#anyway it's not like i want to beat a dead horse on the head but i keep getting asks about it

[lemonhemlock]

This ship war discourse is so weird, why don't people just unfollow, mute, block each other and move on? Maybe someone wants to have fanons as canon for now, so what of it? Unless they are bothering people, it's just fine, if they're bothering people and being rude - report or block them. Maybe someone wants Alys to be a Harley to Aemond's Joker, or maybe someone wants Aemond to be her boytoy, canon doesn't specify anything. I don't ship it, but some people are so insistent on making Alys into a victim and Aemond into a rapist, I understand why people who actually love Aemond don't want to see it. Especially given how Aemond in the show is different from his book counterpart. I also can understand when shippers don't want to see criticism of their ship in the tag when there are so few posts about their ship. When it will hit big, they will have bigger problems but also more shippers to interact with and more content, but when you go into the tag and find criticizing posts only, it can be sad and lonely and fandoms are supposed to be for fun.

i can never condone others choosing to be so awful with one another over fiction of all things, but i wish the spaces around these two contentious ships could allow for normal conversations between users who highlight their different preferences, but manage to keep it civil and don't take every little thing personally. but it doesn't really go like that, does it? very often insults are involved and it degenerates into a bizarre moral call-out. which i think is the main aspect people are bothered about. there's a massive amount of insincerity and dissimulation that's just weird and sometimes 1984-ish.

similarly, i get how only reading criticism can get tiring when you just want to have fun with your goth barbies without getting dragged all the time. but, what i wanted to say, actually, was that this goes beyond criticism. exploring the dark aspects of a very dark ship is not definitionally equivalent to criticism. but, similarly, it seems to be something alysmonds are averse to?

re: Alys being a POW or there being a huge, problematic age gap between them. it's legit like shipping hannigram but hannibal is not allowed to be a cannibal and any mention of cannibalism leads to a meltdown. like, it removes such a fundamental aspect of that dynamic that you end up with something unrecognisably different from the starting point. which, again, fine, people are allowed to ship it like that even, if they so want, but then they should acknowledge it's a very niche and peculiar interpretation and treat it as such. not claim ownership of an entire tag and try to impose their niche interpretation on the rest of the people interested in that ship. i dunno if this makes any sense but it's late, so. :)

[milliesfishes]

⋆౨ৎSomeday⋆౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: copious amounts of angst, death pairing: billy the kid x fem reader author’s note: I never cry writing and I cried during this so...keep that in mind Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The ordinary defines everything. Each last is nothing special at first glance, but in memory becomes momentous. Then it all hits you like a bolt of lightning, sparking a fire that burns everything down.

Ordinary was waking up next to Billy, finding you had shifted in the night, and snuggling back up to him. It was wearing his shirt while you prepared breakfast, and having him come up behind you, arms covering your tummy as a kiss was pressed into your temple. It was giggling and turning around to give him a proper kiss, forgetting about what was cooking on the stove. It was eating your burnt pancakes and him assuring you they were delicious anyways, asking for seconds and beaming as you slipped another charred circle onto his plate.

Tan already from previous hours in the sun, he'd kissed you goodbye, big hand steady on the back of your head, eyes reflecting the beat of his heart for you. "I'll be waitin' for you, sweetheart."

The image of him toiling over the garden for you, shirt half unbuttoned in the sweltering heat of the day, was a pleasant daydream as you went about your business in town. Half-distracted by it, you absentmindedly paid for your things in the general store, meandering over to your horse, packing the saddlebags and climbing on. Steadily, you grasped the reins, spurring the creature into a gallop.

It was one of those days when the world was bright-eyed and open- the first one after so many days of rain. The sun was warm on your skin, and you knew Billy would trace the freckles you surely gained later, when you were both between your sheets, bare and blissful from the act of loving. The air held a promise of hope as springtime always did, the light of new beginnings a guiding path.

The spirit of the season had entered your home without so much as a knock. In recent weeks, Billy had begun to talk of riding out west, somewhere shiny and new where nobody would have heard his name or shuddered at his reputation. You were excited by the prospect, knowing how he had chased a fresh start for most of his life. It had always been just out of reach, or marked by some unseen consequence that set him right on the outlaw's path again. This time was different- you'd be leaving the state entirely. Tentatively, you began to make plans, set money aside. Late summertime, maybe, or early fall.

At night he whispered his dreams into your hair, stroking your collarbone lazily where his arms were wrapped around you. "Gonna get the nicest piece 'f land...and we'll live together, just the two of us. It'll be so nice, baby...you 'n me." Brushing tender kisses to your cheek, he promised it in everything he did. The way he touched you, kissed you, made love to you. It was a promise of someday.

Destiny breathed down Billy's neck, cutting sharp at his heels. It was tangled in every action, sprawled across each word. Somewhere in the back of your mind you feared your time with him would be short, the law hot on his tail. There were people out there who wanted the love of your life dead or alive, who'd do anything for a little bit of money. The thought made you cling tighter to him, though you never breathed a word about it.

So when he spoke of someday, you enthusiastically partook, determined to outrun what loomed over the life you'd built with him.

Tonight, you had agreed to start determining a route, and more importantly a destination. You imagined yourself sitting on his thigh, cheek to his shoulder with the candlelight flickering leisurely as he secured an arm around your waist, the other hand pressed to a map. Every little line was a possibility. Anywhere but here.

Smiling a little at the idea, you tugged on the reins, slowing your horse as the quaint house in which you resided came into view. It wouldn't be where you slept much longer. Your real home was the man who rested next to you.

Dismounting, you unloaded your things, petting the thick neck of the horse fondly. Grass grazed your calves as you made your way to the steps, carefully climbing each and making sure to avoid the one that creaked. The house was quiet when you opened the door, and you figured Billy must still be outside.

Humming to yourself, you opened drawers and cabinets, putting your purchases in their rightful places. The orderliness of your house was something you relished- the domesticity of it all. Out of the corner of your eye, something colorful caught your attention. Turning around, a vaseful of wildflowers, arranged in a messy bouquet, met your vision. He must have picked them for you, a sweet surprise for when you returned.

A smile parted your lips, and you touched the pretty blooms, taking careful notice. The daisies were as pure as the season's first snow, your very favorite flower. Forget-me-nots were scattered among them, the same color as his eyes. You had told him that once, and he'd pressed a kiss to the hand held in his grasp. "That's the nicest thing I ever did hear."

Childhood hadn't been easy on you, its duration long and arduous. Your past weighed on you like a stone, sinking you to the bottom of the river. Somewhere in its depths, you had found him too. In the act of falling in love you subconsciously swore to bring out the beauty of life in each other. Under the blanket of his love, you glowed.

It was just like him to make sure you had something pretty to come home to. Bouncing on your heels, you wondered why he hadn't come in yet. Surely his work hadn't taken him so long to complete. Your Billy was always toiling over the littlest details, wanting things to be perfect for you.

Deciding to go out and give him a break from his labors, you fixed one of the flowers he'd left for you behind your ear and swung the door open, stepping out onto the back porch. Peering out into the open expanse, you frowned when he was nowhere to be found.

Descending the stairs, you searched the area, bewildered. Was he outside at all? Had he gone to your bedroom, exhausted from his activities? You looked down aimlessly, already half decided to go check there.

He was flat on his back, eyes blue as the flower in your hair staring glassily at the sky. A crimson stain on the right side of his chest told the story you would never utter. You did not need to touch him to know he was cold.

The world became a void. There was nothing in it except the shell of the man you loved, lying still at your feet. Every thought you had was inconceivable, voices screaming that you were deaf to. Yesterday was suddenly your golden years.

Deadly calm, you numbly bent to the illusion before you, in the shade of the nearby oak tree. Kneeling and sliding your hand under him, his head found a place in your lap. Smoothing a hand through his hair, you brushed the dirt from it, taking one last look into his eyes before smoothing his lids over them. He didn't need to see you like this.

You saw a myriad of memories dance before your eyes, nearly taunting you. They were so close you could nearly taste them, but they lived in a different realm. You could not have them any more than you could have him.

Waking in his arms, morning light making him akin to an angel. It was so warm there burrowed into him, his body swathing yours like a blanket. Without opening your eyes you could feel his lips against your forehead, his morning tradition. Even when he didn't think you were awake, he was giving you kisses. It was the purest testament of his infinite love, washing over you in waves, rebounding for more before the last had passed.

Tucked in his stiff fist were more flowers. You could picture him studying his bouquet in the kitchen and deciding to come back out for more. Maybe if he'd stayed inside it would have saved him. Though he usually wore his holster, gun tucked at his hip, today it was nowhere to be found. A few feet away laid his hat, abandoned for unknown reasons.

Birds sang cheerfully in the distance, wind whistling softly and swaying the grass against you. It was as if the earth was reaching out, a hand on your shoulder.

"It's okay," you breathed, body operating on pure instinct now. The walls were closing in, and breathing felt like a chore. "You're okay...we'll...we'll just rest here for a moment." Swallowing thickly, you whispered, "We'll pick a place together for you to rest...longer. It's gonna be okay."

Cradling his head in your lap for the time being, you breathed in and out, fingers stroking his pale cheek. Determinedly, you did not look at the wound in his chest, focusing on his face. This was the most peaceful you'd ever seen him. The man you loved, slipped into his forever sleep. It wasn't real to you...but you could see awareness running toward you in the distance, poised to hit you at any minute. Maybe it was stupid, but you'd always imagined you'd go together.

A sudden chirp pierced the air, and you looked to it, seeing a little bird perched on the thick, knotted roots of the tree whose shade you knelt in. The little creature called incessantly, beak pecking the ground beneath its feet. It repeated the motion, as if insisting on something, before taking flight and leaving you.

He wants to be buried there.

A flood of tears stung at your eyes, and you bit the side of your lip, attempting to hold them in, but it was too late. What had been circling you had suddenly crashed, and now there was salt on your skin, falling in pearls down your cheeks like landslides. They darkened his shirt like raindrops, though the sky was clear. Helplessly, you gasped, wanting to stay strong, but the force was cruel, unable to be reasoned with. Sliding his head off your lap, you laid there on the ground beside his lifeless form, ear on his chest desperately searching for the familiar steady thump of his heart. Maybe his blood was on your face now, but you didn't care.

"Please come back," you pleaded, squeezing your eyes shut. "We're not done yet...we have to run away together, remember? And we're going to be happy-" A sob cut you off, and you buried your face in his neck, opposite hand fisting his shirt. You had always known your Billy to be warm, life bursting from the seams of him. It was disheartening to learn how cold he now was. This wasn't him. But it was all you had left.

How fragile a thing life was, how cruel a thief. The universe had given you such a love, one that transcended everything you knew, and then ripped it away, jagged edges left where he used to hold you. The future you had dreamt of, that you had counted on, had exploded into dust, as if it had expired. Dead with the one you'd desired it with.

You would never love again. There wasn't another breathing soul you could give your life to in the way you had him. The grave you would dig when you found it in you to let go wouldn't just be for his shell, but for your heart. If you could have cut out the organ and replaced his still one, you would have. Without Billy, what was the point in having it?

