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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 3 months ago

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tuesday again 3/18/2025

in which we read a lesbian romance where the highs are pretty fuckin good and the lows are not so pretty good

listening: the giver by chappell roan

reading: a bella books update, but mostly Beautiful Journey by Kenna White

watching: fallow week

playing: genshin (!) and Pokémon

making: garden update, rit dye bounty

listening

new single out. i want to hear this in EVERY commercial this summer

reading

special shoutout to a blazed tumblr post that led me to Haden Cross’ Uncontinented Stars, a queer moby-dick retelling. before you dismiss it out of hand here are some of my thoughts about how it neatly avoids some common queer retelling pitfalls

in this gay and lesbian romance project, i really think (one of) my (big) problem(s) is with Bella Books specifically as a publisher and their lack of quality control or editing assistance, but we are closer to done with them. with the bella and naiad conglomerate, i have two books of short stories (one naiad one bella, neither with covers i can take to work) and two more naiad originals after this. i will be breaking them up into three weeks in between kim baldwins (the insane lesbian bunker mercenary one i enjoyed).

three up this week: could not finish the one on the left due to a printing error with random missing pages, could not finish the one on the right bc of a hard-out trigger.

this is Kenna White’s Beautiful Journey, a 2008 Bella Books original (not acquired from Naiad), 276p softcover with a worse than usual application of glue to the perfect bound binding.

Kit Anderson is determined to make a difference. All around her the Battle for Britain is raging, and ferrying factory-fresh airplanes to combat bases makes excellent use of her skills as flight lieutenant for the British Women’s Air Transport Auxiliary. An American in southern England, she is undaunted by war. It’s safer than love.

The talented aviatrix could fly a crippled craft through a thunderstorm without a compass and find her way home, so it is singularly disconcerting to find herself flying in circles around Emily Mills, a too young, too attractive and too abrasive British literature teacher. Even though Emily’s grandmother is Lady Marble, it’s a time of war and scarcity and Emily needs work. Kit offers to help her find a job on the air base—and as is often true, no good deed goes unpunished.

i had zero expectations from a bella books book (and there were still a handful of misspellings and formatting glitches) but on a scene by scene level, White is excellent at setting a scene and making it come fully alive with a sort of forties wartime romcom slapstick vibe. in the back half there’s a very good very coen brothers scene with ornery pig farming lesbians, married for twenty-eight years, who (after holding her at shotgunpoint and wanting to see the American label in her American silk underwear) help Kit get her plane out of a field after an emergency landing and some intergenerational bonding. to which she gifts them her silk parachute as an anniversary present. there’s a great dramatic romantic set piece during a daytime air raid in London, where they flee a claustrophobic, unhygenic tube station and shelter outdoors in an alcove (very stupid). a big dramatic kiss to comfort someone and distract them from a panic attack. that sort of thing.

contains one of the worst reactions to a first orgasm i have ever read: i texted my bestie in horror “American lesbian successfully seduced British lesbian (found out she was a virgin, got her clothes off) and after she made the British lesbian come the British lesbian BURST INTO TEARS AND RAN OFF INTO THE NIGHT” HELLO??? EMILY WHAT??? while this is a BONKERS thing to do in real life i must applaud this specific bella book for making me go HELLO??? in this way and not in frustration bc i want something! anything! to happen. good decisions are out interesting decisions are in etc. bella books sets SUCH a low bar.

also contains straight up one of the most effective scenes ive read in this project so far, that made me tear up AT WORK:

the book has a very water-themed series of mishaps (walks in on Kit while she’s having a bath, drenches her with dirty water from a kitchen pot, doesn’t set the brake on a truck and Kit has to drop flat in the mud for the truck not to run her over, Kit ends up going back in the rain to rescue Emily from a thunderstorm, Kit rescues Emily from a river overrunning its banks, at least one more thing i can’t recall). this is a pretty amusing lesbian getting-you-wet schtick without doing a russo brothers HEY IM GETTING YOU WET. GET IT? WE FUCK NOW? and does supply some believable friction for the “why can’t they be together NOW” question. they can’t be together now bc emily is a walking disaster.

unfortunately i think this book is much weaker in the last third of the relationship, and the way they resolved their misunderstanding from an accidental eavesdrop felt like it could be very forties romantic drama in the eventual film adaptation, but felt very flimsy as a modern reader. i hope that makes sense. wretched ending, i did NOT enjoy the Kit spanking Emily scene to get her to confess why she broke up with her in the LAST THREE PAGES. it felt very strange when they were so focused on being soft and gentle for the rest of the book, and i don’t think that’s a good place to rebuild a relationship on.

yes, and the sex?

certainly better than all of the other bella books sex scenes: three? i think? with one nearly a full chapter long. i wish some of the word choice (eg “honey path”) was different. i think White’s strength is in groups conferring amongst each other and establishing non-romantic relationships, but she’s good at making me invested in them because they have so much frustration to overcome and have to establish a friendship beachhead before they can get to anything romantic.

by far the best bella book with some really standout individual scenes, but still a very mixed bag. i will probably keep it on the strength of that shortbread passage alone bc. OOF. i think it was worth slogging through the bella/naiad books for that.

watching

rare fallow week! hopefully i will sort myself out as i get used to working in person and need less completely silent floor time. hopefully.

playing

no news on the desktop front unforch BUT i did finally have a phone upgrade tick around and good god. going from an iPhone 12 to a 16 plus is insane. this thing is enormous. i get WHY genshin makes a billion dollars a year on mobile bc this looks sick but my god do i prefer mouse and keyboard. i feel a billion years old. i am glad i can get in and do my dailies and some events but i am nowhere near confident enough to do like. the fighting part of the fighting game. anyway, get a load of this guy and his thigh high demonias

with this guy the only other guy i really really want is pink fox lady Yae Miko. and woman of mystery Skirk. whenever the fuck she drops. so glad i was grinding before my pc died lol bc i dropped three mil in-game currency on making sure my beautiful sad man has maxed artifacts maxed weapon and talents to 8/10. he would be totally maxed but i have One! ONE! boss drop left and can’t quite clinch it yet on mobile. i may have to drop the difficulty level down as far as it will go :( i cannot git gud :(

but get a load of this other guy!

making

continuing battles with the insane microclimate on my balcony, which is extremely hot and dry yet i am constantly battling drainage issues and a fungal damping-off issue, where seedlings wither at the base before they get their first true leaves. also having a strange issue with things simply not coming up: the purple bush beans and lettuce mix i bought last year, and half the marigolds i bought this year don’t want to sprout At All even in a damp paper towel in a baggie. they’ve been kept in the cool and dark. so what gives.

however, the nearly six year old butternut squash seeds @shiny-good-rock sent me at the beginning of the pandemic? all four of those babies came up. while they sort themselves out into something photogenic, behold my beautiful little satellite array of nasturtiums. they need to be moved around a bit so they all have breathing room but that’s a problem for future kay

and finally, i so rarely enter giveaways but i entered one on Instagram and got a stupid mchugelarge box FULL of rit dye!!! i am going to commit so many synthetic crimes. gorls THRILLED by big box and so much paper

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem

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intern-seraph · 9 months ago

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forget-me-not (Chp 1)

also on ao3

Summary: For the first time in your seven years alive, you meet someone new in your small town. Little do either of you know that your brief friendship will bind you together long, long after you are forced to part ways.

A/N: hi :)

shoutout to matcha twstjam for being my cheerleader thru this insane, ongoing journey

For those who have been following me on my socials, i'm sorry you know that this fic has been in the works for over a year as of last month. I was originally intending on publishing it only when it was complete, but it very quickly grew way out of hand and I realized that it would definitely not be complete any time soon. Still, I wanted to put it out into the world! So I decided to publish the first chapter! When will the rest come out? Who knows? I certainly don't lol ALSO the presence of forget-me-nots in the actual fic is, at most, debatable lmao i just thought it was a cool and fitting title

Anyways, I have a deep, desperate need for more jewishness in fan content, so I'm filling that dearth myself.

————

You peer out from behind the gnarled oak tree at the edge of the town park. Its trunk is almost half as wide as you are tall, and its boughs are so thick and heavy that the branches droop under their own weight. Once, there was a rope swing that hung from one of the thicker branches. It was destroyed in a storm a few years ago, and nobody has bothered to replace it since. As one of the few children living here, you don’t mind its absence much. After all, you only ever come here to read. Usually you sit on the other side of this very tree, enjoying the shade and the rustling leaves. However, today someone’s taken your spot. The stranger seems to be only a few years older than you, dressed entirely in black. Their clothes shimmer as light filters through the leaves, and you know that the fabric must be fine and expensive. Slivers of their pale skin peek out from the ends of their sleeves and the hem of their robe. It’s a far cry from the homespun woolen garments and rough, sun-kissed skin of your neighbors. The most bizarre thing about them, however, are their spiraling black horns.

You hug your book to your chest, unsure of what to do. You’ve never seen this child before, after all, and you know all of the other kids in town (all four of them, that is). Even worse, you just know that whoever this is must be rich and therefore important. Why are they here, of all places?

“Um…” You tiptoe over the tree’s massive roots and draw closer to the stranger. “Are you from around here?”

The stranger startles, and you yelp as the world burns bright green for a moment. With a grunt, you fall back and land squarely on your butt. You lie there for a second, blinking away the spots in your vision before your throat begins to tighten and tears form at the corners of your eyes. Beside you, the stranger’s blurry face appears. Your sniffling turns into sobs, and you cover your face with both hands as you start crying.

“H-hey,” says the stranger, touching you lightly, “don’t cry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

You wail even louder, rolling onto your side and curling up into a ball. The stranger pats your shoulder stiffly.

“I’m sorry,” they whisper, voice breaking. “Please don’t be scared.”

Finally, your crying peters out. You hiccup as you wipe your tears away on your sleeve. “I-I’m sorry for scaring you,” you say. The stranger remains silent. “That was magic, right? I scared you and you used your magic…”

“That’s okay. Are you hurt?” The stranger extends a hand into your field of view and hauls you up onto your feet with little effort. Now that you can see clearly, you lean closer to examine his face. He’s a boy around your age, you think. His cheeks are round and soft but you can see where his baby fat is starting to recede. His lips curl into a small pout, accentuated by the embarrassed flush coloring his cheeks. You can’t help but gawk at his electric green eyes. They’re so distinct that, without taking his horns into account, their color and slit pupils alone would tell you that he’s not human. When he notices you’re staring, he shifts back in discomfort. You jolt and giggle abashedly.

“No, I’m okay. Uh, who are you? Are you from around here?” You start to circle him, eyeing his odd features with interest. Are those scales crawling up the back of his neck? Why is the back of his robe moving so weirdly?

“No,” he mumbles. He holds something close to his chest. A book! “I’m… from really far away. My grandmother brought me with her to do some —” his nose scrunches up “— official business. But that’s boring so I left.”

“Won’t your grandma be worried?”

He puffs up like a particularly proud pigeon. “Nuh-uh. I’m big and strong so I can take care of myself!” As he speaks, the thing moving under his robe finally lifts enough to reveal itself: a thick, scaly black tail. It swishes from side to side as he practically preens. Cute. “What about you? You’re here all alone!”

