#if we never get to find out. fanfic writers i am fucking begging.

[theriverbeyond]

cannot stop thinking about Gideon. or Kiriona. the Corpse Prince, Heir to the Nine Houses, first of the Tower Princes. because who is she? what is she?

her entire (re)introduction seems engineered to make you think someone has deepfaked Gideon. it gives wrongfeelings all the way down. Uncanny valley supreme. not only the name change but... we have never seen a Gideon this cold or uncaring, or just.... brutal. and some of the things Kiriona wants are just so alien. like she wants to become John's cavalier? what the hell, she never gave a shit about the empire or God or John. she seems generally apathetic twoards Harrow which is just so NOT Gideon I don't know what to say. Gideon's two settings re: Harrow are hatred and devotion. PLUS in our first (re)introduction, it is clear that the House appears to be trying to pass off an obvious corpse as their alive heir, which is like, so many levels of red flag warning. and then she comes back so... easy. she was just playing possum? Kiriona does not feel.... i dont know exactly. She doesn't feel real. She's like if someone read a manual on who Gideon was but only head the headings, and very quickly.

so like, i would be convinced she was Wrong or Someone Else/Someone New BUT!!!! then there are just enough moments of pure, genuine Gideon to make me feel confused. the way she bickers with Ianthe is definitely in character. and then there's her anger at how she was treated as a child and her heartbreak&hysterics -- so palpable even when seen through Nona's semi concious state -- when she finally fulfils her childhood fantasy of killing Crux, on p.473, the source of so much abuse, and it just doesn't feel good. like. her breaking down because it didn't feel good was so genuinely Gideon and so painful.

and then on p. 374, Nona realizes that Kiriona is the saddest person she has ever seen, and that's just-- idk how to explain it. my breath caught. Gideon IS there.

and then again on p. 411, Kiriona -- Gideon -- asks Nona if Nona loves Harrow. she asks if Nona knows where Harrow is. and there's just.... idk. that's Gideon!!!! through so many layers of trauma or detachment but it IS Gideon, asking, because she loves Harrow to death and beyond it, and Nona just doesn't care so that's all we get. but that is fucking Gideon. that tiny moment. and she just seemed so fucked up and sad and resigned.

maybe this is Gideon, but put through the sieve of so much trauma that she has become unrecodnizable. maybe this is only Gideon sometimes, and someone else other times. but what the fuck happened to her. how did she get there, what happened to her, what is going on during the moments when she is unrecognizable. what did they do to her over the six month time gap. who did this to her, how did they do it, and most importantly will we get to see Harrow tear out their intestines slowly.

#ntn spoilers #nona spoilers #nona the ninth #Kiriona Gaia #tlt thoughts #trb.txt #god. gideon babygirl what did they DO TO YOU #if we never get to find out. fanfic writers i am fucking begging. #her being a PRINCE is so sexy and cool but everything else. hmm. where is sue i want her back. #i need to stare at a wall #gideon nav #we KNOW john can fuck with memory #we know #but also hes become a wet mop of a man!!!! i dunno!!!

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Okay I stumbled upon your blog and took the time to read your responses to those asks about interaction and comments and overall feedback and I get what you mean but also I think as writers we shouldn’t expect much from readers (much as in the comments you say you’d like to get) If you want those kind of comments very detailed about something on your story you could try beta readers (multiple). That way you’ll satisfy that need of comment and detailed feedback from more than just one person.

Fanfiction is not that serious for readers, unless it’s another writer who read your story and knows what it’s like to craft a story. Even then, not many writers read fanfiction (from what I’ve noticed) so you won’t get very detailed comments from someone who’s here for fun and not to study a story.

If you write just for the feedback I fear you’re posting on the wrong platform

"Fanfiction is not that serious for readers"

That is the problem. That is the problem.

Like I totally get if you read fics casually, it's a once and a while thing for you - then don't feel obligated to leave a comment. Cool. If you read fanfiction before you go to sleep and you are sleepy-eyed at 3am - you don't have to leave a comment. Go the fuck to sleep.

But if fanfiction is your main source of entertainment and you read 5 fics a day, 10 fics a day, 20 fics a day (or if you read 100k fics often) - if you go back and re-read fics, if you download fics - that is a serious hobby. Even if you don't write, even if you don't think that take it 'seriously' - that is a serious hobby. And don't you think that you should forge a relationship with the person or people who have provided you with all these amazing stories - find some way to thank them and especially - fuel their creative process?

Like this isn't a fucking trick. If you discuss fics with writers, it will fuel their creative process and make them wanna write more fics. IT'S NOT A TRAP. IT B E N E F I T S YOU AS A FIC READER.

But also, a huge chunk of the problem is that I get very passive-aggressive comments or comments that feel like the person talking to themselves (like they are writing a personal meme blog text post in my comments section) - and people don't realize that writing a comment on a fic means that it comes up in my notifications. And then I am forced to read it with my eyes.

People saying that they are going to hell for reading my fic, or that my fanfiction is 'gross and horrible' (morally), or complaining that it's incomplete when I have a clearly outlined post schedule, people bashing the entire x reader genre right in front of my very eyes, people calling my main character stupid - the list goes on.

The minute you act like fanfiction is a product to be consumed is the minute you let yourself forget that there is a real human being reading all of your comments - it's not a fucking robot that your comments are being sent to, it's not some big account that receives 1000s of comments a day and will never see what you wrote. A person is behind that fic.

Also, just in general, I am not begging for comments or an increase in (quality) comments on fanfiction for me specifically. I am trying to improve the environment for all fanfiction writers because readers don't take it seriously. (I am not asking people to treat this like a fucking courtroom or something, I am just asking people to realize that fanfic writers are human beings. Please.) Readers do not acknowledge that fanfiction is a labor of love that the writer has worked hard on - and more people need to fucking acknowledge that, flat out.

I have made this comparison before, but people act like fanfiction is a mass produced candy like M&Ms - something that is made by the millions in a factory that should be gobbled up quickly because it's so easy to make. When fanfiction is a hand-pulled taffy - an art that takes years to perfect, and should be appreciated - the final product, and the process.

Yeah, I could get what I want or need out of a beta reader (though, imo, beta readers exist to critique fanfiction while it is still in the process of being written, and I am asking for a bit of feedback and interaction on fics that are already finished and polished as a little mental crumb of a treat for all the work I have done) - but that is like saying that if I want comments to change, I should just stop posting my fics and only send them to 3 or 4 people privately in DMs instead. Which is something I could do. But when I do that, it's when I have truly given up on the fanfiction community as a whole.

(And I'm not asking for 'detailed' feedback. I am just asking for one sentence that isn't passive aggressive and is about the plot of the fic. One sentence <3)

#do I need to bring up tiktok again #because it's the fucking tiktok behavior #we never had these problems before fandom was on tiktok #anonymous #fandom #fanfiction #discussion #sundrop answers

[sumeun-bimireul-bwa]

Concerning Behavior in the Twisted Wonderland Fandom

We're done sitting on this. We've agonized for the past couple weeks on how to go about this, but I'm just going to come out and say it for everyone: @/the-heartslabyul-hatter has an incredibly alarming pattern of behavior of bullying and hypocrisy going on and she needs to change her behavior for good.

I'm not really sure where to begin, so I'm going to start at the beginning of our involvement in this and what led us to a lot of this information. Back in September 2020, we ended up stumbling into the Team Avalon and Tumblr user poison-apple-tarts drama. My friends and I did some digging into this as none of us knew who Team Avalon was so all of the posts were reading weird to us. We learned poison-apple-tarts was trying to get people to turn against Team Avalon, who was fandubbing Twisted Wonderland. She claimed it was illegal and that Team Avalon was profiting from their fandub. I am not even going to get into this because this would make this post even longer, but keep a pin in "Team Avalon was profiting from copyrighted material."

During our search, one of my friends found that poison-apple-tarts had commented under a Tumblr post that was a video of one of the Night Ravens' performances saying she was glad people liked the video. And what do you know, they found a post where poison-apple-tarts admitted to being ProudHufflepuff on Youtube.

We kept an eye on things for a while, because to be honest, we were wondering if there was a story there and we could do a video in the vein of When Posting Goes Wrong, or something. We thought this would be some weird, petty drama like Ms.Scribe or Cassandra Clare's laptop drama. But nothing seemed to happen, so we stopped looking for things (and our internet drama channel idea collapsed), but one of our friends kept our receipts because they never delete anything from their computer ever.

Now let's jump to the present, July 2021. I was scrolling through someone's blog looking for something to read when I stumbled upon the drama surrounding the-heartslabyul-hatter, Proud Hufflepuff, and kulfiedraws. I immediately recognized ProudHufflepuff from our previous investigations and while looking through the drama, I saw an "apology" post from the-heartslabyul-hatter where she denied being ProudHufflepuff, but something about it felt off to me and others were suspicious that Hatter was lying. So my friends and I decided to do some more digging, this time trying to find evidence that tied Hatter and poison-apple-tarts/ProudHufflepuff together

We found out that Hatter had, at one point, a Wattpad account, and they had a fic called "Poison Epel." Hatter explained she had deleted the account and fic, so one of us decided to dig through the Internet Archive to see if it'd been captured (it hadn't). So I decided to go and Google around to see if someone had reuploaded it or if others were talking about it. We figured if

What I found was old listings for Posion Epel, attributing it to, you guessed it, poison-apple-tarts. Here is our receipts compilation. I'll explain everything underneath.

Now, either hikariart1st isn't Hatter and reuploaded it without permission, which honestly that's awful if true, or hikariart1st was poison-apple-tart/the-heartslabyul-hatter's Wattpad username and they just had different names for different sites. But either way, that fic, Poison Epel (among others) was attributed to poison-apple-tarts. She wrote Poison Epel. The-heartslabyul-hatter claims to have written Poison Epel. Poison-apple-tarts admitted to being ProudHufflepuff. They are all the same person.

So why are we bringing this to light? Because Hatter has a history of harassing and bullying other creators under the guise of protecting copyright. Let's call it what it is: bullying. Hatter, we don't know why you're doing this, but knock it off. For starters, it's so hypocritical of you to go after people for allegedly making money off fanworks when YOU HAVE YOUR FANFIC COMMISSIONS OPEN. Listen, I totally get it, all of us get it: it's fucking unfair that fanartists can get money from their fanworks but us writers can't. My friends and I regularly complain about it. That's not our problem in this situation, you get your money however you want. Our problem is that you are doing what you condemned and accused others for doing.

You have hurt so many people and clearly, this is your brand. You have been doing shit like this for months and this needs to end now. Look, we don't know you. We don't know why you're harassing people. Is it for clout? Is it to feel superior to others? Or maybe you just like making people feel like shit? We don't know, but this behavior needs to end NOW. You tried to smear Team Avalon's name. You bullied a LITERAL CHILD OUT OF THE FANDOM. You have hurt COUNTLESS people and there's probably even more that my friends and I don't even know about!

You need to stop this. This is hurting so many people, and to be honest, this behavior isn't helping YOU, either. This isn't healthy and if you keep being this toxic, this is going to take a huge toll on you. This toxicity you keep running off of isn't healthy. If you're going to change for anyone, do it for yourself. Your behavior is hurting so many people and I am begging you, WE are begging you, stop this. Take accountability for your actions and change for the better. We know you can be a better, happier person. We want you to change for good and we want you to stop hurting people.

We've said our piece. We're leaving the conversation now. We just hope you change for the better, Hatter. This behavior is unacceptable.

#twst drama #long post

[neshai-esper]

What would you do if you'd find yourself in van helsing daddy's factory and getting caught later on?

Not sure what was your expectation from me, as a member of the "I'm wet for Karl Heisenberg" camp, but the first things what are came into my mind had nothing to do with horny/NSFW 🔞 things, for some reasons. (EDIT: Ok it ended up being a Karl Heisenberg short-analysis)

Yes-yes, I know... I should probably drop myself on the knees before him, embracing his thighs tightly, rubbing and scratching his more sensitive inner thigh to stimulate his senses and awake his desire, and with obsessed, pleading and desperate gaze, begging for him to "release the beast", to let his pants off from his belt's rough grip, since my blazing lips and wet, restless tongue can't find it's place in existence (what the fuck am I actually doing?💦 I'm not supposed a +18 fanfic writer) but... but nothing like this.

The plot would be quite important, and the details. Knowing myself, I'd do my best to observe not only the environment (which would also tell a lot about Heisenberg himself), but Karl too. His behaviour, his personality, his smallest movements; so I can make my own movements.

Is he ruthless? - More likely. His life was ruthless, and this past have taught him that for the sake of survival and freedom, he must be ruthless too. He definitely have a serious priority, and he obviously put himself at the top. He had no one else in his life for him, than himself.

Is he power-hungry? - It was never a question. He had to face with the painful truth that how much damage power can cause, and how much inpact it can put on living beings. The strong will feed on the weak. He have the abilities, the intelligence to be better, stronger, in every way, and he is just fucking proud of himself, but he also knows that there are no limits, and that "being satisfied with anything" wont motivates you to push and grow further. His first milestone would be obviously when he manages to destroy that fucking bitch, Miranda.

Is he a narcissistic person? - It is quite obvious. These kind of people can be very charming, charismatic, and his intelligence, his will can make him more dangerous. Yes, he is still a victim, and I think that he sees himself in the same way, even if he tend to act like the "Showman", the Master of the circus floor, the head of the scene, who rules over everything around him - ironically, he just can't control his emotions, which makes it obvious that he have serious struggle inside.

I could talk about him a LOT (and boy, I didn't even play the game yet, to observe him more better), but I think we can safely say that these are already indicates the fact that he would push me hard to make me feel his "superiority", his many "advantages" in strenght and mind, knowledge, and he'd be obsessed with controling me. Ordering me what to do, how to do, and he'd be pretty much hard to satisfy when things come to performance/achievement, results and work.

II WHY AM I TELLING THIS? It's because I'd try to do my best to support him after I hopefully managed to understand and get know his situaton and himself, despite that it can be quite dangerous for me to trust in him (he'd probably feel that I don't have full trust in him), and that he could use me ANY fucking time/and in way as a tool, which can be discarded as a junk, if needed. I would safely say that at the beginning,

I'd be nothing more but a tool for him, ast most of us - let me blow away the pink cloud over your heads, sweeties -.

I mean this support in different ways. Knowing myself:

I'd do my best to learn technical stuffs both in in practice and theory, to become a better assistant, if needed, even increasing my physical strenght and stamina to become better and more useful

I'd try to be "his eye" and "ear" too, telling to him everything I hear, see or figure out - even if it requires a certain level of trust from his side.

I'd help to get / find new "victims" for his upcoming "masterpieces", which may sound cruel, but if I'd be in this situation, I'd be also trapped there - and yes, I'm a huge-enough asshole to do such a things if needed - so there would be no place from my side to be "understanding" or overly sensitive neither

I'd be his emotional support in many ways. Be a parter whom he can talk - despite that he obviously don't like to get into deep, emotional convos because of his traumas and mindset, but usually this isn't impossible that the "victim" actually want to talk about his problems, simply just can't find a person whom he can actually trust enough to do so - , someone who try to make him laugh, cause him happy moments (I'm quite toxic person, cinical and a real bwitch, so this should mean even more fun, right?), being a "partner" in his dirty games, whatever it actually means (*sigh* you are so... pathetic!), or being an emotional punchbag - he'd usually find out when he gets too far, and since he knows how does it feel like being alone, having nightmares and Earthly terror, he'd obviously try his best to "fix" those things he cause because of his uncontrollable outbursts; in his OWN way of course.

So yes, all I want is to understand him, and learn how to give him happy, warm moments, the sense of safety and release, and company, but also, trust. Since he have no one whom he could actually trust.

#Karl Heisenberg #resident evil village #re8 #anon #ask #roleplay #headcanon #canon #camp #character #analysis #it wasn't planned actually lol #Mother Miranda #Lady Dimitrescu

[mistersshelby]

removing the dagger

hi yes it's me, yes i know i haven't updated my masterlist in ages, yes i am aware i have an unfinished wip that i promised to post months ago, i'm just a stupid fanfic writer begging her audience to love her!!!! anyway!!! i have two other things in the works that I'm hoping to finish, but in the mean time this is one shot i based on ivy and tolerate it from taylor swift's album evermore. i hope you like it, i missed y'all!!! send me asks pls i'm lonely

pairing: tommy x reader

masterlist

questions, comments, concerns

“We’ll be entertaining guests this weekend.”

You looked up from your breakfast plate in shock, wondering if your husband was addressing you or someone else. You gave the room a quick scan. No, it was indeed just you. “Alright.” You said hesitantly, “Who will be attending?”

He hadn’t looked up at you from his newspaper at the other end of the table. He felt miles away rather than a meter or two. “Just some business partners and their wives.” He finally looks up. You’re so unused to his direct attention you have to stop yourself from flinching away from his gaze, “You should go into town. Buy yourself a new dress.” Just as quickly as his gaze had met yours, he drops it again.

You draw your attention back to your breakfast plate, spreading butter on a scone before biting into it. “Do you need anything while I’m out, dear?”

“No thank you, love.”

The endearments don’t mean anything, this you know. It’s a formality. You’re husband and wife, and you speak to each other that way, but the words are empty. The truth is, day in and day out you watch him, you know all his routines. You hand him items before he can reach for them. Buy the book you know he’d been wanting for ages, but never got around to go to the store for. Refill the liquor cabinet before he can get to the bottom of a vodka bottle. And still. And still, he doesn’t see you. Not really. You leave the breakfast table to get ready to go into town and you know he won’t notice you’ve left until the maid clears your plate.

***

Another evening filled with pleasantries, pretty gowns, fake smiles. Men complimenting you and informing your husband how lucky he is to have such a beautiful, young wife. Your husband simply thanks them and doesn’t even look your way.

It’s not until he walks into the room that you feel you’ve been startled from sleep. He looks the same as you remember. There may be a few more lines around his eyes and mouth, but otherwise the same. Except now he looks like a walking weapon. That’s what the war had turned him into. You had kept tabs on him once you found out he had made it home from France, alive. The things you heard, the things this man that you used to love so dearly had done, well you suppose it didn’t surprise you. Tommy had always been too clever for his own good, almost too resilient. It made sense that France would have chewed him up and spit him out, kept most of the love and kindness he possessed.

But then his eyes find yours through the crowd and when he locks on you the same love and desire that had always been there, burns there now. No, the war couldn’t burn out his love for you. Your abandonment and consequential marriage that he read about in the paper couldn’t burn it out either. He’d love you until his dying day. And then he’s in front of you and words fail you, “Thomas,” You finally manage, “You… look well.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “It’s good to see you.” And he ever so gently lifts your hand and presses his lips to your skin. A chill runs through you and it takes all your effort not to snatch your hand away. His knowing grin tells you he’s noted his effect on you.

“And who are you?” Your husband interjects, noticing the affront that was greeting you before himself.

“Thomas, this is my husband, Benjamin.”

Tommy looks your husband up and down for longer than is polite before reaching his hand out to meet your husband’s, “A pleasure.” He murmurs.

“How do you know my wife, mister…”

“Shelby.” Tommy fills in for him, and then glances at you, “Your wife and I were--”

“Childhood friends.” You interject before he can finish and force a smile.

Tommy stares at you for a prolonged second before turning back to your husband, “Yes. Childhood friends.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Benjamin exclaimed, “You grew up in Oxford then, yeah?”

The confusion is evident on Tommy’s face so you jump in quickly, “Yeah! Both grew up in Oxford, isn’t that right, Tommy?”

Tommy looks annoyed at having to lie, but nods anyway, “That’s right.” He speaks with Benjamin for a few moments about business and you find yourself staring at him, the freckles on his cheeks you used to kiss so tenderly. His hair that you used to run fingers through. His eyelashes that used to tickle your skin when he fell asleep. His voice that used to whisper adorations in your ear while other women looked on with jealousy.

“I hope you won’t mind if I steal your wife for a dance, sir, I’d love to catch up with her for a moment.”

Benjamin gave him a disarming smile, a smile you hadn’t seen since he had courted you and it made your heart ache. He lifted his glass to Tommy, “She’s all yours.”

You managed a small smile as Tommy took your hand and led you to the center of the room. You could feel tears burning the back of your eyes at the familiarity of his touch. No one had touched you like this, well, since Tommy left Small Heath.

“Oxford, eh?” Tommy started, “What else did you have to lie about to become such an esteemed lady?”

You frowned, “I did what I had to do. It appears you did the same.”

He shakes his head, “I never lied about where I came from out of shame to achieve the lifestyle I wanted.” His voice is bitter, and you won’t lie, it stings coming from the only person who had made you feel like you were worth something.

“I’m not ashamed of Small Heath.”

“Everything about who you’ve married, to what you’re wearing, to the house you live in, to the lies about me suggest otherwise.”

“I didn’t lie about you because I was ashamed, Benjamin gets… jealous. It was just easier not to explain.”

“Does Benjamin have reason to be jealous?”

You looked into those blue eyes you had adored so long ago and saw the same longing and lust sitting there. Your lips part and you pause, trying to find the right words to convey that you were sorry for how things ended. That you wished things could have been different. But he senses your hesitation and his eyes go cold, those familiar walls that you had worked for years to tear down are back up in full force. You suppose it’s what you deserve.

“Forget it. Stupid question.”

“Tommy--”

“No, don’t. You’re obviously very happy here.”

And you realized as he said it that he was so incredibly wrong about that, “I’m not.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Your eyes begin to water before you can stop them, “I’ve never been more unhappy in my life.”

Concern floods Tommy features, “Is he hurting you?”

You almost laugh, “No, no he’s never raised a hand to me. He’s never even raised his voice to me. He just… rarely remembers that I exist is all.”

