#writing is real fun

[daisywords]

One of my biggest nitpicks in fiction concerns the feeding of babies. Mothers dying during/shortly after childbirth or the baby being separated form the mother shortly after birth is pretty common in fiction. It is/was also common enough in real life, which is why I think a lot of writers/readers don't think too hard about this. however. Historically, the only reason the vast majority of babies survived being separated from their mother was because there was at least one other woman around to breastfeed them. Before modern formula, yes, people did use other substitutes, but they were rarely, if ever, nutritionally sufficient.

Newborns can't eat adult food. They can't really survive on animal milk. If your story takes place in a world before/without formula, a baby separated from its mother is going to either be nursed by someone else, or starve.

It doesn't have to be a huge plot point, but idk at least don't explicitly describe the situation as excluding the possibility of a wetnurse. "The father or the great grandmother or the neighbor man or the older sibling took and raised the baby completely alone in a cave for a year." Nope. That baby is dead I'm sorry. "The baby was kidnapped shortly after birth by a wizard and hidden away in a secret tower" um quick question was the wizard lactating? "The mother refused to see or touch her child after birth so the baby was left to the care of the ailing grandfather" the grandfather who made the necessary arrangements with women in the neighborhood, right? right? OR THAT GREAT OFFENDER "A newborn baby was left on the doorstep and they brought it in and took care of it no issues" What Are You Going to Feed That Baby. Hello?

Like. It's not impossible, but arrangements are going to have to be made. There are some logistics.

[evilmafuyu666]

[flwrkid14]

Ghosts of Gotham: Tim Drake is a Halfa

Danny wasn’t exactly sure what he expected when he met Gotham’s infamous vigilantes, but “Red Hood smells like death and swamp water had a baby” definitely wasn’t on the list. The moment he stepped into the room, Danny gagged so hard he nearly fell out of the air.

“Holy Ancients,” he wheezed, covering his nose. “What in the name of all things unholy is that?”

Jason, already not thrilled about the random glowing stranger showing up, tilted his helmeted head. “What’s what?”

“That! You! You smell like—oh, man. I can’t even describe it.” Danny waved his hand in front of his face like it might help. “It’s like if ectoplasm went rancid and then you rolled in it for three days straight. Dude, do you know what’s going on with your ecto-situation?”

Jason took a threatening step forward. “You wanna say that again?”

Danny floated higher, clearly not intimidated. “Oh, I’ll say it again. You stink. And not just like regular stink. Like ghost stink. Like, ‘this is a health code violation, and the Ghost Zone is going to fine you’ stink. How are you even standing there right now? Anyone from Amity Park would be side-eyeing you so hard you’d feel it in your soul—what’s left of it, anyway.”

Jason stared, his body language radiating murderous intent. “You are two seconds away from eating pavement, Casper.”

Danny, unbothered, pointed at his own chest. “Excuse me, Phantom. Casper wishes he could pull this look off.”

“Phantom,” Dick interrupted, trying and failing not to laugh, “maybe we could focus on the introductions first?”

Danny gave Jason one last look of pity and floated down. “Fine, fine. But seriously, Big Red, we’re going to have to talk about that. I’ll fix it later. No need to thank me.”

Jason looked ready to commit murder, but Bruce’s glare cut him off before he could say anything.

Once the chaos settled, introductions were exchanged, and things calmed down—relatively speaking. Danny, as it turned out, was impossible to fully calm down. He buzzed around the room like he had endless energy, chatting and throwing out quips that seemed to simultaneously amuse and irritate everyone.

Then Danny’s gaze landed on Red Robin, and everything shifted.

Danny tilted his head, his glowing green eyes narrowing slightly. For a moment, his usual chaos quieted, curiosity taking over. “Huh,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Tim stiffened, his body going taut as though preparing for impact.

Danny floated closer, peering at him with an unnervingly intense expression. “You’re like me.”

Tim’s heart skipped a beat, and he immediately stepped back, his movements sharp and jerky. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” Danny said, and his tone was too soft for the others to hear the shift in it. “You’re like me. You’re—”

Tim’s hand twitched at his side, as though debating whether to reach for something or retreat entirely. “Don’t,” he said sharply, his voice low.

Danny blinked, then realization dawned on his face. “Wait… they don’t know, do they?”

“What don’t we know?” Bruce cut in, his voice sharp with suspicion.

Danny ignored him, his gaze locked on Tim. “Oh, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Tim’s eyes darted toward Danny, his frown deepening as uncertainty clouded his features. He shifted his weight, his fingers twitching at his sides as if fighting the urge to bolt.

He took a step back, then another, his movements slow and almost imperceptible. His breathing quickened, shallow and uneven, as though the air itself had grown heavier. The space around him seemed to shimmer faintly, a distortion that matched the anxiety rippling across his face.

Danny reached out, concern etched in his expression, but Tim flinched. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, the shimmering intensified, and with each passing second, Tim grew more translucent, his form fading like a mirage under the moon.

By the time Danny blinked, Tim was gone, leaving only a faint disturbance in the air where he had been.

The bats froze, their eyes darting around the room.

“What the hell just happened?” Jason demanded, reaching for his guns. “Where’d he go?”

