#and them singing in the bleak midwinter

[natjennie]

just. the fact that ghosts is so family oriented it's insane like. the lineage of button house hasn't always been familial so most of the ghosts aren't blood related but family is literally built into the walls and the grounds and.

kitty's family shunned her, abused and manipulated, naive and misunderstanding.

thomas was betrayed by his cousin, the plaque reads "button house" because of the horrible loss of his love, he died alone and a joke.

most of the plague ghosts children died presumably, and the only child ghost we see is jemima.

humphrey was forced to marry someone who didn't love him, tried his best to make her happy and give them both a chance at life, didn't give up on her even when he easily could have turned her in.

fanny's husband killed her out of fear and shame and she kept his secret for so long, reenacting her death every night without rest.

julian was selfish and nearsighted and ruined his chance at a happy family, only realizing everything he could have had once it was already out of reach.

pat's wife cheated on him, he believed his family hated him, made fun of him, didn't respect him, only to find out they've carried on his memory in his absence.

mike's family is dysfunctional and silly and his parents care, too much, and want to do everything they can to help him and make him happy before they can't anymore.

and alison. alison. no mom, no dad, no siblings, brought to button house by an obscure family tie she had no idea existed. and then lucy had the audacity to take advantage of her loneliness, her kindness, her hope. she made alison believe she had found a family member, but wait a second. she's found nine of them.

"im sorry you lost the sister you never had" "youre the sister I never had" like.... they've been family the entire time. they play games together they laugh together they sing together they fight together they grieve together. in persevering, in finding the humanity in supposed monsters, she achieved a family. family family family.

[vitamin-zeeth]

I'm actually fucking sobbing this show means so much to me

[cheollipop]

☂˚.⋆｡ 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙨

navi | taglist | part of svthub's fall-ing collab

pairing: lee seokmin x afab!reader

w.c.: 5.0k

genre: smut, fluff, established relationship, apple picking and pie baking and some sweet lovemaking <3

a lovers’ retreat—golden rays cast shadows over high, blushing cheekbones, flour-kissed noses and eye smiles as warm as the oven’s embrace, secrets and tender kisses shared with the starry night, and in a wooden cabin fragrant with the aroma of cinnamon and caramel, the love shared was sweeter than the finest apple pie.

☂ warnings: food/eating mentioned, unprotected sex (👎), creampie, praise, edging, some begging, some cockwarming, overstimulation (m), multiple orgasms (f), nicknames (min; baby, babe, love), some aftercare, seokmin is so fucking whipped (so is reader), there's so much love talk in this, I hate myself.

☂ A/N: nobody come for my inconsistent pie recipe, I didn't use one (also idc if you don't knead the dough, i needed it to describe seokmin's bulging muscles tyvm). other than that, this fic means a lot to me and despite struggling for the most part, I really enjoyed writing it. happy reading! :]

nsfw under the cut—minors dni 🔞

Slender fingers rounded the hanging fruit, examining for imperfections with eager eyes and the tip of a tongue held between pearly whites. The crisp air contrasted the solacing warmth of the morning sun under which you basked, strolling between green leaves and bright reds with a near-empty basket dangling at your side. You wanted him to work faster, to disregard whatever negligible bumps lay on the apples’ exterior, but you opted to remain silent, simply watching him from the sidelines while he carried on with his meticulous inspections.

Seokmin was spring. Smiles that could bring a barren land to life, vivid flora and singing birds fluttering around within the glimmers decorating his irises. But spring had long since ended, now treading deeper into the cooling weather of autumn, and yet, Seokmin still offered verve to everything he touched. Even as green turned to yellow then amber, and tanned skin rested beneath thick layers of cashmere and fleece, he still wore his spring smile—a reminder that the season of life will come again. He carried warmth wherever he went, and the biting chill attempting to penetrate thick layers of clothing stood no chance while his towering figure remained by your side.

You watched him throw the fallen end of his scarf over his shoulder, a woven cream he’d worn on your first date. Hoary yarn ends peeked out along its length, and you reminisced the store tag he’d forgotten to remove while he fiddled with his fingers and laughed anxiously before you all those years ago, so young and eager to impress. You’d mused over the giggles shaking his tense shoulders, the pretty pink painting his face and ears when you failed to rip it off in a discreet manner, and though the embarrassment was debilitating in the moment, the worry weighing down on Seokmin’s shoulders faded away as you laughed. It was well into winter when you’d walked alongside the river, steaming cups of hot chocolate resting between your palms—going cold before you had the chance to sip on them, only there to fight off the bleak midwinter breeze numbing your appendages. Young and dumb, you both were, walking by the river on a chilly day, but young and dumb brought upon you years of easy smiles and hearty laughs, unconditional love and unending happiness, all sprouting from sharing arbitrary details about yourselves with that same cream scarf draped around you both.

Dark locks now dyed the colour of changing leaves, the morning rays casting their golden hue over the wavy strands and reflecting off the specs perched over his nose bridge. Seokmin was a few inches taller now, and his shoulders broader, but the smile he wore, the sparkle in his eyes as he laid them on you were no different than those from that day by the river.

Chatter at your side dragged your attention off Seokmin’s profile and onto the family walking past you—two curious children and their parents inspecting the ripe fruit hanging before them. Scripts of late-night conversations you’d had with Seokmin flooded your mind, your face flushing and butterflies swarming your lower belly at the thought of starting a family with the man. Seokmin's fascination with learning how to braid your hair, his whispered comment—’for the future’—did not go unnoticed as he brushed gentle fingers through the stands he’d tangled in his attempts, a hint of a promise in his tone. He also promised to never leave them alone with Hoshi, which you appreciated. For obvious reasons. You were still young, and had much to experience together before taking a step that significant, but part of you was ready to offer Seokmin the world. A man who’d brought nothing bliss and warmth into your life, how could you not?

Turning your head back to the man in question, your eyebrows raised as you watched him eying the passing family alongside you, and you wondered whether the same thoughts were running through his head as well. But then his attention shifted back to you, and the amiable smile while he took you in told you everything you needed to know.

The curve of his lips persisted as he reached a hand to push the stray strands blown by the chilling breeze off your face, pinching the fat of your cheeks between his pointer and thumb before dropping them back to his side. A gentle gesture, but it lit your insides on fire, blinking quickly as you processed an action so natural to him, yet one that set you ablaze. Swallowing nervously, you redirected your gaze to the three apples resting over Seokmin’s palms as he presented the flawless, shiny Honeycrisps with a proud grin.

You giggled, “those look great, Min.”

“Only the best for you,” he leaned forward to plant a kiss onto the cheek he’d just pinched.

Flustered, you watched him throw the apples into the basket you held, his fingers brushing against yours as he swiftly pulled it out of your hand and carried on walking through the orchard. You might have missed a few additions to the small pile while you pondered about a lifetime by Seokmin’s side, and yes, the basket was significantly more weighed down now that he did. But it wasn’t that heavy.

You skipped a few steps to catch up with him, your bottom lip jutting out in protest. “Min. I can carry it myself.”

“Mm, I know,” he hummed, eyes trained on the novel batch of apples swinging gently at his eye level. “Don’t want you to, though.”

You pushed away the fondness warming your chest, capturing his coat’s sleeve between two fingers as you sulked at his side, his attention still set on those damn apples. He moved the basket to his other hand absentmindedly, allowing you more space to come closer to his side, his free arm wrapping around your waist, and head twisting to look over your moping features with tender adoration gracing his own. Leaning down, he pressed soft lips to your forehead, their warmth seeping into your skin and fluttering your eyelids shut.

Placing another one at your temple, playfulness mingled in his tone as he spoke, “Stop complaining, you’re not getting it back.”

And this time, all you could do was laugh.

The hours hurried by while Seokmin’s endless chatter kept you company, and perhaps you wish it hadn’t, wanting to treasure each passing second you shared in the presence of the man with the unwavering smile. You walked between the endless trees with leisure steps, the fingers entangled with yours occasionally dragging you with them to inspect the gradient of red and green. Some apples made the cut, thrown into the pile of spotless fruit he’d gathered over the past few hours, while others remained swaying with the gentle breeze, bruised exterior reflecting the golden rays.

A particular shade of green caught Seokmin’s eye, leaving your hand behind at your side to wrap slender fingers around the glossy circumference, rotating it gently to inspect it, going as far as leaning forward to get a closer look. Nodding to himself, he snapped its stem off and placed the weighted basket down, wrapping the apple in his cream scarf to give it a good wipe. You felt yourself salivate at the satisfying crunch sounding as Seokmin’s teeth breached the unblemished skin, and you watched the pucker of his lips as he chewed with wide, expecting eyes. A breathy chuckle contained within tightly pursed lips echoed in the back of his throat upon viewing the anticipation etched into your expression, and he moved the unbitten side towards your already-parted lips. Too focused on the apple nearing your waiting mouth, you’d missed the sly smile, the giggle he’d nearly failed at suppressing, and bit into the polished green.

A stream of its juice slipped past to flow down your chin, bitterness overwhelming your tastebuds and forcing your eyes firmly shut. A shiver ran down your spine as you struggled to chew on the unripe fruit, tears prickling in your eyes as you willed them open to glare at the man before you, hints of guilt mixed in with amusement on his face. Underneath all the kind smiles and caring gestures, Seokmin loved being an asshole.

He’d watched you persist and push through finishing the bite, too many people around now to spit it out. He even leaned forward to kiss away the tangy juice cooling over your skin, scrunching his nose at the sourness he’d willingly stolen another taste of. At least he was aware enough to take a step back once you’d swallowed the unpleasant bite down, what you thought was fear flashing across his features.

“Hey,” he put his hand up in defence before you could speak, “we share everything, right?” He took another step backward while giggling anxiously, and he nearly tripped over the apple-full basket he had resting over the soft grass. “Why should I make an exception for fruit?”

“Bad fruit,” you corrected, an eyebrow raised.

“Babe,” he started, but didn’t know how to continue, perhaps hoping the sparkling brown of his irises would do the trick.

And it almost did, you admit. But the bitterness lingered over your tongue, and Seokmin found himself scurrying away and out of the fire zone of the incoming apples you’d launched at him, laughing while you entertained the couples and children harvesting their own fruit with your lively act of revenge.

--

You smoothed your hands down the fresh set of clothes you’d thrown on, the fleece warm against your skin. The ligneous scent of your rented cabin added to its coziness, gentle winds blowing against closed windows and floorboards creaking with every socked footstep guiding you to the small kitchen.

