#all of those ideas and more are better then Mary and John

[copinghex]

Family bonds | T.S

Summary: After a hurtful comment at a fundraising event, you wonder what really bonds Tommy to your child. 

A/N: Ok, so as I previously mentioned, I edited some of my old stories and will be reposting one per week. This is the first selected!

"Do you want to sit?" Tommy whispered in your ear, your hand went straight to your belly, moving up and down, where you baby rests and patiently waits to be born.

"No, I'm fine, just take this gin away from me, otherwise I'll be tempted," you pushed his glass away, "are the cute kids working?" 

"The wives look more excited than the men, but yeah, four huge donations until now," 

"In less than two hours? That's a new record!" 

This was probably the best business idea you ever had. The inauguration ceremony of the Shelby Institute for orphaned children took place in a cozy room, with closed windows and lighted up fireplaces, the cold breeze freezing the bones of anyone who dared to attend without a coat.

Months later, spring came to warm your bones and put a self-giving feeling into Thomas Shelby's heart. In the middle of a boring, typical week, he arrived home planning to uplift the structure of the institute's building. 

He told you the idea during the night, with his hand resting on your pregnant belly and although he didn't tell you what made him come up with it, you could clearly see his line of thought.

Tommy could rarely afford nice things, there was no gentleness in survival and for most of his life, that was all he did. Finally, with his rise to new money, he could provide something he never had to children who look too much like him - comfort. Also, being seen as a charitable person would do no harm to the business.

The small change of plans you suggested put a smile on his face, instead of making a typical fundraising dinner, why not make an afternoon tea? The invitations encourage couples to bring their children, seeing those innocent little humans running around shall make them remember why to donate.

A mansion with a huge garden was rented for the event, maids were hired to look after the children and butlers served biscuits and hot cups of tea. For your surprise, the event had more children than adults, most couples - including you and Tommy - were outnumbered by their children. 

Your eyes ran through the garden trying to find your little ones, the younger one was the easiest, no place was safest than inside your own mama, but it was better to keep an eye on the other three. Marie Louise Adler, whose hair looked exactly like yours. The twins, Henry and William Shelby, except for the eyes, are small versions of Tommy, from the physical appearance to the mannerism.

Quickly, you found William trying to teach one of John's girls how to use a slingshot. A few steps away, Henry had a handful of biscuits and carried a toy car made of wood.

"Where is Loui-'' before you could ask, a collective ugh followed by a child's cry got your attention.

Louise was under a tree with her knees on the grass, the hem of her yellow dress covered in dirt and the left leg of her white stockings ruined, exposing her bruised knee. Tommy reacted faster than you, his hand slid through your waist as he ran in her direction. You quickly followed after, rolling up the sleeves of your dress.

He picked Louise up, she put her arms around his neck and seemed to calm down a bit. A maid tried to apologize for neglecting your little girl, but you were too focused on following Tommy inside to answer.

Curious eyes followed your trio while you crossed the hallway and once you were in a private room, Tommy tried to put Louise on a sofa, but she didn't want to let go.

"C'mon, love," he encouraged, making her lift her crying face from his neck and allow him to sit her down.

"What happened, Lou?" you took her hair off her face and her stockings off, watching out to not brush her bruised knee.

"I was trying to climb on the tree, but I got scared and slipped up," she brushed off tears with her tiny hands.

Tommy took a napkin and wetted it with gin, after kneeling in front of the girl, he asked, "And what did me and mama say, eh?" 

She looked down, ashamed of disobeying.

"You can only climb trees when me or daddy are around to help," you rubbed her back, trying to comfort her.

"I'm sorry," she pouted.

"Now I have to clean your knee, it's full of dirt," Tommy held her leg.

"No! It 's gonna hurt!" she pulled her leg back.

"Just a little, but don't think about it," you sat at her side, holding her head to your chest, "think about the delicious cake I'll get you when we get home!" 

"Can we get some too?!" William, who'd been peeking the whole scene from the door, suddenly yelled, Henry tried to shush him and ended up being dragged by the hand into the room.

"Boys! How long have you been there?" 

"It was William! He had the idea of following you!" Henry quickly accused.

"That 's not true! You were curiou-" 

"Alright, boys, it doesn't matter," Tommy silenced the argument before it started, playfully hitting the twins foreheads with the napkin.

While you were distracted by the kids, Tommy had taken care of Louise's knee and the five of you were finally allowed to go back to the event.

Louise insisted Tommy should carry her, Henry and William took your hands and the eyes of many guests softened to the vision of you walking together. 

Soon, the kids dispersed in the garden, Tommy got the attention of charitable housewives, interested in donating to the institute, you leaned on an empty table, sipping your favorite juice and smiling at anyone who crossed your way.

"Mrs. Shelby!" an old woman walked to you with a huge smile, "I must say, this is the most diverse charity event I attended in years!" 

 "Oh, thank you so much, misses…"

"Thompson, Aline Thompson, nice to meet you," she shook your hand. "you don't drink?" 

"Usually I do, but I'm pregnant," 

"Darling! That's lovely! Your husband is already so lucky to have two kids, now one more!" 

"Three," you corrected her.

"Pardon?" 

"Thomas and I have three children, Henry, William and Louise," 

"Well, if that's the case, I guess you're the lucky one, Mr. Shelby indeed treats the girl as if she's his," 

"Hm," you pressed your lips together. "may I ask who told you Louise isn't Tommy's?" 

"It's written in the guest list, Y/N Adler Shelby and Louise Adler, I'm sorry for Mr. Adler, I'm sure he was a good man," she smiled, "now, if you excuse me," 

Aline left you with teary eyes, how dared she speak about your family like this? But what if…? What if she was right? Did Tommy really love Louise? Did he see her as his daughter or an extension of you?

"Seven, Louise falling over had a good effect on them," Tommy held your arm, telling you about the new huge donations.

"Really? That's great, love," 

"Are you alright?" 

"Yeah, just a bit tired," 

"I'll tell the driver to take you home," 

"No! There’s still a few hours to go,"

"Ada will take your place, most of the guests are leaving already anyway,"

"Oh, alright then," you drawled.

"Will you take the kids?"

"Yeah, I think," you looked around, searching for them, "just Louise, the boys look like they're having fun, can you look after them?"

"Sure." 

-

The way home was quiet, Louise had asked to rest on your leg and fell into deep sleep, Frances helped you to carry her to bed. After a well-deserved bath, you had put some foundation's papers in order so Tommy could add today's profit without any problem. Night was falling and all you could do was wait for the rest of your family to arrive.

Heading upstairs, your eyes fixed in a spot they usually didn't, the family painting. It took months of persuasion for Tommy to agree to pose and even longer for it to be done, since he only agreed to give away two hours of his agenda. 

Your heads leaned together in a sign of unquestionable affection, Louise sat in the middle, where your right and Tommy's left leg stuck together. William was on your left leg and Henry on Tommy's right, they were less than two years old and didn't get a characteristic Shelby haircut yet. All in all, you looked like a family, no one would dare to say otherwise, unless Aline Thompson.

The sound of the front door opening followed by the maid's heels told you Tommy arrived, you decided to wait in the stairs and he showed up alone.

"Where's Henry and William?" you asked with furrowed brows. 

"At Ada's, they wanted a sleepover with Karl," 

While you both walked upstairs, he had a hand on your lower back and you realized he didn't ask about Louise, the very first thing you did when Tommy arrived was to ask about your kids, Tommy didn't even bother, probably because Louise wasn't his.

Time passed quietly, Tommy took a bath and asked a few questions about the paperwork, you told him to add today's profit and nodded to whatever else he said. Night could have been good, or at least, peaceful.

He sat on the bed looking through his paperwork and his sudden warning made your jaw clench, "You have a doctor's appointment scheduled for tomorrow, so be home when he arrives," 

"What for?" 

"To check on our girl," he answered without paying attention.

"How do you know it's a girl?" 

"This pregnancy it's different from the boy's," 

"Oh," you lay down, turning your back on him, "I'm glad you at least care about this girl," 

He sighed and you heard him writing something, a few seconds passed until he asked, "What did you say?" 

You didn't answer.

"Y/n, what do you mean?" he touched your shoulder, trying to make you look at him.

"Nothing, Tommy, nothing," 

"No, what the fuck you mean with this girl?" 

You sat up, taking a good look at his face before questioning, "How many children do we have, Tommy?" 

"Three and another one on the way," he harshly answered and you sighed in relief.

"This is what you say to everyone else, right? Not just to me," 

"Yeah, y/n, of course, why would you fucking ask that?" 

You teared up and Tommy's face softened, he cupped your face, catching some tears and patiently waiting for you to speak.

"You only have three, Tommy, the twins and this one," you rubbed your belly.

"Who said that?" he looked at you with disbelief.

"It's the truth," 

"Louise is my child,"

"You know she's not, I know it, you know it, and-"

"Y/n-" 

"Aline Thompson fucking knows it," 

"Who 's Aline Thompson?" 

"It doesn't matter, Tommy," 

"It fucking does, if there's someone around saying Louise isn't my child, then I have to know," 

"It won't change the facts." 

"Listen," he moved closer to you and cupped your face again, "Louise is my child, I'm raising her, she's a Shelby." 

"Then why didn't you ask about her when you arrived?" 

"I asked Frances, she told me she's sleeping since evening," 

"Oh," your cheeks heated up, ashamed of this huge misunderstanding. 

"Who's Aline Thompson?" 

"A stupid woman at the charity tea, she said I was lucky for you treating Louise as your own," 

"Lucky, eh?" he nodded, "I bet her husband has a deal with the Shelby Company," 

"No, Tommy!" you giggle.

"Oh, just a few pounds to lose,"

"Tommy! You're mean! Not that she doesn't deserve it," 

Hesitant knocks on the door made you stop laughing, you and Tommy switched a look before he got up and opened the door.

"I'm sorry to bother, Mr. Shelby," a young maid holding Louise's hands apologized, "but Louise wants to sleep with you," 

Too sleepy to speak, your daughter rubbed her eyes and walked past Tommy, climbing on the bed and laying near you. 

"Right, thank you-" 

"Oh, also, Mrs. Thorne called, the twins want to come home."

[worldofkuro]

Painted Smile

Painted Smile VII

<- Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ->

Pairing: Alastor x Female! Reader

Summary: You couldn't wait to meet new friends. What you didn't expect was this smiling little boy, only one year older than you, that would take such a big place in your life.

Notes: 4913 words... I don't know what happened. I'm so tired, it's 1 am but who cares, I needed to drop the new chapters. I really hope you'll enjoy it dears ! Tell me what you think of it! Because I'm dead tired there might have more mistake than usual, I'll check it out tomorrow.

“ And then I kind of kissed him through the blanket.”

You stared as Alice squealed with delight, bouncing on her seat in front of you. You were in your living room,sitting on your sofa, your Mother was out which made you alone with your friend. You just finished telling her what happened two days ago and she seemed delighted while you were… confused. At that moment you didn’t even think, you just… went for the kiss. It wasn’t even a kiss, your lips didn’t touch! You just felt the blanket!

“ And then ? And then ? Don’t leave me hanging, tell me what happened next!” begged Alice while she was squeezing a cushion against her chest. You turned your head toward the chimney’s fire. You were the 20th of December. Christmas was around the corner and then Alastor’s birthday…And you still didn’t have any ideas for a present ! You sighed, you were losing against the clock… “ Hey, are you doing alright ?”

“ Oh, sorry Alice, nothing happened after. He… reassured me and then he went home. But the problem right now is that I don’t have his Chrismas’s present… I don’t even have his birthday’s present!”

“ He was born on the first of January, right ?” You nodded and she tilted her head backward, thinking about a present for your friend. You almost scoffed, you trusted her but if YOU couldn’t find a present for Alastor, how could she do it? “ Hey, before I forget, I asked my parents if I could celebrate Chrismas’s Eve with friends and they said yes!” she clapped her hands together. “ You should come, and bring Alastor with you !”

Going to a soirée with Alastor..? You looked at Alice. She was indeed the daughter of a rich family but she wasn’t like those pompous people who thought they were better than anyone. She was open minded. She made friends with everyone, white people, coloured people, everyone.. And you were surprised her parents were okay with it. Maybe they weren’t closed minded people?

You kind of wanted to see Alastor in this kind of environment, you have never seen him all dressed up since you were kids. It could be fun ! But would he agree ? You could almost hear his voice saying he didn’t want to leave his Mother alone for Chrismas’s Eve.. You didn’t want to leave your mother alone either– Wait, that was it! You would invite Marie to pass Chrismas’s Eve with your Mother and you and Alastor would go to Alice’s soirée and then celebrated Christmas in your own house with Alastor and her mother!  

“ From your smile, I guess it is a yes?” asked Alice with a grin. You winked at her before standing up.

“ It’s a maybe… I don’t know if Alastor would want to come.”

“Mhn.. If he doesn’t want to come, tell him that John will be there.” she said with a teasing expression, like she knew something you didn’t. You raised an eyebrow at her, suspicious.

“ Alice… Did you talk with Alastor when he walked you home?”

“ Oh! Actually yes, he is the one who began to talk. He asked about our relationship, he seemed very protective of you, it was cute!” she beamed as she giggled. You blushed, looking away. “ But you think he would not like a party?  He seemed like he would be the star of the soirée!”

You did know that. Alastor has something that made people want to approach him. He was almost seventeen but he already had so much charisma, he was a proper gentleman. You weren’t blind, you could see more and more young ladies turn their eyes on him when you were walking outside. You wondered if he was aware of it? If he was, he never made a deal of it, he would just smile back at them if they happened to catch his eyes. 

You wondered how ladies would try to approach Alastor. You’ve known him for eight years, so you weren’t impressed by him anymore, if you wanted you would just jump on his back because you were tired and he would carry you home just like. No questions asked. You smiled without noticing, people might have found Alastor difficult to approached but for you, it was as easy as breathing.

You kind of wanted to see people trying to approach Alastor now…

“ Well, I just have to convince Alastor.”

~~

“ I’ll be delighted!”

You blinked, turning your head toward him. He was laying on the tree’s foot, seeming to be reading a book as you were sitting on the swing. It was snowing today, but you both decided to stay outside for a change. The forest was pretty hidden under a white blanket.

You went to Alastor’s house after parting ways with Alice. You did pay attention to the people around, but you didn’t see any man that would be stalking you. You were sure, if there was a stalker, that he would stalk Alice, not you. But Alastor has made you promise that you would pay attention so…

“ Really? You would like to come?” you smiled as you let the swing go, walking toward him. He put his book down and looked up at you with his usual grin, he really seemed excited about it! 

“ Of course dear, going to a soirée with you holding on to my arm? How could I refuse? And I’m sure my Mother would be delighted to celebrate Christmas’s Eve with your mother, as long as we celebrate Christmas with them.” he sketched before sitting up. He tilted his head and you couldn’t help but laugh as you saw a few leaves and snow on his hair. You sat next to him and began to take the leaves out of his hair. In two seconds, Alastor was laying back down on the grass but this time his head was on your thighs. He took his book back and continued his reading as you stroked his hair, looking at the sky.

What kind of dress would you wear? You never went to a soirée before, you needed to look your best, you wanted to impress Alastor. You’ve never really put too much thought into what you wore, you’ll have to ask Alice for advice… You wondered how Alastor was going to show up..

“ Alastor, what are you going to wear?” you looked at him, still playing with his hair, how could his hair be so soft to the touch? He didn’t move his gaze from the book, answering you with a teasing smile.

“ Why? ”

“ Come on, I was just wondering… I don’t know what kind of dress would suit me, I have never been to a fancy soirée. I’m scared of being… underdressed. “ and you didn’t want Alastor to be ashamed of you because of your poor choice of outfit. He stayed silent for a minute and then tilted his head backward on your laps so he could stare into your gaze.

“ Red suits you.” 

You stared in his eyes, the sun made them look almost caramel like. He was so lucky to be this handsome, really ,and he wasn’t even a full grown man yet. You pouted, looking away. How unfair.

“ Well, thank you, does that mean that the only color that suits me is red and I look awful with any other color?” 

“ Oh I didn’t say that. I just want to see you in red.”

You looked at him and couldn’t help the smile sketching your lips. Well, if that’s what he wanted. You took his book off his hands, which he let you do, still looking at you. You put the book next to you, on the grass. 

“ Do you think you'll be able to keep up with me if we have to dance ?” you teased him, raising an eyebrow. His eyes widened before he roared with laughter, holding his belly. You chuckled at his reaction, you knew that Alastor was an amazing dancer, you just wanted to hear him laugh… 

“ Oh my dearest friend, if we happen to dance, trust me, I’ll make it so you wouldn’t be able to walk for some days.” he winked at you with a confident smile. You laughed out loud, throwing your head back.

“ And I’ll make it so you wouldn’t ever consider another partner!” he took your hand in his with a soft smile, caressing your skin. You looked up as you heard someone coming and your eyes met Marie’s. She smiled softly at you, saying it was time for you to go home, she didn’t like you going home at night and didn't want you to catch a cold.

Alastor stood up, before taking his book. You stood up with his help, said goodbye to Marie’s and went back home with Alastor. Since the “stalker” evenement, he didn’t want you to walk home alone. You rolled your eyes at him but at least you could stay with Alastor a little while longer, so it was worth it. You walked together on the road of New Orleans, watching at the shop vitrines if it could give you some ideas for Alastor’s gift.

