#and MAN did I not realise how heavy an influence that was right from season one

[marypsue]

Also, if Winona Ryder wasn't playing Joyce Byers inspired by Meg Tilly's character in 1992's Leaving Normal, then the resemblance is a weird fucking coincidence.

[miyanom]

DEVILS PARADISE (part one)

MASTERLIST | JEAN KIRSTEIN X FEM!READER

synopsis: growing up in marley, y/n learnt the devils of paradis are her greatest enemy. though they shared the blood running through her veins, their mere existence led to constant discrimination against y/n’s people. knowing all of this, y/n enlists in the marleyan warrior program; a program designed to turn eldians like herself into titan shifters. however, joining the program leads y/n to the devil’s paradise, and she realises the truth marley so desperately hid from them.

warnings: spoilers for season 4, blood and violence. reader has hair long enough to be tied up, but only in a flashback.

notes: i’m leaning toward this being a 5 part series at most with jean as the love interest, but i’m not too sure, it might be shorter or longer than that!

word count: 2506

"When you become a Marleyan Warrior, you'll make all of us proud here in Liberio, Y/N." Her mother spoke, pulling the child's hair back as she tied it with a crimson red ribbon. "You'll show them that we aren't like those island devils."

Her mother spoke with disgust as she mentioned the Eldian devils of Paradis. By now, Y/N knew to keep silent and agree with her mother about everything.

"You'll become one of the Warriors for me, won't you, Y/N?" She glanced down at her daughter, a stern expression on her face.

Y/N nodded her head, smiling up at her mother. "Of course."

It was a decision completely out of Y/N's hands, she could only train as hard as she could and hope for the best. But in her mother's eyes, the best just wasn't good enough. It was never good enough.

Looking back, Y/N could hear the words "this is the only way" repeating in her head over and over again until she began to agree with it too.

The only way for the Marleyans to see her family as just a little bit more human, was if Y/N were to become one of the warriors.

Earning that red band and becoming honorary Marleyans was the only way to be happy.

Y/N leaned against the wall of the courtyard her and the others in her Warrior training unit were waiting in. The tip of her shoe digging into the ground in front of her as she stayed buried within her thoughts.

With the previous warriors terms coming to an end, she had heard from the army that she was a prime candidate for one of the Titans, it was almost guaranteed at this point considering the Warrior unit had been narrowed down to the 8 of them.

But soon, one of them would be left behind, while the others are turned to Titan shifters.

“Did you guys hear? We’re attacking Paradis Island in just a few years,” Zeke spoke from where he was sitting, before chucking an apple in Marcel’s direction.

“Huh?” Y/N breathed out, raising her head to look over at the older man.

“It’s almost time for us to inherit Titans,” Zeke continued. “Out of the eight of us, they’re picking seven!”

Y/N looked back at the ground for a moment, the 10 year old’s shoulders becoming stiff. Yes, she was almost guaranteed to receive a Titan, but if something happened and she failed to earn the title of honorary marleyan’s for her family…

“Yes! I can finally be Marleyan!” Reiner spoke excitedly.

“Huh? Why so excited?” Porco glanced over at him. “If anyone’s the worst, it’s you.”

Reiner’s head snapped in the boy’s direction, his hands clenched into fists. “Excuse me?!”

“What’s your strong point?” Porco continued. “Your strength? Your brains? Your aim? Combat ability? Nope. The only value they see in you is your loyalty to Marley.”

Y/N kept her gaze off the two boys, knowing Porco was right. The only thing that made Reiner appealing to Marley was his unrelenting loyalty.

One day, that wouldn’t be enough.

“I’ll slaughter the island devils real good for you, sir!” Porco mocked.

Reiner stepped forward, grabbing Porco’s wrist, causing the boy to drop the apple he was holding. “You making fun of our mission?! Or maybe you’re a stray Restorationist?! You are, aren’t you?! I’ll report you to the Commander!”

“Report this, you little shit!”

When Y/N finally lifted her head, Reiner was already on the ground. And Marcel was holding his brother back from attacking the boy again.

“Hating the island doesn’t make you special!” Porco told him. “Have fun waiting 13 years alone!”

Knocking his brother away, Porco began to storm off, causing Zeke to finally stand up. “Let’s go, Pieck, Y/N.” He spared a quick glance at the girls standing near him.

Pieck, older by just a few small years, was much like a sister to Y/N. Looking out for her during their time in the program despite the fact they were possibly competing for a place.

The raven haired girl took Y/N’s hand, gently pulling her along to follow after Zeke. It was a habit Pieck had taken up after noticing Y/N’s tendency to space out when things got too quiet.

“Don’t cry too long or the Commander will chew me out,” Zeke called back to Reiner, who remained in the dirt.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder as Pieck continued to pull her along, her eyes falling onto Reiner as Bertholdt helped him onto his feet.

Becoming a Warrior was a privilege, Y/N knew that. But why would anyone want to shorten their life to a 13 year term dedicated to fighting Marley’s enemies?

Y/N didn’t want to die in 13 years, she’d rather take the hatred from Marley for the rest of her life, like many others had done before her.

If she had a choice, that was exactly what she would do. But it was too late now.

In a few years, she would be an official Marleyan Warrior, headed for the devil’s island to attack their self imposed century long quarantine.

Y/N’s eyes flickered up to the sky, as a bird flew overhead leaving her to wonder what the island devils were doing in this moment.

Did they really deserve what was coming?

The weeks leading up to Y/N being sent to Paradis all passed by in a blur, whether it was the shock of finally being an honorary Marleyan or the memories of the former host that kept her awake at night, Y/N wasn’t sure.

All she knew was that she was on Paradis Island, headed with Reiner, Annie, Bertholdt and Marcel to break through the wall that kept the devils safe from the Titans Marley had filled the island with over the past century.

Did they really deserve what was coming? Did they deserve it? Did they-

“Y/N, can you?” Bertholdt held the can in Y/N’s direction as he whispered.

Y/N carefully took the unopened can of food from his shaky hands, peeling it open before handing it back. She had been doing it for him the past few nights, his hands too shaky to even open a simple can as it came closer and closer to the day he would kick through the wall.

It couldn’t be easy being the successor for the Colossal Titan, a god of death.

“You alright?” Y/N questioned quietly, taking note of the fear in his eyes.

Bertholdt quickly averted his gaze, letting out a hum as he nodded his head.

He was always quiet like this, and Y/N found it oddly calming. It was a nice difference when compared to the louder members of their unit back in Marley.

It was nice because it reminded her of Pieck, who had stayed behind with Zeke to protect Marley while the others attacked Paradis.

“We didn’t cover much ground tonight,” Marcel commented as he poked at the fire with a stick.

“Can’t do much about the clouds.”

“Will the King really not use the Founding Titan, even if we break the wall?” Bertholdt asked, remembering what they had been told in preparation for their mission.

“What’s the use asking now?” Reiner glanced at him. “Trust Marley’s research.”

Y/N stares at the fire in front of her, one hand coming up to rest against her forearm, right where the material band showing her status would be sitting if she were back in Marley.

It felt weird to not have that constant reminder that she was nothing but Titan shifting scum.

“That’s right. We can’t turn back,” Marcel nodded. “Tomorrow, we reach the wall… and then…”

Y/N remained silent, a shaky breath falling from her lips. Right, tomorrow they would be breaking through the Wall. They’d come face to face with the people they were sent to kill.

It’s not like they haven’t done it before, they were sent to destroy an enemy base as part of their Titan training.

But those people had been actively trying to harm Marley… the devils hadn’t done that in over a century.

Reiner’s eyes scanned the group, a shocked expression painted over his face. “Huh? What? Are you having second thoughts about killing the devils? Have you forgotten what they’ve done?!”

Y/N hugged her legs close to her chest, refusing to look in Reiner’s direction or answer his question.

It was impossible to forget the sins of the Eldians, it had been drilled into their heads for years now, after all.

Reiner stood up quickly. “We’re the world’s chosen Warriors sent to punish the island devils!”

Marcel averted his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

“Reiner, I’m sorry. You were never meant to be chosen as a Warrior,” Marcel continued.

Y/N’s head shot in the boy’s direction, her eyes widened. She couldn’t say it was a surprise, no, Reiner was the weakest of the warriors in their unit.

Maybe it was a shock?

Marcel’s voice came out like it hurt him to finally admit it. “I talked you up and criticised my brother to influence their decision. I… just want to protect my brother.”

Tears began to fall from his eyes. “I’m sorry, Reiner… I’m sorry!”

Y/N turned to see Reiner’s frozen form, unmoving and engulfed by shock— it was the same thing he did when he watched Marcel get eaten by a Titan.

Frozen, unmoving, and engulfed by shock.

Y/N could still hear Marcel’s screaming, as the other warriors ran for their lives.

Her chest felt heavy as they finally came to a stop, her knees giving out beneath her as she fell to the grass. Teardrops falling against her clenched fists.

How long had she been crying for?

She couldn’t tell, not when she was too focused on escaping the mindless titan that devoured Marcel before their very eyes.

She choked back the sob that threatened to fall from her lips as she realised what they had done; they could’ve saved Marcel, they should’ve saved Marcel, but they ran.

And they lost the Jaw Titan.

Marley was going to kill them, they weren’t even going to reach the end of their 13 year term. They were going to die for failing the mission before even reaching the walls.

Would it even be worth it if they came back with the Founding Titan but not the Jaw Titan? They’d still be left with the same number as before.

Y/N’s eyes widened when she felt a hand press against her back, though she relaxed just slightly as she realised it was Bertholdt.

He looked just as terrified as her.

As Annie caught up to the group, she immediately kicked Reiner, causing the boy to start screaming as he moved away in fear.

“Not bad,” Annie spoke, her voice coming out almost breathlessly from the running. “This is a first. You actually beat me… in a long distance race…”

Y/N wiped her tears away as she pushed herself up, looking back in the direction they had come from.

“If we took out that Titan we wouldn’t have lost Jaw,” Annie told Reiner. “Shit! Now Marcel’s gone for good.”

“They said there wouldn’t be Titans this far out,” Reiner whispered.

“We’ve gotta go home,” Annie averted her gaze. “Let’s find Jaw and leave. They would’ve changed back to human. Besides, without Marcel to lead, this mission is doomed.”

“Do you… do you think they’ll just come willingly?” Y/N breathed out, still trying to catch her breath.

Though just as Y/N moved to follow Annie, Reiner began to yell. “We can’t!”

Y/N turned around, her eyes widening as Reiner held his outstretched hand in their direction. “We can’t go home! We’ve gotta continue the mission!”

“Oh, yeah…” Annie’s eyes narrowed in his direction for a moment. “If we go back now, you’ll just get eaten by the next Warrior.”

Reiner began nodding his head.

Y/N looked away from the boy, biting her trembling lip gently. Porco was the next warrior… he would see Reiner’s memories, see his brother getting eaten…

“You think only I will?” Reiner spoke up, causing the other three to turn back to him. “That only I’ll get the blame for running away? You guys are certain you won’t get eaten, too?”

Y/N swallowed the lump forming in the back of her dried throat, an uneasy feeling returning to the pit of her stomach as she stared at Reiner’s grim face.

“Catching Jaw won’t be easy either. If they used its power and ran, our titans could never catch up.”

“They can’t control it right after becoming-”

“You controlled the Colossal Titan, no problem!” Reiner cut Bertholdt off. “Anyways, we’re doomed at this rate! Without the Founding Titan, there’s no going home!”

He was right, Y/N realised. None of them could catch up with the Jaw Titan, and if they returned empty handed, they would all die.

“Back there, if you were a fraction as calm as you are now, we wouldn’t have lost Marcel or Jaw,” Annie stated. “But you’ve got no problem intimidating us to save your own ass, huh?!”

Walking back toward Reiner, she let out a shout as she kicked the boy in the face, sending him flying backward onto the ground.

“How about you come clean to Magath?! Tell him, “it’s all my fault!” Honorary Marleyan, my ass!” She shouted, continually kicking him over and over again. “Chosen warrior, my ass! Marleyans, Eldians! They’re all liars! Everyone only thinks about themselves!”

Y/N remained silent, knowing Annie was right. The predicament they were in now could’ve been avoided had Reiner remained calm back then.

Marcel died saving him, after all.

If Reiner had just sucked it up, if he just didn’t let what Marcel said get to him, they would’ve been long gone before the Titan even woke up from its slumber.

“Should we… should we stop her?” Bertholdt glanced at Y/N.

Y/N stared at Annie who kept kicking Reiner in her anger, before she looked to Bertholdt and shook her head. “Annie’s right.”

“If you feel guilty, just die! Take all the blame and die!”

With that, Annie began to walk away, leaving Reiner face first on the ground, blood pooling on the grass beneath his face.

A perk of being a Titan shifter was that they could all heal from wounds like that.

Y/N’s eyes widened as Reiner pushed himself up, jumping at Annie and holding her in a headlock. “Reiner is dead,” he spoke. “If we need Marcel, then I’ll be Marcel.”

Y/N’s throat went dry once more as she stared at Reiner in fear, her hands shaking at her sides.

“Please, stop this…” Bertholdt muttered, tears falling from his eyes as he watched.

“This is the only way we’ll be able to go back home!” Reiner kept his grip on Annie. “Let’s go back… together… to our hometown!”

[angryschnauzer]

The Dark Wolf

Summary:  The Dark Wolf hadn't picked an Omega yet, it had been three months since the Spring Equinox and still the omegas that had been selected hadn't been successful. With your heat approaching you could only however think of the gentle Alpha that would visit you at work, distracting you from your impending heat... and you selection as the Omega for the Dark Wolf.

Pairing: Adopted Stark Omega Daughter Reader x Alpha Bucky Barnes

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, ABOAlpha/Omega, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Werewolf, Mating Rituals, Ritual Sex, Heat Cycles, rut cycles, Full Moon, Witchcraft, Unprotected Sex, Mating, Breeding, Knotting

I do not run a tag list but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications to get alerts whenever i post new stories. Oneshots will be posted on Tumblr and AO3, Multichapter stories will be AO3 exclusives. Masterlist is now AO3, link HERE.

The Dark Wolf

 It was springtime yet a keen wind swirled at your ankles as you quickly made your way home. It was late in the day and the sun was already dipping below the horizon, the thick forest that surrounded the village making the days shorter with their tall canopy. A group of girls around the same age as you ran past, laughing and joking as they made their way towards the tavern, unaware of you as you carried the heavy basket from the market. The stalls had been packing away by the time you got there, your job at the bakery keeping you busy most of the day.

As the girls passed by, their scent was thick on the air; cloying and sickly as the synthetic heat pheromones they had added to their perfume to make them more attractive to any Alpha’s at the tavern assaulted your senses, making you quietly sneeze. Their voices were high pitched and clawed at your ears as they squealed and laughed;

“Maybe that dress will be enough to convince the Dark Wolf to take you tonight!”

“Ooh do you think? He hasn’t chosen a mate yet this season, do you think he’ll do it soon?”

“It’s coming close to summer, usually he’s chosen by now”

 “Who do you think the Dark Wolf is?”

 “I don’t know, but the full moon is in two days’ time, and if you want to get chosen, you’ll need to bring your heat on pretty soon”

 “I just need a big dumb Alpha that’s about to Rut to trigger my heat!”

 “Well keep an eye out for the red paint on your door, you know that’s how the Dark Wolf chooses his Omega”

They all laughed as they went, and you could smell arousal in the air, little did you realise it was your own.

 The wind blew their scent away as quickly as it had brought it, and pushing against the gusts you pulled your cardigan tighter around your body. You had always dreamed of an Alpha to take care of you, to help bring his pups into the world, have a whole pack of little ones. Shaking your head you tried to rid yourself of the thoughts that wanted to enter your mind of the Alpha you pined for, knowing if you got distracted it would only make you feel worse.

 Finally the tall eaves of your father’s house came into view, giving you a sense of relief as you made your way up the pathway and into the house, closing the old black door behind you.

 Your Adopted father was in the kitchen, preparing dinner for the two of you, his arms still covered in soot from where he’d been working all day at his forge, if there was one thing Tony Stark knew how to do, it was fix anything made of metal. Dropping the vegetables he was peeling he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your forehead;

 “Hey Sweetie, are you doing ok? Get everything you need?”

 “Yeah, thanks Dad” you replied awkwardly.

 Tony had raised you alone, doing his best to raise a girl - and now a young woman in her early 20’s - and had done his best to help you with the more feminine side of things. He had never suppressed your urge to learn your mothers art of witchcraft, helping you where he could, and when it came to the time when you had started to feel the Omega Heat, he had encouraged you to deal with it however you had felt right. 

 Setting the heavy basket of herbs and produce onto the table, you set about resting the fresh herbs into little vases with water to keep them fresh, and opening the package of freshly roasted coffee beans to let them cool enough to store them in jars;

 “I’ll make an elixir tomorrow, the bakery had me run ragged today… I’m not feeling great”

 “If you’re sure Honey. Why don’t you go take a bath and I’ll have dinner ready in an hour”

 “Thanks Dad”

-

 The next morning you woke and felt the first pang of pain in your stomach, telling you that your heat was closer than you thought. You had slept fitfully, dreams marred by a large wolf; the Werewolf that haunted the village and wanted to claim a mate. You’d felt fear but also something else, something you couldn’t place, and in the dream when the wolf had been close enough to touch you had seen a familiarity in his eyes before suddenly you were awake.

 Drenched in sweat you knew you needed to get your elixir made unless you wanted to try and cope with a heat without an Alpha to knot you, so you dressed quickly in the previous days clothes and quietly made your way downstairs, moving around the kitchen as you set the large pot of water onto the stove to boil before starting to add the herbs you bought the day before. Stirring the aromatic mixture you suddenly stopped;

 “Rosemary!” you muttered quietly to yourself, before stepping out of the front door and crossing the garden barefoot, the dewy grass cool on the soles of your feet. Plucking a handful of sprigs you raised them to your face and inhaled their fresh scent, smiling as it hit your senses as you turned, and that’s when you saw it. The red paint.

 “NO!” you screamed, frozen to the spot. 

 Seconds later your father appeared at the doorway, looking around wildly before seeing you and rushing to your side;

 “What? What is it?”

 You pointed, your hand shaking and he followed your gaze before sharply inhaling; there it was, a wide and vivid swipe of red paint on your black front door;

 “Daddy… please… get a rag. It still looks wet”

 “Honey… ok honey…”

 His reassurance was interrupted by a quiet cough at your garden gate, causing you both to turn and that’s when you saw him;

 “Constable Rogers…”

 “Tony… you know its Steve, not Constable”

 “Steve… really? The pack chose my Little Girl?”

 Steve set a large hand on Tony’s shoulder;

 “It’s the choice. She won’t be harmed. But you know it’s the ritual and it's the law” Steve paused, and you could see the conflict on his face as he spoke; “She’s not a little girl anymore Tony, she’s a beautiful woman”

 Tony stood partially in front of you, trying to protect you;

 “I get that Steve… but it should be her choice. This seems so… so… barbaric…”

 “Maybe so, but I’m not here to argue with you… you know my job…”

 Tony nodded. He knew the laws. He’d done his best to bend them or influence them as much as possible, but the rules of the Werewolf that lived in the woods called for a mate once a year, his chosen Omega would spend the first full moon after the spring equinox with him, and if she was suitable she would bear his child and become his wife… and yet no-one knew the face of the man who was this wolf, just that it was one that walked among them. And for the last three months the chosen women had been returned to the town at the end of the three nights of full moon. Each said the same of their time away; it was not to be spoken of; they were unsuitable.