“Did you do something?” Damian snapped at Danny, his hand already on his katana.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Danny held up his hands, his eyes wide with excitement. “Not me! That was all him! Holy Ancients—he can turn invisible?!” A grin split his face as he practically vibrated in place. “This is awesome! Wait—does he shoot ecto-beams too? Or, oh, what if he’s got some crazy transformation I’ve never even seen before? This just keeps getting better!”

Bruce’s expression darkened. “You need to explain. Now.”

Danny sighed, his excitement fading as realization set in. “Okay, but first, I need to go find him. Because if he’s anything like me, he’s probably freaking out right now. So… bye!”

He phased through the floor before anyone could stop him.

———

Danny found Tim perched on the edge of Wayne Industries, staring out at the Gotham skyline. He floated over cautiously, his boots touching down softly on the rooftop.

“Hey,” Danny said, his voice quiet. “Mind if I sit?”

Tim didn’t respond, but he didn’t tell him to leave either, so Danny took that as permission. He sat down cross-legged, giving Tim some space.

They stayed like that for a while, the silence heavy but not unbearable.

Finally, Danny broke it. “Okay, so… not to ruin the moment, but can we talk about how you've had to endure Jason’s ecto-stench this entire time? Because seriously, that’s gotta be a health violation. I mean, I'm half-dead, and even I think it’s concerning. Someone needs to dunk him in a pool of purified ectoplasm or something. I’m gonna file a complaint with—”

Tim laughed. It was soft and brief, but it was real.

Danny grinned, leaning back on his hands. “There it is. I knew you had a laugh in there somewhere.”

Tim sighed, his shoulders loosening slightly. “You’re… a lot,” he admitted.

“I know,” Danny said proudly. “But I grow on people. Like mold. Or fungus.”

Tim huffed another laugh, shaking his head. For a moment, the tension eased, and Danny let the silence settle again before speaking more seriously.

“Look,” Danny said, his voice softer, “I’m sorry I outed you like that. I didn’t know. And if they give you crap about it, I’ll personally make their lives miserable. But… you’re not alone in this, okay? I mean, yeah, it sucks. A lot. But you’ve got me now, because there’s no way we’re not becoming best friends now, and I get it.”

Tim looked at him, his eyes glassy but steady. “Thanks,” he said quietly. He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Do you really get it? I mean, you know what it’s like to…” His voice trailed off, thick with hesitation.

Danny tilted his head, his tone softer now. “Yeah. I know what it’s like.”

Tim let out a breath, shaky but determined. “I died.. a few months ago.”

Danny blinked but didn’t say anything, giving Tim space to continue.

“Harley—she caught me. Took me, actually. I was gone for weeks. They—she—handed me over to Joker. It was like a… gift. She thought it’d fix their relationship or something, I don’t know.” Tim’s voice faltered, his gaze flickering to the floor as if the memories were too much to hold. “I held out as long as I could. I kept fighting, kept trying to survive, but…”

He shook his head, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Weeks of it. Beatings. Electrocutions. I don’t even remember the exact moment my heart stopped. I just… wasn’t there anymore.”

Danny stayed quiet, his face a mix of empathy and understanding.

“Harley panicked,” Tim continued, his words tumbling out like a confession. “She thought she’d gone too far, that Joker would kill her next. So she tried shocking me back. Guess she half-suceeded? I only came back halfway.” He gestured at himself vaguely, his hands trembling. “I’m not the same. I’m not… whole.”

Danny nodded slowly. "You’re stuck between," he said, offering the words with quiet reassurance.

Tim nodded, biting his lip. “Yeah. Between.” He paused, looking up at Danny. “I haven’t told anyone because… how do you tell them something like that? How do you tell your family you’re not really alive? That their search was all in vain? That I still died, even though they looked so hard for me? I can’t make them think they failed.” His voice wavered. “They were so scared when they found me…”

Danny stayed with him in the silence, his presence a steady comfort.

Tim exhaled slowly, rubbing his face. “I thought I was weak. I thought if I told them what really happened, they’d think I was broken. And I didn’t want to be a burden.” He looked up at Danny. “I’m still not used to this. Not used to being… like this. I don’t even know how to control it—sometimes I phase through walls, other times I get stuck halfway. And the invisibility thing… I can’t even make it work without disappearing when I get too emotional.”

Danny’s gaze softened with understanding as he leaned in slightly, his voice steady but gentle. He hummed thoughtfully, “It’s a lot to handle all at once.”

Tim's shoulders slumped as he leaned closer to Danny, “I’ve been trying to figure out how to control it, but every time I get close, something goes wrong. And I didn’t want anyone to think I was weak or… freakish, so I kept pretending everything was fine. It was easier that way. Easier than explaining… all this.” He exhaled slowly, the exhaustion in his voice evident. “At least it was… until you showed up.”

Danny reached out, resting a hand on Tim’s arm in a quiet gesture of comfort. “I don’t think you’re a freak. You’re just different, like me. But that doesn’t make you broken. You’re still you.” He paused, meeting Tim’s gaze. “I know what it’s like.. to feel different, freakish, the whole nine yards. For what it’s worth? You're handling it a lot better than I did.”

Tim gave him a tight smile, the first real one in a while. “Thanks. It helps. More than you know.”

———

When they returned to the Batcave, Tim sat down with the others, Danny sticking close by his side. Tim took a deep breath and told them everything—about being captured by Harley, the weeks of torture at the Joker’s hands, the electrocutions that had stopped his heart. About how Harley had panicked and shocked him back to life, halfway. How he wasn’t entirely human anymore.