Grief ate at you, turned your lips down and spilled from your eyes, pathetically leaving your body weakened. However much he would have wanted you to keep going was irrelevant. Billy hadn't known how much of your will had stemmed from him.

There were so many things you wished you could have told him. So many things you had needed to do. Someday hadn't only been leaving the county. It had been getting married, something he so desperately had wanted. It had been your belly swelling with his child, growing old together, forever in love and finally free.

Now you were left with that same love, only it had unsheathed a new face, one that twisted an imaginary knife and spoke in absolutes you didn't want to believe. He will never hold you again, never kiss you again. The last time was the last time.

Love had shattered your heart and stilled his. Love separated you from him, became bloodthirsty when half of a whole was torn away.

You lifted your head, hoping he would be looking down at you, that nearly crooked smile breathing life back into your being. But he was still, and the world became greyer.

All that was wondrous and lovely before had dulled, and you were numb to any beauty probing at your senses. You could never look at it the same. Billy had told you once before that it was one of his favorite things about you, how you could find a reason to love anything. You knew now that it did not extend to death.

"I'm so sorry, my love," you murmured, leaning up and pressing your lips lingeringly to his cheek. His stubble scratched your chin, and you knew it would leave a mark. But it would fade away too, because all things end. Everything had to die when you least wanted it to.

"Rest and I'll be here with you." Your voice thinned as tears crept into it. "All is well."

His chosen burial spot beckoned, and you ignored the call, leaning your cheek back over his heart, reassuring both him and yourself. His last words to you echoed in your ears until they drew forth from your lips.

"I'll be waiting for you."

[aliteralsemicolon]

what do u think about Maeve as a character and as a love interest for Spencer?

Well she definitely exists. She was definitely a canon love interest 😐 I choose to forget a lot of details from that whole incident on purpose. Talking about this is just beating a dead horse bc I think my opinion is just a general consensus.

but here's what I think anyway:

The storyline

I won't talk about it for long because I feel like it's obvious, but the whole situation was handled so poorly. It kinda just showed up out of no where on one random peaceful day. What do you mean Maeve didn't want Spencer to get the BAU involved because 'it could endanger him'? Babe, he's already in danger just by being in a relationship with you, but I guess that just doesn't fucking matter. Also, what the fuck do you mean that Spencer just went along with it? I'm sorry? Spencer Reid, who becomes very impulsive when it comes to the wellbeing of his loved ones? He just agreed to sit back? Not even investigate in his free time?! By the time ZUGZWANG happens, we as viewers know how the BAU operates. The BAU was more than equipped to successfully deal with Diane. We know what they're supposed to do in a stalker situation, but for some reason they ignore nearly every goddamn protocol and then they're surprised when Maeve dies??

Maeve as a character

Listen, I don't dislike her because she was Spencers love interest. I'm actually somebody who's very keen on love interests for Spencer. I want that poor man to be happy. I dislike Maeve because she's one of the worst recurring characters on the show. She's very morally annoying. Not grey, annoying. Maeve is a geneticist. Geneticists, for the most part, study gene interactions and evolution. She has no fucking business diagnosing and prescribing shit from one look at an MRI scan. I don't even wanna talk about how medically inaccurate the migraine bit of the storyline is. Somehow it gets dumber. I don't know what she said for sure, but I know for a fact that she said something like she had to get to know Spencer because of how interesting he seemed. FROM HIS MRI SCANS?! Are we ignoring how unethical this is? Please, I cannot fucking do this. But there's more. Apparently she loves Spencer. She says as much at the end of a phone call AND literally writes that one love quote in the Narrative of John Smith for him. She loves Spencer, but fails to mention how she was engaged literally not long before she met him. And she doesn't feel an ounce of guilt or sadness when he ex-fiancé (whom she also supposedly loved) gets shot in the head in front of her? Also there's certain times where she just comes off as very emotionally manipulative, but in the dumbest way possible. The thing is that I don't even hate her because she's like this. Some of these things actually give the character potential to become a really interesting and complex character. It's because she tries to come across as the opposite. The writers try very hard to portray her as an intelligent, good and innocent character, but everything she does is very selfish and stupid. Personally, if I was a geneticist and some fucker reached out to me to ask about his MRI scans I would redirect him to a fucking neurologist or something.

Maeve as Spencer's love interest

She's introduced to us a mysterious woman over the payphone. We get glimpses of her body in a dark room and we watch her fiddle with things while walking around, but we don't actually get to see her face until later. Her voice is meek and sultry. If this sounds like some wattpad introduction then that's because that's literally what it is. Maeve is introduced to us in a very Y/N esc way. The whole relationship is very much wattpad story written by a 14YO back in the day. Wait I take that back, even fucking 14YO's writer better shit. At least their stories were worth ruining your sleep schedule for. I can't even be upset, Maeve is literally not the first female character portrayed this way on the show *cough* Jane Seaver *cough*. MGG didn't want Spencer to have a love interest so Maeve was written to die. I just wish they at least tried to do the characters and the story justice. Viewers couldn't even connect to Maeve because she was just thrown at us one day and then literally killed a second later. Even if she wasn't unlikable I find it very hard to imagine that I would've cared about her death, because I literally had no time to bond with the character. It's also just very awkward when she shows up after her death because I feel disconnected with Spencer's emotions. Mentally, I know that she's his first great love or whatever, but emotionally, I do not give a fuck. She does not match Spencer's freak. What she is, essentially, is a female version of Spencer (but through the male gaze because she's a woman so ofc she's slightly dumber and Y/Nified). Spencer is one of the most complex established characters on the show and Maeve as a partner for him is just very boring. And even if she's was interesting, I PERSONALLY FEEL LIKE the actors have no chemistry together. He's had more chemistry with love interests that lasted for a way shorter period than he does Maeve. Ironically, the most chemistry he has is with the one person he despises the most (Cat Adams) and I think that speaks volumes. God, I wish so badly that they utilised the bar tender he did a magic trick for or the forensic scientist in that bombing episode.

Again, I'm pretty sure most of the fandom feels this way. I'm fairly confident that I might have more to say, but I cannot be bothered anymore.

[terapsina]

Shoutout to the temporary ships that were created with the intention of getting in the way of the intended ship but that I actually liked way more than the ship the writers were trying to get me to root for.

(a.k.a I kinda get a bit salty on this one)

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1. Laurel and Tommy - Arrow

As soon as they got introduced I felt the feeling of doom. Because they were so immediately adorable and full of chemistry. I loved them from the word go even though it was so clear they were going toward a Laurel and Oliver resolution (and then to add insult to injury they changed their minds on that, but Tommy was taken from Laurel anyway).

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2. Clara and Danny - Doctor Who

It's up for debate if Clara's relationship with the Doctor was meant to be romantic-coded or not (I personally prefer it as 'not' but they really were very fuzzy with the lines) but either way Danny was still used as the threat that might separate them. And that was really annoying for me because I liked Clara and Danny so much. And then they killed him (which is a scene that still tears my heart to pieces).

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3. Cordy and Doyle - Angel: The Series

They were short and sweet and I enjoyed them (and though the Cordy and Angel thing wasn't really a thing at the time, there were some signs that it was on the writers' minds... and I wasn't a fan). And then they killed Doyle (...I might have to rename this post to 'killing off the love interests I actually enjoyed to give way to the ships I didn't').

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4. Rachel and Joey - F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

This ship went past my notice when I watched the show as a kid (my entire obsession rested on Monica and Chandler) but after rewatching as an adult I actually really liked their potential. It might have come up a bit unexpectedly but there really was something quite genuine about it (and Rachel deserved so much better than Ross). I wish they hadn't ended it as such a joke.

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5. Worf and Troi - Star Trek: The Next Generation

They were created with the sole intention of getting in the way of Troi and Riker. But I liked them better. I just found them more interesting.

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6. Tamsin and Bo - Lost Girl

They were more fun to watch than Bo and Lauren, had better chemistry and I just enjoyed them a lot more ('and then you see you' living in my head rent free for years now). But instead they gave Tamsin the short end of the stick and used her as a stepping stone (in so many ways, genuinely, even past shipping they just never gave that Valkyrie a single break... and then killed her in the most insulting way possible, because of course they did).

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7. Wynonna and Dolls - Wynonna Earp

Talk about chemistry. Season 1 of that show was so good and I really did fool myself into thinking this was where they were heading but no, of course not (I should have learned my lesson about Emily Andras after she killed off Hale on Lost Girl). How is an old dude with a gross mustache more interesting than a literal dragon? The answer as far as I'm concerned... they're not (now guess if they killed him off. Guess!).

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8. Lucy and Flynn - Timeless

A tragic love story happening in the wrong order and out of time because he meets her when he needs something to hold on to and she gives him a crusade. And she meets him while he's zealously following that crusade and thinks he's just a terrorist? Dude. But no, apparently the happy ending is supposed to be the guy that wanted the cake and to eat it too (sometimes I genuinely boggle at how the writers just will not notice when they've hit gold and instead go on beating that dead horse even more to death (and yup, somehow manage to kill the gold)) .

9. Dutch and Johnny - Killjoys.

(First I have to say that I still recommend this show a 100% and this is just quibble of a shipper at heart) But how is it that when you build the whole series around the heart of this relationship, you still end up using Johnny as a brief stop point (a la basically a Married!AU) before you put Dutch back with his brother? Like, yes, they're each other's best friends and always will be but people that are in love can be each other's ride or die best friends too.

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10. Mel and Abigael - Charmed (2018)

Alright, Mel went through the intended love interests like candy (and I liked most of them well enough) but Abby was the one that intrigued me the most, so it was a great shame that she was never properly Mel's love interest at all and more enemy/antagonist/ally/friend with mostly one-sided feelings for Mel (enemies to friends to lovers was RIGHT THERE).

[nanamimizz]

tags: written for @ravengards-rogue / gn!reader/ abigail and john are coparenting jack and are not together / drinking and smoking / set in ch.4 after jack’s return. let me know if i missed something

Jack has returned and the gang is in full swing. The fire is golden than red, and the singing is drowned by the natural sounds of the buoy. You rest on the outskirts of the house letting the taste of your cigarette rest on your teeth as you cough with each exhale.

“Not the best smoker, are you?” John’s voice rings out, cutting through the croaking of frogs. It makes you turn, eyes watering and you wincing when the smoke goes down the wrong pipe. John laughs, a raspy thing but it makes your burn all the same. You suck your teeth and curse under your breath before turning away from him.

“Not one of my talents, I am afraid.” You call back, not looking at him lest he lulls you into his spell unknowingly with his scarred features. The damp ground gives away his movements and he is right next to you, his arm to your shoulder and his head looking down at you. You feel the two pin points of his eyes focused on your face in the cool moonlight.

“What are you doing out here?” John asks you with his voice soft, low and deep - the one he uses when it’s just you and him. The one that lulls you and makes your heart race despite you never wanting to admit it, especially yourself.