 The Constable - Steve - held out his hand for you and you paused, still grasping your fathers’ hand before he spoke to you;

 “It’s your choice. I will fight it for you if you don’t want to go”

 “It’s ok Dad. I haven’t been able to make the suppressant elixir in time, there isn’t any other way to deal with this Heat that is coming”

 Tony nodded before he glanced at your feet;

 “At least let me get you some shoes. Barefoot in the forest is not as enjoyable as barefoot on a soft lawn”

 -

 Standing on the cold stone slab in the clearing you watched as Steve tied the rope around your wrist to the solitary tree that stood in the centre;

 “Why are you doing this?” you asked.

 He froze. It was the first thing you’d said since you’d left your father’s house. He had almost forgotten you had a voice you had been so quiet. He cleared his throat;

 “You know it’s the way. And as the village constable have to uphold what it written”

 “Is this not… not archaic? To leave me out here to be taken against my will?”

 Steve stood straight and looked at you, his hand softly cupping your face;

 “It’s not like that. When the Dark Wolf appears, you will know if it’s right. He will know. He will approach you and if your scent pulls you from his Lycanthropy, he’ll know you are the right Omega”

 “What if… what if it doesn’t trigger his Rut? What if I’m not the right Omega?”

 “Then he will try again tomorrow night”

 “And leave me here to suffer my Heat? Alone?”

 Steve took a deep breath, looking away and unable to meet your gaze;

 “You will not be alone”

 He had finished tying the ropes and had tested them to make sure they were secure before stepping away, and with a sigh he turned and quickly made his way out of the clearing and into the dense forest. You had seen him flinch each time you’d screamed out his name, your throat finally becoming hoarse and you let out a pitiful sob as you fell to your knees. Curling up against the side of the old oak tree, you tried to clear your mind, your fingers drawing patterns in the soil, trying to remember some of the old magic you knew. The full moon was setting in the sky above you as morning broke, the sequence of the phases seemingly out of sorts.

 Suddenly you felt a pain in your stomach, you knew exactly what it was; your Heat was fast approaching. The sweat started to bead across your chest, your breathing getting heavier, as the first spasm shot through you something suddenly moved in the thick brush at the side of the clearing. Your eyes darted in that direction but saw nothing but ferns and undergrowth. As another wave of Heat pains started to build, movement out of the corner of your eye distracted you from your impending heat. This time whatever it was stood still, yet all you could see was a glowing pair of eyes in the darkness of the surrounding forest. 

 Forgetting about your Heat and your incantations you were trying to draw in the earth, you instead focused your attention upon the rope that tied you to the tree. When Steve had said you would not be alone, was this what he meant? Your scared fingers worked on the knot in the rope, trying to loosen it. 

 A quiet growl echoed from the darkness and as the panic set in you felt a rush of power surge through you, grasping the rope that tied you with both hands you pulled it harshly and it snapped at the tree. 

 You did not wait, you were running, running as fast as your feet could take you. Blindly rushing through the dense forest, you could hear creatures chasing after you, the growls and gnashing of teeth. The surge of energy your heat was giving you powered you on, deeper into the forest, further from home. A shrill howl sent a chill down your spine, but you continued your sprint. The sounds of the creatures behind you were getting closer, ahead the forest floor rose steeply, the sharp incline slowing you as your feet slid on the dry pine needles that had fallen from the tall spruce trees that towered above you. 

 You slipped, your smooth and simple slippers giving no traction and your fingers dug into the forest floor. You fell to your knees and squeezed your eyes shut, doing what little you could do to prepare yourself for whatever happened next. But… but the growling stopped, the forest fell silent. Opening one eye then both you slowly turned, letting out a cry as you saw the pack of wolves surrounding you, but none were looking to you, their attention fell upon the rocky outcrop above you.

 Turning you looked up and gasped, he was there; the Dark Wolf. 

 With a loud snarl he jumped from the rocky outcrop and over you, landing gracefully at your feet as he growled loudly at the baying pack that surrounded you. Circling around he trod silently, the hairs on his spine standing on end as he bared his teeth at the pack as they kept trying to approach, before standing beside you. He seemingly paused before pointing his snout to the sky and let out a powerful howl. 

 You watched, dumbfounded as each wolf sat. It was clear that the Dark wolf was in charge; that he was the Alpha of the pack. He turned, his icy blue gaze directed at you before he reached his head down and took the rope in his mouth that was still tied to your wrist. He tugged it gently and you pushed yourself to your feet, the smooth soles of your shoes slipping on the loose pine needles that covered the dirt, and he rested the side of his body against your thigh, steadying you. Resting your hand on the coarse fur to steady yourself as he led you down the slope, you found yourself surprised by how soft his fur was, almost as if it was spun silk. 

 The pack parted like a tide, letting the Dark Wolf lead you into the darkness of the forest by the rope between its jaws. You could hear the pack following, keeping its distance, yet somehow you weren’t afraid; you felt safe with the Dark Wolf. 

 Through the dense trees a solitary cabin came into view, its windows black as if abandoned, yet deep red geraniums had been carefully planted around the doorway. The soft forest floor made way for sandstone paving, and you let Dark Wolf lead you to the entrance. 

 Arriving at the porch he sat beside you and whined like a dog would, looking from you to the door and back again. 

 “Oh, right… no opposable thumbs in your paws”

 If wolves could roll their eyes it would have, and as you reached forwards for the door handle you tested it, the door swinging open on its creaky hinges. Looking to Dark Wolf you smiled;

 “Whoever lives here needs to do some maintenance”

 The wolf let out a snort before standing, gently leading you by the rope that still hung from your wrist. He paused in the hallway before pushing his behind against the door to close it, leading you into the cabin through dark hallways, finally coming to a single room, surrounded on three sides by floor to ceiling windows that looked out to the forest. Pulling you onto the bed he sat on his haunches before you tumbled onto the soft mattress.

 Only then did you realise how tired you were, exhausted from not only the chase through the forest, but also the drama of the morning on top of a poor night’s sleep. As if on cue you felt the cramp in your stomach; remind you that your heat was starting, and without thinking you curled up onto the bed, clutching at your stomach in the foetal position. Screwing your eyes shut you couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips, the surge of heat flowing through you. And yet… suddenly you felt a cold nose press against your neck, before a heavy snout rested on you. It calmed you. Curling your fingers into Dark Wolf’s fur, you screwed your eyes shut, the waves of heat tiring you, until you blacked out and a deep sleep took hold.

 -

 You could feel your mind pulling you from your deep sleep and you snuggled into the soft pillows a little further. You felt movement against you and your hands sought out the soft fur that was pressed to your chest, curling it between your fingers. There was something calming about the beast that lay beside you, even with your eyes closed you could hear its breathing was steady and strong;

 “You’ve helped, you know?”

 At the sound of your quiet voice it shifted slightly, and although you hadn’t yet opened your eyes you could sense it was looking at you as you continued;

 “For whatever this is, you calmed me. I was so scared, not just of the pack, but of what would happen. I had been waiting… hoping… you see at the bakery there is one man that visits, I had been hoping he would ask to court me, but he always seems so shy…”

 The wolf’s breathing caught before you heard a voice;

 “I think it’s time you opened your eyes Omega”

 No. It couldn’t be… your eyes were squeezed shut but you wanted to look… yet you didn’t… you knew that voice, you’d heard it the day before when the soft and quiet Alpha you’d always pined for had visited the bakery the and had ordered the last of the cinnamon buns you had coveted so much, the ones you always ordered right before your heat arrived, that were your comfort food.

 “Omega…”

 “James?”

 “Open your eyes”

 Meekly you did as he asked, and he was there; in front of you. Your fingers were curled around his long dark hair and his face was inches from your own, his pale blue eyes staring straight into your soul. After what seemed like an eternity you finally found your voice;

 “You’re the Dark Wolf?”

 He nodded;

 “For the last few months, yes”

 Frowning at his response, you didn’t understand what he meant.

 “It is a different member of the pack each year… For the last three months whenever an Omega was brought to the clearing, they weren’t a match…”

 “A match? But, surely it’s just the nature of an Alpha and an Omega?”

 “Not for Werewolves. The right Omega will pull a werewolf out of its cycle. It’s why I’m here, like this, now…”

 You thought over what he’d said, your eyes going wide in the realisation of what it meant; that you were meant to be his;

 “Is this why you never said anything? At the bakery? Or when I would see you in the market? You were saving me for this barbaric ritual?”

 James’s face dropped, the hope seemingly leaving his body at your words;

 “I… I… I would be made to choose. If it’s your ‘year’ as the Dark Wolf, if you choose a mate before you have taken part in the ritual, that mate is rejected… I didn’t want that to happen to you…” he looked up at you through watery eyes; “When Steve told me that another Omega had been selected this month, I hoped so much it would be you…this is my final month, my final chance...” 

 His words trailed off and you didn’t want to think what would have happened to him if he hadn’t of picked a mate this month. Cupping his cheek with your hand you gently stroked your thumb over his stubbled skin before closing the distance between the two of you and your lips met. 

 The kiss was soft at first, but as you both became bolder and Bucky’s arms wrapped around your body to pull you flush with his, you found yourself relenting to his charms. 

 You were mid kiss when you felt the first pang of cramp in your stomach, this time you whimpered loudly, James pulling away and started to strip you of your clothing;

 “C’mon Omega… let me help you…”

 “James, it hurts… its hurts so much…”

 “I know, let me at your skin and I can take the hurt away. And please, call me Bucky… the pack leader calls me James when I’m in trouble…”

 You let him move you, quickly unbuttoning your dress before pulling your underwear off, finally untying the rope that was still around your wrist, and he moved back so he could take in your naked beauty… and yet you felt ashamed, embarrassed, trying to cover yourself with your hands until he gently caught your hands in his own large grasp;

 “Omega, what is it?”

 “I have never…”

 “You’ve never been with an Alpha?”

 You shook your head, and Bucky leaned forwards and pressed his forehead to yours;

 “Oh, my sweet Omega, I am here to help you, we can do as much or as little as you want or need”

 He settled you against the soft pillows and rested his head against your chest, listening to your heartbeat as you wound your fingers through his long hair. Finally, he felt your pulse slow and he started to press kisses down your torso until he reached your soaked core. Running his fingers through the copious slick that coated your folds, he hummed his appreciation at the sweet scent that filled his senses, before leaning forwards and pressing a kiss to your swollen clit;

 “You smell so good Omega, can feel you trembling, let me taste you, make you cum with my tongue”

 “Bucky…” you whined, and you felt more than heard him chuckle as you wanted him to stop talking and start doing… something, anything.

 He got the hint and with one long lick he covered your entire pussy, tasting you, groaning at your sweetness. Hooking your legs over his wide shoulders he gripping onto your thighs, burying his head between your legs as his long tongue delved deep within you, fucking you with the strong muscle and you could feel the heat pains ebbing away and being replaced by those of pleasure. His fingers found your clit and he strummed against the sensitive nub, making you scramble for something to grip onto. With your legs shaking and your fingers curled through his soft dark hair you were coming hard, and he relished every drop, drinking your slick as it gushed from your core until you were spent. 

 When your legs went limp and your hand fell to the sheets he slowly pulled away, pushing himself up to sit as he used the back of his hand to wipe the shining slick from his chin. Reaching the other hand he pressed his warm palm to your stomach tenderly;

 “How do you feel now Omega?”

 “Good… oh my god, so good…”

 “Wait here, I’m going to go get you some water”

 You lay there on his soft bed, eyes closed and listening to nothing but your heartbeat until you finally heard him approaching, pushing yourself up to sit only to let out a squeak of surprise;

 “You’re naked!”

 He stopped in the doorway and looked down as if it was a surprise to him too;

 “Yes? So are you?”

 “But… you’re naked!”

 You couldn’t draw your eyes away from his body, your gaze raking up and down as you tried to take in every chiselled plain and curve. From his wide shoulders and muscled arms, down his torso and stomach where his abdominal muscles tapered down in a deep v to his crotch. The thick thatch of dark hair that surrounded the thick and heavy length that swung between his legs, to the powerful thighs that looked bigger than you could ever have imagined;

 “Omega…” he gently laughed; “I literally woke up from being a wolf half an hour ago… I haven’t left your side…”

 He closed the distance between you, sitting on the side of the bed before handing you a glass of water and a plate. The scent of the treat the plate contained drew your attention, and you instantly recognised what it was;

“The cinnamon buns from the bakery! I always have these as my heat starts!”

 He smiled and as you ate you couldn’t help it, but your eyes continually strayed to his crotch, watching as his thick length would twitch and slightly swell the longer you looked at it. When you had finished eating, he silently took the plate from you before handing you the glass of water which you gratefully took, downing it quickly before handing it back;

 “Thank you”

 Setting the glass and plate onto the floor Bucky turned back to you;

 “How are you feeling now?”

 “Sleepy still, hot… yet cold…” you looked away shyly; “It makes me want to curl up but have you here with me…”

 “That we can do… scoot over, unless you want me to climb over you…”

 Laughing you moved to the centre of the bed watching in the pale light that still came in the large windows that surrounded the bedroom as the sun set having slept through most of the day. Bucky grabbed the oversized quilt as he shuffled in beside you, pulling it over your naked bodies as he curled his arm over your stomach and pulled you flush with his chest. Turning until you were the little spoon to his big. 

 It felt natural to be there in Bucky’s arms, to have his breath on your neck and his hands on your stomach. You could feel your body getting hotter and whimpered, you knew the heat hadn’t been sated, that you needed more, and your Alpha picked up on the change in your scent immediately. His lips found you bonding mark and he pressed kisses to the skin, soothing your body as he rubbed at the spot with his nose, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he felt you push your ass back against him. His dick was growing harder for every second he held you in his arms, and with you rubbing against him he couldn’t help but to rut against the soft globes of your ass, your voice startling him for a moment;

 “Bucky… Alpha...  I need you…”

 Bucky knew what you needed, and before he had even moved a muscle you were turning, getting to your knees;

 “Omega… are you presenting for me?”

 Looking over your shoulder you nodded;

 “Please Alpha… I need you… need your knot…”

 Bucky positioned himself at your soaked core, the feel of your hot slick against his dick almost overwhelming, and as he breached your entrance, he let out a low growl as he sank into your swollen channel. Moving his hips fluidly he coated his heavy girth in your slick, and with each thrust he knew he was in heaven. This was it; he was never going to find an omega better than you; you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his days with;

 “Fuck, Omega… you feel so good…”

 “Bucky… Please… make me yours”

 His hands gripped your hips as he fucked you, stretching you out so beautifully that he feared he would cum far too soon, but as you rocked back with each of his thrusts he regained control. Putting more power into each push, his powerful thighs became coated in your slick as it spilled out of you around his dick, filling the room with your combined scent. 

 You were crying out his name, begging, pleading for him to let you cum;

 “Please Alpha…”

 “Omega, you want me to cum? Want me to fill you with my seed, let you grow full with my Pups?”

 “Alpha! Please, I want your Pups, want your knot…”

 With a final flurry of thrusts he sent you over the edge, your body squeezing him so tight it triggered his own orgasm as he filled your fertile body with his potent seed.

 As his orgasm ebbed away, he bent over and wrapped his arms around your torso, pressing kisses to your back as you trembled beneath him. When you finally spoke your voice was hoarse;

 “That… that was amazing…”

 “That’s nothing Omega…” Bucky muttered, shifting slightly and your eyes went wide when you felt he was still hard inside you.

 “Alpha? How…? You haven’t knotted yet?”

 He chuckled lightly;

 “An Alpha can only grow a knot once he is spent… I got a good two or three more goes before that happens… and trust me; you’ll know it when I do my sweet Omega”

 “Oh…” he moved within you, setting off aftershocks of your orgasm; “OH!”

 Bucky moved you, somehow twisting and sliding you onto your side before pulling one of your legs up flush with his chest, all with his hard length still snug inside you. Pressing kisses down your calf he started to rock his hips back and forth, the added lubrication of his own cum adding to the sensations.

 It was starting to get dark now, and without any light in the room the only illumination was the rising full moon, casting its pale glow over the pair of you as you rutted together like wild animals. As Bucky threw his head back the moonlight caught every muscle, his skin gleaming with beads of sweat that looked like a thousand jewels.

 Looking down you watched as this meaty girth split you open and you welcomed him into your fertile womb. With one strong arm gripping your leg, the other hand found your centre, rubbing this thumb against your clit as he teased another orgasm out of you, fucking you through it and chasing his own release. With each new thrust his attention was drawn to your chest and you found yourself being bent in two as he pushed your leg ever higher until he shifted it to the side and was able to take your breasts in his hands as he continued to fuck you;

 “These titties, they’ll look so beautiful when full of milk for our pups…” he reached forward and took one peaked nipple between his teeth, sending shockwaves through your body. The pleasure was building in the pit of your stomach again, and as you shut your eyes and let the sensations take over, your imagination gave you a glimpse of the future, of a future with Bucky.

 The summer breeze blew warm air against your bare legs, the lace trim of your light summer dress brushing against your skin. Smoothing your hands over your swollen belly, your pup kicked inside you and you smiled. Looking out over the garden you saw your husband, your Alpha, your Bucky playing with your two-year-old twins, smiling as you heard their squeals of laughter as he chased them around the soft grass…

 As you came back to reality you felt the sudden rush of pleasure that told you your orgasm was imminent, you were completely surrounded by Bucky and you felt yourself surrendering to the pleasure he was giving you as you came again, this time with a low groan he filled you with another heavy load of his fertile seed.

 You held each other for the longest time, Bucky resting his face against your neck and you doing the same to him, rubbing your nose over his scent gland and picking up on the slight change in his scent. Before it was as simple as dew on soft pine, but now there was a warmer tone, cinnamon and coffee. Running your hands through his hair you spoke softly;

 “Bucky?”

 “Mmmm”

 “Bucky, your scent…”

 He pushed himself up on his strong arms, looking down at you and that’s when you realised what was happening;

 “Omega…” his pupils were blown wide, pools of dark arousal as he took in your naked form beneath him; “You’ve triggered my Rut…”

 Your bodies were still joined, and as he ducked his head down to kiss you, you could feel him still hard within your aching body, a body that was desperate for more, for his knot. Clouds moved across the night sky and momentarily blocked out the moonlight, and that’s when you saw it; movement outside the windows. With a gasp you pulled away from Bucky, your eyes wide as you searched the shadows, trembling as you saw eyes, glinting in what little light there was. 

 Bucky pressed his lips to your bonding mark, surrounding you, protecting you;

 “It’s the pack… they’re here to watch”

 “They what?”

“It’s part of the ritual, the pack needs to see me knot you… only then will they allow you to be mine, and for me to be yours…”

 His lips were driving you crazy, and as much as you wanted to fight it, you were also excited by the prospect of being watched as you were claimed;

 “Let’s do it Bucky… make me yours…”

 Above you Bucky was shaking with need, his rut starting to take hold and he looked almost feral with need. Pulling out he quickly moved you into position on your knees, and you found yourself parting your legs and arching your back to present for him. Looking down at your soaked core, your slick pouring down your thighs whilst mixed with his cum, he let out a growl and thrust forward, filling you completely. 