Said footsteps quickened upon spotting bright green reflecting off the sharp metal of the very large knife in Seokmin’s hand, eyebrows furrowed as he focused on dividing the apple into even crescents. The hurried shuffling drew his attention, twisting his head just as you reached for the sharp tool, gently untangling his fingers off its handle to set it down over the cutting board alongside the botched fruit.

“Baby?” Tilting his head to the side, he stared at you in confusion.

You held both his hands in yours, flat over your palms as you inspected the tanned skin. Running your thumbs over polished nailbeds, you followed the protruding veins lining his slender fingers, all the way down each knuckle until you’d made sure he was unharmed. You enclosed his fingers within your palm, bringing them up to press your lips against, finding his pointer to plant an especially tender kiss over the scar stretching across its side.

“I was being careful,” he spoke through a melodramatic pout.

You smiled. “I know you were, Min. But let me handle the chopping this time, okay?”

Averting his eyes to the side, pretending to focus on the yellowing trees past the windowpane, Seokmin nodded, his hands limp in your hold. You lowered them to his side to cradle his jaw, tilting his head down to meet your eyes once again and staring him down in hopes of breaking his composure, but Seokmin’s pout persisted. And so the kisses began, soft and delicate over his cheekbones, forcing his eyes shut as you trailed your lips over the trembling skin. Leaning your head back, you watched his evident struggle against a betraying smile, finally curling the corners of his mouth when you’d dragged his head down with a forceful kiss to his cheek, the skin stretching under your lips while you kept them pressed there for a few more seconds. You moved away with an audible smack, Seokmin’s pout nowhere to be seen as he stared down at you with an uncontainable smile.

“Why don’t you make the dough instead?”

You picked up where Seokmin left off—half an apple chopped sloppily, which you ended up munching on while you worked—going through the washed apples to pick out the greenest, cutting them into even pieces and throwing them in a bowl of cinnamon and sugar. You remembered the nutmeg later on, after the frustrated noise at your side caught your attention, confusion raising your eyebrow when you’d noticed the powdery dough Seokmin was working with. He’d forgotten the eggs.  The embarrassment on his face was adorable, rose-tinted cheeks and restrained smile while watching you crack an egg into the crumbly mess he’d been working on for a shameful amount of time. A quick kiss to his jaw and a whispered ‘it’s okay, Min’ seemed to do the trick, though.

Tossing the last of the apples into the seasoning bowl, you sprinkled nutmeg over the shimmering crescents before grabbing a clean spoon from the dishrack, the spices’ aroma wafting in the air around you as you mixed them in with the fruit. Glancing over at Seokmin, you realised he’d begun kneading the dough, flour dusted over the marble counter as he rolled the raw crust in on itself, and as you took in the hard muscle bulging against the sleeve of his t-shirt, your fingers unconsciously loosened around the spoon you held. Your eyes wandered over flexing biceps and defined, broad shoulders, veins protruding from tan skin as he worked the dough under his palm. Bottom lip tucked between a set of pearly whites, his eyebrows furrowed occasionally while the ball gradually smoothened in his hands, growing less crumbly and eventually forming a near-perfect sphere.

Absentmindedly tumbling the apples with a limp grip around the spoon, you followed Seokmin’s movements, lower belly fluttering with every faint, airy grunt sounding in the back of his throat as he worked the dough.  Your thoughts strayed as you eyed the distracting flex of his muscles—the smile he wore, so sweet and tender, contrasted broad shoulders and the strength to manhandle you without much thought. You were almost certain Seokmin had no awareness of the fact, going about what he was doing without much regard to the blushing mess he’d left behind, the butterflies violently thrashing around within your stomach. The sparkling orbs with which he gazed at you, with charming innocence, oblivious to the effect he had on you. Perhaps that was for the best; you weren’t sure you’d want to find out what would become of him should he learn of the hidden power he’d been holding this entire time.

Sudden eye contact dragged you out of your daydreams when the man before you turned in your direction, the smooth doughball resting over his palm, and a proud smile on his lips. You held back the one threatening to break out on yours when you’d spotted the white dusting the pointy tip of his nose, some lightly powdering his cheeks as well. Instead, your chest warmed at his wordless flaunting as he slowly moved the undented dough towards you, sparkling eyes fishing for praise. And sure, you basically made the dough for him, and yes, all he did was mix the ingredients together with firm, hard-earned muscle, but the slight falter in his smile the longer you remained silent was enough to sway you.

“It looks great, Min!” You stepped closer, inspecting the roundness with wide eyes for a few seconds before straightening up to meet his eyes, “I’m proud of you, my love.”

Though a simple gesture, Seokmin’s face lit up, all but hurling the dough onto the counter to pull you into his arms, grinning into your shoulder while he squeezed your laughing frame closer to his chest. His arms still around you, he pulled away slightly, stars dancing in his eyes as he gazed at you gleefully, smiling against your lips as you got onto your tiptoes to kiss him lightly. But that didn’t satisfy Seokmin, his arm wrapping across your back to pull you back into him, locking his lips with yours once again, this time with hunger and hints of desire laced into the action. He kissed you once, twice, until he’d had a taste and realized he’d never have enough, needing sweetness and plush lips to forever bless his senses. While you held on to his biceps for balance, Seokmin was everywhere—hands up your back, over your arms and waist, and suddenly he was kissing you harder, deeper, tongue swiping across your bottom lip and teeth digging into it with a fervent want that sent waves of heat soaring through your body.

Pulling away for air, your chests heaved in unison, flush against one another as Seokmin peered down at you with hooded eyes, a spark of lust igniting the dark irises. And suddenly you were back in the present, the forgotten apples browning in their bowl, and the dough witnessing the heated exchange from its place on the counter.

“T-the pie!” you quickly diverted, pushing Seokmin away to shift your focus back to the task at hand, but you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your skull. “Can you preheat the oven please?”

An amused laugh sounded behind you at the shakiness of your voice, “yes, boss.” Just as you were about to sigh in relief, you heard him take a step towards you, his chest bumping into your shoulder and a gentle whisper blowing against the shell of your ear. “You have flour all over your face, by the way.”

And your pants, you thought, as his palm landed a playful slap onto your ass before he made his way to the other side of the kitchen.

The heat coursing through you dwindled as you fixated on the unfinished pie, save for those resulting from the not-so-hidden glances you’d stolen of Seokmin’s defined biceps as he moved the rolling pin over the dough. It was smooth sailing after that, though, missing the heart eyes directed at you as you spooned the filling into the rolled-out crust, perfectly fitted into the baking mould. You attempted to control your expressions as Seokmin tried and failed to cut straight lines out of the leftover dough, begrudgingly allowing him to place the uneven lattice in a questionable pattern, the chipper smile stretching his lips while he worked more than enough to excuse an ugly pie.

Carrying the raw pie over his head like Simba, Seokmin made his way to the oven. You held the door open for him, eyes following the baking mould as he transferred it onto the rack, gasping when his finger met the scorching metal. He placed the pie down and pretended nothing happened, ignoring the forming mark on his knuckle as he swung the oven door shut. And despite the whining and attempts of reassurance, you dragged Seokmin to the sink and ran cold water over his hand, once again kissing his pout away while you stood with barely any space separating your bodies.

His free hand slid across the small of your back, his other leaving its place under the running water to shut it off, wiping the droplets over his sweats before holding onto your hip. Leaning down, he met your lips once more, then again, until short pecks deepened, and a sharp nose nuzzled into the side of yours as he pulled you further into his body.

You pulled away with a gasp, startling Seokmin away from your lips, “the sweet potatoes!”

The initial shock replaced by softening eyes and a breathy laugh, Seokmin squeezed your waist once before releasing you. He stood to the side while you wrapped foil around the sangria exterior, offering to put them in the oven for you, but backing down at the disapproving glare you threw at him. Perhaps Seokmin had unintentionally caused a case of Pavlovian conditioning, one you remained unaware of, because the very second his bottom lip jutted out, yours were pressing consoling kisses over its plushness. Sometimes it took a few tries, but that’s only because you enjoyed watching the man—broad shoulders and all—sulk and whine when he didn’t get his way, only to lighten up and grin once your lips met his. It’s unclear who the winner was in this game, both parties working with a motive and ending with a satisfying result. Peculiar, really.

You settled down on the creaky floorboards across from the oven, your back to Seokmin’s chest and his thighs on either side of yours. His arms rested comfortably around your waist, hands limp at your hips, occasionally squeezing at the clothed flesh. Watching the pie crust brown through the glass, you basked in the cosy aroma circulating the cabin, the heat emanating from Seokmin’s body gentler and more comforting than that caramelising the sugar drizzled over the wonky lattice. Delicate fingers smoothed down your hair, and a silky voice lulled you to a tranquil state of comfort, strong arms holding you within the aura of warmth until a sharp click sounded, with the nostalgic scent of cinnamon and caramel to guide you out of slumber’s enticing grip, and back to toothy smiles and a cordial embrace.

--

The night’s breeze was crisp against slick skin, the warmth encased within the confines of the thick blankets now infiltrated through a window forgotten open. Seokmin noticed the raised goosebumps over your arms, and lowered his body until your chests laid flush, his forearms on either side of your head keeping his weight off your form.

“Cold?” he asked, lips pressing against your jaw and up to your cheekbone, over the frosty tip of your nose.

You shook your head, “not anymore,” and wrapped your arms around the soft skin of his waist.

Seokmin smiled, gentle features illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the cracked-open blinds—a cool-toned hue casting shadows over his face, moving as he pressed his pelvis closer to yours with an exhaled moan. Moving his weight over to one arm, he slid the other down to your core, splaying his palm out over your lower belly to thumb at your clit.

He’d been teasing you for so long—his cock filling you up the way you wanted, but only barely teasing your g-spot, refusing to move despite your repetitive whines; instead, he occasionally reached two slender fingers between your legs to relieve some of the arousal burning underneath your skin. This time, though, you’d reached your limit, clenching around him as a sudden high rushed through you, shaking your body within his hold.

Despite a day’s worth of lingering touches and heated kisses, a hand placed a little too low on your back, and eyes lit with unconcealed glints of want, the patience Seokmin exhibited as he guided you through your orgasm was not surprising. He’d always enjoyed giving—curling his fingers just right to take in the elegant arch of your back, your sweet taste on his tongue while he nuzzled his nose into your soaked pussy. But most of all, Seokmin savoured the tight squeeze around his cock as he fucked you through an orgasm, his breath heavy and eyes lidded with the pleasure your walls lavished upon him.