“I could ask you the same thing - you should be with your son and Abigail. Not here with me.” You can’t keep the bitterness out of your voice even if you wanted to. Some part of you feels embarrassed, it’s not like you to be so unveiled. Especially when it comes to John, who looks at you with some sort of wildness that cannot be contained in the walls of civil society and fatherhood. John’s hand, bigger and scarred, comes into your view, you let it pluck the cigarette from your hand with the grace he only has to reload his pistols ; you watch as he takes a long drag and blows it away from your face.

“Look at me.” He says and you obey with unusual, limp submissiveness and you don’t raise your eyes to see the small smug smirk on John’s face at your pout.

“I should be…but every time I’m with them I think of you anyways.”

“Shut up - that ain’t funny.” You hiss at him, pout pulling back to show your teeth as you go to take your cigarette back. John is quick and has always been more agile than you - it’s how he gets his arm to wind around your shoulders and can tug you back to the direction of the golden light. His hand is warm, burning through the surprisingly cold air this night and you turn golden in the camp’s firelight. Some people call your name as you pass by them cheering, drunk and stupid.

“The boy is my son, you know that but Abigail ain’t my woman. Me and her ain’t gonna beat a dead horse especially when I got you. So don’t go running off like that again, you stay with me the rest of the night, you hear?” He tells you his voice pressed to your ears and you feel your indignation fade away with each step you take with him. A part of you hates how easily John can disarm your defenses but he would not be as feared as he is if he could not do so. It makes you nod almost obediently and it makes him chuckle in your ear - even bold enough to press a kiss to your cheek that makes a few members at camp hoot and holler over Javier’s singing. He sits you down next to him, you can hear Jack playing and you even smile as he waves at you excitedly. It brings a smile to your face as you wave back until Abigail comes into your view and graces you with a smile and a wave of her own - one that reassures you entirely. You feel a nudge at your shoulder and turn to see John looking at you softly.

“There's that pretty smile I missed.” You laugh, loudly like the rest of them and roll your eyes.

“Oh shut it Marston.” The fondness coats your tongue like syrup and the embers dance in John’s eyes, it’s easy to see them as stars instead.

“Only if you make me, my darling.”

[whilmsy]

hello miners and crafters it’s me silly guy back with another scar post <3 this is heavily inspired by and written for the beloved @stiffyck and their double life art of green scar meeting himself as a red life! i am very normal about him <3

-

In a dream-like world, Scar awakens. It’s nothing dramatic: a soft huff of the exhale that leaves his lips, feeling distant and there all the same. There is no fear, no dread; what there is, is a forest.

Trees wind and loom above him, adding to the unsettling feeling that sits heavy in his chest as the night stretches far and wide in the sky above. The moon is small. It’s obvious that something or someone had passed through earlier, because there are tracks that mark the ground, both horse and human. Quietly, with a frown on his face and a furrow of eyebrows, Scar glances at the world around him. It doesn’t take him any time at all to know that he’s never seen this place before.

A cold dread crawls down his spine, he feels watched.

Maybe it’s a prank? The thought comes suddenly as soon as he realises his heart starts beating a little faster, as if trying to keep himself from panicking makes him panic more. It has to be a prank, it has to be; but Scar looks down, and he doesn’t remember ever wearing something like this.

The outfit he wears is… well, it seems like something he would wear - he guesses so, anyway. It’s a cream coloured shirt that’s buttoned up and a green bandana tied up on his right arm, dark cargo pants and a satchel that crosses over from his left shoulder and rests against his hip.

Weird, he muses, but not the worst thing that’s happened to him.

Then, Scar looks back up again, and someone else stands in front of him, leaning against a tree.

They look eerily familiar, too familiar.

Green eyes meet red eyes, and Scar realises this:

They look familiar because it’s him.

He doesn’t know if seeing himself from another perspective is better or worse.

It couldn’t be easier to know it was him, he’s seen his reflection enough times to know that it is. But as the figure takes slow steps forward, something akin to dread grabs his heart and squeezes it. For a moment as he watches, Scar thinks his heart stops in his chest. This version of himself has vibrant red eyes that gleam with a familiar sense of losing control and giving in to the blood-shed, and that makes him feel cautious; he’s never seen himself as red, but Scar knows what his mind is like when he is red.

This version of himself grins in a way that makes Scar feel a prickle of danger and he finally understands what other players of these games mean when they talk about him being unhinged as soon as he hits red. This red eyed image of himself is paler, wearing a black shirt that stays unbuttoned (Scar is not, at all, surprised by this) with a red heart embroidered on the front (a warning and foolishly brave: a warning of red and bloodshed, foolish in a cry of I can die at any given moment), and darker pants. The boots they both wear are the same, although his red state has boots that are stained with ash, dirt and blood.

And as they move closer, Scar feels that cold dread turn into an icy fear when he notices more about the person walking towards him.

His red life is covered in old cuts and bandages that look useless with the way they wrap too tightly around his arms, hands and neck, and he prays silently that he doesn’t know what they’re for. (Scar can see the faint bite marks on his red self’s neck as they cock their head to the side. His attempt at remaining calm ends with him feeling grief, and he knows that anguish is soon to flood his every thought.) There are new explosion scars, he notices silently, and he dreads it. His four ears are torn and cut at the edges, he dreads that too; they’re something he’s prideful of, he thinks he wants to cry just seeing it on this version of himself.

This version of himself looks dead, and Scar didn’t realise he could ever feel more scared of himself than he is in this moment. Sure, he’s had those red thoughts that stick around when the games are over, and it’s a little scary, but actually seeing himself as the thing he’s so numb to when it actually happens is… he thinks he’s allowed to be scared, in a way.

Scar has never seen what he’s like as a red, he’s lived it; there’s a difference. The difference is that you lose yourself, you lose who you are and you feel numb and the only time you remember really, truly, feeling absolute heart soaring joy is when there is blood on your hands and you are the one spilling it.

“Yeah,” the red life says - bringing him back from his thoughts - as if Scar’s panic is something they were waiting for, ��you’ll get used to it eventually.” It sounds exhausted in a way, that sense of having given up long ago.

Scar doesn’t like it.

“No, I don’t-”

“Don’t what?” They bite back, emotionless. “Nothing you think to do will change this. It’ll happen either way.” The figure laughs hauntingly, unhinged. “You’ll still die, and Grian will still scream at you like that’ll do something to help.”

They both know the red life said the wrong thing with the way they grimace, with the way the tension drains and yet grows back stronger.

“…Grian’s with us?..” There is a shocked tone to the question, hopeful, and the man with the green bandana wrapped around his arm watches in real time as his red life’s expression grows from apathetic and into something more angry.

“It would’ve been better if he wasn’t. He barely sticks around anyway.” The red life sounds bitter and so incredibly sad and it all gets balled up into one emotion: anger. Their hands - bitten and scratched and covered in bandages - curl up into fists. “It would’ve been so much better if he didn’t just drag us along with him.”

Scar seems to shrink in on himself for a moment before remembering, again, that this is him. Softer, gentler, he says, “Maybe he was just scared,” because he knows that’s probably true. He knows that people react differently in different situations, has teamed up with Grian before; he knows Grian.

There is a huff of frustration from in front of him, and in a sudden sense of panic, Scar takes a step back; he has no idea where he is, and yet he wants to run from this blood thirsty version of himself very, very suddenly.

A hand grasping his left arm tightly dismisses that idea very, very quickly.

“Grian doesn’t care.” The red life version of himself hisses spitefully, says every word slowly - makes sure to drive home the idea of that sentence. There is an underlying sense of pain in their tone. Scar slowly feels the blood flow to his hand lessening. “I bet you that right now he’s off frolicking with that secret soulmate of his.” It doesn’t make any sense to him. His mirror image grimaces, eyes shining dangerously; Scar doesn’t know if it’s bloodlust or tears. “Grian doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about me. He doesn’t care about us.” Quieter, as if like a flame that is put out but keeps the remains still painfully warm, the red name says, “Grian only stays when it’s an obligation. They all do.”

Despite the fact that it rings true in his mind, Scar still knows it isn’t entirely true, isn’t numbed by an apathetic, blood-lusting red, but it still feels bitterly like denial. He says, “No-”

“You really think so?” The other version of himself asks, gripping Scar’s arm tighter when he tries pulling it away. “What about the first game?” desert sand and a home built from sandstone, trying and failing to avoid heatstroke, “The second one?” snow-capped mountains that echoed lonely lonely lonely, an enchanter and his lives being his best bet for someone to show up. “In one, Grian stayed because he killed you on accident. In the other, he couldn’t care less. He said it himself: The past doesn’t matter. He won’t bother to stick around if he doesn’t owe you something. Don’t get your hopes up for something that never lasts. It won’t be your gifts that he cherishes, but I think we both know that.”

Scar thinks of lilacs and poppies and he thinks yes he would, he would cherish them, he does- he did, he did he did he did he did. But then he thinks of that second game, of how Grian couldn't wait to take his life and flee with it. He doesn't like this.

There is something so painfully understanding in his reflection’s reaction, something that Scar both craves and hates, because it’s pity; as much as Scar wants to be understood and cared for, it hurts that it’s himself that’s being the person to do it. In a softer, pain-filled tone, as they move their head closer to his ear - still gripping his arm, although he’d already given up on trying to free himself from the red - they ask, “You see it now, don't you?”

Scar doesn’t give a verbal or physical response, frozen.

A moment of respite, the seconds of silence feel like everything and nothing; too much and yet too little. It feels weirdly like dissociating: his head empty of any thought or emotion he knows he should be feeling, despite knowing he feels weirdly numb and not all there. Maybe he is, just for a moment. He doesn’t yet realise that the hand gripping his arm tightly in place let's go, the blood flowing properly again and his hand looking more like his.

Those are his excuses for being the reason why he asks, “Do we have friends this time?” He hopes that neither of them can hear the longing in his tone, hopes that they both ignore how naive the question is.

“…We have some allies.” There is an obvious lie in the answer, they’re lying about something; what exactly, Scar isn’t sure of. It’s not a proper answer, not even a yes, and that makes the gaping void in his chest called loneliness grow larger, agonisingly slowly.

Scar laughs bitterly. “Better than last time.” Better than nothing stays unsaid. The red life in front of him echoes that same laughter, nodding in agreement. They seem to want to say something.

“You could put it that way, but… we did have someone. I think we did. I hope so, otherwise we really need to learn how allies and friends work.” They move back slightly, not taking a large step, but they move back enough that Scar doesn’t feel like he’s cornered anymore.

He doesn’t say anything in response, and so they keep talking, it’s the furthest away from that red apathy that they’ve seemed the entire time, and slowly that fear of his red self lessens. “It’s Pearl,” they say simply, soft in a way Scar knows he is when he’s red; when it’s a gentle care about llama’s and bee’s - about the little things that are so absolutely useless in the world where you fight for your life, but so important to him because it gives him that sense of comfort. “She…she’s a good friend.”

There isn’t much information to go off, but he guesses that it makes sense in the bigger picture - probably not the best to know how everything goes before it starts, it might just cause more problems than what has, probably, already been set in stone. Vaguely, Scar tries to argue with his own thoughts; surely this can’t be real, right? This is some sort of sick dream that his mind has made up just for him. Surely this is a sad, sad hell of his own creation.