“I know everyone here, duh.” You crouch down and pick up your book, then trot over to sit in your usual spot now that it’s empty. The stranger pouts at you, puffing out his cheeks. You turn your nose up at him. “This was my spot first.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. You can sit next to me, I guess.”

He blinks slowly at you, fingers tightening on his book, before he breaks out into a brilliant smile and plops down at your side. You take note of his sharp fangs. Part of you is tempted to touch them, but you restrain yourself well enough. “What’s your name?” asks the stranger.

You give it to him immediately, pausing to spell it out letter-by-letter just to show off. He nods, but when you ask him the same question, he balks.

“Is it okay if I don’t tell you? I don’t wanna… uh…” He waves his hands for emphasis. “I don’t want my grandmother to hear about me.”

“Well then what should I call you?”

“Hmm…” He furrows his brow and scrunches his eyes shut. Then, he gasps and beams at you. “Nickname! You can gimme a nickname!”

“A nickname, huh? How about…” Your voice trails off. You stare at him, pursing your lips. First, you glance up at his horns, then his tail (thumping against one of the oak tree’s roots), then back up at his horns. “Horn…ton? Yeah, Hornton!”

“That sounds weird.”

“Too bad! You’re Hornton now!”

Hornton rolls his eyes. He opens the book in his lap, clearly trying (and failing) to look smart and above-it-all, but you can see the pointed tips of his ears turning red. Giggling, you follow his lead and open your own book. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch his petulant expression melt into contentment while he reads. He’s cute like this. He’s cute in general — which is a thought that makes you want to gag — but you especially like his sweet little smile. Although you were loath to share your spot beneath the tree, he does make for good reading company. That is, he’s quiet and doesn’t take up too much of your personal space. Before you know it, the sun is setting.

You dog-ear your page and nudge Hornton. “Hey, it’s getting late. You should go back to your grandma.” Hornton jolts, but doesn’t react as violently as he did earlier. His tail thuds against the tree trunk.

“Oh, yeah. I gotta go!” He doesn’t move, only fidgeting with his robe. “Uh, thanks for sitting with me.”

“Why’re you thanking me? It’s no problem.” You pause and look away. Feeling your face grow hot, you say, “Will you be back again?”

“C-Can I?”

“Yeah! I mean, you’re a pretty decent reading buddy, so… yeah.”

“Yes! I’ll be back tomorrow!” He smiles so broadly that you think it must hurt.

“Cool! I’ll be here after noon, that’s when our classes are over.” You stand up and start patting your clothes to get rid of any dirt. Then, you turn and give Hornton a grin of your own. “‘S nice meeting you! See ya!”

He waves timidly, eyes wide and almost shimmering. You don’t give it too much thought, you just start sprinting back down the dirt road leading into town.

—

“Mister Crowley!”

You slam the front door open, practically vibrating with excitement. The schoolmaster yelps from further inside your house, then rushes over to greet you. He’s pouting, feathers positively ruffled. Gently, he grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a once-over.

“Now, where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you!”

“I was at the park!” You grin and hold up your book.

Crowley sighs and shakes his head. He wags his finger at you as he starts walking you to the dining room. “Now, child, what have we said about staying out late?”

“Uh… tell you?”

“Indeed! I have been very generous with allowing you free reign of the town! Nevermind all your tchotchkes and trinkets! If you’ll be gallivanting around like this in the future, make sure to inform your very magnanimous guardian beforehand! I was about to send the entire neighborhood out to look for you!”

He probably wasn’t. You know him well enough to know that. But the concern is appreciated. “Sorry,” you say.

“As long as it doesn’t happen again,” Crowley mutters. He pulls out your seat at your little dining table and returns to his own chair. Just at a glance, you can tell that he’d tucked in to his dinner before you came home. As you pick up your fork, a soft little body butts up against your calf. You squeal with delight and duck under the table to scoop up Grim, your bratty street cat. He mrows petulantly, but lets you cuddle him. It had taken a week of relentless begging for Crowley to let you take Grim in, and you had to pinky promise to take good care of him. Then, your friends got the bright idea of trying to bind the cat to you as a familiar (despite your lack of magic), and while it hasn’t worked yet, it certainly helped warm Crowley up to the idea. Something about his sweet baby becoming a beast tamer. You’re not sure what that is, and you’re definitely not a baby, but if it works, it works.

The air is filled with the quiet clink of silverware. After a while, you speak up. “I met someone today.”

Crowley nearly chokes. He pounds on his chest, coughing into his fist. It takes a second for him to recover. “You what?”

“There was a boy at the park,” you explain, “we read together.”

“What did I tell you about talking to strangers?”

“Nothing, we already know everyone in town.”

His mouth opens and closes silently. Then, sighing, he shakes his head. “Well, yes, but you were supposed to say that we don’t talk to strangers.”

“He wasn’t scary or anything,” you lie, remembering how you startled each other.

“Very well! Be careful, though. If something were to happen to you, I don’t even know what I would say, er, do!”

You pointedly ignore that slip-up in favor of finishing your meal. Pushing your chair away from the table with a screech, you grab your dishes and your cat and say a quick “good night!” to your guardian.

—

First thing in the morning when you and Crowley arrive at the schoolhouse, you’re accosted by Ace and Deuce. It’s mostly Ace doing the accosting, really, but Deuce joins him in hanging on your back like the world’s heaviest and most annoying koalas. You shake them off and whip around to start wrestling with Ace. Deuce takes his loss better, choosing to sit on the grass and watch you and Ace play fight. Crowley clears his throat several times, probably to get your attention, but you’re preoccupied and he gives up quickly in favor of unlocking the door and stepping inside. There’s a holler nearby, a series of rapid footsteps, and another heavy body falls on you with a grunt.

“Epel!” you wheeze out, squirming on top of the also-squirming Ace. “Can’t breathe!”

“Oh!” Epel rolls off of you, and you roll off of Ace. “Sorry, looked like you were havin’ fun!”

“Was fun,” Ace mumbles, “until you two crushed me.”

“Oops.”

“You didn’t die, though,” you say before you get up. “Also you started it!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“How do you guys do this every morning?” says Jack as he trots up to join you all on the lawn. He rolls his eyes in a remarkable impression of his mother when she’s scolding all five of you. “We’ve gotta go to class.”

“Ace started it!” you repeat.

“Whatever, c’mon.” Jack hauls both you and Ace up by your forearms while you both giggle. He shakes his head, marching you both into the schoolhouse with Epel and Deuce hot on your tails.

"Ah, there you are! I was wondering what was taking you all so long. Take your seats! We have Professor Trein visiting from the city today for our lesson."

Ace groans as he flops into his seat. You lean over and smack his shoulder. Deuce takes his own seat beside you, trying his best to look enthused.

Professor Trein works in the capitol as a history professor for the university. While he's nice enough (and his familiar Lucius is cute and fluffy), every time he comes to give a lesson at your schoolhouse is somehow more boring than the last. You sink down in your seat, ready to daydream until class lets out. When Professor Trein takes Crowley’s place in front of the blackboard, you feel a tap on your shoulder. Without looking at him, you take the slip of paper Ace passes.

‘my mom wants u to come to a party tonite’

Aside from a time scribbled beneath the words, there’s no other information. Great. History lessons with Professor Trein followed by a party where you’ll be stuck at the kids’ table. Again. At least you have a few hours to hang out with your new friend after school.

—

After class, Epel hands out little brown sacks full of apples to everyone. “Ma ‘n Pa said that they’re ‘not fit to sell’ or somethin’, and Meemaw said I should give ‘em to all of you.” You sling your sack over your shoulder, say your “see you later!”s to your friends, and march off to the park.

Beneath your tree, Hornton is waiting. You sprint towards him, grinning, and he looks up at you with wide eyes before returning the smile. He has his book in his lap, open to a different page than he left on.

“Hi,” you say shyly, hugging your sack of apples to your chest. “Were you waiting long?”

“Not really. I mean, maybe? Dunno, I didn’t really notice.”

You sit next to him and set the apples between your splayed legs. Fishing a plump red one out, you wipe it on your blouse and offer it to him. “Here!”

“Why do you have apples?” He eyes it curiously, hand hovering over it.

“My friend’s family has an orchard so he gave us all some after class.” You wave the apple around. “Take it! They’re good!”

Hornton takes the apple. He inspects it in the sunlight for a moment, then takes a bite. His eyes light up as he sinks his teeth into the apple’s hard skin, and he demolishes the fruit in less than a minute. Licking the juice off of his lips and fangs, he mumbles a messy thanks. You just smile and bop your temple against his. As you pull your novel out of your bookbag, you take another apple from the sack and shine it on your trousers. Out of the corner of your eye, you spy Hornton staring longingly at the sack.

“You can take another if you want,” you say.

He jumps, green eyes going comically wide. Cheeks flushed a bright ruby-red, he snatches another apple from the sack and rubs it clumsily on his very expensive robes.

“Do you like apples?”

“I do now,” he replies. He’s visibly struggling to keep his attention both on you and the book in his lap.

Curious, you lean over his shoulder and try to make sense of the foreign words in his book. Your brow scrunches up. “What’re you reading?”

His body goes tense the moment you touch him, but he doesn’t flinch away. When you glance up at his face, his expression is more severe and excited than you’ve seen yet. “It’s about arky… archee… uh, it’s about buildings and art! And this is the chapter about gargoyles!” He jabs an excited claw against an illustration of a beastly statue whose jaw hangs open. Water pours down its chin. The page (and the ones preceding and succeeding it) is clearly more worn than the rest of the book. “We have a bunch at the — I mean, at home — and Grandmother saw that I really liked them so she gave me this book!”

“What’s a gargoyle?”

He looks at you like you just confessed to murder. Shaking his head, he flips back a few pages. “They’re ‘ornamental stone carvings of animals or people that project from the side of a building and serve as the spout of a gutter.’ You’ve seen one before, right?”

“No.” You lean in closer to inspect another illustration. “They’re weird.” He stares at you, aghast. You roll your eyes. “Cool weird. We don’t have these out here.”

"Oh… that's a shame. Maybe one day you could come see the ones in my home."

You peer up at him. "Maybe. I gotta ask Mister Crowley."

"Who's that?"

"I live with him. He's weird."

"Cool weird?"

"Weird weird." You nudge him with your shoulder. "Do you live with your grandma?"

"Yeah."

"So it's you and her and your parents?"

Hornton goes completely quiet. He fingers the gilded edge of the page. Softly, he mumbles, "They aren't here anymore."

"Oh. Mine too. That's why I'm with Mister Crowley."

“... Do you know what happened to them?”

You shrug and pluck another apple out of the sack. As you wipe it on your trousers, you reply, “Nah. I dunno if Mister Crowley knows, either. He says he found me in a box left outside the school. There was a note, but it only said my name.”

“Oh.” Hornton looks away. “That’s sad.”

“I guess.” You shrug again. “If they didn’t want me, I don’t want them neither.”

He stares at you, wide-eyed. All he manages is another quiet, “Oh.”

