#not going to go into the explanation here so I can do a full length 'flashback' leading into it in a seperate post after I've had some sleep

[logansdoll]

pep talk

part two of "contingency"

CW: fluffy fluff, suggestive, profanity, takes place after X2 (Jean survives), the girls are so kind to you, you have to adjust to modern life, angst if you squint, etc.

"No way!" you exclaimed, eyes wide as you grabbed the remote, completely taken aback as you flicked through station after station.

Rogue nodded, grabbing another wildflower growing out your palm and tucking it in your hair, slightly amused by your surprise.

"You guys have so many channels! How is that possible?"

"Science," Kitty shrugged. "We have a whole bunch of new technology now."

"Wait 'til we show you what a flip-phone is..." Jubilee smirked, tossing some popcorn into her mouth.

"A flip-phone?" you asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

"That's somethin' we can tackle t'morrow," Rogue assured, carefully placing another peony in another section.

After being rescued from Alkali Lake, and getting a quick check-up from Jean, the students were more than eager to welcome you into the mansion.

And because of your obvious gap in knowledge in anything after 1988, the older girls took it upon themselves to educate you.

Of course, Ororo made sure you had at least a week to get your bearings about yourself before releasing the hounds.

"Wait, so Tom Selleck doesn't count as hot now? And Stallone isn't in all the action movies anymore?" you asked, skimming through some of the magazines Jubilee managed to grab out her closet.

"Who?" Kitty raised a brow.

"Eighties hunks," Jubilee clarified before turning to you. "And they've moved aside to make way for the hotties of the 21st century. Like Johnny Depp."

"Please," Rogue scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Johnny Depp is not hot."

"Tell that to People," Kitty grinned, holding up a tabloid that read SEXIEST MAN ALIVE in bold letters right above Depp's head-shot.

"He's not too bad," you nodded, getting a good look at his face.

'He's got nothing on Jimmy...'

"See," Jubilee smirked, crossing her arms in triumph. "If he's not a modern-day knock-out then who is?"

"Brad Pitt," Rogue answered, matter-of-factly.

"I knew you were gonna say that!"

"You watched Fight Club with Bobby, didn't you?" Kitty teased.

"Shut up!"

"Fight Club?" you turned to Kitty for explanation.

"It's a movie about guys fighting each other and trying to bring down capitalist society."

"And Brad Pitt getting all shirtless and sweaty," Jubilee cheekily whispered, earning a pillow to the face. "Hey!"

"There," Rogue smiled, placing the finishing touch before giving your shoulder a soft pat. "All done."

Carefully, you stood up, walking over to the full length mirror near the closet and smiling brightly at what you saw.

Your hair was adorned with all different flavors of bloom, the vibrant colors only enhancing your natural beauty.

"I love it," you smiled, marveling her even placement.

"Ugh. I'd kill Kitty to look like that," Jubilee slumped, resting her cheek in her palm.

"Sitting right here, dude," Kitty sighed.

"I can do you next, if you like," Rogue offered.

"Here," you nodded, sprouting a bouquet of wildflowers out one of their potted plants before sliding on your slippers. "You girls can keep going. I think I'm gonna go on a walk."

"Cool," Jubilee nodded, watching you make your way to the door. "If we don't see you again then good night~"

You paid the odd inflection no mind, waving goodbye before taking your leave, shutting the door behind yourself.

And once the coast was clear, Jubilee smirked, turning to the others with a knowing look.

"I think we all know who she's going to go see, right?"

"Oh, totally."

"Absolutely."

So preoccupied with Jubilee, you failed to remember just how drafty the mansion got at night, cursing yourself for forgetting your sweater in the room.

"I hate the cold..." you grumbled, hugging yourself tight.

Walking through the hall, you could hear the rustling of students on the other sides of the doors.

Some were debriefing about the events of the day, some were sleeping.

Others talking about the Alkali Lake incident.

Your face fell at the reminder.

James had told you countless times that what happened wasn't your fault, but you couldn't shake the feeling of guilt.

When you were cornered by Stryker's mutant-hunting task force, you thought you could fight them back, but you couldn't even take down one.

Granted, they were highly trained professionals, and you'd never used your mutation to fight before...

But that was no excuse.

What did that leave you as?

A) A helpless damsel, who needed her prince to bail her out of a pinch?

Or B) A stupid girl who let herself get put on ice because she wasn't strong enough to fight back?

C) All of the above.

"Whoa. You think any harder and you'll have steam comin' outta your ears," Logan noted, somehow in front of you.

"Shit!" you exclaimed, eyes wide as you instinct took over, punching something that felt like a brick wall.

'Where did he come from?!'

He grunted, holding his side, "You hit... hard."

"Fuck, I'm sorry," you winced, guiltily, as you moved closer to inspect it, carefully moving his hand. "It was just so dark and you scared the hell outta me."

You lifted his tank top, trying your best to check for a forming bruise in the dim light.

But there was nothing there, his healing factor kicking in much faster than you expected.

"Was thinking of about telling you a joke about how much you take my breath away, but I think you're a little preoccupied at the moment," he looked down at you, a grin spreading across his lips at your staring.

You scoffed, cheeks burning as you pulled his shirt down.

"Couldn't sleep?" you asked, quickly switching the subject, tightening your arms around yourself.

Logan smiled, your words fading into the background as he took the time to get a good look at you.

And fuck... a look you where.

You exchanged your low-rise jeans and long-sleeve (courtesy of Ororo) for a tank top and shorts, your curves now on display quite nicely.

"Nope," he shook his head, somehow making the motion sexy. "You?"

You sighed, commending yourself for making it this far—you were this close to pouncing on him.

"I just need some air, so I'm going on a walk. And speaking of..." you continued on, stepping around the large man to continue your stroll.

It caught him by surprise, but he quickly turned around, catching up to and getting in front of you.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey," he halted, brows furrowed in concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine," you assured, poorly. "Just trying to get past."

"Nuh uh. Don't do that," he shook his head. "Don't downplay this. Somethin's wrong. I can see it all over your face."

'Shit.'

You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping at being caught.

"I can't stand you, y'know that?"

"Start talking."

"Have I ever told you how good you look in blue jeans?"

"(y/n)."

"Alright."

You exhaled, steeling your nerves in case things went awry.

"Look... Jimmy..." you started, choppily, taking his hand in yours. "Fifteen years is a long time... too long for some people."

You cursed yourself as you could already feel a lump forming in your throat.

You hadn't even started yet.

"To me, it feels like yesterday we were at our place in the Rockies, making dinner together and talking about our day, renting shitty movies and falling asleep on the couch together."

The memories flowed over you like a calm tide, a smile stretching onto your lips as you recalled pretending to fall asleep so he'd carry you to bed.

But it wasn't long before those waters dried up, leaving nothing but cracked, jagged sand underneath.

"But to you, it was a lifetime ago. And a person can... move on... given the right conditions."

"What're you saying?" he asked, firmly.

"I'm saying that it's okay if you've moved on from me, James," you blurted, your voice having a slight crack.

It hurt even more to say it out loud.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, even more confused, as his hands came around to hold you.

"You've spent the better half of fifteen years unaware that I even existed. And now that I've popped back into your life, I don't want you to feel obligated to love me because of something that happened in the past... I couldn't do that to you. Especially if you have feelings for someone else."

"And who else could I possibly I have feelings for?" he asked, sarastically.

"Jean," you stated, flatly. "I see the way she looks at you. She may be with Scott, but that's the look of a woman who's willing to test the waters. And I don't want to get in the way if that's something you want to pursue."

Amused, and honestly speechless, Logan could do nothing but laugh, slightly offended that you thought of him as that type of man.

"What's so funny?" you asked softly, eyes saddening as you watched him, quite hurt that he was laughing.

He cracked a grin, cupping your cheek in his hand.

"Baby, you're talkin' about me gettin' with another woman as you stand here, wrapped in my arms, and about to come back to bed with me."

Huh?

His thumb caressed your cheek as he pulled you in closer, resting his forehead against yours.

"(y/n), you are my wife, you hear me? My wife," he spoke sincerely, eyes never leaving you for a moment. "My memories might've been taken before, but they're all back now. And I remember every goddamn detail about you, about us, and about our life before all this bullshit."

You were too stunned to speak.

You knew James could get serious, but you never knew he could get serious.

It was doing some things to you.

"I don't want no one else because, to me, there is no one else. And the quicker you get that through your head, the quicker we can get back to bed 'cause it is fuckin' freezin' out here."

You snickered, both tickled and appalled by his horribly blunt speech.

"That was the worst pep talk I've ever had," you chuckled, shaking your head as you cupped his cheek in your hand.

"Not my strong suit," he finished with a smirk.

But that was all he needed before he roughly kissed you, pulling you in by the nape of your neck.

You kissed back just as passionate, sliding your hands down to his chest as he leaned in, getting the better angle on you.

One of his hands dropped to grab your thigh, hiking it up and pulling you flush against him in an attempt to keep you as close as possible.

But, quickly, you both separated, panting, abuzz with excitement as you rested against each other.

"Bed. Now," he growled in your ear, suddenly hoisting you up and tossing you over his shoulder.

"Jimmy!" you quietly squealed, your face burning with embarrassment as he landed a loud slap on your ass.

'God, I hope the kids are asleep...'

taglist !!

@catiwinky @seamlessepiphany @vinaluvsu @kellyxo1 @amandarobertsboyce @shakysif @captainloki1 @qveendiorsworld @sarahskywalker-amidala @mei-simp @oatmilkriver @br3nt-12 @bimboshaggy @lightsgore @edszn @couturewinx @sunroxic @notanotheroldman @bontensbabygirl @buckleysg1rl @marvelgirlie-4 @eljaynosine-triphosphate

[onlymingyus]

Easy, Tiger

pairing; kwon soonyoung (hoshi) x reader

genre; smut

warnings; oral (m receiving), public sexual act, exhibitionism, cum eating (ig if you count swallowing), pet names

w/c; 1.4k and some change

requested; no

a/n; happy birthday to my favorite tiger! this idea came from dk posting these wonderful pictures of hoshi from his birthday post and then @junkissed and @duhnova saying something that made me go....hm

before continuing remember reblogs are incredibly important and please read how to support me here

You smile watching Soonyoung tip back the glass of soju. He looked happy and that was all you could really ask for on his birthday. Reaching for your own soju glass you tip it back before laughing when you feel your boyfriend’s hand grab your free one. 

Soonyoung was full of all of his favorite foods and he had gotten to spend the evening with his favorite person in the entire world.  Lacing his fingers with yours, Soonyoung watches you put your glass back on the table before you finally meet his eyes. 

Neither of you were too far gone. Just a single bottle of soju shared between the two of you, but it was still just enough to make the conversation easy. Tilting your head you lean your jaw on your free hand as you feel Soonyoung’s thumb circling your palm. 

“Quick, name one thing you’d want for your birthday that you think you’d never get?” 

Soonyoung laughs into a snort at the question. His eyes narrow softly, he lets out a sigh before answering as quickly as he can. 

“Ah…fuck, head by the river.” 

Raising a brow, you watch Soonyoung seem to realize what he had said. The warmth spreads over his cheeks and you watch your sweet sometimes chaotic boyfriend try to revert to his introverted self. His shoulders pull tight as a laugh slips from his lips, an explanation on the tip of his tongue. 

“I–I mean, I’m just kidding. That’s an at home thing. Behind the closed doors of our bedroom thing, I’m just drunk. Don’t listen to me.” 

Smiling, you lift your head and brush your fingers over Soonyoung’s jaw causing the man to shiver under your touch. His eyes fall on yours and Soonyoung can’t help but to swallow hard knowing that look in your eye. 

“Let’s go. Still a few hours of your birthday left.” 

Soonyoung knew you loved him and were adventurous. He knew that the two of you had talked about fantasies before, and that exhibitionism had come up more than once but he never thought he would find himself actually in this situation. 

Shivering to the feeling of the tip of your tongue barely grazing the tip of his cock, Soonyoung whines your name finally looking down at you on your knees on the walking path. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He was so excited and nervous at the same time. 

“Baby…this is crazy. I love it, fuck I love it so much, but what if someone walks–sees us?” 

Smiling against Soonyoung’s cock, you glance up at the handsome man giving him a mischievous look that causes him to feel weak on his feet. 

“Do you want them to?” 

Starting to speak, Soonyoung doesn’t really know what his answer is, but you stop him from having to formulate an explanation by wrapping your warm mouth around him. Closing his eyes, Soonyoung groans quietly. You were so good at this, and it was clouding his mind to the point Soonyoung could almost forget where he was. If it weren’t for the constant sound of the river behind him, the brush of the wind though his hair, and the honk of distant horns, Soonyoung would completely let down his guard. 

“Oh, shit…babe. I–God, it feels so good but, ah!” 

You were listening to him. You knew that Soonyoung was nervous, but it was so late and you were in such a secluded part of the path you weren’t that worried someone would come by. If they did, at this point you weren’t sure you’d care. Taking more of Soonyoung into your mouth, you moan around his length feeling how the girth of his cock stretches your lips. You can’t help but to feel your underwear becoming damp with your own arousal at the memories of how he stretches you in the same way every time he fucks you. 

Sliding his hand over the top of your head, Soonyoung leans back against the railing behind him. His nails dig into the wood as he closes his eyes for a moment before he knows he wants to look back down at you. The moment he does, Soonyoung can’t help the groan that forms in his throat or how he thrusts towards your mouth causing you to gag around him. 

He loves the way you look on your knees for him. You were always perfect, but it was moments like this when you were completely vulnerable for him, his cock down your throat or buried deep inside of you that Soonyoung had burned into his mind. This would be something he would never forget. 

Pulling back, you let your tongue press to the underside of Soonyoung’s cock to run along the pulsing vein that told you everything you wanted to know about the man standing in front of you. He was getting so close. Sitting back on your heels, you meet Soonyoung’s eyes as you catch your breath. 

The man watches your tongue run along your lips as your hand moves over his wet cock. Gasping out your name, Soonyoung knew he was leaking pre-cum obscenely over your hand, but he couldn’t find a reason to care until the sound of people talking nearby drew his attention. 

You watch Soonyoung start to panic, his stomach sucks-in dramatically as he takes a deep breath. You can only smile at him lifting your finger to your lips to tell him to be quiet as Soonyoung shakes his head at you mouthing, ‘Are you crazy?’ 

“Easy, Tiger. Eyes on me, hmm?” 

Soonyoung scoffs, his eyes staying on you like you had instructed him. He does his best to keep his groan quiet when you take him back into your mouth. Logic was telling him that you should both stop in case the people he heard got any closer but your soft, warm mouth around him caused him to throw any logic he had into the river behind him. 

“Please…so close.” 

Moaning around Soonyoung, you roll your tongue around his head as your hand twists at his base. Glancing up at him to meet his eyes, you smirk before sinking down over Soonyoung to take as much of him into your mouth as you can. You feel your boyfriend’s nails raking over your scalp and hear the sound of his groan getting caught in his throat. 

You knew exactly how to get what you wanted from Soonyoung and how to give him what he wanted. So, when you looked at Soonyoung like that and went down on him the way you did, the man didn’t stand a chance. Soonyoung saw white briefly and the river sounded like blood rushing to his ears as thick warm cum spilled into your mouth. 

Sitting back on your heels once again, you swallow what you can of Soonyoung’s cum as he finally opens his eyes to look down at you. You made it difficult for him to catch his breath by just looking at you, but with each delicate kitten lick to catch any remaining drips of cum, Soonyoung wondered if you were trying to make it impossible for him to reach his 28th birthday. 

Carefully slipping himself back into his pants, Soonyoung then helps you to your feet before pulling you to his lips. Groaning on your lips, the man can’t help but to enjoy the taste of himself when it was on your lips. It is only then, when he is lost in your embrace and your kiss that he can’t seem to care when the voices he had heard earlier grow closer and pass by. 

Smiling on his lips, you nudge your nose against Soonyoung’s causing him to laugh just as you do. Your arms around his shoulders, your boyfriend sighs on your lips before leaning his head back so he can meet your eyes furrowing his brows with a longing look into your eyes. 

“Can we go home? I think by the time we get there I can return the favor…and we won’t have an audience.” 

Laughing again, you nod making Soonyoung smile, his hand moving to take yours. 

“Sure, but you don’t have to return the favor. It’s your birthday Soonyoung, and that was your wild birthday wish. I was simply giving you what you wanted. 

Shaking his head, Soonyoung pulls you closer to him as he walks, a breath falling from his lips in a whisper about how crazy you are. 

“You said something I thought I’d never get. I didn’t think we’d end up at the river with my pants at my knees.” 

Smiling brightly, you glance at Soonyoung wiggling your brows. 

“Mm, well…you are welcome. Happy Birthday, Tiger.”  

© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed. 

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Princess

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting will be blocked.

Length: 8.5K

Notes: Well we all knew I'd wind up here, didn't we.

No beta, we die like Billy Kimber

Warnings: Enemies to lovers; Reader is physically assaulted (it's described, but not shown as its own scene); canon-typical violence; one POV change, but it's very clear (imo); explicit sexual content—public sex, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough sex

Summary: You can’t get the image of Tommy out of your head, of his pale, bare skin, the sunlike rays of his tattoo on his chest. You can feel the judging glances of the men around you, hear the whispers from John, and Arthur’s knowing call of, “Oy oy,” As Tommy comes in for the day not an hour later. He brushes past you as though you're not there, and you carry on with your work as if the temperature in the room hasn’t seemed to drop ten degrees.

“I never pegged you for the type.” 

Polly’s expression is nearly flat, save for a knowing, raised brow. You don’t need to ask her what she means. You don’t need to clock the glance that she throws between you and her nephew’s retreating back. You just shift in your seat a little, hands lowering to your typewriter and eyeing the stack of work waiting for you. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” You offer before you begin hammering away at the keys. Polly just gives a soft, sharp hum. You expect the click of her heels to shift and fade, but she leans down, resting a hand on the desk beside you. 

“He’s going to hurt you if you’re not careful,” She warns. 

“He’s certainly welcome to try.” 

“How many times has this happened?” 

“I’m not exactly sure what concern that is of yours.” 

“Will it happen again?”

“I’m not sure that’s your concern, either.” 

Polly pushes out a condescending laugh, the sound washing over you with the scents of tea and cigarette smoke.

“You’re playing with fire, child.” 

Her hand drops out of view as she finally straightens and draws away. Your hands work mechanically, honing in on your work. You don’t let your mind stray to the slight prickle of sweat on the back of your neck, the lingering feeling of Tommy’s fingertips yanking and grasping and pulling at your clothes, the throbbing, slick ache between your thighs. 

It’s a one-time thing, you’re certain of it. It had been the wrong place, at the wrong time. High heat, hot anger, the sticky-topped table of the pub that you’d gone to for lunch. 

“You ought to be at the Garrison.” 

It was the most he’d announced himself as he’d plopped himself down across from you without being invited. He’d taken a sip of your pint, lit up a cigarette, and waited for your explanation—which you didn’t owe him. You’d told him as much. 

The conversation had taken a fast and sharp turn from there. It wasn’t long before Tommy ordered that the pub was emptied, before he was shoving your skirt up and pushing your underthings down with a force that had left a noticeable run in your best pair of stockings. 

You draw in a deep breath, shaking your head to rid yourself of the memory, the rumbling roll of his voice in your head. You push back the phantom sensations of spilled beer and scattered dishware beneath your back, of Tommy’s breath panting hot against your cheek. 

The pub had been fairly full before Tommy had told them all to get out. Its walls and windows were thick enough to mask the slapping of your skin, but you hadn’t been able to silence your whines, or yelps, or moans. When you’d left slightly disheveled, you were certain that the other patrons would’ve had little doubt of what you’d been doing. 

It’s no wonder it’s gotten back to Polly so quickly. 

Still, it happened. It’s over, and it’s never going to happen again. You can move on. 

–

“Look at me, princess. Show me those pretty eyes.” 

