#with apologies to anyone who actually tracks or peruses that tag

[aeide-thea]

anyway earlier i went down a whole rabbit hole bc i saw this post and was like ‘wait, who’s putting breathing marks on cavafy????’ bc i knew modern greek didn’t use them, but as it turns out the monotonic orthographical reform only dates back to 1982 so in fact cavafy was the one putting breathing marks on cavafy and i’m the silly rabbit!

however my googling did connect me with the following items:

1)

What we do know is that, in 1924, Cavafy’s homosexuality came to public light. It was a dispute about grammar—Greeks feel passionate about many things, but grammar would have to rank near the top of the list—that led Socrates Lagoudakis, a columnist for the local paper with inflammatory, somewhat comic opinions, to condemn Cavafy as “another Oscar Wilde.” (Cavafy had spelled the Greek for “New York” with a smooth breathing mark, contra Lagoudakis, who, whenever he mentioned New York, used a rough one. Things escalated from there.)

(source)

which i assume was a simple ‘disagreement sparks ad hominem remark’ scenario but which i desperately want to interpret as hadditional haspiration being seen as somehow more hmacho;

2) polytoniko.org, or ‘the homepage of the Citizens’ Movement for the Re-introduction of the Polytonic System’; as i said 2 el in chat, i love (a) Orthographical Passion (b) Unitasker Websites and this is very extremely both:

We hope that this Web site will convince those who believe that the polytonic system is obsolete and useless that the actual fact is the exact opposite: accents and breathings are an essential part of Greek language and we believe that the so-called “monotonic reform” of 1982 is a tragic error, a crime against Greek civilization [bolding original]. And the worst: the monotonic writing system has then been imposed by the state to schools (often with the guilty collaboration of uninformed or irresponsible teachers) so that nowadays young people have grown up with the conviction that accents and breathings are useless and belong to the past. It is our duty to correct that error.

and

3) Standard Languages and Language Standards: Greek, Past and Present:

[A] collection of essays with a distinctive focus and an unusual range. It brings together scholars from different disciplines, with a variety of perspectives, linguistic and literary, historical and social, to address issues of control, prescription, planning and perceptions of value over the long history of the Greek language, from the age of Homer to the present day. Under particular scrutiny are the processes of establishing a standard and the practices and ideologies of standardization. The diverse points of reference include: the Hellenistic koine and the literary classics of modern Greece; lexicography in late antiquity and today; Byzantine Greek, Pontic Greek and cyber-Greek; contested educational initiatives and competing understandings of the Greek language; the relation of linguistic study to standardization and the logic of a standard language. The aim of this ambitious project is not a comprehensive chronological survey or an exhaustive analysis. Rather, the editors have set out to provide a series of informed overviews and snapshots of telling cases that both illuminate the history of the Greek language and explore the nature of language standardization itself.

which is available on libgen and which i now obviously will be reading as soon as i can scrape together enough brain to process it?? so like. pace aesop but silly rabbit wins in the end actually

[babyybitchhhwrites]

Shikaku x Reader 18+

Title: Kiss it Better

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 3830

Warnings/tags: barebacking, begging, older man/younger woman

♥♥♥♥

Shikaku’s body was a menagerie of scars. Some so old that you could just barely make out the pale, jagged pink lines cutting across his skin. Others more recent and darker. They were a stark contrast against his warm complexion, drawing your gaze and making the others seem less noticeable by comparison. You were struck by the sheer number of them; how every inch of his body appeared to be marred with some physical reminder or another of hard won battles just as much as narrow escapes. There were almost too many to count. Surprisingly, though, they did not detract from his undeniable good looks. If anything, they only added to the pretty picture he painted sprawled out underneath you. 

Reverentially, you traced the path of what looked to have been a particularly gruesome wound with your fingertip. It was probably a miracle he hadn’t been eviscerated. You wondered how he’d ever survived - not only this attack but all of them combined. Just how many battles had he fought and walked away from? You weren’t so sure you wanted to know the answer to that question. 

It’s not as if you could have ever given voice to your curiosity anyway. It wasn’t your place to pry and he was already watching you with a steady interest that made you feel decidedly put on the spot. Like a stagelight had been trained on you and you alone; effectively highlighting your role as the instigator in all this. 

He seemed perfectly at ease playing the observer, your audience of one. Content to let you peruse his body at your own leisure. Those sharp, pinpoint eyes that never seemed to miss even the smallest of details tracked the motion of your hand whenever you’d reach out to touch a new scar before flicking back up to your face again, silently gauging your reaction to each one. You weren’t sure what exactly your expression was conveying in that moment but Shikaku drank it all in with unwavering complacency. If he was offended by your keen scrutinization of his scars, he certainly didn’t show it. 