The family listened, their expressions ranging from horror to guilt to anger. Jason looked ready to kill someone, and Bruce’s usually stoic face betrayed a crack of regret. Tim hesitated as he explained why he hadn’t told them sooner, his voice faltering but honest.

Tim’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke, “I didn’t want you to think you failed… that you searched for me for nothing,"

Danny stayed quiet but stayed close, resting a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “For the record,” he said, glaring at the others, “if any of you give him crap about this, you’re gonna have to deal with me. And trust me, I will make your lives miserable.”

Tim gave him a small, grateful smile. For the first time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

[chimerafeathers]

you know what i think Mirabelle deserves to get a little fucked up freaky in how she processes learning about Siffrin’s loops post-canon. for fun. as a treat

thinking about this line in particular and stretching out the implications like taffy

this is a more romanticized, cutesy facet of her interests but she’s still framing Siffrin’s situation through storytelling. so like. What If.

i mean. this woman loves horror and gore and monsters and horrible things happening to innocent people. IN FICTION. in fiction!!! obviously!!!! and it’s beyond terrible that something even remotely close to any of that happened to her real friend in real life!!

BUT.

maybe. maybe sometimes, if the conditions are right, she gets a little too wrapped up in her imagination about the bloody, awful poetry of it all. maybe Siffrin tells a joke that's a little too dark and gory for anyone else, borderline or full-on Concerning, but she latches onto it without thinking about the Implications and plays along with increasing gruesomeness because FINALLYYYYY someone will play with her in the Horror Space (like Isabeau does in the romance space!!) and then. OOPS. the implications!!!! and she has to recalibrate out of Fun With Fiction mode into Oh No, My Friend Underwent A Horrifying Ordeal mode.

but being able to joke about things, even the awful things, is...kind of comforting, to Siffrin. makes them feel less like they're being babied and pitied and more like what happened was something...normal, almost? something that doesn't have to feel like the end of the world all over again every time it's mentioned, at least. so he tries to reassure her, and Odile and Isabeau have to go “actually can you PLEASE not joke about dying horribly it’s freaking us out and also might not be the Best for you? mentally???”

maybe Mirabelle will get a little Too Into trying to weave meaning and symbolism into the scant details that Siffrin gradually reveals, like she’s trying to finish the orange poem all over again, or eagerly meddling with the romantic reunion of the two actual people in the House with undelivered bonding earrings, writing their story for them without their input.

it’s easier to justify the tragedy of it all when it has a purpose, isn’t it? finding the beauty in the darkness, the love powerful enough to end the world. romanticizing the horrors until her friend can talk about them without shutting down.

and she feels guilty about hearing something and immediately thinking “ohhhhhhh this is JUST like Blorbo From My Novels,” because she should treat Siffrin’s situation with the gravity and care he deserves!! they’re a real person, not a character who exists for entertainment, to represent the ~themes~ of some story.

but if she admits as much…maybe Siffrin is safe to admit that he had started seeing the rest of them as actors, endlessly reciting their lines. maybe that’s just how people process things sometimes, grasping for metaphors when unfiltered reality gets to be too much. maybe it’s okay to talk about that part of it all, too.

[fanged-fanfics]

Ok, but what if next time shadow milk comes into the dough baby's room, we show off our artistic skills by doing makeup on him? Making him as pretty as ever!

.

(And then when he leaves, black sapphire is like 'what in the world happened to your face-?'.. 'Art, my dear minion, ART')

☆ Blue Hues of Trouble — Shadow Milk & Child!Reader ☆

Genre: Semi-Fluff, Platonic || they/them pronouns for reader || Warning for mild manipulative themes

A/N: Previous part for those who need it!

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

You rummaged around in the box sitting beside you, taking out tools you honestly can't remember the name of. You knew dressing up your face was something adults did for fun, and hey, Shadow always did say you were his favorite little artist! The jester sat before you, hunced over so you could reach his face.

You applied what had to have been the third layer of blush, drawing shapes on his cheeks with eyeliner ink. He sat perfectly still, humming in contentment. While you were turned away, his eyes flicked over to the corner of your bed. The doll he'd given you was haphazardly tucked away, mismatched button eyes peeking out of the sheets. He couldn't help grinning to himself.

"Say, little one, did your papa say anything about our plush friend?" He asked, putting on the most innocent tone he could muster. You huffed, applying eye shadow to his right eyelid with a frown "No.. I gotta hide it. Papa would try to toss it away". "How cruel!" Shadow Milk gasped, his face the picture of childish hurt "All because your dear friend wanted to give you a little gift?"