Slowly fading back into the present, you peered up at the man atop you, the column of his throat stretched as he took in the violent fluttering of your walls. But you wanted more, pent up and restless with his scent, his warm touch, occupying your every sense. And he still won’t move.

You rolled your hips experimentally, a startled hand rushing to stop you, fingers digging into the flesh to stifle the motion. “Please,” you whined, “Min, please move.”

Groaning at your tone, cock throbbing between your walls, “oh baby,” he breathed out, bumping his forehead with yours and allowing his eyelids to fall shut. “I’ve been thinking about having you like this all day. I wanna last for you, my love, ‘wanna make you feel so good.”

Arousal boiled in your lower belly, eyelashes fluttering and a shaky breath escaping your parted lips at the words whispered in the air between you. “Min-”

“Let me be good for you.”

A kiss to your temple and a few inhales were all it took Seokmin to regain his composure, his forehead still pressed to yours as he tugged you closer by the hips, languidly rolling his own into your heat. The leisure glide wasn’t much, but it sent a shiver through your body. It was as though Seokmin could read the wordless pleads sparkling in your eyes, pulling his face away just enough to adjust the angle before settling back down onto your body. Fingers tangled in your hair to keep your eyes on his, blinking in unison while you breathed the same air, gentle waves of pleasure drawing breathy moans out of the both of you, his cockhead brushing against your sweet spot every time he drove it inside your cunt.

Sliding a hand over his sweat-coated nape, you dragged Seokmin down to your lips, the sweetness of a pie forgotten outside enriching your tastebuds, the single remaining piece left over the picnic blanket alongside crumbled foil—the unintentionally discarded dessert serving as breakfast for the blackbirds to nip at when the morning came.

The hand lost in your hair found its way to your jaw, cradling your face while he devoured you, the kiss growing deeper the farther Seokmin sunk down the blazing pit of lust growing within him. His cock twitched erratically within you, pace picking up until the echo of skin-on-skin danced between the four walls, hips slamming against yours with fervour as his eagerness finally won over him. Unable to focus on anything but the mind-numbing heaviness of his cock pounding into you, your lips parted to release a staccato of ah’s, his own relentless as they peppered wet, open-mouthed kisses all over your face.

“God, you’re perfect,” he grabbed your cheeks with the hand previously on your jaw, squishing them together to lay his lips onto the forced pout on yours, “all mine.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the repetitive abuse to your cunt, squelching obscenely every time Seokmin fucked his entire length inside. “All—hngh—all yours,” you repeated, exhaling a breath you’d been holding when sudden warmth spread through your abdomen.

“I—hah—‘m sorry,” he stuttered as his rhythm turned sloppy, shuddering when he finally came. Sheathing himself deep withing your heat, he fed ropes of translucent white into your womb while attempting to keep his eyes on you, long eyelashes fluttering while ecstasy flowed through his body.  “Felt so good, I couldn’t…” he paused to lower his head, interrupted by a string of airy moans as the last, weak spurts of cum emptied out of his twitching cock. “I couldn’t help it,” he muttered.

The reassurance died on your tongue when the sensitive cock drew out halfway, only to slam back into you as though the arms bracketing your head didn’t continue to tremble with the continuing effects of his orgasm. Lifting his head back up to meet your gaze, he lowered his hand back down to play with your cunt, dipping down to feel around your stretched hole and back up to circle your clit with the slick he’d collected, a silent promise of “I’ll be good” glimmering in his lidded eyes while he watched you fall apart under his touch.

And he was, so good.

You tumbled over the edge unexpectedly, cockhead pounding into your cunt while he rolled your clit underneath his fingertips until your features contorted gracefully, fireworks exploding behind your eyelids as you shut them and tilted your head back to welcome a stupefying orgasm. You tensed for a moment, then began spasming uncontrollably in his arms, hips simultaneously jerking towards and away from his touch as he guided you through your high, languidly gliding his cock along your dripping, clenching walls, both hands now gripping the soft flesh of your hips.

And when the stimulation sent pangs of pain up your body, a whispered repetition of his name paired with limp tugs at his wrist finally broke Seokmin away from you and the bewitching melody he drew out of the perfect circle shaping your mouth. He slid his softening cock out of your heat to allow thick dollops of pearly cum to stream out of your pussy, watching as your hole clenched uselessly until your abashed whine dragged him out of his thoughts.

You found yourself tucked in under layers of thick blankets while running water sounded in the bathroom, bare feet padding over the floorboards until Seokmin—with his boxers on backwards—reached under the covers to blindly drag a warm washcloth over your skin, hoping it would catch all the sweat and cum without having to expose you to the chill air. You drew your lips into a straight line to avoid laughing at the concentration furrowing his eyebrows, cheeks flushing as he washed your middle. Any other day, Seokmin would make a big deal of cleaning you up properly, but you could see the hair on his arms raising, the autumn night’s chill piercing through his skin.

He didn’t even bother with returning the rag to its place, tossing it over his shoulder to dive under the cosy blankets with you, limbs tangling as soon as he made it there—arms circling your tired frame and legs pushing between and over yours. The momentary frigidity dissipating, his body heat seeped into your very being, and you inhaled the fresh scent of laundry mixed in with remaining hints of his cologne. Nuzzling the pointy tip of his nose into your hair, he planted a kiss onto your crown, the gesture faint as his steady heartbeat lulled you to much-needed slumber, the serene trip to dreamland occupied with solacing thoughts about a forever home within Seokmin’s tender embrace.

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[theshelbyclan]

Merry Christmas, Thura 😊 I know it’s probably not happening and you don’t have the time, but could you maybe just for me, as a small Christmas present, write a few lines about Teddy and the Shelbys during Christmas? 😍😍

Thank you sweet Anon, and I wish you all the best too and a blessed Christmas! Just for you, here’s a small bit (just don’t expect too much of it). This takes place shortly after the war, so Teddy’s like 8 in this.

*****

In the bleak midwinter

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan…

It was the day of Christmas Eve and Tommy stood outside their house at Watery Lane, quietly smoking a cigarette. He looked up at the sky, where thick grey clouds were gathering: snow was coming in. That was all he needed.

The Shelby’s didn’t celebrate Christmas this year and, if he had anything to do with it, they never would again. They’d celebrated before the war, but after the war, there was no Christmas anymore. The fields of Flanders hadn’t allowed it, Small Heath didn’t allow it and most of all, Tommy no longer allowed it.

Christmas was dead. No more hope and no more light. All there was left now, was: in the bleak midwinter.

Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone…

Arthur came approaching and Tommy looked up. He knew it before he’d opened his mouth: there was trouble.

“There’s been some trouble at the Garrison, Tom,” Arthur explained, “Couple of boys tried raiding the place, knocked Harry about, broke half the bloody bottles in there too.”

Tommy nodded slowly, “So what is it you want from me, Arthur, eh?”

“What do we do, Tom?”

“You know what to do,” he flicked his cigarette away, “Cut them.”

The oldest Shelby nodded, but the hesitation was written all over his face.

“What is it?” Tommy demanded.

“They’re just kids.”

“Kids who fucked with us.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s just…”

“For fuck’s sake, Arthur! Just get on with alright? Just grow a fucking backbone for once and get it done.”

“Alright, Tom, we’ll get it done.”

“I don’t have time for fucking soft sentiment, alright?” Tommy growled.

Snow was falling, snow on snow, snow on snow…

Meanwhile, John was working over the books. He tried to get as much done as he possibly could during the day, before he got really drunk.

He looked out the window and saw some children playing in the snow. He looked for Finn and Teddy amongst them, but couldn’t find them.

One boy threw a snow ball at a factory worker, who then slipped and fell over. He cursed loudly and all the children ran away and laughed. John couldn’t help himself and stifled a laugh too.

But then he remembered the bodies piled up in the snow. And somehow, he could see the blood mixed in with the whiteness in Birmingham too. In seconds, the moment had lost all its purity. Now it was just death and decay, hidden in ice.

He took another swig and continued his numbers.

In the bleak midwinter, long, long ago.

“Church starts at nine.”

Tommy coughed a laugh and looked up at his aunt, but her eyes seemed set.

“Arthur and John are coming too.”

Probably not by choice, Tommy thought. And he added, “I have no business with church, Pol, and nothing to discuss with God.” He practically spit the last word.

Polly shrugged, “I’m sure he has one or two things to say to you. You’re going, end of discussion. Teddy is singing.”

Tommy looked up in surprise, “How the fuck did you manage that?”

“I bribed her. Be there at nine.”

What can I give him, poor as I am?

And so the Shelby’s turned up at the church at nine. Not because they wanted to, but because the holy saint Polly Gray, enforcer of all things fearful, had ordered them to. At least Arthur had brought the bottle with him.

People piled into the church slowly, but they left the front most pews empty for the Shelby’s.

Tommy sighed deeply. He had better things to do. They had business to do and money to make. There was no way he was going back to poverty. There was no way he was going to let them walk all over them again.

Because, when they were in the mud, where was God then?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb…

John elbowed Tommy and pointed, big grin on his face. When he followed his gaze, he saw one very pissed off little girl in a white dress, standing off to the side near the altar.

Teddy was not happy, and it showed in every way she held herself. Tommy couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Polly must’ve offered her some money…”

“Better still,” Arthur whispered lowly, “She promised her a horse.”

“She always knew how to bargain,” he said not without pride, “Innocent as she may be, she knows how to get whatever the fuck she wants.”

“Innocent?” John laughed, “She’s about as innocent as a wolf in sheep’s clothes. She changed though, Tommy, after we left.”

“Yes, she did. France fucked her up too, even though she’s never even been away from Small Heath.” Bitterness crept into Thomas’ voice.

He never wanted any of that for her. He wanted her to stay small and sweet forever. But he knew that was gone already.

If I were a wise man, I would do my part…

“Move over,” Ada hissed, as she unceremoniously joined them in the pew. “Now will you look at this, the whole family together at church. What the fuck.” Sometimes it was like Ada was physically incapable of speaking without sarcasm.

“Then why are you here?”

“Teddy’s singing. She hates it, so I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” And when her brothers stared at her reproachfully, she added, “Just doing what any good sister would do.”

They were quiet for a little while, but then Arthur leaned over John and told Tommy, “Tomorrow at 11, we’re meeting with that importer I told you about. Charlie’s yard.”

Tommy nodded.

