#this can go ignored i Do Not Care to continue this

[oceantornadoo]

ch7 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: oral sex both ways

masterlist | next

John Price thrives on routine. His days are filled with meetings and bloodshed, negotiations and betrayal. Routine keeps him sane.

Unfortunately, that resolution crumbled the moment he gained a wife. It’s getting harder and harder to leave in the morning, to ignore the fluttering of your eyelashes as you feign sleep. That’s what he blames for this break in routine.

The morning after, he stays for ten minutes instead of five. Counts the ticks of the old clock in the corner of his room as he memorizes the scent of your skin. You always end up with your head in the crook of his neck, legs tangled around his torso. He’s never been much of a back sleeper, but now it’s the last thing he cares about. It’s the sound of your breathing, the plushness of your skin, the brush of your chest against his. When he eventually gets up, he doesn’t look at the bed until he’s ready. If he glanced back at your eyes in half-slits, shifting closer to his pillow to soak up the remaining warmth he left in the bed, he would never leave the room. 

At night, though, he succumbs to his weakness. He creates a new routine.

It’s the start of a new week after the getting-off confession. John had business in Glasgow over the weekend, lonely and cold in his hotel bed, but now he’s back.

“So Laswell sent me the contract. I definitely have enough to pay in full, but I’m thinking of paying half and then doing installments for the rest so I can have enough for immediate repairs. What do you-John?” John’s nodding along to your rant, disappearing under the covers to the place he’s been thinking about all weekend. The blanket’s a bit heavy, limiting his breathing, but it’s worth it for the sight of your clothed cunt, waiting for him.

“Keep talkin’, sweetheart.” Instead of following his orders, you peel back the cover until his head peeks out. “What are you doing?” He rubs circles into your thighs, reveling in their softness. John moves upwards, teasing the fabric of your pajama shorts. “You miss me this weekend?” He murmurs, not sure if he’s talking to his wife or her cunt. Both seem happy to see him, if that’s any consolation.

“No, I actually got the best sleep of my- hey!” He shoves his face into the triangle of your lap, sniffing with wonder. “Fuck, I missed ya.” You’re silent at his admission, but your hand finds a hold in his hair. “You did?” It’s soft and unsure, forcing him to rip his focus away from your pussy. “I did.” You bite your lip adorably. You tug him forward, gripping his scalp hard, until his face is in front of yours. 

“Maybe next time, you take me with you.” Absolutely not. He was meeting with a new prospective manufacturer, shady and dangerous. He was not putting you in any sort of danger. John shakes his head, heart clenching as your face falls. “Not the kind of place fer you, baby. Gonna let me eat you out now?” You nod, but your face is still hard with repressed emotion. He kisses your forehead, trailing down to your cheek, then nose. “Give us a kiss then.” It’s the first time you’ve ever kissed him first, the notion sending blood straight to his cock. The kiss is short and sweet. Can’t believe how quickly you’ve gotten him under your spell. Two bloody weeks. He pulls away, a final kiss laid to your jaw. “Keep talkin’. Don’t mind me.”

The new routine continues for weeks. He gets you off a different way every night, from fingers to tongue to plain old grinding. And then he goes to sleep with you tucked to his side, taking care of himself in the morning. John needs you to be the one to ask to fuck, to reciprocate. The alternative leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Plus, every time he gets you off, you fall asleep immediately, like it’s the only way you’ll go to bed. It’s terribly endearing.

A month in, he starts noticing changes. The furniture in the sitting room, for one. They used to be 18th century relics, designed to make sure a guest didn’t overstay their welcome. Except now they’re eclectic, blue and green against the cream walls. The couches look comfortable, like you could spend a whole day there. The paintings change as well, from Rembrandt to Monet and Picasso. The impressionist works, blues and greens and yellows, work well with the new furniture, making his flat seem like a home. When he asks you, all you do is shrug and say something smart about updating his old man apartment. He leaves bite marks on your thighs that night. 

It’s a beautiful Friday night when John gets home early, around 9. He usually gets text updates from Terrance, your commandeered security guard that Price assigned to you full time, about your movements. You’ll usually get home at 7, but nothing yet. Two hours late. He calls Terrance and gets his voicemail. Highly unusual. Calmly, he presses on your contact's name, and it goes to voicemail. Three times.

Fingers shaking, he calls Kyle.

“Sir?”

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“My fuckin’ wife, Garrick.”

“Isn’t she with Terrance?” “No one’s answerin’ their goddamn phone.” Gaz sighs on the other end, like this is an inconvenience and not his wife they’re talking about. Keys click, then a mouse, before Gaz answers. “They’re at the bookstore. Been there since this mornin’, sir.” John drags a hand down his face, then grabs the keys to the car he barely uses. 

“Garrick, this is the last time you take more than three seconds t’ know where she is. I want a full team on ‘er at all times. I won’t hesitate t’ assign someone else as my Head of Security, someone who isn’t lettin’ their judgement take over their goddamn job. Copy?” He hasn’t dressed down one of his men, especially Kyle, but he’s tired of the man’s judgement on this marriage. What’s done is done. “Yessir.” John hangs up, too miffed to say goodbye. He’s got a wife to find.

-

Your bookstore is coming along well. It’s been over a month since you’ve been married, a month of John’s fingers and tongue loosening you in more ways than one. You swear you’ve developed stronger thigh muscles, simply from the orgasms he coaxes from you night after night. And then he just goes to sleep. You’ve felt his cock in fleeting touches, brushing against your thigh or hard in his lap as you grind on him. He never takes it out, never drags your hand in that grueling way men do with shady eyes and slimy smirks. Every night, he asks you if you hate him, and every night, your lie convinces him less and less. 

And every night, you think of how adamant he was against you joining him. His insistence that it “wasn’t the kind of place for you.” Your old problem with him has faded, a mess of childhood fears rolled into new ones. In its place are your insecurities, the word bastard floating through your head every time you think of his rejection. The clause in the marriage contract. It rolls together into a simple thought: he doesn’t trust you. That’s why he’s barely let you in on his business, content to stick with late night chats and orgasms. It should be fine, it should be what you wanted, but instead you feel a hollow hole in your heart where the word ‘friends’ lives. Even friends should share their secrets. 

But back to the bookstore. Your new baby. This first month was full of cleaning, dusting out odd corners and greasing creaky door hinges. You listed a hiring notice on online job boards, looking for an assistant to help with the grunt work. Which landed you Phil, a wonderful addition to the team. He was around your age, an American with sandy blond hair. Handsome in a basic way, something you noted and never thought of again. Terrance ran a background check on him, something you gladly consented to, and insisted on helping you interview him. It took a week of recon, but he was officially your new assistant as of two weeks ago. An amazing help around the store, handy with tools. You’d told Phil that you were the daughter of a lord, a minor lie to explain the bodyguard. He shrugged it off, the ex-pat seemingly used to the oddities of London.

Now that the space had been cleared, it was finally time to paint. Terrance insisted that he couldn’t help too much, his main duty too important, but with the help of Phil, you convinced him to paint the walls with you. You all left your phones in the half-fixed office, donning plastic sheets to protect from paint splatter. Your business plan, formed from your downtime during the day and shaped by your late-night conversations with John, was to have a store section and a community section. The community section would be at the front, with a beautiful light blue accent wall, perfect for book influencers. It would be surrounded by comfy couches and warm lighting, complete with a cafe space you intended to build out. Your idea reminded you of the library waiting hours away, with its own fireplace and furniture. You decided to recreate that cozy feeling and bring it to the public.

Farther into the building there would be bigger shelves for rows and rows of books, organized by type. The color scheme was influenced by the one in your home, as you decided to hand paint metal shelves light blues, greens, and yellows. Most would be bought, but you were planning a book drive far out for people to donate old books and get discounts on new ones. It’s an idea you had wanted to do in Manchester but never got around to.

Now that the front of the store was cleared out and bare, it was time to paint. The hours fly by as you paint the light blue wall while Phil and Terrance work on a cream wall on the other side. When you blink, the sun is already down, and your watch is flashing 10PM at you.

“Guys it’s almost ten! I think we ought to lay down the brushes for tonight.” Phil opened his mouth to respond but is cut off by a harsh pounding at the locked front door. It was supposed to be clear, but there was newspaper on all of your windows to prevent the glass from getting paint on it. Frowning, you moved to open the door, but Terrance stopped you with his arm out, his other hand reaching for his gun. “Go into the office, ma’am.” You followed his command reluctantly, Phil following on your heels as you went into the back office. It didn’t have any windows, so it was a space you did not want to be in for a while. Phil looked nervous, running his hand through his hair and tapping his foot on the ground.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Phil. Probably one of the neighbors complaining about our music.” You insisted on a jam session as you painted, blasting music from a speaker you stole from the Castle. “Shady things happen in London no matter what time, boss.” You shrug, picking up your phone to quell your nerves. A glance at your notifications explains everything.

Oh no.

You burst from the office, phone already returning one of your many missed calls. That’s when you ran into your husband, face hitting his hard chest with a harsh oof. “Christ, sweetheart, gave me a near heart attack.” John steadied your shoulders with his large hands, anchoring you in his grip. His brow was furrowed, eyes crinkling in worry as he scanned you up and down like he was looking for injuries. “You didn’t answer-” “Everything good out here?” Fuck. Phil.

“Who are you?” It was a tone you’d never heard come out of John’s mouth. You imagined it was his mafia man voice, gruff and short like he had a better place to be. John shoves you behind him, reaching for his gun. You rolled your eyes, hand covering his to stop a potential shoot-out. 

“John, he’s my-” “Assistant, sir. Good to put a name to the face, I’ve heard a lot about you.” You could practically hear Phil winking, laying on the Southern charm. You wrestled out of John’s grip, stepping out from behind his back. Phil’s hand was out for a handshake, but John hadn’t taken it, scanning the man up and down with suspicious eyes. “Funny, ‘cause I’ve never heard about you.” John tore his gaze away to catch yours, eyes slanted in anger. “I don’t have to tell you everything, John. I’ve got my own life, you know.” He looked almost hurt at your words, which couldn’t be true. Sure, you were fucking, but it’s not like this was a normal marriage. You knew he wouldn’t have wanted Phil working with you, just on the basis of him being a man. You didn’t want to be micromanaged by your own husband, so you simply hadn’t got around to telling him. 

“C’mere.” John tugged you towards the office, his grip hard. You could hear Terrance telling Phil to go home and wait for an update. Probably for the best. You imagined Terrance following him out, then debriefing with John’s driver about how much of an asshole their boss was.

“Why didn’t ya tell me?” John asked, arms crossed and face red. He’d shut the office door but remained standing since there wasn’t any furniture yet. “Because I knew you’d get like this.” You spit out, crossing your arms to mirror his. “Fuckin’ concerned fer the security of my wife? Tha’s a bad reaction?” You took a step back from him, crossing your arms tighter so you could pinch your waist, a reminder to stay strong.

“Controlling and caveman. This is my place of work, John, and you’ve embarrassed me in front of my coworker.” He doesn’t meet your eye, staring at the door so hard it might burst into flames. He looks like a predator ready to pounce, muscles trembling from restraint. “Ya don’t realize how many enemies I have. Every person needs t’ be checked.” Did he think you were stupid? “I had Terrance check him out. I know you don’t want me around your work, but I’m not an idiot, John.”

His rejection of your offer to travel with him weeks ago had stung more than you cared to admit. He clearly didn’t trust you, only seeing you as someone to fuck around with. You didn’t realize how far that lack of trust went.

“He should’ve reported it to Gaz.” John mutters. “He did. I know that for a fact.” John ran a hand through his hair, then dipped down to tug at his tie. “He didn’t fuckin’ tell me. Christ, he’s worse than I thought.” You wanted to ask what that meant, but you bit your lip instead. He obviously didn’t want to tell you.

“Look, I know I’m a bastard and you had that goddamn clause in the contract, but you can trust me. I’m not running around behind your back.” That got John’s gaze to snap back to you, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Tha’s wha’ ya think this is about?” You nod, suddenly unsure. “Sweetheart, that was Gaz’s idea. T’ see if you’d argue. I intended for you to ask fer another cheatin’ clause fer me, but ya didn’t so I let it go. ‘S nothin’ like tha’. Plus, I didn’t know ya then. I know ya now.” Oh.

“So you trust me?” What about the trip? You wanted to ask, but you figure that would show your hand too much. John nods slowly, uncrossing his hands to put them on his hips. “Don’t care tha’ yer a bastard. ‘M not fuckin’ anyone else, either. I’m just concerned fer yer safety.” He takes a few steps towards you, gauging your reaction to see if you step back. You don’t, uncrossing your arms and praying they don’t shake. He grabs your hands in his own, blue eyes swimming with openness. There are so many things you want to ask him about: your childhood, his father, the future. They all fall to the wayside when he leans down to kiss you, a gentle brush of his lips against yours. “If I didn’t trust ya, ya wouldn’t sleep in my bed.” He kisses your forehead, then cheek, before pulling back. “I need ya t’ believe me.” He demands it seriously. A sudden rush of affection hits your heart. He looks so truthful, so concerned, and you want to show him that same care back.

You lower to your knees. John steps back, unsure. “Sweetheart, ya don’t have to.” You shake your head, beckoning him to come near. “I want to.”

John tugs off the blazer he’s wearing, folding it into a light pillow. He squats down on his haunches, eyes on yours. A warm hand brushes your knees, urging you up so he can slip the blazer under them. He then stands; blue eyes dark as he brushes your cheek with his thumb. “Go’on, baby. Take whatever you want.”

You reach for his black belt, unfastening it with trembling hands. It unclips with ease, and John’s hands, hairy and veiny and strong, cloud your vision as he unfurls it from his belt loops. You continue downwards, undoing the midnight black of his button. You unzip slowly, licking your lips in anticipation. His fingers brush back the creases on your forehead, trailing down to brush the shell of your ear. “Feel ok?” You nod at his question, cupping him through his boxers. John releases a sharp exhale, a heady sense of power coming over you. You work the pants down fully to give you room, petting him this way and that.

Finally, you peel down the dark fabric of his boxers. He’s hairy but well-maintained, similar to his fuzzy torso you’ve felt in bed. His cock is thick and heavy, wet with precum as it slaps against his upper thigh. You tuck his boxers down to give you room, then start exploring. Kitten licks to the base of him, his hair tickling your nose. Your hand joins you to squeeze his balls, eliciting a sharp groan. John tugs on your hair, more out of instinct than control. “You feel ok?” You throw his words back at him, a cheshire smile growing as he moans again.

“Christ, those fuckin’ hands.” He responds. You move to start stroking, licking him from base to tip. He tastes like salt and musk, but clean with the scent of pine. It’s the most addicting scent on earth. After he’s wet and leaking, you steady yourself with a hand on his upper thigh and the other on your husband’s cock.

You finally take him in your mouth, tongue swirling around his tip. You hum and his grip on your hair tightens. “‘M gonna fuck yer mouth sometime.” You let go of him with a pop, leaning backwards. “Not tonight?” He shakes his head, reaching down to pump his cock in your absence. “I’m a few strokes from cummin’, sweetheart. You look too goddamn good on yer knees.” That earns a grin from you and a renewed sense of vigor.