You force yourself to relax your face just enough to peer up at Tommy. He tuts softly, smoothing his hand along your jaw, eyeing where your lips are wrapped around his cock, and the way tears from your rough gagging and coughing cling to your lashes. Tommy’s lips curl into a cruel little smile as he gives your cheek a pat, tracing the outline of his cockhead with his finger before he rests his hand on the back of your neck, shoving you down. You can’t help but gag, spit slipping from the sides of your mouth as your fingers tighten on the fabric of his pants. He leans back against his pillows, thighs splaying as he sweeps his gaze over your face. You lift your chin, swiping your tongue along the underside of his cock. 

He hisses softly before he urges, “Up, get up.”

You lean back, hand still working over his spit-slick shaft. He reaches down, curling his fingers around your jaw before sweeping his tongue across your lips. Your groan is knocked loose as Tommy springs forward, shoving you back onto the bed before grasping your hip and rolling you onto your hands and knees.

It’ll be better, you’re certain—faster. You have as little time now as you did before, and it’s no wonder. You’d been on your way to work when you’d gotten…Sidetracked. 

Tommy’s arm hooks around your shoulders as he pushes your underwear aside. You get no other warning before Tommy presses into you. You whimper, fingers curling in the sheets and letting your head hang heavy as your eyes slip shut. Tommy’s hips shove tightly to yours, holding still for just a moment, one long, harrowing moment. You’re just on the second from complaining when Tommy draws his cock out, then gives his hips a harsh snap. You bite your lip, trying to quiet your whines and moans. Tommy doesn’t tease or belabor it. Hell, he helps you quiet yourself as he rests his palm on the back of your head, shoving your face into the mattress.

You can’t help your smile, even as some part of you wants to roll onto your back give his face a shove in turn. Tommy pushes his face into your neck, sucking a light kiss there—enough to feel, but not nearly enough to mark. He smooths his fingers between your thighs, teasing at where his cock stretches you wide as his palm brushes against your clit. You reach back, grasping at his hip and urging him on. Your body quivers as he rolls his wrist with every thrust. It’s just enough to tip you over, to make your cunt tighten up around him. He’s not far behind, pressing his groan into your skin as his hips stutter and slam. 

He sags over you, resting his head between your shoulder blades. 

“Alright,” You tip your head up from the sheets, swiping your tongue against your dry lips, “Get off of me.” 

He huffs a laugh, sliding out and off of you and giving your hip a whack. You roll onto your back for a moment, peering up at the ceiling. You’re not going to stick around, you just need a moment. You hear the slide of Tommy’s match against its book before you smell cigarette smoke. You draw in a deep breath, shaking your head when he holds out his cigarette case. You push yourself up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and scooching to the edge. 

“Where are you going?”

“That’s a pretty stupid question, don’t you think?” You stand, straightening your underthings and reaching for your skirt where it was thrown. 

“Pay you double for the day if you stay here.” 

“Fuck you.”

“Was that a yes or a no?” 

You roll your eyes, tucking your shirt into your skirt and straightening it. Your bag is in the sitting room, your jacket is around…Somewhere. 

“Lie back down,” He urges. 

“I’ve got somewhere to be.” 

“Where you’re going, I’m in charge.”

“You think I’m afraid of you?” You ask, turning to look at him. It’s a mistake. Laid bare, a sheet thrown over his lap, cigarette in hand, with his luminous eyes fixed on you, Tommy looks like some fallen angel from an old painting. You want him again already. It's a dangerous realization, one that makes your stomach curdle.

“I’m more afraid of Polly,” You add, plucking your jacket off of the floor and dusting it off. “She’ll have my head if I’m late.” 

“What are you doing after work?” 

“Something else.” 

“Than what?”

You button your jacket, turning away from him and heading for his front room. 

“Than whatever you were about to suggest.” 

--

Polly’s disappointment is as heavy as it was that first time. She’s already lingering by your desk when you arrive, and she watches you with those pursed lips, that arched brow. You just clear your throat and shrug your jacket off before settling in. 

“Well?” She asks. 

“I’m on time, Polly.” 

“Considering when you left your flat, you should’ve been here nearly half an hour ago.” 

You curl your nails into your palms as you turn your stunned indignation up at her.

“You’re having me watched now?” 

“We keep an eye on all of our employees. There have been a lot more incidents lately, people going after the Peaky Blinders,” She reminds you.

“I’m not in the family.” 

“You work for us and people know that. You have information. It puts a target on your back.” 

“Maybe you ought to just chain me to the radiator here between my shifts, then, keep me out of trouble.” 

“You’d bay at the moon and piss off the neighbors. Besides,” She straightens, “Thomas likes a moving target.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, shaking your head and refusing to watch her go. Polly can be a hell of a know-it-all, but as much as you hate to admit it, she’s right about this, at least. You can’t get the image of Tommy out of your head, of his pale, bare skin, the sunlike rays of his tattoo on his chest. You can feel the judging glances of the men around you, hear the whispers from John, and Arthur’s knowing call of, “Oy oy,” As Tommy comes in for the day not an hour later. He brushes past you as though you're not there, and you carry on with your work as if the temperature in the room hasn’t seemed to drop ten degrees. 

--  

“You said you wanted to talk about something.” Tommy mumbles it against your shoulder as his hand sweeps across your belly. You draw in a deep breath, eyelids heavy with fatigue as you cuddle back into his chest. It's the closest you've gotten to this being normal, though Tommy had still taken a harsher line with you than other lovers had. He'd practically had you against the door, and had only moved the two of you to the bed when your knees had buckled.

You hadn't gone there with the intention of this happening twice in one day, truly you hadn't. It had sort of just...Happened.

“Hmm?”  

“You said,” Tommy lifts his chin, “When you turned up at my door,” He presses a kiss to your jaw, “That you had something you needed to discuss.” 

“I did, didn’t I.” 

“You see? I do listen when you speak, princess.” 

You smile a little. 

“Not well enough.” 

“Now why do you say that?” 

“If you were a better listener, I would’ve been able to state my purpose and then be on my way.” 

“‘M listening now.” 

“Doesn’t feel like it.” You glance down, sliding your finger over the back of Tommy’s hand. “...You know Polly’s having me followed?” 

“It's not just you, and it's not just Polly. It’s a precaution.” 

“It’s unnecessary.” 

“What do you want?”

You roll onto your back, looking up at him. “I want you to call off the dogs. I’m not a target. I’m not a threat. I don’t know anything, I wouldn’t be helpful to anyone that’s after you.” 

“They don’t know that.” 

“They’d be idiots to think I could be helpful.” 

“They are idiots. That’s why they’re our enemies. If they were smart, they’d join up.” 

“Join up?” Your brows raise. “It’s not the army, Tommy.” 

“No,” He shakes his head. “It’s the Peaky Blinders.” He raises his hand, sweeping his fingers across your forehead as he seems to consider what you've said. “I’ll talk to them about backing off the patrols.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Was that all?” 

“...Yes.” 

Tommy dips his head, lips brushing across yours. 

“Are you rushing out again?” He murmurs. 

“Yes.” 

“Go on then.” Tommy slips his tongue between your lips before you can move or speak. You raise a hand cupping his cheek and sighing softly. 

“I am,” You swear as the kiss breaks, as Tommy’s lips slip down to trail the line of your neck. 

“Mm,” Tommy hums, smoothing his handover your belly to swipe at your plump, slick cunt. “You know where the door is, princess.” 

-- 

You start to notice it more and more. You’re not sure if it’s because they’re more overt, or Polly’s warning has made you more conscious of it, but you start to note the usual suspects around your flat. It’s always the same one or two eyeing you as you leave your front door, drawing out their pocket watches and checking the time. Sometimes they send a boy running, surely reporting to Polly what time you’ve left. Other times, they climb into a car, or into a cart and are drawn away without offering you a ride (which, in your opinion, is fairly poor form). But after a few days, you can tell that Tommy's spoken to them, because they cease to appear.

The problem is, it’s not just men that you know from the Peaky Blinders that you see around. There are some that you see ducking away and glancing back warily, men in dark coats with a patch that you can’t quite make out on their arms. 

You see the same men around the offices, too, but you figure that the Peaky Blinders are already aware. They must know—they have eyes and ears all over the city. If there was something to be done about whoever those men are, they’d surely have done it by now. 

Still, you consider mentioning it to one of them. 

Arthur would just make fun of you, and John would probably make a pass, offer to guard the other side of your bed. You could tell Polly, but you don’t want an I told you so, or a lecture. You could tell Ada, but she may wave your concerns off, remind you that this is plenty normal. Tommy...Well, Tommy would surely take your worry as a chance to set the patrol back on again. So you choose to keep your mouth shut.

How could you know it would prove to be such a costly mistake?

--  

You know that you look a sight.

Any mirth or amusement that Tommy had at the fact you were on his doorstep again, any slick words about your not being able to keep away long, appear to die on his tongue. He reaches out, gripping you by the muddied sleeve and tugging you inside, pausing only to lock the door before towing you into the sitting room, and into better light. You shy away from his gaze, certain that your cheek is swelling, that your cut hand is dripping blood on his floor. Beneath your blouse, you know that there are bruises blooming, and you can’t imagine his face when he finally sees those. 

Maybe he won’t see them. Maybe he’ll order you home, send a doctor—

“I tried Pol’s first,” You admit, your wavering, raw voice cracking open the tense silence, “But she wasn’t home. And then the Garrison, but there were so many p-people there.” You wince as your breath catches in your throat, and close your eyes as tears prickle at them.

“Did you go into the Garrison?”

“No. No one saw me…Look, Tommy, I’m sorry I came here, but—”

“Who did this.” 

“—I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Princess.”

You open your eyes just a touch and can’t help but flinch when you see him raising his hands. He stills for just a moment before he lifts them to rest of the way, gently cupping your face by the jaw, avoiding the scrapes and swollen skin. 

“Look at me.” 

You do so grudgingly, afraid that you’ll see pity twisting his handsome features, but you find his gaze heavy on yours. 

“We’re going to get you cleaned up,” His eyes search yours, “And you’re going to tell me who the fuck laid a hand on you, so that I can scalp that sorry piece of shit and make them wish that they’d never been born.”

-- 

He does briefly still when he sees the bruises on your thighs, side, and stomach, but he doesn’t let it slow him for long. Maybe he’s used to such a sight on his brothers and soldiers; maybe he’s aware of the wariness with which you watch him. He presses a cool wet cloth to your cheek to help with the swelling, cleans the scrapes and cuts. He takes the longest with your hand, but that’s on you, a little. You can’t help your muscle twitching, or the sharp breath of pain that you draw in as he presses your fingers flat over the basin. 

“This is going to hurt,” He warns, a bottle of clear booze hovering over your hand. He doesn’t pour until you nod him on, and once he does, he gently shushes and soothes your pained whimpers, even as you try to squirm away from the near-blinding throbbing. The cut is long, but not deep enough that you’ll need stitches. 

As he tends to you, he has you tell him what happened, waiting patiently as you hesitate and stumble over your explanation:

“I was just walking home my usual way. There were these men, three of them.” You swallow thickly. “They wouldn’t stop yelling at me, and then they started following me.”

“Did you mouth off to them?”

“No. I was alone, I didn’t want to…” You shake your head. “Thought I could ignore them and they'd leave me alone. A lot of good it did me. They kept up until they had me on the ground, and I pretended to be unconscious.” 

“What happened to your hand?” 

“The blade was coming at my face. I panicked.” 

“You grabbed it?” 

“I couldn’t do anything else.” 

Tommy hums, nods, asks: “Did you get a good look at them?”

You shake your head, gaze lowering. “I’ve seen them around before, but I’m not sure I could pick them out again unless I was up close…But when I was trying to shove them off, I got this.” You raise your good hand, your non-dominant hand, and hold up a scrap of fabric. The fabric is dark red in the low light, with a sewn on patch—a St. George patch. Tommy takes it from your hand, eyeing it before he murmurs, “Good girl.” He sets it aside then, urging you to lift your hand from the basin and carefully wrapping it with gauze. 

“You’ll stay here tonight,” He orders. You just nod. You don’t have it in you to argue, and you know you’ll feel safer at Tommy’s, anyway.

You don’t gripe as you’re taken to the bed and given one of his henleys to sleep in. You don’t even complain about getting into bed alone. You just let the terror drain from your body as you drop off. 

-- 

“God, the state of her,” Polly tuts, eyeing the girls’ swollen cheek, her gauze-wrapped hand. Tommy says nothing, just waits in the doorway and watches Polly walk deeper inside to get a better look. He draws in a deep drag of his cigarette, his cheeks sinking with it. 

“She’ll be alright,” He insists, chest tight with smoke and sentiment. “I want you here when she wakes up.” 

“Where will you be?” 

“I have to make inquiries.” He fishes into his pocket, drawing out the fabric that she’d passed him as he was fixing her up. “She managed to get this off of one of ‘em.” 

Polly frowns, reaching out and taking hold of it. “I’ve seen this before.” 

“Nearby?” 

“There were a few around before the patrols started. And Esme's seen a few lingering around the Garrison. As soon as they get a whiff of John or Arthur, they clear off." 

Tommy sighs, the smoke pushing through his nose as he shakes his head. 

“I should never have let her talk me into changing around her patrol,” He mutters.

“You did what.” Polly’s tone goes sharp. Tommy’s glance drifts back to the bed. 

“She asked,” He nods to the bed. “Didn't like being kept so close an eye on. I told Scud and Johnny Dogs to ease up.” 

He doesn’t flinch when Polly raises her hands, shoving his shoulders harshly as she hisses, “You could’ve gotten her killed.” 

Tommy looks to the floor, his jaw tensing as he absently taps the ash from his cigarette. 

“It won’t happen again.” 

“The next time it does, she’ll be dead—” 

“It won’t. Happen. Again,” He insists, meeting Polly’s eye. She narrows her eyes slightly before turning back to the bed. 

“Go on, then,” She insists, waving him off. “Handle the bastards. Send the rats scurrying back to whatever hole they crawled out of.” 

“You’ll call if you need anything.” 

“We’ll be fine. Something tells me I won’t have to deal with much of her lip today.” 

Tommy gives a small nod, allowing himself just one more look at her before he leaves. 

-- 

You’re in and out of consciousness all day. When you’re awake, you’re riddled with pain, until Polly presses the rounded lip of a bottle to your mouth and urges you to drink. Whatever it is tastes bitter, and makes your head spin. 

“There you are,” She murmurs, “Take a deep breath, close your eyes…Count back from a hundred….” 

When you wake again—when you resurface into consciousness, and it holds—the sky is dark. Your head swims, and you wince as you use your weaker arm to push yourself to sit up. You’ve never really gotten the chance to look at Tommy’s room before. It’s fairly barebones, but not unwelcoming. A few books, a bottle of whisky and a glass, a clean ashtray. You wince a little as your cheek throbs, and you raise your hand curiously, skimming your fingers over the swollen skin. It doesn’t feel hot, like it did yesterday. You jolt a bit as you hear the door open, and you and Tommy go still at the sight of one another. He snaps into action before you do, raising his hand to draw his cigarette out from between his lips. 

“Are you hungry?” He asks. You’re certain you should be, but you shake your head. 

“No.” 

“Thirsty?” 

“...A little.” 

“Water?” 

“Whiskey.” 

His brows raise, but he doesn’t ask as he walks over to his bedside table. 

“Still hurts, then,” He surmises as he pours two finger’s worth. 

“Yes.” 

“Your side?” 

“A little.” 

“Cheek?” 

“Yes.” 

“Hand?” 

“...Yes.” 

“Head?” 

“...Not as much hurt, but…”

“Fog.” 

“Yes.” 

"Mm." Tommy lowers himself to sit on the edge of the bed, holding the glass out to you as he says, “That’s from what Polly gave you.” 

“What was it?” 

“Pento-barbital from Compton’s Chemists. Drink up.” 

You take it, drawing in a sip. 

“...What time is it?” You ask. 

“A little after midnight.” 

“Where’ve you been?” 

“Getting answers.” 

“About what?” 

Tommy tips his head toward you a touch in mocking disbelief, and you don’t need him to say a thing more. You just nod a little. 

“That scrap of cloth you gave me," He says, "The red fabric with the patch.” 

“Mhm?” 

“Belongs to the Booth boys.” 

“Out of Camden?” 

“Mhm.” 

Your brow furrows. “What are they doing up here?” 

“Trying to kick up a fight.” 

“So what happens now?” 

“We give them what they asked for.” 

Your stomach lurches, threatening to unseat your sip. You shake your head, looking down into your glass. 

“Don’t.” 

“Don’t what.” 

“Don’t start anything.” 

“They started it, not us.”

“I’m not worth going to war over, Tommy.” 

“...Look at me, princess.” 

When he lifts his hand this time, you don’t jump. He tucks two curled fingers beneath your chin, tipping your head up to look at him. 

“I will burn a path from here to where those bastards lay in Camden town if it means you’ll be safe. Do you hear me?” He leans back as it sinks into you, cutting through the muddle and fog in your head. 

You nod a little, lowering your gaze to his hand as he rests it on your thigh. You raise your own uninjured one, gently tracing the back of it. What the hell have those hands gotten up to today that you don’t know about, that you haven’t seen? Did he fire a gun? Did he pay off a cop? Punch someone? Strangle a man? And for what? You? 

“We’re upping your patrol,” Tommy warns, “And I won’t take any argument about it.”

“Alright.” 

Tommy turns his hand over in yours, fingers sweeping gently over the soft of your wrist as you take another sip of your drink. You offer it to Tommy once you have, and he drains it before holding it up. 

“Another one?” 

“No,” You shake your head. Tommy grunts, making to stand, but stills when you tighten your grip on his hand. “Stay until I fall asleep?” 

You expect him to laugh at you, but he draws his cigarette from between his lips and stubs it out. He holds the covers up, waiting for you to shuffle down and into a more comfortable position before he climbs into bed beside you, carefully curling an arm around your middle. You peer up at the ceiling in quiet, watching the shadows that the dying fire casts. 

“How’s the pain?”

“...It’s been worse.” 

“You want more of Polly’s medicine?” Tommy asks after a moment. 

“No.” “You’re certain?” 

“Mhm.” 

You don’t want the muddle, even if it means the pain swells and cuts through the fog. You just want the memory of Tommy’s arm, and his steady heart and breathing, and his promise to burn the men that hurt you.

– 

You get nods from Arthur and John the day you return to work. You offer them in turn on your way to your desk. You go still when you get there, brow furrowing as you spot nothing but papers. You shrug your coat off and throw it over your seat before you stride over Polly. 

“Welcome back.”

“Where’s my typewriter?”

“Arguing already. I suppose that bed rest did you some good.”

“Polly.” 

“Your hand is still healing. You’ll work sorting slips and counting for the next few days. Come Friday we’ll see how well you can type.” 

You sigh softly, before you nod, muttering, “Alright.”

“How does your hand feel, anyway?”

“Sore. Itchy.”

“Itchy is good. Means the skin’s healing.” She holds her hand out, and you raise yours, watching as she unwraps the gauze. She tips your hand to and fro, eyeing the stretching, raised scab. “Looks better than the last time I saw it.”

“It would almost have to.”

“Not necessarily,” She gives a small shake of her head. “You’re lucky the blade wasn’t rusty.” 

You give a grudging nod of concession as Polly rewraps the bandage neatly. 

“Why didn’t you come to me when this happened?” She asks. “I was closer than Thomas.”

“I did. You weren’t home.” 

Polly considers, lips twisting as though she’s just sucked a lemon. 

“I must’ve been running an errand.”

“I don’t need an explanation, Polly,” You insist. “You’re not my keeper, and I’m not family. I wouldn’t have expected you to drop everything.” 

She nods, gaze flitting to someone over your shoulder before she nods you away. 

“Get to your sorting,” She orders. “We don’t pay you to stand around.” 

—

That thick envelope that you receive during the following week makes you feel like they have started paying you to stand around. It’s more than you should’ve been given, at any rate. You bite the inside of your cheek, an inordinate amount of irritation welling up as you stride toward Tommy’s office.

It's been almost pleasant between the two of you these last few days, with Tommy dropping in to see how you're healing up. He hasn't touched you, wary of your still-healing body, but the bruises have faded and the cuts are nearly gone. You haven't said a word of complaint about spotting Scud and Johnny Dogs on the other side of the street when you leave your flat, or when you're making your way home.

