicals IS the world building, so you get massive novels like Ken Follet’s Pillars of the Earth.

I’m blathering now, but hopefully this gives pointers not just about writing Alexander, but writing fiction period, and historical fiction in particular.

[mediaevalmusereads]

On Stranger Tides. By Tim Powers. New York: Harper, 1987.

Rating: 2/5 stars

Genre: historical fiction

Part of a Series? No

Summary: Aboard the Vociferous Carmichael, puppeteer John Chandagnac is sailing toward Jamaica to claim his stolen birthright from an unscrupulous uncle, when the vessel is captured . . . by pirates! Offered a choice by Captain Phil Davies to join their seafaring band or die, Chandagnac assumes the name John Shandy and a new life as a brigand. But more than swashbuckling sea battles and fabulous plunder await the novice buccaneer on the roiling Caribbean waters–for treachery and powerful vodun sorcery are coins of the realm in this dark new world. And for the love of beautiful, magically imperiled Beth Hurwood, Shandy will set sail on even stranger tides, following the savage, ghost-infested pirate king, Blackbeard, and a motley crew of the living and the dead to the cursed nightmare banks of the fabled Fountain of Youth.

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: sexual assault, violence, body horror, microaggressions; references to incest, rape, slavery

Overview: I originally picked up this book because I was in the mood for a pirate story, and On Stanger Tides kept popping up on online lists of “greatest pirate novels.” I can see why, to an extent. Powers writes good ship battles, and most of his descriptions of the setting are lush and evocative. However, I couldn’t give this book more than 2 stars on account of the pacing and the treatment of women, people of color, and fat people. I know that, being written in the 1980s, it’s not going to be as “woke” as contemporary readers would like, but even so, there was a lot about this book that made me uncomfortable - things that even “historical accuracy” can’t cover.

Writing: Powers’ prose was something of a mixed bag for me. On the one hand, there are some absolutely stunning descriptions of the environment, and Powers has a knack for writing compelling action scenes. I really liked the way Powers would compare resurrected crewmates to “chains and jelly in a wet leather bag” or the eerie look of ships gliding through mist. These descriptions really immersed me in the setting and elicited feelings of horror, so I think Powers deserves praise for that.

On the other hand, however, I think that some parts of the book dragged. It took forever for characters to actually get to the Fountain of Youth, and all the things that were happening in the meantime didn’t hold my attention well. Some of the battle scenes also felt slow at times, in part because Powers is so invested in describing every little action.

Plot: On Stranger Tides primarily follows Jack Shandy as his ship is attacked and he is forced to join a pirate crew. During his adventures, he is forced to accompany Blackbeard to the Fountain of Youth, and must fight a number of sorcerers who seek to control Beth Hurwood, a British woman who seems to exist to be a damsel in distress.

There’s not much to say about this plot. It’s a swashbuckling adventure, to be sure, but nothing really stood out as unique to me. Of course, I could be biased, since I’m reading this story in 2021, not in the 1980s, so take my reaction with a grain of salt. I think to make this story more compelling, I would have liked to see more personal stakes for Jack Shandy. It seemed to me that Shandy mostly went along with the pirates and accepted the existence of magic. Combined with the fact that his desire to reclaim his inheritance wasn’t all that present, I think filtering the plot through the perspective of someone with stronger convictions and goals would have done a lot to create more suspense.

Characters: Jack Shandy, our protagonist, is a bit bland. He originally had some interesting qualities in that he was able to use his background as a puppeteer to get in the pirates’ good graces, but that’s about the only thing I liked about him. He doesn’t seem to have any real flaws and is good at whatever he does, such as handling a sword (despite having only done theater swordplay). He also doesn’t seem to have any strong convictions or goals; other than rescuing Beth and one time shooting a Naval officer because he was about to murder someone in cold blood, Shandy just seems to exist in the world and go along with the flow. His initial motivation - reclaiming his inheritance - also didn’t seem like an important goal; for one, Shandy forgets about it pretty quickly, only retuning to it within the last 70 pages or so, and never seems determined to escape the pirates after 100 pages. Second, his inheritance is a plantation in Jamaica, which gives me icky colonialism feelings.

Beth Hurwood, our damsel in distress and Shandy’s love interest, has no personality traits and serves no role other than being a victim. I hated that her main purpose was to be victimized by her father and her father’s accomplice, Leo Friend, and I hated that her agency was stolen at almost every turn. Beth did have one good moment when she tried to persuade a disgruntled pirate to abandon Blackbeard and escape with her, but since that plan failed, she had no scene where she attempted to seize control of her own destiny.

Beth’s father, Benjamin Hurwood, could have been a compelling antagonist if the focus was solely on his obsession with magic, but Powers had to go and make it weird. Hurwood is obsessed with putting the soul of his dead wife in his daughter’s body, a process which will effectively kill her. The incestuous undercurrent was a bit too gross for me, and I couldn’t get on board with it.

Leo Friend, Hurwood’s accomplice of sorts, is another powerful sorcerer whose goal is to take Beth for himself. Powers also made Friend more gross than he had to be: Friend desires to dominate Beth, body and soul, by using his magic to make her want to have sex with him. On top of that, Friend also wants to use Beth as a stand-in for his mother, who he was also sexually attracted to. To make matters even worse than that, Powers never, ever lets the reader forget that Friend is fat, using lots of adjectives like “pudgy,” “bloated,” and “round” in every scene, seemingly as a way to disgust the reader. This character was so over-the-top. I hated it.

Other supporting characters were ok. Blackbeard was as one might expect: self-interested and intimidating, but ultimately, he became kind of bland when his sights turned towards Beth Hurwood. Davis, a pirate captain, was a kind of loveable rogue with a nice rapport with Shandy. Stede Bonnett had some interesting motivations and hurdles to overcome, but I couldn’t get interested in his story. Anne Bonny makes a surprise appearance, but her entire purpose is to be a sex object, and I hated it.

Surprisingly, there were black characters in this book. However, rather than being complex, they seemed to only exist to be comic relief (such as one named Mr. Bird whose only job is to periodically scream “I am not a dog”) or to embody the magical negro trope (such as Woefully Fat, a deaf “bocor” who delivers weird messages and conducts odd rituals).

TL;DR: On Stranger Tides has some wonderful descriptions and does a good job evoking a supernatural atmosphere, but ultimately, the weak plot, flat and/or offensive characters, and pacing prevents this from being a memorable pirate story.

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Who’s On Top (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Prompt: 120 with Wanda? Where reader acts all tough but is actually Wanda is the top (smut? Only if you’re comfortable with it)

Words: 2345

Warning: SMUT! Semi-public sex, canon violence

-X-

Your comm crackled in your ear, distracting you from the fight you were currently locked in.

You were supposed to be clearing out a former HYDRA facility with Steve, Natasha and Wanda but things weren’t exactly going as planned. Whoever had worked in this facility had created monsters. Well, not monsters per se but they were supposed to be super soldiers, created with a serum that was supposed to be similar to what had helped Steve become Captain America – only it hadn’t worked. Now they were just a bunch of messed up creatures who were far too strong and not capable of a lot of thought.

Caught between two of them, you weren’t paying too much attention to your comm, so when a voice rang out, it was startling.

“(Y/N), report,” Steve’s voice was broken with static but still clear enough that you could understand him.

“Kind of busy, Cap,” you replied breathily, narrowly avoiding the bigger of the two’s hand that had been coming at your face.

“Need a hand?” Natasha asked, her own grunts filling the channel as she took down another creature.

You laughed, swinging your legs around one of their necks like she’d taught you. “I’m fine.”

Listening to your teammates fighting, you managed to knock the smaller of the creatures onto his back, knocking him unconscious with a single punch to the temple. Using your own super strength, you grabbed a nearby table and swung it at the bigger one, smacking him squarely in the face. He stumbled back a few steps and using all of your might, you rammed into him, throwing him into a wall.

He didn’t move after that.

Doing your best to catch your breath, you glanced around the room. There was nothing of use in here but you were going to be thorough and double check. Satisfied, you started out of the room, only to come face-to-face with a former-human-now-turned-creature standing before you. He was somehow bigger than the ones you’d been fighting and you sighed.

“Of course.”

You tried to lunge at the creature, but it easily caught you around the neck and lifted you up. Its meaty hand squeezed your throat, slowly choking you. You tried gripping its wrist, hoping to break it but it clearly wasn’t going to let go.

Now you were kind of wishing you hadn’t told them you were fine.

Beating on his arm was doing you no good. Your head was starting to swim and you wondered if this was how you were going to die. It wasn’t how you’d imagined your death. No, you’d expected to be caught in an explosion or another end of the world crisis, not trapped in some HYDRA facility with a creature nearly twice your size.

Something behind the beast made a noise and he turned his head. You caught sight of a red glow and you smiled. Thank God.

The creature’s hand suddenly let go of you, dropping you to the floor. You groaned as your body made impact but you stood up. The creature flew past you and slammed into his fallen comrades. He didn’t get back up, something you were grateful for.

“Thanks, b-”

Wanda grabbed the back of your neck and jerked you forward, pressing her lips roughly against yours. You could taste fear on her tongue mixed with a small bit of rage. She was shaking violently, her magic still slinking around you. You could feel it drifting along your back and you cupped her cheek reassuringly.

“I’m okay,” you promised, your thumb stroking her cheekbone.

Wanda let you go, the look in her eyes dark with promise. Was it a good promise? Probably not but that was okay. You’d have fun later either way.

“You guys okay?” Natasha inquired as she rounded the corner, catching sight of the two of you.

Snorting, you nodded. “Of course, Nat. Why wouldn’t we be?” you laughed.

Natasha rolled her eyes. You were always so cocky and, while Natasha could appreciate that, she wished you would stop trying to act so tough all the time. She could see an imprint of a hand on your throat but she wasn’t going to point it out.

She was fairly certain Wanda wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Let’s go. We’ve cleared out the base. SHIELD will take care of the rest.”

-X-

The walk back to the Quinjet was silent. Wanda was leaning into your side, her eyes straight ahead and her lips pursed. She was less than happy with your antics. You were so reckless sometimes, always trying to show that you could handle yourself. You might have had super strength, but you weren’t immortal nor were you invulnerable. You never asked for help and one day it was going to get you killed.

Stepping onto the jet, you walked towards the back, stripping off your uniform shirt. It left you in nothing but a tank top but you didn’t care. Your uniform was hot and sweaty and you couldn’t stand being in it for too long. You tossed it aside and found a seat, waiting for Natasha and Steve to start up the jet.

Wanda wandered into the back, much to your confusion. She usually sat with you. You started to wonder if she was really that angry with you.

Once the Quinjet was in the air, you went to search for your lover. She wasn’t difficult to find, standing at the very back staring at the wall blankly. She was just standing there and it worried you. You could see her chewing absently on her thumb, a faraway look in her eye.

“You okay?” you asked quietly, stepping behind her. Your arms encircled her waist and tugged her into you, your chin resting on her shoulder.

“You could have died,” Wanda said instead of answering your question, her eyes trained forward. “If I hadn’t come to find you…”

Sighing, you shook your head. “I can take care of myself just fine,” you replied, squeezing Wanda’s waist.

She jerked out of your arms and spun around, gaze fierce. There was a fire in her eyes that you didn’t see often and it honestly made you a little hot under the collar. Her passionate side always dampened your underwear and left you panting.

“You weren’t taking care of yourself,” she mocked, pressing you against the wall with just a flick of her wrist. It wasn’t painful but it made a point. “His hand was around your throat.”

Shivering, you faltered under her glare. You could feel her magic keeping you tight to the metal, forcing you to stand there and look at her. You knew this was a serious conversation but your underwear were growing wetter and wetter by the second.

Everyone assumed you were the dominant one in your relationship, but they had no idea of the truth.

“Wanda…”

Her chest was heaving and – without even realizing it – your gaze flickered to her rising breasts, the sight tantalizing. Her mission outfit always looked so damn good on her.

She followed your line of sight, her scowl softening into a smirk. She stepped closer, pushing into you as her hand trailed over your shirt. Her fingers drifted along your collarbones, earning a shudder. She leaned forward, her lips connecting harshly with yours. Her tongue immediately slid along your bottom lip demanding entrance.

You granted her easy access, your lips parting and your tongue poking out to meet hers. She stroked the inside of your mouth, her tongue brushing along your teeth before her teeth nipped at your tongue. You moaned, trying to reach out for her but something stopped you. You leaned back and glanced down, noting the red encasing your wrists.

“Oh no, printsessa,” she cooed, running her hands over your neck, “You don’t get to touch.”

Pouting, you fought against her hold but unsurprisingly, it didn’t budge. You were utterly trapped – and by God, it was sexy.

Wanda’s lips found purchase on your throat and she kissed the soft flesh presented to her, her teeth scraping across the sensitive area where your shoulder and neck met. You moaned unabashedly, whimpering when she stopped.

“No noise,” she warned, her eyes dark with want, “We don’t want everyone knowing what we’re doing, do we?” she teased, her hands grabbing your shirt. She slowly lifted it, exposing your stomach. She had always found your stomach and chest so enticing. She could spend hours running her fingers and tongue over the contours of your body.

A soft whine escaped but you shook your head. “No…”

“Good girl,” Wanda smirked, dropping to her knees. She kissed just above the waistband of your pants and you wished you could tangle your fingers in her dark locks. Her mouth was hot against your skin, driving you wild. Your hips wanted to jerk forward, but her powers made it impossible to move so you were forced to just stand there and let the torture continue.

One hand slid higher – up to your clothed chest – and she squeezed, her smirk deepening as your hard nipple rubbed against her palm. You were so responsive to her touch and she loved it.

Unbuttoning your pants with the other, Wanda slowly worked them down your legs, letting them pool at your feet. She wasn’t going to fully take them off in case Natasha or Steve came looking for the two of you but she had a feeling they wouldn’t. Natasha was smart; she was bound to know what was happening.

She leaned in and let her tongue drag along the fabric of your underwear, easily finding your clit through the material. You were already wet, your arousal soaking through. She could taste it on the tip of her tongue and she moaned, though it was muffled. You wanted to point out how unfair that was but this was her game and she very well might stop if you did.

And fuck, you didn’t want her to stop.

Your hands clenched into fists as she circled your engorged flesh, silently begging her to get on with it! As if reading your mind, she gripped your underwear and tugged them down, letting them join your pants on the floor. She licked a strip from the top of your core to your entrance, her tongue narrowly avoiding where you wanted it most. She knew there wasn’t much time but she was going to tease you as long as she could.

“Please,” you whimpered softly, staring at her pleadingly.

She chuckled huskily before capturing your clit between her lips, sucking fiercely on the aching nub. You nearly cried out, but it stuck in your throat, only leaving a choked noise to echo through the jet. She almost stopped to chide you but decided that would be too cruel.

She’d punish you later for it though.

Her hand left your chest, traveling to your leg. She tossed it over her shoulder before leaning deeper into you. She laved your clit with attention while her free hand worked its way to your dripping core. She slid two fingers into you roughly, the tips dragging across the spongy space inside you without warning. She didn’t leave much time for you to adjust, her hand beginning to move and thrust. You clenched around her digits, your teeth digging into your bottom lip so that you didn’t moan. You could taste blood in your mouth but you didn’t care.

Her thrusts were deep and long, dragging you close to the edge faster and faster. She added a third finger and you were damn near a goner. All you could feel was her filling you up and her wet tongue dancing across your clit. It wasn’t going to take long for you to come.

Your body felt like it was on fucking fire. You wanted to crawl over the edge of the cliff that was pleasure but she was keeping you right on the precipice.

Wanda’s lips left your clit and you nearly shouted your displeasure but when she stood, her mouth latched onto yours. You could taste yourself on her tongue and the burning in the pit of your belly multiplied.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” you chanted quietly against her lips, your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Come for me, malysh,” she commanded, swallowing your moan as you finally tipped over. Apparently all you were waiting for was her permission.

Wave after wave crashed into you, stars bursting behind your eyes and fireworks ringing in your ears. Trembles of aftershocks worked their way through you, your legs nearly giving out. You were fairly certain the only thing holding you up was Wanda’s magic and you were thankful for it.

When you finally stopped shaking, your arms wrapped lazily around Wanda’s shoulders and you buried your face in her neck.

“I love you,” you murmured breathlessly, flinching as cool air drifted along your heated core.

Realizing that you were standing there naked from the waist down, Wanda helped you right your clothes before leading you back into the main part of the Quinjet. You could see Steve staring straight ahead – which was normal considering he was flying the jet – but his ears were tinged red and Natasha was smirking at you from her seat.

You blushed. “Oh God.”

Natasha’s brow arched. “You know, I always thought you topped, (Y/N).”

Wanda burst out laughing while you covered your flushed face with your hands. You could hear Steve muttering under his breath and it only made things worse.

It felt like you had disappointed your dad.

“Sorry, Steve,” you mumbled, barely daring to look at the man.

“You two better not have made a mess,” Steve warned jokingly. He peered over his shoulder at you and winked teasingly.

An unexplainable noise ripped from your throat and Natasha snorted, shaking her head. “You wouldn’t know a mess if you saw one, old man.”

They started bickering back and forth good-naturedly and you smiled. This wasn’t how you’d expected your day to go but this was the life you lived – and you couldn’t be happier.

[shaineybainey]

“Noble Intentions”

Lab Rats [T]

The Lab Rats and Mighty Med teams face off with the greatest threat to humanity yet: The Incapacitator, a supervillain bent on becoming the most powerful in the planet. …Which makes things super awkward for Leo, considering that their newest nemesis is his father. AU. Lab Rats vs Mighty Med redux.

** DISCLAIMER: SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR DISCLAIMER **

tagging: @vcnting @serpent-princess @clockradio93 @verified-dumbass @weareoutofmaplesyrupdave @aaaaahhhhh1234 @neshatriumphs @lettersandwhiteroses

Special shout-out to @vcnting, @neshatriumphs, @clockradio93, and @verified-dumbass for the kind responses. I really appreciate you all. 

TW: mentions death of loved ones, allusions to crime

VII: The Night of Infinite Hours, Side A

Leo wonders if he should go out. It’s already late at night, about 10:49 PM, and the house lies in relative silence. Relative, because he can still hear faint echoes of tools being used down in what he assumes is the garage.

On the one hand, he has a gauge on his father’s whereabouts. If the music of a man at work stops, then he can just hurry back into the room.