 He held himself deep within your welcoming body for the longest moment, before with a surprisingly gentle grip took hold of your shoulders and pulled you upright, your back flush to his chest as his lips brushed against your ear;

 “Show them, show them that I am yours and you are mine”

 Bucky held you, his arms encircling your torso as he held your breasts in his large hands, all whilst thrusting up into you with powerful grind of his hips. This time felt different; you felt fuller, and that’s when you realised what it was; his knot was starting to grow, to inflate. Even though you were practically melting, from your heat and from the energy being expended by your lovemaking, you shivered. The realisation that it was happening; you were about to be knotted, claimed. Bucky picked up on your nerves, the slighted change in your scent;

 “Omega, you’re doing so well, I could never have wished for a better mate…”

 As he spoke his teeth brushed over your bonding mark and you felt yourself rocking down harder with each of his thrusts until you felt it, his knot just slightly caught then slipped out again, causing you to whine like an animal denied its favourite treat;

 “Nearly there Omega, near-ly th-ere…”

 Each syllable was punctuated by a thrust, your body trembling, on the precipice again with your orgasm, until you heard his words;

 “It’s time Omega…”

 “Claim me Bucky, make me yours”

 With one final thrust you felt his knot notch inside and this time stick just as your orgasm crashed through your body. The added tightness of your body gripped his made Bucky let out a howl, roaring up at the sky as he bared his teeth, and with a rumble in his chest he brought his teeth down to your neck and claimed you.

 You felt the skin break, his teeth digging into your bonding mark and the warm trickle of your blood down your neck and chest. The moment seemed to be frozen in time, noise filling your ears before you opened your eyes and saw the pack outside; all wolves, all howling simultaneously as they celebrated the pack leader having claimed his Omega. 

 Pulling his teeth away from your skin Bucky gently licked over the wound, helping it to heal, all whilst your bodies were still joined. You felt weak, exhaustion taking over, and with careful movement so not to jar his knot within you, Bucky moved your pliable body until you were lying on your side, Bucky’s strong arms wrapped around you. The forest fell quiet and you heard the gentle sound of paws retreating into the distance, and the last thought that went through your mind as the pack retreated was that you were complete.

 -

 For three days and nights you spent it in Bucky’s arms. After that first night the drapes were pulled across all the windows, Bucky laughed that the pack had their show, now it was time for a private performance. And oh boy did he perform; your body was tired and aching but in the most beautiful way, you had a glow to you that both of you already knew was the first sign that Bucky’s seed had taken, and already you in your mind could feel the pups within you start to grow. Bucky gently laughed when you’d told him;

 “Surely it’s too early Omega?”

 “I just know Bucky…”

 You’d been in the huge tub at the time, your bodies joined yet again, warm water lapping at his knot as you let the scented water wash over your bodies for some interesting lovemaking, straddling him as he lay back against the side, you took his hands and rested them on your stomach;

 “Do you feel it? Can you sense it?”

 Bucky paused for a moment before his eyes went wide;

 “There’s something… I can feel this heat, this power coming from you…” he laughed happily and pulled you to him, wrapping his arms around your body and burying his face in your neck, inhaling your scent as he sobbed tears of joy.

 -

 Walking up the path to your father’s house you gripped Bucky’s hand tight, nervous about what you were going to say. As you approached the porch the door opened and you saw him, standing at the doorway as he watched you. For a moment his face was neutral as he took in the two of you, and then he sensed it and you could see his eyes starting to water. Rushing to you Tony wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tight before finally stepping back;

 “Will you look at that, my baby is gonna have her own baby…”

 “Dad! How do you know?!”

 “Honey, a father knows. Plus, I can pick it up on your scent” Finally he turned to Bucky and extended his hand; “It’s good to finally meet you…”

 “Thank you, Sir. Its James, but everyone calls me Bucky”

 “Please Bucky, call me Tony”

 “Well Tony, I guess I’d better ask for your permission to marry your daughter?”

 Laughing Tony let go of your shoulders;

 “I thought that was a given… seeing a you’ve already knocked her up?”

 The two men laughed and you rolled your eyes, letting your father lead you into the kitchen. Over pancakes and bacon, you worked out your future, your dark wolf beside you the whole way.

[mintaka14]

Coryphée

A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction

By Mintaka14

Chapter Six – Coda

“I heard,” one of the seamstresses said from her workstation, “that the results of the concours are going out today.”

And of course, the backstage staff knew before the dancers themselves had even received the letters of offer or rejection. Marinette shifted on her stool and frowned down in concentration at the old costume she was unpicking, one laborious stitch at a time.

The names of the new premiére danseuses and premier danseurs were tossed around, and Marinette only paid them half a mind, until someone asked, “What about the new sujet? Who got that one?”

“Oh, Mireille Caquet got the promotion,” someone else said, and Marinette put down the seam ripper in surprise.

“Not Lila Rossi?” she asked, and the girl across from her started laughing.

“Not in a month of Sundays,” Nicolette snorted. “That one’s never going to make it out of quadrilles, I can tell you that, and bad luck to her. Always so rude, and I don’t envy anyone who ever gets her for fittings.” She giggled. “We always make sure Mlle Rossi gets the last pick of the gowns and wigs, the one that’s always just a little bit too tight or a colour she doesn’t like much.”

Marinette couldn’t help the gasp of laughter that escaped her.

“Did you know her?” someone else asked Marinette.

“Of course she did,” Nicolette said. “Marinette was in the corps until she grew a brain and got out.”

Marinette just smiled and picked up the seam ripper again.

“Besides, I heard there’ve been discussions going on,” Pascal said from his workstation as he concentrated on the placement of another sequin. “Lila Rossi pissed off the wrong person, and the Director of the Conservatory himself got involved. They’re not going to renew her season’s contract when it finishes soon.”

That provoked an uproar in the atelier, and Marinette’s seam picker fell from her fingers to bounce on the floor.

“But… she was a permanent contract! She said she was permanent.”

Pascal was shaking his head gleefully. “No, no, chérie. She was a seasonal.”

There was a knock on the atelier door, and a ripple of excited murmuring ran through the room.

“Marinette,” one of the seamstresses said in a singsong voice. “Your boyfriend’s here.”

And Luka was leaning against the doorframe, his gorgeous blue eyes only on her.

“Ready to go, melody?” he asked, and Eloise Marchand waved her off with an indulgent smile.

“There’s nothing that can’t be done tomorrow,” the costume director told her. “We’ll all be packing up soon anyway. You go and enjoy your evening.”

Marinette ignored the giggles and sighs as she carefully put away the costume she’d been working on and gathered up her things. It was all good-humoured, and Nicolette whispered, “You’re so lucky” as Marinette passed her.

“I know,” she whispered back, and then Luka took her hand, his smile lighting up, and she followed him out the door. All the way down from the sixth floor they talked about inconsequential things, and how his search for an apartment was going.

“I mean, I love the Liberty,” Luka sighed, “and I’m going to miss Ma and Jules, but I’m really not going to miss Jules banging on the wall or making comments any time you come round.”

Juleka had been having way too much fun with playing spoilsport lately. Marinette felt the embarrassed fire rising in her face, and changed the subject. She eyed Luka thoughtfully, and brought up a suspicion that she’d had since Pascal had shared his piece of gossip.

“I heard a rumour today that Lila’s seasonal contract with the company is getting cancelled, and that the Director of the Conservatory of Music was involved. You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?” she asked, and he cast his eyes up.

“I may have had a conversation with my mother’s ex-boyfriend who just happens to be the Director of the Conservatory,” he said with feigned innocence. “The subject of Lila may have come up.”

“Luka!” She shoved his arm gently, and then sighed. “I could almost feel sorry for her. She was never going to get ahead in the company, and I think she knew it.”

“She put glass in your shoes,” Luka said, and she shouldn’t have found that rumbling growl in his voice as sexy as she did. Distracted by that thought, it took her a moment to realise that he was watching her.

“Do you wish I hadn’t said anything?” he asked her, and she subjected that to some consideration.

“No, I think I’m glad you did. If she’s done things like that to me to get what she wants, she’ll do it again to someone else if she’s left unchecked,” Marinette said. They’d reached the entrance hall, and Luka held the door open for her. “That recording was only going to hold her back for so long.”

He took her hand again as they crossed the courtyard and passed under the huge and embellished stone archway, and steered her in the opposite direction when she started to turn towards the metro.

“How do you feel about dinner at Midi12 tonight?” She gave him a startled glance, and he shrugged self-consciously. “I finished my thesis today, and I feel like celebrating, and galette.”

Marinette stopped and flung her arms around him. “Luka! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I still have to edit a couple of things, and get my supervisor’s okay on it, but… it’ll be ready to hand to her when she gets back from Madrid in a few weeks. The research component’s all done.”

She glowed up at him. “We definitely need to celebrate.”

Palais Garnier loomed majestically behind them. The sky above the streets was still waiting for sunset, but the late afternoon air was starting to grow heavy and the golden light from the cafes and restaurants spilled over the grey slabs of concrete under their feet. It was starting to turn cooler, and the figures around them were hurrying a little now. Marinette leaned into Luka’s warmth, and he put an arm around her as they walked.

Marinette shot him a mischievous look. “You do know Papa does much better galette than Midi12?”

“Tom does better pastries than anyone,” Luka agreed, then his grin became a little wry. “I’d just kind of like you all to myself for a little while before we have to head home.”

“I like the sound of that.”

The umbrellas outside the Palais Garnier restaurant were furled behind the stone balustrade and hedge, but they could hear the distant clink of china and cutlery, and the soft hum of voices from the early patrons. Classical statues gazed down indifferently from their perches along the balustrade, and the huge iron streetlamps weren’t lit yet. They made dark, spiky silhouettes against the thick blue sky.

“So how did things go for you today?” Luka asked, running his thumb along the edge of her hand.

“Well, it wasn’t finished the thesis exciting, but Mme Marchand has me going through the costume archives right now, and I’ve been unpicking some of the old costumes to try and match fabrics. It’s fascinating, the way it was constructed. I’m learning so much, and so much of what I did when I was on stage makes a lot more sense now. She said she’ll take me to the fabric warehouses with her the next time she has to source something.” Luka grinned at the little skip of enthusiasm that she couldn’t suppress. “It’s going to be exhausting once my course gets underway, trying to juggle that and the residency program, but it’ll be worth it. I’ll get to work on the next season costumes – Adrien said his father’s sponsoring again, so they’re going to be stunning.”

Luka was watching her with a half-smile. “You saw Adrien?”

“I caught up with some of the company for lunch today, and Adrien was there.”

“How is he?”

Marinette giggled. “He’s started sneaking out to date the daughter of one of his father’s business associates, so he’s happy.”

“Sneaking out? Does his father disapprove or something?”

“I don’t think so,” Marinette said with a  shrug. “I think Adrien’s just developed a taste for sneaking around. He’s got a lot of years of rebellion to catch up on, apparently.”

Luka laughed. “You’re a bad influence, melody.���

“He’s heard a rumour that next season is going to be La Bayadère, and I love the costumes for that. The colours are just glorious, and I’m really looking forward to seeing what M. Agreste’s take on it is.”

“Any regrets that it won’t be you wearing those costumes?” he asked.

“Not really. No. I mean, I have the odd moment when I miss that feeling, but I’d much rather be making them than dancing in them.”

They turned away from the Palais Garnier in its opulent grandeur, an isolated island of magnificence, into the noisier streets where the rumble and honk of traffic was overlaid with voices and conversation and laughter. Buildings and shops crowded above Marinette and Luka as they strolled towards the crêperie, lost in their own world.

“So, no regrets?” he repeated quietly, and Marinette knew he was asking about more than just costumes. She couldn’t help laughing.

“I got away with the heist without going to prison, I got into a course that I’m loving for a career that I’m excited about, and Mme Marchand got me into a residency that most people in theatre design would kill for, even though I haven’t got my qualifications yet.”

She lifted her hand and brushed her fingertips along the line of his jaw, loving the feel of his breath on her palm as he leaned into her touch.

“And I get to go home with the man I adore,” she said softly. “No regrets. Not ever.”

There was something in the way that Luka was looking at her that brought a blush to her cheeks and left her heart stumbling in her chest.

“What are you thinking?”

He ducked his head until the blue tips of his hair shadowed his eyes, but she could see the soft smile curling the corners of his mouth.

“I can’t tell you, because you didn’t want me to get too far ahead of myself. Ask me again when you’ve finished your degree.”

Her eyes widened.

“Oh,” she said, a little breathlessly. “Oh. Okay.”

They walked a little further. Marinette glanced up at him.

“That’s a whole three years away,” she said pensively, and his eyes were back on her now. “Would you tell me if I asked when I’ve completed my residency?”

There was that quality of stillness in the way he was holding himself, as if he didn’t quite dare to believe what he thought he was hearing. “That’s... June. End of June.”

“Is that too soon?” she asked, and gave a faint squeak as Luka kissed her hard, and kissed her again, and again until they melted into softer kisses, heedless of the people passing by. Her hands came up to tangle in his hair, and his arms were around her, pulling her close while life moved on around them. Perhaps there were a few frowns, or a few indulgent smiles, thrown their way, but neither of them noticed.

“June, tomorrow, today, whenever you want,” he breathed when they finally came up for air, his voice a little husky. “I’m yours, melody.”

And Marinette pulled him down for another kiss, too happy to speak.

[sserpente]

24 little kinks | Doors 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 🎄

“You remember that chocolate advent calendar I got you for December?”

“I do,” he chuckled and pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “You made me display it in the kitchen so I would not eat it all at once.”

Your smile widened. “How about we get another one?”

Loki raised an eyebrow, only now paying proper attention to the sex toy ad. Then, he frowned. It was an odd mixture of disgust, genuine curiosity and even a hint of arousal flashing in his blue eyes.

A/N: It’s been snowing all day here, I couldn’t stop grinning when I woke up! 😍🌨❄

NSFW warnings: public orgasm, knife play

-

Loki paid Banner a visit the following morning, to check on any progress made with the alien artefact they had found. Not even he had a clue what exactly it was and without his beloved books from Asgard, it would take him ages to do the necessary research. Hence, the God of Mischief spent the whole week teleporting from library to library, even visiting Doctor Strange in his sanctuary, for any useful information.

Thor had rarely seen his brother so passionate about a mission before—but perhaps it was simply because Loki harboured a deep hatred for the creatures he had once meant to use against humanity for power. Little had he known how much the sceptre had influenced his tainted heart back then.

Besides, the sooner the Chitauri were gone, the sooner he could go back to peacefully enjoying Christmas with you and let you pamper him with your traditions, customs and delicious treats. They never failed to calm him down after an exhausting day, after all.

At least, despite his lack of time due to the amount of research he did with both the Avengers and Strange, you still got to open your advent calendar.

Before he left, Loki eyed the nipple clamps inside door nine suspiciously, worried he would hurt you with the metal toy.

“How am I supposed to use these on you? They look like torture instruments.”

You hummed. He was right. You had never tried nipple clamps before but you assumed that the general rule was—as long as it felt good, keep them on, play and have fun, as soon as it started to hurt, take them off immediately.

Loki knew your body almost better than you did. He’d also know when to stop.

“I’ll look it up online while you’re gone.” In the meantime, you would also get some Christmas shopping done. You were late this year and there were only three weeks left for you to purchase everything you needed. Loki’s present you’d pick up no earlier than on Christmas morning. You couldn’t wait for his reaction.

Two hours later, you wished you had taken the God of Mischief with you. The shopping centre had been transformed to a Winter Wonderland. Giant trees towered up to the ceiling, richly decorated with thousands of ornaments and baubles; holiday lights hung from every railing and festive Christmas wreaths made every single store a little jollier.

You bought both Loki and yourself a giant candy cane before you returned home with two full bags of gifts for your friends—among them a pair of black silver earrings with a tiny storage function for Natasha and a giant box full of poptarts for Thor. All you were still missing was a present for Tony. That man was a billionaire. He could afford anything he wanted in a heartbeat… you pursed your lips. It might be harder than you thought to find something for him.

-

“Ready to open four doors at once?” Loki had just stepped out of the shower and was welcomed not only by the scent of homemade Christmas biscuits you had just shoved in the oven but also you wearing a Christmassy red pullover along with a black skirt and equally black and almost knee-high boots. He almost purred at the sight when you approached him.

You had promised him to open the calendar before you left for Tony’s Christmas party. Because of all the panic and havoc the Chitauri attack as well as the discovery of another otherworldly artefact on Earth, both of you had almost forgotten it was tonight—on Friday the 13th. You both wondered whether that was a good or a bad sign.

You had promised to bring some biscuits and Loki had promised to behave and not to play tricks on the party guests—at least for as long as Stark and the other superheroes treated him with all due respect; and you simply hoped, sincerely, that Loki would be able to enjoy himself tonight. Christmas parties were a wonderful thing.

People came together after a long time of not having seen each other, they had mulled wine and hot chocolate, talked about what they are getting their loved ones for Christmas and sometimes even sang Christmas carols together.

“I thought you’d never ask, my sweet.”

Loki was dressed dangerously… scarce with only that towel around his hips. He knew you were very well aware he could magic on his infamous and outrageously handsome black suit to cover his well-defined chest, strong thighs and that v-line which made your mouth water whenever he wanted… you cleared your throat, eliciting a cheeky smirk from him when he followed you into the bedroom. Excitement cursed through your veins when you thought about what adventure the calendar would take you on next. You were yet to use those nipple clamps too, after all.

Two of the four boxes you had missed were rather big and heavy. Sheepishly, you handed one to Loki and allowed him to unpack it first. Door ten revealed a small vanilla-scented candle. You realised immediately what it was.

“It’s for wax play,” you stated, grinning to yourself as Loki fingered the candle with his head tilted slightly. He glanced at you with a playful glistening in his blue eyes.

“After all those little doors I had not yet considered how very depraved you are, my sweet little (Y/N).”

What could you say to that? Loki had seen the amounts of erotic novels on your bookshelf. They were a lot more enticing than porn could ever be—and they provided you with loads of information on sex toys.

“Come on, you love it.” You replied. Loki winked, making your heart jump.

“What is in yours?”

Quickly, you opened the next box. Perhaps you should always wait a few days and then open several doors at once to be more creative in bed… door eleven revealed a… oh.

You chuckled. It looked like a vibrator, although shaped a little unusual—not to stimulate your g-spot but to stimulate… the prostate.

“That’s for you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a prostate massager. A vibrator for men.”

Loki frowned, clearly suspicious of the device. “And how exactly am I to use that?”

“It goes up your… butt.”

His gaze was outraged, his lips slightly parted when he looked back up at you.

“Absolutely not.”

“Loki… it’s meant to make you feel good. Lots of men say vibrators like these make them cum like crazy. At least give it a try.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No!”

You sighed. It wasn’t so bad—and it certainly wasn’t like you had asked to peg him. But fine… you’d convince him at some point.

“Oh fine…” Perhaps you’d be luckier with the next box. Loki took it from you impatiently. Yep… he would definitely like this one better. It was a little black flogger.

“Much better… I remember promising you to spank that lovely backside of yours, do you?”

You swallowed thickly. “Right now?” You chirped.

“Oh no… when you least expect it.” Loki tested it on his palm, bringing it down forcefully. The sharp sound sent shivers up and down your spine—pleasant shivers. “Oh yes… I am looking forward to using this on you. Last box, my sweet.” He mused. Blinking, you cleared your throat yet again and tended to the last box. Door number thirteen. Curiously, you pulled out a pink vibrator egg with a white removal cord and a remote control.

“That appears to be…”

“Oh, I believe I do know what that is, my sweet.” His eyes locked with yours. Loki’s grin was downright malicious. Your eyes widened. “You can’t expect me to… not tonight!”

“Especially tonight… you asked me to enjoy myself. I can ensure you that now, I will.”

He pushed you down on the bed, his towel falling in the process. He was semi-hard, the thought of putting that vibrating egg in you arousing him endlessly. Part of him wished he could simply skip that superficial Christmas party and fuck you already… but then again he loved teasing you—and he loved an interesting foreplay almost as much as he loved sinking his length into you.