It's a shame, you think. It's a shame Tommy's chosen to act like an ass when you've been getting on so well. You don’t knock, you just shove open his door, step in, and slam it shut again before holding up the envelope. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” 

He hardly glances up from his racing papers as you snap at him. He takes his damn time answering, too, turning the page before simply offering: 

“Payday.”

“It’s too much.”

“I don’t hear that often.”

“You paid me in full.”

“Per our contract. Don’t like it, you can take it up with the courts.”

“Thomas.” You round the desk, shoving his paper aside. “Fucking look at me.” 

His icy gaze flickers toward you boredly, a lagging pillar of ash bobbing at the end of the cigarette perched between his lips. He pointedly smooths the wrinkles that you made in his paper. You hold the envelope up again.

“I wasn’t here enough for this. I missed an entire day off and I couldn’t type again until last Friday.” 

“You sorted slips. We pay you for that.” 

“And the rest?”

“Injury leave.”

“There’s no such fucking thing.”

“Sure there is.” He plucks his cigarette from between his lips, tapping the ash into a dish on his desk. “Anything else?” 

“Yeah.” You yank the envelope open, drawing out half of the bills and slamming them onto his desk. “I’m not fucking taking it.” You whirl away with the intention of storming out, but you hear the scrape of his chair and see the slam of his hand against the wood of the door before you can open it. The others in the office hardly glance up, though you do see Polly’s head tip a touch back toward you before she goes back to her work. 

“...Step back from the door,” Tommy orders lowly. You grudgingly let go of the handle, allowing Tommy to steer you away from it and into the chair across from his desk. He steps around to the front of the desk, his arms tucked across his chest as he stares down at you. 

“You were paid fairly,” He insists, “For the work that you’ve done in the last week and a half. You turned up every day, you sorted slips, you counted out cash and helped with the books.” 

“I’ve slowed down the correspondence.”

“Not by much. In fact, we’ve still been moving at such a clip that I’ve considered firing you.” 

Your face falls with irritation, even as Tommy’s brows raise teasingly.

“Thomas.” 

He waves you off, unfolding his arms and reaching down to the stack of bills on the desk. 

“You did your job, and I’m paying you for it. Alright?” 

You hesitate before you nod a touch, taking the proffered cash. 

“Don’t make a habit of it,” You warn as you tuck it away again. 

“Understood.” 

You stand, only making it a few steps away before Tommy’s fingers close around your wrist to still you.

“Will you be home tonight?” He asks.  

“Yes.” 

“Not heading to the Garrison for a pint on payday?”

“I still have whiskey.”

“Good. Save me some.” He reaches into his pocket, drawing out the keys to his motorcar. “Tell John to drive you home. Storm’s coming in, I don’t want you walking in the rain.”

“I don’t mind it.”

“I do. Take the keys.” When you don’t reach for them, Tommy makes a pointed sigh, stepping around you to open the door. He whistles loudly before barking, “John!” 

You wince, muttering, “Christ.” 

John arrived a few moments later, chirps, “Yeah, Tommy.”

“Drive her home.” Tommy tosses the keys to John before he gives your wrist a squeeze and nudges you toward John. “Go on. And mind the puddles, or you’ll be the one giving the car a wipe-down. Come right back when you’re done. Family meeting.” 

“C’mon,” John nods you over his shoulder, urging you out. You sigh softly, tucking your earnings into your bag and shifting it onto your shoulder. You follow John grumpily, refusing to turn and meet Tommy’s eye as you go. 

—- 

You almost don’t let him in when he knocks later. When you do, you just open the door and turn away without a word of greeting. Tommy shuts the door behind himself, tucking his cigarette between his lips so that he can comfortably shrug off his coat. 

“What was the meeting about?” You ask. 

“That’s none of your concern.”

“I tried to get it out of John, but he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Probably because he didn’t know.” 

You grunt and pluck up your bottle of whiskey from where it’s been waiting on the table, pouring some for each of you. You pick up yours, taking a drink before Tommy can reach his. 

“You’re not gonna make a toast?” He asks as he picks his glass up. 

“To what?” 

“How about my car? A toast to my car.” 

“I don’t give a damn about your car, Thomas.” 

“You just haven’t spent enough time in it.”

“This afternoon was more than enough.”

“I disagree.” Tommy sips his whiskey, eyeing you closely before he says, “Tell you what. I’ll take you for a drive tomorrow.” 

“...What for?”

“Some air.” 

“There’s plenty of air in Birmingham.” 

“I’m talking about rarefied country air. Fresh. Clean.” Tommy sets the glass aside. “You spent half of last week in my bed and I couldn’t lay a hand on you. We've a lot to make up for.”

You grimace, looking down into your glass.  

“You didn’t want me that way,” You insist. He frowns. 

“What d’you mean?”

“Broken.” 

Tommy’s expression goes dark. He sets his glass down and reaches out, curling his hands around your hips and drawing you in. Your steps are lagged, and you keep your hands and focus on your drink. 

“Those men didn’t break you, princess.” 

“Feels like they did.” 

Tommy doesn’t answer that. He just gives you a squeeze, pats your hip, and orders, “Drink your whiskey.” 

When he doesn’t stay long, or tow you back to your bedroom—when he simply tells you to be dressed in your best and ready to go by four in the afternoon—you’re certain that he was just talking out his ass. Thomas Shelby thinks that you’re as broken as you feel, and you can’t blame him. 

-- 

The day is a spectacularly pretty one, and it makes you want to curse Thomas Shelby’s name. How is the day so lovely and in his favor? First the man fixes horse races, and now he’s found a way to fix the weather? Aside from a single unexpected visitor, there’s nothing that mars your morning. 

You can’t deny the way that your mood brightens as you leave the city behind, driving into the open air with the top of Tommy’s car down. You almost want to close your eyes and tip your head back, savoring the sun and the breeze. 

“Where are we going?” You ask after he’s been driving a while. 

“You’ll see, princess.” 

You sigh softly, glancing around. You take in the tall, waving grass and the rustling of leaves in the trees for silence for a bit before speaking up again: 

“Polly came to see me this morning.” 

It’s a moment before Tommy replies, and when he does, he seems bored and unaffected.

“Did she.”

“Mhm.”

“She have anything interesting to say?”

“Depends on what you consider interesting, I guess.” 

“You clearly do, since you considered it worth mentioning.” 

You go quiet again, gaze set through the windshield. She’d demanded tea, issued you a light warning, taken a single sip, and left. 

“She told me that what you did wasn’t just for me," You admit. "That if you didn’t retaliate, the Booth boys would take it as open season on the Peaky Blinders.”

“...That’s true enough. Does it upset you?” 

“No.”

He sighs softly, turning off of a road and down a short dirt path before he puts the car into park and shuts it down. 

“Look,” He twists to face you, resting his hand on the back of the seat. “You know who I am. You know what we do. You know how we protect our own.” 

“Yes.”

“If you stay in the car, you’ll hear something you may not like, but something you’ll be able to forget. If you walk past that tree line with me, it’ll change you.” 

You consider for a moment, casting a wary eye toward the treeline. 

“What’s out there?” You ask, nodding toward it. 

“Retribution.” 

Nerves twist through your body like a hot knife. Your hands flex around the purse in your lap. When you don’t move or reply, Tommy gets out of the car, walking around to your side and opening the door. He holds his hand out and crisply orders: “Decide.” 

Your gaze darts warily between his hand and the trees. 

“Is it safe?” You ask. 

“I wouldn’t have brought you here if I couldn’t guarantee your protection.” Tommy takes a step closer, eyes boring cooly into yours.  “Do you trust me?” 

You’ve been in bed with this man. You’ve gone to him for satisfaction, for comfort, for safety. You’ve trusted him to take care of you before. Why should it be any different now? 

You draw in a deep breath before you reach out, taking hold of Tommy’s hand. 

“Leave the bag,” He urges to the bench seat, “No one’ll take it. There's no one around here, really.” 

You set the purse aside, letting Tommy lead you from the car. The grass brushes and scratches your legs through your hose. You hear voices as you grow closer, and you slow, but Tommy gives your hand a gentle squeeze, murmuring, “C’mon.” You follow him reluctantly, dragging your feet just a little. You relax as you spot John and Arthur smoking by a tree nearby. They’re both jovial, both smiling wide, even when they spot you. 

“There she is,” Arthur reaches out, clapping you roughly on the shoulder. You note his scraped up knuckles as he does, the fresh cuts, the blood. 

“Took you long enough,” John grumbles, turning an irritated moue toward Tommy. “Figures you’d miss out on all the hard work.” 

“It was hard enough work coming out here today,” Tommy argues, “And it’s not about to get any easier.” 

He nods you closer, leading the group of you deeper into the woods. You see the holes, first, and your stomach lurches as you catch sight of something within moving. You go completely still, throat tightening with panic. This time, Tommy lets you stop. 

“Tommy,” You breathe.

“Come on.” 

“What did you do.” 

“Jack all,” John mutters, resting his hand on your lower back as he helps to steer you closer.  There are three holes side by side, long, and shallow, each with a bound, blindfolded, squirming man laying in them. Your stomach threatens to heave and unseat your breakfast; your breathing becomes tight, and nervous. 

“Thomas.” 

He turns on you, letting go of your hand in favor of cupping your cheeks to focus you on him. 

“You can still turn back,” He says firmly. “You can turn right around and wait in the car, and we can deal with this. But you need to decide now.” 

It’s a way out, a last chance. Glancing between Arthur and John, you find them watching you expectantly. You swallow thickly past the growing lump in your throat, push out the sounds of the men in the ground below you, and keep your gaze fixed on Tommy’s. 

“What do you want me to do.” 

“Atta girl!”  Arthur’s voice thunders as he slaps your arm roughly, as John gives your shoulders an encouraging shake, as Tommy’s lips curl into a wide, proud smile. 

– 

“It's done now.” 

Tommy’s words had just managed to push through the gunshots echoing through your ears, through the feeling of him pulling the weapon from your shaking hands, and the sight of the last man in the ground going completely still from the shots that you fired. 

The ride back home had been filled with the raucous chatter of Arthur and John. It was a wonder that they had any energy after digging and filling the graves. You had sat in the front with Tommy, his hand heavy and warm, tucking the fabric of your favorite dress between your thighs. Tommy had declined an invite to grab a drink at the Garrison for both of you, instead driving you home at an almost alarming speed. 

He keeps close, now. It’s not like the other night, distance and carefully measured disinterest. He’s right up against you as he waits for you to open the door. He hardly lets either of you get a glass of whiskey finished before he’s nudging you back against the counter of your kitchen. He cups your cheeks, sweeping his thumbs along your cheekbones as his eyes search yours. 

“How does it feel?” He murmurs. 

“The whiskey?” 

He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head as he presses his chest to yours. 

“Being one of us.”

You consider, lowering your gaze to his throat. His hands smooth down the side of your neck; you can see him tipping his head to the side in your periphery. 

“Does it scare you?” He presses. 

“No.”

“I’m gonna need you to look me in the eye when you say that, princess.” 

You tip your chin up, forcing your face into a firm set, the likes of which Tommy hasn’t gotten since you’d snapped at him in his office. 

“It doesn’t scare me.” 

“Good.”

“It makes me happy.” 

“What we did makes you happy?” Tommy presses. “Killing a man makes you happy?” 

“Keeping us safe makes me happy,” You snap. Tommy dips his head, brushing his lips gently against yours. It's genle, but it doesn't quiet your worries.

“Tommy.” 

“Mm?” 

“What if it doesn’t stop?” 

He leans away, brow furrowing as he gets a better look at you. You swipe your tongue nervously across your lips, clarifying: “What if the Booths keep coming after us?” 

“They won’t.” 

“But if they do—” 

“I’ll handle it.”  

“But if you need help—” 

“That’s for the boys an’ me to handle.” 

“Then why’d you have me there today?” 

“That wasn’t for me, princess. That was for you.” 

Your brow furrows, and Tommy tuts softly. 

“I told you,” He strokes his knuckles along your previously-swollen cheek. “Retribution. You needed it.” 

“And you’ll always do what’s best for me?” 

Tommy pushes a soft sigh out through his nose, gripping your chin up and tipping your head toward him. 

“I will do what’s best as I see fit.” 

“For me?” 

“For everyone.” 

“For yourself.”

“What d’you want? Mm?” His grip tightens on your jaw. “You want me to fall all over you, swear my undying love and fealty? You want me to tell you that I'll only act with you in mind? You listen to me, and you listen close. You’re never going to get that from me, princess.” 

You nod slightly, a lump forming in your throat as you mumble, “I know.” 

“Then don’t ask it of me.” 

“Then don’t,” You lean into it, your resolve hardening, “Feed me a crock of shit, that you’re going to—burn a path from here to Camden just because someone touched me.” 

“The only person in the world that gets to touch you is me. You know I’m never going to hurt you.” 

“Polly told me you would.”

“Polly says a lot of things.” 

“She always means them.” 

“That doesn’t mean she’s always right.” 

“You sure about that?” 

“Oh, I’d put money on it. I’m a gambling man, princess.” 

Tommy’s kiss is biting and swift, and it makes your stomach flutter. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he uses his grasp on your jaw to steer you back against your rickety kitchen table. You let him, grasping his jacket roughly and hauling him closer as you scooch back onto the table, spreading your legs for him to slot between. He lowers his hands, shoving the skirt of your dress up around your thighs. You watch as he grasps your ankle, drawing it up and deftly working off the buckle of your t-strap heel. He takes hold of the next, doing away with it with the same speed, and shifting to avoid the heels when you kick them off. 

Tommy grips the neckline of your dress, giving it a harsh yank. You hear the fabric rip, and you mean to gripe, but you can’t get a word out. Tommy ducks his head, sucking harsh kisses to your neck. The ripping doesn’t stop. His biceps bulge with it as he yanks the weakening fabric roughly. It takes such force that he groans in irritation and fatigue, palms red with exertion, finally shoving the ruined garment down around your shoulders. He grins at the sight of your lacy brasserie and garter belt as the fabric drops away. 

“You dressed for me, ah?” 

“I thought we were going to the country for fun,” You admit, tipping your chin down as Tommy’s hands slip beneath the torn fabric of your dress, sweeping along your back. “I thought you were going to lay me down and fuck me in a field.” 

He chuckles against your skin as his teeth scrape against the swell of your breast where it peeks out above the lace. 

“Maybe next time,” He murmurs. “It would do you some good.” 

“Your cock?” 

“Country air,” He nips your skin, “And my cock.” 

A giggle bubbles up in your throat, spilling over before you can stop it. You raise your hand, smoothing your fingers through his hair as he undoes your brasserie. The fabric droops, sagging around your shoulders with the ripped dress. Tommy sweeps his tongue over your pebbling nipple. You arch up against his questing lips and tongue, knees twitching around his thighs. 

He draws back with a slick slurp, catching your lips as he urges you up and off of the table. You follow him back to your bedroom, wiggling your arms to shake loose the remnants of your dress, and the slipping straps of your bra. You let it fall to the ground and make to step around it, but before you can get far, Tommy hooks his arm around your middle. He presses kisses to your neck and shoulders as you reach back, working at the fastenings of his trousers. He lets go, giving you a shove toward the bed. You twist before you land, your back hitting the mattress before you slide back a bit. 

Tommy raises his hands, slowly undoing the buttons on his waistcoat, then his shirt. You watch as he shrugs off the waistcoat, then pushes off his suspenders. Your gaze drifts even lower to where he’s hard in his trousers as he drifts toward you lazily. You raise your hand, stroking your fingers between your breasts. You smile widely as he watches the track of your finger, as you smooth your palm over your garter belt, then slip a finger further down, flicking at the clip holding up your stocking. 

To your utter shock, Tommy kneels down in front of you. He curls his fingers around the top of the gauzy fabric, rolling it down. He turns his head, brushing his lips against your calf. He trails his kisses up and up, nipping gently at the meat of your thigh before he reaches up, teasing his fingers under the strap of the other garter. 

“Undo it,” He murmurs. You reach down, undoing it. Tommy keeps his eyes on yours, nuzzling your flesh as he rolls the next stocking down. 

“You’re being awfully nice,” You frown. He smiles. 

“I’ve already ripped enough of your pretty things. May as well not owe you for the stockings as well as the dress.” 

“And you will owe me for the dress.” 

“I’ll buy you a warehouse full of dresses just for me to tear off of you, princess.” 

“Make sure the seams are loose on them, will you? I thought you were going to burst, trying to rip my dress apart in the kitchen—Tommy!” You cackle as Tommy gives your thigh an honest-to-god bite before he springs up over you.

-- 

The first time is as frantic, as rushed as all the times before. The second time, Tommy lets you steer, shove him around a little, move him as you like, take what you want. The third is deliciously new. Tommy draws you onto his lap and guides you down onto his cock. 

You shudder, nails digging into the pale muscle of his shoulders as you sink down onto him. Your eyes slide shut against the low light of the room, and the enduring brightness of Tommy’s eyes. You can feel him watching you, even as you tip your chin back and lean into him to just feel. Tommy’s hands smooth over your thighs as you shake around him. He presses his face into your neck, and you feel his moan as you draw yourself up before easing back down. You move slowly, your legs already burning with the rounds before. You’re sweaty, and a little boneless, but you still feel so damn needy for him. You slide your hand up over his closely-cropped hair as the two of you begin to move as one. He grunts and murmurs his own pleasure, sliding a hand down to cup your ass and urge you on: 

“Just like that, princess.” 

Neither of you let up until the other has cum, until Tommy is tipping you back into your mussed sheets to dot your neck with and chest with kisses. You let your thighs splay, blinking up at the dim ceiling as your heartbeat calms, and you settle. 

“...Why d’you call me that?” You mumble. 

“Call you what?” 

“Princess,” You shift your tone to mimic him. He chuckles, nipping your shoulder. 

“You used to walk around the office with your nose in the air, like we were all beneath you.” 

“I did not!” 

“Mm, you did.” Tommy rests his chin on your shoulder. “But it went off the boil quickly enough, once you realized that if you wanted to live, you’d have to get down on the mud with the rest of us.” 

“And is that where I am now?” You slide your fingers through his hair. “In the mud?” 

“Does this feel like a bed of roses?” 

You smile, shrugging. “Could be worse.” 

Tommy hums, reaching up and stroking his knuckles along your jaw. He seems to think for a moment before he asks, “Polly said I would hurt you?” 

“Mhm.” 

“What else did she say?” 

“That I was playing with fire.” 

“Does this feel like fire?” 

“It won’t.” 

“Oh no?” 

“Not unless you’ve given me the clap. And if you have, Thomas Shelby,” Your smile widens as he laughs, “I’ll chop your cock off.” 

“No fear of that.” 

“No? Is that a promise?” 

“You have my word, princess.”

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ;  @paintballkid711 ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @nolanell ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce

[bingwriterxo]

backseat

pairing: vada cavell x reader

summary: in which you accidentally make vada jealous

warnings: smut (character is 18+), 18+ (minors DNI), fingering, strap-on sex

word count: 2200+

author's note: killed multiple birds with one stone on this one. also, never wrote strap-on smut before, so hope this is ok...

"You've got this, Y/N," Mia whispered, her face hovering close to yours, voice barely loud enough to hear over the music blaring through her home. "Just...focus."

"I'm trying," you said, your arm raised, a ping pong ball gripped between your forefinger and thumb. "But someone is breathing over my shoulder."

"Oh." She took a step back. "Is that better?"

"Much." You closed one eye, aimed at the last red solo cup on the opposite end of the table, and took your shot. The ball soared through the air, and you swore that time stopped for a moment. Both you and Mia froze as the ball circled the rim of the cup once, twice, before finally dropping in and declaring you guys the winners.

Mia threw her arms around your shoulders in a tight hug. "Let's go!" she squealed,

You flipped off your opponents. "Suck it, bitches!"

"Oh, real classy!" Nick scoffed, taking a sip of his drink. He reached into the cup, pulled out the ball, and threw it at you. It lamely brushed against your side before falling to the ground, rolling off somewhere.

"I declare a rematch!" Vada yelled. "A rematch is being declared!"

Mia pulled away from you. "Nuh-uh! You guys lost fair and square." She pointed down to the cups that were still on the table--the almost full triangle that Nick and Vada had been unable to get rid of. "It's not our fault you guys suck!"