“ Hey, Alasto-”

You screamed as your foot slid on ice. You felt yourself falling before Alastor wrapped his arms around you and tugged your body against him before gracefully dancing around the freezed road. You stared at him, your eyes wide opened as he made you spin on the freezing floor, but you never fell, he was moving your body, like it was another part of him. You began to laugh happily. You let him take control of your body, letting him make you dance as he wished. Not too long after he made you drop, your head almost touching the ground. You stared at him as he held you firmly, your breath coming in short puff. He was staring intensely at you with a satisfied smile.

“ No matter what, I’ll always catch you if you fall.”

You smiled at him as he straightened you before offering his arm to you. You took it, as you kept walking toward your home and of course, as always, he leaned in to give you a kiss on your forehead before leaving. You stared at him until you couldn’t see him anymore and then you decided to enter your home.

“ Mom~ What would you think about celebrating Christmas’ Eve with Marie~?”

~~~

“ This is a disaster Alice !” 

You fell on your bed,head in your pillow ready to scream bloody murder. You haven’t found a single red dress that suited you. You hated every single dress you had tried ! And Alice’s soirée was tomorrow night ! You didn’t know what to do with your hair, with your makeup and you still didn’t have anything to wear ! 

“ I see… Well, it seems like it’s my time to shine ! Look what I’ve got you !” She took a bag from behind her and put it in front of your bed. You lifted your head from your pillow and opened the bag. Your eyes opened as you saw a beautiful black and red flapper dress. Your eyes were wide open, you’ve only seen this kind of dress with the riches folks. You stared at Alice, your mouth wide open without being able to put words together. “ I know you will look delicious like this, come on, try it on so we can find makeup and hairstyle to go with it!”

“ We can see my legs !”

“ We’ll wear stockings, don’t worry ! It’s almost 1920’s, come on!”

“ We’ll be in 1917 next month!”

“ That’s what I said, come on now!”

You undressed yourself before looking at the dress. It was very pretty and it was shining with so many sparkles… You dressed up and put on some heels and then you looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked… like a woman. You really liked the dress… you moved around a bit, it was comfortable, you feel like you could dance with it! You could feel the flapper moving against your thighs with each movement. You blushed a little and looked at Alice who was staring at you with stars in her eyes.

“ Ooh, yes! You’ll look perfect ! Don’t worry, I’ll have some similar dress, you’ll not feel left out! Now, the makeup and the hairstyle my friend~.”

Oh dear.

~~~

It was the day. You were in front of your mirror. You were wearing your dress, your black heels, you had put a red lipstick on your lips and a bit of mascara. You were so nervous. What if Alastor found you absolutely ridiculous ? Oh you couldn’t live with the humiliation. You heard your door open and turned around to see your mother, staring at you with teary eyes.

“ Oh sweetheart, you look… Breathtaking, your father would be crying…” She went into your bedroom and hugged you which you immediately reciprocated. 

“ I don’t look stupid ?”

“ Baby, no. You look like a grown woman! Oh, how time flies…you're already sixteen...” she smiled before you heard someone ringing at your door making you tense. It was Alastor, you were sure of it. Your Mother smiled at you before winking and then she left you bedroom, going downstairs so she could open the door. You tried to hear what they were saying but you couldn’t hear anything…

You looked at yourself one last time in the mirror.

“ Come on girl. You’re going to an amazing soirée and you’ll enjoy every single second of it, okay?” you nodded at your reflection. Great.

You sighed and then left your bedroom. You took a deep breath and then began to walk down the stairs, your heels making noises against the wooden stairs. You heard Alastor and Marie’s voice getting closer. You saw your mother at the bottom of the stairs with an encouraging smile. 

“ Alastor, come closer, there she is !”

You heard his shoes before finally seeing him.

Oh.

He was beautiful.

His dark hair was slicked back, he didn’t have his glasses on, he was wearing a dark redded suit and he was holding a bouquet of flowers in his right hand. He was staring at you, his eyes wide open. You both stood there, without talking or doing anything else. You took a shaky breath before walking down the stairs until you were in front of him, thanks to your heels you were face to face with him. He was still staring at you with a straining smile. Did he find you ridiculous, did you try too hard? You kissed him softly on both cheeks and you heard him gulp. What was happening to him?

“ Alastor, please say something…” you begged, looking down.

You felt his hand on your face, raising your chin up so he could meet your gaze. His smile was softer and his eyes still had this intense glint that made you relax.

“ I told you, red is our color.” he smirked before giving you the bouquet. You grinned as you stared at the beautiful flowers in front of you and then you looked at Alastor’s eyes. He didn’t even once let his gaze move away from you, it made you feel warm. You smiled brightly as your mother took the flowers from you, putting it in a vase. 

“ You both are so beautiful, but leaving before being late !” Marie said just after taking a picture of you. You took a long coat that hid your figure before leaving with your arm around Alastor’s one. 

“ I can’t wait to be there ! “ you said excitedly. You were still feeling nervous but Alastor by your side, it was getting easier to just be excited about this party. You felt Alastor grip your arm tighter as you walked into a busy road. You tried not to bump into people, and after a thirty minute walk, you find yourself in front of a huge house. Was it a mansion?

You knocked on the huge door and a butler opened the door, eyeing suspiciously but before you could even your mouth you saw Alice running toward you. She was wearing an outfit similar to yours, as promised, but hers was white and blue. She looked almost angelic.

“ You made it ! Come, come, come inside!” 

You walked into a huge reception room and there were already so many people inside. The butler took off your coat making you feel a little cold, so you just stayed against Alastor who put his arms around your shoulder. Alice introduced some of her friends, you could not remember every name, there were too many. Did Alice really know all of them? Some of them looked like real adults, and was that a band that was getting ready? You went with Alastor toward the buffet.

“ Well, what do you think of it so far?” you asked him with a tired smile. He took a drink and sniffed it before putting it back. “ What?”

“ Be careful, some of the brevage have alcohol,” he said before leaning against the wall.” but I’m not surprised. Your friend seems to be the type to always go big.  Being able to pull off this kind of soirée with a war going on? I’m almost impressed.” he said before straightening his tie. 

“ Alastor, is it you?”

You turned to the voice and saw a beautiful lady. She smiled sweetly at Alastor who gave her his usual smile. Who was she? She began to talk with Alastor, ignoring your presence. You tilted your head, it was the first time someone came straight at Alastor with you next to him. She seemed so confident, you almost envied her. Almost. You were a polite girl, you wouldn’t interrupt them but you didn’t want to stand next to them too long, it would get boring quickly. You took a drink from the buffet and sipped it. It was sweet, you wondered what it was. You smirked, you could already imagine Alastor’s face at the disgustingly sweet brevage you just had.

You should prank him. You took another cup and turned toward Alastor before being startled by the band who began to play music. You almost dropped the cup, that was a close call.. You looked at Alastor who was being dragged by the lady toward the dancefloor. 

Wait what? 

You stared at the scene in front of you, as Alastor began to dance with her.

What?

“ Oh, who do we kill before Christmas?” You turned your head toward Alice who was trying to see what you were watching. “ Oh… Oh, yes. Jealous?”

“ No! I’m just .. surprised. I didn’t know Alastor had other female friends.. Come on, let’s dance.” you finished your drink and dragged Alice who eagerly nodded. 

You both danced with each other, smiling. It was fun! The band was playing some good tunes! She gave you a spin who landed you into someone's arms. You looked up and saw John, your school’s mate.

“ You look beautiful like this…” he said as he admired you. You nodded with a confident smile. You didn’t know why but you felt like the most powerful woman right now! He smiled at you, before looking away shyly. “ Care to bless me with a dance?” You laughed, so formal. You took his hand and danced with him, keeping your eyes open to match his steps. You did stop him from lifting you in the air though, you didn’t trust him to keep you up in the air but thankfully he didn’t take it badly.

You took a look at Alastor and couldn’t help but frown. He was dancing amazingly, as always, spinning the woman before tugging her against him. You pouted, you thought he only did that with you.

As the party kept going you were getting more and more agitated. Why was Alastor still not dancing with you? You didn’t know why, but most of the time you were a good girl but when Alastor was included, you could become the worst brat ever. You walked toward the buffet, took another drink and went toward the band, you needed to look confident. You spoke to the singer and he smiled before making some place for you. He placed the microphone in front of you and asked you what song you wanted to sing.

You smirked and asked for a song you and Alastor’s used to dance on when you were younger. You were watching the crowd, took a deep breath and began to sing. You stared at Alastor who was dancing with another girl but once he heard your voice he turned his head toward the scene , where you were standing. You couldn’t feel but something in your belly, just like that his attention was back on you. You saw the girl trying to keep his gaze on her and you smirked. Not today.

Today you were selfish.

You sang like there was no tomorrow, the crowd clapping their hands with the rhythm of the song, you didn’t think you ever sang this good. You had perfect control on your voice, you were even dancing on the stage as the band were giving their all with you. You looked at Alastor who was still dancing with the lady, even if you could see he was getting bored. Well, you could help. You began to sing with more energy, the band making the rhythm faster as well. You could feel your lips sketched into a mocking smile as you saw the girl not being able to keep up with Alastor. Perfect.

You went down the stage , still singing. The crowd parted for you and you couldn’t help but feel excited. You walked toward Alastor, he had his back on you. You slided your hand on his back making him flinch. He turned his head toward you with a surprised expression. You grinned at him, singing before smoothly taking Alastor away from the girl. You both were encircled by the crowd but you didn’t care. Alastor and you danced, never breaking eye contact. You kept the rhythm as fast as you could, every step was nailed, every spin. You would have your back against his chest and then he would spin you so your face was inches away from each other. And then Alastor lifted you in his arms before throwing you in the air. You closed your eyes, feeling perfectly safe. He promised he would always catch you if you were to fall.

You fell down in his arms, your head near the floor but never touching it. You felt his breath on your lips and you opened your eyes, staring right back into his gaze. He was sweating and so were you. You were holding his shoulder, breathing hard. You were both alone in your own world. 

And just like that, the spell broke as the crowd cheered for you. You blinked and Alastor straightened you up with a genuine smile. You grinned at him before you both bowed to the crowd. You went back to the stage, giving back the microphone before going to the buffet, you needed some fresh water.

“ Oh my Lord, you both were.. I don’t even have the words!” squealed Alice as she shook you by the shoulders. You laughed at her reaction , it was just you being petty because Alastor wasn’t paying attention to you.

“It really was amazing.” John said as he clapped while you were drinking a glass of water.

“ That’s what happens when you let us do our things together, let that be a lesson folks.”  Alastor said as he put his arms around your shoulders.  You nudged him but couldn’t contain your laughter. You were having a great time.

You had other dances with Alastor, before people were making little group. You were sitting on a table with Alice,John,Alastor and other people you dind’t know. You didn’t know why, maybe they drank some alcohol but the conversation which was proper began to turn toward something more… spicy?

“ You’ve never kissed before? Hoho, you don’t know what you are missing.” said a lady to John who just blushed. The lady stared languidly at Alastor. “ And you, pretty boy? Have you ever kissed someone ?”  You were ready to tell the lady to back off, you didn’t want her to embarrass Alastor because he didn’t have his first kiss.

“ Yes, I have.”

Huh?

“ Oh, I’m not surprised. And you sweetie?” you felt everyone's eyes on you and you blushed. Even Alice had already kissed someone !

“ N-no, I have never.”

“ Well, why not remedy it tonight, just before Christmas ! John, was it, why don’t you kiss our adorable singer right here?” you flushed even more as John was looking at you, seeming hesitant. 

“ As if my dearest friend’s first kiss would be with such a boring fella, no offense my friend.” said Alastor sarcastly.  You frowned, why would he care! He already had his first kiss and he didn’t even tell you. You stood up.

“ I need some air, I’ll be back.”

You took a sip of your glass with the sweet juice and went out, in the garden. You heels hit the paving stone as you try not to burst out of… of what? sadness? angryness? You sighed as you stared at the stars in the sky, you felt the snow falling on your naked arms. You could even see the air you were breathing.

“ You are going to catch a cold.”

You turned your head toward Alastor as he took off his blazer, ready to hand it to you. You shook your head.

“ No, I needed… I need the cold air.”

“ Why did you lie ?”

“ Pardon?” you turned your body toward him as he took a step toward you.

“ About your first kiss.”

“ I didn’t lie, I’ve never kissed anyone. And unlike you, if I did, I would have told you but Mister Alastor doesn’t care to share such a secret with me, am I right?” you crossed your arms over your chest. He smiled at you mockingly. You felt anger sweltering inside you.

“ Don’t you dare look at me like that, Alastor.”

“ You’ve always been endearingly stupid. My first kiss was with you, in your room, remember ?” he tilted his head as he took another step toward you.

You felt your body relaxed. You couldn’t be angry with him. He didn’t know. He wasn’t reading the same book as you. You have been so embarrassed when he had catched you reading a love story but at least you knew what a first kiss was! 

“ Alastor, a kiss isn’t… A first kiss is something you must share with a special someone. Your lips need to touch the other one.” you blushed as you looked away. “ I think.. Th-The lips need to move against each other an-and..”

You took a step back but his hand found the back of your waist as he softly tugged you against him. You knew he was trying to find your eyes but you were so embarrassed by what you just told him.

“ So, a first kiss must be with a special someone, right?” he waited for you to nod before raising your chin with his finger. “ Then, can I give you my real first kiss?” You stared at him with your eyes wide open, your cheeks flushed red.

“ What..”

“ You are my most special person since childhood… For me, it’s only natural for you to have my first kiss.” he smiled at you, his eyes shining with that oh so familiar glint you were used to seeing each time he was looking at you. “ You don’t have to if you don’t want of course, but–”

“ I want to. You.. You are also my .. most special person…” he nodded with a soft genuine smile that made you feel warm inside. You closed your eyes as you waited for him to kiss you.

“ Nu-uh, keep your eyes on me.” you opened your eyes, blushing furiously.

“ You are supposed to close your eyes when you are kissing someone !”

“ I don’t really care, this is our first kiss, we’ll do it how we want.” he smirked as he approached his face toward you. Your eyes were looking at his lips then his eyes, you couldn't focus on something, you were stressed, you were nervous, you were excited. Your eyes were half closed when you felt his warm lips against your cold one. You looked at his eyes, his gaze piercing your gaze with an intensity too much to bear, you closed your eyes.

It wasn’t like in the book but you didn’t know why, you didn’t care. 

You kept your eyes closed as Alastor stepped back slightly , you could still feel his breath against your mouth. You opened your eyes and gave him a shy smile as he whispered.

“ So dear, have you ever kissed someone ?” you nodded. “ With whom?”

“ Alastor.”

“ How was it?”

“ Perfect.” you smiled at him as he grinned at you before covering your shoulder with his blaze. 

“ Come on now, the soirée needs its stars !”

Tag List: lukneetoonz @martinys-world @littlepoetnova @sirens-and-moonflowers @eris-norwega @tiredflame132 @mo-0-o @vvollerie @boogiemansbitch @sodavizz @tessemerick @slytherin4ever @kammsinn @alastorssimp

[08melancholie]

Humor me for a moment

What do you think each gang members favorite shows would be if they were from this century? Like modern shows and stuff?

OOOH this is very interesting, and I got a few in mind :)

some are more accurate maybe, some had to be mustered up to be filled in since I had no ideas D:

the guys:

Dutch — Hear me out; fashion shows. This man is first in line for the TV remote when theres a Victoria's Secret runway on one of the channels. That, or those "Wear or Tear" shows. He becomes a true fashionista.

Arthur — I feel, same with Charles, he'd be into watching Bear Grylls surviving in the wild. I don't know how to explain this one tbh, it just sounds right to me.

John — I really struggled with this one, honestly. I could NOT think of one thing he would watch. Anyhow, Abigail doesn't let him watch too much of it, but he'll also tune in when theres a football match OR, even better; baseball. I feel like he's a baseball type guy.

Javier — Another hear me out; Spanish cooking shows. This I have literally no explanation for, it came to me and I instantly said 'oh, YES' aloud. So, I'm sticking with it.

Micah — Would be big into sport channels, football and especially big on ice hockey. Let's be honest, he's literally a dad on Sunday afternoons but like, every day of the week, my little couch potato. His main thing would be ice hockey and I stand firm by that.

Lenny — Just a hunch here, but I think Lenny would like crime shows. Whether it's something like Criminal Minds or actual criminal cases and how they were solved, he'd be very much interested in that.

Sean — LOVES to watch people wrestle. He's either laughing about someone getting their shit handed to them or screaming at the TV for one of the people to punch harder.

Bill — Dog shows!! He loves those dog competitions where people train their dogs to run around and complete the courses, always cheers a certain dog on like it's his own and like he's getting the prize money.

Hosea — Chess competitions. I also don't know how to explain this one much, but I feel like he'd enjoy learning to play/to get better at chess through watching others play it, making little notes on a paper.

Strauss — Gotta be those old people Bingo channels with like, live games. He tried making his own bingo cards and literally nobody wanted to play with him because they said it was boring—and that he did it all wrong :( Otherwise peepaw loves that stuff.

Josiah — He loves watching "[Country]'s Got Talent", any country really. As soon as he sees a magician come up, he instantly locks in to see if he knows the trick that person is trying to do, and he especially loves the dangerous stunt compilations on Youtube. Rewatches them on a daily.

