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redflagromance · 2 years ago

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Short Story Release: Neither Whole Nor Unbroken (Barry Grivus Story- 3,036 words)

He didn't usually contract kills. But this hit was outside of his usual sphere of competence.

Barry kept an eye on the criminals and villains bustling through the convention center. There were so many options, if he really wanted to just get the first person who would agree.

But he was patient. He had one person in mind, with the specific skill set that he needed. He'd already reached out on the secure app on his phone. There hadn't been a reply, but that didn't mean anything.

A particular motion over the top of his newspaper caught his eye.

A slight figure in black was visible from his line of sight. She was in the narrow space between two booths, inches away from someone who had no idea she was present. Her posture and body language communicated control and tightly leashed violence.

He controlled the desire to smile. That was her.

As he looked up, her gaze snapped to follow a large, handsome man in red strut down the main thoroughfare. He was too busy chatting with Gene to see the assassin's whole body go tense as she honed in on him. Barry could see the whites of her eyes and her carefully controlled breathing from over here.

Even without seeing the man's face, he'd know that was the social media star, underwear model, and chronically small-time supervillain Hammer from her furious body language.

'She focused on him like a hawk,' Barry thought, bemused. 'She wants to attack him on sight, in a building with thousands of witnesses.'

The passion there always surprised him. Personally, Barry found Hammer to be a delight. But reasonable people can disagree on matters of taste. He broke his stare and cleared his throat.

"Harmes." His junior partner looked over from the other chair in their booth. "Would you mind getting coffee? I'll hold down the fort. I could really use the caffeine."

Harmes stood easily, clearly stir crazy. "Of course. The usual?"

"You know me," Barry agreed idly. "I'm a predictable man." He watched until Harmes was out of sight.

Barry folded up the newspaper and put it down on the booth.

"Echo," was all he had to say.

His contact sidled over with a swing in her hips. The furious tension in her shoulders was gone, for now. "Mr. Grivus." Her tone was flat, but he didn't take it personally.

"Did you get my message?"

"Yes. What did you need?" The rogue had a brisk, flat tone that he didn't really care for. She must not have thrived in customer service, he thought.

He looked around in his periphery. Harmes wouldn't be back for at least a few minutes.

He reached into the secret pocket of his blazer, and pulled out a thick envelope.

"Instructions and cash. Non-consecutive bills." A deft little hand snapped out, but he pulled back the envelope in time. He leaned down. He lowered his voice.

"Just make sure it gets done."

"I can do any job related to my skill set," she retorted. Barry smiled faintly and handed over the envelope.

A few minutes later, Harmes returned. He had already resumed his paper. There was nothing to indicate he'd talked to anyone or arranged for anything that would infuriate his business partner.

About an hour later, his phone buzzed.

The notification from his secure channel said only, "job complete."

He was tempted to arrange things so that he could be present for the discovery. But it's too sloppy. More than a few people know about his grudge.

Barry is patient. Barry waits.

The end of the conference comes and goes without any mention of a discovery. It's two days, nothing said. His anticipation is only going to make the eventual fallout better. There's no news on Saturday or Sunday either. It's agonizing.

It happens. Monday, Harmes comes into work. Tired. Disgruntled. Driving an expensive car that he damn well knows Harmes would never buy.

He's thrilled. He can't quite keep the predatorial satisfaction off of his face. As he pours coffee Barry casually asks, "Did something happen to your car?"

Harmes is still. Their expression is best described as dangerous.

He has a frisson of discomfort, a bad feeling that he's been caught.

Harmes can't possibly know, Barry tells himself. There's no way.

"No," Harmes lies lightly. "It's just in the shop. It'll be back, as good as ever." Their fingertips turn pale as they clench their teacup.

His jaw is tense.

'Not if I have anything to say about it.'

"That is terrible," Barry responds. He can't help it. It's too heartfelt to keep in. "That old heap is the worst thing I've ever seen. Holly agrees with me."

Harmes narrows their eyes at him. He's imagining the suspicion there. Did he overplay his hand?

No. It's fine. Harmes already knew he hated the car. That's the whole purpose of the exercise, the reason to contract a rogue mechanic. It would be more suspicious if he was empathetic or neutral.

"My mother isn't always right," Harmes says stiffly.

He's irritated now. Even though he knows that Harmes is lying! His hackles are up. Barry excuses himself to his office and paces. He does some deep breathing to calm down. He checks his message again to confirm that the mechanic really did get rid of Harmes' car once and for all. The message still says "job complete." It's unambiguous. The car has been murdered.

"It's dead," he says grimly. "I paid a ludicrous amount."

The empty office didn't answer him.

"It was a good use of 500 thousand dollars," he says darkly. "I never want to see that thing again."

He stops. He had been pushing down the urge to contract his hitwoman again, but for what he'd paid her? She can cope with a follow up question.

Barry glanced to the main office once more, to confirm that Harmes isn't lurking out there. His junior associate is in their private office. He won't be seen. He messages the hit woman.

"The car is definitely not repairable?"

He waits a while. She must be working. Barry lets out a sigh and gets back to work. He examines the invitation he received for another company's event with a sigh. The owner came to his booth personally at the conference to say hello and give invites to him and Harmes.

The owner is new, but doing admirably to establish herself in the villainous industry. He's a little fond of her. He nearly hired her, in fact. But Harmes was just a little more… innovative.

He sends his confirmation of attendance. It would be a bit of a snub to not attend.

His phone buzzes. The hitwoman has responded, "It was barely holding together before I got to it. I sent a letter saying that it's totalled and detailing the insurance payout for a replacement."

Barry chuckles. He steals a glance at the office. He narrows his eyes.

Harmes is standing by Janine's desk, holding a familiar invitation.

Hm. He pushes open his door and takes a step out, curious. He takes his nearly-empty cup of coffee to have something to do with his hands and a pretense for going out.

"decline," Harmes is saying. "I won't be alienating anyone too important?"

…Ah. He controls the urge to smile. He wonders if Harmes even remembers that Sunny Aviichen interviewed for the same position at Grivus Events that Harmes did, all those years ago.

"No," Janine agrees. She's examining the invitation. "It would be good to go, but I'm sure they're not looking for you specifically."

…He sips the last of his coffee. He had actually had the impression that Ms. Aviichen was quite eager for Harmes to see how well she was doing in her career. Ms. Aviichen seemed rather competitive, even before Harmes got the position. People like that never enjoyed losing.