“Well he’s an idiot then.” The corner of your mouth turned up just a bit at his crassness. “Can’t imagine having you walk around this house day in and day out looking like that and not giving you the attention you deserve.”

You have to bite down hard on your lip to keep the tears lodged in your throat at bay, “Do you have a smoke?”

He frowns, “I can’t imagine Benjamin allows a lady like you to smoke.”

“Tommy, please, he won’t even know we’re gone.” Sure enough, when you look over he’s immersed in conversation, “Come outside with me.” You tug on his arm before he can respond, weaving through guests who didn’t give you a second glance.

Once outside, you gulp in the cold air and lean against the stone wall behind you. Tommy joins a few seconds later, “Are you alright?” He asks as he reaches into his pocket and takes out his cigarettes.

“Can you tell me about Birmingham? What’s it like now?”

While you smoked, he talked about his family and the business. How Polly was doing, and Finn who you could still remember being born. Arthur and his anger problems. John and his relentless jokes. And when your cigarette was nothing more than a useless stub, you noticed there were silent tears rolling down your cheeks.

Tommy glanced at you and then dropped his own cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his shoe, “Why are you here if it makes you so sad?”

The reason you had married Benjamin was because you had promised yourself you would never have to go hungry again. You would never have to worry about someone breaking in and slitting your throat for a loaf of bread. You wouldn’t have to stare at dresses in shops anymore knowing you would never have enough money for it. You never wanted any children you bore to feel that pain either. So you had done what you thought was needed to obtain this lifestyle and now that you were here, it didn’t feel the way you expected it to.

You can’t answer him and instead you look up at the sky and snow starts to fall on your face. “It’s snowing.” You announce to Tommy. He says nothing and you get the feeling he’s annoyed with you. “We had our first kiss in the snow. Do you remember?”

He scoffs and pushes himself off the wall, “I’m not playing your games tonight, I shouldn’t have come here.”

“And why did you come here?” You call after him as he walks away, “Why the fuck did you come, eh? To rub it in my face that I made the wrong decision?”

He turns back to you and he has that cocky smirk on his face, “Listen to that Birmingham accent. Does your husband know his lady’s got such a dirty mouth?”

You don’t know why this is the remark that does it, but you take a sharp intake of breath and your lungs shudder with sobs as the tears pour down your cheeks. The smirk falls from Tommy’s face and he reaches for you, but you pull away. “Love, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“Darling?” Your husband stands in the doorway and both you and Tommy freeze, “What are you doing out here? You’ll catch your death out there in the cold.”

You close your eyes for a moment, schooling your features before you respond, “I’ll be just a minute dear, Mr. Shelby was just leaving. I was seeing him off.” Every trace of the tears was gone from your voice. Tommy would be impressed if it didn’t mean that you had clearly needed to practice seeming happy and upbeat when you were breaking inside.

It’s so easy how quickly he loses interest, Benjamin, and turns back to go inside without another glance. “Why did you come here?” You ask Tommy again.

He sighs, “I had hoped that seeing you happy would give me the closure I needed. Unfortunately, seeing you choose misery over me has only made me feel worse.” He says bitterly. Your face crumples and he steps away from you, “Goodnight, my love.”

When he’s gone you wish to scream and cry and you hate him for coming here and shattering the glass walls you had built around yourself to tell you that you were fine. You were fine with your finery and your loneliness and the gin you drink when Benjamin isn’t home. How he ignores the smell of it on your breath. His deliberate silence when you know he can feel your cries shake the bed at night. You thought you had packed Tommy Shelby neatly away in the far corner of your mind where you wouldn’t find him again. Wouldn’t remember what it was like to feel loved. To feel alive. But you remember. And now he’s gone again. Just like when he left for France. Just like when you wrote that final letter to him that you were to be married.

And so you walk back into that house of stone. You murmur to Benjamin that you’re tired and you’ll be retiring early. And he just nods, barely hearing you, like he always does. And you settle into bed and stare at the wall as the house goes quiet. And finally the bed shifts with his weight and his breathing settles and he doesn’t reach for you. He never does.

Goodnight, my love.

***

The mud of the road squelches beneath your shoes and you're conscious of the way everyone in Small Heath stares at you, walking around like this, but you’d had no choice. No trace of your old wardrobe before you married Benjamin existed. He hadn’t allowed it. You didn’t want any reminders, anyway. Besides which, you had told Benjamin you were out for lunch with a friend and had dressed appropriately. When you swing open the door to the Garrison, you don’t see any Shelbys, but everyone stares at you nonetheless. You imagine word will travel fast to Tommy that you’re here.

Sure enough, as you finished your first drink, you heard the doors swing open and a hush fell over the occupants of the bar. You didn’t look up when he sat next to you. “What are you doing in my bar?” He said, his voice was demanding and cold.

“Having a drink.” You said as the bartender slid you another.

Tommy took it from your hand and dumped it on the floor, “Don’t give her another one.” He said to the bartender. “I asked you what the hell you’re doing here, don’t try my patience.”

“I was drinking that.” You said through clenched teeth.

“You’re drunk, you’ve obviously been drinking all day, surely Benjamin darling noticed that before he let you leave the house, eh?”

You turned to him, eyes bloodshot and unfocused, “I came here… Because you never told me… If you remembered our first kiss.”

He stares at you for a few moments, “You came all the way to Small Heath to ask me if I remember our first kiss?”

You blink, “Why are you just repeating what I just told you?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, “Yes, I remember it. Now will you go home?”

“I am home.”

“This isn’t your home anymore, you made sure of that.”

“How is what I did any fucking different from what you did? I married him to fuckin’ survive. That’s it. And you would’ve done the same in my place.” While you were talking you kept trying to get the bartender’s attention, but he was purposely ignoring you now, “Will you please tell your bartender to get me a drink?”

He leans in close to your ear and you still, “You could have married me. I could have given you everything if you had just waited.”

You turn your head to look at him and your lips are just inches from his, “I didn’t think you would come back, Tommy. So many men were dying every day, I didn’t think you would come back and I was running out of time to find someone else to marry. I’m sorry.” You don’t know if it’s the alcohol that makes you brave, but you lean into him just a little bit and he doesn’t move away. So you close the distance between you.

The kiss is quick, and you pull away to gage his reaction. But his eyes only dart from yours back down to your mouth before his fingers graze your chin and gently pull you to him again. You can’t believe how alive it makes you feel to be kissed, really kissed, by someone who wants you.

“You’re drunk.” Tommy says finally, pulling away.

“So what?”

“So you wouldn’t be cheating on your husband if you weren’t drunk.”

You snort, “I would do just about anything to feel the way you made me feel again.”

He shakes his head at you, “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N. So, what? You’re just going to have an affair with me and I’m supposed to be satisfied with that?”

“What do you suppose we do instead?”

“Leave him and marry me.”

He’s so sincere, and for a moment you allow yourself to think that you could. “You know I can’t do that.” You say quietly.

He nods and lowers his head, “Then I’m not sure how I can help you, Mrs. Davies.”

His use of your married name feels like a blow, “I know you feel the same as I do when we kiss, isn’t it worth it just for that?”

“I don’t do well with sharing.” He practically snarled in your face.

“I’m his in name alone. You own me, body, soul, and spirit, Tommy. You always have.”

Suddenly, he straightens as if he’s just now realized where he is. “Come with me.” He says quickly, sharply. You practically run after him and when you get outside, you see his horse. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

“Where are you taking me?”

He rolls his eyes, “Can you ever just listen to me for once?” And without asking permission, lifted you up by your waist enough to get you on the saddle. When he comes up after you, you hesitate before wrapping your arms around his waist to keep yourself steady. It reminds you so vividly of just a few years earlier, you allow yourself to sink into the memories. It doesn’t take you long to realize he’s taking you to your old haunt. An abandoned house in the middle of the woods, overgrown with ivy.

“Why are we here?” As he helps you down from the horse, your faces nearly collide as your feet touch the ground. He seems to want to kiss you, but holds back.

“I waited here for you for days when I got back.” He says, walking away from you and towards the house. “When you stopped sending me letters, I had a feeling you had changed your mind, but I still hoped.”

You blink, “You never got my letter?”

He turns back to you, now leaning against a half demolished wall, “Did you send me a letter to tell me you were marrying that wanker? I honestly thought it was kinder that you hadn’t.”

You swallowed, “Yes, I sent you a letter.”

“And what did it say?”

You sigh, suddenly you’re frustrated with him, “That was years ago, Tommy, can’t we move on?”

He laughs, but it’s cold, “For you it was years ago, I’ve been living in this hell you left me in ever since. I didn’t get to move on to palaces and dinner parties and expensive champagne. I came back here and started another war, all in the hopes that one day I could provide for you and you would come home. And all the while you’ve been sleeping in another man’s bed.”

You look down at your feet. You understand the anger and the resentment he holds. After all, you knew when you sent that letter if he survived the war he would never forgive you. But here he was, some sort of dark, fallen angel, standing in front of you. Spreading over you again like ivy, the same way he had when you were younger. “I know I can’t take back the pain I’ve caused,” He was already scoffing and turning away from you, “But I’m here now. And so are you. And all I know is that being with you again makes me feel something and I haven’t felt anything since I sent out that letter.”

“So just like that, you think everything’s fixed?” He storms up to you, trapping you against the wall behind you. “You think you can just pop back in, say you’re sorry, and everything’s all better?”

You roll your eyes, unimpressed with his display of anger, “Of course not, Tommy, I’m not stupid.” You reach your hand out and delicately trail your fingers down his chest, “I just think… That it’d be a shame to deny each other what we both want.”

Without warning his hand clamps around your wrist and slams it against the wall behind you. It doesn’t hurt, really, but he did catch you off guard so you wince anyway.

He leaned forward until his lips brushed your ear, “Who said you could touch me without explicit permission?”

A chill went down your spine at the sound of his voice and you find yourself smirking, “Don’t need permission to touch what belongs to me.” You still know exactly what to say to piss him off.

He shoves you against the wall again, “You think this is fuckin’ funny, eh?” He leans down to look you eye to eye, “Am I laughing?” He pushes himself off the wall and turns away from you, “Always a fuckin’ joke to you.”

“Tommy, I thought… I’m sorry, I thought we were teasing--”

He rounds on you, “I don’t fuckin’ joke when it comes to you, do you understand? None of this is funny to me. It may be all a big joke to you with your fancy house and your upper class husband, but I lost the one thing in my life that had value and I don’t think it’s fuckin’ funny for you to shit all over the marriage that you thought was good enough to abandon me for in the first place!”

It’s all so absurd you nearly snort, “Do you think this is fun for me? Do you think I like living with the knowledge that I gave up the love of my life for someone who is rarely home, and when he is home doesn’t even spare me a second glance? My husband hasn’t kissed me in six months.”

“And so now you think you can have both?”

Tears shine in your eyes as you gaze up at him, “Can’t I?”

You can see the internal battle going on behind his eyes, caught between wanting you and not being able to truly have you. You knew he would give in to you, though, and maybe you felt a little guilty about that but you couldn’t afford to let your mind go there. You just needed someone to touch you, someone to really, truly desire you.

And Tommy gave in. He pushed you against the wall again, his mouth finding your mouth in a lust-filled frenzy. You moan in equal parts surprise and delight as his hands roam your body, pulling you up until your legs wrap around his waist, back firmly pressed to the wall.

You might pay for this sinful offense against your marriage one day, but today you will simply relish the way Tommy tastes.

***

“You’re quiet this morning.” Benjamin notes a week later during breakfast. “Actually, now that I think about it, I can’t remember the last time I heard you say a word. Is everything alright, darling?”

You look up from your plate where you had been pushing your egg around aimlessly and force a smile, “Everything is perfect, darling, why shouldn’t it be?”

He watches you closely for a moment, miles away on the opposite end of the dining table. You don’t believe he’s watched you like this since courting you. Then, in a flash, the moment is broken and he returns to his paper, “We should have dinner, just you and I. I have that business trip coming up and I’d like to spend some time with you before I go.”

You try not to narrow your eyes too deliberately at him. A proper lady never thinks too hard about her husband’s motives, she just acts delighted to be considered. But this was unlike him and you would find out why. “That would be lovely, dear.”

***

Your arm rests delicately on Benjamin’s as he takes you inside the restaurant he had made reservations in. He was going on and on about the lobster and how you should get one too and what drink to pair it with and it was all so fucking boring your eyelids grew heavy with sleep. You hadn’t seen Tommy since that day at the abandoned house.

Afterwards, he had taken you on the horse until you were a mile away from the house and insisted on being dropped there.

“I can take you further, he won’t see me.”

“It’s alright, Tommy. I like the walk.”

He had hopped off his horse with you and cradled your face in his hands, kissing you goodbye, “I’m still upset with you.” He said and kissed you again, harder. He bit down on your bottom lip hard enough to make you yelp, “This doesn’t change anything.”

But it changed everything, hadn’t it? For you, at least. You understood Tommy’s anger and resistance though. Maybe this would be the only taste of him he’d ever allow you again while you rotted away in that mansion of stone. “I’m sorry.” Was all you could manage, your foreheads still pressed together, before lightly pushing yourself off him and walking down the road without looking back.

Eventually, you heard his horse walk away and you did your best not to cry.

“Darling?” Benjamin’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. The two of you now sit at a small table in the corner. You’re buttering a roll absently, you couldn’t remember picking up the bread. “Darling, are you alright? I’ve been asking you to pass the butter.”

“Yes,” You said, reaching across the table with the butter dish in hand, “I’m sorry, my mind ran away from me.”

“And what were you thinking about?” He asks, taking the butter from you.

You blink, shocked that he would ask you such a thing, “Sorry?”

“What’s got your mind so occupied that I can’t seem to keep your attention?” He smiles when he says it and you realize he’s… teasing you.

“Oh, it’s nothing darling, I was just thinking about a dress I wanted to buy. I’m sorry that I wasn’t listening to you.”

He sighs greatly and for a moment you’re scared. Somehow he knows. He must know, otherwise-- “I realize that I haven’t been the best husband as of late. I don’t know what you spend your days doing, what you like, what you don’t like. I don’t kiss you in the morning or the evening when I come home from work--”

You’re shaking your head, “Benjamin--”

“You’ve been the perfect wife. Taking care of the house and entertaining guests, going out to the shop when I need something even if I haven’t asked. And I’ve ignored you. Aren’t you angry with me?”

Your eyes water and you sit back in your chair, looking down at your lap. Taking a breath you look back up at him, “You’re my husband.” You shrug, “I do what I must even if I don’t get anything in return.”

He hesitantly covers your hand with his own, “I’ll be better. I promise.” He sits back, “That friend that you went to lunch with the other day, what was her name?”

The fear returns all over again as you lightly dab at your eyes, “Martha, she’s a friend from Oxford.” The lie comes easily, too easily.

“Is she married?” Before you can answer, his eyes light up, “Oh! She must be that gentleman’s wife, the one who was at the party last week. Shelby, I believe his name was.”

Slowly, you nod, “Yes, that’s right. Martha’s husband is Thomas.”

“You should invite them for dinner, after my trip!”

Oh, fuck. “Oh, Benjamin, that’s so sweet of you dear, but you don’t have to--”

“I do.” He covers his hand with yours again, “I want to learn more about you. Your friends. What better way to do that than get to know the people you grew up with?”

You force a smile, “That sounds lovely.”

He smiles back, “It’s settled then! You iron out the details while I’m away and then just let me know which evening, alright, dear?”

“Of course.” You say, still forcing that smile. How the fuck were you going to get out of this one?

***

“Are you out of your mind?” You had summoned Tommy yet again by drinking at the Garrison and he had stormed in here ready to toss you over his shoulder and kick you out himself. But you had managed to get him to share a drink with you and you told him your new predicament.

“Well, yes, but that’s hardly the point.” He looks so annoyed with you, you almost laugh, “Please, Tommy. I’ll never bother you again.”

He snorts, “Yeah, that’ll be the day.” He knocks back the rest of his whiskey and then pushes the glass to the bartender, signaling for another, “This is really what you want?”

You bite your lip, “He seems sincere. Like he really wants to try.”

“But do you love him? Do you love him the way you love me?”

No. There would never be a love for you like Tommy. You look down at your hands. Either way you answer, Tommy will be hurt. But at least this way he could go on thinking that you’re happy. That you don’t need him. Maybe this way he’d fall in love with somebody else. The thought sent daggers through your heart, but you knew you had no one to blame for that but yourself. He should be happy, he deserved that. “Yes.” You lied.

His eyes shuttered and he looked away from you, “Alright. I’ll help you, then.”

You sigh in relief, “Thank you.”

“Now get the hell out of my bar.”

You manage a small smile and nod, sneaking out without another word.

***

The door buzzed and you nearly smiled, “That’ll be the guests, darling.” You moved behind Benjamin, squeezing his shoulder as you passed, “I’ll get it.”

When you opened the door and saw Tommy standing there with a tall, beautiful woman, you couldn’t deny the hurt that rushed through you. You had asked him to bring someone, you reminded yourself, you had told him he needed to bring a fake wife.

You step aside to let them through, “It’s good to see you, Tommy. Martha. Come in.”

“Your home is so lovely,” The woman said. You weren’t sure if you just felt like she was staring daggers at you or if she was. How much did this woman know of you and Tommy? Just from the way she looked at Tommy, you could tell she had feelings for him. He had probably fucked her at some point. You ignore the painful tightening of your stomach at the thought. Tommy, for his part, seemed bored by her.

“Thank you.” You gestured for the maid to take their coats and you couldn’t help the way your breath caught as Tommy took his off. Then his hat. And his gloves. Those hands and those rings and-- You looked from his left hand to hers. They were wearing wedding rings. You supposed it shouldn’t have surprised you, they were supposed to be married. But the sight painfully stole all the breath from your lungs. You wondered if this was how Tommy felt when he saw you. You turned away from it and guided them into the drawing room, immediately going to get a drink while Benjamin bored them with talk of business.

You didn’t expect for it to hurt so much, seeing him with someone else. Even if they were just fucking, you felt like you couldn’t breathe as you stumbled into the kitchen. The kitchen staff ignored you as you braced your hands on a table, looking down at it and trying to catch your breath. They were used to you having breakdowns here. The staff liked you because you treated them like people when Benjamin wasn’t around. When he was on his trips, you’d invite them all to eat with you in the dining room and they were some of the most fun dinners you’d had since marrying Benjamin. So they let you cry in here and didn’t speak a word of it.

When the kitchen doors open abruptly, you stand immediately, expecting Benjamin, but it’s Tommy who stands there instead. “What are you doing back here?” You asked with annoyance.

“Why are you crying?” He asks, and you hate the concern that floods his face.

“You shouldn’t be back here, Benjamin might come looking for me--”

“I told him I would go look for you, he seems quite charmed by Lizzie, he won’t come looking.”

“So her name’s Lizzie then? She’s lovely.”

He’s quiet a moment, “So you’re sulking in here because I brought another woman here, something you asked me to do.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“We should go back out there,” You begin to walk around him, but his hand clasps on your upper arm and pulls you back.

“Does it hurt? Knowing I’m fucking someone else?” He whispers in your ear.

Tears sting your eyes and you realize he’s done this on purpose. He wanted to hurt you. You look up into those ice blue eyes to show him yours that are shining with tears, “Are you happy now?” You wrenched your arm from his grasp and left the kitchen, putting on a smiling face as you left.

Tommy watches you closely for most of the evening and you think that normally Benjamin might notice his predatory gaze, but Tommy was right. He’s enamored by Lizzie. They share touches and longing glances, even when you place your arm on top of Benjamin’s to signal that he’s yours. He just pats your hand and draws his arm out from under yours all without looking away from Lizzie. So when Tommy excuses himself for a smoke, you follow him out, not even bothering to excuse yourself.

“Ol’ Benjamin is really giving it his best shot with you, eh?” Tommy says immediately when you walk outside. You don’t say anything, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your anger. “Can’t say I blame him,” He continues, “Lizzie’s a great fuck.”

You close your eyes, “I know what you’re doing.”

“And what am I doing, love?” He makes the endearment sound condescending and you hate him for that.

“You’re trying to get me angry so I’ll admit that I lied to you about loving Benjamin.”

“I saw the way you looked at the wedding rings when I took off my gloves,” He inhales on the cigarette in his hand, “I don’t need you to say it.”

“Then what, you’re just rubbing it in because you’re a sadistic fuck?”

“So you are angry, then.”

“Yes!” You threw up your hands in exasperation, “Yes, I’m fucking angry that I thought maybe Benjamin did love me only to see him touch and look at that woman in there more than he’s touched me in over a year! And I’m fucking angry that you are also fucking her! I’m jealous, I’m fucking burning with how jealous I am that she gets to touch you and I don’t! Is that what you want to hear, you fucking prick?!”

God help you, he has a cool smile on his lips, “Yes, sweetheart. That’s what I wanted to hear. Would you like to go make your husband terribly jealous?” He reaches a hand out to you.

You’re frowning at him and you shake your head, “I don’t understand.”

“Sure you do, I’m helping you get what you want.”

“But why?”

He lowers his hand, “Do you want the truth or the lie?”

You swallow, “Truth.”

He brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheek, “Are you sure? It’ll break your heart.” He says softly.

You smile sadly and bring his hand to your chest, right above your heart. Your eyes glitter with unshed tears as you look at him, “Already broken.”

You almost miss his sharp intake of breath at your admission. You suppose he’s happy, happy that you were in so much pain after shattering his heart. “So?” You say.

“The truth is that,” He swallows, “The only thing that hurts me more than you not being mine is seeing you so fuckin’ sad. So let me help you.” You look up at him with those big sad eyes that practically scream at him how much you love him. He can’t stand to look another second, “Come on.” He offers you his hand again.