Loki used his thumb to brush over your entrance, testing your wetness. Just like he had expected, he found you dripping, no lube needed for inserting that little toy. You moaned when he pushed it all the way in at once, testing the vibration with the remote control. You flinched, pressing your legs together. Oh dear…

The God of Mischief smirked. Good thing those toys came charged already.

“We will be late for Stark’s Christmas celebration, my sweet.” The constant buzzing made you even hornier than you already were. Damn… this was only the lowest setting. How on Earth would you survive the evening? The vibrator inside you hit all of your sweet spots. If he kept going like this, you would be coming undone for him soon.

Biting your lower lip, you forced yourself back up on your feet, adjusting your skirt. Loki simply flicked his wrist, wrapping himself in his all-black suit—except today, he had exchanged the black tie with an emerald green one matching the season.

He stopped you the moment he switched off the vibrator.

“Hold on. I want you to wear these along with the toy.”

Loki handed you a box he materialised—it was the crotchless panties you had bought along with the calendar in the sex toy. Your eyes widened. Loki would make sure to drive you crazy during that Christmas party, that you were sure of. Leaking through your panties was one thing but leaking all the way down your thighs? Entirely another.

-

Tony had outdone himself. The compound, although smaller, was decorated twice as much as the shopping centre you had been to today. It had been rather chilly on the way here—not short of a miracle since Loki had made you wear that thin excuse for panties.

He had not used the remote since your arrival. You were chatting with your friends—enjoying biscuits, drinking wine and painstakingly spending a lot of time with Tony to figure out what to get him for Christmas.

Loki was by your side the entire time, he’d even gotten involved in a few conversations—but thus far, the Christmas lights Stark had put up everywhere seemed to have been a lot more interesting for him than the party guests.

You had almost forgotten about the vibrator inside you—right until Tony put an arm around you and the instant punishment was the lowest setting of vibrations stimulating your walls, making you flinch. The good thing was, thanks to his raving about his current Iron Man project—you now knew what you’d get Tony for Christmas.

Loki seemingly pretended to focus on one of the wreaths on the wall, one of his hands in his pockets, fingering the remote. When he caught you staring at him warningly, he smirked… and then pressed a button to increase the power.

You suppressed a moan, clenching your fists. If Tony hadn’t been tipsy already, he might have noticed your sudden discomfort but luckily, nobody paid attention when you excused yourself and returned to Loki who was still grinning like a cat who got the cream.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” Anger flashed in his blue eyes. “Who gave him the right to touch you?”

“Loki, please, calm down. Tony is a friend, that gesture was purely companionable. Besides, I was merely trying to find out what to get him for Christmas.”

The God of Mischief growled quietly. There was not a lot he called his own. There was no throne, no kingdom, no army and no people he ruled, and certainly no women that threw themselves at his feet. All of those privileges had been snatched from him even before his birth in the cold of Jötunheim. Thor was the hero, he was the villain. Some things would never change, even if the Avengers pretended they did for the most part. But Loki would never allow them taking you from him. The only woman who took him the way he was, who listened and understood… who loved him. He could not possibly, in spite of his silver tongue, phrase how much he loved you too.

He took the freedom of jealousy, sometimes. Especially when he was in the possession of a little remote which could control your pleasure.

His torture continued for several more hours. Every now and then—whether you were dancing, talking, eating or checking your make-up in the bathroom, Loki would startle you by switching the egg on, slowly or quickly working you towards orgasm and then letting you cool down again. The panties only added to your arousal, knowing that if Loki slipped his hand under your skirt, he’d have instant access to your private parts, testing your wetness for him.

At some point, you wished he’d take you in the bathroom already, grant you some relief. But he didn’t. Loki let you suffer. It was almost midnight when you sat at the bar with Nat. You knew Loki was close by—you could practically feel him staring daggers at your back, yet when you glanced back, you saw him engaged in a chat with his brother. The vibrator was quiet… for now.

You had crossed your legs—making sure not to take any risks. You had just finished another glass of wine when the egg suddenly hummed to life again, making you flinch and sit up straight in an instant.

Natasha eyed you down. “You seem tense, are you alright?”

“Just tipsy…” You lied. Gosh… you felt like crying and smirking at the very same time.

“Tipsiness looks different.” You sighed. Nat was perceptive; of course she was, she was a master assassin. Loki switched to a higher setting—and he kept doing so until the vibrator had reached its peak. Thankfully, because of the Christmas music in the background, no one could hear the buzzing between your legs. What people would notice, however, was you cumming. If he didn’t stop… your breathing quickened.

“(Y/N)… what the hell is wrong with you?” She paused, eyeing you up and down a few times. “Bože moi, please don’t tell me Loki and you didn’t… did he put a—“

Your eyes widened. “Nat! Oh God, shut up! No! Nothing is… I mean, I’m just… he didn’t… If you lose a word about this, I’ll…”

The assassin lifted an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I wish I never asked.”

“I’m… I should leave.” You squeaked.

She hummed in approval, shaking her head slightly when you stormed towards Loki before your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave. You squeezed your eyes shut, clutching at his black suit with a suppressed moan, your pussy contracting around the still vibrating toy. You would have dropped to your knees if he hadn’t supported you instinctively, letting your pleasure consume you. Luckily Thor had just left to pour himself another drink.

“My… that is quite a show you are putting on for me. Tell me, did you enjoy it? Knowing I control your pleasure, your orgasms wherever we are?” He chuckled when you didn’t reply. Finally, the vibrations stopped. You took a deep breath. “Am I right to assume you wish to return home now?” He then asked innocently.

You nodded briefly, allowing him to lead you back to the entrance to pick up your jacket. Your goodbyes were rushed and quick but you couldn’t care less as long as Loki finally brought you away from here.

-

You were angry with him; angry for putting you in such an embarrassing situation! You doubted Natasha would blab, still, her knowing in the first place was shameful as was. But there was more to your rage. You were angry with yourself too, for you had enjoyed this, thoroughly. You had loved how sexy and sneaky Loki had made you feel among the party guests, wearing those crotchless panties and having a toy inside you, with him, just like he had said, controlling your pleasure. Natasha had picked up on that aspect rather quickly too, so you figured. Damn it.

Once you were back in your bedroom, you reached between your legs. You pulled out the toy with a silent popping noise, throwing it on the bed.

“Loki, what were you thinking?!” You pointed at the wet toy as if it were to blame for what happened tonight. “Do you realise that Nat smelled the rat immediately? She probably even witnessed me… oh my God!”

Burying your hands in your face, you shook your head.

“What does it matter? Let them all see what is mine and what they will never have. Let them see what we share.” He spat, arousal glistening in his eyes. Rest assured, Loki had imagined fucking you before the Avengers’ eyes before. He would not actually do it… but the thought of demonstrating them how much you wanted him filled him with both pride and arousal. Natasha Romanoff knowing about your intimate… connection during the Christmas party did not worry him. He would not have taken it this far if he had had doubts the assassin would act on what she saw tonight.

“You’re such an animal sometimes!”

Loki lifted his chin, approaching you slowly and threateningly—yet you did not dare move away from him. “If that truly is the worst insult you can come up with when you are angry with me, my sweet, I gladly accept.” He growled. Unceremoniously, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you flush against him. “Is there anything else you would like to say?” A barely visible smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, his lips only inches from yours. Oh…

“Yes!” You hissed. “Fuck me already!”

Loki happily obliged. He threw you on the bed effortlessly, removing your boots with magic. A dagger materialised in his hand, the green shimmer making you squint for a second. It was almost pitch black in your bedroom.

“Keep still…” He ordered softly. You nodded, unsure of what he would do next. You gasped for air when you suddenly felt the cold blade against the sensitive skin of your neck, the metal tip slowly trailing down to your collarbone ever so slightly, right until he reached the hem of your pullover.

“I have been waiting to take these clothes off of you ever since you put them on, my sweet.” He purred in your ear, making you shiver. Loki cut those annoying layers of fabric between you two open like they were made of paper, revealing your bare skin. You had relinquished wearing a bra tonight—a circumstance which he thoroughly enjoyed.

As light as a feather, he used his dagger to draw an invisible line all the way from between your chest down to your navel. Any wrong movement could mean serious injury and blood—the thrill of him using his weapon of choice to bring you pleasure catapulted your arousal to another sphere. Loki always knew how to keep things exciting in bed.

You stilled almost completely when the tip of his blade reached your skirt and crotchless panties. One tug with the sharp end—and they fell off of you and on the mattress. You flinched when you suddenly felt the knife on your outer lips, tracing your vulva lazily.

“Loki…” You whispered. The God of Mischief took your hand for reassurance, signalising you were safe with him. In all honesty though, you were already on the verge of orgasm again. All you needed was a little… just a little stimulation to come undone for him.

It was like he read your thoughts. You never learned when his own clothes disappeared—only when he thrust into you without any forewarning, claiming you fast and roughly. The dagger disappeared, instead, his skilled fingers began to explore you relentlessly all the while he fucked you into oblivion. Your fingernails dug into his back, wanting him even closer, your legs wrapped around his hips so he could bury himself inside you even deeper.

Tonight, there was no love making. Tonight, there was primal fucking, giving in to your most depraved urges for one another. Neither of you lasted long. Loki came inside you with a loud grunt the moment he made you climax with his fingers rubbing your clit demandingly—almost forcing that orgasm out of you. You contracted around him repeatedly, milking him for all he was worth all the while he spilled his warm seed into you, throbbing against your walls.

Once you had come down from your high and your jar of bottled-up emotions had emptied again, he flipped you over so you came to lie on top of him, still joined. Your eyes were already half-closed when you felt him draping a blanket over the both of you.

“I love you so much…” You mumbled, right before you fell asleep. His quiet ‘I love you too, my sweet (Y/N)’ was already part of a wonderful dream.

-

A/N: Do not worry, I have not forgotten what the other doors revealed. ;-) Doors 14 and 15 will be opened on Sunday, December 15th!

These doors also contained three anon requests! :-)

Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente

[aloisofmissouri]

A Journal Entry

July 20th, 2021

11:44pm

Trigger Warning:

 Sexual Assault, Self Harm,Mental Health, physical health, and occasional swears.

Dear Reader,

I’m only eighteen but I have experienced a lot, and so have many other teens I know. I know at least four of my classmates have been raped at some point in their life. And who knows what others may have been through and I never knew. 

But I’m not writing to share their story, unless they decide that they want their story told. As of now, I am writing to share my story. 

So, let's start with my earliest memory.

My earliest memory is watching Elmo and Little Bear from my crib in the living room when I was probably a toddler. I don’t remember much, other than enjoying the cartoons. It was happy and innocent. One of the few childhood memories I can look back on and smile. 

I was really young when I was first raped. First raped, you caught that part, right? Yeah, I wasn’t raped just once, but multiple times by one man. The man I had grown up calling my father. The man on my birth certificate. I’m not exactly how old I was when it started, but if I had to guess, I was probably in the first or  second grade when it went past the occasional groping and lewd comments. 

Near the end of third grade, my mother decided to take me and my sibling to live with our grandmother. But that didn’t last long.

We ended up moving back in with our mother and abusive father when I was in fifth grade. I didn’t want to but my father manipulated me into doing so. He threatened to place a restraining order on my grandmother when I wanted to stay with her. 

Things were miserable and the abuse continued. But luckily I was able to go back to my grandmother by sixth grade. But I still had to deal with what happened.

I believe my grandmother meant well, but she use to tell me not to let people know what had happened to me. She said that no one would want to be with someone who was raped because a lot of people view them as used or damaged goods basically. 

My grandmother was a bit emotionally damaging, though I know she more than likely didn’t know that she was being so. I have reason to believe that she has dementia and possibly a personality disorder. 

I remember her saying that I shouldn’t wear plaid or spotted clothing because it would make me look bigger than the broad side of a barn. She also told me to stay away from bright colors because they would have the same effect. I refused to stay away from plaid though, I kept that jacket from middle school until junior year when I could no longer zip it. But it took me a long time to wear bright colors, and it is still hard. I also have a hard time feeling comfortable in my own skin, and not just because of the occasional comment about my weight from my grandmother, but also because of the abuse I had dealt with from my father. I spent the majority of school always wearing jeans, jackets, and dark clothing. I didn’t feel comfortable wearing shorts. And I’m still getting used to wearing them. 

I had to go to court in middle school. Someone had apparently turned my father in for what he had done to me (I was living with my grandmother again by then) and we still do not know who reported them. I wish I could thank whoever turned him in. 

Sadly, they only gave him three years despite the evidence. And he was only going to have to serve one and a half years because of the amount of time spent in a jail cell waiting for court that kept getting rescheduled. He died of stage four lung cancer though before he was half way through his time.

My freshman year I finally realised I had anxiety and that there was something definitely wrong with me mentally. By my sophomore year, I was self harming and in counselling and diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, PTSD, OCD, and Anxiety. By junior year I was on a lot of medication thanks to a pill happy psychiatrist. And I was miserable. But thankfully, I found a new psychiatrist who quickly helped me get cut down to just one pill. Near the end of junior year, I quit self harming. And I also finally started to get a bit of control over my mania and my depression.

I have a Google Doc somewhere that has over 150 pages of poetry, and the majority of it is about depression, trauma, and anger. And they were all written during middle school and highschool. Writing poetry helped me then. Now, I don’t really write poetry anymore. I have only written a handful of poems within the last year. And they were mostly in Shakespearean English because I thought it would be fun.

I believe I might have religious anxiety. I don’t remember the technical term though. I grew up going to Baptist Churches and had a heavy christian influence. But sadly, Christians aren’t quite as christian as they are supposed to be. 

Due to being constantly worried about sinning and about being too filthy and being damned to hell, my depression and anxiety got to me from a different angle. I kept breaking up with everyone I dated if I feared we were getting too close. I would either feel like I wasn’t good enough or I would fear that we would have sex and I would be damned. I also hated myself for my sexuality, though it took me a long time to figure that out. I supported my LGBTA+ friends but when it came to myself, I couldn’t accept myself. 

When I self harmed, I would do it because I felt filthy and had this urge to scratch my skin off my body because I never felt clean. I never hurt myself too severely, just scratches and shallow cuts on my wrist and my thigh. But I still found it hard to quit. It became far too easy to always turn to the blade, regardless of if I was feeling filthy or if I was dissociating or if I was having a panic attack. 

Despite what had happened to me, I’m finally starting to become me. Even though I am still discovering who I am. I quite self harming, I don’t have quite as many panic attacks or nightmares, I lost my virginity, learned I am demisexual (leaning a bit towards asexuality though) Panromantic and Nonbinary. I also discovered I have some other health issues outside of my mental health. I am apparently allergic to alphagall, peanuts, and wheat. Thankfully I just get slightly sick if I eat those things though, but it is still a bit annoying when those things are basically in everything you like to eat. 

I also found out that the reason my menstrual cycle has always been so irregular is because I have cysts. Originally I thought I had PCOS but now after some ultrasounds, it is looking like Endometriosis. I have cysts on my uterus and my ovaries. The doctor told me that my insurance should cover the surgery if I were to get a total hysterectomy. 

I never really wanted to give birth so that part of this doesn’t bother me, my fear is that there will be issues from the surgery. And it has also spurred some identity issues. But so far, I am sticking to they/them pronouns. Even though my family still calls me she/her. But I haven’t really come out to them. They know I’m not 100% straight, but who wants to sit down and explain to their grandmother (who dropped out of school in eight grade to care for her grandma, has a flip phone, and just a few years ago decided to accept the lgbt+ part of her family) that I’m nonbinary? I barely manage to explain to my mother (highschool dropout because of pregnancy, has a touch screen phone and understand some things of the current century) that there is more than just straight, gay, and bisexual. I explained to my mother the other day what omnigender and nonbinary is. Had to explain transgender to my mother when I was a junior and introduced her to a friend of mine who was afab but went by he/him pronouns. 

I suppose that despite all the shit I’ve been through, at least my mother doesn’t give two flying fucks who I like. When I told her that I thought I was pansexual in middle school, all she did was ask me what that meant. Then she just nodded her head and went with it. Same thing when I decided I was Wiccan in middle school. She even bought me a pentacle necklace and every book (mostly fantasy) that mentioned witches. I no longer identify as Wiccan, I mostly just stick to animist. But my point being, my mother didn’t throw a fit when two of her nine kids came out as gay. Even if she does identify as a Saturday Adventist, she supports us. She even listens to me ramble about mistranslated things in the Bible and my views on theology. And my rants about Supernatural. Though she did laugh when I spent about an hour crying after the Supernatural second to last episode of season 15. She did listen to me rant about Castiel and the plot lines and everything. Though I had to keep explaining some of the characters to her. 

Despite the things I’ve been through, I managed to graduate high school, survive my severe depression and anxiety, and now I am thinking about possibly applying for Law school and going to college. And I now also have the confidence to do what I want and wear what I want. Though I still feel all nervous about asking out a girl I’ve been friends with for about three or more years. I’ve now made the excuse to wait and see if she mentions not being completely straight. Oh, and she now has a boyfriend too so yeah, gonna have to wait a bit.

Until next time,

Alois 🐧

[scribbles97]

Fire Broken - Chapter 2

Chapter One

Warning… Spoilers ahead for Thunderbirds Season 3 Episode 24!

@gumnut-logic thank you as always for your endless support and help with this one... not gonna apologise for hurting your boy though!

Thank you everyone who commented on Chapter 1... didn’t really ever have an option but to continue really did I?

Under the cut for SPOILERS!

The snippets of conversations that he heard were few and far between, those that he remembered were even fewer. It was his grandmother's voice that he could pick up mostly, her soft tones reassuring even if she didn’t know he was listening. He wondered where Scott was, big brother usually was the first one on the scene when one of his siblings was laid up in hospital. 

Virgil knew where he was. The drugs in his system hadn’t affected his memory of what had happened, and there had been no head injury when the tree had landed on him. 

Despite the painkillers he knew he was on, he could still feel the heat under his skin. The dull needle pricks sneaking through in random patches across his back and down his left arm. Words wouldn’t form on his lips, despite his need to let Grandma know he was there and that he was okay. Perhaps then they’d get rid of the damn tube down his nose that did nothing but irritate him. 

“I can see you pulling faces you know, young man.” 

Grandma’s comment was most certainly aimed at him and he knew he should respond. 

It was just so hard though.

Why did drugs make everything so heavy?

Her hand was light on his right arm, she was obviously very well aware of his injuries. Of course she would be, she was Doctor Sally Tracy, she’d have read the full report and demanded any answers she wanted of the hospital staff. 

“I know you’re in there, Virgil.” She prompted again, “Think you’ve got it in you to talk to your Grandma?”

The grunt of acknowledgement that did escape his lips was pathetic. 

“How are you feeling?”

He screwed up his face, trying to find a word but failing to come up with anything. His mouth was dry, and as he licked his lips he realised they were cracked and rough.

“Think you can manage a drink?”

It felt like it took all the effort in the world to tilt his head towards her, but opening his eyes seemed to be twice as hard. 

The black and white long sleeved top she was wearing was a nice change from the onesie she always wore on the island. Her hair wasn’t as well kept as usual though, it had dropped slightly out of its usual style, apparently missing its usual coating of hairspray. 

“Hey,” He managed to croak, wincing as the word rubbed against his throat. 

“Sip this.” She told him, holding out a glass of water with a straw, “It’s just because you’ve been asleep for a while. The doctors said there wasn’t any smoke inhalation.”

He knew that. His helmet hadn’t breached when he had fallen. The seal had remained in place until Gordon had removed it on Thunderbird Two. 

The water was a blessing, cool and smooth against his throat, clearing the irritation from the feeding tube down his nose.

He must have been frowning at it again for Grandma to fill him in.

