#lightening will strike me down if i DONT FINISH WRITING AT LEAST ONE OF THESE

[bigfatbimbo]

I wanna write so bad but like I literally have such a block when it comes to both of the things i’m in the process of making!!! No because like, i’m working on housewife!Vox smut and i’m so close to being done SO JUST GET IT DONE but I really wanna finish my hate sex with rival Lute fic BUT WHENEVER I GO TO WRITE THAT I JUST SHSHHSHSHSH

becuase im in this never ending cycle of “I wanna write!” ➡️ “write that one fic your working on” ➡️ “don’t feel like it anymore!” ➡️ “write the other one then” ➡️ “don’t feel like that one either!” AND THEN I TRY TO WRITE THE FIRST ONE AGAIN.

[sleepypeaky]

amore?

michael gray x italian american male reader

wc: 1.5k

warnings: mentions of death, scars, you know the drill

request: My gay italian ass self would LOVE a Micheal Gray fic, but like, not sure he would like a guy who's italian after that fucking Luca incident.. and I dont know if you write for mlm..

a/n:  I hope you enjoy! idk why i made it so long but when i get a plot in my head i mean,,,,,

also i always try not to describe the readers features so everyone can be represented and i full mean for that when i say early on that michael sees him as italian. I personally dont look italian besides my nose- somehow the like 2% irish overrided it- so obviously this is a little off but i didnt know where to fix it

1927

Michael sat in his desk chair facing the window.

He was in New York City, he was the head of this branch of the company.

But he still felt like something was missing. Naturally, part of that feeling was from the fact that he had been exiled from his home. But the other was something else, boredom maybe, depression, loneliness. 

He sighed and turned back to his desk, where his meetings planner was open to the days page. 

His first meeting was a clandestine one, booked under a guise of what it really was. It was always intriguing, Michael thought, running a company that was a front. 

What he knew of this client was they were attached to one of the city’s hundreds of speakeasies, what these prohibition inhibited Americans called their secret pubs. And he assumed the client was coming to purchase some quality booze from the Shelby Company Limited.

What he he didn’t expect was who they were going to send. 

Normally the heads of the pubs sent someone to broker the deal in their place, a tall weasel faced man usually, who reeked of alcohol from every pore. 

Instead, when his secretary opened the door, an incredibly striking Italian lad strode through.

-

You weren’t expecting to see a man like that behind the desk. You figured it’d be some slimy old guy getting rich off of the illegal cash. Not a charming and incredibly handsome British boy.

-

“Uh hi, I’m Michael, Michael Gray.” He held his hand out to you and you shook it.

“I’m (y/n) (l/n).”

 He offered you a seat. 

“You’re not from around here are you?” You said.

He chuckled, “What gave it away?”

The deal was done in barely a half hour. But somehow you both found yourselves at lunch. 

“So how did you find yourself in, well, this line of work?” Michael asked.

“Well it’s pretty simple, there’s always work for people who don’t mind taking risks.” Michael smiled at that. You continued, 

“but I could ask you the same question.”

“Well lets say that this is one of the less illegal ventures of my family. And as you put it, risks are lucrative.”

“Ill cheers to that.” You smiled and raised a glass.

-

The lunches happened again, and then again.

Soon you were meeting daily, making up further excuses for getting to know each other.

-

“My family is, well, its complicated...” Michael chuckled one day as you were at lunch.

You smirked, “Michael, i’m Italian. My family is fucking nuts, trust me, your’s is no worse than mine.”

With people who had said that to Michael in the past he had laughed along and said sure, he was sure you meant it. Probably not in the same way, but he was in no position to argue.

“I might work in the illegal pub world, but some of my family is fucking nuts,”  You began. “My parents are fine, they came over from Italy before the war and brought my grandma, who i’m convinced my grandma used to be a spy or something in Italy. At least 3 of my cousins are working for the mob. It easy work for us, we’re all connected to one family or another between here and the old country.” You noticed a dark look on Michael’s face, a typical reaction “Dont worry, not the big guys like the Black hand, we don’t mix with Sicilians, they think they’re better because they live on an island.”