You place your small hand in his and he brings you back inside, not even dropping your hand as you pass your husband and Lizzie who are looking even cozier than when you left. He brings you to the drawing room in view of the dining room and finally drops your hand to go to the gramophone.

You feel Benjamin’s eyes on your back, but you don’t turn, focusing on Tommy.

A smile breaks out on his face, “I knew you’d have it.”

He holds up a record that the two of you used to listen to so often, you had had to replace the record a couple years back. A small smile forms on your lips, “Tommy, are you sure?”

When the two of you were together, you had taken a dance class together, mostly as a joke, but then you surprised yourselves when you had so much fun with it. Soon, you were choreographing dances together and Tommy was spinning you around that abandoned house. It seemed lifetimes ago and you couldn’t believe that the man who went to France and came back ready to kill any man standing in his way would still know or want to dance with you like when you were barely adults. But he’s beaming at you now, hand extended and the song is starting.

Biting your lip to hide your smile, you curtsy to him before taking his hand and he did a slight bow in response. And then he’s whisking you around the room. You can tell he hasn’t done this in a while and neither had you, but as the song picks up you lock eyes with him. You hadn’t seen him this happy since before the war. The sight sends such a thrill through you, you laugh, and suddenly you’re both in sync.

The weight of both Benjamin’s and Lizzie’s stares nearly break you, “It’s just me and you,” Tommy whispers, noticing how the light had dimmed from you just a little, “Focus on me.” And you do, losing yourself in the music and Tommy’s touch. Tommy dips you, your head falling back and upside down, you can see Benjamin and Lizzie, their eyes on you just like you thought. Tommy pulls you back up and you nearly crash into his chest as the song ends. He clutches your hand to him and your foreheads nearly touch as you both breathe hard.

There’s footsteps behind you and you turn to look to Benjamin, a smile still on your face, and his hand collides with your cheek. There’s only silence for a few seconds and it takes you all of those seconds to realize that Benjamin has hit you and before you’ve reached that conclusion, Tommy’s fist is already connecting with Benjamin’s jaw.

“Stop, stop.” You reach for Tommy to pull him off your husband, “Tommy, that’s enough!”

He had only punched Benjamin twice before you were able to pull him off and then he’s looking at you, “Are you alright?” There’s such concern in his eyes, he even brings his hands up to your face, eyes darting back and forth to assess the damage.

But your husband is still here so you push him away, “I’m fine, you should go.”

He’s looking at you like you’re crazy, “I won’t leave you with him.” He says quietly enough that you’re sure you’re the only one who heard him.

“Yes you will.” You look at him with cold, calculated calm. Your husband is still lying on the floor with stupid Lizzie coddling him, “You both should go.” You repeat.

Tommy is still staring at you and Lizzie has risen from where she was crouching next to your husband, placing a hand on Tommy’s arm, “Thomas, let’s go.”

You hate the familiarity of the touch, you’re able to tell she’s done it several times before. “Listen to your wife.” You say bitterly and that ice in his eyes is back. He simply backs away from you, Lizzie pulling him out the door.

“You humiliate me.” Benjamin says, now sitting upright and dabbing at blood at the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. It gives you sick satisfaction that Tommy had made him bleed.

“You humiliate yourself.” You say coldly.

“You danced with him like… Like you were some whore.”

You flinch at the insult, “I told you I knew him from Oxford, we took ballroom together. We were simply reminiscing.”

“You think me an imbecile,” He chuckles, “I saw the way you looked at each other. You’ve never once looked at me like that.”

Now you laugh and the sound makes him flinch, “Benjamin, when we met I looked at you like the sun and the moon set on your command, do not insinuate otherwise.” Your voice shakes with anger, “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to touch and talk to me the way you talked to Tommy's wife all goddamn night. That’s why I danced with him. I wanted to make you jealous, I didn’t think you’d hit me.”

He’s shaking his head, “That doesn’t change the fact that you once bedded that man and then brought him into my house.”

You stare at him blankly, “If I recall correctly, you were the one who invited him here. And I daresay, Benjamin, with the way you were with his wife I have no doubt what you do on those business trips. I will not be made the villain when all I’ve done is begged for your love from day one.” He looks away from you at that and you relish how you’ve made him submit to you after being submissive for so long, “I’m going to bed, you’re welcome to wallow here in your weakness if you’d like.”

***

Tommy drives in silence with Lizzie next to him, quietly fuming. He has half a mind to turn around and drag you from that house himself, but he knew you’d never forgive him for that. “Was a bit daft to dance with her like that in front of her husband, don’t you think, Tom?”

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, the only indication of his agitation, “Was a bit daft to flirt with her husband in front of her for three straight hours, don’t you think, Lizzie?”

“He advanced on me--”

“No,” Tommy’s shaking his head, “No, don’t give me that bullshit. You knew what she meant to me and you went in there to purposely hurt her. Well congratu-fucking-lations Lizzie, you won.”

“As if you didn’t enjoy seeing her hurting after she left you.”

“Don’t talk about things you don’t know.” He said dangerously.

“Fine, Tommy,” She says, slumping in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest, “Let her destroy you again, went so well for you the first time.”

He doesn’t respond as he knows there is some truth to what Lizzie is saying. He would let you destroy him again, he would give you his last breath if that was what you wanted.

***

When you wake the next morning, Benjamin is gone. The maid told you he left in the early hours of the morning and handed you a note.

I know what he is and I know what you are. Don’t be here when I return.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Who had told him? How had he figured it out?

The answer was obvious. It had to have been fucking Thomas, trying to force your hand after you refused to leave with him. You crumpled the note and ran back upstairs to get dressed. You figured you had a few days until Benjamin came home, maybe you could still sort it out. The first order of business was going to yell at Tommy.

***

When he sees you walking down the streets of Small Heath looking murderous, he wonders what he’s done. Maybe this is a response to the previous night, but you hadn’t seemed homicidal when he left you.

“What the fuck did you tell him?” You greeted him by shoving him against the nearest building. He raised his arms in bored surrender, not wanting to cause a scene, but you didn’t seem to care about that, “Did you turn around and come back and tell him everything? Do you think I’ll run off with you now that I have nowhere to go?” Tears run down your cheeks now and he frowns in concern, “Well I won’t. I’m fucking done with you, Thomas Shelby. I don’t care if I have to beg on the streets--”

“What are you talking about?” He interjects finally. You look him over, eyes darting over his face and you can see there’s genuine confusion there. He didn’t do this.

Rubbing at your eyes, you sit on the nearest surface, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay, “He knows who you are. Which means he knows who I am. He’s kicking me out.”

He gently puts a hand on your elbow, “Come inside. Please.”

For once, you let yourself be guided. He brings you inside the building that says Shelby Company Limited on the outside and then suddenly the rest of the Shelby family is staring at you.

“Tommy,” Polly says softly, staring at you with a hand on her heart, “You told us she was dead.”

You blink and then turn to Tommy who won’t look at any of you, “She was.”

Tommy Shelby had told his whole family that you were dead rather than go through the humiliation of explaining that you had left your old life behind in favor of another. Left him behind. You supposed, in a way, you had died.

Polly’s gaze drifts to your hand where you’re fiddling with your wedding ring. “Oh, Tommy. Tell me you haven’t killed someone’s husband.”

“Not yet,” The words send a jolt through you, “Stay here.” He orders, squeezing your shoulder.

“Tommy, wait,” He turns back to you, “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to kill him before he ruins you and then you’ll have your pick of any lord you’d like. Maybe one of them will actually love you this time. Isn’t that what you want?”

It feels like a dig though you’re not sure he meant it to be one, “No.”

Sensing the energy in the room, the rest of Tommy’s family dispersed, leaving the two of you alone.

“What d’ya mean ‘no’?” There’s a bit of anger in his voice, “You don’t want to be with me, you don’t want to be a lady anymore, are you gonna live on the streets?”

“For your information, Thomas, if I wanted I could make a living for myself,” He scoffs. “But you’re wrong.”

“About what?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, eyes glittering with tears, “I do want to be with you.” After finally uttering the words, you brace yourself for rejection.

He stares at you and then rubs a hand over his face. He begins shaking his head, “You don’t mean that.”

You walk to him and reach your hands up to frame his face. You expect him to move away from your touch, but he doesn’t. When you gently stroke his face with your thumbs he closes his eyes and you truly understand how you had broken this man in front of you, “I do,” You say again, “And I’m sorry for ever making you think you didn’t deserve me.”

Finally, he does push your hands away and walks to the window on the far side of the room, his back to you, “I still want to kill him.” He says softly.

You frown, “Tommy--”

“If you weren’t in that room last night I would have kept punching and kicking and gouging his eyes out with my bare hands for daring to put a hand on you.” His voice is dangerously low, “Is that still the kind of man that you want?” He finishes bitterly.

He would kill a man for you. The thought sends a thrill through you. “I’ve spent the last few years of my life with a man who didn’t even attempt to learn my favorite type of jam, Tommy, do you understand?”

“It’s strawberry.”

You raise your eyebrows, “What?”

He finally turns to you, “Your favorite jam, it’s strawberry. I used to wait in line for hours in the summer when strawberries were in season to get some for you.” He smiles a bit to himself at the memory, “It was always worth it for the smile and kiss on the cheek you gave me.”

Tears finally cascade down your cheeks as you recall the memory, “I’d forgotten about that.” You say softly, “Tommy, it’s me who doesn’t deserve you.”

“You told me minutes ago that you wouldn’t run off with me, that you were done--”

“I know,” You say, “That’s when I thought you had betrayed me, that you wanted to force me to be with you--”

“I would never force you to be with me.” He says fiercely, “I would never force this life, this fuckin’ hell, on anyone.”

You shake your head, “I know what you’ve become since you came home. Knowing all of that, knowing what you’re truly capable of, I still choose you. I know you’re my only chance of real happiness.”

He stares at you for another few moments, “So you’ll marry me, then? The whole bit?”

You smile, “I imagined this whole bit to be much more romantic, but yes, I’ll marry you, Thomas.”

“You can’t change your mind once Benjamin comes back, it’s me or you figure out your own way.”

“I’m not choosing you because of the money. I’ve had the money, all it did was make me miserable.”

He steps to you and runs a thumb over your lips, “You’re really mine then, eh?”

“You know,” Familiar mischief lights up your eyes, “Benjamin won’t be back for a few days… What do you say we drink his expensive wine straight from the bottle and fuck on every surface we can.”

Tommy finally cracks a smile, “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

You laugh and go up on your toes to kiss him. He immediately dips his head to you, breathing you in deep as he kisses you. His tongue slides along your lip until you open to him, awarding him with a soft moan. His tongue strokes against yours and you feel hot need for him pooling between your thighs when he pulls away.

He relishes the pout on your face at his absence, “Save it for Benjamin’s bed, princess.” He smirks and tugs you out of the building, lifting you onto your horse. And as he rides, your arms wrapped around his waist, you only wish you had had the wisdom to choose Tommy Shelby first.

#mine #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby x reader

[clandestine-j]

GOSSIP GIRL, EP. 5 REACTION & REVIEW

alright

this episode was pretty good, i'm here for this vibe if they continue with it. lots of shit happened, i have feelings about it so lets go!

(this episode also helped me discover i really am a horrible person lol)

ADULTS:

NICK X KATE: Nope! Full stop, don't want it. Bitch you nasty for being friendly with him while posting about his daughter. Nick x Davis is the true otp.

JORDAN & CO: JAIL. Plain and simple, ya'll enjoying this too much. Jail. Please. I beg. Ya'll are sick. A gun in a school and you're Bruce Wayne? Bitch.

KATE: As stated above and addition, I started to be cool with you. You still have to go jail but after serving time, I might be cool with you afterwards. Then you flip flop again went back to doing the worst. Limiting the comments doesn't help. Raggedy.

RAFA: PRISON. And let me tell you, my boy, Aki, he got Fox News in the back of his pocket so, step the fuck back. That's why Max figured yo ass out. GO TO PRISON. PRISON. And he tried to play him for a fool at the end. Prison isn't enough, vanish.

KIKI: SIS! You gotta get it together for your daughter. She can't be the more but, I feel you. Do better, be better. It's not as easy as just saying it but if you have family you can rely on, start to rely. You're daughter her habits from you.

OUR KIDS:

JULIEN: BIG SISTER ENGERY THIS EPISODE. I'M LOVING IT AND LOVING IT. I think she can stop trying a bit now and but I'm here for the connection, I'm here for it all. Quick thinker, knew the circle wasn't tight. She wasn't really there for Audrey but she has been, I think she just got caught up. Since Zoya moved there, they haven't had the chance to just be sisters, to just love each other without any drama. They have not only the past month to make up for but years and she wants to do right by Zoya. I'm glad she realized at the end that, she needed to be there for Audrey but I'm not upset because I get it. I also LOVE that she finally, stood up to Monet and say and get wit it or get it out. Boom. I've been waiting.

OBIE: I wanna ride hard for you because people keep talking about your hair line. I think you need to learn that relationships will have ups and downs and it won't be perfect all of the time. I feel like Obie is chasing perfection, no fights, no problems, just coasting and it won't happen, it'll never happen. Do better. That being said, I'm glad we got something from Obie. I'm glad we got to see him being the Prince of New York. It's hella shady that you didn't just come out with the truth and you wanted to do a song and dance but Obie is doing more and using that name so yes, give me character stuff.

MONET: BYE. No, but really. Amazing one liners as always. I liked the little fight with Julien, I felt a bit of distress, I'm into it. While I did expect her to cross Julien, I didn't expect her to cross Luna and all her hard work, that was dirty but you moving the story and shit so what can I say? I don't think Monet will go for the crown but I could see her finding someone to prop up. I want more of her parents, maybe she has a very bad relationship with her mom? Also, sis, Julien is right, you can't keep jumping clients when they want to change and do up their image. No sis, no. (And you almost tanked Julien's career soooooooooooo)

AUDREY: SIS U WERE SINKING. Okay, so Audrey isn't a character I feel that connected too. She's bitchy, a little less than Lunet but still. So, I have a hard time caring but objectively, you should break up with Aki. You know him by now and maybe it's comfort or you really want to have something. It's okay, break up with him because he's a friend and not the boyfriend you need. You want someone who will let you vent, not solve. Not see. Go live with Julien. The fight with your mom is understandable (And realize that forcing people on her won't work.) because you shouldn't have to be the back bone of the family. The dad line was a low blow, the airport thing was a low blow but you're a teenage girl and what can I say? Nothing, just don't become the woman you hate even though parents are the models. That being said, if I had seen her interacting with her dad more, the line wouldn't have been as low. But I can't tell that he loves her, we don't even get a phone conversation. Do better writers. And I think at the party, she got a chance to see how her mom felt. I don't know what happened to move but I think it has something to do with her meds. Audrey, be a boss. Break up, tell him that ya'll are better as friends because it won't go has bad as you think it will. Move in with Julien (I just want to see it happen.)

ZOYA: I don't even have much to say. My sis was popping off this episode. I got sass, I got questioning her relationship with Obie. Yes, talk about how you feel about him with the girls and go girl stuff. I really felt her when she said she wanted her own friend, writers please give her, her own friends. PLEASE. I'M BEGGING. Simon, you dirty dog. I'm glad Obie got it out but he could've said something to her. I'm sick. I'm more upset that he wasn't a new friend or a love interest. Just ugh. But I liked Zoya this episode, she could worry about normal teenage stuff for the most part without having to worry about being attacked by Monet and Luna.

LUNA: MY GOOD SIS. Just like I didn't expect Monet to turn on her, I didn't expect her to not stand by Monet. I know she was enjoying the Zoya vibe and thought it was cute, she was becoming a bit more friendly sure but I wow, yas. Go off girl. I want to see more of fashion stylist Luna, a Luna sponsored fashion show where Aki models and drama happens? I'd be here for it, I am here for it.

MAX: I was ready to box. Listen. I was ready to fight this point as much as I felt for him. So, the feeling for him. He honestly, believes that Rafa is good for him. And he was catching feelings? He thought Rafa needed him in his life because he had no family, he also has no family in a sense to him at least. So, he's really caught up in this man. And I feel so bad that he said he's sober when he's with him or something along those lines. That's heartbreaking. I'm glad that talk in the end pulled him out of it, I'm glad he realized that he had a hand to play in his friends not wanting to be around him or deal with him. I'm glad he followed them and was in on the hug. Wonderful. Now my dude, you do not deserve Aki, not as a romantic partner or a friend. My boy was seriously worried, and you blew down on him WHILE using a nickname for his nickname....sick. I was ready to throw hands, like. My spirit was not right. That was so low. I keep seeing people say that because Max wasn't in a relationship, Audrey shouldn't feel some type of way and Aki is just letting his hurt roll off because he's worried but while you didn't have a duty in the relationship, you had a duty as a friend, to both of them. You ghost for a week and say nothing, no talking about the blow up or the outing and you running with this little stanky thing, you try to ease back into the group, no. And you still don't deserve Aki's time. Like. My dude did not hit you up after the kiss, he was not checking for you on that dating app, he was interested in other mens, you sat between the couple. Okay. He had been checking on you from jump. Just no. I'm sick of the shit. Never step to my boy like that again.

AKI: MY boy. Lemme get this out the way. You need to listen, not solve or give perspective. Like, she doesn't need it. I get your friends in danger but express how serious you think this is to her. I get that a long-distance relationship might not bother you and you think things will work out because there are bigger problems but talk to her. Re-assure her. Or break up with her her. As I said before, ya'll will not hate each other if you break up. And learn to just, even, pretend or something but you struggle in this aspect. Do better. That being said, Aki, episode MVP. He said, something is off, take him down. My perfect himbo man, said not my watch. And listen, you can't be as pushy because people don't respond but I'm glad you were on it. You knew. You said, I'mma run up on this man and you did. Yes. That being said, stand up for yourself, this boy does not deserve your energy. I get it. You might have a crush, this is bestie but bestie has not been treating you right for a while. And this was a new love. You're too loving, let some of that going at Rafa energy pop out around the friend group. But you a king and you care so much, just re-focus for now. Find you a cute lil thang and make the boy jelly. I need this resolved before I can accept anything canon, fanfics is where I'll be. But overall, Aki was making moves, you gotta learn something from the right wing media mogul.

GROUP: I finally feel like I talk about them as a whole. I wish they would've shown the others being upset by Max's ghosting because ya'll acting lowkey outta pocket and I didn't see anyone but Audrey and Aki check for this boy. Like, do you really care? But he fit into the group hug at the end. I know Monet saw a rising star in Zoya at the bar place, you make this a powerful DUO. YOU KNOW YOU WERE FEELING HER. Luna and Monet roll their eyes Audrey but ya'll bet not play like the three of ya'll don't enjoy gossip, fashion, talking about people and lowkey making fun of Zoya's newbie-ness together. Honestly, I'm happy we got more group interactions and little moments, I can start to kind of see how they were friends for a while even if all of them aren't close.

Random Thoughts:

how was your son missing for two weeks on and off and there isn't more panic, you different but oh no heartbreak

aki is so loving towards everyone's parents, i love it

i also love that he assumed max was with aki

audrey as the child as it worse but her kiki's acting makes me feel for her more lol

the two girls were a bit of fun, i'd like to see monet take them down or build them up for fun

"i'm chuck bass" + the lil pull was great

i feel like max was already thinking about them becoming more when he mentioned audrey pushing him out but i'll take crumbs so he was probs just thinking about sex or the group as a whole

kate get out of nick's life, nick keep her out

zoya stop talking to that woman

jordan eww no, you can have kate

i'll ship obie and aki to get aki with someone that likes him and loves him, they talk, they have do something, i'll take it, whatever

i want throuple and i want akimax but not like this, i can't take the threesome scene unless max say's sorry and aki ducks him for half the episode if it's not that, i don't want it

maybe it's the start of a dream and it ends

(i do really want the ship but i don't trust the writers or the characters)

SIMON, I WAS ROOTING FOR YOU

who or what was max suppose to be?

why am i getting teachers and not family, i've seen jordan just one too many times

rafa prison

obie had shit to do this episode, use the money, i wanna see it

when will a student or random party gain control of gossip girl, give me that

rafa prison

i also think i’m a horrible person because i care more about stopping rafa than audrey’s home life so i was rooting for aki

overall, solid episode, maybe the footing has been found? i'm here for it and ep 6 looks like it's about to pop off

#c;gg #gossip girl reboot #gossip girl hbo #akeno menzies #max wolfe #zoya lott #monet de haan #audrey hope #luna la #obie bergmann iv #julien calloway

[hongism]

Do you have any good ateez X reader fanfics Recs? I’m in need of a good long fanfic If not long Then a really really good one lol I just have a hard time finding some lol

BOY HOWDY IM FINALLY HERE okay but fr tho i’m sorry this took me Lightyears to do im so bad at remembering what fics i read and how i tag them so i lost my mind while trying to find them all and i’m sure i missed a lot of favs so i Apologize in advance asiodjfosijdf some are kinda popular so you might have seen them before but some do not get the credit they deserve and i could sit here and sing the praises of these fics and their authors for years but i won’t put y’all through that ._.