You suck him hard this time, your hand making up the length you can’t cover. You work yourself into an easy rhythm, up and down as he cradles your face. It’s much softer than you’ve ever experienced from a man, careful and protective. He wasn’t kidding about how close he is, harsh pants emitting faster and faster from his chest. “Where d’ya want me, baby?” You don’t respond, keeping him in your mouth. All you do is blink sweetly, willing your eyes to look bigger than usual. “Fuckin’ perfect, my wife.” That sends a jolt to your heart, and you have to stop yourself from accidentally biting down. Instead of responding, you stroke faster and faster. His abs tense, and you pull back just slightly, letting him coat your tongue and lips. It’s salty but not bitter, a marker of how fucking healthy he is. You lick your lips, swallowing thickly. His thumb brushes off a bit from your nose, pushing his thumb into your mouth. You suck hard, like you did the night he first fingered you. He continues cleaning you up, careful and quiet in his movements. John tucks himself back into his pants and offers you a hand to help you off the floor.

“Your knees sore?” He whispers. You shake your head, suddenly feeling exposed despite not having taken your clothes off. “C’mere.” He tugs you into his arms, tucking you under his chin. “We good?” He asks. You want to say no, want to ask him all the questions swirling around in your head, but all you do is nod and hold him closer.

-

In the car, John’s hand on your thigh, your phone vibrates. It’s Phil.

Everything ok?

Yep! Marital problems, all good.

Your husband is intense.

He’s a sweetheart for me, all that matters 🙂

Good to know. See you tomorrow.

His tone is odd, but you shove that thought from your mind. John squeezes your hand, and you tuck your phone away, content to focus on your husband. Phil is the farthest thought from your mind.

-

um. smut. now they're like friends with problems? idk enemies got boring.

-

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[chrissturnsfav]

rapper!chris singer!reader are at a party some guy is making singer!reader uncomfortable she tells chris what’s he doing?

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris doesn't play about singer!reader

the party is in full swing, music pounding through the walls, bass shaking the floor. you’re off in the corner with your friends, sipping on something strong enough to make your chest warm. it’s comfortable and easy—but then...

you notice him first out of the corner of your eye. some guy, tall, loud, one of those guys who think the whole room revolves around him. he’s been circling for a while, and now he’s here, standing too close to you, his voice cutting through your friends' laughter.

"yo, you got a name, or am i just gonna have to call you ‘pretty’ all night?" he says, grinning like he’s some fucking hot shot.

you step back slightly, keeping your smile tight as you ignore the way you cringe at his shitty ass pick up line. "i’m good, thanks."

but he doesn’t back down that easy, leaning in like he owns the air between you. you can even feel his breath on your face, and it makes your nose scrunch up. "don’t be like that. i’m just tryna talk."

his drawl makes your skin prickle, the large and crowded space around you shrinking. you glance across the room, you see chris, manspreading on a couch with his rapper friends along with nick and matt, drink in hand, blunt between his plush lips, laughing at something someone just said.

you know how he gets after a few drinks—more protective, less patient—but you don’t care. you don’t feel safe.

you make your way over, weaving coyly through bodies until you’re standing in front of him. his eyes light up when he sees you, but his smile falters slightly when he catches your expression.

"wassup, kid?" he asks, sitting up straight as he looks up at you, elbows on his knees as he plucks the blunt out from between his lips. his tone is different now, serious.

you nod back toward the guy, not even wanting to look in that direction. "some dude’s being…weird, i dunno. just don't feel comfortable."

chris smirks dangerously, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek. he sets his drink down, his jaw tightening as he looks around the sea of people. "where?"

you hesitate, but he’s already on his feet, towering over you even though he’s not that tall—just commanding. you nod toward the guy across the room, and chris follows your gaze, his eyes narrowing.

"yo, hold this," he says to nick over his shoulder, handing the blunt to his brother—who looks confused, but chris doesn't let him ask any questions before he's on the move.

he crosses the room like he’s on a mission, brushing past people like they’re invisible. you trail behind, far enough to not get in his way but close enough to see everything. chris stops in front of the guy, sizing him up before he even says a word.

"yo," chris starts, voice low but sharp enough to cut through the noise. "sum'n wrong?"

the guy looks confused, glancing between you and chris. "nah, man, nothing's wrong."

"then why the fuck you over here talkin’ to my girl?" chris asks, his tone calm but dangerous. when the guy doesn't respond—processing what's going on and who he's being confronted by—chris scoffs, the same dangerous smirk on his lips again. "you ain't hear what i said, playboy?"

the guy tries to laugh it off, holding up his hands. "i didn’t know she was with anyone."

chris steps closer, and suddenly, the space feels electric. "yeah, aight," he snickers. this guy knows damn well you had a boyfriend. of course he did, everyone knows. "you gonna jus' continue to stand here lookin’ stupid, or you gonna move before i fuckin' make you?"

the guy mutters something under his breath and backs off, disappearing into the crowd. chris doesn’t even watch him leave. he turns to you instead, his hand sliding around your hips.

"you good, mama?" he asks, his voice softer now, his eyes scanning your face.

"yeah, i’m fine," you say, feeling a little more at ease with him so close.

he pulls you in, his lips brushing against your ear. "ain’t nobody messin’ wit' you when m'here. don’t even trip."

you roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. "you’re so dramatic."

he smirks, pulling back just enough to look at you. "nah, i ain't dramatic," he chuckles, his grip on your hips tightening, hang hovering just above your ass. "ion play 'bout my girl, that's all."

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast

@chrissturnsfav ™

[kaisaerinlover]

if you could describe kaiser in two words you would be forced to use the words mean and conniving, if you even dared to speak any bad about him that is. you darent even have a bad thought about him recently though, because he’s been ignoring you. he was so nice before? what happened? why doesn’t he like you anymore? is he too scared to break up? what’s going on?

kaiser can guess your thought process exactly, it’s funny really. funny how predictable and dense you are; it’s fine though. he doesn’t care, he likes you this way, panicky and anxious that he doesn’t like you anymore. he likes you a lot, that’s why he’s doing this, you know? after all, relationships don’t work for him unless he plays a little dirty with the other. manipulation is a staple of any relationship actually, or any sort of abuse. no one stays without toxicity, that’s not the way of the world. not the way of his world - and as far as he’s concerned, his world morphs into your world. when you choose to date him you unknowingly choose to abide by the laws of life he lived and continues to live by.

i mean, it’s not like he wants to ignore you (he does), it’s not like he wants to see how disgustingly despair filled you are every time he brushes you off like you’re nothing more than a stranger to him (he does), it’s not like he has a choice in any of this, he has to manipulate you, it’s just how life works (it’s not). if you were half as intellectual as he is, you would realise what he’s doing, but he thinks you should be thankful. thankful that he’s putting in this effort and going to these lengths just to ensure you won’t leave him anytime soon. he just loves you too much to let you go now. he let himself get attached to you, so this is your punishment. human emotions and attachments are the bane of his very existence, he hates them. he doesn’t like being so dependant on someone else, doesn’t like the way you affect him and his mood, hates feeling loved and hates knowing he has to give love in return; it’s difficult to learn after everything he’s experienced in life. this is your punishment for getting him so entranced with you. deal with it now, if you wanna date him this is what you get.

he’s a pretentious man, he won’t even label emotions as, well, just that: emotions. he labels them human emotions. he really thinks he’s way above them, knows himself as a god. but then again; it’s the opposite. he’s a subhuman piece of shit. what a complicated mind; any psychology student, therapist or simply just psychology interested freak would have a field day with him. but here he is instead with you. punishing you with his indifference for engraving yourself so deeply within his soul.

poor you, when he dismisses you the last time and goes to leave the house you break and cry. you cry like a baby, and he almost feels bad. only almost, not quite there yet, the face you make when you cry is quite beautiful, isn’t it? why does he do this to you? if he leaves you will he even come back? you can’t take it and you can’t risk it.

when kaiser feels you tug on his arm and hears your crying he smirks to himself before turning around. you’re easy; far too easy. he won. he turns around and stares at you, a stare so hard you swear it pierces right through you like a blade. “come on, d-don’t leave me-“ you somehow manage to sputter out between your arousing sobs. only a sicko like him could find something like this arousing, gross. his mask of nonchalance never slips though, what a crazy man he is, able to control and maintain everything; even his stimuli. control for the most part anyway. “hm?” he doesn’t even bother to give you a real worded answer, you’re not worth it are you?

kaiser is awfully good at mind games, he knows it, he’s enjoying playing with you. messing with your head, it’s even funner when he knows exactly what you’re thinking. you’re in shambles, to say the very least. all you can see in his eyes is contempt towards you. why is he leaving you? you don’t want that, is leaving you really so simple? so easy? such a mundane and effortless task? are you that unimportant he can disregard you and treat you like this without a second thought? is it because other girls are better? they have a knack for something that you just quite never grasped? how is that fair? he’s your whole world, hell you’re struggling right now with him being cold towards you for, in retrospect, a short amount of time. and he is yet to even bat an eyelash at the mistreatment he’s giving you.

his tone is brimming with derision when he opens his mouth next; “what are you talking about? dumb girl?” you feel so embarrassed, what does he mean? no, maybe he’s testing you, it’s a test isn’t it? to see if you’ll beg? you will, you would, you can, you’re going to, you’d do everything to ensure he stays. even if it’s degrading. dehumanising. even if anyone who found out how hard you begged for his love and affection would be disgusted with your desperation and drop you. you would do anything. “j-jus’ don’t leave me micha- i-i don’t even know what i did- please-“ you beg. and you plead. you’re so cute when you’re this desperate, playing right into his hands like putty. you’re priceless, adorable really. he has to put effort in to hide the smirk that wants to show on his face so badly. but then you say something that he’s heard a million times before. he’s heard you say it before too. but right now it pisses him off and makes him sick. makes him angry when you choke out through your tears a weak declaration of love.

“i l-love you-“ he hates it. he’s heard it so many times, from fans and empty headed fangirls, from you as well. but right now it makes him want to vomit. he’s angry, doesn’t know how to react to it in this situation. and it shows on his face. shows in his actions when he grabs you so roughly and smashes his lips into yours. when he pulls away, he’s looking into your eyes so deeply. you’re an idiot, you should know what loving him entails. he thinks you should shut your mouth. your admission made him feel guilty. god he wishes you’d just shut the fuck up; but his eyes are telling you differently. silently pleading for something he’s never allowed himself to want. and you can tell too, stupid as you are, you’re somehow able to read what he desires in the moment from his eyes alone. “micha i l-love you” you sputter out again. he licks his lips as he watches a tear roll down your cheek and feels his insides churn, flutter, disintegrate and whatever else as you confess to him again.

it’s rare, that he feels this way i mean, totally and utterly rare. he feels sickened at your words. filled with guilt. you really love him and he really loves you too, he can’t fathom why he insists on treating you in this way. he really can’t. and he can’t fathom why he feels so much guilt over it, because everything he does is for himself. he’s a self indulgent man; that’s why he’s even more confused when he instinctively reaches out to wipe a tear running down your cheek away. he lives for himself and to make himself feel alive, tending to you doesn’t exactly fit into the equation most of the time, so he’s not sure why is body is subconsciously moving to aid you. he’s not sure why he’s suddenly aching to comfort you. he’s not sure why he’s reconsidering what he did by now. manipulating isn’t nice, only an idiot doesn’t know that, and he’s no idiot. he’s one of the smartest people you’ll ever meet in your life.

and you, sweet you, you’re hardly a victim of this anymore. you’re letting it happen, sitting and letting him do whatever he wishes with you. you’re as disgusting as he is in a way. he might have you wrapped around his thumb; he might be a master of manipulation, but you’ve had so many chances to leave yet you haven’t. because you’re dumb deep down. dumber than what he takes you for. as he dotes on you in a manner that he perceives is against his free will, you instantly feel at ease and better. you forget everything bad he just did to you. forget the weeks you spent having to play guessing games to work out why he’s suddenly giving you the icy cold treatment, you give in to his whims and relish in the attention he’s suddenly showering you in. it’s not that you’re entirely lacking in self awareness, no, quite the opposite actually. you’re just convinced he’s not all that bad, that deep down he’s not mean at all, he’s not evil to the core. and as much as even he would like that to be true, he knows it’s not. he had a rough start in life, a rough childhood, a rough few years. he’s never had it easy - but he can’t pretend that he hasn’t had any chances to change.

as he strokes your hair and feels you lean into his touch, he ponders all of the opportunities handed to him on a platter to rebuild himself into something better. remembers how all he’s ever wanted is to be loved, yet he pushes away or straight up abuses the ones who adore him the most. in a weird self loathing way, but also a display of superiority, to show how everyone around him is disposable, how important he is compared to everybody else. he’s convinced he’s evil down to the very blood courses through him, every cell in his body, and you’re convinced he’s not bad at all. that this is all some weird ploy. you’re not entirely sure, you just don’t want to believe he’s mean.

neither of you are wrong. he’s not as kindhearted as you’d like to believe he is and he’s not as cruel as he hates believing he is. the truth is that you’ve rubbed off on each other deeply. that your empathy and grace has moved him and shaped his person into something new entirely, and how his narcissistic tendencies and manipulative nature have made you more susceptible to his, well, his something. malice? shenanigans? there’s simply not a word in english to describe this man. whatever goes on in the brain of michael kaiser is complicated.

and as he holds you, rubs his hand up and down your back as he finds himself holding you so tightly, he realises he almost regrets ignoring you for all of that time. making you believe he really doesn’t love you anymore when he really loves you more than anything in the world. only almost though, because he enjoys having you like this. vulnerable and cute in his lap, longing for his attention. his beloved girl, only for him, all his. he knows it’s wrong but he has to keep doing what he’s doing to you. needs to keep up the cycle of nonstop manipulation, or you might leave. he doesn’t want you to become self aware and leave him.

and as you listen to his heartbeat whilst leaning your head against his toned chest, feeling some of his hair fall atop your head, you feel content. even if you’re self aware already, even though you know it’s so disturbing and messed up to even feel anything except contempt about this dynamic, you feel at peace. you and kaiser deserve each other after all, you’re just too stupid to realise it. kaiser remembers your earlier affections, the ones he left unreturned. you’re an idiot, he thinks. saying you love him, it has dark connotations. it doesn’t bestow anything but misfortune upon you, but you say it anyway. “meine geliebte, i love you so much” he whispers into your ear, nipping at it. he can feel his heart beating against your soft cheek. he lets out a sigh of relief he didn’t even know he was holding in. he feels tranquil too. this and soccer, this and hurting others, this and hurting you; this is what makes him feel alive. he feels alive. he knows he’s alive.

“love you too micha” you confess back, not like it’s much of a confession anyway, nor a secret. and as he strokes your hair gently and kisses your forehead, gives you these small gestures of love and tenderness in a rare moment of uncharacteristic softness, does these things for you as you confess back; he knows he’s alive.

he knows he’s alive because his heartbeat sped up a bit and he feels tingly inside. because of your words and your devote to him. he wonders if this is how you feel too. being gentle isn’t all so bad, but don’t get used to it.

you know not to get used to it, but even you can’t help but to fantasise about being a normal couple with kaiser.

not that either of you mind this, though. you thrive on the toxicity and uncertainty this dynamic provides, as twisted as it is. and at least you love each other. at least you’re pampered and provided with attention. at least kaiser found someone that makes him feel really and truly alive. someone he knows he can ensure won’t leave.

[cakerybakery]

Adam stared off into the distance. “Eve, I think a goat is following us.”

Eve stops picking berries and looks off where Adam is looking. “Who? Mister Munchies?”

“… did you name a goat?”

“Yes? He was cute.” Eve shrugged and went back to picking berries. “He likes apples.”

“Don’t feed the goats, Eve. We can’t take care of them and ourselves.”