"Yeah! Losers!" you shouted, joining in on the teasing. "Maybe you guys should actually try to be good at the game. That might help."

Vada frowned, her eyebrows furrowing a little, and you wanted to kiss away the wrinkle that formed between them. "You guys are sore winners."

You grinned, crossing the length of the table to take her in your arms. "Aw, don't be so upset, baby," you cooed, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. "S'not our faults you're bad at pong."

She groaned. "I think you cheated. There's literally no other explanation, because Nick and I are beasts at pong. We are the unbeatable pair. We never lose, so you must have cheated. Maybe you rigged the ball, or maybe--"

"Or maybe I'm just good at this game?" you interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no. That can't be it."

You giggled, pulling back from your girlfriend. She didn't let you get far, her own arms snaking around your waist and tugging you back toward her.

"Thought you wanted a rematch?"

Vada shrugged. "That can wait," she said shortly, her eyes flitting down to your lips. She leaned up and kissed you, deep enough that you could taste the vodka on her breath. You hummed against her, a thought sparking in your alcohol-hazed mind.

"I need another drink," you murmured when she pulled away. When she frowned, you asked, "Do you want to come with me?"

"The kitchen is so far, though," she whined, stomping her feet a little like a child, and you chuckled, glancing behind you; the two of you were, maybe, ten steps away from where all of the liquor was.

"Ever the drama queen, Vads," you said. You untangled yourself from her, taking one of her hands loosely in your fingers. "But I need a drink."

She grumbled in defeat but nodded her head. "I'll wait here 'til you return from your journey."

You shook her head, a soft smile on your lips. "I'll be two minutes." You kissed her again and ventured off to the kitchen, your eyes trained on the tequila that Mia had generously bought for the party.

You grabbed a new cup, poured a healthy amount of tequila into it, and topped it off with the nearest mixer you could find--fruit punch. It was a strange combination, but you decided that it wasn't entirely unwelcome when you tasted the drink.

Spinning on your heel, your mind was fully set on finding Vada again and maybe pulling her into the living room, where all of the furniture had been pushed against the walls to create a dance floor. However, you barely got a step in before you immediately collided with another person, your drink spilling down your front.

"Oh, shit!" the person cursed. "Sorry, dude."

You glanced up, catching sight of Kayden, the self-anointed stoner of your grade and...your ex-boyfriend. He was grinning down at you, pearly-whites on display, and you smiled back, glad for once that you two had ended on good terms, or else the interaction would've been more than awkward.

"S'all good, Kayd," you said, bringing up a hand and swatting at any of the extra liquid that hadn't seeped into your shirt yet. Luckily, you had chosen to wear black, so you could barely see the spill. Unluckily, the top didn't cover much, which meant most of your drink landed on bare skin. "Although I am a little sticky now."

"C'mon." He grabbed your wrist. "Lemme help with that." He tugged you toward the sink, and you followed with a shrug, ignoring the neon-red, flashing sign in your head that screamed Don't!

You squeezed past people until you made it to the sink. Kayden already had it turned on, and there was a paper towel in his hand that he ran beneath the water until it was soaked. He whirled around, immediately pressing the paper towel to your stomach. You squealed at the coldness of it, a shiver running down your spine.

"Fuck," you whined. "You couldn't have used warm water?"

He chuckled. "Sorry, man," he drawled. "Too late for that."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, no shit. Gimme that." You took the paper towel from his hand to wipe yourself off, but the damage was already done.

"Y/N." Her voice was loud, her tone short. You whipped around, your eyes wide as they landed on a pissed-looking Vada. She stood a few feet away, her arms crossed over her chest and her lips pulled into a deep frown. "What the fuck?" she seethed.

You ignored the voice in your head that was telling you she looked hot, hot, hot all mad like that, and the stirring in your lower belly, and focused on trying to save yourself. "Vads, baby, it's not--"

She lunged forward and grabbed your forearm, the paper towel slipping from your grasp and landing on the floor. Without a second word, she was yanking you through the party. You passed by your friends--Mia with a smirk on her face and Nick with his eyebrows furrowed--and offered them a shrug, just as confused as Nick seemed.

Your confusion only grew as you were tugged out the front door, down the porch steps, through the maze of cars in the driveway, and out the gate.

"Vada, where--"

Things started to click when your own car loomed in the distance. The two of you were approaching the vehicle quickly, and you fumbled around in your pocket for your keys. When you found them, you pushed the button to unlock the doors, perfectly timing it as Vada pulled on the handle and all but threw you into the backseat. It never failed to surprise you whenever she showed how strong she really was.

She climbed in after you, slammed the door shut, and then her lips were on yours, feverish and hot and mad. You moaned against her, trying to push yourself to sit up, but she didn't let you, one hand pressing down on your hip while the other was holding herself up.

She pulled away for the smallest second, and in the light of the streetlamp, you could see that her eyes were half-lidded, dark, and angry. Her head dipped down to your jaw, planting open-mouthed kisses along your skin, before dropping to your neck, teeth nipping and tongue soothing the bites.

"Vads," you breathed out, your hips bucking up.

"You're mine," she gritted into your neck, her leg coming up and pressing against your center.

You groaned, rolling your hips into her thigh and whining at the little contact you got. "Vads, baby, please."

Her hand flew down, fumbling with the button of your pants, and you giggled a little at her ineptness. She glared at you, all signs of possessiveness diminished. "A little help here?"

"Sure, sweetheart." You reached down, knocking her hand to the side, and undid your own pants. Almost as soon as you were done, Vada's hand was pushing yours out of the way so that she could pull your pants down your thighs and slip beneath your underwear, and you whimpered at the feeling of her brushing through your folds.

"Fuck, you're wet," she groaned, two fingers slipping into you easily as her thumb ran over your clit in tight circles.

You sighed at the feeling, hips careening upward as she curled her fingers. "Always for you, baby."

She nipped at your neck again and then pulled her head up, staring down at you. That dark look was back, the kind that made your knees buckle and had you knowing that Vada would have you seeing stars.

"For me? Yeah? Or for Kayden." There was venom in her voice when she said his name, and she thrusted into you harder, a moan slipping past your lips at the pressure.

"You, Vads." You gasped as her fingers curled into the rough spot in you. "Just--just you."

Her pace quickened, her fingers dragging against your walls and her thumb never ceasing on your clit. Your orgasm was fast approaching, urged on by Vada kissing your chest, your neck, your lips--anything she could reach.

"Fuck," you whimpered. "I'm gonna cum." At your words, Vada swiftly pulled out, and you were left a whining mess beneath her. "Vada!" you cried. "I was so close!"

She didn't spare you a second glance as her hand rushed down to her basketball shorts, pushing them down her legs. You furrowed your eyebrows.

"Yeah, I don't think we have room for scissori--" You were cut short by the feel of silicone pressing against your thigh, and you gulped. "You wore--"

"Was hoping the night would end like this," Vada confessed. "Well, not exactly like this. I didn't wanna see your ex trying to clean you off, or whatever the fuck that was, and I was kinda hoping we would be in a bed and not the backseat of your car, but--"

You rolled your eyes, reaching down and tugging on the fake cock between her legs. She gasped and her hips pushed forward, knocking the head of the toy against your folds. "You gonna ramble or are you gonna fuck me?" you teased, grinning at the furrow of her brows.

"Fuck you," she spat, and you were about to repeat the words right back to her when she sank in, pushing the air straight from your lungs and pulling a high-pitched moan from your lips. "Not so bratty now, huh?"

She drove her hips forward, forcing you to take the entire length. You squealed, pleasure rushing through every vein. Your hands shot up and wrapped around her back, nails digging into her t-shirt. She didn't give you a moment to adjust as she pulled out before pushing right back in, setting a brutal pace.

"Jesus, fuck," you groaned, throwing your head back. "It--You feel so good."

She leaned down, her full body weight on you as she fucked into you, lips pressed against your ear. "Can Kayden fuck you like this?" she grunted, her hips speeding up as she said his name.

You could barely hear her over the feeling of her cock in you, drowning out all of your thoughts as she thrusted harder, faster. Vada pulled back, sat up on her knees, and pushed your thighs up, making her go deeper. You gasped, whined, reached to bring her back to you, but she stayed up, pounding harder.

"I said, can Kayden fuck you like this?" she repeated between groans.

"No," you breathed out. "Just you, Vads."

She smirked, cocky, victorious. "God, you're such a good girl." The praise nearly had you falling off the edge, orgasm just out of reach. "My good girl. Takin' my cock so good."

"Fuck, baby. Gonna cum. So close," you babbled.

Her hips started to stutter, letting you know that she was right there with you. She reached down, thumb circling your clit, and you came with a low groan, the sound scratching itself out of your throat.

Vada kept pumping with half-assed thrusts, and you clenched around her, sensitive. "I'm right there," she grunted. She dropped your legs and all but fell onto you. "Fuck, fuck, gonna--"

She moaned into your ear as her orgasm hit, her hips finally slowing. You shuddered beneath her, walls fluttering around the cock still buried in you.

"Jesus, baby," you panted. "Guess I gotta talk to Kayden more often at parties."

She pushed herself up, glaring at you. "Don't even." She slipped out of you, and you shivered, watching as she pulled her shorts up. "Gonna have to wash these shorts when we get home."

You nodded, pulling her back on top of you even though you were hot and sweaty and still a little sticky from your drink. "Gonna have to wash myself when we get home."

Vada grinned against your neck. "I can help you with that."

bonus: "where do you think they're going?" nick asked as he watched vada drag you out the front door.

"i don't think we want to know," mia said.

"should we go after them?"

"definitely not."

[viesanterieures]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒖𝒔𝒆

Robert Fischer (Inception) x female Reader

summary: The reader works as an artist who has never had a breakthrough until she decides to paint Robert.

warnings: this is a kinda cute and funny story so… no warnings :)

word count: 2500+

Masterlist

The air was warm as Robert turned into the familiar driveway. It was late October in Sydney, summer was just around the corner and the driveway was full of flowers and other plants. Today was Sunday, one of the few days he had to himself and his friends. During the week, he worked from early morning until late at night, as befits the future CEO of a multi-million dollar empire. Before he had even rung the bell, the door opened and a woman with shoulder-length brown hair pulled him into her arms. "Robert, how nice of you to come. We haven't seen each other in at least two months."

He laughed a little and patted his best friend on the shoulder. "I've had a lot on my mind, I'm sorry, Rebecca." Robert had known her since they were children. They had gone to kindergarten together and Rebecca was two years younger than him. All the friendships of his childhood, youth and university days had not lasted because many people thought he was arrogant, but Rebecca had always been there for him. As a child, as a teenager, as a student, at his wedding... and also at his divorce three years ago.

"How is your father, Robbie?" she wanted to know. Suddenly the smile on his face faded. "It doesn't look so good. He'll probably have to go back into hospital next month for a surgery." Rebecca looked at him compassionately and nodded silently as she took his jacket. "I'm so sorry."

I'm glad I can at least visit you," he quickly changed the subject.

"I'm glad too, Robbie," she said with a bright smile again.

"YN is also here, I hope you don't mind."

"No Becca, that‘s cool," Robert said, following her into the living room.

YN was Rebecca's younger sister and Robert quite liked her. She was one of those people who believed in destiny, the supernatural, spiritual things and tarot cards, which Robert didn't think much of. But she had always been very warm and kind to him and Robert was sure that there wasn't a single bad bone in this woman's body. She was just the way she was. As far as Robert knew, she worked full time in a perfumery and in her free time as an artist, but she remained rather unsuccessful. Her face immediately lit up when she saw him and gave him a friendly wave. She was wearing a pink dress, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, gold earrings and red lipstick. She was really pretty.

"Robert, how nice to see you! I brought some cupcakes, would you like one? They're homemade." She held out a bowl of pink muffins with strawberries and sprinkles to him. Robert gratefully took one and sat down on the couch next to the two women.

"It‘s really good," Robert praised YN's baking skills after taking a bite.

"Thank you, Robert. I baked them at 3 o'clock in the night because I couldn't sleep... It was another full moon. And my moon calender says that I should concentrate more on housework now, especially cooking and baking“.

He tried to hide his surprised expression and took another bite. Rebecca didn't seem confused by the explanation, she knew her sister well enough. Finally, YN slowly bent down towards them. "And do you know what my horoscope said?" Robert and Rebecca shook their heads.

"That I'm going to have my breakthrough this month," she finally said excitedly.

"You mean with your art?" Rebecca wanted to know.

"Yes! I'm going to have a huge success. But I don't know what motif to choose." YN picked at her dress thoughtfully. "A portrait or a landscape... I'm not sure. I need a subject to practise on first. Just to get back into it. I haven't painted for months.

"You've painted me so many times," Rebecca said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "How about you painting Robert?"

YN's face lit up at the words. "That's a wonderful idea! Robert, you have such a beautiful face... Like an angel!"

Robert almost choked on his cupcake. "Please what?"

"Oh come on Robbie, she just wants to practise," Rebecca interjected.

Sighing, he looked into YN's bright eyes and shrugged. "Yes, why not..."

YN cheered immediately and hugged Robert happily. "But I can't sit still for like eight hours," Robert replied quickly.

"You don't have to do that," YN said. "You can come with me to my studio, I'll draw the outlines and a sketch, then I'll take a photo of you to paint the details later. If you like and have the time, we can start right away. It would mean so much to me, Robert, really!" He smiled and nodded again. He just couldn't look away from YN's eyes.

***

"Nice studio," Robert said, breaking the awkward silence. He looked around curiously. YN's studio was a bright room with large windows letting in the daylight. There were easels full of canvases and tubes of paint everywhere and the smell of fresh paint was in the air.

"Robert, I told you not to move," laughed YN, who sat behind a canvas. The two had left for YN's that afternoon. Now the sun was already setting outside and Robert felt as if he had been sitting on the floor in front of her for ages.

"I'll be done with the outlines in a minute."

"Good, because my butt is already hurting," Robert grumbled.

A short moment later, YN put the brush down, clapped her hands and grabbed a camera lying on a chair next to her. "Well, I'm done for today. Let's take the photo quickly."

Robert moved back into position and looked a little tiredly at the camera. A few seconds after YN had taken the picture, he collapsed. "My God, this is more exhausting than I thought."

YN laughed. "I believe you. I've been a model too."

"Can I have a look?" Robert asked curiously, sitting up with a groan.

"Sure, come here." YN turned the canvas a little.

"Oh, this is definitely... Art." If Robert was honest, he couldn't really make out much on the canvas. It looked more like a wild doodle of a man who, with a lot of imagination, could look like him. And for this he had been sitting in an uncomfortable position on the cold floor for almost two hours?

"I'll start working on the details tomorrow. I'll let you know when it's ready."

Robert forced a friendly smile, YN pulled him into a tight hug to say goodbye and he left the house, a little disappointed.

Days and weeks passed without Robert hearing a word from YN. He didn't know how far she'd got with the painting, or if she'd even thrown it away. But then, one Saturday evening, she finally called him to say that she had finished the painting and that he could come and see it tomorrow. Of course Robert couldn't resist the opportunity, as he was actually quite curious to see how the painting would look now, although he had little hope that it would be any better than the last time.

He finally arrived at YN's door at 10am the next morning. She immediately greeted him friendly and offered him a cup of tea, which Robert gratefully accepted.

"Nice of you to come," she said and excitedly pulled him by the sleeve into her studio. "Close your eyes."

Robert did as she asked, although he was a little confused by her instructions. YN carefully led him to the easel in the middle of the room.

"And open your eyes."

Robert looked curiously at the painting in front of him, but then his jaw dropped and he couldn't get a word out.

"I've thrown away the old painting and made a new one. Isn't it gorgeous?"

He couldn't believe his eyes. The painting was insanely beautiful. It must have taken an eternity to work out all the details. He'd never seen so much care in YN's work, who usually painted in a rather chaotic way. Every single strand of Robert's dark hair was painted perfectly and precisely, and you could almost count every single eyelash. But most striking of all were the eyes, which stood out almost ghostly from the rest of the rather dark picture.

"It's so beautiful," he marvelled, running his finger carefully over the dry canvas. "But why am I wearing a sheer white shirt? I wore a normal black shirt that day. And my eyes look almost inhuman."

"Artistic freedom," YN quickly replied. "I wanted you to look a bit ethereal in the painting."

Robert nodded slowly with a raised eyebrow, then smiled again. "It‘s still so beautiful."

"You can have it if you want," YN offered.

He shook his head immediately. "No, no, keep it. It must have been so time-consuming that I don't want to take it away from you. I'm sure it's better off in your studio than in my house. But... promise me you won't sell it, okay?"

She nodded quickly and looked Robert straight in the eye. "No, I won't. I've made another artwork that I'm going to submit to the art competition."

Robert looked at her, confused. "To what?"

"Oh, I haven't told you yet. The art museum is running a competition this month. If I win, my painting will be on display there, isn't that great? Mrs Buchanan from the museum is coming to see the painting tomorrow. She's a good friend of my aunt's."

"That's great. Then I'll be rooting for you to win!"

Eventhough Robert had recently doubted YN's talent, he'd wished her all the best, especially now that he'd seen the beautiful portrait.

"And here it is," she joyfully pulled a cloth from a easel beside her.

"Oh, um... what is it exactly?" Robert asked, a little embarrassed as he couldn't make out more than a few patches of dark green on a grey background.

"The painting is called 'The Fog Forest'. The theme of the competition is 'Between reality and fiction: a journey into imagination'," explained YN. "The green stands for the trees of the forest and the grey is the fog and shadows, where you can easily get lost and dream.

"Oh, um, very nice." Robert forced a smile. "I'm sure Mrs Buchanan will recognise it immediately, also the deeper meaning, unlike me. You know I don't know much about art."

"I know that, Robert. But it's so kind of you to support me," she said softly, taking his hand and squeezing it gently.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go now, I have another appointment. Busy schedule as a future CEO... you know," he replied quickly, then looked at her pretty face and felt his heart beating in his chest.

***

"Becc, when I tell you! I've never seen such a beautiful painting." It was just after half past seven the next evening and Robert was glad to be off work. He stood in his kitchen, his phone wedged between his shoulder and ear as he chopped vegetables into small cubes.

"Are you sure, Robert? I've known YN long enough and she's never painted anything else than a few dots and lines," Rebecca's voice came over the loudspeaker. Robert thoughtfully placed the pieces of vegetable in a pot.

"I've seen it with my own eyes. Maybe she was possessed by the ghost of Leonardo Davinci that night or something." At this moment Robert's doorbell rang. "I have to hang up, Becc, I'm sorry. I'll call you tomorrow again." Confused, Robert wiped his hands on a towel and hurried to the front door. Who the hell was that? As he opened the front door, he saw a familiar face but also an unfamiliar one. In front of him stood YN, as always in one of her summer dresses and her big earrings, and next to her a tall, slim older lady with a tight bun and a blazer, looking at him curiously.

"Hey YN... what are you doing here? And who are you?" Robert wanted to know, frowning in confusion.

"Oh, it's him! I recognise him," the unknown lady said excitedly as she looked at him more closely.

YN tapped nervously with one foot and took a deep breath. "Robert, this is Mrs Buchanan from the art museum, she wants to have you."

"Wait, what? She wants to have me?" Robert laughed confused.

"Not you. The painting of you." The lady quickly clarified. "It's really gorgeous. What a work of art. It perfectly reflects our theme for this month. Between reality and fiction... Almost like a modern version of the Dorian Gray's portrait," she enthused.

Robert's jaw dropped and he looked at YN, stunned. "But... but you submitted a completely different painting to the competition. The one with the forest."

"Oh, please, sir, you couldn't even see any trees, forest or anything in the picture," she replied sharply, and Robert didn't miss YN's sad face. "I saw this masterpiece in the corner of her studio and asked her if she wanted to submit this instead of that… Fog-Forest... thing."

"This is not possible, I‘m sorry," Robert replied firmly.

"Why not?" Mrs Buchanan asked.

"I am a serious businessman, madam, about to take over a company worth millions. What would my employees and clients think of me if they saw the painting of me as an…an…ethereal creature? I have to maintain a certain respectability." Robert bit his lower lip as soon as he said these words. He realised that this was YN's last chance and that she might have to give up her dream of becoming a painter.