You can’t even reach my neck - @kpopscenario - seonghwa

summary: They’re best friends and have feelings for each other but they both don’t know about the others crush, Seonghwa comforts her after another bad date. (Basically friends to lovers college!au)

yes i am a Sucker for a damn f2l college au on occasion and this is one of those Incredible and Well Written occasions i love this fic and the length is perfect and long in the best way 10/10 would recommend and it’s great

such a good girl for me - @starrychannies - mingi

summary: no summary but the warnings should tell you Everything you need to know wink wonk skljdlkdfj

warnings: harddom!mingi, sub!reader, size kink (its mingi duh), choking, sir kink, pet names, mix of praise and degradation, oral (receiving), unprotected sex, slight overstim, slight humiliation (?), a lot of fluffy aftercare.

i find it Uber hard to write smut that is well written in all honesty like i can’t read my own smut bc i can’t Stand It i just think it’s awful but there are so so many authors out there who can write smut and write it well and i admire starrychannies so much for such incredible writing talent with smut yesyes

Alone - @actuallythatwaspromise - san

summary: again n/a but good lord royalty au prince san, princess reader, smack me over the head because i really adore this 2.2k fic and good lord this fic gets me emo and i dont even know why??? the angst is soft and barely there but i’m still over here sobbing for no reason oisdfoaijdiof

detention - @/starrychannies - wooyoung

warnings: badboy!wooyoung, goodgirl!reader, smut, voice kink, corruption kink, fingering, dirty talk, public sex, exhibitionism kink, wooyoung has piercings and reader is a Big Fan, mention of gags, light degradation.

this, this shit right here, this is so good WHEW i dont really have the words but hot damn, i just love this fic and i love love love the way the author wrote the the fic and it’s Hot:tm:

violet roses - @/starrychannies - yunho

warnings: F L U F F, college!au, s2l, first meeting, yunho is a soft babie, yunhos pov!!, love at first sight, pining, bit of slow burn, yunho is Whipped, suggestive teasing, hyunjin is mentioned briefly in the beginning, protective yunho, mingi makes an appearance, mentioned that mingi’s gay, san is mentioned, smut, softdom!yunho, sub!reader, praise, car sex, SIZE KINK!!!!, vaginal penetration, fingering, finger riding, penetrative sex, daddy kink, yunho lowkey has a corruption kink, multiple orgasms.

did i die? yes but only a lot. ahhhh i LOVE me some damn s2l slow burn and pining that shit hits the spot and this fic has it wrapped up in a nice and lovely package pls read pls pls pls read

lover boys - @/starrychannies - seonghwa + hyunjin

warnings: smut, wet dreams, poly relationship, boy x boy, non idol verse, ateez x skz crossover (yay!), harddom!seonghwa, softdom!hyunjin, sub!reader, threesome, reader is Needy, hyunjin is Sleepy, seonghwa is Amused, pwp, light somniphilia, dirty talk, petnames, some degradation, early morning sex, oral (giving), throat fucking, reader has no gag reflex and hyunjin is In Love with it, fingering (receiving), spanking (like twice), unprotected sex, light cum play, cum swallowing, little bit of praise, cuddles!

i really just need a minute whenever i think about this fic bc i highkey die every time i think about it??? two of my ults??? i can’t??? i really can’t handle this honestly like woW osdijfoijdfoi the way i melted we love to see it 🤩

entanglement - @sanduction - wooyoung

summary: when the boy who had explicitly spelled out his implausible hatred towards you on every possible occasion tells you that he’s a dog, who would’ve guessed that you possessed the other half of his soul? not you, at least. life sure had a shit-load of guts to pull a twilight on you like that.

okay so deadass if you know me you know that i really am not the type to read werewolf/hybrid fics. i just typically don’t go for them or read them but this fic. this fic. oh my god. the way it’s so seamless and works so perfectly, i’ll never recover like W O W i love this fic that is all honestly i have mad respect for all writers who do werewolf/hybrid fics bc i can’t write them at all, so sanduction huge major props to you i love your work!!!

who catches the alpha? - @teeztheflag - hongjoong

summary:  „You don’t want to break the rules, am I right?“

aka another phenomenal werewolf fic with alpha hongjoong that made me fall over in a totally great way. the angst the fluff the little suggestive bits it all flowed and fit together perfectly and i am still in love with this fic no matter how much time passes

bite me - @atinyidea - yunho

summary: vampire!au, vampire!yunho, vampire!reader, female!reader established!relationship / warnings! angry s*x?, biting, blood, sir k*nk, consensual s*x, teasing, begging, rough play, overstimulation

this fic is ~spicy~ and whew it is good wow just the idea of yunho and reader being immortal together was like awww then it got spicy and i went to o_o real quick but it is such a good fic and wow i love it i dont even have words bc im Dumb but wow

You Got It Like That? - @kimnamshiks - wooyoung

summary: You just needed to get through this week at the resort at the hands of 20 coworkers and Wooyoung; the Sales Department Supervisor who got some raunchy photos of you the day prior.

honestly wow sodifjoisdjf i love this fic so much i just wow honestly the reader is a whole mood when wooyoung texts about the pictures and i was reading like ‘ahahaa me.’ oisjdfoij god the back and forth between wooyoung and the reader just had me rolling legit i got flustered like pls wooyoung just HAAHHAHA WOOYOUNG IN THIS FIC GETS ME FLUSTERED AS FUCK it is all because tay is a Stellar Writer and makes those emotions come to life in amazing ways and i’ll never ever get over it just whew banter in fics is legit one of my favorite things ever and tay does it with such beautiful ease that i am Enamored but i am also Rambling just pls read this fic oh my god it’s so good

be my neighbor - @jeonginks - seonghwa

summary: seonghwa moved into the apartment next to yours, and he stumbled into a situation he didn’t expect to face.

wow i l o v e this fic it’s just a perfect blend of angst and fluff and it sends me to space every time i read it soidfjoidjf don’t ask why space but it just does i kinda ascend okay? anyway wow this fic is such a gem and it is sO underrated in my opinion. the dialogue is written so beautifully and with an ease that i think is often times hard to capture?? wow just amazing

Cheat Codes - @serendipityunho - seonghwa

summary: “This party’s boring, wanna get out of here?”, may have perhaps led you to make the biggest mistake of your life by sleeping with your best friend’s other best friend, your best friend who happens to be in love with you.

me: wow i never read college aus hahhaa

also me: reads a shit ton of college aus sodifjodijf

honestly this fic is 100% fantastic from start to finish, it’s 5.3k of pure greatness and i just really love this fic altho my heart broke at the end it still fit perfectly and was amazingly written ;-;

that is all i have for today slkdfljdlk however i will be shameless and say that if you would like some Long Bois for ateez i have a few but i’ll link the fics i loved writing the most and am v proud of :3

storge - mingi

liquorice and ivories - hongjoong

#fic recs #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #seonghwa x reader #hongjoong x reader #yunho x reader #mingi x reader #san x reader #wooyoung x reader #great reads #wow #i made this too long oml #anon #ask #queue queue queue queue baby baby baby

[sukirichi]

— LOVE LETTER FROM ANON ; 💌

this is from an ask i received. i copy pasted and replied here as a text post since i can’t put “read more” on anon asks and it’s quite long hehehe. to the anon who sent me this, i give you loads of my love, thank you so much for everything !!

[ the ask ]

hi lovely,

i just read earned it and i have a couple things i’d like to say to you if you don’t mind. before i start, i completely understand if you don’t want to share this ask or even read at all which is fair. but if you do decide to read it, i know that one person such as me cannot change the decisions a writer had made such as discontinuing a series but i hope that this allows you some sense of peace or happiness towards your creation and end of earned it. i’m actually writing this is my notes before i send it to you so that’s how you know i truly mean it. buckle up baby!

i’d like to start with this; i just read and finished all the remaining chapters of earned it. i don’t know how to say this without sounding arrogant or cocky which truly isn’t my intention here, i promise so i’ll just say it as is. i swear to ever loving god, i’ve scoured the entirety of tumblr, ao3, fanfiction.net, wattpad, everything and anything, and it still isn’t very often that i find works like these, far and few between dare i say. ive looked through almost everything i could get my hands on to read in the jjk fandom and dear god, do you manage to keep on surprising me. i’ve read majority if not all your works along with following you on ao3 and tumblr, and i must say. i truly am so fucking impressed. completely and absolutely fucking floored if you will. the amount of plot twists and pure emotion you managed to put into this is only something i can dream of ever creating.

i cannot lie, it truly my hearts to think that people gave you so much shit over this to which ended in you deciding to discontinue along with your lack of interest which at least, is understandable unlike the hate. i literally cannot comprehend how people would be unhappy with the outcome so far after reading it since it was beyond fucking magnificent in my eyes. it kept me on my toes the entire time whilst never managing to bore me once and as someone with adhd, thats fucking hard to do, i’ll admit it. props to you. and as much as i want to grovel and beg for crumbs, something, anything to know about how it ends, i know that that will most likely accomplish nothing to both you and i so decided to just say this.

thank you for writing this. thank you for not only writing it but dealing with the experience of unwanted and negative criticism to the point you had to stop and discontinue it whilst also being generous and amazing enough to keep it up so other people could still read it. i really hope your proud of earned it and how it turned out so far, because if i were you, i’d be so bloody fucking proud i wouldn’t know what to do with myself.

my friends often tell me i overstep my boundaries and i really hope i aren’t doing that with this but i just really, truly, wanted to express my genuine appreciation and thanks towards your writing and towards you as a writer that puts out content, not to mention for free!!!!, for people like me. i also don’t want to seem as if i’m glorifying earned above all your other works, because that’s not what i mean. your writing is just… just fucking chefs kiss. sorry, my brains starting to run out of words at this point but oh my god. thank you for letting me experience the experience of earned it even though there was no proper end. i’d rather have that than nothing at all. and maybe i misread this entire thing, maybe you are goddamn proud of your work, which you fuckinf should be considering the pure quality it is. once again, chefs kiss!!

i just… i don’t know what to say anymore. your writing, quite literally, has made me completely fucking breathless in a good way of course. anyways, i hope this wasn’t too much of a ramble and at least managed to make you smile or something. have a lovely day sweetheart!!!! <333 :*)

OMG ANON PLS FORGIVE ME IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME DAYS TO RESPOND TO, I DIDN’T WANT TO GIVE YOU A HALF ASSED RESPONSE SO I WAITED TO GET MY MENTAL ENERGY BACK TO A HUNDRED PERCENT SO I CAN SEND BACK MORE LOVE TO YOU WHOLEHEARTEDLY !! FIRST OF ALL UHM… 

you really made me speechless with this one, you have no idea. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve reread this and teared up a little bit because you know… I’m so shocked like I really have no idea what I did to receive such a sweet message because I’m just writing silly fanfics when I’m feeling it yknow? Or at least that’s what it seems like because it turns out I have a huge impact on others and I’m able to make people happy like I’ll never EVER get used to that feeling and I mean that in a good way !! Like I’m in a constant state of disbelief that people are this affected by my content and I’m just… 

I’m so thankful truly PLEASE can I give you a hug I’m so happy sobs sobs sobs

also baby, thank you sm for this again AAAAHH. I’m not sure if you really mean ‘Earned It’ the mafia! gojo series or ‘Reckless’ the CEO gojo series though ?? Both are discontinued but Earned It was discontinued bcos my dumbass killed Naoya there and he was my favorite so I lost the motivation and it was all my fault SOBBSSS. as for Reckless though, yeah I’d say it was mostly the hate I got for it that demotivated me into continuing it :// but if this ask is meant for Earned It, then yes thank you so much for the kind words as well, though I didn’t really receive hate for it so no worries !!

and aaah anon im…I’m at a loss for words lmao but the part where you said where you would be proud if you wrote it, that’s really…LIKE IDK it just hit me bcos oftentimes I look at something I poured my heart into, but then I’d have days where I’d be like YIKES that wasn’t a good one. its so easy to forget the effort we put into something when we’re affected by external factors. and yeah even though I really don’t want to continue either series anymore, thank you for leaving me the important note of being proud of myself <33 

although the series (earned it) wasn’t really something I’d properly executed and planned for, I do remember being passionate over it and feeling truly excited to update. even if it didn’t end out the way I wanted it to, it’s still something I poured my heart on and that’s magnificent on its own, so I’ll be prouder of myself from now on <33

no worries bb you are not overstepping any boundaries at all !! believe me when I say this ask truly do means a lot to me – more than you’ll ever know. messages like these are what keeps me going, as feedback is important to writers, but most of all it’s the genuine support and sincerity that gets to me. 

I’m truly humbled and grateful right now. thank you for this again and again and again.

THIS MADE ME MORE THAN SMILE !! there’s a lot of things I’m struggling with even if I don’t publicly express it, but messages like these will always have a special place in my heart. I’m sincerely grateful for everything, and I’ll continue writing here and sharing my works!! It’s supportive people like you that make these moments worthwhile. I’ll never forget this message anon AAAAH I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOU THANK YOU YOU HAVE AN EVEN BETTER DAY OR NIGHT, you have me weak in the knees for this

OKAY BRB SOBBING IN HAPPINESS

#asks with naoya's trophy wife #suki: for keeps #uwu anon

[theladyofdeath]

In the Bleak Midwinter {19}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

Summary: 2 years after Arobynn Hammel is killed by Rowan Whitethorn, Maeve has returned from Eyllwe with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Rowan is getting married, Lorcan is a father, and Lysandra is finally ready to give her heart away. There’s been peace in The Cadre’s Orynth for 2 years, but peace never lasts.

A/N: So, uh, next chapter is the last chapter...

All characters belong to SJM. I am no more than a fan with a plot.

**Warning: mature content - language, alcohol use, drug use, sex, murders and shit.

Links & masterlists:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me

The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

Gavriel’s hand hit the sergeant’s desk with a thump. 

“We need to know where she is, and we need to know where she is, now.” 

“I have no information,” Sergeant Nazari said, through gritted teeth. “I’ve told you as much ten times now, I don’t know when it’ll get through your head.”

Sergeant Nazari had been on the Cadre’s payroll for the past five years. He’d been incredibly helpful through the years, had saved all of their asses a million times, but in this particular situation, Gavriel was about to lose his shit. 

He opened his mouth, prepared to scream at the man on the other side of the desk, but Vaughan’s hand gently rested on his shoulder.

Vaughan was right.

Nazari had never lied to them before. He was loyal.

If he was saying he didn’t know where Maeve was, he really didn’t know where she was. 

“Fine,” Gavriel breathed. “If you find anything out-.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Sergeant Nazari promised. 

With a nod, Gavriel and Vaughan exited the station, pulling out their cigarette cases the moment they stepped out into the street. 

“I don’t get it,” Gavriel began, shaking his head. “Someone in this damned city has to know where Maeve has holed herself up.”

He met Vaughan’s weary gaze. 

“I know,” Gavriel sighed. “We’re running out of time.”

Vaughan nodded his agreement, his shoulders slumping, but his pace remaining steady as they walked back to their horses. After they mounted their saddles, they were hurrying out of town, back toward the estate. 

When they returned, Rhoe and his men were standing outside, smoking, a worried Lysandra pacing in front of them.

“News?” Gavriel asked, before he even hopped off his horse. 

Before anyone could answer, a car came speeding up the dirt drive, and Fenrys had the door open before Lorcan had it parked. 

“They’re at the old Cartwright Manor!” he yelled, chest heaving, as if they’d been hurrying. Which, with such information, they should have been. “Since Cartwright died last year, it’s been uninhabited.” 

The Cartwright Manor was only a few miles west. 

“Let’s go,” Gavriel said, readying to mount his horse, yet again.

“We need a plan,” Lorcan said, turning off the engine.

“Like hell we do!” Gavriel yelled. “We’re running out of time!”

“And if we go in there with no plan and create chaos, we’re all going to fucking die!” Lorcan replied, slamming his door shut behind him. 

Gavriel knew that Lorcan was right, but it still pissed him off to admit it. “Then what, pray tell, is the plan?” 

Lorcan ignored Gavriel’s sarcastic comment. “I don’t fucking know, but I know we need one.” 

“Before we all start fighting, because that’s where I see this is headed,” Fenrys began, stepping between them. “I have an idea.”

All eyes landed on him. 

“I went to the Cartwright Manor, often, as a kid, Con and I,” he began. “I know the layout pretty well.”

“Why?” Gavriel asked, curiously.

“Is that information necessary right now?” Lorcan muttered. 

“Our father was good friends with Mr. Cartwright,” Fenrys answered, plainly. “The servant’s entrance is in the back. There’s this creepy, narrow old tunnel beneath the kitchens, I assume they’re probably being held there. Con and I used to joke that that’s where old Cartwright took his prisoners. Through the servant’s entrance, just to the left, there’s a door. Most mistake it as a coat closet, but it’s a staircase that will lead you downstairs.”

Lorcan nodded, slowly. “We have no idea how many of Maeve’s men are there.”

“True,” Fenrys agreed, and nodded to Rhoe and his men. “But we have them, and plenty of ammunition.” 

“So, what?” Gavriel asked. “We break through the servant’s entrance and start shooting?”

Fenrys blinked, shrugging. “Do you have a better idea?” 

Gavriel blew a puff of smoke into the air.

No.

No he didn’t.

“We’re all going to die,” Lorcan muttered. 

From there, no one said a word. Maybe Lorcan was right, maybe they’d all get shot, maybe Maeve’s men would completely overpower them and everything leading up to this point would be all for nothing. 

Elide’s death.

Connall’s death.

Every night they had laid awake, unsure of their futures. 

Every anxious day, every agonizing hour, every trip to the hospital or sighting of blood.

But they wouldn’t leave Aelin there, wouldn’t leave Rowan there.

He was their leader.