Arthur opened his mouth to talk, but one slap from Polly made him close it again. “No business at church.”

“Why not, aunt Pol?” Ada challenged, “Looking at the size of those golden statues, they’ve done some pretty good business themselves.”

“Ada…” Polly warned.

“Oh I’m sorry,” she continued in her bored tone of voice, “Isn’t that what Christmas is all about? The rich not giving to the poor, but instead celebrating no longer having to?”

Tommy lowered his head to hide his grin. He never liked to admit it, but he had a soft spot for his sisters. They were smarter then all the men he knew combined and they always, always, had something to say.

Life would be incredibly boring, without his sisters doing their part in making his life hell.

But what can I give him? Give him my heart.

The service finally started and the whole procession of pomp and circumstance started. One by one, the Shelby’s sighed deeply and resigned themselves to the next hour.

But after all of that, Teddy stepped forward. She shuffled around a little, uncomfortable, and pulled on her robe that apparently got stuck behind the altar.

She looked back at Finn, who got roped into being an altar boy, and he nudged her forwards again.

Tommy made eye contact with her and nodded. Teddy sighed and rolled her eyes.

“I’ll bet you a pound she’s going to bolt,” John giggled.

“Shut up,” Tommy replied, “I want to hear her.”

And he actually did. It was strange how all his grumpiness and pessimism seemed to have fallen away. And he looked over to John and Arthur, both sending Teddy reassuring smiles. They looked nothing like the bored bastards they’d been only seconds ago. And even Ada, sarcastic detached Ada, fixed her slouch and leaned forward in anticipation. Maybe this is what Christmas was after all: in the middle of the whole fucking chaos of the world falling down around your ears, dropping everything, because your little sister has to sing. And actually feeling warm about it too.

So Teddy breathed in deeply and started to sing, in perfect pitch and angelic voice:

In the bleak midwinter…

[emotionalcadaver]

Part 19: In the Bleak Midwinter

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Grace Burgess x OC

Summary: A tragedy occurs that threatens to truly break Lucy and Tommy beyond repair. With threats coming at them from every direction, they struggle to survive while the agony of loss is still howling in their bones. 

Word Count: 123,773

Notes: Takes place during the events of season 3. Please heed the warnings the can be found in the notes of each individual chapter.

Chapters that contain explicit smut will be marked with 🔞 and have the appropriate warnings listed in their corresponding notes.

Previous Part • Series • Next Part

Chapter 1: 'Til Death Do Us Part

Chapter 2: Make Us Safe 🔞

Chapter 3: The Sapphire

Chapter 4: I'll Break Your Heart

Chapter 5: Never Coming Back

Chapter 6: Cursed

Chapter 7: Until the Blackbirds Sing 🔞

Chapter 8: By My Side

Chapter 9: Silent Agreements 🔞

Chapter 10: Russian Roulette

Chapter 11: Endless Desire 🔞

Chapter 12: Off Kilter

Chapter 13: Fractured

Chapter 14: Come Back to Me

Chapter 15: Sinful Rosary

Chapter 16: Fleeting Peace

Chapter 17: This is Love 🔞

Chapter 18: Shared Reflection 🔞

Chapter 19: Back to Work

Chapter 20: Diamonds

Chapter 21: The Ghost 🔞

Chapter 22: Clay Kickers

Chapter 23: Terrible Silence

Chapter 24: The Line

Chapter 25: In the Dirt

Chapter 26: The King's Shilling

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[ambiguouspuzuma]

desire

I saw a robin today. the sun was out, and so were the birds. jackdaws. blackbirds. blue tits. others. but robins too.

he pecked at the crumbs around my shoes and my thoughts returned to December, when I would hang his likeness in my home, on a card, and sing songs in his honour. but now it is April and he is a stranger at my feet.

robins are sedentary birds; all weather friends. we venerate them in winter, not because they are anything more, still the same small ball of feathers, curios and brave, but because our options are less. the other birds fly south, and we turn, lonely, to the redbreast in the snow.

the trees are the same, but green against that white. evergreen. spruces and firs and pines each just as lush in summer heat, but unappreciated, unremarkable; until the others are gone. we bring them into our homes, draped in baubles and tinsel and lights for their company, their rich, winter beauty, which doesn't earn a second glance in spring. in April, the other trees have blossom. flowers. decoration of their own.

this is what I am to you, I think. a December comfort. you turn to me when others fade, a hearth to warm the bleak midwinter of your heart. you kindle me to fill that void, adorn me with desperate love, hold me up as more than the simple person underneath. so that, come the warm light of spring, when the air is filled with petals and birdsong, I can only disappoint. in a world of options, I am easy to discard, less visible in sunshine than in shadow, though standing by you just the same. but your loneliness is gone, and mine can wait until that winter next returns, and I might be worthwhile wanting once again.

I am used to shivering in the warm.

[hillvalleywrites]

4 & 9 :)

4. What is your favourite thing about Mike and Alison's relationship?

I love that they're both as mad as each other. So often in a sitcom you find the nagging, neurotic wife and the laid-back husband, but their relationship is not like that at all. Whenever it gets into moments that could be like that - Mike trying to hide the inflatable balls from Alison in 'Poached Guests' comes to mind - they subvert it, like Alison and Mike playing in them together. They're both sensible and they're both harebrained. And they clearly love each other and love their life together.

9. What are the 3 most touching scenes for you?

This was so so hard!

1) least surprising answer ever - In the Bleak Midwinter. I'm crying every time. Alison wanted to sing carols with her family - and she did! Thomas being the first to join her is one of the only moments where his... affection for her is thoughtfully included into the narrative, rather than being a tired joke. They all sound lovely together too.

2) Hard to pick just one moment from Gone Gone - I almost picked them all going back in and dancing - but in the end I have to go with Robin picking out Mary's star. It's such a beautiful moment, and one where we really get to feel the weight of time and grief, all the people Robin's loved and lost and memorialised.

3) This is technically cheating but I'm bringing these two moments together because they say very similar things. The first is in Perfect Day, when Pat gets to see Keith Darren Dean tie a knot he learned from Pat, and the second is in Its Behind You when Carol tells Daley he looks just like his father. My dad died when I was very young, and I often wonder what he would have taught me, what about me he would have seen himself in. This is also why I almost cried during the morning routine scene in The Grey Lady the first time I watched it, because I was taken out by Thomas listening to The Cure (my dad's favourite band). Does that count as a third moment? Sorry. But these moments with Pat remind me of the ways you carry someone with you after they die, or after you lose them in another way. You tie a knot and you think of them. You say the words they aren't here to say. You play a song they loved. The uncrossable gap between you collapses for a moment, or for 3 minutes 35 seconds. I love that Mike digitised the files for Pat, that they all got to watch them. I wonder if Keith Darren Dean taught his son that knot, if he told him about his former scoutmaster. There is so much of us made of those we have loved and known.

[belladonna-wright]

In The Bleak Midwinter

As Time Goes By - Christmas Special (December 1935)

On account of me being an unrepentant softie.

There was a faint tinkle of conversation that sounded around the room, masking the sound of the minute glass of sherry that Jessie was pouring herself. But she was behaving herself, lest she incur the silent steely wrath of the woman who ran the Nurses home, who seemed to be watching everyone, everywhere at any given moment. Jessie was almost envious of her ability to have eyes seemingly all over the place at every time. 

But as one of the only non-residents around, she didn’t dare rock the boat. For Ellen’s sake, at least, who had brought her along to their festive celebrations. 

It wasn’t quite being able to spend the holiday together, but neither was it the quiet solitude that she had known so many times. All because Ellen had volunteered to work the Christmas night shift rather than go home to her family. 

The sounds of the battered old piano dulled the conversation in the room as all eyes turned briefly towards it. Jessie sipped her sherry, but held back while many of the others stepped forwards and gathered around, as the opening bars of the old hymn rang out to direct everyone on the melody. 

It was almost a picture perfect scene, out of some sort of book, as the whole group of nurses stood together - whether stranded for the holidays or choosing to stay in the city rather than returning home to families - gathered to sing carols. But Jessie could not join them. She did not belong here in this comfortable, if worn, living room at the Nurse's Home.

It was Ellen who started to sing. Jessie had heard the tune many times before, but this one grabbed her heart in its grip as she began the opening notes. 

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan - 

Jessie felt the unrepentant softness in her gaze, as Ellen’s voice came out, warm and a little husky and drifted across the room. Everyone else could have been gone completely, but they weren’t paying much attention to the stranger in their midst who had simply been accepted as one of the other waifs and strays who needed to join them for the holiday. She had heard her sing so many times before, heard her softly murmuring along to a tune by herself as she brushed her hair, heard her sing out in a teasing voice to try and catch Jessie’s attention, heard her practising the choir harmonies she needed to work on, or the slightly off-rhythm way she sang to herself if she had had too much to drink. Each and every one was her favourite sound. 

Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone - 

Her heart felt like that, some days. Except for these moments, when a warmth was kindled so deep inside her that even from the frozen depths of her body, she managed to feel the echoes of it coming out. 

Other voices began to chime in as they found the key and the note and they joined together. Jessie watched from the corner of the room as everyone smiled and sang together. 

Snow had fallen, snow on snow. Snow on snow. In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

You could live a thousand lifetimes, and never deserve that woman. A voice sounded inside her head. It sounded like William. It sounded like Pete. It sounded like herself.

It was right.

Ellen was kind, she was gentle even though she was strong, she was the heart and soul that could turn any room into a home.

There was a faint pang in Jessie's chest. She ignored it, as she always tried to. No matter how little she deserved this little glimmer of warmth, and light, she had it. Like a child she clung to it, greedily, desperately. But there was a sense of guilt beneath it all that wondered if it was not the greatest con she had ever pulled off. And if one day she was going to be rumbled, then she would simply have to take every moment while she still could. Even if Ellen deserved infinitely better than that, than Jessie would ever be able to give her.  

Jessie sipped the sherry and found the tiny little glass empty again. She wished for something stronger, but would simply have to wait, wouldn’t she? 

And she could wait, as they began to sing of angels and archangels. Her chest ached distantly, as Jessie tilted her head to the side, and watched Ellen play a little further. In another life, perhaps she could have joined her, and slid into the space beside her at the piano to add her voice to the group. But not this one. Not here.