You went on for a bit more, just basic family outlining. And then it was his turn.

Michael went into the abbreviated version of his past (how he was taken and adopted) and the Shelby’s endeavors- the betting to drugs, smuggling, alcohol. Eventually he got up to the Changretta execution and John.

“John was killed by the Black hand in December ‘25.” 

“Stronzi, I’m sorry.” You cursed. 

He rubbed his right shoulder, “Yeah, after that my cousins decided to take down the boss, unfortunately I made some stupid decisions that could have ruined the plan and ended up exiled here.”

He took a weak bite of food. You tried to lighten the mood.

“Well, you weren’t kidding when you said you’re family was complicated.” 

You both laughed.

Shortly after this lunch you were both walking back to his office when a group of black clad men passed by on the street. They passed by without issue, but you saw that Michael paled and clenched his jaw. They were blatantly Black Hand. You saw he was rubbing his right shoulder again, nd you now figured it was a nervous habit. You endeavored to take his mind off it and started a new conversation.

-

About a month following this, you had brought Michael to the bar where you worked. You danced to the jazz and drank heavily, both getting caught in the energy of the decade. 

You ended up back at his office, now the only ones there, and he cracked open a hidden bottle of Shelby malt. 

Now both of you were on several glasses of liquor from the night, you found yourself floating in and out of conscious perception. Though you came to, suddenly, when you realized your lips were quite incriminatingly interlocked with Michael’s. 

Your inhibitions lowered, you continued gladly. And before anything progressed you both passed out drunk on his office floor.

-

You didn’t talk to him the next day. Mostly because your hangover was so severe you thought you would have permanent brain damage, but also because you were not sure how to proceed.

It would be easy to pretend like nothing had ever happened. To blame it on the booze, or just claim you didn’t have any recollection of the night. That was also gnawing at you, what if Michael didn’t remember?

It would be easy to just move past it, but did you want that?

-

Michael still felt the slight pressure in his head after 2 days. He rubbed his eyes and put the cigarette back to his lips. He was sitting in his apartment contemplating. He knew what he wanted, but did he want to risk it.

The door buzzer rang as he stumped the cigarette out. Who was calling at this hour? He took his pistol from the table.

He walked along the passageway to the door, he unlocked it and looked through the crack.

His heart skipped a beat and he released his grip on the gun.

“I got your address from your secretary.” You said. “I hope that’s o–” 

Michael cut you off by pulling you inside and kissing you against the shut door. You gave in to surprise and kissed back, pushing him through the hallway. 

Without breaking you unbuttoned your shirt and let it fall in your path. He broke for a breath of air.

You kissed him again and began to unbutton his shirt. He pulled back quickly to say something, but it was too late. You had already seen them.

Two knotted scars on his right shoulder.

“Michael what-”

“I didn’t want to tell you.” He looked down. “I was scared.”

Still in shock you watched as he finished unbuttoning his shirt. Low on his abdomen were two more scars. 

Suddenly in your mind you connected the signs, talking about john, the Sicilians, and the instinctive rub of his shoulder.

“They shot you too.” You said in a barely audible whisper.

Michael only nodded.

You walked forward and reached a tentative hand out to one on his shoulder. Tears prickled your eyes. You walked around to his back, you hand trailing over the soft skin before finding the exit scars from 3 of the bullets.

Michael turned to face you. 

“I didn’t think you’d ever find out.” 

You nodded.

He put his hand behind your head and guided it back to his. 

-

“What do your parents think?” Michael asked later.

Your head was tucked in the curve of his neck, your arm laying over his bare chest, playing carelessly with the sheet draped over it.

