#Period Typical Sexism

[sophios-draws]

"Since making test participation mandatory for all employees, the quality of our test subjects has risen dramatically. Employee retention, however, has not."

if the halftone looks yucky on your screen just uhh make the image bigger (unshaded ver. below)

[cthulhu-calling]

Camisado 1

Dark!Steve Rogers x female!Reader

Summary : You always thought you’d marry someone closer to your age, but you couldn’t complain. Although Steve was nearly seven years older than you, you couldn’t have asked for a better partner. He was kind, sweet and had always looked out for you ever since you moved into the neighbourhood at fifteen years of age. At first, you assumed it was an elder brother-ly thing. Beating up the boys at school who were bothering you, those who asked you to accompany them to the movies even after you said no. But on your nineteenth birthday, when he kissed you in the kitchen while your party continued on in the backyard, everything changed. You’d been going out since then and he’d made it clear to you as well as your parents that he planned on making an honest woman out of you.  You and Steve had the perfect life, you couldn't ask for anything more. But that doesn't mean he couldn't.

Warnings : 1950's AU, smut, misogyny, factual inaccuracies, lots of talk of pregnancy (seriously, this is a major content warning)

Author’s Note : Reader has no specified race or body type. It has all the period typical sexism but considering that when I imagine readers, they're always woc, there will be no period typical racism. Not beta'd so all mistakes are my own. I tried to do as much research on life in 1950's America so please be kind and let me know what you think!

Word Count : 5k

masterlist

You fell back on the couch, deciding on taking a small break after having spent the whole morning dusting and vacuuming the house. You still had to do the dishes and hang the clothes out to dry. Your mama always said, a man’s home is a reflection of the woman he’s with, and so you made sure to keep the house in near perfect condition. You looked up at the clock, a wedding gift from Steve’s ma. You adored Sarah Rogers, she was almost like a second mother to you. It was already past noon and you really needed to get a move on. You had less than an hour to take a quick shower and then make a quick lunch for you and Steve to take to the garage. 

Finishing your shower in record time, you quickly add chicken soup, flour, pepper and cayenne into the slow cooker followed by stirring in the chicken and veggies. You knew Steve always enjoyed your slow cooked chicken a la king. You could leave it on and it would be ready just in time for dinner. Packing a quick ham and cheese sandwich for the both of you, you placed it in your bag before checking your appearance one last time in the mirror. You had on a sleeveless white blouse with a blue, floral-a-line circle skirt and black kitten heels along with a classic red lip. Steve always preferred you in skirts and dresses as opposed to pants or trousers. 

With ten minutes before the clock struck one, you quickly made your way out of the house and began the short walk to the garage where Steve worked. You always brought Steve his lunch and spent the half hour of his lunch break with him and today was no exception. You’d been married for just over a year now and the two of you had decided that you’d wait for a while before starting a family, wanting to just enjoy each other’s company for a while before you added children to the mix. But it was established that you both wanted kids. While two would be more than enough for you, Steve wanted three, at the very least. 

You always thought you’d marry someone closer to your age, but you couldn’t complain. Although Steve was nearly seven years older than you, you couldn’t have asked for a better partner. He was kind, sweet and had always looked out for you ever since you moved into the neighbourhood at fifteen years of age. At first, you assumed it was an elder brother-ly thing. Beating up the boys at school who were bothering you, those who asked you to accompany them to the movies even after you said no. But on your nineteenth birthday, when he kissed you in the kitchen while your party continued on in the backyard, everything changed. You’d been going out since then and he’d made it clear to you as well as your parents that he planned on making an honest woman out of you. 

And exactly three years later, on your twenty-second birthday, he asked you to marry him. And you said yes, of course. The two of you got married two months after that day, in an intimate ceremony with only the closest of friends and family. Steve worked as a mechanic at Mr. Stark’s garage, making more than enough for the two of you. After the monthly expenses, the mortgage on the house and your savings were covered, you had just enough left every month to go out for a fancy dinner and to the movies once. 

As you reached the garage, you spotted Steve bent over the open bonnet of a car, tinkering around. Taking this opportunity to startle him, you walk up behind him as slowly and noiselessly as possible before placing a hand on his shoulder, calling out his name, causing him to startle and hit his head on the bonnet. He curses loudly before turning around, the anger evident in his eyes which burns out a little when he sees you. “You should know better than to do something like that doll,” he whispers in your ear, pulling you close by your waist before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You feel the heat rising to your face as you look towards your feet, licking your lips as you mumble out an apology. 

“Why don’t you take a seat doll, I’ll be done here in five,” he says before continuing to work on the engine. You nod as you take a seat a little distance away, pulling out the book you got from the library last week, smoothing out the dog-eared edge before diving back into the book. Just as you were about to finish the chapter you’d been reading, Bucky walks out of Mr. Stark’s office, snatching the book right out of your hands. “Hey!” you huff out a protest, reaching out for the book that he proceeded to hold above his head. Laughing heartily at your antics, Steve comes up behind Bucky to snatch the book and hands it back to you before sitting down and pulling you onto his lap, wrapping his arm around your waist possessively. 

Rolling his eyes at that, Bucky continues “Nat needs y’all to come over for dinner tomorrow night,” he says as he opens his lunch, digging into the food. Bucky and Natasha were Steve’s friends and had become yours too when you started dating him. The two had been married for five years now. Natasha was probably the most badass woman you’d ever met and while you hoped your mama never caught you saying that, it was true. She was headstrong and never took any crap from anyone. She was a nurse and while you admired her, you were a bit envious of the fact that she was a working woman. Steve didn’t allow you to work. He believed that it was his job to earn money to support you and while you would have still loved to work, you understood that things couldn’t always go your way. 

“What for? We’re going to my ma’s tomorrow night,” he questioned as you handed him his sandwich, before grabbing your own. 

“Go to Sarah’s some other day. Nat’s going to prepare a feast and she needs you there. Sam and Wanda and Clint and the family are coming too. Come with your appetites prepared,” he said, finishing off the last of his lunch before dusting his hands off and getting back to work, “No excuses, be there by seven. And for god’s sake Rogers, look presentable.” 

“Beat it, punk,” Steve yelled as Bucky moved away with a wave of his middle finger. You looked at Steve, giggling, before promising, “I’ll drop by and make her some soup for tonight. I’ll spend the night too if need be. Don’t worry, we’ll go to Nat’s tomorrow,” you kissed his cheek before removing yourself from his lap, packing up your bag. “I should get going, let you get back to work. I have lots to do at home,” you wave a goodbye, Steve watching your hips sway. 

Steve knew you were the perfect dame for him. He loved you more than anyone he’d ever loved before. He knew you’d be the perfect wife and mother to his children. He wanted you just to himself for a little time before the two of you started a family because he knew once he got you pregnant, he planned on keeping you round and full of himself for as long as possible. Just the thought of you barefoot and pregnant under his roof, cooking for him and his children, your breasts swollen and heavy with milk for his child. Just the thought of you pregnant and oh, so sensitive because of him, it all turned him on more than you could ever imagine. 

He vowed to start trying to get you pregnant soon. 

*

By the time you got done with all your chores around the house, you were exhausted. Dinner was done about halfway and the chicken noodle soup for Sarah was done and packed for you to take to her. She wasn’t feeling too well the past few days so you and Steve were going to visit her tomorrow with dinner, just to check up on her. But now, you’d already called and told her about your plans for tomorrow evening and that you’d swing by today before dinner. She was rather accommodating, claiming that the two of you needed to spend time with people your age. And she sounded much better as well. Her cold seemed to have improved and she sounded more energetic. 

At half past five, you decided to get to Sarah's house. She lived close enough, just a couple of houses down the street. When you and Steve got married, you decided to get a house close enough to both his ma and your parents as well. Which reminded you that you needed to visit your mama soon as well. You had borrowed her Vogue knitting books, and it was high time you gave them back. You quickly make the ten minute walk to her house and let yourself in using your set of keys to enter the house, not wanting Sarah to move around too much but to your surprise, you find her in the kitchen, humming a tune you couldn’t quite recognise, cooking what smelled like her famous lasagna causing your mouth to water instantly, the response Pavlovian at this point. 

“You’re supposed to be in bed ma, not prancing around the kitchen doing only the Lord knows what,” you say as she turns around, giving you a wide smile. 