Drawing your gaze lower, you followed the lean line of his stomach until he disappeared underneath you. The meat of your thighs seemed especially soft and pliable where they were bracketing his narrow hips, bulging around and molding to the firm shape of him. He was lithe and hard despite his age. Despite his role as Jounin commander which consisted almost entirely of desk work. He must have taken the time to keep up on his own training over the years and with some frequency, and it showed. 

You couldn’t help noticing that there were signs of past altercations even this far down on his body, much too below the belt to have been anything but a cheap shot. Who was petty and malicious enough to hurt someone here? A tinge of ire sparked through you as the pad of your finger circled the pock mark blemish that was just shy of his hip bone. It must have hurt like hell getting injured so close to the groin. 

Shikaku drew a quiet inhale then and your head came up. Worry that you’d overstepped some unspoken boundary or touched on a nerve that still ached even after the flesh had long since mended itself flooded your thoughts in a sudden rush. You started to issue a hasty apology but, to your surprise, he didn’t look in any way put out. If anything, the crooked smile playing at his mouth only seemed to suggest amusement and the words died in your throat when he brought his hand up to poke at the pale indentation too.

“Shuriken.” He said, finally breaking the silence. “Friendly fire.” 

Your brows lifted. “Really?” 

Nodding, Shikaku abandoned the pale scar tissue in favor of squeezing your thigh. His palm was rough with thick calluses - yet more proof of his consistent training efforts - and wide enough to give the impression that even the plumpest part of your leg was a mere handful for him. It made you feel small and delicate by way of contrast, like something fragile under his touch, and you shuddered on top of him.

Your reaction did not escape his notice, the curve of his mouth taking on a more sly, knowing edge as he turned his head against the pillow to look at you from a different angle and size you up. “Back when I was still in the academy.” He explained. “Gods, that was a long time ago, wasn’t it? Just an accident during shuriken throwing practice though. Nothing to worry your pretty little head over.” 

“I wasn’t worrying.” You insisted but you could tell he didn’t buy it. Huffing, you slouched forward and splayed your hands across his chest to cover the dense cluster of crisscrossed lines littering his sternum. “You just have so many ...”

“Do they make you uncomfortable?”

You thought about that for a moment. “No. They make me sad.” 

Shikaku pinned you with a wry look of humor. “Whatever for? I’m alive, aren’t I?” 

“Yes, but I don’t like to think about you getting hurt.”

A warm, rumbling chuckle vibrated up through his chest to set your guts on fire, making your loins twist and curl in on themselves. You drew a steadying breath as your fingers flexed and the nails sunk into the smooth meat of his pecs. There was more give than you’d expected. It was the only indication you’d yet found that his hard earned muscle mass, as slight as it was, had begun to deteriorate with the passing of time. You wondered if anyone else had noticed yet. Then, in the same breath, you wondered why that knowledge excited you so much.

“Aren’t you sweet.” He murmured, distracting you from those thoughts when he palmed your rib cage between his hands. A gentle tug was all it took for him to drag you further up his body until you were perched on his stomach rather than his hips. The casual display of strength had your pussy fluttering in eager anticipation, clenching around little more than your own slick as Shikaku threaded his fingers through your hair and pulled you down into a kiss.

His lips were firm but soft against yours, molding to your mouth in a way that seemed to suggest you two had been made to perfectly fit one another. Leaning further into him, you sighed through your nose and kissed him back. You wanted to stay with Shikaku just like this forever. There wasn’t anywhere else you’d rather be than tangled up in bed with him. But, as all things must eventually come to an end, that brief exchange ended long before you were ready for it to.

“When you make that face, I feel like I should apologize.” He said against your mouth. 

“What face?” You whispered. 

“The one you’re making right now.” Shikaku kissed you again; a slow, lingering peck that inspired a shudder down your spine. Eyes that were such a dark shade of brown they looked black - true black - gleamed playfully at you from just a scant few millimeters away while he studied your expression. Taking in your every shallow breath, every minute muscle twitch, and neatly filing it away for later. “I just can’t stand to see you looking so sad because of me. I don’t think ‘sorry’ would actually make you feel any better though.” 

You gave your head a small shake, allowing him to cup your face in the cradle of his palms. He was so gentle with you. Tender despite the calluses digging abrasively into your skin. You hadn’t thought a man like Shikaku actually existed until you’d found yourself working under him and subsequently, perhaps even inevitably, writhing under him in blissful ecstasy only a few short months later. It was almost too good to be true. A dream you never wanted to wake from. 

“I don’t want your apologies.” You told him quietly. 