You nodded sadly "Yeah... but he doesn't play with me anymore! He just talks about big stuff...". Shadow Milk shook his head, tutting as he pulled you into his arms "Poor little doll! All alone, with no one to play with" he sniffled. You couldn't help but giggle at his silly antics "Nuh-uh, I have you!". Shadow Milk grinned, but no kindness reached his eyes "That's right. You'll always have your dear friend Shadow Milk"

The doorknob clicked, and the strong hands cradling you were suddenly gone. You landed on the carpet of your room with a grunt, looking around in bewilderment. All traces of your blue and black friend had disappeared in a mere blink, as if he were never there. You felt yourself beginning to pout, but footsteps sounded of someone entering

"Little sunflower, are you here?" Pure Vanilla asked. When he saw you, his worry melted into a tiny smile. He strode over, makeup kit completely ignored as he lifted you onto your feet "I was looking all over for you. Are you alright?". "Yes, papa" you nodded. You couldn't help but notice lines on his face that hadn't been there before. Faint darkness under his eyes, circles wearing heavy on his kind face. Pure Vanilla's smile almost faltered seeing you looking at him in concern. He stood back up, patting your head "That's good. I've someone very important I'd like you to meet"

Just then, the door creaked open more. Dark Cacao was there, and right beside him stood someone new. A tall man with pale grey armor, iridescence shinning in his large sword. He placed the weapon to the side, intense gaze falling upon you. You scooted closer to Pure Vanilla, who held your hand as reassurance. This new stranger bent down, seemingly scanning every inch of your face. "May I have your hand, little one?" He asked, extending a gloved hand to you. You stepped back, looking up at Pure Vanilla. He nodded gently "Don't worry, this is a dear companion of mine. He won't hurt you. I wouldn't let him"

With some of your worries softened, you gave the stranger your hand. He closed his eyes, and a light emitted from him. The glow of it made you feel warm, and it seemed to circle your being. The stranger's brow furrowed, and he stood "I can sense it". Pure Vanilla suddenly looked afraid "You don't mean...?". The other nodded. "Their souljam has been touched by deceit. I can feel it, clouding the edge of their essence"

Dark Cacao's frown deepened, and Pure Vanilla gripped his sleeve "No.. no, no, this can't be. I've been so careful- I can't-" his breath hitched "Elder Faerie Cookie, you must help us". "Don't worry, I won't let any harm come to this doughling" Elder Faerie promised "I can watch them, in my kingdom"

"No!" You shouted, clinging to Pure Vanilla's robes. You hid your face in his stomach "Don't wanna!". With a deep frown, Pure Vanilla turned to the faerie "I think that would only harm them.. they're so young, they still need me". "But this is the safest way" Dark Cacao said "If that Beast is back, we don't know what others might have been freed. We must eliminate this problem quickly". "There has to be another way" Pure Vanilla plead, holding you close to him. He looked to Elder Faerie, who gave a conflicted sigh

"It is possible that I can send a guard from my kingdom, someone to watch over them. They won't be able to purge the influence, but hopefully it can stop the spread" he said. "Thank you, Elder Faerie" Pure Vanilla responded "For all your help. I'm more greatful than you can imagine". "I'll also be sending someone" Dark Cacao chimed in "This castle needs protection". "I couldn't ask that of you" Pure Vanilla said "You need someone to protect you as well, if this really means what we fear it does"

"You are one of my oldest and closest allies, Pure Vanilla Cookie" Dark Cacao responded "A threat to you is a threat to me. I know what it's like to lose yourself... to lose your child..." the Cacao king gave you a look, his sternness softened by reflection. Pure Vanilla nodded "Thank you, my dear friend. I very much appreciate it. Whenever you need, I will make sure to return this kindness"

After a long time of the three discussing their options, they were soon being seen out. You were much more relaxed, but still sticking to Pure Vanilla like glue. "You may expect Silverbell Cookie's arrival soon" Elder Faerie said, standing in the threshold of the castle doors "I have faith that he will guard this castle to the fullest extent possible". "I will send you Chocolate Bark Cookie" Dark Cacao said next "He is one of my oldest allies. You can rely on him, much like you rely on me". "I cannot thank you two enough" Pure Vanilla sighed "Please, be careful on your travels". "Don't worry about us" Elder Faerie said "We'll check in soon enough"

Once inside, you headed to the kitchen. It was still a little upsetting that Shadow Milk had left so suddenly, but now you were also confused. What did all this mean? Did you do something wrong? Why did everyone seem upset with you? As you mulled over the question, Pure Vanilla sat you in your favorite chair. "Care for some Fluffy Castella?" He asked, taking out a cooking pan. You grinned happily "Yes please! And a bit of Toffee jam". "Coming right up" Pure Vanilla chuckled "How about you help me mix it all together?". You slid off of your chair, padding over to excitedly peer at the counter "Yeah!! You can count on me!"

Lingering on the windowsill, a small inky black blob with a single blue eye observed you. It just as suddenly slunk back, rushing across the fields. Around the outskirts, where the trees covered the moon and the forest ground stayed dark, two Cookies leaned against the bark of the trees. The blob stopped before them, morphing and twisting. It grew in size until the gunk peeled away, revealing Shadow Milk Cookie. "Master Shadow Milk!" A pitchy voice squealed, the cookie with red apples in her hair jumping forwards to greet him. "That took hours" the Cookie in purple and black pointed out, sliding into view with smooth strides

"I needed information" Shadow Milk responded simply "It seems our target is getting reinforcements. They're trying to weed us out". "They caught on this quickly?" The purple one asked. "That Elder Faerie Cookie.. I just know he's planning to seal me in that cramped tree again" Shadow Milk mumbled. "Never!" The gal declared, squeezing Shadow Milk's arm in a crushing hug. "Don't worry, minions, your master won't go down that easily" Shadow Milk declared, bravado returning to his tone "With just a pinch of deceit, we'll plant the seeds of our brilliant takeover!"

