#and their Not Good At Expressing It is very different from Thomas' Not Good At Expressing It

[gutsfics]

Since you write for multiple Choices stories, I'm curious: (how) do they all intertwine? Do your various MCs know each other? How do they get along? How did they meet? If any of your stories don't exist in the same universe, how would the characters get along if they did?

aaaa i love this question!!!! i love figuring out how these stories all fit together even if they don't interact <3

they do all intertwine, but in some places what's 'canon' and what isn't gets a little muddy. like for example, for me both RCD and HWU are equally canon, but its impossible for them to both exist in the same timeline, but that doesn't mean that there isn't connections that happen in both versions. Simon is Hunt's nephew in both RCD and HWU, but how he met Avalon is different because how Hunt met Avalon is different. and that's not even touching on all of the different versions for It Lives I have, and how those different endings would change how It Lives connects to all of the other stories. plus also: all of my sillies fun aus (which i will not talk about here at risk of this post going wayyy too long)

this might get a little messy, my mind is bouncing all over the place. under a read more bc i Will talk way too much about this <3

Simon

anyway since i mentioned Simon by name I'm gonna start with him. im ignoring choices HSS for him & his friends, bc i don't like that it kind of retcons some of HSS prime + makes all of the original friend group just People Who Go To School Together And Barely Interact.

obviously, he is Thomas' nephew, his dad is Thomas' older brother. they're very close, Thomas is his favorite uncle & he's very supportive with Simon figuring out his gender stuff. in fact, he's the person who buys Simon his first suit and the person who helps Simon find a good surgeon for his top surgery, as Thomas himself had issues with his own and didn't want Simon to experience the same things he did (more on this later)

in the HWU world, Simon meets Avalon over his spring break, which he used to sit in on a few classes of Thomas' classes. they know who each other are in really simple terms, just "there's that tall guy from that one class Thomas teaches, he sure is a nice dude :)" "oh, there's that high schooler who's sitting in on classes that Ethan wants to be the agent of. i hope he doesn't feel too pressured to make a decision right now, he's still got plenty of time to figure things out". they do eventually form a stronger relationship but that's only after Thomas and Avalon end up together officially- Simon thinks Avalon is really cool, and Avalon likes that his daughters have a cousin they can look up to (Simon LOVES babysitting/hanging out with Dawn and Lily btw theyre defo The World's Most Chaotic Cousins)

in RCD world, Simon was very small when Avalon and Thomas were together the first time and he knew Avalon just as Thomas' Cool Fun Roommate. he was absolutely DEVASTATED when Avalon "moved away" (read: they broke up) bc he thought Avalon was just SO COOL. but alas, since he was so small at the time he doesn't really remember Avalon all that well. But he is excited when Avalon reenters Thomas' life, and even more excited to find out that they're getting married (he'd be about early/mid 20s by this point). he may not remember Avalon too clearly, but he remembers how much he loved it when Uncle Thomas and his Best Friend Avalon came to visit

in both worlds: one Dr Bryce Lahela does Simon's top surgery (i'd say he gets it maybe mid/late 20s). he specifically chose an Edenbrook doctor bc Thomas knows Dr Banerji and he asked if there were any surgeons that Dr Banerji would trust to do the surgery properly, and he recommended Bryce :) more on how Thomas knows Naveen later

Baxter & Reigan

theyre getting a whole section to just them bc theyre BoyBestFriends and there's a lot about em (but ill try to keep it short)

Baxter and Reigan met in high school, after Baxter was deemed healthy enough to actually attend school instead of just being homeschooled in a hospital room (it was absolutely 100% Baxter's idea and want to do this, their parents wanted to keep them in the hospital 24/7 bc they were worried they'd immediately get sick)

at the time Baxter had been super standoffish and did not like being around people, so Reigan was the one to approach Baxter first. he was fairly well liked and respected by their classmates & he wanted to make sure that they didn't have an awful experience in school. eventually Baxter ended up asking Reigan out, not because they were particularly attracted to him (they were a bit of a late bloomer in that regard) but because they wanted to have all of those Normal Teenage Experiences(tm) and they did like spending time with him. and he said yes, bc even though he didn't feel any attraction either (he's ace/aro), he did like spending time with them as well (and to some degree was hoping that attraction might happen eventually)

dating for them just looked like how hanging out did, although they did hold hands a bit more and kiss at some point, when Baxter decided that they were at The Point In A Relationship Where You Kiss. they also went to prom together.

they broke up shortly after graduating high school, half bc Baxter achieved all those Normal Teenage Experiences(tm) they wanted to and half bc Reigan felt bad that he felt no attraction to Baxter, although he didn't mention it at the time bc he didn't want to hurt Baxter's feelings. there was a bit of a pause in their friendship after this, as both of them felt that they had to give the other some space to get over the romantic part of the relationship, but in the end they realized that neither cared? and went right back to being close good best friends :)

their friendship ended up being long distance for a while, as both college and career choices got in the way of being physically near each other. but. the week that Reigan got the job offer for McGraw Byrne was the week that Raf broke up with Baxter AND Ethan left for the Amazon, and the idea of being just a three hour train ride from his best friend defo played a role in him deciding to take the job. he actually flew to Boston instead of NYC so he could spend a little time with Baxter before he got too busy with his job. Baxter, Aurora, and Bryce actually spent one of their days off helping Reigan's dad furnish Reigan's Cool New NYC Apartment :)

speaking of Reigan's dad. Baxter is actually WAY closer w Reigan's parents than they are w their own. in fact, when Baxter went NC with their parents, Reigan's parent's were like "cool WE'RE your parents now :) we love you kiddo"

anyway. the attack in OH year two happened to line up w the end of LOA book one/beginning of book two (at least it does in my timeline) & Reigan immediately dropped everything to head to Boston to make sure Baxter was okay. while he was there, Martin kept trying to give Reigan really petty cases that were a waste of time, even though Reigan had taken time off and given a reason for it. he ended up chewing Martin out over the phone and quitting, deciding that he'd just look for a job in Boston to be closer to Baxter anyway. he stays in Boston for a bit to help take care of Baxter after they're discharged from the hospital, and when he gets back to New York he learns that Aislinn and Gabe also quit & have started their own law firm, which Reigan has been given a job offer for. he takes it only after Baxter assures him that they will be fine if he stays in NYC

Baxter is the reason that Reigan and Tobias meet (but not the reason that they end up in a qpr together) and they're also the Best Man Of Honor at both the weddings they end up having (Reigan and Tobias marry twice-- once in a Boston courthouse bc they decide that the legal benefits of being married work with what they want from the relationship w each other (Baxter's role here was just a witness), and a second time a more traditional wedding (more of an exchange of vows than a legal process this time) a year or two later to appease the parents)

and this does Not have to do with Baxter and Reigan's friendship but it doesn't really warrant it's own section: Reigan and my Bachelorette Party MC, Hallie, are friends from law school :) and speaking of Hallie, she's the twin sister of one of my Lovelink MCs, Harvy, although Harvy and Hallie were separated at birth bc their bio mom didn't know she was having twins until giving birth & she was unprepared to raise both so Hallie was put up for adoption & raised in the US (Harvy was raised in Vancouver, Canada). it takes em a while to find out about each other (Hallie knew she was adopted but didn't know she was a twin (her adoptive parents didn't know either) and Harvy just straight up Didn't Know he was a twin as his mom didn't tell him). also Harvy technically is just A Character I Have Now bc i really don't care for Lovelink anymore

It Lives

ok so here's where it gets messy. also i might kind of be vague here sorry

the It Lives series has a bunch of different ways to end (zero thanks to pb, this is 100% itlivesproject's win [blows a kiss for the itlivesproject crew <3]), all of which i really like.

so tbh for my world. each and every one of the endings is both canon and non canon, depending on which one i feel like writing for. bc sometimes i wanna write some cute soft fluff where Noah and Devi get to overcome their trauma. and sometimes i want Noah to fucking wallow in his pathetic meowmeow sopping wet sadboy misery where [SPOILERS] bc [SPOILERS] and [SPOILERS] (seriously pls go read the it lives trilogy theyre so good, especially It Lives Within)

however. It Lives IS canon in my worlds. i like the idea of a very mundane world having some kind of exciting magic to it, even if its mostly unknown. just. a magic that touches everyone's lives in little ways and connects us all together :) and that's EXACTLY what the Power is

anyway the ending where the It Lives characters get to interact with characters from other stories is the one where Noah and Devi get to overcome their trauma, and they open up a restaurant together <3 basically i think at some point All of my characters will end up having a meal at Baby Jane's. not all together, but they'll make their way there eventually :)

also there's my au where It Lives is a tv show which I KNOW i said i wouldn't talk about aus BUT i just want yall to know that the actor who plays Devi (i don't have a name for him yet, bc hes not technically Devi) sees Avalon as a mentor figure :)

Thomas & Naveen

(tw for medical malpractice and transphobia)

hey so remember when i said i'd talk about Thomas' top surgery later? and that i'd also talk about how he knows Naveen? well.

my Thomas took a gap year between his senior year of high school and his freshman year of college to medically and legally transition. he was moving to a new place and he wanted to be as stealth as he could be. so as soon as he turned 18, he got his name legally changed and started on testosterone, and got his top surgery scheduled. his plan was that by the time he started college, he would have recovered from his surgery and he'd have been on T for long enough that he'd be going through most of the changes he'd want from it

he specifically found a surgeon in the same town his older brother (Simon's dad, his name is Jonathan) had moved to so he'd have some company/a caretaker while he recovered. unfortunately for him, that surgeon... kind of sucked. his surgery was done wrong, and wasn't healing properly, even though both Thomas and Jon were making sure they were doing everything right. but when they tried to talk to the surgeon, the surgeon would just say "nope everything's fine nothing is wrong you are delusional :) its SUPPOSED to be all rotten and nasty :) stop bothering me" and no one else in the clinic seemed to care at all?

anyway one day Jon just had Enough, bc he'd heard from other people who'd had this surgery how recovery typically looked, and his brother was just wasting away, too weak to do anything bc of how his surgery got fucked up and he kind of just. snapped. and started yelling at the surgeon to Please Fucking Do Something.

while the surgeon didn't do anything, Jon's yelling attracted the attention of a different doctor, one who had only heard bits and pieces about this patient who's brother kept stopping by to ask over and over again if a surgery was healing properly, one who'd heard said surgeon being kind of a dick about it in the breakroom, and he decided that someone needed to do something to help these brothers

that doctor being a young Dr Naveen Banerji, pre diagnostics team and pre Edenbrook employment

he caught Jon just outside after Jon had been..... "politely" escorted out and asked what, specifically seemed to be wrong with his brother's recovery

immediately recognizing the problem caused the surgeon's incompetence/prejudices effecting the health and safety of a patient, Naveen helped Jon find a hospital to take Thomas to, one that would actually help him with what was wrong and set him onto a proper path for recovery

he also quit his job at that hospital. he'd noticed things similar to that happening before, but this was just the final straw. he helped as many patients as he could there, but at some point you have to know when to walk away. but that was a good thing for his career, as he was able to start the diagnostics team at Edenbrook, not to mention that other hospital ended up getting shut down for medical malpractice

Thomas and Naveen stayed in touch, and now whenever Thomas ends up in Boston for whatever reason, he'll stop by for a visit :)

[thebibliosphere]

I’m ill and miserable so I’m tinkering with my Pennyworth universe fics and giving myself emotions about Patricia Wayne, of all people.

Non-Pennyworth fans can scroll on if you want, but do we think, just for a moment, that Bruce might adopt his party boy persona a little bit from his Aunt Pat?

I do. I think he looked at his bottle blonde auntie with her giant sunglasses, ditzy demeanor, cigarette always in hand, rumored to have a coke spoon up her sleeve, and a different lover ever week and saw someone sad and hurting but also someone smart enough to put up the exact kind of facade that lets her maneuver through their world, this high society minefield of gossip, judgement and scrutiny, and force people to look the other way out of sheer mortified scandal.

“Did you hear what Patricia Wayne got up to last week?”

“No, tell me.”

She’s all anyone can talk about. This ditzy socialite heiress with her too blonde hair and her too short dresses. Too loud, too bold, too much.

But none of them really know her.

The real her—the auntie with the sad eyes and the biggest smile who used to show up out of nowhere and take him for ice cream in the middle of the school day much to Martha’s annoyance.

The auntie who used to stand behind his father and mimic his serious facial expressions just to make Bruce laugh.

The auntie who showed up to the school run one time looking like a Christmas tree, hair still in foils from the salon because Alfred got detained and when Tommy called to ask she left before the hairdresser had a chance to take them out.

His Auntie Pat who lets him ask questions about the sister he never met and who everyone else is too sad to talk about.

Patricia Wayne who appears at Wayne Manor the moment she heard about Tommy and Martha’s deaths, looking pale and gaunt, aged about a hundred years in the time it took to drive from New York to Gotham because while flying might have been quicker, driving let her scream and howl her grief out because Bruce is a quiet child who needs quiet words and Patricia has never been very good at that but for him she’ll do it. She’ll rip her vocal cords out to give him the quiet solace he needs if that’s what it takes.

Patricia Wayne who signs over full custody to Alfred Pennyworth the moment she can because she loves Bruce but knows herself well enough to know that she’d be a terrible co-parent but also because it makes her want to jump into Gotham harbor with stones in her pockets seeing Tommy looking up at her from behind his eyes.

Auntie Pat who dips in and out of his adolescence like a lightning strike, teaches him how to act and move and glide through the world his parents tolerated and Alfred only knows how to interact with from the sidelines.

Teaches him how to flirt and charm and smile, how to be a darling of the press while never giving anything away.

Auntie Pat who catches him hiding in his parents old bedroom at a party, looking at himself in Martha’s old mirror and listens to the heartbreak in his voice when he admits he can see Martha’s features fading in his face as his jaw squares out. Pat pierces his ear for him, holding a needle over a flame, so he can wear one of Martha’s earrings, Thomas’s cufflinks on his wrists.

Patricia Wayne who watches him start to bulk out. Sees the bruises and cuts that definitely don’t come from polo practice or whatever the fuck Bruce claims they’re from.

Patricia Wayne who looks Alfred dead in the eye when a caped crusader begins stalking the streets of Gotham and remarks loudly at a party that she has no idea where Bruce has got to, but if she had to guess, he’s been detained by a pretty face. You know how Tommy was at his age, the apple never falls far from the tree…

She’ll never ask, and Alfred will never tell, but she’s always got an alibi ready.

Bruce was with her the whole time, officers. Batman? Don’t be absurd. He’s a Wayne. What kind of family do you think they are? Why, you might as well accuse her dearly departed brother of being a secret agent for the government. His wife too while you’re at it. Honestly, the nerve…

Patricia Wayne who coos sweetly at eight year old Dick but tells him quite seriously if he ever calls her “Great Aunt Patricia” ever again she’s taking the toaster for a bath.

She hasn’t had this much work and Botox done for nothing, thank you very much.

I dunno man. I just want him to have someone in his life that when the Brucie Wayne persona jumps out the whole of upper Gotham goes, “oh, he got those Wayne genes. Oh okay. Carry on.”

[ssweetleaf]

dark blue.

tommy shelby x fem!reader

summary: you're finn's girlfriend- and you've always received the same question, what's a good girl like you doing with a boy like him? funnily enough, his older brother thomas wonders the same thing.

includes: SMUT 18+, dom/sub dynamics, age-gap (tommy is in his early 40s, reader early 20s, though it isn't specified), innocence kink/corruption kink, cheating, daddy kink, oral (male rec), throat fucking, cum-eating, based on this ask here

a/n: feedback is always very much appreciated!! <3

⋆✰

“What’s a good girl like you doin’ with a boy like Finn, eh?”

It was a common saying you'd get from various people over the few months that you'd been seeing a certain Finn Shelby-- you were used to it, the constant stares of disbelief that someone like you, someone so sweet, with pretty dresses and full of radiance would want anything to do with an up-and-coming gangster.

It was love, at least that's what you told yourself.

So after hearing that certain question so many times without batting an eyelid, why did it sound so different when it came from him?

Thomas Shelby. Your boyfriend's older brother. All stoic and dressed to impress and intimidate, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth like always, smoking on it without a care in the world whether he was allowed to in a house like yours or not.

He had surprised you, scared the wits out of you-- you were alone in the comfort of your bedroom, sitting at your vanity doing your nightly routine before he had shown up. You hadn't a clue how he'd gotten in, and he was smug about it, the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth a big indicator.

You stood up, smoothing down your nightgown when it clung to the thickness of your thighs and attempted to make eye contact and stutter out a few words.

"M-Mr Shelby," you breathed, fiddling with your hands when you clasped them in front of you. "What're you doing here?"

Tommy's eyes flicked around your room, taking note of your white walls and plush, pink duvet-- the trinkets scattered along your room all cutesy and girly. Just like you and your stupid nightgown, he thought.

"Came here to properly introduce myself," he spoke, inhaling another drag and exhaling the harsh smoke in your direction.

"But we've already met," your brows furrowed, cocking your head to the side impishly and unsure. "It was the other day, don't you remember?"

"I do," he flicked his tongue over his lips to moisten them, eyes still fixated on you. "but that was far too formal, don't you think, sweetheart?"

An unusual shiver ran along your spine-- sweetheart, you liked the way it sounded, the way he said it. Finn never called you sweetheart.

You nodded, in a foggy daze, staring at him with a somewhat dumb expression on your face.

Tommy cleared his throat and you quickly shook yourself out of your strange stupor.

"Aren't y'gonna invite me to sit?" he asked, eyebrows raised, waiting. "that's what polite girls do, isn't it?"

You were quick to nod your head, pulling out your vanity chair and inviting him to sit, just like he had asked. He sat down, the contrast of his dark exterior with your pretty pink belongings had butterflies fluttering in the pit of your stomach-- a sense that he didn't belong there, but the thrumming between your thighs was obvious that you liked him being there, amongst you, amongst your things.

He stubbed his cigarette out in a little jewellery dish that sat upon your vanity, heart-shaped and porcelain, now covered in grey, smoking ash. You knew better than to chastise him for it.

"You didn't answer my question," he muttered, clasping his hands in front of him, though differently to you, it was in confidence, to intimidate.

You thought about it. Why were you with Finn?

"W-We're in love, sir," you stuttered, not meeting his gaze, your cheeks were on fire.

"You don't look too sure about that, sweetheart," there it was again, that name, a single term going straight to your core, a surge of wetness saturating the cotton of your underwear. "Has he fucked you yet?"

You coughed on your own spit, eyes bulging out of their sockets at his crude question.

"Pardon?" you breathed, exasperated.

His reply was simple.

"You heard me."

"I don't believe that's any of your concern-" he was quick to interject, eyes swarming and dark, consuming you, leaving you to hang your head and cower.

"Finn's my brother," he spoke, "I have the right to know what he gets up to, and I don't want him corrupting a good girl like you just because he thinks he's in love."

You flushed at his words and you decided to answer his previous question, no matter how inappropriate.

"We haven't," your words were soft, quiet, he almost had trouble hearing you.

"Haven't what?" he hid his smirk, he already had you wrapped around his little finger, it was too easy.

"Had sex," you muttered, cheeks searing at your confession.

“Do you want to?” He asked, you stiffened, lashes fluttering and lips opening and closing like a poor fish out of water.

“M-maybe…”

“Come here,” Tommy patted his thigh, signalling you to come closer, to stand between his spread legs and have him look at you much closer. You did as he asked, you were a good girl after all.

“Do you want me to show you what it’s like?” He cooed all condescending and mocking, “Do you want me to show you what big, bad men do to little girls like you?”

“Mr Shelby, what about Finn?” His eyes darkened at the mere mention of his youngest brother.

“Fuck Finn,” he spoke slowly, “you forget about him when I’m talking to you, you understand me?”

You nodded, resting your hands against his shoulders to steady you when he tugged you closer by the frills of your nightgown.

“Yes, Mr Shelby,”

“No, no, none of that,” he shook his head, hands on your hips, thumbs rubbing against your soft, covered skin. “You address me properly.”

You searched your mind for the right term, brows furrowing and lips pouting, trying to think what on earth he wanted you to address him by.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he chuckled, bringing his thumb and forefinger to grip your chin, tugging it from side to side. “I’m your daddy now, isn’t that right?”

You whined, unable to control it, rubbing your thighs together, your walls collapsing and letting your submissive nature come to the forefront.

Thomas Shelby was the devil himself, you were sure— and he was your daddy. Finn had disappeared from your mind completely.

“Yes,” you sighed, all dreamily and cute, leaning into his touch, “yes, daddy.”

His plump lips curved up into a smirk, palm patting at your cheek as if you were a dog, eager for praise-- and you realised that wasn't too far from the truth; just a bitch in heat, eager and ready for her first breeding.

You stared at him, dumbified from those cornflower irises of his, almost hypnotizing, and you were sure you'd comply with anything he'd ask of you.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Tommy could practically see the gears shifting beneath your skull and he raised his brows when you stuttered, a silent 'I'm waiting' when you took far too long to answer him.

"C-Can I have a kiss?" you spoke shyly, thumbing the expensive cotton of his crisp shirt, growing impossibly warmer and not just because of the close proximity. "please?"

You made sure to add your plea, keeping your manners intact, giving him something to be proud of you for.

So innocent, he thought, you really were such a good girl-- something he thought was all just an act to get what you wanted, however with the way you stumbled over your words and fluttered your lashes, more eager for a kiss than anything else- anything more.

Yeah, that was no act.

Tommy fought the smile that ticked at his lips, using his fingers to tip your chin, tugging you closer, closer, closer, until you were a hair's width away. You could feel his lips brush against the skin of your cheek, gently, so uncharacteristic, you didn't think that a man of his status and power could be so sweet on someone.