[the-kneesbees]

new poem under the cut

bleak midwinter

she knows she's dying and she's trying to take you with her because no one will ever love you like the bleak midwinter your blood would look so beautiful just like the poets said dripping on her snow a deep, dark, crimson red frozen, blue tinted fingertips emerge from banks of snow "I loved them all too much" she says "I could not let them go" just outside your bedroom window you can hear her crying out to you as she sings a solemn winters song, asking "don't you love me too?" you want,, more than anything to be with her forever. from beneath layers of snow, or frozen lakes is where you'll love your bleak midwinter and for the very last time you step off your parents porch bare feet crunching through the snow feeling free of all remorse for once, you finally feel at home and you no longer miss your bed. you hear her whisper in her ear "come on and rest your head"

[animar64]

Name That Tune

Published By: : TimeLifeVictorian era illustration of carol singing in bleak midwinter setting.1900 These are three of my favorite Christmas songs and of course I have little stories for the reason I love them just a little more then others: The Boar’s Head is a straight up let’s make Merry and have a good time song.  I only listen to it when I’m already in a good mood because I never ever want…

[simonfarnabyslegs]

the plague ghosts singing along with "in the bleak midwinter" in the s2 christmas special implies that they're aware of a lot of things that go on upstairs, they just don't usually give a shit, and honestly? good for them.

[rainsoughtflowers]

oh em gee it’s 2:22 am and i just woke up from a dream about this. sae-byeok x drunk reader who won’t stop telling her how pretty she is. or just complimenting her in general. i forgot literally everything about the dream ☹️

moondrunk

tw/cw - intoxication

if you could, you’d get drunk off of the laughter and smiles sae-byeok gifted you with each night.

there was something intoxicating about her presence. perhaps it was her laugh, quiet and brief each time it left though the cracks of her lips, fingers reaching up to muffle the sound from peering ears. maybe it was the gentle smile she’d give you as a greeting, painting her features oh so lovely and causing you to quirk your mouth back up in response. or perhaps, it was the shades of hickory dripping with honey each time she held you within her gaze, lulling you in and leaving you breathless at the sight alone.

“you’re so pretty, sae-byeok.” you mumbled sleepily, eyes struggling to remain open. the reason you were still awake despite the cups of alcohol drowned earlier that evening was solely because of that fact. admiring the features of the girl as she worked around the kitchen to create something that would sober you up, and not leave you with a hangover when the morning birds sang.

she let out a small breath, similar to the laughs she struggled to keep in. it only made your smile widen, “you’re drunk.”

“drunk thoughts are sober thoughts.” you quickly quipped back, not missing a beat to deny her false claim. because she was. sae-byeok was so pretty, and you’d sing about it until your throat was sore and the world had gone quiet.

sae-byeok paused, staring at the cup only filled halfway. her lashes fluttered along to the butterflies gracing your ribcage, urging you to reach forward and cup her face between your hands. she appeared taken aback for a brief moment, not expecting the sudden feel of your thumbs gracing the constellations splayed across her cheeks or the sunsets warming the pads of your thumbs. the moment of surprise was gone just as quickly however, replaced with her gentle gaze and soft smile returning your admiration.

“prettiest girl in the world.” you giggled, lining the appendages of her lips before proceeding to leave a lingering kiss on the corner, “so so pretty.”

your strings of compliments and honey filled words grew to become incoherent the more you brushed your lips across her skin, holding her as if a delicate flower in the bleak midwinter. holding her as if hoping she’d understand just how precious she was, feeling it in the way you mumbled sleepily against her lips and placed them on the tip of her nose. it continued even as she groaned and playfully pushed you off, still going on about your intoxication while forcing you to change so you could go to bed. even as you lay under the covers and the moonlight filtered through the cracks of your windowsill, splayed across her features.

alcohol may have been running through your veins and leaving you tipsy, but it was she, kang sae-byeok, who left you drunk beyond repair. she was the reason for your intoxication, and yet the only one to satiate your addiction.

menu. upside down peach cake.

[emotionalcadaver]

Part 19: In the Bleak Midwinter

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Grace Burgess x OC

Summary: Lucy and Tommy teeter upon crossing a line neither of them will be able to come back from.

Word Count: 5,202

Notes: Warnings for depictions of grief, torture, blood, violence, smut, Tommy being a tease, praise kinks, and size kinks.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 7: Until the Blackbirds Sing

She squeezed tightly to Tommy’s arm as he guided them through the dark winding tunnels. There was no light, save for the shining glimmers from his lantern and the dull orange blaze from his cigarette. If she got lost in there, she would never find her way out. But Tommy made sure she was attached firmly to his arm, keeping his pace steady so that he ran no risk of losing her in the darkness.

Cocking her head to look up at him, she couldn’t help but muse over how much he lived up to his namesake of the Devil. Clad in dark clothes, with beautiful features that might have been carved from marble, and sad, vengeful eyes gleaming in darkness, he could easily have passed for the king of Hell. Come to torture a sinful soul who’d displeased him. 

They rounded a corner and entered a long, dimly lit room. And seated on a chair, stripped down to his waist, was Vicente Changretta. John and Arthur were leaning against columns on either side of him, stony faced. Had it been up to Lucy, they wouldn’t have been there at all, so she and Tommy could do what they needed to in privacy, but Tommy wanted them there. So they stayed. 

Tommy set down the case and the lantern he’d brought with him. Lucy let him go, moving to stand a little ways behind him, leaning against a column and crossing her arms over her chest. 

Tommy removed his hat. Then his coat. Then his suit jacket, hanging each against the back of a chair that he drew up in front of Changretta, sitting down before him. He was now in just his waistcoat and white button down shirt, leather black gloves still covering his hands. Changretta was mumbling to himself, his eyes closed as he prayed in Italian.

“Do you know what time it is, old man?” Tommy asked. Changretta didn’t answer, just continued mumbling. Already Lucy felt her temper spike. The least the old bastard could do was offer them a shred of respect by answering. “I’ll tell you,” Tommy purred, checking his pocket watch. “It’s after seven in the evening, and I’m going to keep you alive until it gets light,” he scooted closer. It was cold in the room. So cold that she could see the puffs of Tommy’s breath when he spoke. “I’ll not deliver the final cut until we can both hear the blackbirds singing outside.”

Lucy felt a self satisfied smirk slide across her lips. Even though it still wasn’t enough. Not even close. It would never make up for the agony of having to go the rest of their lives without Grace by their side.

Tommy seized Changretta by the back of the neck and yanked him close to whisper in his ear. “It’s a beautiful sound, which my wife will never hear again.”

Lucy felt her face crumble at those words, the sting of tears burning at her eyes that she blinked stubbornly away. With every blink, she swore that she saw Grace, standing towards the back of the room, lips pursed and eyes disapproving as she stared at them. 

Don’t.

Lucy swallowed. We have to. It’s all we know to do.

When she blinked again, Grace was gone. 

The chair shrieked as its legs scraped along the floor when Tommy stood up, towering over Changretta. A gloved hand held out. John hesitated, then came forward with a case, unlatching and opening it to Tommy. Inside it was lined with red velvet, blades and intricate, tortuous devices gleaming within. Tommy plucked from it a razor.

“Now, I’m gonna have to choose carefully which part of you I cut away first,” as Tommy spoke, John stepped away with the case. From the corner of her eye, Lucy saw him and Arthur share an uneasy look. She decided to ignore them.

“Open your eyes,” Tommy ordered. When Changretta didn’t, his voice rose to a bellowing roar. “Open your eyes, or I will cut away your fucking eyelids!”

Changetta’s eyes snapped open, to finally stare at the monster looming over him. 

“Now look at me,” Tommy’s voice softened. “Look at me. This is the end. This is the end,” he looked Changretta up and down. “It was your tongue that gave the order,” he took Changretta’s face in one hand, the leather of his gloves creaking. Lucy’s heart was pounding. “I’ll take your tongue first.”

Oh, good. Then he would finally stop that infuriating praying. 

Not that it was doing him any good. There was no God here, after all. 

It was just the Devil and his demons, standing over him. 

Tommy’s face twisted, stepping back as he spoke. “Then I’ll take your ears. Then I’ll take your fingers. Then your fucking toes,” he was looming over Changretta again. “See, I take your balls first, you drain too fast, like you fuckers do. Then, maybe, I’ll take a break,” his eyes flashed over to Lucy. “And I’ll let my demon have her fun with you for a while. Oh…” he stroked Changretta’s cheek. “She can do wondrous things with a razor,” he shot a look her way, and despite the endless fury and frantic pain that had been filling his eyes as he spoke to Changretta, the moment his gaze landed on her she saw beneath that the affection he held for her.  

Another part of her, the most lecherous part, that until that moment had been asleep, began to stir, subtly squeezing her thighs together. He was terrifying and out of his mind with grief and rage and yet he still looked at her like that. Like she was his most favorite person in the entire world.

And perhaps that was what it was. Knowing that despite all the violent potential brimming under his skin, never once would he turn any of it upon her.

She wondered just how awful it made her, to be so turned on when her lover was about to brutally torture a man to death in front of her, then realized that she didn’t really care anymore if it made her awful or not.

They were both already damned several times over. Might as well enjoy themselves. 

“No, I think tongue first. Tongue first,” Tommy mumbled, squeezing Changretta’s face, trying to wrench his jaws open. Then he stopped. “If I take your tongue, you won’t be able to explain, and I want you to explain. I want you to fucking explain,” he gave Changretta a light shake, something in his voice breaking, tone rising. Freezing, he stared down into the old man’s face, then pulled his head to his chest in an embrace. His breathing was heavy, and the moment before his eyes jammed shut, Lucy saw an expression pass over them she hadn’t expected to see.

He looked lost. 

Suddenly, she felt panicked, the other parts of herself that she’d managed to shove down until then were rising up, scrambling from the hole she’d tried to bury them in. As if Tommy’s sudden internal conflict had been contagious, seeping into her. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, hands starting to shake.

When she heard Grace’s voice, right next to her ear, she almost screamed. 

“You could stop him.” 

Lucy wetted her lips and shook her head. Stubbornly trying to stay the course. But Changretta was still fucking praying, and she really didn’t know what would happen at all after this was done.

Did they just go home, and carry on? Go play with Charlie like nothing had fucking happened? 

Fuck, how the hell were they going to face Charlie? Touch him with the same hands that had just torn apart a man piece by piece. 

The same man who had his mother murdered, she tried to logic to herself, straightening her spine and clenching her jaw. 

Tommy let Changretta go and pulled away, walking down the length of the room, muttering to himself.

“Come on, Tommy,” he squatted down.