“They wanted to get you started on a high protein diet straight away. Seeing as we weren’t sure when you’d be awake the tube was thought to be the best option.”

He grunted and sighed, “‘m awake now.”

“Barely Virgil,” She tutted, “We all know how drugs knock you out.”

Ignoring the comment he looked around the rest of the room. It was standard, white, clinical, spotless and empty except from the necessities.

“Where’s--” He started, pausing to swallow as his voice croaked again. 

Grandma didn’t answer immediately and her silence worried him. Were they in trouble? Had the rescue failed? Was there another rescue that was worse?

Her face spoke volumes, even her eyes were sad as her mouth turned down. The slightest shake of her head as she reached out to his arm again wasn’t a comfort by any means. 

“Honey,” She started, voice so much softer than it had been a moment ago, “If the Zero-XL doesn’t launch by the end of this week, we don’t get another shot at this for a long time.”

His heart stuttered in his chest. 

Of course, Brains had said a matter of days. 

He had no idea how long he’d been out of it because of the drugs. 

They hadn’t already launched.

They were all meant to be preparing. 

He was meant to be preparing.

His breath left him all at once as he leant back heavily against the cooling gel mattress. 

“Virgil?” Grandma prompted gently, “Talk to me kid.”

He shook his head, everything suddenly feeling so much heavier than it had under the influence of the drugs. It was all he could do to focus on each breath, in, out, in, out. 

They would launch by the end of the week. 

In a matter of days they would be going to find Dad. 

It was a moment they had all been waiting months for. 

A moment he had hugged Brains for before they had left. 

A moment he knew that he was going to miss out on. 

The realisation hit him like a brick in the chest, allowing a sob to break out unexpectedly. 

Doubling forward, he ignored how the pain intensified down his side. In comparison to the ache in his chest it was nothing. 

Grandma’s arms wrapped around him, so thin and hardly able to reach around the width of his shoulders, but still such a comfort just to have there. Her fingers reached up, carding gently through his hair as she murmured softly to him. Empty reassurances that both of them knew meant nothing. 

“I’m sorry Virgil.” She whispered as he finally lay back, exhausted, limp, and spent. 

He shook his head, letting his eyes rest closed as he sniffed again. 

“Not your fault,” He whispered, “Nobody's fault.”

Her hand stayed in his hair, combing gently through the strands as he gave up. Letting the drugs claim him once more was easier than staying awake and facing the reality. At least then it hurt just a little bit less. 

[msjr0119]

Cordonian Wags

Part 2a- Training

In a world full of Professional footballers and their demanding wives- can their football team nicknamed the ‘Cordonian Apples’ succeed? An American female physiotherapist joins the club. Will this cause issues with the footballers wives?

*This series is based on The Royal Romance characters who belong to Pixelberry - AU Plot switch*

READ THIS PART BEFORE PART 2B 😊👍🏼

Tags: @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @whenyourheartskipsabeat @jovialyouthmusic @nz1091 @yukinagato2012 @indiacater

******

Madeleine stumbled out the bathroom, after doing her usual party trick. Feeling high, she felt good in herself. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t help herself- she was addicted.

“Enjoying powdering your nose Mrs Rhys?” Olivia narrowed her eyes at the mess of a woman stood in front of her

“Enjoying stalking my every move Mrs Rhys? Sad little life you lead...”

“We all know what you’re like Maddy! I’m not sad. If only Leo loved you... I kind of feel sorry for you- NOT!”

“Maybe you should try ‘powdering your nose’ one day- it might prevent that resting bitch expression you seem to wear constantly. You’re just jealous Liv- jealous that you can’t get dick like I can, jealous that you aren’t married to the captain...Poor little Livvy. Where is your husband anyway?”

Olivia gave Madeleine dagger eyes, not wanting to allow her have the last word in this spat- but the woman was talking sense. She hadn’t seen Liam for while, or Leo or Drake for that matter.

*****

Riley ran into the ballroom, the room was spinning- feeling like she was suffocating she had to remove herself from the scenario. Feeling paranoid that everyone was staring, she tried to conceal her feelings as she needed to sneak out. Sending a quick text to Constantine and Bertrand- she couldn’t bear facing everyone.

‘Thank you for the invite- it’s been a lovely night. I’ll see you at training tomorrow.. Ri x’

Lovely what the fuck why would you write that- it’s been eventful to say the least.

As she was texting, she wasn’t paying attention as to where she was walking.

“Oh. I’m so sorry, I’m such a klutz. Please forgive me ladies.”

Before Olivia or Madeleine could respond- Riley swiftly exited the room, not looking back. They then both turned their heads and saw Liam come from near the veranda straightening his tie, breathing heavy. Shortly after, Leo followed from the same direction pulling his zip up- with a smirk as if he won the jackpot. Five minutes after Drake returned into the room providing a melancholy gaze, sorrow in his eyes.

The two wives looked at each other- both knowing something odd was going on. Neither had the opportunity to speak to Riley tonight- but after witnessing her attitude and the men’s reactions shortly after- they both agreed on something for the first time in their life’s.

“Ladies night- later this week!” They both said in unison. ‘Ladies night’ was a night that the Wags would organise- a night together without the men to receive gossip or interrogate each other about something.

*****

The night had ended, everyone headed outside to where a line of taxis were waiting provided for by the club. Going their separate ways, they each returned to their homes.

Olivia and Liam arrived home, he had been unusually quiet. Entering their bedroom, Olivia seductively made a move on her husband- which he declined. Olivia eyed her husband with confusion- no matter how drunk he was they would still have special time together.

“Not tonight Liv, I’m tired. And I’ve got training tomorrow. Love you.”

Olivia didn’t respond. Her mind was working overtime- paranoid that her brother in laws bad influence was rubbing on to Liam. She sighed, as she got into bed- Liam was already sparko.

*****

Leo walked through his front door- well attempted to walk. Madeleine pushed her way passed him. Throwing her Louboutin shoes off- not caring that they cost Leo a fortune.

“I’m surprised you managed to come home for once Leo! Did she reject you? Not surprised - she would need a magnifying glass to see what’s in your pants! Goodnight darling.”

“As a matter of fact, I had the best kiss ever! Better than kissing a slapped arse like you.... goodnight wifey. Sweet dreams....”

*****

Maxwell had offered to take Drake home once Constantine had finished his announcement. However the drinks kept flowing and Drake let his hair down. Mainly standing in the corner people watching.

His head was spinning as he returned home, he thanked Maxwell for the offer- but he just wanted to jump in bed and sleep off the alcohol before training the following morning.

Opening his door, he saw Kiara in lingerie waiting for his return. Shaking his head he couldn’t forgive her for not attending so she definitely wasn’t having sex from him.

“You’re home late...” she said seductively, roaming her hands over his body.

“I’m surprised you’re even here. How was work?” He snapped back- imagining her nose to grow like Pinocchio.

“How was the party?”

“Why did you ignore my question? It was the usual- Leo drunk and trying it on with anything with a pulse! Savannah was intoxicated. Maddy spent half the night in the bathroom, when she wasn’t there she was spitting insults towards Liv... you’d have known if you had bothered to come! But no you don’t care! It’s all about you isn’t it Ki?”

“Drake please...”

“No kiara! I’m fed up of you, of this, of us.... I want you to leave!”

“It’s just the booze... come to bed baby.”

“I’m sleeping on the couch. Goodnight Kiara.”

*****

Riley had a quick shower when she returned to her flat, pulling her hair into a lose bun she observed the paperwork she had prepared for the men.

Setting an alarm on her phone, she was about to place it on the bedside table before it began to buzz.

I know you probably don’t want to hear from me- I just had to get your number from Bertrand. I can still smell you on me- I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss. I haven’t stopped thinking about you, I’m sorry that it was impromptu- it felt right. I hope it doesn’t ruin our friendship. 😞

You need to stop thinking about it. Everyone was drunk. It was a drunk stupid moment. I shouldn’t have allowed it to happen. We will never have a friendship- for the next nine months all we have is a professional relationship. Goodnight!👋🏼

So it meant nothing to you then? Nothing at all?🤔

It meant nothing. Please don’t text me back. See you at training.⚽️

Lie to me. Lie to yourself. But there was a spark there. We need to talk about it. See you tomorrow 😘

Riley ignored the last text, she felt like she had to block the number but couldn’t bring herself to do it.

*****

Riley met Bertrand on the pitch the following day, her head was still spinning- she was hoping that she wasn’t the only one with a lingering hangover.

“What is that monstrosity that you are drinking?” Bertrand frowned at her and spoke to her with disgust in his tone of voice.

“Hangover cure, Mr Beaumont... kale, celery, apple, avocado, ginger and lemon. It surprisingly works a treat- once it kicks in.”

“With all due respect Riley, it looks like my wife’s sick this morning.”

“She was that bad huh?” At least I wasn’t the only one, she thought.

“Yes. She’s what you would call a lightweight. Did he text you by the way? He said you left your bank card. I wouldn’t usually give people’s numbers out.....”

Riley showed a perplexed expression, then realised that was the excuse to gain her number. Opening her mouth ready to explain that it was a misunderstanding she was interrupted by the man she kissed.

“Yes, I did text her... Here’s your card, Riley.”

Riley shook her head, what a shit excuse to get my number...

“Just pretend and give me it back after training” he whispered.

“Won’t your significant other half need your credit card to go on a shopping spree?” She whispered back before using her usual tone of voice.

“Thank you. Whilst you’re here- fill this form out for me please.”

Bertrand walked away to prepare the training equipment, and also organised the water bottles to be prepared for the men. Riley was going to help him but was pulled back. He grabbed her wrist forcing her to look at him.

“You can’t avoid me. We need to talk.”

“As I said to you, there’s nothing to talk about. You need to go inside and get ready for training.”

He removed his top, smirking at her as he discarded it on the floor.

“It’s a sunny day.. might as well get a head start before the lads arrive...”

Riley couldn’t help but admire his muscled and ripped body before shaking her head and making her way towards the dressing room. He’s taken, I’m married- you are here work Riley Brooks.

******

Once the men had all arrived for training, the atmosphere in the dressing room was quiet and slightly morbid due to everyone suffering with their hangovers. Bertrand allowed Riley in the room once all the men were dressed, she gave them each a medical form and pen.

After reviewing the forms, the men were generally all fit and well. Luckily for her there were no major injuries that had occurred last season.

“Gentlemen, i don’t know how your old physio worked with you, but I’d like you to follow two procedures known as PRICE and HARM if an injury occurs. Please read through these leaflets. Please play nice. Wear the correct footwear, always warm up and warm down properly. If you are in any pain during training or a match please don’t continue playing, please come to one of us for advise. Rest is an important factor as well as a balanced diet. Keep hydrated at all times! Mr Beaumont, I’ll let you continue... Please don’t make too much work for me!” She laughed, and the men chuckled back.

“You heard the lady, gentleman. We need to kick start the season off with 3 points. No prancing about like women. Let’s go and all give it your best.”

******

The men completed training for the day, Riley felt that they weren’t concentrating as they should be. Every so often, Leo, Liam and Drake would come upto her for a drink of water. Each one of them attempted to talk to her- she felt ignorant but they didn’t have time for ‘chit chat’. They had their first match in a few days.

Once the training had ended, Leo made his way over to Riley and Bertrand who were filling out paper work- he could win an Oscar for the way he was acting with his fake limp.

“Riley, my leg hurts. Could you massage it for me?” Providing her with a pet lip and a wink, Riley just raised her eyebrows.

“You are fine. And for the record- you need to trust your team mates and allow them to help you. You are a team- it’s not the Leo Rhys show. You are going to gain an injury by not allowing them to score too!”

“Would that be such a bad thing gaining an injury? I’d have your hands all over me.”

“You’re gross you know that? And yes it would be a bad thing for your wife if you can’t play ever again.”

“Fuck her....”

“Fuck who?” Liam asked, walking into the middle of a conversation.

“My beautiful wife- your sister in law.” He shuddered as he said this- He detested her, he wanted a divorce but his father advised him not to. Drake joined the two brothers as they insulted their wives, before providing his own two-penneth.

“Madeleine is beautiful, maybe? But she’s a devil in disguise. Like all the women here.”

“I’ll leave you three to criticise us women alone. I need to go, Leo remember what I said- you’re all a team. See ya.”

“Is she okay? What did you do to her Leo?” Liam concerned with his brothers past interactions with women- they either fell at his knees or ran away. Exactly what Riley had just done. Liam didn’t understand why but he was constantly thinking about the newbie- most likely had similar thoughts to his brother. But he respected Olivia - even though these thoughts lingered throughout his mind, he loved his wife. Maybe Riley was just that lust feeling.

“I did nothing- I asked for a massage, she refused. I will get her one of these days, I’ll make her mine just you two watch!”

Leo left the men, with an overconfident stroll. His thought remained on Riley. Constantly thinking of how to claim her as his. He was a player - no pun intended, but he often thought if he found the right person his attitude may change and he could eventually settle down.

“So Drake, Just you and I... Are you going to Max’s later? If so, will Kiara be attending?”

“No, I’m going to give it a miss. And no she’s.....”

“Working?” They both said in unison- Liam laughed, Drake meanwhile wanted to kill him for making his love life look like a laughing stock.

“It’ll be a good night, I wonder what Riley will think of a Beaumont bash. She’s either going to love them or hate them. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Drake nodded. He didn’t actually know what Kiara had planned for the night as he slept on the couch- his sleeping beauty was still asleep when he left for training. Just having Riley’s name mentioned, made him think about her. And quite possibly change his mind about attending the younger Beaumont’s party.

*****

Some of the friends arrived at Maxwell’s house, he had prepared a music Masterlist, placed far too much glitter around everywhere and in everything- please don’t choke on the glitter.

Max, Hana, Bertrand, Savannah, Leo, Liam and Drake all were socialising. Drake offered to go and put his nephew to bed. He was a fantastic uncle and loved his nephew to the moon and back- unconditional love. Bartie fell asleep instantly in his uncles arms- looking down at the young boy he wished he had what Savannah and Bertrand had- a loving family.

“So where are all the wives then?” Maxwell questioned, aiming the question towards Leo Liam and Drake as he re-entered the room.

“Well for a start I’m not married, Maxwell. And I never will be.”

“To answer your question Max, Olivia is out with her aunt.”

“And maddy... she could be dead in a ditch for all I care.”

Before Maxwell could answer, Bertrand’s phone rung.

“Hi Riley. What’s up?”

“Erm, could you put Maxwell on the phone please?”

Bertrand gave Max the phone, Max in his drunk mind put her on loud speaker - unknowingly to her.

“Hi gorgeous. What’s up? What time are you coming? Hana and Savannah can’t wait to see you.”

“I’m really sorry I’m not coming....”

Riley hung up, Maxwell grabbed Hana and rung a taxi- asking Bertrand for her address they both got in the taxi hoping to persuade her to reconsider. The others looked bewildered as the two of them ran out of the house. Leo, Liam and Drake all deep down were heartbroken that she wasn’t coming but at the same were concerned after hearing her cry.

******

The two friends banged on her door, hoping she would answer. They didn’t like to see anyone upset- and as a team they were supposed to look after each other.

Riley got out of bed, leaving the half a bar of chocolate on the side- whenever she was upset she turned to chocolate, she had a sweet tooth.

“Max? Hana?”

“What’s up? You’ve been crying.” Maxwell stating the obvious, pulled her into a tight hug. Wiping the mascara and tears away from her face she now didn’t mimic a panda.

“I’m sorry, I’m just not in the mood to party... Come in for a quick drink? I don’t want to keep you from everyone...”

Maxwell and Hana followed her inside, noticing Bridget Jones on the tv, a large glass of wine, and a shit ton of chocolate wrappers and Riley’s wedding rings on the table.

“So.... I had a phone call today after training. My husband is refusing to sign the divorce papers...”

“Even more of a reason to drink with friends then... pack a bag you can stay at mine for a few nights...”

Riley sat on her leather couch, head in her hands. Usually she was the strong independent woman even after all the shit her husband put her through.

“What happened with your marriage Riley? You don’t have to tell us but we can help.” Hana asked softly, providing a comforting arm.

“Xavier- my estranged husband is the Spanish version of Leo... humiliated me, slept around, flirted with women in front of me. He became injured- and never played for the premier league again. After that he became paranoid that I was around his colleagues too much. He abused me. Emotionally and physically. And now the son of a bitch won’t divorce me. I came here to start a fresh. I didn’t want another relationship, he has put me off for life...but....”

“But what?” Maxwell’s eyebrows perked up, awaiting for some gossip.

“At the party, someone kissed me. I was so angry at myself for losing the will power. I feel guilty. Your brother gave him my number- I want to block him. But I can’t. I don’t think I can do this or stay here.”

“Get your things! You’re coming back to mine. You are staying with us. It’ll be fun - sleepovers, eating more chocolate than you have done tonight, I have wine lots of wine. You are not leaving. You don’t have to tell us who you kissed... that is your business. Between you two.”

[pilotheather]

aye, really starting to loathe the “yaz kills either graham/ryan whilst under the dalek influence” like-

1. first of all. hate this presumption that graham/ryan have to die. personally, im fine with companions dying - clara’s penultimate exit in face the raven was done beautifully, i think, and i will FOREVER resent them not leaving it like that. however with graham and ryan? literally, i just feel like... it’s so cheap. it offers nothing, babes! and it’s just infinitely LESS interesting than if you just kept them alive.

all the companions, in my opinions, still lack development. i do love them! i really am warming to them. but we’re two seasons in, and the fact of the matter remains they just... haven’t gelled too well with the show proper and they aren’t as fully realised as they should be by this point. and frankly, its not one singular problem moreso it’s an interwoven web of issues (hence it’s hard to really unpick that, without unravelling the whole mess) that have affected the show completely. the point is, despite being here so long, they just still feel so unexplored as people and a little unknown to us and idk!!! i think killing them, wouldn’t offer much in the way of anything interesting - other than, like i said, a very cheap way to instigate tragedy, and springboard some trauma-induced development for yaz&13 - because we aren’t really gaining more than we’re losing here, man.

clara’s exit in face the raven WORKED because it had been building up to it all season. i also dont like amy/rory’s exits (but that’s v potentially my own biases) but theoretically, i can see the vision for that- and the reason why that would be so tragic, is BECAUSE amy&rory are so fully formed at tht point that that loss hits. im not sayin graham&ryan dying would NOT be sad, but it’s... just too soon, still, for me. and when, narratively speaking, they’ve been setting up them thinking about leaving anyway? at least, ryan has? just doesn’t feel quite right at all and just like i said: a pointless attempt, at taking their exits, and doing weird tragedy shit with it for the sake of it.

especially when the ALTERNATIVE is they can stay on in the same way martha did: on earth, totally fine, and with the opportunity to reappear in later seasons. they can progress offscreen in ways that can be satisfying, in the way martha did. she moved on; she became someone different; and yet that change was still guided by what we had seen. same can be done with ryan and graham, finishing their stories and making them all the more satisfying.