"Barry?" Janine looks up and spots that he's already out of his office. "You'll represent the firm at this?" She holds up the invitation.

"Of course." He agrees calmly.

"Great." Harmes flashes a smile at him and Janine. "I have pottery class that day."

Janine snorts. "I wouldn't tell anyone that's why you're declining to attend the Vice President's birthday party."

Harmes shrugs and goes back into their office. Barry finds himself watching until the door closes.

He's always enjoyed that about Harmes, he muses. They just don't give a damn.

Ahem.

Someone has cleared their throat. He looks at her.

Janine's face is amused. "Barry, I saw that poor Harmes didn't drive the usual car today." Her lips twitch. "Would you know anything about that?"

"No," he lies smoothly. He tilts his head at her in faux confusion. "But I'm very busy today." He busies himself with getting some water and leaves his coffee cup in the sink.

"Mm," Janine agrees, in a way that lets him know she's certain he's full of it. She pulls open a drawer and withdraws a yellow envelope. "Tell Echo that I said hello."

He frowns at her. She knows too much. She knows everything that happens. "I will," Barry agrees, defeated.

The car is vanquished, he tells himself. He goes back to work. He's finally slayed the beast. It only cost him a year's earnings to never have to see that wretched amalgamation of rusted metal again. His mood begins to lift.

'I wonder what Harmes will buy with the insurance money,' he wonders indulgently. Harmes' actual insurance would never have covered a suitable car, of course. Luckily, the rogue mechanic is also certified in car insurance. She was only to keep half of the money he gave her, and have the other 250 thousand allotted to Harmes.

…He's not certain what a half decent car costs, but surely that would have covered it.

Waiting to see what Harmes buys with his money is the most interesting part of his week. The pleasant anticipation gets him through the vexation that rises when he discovers that that little worm Duke has made a dinner appointment via Janine. "We can't cancel," he says darkly.

"No, but I'll know not to take further appointments with him," Janine says, a little embarrassed.

Barry sighs. "You couldn't have known. I didn't tell you." He turns his gaze out of the window, to the parking lot. "We'll go, find out it's not a good fit, and not take his business."

"That'll work," Janine agrees. She tracks where he's looking, but she doesn't say anything this time.

Harmes is still driving the rental to work. Surely they'll buy one soon. The rental isn't their style at all. Barry's anticipation builds as the work days go on.

And then Harmes comes to work in something so wretched and old that he hears it two blocks away.

Barry stands up at his desk. That could be anyone's car clanking. But he has a miserable premonition. Slowly, he walks out to the main office.

Janine must have the same instinct. She's already at the window to pull back the curtains. She starts to laugh as Harmes pulls into the parking lot in a positively ancient truck.

"No," Barry breathes, wounded.

Janine starts snorting between gasping laughs.

He puts a hand on his heart. "This can't be happening." It hurts. Harmes is killing him. Harmes is doing him harm. This has to be purposeful.

Harmes drives over a curb. There's a demonic scrape as something unfortunate happens to the underside of the already ill-used vehicle. The car stops. Harmes clearly struggles to open the door. After a few seconds, they kick it open. It's somehow even more dented now.

Janine is fully laughing, and obviously struggling to keep the tears of mirth down. It's worse that she's pitying him.

Barry closes his eyes. "I'm going to go lie down." He feels faint.

Janine passes him an eye mask and hiccups a stop to her giggles. "Set a timer for your 10 o'clock, sir."

"Thank you," he says, bleak. He's going to become one with the darkness. He's going to break down into his components to escape the pain of reality. And then the door closes behind him and he has another idea.

He could sink into a black miasma of despair. But instead, he calls the mechanic. Maybe there's a solution.

As soon as they pick up, he starts to speak. "Harmes must not have had an adequate budget."

There's a pause. "Hello to you too," says a disgruntled voice. "What are you talking about? I sent them 200 thousand dollars."

"250 thousand," Barry corrects offhand.

The mechanic makes an acknowledging noise. "That's an adequate budget," she says dryly. "Harmes could get any nice car on the market."

Oh. "Perhaps. But there's a rusted 2013 farm truck in my parking lot," Barry confides in a tortured whisper.

There's a bark of surprised laughter so loud that he pulls the phone away from his ear.

Barry scowls. He wishes that other people would stop laughing about this disaster. He crosses his arms and waits with ill grace for her to calm down.

The mechanic controls herself. "Is there some kind of outdoor hobby that might have prompted that choice?"

He freezes. He's finally compared Harmes' regular schedule and the timeframe that the car died in. He knows what happened. "Rocking."

"....what?"

Barry ignores the question and starts to pace. "The car gave out on some muddy back road," he says to himself. Damnit. He curses himself for a fool. "Harmes thinks the solution is a better backroads vehicle." He hurries to his computer and checks his theory. Yes. The exact model is the first example of a reliable used vehicle that results when you search for heavy duty trucks.

"Is there something else I can do for you?" the mechanic asks. There's the sound of a car door opening in the background. "I don't think a follow-up letter from the insurance company saying that the new vehicle is subpar would convince your associate to reconsider."

"No." Barry clears his throat. "You're right. You did your part." He runs a hand through his hair and winces when he realizes he's messed up the style. "Thank you."

"Have a nice day." The mechanic hangs up first.

There is a grieving process. Barry takes his lunch in the attic so that he can gaze into the parking lot undisturbed. The truck… it is wretched. It is a pathetic thing.

He tries convincing himself that it isn't so terrible. He wanted to indirectly buy Harmes a car that was safe and made them happy. The truck, however damaged the body may be, seems to be in better shape than the old thing. It doesn't even give off white smoke. That's certainly an improvement.

He spends a brief dip in the bargaining stage. Perhaps Harmes would buy a second car, a work-appropriate car? How much money would he need to give for that?

…it's a moot point. Harmes doesn't accept gifts.

Barry lets out a beleaguered sigh.

The week passes. The truck is an open wound. It only falls to the back of his mind in the wake of the disastrous dinner meeting with Marc.

…It wasn't his best showing. He hadn't even considered that the weasel was a desirable client for his junior partner. That oversight was embarrassing in retrospect.

He comes into work too shame-faced to even sigh about the truck. It isn't there yet anyway. Barry writes an apology and leaves it on Harmes' desk.