“Imma going feed the goats, Adam.” She popped a berry in her mouth. “Then, imma going milk ‘em.”

Adam wrinkled his nose and grimaced in horror. “Don’t milk the male goats, Eve!”

The goat followed them back to their hut. Adam spent weeks ignoring the goat while Eve fed it, petted it, and told the stupid goat he was the handsomest boy in the whole world.

He wasn’t jealous. Not at all. Not of that stupid goat and how stupid Eve stupid liked the stupid thing.

EVE WAS HIS WIFE! The goat could get his own fucking wife. Feeding that stupid goat the good apples.

“Fucking goat.” He muttered under his breath as he watched Eve walk towards him after leaving the goat.

“Adam?” She fidgeted nervously.

He raised an eyebrow and asked what the matter was.

She looked back over at the goat lying in the shade of a tree. “I’ve been talking to Mister Munchies, and he was wondering if you’d like to mate.”

“What? No. I’m not mating with a… talking goat. God damn him. How long as Mister Munchies been able to talk?” Adam sighed and rubbed his temples.

“Umm, always?”

He took her by the shoulders and spoke as seriously as he could. “Eve, that’s Lucifer.”

She looked at him, then the goat. She scrunched up her face in thought. “No? Lucifer was a snake. He’s a goat.”

“He can change his shape, Eve!”

Again she looked long and hard at the goat. “Hmm. I’m not sure.”

“He talks, sweetie.”

“Hmm.” She pulled away from him. “I’m going to ask Mister Munchies if he’s Lucifer.”

He just sighed and dropped his arms to his sides. “Yeah, you go do that.”

Adam watched her walk back to the goat, then down at the river where a giant wheel was spinning and grinding down flour. “She built that, but isn’t smart enough to figure out goats don’t talk.” He sighed heavily and continued to mutter to himself. “Guess it was the fruit of knowledge, not the fruit of common sense.”

[woozinhos]

heyy gorgeous 🎀

Could I request angry sex with dokyeom where the reader is overwhelmed

With a lots of fluffffffff💗

Feel free to ignore if uncomfortable 😚😚🫶🏻

Notes: back to writing hope you enjoy guys hehe

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────��

Smut below the cut

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

Dokyeom was furious. He had seen you talking to another guy, laughing and flirting like you had forgotten all about him. The jealousy and possessiveness had taken over him, and he couldn't hold back his anger anymore. He cornered you in the bedroom, his eyes dark with fury.

"Who was that guy you were talking to?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing. Dokyeom's expression was cold and stern, a complete contrast to his usual cheerful demeanor. He took a step closer to you, his eyes narrowing as he waited for your answer.

"Answer me," he said through gritted teeth. "Who was he?" You swallowed hard, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to find the words to explain. "He's just a friend," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "We were just talking, that's all." Dokyeom's jaw clenched, his anger not abating in the slightest.

"Just a friend, huh?" he repeated, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You were laughing and flirting with him like you were enjoying his company." Dokyeom took another step closer, closing the distance between you until you were backed up against the wall. He towered over you, his body radiating a possessive energy.

"I don't like seeing you talk to other guys like that," he growled, his hands resting on either side of your head, trapping you in place. "You're mine. I don't want anyone else touching you or making you laugh like that." Dokyeom's hand moved from the wall to your ass, his grip tight and possessive as he pulled you flush against him.

"You belong to me," he repeated, his voice a low rumble in your ear. "No one else gets to touch you like this. No one else gets to make you feel the way I do." Dokyeom's lips attacked your neck with a fervor, his teeth and tongue working overtime to leave marks on your skin. He was claiming you, marking you as his own in the most primal way possible.

"Mine," he repeated between kisses, his hands roaming over your body as he pressed himself against you. "You're mine to touch, to taste, to do whatever I want with." Dokyeom's words were rough and possessive, but there was a hint of vulnerability beneath them.

"I'll never let anyone else touch you like this," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he continued to kiss and bite at your neck. "No one else can make you feel the way I do. No one can give you the pleasure that I can." You let out a soft gasp as Dokyeom's hands continued to explore your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "Dokyeom," you said, your voice shaky with desire. "I don't want anyone else. I only want you." Dokyeom's grip on you tightened, a mixture of relief and possessiveness washing over him at your words.

"Good," he said, his voice a low growl. "Because I won't let anyone else have you. You're mine to take care of, mine to protect, mine to satisfy." He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that took your breath away. Dokyeom pushed you back onto the bed, following you down and covering your body with his own. He pinned you beneath him, his hands roaming over your body as he began to kiss and nibble at your ear.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "I'm going to make you feel so good that you'll never forget who you belong to." Dokyeom's hands quickly found the hem of your dress, and he tugged it off with a swift motion, tossing it aside without a second thought. He took a moment to admire your now-bare body, his eyes roaming over your skin with a hungry look.

"Beautiful," he said again, his voice hoarse with desire. "So beautiful and all mine." Dokyeom's hands continued to roam over your body, his touch growing more urgent and possessive. He ran his hands up your thighs, squeezing and massaging them as he settled himself between your legs.

"I need you," he whispered, his lips trailing down your collarbone and over your chest. "I need to feel you, to be inside you." Dokyeom's lips reached your breasts, and he took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and nibbling on it as his hands continued to explore your body. His other hand moved down between your legs, teasing and rubbing you through your underwear.

"So wet for me already," he groaned, his voice thick with need. "You're so ready for me." Dokyeom's fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your underwear, finding your sensitive clit and starting to circle it with practiced ease. He watched your reactions intently, his eyes dark with desire as he continued to pleasure you. "You like that, don't you?" he said, his voice a low growl. "You like it when I touch you like this."

"Yes," you gasped out, your back arching off the bed as Dokyeom's fingers worked their magic. "I love it. I love it when you touch me." Dokyeom pulled back slightly, his eyes locked on yours as he spoke.

"I'm going to take you now," he said, his voice low and authoritative. "And I'm going to make you scream my name." He quickly discarded his own clothes, leaving him completely bare before you. His body was toned and muscular, a perfect reflection of his athletic nature. He leaned back down, covering your body with his own once again.

"You're mine," he whispered again, his lips against your ear. "And I'm going to make sure you never forget it." Dokyeom pushed into you with a sudden, powerful thrust, filling you completely in one swift motion. He groaned at the feeling of being inside you, his eyes closing for a moment as he savored the sensation.

"You feel so good," he said through gritted teeth, starting to move against you with slow, deliberate strokes. "So tight and perfect for me." Dokyeom's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming harder and faster as he drove himself into you. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he took you with a primal intensity.

"You're mine," he growled again, his words punctuated by the sound of skin slapping against skin. "No one else will ever have you like this. You belong to me, body and soul." Every moan that escaped your lips sent a thrill through Dokyeom, spurring him on to take you harder and faster. He could feel your nails digging into his back, your body responding to his every movement.

"That's it," he groaned, his voice strained with pleasure. "Let me hear you. Let me hear how good I'm making you feel." Dokyeom's grip on your hair tightened, pulling your head back and exposing your neck to him. He bit down on the sensitive skin there, marking you once again as his own.

"You're mine to take," he said through gritted teeth, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared his own release. "And I'll do whatever I want to you, whenever I want." Dokyeom's moans mingled with yours, his breathing becoming ragged as he continued to claim you. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a possessive intensity. "I'm going to come," he gasped out, his thrusts becoming erratic and desperate. "And I want you to come with me. Come for me, baby."

"You're the only one who can make me feel this way," Dokyeom said, his voice rough with desire. "The only one who can make me lose control like this. You're the only one who can take all of me and make me feel so damn good." He thrust into you harder, his body tensing as he approached his peak.

"And I'm going to fill you up," he continued, his words a mix of possessiveness and desperation. "I'm going to fill you with my cum and claim you from the inside out." Dokyeom's words pushed you over the edge, and you felt your own orgasm building deep within you. His thrusts grew more frantic, his grip on your hair tightening as he felt your body begin to quiver beneath him.

"That's it," he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. "Come for me, baby. Come on my cock." Dokyeom let out a loud, guttural moan as he came, his body shuddering as he released himself inside you. He continued to thrust into you, his movements slowing as he rode out his orgasm, filling you with his seed.

"Fuck," he groaned, collapsing on top of you as he tried to catch his breath. "Hope you’ve learnt your lesson." Dokyeom's primal intensity faded away as he came down from his orgasm, leaving him in a state of contentment and cuddly affection. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and nuzzling his face into your neck.

"You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice soft and sleepy. "I love you so much." Dokyeom continued to hold you tightly, his arms wrapped around you in a warm, protective embrace. He planted soft kisses along your shoulder and neck, occasionally whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

"I don't want to let go," he said, his voice filled with tenderness. "You're my everything, and I just want to hold you like this forever." Dokyeom continued to kiss your face, his lips trailing over your cheeks and forehead as he checked in on you. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, his eyes filled with concern. "I wasn't too rough with you, was I?"

"No, you weren't too rough," you replied, snuggling closer to him. "You were perfect, as always." Dokyeom smiled at your words, his heart swelling with affection for you. "Good," he said, his voice filled with relief. "I just wanted to make sure I didn't hurt you. You mean everything to me.” Dokyeom's expression darkened slightly as he continued to hold you close.

"Promise me something," he said, his voice firm. "Promise me that you'll never talk to any other guys again. You're mine, and I don't want anyone else trying to take you away from me."

[girl-lostconnection]

Continuation that I promised to come back with as a response to this ask

The Lad

Simon doesn’t think much before choosing military. He’s never been much for academics and military at least guarantees some stable income.

Yeah, at the expense of his health and possibly life but well, at least he gets to make something out of himself. (At least he gets away from home and dad and heavy Manchest skies)

Simon can’t stand the thought of you “settling” for him.

Because you are bloody brilliant, you are soft and beautiful and strong. And impossibly, you love him.

You haven’t said it yet, you are keeping it close to your heart but you don’t need to — it’s something even he can see.

Simon wants to be something worthy of that love.

He wasn’t sure what he expected when he announced that he’s going away to serve in military but it definitely wasn’t this panicked look in your eyes and trembling hands because hey…hey hey hey, it’s okay, love, it’s not permanent, yeah? He will come back to you, of course he will, sweetheart, do you think he’d just leave the best thing ever happened to him?

Darling, you are everything and he’s just a kid from a broken home and broken family and he wants to be something. He wants to feel that he actually deserves all that love and care.

He wants to know that he is something to be proud of, that you won’t be wasting away with someone like him.

Your future is bright even if you don’t get into fancy university or college, but Simon is bottom of the barrel in the grander scheme of things.

He wants to work for his place by your side.

He wants to come back and know that he deserves be with you, that he deserves to ask for you to stay with him. Forever and always.

But it all can wait because for now he wraps himself around you — tall and lanky, sharp angles softening around you, short tight kisses to the crown of your head.

He’s gonna come back, love, he promises.

Simon holds you tight and ignores the way his own eyes sting because god, the time would crawl while he’s away from you. Because he never wants to spend another day without you but he knows that if he doesn’t do something to prove to himself and everyone else that he can make something of himself…he will regret it for the rest of his life.

So he rasps out “write to me, will ya, luv?”, thumbs swiping away your tears, backpack slinged over his shoulder, your scarf wrapped around his neck.

And he’s so scared, he’s so fucking scared because it will take him at least few years before he can come back. And what if you meet someone else? What if someone who’s already worthy of your softness comes by when he’s out there bleeding and clawing his way up?

What if he comes back changed and you won’t want him anymore?

What if-what if-what if-what if.

But you kiss him before he goes and it’s salty from tears, it’s desperate and it’s so hungry he remembers that even if you didn’t have anyone you two always had each other. Nothing would change it.

All he can do is jump off the cliff and hope that his wings appear on the way down.

You are both crying when he finally gets on the bloody bus, eyes red-rimmed and noses sniffling but you pepper his wet face with kisses, hiss that he has to come back, that you will kill him if he won’t.

And Simon can’t help but laugh — sound wet and gurlgy from the mucus and all the water but he’s smiling again, eyes impossibly soft because god, you truly are something, aren’t you, love?

“You are magic, luv. Never forget tha’. Never forget me, olright? I’ll come back”, he sounds almost reverent, voice thick with devotion and something else, hands holding your face like the most precious thing in the world.

He’ll come back. Just wait for him, okay?

Goodbye, love.

And goodnight.

[moonandst4rs]

"Stay with me, I don't want you to leave"

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Part two of "Think I like you best when you're just with me, And no one else"

Warnings: Angst, fluff, no use of y/n, gn!reader x Dean Winchester,

A/N: Inspired by K. - Cigarettes after sex. Any feedback and requests are welcome !! Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated <3

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You tried to let it go. You truly did, but the pain of your situation was agonizing. The more you ignored it, the more it broke you down.

In a moment of bravery, you gathered the courage. "Why do you treat me differently when we're with other people?" you asked softly, your eyes fixed on the window of the rundown motel room. Your gaze drifted to the moon, as if willing it to hide you. You saw the tension creep into Dean's body. "What?" he whispered, his hand freezing on your arm.

"When we're with Sam, or Cas, or even Bobby, you're different… distant," you continued, searching for the truth behind the distance. "Is it me? Are you ashamed of us?" The words trembled on the edge of your lips, the fear of hearing the answer almost unbearable.

For a moment, he was silent—surprisingly so. You could see him wrestling with something deep inside. He took a slow breath, then turned to look into your eyes, his gaze searching yours for something you couldn’t name. Finally, he spoke. "It’s not you, sweetheart," he said, pulling you closer and kissing your forehead, his lips lingering there just a second longer than usual. "Don’t start thinking you’re the problem."

His words were comforting, but you still needed more. You couldn't walk away without understanding. "Then what is the problem, Dean?" you pressed, searching his face for the truth. "You can tell me. I won’t judge you." You lowered your voice, a soft plea for him to let his guard down.

"It’s just… I don’t…" His voice faltered, the emotions he usually kept buried creeping into his words. You waited patiently, knowing he needed time. His hesitation didn’t frustrate you; it only made you wish he’d be easier on himself. You knew the weight he carried. You wanted him to share it, not hold it alone.

"I’m not good at this, okay?" he admitted, the words slipping out, raw and vulnerable. "I don’t know how to be in a real relationship. When it’s just us, it’s easy. But when we’re around them, I feel like I gotta keep it together. Like if I let my guard down, something bad’s gonna happen. I’m scared, alright? Scared of what they’ll think, scared of messing this up, scared of losing you." His voice softened, and for the first time, you saw his eyes unguarded, full of honesty. "It’s not that I don’t care. I care too much. I just don’t know how to show it without feeling like I’m risking everything."

His words hit you hard. You’d been waiting for him to open up, and now, here it was. You took his hand gently, grounding him in the moment. "Dean," you said softly, "I understand. I know you’re trying to protect us, but I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to hide your feelings from me. I love you, walls and rough edges and all. But this distance? It hurts." You searched his eyes, your voice steady but filled with emotion. "I want us to be real, even around Sam and Cas. Even when things are tough. You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, and we’re in this together. But you have to let me in." You squeezed his hand, your heart pounding in your chest. "I don’t want to feel like I’m losing you when we're around other people. I need all of you, not just the parts you think are safe."

"I don’t know how to let my guard down," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes met yours, filled with uncertainty. "I’ve spent so long protecting myself, keeping people at a distance. It’s hard to imagine anyone sticking around when the walls come down." He exhaled sharply, the weight of his words heavy in the air. "But you’re right. You deserve more than what I’ve been giving you. You deserve all of me." He paused, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let the walls fall, just a little. "I’ll work on it. I’ll try to be better for you… for us. I want to try." His thumb brushed your hand, a rare, tender gesture. "You mean too much to me not to."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a quiet promise that he was here and ready to open up, ready to let you in.