Though, of course, that's what Tommy Shelby wanted you to think, he wanted you to succumb to the desires that he caused, take you and defile you and leave you wanting no man other than himself. He craved the power imbalance, the sick need to corrupt young, naive little girls like yourself.

Tommy Shelby was not sweet. He was worlds apart from that.

The soft feeling of his lips grew nearer, to your cheek, then to the corner of your mouth, before pecking your lips-- a small spongy kiss, capable of urging a little whine to escape your throat.

He kissed you again, slotting your mouths together, locking your lips one over the other, deepening the kiss and it quickly became heated. Swiping his tongue along your bottom lip, he didn't have the patience to wait for you to open up, instead forcing his prodding tongue inside your mouth, crudely swiping it against yours, sucking it between his lips before running it along the ridges of your teeth.

You didn't think kissing could feel so dirty, so unhinged, but you were rather ashamed to say you liked it. The way his callused hands trailed from your hips to your neck, all the way back down just to take a handful of your behind, squeezing the doughy globes roughly and playing with them as if you were a mere toy.

Tommy pulled away, a long, silver line of spit keeping your lips connected, only breaking apart when he began to speak, pushing at your shoulders and urging you to the carpet.

"On your knees," his voice was raspy, and he cleared his throat, clearly affected by you, by your innocence more like. "gonna teach you how to keep men like me happy."

You instantly obeyed, dropping to your knees and sitting on your haunches, practically purring when he cupped and stroked your cheek.

He eyed you from below him, perched in the space between his knees and he spread them further to let you shuffle closer, your hands on his thighs.

"You're a good little pet, aren't you?" he cooed, swiping his thumb along your chin, "such a good listener, eh?"

You beamed up at him, leaning into his touch and nodding enthusiastically.

"Yes, Daddy," a little giggle pushed past your lips, "for you."

"That's right," he hummed, "just f'me."

You had an idea of what he wanted you to do and you fiddled with his belt in anticipation for his next command.

"You're gonna learn how to properly suck cock," he spoke, "and y'gonna do a fucking good job of it."

Your mouth watered at the prospect of having his cock on your tongue. You sighed dreamily.

"And once I've taught ya, that's gonna be your job from now on-- gonna ease daddy's stress whenever he needs you to."

You nodded, cheeks searing.

"Yes, sir- I'll do anything f'you."

He had you where he wanted you, compliant and ready to yield at his every command. It was too fucking easy, he almost wanted to laugh at your naivety, how unaffected you were by the idea of having another man's cock down your throat, your own boyfriend's brother in fact and Finn hadn't even crossed your mind. Poor, poor Finn, always second best when it came to being compared to Tommy.

You may have been a good girl and did as the older man said, but you were still a whore at heart. His little harlot.

"Come on then, sweetheart, I haven't got all day," he chastised, cocking his head down to his belt that you hadn't unbuckled yet. You had so much left to learn.

You fumbled with the leather that encircled his waist, pulling it through the silver buckle and from the loops before unzipping his fly and pulling his tailored trousers down as far as you could to his thighs.

The bulge in his briefs was prominent and your mouth salivated at the sight, your natural reaction to a sight so delectable, your first cock to suck and it was so big too, you wondered how you'd be able to take him without choking on him. But where was the fun if you weren't?

Your instincts told you to reach out and grab it, so you did just that, palming him through his underwear and feeling the warmth of his shaft jolt and throb against your grip, already hard and you swore you noticed a little wet spot saturating the fabric-- a trick of the light, you thought.

Tommy sucked in a sharp breath, giving you a pointed look, eyebrow raised.

"I'm not 'ere to get teased," he huffed, as if his cock wasn't jumping at the touch of your hand. He took a handful of your hair, tugging it and making your scalp burn. "come on, take it out and get to work."

Your fingers curled under the elastic of his briefs, pulling the fabric down to rest where his trousers were, and the sight had you gawking, eyes as wide as saucers as you took in his pretty appendage.

So thick, littered with blue veins, the colour much akin to the blue of his eyes and you swallowed down all the saliva that pooled under your tongue. His tip was a pretty shade of tan, glistening with beads of pre-cum, slapping against his stomach every time he throbbed.

"I didn't know they could be this pretty," you marvelled, taking hold of it and delicately running your fingers up each prominent vein. Tommy cleared his throat at your unexpected praise, the grip on your hair a lot softer than before, instead of tugging on it, he petted it down softly, watching you watch him.

"Put me in your mouth, darling," you smiled up at him teasingly pouting up at him.

"So impatient," you teased, your confidence rising, before you tightened your grip, puckering your lips around his tip, sucking it as if he were one of your favourite lollipops.

You took him out of your mouth with a soft pop, just to reattach yourself to him, lathering your tongue over his sensitive head, the somewhat salty taste igniting your tastebuds and you hummed around him.

"There y'go, you can take more than that," you hollowed your cheeks at his words, going lower, taking him deeper and slowly you started to bob your head up and down, moaning at his taste and thickness on your tongue.

With a particularly harsh downward thrust of your head, he reached the back of your throat, instantly causing you to gag and you pulled off him, whining and sniffling with tears ebbing over your waterline.

"Good girl," he cooed breathlessly, chest heaving and palms cradling your face, hushing and settling you when you continued to whine out. "Doin' so well, got me a little whore in the making, hm?"

He pushed you back onto his cock, guiding you down, down, down until you were gagging once again, though this time you didn't pull off of him, you couldn't, not with the strength he was using to hold and keep your head down. Your nose brushed against the course thatch of hair that littered his pelvis and you tried to resist gagging at the stupidly large intrusion by breathing steadily through your nose.

You wanted so badly to rise for air, to ease the soreness that started to buzz in your throat, but although this was your first time, a true beginner, he still treated you like one of his most proficient whores. Coughing and spluttering, drool started to slip from your mouth and down your chin, so messy and slick, dripping down the length of your neck, saturating your pink nightgown and settling in the space between your tits.

"Fuck," he groaned, "gonna fuck this little virgin throat, gonna make you choke- doesn't that sound good, sweet girl?"

With the way you sobbed and moaned around him, he took it as a yes, keeping a good, firm grip upon your tresses to bob you up and down as he pleased, thrusting his hips upwards and meeting your mouth in the middle.

You grew light-headed, crude, sloppy sounds filling the air along with your constant gags and you quickly slapped at his thigh, urging him to let you up, to go easy on you and let you catch your breath. He didn't stop, however, didn't even slow down, purposeful in messing with you and teaching you that he was in charge-- he would decide whether you needed to breathe or not.

He chuckled at your vulnerability, stopping his thrusts to to sheath himself deep down your throat and keep you still, just the feeling of you gagging around his shaft was enough to stimulate him.

Eventually, he let you up for breath, marvelling at how you coughed and struggled to catch your breath, your throat feeling entirely abused and sore each time you swallowed. His pretty cock jolted at the sight of you, so messy and whoreish, hair tangled and spit dribbling down your chin.

"Breathe, darling," he cooed, cupping your tear-stained cheeks between his rough palms and pouting at you mockingly, pressing a rather condescending peck to your forehead. "Bein' so good-- almost done, sweetheart, just gotta make daddy cum and then you can rest that lovely throat of yours."

You breathed shakily, settling down on your haunches again and grabbing his slick cock in your grasp.

"Okay, Daddy," you sniffled, such a sweet girl, even with a cock in your hand.

Tommy guided you down, conducting your movements with a thrust and push to your head, keeping you pliant and submerging himself within you, and if your throat felt this good his head reeled at the thought of your pussy-- so tight and virginal, untouched, not even by your curious little fingers.

He'd have all of you soon enough.

You could see his stomach muscles clenching, thighs flexing from under your palms and you hummed around him when you noticed his thrusts growing sloppier.

"Fuck," Tommy groaned, breaths haphazard and shaky, "you ready, sweet girl? You ready to taste Daddy's cum? Y'gonna swallow it all, aren't you, otherwise m'gonna have to force feed it down that pretty throat."

You stared up at him as best as you could, fluttering your lashes, tears spilling and clouding your vision, though you blinked them away, eager to see him, to see the way his face would contort, how beautiful he'd look whilst shooting cum inside your mouth.

One, two, three more thrusts were all it took for him to start convulsing, cock jolting on your tongue and spilling his seed, coating the walls of your constricting throat. He was groaning, moaning out loud, sounds so pretty you had to keep your thighs clenched tight.

"Shit- good girl, such a good little whore, you are."

He continued to ride his orgasm out, until he grew far too over-sensitive, pulling himself out of your mouth and lifting your head up, spent and eyes hooded watching you swallow his seed and hum at the newfound taste-- something you already found yourself becoming addicted to.

"Look," you beamed, still teary-eyed and shaky on your knees, you opened your mouth wide, sticking out your tongue for him to marvel at, completely clean of all traces of his cum, now deep in your belly. "swallowed it all, daddy- just like you said."

Tommy's head started to spin, praising you at how good you had been though he felt strange, heart thumping in his chest at the mere sight of you, he felt soft, a small smile on his face without realising.

He thought you were wrapped tightly around his finger, however he had begun to realise in such a short time it was the complete opposite way around.

[your-nanas-house]

I have an idea for a smutty dark/Dom Tommy fic if you're open to writing it! I'm not sure on a plot but involing him wearing and keeping on his leather gloves, thank you in advance!!!

Yessssss, love it. Thank you so much! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Not a virgin anymore

(credits to the owner of the gif)

◇ Pairing: Dark!Tommy Shelby X Finn's girlfriend!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, age gap (both off age), fingering, dry humping, mean Tommy

◇ Summary: Tommy checks if Finn's girl is as pure as he claims.

◇ Note: Sorry if it took me so long. A huge thank you to @mrkdvidal1989 that helped me so much, you helped me so much with my mood and the writing of this. Thank you 😭 Also It's pretty much a collab.

“I think I wanna marry her” Finn informed his brothers without being able to hold back a bright grin, his eyes scanning them as he waited for a reply, any advice or.. a comment of any kind at least.

He knew that he was quite young to think about marriage, since he hit adulthood just two years before, but the emotions he felt for this young woman were true.

As no one opened their mouths to say something, just continuing to glance at each other, Finn spoke up again ”I fookin’ love her” his mood still so eager and happy.. like a puppy in love.

Still nothing, everyone was mostly waiting for Thomas to say something, but the older man kept staring blankly at his younger brother, seated on his armchair.. legs open and arms resting there, supporting his head and cigarette as if he was lost in thoughts.

“Nothing to say?” Finn asked, getting impatient, his eyes glancing between the older ones, Tommy and Arthur.

As the youngest brother got clearly frustrated, Arthur cleared his throat.

“Hmm… you fookin’ know her for how long, eh? Nearly six months?” he reminded his brother, mocking him before being interrupted quickly

 “SO? When John married he didn’t even know Esme’s damn name!” Finn quickly pointed out, already getting riled up by the situation. 

Fin always did that. Hating how his brothers treated him because of the age difference, completely oblivious to the fact that he… was acting very childish too often for Tommy to see him as an equal to John or Arthur. 

His poorly thought-out decisions and lack of discipline when it came to listening to orders of his older brothers were playing a huge part in how Thomas viewed him. 

”Have you thought about the responsibilities that come with becoming a Shelby, Fin? Have you already introduced them to your chosen one? Risk Our ways and how we deal with things?.. Have you thought about that? Huh?” He pressed, leaning forward as his patience ran short with how snappy Fin was. Lack of respect was just another thing he despised in his younger brother.

”I-I…” The young man stammered out, looking for any line to defend himself.. unsuccessfully, making Thomas scoff while putting out his cigarette into an ashtray. 

”What’s her name again?...” He rasped out, his now free hand tapping impatiently against the fabric of the armchair, his cold gaze piercing his brother's face without a hint of any positive emotions.

“Y/n..Y/n Y/l/n” Finn replied in a murmur, his older brother’s comments affecting him more than he wished they would. 

The name kept repeating in Thomas’ head, before a cocky amused smirk cracked his serious expression.

“Now I get why yer want to marry her” he chuckled bitterly leaning forward, face to face with Finn. 

“She’s as good as her mother, eh?” he asked mockingly, pouring himself a glass of whiskey “You don’t marry whores, you just tame them, Finn. Am I right?” he asked his other two brothers with amusement in his voice, not really expecting an answer.

His mischievous mood changed quickly as Finn suddenly got up from his seat.

“She’s not!.. She’s not like her mother.. She's a good girl, goes to church, helps around and works in the local bakery." The youngest Peaky Blinder informed them, narrowing his eyes at Tommy’s reaction. Watching with a clenched jaw as the older man hummed mockingly, gulping fast down the strong drink before he spoke again, not changing his attitude.

 “A good girl, huh… I bet”, making the other laugh at Finn as well.

“It’s true! You… I’ll make you fookin’ meet her”

.

It took him just a couple of days to organise a meeting between them, inviting them all to her house. It was a pretty cosy, little, modest house settled in Small Heath. Nothing fancy but it was visible that the people living there were doing their very best to keep it nice. 

The male part of the family of Shelby's stood on the porch on the agreed day and time. 

Their expensive suits looking odd contrasting with the domestic and homey look of the building and little wooden decorations standing in the garden. 

Finn was smiling, standing at the forefront of the group while Arthur and John kept joking back and forth, in front of Tommy, whose face remained serious and uninterested as he waited. 

After knocking on the door, they didn't have to wait long before an old woman, probably in her 60s, appeared in the doorway. A friendly smile lingering on her wrinkled face that looked great accompanied by the dark pink dress she wore.

”Good morning, Mister” She spoke up seeing Finn, earning a polite smile from him. They clearly had met each other previously, so she wasn't very alarmed by the sight of four men in suits standing at the door. “Good morning, nana” Finn greeted, removing his hat for respect, cleaning his shoes before entering the familiar house, heading directly towards the living room. 

John was the next to enter the house, along with Arthur, a smirk still on his face due to the jokes they were sharing previously 

“Good morning, na— Mrs. Y/l/n” he corrected himself quickly as Arthur slapped the back of his head “Be fookin’ polite” he murmured under his breath, smiling at the older woman before kissing her hand as he bowed his head slightly “Good morning, ma’am, thank you for inviting us into your house” he stated, winking before following the direction Finn took, not noticing the weird side eye Tommy gave him as he cleaned his soles before walking in as well with the same unbothered expression. 

”Mornin’” Thomas nodded, keeping his cap on. After all he didn't come here for a tea, he had his own purpose. 

Purpose of proving Finn how wrong he was when it comes to little Y/n. 

The older woman’s eyes widened as she felt the weird, intimidating aura surrounding the middle brother. Mumbling her greeting, she quickly disappeared into the kitchen, chatting with Arthur and John as she put the kettle on the stove. 

As Finn tried to head towards the same direction, Tommy's calloused hand grabbed his shoulder roughly. Turning him to face him, he leaned to his level. The serious and business expression on his face. 

”I’m going to have a chat with your little fiancé, eh? You stay there and entertain the old woman and your brothers while I check if she is who you say she is.” he stated harshly in a fierce voice, his eyes glancing at the older woman and back at him before messing up his hair as if he was still a child. 

Ignoring completely the worried expression on his face, because Thomas was aware that Finn knew better than to ask questions. 

The younger brother stood still for a moment before nodding with a resigned expression, turning around and slowly walking away towards the kitchen. Practically leaving his girlfriend in the lion's mouth. 

It was Tommy’s first time in that house so he didn’t really know where to go, luckily for him Y/n’s soft voice led him to what it looked like a small studio. A pretty dark room, with only one window which was close, it was decorated with lots of books and a wooden desk where the young woman was standing behind, holding an old phone, busy talking with someone.

”Yes, aunty. I'll let her know” she replied with a smile, despite the fact that the person on the other side of the phone couldn't see it, her hand busy playing with the tiny golden chain with a cross. Her eyes moving from the spot she was staring at to move closer to the desk “I have to leave you now, we were supposed to have guests today.. I think they are here already” she informed her, glancing towards the door, getting startled by Tommy’s figure standing there as if he owned the place.

He didn’t say anything to interrupt her call, his gloved hands just woven together in front of him, his head tilted to the side as he watched the girl. 

“I love you too, auntie. Bye” she murmured, hanging up the call to give Tommy’s her complete attention

 “Mr Shelby— Welcome, I didn’t hear you come in…” she started, eyeing him suspiciously, her innocent girl facade. staring back at him.

“Nana doesn’t like when people wear caps inside of her house… it’s a way to show respect” she pointed out, already a bit annoyed by his attitude. Thomas chuckled hearing her words, as he adjusted the peaky cap on his head.

”Nana didn't offer me a cup of tea, which isn't really polite either, eh?” He spoke up with a hint of mockery before entering her room and closing the door behind, making sure to lock it.

“She’s probably still preparing it, we have fresh baked cookies, though.” Y/n pointed out as her expression softened. Her demeanour changed as she tried to keep her temper down. It should have been a calm day but a lot of things that set her off happened, so she wasn’t in the right state of mind to deal with Tommy fucking Shelby.

Be proper, Y/n thought just like she was always told. Plastering a small smile on her face, her eyes moving from Thomas’ face to the door and back. “They are in the living room, sir,” 

Tommy chuckled at her words, walking slowly further into her room, looking around with a grin as he hummed. 

“That's one way to decorate a girl's room, eh?” He scoffed, eyeing her suggestively, touching the colourful figurines standing on shelves. ”Definitely furnished to be a whore's own.” he casually pointed out, checking the books casually. “Guess they paid your mom good enough, huh? Family business it is, sweetheart?” the older man moved his gaze towards her standing form, smirking amused at her blank stare.

“Pardon?” she stuttered out through her utter shock, her head tilting  to the side.“You here to disrespect a dead woman, Mr Shelby? If so.. You can fucking leave!” she spat out angrily, staring blankly at him for a couple of minutes before sighing and looking away, playing nervously with her cross while she headed to the door.

“My condolences… I’m here because of the sick idea you put in my little brother’s head” Tommy spoke in an emotionless tone, reaching for a pack of cigarettes in his pocket.. Lighting one without even asking for approval.

“Finn talked about you quite a lot lately, speaking about how pure, innocent, religious… and a good girl you are. You got him quite smitten, eh?” Thomas pointed out after inhaling deeply, his hand rubbing his chin “Well… what I was wondering about was how much of this is actually true.” He murmured, meeting her gaze with a smirk as he moved closer, hand reaching for her chin. “How much of a little saint you actually are, eh? Sweetheart.” he added, blowing out the smoke in her face, his fingers digging painfully into her skin as she looked into his empty, blue eyes. 

Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed at his harsh tone, her eyes narrowing as her mouth remained shut. Struggling in his grip, she tried to free herself, unsuccessfully. 

She was losing her patience quite quickly and it wasn't something that happened frequently… but there she was, angrily standing in front of what was the most feared man of Birmingham.

“I am.. I'm.. intact, if that's your concern, Mr. Shelby” She informed him in a sarcastically pleasant tone, a hint of harsh arrogance clear as day, caused by how annoyed she was by the conversation they were having. 

Her small hands curling into fists, squeezing tightly when Tommy just nodded almost mockingly, his icy stare moving across her body slowly, carefully measuring each part of her body. Not worried about gentlemanly manners, Thomas stared, as if he was checking her out.

“Sure” he simply said, the tone of his voice intact, but the look in his blue eyes wasn't trying to hide how little he believed her. Putting out his cigarette, he threw it on the floor while keeping eye contact, showing disrespect to her words and the place she lived. Simply because he could. 

Y/n gasped at his behaviour, quickly moving towards his silhouette as she pushed her finger against his chest, threatening.

“I fucking am, fucking check if you don’t believe me.” she whispered yelled, staring in his eyes boldly as he looked down at her, not a single emotion visible on his face. Almost like he was a statue carved from stone.

Tommy’s eyebrows raised slightly, his cold stare piercing her own, before lowering down to her chest which kept heaving with her deep breaths, caused purely by the anger she felt. 

His hand moved to the edge of her dress, grabbing onto the fabric as he tried to raise it up, making Y/n realise his intention quickly and act impulsively… her hand made an impact with his cheek suddenly, throwing his face to the side slightly. Only after a second she realised what she's done, eyes widening in fear at the sight of his skin turning red.

The loud noise echoing in the room, as Tommy’s, now, dark gaze met her fearful eyes. Not a word was exchanged as his hands grabbed her roughly when she tried to escape from him, manhandling her smaller body harshly against the wooden surface of the desk. One hand kept her body flat against it, pressing painfully on the centre of her back, while his other gloved hand pulled up her dress.. revealing her white panties to him.

A hum of approval escaped his lips as he kneaded her flesh, ignoring her whimpers and pleads to stop. The view in front of him, so strangely innocent and pure, made his cock hardening in his pants, in a quite painful way. 

Lowering his icy eyes with his hand he moved her thighs apart, rubbing slowly two thick fingers against her clothed folds.

”Look at that, already wet” he cooed mockingly as he moved his fingers, spreading her wetness by using the fabric of her panties. 

His left hand digging in the flesh of her covered back, to hold her down and to keep his urges under control. It took much more self-control than he thought it would, not expecting that a girl that pretty would take interest in his inexperienced little brother.

Her eyes were tightly shut, forcing her mouth to stay closed, to make sure she wasn't making any noises. Her mind was a mess as his hands travelled down her heat, touching the places that nobody else ever saw. 

As soon as his thumb pressed on her clit, her hips involuntarily jerked forward as she bit her bottom lip, trying to muffle the sigh that so desperately tried to escape her lips.

”So needy, eh? What would your grandma think?” Thomas chuckled, feeling how her body tensed, her hands trying to reach him, and push him off, unsuccessfully.

The young woman was so focused on trying to make him stop that she didn’t notice the moment when he pulled her panties to the side, allowing the cold breeze of the room to hit her wet bare pussy. 

“No, please– sir!” she yelled in a moment of panic, Tommy’s free hand quickly covering her mouth as he toyed with her folds, opening her so that he could take a look that sent shivers down his spine. That sure was a pretty pussy, he thought while daring to move his index finger to her entrance. 