So Gavriel tossed his cigarette into the dirt and stepped on it. “Let’s reload.”

~~~~~

Rowan had always hated Maeve.

When he was younger, he used to have nightmares of Maeve as an old witch who lived deep in the woods, eating children, like the one from Hansel and Gretel. As he grew older, he felt foolish for ever feeling such a thing, but now, he was right back to imagining her as his living nightmare. 

His head hurt, dominantly from the gash on the side of his head. His vision was blurred, blood trailing down his chin. He was fairly certain he had lost a tooth.

Or two. 

He could deal with teeth, though. It was the least of what he was about to lose. 

Although he had no idea what time it was, he had caught glimpses of the sun high in the sky as he was dragged out of his room with Aelin and brought into a different one. She had cried, screamed as they took him, but he had told her that he loved her, that he would see her soon.

Even though he had no way of knowing if that were true. 

He was tied to a chair, weak, weaponless, waiting. 

The walls around him were covered in wallpaper, although the windows had been boarded up. He was somewhere upstairs, somewhere in the main living area. There was an oil lamp on a small table not far from him, but aside from that and his chair, the room was empty.

And the old, Persian rug beneath his feet.

The rug that was splattered with his blood.

He groaned, just wanting it all to be over. Everything had gone on for too long, and he was over it, done. 

Waiting was the worst part, and all he had been doing for months now was waiting. 

He could hear her slow, steady footsteps before she appeared in the doorway. 

“Hello, nephew,” she crooned, meandering inside until she was standing only a few feet in front of him. 

“Where’s Aelin?” he asked, although his swollen lips had trouble moving. 

“Does it matter?” Maeve asked, shrugging. “Wouldn’t stop crying, though. Had to muffle those sobs before I went insane.”

She cocked her head, her eyes glowing.

She had gone insane long ago. 

“She goes home.” 

Maeve watched him for a moment in silence before a humorless laugh shook her petite frame. “Are you bargaining with me?”

“Let her go home,” Rowan repeated. “Her, and the baby. Let them go home, safely, and I’ll do whatever you want without a fight.” 

The room fell into silence, Rowan’s declaration, his promise, echoing in the minimal space. 

“I’m beginning to think you’re delusional,” Maeve said, slowly. 

“Aelin,” he repeated, a growl underlying his tone. “Gets to go, unharmed.”

“You’ve repeated that, over and over again,” Maeve said, her pretentious grin disappearing. “It’s growing old.” 

“Then agree,” Rowan snapped.

“You see, this is where you’re mistaken,” Maeve began, pacing back and forth in front of him. “You’re not in the place to make a bargain. Either way, you die, and Aelin’s safety means nothing to me.” 

“Surely you don’t hate me that much,” Rowan said, meeting her gaze. “Let Aelin go free. Please.”

Please. He was sincere when he said it, a word he had never used sincerely with his aunt before. If he wasn’t tied up to a chair, he would be down on his knees, begging, pleading. 

Maeve watched him for a long moment, the room going back into silence. Rowan could hear her men walking around downstairs, their boots heavy on the wooden floorboards. 

With every step he heard, his heart beat a little faster.

“Maeve,” he growled, when the silence became too unbearable. 

Her eyes darkened as her lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Aelin has already been….released.” 

There were a lot of different words Maeve could have chosen, but released was one that confused Rowan, pissed him off. 

It was a word that could mean so many different things, but every meaning Rowan thought of only made him feel sick to his stomach.

His jaw locked. “Where is she?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@mariamuses  @garnet-29  @writer-reader-traveller  @rowaelin-cressworth  @space-buns-arsinoe  @negativenesta  @empress-ofbloodshed  @the-regal-warrior  @starseternalnighttriumphant  @westofmoon  @sammyjojaaaa  @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter  @carbconnoisseur @acer6437  @lorcansalvatearupmyheart  @cool-ish-nerd  @mynewdreamwasyou  @mourning-razorlust  @thespiritualrider  @rowaelinforeverworld  @didsomeonesayviolin  @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit  @yeah-just-ignore-me-thanks  @queen-of-glass  @the-dark-swan  @http-itsrebecca  @holdingon-21@babycardan @tswaney17  @mollycateoc  @chemicha  @bat-wing-rhys @exersize-me-i-dare-u @thespiritualrider  @luna-the-little @morebooks-pls  @shyvioletcat  @hermajestyanna  @a97girl  @stardustsroses  @queenofthemoon22 @alifletcher2012  @awkward-avocado-s  @faerie-queen-fireheart  @cwheart  @lovemollywho @emilyrose111294  @nerdperson524  @sleeping-and-books @cursebreaker29 @flora-and-fae @feyrethedarklady @the-dark-swan @rowaelinforeverworld @sjmsstuff @januarystears @mis-lil-red  @acourtofmoonlight   @rowaelinforeverworld  @courtofmaasdestruction @jjellybean  @thewayshedreamed  @wind-drinker  @aelin-rowan-whitehorn  @starseternalnighttriumphant  @hurema @http-itsrebecca  @lorcansalvatearupmyheart  @cityofchelsea16 @januarystears  @iliketoasterstrudels  @lightitup-bryce  @yikesitsmaddie @feyrethedarklady @i-love-all-books  @keshavomit  @sleeping-and-books @scarznstars  @http-itsrebecca @cat5313 @moondancer-204  @booklover242 @belamoonbeam @they-call-me-cuatro   @b00kworm  @mu-si-ca-l   @thegayerpotato  @abraxos-is-toothless  @keshavomit  @musicdreamer003   @superspiritfestival  @sailorsassley  @mymultiversee @alxanxah @viviaannvu123  @mysweetvillain @theghostlyharrypooperfan @highqueenofelfhame​  @shyvioletcat @maastrash @the-third-me​ @rinad307

#1920s au #period au #pb au #tog

[odsalt]

001: RWBY obviously lol

002: Hmm... Freezerburn

003: Mercury

(I’m doing this ask meme thing)

001: R W B Y

Favorite character: Ozpin, by far. Very few come even close.

Least favorite character: ......where should I start. Cinder, Salem, Ruby (used to be a fave), Yang (used to be a fave), Blake, and sometimes Weiss. Oh and Qrow starting at v6. Fuck that guy.

5 favorite ships: uh... I'm really not much of a shipper. I generally hate shipping tbh, and I can count my R W B Y ships on one hand, which I guess would be 5 anyway, so...let's see.... IronWitch, Double Rainbow, BlackSun (less so in v4 because she was a dick to him).... I used to have more but I don't remember them. Renora and Arkos I guess? I dunno, I'm only including them because I need 5 and I don't hate them. Well. I liked Renora until v7.

Character I find most attractive: You're gonna make me mention him again? Professor Ozpin, duh.

Character I would marry: See above.

Character I would be best friends with: Penny or Pyrrha probably. Or Zwei, I make friends with dogs.

A random thought: You ever wonder what they call that stuff that forms on surfaces from time to time? We call it dust, but they have that word for something else. Now I'm just imagining the Schnee Dust Company selling dust bunnies as pets.

An unpopular opinion: You mean something I haven't mentioned here before?

My canon OTP: Well it was canon, so I don't really have a canon OTP anymore.

My non-canon OTP: IronWitch. ...Can I change that to my above answer? Because they were obvious. Look at that elevator scene in v3 and tell me nothing happened between them, I dare you.

Most badass character: Honestly? I’m gonna have to say Neo. I'm not her biggest fan, not by a long shot, but as a tiny woman myself, it's kinda cool seeing her kick ass and take names, all with a cheeky grin.

Pairing I'm not a fan of: Just one? Ok. It goes bzzz. But if that was obvious, here's another. There's a song that talks about begging your pardon, I never promised you this thing.

Character I feel the writers screwed up: Say it with me, IRONWOOD.

Favorite friendship: People are friends in this show?

002: Freezerburn

When or if: I'm not really a fan of inner-Team R W B Y ships (yes, I'm Team Sisterhood, sue me), but Freezerburn is superior. If I had to choose an inner-Team ship, it would probably be that one (or Monochrome). As for when, the dynamic between Yang and Weiss has always been interesting, but I think v5 gave us the good Freezerburn food.

What makes me happy: the hug when they reunited. You get to see just how short Weiss really is 😆

What makes me sad: that their friendship was never really explored after v5. I blame Blake rejoining the team, and the writers' inability to flesh out character dynamics.

Things done in fanfic that annoy me: I don't read fanfic.

Things I look for in fanfic: I don't look for fanfic.

My kinks: I'm a sex-repulsed ace. Kinks make me cringe.

Who I'd be comfortable with them ending up with: Again I'm alright with Monochrome, I think the dynamic there is great. So, Weiss with Blake. But I really can't see Yang with anyone, I don't think her lifestyle and goals would fit in with a relationship. The only exception I can make is with Weiss *shrug*

My happily ever after for them: I'm not good with endings, and I don't think about it all that much.

003: Mercury

How I feel about this character: I pretty much always liked Merc's cocky attitude, and I think a lot of that has to do with how Yuri Lowenthal performs as him. I wasn't really a fan of his first voice, so the character didn't really have the punch, or kick, that he does now. So I don't adore Merc, but for one of the bad guys, I really don't hate him either. He's one of those characters I can tell to shut up with a smile on my face lol

Romantic ships: tbh none. I'm in a weird limbo with Emerald and Mercury, in that I see them more as siblings, but it wouldn't bother me if they ended up together. That doesn't really happen lol

Non-romantic OTP: I guess my previous answer applies to this as well? I'm in the siblings boat with them for the most part.

Unpopular opinion: I'm not sure if it's unpopular, but it's what I stated earlier in that I think Yuri was a better choice. I think they should've got him on as Mercury in the beginning.

One thing I wish happened: Pretty much everyone spec'd that Merc would help Oscar to escape. I'm not really a go-with-the-crowd kind of gal in terms of speculation and theories, but I am so disappointed that this didn't happen. It would've been perfect, but instead Merc got shipped off to Vacuo with Tyrian for whatever reason. What a total waste of an opportunity, but wasted opportunities is what this show is built on, so I guess no surprise there.

My OTP: Still don't have one. Maybe Emercury, maybe not Emercury.

My OT3: I don't do OT3s, at least not romantic ones. If we're going purely platonic, one of my biggest wishes (that will never happen now) was that Emerald, Mercury, and Hazel would have escaped Salem and lived peacefully somewhere, just two kids and their big burly dad. But alas, someone died.

......... Was I supposed to say that much? I’ve never done these before 😅

#ask #ask meme #is that what this is? #also because some of my responses say mean things about the show! #rwde #anti rwby #Freezerburn #mercury black #We can probably skip 001 after this

[astoldbygingersnaps]

Dear author, for the fanfic writer asks, would you consider answering: 3. Do you have a favorite scene you’ve written from Star Trek AU? and 28. Is there a part of you’re surprised no one has picked up on yet for Salvation Comes Only in our Dreams?? Either way, thank you so much for writing and sharing your incredible stories with us!! 😍🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

answers under the cut!

3. Do you have a favorite scene you’ve written from Star Trek AU? 

OH JEEZ. this is Such a hard question because star trek au is my baby and so many pieces of that series mean so much to me. i also think my answer to this question will forever be shifting as the fic isn’t finished yet (and won’t be... for a while... rip), but my current answer is probably the one-two punch of Those Itachi and Shisui Scenes™ from chapter three of part three: 

Shisui had thought that, should he have the misfortune to end up face-to-face with Itachi during this conversation he would find the man infuriated, his expression brimming with the fearsome temper his Vulcan convictions force him to keep up lock and key. But right now Itachi doesn’t resemble a ferocious Vulcan warrior, all snarling teeth and righteous fury. Right now, with his rain-damp face and frantic dark eyes, he’s wild in a way that’s even more frighteningi. “Look at me,” Itachi all but begs him, and Shisui stops breathing entirely. With blood pounding between his ears, he listens as Itachi cries, “ Speak to me. Tell me what it is I have done to wrong you, if there is such a thing, and what it is you want from me.”

And just like that, Shisui’s composure finally fucking breaks. “What I want from you?” he asks with a laugh, the sound caught between disbelief and bitterness. He feels just as crazy as Itachi currently looks, unrestrained and reckless and completely unable to hold back the reply he knows he should continue to keep buried as deep within him as it will go.

“Everything,” Shisui says simply, lips curving into a grin he hates the feeling of. “That’s the whole damn problem, isn’t it?” Just as quick as Itachi before him, he grabs Itachi’s wrist and adds, with a rasp that he can see sends a shiver through the man’s frame, “I want everything from you.”

and

Shisui’s disappointed more people than he can count during his lifetime, but it’s never felt like this. For all the mistakes he’s made and the paths he’s gone down, there’s never been a single thing he’s regretted more than the way Itachi’s currently looking at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, the apology falling from his mouth in a pathetic and frantic display as he reaches out to the man recoiling from him. “Itachi, I am so fucking sorry that I--”

“Don’t touch me!” Itachi yells back, pulling away from Shisui’s outstretched hand. “Don’t you dare try to touch me right now.” Shaking his head in disbelief, he tells Shisui, the words raw and cracked-open, “You stumble in here and confess to lying to my face for months and expect me to forgive you merely because you feel sorry about it?”

To that, Shisui has no response, merely stands there and takes it as Itachi tears into him. “I have trusted you more than I have ever trusted anyone in this life, and in return for my faith you spat on me. We were supposed to be partners.”

“We are,” Shisui argues quietly.

“No,” Itachi insists. “If you respected me at all you never would have treated me like this. You wouldn’t have made me feel like a fool for ever believing in you.” All at once the righteous fire burns of Itachi, leaving exhaustion and confusion in its wake.

It’s then that Itachi turns to him and delivers the most devastating blow of all: “Who are you?”

because i have been waiting for this bomb to go off for 1.5years and i was genuinely so satisfied at how this chapter came out. it was everything i planned and wanted it to be, and watching the reactions from people has been a blast.

28. Is there a part of you’re surprised no one has picked up on yet for Salvation Comes Only in our Dreams

not exactly mostly because, as much as i like the idea of this au, it’s kind of the red-headed stepchild of my projects and doesn’t get updated as much it should/i’d like (which is hilarious, because as far as my stats go, it’s actually my most popular fic for shiita. go figure, lol.) 

i’ve said this before, but part of the difficulty of this fic is that, while i have the major plot beats sketched out, in a lot of ways i’m flying by the seat of my pants and making shit up as i go. there’s also a lot more ~mystery to this fic than, like, star trek au for example, so i am curious about people’s theories regarding where the fic will end up and why certain plot points have played out the way they have. 

one thing i Will give away is the origin of the fic’s title. like every other person who came of age during early 2010s tumblr culture, i tend to use lines of poetry or song lyrics to title my writing, and massacre au is no exception. the title comes from the song ‘terrible lie’ by nine inch nails, and seemed appropriate since the whole point of the song is basically begging for understanding in a cruel and seemingly random world (and also hating christianity, as most songs from the ‘pretty hate machine’ era of NIN are):

I really don't know what you mean Seems like salvation comes only in our dreams I feel my hatred grow all the more extreme (Hey god) can this world really be as sad as it seems?

it’s also my favorite song off my favorite album, so it was very funny for me to realize just how well it fits this au. i’d recommend giving it a listen if you want to get a better idea of the ~vibe of the story. if i’d consider it to be from itachi or shisui’s pov (or both)... well, i’ll let you guess for yourself :)

#birkastan2018 #asks and memes

[browneyedhimbo]

I love you mom and I'm so happy you're back ❤❤❤ for a request: can I request any plot with protective!beefy!Bucky? 😍

Thank you for the request mija!! 💛💛 I don’t know why my mind immediately goes to alcohol when “protective” comes into play. Plus I was listening to Bad Bunny’s new album so that’s probably another good reason lol. But anywho! Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Alcohol, foul language (cause if I say dirty talk minds go somewhere else) and an asshole who needs to be taught a lesson in manners

Word Count: 1.7k

Running a hand through your hair you let out the million sigh of the hour. You stared at the blank document in front of you, the little line thing blinking back at you. 

“Alright alright, I got this,” you said to yourself. You sat up straight, cracked your knuckles and brought the laptop closer to you on your lap. You bit your bottom lip and hovered your hands over the keyboard. 

“Nope. Never mind.” You deflated, leaning back against the bed. You shoved the laptop off your lap to the side and groaned. 

Writer’s block, your real enemy. You were an avenger by day, fanfic writer by night. At first you thought it was weird and embarrassing, but soon you felt more and more comfortable. You were able to release and pour your emotions into writing. Well, at least that’s when your brain actually cooperated with you. 

“Ugh. Stupid fucking brain, stupid words, stupid fucking argh!” You groaned into a pillow. With another heavy sigh, you stood up and placed your laptop back on your desk. You glared at it before flopping on your bed face first. A knock sounded on the door a few moments later.

“Y/N, you good?” You heard Sam’s muffled voice from the other side. You went and opened the door seeing your best friend with a concerned look on his face. “I was headed to the kitchen when I heard you cursing out.” 

“Yeah, I was just trying to write but my brain can’t come up with anything.” You pouted. “I know what you’re gonna say, ‘don’t overwork yourself with writing when you just got back from a mission a few days ago.” You lowered your voice, trying and failing to mimic him.

“Actually I was gonna ask where Bucky is so he can help you out,” he chuckled, “Help you with your frustrations.” He threw a wink at you earning a roll of your eyes. You were going to say something before he cut you off. “Actually, I know what you need.” His smirk grew and you found yourself getting a little nervous. What did this lunatic have planned now?

“Do I dare ask?” You bit your bottom lip. He chuckled and leaned against the frame.

“You might wanna change. I’ll be back in ten,” he said before walking away leaving you very confused. You shook your head and closed the door. You quickly changed out of your pajamas and stood in front of your closet. He never said where you’re going so settled into wearing jeans, a nice dressy shirt, and your booties. You grabbed your purse when, true to his word, ten minutes later Sam was knocking.

“No hint?” You asked while he was driving you both to this mystery destination. He chuckled earning a swat to the arm.

“Take it easy, I’m driving!” He laughed. “I’m not saying anything. Only that Natasha, Wanda, and Clint are already there.” 

««««»»»»

“Just one dance Y/N!” Wanda was practically begging at this point. When you first arrived at the bar you found that they already had a shot and a few drinks each. Now half an hour later, they were trashed, and by they it was Wanda and Clint. 

“Okay okay fine! You win,” you giggled. You had enough liquid courage to dance a few songs but not enough to dance all night. 

“Yes!” She squealed before dragging you over to the dance floor of the bar. She was quick in her actions resulting in you not seeing a certain blue eyed super soldier stepping next to Sam. 

“Why am I here Sam?” Bucky asked already getting uncomfortable. He didn’t get a verbal response, just a nod in the direction Wanda had pulled you off to. He scanned the crowd before his eyes landed on you. His heart thumped faster seeing the way you smiled and laughed so carefree. He was whipped and he knew it, just not how he was ever going to tell you. A sigh broke past his lips as he sat down at the table Clint and Natasha were at. 

You don’t know how long you were dancing but you were starting to feel it. You looked at Wanda who wasn’t showing signs of letting up. With a shake of your head you started back towards the group. You saw Nat and Clint arm wrestling with Sam cheering them on, and then you made eye contact with the blue eyed beauty. 

Your smile matched your bright eyes and you started walking faster, eager to get engulfed in his hug and familiar scent. Though you couldn’t hear it, you knew he was chuckling by the way his shoulder shook a little and his smirk grew into a smile. God you loved him, but you couldn’t tell him.

Only a couple tables away. Your eyes never left his. Until some douchebag decided to smack your ass while passing him. 

“Hey what the fuck?” You turned to him, anger surging through your body. He was leaning against a bar stool, a disgusting smirk playing on his lips. You swallowed, suddenly feeling very small. Damn alcohol, you thought.

“Where ya headed to so fast sweetheart?” He bit his bottom lip seductively.

“Fuck off,” you tried to sound intimidating, you really did, but it came out more wobbly than you wanted it to. Again, damn alcohol.

“You can fuck me right now.” He chuckled and gave you a wink. You felt your skin crawl and your stomach churn. You were going to say something else before you felt two hands on your shoulders and that familiar scent of cologne and gunpowder. 

“She said fuck off, so why don’t you do that?” You looked up and saw Bucky’s jaw set and his eyes trained on the dude. The only other times you’ve seen him with that look was when he was in ‘soldier mode’ (as you called it) during missions.

“What are you? Her ward?” He laughed despicably. You heard Bucky growl low in your ear. At any other given time you’d enjoy it, but now wasn’t one of them. 

“Bucky…” you trailed, desperately trying to make eye contact with him. He clenched his teeth and his metal arm wrapped around your waist. 

“If you ever play a finger on her again and I’ll-”

“Is she your girl?“ 

"W-what?” Bucky was taken aback by the question, too heated another man dare lay a hand on you in such a manner and talk to you in such a way. 

“Is she your girl? Cause if she’s not then…” the guy looked you up and down as if a predator. Your hand went to the arm Bucky had around and squeezed. 

“She’s my girl so back the fuck off or so help me, they’ll never find your body.” Bucky’s grip on your waist tightened a little bit and his other hand grabbed the collar of the dude’s shirt. His voice was husky and deeper than you’ve ever heard it before, hints of a promise laced with his words.

The dude paled and gulped before nodding his head. Bucky let him go and walked you both to where the others sat at the table.

“Heeeyyy!!! There’s ya ats! Was were you?” Clint swayed in his seat looking at the two of you.

“Easy there,” Sam said helping him to his feet. “We got an uber to take these lightweights home. You can take the car, no rush. See you guys at home.” Sam handed Bucky the keys before walking out with Clint ticked to his side and Nat helping Wanda. 

“We need to talk,” you looked back up to Bucky. He sighed and led you out the doors, arm still around your waist. It wasn’t until you got to the car he let go.

“I uh, I-I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked, hands stuffed in his pockets, his gaze to the floor. You smiled softly at him.

“No.” He glanced up making eye contact. He shuffled on his feet before sighing.

“M'sorry Y/N/N. I-I know you don’t need to be saved ‘n I know I probably embarrassed you.” He scratched the back of his neck, finally meeting your eyes. “I jus’, he was being disrespectful-”

"Buck-” you tried getting a word in.

“-and a dick and I can’t stand someone doing that to you and -” he started getting louder.

“Buck-”

“It just makes me mad because I’m so in love with you!” His eyes grew wide at what he just shouted at you. “I-” he felt the tears welling up in his eyes and his rate sky rocket. This is not how he imagined this night going.

“You what?” Are your ears deceiving you? Or were plastered and didn’t know it?

“Oh god, Y/N this isn’t- I wanted- it’s.” The panic was oozing out from his chest. “Y-yes I love you but I didn’t want- I- please don’t be mad.” He pleaded.

“Why would I be mad? Bucky-”

“In there I said you were my girl and you’re not and now I’m tellin you I love you and-” you cut him off with your hand on his mouth and a chuckle.

“If you’d let me talk Buck,” you giggled, “I love you too you dummy. And,” you pressed a finger to his lips, “before you ask I didn’t drink too much so I’m telling you this completely sober.” You removed your finger from his lips and held onto his broad shoulders. 

Speechless is what he was. But he couldn’t hold back his emotions anymore. Calloused hands ghosted up your arms and cupped your cheeks. He looked down at your lips before meeting your eyes, almost as if asking for permission. A slight nod from you and his lips were on yours.

You felt fireworks go off in your belly. Everything in the world blurred out as you tugged him closer. Your hands found their way into his long hair as his found your waist. Though too soon, you had to pull away for oxygen. 

A laughed escapes your lips as you though about how this came about.

“Maybe I should go back and thank that asshole.” You chuckled, a smirk dancing on your lips.

“No! Nope! Not happening! Absolutely not!”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Permanent tags:  @becausewhyknotme @katbtracy @imma-new-soul @justmebeingtheweirdmeiam @officialtonystarkprotectionsquad @theladyoffangorn @itsunclebucky @mushyjellybeans @writing-for-hours-on-end @this-kitten-is-smitten @agentpeggybarnes 

Bucky Barnes tags: @sebbbystaaan @wemisshim3000 @dianadov @nerdy-bookworm-1998 

@stuckonjbbarnes @disaffectedbarnes @cosmicbucky @ninjabucky Hope you won’t mind me tagging you