“Don’t you dare sass me kid. Is that really how you greet your poor old mother in law?” she asked as she walked out of the kitchen, pulling you into a tight hug. Giving you a final squeeze, she grabbed your hands in her frail ones, leading you towards the living room. 

Stopping her halfway, you let go of her hand before holding up the thermos full of warm soup that you had brought. 

“I’m going to put this away for now. Heat it up before you eat it, okay?” you instructed as you moved towards the kitchen, putting the soup to the side before moving your hair out of your face and tying on an apron. 

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing missy?” she said as she followed you into the kitchen, thin arms crossed across her chest.

“Doing your dishes, what else?” 

“Is anything I say going to make you stop?” she wondered out loud. 

“Fat chance,” you said as you rolled your eyes. 

“Well, you better hang around until the lasagna is done, I’ll pack some for Steve. Speaking of which, where is that boy?,” she said.

“Still at the shop I believe,” you answered, almost done with the few dishes. 

“I see,” she says, an odd look passing over her face but she doesn’t say anything further so you continue to work in a comfortable silence. 

Wiping your hands when you were done, you removed your apron and put it back in its place. “Alright ma, I should get going. Steve must be back by now,” you said as you took your bag, a large oven dish of lasagna in your hands, moving towards the door, only to be stopped by her. 

“Tell me my dear, have y’all thought about babies yet?” 

Furrowing your eyebrows, you look at her with a confused look. “We’ve decided to wait. And we’ve only been married a year now,” you answer. 

Laughing lightly, she squeezes your hand in hers before letting go. “Alright. You tell that boy to come see me soon, okay?” You nod and wave goodbye as you start walking home. Checking the time on your watch, you’re horrified to find it’s already quarter to seven and increasing your pace, almost running to get back home before Steve. You reach home with just five minutes before the clock strikes seven, having just enough time to freshen up and fix your hair before the doorbell rings. 

At the sight of you, a smile quickly overtakes his face which you can’t help but reciprocate. As soon as he walks in he has his arms around you, pulling you into a passionate kiss. You quickly push him away with a giggle, “At least wash your hands first!” 

“I can’t help myself when it comes to you,” he says, squeezing your ass which causes you to squeak. Laughing, he hangs his cap and goes to freshen up as you get to setting dinner out. 

At the table, you tell Steve of his mom’s request and he agrees, saying he’ll go see her on Sunday. 

“Any clue what this impromptu get-together at Bucky and Nat’s is about ?” 

“I tried but couldn’t get anything outta him. Guess we’ll only know tomorrow,” he shrugged. 

“I should call and ask if she needs any help,” you said after dinner once you were done with clearing the table and putting the leftovers in the fridge. Steve was in the living room with a book and a beer. You couldn’t afford a television just yet but Steve had been saving up and according to him, you’d be able to get one in a month or two. 

He hummed absentmindedly, which meant he wasn’t really paying attention. Sighing, you quickly rang Nat up. It was Bucky who answered the phone. 

“Hey, is Nat there?” you asked. 

“Sure, I’ll just put her on,” he said and you could hear him calling out to Natasha in the background. 

“Hello dear, to what do I owe this pleasure?” she laughed. 

Giggling, you reply “Just wanted to check if you needed any help for tomorrow. It was rather impromptu and I heard that everyone is coming,” to which she only huffed and said “I just require you and Steve to show up, that’s all. Now I got loads to do honey, I’ll see you tomorrow!” she said as she swiftly hung up leaving you a little stunned. 

“That was weird,” you think out loud as you sit down next to Steve on the couch, his arm immediately draping itself around your shoulder and pulling you into his body. You snuggle closer, a content sigh slipping from your lips. 

“Don’t think so much, it’s probably nothing,” he soothes, his fingers playing with the collar of your blouse. Oh, so he was listening. 

“But-“ you start, immediately silenced by Steve shushing you. “Enough about this. We’ll go there tomorrow and find out,” he chastises, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

Deciding to just let it go for now, you untangle yourself from Steve who lets you go albeit a bit reluctantly and get ready for bed. It takes you some time to fall asleep but with Steve’s arm around your waist, holding you close, you manage to get a few hours of rest. 

*

You fixed your pretty yellow sundress and checked your hair and makeup one last time in the mirror. Modest but tempting. Perfect. Just as you were about to call out to Steve, he emerged from the bath, freshly shaved. Still not dressed, you tilt your head towards the cupboard, urging him to get dressed quickly. 

Rolling his eyes playfully, selecting a simple khaki and the baby blue shirt you’d left out for him. Steve combed his hair back, following you out of your bedroom, watching you pack up his ma’s lasagna. You knew it was Bucky’s favourite, it was almost everybody’s favourite, having not let him eat any of it last night. 

You knew Nat hadn’t asked you to bring anything with you but your mama would never let you leave home for a party without a little something for the hosts. So here you were, outside Nat and Bucky’s door, a tray of lasagna in your hands and Steve’s arms around your waist. Bucky opened the door with a wide smile, a bottle of beer in his hand. 

“Come on in, kids!” He almost yelled, definitely a little tipsy. Smiling at him, you stepped inside and Steve closed the door behind the two of you. 

Sam and Wanda sat on the couch, each nursing their own bottle of beer and a glass of wine respectively. She smiled and waved at you, patting the couch on her side, inviting you to take a seat. Holding up the lasagna, you tilted your head, motioning towards the kitchen. 

Natasha and Wanda both drank occasionally. You didn’t though. Steve didn’t like you drinking, not even a beer on the occasion. It was all your fault really. 

It was your best friend from school Ella’s twentieth birthday. Just you and a couple of other people from your class decided to surprise her with a little get together near the lake by the old lighthouse. You knew there would be alcohol but as long as you didn’t drink too much and were aware of your surroundings, things would be fine right? 

Wrong. Steve had been by your parents house, looking for you and being told exactly where and with who you were, he couldn’t control his rage. He didn’t approve of ‘Ella and her posse of bimbos’, as he put it. You knew that and while you didn’t agree with him, it was the reason you couldn’t tell him about your whereabouts that night. 

When he finally found you, you were sitting on a little picnic blanket, half drunk bottle of beer in your hands, chatting away with Ella and her boyfriend. You were a little tipsy but immediately sobered up at the sight of Steve storming towards you. 

You quickly got up, dropping the bottle as it rolled off somewhere, the sound of your heart beating and the blood rushing through your veins deafening. Ella tried to intercept him, trying to get him to stop and talk but he just ignored her and continued to walk towards you, grabbing hold of your upper arm. You yelped loudly at how tight his grip was, trying to get him to let go of you as he dragged you away from the lake and towards his motorcycle. 

At a distance from the lake, he finally let go of your arm, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes shut. 

“Ste-,”

“Shut up. I don’t want a word out of you,” he spat. 

You quickly shut your mouth, taking a step back from him. 

“How many times, huh? How many fucking times have I told you to stay away from that girl? And yet, here you are, dressed like a slut, drinking away with that stupid whore and her friends,” he says viciously, taking a step forward for each one you took back until you were backed up against a tree. 

You were terrified. You’d never seen him this angry before, at least not at you. 

“You are never to see that girl again, do you understand?” he barks, causing you to nod your head so hard, you thought your neck might snap. 

“Good. Let’s get you home. Put this on,” he says as he holds up his jacket for you which you promptly slip on, following him to his motorcycle. You don’t even realise when you start crying, the tears streaming down your face making the skin burn against the harsh wind. 

When you finally reached home, you got off wordlessly, shrugging off his jacket which was hanging from your smaller frame and handing it to him. You turned to walk back towards the front door only to be stopped by him grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward him. 

At the sight of the wet trails streaking your face, a flash of guilt passes in his eyes but it’s gone just as quickly as it arrived. 

“You know I’m saying this because I care about you, okay? I don’t want anything bad happening to you, you know that right?” 

You can only nod numbly, as he gives you a small smile and a peck on the lips before gesturing for you to go back in, watching you till you’ve gone inside and locked the front door. 

Of course, you wouldn’t talk to him for days after that. Ignoring his phone calls or having your mama pick up the phone, telling him you weren’t home when he came knocking. 

You made him grovel and plead, letting him know just how angry you were but in the end, you gave in. You loved him, with his flaws and all. 

Pulling yourself out of your little daydream, you walked towards the kitchen where you could hear Natasha moving about. As you walked, you admired the picture frames that adorned the walls. You loved Nat and Bucky’s house, so happy and full of memories. You couldn’t wait to have that with Steve. 