Her sweet nectar wetting his gloved hand, making it even more noticeable “Look at you, sweetheart” he cooed mockingly again, as his finger pushed slightly deeper, in need to find out the truth.

Angling it slightly to the side, with a tip of his digit he could feel the thin barrier that was in the way of her tight tunnel.

Shaking his head, he leaned towards her, his wet lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

”So innocent, aren't you? Such a small, untouched cunt.” He breathed out, the urge to fuck her becoming increasingly stronger.

Letting out a breath, he pressed his index finger inside without even warning her… just grunting quietly into her ear, as she bit down his hand because of the pain.

So tight and warm, he thought. Tommy could feel how wet she was as he moved his gloved finger against her walls, biting on his bottom lip as he kept going further.

By the way she was moving it looked like it hurt her, as if she was feeling the burning sensation. One felt by a pure woman when her cherry was about to be popped.

“I guess you were right, honey” Tommy hummed, now circling her clit with her gloved hand, his middle finger helping his index one to feel her hymen before pressing against it harshly. Leather covering his hands caused his fingers to appear even thicker, stretching her pussy out so much that they both had to fight the urge to groan at the feeling. 

Tommy's cock was fully hard at this point, leaking with precum into his underwear as his fingers explored the depths of her virgin pussy.

His eyes daring to close, so that his mind could wander in places it shouldn’t. The mere thought of his thick cock wrapped and squeezed for dear life by her pussy was driving him wild, making his finger start to thrust faster as he moved his hips against nothing, just unable to fight the fantasy that he was inside of her precious cunt.

“Fuck, that’s it, honey” he praised, moving his wrist in a quick motion, leaning closer again. His hot breath hitting her neck with each exhale. ”I knew you were a little slut.” He rasped out in a shaky voice, struggling to keep his composure while feeling her pussy clench down on his fingers like a vice. 

“Can feel your filthy cunt squeezing my fingers. Yer fookin’ close, aren’t ye?” he growled in a low tone, parroting back mockingly her noises of pleasure. 

Y/n cried out at the humiliation and the overwhelming feeling in her lower belly. Despite her desperate attempts to not give into it, she couldn't fight it as he kept fucking her with his thick, gloved fingers.

”Give it to me. Stop fighting it.” He commanded through his teeth, as he felt his cock throbbing impatiently in his pants, demanding attention. 

”N-no!” She pleaded quietly, trying her best to suppress the tension that pushed her on the edge of her first orgasm. Breathing deeply, she caught his wrist, trying to stop him, but Tommy just laughed quietly. 

”There you go” He whispered, leaving a small kiss on her temple before shoving his fingers knuckle deep, fucking her with hard and quick strokes, curling his fingers up to hit her g spot with each thrust. 

His other hand was clamped over her mouth, which she ended up biting as he made her cum so hard, that just a couple seconds into the orgasm, her body shook and vision went blurry as her juices shot out on his hand, wetting his glove when she squirted for the very first time in her life. 

Y/n’s eyes rolled in the back of her head as she trembled, muscles relaxing as the feeling got… way too much. She was too long gone in her pleasure to notice at first the sound of his belt clicking open, the zip of his pants being pulled down with the fabric, so that his cock was finally free. 

After licking his gloves from her wetness, he grabbed a hold of her hips, pressing his rock hard cock against her flesh, hsi eyes fluttering shut when he started to move his hips. Grinding at an animalistic pace, his main goal his own pleasure.

He needed to rub his cock, keeping it squeezed tightly between their bodies, for a couple of minutes to finally shoot his load on her lower back.

As they both breathed heavily, he moved carefully away from her, gathering his cum with his hand to shove it in her mouth before fixing his suit and walking out of the room without a word.

He walked followed with the same powerful aura, at a fast pace towards the front door 

“Let’s go” Thomas ordered his brothers while walking to the front door, patting Finn’s shoulder with a serious expression 

“She’s not a virgin… anymore” he informed him as he stole a cookie and walked out, nodding at the old lady with a crooked grin. 

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher, @sleepycreativewriter, @mrkdvidal1989

[satellite-evans]

Familiar Echoes

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: When Y/N, the daughter of the duke of Ashbourne returns to Aubrey Hall, old feelings resurface between her and Benedict Bridgerton, sparking tension and intrigue. As they navigate past misunderstandings with the support of their families, they must confront their emotions and decide if their childhood bond can evolve into something more.

Word count: 4.7k words

Warnings: fluff, a little angst, mention of nude models, childhood friends, misunderstanding

A/N:

Hi everyone, this is my first Benedict fic so I am very excited, hope you guys will like it :)

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The sun cast a warm, golden glow over Aubrey Hall, its rays filtering through the trees and illuminating the vibrant gardens where the Bridgerton children played. Benedict Bridgerton, with his dark curls and inquisitive eyes, was only ten years old, yet he was already showing signs of the artistic and passionate young man he would become.

In the gardens, Benedict was engrossed in a spirited game of hide-and-seek with his siblings and their dear friends, the Y/L/Ns. The daughter of the Duke of Ashbourne, Y/N, was Benedict’s favorite playmate. Her laughter was his favorite and her eyes mirrored something so beautiful, so pure.

Benedict, you’ll never find me!” Y/N called out, her voice echoing through the hedges.

He grinned, determined to prove his best friend wrong. They had spent countless afternoons exploring the grounds, creating imaginary worlds, and sharing secrets that only they understood.

Finally, he spotted her hiding behind a rosebush. “Got you!” he exclaimed, grabbing her hand and twirling her around.

She laughed, her joy infectious. “You always find me, Benedict.”

He smiled, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “I’ll always find you, Y/N.”

But the idyllic days of childhood were not to last. That evening, over dinner, the Duke of Ashbourne announced that his family would be leaving London for an extended stay in Italy. The news hit Benedict like a blow, and he struggled to hide his disappointment. He looked over at his friend and saw those same pure eyes filling up with tears. It broke his tiny heart into pieces.

“Leave London? Whatever for?”

Benedict was thrilled that his mother asked because he desperately needed to know why they had to leave.

“We have decided it is time to show our children the world. My father took me on similar journeys when I was their age, and those experiences were invaluable. I want Thomas and Y/N to have the same opportunities—to see different places, learn new things, and broaden their horizons.”

Your mother nodded in agreement, her expression resolute. “We believe it will be good for their education. There’s so much to learn beyond the walls of London, and we want to give them a chance to explore and grow in ways they cannot here.”

Violet glanced at the Viscount, her husband Edmund, who had been listening quietly. He smiled and nodded, understanding the importance of such a decision. “I agree with you, William,” he said to your father. “Traveling and experiencing different cultures can provide a wealth of knowledge and perspective that one simply cannot gain from books alone.”

Thomas, your older brother, seemed very excited about the upcoming adventure.

But Y/N did not.

She was thinking all about how terribly she was going to miss her dear friend Benedict and how awful it was going to be, not to be in his presence all the time.

After dinner, Benedict found Y/N in the music room, softly playing the pianoforte. He approached her, his heart heavy.

“Why do you have to go?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N looked up, her eyes filled with sadness. “Father believes it’s for the best. He wants us to experience life. He also mentioned that we will also visit Greece and many more."

“But what about us? What about our adventures?” Benedict’s voice cracked with emotion.

She reached out, taking his hand in hers. “We’ll always have our memories, Benedict. And we’ll see each other again. I promise.”

Benedict squeezed her hand, trying to hold back tears. “Promise?”

“Promise,” she echoed, her voice firm despite the tears in her eyes.

After staying a few more days at Aubrey Hall, the Y/L/N family departed, leaving a void in Benedict’s heart. As their carriage disappeared down the long driveway, he stood beside his father, Edmund Bridgerton, who placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Time will pass quickly, my boy,” Edmund said gently. “And you’ll see her again before you know it.”

Benedict nodded, but the ache in his heart remained. Little did he know, their next meeting would be years away, and the feelings he harbored would only grow stronger with time.

Years had passed since the Y/L/N family’s departure, and Benedict had grown into a handsome and talented young man. He pursued his passion for art with fervor, yet a part of him always yearned for the companionship he had once shared with Y/N.

The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm golden glow over Aubrey Hall, when Lady Violet Bridgerton received the letter. She was seated in the drawing room with her children, each engaged in their own activities. Anthony was reviewing estate documents, Colin was reading a book, Eloise was writing furiously in her notebook, and the younger ones were playing a game by the fireplace.

"Everyone," Lady Violet called, her voice filled with excitement. "I have just received the most wonderful news."

The Bridgerton children looked up, curiosity piqued.

"What is it, Mother?" Anthony asked, setting aside his papers.

Lady Violet grinned. "We are to have guests. The Duke and Duchess of Ashbourne, along with their children, are coming to visit."

A chorus of reactions followed. Eloise raised an eyebrow. "The Ashbournes? Weren't they the family that moved away to travel the world?"

"Yes, indeed," Lady Violet confirmed. "The duke was a dear friend of your father. They moved away years ago, but they have decided to return for a time."

"Does this mean we’ll get to see Thomas again?" Colin asked, a grin spreading across his face. "I always liked him."

"And Y/N," Daphne added, her eyes twinkling. "I remember she was always so talented in the pianoforte and the harp."

Benedict remained silent, a slight blush creeping up his neck. He hoped no one would notice, but of course, Anthony did.

"Well, well, Benedict," Anthony said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "It looks like your childhood crush will be reunited with you," Anthony said, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Benedict tried to maintain his composure. "Don't be ridiculous, Anthony. That was ages ago."

Colin chimed in, unable to resist the opportunity to tease his brother. "Oh, come on, Benedict. We all remember how you used to follow her around like a lost puppy."

Eloise snickered. "And how you would turn bright red whenever she spoke to you."

Benedict sighed, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. "I was a child. We’ve all grown up since then."

"Perhaps," Anthony said, leaning back in his chair. "But it will be interesting to see how things play out now that you’re both adults."

Lady Violet intervened, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Enough teasing, boys. Let us make sure everything is ready for their arrival. They will be here in a few days, and I want everything to be perfect."

As the family dispersed to prepare for their guests, the three Bridgerton brothers found themselves alone in the study.

Anthony leaned against the desk, his expression thoughtful. "It will be good to see Thomas again. He was always a good friend."

Colin nodded. "I heard he’s become quite the gentleman. And he was always supportive of Y/N’s education and talents. Not like most men of our time."

"True," Anthony agreed. "Thomas was never one to adhere strictly to societal norms. He always did what he thought was right."

Benedict, who had been quiet, finally spoke up. "I wonder how much Y/N has changed. She was always so passionate about music and poetry."

Colin grinned. "Still thinking about her, eh? You know, Anthony and I used to place bets on when you would finally tell her how you felt."

Benedict rolled his eyes. "You’re never going to let this go, are you?"

Anthony laughed. "Not a chance. But in all seriousness, Benedict, it will be good to see them again. And who knows? Maybe this visit will bring about some unexpected surprises."

Benedict sighed, but a small smile played on his lips. "Maybe."

Y/N stood by her bedroom window, looking out at the rolling hills of their estate as the sun began its slow descent. She was filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension about their imminent departure to Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons had always held a special place in her heart, especially Benedict, but years and distance had complicated those feelings.

"Are you ready, Y/N?" Thomas's voice called from the hallway.

Y/N turned away from the window and smiled as her brother entered the room. "Almost. Just gathering my thoughts."

Thomas gave her a knowing look. "Excited to see the Bridgertons again?"

"Of course," Y/N replied, smoothing down her dress. "It's been too long."

Thomas leaned against the doorframe, his expression thoughtful. "You know, Anthony mentioned in his letters that Benedict has been quite busy at the Royal Academy. Apparently, the place is famous for its...nude models."

Y/N's hand froze mid-air, her heart skipping a beat. "Nude models?"

Thomas nodded, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Yes, it seems our dear Benedict has been immersing himself in all aspects of art. Anthony said in his letter something about him knocking over an easel while staring at a rather attractive model. Everyone had a good laugh. Quite the scandal, isn't it?"

Y/N's cheeks flushed as she tried to mask her reaction. "It's part of his training, I'm sure. Nothing more."

Thomas watched her carefully, his smirk growing. "You’re right. Still, it's interesting, don’t you think?"

Y/N forced a smile. "What’s your point, Thomas?"

"My point," he said, stepping closer, "is that you seem unusually interested in Benedict’s artistic pursuits."

Y/N met her brother’s gaze firmly. "I’m interested in all my friends' pursuits. Nothing unusual about that."

Thomas chuckled, shaking his head. "Very well. But remember, Y/N, I know you better than anyone. I can tell when something—or someone—is on your mind."

Y/N lifted her chin. "And I can assure you, Thomas, that my mind is perfectly clear."

"Fine, fine," Thomas said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But if you ever need to talk about anything, you know where to find me."

Y/N nodded, grateful for her brother's support, even if she wasn’t ready to share her feelings. "Thank you, Thomas. Now, let’s focus on the journey ahead."

"Agreed," Thomas said, offering his arm. "Shall we?"

Y/N took his arm, and they made their way downstairs where their parents were waiting. As they stepped outside, she felt excited about the days to come. But also jealousy, which she never felt before in her life. She knew that it was none of her business what Benedict did or did not do. Nevertheless, she could not help herself feeling this way.

The journey to Aubrey Hall was filled with excitement and nostalgia. As their carriage approached the estate, memories of their childhood flooded Y/N’s mind. She felt a mix of eagerness and nervousness, wondering how much had changed. Still, there was a feeling Y/N couldn't shake away. The things that her brother told her about Benedict still haunted her. Benedict changed, she knew that for certain, but she really hoped that his feelings did not.

" It feels so strange to be back again," Thomas said, making Y/N turn to him. "It is like we have never left."

Her father nodded. "I get what you mean. It was like yesterday when you and Benedict were chasing Y/N and Daphne in the garden while Edmund and I were watching with a smile on our faces."

After mentioning the late Viscount, the eyes of your father started to fill with tears. He was in shock when the news came that Edmund passed away. It took him a few months to process the tragic loss of his closest friend. Y/N could not even imagine what Benedict went through.

"We all miss him terribly," your mother said, taking her husband's hand in hers. "But there is no need to sadden ourselves with the past. You will get to see Anthony as the new viscount. I'm sure he fitted the title well."

Your father smiled at his wife and kissed her hand. She always knew how to lift her spirits.

"Just like how Thomas will fit the title of the duke of Ashbourne well." Thomas rolled his eyes while Y/N and her parents started laughing.

"Believe me, father, that it will be years before I will get the title. You will live a long life with mama and your children and grandchildren by your side."

the funny banter between the Ashbourne family was not something new. They always have differed from the rest of the ton. There was no marriage pressure. The duke and duchess put the education of their children first, wanting nothing but happiness for them.

"Look, they have arrived!"

The Ashbourne carriage rolled to a stop in front of Aubrey Hall, the Bridgerton family waiting outside to greet their guests. The air was filled with anticipation and a touch of nostalgia as the two families prepared to reunite after so many years.

Lady Violet stepped forward with a warm smile. "Welcome, welcome!"

The Duke of Ashbourne, a distinguished gentleman with a friendly demeanor, was the first to step out, helping his elegant wife, the Duchess of Ashbourne, out of the carriage. Following them were Thomas and Y/N, who looked around with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"It’s wonderful to see you, Violet," the Duke said, embracing Lady Violet. "Thank you for having us."

"The pleasure is all ours," Lady Violet replied. "We’ve missed you terribly."

As the Ashbournes stepped out of the carriage, the Bridgerton children moved forward to greet them. Anthony, Colin, and Benedict engulfed Thomas in a warm embrace.

"Thomas, it’s been far too long," Anthony said, clapping him on the back.

"Indeed," Thomas replied, smiling. "It’s good to see you all."

Y/N followed, greeting each Bridgerton sibling with a warm smile and a hug, her demeanor friendly and welcoming. However, when she reached Benedict, her expression changed. She gave him a polite nod; her smile barely reaching her eyes.

When Benedict watched her getting out of the carriage, he only had one thought.

She is breathtakingly beautiful.

Her blonde hair changed into a darker shade of brown, but her eyes were the same. They were still mirroring such beauty he wished he could draw. Her smile was still contagious, affecting him immediately with his own.

" Mr Bridgerton, it is good to see you. How have you been?"

Mr Bridgerton? Why was she so formal suddenly? Was she not as excited to see him as he was seeing her?

"Miss Y/L/N, It is great to see you too. I am well, thank you for asking, been quite busy with my paintings."

Y/N’s gaze turned icy. "So I’ve heard." Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked straight inside, leaving Benedict standing there, bewildered.

As Benedict watched her retreating figure, he felt a pang of hurt and confusion. He glanced towards Thomas, who was already looking at him with a knowing look, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Sensing the tension in the air, Thomas was the first to speak. "Well, it is rather chilly out here. Let’s all follow my dear sister inside, shall we?"

The group laughed, the tension easing slightly as they followed Thomas into the grand entrance hall of Aubrey Hall.

As they made their way inside, the tension between Y/N and Benedict did not go unnoticed by the rest of the family. Lady Violet exchanged a concerned glance with the duchess while Anthony observed the interaction with a furrowed brow.

Once inside, they were led to the grand dining room, where a sumptuous feast awaited them. The grand dining room at Aubrey Hall was resplendent with crystal chandeliers casting a warm glow over the elegantly set table.

The Duke of Ashbourne, seated beside Lord Anthony Bridgerton, raised his glass. “To old friends and new beginnings,” he toasted, his voice rich and warm.

The toast was met with a chorus of agreement and the clinking of glasses. As the first course was served, Lady Violet began the conversation. “William, Eleanor, how has your journey been so far? Any memorable adventures?”

Eleanor smiled, glancing at her children. “It’s been a wonderful experience. We’ve seen so many beautiful places, and the children have learned a great deal.”

“Indeed,” the Duke added. “Thomas and Y/N have taken to it splendidly. Y/N, in particular, has been quite inspired by the landscapes for her poetry.”

Lady Violet’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Poetry, Y/N? That’s marvelous. You must share some with us later.”

Y/N smiled politely. “Of course, my lady. I’d be happy to.”

As the conversation flowed, it eventually turned to the Bridgerton siblings. “Benedict,” the Duke said, turning his attention to the second eldest Bridgerton, “I hear you’ve made quite a name for yourself at the Academy.”

Benedict, who had been quietly observing Y/N, nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. I’ve been fortunate to study under some very talented artists.”

Y/N, unable to suppress her irritation, interjected with a cool tone. “Including some very talented models, I’ve heard.”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Benedict’s cheeks reddened slightly, but he maintained his composure. “Yes, we do work with models. It’s a necessary part of our training.”

The duchess, sensing the awkwardness, tried to steer the conversation back on track. “I’m sure the experience has been invaluable, Benedict. Art requires such dedication.”

Benedict nodded, but his eyes remained on Y/N. “It has been invaluable. Every aspect of it contributes to our growth as artists.”

Thomas, ever the peacemaker, chimed in. “Anthony told us about some of your work. It sounds quite impressive.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a tight smile. “Yes, very impressive. Especially the part where you managed to knock over an easel. Quite the spectacle, I hear.”

Benedict’s jaw tightened, and he glanced around the table, noting the concerned expressions of his family. “It was a mistake. One that was quickly rectified.”

Colin, trying to lighten the mood, laughed. “Well, Benedict has always had a flair for the dramatic.”

Eloise nudged her brother. “Perhaps a bit too much flair, at times.”

Laughter rippled around the table, but the underlying tension remained. Y/N felt a pang of guilt but was too stubborn to relent. She glanced at her brother, who gave her a pointed look, silently urging her to ease up.

Lady Violet, ever the gracious hostess, smoothly transitioned the conversation to more neutral topics, asking about the sights the Ashbourne family had visited and their future plans. The dinner continued, but the strained interactions between Y/N and Benedict cast a shadow over the evening.

As dessert was served, Lady Violet addressed Y/N directly. “Y/N, my dear, I’ve heard you play the pianoforte beautifully. Would you grace us with a performance after dinner?”

Y/N, grateful for the distraction, nodded. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

The meal concluded with polite conversation, but the tension lingered. Y/N excused herself to prepare for her performance, and as she left the dining room, she felt Benedict’s gaze on her, filled with a mix of hurt and confusion.

Later that evening, Y/N sat at the grand pianoforte in the drawing room, her fingers dancing gracefully over the keys. Heart filled with the hauntingly beautiful melody of a piece, she knew the room—Benedict's favorite.

The Bridgertons and Y/L/N's watched in silent admiration, but Benedict’s eyes never left Y/N. He was captivated, every note and every word pulling him deeper into the memories of their shared past. As the song drew to a close, Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and as the last note lingered in the air, a single tear slipped down her cheek. Across the room, Benedict’s own eyes misted over, a tear tracing a path down his face as well. The rest of the family exchanged knowing glances, sensing the intense, unspoken connection between the two.

Y/N stood, curtsied, and, with a polite smile, excused herself from the room, needing a moment alone to compose herself. As she walked down the dimly lit hallway, her heart ached with a mixture of regret and confusion.

Benedict, unable to bear the distance and misunderstanding any longer, quietly followed her into a room. “Y/N, wait,” he called softly.

She stopped but didn’t turn around, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “Yes, Benedict?” Her voice was calm but strained.

He approached her cautiously, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability. “Why are you treating me like this? What have I done to deserve your coldness?”

Y/N finally turned to face him, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and hurt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Benedict. I’ve been perfectly polite.”

Benedict shook his head, frustration evident in his voice. “No, you haven’t. You’ve been distant, cold. This isn’t like you. Please, tell me what’s wrong so that I can fix it."

She crossed her arms defensively, her gaze piercing. “I don’t know what you’re imagining, but there’s nothing wrong. Perhaps you’re just seeing what you want to see.”