On the other hand, his father has the nose of a bloodhound when it comes to things not being right. He can teleport, too. In one second, he can be up there and…

Leo doesn’t know. Before today, he used to think that although his father will hurt many, he will never hurt him. He still thinks his father cares about his safety and that he loves him, but now that thought has all turned acrid and defiled. He doesn’t know anymore if he’ll just get yelled at, get a gentle reproof, or actually get hurt.

He shakes his head. Maybe not the last one. Besides today, his father’s never laid a hand on him once. His father did acknowledge that he overdid it. He will probably never do it again.

Finding that good enough, he leaves the room, the shackle on his ankle lying on the floor with the few hairpins he’d found scattered under the rug. He looks out the door – right, left – and then comes to the hallway.

He realizes then that he doesn’t really have a destination. Where can he go? He’s free and outside. There must be someplace he could go to.

Then again, his father never showed him around the house – at least not yet. He talked about a sewing room downstairs where his uncle used to sleep in. He assumes the kitchen is somewhere downstairs, too.

From the sound of it, the garage is farther away yet still connected to the house.

He cautiously peers over the banister to check for any movement down the stairs. Nothing. He hears a song from the 70’s (Motown, he thinks, which has been playing since late afternoon). There’s also still the sound of tools being used.

Finding it safe, he crosses quickly and sticks closer to the walls.

In his wandering, he finds a locked room, a closet, the bathroom, and another room he assumes is locked also. Out of curiosity, he tries it.

He startles a little when the knob clicks open.

After checking behind him for company, he sneaks inside. There’s a light switch, but he doesn’t think it smart to call that much attention to his presence there. Straining his eyes around the dark room, he notices light from the moon shining through the window that the curtain has left exposed.

He carefully closes the door behind him, wincing as it squeaks when leaving it partly ajar. Finding it still safe, he heads over to the window then pulls it open.

“Ugh…” Leo mutters quietly as he does his best not to cough. Dust rains down the floor, and the palpable scent of mildew and mold dominates the air.

Still, the night sheds a different picture of the room. Under the silver glow, Leo sees that he’s found a nursery-turned-library. There’s a big shelf displaying photographs and a variety of books: cookbooks, story books, fiction. There are even some notebooks wedged in here and there.

Right beside it is a crib, unused for so many years.

Across the room, close to the window is a rocking chair. Sitting right beside it is the smaller shelf, a bunny stuffed toy on top, guarding the storybooks packed within.

It’s then he sees a toy flashlight. He takes a chance, and under the light of the night he shakes it then switches it on.

For some reason, it works.

Leo grins, victorious. He doesn’t know how long the battery will last so he resumes snooping.

He checks the smaller bookshelf first. He almost chuckles reading the titles: The Lorax by Dr. Seuss; Frog and Toad are Friends; The Biggest House in the World. It’s strange to imagine his father as a four year-old, sitting with his grandmother as she rocks the rocking chair, listening to her read a story to him.

He guesses it’s because it’s discordant, too - like the room. Peace versus war. Innocence versus knowing the world too much. It’s still hard to imagine that a quiet and normal life like that existed for his father before all of this.

Intrigued, he draws out The Biggest House in the World. It surprises him to see the name of the author: Leo Lionni. His mother told him that his father wasn’t present during his birth, and his father really didn’t appear in his life until he was six.

Still, he finds it a little funny that he shares the same name of the author who had some influence on his father’s childhood.

He opens the book up, intent to read, when he notices an odd spacing between the floorboards. It’s not very noticeable that he’s even surprised he caught it. It stands out, though, so much so that it presses on his curiosity until he can’t take it anymore.

So, he puts the book away then investigates.

Since the majority of it is stuck underneath, he carefully lifts the spinning shelf then moves it aside. He checks behind him for his dad, finds that the door is still as he’s left it, and then proceeds with his plan.

He sticks the nail on his right thumb in the slim space then attempts to lift it. It takes a couple of tries, but thankfully it’s loose enough that it eventually comes off.

When it does, he’s greeted by insulation foam, still firm but also yellowed with time. He pulls on it, unsatisfied.

It pays off. It comes with a soft tug and reveals a space as wide as a hand span and as deep as a hand span and a half. Tucked cozily within is a black safety box.

However, what wakes him up fully is the emblem on it: two Ms, one teal, one white.

Mighty Med.

“What?” he whispers. The hinges give the softest of squeals when he opens it.

Its contents are underwhelming yet still intriguing. There are folded pieces of paper; a couple of cards that he assumes are credentials; some photographs; and a few pins that glint under the flashlight.

He picks up a card wedged inside a folded paper. The ID has considerably yellowed under the lamination, but the print is still legible. In fact, the picture on it has been left clear enough by time that he can still see how similar he looks to the man on it.

Dr. Hezekiah Castle, the name on it says. Chief Neurologist.

The simpler but unmistakably similar symbol of Mighty Med pops out at him.

Is this really Pops? I thought his name was Harold Jones? Was he a doctor at Mighty Med? Leo wonders. From his father’s stories, he’d always gotten the impression that his grandfather worked as a desk clerk in a local office. Never a doctor.

Now he wonders if what his father told him is just something he was made to believe.

Putting the ID back, he picks up a photograph next. It shows the same man, but this time there’s a woman with him. He’s hugging her from behind, both of them smiling brightly at the person taking the picture as they lean on the hood of a sea green Cadillac.

He turns it over and sees the note: To my darling one – I love you, my love, with all my heart. You’ll forever be the ‘solstice’ of my life.

A frown furrows his brows. Solstice.

Why was that emphasized?

He pockets the picture, sure that his grandparents wouldn’t mind him keeping a picture of them as a young couple. He finds another ID in the box—but this one is sturdier, more proud and pronounced.

There isn’t a picture, just a name: Doris Snow. NASA. West Area Computers.

The information that rushes in like riptide stuns Leo. He was told that his grandfather was an office worker, his grandmother a housewife who was beloved by many of their neighbors and friends. Now he’s finding out they weren’t who they seemed? That they were actually, respectively, a respected neurologist and a genius mathematician?

Voracious for more of their life, he leafs through the box for any other interesting finds. He finds a letter from his grandmother to his grandfather a few days after his father was born. He also finds an enamel pin that looked like a ricocheting shooting star.

He glances behind him, finds no one there, and decides he’ll look at one more paper before heading back. He picks up one, tucked underneath the pile, and opens it, expecting to find another handwritten memo.

His brows furrow as he sees the typewritten letter, which comes as a shock of crudeness after all the personal documents he’s seen. He skims it, expecting nothing.

Then, ice washes over him.

He shuts the letter close.

No. He didn’t read that. It kind of makes sense, but…

His brain buzzes. There are questions, puzzle pieces, and answers that fly around like a tornado in his head.

The words stick out: proposal for a special unit; Doris Snow (codename: Solstice); for the benefit of earth.

League of Heroes.

Incredulous, he opens the letter again and reads it closely.

He was right. He read it all correctly. It’s a letter of confirmation for potential recruits.

A letter of confirmation drafted by a superhero named Solstice.

Out of panic, he stuffs everything back in and closes the box. No. He can’t look at all of this right now. Does his father even know these exist? It’s buried under the floorboard, in a place only his grandparents would know to access. And his dad never mentioned any of this.

Did he not mention because he didn’t know? Or did he choose not to mention because he deviated from the trajectory of his whole family on purpose, and he didn’t want him to know?

He does his best to remain steady, even putting the flashlight down to work faster. However, his grip on the floorboard isn’t as strong as he thinks.

It lands with a thunk!

He grimaces, hissing at his clumsiness, and continues his work in the dark. His father can’t know he’s here, can’t know what he knows. He places the board back on the slot successfully then lifts up the smaller, swiveling bookshelf back into its place.

By the time he sits back on the heels of his feet, his heart is beating so loud that it drowns every other sound.

He takes a moment to calm his nerves. Then, he picks up the flashlight, setting the snail storybook on his lap.

“How’d you get out?”

Leo gasps, spinning around. He finds his father standing at the door, light from downstairs flooding past his feet. His chest prickles at the fear. Has he seen him and the box?

Joel flicks the light switch on, and for a minute Leo doubts the anger he thinks he sees on his father’s face. Joel looks around the room, and then he smiles. “You found the library.”

“I…I-I was just…” But the words don’t come out of his mouth.

Joel sighs, the smile on his face unmoving. “If you wanted out of your room, you could have just told me.”

“Dad, you chained me to the floor and told me I was a hostage,” he points out, now indignant. “Hostages don’t get the option of requesting out.”

“Come on, Leo. You know your case is different. I would have let you go a bit if you wanted to look around the house.”

Leo resists the urge to glare. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the nerves or because he’s tired, but his father irritates him highly now.

“Hey.” Joel grins as he comes and sits beside him. “You found Uncle RT’s favorite storybook. You know, he used to ask your Nana to read that to him every night.  And Nana always did, like it’s the first time she’s reading it to him. She’s so patient. We even had the French version of this. That’s why RT is so cocky. He thinks because he can speak French that he’s better than me.”

Nana. He turns his eyes down to the storybook and pretends to examine it. “Did Nana stay here with you and Uncle RT the whole time?” he ventures to ask.

“Mm-hm. Pops thought it was better for her to just stay with us and watch over us rather than go to work.”

“Like a housewife.”

“Yeah.”

He nods slowly, halfheartedly turning the page. “It would be nice if Mom did that, too. If she stayed home with me.”

“Well, she had to take care of you both. She didn’t…well, she didn’t have me like Nana had Pops.”

Leo looks at his father and stares thoughtfully. “If things were different – you know, if people weren’t evil, and Pops and Nana lived, and you still met Mom, would you…would you have married her?”

Joel chuckles humorlessly. “I know your mom probably hates my guts for running out on you both, but I knew neither of you would have normal lives with me in it. I’ve made many enemies; there’s no way any of them would leave you alone, or alive. That’s why I had to leave.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

His father looks at him for a long moment. Then, he smiles. “I would have,” he says. “If I have to marry her every day just to make up for how I’ve hurt her, I will. But things are different now, and there’s no undoing what’s been done.”

“Shakespeare would be jealous of this tragedy.”

Joel smirks at his son. “I still can’t work out how you got out.”

“I’d tell you, but I might need to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, so…”

Joel laughs.

With the room freer of tension, confidence fills Leo more. Still, he knows to be cautious. He makes a show of looking around the room before commenting, “With how nice this room is, I would have pegged Nana to be an interior designer or a librarian. Or, unless Pops was the one to put everything together.”

“No, they worked on it together when they found out they were going to have me.”

“Did they…” He hesitates. Will it be too direct? “Did they know you and Uncle RT might have some abilities when you grow up?”

Joel searches his face, eyes lightly narrowing. “Why’d you ask?”

Leo shrugs nonchalantly, hoping his father isn’t hearing the klaxon going off in his head. “Because, you know, you were kind of trying to see if I had them, too, when I was still, like, six.”

Joel laughs, bringing Leo some relief. “I only did that because I had them when I was young. Genetically, it was possible I passed something to you.”

“Well, maybe it won’t skip Uncle RT’s kids like it did with me.”

“Oh, I doubt you’d have any cousins. At least on my side,” Joel says, distracted by the opened window now. “That’s what absent superheroes took from him: they took away my trust in them forever, they took away his desire to have kids of his own. He’s afraid of leaving them suddenly like Nana and Pops left us.”

“Nana and Pops weren’t superheroes.”

“No. They were super basic, and super boring.” His father’s smile grows as he thinks back on his parents fondly. “But they were my favorite. Now, come on. It’s late. You have to get to bed. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Leo gets back to his feet, following his father’s lead. “Big day, like…?”

“You’ll see,” Joel cryptically responds, pulling the curtain back on the window with a smirk.

Leo watches him closely. Suddenly, the same dread he felt when Bree told him Chase was attacked looms in his gut again. It occurs to him then that one of the reasons his father took him there was to use him against the superheroes.

Will tomorrow have something to do with that?

“Leo?”

“Oh! Okay, yeah I’m coming,” he says, turning off the lights then closing the door on his way out.

His father eyes the storybook tucked between his arm and his hip. “You’re not going to ask me to read that to you, are you?” he jokes.

“I’m 17. I can read storybooks on my own now,” Leo returns playfully.

Twenty minutes later, his father is back downstairs at the garage to wrap up. Meanwhile, he sits on the bed, his feet free of any binds this time, and he stares at the book his uncle loved as a child.

However, despite the huge snail on the cover, all he can focus on is the picture of his grandparents that he hid behind the wall of the book.

Solstice. His father doesn’t seem to know about her or who she might have been. To Joel Jones, she was nonexistent.

To him, though, her identity is very much alive and sure. She was Mrs. Doris Jones to many in the neighborhood, a housewife who raised her boys while her husband went to work.

But in reality, she was a Mathematician who worked at NASA, who at one point in her life met a neurologist perhaps during her career as a superhero.

And it seems her oldest child is not fully aware that his abilities were something he inherited from her.

All of us are hiding something, he tells his grandparents as they grin at him from the photograph.

Goosebumps creep up his forearms. Secrets.

Now he wonders if their deaths were truly a result of a random act of crime.

[originalpistol]