Scowling, you take a bite out of your apple. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. Let’s just read.”

“Okay. I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He seems to wilt at your curt statement. You add, “Really, it’s fine. Please, I wanna get through another chapter before I have to go.”

“You’re going somewhere?”

“Yeah, some party at my friend’s house. It’s not even for him, so I dunno why I’m invited, but I think his mom invited everyone in town.” Another bite. You look over the words on the page, not really processing them. “So I gotta go in a couple hours.”

“That must be nice,” Hornton sighs. “Getting invited to parties all the time.”

“What? No, it’s boring. It’s just boring grownup stuff most of the time. It’s only fun when it’s a birthday party, and there’s only four other kids in town so those never happen.” You emphasize this with a long groan.

“Really?” He thinks on this for a moment. “I guess it’s like the parties Grandmother throws.”

“What kinda parties?”

“Uh, they’re… big and fancy, but there aren’t any kids at all. And I can’t go dance or talk to people. And… um… it’s a lot. I don’t like them that much.”

You watch him as his voice shrinks and his head droops. Gently, you bop your temple against his. He perks up a little. With a small smile, you say, “Maybe I can invite you to my birthday party this year. It’d be fun!”

For a moment, you’d swear his eyes water. He beams at you, reaching out to grasp your hand. “I’d like that.”

—

The party at Ace's house is full of tipsy adults while you and your friends drink your juice in a corner. Well, everyone except Ace. His mother parades him around to talk to the other adults who apparently know him. None of you envy him — he looks miserable.

It turns out that the party is for Ace's brother. He emerges from a side room with his girlfriend on his arm and introduces her as his fiancée. When Deuce gives you a questioning look, you lean over and tell him that that means they're going to get married. The adults cheer and sing and dance for hours longer; the celebration only pauses for bedtime (which is fine with you, the party was boring anyways).

The next morning, Crowley wobbles out of his room with most of his weight held up by his cane. He has a faint green tinge to his face, but that doesn't stop him from walking with you to the schoolhouse. This is all, of course, just to announce that class is canceled for the day. You gather with your friends and, after a brief argument, decide to play in the park together.

That's how you find yourself nearly tripping over a familiar figure sitting beneath the oak tree. Hornton looks up from his book, gasps, and reaches out to help steady you. You wheel your arms around haphazardly for a moment before you breathe out a sigh of relief. Then, you take in Hornton's face and gasp.

"Oh! You're here today!"

Before you can give a proper greeting, Ace hollers your name. Both you and Hornton turn to look at the four boys coming to join you. Ace stops, bare toes curling in the grass. He eyes Hornton warily, the sloppy heart painted around his left eye scrunching up. "Who're you?"

"Uh…"

"He's Hornton and he's my friend," you say for him.

"'Hornton?'" Epel repeats. He snorts. "That's a stupid name."

"It isn't my real name," mumbles Hornton.

"Your name is stupid, Epel," you snap. You cross your arms and stick out your tongue. He returns the gesture.

"You guys are children," says Jack. Epel appears comically devastated at the deadpan insult. You huff softly.

Deuce snorts. "You're the youngest!"

"By a month!"

"Your friends are loud," Hornton whispers. You nod. He picks at the page he's on, a tiny film of gold foil flaking onto his black claw. "Should I go?"

"No!" Your friends turn to stare at you. Hornton blinks slowly, pink tinting his cheeks. He smiles bashfully, shrinking a little into his robes. Ace, meanwhile, gets that certain spark in his eye that instantly makes you shoot him a glare in warning. He grins, showing off one of his missing baby teeth, but keeps his mouth otherwise shut.

"Wait, is this the kid you mentioned yesterday?" Deuce asks. He peers over at Hornton. "I thought you were kidding."

"Why would I kid about that? That'd be weird."

"'Cause you're weird," Epel mutters, and you lunge for him while he shrieks with laughter and ducks away.

"You've got pointy ears," says Jack, his own fluffy white ears swiveling towards Hornton before he turns to look at you, "kinda like your dad."

Ew. From your spot on the grass wrestling with Epel, you sit up. "Mister Crowley is not my dad."

"But you live with him?"

"So?"

"I live with my Meemaw," Epel adds. "She's not my mom."

"See?"

Hornton observes your conversation. He tilts his head and hums thoughtfully. "I live with my grandmother, that doesn't make her my mother."

"You talk funny."

"Epel!"

"What? It's true! He talks all fancy like Professor Trein!"

"Fancy?"

"Fancy!"

You roll your eyes and shove Epel. Ignoring his indignant squawk, you scurry over to sit beside Hornton. "Wanna hang out with us?"

He stares at you, mouth agape. Again, he smiles shyly. "You're really inviting me?"

"Duh," Ace drawls. "Why else would they ask?"

Hornton tucks his book into his robe. A tiny green light sparks at his fingertips for a moment as he does so. Then, he stands up. He holds his curled fists close to his chest, guarding. Ignoring his nerves, you grab his hands and use him as leverage to stand, too.

"Whaddya wanna play? Or talk about?"

"Uh… I don't know?"

"Do you guys think you'll ever get married?" Deuce blurts out. All 5 of you turn to stare at him. He goes pale before blushing furiously. "Wait, no, I mean —! Since Ace's brother's gonna get married I was thinking about it!"

You hum. "I'unno. Maybe? Mister Crowley cried last night when I asked him if I'd ever get married."

"Ew."

"Yeah."

"I'm gonna get married," Jack asserts. His tail swishes with excitement. "My mom and dad said that I'll know when I found 'the one.'"

"What does that mean?"

He shrugs. "Dunno. But they've been together for forever."

"True. Ace?"

He makes an exaggerated gagging sound. Complete with gestures. "No way! My brother and his fiancée are so gross with each other all the time! It's weird."

"It's gross 'cause he's your brother, dummy."

"And?"

"My mom's not married," Deuce says, plucking at the grass. "She says my dad was a… uh… a 'good-for-nothing scumbag'. She gets all sad when she talks about him, so I dunno about getting married."

"My Grandmother told me that I have to get married one day." Hornton shrugs. "But I don't really think about it."

"So you've never thought about your wedding?" you ask.

Ace shoves you. "You're the only one who has! You're always reading those kissing books."

"So?"

"Kissing books?" Hornton repeats.

"They're called romance and they're good!"

"Real life is grosser," says Ace. You shove him. "Hey!"

"What if we did our own wedding?" Jack interjects. Everyone pauses to look at him. "It can be like training. For when Ace's brother has his, I mean."

"Yeah but who would be who?" Deuce glances over at you, then Hornton. "Why don't you guys play the people getting married?"

"Huh?"

"Oh, yeah! Me 'n Ace 'n Jack 'n Deuce will put up the… the thing!"

"Thing?"

"A chuppah! We gotta make a chuppah!"

"We gotta get some big sticks!"

"I think I saw some branches over on the other side of the tree."

"Nice, Jack! Hey, you 'n Hornton should make some rings! We'll be right back!" Deuce scurries off with the other boys, leaving you and Hornton standing in a stunned silence.

“What?”

“I guess we’re playing wedding?” You shrug and start looking for wildflowers. Hornton watches you with wide eyes. You glance over at him. “C’mon! Help me make the rings!”

He crouches down next to you. Giving you a helpless look, he holds his hands to his chest in hesitation. “Um… how do we do that?”

“We’ll get some flowers and tie the stems! Like making flower crowns! Oh oh oh! We should make flower crowns, too!”

“Oh. I’ve never made a flower crown before. Can you show me?”

“Yeah!” You kneel next to him with a fistful of brightly-colored wildflowers. Hornton watches in rapt attention as you slowly weave their stems together, forming a ring just big enough to fit you as a bracelet. He claps when you present it. Then, without a word, you reach up and drop it onto one of his horns. Hornton sits in stunned silence for a moment before he blushes and mumbles a quiet thanks. He takes the leftover flowers and carefully weaves a crown for you, this one large enough to actually be a crown. His brow furrows as he finishes the crown and then places it on your head. Giggling, you touch the petals. “Thank you, honey!” “H-Honey?”

“Yeah! That’s what the ladies in my romance books call their gentlemen! If we’re getting married I should call you that!”

“Oh!” He smiles, shoulders hunched, then grabs one of the few remaining flowers. “Here, uh, honey. I’ll make your ring.” He winds the stem around your left ring finger, sticking his tongue out in deep concentration. Once he’s knotted the stem, he uses a claw to snip off the excess. Without your prompting, he holds out his own left hand for you to do the same.

“We match!” you whisper-shout, holding your hand next to his.

“Mhm!” His tail thump thump thumps behind him. “Wait, let me try something…” Hornton leans over and touches your flower crown and ring. A bright green light envelops the both of you, and you gasp and squeeze your eyes shut. Once it fades, you crack open one eye. The flowers seem unchanged.

“What’d you do?”

“I tried a spell my Grandmother taught me. It’s s’posed to keep plants from withering!” He twists the flower ring on his finger. “I mean, I don’t know if I did it right, but if I did then we’ll always have these!”

“I like that.” You take off your own ring and cradle it in your palm. “I like it.”

A holler from Epel breaks your focus, and you turn to look at the oak. Beneath it, the boys have stuck four massive branches in the ground. Now, they’re arguing over who will give up their jacket to use as a canopy. Beside you, Hornton sighs and takes off his cloak. With a flick of his wrist, it floats up to rest atop the branches and shade the ground beneath it. The boys shut up, seeing the matter settled.

“Okay, I think we gotta start with… uh…” Deuce frowns and scrunches up his nose. After a long moment of deliberation, he looks at the rest of you helplessly.

“You gotta give each other your rings!” Ace shouts.

You tilt your head. “But we already did that while you were getting the sticks.”

“Then give them back and do it again!”

“Why?”

“‘Cause you gotta!”

You roll your eyes but slide the flower ring off your finger. Hornton does the same, cradling his delicately in his palm. You drop yours in his hand and take his. Pinching the stem between your fingers, you glance over at Ace. “Aren’t you supposed to say something?”

“I’m not the one who’s… uh…” His nose scrunches up as he thinks for a moment. “Mom called them an o-fish-ant?”

“You’re not a fish,” Deuce supplies helpfully.

“It’s ‘officiant’, stupid,” you interject. “Did you guys even pick someone for that?”

“I’ll do it,” says Jack, “‘cause if I don’t, this’ll never be done. And then I’ll miss lunch and my mom will yell at me.”

“You’re taking this way too seriously.” Ace folds his arms behind his head. “We’re just playing!”

“A wedding’s a wedding.”

“Whatever, do your fish thing!” “It’s ‘officiant’!”

Jack clears his throat. You and Hornton turn to give him your rapt attention. His nose scrunches up and one fluffy ear flicks at the air a few times before he begins speaking. “Uh, we’re gonna… start with you giving each other your rings.” He pauses, pursing his lips. “... Go on. Do it.”

You raise your left hand dutifully, and Hornton slides the flower ring onto your finger. You do the same for him. Both he and Jack look so serious about this that it’s hard not to giggle. “Okay, now what?”

“Um…”

“Oh! I remember one’a my cousins got married and she walked ‘round her husband a bunch!”