"It's okay, Robert“, YN said quietly. "I understand." Forcing a smile, she turned around together with Mrs Buchanan.

For Robert, the world seemed to stand still at that moment. He didn't want YN's dream to be shattered like his own. He had always aspired to become a professional musician and study music, but his father had always stopped him because he wanted him to take over the company one day. Even though Robert didn't even think he was the right person for this huge job.

"Wait, YN." The echo of his voice sounded down the driveway, the two women, who were about to get back into the car, immediately turned around.

"Let‘s do this, YN."

****

"A glass of champagne, sir?" asked an elegantly dressed lady next to him, balancing a small tray in front of her.

"No, thank you, madam. I don't drink alcohol at the moment," Robert declined her offer in a friendly voice.

"And for our winner? On the house, of course," she asked YN, who was standing next to him. She gratefully accepted a glass. The exhibition was in full swing. Many different artists were exhibiting that day, but no artwork attracted as many glances as YN's. Rebecca joined them and patted her sister on the shoulder. "I looked at it again, it really is amazing. How did you do it?"

"I don't even know it myself. It's as if my hands painted it themselves," YN replied, taking a sip from her glass.

"That supports Robert's Davinci theory," Rebecca chuckled.

YN looked at her, confused. "What?"

"Nothing," Rebecca replied quickly, pointing to the glass in her sister's hand. "Hey, where did you get the champagne?" she wanted to know.

"From that lady over there," YN replied with a grin and immediately Rebecca was gone in the crowd.

"I'm so sorry," Robert said quietly. "For what?" she wanted to know in surprise.

"For underestimating you... You and your art... You‘re such a wonderful, strong and unique woman."

YN bit her lip and Robert felt that she was about to cry. "Thank you, Robert." They remained silent as they watched the visitors pass by the artworks.

"So my horoscope was right after all," YN told Robert. "I really had my breakthrough. Do you believe in them now?" she wanted to know.

"Maybe," Robert replied thoughtfully.

"Do you know what else he said besides success?", she asked him.

Robert shook his head and smiled curiously.

"That I will also find love this month," she said quietly, putting her glass down on a small table beside her. "Maybe it was the love I felt for you when I painted that picture that made it so beautiful. Maybe that was the reason for all the success.“

Robert looked into her eyes and gently stroked her soft hair. Finally, he slowly pulled her into his arms and their lips touched immediately.

- 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔

[gremoria411]

How to get into Gundam

Because fuck it, I was gonna do one of these sooner or later anyway.

So you want to know what this Gundam thing’s about, maybe you like the mecha design, maybe you caught part of an episode one time and want to catch up, or maybe you saw a nice piece of Chamuro fanart and want to go to the source.

But there’s so many shows and timelines that it can be quite daunting on first look, so this guide is intended to give a rough overview.

I would however like to stress two four things beforehand however:

This guide is not intended as “The One True Way” or anything. There’s no harm it coming into it a different way, and these are only my own opinions.

There’s nothing stopping you from just watching one show and leaving it there. You don’t have to watch every single show going, even I’ve only seen most of these, not all. Gundam typically has variations on similar themes - it’s very nice watching multiple shows because they complement one another, but it’s not necessarily required.

I am very much an insider looking out here, so let me know if there’s any details I’ve missed.

I’m not gonna recommend these on a “if you like X, then watch Y basis”, mostly because I don’t personally find genre recommendations helpful, so I’d recommend picking based on promotional material (vibes, if you will).

I’ll be using this chart, supplied by the excellent@l-crimson-l, to illustrate everything.

Gundam as a whole can principally be divided into three sections: Universal Century (or UC), the Alternate Universes (AU’s) and the Build Series.

The AU’s are below the light blue line, near the bottom of the Chart, the Build Series is within the bright green line at the top-right corner of the chart and UC is the big line in the middle. We’ll talk about each of them individually.

The AU’s

The Alternate Universes were conceived as a way to get away from the continuity-heavy nature of Universal Century and provide an easy jumping-on point for new fans. The AU’s are standalone and require no prior knowledge, and are thus an excellent place to start. Honestly, I’d recommend quickly searching some promotional materials (like posters) and just going with the one you find most appealing based on that. They are (in production order):

Mobile Fighter G Gundam (1994)

New Mobile Report Gundam Wing (1995)

After War Gundam X (1996)

Turn A Gundam (1999)

Mobile Suit Gundam SEED (2002)

Mobile Suit Gundam 00 (2007)

Mobile Suit Gundam AGE (2011)

Gundam: Reconguista in G (2014)

Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron Blooded Orphans (2015)

Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch From Mercury (2022)

There’s side series and movies and other things besides, but these are the mainline shows, if you will. I have specific notes on a few of them:

Witch From Mercury - It’s of a shorter length than is usual for mainline shows, so consequently it’s a much smaller time investment than the others.

Mobile Fighter G Gundam - While undeniably rad as hell, I would recommend watching another AU first. G Gundam differs from its stablemates in a few key areas, and I find it helps to have a contrast to fully appreciate those differences.

Gundam AGE - is probably the only one I wouldn’t recommend. I didn’t like the art style and the technical explanations just got on my nerves, so I stopped watching.

Turn A and G-Reconguista are technically part of UC as well, but it’s not really crucial information so don’t feel like you have to watch UC first (I’m only including this detail for completionism).

I’ve found all the AU’s I’ve seen to be pretty good, so I’d say that which one you start with really just comes down to personal taste.

The Build Series

Is just kind of doing its own thing. The Build series is basically Buy Our Toys: the series. It’s got a far lighter tone, and I’ve had cause to compare it to pokemon prior. It’s also chock full of references and in-jokes to the other series.

Build Fighters and Build Fighters Try are the ones I’d recommend - they’ve got actual stakes and the fight scenes are really good.

Build Divers and Build Divers Re:rise I can’t recommend - I just find Build Divers aggressively boring. Build Divers Re:Rise is just okay - neither standout good or particularly bad. Its main flaw is that it’s a sequel to Build Divers.

The OVA’s are pretty much bad across the board - I’d particularly recommend avoiding Gundam Build Metaverse.

Universal Century

Universal Century is the big main timeline of Gundam, and is the timeline the original Mobile Suit Gundam from 1979 takes place in. There’s a tendency among certain fans to place UC as the one-above-all of Gundam, but I wouldn’t really go that far. It’s all pretty good, but I wouldnt really say one timeline is better than another (save personal preference, anyway).

Because UC is so big, it can be subdivided a couple times. The primary division is “Mainline” UC versus everything else. Basically there’s four-five shows in Universal Century from which everything else flows. As long as you know roughly what happens in these shows, then you can watch basically anything else in UC and have a good idea of what’s going on. These are (in order):

Mobile Suit Gundam (1979) - sometimes called Mobile Suit Gundam 0079.

Mobile Suit Zeta Gundam (1985)

Mobile Suit Gundam ZZ (1986)

Mobile Suit Gundam: Char’s Counterattack (1988)

With Mobile Suit Gundam Unicorn (2010) as a nominal fifth (honestly I feel like you could argue either way).

The rest of the shows are:

Mobile Suit Gundam 0080: War in the Pocket (1989 Three-Episode OVA)

Mobile Suit Gundam F91 (1991 Movie)

Mobile Suit Gundam 0083: Stardust Memory (1991 Thirteen-episode OVA)

Mobile Suit Victory Gundam (1993)

Mobile Suit Gundam: The 08th MS Team (1999 Twelve-episode OVA)

G-Saviour (2000 Live Action Movie) - nobody ever talks about or acknowledges this one, it’s just here for completionism.

Mobile Suit Gundam MS Igloo (2004-2009 Three OVA’s with three Episodes each)

Mobile Suit Gundam: The Origin (2015 Six-Episode OVA, adapted from the Manga of the same name)

Mobile Suit Gundam Thunderbolt (2015 Eight-Episode Series, adapted from the Manga of the same name)

Mobile Suit Gundam: Twilight Axis (2017 episode, adapted from a light novel of the same name. Later rereleased as Gundam Twilight Axis Red Trace, with additional footage)

Mobile Suit Gundam Narrative (2018 sequel movie to Gundam Unicorn)

Mobile Suit Gundam Hathaway (2021 ongoing movie series, very much adapted from the novel Hathaway’s Flash)

Most of the other series relate to events in the aforementioned “mainline” shows in some way, but a lot of the sidestories set during the One Year War require very little introduction (Thunderbolt, 0080 and 08th MS Team). Similarly, works set in “Late UC” (F91 and Victory Gundam) carry on from the other series thematically but don’t have any plot connections, so they can all be watched without any background knowledge of the rest of the Universal Century.

Compilation Movies

Just a quick note here - many of the Gundam series have compilation movies, where either a whole series or part of one are compressed down into a movie. While each movie compares differently, they usually boil down to this: Compilation Movies usually have worse pacing, but really nice animation.

One of the great things about Gundam is that different shows offer variations on themes, so seeing how different characters react to similar situations, or how different settings change their approaches can make it incredibly rewarding.

I haven’t seen enough of SD Gundam to make any sort of recommendations there, and Manga is something I might touch on another day.

EDIT: Oh hey also: You can watch a good chunk of these on YouTube, for free, officially. The Official Gundam.Info YouTube channel rotates the series shown on its channel periodically. I think it’s got F91 and SEED on there currently? But it’s had Wing, 00 and Witch From Mercury before. Also all of the Build Fighters series are there.

So yeah, that’s a thing.

[asunsetgrace16]

Sundress Season ⎥ KK14

Pairing: Kevin Korchinski x fem!reader

Summary: There is a reason summer is Kevin's favourite season, and it's not the temperature. Well, it kind of is because warm temperatures means you wear sundresses, and those are his ultimate weakness.

Warnings: suggestiveness, makeout, Kevin does not want to go for lunch anymore

Notes: Headcanon: "fancy with heels or causal with converse, he loves sundress season"

masterlist⎥ navigation

Word Count: 1.1k

“Kevin, are you almost ready to go? We’re gonna be late.” Y/N calls as she rushes down the stairs.

“Right behind you. I had to switch shirts, I got a stain on the other one. I told you a white was a bad idea.” He replies, following her down the stairs and buttoning his shirt at the same time. He checks his watch, “We still have lots of time, we don’t have to meet the guys for half an hour yet and the restaurant is ten minutes from here.”

“Yeah, but there is always traffic. Anyways, what one did you choose?” 

“The blueish gray one, with the short sleeves.” He says, slipping on his shoes at the door. 

“Oh, I like that one on you.” Y/N says, setting her heels on the floor. She sits down on the mudroom bench. He still flushes at the compliment, even after years of being together. To be perfectly fair, she does the same thing whenever he gives her a compliment. She eyes him, appreciating the slightly-too-tight shirtsleeves on his biceps, flexing as he ties his shoes. 

“Thanks baby. Do you think-” Kevin starts to say, voice trailing off when he properly looks at Y/N. Now she is standing in front of the full-length mirror, black heels on and applying a swipe of lipstick, smoothing down the ever-present stray flyaways of wavy hair.

“Yeah Kev? You were saying something?” She asks quizzically, turning towards him. She grabs her purse off the bench and puts her lipstick and phone back inside. 

“It doesn’t matter now.” He breathes. His eyes are fixed on her. Y/N has on a simple sundress, white linen with dainty blue flowers all over it. It even has pockets. Freckles dot the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks, underneath bright, sparkling eyes. Her expression stays neutral, but the slight pull at the corner of her mouth betrays her poker face. 

“Do I have something on my face? Or is it my dress? Do I need to chan-” She begins, quickly cut off by Kevin moving towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist and slamming their lips together. The kiss is deep and desperate and borderline filthy. Her hands link around his neck, one instinctively finding his hair, moving impossibly closer to him. Her purse drops to the floor. 

“No baby, you look amazing, but I think we might have to cancel lunch today.” He says, pulling back a mere inch, eyes closed. Hot puffs of breath escape as his voice dips into a deeper tone, one that has Y/N’s stomach flipping. He kisses her again quickly, “These dresses, you have no idea what they do to me.” He turns them and presses Y/N against the opposite wall, and she can see her reflection in the mirror. 

A slow smile spreads across her face, picking up the hints that Kevin is dropping, not-so-subtly anyways, “Oh I think I have an inkling of an idea.”

She brings them back together in a messy, heated kiss that results in her peach lipstick being everywhere but her lips. His hands grip her hips, hard. She gasps when his hand from her hip to her ass, squeezing gently. He makes use of the moment to slide his tongue into her mouth. The feeling of everything invades her senses all at once. Her mind goes hazy as they kiss, the feeling is too much and not enough all at once. Frantic hands are searching each others’ bodies, teeth nipping at lips and bodies pressed so tightly together without a sliver of space in between. There is a sense of urgency that is not normally present, but the newfound knowledge of Kevin and sundresses offers an easy explanation. Their movements speak for themselves, taking the place of unneeded words. 

“Kevin, we don’t have time, we still have to meet everyone for lunch.” Y/N chokes out, Kevin humming noncommittally in reply, preoccupied undoing the back of her dress to answer. She digs her fingers into his broad shoulders, holding herself upright and hoping her knees don’t give out, already balancing in heels for goodness sake. “Oh yeah, we are definitely canceling on lunch. But next time you have to behave.” 

“Sorry babe, but it's the first day of sundress season, let me have this.” Kevin says, turning on the puppy eyes, which are one of her weaknesses. He sweetens the deal by going back to kissing her, wet and sloppy down her neck. He grins at the moan that leaves her lips when he nips at a particularly sensitive spot under her ear, sure to leave a mark. Her fingers tangle in his hair before her head rolls back against the wall, falling to the side and exposing more of her neck. 

“Kev, you still have to text Connor, let him know we won’t make it.” Y/N whispers, distracted by Kevin’s hand sliding lower. 

She shivers when he grabs her thigh, bringing it up to rest on his hip and dragging rough fingers along her skin. Her hand slides down his chest, grabbing a fistful of his shirt when he kisses her again. It’s messy and hot and wanting, all tongue and clashing teeth. They break apart panting, Kevin finally shooting off a quick text to Connor saying they won’t make it, Y/N came down with a headache. He grins mischievously, a light chuckle escaping him when Y/N pulls him into her again.  

“Impatient much.” She giggles at him. 

Quickly pulling apart, Kevin drops to one knee and undoes her heels, placing a tender kiss on each ankle as he places her feet back on the floor. She grabs the collar of his shirt and hauls him up, anxious and desperate to kiss him again. He is like a drug to her, one hit and she’s addicted. 

“Now look at who is impatient.” He teases. Turning once more, Kevin walks her backwards with a firm grip on her hips, through the kitchen and to the living room. It is quite an impressive feat considering they are still very much engrossed with their make-out. Suddenly he bends, wrapping an arm around her legs and hauling her over his shoulder. 

“Kevin!” Y/N shrieks, startled and a little turned on by his sheer strength. She catches her balance by holding onto his hips, fingers hooking through the belt loops on his shorts. A big, warm hand on the back of her thigh steadies her further as he makes his way up the stairs. The feeling gives her a one-track mind, everything a little too warm and a little more loopy. Her breath comes fast in anticipation. 

“I’ve got you baby.”

[crimeronan]

kitkat's dirt-cheap writing and editing services!

hello all! i'm kitkat, i'm a professional writer and editor who's been professionally writing and editing for well over ten years. as far as tumblr audiences go, though, i'm better known for my work over at ao3 elliptical.

the vast majority of my prior clients have dropped me for AI, and i need to build my freelancing base up again. so i've created a fiverr profile.

however, in order to get work on fiverr, you need good reviews. and before you have good reviews, you need to offer your services cheaply enough for people to take a chance on you.

so! i have some dirt-cheap offerings at the moment (11/14/23):

writing 500 words for $5

writing 1,100 words for $10

writing 1,700 words for $15

editing 1,000 words for $5, $10, or $15 (depending on how in-depth you go)

transcribing audio/video (price starts at $5 and depends on length)

my MAIN ask if you take advantage of the offer is to give me a five-star rating and nice review. if just a couple people here buy my stuff, i can show fiverr that i actually am good at my job. and then they'll show my profile to more people, and i can work up to a living wage!

quick faqs:

can i buy fanfic from you?

i cannot legally write fanfic for money. however, if there's a certain AU, relationship, character, prompt, etc., that you want to see, you can tell me (there should be a free-write space to explain what you're looking for when you order). then i can write you something that's "like" that, just with original names.

can i pay for you to edit/beta my fanfic or original fiction?

ABSOLUTELY, yes. just keep in mind that only the $15 tier currently includes in-depth comments and constructive feedback. with the $5 and $10 tiers, i'll happily proofread and check your grammar, but i won't have a ton of actionable feedback to give!

what's the copyright situation on this stuff?

you have the full rights to anything you buy from me on fiverr, forever. more in-depth explanation here!

i can't buy anything right now but want to support you. how can i do that?

it is 100% okay if you don't have money to spend (or simply don't wanna buy my writing)! one helpful thing you can do is favorite my profile, if you have a fiverr account. you can also make a fiverr account pretty fast if you have a gmail, but it is completely reasonable not to want to do that.

you can also reblog this post if you want! i think most of my potential audience for this already follows me..... but if anyone wants to sing my praises in reblogs, i definitely won't say no, LOL

[ariundercovers]

Standstill (When Paths Cross Pt. VIII, Javier Peña x Reader)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Afab!Reader (No use of y/n!)

Length: ~3.2k words

Series Summary: Chucho's been like a father figure to you since he helped you out of a sticky situation on your second day in Laredo. What happens when you finally meet his son, the former-DEA agent, who just happens to ignite you in a way that you haven't felt before?

Chapter Summary: The next week. Some shared flan, and an unexpected question.

Chapter Warnings: no porn only plot, angst, (i promise this is the last plotty angst chapter!) spanish nicknames, idiots in love, Chucho being a Dad to two idiots in love (the poor man omg).

A/N: I made a moodboard for this series! I hope it doesn't suck. I've never been great at making them. But do let me know what you think, and if you can pick up on each image! ALSO - If you're so inclined, please drop a like and a reply/reblog! I live for your feedback, and it keeps me going and keeps me writing. Did you like it? love it? hate it? I want to hear all of your thoughts! And of course, just lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist, too!

PREVIOUS PART (VII) HERE

It takes everything in you not to start calling Javi first thing in the morning, begging him to talk to you, to have a conversation, to hear you, or something. You’re regretting the way you lost it and stormed out, too. You let your emotions cloud your judgment, acted too reactionary, in the interest of yourself and not in the interest of your relationship.

But isn’t that what Javi was doing to you, too? 

You heave out a frustrated sigh, staring into the abyss of your ceiling. At least you had work today to keep your mind busy and off of this mess of a situation. Belabored, you start to sit yourself up and dress yourself for the day. It feels mindless, going about your morning tasks like this, but you think some semblance of normalcy will actually help you get through these next ten hours. You can wait until then - reach out after you’ve let yourself fully cooled down, maybe. 

If he’ll even answer you, that is.

You sigh, exasperated, and quicken your pace, trying to get through every step of your morning routine as fast as possible, figuring that if you keep yourself busy with moving quickly, your mind won't have time to whirr to a stop in the case of Javier Peña.

It doesn’t work. 

You bemoan every action and step you took to get here, endlessly infuriated by your own inability to test out the waters before charging full steam ahead. You realize, reluctantly, that you probably should’ve eased into that conversation rather than blurt it out in the middle of the mall food court. You should’ve pressed him for more explanation, but gently, without engaging self-defense mode right away. There are a thousand things you wish you had done differently in hindsight. You can’t do anything about it now, though, so you pick yourself up, finish making coffee, and head out the door to catch the bus to the museum.

When you arrive, your co-worker, Anne, can tell right away that something’s wrong.

“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?” She asks you.

“Yeah. Something like that.” You sulk your way back to your office and unload your bag and the lunch you packed for yourself, tucking it away in the mini fridge on the other side of the room. Anne slides into the office, too,  and takes a seat at the chair across from your desk, looking at you with expectant eyes.

