#I'll tag em all just in case

[anonymous-hopeful]

CW: Blood

So... ScarletMilkPlane or MilkPain? Either way, these two look really good together, don't ya think?

[darknoverse]

hi i made another goober .

her name is Dooby Deebo

if anything @candyheartedchy inspired me for this cuz raaaaaa her sona is so cute i had to make an oc too jehfgbvc

[starflungwaddledee]

They called me goofy...

:'D

well i'm pretty sure they won't do it again!

> follow up of this

[front-facing-pokemon]

[somelazyassartist]

DnD is so insane because you can play a game for like 10 hours total and know already that it is going to consume your every waking thought for the next three (plus) years

[aromanticduck]

I can't seem to stop myself from spotting commonly used poetic meters everywhere. I saw a video titled: 'Congrats! You have no personality' and started wondering how the rest of the scathing anti-sonnet would go.

[todayisafridaynight]

Just a curiosity! Why do you reply to the asks mostly via tags?

Nothing wrong with it of course I just found it curious!

if i post a response that's more than two lines long i'll feel like an eighteen wheeler in a bike lane does that make sense

[transgender-chiroptera]

can we show our bat fursonas/ocs here?

Absolutley you can! I love seeing bat characters!! It's always fascinating to see how someone translates something like a bat (orb with wings) into a character (generally more expressive), and/or how people anthropomorphise them!

here's Leo's full ref to start off, feel free to drop your beasts in my inbox!

[discoreptile]

Wee ha

[loveandleases]

Full Disclosure, I went through PAGES of tags to find the Pregnant-by-Chris!MC asks so I could revisit the angst, and it also got me wondering. How would the ROs react if MC ended up pregnant with their kid? And with regards to the F!ROs and trans ROs, how would they react if THEY got pregnant by MC? I'm down with this going in a fluffy or angsty direction, as you gathered from my search for the previous asks about it, so answer however you like!

Oh noo. I swear I'll get to work on the masterpost so you can find things easier, it's been a long time coming and I need to stop procrastinating. I feel like I did this ask before...but I'm not positive. So I'll do it again with how the RO's have developed. Below the cut~ (Tagged with pregnancy for those who don't want to read.)

❤️ Cam - Ec-fucking-static. At first. Cam would be so pleased because finally his own family. Not that MC and Em weren't already. He would give all of his love to his child, unlike what he got from his parents. Then there would be the problem. What if he's just like his parents? What if he's unable to love them the way they need or support them when they need it. MC would have to have an honest heart-to-heart with him.

💙 G - Very nervous at first. There are a lot of things to consider such as school and childbirth. Is their current living space even safe for a kid? And what if MC or G has more than one kid, it's possible. G would need a bit to kind of come to terms with it. Once they have, G is golden. They're happy and don't bother to try and hide behind their cool demeanor.

Now if ex-G/MC had gotten pregnant. It would be so painful for them, because would MC want to be in the picture or would MC allow them to be. If the breakup still happened and MC had gotten with Chris, G would fight with everything they have to see their child, or to give MC the chance to see them. (it's bittersweet)

💚 Kara - So she would be scared more than anything. Happy comes way later, once she's sure this is what she wants. Because for Kara, she doesn't really get to make her own decisions so much of her life is decided for her. If her first real big decision is having a kid, she's going to ace it. First off by having a chat with her parents (who would to overstep), then MC's parents. About what is allowed and isn't. The grandparents don't get to dictate the pregnancy, the childbirth, the child. If they want to be involved then they will be expected to abide by Kara and MC's wishes or be cut out. That simple. (She will buy too many baby clothes ahead of time, it will be a problem)

💛 M - What!? Excuse you, whose pregnant? With a baby? Like an actual human being? How did this happen!? (This is M's reaction regardless of whose pregnant. )MC has to remind shocked M how in fact that did happen. In which case M turns blood red and refuses to look at MC until they've calmed down.) M is going to go through 5 stages. 1 being shock, 2 being really shocked 3 understanding 4 go back and repeat step 1, 2 and 3. 5 acceptance. Leading them all the way to joy. M will take a good bit before they get through those steps, but when they do they're happy, nervous but happy. M isn't sure how to deal with kids. If they have one should they just go ahead and have another too? M will want to call their mothers' immediately. Get some info about raising a kid and what to expect. They will order far too many books about kids and what to expect when you're expecting. (take their computer for their own good)

💜 Isaac - They very well might have a breakdown, and it's not due to not wanting to have a kid with MC. It's more of knowing that you're not promised forever, as someone who lost their mother. Isaac is going to take it hard. Because she will never get to see her grandchild, and Isaac will never get to have that moment with her. Now onto how they feel outside of that, Isaac will struggle. Because they realize they have something else to lose, and to someone who is afraid of committing due to that it's not an easy situation to be in. They would need reassurance, that this is what MC wants. That they'll work hard, and together will do their best for their child. Isaac wants to be there for everything, every checkup, every milestone. All of it. Proudest parent ever.

🖤 Ardent - The amount of breeding jokes to be told : 14. The amount of tears shed: Over 50. Which he will deny with every breath. They're happy tears. Happy to have a family with MC, happy for his niece to have a cousin to navigate the world with. He is too happy, so cocky. Rubbing MC's belly, giving it so many kisses. He did that, him! Can you believe it? Not to mention, Cupid is going to have to take classes now. That's the first step, Cupid learning how to behave around babies. Ardent is very big into reading, he will overread though. Like MC is going to learn the nitty gritty just like he is. Oh, and they'll probably have to move if they're currently living in the apartments. To a place with an actual yard, the kind his parents had back in Greece. MC will be spoiled, because Ardent will cook every meal. He will ensure MC doesn't have to life a finger, or even Cupid if they feel like they can't. He would be a great dad, plus he has been saving up dad jokes. I apologize ahead of time.

[boopshoops]

I've... never really ever been to somethin' as fancy as this before. Oh? You want to dance? ...Pfff, sure. Why not?