“What would you have of me then?” 

That was a question you didn’t have to stop and think about. 

“You. I only want you.” 

Leaning up, you pecked at his mouth and then his chin. The coarse hair of his beard tickled slightly as you trailed butterfly kisses along the curve of his jaw and cheek until you could press your lips to the scar slashing across the side of his face. You lingered there for a moment. Feeling the heat of him seeping through his skin and into you before pulling back just enough to speak. “If I could, I would kiss away all your scars. You look very handsome with them. Distinguished. But I wish you’d never gotten hurt in the first place.” 

Shikaku turned his head and nuzzled into your hair, making the tip of his nose brush the outer shell of your ear. “That’s what it means to be a shinobi. You get hurt and learn from your mistakes.” 

“You’ve made this many?” You asked

“And then some.” 

A faint, masculine grunt later, you abruptly found yourself flipped over onto your back. The sudden rush of movement happened too fast for you to comprehend what was happening until you hit the futon with a half stifled gasp. Your eyes widened up at Shikaku as he moved over top of you, sinewy muscles under his skin dancing in a delightful display of subdued strength. With one elbow braced against the mattress, he brought his other hand down to slip under your thigh, grabbing a tight fistfull of doughy soft flesh and hiking your leg up into the air. The faltering groan that tumbled off your tongue sounded needy even to your own ears and you grabbed onto his shoulders with fingers poised like talons. 

Shikaku’s mouth curled into a mischievous little smirk, never missing a beat as he settled between your hips. His pelvis slotted to yours seamlessly, almost like you were two pieces of the same puzzle. The unmistakable nudge of his stiff cock at your pussy lips had you arching against him and trying to curl your captured leg around his ribs; writhing in anticipation as much as you were basking in the immovable force he presented above you. 

He pressed himself flush to you then and your breasts squished against his chest. The sweat slick friction to your nipples sent livewire sparks shooting throughout your body, setting every nerve ending to vibrate. You drew a haggard breath, mewling softly when he bent your leg higher and hooked your ankle over his shoulder. Effectively locking you into place. 

Helpless, all you could do was flex your toes while Shikaku took his time slowly angling his hips back and forth, teasing you with the hard weight between his legs. Gliding it along the puffy slit of your labia and coaxing yet more arousal out of your gushing cunt. Prodding your clit with the ridged glans on every smooth, drawn out stroke. It was maddening and wonderful at the same time. You could feel every bump and vein on the underside of his cock as it drug against you, feel it twitching with the need to sink balls deep into your body. Pulsing with red hot desire. It was enough to drive you wild and you whined softly in the back of your throat.

“Shikaku … please ...”

He groaned encouragingly in response. “Please, what? Use your words, sweetheart.”

You closed your eyes against the deep rumble of his voice, so gentle and soft despite the gruff note in his inflection. That alone would have been enough to send you over the edge if you’d allowed it. You could’ve listened to Shikaku speak for hours on end. This wasn’t how you wanted to find your release though and you squirmed, lifting your other leg to throw it over the small of his back and draw him closer. Trying to make him slip inside you.

It was no good though. Shikaku was as stubborn as a mule when he put his mind to it and there likely wasn’t a person alive who could force him to do something he didn’t want. He merely issued another low, carnal chuckle that made your pussy flutter and spasm, grinding his cock against you with more concentrated thrusts. Slipping and sliding through your drenched folds as if he were well and truly fucking you now. 

You were entirely at his mercy, so wet for him that it bordered on obscene, and you shook as you threw your head back against the pillows with a half choked sob. “Please! I want you to take me … I need it ...” 

“Is that so?” Humming his approval, Shikaku dipped his face down and kissed the tender column of your throat. His beard scratched and tickled, leaving a burning trail in its wake as he worked his way over the line of your jaw and higher still until he could capture your lips again. This exchange was far more heated than the last, more demanding, and you keened into his mouth when the head of his cock bumped your clit with growing insistence. 

Trembling, you tore your mouth from his and gasped. “Don’t make me cum like this! I want to feel you inside of me! Please, Shikaku! Please cum inside me!”

He groaned, tense and halting as a shudder rippled down his spine. You could feel every inch of him rolling with it, not unlike the motion of a cresting wave, and your breath hitched as he adjusted the position of your leg over his shoulder. Shikaku shimmied a little lower then and leaned into you with his weight. His cock found your entrance through muscle memory alone, or perhaps instinct, and you tried to arch against him, eager for the sear of penetration. He had you so thoroughly pinned that it was no use though. Your only available option was to cling to him all the more desperately while he impaled you straight down the middle one excruciating fraction at a time. Forcing you to comprehend each inch of him that entered you in daunting slow motion. 