"Is the... face paint a part of it?" The purple Cookie asked. Shadow Milk raised a hand, feeling the botched shapes and messy makeup that was still on his face. He put his hands on his hips with a scoff "This, Black Sapphire Cookie, is art. If you're jealous that I can pull it off, just say so". "Of course not, Master Shadow Milk" Black Sapphire replied, bowing deeply "How foolish of me". "You're forgiven. This time" Shadow Milk replied, beginning to step into the thick woods "Now we must prepare. Our next act is just a curtain call away!"

[mamawasatesttube]

i keep thinking to myself, god we have got to put tim drake in a time loop. but also time loops just feel so perfectly like speedster bullshit, yknow? therefore lemme just smash these thoughts together like particles at cern aaannddd--

let's put tim in a time loop that bart accidentally caused. a tim loop, if you will :) specifically, tim loop where kon dies at the end and bart just kind of subconsciously went nope! and "if anyone can fix it it's tim right?" bc bart has. a normal amount of faith in his friends but also a normal amount of feelings about himself being useless to save kon bc he couldn't in infinite crisis.

and bam suddenly tim is having the worst tuesday of his life like 20 times in a row. yippee! it's bart-powered but he doesn't even know. he did it on accident. bart in the loop doesn't know what's going on. it just resets every time the ending is something bart can't accept (kon dies again). tim tries to sacrifice himself to save kon once but somehow that doesn't break the loop either (bart refuses to accept that). how long can tim go through a time loop before he goes completely bonkers bananas insane? only tim(e) will tell.

and, worse: how many times can tim watch kon die? how many times can he beg kon to value his own life, to get it through his head that being a hero doesn't mean he needs to die for the world, that there must be another way? how many times can he watch kon sacrifice himself to save others and know that if he stops kon, those people might die?

how fucked up would he be if he ever actually found out just how suicidal kon has been his entire life?

extra fun: cassie takes one look at him every time and instantly clocks that he's feeling like shit, but every time she forgets why, because the loop resets. tim is being perceived but it never lasts. this will drive him crazy so fast. he's gonna start acting out and snapping at her for being concerned because what's the POINT of talking about his feelings if everything resets ANYWAY. this will definitely not come back to bite him in the end or anything, right?

(kon-el dead wife giggling in the sunshine and playing under the sheets montage plays over and over for both tim and bart. this probably means nothing.)

[keferon]

Two Peas in a Pod: part 4/?

Hopefully the dialog isn't confusing.

______________________________

"Still dizzy?" 

"Not really," Jazz answered with a comfortable smile, though stole a quick glance over to the gate. The first since Blaster had arrived for the morning routine. The other mer wasn't awake yet last he saw, but he was shifting more. The medication had obviously long worn off by now, but Jazz still hoped they weren't in too much pain. 

But Blaster noticed and it prompted him to pause his checks to ask, "did he wake up last night?" 

"Kinda? He could have been talking in his sleep though." 

"Hm, there's a good chance he'll be up soon, then." 

Jazz's expression of his usual cheerfulness shifted, just slightly and if it had been anyone other than Blaster, they would have missed it. He flipped the clipboard over in his lap and rested his elbows against his crossed legs. 

"You're nervous," Blaster pointed out gently and gave Jazz an encouraging smile. "Is this about their injuries, or is this about making a friend?" 

The mer's face soured and he looked away. "I thought I wasn't supposed to ask." 

"That was about the gate, and I'm sorry about that." It was just the two of them on the pier, but Blaster still practised a surveying sweep of the area with what looked like stretching. Then with a lower voice, he continued, "The Vet Chief wanted to fully isolate them from you, to keep them in a transfer-crate, at least until the injuries had a low risk of reopening. I argued that it would put them under a lot of undue stress, and you because you knew the Mer was here. Which is part of why it took so long for–" 

"–and it's fine to say this now?" Jazz snapped and turned back to him with a small scowl. 

"Jazz, how many staff members were in your area yesterday? When we talked about the gate?" 

He paused, trying to recall. Blaster was with him and the group that went into the bay had five… seven? 

"There was thirteen, Jazz," he supplied, knowing that any answer coming would be incorrect. It was a lot of people, and with Blaster already known for making waves on the regular, the sudden addition had eyes and ears on him. That, and because he had fought so hard against the 'great idea' brought up in the first meeting after emergency treatment had ended. "You didn't even clock the vet on standby at the pier entrance." 

Jazz huffed and laid out flat, resting his chin on his crossed arms. Okay, so he wasn’t paying attention to who was around. "Then what is it about the gate? I get the bit about climbing the walls, but…" 

"That one is on me, I was – am – being overly cautious. Not of you, but of others misunderstanding your excitement or anxiety as aggression. And I know how persistent you can be when something catches your interest. But that's not the point, what is, is that if the team reports you showing signs of aggression, they'll… remove him." 

Now looking worried, Jazz glanced from Blaster to the gate. "But what if he shows aggression?" 

"We're expecting that, at least at first." Blaster wanted to reassure him, but there were still too many unknown variables. "Unknown place with an unfamiliar face, and likely limited communication. There is bound to be backlash." 

Jazz looked down with an expression of growing despair, before dropping his face against his arms. His words muffled, "so whether he stays or not depends on me being able to talk with him." 