༺ ⁝ 𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒟𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁,  𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕. ⁝ ༻ Shades upon shades of pastel pink passed by my eyes in multiple different fabrics. Lace? Overused, still sexy, but overused. Velvet? Perhaps but it would need to be [real] if [I] was going to place this piece in my line. Felt? Fuck no. God, what a travesty that shit would be. Leather? There were two competitors, that I knew of, who were planning to incorporate leather into their “signature” lines, and if anyone knew me? They knew I was bound to blow their lines out of the water, and drown them. Not to say it wasn’t a difficult task; I wouldn’t be sweating over it. Deep blue eyes wandered over all of the fabrics that were sitting right at my fingertips, and slowly I let that gaze rise up to each person that held these panels. With a swift flick of the wrist I dismissed two fabrics from the room, and nodded to the remaining four. A smile of absolute certainty casted in against my features, and I nodded the four of them to take their seat at the designing table for this morning’s meeting with Christian Dior. “Go. Now. I want each of you seated at that table in [ten] minutes. Fabrics and swatches, no exceptions. You mess this up — even the [slightest] mistake? You can gather your belongings and leave,” I called out over my slender, black-clad shoulder. Of course, everyone knew how I operated by now, and if they didn’t? There would be someone in this studio that would brief them before I laid eyes on them. That’s the way I liked it. When you’re at the top of the hill, you get other people to do the minuscule things for you, and Lord knows I wasn’t one to train a rookie. Not in this lifetime, at least. Those days were long gone, and I would rather be shot square in the temple than to backslide into that pathetic existence, again. The familiar sound of their feet shuffling behind me, making their way to gather all of what was needed, caused a knowing smirk to form in where the smile had once been. Time to get this year’s line underway, and ready to go for the September release. For years now, I had been in close cahoots with Mister Dior, and I wasn’t about to waste that type of talent, or let some other company attempt to yank at his sketchbook. That was [my] job. In an ease of motion I began to thumb through my mother’s old sketches before I settled at the one I’d been saving for the right time. For the right artist. Dior was my prized penny in a stack of bent up nickels and dimes. Gentle fingers swept against the old tattered pages of this book for a moment as I thanked my mother for this gift I’d been given twelve years prior. Eyes fell closed for this second in time before I nodded, folding the book back to hide this page even though I knew it would open right back up. Perhaps with old wounds. Perhaps with a whole lot of hate. Who knew? Ringlets of Chestnut and Dark Chocolate locks framed my shoulders, and fell against my back as I made my way towards the room surrounded with glass walls, and a priceless view of Seattle. I could feel the eyes of all those who sat in the studio focus on me, and instead of acknowledging their angst, I simply flashed a brief smirk. Some young girl held the door open for me as I entered the room and an immediate smile washed into play as Christian stood to hug me. Small embrace, and that was it. Nodding, I stood at the head of the table, setting the book on the table and turning my attention to all who sat before me. “This year I want things to change. I want to create a line that screams to be pleased. That begs those who wear it to be taken at their weaknesses, but in that, to be [used] but only if [they] say to do so. Now, you all probably assume that will have to follow suit with bondage, submission, and dominance. To that I say — you are [wrong]. This has to do with vulnerability, and you might wonder what in the hell does that have to do with lingerie? Everything. You have to open a new side of you to place these clothes on you. To present yourself as a present for whomever, and that is our ticket in. That is how we are going to wipe our competitors off the slate. This is the year of Provocation by Pistol. Welcome Mr. Dior, and feel free to take a look at everything we’ve got in store for you. There are fabrics there that many wouldn’t dare to place in a lingerie line, much less as a primary focus, but I would. I want to see Velvet made completely of Silk, Dupioni Silk, Lamé, and Embroidered Organza. I want [you] to incorporate each of these into my line this year, and I want you to do so making new renditions of my mother’s sketches. Make them your own, but more importantly, darlin’ — Make me love them.” 𝑶𝒉, 𝒚𝒆𝒔. I could tell by the way he raised a brow towards me that his interest had been piqued, and I had ultimately won signing Christian Dior onto this year’s line. Too bad Daddy was wrong when he told me a, “bullshit little lingerie line won’t get you anywhere big.” I loved him, but he underestimated the power of a woman’s sex appeal far too much. Though I supposed it had to be hard for such an ‘upstanding, tight-lipped’ man such as himself to ever think of his daughter in that dedication. Shame. He could’ve had a hand in being a partner, but he’d lost that right many years back. Perfectly manicured fingers used the glass table as leverage as I pushed myself back, coming to stand just as I flashed Dior with a sardonic little smile. Nodding once towards him as to let him know I would see him in my office as soon as he had briefed my team on what he would like to do. I wasn’t about to show my entire team the works of my mother; too many eyes are too many chances to be betrayed. Christian stood just as I made my way from the room, and sauntered up the nearing stairs to my office. The only room on the entire top floor of my studio, though there were many upon many floors beneath. Twenty, to be exact. I bought this building on my nineteenth birthday, my third year of unrivaled success as a model in New York City. Coincidentally; my first year as a designer was my last year as a model, though I could easily reclaim my spot on the runway if I wished. I decided long ago that I wanted to be the name on the clothes rather than the name in the clothes. By trade, this is how I came to know [many] of the talented and entitled designers, artists, and models. So I used my time on the runway to aide into my own fashion empire. Much as I had used my father’s colleagues, friends, and social tree to find all of those to invest not only in my company but in me. To believe in [me.] Worked like a charm. Daddy, on the other hand, was a completely different story. Being a model was one thing, but being the face and name behind a billion dollar luxury lingerie line? Fuck me, I might as well have become a prostitute on the corner of Monterrey Square in Historic Savannah. That would’ve been less disgraceful to my father’s eyes than what I was currently becoming. What I was [creating] for the whole world to view, and part of me hated his self-righteous bullshit. Mama never would have done that. She wouldn’t have done all to me as he had; she wouldn’t have allowed her friends to lay their hands against her only child. Her only [daughter]. These thoughts echoed throughout my mind as I felt my fingertips dig down into the denim fabric of my Marc Jacobs denim jacket, almost far enough to pierce through the mastered stitches. Anger didn’t begin to cover the searing pain that etched in against my heart. This was why I worked so goddamn hard. To be able to say I had become more than John Hale. The most influential man to walk the streets of Savannah since Jim Williams. A man who took the world for granted, and treated people like disposable resources. Yes, Daddy, use everyone who ever loved you, and throw caution to the wind when it comes to their feelings. How smart. Ocean inspired eyes rolled back at the thought alone, and I tilted my head to the side just as I opened the leather bound sketchbook. A small, subdued smile coming into play as I let my fingers glide in against the drawing. It was almost as if my eyes had glazed over in a daze as I felt the familiar strokes of my mother’s pencil, and I simply sat back in my seat. Wonder filled my mind as I let my mind drift off to the thought of where she was. Where my father had placed her when I was twelve years old. The year he found out that I was ‘afflicted’ with lusting for others. That I wanted to be in an industry so highly controversial, and that his little girl wanted to walk the runway. He saw it as my mother’s fault since she spent most of her days that turned into nights, and back to day, piecing together her drawings. Making them come to life in her tiny ass attic apartment that was our secret. He knew of her dream to become a designer. What he didn’t know was that she had found the little silver key to the attic the same year I was born, and from then on? That was where she went to find solace. To comfort herself in her darkest days, and where she taught me how to be something he never could —ｓｔｒｏｎｇ. “𝙰 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍.” I could still hear her sweet voice speaking to me from behind her wire mannequin as she pinned the dress in place. She would always make sure to peek around whatever masterpiece she had been working on, just to make sure I heard her quote Congreve but with her own touch. Maybe she didn’t realize it then, but I always paid attention when she spoke. Little did I know then, but I would always wonder if I subconsciously knew Daddy was going to throw her away the moment he found out. I did always have a knack for being able to predict certain outcomes, and perhaps a piece of me did know that particular fact of life. After all, by the age of fifteen I knew all the plays in my father’s playbook. 𝑺𝒕𝒆���� 𝑶𝒏𝒆: Create a “lasting” relationship. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑻𝒘𝒐: Mind fuck them to the best of your abilities. Find out their weaknesses and their quirks. Figure out why they are in their position of power, and [how] they got there — that’s arguably the most important piece of information you can have against someone you plan to overcome. Once you know how they built themselves up to where they now stand; you’ll be able to see how to tear them down. Stone by stone. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆: Take your time throwing the stones of their lives away. You do [not] want to rush this, if you do they will catch on. They will see that you aren’t a friend after all, and that you are only in this for yourself. You are using them as your next step in the game. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒓: Keep a distance, but not too much of a distance to raise suspicion. Make sure they know you “care” about what they’re going through. Hell, even offer your help if you feel it’ll help you step up your game. Build trust quicker than you tear it down. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑭𝒊𝒗𝒆: Be still and know. Make moves behind closed doors. Nothing leaks to the press. Nothing leaves the table of which pages are signed [until] whomever you are fucking is already too far buried to fight back. Make sure anything you have done has been covered. There are no tracks. Be still in what you have finalizing. Know that there is nothing to unravel your own work. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑺𝒊𝒙: Bury that motherfucker quicker than a lawyer who has something to hide. These are the six quintessential steps to overcoming [anyone] who dares to challenge a Hale. Especially if there is a threat involved. My father instilled these rules of the game from the time I was old enough to play a decent game of chess, with the logic that if I could outsmart a grown man at the age of thirteen; I could overcome any business tactic with a little grit and grace. Too bad I never liked to follow the rules. I play at my own expense, with my own rules, and at the hands of no mercy — for a mercy rule is a weak man’s way out. ⁝༺༻⁝ The familiar sound of knuckles against my office door quickly grasped my attention from the previous thoughts, and snatched me back to reality. It took a moment to fully refocus myself on the task at hand, and I nodded to the man who stood six foot three in the doorway. “C’mon in, Dior. I’ve got somethin’ to show you,” I called out in a clear, concise southern draw. Letting my gaze settle against him as he made his way over, straightening out his suit as seen fit. Once he had taken a seat across from me, and I flashed a small but noticed smile in his direction before I turned my mother’s sketchbook towards him. Taking a moment before I thumbed through to fourteen different designs. All a completely different style; all equally as challenging as anything else he had ever created. After I let him take the book into his own hands, to study the drawings, I began to speak once again. “What I want [you] to do is to take these and make them your own, but with remnants of her. My mother. She was quite the artist, without a platform, without a voice into the world of fashion alike. It’s time to break the ice. I want you to use only four fabrics to create something unimaginable. Bear in mind, every one of these looks will have to be transformed into lingerie, and every look will pair with leather boots made by Christian Louboutin; you’re free to contact him to work amongst yourselves on the scheme. However, I will want restraints to match, and perhaps whips. Something to keep the edge alive, to fight the competitors on their ‘love me leather’ pursuit. Like I said — make me love them.” His emerald eyes stayed fixated on me for nearly five minutes before he nodded a very slow nod of understanding. Perplexed; to say the least, I’m sure. Though his smile lead me to believe he was more than happy to do as I had demanded, and instead of speaking he began in against the sketches once more. Studying each detail in their design just to look back up at me, and finally he broke the silence, “These are beautiful. Such a elegant touch she had to the designs; I wouldn’t touch that. There are things I will refuse to change, and others you will never recognize as your mother’s — they will be my own. You will be proud Miss Alice, and you [will] love them. I am a man of my word.” The certainty of his voice made a smirk creep in against my lips despite the satisfaction I got out of knowing he was pleased with my idea. Then and again; who wouldn’t be? With a nod to him, I moved to my feet to shake his hand as if to non-verbally seal the deal, and just as he went to tuck my mother’s sketchbook beneath his arm, I shook my head. “I think not. Her book stays in the studio. It does not leave the premises; there will be no exceptions. However, my assistant can and will make any and all accommodations you need to be comfortable here. There is a whole extension to this studio that comes off the fifteenth floor — in the back. It should be big enough to fit your needs, and if not? You come to me. We will work something out.” With that in the air, he smiled rather warmly towards me before sliding the book back onto my desk. Without a word he stepped into me, gracing my cheek with a gentle peck to show respect for my wishes, and as a friendly goodbye before stepping away. I waited until he had made his exit to slip my mother’s most prized work into my locked drawer, though once secure I made my way from the office. Smiling at the familiar clink of my heels against the marble floors — Oh how I loved that sound. I waved a hand in the direction of those who were still at work on the floor before thanking them briefly, and explained deadlines to the few who were in the meeting. For a moment I had to double check myself to make sure there was nothing I was forgetting to say or do, but ultimately I turned on my heel and headed for the elevator. Tucking my phone into my purse as I walked, a somber smile came into sight as I stepped onto the glass box, pressing in the ground level button, and once the doors slid closed? I ran a hand back through my thick locks, nodding to myself as I knew where I had to go next. What I had to do. Who I had to go see. Ding! The doors slid open in what seemed like no time, and I sauntered through the lobby and directly for the car that awaited my arrival just to dismiss my driver instead of taking my usual ride to my temporary home on Bainbridge Island. With a heavy breath falling from my lips, I followed back to retrieve my Bentley where I slipped comfortably in against the leather seats before bringing the car to life. It only took a few seconds before I was pulling away from my studio and heading to the outskirts of Seattle to Northern State Sanatorium. After an hour and a half later, I found myself pulling into the dreary confines of this institution’s parking lot, and for a moment? I couldn’t help but to wonder what kind of horrific shit might linger deep within the walls of this building. There wasn’t a smile to be had here, and that much was evident. Nodding to myself, a silent confirmation that I needed to do this because if I didn’t do it now? I never would. Minutes passed as I sat in the car, breathing...just breathing before I slipped away from the car. My purse hung from the crook of my elbow just as I sauntered towards the door, and much to my surprise? It was a mechanical door instead of something wretched as I assumed it would be. That’s reassuring, at least I noted to myself just as I made my way to the front desk where a sliding window opened and a blonde woman of about sixty years sat. She looked over me for awhile before finally asking for my name and for the name of whom I was coming to see. 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈. “Alice Katherine Hale, I’m here to see my mother; Josephine Alice Hale.”

[what-even-is-thiss]

Fic, Off of Land, Out of Water, Part 1, Time.

Yeah this is part 1 of the merman fic I should’ve posted like a month ago. I’ve got the first three parts written. There will probably be six in total. It involves both humans and merpeople heavily so I hope you like it. Only the core four are here so don’t ask where the dark sides are.

Warnings: None I can think of. 1,986 words

Abstract: It’s time for something to happen. Logan and Virgil have different ideas about what it’s time for. Virgil knows more than he’s willing to admit.

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1. Time.

Logan floated along lazily, smelling the dust he occasionally sent up into the water. A turtle swam above him. Technically he probably shouldn’t be in waters this shallow but today it would be the only place to get some alone time. There would be people all over town, getting ready for the new years celebration and the graduations tomorrow. The boats above still wouldn’t see him. It wasn’t a big deal. He closed his eyes.

“Stone and stone they placed, ten thousand strong.” he mumbled to himself. “Sand compressed to glass and…”

“Practicing?” said a familiar, ominously deep voice.

Logan opened his eyes. A fanged smooth face hung several feet in the water above him, the messy black, silver, and white pattern on his tail made for camouflage in much deeper waters than these, his light freckled skin free of scales and contradicting what his tail normally would have done for him.

Logan smiled with his mouth closed, refusing to return his friend’s playful threat.

“And where have you been?” Logan asked.

The other merman turned upside down.

“Not so much as a ‘Oh, so good to see you, Virgil.’ Christ.”

“What?” Logan asked. He didn’t understand that last word.

“Nothing.” Virgil said quickly, also turning himself right side up. “I’ve been out exploring. You know me. Scared of people. Need some time away. Whatever.”

Logan turned himself upright as well. “Well did you remember where you went this time?”

“I’ve conveniently forgotten it again.” Virgil said in a series of noises and clicks.

Up until now they had been speaking in English. Logan wondered about this. Normally he and Virgil spoke English together. Virgil spoke the local human language very well. He had taught Logan when they were younger. It was like a secret code between them. He had given Logan a “human name” as he called it.

……….

“Logan sounds like logic.” thirteen year old Virgil had said.

“Okay.” thirteen year old Logan had said, counting the decaying plastic beads they had found just outside the city, arranging and rearranging them in his hand. “So humans made these?”

“Yeah they make them out of oil or whatever.” Virgil had said. “Uh, I haven’t…” he made a series of clicks to translate the word “oil”

Logan shivered at that word. He remembered a story that he was made to memorize from just before his own lifetime. A story of a human boat carrying that substance that had caused a great famine that had forced all of them to move to their current location. A location where he, and he assumed Virgil, was born.

“How could something that destructive make these?” Logan asked.

Virgil carefully picked all of the purple ones out of Logan’s hand and shrugged. He left the blue ones.

“Don’t go finding out, Logan. It’s not worth it.” he had said.

……….

In the present day Logan fingered the ruined beads held to his wrist by a braided rope. He did this purely out of habit. He also double checked to see that Virgil was wearing the purple ones purely out of habit. He was. Logan switched to the mer language, guessing that maybe Virgil wanted to practice. He did have sort of a speech impediment. For all Logan knew he had been teaching him the wrong pronunciation for the human words all of these years.

“So are you graduating too?” Logan asked.

“Tomorrow? I doubt it. I’ll probably never graduate if I’m being honest.” Virgil said.

They both started swimming against the current to go back to the city. The water opened up dark and deep below them as they left the reefs. Virgil was always a faster swimmer and never really slowed down. Logan had to strain to keep up with him. Virgil slowed as they began swimming downwards.

The city was carved into rocks and lit by the sun. Sunlight captured in glass orbs, jars, and bottles that would look like windchimes if the current didn’t blow them sideways and encourage them to float.

As they slowed down even more, Logan grabbed ahold of Virgil’s arm. Virgil didn’t protest and pulled him along, giving the weaker merman some rest.

“Hey blank face! You’re back!” someone yelled from a window.

“Who was that?” Virgil asked.

“Doesn’t matter. Ignore them.” Logan said, pulling Virgil’s head away from the source of the calling. “Can’t have you killing anyone today.”

“I don’t kill people.” Virgil said, obviously resisting the urge to look around for whoever had called him the name. “I just… get defensive.”

……….

Logan grabbed the new kid’s face and whistled in genuine interest.

“You have no scales on your face.” Logan said. He pulled his arm and looked at his back. “Or anywhere else but your tail.”

The new kid backed up quickly and looked horrified. He showed his fangs in a serious way.

“Don’t touch me!” he said, his words slurring together and sounding almost like a two year old.

Amused clicks, whistles, and laughs sounded around the classroom. Logan looked at the other teenagers kicking up sand with their tails and arms and clearly having fun at this kid’s expense. The teacher on break in the corner was carving something into the stone wall. It didn’t look like she was going to intervene.

Logan took a breath, letting the saltwater clear his head.

“Apologies.” he said, holding his hand out, palm up. “I was unaware that you don’t like to be touched. It is unusual but I’ll adjust.”

The other kid seemed to be unsure of what to do but after a moment carefully placed his palm on top of Logan’s, formally accepting the apology.

“I’m Virgil.” he said. “Watch yourself.”

“Can I ask about the scar?”

“Absolutely not.”

……….

It was routine at this point. Had been for years. They got back to Logan’s parents’ apartment, now just Logan’s apartment.

“Can I ask about the scar?”

“No.”

Always the same. Almost like an acknowledgement that they were home. A greeting. Except for this time.

“Can I ask about the scar?”

Virgil paused as he adjusted the magic bottle full of sunlight hanging in the middle of the room to be slightly brighter. He ran his fingers through his short black hair. He looked back at Logan. With the way his eyes moved it looked like he was considering the different shades of blue scales winding around his friend’s torso until they rested just above his eyes on his forehead.

“Tomorrow.” Virgil said.

Logan paused.

“What?”

“You can ask me about it tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow? Is it because we’re coming of age? Graduation?”

“You’ll see.” Virgil said solemnly. “Or hopefully you won’t.”

Logan was immune to Virgil’s cryptic tone at this point so he shrugged it off.

“Alright. Are you staying here or going to your place?”

“Staying.”

They secured the doors and slept together. It’s not like merpeople have to hold each other while they sleep anymore. They live in a modern world. They have buildings now. The tides won’t take them away from each other. But instincts die hard. Old habits die hard. Old assumptions die hard.

So they clung to each other through the night, on the stone floor. Logan slept. Virgil just listened to him breathe, hearing the water move impossibly through a human-like respiratory system. In his dreams Logan thought he heard a voice.

“Why don’t you question why we have lungs?” It said.

……….

“You are swimming off again?” Logan asked.

Virgil stopped. His bare back and arms tensed and then relaxed when he registered who it was. He floated slightly away with the current.

“You’re my only friend here. If I’m forced to keep coming back I’ll always come back to you.” Virgil said.

“Fine, don’t tell me where you go. But if you miss our graduation I…” Logan couldn’t finish.

“Your graduation.” Virgil said, turning around. “I will never graduate from this.”

“Falsehood.” Logan said.

“I wish I’d never taught you that word.” Virgil said.

The buildings towered above Virgil’s often abandoned sand level apartment. Crabs and other bottom feeders often wandered into it by mistake only to be crushed under Virgil’s bare hands. Unlike almost every other merperon Logan knew Virgil didn’t carve pictures into his walls. They were just as blank as his upper skin. Except of course for the…

No, it was impolite to harp on that more than he already did.

“Where do you even go?” Logan asked. “We left the north seas generations ago. Nobody knows who we are in that area of the ocean. I’ve been trying to figure it out, and you won’t tell me. If I’m your only friend then it’s only logical I should know everything about you, but I know nothing. It has been almost ten new years since we met. Still I don’t know why you live alone or who your parents are.”

“My parents aren’t from here.” Virgil said.

“Then where?” Logan asked. “A twenty two year old shouldn’t be living alone unless your parents are dead like mine. I have tolerated this for far too long. Who are you?”

Virgil swam close fast and put both hands on Logan’s shoulders, a gesture that Logan had only ever seen Virgil use for a friend. A frightening gesture that usually meant dominance over a slain enemy but for some reason in Virgil’s world meant that he was about to tell you something serious. Something that requires your full attention.

“I am an adult, Logan. I am more of an adult than you. You don’t understand yet but you will. Until I come back, don’t go to the surface.”

“I was not planning on it.” Logan said. “I’ve never been there. Why would I start now?”

“Good.”

Logan tried following him. He said “But you’re not an adult. What are-“

Virgil swam away too fast for Logan to keep up. He didn’t finish his sentence. It wouldn’t be logical if Verge couldn’t hear him. Logan watched the distance until his friend was just a dark speck in the water, no bigger than a normal fish swimming about. Logan considered yelling. Letting out a long sorrowful farewell akin to the crying of a whale. But that would be too public. Not like him. Not like Virgil. It would be too primitive. He began reciting things to himself instead.

“And then the ancients learned to shape the sand and the magic henceforth remaned in…”

……….

“Did you sleep?” Logan asked.

“No.” Virgil said

“It is tomorrow. How did you get the large inverted scar on your stomach?”

“Logan, what do you know about human history?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you know what I work to memorize and why I will never graduate?”

“No. Because you will graduate even if you don’t tell me what you are memorizing.”

“What is your job again, Logan?” Virgil asked.

“To preserve the knowledge of our community. To memorize our history and the history of merpeople worldwide as much as I can. I am being tested on this today. I will have to recite all that I’ve learned since birth. I was chosen. You know this. You were chosen too. You are studying to be…”

“You don’t know enough then.” Virgil said. “Hopefully you make it to the test.”

“What’s with the scar?”

“Do you know how humans are born?”

“Like mammals?”