Set to home screen: Aight, let's get going.

Home Transition 1: You should've seen how excited Neige was to see Vil here too. But the more I hear about Vil... really makes me wish Neige would take the hint. Don't get me wrong, Neige is sweet as candy, I know, but it's obvious Vil needs some space.

Home Transition 2: I feel like if I make one wrong step, people are gonna look at me like I'm crazy or something. I'm not used to all this etiquette. Welp, not like that's anything new anyway. Let's go have some fun.

Home Transition 3: Yuu's been... huh? Haaa, I swear to Sevens, one moment I think she's missing forever and at the next she's doing whatever the fuck she wants. Just get that cat-thing to distract her for a bit, I'll be over soon enough.

Home Transition 4: If I see one more pinch of glitter getting anywhere near my face, it's on sight. Seriously, I'm gonna be finding this shit everywhere for the rest of my life.

Home, after login: The more time I spent trying to get this whole outfit sorted out, the more I felt conflicted about RSA being invited to this party... but now that I'm here, it's not so bad.

Tap Home 1: I kept having to try on all these uncomfortable dresses before we FINALLY landed on something that suited me. Pants are so much more comfortable anyway. "Who's we?" Ah. Yuu and Neige helped me out a bit.

Tap Home 2: ...Pfff, I've watched Chenya sneak up on like, five different people now. It gets funnier every time. What a dork. That short red head looks so mad-

Tap Home 3: I...uh... think I might've saw someone crying when I came in. Should I... tell someone? I feel bad just leaving 'em be.

Tap Home 4: Hey, look, if you think you're struggling with dancing along, you can come stand on my feet. I know how to lead with this kinda thing... I mean, if you wanna. Not that you're doing bad, I- fuck. You know what I mean.

Tap Home 5: ...You've been hiding under my cape for a good while now. I know it's all shiny and big and whatnot. But do you need something? I'm sure there are other places you could go. Oh? Nah. You're not botherin' me. I just thought you might be getting bored.

Groovification: Hahaha! You shoulda seen their faces when I finally started dancing. Let's out-prince these princes....... man that sounded cheesy. Pfff-

Tap Home Groovy: Whew... I think I'm gonna take a break outside for a bit. Maybe explore NRC campus while I have the chance. Crowley always gets on my case when I sneak in here with the cat boy.

Home Transition Groovy: Ya know, I'd be down to do something like this again. Maybe with more casual clothes, but still. I liked seeing all the shocked looks on peoples faces when they see I actually know how to work this kinda look.

Art tags!!! 🫂💕

@thehollowwriter @skriblee-ksk @distant-velleity @justm3di0cr3 @kitwasnothere

@lowcallyfruity @techno-danger @scint1llat3 @cecilebutcher

The lovely fan event is by @starry-night-rose !!! 💕

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 9

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings: some slightly confrontational conversations wc: 1.7k

Chapter Selection

Ding!

I groaned softly, looking over at my phone. 2 unread messages; Jason's daily ‘good morning 😌’ had just come in, but there was also one from Damian. I clicked on Damian's name, blinking groggily, and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. There was no text, just an attachment; a photo of a page from his sketchbook where he'd drawn a portrait of himself and his friend Jon.

I smiled softly, examining his drawing. It took my sleep-addled mind a moment to realize that what I originally took as a swirly background design was in fact writing. ‘Nice line work! But I'd like to see you branch out a bit’.

Damian: Attachment 4:03am Me: You're a very talented artist! … But, did your teacher write on your work??? 🤨 8:30am Damian: He did. 8:40am Me: … Wtf?????????? That's not cool!  8:41am Damian: It's just a sketchbook … I was considering giving it to Jon, but I can always remake it. The perspective is a bit off anyway. 8:45am Me: …. Oh. Hell. No. 8:46am

I jumped up, calling Jason, and got dressed. Jay answered after the third ring.

“You’re up very early, did I wake you?” He sounded a bit sleepy, and I could picture the little smile on his face.

“Yes, but that's not important right now. Do you know which school Damian goes to?”

“Um … yeah? Why?”

“... I promised him anything he talked to me about would stay between us. But I do need to go to his school. Do you think you can take me there?”

“... I guess? … Just … promise me that everything’s ok?”

“Everything’s fine, I just need to get there.”

“Alright, give me fifteen minutes. I'll be on my bike; wear long pants and closed toed shoes - boots if you've got ’em. … And maybe we can get breakfast after?”

I giggled and nodded; “sounds perfect! You're amazing, Jay!”

He stuttered a bit, mumbling a shy; “I … not really … I … I'll see you soon…” before he hung up.

Damian: What? 8:55am Me: That's just really not ok! What's your teacher's name? 8:56am

I threw on jeans and ran downstairs as Jay arrived on his bike. He held out a helmet for me, smiling softly. “Hey Doll~ … anything you can tell me about why we're going to the school?”

“... Not really. I just need to talk to one of Damian's teachers.”

Jason nodded, opening the bag on the side of his bike and offering me a red leather jacket. “Alright, well, this isn't how I had planned to give you this, but … anyway, here, put this on.”

I blinked a bit, taking it. “... Thank you? … It's really not that cold though…” I put it on anyway, figuring he wouldn't take no for an answer. It fit me perfectly, and had a soft lining on the inside. In the pocket I found a pair of black leather gloves, which I slid on as well.

“It's not for the cold - it's to protect you. If you're gonna be my backpack, you're gonna have proper layers on, in case we get in an accident. … Not that I think we will, I'm an excellent driver, but still. I'm not risking it. Not with you…”

I could feel my heart filling with warmth as I realized why he'd brought the bike today. This wasn’t just a riding jacket, it was my riding jacket. The helmet he gave me was my helmet. He'd gotten these things so we could go riding together... “Ohh, ok~ … What do you mean your backpack?”

He gestured to the seat behind him. “When you’ve got a cute girl riding with you they're called your backpack.”

I giggled softly, climbing on, and wrapped my arms around his waist, just like Red Hood had shown me all those months ago. “I see. Arms here, right?”