“My dads not really invested around to care, i think he knows but it’s just brushed over. Ma still thinks that maybe if she pushes the right Italian girl at me i’ll change. But honestly?” You laughed. “You’re catholic, she’ll be over the moon.” 

Michael smiled and threaded his fingers through your hand.

“What about you?” You moved back a little to see his face better, “Does anyone know?”

Michael let out a deep breath, the one that normally proceeded any talk referring to his family. 

“There was always so much going on that i didn't have much time to process, much less let anyone else see it. There were girls, i wont lie. That may have thrown them off. Even now, i think there is so much actual bad going on that what i do wouldn't make any of them bat an eye.”

“Is this what you want?”

He looked at you,

“I didn’t know until now.”

You breathed. 

“And?”

“More than anything.”

And he kissed you again.

☾ ✧ ☾ ✩ ☾ ✧ ☾ ✩ ☾

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[lilac-sweet-giggles]

Shoulder to Lean on (BNHA Todoroki and Deku)

A/N: OMG tysm for your patience! Took me so long to have the steam for writing again, I was in a long block for a bit TwT

Hope you like it!!

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Description: Todo needs a bit of cheering up from some news he got on the phone, so Deku to the rescue!

Word Count: (1090)

It was a Sunday night, Midoriya was just finished with his training when he saw a familiar friend walking to the elevator of the dorms. It was Todoroki, who seemed to be steamed out. Wanting to make sure he was alright, he goes to the elevator as well to catch up with the candy cane-ed friend. Getting to the floor destination, he goes over to Todoroki’s dorm and gives it a gentle knock, “Todoroki-kun….?” he could hear some rumbles in the room and hear the door unlock, giving him the green light to go in.

The green bean walks in and sees Todoroki getting his bed ready, seems like he was done for the night, “Hey Midoriya.” the taller student exhausted and somewhat annoyed in his tone of voice. After setting his bed up, Midoriya immediately sits on the bed to stop the others' process of tending to night time.

“You know dinners being made at the moment right, don't you wanna eat first?” He asked the other student, to which Todoroki shrugs and sits next to him. He placed his phone away from him and on the side of the bed, “Not really feeling hungry, but you can go eat if you wanna.” Deku tilted his head like a confused puppy, the only time Shoto would be like this if it was a long day of school work or him talking to the “E” word that was his dad. He goes and crawls behind the other as he hugs him from behind, the friend leaning back into him and sighing in frustration.

“You don't need to tell me now, but you seem to be in a bit of a pit of a bad mood.” Deku’s arms were around Todoroki’s torso as they were under his arms, Shoto’s hands feeling Deku’s arms to reassure him he's alright. Deku didn’t wanna push his friend to talk, seeing that Todo responds in affection and not words. Affection….

That’s when plan B finally came into consideration, his fingers curled into todo’s sides to which he flinched, “We’ve known each other for a while so if you dont wanna talk now, I can at least lighten the mood.” As on command, Todo’s ears became a shade of pink and a snort slipped. He attempts to shimmy and slide away from Midoriya, but it only resulted in him laying on his back and his head now being in his friend’s lap.

“M-Midoriyahahaha-” His legs go and weakly kick out as fingers spider along his sides and neck, causing himself to scrunch up, Midoriya smiling at the calm yet joyous giggles.

“Aw, glad you're letting me try plan B!” For a guy that seems all serious, who knew he would end up liking this comforting affection. Due to his vague childhood memories, Shoto has never really experienced or remember ever being tickled, but thanks to Midoriya’s kindness and closeness he could now know the missing experience of all he was enduring right now.

“Cuhuhuhut it out, hahahaha!!” the sneaky fingers tried to crawl delicately and teasingly from his scrunched up neck to his now reddened ears, to which he shakes his head and rocks back and forth in Midoriya’s lap.

“What's the fun in that? It's more fun to relax by laughing and smiling anyway!” Shoto could see that smile look down at his giggling figure,causing himself to squeak and cover his face with his hands.