Reverend — Mostly online church services and those live broadcasts of it. If not that, which he does daily imo, it'll be some drug documentary. (struggled with this one D:)

Charles — National Geographic Documentaries; do I need say more? It's how he mostly learns about wildlife, if you don't count books. That, or I feel like he'd enjoy watching Bear Grylls surviving in the wilderness.

Jack — Honorable mention for Jack, the Kratt Brothers.

the girlies:

Sadie — She's also into crime shows, and especially true crime. You can't watch it with her because she loves to comment on EVERYTHING happening in the show, stuff like calling the killers bastards and finding what the clues the police find mean before the people in the show do sometimes.

Tilly — I was unsure of this at first, but I feel like she'd enjoy either cooking or gardening shows, but I'm more leaning to the latter. Likes to learn about all the different plants, sometimes writes information down in case she wants to plant something herself.

Mary-Beth — You know she'd be big into drama series and all the different reality TV shows. I swear, she'd literally LOVE Croatian drama shows and series so much, on the edge of her seat the entire time, literally. That, or she loves cheesy romances, of course.

Karen — I don't know if you guys have this, but we have a show which roughly translates to "Marriage at first", where two people get married at first sight. You can say yes or no at the altar after you see them for the first time, and the show leads you through the upcoming two-three weeks before the wedding. She'd love that, would be judging the wedding dresses the women pick the entire time.

Molly — Watches sickly sweet romcoms to heal her poor, broken heart. Good for her. :(

Abigail — Watches whatever Jack wants to watch mostly, but if she's got free time to watch something herself, she'll mostly use drama shows as background noise. Somehow, I feel like she isn't big on watching TV, so like myself basically.

Susan — She reminds me so much of my grandma that I have to say Turkish drama shows. My grandma has to be in bed by 8pm sharp with her shows, and that is exactly how I see Susan😭

Thank you for this lovely ask, I had fun with it <3

[tofics]

The Other Side to The Coin

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Part 2 to Almost Like You Need Someone (Dean's POV)

Summary: You, Dean and Sam are fighting America's monsters together. Coming from a long line of hunters, you fit right in with the Winchester boys, despite having been raised entirely different from the two. Where you were brought up with love and care, John raised Sam and Dean with rules and obedience. Seeing what Dean does for the world, you decide it's time that he gets his own share of love...

A/N: Almost Like You Need Someone was supposed to be a one-shot but was so well received that I decided to continue it! There will be a part 3, which both part 1 and 2 are leading up to. A ✨finale✨, if you will. For now, here's the reader's POV, sprinkled with Sam's POV. I hope you enjoy! PS: Thank you to @deans-spinster-witch for the idea of Sam deliberately losing to Dean so Dean could share the bed with the reader 🥰

Living with the Winchester boys is easy.

Granted, you get along with almost anybody due to your good-natured spirit. You have a smile that radiates warmth and kindness, a two-lipped greeting that promises the receiver that they are truly welcome. In return, you've been welcomed pretty much anywhere you went.

So it's no surprise that you've bonded with Sam and Dean as easily as you have. You knew of them only by name before you went on a case with them. Despite being a long-time friend to your family and theirs, Bobby Singer didn't speak much about the Winchesters. Two boys raised on the road by a single dad, out for revenge on the demon that took his wife and their mother. That's all you knew.

When he sent you to help out with a case, you arrived with no expectations. "I told 'em not to underestimate you. Don't let those two idjits undersell you. They do good work, but they can be a lil' wary of strangers," Bobby had warned you, but they'd given you no trouble. To your delight, the brothers were not only easy to work with, they were also very easy on the eyes. Not a requirement when it came to who you chose to work with, but it didn't hurt either.

Three months later, you've become a regular passenger in the Winchester's Impala. Despite being an able-driver, you tend to leave the driving to the boys, preferring to take up residence in the backseat. Back there, you're free to pass the hours by entertaining the brothers or getting some shut-eye. It beats fighting with Dean over who gets to pick the music or having Sam snore in your ear from behind you.

You're good to them, and they're good to you. No matter how many times you argue that if you can sleep in the backseat of the Impala, you can definitely take the sofa now and then, they refuse to let you sleep anywhere but the beds of the hotel rooms you secure for a night or two. It would be patronizing if you didn't know any better. You have your love-languages, and they have theirs.

One of Sam's is bringing you back books from the library that he thinks you'll enjoy. Dean always cleans your gun along with his own, making sure it's well-kept and in perfect condition for when you need it. In return, you make sure the boys are fed, getting something healthy for Sam and yourself while picking up a pastry for Dean's breakfast instead.

You find that it's a little easier to get on Sam's good side. In comparison, Dean is a little more closed off, a little more reserved, but you can tell it's got nothing to do with yourself and everything with how they were raised. Over time, you learn about their dark past, about Mary's death and John's need for revenge that led all three of them on the hunter's path. It's mostly Sam who shares these stories with you, although you sometimes manage to get Dean talking too. When he does, it's earnest, albeit short-worded. He often turns the conversation around and instead asks you about your past. He seems fascinated with the way you were brought up and you can hardly blame him. You grew up in the hunter's life alright, but your childhoods couldn't have been any more different.

For starters, both of your parents are still alive and well. You never had to endure the loss of a parental figure, not as a child, nor in recent years, thankfully. But it's more than that. From Sam's tales and what little Dean shares with you, you can't help but feel a tinge of resentment towards the Winchester father. As a child of parents who made sure to equip you with all the necessary tools needed to survive in a world full of monsters, it's beyond you how John drilled his boys to be hunters, yet seemingly neglected the mental aspect of it. For as long as you could remember, your parents had sat down with you and talked you through the emotional turmoil that inevitably came with the field; the bloodshed and the death. From what you could gather, talking about it had never been part of the Winchester schedule. Instead, it looked like Dean in particular had taken on a coping mechanism that was rather popular in the hunter's field, the tried-and-true method of D&D: denial and drinking.

Your heart aches when you see how the job sometimes eats at him. Where you allow yourself to feel for the families of the victims you come across, he rarely gives in to the sympathy he feels for those left behind. On one particular case, a boy is left without his mother after a vampire gets to her before you can. You hold the boy as he weeps for his mother, smoothly rocking him back and forth as tears roll down your own cheeks, unable to hold them back. All of that terror and grief in such a little body; it's heart-wrenching. When you look up at Dean, you see your own feelings mirrored back in his eyes and you can't help but also cry for the little boy who lost his own mother in 1983.

You develop something of a soft spot for the older Winchester brother. It's less out of pity and more out of determination to ensure that the young man gets what he deserves. At not even thirty years old, he's encountered thrice the amount of terror that an average man faces in a lifetime. Beyond his own loss, he continually fights what lurks in the dark so that others don't have to face the same fate as he did. Unlike yourself, he was never given the choice to step into the role of a hunter. John assigned it to him and he dutifully slipped it on, accepting the burden without any questions asked. He shows an unwavering devotion to giving protection to those who need it without ever stopping to think about what he needs. Having been raised with a keen sense of justice, the imbalance of this set-up doesn't sit right with you. And so you quietly decide to embark on your own little mission: Give back to Dean Winchester what he gives the world.

It's easier said than done though. You soon learned that Dean is a natural flirt. Where your charm is mostly kindness, his is saturated to the brim with flirtatious banter. You see waitress after waitress fall for it, witness young women at the bar turn their heads when he walks by and swoon when he winks at him. Sometimes, when he's in a really good mood, you're at the receiving end of his allure. An approving glance up and down your body before the three of you venture out to the local pub turns into attentive gazes throughout the night, served with a sly grin. It makes your stomach flutter when you feel his eyes trailing you through the crowd. Heat seeps into your cheeks when he shimmies past you at the pool table, the skin of his arm gently brushing against yours. "S'cuse me, sweetheart," he'll say and the use of the nickname will tug at something so delicious in your tummy that you have to bite down on your lip to contain your smile. On these nights, it seems impossibly easy to get close to Dean if you wanted to, although it's not strictly the kind of close you intend for. To say you're not attracted to Dean would be a lie, but it's not your mission to give him seven minutes in heaven. Your mission's goal is long-term happiness, not a brief one achieved with both of your pants down around your ankles.

The Dean of those nights stands in contrast to the day-to-day version you're usually travelling with. Where he's not afraid to brush up against you in a full pub, he'll tense up when you cuddle up against him in your sleep. It's noticeable enough for you to register in your sleepy-state and you try to stay on your side of the bed afterwards. Naturally being a touchy person, you try to keep your body contact to Sam, leaning against him on the couch as the three of you are watching a movie. Much to your surprise, Dean nudges at your leg that's tucked under you. "C'mon," he says and cocks his head to the side. "Get comfortable." You search for his eyes, a silent question of 'Are you sure?' but he just cocks his head again and gives you a small smile, so you comply and stretch your leg out over his lap. You don't fully relax into the position for a few minutes, unsure if he's truly comfortable with it, until he rests an arm on your knee and shin while his other arm props his head up on the armrest of the couch. From that day on, this arrangement becomes your standard for movie nights: Sam to your left, Dean on your right, a head on Sam's shoulder and one or two legs stretched out over Dean.

It's small wins like this that make you feel like you're slowly working your way through the outer layers of Dean's shell. What you belatedly realize is that in the process of working through his exterior, he worked himself through yours with ease. It only becomes apparent to you when, during another night at another bar, you suddenly feel a little sting at the sight of Dean talking to another woman rather flirtatiously. The sensation is so out-of-the-blue for you that for a moment, you're more surprised than anything else. How did you fall in love with the older Winchester brother without even noticing it? Sam notices the puzzled look on your face. "You good?" he asks, amusement showing in his voice. You quickly shake yourself to rid yourself of your trance and give a little laugh. "All good," you say and take a sip of your drink before glancing over at Dean again. What you don't realize is that your glance doesn't go unnoticed by Sam, who smiles knowingly to himself.

Having known his brother for all his life, he's noticed the shift in his brother way before you did. He'd had his suspicions, but it took a particularly rough case for Dean's intentions to become clear to Sam. The detour Dean made you guys take so you could have your spirits lifted by a litter of puppies was all Sam needed to have his suspicions confirmed: love has sprouted between his two travel companions.

He gets first row tickets to the spiel that unfolds itself in front of him in the following weeks. It's comical, the way you and Dean dance around each other, afraid to give too much away, unaware that you're both on the same page. The two of you steal glances at each other, but it goes unnoticed by either of you. Sam purposely chooses the seat diagonally from either you or Dean, leaving the space opposite and next to whoever sits down first open, so that the both of you are forced to sit across or besides each other. He can see the math both of you are doing in your heads, not wanting to appear too eager to sit beside each other, painfully unaware of the shared wish of closeness that lingers between the two of you.

As much as he's rooting for both of you to become aware of each other's feelings, he doesn't say anything. He figures they're not his words to say, that inevitably, the penny will drop eventually for one of you. Instead, he aids the process in any way that he can. He suggests you and Dean talk to a victim's friend while he'll speak to the professor you guys think could help you on your case. When it comes to the nightly routine of 'rock, paper, scissors' to decide which of the brothers gets the other side of the bed, he purposely loses to Dean now and then. Other times, he offers to go and get dinner while you two remain at the motel, working on the research.

Weeks pass, and you carry your love around with you like a little secret, a hidden necklace that you tuck back into your shirt when it accidentally slips out. You're oblivious to the fact that Dean's wearing the counterpart to your necklace, his tag molded to fit yours seamlessly. Sometimes, you think you get a glimpse of it. A hand on your lower back that lingers a little too long in place when he squeezes past you. A line of concern on his forehead, deeper than warranted by the small wound on you that he's patching up.

Sam sees these things and watches you write them off as platonic affection. He watches and waits, silently waiting for either of you to realize that in your case, both sides of the coin are one and the same.

Feedback is always appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them my way. I'm always happy to practice my writing! :)

Masterlist

[batboyblog]

i live in the south, and i used to follow someone on here who lives in the same state as me, who i thought would've understood how difficult things are for marginalized people who live in red states and why we needed harris to win. but they kept reblogging posts about how both parties are the same and anyone who votes for harris is voting for genocide (as if letting trump win was going to be any better?? he's just started talking about wanting to "clean out the whole thing" and forcibly displace all remaining palestinians by making them move to jordan and egypt, an idea which every group who would be affected hates 🙄). i kept hoping they'd finally realize the very obvious fact that contributing to trump's win wasn't going to make things better for any decent person in the world but the last straw for me was when they posted something like "well i was going to go vote for [fictional character] but the line was too long so i just went home haha!!" i blocked them right after that, and now of course trump is in office and things are going to get so much worse for me and for them as those of us in red states have so much less of a chance to push back against our local governments and all of the bigots who voted for trump will feel more emboldened by his win. so yeah, i share your small fantasy that people like that will wake up and realize they were wrong for spreading these ideas. sorry for venting in your inbox though lol, you don't have to reply to this if you don't want to!

One of my best friends in politics is from Louisiana. He's gay and when he came out his parents sent him to a pray the gay away camp where... really horrible shit happened. And I think about that skinny kid coming out of just the most horrible shit imaginable and being a Freshman in college working his ass off for a Red State Democratic Senator, Mary Landrieu, Mary didn't win, but he worked SO hard for her. And we met working on Hillary's campaign together, boy has bad luck with Democratic women running for office.

Any ways the point is, I love red state Dems, I really do. My friend really loved John Bel Edwards, now I don't think either of us really fully agreed with Edwards, I know my friend was as feminist as a gay boy can be and believed in the right to an abortion totally, Edwards was/is one of the rare pro-life Democrats. But my friend understood, a Democratic governor would protect more people's rights, do more for the poor and the disadvantaged. Edwards' signed an order day one in office banning LGBT discrimination in the state government, when a Republican took over 8 years later, day one, threw that order out, a lot like Trump undoing all the pro-LGBT orders Biden did and rolling back trans rights/access to federal documents that came about under President Obama and Secretary of State Hillary Clinton.

I think thats the thing, in Red States and in America at large we share this big country with a lot of people most of whom are more conservative than I am, so how do I get as much of what I want as I can? Do I vote Mickey Mouse for President? no I vote for the candidate that will do the most good, I won't always agree with them, I don't agree with myself most of the time.

idk it's not... theoretical to me? I'm likely not writing my best work here but when it comes to voting I think about all the people in my life who needed help, if they got it or not, and the ways they were left behind or would have been life behind and all the kids out there, queer kids trans kids, the poor always the poor kids, you know and the loss they'll suffer because of 4 years of a Republican President. And yes Trump is a VERY bad Republican President but if we ever get to some future after him there will come a time where maybe a bland centrist Democrat will run against a business focused Republican, Bush V Gore? and people will say "oh there's no difference" and there is.

oh also I want to say, the little old ladies, the normie "cringe lib" wine moms and grandmas (and yes dads and granddads, but more women then men tbh) who struggle with a grand-nephews pronouns did more for trans rights by going out knocking doors for Harris one weekend, then shitty leftist posters (trans and not) who endlessly attacked Dems and voting.

any ways I'm sorry all this is happening, idk what state you're in or how bad it is or will be. I don't have easy answers for living through this long night of the soul. As Thomas Paine put it all those years ago "These are the times that try men's souls: The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman." it is trying my soul, but I will endure as we all must endure, we can not give up we cannot fail, we cannot allow ourselves to be ground down by fascists, and by their handmaids who act as if they're on our side, I hope everyone is looking to what they can do, and what the next chance they have to fight back and take back political power is.

[calaisreno]

Let Me Have This

1554 words / Prompt: Do-Over

She’s determined to take it all away from him. Every damn thing. All the little things. 

He wonders why he didn’t notice it happening. The little smirks when she reads his blog. The comments when he mentions Sherlock, insignificant but biting. It’s been systematic, and he’s let it happen. 

None of it seemed worth arguing about. When he met her, he’d already mourned and tried so many times to put it away, to think of it as something that he would endure. Something terrible, but that’s how life is, the good and the bad, and you still have to go on living. He survived.

So he hadn’t argued; that would have taken too much energy, and he never had enough of that in those days. 

She’d been wonderful, really, at the beginning. She’d gone to the grave with him, stood by him, let him mourn. She’d been patient, lovingly patient, urging him back into life. 

“Are you never going to eat Thai food again?” she would ask. 

Or: “Why do you keep this old jumper with the burn holes? It’s unwearable.” 

Or: “We don’t need to take the newspaper. You can read it online.”

And gradually, she had replaced every damn thing with a new thing. New jumpers, Korean food. A different brand of tea. Romantic films. Different news programs. 

Even his old, stained mug. “It was chipped,” she said.

None of it was unreasonable, taken as individual actions. But all together it made his old life seem flawed, as if he hadn’t done anything right until he met her. 

He did notice. But he’d thought she was something good in his life, a new beginning, a person who knew what she wanted. It was flattering to be pursued. 

Every relationship requires a partner who gives in, who is the more reasonable one, the one who lets things go. He saw that in his parents, his mother headstrong and insistent, his father calm and accepting. Yes, dear.

That was how they were, before. Sherlock led, John followed. Sherlock had strops and broke crockery and said awful things sometimes, and John smoothed it all over. Or when he finally couldn’t, he would have his own strop, tell Sherlock to stop— 

You machine. 

He hadn’t seen that coming, either. His role was reining Sherlock in, pulling him back from the edge. That’s what he’d thought was happening. As it turns out, he was wrong. 

Maybe that’s why he can’t be the one to say, Stop it. Let me have this.