“Are you going to tell me what happened or are you going to leave me hanging? Spill.” You sigh and look at your watch - you have a few minutes before the work day actually starts, and you figure you could use some additional perspective from someone besides Chucho. So, you go ahead and rehash the situation. 

By the end of it, her eyebrows are about as high as the ceiling, and her head is propped on her hand, leaning forward on the desk as if to ask for more.

“His dad drove you home? Seriously?”

“Is that really what you latched onto after all of that, Anne?” She laughs at you and sits back in her chair, arms crossing gently over her chest.

“You know you went about that all wrong, right? Even the best-seeming guy gets spooked when you start talking about marriage and kids and stuff, you know?” You sigh in agreement, shrugging slightly.

“Yeah, I know. I know now. Things have just been going so well and I think about it all the time, I thought I could just ask, you know? We’re not kids, I figured it’d be at least something he’s thought about, even not in the context of the two of us.” You sigh, melting further into the chair as you shake your head in frustration. “What do I do?”

“I don’t know. It sounds like he made his position pretty clear.” The deep, heaving breath that follows from your chest is as dramatic as it is comforting.

“I know,” you finally respond. Anne sits up and looks at you with a forceful glare. 

“So you have to decide, then. Is he worth losing those possibilities for the future? Or not?”

~~~

You take the week to regulate yourself back into your regular, daily life. You go to work, focus as hard as you can for as long as possible, then you stop at the store on your way home, cook yourself a real meal, and eat on the couch, alone, in front of whatever shitty movie you’ve picked out for yourself today. You’re bored. And lonely. And still unbearably and unbelievably heartbroken. 

On Friday, you’re partway through the shittiest of movies that you’ve managed to pick out so far this week when your phone rings. Picking it up quickly, you hear a familiar gravelly voice on the other side.

“Mija.” 

It brings a smile to your face immediately. “Hey, Chucho. What’s up?”

“I made flan. Care to stop by for some?” You chuckle lightly at his suggestion.

“Now?” You ask.

“Only if you want to,” he responds.

“Is Javi home?” He pauses, but answers nonetheless.

“He is, but he’s moping elsewhere, as is the usual these days.” Something tugs at your heartstrings when he mentions Javi’s mood, unsure whether it’s because you feel eased that Javi’s grieving the same as you, or if it’s because it confirms that Javi does, in fact, feel something for you. 

“Who would I be to say no to flan?” You can practically hear his smile through the receiver.

“Come on, then. I’ll save you some.”

You hang up the phone with a quick sign-off and get yourself dressed - at least, a little more dressed than you are now. You throw on a sweater and some jeans, a pair of shoes, and grab your keys, bounding out of the door and down the steps, toward your car parked on the street.

The busy city streets quickly shift to the winding roads you know and love so much, leading you all the way back to the Peña ranch. As you pull into the familiar property, you park in front of the house and turn off your lights before sitting back in your seat for a moment. You take a deep breath and work yourself up to getting out of the car and going inside. This was Javi’s house, afterall… you might see him. But you’re also not sure what you’ll do if he does show up.

Finally deciding that you’re prepped well enough, you open the car door and stand, stretching your arms and back for a moment before walking up to the front door of the house that still felt so much like home to you. 

The door opens before you can even reach the handle, Chucho looking down at you for the briefest of moments before he’s crushing you tightly to his chest.

“Mija. I missed you.” You laugh and wrap your arms around him - he always gave the best hugs - and sigh into the embrace. It’s much appreciated, on your part. It turns out you’ve been craving human contact. 

“It’s only been a few days, Chucho.” He finally releases you and holds you at an arm's distance away, brows scrunches behind thick glasses as he looks you up and down.

“A few days where I thought you might not ever come back. They felt like forever.”

“I told you, Chucho. Nothing’s gonna keep me away, I mean that.” You offer him the most genuine smile you can muster and he finally releases you as you walk into the house. Javi is, as you figured he would be, nowhere to be seen. There’s a flan sitting in the middle of the dining table and you eagerly take a few steps in as Chucho closes the door behind you.

“Come on. Let’s get you some flan.” Laughing lightly, you follow him into the kitchen, reaching for forks as he reaches for the plates. You meet each other at the table and he serves up two too-large slices of flan, one to each of you, before you take a seat, Chucho at the head of the table and you just next to him. “So I take it you haven’t talked to him?” he prods. 

You sigh and shrug, unsure how to answer. “I’m not sure what I’d say. I know I should try, but I can’t shake the feeling that he just doesn’t want me.” The incredulous look he gives you makes you snort slightly.

“Oh, mija, you have never been so wrong. He wants you desperately. He’s like an abandoned, grumpy puppy dog right now. He wants you, very much. Anyone can tell.” You smile nervously at him, unsure how much he knows, and how much you really want to divulge.

“Okay. Maybe that’s true. But he doesn’t want a future with me. And, to me? They might as well be the same thing.” He sighs and sets down his fork, propping his chin on his fist for a moment.

“You need to talk to him about it. I don’t think that’s true, either. I really don’t.”

“But he told me that. Not in so many words, but he said he doesn’t want a future with me. Not with me, not with anyone, Chucho. I can’t convince him of something he doesn’t even want in the first place.” He sighs and reaches across the table to take your hand, softly.

“If that’s what he said to you, know that it was a terrified little boy speaking, not Javi.” You tilt your head, brows scrunching as you try to piece together what he means. Chucho continues. “I know he probably said something horrible. Probably out of fear. You don’t have to tell me what, because it’s between the two of you, not me. But I know him. And I know how he is. He’s my son.”

There’s that word again.

Fear.

If he’s not afraid of you, then what is it? The future? Commitment? Kids?

You look down at the already nearly-empty plate in front of you and swallow thickly.

“Okay, Chucho. I get it.” You sigh, feeling like you’re at a stalemate. “I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I’m supposed to reach out to him or if I’m supposed to wait for him to come to me or something in between? I just don’t know.” You rest your head against the back of the chair for a moment until you hear the sound of Chucho’s heaving sigh.

“You’ll figure it out, mija. I know you will.” You look up at him with a smile and force yourself back to vertical, reaching for your fork once again.

“You have too much faith in me.”

“No. I have just enough.”                                    

~ ~ ~

You sit with Chucho for a long while, talking back and forth about nothing and everything like you always used to, in the days before Javi came home. It’s easy, simple, and you appreciate the companionship greatly. He lets out a yawn, eventually, and stands up to excuse himself back to his room.

“Thank you, mija, for coming over. It was getting lonely without you around.” You stand as well and walk over to him as he wraps you up in a big hug.

“Thank you for having me, Chucho. You head off to bed - I’ll clean up. I can let myself out.” He nods back at you in response with a tip of the brim of his hat and turns, hobbling off to his room. He knows better by now than to argue with you about these kinds of things.

So, you set off to start cleaning up. You wrap the flan up in some cling wrap, and set it in the fridge before you grab your plates and move to the sink, washing each of them in turn.  You dry them each on the dish towel that hangs from the handle of the oven, before you decide to go ahead and just wash the rest of the dishes in the sink, while you’re at it. Less for Chucho to deal with in the morning. When you’re done, you make sure everything out on the countertop is set back in its rightful place and you straighten out the chairs at the table. 

You’re sliding on your shoes and reaching for your keys on the hook near the door when you hear the telltale sound of a doorknob and then a familiar set of footsteps moving down the hallway. You stop in your tracks, unsure how to proceed, until you hear the footsteps track closer to you, eventually stopping. Turning over your left shoulder, you look in the direction of the hallway, only to be confronted with the same one you had spent the entire week pining after.

“Javi,” you huff out with a breathy sigh. His lips turn up in their tell-tale smirk, a distinct 5-o’clock shadow graced across his jawline. His hair is tousled, more unkempt than he usually lets it get. And then he opens his mouth and speaks - the sound sending a shiver straight down your spine.

“Muñeca.” 

You can see something brimming in his eyes as he steps further toward you, closing the distance between you two quickly. His hands stay firmly rooted in his pockets, but he’s now in breathing distance, right in front of you. You set your keys back down and turn fully toward him, looking at him from where you stand.

“I was just, uh… getting ready to head out.” You stumble, unsure of how best to approach this conversation. Fiddling your hands together, you look away, down at your feet, as the intensity of his gaze is too much for you to bear.

“What if you stayed?” He asks. Your eyes snap back up to his, taken aback by his suggestion.

“Stayed?” You couldn’t have heard him right, right? He nods.

“Yeah. Here. With me. I know… I know we need to talk about things. I know. But… We’ll talk in the morning. I promise. I just…” One of his hands leaves his pocket and swipes across his lip, in the way it always used to - albeit much more cockily before. Hesitantly, he reaches for you, his hand cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushes across your cheekbone and you lean into the touch, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath, the contact soothing you.

You blink your eyes open at him and nod once. He waits just long enough to see that you’ve truly said ‘yes’ before he’s wrapping you up into his arms, inhaling the scent of your hair like it’s a salve. Your arms circle tightly around his torso, grappling tight to his body like if you lose your grip for even a moment you might fall away from him entirely. You can feel tears brimming at your eyelids, but you don’t let them fall. Not now. Not yet.

You can hear Javi take a few deep breaths, arms squeezing you a little more tightly with each one, until he’s reluctantly pulling away from you, hands on each of your shoulders as he looks deeply into your eyes.

“Come to bed with me?” He asks you.

You hesitate - you’re not sure what to do, exactly. Do you want to stay? More than anything, really. But should you?

You blink back at him for a while, trying to figure out how you should respond. His face looks like its just as close to breaking as yours is, though, just as close to falling apart, and that realization is enough to solidify your answer.

“Okay, Javi. I’ll stay.” You nod in agreement with your words, a small smile up-ticking on his face, and he takes your hand, leading you down the hallway. When you make it to his room, he closes the door behind you and pauses, just long enough to pull you into him again so that he can press a gentle, tender kiss to your forehead. “Here, I’ll grab you a shirt-”

You watch as he fishes an old t-shirt out of his dresser for you, handing it to you before he turns back to you, seriously. “Do you want me to…” He nods toward the door, gesturing toward it with his chin. You scoff slightly and let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

“No. You’ve seen me naked plenty, Javi. I’m not shy.” He responds with a serious look and turns away from you, tugging off his own button up as he swaps it for a plain t-shirt, instead. You realize, suddenly, that he’s trying to give you some sense of privacy - a moment to change, alone, with a sense that he’s not entitled to look right now. Not just yet. 

You get to it as quickly as you can, tugging off your jeans and sweater and folding them, setting them on one side of Javi’s dresser, before tugging on his t-shirt and climbing into bed. You look up at him from your seated position, eager to get your hands on him again. You know there’s a lot the two of you need to work through here. You know there are tough conversations ahead. But you’re also damn sure that you’ll crumble if you can’t have his arms around you as quickly as possible. 

Eventually, he turns around, smiling at the sight of you in his bed. “Cariño-“ he starts, “my bed has never looked more comfortable.” You offer him a sleepy smile, reaching one hand out for him as he climbs in. He obliges, even though it makes crawling the rest of the way over to you more difficult, holding your hand in his and pressing his lips to it gently. When he makes it over to you, he lays down, pulling you into his side and against his chest. He inhales deeply, much like he did when he first wrapped you up in his arms earlier, and you ratchet yourself to his side, throwing one thigh over his hips and digging your fingertips tightly into his ribcage. There’s a possibility that this might actually be uncomfortable for him, you think, but it’s too worth it to bother adjusting. You need this right now. 

He reaches down to gather up the sheets and quilt from where they’re bunched on the side of the bed and throws them over you both, tucking you in gently as he makes sure you’re properly wrapped up. 

“This okay, mi amor?” You nod affirmatively into his chest and hum, happily, feeling an ease that had been missing over the course of the week. 

“More than okay, Javi. Thank you.”

“No. Thank you. I know we need to… talk. But this is- this is good. Just like this.” Nodding again, this time, as you settle back against him, you let the persistent beating of his heart soothe you. You have lots to think about and talk through together tomorrow - or at least you hope you do - but he’s right. This is good. Just like this. You’ll figure it out in the morning. 

~ ~ ~

A/N: I guess it's more feels than angst. But still. One of the big moments I've been working up to in this series is coming next - I can't wait to get it out for all of you tio read!

Let me know what you think! Your interactions and comments and criticisms and all of it are so so so very appreciated!

xoxoxo

Taglist: @amyispxnk @picketniffler @kirsteng42 @vee-bees-blog @samiamproductions grippysockedtoebeans

(lmk if you'd like to be added!)

Next part HERE (IX)

[justagalwhowrites]

Lavender - Ch. 13

Joel learns something big that changes everything. A continuation of Lavender Ch. 1-12, found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Miscarriage (mentioned and referenced, not described); suicidal ideation. Some smut. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 4.4K

A/N: GUYS THIS IS A HEAVY CHAPTER. Full explanation in the notes at the end of the chapter, with some spoilers. Scroll to the bottom and read that if you're worried about this chapter. It's not graphic but it's emotionally VERY heavy. Take care of yourselves and all the love in the world <3

Saturday, July 4, 2009 - 3 months later 

“What’s Steve gonna do?” You asked, legs stretched out alongside the small table in the break room of the clinic. 

“Hopefully act like an adult for a change,” Andrew smiled. “Get his own place. He’s gotta grow up sometime.” 

“Aw, you’re going to be like empty nesters,” you teased. He laughed. “Moving in together… big step.” 

“Right?” He shook his head. “Might as well call it marriage.” He turned his bottle of water in his fingers, watching the plastic fracture the light. “I’m not making a mistake, right?” 

“You love her?” You asked. 

“More than anything,” he said. 

“Then no,” you smiled. “Not making a mistake. Jess is… she’s the best. Truly. You’re lucky she had a lapse in judgement that lasted long enough to start seeing you…” 

He lightly kicked your leg and you laughed. 

“I’m really glad you figured your shit out with her,” you looked at him and smiled as he nodded. 

“You and me both.” 

After meeting Jess at the speakeasy just after Joel and Tommy made it to the QZ, Andrew just… kept bumping into her. When he went to the warehouse to pick up supplies for the clinic? She was there. At the market? She was there. At the speakeasy? She was there. And he kept watching her, out of the corner of his eye, like he thought no one would notice. But you did. 

“Are you going to actually talk to her again or are you going to just pine after her from afar because you’re hung up on her name?” You asked him eventually when she passed on the street and the two of you were walking to the clinic. 

“I can pine all I want, thank you,” he huffed. 

“I don’t think you want to just pine, bud,” you replied. He sighed. 

“I just can’t…” he looked up at the sky for a moment. “How am I supposed to get through the day if I’m always reminded of her? I mean I know I only knew her for a week but fuck…” 

“I don’t think time matters as much when you’re trying to survive,” you shrugged. “By the time we got to the QZ we’d known each other, what, three weeks?” 

“Shit,” he sighed. “Yeah.” 

“It’s just different,” you shrugged. “I was ready to claw someone’s eyes out for looking at you wrong.” 

“I punched Elias for not letting me see you for five minutes,” he winced. You looked up at him, shocked. “Oh yeah, that was when you weren’t responding to anything. Forgot you didn’t know about that. He forgave me pretty quick.” 

You shook your head.

“Point is,” you said. “A week is plenty when you’re relying on each other to stay alive. You protected her. You were there when… Anyway, it makes sense is what I’m saying. But that doesn’t mean it needs to hold up your whole life, you know?” 

“So you think I should talk to her.” 

“I think you need to get your head out of your ass or you’re going to watch her fall in love with someone else and be pissed at yourself about it and I’m going to be the one who has to deal with you.”

For a change, he took your advice.  

Introducing you to Jess had been a process. Andrew had - apparently - talked about you. A lot. And she’d seen you with him around the QZ. He’d set up a night at the speakeasy, just the three of you. You got there early. Andrew came over and hugged you, whispering in your ear “I’m so fucking nervous.” You gave him a squeeze. 

“Jess this is…” he held his hand out to you, frowning. Like he couldn’t think of how to qualify you. 

“I’m the outbreak survival partner turned best friend,” you smiled, holding out your hand. “And you’re the girlfriend!” 

“Hi,” she smiled, taking your hand and looking relieved. 

You talked for a while, getting to know each other. She had been a junior in college when the outbreak hit, studying psychology. She worked doing psych evaluations for FEDRA now, but wanted to try to get some kind of mental health system set up in the QZ eventually. She was sweet, smart and obviously very into Andrew. When he left to go get drinks, she watched him go before turning to you. 

“Oh my God,” she sighed and then laughed. “I’ve been panicking about meeting you, you’re very intimidating! He doesn’t really have any other family or people besides you and he talks about you all the time. I’ve been hoping you’ll at least tolerate me! I feel like I’m meeting the parents and the big sister and the best friend at the same time… I’m so glad you’re nice!” 

“Oh hon,” you laughed and put an arm around her, giving her a squeeze. “I don’t think I’ve ever intimidated anyone so thank you for that! You’re lovely, I’m now going to require him to bring you around as much as you’ll stand us.” 

“Then expect to see me an awful lot,” she smiled, looking back toward the bar. “I’m kind of crazy about the guy.” 

It helped that she went by Jess. It helped more that she was able to exist as her own, separate person with no ties to Jessica the more you were around her. She even understood when you or Andrew needed the other when things got hard and no one else understood.  

Moving in with her was the right choice.

“You and Joel any closer to…” he gestured vaguely, eyebrows raised. 

“Let’s not talk about my slowly devolving love life,” you took a drink of water. 

“I will kick his ass,” he said. “Just say the word.” You rolled your eyes. “Seriously though. What’s going on? I thought things were a little better after you actually told him what happened…” 

“It was, for about five minutes,” you sighed. “He’s only slept over three nights in the last week…” You swallowed the knot in your throat. “It’s like he’s looking for an out. I keep trying to ask him if something is wrong or if I did something… It reminds me of the last time I visited him in Texas, before the outbreak. He broke up with me a few weeks later and, in hindsight, that whole trip felt like him saying goodbye.” 

You sighed, finishing your bottle of water. Joel had slept over the night before and it was like his body was in your bed but the rest of him was gone. 

He’d been lying flat on his back and you wrapped around him, stretching up and kissing his cheek. His arm never went around you to pull you closer like it usually did. You tried to press yourself against his side, tried to soak up as much of him as you could. When you kissed the side of his neck, he turned his head and lifted your chin, crashing his lips into yours. His kiss was harsh, consuming. He all but tore your tank top and cotton shorts off your body, leaving them in a heap on the floor. 

His fingers dug into your flesh, into the spaces between your ribs, into the soft fullness of your breasts. You clumsily worked your hips against him as he ripped his own clothes off, too, before he pushed two fingers sharply into you, making you gasp. 

“Always wet for me,” he said it harshly, almost judgmentally. You moaned, a knot in your stomach that didn’t usually exist when he touched you. “Always fuckin’ wanting it…” 

“Joel,” you whimpered and he kissed you, his tongue shoving your mouth open as he pulled his fingers from you and pressed his hard length against you. He entered you with one firm stroke, forcing your walls apart, making you gasp against his mouth. 

His hips snapped into yours, his cock slamming into you with each stroke. He bit your neck, took your wrists in his hand and held them down when you tried to run your fingers over his back. Your body kept trying to hold onto him, keep him close and he refused it. You came only seconds before he went slack on top of you, panting for breath. 

He slid out of you and collapsed next to you in bed, not touching you. You just stared at the ceiling for a moment, feeling him leaking out of you, slipping away. He was gone when you woke up. 

“He’s not the only man on earth, you know,” Andrew was watching you. You frowned a little but nodded. “Steve’s always had a bit of a crush on you…” 

You snorted. 

“Steve needed me to teach him how to boil pasta.” 

“Yeah, he’s got mommy issues,” Andrew half smiled at you. “It explains everything.” 

“Doctor?” Marta hung her torso into the break room, her black ponytail swinging over her shoulder. “We need you.” 

“We’ll just have to fix my love life another day,” you drummed the tabletop for a second and gave Andrew a small smile before jogging over to Marta and following her to the exam rooms. 

“What’s going on?” You asked, fidgeting with your stethoscope. 

“Pregnant woman, thinks she’s about 10 weeks?” She passed you the chart. “Says she thinks something’s wrong but hasn’t given me many specifics. Wanted to just tell the doctor.” 

You stopped at the exam room door. 

“Thanks, Marta,” you gave her a tight smile. “I’ve got it from here.” 

You knocked on the door once before stepping in. 