Distrustful, marked by the previous game like a shattered glass-stained window, Scar asks, “She doesn’t betray us?” Because it is so, so hard to believe it’s true. Above them, the night is slowly beginning to fade into dawn.

“You believe me anyway,” the red life answers knowingly, and the expression on their face says it all; the glint in their red eyes has faded to a softer, calmer glimmer. They continue speaking. “We both know how bad we want it, and it’s hard to believe it, but….even when Grian doesn’t want us around, Pearl does, even if she’s a bit unpredictable - so are we.” Scar knows that tone, knows the way his heart aches when he’s left behind, knows the way his heart soared when they left that world behind; he knows the tone that they speak in, and it’s something in between those two emotions.

Of being left behind, but not being entirely alone.

The smile on his red self’s face seems to fade entirely again, leaving a more.. calmer expression; sad, but at peace with it. Guilty, almost. “I’m sorry you have to find out this way,” they say smoothly as the sun continues rising through the trees, and the way they say have instead of had settles wrongly on his skin. Because Scar doesn’t want to learn this. He wants to wake up from this dream-like world. Wants to wake up from this nightmare and start his day shakily and work so hard on building that he doesn’t have to remember this dream. “But,” they continue, and Scar hopes they don’t realise how trapped in his own thoughts he is, “the only time Grian cares is when it keeps him alive.”

There is a second of silence, there are hands pulling him closer and for the first time since he’s been here, Scar doesn’t flinch when the red version of himself pulls him close and-

And hugs him. They pull him in, arms cradling him close as if to hold him together - a way Scar likes to be hugged, because it’s grounding, a pressure. They hug him, and the sun shines brightly in his eyes, and they say, “I’m sorry that you’ll see it soon enough.”

And-

And the world changes.

There is a pressure holding him close, and then there is nothingness. The trees of the forest he was in, in that dream world, are gone, and Scar hates to admit that his breath is shaky and stuttering at the sudden change when he opens his eyes.

He misses that warmth, even if that version was deader than him, he misses that hug. Which is… embarrassing to think of, because that was a version of himself that hugged him and it’s this whole thing then, and-

And there’s a green bandana on his arm, and a satchel by his waist and-

“Scar?”

And there is a mark on his forearm, where he was grabbed and it still tingles, similar to pins and needles-

“Scar? Hello? Anyone in there?”

His gaze finally breaks from staring at the handprint left of his arm, forcing himself to stop analysing the faint red mark left behind and forcing his gaze up and-

It’s Pearl.

Of course it would be Pearl.

Something makes him feel sick to his stomach, something foreboding and knowing.

“Well, hello there!” Scar says cheerily, a forced smile on his face and his eyes tightly shut in an attempt to really pull off the act. He looks at Pearl, and he realises that it’s not just the two of them.

There are more people, an even number of people that have been in previous games. He looks at Grian, Grian looks at him, and Scar hopes he doesn’t break eye contact too quickly.

The excited conversations fade to silence as Pearl asks him something again, but he can’t hear what she’s saying when he’s too caught up in the idea that everyone is looking at him, and he doesn't like the familiar sense of being watched.

His heart beats hurriedly, thumping much too fast for him, and he pretends that he’s still listening to whatever Pearl is saying.

“Hm? Oh! I’m fine.” Scar replies to a question he doesn’t properly hear, showing too much teeth in a too strained grin. Fake, Fake, Fake. There is a ghost of a hand that tightens around his arm, he pushes through. “Excited to see where this game goes!” He’s so quick to fall into that familiar act, that scheme, that teasing, that unpredictability. “Jimmy, it will be nice knowing you.” He says mournfully, teasing.

“Excuse me?!” Jimmy shouts, falling right into Scar’s easily planned trap; Scar laughs loudly, and everyone else joins in as he attempts to argue back. It’s easy to fall into that, something they all know, something to change what they’re focusing on.

He knows Pearl’s still looking at him, knows that Grian is still looking at him; but as long as the mask stays on, no one needs to know.

And soon enough, when a Warden shrieks and his last shared life shatters as his ears ring dangerously loudly, Scar drops from his horse, and he’s too exhausted to cry when he realises the forest he’s in where his last life fades from him is painfully familiar. It’s funny that he wasn’t the reason that they lost their last life, that he didn’t die from heartbreak.

[atrophiedemotion]

hey Cast! uh so this ask is about. alien stage. but imma send you another about some random shit because why not. anyways

the tags that you had on that previous post with me and plip (the one about ivan and till and how they show honesty differently and how we know about their characters a different amount because of how forthcoming or not they are) and my question for you is, how many of Ivan's actions do you think are representative of his true emotions? I don't think his body language, in general, is very forthcoming but I do agree that his actions can be pretty revealing (he strikes me as an acts of service person especially with trying to escape with Till) but uh yeah I'm wondering if there are any specific examples that you think of as being revealing of his actual thoughts or specific examples of him pretending to be someone else?

thanks for listening to me yap uh I hope you're doing well and that you have an awesome day!

rock... oh boy... this is gonna be a long one. wonderful question. thank you for the ask, i hope you have a great day as well!!

so, i didn't fully explain in the tags because i didn't want to write a full length essay on plip's post (ty plip for dealing w the rambling)(i was also very tired so i wasn't fully articulate lmao) but i meant that ivan shows his emotions through the outcomes/projected outcomes of his actions. he certainly isn't very forthcoming in the way he acts and portrays himself, but there is undeniable truth in the intent and meaning behind everything he does, even things that seem counterproductive.

i think that since ivan genuinely cannot fully be upfront and honest (due to trauma, his lack of self worth, and his decided survival strategy) his main truths show in the deeper meaning of the things he does for other people and himself. with ivan, it is all about intent. i've said before that the only way to understand ivan is to dig deeper and this is very much true here. he uses a lot of subterfuge to throw people off from his actual intentions, but they're there.

ivan often uses unconventional, roundabout ways to achieve his goals/get what he wants- especially when they mean something to him. he is a guy who is caked in layers upon layers of meaning only if you pull back the acres of curtains he's covered them with. he doesn't want people to know what goes on in his head, so he covers it up valiantly. this is due to his low self esteem of course, but also full on survival. in order for his plans to work, no one can be in on it. no one can know what he's thinking. all of his true feelings and thoughts need to be hidden in order to achieve success, but in the end it's fucking hard to not leave a trace of your true feelings.

with all that being said, examples!

the biggest and most obvious examples are mainly related to till (of course they are) and i also feel like they're the most telling. ivan's teachers specifically pointed out that he was only childish around till (they were relieved by it, too, because he was so damn serious the rest of the time and didn't behave like a child should). ivan has the hardest time hiding his true emotions around till, which makes sense, because till makes him feel the most emotion when his are always dulled. that doesn't stop him from going the 'i must hide my crush by pulling his pigtails' route but, y'know.

since most of these are talked about frequently and i dont want to keep beating a dead horse in an already long post, here's a (hopefully) brief list:

-the biggest one, the meteor shower. going through all of that to escape with till, specifically during a meteor shower that it seemed ivan was desperate to show till (to introduce his shooting stars to each other or smth im sure). ivan offered till freedom and denied himself of it when till turned around and he followed him back without question.

-his good behavior can arguably be considered to be due, in part, to the perks an obedient pet gets. this isn't just a till thing but ivan's obedience is very telling of his need and drive for survival, which considering his uhh,, track record is likely largely so he can protect till. gaining perks and learning insider information, like how to take collars off and gain access to isolation cells, assist him in assisting and caring for till.

-the sometimes silent companionship they share. the way ivan will poke at him to get his outright attention but is still at times satisfied with just existing in till's space and enjoying his presence says a lot about his genuine adoration and admiration of till

-his sacrifice. i don't think i need to say much about this as it's pretty self explanatory lmao but it is a Great example of what im trying to convey. ivan does honest things and has to cover them up at the same time. the 'violence' was to end the round of course, but it was also kind of like a familiar bandaid over the painfully honest feelings he conveyed with the kiss. even if he didn't really hurt him he couldn't just be honest

there are definitely more (most everything he does in regards to till tbh) but i wanted to talk about some others too

the comic conversation with sua about her sacrifice! such a big one. ivan's feelings about sua are very complicated, but to me i feel like he cares about her to an extent, almost pitying in a way. he's horribly jealous of her and the love she has, but he sees so much of himself in her that what he says in that conversation is probably at least half projection, even if he's not aware of it.

the way he looks at her without trying to hide his distaste feels like the way he would look down on himself. the whole thing shows not only his disgust with himself, but his anger towards someone who is so similar to him that she makes the same plans in her head even though she has something he believes he'll never have. it's envy, tried and true, and he doesn't even hide it at the time. he hides the self loathing behind it, but still. that might be the most honest we've seen ivan aside from the end of r6.

that conversation also does kind of show the fact that he cares for sua and mizi. sua in a way he acknowledges less to himself, but certainly mizi.

and speaking of mizi, my last example for right now is the way he watched round 5 like he was barely holding it together and sort of did his own recreation of it in round 6. the strangling was reminiscent of the way mizi lunged at luka and he almost certainly got the idea for his method of sacrifice from what she did. it kind of feels like an ode to her, in a way. an ode to mizi while offering himself up for till, which. is very sad but almost a little sweet, that he had a piece of mizi in what he was doing for till.

okay okay im sure i could keep talking about this but ive been writing for. a long time LMAO so i will stop here but! yeah. ivan shows his emotions inadvertently through his actions and about fifty levels of subterfuge. but it's all we get, so...

thank you for the ask again my dude, i really enjoyed answering it!

[latent-thoughts]

I keep thinking about that post about Loki possibly returning for Avengers 5 and Secret Wars, and while mainly I'm rolling my eyes and internally screaming "please, no more", a part of me is bitterly laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Like, really?? How many "one more time"s does he need? How many "one more time"s do they need to do the same thing over and over to him? Have they not sent their message about how they all feel about him, loud and clear?

I also keep thinking about Tom's quotes in the article. He says, "Loki is a splendid torch which I've got hold of for the moment".... but didn't the show already make it painfully clear that Loki was out and Sylvie was in? That Loki was lame and Sylvie is bigger better badder, yadda yadda yadda? Why do we need a rehash of that? Are they going to literally have a "torch passing" ceremony, where Loki passes a torch to Sylvie (except he stumbles and falls and immediately starts crying, of course!)?

And he also says, "and I want to make it burn as brightly as I can before passing it on to future generations".... but wasn't the show supposed to be the end-all beat-all of Loki and the extent of his powers? What could be better than Loki bound up in a tree for all eternity, alone, exiled, isolated, and crying, keeping that tree watered forever with his never-ending stream of tears? Is Tom secretly implying that the ending of the series actually sucked? Would he DARE to do that?!?! Wouldn't anything else be an insult to the brilliance and creativity and hard work that was The Ending Of That Show?? And also, is he really so naive to think that any writer or director would actually allow HIS Loki to even be a fraction as powerful as we all know Loki is supposed to be?? Oh Tom, please!!!