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #winter soldier #protective!bucky x reader #protective!bucky #mel answers

[bastillewolf]

Midnight In Sheffield (I)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: When a soon-to-be-wedded insomniac author heads back home to visit her parents, she comes across the likes of a mysterious musician on her sleepless escapade in the AM.

Notes: Not sure if this is going to work out, but I’ve made the creative decision to write a series of Alex Turner fanfics, going down each album and all most likely lightly based off movies. Like the Grand Tranquility Hotel from the Grand Budapest Hotel, this one is based off Midnight In Paris. No need to have seen either movies to read these fics. It won’t take place around the same time, as Sheffield has been through some stuff in the early 1900s. I will keep it all a bit old-school themed, but just won’t name a specific era, so you can take your own spin on it. I’m not familiar with Sheffield at all, never been there, so I’ll keep locations vague and add the Paris theme a bit in there. Hope you tag along for the ride, and let’s have one for the road.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

Chapter I - AM

“I don’t see how this could be more important to you than meeting my parents,” she grumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow she had planted her face in. The sheets of the bed were soft and had a pristine white colour, much to her dismay. The entire hotel room was much too extravagant to her liking, but it was Mark who insisted on paying extra to make their stay most comfortable.

“Please don’t be difficult now, sweetheart,” her fiancée replied, as he set one of his neatly folded trousers in the dresser on the shelf next to where his ironed shirts hung. “You know how much it means to me to be able to see James and Rachel again after all these years. I’m sure your parents will understand. If not, I’ll beg for their forgiveness.” He dramatically bent down to his knee, as if to gallantly portray his apology, making her roll her eyes.

“That wouldn’t be the first thing you’d have to apologize for. First of all, you’re going to have to tell my dad why you didn’t ask for his permission to marry me-“

“You already said yes!”

She shot him a look. “And secondly, you’re going to have to explain to my mum why you didn’t want to stay at their home. I think she would’ve been very happy to play hostess to the man who’s going to marry her daughter in a few.”

He crawled on top of the bed, his curly brown hair hanging over his face as he hovered above her and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be sure to make up for it. Now, please get changed. We’re having lunch.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s going to be at that ritzy restaurant we went to last time. I’m still not over the way that waiter felt the need to explain everything to me like a five-year-old whilst pointing everything out with his little finger.”

“Well, you can’t speak French, darling. I think he tried his best at explaining the menu to you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just, please stop drooling on the pillow and put on something nice. For me?”

Seeing the convincing puppy look on his face, she gave in with a sigh and a very loud slurping noise as she lifted her head from the pillow, making Mark huff.

 Meeting with James and Rachel wasn’t the worst thing in the world, because she didn’t see them very often and they were overall nice people. At least, if you didn’t count every time James tried to be the smartass of the group by giving some random fact about anything and everything they came across, or if you ignored the way Rachel was evidently very flirty and touchy with Mark, or if you turned your head away every time the couple made those wretched kissing noises as they shared what should be an intimate moment.

What Mark had with Rachel was something she could never come between, something she also shared with many good friends of her own. They were the type who would always share that bond with you, no matter how long you hadn’t seen each other, and she could only be happy that Mark still had friends like that.

His work as a lawyer didn’t allow for him to make all that many mates, as most try to stab him in the back just to be able to get that promotion they wanted. He’d often come home with his head hung low after days like that, when loneliness took over the pride he had of his usually exhilarating job.

And thus, as she watched Rachel hug him extra tight, she kept her mouth shut. It was for the best, and it was only one afternoon she had to endure.

But she vowed to herself to not let it happen at her wedding. That was her day. Fuck Mark and fuck Rachel. She wasn’t going to be left alone dancing with James, who seemed to be known for having two left feet, by her own husband. But that was something she’d have to worry about in the future.

Her worries now were trying to translate a French menu without asking a waiter, deciding which fork to use, and refraining from telling James to shut up about the painting that hung behind him, of which he was giving an entirely unnecessarily intricate description.

“As you can see, the painter made sure the flag of the boat is standing diagonal to the man in the front, to make the artwork a treat for the eye with this interesting form of composition. It makes the scene all the more dramatic, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mark and Rachel hummed thoughtfully, but both were looking at the painting as if it was some Professor Layton puzzle they had yet to solve.

“What do you think?” James turned to her directly, catching her off guard. James usually wasn’t one to ask others for their opinion, so she could only guess it was an attempt to test her bare knowledge on the subject to make himself look like the smarter one.

“I think you said it all, James,” she decided to answer with, “I’m afraid I haven’t thought about art in that way since my classes in school. As of now, I have more important things to worry about than what the composition in a painting is like.”

It was low of her, she knew that, but someone needed to teach him a lesson.

“Ah,” James said, seemingly unfazed by her subtle insult, “Now that you mention it, how’s your book coming along?”

She sighed. Of course, he was going to play that card. She could’ve seen it coming.

Being a published writer of a few mediocre novels she’d written back in school, she was still in search for her new muse, and things were getting a bit desperate, to say the least. She had absolutely no idea what her next story was going to be about, finding everything in her life to be inexplicably boring and explicitly dull.

Not so much to say she wasn’t happy. No, she liked being with Mark. But she couldn’t say her life was a real adventure with him, or anyone for that matter. They lived in an apartment in the big city, where Mark had his day job and she her comfortable bed. He’d come home and she would’ve cooked – whatever attempt it was each time – and cleaned, and perhaps even written down a page or two only to never look at it again.

“Oh, you know. It’s getting there,” she lied, “Inspiration is lacking a bit these days, unfortunately.”

“I’ve always found inspiration to be a bit of a myth,” James said thoughtfully, “Why is it exactly that one particular thing that’s so inexplicable yet so necessary to create something? It seems a bit… I don’t know, like an excuse for some writers. I’ve heard many talk about it seriously, and many call it pure laziness. But then again, I wouldn’t really know much of the matter.”

There was the comeback.

She smiled tightly. “No, you wouldn’t. I can agree that some writers use it as an excuse to hide their laziness, as I find that a lot of characters write their own stories as soon as you sit down and start typing. However, inspiration is indeed something vague, and could be considered a writer’s virtue or downfall. It’s however you approach the subject, and however you try to deal with it or rationalize it as an artist.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have even mentioned it. I wouldn’t know much about it, since I’m only an art consultant, after all.” He threw his hands up degradingly.

Fucker.

“Oh, come on, let’s not be so childish. All of our work is equally as important, as long as we’re happy doing it,” Rachel intervened, before raising her glass, “Here’s a toast to inspiration and art!”

Though she was relieved the argument was over and the attention drawn away from her, she couldn’t help but feel that familiar itch from the downgrading undertone in Rachel’s voice. Call it jealousy if you might, but she wasn’t one to let something like that slip from her mind, however many years may pass.

“So, if I may be so bold to ask,” Rachel continued, and the writer had almost collected her guts to blatantly reply with a ‘no’ when the woman was already speaking again, “What are your plans after the wedding? Are you moving? Already thinking about having kids? No pressure, of course.” She laughed with a pitch so high it nearly shattered the wineglass she was bringing to her lips to pieces.

“Oh, she always gets a bit icky talking about having kids,” Mark chuckled, “But if it were up to her, we’d be moving to some remote village in the outskirts of France, living in a tiny apartment until we grow old and turn to dust.”

She shrugged at her fiancée, “Doesn’t sound all that bad to me.”

“That’s because you came up with it.”

“Don’t you want to be closer to your friends?” Rachel asked, “Why move to the middle of nowhere, when you have everything out here?”

“I don’t know. I guess because of the peace and quiet. A simple life, with the bare necessities.”

“I wouldn’t have protested if it wasn’t for my job,” Mark added, which was a blatant lie. She’d heard him cut off her dream many times over for many different reasons. “Unfortunately, my French isn’t good enough to be a lawyer, and certainly not in the outskirts somewhere.”

“I thought you barely spoke a word of French, anyway?” James asked her.

“I know, but I would learn it there. It would be a part of the adventure.”

He snorted, “I’m sorry darling, but adventure is for children. It’s time to grow out of that. Perhaps you should find something you like in a proper job.”

 She’d prompted to walk back to the hotel, through the rain, as Mark, James and Rachel – mostly Mark – had tried to convince her to share a cab with them. But no way in hell would she spend another unnecessary moment with that couple, and Mark knew better than to follow her out, for she would only be walking too quickly for him, and he would have quietly trailed after her the whole way back.

So, when she finally reached the building, he allowed her to soak in the tub for a few hours before finally approaching her.

“He has a point, you know.”

The look she gave him was an evident warning, yet he still had the guts to continue. “I’m not saying you should stop writing. I know that’s your passion. But, I’m asking you to maybe find something that could come close to that in the meantime, at least until you find something to write about. And perhaps, after we get married-“ he kissed her wrinkly palm, “-we could afford ourselves a nice vacation cot somewhere in the outskirts of France, and we could visit it as often as we’d like.”

She pursed her lips, turning her eyes away from his pensively. “I’m not sure your job would allow that. Your vacation days would be limited, and my desires to go on a holiday always growing.”

He smiled gently. “I’m sure we could work it out after I get that promotion.”

She looked at him, her eyes slightly glossy. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m giving up.”

“You’re not giving up, sweetheart. You’re only taking measures to be able to do the things you like, and when things are going well you can set your priorities straight. It’s the better thing to do.”

Her mind might be relieved to hear this solution, but her gut remained ridden with unease.

 “Mark? Are you coming?” she called out, her hand hovering over the doorknob of their room.

“I’ll be right after you!” she heard him say, “Work is phoning me, you go ahead. I’ll take the next cab.”

“Alright, but don’t be too long!”

 They were supposed to meet with their parents that evening to share the big news, but after hugs were shared and multiple cups of tea were had, Mark still hadn’t shown. She was beginning to grow worried when he didn’t pick up his phone, and even went as far as to step outside to frantically see if the connection was better.

After eight missed calls, she finally reached him.

“Can you believe it?” she heard him slur, “I stepped into the same cab as James! We’re at the pub, you should come join!”

Hearing faint noises of protest from others on the other end of the line, she quickly grew more and more bothered. “Mark, we were supposed to see my parents tonight.”

“Oh, we can see them again tomorrow! I figured you needed some catching up to do.”

“You could’ve joined in on that catching up, as they’ve barely seen you three times over the past four years we’ve been together.”

“Please don’t be like that sweetheart, you know I adore your parents. In fact, I’ll come over right now if that’s what you-“

“No,” she quickly cut him off, not being able to stand the mental sight of her parents having to deal with her drunk fiancée. “You know what, have fun. I’ll stay at my parents’ for the night.”

“Sounds like fun! Call me-“

She’d hung up the phone before he could finish his sentence, and had dropped to her knees as she felt her bottom lip tremble. Not wanting to alert the neighbours, she quickly forced her numb legs to work again and strode in the direction of town, a walking route she usually took whenever she was upset when she was young. She sent a quick text to her mum, telling her she’d meet again with them tomorrow and explain what happened. She really couldn’t be bothered right now.

Tears streamed down her face at the thought that her feet were so unwilling to go back to face her parents, who she’d have to disappoint yet again with a disappearing soon-to-be son-in-law. It wasn’t that she couldn’t tell her parents about her problems, it was the thought of disappointing them once again with a mistake she was making.

A horrible, horrible mistake.

She was no longer aware of which way she’d gone, as all shops around her seemed unfamiliar, yet she could’ve sworn she hadn’t messed up any turns in her route.

Wherever she was though, was a beautifully quaint, with antique streetlights and a cobbled road. Shop windows held curtains made from white lace, and showed off vintage clothes and items for a real bargain.

Must be one of those vintage sales, she figured, as her eyes grazed along cars with brands that were so old she couldn’t remember the names of them. Stores like these must attract the more interesting people with vehicles like those.

It was when she saw a polished and brand-new-looking typewriter in one of the windows, she paused. Above it, she saw her own reflection; a puffy reddened face stained with an ongoing array of tears.

“I really hope you’re not crying because you want that typewriter so awfully bad,” a voice spoke.

She whipped around, coming face to face with a man who was giving her a kind look. His eyes were hazel, matching the brown suit he wore, and his head shaved to a buzzcut. He had sharp features, and still looked awfully British.

“I- Uh… No, I’m not,” she stuttered, trying to wipe the waterworks away with her sleeve.

The man then held out a folded cotton handkerchief to her, along with a smile as an attempt to cheer her up. She gratefully accepted both.

“Not any bloke I’d need to beat up, is there?”

She laughed blubberingly, “I don’t think that would be the solution to my problems, but thank you.”

“Thank god,” he huffed, “Because to be quite honest, I can’t throw a punch for the life of me. I would’ve had to ask one of my mates to do it for me, and cheer him on as he’d won my own fight.”

“I don’t think that would count as your fight,” she chuckled.

“Defending a lady’s honour is always my fight,” he replied. He shook his head, “Apologies for the rudeness, miss. Haven’t even properly introduced myself. I’m Miles.”

She gave him her own name, “and it’s nice to meet you, Miles. May I ask what you’re doing about this late?”

He gave her a strange look, “Why, it’s the perfect hour, why wouldn’t I be about? The night has only just started, and one of my close mates is preforming in the pub nearby. Want to join?”

She only took a moment to hesitate, before wilfully agreeing. “Sure.”

#Arctic Monkeys #Alex Turner #Alex Turner x Reader #Matt Helders #Miles Kane #TLSP #The Last Shadow Puppets #Nick O'Malley #AM #TBHC #Jamie Cook #Wpsiatwin #Humbug #Suck It And See #Fanfiction

[incarnateirony]

I think the issue with death as a happy ending (to a story, I should point out - death can be many things in many places, but I’m specifically talking about it in fiction) is that it’s usually written so badly that it doesn’t feel like a happy ending and it just feels like shit. There’s a very limited number of fictional works that I’ve seen actually manage it well - though in saying that, I have a very limited range, and I don’t really enjoy new things because (reasons). The ones I do recall, it’s because they were just that good and bittersweet is exactly the way I would describe them as a happy ending.

Firebringer was a novel I read when I was 12 or 13, and I still recall it. It was about a deer and it was his entire life - birth to death - and it was a happy ending. I cried through the last few chapters. Then I reread it and cried some more. It was good.

There’s also a fic I want to mention, because it’s on the topic. It’s called The white whale. and it’s by an author named orange_crushed. The entire premise of the fic is that Dean (and Sam, but it’s a destiel fic) is already dead. He died years ago. The title itself should say a lot, and the fic itself is about finding peace. It’s brilliant and beautiful, and I love it.

My perspective on death is a bit. Odd, maybe? I grew up somewhere between Christian (mum and dad and church, a mix of Baptist and Anglican) and animist (local indigenous spirituality), and while bit of both inform my interpretation, I’m very nearly atheist.

I don’t really believe in an afterlife, or rebirth, or anything like that. I believe that this is it. We get one shot at being who we want to be and acting as we choose with what we’re given. (“And isn’t it so wonderful, that we were alive at the same time?”)

I first heard the Freedom From vs Freedom To argument when reading the handmaid’s tale in my English class at school. It wasn’t even presented as an argument, everyone just seemed to agree that freedom to is better. I believe that, too. But freedom from has structure. It’s not “peaceful” and it can’t be when it is enforced, but it is informed by rules, and there it has expectations and is reliable (where reliable means we know what the consequences are, even if they’re awful). Freedom to is anarchy (which I have come to appreciate more). But neither freedom is peace.

There’s a quote I really love, and I can never recall it properly and it goes something like this: “War is an ugly thing, but it is not the ugliest. The decayed and degraded state of moral feeling which thinks nothing is worth war is much worse. A man who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing more important than his own personal fucking safety, is [the worst thing]” clearly I don’t recall it very well. It’s from an old bit of hp fanfic, of all things, a very violent and disgusting version of civil war - as war is. It was the beginning of why I’m not a pacifist.

I dunno. I guess I really feel like peace - true, genuine peace - can’t be done. It’s certainly worth striving for, worth trying, but peace is either isolation and loneliness or death. Peace is knowing you’ve done everything you can, that it was enough, and being able to let it go.

Any way I think I had a point somewhere in this, maybe something about being unable to put down a fight while you’re living, maybe something about how death can be kind, maybe something about how good writing can make sad things happy, maybe that bittersweet is still sweet. Idk.

Feel free to reply to this mess of ideas or not - or pick and choose what you want to reply to, if you’d like to reply to specific parts. I mostly just wanted to share (I can do discussion, but idk if I’m still gunna have any focus later to do so, or if I’ll even see a response) some thoughts and you’re usually the only person I see on my dash with this sort of ~vague philosophy things~.

Woah when did anons get to let someone submit something so long.

Either way, a few points on this.

1. a thoughtful piece, this is a philosophy piece I will gladly entertain. However, if we are entertaining philosophy we must

2. acknowledge this is a nihilistic piece contingent on your personal world views, that while valid, and I will not take any effort to undermine on a personal belief system level

3. do not have much to do with (dependent on fringe atheism or, perhaps, agnosticism) a piece that is far from secular and atheistic while also

4. relying on the idea that “I really feel like peace - true, genuine peace - can’t be done. It’s certainly worth striving for, worth trying, but peace is either isolation and loneliness or death.”, which is itself the very nihilistic idea imparted by Chuck’s matrix but, whether you believe it in the real world, is the active target of subversion within this fantasy world, (eg, a heaven revolution where the doors are opened just like they were in hell.)

5. Finally, presumptuous that it would not be ‘well written’ and predesignating a potential discontent with the delivery that would sour it, especially with the previous points.

That said, while I’m not going to argue directly with your real life belief system -- even if they clearly disagree with my own -- I do remind you--falling back to your point that you do not believe in an afterlife: we know this fictional story does not hold this belief, ergo using that as a judgment for how it would deliver the concept of eternity is itself already wounding oneself to receiving the moral of the canon. One can not suddenly expect SPN to become a secular show just because a viewer has secular and atheistic beliefs. It is inherently asecular, theistic, and gnostic in its bones and the story will thus tell itself within that structure, which then begs if one is willing to suspend a personal belief system for a fictional canon setting they are digesting the story of.

Similarly-and-so, this is contingent on believing that the heroes’ journey will end with them maintaining the current status quo, rather than making a world where--in this fictional world in which an afterlife exists--death does not itself mean loneliness, but rather reunion.

If we can suspend our beliefs in some shows with fighting dragons or farting lightning bolts (after all, nonnie references HP fanfic), I would hope people could suspend them in regards to a moral telling of found family and the sovereignty of man in a divine and moral play.

If one were to demand SPN have entirely atheistic storytelling, the only real way to handle an ending would be to have one of the characters wake up from a 15 year coma where none of it was real and it was all a dream or something to that affect which--lol, we’re not doing, I promise. I’m sorry, but we’re not.  We’re not taking the “none of it mattered because none of it happened” angle. We’re not going to a world where angels and the afterlife don’t exist, we’re not going to collapse it where suddenly death IS the true end and life sucks and then you die, it’s just not going to happen.

So the point then is an active choice on the part of the viewer: is this suddenly the line you draw after watching a theistic show for 15 years, doubling down that this specific theistic point is the one thing we can’t accept (despite it existing in the past already), or do we continue to watch a theistic show and interpret its theistic points as the story is trying to depict? And if it’s the “drawing the sudden line,” that is, quite frankly, a personal choice to have spontaneous discontent with a critical part of a canon story’s telling at a very sudden drawn line in the sand. 

The point to exit would have been pilot 1.01 if we were going to have fundamental problems with spirits and an afterlife as crucial elements of a story. And if not then, 4.01 with angels. And if not then-- you see where this goes on. There were multiple exit ramps if the idea of an afterlife, which became more and more directly explored, was going to be an issue in reception of or enjoyment of a text. So now we’re 15 years later, and we can’t expect the highway to reroute just because we didn’t take the other 100 ramps.

SPN will tell the full spread of its moral and divine play within the full spread of its moral and divine sandbox, which someone has--to reach the ending--accepted for fifteen years at this point. If one has a fundamental problem with the entire premise of the show, it is not an obligation to any writer to cater to someone who intrinsically disagrees with the entire structure of the body of work to fulfill something within a completely different paradigm. It’s not.

Am I lucky in that it matches my beliefs? Maybe. Also cursed. Very very cursed. Because it’s led to being Through The Looking Glass for two years to the point there’s a segment of fandom that treats me as a magic 8 ball--and sometimes rightfully so, not to sound like I’m tooting my own horn or whatever. It just knows I get the structure in play to a fault. But cursed knowledge aside -- and trust me, it’s cursed as FUCK most of the time -- in the end, even when I watch shows that don’t match my personal theology, I don’t sit here and suddenly expect them to do so. There’s plenty of shows I completely suspend my beliefs in to enjoy within the sandbox they were designed in the constraints of so I find it very weird to project a discontent with a body of fictional canon presenting ideas within its own rule set based on personal beliefs in a real life lens. I mean, I don’t believe dragons exist, but if I watch the Dragon Prince for many seasons, I can’t suddenly expect the ending to have nothing to do with Dragons?

I mean, the show is literally called Supernatural. It's right there in the name. There are going to be supernatural elements about the show. My banner image is literally a reborn soul floating down the aisle. This isn't gonna suddenly be irrelevant at the end.

#supernatural #fandom #meta #pagan life #my meta #philosophy

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. ix

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt ix: heartlines

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~7.3k (yes I am a clown)

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Language, some “light” religious blasphemy (it’s Far Cry 5). Strong canon deviance.