There's some excitement that afternoon when Gene pioneers a new and exciting way to get a felony charge. But Barry can't really enjoy it, because Harmes is avoiding him so studiously that they miss out on the resulting office party.

Eventually, Barry coaxes Harmes out. He's tentatively hopeful that he hasn't done anything irreparable to their working relationship.

Two mornings later, Janine gasps.

Barry makes a questioning sound. He's facing the counter, making his morning coffee before heading into his office.

"You're going to want to see this, Barry."

He puts down the cup with a clink. He turns around slowly. Her serious tone has his full attention.

Janine is standing at the window. Harmes doesn't drive over the curb this time, carefully whipping around the corner in a precision turn.

"This is worse," Barry says numbly.

Janine pats his back in sympathy. "It is," she says. Even she can't laugh about this. She goes back to her desk solemnly.

Barry can't move. He's still stuck there staring out the window in open-mouthed horror when Harmes walks in.

"Good morning, Janine. Good morning, Barry."

Janine responds. He can't.

Harmes walks over to him. "New car," they say cheerfully. "I'm just going to use the truck for rocking." Keys jingle.

He tries to respond. The sound he makes is a croak.

"Isn't it nice?" Harmes asks innocently. They indicate the bright red, shiny sports car in their parking spot.

Harmes bought a volcano car. Harmes gave his money to that insufferable businessman Duke.

Barry finally tears his gaze away and makes eye contact with Harmes.

Harmes is waiting for it. They hold prolonged eye contact.

"Marc gave it to me." Harmes keeps staring at him. There is something unhinged in those eyes. Barry blinks, and four seconds pass. Harmes doesn't blink.

His stomach twists faintly in disgust. Marc? Harmes was on first name terms with that twerp now? He can't find the wherewithal to muster a response.

The seconds stretch on. Janine staples something. Someone washes their hands in the next room. Harmes is still looking deeply into his eyes in some sort of sick dominance play.

"That's nice of him," Barry says weakly. He looks down as blood begins thumping in his ears and dimming his vision. He retreats into his office.

He's lost. Barry knows that now. He sits at his desk and buries his face in his hands.

Did Harmes know? Did Harmes realize he'd assassinated the car and do this to punish him? Or was it even worse- was it fate? Had he pushed Harmes and Duke closer together?

Barry inhales a long, shuddering breath. He lets go of his face. He accepts the total loss, and he gets back to work.

NOTE:

This was originally posted on my Patreon, where I am continually writing other character stories for Deplorably Devoted. Check it out here!

#deplorably devoted to you #redflagromance #short story #Barry Grivus #Neither Whole Nor Unbroken

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havenandart · 8 months ago

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The self is not so weightless, nor whole and unbroken Remember the pact of our youth

#jason todd #red hood #jason todd fanart #red hood fanart #dc comics #batfam #haven art #i don't know what this is okay i just knew i had to draw it #1k #2k

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samwinjarpadbigbang · 3 days ago

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Event Masterpost - SWJP BB 2025

Welcome to the masterpost of the the very first Sam Winchester Jared Padalecki focused Big Bang event that completed posting on May 21, 2025.

All works have now been posted if you are in need of Sam Winchester or Jared Padalecki centric reading material this will give you hours of material to read and art to be amazed by. 🥰💖

Stats about this event:

- 374,063 words written by 19 teams of two

- 5 first-time Big Bang participants 😍🥰🎉

- Participants were from 4 different continents

- Participants were from roughly 10 different countries

- The most used tags were:

Shown below are all the works that were generated during the course of this event.

@theteacupunicorn / @amberdreams1960

"The Self Is Not So Weightless, Nor Whole and Unbroken"

Link to fic Ao3 || Link to art Ao3 | LJ

@TammyRenH / @aomasade

"HAZARD"

Link to fic: AO3 || Link to art: AO3 | LJ | Tumblr

@coincidenceiscancelled / @alicetallula

"The Notebook"

Link to fic AO3 | Tumblr || Link to art AO3 | Tumblr

@samanddean76 / @xpurdyglambertx

"Make My Dreams Come True"

Link to fic AO3 | Tumblr || Link to art Tumblr

@hello-starlingfics / @quickreaver

"Devil's On The Loose"

Link to fic: AO3 || Link to art: AO3 | Tumblr

@LadyShadowphyre / @twinone1221

With A Touch Of Your Hand (I Believe In You)

Link to fic AO3 || Link to art Tumblr

@enteselene / @yoannspn

"Golden Despite The Night"

Link to fic: AO3 || Link to art: AO3

@jld71 / @winchiya1

"Starting Over"

Link to fic: AO3 || Link to art: Tumblr

@timehasa-way / @alicetallula

"Welcome to Omega"

Link to fic AO3 | Tumblr | LJ

Link to art AO3 | Tumblr art post 1 - Tumblr art post 2

@sam-is-my-safe-word / @alexiescherryslurpy

"Temet Nosce"

Link to fic: AO3 || Link to art: AO3 | Tumblr

@fictionallemons / @burial-at--sea

"Sure"

Link to fic AO3 || Link to art Tumblr

@holyfreaks / @pumpci

"salt in the wound"

Link to fic on Ao3 || Link to art on Ao3

@masoena // @charliethealpaccaso

"Samcopious"

Link to fic Ao3 || Link to art Tumblr

@need-more-meta / @morokollisyo

"this is the map of my heart"

Link to fic: AO3 || Link to art: AO3

@amypond45 / @yoannspn

"A Long Cold Spring"

Link to fic AO3 | LJ || Link to art AO3

@morganadw / @masoenart

"Helping Him to Heal"

Link to fic: AO3 | Tumblr || Link to art: AO3 | Tumblr

@crowleysmistress / @pumpci

"LightBringers"

Link to fic AO3 || Link to art AO3

@rubyvhs / @blindswandive

"In Your Room Screaming Suicide"

Link to fic AO3 || Link to art LJ

@masoena / @xpurdyglambertx

"Gratitude from 7777"

Link to fic AO3 | Tumblr || Link to art Tumblr

Thank you all and see you next time.