Sorry for the sarcasm overdose, but I'm just so done. It's comic relief to me now. I don't think anything they could do could make me care again. (But the sad thing is, I WANT to care again! 😭) They are just beating a decomposing corpse of a dead horse now. But I will say, it is interesting that he said "for future generations", seemingly implying the next torch bearer will be younger? Sylvie Di Martino, or whatever her name is, is not that young. I think she's at least dragging 35 behind her on a trailer hitch, so maybe they will bring on Kid Loki? I wouldn't really care either way, but at least Kid Loki would give me some kind of peace. I will NEVER call Sylvie Loki. NEVER. Not after how obnoxious they all were about her. The writers/directors had a chance to build a bridge with the Loki fandom, but they burned it instead. So, no.

Well, anyway, Avengers 5 is a long time away. There's no script, no director, and even after that it will probably undergo at least 2 years of rewrites, so we have a long time to not think about it.

And God bless you if you actually made it through all of this!! I wish you all the best, and love and comfort and peace @latent-thoughts !

❤️❤️❤️

I feel ya, Anon. *HUGS*

Also, I've stopped reading or listening to anything Tom says these days. He's nothing like the Tom of 10-12 yrs ago, which I mourn. Because he seems to have forgotten everything about Loki from that time, including every detail and input he himself put into Loki. It's like he has been supplanted by a Disney-Marvel bot. 😔

Whatever they'd do with Loki in future, I know it's not going to be good. I had some hope prior to the series, but it was crushed in the end. Loki isn't the Loki he used to be from the 2011-2013 era, he's unrecognisable. I just call him Larry in my head.

Hence, I'm done with Marvel now (I assume most of his original fans are as well). They can keep announcing that Loki will be in their future projects, because he's their cash cow, but we're disillusioned and over it.

Personally, I'm simply bunking in the 2011-2013 era. The fics are good there. And my imagination is limitless. 🥹

~Latent-Thoughts

[wishingforatypewriter]

October 20: Sweet + Emotional Angst

Written (late again) for Day 20 of @orangepanic's Whumptloktober. This one is a short Jarper oneshot that didn't quite want to work with me, but I may revisit this idea later.

Jargala Omo had become accustomed to a few Triple Threats hanging around the Platinum Pool Hall on any given day. It was an annoyance to be sure, but one she accepted as a sign of a healthy alliance. But the sheer number of them crowded around the bar and billiards tables on this particular afternoon raised questions. 

She approached Shin and Mushi at a pool table where the latter was just finishing a turn. 

“Did the cops raid your base or something?” she asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“No, Viper's just being even more insufferable than usual,” Shin said. 

Well, that tracked. “Any particular reason why, or is he just being an ass?”

“He’s always an ass,” Shin quipped, and you weren’t gonna catch Jargala arguing otherwise.

 A beat later Mushi asked, “Did you get a chance to read the paper this morning?”

“The ostrich horse races?” She wondered idly how much money he had to have lost to put him in such a bad mood. 

“No, the obituaries,” Mushi said. “His old man died in prison yesterday.”

Jargala did all she could to keep the surprise from showing on her face. She’d been under the impression that all his relatives were long dead. “I take it he was connected.” 

“He ran the Red Monsoons for a decade after Yakone got busted. They did a whole story on it in the Gazette.” 

“Good to know,” Jargala said with a shrug. “I have to head out for an errand. Just make sure your people don’t drink my bar dry.” 

She pretended not to notice the knowing glance the two men exchanged as she walked towards the front door.

Jargala arrived at the Triple Threats’ headquarters half an hour later with her most expensive bottle of Si Wong tequila. When she knocked on the door to Viper’s office, she was met by the beginning of a tirade she imagined had been repeated an inordinate number of times that day. 

“What part of fuck off do you useless bastards not understand? The next time one of you dumb fucks knock on this door I’m gonna—”

Jargala walked through the door, closing it behind her, and took a seat on the edge of his desk as though she’d been invited in. 

“You could have called first,” he grumbled, still clearly cross, but far less venomous than before. 

“Didn’t feel like it.” Jargala opened the tequila and took a long swig before passing him the bottle. 

He shook his head at her, but still took it. “It’s barely fucking noon.” 

She shrugged. “We can pour some out for your dad.” 

Viper sighed. “Look, I don’t know who told you what, but that bastard wasn’t worth a drop of sewer sludge. Let alone your imported shit.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there,” Jargala said, crossing one leg over the other. 

“And you’re not getting one.” 

“Good. I didn’t want to hear it, anyway. Now, drink or pass the bottle back.” 

“Is your pops a good one, sweetness?” he asked instead, still glancing at the tequila in his hand. 

“The best there is,” she replied. “He deserves a much better daughter than me.” 

“Let’s drink to him, then, and let Aklaq rot.”

Jargala nodded, knowing better than to ask why. “And his Red Monsoons along with him.”

[acescorazon]

Can you do cross guild x reader with a devil fruit power that basically makes them immortal with near instant regeneration( like ban from sds) and they forget to tell them Please

Hi ik this is late. i'm sorry and you can def beat my ass if you want just don't be mad :(((( i was on hiatus and being stinky :(((( ily MUAH. DONT be mad. ANYWAYS. i've never seen SDS but fuck it we ball.

Title: Whoopsies

Pairing: Fem Reader x Cross guild

Rating: PG..?

Word count: 3112

Warnings: a LITTLE bit of violence, that's all folks.

Summary (it's actually an Excerpt ...shhh) :

Due to the brief distraction, You end up making a foolish, rookie mistake at that very moment. One that in any other situation you wouldn’t have made, and proving that Mihawk was truly right, that you’re never too good of a fighter to avoid any or all injury. A sharp stinging sensation spread across the front of your body, something that you couldn’t quite comprehend at the moment and the next thing you knew you’re body was hitting the ground with a heavy thud and concerned screams echoed all around you.

Even in your earlier days as a pirate, when you were relatively unknown and your bounty was insignificant at best, life still presented formidable challenges for you. You remained vigilant at all times though, uncertain of who might be lurking around the corner. The marines could apprehend you at any moment or a rival group of pirates could launch an unexpected attack, and if neither of those things got you, something like a sea king or even the ocean itself could and would. Yes, being a pirate is terrifying at best and down right tragic at worst, yet over time you craved more excitement.

Maybe that’s why you were dead set on joining Cross Guild. It was never about the fame or publicity, or even the power that came with joining such a notorious group of pirates. What you wanted was the thrill of it all: You desperately needed to go on more adventures, find more treasures, and fight stronger foes, and those were all things you were able to do once you joined said group.

Luckily the process of joining the group was fairly simple: you just had to hunt down one of the marines that had a bounty on their heads and, boom, once that was done Buggy was accepting you with open arms and offering you a place to stay, plus his protection if you needed it.

(You didn’t need his protection, but you weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth either..)  

Every day with Cross Guild offered something new and exciting, and as you quickly climbed the ranks in the organization, you also managed to get closer to the three founding members as well. You befriended Buggy first, and while some people may see Buggy’s arrogance and flamboyance as his weak points, you, just like the rest of your crew mates, have often found yourself mesmerized by his entire being.

He almost seemed like a larger-than-life celebrity who’s a regular part of your every waking day. It’s hard to believe that someone who once sailed the seas with Gol. D. Roger and Dark Knight Rayleigh, and is Red haired Shanks’ very own best friend is actually your captain, but he is and there’s an added pride that comes with that kind of knowledge.  You and your crew mates often clung to everything he said, eager to learn everything about him that he was willing to share and, luckily, Buggy was willing to share a lot about himself… Maybe a little bit too much at times, actually.  

But maybe that wasn't the worst thing when it came to him. Buggy’s an open book who’s pleasingly predictable and the great thing about that is you don’t have to wonder what he’s thinking or feeling, and in a world that’s so erratic, something as simple as being able to tell if your captain is pissed or not is…comforting?

There’s just something about his laid back, predictable at times, nature that made being near him so easy. You’d think someone like him would be hard to approach and wouldn’t bat an eye at someone unless they were particularly powerful, but Buggy was different. He’s extremely outgoing and treats everyone like a member of his family, so maybe that’s why you often found yourself in his company, listening in awe as he told you all sorts of lively tales, most of which were about his younger years.  

Crocodile was another fabulous figure in your life, and you truly wished that people would gather the courage to get to know him because he wasn't as scary or as cruel as he let people believe he was. He may be a bit of a grouch and has this thing where he always has to be in control, and if things don’t go his way-- You better watch out-- Still, even he had a good side to him once you got to know him.

On the surface he doesn’t seem particularly gentle…and well, he isn’t, but he has his own ways of showing compassion and appreciation for others, and it often comes in the form of personally working side by side with him, something that you found to be such a big privilege and learning experience once you were allowed to do it.

He’s ravishing, and at times carries himself in a way that makes him shine brighter than even Buggy The Clown himself. An esteemed former warlord in his own right, Crocodile often enticed you with the smallest of actions, and you stubbornly tried to tell yourself that all you felt for him was simple admiration. You’ve come to admire how goal-oriented he is and you wished you could be like him at times; Hell bent on achieving your goals and willing to crush anyone who gets in your way. That’s all…

….Or is it?

Regardless, and perhaps this is weird to say about him, but he’s someone who gives you inspiration and more confidence when you feel your lowest. Though, he has a rather….unique way of doing so, often challenging you to grow as a person in ways that to others might seem a little rude or back-handed but, hey, it is Crocodile we’re talking about after all, and the fact that he even approaches you and on some days even has an actual conversation with you, means you’re probably fairing better than most people in Cross Guild right now. You wanted to make him proud, even if the only compliment you’ll probably ever get out of him would be something like: “Oh, so you could do it after all? Good work, brat.”

Anyways, lord, who could forget Mihawk?  Intelligent, strong, elegant, Mihawk who may not be as flashy as your other two superiors, but is a star in his own right. He doesn’t talk much and if he isn’t standing by Crocodile’s side, then he’s probably off on his own, enjoying himself but behind that cold facade of his there’s a caring man, who begrudgingly agreed to take you under his wing and taught you more than you could have ever imagined about wielding a sword. You thought you were a great swordsman before, but you were foolishly mistaken.

In fact, you’re big enough of a person to admit that you weren’t even close to being the best version of yourself until Mihawk helped you unlock your true capabilities, and for that, you’re truly grateful. The time you spent with him often felt short and you wished that there were more words exchanged between the two of you because Mihawk is pretty fun to talk to and also has a hidden kind side to him, one that you wished you could see more of… if only there were more time in the day and during practices.

The founding members of Cross Guild were all charming in their own ways and your poor heart was often an unwilling participant in a three-way game of tug of war.  A laugh from Buggy could send your heart in one direction, a compliment from Crocodile in another, and a nod of approval from Mihawk after an intense sparring session could send it in a third direction.  And anytime one of them made that annoying muscle in your chest pound, you tried to stubbornly ignore your feelings and deny everything. There’s no way you could or should have a crush on any one of your superiors and yet…

Oh, who has time to worry about that sort of thing anyways? But...like, there's definitely no way they’d like you back…right?

…Right?