Blaster reached out and placed his hand on the orca's shoulder. "Listen, buddy, this might be hard to hear. But let me explain, okay? … So far it looks like there are no issues and the current plan is to have him released once he recovers." As he feels Jazz tense, Blaster frowns in understanding and begins to rub his shoulder to comfort him. "There is only one reason that the aquarium wouldn't go through with it, and honestly, I don't want that to happen. It's all sorts of fucked up and would only make things worse– but I don't want you to distance yourself from him. I want you to try and befriend him." 

"… why," Jazz asked weakly, cursing him for telling him the truth – for reminding him of the truth – for breaking his small piece of hope of not being alone anymore. If he was going to be taken away, if he was just going to lose him no matter what, then it would hurt less if he just ignored him. 

All sorts of answers bounce around in Blaster's mind. From wishful thinking – because I want you to go with him. To long term goals – anything we could learn could help Mers everywhere. But he settled on as close to the truth as he could. "Because I'm trying to make sure that no matter what happens, it's the best result for both of you. But I can't do that if the two of you can't at least work together. So, I'm asking you to try." 

"Right," because he doesn't need to be kept here to survive… he just needs time to heal. Where I – "–right. Okay, I'll try… but where do I even start?" Jazz took a deep breath to compose himself before he lifted his head. 

"Well, why don't we see if sleepy-head is waking up? Maybe he'd like breakfast." Blaster offered, first with a reassuring smile, but then twisted it into something more mischievous. "And maybe you could find out if he's got a beautiful name, too." 

It took a second to realize what Blaster was getting at, and for the first time in his life Jazz felt bashful. "W-what are you talking about?" He hid it terribly. 

"He's beautiful~" he whispered dramatically, and Blaster learned that mers could in fact blush. 

— 

When Blaster left to get food for the wild mer, Jazz calmly made his way over to the view port. Only to be taken by surprise, he was looking directly at Jazz. Though, glaring, might be more accurate with how his face was pulled tight with focus and the sheer intensity of his stare. 

But otherwise, they were completely calm. Jazz wasn't sure if that was a good sign or bad. Yet, it didn't stop his nervous excitement from returning. He waved with one of his best smiles – one without teeth – and greeted him with a friendly, "hello!" 

What he got in return was a slightly more intense furrowing of their brow – irritation or confusion?��

"Oh! Sorry, habit." Jazz switched to mer. {Hi!} 

The tension didn't leave his face, but there was slight movement and, again, Jazz didn't know how to interpret that. But he did answer, {||၊|။||||•။၊|။|။|၊|။||၊၊၊|?} 

"Uh…" Yep, didn't understand any of that. 

Then the door opened on the edge behind them and Jazz for a moment thought that it would startle the wild mer. But they didn't even flinch. And while their eyes remained on him, Jazz was fairly sure now that they had been using their sonar to track the human's movement. 

"Are they still asleep?" Blaster asked, puzzled. 

"Nope, very much awake." He shifted lower to try and get more than the man's boots in his sight. 

"Ah…" He sounded uneasy and began to make small careful steps around the edge closer to Jazz while he spoke as calmly as possible. "Well, I'm going to keep talking, just so you don't think I'm trying to sneak up on you." 

When he reached the point where he was straight across from the wild mer, they lifted their head to turn their glare on the human. Blaster to his credit did not flinch, but he did freeze. "Whoa– that's – wow, t-that's quite the look." 

A series of slow clicks came from them, but their lips did not move. Jazz didn't think it was echo-speak, as it reminded him of his own searching clicks when he was trying to get a better picture. "Oh! I think he's trying to see what you have." 

The wild mer glanced to Jazz, becoming silent once more before looking back up at Blaster. 

"Fair enough, alright new buddy, I'm going to be real slow about it okay?" Back to narrating his actions calmly as he knelt down. Showing the long pole with a thin, blunt hook, "just an arm I don't mind losing if you decide that you don't like the breakfast I brought," and poured out the fish from the bucket. 

Still the wild mer glared, unblinking and watching every little movement. 

"Okay… I'm not sure what to make of this, so far everything has been nothing like previous encounters." 

"Ya, didn't you say he'd be freaking out?" 

"You got anything to calm or reassure our new buddy here that I ain't going to hurt him?" Blaster was doing his absolute best at trying to remain calm, but even his hands were starting to tremble under the pressure the wild mer was giving him. He wasn't even moving, just watching, but it felt like the human was being stalked. 

Honestly, Blaster was probably one bad move from being lunged at. Though, if that was the case, he had maybe one chance to get away. The hammock would throw him off on the first strike, the supports could probably take two or four hard thrashings before it snapped under the mer's strength. Injuries be damned, this mer was in peak physical condition. 

Jazz gave a small chirp to try and gain the other's attention, and failed, but continued with trying to talk. {It's okay, you're safe.} 

He was given a very tiny dip of his finial facing the gate – a tell that he had heard him? 

{You're safe,} Jazz repeated. 

The mer didn't look away, but he did at least respond. {•၊၊|•|၊|။။၊|။•|||။||||။၊|။•၊၊||၊|။||||။•၊|။•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•} Though, far too fast for Jazz attempt to understand. 

"I'm hoping you two are talking about your favourite fish." Blaster joked to cover his nervousness. 