You seethed. He had you wound so tight that you weren’t sure how much more of this teasing you could stand. The ache inside you only seemed to double down and grow more intense the further he sunk into your contracting passage, stretching you wide around his girth. It felt good. So good it almost hurt and tears of pleasure welled up along your lash line, blurring your view of Shikaku’s marred face. You tried to blink them away to no avail. He made you feel whole and complete; filling you up and taking you just shy of the breaking point. Reaching deep inside and touching parts of you that no other man had ever even come close to brushing against. It was overwhelming in the best possible way and you sucked in a ragged breath as his hand came up to cradle the side of your face, shaking. 

“There you go looking sad again.” He murmured, settling against you at long last with an accompanying grunt and a wet squelch. 

“I - I’m not …”

“I know, baby. I know. Shh.” Leaning close, Shikaku kissed the corner of your trembling lips. Those dark, dark irises studied you up close - taking in the flutter of your lashes, the moisture wetting your eyes, the way your brows furrowed and jumped in wonderful agony. You were sure he could see all of you in that moment, right down to your very soul. “You’re still so sensitive even after all this time. What am I ever going to do with you? Hm?”

A hiccuping moan was your only forthcoming response. You couldn’t seem to get your mouth to cooperate but that didn’t appear to bother him and you were grateful for that.

Smiling faintly, Shikaku backed off just enough to push up onto his elbow. His body, beautiful in its imperfection, flexed and roiled above you. The weight of his cock gradually retreated until you were sure he’d slip right out of you before surging forward again on a single, powerful thrust. You jerked at the intense pleasure that spiderwebbed through you, gasping and groaning. Your pussy flexed, squeezing around him in gooey palpitations that made his breath come a little harder. A little faster. 

His mouth fell open with a barely audible groan, his expression pinched while he watched your face twist up in ecstasy. It looked like he was holding himself back. There was a bead of sweat forming on his brow, right above the scar gouged into his temple and you lifted a trembling hand to wipe it away. Shikaku readily leaned into the warmth of your palm, his eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. 

They opened again when he angled his hips back and locked onto yours as he drove into you on another powerful thrust. He didn’t pause to let you adjust this time; quickly taking on a steady rhythm of long strokes and sharp, pointed jabs that had you seeing stars. It felt like he was punching the air right out of your lungs and your breathless cries rapidly rose to join the deafening noise of skin clapping against skin. The humiliating schlucking sound of your cunt sucking him in deep on every downward lunge seemed loud between your bodies and only added to the lewd cacophony filling the space between you two. It echoed inside your head and seemed to heighten your arousal that much more, sending you barreling blindly towards the edge of oblivion. It was as if he intuitively knew how to hit that spot inside you at just the perfect angle and, as usual, you were powerless to stop it even if you’d wanted to.

“Shi - Shikaku!”

The breath puffing out of him grew more labored, straining against the exertion. “Go on, baby. Let it go. I’ve got you.” 

You screwed your eyes shut and curled into him, holding on for dear life as the pressure in your loins rapidly mounted and threatened to suffocate you. Nails digging into long damaged flesh. The tension weighing heavy on all your muscles. Your leg quaking uncontrollably where it was stretched right to the edge of real discomfort over his shoulder. The delicious burn of his cock carving out a space within you one relentless thrust at a time. His sweat damp hips driving into the backs of your thighs with loud, wet smacks. The smell of him, intoxicating and woodsy. It was too much. You could feel the heat of your orgasm bubbling over, reaching critical mass, and your hands flew up to cover your face as you shrieked in delight. 

“Let me see you, sweetheart.” Shikaku’s voice rumbled above you. “Don’t hide from me.”

His long fingers curled around your wrist in the next moment, gentle and coaxing. You let him tug that hand away from your flushed cheek, watching as if through a daze when he pressed your knuckles to his chest, but the other slipped back to tangle in your own hair. You could feel his heart pounding out an erratic rhythm against his ribs and he was looking at you like you were the only woman he’d ever known. Like you were the only one that mattered. Your stomach flipped over itself and, just like that, the coil snapped.

Arching so hard that you caught a sharp pop in your lower back, you threw your head against the pillows and wailed. The fingers in your hair clenched, desperate for something to hold onto while you shook with the force of your release. But the tug to your scalp only seemed to highlight the intense bursts of pleasure radiating from your cunt, making you cry out with more fervor. 