Sure, life was a tad confusing with your (romantic) feelings for each of your superiors blossoming but things were going great...That is, until one day Black Beard's crew made a sudden appearance on Emptee Bluffs Island. They came in the middle of the night without any warning and started destroying everything in sight; ships, homes, people, everything. You were told specifically by the boss himself not to fight and to instead help some of your sick or injured comrades off the island. And while you realized helping others escape is no easy feat in its own right, you were hankering for a fight and confident you could take on some of the black beard pirates, or even the emperor himself if he were on the island …. if you were just given permission to…

You pleaded with Buggy to change his mind and let you join the battle instead, but he seemed unusually hesitant. “No, no... It’s too dangerous out there,” He insisted, “Just sit this one out.” But… they needed all the people they could get to fight, and you were willing and able to stand up against Black Beard’s crew, so why couldn’t you just help out? You’ve been in plenty of fights before and Buggy always complimented your strength and fighting spirit. So why were things different now?

“But, I--”

”Go.”

You frowned, wanting to protest more, but figured it would be wise not to, so you begrudgingly followed his orders and began evacuating your most vulnerable allies. With little difficulty, you managed to help everyone who needed to flee the island onto one of the giant ships that the organization owned and anxiously waited for further instruction.

Every scream or loud noise took hold of your heart and squeezed it tight as the fear of the unknown very quickly started to eat away at your conscious. How could you know for certain that all those horrible, pain filled screams coming from the distance were coming from the enemies and not your own crew if you were stuck on the ship? How could you be certain that your side was winning and not being destroyed on the battlefield?  If Cross Guild is actually losing the battle, how could you allow yourself to let it happen without trying to aid some of your friends and superiors?

How could you just sit and watch everyone and everything you cared about be destroyed?  

Another distressed scream from a distance snapped you out of your thoughts, finally bringing you to your breaking point. You couldn’t just stand around and do nothing. You decided then and there that you were going to go against Buggy’s orders and join the battle, and that you’d deal with any negative repercussions later.

You made a rather bold announcement to those who helped you evacuate the island, making it known that you just had to go out there and lend a helping hand in this fight despite the chairman’s orders, and your eagerness earned you a few concerned looks, but no one dared to stop you. Instead, your allies offered a few whispered warnings, “Be careful out there…” and "Just be safe..."

Pft, what's there to be worried about? You got this!

You bid your farewell to your allies on board the ship quickly before rushing onto the battlefield, alert and ready for a fight, but not foolish enough to walk directly into harm's way as you followed the sound of all the commotion. It doesn't take you long to find a horrendous scene, one that confirms almost all your fears in an instant; everything within eyesight that you held dear is destroyed, either on fire or already turned to ash and the scent of smoke lingers heavy in the air, making your lungs burn.

You tried your best to remain calm, knowing a full-blown panic attack wouldn't help anyone in this situation, but... you struggle to keep a cool head as screams and sounds of bodies collapsing to the ground with heavy thuds echo through your ears as you watch the battle rage on, horrified, as both your enemies and allies alike fall to the ground in front of you.

A plethora of different emotions swelled up in your chest at that moment and threatened to swallow you whole; Panic, grief, anger, guilt, and so many other things that you couldn’t manage to put into words right now, left you frozen where you stood as the battle continued around you with no signs of stopping. For better or for worse though, the sound of footsteps approaching you at full speed brought you back down to earth, and with seconds to spare, you barely managed to react to being lunged at by one of Blackbeard’s burly men, one who was wielding a rather impressive sword.

You reached to your side, unsheathing your own brand new sword that was recently gifted to you by Mihawk, blocking the attack targeted at you. You were still shaken by everything going on around you but forced yourself to focus on the task at hand with the hopes that perhaps one of Cross Guild’s higher-ups would see you standing toe to toe with an imposing foe and, instead of scolding you for disobeying orders, they’d praise you and even thank you for bravely helping out during an unprecedented battle such as this.  

Well, you got the first part right at least.

As you gave it your all against one of Blackbeard’s men, you heard an angry, breathless voice from your side, calling out to you and asking you what you thought you were doing. Moments later you realized it was the chairman himself, of course, somehow managing to still be able to scold you despite having to constantly avoid sword strikes from his own opposing foe, “I Thought I told you to stay on the ship?” Buggy yelled over to you with a frown plastered across his painted lips.

“But, Chairm--”

Due to the brief distraction, You end up making a foolish, rookie mistake at that very moment. One that in any other situation you wouldn’t have made, and proving that Mihawk was truly right, that you’re never too good of a fighter to avoid any or all injury. A sharp stinging sensation spread across the front of your body, something that you couldn’t quite comprehend at the moment and the next thing you knew you’re body was hitting the ground with a heavy thud and concerned screams echoed all around you.

Okay, ow, you thought, more out of instinct than anything because truth be told you’ve been sliced by a number of swords during your life as a pirate, and though the pain never lasted for long due to your devil fruit powers, there were still occasionally those short moments in time where you found yourself flinching from the pain and thinking, well, that freaking hurt, before your body quickly healed itself and you were able to resume whatever fight you were in prior to getting cut or even stabbed by a sword.

And just like all those times before, you were ready to get back up and fight in less than a second, but something stopped you this time. Before you can jump up and get back to your opponent, a tall figure quickly appeared above you and everything after that happened so quickly. There was the sight of a giant sword glimmering in the moonlight followed by a blood-curdling scream from your would-be opponent. Mihawk…? You thought, confused as to where he even came from because the last time you checked he was nowhere near you before.

Your confusion only grew as Buggy, who seconds prior had just finished off his own opponent, hurried over to your side, obviously in a state of panic as he leaned down to cradle your head, yet you didn’t understand why. You’re perfectly fine, the only thing that suffered was your poor, blood stained shirt that got sliced during your short lived battle. His panic brought along more unneeded attention, first by Mihawk and then by Crocodile, both of which you swear weren’t anywhere near you earlier, but perhaps you were too caught up in your fight and your own emotions to properly assess the scene.  

“Crap, just hang on there a little longer. We'll get you to a doctor soon, I promise.” Buggy whined, scooping you up into his arms. Why do I need a doctor? You found yourself thinking, still utterly baffled and now growing a little flustered in Buggy’s arms.

“I…” You wanted to assure everyone that you were fine and that you weren’t even bleeding anymore, but a small argument broke out between your superiors and prevented you from assuring them that you were actually okay or as fine as one can be in this situation.

For the most part, it was just Buggy and Crocodile going back and forth with each other and trying to pin your injury on each other despite the fact that your ‘injury’ was brought on by your own carelessness and had nothing to do with either of them. ”What did I tell you, clown?” Crocodile frowned, “I told you if anything happened to h--”

“How was I supposed to know she’d ignore my orders and get off the ship?!” Buggy protested.

You tried to speak up again, but Mihawk inadvertently cut you off before you could, making sure he got his own jab in against Buggy, “Well, maybe if you had a little bit more control over your subordinates, this wouldn’t have happened.”

 You groaned out of sheer annoyance, unable to believe that these three were actually standing around bickering with each other when the entire island was literally under attack right now.  “Um. Actually… I’m okay,” You muttered, finally able to voice your own feelings on the subject. Three pairs of eyes quickly glanced at you, and you squirmed a little under their gazes, wishing that Buggy would just drop you already so you could return to the battle.

Buggy was the first to respond, “You can’t be serious right now. You were just sliced into two, we’ve got to get you to a doctor!” Okay, one, that’s a little bit of an exaggeration, and, two, if they thought it was that important to get you to a doctor they would have taken you to see one right away instead of bickering with each other.

“Really, I’m fine,” You said with a sheepish grin, trying to squirm your way out of Buggy’s arms once you realized that he had no intentions of putting you down. ”We saw you get slashed to pieces though. We need to get you some h--"

“Oh, yeah!” You exclaimed, cutting off Buggy as he continued to panic, finally realizing why everyone was freaking out about you. “I forgot to mention this before, but my devil fruit powers give me the power of regeneration!”

Almost all at once the three men surrounding you narrowed their eyes, looking offended. In an almost comedic moment, they all asked you the same question at the same time: “How did you forget to mention that?”

Whoopsies?

[vesemirsexual]

wait no another one 🔀 for lambert adopting renfri

send me a 🔀 and a pairing, and i’ll shuffle my playlist and make an au based on the first song that comes up

No Roots - Alice Merton

okay this concept is mildly hilarious to me. but lambert ends up finding young renfri on the run from her stepmother and stregobor, and basically a feral little stray. she tries to steal his horse from the stables at an inn one night and he’s like I think the Fuck not. so renfri tries the big eyes “please mr I have nothing” and lambert is like wow cool, not my problem! begone little rat.

so anyway this kicks off renfri following him around and actively trying to rob his ass out of spite. he’s super annoyed and keeps telling her she’s lucky he doesn’t beat up kids, and she’s meanwhile like yeah i am going to take this assholes shit to sell. eventually she does actually manage to snatch some of his shit - he thought he’d finally gotten rid of the little brat, and while he was on a contract she DID actually do it. so he’s tracking her down like “right, going to make an exception, this kid is a fucking ASS” and it works out because miss renfri has drawn a little bit too much attention following a Witcher and she’s been hunted down by one of stregobors apprentices.

lambert gets about 5 mins into hearing the explanation about why dissecting little girls is totally cool actually before he loses it and the idiot loses his head. so now lambert is pissed off and he HAD wanted to teach this little shit a lesson but now she’s clearly terrified and shaking and okay he will watch her back for ONE night out here and then she’s on her own okay.

so lambert basically ends up with a child he can’t help but actually like. she’s vicious and she’s mouthy and rude and very determined to live (it does NOT remind him of anyone okay!!)

so now they’re staying moving because he doesn’t really know how big this is, and how many people are actually after this kid. and he thinks about taking her to kaer morhen, even if just for the winter, and he thinks about her teary terrified face when he’d found her, and he thinks about her in kaer morhen, and is completely rational about it of course - lambert decides he can’t take her there and he doesn’t want them to know about her. he doesn’t want their advice about children and they don’t know anything and he doesn’t want them giving renfri any terrible ideas about life.

so lambert isn’t returning home for a few winters and everyone is shattered because they think he’s dead. until there’s a rumour about a mouthy little bitch of a Witcher that literally cannot be anyone else, and one of his siblings hunts him down and is like …what the fuck is that? and lambert is immediately a little bit too defensive, too fierce about it all.

basically, baby boy has to face his trauma and they all have to ACTUALLY talk and clear the air. renfri is like woah mama mia you guys are way more messed up than me, comforting. lambert is actually doing pretty well at the parenting/mentoring thing and appears to be actually be trying to be a somewhat good example (it’s the cycle of healing and being better bitch)

[bomberqueen17]

matcha top sewalong #4

ok so i was right, the sizing is bonkers. I should have cut a size 10. I did finally try the sleeve on-- just wrapped it around and tested it-- and i've got like four or five inches of ease in the sleeve, which I don't need.

So, for anyone thinking of making this pattern: The size chart is just in there for show, and means nothing. As the directions do say, to their credit, disregard that entire size chart except the shoulder measurement, and cut out the size that fits your shoulder measurement. Obviously they only put a size chart in there because one is expected, but it has no bearing on the pattern itself or like, human bodies. LOL!