His frustration bubbled over, and he stepped closer, his voice low and intense. “This isn’t about what I want to see, Y/N. This is about what’s real. You’ve changed towards me, and I need to know why.”

She took a step back, her breath hitching. “It doesn’t matter, Benedict. Go back to your paintings and models. I could not care less."

His frustration turned to desperation, Benedict reached out and gently but firmly grasped her arm, pulling her back towards him. They stood face to face, the tension between them crackling with electricity. His voice was a murmur, filled with desperate longing. “But you do care, don't you? Why do you care, Y/N? Tell me.”

Her eyes locked onto his, the intensity of his gaze making her heart race. She tried to look away, but he cupped her cheek, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Tell me, Y/N. Please.”

Her defenses crumbled, and she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t care. Why should I? What you do is your own concern.”

His grip on her arm tightened slightly, his breath warm against her skin as he leaned in closer. “You do care. I can see it in your eyes. In your big beautiful eyes. Why won’t you admit it?”

Her voice was barely more than a whisper, trembling with the effort of holding back her emotions. “Because it’s easier not to. Because admitting it means facing the truth.”

“What truth?” Benedict’s voice was a mere breath away, his lips inches from hers.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she could no longer deny the truth to herself or to him. “That I never stopped caring about you, Benedict. That I’ve loved you since we were children, and the thought of you with someone else… it breaks my heart.”

His eyes softened, and he leaned in closer, his breath mingling with hers. “And I’ve loved you, Y/N. I’ve loved you every single day we’ve been apart.”

She closed her eyes, the tears finally spilling over. “Then why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I was a fool,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same way. But I can’t keep it inside any longer.”

Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them, capturing her lips in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. The world seemed to fade away as they poured all their longing and love into that one moment, finally allowing themselves to feel what they had denied for so long.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other. “No more secrets,” Y/N whispered, her voice shaky but filled with hope.

“No more secrets,” Benedict promised, his eyes shining with love and determination.

They stood there for a moment, holding each other, the weight of their confessions lifting from their shoulders. The tension that had once filled the air was replaced with a sense of peace and newfound understanding.

Just then, a voice broke the silence. "Well, well, what do we have here?"

Y/N and Benedict sprang apart, startled, as Thomas stepped into the hallway. His expression was serious, his eyes locked on Benedict. Y/N's heart raced, fearing her brother's reaction.

"Thomas, I—" Y/N began, but Thomas held up a hand to silence her.

"I always knew I’d have to deal with this day," Thomas said, his voice low and dangerous. He turned his gaze to Benedict, who stood his ground, though a hint of apprehension flickered in his eyes. "Benedict Bridgerton, you have compromised my sister's honor. There’s only one way to settle this."

Y/N’s eyes widened in fear. "Thomas, please, don’t—"

Thomas continued, a stern look on his face. "We must duel."

The hallway fell silent, the tension thick in the air. Then, to Y/N's utter astonishment, Thomas’s serious expression broke into a wide grin, and he burst out laughing.

"I’m just kidding!" he exclaimed, clapping Benedict on the shoulder. "You should have seen your faces!"

Benedict let out a relieved laugh, shaking his head. "Thomas, you nearly gave us both a heart attack."

Y/N exhaled deeply, her heart still pounding. "Thomas, that wasn’t funny!"

"It was a little funny," Thomas said, still chuckling. "But really, everyone in the drawing room is waiting for you two. They’ve been hoping for this day for a long time."

Y/N and Benedict exchanged a glance, their relief mingled with the lingering rush of adrenaline.

Thomas gestured back towards the drawing room. "Come on, let’s not keep them waiting."

As they re-entered the room, the gathered family turned to look at them. Lady Violet and the duchess’s faces lit up with delight, and Daphne’s eyes sparkled with joy. The Duke of Ashbourne stood beside Lady Eleanor, his expression warm and approving. Anthony, Colin, Eloise, Gregory, and Hyacinth were also present, each showing various degrees of amusement and happiness.

"There you are!" Lady Violet said, her smile warm and knowing. "We were starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost."

"Come on," Colin said, grinning broadly. "Don't keep us waiting. Are you finally together or not?"

Y/N's cheeks flushed as she glanced at Benedict, who nodded, smiling. "Yes, we are," she said, her voice clear and steady.

Lady Eleanor’s face lit up even more. "Well, then, I think it’s safe to say we can start planning a wedding."

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. "Mama, it’s way too soon for that!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing even deeper.

The Duke of Ashbourne chuckled, patting Y/N's shoulder gently. "Your mother is just excited, dear. But we should let the young couple take their time."

Colin and Anthony, standing near the fireplace, exchanged a look and grinned. "Well, Benedict, looks like you’ve finally caught the eye of a Duke’s daughter," Colin teased.

"Always aiming high, aren’t you, brother?" Anthony added, his tone playful.

Benedict, his arm still around Y/N, beamed. "I guess I’ve always known what I wanted."

Daphne approached Y/N, embracing her warmly. "Welcome to the family, officially."

Y/N’s heart swelled with happiness. "Thank you, Daphne. I’m so glad to be here."

Eloise, ever the sharp-witted observer, smirked. "Well, it’s about time. I was beginning to think you two would never figure it out."

Gregory and Hyacinth, the youngest Bridgerton's, clapped excitedly. "Does this mean we get to have another party?" Gregory asked, his eyes wide with anticipation.

Hyacinth grinned. "I hope so! I love weddings!"

As the evening continued, the family celebrated the long-awaited union. Lady Violet and Lady Eleanor eagerly discussed wedding plans, while the Bridgerton brothers teased Benedict good-naturedly.

Thomas, watching the scene with a satisfied smile, caught Y/N’s eye and gave her an encouraging nod. She smiled back, her heart full.

Later, as the festivities wound down, Y/N and Benedict found a quiet moment together. He took her hand, his eyes full of love. "I meant every word I said earlier, Y/N. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

She looked up at him, her heart brimming with emotion. "And I love you, Benedict. More than I can say."

He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her lips. "Let's always be together. Always."

"Agreed," she whispered, feeling the weight of the past lift away.

As they stood there, surrounded by family and love, Y/N knew that this was just the beginning of a beautiful future together.

[felassan]

Thread: Sylvia Feketekuty on the influences of Emmrich and the Mourn Watch

The rest of this post is under a cut due to length and possible spoilers.

Sylvia Feketekuty: "I think I've gotten to most people’s questions, and I promised I'd talk about influences on Emmrich and the Mourn Watch before wrapping this up. So here we go! It took me while to figure out Emmrich's character voice. I'm happy with where I landed, but he was a tough one. A few books helped me out. MR James' Collected Ghost Stories (1890-1930) My favourite ghost stories of all time. James excels at building dread, at writing people finding strange things in books, or around the corner, or in the old lane at night."

"He was also an antiquarian and a scholar at Cambridge. I wanted Emmrich and the Watchers to feel formal, but not like they were from another epoch. James’ language, polished by a rich academic career, was an excellent benchmark for 'older, but not ancient'. E.g.: if using contractions was appropriate for James' time, it was appropriate for Emmrich. It freed me up, mentally speaking, to deploy them whenever they improved cadence or flow. Thomas Ligotti's Songs of a Dead Dreamer Fellow Ligotti fans may already be thinking Emmrich doesn't really share the philosophy underpinning Ligotti's work, and they’re right. However!"

"Songs of a Dead Dreamer is filled with fantastical imagery that’s a bit lusher than that found in Ligotti's later works. It was really good at bringing to mind the kind of moody, expansive dreamscapes I think our necromancer mentally occupies. It’s from a different book (Noctuary), but Ligotti’s “The Spectral Estate” also merits a mention. If you plunked it down in front of Emmrich to read, he’d know exactly what it was on about. The Romantic poets (or any poetry on similar themes: overpowering swells of emotion, the grandeur and awe of nature, love and loss and grief.) Palgrave's Golden Treasury was usually in reach."

"If I was in a jam, or psyching myself up for a scene, sometimes I’d read a few poems to get into the proper head space. Or just for the pleasure of it. Poems are great! Please take a link to Shelley's "A Dream of the Unknown", one of my favourites. [link] I also read a few books by morticians and funerary directors. A friend lent me Smoke Gets in your Eyes and From Here to Eternity by Caitlin Doughty (probably the most famous mortician on the internet?) I also checked out Nine Years Under: Coming of Age in an Inner-city Funeral Home by Sheri Booker."

"These books were full of lessons about how people react to death, how different cultures treat it, how anger and grieving express differently but come from the same wellspring. Very humane looks at how we deal with loss and other people. Moving on to non-books: My First Cadaver, a podcast of stories from medical students and medical professionals."

"I listened to a few episodes My First Cadaver, and there were some incredible tales in there. Gross (I could never be a doctor) but incredible. And I was struck by was how much students working on donated cadavers got attached to them. I can’t remember if it was in MFC or not, but there was one story about a medical student introducing his date to the cadaver he was working on like she was a beloved aunt. It was very sweet! Peter Cushing in Horror of Dracula (1958) and The Curse of Frankenstein (1957) These films are filled with handsome costumes, ominous sets, and the oversized passions I associate with gothic melodrama. Cushing's perfect in them."

"His portrayals of Van Helsing and Baron Frankenstein are brisk, determined, obsessive, and brimming with energy; they’re scholars who are experts in their field, yet still men of action. They felt like natural touchstones for a professor suddenly called to grand adventure. I also ended up reading Cushing's memoirs. In a bit of strange synchronicity, there were similarities between his life and traits I'd already decided to give Emmrich. Cushing came from a working-class family, had an intense phobia (his was of the dark), was vegetarian, and so on. I'd had no idea."

"(Humans tend to pattern-match, but it was a little eerie.) A side note: I've seen people speculate Emmrich was based off of Vincent Price. There’s a bit of the good Mr. Price in there, but Cushing got to play more heroic roles than he did. He felt more right to me. A second side note: did you know Vincent Price was a gourmand who loved to entertain? He and his wife Mary put out a beautiful cooking book, A Treasury of Great Recipes, filled with warm and charming commentary. If you're interested in that kind thing, highly recommended!"

"One influence when I was pitching the Memorial Gardens to the rest of the team was Swan Point cemetery in Rhode Island. It's where Lovecraft was buried, and like many a Weird Tales nerd before me, I was curious and wanted to see it."

"I wasn't prepared for was how lush the plants and flowers were, and how beautifully landscaped everything there is. Swan Point is a historical burial place, and also a carefully tended garden and arboretum. It stunned me. I'd never been in a cemetery like it. Emmrich complains about Hezenkoss making him play complicated wargames when they were students, and that one in particular had three separate rulebooks."

"I've seen people guess whether I was referencing D&D or Warhammer 40K. D&D was formative, and I know a frankly embarrassing amount about WH40K at this point (No regrets. Necrons and Admech 4-ever.*) But the origin is even sillier. *Why yes, Mechanicus 2 IS my most anticipated upcoming game. I used to own the first edition of a board game called Mansions of Madness, and was supposed to learn the rules so I could lead my friends through it. But come the day, I’d procrastinated, and was running short on time."

"Fantasy Flight's previous game in the same vein was Arkham Horror, and AH is not a simple game. But I remember being hopeful, as I peeled the shrinkwrap off, that maybe MoM would be easier to learn than AH. Have streamlined rules, or fewer things to remember. Then the top popped off, and three separate rulebooks fell out and slithered to the floor. (The DAV game’s not meant to be MoM, but the absurdity of that moment stuck with me.) (It's not the game's fault, by any means, that I was unprepared, and the session went as well as it could have with me flipping through the books going "Okay wait...hold on...I think that was here...no, wait.") The Nevarran hazelnut torte recipe is actually a family recipe from my grandmother, on my father's side. I’m beyond delighted people have actually made it. (Our recipe uses metric measurements, but the DA style guide uses imperial, so I was worried about the conversion. Looks like it went okay.)"

"On my mother's side of the family: my grandmother cooked and cleaned for a living, and my grandfather was a butcher. He passed away before I was born, and my grandmother when I was very young. So I gave Emmrich’s parents those professions as a little nod to the grandmother I only knew very little, and the grandfather I never met at all. I would’ve liked time with them both. And to end on a lighter note, "Ever thought of becoming a hat person?" is an extremely oblique reference to a line spoken to one of gaming's greatest characters: Murray, the demon skull from Curse of Monkey Island. (Curse is the first Monkey Island game I ever played, and therefore my favourite.)"

"Small bonus: here’s the music I listened to most while working on Emmrich and the Watchers. Some of it probably only makes sense to me, some of it seems thematically obvious. (I don’t have Spotify so best I can do is an itunes screenshot.)"

"Not on the screenshot because I changed PCs halfway through, but I also listened to a lot of music from Cryo Chamber, a great dark ambient label. [link] And their sister label, Cryo Crypt, which does "Dark Fantasy Dungeon Synth." [link] And also Allicorn IS on the screenshot but I think I've listened to his stuff on every game I've worked on by now. [link]"

[thread source link]

---

Bonus: follow-up comments and exchanges -

User: "I KNEW the torte was somebody’s family recipe!!" // Sylvia: "My only regret is that the icing was originally a stove-boiled icing made with eggs and chocolate and butter emulsified together. I couldn't get it working, however, these past few years. I think we lost some crucial part of the steps when trying to write out a clean copy. So I went with ganache for the game, because I didn't want to print something that didn't work, and I've used ganache myself. It's good! But I'm going to try to replicate the original again one day." [source, two] // User: "I noticed that sometimes, ingredients doesn't react the way they used to and part of that is probably due to some "industrial" changes in the recipe for ingredients like chocolate or butter to cut the cost of making them, imho. It's sad because it means we lost a very specific way to do things..." // Sylvia: "Yeah, that was the first thing a friend who bakes a lot suggested. I wonder if I was a victim of "Buttergate" when Canadian cows were being fed so much palm oil butter was harder to spread as a result. After a long search, I found a local place that makes butter that actually tastes good, which is an incredibly sad sentence to have to type out." [source, two]

Sylvia, re: Vincent Price being a gourmand and his cooking book: "It's extremely cool. My library had a copy and I remember it being pretty big, too." [source]

User: "I was following this thread and I'm delighted about all of these facts and information. Thank you for sharing!" // Sylvia: "Aw thank you! And thanks for reading, it was nice to unpack all the stuff kicking around my mental attic." [source]

User, re: MFC: "Sorry to post again but this one got me- my mom is a doc, and i remember her telling me stories of the cadaver she worked on (evidence of different surgeries she had, the cancer she had, etc), and mom always ended her stories saying how thankful she was to her. It really does stick around." // Sylvia: "No need to apologize, I liked hearing about your mom's reaction! It's exactly what I kept hearing and reading about, a sense of reverence for the gift." [source]

Sylvia: ""The irony that I had to convert the measurements back to metric" Haha. I tried to get as close as I could. Here's the written down metric version of the cake batter. It's an older recipe so I had to try to guess what a "knife tip" ended up as." [source]

A user on the torte being a family recipe: "Oh my gosh 🥹 that makes it all even lovelier!" // Sylvia: "Thanks! I was really excited to share the family recipe, it's a bit of work but it's one of my favorites." [source]

A user under the post about MR James' Collected Ghost Stories: "So you're probably the one behind the mysterious bronze whistle, I take it?" // Sylvia: "Haha, guilty. Cameron Harris, our editor, helped me figure out a phonetic guide to the latin. (If it fails anywhere it's very likely my fault.)" [source]

User: "As an avid Emmrich lover & someone trying to write some Emmrich POVs in my Emrook fanfictions, I can not thank you ENOUGH for this wealth of info / music inspo to go off of" // Sylvia: "Thank you! (Seriously though some of those songs probably only make sense to me, they're not all thematically on point, but some are. Hope you enjoy!)" [source]

User: "As another "needs a million hours of droning ambient music to write" writer I appreciate these greatly" // Sylvia: "We both have good taste! 🎶" [source]

User: "Thank you for writing out this list!! Peter Cushing makes so much sense as an influence. I love the variety of media here, it gives me so much new stuff to check out!" // Sylvia: "Thank you for reading! If you do check out some of this stuff, hope you enjoy!" [source]

Sylvia: "thanks so much, and for reading the thread! It was fun to write." [source]

User: "Thank you for sharing these books!I was looking for a good ghost book" // Sylvia: "Thanks! Hope you enjoy James. "Oh, Whistle, and I'll Come to You, My Lad" was the first story of his I read and I'll never forget that experience." [source] // Sylvia: "I just love the mood James could create, so much." [source]

User: "ELECTRIC SIX MENTION" // Sylvia: "My greatest favorites, now and forever." [source]

Sylvia: "Please archive away, I am intent on deleting the account eventually but it'd be nice to know people could look this stuff up later if they're curious. (Future generations need to know which Atrium Carceri tracks I listened to!)" [source]

User: "Amongst many things, not the least of which is the gratitude and delight of having your fantastic insight into the writing process of Emmrich, my grandmother’s hazelnut torte is fantastically close to the Nevarran version which was a delightful discovery." // Sylvia: "Ah now nice. I assume she was also central/eastern European then? I suspect it was a popular recipe at a certain time." [source]

User: "As an ex-mortician turned game writer, this was a FASCINATING read!" // Sylvia: "Haha, I definitely took inspiration from morticians! (Thank you for checking it out, that thread got long)" [source]

User: "ATRIUM CARCERI - Such a perfect band for the Mourn Watch!" // Sylvia: "I stumbled on Atrium Carceri when I was a student, and there's happily so much dark ambient available now, but Simon Heath's particular vibe can't be beat." [source]

User: "Rockefeller Street is just like that, man. It's sticky." // Sylvia: "Yes! It's so good, it just hits a certain mood dead center." [source]

Sylvia: "Ginkys of BlueSky has created a Spotify list of the music I listened to when writing Emmrich and the Watchers! Almost everything's on there. Thank you Ginkys. (FYI: Not everything I listened to matches the MW vibe, sometimes it was just a song that got stuck in my head for a few weeks.) - [link]" [source]

Sylvia, about the torte recipe: "If it's useful, here's the full thing in metric. WARNING: Last two times I tried this cooked icing, it failed. I'm not sure whether I miscopy a crucial step, or if changes to local butter were the culprit. Either way, proceed with caution. A ganache is way safer, and very similar." [source]

[thread source link]

[tac-the-unseen]

Gifts the slashers would enjoy

Fluff

Minor updates for formatting

Micheal Myers:

•Arts and crafts supplies

-He's enjoyed making Paper Mache masks most of his life. It's very likely that he enjoys other forms of art as well, but couldn't express that in the ward for fear it would be taken away.

-Dr. Loomis sucks

-Giving him art supplies now, would end up in him making his art in secret. He feels embarrassed to like such a simple thing. That shame is intensified if you ask to see it. He'll end up leaving it out so you can see it without directly showing it to you

•Candy Corn, circus peanuts, and Crunch bar.

-Are they his favorite? No. But they bring back good memories, and for Michael, that's enough.

-would spend a good chunk of time snaking on the sweets while you spend time with him

-Can be bribed into a lot of shenanigans with candy

•Homemade meal

-He rarely had anyone make him dinner. His mom being a ‘working’ woman ment that he had to fend for himself come dinnertime.

-Knowing that you wanted to, and found time to make him dinner make him feel that icky (Nice), bubbly feeling in the center of his chest

-minor Headcannon: first time this happened Micheal thought he was having a heart attack.

Billy loomis & Stu macher:

•Horror movie merchandise

-They're collectors. If you manage to get your hands on something they don't have, they'll give you anything you want in return.

-will trip over themselves trying to replay you

-Stu would actually kiss the ground you walk on if you ask

•Jewelry

-They both appreciate necklaces, bracelets, and RINGS

-Stu is a gold guy, Billy is a sliver guy.

-They’re like crows. Anything shiny will end up in their pockets. Imagine Stu showing off his rings like a newly proposed to woman. Fawning over the design and/or jewels.

•knives/knife sharpener

-They collect knives of different quality and look

-the better ones they use to hunt. The best ones and the weaker ones are put on display like trophies.

-No matter the quality you get, it's the fact it came from you but they care about

Thomas Hewitt:

•Flowers

-Thomas is a sucker for old ‘traditional’ romantic actions

-Seeing you hold up hand-picked flowers makes his heart gush. He thinks you look so precious, wanting to make him happy.

-sometimes he'll catch you, out of a window, picking flowers just so you can give it to him. He'll never tell you, and will always act surprised when you present the bouquet.

•Bones

-its simple and an abundant resource at the house. There's always bones somewhere, and Thomas knows how to use the bones

-They’re good for making repairs, as tools, and as decorations

-You 10000% have a bone bracelet that Thomas made for you when you guys started to get more serious

•Desserts

-Thomas won't admit it, but he has a sweet tooth. Why do you think Luda mae spends so much time baking?

-While a good pie is enough to send this man to his knees, any other baked good will do.

-He likes cherries and strawberries, but because of how expensive they are he doesn't tell anybody that it's his favorite. He doesn't want anybody ‘wasting’ money or resources on him.

Bubba Sawyer:

•Flowers

-Bubba loves flowers. Any kind of flowers is enough for him to let out squeals of happiness. He loves seeing them around the farm, and plants them around the house when he has spare time.

-So when you go to town and come back with a bouquet of flowers just for him, nearly crushed you with hugs.

-Keeps them alive for as long as possible then perseveres them in notebooks and in salt

•Quilting supplies

-Bubba is really good at handling leather. Those human skin masks are hard to make, and human leather is so incredibly delicate.

-On top of that, he is a family man. He want to make things that help his family. So he makes blankets!

-its a fine craft and perfect in enhancing his skills.

•Good old quality time

-He loves spending his time with you! If he could spend all day with you, he would.

-So sitting down and cuddling means that absolute world to him. He cherishes his time with you and it what he looks forward to everyday. It's why he wakes up in the morning. It's why he tries hard everyday. He wants to spend every day starting and ending with you!