“Coochie coochie coo! Who's a sweet, ticklish Hero?” he got the lee in the situation to laugh some more, teasing wasn't really Deku’s strong suit but Todo didn't really mind the attempts he made. The icyhot student was still new to all of this so he got a pass. His fingers strike for Todo’s underarms next as he seems to be off guard with the teasing attempts he made.

“Hahahahahahaha!! Yohohohou are!”

“Pfff, subtract me from the equation, you're supposed to say ‘me’!” though his arms clamped down to his own sides, midoriya was able to get his fingers into the crevices of his underarms

From this they discovered that he's quite sensitive mostly on the upper half of himself along with, ironically, his left side being the most sensitive. His neck, sides, underarms, back and ears are some spots that would be striked at first, but they weren't his most sensitive.

“Shooo-chaaan, Imma getcha~” right on cue, Deku takes the flustered bean’s left hand and quickly blows a raspberry into the palm of his hand and that's when he went absolutely bonkers, thrashing as he forgets to cover his smiling mouth. He gave a few more raspberries and a gentle kiss on the center where the raspberries would be blown on afterwards, hiccup giggles being the only thing Shoto could conjure up and gentle whines.

“Hehehe…..ok ok, i wanna talk…..” with that midoriya stops the rough tickles and just traces his fingers in small gentle circles along his cheek to keep him in a giggly mood”

“My father is coming to class tomorrow for a small lecture…” Ah shit, no wonder Shoto looked annoyed when he saw him walking in

“Ah, I’m sorry, it's just for one class though right?” Todo shrugs, nodding his head

“Yeah, still, it's on a Monday too so…” Midoriya chuckles a little and gives a peck on the forehead

“Well at least it's a one class thing, we can stick with you throughout the day to comfort you even go to the rooftops to eat lunch like Uraraka suggested. What do you think, Tickle-roki?” He asked as he boops both sides of his belly with his index fingers, causing todo to laugh some more and leading to a relaxed smile

“That wouldn't be a bad idea, sure.”

“Alrighty then it's a group lunch date!” Midoriya cheers as he hugs the figure that sat up finally, Todoroki chuckling and returning the hug

“Hey Midoriya?” The green bean looks up to see the rare soft smile he had, softly blushing as he returned the kiss to Midoriya on the forehead,“Thanks for cheering me up, I needed that.” The freckled green bean smiles brightly as he gave a reassuring squeeze, “Once in a while we need a shoulder to lean on” Deku got to his feet, extending his arm for the other student to grab, “Now come on, before we miss dinner-” to which Shoto held onto and got up from his spot on his floor mat bed, leaving his phone behind to go and be with the friends he enjoyed in his presence.

Tagged:

@im-kinda-stupidd

[btsareyandere]

I hope I'm still on time~~ Name: Rubí (latina lmao), brown hair and brown eyes. And I would love whatever you want to write about 💖💖📝📝🎊🎊🎊

A hard lesson - Rubí

Yandere namjoon

Warnings- ambiguous consent. Abuse, yandere themes throughout.

(I really hope this is okay)

Namjoon holds your wrists tightly, keeping them pinned to the mattress next to your head as his hips furiously piston in and out of you.

"Look at me when I'm claiming you rubí." He grunts, spit landing on your cheek as he pants from exertion.

You keep your eyes tightly closed, trying with all your might to put yourself elsewhere, somewhere where his tricks and mind games can't confuse you anymore.

You knew when you met him, that namjoon is an incredibly smart man, a man capable of twisting your every word even the unsaid ones and turning them against you.

Confusion and self-doubt cripples you on a daily basis and hiding within the recesses of your mind has become one of your tricks, one he has yet to break.

When you fail to follow his instructions, namjoon slams into your pussy with such force that your skull collides with he headboard behind you.

Your eyes snap open and struggle to focus on his face, a face that displays nothing but innocence and bewilderment.