“Now, didn’t I tell you not to get anything? I’m cooking up a storm here, who’s gonna eat all of this?” She questioned, her hands on her hips, over mitts on her hands and a frilly apron on. 

You laughed and moved closer to give her a quick peck on her cheek, putting the lasagna on the counter. 

“It’s Sarah’s lasagna. You don’t have to worry about it going to waste,” you tried. 

“Oh, I know. But you know my cooking can’t compare to hers!” She complained mockingly. Sharing a laugh, you start helping about, feeling odd just standing there doing nothing. She lets you help but refuses to tell you why she wanted everyone to come over when you tried to  ask. 

You had to give it to her though, she really had outdone herself. As you helped her take the food to the table, you were in awe. Tuna noodle casserole, beef stroganoff and mashed potatoes completed with the perfect buttermilk pie. The sight alone made your mouth water and tummy grumble. 

At the delicious scent wafting from the dining table, everyone slowly poured in, each of them grabbing a plate and loading it up. You couldn’t wait to dig in, everything looked mouthwatering. Jokes were made and compliments given, you made to take a bite but were immediately stopped by the conversation taking place across from where you and Steve sat. 

Bucky was urging Natasha to take a bigger helping of the mashed potatoes. While that was not particularly surprising, the next bit caused everyone to stop and stare. 

“You really should take some more,” he says, adding another heap of the potatoes to her plate, “you’re eating for two now.” 

You’d never heard silence quite this loud, everyone stopped midway, staring at Natasha and Bucky. Not Clint’s children of course, they couldn’t be bothered by much. They were busy stuffing their little faces with the feast Nat had prepared. 

After a minute or two of utter silence, a cheer broke out and Natasha and Bucky sighed, exchanging small smiles of relief. 

You, along with Laura and Wanda got up almost simultaneously, rushing around to envelop Natasha in a giant bear hug, who had started crying at this point. The boys were all congratulating Bucky, patting him on the back and making lewd jokes. The children seemed clueless as to what the fuss was all about but declared their merriment by making various noises as well. 

When everyone has settled down, continuing with their meals, the relative silence is broken by Wanda, “We get to be godparents, right?” She questions, motioning between herself and Sam. That’s when Steve pipes up, “You guys are already godparents to Cooper. I think it’s our turn.” 

“Exactly! What do you say Natty?” You wiggle your eyebrows playfully at her. 

Huffing a laugh, she adds “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Can we just enjoy this lovely meal I worked so hard to make?” 

This shuts everyone up, again passing praises and compliments her way. Once the meal came to a close, it was already well past the kids' bedtime so Clint and Laura took off, followed by Sam and a rather tipsy Wanda. You stayed back to help Natasha clean up, despite her protests. 

“You’re a pregnant woman and I’m already mad enough you did all of this by yourself. You should be ashamed of yourself Barnes, letting your pregnant wife do all the work,” you chastised. 

“Sorry ma’am,” he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. Steve chuckles but otherwise stays quiet. 

When you’re done with most of the dishes and having packed up the few leftovers, you and Steve take your leave, walking back hand in hand in the silent darkness. 

Your Steve, you know him well. And you can tell, just by one look in his face that there’s a lot on his mind. You know better from experience that when he’s in such moods, it’s best to leave him alone. He’ll tell you what’s on his mind before bed, you know it for sure. 

So for now, you just walk home, swinging your joined hands back and forth as he’s lost in his own head. 

Done getting ready for bed, you slip under the covers, waiting for Steve to join you. You don’t have to wait long, just as you pick up your book for some reading before bed, he slips under the covers, snatching the book from your hand. Your protest is short lived as he pulls you close into a bruising kiss. 

His lips travel down your throat, trailing wet kisses down to your collarbone before you stop him as he moves to pull your silk slip over your head. 

“What’s on your mind? You’ve been quiet all evening,” you grab his cheek in your hand, making him look at you. 

He sighs loudly, moving away to sit back against the headboard. 

“C’mon Steve, tell me.” 

You move closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Just as you’re about to urge him to say something he interrupts you. 

“Let’s have a baby.” 

You’re quiet for a while and he takes your silence as a request to continue. 

“It’s been on my mind for so long. We’ll start with one. For now. I can’t wait for our home to be filled with little ones. I just —I’ve been thinking of this for so long. The fact that Nat and Bucky are expecting just solidified my decision. Don’t you want a baby?” 

Swallowing, you plan out your words carefully before opening your mouth. 

“We’re not ready Stevie. You know this. We’ve been married what, a year now? I thought we decided to wait,” you try. 

“But I don’t want to wait anymore! Can’t you see? There’s no time like now to start trying,” he raises his voice and you flinch away from him. 

“I don’t know Stevie. I’m really tired, we’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay?” 

“No!” He shouts, “I want to talk about this now. We’re ready. I know we’re ready,” he reaffirms, grabbing you by your arms to hold you close. 

“Steve, we’re not. We’re nowhere ready for a baby. We’ve just begun saving, can we even support a child right now?” You try to make him see some sense but it backfires tremendously. 

“Really? I work so hard for you, for us, but that’s not enough for you, is it? You’re such an ungrateful little bitch, aren’t you?” His tone and his hurtful words immediately cause your eyes to fill, a couple errant tears slipping down. His grip on you is painful, almost bruising.

At the sight of your eyes brimming, tears streaking their way down your pretty face, his anger dissipates and his face fills with worry. He moves forward to cup your face in his hands, but you flinch away from him, pulling the covers back and stepping out of bed with your pillow in hand. 

“I-uh- I’ll take the couch,” you stutter out, sniffling between every word. 

“No, no, no. Baby I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry, please come back to bed,” he says, scrambling out of bed as you continue towards the door. 

“No, please baby. I’m sorry, please come back to bed,” he pleads, getting on his knees in front of you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and holding you in place, his chin resting on your soft stomach. 

He looks up at you with eyes quickly filling with tears, threatening to overflow. Your heart melts at the sight and you close your eyes, nodding your head slowly and he sighs, burying his face into your stomach, his tears causing your slip to dampen slightly. 

“I’m so sorry baby, I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry,” his voice comes out muffled but you understand him anyway. 

You nod your head, telling him you’ll think about kids. You really would. That night he held you close after making love to you, almost as if he was afraid you’d slip out into the darkness in the middle of the night. He whispered the deepest of apologies and praises into your ear as he drew orgasm after orgasm from your prone body. 

You knew he regrets what he said. You were well aware that he wanted a big family. Growing up, it had always been just him and his Ma. His father was hardly ever home and when he was, he was too drunk to care about much. He aspired to be everything that his father wasn’t, a real family man. 

And you know you want to give him that but you need some time, you haven’t even been married that long. And you will think about it much more seriously now. What’s wrong with having a child? He works so hard for you, to make sure you’re not left needing anything, can’t you do at least this much for him? You’re home all day anyway, it’s not like you have a job like Nat. Plus, you’re lucky to have him and that he cares about you and what you want. Most men wouldn’t have bothered asking their wives if and when they wanted children. You find your resolve weakening. You will tell him that you’re ready to start trying and it’s unlikely you will fall pregnant on the first try. You have some time, you tell yourself all the while trying to smother that voice inside you that whispers, ��You should wait’. 

[sapphic-bats]

Stu’s pretty sure there’s something wrong with Tatum.

He and Tate aren’t exactly the most celibate, and anyone with eyes or ears can detect that. They’re not exactly shy about their trysts.

It’s the same thing that’s amiss with him, that’s for sure.

Stu would never, not in a million years, admit that he likes guys. To anyone. Besides the obvious fact that Billy knows, they’ve been fucking around for a while now, and it’s really the only time fun felt serious. Permanent. It’s stupid, cliche, and fucking flowery, but he’s gotta at least be honest with himself, yeah?

He always liked it when girls got as zealous as guys did. When they peeked down shirts, ogled asses, and slept around. I mean, sure, Stu had slit a woman for being a slut, but he really couldn’t care less about why. It was for Billy, and that was the only reason he needed. He wasn’t paid to think, but he was compensated, needless to say. Just… not in the way most would pay a hitman, for example.