Bo Sinclair:

•Tools

-If your in the workshop often enough, you'll know what ends replacing.

-Bo is as stubborn as stubborn comes, so he won't get new tools until they physically can't do their job anymore.

-If you get him new tools he will begrudgingly take them, but after an hour or two he'll find you just so he can thank you ‘properly’.

•Cigarettes

-The boy smokes

-Don’t know what else to tell you

-Will kiss you when you give it to him though

•Kids Toys

-Sounds weird, but having his childhood taken away from him leaves him wanting to fill up the gaps.

-when looking through a victim's car you found a two handed water ring-toss toy. when you showed Bo He just rolled his eyes and kept working on his Truck. You started playing with it when at the shop, even leaving it there on a few occasions. Every time you left it there, He would take it and sneak into the back room of the shop to play with it.

-it brought him immense joy. One day he forgot to put it back, and when you asked about it he berated you for losing your things and expecting him to keep track of your belongings. He never told you, and would rather die than admit it.

Vincent Sinclair:

•Art/craft supplies

-Its a given, really

-He very rarely get new art supplies (if you don't count corpses) so it’s nice to get replacements.

-Will take anything you give him, honestly

•Books

-Vincent isn't always making art. Sometimes art can get boring for him, or he hits a rough patch and doesn't know where to go from there.

-A book can easily help, Whether it's just something else to do or it helps him overcome his art block. He will oftentimes get up from his work space and find another spot to sit down and read.

-He loves it when you read to him. It's nice to just listen to something while you work.

•Hoodies

-with his combination of body issues and wanting to be cozy, A hoodie seems to be the best option.

-Even though it is hot in Louisiana, The cool basement and even cooler nights need a little warmth.

-loves the feeling of the softer cloth and with it being a present, makes it all the better.

Lester Sinclair:

•Lip balm

-Lester has a hard time with hygiene. No one ever really taught him how to take care of himself.

-So when you notice Lester had chapped lips and gave him some lip balm something in his brain short circuited. The fact that YOU want to help him, makes his heart swell.

-keeps it in his pocket and constantly reapplies it

•Car freshener

-Even with him blind to the smell of death, the hot Louisiana sun will intensify the foul smell 10 fold. You knew it was bad when you could smell the truck before you could see or hear it.

-You ran out of town and bought several packs of air fresheners for his truck. You told him that you do love him, just not the smell that lingers when he gets home from work. Lester doesn't want to make you gag every time he gets into bed with you.

-He likes the Strawberry, sugar cookie, and fresh linens scent best

•Dinner

-He’s not the ‘I better come home to a hot plate of dinner' kind of guy, but he really appreciates it when he does. Even though Bo is a semi-good cook, anything after years of having it will get boring.

-Having you cook for him (and most likely his brothers) is a nice change of pace.

-Will eat anything you cook. Whether it's ‘good’ or ‘bad’ he will happily eat it all.

Billy Lenz:

•Being read too

-Isn’t a physical present but he loves your voice. He wants to read but has A) a hard time focusing and B) has a hard time reading in general

-Having you read to him calms him down and gets him settled enough to sit still and/or do an activity smoothly

-Reading to him 100% makes him fall asleep in the end. And boy does this insomniac need it

•Crochet equipment

-After learning how to Crochet he can't stop. He runs through String like a mad man. He has made you 6 sweaters and increasing in quality over time

-Will give you a list of all the colors he wants and will wait patiently on your bed for you to come back.

-Gets ridiculous excited when he's given new supplies. Will be your lap dog for weeks after

•String lights

-Doesn't have to be Christmas themed, he just really likes the lights. Like a moth drawn to flames.

-likes to fall asleep with them on, it's like Billy’s own big night light.

-Has gotten too close to them and accidentally ripped them down. He tried to hide them so he didn't get in trouble, and actually cried when you found out.

Brahms Heelshire:

•Clothes

-You wondered why his clothes were so ill-fitting for a long time before you realized, that's his dad's old clothes.

-coming to that realization you manage to figure out his proper size and (after some minor fighting) when out to get him a much needed upgrade. When you came home he was waiting by the door, waiting for you. Giving him his new clothes was like telling him you would never leave again, he was ecstatic. He ripped the bags out of your arms and ran into his room so he could try them on

-He fell in love with the sweaters you got him, with a nice couple pairs of khakis. It wasn't much of a transition from his old clothes but that's just what he likes.

•Movies/Movie night

-The only movies he's seen are from his childhood, and he can barely remember them. His parents didn't think movies were healthy for a growing boy, so they only allowed him books to pass the time

-When you proposed a movie night he had a couple questions and even a bit of hesitation. “What if they melt my brain?” He asked with genuine concern. After you posed another question back “Why wouldn't they have melted my brain yet?” Did he trust you.

-You started with childhood classics before getting into the more ‘adult’ stuff. He loved every minute of it

•Picnics

-While Brahms isn't a fan of going outside, the garden is the only exception. You wanted him to go outside because orange juice can only do so much for a vitamin D deficiency.

-He said the only way he would go outside was if you had a Picnic and put his sunscreen on. Making sandwiches with chips and then lathering him in 80 SPF he went outside in a tank top layered with a crocheted vest and shorts, had him outside fairly quickly

-Now he wants a picnic every summer

Hannibal Lecter:

•Wine

-After dating for a while you started to notice where Hannibal got his expensive foods and wines

-you also noticed what he actually liked and what he was just experimenting with. While fruity and floral flavors were always favored, herbs and Nutty wines were much lower on his list.

-With that in mind you got a Cherry lavender wine from Greece. When you gave it to him he was actually shocked you were paying attention to his preferences. He told you most people just buy cheap wine and expect him not to notice.

-The wine you picked out now has a permit spot saved on his wine shelf.

•Paper bouquet

-Paper made into the shape of different flowers all wrapped up in another paper tying it all together. It's cute, classy (though he would never display it openly), and will never wilt!

-He had told you about the complexity of life using flowers as an example and how they wilt. So you decided to make flowers that can't wilt to not only sass him but to give him something

-He put them in a paper vase he made (in only what you can assume was) in his free time.

•Friendship bracelets

-What was originally a gag gift turned out to be one of his favorite gifts.

-You thought there was no way in hell THE Hannibal Lecter would wear cheap bright string woven together, but you were wrong.

-You had made some friendship bracelets out of old string you found in some old stuffed away box and laughed at the idea of Hannibal finding it in his desk drawer. So you did just that, just to come to the shocking realization that during a meeting with the F.B.I he was wearing it, hidden under his sleeve. You had a very hard time containing your laughter that night.

Will Graham:

•Quality time with you!

-Life has always been stressful for Will. So some alone time with you is always a great gift.

-No need for fancy dinners, events, or holidays. Just sitting down to watch whatever pops up on the T.V screen is enough for him.

-Bonus points if the pack joins in for a cuddle session!

•Handwritten letter(s)

-Having a man with a different then most emotional attachment style is hard. Will might not always what to be physically touched or poked at. Sometimes he doesn't even want to talk (Common coping mechanism for Autistic people)!

-But even when he gets like this, it's still nice to get some reassurance. You started writing him little notes around the house a while ago and slowly you noticed Will’s mood improving significantly.

-He found it very sweet that you were taking the time to meet him on a level he was comfortable with. The two of you don't speak about it often but the notes persist.

•New fishing gear

-anything fishing related is always an appreciated

-New lears, poles, vests, hooks, bait even. Anything even if he already has it, he will take it happily

-He’ll take you fishing with his new gear you got him and will happily teach you if you don't know how to fish

The Lost Boys:

•Jewelry

-All four vamps love jewelry of any kind

-All of them have earrings, bracelets, and necklaces so why not give them Something they can say they got from their S/O!

-David and Marko prefer bracelets, David’s gloves wouldn't mesh well with rings, and he thinks a necklace might make him seem less intimidating. Marko would chew on a necklace and worse could get caught during a fight. Rings would be damaged either due to said fighting and/or his painting. Bracelets are that perfect in-between!

-Dwayne and Paul like Rings for different reasons. For Dwayne Rings have that ‘marriage’ aspect to them. Not to say rings mean marriage, but historically speaking…it's like putting your claim on him and he's thriving for that.

-Paul likes rings to fidget with. He already has rings he uses as ways to occupy his hands when something or someone isn't. Will 100% show off his ring you gave him to the others.

•Gift boxes

-The boxes full of pictures, candy, and other meaningful things

-They all go feral over those boxes, especially the first ever box. It was filled with your own little doodles, candy you know they like, mini bottles of whiskey, and a note telling them about how much you care about them and where to meet you for the night.

-if you plan to do this more often make sure each boy gets to keep something or they WILL fight over it.

•ScrapBooks

-Memories bunch up and fade when you're a vampire. They can't always remember the little things, so having a book of all those memories they can look back at is great idea!

-You even found a creative way to include them in pictures! They can't be seen in photos, but they're shadows can! You take pictures under street lamps and make silly poses. You have a picture of Paul dramatically falling into Marko's arms while Dwayne and David kiss either side of your face.

-All those silly pictures combined with your and Marko’s creativity ends up in some fun, colorful, memories

Thanks for reading <3

(You know I write a fuck ton when It started glitching out. Like it would freeze while I was formatting it correctly 😭)

[mingis-orangejuice]

Asking the L&Ds boys "What are we?" Part 3: Rafayel

Summary: MC and her boy have been in a sort of situation-ship but MC wants to know why they haven't officially called her their girlfriend

a/n: This ended up being much longer than I thought so I'm making it into 4 parts (one for each boy) Here's Rafayel's part. I'm still writing Sylus' part, so it might take a little longer to come out

Genres/Warnings: angst, fluff, kinda slow burn, a little suggestive

Word count: 1114

Other parts: 1, 2, 4

Under the dazzling lights of an enormous banquet hall, you stand alone awkwardly looking at your phone. It was another one of Rafayel’s art shows. While you love to support him and his art, after going to about 4 different events in one week it gets old. Thomas was really running Rafayel rampant these past few weeks to get him to sell as much as possible before he goes off on one of his random solo trips. And even tho Rafayel hates these types of events he knew it would be good for his image and his wallet (not that he needs it) 

Why did Rafayel have to leave you by yourself? You hated going to big fancy events the only plus side of coming to these was getting to spend time with your boyfriend… wait was he your boyfriend? You guys never actually had that conversation but he gets pretty boyfriend-y when you guys are alone he calls you every night before bed to tell you goodnight, takes you on expensive overnight trips and gets all pouty if you don’t stay the night, but he also still calls you Miss bodyguard but sometimes calls you his muse. What does that even mean? Was he just playing with you or was there something more? 

You were thinking so hard about this that your facial expression looked pretty intense. You didn't even notice that most people at the event were actively avoiding you since you looked like you were ready to explode.

“Hey babe,” a voice from behind you snapped you out of your deep thought. Your expression changed to one of confusion and disgust at the random man who felt that it was ok to call you babe “Are you here alone? I can show you around. I know everything about these art pieces.”

You looked at him, now with a blank expression “Really?” you questioned sarcasm heavily coating your voice. Where is Rafayel? Why is he taking so long to come back? Thomas said he’d only be gone for a few minutes, but it's been over half an hour and now some creep is trying to talk to you.

“Yeah, I'm close personal friends with the artist, I’m actually his inspiration for most of his work, I’m basically an artist too he should be giving me half the profits from these since I’m such an integral part of his work, but I let him keep all of it since we’re such good friends” He steps closer to you as he spouts his nonsense. You, looking rightfully annoyed with him step back but this guy doesn’t get the hint and keeps stepping closer “What d’ you say, babe? Wanna spend the rest of the night with a real artist?  He continues to advance towards you while you step back even further, in your mission to get away from this creep you didn't notice one of the wires running along the floor that connected to one of the lights illuminating an art piece. You tripped backwards. Luckily a firm pair of arms was there to catch you before you hit the floor.

You look up to see who your saviour is. And to your surprise, it was none other than Rafayel. “For a bodyguard, you’re very clumsy” he chucked while steadying you.

“It’s not my fault,” you say preparing to defend yourself.

“I know, it was his” Rafayel points to the creep that had been pursuing you. “What do you think you’re doing pestering MY muse? She clearly doesn't like you can’t you take a hint or is that head of yours just full of fish tank pebbles”

“Just who do you think you are, if you hadn’t come in and ruined everything she woulda gone home with me” The creep angrily stepped towards you and Rafayel. He looks towards you trying to grab your wrist “Babe tell this guy to fuck off so we can get back to our conversation alright.”

Rafayel quickly swats his hand away “Why would she go home with a loser who pretends to be an artist just to get in her pants, when she can have this real artist who gets to be in her pants every night?” Rafayel says with a shit-eating grin. 

“Raf!” You lightly slap his chest a little amused and a bit embarrassed that he would say something like that out loud.

“Yeah, whatever she’s ugly anyway” The creep tries to leave, but Rafayel signals to some of the staff to grab that guy and remove him from the event. As the staff are holding the creep by the arms Rafayel brings his face close to his. “You’re lucky I’m only having them throw you out of the venue for talking about my muse like that.”

Later once the event was over, you and Rafayel were sitting in his living room, he was sketching some new ideas for paintings, and you were absent mindlessly playing on your phone, the questions from earlier still buzzing through your head. While lost in thought Rafayel lays his head on your shoulder. This makes your heart skip a beat and breaks you out of your trance.

“What are we ?” you suddenly ask slightly turning your head to where Rafalye was leaning.

“What?” he lifts his head off your shoulder to look at you confused.

You took a deep breath before starting, scared of confrontation, but you just had to know “When we were at your art show you kept calling me your muse, and apart from that you also act like my boyfriend most days, but you’ve never said that you were and you’ve also never called me your girlfriend. So I’ll ask again, what are we?”

“What, I thought it was obvious?” he said with a little smile. He takes both your hands into his and looks into your eyes

“Well, it's not obvious to me, so?” you wanted to look away from his gaze but you were afraid if you did you wouldn’t have the courage to look back at him again.

“You’re my muse,” he said excitedly, smile growing even bigger.

“I knew it, that's all I am to you just some inspiration for your art ” You sigh and get up to leave but he holds tighter to your hands

Is that what you think a muse is ?” He laughed softly. “To me a muse not only inspires my art but is my art, everything I do is for my muse. My muse consumes my every waking thought, I need her to be around me at all times to even function properly. You’re more than just a girlfriend to me, you’re my most precious muse.”

[queenshelby]

Sweet Possession (Part 7)

Pairing: Very Dark! Thomas Shelby (32) x Innocent! Reader (19)

Warning: Age Gap, Smut

When you returned to Arrow House unwillingly,  the mansion that was once a symbol of love and safety never felt so cold and lonely. Thomas' eyes, cold as ever, drilled into yours as he greeted you with a deep look without uttering a word. He didn't have to. His message was loud and clear: he always had the upper hand.

You tried to suppress the shiver running down your spine as you glimpsed at the stern expression on his face, realizing that your hope for escape had been nothing more than a fleeting dream. The weight of your current situation bore down on you heavily, forcing reality to settle in.

"Come inside and have something to eat. You must be hungry, Love," he then said , making an attempt to act on his usually endearing nature. Even after all that had transpired, his voice carried a warmness that somehow made you forget about the contents in the lockbox, if only for a moment.

But you knew better. You knew that beneath the facade of charm and wit lay a man whose intentions were far from romantic or kind.

"I am not hungry ," you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Thomas frowned at your response as he lead you inside and helped you to take off your coat before handing it to one of the maids, which is also when you noticed several more men inside the house : some familiar, others not so much.

"Suit yourself ," Thomas said as he escorted you to the dining room, leaving your words to hang in the air. His sudden shift in demeanor was enough to make you feel uneasy and confused. You made a mental note to keep your guard up and be careful about what you shared with him.

"I am sorry," you stammered nervously as he pulled out a chair for you at the dining table while the men who were in the house earlier scurried away as your husband and you sat down to eat, giving you a feeling of being constantly watched. 

"For what, exactly, are you sorry for, Love?"  Thomas asked as he sat down opposite you, the distance between you and him feeling wider than ever before. You swallowed hard, desperately trying to find the right words to explain.

"For leaving, of course," you said after a moment of silence, your voice shaky. "I shouldn't have done it without telling you first." 

Thomas regarded you for a long moment, his face unreadable.

"It's in the past now Y/N and I trust that you won't leave like this again, eh?"  Thomas said, his voice low and gravelly as he leaned forward, his intense blue eyes locked onto yours.

You couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine at the menacing tone in his voice. But you knew better than to argue with him, especially after what had been revealed to you in the past two days. Thomas Shelby was not a man to be trifled with and you knew that you would have to tread lightly if you wanted to stay on his good side.

"Of course not, Thomas. I promise," you murmured quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Good ," Thomas replied, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I'm glad we understand each other."

But despite his seemingly kind words, you couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. You knew that Thomas was capable of anything, and you couldn't help but wonder if this whole situation was just another one of his twisted games.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur as you forced yourself to eat and make small talk with Thomas. Your mind was racing, trying to make sense of everything that had happened.

You felt like you were living in a nightmare, unable to wake up and escape the twisted reality that had become your life.

Thomas Shelby, the man you loved and trusted, had turned out to be someone entirely different from who you thought he was. He was manipulative, controlling, and dangerous. 

"I am really exhausted Tommy, I might just head to bed," you muttered softly after a few hours of having forced yourself to keep him company. As you looked up at Thomas, your voice was trembling slightly, and you tried to hide the fear that was steadily building up inside of you.

Thomas's eyes softened as he looked back at you and for a moment, he seemed almost human.

"Alright Love. I will join you shortly, eh," he said, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You forced a similarly weak smile and nodded as you stood up from your chair, excusing yourself and making your way up the grand staircase to the sleeping quarters.

Once inside your bedroom, you hastily closed the door behind you, feeling a small sense of relief wash over you. You took a deep breath, leaning against the heavy wooden door, trying to calm your beating heart.

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, but you held them back, not wanting to give in to the fear and sadness that had taken over your heart.

With a shiver, you walked to the large mirror in your room, studying your reflection. Your long hair was disheveled from the long train ride and your big eyes looked tired and anxious.

You dreaded the moment at which your husband would join you tonight, just like every other night, knowing that his needs had to be satisfied.

Saying no to him now after what you did was not something you could afford , even though the thought of him touching you made your skin crawl. You couldn't help but feel a sense of disgust towards yourself, for allowing things to go this far.

You had always enjoyed the intimacy between you, feeling attracted to him, but now it had become something else entirely. It was as if you were living with a stranger, someone who held all the power and control over you and you hated the thought of him seeking to be intimate with you. 

Eventually, after contemplating your options for a while on how to get out of sleeping with your husband, you went to bed, realizing that you had none. You lay there, stiff as a board, your mind racing with thoughts of escape and freedom that seemed like impossibilities now.

You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable and, soon enough, the door opened with a creak. Thomas stepped inside quietly as you pretended to be asleep, wondering if your charade would be successful. You heard his footsteps as he moved closer and closer to the bed before stopping short next to you, a sigh escaping his lips.

You could feel him strip down to his clothes, the bed shifting slightly under his weight as he climbed in beside you without making any attempt to initiate anything.  

Minutes passed and still, you felt nothing but cold sheets and an even colder presence beside you but, just as you thought that you could actually go to sleep, your breath hitched as a hand slid across your waist, tracing the curve of your hip before settling on your thigh.

Tommy moved closer towards you and his touch sent a shiver down your spine, causing you to freeze. 

As if sensing your distress, he whispered in your ear, "I know you are awake, Love . Let's not play games, eh?" he told, his hand sneaking up to slide under your nightgown, gently caressing your smooth skin. You could feel him harden against your backside, his desire for you palpable. As much as the thought of being close to him made you uncomfortable now, you knew better than to protest.

Your mind raced, searching for a way to escape this situation, but all your thoughts were pushed aside as his hand moved beneath your panties.

"Relax, Love. You're so tense," he murmured in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. You could feel his body press up against yours, his erection now obvious. "I won't hurt you, eh? I would never fucking hurt you," Tommy told you as he circled over your clit. 

Feeling helpless and defeated, you let out a sigh and allowed your body to soften slightly. You didn't want to admit it, but his touch did sent a shiver of pleasure through you, and you couldn't help but moan as, without warning, he slipped a finger inside of you.

"That's it , Love," he whispered in your ear, his hips rocking against your ass as he began to move his finger in and out of you at a steady pace before wasting no more time and withdrawing it from your slick folds.

You laid there quietly, trying not to make a noise as he pushed down your panties, completely exposing you. You felt vulnerable and exposed. His hand came down to squeeze your ass roughly, before moving to your pussy once more, parting your lips with his fingers and rubbing your clit in slow circles.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groaned as he continued to stroke your clit. Despite the fact that you were still uncomfortable with the situation, it was impossible to deny the pleasure building inside of you.

Soon you felt the head of his cock brush against your entrance and then he slowly pushed inside of you, filling you up completely.

Tommy let out a deep moan as he buried himself to the hilt within you, pausing for a moment before pulling out almost completely and then thrusting back in with more force, making you gasp as he did so.

He continued to fuck you roughly, his hips slapping against your ass with each powerful stroke, his breath hot and heavy against your shoulder blade as he leaned in close.

"Fuck, you feel so good, Y/N," Thomas murmured in your ear as he continued to pound into you from behind. His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you back onto his cock with each thrust.

You stifled a moan, not wanting to give him the satisfaction  of knowing how good it felt. But as he sped up, you couldn't help but let out a small cry of pleasure.

"That's it, Love," Thomas groaned, "You are mine. My fucking property."  Thomas's voice was ragged and deep, sending shivers down your spine as he thrust into you from behind. 

"Say it!" he demanded gruffly, his fingers digging into your hips as he continued to thrust into you with a relentless pace. "Say you're mine!"