He doesn’t deserve a life now because he didn’t protect Sherlock when it really mattered. He let him go over the edge, fall—

Mary is a do-over. He was punishing himself, and she appeared, offering him a chance at something better. Letting himself be loved, cared for. She’s competent, not nostalgic. 

It’s an insidious trap, a carefully laid one. Where she could have let him mourn, let him remember who he was when he loved Sherlock— she has tried to reshape all his memories. Sherlock was a child, she seems to say; you were a fool to make yourself responsible for him. He had you under his thumb because he really was a sociopath. He didn’t care about you. He didn’t love you. I’m the best thing that could have happened to you.

And now, she’s taken the last thing. 

I like him. She said that in the cab, coming home. Home, to the flat she picked out and decorated, where there isn’t even one tiny piece of John Watson. 

She’d seen his anger, his grief. She’d been outraged, on his behalf. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him? His anger was right. She’d affirmed it.

But afterwards she smiled like the cat who got the cream. As if it had all gone according to plan. She likes Sherlock. She’s going to talk him around. And once again, John will be the unreasonable one. 

And he sees how it will go. She’ll take credit for bringing them back together. It will be the three of them now. And of the two of them, Sherlock will find Mary the more interesting one, the one who really gets him. They will bond, and John will be the one they joke about. The third wheel. Poor John. He can see her tagging along on cases, texting Sherlock, giggling with him about private jokes. 

She’ll let him have Sherlock, as long as it’s clear that she owns John now. 

Let me have this. 

If he wants it, he’s going to have to take it back. He’s going to have to say no to Mary, if he wants Sherlock back. He’s still angry, but now that he sees what’s happening, he can’t unsee it. He’ll never be happy in the life she’s prepared for him, free from all the clutter and disarray of life with Sherlock. She’ll keep him in their tidy flat and let him out to go play with Sherlock. And if he ever starts to crave that life again, she’ll find a way to separate him from it. 

It’s after midnight and he’s standing outside of 221B. He’s already mentally rehearsed several versions of an apology when his phone buzzes. 

Are you coming up? SH

He smiles. 

Oscillation on the pavement. An affaire de coeur? SH

Sherlock still signs his texts, and this is oddly comforting. At least something hasn’t changed. 

Climbing the stairs, he thinks about the last time he went out and closed the door behind him, never to return. He’s been back once to see Mrs Hudson, but never up these stairs. 

The door is open, and he stands on the threshold, taking in everything that two years haven’t changed. The flat looks just as it did on the last day he stood here. It’s like time travel. 

But he’s still Future John, the one who grieved, who hit his best friend when he returned as John had begged him to do. The one with regrets.

And Sherlock is different too. He stands at the window, looking down at the street as if he’s expecting someone. His posture is taut, careful.

“I hope… I’m not intruding.”

Sherlock turns and faces him. The split lip has healed, but there is caution in those grey eyes. John never wants to see that look again, not directed at him. 

“Come in, John.”

He does, glancing at his old chair, then staring at his own feet, words having deserted him. Sherlock gestures for him to sit, but he feels like a guest in what used to be his home, and it’s painful. He remains standing.

“Something is wrong,” Sherlock says. “You’ve quarrelled with Mary.”

“No.” He closes his eyes. “She’s fine. It’s me. I’ve made a mistake.”

Sherlock steps closer, cocking his head and silently deducing him. “A mistake?”

I’ve proposed to a woman I don’t know because I couldn’t go on without you. I hit my best friend because I couldn’t bear…

He looks up at Sherlock, tears filling his eyes. “Can you forgive me?”

The look on Sherlock’s face is surprise. “John, you need not apologise. If there is to be an apology, it should come from me. I should not have approached you as I did.”

“Can we… just…” He sniffs. “Could we pretend that the last few days haven’t happened yet? You’re back, and I’m—”

“You’re asking for… I believe it’s called a do over?”

He laughs through his tears. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

Sherlock smiles. “Where do we begin?”

“Let’s say I’m not at dinner, not proposing to Mary. You’re not wearing a silly fake moustache—”

“You’ve shaved yours off.”

“Yeah, you were right. So. I don’t have a moustache, and I’ve come over to have a look up here, because… I’m about to take a step that feels irrevocable, one I wouldn’t be taking if you were alive.”

Now Sherlock looks puzzled, but he doesn’t speak. 

“My therapist has been bugging me to say something… to you. Something I wished I’d said… before. And I couldn’t say after. But I need to say now.”

Lips parted, Sherlock is frowning. “Say… what?”

He closes his eyes. “You were the best. The best person I’ve known. The best friend. You saved my life, gave meaning to what was left of it. And I… I love you. I don’t care that you were married to your work, or that you despise sentiment. I love you, and I wish I’d said it before.”

Laying a hand on Sherlock’s heart, he feels it beating, alive. “I want to come back. Come home. Live with you.”

“But… Mary?”

“A mistake. And you’ve just given me the impossible. The thing I asked for. Please, will you forgive me?”

Sherlock is silent. He stares over John’s shoulder, blinking as if that genius brain has gone offline. 

“Sherlock?”

The pale eyes focus on him. “You want to come home? Here? You love me?”

“Yes. I know you don’t—”

“Just to be clear, when you say love —”

John puts his arms around him. “This.”

As he looks up, expecting to see Sherlock frowning, the most extraordinary thing happens. 

There are tears in Sherlock’s eyes, and he’s about to—

When the kiss ends, Sherlock holds him pressed against his chest. “Just to be clear,” he says. “I love you too.”

--

Posted on AO3 here.

[forthegothicheroine]

@batmanisagatewaydrug set up a fun Book Bingo for 2025, and want to try and do it!

This planned list of books for me to read is extremely subject to change, especially since I always get a lot of books as holiday presents, but here's the plan as of this moment.

Literary Fiction: The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck. My mother got me a bunch of Steinbeck for my birthday, since I liked Cannery Row, so let's see if I can do now what I couldn't in high school!

Short Story Collection: The Illustrated Man by Ray Bradbury. Another author I don't know super well but who has written at least some things I like.

A Sequel: Sweet Thursday by John Steinbeck. Like I said, my mom got me a bunch of Steinbeck and I like Cannery Row, so I'll try the sequel.

Childhood Favorite: A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain. I read and loved three quarters of this as a kid- but I had to stop before what I knew would be the grim finish, where Twain's depression took hold. It's time I see it through.

20th Century Speculative Fiction: Anno Dracula by Kim Newman. I've come around on Newman, so I should finally try his Bad End Dracula AU.

Fantasy: Fool by Christopher Moore. I keep seeing this when I shelve things at the library and thinking 'I should get that out sometime' so let's make it sometime!

Published before 1950: Beowulf, translated by Burton Raffel. I loved the children's book Bea Wolf, and it gave me the urge I needed to find a good translation of the original.

Independent Publisher: Under the Pendulum Sun by Jeannette Ng. Gothic? Fairies? Dark historical fiction? Amazing cover? Sounds great.

Graphic Novel: Be Very Afraid of Kanako Inuki by Kanako Inuki. Another great cover that's already making me very afraid!

Animal on the Cover: Earthlings by Sayaka Murata. I loved Convenience Store Woman and this has a cute hedgehog on the cover, and that's all I need to know.

Set in a Country You Have Never Visited: Let the Right One In by John Ajvide Lindqvist. One of the books that's been on my tbr for the longest time, and I loved both film adaptations.

Science Fiction: Finna by Nino Cipri. I'm always down to read about genre-shifting trips through alternate dimensions.

2025 Debut Author: You are Fatally Invited by Ande Pliego. I have a weakness for riffs on And Then There Were None, plus this seems like the kind of book my library will order.

Memoir: The Complete Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi. I started this at someone's house and never finished it, so now is the time.

Read and Make a Zine: Archive.org has a bunch of issues of a Twin Peaks fanzine called Wrapped in Plastic, which I'm looking forward to browsing through! I hope it will give me ideas for what to create!

Essay Collection: The Collected Schizophrenias by Esmé Weijun Wang. Not much to say about this except that it sounds really fascinating.

2024 Award Winner: Chain-Gang All-Stars by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah. This won the Alex Award (for adult books with good YA crossover appeal) and I've been curious about it since I worked at a bookstore and put in the order.

Nonfiction: The Madman's Library: The Strangest Books, Manuscripts and Other Literary Curiosities from History by Edward Brooke-Hitching. I would indeed like to learn about those books! Because I missed the "learn something new" part, I will read The Feud: the Hatfields & McCoys by Dean King.

Social Justice & Activism: Beyond Survival: Strategies and Stories from the Transformative Justice Movement by Ejeris Dixon and Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha. This has been recommended to me as a good starting point to learn about transformative and restorative justice, something I would like to understand better.

Romance Novel: Duke of Sin by Elizabeth Hoyt. Duke of Desire was great, so I'm eager for some more of that!

Read and Make a Recipe: I'm hoping to find something good from the Moosewood Cookbook, I need to learn more good vegetarian meals.

Horror: Diavola by Jennifer Marie Thorne. More gothics, and as always, I'm late to a book everyone else always loves!

Published in the Aughts: Great Granny Webster by Caroline Blackwood. Another book I always see on the shelves and always mean to get out next time when I'm not in the middle of something!

Historical Fiction: The Keep by F. Paul Wilson. Historical horror (with Jewish characters) is one of my favorite genres.

Bookseller or Librarian Recommendation: Poison Widows: A True Story of Witchcraft, Arsenic, and Murder by George Cooper. This was on the library website of recommended Philadelphia-set books, so I'll happily give it a try.

[thedeviltohisangel]

All The Things I Did (2): It's All Around, It's All The Time

a/n: wanted to end with angst but i'll save it. send in blrub reqests for these idiots falling in love

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea. All he had to do was ask. He had asked plenty of girls and women out on the town before. All of them had blushed and giggled and obliged with a twirl of their hair and a bat of their lashes. But this one. Cass. She was something else entirely. 

John didn’t ever think about deploying overseas resulting in him standing outside the mess hall, hat in hand and a bouquet of flowers sweatily gripped in his hand, pacing and muttering self-encouragement under his breath. You’ve done this a million times. You just ask. So what if she says no? There are a million girls trotting around here you’ve already charmed.

“Major Egan?” Shit. He had thought she was already in there, now he looked panicked and not at all manly. “Am I late?” She checked the watch on her wrist, knowing she would never not be on time down to the minute.

“No I thought you’d be early so I was out here talking myself into asking you to dinner.” There was no better way to say it than to just say it. He expected her to look shocked or abhorred. Anything but the look on her face that made it seem that is exactly what she was expecting. 

“Are those supposed to go with the offer?” she asked as she motioned to the grouping of wildflowers he had tasked the children who followed Lemmons around to help him pick. He held them out sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as she lifted them to her nose.

“They’re not much-”

“They’re lovely.” She smiled, a real smile, and he felt a weight lift off his chest and his own smile spread across his face in kind. “Is dinner here or somewhere else?”

“Was thinking somewhere off base. Show you the John Egan worth knowing.”

“You’ll pick me up?” He nodded emphatically. “Then I will see you at 6.” That would give her enough time to finish her work day and get physically and psychologically prepared for whatever John Egan had in store.

“I’ll see you then,” he spoke with a hint of reverence in his tone, unable to even blink as she held the flowers to her nose again and damn near floated past him into the mess hall. Yes. Something else entirely.

----

She was nervous and she hated it. Hated that she was fretting over a fly away piece of hair only visible if the sun hit it just right. Hated that she only had two tubes of lipstick to choose from and neither of them were the right color. Hated that she had only reconciled breaking the rules to sneak out in anything other than her uniform to avoid Major Egan looking at any other girl in a pretty dress.

“Lieutenant Cooper, Major Egan is here for you.”

“Thank you, Mary.” Cass squared her shoulders and took one last steadying breath. She had faced down much worse. German border guards. Handsy bankers. Her mother when she enlisted instead of marrying Sidney Landry.

“You’re out of regulation,” were the first words out of his mouth when she finally stepped outside. 

“Astute.” He opened the Jeep door for her, helping her in before rushing to his side.

“You look lovely.” He meant it sincerely. One of the most beautiful sights he had seen even before the war. And he was sure she would be even for long after.

The ride to a local pub was pleasant enough, John laughing at her earnest attempts to keep her hair in place in the breeze, making her laugh with her whole heart as he sang along to something on the radio. Sang or yelled, the verb was up for debate. He was a perfect gentleman, opening doors and pulling out her chair. 

“You’ve given me plenty of grief over my debutante manners all in the hopes of covering up your own,” she mused as he returned from the bar top to their table with a couple of glasses. Coca-Cola for her, a pint for him.

“I’m not a neanderthal,” he quipped back. John went to raise his glass to his lips when he stopped, her hand resting lightly against his wrist.

“Not before a toast.” She cleared her throat. “To kicking Hitler’s ass and looking damn good while doing it.” The beer almost couldn’t get between the lips of his smile. 

“You’re very surprising.” Cass hummed in acknowledgment. “I like it.”

“Like it? You like an ice cream flavor over another or you like the color of the tie your parents buy you for Christmas.”

“Well, love is a bit presumptuous, Lieutenant, but if you’re that taken-”

“Smitten. Tell me you’re smitten with me.” There was a dare behind her eyes. Daring him to dip his toes into shark-infested waters. 

“I’m smitten with you,” he relented. John thinks she blushed. But before he could tease her about it, a pile of fish and chips was being placed between them.

“Miss Cooper, I wasn’t expecting you tonight! I got a fresh batch of my sponge in the back. Make sure you save room.” 

“I will, Patricia, thank you.” John smiled at the interaction, enjoying this version of Spook. She was much more free off base. Captured the attention of everyone she came into contact with. He could only assume these were natural attributes for her job. Alleged job.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?” she asked with a pop of a chip into her mouth. 

“Wrap everyone around your finger in an instant.” He reached for her hand halfway across the table, Cass offering it instantly, filling the gaps in between her fingers with his own to emphasize the point. 

“I could give you the same answer I told an empty suit in Washington a few years ago but the answer you want, it’s something I think you have to answer yourself, Major Egan-”

“John, please, Cass.” He was drowning in whatever this was. Needed her to give him an inch just to stay above water.

“John.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles one by one.

“Again.” She swallowed, mouth running dry and eyelids feeling heavy.

“John.” He could feel her pulse in her wrist. Flickering quicker ever so slightly. He thinks he could lose himself in this game. Willingly go insane if it meant having her look at him like this. “I’m smitten with you, too.”

----

Somewhere between the fish and the chips and the sponge and the more than a few pints, John had decided those two bikes out front were going to be his. And they weren’t for sale. So he had to earn them. Why not have some fun in the process?

“Aren’t you going to tell him he doesn’t have to do this?” Cass had thought about it but enjoyed the look on Bucky-no that was too much-John’s face to stamp out the fire.

“Major Egan, it’s just a stupid bet,” one of the British soldiers tried to reason with him. 

“I have to do it now. Can’t look like a man who doesn’t follow through on his word in front of my girl.” My girl. That had slipped out when he was refilling his pint glass two or three pours ago. She was still tingling with the warmth it had provided. 

“Who’s it gonna be then, Major?” Everyone echoed the call. 

“I’ve played everyone,” he paused to hiccup, “and you Irish are about as good as hitting that bullseye as you are hammering your nails.” He pointed at a gentleman named Tommy and called him the best darts slinger in all of East Anglia, grabbing the apple to ready himself for the shot. Cass had resigned herself to the corner, content with watching John from afar. 

“You two have been so cute together all night! Why don’t you go give him a good luck kiss?” A group of girls, around her age, had been at the pub either with their own soldier or hoping to find one. They had been longingly admiring the interactions between Cass and John. Like they were in their own little world in the corner of that pub. 

“I don’t want to distract him,” Cass protested but she was already rising from her chair and smoothing her skirt. 

“I’m sure he will find it a worthy distraction.” The cacophony of giggles followed her to her Major, Cass plucking the apple from his hand purposefully. 

“Don’t go losing an eye,” she whispered. 

“Fond of them already?” Her lips pressed together to block her words of agreement from slipping out. “Tell you what. I win those bikes from him but I want a kiss from you.”

“A kiss? That’s hardly a prize. Last I counted, you’ve kissed me plenty.” It was true. When she hadn’t rebuked his lips against her knuckles, he had moved to her palms and her wrists and had taken on the habit of kissing the top of her head every time he stood to refill their drinks. God, he had even allowed himself a sinful press of his lips to her forehead when they had swayed to the record playing in the corner only a handful of moments ago.

“A real, proper sweep you off your feet and make your head spin kind of kiss.”

“Then I guess that is worth playing for.” She handed him the apple and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek either way. 

“Alright, Tommy, just not the eye.” Cass held her breath as the dart sailed through the air and let it go once it lodged neatly into the apple on John Egan’s head. The whole place erupted and she watched with a smile and a shake of her head as he hoisted Tommy into the air. He caught her eye and smiled like a champion, straightening his jacket before walking towards her. Her arm extended to hit his chest once he was within reach. 

“Outside.” The air inside was suffocating, especially under John’s lovestruck gaze. Her head already felt like it was spinning and he hadn’t even tried to kiss her yet. 

“This seems sturdy enough,” he said with a wave of his hand towards a stone wall lining the road.

“Sturdy enough for-” she gasped as his hands grabbed her waist and lifted her on top of it. Their height leveled within a few inches. Instinctually, her fingertips found the hair at the nape of his neck and found purchase. He leaned forward until there was no moonlight between them.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered. She chased his question with her own answer, her lips meeting his and a symphony echoing in her head. John met her in kind, cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand and stroking his thumb once, twice, three times. 