Stu knew about Bowie. He knew bisexuality was a thing. He knew all about San Fransisco, and who inhabited it as freely as they could. He really never gave a shit, until he started puberty, and boys looked about just as good as girls did, although Stu often explored the mystery of women and how they worked, rather than the familiar concepts of men.

But the weirdest thing was that, even if Billy seemed to shun the very prospect of girls, someone else didn’t. And it sort of made Stu feel idiotic that he didn’t realize it was possible.

For every perverted glance Stu shot down a girl’s shirt, Tatum had done the same. Tate, however, didn’t seem as blatantly disrespectful as most guys acted. She seemed to recognize that people had feelings, and as long as she was discreet and kept her words and hands to herself, she wouldn’t make a girl uncomfortable.

Tatum slapped Stu when he ogled a girl, but it wasn’t in the girlfriend way it should have been. She didn’t seem the jealous type, Tate was just… what’s the word? Right, a feminist.

But it should have been in the girlfriend way, feminist or not! Shouldn’t it have been?

So, when Stu keeps catching Tatum glancing Sidney Prescott up and down, and picks up on the weird, almost ex-like tension between her and Courtney Blanchett, he says nothing.

In turn, Tatum never mentions the fact that she knew what a stab-slash-knife wound looked like, being the sister of an officer, after all. She never mentions that she knows that Stu’s spent his free time with Billy on the days that he comes about those injuries. She never talks about that one time, on New Year’s Eve, when Stu and Billy changed their clothes on a whim before midnight.

So they don’t talk about it. They don’t, and the secrets die with them.

I’m finally reading Debaser by @sharpth1ng and I had this idea while reading Chapter 8.

[matchstixx]

The People We Think We Know [Master List]

Status: Ongoing

Started: Sept. 16, 2024

Updated: Oct. 19, 2024

-

Pairing: Tobirama x fem!Reader

Available on Ao3

(I will probably update Ao3 first since I'm not as familiar with Tumblr's platform.)

Madara isn’t completely surprised when his father decides to take the girl in as a ward. His mother and father had always wished for a daughter. There is something about her that doesn’t sit right, actions and words feeling disjointed and too experienced for her 5-year-old self. It feels like his first battlefield, staring down this stranger in his home with the odd face, and odd mannerisms, and odd actions.

It’s odd, she’s odd.

-

Or: A fix-it fic with built in headcanon world building because if the mangaka won't do, then I'll do it myself

Chapter 1 | Content Warnings: None

Chapter 2 | Content Warnings: Death, mildly graphic description of gore and sickness, mentioned/attempted human trafficking but no actual happenstance

Chapter 3 | Content Warnings: None

Chapter 4 | Content Warnings: Death, mildly graphic description of violence/gore and sickness, child endangerment

Chapter 5 | Content Warnings: Minor off screen death

[More to come...]

Let me know if any links are broken or point to the wrong post, I'm new to posting on Tumblr

Tags are subject to change

[shmowder]

Slow dancing with Yulia in some dimly lit bar, soft music in the background, and the chatter of patrons in-between nursing their drinks. You smell her cologne the closer she leans into you. Her lips glisten red, stained courtesy of the wine—the glass long forgotten on the abandoned table.

You lead, her leg resting its weight atop yours to prevent any discomfort movement would cause her. You're barely phased by her foot weighting on your shoe, carrying her through the restricted space with grace.

She smells of smoke, holding you tight, lips pressed thin, for she can't trust herself not to drown in yours. While a show of sodomy in broad daylight would be frowned upon—even in a peculiar town such as this—but no one would bat an eye at the two women kissing in a basement bar, chalking it up to alcohol and the fragile easily-impressionable feminine mind. This one bubble of absolute freedom the architect fashioned for all those who seek another bite of the apple still.

But Yulia bites her tongue into place instead. She cannot, words echo in her mind.

Not out of reverence for some higher power, neither heaven nor hell ever held an appeal for her. The equations on the chalkboard spoke of fate and only fate, no sin or virtue. for Sapphos eros for her lovers wasn't sinful, yet the desire Yulia held for you was anything but. It transcends all decency, threatens to steal the thin veil of civility she drapes over herself, and rip it to shreds.

Just for a taste of your lips.

So she lets you carry her, overindulge in the feel of your arms enclosed around her waist. No need to ache your heart with her perverseness; she'll take her fantasies with her to the grave.

As for now, as you sway her around, she can only dream.

[legends-of-time]

Strength of a High and Noble Hill (Outlander Story) - Masterlist

Timelines:

19th and 20th Centuries

17th and 18th Centuries

Fraser Descendants (family tree)

Warnings:

Major Character Death, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Period-Typical Racism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, unhealthy relationships

Summary:

May 1744

He wriggles his toes, feeling his environment. He quickly realises how much his surroundings are constricted, his legs are tightly bound and he is being cradled in someone’s arms. He opens his eyes and sees a woman leaning over him and realises she must be the one holding them. She’s humming softly with a warm and happy smile. He can see that her skin is clammy and there are bruises under her eyes, the eyes that are amber, golden-brown as well as smoky topaz, but that doesn’t dim her smile as she gazes upon the person in her arms. She’s white and her brown hair surrounds her face in messy curls.

——

What if Claire and Jamie’s first baby survived and what if it had been a boy. How will the story change?

Chapters:

Chapter 1: Birth

Chapter 2: First Months

Chapter 3: Peaceful Family Life Disrupted

Chapter 4: Goodbyes

Chapter 5: New Beginnings

Chapter 6: A Fish Out of Water

Chapter 7: Conflict

Chapter 8: Sister

Chapter 9: Returning

Chapter 10: The Truth

Chapter 11: The Loss of Hope

Chapter 12: Coping with Change

Chapter 13: Finding Him

Chapter 14: Moving to the Past

Chapter 15: Loss

Chapter 16: Lost Family

Chapter 17: A New but Old World

Chapter 18: Reunited at Last

Chapter 19: Big Brother

Chapter 20: Coming Together

Chapter 21: Fathers

Chapter 22: Dreams

Chapter 23: Fathers and Their Archaic Ways

Chapter 24: River Run

Chapter 25: A New but Old Face

Chapter 26: Caught in the Act

Chapter 27: Family Time

Chapter 28: New Beginnings

Chapter 29: Waiting

Chapter 30: Old Dreams

Chapter 31: Inferiority Complex

Chapter 32: Community Swelling

Chapter 33: Purpose

Chapter 34: First Sight

Chapter 35: Is it Happily Ever After?

Chapter 36: Gifts and Awkward Conversations

Chapter 37: Unravels

Chapter 38: Lay Up Trouble For Yourself

Chapter 39: War Wins Land, Peace Wins People

Chapter 40: Life Goes On But The Threat Looms

Chapter 41: Building Arsenal

Chapter 42: Romeo and Juliet

Chapter 43: Baggage Weighs You Down

Chapter 44: Misunderstandings

Chapter 45: Should auld acquaintance be forgot?

Chapter 46: Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ

Chapter 47: Best Not To Tell

Chapter 48: Putting a Reluctant Ring on it 

Chapter 49: Unrequited

Chapter 50: Death and Rebirth

Chapter 51: Caught With Your Pants Down

Chapter 52: A Confession, a Warning and a Truce

Chapter 53: Snuffing Out the Messenger Bird

Chapter 54: Fighting to Survive

Wattpad access

fanfiction.net access

Ao3 access

[elianas-cozycorner]

𝓞𝓷 𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓝𝓮𝓮𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼 | 𝓢𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓰𝓮 (2022)

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 Three (Part 1) | Jacob Marley

Summary: After dismissing Bob Cratchit and Ms. Blackwood from his office, Ebenezer Scrooge makes his way home. Hopeful to have a quite evening, the man is utterly unprepared for what comes next.

Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the chapter delay, loves! Mental health got the better of me, as did schooling.

I struggled to find a good mid-way point between the two halves of this chapter and with how much film/book content to actually include. I hope skipping around some parts and only including the important bits is something that works for you guys, but please let me know! I looove feedback!

As you will see, this chapter is very, very long. I actually had to cut it into two parts. I am still working on the second half (which will become chapter 4), so please stay tuned for that! (ﾉ°³ °)ﾉ

Word Count: 4017 Ao3 - Mature Rating WARNINGS: None! :)

Please let me know if you would like to be included in a tag list!

@the-house-of-auditore-frye

"No decent man, no self preserving gentleman, will want to wed you. You will die a spinster. That is your truth.” The man stands there, chest heaving from such an impassioned speech, and has the gaul to look self satisfied.