He nodded, gently stroking the back of my hand. “Perfect. There's a bluetooth headset in our helmets, so if you need anything just tell me.”

I nodded, leaning against his back, and we took off. Jason was so warm in my arms, and I'd never held him like this before. We'd hugged of course, and cuddled a bit, but this felt different somehow. Maybe because my hands were usually on his back, not his chest or stomach. I quickly started having to consciously remind myself not to fondle his abs, no matter how incredible they felt through his shirt…

All too quickly, we came to a stop in front of a private school. Once our helmets were off, I kissed his cheek. “I'll be right back!”

He blushed a bit and nodded, taking my helmet. “Just don't get kicked out.”

Ding!

Damian: What are you doing? 9:15am Damian: … It's Mr. Jackson. 9:16am Damian: Why aren't you responding??? 9:45am Me: Sorry, was on Jason's bike. Don't worry about what I'm doing. … Shouldn't you be in class? 9:46am

I approached the front office, tucking my gloves into my pocket while I waited for the secretary to get off the phone. When she looked over at me I offered her a warm smile; “hi. I'm here to speak to the principal.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No ma'am, but I do need to speak to them.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked me over, getting up and going into the back office. An older man followed her back out and offered me his hand as he introduced himself.

“How can I help you, Miss …?”

I introduced myself. “I'm here on behalf of one of your students. It seems a Mr. Jackson was grading his students' sketches and thought it was appropriate to write his critiques directly on them.”

He blinked, an unamused expression on his face; “I see … are you the mother of a student here … young lady?”

“No, just one of their trusted adults.”

“... I see. Well, I'm afraid we cannot have non-parental figures at school during the day. You'll have to leave now. School policy, you understand.”

I smirked, observing him for a moment. He reminded me of my high school principal; an old, rude man who had no respect for those he viewed as under him. “... Oh, I see. I thought you'd rather speak with me about this matter, but it's fine. I'm sure Bruce will handle it.”

The bell rang as I turned on my heel, heading for the door. Before I got to the main entrance, I heard the man following after me; “excuse me? Young lady, are you saying you're here on behalf of-”

“What are you doing here?” I jumped slightly, turning to face Damian who had seemingly materialized behind me. I put on a pleasant smile.

“Ah, hello Damian. I'm so sorry darling; I tried to handle this matter just between us, but it seems your principal,” I turned to him, putting on my best bored and slightly disdainful expression, “what was it again? … Right, Mr. Cole. Well, Mr. Cole won't speak with me, so I suppose I'll be calling your father instead.”

The principal paled, stuttering out; “the- there's no reason to bother Mr. Wayne at work. I'm sure he's very busy. Why don't we head back into my office and we can discuss this?”

“Oh!” I pretended to be surprised; “well, if you're sure. I would hate for you to break school policy.”

He shook his head, practically pulling me along. “I insist, please.”

Damian followed us, frowning a bit; the principal looked like he was about to argue, but thought better of it. Once his door was closed and we were all seated, he cleared his throat. “Now, … what seems to be the problem with Mr. Johnson?”

“Jackson. The art teacher.” I frowned a bit, sitting back a little. I turned to Damian, smiling gently; “would you like to tell him, Damian, or …?”

He shook his head once, a guarded expression on his face, and I nodded before turning back to the principal. “Mr. Jackson wrote a critique on one of Damian's pieces, and-”

“Art teachers have to critique the students, Miss. I'm sure it wasn't meant to be harsh, but-”

I held my hand up, hoping my expression was as stern as I wanted it to be; “The issue, sir, is not the fact of the critique. The issue is that he wrote it on the piece. Writing on top of any artist's work is just wrong, even, perhaps most especially, when those artists are your students. Your students work hard on their art, and what they do with it after submitting it for their assignment is their business. But they cannot do anything with their art after class if your teachers are writing on their work.”

The man shrunk in his seat as I spoke, looking between me and Damian. “... I … I see. Yes, that is … not ideal. Of course. … I will speak with Mr. Jackson.”

I nodded. “I'm glad to hear that. Well, I think that was everything. For now. Unless Damian would like to add anything?”

The boy shook his head again, getting up, and we left the principal in his office. Damian walked me to the main entrance and out the door before he spoke again; “... You didn't have to do that…”

“Of course I did. What your teacher did broke all the rules of common courtesy. And if he's doing it to you, he's doing it to the others too.”

Jason raised an eyebrow as we approached, nodding to Damian. “He's not coming with, right? I can't take both of you.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “It's not even lunch yet, Todd.” He looked up at me, a curious expression in his eyes; “... You hold your own admirably.”

I chuckled softly. “Well thank you. Let me know if there's any fallout, I'm happy to do an encore performance if they try anything. And I hope you'll send me a picture of the completed piece, when you remake it. It was beautiful.”

His lips curled up ever so slightly and he nodded before heading back into the building. Jason stared at us, offering me my helmet. “... Did he just smile?”

“Yes, the boy knows how to smile, Jay.” I chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of his helmet above his cheek before slipping my helmet on. Once my gloves were on and I was in my seat, I wrapped my arms around his waist. “So, how about that breakfast?”

Next ->

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Taglist (open):

@jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violets @superthoughts @wordsfromshona @mystic60 @iwannabealocalcryptid @morstuavitamea-a @frosty--giants @arisa191 @prized-jules

[salt216000]

I saw a post today that made me quite upset. Normally I'd just ignore, but I read some of the tags and they upset me quite a bit too.

Username is cropped out because I don't want to make it seem like I'm putting 'em on blast, I just want to give my opinion on this.

Transfem headcanons of Gabriel are absolutely fine. Awesome, even. But not while putting down transmasc headcanons at the same time.

The post makes a really interesting and good point! Transfem Gabriel does work well with his narrative of growth and discovery of his own identity, especially as someone cast out of Heaven for not achieving the ridiculous standards they set. That is a really good notion that, yes, being entirely honest, I don't see as frequently from that angle.