[bethebesttoyou]

Times are Hard for Dreamers - Choi Beomgyu

synopsis: Friends Beomgyu and Y/N try to have a good day at the fair.

pairing: College student! Beomgyu x College student! reader

song: Times are Hard for Dreamers - Amelie

warning/tags: cursing, fluff!!, me trying to be funny and failing, friends to lovers, I wanted to make it jess and nick coded but Beomgyu is just too sweet... reader is an overly optimistic person!!!!

Wc: 3.6k (I swear im not doing this on purpose D:)

A/N: Beomgyu fic... we win. I actually really wanted to write a Beomgyu fic for awhile but I didn't really have an idea, UNTIL NOW!!! I have like half of vampire in the corner worked on, but I started school, so idk IDK I'll have to see where I can go with that story. I also get so many ideas for longer fics, but I can't lock in :( In the meantime, I want to continue writing one shots!! :3

Beomgyu leans his head against the headrest, stretching out his arms and grunting before checking his watch again. He closes his eyes in frustration before looking back at your front door, his sunglasses dimming his overall view. When you told him 12 pm, he should've known better, should’ve read in between the lines, the way you excitedly ranted about the day you had in store for the both of you. He should've known when he surprisingly got you tickets to the very popular fall fair, that you would overwhelm yourself with planning. Now, 30 minutes later, he watches your front door intently, praying it opens. And it works, out you come prettily dressed in a tan long sleeve and plaid long skirt, both accentuated the curvature of your body so nicely, he wishes you could go back in so he can compose himself. But as you smiled widely at his presence, sending him a wave before adjusting your bag over your shoulder, he settled for a nervous cough and looked away, only looking back at you when you were finally sitting in the passenger seat. He scowls at you playfully. 

“Oh. Beomgyu we have to leave by 12 or we're gonna miss the opening…Oh Beom, please sleep early and get here on time, Oh Beom-” He mocked, only letting out a laugh when you punch his shoulder. 

“It's still 12…we’ll make it if you just drive, like now!” You roll your eyes playfully and start messing with his radio and he just scoffs, putting the car on drive. 

Beomgyu honestly couldn't care less about this fall fair, if it were up to him, he would've been home, relaxing after the terror from being buried in papers and exams and research during midterms, but he didnt think twice of buying them. When he saw the posters all over campus he knew you would want to go, he already pictured the way your eyes would brighten from the mere mention of the mazes, the games, the snacks, he knew you would just obsess over the last activity of the day, fireworks. And when he mentioned it to you, he was right. 

“I-I would love to!” You exclaim turning to your friends behind you, some of them snickering knowingly. 

“Hey gyu, where are our tickets?” Yeonjun bumps Kai’s shoulder before feigning ignorance. 

“Shut up.”

So maybe his crush on you wasn’t exactly hidden, he was a man after all, and it was only natural that someone as optimistic and bright as you would catch the attention of a pessimist that lacks that brightness in his life. He loved to act like he didn't care much about anything, but he cared a lot about you. He couldn't fight the urge of showing it, catering to your likings with fake annoyance, but in reality he lived for your excitement, it only fueling him to continue, he was surprised you've been the only one to not catch on, or maybe internally grateful you hadn't, he didn't think he was ready for that yet. 

But he thought of it, especially now as he heard your raving about the itinerary for the day, having done your research on the different activities and food stands being offered at the event, and he was glad to be the first one to ask you, he couldn't imagine you doing this with anyone else, he would rather die. 

“Jesus, does it tell you how I'm gonna die on that paper?” He teases anyways, and you grunt. 

“I want to take full advantage of today, we deserve a day of stress free fun!” 

“I guess I can agree.” 

“Trust me Gyu, we're gonna have so much fun, you're gonna want to come back.” You promised. “This paper is gonna be our lifeline today, just as long as we stick to it, we should be able to do everything! Here’s your copy.” 

He laughs at your ridiculous planning but believes in you anyways. He just wanted to spend time with you, grateful to have you all to himself, so he was more than willing to follow a piece of paper if it meant it was guaranteed. 

The car ride was meant to be a long one, the directions sending you out of the city you both occupied, to the closest open field your campus can find to set up. Yet, the drive didn't feel as long as Beomgyu expected, your voice causing him to lose track of time, paying attention to your silly stories and gossip he hated to admit was pretty interesting. 

“So, they were not dating? Just fucking?” 

“Ningning said that she said they weren't…and now they're just not talking anymore…” 

“That's annoying…” 

“That's what I'm saying!They definitely like each other, they’re just dumb.He’s gotta step up.” You roll your eyes and he can't help but feel the pink heat rise to his face. 

He finally parks, turning off the ignition and turns to you, once again taking in the sight. You were everything, he thought, there's not a single sweet word that doesn't describe you. Watching you as you straighten the paper, he watches your delicate fingers scan the page, before speaking. 

“Okay! Well, we missed the opening ceremony but it's fine, I didn't care much for it anyways…First on the list is for you. Let’s start with…coffee! yay!” You say hoping out of the car, him laughing at your excitement. Giving the worker the tickets, you immediately head towards the coffee stand to the right, ignoring that Beomgyu was in awe of the set up. It was the middle of the day, but the entire fair was lit up like those old carnivals you would see in the movies. Laughter and screams could be heard from every corner, the smell of popcorn and sweets mixing together and clogging his nostrils, he could see why you were excited, this place was like a manifestation of your personality: fun, nostalgic and comforting. 

“Beomgyu! I got your drink!” you yell from afar, and he turns around, walking, stepping towards you before, watching in horror as someone cuts him off, bumping into you and spilling both coffees on your chest. 

“Dude, what the fuck?” Beomgyu says turning to the offender, as they apologize profusely. 

“Are you okay?” 

“-you okay?” they both asked frantically, Beomgyu already taking your hand, starting to lead you to the closest stand with napkins. He completely misses the way your face turns pink, before you laugh awkwardly, distracted from his own flustered feeling, he feels like a Victorian man by just the touch of your soft hand, the hotness spreading from your connected hands to all over his body.

“Good thing, it wasn't hot coffee right?” You squeeze his hand before taking a napkin. 

You turn to the apologizing stranger, “it's fine! You're fine! It was an accident!” you say, before turning back again and smiling at Beomgyu, “it was an accident.” Now softer, trying to ease the scowl on his face. 

After politely rejecting the strangers' pleas to help, he finally leads you to another nearby stand, hoping to find a shirt to replace the sticky top you were now stuck with. After looking at the selections, the only one in your size was a muddy green shirt that had a random koala bear with sunglasses on with the words, “Koalified to party” Beomgyu looks at you with sorry eyes, as you gulp at the shirt. 

“So much for cute pictures today…” You say from behind the fitting room curtain.”But it's okay! This is gonna be a fun story to tell the group!,” You laugh lightly, walking out of the makeshift fitting room only to Beomgyu trying to stifle a laugh. You flick his forehead before continuing, 

“No! It looks good! You look good!” He laughs. 

“Well, forget coffee! Back to the paper! Next stop…um…the swings!” 

The high swings were towards the back, and Beomgyu noticed every time you looked down at your watch, you’d start walking faster, the furrow of your eyebrows becoming more evident as the walk continued. Once you got to the front, your smile came back and shined brightly towards the worker before dropping completely when he pointed out the line that stood behind you. 

“A-and um… how long is the wait?” 

“All ride lines right now are going to be about two hours or so.” the worker says, apologetically looking at you both. 

Beomgyu is starting to realize what type of day this was going to be, and he wanted to suggest going home, or finding something else to do, trying to avoid even more disappointment. If he had known it was going to be this packed or this difficult to enjoy the day, he wouldn't have suggested it at all and you would have had to plan an entire day just for it to completely fall apart in front of you. But when you turn to him with determination in your eyes, he remembers you are never one to back down.  

“Okay, new plan! We no longer wait for the rides, let's just play some games! Maybe head to the maze after! That should still give us time to make it back for the fireworks!” you say, your smile was not as big as it was 3 hours ago, but it was still there. Beomgyu wanted to check on you just in case. 

“You okay? We can always just-” 

“No time for that! We have the paper!” You say already walking away. 

—

It had been two hours into playing games, and after you exclaimed how obsessed you were with the giant  light brown teddy bear that hung from the corner of the stand, the bow that laid just below its ear making you squeal, you both took turns playing trying to knock down the obvious glued golden cups. You and Beomgyu both lost about 100 dollars combined. The carny had been a bored looking teenager, would laugh every time he saw you guys walk back to the end of the line, but you both were too frustrated to even care. Beomgyu honestly didnt want the stupid fucking bear, it wasnt worth it, but in his mind, you needed this win (and he wanted this win for you, so bad)and so each time it was his turn, he would throw the ball more aggressively, trying to fight the look of disappointment on your face when the cup would resist the blow. He didn't want to feel bad, but he did, immensely, as he watched you throw the ball and grunt loudly. You start rubbing your temple out of sheer frustration before sighing. 

“One more go…Just one more go, okay?” You say to him, and he watches you line up one last time, the look of determination etched on your face. Only for the small child in front of you to knock the golden cup, the ringing congratulatory bell going off as you watch with a straight face. The cheers were so loud and in Beomgyu’s opinion, obnoxious, that he wanted nothing more than to just comfort you, take you away from the scene and offer you some solace, but the fear of rejection kept him from doing so. 

“Well, it's maze time.” You say as you watch the child and their parents walk off with the giant bear, your eyes reflecting shame, embarrassment and sadness. Beomgyu decided that his heart could bear the negative emotion in your eyes, it wasn't you,he thought.

“Hey what if we just get out of here? Get something to eat, yeah?” 

“N-no we cant! The paper! The maze! fireworks! We can't miss the fireworks! You bought me these tickets, we can let them go to waste!” you panic, but your eyes look defeated. Beomgyu doesn't want to burst your bubble, he really wishes things could have been different, but he can't stand the thought of watching you get disappointed again. With the way things are going, he knew the fireworks were gonna follow the same fate. He knew you to be optimistic, never letting things get you down, but he wasn't so sure as to why you were so determined for this day to go perfectly. You had never been so obsessed with the details before.  

“y/n… it's okay, really! … l-lets just go…” your eyebrows, that were slightly slanted and eyes that were soft, immediately switched to anger, with now furrowed eyebrows and flames in your eyes. 

“Y-you can go then. But I'm going to the maze. Don't follow me. ” You say stomping away, leaving Beomgyu shocked and guilty. He wasn't sure what was going on, what had made you so determined to finish the day, even if it meant you were no longer standing by the end of it. 

He felt horrible. All he wanted was to see your smile again, to see you enjoying the fair like he had hoped you would, yet this mysterious pressure was nearly forcing you into a breakdown. He wanted to fix this, needed to. He was determined now, no longer caring if he looked too doting, even if it made his feelings visible to you, he was going to make it up to you. Starting with that fucking bear. 

He stalks up to the stand, where the same bored looking teenager now stood with an amused look on his face, watching Beomgyu stand mere feet away from him. 

“How much for the bear.” They had replaced it with a new one already. 

“Not for sale, man, you gotta win.” 

Beomgyu stares at him, hoping to read him well. 

“Ill give you 50 bucks for it.” 

“Ha! Make it a hundred and you got a deal.” 

“60.” 

“120, and I'll throw in a ferris wheel ride with my buddy over there.” Beomgyu blushed at the thought. That sparked an idea. 

“During the fireworks?” the boy thought about it for a second. 

“I guess I can make that happen…might cost a bit extra though…” 

“Fuck, whatever. Deal.” 

–

Beomgyu thought about waiting for you outside of the maze entrance, but it had been 30 minutes and you were still not out. He had seen those that enter after you already come out and he began to feel nervous. Worried thoughts of missing the fireworks became worried thoughts of something happening to you in the maze. His worries got worse when your phone was sending him to voicemail. 

So with tired arms and heavy grunts, he walks into the maze, keeping track of his turns, which he learned he didn't have to, you weren't that far from the opening, yet, you were scrunched down, head buried in your hands, crying. 

“Y/N?” He says muffled the giant bear barely fitting through the small isles of corn. 

“Oh thank god!- Wait what the hell?” You said, tear stained cheeks, and now wide confused eyes staring at the bear that covered most of his body.

‘Why are you crying?” He asks, and it almost looks like the bear is talking. 

“I got lost…” You were lost in the presence of the bear, “D-Did you win this?” 

“Um…”

He had questions too, but as he looked up and realized that it was finally dark, he pulled your hand and began to run out of the maze, 

“Questions later! We're gonna be late!” 

“For?” 

“You’ll see!” 

—-

Once you got to the ferris wheel, you watched as Beomgyu walked past the long line into the stand. Beomgyu notices you are about to interrupt, glossy eyes and all, but turns when he hears his name. 

“You Beomgyu?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is the bear your date? If not, it's gonna have to stay down here, it's not gonna fit.” the carny chuckles, Beomgyu glares back. 

“Whatever gets me up there man.” 

“Hey… A-Are we getting on?” 

Beomgyu notices your face that was just laced with pure confusion. He smiles softly before leaving the bear behind, leading you to your cart, sitting next to you and securing your seatbelt. It's only then does he understand the gravity of the situation and he's thinking he might have flown a little too close to the sun. This was, very clearly, a romantic gesture, and Beomgyu had no plan, whatsoever. This was it, he planned getting you up here, watching the fireworks, but then what? What can you do on a ferris wheel in a platonic way? Talking! You could talk! Talk while you wait for the fireworks! 

He tries to think of things to say, but how can he?  when you are so close and he can smell your fruity perfume, mixed with a hint of coffee. Your lips ,that had always attracted his eyes to stare at them while you spoke, now don't have to say anything for him to notice them there, parted and soft before stretching into a shy smile. 

“...How did you do all this?” he shakes his head.

“That doesn't matter, I'm sorry the day has been such a mess and I haven't been much help either…” You scoff. 

“That's definitely not your fault, I'm sorry…the one that wanted to make this all perfect.” 

“Yeah, why is that?” Beomgyu feels self conscious as you stare at him for a minute, before laughing awkwardly. 

“Can I give you something? You promise not to laugh?” He feels the pressure from your words, fear of what may come next. Oh god, he thought, someone told you about his feelings… He nods anyway, accepting fate. You were now at the highest point on the ferris wheel, and Beomgyu begged for the show to start, scared of hearing what you were going to say. 

You reach into your bag, before pulling a thinly worn folded notebook paper before handing it to him. Written on top was his name and a small heart next to it. He shivered at the sight. 

“I-its a note… I wrote it the day of graduation” You laugh, “it's silly and it was never going to see the light of day, but I don't know…I felt ready. Well sorta…” You are looking away now, trying hard not to make it more awkward than you are starting to feel. The fireworks start, popping and lighting up the sky, but Beomgyu can't focus as he's now shakingly opening the note. 

A confession note. 

Beomgyu gasps, reading the contents, before looking at you. You’re looking up in admiration of the colors before you, the shapes that manifest in the night sky, a nervous smile sets on your lips, fingers nervously holding on to the rail of your cart. He knows you feel his gaze on you but refuses to turn to him. 

“Y/N…” 

“It's okay, Beomgyu! Really! I just…I needed to do something about this letter… I was holding on to it for way too long.” You're not really talking about the letter, Beomgyu believes. When he can't find the words yet, you continue. 