#swjpbb2025 #spn fanfic #spn fanart #sam winchester #samwinjarpadbigbang2025 #jared padalecki #supernatural fanfiction #sam/dean #sam/jared #dean/jared #sam/jimmy #sam winchester fanfiction #event masterpost #spn artists #spn fic writers #spn rpf fanfiction #j2 rpf fanart #j2 rpf #j2 rpf fanfic

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hjpsdiary · 27 days ago

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THERE'S NOR MUCH LEFT FOR ME, BUT YOUR STILL WHAT I REACH FOR - HJP X READER

the woods are cold and unkind. the fire crackles weakly in the middle of their camp, and harry doesn’t sleep anymore. hermione’s curled in her blanket across the tent, her face pale and tired. the horcrux is off, lying useless on the table, and the world is painfully quiet — except for the way harry’s heart won’t stop remembering you.

he doesn’t try to close his eyes. every time he does, he sees your face — not in the way you looked the last time, when he ended it — but how you looked when he felt like he had a future. you, laughing beside him in the burrow’s garden, barefoot in the grass, flicking your wand at the wind to make the leaves spin around you. you, dragging him behind that tapestry on the fifth floor just to kiss him stupid before class. you, sprawled across the gryffindor couch, head in his lap, eyes half-lidded, mumbling something about tea and rest and staying close.

now, you’re not here.

because he told you to go.

he told you it wasn’t safe — that he’d put you in too much danger if you stayed. that you deserved a life that didn’t end in war, in ruin, in him. and you listened. not because you wanted to. but because you trusted him.

he checks the marauder’s map every night. not for snatchers. not for draco. not even for voldemort. for you. he watches your name move through the castle like a soft, distant ghost. once he saw you at the astronomy tower. you stayed for nearly two hours, unmoving. and he couldn’t stop staring at the tiny dot marked y/n and remembering the first time you kissed him up there — the stars behind your head, your breath on his mouth, your laugh when he nearly tripped over his own feet.

he writes letters he never sends. half-finished scraps of parchment. some start with “i’m sorry,” others with “i miss you so much i can’t breathe.” most end with “but i hope you’re forgetting me. you should forget me.”

because as much as he wants you beside him, curled up in his coat with your fingers in his hair… he wants you alive more. happy. whole. unbroken.

the war has taken a lot from him. but nothing like losing you.

there are nights he looks into the flames and remembers your hands. your voice. the way you always said his name when you were tired — soft and slow, like it meant something. and he aches. his chest, his ribs, his throat — all of it aches.

one morning, after days without sleep, he stands in front of the mirror and doesn’t recognize himself. pale. hollow-eyed. his reflection doesn’t look like someone you’d love. and in a voice so quiet it barely sounds real, he says, “i wish we’d never met.” the lie cracks in his mouth. he presses a hand to the cold sink and says again, with a ragged breath, “i just wish i didn’t have to let you go.”

when he dives into the frozen lake for the sword, it’s your voice that comes back to him. yelling at him for not wearing gloves. calling him reckless and brave in the same breath. his limbs go numb fast. he almost lets go. but then your laugh echoes somewhere under his ribs. bright and stupid and everything that made him want to live. and he kicks harder. breaks through the surface with water in his lungs and your name on his mind.

you aren’t there when he climbs out. you aren’t there when hermione wraps a towel around him. but you’re still the reason he doesn’t give up.

but you’re still his reason.

you’re not with him.

#harry potter content #Harry Potter x you #harry potter x reader #Harry Potter fluff #Harry Potter smut #Harry Potter imagine #Harry Potter #harry James potter #Harry Potter x y/n #Harry Potter x f! reader

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fuck-you-upmusicbracket · 5 months ago

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Achilles Come Down (Gang of Youths)

The self is not so weightless, nor whole and unbroken/Remember the pact of our youth/Where you go, I’m going, so jump and I’m jumping/Since there is no me without you

How, the most dangerous thing is to love/How, you will heal and you'll rise above/Crowned by an overture bold and beyond/Ah, it's more courageous to overcome.

You may feel no purpose/Nor a point for existing/It's all just conjecture and gloom/And there may not be meaning/So find one and seize it/Do not waste your self on this roof

Soldier on, Achilles, Achilles, come down/Won't you get up off, get up off the roof?

"I'm sure you'll get other submissions for this one. I have no idea who this band even are outside of this song but it fucks me up like it does everyone else. It's the tragic love of it all. The desperation of trying to save your loved one from themselves. Or are the narrators of the song Achilles' own conscience representing his indecision on whether to kill himself or not? It can mean so many things and SO many parts of the lyrics are very poetic and powerful. (also again for me this makes me cry over a Specific Blorbo in this case Dimitri Blaiddyd but that doesnt matter)"

"The cellos in the background, the lyrics, telling the story of Achilles, the fact that it's fucking 7min long, it's beautiful, it breaks me to then pull me back together, it gave me hope in a moment where I wasn't in the best mental space, it's like getting undressed to your very soul only to be cover up with a weighted blanket afterwards and be told "it'll be alright." It's like that image with the guy that's like "this is cinema" but with a song, god I love this song so much"

"Ohhhg my god. It’s so. It’s a fucking heartbreaking song but it gives hope (^^see abovw lyrics. there may not be meaning so find one and seize it gets me the most). I can’t say anymore about it but yeah"

"Achilles is about to jump off the roof, his lover is trying to convince him not to. the vibe of this song itself is so unique, the violin and the segments of French reading really grip at your soul. Towards the end there are two voices seemingly arguing. One voice is Achilles’s inner monologue and the other is his lover trying to yell over it. This part is my favorite, especially if you’re envisioning your blorbo. Tbh in my darkest times I would fall asleep to the ten hour loop every night. It felt like laying on a rooftop and looking out at the stars and the street lights. I think maybe it kept me from doing things I would regret."

Fast Car (Tracy Chapman)

You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere/Maybe we make a deal, maybe together we can get somewhere/Any place is better, starting from zero got nothing to lose/Maybe we'll make something, me myself I got nothing to prove

So I remember when we were driving, driving in your car/Speed so fast, I felt like I was drunk/City lights lay out before us/ And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder/And I-I, had a feeling that I belonged

You got a fast car/Is it fast enough so we can fly away?/We gotta make a decision/Leave tonight or live and die this way

"I know it's an obvious one but YOU try playing it without crying I dare you"

"I cant explain the yearning but this makes me howl"

"OH GOD the longing!! The yearning in the recurring central image of the narrator and her lover on the highway, feeling this sense of limitless possibility and incredible hope!!! And then the verses take us with brutal efficiency through the collapse of their marriage, the way that the cycle of poverty stomps down on their hopes, and how with nothing left, the narrator does what her mom did and leaves!! Leaving the kids to experience the same thing she did growing up!! But it’s all punctuated and bookended by these callbacks to that central iconic memory of hope!!!!! But by the end we realize that the last line “leave tonight or live and die this way” offers only the illusion of a choice: when the narrator first runs away and later when she leaves her husband and kids, she’s still fulfilling her role in this cyclical generational story. God!!"