But you do NOT have to say it is a 'failure of the fandom' and pin the blame on more people headcanoning him as transmasc. If you want transfem Gabriel content then you can make it: art, writing, musings, anything, but you don't have to put down other creators for projecting their own ideas and potentially their own experiences onto a character they like and relate to.

I'm going to preface this next part with: I am NOT disparaging against transfem Gabriel headcanons, or giving reasons as to why they shouldn't exist. All I am doing here is clarifying why people tend to headcanon him as transmasc. Francis Xie was hired by Hakita to draw concept art, and he is known for drawing a lot of artwork of Gabriel (some NSFW in nature, as a warning in case you decide to look for yourself), and in said artwork he depicts his headcanon of Gabriel being transmasc. Of course, this is not gospel, it is not officially canon and even if it was people are allowed to headcanon him as whatever they want, I only bring this up to help explain why the headcanon may be so popular.

More personally, I find it really gender affirming to have a character in the ballpark of masculine in frame and voice, but to see him wear more feminine clothing in official artwork without it being degrading. It's very nice to see a depiction of this to help push back against the reinforcement that masculine presenting people must conform to certain standards, and that's why I personally enjoy the headcanon too.

There are also a decent few characters that DO get more transfem rep: Mirage, the mindflayers, mannequins, V2, so I don't understand why it's a problem that it is the minority with Gabriel. I wasn't originally going to post this publically, but these tags pushed me to do so:

Username once again cropped out for the same reason as above. To be clear, these are NOT OP's tags.

I don't care what the original tone OP meant was, if it was joking or playful or whatever else, because the sentiment that that post gathered is absolutely wretched. I don't have much else to say about it without getting deeper into gender stuff that I don't want to extend this post with, but I'll reiterate my main point.

You can be upset that there aren't headcanons that represent a certain idea you prefer, but DO NOT put down others who have contrasting ideas in the same breath. If you want to make a post about Gabriel being transfem being a great narrative, go for it, no one will stop you, but do not fucking wrap in a 'transmasc headcanons are wrong and don't get it, and my headcanon is more correct', and at those tags in particular, do NOT treat transmasc headcanons like this, 'transmasc pandemic' is such an awful way to put it and makes me feel as though a line in the sand is being further drawn between transmascs and others who are not.

[babybluebex]

rememories | tommy shelby x fem!reader

summary: the lee family trashed your betting room, including your most prized possessions, and tommy does everything in his power to soothe you and right the wrongs that the rival gang caused. pairing: tommy shelby (peaky blinders) x fem!reader tags: s1!tommy, tommy being a sweetheart, your daughter's name is thomasine (thanks @lost-in-sokovia for that one), no real warnings for this other than like angst? brief emotional distress? idk author's note: it's come to this lol. i'll be fixing my cillian masterlist later and reblogging it, so y'all can read all of my old tommy fics (and a few other cillian characters lmao) but i hope you enjoy this one!

The backroom was in total disrepair. Chairs were tipped over, things were thrown from tables, coins scattered everywhere and marks of bludgeonings on the walls. The poor little room was merely a shell of itself, its personality and life battered away. You could still hear your husband’s jaded laughter as he made fun of John for wanting to marry Lizzie Stark, but mere minutes ago now seemed like a lifetime away.

Scudboat sat as Arthur poured him whisky, and he explained how the Lees, “the whole lot of ‘em”, came in and destroyed the betting backroom. He was ambushed, he said, or he would have done a better job defending it. You held Tommy’s hands as fear made your own shake, and your husband sighed. “Find what can be salvaged,” he said, narrowly missing John’s angry fit as he kicked a box over. “Anything is better than nothing.”

“This is terrible,” you sniffled, and Tommy extracted his handkerchief for you. It was one that you had bought for him right after you had gotten married and just before he went to war, and you were always amazed that the silky cloth made it as far as it did. You dabbed at your eyes, scowling at your dark makeup that came off, and your heart beat fiercely against your ribcage for a moment. “The children. Was Finn here for this, Scudboat? Or Thomasine?”

“Nah,” he said. “Finn was off in town; Thomasine ain’t come home from school yet.”

“Oh, Tommy, they can’t see the house like this!” you whimpered and clutched your husband’s arm. “It’ll upset Thomasine too much. I’ll fetch her from school and keep her away from the house for a while until this is mostly fixed.”

Tommy nodded wordlessly in agreement, and he began to take off his cap, but he quickly stopped. He was fixated on something on the floor at his feet, and you looked down to match his gaze, only to be greeted with the big leather book that held your most prized possessions: your photographs. You kept the album in the betting room because it was always filled with people, witnesses in case something happened, and, really, who would want to ruin Tommy Shelby’s wife’s photographs?

Your knees crunched on glass as you lowered yourself to the album, and you took it in your shaking hands. The dark green leather was stained black with spilled ink and oil, obscuring your gold-foiled name on the spine, and you opened the book with a creak of the old pages. You didn’t want to have to assess the damage, but the first page already had you weeping pathetically again. The first photograph, the first one ever taken of you and Tommy, sitting and laughing together as Ada tried out her new camera, years and years ago at fifteen and thirteen. It was gone. The page was yellowed all around where the photograph should be, but the picture itself was gone. You wanted to throw the book across the room and scream; you weren’t concerned with material things, many girls from Small Heath were the same way, but those photographs were your pride and joy. The next page was a formal picture taken of Tommy wearing his Army uniform, his lanky seventeen-year-old build a little too small for the uniform that he would grow into. The corner of the photograph was torn but, thankfully, mostly intact.

The third page made you press the book to your chest. Your wedding photographs. You and Tommy had gotten married quickly, two days before he had to go to France, and, in your haste, you hadn’t been able to afford much. You could only afford a single copy of each photograph: one of you in your Sunday best that was your wedding dress, one of Tommy in his uniform, and one of you together. All three photographs were torn to shreds, settled in the spine of the book, waiting for you to find them. Those wedding photographs were the most important thing in the world to you, and now they were gone. Not even pasting glue could fix it. “Tom!” you sobbed, pressing the back of your wrist to your mouth. “O-Our wedding photographs! Th-They’re all ripped up!”