His command was met with a soft whimper, your mind reeling from the force of pleasure coursing through your body. You tried to resist, but it was no use - Thomas had you pinned down and at his mercy.

"I'm yours!" you cried out, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them as you came, hard and fast, crying out loudly in pleasure. 

Thomas let out a low growl of satisfaction as you finally conceded to his demands.

"That's right, Love. You are mine," he said, his voice dripping with lust as he continued to piston in and out of you. His fingers gripped your hips tighter, pulling you back onto his cock with every punishing thrust until, suddenly, and unexpectedly, he stilled, groaning loudly. 

"No, stop," you gasped as you tried to wiggle away from him, realizing what was happening, but it was too late . He was already filling you up with his release, his movements slowing as he rode out the waves of pleasure coursing through him.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hot breath panting against your neck and his seed pouring into you as he filled you up to the brim.

Your body was still spasming from your own orgasm, responding to his touch even though your mind was screaming in protest. You couldn't help but think about how much you wanted to push him away and wipe him off of you, but your muscles were still trembling from the force of your release.

As Thomas slowly pulled out of you, you turned over onto your back and looked up at him with a mixture of anger and disgust.

"You came inside me," you spat out, wiping his essence away from your thigh as if it was of any use now.

"I did," he replied nonchalantly, a sly smirk playing on his lips. "Because you are my fucking wife after all," he added as he leaned down, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. You couldn't help but recoil at his touch, the thought of his seed now inside of you making your skin crawl.

He knew that you were not ready to become a mother , but it seemed like he didn't care. You wanted to shout at him, to scream and hit him for his actions, but you held back and simply turned around , climbing out of the bed with a grimace.

You hurried to the bathroom, needing a moment to gather yourself together and trying to wash away the lingering feelings of disgust you felt towards Thomas and his actions - but more importantly, towards yourself for allowing it to happen again and again.

As you stared at your reflection in the mirror, tears started running down your cheeks again, but this time, they were not from fear or despair- they were angry tears. Angry at the situation you had been placed into, angry at yourself for being too weak to stand up against it. Angry tears for the fact that, despite all of this, you somehow craved him. 

Tags:

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[heavenlytouches]

Robbie Turner- the whisper of healing

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

FEM reader

<3 (SFW)

TW- mentions of war, slight PTSD

Robbie survived the war with only injuries, he's in hospital

NURSE! reader comforting him <3

Robbie Turner

The hallway of St. Thomas's Hospital is filled with the faint scent of antiseptic and an undertone of lavender from wash cloths. The air is heavy with the weight of stories untold, of lives interrupted by war that ended last mont. Ever since then, you've been caring for a lot of patients. One of them was young Robbie Turner, a man your age.

You push open the door to room 204, heart thumping a little faster than usual, excited and nervous. Your uniform brushes against you, a reminder of your duties, yet a part of you longs for the moment you spend with him.

Robbie Turner sits by the window, his blue eyes scanning the street below, shadows dancing across freckled cheeks. He looks like a wistful poet in some far-off garden, contemplating life’s agonies and joys.

Having served in the war, the weight of those experiences clings to him like a heavy coat, but today feels different—there’s a certain lightness in his demeanor as you enter.

“Hey, soldier.”

You softly greet him, eliciting a shy smile that flickers across his pink lips, momentarily dispelling the clouds in his gaze.

He turns his head slightly, his shoulder catching the sunlight in just the right way, illuminating the bandage that swathes his wound.

"Hey.."

He replies, his voice still laced with that charming, flirty tone that makes your heart race, though he artfully disguises it behind a mask of shyness. His freckled cheeks blush ever so slightly—his tell when he's nervous.

“How are you feeling today?”

You ask, approaching him, unable to suppress a smile of your own, your heart fluttering at the sight of him.

Robbie shrugs lightly, careful not to jostle his wounded shoulder.

“Like a new man.”

He says, a half-smile playing on his lips.

“A little less battle-worn, I suppose."

You settle into the chair beside him, your proximity allowing you to catch a glimpse of vulnerability in his expression.

“You sound better than yesterday.”

You say, leaning forward, genuinely interested. There’s an underlying sadness in his eyes that you long to chase away, if only he would let you.

“It’s the company.”

He responds, glancing sideways at you, a wink and spark in his already luminous blue eyes. It surprises you how close you got in a month, yet it feels comforting.

“Just a nurse doing her job.”

You reply, grinning playfully. Inside, you feel the truth of your words; you dearly wish to be more than just a passing duty to him. You want to hold that gaze forever and comfort his restless spirit. In a month you became more than nurse and her patiend, you're good friends. Very good.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, the occasional shuffle of nurses and doctors floating in and out, but there’s a cocoon around you both.

He steals glances at you, his eyes sparkling with gratitude, yet there’s also that sheen of something more, something deeper—something that feels like longing.

“Can I ask you something?”

He finally breaks the quiet, turning to you fully, his brows slightly furrowed. He seems hesitant, contemplating his words with the solemnity of a soldier preparing for battle.

“Of course Robbie.”

You encourage gently, feeling your heart seize in anticipation.

“Do you ever think about how life changes?”

He asks, his tone profound, the boyish flirt transformed into an old soul wrestling with the weight of experience.

“Before and after the war?”

His gaze drifts out of the window, losing itself somewhere in memories etched in the lines of his laughter.

"I do,” you admit, leaning closer.

“Life has a way of flipping everything upside down. But it’s what we make of the time afterward that matters.”

His blue eyes find yours again, vulnerability peeling away some of the bravado.

“And how does one figure out what to make of it?”

He hits you with a piercing question that mirrors your own struggles.

"You take small steps," you reply

Biting your lip, a wave of empathy washing over you.

“It's about finding comfort in the people around you...”

There’s a heartbeat of stillness between you both, a moment where the world outside seems to fade. He studies you, and you know he sees: your gentle smile, the way your hair falls over your eyes, the tender kindness that brims in your gaze. Robbie's hand rests near your own, the space between them electric.

“Do you think...”

His voice trails off, and you lean in closer, captivated by the moment.

“Do you think we could discover that together? Comfort, I mean?”

“Oh, Robbie...”

You whisper, realizing your own feelings are mirrored in his. There’s an undeniable pull, a breathless intimacy in the air.

“I’d like that very much.”

His fingers brush against yours, hesitant yet hopeful—a gentle reminder of the warmth of human connection, ignited by the simple touch. You feel tingles travel up your spine, a gentle tremor of excitement mixed with trepidation.

“I don't think I'll ever feel... normal after everything.”

He confesses, glancing down at your joined hands, the golden afternoon light wrapping around your fingers.

“But with you, I might..I can try.”

Your heart melts, and a soft smile sprawls across your lips.

“You don't deserve to feel that way, Robbie."You’ve endured so much, but you’re not alone anymore. I’m here.”

His eyes lock onto yours, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder what lies ahead—a new beginning or just another chapter of life’s endless tales? But whatever it is, you realize with clarity that you want to walk this path with him.

“Do you think it’s crazy?”

He asks, small laughter bubbling up within him, lightening the air.

“To want something more after everything?”

“No, it's human."

You answer softly, your heart racing with a mix of joy and anticipation.

A flicker of mischief dances across his eyes, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Then perhaps it’s time to start writing a new story—I’ve had enough of tragedy.”

“Only if I can be part of that story.”

You squeeze his hand and lean a little closer. The space narrows, the world fading to insignificance. Your hearts beat in sync—a promise of the future layered with unspoken words.

Robbie smiles, that boyish, flirty charm surfacing anew.

“Believe me, my lovely nurse, you already are.”

In the warmth of that moment, you both know the truth: healing takes time, but maybe, just maybe, it can also mean rediscovering love in each other’s eyes.

The war is over, but perhaps, you think, this is just the beginning. The chapter is unwritten, but the whispers of healing sound like a sweet serenade, one you both long to share together.

Yaaaay Atonement!! I SWEAR GUYS I WAS CRYING WHILE WRITING THIS. The ending he deserved- a new begining.

Hope you liked this drabble <3 I can create more James McAvoy-related content; remember, requests are always welcome!

I love you guys so much

(@iseveryoneherederanged tagged u like I said <33)

El <3

(all images were made by: El via canva & paint)

[valkierrie]

ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡɪɴɢ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warning(s): (Liam Gallagher smut), swearing, alcohol.

Plot: Y/N was considered by others to be tied down by her religion. She didn't think she needed anything apart from her bible, but upon meeting Liam Gallagher, he shows her the pleasures of life she was taught was taboo and opens her up to a world of Enlightenment.

Word count: 6.4K

A/N: A story I've been dying to get out, don't worry, I will be back on the requests for the Damon girlies and the one Noel request as well as Ian Brown. This story was hell to write and even worst to edit. Enjoy.

X

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The chapel was packed, as it normally was on Sunday mornings. The church was bigger than most and could hold twice the size. The soft smell of freshly baked chocolate chip biscuits filled the air as worship leaders served them to entering bodies of people. I chose to sit towards the front. Not the front row, but two or three rows behind it. My own biscuit rested on top of a white napkin and set beside my Bible on the wooden bench.  

As people filed, filling up the seats left and right, I wore the usual. A long-sleeved shirt tucked into a long skirt, finished off with the usual smile that was on my face when my eyes met someone else’s. There was the familiar sound of chatter as couples greeted couples and families greeted families.  

Pastor Thomas took his place on the high platform, behind the large, white altar. His tall figure stood before the church, looking over all of us with an intense level of authority. Which to some extent, one could argue he had. The chatters turned to murmurs before it went to silence. He had that power. He didn’t need to speak to command a room, but when he did, everyone listened. Myself included. I admired him dearly. Always impressed with his self-control and discipline—qualities I lacked and wished dearly to grasp with the same firm hold he had on them. 

“Good morning.” Pastor Thomas greeted. 

There was a chorus of greetings all throughout the congregation. 

“Now, today’s sermon is going to be a little different.” He glanced around at the rows of families, his face in an expression that I couldn’t quite decipher. “Let’s have our little ones onto the room next door, please.” He signalled for one of the worship leaders, who was guided the kids towards himself.  

Parents ushered their small children towards the worship leader, some tinkering or fixing their clothes before nudging them towards him. He led them out of the large worship hall we were in and took them elsewhere. There were small conversations and shuffles as the transition occurred. 

Pastor Thomas gathered everyone’s attention back. “Right.” He coughed. “Dear brothers and sisters in Christ—” His voice falters, as if the titles were poison at the edge of his tongue. “Though, I hesitate to call you that. Let’s not lie in the house of the Lord, you are all sinners.”  

There was an echo of whispers all around the flock. 

“Yes, each and every single one of you.” Pastor Thomas didn’t waver; his tone was cold and convicting. “As I am very clearly pure in the eyes of the Father, I am your shepherd, and it is my duty to make sure your souls aren’t dragged to the pits of hell.”  

There was a small pause between his words, allowing us to take it all in. I wasn’t too sure I was taking it in well. I understood what he was saying, and it wasn’t anything new. He always spoke in this tone, but lately something strange had been simmering. I didn’t know how to go about it, really.  I found myself doing less of the expected head-nodding and seal-clapping, instead my brow rose.  I may have looked up to the man, but one couldn’t help but...inquire on his choice of words when he preached. I tried to orient myself in the way he preached, and the more I tried, the harder the feeling unsettlement settled. Even now, I was uncertain, but there wasn’t exactly anyone I could go about my thoughts with.  

“Today, I bring upon you a topic that has been plaguing our youths and poisoning them, worse than any alcohol and drug in the world.” He spoke gesturally, using his hands to emphasise his point. “Fornication. Sexual intercourse before marriage.” Pastor Thomas’ hands touched the pulpit softly, though his grip was firm. “This topic isn’t up for debate, it is clear in the book, First Corinthians, chapter six, verse eighteen. You are to ‘flee from sexual immorality’ but instead today what do I see? The complete opposite. One can only wonder what our Lord in heaven and what I think about it all.” 

There was silence, only sounds being made was the silent shuffling made by the movements of heads in agreement.  

“Even something as small as the thought of fornication is destined take you to eternal hellfire. Unless you follow me, your fate is sealed.” 

I adjusted my posture uncomfortably, moving my shoulders slowly. That last sentence felt targeted towards me specifically. Though there wasn’t any logical explanation or concrete evidence that it was, that didn’t stop my mind from betraying me. As of recently, I’ve been having... less than holier thoughts. The fleeting, unbidden thoughts. The kind that left small yet remanent wet patches on my undergarments. The yearning desire was strong, I didn’t understand why I felt this way, nor did I want to know. There was no way I was going to talk to anyone about it and risk the inevitable judgement that was to come. I couldn't. I picked up my Bible, like a sigil that was meant to protect me from the civil war in my mind. It wasn’t me anymore—the girl who found peace in a place like this. The sentiment was nothing show of a distant memory; I wasn’t so sure that I fit in anymore. 

“I decree today...” Pastors Thomas set his gaze firmly on the congregation with importance, as if the following words that would come out of his mouth would become the next testimonies of the New Testament. “That as long as you abide to my words, your soul will be saved. If you don’t, don’t expect to be remembered for anything aside from choosing to separate yourself from God, after all, no one mourns the wicked.” 

That was the last of what he said about it, and it left a dry taste in my mouth. Something felt wrong—something was wrong. Ironically, it felt like God was trying to tell me something at that moment. Pastor Thomas’ words covered my ears and his presence blinded my eyes. As the rest of the service went by, rather forgettably, my regard shifted to the glass windows. For what seemed like a few seconds, my thoughts drifted to what could have been, without any of it. The judgement or the expectation. The light peering through was bright, enticing, almost beckoning. Pastor’s Thomas’ words still lingered in my head as I walked home.  

“You finally back to the land of the living, love?” Eliza called out as I walked into the flat. Eliza, my darling antithesis of a flatmate, laid on the sofa, feet tucked under her as she applied layers mascara over her eyes. 

I sighed, removing my flats and leaving them beside the door. It took a few strides for me to reach the sofa and plop down beside her. 

“How was it?” She asked, her gaze still fixed on the small mirror on her lap. 

“Fine.” 

“Uh, oh,” she teased, “that sounds eventful.” 

“Eliza, please, save the sarcasm for another time. I’m not in the mood.” 

Eliza smirked, moving her gaze from the mirror to me. “What’s going on?” 

“Why do you think anything’s going on?” 

“You usually have that stupid smile on your face after ev’ry church visit.” 

A tired sigh escaped my lips. “Do you...” There was a flicker of hesitation in my tone. “At church today, something felt off...” 

Eliza rose a brow. “What do you mean?” 

“Well...” I sat up, straightening my back. I wasn’t exactly sure how to sum up what was going through my mind in simple words. “Pastor Thomas was preaching about fornication.” 

“Is that what’s got your knickers in a bunch?” Eliza rolled her eyes. “I’ve told you once and I’ll say it again a million times, getting a few good shags once in a while won’t kill ya.” 

“It wasn’t what he said, it was how he said it.” 

Eliza adjusted her position, turning her crossed legged self towards me, her head tilting ever-so sightly. 

“He was authoritative, it felt as if he was playing God—or he thought that he was God. It felt cultish.” I sighed, this time not out of tiredness, but in discord. “It’s stupid. Maybe I’m just overthinking it...” 

“It’s not stupid, you’re just...curious, that’s okay.” 

“It shouldn’t be like that though...right?” 

“How should I know, I haven’t been to a church in years, let alone picked up a bible.” Eliza snorted. 

The humour in the situation hadn’t caught up to me, Eliza could see that. She placed the tube of her mascara on the coffee table, grinning. “Tell you what—I’m going to the pub downtown with a couple mates, why don’t you come?” 

“A pub, really?” I blinked. 

“Hey, don’t knock it,” She laughed, using her knee to nudge mine. “A change of scenery’ll do you some good. In addition, you get to see me in ideal element—chugging down pints.” 

“Of course.” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. I wasn’t sure what prompted me to accept her invitation, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt, especially since it I was adamant that this was going to be a one-time thing.  

Eliza squealed, pulling me into a small hug as a reluctant smile tugged at my lips. 

The evening took over quicker than I had anticipated, and I found myself stood at the entrance of a dodgy building, adjusting the blouse Eliza had begged me to wear. 

“If you’re not going to wear anything flattering,” She had told me, rummaging through her closet. “Then at least wear this.” She had pulled out a small white blouse. The shirt was cropped at the bottom, the neckline was a low V-neck. Not low enough to give my mother a heart attack—just low. 

Eliza pulled me by the arm into the pub. The place was packed despite the size.  

“I swear,” Eliza tried to speak over the other loud conversations. “It’s never this crowded, must be a match day or summat.” She pulled me through the crowd of people. Her theory might have held validity because a few—a lot of a them wore jerseys. They stood, crowded near the bar, their gazes fixed on the small TV mounted on the wall. Screams and shouts were all over. 

Eliza led me to a small table towards one of the corner windows. She greeted the strangers sat there with a smile and a simple, “Alright?” 

There was an ensemble of greetings returned to her.  

“I brought me mate, Y/N.” Eliza nodded towards me.  

The row of eyes that fell onto me felt a bit intimidating. I gave them a simple wave before taking an empty seat. Eliza began chattin’ up one of her mates. It was clearly one she was very familiar with; anyone could tell by the way she moving her hand up and down his shoulder. From how he looked like and how Eliza had described him in prior conversations, I assumed it was her boyfriend, Alexander. I sat there awkwardly, not really sure what I could’ve done. My mind was all over the place and contrary to what Eliza had claimed, this was doing nothing to help. The yelling and rowdiness of it all rendered me unable to think clearly in the sloghtest. 

“I leave my seat for 3 seconds, and some bird’s already nicked it.” A voice broke my thoughts. 

“Excuse me?” I turned to the side, where the source of the voice came from, only to be greeted by a tall bloke. He stood with a lanky build, and short, shaggy, dark hair. He had a light blue jersey worn over his torso; the colour was almost as blue as his eyes. A lit cigarette dangled from his lips. I couldn’t lie; he looked quite fit under the low lights. 

“I said,” he repeated. “You’re in my seat.” He took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling the fumes, tapping the butt of his cigarette. 

I was taken aback by the tone, and bit annoyed. “I didn’t see you sitting in it, nor did I see a name on it.” 

“Got a right gob on ya, don’t ya.” He crossed his arm.  

I opened my mouth, ready to say something, but whatever was about to come out of my mouth was cut short when Eliza approached. “Liam, finally. Didn’t see ya, was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.” 

Liam, scoffed. “I wouldn’t show,” he mocked. “Yeah right. City’s playing United, like I’d miss that.” 

“’Course, good old Liam Gallagher just couldn’t stay away.” Eliza chuckled; she turned towards me. “Y/N, you’ve met Liam, right?” 

“Can’t say that I have.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Liam smirked; he turned to Eliza. “You’re—uh mate here stole my chair.” 

“Can’t steal something that doesn’t belong to you.” I retorted.  

“That’s Y/N for ya.” Eliza shook her head, laughing. She turned towards the bar. “I’m gonna get a drink. You two want anythin’?” 

“Just a pint for me, yeah?” 

I simply shook my head. 

“Suite yerself.” Eliza shrugged.  

“You not drinkin’?” 

I shook my head. “What’s it to you?” 

“Nowt, just askin’.” he chuckled, pulling up another chair that was left unattended. “You’re at a bar, figured you’d get a drink or summat, but then again...” His voice trailed off, and his gaze lowered to my chest, where a small, gold, crucifix necklace laid. 

“So, why’d you ask?” 

“Didn’t wanna assume.” Liam shrugged. He exhaled another cloud of smoke, allowing it to curl between us. His gaze was set on necklace once more before his eyes met mine. “What brings a bird like you out here, then?” 

“Stretching my horizons.” I responded light and sarcastically, placing my hands on my lap. 

“Right.” He rolled his eyes, tapping his cigarette against the table. “And I’m the bloody Queen.” 

“Eliza’s idea. She needs someone who isn’t pissed to take her back to the flat at the end of the night.” 

“Nice thing, that.” Liam nodded, as if processing the information. “That shirt also her idea?” He nodded towards my top. 

“Why d’you think that?” 

“It’s actually got a neckline. Gives a blokes summat interestin’ ‘bout ya to look at.” 

The statement caught me off guard, before I could respond, Eliza interrupted me once more, this time coming back with a long glass cup filled with the beverage Liam had requested, a cloud of foam overtaking the top. 

“Cheers, love.” He thanked Eliza. 

Eliza gave him a smile before returning to her other mates. Liam took sip of his drink.  

“You’ve ever had one of these?” 

I shook my head. 

“Tragic, you’re missin’ out. This is heaven, this.” 

“Oh, I’m sure it is.” 

“It is,” Liam nodded in agreeance. “You should get one.” 

“I don’t drink.” 

“Ah, you one of ‘em proper good girls?” He smirked. 

I didn’t like that question, at all. Liam could tell; the smirk grew wider. He kept going, as if getting a rise out of me was some kind of funny humorous thing. I didn’t feel like dignifying his taunts with a response. I stood up, ready to find Eliza or elsewhere to sit.  

Liam’s hand caught my arm with a gentle grip. “C’mon, I’m just takin’ the piss. Fair play an’ all that.” His tone was still the same, but I could tell that he wasn’t outright trying to mock me. 

“Right.” I pulled my arm away. 

Liam raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, I’ll back down.” 

I sat back down.  

Liam smiled. “Let’s try again.” He stuck out his hand towards me. “Liam. Liam Gallagher.” 

My eyes flickered from his hand to his face. “Y/N,” reluctantly, I took and shook it. “Y/N L/N.” 

Liam leaned back, his grin widening. “So, Y/N. You ever head of Oasis?” 

“Oasis?” I repeated, trying to figure out if the band held a place of familiarity. “I’m not sure that I have, what is it?” 

Liam chuckled. “Only the best band in the fuckin’ world.” 