"Oh baby, did you hit your head? Come, let me see if you've done any damage" he releases your hands to inspect your head and you take it as an opportunity to flex them and encourage the circulation to resume its steady flow.

"Namjoon. joonie" you pacify.

He looks down at you and smiles,

"Rubí?"

You push against his chest and surprisingly, he let's you.

"Namjoon I don't want to, its hurting me" fear trickles from your pours and floats like a cloud into the waiting nostrils of your boyfriend who happily inhales it into the deepest parts of his lungs, it's ecstasy to him.

"That's because you're not relaxing." He states.

You lick your lips and shuffle away from him just enough that his dick slips out and springs to his abdomen.

Namjoon grips your thigh with punishing force but only to stop you leaving entirely.

You place a hand on top of his and hurry to continue.

"I can't relax, you've been hitting me all day!"

And he has, since the driver brought you home from your weekly trip to the mall that namjoon allows if you've been good, he has been attempting to show you how making your own decisions comes with consequences. His method of teaching lately has been in the form of belts that sting your skin and punches that bruise you right down to the bone.

Namjoon hisses and digs his nails into the soft flesh of your leg

"And if you're not careful, I'll continue. This is all on you baby, you did something wrong. I know even you can understand the difference between right and wrong. Can't you?"

You nod your head and agree, a reflex really, you're not actually saying you agree with his statement.

"I understand it, but it's my hair joonie. Why can't I do what I want with it?"

He doesn't bother answering you this time, only moves to strike you across the face, knocking your weakened body to the side.

You choke on a few unreleased sobs and bury your face into the mattress.

"Why do you keep pushing me? I've explained it at least ten time today." He sighs as he rubs his temples.

"I'm not saying I don't like the new hairstyle, of course I do, holding that long black ponytail when I destroy you from behind is possibly my favourite thing to do. But why you thought you could change it without asking me, is beyond belief"

When you turn your face to the side to take a breath, namjoon notices the blood spilling from your lips and the stain it has made on the crisp white sheets.

"Now look what you've done!" He shouts.

Fear hits you like a lightening bolt as you search for your newest blunder.

"I d-dont understand. I haven't done anything".

Namjoon looks to the ceiling, completely exasperated.

"Do you not even know how to use your eyes without direction? Look at the spot where your face was just lying, there's a red stain. That's your blood...understand?"

Once again your little head is nodding up and down in response to his prompt.

"I'm sorry" you whisper.

"But its not that bad. Not too much, it'll come out....wont it?"

Namjoon chuckles and flips you back onto your stomach, sitting on your lower back to keep you down, his hands snaking round to hold your head and cheeks.

He squeezes at your lips to force the flow of blood to increase and ruin the bedding even more.

"Blood doesn't just come out because you want it to. It stains, rubí; it leaves a mark which lowers the quality of the sheet and unless someone is willing to put in a lot of effort to fix it, it'll need throwing away"

He hums to himself as he maintains his hold, satisfied by the muffled whimpers of pain that rumble in your chest.

"I guess that's like us. You're low quality and something others would turn away from, perhaps even discard. But I'm here, selflessly willing to fix you. Sometimes though, things need destroying in order to restore them. The sheet will need harsh chemical bleaching, you need a firm hand and a lot of guidance. I'll make sure I burn away all your imperfections, even the ones you didn't know you had".

A strangled cry finally breaks free and leaves your mouth,

"I cant!" You begin to scream.

"Let me go namjoon, please, please just let me leave. I don't want to be fixed"

The large male sits back on his heels and rests his bloddies hand on your back, dragging them slowly down your spine before skimming them back up towards your neck, coming to rest on the nape.

"Listen, you're my silly little girlie, you always have been which is why I'm so patient with you. But listen to yourself. What kind of person doesn't want fixing when they're broken? Does that make sense?"

His tone was even and calm, allowing you the chance to slightly relax beneath him.

You think over what he says, if something is broken, people generally do want to fix it so why wouldn't you want to be the best version of yourself? Maybe he's right.