As you shattered around him, Shikaku slowed to a standstill. Panting and tense with the effort of holding his own release at bay but content to let you ride out the waves of pleasure on his cock. He stayed lodged deep inside your pulpy cunt, just watching you writhe on him and shuddering each time your contracting walls spasmed and squeezed like a vice grip. All the while, you twisted and lurched, realizing in a far off, dreamy sort of way what he was doing but you were too far gone to care. It wasn’t nearly enough to dampen the sharp twangs of ecstasy cascading over your heaving body and you groaned dazedly when you started to come down from the high some moments later. 

It took even longer to find your voice and when you finally tried to speak, your voice was thick with the lingering traces of your ograsm. “You never cum when I do …” 

A short, breathless laugh rang out through the statically charged air. “I like to make sure you’re satisfied first, that’s all. Is that so wrong?”

You turned your head to regard the far wall, feigning a pout. “Am I one of them?” 

“One of what?” He sounded mildly perplexed now and you couldn’t really blame him for not knowing what you were talking about. You felt silly even bringing it up again but you had to know. For your own peace of mind.  

“One of your mistakes.”

Carefully taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Shikaku manually turned you back around to look at him. The fond look of exasperation you found peering down at you wasn’t what you’d been expecting - especially not when he was still flushed and sticky from having sex - but it made your heart skip a beat anyway. He was everything you could have ever hoped for and then some.

“You know you’re not. What a silly thing to say.” He muttered, craning his neck down to kiss you again in a lazy, lingering exchange that was as possessive as it was comforting. His lips curled against yours when you enthusiastically returned the gesture, leaning up to meet him, but he was quick to pull back and pin you with a knowing little smirk. “If you don’t think I’m paying you enough attention, all you had to do was say so. We can fix that right now.”

“That’s not what I meant.” You said, trying and failing to wipe the grin off your face.

“Even so,” His expression took on an almost boyish, mischievous edge as he grabbed onto your other ankle and hefted that one up over his shoulder too, effectively bending you in half like a pretzel. “How about we rectify it anyway?”

Your heart thumped wildly inside your chest when the change in position made him feel that much bigger inside you. The glans pressed tight into your spongy inner wall, sending fresh waves of exquisite pressure shooting throughout the sensitized nerves, and you groaned. This was certainly going to be another long, sleepless night and you couldn’t have been any happier about that prospect. 

“Please, Shikaku. Please pay attention to me.” You gasped.

“As you wish, princess.”

♥♥♥♥

Link to fic on AO3: Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24069682

[calpops]

collision | a.i.

In which Ashton owns a record shop and you work in a bookstore a block over. A missing book, a collision and a broken binding bring you together.

Word count: 1k

***

Ashton never usually roams too far from the street his record shop Music Mayhem is on. The store admittedly rules a huge part of his life. He’d raised it from the ground up with his best friend Calum. It dictated most of his free time, if he wasn’t behind the counter for purchases he was perusing the aisles or the back to keep a mental inventory. Even the moments he found himself outside the same poster splashed walls it was usually all tied back to the shop in some way. He’d stop in at Past Presents, the antique shop just a couple buildings up the block, to search for answers or pieces of musical past. The owner Luke always had pieces worth purchasing or advice on vintage players. He also made his daily iced coffee run to the bakery across the street; his good friend Michael enabling his habit with the best brew he’d ever tasted.

Today he finds himself a block over; to the bookstore he’d only ever seen in a rush as he passed. It stands small against buildings double its size, but there’s a certain charm that captures the brick littered with ivy and windows with flower boxes overrun by bright zinnias. Ashton can tell it’s dimly lit just through the windows, shadows dancing across the short spaces and dark wooden shelves seemingly lost in the lack of light. He wonders if it’s even open for a moment but a person cuts past a window and affirms that it is. He’s in search of something specific; looking to replace a book he lost some time ago, only now realizing it no longer sits among the chaos of his overfilled bookshelf. It’s a rare find, written by a local author and out of print. He only hopes he can find it among the used books.

He strolls in and as his eyes adjust to the lighting he spots a table filled with used books. They lay in piles, books askew on top of one another, a mess of literature marked for a dollar with covers and pages creased and worn from time. He walks over with expectations low and sifts through the piles, careful not to damage the books any further.

He has no luck in his endeavors. He double checks just to make sure and sighs in defeat when he comes up empty. He spins around to head back to the doors but stops short and into a collision. A handful of books fall to the floor with resounding thuds and so does a person Ashton has never seen before. His own balance is thrown off as he stumbles but catches himself on the edge of the table, rights himself quickly and looks down at the chaos he inadvertently and accidentally caused.

You look up at him and he goes breathless. Your eyes are wild with worry as you gaze back down at the books now littering the floor. Ashton drops to a knee in an offering of help as your shaking hands reach to recollect them.