“That sounds weird.”

“It was! But she did it!”

“How many times did she do it?”

“I dunno.”

“Wouldn’t you get dizzy?” Deuce mumbles.

“I mean, she seemed fine.”

You glance at Epel, shrug, then look back at Hornton. “Wanna do it?” He nods eagerly. Again, you try not to giggle. Hornton beams. “Okay, I’ll go first! Epel, how many times should I do it?”

“Uh… I dunno, until you start getting dizzy?”

“Bet I can do more than you,” you whisper to Hornton. He stares at you, wide-eyed, then grins so sharply you barely recognize him.

“Bet you’re wrong.”

You both laugh. Taking a deep breath, you start to walk around and around and around Hornton. He spins with you, wobbling. Meanwhile, your friends count every lap. One, two, three, four — you get to seven, and decide to tap out. Hornton puffs out his chest and, a little green in the face, starts circling you, instead. He also makes it to seven.

“Aw,” you mutter. “It’s a tie.”

“I totally could’ve beat you if I went first.” You stick your tongue out at Hornton. He giggles to himself. Then, he turns to Jack. “So, uh, what next?”

“Umm…” Jack’s face screws up in contemplation. His ears swivel back and forth for a moment, before he hesitantly replies, “Uh… you’re married now?”

“I don’t think that’s it,” you say.

“Aren’t we s’posed to… kiss?”

You stare at Hornton, who appears just as flustered as you now feel. “I think so.”

“Wait!” Ace reaches into his coat pocket and retrieves a small pinecone. He sets it on the ground between you and Hornton. “You’re supposed’ta crush it first!”

“Isn’t it supposed to be glass?” Jack asks, and Ace shoves him. “Hey!”

“Do you wanna go get glass to step on?”

“... No.”

“‘Kay, then pinecone it is!” He gestures enthusiastically at the pinecone. “Crush it! Go! Go! Go!”

You squeeze Hornton’s hand, giggling, and in unison you both lift a foot and crush the pinecone under your feet. It gives a loud, crackling crunch, and its little seed pockets burst and go flying. Your friends hoot and holler in celebration.

“‘Kay, now you need to kiss!” Ace declares.

Hornton turns beet red. “Kiss?”

“Like, for real?” you squeak.

“Uh, yeah, otherwise it’s not a wedding.”

You fidget with your ring, face hot. Hornton stares at you with wide, uncertain eyes. All the while, your friends (well, everyone but Jack) chant, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

You’re the one to take the initiative. Squeezing your eyes shut, you lean in and give Hornton a brief, chaste kiss. It lasts only for a second, and from his startled squeak, it’s almost as if he expected that nothing would ever happen. Behind you, Epel and Ace gag dramatically.

“Ewww, you actually did it!” Epel shakes you by the shoulders and cackles through his words. “Gross!”

“You wanted us to kiss!” you protest. Before you can say more, he lifts you on his shoulders. Your words become a shrill squeal, and you can see Ace and Deuce struggling to lift Hornton, as well. “EPEL! PUT ME DOWN!”

“You’re married!” he crows. “You kissed someone!”

For his part, Hornton buries his face in his hands while Ace and Deuce finally manage to lift him up together.

“Uh… mazel tov,” Jack mumbles.

“We’re not actually married!” Even as you say this, you can’t help your rosy cheeks, nor the way your heart races as you meet Hornton’s electric gaze. He smiles bashfully as he grips Ace and Deuce’s shoulders for balance.

Hours later, after you and Hornton and your friends have spent the rest of the day dancing together and chatting and playing tag, you and Hornton are the only ones left at the park. Everyone else went home as the sun began to set. You run your fingers over your ring’s petals, fascinated by their softness.

“Did you have fun?” you ask, voice small. “I know my friends can be a lot…”

“Yeah.” A faint flush brings life to Hornton’s pale face. He smiles, and the sun casts him in gold. “I haven’t had this much fun in forever. Thank you.” For a moment, he hesitates, then he reaches to grab your hand. “Um… will you be here tomorrow?”

You nod, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “Mhm! Do you… wanna read together, maybe?”

It’s as if the sun is rising again when he beams. He gives your hand a squeeze. “I’d like that.”

Though you’re loath to leave, you force yourself to give Hornton a squeeze in return before you pull back. “I gotta go before Mister Crowley starts worrying. Bye, Hornton.”

“Goodbye.”

—

When you go home, you can’t stop yourself from spinning the flower ring on your finger. Crowley asks you what you’re giggling about over dinner, and all you do is grin and show him the ring and crown. He rolls his eyes, muttering about children and their whimsies (whatever that means), and shoos you off to bed once you’ve finished and cleaned up. Before you crawl under the covers, you take off the flowers and place both pieces delicately on your nightstand.

The next day, once school is over, you run to your oak tree. You’re wearing your ring again, unable to stop looking at it and its perfectly-maintained petals. With an excited shout of “HORNTON!” you swing around to the other side of the tree.

And it’s empty.

Your heart drops.

‘Maybe he’s doing something with his grandma?’

The next day, you approach your tree again, less enthused and more nervous. He’s not there.

‘I thought we were gonna play together again.’

Day after day, you check your tree. Day after day, you’re greeted with no sign of the boy you’d started to befriend. Spring turns into summer. Ace’s brother gets married, and all you can think about during the ceremony is a scaly black tail thump thump thumping against the ground. When the leaves of your oak tree begin to turn gold and orange and red, you stop checking.

The ring and the flower crown remain just as pristine as they were the day they were made. You leave the crown on your dresser and wear the ring to class every day.

Years pass. You grow up. Your friends start taking extra lessons after classes a few times a week to train their magic. A new teacher from the city starts to visit, a young man named Divus Crewel. He teaches chemistry and alchemy, and you take to it like a fish to water. The private lessons you get from him almost help to soothe the beast of envy that grows in your chest every time you leave your friends to their magic classes. By the time you turn 13, the ring no longer fits. You keep it and the crown in a little wooden box tucked lovingly beneath your bed. Sometimes, you take them out and marvel at how little they’ve changed. Your friends, however, change just as rapidly as you do. Their magical prowess grows at a startling rate. You content yourself with cheering from the sidelines and working on your alchemical skills. Ace and Deuce try to bind Grim to you as a familiar first when you’re 16 (It doesn’t work, but your hair briefly catches fire). They next try when you’re 18 (It almost works. Crowley says it may have to do with your utter lack of any magic. You try not to feel resentful.). At last, on your 19th birthday, they succeed. It’s quite possibly the best gift you’ve ever gotten; Grim’s life is prolonged for as long as he’s bound to you.

By 20, you and your friends (by some miracle) all get accepted to the university in the city, the same one that Professors Trein and Crewel teach at. You start working under Crewel as a student alchemist (He says you’re one of his most promising students, especially because you have no magic to use as a shortcut. For once, you don’t wilt at the mention of magic.). You see your first real gargoyle on one of the older campus buildings. You take a photo, your mind conjuring up a fanged grin and excited electric green eyes. ‘Does Hornton still like gargoyles?’ you wonder as you save the photo. Years later, at your graduation ceremony, you take another photo of the gargoyle. Now, it’s decorated with a few fabric-flower leis that your fellow graduates managed to get over its head. ‘Look, Hornton, the gargoyle is celebrating, too!’

You return to your hometown after receiving your degree. Crowley graciously allows you to stay at home (although you suspect he might just like having another hand to help around the house) while you continue your work as an alchemist. Crewel has hired you full-time as a lab assistant. Every day you take the train into the city for work. Sometimes, when you get all caught up in your head and the novelty of watching the world pass by through the window, you find yourself reaching for your left ring finger to twist a ring that isn’t there.

‘It’s been almost twenty years,’ you chastise yourself, ‘why are you still thinking about that boy?’

Despite your age, your experience in romance is limited to the cheesy romance novels and cheap bodice-rippers that populate your bookshelf, interspersed between your textbooks and notebooks. For some reason, you could never bring yourself to try dating. Every time the thought comes to you, you feel the phantom sensation of a soft stem wrapped around your finger. Your friends tease you about it. Ace calls you a dweeb. Epel says you’re acting foolish over a stupid game you played as children. Deuce laughs and does a pantomime of your fake wedding. Jack just shakes his head knowingly. He’s the most understanding about it — wolves mate for life, and he gets why you would take a play-wedding to heart. That doesn’t stop him from getting a jab or two in on occasion, though.Some days, you pull the box out from under your bed and look at the flowers. As always, they look just as perfect as the day they were picked. Now that you’re older, you’ve learned more about magic. The spell required to make and maintain such perfect preservation requires both skill and a wellspring of magic. The amount of magic alone would send most experienced mages into overblot. This only stokes your curiosity. How did Hornton, a child hardly older than you, cast such a spell with ease? Who was he? It’s a question that haunts you. It’s a question you know you’ll never get an answer to.

#malleus x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x yuu #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst fic #twisted wonderland fic #my writing #seraph speaks

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queenshelby · 2 years ago

Text

Auctioned (P. 3)

Pairing: Dark!Thomas Shelby x Virgin!Reader/OC

Warning: Darkish Themes, Prostitution, Smut, Eventual Loss of Virginity, Dubious Consent, Corruption, Destructive Behavior, Massive Age Gap

Notes: Damn, I had this in my drafts for a while but could not publish it as I was a little afraid about how it would be perceived. Also this is the first time I used an OC, so be gentle with me.

You settled into your new life at Arrow House, a grand estate where elegance and opulence intertwined with darkness and danger. As a shy and inexperienced woman, you had much to learn about the ways of pleasing Thomas Shelby, the dominant gangster who ruled over this unforgiving world.

The days passed slowly as you acclimated to your surroundings. You found solace in the stables, where the horses seemed unbothered by the treacheries that lurked beyond the estate's walls. Their gentle presence offered a temporary respite from the weight of your newfound responsibilities.

Inside the library, you delved into books, seeking knowledge and distraction. It became your sanctuary, a place of refuge where the stories transported you to distant lands, far from the clutches of Thomas Shelby's demanding presence.

The library was adorned with antique furniture, its rich scent of leather bindings and aged parchment elevating the ambience.

You felt safe there, hidden amidst the countless tomes that were silent witnesses to the sins committed within these walls. But even here, you couldn't escape the shadow of Thomas Shelby. His presence loomed over everything, a constant reminder of your precarious position.

Alison often visited you in the library, offering her wisdom about navigating your role as Thomas' "possession". Her guidance was invaluable, yet it never seemed enough to fully ease your fears.

The more time you spent with Thomas, the clearer it became that he was a man of many contradictions – tender one moment, cruel the next.

***

One evening, after a lavish dinner party, you were summoned to his office. Nervously, you followed Alison down the corridor, trying to hide your trembling hands behind your back. She glanced back at you with a reassuring smile, reminding you to breathe and find your centre.

Thomas waited patiently inside his office, seated upon his large, comfortable leather chair. He leaned back, studying you with an unreadable gaze. The room was dimly lit, adding to the air of mystery surrounding him.