Your husband’s attention went from Scudboat to you, and he walked over to you and knelt down next to you. He took the small bits of photographs in his fingers, examining them intently, and he sighed heavily. “Fuck, love,” he whispered, and your sobs grew heavy. If Tommy was resigned to fate, then there was no chance of them being fixed. “I’m sorry.”

“We-We don’t have any extras, do we?” you stuttered. Your mouth felt dry as your fingers tried to match the ripped edges of photographs up, but they were too far gone. “Tom, d-do we have any others? Th-These aren’t the only ones we have, right?”

Tommy sat down next to you and put an arm around you, and he watched you frantically sob for just a second more before he used his strength to pull you into his chest. The photo album fell out of your hands, and you clutched your husband as you wailed in sorrow. Your wedding photos were gone.

“Mummy?” you heard a little voice call from the doorway, and you turned to see your wee daughter, Miss Thomasine Sophia Shelby, standing at the door. She was holding her school books in her arms, the pink ribbon in her hair coming loose. Thomasine was born just after Tommy come home from France, five years ago, and she looked like a Shelby, dark hair and bright eyes, but she had her father’s smile. “Mummy, why’re you crying?”

You sniffled and wiped at your eyes, not caring that you streaked your makeup to hell and back, and you mumbled, “People came into the house, did us over. I-I’m just sad, that’s all.” You didn’t want to worry your daughter with the real reason why you were so upset, because, truly, you felt silly for being so distraught at fucking photographs. It felt ridiculous for you, as a grown woman, a mother, to be crying over photographs.

Thomasine ran to you and sat her small body in your lap, and she wrapped her small arms around you. “Don’t be sad,” Thomasine told you, and you laughed humorlessly. “It’s okay, Mummy.”

You sniffled and soothed your hand down Thomasine’s hair— the ends of her long hair were turning a little ginger, just the same as her father’s tended to do in the sun— and you kissed her forehead. “Thank you, love,” you whispered. “Hug your father, he’s sad too.”

Thomasine crawled out of your lap and into Tommy’s, and Thomasine started to suck her thumb as Tommy stood up and settled his daughter firmly on his hip. He offered you a hand to stand up, and you sniffled as you gathered the soiled photo album up in your grip and stood up on your own. “If you find any of ‘em,” Tommy called to the room, and he gestured to the album in your arms. “Bring ‘em to her, don’t waste time. Yeah?”

You hardly slept that night. After securing the house and making sure that there wasn’t any other part of it that the Lees had touched, you had tried to go about your life normally, but it was difficult to pretend like you didn’t know that, at any time, rivals could enter your home and slaughter every last one of you. You put Thomasine to bed after dinner, and your girl fell asleep quickly, but you yourself were awake for hours. Tommy had taken your photo album and put it away in his wardrobe; “If you keep it, you’ll fret over it forever.” He was right, of course, because, when the sun came up, you had tugged it out and was trying to sort through the scraps of photographs on your bedroom floor. The room was cold and part of you wished that you could be in bed, holding your husband close, but you needed to do it for yourself. You had managed to salvage a single photograph by the time Tommy was blinking himself awake, and you sniffled as you beckoned him over. “Tommy, look!” you exclaimed. “I-It’s Thomasine!”

“Jesus, woman,” Tommy sighed groggily. “Have you been at this all night?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed. “Her baby picture, look!”

Tommy reached down for you and he took your hand, and he helped you stand up, his hands going to hold your cheeks. “I know you’re having a hard time with this,” he whispered. “But obsessing over it is only going to make it worse. They’re as good as gone, darling.”

“B-But—” you sniffled, and Tommy shook his head.

“You have to let it go,” He told you firmly. “Come back to bed, you don’t have to be awake for hours.”

“Oh, Tommy,” you sighed, shuffling back up to bed. Your joints hurt from sitting on the floor practically all night, and your vision watered up as you watched Tommy gather up the album and photograph scraps and set them back in his wardrobe. “What am I going to do? All of my favorite memories are lost.”

“You still have the memories in your head, love,” Tommy told you, sitting next to you. You leaned into him and pressed your cheek to his warm chest, and you sniffled as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“I just…” you mumbled. “Our wedding pictures is the thing I’m most upset about. We were so young, and that was before everything went to shit, and we were so happy…”

“We’re still happy,” Tommy assured you. “We’re happier now, because we have Thomasine. We’re a complete family now.”

“You know what I mean,” you said. “We were poor kids, and-and looking at those pictures gave me hope that you’d come home when you were in France. They were my lifeline for a long time, and to have them ruined like this…”

Tommy’s lips formed into a thin line, and he rubbed your back comfortingly as you finally laid down and tried to settle into sleep. Your sleep was thin, hardly even deep enough to call proper sleep, but you finally woke up and got out of bed when you heard shouting down in the bottom of the house. You were used to that, but you still felt like you ought to make sure everything was alright, so you pulled yourself from bed and went about groggily getting ready for the day, slipping on a dress and spraying on perfume before descending the stairs.

The noise seemed to be coming from the back room, the ruined betting room, and you carefully pushed back the plush curtains and opened the doors to see a sight. Your eyes first landed on your husband, dressed in his old uniform. It certainly looked too small for him, tugging a little at his chest, but you clenched your teeth together at the sight. How long has it been since you saw him in the pea-soup-green uniform? Five years, at least. “Tommy,” you said softly. You couldn’t help yourself from stepping closer to him as his head snapped to look at you, and his hard gaze softened in the way it always did when he saw you. He never subjected you to his steely gaze, and, whenever you saw it, it always reminded you of what a feared man he was.

“Fuck, love, what’re you doing down here?” Tommy asked. “You’re supposed to be asleep still.”