“You could stop him,” Grace repeated in her ear. No, not Grace. Just a treacherous part of her subconscious trying to ruin everything. “You’re the only one right now who could.”

Lucy balled her small hands into fists, watching Tommy wrestle with himself on the other end of the room, wondering if he was dealing with the same internal voices that she was. It felt like she was being pulled into dozens of directions, moments away from being torn apart from it, so conflicted she felt she might be sick or on the verge of a panic attack.

Tommy straightened, and turned around. “I forget who I am,” his voice was loud in the quiet of the room. He began to approach Changretta, razor blade raised. “I forget who I am.”

The voice in her ear was more frantic, now. “If this changes him forever, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

We’re already changed forever, she tried to argue back.

“Not like that,” Grace said. “He’s going to turn into a monster, Lucy.”

Isn’t that what we are already?

Grace looked at her with scrutinizing eyes, tilting her head. “You two are a lot of things,” her lover murmured, crossing her arms over her chest, leaning against the column beside her. Lucy swore she could feel the fabric of her shirt brush her arm. “Cruel was never one of them.”

Tommy was advancing on Changretta, voice raising to shout. “I’m a blinder, I’ll take your fucking eyes first!”

Panic squeezed violently at Lucy’s chest, taking a step forward, lips parting before she’d entirely even thought about it. “Tommy–” The rest of what she might’ve said was lost in the echo of a gunshot. 

Blood exploded from Changretta’s head to splatter and drip wetly onto the floor. Tommy jerked back from the shot in surprise. Lucy’s head whipped around, to stare at the gun, still smoking, that Arthur had clutched in his hand.

“I heard the blackbirds sing,” he said, lowering the gun. Tommy was just staring at Changretta’s body, as if frozen. 

“And we let his wife board the immigrant ship back to New York. We didn’t kill Mrs. Changretta,” John muttered.

“It’s alright,” Arthur was approaching Tommy with slow, careful steps. “We’re not those kind of men,” he reached down, and plucked the razor from the still frozen Tommy’s hand. As he started to walk away, towards the exit, he met Lucy’s eyes. She stared at him, unsure of what exactly to say.

“Thank you,” she mouthed to him, finally. Arthur nodded, and continued on his way. 

As she watched his face, Tommy slowly, gradually, started to come back to himself, features relaxing and softening somewhat, his lips rubbing together. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, glancing back the way that Arthur had gone before sighing. 

“You get rid of the body, John,” he waved a hand towards the case of torture materials. “Get rid of those for good,” his voice was very soft as he gathered up his coat and suit jacket, folding them over one arm. 

Lucy glanced back at the dripping mess of blood from Changretta’s head, her eyes fluttering slow and lazily. When she looked back over beside her, the space was empty. Grace wasn’t there.

“Lucy?” 

She looked up, startled, to find Tommy staring at her a little ways across the room. He had begun the walk towards the exit, but stopped when he realized she was not with him. He held out a black gloved hand to her, eyes unsure as they searched her face.

“Come on, love.”

Nodding, she went to him, taking his hand and letting him lead her away from the body and back through the winding dark tunnels until they got to the car. Neither of them said anything as he started it and began to drive down the road back towards home. 

“They should’ve probably killed the teacher,” she finally whispered, eyes just staring out the window at the darkness surrounding them. “She could come after us.”

“Yeah,” Tommy mumbled, wetting his lips. “It’s alright.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. She wasn’t sure if she was just too exhausted to care, or if she really were that apathetic to the whole situation. Probably a bit of both.  

They spent the rest of the drive in silence.  

∗ ∗ ∗ 

“Tommy?” she stopped when she realized that while he had killed the car’s engine, he had yet to get out, just sitting there with his eyes staring straight ahead, hands still on the wheel. “Are you coming?”

He started, as if she had shaken him awake, and got out of the car, closing the door with a slam and following her into the house. 

She’d started to shiver around the time that they pulled into the drive, yanking her coat tighter around herself, unsure if she was actually cold or if it was just the adrenaline finally leaving her system. 

“Mary, could you have a fire lit in the west sitting room?” Tommy said to the housekeeper when she came to greet them. 

“Of course, sir.”

“And where’s Ada?”

“She and the children have already gone to sleep, sir.”

He nodded. “Alright, thank you.”

Lucy went numbly to the sitting room, watching as a maid rummaged with the fireplace until bright orange flames were bursting from it. Dismissing her with a wave of her hand, Lucy settled herself down on the floor in front of the fireplace, taking the fire poker and nudging at the burning logs with it. She was still shivering, her teeth chattering as her muscles convulsed, trying to focus on the flames and embers rather than anything else. 

A thick, wool blanket was draped over her shoulders, wrapping around her warmly. She heard Tommy grunt quietly to himself as he sat down on the floor beside her. He’d shed all layers save for his white button down shirt and slacks, and dark bags had bloomed under his eyes. Giving one last half hearted jab at the fire, she set the fire poker aside and scooted closer to him, until he wrapped his arms around her and tucked her into his chest. 

“Did I scare you?” he asked, one huge hand cradling the back of her head as he held her against him. It was hard to imagine, how those hands had been moments away from committing unspeakable atrocities, when he was touching her so gently.    

“No,” she answered honestly, curling in closer, feeling how he gripped her tighter every time she shivered. “I scared me.”

“Mm,” he hummed in understanding, chin resting atop her head. Lucy closed her eyes.

“I should’ve been the one to stop you,” craning her head, she peered up at him. “I’m sorry.”

He looked at her shrewdly. “You were going to, weren’t you?”

“Probably,” she bit her lip, debating if she should tell him the next bit. “I saw Grace.”

He went stiff and still underneath her, brows pulling in. “What?”

“I don’t know if it was actually her,” she added hastily. “Probably was just my subconscious trying to talk some sense into me.”

“What did she say?”

“She was trying to get me to stop us.”

Tommy was staring into the fire, frowning as he listened to her. Beneath her head, his chest heaved as he sighed. “I think we’ve both let ourselves go a little mad here, love.”

She made a tiny, amused sound. “Yeah, probably,” she began to trace nonsensical patterns into his chest with her fingertip. Without the additional layer of his waistcoat, she could more easily feel the heat of his body, quickly warming her up and chasing away the chill from her shock. “Are you glad that it didn’t go any farther?”

He shifted her in his arms, getting a little more comfortable in front of the fire. “I am. Are you?”

“Yeah,” wrapping both arms around his waist to snuggle closer, she closed her eyes again. And then, without really thinking, she said, “was kinda sexy, though.”

Tommy’s chest rumbled pleasantly with his surprised laugh. “Oh, is that so?”

Her eyes cracked open to be met with his amused expression. “Mhm,” her brows furrowed. “Think that means there’s something wrong with me?”

“Nah,” he stroked her cheek affectionately. “I like you the way you are. Fucked up kinks and all.”

Snorting, Lucy buried her face into his chest, feeling her cheeks heat. Tommy continued to hold her, idly stroking her hair as he stared into the fire. 

“Damn,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Maybe I shouldn’t have had John get rid of those tools, then.”

Lucy sputtered out a laugh. “That’s not–that’s not funny,” she protested even as she continued to giggle. Tommy breathed a laugh into her hair, kissing her there, then leaning back to cradle her face in his hands.

“Come here,” he whispered, and then he was kissing her softly, hands holding her face and drawing her in closer. Lucy placed her hands flat on his chest, lips parting to his as the kiss started to grow deeper, Tommy keeping one hand on her face while the other looped around her to splay across her back. He was moving slow and gentle with her, especially as he shifted her to lay down on her back. Her blanket fell away to lay open on either side of her, but that was okay because she was plenty warm now with Tommy pressing his body to hers from above, still kissing her, painfully soft in his every movement.   

He sat up off of her briefly to help her devest him of his shirt, tossing it away before he started to work on the buttons of her waistcoat, still kissing her. She pulled her mouth away from his, ever so briefly, to place a kiss on the scar on his upper chest, eyes closed as she nuzzled at him and breathed in the scene of cigarettes and his cologne. Sometime while she was busy with breathing him in he got off her waist coat and white button down, undoing the ties of her bra. She hummed, hips thrusting against his when he cupped both her breasts in his warm palms. 

The fire before them popped and crackled as he laid her back down, crawling over her again to press his mouth to hers, groaning into her mouth when she traced her hands down his back. She shivered, legs looping around his waist while he began to ghost kisses down her body, along the sensitive spots on her neck, over her chest, pausing to bring her stiff nipples to his lips until she keened and tightened her legs around him. Then he was descending down her stomach, thumbs and lips stroking over the scars that still marred her skin, and a lump formed briefly in her throat at how loved her felt. 

She had to loosen her legs from where they were cinched around his waist, raising them eagerly after he’d undone her belt and the buttons on her slacks so he could pull them off. Tommy settled himself between her thighs with a pleased hum, eyes swooping over her languidly now that she was bare to him. When they met hers, he gave her a tender little smile that could’ve made her melt, and kissed a small scar on her inner thigh. 

“Tommy,” she whispered, gasping as he dipped his head lower and unceremoniously buried his face in her cunt, tongue circling around her clit. Her fingers clenched into the long part of his dark hair, whimpering at the way his groans vibrated against her when she did.

He ate her out slow and lazy, drawing her right to the edge and then backing off, spreading kisses along her inner thighs until she was far enough away from her orgasm and then he dove back in, giving her long swipes of his tongue and soft hums against her clit that made her shiver. Even when he finally stretched her around two of his thick fingers, his movements were slow and deliberate, just barely brushing along her g-spot, never giving her enough pressure to actually be able to cum. 

“Tommy, please,” she sobbed, gripping his hair tighter, back arching off of the floor as her toes curled. 

He purred into her core and then pulled back, leaving her to cry out in frustration as he left her to dangle over the edge of the cliff, hips bucking up and trying to follow him. 

“Oh, you bastard.”

He laughed, kissing her temple and leaning back, looking far too pleased with himself as he glanced her up and down. His hands burned against her skin as they smoothed up over the swell of her hips, holding her down but only lightly. She could have broken free from him if she’d really wanted to.

She expected him to tease her, to purr out something cocky that would only have her squirming more in his arms, chuckling at her pleas. But instead, he moved to crawl over her, pressing his mouth firmly to hers and letting her taste herself on his tongue while his hands traced delicately along her sides. 