"Y/N," he began, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through your core. "Tonight, I require your services as Alison has not been feeling too well." His eyes flickered to Alison, who stood quietly beside you, nodding, and you took a deep breath, feeling your nerves calm slightly as you tried to focus on the task ahead.

Thomas continued, "You have proven yourself capable before, so I know you can handle this." Your confidence wavered slightly as you considered the pressure he placed upon you. But you knew it was necessary to prove yourself to him once again.

As such, and without words, you approached him, kneeling on the floor in front of his imposing presence. He allowed you to take control, giving you an opportunity to showcase your talents while still hurrying you along since he had business to attend to.

"You have fifteen minutes, Love. I suggest you get to it, eh?" Tommy pointed out while he opened his belt and then his zipper.

Your heart raced faster than usual; your hands trembled as you reached out to touch him. Time seemed to slow down, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breaths and the rustling of his clothes as his erection was revealed to you once again.

His powerful thighs his commanding presence, all enveloped you, making you feel like you were floating outside of your body, a mere observer of the events unfolding.

With shaking hands, you reached forward, letting your fingers brush against his skin, feeling the heat radiating from him. You could sense his impatience growing as you wrapped your hand around his hard, throbbing length.

He wanted satisfaction quickly and efficiently. You focused intently on your task, desperate to prove yourself worthy to him.

"Come on, Love, use your mouth," his eyes remained cold and distant, making you question if your efforts were truly appreciated.

"Yes, Mr Shelby," you confirmed before taking his length into your mouth with a mixture of nervous excitement and determination. Your tongue swirled around the head, tracing patterns designed to bring him pleasure. You listened carefully to the sound of his breathing, monitoring the rhythm to match your movements.

"That's it, Love. Keep going," he eventually groaned as hips shifted restlessly, and you maintained your focus, determined to prove yourself worthy of his attention.

With each passing minute, your resolve grew stronger, driven by the desire to win his approval.

Your mouth moved fluidly up and down his length, creating an erotic dance that matched the tempo of his breathing. His moans and gasps intensified, feeding your confidence as you perfected your technique.

Time seemed to warp around you, as if every second was a lifetime spent entirely under his gaze. Your lips wrapped tightly around him, sucking firmly, creating waves of pleasure coursing through his body. With each movement, you felt your power grow, and your connection to him deepened.

"Good girl, keep your tongue firm against my cock", he groaned, his grip on the armrest tightening, his eyes burning with intensity.

Your hands worked together, caressing his thighs, teasing his balls gently. You could feel his arousal building, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Yes, just like that…" he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

Every word, every touch, served to fuel your determination.

As the minutes ticked away, the intensity of your focus heightened.

You could hear the echo of your laboured breaths, the creak of the leather chair, and the subtle click of the clock. Each sensation brought you closer to achieving the level of mastery you sought.

The warmth emanating from Thomas radiated onto your face, filling your nose with the distinct scent of masculinity. His fingers clenched and unclenched, mirroring the turbulent storm of his thoughts and emotions.

Alison watched from a distance, silently observing both of you, her expression a mix of admiration and concern.

"Almost there, Love. Fuck," he cursed, his hand reaching back to play with your hair. "Don't stop now," he commanded, a possessive tone in his voice. His gaze held yours, daring you to defy him, but you knew better than to test his patience.

You kept working diligently, maintaining eye contact with him, allowing him to see the depth of your commitment. Your lips continued to slide up and down his length, creating a rhythmic pattern designed to please him.

"I expect you to swallow every drop, Love," he went on to say before; with a loud roar, he came, shooting hot liquid into your mouth.

Your reflexes kicked in instinctively, taking his seed into your mouth, savouring the taste as he let out a long, satisfying sigh. His breathing gradually slowed down, and he released you from his grasp.

You gently touched his thigh, looking up at him with a mixture of humility and pride, unsure of how he would react. He looked down at you, a slight grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Not bad, Love. Not bad at all." His praise sent a surge of relief through you, washing away any lingering doubts about your abilities.

"Thank you, sir," you confirmed before licking the remnants of seed from your lips.

You felt a strange mix of apprehension and accomplishment, proud of your ability to provide him with pleasure yet concerned about what the future might hold.

***

Over the next two days, you spent more time at the stables, and even Thomas joined you on one occasion, taking an interest in your passion for horses.

As he watched you tend to the animals, you found yourself sharing anecdotes about your life before Thomas Shelby. His attention focused solely on you as you shared stories about your family and childhood dreams. Despite the awkwardness of sharing such personal experiences, it strengthened your bond with him.

He listened intently, asking questions about your past, genuinely interested in understanding who you were beyond the physical aspects of your relationship. It was during those moments that you realised Thomas possessed a complexity rarely seen in others.

As you tended to the horses, he observed you with a keen eye, almost as if he was searching for something deeper. He inquired about your love for horses and how it had begun. Your heart fluttered at the genuine curiosity in his eyes, and you shared your tale with fervour. You spoke of your first horse, a gentle mare named Whisper, who taught you the art of connection and trust. It was evident in his expressions that your words resonated with him, striking a chord that few other subjects ever did.

As you shared your stories, Thomas became increasingly invested in learning more about you. He asked probing questions, seeking to understand the motivations behind your actions and choices.

You couldn't help but be amazed by his genuine curiosity and openness. In the midst of it all, you found yourself drawn to him in ways you never imagined possible. The warmth in his eyes whenever he looked at you was intoxicating, leaving you yearning for more.

Yet, you remained cautious not to let your feelings for him run wild. You cherished these rare moments of solitude where he appeared vulnerable and engaged.

As the days passed, you continued to learn more about him, too. He revealed parts of himself that surprised you, and you discovered a gentler side hidden beneath his hard exterior. However, you couldn't help but notice the darkness that occasionally clouded his eyes, hinting at a past filled with pain and betrayal.

It left you wondering how someone so wounded could find joy in a world that seemingly brought him nothing but suffering. As you delved deeper into his history, you uncovered the reason behind his controlling nature. It was a need to protect himself, and he seemingly enjoyed the thrill of being the one in charge.

Taking charge was exactly what he did that same night again when you were called into his chambers, and it was Alison who gave you a pep talk before your impending encounter.

"Tomorrow night, Mr Shelby wants to claim what he acquired during the auction," Alison told you softly.

"You will be spending time with him alone. This is what he wants," she added, her voice steady and confident.

You nodded in understanding, knowing full well that giving in to his desires would keep you safe and secure within his domain.

She placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, telling you not to worry about it too much.

"You will do well; I have no doubt about it. Despite this, Mr. Shelby seems to have a soft spot for your innocent nature. I think it intrigues and arouses him all at the same time," Alison explained, watching you carefully.

"But don't fret; it's just another aspect of his personality. He enjoys pushing boundaries and testing limits." She smiled reassuringly, offering advice to calm your nerves.

"Which brings us to tonight, where he wants to see us both to ensure that, come tomorrow, you are ready to lose your virginity to him," Alison exclaimed, and thus, as the night fell, Alison led you through the labyrinthine hallways of Arrow House, guiding you towards Thomas Shelby's private quarters. The anticipation and nerves danced in your chest, each step amplifying the thump of your heartbeat.

Finally, you stood before the imposing door, your palms slightly damp as Alison knocked, her knuckles rapping against the solid wood. The sound reverberated through the silence, announcing your arrival. You had not been in his bedroom before and were surprised that tonight, this was where he wanted you both to come.

The door creaked open, revealing Thomas Shelby, his eyes sharp and piercing as they scanned both you and Alison. His lips curled into a predatory smile, and you felt a shiver trickle down your spine.

"Come in, close the door," Thomas said, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

Alison stepped aside, allowing you to enter first. You walked slowly across the threshold, careful not to make eye contact with Thomas, your heart racing in your chest. You followed the path Alison had shown you earlier that evening, walking towards the centre of the room. As you approached, Thomas' presence became more pronounced, enveloping you in his powerful aura.

"Y/N, stand here," he ordered, pointing to a spot near the edge of the large, ornate bed. As you moved closer, the fine detailing of the furniture around you caught your attention.

The opulence of the room seemed to overwhelm you, a stark contrast to the simple life you had once known. Standing beside Alison, you took it all in – the rich fabric of the curtains, the intricate patterns carved into the bedposts, and the sense of power that hung thick in the air. Thomas' eyes bore into you, his intensity causing your pulse to race faster.

Alison broke the silence, addressing Thomas with a calm demeanour. "Mr. Shelby, Y/N has proven herself capable of pleasing you, so what do you expect of her tonight?" she asked.

His lips tightened, the lines around his eyes deepening.

"Well, first, I want to see how receptacle she is to my touch, and then, we shall see, eh?” Tommy said, and your heart raced as you absorbed his words, trying to hide your nervousness.

Alison seemed unfazed by his crude language, her face remaining composed.

"Of course, Mr. Shelby," she replied coolly, maintaining her composure despite the demanding situation.

Tommy's eyes locked onto yours, assessing your reaction. He leaned back against the bedpost, his gaze turning predatory. "Let's begin then."

You hesitated for a moment, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise within you.

"Undress, Sweetheart," Tommy then ordered, his tone commanding and authoritative. With trembling hands, you began to shed your clothes, revealing your body to him for the first time as you stood there, vulnerable and exposed.

Tommy walked towards you, his eyes trailing across your now-exposed body. You held your breath, trying to mask your discomfort. "Beautiful," he whispered, running his fingers lightly along your skin.

You felt your cheeks flush as you met his gaze, a mixture of surprise and attraction burning in your eyes.

Without warning, he grasped your wrist, pulling you toward him. Your breath hitched as you found yourself pressed against his hard chest, the heat of his body seeping into yours. You closed your eyes, trying to remain composed amidst the intense sensations coursing through your body.

"Don't be afraid, Love," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

"This isn't something to be ashamed of." Your eyes met his, finding solace in the sincerity of his words. You allowed yourself to relax slightly, the tension easing from your shoulders. As your confidence grew, so did the desire coursing through your veins.

He led you over to the bed, sitting you down on its edge. He positioned himself behind you, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. "You must trust me, eh," he whispered into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"I won't hurt you." His tender touch made you believe him, even though a part of you wondered if he was lying. Still, you found yourself wanting to surrender completely to him despite the lingering uncertainty.

Slowly, he ran his hands up and down your arms, gently tracing the curves of your body. His touch was gentle yet firm, stirring both excitement and trepidation within you. The warmth of his touch caused your heart to beat faster, filling you with a longing for more.

His touch was masterful, expertly skimming over your skin with just enough pressure to leave you wanting. As his hands continued their journey down your body, you found yourself growing increasingly aroused. You were caught between the desire to satiate your yearnings and the fear of revealing too much of yourself.

Your mind drifted to the various lessons Alison had taught you, trying to find strength in those memories. You remembered the way she spoke of Thomas, describing him as possessive yet kind.

"Now, listen carefully," he began, his voice resonating with control.

"I want you to lie down, legs spread open so that I can get a good look at what I acquired," Thomas told you before gesturing for Alison to join you on the large bed.

Alison, ever composed, obeyed his order without hesitation. You watched her, taking note of her composure.