Jazz sighed and admitted the truth, "I haven't a clue to what they're talking about…" 

"Just let me know if I should run, kay?" He shifted slowly on his knees, trying to find a comfortable spot without making himself too vulnerable. 

But Jazz hadn't given up yet. {Hungry?} He tried instead. 

More chirps and clicking that didn't translate. 

{Hungry? Yes? No?} 

The heavy huff that came from them caused Blaster to flinch, but the mer finally focused on Jazz. There was clear irritation in their face now on top of glaring. And the damns broke, he started ranting at him loudly. 

"Hey, don't yell at me, I'm trying okay!?" Jazz glared back, not backing down. Though wasn't all that intimidating with him just having a little porthole to look through. 

"Jazz, buddy, please don't aggravate him." He, after all, was the one in the room with the wild mer. 

"He fuckn' started it!" 

Silence came quickly as the wild mer plunked his face into the soft floaty that had been his pillow. Blaster would have found it utterly hilarious if not fearing for his life currently. With another heavy and long huff, the wild mer looked back at Jazz, still glaring, but slightly less than before. {•|||။||||။၊|။•၊၊||၊|။? Yes? No?} 

Jazz blinked at him for a moment, depending on the question, no could be a yes. {No…?} He answered tentatively instead. 

{It's safe? Yes? No?} And he pointed his nose towards Blaster briefly, but clearly wasn't happy about it. 

{Yes!} Jazz nodded vigorously and smiled for extra encouragement. Out of all the staff, Blaster was safe, Jazz held some trust in the human after all. {[Blaster] safe.} 

"What about me?" 

"He asked if you're safe and I told him you were. Relax a bit or something to show him." 

Easier said than done. Blaster cursed, but did his best to ease the tension from his shoulders and smile a little. Even, daring to slowly lift a hand to wave. 

The mer did not seem convinced, but his glare lessened some more and looked over the human with more curiosity than before. 

{Hungry? Yes? No?} Jazz tried again. 

There was a long pause, but they sighed and answered. {… yes.} 

"Progress!" He cheered and then stuck his hand through the little window. "Blaster, hand me one of the fish. He's hungry, but I have a feeling that he'll trust you more if he sees me eat what you have." 

"Okay." He made sure that it was clear as possible what his intentions were. Taking a fish under the gills, Blaster looped the blunt hook in and out the mouth. Then, very slowly, began to feed the length of the pole towards Jazz's waiting hand. Once Jazz felt the tail touch his palm, he grabbed it and waited until Blaster twisted enough for the fish to slip free. Then the pole was just as slowly drawn back. 

The whole time the wild mer watching the exchange intensely. 

Jazz pulled the fish over to his side, chirped for the other's attention before he swallowed it whole. Smiling once more as he said, {safe.} 

Blaster had to admit, he was surprised when the mer shifted slightly in the hammock, and then cautiously held out his right hand. The glare never left, but this one felt like a threat, that if he messed this chance up, there would not be another. 

Though this was the first time Jazz had been able to see any of his injuries. The colourful tape-bandages almost covered every inch of his skin from his hand up to his bicep. It reminded him that just yesterday he had been mortally wounded. Which was probably a key reason the wild mer seemed so calm, they had only started to recover and every action was either painful or exhausting. Likely both.

Jazz watched closely as Blaster went through all the careful steps as he had with Jazz and held the fish out. The only difference, was that the human's grip was loose, just in case the wild mer decided to try and yank him into the water with it. But they didn't, doing exactly as they saw before, allowing Blaster to release the fish and retreat. The whole process was so slow that the wild mer's arm started to shake from being held out. 

But both Jazz and Blaster let out a breath of relief as there had been no backlash. 

He eyed the fish in his grip with a mild sneer before he swallowed it and then held out his shaky hand for another. It was clear that the pain was getting to him, but nothing in his expression showed weakness. 

The feeding got easier and quicker as Blaster relaxed a bit, not fearing that a normal pace would come off as threatening to the wild mer. 

When the shaking got bad enough, the mer rested his arm back in the hammock, but kept his eyes on the remaining fish. As if to convey he wasn't finished, just needed a break. Blaster was more than happy to comply and gave him a few praises, even if they didn't understand. 

"Hey," Jazz called gently, chirping for the other's attention. He waited until they looked his way, then pointed at himself. "Jazz," and then to the human, "Blaster," and back to himself once more, "Jazz," before pointing to the other mer with a questioning tilt of his head. He hoped it was clear what he was asking for. 

When the silence stretched on for a bit, the human also joined in. "Blaster," to himself and to his mer, "Jazz." 

There was a brief moment that Jazz could see that they were working over something, opening their mouth a few times before the sound of a sharp zip came out. "… 'tzz?" 

Jazz snorted, before breaking into a few chuckles. "Ya, missing the Ja, but you'll get there. I'm Jazz." He placed a hand over his heart. 

The gesture was reflected, {•၊||၊။} 

It was his turn to try and work out the sound in his head. Jazz tried the word out soundlessly on his tongue once. It was like a popping roll? {•၊||၊၊၊၊၊?} 

{•၊||၊။} they repeated, firmly correcting him. 

"Nice to meet ya, {•၊||၊၊၊၊၊}!" While the mer scowled at him for not even trying to fix his pronunciation, Jazz just smiled brightly.  

"So... what is his name?" Blaster asked for a translation, very interested in the development between them.  