“Than you should know what this scar is.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. The test will be starting soon. I knew you wouldn’t tell me.”

“I’ll tell you after the test. If we have time.”

“Oh I am so sure of that. That last statement was sardonic.”

Virgil didn’t laugh at that like he usually did  when Logan pointed out that he was being sarcastic. Instead he nervously looked around and followed Logan out the door.

“You seem nervous. We are adults now.” Logan said.

Virgil took a shaky breath.

“That’s exactly why.”Next

[kayteewritessteve]

Secrets and Sins - 3/13

Description: You flee from an abusive situation and find yourself on the other side of the country, creating new friends and possibly finding new love. But will you be able to escape your past? To truly move on with your life? Or will everything come crashing down around you in the blink of an eye?

Catch up HERE.

Word Count: 4,180 ish.

Pairing: Mobster!Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Violence. Drinking. Curse words. Brief mentions of abusive behaviour, and moments of abuse—nothing to in depth but could be upsetting to some. Plus possible other triggering thoughts and feelings described.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors.

FYI. I actually adore Sharon, SO MUCH. And hummed and hawed about just making an OC for this role, but it fits the story way better in a later chapter to use Sharon. So I apologize to the Sharon stans!!! Anywho, enjoy!!

Steve’s POV.

He found himself sitting on a white leather couch in the middle of a VIP section, in yet another loud ass club. His arms crossed over his chest and a few random girls trying to get, and keep, his attention. But he wasn’t having it. Not tonight. He wasn’t in the mood for annoying, scantily clad bimbos. They were dime a dozen in his world. And just as he’d drop one, 5 more would step up to take her place. To him woman were good for one thing, and one thing only. And once he had gotten that from them, he was done with them. He had yet to meet a woman that was worth his time, or effort. He was starting to believe such a woman probably didn’t exist. He knew he needed to marry, produce an heir so the mob could stay in his bloodline. So his position could stay secure. But he could barely stand keeping women around till morning, let alone for life.

The loud music was giving him a headache now. He fucking hated clubs, but being that this one was Tony’s newest endeavour, he figured he’d check it out, at least once. It was the least he could do after—well, after everything that Tony had done for him.

When Steve’s father was gunned down over what they assumed was a business deal gone wrong—but as no one had ever came forward to claim the murder, all they could do was assume, though they did have their suspicions as to who was behind it—he was too young to take over the reigns. So Tony stepped in to oversee everything in his place, along with his mother, as was decided. And together they kept the mob’s higher ups placated and prevented any successful hostile takeovers. Not that a few power hungry idiots didn’t attempt to overthrow Tony or Sarah, to take over the king’s position in what they thought was a moment of weakness, however none of those attempts were even close to successful. Tony had the backing of the majority, being that he had been Steve’s fathers right hand man for years. And because the mob was a dog eat dog world, there were always contingency plans in place, should a king be murdered. It had been agreed on when Steve was born that should anything happen before he was of age, Tony would step in, in the interim.

But when Steve was in his late teens, his mom was murdered in cold blood, taken out by the request of the NJ mob boss. Attempting to assert his dominance. His attempt however failed. Miserably.

The murder snapped something deep in Steve. Something dark. Instead of mourning her and cherishing her memories, his mind went directly to getting revenge on those accountable. Tracking them down with the help of Tony, one by one, and making them all suffer. Making them pay. Leaving the actual person who pulled the trigger and the NJ mob boss to the very last. He wanted them to know he was coming. To strike fear into them as they heard of the others involved slowly being taken out. The ones who were higher on the food chain then the hitman, and just as hard to track down as the boss. He wanted them to feel the same fear his mother did in her final moments.

His plan worked. By the time he reached the hitman on his kill list, he was a blubbering idiot. Begging for Steve to end him, pleading with him to do it fast. He granted him his wish. Two bullets to the head. Just like his mom. He could have made him suffer more, tortured him to the brink then brought him back, only to do it all over again. Like he had with the others. But he knew the man was hired for the job. Paid upon completion. He wasn’t the one that deserved Steve’s full anger. Hell, Steve had placed many hits throughout the years. More than he could count. But he remembered every one, vividly.

No hit was ever placed without serious thought, and solid evidence. He may have given the command to take someones life, but each hit still weighed on his conscious, on his soul. Like little black marks or splattered ink on a page. He would always carry them around with him. Wherever he went.

But as for when he finally tracked down the NJ mob boss, the very last person on his list. Well, that was a different story. He didn’t get mercy. He didn’t get a quick death. No, Steve made him suffer the worst out of any of them. But that’s a dark story for another day.

Which brings us back to why Steve was currently in this loud ass club. Why he felt he owed it to Tony to be present tonight—

He felt a hand on his forearm and turned his head to see Sharon staring back at him. Attempting to coo something in his ear. He grabbed her wrist and removed her hand from his arm, forcefully. He was not in the mood for her tonight. She took a special kind of mindset to handle her bullshit and right now he was not in that place. He was not interested. Once he released her arm she jerked it away and into her chest, cradling it as if it were broken. She was always so fucking dramatic.

Sharon was a crown chaser, through and through. She had flung herself at Steve the second he was in full power. And assumed she’d win him over due to their close family connections. But boy was she wrong.

Now that’s not to say that he had never taken her up on her offers a few times, because he had, she was very beautiful after all. When she kept her mouth shut. But the odd tryst here and there was all it ever was or ever would be, he wasn’t stupid enough to let it go any further then that. Though she had an ungodly annoying habit of just popping up wherever he was. In her mind they were pretty much engaged, however, that was definitely not the case. And never, ever would be.

He glared at her in warning before standing up and walking towards the banister overlooking the club. Deciding to people watch for a bit. He knew he just had to stay for a little longer, keep up appearances, then he could leave this loud ass club and retreat back to his office to handle more important matters. But then something bright red entering the club caught his eye, he knew hair like that could only belong to one woman. Nat.

They hadn’t talked in years. Not since his mom’s funeral. They had grown up together, been inseparable. Her, Bucky, Sam and himself. But when Steve went off the deep end after his mom's death, they distanced themselves from each other. Mainly for her safety, as he was out for blood and their would be consequences for that. He couldn’t allow Nat to be one of the casualties in his war. She hadn’t taken that well, saying she could take care of herself, but he knew the truth. She was no match for the people he was going up against, the people he was pissing off. But she was to damn stubborn and bullheaded to understand that. So he made the choice for her, threatening her life if she ever so much as spoke to him again. She knew him well enough to believe him and heeded his warning. His threat. Though, unbeknownst to her, he always kept tabs on her, made sure that she was good, that she was safe.

He watched as she entered with 4 friends, looking them over slowly, 3 of them he knew from Thor’s pub, clearly a girls night out. But the 4th, she was new.

“Hey Boss, how’s the people watching?”

He turned his attention from the group of woman and came face to face with Bucky. His life long best friend, more so like a brother, and his second in command. The only person Steve truly trusted. Without a shadow of a doubt. Well, Bucky and Sam, but the latter couldn’t join them out tonight as he was performing a very important job for Steve.

“Nat’s here,” he jerked his jaw towards where she was, “looks like a girls night,” he smirked.

Bucky peered over the banister, narrowing his eyes. “Who’s she with?”

“Looks like the waitresses from the pub,” he turned to look towards them again, “though, I don’t recognize that 4th one.” He furrowed his brows. He knew everyone in this city. It was his city after all. And surely he would have noticed a woman that looked like her before.

“I swear I know her from somewhere,” Bucky piped up after a few minutes, “She looks oddly familiar. Do you want me to find out who she is?”

He shook his head “No, I’ll figure it out.”

“Well, if you want me to find out all you have to do is ask,” Bucky said with a smirk before he turned and walked away.

Steve didn’t acknowledge his offer, he just continued to people watch. When he looked to Nat’s table he saw she was sitting alone, which caused him to chuckle to himself. Classic Nat. Always refusing to have fun.

Then he began to wonder where the mystery woman had run off to. He searched through the crowd and his eyes landed on her, in her dark green dress, dancing her heart out with the other ladies. Every now and then some guy would try to dance with her but she would push them away or step away from them. And every time it would happen a snort would escape him, he was enjoying watching every new guys failed attempt. Amateurs. He scoffed internally. Clearly she was not interested in any male attention tonight. At least, not yet, anyways.

After a while he saw her heading to the bar, he watched as she slowly began looking around. He knew her eyes would eventually land on him, but he was not a bashful man. He would very openly stare at whatever or whoever he wanted. Whenever he wanted. This was his city, after all. When her eyes finally landed on him she paused completely. He could see her checking him out and that caused an involuntary smirk to form on his lips. But then she abruptly turned to face the bar again. Oh, shy are we?

That was it for him. He had to know who she was and he always got what he wanted. He made his way down the stairs and through the crowd, which wasn’t hard as people normally gave him a wide berth. It was like parting the red sea where ever he went. Just as he was reaching the bar he saw her turn and head back towards her table.

He closed the distance and was just about to tap her on the shoulder when some fuckhead, drunk of his ass, was pushed by a buddy into her. Steve quickly reacted and reached out to grab her, preventing her from hitting the ground. He glared menacingly at the guys responsible and watched as their eyes widened upon seeing him. Then he stood her back up, making eye contact with one of his guys standing near a side wall and jutting his chin out to the drunk fucks. Receiving a nod in response he turned his attention back to her, just as she spun around to face him.

She just stood there, staring up at him before shaking her head and speaking. Though he couldn’t hear the words, he knew it was most likely a ‘thank you’. She looked flustered either by what had just happened or by his presence. Maybe she knew who he was. Would be hard for her to not know who he was, given his position here. And that they were very much currently on his turf.

He leaned forward and whispered, “You’re very welcome,” in her ear. Noticing the slight shiver that ran down her. He stood back up straight, staring at her once again.

Something about her drew him in, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. His eyes travelled her face, taking in every detail. He could tell, even from far away, that she was beautiful but being up close, right in front of her, she was breathtaking. His eyes landed on her lips and for the first time, in a very long time, he felt heat rise in his face, all the way to his ears. Mob bosses don’t blush. He snapped his eyes back up to hers, curious if she could see the tint on his cheeks. He was sure she couldn’t. Not in the dim lighting of the club.

She opened her mouth as if to speak before closing it again and instead nodded at him. Then she began to move around him, he turned as she did, curiously keeping a close eye on her. Waiting to see what she’d do next. Once she was on the other side of him, she took a few steps back then waved. Making him laugh at how awkward she seemed. It was fucking adorable, to say the least.

She then turned and damn near bolted towards the bar, obviously needing to replace her lost drinks. He glanced up at the VIP section, seeing Bucky standing at the banister with a shit eating grin on his face. Clearly getting a kick out of all of this. Steve shook his head then decided to make his way over to her, yet again. Like he was going to actually let her get away that easily.

He saw her standing off to the side of the bar, and walked up directly behind her. Raising his left hand to signal the bartender, who turned, saw him and quickly made his way towards them. Just as the bartender reached them, he noticed her slowly starting to turn around, causing a smirk to form on his lips as she finally fully faced him. Realizing he was now behind her. The look on her face led him to believe she was not expecting him to be standing there, seeing her visibly gulp confirmed that thought.

She looked like she was about to pass out, so he stepped up beside her, causing her to turn towards the bar again and put his hand on her lower back, just in case she did actually faint. He had already stopped her from hitting the floor once tonight, what was a second time?

With one more quick glance down at her he was sure she would manage to stay upright for now so he leaned in towards the bartender, “My usual, and the two drinks this woman just ordered,” The bartender nodded his response then quickly turned around to start making the drinks.

He stood back up and looked down, seeing her eyes closed and feeling her release a deep breath as she opened them again. Clearly he was in fact flustering her. And he liked that.

Most woman oozed fake confidence with him. They played this act that they were tough, confident. That their shit didn’t stink. Their words always seemed so scripted, their reactions derived entirely off his own. They were blunt and to the point. And most of the time they wouldn’t show any hint of being flustered, as they knew exactly what he would give them—or more accurately, what they would get from him. It was just sex. And they all knew it. They weren’t foolish enough to think he’d date them, let alone marry them. Though a few had tried to build those things with him, over the years, but he wasn’t interested. Marriage was a business deal to him, and as of now he had yet to meet a deserving partner. Or one that brought something to the table. Money, turf, businesses, whatever. Like he said, it was solely a business deal to him. Nothing more, nothing less.

Once the drinks were in front of them he swore he could see the wheels in her head turning. She looked up at him and the confusion was written all over her face, but only for a moment, then he watched as her cheeks tinted pink. Glad they were near the bar, where the lighting was a little better, or he may have missed it entirely. And the sight of it made his heart flutter, just for a moment. That was a feeling he wasn’t used to anymore, as he hadn’t felt that in a long, long time.

“So, what do I owe you?” She piped up and he could hear the shakiness in her voice.

“Owe me?” He asked, utterly taken aback by her question. Which was a first for him.

“Yes,” she nodded, “for the drinks.” She said slowly as you pointed to them.

To say that surprised him was an understatement, he’d bought the drinks for her, he didn’t order them expecting her to pay him back. That’s not how these things worked. Woman never questioned that with him. This girl was different and something in him wanted to know just how different. “A date,” he responded.

But then her reaction was, again, not one he was used to. She actually laughed and shook her head. Was she turning him down? No one had even turned him down. But then she froze and her eyes widened in shock while her mouth hung open slightly, “Oh, you’re serious?”

Obviously she thought he was joking, this girl was far too innocent for her own good. Something about that made him happy. It was like seeing a unicorn in real life.

In the world he lived in, innocence was not a thing. One couldn’t hold on to those sorts of traits here. At least not for long. They’d quickly get beaten out of you. Every person he had ever come into contact with always had an iron shell, but they had to, their safety depended on it. But this woman, she was clearly untouched by the cruelty of his world. That thought made the weird flutter in his chest happen again. He leaned in, right next to her ear and whispered, “I don’t normally joke about those sorts of things,” before standing back up.

“Ah, well, I um, I.” she stumbled out. He was really starting to enjoy how easily he could tongue tie her. Just how much of an effect he had on her—feeling her movement out if his touch broke him out of his thoughts. She was distancing herself from him and he didn’t like it.

“Ah, what I mean is, thank you for the offer but I’ll have to respectfully decline. I can pay you for the drinks though …if you’d like.” She offered.

He raised his hand and shook his head. Like he was going to allow her to pay him back. Once again, not how this worked. And ‘respectfully decline’? Clearly she didn’t actually know who he was.

“In that case, thank you for these,” she lifted up her two drinks, as if presenting them to him, “Enjoy your night!” She quickly said before turning to leave. But he wasn’t done with her yet, the thought of her walking away again, upset him for some odd reason so he reached out and gently grabbed her forearm. Preventing her from leaving and attempting to turn her back around. She did so, willingly. Maybe she didn’t want this interaction to end just yet, either.

Not only did he not want it to end, but he was also still curious about her. About her story. He leaned in again so she could hear him over the music. “One question,” he saw her nod for him to continue in the corner of his eye, “Why have I never seen you before?”

She pulled back and he removed his hand off her forearm. ”Oh, so you know every person in this city, huh?” She responded with one eyebrow raised. Yup, she has no clue who I am. But the slight sass in her tone made him inwardly laugh. She just continued to peak his interests with every passing second. He felt the smirk form on his face, this time entirely on it‘s own. He nodded, “You could say that.”

“Well, clearly not.” She sassed, “Or you’d know who I was.”

“What’s your name, doll?” He blurted out before he could stop himself. Shit. What is this girl doing to him? He had to know who she was. The curiosity was too much for him. He could swear he saw about 5 different emotions pass through her eyes before she finally said, “Find me again one day and I’ll tell you,” then she spun around and walked away. Rather quickly, might he add.

He watched her move away from him and something in him didn’t enjoy that sight. Not one fucking bit. But he let her go this time, he knew he’d be able to track her down again. And if the ladies she was with tonight were any indication of where she worked, then he knew exactly where he’d find her.

He turned back to see Bucky still standing up there watching him, this time shaking his head. Steve raised a hand, signalling for Bucky to come down and join him. Knowing he would have something to say about what just happened, but there was something they both needed to handle.

He turned back to look in the direction she had gone then finished his drink and put the empty glass on the bar. Turning just as his friend approached him, motioning for Bucky to follow him out a side door.

“Did the Rogers charm fail you this time?” Bucky joked with a cocky grin once they exited the loud club. He chose to ignore that question and continued down the alleyway. “Because that was painful to watch.” Bucky then added with a chuckle.

Steve paused then turned to his friend, “She was different,” he said thoughtfully.

Bucky furrowed his brows in confusion “What do you mean ‘different’?”

“I can’t explain it. She was just, different” he shrugged.

“Well you got her number, yeah?” Bucky asked.

Steve shook his head.

“Okay, but you at least know her name now, right..”

Steve scrunched up his nose but didn’t answer and just abruptly started to walk again. Not missing Bucky’s jaw damn near hitting the ground before he quickly ran to catch up to Steve and shook his head, “You have lost the Rogers charm, Boss.”

“In my defence, I asked her for her name—”

“And yet you still don’t know it?” he cut him off then laughed, “Oh man, that’s rich.”

“Shut up, James,” he growled.

“Okay, okay. Damn, no need for the first name. But I’m disappointed in you, Rogers.” he shook his head again.

“Please. Not once have I ever been turned down before,” he paused again to turn to his friend with a wicked grin, “What’s your rejection count at these days, jerk?”

Bucky’s right arm flew up to clutch at his chest as if he had been fatally wounded, “That cuts deep, punk.”

Steve just rolled his eyes. “You’re so fucking dramatic.” they both laughed.

Bucky and Sam were the only people who could get away with talking to him like this. They were the only people who ever got to see this side of Steve. The only ones he could just relax around and joke about life with. No one else could see him like that, not without risking them thinking he was their friend, instead of their boss. But Bucky and Sam respected that there was a time and a place for it, they knew when they could poke and when to step back. And they’d never poke in front of others. Only when it was just them, alone. Respect is huge in their world. And disrespect could get you killed.

“Well, since we have established you’ve lost your touch with the ladies, where are we heading?”

“First off, fuck you,” He growled, “Secondly, we have a couple punks to deal with,” he answered as they rounded the corner to find a few of Steve’s henchmen holding on to two guys, both looking just about ready to shit their damn pants. That made Steve smirk, “We have to teach these guys some manners.” He finished coldly. His entire demeanour instantly shifting back into Boss Mode. He took off his suit jacket and handed it to one of his men, before rolling up his sleeves to his elbows and undoing the top 2 buttons of his shirt.