“John.” It was a near moan. She wanted more, more, more. Her shoes fell off her stockinged feet, heels digging into his back to bring him closer. 

“You’re going to be the fucking death of me.” He said all the words with one breath to minimize the interruption to the havoc her lips were wreaking on his heart. His arms wrapped tighter around her waist, lifting and turning so he was on the wall and she was on his lap. Cass relished the change in position. Mewling when his hands slid up from her ankles to her thighs and settled at the hem of her dress.

“I need to catch my breath.” She pulled away slightly and pressed a teasing kiss to the tip of John’s nose. 

“That feels nice.” She giggled and kissed him again. “You all caught up on your breath?” Cass nodded and with a smirk, she crashed against him over and over again. And if he whispered again how he was smitten with her. And if she rubbed her nose against his with something more than smitten in her intention. And if John Egan looked back on that night from the confines of a POW camp in Germany, that was just between them, the moon and the stars.

[suraemoon]

MOTA: Post-war

~ Easter Sunday Headcanons ~

🐣: Easter Sunday lends itself so easily to daydreaming about post-war suburban life. Here are some ideas I thought up yesterday of how some of the boys and their families celebrate Easter. I hope you like some fluff. (Bunnies, eggs, and happiness galore)

💛: @precious-little-scoundrel gave me the idea to post these after I was yelling them to her yesterday. I hope you all aren’t Eastered out just yet.

Being some of the earliest birds to the nationwide baby boom due to a four-week New York getaway, the Crosby’s quickly become professionals at the Easter Sunday routine

After an hour of hiding yawns and dozing off while standing in their pews at Easter Sunday Service, all the neighborhood kids show up at the Crosby house for their famous annual Easter Egg Hunt.

As soon as their car rolls into the driveway, Jean and Harry watch in wonder as their crew of excited kiddos doubles, triples, and soon quadruples in a matter of minutes

Hiding spots are determined days in advance and as the years go on, the amount of eggs that Jean has to buy grows exponentially to account for the adopted little bunnies that come strolling by with baskets the size of their whole torsos

Mrs. Jean Crosby puts out chairs and a group of adoring parents get to gradually watch their children grow up before their loving eyes every April

The same toddlers who first waddled around on the newly mowed grass trying to find their footing all those years ago soon become elementary school kids with minds enthralled by the competition

Soon these toothy grinned kids become teenagers who keep the magic alive for the newest toddlers while also taking the time to show the next-gen elementary kids who are the professional easter egg hunters

The Crosby’s haven’t always had the holiday nailed though

One year after much convincing from his wife throughout the whole month of March, Harry agreed to dress up as the easter bunny

When he suddenly stuck his costumed head out from the top of their white picket fence, a church choir of crying and screaming ensued

Instead of being faced with the excited wonder-filled faces that he expected, Harry was met with wide eyes full of terror and dropped jaws full of shock

Children flailed to the protection of their mamas instead of going to hug the famous mascot of the season

He spent an hour going around to every child with his furry head off and shamefully cradled in his hands

apologizing and ensuring that yes, it was just Mr. Crosby, not a giant rabbit who hopped out of nowhere and scared the communion wafers out of them

In his adult life, John Bucky Egan never really cared for Easter festivities up until his eldest daughter was born

When sunny April came around the year that Little Miss Egan turned two, Bucky was excited to take her to the Easter egg hunt ran by the local Church

While the older kids go haywire in their now dirtied church suits and fancy dresses trying to pick up as many eggs as people they counted in church pews just a half hour before, Baby Egan waddles around gently.

Every egg she picks up is taken slowly and carefully from the soft grass beneath her Mary Jane’s, looked at with soft eyes as if being examined and if found fit, is put into her pink basket

Bucky, being impatient and full of excitement for this newly unlocked family activity, sneaks a few extra eggs into her basket to make it look like she has more

His little princess shouldn’t have to hunt for all her own eggs and risk getting her white lace dress dirty anyways

Egan is the only adult collecting eggs with a bunch of random kids. His excuse is that he and his little one share a basket of course. She needs her daddy to teach her how egg hunts are done in order to be better prepped for next year.

The Egan’s aren’t the only ones with a knack for egg hunts.

The Rosenthal children do not celebrate Easter but it does not stop them from showing up to the park’s “Eggstravaganza Hunt” every year

Being the determined little Rosies that they are, they dominate the competition. These kids will have their baskets full to the brim with eggs in a matter of minutes.

You notice a child with a head full of bouncy brown curls, pink cheeks, and grass stained knees run by you? You better hope that your little Bobby can keep up.

Rosie watches on like a focused parent at their child’s soccer game

His children with their chocolate and sugar covered faces furrow their eyebrows and tilt their heads when a random woman with a crying child tells them “Do y’all really need all that candy? Jesus would want you to share, don’t you think?”

The Mini Rosenthals come back home with sugar rushes that can power the whole neighborhood for a week straight

An upside for Rosie and his wife who have to deal with these energized little roadrunners is that the kids crash an hour earlier than usual

leaving room for extra alone time on a cool Sunday night

One easter, Benny Demarco randomly walks through the foyer of his home with a white floppy eared bunny wearing a perfect little bow tie

Is that the one you wore to our date last weekend? His wife can’t help but shake her head at her husband’s audacity as the children gather around their newest sibling with eyes full of happiness

The kids are excited but Mrs. Demarco has to try to put on a smile because “Who the hell is going to take care of that thing?”

Soon enough, a hutch is built in the backyard and more bunnies are added to the family

Mrs. Demarco falls in love and calls them her “bunny babes”

She’s met with a “I knew it was a good idea” from her husband every time she is seen cradling and baby-talking to one of their beloved pets

I mean…they are both major pet lovers. It’s one of the reasons they work so well together. But is one more responsible of the two? Definitely.

The excited squeals of children and adorable nose twitches of cute little bunnies makes it all worth it

The Demarcos aren’t the only 100th household with their own personal Easter Bunny

When John Egan jokingly told his four year old that leaving a baby carrot under her pillow would lead to a special gift from Mr. Easter Bunny himself, he did not expect her to take it seriously.

At midnight, Bucky wakes up with eyes hardly open and gets out of bed with a mission

This annual mission is to tiptoe into his daughter’s bedroom and carefully exchange the aluminum foil wrapped baby carrot tucked carefully under her soft pillow for a few cents from his wallet

As more children are born, the tradition continues

Even future generations of Egans continue to buy bags of baby carrots as Easter Sunday approaches

Not only to snack on them all of Spring Break but also to place one in a sandwich bag or wrap one in saran wrap to hide underneath each child’s pillow

Not necessarily knowing why they’re the only house that participates in this unusual tradition

Not knowing that it started from the unbreaking belief of a wide-eyed four year old and her father who stopped laughing when he realized that he was stuck playing off-brand Tooth Fairy for the rest of his life

Gale Cleven’s household has a more relaxed Easter Sunday compared to the rest

After Church, some Easter themed activities, and a well-needed nap upon arriving home, the Cleven’s go to their garden to plant new flowers

Fresh tulips, chrysanthemums, and pansies are all beautiful, refreshing signs that spring is here

Why do the Cleven’s have such green thumbs you ask? Maybe their blonde hair resembles the comforting sun, the plants can’t help but feel warmth. Maybe their caring blue eyes are as nurturing as water, the plants can’t help but thrive.

They started growing flowers and vegetables in their garden when the first after they bought their house

It was the Clevens’ first step towards making it a home

The flowers represented new beginnings, fresh starts, and growth. Essentials after everything they have been through.

————————————————————————

Hope you enjoyed! Wishing everyone a happy, happy Spring🌸 My first time writing something and posting it in 4 months…ahhhh. There’s more where this came from, my mind just does not stop.

[sissylittlefeather]

How the Web Was Woven: Chapter 11

A/N: I'm on a roll with this one right now, so I figured I'd go ahead and publish this. ICYMI, this is the soulmate/time travel AU with Elvis and a fem!reader.

Need to catch up? Here's my Masterlist.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, and biting 😏

Word count: ~3k

Somehow, you're pregnant with the child of Elvis Presley.

******

On March 12, 2017 you give birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy. You name him John Jessie and he has your hair and Elvis's bright blue eyes. When the doctor hands him to you, you weep openly for so many reasons, but mainly because you wish Elvis could be there to see him.

And sure, you could've made a portal sometime while you were pregnant or in that first year, but you didn't. First because you were afraid he'd change his mind about staying in his time, and second because you wanted his first experience of fatherhood to be with Lisa Marie.

But once Lisa is born, you start to think about telling him. In the evenings when you rock John Jessie to sleep, the desire to let his father know about him overwhelms you. The same thing inside you that made you tell him about your engagement all those years ago is now telling you to find him and tell him about his son.

You even have the wild inclination to pack John Jessie up and bring him with you. You consider going to his time forever and just living as an unknown girlfriend. But you think about what it would mean for Elvis if anyone found out you were there with his son. His reputation would be ruined. And aside from that, you don't want to risk taking him away from Lisa Marie in any way. There's no telling how Priscilla might react if she ever found out about you.

So instead you pack up an envelope of pictures for him to see, put it in your bag filled with vintage clothes, leave John Jessie with your mom, and head to California in June of 2018. He's filming the Singer Presents Elvis special, better known now as the '68 Comeback Special, so you know exactly where to find him. Furthermore, you know he's living at the studio, so you'll be able to get to him alone more easily than if he was at home.

You don't know how he might respond to finding out he has another child, especially one that he might never get to see and definitely won't get to raise. Still, you have to risk it. He deserves to know.

******

When you get to California, you check into your hotel and get dressed. You're going to have to find a way to sneak into the studio since it's been closed to the public for a while now. You pray that fate will be on your side again, as it always has been for the two of you.

You take a cab to the studio, but the driver won't let you off in front of it. Instead you have to get out at the corner and walk over to it. You walk all the way around the large building trying to find a way in and start to get nervous that it's not going to work. You're also dodging security the whole time and you're exhausted after trying for several hours. The sun is low in the sky when you lean your back against one of the doors and almost break down crying.

******

Elvis was unbelievably nervous to begin filming for the special. In fact, he tried to refuse at the last second, but the producer insisted. After several hours of filming, he demands a break.

"I need some air." He says, looking for a door to escape and try to relax. He had finally begun to feel comfortable on stage, but there is a different kind of nervous energy possessing him now. There's a feeling in his stomach like something is about to happen, but he has no idea what it could possibly be. He gets his answer when he finally gets outside to find the buzzing sound and wavy air hovering right in front of him.

He turns and looks back at the door to the studio and then back at the portal. His life is finally starting to be what he wants. He doesn't want to leave now. And he has his child to think of. Still, he's desperate to see you, to hold you, and feel you against him. He cares for Priscilla, that is true, but his heart still belongs to you.

******

You stand there in complete shock that you were able to find a portal here outside the building. You take a deep breath, grab your suitcase, and walk through. Thankfully, he's alone when you appear out of thin air.

"Hi." You say cautiously. He's an absolute vision standing there in his black leather outfit. Your heart is beating so hard and so loud that you wonder if he can hear it. He seems to be trying to decide how to respond. "I'm sorry to just-"

In one step, he's wrapped around you with his lips pressed to yours. He takes your face in his hands and kisses both of your cheeks and then your mouth again. The scent of cologne, sweat, and cigarillos envelops you and you could cry with the familiarity of it. Neither of you has to speak to know what's being communicated. He just holds you and strokes your hair and you rest your head against his chest. You're in this position when one of his guys pokes his head out of the door.

"Hey EP they're... oh shit, sorry." He averts his eyes like you're naked or something. "They need you to come film some more."

"Okay." Elvis speaks into your hair, his voice muffled. "Come watch. I'll find you somewhere to sit."

You pull back away from him and nod. He puts his hand on the small of your back and ushers you inside. He takes your suitcase and stashes it somewhere quickly. Then, he finds you a place to sit and heads back up to the stage.

He records the sit-down portion of the show with his old band and you melt a hundred times. You haven't seen him perform for a real audience before. Its electrifying. In varying waves, your heart is filled with love and affection and then you're so turned on you could crawl up on the stage and fuck him right there in front of all these people.

You fidget with your ring to distract yourself and realize that you wore it here. You really didn't intend to, but you've been wearing it since he gave it to you, so it was habit to put it on this morning. Somewhere inside you, he's still your husband. Priscilla might have his time, but you have his heart. When you have this thought you panic for a second that she's here. You swivel your head around frantically looking for her. From the stage, he notices your mood has changed. He catches your eye and gives you the slightest inquisitive look. You mouth Priscilla? and he shakes his head ever so slightly, so you relax back into your seat. The whole exchange is less than ten seconds long and thankfully, no one notices.

Finally, they finish the set and he's done filming for the night. You stay in your seat, not sure what to do. Should you go to him? Or will he find you? You see him standing in a group of guys laughing and talking. He doesn't seem to be coming for you, so you stand up and walk slowly towards him, without an inkling of what you'll do or say when you get to him. As you get closer, you hear him.

"Nah, guys, not tonight. I have other plans tonight."

"Other plans?" One of the guys looks at him curiously. Just then, you make it to the edge of the group and he notices you.

"Ah, speak of devil. Or angel, rather." He puts his arm around your shoulders in a casual and friendly gesture. "This is y/n. She's an old friend from Tupelo. I told her I'd show her around tonight."

One of the other guys raises his eyebrows and the others shuffle around nervously.

"Oh, calm down boys. She's married." He uses his other hand to hold up your hand and show them your ring.

"Not that that ever stopped you." One of the guys jokes. Elvis moves away from you and play punches the guy that said it.

"Okay, I'll see you guys later." With that, he puts his arm around your shoulders again and walks away. On the way out, he grabs your suitcase and then leads you to the room where he's living in the studio. Once you're inside, he shuts the door and locks it and then wraps himself around you again, kissing you deeply. When he finally pulls back, he looks into your face and laughs softly.

"Good thing you're still wearing your ring."

"Yeah that would've been hard to explain after you told them I was married."

"Yes. They don't need to know it's me you're married to." He leans in and kisses you passionately again. Then he pulls back suddenly. "It is still me, right? You're not here to tell me you married some other guy again, are ya?"

"No, it's still you I'm married to." You respond, laughing. "I am here to tell you something, though."

He looks at you curiously and tries to think of what you could possibly have to report.

"What, honey?" You pull away from him and walk to your suitcase.

"I think it's better if I just show you." You pull out the envelope of pictures and hold it in your hands, your heart pounding.

"Divorce papers?" He eyes the envelope and his eyebrows knit together in concern.

"No! No, not that at all. You should sit down, though." He walks to a chair and sits down carefully.

"You're scaring me, honey." You take a deep breath and look at the ceiling. Then, you extend your arm and hand him the envelope. He opens it cautiously and pulls out the stack of pictures. The first picture is one a nurse took in the hospital of you and John Jessie together right after he was born.

He looks up at you and his face is a mix of shock and confusion. He's not able to say anything, though, so he flips to the second picture. It's one of John Jessie that you took earlier this week.

"You... you had a baby?"

"I did."

"And the baby is this old... oh God." You watch him as he puts the pieces together. He looks at the date on the back of the first one and counts the months backwards. "This is my baby."

"Yes." You almost whisper it and he looks up at you, his eyes glistening with tears.

"I have a son." You're getting choked up now too, watching him.

"You do. His name is John Jessie." He stands up and wraps his arms around you, as the tears slide down his face.

"John Jessie Presley." He whispers into your hair. Then, he sniffs and stands up, looking down at the pictures. He flips through them and smiles, seeing his little boy grow from a newborn to the almost-toddler he is right now. When he gets to the end of the stack, he has a thought.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't want to distract you from Lisa Marie."

"Distract me?!"

"I wanted you to be focused on her." He shakes his head, but he can't argue with it. A different thought occurs.

"Why didn't you bring him with you? Where is he?"

"He's with my mom. I couldn't bring him here."

"Why not?"

"Do I need to spell out the headline for you? Elvis Presley's secret love child?"

"Oh, to hell with that. I want to see my boy."

"Did you forget that you have a wife here? Imagine how she would react."

"Again, I don't really care. He's my child."

"I just couldn't, Elvis. I can't mess with-"

"I swear to God, if you mention the damn timeline of history again, I'm gonna-"

"What? You're gonna what, Elvis?"

"I WANT TO SEE MY CHILD." He yells at you for the first time ever. He's yelled near you before, but never directly at you because he's angry with you. You stand there defiantly, both of you breathing heavily. "Take your clothes off. We're making a portal. You're gonna go get him and come back here."

"I'm not bringing him here."

"Goddamnit, y/n, then why did you tell me?!"

"I don't know. I guess I shouldn't have!" Your eyes begin to well up.

"You're damn right you shouldn't have. Now I get to live with the knowledge that I don't get to raise my own son." With that, the dam breaks and you begin to cry. He's right. You're ready to curl up and die when it hits you and you stop crying and look up at him.

"Come back with me."

"I can't leave Lisa."

"No, not like permanently. Just come with me and see him. The portals reopen right where you left from, right?"

"Yeah I'm always right back where I was when I walked through originally. Unfortunately, because it meant I had to finish filming Spinout-"

"So then I can open a portal for you any time I want and you can come through and see him. Just for a little while and then go back!" His eyes sparkle with excitement and he picks you up and spins you around.