"Come here, pet, rest your head on my lap and present yourself to who owns you now," she said, her language surprisingly crude and dominant, just like Thomas enjoyed it.

You felt your heart quicken, unsure if you could fully comprehend her words. But as Thomas' strong fingers wrapped around your nape, you realised that you needed to submit to his will, as Alison had advised you previously.

So, you obliged, placing your head upon his strong lap and looking up into his penetrating eyes. They were cold, like steel, but there was also a hint of tenderness beneath it.

"Spread your legs wide for me, Love," he commanded, his voice harsh yet commanding.

Obeying instinctively, you extended your legs, feeling the vulnerability of your exposed position. As you lay there, exposed and submissive, you couldn't help but feel the intense mixture of fear and arousal coursing through your veins.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice echoing throughout the room. Unwilling to disobey, you raised your gaze to meet his steely eyes.

"Do you understand that you belong to me? That your body belongs to me?" He asked, his tone demanding an answer.

Nodding your head, you acknowledged his claim, feeling the weight of his ownership settling upon your shoulders. You swallowed hard, the lump forming in your throat growing larger with each passing second. As you lay there, feeling the heat radiating from his body, you tried to come to terms with the fact that you belonged to him.

"Good girl," he cooed. "Now let me have a look and see whether you are really still a virgin, eh?" Tommy smirked playfully, his eyes filled with curiosity and determination. Despite your anxiety, you felt a rush of excitement surge through your veins. This was a new experience, one that would change your life forever.

As you lay there, exposed and vulnerable, the room was filled with an electric tension. The atmosphere was charged with desire and apprehension. Your eyes darted to Alison, who remained poised and calm, seemingly unaffected by the intensity of the situation. She smiled at you encouragingly, conveying confidence and reassurance.

Your heart skipped a beat as Thomas approached, his powerful presence casting a shadow over you.

"Are you ready?" he whispered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your core.

Nodding your head, you managed a small smile, hoping it conveyed your readiness. Your stomach flipped in anticipation, and your heart raced in your chest.

"That's my good girl," he responded his approval warming your soul. He leaned in, his rough fingers tenderly tracing your cheekbone.

"Trust me, Love, I will be gentle. I won't claim you just yet, not until tomorrow night," he whispered softly, his warm breath tickling your ear. Your heart leapt, caught between excitement and apprehension. You wanted to give yourself wholly to him, even though doubt still lingered in the back of your mind. However, Alison's assurance that Thomas wasn't entirely cruel lent you some comfort.

With a delicate touch, he began exploring your body. His hands brushed over your sensitive skin, eliciting waves of pleasure you'd never imagined possible before, finally descending to your core to assess the condition of what he purchased.

You felt a mixture of nervousness and anticipation as his fingers traced over your slit before he opened you up slightly. He then used two fingers to spread your pussy lips open slightly, determining the truth of your virginity.

You felt a twinge of pain and discomfort, which only heightened your awareness of your vulnerability. Yet, simultaneously, you found yourself becoming increasingly aroused by the intense sensations.

As he examined you, you felt a strange blend of fear and arousal, a complex mix of emotions that you had never experienced before. The knowledge that you belonged to Thomas, that he could do anything he pleased with you, sent a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

"You are already wet, my love. Are you enjoying this?" Tommy asked his voice husky with desire. You nodded, unable to find your voice due to the intensity of the sensations coursing through your body. His fingers were skilled, teasing you expertly, drawing out your pleasure and tormenting you simultaneously. It was a sensation, unlike anything you had ever experienced before, leaving you craving more of his touch.

Thomas's gaze locked onto yours, his expression one of satisfaction and control. "You're so responsive, sweetheart," he purred, leaning in to press his lips against your forehead.

"Let's see how you taste, eh?" Tommy said, wanting to run his tongue through your slit.

You couldn't hide the mixture of fear and excitement that gripped you at his proposal. But as his face drew closer to your core, you felt a surge of trust welling up inside you. Perhaps it was because Alison had been so kind and reassuring, or maybe it was simply your growing desire for Thomas. Whatever the reason, you allowed him to take you in his mouth, opening your legs wider to accommodate him.

As he began to taste you, you closed your eyes, letting the exquisite sensations wash over you.

Thomas's mouth moved skillfully, causing waves of pleasure to course through your body. You moaned softly, lost in the intensity of the moment.

Meanwhile, Alison watched you both intently, silently observing the interplay between you and Thomas. There was a sense of pride in her eyes but also some profound jealousy.

She wanted Thomas to acknowledge her as his primary source of lust, not some inferior second choice. However, she knew that your innocence held certain allurements for Thomas. Thus, she didn't show her feelings on her face, hiding them well.

You, however, were too preoccupied with the sensations cascading through your body to notice her jealousy.

The sensations continued to build, culminating in a powerful climax that left you shuddering. Thomas released you from his grasp, pulling away to admire your flushed face and quivering form.

You looked up at him, the afterglow of passion evident in your eyes. His gaze burned with possession and desire, the power dynamic between you tangible in the air.

"This is just tonight's beginning, Love," he murmured softly, a wicked grin playing on his lips, and your heart raced as you processed his words, anticipation building within you.

"Now, what do you think, Alison? How many fingers could I get into her virgin hole without tearing her?" Tommy asked, his voice laced with dark desire for you.

Alison raised her brows in a challenge and considered for a moment. "Two fingers, no more than that," she replied confidently.

"Two, eh?" Tommy mocked. "How about we start with one, Love?" Tommy suggested before asking you to spread your legs wide again.

As you complied, your nerves became jangled with anticipation.

You looked at Alison, seeking guidance from her as you lay there, exposed and vulnerable. Her cool demeanour seemed unshaken, giving you courage. She smiled reassuringly, telling you that you could handle this.

As Thomas moved closer, his hands slowly caressed your thighs, sending shivers down your spine. He took his time, pressing his first fingers against your entrance, attempting to penetrate you gently.

You cringed at the sudden intrusion, your body tensing in response.

Thomas, surprised by your tightness, forced his digit into you nonetheless.

You cried out in pain, your body resisting his intrusion. He stopped, hesitated for a moment, then pulled his finger out carefully. Alison's expression remained unchanged, unperturbed by your distress.

"You may need some practice, Love," Thomas commented, his voice dripping with condescension. You bit your lip, trying to control your tears, fighting back the urge to succumb to despair. You refused to accept defeat, determined to prove your worth in Thomas's eyes.

"I can take more than one finger, sir," you said defiantly, looking directly into his eyes. Thomas regarded you with a mix of curiosity and appreciation.

"Let's see how much you can truly take, Love," he murmured, his tone hinting at the challenge ahead. Slowly, he pressed his second finger against your entrance, this time applying more pressure. You winced, your body instinctively protesting the intrusion.

Thomas observed your reaction closely, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

As you clenched your teeth, refusing to cry out in pain, he pushed his finger deeper into you. Despite the burning sensation, you maintained your resolve, staring straight into his eyes with determination. Alison continued to watch from the sidelines, her demeanour unmoved by your discomfort.

"Not bad, Love," Thomas acknowledged, his voice imbued with respect. His fingers flexed within you, pushing further in as you tried to bear the increasing discomfort.

Your face contorted with pain, your body struggling to adjust to the foreign invasion. With each incremental advance, you gritted your teeth, silently vowing to overcome the pain.

Alison's gaze remained steady, unwavering, her expression betraying no sympathy for your suffering. As your agony intensified, you felt a renewed sense of determination, fueled by your need to prove yourself worthy in Thomas's eyes.

Sweat trickled down your forehead, a testament to your resolve.

"I can take it," you reassured Tommy again, even with tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

Thomas was now visibly impressed with your resilience. He admired your courage and tenacity in the face of immense pain.

"I know you can, Love, but I don't want to stretch you too much just yet. My cock will take care of that tomorrow night," he groaned, withdrawing his fingers from you, causing a wave of relief to wash over you.

You wiped away the tears, taking deep breaths to calm your ragged nerves. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, trying to regain composure.

Alison watched Thomas's every move with an unreadable expression, her thoughts hidden behind her emotionless mask. She seemed neither envious nor impressed, merely observant.

You looked at Thomas, seeing something new in his eyes - a hint of admiration, perhaps even respect." Tomorrow night, Love, I will not be so kind," Tommy then said to you, his voice carrying a warning mixed with promise. Your heart skipped a beat, the excitement growing within you before he told you to leave his bedroom so that he could finish off with Alison.

"Mr Shelby, may I watch? Perhaps I could learn something from it for our encounter tomorrow night," you suggested, and Thomas smirked.

"By all means, Love, you can watch while fuck Alison. Although bear in mind that what I am about to do to her is not something you will be capable of enduring just yet, eh" Thomas said before motioning for Alison to come over so that he could fuck her.

She approached him with a cool confidence, undoubtedly aware of the power dynamics between them.

Your eyes followed every movement, absorbing the raw, primal energy of their interaction.

Without losing any time, Alison got on to all fours.

"Very good, Alison. She knows that this is how I like to fuck her," Tommy said before he took position behind her, grasping her hips firmly and pulling her close to him.

He was hard and ready after having toyed with you for an hour, and, without losing any time, he lined himself up with Alison's entrance without giving consideration as to whether she was wet enough or not.

His forceful entry caused Alison to let out a sharp gasp, her body jolting slightly as she tried to adapt to his unexpectedly brutal thrust.

Thomas, driven by lust and power, took control of the situation, forcing Alison to submit to his desires. Her resistance, if there ever was any, was crushed under the weight of his dominance.

You watched with bated breath, fascinated by the spectacle unfolding before you. Alison's face remained impassive, though her eyes betrayed a mixture of pain and resignation.

In her moments of quiet defiance, she would occasionally look over at you, her gaze holding a subtle challenge. It was clear that she was both envious and threatened by your presence, torn between admiration for Thomas's preference for you and fear of being replaced entirely.

As Thomas continued his brutal assault on Alison, you found yourself growing increasingly aroused by the sight. The erotic tension between them heightened, fuelling your own desires.

You could not help but feel a twinge of envy as you watched Thomas and Alison engage in their fierce, unapologetic union. Their bodies moved in harmony, each thrust eliciting a moan or grunt from the other. Thomas's strength and dominance contrasted beautifully with Alison's feigned indifference, creating a seductive dance of power and submission.

Your heart raced as you observed their fervent exchange, your breath quickening with each powerful thrust.

The atmosphere in the room was charged with palpable sexual tension, leaving you feeling utterly captivated. Alison's performance was a masterclass in maintaining composure despite the brutality of Thomas's thrusts. It was almost as if she enjoyed being on the receiving end of his domination, albeit with a veiled resentment towards you for being his chosen concubine.

As the intensity of their coupling reached its peak, Thomas pulled out of Allison and called for you.

"Kneel and open your mouth. I want you to take my cum" he said, his voice laced with authority. You felt a surge of power as you obeyed him, opening your mouth eagerly, your lips parted in anticipation. Thomas's arousal was evident as he stood above you, his eyes filled with desire.