Bucky leaned in to whisper, “Wait, are these the same dudes from earlier?”

Steve nodded, “The ones that knocked her over, yes.”

Bucky just stared at him for a moment before shaking his head and whispering again, more to himself, “Oh man, you got it bad.”

He shot his right hand man a glare in response before he turned his attention to the two fuckheads. He clapped his hands together once with a menacing grin on his face, “Alright guys, here’s what’s gunna happen…”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

@hopefulmoonobject @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @tessvillegas @boxofteenageideas @wangdeasang @giggleberts

[amysubmits]

Commitment

Years ago...

I was still living at home but @cynicaldom knocked on my door.  I opened the door excited to see him but his expression was weird. I instantly knew something big was wrong. It took a minute or two at most before he managed to tell me, but my mind goes spinning so quickly that I thought of several possibilities. Were his parents okay? Who got hurt? Did someone in his family pass way? Did he get in a car accident? So many things went through my head but none of them had anything to do with me or my family. We had only been dating for four months. 

One of my family members had called him and told him some devastating news about our family, and asked him to tell me. This family had my phone number and lived 10 minutes away from me. Yet she told him. I assume she told him only to avoid having to tell me herself. I still feel like that was wrong, to put that sort of weight and responsibility on my boyfriend’s shoulders. We were so young and our relationship was still relatively new. It was hard for him to tell me, yet I don’t know that he minded the responsibility even back then. He hated saying the words that broke my heart but he did it. I was just in shock at first. I froze. So much confusion. so many emotions, and so little logical thoughts. Just a ball of noise in my head.  

I tried to run to the bathroom to hide, to cry. He followed me, and sat on the floor with me. I remember staring at the wall, the outdated design of my bathroom at the time had ugly gold glitter streaks on the otherwise white wall. I was so overwhelmed and confused that I just stared at that design on the wall through my tears. 

Eventually, when my brain started working again, he started trying to feed me hope, possible outcomes that may not be the one that it looked like would happen, alternatives to the one we were all fearing. I started to hear him. I was still terribly afraid. Devastated. Lost. 

Two days later was Valentine’s day. Our first Valentine’s day. He brought me fast food, and a slushy (my favorite), and candy that night. We stayed home and watched a movie and tried to make the most of it. It was sweet and endearing in its own way, but it was far from the happy, sweet day it ‘should’ have been. I wondered why he chose me. I wondered why this “baggage” that came with me was worth it to him. I wondered why my messy family and its impact on me, my messy emotions, this messy first valentine’s day didn’t turn him away. Surely there was an easier route he could take. 

It meant a lot to me at the time, of course. I had no idea that 10 years later I would be looking back at it remembering how it showed me his commitment. His willingness to show up and face hard things, to take responsibility even if it’s not really his, to do whatever needed done to find a way through life with me. 

A bit later he showed me his commitment again when he said we should get an apartment together so that I wouldn’t have to move in with a toxic family member. That’s when I really, fully felt like it was the two of us against the world. A few months after we had moved, my sister-in-law told me that my dad had told her he was worried about me moving out, especially under the rushed circumstances that had occurred. She said she told him that she wasn’t worried, that she could tell that CD and I were serious enough about each other that we would figure it out together. I had felt that way for a while, but hearing the observation from someone else was an incredible compliment. 

Those were the first two big shows of commitment in my mind, but there are so many others after that and throughout our whole relationship. When our roommate was a total weenie, CD made last-minute plans to find a new apartment for us, for the second time. He’s supported me through PTSD, anxiety and depression for years. When I had seizures he stayed by my side, refusing to leave the hospital room. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve heard him raise his voice at others, but one of them was with a health insurance person after those seizures, as he fought to try to get me the care he thought I needed. He uses google and YouTube to figure out how to fix problems from our vehicle trouble, to the washing machine, to plumbing leaks. He’s accepted my apologies for various mistakes and poor choices over the years. He apologizes for his own mistakes, too. He reminds me that the world isn’t actually ending though he understands that to me it genuinely feels like it is each time I get PMS. He listens to me rant and cry when I get emotional about things that don’t even affect our lives and while he regularly encourages me not to take on responsibility for other people’s decisions, he doesn’t criticize how emotional I can be about them. He’s been my biggest fan with my little business for years, and he’s never complained about the ups and downs and general inconsistencies that being self-employed has on our finances and our lives in general. When I wake up screaming from a nightmare, the second I realize I’m awake I’m looking for him because I know that if he isn’t at my side yet, he’s on his way to me. He’s been to countless doctor’s appointments with us since my dad got cancer. He’s stood in line in our tiny town where everyone knows everyone buying adult diapers for my dad. He gets up at 4am for work while I sleep in and make my own hours and work my dream job. 

I’m still surprised at how he handles the tough times. Growing up, I saw stress as something that ruined intimacy, that caused partners to turn on each other, as a cause to try start flinging blame back and forth. We’ve certainly been short and snappy with each other when we’re stressed sometimes, when we’re hurt, sometimes we turn inward to lick our own wounds instead of being as present as we should be for the other. We’re imperfect. His commitment to me and to us is always obvious to me though. The hard parts of life don’t leave me feeling untethered because his commitment and dedication to us has shown me over and over and over again that we always find a way through together, whatever comes our way. 

I think this sense of commitment is a huge piece of our D/s, even though it hasn’t been particularly intentional. Getting through the tough times together deepens our trust, our sense of true partnership, our sense of security, and our ability to be open and vulnerable with each other.  All of these things enable my submission in a huge way, because his commitment shows me that I can rely on him. So when the house floods, or when we are house-hunting, or when we rush to the hospital to support a loved one, I still look to him to lead. It feels like a weird thing to say about difficult times, but I think his Dominance often shines brightest in the dark moments. I don’t think anything is more important to him than taking care of what is his, so he stands up in a big way when storms come our way. I’m so grateful that I belong to him.     

[zenithlux]

End of Ascalon - 11

Catch up on the story here!

Having been informed of all you accomplished during your time in Falcon's Nest and Camp Cloudtop, Count Edmont wishes to express his heartfelt gratitude. He has scarcely begun to speak, however, when his steward bursts in: Tataru has been arrested by a knight of the Heavens' Ward─one “Ser Grinnaux”─on the charge of fomenting heresy. 

Journal - Divine Intervention

At first, Alphinaud didn’t know what to say, even though a million questions bombarded him all at once. How did this happen? Why Tataru? Why not himself or Z’iyanna? Did they think these charges wouldn’t stick on anyone else? But despite all of this, all he could say was, “why?”

“As far as we know,” Count Edmont said. “She was merely asking questions at the Forgotten Knight, but one of the Heaven’s ward overheard her at the wrong time and accused her of trying to spread heresy. We tried asking with she said, but they wouldn’t give us a straight answer.”

“So what does that mean.?”

“She will stand trial, either a simple one that she will likely lose or a trial by combat that she will also lose without a champion.”

“Who does the champion have to fight?”

“One of the accusers,” Edmont said. 

Alphinaud didn’t want to hear the answer, even though he already knew it was coming. “A member of the Heaven’s Ward?”

“Yes,” Count Edmont said. “Which means we need to find Z’iyanna quickly.”

“I’ll do it,” Alphinaud said. “I can fight.”

He knew he shouldn’t have been offended by the surprise on the Count’s face, but it did bother him just a bit. “Are you sure? The Heaven’s Ward is not to be trifled with.”

“We cannot always rely on Z’iyanna to fix our problems.” Alphinaud snapped. 

“This is nothing against you,” Count Edmont said. “But Z’iyanna can finish the trial quickly so we can all move on.”

“Well she’s not here,” Alphinaud said. “And we don’t have a lot of time.” 

Slowly, Edmont nodded. “I will delay the trial as much as possible. Prepare yourself, Alphinaud. I’ll find out who your competition will be.” Despite his words, Alphinaud had a feeling that Count Edmont was still hoping for more. 

Plumes of fire fill her vision as smoke sweeps through the area. Yet, nothing bothers her as it should. She does not cough. She does not struggle to breathe. She simply stands there, watching as the red moon cracks open. She knows what is inside; the dragon both killed and reborn. And she knows the future they will have together; the world she will try to show him. 

“It won’t be long,” his voice whispers in the back of her mind. “You will give in.”

Wings burst from the red moon as pieces of it rain down from the sky. 

“No,” She thinks. “I still have things to show you.”

He snorts. “Believe what you will, Warrior of Light. But I know the truth.” 

As he bursts from his prison, a golden light surrounds her. She watches as he sweeps through the armies, decimating everything in his past. 

“And I will destroy you… and everything you love.” 

Z’iyanna jerked awake, but the pile of thick blankets kept her still. Her eyes dark around the room, confused as her brain struggled to comprehend where she is. Haurchefant’s home, she finally told herself, taking a slow, deep breath to bring her thoughts back together. 

She’d had that dream before. Numerous times since she and Bahamut’s soul’s fused. His words were always the same. I will destroy you. For the most part, she brushed it off as his dominant soul wishing to be free.  But sometimes - in those rare occasions when she lost her confidence or forgot who she was - his words would embed themselves into her mind, stewing there for days before she could let them go. This time, she closed her eyes and shoved them back. She had too much to do and nowhere near enough time to dwell on the thoughts of a being that rarely showed himself. 

A knock at the door yanked her attention away. “Come in,” She said. Relief flooded her when Haurchefant stepped in, closing the door quietly behind him. Then she noticed his expression and knew immediately that something was wrong. “What happened?” She said, sitting up as she held the blankets close to her chest. 

The more Haurchefant spoke, the angrier Z’iyanna became. This was clearly some kind of attack on her. Tataru merely got caught in the crossfire. Why else would they arrest her? Though with what little she knew about the Heaven’s Ward, Z’iyanna wouldn’t put it past them to find any reason they could to arrest anyone, not just her companions. “And Alphinaud wants to fight for her?” She said. 

“That is his plan, yes.” Haurchefant said. 

Z’iyanna swore under her breath. If Haurchefant heard, he ignored it. “How long do we have?”

“My father is delaying the trial as much as possible.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“A few days, at most,” Haurchefant hesitated. “Though I fear they may force it sooner if they think you are injured.”

“Then we can’t let them think that,” She rose from the bed, letting the blanket fall from her lean frame. The tips of Haurchefant’s ears turned a bright red, but the rest of him simply helped her into her robe before she had a chance to stop him. “I’ll be fine,” She said as she met his gaze. “I’ve fought worse than the Heaven’s Ward.” He started to speak, but she pressed a finger to his lips and shook her head. “And in a much worse state.”

“As much as you would like to believe it, Lady Z’iyanna,” Haurchefant said. “You are not invincible.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“Are you certain?”

She sighed, but she kept the frustration out of it. She was only alive because he risked his life to come find her, among other reasons. It was fair for him to assume the worst. But she never had time to do such a thing. She was the Warrior of the Light. The Primal-Slayer and Dragon Killer. She was supposed to be a picture of perfect calm and limitless power at every given opportunity. She didn’t have time to rest, not when one of the few friends she had left was about to lose her life. 

“I’ll be fine,” She said quietly as she took his hand. “I need you to trust me.”

“I always do,” Haurchefant said without hesitation. “It’s the other people I don’t trust.”

She smiled and patted his cheek. “I won’t let you down.”

He softened under her touch, leaning just slightly into her hand. “I know.”

A sound drew her attention. A moogle? “Umm….” A voice said from outside the door. “Can I… come in maybe, kupo?”

She looked to Haurchefant, who just shrugged and opened the door. “I present to you, Lady Puklia Pachu.”

The moogle waved her arms in a panic. “I’ve never been called a lady before, kupo! Don’t startle me like that.” Then, her gaze landed on Z’iyanna and she froze. “Um… Hi, kupo?”

“Hello,” Z’iyanna said as she tilted her head. 

“It seems that the Lord Commander brought back a companion.”

“He was really nice, kupo!” Puklia said. “And I told him that I wanted to adventure with the greatest adventurers of all adventurers!” She waved her cane around as her pom bobbed back and forth. “So I came to you, kupo. Oh please, please please,” She waved her arms around again. “Let me join you.”

Z’iyanna stared at her. A moogle that wanted to go adventuring? She supposed it wasn’t the craziest thing for a moogle to ask for, but she hadn’t heard of many wandering outside of Gridania.  Unless they were postmoogles, but that was a whole different story. “Well I’m not going anywhere yet,” She said slowly.

“I’m a really good healer, kupo.” She said, presenting her little wooden cane like as a prized possession. “And I won’t get in the way. Promise, kupo!”

Z’iyanna looked to Haurchefant who just gave her one of those smiles and shrugged again. “If you can stay out of sight for now,” Z’iyanna said. “Then the next time I go adventuring, I’ll bring you along, deal.”  

The moogle nearly fell out of the sky with elation. “I won’t let you down, kupo!” 

------------

It always baffled Aymeric just how little power he had in situations like this. As the Lord Commander, he thought he could at least vouch for Tataru, but his voice didn’t matter when faced with the Heaven’s Ward. And after three days of delays- in no small part thanks to Count Edmont- only the Archbishop himself could stop this trial. And Aymeric had a sneaking suspicion that his father was keenly aware of what was taking place below his golden throne. What Aymeric didn’t know was what Thordan wanted out of this. He’d had Tataru arrested while everyone else was gone, and hadn’t sent any messages to Camp Cloudtop or anywhere else outside of Ishgard. But if imprisoning or, Fury forbid, killing Tataru wasn’t the goal… then what was?

“The accused, Tataru Taru, stands trial for the act of heresy,” The judge said. “And the accused has chosen to face her accuser, Ser Grinnaux, in a trial by combat.” He leaned forward on the bench, peering down at the terrified Lalafell before him. “I assume you have someone fighting in your place, yes young lady?”

Tataru looked up at Alphinaud and back to the judge. But before she could speak, the door snapped open. Z’iyanna took a step inside, glaring first at the judge, then at Sir Grinnaux who merely scowled as he crossed his arms. Haurchefant came in behind her, bowing once to the judge before joining Aymeric, his face pale. “I’ll be her champion,” Z’iyanna said. 

Murmurs swept through the crowd as Z’iyanna walked up to the arena. Aymeric swore he saw Alphinaud’s expression fall, but he stepped out of her way without a hint of an argument. She looked like a picture of calm. Pristine white mage robes. Thyrus strapped to her back. Her hair was perfectly braided and her tail and ears almost seemed to shimmer. It was a far cry from the woman who had nearly died in the Sea of Clouds. 

Aymeric hoped she felt as confident as she looked. 

“She needs more rest,” Haurchefant muttered. “But Lady Tataru needed her help.”

“Will she be alright?” Aymeric said.

“She has to be,” Haurchefant said. 

“The great Warrior of Light,” Ser Grinnaux said, raising his ax onto his shoulder. “Come to save your little friend?”

Z’iyanna scoffed as she hopped into the ring. “You’re nothing more than a bully, Sir Grinnaux. And I will have no problems proving it.” She grabbed Thyrus and gave him a dramatic bow before brandishing it the same way she would against any other monster. Sir Grinnaux’s eyes narrowed, but Aymeric noticed how his shoulders tightened and he stood just a bit straighter. Aymeric tried to hide his nerves. If Z’iyanna could be that composed, then surely he could handle himself from the crowd. But he could see the worry in Haurchefant’s eyes and the way he was standing straighter than usual. If her closest confidant was worried…

“Fine,” Sir Grinnaux said as he pulled his ax from his back. “But I won’t hold back.”

Aymeric finally let go of a breath when Z’iyanna smirked. “Neither will I.”

He moved first, barreling at her with astounding speed. But she simply hopped to the side and snapped her cane forward, knocking him back with a wave of rocks. She did it a second time, nearly knocking him off his feet. The third cast was a blast of wind. He skidded backward, and Aymeric could see small cuts in the few weak points of the knight’s armor. When he moved for another strike, she raised the staff. A blinding flash caused screams in the crowd, and when the light was gone, Grinnaux was on the ground with a broadsword pointed directly at his neck. Her robe was gone, replaced by paladin’s armor that looked even more pristine than the knight’s own did. “I have not heard if this was a fight to the death,” She said, her expression bored. “What’s the ruling on that one?”

Grinnaux grunted, glaring at her. “I drop my accusations.” 

She didn’t pull the sword away. “And you and the rest of your knights will refrain from making anymore against myself or my companions for as long as we remain in Ishgard.”  She tilted her head, pressing her armored foot against his leg. He winced for a fraction of a section before his steadfast glare returned. “Do I make myself clear?”

After a long moment, Grinnaux bit out, “I will inform the others.”

“Good,” Z’iyanna said cheerfully as she pulled away and tossed the sword. The crowd gasped as it transformed into Thyrus and her clothes returned to normal. She bowed to the judge - a bit more courteous this time- and turned to Alphinaud and Tataru. “Let’s go…”

“Z’iyanna.”

She froze as Sir Chariburt and two other knights walked into the hall. “I apologize for the… misunderstanding,,” he said with a pointed glare in Sir Grinnaux’s direction. “The Archbishop wishes to speak to you to discuss this matter in… private.” 

Aymeric’s heart dropped into his stomach, but Z’iyanna looked elated. “Then take me to him,” She said as she waved off the other two. She glanced up at Haurchefant, who simply nodded as she was lead out. 

“Well,” Haurchefant said stiffly. “She got her audience.”

“Hopefully she comes back out,” Aymeric muttered. 

That time, Haurchefant smiled as he lowered his voice. “I’m sure his holiness will give her a warm welcome.” He bowed. “By your leave, Lord Commander.”

“I need to speak with her,” Aymeric said. 

“I’ll let her know.” Haurchefant left them, escorting out a relieved Tataru and a slightly agitated Alphinaud. Aymeric shook his head, waiting for the crowd to disperse before retreating back to his own chambers for what he was certain would be hours of restless sleep. 

[cordoniasmost]

As the World Burns - Part 1

Story: Blood Bound

Pairing: MC (Amy) x Adrian x Jax x Dracula x ? (it’s basically a clown car up in here, y’all!)

Warnings: Language, violence

Word Count: 1354

A/N: When I stumbled on the theory about MC being pregnant as the reason for the “darkness within” line from yesterday’s chapter of BloodBound (Book 2, chapter 14), I had to write something super dramatic and funny because what’s life without a little whimsy? Haha :)  This series is going to be 3-4 parts.  Enjoy!