2. piggybacking off of that. literally, this scenario of yaz killing them: what would that DO for yaz exactly? like.. what big payoff are u expecting from her? you’re just... horrifically traumatising her. and im wondering, like- where would that leave her in s13?  because she’s supposed to still be here, then, and supposedly travelling with the doctor. and again it just feels so damn cheap: because yaz really does still feel like she’s at the beginning of her story, despite being here for two years (and god am i a little mad abt that; it’s so, so sad that she really could be replaced with a cardboard cutout for most of s11). explore what we HAVE of her, first, before trying to go so damn dark with her. it’s not going to have the payoff you want. you have to work a bit more, to do something like that first. using some fucked up shit like that, just as a springboard for character development it just- it feels so damn lazy to me...  and again, i do not feasibly see how this could properly segue into s13 on that damn note. like the conse

3. and just... god in general. i just. okay again with chibbers and his writing. literally i dont want to sound so negative abt chibnall bc like SOME ppl really do just fucking attack . KILL. over every damn thing, without a breath and its like... okay babe. okay. and i mean, granted i can be a little like tht with moffat tbh - and so  i get ppl do get a little FERVENT when it comes to shit they dont like but- BUT MY POINT IS. i really dont hate-hate this era of who. s7 will still be my least favourite, even if i do still regard this all as bottom of the pile stuff- and that is frustrating, because it really does have potential! but anyway god. what was my fucking point. oh yeah. chibnall. if this was the case.... if this really did fucking happen. god no offence but fucking hell i do not trust chibnall to treat such a heavy scene well enough. not with the way s11 and s12 have been. and its just because... again this is all the WEB OF ISSUES with these seasons... but all of it just boils down to: every single script really needed a second or third pass over. ITS LIKE, things are kinda right, but its always jsut...wrong and its soi many things that just dont quite work and  instead all work in tandem to bring this ship down.

too many companions, leading to a bloated tardis; leading to none of them getting enough focus; leading to weaker characters whose dynamics with each other aren’t always hitting. there’s swathes of s12, where the doctor is just completely disconnected from the companions altogether. she just doesnt talk to them. and there’s a difference between her being detached, and her just.... LITERALLT FORGETTING THEY EXIST. i remember- was it ryan who disappears at one poimt, and she JUST DOESNT NOTICE? and then all of them disappear in fugitive? like its just so... the companion-docgtor relationship is so INTEGRAL to the whole show!!! it makes story beats less effective; not even that, the whole energy is brought down, because they just don’t TALK properly (and the dialogue... good god, is it stiff: and whilst i hated 11′s era of mutated LOL THAT’S SO RANDOM. THE HORSE IS NAMED SUSAN. BOWTIES FEZ FEZ HOW MANY MARKETABLE RANDOM SHIT CAN WE THROW AT THE PAAAGE it felt like characters were bouncing off each other... there’s now these long pauses, places where it should have been snappier, awkward remarks thrown in there and then) . it, again, bloats EVERYTHING bc half the time you have to just give stuff for these ppl to do and its like man, why! why ! its all so.... sloppy in a way that’s sad bc it was ALMOST right. things are ALMOST right here but it doesnt QUITE work and it needs pulling together into something neater, tighter.  AND GIVEN ALL OF THAT. i do not think, with the way he’s been handling things, this man would ever be capable of pulling off something as fucked up like that in a way that has any weight even disregarding the two above points

4 lastly. just fucking dont kill ryan man. c’mon. how many main, black characters have we had? hmm, let’s see. martha, mickey, danny, bill. we’re going at a 50% survival rate, with the other two facing pretty poor treatment in the writing room in general. no, im not letting it go: you cant literally refer to mickey, who was the first, like, leading black character on the show, as a fucking DOG repeatedly.  if you’re gonna decide to diversify the tardis, pay your dues; dont fucking axe him for what, again, really just feels like empty emotional tortureporn. ryan deserves better.

[theseventhhex]

Kasabian Interview

Ian Matthews, Sergio Pizzorno, Tom Meighan & Chris Edwards

Kasabian returned earlier this year brimming with confidence with their explosive latest release entitled ‘For Crying Out Loud’. The band’s sixth studio album prompts the usual swagger and flexibility for huge tunes, as well as a more grittier direction compared to 2014’s ‘48:13’. Keen to make a truly great guitar album, the record explores an old-school attitude towards songwriting with striking guitar work formed over a whirlwind six weeks of proficiency for chief songwriter Serge Pizzorno. The imposing outcomes throughout this body of work captures the frequent festival headliners basking in their sweet-spot, delivering upbeat statements and addictive hooks… The Seventh Hex talks to Serge Pizzorno about having parameters in place, Leicester City and fatherhood...

TSH: In the lead-up to 'For Crying Out Loud' you underwent some significant changes in your personal life. Were you very much in the frame of mind of waiting for some sort of influences to guide you?

Serge: Yeah, definitely. Before making any record, you need a real sense of strong influences and worthy inspiration to guide you. I see bands making records to service the machine, you know? I can never do that. When I go in to make a record, it consumes my whole state of mind - I'm even void of sleep at times. You have to fully commit yourself. Initially, I went into the studio and I had no real ideas or thoughts for this album. All of a sudden, I realised what excited me was putting a timeframe in place. I basically gave myself six weeks to complete the record.

TSH: Was it case of having boundaries to help you excel?

Serge: Yeah, I eliminated so many other processes of making an album. I wanted to restrict myself. It's how they made records back in the day when they didn't have enough time. I'm lucky in this day and age like many others to have a studio in my home; therefore I can spend countless hours at home just getting the vibe right.

TSH: Part of imposing limits on yourself meant you were only using guitar and piano...

Serge: Yeah, which made the whole process so exciting and interesting. Also, having this approach allowed me to concentrate on the production side more, knowing that I already had the basis of good melodies and big choruses. I just like to always mix things up, you know? For the next record, I'll conjure up a totally different perspective. Limiting myself worked for this release, it felt like the right thing to do. However, Kasabian will always be offering a new range and variety when it comes to a new record.

TSH: You also went back to the classic songwriting and production style of not letting any song be over three minutes, admiring what you feel is the 'true structure' of songs...

Serge: Definitely. I was quite militant with this approach. I didn't allow myself any self-indulgence until the very end with 'Are You Looking for Action?' being eight minutes long. I thought I'd been so hard on myself that I'd allow a little bit of psychedelia into the mix. Overall, giving each song a three minute length results in such tight and concise tracks, meaning everything within the songs happens at the right time too. I really liked this style and format. It was a throwback to the classic way of working, when artists wrote songs for jukeboxes.

TSH: Is 'Put Your Life On It' perhaps the most personal song you've written?

Serge: Well, since I got married, I've written a few love songs, but they've always been cloaked in mystery. I often dedicate songs to my wife at gigs but a lot of the insane lyrics don't tend to do the songs justice, haha! Anyhow, I wanted a song to express everything I wanted to say to my wife and this track was the one. At one point, John Lennon used to actually write with a lot of ambiguity and metaphors but then he started to write really directly. I'd never really written directly, so I thought I'd do the same. The idea was to write a love song and I decided to say it exactly how it is.

TSH: 'Ill Ray (The King)' consists of a cool video starring Lena Headey from Game of Thrones, however, what sort of motivations do you draw on to pen a track like this one?

Serge: Firstly, it was great to have an awesome actress like Lena in the video; she did such an amazing job. You know, in bringing this song together I was trying to incorporate elements similar to Daft Punk and Justice, as well as some heavy riffs in the vein of the Prodigy and Nirvana. It's a really interesting song and it even has a weird tribal feel. The back beat is from the old rave days, which alongside all the other influences I mentioned seeemed to make the track even more unique. Playing that track live is just amazing, it's otherworldly. I'm really proud of that one.

TSH: Speaking of playing live, Kasabian has legions of admirers connecting with the band's music worldwide. How appreciative are you to be able to travel the globe and perform for such loyal fans?

Serge: Ah man, it's so rewarding and phenomenal! I get asked quite often what's the difference between crowds in various countries compared to the fans in the U.K... I have to say, not a lot. At the end of the day, our gigs always tend to evoke amazing energy regardless of the location, which means a lot to everyone in this band. It's sad that music has become somewhat devalued as people are constantly in front of a screen trying to film the moment instead of experiencing it. For us, when we perform in front of our fans, all the hard work we put into this band makes sense and the atmosphere becomes so precious. For those 90 minutes that we are onstage, we just want to empower and elevate our audience. It's just so amazing to have loyal fans and we're so grateful.

TSH: How do you foresee your songwriting style evolving?

Serge: My songwriting developing is all about learning. I just love learning new stuff. I'm not interested in standing still and admiring the view - I need to know more. I need to explore various avenues, which in turn informs our work. The world can be a frightening place at times, but the power of music can be a very useful tool in helping to make positive change.

TSH: Are you constantly looking to change the conversation with each album?

Serge: Yeah, this type of attitude has always been at the forefront of our minds at all times. We are six albums in and we know people won't stick with you if you give them the same story. Surprise is such an inspiring element to include, plus you have to take risks. People really respect risk takers, sometimes it goes wrong and sometimes it goes right, but it's always exciting.

TSH: When you look back at your classic self-titled debut album, what stands out most?

Serge: It was just such an incredible time man. It was a haze of weed smoking and we lived on a farm together. We had no real plans, you know? We were simply just creating our ideas of what a rock band could be. We were into dance, hip-hop, electro and indie. All of these different genres were just making their way into our record. We were carefree but still focused on making an amazing record. Certain songs from that album have taken on a life of their own and become anthems for people. A lot of people have really taken that record into their hearts, which is so cool.

TSH: Does Leicester City's Premier League winning season still give you goosebumps?

Serge: It's still surreal. I see the footage and highlights now and I still cannot understand how it all happened. It was such an amazing season. Massive credit to the players, the manager, the staff, and our supporters, who all helped make it happen. I mean for it to happen to us as kids growing up in Leicester, it’s just a massive blessing. Football needed a story where the underdog makes the headlines; it's always a great story in any walk of life. You know, I've always loved footie, especially as a kid. I guess I've always gravitated towards things that weren't a real job, such as being a musician or a footballer, haha!

TSH: Was partying on Sir Philip Green's yacht in Monte Carlo amongst the most strangest of experiences for you?

Serge: Haha! At the time, we were about 22 or 23, as you can imagine, we just played up to it. We were little animals just quaffing the champagne and throwing lobsters at people. There were all these celebs on board, but we were just kids from Leicester, and we felt at the time that we'd never see anything like that again. We just made the most of it and had a laugh. We lived like kings, but we were really paupers at the time.

TSH: How has fatherhood impacted you?

Serge: It just happened at the right time. I feared for my creativity a little when I became a dad. I thought I wouldn't have enough time to be inventive, but from that moment on, I've never been more creative. Being a parent has just opened my mind and I feel free. Everything that you think matters just vanishes when you have kids. Your kids become everything.

TSH: Kasabian has lived every moment and remained proud from the very beginning. Is your ethos to challenge yourselves to pull from different angles?

Serge: Absolutely. We all learnt pretty quickly to not let our egos get in the way or cloud our judgment. There are a hell of a lot of casualties in this game, but I like to think that we've remained relevant because we have a lot of love for music. For us, adventure remains the most exciting thing. After all, we're not alive very long, so the inspiration for me carries on, because the need for adventure will never disappear. Some nights I am the last to leave the bar, I'll go missing and you'll find me in the pyramid somewhere, but it's because I'm trying to investigate and find things out. I'm trying to find out what the next move is. Kasabian will never be frightened to risk it all. We've been around a long time and we will not be getting complacent anytime soon. Overall, I just like making shit, it sounds crass, but it's true - that's when my adrenaline kicks in. I constantly want to remain creative.

Kasabian - “Ill Ray (The King)”

Kasabian - “You're In Love With a Psycho”

For Crying Out Loud

[peterkayscarshare]

Foreshadowing a Happy Ending - Part 1

I have long said that for me, the biggest proof of banjogate is not any of the evidence I’ve posted here (although that is pretty big), but it’s actually the story itself. The narrative, the style, the story, the characters - absolutely everything points to me to a happy conclusion.

I believe there is a lot of foreshadowing both for a happy ending for John and Kayleigh together, but also proof that the “it wasn’t meant to be romantic” rhetoric is utter bollocks. :D So to that end I thought I’d detail the foreshadowing I see.

Please note: The music used in the show is a category all on it’s own. There’s so much foreshadowing in the music I’ve saved it for a post all of its own. This one is only the non-music foreshadowing.

(This only covers season 1. Season 2 to follow in Part 2 as the post was just getting way too long)

Episode 1x01

1) Single Ladies

From the very start of the first episode we are made very aware that Kayleigh and John are both single. We get Kayleigh’s doorbell playing Beyonce’s Single Ladies; Kayleigh learns very quickly that John isn’t gay, and that he’s been single for some time. We also discover Kayleigh is single but looking, and that she feels she’s running out of time to have kids. The insight into Kayleigh’s drug dealing ex not only gives us an insight into Kayleigh’s personality, but also to the kind of relationships she’s had - with dubious guys who cheated on her. Immediately the viewer is sizing up John in comparison. And you don’t put such a heavy influence on their singledom and relationship pasts, if that is not part of the story. If romance wasn’t part of it, you give them partners (even unseen) or don’t make it the focus. From episode 1, their potential to be a couple way highlighted.

2) Of course, we also get the beginning of the biggest storyline in the show in ep 1 - The Christmas Team. This is something that stretches through the series, and yet isn’t “resolved” by 2x04. It hasn’t happened yet, and we don’t know what will happen. Will Kayleigh stay and work on the team? Will she leave? You don’t set up a major storyline like that which has ramifications and leave it hanging.

3) Now, this MAY be reaching too far, or it may be an Easter Egg that Peter has thrown in. I’m erring on the side of caution given that we know how much Peter put into the Forever FM aspects of the show, and the little asides…

At 13.53 when Kayleigh gets in the car for the return journey home, when John starts the engine we hear this coming from the Forever FM DJ:

“…went to apologise, and within a few years they were married.”

Foreshadowing? :D

4) In all the talk about past relationships, there are a couple of lines that may be foreshadowing John and Kayleigh’s relationship. Kayleigh asks John if Anna gave him butterflies - we can assume from the dreamy sigh as he drives away in 2x02 that Kayleigh gives John butterflies! And when John says he met Anna on a train, Kayleigh says what a romantic way to meet someone - hmm like car sharing maybe?

Episode 1x02

1) What Kayleigh wants

Episode 2 is a huge episode that sets up really the main driving force of the show - what makes people happy. With Old Ted’s funeral we are shown John and Kayleigh assessing their own lives and discussing what makes a life worth living. We have Kayleigh making perfectly clear what she wants out of life - her dream man and babies. The show has explicitly told us what Kayleigh’s happy ending is, and have got her tantalizingly close to it by the end of 2x04. You don’t set up explicitly what a character wants and needs, almost hand them it then abandon it - not in a sitcom anyway.

2) John tells us “if it’s meant to be, it’ll be”. It’s meant to be we know that (see 2x02), so that means it WILL be.

3) In the same conversation, John is the one who unwittingly makes clear what he thinks makes a man happy - good job, great wife. Although he protests that he is happy how he is, isn’t looking for a great love affair and accepts limitations, we as an audience can assume he’s either lying to himself, or lying outright. Particularly when you pair it with the fact that in 1x01 John says he can’t stand someone singing in his face, yet by 2x02 he and Kayleigh are happily singing in each other’s faces. He’s changed, his view on himself and what he likes has changed already thanks to Kayleigh. It’s an obvious clue that Kayleigh is changing his outlook on his life, and that will be a far reaching change.

Episode 1x03

1) What John wants

In a way while 1x02 shows us what Kayleigh wants from life, 1x03 is John’s turn as we see him eyeing up a lady in traffic (she’s not the one for you John, fate is telling you that!). I realise this is talking about the music, but I’m making an exception for this scene because it’s so important. The use of The Smith’s Let Me Get What I Want (this time) is a HUGE neon sign telling us that what John espoused in the previous episode about being happy on his own isn’t actually the truth. The fact that John’s scenes “chasing” the lady happy when he’s “alone” (literally alone, and then alone in that Kayleigh is asleep) show that this is a side of him he’s hiding, and only reveals when he thinks no one is looking. He KNOWS what he wants is a woman to love and be by his side, and we’re shown that what he wants is sitting right next to him asleep. He’s GOT what he wants, he just has to “wake up” to it.

2) In between John’s attempts to catch a lady’s eye, we get him reiterating that he’s not looking for love - “bollocks to love”. We now can see that it’s a lie, and once he expands on what happened between himself and Charlotte, we see WHY he’s told himself this lie. We discover that he founds himself falling into a life because he thought it was what he should do, not what he “wants”. It’s illuminating that the pain he feels over Charlotte isn’t because he was so violently hurt by her leaving him, but because he hurt her. He is afraid of being hurt, of losing himself, but most of all he’s afraid to doing what he did to Charlotte all over again (which Kayleigh expresses in her taking Charlotte’s side, we can see her in the place of Charlotte  - thus hammering the message home again that Kayleigh is the woman in his life, his next partner).

3) In the continuing saga of Kayleigh’s online dating adventures we have John complimenting her twice (“you’ve got a lovely nose”, “there’s nothing wrong with you”) and we see them starting to take a turn. Not only are Kayleigh’s choice of potential partners as disastrous as ever, John is now questioning her wisdom in pursuing love using this vehicle. John’s attitude is changing, once again. Kayleigh also says about online dating that she won’t meet anyone sitting on her arse - oh wait, she already did. ;)

Episode 1x04

Really isn’t much in the way of relationship foreshadowing in this episode, except for one little thing:

1) When talking about  her finances, Kayleigh says she shouldn’t have gone to see Beyonce “but sometimes you’ve got to live a little, John”. To which John replies “Very true.” Once again, showing Kayleigh’s influence on John, making him break the rules he had set for himself. (rules that would prevent someone going after a woman you love)

Episode 1x05

1) The M word

Yes, marriage. Episode 5 is the one that most explicitly shifts John and Kayleigh into positioning them as moving past friends into romance and does so via 3 different paths. The first being foreshadowing marriage.

In discussing their “first dance” songs, Kayleigh brings back the notion that what she needs in her life is to “runaway” with the man of her dreams. Meanwhile, John declares it’s not something he needs to think about becuase he’s ever going to get wed. That’ll be the dramatic irony then, when the person ASKING him to think about it is the person he’s very likely going to wed and thus he will have to think about it. It’s foreshadowing that Kayleigh is the one asking this question and will be the one asking it for real in time to come.

2) The second thread is more subtle, and comes with Kayleigh’s niece and nephew. With their presence in the car we get to see John and Kayleigh as potential parents - John trying to be the cool one, Kayleigh keeping them in line (but laughing with them at John’s OTT antics). Of course calling him “Uncle John” is a common northern thing (as Peter has pointed out in his stand up before) BUT can also be foreshadowing that he WILL be their Uncle John.

3) The most obvious thread is Kayleigh’s jealousy of Rachel. This makes it explicitly clear that Kayleigh at least is seeing John in a romantic fashion and feels possessive of him. She desperately doesn’t want him to go on a date with Rachel. Technically none of this is foreshadowing a happy ending, but it is without doubt telling us it IS a romance, using one of the most common tropes used in slow-burn relationships.

4) Now this IS foreshadowing - during the discussion about Rachel’s merits (or lack thereof) Kayleigh says “she’s just not right for you, that’s all I’m saying” And John replies “How do you know what’s right for me?” We viewers know WHY she knows, and it’s telling us that Kayleigh knows (or hopes) she’s right for him - and the narrative is telling us the viewers she’s right (especially with Rachel depicted as the Devil Woman).

Episode 1x06

(this is a bumper one!)

1) Fate!

No this is where the serious foreshadowing starts, both for what comes in 2x04 and beyond. And it begins with an innocent conversation about Bobby Ball’s braces. With this exchange we learn that Kayleigh and John shared an experience as a child, and were very likely in the same place at the same time. While John is happy to dismiss it as coincidence, Kayleigh voices what the audience will think - it’s fate. And of course, that is reinforced and brought back as a theme in 2x02. Kayleigh and John were destined to meet, and that means destined to have their happy ending.