“I’m so sorry,” Ashton apologizes and begins to stack the fallen books.

“No, no. I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I took more than I could handle,” you explain while you shake your head in denial of his apology and thumb over a cover that seems to have an extra crease from the way it fell. You sigh and add it to the pile you’ve begun stacking.

“I should watch where I’m going,” Ashton says in an attempt to alleviate your guilt. There’s something in your voice that pulls at his heart strings. Something in your eyes that tells him you’re worth defending.

You both go silent for a moment as the task at hand becomes you. You both reach for the same book, fingers brushing fingers and pulling away quick. Ashton bites his lip and lets you reach for it, but the book falls from its binding and a horrified gasp falls from your lips as the pages splay out onto the floor.

Ashton moves to help quickly, catching the pages and putting them back together in some semblance of what they were before. The cover lays on the floor and the title finally catches his eye. It’s the book he was looking for; a hardbound cover with different colors from the paperback he used to have making it nearly unrecognizable. A tiny laugh rolls out of Ashton but cuts short when he sees your shining eyes and flushed face.

“This is exactly what I was looking for, actually,” Ashton says as he shoves loose pages back into the binding. He hopes his words will comfort you but realizes quite quickly they have the opposite effect.

“I-I’m so sorry, I can try to track down another copy for you I know we don’t have another in stock but we have a sister store in another city I could call and-“ you say in a nervous rush but Ashton smiles and reassures you.

“I actually know a guy who can fix this,” Ashton promises, broken book still in hand and a collection of the other fallen ones under his arm. He starts to stand and so do you, with your own pile of books in hand. “He owns an antique shop. He’s always binding old books, it’s no big deal.”

“Are you sure?” You ask as you both discard the books into the pile on the table. Ashton nods and heads towards the register, throwing you a look as if to communicate he wants to be rung up by you. When you take his hint and follow his lead another rush of words falls out of you.

“You don’t have to pay for it it’s damaged it’ll cost more to fix than buy I can have my wages docked by a dollar for ruining inventory...”

Ashton laughs and hands over a bill. “No need to get in trouble for something I caused, yeah?”

You hesitantly take the money and nod. “Could I at least… buy you a coffee sometime to make up for it?”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Ashton inquires with a raised eyebrow and hope flooding his heart. You blush and butterflies accompany the hope. You nod. “Then, of course.”

You agree to meet for coffee the next day during your break at the bakery a block over; Sweet Stuff being Ashton’s recommendation. Ashton leaves the bookstore with loose pages in broken binding, with a plan for tomorrow and more than he bargained for. Hope and butterflies linger and Ashton’s sure they will stay until he gets to see you again.

***

If you’d like to be added to my tag list just let me know!

Copyright © 2020 capops. All rights reserved. This work is not allowed to be uploaded by anyone else on any platform in any format (translations included).

Tagged: @rosecolouredash @irwinkitten @golden-hood @who-do-you-love-5sos @caswinchester2000 @wildflowergrae @empathycth @cuddlemecalx @calumsmermaid @babylon-corgis @outerspaceisbetterthannothing @mariellelovescupcakes @xhaileyreneex @goth5sos @gosh-im-short @feliznavidaddycal @loveroflrh @findingliam-o @flowerthug @g-l-pierce @talkfastromance4 @cashtonasfuck @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer @wastedheartcth @calumscalm @thesubtweeter @akafeliznavidaddy @myloverboyash @treatallwithkindness @cals-wildflower @wiildflower-xxx @calum-uncrowned @egyptiangoldhood

[hazelnmae]

Lies Travel Faster Part Two: Chapter 8

Okay, so I sincerely apologies that it’s been AGES since I’ve posted, but in all honesty, it’s been AGES since I’ve written. Life has been a bit crazy lately, but I’m glad to report that I actually got a little time to write and so here you go: Chapter 8! Thank you to all of you who are still reading! I LOVE YOU ALL! And a special thank you to @evelynshelby​ for talking me through all of life’s problems and reminding me that it’s okay if I need a break. You’re the BEST, sweetie! XOXO

Summary: Sophia Murphy’s past is coming for her. Can she outrun it?

Tags: Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Warnings: angst; smut; violence; language; rape/non-con; death

Chapter 8 Read Chapter 7 here

Her feet took her up the stairs faster than she thought they could. It wasn’t until her hand reached for the doorknob that she realized she’d been holding her breath the whole way there. 

Sophie had been so hysterical that she’d only registered part of what Ada had told her on the phone. 

There had been an explosion. Outside of Tommy’s office. Tommy wasn’t hurt, but a young boy was killed. 

“And, Sophie,” Ada had said, “He’s in a bad way.” 