Notes: I have nothing to say for myself, except: thank you thank you thank you! Everyone's comments really just got me through the real brunt of this chapter and it's a long one, oh boy. I cannot reiterate enough how much the hopeless romantic in me desperately wants them to just live happily ever after, and also how MUCH it really means to me to see your guys' feedback, but alas alack, here we are; I, with my long-winded author's notes saying the same thing every time, but I am just as grateful each time it happens.

As always, I have the best, sweetest, kindest, most thoughtful and wonderful proof-reader but most importantly friend who helped me block out this chapter because I was really, really struggling with it. @starcrier, my lover my life my shawty my wife, she is Elliot's number one stan and also an incredible writer so please go check out her stuff!!

On a brief tangent, I have some beautiful artwork made the artist @raviollies​ on tumblr, which you can find here! I definitely did cry a little tiny bit over it.

It’s your fucking fault.

Elliot’s words, venomous little baby snakes spitting their venom, crawled around the bone arena of his skull. John could not stop replaying them in his head, even though he desperately wanted to; the idea that the rookie deputy might now well and truly hate him—really hate him, more than she maybe ever had before—was an unsettling one. He liked to think that it was because he was worried what Joseph would think if they no longer had her cooperation, her good behavior, but—

But there was something else that dug at him. There was something else squirming in the cavity of his chest, sinking its nails right into him, but he couldn’t pick it out, couldn’t pull it apart.

(Or maybe he didn’t want to; maybe the idea of identifying what this strange and unknowable beast inside of him was kept him from trying too hard, a good enough reason to throw up his hands and say, sorry, I just can’t.)

He pushed the door to the church open, stepping back inside to the cool, dim quiet. Jacob had pulled a map out and spread it over the table, the radio set aside; Joseph sat in a front-row pew, one leg crossed over his knee and his expression mild.

“Did you get the opportunity to chat?” he asked, without looking at John, as though he just knew that it was him and not someone else coming in. “She seemed…” Joseph’s head tilted, just a little. “... Unseated.”

John hesitated, and then began walking down the aisle. “Yes,” he replied. “Although, I don’t know if chat is the proper word for it, considering that she all but put her teeth in my neck.”

“I thought you liked that kind of thing?” Jacob supplied without a hint of a humorous inflection in his voice, and John shot him a dirty look.

“Bleeding out to death? Not particularly.”

Joseph nodded, the gesture gentle, ignoring the bickering. “It does appear as though our deputy is not a damsel in distress, but rather a damsel under duress.” He turned to look at the youngest Seed brother when he reached the front of the church. “But it is nice to see the foundation you’ve put down, John. You’re taking my advice, and it isn’t going unnoticed.”

He felt something pleasant and warm bloom in his chest, billowing up into his head until it almost completely gassed out the venomous little vipers Elliot had planted in his mind. “I did have an idea about that,” he added, feeling more emboldened by Joseph’s praise as he walked past the table. “About endearing the deputy to us.”

“Oh? Well, I’m all ears.”

John’s gaze flickered across the space between his two brothers. Jacob had said nothing; he was bent over the map, dog tags glinting in the single beam of light that hit them from the window, one veiny hand clenched into a fist as it held the map in place.

“Maybe,” John continued, “our dear brother could try to stop antagonizing her.”

“Why?” the red-headed deadpanned, not looking up from the map. The fact that Jacob didn’t even deign to make eye-contact with him was enough to make irritation prickle in his chest, raise his proverbial hackles.

“Why?” John reiterated. “Perhaps because each time you open your mouth, you incriminate yourself as a villain—and us too, by proxy.”

“You can drop the attorney lingo,” Jacob said dryly, finally lifting his head to look at John—and John wished that he hadn’t, because the half-lidded, arrogant gaze of his eldest brother only served to stoke the fires of anger inside of him.

“It’s just my vocabulary, Jacob, and you missed the entire point, by the way, so in the interest of making sure we’re all on the same page—”

“—not an idiot, little brother, so you don’t need to—”

“I think John is right,” Joseph interrupted, effectively silencing the argument that was brewing. “He’s done exactly as I asked of him. Think of a stray dog, Jacob; you don’t beat it into submission. You feed it, nurture it, gain its trust, and then it becomes a lifelong companion.” The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “A loyal companion.”

“This is an age-old philosophical debate.” Jacob’s brows furrowed together; a deep-set frown sat on his face. “A classic: is it better to be feared than to be loved? I think that we’re going to disagree fundamentally on this one.”

“Well,” Joseph replied mildly, “aren’t we lucky that there’s only one of us in charge of how our deputy is treated, then?”

John’s breath flickered out of his chest in a single blink at Joseph’s words. Casual and ever-so-patient, as though Jacob’s jaw weren’t setting in preparation to argue, as though it didn’t strike John right in his gut to hear Joseph say, there’s only one of us in charge of how our deputy is treated, as though it didn’t twist the knife right between his ribs to hear Joseph refer to Elliot as their deputy, over and over again.

A stamp. A brand. Joseph claimed, like he always did, the things that he thought rightfully belonged to him.

“Someone’s lucky,” Jacob said at last, a final and reluctant acquiescence.

Joseph’s small smile did not disappear. In fact, it seemed only to root itself more firmly on his face, as though he were pleased at Jacob’s unease. Joseph’s gaze flickered back to John, settling on him and then beckoning him forward.

He did as Joseph bid, coming and sitting beside his older brother and clearing his throat. He wanted to stop thinking about the way that Joseph had said our deputy, like he had any claim on Elliot—and that shouldn’t have bothered John, but it did, wriggled its way through the spaces between his ribs and squeezed, nice and tight.

“She was upset,” Joseph said, when John had settled next to him; it was not a question, but a statement, an assertion of what Joseph knew to be true. Their eldest brother scoffed from his spot at the table, bent back over the map, tracing and re-tracing the topography lines. John shifted in his seat a little.

“I think Jacob might have ruined any chance at a merciful conversion when he mentioned that her friends would deserve it if they didn’t make it out.” John’s voice was hard when he shot the red-head a stinging look, but unsatisfyingly, Jacob did not lift his head this time. John felt the strain of his brows furrowing at the center of his head, and then Joseph’s hand was on the side of his face, fingers spreading against his hair, primed and comfortable to grip.

“Grief,” Joseph said, his voice low and soothing, “is a part of change. Like shedding a skin.”

“It’s not—she was furious with me,” John replied, grimacing. “She just kept saying she hated me, and us. Joseph, I think—it would be beneficial to let me do things my way—”

“Our deputy is killing the person she used to be, John.” Joseph’s gaze was steady, piercing, a venomous yellow. His other hand came to the right side of John’s face, cradling him. “Strangling her old self, with her own hands. People like us, we’re lucky; we’ve always known who we were meant to be.” He leaned against the wooden backing of the pew again. “You’ve guided her here. Give her a while to grieve that girl from before. Patience is a virtue.”

John’s throat felt tight. He thought the Elliot in the bar those years ago—flushing and soft, breathless when he leaned into her—and the Elliot threatening to choke a man to death in front of him if he didn’t beg for his life, and the Elliot who played baseball with a shovel and a man’s head, and the Elliot that smoked a cigarette down to nothing while she cranked Welcome To The Jungle up on a van stolen from a group of crazy Swedish cultists.

He was not convinced she had not already killed the girl she used to be.

“You have got to have faith.” Joseph’s voice broke him out of his reverie. When John looked over to his brother, Joseph was absently dragging his thumb along his lower lip, his eyes fixed on the Eden’s Gate emblem glowing above them in the afternoon light. “Remember what I said; you have to love them. I know you can do this for me.”

His throat felt tight. This would be easier, he thought, if he could have just done everything this way. Wrath, he thought, would look perfect on her. But that wasn’t right; wrath already fit her. There was no skin to be shed. It was already on.

“John.”

He dragged his gaze from the white collar of Joseph’s shirt to his brother’s gaze, meeting it.

“Tell me you can do this,” Joseph said, his voice lower now, softer. It was not his counseling voice; this was Joseph asking him, his brother, not the man who led the masses. Asking, demanding, but waiting patiently for it to be given, never taking before it was time.

He was no longer thinking about Elliot at her fiercest, but rather the way she had softened for him, on occasion. Pressed against him for warmth, lashes wet with tears, unwilling to let go of his arm.

“I can,” John replied, “for you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot didn’t know for how long she slept. When she woke, the sun was still in the sky, the air felt sticky and wet with late-summer humidity, and while she slept sweat had gathered at the nape of her neck and in the hollows and dips of her body. For a second, panic filled her—she couldn’t remember where she was, or how she got there, confusion twisting and knotting its way through her.

And then she remembered. She was in Joseph’s compound, in a bunkhouse that served as a home to Eden’s Gate members, dressed in Eden’s Gate clothes sans her boots and underclothes. Elliot wiped the sweat from her forehead and pulled her hair out of the ponytail. Standing proved dizzying, and she felt the dehydration twisting around in her stomach like a scorpion; stinging, and unkind.

“Fuck,” she said, pressing the heel of her palm to her eye. The gesture reminded her that she had done it just recently; just before she screamed at John, just before she told him that she hated him. Oh, yes. That.

Grief still squirmed around inside of her, but it had been abated, for now, and she thought that she almost—

“No.” Elliot’s voice was firm, but still wobbled on its legs, when she spoke to herself. “I don’t feel bad about what I said.”

“Good to know.” It was John’s voice from the doorway, bringing with him a hot breeze that should have felt good being that they were on an island, but it just added to the humidity. Elliot’s stomach twisted violently at the sound of his voice. It wasn’t anger that populated her mind, now, but embarrassment: that she’d let him get under her skin, that she’d let him see her without her veneer, that he’d been there and endured it and now he stood here again, undeterred, as though John Seed were someone with a moral high ground that allowed him to endure verbal attacks and return as though nothing had happened.

I hate you. Elliot willed the words to her mouth, tried to muster the venom, but she couldn’t. She fixed her eyes instead on the knot of a wooden floor panel, trying to ignore the sight of John moving in the corner of her eyes, closing the space between them. He did this, always—invaded her space, overwhelmed her, until saying things like I hate you became harder.

He smelled like sweat, and day-old cologne, and heat and dust and outside, and when he put his hand on her arm she opened her mouth to say something—anything, any of the venom that might come to her in the heat-addled and perspiring confusion—but he put a cold water bottle, slick with condensation, in her hand.

Her eyes went to find the bloodstain on his shirt when she realized that he wasn’t wearing that shirt anymore. He was in a white shirt, the same kind that Joseph wore.

“Drink,” he said. “I promise it isn’t poisoned.”

Elliot turned the cap of the bottle. It cracked, promising that the seal was freshly broken, and she brought it to her mouth and took one heavy swig before she pulled it away. Her nerve-endings immediately screamed in relief at the water in her mouth, but her stomach lurched—she knew she’d need to pace herself, or she’d be puking it up in a few minutes.

“Did you sleep?” John asked when she didn’t say anything. Elliot sucked her teeth.

“I don’t think we should play at being friends,” she said, her voice wicked with a dry, crackling, wildfire-in-the-making heat. John’s gaze was steady, though, once again unfettered by her words and remaining in her space. She was more aware of it than ever, now: as though resting, and having basic necessities like shower and drinking water also made her all the more aware of John’s presence, the heat radiating off of his body and the way he was watching her—

(like he couldn’t get enough of her)

—like he wanted to make sure that nothing she did escaped him.

“We’re not playing at being friends, deputy,” John drawled, crossing his arms over his chest and rocking back on his heels a bit as he looked at her. “Whether you like it or not, you and I are on the same side.”

“For now,” Elliot bit out.

“For now,” he acquiesced, as gracious as ever.

Her eyes narrowed. John was not the kind of person who forgave and forgot the sorts of things that she’d said to him. Elliot felt the suspicion rising up in her throat. She kept waiting for the punchline; for John to say something stupid like, and when this is over you’ll be begging for me to absolve your sins, or something equally driven by ego and his desire to have Joseph’s approval.

“So,” John began again, arms unfolding elegantly to be held out in a gesture of harmlessness, “did you sleep?”

Elliot took another swallow of her water bottle, stepping around John. Her body instantly braced itself—as though she expected him to try and stop her—but he didn’t; merely turned with her, a planet trapped in her orbit.

“Briefly.” She kept her voice short and clipped as she headed towards the door. “Are your friends back?”

“Jacob’s ready whenever you are.”

Her face scrunched up at the mention of the eldest Seed brother. She was now unsure which of them was the most unpleasant to be around; they all found their own special ways to get under her skin. John, perhaps, was the worst; Joseph and Jacob, she could handle their particular brand of crazy, but John—he was harder for her to read, because all of the time spent with him had started to cloud her brain.

“Why are you being nice to me?” she demanded, turning suddenly to find that he’d crossed the bunkhouse again, as though to follow her outside. Because she hadn’t quite gone out, yet, he now stood nearly nose to nose with her, even with her back pressed against the door of the bunkhouse.

John’s gaze swept over her. “Does it bother you?”

The plastic of the water bottle crunched in her hand. Her jaw set, painfully tight, holding back her gut reaction—to tell him that yes, it did bother her—and instead swallowed thickly. It would be just like John, to go out of his way to be nice to her because he thought it would unsettle her. But then, wasn’t John all about bending and cracking someone to his will, no gentleness required?

A headache splintered behind her eyes, throbbing painfully. She was spending too much time trying to parse John Seed out, and that was her first mistake.

“I’m just surprised you know how,” Elliot snipped, watching the way her words ticked the corner of his mouth upward in that easy, boyish smile.

“I can be nice,” John offered, “if someone isn’t spitting venom at me nonstop, calling me pathetic.”

“Fucking pathetic,” she pointed out, ignoring the way John’s eyes flickered down to her mouth and then back up to meet her eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that—”

“—no need to apologize after the fact, deputy—”

“—because I know how sensitive you are,” Elliot finished, wiping the smile off of John’s face, “and since we’re on the same side, I suppose I can’t afford to have you down and out.”

John’s eyes narrowed. His hand found the doorknob, and he was very close, so close all of a sudden that for a brief moment Elliot’s brain short-circuited and all she could think about was how unjust it was that a man so deserving of her venom could make cologne smell so good.

And then he said, “No, I suppose you can’t,” and opened the door behind her, the heat of the afternoon sun sunk into her skin, sticky and hot. “I work best when my partner isn’t trying to fight me the entire time.”

She turned and stepped out of the bunkhouse, clutching the water bottle in her fist and putting as much distance between herself and John as she said, “And I work the best if you stay the fuck out of my way, John.”

No more, she thought, decisively, no more of that.

Images of Eden’s Gate members scattered in her periphery; they were eager to look, but not eager to be seen, so that when she turned her head to find them they were already disappearing behind a corner or into a building. The heat was no more bearable if she was moving, either, the sun high in the sky and threatening to burn any exposed skin.

John fell into step beside her, his hand landing on the doorknob to the church before she could open it, holding it closed while she stopped on the landing.

“Jacob likes when he gets under your skin,” he said to her, the words sounding a little different than before. “He might say whatever he can to rile you up, and make you look unreliable to Joseph.”

Elliot hesitated. She didn’t know why John was giving her this information; not only because she already knew that—because of course Jacob enjoyed pushing her—but she didn’t understand why John was trying to be helpful. It was always going to be the Seed brothers against her, wasn’t it?

She thought of the way they had been bickering, the two brothers, while she tried to gather herself after her call with Jerome. She wished she’d been paying attention so that she could know what it was they had been arguing about.

John waited expectantly. He said, “You want to get Joey out of there, don’t you?”

“Of course.” Her brows furrowed. “What kind of—”

“And I want Faith out of there, with as little risk as possible,” he plunged on, keeping the door in place, “so we can’t get outvoted in there. Joseph does take you seriously, though who can imagine why—”

“If you’re trying to convince me we’re actually partners,” Elliot deadpanned, “you’re doing a shit job of it.”

“All I’m saying,” John continued irritably, “is that if we present a unified front in there, we have a better chance of us both getting what we want.”

Elliot didn’t want to admit that he was right. The last thing she ever wanted to do was tell John Seed that he was right about something. But if she had to weigh her options, she’d rather tell John he was right than do whatever the fuck it was that Jacob and Joseph wanted her to do. One Seed brother she could handle.

So, she relented, “Fine.”

John stuck out his free hand to her, grinning. “Shake on it, partner?”

Elliot groaned and swatted his hand away. “Don’t push it, buck,” she replied, pushing the door open—and this time, John let her, trailing in after her. Jacob and Joseph were in their spots at the front of the chapel, waiting ever-so-patiently. She reminded herself of what John had confirmed; that Jacob liked to see her on the brink of a meltdown, that he was a pusher.

It did not escape her that John had not offered any insight into Joseph.

“Have a nice nap?” Jacob asked as she came up to the table with the map.

“Funny, John asked me the same thing.” Elliot kept her voice even and took a drink of her water before she started tying her hair back into a ponytail. “So, where are they? Where are Joey and Faith?”

“South of here, the faithful say,” Joseph said before Jacob could speak again. “At Sacred Skies Lake. Just past Angel’s Peak. It sounds like they don’t go by any name, and just call themselves a family.”

“And do the faithful say what they’ve been doing?” she asked tartly. She had an idea of where they had made their home; probably at the abandoned youth camp, though as far as she last remembered that had been occupied by Joseph’s own.

Well, probably not for very long. There was no way Joseph’s little rednecks could hold up to the precision that these crazies had.

“Living,” Jacob replied, his gaze hard and his jaw set. “They’re not doing anything. They’re just—there. Like they’re waiting for something.” 

Elliot’s stomach plummeted at Jacob’s words. There was no way he could have known, surely; she hadn’t told John, and she hadn’t said anything to them in the car, about the way Ase had cradled her face, and called her mor, and had said, I know that you will always come back to us.

Fuck. There’s no fucking way.

But there was. If Ase didn’t have absolute confidence that Elliot would seek them out, why would she have let them go? Why would they have been mostly unscathed? They were playing with their food—a sick, drawn-out catch-and-release.

The brothers had started speaking again. The aqua curve of Sacred Skies on the map burned into her retinas the longer she stared at it without blinking.

“Waiting for me,” Elliot mustered up after a moment, her mouth feeling very dry. “They’re waiting for me.”

Three pairs of eyes fixed on her, all with the same uncanny precision. There was no time for it to bother her; her stomach was already rolling with nausea.

And then Jacob barked out, “Explain,” and she thought she might punch him in the face if he didn’t shut up. Elliot took in a deep breath, mustering all of the composure she could manage, and focused herself on the map.

“When John and I got—when we had our run-in with the family,” she began, “we were separated, and—they drugged me, with something. But their leader, Ase, she was there for a little while—”

“What?” John demanded. So much for presenting a unified front, she thought ruefully. She shot him a look, willing him to be quiet, to just let her gather her thoughts; blissfully, he did.

“She kept calling me something in Swedish,” Elliot explained, “and she kept saying all of this weird stuff, like—like that she saw my color, that she saw me, and then…”

The Seeds all stared at her, waiting expectantly. Even Jacob remained silent.

“And then she said something like… Like that she was going to let me go, but only because she knew I was always going to come back to her.”

A moment of silence stretched in front of her, endless and dizzying, where no one in the room said anything and all Elliot could think about were all the things that Ase had said.

And then, as though these words had almost no impact on him, Jacob said, “Well, at least we have proper bait.”

“Absolutely not,” John cut in immediately, angrily. “You’re not putting Elliot out there to try and lure them here—”

“—they want her, I don’t see why we wouldn’t—”

“Brothers,” Joseph interrupted, his voice effectively bringing both John and Jacob to heel. Like before, he stood directly across from Elliot; her gaze was fixed on him now, tumbling Ase’s words around in her head while the Seeds argued about whether or not she was shark bait or not. “What do you think, deputy?”

The words were gentle. Elliot knew what they were; certainly, Joseph knew how long it had been since someone had asked her opinion, rather than her having to fight tooth and nail for someone even to consider it.

“I think—we could get Ase to come out of the youth camp, which is probably where they’re holed up,” she said after a moment, willing the charm of Joseph’s attentiveness away. Her gaze slid to John for a moment. “If we used me as bait.”

“Are you serious?” John demanded. He took her arm in his hand, pulling her from the table and hissing, “When I said present a unified front—”

“If we’re partners, you have to trust me,” Elliot insisted tersely. His expression hardened. A part of her hoped that he regretted suggesting they be anything remotely close to on the same team, and a part of her was glad that he had, or he wouldn’t look like the words you’re right were sitting right on his tongue.

Finally, at last, he said, “Fine.”

Elliot turned back to Jacob and Joseph, with the brunette’s hand still on her arm, and asked, “Are you any good with a sniper rifle?” 

“The best.” Jacob’s voice was clipped, insistent. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“So if I can get Ase out to meet me,” she continued, “can you not shoot me?”

His eyes narrowed, but there was a tiny, tiny smile pulling at his lips. “Scout’s honor.”

John exhaled a sharp, short breath. “This is ridiculous—”

But before he could plunge onward, Joseph held up his hand to stop him. He turned his gaze to her, now, studying her for a few long heartbeats before he said, “Do you think they won’t kill Faith if we kill their leader?”

Elliot shrugged his hand off of her arm and walked back to the table, setting her water bottle on the table and crossing her arms over her chest. “I think like any snake,” she replied, “the body won’t function if you cut the head off.”

“At any rate,” Jacob interjected, “push comes to shove and you can get in without a firefight to get Faith out of there.”

“And Joey,” Elliot replied firmly, and stifled down the absolute fury when Jacob shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

“We’ll start making the preparations immediately.” Joseph sounded pleased. It took everything in her power not to say something just spite that, to remember that even though she didn’t want to be, she supposed that she was on their side, too.

Jacob gathered up the map from the table and immediately set off after Joseph, who had stepped down from the small stage and gone to the side door. Elliot picked up her water bottle and took one more heavy drink to finish it off before she turned and looked at John.

His brows knitted together at the center of his forehead. He looked troubled. It was not an expression that she was used to seeing on John Seed’s face; it might have been endearing, if she didn’t know that he was troubled by her, and not in the fun way.

“Spit it out, then,” Elliot prompted. John heaved a loud, impatient sigh.

“This is a stupid idea,” John said abruptly, angrily. It was a change of pace from the cocky asshole he normally liked to be. “There’s no way that they know they aren’t waiting for you to show up so they can skin and gut you, and—”

She waited, patiently, for him to get the words out. Whatever they were, they stuck in his throat.

“—and what use would you be then?” he finished, his lip curling up in clear distaste. Ah, there he is, Elliot thought absently. Almost thought I’d lost you, John.