“I want to feel you around my cock when you come tonight,” he whispered. Lucy moaned, kissing him harder in agreement. Seeing an opportunity, she reached down to loosen his belt, sliding her hand inside his slacks and moaning as she cupped his erection through his briefs. Tommy growled, nipping at her lips playfully in retaliation. 

Giving her one last firm kiss, Tommy sat up, fumbling a little with his slacks. She giggled at the way he practically scrambled to get both them and his briefs off, earning herself a playful pinch to the hip. 

She didn’t get long to admire him: long and deliciously thick where he curved up against his stomach, their previous actions clearly having excited him as much as they had her, if the precum gleaming at the tip was of any indication. He crawled back to her and she welcomed him eagerly between her thighs, wrapping them around his waist and cupping the back of his neck as he kissed her. One of his hands fumbled between his legs, taking his cock in hand and guiding it to her entrance. Lucy anchored her hands onto his shoulders, and their mouths, still kissing, both parted to moan into each other as he started to push inside of her. 

Once he was seated fully inside, he pulled back, looking down at her earnestly, checking on her to make sure she was alright. Reaching for him, Lucy brushed back a few tendrils of dark hair that had fallen into his eyes, nodding silently to let him know she was okay. He nuzzled his face into her palm, nothing but soft and tender as he pressed himself closer to her still, face tucking into her neck, lips ghosting over the spot he knew always made her shiver as he began to thrust.

Lucy keened, hips bucking upwards to meet his. Tommy’s strokes were slow and very deep, making her moan obscenely with every one as his thick tip massaged her g-spot on every movement.

They had fucked a handful of times since the funeral. Usually outside, in the dead of night after they’d both cried themselves raw and were searching for the comfort and reassurance of each other’s touch. He’d spread his coat out on the ground for her to lay on, or pull her into his lap as they sat beside the dying fire, clutching to each other as they thrust frantically, all but crying out each other’s names. Holding onto one another like if they let the other go, they would disappear. 

“Love…fuck,” she scratched her nails lightly down his back and he growled, pace picking up just a little. She was so pent up from his previous teasing that she could already feel her walls beginning to spasm and flutter around him. Tommy clearly felt it too, pace quickening, head lifting and pressing his forehead to hers so he could watch her. 

“Always so good for me, love,” he whispered, then growled when she dug her nails into his back in answer. His brows furrowed in concentration, a hand anchoring itself next to her head while the other settled on her thigh, fingers digging into the flesh possessively as he hitched her leg up higher on his waist. He readjusted his position, so that with every swoop of his hips his pubic bone rubbed against her clit. Something devious flashed in his eyes. “Gonna make you come just from this,” he spoke in a rough, gravely voice that went straight to her cunt, grunting when she clenched around him in answer. “Gonna make you come with only my cock.”

“Oh, fuck,” she threw her head back, arching her back up off the floor. He made that growling noise again, the one that always had her core fluttering, hips starting to snap forward with more force, the slap of their skin meeting echoing throughout the room. She wondered, somewhere in the back of her mind, if any of the maids were up and listening at the door. Probably.

The thought of it had a thrill of excitement shuddering through her. 

Tommy’s cock throbbed inside of her, and her walls clamped involuntarily down. Ohhhh…she was so close. Teetering right there on the edge. The thought of him soon filling her was enough to have her even closer to coming. She was already so full, his cock stretching her nearly to her limits and always leaving her with a pleasurable ache between her thighs after they were done. But she still wanted more of him. She always did.   

“Tommy…Tommy…Tommy…” she chanted, nails digging slightly into his shoulders, walls spasming around him as her orgasm drew closer. He was making sure that his cock hit right where she most needed him, stopping every few thrusts to just grind forward, like he was trying to get his tip just that much deeper into her. Every pump had her toes curling, moans falling from her lips in a stream. 

“Fuck, yes,” Tommy’s voice held a strain to it; he’d be coming soon, maybe even right along with her. “So tight…fit me like a fucking glove, sweetheart.”

The moan she let out in agreement was louder than she’d intended. His cock fit perfectly inside of her, big enough to hit even the deepest of pleasurable spots within, but not too much that he hurt her.   

Tommy dropped his head back into her neck, turning his face so that he was murmuring directly into her ear. 

“Want me to fill you up, love? Come for me and I will. Come for me and I’ll fill you up so good,” he promised, grunting as her walls fluttered around him, head falling back as she sobbed at just the idea of it, babbling nonsensically to him, pretty sure she was begging him for it, though she couldn’t have been sure. Tommy just purred into her neck, continuing to fuck her good, in a way that somehow managed to be both tender and rough. She scrabbled at his back for purchase, dragging his mouth back to hers for a deep kiss.   

On the next thrust his pubic bone pressed against her clit, and the dam broke. 

She came with a cry of his name, legs seizing around his waist as her walls clamped down almost violently around his cock, cum gushing out around him. Tommy moaned, eyes rolling in his skull at the sensation, thrusts continuing, drawing out her orgasm as he chased his own. 

Her mind was still fuzzy from pleasure, but she could still distinctly tell when his orgasm was imminent, his cock twitching and his moans going up an octave. She watched, spellbound, as his eyes fluttered closed and his lips parted, head tilting back when his hips rutted into her one final time and pressed firmly against hers, sheathing himself entirely as his cock spasmed and she felt the first bursting waves of his orgasm start to fill her, just as he’d promised.

Tommy wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly to him as he came, forehead pressing against hers while his eyes opened, murmuring her name as she felt his cock continue to pulse as he emptied inside of her. 

Chests heaving, he laid heavily on top of her, nuzzling affectionately at her cheek as they came down. The fire beside them was dying, only giving off a few crackling embers, leaving the room otherwise quite dark.

“You’re squishing me,” she complained with a giggle, giving a little push to Tommy’s shoulder. He chuckled, pecking her before rising up on his arms, pulling his softening cock out of her and rolling to lay next to her on the floor. Curling up against him with her head on his chest and his arms around her shoulders, they both watched as the final embers of the fire went out. In the dark, she heard Tommy sniff.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re still here,” he mumbled, fingers carding through her hair. Lucy twisted her head up on his chest to squint at him in the dark.

“Me too.”

He made a pleased sound, his hand in her hair making her feel sleepy. “We should get up off the floor.”    

“Mm. Probably,” she yawned. Neither of them moved.

Her eyes were just starting to droop closed when Tommy chuckled and gave her a little jostle to rouse her.

“Right. Seriously. If we stay here everything will hurt tomorrow.”

“We’re not that old,” she mumbled into his chest. Tommy snorted.

“Your age sure as shit doesn’t have a two in front of it anymore, love. C’mon.”

She gasped in mock offense. “You take that back!” 

Laughing, he slipped out from underneath her, tossing her his shirt to pull on and tugging up his briefs. Apparently deciding that made them decent enough, he scooped her up into his arms, dropping a kiss between her brows before he began to carry her towards the stairs and to bed.

They had moved most of their things from the room they’d shared with Grace to a separate, still spacious room in the house. It was too painful to go into her room every day. To look at the vanity she’d used or the closet that still contained all of her clothes. 

Kicking the door shut with his heel, Tommy set Lucy down gently onto the bed before crawling in with her, settling against her chest with his arms around her, body half off of hers so that he wouldn’t crush her under his weight. Lucy smiled, stroking his shoulders as she felt him relax. He turned his head to kiss the side of her neck. She poked him in the shoulder.

“What would people say, if they knew that the Devil was secretly so cuddly?” she teased. Tommy’s chest rumbled when he laughed warmly into her skin. 

“It’s a good thing that I trust you to keep my secrets, then, eh?” 

“Yeah,” she settled back against the pillows, relaxing into his arms as he rested more heavily into hers. Warm and comfortable and loved.

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[marzipanandminutiae]

Christmas carol meme

tagged by @monstrousgourmandizingcats

Favourite carol to sing in church: Lo, How A Rose E’er Blooming. Despite not being Christian at present, I still love Christmas and traditional carols. And I still go to the Christmas Eve service at my childhood church with my family, because it’s a community I grew up in and one that was broadly quite positive for me. This particular carol was always one of the first we sang near the beginning of Advent when I was growing up, so it became a bit of a “Christmas is coming” signifier for me.

Favourite carol to sing door-to-door: I’ve never caroled door to door, but my dance group does caroling before our Christmas ball. I think I enjoy doing Jingle Bells with them most, because it actually was written in 19th-century Massachusetts. Feels very on-brand.

Carol you wish was sung more often: The Gloucestershire Wassail. It’s so much fun. Praising parts of cows, wishing the local lord all sorts of good things expressly so he’ll share them with you, threatening to deck a butler if he gives you weak alcohol, and cheering for the maid who let you all into the lord’s house for booze so you won’t break his windows. In conclusion: bring back wassailing.

Carol you love that is most likely to have recordings you don’t like: I have yet to find a recording of Il Est Ne, Le  Divin Enfant that I really like. The Annie Lennox version is on my phone, but it’s not Perfect, you know?

Favorite recording of that carol: It’s not a formal recording, but of all takes on this carol, I like Lexi Walker’s live version. Go figure. I hate her affected movements while she sings, but the audio is excellent. It’s on YouTube.

A favorite Christmas album: Any of Trans-Siberian Orchestra’s. My dad and sister and I used to go see them live back when they included Nashville in their annual Christmas tour, and it was one of my favorite traditions (though brief).

A list of other random favorites: 

- In The Bleak Midwinter

- The Coventry Carol

- Gaudete

- Carol of the Bells/Shedrik

- I Saw Three Ships (LOVE this one because it’s a traditional song for this season that has a non-religious version with some age to it, the “New Year’s Day” variant from the 18th century. a lot of secular carols don’t resonate with me because they’re too new and feel insubstantial. but, as mentioned before, I’m not actually Christian- while I can generally ignore that and just enjoy the pretty music, it’s nice to have one thing that Fits in all relevant ways)

- God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen (yes, that is the correct punctuation. “rest ye merry” was a common salutation when it was written)

- We Three Kings of Orient Are

- Un Flambeau, Jeanette, Isabelle (my first French fashion doll is named Jeanette after this carol, because she was a Christmas gift)

- Good King Wenceslas (this drives my sister crazy because my mom and I are both All The Verses people re: traditional songs, and GCW is no exception)

- Let’s Have A Patrick Swayze Christmas (the wild card. gotta love MST3K)

Tagging @theoriginalmarmaduke, @margridarnauds, @teacupchimera, @marypsue, and anyone else who wants to do it!