Sophie knew exactly what that meant. She dropped the receiver and headed for his office as quickly as she could move.

Upon arrival, she turned the handle and burst into the room to find Tommy standing by the window, having just fastened a plank of wood there to cover the missing glass. He stood in his shirt sleeves, cigarette dangling from his lips, hammer poised to drive another nail, a single bead of sweat working its way over his jaw and down his neck, when he turned and saw her.

She hesitated for a moment, realizing it was only the second time she’d seen Tommy sweat. The first was years before, when they shared a bed together. The memory flashed through her mind. His strong frame holding her close, skin on skin, their bodies intertwined, their breath heavy with pleasure. It was a memory she hadn’t recalled in quite some time, trying her best to repress it since she’d decided it wasn’t likely to happen again. But seeing him stood in his office, not wholly put together as he usually was, brought it forth with a force.

Shaking it from her mind, she rushed to Tommy’s side and searched him over for injury, pulling at his shirt, lifting his arms, feeling his chest and shoulders, and grabbing his face to look him over thoroughly. 

Tommy said nothing, as if he realized what she was doing.

Certain he was free from injury, Sophie rested her forehead on his chest and tried to steady her breath. 

When Tommy’s hands reached around her back as if to hug her, she reacted another way. With clenched fists, she began beating at him, pounding his chest as the tears freely flowed down her face.

“Sophie,” he said. “I’m alright. It was outside.” He used the same low brum that had always calmed her. But this time it only made her more angry. 

“Sophie,” he said again, holding her elbows to stop the onslaught of fists landing about him.

“I know, Tommy.” She finally said in response. “It’s not the explosion.”

Tommy looked at her, not quite understanding what she meant. His eyes searched her face for explanation, but all they saw were sadness and pain. Her tear stained cheeks were red with a growing frustration and he recognized it immediately. He’d missed this. He’d missed the way she never took his shit, the way she always fought back when he’d been otherwise uncontested. And he needed her now, more than ever. He needed her level head as his threatened to betray him over and over. 

But he’d ruined it that day in Charlie’s yard. He’d had his chance, had almost let her back in, before slamming the door with his fast temper, yet again.

His mind wandering, Tommy hadn’t realized what Sophie was doing. She reached into his pocket, not breaking eye contact with him while she dug for the capsule. Pulling it out and holding it in front of his face she simply asked, “Why do you have this, Tommy?”

Tommy felt his heart beat faster. His family knew, of course, but had yet to confront him about his hallucinations. Ada had come closest, suggesting he see a doctor. And he had seen a doctor, but decided after two visits that there was nothing he could do to help. He’d made up his mind that nothing could help. 

Unable to take Sophie’s sober stare, Tommy quickly turned away from her. 

“I need you here, Tommy,” she said.

“Everyone fucking needs me.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Everyone fucking needs you,” Sophie spat back, grabbing his shoulder to spin her to face her. 

And he did, but he just stared at her, that blank expression replacing any softness that had previously worked its way to the surface.

Sophie cupped his cheek in her hand, needing him to understand that he didn’t have to be so fucking tough with her. She knew better.

“But I want you here,” she said, before turning to leave.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Tommy picked up the phone to make the call he was finally ready to make. 

_________________________

Tommy checked his pocket watch. It was two minutes till and it wasn’t like Jesse to be late. He set his empty glass on the table, stood, and paced around to the other side of the bar. He was already a few glasses in and went straight for his favorite whiskey, not even needing to peruse the bottles as he knew exactly where it was kept. But instead of settling on it, Tommy’s hand hesitated over a bottle of champagne. This was an occasion for celebration, he thought. Maybe not in the traditional sense, but if he were going to drink alone he may as well make it festive. 

He grabbed two stemmed glasses just as he heard her enter. 

“I'm not happy about moving this meeting to licensed premises,” Jesse announced as she marched inside.

“You've saved your union the train fare, and you hate London anyway,” he said in response, walking back around the bar to join her at the small table.

“We're looking for popular speakers for our upcoming rally. You're making quite a name for yourself in the Commons,” Jesse added, removing her gloves and placing them gently on the sticky table top.

Tommy worked to open the champagne, the cork  unceremoniously bouncing around the light fixture before coming to a rest on the floor by his chair.

“You'll drink it on your own,” Jesse said, nodding to the second glass he’d sat before her.

Tommy smirked. “Revolution,” he said, raising his glass as if toasting to their mutual belief and taking a hefty swig.

“I haven’t heard from you in a few days,” Jesse said. “Am I to assume our strategy holds?”

“This glass. The bubbles,” Tommy said, tapping the glass as he held it in the air. “They rise to the top. Each bubble has the same chance to rise.”