“Heard shouting,” you said softly. The other men were bustling around the room as you smoothed your hands up Tommy’s chest, and your eyes went all watery again. “This isn’t happening, please, no.”

“What’s wrong?” Tommy asked. “Talk to me, darling, what’s the matter?”

“How long have you known?” you asked, sniffling. “Leaving us like this, how could you?”

“What?”

“The uniform, Tommy!” you cried. “You’re being called to the war again, why else would you have this shit on?”

Tommy grabbed your cheeks and kissed your forehead, and he angled your head to the side. Arthur stood there, behind a massive camera, angled at a blank space on the wall, and your breath caught in your throat. “What is this?” you asked.

“I’m not being called back,” Tommy explained. “I got to thinking about our wedding pictures, and I went to see the photographer who made them. He said the film was too old and that they couldn’t make you new copies, so the next best thing was to retake them.”

“Oh?” you asked. You sniffled and wiped your nose, and you gently reached out to touch the camera. “We… We’re retaking our wedding pictures?”

“With a few adjustments,” Tommy said. “Back then, I couldn’t afford to even get you so much as a bouquet, but now… Well, I took your measurements to a dress shop, and even though the dress was pre-made and only adjusted to you…”

“Tommy?” you whimpered.

“I got you a wedding dress, love,” Tommy told you. “Better than the flour-bag Sunday best that you had on.”

You gasped, covering your mouth with your hands, and you sobbed once before flying to your husband and crushing him in a hug. “Oh, Tommy!” you cried. “Thank you! Can I see it?”

“Pol’s got it in the kitchen,” Tommy told you. “Go put it on, why don’t you let me see it?”

The dress was beautiful. Eggshell-colored silk that fell below your knees with long sleeves and deep neckline, very fashionable and pretty, and it fit you like a glove as Polly helped you into it. She primped you a little, fixing your hair and patting red rouge onto your lips, and she upturned a vase next to the stove and handed you the bouquet of wildflowers that Thomasine had picked a few days earlier. You felt timid and almost nervous as Polly escorted you back to the betting room, and you cleared your throat once you passed the threshold, afraid that, if you spoke, your voice would give up on you.

Tommy looked to you in an instant, and he gave you a small smile as he stepped towards you. “Aren’t you a sight?” he said in his rumbling timbre, putting his hands on your hips, and he kissed your lips for a moment before he added, “Thomasine might get a brother before the day’s over, if you keep looking that beautiful.”

“Oh, shut up,” you giggled, and he steered you in front of the camera as you smoothed down your dress. You were suddenly nervous, and you clutched Tommy’s hand as Arthur cranked the camera, preparing it to go off. “Tom?”

“M’right here, pet,” Tommy said, squeezing your hand. “Just smile; everything will be fine.”

By the time night fell, you had a whole slew of new film, new pictures to replace the ruined ones. Recreations of your wedding pictures, an updated picture of a smiling Thomasine, even one of Tommy kissing you when the camera went off on accident. Thomasine was tangled in your skirts then, gazing up at her daddy, and you looked at the film as you sat by the fire that night, smiling and admiring it. That was your favorite memory; you, your husband, and your daughter, smiling, laughing, loving. It was perfect.

[celestialglow24]

••• 3 Months •••

Hi everyone 🤗 I kind of had this idea come to me for a little series and I wanted to test it out. There will be 4 parts. The idea is that it will explore the development of the relationship between Frank and reader over the course of 3 months leading up to 12 months (or 1 year). I can’t promise how quickly I will have each part up—i’m about to go on a trip—but I will do my best! If you’d like to be tagged when the next part comes out don’t hesitate to ask. Hope you enjoy!

FRANK CASTLE x AFAB READER

Part 1

The first 3 months

He remembers the first time he saw you.

It was at a diner he’d never been to before and one he wasn’t really planning to come back to.

His favorite place to stop at was closed that day, something about being short staffed and the manager needing to handle some personal business.

Whatever the reason, it was bullshit. All he wanted was a cup of coffee and to read the fucking paper in peace.

Now he had to disrupt his routine and try some new place he wasn’t even sure about.

Frank didn’t like his routine to be changed.

But then he saw you.

Your warm smile and friendly eyes disintegrated any sour mood Frank was in that morning. It stunned him enough that he hadn’t even heard your first question.

He just stared at you with his eyebrows slightly raised.

“You need a minute?” you asked again sweetly.

“Uh, no sorry. Just coffee. Black.”

The words finally tumbled out of Frank’s mouth and he tried to avoid your eyes, awkwardly placing his hat and paper on the table.

He felt like a goddamned teenager.

“You sure that's all you want? We’ve got the best pancakes in town, they pair perfectly with our freshly made butter and syrup. My personal favorite is the cinnamon chocolate chip. Want me to bring you a stack?”

He looked at your name tag then back up to your eyes. If it had been anyone else he would’ve told them to just bring the coffee and the check. The less interaction he had the better.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do that with you.

“Just the coffee, sweetheart. I’m good.”

“Okay.” you smiled softly and nodded, collecting the menu that was on the table.

Minutes later, Frank was greeted with a warm cup of coffee and a stack of steaming pancakes.

He looked up at you with a confused stare and it made you let out a small laugh.

“I know, I know. You said you didn’t want any but I have a hard time taking no for an answer.” you winked.

Frank didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t all that hungry but he didn’t want to be rude. Though he couldn’t deny they did smell heavenly.

“You don’t have to eat them. I'll just leave ‘em here in case you decide to take a bite. Don’t worry, it’s on the house.” you smiled before walking away.

He took a sip of his coffee, and let out a low hum of approval.

That was a damn good cup of joe.

Torn between his pride and your sweet enthusiasm, Frank didn’t touch the pancakes for a few minutes.

He glanced around the diner, it had started to get busy and he couldn’t take his eyes off the way you moved.

There were several times he’d seen you being pulled in different directions. Whether it was someone from the kitchen, some kid dumping their food on the floor, or a screaming customer demanding to speak to a manager, you never once lost that damn smile.