[2kitkat4]

Not to ruin the 'In the Bleak Midwinter' scene, but does anyone else ever make themselves sad by thinking about Humphrey lying somewhere listening to them all sing and joining in in some distant part of the house all by himself? Because I do.

[gellavonhamster]

in the bleak midwinter*: an asoue/atwq peaky blinders au concept

...also known as the idea that’s been living in my brain for what must be a couple of years now; I have reconciled myself with the fact that I will never write this fic because I simply do not have enough patience to think it out and write it down in the way that would give it justice, so here’s a plot bunny or something.

This is basically the Sugar Bowl Generation of VFD (still young, before kids and all) meets All The Wrong Questions (some of the events + some of the kid characters of ATWQ as adults) meets season one of Peaky Blinders, but I guess it could be read and understood without the knowledge of the latter simply as an organized crime AU.

It’s the beginning of the interwar period, and VFD is a gang. Which, yes, would require a certain amount of OOC of the characters, though I imagine their intimidation tactics would still avoid too much bloodshed. They deal with bookmaking, contraband, and sometimes art forgery because even this version of VFD has to have something sophisticated about it. There’s a number of places, such as bars and clubs, that pay them for protection, and there’s also a number of places they own, such as the Hotel Denouement with the Denouement brothers in charge and the nightclub ran by Ramona Browning**, alias the Duchess (her father was some kind of aristocracy, see, too aristocratic to ever truly acknowledge her). They use their influence to become the informal rulers of their part of the City. They claim to strive for power to make the City a better place, and these are not just words - they do donate money to schools and libraries, for example - but it’s not like they don’t enjoy being in power, and their rule is still based on crime, those who threaten it being eliminated swiftly. 

The Snickets are the Shelby family of this AU, of course. Lemony is Tommy - the mastermind, already a legend of sorts despite being the youngest, plagued by the horrors of war - but still hoping for the best, strange as it seems, because he’s still Lemony. Jacques is Arthur, the fighter suffering from PTSD. Kit is Ada, but she’s also Aunt Polly - she’s the one who ran the business while the boys were in the army. 

Now, season one introduced Grace Burgess as an undercover police informant spying on the Peaky Blinders.

Enter Ellington Feint.

Ellington’s father, the only family she has left, has been kidnapped by a gang called the Inhumane Society, and she’d do anything and everything to save him. So she agrees to infiltrate VFD, their rival gang, to find out the whereabouts of a shipment of weapons that was meant for the Society but was accidentally stolen by VFD. Apart from machine guns and shells, the shipment includes some “statue of a sea beast”, and no one cares to provide more explanations to Ellington about it, but apparently it is the most important part of that cargo. So Ellington takes on the position of a barmaid in The Black Cat Bar, one of the places that pay VFD for protection and the one frequented by its key members, and starts listening and watching.

Ellington needs to get close to the Snickets, because if anyone knows where the weapons are, it’s them. Steward Mitchum, the corrupt cop on the Society’s payroll whom she is to meet from time to time at the Natural History Museum (which she used to attend with her father) to pass on the information, suggests she should seduce one of the Snicket brothers. The problem is, Ellington has a chance to learn very soon that Jacques doesn’t know much about the stolen cargo, and Lemony is too taken with his girlfriend, the music hall singer Beatrice Baudelaire, to even look at any other woman. There’s no getting between them, even though it seems Beatrice also has something going on with VFD’s bookkeeper Bertrand Markson, and Lemony seems aware of it. 

So Ellington decides to approach Kit instead. Kit, who seems so lonely - Ellington doesn’t know the details, but there was some serious falling-out between her and her ex-boyfriend, who has since left the City (and won’t appear in this story. Olaf is the problem for the hypothetical season two of this imaginary show). Ellington doesn’t plan on anything other than a very close friendship - yet, the closer they become, the more she understands that she is attracted to Kit.

(There certainly is a variant of the “I warn you, I’ll break your heart” - “Already broken” scene in which Ellington sings to Kit)

Anyway. Things progress, and they fall in love. Well, Kit seems to have fallen in love, and Ellington keeps trying to persuade herself that she hasn’t, because Kit has to remain nothing but a task for her.

The location of the stolen weapons, however, still remains a mystery, even though Ellington once hears Kit and Lemony discuss it. Whatever the statue is, Lemony seems to believe it has great powers, and Kit seems to believe it’s nothing but folklore. Lemony tells her of the stories of a mysterious sea animal (or spirit, or whatever it may be) he heard from other soldiers during the war, about what Widdershins heard during his time in the navy. Kit tells him that everyone is a believer in a foxhole, and that she loves W like her own kin but he’s a bragging idiot. There was nothing on the sea other than enemy ships.

Elllington’s mission is complicated by Lemony clearly not trusting her. He tells her it’s because his sister has been hurt before, but she suspects it’s more than that. He even admits that he had his people make enquiries in Paltryville, the town she claims to have come from, and found out that no Ellington Feint ever lived there. When he suggests her secrecy is due to a child born out of marriage, she is eager to confirm that. (Cue him asking her if she’s read Les Misérables - yeah, even this version of VFD would be literature nerds, how can it be otherwise - because this whole situation reminds him of Fantine, and her lying that she hasn’t and thinking that she’s more of a Javert at the barricade, really).

Then there’s a masquerade party at the Duchess’s club, and Kit takes Ellington there as her date. (Which is okay, because if there’s any place in the City where a woman dancing with another woman or a man dancing with another man would not be looked at askance, it’s the Duchess’s club. If I was actually writing a fic, there would definitely be a scene in which Ellington observes Beatrice asking Bertrand to dance with her and Bertrand trying to decline by telling her that, since he didn’t have time to procure a mask, he shouldn’t be on the dancefloor at all, and then Lemony approaches him with a spare mask in hand and encourages him to dance with Beatrice and puts the mask on Bertrand himself and it somehow looks so intimate as if he’s undressing him and Ellington’s like “Oh, so it’s like that with them. This is probably of no use to me but still, good to know”). 

When Kit disappears at some point, Ellington follows her quietly and eavesdrops on her conversation with one of the Denouements. He tells her that his brother is all right and sends his regards. Later at the party, however, Ellington sees two Denouements. Why would one of them send the other’s regards to Kit if they’re all in the same room? A couple of drinks with the already tipsy Olivia (officially a fortune-teller, but who knows what purposes VFD really uses her salon for?), and Ellington learns that there used to be three Denouements, actually. But the third brother, Dewey, had a conflict with one of rival gangs which nearly resulted in a war, had not Lemony agreed to dispose of Dewey. To stop that gang from going against VFD, he killed Dewey with his own hands.

Except he didn’t, Ellington thinks. Lemony must have staged Dewey’s execution, and now he’s out there very much alive. Perhaps this knowledge will come in handy.

Meanwhile, the Inhumane Society, who have other beef with VFD apart from the stolen weapons, are getting impatient. There’s a gun-fight which results in Ike Anwhistle dying and his grieving widow, Josephine, telling Lemony it is all his fault and leaving the city. (I know I said this is based on s1 only, but they’re the John and Esme Shelby of this story). And Bertrand is severely wounded. VFD needs another bookkeeper while he’s recovering, and Kit, who knows from The Black Cat’s owner Dashiell Qwerty that Ellington has also been keeping the books of the bar lately and doing it well, offers this position to her. This gives Ellington an opportunity to learn more about the asserts and resources of VFD - and a chance to discover some interesting notes scribbled next to the name of Dewey Denouement. Dewey Denouement, who is only officially dead, but still has a grave at the cemetery.

Ellington tells Stew she has an idea where the weapons and/or the statue might be hidden.

When she meets some of the members of the Inhumane Society to take them to the tomb, she is surprised to see Hangfire himself among them. She’s only seen him in passing before, this mysterious man with his face covered in bandages. They say he’s been horribly disfigured during the war. They also say he came back mad. When they’ve done some digging and unearthed, instead of a coffin, several crates of guns - and opened one of them to find a small statue of what seems like a very scary seahorse - Mitchum and Flammarion are suddenly shot down, and Lemony Snicket steps from behind a gravestone. 

He’s been following them.

Of course he didn’t believe that all Miss Feint is hiding is an illegitimate child, Lemony tells them as he’s holding Hangfire at gunpoint. He’s been doing research. In fact, the man whose grave they’ve unearthed is presently in a unique position allowing him to make research away from the City. He’s found out that Ellington Feint is the daughter of a renowned naturalist Armstrong Feint, who’s recently gone missing. And then they managed to discover something more. 

This is when Hangfire grabs a gun and points it at Lemony, and Lemony aims at Ellington instead, which for some reason stops Hangfire from shooting. 

This is also when it turns out that Lemony has also been followed, and Kit Snicket steps from behind another gravestone, pointing a gun at her brother. He keeps aiming at Ellington, wearily telling Kit she isn’t really going to shoot him. 

Kit tells him that unless he drops the gun, he’ll find out.

(When Ellington tries to speak to Kit, she just tells her to shut up. And it hurts, because Kit has stopped being just a mission a long time ago. And now she knows that Ellington’s been lying to her from the start. And she may not want Ellington to die, but she would also hardly ever forgive her. And that would be fair).

And then Hangfire tries to shoot Kit, and Ellington screams, and Kit manages to spring back, and Lemony fires at the man who tried to kill his sister, and suddenly Hangfire is bleeding out on the ground and calling out to Ellington in her father’s voice. 

That is what they’ve also found out about Hangfire, Lemony tells her as she’s kneeling beside the body, unable to bring herself to uncover his face. He sounds genuinely surprised; he thought she knew.

Kit makes him let Ellington go and tells her she doesn’t want to see her ever again. And Ellington leaves. She takes a train to some seaside town she’s never heard of before and leaves. Her job is ended. Her father is dead. Her love affair that never should have happened is in the past. She still doesn’t know why her father lied to her when he could have just asked and she would’ve done anything, why he kept up this double life, what was the significance of the statue and what it might become in the hands of someone like Lemony Snicket. She is too tired and sick of it all to try to find out.

She manages to build a life in Stain’d-by-the-Sea. She works in a coffee shop and sings there in the evenings. She never sings the song she sang to Kit again. She marries a man she doesn’t have any truly strong feelings for.

Then, a year or so later, there’s a phone call, and the voice of the woman she loved and betrayed tells her she still can’t stop thinking of her.

*This phrase used by the Peaky Blinders upon the death of one of them is replaced by “The world is quiet here”. Obviously.

**My Last Duchess, referenced in ASOUE in connection with R, is written by Robert Browning.