“I just.. I hope this doesn't change us, I hope we can still be friends… Please…” Pleading eyes are what finally meet Beomgyu’s shocked ones and he finds you so beautiful in this moment, he can’t bring himself to say everything that he's ever wanted to. That he has waited for some kind of sign for two years, that you had occupied a space in his heart since the first day he's met you, that he did all this just for you, and would never ask for anything in return, that your smile and presence was more than enough. But instead, hoping to convey the mutual feeling or perhaps stronger ones,  Beomgyu grabs your face by each side and brings you closer, and you let out a squeal, the fireworks only getting more aggressive and intense. And it matches the way Beomgyu’s heart is feeling, accelerated, like it's about to explode as he lays his lips on yours, feeling the petal likeness of your lips.

And the butterflies swarm all over his body when you finally kiss back, fluttering your eyes closed, and pressing further in, shivering from your own nerves slowly dissipating. He hopes you can feel everything he’s thinking, everything he wants you to know, but in case you didn't, he pulls back and looks at you, now possessed with the same determination you had all day: 

“I dont want to stay friends. I want to be with you. I want this, all the time. I like you, Y/N. Please, tell me this letter still means something."He pulls a stray hair behind your ear, watching the pinkness in your cheeks get darker. 

“O-Of course it does. It always will.” You whisper with shining eyes. Your hands that had been glued on the railing, now moving to his waist and wrapping them around and hugging him tight. He sighs and smiles widely, hands now holding you close, it was only then had he noticed that the cart was making its way back down. At the entrance, was the giant bear, sitting patiently as you both got off the wheel, trying to pretend neither of your hearts were still pounding from excitement and giddyness. The carny holds a fist bump with a smirk that beomgyu shyly returns before grabbing the bear. 

“W-we missed most of the show, sorry…” He says after a moment of walking in silence. Remembering the taste of you, already growing addicted.  

“No! Don't be… it was perfect, actually the whole day was.” You say, your eyes still beaming with what he can only hope for satisfaction and fondness.

He laughs at that. Before putting an arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer. Walking towards the car, you rambled about the maze, how the kid had to have had some steroid in him, he realized just how much the atmosphere has changed. The presence of something filled the air: the makings of new love. 

"You gotta let me borrow that shirt..."

"Shut. Up."

A/N: YAY!! you made it!!! thanks you for reading!! Like always, let me know what you think! :3

[coraniaid]

Actually, on reflection, I think I'm persuaded that the "poor Willow is a magical junkie now and it's not her fault :(" subplot in Season 6 is, contrary to what I've said before, actually the worst multi-episode subplot on Buffy.

Say what you like about the other two contenders for that honor: the non-mystery of "is Giles really the First Evil and why hasn't anyone thought to check yet?" or the banality of "shall we engage seriously with the fact Spike has a soul now and how that might change him as a person, or shall we just say that a mean ghost hypnotized him?". But neither of those plots involve a woman telling her significant other (and I am really not paraphrasing much at all here) "I don't like that you used magic to violate my mind and rob me of my ability to consent to our relationship, because it's not good for you".

Moreover:

While the two Season 7 subplots are both pretty bad and boring to watch and are certainly part of why I don't enjoy that season, I don't think removing or somehow rewriting either of them would automatically make the season much better. By contrast, the Willow subplot of Season 6 is the worst thing about that season -- one which I think otherwise had a lot of potential and is arguably the most ambitious season the show ever did -- and fixing it would improve the season as a whole a lot.

The Willow subplot also takes up a lot more of the show overall than the two Season 7 subplots do. Giles as the First is a complete waste of everyone's time, but it's also fully resolved in less than half a dozen episodes (we first get the fake out that Giles might be dead in Never Leave Me, the ninth episode of the season, and we see that he isn't in The Killer In Me, the thirteenth episode). The Spike hypnotic trigger lasts a lot longer, but it still over within about half a season. But the Willow subplot dominates most of Season 6 and also continues to have ramifications for WIllow's character development (or lack thereof) for the rest of the show.

It's easy, I think, to understand why the writers resorted to the two Season 7 plots. They needed some excuse for Buffy's friends to not trust Spike, but for various reasons are committed to the idea that having a soul means Spike himself is now inherently Good and Blameless and so the reasons not to trust him can't be related to anything he's ever chosen to do himself, it has to be something done to him against his will. And the writers obviously stopped caring about Giles as a character with any sort of inner life the very minute ASH asked to be partially written out of the show so he could move back to England. I honestly don't believe the writers were capable of writing good subplots for either Giles or Spike by this point, even if they'd tried. But the Willow subplot comes out of nowhere and completely derails what was going to be a really interesting story line about Willow that the show had been patiently building towards since at least Season 3 and arguably even longer.

More broadly, both the Season 7 plots are bad in part because they are attempts to make the First -- previously a forgettable monster of the week whose primary powers included 'making people who have done bad things feel suitably bad' and 'not being able to touch anything'; a plot device which Buffy herself already rightly dismissed as all talk all the way back in Season 3 ("I get it. You're evil. Do we have to chat about it all day?"). Of course they're not successful attempts: there's no way to make the First as menacing and important as the writers wish it was. Being annoyed at the way they fail almost seems like missing the point.

Most importantly, I can more cheerfully ignore the two Season 7 subplots because I don't really care about either Spike or Giles at this point of the show's run. But I like Willow, so it bothers me more that she's subjected to all this dreadfully bad writing and that her character never really quite recovers from it.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Lucy continues to spiral during the aftermath of the ballet, and Tommy finds compromise in the last place he was expecting to.

Word Count: 8,136

Warnings: Insecurity, sexual content, antisemitism, and references to pregnancy.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 13: Open Up Your Skull

Lucy rested a hand on Linda’s cheek, checking her over carefully.

“You hit her in the arm,” she said to Polly. Arthur was crouching next to her, hands over his mouth as he tried his best not to panic. 

“We need to get her inside,” Tommy spoke, taking command of the situation. He and Arthur bent, picking up Linda, who was still unconscious. They rushed her inside, heading into the dining room. Lucy followed them at a jog.

“Careful,” Tommy told her when she leant over to help him push glasses and trays off the table to make room, sending them crashing to the floor. 

“Make room for her legs,” Lucy told Polly and Lizzie, who set to work helping her toss aside the remainder of debris on the table. She was vaguely aware of Tommy trying to usher Arthur out of the room, but he ignored him.

“Get Tommy’s jacket, drape it over her,” Lucy commanded to Polly, who grabbed the black coat from where Tommy had deposited it over a chair. “Hold her legs,” she told Lizzie. Arthur was continuing to babble over Linda, who had awoken and was screaming at him in rage.

“Linda!” Tommy set a hand on her forehead. “Linda, look at me. Linda,” he forced her to face him. “You’ve got a kid. If you die, he’ll come to us to raise. You hear me?” The threat seemed to quiet her a bit. Tommy set back to work examining her arm, ripping away the fabric of the sleeve of her dress. 

“I used a derringer,” Polly said, handing Tommy a blade. He shushed Linda, suddenly soothing where he had once been commanding.

“Mr. Shelby, your guests!” 

Everyone’s heads snapped up to stare at Mosley standing in the doorway.

Tommy started shouting for him to get out, and when he didn’t move, Arthur pulled a gun on him. Mosley looked at him with an expression that was more disappointed than alarmed. 

 “I’ll deal with him,” Lucy whispered to Tommy.

“No,” he said with a shocking amount of ferocity, a look that she was familiar enough with to identify as protective flaming to life in his eyes. “Let Arthur handle it,” he turned away to order Lizzie to get some iodine from the kitchen. She rushed away. Polly handed Tommy a napkin that he tried to push into Linda’s mouth with Arthur’s help. When Lucy looked up again, it was to find that Mosley had slunk away somewhere. Probably back outside.   

“Lucy, hold her. Now, it’s really going to hurt,” Tommy warned. Lucy grasped Linda tightly, holding her in place on the table. Polly moved to help her. “One, two, three.”

Linda howled around the gag as Tommy plunged his fingers into the wound, using the blade Polly had given him to help slice it open enough for him to reach in. It didn’t take him long, not even a minute, to wrench the bullet from the flesh, tossing it towards the fireplace. Linda spat the gag out. Lucy handed Tommy a glass of whiskey while Arthur chanted reassurances over and over into Linda’s ear. 

“Hold her,” he said again, and Lucy tightened her grip on Linda to keep her still. He poured the whiskey onto the wound, Linda’s scream as he did echoing throughout the room. Arthur sobbed. Tommy set the glass down, examining the wound. 

“Is she going to be alright, Tom?” Arthur asked, hugging her. “Is she going to be alright, Tom?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Arthur was clearly hanging by a very small thread of composure. Tommy noticed his brother’s emotional instability as well, quickly sending him away to the library for some opium. Linda continued to whimper in pain, Lucy rubbing a soothing hand up and down her uninjured arm. Tommy sighed out a deep breath, returning back to Linda’s side. 

“Actually,” Polly reached in her dress, “you can use mine,” she handed a bottle to him. He–rather unnecessarily–pulled the cork out with his teeth, pouring it into the glass of whiskey still on the table. “Bought a bit,” Polly explained, “to celebrate the wedding proposal.”

“Oh! He proposed, eh?” Tommy said in mock surprise, stirring the opium into the glass. As if he hadn’t orchestrated the whole thing. Polly grinned, holding out her left hand so he could inspect the ring. Tommy nodded.

“Congratulations,” Lucy said from where she was still kneeled next to Linda. Polly beamed at them, lighting a cigarette. Tommy knelt down over Linda, wrapping an arm around her head, helping her to lift it up, suddenly incredibly paternal as he tried to coax her into drinking from the glass in his hand.

“No. I don’t want anything you’ve touched.”

“Linda, it’s alright,” Lucy assured her.

It took a little more coaxing, but finally she accepted the glass when he brought it to her lips, gulping down the whiskey. Lucy took over supporting Linda’s head while Tommy situated a cushion Polly handed him under her head. At the same moment, Arthur hurled into the room, took one look at Linda, now unconscious from the drugs, and fell to his knees, arms around his wife as he wept. 

As Tommy went to comfort his distraught brother, Lucy moved to pour herself a glass of whiskey and took a large gulp from it. 

Jesus Christ, what a fucking mess. 

Lizzie finally strode back into the room, handing the iodine and bandages to Tommy. Lucy stepped aside so that Lizzie could have room to look over her friend. As Arthur set about bandaging Linda up, Tommy ushered them all from the room to let Arthur be alone with his wife. Once in the hallway, they all sagged tiredly. Lucy rubbed at her brow, wrapping her arms around herself. 

“Mosley’s probably furious,” she pointed out. 

“He’ll get over it,” Tommy replied from where he was standing beside her, hand reaching out to touch one of the arms crossed over her chest. She had tossed her shawl away somewhere in all the commotion, and his warm hand on her sent goosebumps prickling across her skin.

“You should have let me deal with him.”

“Why? So you could have another panic attack and embarrass us?” Lizzie snapped, eyes trained on Tommy’s hand resting on Lucy’s arm. Lucy drew in on herself, cheeks flaming with humiliation and eyes falling to fix on her shoes. Pulling away, she shook Tommy’s hand off of her. 

“Lizzie,” Tommy snapped warningly. It wasn’t quite a growl, but it was close. Lizzie’s eyes narrowed at him challengingly. Lucy’s shoulders slumped like a deflated balloon. Only a few hours of her being back in the house and they were already at each other’s throats again. 

“Enough,” Polly’s eyes snapped between the three of them disapprovingly. “We need to get back outside. No doubt we’ve probably already been missed. You can save the squabbling for later.”    

Eyes still cast down, Lucy followed Polly outside swiftly, despite Tommy’s soft murmur of her name. As they approached the stage, the unfortunately familiar voice of Oswald Mosley drifted towards them. They came to a stop a few paces away from the rest of the crowd that had gathered around the stage, listening intently as Mosley spoke of unrest and new political movements. The hairs on the back of  Lucy’s neck stood up with every word, uneasiness heavy in her chest. What perhaps unnerved her even more than Mosley’s words was the reaction of the crowd around him. Cheers, applause, and cries of support echoed throughout the tent. She shifted uncomfortably. She thought that she had known her fair share of monsters during her lifetime. But Mosley was something else entirely. Something worse. She could see the looks of horror and disgust on the other family member’s faces. Only Tommy remained stoic and expressionless as he watched the fascist speak, though she could see the uneasiness and utter alarm that Mosley’s words triggered dancing behind his light blue eyes. 

Lucy felt the tension within her only grow as Mosley left the stage and approached them. He came to a stop before them and Tommy shifted, subtly, so that no one but Lucy noticed how he had planted himself firmly between her and Mosley. 

“I’m going to fuck the swan,” Mosley announced without preamble. “Somebody go and tell her to come to my room.”

“How do you know she’ll come?” Polly questioned. Mosley looked at her in quiet amusement.

“Because they always do.”

Polly glanced over at them, before turning away, moving towards the ballerinas to fetch the one that Mosley had chosen. Mosley turned his attention to Lizzie, reaching out and taking one of her hands, bringing it to his lips. Lizzie looked like she was hoping that the ground would open up and swallow her. 

“Now, forgive me. I’m going to borrow your husband for a little while.” 

Tommy looked for a moment like he wanted to scream, but instead he merely began to lead Mosley back inside.

Lucy shifted from foot to foot awkwardly. Not wanting to be left alone with Lizzie, she broke into a brisk walk back towards the house, certain that she could feel the burn of Lizzie’s accusatory eyes following her all the way to the door. 

The maids were all busy or already in bed, so it was easy for her to slip into one of the unoccupied sitting rooms without being noticed. Glancing out the window, she wondered vaguely where Polly was. Probably off with Aberama somewhere celebrating their engagement. Arthur was still in the dining room, tending to Linda, and Tommy was busy dealing with Mosley. When he was done he and Lizzie would probably go off to bed.

She wondered if she went outside and got a driver to take her back to Charlie’s, if anyone would even notice that she was gone.

She was hit by a sudden wave of loneliness, so powerful it sent tears watering in her eyes. She staggered with the thought, a painful seizing in her heart. Never before had she felt like such an afterthought, and yet that was all she was now. Something Tommy kept around for when he was bored. No longer important. 

And then there was the utter embarrassment of her panic attack from earlier, only compounded by Lizzie pointing it out. Right now, of all times, she could not afford to seem weak or unable to handle her job. Fear twisted at her guts. She truly did not know what she would do should she ever be forced out of the Blinders.

No, Tommy wouldn’t do that. Even if he didn’t want her anymore. He wasn’t cruel. 

Without her even noticing, a few tears rolled down her cheeks.

There was a sharp whining, the soft pattering of paws on the carpet, and a huge black head was nudging at her legs, Asher nuzzling at her. Now that the guests were leaving, they must have let him out from where he had been staying with the maids. The dog whined again, as if sensing her distress. Lucy scratched behind his ears, sinking heavily into an armchair.

“Good boy, Asher,” she praised softly. At least he still seemed to still want her around.  

Scrubbing desperately at her eyes, she wiped away the tears, drawing in a shaky, sobbing breath. Her eyes felt puffy. 

Maybe all this was just some big plot to get her to leave for good. She wondered how long Tommy and Lizzie may have been planning it; how long he had been looking for an excuse to get rid of her. 

“That’s not true,” Grace’s voice insisted. She had materialized in the armchair across from her, leaning forward so that her golden waves swung back and forth around her face. “You know that’s not true. He made a mistake, that’s all. You can’t possibly think that any of this is what he wanted.”