Namjoon knows you well enough to recognise when you're deep in thought, he can practically hear the cogs turning in that tiny brain of yours and so he gives you the time you need to figure out that he is right.

"I-i" you stutter.

His hand is now soothingly caressing the back of your head,

"Go on baby girl, use your words and tell me what you want to say"

You wriggle slightly to find a more comfortable position but it doesn't prompt him to release you.

"I, I guess you're right. People do fix what is wrong, but I'm not broken namjoon. I do okay dont I?"

"Well not really, honey. Think about all the things I don't let you do because you've messed up so many times. The fires you caused in the kitchen; we've had three because you forget you're cooking something or get distracted".

At his words, you slam your hands onto the bed

"No! I know for a fact that I switched the oven off, I know I did"

Namjoon smiles behind you. You did infact switch it off, you are correct yet, he can't let you know that he turned it back on just to fuck with you.

"Well if that was the case, you wouldn't have almost burned down my multimillion pound mansion over a packet of cookies, would you?"

You rest your forehead on the pillow and think over all the mistakes you've made in life and how, since namjoon now controls every aspect of your life, those accidents occur a lot less frequently.

Begrudgingly, you whisper out a barely audible "you're right".

"I know. Now look at me" he says, forcing your head back further than is probably safe.

"You're going to thank me for protecting you from yourself, apologise for making me feel bad for beating the mistakes out of you and keep your mouth shut whilst I finish the job at hand"

He wraps his fist around the length of your sleek black hair and uses the other to spread your cheeks enough to access your pussy.

"Keep those doe eyes on me. You're going to take this and be grateful. Others might see a lost cause when they look at you, but baby, I see potential."

You blink back tears as your neck burns with the strained position he's got you in and the intrusion of his thick dick that's forcing it's way into a confined space between your tightly clenched thighs. A firm slap to your lower back pushes your tears over the threshold and let's them cascade down your cheeks

"Where are your manners?"

You clear your throat to the best of your ability and recite his precious words.

"Thank you for keeping me from hurting myself. I'm sorry you felt bad because of me when you were only helping me. Is..did I say it right?"

"Not exactly but it's close and so am I, so follow your next instruction and keep that mouth closed."

You do as told and clamp your mouth shut,

"Good girl. Now take what I give you and be grateful. I'll stop when enlightenment sparkles behind your eyes in the place of confusion."

The thing is though, namjoon will never stop messing with your mind long enough for clarity to take hold. You'll be his prisoner for life, shackled by his superior intelligence and bound by his physical presence. He's your teacher and all you can do is learn.

[inopinion]

hi! I loved your barrow family fanfics they are amazing! could you do a short little excerpt of 1. cal and kilorn coming back from the end of gs where mare gave herself up and telling her family what happened? maybe in brees pov?? and then cut to before they left to rescue her ruth talking to cal telling him good luck and them having kind of a heart to heart about mare and how much they love her? sorry its specific its been in my head for a while but i dont have the skills to write it lol

A perfect reason to expand. Thank you for this prompt.

The Barrow Family Chronicles (What was left behind)

Part 1, Part 2. (This one comes chronologically before those)

Tag list: @lilyharvord, @mareshmallow, @redqueenfandom, @anyone-anything-canbetrayanyone, @runexandra, @tiberias-vii, @mareshmallow, @adraxsteia, @wrenskonos, @scarletguardsource, @clarafarleybarrow, @morebooks-pls, @lucid-shinobi, @cordelnight, @redqueenforever, @naercxy, @juggyandbetty, @mom2reesie, @lamemathpuns, @artemishdp, @feeoly, @psychopath-butterfly, @caloresblood, @evngelinesmos, @magicpara-dise

If you like it, reblog it to share with a friend.