“So no, madam, I will not be joining you, nor anyone else, in any celebration of this wretched season.”

/////

‘Ebenezer Scrooge…’ 

The grandfather clock ticks away, mocking him as he paces in his office. Ebenezer takes one turn, then another, before slowly retracing his steps. He begins blowing out his candles, starting with the one sitting on his desk. 

‘Scrooge…’ A ghastly pull of air, whooshing into the silence, goes unheard by the miser. The glass encasing the candle is overcome by a ghostly apparition, fleeting and flickering though it may be. It too goes unnoticed. 

The other candles soon meet the same fate, extinguished quickly and with little flourish. Ebenezer is no longer in the mood for dramatic flair. He’s had quite enough excitement for one week, let alone a single evening. He allows one uncovered light to continue flickering as he begins to lock up his funds. Meticulously, he collects every coin and weighs them out. He counts the rogue scale weights and odd ha’penny. But, as he lifts the coin purse from the scale, a feminine face stares back at him.

‘The pledges I’ve broken...’ He rolls his own sins through his mind. The woman stares at him from the shining metal and he cannot fight the wave of sadness that smashes his heart. ‘A fool I was.’

“Tell me,” He begins aloud and turns on his heel to face his mastiff. “Why should I be bright and merry? When all the things of this world conspire against me?”

He blows out the last candle and walks to the front room once more. Just one-and-twenty minutes ago he had sent home his clerk and ledgerman from the very spot he now stood. Just eleven minutes ago he had watched from his office, not ten paces back, as the seamstress fled his establishment in tears. A small twinge of regret runs through his heart, but he shakes it off with a snarl.

‘Ebenezer Scrooge…’ The call is deep, raspy, and once again goes unheard. 

Ebenezer adjusts his vest and tailcoat, buttoning the latter item to better prepare for the winter weather. His foul mood only worsens as he pulls on his frock overcoat and top hat, as he now has a clear vantage point of the storm outside. The mild flecks of snow from his previous excursion are transformed into raging, swirling pebbles of ice and enormous flakes. It is as if the cold finds a way past the door and into his bones just from gazing out of the window. The accompanying wind bashes brutally against the glass and he regrets having allowed Ms. Blackwood entry this evening. Had he not permitted her into the counting house he would now be sitting comfortably at home by the fire. 

“Come, Prudence,” He slips his gloves on and then slips out the door. “Let us get this over with.” 

And so the pair march through the snow, one keeping her head low to avoid the cold flakes and the other trying to steady himself on the cobbles with his cane. No carriages roll down the lane, nor are there any people about. He passes one man advertising some ‘Christmas Extravaganza’ and is forced to take one of his papers. Scrooge thinks the man a fool for staying out so late yet does not bother to stop and tell him so. Instead, he presses on from the business district to the housing streets, happily bidding his nightly farewells to Cornhill Street. Each streetlamp threatens to flicker out as he goes on and soon he quickens his pace, unwilling to freeze over. 

He moves onto the street, finding it better worn and less slippery than the walk way. Occasionally, the tips of his shoes flick up some snow and the metal of his cane slips on ice. The layers of white steadily build underfoot and distaste claws its way into the back of his throat. He can hear Prudence shuffling behind him and glances backward to check on her every so often. On one such check in, the hound seems to be occupied by the streetlamps. They flicker oddly in the corner of his eye, but he ignores it. Prudence, however, does not. The mastiff pauses, her long, low whine swallowed by the wind. She watches as the red flames swirl and flare into icy blues and deep indigos. 

Feeling uneasy, her master turns abruptly. His eyes scan the empty street frantically, from one walkway to the other. He spins a little on his heel, looking about as though he were a startled doe. “Hello?”

Ebenezer takes a moment to glance down at the late Marley’s pet. “Did you feel that Prudence? A shift in the air… Like someone was just here.” A pause. “Oh, great heavens! What am I saying? You’re a dog.”

With a growl, the man pulls his top hat further over his forehead and slaps his thigh twice; it’s a gesture which beckons Prudence to his side once more. Within a couple breaths, his stately lodging comes into view. Just past Cornhill Street, standing proudly at the edge of Groveland Court, it would have been easy to miss with the darkness of night finally settling and the fog rising to cover the blackened gate. Fortunately for the miser, his servants (of which he keeps only two and on occasion hires a charwoman) had arranged his home in proper order this night. He struggles with the gate for a moment, grumbling under his breath the entire time, before finally reaching his doorstep. As he reaches for the door knocker, a chill rushes through him too mighty to be natural. 

Ebenezer turns, sharp eyes glaring out into the steadily thickening blizzard. Nothing greets him. He turns back to the door, startling at the ghastly blue face that greets him in the knocker. He gasps aloud, tripping backwards for a moment.

“Ye gods!” But with a blink, the visage disappears.

With one hand over his heart, he uses the other to lift the offending metal. It remains as it should and the man has to blink away the residual shock. As he taps the intricately twisted rectangle against its backing, soft words leave his lips unprovoked. “I must have worked much too much, Prudence.”

He does not have time to do anything else as the door opens for him. A man stands on the other side, dressed down in evening wear. He welcomes Ebenezer inside, holding the door ajar for both man and dog. No words are exchanged as the lender passes his outerwear off to his doorman. Prudence makes her own way through the house and quickly disappears from sight. 

“Paulette has set aside your evening wear, sir.” The man's voice is muffled as he moves into a room adjoining the foyer. “I shall be up momentarily to-”

“No, thank you, Charles. I am capable of caring for myself this evening. I have the bell, should I need you.” Scrooge sighs harshly. 

He moves up the stairs that curl up and around the back of the foyer, stopping briefly halfway to bark an order. He does not look back, nor acknowledge the fact that his footman is in another room. “I will take dinner in the parlour, have Paulette light the fireplace. I expect my armchair has been moved accordingly?”

Charles reappears in the doorway, but the rustling of his clothes are not enough to draw the money lender’s eye. “All is as it was last evening, sir.”

“Good.” A couple more steps up and then– “Once you are through with your tasks, go home.”

“Pardon?” The surprise is plain to read from Charles’ tone. 

Ebenezer Scrooge turns, aiming a glare at the man. “I do not wish to be further disturbed this season. You will not be required on the morrow, neither will I require Paulette. Take her with you, before the storm prevents you. I understand that you may wish to spend the day with family.”

“Thank you, sir–”

“Get on with your work, Charles.” A dismissive flick of the hand sends the footman scurrying. 

/////

The green nightcap bounces against his shoulder blade as Scrooge stands from his armchair. The fire’s warm glow is slowly dwindling and not a tendril of sleep touched the miser. Unlike the dog sprawled just beside the fireplace, half asleep with a bone in her mouth. Taking the poker, he gently prods the coals. He watches, entranced by the fire as it roars back to life, and imagines the day’s events played out in the oranges and reds. Yet, his green evening wear shimmers in the light and catches his attention. From the pocket of his robe, the corner of a paper crinkles loudly. 

The flyer for the Liverpool Street Christmas Extravaganza greets him. With a shake of his head he thinks, ‘I thought Charles disposed of this garbage.’

He stares for another moment. “Every year, Prudence,” words both venomous and disappointed sound sweet on his wine-calmed tongue. “They are all filled with such joy, such gladness. They practically sparkle with it. They must know, surely, they must.”

He prods the fire a little harder before returning the poker to its rightful place. He replaces the empty space in his hand with the flyer. Scrooge squints at the page, turning it into the light to read it better, and speaks his opinions aloud, “With the growing surplus populus and housing crisis, not to mention the absolute mockery that is being made of good business with these workmen strikes, someone ought to treat these people tougher. Christmas? A humbug. It’s as though the entire city takes a day off! A day off, how ridiculous! Bring them down to size, I say.” 

Prudence glances up as her owner’s voice increases in volume. She drops her bone, stands, and walks further away from him and the fire. By the time he crumples the flyer and tosses it into the flames, she is adrift in the world of canine dreams once more. 

“I do not understand, will never understand, how they’re so cheery! I am not happy so why should they be? Do they not see how pointless and foul this holiday is? Well? Tell me!” He shouts, grabbing the poker once more to fully squash the remnants of the paper.