“Is that right?” I rose a brow. “Why’s that?” 

“’Cause I’m in it.” Liam stated it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“That sounds biased.”  

“It’s not biased; It’s just a fact.” 

That was the first thing that evenin’ that managed to get a smile out of me, I didn’t know why. His confident demeanour almost made me want to believe him. The rest of the evening went by pretty fast with Liam keeping me ‘entertained’ with stories about his band. They were unusual for sure, but somehow, they had managed to tug at the corners of my lips or made a chuckle escape my lips before I could stop myself. 

By the time Eliza made her way back to me, the time was well past when I’d be in bed, and Eliza was stumblin’ about. 

“That’s my cue.” 

Liam nodded. I placed Eliza’s arm over my shoulders, my arm going around her waist for support, and helped her out of the pub. I wanted to say that I had a lousy time, but it wasn’t all bad. 

Eliza mumbled some slurred intelligible statements in an effort to convey something, whatever it may be. For someone so tall, she was pretty lightweight. It was darker outside than a had been when we arrived, the temperature seemed to have dropped as well, the cold air hit me like a slap to the face. Almost made me regret leaving the flat without a jacket. It made sense as to why Eliza had gone without out. She’d be too out of it to complain about the cold.  

We passed a strange-looking building; one I saw frequently on my way to church. It hadn’t paid much attention to it—mainly because it blended in well with the other buildings. Tonight, however, it was lit up. Coloured lights everywhere, mainly red ones. Women, many in various stages of scantily clad clothing, stood outside. Some leaned against the lamp posts while others were near the entrance or likely inside. 

I paid them no mind, I had no business with them—plain and simple. As I gently dragged Eliza forward and down the street, something caught my eye—rather someone. Coming out of the building was a tall man, a woman’s arm interlocked with his. I recognized him immediately, and holy fuck. 

Pastor Thomas. 

Pastor Thomas grinned as the woman pulled him forward. Their lips were moving, but I couldn’t quite make out what was being said. But from the smiles on both of their faces and the ease between them, as well as the way her face lit up with a grin when Pastor Thomas handed her a few note, it was obvious what was going on.   

There wasn’t a single bible in sight.  

Of course, I was aware that people had lives outside of church, but seeing him coming out of somewhere like that? There was no logical way to put the pieces together without something being wrong. I couldn’t make sense of it. 

It should have been obvious what was going on, but my brain supressed the truth. My head didn’t want to allow me to get to that point of acceptance. Not yet. I almost dropped Eliza from my shock. I adjusted my grip around her waist as I quickened my pace, hoping to pass unseen. As we did, I turned back, silently praying that it wasn’t who I thought it was—that fatigue was just playing a cruel joke on me. 

Pastor Thomas’ eyes met mine. I couldn’t possibly tell you what going on in his brain. His expression changed, not to that of guilt, or embarrassment, or anything of the sorts. This moment felt like a page out of Animal Farm. I didn’t recognize him. His gaze felt like a was sort of a silent threat, a challenge of sorts. One that told me that he was aware of what I had seen and dared me to say something about it. I moved Eliza and I along until we reached the flat. I fumbled with the key until the door unlocked. Kicking it open, I helped Eliza inside.  

I helped her out of her shoes, taking her to her room. I wasn’t exactly sure how much she’d to drink, but I was certain it wasn’t enough to let her sleep on her back. I adjusted her position, letting her sleep comfortably on her side. 

In my own room, I changed out of my clothes and into my pyjamas. As I laid on my bed, sleep just wouldn’t catch up to me. My mind was begging for a conclusion—anything. It replayed what I had seen, searching and scanning for answers and loopholes. What I saw wouldn’t suffice. Was that what God was trying to tell me?  

God, I sounded crazy, getting warnings from God. Now I knew how Joan of Arc felt. Was this what I was warned about? That my pastor taught one thing and did the opposite. I was undeniably disappointed.  

If he couldn’t hold himself to the standards he had set, what did that say about what I stood for? 

My thoughts didn’t keep me up for too long. I wasn’t sure when I had fallen asleep, but I knew I had when my eyes fluttered open and bright light spilled into my room from the small available cracks on my shutters.  I blinked rapidly, allowing my eyes to get adjusted.  

In the kitchen, Eliza leaned against a counter, one hand on her temple and the other on a glass of water.   

“Remind me to never drink again.” She groaned.  

“That’d be in vain.” I spoke with a dry tone. 

Her head lifted, a small yet weak smile on her face. “Thanks for last night. Who knows where I would’ve ended up if you weren’t there.” 

“It was nothing.” I shrugged. “It’s what a friend does.” 

Eliza turned so her lower back hit the counter, she took a sip of her water. “How’re you holdin’ up?” 

“What?” I blinked. 

“Did last night help you clear your mind?” 

“No,” I shook my head. “If anything, it made things worse.” 

“How?” Eliza’s brows knit in confusion; her smile was replaced with a frown. “Was it Liam? You were talkin’ to him all night—did he say summat?” 

“No.” 

“Then what?” 

There was a hint of hesitation before I spoke.“When I was walking you back home, I saw something.” 

“Really?” 

I nodded. 

“Okay, well tell me.” 

“I saw Pastor Thomas coming out of a building—” 

“Is that it? ” She blinked. 

“I think it was a brothel.” 

Silence. 

“A brothel?” Eliza repeated, in surprise. “Are you sure?” 

“I know what I saw—” I said, my voice firm. “—and I didn’t see a bible or anything.  

“wow...” Eliza's mouth was still ajar from the semi bomb I dropped. “You plannin’ on going back to that church?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“I honestly wish I could help, really, I do.” She spoke, her fingers massaging her temple. “But this hangover is doin’ me head in.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.” 

Eliza gave me a sympathetic smile, placing her hand on my shoulder and squeezing it. 

—  

Days of loitering about on the sofa occurred. Times where I should have been at church, where spent in the flat, doing nothing in particular. Luckily, Eliza kept me fed and kept away anyone from the congregation who was “too curious” about my absence from the church. The weigh of it felt like a heavy rock pressing down on me. 

It felt ridiculous, something so small, yet it held significance and I wasn’t sure why. Was my “belief” truly a belief if it had managed to be shaken by something like this? 

“You can’t keep sitting around like this.” Eliza said, one morning.  

I sat on the sofa, pulling my blanket higher over my shoulders. “Sure I can,” I argued. “I’m doing it right now.” 

“You can’t.” Eliza rolled her eyes, settling beside me.  

I didn’t say anything. 

“If you’ve got nowt to do...” Eliza started.  

I rose my brow, I knew where this was going. “No.” 

Eliza’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “You didn’t even lemme ask.” 

“Didn’t have to.” 

Eliza rolled her eyes. “I was gonna ask you to take me to the pub. Again.” 

“No way, that was a one-time thing.” 

Eliza stuck out her lips in a small pout. 

“That’s not going work.” 

“It works with Alexander.” 

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not Alexander.” I turned towards her, giving her a look. “And didn’t you say you were going to stop drinking.” 

“People change.” She shrugged. 

“Right.” I deadpanned. 

“C’mon, please.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” 

Eliza grinned triumphantly. 

— 

Eliza and I found ourself in the same place we had been. It was like déjà vu, minus the blouse. I chose to stick with clothes that came from my own closet, much to Eliza’s annoyance. The pub was tamer than it had been the other time. There were actual visible empty chairs. Eliza greeted her mates near the bar. I sat further away, not really having much interest in them.  

The scraping sound of a chair being pulled back caught my attention. My gaze turned to the side, there he was again, Liam. An ever-present and cocky smirk accompanied him. “Back again?” 

“Yeah, I am. You got a problem with that?” 

Liam shook his head, the smirk remained as he leaned back. “Not at all, didn’t see you for a while—got worried I might of scared ya off.” 

“Great, now you’ve seen me.” I deadpanned. 

“I would, but it’s not as fun, y’know what I mean?” 

I rolled my eyes. 

“What’s got you in mood, then?” 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but these last few days haven’t exactly been a cakewalk.” 

“Lemme guess,” Liam leaned back. “You havin’ trouble deciding which bible verse to read before bed?” 

My eyes narrowed slightly. That didn’t bother Liam one bit, if anything, it made his grin wider.  

“My problem isn’t exactly that simple.” 

“I’m sure it isn’t.” He chuckled.  

My expression remained very much the same. I adjusted my position, placing my elbow on the table and my chin on my palm. 

“Y’know what’ll be bound to make you feel better?” 

“What?” 

“A cold pint.” 

“I don’t drink.” I reiterated. 

“C’mon, love, why sit and stress when you can drink and forget?” 

I just stared at him. From the short time I’ve gotten to know what he was about, I learned that he wasn’t what you’d classify as Harvard-level intelligence, but he wasn’t stupid. I wanted to get out of this funk—I really did. He seemed to know what he was talking about, and Eliza always did look happy when she drank.  

“...Fine.” 

Liam’s brows shot up, as if he didn’t quite believe what I’d just said. “Alright.” he nodded, standing up. He went towards the bar, telling something to the bartender. The bartender handed him two glasses. Liam sat back down at my table, sliding one of the drinks towards me.  

“Try it.” Liam encouraged, taking a sip of his own drink. 

I did so. The taste was...unique. I’ve had alcohol before, if you count the wine they offered at church. The liquid burned my throat, it tasted bitter. After I swallowed it, a strong taste remained. I shook my head a bit.  

“Atta girl,” he grinned. “You’ll get used to the taste.” 

“I’m not sure I want to.” 

“It’ll grow on ya.”  Liam encouraged with a chuckle.  

I took a few more sips of the liquid and true to Liam’s words, the bitter after taste was almost numb to me. 

“Feelin’ better?” 

“A bit.” I chuckled. “My head feels fuzzy.” 

I leaned back, unbuttoning some of the top buttons of my shirt. 

“Look on the bright side, you look fit.” 

I turned my head to look at him, a ghost of a smile playing at my lips before I could stop it. Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Is that what you tell all the girls you trick into buying a drink?” 

“Only if they’re fit.” Liam shrugged. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” 

I leaned in close; Miscalculated my move. My drink to spill right on my lap. I quickly sat the cup right side up. 

“Bloody hell.” Liam burst into a fit of laughter. 

I stood up quickly, causing some of the drink to spill on to the ground. I released an aggressive sigh.  

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” I rolled my eyes. “I swear, I’m never drinking again.” 

“C’mon,” Liam stood up, grabbing my arm. “I’ll help ya.” 

He didn’t give me a chance to give him an answer. Eliza saw us as we passed, her brows knit, I had barely had time to register it. 

Liam led to the restroom, pulling me inside after him and closing the door behind him. He picked up a stack of paper towels, dabbing them over my clothes—uselessly. his efforts did less to help than he had likely hoped. I placed my hand over his, stopping him.  

“It’s alright, I got it.” 

“Lemme help.” he insisted. 

“I don’t think what you’re doing qualifies as help.” I giggled.  

“Counts as summat.” 

My shirt was tainted by the beverage. I was certain I looked absolutely ridiculous. Liam just stared at me. I wasn’t sure what expression he was conveying to me. 

“What?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, as if atmosphere between us was sacred.  

“Go on then, tell me what’s been doin’ ya ‘ead in.” His voice was soft. 

“Just stuff with my church.” I spoke vaguely, hoping he wouldn’t pry deeper. 

“What happened?”  

There was the hesitation again. I looked at his face for any hint of malice or insincerity, but I found none. With a sigh, I spoke. “My pastor preaches about abstinence before marriage, while he goes to brothels.” 

Liam’s eyebrows shot up, laughter escaping from his throat. 

“Shut up, it’s not funny.” I hit in the chest; Liam only laughed harder. 

“Nah, it’s fuckin’ hilarious.” He grinned, wiping the corners of his eyes. “A brothel—now I’d pay good money to see that.” 

My eyes narrowed.  

“I don’t see how that would bother ya.” 

“He’s a pastor, always goes on and on about how that kind of thing is bad then goes around and does? He’s a hypocrite.” I looked down at my hands. “I looked up to him, now I just feel stupid.” 

Liam’s laughing subsided, fading. His expression fell to something softer. “Hey, c’mon, don’t say that. The tosser had no right to order you lot like that, ‘specially if he was doin’ that shit. You’re not stupid, alright?” 

I looked up at him, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. The warmth of his words spread all throughout my chest. “Thanks Liam.” 

Liam smiled, stepping closer. For a brief second, his eyes darted downwards to my lips, then back to my face. He just stared at me.  

Then, before I knew it, his hands cupped my cheeks, pulling me close and our lips met in a kiss. A startled sound escaped my lips. My hands found his shoulders, my conditioned state yelled at me to pull back—to push him away, but I couldn’t. Liam’s hands slid down, finding my waist. His tongue had made its way inside my mouth, wrestling with mine. 

He pulled away briefly, attempting to grasp as much oxygen as he could. I did the same, before I was pulled back, lips locking on to his.  

The buttons of my shirt were slowly coming undone until it was completely off. Left in my bra, the cold had goosebumps slowly making their way up my arms. It was strange standing like this in front of him, but I had a feeling, an almost animalistic desire—primal. It didn’t Liam long to get his shirt off and on the floor. At the moment, there wasn’t a care in the world about how dirty they were. Liam’s hands grasp my waist firmly, his fingers digging at them. It wasn't painful, there was just a feeling of pressure. 

His lips moved with mine, there was a strange sensation I felt as we moved together. I wasn’t entirely sure how to describe it, but it was...good. 

Liam slowly moved me back against the wall adjacent to the one that had the sink and mirror attached to it. The cold wall hit my back softly, lips still moulding against each other. Liam’s hand held my lower back, while the other grazed my thigh, slowly rising up and under my skirt. It moved gently, there was no haste nor rush in his touch, as if he wanted to savour every second. 

“You can... touch me, you know.” I told him. The brave tone in which I spoke with surprised myself. Perhaps the drink had an elixir-like effect on my brain chemistry. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” I confirmed, leaning back towards him for a hungry kiss. 

For once, I didn’t feel confined—trapped, that was how I felt and it felt fucking amazing.  

Liam’s hand flickered upwards, a soft whimper escaped my lips. I didn’t why it did, but it did. 

“Do that again.” I whispered. 

Liam complied; another sound was expelled from lips. The lace of my underwear was toyed with by Liam, brushing against my entrance with a frustrating slowness. 

Something between a gasp and a moan was the reaction that occurred when he slipped a finger inside. It stretched me in a way that made me shudder. The sensation felt odd—not in a bad way, just the unfamiliarity of it.  

I couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening. Maybe it was the weird buzz in my head from the drink, or maybe my thoughts had been cleared and I had subconsciously realised that maybe those standards that I held myself to wasn’t how I felt anymore. 

Whatever the case might have been, it felt liberating. A feeling of liberty. 

Liam’s finger managed to get a hold of a spot that had my head tilting back and my vision blurred. Then he inserted another one.  

“Ahh—” I gasped, my hand holding onto his shoulders tightly as his fingers thrusted inwardly. His angles changed ever so slightly, eliciting a feeling of anticipation. 

I wanted—no, I needed more. 

My hips bucked almost instinctively towards his hand. Incoherent babbles were all that were coming out of my mouth. Liam kissed the corners of my mouth, his wet kisses slowly trailing downwards. My breath hitched when Liam’s lips met a particular spot slightly above my collarbone. 

I could feel a smirk forming against my skin. Cheeky bastard. 

One particular thrust of Liam’s fingers made me jump, sending an intense feeling throughout my entire body. It felt as if I was having a heart attack, but without danger. My heart was racing, palpitations sending heavy vibrations throughout my body. The rate of my breathing increased rapidly, rising and the decreasing as the foreign, yet satisfying, feeling went away. 

Liam’s fingers pulled away gently as the intensity slowly dissipated.  

“You good, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” I panted. 

“Good.” Liam’s hand remained on my back. 

Liam’s face came close to mine once more until our lips met once more. His hands rose to my upper back, fumbling with the hooks of my bra until it came loose. The light under garment fell with ease. My hands instinctually fell over my chest. I’d never been exposed to this degree if front of anyone, it felt new. 

“None of that.” He gently pulled my arm down. “You look beautiful.” 

My breath hitched. His lips grazed my collarbones, going lower and lower. My hands raked him dark brown hair.  

Liam reached down to undue his belt, letting his jeans fall to the floor. His length looked firm, pressing against his boxers. 

His eyes flickered onto mine, as if he were silently asking me for permission. I nodded. Liam pulled me close. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I hadn’t anticipated the stretch I felt when Liam slowly pushed inside me.  

I took a sharp breath, my hands squeezing his shoulders. It hurt—it did. Liam did his best to accommodate that, moving slowly.  

Liam groaned softly, muttering obscenities. “Fuck...”  The pace wasn’t rushed—it was slow, but steady, slowly allowing the discomfort to be transformed to pleasure.  

I couldn’t believe it, genuinely. I was having sex, and in a pub bathroom no less. It wasn’t at all how Pastor Thomas had painted it out to be. This didn’t feel dirty or wrong, not at all. I felt connected, our pleasured sounds over taking the bathroom. 

It was simply too much. I caught sight of Liam’s damp forehead, his hair clinging onto his forehead. His pink-tinted swollen and moist lips kissed mine with ferocity. It was hard to keep up when his hips kept colliding with mine faster and faster... 

I couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t think at all. I wasn’t even kissing Liam at this point, instead I gasped and moaned into his mouth.  

Liam’s pace quickened. “Fuckin’ hell... Yeah—fuck, so good...” Liam moaned. With a couple more sloppy thrusts, Liam let out throaty groan, his head falling on my shoulder. An intense feeling that I could only describe as pure euphoria took over. It felt like death. A heavenly way to die. My head tipped back once more; I was releasing sounds I didn’t even know I could make. I felt a warm, liquid-like substance filling me up. As soon as Liam soften inside me, he pulled out.  

As soon as he did, the liquid dripped down my thighs.  

I attempted to catch my breath, and he seemed to be doing the same. “You, okay?” He asked. 

“Yeah. You?” 

Liam nodded.  

There was a small moment of silence. It wasn’t awkward or anything, quite the opposite. 

“Reckon we’re proper filthy, eh?” Liam teased. 

I chuckled. “Yeah, I guess we are.” 

Liam helped with me get sorted with my clothes before getting to his. His hands shrugged mine off as he buttoned up my shirt. When he finished, his hands found my cheeks again. He didn’t kiss me this time, just looked at me, as if I was someone important. Someone worth looking at like that. 

My mind was racing, not with stress, just confusion. I wasn’t what this meant. Did this mean that my faith was tarnished?  

I enjoyed it, I did.  

What did it mean? 

[hotvintagepoll]

Thomas Mitchell (It's a Wonderful Life, Stagecoach, Only Angels Have Wings)—In It's a Wonderful Life, he's Uncle Billy, the man who ties string around his fingers to remind him of things (and STILL misses his nephew's wedding) and has a pet squirrel to comfort him in times of need; in Stagecoach (for which he won an Oscar!), he is a delightfully rough-and-tumble alcoholic who comes through for his fellow stagecoach passengers when they need him; in Pocketful of Miracles, he is a charming old-timer pool hustler who will rob you blind while reciting Shakespeare to you; I have not seen The Black Swan but he seems to have played some sort of pirate-y sidekick. Everywhere you look, this man was scrungling! (Also fun fact: he was the first actor to win competitive acting awards at the Oscars, Tonys, and Emmys, aka the Triple Crown of Acting!)

Harpo Marx (Night at the Opera, Night in Casablanca, Duck Soup)—While Groucho is better-known, Harpo's physical comedy is SECOND-TO-NONE. The man is a strange mime trapped in the paradigm of early 20th century movies. Every move is a symphony and simultaneously a colony of rats in a human skin suit. LISTEN. You MUST see this man in motion. Every still photo of him looks like a combination of a sad clown and a different, sadder clown, but it's only because he put so much joy in every motion.

This is round 3 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Thomas Mitchell:

One of those job'bing character actors who turn up in a lot of movies in bit parts. He is a very good actor, with a lot of pathos—you probably know him as the uncle from It's a Wonderful Life, or Jean Arthur's newspaper friend from Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. A salt of the earth type who brings gravitas and pathos to every part. He scrungles gorgeously.

He was the first male actor to win the Triple Crown (Oscar, Emmy, and Tony). His Oscar win was for his exceptionally scrungly performance in Stagecoach (1939) clip linked.

Basically, even the Academy agreed this man was scrungly and decided to give him an award for it!

Harpo Marx:

He's like if a clown was a hobo was also somehow a classically trained harpist, his face is always in some kind of contorted silly shape, feral curly haired ninnymuggins always doing weird things to people

Harpo is mute in all of the Marx Bros movies and so his body language and facial expressions are SO over the top but he's also got fewer braincells than a goldfish while often being the emotional heart of the Marx Bros and he's just A Guy!!

Every scene with Harpo Marx is a treat! Just like watching a seagull steal a stranger's hotdog at the beach, it is a joy to watch him frustrate the hell out of all the other films' characters! Harpo Marx is the zenith of unhinged in all of his appearances, making any other funny man a straight man by comparison. (A fantastic feat considering he starred in films with his brothers Grouch and Harpo, who sported a shoe polish mustache and questionable Italian accent, respectively). The scrungliness of the little guys he plays come from his guileless, wide-eyed expression, curly blond wig, and the extreme ability to annoy others, despite never saying a word. Is he malicious? Most definitely, but hard to tell because he has a dopey grin on his face most of the time. Communicating through other sounds like honking horns and whistling, he is a force of chaos in every Marx brothers film! Also an accomplished harp player, the beautiful calm moments where Harpo plays juxtapose the zany, making him all the more scrungly. His visual style of comedy is timeless; Duck Soup had me rolling with laughter as a six year old and is still just as funny today.