Lucy shook her head back and forth, too stubborn and too lost in the dark void of despair that had opened up inside her mind to see reason. “He doesn’t love me anymore.” She started to cry.

“Oh, Lucy,” Grace stood and went to her, wrapping her arms around her and dragging her in to lay her cheek on her chest. “He does. He does. He’s just shit at showing it sometimes.”

Lucy only sniffled. Grace sighed, stroking her hair.

“Talk to him. Tell him what you’re feeling. You’ll see. He loves you more than anything in the whole world.”

Lucy closed her eyes, unable to bring herself to believe the ghost’s words. They were just lies, created by her mind to try to cope with the lack of love she was destined to live with. 

∗ ∗ ∗

“Oh, and we need to discuss Miss. Winters.”

At Mosley’s words, the blood in Tommy’s veins went cold. From the corner of his eye, he looked the other MP over. What did you do to her? Lucy’s eyes had been wide and fearful when she’d come to tell him that Mosley was waiting in his office. And the way that she jerked away when he tried to touch her…

Mosley had done something to her. Tommy was sure of it. 

“What about her?”

Mosley pursed his lips. They were sitting on the couch in Tommy’s office, glasses of whiskey on the table in front of them, the fire in the hearth crackling. 

“This affair that you’ve been carrying on with her…it’s too out in the open. Especially with her working for you.”

“We’ve been discreet–”

“And yet, rumors still fly.” Mosley shot him a disapproving look. “It could start to cause problems. While I was waiting for you earlier this evening, I noticed several photographs of her here in your office. And I’ve seen a couple more scattered throughout the house. If I’ve noticed, surely so have others. They will talk.” 

“So you want me to put away her photographs?” It would hurt him to do so. He already had to live without her in his home. Was it really too much that he had a few pictures of her?

Maybe they could keep them up and only put them away on the–hopefully rare–occurrence that Mosley came by to visit. 

Mosley chuckled. The sound made Tommy’s stomach twist nauseatingly. “No, Shelby,” he turned a smile of pure, calculated evil onto him. “I want you to get rid of her.”

Tommy stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words. No.

Already, Mosley had ordered that he get rid of the company lawyer because he was Jewish, and to give McCavern control over the racecourses north of Wincanton. Hadn’t he already agreed to enough to pass Mosley’s fucking loyalty tests?

“I know, I know. It will be difficult to find someone with Miss. Winters’s wide array of…skill sets.”

Tommy swallowed. His throat felt like it had been lined with sandpaper. “Lucy is a part of my family, Mr. Mosley—”

“Mistresses aren’t family, Mr. Shelby. They are merely tools to an end. Find someone else to hold your interests.”

I don’t want anyone else. Tommy frowned at the suggestion that he could swap Lucy out with just about anyone and have it not matter. 

But those arguments weren’t going to mean anything to Mosley. So he adjusted his strategy. 

“She’s an invaluable member of my organization, Mosley. I can’t get rid of her.”

Mosley nodded, lips still twitching upwards. “I thought you’d say that. Which is why I’ve come up with an alternative solution. If Miss. Winters were to be married, most of these problems would go away.”

A roaring started to build up in Tommy’s ears. Lucy. Married. To someone else. His fingers tightened where they’d come to rest on his knee. 

Hypocritical as it made him, the idea of Lucy marrying anyone that wasn’t him made him want to scream and weep simultaneously. 

“You may have a few candidates in mind, of course. But I know of some men personally who I’m sure would be very interested in the prospect of your little redhead.” Mosley shot him a knowing look. “And who may be willing to look the other way when it comes to any…dalliances she may continue to have on the side. For the right price, of course.”

The idea of marrying Lucy off to someone at all was almost too much to bear. The thought of marrying her to one of Mosley's fascist friends made him want to vomit. 

“I don’t share, Mr. Mosley,” Tommy said sternly. Any amusement on Mosley’s face at the whole motion drained away, displeasure replacing it at Tommy’s rejection of his order. 

“You will sack her, or you will marry her off. Otherwise I may have to take my own actions to remedy the situation.”

Tommy’s heart caught in his throat. “Excuse me?” 

“I would think very hard about Miss. Winters’s future, if I were you.”

It took every ounce of self restraint that he had not to fly from his seat, grab Mosley by his fucking mustache, and shove him face-first into the fire still burning in the hearth.  

If he so much as laid a fucking finger on her…

He forced himself to breathe deeply. He couldn’t be flying off the handle. Not here. Not now. He needed to remain controlled in how he dealt with Mosley. One wrong move, and it could all come crashing down. Mosley had too many powerful friends and allies. If he took him out in a way that could be traced back to them, there would be absolute hell to pay. The entire family would be in immense danger. 

All he needed was time. With this cheque linking Mosley to McCavern, maybe Younger could do something. It wouldn’t be long before they got Mosley stripped out of power. Lucy would be safe.

“I’ll consider what you’ve said, Mr. Mosley.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth, but he forced them out anyway. He didn’t mean any of it, of course. Lucy was staying by his side. She wasn’t leaving his employment. And he sure as shit wasn’t going to force her to marry some fascist prick who was practically guaranteed to mistreat her. 

“Good.” Seemingly satisfied, Mosley stood. 

The moment that the door to the office slammed shut behind him, Tommy sat up, downing his glass of whiskey, and then after a small moment of contemplation, grabbed Mosley’s untouched glass and gulped that one down as well. Both out of a need to calm his nerves and out of spite regarding Mosley’s previous comment about him needing to drink less. 

Deep in his bones, he knew that Younger may very well not be able to do much to help them with Mosley. And even if he did, those wheels turned so slowly, it may be too late by the time he was. 

And even if Mosley was stripped of his positions, even if he was thrown in the darkest of prison cells, he still had powerful friends. He would always be a threat.

There was only one way Tommy would ever be able to guarantee their safety from him. 

Mosley was going to have to fucking die. 

He groaned, not feeling much better even with the whiskey in his system. A glance out the window greeted him with the guests beginning to meander away towards the cars lined up to take them home, Lizzie smiling whilst shaking hands and chattering with them as they bid their goodbyes. He sighed, already preparing himself for the argument that they would have once everyone left over what she had said to Lucy.

Part of him wanted to scream at her for being so cruel, particularly when considering just how much Lucy had already given up for her. But the rest of him just felt guilty. Things had been better at the house as of late. Lizzie was more bearable to be around. Happier and less likely to pick fights with him. Yet he couldn’t shake the resentment that had bubbled up since Lucy’s departure. That all it had taken to make Lizzie happy had apparently been him losing one of the people he loved most in the world.

Not that he and Lucy were broken up, technically. Though it certainly felt like it most of the time. She was still avoiding him as much as was possible considering that they spent nearly the entire workday together. And those big brown eyes were so damn sad every time he looked into them that he wanted to just fall to his knees, wrap his arms around her and beg her to tell him what he could do to make it all better.   

And yet he had to acknowledge his own responsibility in this whole mess. He was the one who continued to give Lizzie hope all these years that he would eventually love her back in the way that she wanted. Half hearted attempts at affection, at playing the role of a loving husband that had accomplished nothing but leading her on. Moments like tonight, when he had dragged her away to fuck while their guests had begun arriving and then expressed his protectiveness over her in regards to Mosley. 

 It wasn’t his intention for it to come across that way. He just wanted her to know that she was still valued. Still an important figure in his life even if he wasn’t in love with her.   

There had been some hope, after what she had said to him when they had made their deal, about balancing her head with her heart, that Lizzie was finally beginning to make peace with their arrangement. For a while, that had seemed to be the case. 

Rubbing his eyes in an attempt to nurse the headache forming behind them, he walked out of the office and down the hall. There was the hum of a voice, his head turning and brows furrowing. He followed it to a half open door into a sitting room where he found Lucy, sitting in an armchair by the window and scratching Asher behind the ear while she spoke soft nonsense to him. 

Her eyes flickered up at the creak of the floorboards beneath his shoes.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hi.”

Asher padded up to him, tail wagging as he silently demanded attention. Tommy stroked a hand over his soft head. Lucy stood from the chair, arms crossed almost defensively across her chest. His eyes landed for a moment at the bare spot just below her collarbone, where the garnet that he had given her years ago usually sat. It would be lying to say that its absence on her tonight didn’t sting.

But still the dress that she was wearing was quite lovely. Black and sleeveless, belted around the waist to show off the way that her waist dipped in and her hips curved out. It hugged her chest and hips wonderfully, just low cut enough to be teasing. Had the situation been different, he would have been all over her the second they were alone, running his hands over the soft fabric and groaning at the warmth of her body beneath it.

Instead he just coughed awkwardly. “You look nice.”

Lucy tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, smiling sheepishly. “Thanks.”

Meeting her eyes filled him with alarm at the sight of subtle puffiness there. She had been crying. And while she had done a good job of hiding it, he knew her too well, too intimately, to not notice it. He took a step forward, took note of the way that she tensed slightly, and stopped.

“Are you okay?”

“Mhm. Just tired.”

He cleared his throat, pulling a cigarette from his case and handing her one. “About before,” he lit both their cigarettes. “I’m sorry, for making you deal with Mosley on your own.”

“It’s fine,” she shook her head, pressing the cigarette to her lips. Tommy’s eyes narrowed. His mind had come up with all sorts of horrible scenarios for what could have happened to leave Lucy in such a panicked state during the time that she and Mosley had been alone. Most of them made him nearly sick to his stomach to even think about. All of them made him want to march upstairs to Mosley’s room and rip him to shreds with his bare hands.

“If he did fucking anything to you-”

“He didn’t…do anything to me, Tommy. I’m fine. I overreacted.”

“Lucy…” 

“Look, he tugged on a lock of my hair and made a lewd remark. That’s it,” her foot tapped anxiously against the floor, eyes darting away. “You think that I wouldn’t love to give you an excuse to have that man shredded to ribbons?”

The frown remained on Tommy’s face. “What do you think it was that set you off, then?” 

She took a long drag from her cigarette to avoid answering. “I don’t know,” she looked out the window, at the cars moving away down the long driveway. The workers from the ballet company were busy taking down the stage and tent on the lawn. “I suppose…he reminds me of Matthew, sometimes,” she admitted. “Maybe it’s the way he talks, or the way he looks at people,” she shrugged. “I don’t know.”

It had been a long time since either of them had talked about her ex-fiancé. Or what he had done to her. 

Tommy shifted closer to her. He very badly wanted to touch her, but he wasn’t sure if that would be alright with her right now. “Sweetheart…”

“I’m alright,” she insisted. His gaze hardened.

“I won’t let him hurt you.”

“I know.”

His head tilted. “You could stay tonight. Your room’s just as you left it.” He wouldn’t let any of the maids touch it. Frances was allowed in to clean, and that was it. Some nights, when he and Lizzie could barely stand to be in the same room as each other, he would go to Lucy’s old room at the other end of the house from his wife. Curling into the bed, he’d press his face to the pillow, eyes closed as he drew in the lingering scent of her soap and perfume. If he was drunk enough, or high off the opium, he could almost pretend that she was still there with him. 

“I don’t think…”

“Lucy, we’re all tired. Polly’s staying and my drivers are all busy transporting guests. Just stay. It’s alright.”

She sighed, shoulders slumping, all fight having left her thanks to the exhaustion that the evening had brought. “Okay.”

She followed him out of the sitting room and towards the stairs. On the way there he paused, inching open the door to the dining room and chancing a quick glance in. Lucy peeked in over his shoulder. Linda was still asleep on the table, Arthur hunched over her, cradling her hand. Tommy silently leaned back and shut the door again. 

“What a fucking mess,” he sighed. They began to climb the stairs. For a moment his eyes landed on the huge portrait of Grace that loomed over them on the wall. He could have sworn that her eyes followed him as he moved.

“What do you think will happen?” 

At the top of the stairs he stopped, turning to look at her and shaking his head. “I don’t know.” He looked her up and down again, suddenly incredibly wistful for the time before everything had gone to utter hell. He could hold her tight in his arms. Push her up against the wall as he kissed her. Shove the skirt of that stunning dress up and-

There really was no point in thinking about it, though. Outside of just making himself frustrated.

Instead, he reached a hand out to cup her cheek, but she pulled away, shaking her head. Tommy wanted to scream or cry out. Not at her, but just in frustration. 

“No.”

“Luce, please,” he whispered. He just wanted to kiss her good-night. That wasn’t breaking any rules. The rejection burned in his chest, hurting even more than when she had flinched away from him earlier or when he noticed that she wasn’t wearing her garnet.

Her fingers brushed across his face, barely there. “Good-night, Tommy.” 

“Good-night, love,” he said dejectedly. He watched her round the corner towards her room, Asher padding along beside her. Hands shoved into his pockets, Tommy frowned, feeling his face crumple for the briefest of moments before he schooled it back into place. Eyes darting back towards the staircase, he found Grace’s portrait staring at him, her blue eyes accusing and stern.

With a sigh he turned, and walked down the long hallway towards his room. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Asher’s side bumped against her legs every once in a while as they walked through the winding halls of Arrow House towards her room. She was thankful for the dog’s watchful, grounding presence by her side as he trotted along next to her. The hum of voices up ahead made her pause, stride slowing as she rounded the corner cautiously only to be greeted with the sight of Mosley and Lizzie. 

Lizzie’s eyes were wide, almost frightened, while Mosley was shooting her a rather unsettling smirk. His shirt was open and unbuttoned, his hair mussed. 

“Lizzie?”

The dark haired woman turned, a look of relief crossing her face at the sight of Lucy and Asher. Lucy moved forward quickly, settling a hand on Lizzie’s arm.

“Miss. Winters,” Mosley smiled. “Well, if Mrs. Shelby is uninterested in my invitation, perhaps you would like to join myself and the ballerina?”

She managed to somehow smile through the feeling of her skin crawling at his suggestion. “I’m afraid that I don’t enjoy being second choice, Mr. Mosley,” she said. At her side, Asher let out a thunderous growl, lips curling back from his teeth as he eyed Mosley. Lucy settled a hand on the top of his head to soothe him. Mosley raised an eyebrow.

“Lovely dog.”

“Apologies. He was trained originally as a guard dog. Unfamiliar faces in the hallways at night make him nervous,” she explained. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to steal away Mrs. Shelby,” she was already tugging Lizzie away and down the hallway with Asher in tow before he could even respond. As soon as they rounded the corner and it became clear Mosley wasn’t following them, she let out a relieved breath. “Are you alright?”

Lizzie shrugged. “Outside of wanting to vomit? I’m fine.”

“Some birthday, huh?”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Lizzie sighed. “Thanks for the save.”

“Of course. Now listen, go to your room and stay there. Don’t come out until the morning, alright? Just in case.”

“What about you?” 

She let go of Lizzie’s arm once they reached the end of the hallway that led to the master bedroom. She gave a little pat to Asher’s head.

“I got my back-up right here.” She snorted when she looked down to see Asher glancing between the two of them, tail wagging. Gone was the fearsome guard dog he had been a moment ago, replaced by her sweet puppy who just wanted to be pet and fed treats. She looked back up at Lizzie. “I’ll see you in the morning. And happy birthday.”

Lizzie looked down at her feet. “Thank you.” Lucy turned to leave. “Lucy?”

She turned back, eyebrow raised curiously. Lizzie opened her mouth, closed it again and sighed.

“I’m sorry. For what I said before Mosley’s speech,” she wouldn’t quite meet Lucy’s eyes.