For all theabilities and powers we have on this base, trenching drainage ditches is stillbest done by hand. There’s a Strongarm helping, but she’s not that muchstronger than me. A little, I guess. We keep our distance from thesilvers. Though, she sure is fit and it’s hard not to watch her work.

Being busy surebeats letting my mind wonder. Mare left last night and there hasn’t been wordsince. It’s not unusual for them to keep things quiet, but it sure sucks forour family. 

There’s just a tonof rumors. As soon as the jet took off, tongues start wagging. It’s all theusual: they only filled up halfway; they didn’t pack enough rations; they weregoing to have to abandon some of the team to make it back. The latest is thatthey lost communication, that the plane went down. It’s all talk.

Three other planeswent out today and that has even more scuttle collecting. A search party, theysay. Some say they’re surrounded and need reinforcements. When they thought Iwasn’t around, one asshole had the nerve to say they were body collectors. He’sin the infirmary for the day. No one’s gonna make a joke out of my sister’slife.

.

The planes come backfew hours before sun-set. Something about it, the way they went so deepinto the hangar, I knew something was wrong. It’s the same way that we knewsomething horrible had happened when Mare showed up with Shade. They hadstopped in the middle of the yard, where everyone could see them. One adisplay, now this one is hiding. 

It’s not good.Everything feels tight again, like when Shade… Everything pinches and prickles.It’s hard to breath and hard not to breath so fast. It’s harder still to makeit up the small bank, to get out of the ditch we’ve been digging all day. Somecall after me, but I’m not in any mood to wait on knowing. I walk to thehanger.

Farley is there to meet them. She’s still puffy-eyed andstrained looking, still grieving hard for my brother. She and Mare had wordsbefore the plane took off. Mare’s had words with a lot of people lately. She’ssort of war-fucked at the moment. Seen it a thousand times and it’s still worsewhen it’s your sister fighting herself so hard. Farley looks at me and thenaway. I’m no expert, but that’s not a good sign.

“Barrow, you should clean up. Go home,” she suggests.

“Go home? No news for us?” I ask.

“Prepare yourselves, best you can,” Farley strides away from me.

Dead. Dead. Gone. To be in the ground securely buried. When fivebecomes four and then becomes three… the three have to wonder, “why us.”

At the barracks, mom is patching a stack of pants. Gisa movesslower on her own set of shirts. Gisa stops immediately, mom won’t look up.This is a disruption to our routine and that is never good. Dad pushes himselfover and reads my face.

“She didn’t?” He holds together just for those two words andthen stops himself.

I nod, it’s easier to do than to say what we’re all thinking. Soinstead, I say, “Farley said to collect ourselves. I’m going to wash up.”

“Tramy…” mom murmurs, setting her sewing down.

“I’ll get him,” little Gisa is quick to get away. Running usedto be Mare’s thing, but maybe we all have a bit of that in us. She moves fastout of the room and down the hall.

I follow but only to the washroom. I scrub the dirt from myarms, my hands, wipe the sweat from my neck. I dug a ditch today already. Ithink I have it in me to dig a grave. For Mare, I’ll dig that grave all nightlong. And that’s when the tears come.

Tramy has been tending the fields at the on-base farm. They growsome of the vegetables we eat in small patches. The weeds are constantlyinvading. Tramy moves on his hands and knees down the rows clearing the soil.It’s turned his skin dark and hunched his shoulders. If hekeeps at it, he’s going to be hooked as an old man.

Oldman… Tramy and I, we might grow old. We were all supposed to die. We tried ourbest not to, but out of all of us, the smartest are gone. How is that fair? Iwant to switch places with either of them, with both of them. Surely I’m big enoughto take their place. But that’s not how death works.

Idry my face and take long breaths, steadying myself. I will be strong for Gisaand for mom. I will be strong for dad and for Tramy. I will not break. I willnot break.

Tramyand Gisa scurry from the other direction. Tramy is pale and getting lighter ashe walks. He’s moving fast and barely breathing. I can see the dizziness strikehim. We let him recover on the floor, watch him vomit his nerves, and then wehaul him up.