“Hey Doc,” the woman smiled. You’d seen her a few times in the clinic through the years for the usual basic things. Coughs that wouldn’t leave, a broken finger, stitches once when she cut her hand as she fell at work. You glanced at the chart. Penelope. Penny. That’s what she’d told you last time. 

“Hi Penny,” you smiled back, setting the chart down and going to the sink to wash your hands before putting on gloves. “What seems to be the issue?” 

“I slipped at work,” she winced. “Yesterday afternoon…” 

“They still letting you on ladders with your track record?” You teased, taking some notes on the chart. She laughed. 

“Right?” She said. “You’d think they’d give me another job after a while… Anyway, something’s felt… wrong ever since. And this afternoon I used the bathroom and there was blood in my panties and…” 

Your stomach turned and you fought to make sure it didn’t show. 

“Let’s take a look.” 

*** 

Joel showed up at the clinic at the same time as Andrew’s girlfriend. He fought the urge to groan. She was a sweet enough girl but he’d never really taken the same liking to her you had. She was young, naive, a little too content to hang on Andrew’s every word. But she was insightful enough to know that he wasn’t about to start a fan club for her, just giving him a tight smile as they both went into the waiting room. 

It seemed quiet, at least. Something Joel was relieved for. He kept trying to get some distance from you and then something would pull him back in. You’d smile at him in just the right way, kiss his neck when your body was against him, have a bad day at the clinic and look so exhausted that all he wanted to do was wrap you up and hold you close. It was easier to keep his distance when you didn’t need him. He couldn’t resist you needing him. 

“Hey guys,” Andrew sighed, coming out of the back. Jess’ face brightened into a real smile then, looking at her boyfriend like he hung the moon. She put her arms around his neck and he kissed her, long enough that Joel cleared his throat to remind them that he was there. Jess blushed and wrapped her arms around his waist. “It’s going to be a few minutes…” he lowered his voice. “She’s busy with a rough one.” 

“Oh no,” Jess frowned. “What’s happening?” 

“Miscarriage,” he sighed. “Which is hard on her for obvious reasons…” 

Jess just nodded and pressed herself into his side but Joel just frowned. 

“What’d you mean, obvious reasons.” 

“Well, you know,” Andrew shrugged. “During the outbreak.” 

Joel’s stomach dropped and, after a moment, Andrew’s eyes went wide. 

“Oh shit,” he breathed. “She didn’t tell you, fuck, she said she’d told you everything, I thought she told you, I swear she said she told you…” 

You came out of the back, looking sad for a moment but your face brightened when you saw Joel. You came up and stretched up to kiss his cheek. 

“Just need a few more minutes,” you said. “Just waiting for Kristen so I can go over some overnight care instructions for a patient. Let me tell you, I really need that drink…” 

“What the fuck is Andrew talking about?” Joel asked, looking down at you. You frowned. 

“I’m so sorry,” Andrew whispered. “I thought you’d told him, you said you’d told him everything, I thought you’d told him….” 

Your face fell, looking between Andrew and Joel. 

Joel stormed outside. His head was spinning. Something Andrew had said the night that he got to the QZ came back to him, something he’d heard that he wasn’t meant to hear. 

“So that’s the dad…” 

He’d thought he was talking about Sarah. Who else could he have meant? It would have made sense, you explaining your connection through his daughter…. 

“Hey,” you were walking quickly, almost jogging, to catch up to him. He was panting for breath, the haze of twilight on the horizon. “Joel…” 

“Were you pregnant?” He demanded, spinning to face you. You startled back from him, like he’d slapped you. You didn’t answer. “Were. You. Pregnant.” 

You stared at his chest. 

“Yes.” 

He turned away from you for a moment, trying to get his composure before he turned back. 

“It was mine?” 

“Yes,” your voice was wet and thick. 

“What happened.” 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath before you answered. 

“They were going to shoot Jessica,” you whispered. “I didn’t know it was transmitted through bites, they were just going to shoot her and I had to stop it and they hit me and… Joel, I’m sorry, I tried, I tried so hard…” 

You’d been on your own, been with two teenagers you’d taken charge of and his child inside you and he’d been across the country from you, not able to protect you, only able to fail you, only able to fail you both…

“When did you know?” 

You were quiet and he ground his teeth. 

“When!” 

“The first day of school,” you breathed, glancing up at his face for a second before looking straight ahead again. 

He felt like he was going to be sick. 

“You knew,” he said it through clenched teeth. You winced but stood your ground, your arms crossed over your stomach. “You knew for weeks. WEEKS. And you didn’t fuckin’ tell me?” 

“I’m sorry,” your voice was shaky. “I didn’t know what I was going to do at first, I didn’t know if I was going to keep it and once I decided I wanted to keep it I didn’t know if I was ever going to tell you…” 

“You were going to have my fuckin’ kid and you weren’t going to tell me!” He was screaming. You wanted to cower from him, he could tell. Your body shook with it. But you weren’t backing down. 

“I decided to tell you the day before the outbreak,” your eyes met his then. “That’s why I texted you. I didn’t want to just tell you over the phone, that’s why I asked if you wanted to have coffee… I wanted to come up with a plan first to make sure you didn’t need to do anything you didn’t want to do, I didn’t want you to feel like you were stuck with me and a baby you didn’t want and I…” 

“You should have fucking TOLD ME!” He couldn’t look at you, putting his back to you. His stomach twisted, his chest tightened. 

He was running through everything that happened the night of the outbreak. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop it once it started. The phone call from Tommy, leaving Sarah alone at the house. Coming home and finding her at the mercy of the infected. Driving, running, holding her…. 

It all would have been different. If he’d known, if you’d just told him, it all would have been different. 

“We’re done,” his voice cracked. 

“What?” You sounded so small, so weak. It reminded him of the time you called him for help, when on a date with that handsy guy. You sounded scared. “Joel, please…” 

“Do you understand what you did?” He rounded on you, towering over you. You flinched back, like you were afraid he was going to hit you. “None of it would have happened this way if you’d just fucking told me you were pregnant with my goddamn kid!” 

“Joel…” 

“She’d still be here!” He screamed it. You stepped back from him then, sobbing now. 

“You can’t know…” you choked on it but he cut you off. 

“Yes I can,” he said. He was seething. “If you’d just fuckin’ told me, we wouldn’t have BEEN there! We would have been in New York with you or you would have been in Austin with us and I wouldn’t have left her alone that night, you would have been with her and known what to fuckin’ do, she never…” 

“You can’t…” 

“She died that night!” He yelled, getting in your face. He’d never told you this. He’d never told anybody this. “Shot by some Army fuck and it never would have happened that way if you’d just told me you were pregnant with my fucking kid!” 

He straightened, running his hands through his hair, desperate for something to hold onto. It was like losing her all over again, like there was a gaping hole in his chest, like someone had cracked open his ribs and started taking him apart. If you’d told him, Sarah would be alive. If you’d told him, he could have saved your child. If he’d just known, it would all be different. He wouldn’t have failed you. He wouldn’t have failed you. 

You were just standing there, your face wet, arms tightly around yourself. You hadn’t even moved to wipe your tears away. 

“Please,” it was barely audible.

“We’re done,” he said it again, his voice flat. “I wish I’d never fuckin’ met you. I never want to see you again. We’re done.” 

He turned and left you there in the haze of the streetlights outside the clinic. 

Joel wasn’t sure how long he walked. He wasn’t sure where he ended up. He didn’t fucking care. He almost hoped someone tried to talk to him. He wanted to hit something, he wanted something to hit him. He wanted to hurt, something on his body needed to hurt the same way his soul was hurting. It wasn’t right that the pain wasn’t spread out, that it wasn’t all through his body, too. 

Tommy was out when he got home. For a moment, Joel’s eyes drifted to the floorboards where they’d stashed their weapons. He wouldn’t flinch this time. Your voice wouldn’t pull him back this time. 

He went for the liquor instead. He drank until he passed out. He didn’t move for two days. 

***

You couldn’t seem to stop crying. You stood there, watching where Joel had gone, like you were waiting for him to come back for you. He wasn’t going to come back for you. 

“I wish I’d never fuckin’ met you.” 

“Don’t let anyone take you from me.” 

“I never want to see you again.” 

You had a patient. 

You forced yourself to turn and walk for the clinic. You hadn’t gone far, only about 50 yards, but it was apparently far enough that no one inside had heard the commotion outside. That was good, at least. Andrew noticed you first, his hands on your shoulders before you really realized he was even there. 

“Hey,” he said, stopping you. His voice was gentle, so gentle compared to Joel’s. You kept your arms around your waist. “What happened? Are you OK?” 

“I’m fine,” you said, even though you were still crying. “Is Kristen ready for care instructions? Have you seen her?” 

“She’s still in back, what happened?” He asked. Your eyes were having a hard time focusing. His chest was just a gray blob in front of you. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing,” you answered. “It’s fine. You guys should probably just head over to the speakeasy, I think I’m just going home…” 

“What did he do to you?” His hands went from your shoulders to your face, tilting your head up so you were forced to look at him. You closed your eyes, unable to bear the idea of really looking at him. 

“He left,” you said, voice cracking. “Said he never wants to see me again. I’m fine,” you said it quickly, before Andrew had a chance to argue. “It’s fine. I understand it, I deserve it, I’m fine, it’s fine, I just need to give Kristen the care instructions…” 

Andrew pulled you against his chest, his lips finding your hair. 

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed. “I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry…” 

“Not your fault,” you were getting his shirt wet with tears. “It’s OK…” 

“Doctor?” Kristen called. “Everything OK?” 

You pulled back from Andrew and sniffed, trying to compose yourself. 

“Fine,” you said. “Just a long day. Let me go over this with you…” 

You were numb as you went over protocols, noted medication and amounts, making sure to triple check everything because you didn’t really trust yourself but you didn’t have another doctor to hand Penny’s care off to. 

Andrew and Jess were sitting in the waiting room when you finished. You frowned. 

“I thought I said to go on ahead,” you said. 

“We’re not just going to abandon you,” Andrew looked at you, incredulous. 

“I just want to go home and be alone,” you looked between them. “Really. It’s fine.” 

“Well then we’ll walk you home,” Jess said, chin jutting out defiantly, almost daring you to argue. 

You let them. They walked you all the way to your door, but wouldn’t let Andrew stay. 

“I’d feel a lot better if I just slept here,” he was frowning, his hands in his pockets. 

“I just want to do this on my own,” you couldn’t look at him, staring over his shoulder instead. 

“Are you sure you’re safe to be on your own?” Jess asked, her voice soft. You nodded, not looking at her. 

“I just need to cry for a bit,” you said. “I’ll see you at work on Monday.” 

Andrew ground his teeth for a moment before pulling you tightly against him. 

“I love you,” he said. “Wouldn’t be here without you. Don’t go doing anything stupid.” 

You hesitantly put your arms around him. 

“Love you too.” 

He and Jess left, Andrew giving you a lingering look as he closed and locked your door behind him. You looked around your apartment for a moment. One of Joel’s shirts was hanging on your closet door. The picture of you, him and Sarah was still on your nightstand. The book he’d been reading was on his side of the bed. 

You left it there, going to the bathroom and running a bath in the tub that was a little too small for an adult to take a bath in but you didn’t care. You took off your clothes, folding them and putting them in a neat pile on the toilet seat, your body on autopilot. 

He’d been right, of course. If Sarah had died that night, it would have been different had you told him. If you’d just opened your fucking mouth when you’d found out and told him instead of mulling it over and being too anxious… 

You slipped into the water, body too numb to really notice the temperature of it. You stared into space for a while, just letting yourself cry until it seemed like there was nothing else left in you to cry out. 

For a moment, you wondered what it would have been like if you’d just told him. It wasn’t the first time you’d imagined something like it. Pictured Sarah chasing a toddler around your grandmother’s back yard or holding a plump baby with a bucket hat on their tiny head as they kicked their little legs in the Millers’ pool. You’d pictured what your child would look like so many times. Boy or girl, they always had Joel’s hair and eyes. Sometimes they got your nose, sometimes his. They sometimes had the dimple he got on one cheek when he smiled. 

It had always been a sad impossibility before. You could have done things differently that day, done what you could to change Jessica’s fate, made it so you never got hit but, after years of playing it over in your mind, you knew there wasn’t much you COULD have done differently. Your child was something that just wasn’t meant to be, something that got taken away before you had a chance to really love it and hold it close. Now, it was a choice you’d made. Another mistake born of a mistake. 

You’d never really been meant to exist at all. Your parents never meant to have you, they’d left you with your grandmother who had stepped up out of obligation to her flighty daughter. You’d done nothing but fuck up everyone’s lives since day one. 

“Don’t let anyone take you from me.” 

“I wish I’d never fuckin’ met you.” 

You slid below the water, lying flat on your back in the bottom of the tub. You held your breath. You opened your eyes, the stained ceiling rippling overhead. Your lungs burned. The ceiling blurred. Your hair swirled in the water around you. You didn’t move when your body forced you to inhale, sucking water into your lungs. But your body wouldn’t let you stay still, making you shoot up, coughing and choking, gasping like you had anything worth living for. 

You cried again, staying in the tub until the water turned so cold that you could feel it. You went to bed alone, wishing the water had swallowed you.

A/N: Hi y'all. For folks who skipped to the end for a spoiler-y warning: FMC treats a patient who is having a miscarriage, Joel finds out about her miscarriage, freaks out that she never told him and leaves her.

I KNOW I'M SORRY I REALLY AM. Here's why it's working this way: 1) Joel after Sarah is largely defined by his inability to allow himself to love fully and honestly. Until he's forced to work through his shit, his trauma will not LET him love anyone. It's not safe. For him, loving someone will lead to his death. He can't do it yet. HE WILL EVENTUALLY. But he can't yet. Remember that the choices made by this Joel are literally life and death for him. After what happened with Sarah, he can't approach these choices any other way. 2) These characters are going to grow and develop along largely parallel paths for a bit and we're going to see them over the next few years where their paths cross until the day that Ellie shows up. Joel wouldn't be Joel if he was just happily with her for 15 years and she wouldn't be who I've been building her up to be if she was with the love of her life for 15 years. Their journeys are going to be separate for a bit but we're still going to see them together, I promise.

Thank you so much for reading and interacting and sticking with the story even though I throw SUPER SAD SHIT in all the time. I have a taglist now, so if you're interested in that, please let me know. I love you all like crazy!

Taglist: @paleidiot

[ljjsims]

Greek Goddess Legacy Challenge: Generation #7 Athena: Completed

Here to fill all of your sims' lives with wisdom: Athena, goddess of Wisdom and Strategic Warfare!

You very much dislike the turbulent nature your family seems to have. Why use magic when you can use logic to solve it? Do you really have to use a spell for every minor inconvenience? You believe a strong and smart sim gets her power elsewhere. From a young age it was clear: you are a prodigy. You learn faster than your siblings and easily see how things are connected in the world. After you go to university, you move to the big city. A city full of crime and mysteries. and you are determined to make all those wrongs right. with your mind.

Little bit explanation with the sheets: - First sheet is for describing your current generation, with the challenges you need to do each life-stage. Also, because I love the myths, a bit of mythological background. May it inspire you :) - Second sheet is the preparation sheet for this generation, with important characters for your story. It is technically optional, but I love seeing sims with a backstory in my world, so I would highly recommend it. - Third sheet is for your gens children. They all have their own little challenges if your interested in those. I try to make all of them a bit different from each other, so it doesn’t get boring. Your heir is also on this sheet, but I’ve put their challenges on their own sheets. Stay tuned for those ;) - Fourth sheet is completely optional. If you want sims with names from the myths and love making sims to see them in your world, this is for you! All with a little mythological background ofc, you know me.

Next Generation is Amphitrite! Previous Generation was Hecate First Generation is Gaia

The Greek Goddesses Challenge by LJJ-Sims is a challenge based on the ancient mythical creatures and stories from Greece. I fell in love with Greek mythology in high school and have not let that love go since. In this challenge you will follow 10 deities in their journey through life. Every goddess has a different take on and goal in life. Special about this challenge?  All your kids have little challenges of their own, not only your heir. These challenges are optional, so if you feel like these are too much or just too restricting for you: by all means let them go. I also have sheets for characters that you can make before you start each generation. This gives your challenge a lot more personality and makes it frankly easier and more fun!

A little disclaimer: because I made these gods and goddesses into a legacy challenge, the relationships in the myths don’t exactly match the relationship in this challenge. There is a lot of keep it in the family in mythology, to put it lightly. And apart from the fact that you can’t do that in the Sims, I don’t really like that part. So I didn’t include it, thus the inconsistency. An example: Ares is now Hera’s stepfather instead of her son, which she conceived with her brother  and husband Zeus. This inconsistency can also be found in the stories. It’s just based on and not copied exactly, as Sims live lives that are a lot shorter than those of immortal gods. And it takes a way from the creativity if we just copy the myths. Even if we wanted to do that, it’s quite hard, as every myths has its fair share of variations and some are just completely different stories.

I use the MCCC-mod to alter the length of life states. You can find the days-years ratio here: the boring stuff.

[flightfoot]

ML Fanfic Recs for 2023: 80K - 125K Words

So I’ve been going through and adding particularly good fics I’ve read throughout the year. Only Complete fics, of course. Enjoy!

---

Tell Me Why You Love Me by @linnieluna

“Anyway, that piece of paper contains the name of this texting app. It’s completely anonymous, so you can download it, make your account with no attachments to your personal life, and communicate with me outside our suits. I included my username on the paper, too, so you can add me once you’re done."

Her partner skimmed through the words on the paper and nodded his head. “Brilliant as always, M’lady. I’m surprised we didn’t figure this out sooner within our superhero careers.”

“Yeah, it would’ve been nice to have this before, but hey, better late than never. Make sure not to have your phone screen on the messages if you’re going to leave it somewhere. We don’t want anyone reading our texts. Also, this is for emergencies only. No jokes or puns. I can only deal with you for so long.”

“I don’t know if I can agree to that last one,” he said.

Now 22 and working full-time, Marinette and Adrien seem to be getting busier and busier, which means fewer opportunities to keep track of akumas and show up on time. With the idea of using a messaging app to communicate with each other without revealing their identities, their lives immediately grew to be easier... until it wasn't.

This starts off as a mostly slice-of-life fluff fic, but about halfway through things turn dramatic when Monarch learns some things he really shouldn’t and takes action. I had a lot of fun with it as it was coming out, it’s worth a read.

---

Kwami Magi Homura Magica by Crossoverpairinglover

After eighty-four loops in time, Homura Akemi takes a new path to Paris to save her friends.

The sixty-third loop after that, Homura arrived at the Agreste Mansion.

After clash after clash with the heroes of Paris and its greatest menace, events have reached a tipping point.

Ladybug faces someone verging on a second wish, a wish that endangers space and time to save a friend.

This was an absolutely AMAZING story that crossoverpairinglover dropped out of NOWHERE. Seriously, if you like Puella Magi Madoka Magica and Miraculous Ladybug, this is a real treat - but be prepared to sit down and binge, because it’s over 100,000 words and only has three chapters. 

Anyway, I adore the care that’s taken with going through Homura’s mindset here, she gets a lot of character focus. And the lore! There’s some good explanations here for the history behind kwamis and Incubators’ interactions, and the Order of the Guardians normally treats Magical Girls, and why the Incubators are wrong in their assessment of the universe needing more energy to stave off entropy (hint: it involves Plagg), and just... there was a lot of love put into this.

And the action! Most Miraculous fics don’t have much in the way of fight scenes, and what they do have is mostly just functional. This is one of the rare exceptions. There’s some really long, detailed fight scenes in this (roughly the entire second half of the second chapter has one between Ladybug and Homura), which are a treat to read! 

We also get some glimpses into a variety of other universes here, other timelines, alternate ways things could have gone down - I’m especially partial to the rather detailed view we get of one where Homura sent a message asking for help to the Ladyblog on her third time loop, and how things progressed from there. 

The ending I also thought was really good, a happy ending that generally made sense and dealt with the issue of the Incubators. 

If you can’t tell I’m really happy with this fic, it was incredible and unexpected. The length of the individual chapters can be daunting, but if you’re up for the task, I highly recommend giving it a shot!

---

If I Let Myself Love You by @uptoolateart

It’s hard to be a normal girl with a normal life when your mother has terminal cancer. And when fashion model Adrien Agreste moves back to Paris and wants to be Marinette’s friend – or maybe even more – her life is turned upside down again.