He wondered how you did it.

When he knew you weren’t looking he picked up a fork and cut himself a piece of the pancake.

His eyes widened a bit in surprise and sure enough, you had been right.

This was the best damn pancake he’d had in a long time. He’d never thought to try cinnamon and chocolate chip pancakes, but now he was wondering how he could ever have them any other way.

By the time you had made your way back to Frank to check in, the whole plate was gone. Frank felt his face heat up a bit in embarrassment, he sure hoped his beard concealed most of it.

“Well, looks like I might’ve made the right call.” you teased.

Frank held out his mug for you as you leaned over to refill it.

“Yeah, yeah you got me.”

You nodded with a knowing smile. “It’s like a comforting memory isn’t it? I don’t know what it is, but it always makes me think of my grandparents. They made the best breakfast.”

Frank had not known how to label the feeling he had when he ate the pancakes himself, but a comforting memory sounded like the right description.

For him it made him think of Saturday mornings with Maria and the kids. The feeling both haunted him and soothed him.

“Yeah, something like that.”

You collected the empty plate and silverware, but before leaving you smiled at him again.

“You’re not from around here are you? I don’t think I've seen you in here before.”

“Eh kinda. I’ve been in town for a bit, just don’t usually hit up this spot.”

“I see.” you hummed. “You a regular at Joey’s?”

“Uhh-” Frank stammered. He didn’t want to offend you and he wasn’t sure if Joey’s diner was competition or not.

“It’s alright if you are.” you laughed, waving him off, “We’ve had several of his customers head this way since he’s closed today. No hard feelings. Though I think I can safely say his pancakes can’t touch ours.”

Frank let out a chuckle and raised his coffee mug, “Yeah I’ll give you that.”

You returned a bright smile and Frank swore he felt his insides warm at the sight.

You offered your name, gesturing to the tag on your shirt before asking for his.

“Uh, Pete.” he replied. “Castiglione.”

He almost gave you the name Frank but something in him hesitated. He didn’t want you to somehow get mixed up in his crazy past. It was better this way.

“Pete.” you said out loud. “I like that.”

Frank felt awkward again. He didn’t know how to respond to compliments. To an outsider it might appear he was rude or grumpy, but in reality he was a kind man.

He just didn’t know how to show it all the time. It took a certain kind of person to bring that side out of him and even then that took time.

In some ways he was like a turtle. Hard on the outside, soft on the inside. One wrong move and he’d either snap your finger off or retreat into his shell.

“Well Pete, don’t be a stranger. Come back anytime.”

Frank nodded in return, taking in your glowing presence one last time before he left.

Looking back now he could see how from that very first day he was a goner.

You’d already set the cracks in his tough exterior and it wouldn’t be long until you bulldozed right through walls he spent so long building up around himself.

Over the next few months Frank returned to your diner. He tried to play it nonchalantly at first. One weekend here, one weekend there.

Until finally he started coming around more regularly.

The two of you had struck up a nice friendship. You’d even gotten him to try more things on the menu. Frank didn’t like trying new things but he was finding you were impossible to say no to.

He’d never admit it out loud, but each time you’d been right. He was starting to think maybe changing things up every now and then wasn’t so bad.

So Frank developed a new routine. One that included coming by to see you and share a stack of pancakes.

He was being drawn to you like a moth to a flame. The pull was strong and he wasn’t sure what any of it meant.

All he knew was that he liked being around you and for the first time in a very long time, Frank wasn’t resistant to the chance of something good happening in his life.

[runningfrom2am]

michigan cherry // part two

summary: walking into a saloon in a nowhere town, billy meets a singer who he just can't get off his mind after she slips through his fingers; onto another town, another show- following nothing but the stars in her path. until he sees her again. another nowhere town and equally dusty saloon, but this time, the band of kids who made up her family is nowhere to be found. he's running away from something, and she is storming full speed toward something else, and tangling into each other's lives may just get both of them exactly where they want to be.

pairing: william h. bonney x fem!reader

wc: 1.6k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: singer!reader (she’s giving very much lucy gray), probably a little bit ooc billy but hey i tried- anyway he’s a sweetheart, use of guns and violence, murder and violence but i try to keep it non-descript, oh also she’s an orphan sorry (once again, lucy gray vibes), strangers to friends to lovers trope eee

the song in this chapter is "Nothing You Can Take From Me" by The Covey Band !!

a/n: sorry 'bout this :)

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // pinterest board // playlist

"You can kiss my ass, then keep on walkin'!"

Josie's singing from up by the horses makes you giggle as you're helping Max load up the back of the wagon with your instruments.

"Jay, you know you ain't supposed to say that word!" You call out, a fond smile on your face as you glance over the front bench of the wagon and down at her as she feeds one of our horses an apple.

"You get to say it!" She rebuffs stubbornly, and you turn back as Max nudges you with his sister's fiddle case for you to pack it.

"That's 'cause she's full grown, little miss." He laughs, his brown eyes sparkling even in the dimness of the night. "You can say it too, but not just yet."

"Soon?" The little girl asks hopefully, her mousy brown hair bobbing around her chin as she climbs up onto the wagon with you as you tuck the fiddle away next to the small drums belonging to the kids.

"Maybe one day, as a treat, I'll let ya do that line for me. Maybe." You offer in exchange. "But until you're eighteen, you gotta watch your mouth."

Max hands you your guitar case last, and you tuck it behind the rest of the instruments and toss a blanket over the top of it to keep it covered in the night.

Josie claps happily as Sarah lifts Harvey onto the wagon, and you're all ready to go. Onto another town, more shows, and more nighttime rides through the country's beautiful trails under the night sky.

You climb over onto the drivers bench while Max hops up the other side and settles in next to you. "We got everyone?" He asks, taking the reins and glancing back over his shoulder at the three kids getting comfortable in the back.

"All accounted for!" Sarah calls back, making sure the kids are sitting down as Max flicks the reins and the wagon starts to move slowly in the direction out of town.