"Haha! Yes! I can be a part of his life!" You nod and he kisses your cheek. "Oh, thank you, y/n. God, I love you. I missed you so much."

"I love you too." He smiles and kisses you tenderly.

Then, he sets you back down on the ground and kisses you again with a renewed hunger this time, his tongue parting your lips and dipping into your mouth. His desire is contagious and before you know it you're tearing at his leather jacket while he kisses your neck. You get it off of his shoulders and rip the shirt up and over his head. He literally tears your dress at the zipper and yanks it off of you. In your uninhibited passion, you sink your teeth into his shoulder and he yelps.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry."

"Do it again." He whispers in your ear. You bite into the skin on his chest and he growls deep in his throat. He removes your bra and panties with an animalistic fervor and throws them across the room. You peel his leather pants off of him as quickly as possible and he tosses you on the couch. In a second, he's pushed into you and is pounding you with a new kind of power and confidence.

"God, yes! Yes!" You yell as he fills you over and over. He holds your hip with one hand and slams into you rhythmically. He grunts and nips at your shoulder.

"You like it when I fuck you hard, baby?"

"Mmmmm harder." You moan.

"Yes ma'am." He listens to instructions and crashes into you even harder. There's a desperate kind of passion in the way he fucks you and it's everything you've needed for the last two years. He's needed it too; you can tell by the pace of his thrusts. He kisses your mouth, hard, and you bite his bottom lip. The way he drives into you is raw and dirty and makes you scream as you come as hard as you ever have while he pumps in and out of you.

"Fuck yes." He grunts through gritted teeth as he continues to pound against your hips while you pulse around him. Finally, he succumbs to the intensity of your sex and shoots you full of his warmth. As he comes, you bite him again on the chest and he lets out a guttural groan that makes you want to climb on top and fuck him again. He's dripping sweat and it mixes with your own as he collapses on top of you, both of you struggling to catch your breath.

The portal appears and he groans and rolls off of you. You scramble off the couch and try to get your clothes together. You cannot find your bra, though, and you have to dig through your suitcase for a new dress since he ruined the one you were wearing. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and gasp. You look like a wild animal with your fucked out eyes and hair everywhere. You're desperately trying to smooth your hair when you hear a small pop and the portal disappears.

"Oh shit." He looks at you and laughs. He stops trying to get dressed, settling for just pants, and drops back down on the couch. He produces a cigarillo from somewhere and pats the couch next to him. You pick up his black shirt and pull it on over your head and then sit next to him, lightly running your fingers over the bite marks on his chest and shoulder.

"I marked you."

"It's a good thing we're going to your time. I can't go home like this." He chuckles and lights the cigarillo, taking a long drag.

"We missed the portal." You say offhandedly.

"I guess we'll just have to have sex again."

"Oh, darn." You respond playfully, taking the cigarillo and putting it in your own mouth.

"I didn't know you smoked."

"I guess I can still surprise you."

"My wife, the mystery." He puts his arm around you and takes the cigarillo back.

You stay like that on the couch for most of the night, just talking and passing the cigarillo back and forth. You tell him all about John Jessie and he tells you about Lisa and how excited he is for the potential future of his career after the special. Eventually you fall asleep on his chest and wake up to a loud knocking on the door.

"Fuck." He sits up quickly.

"We're gonna start recording in an hour, EP. I know you like a warning..."

"Yeah, I'll be there." He hollers and then looks at you and puts his finger on his mouth to indicate that you should be quiet. You stand up and start to pack up your clothes from last night and lay out a dress to put on once the portal is there. He throws some clothes in a bag too and then comes up behind you and kisses your neck.

"I believe we have some work to do." You turn to face him and he kisses you deeply, walking you back to the couch again.

This time you have sex in the most married way possible and laugh at how tame it is compared to last night. But you're both satisfied and it works to make a portal, so neither of you complains. You get dressed and pick up your bags as he takes your hand. After a deep breath, you walk through the portal together and find yourselves outside the studio in 2018.

******

To be continued...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @rosepresley68 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @that-hotdog @eddiesgirlforever @helen06dreamer @returntopresley @rjmartin11

[misterier]

Hi! Can I request enemies to lovers relationship with Jack Marston and tall Male reader? (Or at least taller than him). It doesn't have to be long, head cannons are fine :)

oo yeah ofc!! I went for head cannons in storyish form so it hope it's not too goofy, also my dyslexic ass read john at first so sorry it took a bit

high honor jack marston is my pookie the idea of him with low honor hurts me so high honor it is

also sorry for pushing the charthur agenda but it's burned deep within my soul, I must release it

also spoilers ig for the first & second game but if your requesting jack you prolly already know all that

i grew up lovin' the marstons and they mean the world to me sorry if i get rambly and long with his hcs</3

Jack Marston<3

-With Jack, it's more rivels than actual enemies, and it likely starts when the two of you are teens; maybe you live in some ranch across from his.

-Your mothers or dads are friends, so they're a little concerned. As far as they know, two teenagers forced to hang out should be great friends.

-Jack is 100% a little mama's boy, so when he's not hiding out reading, he's helping her do housework and complaining about you. It's not like he's got a good reason to hate you either; he just doesn't like you.

-Abigail's heard, John's heard, Uncles heard, and even the dog has heard.

-The entire dinner table is tired of his constant whining about hating your 'annoying' ass.

-Hell, even his aunts have heard whenever they ask about his nonexistent social life, Mary-Beth seems to think it's a crush the way he gets so flustered, rambling on about how much he hates you, but he denies it in an instant.

-Equally, you hate him as well, bragging about your height difference. Every time you're forced over to his house to hang out with him in his room (despite his pleading to not leave him alone with you), you'll put his books on the highest shelves.

-His father was once given permission, and assuming some quality time together would fix your relationship, he takes the two of you fishing. (Jack, of course, complains, asking why he was stuck doing the two things he hates most, fishing and spending time with you.)

-During that trip, John warns you to look out for branches so you don't bash your head in. Jack prays you would so you'd shut up and stop looking at him like that.

-Whenever Charles is able to visit them, sometimes Jack will find him and his mother talking outside in the dead of night, speaking of a man he can only just barely remember the silhouette of--Jack sometimes is glad he can't remember those days when he sees how frustrated his father gets about his past—mostly when his mother mentions the man who had apparently been like his father's brother. It's a painful name to speak in their house, and he refuses to even ask anymore now that they hardly mention him anymore.

-The gist of you and Jack's fighting is just petty arguments and insults. His mother warns him about things like that, saying it's not healthy for a boy his age to be so bitter towards another who's done nothing to him, insisting he tries to make friends.

-He tries to listen to his mother; as much as he teases her, just like his father, he respects her greatly and looks up to her, and if she told him to do something, he'd do his very best to listen to her wishes.

-Jack does a bit better at keeping his insults to a minimum. The two of you are nothing near friends, but y'all slowly stop it with actual hurtful comments.

-Just like annoying ol' uncle grew on his father, he was beginning to tolerate your presence until he and his mother were taken by the government while his father hunted down his old 'family'.

-Once they're home, you're not around anymore, and neither are your parents. You moved due to fear of being caught up in all that, and he's bitter about it.

-The day John and Uncle die, your family sends their condolences.

-For as long as his mother is alive, he does his damnedest to keep the ranch alive and working despite her deteriorating health. Tilly visits a bit more when Abigail gets worse, and her husband tries to help—a respectable man even with his high class—though Jack refuses, wanting to take care of it all himself.

-The day his mother dies breaks him--the only blood family he had left.

-He enhatrets all his fathers' things, nobody to stop him from looking through it, he finds journals, and he reads the older one first confused by the handwriting that he was sure wasn't his fathers chicken scratch, but he reads it anyway, admiring each drawing and word, some even speaking about the writers conflicted feelings about still longing for a woman but beginning to feel himself crave a man, willing to let go of her if it means he has the chance to be happy again--queerness had never been something shamed upon or uncommon in his house, he'd heard of it from hangings and his parents speaking about it being wrong that they'd be hung for love--telling Jack that he shouldn't be afraid to love who he wants and to fight for it.

-The fancy writing nearly seems to abruptly stop when things begin to get dark. Switching to his father's writing gives him an appreciation for his father and what he's been through, but even through that, he can't help but crave revenge. He always was an angry young man.

-He wants to put Edgar Ross' death behind him, trying to be a functioning man of society as his mother wanted for him, though his hand still itched for his gun.

-The land was becoming too dry; there wasn't much he could keep alive, and he needed money, so he decided to try and find work. Not many would take him due to his father's name, so he usually hangs around the blackwater bar to sleep in the rooms above it, only visiting his home on weekends to take care of the house and the graves.

-Eventually he finds work, by some old fella speakin' about how desperate this man was for a ranch hand and how it was nearly sad how much they needed it.

-Late at night, he shows up on your doorstep, looking for work after all these years. You would have laughed in his face if it wasn't obvious how much both of you needed this.

-Similar to Bonnie and John's situation He lived on your property for a while, though there was enough room in your house for him, so he worked for you and slept in the guest room.

-There's no room to argue like you did as children. though only nineteen, the two of you are much more grown than you'd like to be with both of your families gone. Now it's only a few quips and jabs.

-There's no women working for your ranch, so you have to trade 'womanly' chores. Jack used to help his mother with hers, so he doesn't mind, but he forces you to help as well.

-You two become friends, despite still bullying each other a little. Him joking about you hitting your head when walking into the barn (you're tall, but not THAT tall), and you telling him his eyes will go bad from staring at those small print books all day.

-The closer friends you two become, the more possible your relationship is to become romantic. Neither of you are sure when you figured out you were in love with each other; it sort of just happened.

-You kissed his cheek goodnight once before you parted ways with him in the living room to return to your bedroom eary and it became tradition. For months, that was how the two of you parted. The next day, before he left to go back to his family's ranch to clean it up, he called you over to his horse—taller than you—for once and kissed your forehead before turning quickly and spurring his horse off.

-As socially awkward as he is, he's very open, flirting with you, not very romantic, but then again, you two aren't exactly romantic; if anything, your relationship is more of a mean friends with benefits kind of situation.

-If you genuinely want to call it a relationship, you'll have to bring it up to him, or he won't really notice or care.

-If you want to be lovers, he'll accept it. You two still have separate rooms, and yet you fall asleep in his most of the time.

-Even if you can read, he likes reading you, with his back against the headboard and your head on his shoulder. he likes feeling taller than you, though he obviously isn't.

-This man tried nailing broken boot heels to his to make him taller and ended up twisting his ankle and falling flat on his face.

-Learns to deal with and accept the fact your taller, though hes unnaturally bitter.

-Everytime he heads home, times becoming less frequent now. He sits at the foot of his mother's grave and talks about you and his life; he brought you once but never did it again, he prefers his visits to his family's graves to be private.

-Even years into your relationship, he won't stop praying you'll bash your head on the doorframe. The day you do, he marks it on his callender and calls it the day he became a happy man, ignoring your unofficial anniversary and calling it a close second.

[clumsykleptorocketscientist]

The Winchester Family: A Rant

Can I just say that Sheriff Jody Mills was more of a mother to Sam and Dean Winchester more than Mary ever was, even after Amara brought her back. Like I guess no hate to Mary...? But like isn't the whole thing about the Winchesters is that family isn't just blood. They developed wayy closer bonds than the ones with Mary, and I know it isn't necessarily her fault, but she wasn't there. Like I dunno, I just wasn't in love with Mary coming back, especially since when she did come back, it seemed like she saw they were grown up and like, didn't care..? Like it felt like she went "oh my job is done these are just two grown dudes that I gave birth to once." Like I know its a weird situation, but as a person who grew up watching Once Upon a Time, where like almost the same thing happened, with Snow, David, and Emma, I can't help but compare their reactions and Mary just didn't stack up.

Snow and David were so ecstatic to see Emma and tried so hard to make up for lost time and parent her as much as they could. They kept trying even as Emma pushed them away saying she was grown and that her and her parents were technically the same age. Throughout the show they found a way to still be her parents while still acknowledging she was grown. It was really beautiful to see, but in comparison Mary did not stack up.

Yes, she is a badass, and, yes, her identity should not solely surround her being the boys' mother, but that doesn't mean she shouldn't be a mother at all. It would've been nice to see her figure out a way to strike the balance the Snow and David did, and I never got that vibe. In Supernatural, it seemed the opposite. It was Dean and Sam trying to be her sons and she pushed them away for the same reasons. I'm not saying she was a bad person, or even a bad mother, as it was a really weird situation and I can't necessarily blame her for how she dealt with it. What I AM saying, though, is that her name had no right to be carved onto that table. Point. Blank. Period.

Also, by the way, since I'm complaining, that weird episode with the pearl thing that let John Winchester come back so they could have a family dinner?????? As if that could truly be what Dean desired. Are you fucking kidding me. John sucked, made them both feel like shit, abused them, and yet that was the "family dinner" we got. It's been a while since I watched the show, so Idk a timeline, but screw the timeline for a sec. Across the entire show, a true family dinner would be Dean and Cas with their son Jack, Sam as the Uncle with Eileen, Bobby and Jody as the Dean and Sam's parents (because, unlike Mary, I very much feel like Jody struck that balance even though they weren't her actual sons) and Jody's brigade of wayward sisters trailing behind her, Donna as like the step-mother or aunt (Idk how Donna fits, I just LOVE Donna), and Charlie as Sam and Dean's little sister. Jo, Ellen, and Ash pop in with Rufus as those family members that are close, but you can't quite pinpoint how exactly you're related to them. Bonus: Kevin and Linda Tran come over like friendly neighbors because, even though they have a family of their own, the Trans are definitely close to the Winchesters, though, whether they like it or not. As much as I'd like to add Adam (to make up for him being left in the pit), I have a feeling he wouldn't want to. He seemed like a guy who refused to subscribe to the idea that because they were blood, they were family. (Maybe Sam and Dean should've learned a thing or two).

TL;DR:

Sam and Dean had a much bigger, and better, family then just John and Mary, but it was never really acknowledged fully and in the best way.

[roseofithaca]

"Dutch never cared, Dutch never loved them." No hate if you believe that but, for me, the reason Dutch is so fascinating is because (imo) he did care. Because he did have a heart. Because he wasn't just a monster.

Does that still make him a liar and manipulator? Hell yes. To the point that he himself bought into every bit of bullshit he said. When he says this man who is only eight years younger than him is his son, he believes that. When he says he would give his life for any of his gang in Colter, in the moment he believes that. But acting on what he believes is another story. I think Dutch is an expert at disassociating from reality. What do you mean he "ran away" and left Arthur for death, of course not, he did no such thing - or so he will convince himself as much as the others. What do you mean he didn't have a plan to rescue John from jail, of course he did....He just hadn't thought of it yet and they were only "talking" of hanging him so it's not that big of a deal - again, so he convinces himself. Even years later when John is confronting him, he still deflects with putting it on his son or how he "didn't have a choice." Dutch convinces himself that he has no active role in the awful things that happen to those he cares about. It doesn't mean he wouldn't want to save them...but he just doesn't.

Just like how Mary talks about Arthur being a good man wrestling with a giant, Dutch is wrestling with a coward and the coward wins more as the story progresses. I think this is what is meant more when he tells John that all he ever did, all his life, was fight but he can't fight his own nature, again deflecting the responsibility of his actions. Sure he kills people in terrible ways but the worst sins that weigh on him are his inability to act for those he loves. His failure to save Hosea even though the robbery wasn't his idea he does it still, his failure to do anything but run away when his sons needed saving. He even tries to run from the grief itself when his partner of over twenty years dies and it contributes to his mental instability (see the chess scene like in Lakay, c'mon, dude is clearly not with it).

This isn't me defending Dutch in any way, I just finished a second playthrough and spent every second he was on screen cursing at the tv again. But I do think he was a man who genuinely did believe in his philosophy, who tried to be a better leader to his gang than someone like Colm - a father even - and I do believe he loved Hosea, Arthur, John, Jack, Tilly, Sean, Lenny and maybe some others. The scenes with "the old guard" laughing, fishing and reminiscing seem pointless without there being a real foundation there. The scenes in chapter six where Arthur and Micah are positioned like an angel and devil either side of Dutch as opposed to just Dutch and Micah on the same side all the time, as well as the performance itself, show Dutch being pulled and struggling to decide what is right, he just always picks the wrong one. Dutch's broken reaction to Arthur's final words only make sense if you believe there's a heart in there to be broken, if there's a man inside who is aware - even just partly - that he's done wrong and failed. The only reason he'd have to kill Micah and leave John the money is if there was some part of him that has spent the last seven years being haunted by his actions and wanted to find some way to make up for them. A truly evil, heartless person would have killed John there and then and taken the money. All of this only works if there was love in the first place.

The problem is, and to quote His Dark Materials, love isn't always enough. It's not enough to fight against an obvious mental illness, it's not enough to stop you being a coward and letting those you love suffer for the sake of your own survival. Dutch is obviously a narcissist but narcissists are not incapable of love, it's just their view of the world is very inward, and those that they love are seen as extensions of themselves (often parents with children). The reason Arthur could win his internal struggle is because he was able to see a world beyond his own life and needs; Dutch couldn't, as much as he probably liked to believe he could be capable of doing so even if just to be the hero the gang saw him as. He wanted faith but I don't think he truly had any in himself as much as the rest of the gang did by the final chapter, and with Arthur's death it breaks any last delusions he had about himself, to the point that seven years later he can no longer give a big long speech to justify himself, he just "ain't got much to say no more". If those aren't the words of a broken man then I don't know what is.