"Make sure you swallow, eh?" he groaned before shooting his load into your open mouth. Your cheeks bulged as you swallowed, savouring the taste of his seed as it coursed down your throat. The act served as a reminder of your place in his world – submissive and willing to please him at any cost.

Thomas watched you intently, a hint of satisfaction playing across his features. His gaze held a mixture of admiration and possession, making you feel cherished but also owned. Alison, having witnessed the entire encounter, glared at you with a jealous, defiant air.

You held her gaze, unfazed by her hostility. Though you were physically weak, your spirit was strong, unbowed by her disapproval. The battle lines had been drawn, and you knew that your relationship with Thomas would only grow more complicated as time passed.

As you cleaned up, you could not help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Though the evening's events left you drained and sore, you knew Thomas's trust in you had grown significantly.

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cover-story-bindery · 5 days ago

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This is not the first fic I bound - I definitely bound one of my own fics first, accidentally glued the spine to the case, and then hid it in the back of my craft desk never to be seen again

But I’m posting these binds first because, to be quite frank, they’re curséd.

I have redone the covers FIVE times. Unclear how much of the endpaper I have gone through. I have printed both text blocks AT LEAST three times. Volume II doesn’t have tapes, because I forgot them.

I don’t know what kind of blood sacrifice I was supposed to make for this to go smoothly but I obviously didn’t get it right.

Anyway, these are for @sammialex. We first collaborated on these binds way back last summer, when she was looking for an artist to do cover art and I poked at @maevemauvaise because she’s super talented and it seemed like her sort of thing. The end result is stunning!

The printed hardback from [redacted company] was (in my opinion!) NOT PRETTY ENOUGH

So when I decided, sure yeah, bookbinding, 1000 hobbies in a trench coat, sounds like fun, I knew I wanted to make Sammi a more beautiful copy of her work because I know how much love and attention went into the story.

I learned, at minimum, five specialty skills just to make these.

The bookcloths are Hollander’s Verona line in Merlot and Forest, the cover design was created by @maevemauvaise and hot foiled directly onto the book cloth using a foil quill and my cricut, the endpapers are Hollander’s Thai marble in “Firestorm” and “Forest”, and the paper is Neenah classic linen 8 1/2 x 11, in natural white, which has a really nice heft and texture and feels sort of old-fashioned in a way that vibes with the setting. The ribbon is black velvet which is probably impractical but I’m in charge here.

I designed the typeset using Affinity Publisher and I definitely went ham with green vines and blood drops, but I don’t regret it. It looked like A Lot on the screen but in person I think it’s exactly the right amount.

These babies are going in the mail next week, as soon as I get back from my trip, where I hope the curse won’t follow! @sammialex thanks for letting me play with your work, for your patient guidance with Affinity, and for giving me the opportunity to make every common mistake and several uncommon ones trying to bring these fics to life 💜

Upon What Soil series, by SammiAlex (mind the tags)

Volume I: Vessel at the Launch

Volume II: Last Restraint

#book binding #fan binding #CB binds books now #cover story bindery #SammiAlex #under what soil #if you don’t have a store-bought curse #homemade is fine

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conservethis · 20 days ago

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Now introducing “Book Covers you can literally hear in your head”

#original content #it’s the time of the season for loving #pigeons #doves #libary #books #book cover #publishers binding #cloth binding #put a bird on it #pigeon love

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uwmspeccoll · 1 year ago

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Decorative Plates

It's been awhile since we last posted something on the theme of the decorative arts, so I'm happy to have found this book—especially because it was mis-shelved in the stacks! This book is House and Garden's Book of Color Schemes, which contains "over two hundred color schemes and three hundred illustrations of halls, living rooms, dining rooms, bed chambers, sun rooms, roofs, garden rooms, kitchens and baths; the characteristic colors of each decorative period; how to select a color scheme, with unusual treatments for painted furniture and floors; a portfolio of crystal rooms and eight pages of unusual interiors in color." It was edited by long-time editor of House & Garden Richardson Wright (1887-1961) and Margaret McElroy, associate editor, and published by Condé Nast Publications, Inc. in 1929.

The book includes a large number of photographs of rooms, however, they are mostly in black and white—an unfortunate thing for a book about color! The promised eight color illustrations of rooms are not all present in our copy, but the five that are still in the book are shown here, alongside some of their black and white compatriots. I especially love the one titled "Tawny Yellow in Variety" that features a shocking amount of leopard print.

If you've read any of the posts I usually write, you know that I love a good binding—this one is a publisher's binding in a chartreuse-y yellow book cloth with art deco-style silver tooling featuring stars and leaves. Somebody took it upon themselves to write the publication date on the cover above the title—how thoughtful!

View more posts featuring Decorative Plates.

-- Alice, Special Collections Department Manager

#Decorative Sunday #Decorative Plates #decorative arts #House and Garden's Book of Color Schemes #color schemes #color #decoration #home decor #interior decorating #Richardson Wright #Margaret McElroy #Conde Nast #Conde Nast Publications #art deco #chartreuse #Publishers' bindings

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greetingfromthedead · 6 months ago

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15. The Next Page

Series: Apple Blossoms Pairing: Knives x GN!Reader Word count: 4k

Author's Note: Once again we have reached the end of another batch of chapters and it is time to take a break. I will keep repeating myself by saying just how grateful I am for the continued support on the series! Every comment and message really brightens my day and inspires me to keep writing about the dumb plant man. Apple Blossoms will return, but with my schedule being turned on its head and some writer's block haunting me, I cannot begin to guess when I will be ready to publish the next part. I still hope to see you then!

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Knives looks from the balcony as your figure disappears into the maze of streets below. He doesn't need to wonder where you are headed. Everything he knows about you points towards the little house with the sick girl. You said you would go back in the morning, but of course you wouldn't even be able to sleep if you didn't go there in the late evening too. Undoubtedly you took some more medicine with you, offering everything you can for the sake of those in need. He wonders why you didn't take him with you, but it is just a fleeting thought.

This is nobody's fault.

Your words still haunt him. Everything about your statement is untrue. No matter how Knives slices and dices it, he can point a finger. And mostly that finger points to himself. Everything miserable that has happened on this planet is because of him. Perhaps the awful things would have happened on another world; it would, after all, be in human nature to live in misery, but this here started with him. This is his doing, from scattering humanity on this planet to causing the death of the father of those children. What happened in October and everywhere else is a direct result of him reaching for his goals. And where did it get him? Weak and broken in the mercy of a human who causes him a constant headache.

Knives has tasted the bitterness of regret, but it does not burden him now. Despite everything, he does not curse his defeat or his choices. It is a strange calm to live without both regrets and ambitions. It is not peace, not even acceptance, just the lack of wind after a stormy day. But there is something. A restlessness deep within him. Perhaps a flutter of a butterfly's wing that could breathe life into the embers that have nearly gone out? Does it have something to do with you?

He looks down at the book in his hand, thinking for a moment before sitting down in one of the chairs on the balcony. His fingers trace over the spine of the book, feeling the rough texture of the cloth cover. He examines the fraying edges and bent corners. As he opens the book he observes how some of the glue has come undone with time, but considering everything this binding has seen, it is still in good shape. He marvels at the resilience of this well-loved book.

The quiet rustle of paper disappears into the noise of the late evening. Knives flips through the pages. One by one, he reads the poems stretching over the papers. Some are familiar, some are not. Every single one is a different poem from a distant time and place. Some speak of war and pain, others of love and hope. The different authors write in different voices; their choice of words and rhymes is unique to themselves. Knives consumes the ink on the yellowed paper with his gaze, line after line, page after page. But it is just that—ink on paper. Words written by people who are long dead, people who could never imagine the life he knows. It is a book filled with stories, lies. Describing mythical feelings too big for any one person to experience. Lavish descriptions scrawled across paper to evoke emotion. They are empty; they can't be true in his reality.

Hours pass as Knives continues to pore over the poems. What does anyone see in this? How come it has been appreciated by so many? What made you keep it for so long? Why did you give this to him? The words still feel hollow to him. Why would anyone bother building such a scaffolding of phrases when there is no point to it? There is no flame inside to shine a light on the intricacies. If it had been any other book, he would have set it aside a while ago. But you gave it to him. He can't be outdone by you again. You can't make a fool out of him.

"Your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing." Your voice cuts in half the line Knives reads on the paper. He didn't hear you return, but that's not what makes his eyes go wide. He freezes, paralyzed by the words you spoke. How could you say that? You call him a sinner? You judge him for what he had to do? But it's not hatred that boils within him; it is something completely different, similar to the feeling when he hurt you with his words. A million thoughts race through Knives's head, a whirlwind of nasty feelings that bring the taste of bile into his throat. A physical reaction that raises the hairs on his body.

"Am I wrong?" you ask as he remains in silence. Your tone doesn't fit the words, "I could have sworn that's the one on the page."

Knives doesn't understand, still frozen in the chair even as you sit on the seat next to him.

"No, I was right!" You sound cheerful, your hand reaching over to touch the upper margin of the book. There is something scribbled in pencil on the edge of the page, barely visible. "Your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing. Fyodor Dostoevsky. I remember because of the little doodle on the other page."

Knives watches your fingers trace the words as you read them aloud and the way you point at the little drawing on the other side. His heart remains racing in his chest. You didn't say those words to him, not about him either. You just echoed the words of someone else without thinking.

"Did I startle you? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," you smile and lean forward to be able to peek at his face. "I thought you heard me approaching. I should have made more noise."

He slowly turns his head to look back, still unable to completely shake off the feeling that appeared in his gut so suddenly. No matter how hard he tries to school his features to be as uninterested as always, his eyes remain wide, his eyebrows twitching into a frown.

"My! You look like you've seen a ghost!" You chuckle lightly, your eyes shining in the dim light.

When was the last time anyone looked at him like this? When was the last time anyone laughed at him? He can't remember. It's been so long. Maybe the last time was on the ship? Before everything unfolded. Was it Vash who made fun of him? He can't remember. Any human he has had by his side has been afraid of him; even if it shows as respect or obedience, it has always been fear. Nobody would ever dare to look at him like this, to chuckle at his expression, or tease him. Even Vash's gaze had looked at him in anger and disgust, sometimes even pity, which Knives loathed the most. But what is this look in your eyes? You haven't showed fear towards him, not once. He has seen you angry with him. He has seen your sorrow. But you haven't looked at him with this inviting gentleness.

His frown softens, unraveling the tension in his expression. He looks at you, studying the lines of your face. He feels like he is drowning in your eyes, and the smile on your lips that grows more worrisome with every second that Knives doesn't reply. You tilt your head, trying to decipher the strange expression on his face.

"Smile for me, please," you say, still lighthearted despite the puzzled expression on your face.

Knives is taken aback by that request.

"Smile for you?" he speaks softly.

"Good, no slurring of speech. Would you try touching your nose with either pointer finger?" You continue, only confusing Knives more.

He keeps staring at you, not saying anything and not following any instructions either.

"I'm just trying to rule out a stroke," you explain, partially joking, partially not.

"I'm fine," Knives finally responds, ripping his eyes from you and looking to the side.