"On with the show, then!" Max calls cheerily over the kids singing in the back.

You look back over your shoulder as you hear some very normal shouts coming from the saloon, smiling a bit to yourself as you turn back to face the trail.

"No Billy tonight either, hey?" Max asks quietly after a solid half hour of comfortable silence between the two of you up front, the kids yapping in the back having slowed to a steady stop as they fell asleep by the relaxing and steady rock of the wagon.

You look over at him, a slightly sad smile on your face as you shake your head. "Nope."

"He'll find you." He says, gently bumping your shoulder with his and glancing over at you, a small smile on his face. "And if he can't, someday soon there will be posters from Silver City to Detroit with your face plastered all over 'em. "Come see the world's best singer live in show!" They'll say. Trust me, he won't be able to miss you then."

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head and leaning it against his shoulder. "He may have to squint at it, it'll have all of us squeezed on. "The best band America has ever seen"." You correct him.

"No." He shakes his head, scrunching up his nose a bit. "You're tyin' us all together. On and off the stage. Without you singing, we're mediocre at best."

"Hey!" You chuckle, sitting up and smacking his arm playfully. "That ain't true and you know it."

The old wagon creaks underneath you with every divet in the dark path, and it's a comforting background noise to your hushed conversation.

Max has been your best friend your whole life. A little boy a year or so older than you and his baby sister dropped off the same way you were, with a funny accent you one day learned was Parisian. You picked fun at him, sure, but he was a good sport. Neither of you would have had it any other way.

Though, you had tried, once. The two of you at fourteen years old telling other kids at the home that you were getting married, a childish and adorable dream in hindsight, but at the time made all the sense in the world. Then you had kissed him, just to try it, and both of you laughed so hard you woke one of the nuns. She dragged you back to your room, and after that, you never spoke of it again.

You were best friends, yes, but neither of you were quite right for one another. And he told you that one day you would just know.

Max had never seen you look at someone the way you looked at Billy that night a few weeks ago. What really drove it home was how you didn't immediately have to leave and then begin spewing distasteful words about the man who had just bought your water and honey shot for you. You just had this sweet, almost bashful smile on your face and you kept humming to yourself as you helped him pack up the wagon just like you did tonight. You said nothing, and to Max, that said just enough.

He had seen plenty of men and boys look at you the way Billy had that night, but you were sharp as a tack in mind and wit- and if you weren't put off by him? Hell, Max saw no harm in you chasing some kind of happiness outside of the music you make.

"It's... kinda true." He chuckles, looking back at the sleeping kids. "You could easily go big on your own."

"I don't want to." You shrug, looking down at your hands in your lap. "What's wrong with what we've got goin' on here? I'm happy as a clam the way we are."

"Sure, nothin's wrong with this life, but..." Max lets out a quiet sigh, looking over at you again with the reins still clasped loosely in his palms. "I don't know... I want more for you. And for them. Wouldn't it be great for them to have a home? For the kids to go to a real schoolhouse, meet other friends, have their own beds to sleep at night?"

You nod quietly in agreement. You were happy, the kids were happy for now too, but what you had wasn't normal and you knew that. What all of you had always wanted was a home, and now that you were on your own, you still didn't have it.

Max gives you a small smile, not wanting to get you down on it. "Shoot for your dreams, little girl." He says teasingly after a moment, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and squeezing you gently. "For the stars."

"Oh, please, I-" Your small laugh is interrupted when he quickly retreats his arm from your shoulder.

"Shh..." Max hushes you quickly, looking at the path up ahead, squinting at the dim lantern light flickering in the back of a wagon up ahead that seems to be stopped across the path.

"What? Wha-"

He hushes you again more urgently this time, head turning when he hears hoofbeats not belonging to your horses coming from up ahead as well.

"Get in the back with the kids." He whispers, pushing on your arm to get you to go.

"Max, it's fine, I'll just stay here."

"Go lay down, pretend to be asleep. I'm sure they just need help with a broken wheel or something, but I don't want you talking to strangers out here." He whispers. "I'll handle it."

You sigh, knowing how stubborn he is about this kind of thing, and climb over the bench and into the back of the wagon with the others. You curl up next to Harvey and drape an arm over him, holding him close for a bit more warmth and gently stroking his hair as you ride closer to the stopped wagon.

Eyes closed, you listen intently as you feel the wagon come to a stop and hear Max climb down, his boots hitting the ground with a quiet thud against the grass.

"Hey, you alright here?" Max asks, and then the subtle but chilling click of a gun being loaded.

Your blood runs cold, but you don't move.

"What have you got in the back?" And then another click, and footsteps getting closer.

"Nothing." Max says, and you can only hear the tremble in his voice because you know him. "Just my family. Just the kids. I promise, we haven't got anything you'd want."

"You've got kids with you and not a dime to your name? I don't believe that for a minute. You gotta feed 'em somehow." A man's voice says, deep and gruff without giving you any sense they'll be sympathetic to the cause. "You won't mind if we just take a look, right?"

You squeeze your eyes shut and hold Harvey a little tighter, grateful that he's still snoring quietly in your arms.

"I do mind." Max insists, sounding more angry than you're sure you'd ever heard him. "We're unarmed, all there is back there is children sleeping and some old instruments. So no, you can't look."

Kids and instruments, yes, but there are kids and instruments and you. A pretty girl with her show dress still on, hair done up just the way you like it, and the old necklace you believe might have one day way back when had belonged to your mother. Maximilien wasn't about to let them get to any of you if he could help it.

The hair standing up on the back of your neck and the goosebumps on your arms send a shiver down your spine when you hear footsteps approaching the back of the wagon and see the flickered light of a lantern getting closer.

"No! Hey!" Max calls out, and there's a shuffle that makes you jolt a bit, a crack that tells you someone's thrown a punch, and right as Harvey tries to quickly sit up while you hold him down, a gunshot pierces your ears followed by the sound of someone's body slumping to the ground.

You know whose body it was. After all, Max wasn't lying about you being unarmed.

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!