(Please don't confuse "broken man" with "poor little meow meow", tumblr, I see you).

[tyrannuspitch]

One of the biggest flaws in Sherlock's writing is the basic lack of integration of character and plot. In the kind of show Sherlock is trying to be - murder mystery as character study - all the mysteries we see should have clear thematic or emotional relevance to the main cast. In fact, even when we're not dealing with full-on character studies, this is a fairly basic competence level you can generally expect from any murder/monster/etc-of-the-week show with a recurring main cast. Sure, this can sometimes feel laboured and unsubtle - but that's the result of following a good rule badly, not of a bad rule. Even if you feel patronised by how hard an episode was trying to be meaningful, that's better than coming away feeling like the episode didn't mean anything at all.

Our story consists of a series of unconnected mysteries, so the ongoing story should be the emotional journey of the characters who solve those mysteries, and the mysteries should enable that. This is all the more important when you're doing three mysteries per season rather than twelve or more. We know they take on many more cases than we actually see, so there should always be a very good reason why we're seeing these ones.

Sherlock does make a few gestures in this direction. A Scandal in Belgravia, for all its flaws, does actually pose a question about a main character and spend the majority of its runtime exploring it: "Is Sherlock capable of falling in love with a woman?" But in this case, the mystery and the character arc are so integrated that they're literally the same thing. Non-literal character relevance, the bread and butter of most shows like this, is basically absent. The Blind Banker circles vaguely around the ideas of Money and Class, but John's financial troubles and Soo Lin's past as an orphaned smuggler don't connect into any coherent whole.

Instead, for the most part, the mysteries are treated like pure plot. They're just Stuff Happening. When the writers want to do a wedding episode, they make up a murder to happen at John and Mary's wedding, but the story doesn't centre on anything to do with John, or Mary, or Sherlock, or even, say, Lestrade - it's about a brand-new character we'll never see again, who we're supposed to believe is a dear friend of John's. We don't learn anything about our main cast that we didn't already know.

And because the mysteries themselves do so little for the characters, the writers feel the need to keep inserting irrelevant comedy segments to remind us what their characterisation is meant to be. And because so much of their characterisation is happening in bullshit interludes rather than during the main events, it's hard for us to get to know them deeply, or for anyone to meaningfully change.

An excellent rule of thumb for storytelling is that any given scene should be doing more than one thing at once, and Sherlock practically makes a rule of failing to do this. Of course things devolve into self-parody and farce.

[infinity-or-oblivion]

so my loa batkids au has gained a little traction and i’ve hit a bit of a wall when it comes to writing new stuff so here’s an infodump to hopefully kill my writers block xoxoxo

first of all, jason. my forever number one blorbo. there’s a bit of a role reversal here because compared to all the rest of them, jason arguably had it the easiest. like we’re not going to compare traumas but an argument could be made. i honestly don’t remember if i mentioned it at all in the actual series yet, but the story i have for jason is that his childhood with willis and catherine was about the same as canon/commonly accepted fanon, meaning he was homeless around nine years old. however, instead of living on the streets for years, it was only a few months tops before meeting bruce.

and bruce! this is very fun to me, but basically i was thinking that if he didn’t raise dick, then why couldn’t this version of bruce be younger? so bruce becomes batman in his early twenties, which is also around the time that he visits the league of assassins for training and damian is conceived. (for a little more about that, here) and bruce is roughly 25 when he finds a tiny 9-10 year old jason trying to steal his tires. just imagine that it’s so fucking adorable and heartbreaking ANYWAYS bruce, despite being overall a disaster, doesn’t let a malnourished 10 year old out to fight crime right away, so there’s a couple years between when jason first meets bruce and when he becomes a child soldier yayyyy!!!! but legit, it makes a lot of difference to jason, because you know how canon!jason has some self-esteem issues (for lack of a better term) around bruce not really loving him/seeing him as a son because bruce started training him as robin (and as dick’s replacement) immediately after adopting him- you know that whole thing? yeah well here, despite jason actually offering to help bruce as a vigilante, this bruce is like hell nah you’re literally ten years old and the size of a six year old no way, and those few years in between really stick in jason’s mind as solid proof that bruce really does love him, not for what use he can provide, but simply as a son. also being the only child definitely helps with that

(that little detail of jason and bruce’s relationship is slightly inspired by minimum height requirement, which is absolute batfam gold btw)

okay so. slight pet peeve of mine is in aus where dick isn’t the first robin, the legacy is still called robin for whatever reason (lookin at you reverse robins aus) because!!!!! how dare you erase mary and john grayson’s importance!!!!! (look there’s more nuance to it than that i know but. to put it simply it feels like flying graysons erasure to me) so in this au, jason can’t possibly be called robin. the real robin has been missing for roughly seven years at this point

and listen. i tried to be creative and come up with something cool and original for jason’s vigilante name i really did, but apparently i used all of my naming talent on nighthawk (fucking love that name for dick it’s so fantastic) so we just have bluejay. womp womp

also! on my list of things to expand on: main timeline stephanie!!! i’ve had an absolute blast making myself cry while writing every heart sings a song, incomplete and those who wish to sing always find a song, but spoiler steph will always be my babygirl. and duke!!!! i have not written barely anything for duke in this universe but believe me i have some Thoughts. perhaps even Ideas. basically a lot of steph&duke and steph&babs and steph&duke&babs because i love my little underrated trio

also just more babs in general, because like. i’ve had so many tiny little snippets of cass and babs and their sweet little relationship just sitting in my notes for literal years now that i really just need to organize and expand into their own fic. and yet. i have not done that. but rest assured cass&babs are very very important to me

such is the curse of female fanfic writers: always destined to fixate more on the male poor little meow meows than the female bad bitches. seriously what the fuck is up with that guys i don’t get it why does this happen

[say-hwaet]

If I Had to Do it All Again

Chapter Two: The Edge Previous Chapters: I, Prologue Word Count: ~5,900 Summary: Eliza and the gang must move on, decidedly heading west towards California. This is by no means an easy trip, one that will set a catalyst in motion, one of the unforeseeable kind. Warnings: Mature Themes, Violence, Language, Angst, nudity Next Chapter: Chapter Three Author's Note: Thank you to all who participated in my survey last chapter! I also queried readers on my AO3 account and it seems that Sean won out! That doesn't mean that I will neglect the other characters, it's just that Sean will get special attention. Please also note that the flashbacks aren't exactly linear. I try to put in context clues to give you an idea as to the time frame in which the flashback occurs.

Destination California. You’ve never traveled this far west before. To be confined to the covered wagon or the little cart for nearly a month has been torture, but it is almost reassuring to have several armed men, and women, to be watching the caravan day and night. You’ve done all you can to keep Isaac happy, and most of your attention has been on your children.

You and Arthur don’t speak much to each other, aside from the necessary discussion of the children and helping each other with chores. Since the mention of Mary, your heart has been closed to him, even though he and Hosea, have tried to reassure you that she’s part of the past.

Hosea had thought that it would be healing for you both, and he pulled you aside to express his great regret of ever saying anything. You only patted his arm and told him that it was better this way.

That’s something you’ve told yourself for the last four years.

If you talk to anyone now, it is Pearson and Annabelle. Pearson listens more than he talks, his eyes thoughtful and his nods slow. Annabelle, on the other hand, is a whirlwind of stories and laughter. Between the two, you find some semblance of comfort, even as the wagon wheels churn up dust and your heart churns with unresolved feelings.

The journey feels endless, so when the wagon comes to a stop, you can’t help but think that it is over. You stick your head out, squinting your eyes to adjust to the sun and see John riding past.

“John…!” you call, and hearing the hoofbeats grow louder you see John returning.

“Yeah, ‘Liza?”

Your eyes still have difficulty adjusting, it seems that the more west you go, there’s more sun to beat down on you. “Why have we stopped?”

He points ahead. “We’re comin’ up on the pass. Through these mountains, we cross the California border.”

You feel your heart skip. “So, we’re almost there?”

He nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

It seems that even though there is a rift between you and Arthur, there is a hidden respect for you. Maybe not by the entire gang, but from those who have looked up to Arthur and respected him. Susan, John, and Annabelle seem to carry this regard, and you’ve done well to remain as under the nose as you can to avoid losing your place.

You smile at John. “Thank you.”

And seeing he is no longer needed, he rides onward.

You tuck back into the wagon and turn to your children. Isaac slowly wakes up, rubbing his eyes. “Are we there yet, Mommy?”

You brush hair out of his eyes. “Not yet, darling. We have some mountains to go through.”

His eyes widen, taking your words literally. “Daddy’s gonna blow up the mountain?”

You manage a chuckle and shake your head. “No, there’s a pass.”

“Oh.”

You hear footsteps near the wagon and a shadow is cast over you as the opening is obstructed. “Eliza?”

Knowing who it is, your smile falls to a plain expression and you turn around. “Yes, Arthur?”

“We’re about to go through the pass.” You lock eyes with him, and you can see the tension in his brow. "Be ready for anythin’," Arthur continues, his voice low and firm. "It ain't just the terrain that's tough; bandits prey on travelers thinkin’ they're too tired or too clumsy to fight back."

You nod, understanding the gravity of his warning. "We'll be ready.” You haven’t just been doing chores and tending to the children this last month as you’ve traveled. You’ve been taking advantage of the bounty of bullets to practice your shooting, and you have become a markswoman. While praying that it doesn’t come down to it, you aren’t going to fail your family this time.

Arthur glances away, then back into your eyes. “Eliza, I—”

“Alright, everyone! This is the final stretch before golden lands!” Dutch shouts at the front of the caravan, cutting Arthur off.

Arthur, without finishing his thought, steps away from the wagon and moves out of sight.

“Keep your eyes open!” Dutch continues. “Stay. With. Me!”

“We’re with you, Dutch!” Bill barks, ever too enthusiastically for your tastes.

You hear Susan, who is driving your wagon, speak to you from the front. “You ready, girl?”

You call back to her so she can hear you. “Yes…!”

The wagon lurches forward, and you are on your way again.

The wagon wheels groan as they roll over the uneven path, crunching on gravel and the occasional dry branch that snaps under their weight. The mountains loom closer, their jagged peaks cutting into the sky like the teeth of a giant beast. The air grows cooler, and the shadows lengthen, casting a gloom over the caravan.

The men are quiet, and so you mirror them as you keep a hand on the baby’s basket where she sleeps and an arm around your son. He clings to you tightly, clearly sensing the situation you are all in.

You hear a horse snort just outside the wagon, and you’d know that whinny anywhere.

Arthur is riding right beside you.

“Easy, girl,” he whispers to his horse. “Easy.”

You wonder if there is something she can sense that you all can’t, as horses tend to have a second sight. Farm Boy, who is tied to the back of your wagon, knickers softly, validating your hypothesis.

The sun is hidden behind the mountain pass, bathing everything in a crimson hue that feels ominously like blood. The mountains now cast long, sinister shadows that merge with the darkness creeping from the ground up, swallowing the light in its path.

Arthur's gaze stays fixed on the front, but his presence beside your wagon offers a silent reassurance.

Then suddenly, you hear a single gunshot. And it is close, for it rips a hole through the canvas.

Your first instinct is to cry out to the one you feared got hit. “Arthur!”

"Stay down!" Arthur commands. His voice is a low growl, barely audible over the ensuing chaos as more shots are fired.

You and Isaac duck instinctively, your heart hammering against your ribs. Susan's grip tightens on the reins, and in a reflexive move to protect them, your arms wrap even more securely around your son.

“This is a big one!” you hear a strange voice shout. “But oh! They got some guns!”

“Think they can take on us, do they?”

You hear Dutch roar in the distance. “You don’t know what pit of hell you just waltzed into, you fools!” he taunts and you hear two single shots.

And John’s voice echoes a battle cry of his own. “I promise to make your death swift…!”

You don’t know how many there are, there are too many shots to distinguish them. You can tell who is still alive, by their battle cries and taunts, but there is one you haven’t heard.

Arthur’s.

A wave of panic comes over you. You gently let go of your son and hold him in front of you. “Stay with your sister.”

Isaac’s eyes widen, realizing what you are about to do. “But Mommy…!”

“Stay here!” You reach for your revolver and crawl out of the wagon, making your steps as quiet as you can.

You get out of the opening and once your feet touch the ground, you crouch low. Your breath catches in your throat as you scan the chaos around you, straining your ears for any sign of Arthur's voice among the gunfire and shouts. The air itself feels thick with gunpowder and dread.

You see several unknown men on horseback as they ride past, clearly not seeing you. You are thankful, and you make the decision to leave the wagon to keep your children out of danger.

You see a large boulder, and take that as your chance. You make a run for it.

But not without drawing attention.

“Hey! Lookie there!” A bandit has spotted you.

Your heart skips as you hear the shout. Instinctively, you dive behind the boulder just as shots ring out, kicking up dirt near your heels. You press yourself against the cool stone, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" the bandit taunts, dismounting from his horse like a fool. “I won’t bite, promise!”

You remember the men who raided your home. Dan and his yellowed teeth. You feel the cold gun in your hand and wish for it to be as burning hot as your anger.

You aren’t going to beg for your life. Not this time. 

You hear him coming and only after a short exhale, you peek out from the rock, line him in your sights, and fire.

BANG!!

The bandit falls in a heap, a surprised expression forever etched onto his grizzled face. The gunshot echoes in the eerily quiet desert air, momentarily drowning out the cries and gunfire from before. You don't allow yourself more than a breath to acknowledge your kill. You scurry from the temporary safety of the boulder, carrying a surge of adrenaline with you.

More. Just one more.

You see a man, on a ledge, pointing his gun at Susan.

You waste no time. You reset the hammer, aim, and fire.

BANG!

The man's body jerks backward, tumbling off the ledge and onto the dry, sandy ground with a thud. 

More.

You rush towards Susan, your boots crunching on the gravel, heart pounding in your chest like a drum. You grab her arm and pull her close.

“Eliza!” she exclaims. “Why aren’t you in the wagon?”

“I’m not a coward, Susan!”

And the expression in her eyes changes, a glint of mutual respect as she nods. “Then let’s kill these bastards!”

You nod and turning around you and Susan work in tandem to shoot any man that dares near the wagon.

Suddenly, a dust-streaked rider appears from behind the ridge, galloping towards you and Susan with reckless abandon. His silhouette, framed by the shadowed sun, is menacing—an ominous harbinger of the chaos still to come. You can barely make out his features under all the black leather and dust, but the intent in his riding tells you enough.

He's not slowing down, hell-bent on reaching the wagon. You tighten your grip on the gun, feeling the familiar weight of it in your hands—this extension of your own fierce resolve. Susan reloads beside you, her movements practiced and precise despite the shaking ground as the horse thunders closer.

"Susan, ready yourself," you whisper, your eyes never leaving the fast-approaching threat.

Susan nods, positioning herself back-to-back with you as you both prepare for the imminent confrontation. The rider is almost upon you now, the dust from his horse's hooves mixing with the bitter tang of gunpowder in the air.

As the rider closes the distance, his features become clearer—a jagged scar across his cheek and eyes that glint with a wild, unyielding ferocity. He draws a revolver, the metal catching the rays of the sun, and points it squarely at you.

You react instinctively, tightening your finger on your own, picturing Dan, Willy, and any man who has threatened you.

Your shot rings out, echoing against the canyon walls, a split second before his. The rider’s bullet whistles past your ear, so close you can feel its deadly kiss. But yours finds its mark. The man's grip on the reins loosens as he slumps forward slightly before tumbling off the side of his horse, hitting the ground with a dull thud that seems to reverberate through the air. Susan lets out a sharp breath, her eyes scanning the horizon for more threats, but for a moment, all is quiet except for the heavy panting of the horse now riderless and confused.

You keep your gun trained on the fallen rider, even as you edge closer to check for any sign of life. Susan covers you, her rifle raised, scanning the surroundings with hawk-like vigilance.

The fallen rider's chest rises and falls shallowly, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Blood pools beneath him, darkening the dirt. You walk up to him, crouching low so he can hear you. “You do this to every caravan…?” You reset your hammer again, one single shot left in the cylinder. The man's eyes flutter, struggling against the pull of darkness that edges around his vision. He tries to speak, a gurgling noise escaping from his throat as he reaches out, his hand trembling. “Innocent women and children?” you say, your voice trembling with anger.

You hear several horses come riding up to you, and the sounds of boots as John, Dutch, and Hosea dismount. They stop in their tracks watching you as Susan stands nearby, letting you do this.

You stand up, and point the barrel in the man’s direction. “Never again.”

And the shot echoes throughout the pass.

“Well, hell…” John exclaims, taken aback by your sudden ruthlessness.

You look over at them, gaze steely and intense.

Then your eyes meet Arthur’s.

He’s alive. Thank God. But the way he looks at you is different now. Shock, surprise.

Even awe.

Who is this woman that he brought, shaken and scared, now formed into a resolved and fierce protector? Once, he had worried how you’d react upon seeing death or being the executioner yourself. When he taught you how to shoot a gun, he had hoped that you’d never have to use it. But now…

Arthur dismounts and walks towards you slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You…” He can’t speak, the words barely escaping his lips.