Fast Car submitted by @smallboyonherbike + @uchihasasukeofficial + @all-our-exploring

#fuck you up bracket #tournament #polls #gang of youths #tracy chapman

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n0tamused · 1 month ago

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── .✦Shards of the Lost Archive

Entry #??? Age ??? Location: Amphoreus

Penned by: ???

The oldest stories are written in the stars. Stories before men and Titans, when the world was still enshrouded in the everlasting night. In that swallowing abyss, stars served as the droplets of hope, watching life sprout and live and die in the darkness. Tales speak of falling stars as tears the universe wept for the forgotten, cast away world and the same stars being the reason for Oronxy’s awakening when they jolted awake from the newborn concept of time. The fading silver trail of the star led Oronxy toward the outer reaches of Amphoreus.There, they materialized as the Evernight Veil and henceforth remained afar from humanity, quietly spending their time managing the fabric of time.

Stars within the night are no rare occurrence, although such a sight certainly heralded ill fortune to come, but during the day? A blazing wound in the sky that lasted for days and nights was a sight that sat unwell in the bellies of many. The elders named it not, and the scribes dared not ink its truth. The tear was swallowed by time, vanquished by forces unknown, but Aquila- guardian of the skies- never turned their gaze. Their eye, once free to wander, now lingered still upon the sacred ground of the Temple Tithemi, as if watching… waiting… for what once was to rise again.

By the grace of Talanton, the Temple stood undisturbed, its silence unbroken, save for the presence of a singular upholder of the law. The Titan of Law permits neither favoritism nor injustice, and as such they dealt with the matter in accordance to the laws they created.

Executor of Justice, the stone statue contained within the temple Tithemi cast its cloak of stone for that of skin and flesh for matters presented to the divine law, setting matters right and punishing the ones that transgressed, righting the scales of justice when they had faltered.

When the Heirs of Chrysos set forth on their fated journey to retrieve the Coreflame of Justice, they were met by an unyielding force- the Executor standing resolute in their path. With the weight of duty in her gaze, the guardian would not permit passage without due reasoning, demanding that the Heirs prove their worth before being granted entry. Aglaea, the Goldweaver, was present for the matter, but once the Coreflame was retrieved, the Executor had turned back to stone, consequently being left behind in the abandoned temple for years to come, presenting a sanctuary for fleeting souls seeking words of wisdom from the last guardian of Law.

As the black tide began its slow, relentless crawl across the lands, a wave of fear gripped the hearts of mortals. The people scattered, fleeing in desperate haste from the encroaching darkness, seeking refuge where they could. Yet, amidst the chaos, Temple Tithemi stood as a lone beacon- its ancient walls a sanctuary of light, untouched by the creeping doom. For a time, it was a symbol of hope, a place where the divine law held sway, and the people found solace beneath its hallowed roof.

But now, even that sacred sanctuary succumbs to the tide. The once-immovable stones tremble, and the temple’s towering spires, which once reached toward the heavens in defiance of the storm, are now being swallowed whole. The sacred grounds, once untouched by shadow, are no more than a distant memory, as the tide claims all in its path. What became of the Executor is unknown, lost to time and silence.

Yet Lady Aglaea believes the answer holds great importance for the Chrysos' heirs. She hopes to uncover the truth, knowing it may guide them on their journey.

A/n: Going ahead with posting this small teaser for Jien's story in Amphoreus! This is supposed to be written like a mythos, some vague retelling so not wholly accurate! Which is something I do like to do in my writing when writing Jien from another point of view that isn't her own. I do have such long rambles about her Amphoreus arc and I just need time to write it down so it's coherent and not a word vomit </3 A SMALL SPOILER THOUGh since I can't contain myself - but Mydei will be the one sent to get Jien from the Temple RAAAH Gotta prais my friend here a little, she wrote me such a great thing for Mydei going in and waking Jien from stone and ugh<3 cheff kiss. I can't wait to share that stuff in detail but I also think it would be better to wait for the next patch story to come out to see what the fuck happens and how exactly Jien will play part into it. I have so many (game) theories about her role I feel like a fan....

#As I've written..#honkai star rail #honkai star rail oc #hsr #hsr oc #lore #rambles heheh #oc ramble #original character #jien yuexia #amphoreus #titans #talanton

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theotherbuckley · 1 year ago

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Madney - Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths (Part 4)

Achilles, Achilles, Achilles, come down Won't you get up off, get up off the roof? The self is not so weightless, nor whole and unbroken Remember the pact of our youth Where you go, I'm going, so jump and I'm jumping Since there is no me without you Soldier on, Achilles, Achilles, come down Won't you get up off, get up off the roof?

Bobby - part 1 Eddie - part 2 Buck - part 3 version 1 | version 2

Hen - part 4 coming soon (last part I promise)

#maddie buckley #chimney han #madney #911 abc #911 fandom #911 edit #911edit #achilles come down #911 show #purple edit

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charliethechandelure · 2 years ago

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Achilles, Achilles, Achilles, come down

Won't you get up off, get up off the roof?

The self is not so weightless, nor whole and unbroken

#i dislike where my art has been going recently #so now i will experiment some more #and try to have fun with what i make #one piece #op fanart #fanart #digital art #charliethechandelure #black leg sanji #op sanji #vinsmoke sanji

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tiredassmage · 1 year ago

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promise me, when this is over... just promise me it will be over. please.

#or: act iii is emotional hell and ambrose is just so so scared and i'm crying about it #[and spamming kisses for emotional support]#dot's bg3 tag #bg3 #bg3 screenshots #vs: the self is not so weightless / nor whole and unbroken | bg!ambrose #bg3 tav #shadowheart #bg3 shadowheart #halsin #tav x shadowheart #tav x halsin #shadowheart x tav x halsin #please someone promise her it will be over and you won't leave him bc she's trying her best but its so so much

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theoutcastrogue · 4 months ago

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youtube

Gang of Youths - Achilles Come Down

Achilles, Achilles, Achilles, come down Won't you get up off, get up off the roof? You're scaring us and all of us, some of us love you Achilles, it's not much but there's proof You crazy-assed cosmonaut, remember your virtue Redemption lies plainly in truth Just humour us, Achilles, Achilles, come down Won't you get up off, get up off the roof?