This time, however, as the poker meets the coals a bright flash of blue flame 

rushes up to meet him. With a startled yelp, Ebenezer flies backward into his armchair. The blue flame shifts and whirls however, leaving the gentleman even worse for wear. It begins to freeze, ice and frost overtaking the fireplace and the wall. The mirror above the mantel is encased in pale, blue shards which soon erupt toward him. Icicles form on the chandelier, reaching down for him, and the wooden floorboards beneath groan with the chill. A ghastly face, somehow familiar, stretches across the brick in front of him. Its mouth is formed by the firebox, its bottom jaw running down and across the hearth. His name, once unheard and unnoticed, comes calling on the howling winds. Snow and hail smash at his feet, faster and faster the louder the roars of his name become. It is a hell which ends only when the ghost of his former employer floats before him. The armchair, a symbol of safety and normalcy for the miser, is pulled from under him. He watches it scratch across his floors, glide smoothly to his midnight caller, before ultimately becoming the visitor’s throne. 

“J-J-Jacob Marley?” At first, Ebenezer speaks with fear. His voice trembles and he shakes in his slippers. Then he manages a grip on reality.  “Impossible! You’re–”

“Dead?” Marley laughs and settles into the chair. “Quite right, my friend, quite right. And yet… Here I am! If anything, I am dead tired.”

“What in God’s name–” Scrooge steps forward again, a scowl on his face once more.

“Oh no, Ebenezer. Do not bring your God into this.” The phantom groans and waves his arms about him like he is physically pained. “No, no. I’m not here on that old business.”

“What? What are you talking about? Why are you here?” His friend’s confusion is plain to see and Marley laughs again.

“I do apologise for the dramatic entrance, old boy. Those in charge insist on a bit of… pageantry, elegance, hell, even spectacle if you will. Goes with the territory, as is apparent. But, I am sure you and I can discuss the rest like reasonable men. No?” He rubs a ghastly hand across the right side of his moustache. The phantom’s other hand reaches down, patting and brushing along the coat of his prior animal companion. He muses to her briefly as he allows Scrooge to process his coming. 

The cogs practically screech to a stop inside the living gentleman’s head, his eyes brighten and he turns to the fire with a gentle smile. “Ah! Marley, I see it so: I must have drifted into slumber by the fire. I am dreaming! Oh what brilliance the mind does conjure!”

The shining, golden coins of Marley’s eyes shine bright then and a wretched mixture of a scoff & laugh exit his frozen lips. “Very well, Ebenezer.”

He rises from the chair, carelessly sweeping an arm to the side and battering the piece of furniture away. Prudence retreats, planting herself firmly behind her master. The winds within the room pick up, the chill of the air turns to bitter ice, and the world dims to near darkness. There is a momentary flash of blue flame, all consuming, and boxes of chains drop from thin air. They snap forward, flashing so quickly toward Ebenezer that he had no other option to let out a screech—

“No!” Ebenezer awakens in a flash, head pounding unnaturally. He is wrapped in the sheets of his own bed, but he cannot recall ever dragging himself into his quarters. 

There is a glass of water on his nightstand of which he takes a happy drink. The little light that streams in from the gaps of the curtains bounces along the wood of the bedside table, it lights the face of the small clock that which sits on it. The roundness of the moon peeks through and he wonders immediately at the time. A glance at the aforementioned machine shocks him and brings forth a fiery, recent memory. 

I have pulled a few chains… Marley’s dark tone mocks him, a vivid echo inside Scrooge’s head.

And arranged for three visitors to call upon you before morning… The clock reads 12:57am, a chill thrills his spine. 

The first shall come when the bell tolls One… Yes, he sees the vision of his visitor so clearly that he begins to sweat. 

The second will come calling when the bell tolls Two. The third shall call, well, at Three… Another glance at the time brings Scrooge to fling aside his bedclothes and pace the room. 12:59am. In his mind, he tries to assure himself that it had all been a dream. From the ghosts of past men forgotten, to the freezing grasp of the chains against his flesh, to the terror of truths laid out so plainly before him. But, in his heart, he feels a strange stirring. His gut flips and churns so wildly that he recognizes the truth. Marley’s ghost had been real. 

The chiming cascade of the tower bells draw him from his thoughts and he whips his head to gaze at the fireplace. Perhaps the next visitor would come to him as Marley had. He waits, listening. The bells sing beautifully, hauntingly, before the hour bell drums a single note. Yet, nothing happens. Not a single speckle of dying ember flutters forward, no flecking of dust sweeps across the floor by some unseen wind. An overwhelming sense of relief floods the miser.

“Just a dream.” He mutters aloud, a happy string of words if ever he had uttered them. He turns back to his bed. “Just a dream.”

‘The first at One.’ There in the corner of his mind Marley’s voice mutters and, the moment Scrooge takes a step toward his bed, the world falls into unnatural stillness. The dust that had been previously disturbed by his movements halts midair. His breath, visible in the cold room, is frozen in a perfect, cloudy puff in front of his face. There is no more time that can be granted for his observations, as the room begins to shake. A deep rumbling can be heard both externally and rattling through his bones. The ceiling above cracks and splinters, a fissure forming rapidly and purposefully. It strikes the mirror above the fireplace mantle, cracking it clean through, before cleaving down the brick of the firebox and across the floor. The clean break in the wooden boards extends into root-like splinters, reaching for the man’s feet. 

He yelps, tripping backward over his ottoman. Tangled in his upholstery and bedclothes, Ebenezer almost misses the arrival of the first spirit. At first a floating candle, a dripping wax figure begins to form before his eyes. He is rendered speechless, helpless to wait until the ghost has fully formed. A beautiful woman, if she was indeed that, is created from the wax. Her dress and hair holds up, despite all expectations. She seems to be talking to herself, adjusting her wax clothing and admiring her form in the mirror. He can only stare, even when she turns to face him.

“—llo?” Suddenly, their eyes lock and her face is inches from his.

“Hello?” He stutters through the word. He knows his face is the perfect picture of confusion and fear. An unbecoming blend. 

“Oh! There you are! Back with us… Scrooge? It’s Scrooge, isn’t it?” She speaks in such a rush that it is hard to keep up. The man in question can only offer a mute, small nod. “Yes! That’s it, that’s the one! Oh, my! What a funny name, honey!”

There’s no time for him to have a moment of indignation because the brief pause in her speech had only been to take in air. Did she even need it? “Are you comfortable down there, Scrooge? It doesn’t look very comfortable!”

“Um, well—” 

“Oh! Never mind that, up you get!” The wax woman pulls him to his feet.

He pulls away, “Who— What. Who? What are you?”

“Ah, who am I?” She smiles, clapping her hands together proudly. “I can be anyone you have ever known! Even you.” 

Her form changes, cycling through various people in the man’s life. Several of them are depicted in unhappy tones by the yellow wax, especially the seamstress, before he is eventually mimicked. It goes on for several moments and Ebenezer does not know whether to be appalled or impressed by the menagerie of forms stored within the wax like living memories, echos of the real world around him. It is beautiful and chilling all the same. He cannot understand the science behind it and almost returns to bed, far too exhausted for this tomfoolery. But, alas, he is drawn in.

“Christmas Past?” He dares to ask.

“Yes,” She says gently. “That is I. You were not told of my coming? Or, perhaps, the most important details were omitted?”

“I was given… some guidance.” He rubs the back of his neck and relishes the feeling of the silk nightcap against his hand. 

“You have nothing to fear from me. Afterall, your welfare is my business!” 

Her statement sparks something wicked within him. Scrooge snaps at her unapologetically. “I should think not! Ghost, spirit, phantom— no matter the kind of visage you are! To be disturbed at this hour is hardly conducive to my welfare!” 

Christmas Past appears affronted and she looks at him as though seeing him for the first time. There is judgement in her gaze when she says, “Your… redemption, then.”

/////

You bring a small tub into the light of the fire, empty save for a washcloth and a bar of soap. The pathetic embers swirling at the lip of the hearth are quickly stamped out and the coals replaced. There is a kettle hanging over the open flame and the soft noise of boiling water fills the cramped space. You are fortunate enough to have your own room in the poorhouse, separated from countless families, with two beds and a wood stove set apart from the living space. It is easy to maintain and has two windows which can be opened at any time of day with relative safety. 