You holster your gun, feeling the tension drain from your shoulders. The man on the ground is no longer a threat; his last breath had already hitched its way out as the echo of the gunshot died in the wind. You turn toward Arthur, stepping closer with each measured tread. "I had to do it, Arthur," you say, your voice low and steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. "He wouldn’t have stopped. He would have killed our children.”

Arthur nods. “You don’t have to explain it to me,” he says, nearly with a chuckle. And you don’t have to. He’s been pulling the trigger for longer than you can ever expect to.

He expects you to cave, to cry, but instead, you wipe your nose and look at Dutch. “Suppose we should continue now?”

Dutch has hardly spoken two words to you since you’ve been here, always offering a scowl or narrowed eyes. You’ve made it a point to stay out of his way, and you’ve liked the distance.

But now, there is something there, like with Susan. A respect.

In a way, you saved his skin. You protected Susan and things could have gone far different if you didn’t risk it all and climb out of that wagon.

He nods his head, his eyes relaxed. “Let’s get goin’.”

John, Pearson, and the rest of them move to return to their mounts and wagons, leaving you and Arthur standing there for a minute. He wants to say something to you, ask you if you are alright, but he already knows the answer to that.

And taking one more glance at him, you go back to the wagon.

***

He hears your graceful movements as you step out of the tub, his eyes respectfully averted. The sight of you used to not affect him this way, but after so much time apart, he can't risk giving in to his desires. After giving you some time, he turns to look at you. Your wet hair clings to your skin, reminiscent of the day you had gone for a ride with him in the rain. The day he took you to his hideout hidden in the woods. Your hair was drenched and your face shimmered in the firelight.

He feels himself growing weak.

"Do you want me to change the water out for your bath?" You say it so casually, as though you have no clue what this is doing to him.

His mouth feels like cotton, his tongue making it difficult to speak. "No, I can just..." he swallows. "Take one now."

He can feel the electricity between you as you stand in front of each other. Before he can even think to turn away, you step closer to him, your towel clutched tightly in one hand. He can’t look away, completely transfixed by your presence. It is like he is Odysseus bound to the mast, unable to resist the pull towards the siren. He remains still, unable to move as you lift your left arm out from under the towel and run your fingers through his hair. The sensation sends shivers down his spine, causing goosebumps to form on his arms. There is no denying that you have caught him in your gaze.

You lift your other arm up and bring your hands behind his neck. That’s when he hears the soft crumple of the towel falling to the floor.

He feels your body, even through his clothes, as it presses against his torso. As you pull him toward you, he doesn't have the strength to fight back.

The moment your lips touch, a spark ignites within him, setting his whole body ablaze with desire. He kisses you passionately as if reliving all the memories of the nights you shared before. His strong arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and he can feel the softness of your skin under his rough, calloused fingertips. A pang of guilt hits him for the contrast between his rugged exterior and your delicate form.

"Arthur," you whisper when your lips part, but he can't resist kissing you again. The taste of your lips is like a drug to him, intoxicating and addictive. Every kiss feels like coming home after a long journey away, which isn’t farther than the truth.

Then, in a brief moment of clarity, in between the blood drumming in his head, he feels you unbuttoning his shirt hurriedly.

He knows what is coming next.

But he can't let this happen.

Not now.

In a moment of haste, he reaches out to grasp your hands, his strong fingers intertwining with yours and stopping you in your tracks. With a sudden urgency, he takes a step back and turns away from you. His voice is strained as he speaks.

"No," he utters, his eyes avoiding yours.

"Arthur?" you moan, your body still trembling from the unexpected encounter.

But Arthur remains resolute, refusing to turn and face you. He knows that if he were to see your beautiful body before him, all control would be lost and you would both succumb to your desires. Instead, he pleads with you in a low voice.

"Please cover yourself, Eliza," he implores, his own desire warring with his sense of honor and propriety.

You grow silent for what feels like forever, but he can’t look at you now. He can’t bear it.

He hears a soft rustling of you covering yourself up with the towel and your voice comes out soft, concerned. "What's wrong, Arthur?"

He shakes his head, buttoning his shirt back up. "N-nothing. Nothing's wrong."

"Yes it is. I don't understand. You have been so distant these last few months. Even before I moved here." Your voice quivers as you form the words, "You...stopped touching me."

Arthur finally turns to you, with a pained expression on his face.

"Why won't you touch me Arthur?” you plead.  “When you kissed my forehead...the last time you were here...was that just because of Isaac? Not because of me...? Am I...not...?” You stammer and look at yourself. A shameful expression stretches across your face as you look up at him. “Am I…all those things that he said I was? A..wh…Is that why you won't touch me? I'm just a worn out rag that is worthless?"

Another memory. A memory he had wondered if you remembered as vividly as he does. He was glad to kill Willy, after suddenly discovering that he had stalked you for years, only to discover that Arthur was sneaking into your room, staying with you, and loving you as any good man would.

And he called you a whore.

Never again.

Arthur wants to fight the warnings in his mind and sleep with you. That's what he’s wanted for months. But he has to let go of his desire and to think about reality. At the same time, he doesn’t want you to think lowly of yourself because of it.

He approaches you slowly and takes you in his arms. You don’t resist him and so he begins to hug you gently.

"Eliza," his voice cracks as he struggles to hold back the tears. "It ain't that at all."

You sniff softly, the scent of salt and sadness filling the air between you. "Then what is it?"

He blinks rapidly, trying to keep the tears from falling. He can't let you see him cry. "I can't...I can't risk getting you pregnant again, Eliza."

Your heart tightens at his words and you slowly push yourself out of his embrace, feeling a sense of distance grow between you.

"I can't," he repeats, his lips pressing together in determination.

Your brow furrows in both frustration and sadness. "Who's to say it will happen again?" You search for reassurance in his eyes but find none.

He shakes his head, his mind already made up. "We can't be sure of that." The weight of his fear hangs heavy in the air, overshadowing any attempt at optimism.

You look so sad, that towel wrapped around you, as your eyes look left and right, trying to think of a compromise. "But what if we—"

"No, Eliza. I can't. I couldn't bear it."

You step away, thousands of emotions running through your head. Your chest heaves, the water droplets glistening. Your body shivering. Your eyes go to the direction of the bedroom, where your newborn baby is sleeping. You don’t want to wake him. Then your eyes look back into his. "But it would be ours, Arthur. And I want you. I have for so long."

Arthur doesn't speak. He's afraid to. He’s worried he won’t want to talk anymore, his body trembling where he stands.

"Arthur, please say something."

He swallows again. "I'm sorry, Eliza."

Her face falls, her eyes searching his for some sign of reassurance. "Does that mean you will withhold affection from me forever? That is not fair." Her voice quivers with hurt and disappointment.

"If I can't control myself, then I'll have to. I've made my choice."

Your voice is a pathetic whimper, your eyes glistening. "What if I don't let it get too far? Can we still...?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know, Eliza."

There is another long pause and after the silence becomes too deafening, you wipe away tears from your eyes.

Then you both hear a cry from the bedroom.

"I need to check on our son," you say, your voice trembling as you brush past Arthur and leave him to bathe.

As he changes into his long-johns, he sets up his sleeping roll in the other bedroom. He tells himself it's better this way, to have some distance between you after such a long stretch of emotional turmoil.

The shadows cast by the moonlight filter through the curtains, casting haunting patterns on the walls as his mind races with thoughts of what comes next for his family.

“Arthur…!” With a kick to his boot, Arthur is stirred to rise, his dream now interrupted.

His body aches from the hard ground he’s been sleeping on for the last two weeks. He wishes he had his cot, but he knows that isn’t a possibility. 

Opening his eyes after rubbing them, he looks up to find Dutch. “Wha—What is it?”

“Get up. I need you for something.”

This wouldn’t normally surprise him, but it seems that Dutch is finally using him more and more, like old times. Is Dutch finally softening? Is he going to give Arthur a chance?

Arthur doesn’t waste any time, quickly putting on his shirt and stepping out of his lean-to.

Dutch doesn’t wait for him, instead walking to the cliff edge.

Putting on his gun belt, Arthur calmly follows and stands beside him.

Dutch’s eyes look onto the coastline, watching the waves crash into the jagged rocks below. “What are we doin’ here, Dutch?” Arthur dares to ask. As part of his punishment, he hasn’t been included on the inner workings of what is going on.

Ever since Dutch witnessed you during the bushwhacking in the mountain pass, he’s come to realize that you can be an asset to the gang now. And while he is cooking up plans, he needs Arthur to have his back, and he can’t do that while there is a rift in their relationship.

Dutch turns his head, looking at Arthur intently. “Do you have my back?”

Arthur answers without hesitation. “Always, Dutch.”

Dutch nods approvingly. “Good, because I need as many men as I can right now.”

“For what?” Dutch goes quiet for a moment. He’s good at that, building suspense and being enigmatic to draw interest. With Arthur, it’s easy. The enforcer has always needed a father figure, and is starved for approval, even at 30 years old. The sunrise casts a pleasant aurora of pinks and purple and while Arthur wouldn’t be opposed to sitting down for a moment and sketching the scenery, he’s more interested in what Dutch is planning. “Dutch?”

“Hosea and I have been exploring Half Moon City. There’s a port, with many boats bringing in goods.”

“We stealin’ fish now?”

Dutch narrows his eyes. “No. But there’s money circulating through that town. Most likely scum working beneath the cobbled streets.”

“There’s a gang?”

“Of sorts. A wealthy tycoon who owns a casino.”

“Ain’t those illegal?”

That’s when Arthur catches a twinkle in Dutch’s eye. “Now you’re catching on.” Dutch turns back to the restless sea, his silhouette edged sharply against the rising sun. "This tycoon, he's not just running games of chance. He’s laundering money through those games, Arthur. Money that comes from less... savory activities." And he grins. “Money that we can take for ourselves.”

Arthur's hand instinctively touches the grip of his revolver. “So, what’s the plan?”

Dutch grins. “I like your eagerness, son, but it ain’t you that is going to go in and do the job.”

By the expression on Dutch’s face, Arthur begins to feel uneasy. “Who?”

Dutch places a hand on his shoulder, looking him square in the eyes.

And he knows. His eyes widen and he feels his hackles rise, taking a sharp step back. “No.”

Dutch persists, stepping forward to encroach on Arthur’s space. If he pushes, corners, he will get his way. “She can handle herself, son. You saw what she did back there in that pass.”

Arthur shakes his head. “She’s a mother, Dutch…!” And the deeper reason bubbles up in his throat, despite the tension between you two. “My…My woman.” Arthur’s voice is a low growl, his gaze hardening like the steel of his gun. “She’s got a boy and a baby girl to think about.”

Dutch reaches out again, his hand firm yet strangely calming on Arthur’s tense shoulder. “And that’s exactly why she’ll do it, Arthur. Because she has those kids to think about. She wants to secure a future for them, doesn't she?” His tone softens, trying to appeal to Arthur’s protective instincts while simultaneously igniting a spark of inevitable duty. “She has an obligation to us, for taking her in.”

Arthur's jaw clenches, his eyes still blazing with a mix of fear and anger. “You said it was my job to take care of her. Said you were stayin’ out of it…!”

Dutch opens his hands. “My boy…I’ve never been too proud to admit I am wrong.”

Arthur scoffs at that, and a flicker of agitation flashes in Dutch’s eyes.

“Sometimes you got to know when to let go and trust,” Dutch continues. “You got to trust me too, not just her.”

Arthur’s breathing is ragged, storm clouds of conflict rolling in his eyes. He can’t let you be thrown into this. That was the one thing you said you weren’t going to do. He doesn’t want you in danger, even when you willingly thrust yourself in it. He shakes his head again. “No.”

But Dutch doesn’t like that answer. “Well, I guess we will just ask her then, won’t we?” Arthur looks at him with fear in his eyes. He wouldn’t. “John and I are going to do some more digging, and when I get back…” he points a threatening finger at Arthur’s chest. “She better be here.”

Arthur watches Dutch's retreating figure, sand and grass kicking up from his boots. His heart pounds like a hammer against his chest, each beat echoing the turmoil swirling within him. He looks down over the edge. It would be a dangerous drop, and yet, he feels as though someone has already pushed him over the edge.

***

You’ve never seen sandy beaches before. Or crashing waves except for in pictures. With your skirt tied high in a knot, you carry your baby in your wrap and hold onto Isaac’s hand as he wriggles his toes in the sand.

“I like the beach!” he exclaims. “It’s…what’s this called again?”

“Sand,” you say softly, as you take another glance at your sleeping baby. The warm sun seems to cast a spell on her. And so all you need to do to get her to nap is to put her in the wrap and walk alongside the beach. The waves act like a soothing lullaby, and nothing will wake her until she is hungry again.

Dutch had the gang set up camp on one of the higher ledges on the coast. It is far away from civilization, a great vantage point, and has a great view.

Since being here, everyone has resumed their usual routines and tasks. You remain close to camp, but now you keep your gun belt on you at all times. You feel more confident now, ready to take on any oncoming threat, whether it be man or beast.

Arthur has been working with Dutch again.

And because of this, Arthur is gone more often, scoping out leads, and following Dutch like he did before. While you don’t expect things to be normal between you, whenever you see him or interact with him now, there is something in his eyes, something you can’t place.

And it worries you.

“Look, Mommy!” Your attention is drawn to your son again, as he points to something on the ground. “What’s that?”

You study the object and watch it move. It has many legs and pincher-like appendages. You try to get a closer look just before it scurries into the sand.

You remember reading about sea creatures and crustaceans.

“It might have been a crab,” you say, still unsure. “I’m not sure.”

“Maybe Daddy knows!” he offers.

You look up and into the horizon. The ocean extends so far. If you were to find a boat and cast off, where would it take you? Would you find a new place for your babies? A place where they would be safe?

“Maybe,” you sigh. “He’s been here before.”

“Ms. Bloom!”

The baritone voice calling you catches you off guard, interrupting your peace. You whip around, careful enough not to startle your baby.

It’s John and he’s running over to you.

Arthur is not with him. He looks frazzled, and intense, his clothes disheveled. Something has happened.

“We need you back at camp.”

Your mind begins to reel, thinking about the worst possible scenario. “Is it Arthur?”

He doesn’t give you a direct answer. “Just come with me.” He offers you his hand, but you don’t take it. Instead, holding Isaac’s hand tighter.

“Let’s go, darling.”

“Will we come back over here later, Mommy?”

“Maybe.”

You follow John as he leads you back to camp. The slope is steep, but you keep up, you never letting go of Isaac’s small hand. If something has happened to Arthur, you aren’t sure what you will do.

Isaac’s grip tightens with every step, his curiosity now replaced by a sense of unease that only children who sense their parents’ fear.

You all reach the top and in the center of camp, you see folk gathered around in a disorganized circle. What are they staring at?

You hear a groan of pain come from the center of the circle.

Your heart drops. Arthur?

You run, letting Isaac go so you don’t drag him along with you. You push through Pearson and Bill with force. “Let me through!”

But it isn’t Arthur.

It’s Dutch, being supported by Annabelle.

She meets your eyes, and you see the worry in her gaze. She loves Dutch, whether it is out of duty or pure devotion, the love is evident in the way that she holds him.

Dutch is grimacing, clutching onto his side. He looks like he got severely beaten, his hair not neatly slicked back.

You back away, clearly intruding more than the others.

“No, Eliza…!” Annabelle calls to you. “Help me tend to him.”

Tend to Dutch? Why you? You shake your head. “I’ve only doctored my children.”

“Exactly.” Annabelle's eyes flash with urgency. "You've got steady hands and a soft touch. Dutch needs that now. Please."

Reluctantly, you follow as Annabelle helps Dutch get to his tent. You’ve never seen the inside of it before, but you will have time to explore it later.

With a grunt, Annabelle helps Dutch onto the cot, his usual commanding presence reduced to a pained grimace. The camp is silent except for the occasional murmur outside of the tent.

You have to start at the beginning. “What happened?”

Annabelle answers, her eyes not leaving her lover. “John brought him back. Said that they were attacked in the city. Guess they got too close to something.” Her brow furrows into a scowl. “Why didn’t you have Arthur go with you, hm?!” Her voice sounds more like a plea rather than a scold.

Dutch struggles to speak, but manages two words, “He was.”

He was. And he’s not here?!

You try to conceal your rage, your hands holding tightly to your baby as you hiss through your teeth. “Where is he?!”

Dutch, ignoring your anger, points a weak finger at the tent’s entrance. “Bringin’ in the man who saved my life.”

Saved his life? Who?

You don’t have the time to ask, you turn on your heels and hurry out of the tent.

And just in time, you see Arthur on Boadicea, riding in with someone behind him.

You look to see Susan holding Isaac on her hip, the boy waving excitedly at his father. “Daddy…! Mommy and I went to the beach!”

You hurry to Arthur, holding tightly to Alice as you run across camp.

Arthur sees you coming, the look on your face. Oh, how he wishes you’d always look at him that way. Not with worry, but want. To want to come running every time you see him riding on his horse, like you used to.

He dismounts and turns to the man still on his horse. “You better not be messin’ with us.” And he helps the man down, eyeing the frazzled hair and dark clothes. “Or you will be seein’ your maker much sooner.”

As soon as you see the man, you stop in your tracks.

The man, close to Hosea’s age, has hair that stands on end. His eyes dart to and fro in a frantic, spasmatic sort of way.

And he wears clerical garb.

Is this a man…of the cloth?

Arthur looks at you and makes the rushed introduction. “Eliza, meet Reverend Swanson.”

Thank you for reading!

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