“That is a very peculiar form of socialism,” Jesse replied, shaking her head slightly and looking him over.

“And this bottle,” he added, picking up the bottle and looking at the label. “Once the cork comes out you can't get it back in. You need to finish what you started.” Tommy opened his arms wide, motioning to his surroundings--the ornate bar with the name ‘Shelby’ etched into every pane of glass. “It's cleverness, that's all,” he added with a tipsy smile.

“So you're playing at this,” Jesse added in more of a statement than a question.

“People can be turned around. Even your people,” Tommy replied.

“My people?”

“Yeah. For them, it's just the same. Communism. Fascism.” He nodded toward her before downing  the last drops in his fluted glass. “For most people, it's an apple and an apple.”

“Fascism is the subject of the rally. I want you to speak against it,” Jesse said, not amused by his squiffy banter.

“In answer to your question I cannot address your rally because it's not part of the current strategy,” Tommy said, finally responding to her more serious inquiry. 

“Ahh. So you have yourself a new strategy?” Jesse asked, clearly miffed. “And I assume it includes the arrival of a certain American in Birmingham?”

No longer interested in hiding his frustration, Tommy let out an exasperated sigh and ran a hand along his face. 

“Let’s stop pretending at this, eh?”

Jesse stood, pushing her chair back as she did. The screech it produced across the floor making the point Jesse hoped it would. 

It was over.

“You’re the one lying to yourself, Thomas,” she said before marching toward the door and letting it slam behind her.

Tommy poured himself one more glass of champagne and quickly knocked it back.

“Congratulations, Ms. Eden,” he mumbled to himself. “You’re finally rid of me.”

__________________________

Sophie hurried past the secretary and knocked on the double wooden doors herself. 

She had entered the Garrison, still unsure of what she was hoping to find.

Something about the pub had felt strange from the beginning--since she’d returned. And now that Jimmy McCavern had shown up on her doorstep holding the wrap she knew she’d left there, she was more certain than ever that she couldn’t trust it, that her gut was right. There was something afoot and she was determined to track it down.

She started by searching the bar itself, looking through the shelves as if some answer to some unknown question was going to jump out at her.

When that search came up empty, she moved on to the office. 

Now she handed the paper to Tommy who looked at her with a mixed air of skepticism and intrigue. When his eyes landed on the paper, though, the air was replaced with shock, followed closely by disappointment.

Tommy recognized the hand, had seen it in the pubs ledger many times. It was Micky’s. And in the bar manager’s scrawl was written a name that was also familiar: J. McCavern. 

Sophie recognized the disappointment on Tommy’s face. She knew he’d wanted to trust Micky, would hate what inevitably came next. But she also needed him to understand the severity of the situation. In his focus on those closest to him, Tommy had neglected to see what was right under his nose. Anyone in the entire organization could be the black cat. Anyone.

“Tommy, you can’t trust anyone,” Sophie warned now in a whisper. 

Tommy just nodded, his eyes still fixed on the paper in his hands.

“From Betty to Michael, no one can be above suspicion.”

“I know,” Tommy retorted, sinking in his chair and tossing his glasses onto the table. Tommy was exhausted.

“That includes Jesse,” Sophie added, almost choking on the name.

“Ms. Eden is no longer a threat.”

“What do you mean?”

Tommy stood and moved slowly around his desk, stopping only mere inches from her. 

“Ms. Eden and I are finished.”

Sophie’s eyes shot up to meet Tommy’s. She felt her pulse quicken. Jesse had been what stood between her and Tommy since she returned. At least, that’s what she’d told herself. In truth, she’d been so afraid to pursue it, so afraid it had all changed, that she relied upon the Jesse situation as a shield protecting her from her own heart, from what she really wanted. 

But now that was gone. And she stood in front of Tommy caught completely off guard and completely vulnerable.

And reading her so well, as he always had, Tommy took that as his cue.

He quickly closed the space between them, wrapping one arm around her waist and snaking his other hand in her hair. Tommy pulled her impossibly close as his lips crashed against hers. She felt the warmth of his body, tasted the whiskey on his breath, smelled the smoke on his coat. It was Tommy. Her Tommy. 

And for the first time since being back in Birmingham, she stopped fighting.

________________

Read the final chapter (9) here.

As always, folks, comments and feedback warmly welcome!

Tag list: @justanothershelby @evelynshelby @l0tsofpennies @sympathyfortheblinderdevil @actuallyazriel @huntersvibe @porcelainjokersmadness@julietswildchild @geeksareunique @brianaisasongbird​ @ilycosimo​ @roolin-wxzlib​ @tmmshlb​