. Loathe the way they light candles in Rome But love the sweet air of the votives Hurt and grieve but don't suffer alone Engage with the pain as a motive Today of all days, see How the most dangerous thing is to love How you will heal and you'll rise above

Achilles, Achilles, Achilles, jump now You are absent of cause or excuse So self-indulgent and self-referential No audience could ever want you You crave the applause yet hate the attention Then miss it, your act is a ruse It is empty, Achilles, so end it all now It's a pointless resistance for you

Achilles, Achilles, just put down the bottle Don't listen to what you've consumed It's chaos, confusion, and wholly unworthy Of feeding, and it's wholly untrue You may feel no purpose nor a point for existing It's all just conjecture and gloom And there may not be meaning, so find one and seize it Do not waste yourself on this roof

. Hear those bells ring deep in the soul Chiming away for a moment Feel your breath course frankly below And see life as a worthy opponent Today of all days, see How the most dangerous thing is to love How you will heal and you'll rise above Crowned by an overture bold and beyond Ah, it's more courageous to overcome

You want the acclaim, the mother of mothers It's not worth it, Achilles More poignant than fame or the taste of another Don't listen, Achilles But be real and just jump, you dense motherfucker You're worth more, Achilles You will not be more than a rat in the gutter So much more than a rat You want my opinion, my opinion you've got No one asked your opinion You asked for my counsel, I gave you my thoughts No one asked for your thoughts Be done with this now and jump off the roof Be done with this now and get off the roof Can you hear me, Achilles? I'm talking to you Can you hear me, Achilles? I'm talking to you

I'm talking to you, I'm talking to you, I'm talking to you Achilles, come down, Achilles, come down

. Throw yourself into the unknown With pace and a fury defiant Clothe yourself in beauty untold And see life as a means to a triumph Today of all days, see How the most dangerous thing is to love How you will heal and you'll rise above Crowned by an overture bold and beyond Ah, it's more courageous to overcome

#Gang of Youths #Achilles Come Down #prison ballads #swinging from the gallows tree

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inkwolvesandcoffee · 2 years ago

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Breakfast in Margate (Alfie Solomons x Reader)

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Modern AU

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: A grumpy Papa Solomons (yes, that is a warning) and a whole lot of tooth-rotting domestic fluff

Summary:

Mornings aren’t always easy. For example, it’s terribly difficult to not be caught making breakfast for your fiancé, a workaholic who always takes the task upon himself.

However, what makes it harder today is the fact he loathes food made with recipes found online. Fortunately for you, though, Alfie isn’t the only one who’s good at playing games when he wants to push his own agenda.

Especially those that concern a sweet reward.

Author’s note: I've kept Alfie's adherence to his Jewish heritage quite loose. Nevertheless, I hope that the aspects I did incorporate in this work have been done so properly. If not, let me know and please don't hesitate to educate me (in a polite and respectful manner) because I love learning about different cultures and religions.

Tag List: @potter-solomons @zablife @wandawiccan60 @dreamlandcreations @liliac-dreamer @buttercupsandboys @vir-tual @rose-like-the-phoenix @hoodeddreams13 @mollybegger-blog @solomons-finest-rum @hecatemoon87 @babaohhhriley

TH Masterlist

Mornings like this are rare, these quiet moments unbroken by the usual ruckus in the kitchen. Now, it’s solely my bare feet on the wooden floor and the waves crashing onto the shore. No clanging of metal, no muttered curses in Yiddish or Russian, nor the scent of freshly brewed coffee.

In the living room, Cyril lays in front of the hearth. The first rays of sunshine fall over him like a warm natural blanket, highlighting the ginger undertone in his fur. One of the many features he shares with his owner.

As soon as I pass by, he lifts his head, tilts it in wonder, and lets out a low bark. After all, it’s Alfie who’s more often than not the first one to wander around the house at the crack of dawn. That is, if he’s slept at all. However, recently he’s started properly adhering to the Shabbat. Although, as much as he allows himself to because if Alfie Solomons is one thing, it’s mighty stubborn. Moreover, he’s an incurable workaholic. As hard as he works at The Old Rum House Bakery to let the business flourish and maintain his position as the fearsome Mad Baker of Camden, just as much effort does he put into our relationship. In fact, it’s not only towards Cyril and I his attention goes, but also to the house.

Our home.

Alfie has become a lot more domestic since we started dating, shortly after meeting one another on a train to London. Disregarding his tendency to walk around naked, he cooks and cleans, assuring me time and again I don’t have to help. When we go out for our weekly grocery trip, no matter how tired he is, he carries the bags to the car so that I don’t have to. Neither do I have to put away what we got, more often than not shipped off to the luxurious red sofa in the living room with a cup of coffee or tea to pair with whatever he’s baked at night.

Nevertheless, regardless of the otherwise very loose relationship with his heritage, Ollie and I are glad he’s at least taking a day off in the week to rest up. The bakery has recently started taking its toll thanks to an influx in customers, which means extra stock as well as staff is needed. In turn, this means more part-timers to train and more admin work. In other words, everyone has to pick up the pace to meet the current demand. Such is the power of marketing, especially on social media. Alfie is loath to admit it, but Ollie and I can tell he’s secretly grateful we managed to convince him to let us handle the bakery’s socials.

We don’t get cinnamon buns on Monday anymore, though.

I stop in my tracks, turn to Cyril, and put a finger to my lips. “I know, love, but Papa is still sleeping. It’s finally Mama’s turn to make breakfast again.”

Seldom do I get the chance to experiment in the kitchen, let alone try a recipe I’ve found online. Or worse, via Youtube or Instagram. Now, that’s usually enough to make Alfie bristle. Nevertheless, mention the word ‘viral’ and a scowl will twist his lips.

Sometimes I wonder whether or not Alfie and Cyril are the same person because he lowers his head onto his paws and lets out a deep sigh that sounds like sarcastic resignation.

Thanks for the faith, buddy.

“It’s gonna be okay. No fire in the pan this time, I promise. How about we go stretch our legs after brekkie, hm? That sound good?”

Cyril huffs in agreement and closes his eyes, back to enjoying his luxurious pillow.