Tag List: @kingliamsbish ​ @averysheart-raleighsdick @mrsagentbreakdance

When Amy jolted awake, she could have sworn the dream had been real. She was sweating, the memory of the fire and rage she felt inside as she wrapped her hands around Serafine’s throat slipped away with every breath she took. She lifted her head slowly from Adrian’s shoulder and he turned to study her face. “Are you okay?” he asked, gently lifting her chin up with a single finger until her eyes met his, concern shining back at her.

“I’m fine,” she said, blowing out a breath. “Just a bad dream.”

He placed a gentle kiss to her temple before turning back to the book he was reading. They were still on the long flight back to New York and Serafine’s final words had been haunting her since she first heard them. “A monster hidden within.” Amy hadn’t stopped thinking about what that could possibly mean. She didn’t feel any different than she ever had, except maybe a little more worn down. That had to be normal, though, right? They’d just gone through hell and it wasn’t over yet. Anyone would be exhausted.

She took in her present company, all the vampires traveling with her seemed to have plenty of energy. Lily was playing a handheld video game, Jax was sharpening his sword, and Kamilah was on her laptop, probably answering email. Okay, so maybe not everyone is as exhausted as me, but they’re all vampires.

She settled back into her seat. Jax looked at her and raised his eyebrow, silently checking on her. She gave him a small smile before leaning against the window and closing her eyes again. There’s not much I can do about darkness I can’t feel, she thought, drifting back into an uncomfortable sleep.

***

One week later…

Amy had been feeling worse and worse as the week went on. She wondered if it had something to do with that “darkness” inside of her that Serafine had warned her about. That had been the main focus of her thoughts for an entire week and she was no closer to figuring out what the hell any of it meant. Worse still, they were back in New York and had no idea where Gaius was or what he was up to. Adrian had come home after midnight every night this week after spending hours out hunting Gaius with Jax.

It wasn’t until she had thrown up everything she’d eaten for two days straight that she started to wonder if she should see a doctor. She’d confided in Lily how she was feeling because she was really starting to worry. She still hadn’t told anyone about the words that haunted her, but she needed help. “Obvs you need to go to the doctor,” Lily told her, smacking her lightly on the side of her head. “But you didn’t need me to tell you that. Grab your purse, we’re going.”

Lily stalked over to the door and opened it, making a show of standing with her hand on her hip and waiting for Amy to join her. Amy sighed heavily before placing her hands on her knees and pushing herself up into a standing position. She swayed slightly as a wave of dizziness hit her before walking out the door. “I’m just going to hold onto you, you look terrible. If you fall and die I’m pretty sure both Jax and Adrian would kill me,” she said, rolling her eyes.

She wasn’t wrong. They were both incredibly protective over her and Amy had little doubt that they’d hurt anything that hurt her.

A short while later she found herself in the bland waiting room of a doctor’s office. Lily had found them a walk in clinic that would more than likely be able to diagnose whatever was wrong with her, as long as it wasn’t something supernatural. Amy was hoping she just had the stomach flu she’d picked up on their travels. She filled out the required paperwork and waited what felt like an eternity before she was called back by an agitated nurse who looked like she’d had a really long day.

Amy and Lily followed the nurse, Amy clinging to Lily’s arm so she wouldn’t lose her balance, and the nurse checked her vital signs and asked about her symptoms. Amy explained how she’d been feeling and the nurse handed her a cup. “I’m going to need a urine sample. The bathroom is across the hall. Leave it in the slot when you’re finished and wait here for the doctor. She’ll be in shortly.” The nurse left the room and Amy walked to the bathroom to leave the sample. She hated giving urine samples. Without fail she peed on her hand every single time no matter how careful she was. This time was no exception. “Fuck,” she said as the warm liquid ran down her fingers.

She stood up, replacing the lid and thoroughly washed her hands. A wave of nausea threatened to overtake her, but she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths through her nose and it subsided. All that was left was a cold sweat and shaky hands.

Amy made her way back into the room where Lily was playing a game on her phone. “Dude, this new Dopey Cat game is sweet. He eats all the things,” she exclaimed, laughing at the screen until she snorted. “You did not just snort,” Amy teased.

Lily just shrugged her shoulder with a smile and continued with her game. Amy’s eyes wandered around the room, trying to distract herself from how she was feeling by taking in the bland anatomy posters and charts around the room and the medical equipment attached to every surface.

What felt like an eternity later, there was a quick knock on the door before it swung open and a woman in a lab coat strode in with a huge grin on her face. She closed the door and made her way over to Amy, her hand extended. “Hi! I’m Dr. Brite,” she said cheerily. “I’ve been reading over your chart, but why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Amy leaned back. “Well, a couple of weeks ago I started feeling more run down. I’ve been experiencing a lot of stress lately so I just assumed that’s what it was,” she said. Lily snickered from her seat across the room. Amy shot her a glare that she didn’t see because she had her head buried in her game. Obviously she was listening, though.

“Anyway, I wasn’t worried about it until this week. I’ve been feeling nauseous and dizzy and have barely been able to keep any food down at all,” she finished.

Dr. Brite pulled her chart up on the computer and clicked through a few screens quietly. “Aha! Well, this has a simple explanation,” she said with a smile.

Amy felt the worry that had been pressing down on her chest ease as she began to relax into the seat. There wasn’t anything seriously wrong with her, she’d be fine and back to her old self before she knew it. “Great, what’s going on then?” Amy asked, her shoulders relaxing and a small smile playing on her lips.

“I shoulder offer you congratulations!” Dr. Brite exclaimed.

Congratulations? For what? Amy thought. She raised her eyebrow at the doctor imploring her to continue.

“On the baby,” she said, taking the hint that Amy had no idea what the hell she was talking about.

Amy felt the air leave her lungs. The what now?

“I’m- I’m sorry, the what?” Lily asked, echoing her thoughts but actually being able to speak whereas Amy had suddenly become a mute apparently.

“The baby! I take it this wasn’t planned?”

Amy just stared at her, her jaw having fallen open. She was unable to blink, to process what she’d just heard. The only people she’d been with in that way for as long as she could remember were vampires. Vampires couldn’t get humans pregnant… could they?

“Congratulations, Amy! You’re going to have a baby.”

Of all the thoughts dominating her mind, there was one that was most prevalent: FML.

[floralbrain]

Notes from a Transgender Man

My birth name is Vicky, but I am most proud of myself that I had had the boldness to step up against my fears, and forge my path to the Leo I had always been, but I have to admit to you that it had been a very difficult and winding road. All my life I had been told that I have to wear dresses, pinky bow ribbons. I had been told that I have to lengthen my hair, that I have to sit with my legs folded, that I have to soften my tone of voice, that I have to work on presenting myself femininely. All my life I had felt like there was something tremendously wrong with the way I am. One day, I was at the amusement park with my parents, and there was a sandy playground where a group of boys were working together on building a gigantic castle. I heard something inside of me telling me to join them, but I was highly reluctant, afraid, and anxious. Of course, I fixed a long gaze at them and was on the verge of tears. What frightened me was the reaction of my parents when they would find out I was playing with the boys. Hours at the park had passed, people were coming in and out, and I was the only isolated, miserable kid there with nothing to do but staring and longing to fit in. Yes, I had an intense feeling and longing to fit in, but I just couldn’t. When I hit 6 years old, I knew there was something utterly different about me, but I just didn’t know what. I remember a very atrocious incident I had to experiment with suicidal thoughts at that age. On a gloomy Sunday evening, I was in my room, the lights were off, and the curtains were shut, so the room was very dark. I was listening to some depressing classical music until a thought hit my mind. Suddenly, I turned off the music, went to the kitchen, and bought a cutting knife to my mother from there and commanded her to kill me. Yes! I was that much depressed that I wanted to end my life for good. My mother stood still like a motionless electrical pole in awe and didn’t say a word. Unfortunately, that is how most of my childhood was spent – in depression, anxiety, and feeling so alienated that sometimes I had a strong desire within me to take my life. My schooling life was far worse than anything else in the world. I was the source of fun to many, and it was all due to my appearance. I was constantly being targeted merely for looking different. People at school would often ask me if I am a boy or a girl, and every time they would ask me this question, a shiver of terror would run down my spine, my heart would start pounding, I’d start trembling and sweating. I had never known at the time how much gender dysphoria could generate severe symptoms of mental illness. My parents, of course, were still not so understanding of what ailed me, and I was the victim of an ignorant, and coarse-minded environment where middle-eastern tradition and a barbarous common mindset were the most prevalent and dominant amongst us. My dear readers, do you know how much I am suffering? I know you are not dysphoric. I know that life has given you the most substantial privileges that I was never, and never will be endowed with. In my eyes, and as self-absorbed as it sounds, I think that the pain, self-loathing that I bear within me is immeasurable. I don’t think that you have ever been afraid to look at yourselves in the mirror, and you never will be. I don’t think you have ever been frightened by the thought that someday you will grow a chest. I also don’t think that you have any problems. You all are a bunch of comfortable people, and I yearn for the day to avenge myself on you all. Whenever I am taking my daily stroll in the neighborhood, and I look at the pedestrians, the feeling of spitefulness arises inside of me. I just feel sorry for you all. On the other hand, I feel sorry for myself. Why am I like this? Why have I come into this world as a transgender man? What am I here for? Why do I exist? Yes, a large amount of questions visits my tenebrous mind. The problem with me is that I am an overthinker added to the fact that I am transgender, which makes me even more of an overthinker. I overthink what is happening, what had happened in my past life, and what would happen in the future. You see, my dear readers, I had endured so much that I have a countless number of stories to tell you. I had gone through a lot of hardships, a lot of suffering, which compelled me to be strong. I believe that the fact that I am transgender had played a great role into my eagerness toward over philosophizing life in general, and so much indulged into analysis and critical thinking. I am the kind of individual who rejects to conform, to abide and obey, to follow the flock of sheep. Although I am 21 years of age, still young, and pre-assumed that I am naïve, but trust me, I use my free time to educate myself, to widen my life perspectives, to broaden my knowledge. I am still in the stage of building for myself a foundation, so I can hopefully pluck the fruit from the tree. I am sorry for babbling this much. I know all I do is speak nonsense. I over-speak, but I am just in love with my pen. I love speaking of myself to myself. I know I have bombarded you with my pessimistic spirit, but just imagine being in my shoes. I have been deceived by puberty. Do you know how ugly that is? I was not expecting this. I was never planning for this. I had always been a man, had always been Leo, but the thing is that my body does not match with Leo. It’s as simple as that. My body is my greatest imprisonment, and it’s killing me. I want to move on to something personal, something very personal, which is my chest. I want to tell you all of a little story that occurred to me when I was very little. So, when I was 5 years old, my uncle was at our place. Shower time had arrived, and Mother told my uncle to assist me with my bath. While he was rinsing me, he told me that one day my chest is going to grow bigger. I was in complete shock, and the moment after he had told me this I had erupted into hysterical cries. I remember very well that my anxiety had intensified to the point where I started to sham sickness in order to prevent going to school. I had pretended to be ill for three months, and stayed home because I didn’t want to be seen by anybody. When I would wait for the school bus, anxiety attacks would hit me hard, and I’d just fold my hands across my chest because I didn’t like the thought that one day it would never be flat as it used to be. I am sorry I know I nag too much, but that is the consequence of living almost my entire life with gender dysphoria. One day, it was recess time at school, and I had overheard from a group of pupils that a girl named Liza had joined the school as a freshman. They were all gossiping about her, and speaking hurtful things about her, so because of that I had taken the decision to speak to her and get to know her. She seemed very miserable, and unable to interact with others. She was a very timid girl, with blonde, silky hair. She was thin and her hips were beautifully curved that I had been astounded by her beauty. I have to admit she was a natural beauty. She had shinning green-colored eyes with extremely soft, pale skin. Her face was very well-formed that I wasn’t startled at the rivalry and hostility other people exhibited towards her. They were just envious of her looks, even of her status. I also heard of her parents’ high-social status and of her extravagant wealth. In the course of getting to know her, she seemed very melancholic, and in a bad state. “Hi,” I said in an almost low-pitched voice. To be truthful, I was intimidated by her charisma. “Hello,” she replied back in a very courteous, and respectful tone. “What is your name?” “Liza,” she responded. By the moment she said “Liza”, I felt some pain in my stomach. I was anxious, and my dysphoria overcame me. I preferred not to share my name, so silence took over for a couple of minutes. “You see, my dear Liza, I have overheard a lot of gossiping about you.” She flushed crimson and turned her face aside. “I didn’t mean to,” “It’s all right,” she said innocently. She fixed a steady gaze at me afterwards, and my heart started racing. I thought to myself, “What if she is staring because of her uncertainty of my gender?”

After a short and common discourse, we had together, she had consented to see me at a nearby public park at 4 o’clock in the afternoon. My day at school had finally passed, and I was readying myself to go out. I was in such a haste, but I did not forget to wear my binder. I took the nearest, most discreet road because I did not wish to be seen.

When I had finally arrived, the park was deserted. A fountain was located in the middle where its water was sprouting all over. There were approximately ten flower beds of poppies in the entire garden, a lot of cedar trees implanted, plus the ground was grassy. It was nearly getting dusk, the atmosphere was getting darker, and the sky was heavily clouded. I looked into the distance, and I saw a figure. I knew for sure that it was Liza, and I was right. We seated ourselves on a wooden bench with complete silence at first, then a thought popped into my mind, “I mean, you have everything. You’re a cisgender woman of a distinctive social class with astounding beauty, what could be troubling you? What are you so depressed looking?” I found Liza to be staring at me, which infuriated me on the one hand, because I thought she was inspecting me, inspecting my sex, but she wasn’t. When I asked her of the reason of her long stares, she responded that there is something mysteriously ambiguous about me. “Do you I know you from somewhere? You look pretty familiar,” she said to me as I was startled at her words. “I feel like I have known you for a very long time, but in the mean time I have never met you before,” said she with a confident air, seeming so sure of her statement. “Do you believe in past lives?” she asked. “No, I am a very skeptical individual,” I said in wonder. “I have a strong feeling within that I have known you and met you before.” “Are you trying to tell me that you have known me in a past life, for example?” “Yes.” “That’s odd. I don’t believe in these things anyway.” “Tell me,” said she, “what is your name?” When she asked, I felt like jumping off a clip or the top of a building. “Leo.” “What an elegant name you have.” “Y-Yes…”

“Tell me something about you, my dear Leo,” she said to me. Suddenly, I had thought to myself that I should open up my heart to her, and tell her everything. She seemed highly intelligent, well mannered, polite, and in comfort with my company. What usually worried me was if I had ever wanted to speak to people that they would find my company to be very dull, and uninteresting, but she seemed to take a great interest with that and at ease with me. “How can I trust her?” In order to distract her, I reached my hands to my pockets and took out a box of cigarettes and a red lighter. “Would you like to join me and smoke?” “Sure, if it suits you, of course.” The both of us shared a cigarette together, and I was not feeling very well. I wanted simply to just leave, as my gender dysphoria was taking the best of me. Finally, I had the courage to stand up and make a speech to her. Yes, I had been wanting to elucidate to her what lies behind Leo, so as I stood up, she looked at me with curiosity, but didn’t say a word. “You see, my Liza, I am a man. I don’t really care what you might be thinking to yourself about me, or about my appearance, but I am not the one to blame. It is all because of this deceiving puberty that I have went through, and because of my stupid parents. I have to avow, that the life of a man like me is not very easy. I have come a long way. I know and I can see that you are looking at me in perplexity, confused, but that doesn’t surprise me. I declare to you that I am a man, and whether you assent or dissent that does not make me any less of a man. Have you never heard of a man with a grown chest? Yes, dear Liza, they are existent, and they have been existent amongst us ever since the beginning of mankind. These men, which I am speaking of just now, are deemed deluded and mentally ill, but, let me tell you that it’s all a misunderstanding. You all misunderstand what men like us are all about. You see, a penis does not make you a man or its lack doesn’t make you any less of a man. Penises are not a determinant factor of my masculinity, and never will be. You may have heard many popular opinions about men like me, that I am a prostitute, or a sex worker. The bottom line is that – yes – I am a transgender man, and no, I am not a prostitute. Trans people of color, trans people of social class, trans people belonging to a barbaric culture have recourse to sex as work, and it is because they are left off without any life resources, and it’s all mainly because their gender identity does not match their physical sex. You see, my dear Liza, there are two kinds of hermaphroditism, which are psychical and physical. I happen to be psychically a hermaphrodite. My brain structure resembles exactly the structure of a cisgender, biological man. And these are facts proven scientifically. When science tells you that twice two makes four, you have to take it as it is and not to bang your head against the wall as most pious people do just for the sake of religious morality. Transgenderism is existent amongst the lower animals, not just the higher. It is prevalent in nature, just like homosexuals and bisexuals. The differentiation between the lower animal and the rational animal is that the lower animal is privileged because he is deprived of his rational faculty, therefore, he leads his life plainly, simply, and purely. Whereas the rational animal has hardened life on himself, he has repressed his instincts just for the sake of declaring himself as the highest of all species, that he has surpassed the lower animals through religion and language. He thinks just because he is a biped, and utters from his mouth hole nonsense that he has to be the work of something grandiose, and that something he calls it God. I apologise for rambling this much, but I needed to address these things to you.” During my speech, Liza was listening attentively to my words, but she was trembling heavily. “What is wrong?” I asked. “It’s n-nothing. I just…I don’t know what to say,” she put her head in her lap, and started sobbing. Silence broke in afterwards. Obviously, Liza wanted to say something. I could tell from her lips. “What is it?” I asked morosely. “My father…I mean, my mother…She…She’s transgender herself. I also think that she’s a trans lesbian woman.” The minute she said this I stood there in amazement, unable to utter a single word in addition. “I loved your speech. I love everything about you already,” said she, “but now it is time for me to give a small speech,” she turned to my side and finally made eye contact with me. “My dear Leo, I understood everything you have just told me about yourself. I respect you and I respect your gender identity. My mother, she was assigned biologically male at birth, but she identifies as a woman…I don’t want to talk about this,” she said in a morose manner.

“What is wrong? You can tell me anything you want, I am here,” said I, still stunned by what she had just told me about her mother. I had always thought that I was the only transgendered person in this community. I was honored to get to know somebody from the older generation as transgender.