So anyway here's my progress in a brief session this morning, which ended with my preliminary try-on.

[image description: black fabric with some white interfacing showing, pinned to blue fabric in several places, with my hands holding part of it in place.]

I'd put the gathering stitches in by hand because I find that easier, and they were such short seams it was literally two minutes of sewing to do it. So then I pinned the center back, the side fronts, and then roughly measured the same distance to where the shoulder detail should start, and pinned that out.

I had help.

[image description: my perfect adorable princess baby elderly gray cat sitting with her paws directly on the blue fabric I was working on, leaning towards me so I can't see the sewing machine.]

And then instead of putting four fucktillion pins in, I just started sewing, pulled the gathering stitches tight, shoved the gathers along until they looked even, sewed over them quick while holding the gathering thread tight, and did this between all the major landmarks until it was done. Had to go back over a bit of it to catch the shoulder detail hem properly, fussed around a bit. But it didn't take as long as I'd been afraid it would.

My help retreated slightly and grudgingly allowed me to make some progress on this.

[image description: my perfect sweet cat sitting on the end of the sewing table, wall bedecked with spools of thread on a holder behind her, and the blue fabric pinned down more thoroughly in the foreground next to the sewing machine.]

Once I had the collar attached on one side I threw the thing over my head to see if the neck opening was wide enough and to confirm my suspicions about the enormous shoulders.

[image description: a mirror selfie of me draped in the blue and black top, side seams open. I have a dressmaker's tape held to the point of my shoulder with the forefinger of that hand, and it is hanging down and the fabric that's meant to be the shoulder seam ends four and a half inches down on the tape.]

So if I hadn't embroidered this I'd cut four and a half inches off of the shoulder detail, and also recut it narrower, as it's far too wide AND far too long. As it is, I'll just cut to the edge of the embroidery. I'm going to unpick the edgestitching on both sides up to the collar, cut them both to the same width, and then gather the shoulder seam underneath them, then sew them back down. And then I'll put the sleeves on. I did check the sleeves though, and I could take some ease out of them too, so I'm sort of torn. I should probably just find the pattern pieces and recut the body to a smaller size, and recut the sleeve to match. But. Well truth be told I left the pattern back at my house and am at my mother-out-law's right now and don't want to trek back home to get it. It'll be fine oversized that's the aesthetic. I just can't stand having my sleeve start halfway down my arm. As it is the sleeve is halfway down my forearm if I hold the top of it against the point of my shoulder, and I'm going to have to cut it shorter. (Yes plus-sized garments need extra vertical room to go over full figures but not the sleeves my guys, my arms are not extra-long because I'm fat. OK OK OK they did not grade this pattern knowledgeably I can stop beating that dead horse and move on.)

So that's where I'm at now, I'm going to wind up with quite a different garment than the pattern envelope suggested I think. But it'll be wearable and probably quite comfortable.

The next version, I will cut a size 10, and i will make it of handkerchief linen probably, and I will follow the pattern directions more closely.

[ellecdc]

Hello 👋

I love your work so much!!! Got a hurt/comfort Sirius x reader ask for you. Its kinda long. You don't have to write it. But I feel like you the only one who can do proper justice to this. ❤️🤞

OK so we know Sirius can get brutal with his words. Baby doesn't mean it but he can lash out. Reader knows this and usually they are able to work it out. But this time he goes too far. Maybe it's cause he got an especially scathing letter from home and that's weighing on him or smthng. And he compares the reader to his mother. "You are just like her, always on me and driving me crazy" something along these lines.

Anyways, reader hears this and just breaks down. Cause she is tired of always being the bad guy. Or perhaps she can't believe Sirius even thought to compare her to someone he truly despises. And how much does he hate the reader if he can even think such a thing?? (Cue overthinking on readers part). You can choose the reason for breakdown.

Anyhow she pulls back and doesn't go near him for several days and Sirius knows he fcked up big time. How does he make up and how do they work through this?

I want it to be truly angsty, with mean!sirius and then subsequent make up. Fell free to break it into parts if you want.

I discovered your work over the last week and you have quickly become one of my fav authors. Thank you for your amazing writing!!!!🥰❤️

seeeeee I've been hoarding this ask for almost a month now buuuuuttt I can't bring myself to do it ONLY BECAUSEE.................... @super-clearlysaltybouquet sort of hit the nail on the head with cruel Sirius and I feel like anything I come up with would just be me reaching to write something like this which I feel like I'd ultimately fall short

I know I probably sound like I'm beating a dead horse here but this is truly one of my fave angsty fics

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 1: These Devilish Intentions

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Matthew told her no one would ever want her after what he did to her. He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Word Count: 4,621

Notes: Warnings for depictions of smut and references to past sexual assault. Also Tommy being the biggest softy when it comes to his girl.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 8: Dancing with the Devil

“Ha! I win!” she set her cards down on the table, leaning back smugly. Tommy snorted, the amusement for once unhidden in his eyes as he scooped up her cards and dealt another hand.

The celebrations at the Garrison were in full swing, laughter and the clinking of glasses thundering throughout the pub. Even Polly seemed to be enjoying herself, her serious features relaxed into a laugh as she listened to John ramble drunkenly. At one point, Arthur leapt up onto the bar, glass of whiskey sloshing. 

“To the Red Demon!” he bellowed out, swaying so dangerously on his feet Lucy was worried he would fall off the bar. Around him, the other Blinders shouted out in agreement, raising their glasses. Scrunching down into her seat, her cheeks burned at the sudden attention.

She was just beginning to grow rather tired, the noise from the party starting to get to her, when Tommy had taken her gently by the arm and shepherded her into the snug, where it was quieter and more secluded from the drunk shouting and shattering of glasses. They busied themselves playing hand after hand of cards, sipping on glasses of whiskey and talking.

A glance through the half open door greeted her with the sight of John sitting in a booth, head in his hands. Polly was rubbing at his back while he cried, clutching a photograph to his chest.

“Is John alright?”

Tommy glanced over his shoulder at his brother and sighed. “Yeah. That just happens sometimes when he’s drunk. It’ll pass. Polly’s got him.”

“What’s he crying about?”

“Martha, probably.”

“His dead wife?”

“Yeah.”

“What was she like?”

He hesitated a moment. “She was nice. A whole hell of a lot sweeter than the rest of us. She and John met while they were in school. When we were kids all he’d go on about was wanting to settle down with her. I think he was more invested in their wedding preparations than she was.”

“I suppose that’s rather sweet. If you’re into that sort of thing.”

“You don’t ever want to get married?” there was no judgment in his voice, just quiet curiosity.

“Nah,” she rubbed at the back of her neck. “Don’t think that I’m cut out for it, to be honest with you. I’d rather be riding horses and getting shot at than spend the rest of my life staying at home, cleaning the house, cooking meals, taking care of children. I wouldn’t be much good at any of that stuff anyway. Too restless, I guess. Bored easily. At school I could never sit still; got my ass beat by the nuns several times for fidgeting.”

“You were engaged.”

“Not like I had much choice in the matter,” she sniffed. “You know I never once lied to either of them about how I felt about the whole thing. Never gave any indication that I was going to go through with it. I think that Matthew thought he could mold me into what he wanted me to be. He wants what he can’t have. When I rejected him, it only made him more convinced that he had to have me.”

“None of it was your fault.”

“I know that,” her scars ached, mind swimming, uncertain if she wanted to keep talking about it or not. Her eyes narrowed at the cards he had played out onto the table. “If I find out later that you’ve been letting me win I’ll be furious,” The smirk he gave her in response revealed just the beginnings of a dimple in his cheeks. Eyes falling back to her cards, she attempted to hide a yawn behind her hand.

“You tired?” 

“Yeah,” she rubbed her eyes. He examined her for a moment before setting his cards down and standing.

“Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t want to finish the game?” even as she spoke she set her own cards down, standing to get her coat.

“Nah. It was a shitty hand anyway.”

Giggling, she pulled her hat on and followed him towards the front doors. “Won’t they notice that we’ve left?”

Tommy glanced over the gaggle of drunken men in the pub. “I’m pretty sure that they wouldn’t notice if the fucking pope walked in, love.”

The moment they stepped outside, her arms wrapped around herself, trying to shield her from the chill in the air as they began to walk. 

The card game had been a welcome distraction from the unending stress weighing on her mind since reading her father’s letters. A jitteriness had settled into her bones that had her jumping at shadows, head swiveling at the smallest of sounds. But having Tommy close helped. Nothing could truly touch her so long as he was nearby. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay. Tired.”

“You’ve done well,” he said after a moment. Lucy hummed. 

“I’m glad to know that my work has been of satisfaction.”  

Tommy chuckled, scratching at his nose. She could have sworn that he moved closer to her, so that their sides were almost brushing. Growing quiet, she glanced down at her feet. At her pair of shiny, lace-up oxfords. They were easily the nicest pair of shoes that she’d ever owned.

“Your brothers are going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

“Maybe. Arthur will be alright. John’s the one who will have to go home to four rowdy children.”

“When the hell did John find the time to have four kids anyway?” 

“Fuck if I know. But you know what it’s like. When you’re young and in love,” he wrinkled his nose. “He and Martha were terrible. We could hardly leave them alone for two seconds and they’d be fucking against the nearest horizontal surface.”

Lucy laughed quietly, shaking her head. “I guess I wouldn't know.” 

Tommy’s head snapped around to look at her incredulously. “Never?”

She shrugged, a little helplessly. Tommy seemed to be utterly stunned. 

“You’ve never fucked anyone before?”

Her cheeks burned as she blushed. “Well, there was Matthew and his friends in the alley–”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Then I guess not,” she suddenly felt very self conscious. “It was all but impossible, with my dad almost always around, looking over my shoulder…”

“You don’t have to explain.”

She shot him a grateful look. But now that the box had been opened she seemed unable to stop her thoughts from pouring out. “Even after he left for France, I swear I could always feel his presence around me. His eyes watching me for any signs of…indecency. Even miles away, the thought of his rage if he ever found out terrified me. Kept me from misbehaving too much while he was away.”

“I guess I always thought of you as a troublemaker.”

“Oh, I got into trouble,” she smirked. “Just not the kind where I wound up on my back,” she thought for a moment. “Except that time a mare I stole from a nearby stable threw me off her.”

“You stole a horse?”

“They were beating her! Not that she showed much gratitude for the rescue,” she grumbled. “I had a bruise the size of an apple on my back for two weeks,” her shoulders tensed at a clatter from a nearby alley, but a glance in that direction revealed the sound to have been caused by a simple drunk. “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“You ever know what it was like to be young and in love?” there was a long silence. “Tommy?”

“Before France. Her parents didn’t like me, so we would sneak out to the canal to be together,” he coughed, looking down at his shoes. “Her name was Greta.”

“What happened to her?”

“She died. Consumption,” it was clear from his voice that he didn’t want to discuss it much further.

“I’m sorry,” there wasn’t much else she could think to say. Tommy grunted in response. Teeth pulling at her bottom lip, she weighed in her mind whether or not to continue with the topic. “What about Lizzie?”