How can she risk opening her heart to love when her whole world is falling apart? Especially when Adrien is hiding a dark secret of his own….

- COMPLETE FIC – updates on Sundays

*** No kwamis AU - 100% Adrinette. About half of it is fluffy and half heavy. Please read tags for trigger warnings. ***

This fic can be rough, definitely pay attention to the tags. There’s no villains in this story, it mostly centers around themes of dealing with illness - both being sick and having a loved one who’s terminally ill - and death, grieving someone who’s lost, and how difficult that can be. It can get pretty gut-wrenching at times, especially as you slowly discover more layers of what’s really going on, what both Adrien and Marinette are hiding, both from others and from themselves in order to help cope with their circumstances. But they still move forwards together, regardless.

---

Eventually by @lucid-ao3

Adrien’s life has been dictated by rules, monitored, and controlled for years. He has learned to compartmentalize. It’s not that bad. It always gets better, eventually. Doesn’t it?

Recovery can be an unexpected obstacle when you didn’t realize you were being hurt in the first place.

OR: How Adrien lives and copes with the emotional abuse inflicted on him over the years, and how he ultimately could overcome it.

If you want a good “Adrien doesn’t realize how abusive his father is but slowly buckles more and more under his tyranny, until things come to a head, and he actually gets the HELP HE NEEDS” fic, this is a good one!

---

Between the Heavens and the Embers by @readersmoon

Everyone in Paris remembers the fateful night of January 16, when the city was attacked by the most powerful and destructive akuma ever created. The assault, which lasted for hours, resulted in the death of 439 people.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was among the casualties.

Years later, Adrien hasn't been able to move on, haunted by the memories of her broken body. So, when the opportunity to leave Paris for a while presents itself, he doesn't hesitate. But this trip might end up giving him more than he ever dreamt of.

This is a fantastic fic, though a serious and a dark one - make sure to mind the tags, and it’s M-rated for a reason. Vee - or rather, Marinette - is going through a horror story here. Imagine finding out that your life is a lie, that everyone you thought you could trust was manipulating you, that you were just being continually gaslit for years. 

As for Adrien, Alya, and Nino... well, none of them took Marinette’s “death” all that well, especially Adrien. Finding out that she’s been alive all this time, in these horrible circumstances, and they had no clue... it’s hard on them as well.

I love how this fic goes into how much trauma everyone has even after the immediate danger’s dealt with, you don’t just walk off this kind of experience, especially with how many years this lasted.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

No

Nec'cscerilin peeked over the top of the counter. Human-sized furniture was never meant to accomodate a spirit like her, she thought sadly. It was one of the many barriers between the mortals and her people. Nonetheless, she was going to do it.

She was going to be the first spirit to learn to drive a car.

The elf on the other side of the counter did not seem nearly so sure, however. “Hello, and welcome to the Nyctomachian Department of Motor Vehicles. How may I assist you today… Miss?” He gave her a nervous smile, showing oddly blunt teeth.

Nec'cscerilin tensed up. She had spent months practising her trade-tongue so she could communicate with the mortals. “I want learn to drive,” she said firmly.

The elf assistant's lower eyelid twitched. A strange affectation, she thought. “I see. I don't think you can reach the pedals,” he told her apologetically. “Have you tried a go-kart? There's a kiddy park next door…”

Nec'cscerilin bared her fangs in frustration. “No! I want learn to drive!” She hauled herself up to stand atop the counter, so that she was eye to eye with the human. “Teach me to drive!”

The elf flattened his ears. This, she knew, was a sign of frustration and nervousness. “Let me talk to my supervisor,” he said. “I have to ask him about protocol.” She had forgotten how infuriating mortals were. They had such short lives. How could they squander it away with needless procedures and bureaucracy?

“Hurry.” She stomped her little foot. “I have little time.”

After a dragging length of time (for her people did not know of hours or minutes), the elf returned. “We will provide a special car,” he told her, holding himself with the anxious-to-please slouch of a male in danger. Behind him, his superior, a human female, glared at Nec'cscerilin suspiciously. “First, you will need to register your details.”

Nec'cscerilin straightened herself up. “Is acceptable,” she proclaimed.

The human gave her inferior an encouraging nod. “Great,” the elf said, with false cheer, “First Question: What is your full name?”

“Nec'cscerilin,” she said, pronouncing the flowing word with pride. Hers was a traditional name, sharp and smooth like a wind-blade.

The elf evidently failed to see the beauty of it, for a constipated look crossed his face. “How do you spell that, Miss… Neck-Cess-Ser-Aylin?”

She pouted, a look of dangerous anger. Who knew how idiotic these creatures could get? Her name did not number amongst the most troublesome to enunciate, yet this… C’ckilkii had butchered it so! “Is not correct,” she snapped. “Nec’cscerilin!”

The human stepped in, pushing her subordinate aside. “Miss, could you possibly write it down for us? Here, have a piece of paper,” she said.

Nec'cscerilin accepted the paper and pen gracefully, and sketched out her name. It was a pair of sigils, a simple one for her forename and a more complex one for her longer hindname. She returned it with a flourish. “Hurry! I cannot wait learn to drive!”

The human and the elf exchanged an opaque glance. “Miss,” the elf said finally, “we cannot input symbols into the computer.”

The human sighed and rubbed the sides of her head. “Look, how about we put in your last name first? We can go get a translator for the first bit. You spirits have normal last names, right?”

Nec'cscerilin nodded. She had heard of mortals' obsession with ‘last names', or clannames, as her people knew it. “I am No,” she said.

They winced simultaneously. “You've got none?” The female's voice was pitched in pain. Nec'cscerilin wondered why.

“No,” she said in explanation. “Not none. No. I am No.”

“Oh dear goddesses above,” the elf whispered. “Okay, so you've got no clan. Er… Is there anything else you could use?”

Emperor guide her, how could these Csu’kirelise be so dense?! “Already told you! I am No-clan! No! Clan!” She itched to stab one of them.

This went back and forth for another eternity, until at long last, they were rescued by someone with more sense than the three of them put together. It was a human male, another customer, who began chuckling. “Wait,” he said, smiling ear to ear, “I think I get it.”

The elf, the human, and the spirit turned to him. “Yes?”

“Her clan is called No. I've heard of them. They're recluses,” he explained. “No-clan. Not no clan. Get it?”

Nec'cscerilin nodded in enthusiasm. “No-clan,” she said, by way of explanation.

Finally, realisation dawned. It came upon the elf first. He winced, then began laughing. “Oh my- Dear dead gods and goddesses,” he muttered, tears coming to his eyes. “No-clan. We've been stuck here for two hours because some idiot decided there should be a No-clan. Claire, can you believe this shit?”

The human female grimaced. “Damn. Someone up there's laughing their ass off at us. No-clan,” she said, shaking her hair. “No-clan! Bah!” she snorted derisively.

The elf hurriedly typed it in and printed out the little sheet.

Nec'cscerilin accepted it excitedly. Finally, she would learn to drive! Looking down, she struggled to decipher the squiggly trade-tongue alphabet.

“Letter of Approval for… Driving!” She squealed with delight, a noise unbecoming of a woman of her stature. “Thank you!”

Jumping off the counter, she made her way out into the great wide world of motor vehicles and driving and cars with wooden legs on the pedals so a tiny spirit could reach them.

What she had not read, however, would have wiped the smile off her prideful face.

Full name: Neck-Cess-Ear-Aye-Lin Noe-Clanne

[strangebiology]

If You Want to Write a Good Book, Practice First

The book-writing community is so much weirder than the journalism community. Half the book writing/publishing groups I'm in are great, and the other half are full of posts like this:

"I’m working on a book and I’ve never published anything first. Never even crossed my mind and I still have no desire to do so."

"Hey, I’m new to writing! How do I publish a book?"

"Money doesn't matter! You have to write a book for the love of it! Never give up even if you have to spend every weekend for 20 years finding an agent!"

"i herd 7to hav 80k words write get agenet maniscrupt mine 7k words agent here can@ publishmy bok"

"I wrote a book for my dad. Writing it took five years and I published it five years ago. It sold 3 copies. Why is no one buying it? Do I need to take a marketing class?"

"I need an agent to represent me and a publisher to pay me, but I don't care if the book sells a single copy. I just want to have fun!"

None of these people are going to be traditionally published, and it seems they might not understand/care about writing for an audience in a competitive market.

Listen: I am not forcing anyone to delay or give up their publishing attempts. I couldn't stop you if I wanted to, and I don't. I'm just explaining that there are more successful processes for achieving certain goals but they take work.

I have asked people really earnestly and politely what appeals to them about publishing a full book if they don't want to publish short stories, articles, blog posts, or fanfictions. They immediately get really mad, so...maybe they're making a realization that they should have known before?

IF you want to have fun and write without anyone reading it, I encourage you just to write in Google Docs or Medium or Tumblr. You don't need an editor to have fun! And it literally does not need to be book-length!

If you just want your book out there, technically available and even printable to have and to maintain a fantasy they'll go viral, I suggest self-publishing.

IF you actually expect to make money and sell books and get representation, I encourage you to practice first. This is a profession that you and I are not special enough to luck into profiting from; it requires us to tend our craft and have respect for readers.

Anyway, I'm happy to give advice on publishing as long as you've googled your question first. I'm happy to hear explanations for why so many aspiring authors are...like this, so much moreso than I see in journalism or other professions like visual arts and sports. Like do they think writing a book saves a life or something? But if you're upset that I "killed your dream" with this post, go write your concerns in Google docs and do not send them to me.

[shelaghdette]

theory: trixie franklin is a lesbian

alright, this one may prove slightly controversial, but please bear with me! i've always taken the view that trixie is bi, but thinking about it more, i've come to a different conclusion.

glossary -

wlw - woman loving women, a blanket term for any woman who is attracted to women.

sapphic - another blanket term for femmes who are attracted to femmes, arguably more inclusive than wlw - here used interchangeably with the above.

lesbian - a woman or femme who is exclusively attracted to other women or femmes.

bisexual - a person who is attracted to two or more genders.

a note on compulsory heterosexuality -

before you read this, if you don't already, it's probably best to understand the concept of compulsory heterosexuality, or comphet.

this is when societies (like most in the world, even in the modern day) enforce the normalisation of heterosexual love and relationships, to the point that lgbt people feel pushed towards straight-passing relationships when they may be happier in a queer relationship.

comphet applies to all genders and queer sexualities, but today i'm going to be discussing it specifically in the context that it impacts lesbian women.

relationships with women -

full disclosure - i am a trixadette shipper (i think i might've even invented the ship). i have analysed quite a number of scenes from the first two seasons where trixie and sister bernadette interact, and there doesn't appear to be much in the way of heterosexual explanation for their behaviour towards each other. that in itself deserves its own post, and will get one in due course.

my theory that trixie is attracted to women mostly stems from her interactions with sister bernadette, and later shelagh. there are a few longing looks, some flirtatious body language and just a general air of gals who are a bit more than pals.

however, aside from this, trixie never appears happier than when she interacts with other women. she seems to gain the most fulfilment from her relationships with her female friends, far more than she does with the men in her life. barbara and valerie are prime examples of this.

prior to realisation of being sapphic, it's very common for wlw to experience intense attachment and deep love for female friends. this can truly be just platonic, or it can be a crush that is so repressed that it presents as overwhelming platonic love.

"attraction" to men -

ever since the first season, trixie has been presented as the "boy crazy" girl. she often talks about men, but if you actually watch her behaviour, she rarely pursues any particular man. additionally, closeted queer people may often overcompensate for their insecure identities by putting forward a highly straight image.

it's extremely common for lesbians who are experiencing comphet to fantasise about an abstract concept of a relationship with a man, but not have much idea of WHO that man might be. in the early seasons, when she DOES pursue a man, it is with an ulterior motive (getting that actor to be a judge for the baby show) and it ends disastrously for her.

when she does eventually get into relationships with men, it is because they pursue her. it happened with all three of her relationships we've seen on the show - tom, christopher and matthew. i do not personally think trixie showed any interest in them prior to them showing interest in her, but YMMV.

image consciousness

it's very telling that, during her AA meetings, trixie speaks at length about her ability to put on a show to please others around her. obviously, she talks about this in the context of placating her mentally ill and alcoholic father, but this skill from childhood has been highly transferable to her adult life too.

trixie is extremely good at putting on a front and looking well put together, even during her worst moments. when she was relapsing, she hid it well until her secret was unwittingly revealed to phyllis by a patient. the girl can lie and lie, but it's all a defense mechanism.

trixie clearly struggles with a view that she must be seen as perfect at all times. it's easy to see how, if she was a lesbian, this would not fit into the image she tries to display to others. i believe that part of her striving for perfection includes wanting a relationship with a man. this leads me into my next point.

cultural context

it probably goes without saying, but the 1960s was not an easy time to be a sapphic woman, especially if you weren't attracted to men. we just need to look at the story of patsy and delia to see how the show acknowledges this. comphet is still a problem we face today, in the year of our lord 2024, but it was absolutely rampant in those days. female lgbt behaviour was never criminalised like male homosexual acts, but it was harshly viewed. wlw faced a lot of the same challenges as mlm, as well as their own unique struggles when homophobia is coupled with misogyny.

marriage to a man and child-bearing were still considered the most important things a woman could do in that era. and by the time trixie gets into a relationship with matthew, she is approaching her mid-30s. in that time, trixie would have already been considered "on the shelf." the show really implies this by her becoming a lot more focused on her search for a husband in later series, like when she joins the marriage bureau.

relationships with men

i won't say much about tom, but trixie makes no bones about it when she told him he and barbara are much better suited. there's a real notion that trixie feels out of place in her relationship with tom, and ultimately she breaks it off when she realises she couldn't be happy with him in the long term.

this continues into her relationship with christopher. i really like christopher, and i think trixie does too. by far, he is the person who treats her the nicest out of the three men she has had major relationships with. however, even then, she doesn't seem entirely comfortable, and breaks it off when she fears how intimate the relationship has become. i think the situation with alexandra is mostly an excuse for her fear of commitment to a man.

i also want to talk about sex (minors, cover your ears) when i mention christopher. he's the first man she is ever implied to have slept with, and she agonised over it for a very long time before she makes the decision to do it. some people read this as her being asexual (which she still could be, even as a lesbian!), or just "proper" for the era, but opinions vary. i view it as her having no sexual attraction to MEN.

finally, matthew. oh, matthew. he makes me so very angry.

matthew and trixie essentially traumabonded over the death of his first wife, and she is a good supportive presence to him raising his son in her capacity as a midwife. i think the convenience of him showing interest in her, coupled with her recent anxiety about find a partner, created the situation where they eventually married.

and she still isn't happy. when the new pupil midwives arrive and trixie hears them having fun with nancy, she looks really sad and lost, and my heart just breaks for her. it's a sign that she regrets leaving the lifestyle she loves for a life of domestic "bliss".

when they had their argument about trixie's work, it's very telling that her immediate response was to retreat back to her safe place of nonnatus house for half the week. trixie feels the most secure when she is among women, this is shown time and time again.

this was super long winded and possibly a ramble, but these are my thoughts on her. if you made it to the end, here's my favourite happy video edit of trixie and shelagh. i'll probably make a whole post about why i ship them next.

[prismuffin]

Could you possibly do a Tim Drake x Crow like reader oneshot?

To give a small explanation, Reader helps Tim on some cases every now and then. Maybe, The reader breaks into a place and copies the paper flies, or gives him codes/ keys he needs. Or helping him find out if a Rouge's story is true.

Here is where the 'crow like' comes in, every so often when the reader sees that Tim's getting too stuck in his head. The reader steals something out of Tim's hand or utility belt, making him chase the reader across roof tops. Until Tim catches up and they end up wrestling over it.

A/n: STOP this is too cute😭😭 the little wrestling bit like aww 🫶🫶

Catch me if you can

Tim Drake x gn!crow-like!reader

( summary: when noticing that Tim was too deep in thought to pay attention to you, you snatch his bo-staff in an attempt to get him out of his head )

warnings?: light swearing, you stealing stuff,

!-!more under the cut!-!

You chuckled to yourself, eyeing Tim Drake on the rooftop you were meant to meet at. You were currently going there to give him some keys you swiped off of a dumb guard so that he can go into the next step of whatever his mission was. You weren’t even supposed to be helping him, you’d taken a break from this life for a while but it seems that he needed your expertise in swiping stuff once again.

Sighing, you decided to make yourself known to the pacing man on the roof. You jumped across the building, the impact of your landing alerting Tim immediately. “Did you get the keys?” He asked and you nodded with a yawn, swinging the keys around your fingers before tossing them to him. “Why do you need the keys to the banks vault anyway? You going rogue on me T?” He scoffed with a shake of his head, kneeling near the edge of the roof, looking at said bank. "There's a new rival gang on the loose and word is that they're going to try and rob this bank." He de-extended his bo-staff, resting his head in one of his hands. "I wanna booby-trap the vault before they can get to it, the only problem is I'm not sure when exactly they're gonna try robbing it. If I set up my traps too early then the-" You sighed as you listened to Tim ramble on, he always overthinks like this and gets nowhere. You crossed your arms, eyes fluttering over his form, noticing his bo-staff in his hand.

'ooooo shiny' is practically what you thought as you leaned over, flexing your fingers as you got ready to snatch. Quietly you slipped his bostaff out of his grip, grinning widely as you got it without him noticing. After inspecting it you noticed the small button that was planted on the side of the device. Pressing it, the bo-staff extended to it's full length and you smirked, staring back at Tim. He was still ranting, now holding his chin in thought as he threw out random plan ideas that no one was listening to. His breath hitched as he was hit in the back. He caught himself before he tumbled off of the roof and turned around with an unimpressed look that quickly turned into shock as he witnessed you spinning his staff in your hand. "What the? How the hell did you...?" He trailed off and glanced at his hand which previously held the staff you were holding. "You were talking too much." You shrugged and leaped back with a laugh as he lunged forwards. "Give it back!" You dodged another one of his attempts at grabbing back his staff and chuckled. "If you want it you'll have to catch me~" You smirked at his oh so adorable pout, his arms crossed as he sighed, looking down and away from you. "If you think I'm going to waste my time chasing you around then-" He lunged once again for the staff in your hand and you narrowly dodged it. Retracting the staff you laughed in disbelief at his attempt at tricking you. Though, you didn't have enough time to say anything as he leaped for you again. You extended the staff and tripped Tim, your laugh turning into a gasp as he grabbed the staff and brought you along with him.

You both wrestled on the floor of the rooftop, rolling back and forth with the staff extending and retracting randomly as he tried to get it out of your grip. With a huff, you rolled Tim onto his back, pinning his hands above his head while the retracted staff rested in your palm. He struggled underneath you, a blush rising on his cheeks as he felt your eyes watching him. "Do you yield?" You asked in a mocking tone and he stopped fighting against your grip. He closed his eyes and inhaled before nodding slowly. There was a beat of silence as you both caught your breath though your grip on Tim never loosened. He quirked his eyebrow, opening his eyes again to stare at you only to see a smirk resting on your face. "What?" "Nothing, just kinda like seeing you under me like this." Tim's face exploded in red as he stuttered in embarrassment. You laughed at his flustered state as you got off of him. He shot up, dusting off his body as he faced away from you, muttering nonsense as he tried to calm himself down.

"Here." He turned just in time to catch his staff which you'd thrown to him. A small "thank you," exited his mouth as he messed with the staff before placing it in his utility belt. "Oh and whatever you were ranting about earlier, I'm sure you'll figure it out." You placed a hand on his shoulder, "you always do." You nodded before letting him go, walking near the edge of the roof. "Call me if you need anything else." You called out from over your shoulder as you jumped down to leave.

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( i had to rewrite this before work after accidentally deleting the entire middle paragraph LMFAO)

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