“My mother – to our knowledge – she was my father, but she turned out to be a transgender woman. I knew it. I knew it all along! It’s not that I have a problem with it, it’s because my parents are divorced, and it hurts. That doesn’t need an explanation for you, as you are already aware of the reason of their divorce.” “I’m sorry to hear,” I said. In truth, I didn’t know what to say. I was speechless. She had begun with her sobs again. I started to console her, telling her that it’s all going to be all right, and even if it doesn’t, it’ ok because suffering is part of the human condition. I had sent out to her my most sincere apologies and gave her a hug, which was odd, because she was still a complete stranger to me. After long hours of conversating, Liza had notified me that it was getting late in the evening. “I need to go,” she whispered coldly. I could really tell that after my last speech on transgenderism, Liza was irritated. It was obvious why. She didn’t want to be reminded of her parents’ divorce. It seemed that she admired her trans mother, respected and loved her so much that she could not that she was taken away from her. Yes, she told me that her biological mother had separated her from her beloved mother, how much she missed her, how much she felt incomplete without her. “Will I see you tomorrow?” “My dear Leo, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for making my day brighter, even if, at the same time, you made it kind of dark. I loved her. I loved my mother so much, regardless of her gender identity and her sex. Look, I don’t want to vex you, but I prefer some time alone. I won’t be attending the school for the upcoming days.” I nodded my head in assent, and didn’t say a word. She finally had risen up and left. After this day had passed, I hadn’t seen Liza since. It is true that I only got to know Liza for a day, but she had played a big role into my path to heal. Everything about her enchanted me, she was a magical being to me. She was indirectly my source of courage to rise up against societal norms, my parents, my stupid environment and to finally affirm my gender identity through sex reassignment surgery, top surgery, and hormone replacement therapy. Although I hadn’t seen her since, but her story pushed me forward. After graduating high school – Please note that graduation was very hard on me because of my dysphoria – I had gotten a scholarship to pursue my studies abroad. I decided that I should get into gender studies, now that I am finally able to be myself, and advocate for people like me. Today, I am strong man, a proud man, the happier I have ever been in my life. I want to reach out to the transgender men and women out there throughout my writings, and tell them not to let their gender/body dysphoria make them feel less of a man or woman. You all have the right to heal. I am here for you. You aren’t alone in this world. My heart and thoughts are with you.

[boogiewrites]

Bad Bride

Word Count: 7700+

Summary:  A power hungry woman finds herself suddenly having feelings beyond the professional for another gangster while engaged to another man. She decides to form a plan to secure her and her husbands rival, Alfie Solomons', place in the underground of London. She doesn't tell Alfie of her plan to get them everything they could want until her wedding day to his rival. How will he react when she confesses it's been for them the entire time? A fun, smutty little one shot.

Warnings/Tags: Language. Explicit Sexual Content: Dominant Alfie. Dom/Sub undertones. Dirty Talk. Getting off on being bad. Some angst, some fluff. 

Click on my screen name, then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio on my blog page for my other works. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

It was your wedding day. By all usual circumstances, this should’ve meant it was the happiest day of your life and it wasn’t that you were unhappy. It was just the source of your happiness for the occasion was rather, well, unusual.

You were the picture of a blushing bride, but that was all a facade. You just happened to be very good at pretending to be things you weren’t. Your dress was perfect, your quaint Christian ceremony and lavish reception thanks to your wealthy husband was all a more simple and sane woman could’ve wanted. But you didn’t believe yourself to be either of those things.

You could blame your upbringing, your absent father, your troubled mother who was now wasting away in a sanitarium. But you knew what evil you did. You felt compulsory in your deviant behavior at times, yes, but you were always in control of it.

Growing up with a mentally ill mother and a father that only showed up in the middle of the night, pissed and high on gambling earnings with a birthday present that was 6 months too late had caused you to have to form a lot of layers to protect yourself from the world. With no money, you had to work early in your life. You soon found that money by any legal means was not enough. So you turned to crime. It was simple at first, petty theft and learning to manipulate men. But this set the tone for how you would end up where you were today. A gangsters wife.

Mind you, this wasn’t the first gangster to have proposed to you. You had made your way through them and too easily so. Once one had you, with a simple glance another wanted to steal you away. So you’d made your way up the ladder and here you were. But not for long. Not if your intention to kill your husband went to plan.

You had been rather selfish for most of your adult life, as growing up and fending for yourself can sometimes make you. You were always looking out for number one. Which was always you. With your air of confidence, your wild card behavior, and now your business mindedness as your ownership of a warehouse with a yard by the canal had made you of high interest to smuggling gangsters getting their alcohol to America during the prohibition. You were willing to work with them and with you being a woman, the police simply didn’t suspect you.

This was how you’d met the man that was on your mind on your wedding day, Alfie Solomons. And he was not your husband. He had offered to be at one point and even though it was nowhere near the first time you’d been proposed to it was your favorite out of them all. You had found yourself in a bit of trouble with a rival gang of the Jews. As you went to Alfie for a chat about your problem, as he was the smartest and most clever man you knew, still was, he rather clumsily offered to marry you to protect you. You were surprised. You hadn’t taken Solomons to be the sentimental sort but as your devious self found his eyes soft, his posture unguarded you pried into him with questions. He admitted to having a rather unusual stirring of feelings for you. He admitted he wasn’t happy about it, as these things, these emotions of the heart as he’d put it, they complicate things. And looking back at that moment, you saw things from your time spent together that made sense in a different light than they had. He had favored you over other criminals but in your ego, which was large, you had assumed he knew which side to play for and the best one was yours.

You tell him you’ll think about it. And having never been married up to that point, you needed time to consider all your options for how to deal with your problems. As marriage wasn’t a temporary thing that was easy to get out of. That was unless your husband died.

In a bold meeting with the gangster than you now called your husband, the biggest rival and enemy to Solomons it turned out, you had thrown your cards out on the table, metaphorically, and also yourself at him. With your physical ability, mental capability and emotional control you found the man wrapped around your finger very quickly. He proposed and you did hesitate.

You went to Alfie, told him of the proposition, as you hadn’t yet given him an answer. And that answer was no. You tell him you’re going to marry the other man. He’s furious, even though he tries to hide it. He expresses a softness towards you, something he does not do and you respond to his offer to help you by marrying the man that was an enemy to you both? You saw him pace his office, that handsome and heavy brow low over the eyes that could cut right through you. His plush mouth tight, that silver tongue rubbing over his teeth in thought. He stares at you and neither of you backs down. It wasn’t in either of your natures. As he gives in first with a heavy sigh, he gestures his hand towards the door for you to leave, and you set in motion a plan.

No man had ever interested you much. Not in any meaningful capacity anyway. Some were excellent fucks, some were funny, but none made you feel anything. That night in his office as he fearlessly faced you, never breaking as you hurt him emotionally, you felt something stir inside you. You were used to men reacting when you did these sorts of things. They’d scream or they’d throw things, grab you or try to kill you. He did nothing except stare into you, then let you go. In your experience men weren’t always capable of letting things go. When they felt hurt for whatever reason they lashed out and lost control. You’d never turned down a proposal and come out unscathed. But Alfie stayed cool. He let you go. He didn’t threaten you or his enemy. And ever since that night you had been planning on thanking him by killing his rival and your now husband. You’d have his money, his real estate and without his leadership, for what it was worth, his men would fall apart. This was your plan to take him down. And so far it was going swimmingly.

You sent a bipartisan messenger boy to Alfie, with the request for him to be at a small work shed on the grounds of where you were having your wedding. The boy that came back had no response, saying that the man had looked at it most curiously and sent him away. You didn’t know if he’d be there but you were setting into motion the plans to find out.

After a round of spinning and dancing, you see the sun setting through the windows of the grand hall your reception was being held in. You find your husband and with your usual feminine touch, you sigh and tell him the festivities are just a little too much and if he didn’t mind, might you have a lie down for a moment and eat something so you could recuperate from your excitement. He, of course, agrees, as he did with most things you said.

Skipping away to the dressing room you’d gotten ready in, you lock the door behind you. You open the window and gather your dress, sneaking out into the bushes. Under the cover of a darkening sky, you move through the decorative flora of the gardens and towards the work shed.

You look from around a large manicured bush, seeing Alfie in his usual daunting hat, dark suit, and cane. He has another man with him, and you couldn’t blame him, he had no clue what he was walking into. You sigh and smile, knowing he was smart but was willing to let his curiosity get the better of him. And you could appreciate that sort of combination. A cautiously open mind.

You emerge from behind the plant, your dress gathered in your hands to keep it from the dirt. The hand of the man behind him goes to his gun. Alfie does not flinch.

“What are you doin' 'ere? I’m busy. Shouldn’t you be off show boatin' about with your new husband? Right twat he is.” He declares angrily, a brow quirked and looking away from your wide eyes as you approach him.

“I’m the one who invited you, silly.” you reply with a soft laugh.

“You?”

“Yes.” You state obviously. “Why else’s would I be here at the advertised time? Wouldn’t I be at my reception with my twat husband?” You give him the same attitude filled face back.

His eyes narrow and he looks You up and down. “Trouble in paradise already eh? Can’t say I’m surprised” he snarks.

“On the contrary, today has gone to plan so far.” You give a casual shrug.

“So my bein' here is part of your plan?”

“A very big part.” you speak slowly and purposely.

He was highly intrigued, trying to not be distracted by how lovely you looked in the dress. “And what’s that then?" he demands.

“Could we speak inside?” You ask, walking towards the small isolated brick sheds faded green painted wooden door. “I’d rather not be seen with you out here.”

“With ya husbands enemy on your wedding day...I’d certainly say not.” He nods to the other man who hides and waits outside. He shuts the door behind him, the space small and all but one wall covered in hanging and propped up gardening equipment.

“Ya bring me here to kill me? A wedding present for your husband?” He rolls his eyes.

“No. The opposite really.” You say with a mischievous smile.

“Ya gonna help me live then?” He snorts out a laugh.

“Actually yes.” you grin.

“I know ya love your codes and like to think yourself to be mysterious but I don’t have the patience today and shouldn’t you be getting back to your, I'm certain, very expensive party?” he shakes his head with judgment clear on his face.

“No hurry for me. I told him the excitement from the festivities was getting to me and I needed a little lie-down.” A more wicked smile appears.

“And he believed that?” He lets out a short laugh.

“He believes anything I say.”

“Then he doesn’t know you at all does he?”

“No he does not.” You state plainly and Alfie's interest is rising, you can tell. “Not the real me. Not like you do Alfie.”

“Me? I’ve not spoken or done business with you in months. What do I know?” the anger breaks through in his voice.

“Doesn’t matter if we haven't seen each other, does it? I would bet that I’ve been on your mind as much as you’ve been on mine.” the coo in your voice frustrates him and reacts accordingly.

“What’s to say none?” he tilts his head and presses his lips together defiantly.

“Oh, Alfie. You don’t have to lie. It’s just us here." he hears you tease.

“Why would I lie?” he barks back.

“Because I hurt your feelings. And no one hurts Alfie Solomons feelings, do they?” you give him a little pout.

“No they do not. Not even you.” his chin wags as he sells his point.

“Again with the lying Alfie.” you scold. “I brought you here tonight to end the lies between us.” you roll your eyes and sigh.

“I ain’t lyin'. You made your choice 'n there was fuck all I could do about it, yeah? So I showed you the fuckin door dinnit I?” his posture is stiff and you can tell he's set to defend himself still.

“But not before you stared at me for a few minutes.” You smirk.

“I was trying to read you. See if there was somethin' there behind your eyes. I was wrong.” his eyes are cold to you now.

“You’re wrong about that. You did see something.” your voice is soft to offset his anger.

“What?” He asks more angrily.

“Me.” You say simply, stepping closer. “You saw me.”

“You were standin' right fuckin there." he gestures to the floor with his hand.

“Let your guard down for a fucking second Alfie, Jesus Christ. You’re so god damned stubborn sometimes.” you say with your lips in a tense line. “If I felt it I know you had to feel it. You looked into me that night. You didn’t look AT me. You looked into me, studied me like no one had before.” your voice gives away your honesty and he's confused by it.

He lets out a sigh and looks away. “Feel what?”

“That connection. That spark between us.” you lean closer to invade his space, make him face you.

He lets out a condescending laugh. “You think you’re gonna try 'n seduce me on the day of your marriage to another man? My enemy? Are you daft? If you’d wanted a fuck love you just had to ask, or accept my proposal. But ya didn’t. So you and ya husband can fuck off. You’re on their side now. Why the fuck did you call me here?”

“To tell you you’re wrong.” you state assuredly.

“Not many have the balls to do that mind you.” he points a finger in your face.

“Have you ever known me to be short on them?” You put your hands on your hips.

“No.”

“Then will you stop your defensive whingin' and let me answer you?” your voice rises.

He doesn’t say a word, he clasps his hands in front of him.

“That night. When you looked at me I felt something.” You nod earnestly. “And men don’t make me feel things Alfie. But you aren’t like most men are you?”

“I’d bloody hope not.” he answers with an exasperated tone.

“You’re not. You’re smart and clever and despite your reputation, when you go off the cuff I believe you to know exactly what you’re doing. You control your emotions. And no men I’ve ever met have controlled themselves the way you do. You are a rare one Alfie.”

“But you married that dimwitted cunt instead? You’re making all the sense in the world mate.” he rolls his eyes and sighs again.

“I married him for you.” You say more seriously.

“And how the fuck does that work?” he almost laughs.

“Because I married him so I could kill him. Something you couldn't get away with.” you bite back.

This grabs his attention. “And what the fuck does this have to do with me?”

“I knew that night when I told you no, that I would be killing him. As an apology to you. I can take his money, his real estate, and his businesses down. I can delete him from history and you can have it all.”

He looks You over inquisitively. “What are you on about?”

“I don’t want him. I want you. But I can’t let a man threaten me and get away with it. So I plan on killing him and taking everything.” he see's the passion in your eyes.

“Sounds like that benefits you more than me." he nods his head at you.

“Not if I marry you.” You state with pouted lips.

He narrows his eyes and tries to decide if he trusts you or not. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I see a great deal of potential in you. I like how you do business and I like you.” you answer earnestly.

“Oh, now you like me eh? You should work on ya fuckin' timin' there.” he wags his finger at you again.

“I do. I have ever since that night. But more importantly, we both hate my husband.”

“I do hate the fucker.”

“And I’ve had to be with him while thinking of you. So, believe me, I hate him more than you for what I’ve dealt with these past months." you spit out.

“I might believe that.” he side eyes you.

“I can have financial safety for myself if I kill him. I can offer the demolishing of your biggest competition. You can take over the businesses that will be in my name. I believe we could be a true force to be reckoned with.” you look away almost bashfully at your confession.

“But why love?” his voice softens slightly.

“I’ve stated my reasons and you're only looking for excuses to not believe me now.” You say defiantly and he grins. “I like you. As a person and a businessman. I want to help you. And I saw that I hurt you when I said no. And I know you put yourself out there by asking me to marry you and confessing you had feelings for me and I’m trying to repay the favor by doing something you can’t.” your voice is quiet but sincere.

“I could kill him if I wanted to." he scrunches his face in defense of himself.

“Yes, but not get away with it. Not and also get his money and businesses. Not make his dim-witted men fall apart in their functioning. You’d get thrown in jail, I won’t.” you lean in closely to speak softly to him to use your charms against him.

“What makes you so sure you'll get away with it?” he gives you a stern nod of his chin.

“Slow poison and good acting.” You say confidently.

“That’s your plan?” he responds flatly.

“Yes. I’ll have exclusive access to him, his doctors, his records. And I can play the heartbroken wife and you get to sit back and watch him wither to nothing and know the truth.”

“Why not end him with violent means? Quick. Dirty.” his brow lowers over his darkening eyes.

“Because it’s obvious. Don’t go thinking like a man now.” you flash him a charming smile. “We must be patient and our patience will be rewarded.”

“I’m not known for me patience.” he shakes his head.

“Especially when it comes to something you want?” you smirk.

“Especially that." he nods.

“And do you want me Alfie? Your biggest enemy’s wife? The woman who is offering to help you conquer London?” you ask, your eyes narrowed and voice delicate as you lean in towards his face.

“I do.” he answers simply.

“And I want you.” You whisper. “And although I capable of patience, when it comes to things I want, I do prefer immediate satisfaction over delayed.” a playful smile grows across your face.

“And what does that mean for me?” he stares down at you, watching you glance down to his lips.

“Would you like to fuck him over before I even begin to poison him?” you offer, a tilt of your head and a wicked smile.

“How?” his voice rumbles.

“By fucking me.” you state clearly. His eyes go dark, heavy under his low brow as you touch his chest to yours. “You could know you had me before he did on our wedding day. Know that tonight he’ll be second to you physically and mentally all the nights thereafter. I’ll feel the pleasurable sting of you instead of him, think about you while he thinks he’s consummating our marriage. But I’ve already consummated the real relationship haven’t I?” you rasp up at him, feeling a tingle down your spine as you see his eyes dilate.

“You wicked thing.” he scolds.

“You have no idea.” You grin. “And to take me in my wedding dress nonetheless. The one he bought me? I have to admit my astounding naughtiness is making me wet already Alfie.” you give a wrinkle of your nose as a small laugh escapes you.

“And how do I know that’s not a lie?” he quirks a brow at you.

You slowly pull up the front of your skirt. “You’re welcome to feel for yourself.” you purr.

His eyes cut down to your bare thighs, peaking out under the dress. White stockings squeezing your thighs just so.

“Or I could show you? If you still don’t trust me?” You say innocently.

“Show me.” he gruffs out.

“You reach between your legs where you feel the cool air hitting the slick that followed your devious plans discussion. You’d been thinking about fucking Alfie for most of the day and all this other talk had built the tension within you. You take the wetness to your fingertips and show him with shifting fingers the clinging viscous liquid. You reach them out and touch them to his soft and full lips you’d wanted to feel on you. “You can taste what my impure thoughts of you today have brought forth in me.” You whisper. “I am as sweet as revenge, Mr. Solomons. I promise you that.” You speak certainly and he feels his own need bubbinlig up to the surface.

He opens his mouth and your fingertips enter his mouth and your lashes flutter, his eyes stay on your face. He sees your chest rise and fall noticeably, your face flushing, and the way your eyes went dark as he licks away at them.

“And this is my doin'?” He questions, holding your wrist with authority and a thrill rushes through you.

“Truly. This cunt is as good as yours.” You whisper and he exhales forcefully, a hand moving to the back of your neck with a firm grip.