Lucy’s brow furrowed, though her lips pulled up in a sad smile. The only type of smile she seemed to be able to offer anyone these days. “Don’t worry about it.”

Lizzie’s eyes darted to fixate on one of the paintings on the wall. “Okay, then. Good-night.”

“Good-night, Lizzie.”

She waited at the end of the hallway until Lizzie was safely walking through her bedroom door before turning away and heading back down the hallway.  

Upon opening the door to her old bedroom she was greeted with a room that truly had not been changed at all. She didn’t know why she was so surprised. Tommy wouldn’t let anyone touch Grace’s room or her things outside of cleaning it, she supposed that it made sense that he would extend the same sentiment to her.

Trouble was curled up on the bed. When she saw her, she let out a little meow of excitement, standing and running over to her. Lucy reached down to stroke her back while the cat rubbed against her ankles, meowing loudly over and over again. Almost as if she were scolding her. 

“I know. I know, baby. I’m sorry. It’s good to see you again.”

With a sigh she sat down heavily on the bed, pulling off her shoes and massaging her feet and ankles to quell the ache from wearing heels for so long. It took a bit of contorting to wriggle her way out of her dress, hanging it up in the wardrobe. Opening a drawer in her dresser revealed her old negligees that she hadn’t thought to pack with her when she left for Charlie’s. Shrugging one on, she collapsed backwards into the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. She patted the space next to her, encouraging Asher and Trouble to hop up and lay down beside her.

She felt terrible for rejecting Tommy like that at the top of the stairs, but she had to. Considering Lizzie’s response to him just touching her arm, she could only imagine what would happen should she have rounded the corner and caught Tommy caressing or kissing her. And there was a fear that should she allow him to touch her like she so wanted him to, they would both break.

She felt the air around her shift and change, glancing lazily to the chair by the window and the figure lounging in it. Grace looked back at her with a worried expression. With a sigh, Lucy closed her eyes, head tilting back against the pillows. 

“I don’t want to say that I told you so…” 

She heard rustling as Grace got up and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“What do you mean?”

Asher moved so that his huge head was resting on Lucy’s stomach. She stroked a hand mindlessly through his thick black fur.

“Everyone’s happier when I’m not here.”

Grace groaned rather overdramatically. “I think that we need to have a talk about your self esteem issues.”

“You saw how she reacted to him just touching me, Grace,” she picked at a flaky piece of nail polish on her right index finger. “They were doing fine until that. Then I show up and…” she trailed off, shrugging her shoulders. Grace looked at her, eyes narrowed, leaning forward.

“So, what’s your plan, then? Hm?” She raised her brows in question. “You’re just going to keep on avoiding Tommy, dodging Lizzie, and being miserable and lonely?” Her pale fingers drummed against the mattress. Lucy focused her eyes on the dog snoozing in her lap. “Or are you going to leave Tommy completely, Lucy? End your relationship even though you don’t want to. Is that it?”

“N-no,” she said in a weak voice.

“Really? Because it looks to me like you already are behaving like you have. You won’t even talk to Tommy about any of this. At least he still seems to be trying. You’ve just given up.” A cold hand grabbed her by the chin, forcing her with a gasp to look up at Grace, blue eyes accusing. “You promised him that you two could still be together even though you were leaving Arrow House. But are you? Because you certainly aren’t acting like it.”

“Stop,” she pleaded softly. Her head was pounding. Grace’s grip on her tightened.

“He loves you. If you keep carrying on like this, you’re going to break his heart. If you haven’t already.”

Lucy sniffled, more tears building behind her eyes. “He’ll be just fine without me,” she whispered. “They all will.”

Grace stared down at her, eyes searching. Her hand dropped away from her chin. “When did you become so blind?” she asked, voice no longer accusing, instead merely soft and sorrowful. Lucy looked away, shifting so that she was laying on her side, back to Grace with her tear stained cheek resting on the pillow. She could just barely detect the lingering traces of Tommy’s cologne from his empty side of the bed. 

A moment later, the bed dipped, and the ghost curled around her, front to her back, and Lucy swore she could feel the sensation of arms around her. Smell the sweetness of her perfume. Feel the tickle of her golden locks against her neck.

“He doesn’t want me anymore, anyway,” she whispered after a moment’s silence.

“He just tried to kiss you at the top of the stairs–”

“Because he feels guilty. He thinks he owes me something because of how long we were together. Or because he made all those promises to me when he and Lizzie first got married about never letting us get pulled apart.” A sob spasmed through her chest. The idea of Tommy just keeping her around out of pity when he would have been happier with her gone was unbearable.

“Lucy, you have to stop this. I know you feel guilty because you think that you’ve been taking him away from Lizzie, but you know that you can’t be happy without him. So you have to let the guilt about Lizzie go, sweetheart. Let yourself be happy. What’s done is done. And it’s not all your fault anyway. Lizzie made her own decisions that got her into this. She’s a big girl. If she really can’t handle it, she knows where the door is. You have to let the guilt go, honey. Before it kills you. You can’t keep on hurting yourself like this. You’ve been self flagellating over it for years. I think you’ve more than paid the price for what you think you’ve done.”

Lucy just started crying harder. 

“I can’t come back. He chose her over me, Grace. We can never go back to a time where that didn’t happen. Even if I move back in, we can never be together here.”

“If the three of you could all just sit down and talk about it, maybe you could come to a compromise…”

“I can’t ask Lizzie to give up her rules after I spent years fucking her husband even when I knew she wasn’t alright with it. I can’t fucking do it, Grace.”

Grace was quiet for a long moment after that. “Please talk to Tommy about all of it, sweetheart. Please. He’ll help you. You know he will. He wouldn’t want you to keep on hurting yourself like this.” 

Lucy let out another heaving sob, pressing her tear-stained cheeks to the pillow. One thought was circling through her head, repeating over and over, drowning out Grace’s attempted words of reason:

Nobody loves me. 

∗ ∗ ∗

“I still want things that feel nice.” Tommy said it as little more than a whisper, his arms wrapping around Lizzie’s middle, laying his head on her stomach. For a moment, she rested her own arms around him.

“You mean like Lucy?” she said finally, voice stern and bitter. Tommy sighed, letting her go, trying not to wince at the name. The sting of Lucy’s most recent rejection of him was still fresh, his pride almost as wounded as his heart.

“Lizzie. Please. Not now.”  Speaking was hard. Maybe because he was exhausted, or because he was well on his way to being very, very drunk. 

She pulled away from him, stalking to the window, arms crossed over her chest. 

“What you said to her earlier…that was cruel, Lizzie.”

“I know,” she turned back to look at him. “Before you yell at me about it, I’ve already apologized.”

He pressed his cigarette between his lips. “You can’t keep doing shit like that.”

She scoffed and looked away again. Tommy’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m not going to leave Lucy. It’s not going to happen. She’s a part of my life. You have to find some way to live with that.”

“I know,” her eyes blazed with familiar bitter resentment as she scowled. “But I’m your wife. I’m the mother of your child. Why does she get to be more important than that?”

“You knew the arrangement that you signed up for when you agreed to marry me. You’re unhappy with it now? That’s on you. We never mislead you on what this marriage would look like. And yet it’s Lucy who’s getting punished for your inability to handle the situation.” He shot her a stern look, the same one he gave when giving orders to the Blinders. “You will never speak to her like that again. I mean it. I’m done with tolerating the little jabs and temper tantrums. I’ve allowed you to continue making them for far too long already. If you can’t at least be nice to her, you leave her the fuck alone.” 

“You think that I don’t feel like shit about it already, Tom? With Lucy, I just say things. And then they can’t be unsaid,” she tried to explain. Tommy raised an eyebrow. She closed her eyes. 

“I thought that things were getting better,” Tommy sighed, dejectedly, suddenly feeling incredibly helpless. “Before the crash and everything happened. I thought…that you were beginning to accept it all.”

Lizzie kicked off her shoes, leaving them in a little heap on the floor. She leaned back with her arms wrapped around herself. “It’s hard for me to see you with her.”

“I understand that, Lizzie, but…Jesus, what more do you fucking want from her?” He stood, pacing the room, suddenly angry. “We’ve been following all of your fucking rules. Lucy left to ensure that. And you’re still not happy,” he stopped in the middle of the room, pointing his cigarette at her. “But let’s be honest, eh? You won’t ever truly be happy unless she is gone from my life completely. And like I said, that isn’t fucking happening. I won’t allow it. We’ve already given up so much for you and still you keep demanding more. It’s never enough. And it never will be.” He closed his eyes, breathing hard. “Because I can’t give you what you want, Lizzie. Alright? I’m sorry. But I can’t. You need to find a way to accept that.” 

“I’m trying, Tommy,” she sat down in the chair at the vanity that he had been previously occupying. He was taken aback at how resigned she sounded. He’d expected her to fight him like she normally did. Instead she fiddled with reorganizing a few objects on the vanity. “I just wish…” she trailed off, biting her lip.

“Just wish that I could change, eh?” Tommy said, sighing. It was something he had grown used to; the people around him wishing that he could just change. Become a good man, or at least a better man than what he was. Get rid of all the bad. His shoulders slumped.

Lucy was the only one who had never made him feel like that. Not once had she acted like she’d ever wanted him to change. She loved him just the way that he was.

And then he’d gone and hurt her. Had all but destroyed his relationship with the only person in the world who had ever truly loved him unconditionally.

Lizzie shot him a sad, disappointed look. He shrugged. Like it didn’t hurt.   

 “You think that you’re the only one who misses her?” Lizzie asked, eyes thoughtful. Tommy raised an eyebrow, surprised. “She was my friend, Tom. I didn’t even realize…how used to having her around I had become. It’s very annoying. I never wanted to like her.” Lucy was good at that; at sneaking her way into a person’s heart without them even realizing. “It’s not like I said that she had to leave. Or that you two can’t be together. I just…” she trailed off, shoulders slumping. Tommy felt like the absolute worst scum on the earth. “I don’t know. I thought if I didn’t have to see you with her here, in our house, with our children, it wouldn’t hurt as much.”

“You’ve boxed us in,” Tommy explained as gently as he could. “Not in the house is one thing, but you said that I also can’t touch Ruby within a day on either side.” 

“I wanted to protect her. She shouldn’t think that the arrangement that the three of us have is how all adult relationships should be like–”

“Don’t act like by bringing Ruby into that agreement that you weren’t effectively forcing me to choose between my lover and my daughter.” His temper flared momentarily, and at the sight of Lizzie’s widening eyes, he immediately tried to reign it in. 

“I only said just by the hand,” she corrected softly.

He leaned his head back against the wall, taking a very long drag of his cigarette. “That means we have to practically schedule sex around the days that I’m not coming home in the evening.” Days that had become fewer and fewer in between, as he tried hard to be home at night as often as was possible. “Takes the romance out of things a fair bit. And how am I to explain to my daughter that I can’t hold her hand because I was with Lucy the night before? Not that it matters,” he looked up at the ceiling, as if the answers were stored up there somewhere. “Now Lucy won’t let me touch her at all.”

Lizzie stared at him for a long, long time. Behind her eyes, he saw something shift. A resolution happening. A decision finally being made.  

“The original rules stay in place for anyone else,” she said finally. Tommy’s head snapped in her direction, eyes widening.

“What?”

“I suppose…” Lizzie bit her lip, considering. “I suppose that with just Lucy, it would be okay.”

He raised an eyebrow, startled at the sudden offer of compromise. “Are you sure?”

She nodded slowly. “I miss her too, you know. More than I ever thought I would. And the kids keep asking after her. And she’s known and helped take care of Ruby for her whole life. I know that she loves her.” She shot him a stern look. “But only with Lucy. The rules still apply with anyone else. You don’t fuck anyone else in this house or within a day on either side of holding our daughter by the hand.”

“That is a very strange, specific hang-up that you have, you know.”

“You want the compromise or not?”

“Thank you. Really.”

“Mhm,” the side of one of Lizzie’s lips curled up. She tapped her nail against the wood of the vanity. “Why did you marry me, Tommy?”

He couldn’t look at her. “You know why.”

“I need to hear you say it. It might…help me.”

He forced himself to meet her eyes. “Because I had to. Because I got you pregnant. I wanted to make sure that you and Ruby were taken care of,” he shifted, coughing. “And I needed a wife to strengthen my political standing.”

Lizzie cleared her throat, likely to try to keep herself from crying. He really was awful. Unable to do anything but hurt the people he cared about.

“Do you love me?”

“I…” he looked down. It felt too cruel, to say it out loud to her face that he didn’t love her. “I care about you. You’re important to me. I want you to be safe and looked after. Yes,” he said finally. “Yes. I love you,” he didn’t add that he loved her like he did the rest of his family. But not like he loved Lucy. Not like he had loved Grace.

“But are you in love with me, Tommy?” Apparently he wasn’t going to get off that easily. He took in a deep, shaky breath, forcing himself to look her in the eye.

“No.”

To her credit, Lizzie never once broke eye contact with him, even though he could see the pain in her eyes. But there was something else in there too. Something like resignation. Maybe even acceptance. She shrugged her shoulders. “And there it is.”

 He walked over to her, crouching down to touch the hands she had settled in her lap.

“I’m sorry,” he said, offering as much genuine feeling as he could into the apology. “For all of it.”

Lizzie squeezed his hands tightly. “Me too.”

He looked down, letting his head sag forward until it was resting on her shoulder. Lizzie reached up, patting him gently on the back.

“It’ll be alright, Tom.”

He nodded, and tried his hardest to believe her.

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[beargregor]

Chef greg delivery just for you. it's a wonder I hadn't bearified him yet, he's my fave greg too 🔪

gays literally only want one thing (to be chopped up and eaten by a depressed man) and it's fucking disgusting

[tvckerwash]

I don't think there's much point in discussing which version of jayce (or any character for the matter) is more "morally correct", and a majority of your post isn't even about the characters' moral and ethical differences. I understand the point you're making, but season one of arcane was an adaption of league lore that functioned as a prequel to the main universe, and while it was never intended to replace the games canon they still took a great level of care to expand upon the existing material when writing the characters despite the differences between them.

jayce talis and jayce giopara have the same core personality traits and hold the same core principles, talis is simply an alternative interpretation of giopara with the writers choosing to focus on different attributes of jayce’s character that were better fit for the story they wanted to tell with arcane.