We bought it for him when we went antique shop hopping in London last week. Although, perhaps it’s better to say I bought it after convincing my grumpy companion we should occasionally pamper our adopted four-legged child and I couldn’t fix his old pillow anymore. Of course I could, but I was more than done with constantly needing to fix the seams and re-stuff the thing.

Borough Market has become a regular stop on our weekly grocery trip, mostly because I used the splendidly efficient strategy of batting my lashes and pouting. Artisan goods and fresh produce can be luxuries, something to only occasionally splurge on. After all, why spend a fortune when there is a cheaper alternative that’s just as good?

Nonetheless, Alfie developed a taste for supporting local businesses soon after our first visit. To some he has proposed contracts, offering them a position as a supplier to his bakery. Granted their goods are kosher, of course.

Yesterday, we got some wonderful fresh bright yellow bananas, eggs from a local farm, and oat flour from a mill a little ways away from London. Alfie thought little of it when I plonked them triumphantly in our grocery bag, having occupied himself with the fresh stock one of the florists was setting out. I glance at the colourful bouquet of wildflowers on the table and for a moment I’m back to him holding out to me, face full of the warm tenderness that stands in stark contrast to the stern and unpredictable persona he portrays when I’m not there.

Right then and there, he wasn’t The Mad Baker of Camden, the fearsome King who rules the borough.

He was a sweet and caring gentleman.

Simply Alfie Solomons.

Nevertheless, in spite of these small moments of tenderness, he can still be awfully grumpy.

Especially if he hasn’t had his coffee.

“Mornin’, dove.” Two big warm hands glide over my hips towards my lower stomach. Those very same palms pull me flush against a naked chest grown soft with neglected muscle, slightly clammy with the remainder of last night’s late summer heat. Alfie presses his lips to the side of my neck and hums, tightening the embrace as he does so. The sonorous trill in his voice sends a shiver down my spine and rekindles a familiar heat. Nonetheless, the way he leans on me betrays he isn’t entirely awake yet. The slight slur in his words serve to confirm the lingering drowsiness, sounding like they’ve been pulled out of bed only moments before too. “That shirt looks good on you.”

“I’m glad you think so because you’re not getting it back any time soon.” I briefly stop mixing the batter to scratch his beard. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch as a content sigh escapes him. “You slept in.”

“Still woke up to an empty spot, though. If you want me to sleep more, yeah, which you know I find a terrible waste of time, I’ll need my wife to ‘old.”

I pat his hands to placate him. The thin gold band inlaid with a modest diamond around my ring finger matches his. I had thought Alfie would pick something elaborate for himself, but instead he chose a simple thick gold ring and got it engraved. It says: Ani l’dodi, v’dodi li; I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine. “Don’t get hasty. We aren’t married yet.”

“Let’s just go to the courthouse today.’’ He slips his hands beneath the fabric of the shirt I stole from him, letting them rest on my stomach after a brief caress. It’s a gesture he often makes nowadays. ‘‘Sign the paper, right, and be done with it so the desk eaters are ‘appy. We can always celebrate it later. Throw a party as big as the whole of bloody Camden, like a proper coronation ceremony to celebrate our union.”

“Tempting as it is, I’ll have to refuse. Besides, it's Shabbat today and you need to take a break. I promise I can wait a little while longer to officially become Mrs Solomons.”

“You ‘ave been from the start, Y/N. I don’t need a ring to call you my wife. ‘Sides, you well know ‘ow I am. Which reminds me, breakfast is my job, innit?” A wary tone creeps into his voice as he leans away to check what’s in the mixing bowl. “Is that edible?”

“It will be,” I say, continuing to mix the ingredients until they’re well combined.

“I’m not eatin’ that goo. Looks fucking awful, that stuff.”

“It’s healthy goo! Uses the bananas, eggs, and flour we got yesterday.”

Nose scrunched, Alfie peers at me. “Oh, so yesterday was all a little scam to get me to eat whatever this is?”

“You aren’t the only one who can lie. Although, it’s not really a lie, is it? More like a half-truth.’’ I shrug. ‘‘I simply never told you my plan. Would ruin the surprise.”

“Which is?”

“Baked oats that taste like cake. They just haven’t been baked yet.”

“Where’d you get the recipe?”

“YouTube…”

He groans, wide awake now that the conversation has taken a turn towards a point of absolute irritation. “Fucking ‘ell, dove, ‘ow many times ‘aven’t I told you not every recipe on social media-’’

“Don’t judge before you’ve tried it.” I put the spatula down, turn around in his embrace and steal a kiss off of his lips. “Said so yourself, didn’t you?”

“Don’t use my words against me.”

“Oh, I will. If only to keep things fair. Have a little faith in me. It’ll be fine.”

I hope.

A warning finger raised and pointed at me, he leans in until our faces are mere inches apart. “Fine. But I’m gonna make us coffee, right, so we’ll at least ‘ave something to get us fucking started.”

I can’t suppress a chuckle at the grumpy gesture. “Sure.”

The threat turns into tenderness when he cups my cheek. His palm has grown rough with the hours spent at the bakery, proof of his hard work. Tenderly, he presses his lips to mine. “Ikh hab dir lib.”

“I know.” To show I accept his usual indirect apology for his bad mood and avoid coming across as being cross with me, I run my fingers along his jaw. “I love you too.”

Resting his forehead against mine, he nudges my nose with his. “Mhm.”

“Why don’t you take Cyril for a brief walk, eh? The oats have to bake for twenty-five minutes anyway.”

“We can take ‘im on a walk later together. I’ll go set the table.”

“First put on a pair of knickers.”

“No.”

“You know the rules, Alfie. No buns on the chairs during summer.”

“I ain’t sweating.”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you’re the one who isn’t.”

I cock an eyebrow, fighting the smug smirk threatening to break out. “That so?”

“Yeah,” he drawls, “first we’ll ‘ave coffee, right, ‘cause otherwise neither of us functions. Now, ‘ow about after we’ve started the day proper I’ll fuck you like last night, hm?”

Until I black out.

The prospect of it mixes with memories of last night. Sea blue eyes, usually so steady and full of hidden temperaments, barely able to refrain from going cross-eyed. The fight with the stutter in his hips, gradually growing closer to the edge of pleasure but also exhaustion. Big hands reminiscent of wolf paws gripping the headboard for support while I was already lost in a satisfied delirium. The absent-minded glance to the bruises on my thighs adds to the steadily growing heat between my legs, perversely longing for more.