“And what of this mind?” He rasps into your ear and he feels you tremble. He knew then it wasn't a lie.

“It thinks of you most often. It devised this plan to make you ours.” your voice breaks in your nervousness for his forcefullness.

“And of your heart?” he drags his nose up your neck to your jaw.

“No man has ever owned it before. But I believe you are the only one to ever make me question that fact.” You admit.

That was truly an honest answer. And he felt it as your skin broke out in goosebumps at his touch. If you’d been playing him you would’ve said everything was his, that he owned it all. But you hadn’t. So he allows himself to believe it.

“And right now, I can make this cunt mine?” his voice demanding and quiet.

“Yes. And the rest will be yours solely soon after.” you almost squeak out.

“And you’re going to kill him? For me?” his intensity washes over you.

“For us.” The answer makes him groan.

“And you want me to take you in your wedding dress in a dirty shed as you lie about your whereabouts on your wedding day?” his voice is almost a growl.

“I do.” You moan.

“Is that what you said to him today?” He smirks.

“And to you is the only time I meant it.” you shake your head.

“You are fuckin' filthy.” He scolds I’m a deep tone. “And I adore it.” He snarls, showing his dominance and holding you tightly by the face.

“Would you give me my favorite wedding gift then Alfie? Give me you for just a short while?”

“I will love.” He whispers, lips close to yours. “I’ll fuck you so well you’ll be left thinkin' 'bout me all those nights you’ll be left disappointed in him. You’ll crave it, sweetheart, you’ll want to risk being found out by sneakin' away in the middle of the night for it.” he coos.

“Those are big promises Alfie. You have the tools to back up that dominating sentiment?” You ask, reaching down to his trousers and finding him growing hard.

He lets his cane hit the ground and with one hand roughly undoing his trousers, holding your face so you could not see him, but putting your hand around him. “Why is it you think I’m not like other men love? It’s not just me brain.” He rasps, eyes looking over your face as you breathily exhale, finding him thick and long. You hadn’t been with many men that would be described as large, as most men that sought out power were compensating for something deep down. But when you say that he was the biggest you’d ever felt, it certainly didn’t mean nothing.

“You have no reason to try to make up for any lacking in this department do you?” You say with a huff of a laugh, that showed you were impressed. “When other men were worried about compensating you were busy using that big... brain of yours to beat them. You don’t have the typical shortcomings of a man in your position.” You elaborate and a slow smile moves across his face.

“Brilliant little bird. So observant aren’t you?” He coos, loving that you knew people on a level that he did, understood their deep dark motivations. “You still want me to fuck you love? Surely your husband is only going to be less than for you now.”

“I do still want it. But do you know how to use it?” You smirk.

“Do I know-?” He lets out a deep laugh that appreciates the taunt. “How 'bout I just show you love?”

“Please.” You whisper and shut your eyes for a moment, hands tugging him.

“Oh, she asks me nicely now eh? Dirty girl.” He growls, hands moving fast to your waist and pushing you against an uncluttered spot on a wall where you would be hidden from sight. He looms over you, lips grazing your cheeks, nose, and lips teasingly. “And how am I going to get at your delicious little body without making a mess of this dress?” He asks.

“Let me.” You say breathily, reaching and undoing the buttons at the neck of the gown. The large keyhole back stays clasped below your waist, but you bare yourself to him by sliding your arms out of the top and pulling it down.

“Much more obedient than I expected” He taunts.

“It takes a certain sort of strong man to make a powerful woman want to bend, doesn't it?” You admit, now bare to him as he licks his lips and looks over your breasts. “I’m not like this with anyone else. I don’t like men being dominating. But most are so boring about it.” you quickly explain.

He puts his hand around your throat loosely and you hear his heavy breathing in your ear. “This racing pulse of yours I feel under my palm would say otherwise.” His slides his hand over your chest, rough palms grazing over your nipples and making them stand at attention, causing you to release a small whimper. “These pert tits say you like it. Shall we see what your cunt has to say about it?” He asks as his fingertips trail up your thigh and shove between your legs, wet and soft and eager. “This little cunny fuckin loves it, dunnit she?” The words travel over your skin and break it out into goosebumps. He pushes into your folds and finds your clit, a task you sometimes wondered if men were capable of at all. Your knees buckle for a moment as he grazes and strokes. You let out a little moan and he teases your lips with his again. “That little mouth tells me you love it as well. I thought the lies were over between us?”

“They are” you whine as his circles your clit. “I like it when you do it.” You moan. “You’ve proven to me you deserve it.”

“Mmmm.” He hums, lips grazing your neck. He begins to kiss your skin, fingers still working away at you. His lips move slowly across your breasts before taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking away at you with a grunt of pleasure as his face pushes into the weight of it. He does this on the other side and releases you with an obscene pop. His nose moves up your sternum as your chest moves faster, his fingers threatening to end you before you even had him.

“Alfie you’re going to finish me before we even get started.” You whine.

“Oh, but we’ve started love.” he groans into your neck. “Has any man taken his time like this with you before?”

“No.” You admit.

“Then you are in for a treat love. You’ll be killin' that prick husband of yours even sooner now won’t ya? You said I wasn’t like other men, why wouldn’t that carry on into the way I fuck?” his confidence is intoxicating.

“I see your point.” you flash him a smile through a bitten lip.

“But do you feel it love?” He asks, fingers entering you and pressing the hard heat of him against your bare thigh. You let out a wanton moan at the sudden feeling and he puts his hand over your mouth. “You do feel it.” He coos, fingers fucking into you, exploring you and stretching you in ways you hadn’t felt before. “You can’t be so noisy, love. Someone findin' us would ruin your plan wouldn’t it?” You nod and whimper, he releases your mouth and you gasp for air as you breathe loudly through your nose to hold in your sounds of pleasure.

“Fuck Alfie.” You whine and mewl, eyes rolling back in your head. “I want to finish around your cock, and I’m close.”

“You will.” He says knowingly.

“But I’m...oh god I’m close.” your eyes begin to flutter.

“Don’t tell me no man has ever made you come more than once in one go?” his lips almost pout at you.

You shake your head, struggling to keep quiet. “No.” You moan, your hands now firmly gripping on his arms.

“Pet...” He coos, his hand now hitting into you harder with some sort of earth-shattering grip on you. “I’m going to ruin you for any other man.” he says so condescendingly in your ear as you begin to shake.

“Alfie” You whine, turning your face towards his.

“Yes, love?”

“Kiss me.” You plead, rubbing your hand to the back of his neck. “Keep me quiet with your lips.” You whine and he ruts against your thigh. Such a soft and needy little thing you were.

He answers you swiftly, feeling your muscles start to flutter and tense around his fingers. The kiss is harsh and biting. You knock his hat off as your fingers reach into that thick dark gingery hair you’d fantasised about running your fingers through. His lips just as thick and soft as you’d imagined. You share moans from each other mouths, feeling his arm against your back, pulling himself closer to you. it’s rushed and passionate and the most arousing kiss you’d ever had. The combination of his oppressive kiss and his pounding fingers makes you fall over the edge quickly. He feels the grip of your fingers in his hair tighten, the hitch in your breathing, the way your lips stopped and trembled against his as you began to gasp and squeak before he allowed himself to indulge in one sultry and wanton moan, rising from your flushed chest before sucking your bottom lip into his mouth and holding your face to keep it still and your lips together.

He finds himself losing himself in you. The way you were so open, you weren’t hiding your pleasure from him in some reservation or power move, you gave yourself to him freely and wholly and it was the first interaction he could think of since before the war that felt honest. As your cries quiet, now only noisy heaves of your chest, he withdraws his fingers, the mess he’d made of you being moved now to his cock which was at full attention with your performance and writhing against him.

“Oh my god.” You sigh out, eyes fluttering open again, hands on his face. “Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?” You ask earnestly and he grins.

“Us Jewish men are meant to please our women.” He croons into your ear as he kisses your neck.

“I’ve been with the wrong sort of men.” The post orgasm bliss making you let out a soft laugh.

“Clearly.” He growls and it brings you back into the moment. You feel his hands move against you. “We aren’t finished here love” he groans, hands finding the backs of your thighs and pushing you against the wall, your legs put around his hips and as you feel the heat of him against you the moans start again. “Such a wanting little thing aren’t you?” He grins into your chest, sliding himself against your soaked slit, tapping against your clit and pressing against your entrance.

“For you. After that how I could I not be?” you sigh into him.

“Then tell me. Tell me you want it.” he commands.

“You do love your words.” You let out a short lived giggle. “I want that fat cock of yours Alfie. I want you to fuck me hard and leave me a mess like I know you can. I want you to feel his little cunny wrapped right around you and know it’s yours.”

He groans at the words, forehead pressing into your chest for a moment to compose himself as he notches into you. “And what a tight little cunny it is pet, fuck me.” He grunts.

“Fuck.” You squeak. “Go slow love, go slow.” You breathily beg and in his animalistic frame of mind it makes him want to do the opposite.

“I won’t make it hurt, pet, it’ll only ever feel good with me.” He promises in moan laced words as she slides himself inside you, hands on your arse as he rises and you’re lowered to meet into one.

With raspy swears from you both, you meet at both the hip and mouth as he buries himself fully in you. Your lashes flutter and you let out deep moans into his mouth. “So deep, Alfie.” You whisper against his lips, arms wrapped around his neck. He holds you up, the wall helping him as one arm wraps around your lower back and the other laces under your knee to keep you open and up.

With a slow withdraw, that isn’t quite pain, he takes a deep breath to prepare himself. He didn’t expect you to be so tight, but who was he to assume you’d been with a man recently? He starts to wonder what other things he’s only assumed and has yet to learn about you. But right now he was more interested in learning your body, submitting it to memory as he wa sure this coupling would haunt him in his dreams until the next time it came. He follows as you ask, a slow pump of his hips in and out of you, feeling your lashes flutter against his cheeks as you panted your subdued moans against his face.

You splay one hand across his cheek, the bristle of his beard against your palm, your thumb pulls his bottom lip down for you to stretch your neck and take it into your mouth. He was so much softer than you’d imagined. A light chap to the center of his lip is gone as you suck away at it, little moans of enjoyment given up as you take him in from both ends.

“Faster, Alfie.” you whisper against him and he obeys your command. With a grunt, he moves his hands grip on you tighter, strong forearms holding you up. With your knees higher and pushed back, he begins a harder pace, watching your eyes threaten to roll back into your head.

"Like that, love?" his gruff voice asks. Even though it was a question, it felt more like a command in his deep tone, the steady smack of skin to skin hitting, the sound filling the shed.

The moan that escapes you from the question is small and light, which was the opposite of what you were feeling. "Yes." you rasp out, tongue flicking out against his lips, set in an almost snarl as he felt your body tremble and shake. Your eyes eventually bat and close over the whites as your pupils dilate and they disappear into the back of your head. "Does this feel so good because it is wrong?" you ask, a small smirk before he grinds into you, making you gasp as you took him in to the hilt. "Or is it simply you Solomons?" you grin and feel

"Certainly not your fuckin' husband is it?" he groans through gritted teeth before, nipping at your lower lip as it hung loosely as he pumped into you, building a second release.

"No it's fuckin' not." you let out a deep chuckle, a girlish gasp as the mention of your decisions of the day bring a possessive sort of anger in him. "Shit." you squeak, eyes flutter back open as he hits into you harder. You meet his eyes, blue and cold and half hidden under his intimidating heavy brow. "It's all you isn't it?" you moan out, meeting him with a harsh kiss that he returns with teeth and force.

"That it is." he growls as you part for a few rbeaths as you start your worldless lamenting of how good he felt. "Is it all for me, love? This cunt? Killin' that fuckin' daft prick of a man?"

"Yes." you moan out, the acceptance and embrace for how bad what you were doing was, was adding to your pleasure in a new way. You'd never been with a man to talk to you in such a way. "For you, Alfie. Since the day I told you no. For you. For us." This was more than the boring dominance that you had experiened before. This was beyond calling you a slag before bending you over and slapping your arse. He was in your head, and that was a place no man had ever been before. You were finding it to be just a pleasure as him being inside your cunt.

"That makes you mine then, yeah? Makes everyfing you do from now 'til that wanker dies for me. Ya dinnit marry him today did ya? Ya fuckin' married me. You schemein' little minx." he moans out, letting himself give in to his feelings for you, for the warm tingling that ran from his head to his balls at the thought that you'd been thinking of him as he had you for these months.

"Oh, fuck, Alfie." you sigh out, your eyes looking tired as let the warm waves of pleasure start lapping away at you from his words. "Oh fuck me, you're gonna make me come with a mouth like that."

"Dirty girl." he growls, pounding into you now, trying to let out all the heavy hurt he'd felt knowing you were with another man. But you were his now. "She knows how fuckin' naughty she's been. Gets off on knowin' what a lyin' little bird she is." he bites into your skin with his teeth and words as your head tilts back and the moans grow louder.

"Yes. Oh god, Alfie, yes I do." you grin and gasp.

"And now you're fuckin' your husbands enemy on your fuckin' weddin' day you filthy thing." he moans, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. Finding himself liking the deception of your actions as much as you were. "And you're gonna think 'bout me every night innit ya love? Ya gonna lay in that tacky fuckin' bedroom of 'is, 'n think about what a real man would be doin' to ya if he were there. Wonderin' if ya could kill him faster just to get back to me 'n these hands...this cock that knows what a brilliant fuckin' woman you are, yeah?" he lets it all go, giving you the mental stimulation you never knew you needed.

You let out a low and rumbling laugh of pure enjoyment that makes his balls tense. "I will." you gasp, lowering your face back down and leaning in towards his, making him look at you. "I'll be thinking about you fucking me every day. About this big cock. Imagining what filthy words this clever brain would be whispering to me. Ugh, Alfie, you've gone and ruined me haven't you?"

"I deliver on my fuckin' word for you, love." he grunts.

"Fuck, Alfie I'm gonna come." you moan, moving into another round of harsh kisses. "Give me soemthin' to think about on those lonely nights, Solomons. Give me something to keep me warm for you until his body goes cold." you moan into his mouth and his eyes roll back into his head.

"I'll fuckin' fill you up with warm, love." he growls, teeth knocking as you both gave in and started to shake.

"Fuckin' do it." you growl and the sound makes his nails dig into your skin. "I'm gonna come around this thick cock and I'm gonna milk you for all you've got, Alfie. Fill me up. Leave me with the reminder that I'm yours dripping down my thighs after you leave." you whine out, fingers tight in his hair as you snarl and your brow lowers, your body starting to seie and convulse.

"Fuck." he growls, hitting as hard as he can, a more helpless sound escaping him, feeling you tighten around him. "Take it. Fuckin' 'ell take all 'a me." his words rise and fall with his moans, as the feeling of you around him proves too much. A deep guttural sound rises up as your noses bump together, both unable to kiss as your lips trembled and his snarled as you came.

Coming down together was something new for you, there was something strikingly intimate about watching the hunger fade out of each other's eyes, sharing breaths as you both heave and recover. You both mutter swears, small droplets of sweat on your temples, that you wipe away from his handsome face. He was much more rugged than your husband was, you thought. An unshaven face with power behind his eyes, a strong brow and nose over what you could feel was a well-rounded chin hiding beneath the gingery beard. Your husbands was smooth and plain, a perfectly acceptable face but not much unique about it. Brown hair and brown eyes, thin lips and a chin that was lacking, even if it was minor. He led his men, but he didn't hold a candle to the charisma that Alfie exuded without even trying.

He speaks first. "Let's put ya down, now." he says with clear eyes and a nod. You let out a girlish grunt as one foot hits the ground, his hands warm and firm against your soft thighs, making sure you were stable before they regretfully departed from your skin. He puts himself away into his trousers as you pull up your dress.

"Would you?" you ask softly, the tone and doe eyes so different from just moments before as you turn and hold the high neck of the dress together, asking him to help you.

"'Course." he says in his usual gruff tone, thick square tipped fingers managing with the small pearl buttons.

You turn and dust yourself off, seeing no real damage done to the dress. "Am I decent?" you ask with a tug back of the corner of your mouth.

"Entirely not." he teases, an easier going and charming smile across his face as his fingers tuck loose hairs back into place, a brief dusting of the back of your dress, before a cheeky slap to your bum that makes you giggle. "It's a shame you look so lovely." he says quietly. "Such a waste of beauty on an absolute git." he tsks. "'Spose it's good you got to wear white. Won't get to do that again, eh?" he grins and bends to pick up his cane with a grunt.

"Suppose I'll be getting used to wearing black soon enough." you say with a flirty tone and he recognizes the mischief in your soft face.

"Unless he was already dead, it would not be soon enough." he says and leans in to drive his point home.

To his surprise your hands reach out and take him by his loose collar, pulling him in for a kiss. "I will begin my work tonight." you whisper, nuzzling your nose against his, an affectionate gesture he did not anticipate. "And I'll find a way to be in touch. With him ill we can most likely arrange something to see each other again."

He hears the hopeful tone in your voice and it convinces him you mean what you're saying once agian. "And if not... I look forward to seeing you at the funeral." he grins boyishly and tenderly touches your jaw. "I'll be the one that won't be payin' no mind to the body. Only you." he whispers with a soft press of his lips again. It carries on, a soft back and forth, something gentle to off set the hard of earlier. "You better get goin' now. Else you'll be missed." he says with a sigh, a light tap to your nose before he leans away.

"You're right." you nod and take a deep breath. "I must admit I thought leaving you and going back to my life in there would be easier." you willingly express your fondness for him with a soft smile.

"And I thought watching you leave would be too, love." he purrs back, making your stomach flutter.

"Until next time?" you say with a more playful smirk.

"Until then." he nods, stepping away from you.

"I'll be thinking of you, Alfie." you say softly, silhouetted in the doorway to the shed.

"I know." he grins, a low chuckle rumbling out across the space between you. "And I you, love. Now go, pet." he says with a shooing motion of his hand.

With one final up and down of him with your eyes, your hitch up your dress and move back to the dressing room. You climb in the window, shut it, and rest on the bed for a moment before freshening up.

"Miss?" you hear after a knock at the door after you'd been staring out the window for a moment. "Your husband wanted me to come check on you. Are you unwell?"

"I believe too much champagne was the culprit." you say with a feminine lilt you were used to performing.

"Do you require anything?"

"No." you say with a sigh. "I'll be out to get him shortly." you say with a smirk.

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