“Formom, now. Steady for mom,” I remind him. He nods and pulls his shoulders back,attempts to be straight and strong.

Thewaiting is the worst. Mom is already losing it. She runs her hands over thesmall blanket all of us used as babies. Even if Gisa was the last, it was alsoShade’s, also Mare’s. Dad holds her hand and they cry then mom gasps when theknock comes on the door.

Kilorn,our sixth sibling, our cousin, our… family by choice. You get the family thatyou get and that is precious and unique. But then you get the family that youneed. That’s what we are to Kilorn, the family that he needed.

“She’snot dead,” he says before anyone behind me can see him.

Momcries in a release of stress.

“Thankyou. Thank you,” Dad murmurs into his hands.

“Warren, what is going on?” Tramy pushes past me and drags himin.

He is not alone. Behind him, the fucking Prince of Norta hoversoutside. It least he has manners enough not to enter uninvited. I move to shutthe door.

“Bree Barrow, you let that boy in,” mom intervenes.

If dad had asked, I probably still would have shut the door, butfor mom, I move to the side and he steps in. Our house is split. He and hiskind have killed too many of us and ours. We knew at the front when the princewas in command, they wouldn’t ever let us forget it. The number of reds dead onthe battlefield didn’t seem to matter when it came time to call it a success.Thousands died because of him. I almost died because of him. Mare has been drugthrough the mud and across arenas because of him. And dad shakes his hand.

“Mr. Barrow, Mrs. Barrow, I am,” he swallows, he struggles. Iwant him to choke. “Mare made a deal with my brother.”

“Her for us,” Kilorn finishes, hands on his hips. “It was thator they’d kill us all.”

“Well, that sounds like Mare,” Gisa growls, and it’s enough tolighten us and earn a chuckle.

“Yeah, that’s our Mare,” my dad agrees.

“What will he do to her?” My mom sets her jaw and grips dad’shand.

Her question floods my mind with deplorable options. If it’strue and he’s obsessed with her, would he… could anyone… I feel sick justthinking about how men hurt women. I think about torture. I think about thetraining the guard gave us that was more like telling ghost stories.

“I don’t think he’ll hurt her,” the prince says.

“You don’t think? Shekilled his mother!” Tramy challenges.

Kilorn pushes back on Tramy’s chest an forces him to give theprince more room. His head shakes and Tramy cows. The prince could light us upin a second, best not to start anything.

“Maven… I think… he, um…”

“He had genuine feelings for her,” Kilorn says and it hurts him.I always knew he had a think for Mare.

“At one time, before Elara finished her gut-job on his mind. It’sa bit of a screwy situation, but I don’t think he’ll hurt her. If what I thinkcounts,” Cal presses his hands into his pockets.

“Then why take her?” I ask.

“He’s broken,” Cal says. “There is no why anymore.”

Dad blinks. Tramy huffs. Kilorn drops his hand from Tramy’schest and just looks haggard, bruised. I guess, looking at the prince in amoment of stillness, he looks worse than anyone else in the room. His pale skinis bruised purple in places, his hair is missing in places and he has blood andsinge marks on his clothes.

“What happened to your wrists?” Gisa points at white bands onKilorn’s wrists. Kilorn’s hands come up to his neck where a piece of gauze liesunder his shirt. “Your hurt?”

“Burns,” he looks at Cal, who looks away.

“You need to go to the infirmary,” Gisa stands.

Kilorn moves like a magnet repelled. Her movement pushes him tothe door. She reaches out to touch him, he moves further away. Until he thinksbetter of the situation and stops at the door.

“Cal, you better get looked at.”

It’s the excuse the prince needs to get out of our quarters.When he lurches forward, hands in his pockets, he stops.

“I’ll get her back. I promise. I’ll get her back.”

The promise of a prince goes as far as I can throw a piano withme. But that’s all we have.

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