For him.

Nevertheless, the haze clears in an instant with a single sharp thought. I take a step back, crossing my arms as I search his expression for confirmation. However, as usually is the case, Alfie keeps his true motifs to himself. And this time, behind a mask he tends to put on when he wants something from me in particular. “So you can make breakfast. That’s what you’re getting at, aren’t you?”

“No,” he purrs, stealing a kiss as soon as he has bridged the distance between us, “not at all, dove. I just want my wife. I wanna make love to you.” We softly start to sway, slowly making our way out of the kitchen. “Let me make love to you.”

We come to a halt on the threshold. “Later. After you put on a pair of knickers and we’ve eaten.”

He blinks, the cheeky smile grown stiff. I can feel his muscles tense, unconsciously causing him to grip me a bit tighter than before. “But-’’

“Knickers, Alfie.”

“One round.”

“Alfred Solomons Jr, knickers. Right now.”

The use of his full name provokes a menacing snarl, the kind which is usually preserved for those who cross him. “Those oats better be fucking worth it, yeah, ‘cause otherwise you’re payin’ for lunch.”

I trace his cock, the skin hot and hardening beneath my fingertips with every sharp intake of breath. Perhaps this game won’t go on for as long as it usually does before he loses control. “Somehow I don’t think I will.”

He roughly grips my face, the thrill of every low-voiced word against my lips travelling throughout my body. “I ought to do somethin’ ‘bout that attitude of yours. Big fucks small, Y/N, always.”

Game over.

Except for the one card I have left to play.

“I know,” I wrap my hand around him, barely able to grip him properly, “but first some knickers. Please, Papa?”

“Clever bird, ain’t ya?” He growls into the kiss when I lightly squeeze him and let go. “Maybe I should carry out my own personal form of stigmata later. Add to those pretty bruises.”

Like snow in the spring sun, his attitude melts and changes. Alfie gently nudges my cheek and makes for the bedroom. A few moments later, he returns and starts setting the table while I pour the batter in the ramekins and plop them in the oven.

Despite the promise to make coffee, I reach for the cupboard to grab a mug. After all, old habits die hard.

Nevertheless, I find myself cut off by a hand that gently lowers mine, away from the handle.

“I said I’ll make us coffee,” Alfie grumbles. “Let Papa Solomons do ‘is job, yeah. Go sit in the livin’ room. I’ll be there shortly.”

I nod at the baking aftermath in the sink. “I got some washing up to do.”

“Nah, that can wait. Coffee and, ‘opefully, food first.” He places his hands on my shoulders and kindly coerces me out of the kitchen. “Go on.”

I let him guide me, feigning defiance by pouting. Yet, the act quickly falls apart with a lighthearted giggle. I suppose I still have a lot to learn from him concerning the art of masks. “Alright.”

Soon after he joins me on the porch, where I’ve settled down with Cyril to enjoy the salt air. The beach across the street is still empty, devoid of the plethora of towels. The breeze is silent, not yet filled with the chatter of tourists and locals alike.

These hours are ours.

This is our Margate.

“'Ere you go, love.” Alfie hands me a steaming mug of cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso, the milk soft and foamy, before he sits down next to me. I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes as I take a sip. “Nice, innit?”

“Mhm.”

Thus we sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the view and each other’s company. Cyril has started to doze off, although he tries in vain to keep his eyes open. One glance to the side tells of Alfie fighting the same battle. Occasionally he pulls a face or lifts his hand to stifle a yawn. It’s strangely funny to watch him continue to take a sip afterwards, a small gesture of hope. Surely he should be readily awake before his cup is empty.

Because sleeping isn’t an option.

He’s tired of the nightmares.

The faint sound of the oven going off disturbs the domestic bliss.

Alfie groans as struggles to get up, glad to have my arm to use as support while he pulls himself to his feet. I say nothing, knowing full well how his sciatica influences his mood.

And it’s already rotten enough in the morning.

As Alfie washes his hands, I get the baked oats out of the oven and place them on the plates. Meanwhile, Alfie warms up a few slices of babka and the challah bread we made together yesterday. “Just so we ‘ave somethin’.”

He sits down while I wash my hands. From the corner of my eye, I see him poke the oats with his fork. “It’s kosher?”

“It is,” I say, drying my hands before I sit down across from him. “Shall I go first?”

“Very funny.” He scoops a bit of the oats onto his fork and puts it in his mouth. His brows knit together, contemplating the taste.

“And? Do you like it?”

Remaining silent and gaze fixed on the ramekin, he pokes his oats again.

I swallow hard, my excitement crushed under the stones of dread. A nagging voice in the back of my head feeds into the fear of his judgement. Funny how one connects their self worth to food. Then again, it was that which started our relationship. A cup of coffee, a slice of babka, and a slice of plant-based carrot cake. Back then, though, my stomach didn’t quiver this badly nor did my ribs feel like they were caged in a very tight-strung corset. “You don’t.”

“Dove,” he begins, but doesn’t continue.

Not until after he’s had another bite. “It’s good.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or simply trying to appease me.”

“I’m serious.”

“You are?”

“I am,’’ he says, raising his voice ever so slightly in spite of the effort to keep it even. Alfie finally meets my gaze and I can tell he’s being sincere regardless of the way he accusingly waves his fork at me. ‘‘But I still don’t like 'ow you got this off of the internet. ‘Ow many times ‘aven’t I told you, hm? You should know better by now.”

I chuckle as I at last taste the baked oats myself. They’re chocolatey with a subtle banana undertone, which is warmed by the cinnamon. “I gotta find new recipes somehow.”

“There are cookbooks.”

“Too limited and they take up too much space.” While nibbling on a piece of challah bread, I take a sip of coffee. “Can I make this more often?”

“It does taste like cake,” he reluctantly admits, spooning up another bite. “Yes, you can.”

“Why do you make it sound like there’s a condition?”

“You can make these oats, yeah, if I get to serve you something sweet in return.”

Something not to be had in the kitchen.

‘‘Deal,’’ I lean in, biting my lip as I play my final card, ‘‘Papa.’’

Alfie clenches his fork upon hearing his favourite nickname, the title he is secretly proud of. A dark haze clouds his eyes, the gloss in them highlighted by the morning sun. The smirk on his lips has evened out, his jaw tightened with the effort to practise self-restraint.

Game over.

I won.

And the prize is something sweet with lots of cream.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons x reader

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