Though it is not much, it is enough. Once you paid your debts, you would buy a room in a nice boarding house on a good street, with amicable neighbours, and plenty of windows to let out the stale air. Kitty would benefit from occasional lessons at the church and your focus could return to the shop. Yes, it would be harder to hide Kitty from the world but you would not impose this life upon her for all her years.

With a strained sigh, you bring yourself from your reverie and grab at the blackened kettle above the fire. The mit around your hand is barely enough to keep your skin from burning, so you make quick work of drawing up a bath. The water swirls, still boiling, against the sides and you move on to ready the warming pan as you wait for it to cool. Kitty sits in the corner, farthest from the open windows, watching you. 

“Mother,” Her voice is so delicate, soft. Her demeanour is far too demure for your liking, but you answer her call with clarity and calm. 

“Yes, Kitty?” You push the metal pan into the coals at the very edge of the fire, those just beginning to die out, and turn to face her.

“May I close the windows? The winter chill–” She shivers in her thin dayshirt and your heart breaks a little. 

“Yes, come, help me close them. I think we have left them open too long, let us not freeze or let in more snow.” You move to one side of the room and she goes to the other. Soon enough, the windows are closed and the bath has settled to an acceptable temperature. “Take your bath first, Catherine, I’d rather the warmth of the water go to you.”

Eventually, you are both ready to sleep. Catherine clambers into her bed, warmed by the bedpan you had placed underneath, and pulls the ratty bedclothes to her chin. It is easy to tuck her in, brush back her hair, and tell her a small story. It is hard to leave her, take the hot pan from under her bed, and listen to the howling of the wind as it rattles against the glass panes. It is agonising to lie awake, listening to the small child’s breath and thinking about the world of hurt Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge had caused you with but a few words. 

There is nothing that could properly describe the way your heart had been torn apart and the pieces set ablaze. The sadder yet was the fact that it had not even been his fault. He had been entirely cordial until the payments had begun to slip, until your debt grew and his frustrations mounted. You had revealed to him the truth of your status, your skeletons pulled from the closet of your own volition. The tears barely registered, nor did the taste of salt against your lips. Your family had cast you out, had struck a bargain, and all you had done was prove them right.Completely oblivious to the torment of your aforementioned debtor and the tightening strings of fate, you drift into a world plagued with nightmares. Nightmares that end with only one thing: giving up the one spark of joy in your world– Catherine. Your daughter.

[flock-of-cassowaries]

Everything about this passage.

The way Harris has written the power-company employees’ dialogue; the utter crassness of what they’re saying. The fact that that’s the takeaway Harris sees them as having from “Family was murdered, died horribly”.

I don’t know if this says volumes about the late 70s/ early 80s, or about Mr. Harris himself around the time he was writing this book, but… oof.

[madamefeu]

Halloween seems like a good time to show you my human Alastor fic, Fresh Meat! Alastor’s coworkers at Radio New Orleans have some theories about the identity of the Bayou Butcher, a serial killer terrorising New Orleans, but they’re much closer to the Bayou Butcher than they know:

[phantom-of-the-ruckus]

Once upon a Midnight Dreary Chapter 3

Tw: mentions of murder, violence, grief, insanity, and other dark subjects

Also this takes place around the 1800s, so be aware that some of the reactions are implied to be typical of the period. This does NOT reflect my perspective on mental health. Note: A bit of a tamer chapter. Not particularly my favorite, but it's to estabish more the setting.

Chapter 4 will be the introduction of Daisy and Nick. I am working on chapter 5

I will wait a bit for the poll to get more votes. I didn't intend it to make it a week, but it was the only option I had. I will eventually post it on AO3 soon

Previous chapter:

Next chapter

Library

Chapter 3: Interrogatory

My arrival at the psychiatric institution has become a blur of memories. It was ironic as I swore not to forget my first day, as it was a source of my deep hatred and revenge against the man who convinced everyone I was mad. I suppose that my tired brain decided to remember the hatred and pain I felt. I could recall being forced down to a stranded bed and being forced fed raw eyes, or it was something like that. The only thing that came to mind was being unable to throw up.

That was only a spoon of the misery I would be forced to live with…

The rest of my days were quite similar, due to the established routine by Dr. Gubberson himself. I would wake up in the middle of the night hearing the bells that announced my parents dead, being forced down to bed by the doctors and knock out until morning came. Then, I would be dragged by the doctors for examination, being force down some bitter medicine before eating whatever cardboard flavored mess they served me as my daily meals. Finally, I would be left inside a cold room, isolated. According to the doctors this would help me out to calm down. 

Only a fool would bite up that tale. I was sure that they placed me there to desperately break off my spirits until I complied and behaved accordingly to how they wished for me to behave. I learned to become a better liar and an actress. A good manipulator, in fact. I learned to adapt my behavior to become pleasant towards the doctors to force their defenses up. I became excellent at becoming mindless and swallowing down my rage every time I was referred to as a murderess. 

It was not an easy task to learn. My arms were swollen with bruises, and my wrists were purple due to the straight jacket, and the daily pushes from the doctors. I was rarely allowed to shower, and if so it would be in a humiliating manner that I refuse to address; but you can let your mind wander off at how monstrous I look. I was the embodiment of a mad woman, but I was stable as ever…

My parents memories were the main thing that kept me pretty much sane from my tortuous mornings. A reminder that I was not to be called mad. 

“She has become much tamer than once she initially arrived, Dr. Gubberson.” I remember how the doctors used to practice their speeches. Those fools, they were thinking they could fix what wasn’t even broken to begin it. Hearing them gloat was an utterly entertaining way to keep me in check. Knowing that I was sane was something I strive to maintain, just to imagine the faces of those idiots once they realized they wasted their time.

“She has regained some weight and no longer hisses at us!” The fools gloated. 

“I am sure the Captain would thank me for helping the wretched Ruckus girl to get her height straight!” I could simply smirk. Savoring my victory once I was able to prove my innocence. Getting please and starting to like the idea of a subtle revenge.

Oh yes, acting up as a little virus in their pathetic system. Getting at their weakest point and strike, but that was simply the seed of vengeance starting to slowly grow. It wouldn’t flourish until much later. 

This was my routine for the next two months, until summer came. I was starting to bore the doctors with my good behavior. I wasn’t exactly doing or exhibiting any sign of improvement besides my usual behavior. So, I was started to be left longer at that empty isolated room. Alone with my own thoughts as the doctors were trying to figure out what to do next. I suppose that they eventually realized I was merely adapting to their hostile behavior or that I haven't broken completely. Either way, their attempts to break me were fruitless, as they only grew little by little my desire to get my vengeance. 

Eventually, they decided to “attempt” to make me talk about a crime I did not commit just a week after the Captain that supported Dr. Gubberson, became a Commander. I did not care about this change, as it would be eventually shorted lived and I would perhaps have an involvement in.

A bloody involvement…one that lasted d around 7 nights of seeing the Captain rest.

“So, the damozel refused to say a word?” I remember hearing the captain speak from afar the day of his first visit. I believe he was speaking with Dr. Gubberson or one of his doctors. I could not tell as the other voice was almost like a whisper. The captain continued after a long brief of silence, where the person he was talking to finished speaking. “Well, it is not surprising at all. The only thing she ever talk once we met was that she was not insane.”

There was a brief silence from the Captain. Probably the other gent speaking. 

“Very well. I’ll do my best to make her talk.” The captain said. “They won’t last long before they break. Late Commander Breadstone would tell ya.”

There was a moment of silence before some laughs ran from the room. The Captain's laugh was strong, so strong as it was the most recognizable one I could hear. So, that was the only information I knew so far, as when I was taken by the doctors to some interrogation room, only the captain was there. There was no other sign or hint he was talking to Dr. Gubberson, so that’s only my major speculation.

“Ah Riley Anne Ruckus.” The captain greeted me. I did not respond but stared. It was my way of defiance, showing that I was not afraid of the idiot. He proceeded to ignore my silence and remarked. “I am not sure whether you look better or worse than I first saw you at the Ruckus’ manor.”

I was silent as ever. Not taking slightly any attempt at being hilarious or crude as serious.

“I’ve heard that you have become tamer or so it seems.” The captain said. “God only knows what is going into your messed up ill-head. At least…you have become quieter, and less defensive.”

I simply stared at him expressionless. Staring right into his eyes, telling him he wasn’t worth my time. He simply tapped the table with his fingers, becoming slightly annoyed at my silence. 