2)  Red Light Spells Danger

I love this foreshadowing, it’s possibly my fave even though it only foreshadows the events of 2x04 (so far!). John’s gift of the red lamp to Kayleigh, specifically asking her if it’s the right colour. “It’s red!” That red lamp is spelling the danger that John has fallen for Kayleigh as much as she has him, and that he’s too far gone to stop - all of which of course is reiterated in the lyrics of Red Light Spells Danger in 2x04.

3) Once again the topic of Rachel rears its head, and John finally is able to put Kayleigh’s mind to rest but in doing so he says these fateful words, “That’s your problem Kayleigh, you assume everything, and most of the time you assume wrong.” Foreshadowing Kayleigh’s “assumption” in 2x04 that John doesn’t feel the same way about her, when we know she’s wrong. And that’s something that would need to be explained and corrected, just like Kayleigh’s assumption that John was interested in Rachel.

4) Once again I’m cheating by talking song lyrics here but this is significant in several ways so I think it bears posting in this segment.  When Kayleigh watches John’s Compendium song, we hear these lyrics:

You walk out alone and I follow you

The noise of the city, you know that I know

And I think that you know that I’ll only love you tonight

Woah tonight

In the city, you’re so pretty there tonight

Eyes are staring, you’re hardly wearing a thing tonight

And you know, woah, that I’m not going to let you (go)

These lyrics foreshadow Kayleigh getting out of the car in 2x04, and say that he won’t let her go  - he will eventually go after her. Particularly significant when you notice that the video buffers and pauses JUST before he says the word “go”, just like the show has paused before he goes after her.

5) When talking about Compendium, John says Kayleigh should come and see him perform. Kayleigh reminds him of his no fraternising with staff rule, to which John replies “well, seeing as it’s you, I’ll make an exception”. This once again takes us back to episode 1, and his talk of not liking someone singing in his face - here’s another example that Kayleigh is the exception. Kayleigh is ALWAYS the exception, specifically when it comes to his rhetoric that he’s happy alone and doesn’t need anybody. Kayleigh is the exception. He needs her.

[simontams]

HEY NAT NAT BEN BEN WHAT ABOUT TORCHWOOD 🔥🔥🔥

I feel personally targeted. And I want that in writing.

Okay here goes nothing. *Rolls up sleeves*.

Warning: Will likely evolve into a long, in-depth, Torchwood analysis

Favourite Character:

I’m half asleep as it is and you go and encourage me to talk about Ianto Jones, who is not only my favourite character in this show, but probably overall.

The question is, can I pinpoint why?

Can I articulate how much this character genuinely means to me without just giving up and keyboard smashing at like 2am?

Okay, to start with, he’s not in the first two series an awful lot, however much I try to convince myself otherwise, but the development he does get is credit-worthy. And I think from the start, I was won over by his priceless expressions, sarcastic humour and sweet demeanour. Yet, throughout my numerous rewatches, the occasional bleaker episode, and low-key audio addiction, I’ve learned that there is more than meets the eye and maybe that's what makes him so interesting to me- All characters have more to them that originally assumed but there’s so many aspects to Ianto’s personality that slowly reveal themselves that you cant possibly know everything. You keep on learning and wondering about his past, his motivations, his true feelings- I’ve seen on countless occasions people labelling him as overrated and simply seen as that outside innocent coffee boy (sure, its the button on the top), but I think his clear popularity could be because a lot of people, dare I say, relate to him?

One of my favourite things about the Doctor Who universe especially and, in turn, Torchwood, is that it is real, it has real characters who have real emotions and real flaws, which shouldn't be excluded as they only add to their human degree of complexity- what would the series be without returning home to a concerned Jackie Tyler for a cup of tea every once in a while? without seeing characters reach behind that innate curiosity at the science-fiction and occasionally express fear at what is uncomfortable and unknown?

Doctor Who is not about aliens, it’s about people- and Ianto Jones is no exception. And in some ways, he can be the most human of them all- his excitement and confidence when he’s viewed as Jack’s boyfriend, his maintained calm exterior that he chooses to present to the world, his friendship with Tosh and the others, his weird habits and his humour, right up until his brutally heartfelt death scene.

 Ianto Jones is one of the only characters that I am sure will remain this close to my heart, and I constantly switch between connecting to him and marvelling at how much more there is to see. Not to be too deep or over-exaggerated, but under everybody's excitable obsessions with TV shows, bands, books- there's something that genuinely helped them learn more about themselves and grow as a person behind it, they represent a certain time in that individuals life and that has to be appreciated- in the same way, that can be said for my attraction to Torchwood as a whole and towards Ianto as a character.

Second Favourite Character:

Now that we’ve accepted me as a high-key, over-the-top teenaged fan, hence somehow continuing reading, let’s move on to the impossible choice of, who do I prefer more: Toshiko Sato, Owen Harper or Jack Harkness? (I’ll mention my  Gwen angst later).

Firstly Jack, will always, in my eyes, be one of the most deep and fascinating characters from what I’ve seen of the franchise as a whole- the contrast between the self-assured and flirtatious alien, the darker side of his immortality, and even the earlier con-man interpretation of his endlessly gripping character. Some of my favourite aspects of him in Torchwood are when we see him through his own outlived eyes; his loneliness or anger or even fragility, the latter being especially in regards to his relationship with Ianto and his over-arching knowledge that nothing lasts for him. And while he will always be one of my favourite characters in general, this one is a close call and I regret to view him as anything less than such- but I’m gonna have to go with Owen.

But first, let me appreciate Tosh- underestimated, brave, intelligent and affectionate Tosh, who is so close to Owen in terms of my tribute, it was near impossible to choose between the pair- in fact it still is and if asked this another time I would probably change my mind repeatedly. She tries so hard to gain approval and security, she's just genuinely lovable...and she did good.

I know Owen- apparently I’m having an Owen day- is disliked by the best of us in season 1, and some still after, I mean he is outwardly an arsehole, he's even aware of such, and the way he treats others including Tosh is inexcusable- but it’s season 2 where I genuinely fell in love with him, if not, mid-way through the first season after seeing the affects of Diane’s departure and his more sensitive self. Because like I said before- these human qualities, however negative, only add to him as a character.

When all the ‘dying drama’ goes down we realise how truly fragile he is, and in Fragments we see this to an even greater extent pre-torchwood: he's had a bad time of it, to say the least. And I will place him in second place after Ianto primarily due to this drastic turn and the realisation that he is such a prime example of ‘messed up and imperfect yet completely misunderstood’ and deep down, one of the most sensitive and caring of the lot.

I especially love when he begins to open up to Tosh and the numerous scenes in ‘a day in the death’ such as running into the bay or Ianto telling him to not let himself get beaten after all he has done, and that's also why that is one of my favourite episodes- I love this side of his character and how it contributes to him on the whole.

Character I’m Most Like:

God. Okay.

I honestly think this has to be the shortest reply yet. And for all the explanations worth, it has to be Ianto. Owen is angsty as hell, Tosh is kind and smart, Jack is tired, above everything and Gwen is adamant and sociable-

Ianto is humorous and loyal.

-Yet, somehow has the potential to be all of the other things too, and at times, has been. Which only furthers my previous point of him being relatable to most viewers at certain times throughout because of that.

Favourite Pair:

Now we’re talking.

There’s a word, a cursed, ancient term that’s been floating around the internet for a while now....: Janto.

Typical romance story, boy meets boy, boy is immortal alien, boy falls in love with welsh nerd who looks good in a waistcoat, the usual, yet...

Next, the heavy stuff :)

Ianto has so much love to give and he chooses to give it to Jack. His last serious relationship ended in tragedy and he finds himself in a casual fling with this, said immortal alien guy, who’s also...his mysterious boss. He appears genuinely happy and confident for the first time in a while and his utter joy will purify souls for many years to come.

But it’s not that simple, is it? It never has been. Because it gets serious and they can escape into their own connection outside of their work and all the other crap the team go through. They begin to understand each other on a deeper level despite their differences- and it’s fated to end in disaster:  Ianto’s death.

One of the most heart-breaking yet beautiful and bittersweet factors of the show is this relationship. The most traumatic realisations? moments when Ianto acknowledges his mortality compared to Jacks curse to out-live everybody he loves (The dead line and Day 4, I’m looking at you). Maybe it’s on Jacks behalf that the extent and importance of their bond get highlighted- He unwillingly falls for Ianto and he in no way wants to recognize the unwavering sincerity of what they have, or at least publically, hence his hesitance when Ianto is proud to be seen as a couple at the beginning of Children Of Earth, because he doesn’t want to see something so good end and hurt him, again.

Also, the fact that their relationship is so private? It’s got a significant part to play when prompting the importance of what they have. Jack is characteristically flirty and outgoing, yet he keeps his feelings for Ianto close and guarded-  because they mean that much to him. All of their intimate conversations- they're alone. It just develops and adds meaning and weight to their taboo ending.

That inevitably brings me onto the unspeakable death scene. I can wholeheartedly say that I have never witnessed such an emotional scene where a character has been killed off? It just, it gets to you? and I probably don't need to say that twice.

I don’t even know what it is, and I don’t care about the ‘he should never have been killed off’ or ‘he died for nothing’, god I want him to live as much as anybody, but they did choose to kill him off- and it was art.

The entirety of COE was, it was horrific and too close for comfort and one of the best pieces of television that I will ever have the pleasure to watch. Because it is raw and it’s soulful and it’s real and it breaks you- and god I wouldn’t want one of my favourite characters to go in any other way than something with this level of reputation and emotion.

The way Jack falls onto the floor next to Ianto, the ballad of Ianto Jones playing, the bigger picture of the theme of the series, them out of their comfort zone, beyond their control, influencing this, the government officials overlooking such an intimate moment, the way Jack tells them 'not him’ (that’s where I loose it, god I’m choked up just thinking about it), after Ianto tried to be the hero and stand next to Jack and help him confront the mistakes of his past- showing him that he's there for him when others doubt him, showing him that he can change and resolve it with him by his side, yet seeing that their efforts do not directly succeed? its not showing Ianto died with no final influence, its to show the extent of the bigger issue, it is out of their hands and that's why Children Of Earth is so, for want of a better word, scary- Gwen relating this degree of destruction to the absence of our established hero, The Doctor- terrifying.

How Jack wakes up and sees Ianto, how the audience see this character they've grown to love, dead, how defeated Jack looks with the knowledge that he will have to move on and can’t do anything about what had happened- it is seriously too much and can anybody who is that deeply connected to a scene, really hate on it for whatever reason?

God Jack blames himself, God Torchwood was the death of me-

you know I watched Children Of Earth over the evening of Christmas Eve and early Christmas morning? I watched Ianto Jones die on Christmas day 2015. Yeah.

Least Favourite Pair:

What the ever loving shit is Gwack.

(I like how you tiptoed around this Evie, and I just-)

Okay. I don't like Gwen. 

Now hear me out, I don't like her in the first and second series. She was a cheat and I accept this as part of her character, and Owens, but it doesn't mean I have to ignore or like it- she also treat the others like they didn't understand, like they couldn't feel and aren't affected by what they see like she is when they've been through so much more in terms of their background- she is rash and selfish and Rhys deserved better.

There I said it- however, it is party due to the writing, she had a lot of potential but she can’t be treated as such a ‘nice’ or relatable character and role model, as the person who enters this alien world for the audience to relate to when she gets away with these things. But I’ll hold my hands up and says she grows up a lot come COE and in the books and audios.

Despite my feelings about Gwen- she has still got a boyfriend either way. No offence, meh, ish, but there is nothing between her and Jack romantically- if anything she merely represents the normal life that Jack cant have. The many, many, uncomfortable scenes when she stares at Jack while kissing Rhys, the flirting with who she thought was him on her wedding day, the part where he's teaching her how to shoot, its just that, its awkward and there's nothing to it. Why voluntarily choose to treat her as this person who uses people and makes excuses for herself when you can emphasise and focus on her other truly good qualities like her bravery?

Why dig for something that isn't there, they have a great friendship, why simplify that? he mentors her and she has Rhys, he has Ianto, there's so much depth to that relationship as I've been through, why choose to overlook it?

But ‘don't like’ isn't as strong a word as ‘hate’, I just don't understand why somebody would make it this hard to view her as redeemable- I know she is flawed, like the others- I just find it harder avoid and grasp why people want to  further those parts of her and view it in a positive light and accept or ignore her cheating.

Gwen, I can hesitantly can get on board with, she is still part of the show I love, and while I can’t admit forgiving her I can say that her character, in turn, deserved better and while I acknowledge the problems she has, I appreciate her in COE, etc, because she does begin to develop and prove herself a bit more.

Nonetheless, I will never ‘get’ Jack and Gwen, it just doesn't rub me up the right way and seems pointless, it seems like ‘bait’ that some fans have fallen for and for me, it takes away so much of all of the characters involved and I’d rather view them for who they are rather than hinting at a negative version of who they could be.

And I'm sorry but Gwen and Owen are just bad for each other- they both deserve better than that.

Owen and Tosh? Beautiful and they should have gotten that date, they know each other so well and their death scene- why is this show so traumatic. But don't even get me started on that one-

‘Because you’re breaking my heart.’

Favourite Moment (s):

To be blunt:

Day 4- Ianto dies, yes really, #1, sorry...yeah..

Forehead Kiss, Forehead Kiss, Forehead Kiss, Forehead Kiss, (Janto, in Adam)

A Day In The Death- Owen underwater, also in top 3...

‘No, ‘cause the phones aren't working’,

Captain Jack Harkness- Jack & Jack Dance, close second

‘Who’s for Chinese?’ ft. actually eating it and having a nice time Tm

When, in fragments, Owen first enters the hub and he is talking to Jack about how he's going to try to save as many people as he can but it'll  never be enough

I’m not sure of the episode, likely ‘A Day In The Death’, but Tosh and Owen have a talk, wait was it ‘Dead Man Walking?’...yeah it was...

Broken, audio- Yeah, that- the car scene where their relationship truly begins and ‘stop the car’, ‘my coffee.’

‘Space Pig, Yeah?’

Fragments- ‘Jones. Ianto Jones’. ‘Captain Jack Harkness’

Does the John Barrowman ringtone blooper count? ;)

Not to approach the unapproachable, and it's not my favourite ‘cause that's like twisted but- ‘the Steven thing’ deserves a mention just for the fact that Jacks expression will haunt me forever

‘The world’s always ending, and I have missed that coat’

Did I mention the entirety of COE?

A Torchwood Captain and an ex-time agent walk into a bar...

Virus short story, ending and the part where Ianto goes rogue and badass

The goodbye in COE- should have ended there, it lost its weight

Consider this: In the shadows audio- Ianto, he just-

‘The Sin Eaters’ audio, cat falls through lift, that's all you need to know really, isn't it?

‘house of the dead’ when its all over and somebody approached jack and he answers them but then they go away and he- ‘goodbye Ianto’

‘Gwen....mine’s got a bell’, ‘Jack and Coffee’, ‘Lost Souls, audio

Honestly I've probably forgotten moments that I mention 24/7 but these are the ones that come to mind

I warned you that it was gonna be an uncharacteristically long one

Rating:

10/10...

Did you expect anything else after all of that? For all its imperfections, this show will always welcome me back with open arms, I’ve taken so much from it and it will remain my favourite show along with Doctor Who itself.

Funny Story: 5am

I told you Evie, I did.

[kxlance]

i’ve read these 3 recently and i liked them sooo much because they cover all my klance dreams so

blue, buried deep by aknightley

Summary: Season 2 from Lance's point of view.  "So," he says casually, "Anything else happen on the planet? With Shiro?" When Keith shoots him a look, he holds up his hands defensively. "Hey, look, I'm just saying you looked like you weren't sharing everything, I thought maybe you'd want to share with someone, and who better than the guy you had a bonding moment with, huh?"

Talk It Out by KaSaPe

Summary: Keith had noticed for quite some time now that Lance wasn't being his usual self. He had waited for someone else to say something and approach Lance about it - but no one ever did. So once they got Shiro back, he decided that he wouldn't wait any longer and make him talk.Lance doesn't want to talk about it. At all. Not with Keith, not with anyone else. But somehow, one way or another, Keith gets him to open up. And Lance's reward? A new boyfriend.

Right-hand Man by macklemoremademedoit

Summary: “Keith, it's late,” Lance continued, his jaw feeling too heavy to move properly, “You need to sleep. Please…” ‘I'm worried about you. We're all worried about you.’“I can't.”“I know, I know - shit - I know,” Lance rubbed at his face and brought his hands down gently onto Keith's shoulders, “but buddy you've got to try.”  ---With Shiro gone, everyone is hurting, but no one more so than Keith. Of course Lance had noticed. Everybody had. But that didn't mean Lance had expected Keith to turn up one night outside his room, wanting to talk. Why him? What could Keith possibly want from him? Much more than Lance ever realised apparently.

(I read this fic this morning and it made me sing HEY NOW HEY NOW THIS IS WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF)

also i’ve recently started reading this one but i’m just halfway through the first chapter

Ghost of the Future by wittyy_name, Zizzani

Summary: When Lance is thrown through time, his future self from one year ahead is transported to the past in his place.This Lance is faster, stronger, and markedly more mature. Not only that, but he's distinctly more intuitive about his teammates and A LOT more touchy with Keith.The team must try and work out how to reverse the two Lance's places and restore them to their original timelines. Things only get more complicated when the Future Lance can't seem to remember where he was when the switch happened, and he refuses to reveal anything about his own time for fear of influencing the team's decisions.Mirror fic to "Shadow of the Past" by wittyy_name

ok so first of all look into these 2 posts of mine here and here

[rebeccabrynposts]

Splattering Richard over my Laptop. – the secrets of award-winning author, Sarah Stuart.

So who is Sarah Stuart? I mean, who is she really? Who is the very private woman behind the pen – no, make that keyboard, please make that keyboard: Sarah’s writing is totally illegible to everyone except me, and I struggle. Is this why I have her comments in bold?

‘Getting to know you, getting to know all about you…’

‘Getting to like you, getting to hope you like me.’

‘Quiet, Sarah. One, you can’t sing, and two, you get your fifteen minutes of fame in a minute.’ As Sarah is a lover of musical theatre, and the theatrical world is the backdrop to Sarah’s amazing Royal Command series of novels, that song seems like a suitable place to begin and, as I’ve known Sarah for more years than either of us will admit to, who better to ask her those difficult, probing, embarrassing questions? (Cue evil laughter from stage right.)

‘I’m leaving right now! You’ve invited the Wicked Witch of the West.’

‘I am the Wicked Witch of the West. Sarah, you’ve been writing since you were a child. What and who would you say were your greatest childhood influences and why?’

‘My father worked appallingly long hours, and when he was home he was gardening or building excessively heavy furniture. My mother was never in good health. So, the short answer is loneliness. My make-believe world was more real than reality. It wasn’t as black as that. My father loved opera, and he could sing, and my mother thought of chapters from Charles Dickens as suitable bedtime stories. She also had touching faith in my ability to write. On day, my prince… my bestseller would come.’

‘Your books have enough awards for that to become a reality. All you need is exposure.’

‘Can’t I get arrested for exposing myself to the Wicked Witch of the West and all the people who happen by?’

‘Only if you have a raincoat.’

‘Of course, I have a raincoat. I live in England!’

‘You should try living in Wales! I’ve always admired your courage and determination through adversity, Sarah. Would you like to tell us about some of the things in life you’ve had to overcome? Those you can tell us about, that is.