In my opinion Harpo is the funniest of the Marx brothers because he is so good at slapstick comedy. Since he never speaks in his film appearances his performances are very physical, which contributes a lot to his scrungliness. He was fully committed to being wacky at all times. All of his hilarity is based on him being weird.

He's just a weird little guy who causes chaos everywhere he goes, and then sits down and plays a beautiful harp solo! He steals the show from his very chatty brothers without saying a word, and was surprisingly ripped under that old raincoat

All of the Marx Brothers are Scrungly to a degree, but Harpo is the scrungliest! His outfits are so big he gets lost in them, his pockets are full of everything, and because he never speaks, he always uses physical comedy. Also he's an incredible musician.

[cillftw1]

you want him but you just can't win

Sort of part 2! ☆

"Frances wheres Mr shelby?" I say as I come down stairs one morning.

Thomas's head of staff, Frances, turns to me, her expression solemn."He's in his office, miss," she replies. She doesn't mention who Thomas is with, but the meaning is clear. "With Grace." It's always Grace now.

I purse my lips nodding "oh... okay, thankyou"

Frances gives me a sympathetic smile, understanding the unspoken anguish behind my words."Of course, miss," she says gently. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

I regard her with a small smile turning to leave before turning back. "frances?"

"Yes, miss?" Frances responds, turning her full attention to me, sensing that there's more on my mind.

"Lets... have some tea together" I smile, it was more of a question than a request.

A warm smile appears on Frances's face."Of course, miss. That sounds lovely." She leads me to the kitchen, and with practiced ease, she starts boiling water and preparing cups for our tea.

As the kettle whistles, Frances sets the cups on a tray and pours the steaming liquid into them."Would you like sugar or milk, miss?" She offers, her expression still warm and inviting.

"Both" I say leaning against the counter.

"Of course, miss," she nods, adding a teaspoon of sugar and a splash of milk to my cup before carefully handing it to me. "Be careful, it's hot," she cautions, her tone motherly and watchful.

"You should just call me by my name" I say as we sit on the table.

Frances smiles softly, her gaze softening."As you wish, miss..." She catches herself, correcting her own words "Yn. But you must understand, I've known you since you were a young girl. It's hard to break old habits."

"And I've known you since I was a little girl." I smile "please... Call me by my name."

Frances chuckles softly, her stern demeanor melting just a bit."Alright, Ynn," she says, her tone still respectful but now tinged with affection. She raises her teacup, taking a small sip."It's hard to believe how fast time has passed. You've grown into quite the lady, you know."

"A lady huh?"

Frances nods, sipping her tea and eyeing me over the rim of her cup."Indeed, you've grown into a beautiful woman, love. Your father must be very proud."

"I hope so" I smile taking a few biscuits and keeping them between us. They said I was always nice to everyone. Be it the cleaners, the maids or servers.

Frances watches as I arrange the biscuits, her expression softening further. She takes one, biting into it with a satisfied hum."You've always been kind to us, Yn" she says gently. "You've never acted like you were above anyone. Not like others." She doesn't need to name names, I know exactly who she's referring to.

I chuckle," No ones.. above anyone. We're all equals here. Atleast at the Shelby estate we are."

Frances chuckles, a hint of surprise in her expression. "You're a good soul, Yn," she says, her voice filled with sincerity. "Most wouldn't treat the staff like their equals, but you do. You're different from Thomas, and you're definitely different from the girl he spends his time with."

"Maybe she'll soon be his wife" I say tracing the rim of the fine china with my nail.

Frances sighs, her expression turning serious once more. She knew the truth of the situation, how much I was hurting..."Perhaps," she murmurs, casting a pitying glance in my direction. "But you know that won't change anything, Yn."

"change... There's nothing to change. It was always her. Before me after me. "It'll always be her I'm just a placeholder"

Frances puts a comforting hand on mine, her touch understanding and kind."You're not a placeholder, Ynn," she says softly. "You're the wife of one of the most powerful men in Birmingham. But..." She trails off, her gaze apologetic.

"But I will admit, I've never seen Thomas love anyone as much as he loves her. And it is no secret who he spends his nights with."

We sip our tea in silence, watching over the morning hues till we hear the office doors open revealing Thomas and.. her.

Frances glances towards the direction of the office, her expression hardening at the sight of Thomas and Grace . She knows exactly what they've been doing in there.She turns back to me , her gaze now filled with sympathy and concern.

"I'm sorry, Yn" she whispers, her voice barely louder than a breath.

I tear my gaze away from them both and just sip my tea.

Frances watches me, her heart aching at the stoicism I'm displaying. She can see the pain in my eyes, even if I'm trying to hide it.Thomas and Grace appear in the doorway, their faces flushed. Grace's hair is slightly out of place, and Thomas looks slightly distracted.

Thomas glances in my direction, his gaze flicking over me before he looks away."Frances, I need a whiskey," he grunts, taking a seat across from me. Grace stands in the background, looking triumphant.

Frances hurries to pour a glass of whiskey for Thomas, setting it in front of him. She shoots me a sympathetic glance before discreetly leaving the room, giving the three of us some privacy.

Grace stands behind Thomas like a lioness behind the king of the jungle. She looks every bit of the next Shelby wife.

Thomas grabs her waist, pulling her onto his lap. His hands roam over her body possessively as he nuzzles her neck.Grace lets out a soft gasp, her body melting into his touch. She looks at him, her expression a mix of desire and submission.

Thomas growls softly, his grip on her tightening. He looks up, his gaze locking onto hers."You're mine," he says, his voice a low rumble, possessive.

Thomas's fingers trail over her body, mapping her curves. He murmurs soft words against her skin, praising her, worshipping her. He pulls her closer, his lips finding hers in a deep, passionate kiss...

With trembling hands I sip the rest of the tea and hurriedly scurry away. With eyes red and a broken heart, I'm reminded of my conversation with Grace.

"You want him, but you just can't win"

★

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

Iost this one somewhere in my drafts, but this is in answer to the anon whose ask was along the lines of What are your thoughts on Thomas and Percy?

Classic Third Era (see below). Lookit Perce's sad face. Lookit how they nerfed my unsinkable boy. Or maybe Percy's just getting old and that's why he's constantly pouting to Thomas? 🤭

I think the most intriguing part of 1+6 is when we have to reconcile TVS - where they are bffs, best bros, etc. - and RWS - where the Ffarquhar trio is very much a trio and, if anything, Percy seems to gel a bit more with Toby than with Thomas. (Percy and Toby are usually laughing together. Percy and Thomas are usually squabbling.)

I tend to just use the latter-series TVS portrayal and connect it on the end of the RWS timeline. Like connext blocks.

~1927-~1955: Percy arrives as Tidmouth station pilot, Thomas runs his branch line 🤔

~1955-~1991: Thomas, Percy, and Toby are in their classic Ffarquhar line era 💖

~1991-???: Expansion of the railway, the fleet, and TTTE fame - the Thomas and Percy BEST FRIENDSHIP era 🎬

The second period is self-explanatory and obvious from the text.

The third period feels... kinda performative. I've spoken elsewhere of my interpretation of Thomas's character shift (seen most clearly in Season 3 of the TV series): I think he realised just how big a deal he was, fame-wise; felt a genuine and somewhat insecure sense that now he had a duty to be A Good Role Model; kinda laid it on too thick in some ways but that's just his fundamental character, this is the sort of thing he takes seriously. <3 I've joked before about how this is the era where Thomas acquires a Word of the Day calendar. But it's not a joke... He definitely has been using one.

Anyway the third era feels a lot like him and Percy consciously using their own relationship to model Friendship Lessons for the Children. It's sincere and it's sweet and it's... kinda funny because it's really not them. Like they are ride-and-die for each other. But in this era they're always "on" (there's a camera or an adoring kid fan everywhere!) and they keep trying to saw off their own rough edges and it's just not who they really are (esp. Percy). But dammit they are both gonna try to be Positive Influences.

The first period is by far the most intriguing. That's over 20 years where, honestly, I don't see any sign that the two are particularly close... and I don't wish to imagine they were, either. There are many other engines on this railway, remember; I'm perfectly fine with these two only really starting to buddy it up once Percy is no longer tethered to the Big Station.

And it's really interesting to try to fill in that gap. What must they have thought of each other at first? (They seem to have such vastly different life experiences.) Did Thomas do his classic TVS "irrational jealousy" thing with Percy? (I think so!)

I like to think Percy was sometimes baffled at how sheltered Thomas was and had to teach him all sorts of new curse words.

I like to think Thomas thought Percy was really funny with his lightning-fast switches to sweet and innocent around human staff and a cheeky little ***** to the big engines. I think Thomas probably got humbled a couple times, trying to boss Percy around and discovering it wasn't so easy for HIM to do. (Eventually the big engines are bossing Percy around but it took them literally over twenty years before they wore him down.)

I also think Percy was better at expressing sympathy than Thomas and Thomas definitely got jealous sometimes when he saw Percy saying nice things to HIS friends - like just right to their faces, without cracking a joke at the same time - which Thomas at the time was just not capable of doing. And he'd hate that.

I have a bit of a headcanon that during WWII there was a period where Thomas and Percy had to swap assignments. The shunting work would have been too heavy for Percy - Thomas had to be recalled to the job. He didn't take it out on Percy though, it was the war and there was real danger in the air and everything, Thomas just did his bit, in fact once he saw the danger he felt it was right that he was there and not Percy. But he was still very depressed by it - his world on the verge of destruction and he's stuck back in the shunting yards all the while. And Percy felt bad about it, too (though he's always, I think, quicker to bounce back than Thomas is).

Ultimately what I wrote about these two long ago still stands: Thomas had a long-unmet big-brother complex where he needs to be needed, Percy had long-unmet little-brother complex where he just wanted to be bloody looked after for once. So it's interesting to try to flesh out this early era before 1955, when they were both slowly unraveling each other and finding these hidden parts of themselves that actually fit together SO. WELL.

Sometimes... a little too well!

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 54: Alexander's Tutor

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December 1815

Despite being wrapped in several layers of wool with hat, gloves, and scarf to match, the winter wind was chilling Lex to the bone. The evening was clear, with a bright moon overhead, and deceptively cold. Lex couldn't fathom why his voice teacher had chosen to hold practice so late in the dead of winter, yet another of his eccentricities. If he weren't one of the finest tutors in the region -- stern but fair and deeply knowledgeable -- Lex would have surely gone elsewhere by now.

But music was his heart's great passion, and he'd already seen such improvement under Master Laurent's tutelage. He really had no choice but to brave the winter and hope that his vocal cords weren't frozen solid by the time he arrived. So he soldiered onward, trying hard not to think about how much more pleasant it would be back in his chambers, curled up by the fire with a good book.

"There you are!"

Lex was suddenly clapped on the back by a strong hand. He turned to look into the grinning face of his close companion Anders. Anders was wearing only a sweater, not even a hat, his unruly mop of blonde hair gleaming in the moonlight. "Aren't you cold?" Lex asked.

"No. I'm made of sturdy stock," he said, laughing. "But you must be cold, seeing as you're bundled up so tight I could barely tell who it was."

"If you ask me, I'm the one who is being sensible," Lex said. "Without a hat, your ears are going to freeze and fall off. What would Master Laurent say if you went deaf?"

"I wouldn't mind. I wouldn't have to hear Thomas's awful squawking right behind me." Anders leaned in to look at Lex's face. "Are your teeth chattering?"

"No," said Lex, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

"Poor little princeling, can't handle the cold."

"I'm certainly not a princeling."

"A little lordling, then. Don't worry, my lord, if you can't make it to your practice, I'll have to carry you."

"What --" Lex had no time to protest before Anders scooped him up in his arms and began to dash down the street, laughing at the top of his lungs. He couldn't help but cling to Anders's sweater. "Anders! You're going to slip on the ice!"

"And drop my lordling? Never."

"I hope your ears do fall off."

"What a rude thing to say to me, while I hold your very life in my hands!"

Anders looked down at Lex with that beaming smile, and Lex couldn't stop his heart from fluttering. He was a handsome lad, and Lex had been struggling with feelings he'd rather not entertain for some years now. Stunts like this were certainly not helping.

When Lex and Anders arrived at their lesson, cheeks red with cold and laughter, the choir room seemed strangely colder than usual. Master Laurent had a roaring fire in the hearth, as he always did -- it wasn't the temperature that was different, exactly, but the atmosphere. Master Laurent himself was standing behind his podium, busily arranging music sheets. Some of the other young men were huddled in the corner, whispering amongst themselves.

There was a strange man standing near Master Laurent, tall and thin and dressed all in black, with a foreboding nature about him. He was looking at the students with an expression that somehow conveyed both indifference and disdain, and seemed to be the source of the frigid mood. Something about his sharp gaze made Lex feel uneasy -- but thankfully, he barely paid Lex and Anders any mind as they took their places for practice.

"Quiet and take your places. It's time to begin," said Master Laurent, standing up straight. "Today, I've invited… an acquaintance of mine to observe the class, one who also happens to be an excellent music tutor. Now, let's begin our vocal exercises…"

Lex thought it a bit strange that Master Laurent hadn't introduced his acquaintance by name, but that thought was quickly driven from his head as he concentrated solely on his music. He had the finest voice in the choir, and it wasn't mere boastfulness for him to say so -- he had been told by respectable men, even Master Laurent himself, that his voice was unusually clear and arresting, effortlessly capturing a listener's attention with its rich tones. His voice, his skill at the piano, and his carefully curated collection of books were his chief joys in life, and it was easy for him to become lost in the music as he sang, feeling almost driven by a power greater than him.

That is, it was usually easy for him to focus. Tonight, however, he was becoming all too aware that he was being observed. A nervous glance revealed what he suspected -- the stranger in black was no longer regarding the group of boys with detachment. Instead, his gaze was trained on Lex and Lex alone, piercing as an arrow.

Lex swallowed hard and steeled his determination. Well, if this man wanted a performance, he would give him one. He'd show Master Laurent's acquaintance why he was the finest young voice at the university, and make his teacher proud. With confidence backed by talent, he hit every difficult note in the solo, his voice ringing from the rafters and holding the rest of the chorus spellbound.

Finally, practice was over. The stranger finally left his post to whisper something to Master Laurent, and freed from the weight of his gaze, Lex turned to Anders.

"Impressive," said Anders. "I've never heard you sing like that. You performed that solo as if you were possessed by a muse."

"I felt like I had no choice. That strange man was staring at me the entire time."

"Was he? I was trying to ignore him."

"Alexander?" Master Laurent was waving him to the front of the classroom. "A moment of your time before you leave."

"Yes, sir," said Lex. "You go ahead, Anders. I'll catch up to you once I'm done."

As he walked over to Master Laurent, Lex realized that the stranger was already gone.

"I have an exciting opportunity for you, Alexander," said Master Laurent. "One which you shouldn't refuse."

"What is it?"

"My acquaintance was so impressed by your voice that he wants to offer you private vocal lessons."

"I'm flattered, sir, but I already have private lessons with you."

Master Laurent looked pained for some reason. "His talent surpasses my own, I'm afraid. You won't find a finer music tutor in the country. It's one reason why he's so secretive -- he only takes on students of his choosing, and he chooses very few. He told me that your voice surpasses any he's heard in many years."

"It's kind of him to say so."

"…I don't think he's saying it out of kindness," said Master Laurent. "I strongly encourage you to accept the offer. My reputation is on the line."

Something felt wrong about all of this, but Master Laurent always had a way of setting Lex at ease. Besides, what harm could extra vocal lessons do? "…I suppose I don't see why not, if he's as skilled as you say."

"Excellent! Now, just one thing. My acquaintance is very private. He even keeps his name hidden. What's more, if the rest of the chorus learns that you've received an opportunity they have not, it might create bad blood between you. That's why I'm asking you to tell no one about this, not even Anders."

Lex wanted to protest, but truthfully, he knew Anders probably would be jealous. "All right. May I at least write to mother and father about this?"

Master Laurent looked oddly pained. "He really prefers his privacy," he said. "Besides, won't your parents be surprised when they attend the holiday concert and hear your improved voice? Don't you think that would delight them, if they didn't know beforehand?"

Lex nodded slowly. His parents didn't always take his musical talent seriously, preferring if he went into a more practical trade. It would especially be good to impress his father.

"Good, now that that's decided," his teacher said. He took a slip of paper and scrawled an address on it. "Here. It isn't far. Go here tomorrow evening at eight o'clock sharp, and knock three times at the door. Don't be tardy -- he won't accept tardiness. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Lex said, trying to shake off the odd dread that had consumed him.

"Good, good. Run along now."

"Thank you, Master Laurent, and have a good evening."

"Wait!"

His teacher's voice stopped Lex at the door.

"…You're a good student, Alexander. One of the best. You always have been."

What an odd thing to stop Lex to say. After all, he had another lesson with Master Laurent in just two days, and he always praised Lex when he'd done well. "Thank you, sir," he said, putting the slip of paper in his pocket and heading back out into the harsh winter wind.

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Thank you for reading this brief interlude into the past. Next, back to Oliver.

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[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 3 - Trust

Gordon Puts a Lot of Emphasis on Trusting his Crew:

There is one fact of life on the North Western Railway that really sets it apart from its mainland counterparts: the engines have set crews. Edward had Charlie and Sidney for decades, Henry’s crew from the 1920s and 30s still visited their engine even after the accident that took their ability to stand on the footplate and the driver and fireman that had brought Thomas to Sodor way back during the Great War had both married families from the island and had children who worked on the railway themselves.

But it was Gordon who was, surprisingly, closest to his crew. This was less due to Gordon necessarily liking or confiding in his crew – not that he didn’t, but he wasn’t quite like Edward in that regard – but rather the result of Gordon being the express engine. At the speeds Gordon went, trusting his crew was paramount, and the big blue engine hated any day when one or the other was ill.

“Relief fireman just doesn’t know how to fire a big engine like me!” Gordon had once claimed to the other engines. “They can fire Henry just fine,” commented Duck. “And besides, it isn’t normal to be so reliant on one crew. What will you do if both are sick?” “My driver is never sick,” Gordon replied grandly. “And if he was, then I would have to stay in the shed.” “I’d be careful if I were you,” Duck said. “Humans aren’t as resilient as us engines – I would get ready for the day they both are out sick.”

Gordon thought Duck was being very silly, though he really ought to have known better. Unlike all of the other engines on the island, Duck had worked with many crews back at Paddington and was used to having different drivers at the controls. But not even Duck could have predicted what would happen when Duck’s premonition came to pass…

***

It was a cold, damp Sunday when the shed foreman strode in to give the engines their jobs. During the late autumn, the railway scaled their timetable right back, using the dip in traffic to repair the engines and maintain the track. Henry had been cooled the night before so the workers could do some repairs on his regulator and was dozing in the corner. Duck was preparing to head out to begin shunting the trains, muttering grumpily under his breath at the timetable his driver had shown him.

“Gordon,” the foreman began, “your driver and fireman have both had to call in sick today, a temporary crew will be taking their place.” Gordon went red in the face, his steam pressure shooting right up. “They will not!” spluttered Gordon. “Get Henry to take the train!” “Henry is being repaired,” the foreman replied evenly. Gordon scowled. “Then how about James?” “James is already busy,” retorted the foreman. “Then Edward shall take it; he just got back from his overhaul; he should be fine!” The foreman rolled his eyes. He was used to the engines getting antsy over new crews, but Gordon was being downright hostile!

Duck sighed, rolling up alongside the big engine. “You know, this sort of fuss isn’t normal,” Duck began. “And not just on the Great Western! All of the big railways swapped crews between their engines.” Gordon sniffed. “Little Duck, you don’t understand because you’re so new to this railway… and also a common tank engine, but there is a level of trust needed between an important express engine like me and his crew. I simply cannot allow just any duo step into my cab, they need to be experts!”

Duck let off steam indignantly. “Now you listen here, Gordon!” he snapped. “A crew is a crew, and no matter what we need them to be useful. So stop your boileraching and deal with it. I have coaches to shunt, and I can’t run my yard to time if you leave the express marooned at the platform!” Duck snorted away, muttering under his breath about ‘no-good Nor Easters’ and how ‘this railway needs more engines’.

Gordon just huffed.

His mood hadn’t improved by the time his temporary crew arrived. “Well, looks like we get you today!” chirped the driver, swinging up into Gordon’s cab. Gordon sneered, and glared down at the fireman. “Are you going to do your checks or not,” hissed Gordon. The fireman jumped! “I’m on it! I’m on it! Don’t blow a valve,” he exclaimed, and hurried away to oil and check all of Gordon’s motion.

Gordon spent the entire time critiquing the poor fireman, finding every little issue possible to make a fuss over. By the time they set out for the platform, both driver and fireman were sick of their temporary engine!

Things only got worse at the station. The temporary crew were more used to goods engines than express engines and were stiff with the controls. Gordon bumped the coaches, and that was enough to set him off again.

“I cannot do this!” he thundered, loud enough to startle the entire station into staring at him. “I need a crew I can trust, and clearly you are not capable of handling coaches! They require care, care you hear me!”

Duck quietly shunted Edward’s goods into the furthest platform, before sidling up alongside. “We could swap crews, if that’d help,” the Great Western engine offered. “My driver has to be quick-witted to shunt in the yards, you can trust ‘im.” Gordon glared down at Duck, then sighed. “I suppose you are right, Duck. At the very least your crew will know how to treat coaches correctly.” The foreman agreed readily, excited to placate Gordon and get him gone already. The two crews switched over, and Gordon huffed grandly out with the express. He was very impressed with Duck’s crew! They knew exactly how to handle an engine, and he couldn’t even find one complaint!

Duck on the other hand, wasn’t as pleased. The temporary crew were not used to shunting either, and Duck spent most of his day trying to teach them how to be careful. The poor engine was exhausted when he finally slunk back to the sheds.

“You might be right about one thing Gordon,” Duck admitted. “What’s that?” asked Gordon. “An engine really does need to be able to trust in their crew!”

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