The book hangs from his hand, his fingers spreading the pages where he left off. He looks away, not only hiding his eyes but his whole face. You lean towards him, giving a strong nudge with your shoulder, enough to shake his whole body.

"Don't pout!" your cheerful voice rings out. "I'm just joking! Mostly."

"How come?" Knives asks but still looks away.

"I'm in a good mood! I went to see the little girl." Your voice comes down a little, the sound more tender than excited. "She woke up. She will be alright."

Knives doesn't respond, just continues staring at the dark desert. You look off too, glancing over the town's lights that don't shine as abundantly as the night before. Wind ruffles through your hair, tousling it gently. Everything feels vivid and exciting. You don't let Knives's pouting get you down.

"They were so grateful that they had flowing water again. It made a massive difference." You don't look at him while you speak, still gazing off into the distance. "You helped them. And you made it look so easy."

"I didn't do it for them."

"Well, whatever the reason, you did good, and they are still grateful for that." You speak as you look over to him again, still feeling giddy in your heart.

"Ow!" Knives exclaims and turns towards you to look down only to see you release the pinch on his arm. His reaction was so quick and genuine that you are sure he had no intention to display it to you.

He pulls his arm away, looking at you with a strange expression. His skin looks darker than usual, but it is hard to tell in the dimness that conceals his features. He looks so different in that moment, as if you had stepped through the layers and layers of veils to see the real person underneath. How strange. How different. How enticing.

What a headache you are. Knives can't even form a straight thought. His head spins from everything you say and everything you do. And those eyes that nail him to the spot. What is this? His chest feels heavy, his skin tender where you touched him. Perhaps you were right. Maybe this is a stroke. He is still sick; that has to be it. There is no other explanation. But would the world revolve around his head just as quickly if you looked at him with fear?

I like the way you look at me. The thought crosses Knives's mind, and he does his best to stuff it away into a far corner. What does it matter that your gaze is filled with bravery when you look at him? Why would he care for the mischief and mystery that lurk behind your eyes in this moment? You should be afraid of him. Keep looking at me with those brave eyes.

"What's wrong?" You wonder aloud as he stares at you again. He looks like he is in a haze, but you are still too drunk on relief and happiness, speaking more brazenly than you perhaps usually would. "Has the cat got your tongue?" you tease jokingly.

He still looks so awkward. Wide-eyed and silent. He acts more strangely than usual, making you wonder if it is your overflowing joy that is making him uncomfortable. That does put a bit of a damper on your mood. You glance over him, your eyes trailing down until you see the familiar book in his hand again.

"So, what do you think about it?" you ask, trying to get him to speak again.

Knives is glad for this change. He no longer drowns in your expression; he doesn't get lost in the lines of your face. And it is a question he can answer. He understands its purpose and doesn't have to wonder what you could possibly mean with your outrageous suggestions, like telling you what's wrong.

"It is filled with Earth poems," Knives answers simply. For him it says it all, but to you it should sound like a neutral declaration, vague enough to not sound rude.

"Well, I know that." You smile to yourself. "But isn't it interesting that despite the hundreds of years separating us from them, we still find ourselves drawn to the same words and emotions? Like nothing has changed. Yet the only thing that we seem to have in common with those poets is humanity itself. We don't even live on the same planet as them."

"You think so?" His voice is nearly as uninterested as always, distant and level, but there is a hint of surprise as his tone goes up by the end.

"Don't you think so?" you reply to his question with your own. To be fair, you aren't completely sure what he even asks about. The poems or the poets? Whatever the case, Knives doesn't answer. Instead, he closes the book and straightens up in his chair beside you. He looks ahead with a thoughtful expression, as if contemplating how to respond.

"I think I will go to bed," he finally states without looking over to you. He stands up from his chair as he speaks.

"Oh no, you don't!" you exclaim, a bit exasperated, and grab his hand. "You won't hide that wound from me! I'll come and check. Then you can go to bed!"

As you took his hand into yours, electricity sparked from his fingers up his arm, fading away into his spine, only leaving a tingle behind. His head turns towards you in a fraction of a second, his eyes wide with surprise. You don't usually grab him like this. How can he refuse you if you look at him with such determination? It takes every ounce of strength he has to snatch his hand from yours, but not because of your tight grip, but because of the fortitude it takes for him to snap out of this haze that suddenly numbs his body.

"Very well then," he says, his tone turning icy.

Knives leads the way, entering his room from the balcony door with you close behind. This feels different. He is agitated. A restlessness tightens his stomach and chest. He leaves the book on the edge of the bed as he passes it to turn on the overhead lights. The room is illuminated, and so are you. No longer does the dimness hide your face or your body. It only makes the unease grow within him. He feels a knot form in his stomach and chest. Why is this? What is this feeling? Fear? Why would he be afraid of you? Is it irrational paranoia? He doesn't appreciate being under the care of a human. That doesn't mean he should feel fear. Whatever this is, it is foolish and unnecessary. He will grit his teeth and bear it, never allowing you to see this temporary weakness. He will always maintain his composure, even if you are the one causing his distress.

You position the small table in his room that was used for yesterday's dinner to fashion yourself a little workstation. It is now beside the bed, and you bend the reading lamp on top of it. This should work. You don't expect to have to do anything too precise. You pull out a tube you bought from a trader today and leave it beside the light before heading to the bathroom to wash your hands.

The room feels too quiet for Knives. Despite the whisper of water, his ears ring. Not only that, his arm that you grabbed still feels tingly, and the tightness in his stomach and chest threatens to leave him breathless. Is this what you called a stroke? Or maybe it is a heart attack? Could something like that kill him? Doubtful. He just has to endure this. It will pass. He will heal.

While waiting for your return, Knives pulls the cotton shirt over his head and starts to unwind the bandages around his body that he had wrapped there himself yesterday. He couldn't bear coming to you with this. Couldn't bear the thought of asking for help. As a result, the bandages are loose around him, sliding about a lot more than usual. He had never paid much attention to how you did it, so he didn't know how to properly secure them.

You return from the bathroom with even more supplies that you must have brought from your own room. There's fresh bandages and a bottle of clear liquid. Knives watches you sit down on the edge of his bed and beckoning him closer with a smile. Without even thinking, his body complies, stepping right in front of you. He stands there rigid as a statue, his body leaning back a bit as if trying to maintain distance. Knives feels your hands like burning embers as they touch him to move him to the side just enough for the light to cast upon his wound. You have that familiar look on your face again, the focused and determined one Knives has observed on you before. This is the doctor in you, caring for your patient. It is so different from the teasing expression you had before, but it remains just as kind. He looks down, keeping careful watch over every shift of your expression.

"Good news is that it hasn't gotten much worse. But it is still badly bruised and not completely healed," you speak without looking up at him; nevertheless, your voice sounds worried. "That said, you have to stop touching it. It isn't healing like it is supposed to. You need to let it rest and give it time to recover properly."

Knives barely hears the words you speak. Almost everything he has goes into not grabbing your hand that touches his body. It feels so strangely warm against his skin. You keep speaking, but he can't focus on your words. He must remain still. He mustn't let on that your touch bothers him so much. He welcomes the rush of pain as you clean his wound with the clear liquid from the bottle. The familiar scent of Marvin's strong liquor stings his nose, but that too is an appreciated distraction. Your fingers keep roaming his side as you take care of him. Lines of fire are left behind where you lightly pull on his skin. Even the familiar pain can't drown that out. His fingers twitch, but Knives manages to remain in control before they would have reached out to capture your hand.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you! I just needed to make sure there's no infection." You sound apologetic, and you pull away from him. Yet the ghostly touch of your skin on his remains. It only gives him a moment to gather himself before you take the tube and smear his wound in a yellowish salve. He winces at it; however, it's not from pain but from your touch. Your mumbled apology falls on deaf ears as Knives tries his best to figure out what is wrong with him.

The worst comes when you adhere a blaster over his wound and secure it with bandages. Your fingers press the sticky side against him, and your arms reach around his body to take the roll from one hand to the other. It is possible you had told him to spin around, but he did not hear those words. All he can see is you leaning closer to him, almost like giving him an embrace. His arms hover uselessly at his sides, unsure of what to do. Part of him wants to reach out again, but what would be the point?

He looks so strange. Even stranger than before. You wonder what has gotten into him. Is he being so silent and weird because you scolded him? You only did it because you are worried for him. All his other wounds are healed, yet the one he keeps reaching out for stays the same. If only he would tell you what bothers him. Perhaps you would know what medicine to look for. But since all your questions have been met with silence, you are left feeling helpless.

You quickly clean up after yourself, all while being watched by his icy glare. What could he possibly be thinking about? He truly acts like a child sometimes. Guess you shouldn't be surprised that this is his reaction to being lectured by you. You wish him a good night before leaving with no answer through the conjoined bathroom.

Knives sits down on the edge of the bed, almost folding over as his arm reaches across his body to cup the wound. He can still feel the impression of your touch. He can place his fingertips where yours were, spaced out exactly the same. He traces his hand over his bandages and skin where yours had been. The way you cleaned and checked his wound, pulling on the skin and smearing the ointment all over it. Your touch haunts him more severely than it has ever before. Even the slightest graze of your hands against his skin has left tingling marks that refuse to be erased. It fills him with anger. How can a single human be such a pain to him?

The bed creaks as he gets up again to turn off the lights, but as he shifts, the book falls to the floor with a thud. Knives reaches down to pick it up, his eyes finding the pencil marks on the edge of the paper where the book had opened itself to.

"I'm not used to being loved. I wouldn't know what to do. F. Scott Fitzgerald."

The scribble doesn't mean anything to Knives. It doesn't speak to him. He doesn't believe in that fairy tale love described in literature. It is nonsense. Yet it turns the anger into rage. His chest finally breaks free of the binds that suffocated him while you were around. Everything burns within him, an inferno he hasn't felt since fighting for his paradise. It feels familiar, destructive. His fingers turn into claws, hooked and bloodhungry. He carelessly throws the book to the side while walking over to the light switches. His hand smears blood over the metal plates before plunging his room into darkness. The fury and pain burn away the feeling of your touch from his skin. If only it would erase you from his mind. If only he could forget those eyes of yours. If only he could forget the sound of your voice. If only you would fear him.

As he turns back, it seems like he sees your reflection in the glass window. The same brave eyes. The same kind smile. The same caring expression he seems unable to escape. He walks across the room and the illusion disappears. And so does his anger. He is all alone. Even the raging fire within him is nothing more than a flickering flame of a candle. His guiding light has always been an inferno, shining bright enough to drown out anything else, but now that it is gone, Knives sees sources of light he has never noticed before. Tiny flickers like stars in the night sky. How pathetic he feels. With the blaze gone, so is his strength. Slowly he leans against the glass, and even slower he slides down along it until he sits on the floor with his bare back against the window.

The curtains still smell of the incense that was burned yesterday. Knives suddenly feels so tired and weak, like everything he has ever been was burned to ash in his anger. He can't close his eyes. He cannot fall asleep. Not here. Not now. Not with the incense blurring his senses and you filling his mind. His fingers press deeper into the reopened wound that soaks his bandages with blood. He needs to stay awake. Why is this happening to him?

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