‘Him Indoors made one of his many career moves some years ago, dragging me, and my dog, away from our new interest, dog obedience training. My Border Collie, Sweep, was gleeful. He was a good boy. Yes, after two years hard work, he was so much improved I had my eye on entering obedience competitions. Not to worry, Him Indoors declared, there’s an obedience club right here. Sweep and I joined, and I got co-opted onto the committee. At the second monthly meeting, the trainer announced she was moving, like now, so who would take over? I could write a book about the excuses why nobody was able… they weren’t able, and their dogs proved it… their work was seasonal, so they had no time from January to May… I volunteered; only fifteen people turned up on a good night, and Sweep needed to practice working with other dogs around. Fifteen people? There were forty members, all with more than one dog, and they’d all turned out to watch their new trainer make a fool of herself.

‘Children brought up alone tend to be self-contained almost to the point of shyness, and very self-reliant. I was no exception, and all I knew about teaching other people to train dogs was what I’d learned from watching at my first club where the trainer worked her own dogs at Crufts level. Helpppppppp… run… No way! I pretended to be that trainer, and six months later I realised I was no longer acting; I’d learned a lot from her, and I had a talent for teaching.’    

‘Do you think these experiences, and the way you dealt with them, have translated into your writing? Can you give us an example?’

‘I hadn’t thought about it until now, but a lot of my characters’ problems stem from their determination not to ask for help, or a lack of communication. Take Dangerous Liaisons… if you haven’t read it, do take it while it’s free. If Lizzie and Michael had talked, she’d have known he wanted children… He’d have known she valued his company over wealth, and not set out to prove he could succeed without help… The root of the whole series is a failure to interconnect. I could give dozens more examples from book one alone, but I’d spoil the story for new readers and have existing ones commenting that they could have told me that!’

‘Are you sure you’re the Wicked Witch of the West or a guide who demonstrates instruments of torture like the Iron Maiden and the Rack to visitors at the Tower of London?’

‘My secret is out! I love torturing the truth out of people and finding out what makes them thick… I mean tick. (Freudian fingers) The Royal Command series has been through many drafts and rewrites over the years to reach its present polished state. It takes determination and commitment to stick to a project long term. What, or who, kept you going throughout all the changes?’

‘Michael. He was never intended to be the lead character. Lizzie was my heroine, the story was hers and it was to be pure romance with a happy ending, not the start of Michael’s life story, but he gets inside my head and starts talking, and they say only women nag!’

‘I find the historical thread that runs through this series really interesting. Why did you choose this period in history to explore?’

‘The Tudors are popular and reasonably well known, but very little fiction has been written about Henry VIII’s elder sister, Margaret. Princesses were pawns in the political marriage game, so she was married young to James IV of Scotland. It is commonly regarded as a happy marriage, but why when the only evidence is the births of six children? The king had mistresses, but he needed an heir. What interested me was the gap between their firstborn boy, who died, and the second. The truth is very likely a miscarriage, but…’

‘Quite. An illegitimate child, a treason punishable by death when you’re the wife of a reigning monarch, makes a better story. You’ve dealt very cleverly with some pretty taboo subjects in The Diamond Superstar, Michael Marsh’s, ‘unconventional’ showbiz family. Did you intend to write about incest, sexual perversions, and child sex-trafficking or did the characters behave recklessly, as usual, and take you by surprise?’

‘Incest took me by surprise, though it shouldn’t have given the way Lisette was brought up, rarely seeing the superstar father she adored, combined with the dangerous romantic command in the Book of Hours to “find love where ye may”. The result, Harriet, caused problems with the end of my “one book”, Dangerous Liaisons, and led directly to Illicit Passion; there was no way there could be a long-term happy ending for either of The Diamond Superstar or Lisette, though they appear to achieve it in the sequel when the evil, perverted, “bodyguard” drowns. I did have a hand in book three by planting the grounding. Bodyguards working for that company worked in pairs, which left one of them, cheated of his money to “turn-a-blind-eye”, on the loose and, apparently, intent of revenge. Nothing so simple, as I discovered when Brian left his wife, pregnant Lisette, and flew to New York.

‘Sex-trafficking was added deliberately. I investigated it while I was recovering from researching Evie’s troubles, and the ease with which such men could trap youngsters had to be revealed, and Michael’s youngest daughter, Greta, was a prime target.’

‘I love all the books in the Royal Command series but I found the latest, Sweet Temptation, particularly fascinating. The courage you show in reliving the nightmare of your weeks in a coma and the subsequent recovery astounds me. You have given us a rare glimpse of what it must have been like and it’s terrifying. Do you think you took research for Evie’s character a step too far? Or was it just a ploy to get out of cooking Christmas dinner?’

‘I detest cooking, and Christmas dinner is definitely one of the most demanding meals of the year. (The others are dinner parties where I know at least one of the guests is a superb cook.) Now, let’s be clear on this: I didn’t catch pneumonia, and a very fancy sort at that, on purpose. The puzzle is from whom I caught it. I didn’t date a strange man as per Evie! I have a perfectly good chap at home. I enjoyed writing a lot of Sweet Temptation, but I found Evie’s hospital POVs extremely tough to write. My nightmares were adapted to her life but thinking about them made me feel ill, and I started suffering nightmares again for a while. The worst aren’t in the book, and they were truly horrible.’

‘I did say I’ve always admired your courage in adversity and this illustrates it. Tell, me, Sarah, when writing, are you a plotter, or a pantster: do you have a plot chart or do you dive in and see where your characters take you?’

‘I used to have plots, but what’s the point when none of the characters stick to them? Michael was in a coma in Illicit Passion, since edited now I know what it’s like, and I cried buckets because I was afraid he was going to die.’

‘So was I! But you are giving away your plots. Now, what next? Um, what is the most embarrassing thing that has happened to you? The truth now, Sarah.’

‘According to Him Indoors, I should have been embarrassed by a neighbour who asked if I minded her husband stepping over the fence to clear weeds that were seeding over their garden. Until he explained, I took her at her word and said he was very welcome.’

Excuse me while I choke with laughter. ‘That is so typical of you!’

‘True, and he ignored my generous permission!’

‘How very annoying of him. Since gardening obviously isn’t a passion of yours, what are your passions? What gives you the greatest joy and what really makes you spit?’

‘I have spent my life writing, one way or another, and I thought the greatest joy was knowing somebody was reading what I’d written. I ran a dog-training club and submitted articles to the members’ magazine. Ditto, a glossy called Wildlife with a worldwide circulation and they were published. I wrote stories with adult content in simple words for my literacy students. I published my first novel, and sales, and especially reviews, showed people had read and enjoyed it, and the same happened with subsequent books. The biggest thrill of all was when Dangerous Liaisons won the Romance/Sizzle bronze medal in the Readers’ Favorite Contest and made me an award-winning author.

‘A lot of things make me angry: injustice; mismanagement, self-seeking and stupidity by people elected to govern, political correctness – I almost fell down a manhole without a cover this afternoon, only to be informed it was now an inspection chamber – greed, theft… the list is endless and very non-PC. What really makes me spit with fury is mans’ inhumanity to animals. They ruin their habitats, throw them out because they’re no longer fashionable, and worst of all, they kill them for fun. It’s called sport, but terrified, exhausted animals don’t see it that way. 100% of my royalties go to animal charities, and a good many of the dogs I’ve owned, and do own, are rescues.’

‘I’m with you there, Sarah. Some of my royalties from ‘Touching the Wire’ go to support holocaust education. It seems the least I can do after the research I did opened my eyes to what happened. And I think rescue dogs are so rewarding. Our little mongrel is such a happy little soul and makes us smile every day. Dogs don’t deserve bad homes any more than children do. I know you’ve fostered children in the past, amongst the many selfless things you’ve done, but tell us one thing about yourself no-one else knows, not even me.

‘Films that feature the evacuation of Dunkirk make me cry inside, and so does the ferryboat across the Mersey from Liverpool to Birkenhead that has a plaque let into the deck saying she took part. Maybe it’s the reason my characters “sniff back tears”; I know it’s possible.’

‘Having written about World War II, I understand the terrible hardships and tragedy that led to Dunkirk, so I know what you mean. My present work-in-progress, working title, The Dandelion Clock’, is about The Great War. Can you tell us a bit about the next novel waiting to explode from beneath your fevered brow and splatter all over your laptop?’

‘Did you have to say splatter and remind me I killed my last laptop with tea? Chapter one is entitled Monday, Monday, and as you know “you can’t trust that day.” Richard has a Jack Russell terrier called Ben, and he believes ill-fortune comes in threes. One of the women in his life is about to prove him wrong.’

‘We’ll see a bit of the first draft of ‘Monday, Monday’ in a minute. (That’s the working title, by the way, until Sarah knows what Richard will get up to aided and abetted by his scribe.)

‘Oye! This is too much! I’ve been Michael’s ’umble scribe for years. Richard will do as he’s told… or he might if I had a plot. How do I know where his rebellion will end?’

‘Indeed. Thank you, Sarah, for ‘A Conversation with, dare I say, Richard’s scribe.’ (Ducks for cover.) – Now to a special offer, your book links, a bonus gift, and lastly, a splattering of Richard…’ It’s an interesting beginning to a new story , and I’m looking forward toreading more.

And NOW is your chance to grab the whole series while it’s on offer!

Book 1 is FREE for a limited period from today.

Books 2, 3, and 4 are 99p/99c from today until November 1st

  Dangerous Liaisons: The Backstreet Boy and the Royal Heiress

viewbook.at/DangerousLiaisons

Illicit Passion: The Consequences of Seduction

viewbook.at/ILLICITPASSION

Dynasty of Deceit: Margaret Tudor’s Legacy of Forbidden Love

viewBook.at/DynastyofDeceit

Sweet Temptation: The Agony and the Ecstasy of Passion

viewbook.at/SweetTemptation

As an extra, Sarah has published this short story, Greta Comes of Age, absolutely FREE for you to download here: http://www.independentauthornetwork.com/sarah-stuart.html

And, finally…

Monday, Monday. (You definitely can’t trust that day, Richard. Be warned, Sarah has awful things lined up for you. Are you going to let her get away with it?)

Monday, Monday

Richard Carpenter threw a punch at the figure silhouetted against the faint light from his open front door and heard the satisfying crunch of breaking bone. His new eighty-five-inch Sony television landed on his foot, and he bit back a howl of pain. He was entitled to protect his property if he used reasonable force… Sensible respected bank managers didn’t make headlines in the local rag by using rusty boxing skills on burglars. They “stayed asleep” and telephoned the police in the morning.

Undeterred, the thief dodged around him and started dropping Royal Doulton figurines into something. Sack, rucksack… it made no difference; the dogs would have chipped ears at the very least. His dog, Ben, was hurling his weight impotently at the kitchen door. He grabbed the man by the back of his collar, bundled him onto the pavement, and bolted the front door. If he’d shot the bolts like he usually did at night, picking the lock would have done the scum no good.

Lights on, he surveyed the mess. One television with a cracked screen and an empty mantelshelf where his china collection had overflowed the cabinet. Ten thousand pounds should cover it and he could claim on his insurance… and risk prosecution for injuries a magistrate might not regard as reasonable force? He and Ben retired upstairs with a large brandy and a chew designed for a St Bernard that the Jack Russell was, in his dreams.

The second Monday in October dawned three hours later. He let himself out of the back door, drove cautiously into the centre of town, acutely aware he was over the alcohol limit, and met his undermanager as usual. Andy went to make coffee, and he switched on the fax machine. The first sheet of paper it spat at him caused him to step back on Ben’s tail.

It is with regret that we inform you that the Hackmoor Bridge branch of this bank is closed as of today. Redundancy notices for all members of staff will follow together with information on payments due to each.

He tucked indignant Ben under his arm and read it a second time. He’d known for months that this branch was on the list of two hundred possible closures, but he hadn’t expected it to happen. Hackmoor Bridge was a large, thriving, town, and his was the only branch anywhere within a thirty-mile radius. Andy, married with a young family, would be distraught. All the staff would be. None of them would be relocated to another branch; short of somebody dropping dead, there were no vacancies. Applications for jobs at other banks were unlikely to be successful. If they were it would very likely mean a move, and his three female cashiers were married with husbands still in work locally.

All members of staff. Ben licked his ear, reminding him that he too was jobless. The pair of them could end homeless. The plus was having no mortgage and a new BMW he’d paid for outright thanks to money left to him by his mother, and he’d been spending ever since. He had some savings, and severance pay to come… and it would go on utility bills and food. How could he tell Bridget the wedding was indefinitely postponed? Her parents were dead too, so the expense of the grand affair she had planned were down to him. As if she’d picked up his gloomy thoughts, his mobile vibrated: Bridget. ‘Hi, love, I need to talk to you.’

Bridget didn’t ask about what. ‘Richard, remember that London modelling agency I applied to?’

He did, but Bridget had been for an interview weeks ago and come back depressed. ‘What about it?’

‘I’ve been accepted.’ Her voice sounded muffled. ‘They want me today, so I’m packing and going straight to the station.’

‘But…’

‘Ouch, broke a nail, damn it. Richard, the wedding’s off… for good. Models don’t get work living in the wilds, or pregnant. Bye.’

They hadn’t even discussed having a family… He called Bridget back and got her answering service. A burglar, no job, and no wife-to-be.

‘Things happen in threes, Ben. Basket.’

The Jack Russell hated to be still and ignored, but after today he’d get extra walks because renewing his golf-club membership was a no. His whole lifestyle would change; he’d have to cook from scratch, not live on ready-to-microwave luxury dinners, and Ben must be satisfied with own-brand chews from the supermarket, not the big ones he ordered online for the stray he’d adopted and promised the world.

~~~

Richard envied Ben. He’d picked up the gloom at the bank, information and instructions faxed by faceless men in secure jobs at head office, but it didn’t stop him gobbling his dinner and looking for more. For once, the dog could have more; he couldn’t face his food. Memo to self: check how quickly he could cancel monthly deliveries, and not just of meals for him and dog chews. He could save on boxes of a dozen choice wines, financial magazines, golfing glossies, and he could live without tempting offers on china figurines dropping into his email inbox too.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would do all that, and check the insurance covered the deposit he’d paid to secure the wedding venue, the caterers, the drinks supplier, and the florist booked to provide out-of-season flowers. Christmas weddings, he’d discovered, were popular, and everything had to be reserved months in advance. Should he consider himself lucky Bridget had ditched him? She had expensive tastes her handmade lace products didn’t support… and some nights she’d warmed his bed with her beautiful body. Would she have moved in if he hadn’t paid the rent on her flat? Had she loved him? She’d dumped him without a second thought when fame and fortune beckoned. Second memo to self: cancel the direct debit for Bridget’s rent.

He grabbed a bottle of brandy and one of the remaining St Bernhard-sized chews. ‘Come on, Ben. You’re sleeping with me. The central heating is off until I get another job.’

Ben bounced up the stairs ahead of him. Dogs didn’t worry about the future, and they didn’t stop loving you either.

Two glasses of brandy later, he decided getting drunk wasn’t the answer; all it would do was give him a hangover, but it had numbed the edge of misery a bit. He lay down with Ben curled behind his bent knees and closed his eyes. Tomorrow… tomorrow… Maybe the sun would come out tomorrow and maybe it wouldn’t, but a man who was no longer a respectable bank manager could strum his guitar in the town square if he felt like it…

The ringing of his front door bell set Ben yapping and triggered a thumping headache. Who the dickens wanted Richard Carpenter at… He squinted at the luminous dial on his alarm clock:  twenty minutes to midnight. He got out of bed and found his slippers by the light of the brilliant harvest moon. It was late for Mrs Stokes who lived next door to arrive home, but it must be her; he held her spare door key.

His visitor was his thirteen-years-ex-wife, Naomi, and she looked spiteful, the way she had when his divorce lawyer had reminded her legal representative that she’d signed a prenuptial agreement and couldn’t claim half his worldly goods.

Waking Mrs Stokes with a row on the doorstep just before midnight was unfair. ‘Come in, Naomi.’

‘No chance, Richard. I only rang the bell to make sure you still lived here.’

‘Eh! Why?’

She ran back to the sports coupé gleaming under a street lamp, lifted the boot lid, and dumped a suitcase on the pavement.

He raised his voice. ‘What the dickens are you doing?’

Naomi paid him no attention, and he wasn’t going outside in his pyjamas. She was wearing a fur coat and the suitcase very likely had wheels. What could she have put in a suitcase that she wanted him to have?

Next, Naomi opened the passenger door. ‘Out, Maria, and take that bloody basket with you.’

Cold or not, he wanted answers. It was still Monday, and he’d had his days-worth of problems. He marched towards Naomi. ‘Who is Maria?’

‘Your daughter, Richard Carpenter, and I’ve done my bit. It’s your turn.’

She swept around her car, slid behind the wheel, and gunned the engine. Brakes screeched at the end of the street and the coupé vanished.

He didn’t have a daughter. If he had, Naomi would have claimed child support… Maria was here, and he couldn’t leave a child alone on the street whoever she belonged to. He grasped the suitcase handle and waved her towards the dimly-lit hall. Ben, who’d obviously discovered how to push down the handle on his bedroom door, flew out, and stopped yapping and started sniffing when Maria placed her basket carefully on the carpet. Something in there was alive and Ben wanted it. Heaven preserve him if the child had a cat; it was one of Ben’s life ambitions to catch and kill a cat. Numerous claw scars testified to his failures.

Shivering, he went into the front room and switched on the electric fire destined to be removed and replaced by living flames created by twigs and dead branches littering the common. Maria followed and opened the basket. He grabbed Ben by the scruff of the neck and dropped him, shocked. Cuddled in a woollen blanket was a baby, and it looked very like one a member of staff on maternity leave had brought into the bank and proudly announced was only a week old.

The blanket was an uninformative yellow. ‘Whose is he, she… it, Maria?’

‘Mummy’s, like me, only she doesn’t want him. Can we call him, Tim?’

‘Timothy Carpenter.’ It had a ring to it… and no way could the boy be his.

‘Oh, great. Mummy said you had loads of bedrooms. We just need to go shopping for a cot and stuff. Tomorrow will do. There’s bottles, formula, and a heater in with my clothes.’

Tomorrow… tomorrow… It was tomorrow, but this was another Monday disaster. What he should do was call the police, who could contact the social services… But suppose Maria was his? She had his fair hair and blue eyes, and a nose that tilted at the tip like Naomi’s did. It wouldn’t be just the baby they’d take into care. He’d be condemning Maria to a children’s home or foster parents, and he’d never get her back. What the heck was he going to do?

Ben made up his mind for him. When Maria sat on the rug nursing the baby, the dog licked her cheek and looked at him with pleading eyes. The same pleading eyes that had made a fool of Richard Carpenter at the dog’s home. He hadn’t resisted them then, and he couldn’t now. He flopped on the sofa, put his aching head in his hands, and groaned.

Maria smelled faintly of Mr Burberry Black, ridiculously expensive perfume he’d bought Naomi as a wedding present, and it was Maria stroking his hair. ‘We’ll be okay, Pop, promise.’

Her body trembled. It could be cold, but it was more likely shock. How could Naomi care for a child for thirteen years and dump her on a stranger’s doorstep? She wasn’t fit to be a mother, of Maria or Timothy, but how could Mr Carpenter, ex-bank manager, soon-to-be ex-prestigious golf club member, explain the sudden acquisition of two children?

First things first. A warm bed, in a warm room, for Maria, and a well-padded drawer for Timothy, and show the girl the kitchen and make sure she really did know how to make up a bottle for a baby. He’d risk anything to keep these two, except the baby’s life.

    my novels

A conversation with... Splattering Richard over my Laptop. - the secrets of award-winning author, Sarah Stuart. So who is Sarah Stuart?