Jazz laughed, "I have no idea." 

______________________________

Don't ask about my attempt to make sound-wave-like-text, it's gibberish, lol, and going forward only •၊||၊။ (Prowl) & •၊||၊၊၊၊၊ (Prowler) will be used until Jazz has a English (common?) name to attach an understanding to.

Keferon, I just wanted to say that every comment or tag you leave on the fic is like serotonin being injected into my veins. Every silly little image is like rolling down a grassy hill in the warm sun while I laugh with manic joy. When you add art, it's like an adrenaline shot to the heart that makes me want to run across the globe just to frantically wave hello with both hands, give you a hug and run back to get started on the next part.

And the next part will be Prowl joining Jazz in the main pool and Jazz learning just how fast he is, even while injured. >:)c

-GLC

𓆝 Previous 𓆟 Next

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

Me looking in my inbox and seeing that there's two peas in a po

Odjndgdjdkfhdkm PLEASE. Blaster is so nervous EVERYONE IS SO NERVOUS Ooohhhnooo he's gonna freak out and kill everything he can reach oh no we all know how all those wild stupid creatures are oh no watch out While Prowl is trying to blow their pancakes with mind

And I juswannasay I love it so much ehehejgknfbfkdn THE SOUND WAVE SPEACH? I LOVE THE LOOK OF IT EHEHEH

Always a big fan of creative ways of showing imaginary languages. This thing?? ||ll•|Il It looks hella stylish >:O

Aaannnndd I got excited and made some art hehe

[crazymecjc]

every day’s great at your junes!

my piece for @p4zine ! this zine was such a fantastic experience, and I was so happy to be a part of it leftovers sales are open now, so get your copy while you still have a chance!!

[theegoldenchild]

Chapter Eight: Daddy’s Little Girl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stack chuckled. “Barely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded. “I ate all you fed me.”

“That don’t answer the question.”

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

Smoke’s gaze sharpened. “Come here.”

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

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

Stack grinned. “Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was different.”

“How?”

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

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

“Shut your damn mouth.”

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

“I said—”

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

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

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

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

The tension deflated a notch. Just barely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll kill ya for gettin’ greedy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think what happened last night was wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smoke didn’t look over. “Not now.”

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

“I said not now, Stack.”

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

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

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

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

Smoke didn’t answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close my damn door.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sera recoiled, one hand pressed to her chest.

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

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

“They defiled you. And you let ‘em.”

And then—he raised his hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

“He doesn’t,” Smoke said finally.

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

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

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

Sera blinked, her heart hammering. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love is patient. Love is kind.

He hummed and shut the book.

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

“PLEASE—PLEASE—SHE’S MY BABY—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smoke tilted his head slightly. “You ready?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door shut behind her with a quiet click.

It sounded a lot like a lock turning.

Or a chapter ending…

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.

.

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No one:

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

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

Tag list:

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @theethighpriestess @imagining-greatness @hearteyes-for-killmonger @blackpantherismyish @theogbadbitch @queenofklonnie22 @underated345-blog @bxrbie1 @harleycativy @hermyowney @kcundercover0 @cleo92bitch-i-am-old @gtf-o-m-d @merranerra @afroslacks @wingedpeachjudgegiant @smutattack @solarssins @xoxodaedreams @rolemodelshit @chrisevansmentee @honggihwa @softy212 @michifilmz @hon3yjaxx @ladymac82 @fruitypatooties-blog @whysoceerious @deexoxomuah @nanamiismine @monstaxmomma0 @a4g3lstarfire @blk-afrodite @melodyofmbaku @championshipshade @aretasreads @nubiagurllll @wabi-sabi1090 @swiftscepterdragon @midnightmemoirsofher @plan3tch1ld @dutifullythoughtfulenthusiast

[lovestruckhaze]

the feminine urge to fantasise about being in a romantic relationship and then do nothing to be in one

[guiltylovestar]

he didn't want to mention he went on trips to see his boyfriend I mean he just went there for legal system stuff 😁

[cheriboms]

since manfred is learning to read (+ speak), and spite/cole both like being read to, i thought it only made sense theyd have a little unofficial book club :) unfortunately some picks are more... ahem... educational... than others >_>

[fryologyy]

wander over yonder sketchdump!

[obv10usly]

HOW ONE NUN SAVED MILLIONS OF QUEER LIVES AND RESURRECTED A CHANNEL

in this video essay i will—

[clickety-clacker]

Been seeing so many cool Clickies on my dashboard since getting into GGG, I just had to take the time to draw a few of them- plus, it was a bit of a challenge to try new styles. A lot of these guys were also super influential to how I draw and even think about Click Clack on my own time, so you should definitely check them out! Names below the cut cus it got long heehoo

Top left: @malartsorte

Top middle (holding papers): @scribblelimbo

Top right: @wishgraanted

Leftmost middle: @beastwhimsy

Middle (peace sign!): @sootnuki

Rightmost middle: @molabuddy

Bottom left: @pespillo

Bottom middle: @artuurle

Bottom right: @modmad

I know I said it already, but all of yall are super cool and I had a lot of fun challenging myself to make this! Keep on being awesome 👍

[greenheartart]

Because this is absolutely the kind of petty rules-lawyering thing Rus would do.

Painted over this because I couldn't unsee it.