“Don’t worry,” she said lightly. When she had capped her water bottle again, she headed to the back of the church. It feels good, she thought, pushing on the door, to have a plan again. “I’ll far outlive my use to you, Seed.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The plan was simple.

Elliot was going to walk herself—unarmed, much to her personal chagrin—out to the Sacred Skies Youth Camp, once they dropped her off. Jacob would already be in a position where he could get a good look at what was going on, and when he got a clear shot at Ase, he was going to take it.

And they were banking on the woman coming out to get Elliot herself, based on what Elliot had told them. John was not convinced, but he had been overruled; it was no longer his choice, and instead of going in and being on the same team as Elliot, he had found himself on the opposite of the playing board from all three of them—his brothers and the deputy.

Not ideal.

But now, as John parked the truck at the bottom of the hill leading up to the youth camp, all he could feel was dread knotting his stomach. The plan was supposed to be simple, but John remained unconvinced that it would be executed as easily as everyone seemed to think it would.

Elliot seemed in perfect spirits; she’d eaten a handful of granola bars, finished off two other water bottles, and her coughing had become less frequent. Not once had he seen her reach for a cigarette, either. It was like the second she had an actionable plan, she no longer stressed: there was nothing for her to worry about, beyond getting the job done.

John met her gaze through the rearview mirror. “You’re sure?” he prompted, and ignored the way Joseph’s head gently cocked to the side. Elliot flashed him a smile.

“Just focus on making sure Jacob doesn’t shoot me in the head,” she replied, “okay? And I’ll focus on getting Joey and Faith out of there.”

Joseph said, lightly, “That’s all we could ever hope for, deputy,” and when he did Elliot shot John a look through the mirror, a look that said, can you fucking believe this guy? And for one, brief second it felt like they shared a joke only between the two of them.

Then she pushed the back door of the truck open and kicked her legs out, landing on the dirt road with a soft thump. The blonde closed the truck door and then came up to John’s window, which had been rolled down, and said, “You’re sure you don’t want to give me a weapon?”

It would blow the whole fucking thing if they caught her with a gun or a knife, Jacob had said; if by some strange happenstance he didn’t snipe the shit out of the crazy fucking Swedish woman, and Elliot wound up getting dragged into the belly of the beast, having a weapon on her would out her immediately. They would know that she hadn’t come willingly, but that she had come with the intent to harm.

At least in the instance that they somehow avoided Jacob, she could lie her way out of it. Maybe.

“I have absolute faith,” John said, mimicking Joseph’s veneer of confidence, “that you can make a weapon out of just about anything if you need to.” She patted the side of the truck and took one centering breath, but before she could set off up the hill John said, “Elliot—”

The blonde turned back around to look at him, life and vigor back in her face and one brow arched loftily at him.

Be careful, he thought to say, the words sticking in his throat. That’s what he should have been saying, if they were actually partners—even fake partners, even tenuous partners, partners-by-proxy because John insisted for the sake of feeling like he had some control over the situation and Elliot because there was no one better that she had the chance to pick. Not exactly setting the bar very high, were they?

“Any day now, John.” Elliot’s voice snapped his attention back to reality. She was waiting expectantly, but there wasn’t impatience in her voice; she was content, at last, to have motion. He cleared his throat.

“Don’t start going yet,” he said, instead of the things he thought would matter, like, don’t forget to breathe. “Give Joseph and I a chance to get up to where Jacob is.”

She gave him a two-finger salute, wisps of hair fluttering into her face from a late-afternoon breeze. “Yes, boss.”

John threw the truck into reverse, pulling back and then into a u-turn to head off down the road. The car was silent for a moment, blissfully, with the golden-hour light drenching the two of them in a warm glow. If he didn’t know what was going on just out of reach, he might have felt like he was transplanted into a different time and place entirely.

“You don’t need to worry about her, John,” Joseph said lightly.

“I’m not,” John replied, pulling the truck off of the road. Dry brush crunched and snapped beneath the weight of the tires. “She’s perfectly capable of handling herself with three granola bars in her system and healthy bout pneumonia.”

“You sound frustrated.”

“I just think that maybe we could have picked someone that’s not—” John inhaled. He parked the truck deep into a grove; to the right of them, a small trail would lead up to where Jacob waited with his perfect vantage point to see Ase come out and collect Elliot. “—Sick,” he finished, after a moment, “and not such a wildcard. You know she tried to kill one of the guards when I had her at the ranch? She was going to choke him to death, right then and there. For—touching her, or something.”

Joseph looked unaffected as he stepped out of the truck. “I’m unsurprised, if that’s what you’re looking for.” And he paused, looking thoughtful for a moment, before he said, "Touching her, you said?"

John ignored the question. “Well, then maybe that should speak to the level of reliability Elliot displays.”

“I think you’re underestimating the power of a positively-reinforced bond.” As Joseph spoke, John fell into step beside him, climbing up the slope. Behind them, he heard the distant sound of voices; the members of Eden’s Gate that weren’t holed up would be waiting for Jacob’s signal to swarm, if things looked grim. “Didn’t she say she hated you, and us? And yet today, here she is. In a good mood, no longer frothing at the mouth, rabid and dangerous.”

“She’s still dangerous,” John started, but Joseph stopped him by pressing his hands to his shoulders.

“You’ve done exactly as I asked,” he said, a mirror of the words he’d said before. “Remember? You haven’t beaten your stray into submission. This—” Joseph gestured with his hand in the general direction of where they had dropped Elliot off. “—is all only possible because of the work that you have put in, John. And when we bring Faith home, and return to our followers, that is what they’ll remember. Not the person the deputy used to be.”

John’s felt something hot and painful twist in his chest, prickling pain squirming up his spinal cord. He should have been pleased to hear Joseph refer to Elliot as something that belonged to them and instead was giving him some ownership—but he realized too late that it wasn’t what he had been wanting from his brother. This wasn’t what he wanted from Elliot.

He swallowed and said, thickly, “Yes, Joseph.”

“Good boy.” Joseph held him in a tight hug, the pressure of the gesture relieving some of the stress in his shoulders like muscle memory pulling it right out of him, and then he pulled back. “Now, let’s go and get our sister back, yes?”

His brother stepped up the last stretch of the slope, and he followed obediently behind. Jacob was perched carefully, eyeing the scope and muttering to himself; as John crouched beside him, and Joseph on the other side, the redhead breathed out a little swear.

“Stupid piece of shit,” he sighed. “Remind me to get these upgraded next chance we get.”

“What’s wrong?” John asked, already on edge.

“Nothing’s wrong—the gun’s perfectly functional, it’s just not as stealthy as a rifle should be,” Jacob explained. “It’s got a red dot sight on it.”

John’s eyes narrowed, his teeth clenching. “So they’ll see it the second you get it on that woman.”

“They might,” Jacob protested, “I’ll just have to be fast.”

“Where’s your rifle?”

“It’s back at the center,” his brother snapped. “I didn't have the opportunity to grab it before I went on a wild hunt for you across the Montana countryside. Anything else I can help you with today, little brother?”

“There’s no time for arguing,” Joseph interjected, sounding almost tired now. “Quiet, now.”

From their vantage point, they had a clear view of Elliot. The blonde was yelling something to garner attention, to lure people out, and there was some movement through the trees that blocked off the camp up the road. He could see her start to walk farther up, and then stop, hesitating.

“Someone’s coming,” Jacob said, peering carefully through the scope.

Tentative bodies drifted down the road, breaking the treeline: though John could not see Ase’s strange, lithe form anywhere among them, he could hear what he thought was certainly her voice, saying something to Elliot, who had her hands up carefully to show that she was weapon-free as best she could.

The movement that he thought might be the Swedish woman stopped just before the treeline. Come on, John thought, taking in a breath, come on, you fucking bitch, come out here.

It was someone else that stepped forward from the protection of the tree line. It was Ase’s man, the tall, broad-shouldered ginger, though he too looked unarmed. John tried not to think about how easily he had nearly disposed of them with only his hands, last time.

The man made it to Elliot, gesturing for her to come forward, to close the last foot of distance between them herself; she did as he bid, straying to her right, feigning innocence. John knew what she was doing: leaving room for Jacob to make a shot.

“That’s not her,” John hissed. 

“Yes, I’m not fucking blind.” Jacob’s voice was sharp but steady. “She’s leaning for me. Who is he?”

“Her—right-hand man, or something. I don’t think you should take...”

John’s voice trailed off. The man had stopped Elliot, snagging her wrist—which looked tiny in his hand—and said something to her that did not look pleasant.

“I think I should,” Jacob muttered, shifting the rifle.

“Jacob—” John began, sensing the way his eldest brother’s muscles tensed, ready.

Elliot was saying something to him. She paused, just briefly, and John saw her head tilt down; she saw it, first, and then the ginger looked down at his chest just as Jacob was lining up his shot. 

The incriminating red dot gave it away. The man’s head shot up and locked on them instantly, and before Jacob could pull the trigger, he’d twisted Elliot around and pulled her right against his chest, his hand gripping the pillar of her throat.

John’s stomach plummeted. He heard, as though in a last-ditch effort, Elliot shout his name: and he didn’t know if it was because she wanted help or if she wanted someone to take the shot anyway. He didn’t know if either of those options was more comforting than the other. 

The man had shifted her so that the red dot now lay directly over her chest, pinning her, and Jacob did not pull away from the scope. Even from this distance, John could see the wicked grin splitting across his expression.

“Do not fucking shoot,” John hissed, “Jacob—do not fucking shoot—”

For sure, now, he heard her voice. "John," she said, desperately, his name choked in her throat by the grip of the Swedish man bruising her skin.

“There’s a good chance it would hit him and kill him,” Jacob insisted, his finger hovering over the trigger. “They’re goading us. This is the perfect opportunity to—”

“You fuck,” John seethed. “Joseph, tell him not to shoot!”

Joseph was silent, his jaw set lightly and his gaze fixed on the scene before them; Elliot, struggling to breathe, while the man began to make his way back to the treeline with her body shielding him. For the first time since Elliot had become a problem of theirs, John saw his older brother take time to consider whether or not he really needed her alive or not.

“Killing a right-hand man would be—”

“The plan was to let her get taken in,” John snapped. “Not to fucking shoot through her to get to some nobody!”

“That was before they knew we tried to trick them,” Jacob insisted. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, little brother—”

“Leave it.” Joseph’s voice was final, and sharp. It seemed his brother was bringing an end to fights like this more and more often. “They won’t kill her, or the others. They want her for something. If you shoot through her, we’ll lose our one person on the inside.”

Jacob looked, for one split second, like he might willfully disobey Joseph’s final ruling on the matter. The hard lines of the eldest Seed’s face sharpened, steeling, before he finally flipped the safety on the rifle and straightened up.

A swift, hot breeze drifted through, picking up dust along the dirt road, and right as the shade of the treeline began, the man stopped. John could see Elliot squirming against his grip, her fingers grasping at his wrist and hands, scratching as she gasped for air: but he was immovable, and his attention wasn’t on her, anyway.

It was on them—where he thought they might be. He lifted his hand, thumb up, and two fingers out in the shape of a gun, pointed it at them, and mimicked a single gunshot.

Jacob was seething, the emotion rolling off of him in waves. “The fucking gall—”

But John wasn’t listening anymore. He felt like he was going to throw up. This was exactly what he’d been worried about happening—and here it was, laid out before him, a feast spoiled rotten by reality. He couldn’t get the sound of the way she’d called for him, desperately, like he was the last safeguard she had left.

And yet again, he had failed her. Her, and Faith, and sure, while he was at it, he could stick Joey Hudson’s name on the list; and didn't that mean he'd failed Joseph, too?

John came to a stand. “I have to go in,” he said, assertively, drawing both sets of eyes from his brothers now. “They know, now, and—they think Elliot is a big threat, so if there’s a chance she’ll put up a fight they’ll drug the fuck out of her. I should go in, and Jacob can watch my back, because—”

Because I don’t trust anyone else to get this done the way it needs to be. The thought auto-completed itself in his brain, but the words didn’t come, and it didn’t look like Jacob nor Joseph expected it out of him.

“John,” Joseph said, “are you sure you want to do that?”

“Faith is our sister,” John replied, “and didn’t you say that’s who I was? Ever-giving?”

The man hesitated, just for a second; the sound of chatter below, and Elliot’s furious voice rising as she presumably was given more room to breathe, echoed in the air.

“Yes,” Joseph said at last, relenting. “We did.”

John nodded, turning and making his way down the slope. He kept thinking of the way Elliot had said his name, because it wasn’t the first time she had done that; in the van, too, his had been the first she’d said.

And he couldn’t stop thinking of Ase’s man, either, and the way he’d wielded her with ease, the way he’d grinned when he’d spotted them, the way his hand gripped Elliot’s throat like he’d choke her to death right there if he’d gotten the chance.

No, John thought furiously as the truck came into sight, that won’t do at all.

#far cry 5 #john seed #john seed x deputy #ch: elliot honeysett #fc5 #john seed x ofc #fic: ancient names #my writing #me: KISS KISS KISS #also me: elliot will strangle john with her bare hands if he's not careful #this is true love and no one can tell me otherwise

[khoicesbyk]

The Nanny Affair

Chapter 12.) The Gala. Part 3.

Author’s Note: This little fanfic rewrite of chapter 12 was a challenge thrown down by a skilled writer/sister friend. I accept! (Contains MAJOR Spoilers! If you don’t like to be spoiled or haven’t read the chapter; do NOT continue!) (All Characters and some of the dialogues are property of Pixelberry. This is just a fun little fanfic rewrite of chapter 12.). One more thing: this was written entirely on my iPhone.

***Rated: Mature 18+. Contains sexual content, nudity and strong language.

***Bolded and/or italicized words are conversations and thoughts of the characters.

***Characters: Sam Dalton (LI), Krystal Parker (MC), Mason, Mickey and Carter and Mr. and Mrs. Dalton (Side Characters).

Part 3 picks up where Part 2 left off.

Current Word Count: 2,104

She tried to back away; long enough to calm the leg spasms she was starting to experience. Sam was NOT having that.

“Ohh no my little kitten! You DON’T move one inch!”, he growled. His voice was so low and rumbling, it nearly scared her. It was like he was possessed or something. Her moans, her shrieks and especially her screams were like songs to his ears. Her clit was on fire! Every time he either licked, nipped or sucked on it; it drove her further and further to that edge. It pulsed from the repeated friction of his mouth and his fingers. And her vaginal muscles clenched and released every time he circled her entrance. And whether she wanted to admit it or not; she enjoyed watching his head move in between her legs.

Sam was having fun taking his time. But soon that fun would be slightly interrupted.

“Sam please! If you don’t stop now I won’t last much longer…ohhhhhhhh fuck!”, she exclaimed. Hopeful that it’ll cause him to at least slow down. Even though, he will slightly annoyed by her request; he granted it anyway. She felt relief once he let her go. She was able to finally take a breath; because she couldn’t while he was exploring her lower region.

Sam kissed his way back to her lips by kissing all over her stomach, nipping at her ribcage and of course stopping to marvel, drool and slobber all over her breasts. He would alternate pleasing one breast and teasing the other.

“Mmmmmmmmm…Now that feels so good!”, she purred.

“Good! I’m glad my kitten has enjoyed having her body; literally worshipped from head to toe. Now if you don’t mind…”, he told her before plunging his tongue into her mouth. He broke their kiss with, “I think it’s only fair to share the pleasure, don’t you?”

“Always. Besides your kitten owes you for nearly trying to kill her!”, she responded.

“For the record: I was NOT trying to kill you kitten! I just wanted to take my time and mark MY territory! THAT’S what I was trying to do.”, he responds.

“Yeah! Yeah! Let’s get you out of the Armani suit before I ruin it!”, she told him.

“Scuse me?! When in the hell did you get so damn bossy?! I thought I was the boss here.”, he says to her.

“You are the boss Mr. Dalton. Just not in this moment. In this moment; kitten is going to play.”, she purred in his ear, “now less talk; more clothing removal Mr. Dalton!”

“Yes ma’am! I am at your service!”, he told her as he started peeling off his Armani suit. It didn’t take Sam long to deposit his clothes on the floor in a lazy pile. Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree at the sight of him. He was standing at the end of the bed naked. Honestly and completely. Ohhh she was going to have her revenge fun with him.

“Holy fucking shit! This man’s got a fucking cannon between his legs!”, she thinks to herself with a teasing smile on her lips.

“Meeeeeooooowwwww! Well…somebody’s happy to see me!”, she cooed as she pointed to his VERY HARD penis.

“Ohhh you have no idea how happy!”, he responded.

“Well! Well! Well! What have we here? Ohhh we have Sam Dalton at my tender mercy…who’da thunk?”, she says as she flashes a devilish smile; while laying on her stomach looking up at both him and his hard dick. Her chin propped up on her knuckles and her legs crossed behind her; with a wicked grin on her face.

“Don’t you dare torture me kitten!”, he hissed.

“Little ole me torture you?! Why I would never do that Mr. Dalton! Even though you deserve it for trying to kill me!”, she replied in a not so innocent tone.

He lets out a low slightly annoyed growl.

“Ooh I love hearing you growl…so sexy!”, she told him.

At this point; his dick was throbbing and she knew it. But she wasn’t done. He was gonna pay for driving her insane. When she rolled onto her back; his jaw clenched and his lips formed a straight line. He was about to lose his mind looking at her. Everything he wanted was in full view.

“See something you like?”, she asked while casually letting her right hand brush over her hard nipple.

“Krystal…”, he hissed.

“That’s kitten to you! Mr. Dalton!”, she snapped back.

His breathing was coming in short ragged pants. She knew he was struggling to hold himself together.

“Kitten…if you aren’t over here in the next 5 seconds…”, he said through his clenched jaw.

“Hmmmm…I guess I can be nice to you, Mr. Dalton.”, she says as climbs off the bed and runs straight into his hungry and desperately waiting arms. He devoured her mouth with every ounce of need, longing, desperation, power and fire he had in him. And she gave it right back to him, tenfold.

“God you are so fucking perfect, kitten!”, he tells her in between exploring her mouth with his tongue.

“Ohh you have no idea how perfect I can be; but trust me Mr. Dalton, you’re about to find out!”, she tells him as she pushes him up against the wall by the flat screen TV.

“Now pay attention Mr. Dalton! Because what I’m about to say is critical! Do you remember the old tootsie pop commercial with the little boy and the old owl?”, she asked with body pressed up against his, teasing him, “I want you to think long and hard; well maybe not as long and hard as you currently are but; you get what I mean. The point is: I want you to think about the question; that the little boy asked the old owl.”, she told him.

“He asked the old owl how many licks does it take to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop. What’s that got to do with anything?”, he asks her.

“It has to do with the fact that; I’m about to find out how many licks it takes to get to the tootsie roll center of your tootsie pop.”, she tells him with a devilish grin. When the realization hits him; his dick goes slightly stiff.

“Krystal you really don’t have to—“, he starts to say before she cuts him off, “ohhh no! No you don’t Sam Dalton! You will NOT take this from me! I earned him! I deserve him! And I’m damn sure gonna get him! The only question is: can the boss keep up?”

With that; she sinks to her knees and is soon face first with his VERY throbbing member. She takes her right thumb, sticks it in her mouth for a split second and begins to circle the tip with it; causing him to jump slightly.

“Fuuuuuuccccckkkkkk! Holy shit! Krystal…”, he hissed; desperately wanting to feel her lips on him. But instead she was gonna take her time; the same way he did with and to her. She continued to just circle the tip; earning groans and moans of both pleasure and torture.

“Kitten…don’t…tease…me!”, he says through ragged breaths.

“Ohhh so you can torture me all you like but the minute I give you a small taste of your own medicine…you can’t handle it? Poor Mr. Dalton…”, she teased him.

“God damn! She’s gonna fucking kill me!”, he thought to himself.

“Well I guess it’s time to answer the question, isn’t it Mr. Dalton?”, she asks him.

“What question?”, he asks while trying to calm his breathing.

“How many licks does it take to get to the center of Mr. Dalton’s tootsie pop?”, she asked in a not so innocent voice. Before he could even utter a word in response; her mouth descended onto him. He was rendered speechless. All he could do was feel her moving against him.

“Yesssssssssss kitten!”, he said in an utterly euphoric tone. She felt so good. Her mouth was warm, wet and totally in control of him. At that moment; he would do anything just to keep her mouth on his dick. She started slow because she wanted to savor this. She wanted him to know what it felt like to be slowly tortured. She wanted him to beg for it, to plead for it, to crave it she wants him to feel for her what she feels for him.

As she increased the speed of her mouths motion; he begged her, “god dammit kitten! Don’t stop! Please don’t stop! That’s it! Like that! That’s what I want! That’s what I need!”

She had him right where she wanted him. At her mercy. His mind racing, his heart pounding, his toes curling him struggling to stay upright. That’s what she wanted. And she was getting it. His hips started to move in time with her mouth as his hands found their way into her hair. He wanted to hold her head in place as she worked him over.

Up and down and up and down and up and down; she went. Never allowing him a reprieve. Never letting him fall over. Ohh honey; she was going to give it to him, the same way that he gave it to her. She always made sure to swirl her tongue just enough from time to time; to hear him blurt out every cuss word known to man.

“Ohhh fuck! Ohhh fuck! Ohh fuck! Ohhhhhhhh shit!! Kitten you feel so fucking good on my dick!”, he moaned. She used her hands to stroke him real good; while her lips stayed on his tip. Just like he loved doing to her; she loved hearing him moan beg, plead and groan. Every so often she’d glance up to watch the sweat beads dripping down his face.

“Well Mr. Dalton; do you like it?”, she cooed.

“Kitten…if you don’t stop now…this party…will be over before it ever gets started!”, he warned her.

“You’re not complaining Mr. Dalton. But; I guess I can go easy on you. Because like you said: this is a party. And I wanna be able to have fun too!”, she replied. Sam breathes an audible sigh of utter relief. Before she finishes; she gives him one last good pump and suck; that makes him shudder and inhale sharply.

“God dammit kitten! You’re gonna pay for this! Who the hell told you to be so fucking good like that?”, he asked.

She merely shrugs and smiles innocently in response. He helps her to her feet; long enough to trap her in his arms with in an all but soul stealing kiss, once she stands up.

“Now! It’s time to get down to business! No games! No more teasing! Tonight; I take you!”, he whispers harshly in her ear before kissing a blazing trail; down her ear and onto her neck. With two literal handfuls of her ass and her legs wrapped his waist; he carried her back to the bed.

“Get ready kitten! I’m about to take you higher than you have ever been.”, he tells her.

“Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Less yapping! More fucking! Thank you very much!”, she replied.

With a wicked grin on his face; Sam descends on top of Krystal; settling in between her thighs. He circles her entrance, causing her to cry out in anticipation and need.

“Sam…take me please!”, she begged.

That was all he needed to hear from her. He lined his dick up with her entrance, closed his eyes and took the plunge inside her.

“Yesssssssssss!”, she moaned as she felt him fill her up.

“Fuuuucccck yesssssssssss! God damn you feel so good kitten!”, he growled in her ear. She was everything he wanted her to be and more.

I hope you like Part 3! Part 4 and the finale coming soon!

😘

@txemrn @choicesficwriterscreations

K.

#choices #choices fanfiction #choices tna #khoicesbyk #fanfic #pixelberry #sam dalton #choices stories you play #the nanny affair