“So…you want to pretend to be mute. How adorable.” The captain huffed. He leaned towards me before gripping my chin. His fingers pressed her almost as he intended to break it. “I am sure you can talk, Riley. Don’t force me to make you permanently mute…”

I knew he was only trying to threaten me. He knew my confession was worth it. I could tell he wanted me to submit to his threats and confess I was a murderer. I simply stared defiantly into his eyes, ignoring the blood dripping from my lips.

I remember the hand of the captain trembling. He was starting to hesitate. 

“Release her now, sir!” One of the doctors ordered. The old man stared at him unimpressed. His hand did not leave my chin, not for a second. The doctor continued, this tine his tone become darker. “Dr. Gubberson will not tolerate the use of violence against one of our patients. He will not allow you to return or speak with Miss Ruckus if you break any bone or cause any injury to her.”

With that warning, the captain released my chin. I refrained from smirking at my small victory. 

“Very well.” The captain hissed. He stared at me furiously. “I suppose that I must find alternate ways to make you talk, don’t you? 

This was how I eventually learned about what happened to my home. After the captain’s death, the other policemen continued with his example. None succeeded, but they fed the fury that kept me alive…

“The bank took your inheritance from your parents.” He muttered with a sly grin. I remained calmed as I could, and refuse to give in into his attempts at provoking my anger. “The bank donated the money to the police force to their investigation of your father’s murder. So, you are peniless, Miss Ruckus.”

This came out to be a lie. I would eventually learn that after the will was handed to me. Sadly, that was the only lie told…

“Money is not up your interest? Ummm, perhaps I should talk about what happened to your parent's belongings.”  It was then when I slightly trembled. He took this as a sign to continue. “Your father’s clothes were sold to some rich folks along with your mother’s dresses. Her wedding dress was sold the highest, probably shredded to pieces by some seamstress.”

The dress my mother promised that I would have when I got married…the one my father fondly kept in his room and stare ever since she died….

I only took my pain as nutrients for my growing seed of vengeance. The captain continued on. “We Also sold your father’s books. All of them in fact. We thought you wouldn’t need them.”

The books my father collected throughout his life, and the ones we used to read when I was a little girl sitting on his lap. The ones that decorated the beautiful library of his study…

“You no longer have your beloved manor…” That was the last attempt he made. I forced myself not to cry. There was no use into giving any sort of weak feeling or emotion that could give an advantage of the cruel captain. As much as it pained me to hear how my parent’s legacy was slowly destroyed, there was nothing I could do myself.

The manor was eventually destroyed after the police gathered as much as they could for their investigation. Majority of our stuff was sold, even majority of our family paintings, and my mother’s collection of taxidermy over the years. One painting did remain, thankfully, but this is something that does far into my tragic story.

That was a long day. A tiresome interrogatory I went through. It was the first one to come, but certainly not the last. The captain would eventually visit me every single day, mentioning details, showing family values that were sold or gifted to charity. He was becoming desperate to make me shed a tear or break. I could listen to his heart beating louder, and louder. 

Sometimes I felt it underneath the ground, but I was so very gentle and cautious not to show I was well aware of that.

Eventually the Doctors and nurses themselves became tired and irritated with the lack of progress. Word eventually reached Dr. Gubberson himself. He momentarily cut out the Captains visits into twice a week, and demanded my treatment to change. That was the end of my straight jacket and being locked, isolated in a cold room. I was allowed to look more presentable myself and start to interact more among with the other prisoners of this hell.

According to Dr. Gubberson, I was no longer a threat. I was still mad as ever as ill, but he believed I would feel more comfortable to speak if I started to have interactions. That was the beginning of how I met two important people into my particular bitter tale:

Nicholas Nathaniel Nack and Daisy Charlene Danger.

[sarcasticdolphin]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Elisabeth - Levay/Kunze Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rudolf von Österreich-Ungarn | Rudolf Crown Prince of Austria/Der Tod | Death (Elisabeth), Elisabeth von Österreich-Ungarn | Elisabeth of Bavaria/Franz Joseph I von Österreich Characters: Franz Joseph I von Österreich, Rudolf von Österreich-Ungarn | Rudolf Crown Prince of Austria, Der Tod | Death (Elisabeth) Additional Tags: todolf is more implied, and background, more of a franz and rudolf as father and son fic, franz has period typical sexism, and he is the pov character, mentions of various horrible things that have happened in this series so far (the murders) Series: Part 9 of Mirrorverse Summary:

Franz worries for his son. For his precious, petulant son.

Franz's side of (part of) the story.

[pennielanelisbon]

Blood and Sand 1922

[spacebubblehomebase]

Helllo i Love your art more than i love donuts and thats ALLOT.but my boy lucifer can have babys,like i dont even know how that works!make it make sense! I just wanna say thank you again for curing are boredom👍🏻

You are SO right that is high praise indeed! I'm honored! =D So here. Have a donut! 🍩🍩🍩 As for Luci, let us turn to the world's favorite 700k+ words old man fanfiction that is The Bible (tm) as according to their lore, it's been canonically stated that angels are genderless for they are beings made of the Pure Holy Spirit and- Holy SHIT! What do you know??? Our dear depressed duck dad was an angel himself and in some depictions Lilith is infertile as was her punishment for her freedom! The more you know! -Bubbly💙

(LMAO. My guy's been traumatized. Once is enough XD)

[ninadove]

Mina Harker, fresh with the taste of vampire blood as well blood of her friends via transfusion or not in her mouth, fresh from suicidal decelerations:

"I just spied on saw my assaulter D, he left exactly on 12:45, I saw him heading South in circles so go greet him. And I didn't break from this task due to being a woman, crazy!"

She is built from something else, for sure ❤️

[thestressedsimmer]

July, 1315: Capet Manor

The air felt truly gloomy at the home of the duke and duchess of Willow Creek. Elizabeth had been so grief stricken by the death of her favorite (and only) older sister and Robert had many duties to perform, especially with his brother struggling with becoming a widower.

It wasn't the best time for the king to fall into a state of depression, considering the famine that was still plaguing their lands, but luckily he had a loyal and loving younger brother who could handle things - at least in Willow Creek.

Elizabeth's pregnancy had been progressing well. She swore she felt two pair of feet kicking against her; which prompted Robert to ask if they could have the royal physician visit. Sure enough, she was diagnosed with twins. Elizabeth was not very surprised. Her mother had triplets for the Watcher's sake.

The news still brought a strange mix of excitement and fear. Numbness and happiness. She couldn't truly place any of her emotions but she did know that these babies were alive. They were alive and had unlimited potential. Maybe she'd have the next duke of Willow Creek in her arms in a mere matter of months. Perhaps she'd have an heir and his dutiful brother in the same moment. Or perhaps she'd have a beautiful little girl who could become a future queen in her own right. Two girls would be stressful for Robert, who would want to ensure the best for them which would be hefty dowries, but they would love them no matter what.

That sentiment wasn't common among their social class, but Elizabeth and Robert had been through too much grief to care about much else right now. Just healthy children. Please, Watcher, just healthy children.

During this time, the duchess started exchanging letters with her family back home. Especially her younger sister, Jennet. She was the oldest sister now so she would have to take on the role of giving advice and trying to guide her siblings through their grief.

Even though her husband tried to shield her from the realities of the world outside so she could focus on growing healthy babies? Her sister's words filled her with worry.

Back in Henford-On-Bagley, the farmers have yet to get a single seed to take to the soil. Her mother and father, in the throes of grief themselves, have been struggling to even put food on their own table (considering the amount of mouths they have to feed) and have been relying on the queen's kindness.

Jennet begged Elizabeth to not try for any more children until after this has passed. Of course, the young girl didn't truly understand the duties of a duchess. Especially the wife of somebody in line to the throne of Willow Creek. She must have children. At least until she had two boys... But she simply reassured her sister that anything that goes on is the Watcher's will.

She wished that she, herself, had the same confidence that she did in her letters. When she felt the first pangs of contractions, she felt fear grip her heart.

One of two things was going to happen. Either she was going to meet her children or she was going to join her sister - perhaps both as was the case with her sister.

All she could do was repeat the very words she had consoled her baby sister with.

Anything that happens is the Watcher's will.

[chicago-geniza]

Next I should go through all the Emily Dickinson movies. Loved Wild Nights with Emily, hated A Quiet Passion, expect everything else to fall on a spectrum between those two poles