(continued utc because this got a bit long)

for the sake of this analysis I’m ignoring season two because it sucks and I hate it and those are not the same fucking guys. you are free to disagree, I’m just making it clear where I stand and why I’ve chosen to not address certain points.

he ignores the council and does what he wants, enacting vigilante justice at the cost of innocent lives (including an actual child).

giopara also enacts vigilante justice at the cost of innocent lives. when viktor stole the hexite crystal he didn’t tell anyone and instead built his hammer, went down to zaun, killed all of the people whose lives viktor was trying to save because he assumed viktor was up to no good despite admitting he didn’t know what the glorious evolution was about, and he started smashing everything in sight after viktor tried to kill him because he assumed all of the people hooked up to viktor’s machine were already dead. only after destroying the entire warehouse and the crystal did he go back to piltover where he finally told the proper authorities of the situation, and with only his side of the story being told he was lauded as a hero for his actions despite being anything but.

the difference between that and talis’ raid on the shimmer factory with vi is that talis did not have the luxury of ignorance that giopara did. talis had to witness the harm his rash actions caused and was forced to confront the role he played in the conditions that lead to that child being killed directly by a shot from the weapon he never should have made. even though he was only trying to do what he believed was the right thing—the good thing—to do, he realized that he isn’t the hero he dreamed he was. 

he doesn’t THINK. he has no sense of consequences—of course if you keep unsecured, highly unstable and explosive materials in your residential apartment, things might blow up in your face (literally!). of course your patron won’t support you—she is beholden to social opinion.

again, this is also applicable to giopara, though it’s not that he has no sense of consequence in general, but that he doesn’t understand the consequences his assumptions and preconceived biases have. you even showcase an example of this phenomenon later in the post:

he doesn’t speak up for viktor when the stanwick thing happens, it’s true, but doubtless he simply expected viktor to wow and amaze with a different project and be happy with the credit from that. 

and then giopara. he has no true family, instead is left to the bloodthirsty clans who want him for what he can give them. + he hates politics and only gets into them to appease his investors so he can do what he actually wants.

talis is also constantly beholden to the whims of the piltovian elite and was forced into politics to appease investors. throughout season one we see his frustration with the system, whether it be red tape keeping him and viktor from doing what they wish to do with hextech, or the rampant corruption he is forced to participate in upon having the role of councilor thrust upon him with no warning and against his wishes. the frustration is what fuels his decision to kick heimerdinger off the council, his decision to order the blockade, his decision to raid the shimmer factory with vi, and his decision to seek out silco in order to negotiate for zaun’s independence. the culmination of that arc results in this moment from episode nine:

talis is DONE with all of the bullshit, and for all intents and purposes I had expected him to have some sort of depression induced assholeification arc in season two that would’ve brought him somewhat more in line with his league personality, but obviously that didn't happen.

he’s alone, alone, alone. and then he’s not. he meets this other brilliant mind, the only one who can keep up with him. i mean how insane would that be? he must have been at least a little obsessed with viktor because of that. 

this is talis’ arc in act one. no one believed in the idea that magic could be utilized by science, no believed that it could be used for good, not even his own mother believed him. he’d been shunned by everybody who once supported him, and just as he’s about to end it all, here comes this guy who says “hey, you’re on to something. I believe in hextech, I believe in you, and I want to help make this dream of yours a reality.” talis’  immediate response is to go “no, this is OUR dream.” that is not normal individual behavior. 

then picture jayce, in all his egotistical glory, drunk on life and the belief that he and viktor are the brightest minds alive, when viktor shows him the diver suits. why does he resist? why does he care? no one in his life is telling him to care. he just does. he sees the devices for what they are, or at least what they could be twisted to be, and calls viktor out on it.

this is such an odd point, why does giopara resist? why does he care? you shouldn’t have to be told to care about something to care about it. this is not a point in giopara’s favor over talis that makes him “better”, because talis also cares about things without being told to. why does he resist heimerdinger regarding his disapproval of the hexcore? why does he care? because he sees the hexcore for what it is, what it could be—a cure to save his best friends life—and he’s tired of heimerdinger and his fear of progress being a roadblock, so he calls him out on it and uses his newfound power as a councilor to kick him off of it.

in conclusion, jayce talis is just jayce giopara if he had character development and his characterization revolved around the societal conflict between piltover and zaun instead of the personal conflict between him and viktor.

here comes a long post i’m fucking sorry lmao

a really interesting point was raised the other day about who the better person is (morally): jayce talis or jayce giopara? [insert obligatory admission about the fact that giopara has an annoying personality].

Like, talis is of course nice and kind and wonderful, perhaps a bit naive, but i don’t think we talk about how far he’s willing to go for what he believes. he weaponizes hextech because mel asks him to, and he doesn’t think further. he blatantly ignores viktor’s wishes about destroying the hexcore, even using it on his corpse to reanimate him. he ignores the council and does what he wants, enacting vigilante justice at the cost of innocent lives (including an actual child). he set up the fucking hexgates in such a way that they pollute the water supply of the undercity. and then, when he’s back from his sabbatical in hell, he goes to viktor. he looks him in the eyes, with the weapon he never wanted him to make, and he shoots him. what the actual fuck this guy is unhinged. he doesn’t THINK. he has no sense of consequences—of course if you keep unsecured, highly unstable and explosive materials in your residential apartment, things might blow up in your face (literally!). of course your patron won’t support you—she is beholden to social opinion. of course weapons can never be unmade and are always used. of course using the scary magical dodecahedron your partner begged you to destroy to bring said partner back from the dead will bring him back Different ™️. come on Jayce.

and then giopara. he has no true family, instead is left to the bloodthirsty clans who want him for what he can give them. he’s antisocial. he’s fucking annoying. he’s a diva 💜. he’s impossible to work with but impossible to get rid of because he’s just that smart. he hates politics and only gets into them to appease his investors so he can do what he actually wants. he doesn’t give a fuck about the common people who look up to him so much. he’s alone, alone, alone. and then he’s not. he meets this other brilliant mind, the only one who can keep up with him. i mean how insane would that be? he must have been at least a little obsessed with viktor because of that. then picture jayce, in all his egotistical glory, drunk on life and the belief that he and viktor are the brightest minds alive, when viktor shows him the diver suits. why does he resist? why does he care? no one in his life is telling him to care. he just does. he sees the devices for what they are, or at least what they could be twisted to be, and calls viktor out on it. he doesn’t speak up for viktor when the stanwick thing happens, it’s true, but doubtless he simply expected viktor to wow and amaze with a different project and be happy with the credit from that. and then viktor leaves. and jayce is a one man act again. like always. like forever and always. jayce acts wrongly, it’s true, when it comes to viktor and destroying his lab and accidentally killing those people, but he saw what he thought was evil and he went for it. no thought of what he could lose. no thought of who he could lose.

idk man there’s something about these two. by no means do i think talis is a bad person, in fact i think he’s a fundamentally good one. but he’s just so fucking naive, and towards the end he’s willing to do ANYTHING for what he believes, no matter the grisly consequences. he’s fucking scary. he’s unhinged. giopara on the other hand has a terrible personality, but is completely unwavering in his beliefs no matter the cost to himself or his relationships. viktor asked him to work together again, and he said “get a psyche eval” and slammed the door.

[natsmagi]

adding onto my last rant from a while ago a little bit, it is fascinating how many people in this fandom completely miss the point of tsumugis character and misconstrue what hes actually about which, ironically, is just what eichi did. and its done in such a similar fashion too, such as making assumptions about his motives, his family relationship, and missing the point in why he chooses to look the way he does. and, time and time again, eichi has been proven to be WRONG about tsumugi. he misunderstood him deeply, and now its eichi whos stuck mourning the past while tsumugi has long since moved on, not the other way around, as tsumugi is on the path of getting his happy ending. and i dont get why people keep trying to take this positivity from him

(s. element epilogue 2)

[tricitymonsters]

https://www.tumblr.com/tricitymonsters/765332131714138112/i-always-forget-that-moris-full-first-name-isnt?source=share

Using this ask as an example, because I don't want to scroll for more... but I feel like with asks like this you should rather educate your audience on the cultural significance of why Mori doesn't use his first name and how it makes him feel as a Asian American immigrant instead of just going along with anons joke, which was in poor taste btw

Oh yeah, that's fair. Chalk it up to me having written about the cultural impact of the name thing a couple times and my concept of time between ask topics can be a little bit hard to keep accurate. But yeah, I can definitely be more cognizant of maximizing opportunities to explain the cultural details of the characters, especially as more new people join us here. It's important to me that I do right by my characters' cultures and backgrounds so I totally understand that was a mishandle on my part- sorry!

And since this is a pretty good opportunity in and of itself to clarify: Mori was born in Japan and one of the cultural norms there is a deep relationship between names and intimacy. By and large, people refer to each other by their surnames/family names- in Mori's case it would be Takamori (+ appropriate honorific for whatever social situation). Even best friends will typically still use a surname when talking about each other, or occasionally a nickname based on it (how Takamori becomes Mori). Using someone's given name (in Mori's case Kaito) is suuuper familiar, like overly, uncomfortably familiar in most cases.

For Mori specifically, only his direct family call him Kaito and as he's separated from them and living in America, he's got some complex feelings about the name that goes even above and beyond the typical Japanese norm and association. As an immigrant (he moved as a young kid too so he's still got a lot of memories of living in Japan + a ton of experience growing up in urban American society), Mori has kind of a difficult relationship with his culture to navigate and the name thing is especially complex and nuanced. Essentially, for him it's a family thing-- ESPECIALLY a thing he associates with his father (who he's very close to) so breaching the boundary of that too early or too forcefully is a no-go. For now, he goes by just Mori stateside and will actively discourage using other variants.

Some additional thoughts I have on the topic:

This will be in-game, I'm just trying to pace the evolution of the conversation naturally as chapters come out and Mori's story develops. At some point, Mori will tell the MC not to call him another name and briefly explain why.

I'm also not planning on giving the player a choice on whether they oblige him or not because while I want players to have a strong impact on the story, I think letting people essentially say lol fuck you would open the door to the kind of relational deterioration I didn't intend to include in TCM.

Mori will also go into more detail about his experience being away from his family (there's good and bad going on) and talk about his relationship with his dad.

I think that's everything??? (For now, at least)

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

making a sorta wip/unfinished compilation video thing for all the vsynth projects ive sorta lost interest in/abandoned sounds like it'd be fun to do and help me clear up some space on this got damn computer but im always like uouguhhh but what if it fucking sucks :( when it comes to like actual cover stuff 😔✌️ like mannn

[mamushroomoracorn]

As a literal black person, who is a leftist, who support gaza.(but now cant, but only verbally due to how broke I am)

This is what I was warning about, along the other issues about voting third party or Trump in "retaliation of the system"

Although I don't blame people who is affiliated by this genocide in any way or the Muslim/Arab community.

I was arguing with non-black leftists about me saying vote for Harris for damage control and to make sure you have the ability to help others while still able to protest.

When you are literally handing the election to nazis and white supremacists who doesn't even remotely gave a damn about Gazans.

When you are not been part of any group afflicted extremely by imperialism(Koreans, Chinese, Gazans, Plenty of African ethnic groups).

That or religious group that is expressly been effected by this genocide.

Either pro Palestinian Jewish people, Muslims and Arabs.

That vote "protest" sincerely doesn't matter in my eyes if you wasn't apart of that grouping.

It sully the message.

Then in my eyes as a black person, I never view it as "teaching politicians a lesson". Expressly when Money talks in their eyes and was more effective to continue to boycott.

Main reason why they listen to groups, solely groups protesting is because they are losing a market, clearly they dont care about that. Before the 2024 elections, STILL this is only really only effective at state levels where lobbying is high because they have to spend it on advertisement to win primaries.

I feel nothing for the republican party for obvious reasons. But I feel highly betrayed by everyone who says they are allies to black people yet allow this fascist asshole to hurt my people, to let him ruin the country and progress my people push forth.

This man knew what he doing, my people beg and pleaded. Did their best during that election to convince to save our home, we always put out a fucking hand and once more yet again our "allies" including non-black members of the leftist party spat in my hand.

Ignoring the hands, their hands, that also played in this.

Now everyone can't help nobody. My people is going to be afflicted highly, and I cannot trust nobody.

I have watched expressly on tiktok, where leftists who is non-black allowed their peers to be racists when talking down about nuances to black people while saying our reason to vote damage control to prevent this is a "zionist excuse"

Which the irony is we black people are also effected by Isreal in our policing system.

Constantly killing us, but just like Congo, just like black women who being sterilized in Isreal, just like black Muslims.

People forget us always.

Although I empathize with Palestinians or related people, never blame them or their reasons why to protest or be apathetic.

I want to clarify.

But I cannot feel anything but numbness and hurt prior after seeing my people hard work being pissed on by everyone I saw.

At some point a small part of me for all the people who allied with white leftists or people who belittled my people struggles to lie.

At some point I hope they get all the hate they deserve.

Morality at some point in my body. Decided to say it is damned, because if my people have to suffer again then I've silently wished everyone can get a taste.

Get a strong ass taste to never let the foundations of what makes a movement strong.

Is to NEVER twist the marginized people arms who is allied with you that is also struggling. With guilt and horrid behavior about their morality being in question.

This also applies to democrats of course with those types of leftists.

When expressly some people like black people, DONT have the privileges to vote in morality.

Expressly when morality is flawed.

Expressly when THERE WAS A BETTER CHOICE even when that choice is ass.

We wouldn't be here SCRAMBLING for answers, for help, for resources, for anything if we just had plan.

Because a collapse was coming clearly by the way the government voted on censorship.

But it is the stupid thing to fasten that shit.

To make it happen faster.

"American burn anyways" or "Every empire only last 250 years"

Still does my people have to pay? Does my people have to suffer, Does my brother and sisters have to starve to struggle to get a job? Rights be put in question to N-ZIS AND ZI-NIST?

You know how scary and serious this shit is? A south white African is in power with a white supremacist.

The same guy ethnic group that harbors that same beliefs as the white s-premacists here.

The same people who would enslave and had to my people.

The act to end imprisonment slavery FAILED in California, it failed and haven't been ended THATS actually in the constitution to what is allowed.

My people might be put in slavery again further more.

With now wages that maybe not even enough for even two jobs.

To situations where this powers private prisons.

To situations to where they may don't even need to hide behind such shitty conditions.

I encourage my reasons for people to vote is to provide time, to provide room to breath, and room to protest.

Now we don't have it anymore. Once this stuff settled in for about a year or two, maybe a few months.

It will have to wait until a collapse for people to actually put down this government. I'm praying my people won't be body bags for these "leftists" like always.

I'm tired of them. Tired of association, I'm still one but going to be cautious.

I fucking hate non-black leftist sometimes because they always quit or forget us after the situation is resolved with a bandaid.

This happen over and over and over.

Rebrandishing our words and warnings like "white liberals" then screech it, killing the meaning to the ground.

Like their conservative counterparts with the word woke.

Like I said I don't blame those Who is affected by the Gazans genocide afflicted on them. In general this is still the DNC fault mostly.

But I'm tired of acting like people who understand "nuance" didn't help flung us into hell.

That they really closed their ears and decided to guilt people looking away for a break from bloodshed in order to function another day is for "cowards".

Guilt people who have no privilege to really vote in a matter they can.

Guilt people and harass them for daring to ask and tell their reasons to why voting is beneficial in their eyes to help prevent this furthering of hell.

I have saw infant and black mothers rate for dying increased after abortion was banned.

Increase police violence after the protests was "done"

I have seen increased racism towards black people.

MY OLDER SISTER WAS CALLED THE NWORD PUBLICALLY and we live in a blue state.

I saw, I heard, I witness, I read the increase violence.

Our genocides getting erased in this country.

I'm not going to forget how these non-black leftists they mock good portion of black people aggressively dumbing down our reasons because "she is black".

I will remember and call them out about expressly the most racism I experience with my two eyes from the leftist community.

On EVERY social media platform.

You guys are the white leftists(of course hopefully not directed at OP)

Of course this chip in my ass isn't going to end my support for gaza.

May Palestine be free. Sincerely. Because there's still a lot of work to do after the ceasefire.

I can never blame you guys. Never.

they're talking about the ending of birthright citizenship but um the FUCKING 14TH AMENDMENT THAT SAID BLACK PEOPLE WERE AMERICANS THAT FUCKING AMENDMENT WHY ARE WE IGNORING THE FUCKING RACISM THAT LED TO THE PASSING OF THE 14TH AMENDMENT AND JUST SAYING THAT IT "ENDS BIRTHRIGHT CITIZENSHIP" AS IF THAT'S THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF IT?!?!?!?! CAN YALL STOP REPEATING REPUBLICAN NARRATIVES I FUCKING HATE IT SO MUCH FUCK