Tommy’s brow furrowed, genuine confusion crossing his features. “What about her?”

Lucy shrugged. “Well, I didn’t know if maybe…”

“Lizzie’s just a whore, Lucy,” Tommy said simply, brow still furrowed, like the idea that the tall woman could be anything more had never even crossed his mind.

Lucy opened her mouth to respond, but closed it. They had reached the door to her flat. Pulling her keys from her pocket, she hesitated a moment after sliding them into the door. The cool air made her shiver. Tommy frowned, reaching out to rub his hands up and down her arms.

“You should get inside.” 

“Do you want to come up?” the question passed her lips before she had much time to think about it. He raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you were tired.”

She shrugged non-committedly. Something twitched in his face, mind clearly working behind his eyes.

“If you want me to.”

Nodding, she pushed the door open and led him upstairs to her little room, shedding her hat and jacket to hang them on the hooks near the door, Tommy following her movements. She hoped that he wouldn’t notice the way that her hands trembled. He had been in her flat before; but there was something in the air between them that hadn’t been there before.

“It’s strange to think of myself as I was then. Before everything happened.”

“What do you mean?”

Shoulders shrugging, she reached out to absentmindedly straighten a painting on the wall.

“I had all these plans and ideas for what I was going to do with my life. After my dad and brothers were sent to France, I got a job as a stable girl. I was making my own money. I was beginning to consider the possibility that I could someday leave. Start to actually live my life on my own terms. There’s a part of me that wishes my father didn’t come back,” she admitted softly. “I was so hopeful…and then he came back and he pushed Matthew onto me and tore it all to pieces,” a sudden feeling of fury washed over her. Fury over the shame and fear that those two men had burdened her with. 

Tommy reached out a hand, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. His thumb traced over her bottom lip as she gazed up at him.

“The idea of living…excited me. I miss feeling like that.”

The breath that left Tommy’s lungs shuddered, eyes fixed on her lips. She swallowed hard.

“Sometimes I feel like they ruined me,” she didn’t even mean her chastity; that had never been something that she held much value for. Instead she spoke of her mind, broken and twisted, or her body, marred by scars that still ached from time to time with phantom pain.   

Tommy shook his head, the hand not caressing her face going to her waist. “That’s not true.”

“I know. Or…most of the time I do, anyway. Sometimes I still hear the things that they said to me, echoing in my head.”  

She may not be interested in the prospect of marriage, but that didn’t mean that she wanted to spend the rest of her life alone. Under her father’s roof there’d been no chance at any sort of promiscuous behavior, but she’d often dreamed of the day she would escape his influence and would finally have the chance or gorge herself on the pleasures life had to offer.

Fuck them for what they had done to her.

She wanted so badly to silence their voices. To quash the feeling, however fleeting, of disgust when she looked at her scarred body in the mirror.  

“What do they tell you?” Tommy pulled her closer to him, until their chests were brushing each other.

“They say I’m dirtied. That I’m worthless. That no one will ever want me.”

He was shaking his head, hand stroking her face. She moved a fraction closer to him, his warmth all around her, palms planted flat against his chest.

“They couldn’t be more wrong.”

“I don’t want to listen to them anymore,” foreheads brushing, he all but nuzzled against her, hand smoothing along her back. “You make me feel safe.”

“Good.” 

All she did was tilt her head ever so slightly upwards, and their lips brushed against each other. Tommy kissed her softly, the hand on her back holding her close while the one on her face fell to her waist. Lucy’s own hands fisted in the front of his shirt, pulling him down more urgently to her. Practically purring at her eagerness, his head tilted to deepen their kisses. He didn’t seem to be put off by her clumsy and inexperienced movements, only cradling her closer. Hands moving from where they clutched at his shirt, she grasped the front of his suit jacket, shoving it off of his shoulders to the floor. Tommy groaned, stroking her jaw while her arms wound around his neck. Their noses bumped but that didn’t stop them, kisses still soft but growing more fevered and hungry. Her head spun as his lips moved from hers to press along her cheek and jaw, tickling over her neck, ghosting over the shell of her ear. 

“Lucy…Lucy, are you sure? I need you to tell me that you’re sure,” the sound of his baritone, so close to her ear, sent a shudder of warmth down her spine. When had he removed her waistcoat? She didn't even notice until the heat from his palms seeped through the thin material of her shirt.

“Yes,” she tangled her fingers in his hair, thighs clenching together at the growl that rumbled in his chest when her nails scratched over his scalp. “Yes, I’m sure.”

His hands slid from where they’d been resting against her ribs to her ass, lifting her up onto his hips and carrying her the short distance to the bed, laying her down slowly against the pillows. He straightened long enough to remove his waistcoat and the shirts layered beneath it. Redness flared in her cheeks as she allowed herself a moment to admire him, all strong muscle and soft, freckled skin. A tattoo encircling his left pec. She was aware that she was all but drooling, but couldn’t bring herself to care much, even as he noticed her ogling and shot her a cocky smirk. Hands reaching out to him desperately, she drew him back to her, body hovering over hers.

“Shut up,” she grumbled, kissing him again. Tommy chuckled against her lips, bed creaking as he situated himself into a more comfortable position on top of her, growling again when she dug her nails into his back. When his fingers brushed along the buttons of her shirt she stiffened, a stab of anxiety fluttering over her at the thought of someone else seeing her scars. Tommy pulled back to look at her, still close enough for his long lashes to tickle her cheeks.

“Still okay?”

Looking into his eyes helped to ground her, the light blue nearly engulfed by the darkness of his pupils. She was alright; she was safe. Tommy wouldn’t hurt her. She forced herself to swallow her fear, to ignore the beginning chant of cruel voices in her head.

“Yeah.”

The first button popped open, Tommy’s head dipping to press a kiss to the newly revealed skin as he slowly opened each button of her shirt.

“Don’t listen to them,” he murmured, lips caressing over a scar that ran from the bottom of her breast over her ribcage. “You listen to me,” another kiss was pressed to a small scar near her belly button. “You’re beautiful. I want you.”

She sat up slightly so he could push her shirt fully off her shoulders and toss it to the floor, her own fingers undoing her bra and shedding that as well. Large hands squeezing her breasts, his mouth returned to devour hers, kisses growing more and more urgent. Hips dropping into hers, he rolled them forward, bulge rubbing against her. A startled moan exploded from her lips at the movement, hands scabbling at his shoulders, hips rising in a silent plea for a repeat of the motion. Tommy seemed all too happy to oblige, humping forward against her again with a groan.

“Fuck. Okay,” he fumbled with her belt, undoing her pants as he began to kiss down her body again, breath shuddering in her lungs as his tongue swiped over one of her nipples. “Lift your hips for me, love,” he mumbled into her skin. Hips raising, she helped him to pull off and kick away her trousers and remaining undergarments, fighting the urge to hide beneath the covers at being fully exposed to him. Frowning, she pouted when he didn’t return to hovering above her, instead resituating her legs, hooking her thighs over his shoulders.

“What are you–ohhhhhh,” she let out a sound she had never heard herself make before, head falling back against the pillows while a hand clenched in Tommy’s hair. He snickered, hands stroking her thighs as he swiped his tongue over her clit again. With quick, careful movements, he began to work her over with his tongue while she moaned and tried to push him even closer. A whine left her lips when he pulled back, eyes batting up at her innocently, temptingly.

“Why’d you stop?” she slurred, the hand clenched in his hair moving to cup his cheek, thumb rubbing along his slick lips. Leaning into her touch like a cat, Tommy’s features twitched, affection clear as day on his face.

“Can I put my fingers inside of you?”

She wasn’t sure if her flushed cheeks were a result of being flustered or aroused at the question, barely managing a small nod.

“Yes.”

Head dipping back down again, Lucy sighed in ecstasy, in relief, as he pressed his lips back to her clit. One hand continued to cradle her thigh while the other slid between her legs.

“Gentle,” she gasped out, another bout of nerves hitting her, though with his mouth between her legs it was hard to pay them much mind. Nodding, he pulled back, nuzzling at a scar on her inner thigh.

“I’m going to be so gentle with you, love,” he promised. She shivered as a single thick finger sunk into her, crooking as he resumed his ministrations with his tongue. Moans continued to bubble from her throat, head tilted back as one hand grasped at Tommy’s hair, the other fisting in the sheets beneath her. Her voice only raised an octave when he added a second finger, pumping faster as he spread her open.

“Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,” she choked out. He just purred in answer, the vibrations doing wonderful things to her clit. Back arching, she all but wailed as she came, thighs clenching around his head as she gasped. 

Lapping at her until she was pushing his head away from overstimulation, Tommy wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, looking incredibly pleased with himself as he crawled back up her body to kiss her. She could taste the remaining tang of herself on his lips, arms looping around his shoulders. For a moment, his hands cupped her cheeks before falling down to undo his pants, kicking them off along with his undergarments.

Chancing a glance down, her eyes widened in a way she had to imagine was at least somewhat comical. Jesus fucking Christ, how the hell was that going to fit inside her?

Tommy’s thumb rubbed her cheek, quietly demanding her attention.

“Do you want to stop?”

She was shaking her head before he even got the question out, pulling him back down for another kiss. “No.”

His eyes examined hers shrewdly, nodding as he reached down to stroke himself. She squeaked when in one sudden movement he rolled them so that she was on top of him, thighs straddling his hips, both of them shuddering when his erection brushed against her entrance.

“Tommy, I don’t know what I’m doing–”

“It’s okay,” he said as he lined himself up, rising so that he could wrap an arm around her waist, kissing her cheek. “I’ll help you.”

She anchored herself on his powerful shoulders, his cock kissing her entrance but not penetrating her yet. Tommy rested his forehead against hers, arms wrapping fully around her. He kissed her nose.

“We stop whenever you want to.”

Nodding, a shuddering gasp left her lips as slowly, carefully, he began to push inside her.

He felt even bigger than he looked, stretching her so wide she thought that he might split her in two. But Tommy held her cradled tightly to him, kisses planted on her neck. She was wet enough from his previous actions that he glided into her easily. And every time he felt her starting to tense he stopped, rubbing circles into her back and nuzzling at her until she relaxed.

“Fuck, so tight,” he groaned once he was fully seated within her, head falling to rest on her shoulder for a moment before lifting it to check on her. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” she shook her head and he stretched up to kiss her. When she shifted her hips, ever so slightly, he growled and she giggled, earning herself a playful pinch to the hip. Arms wrapped around his neck, hands clinging to his shoulders, she gave an experimental bounce, and felt more than she heard his moan from where his face was pressed against her neck as he rewarded her with a tiny, answering thrust.

“Yeah, like that,” he breathed out, hands planting firmly on her waist to help support her as they started to move. Lucy’s brow furrowed with concentration, focusing on trying to keep her balance and the tempo of their thrusts.

“Go slow,” Tommy kissed her temple. “You’re doing good,” his breath caught a bit at the end of his sentence, as her movements began to grow more confident. The pace remained slow, but the thrusts were growing harder, more needy. Tommy lifted his head so that he could watch her face, and the look in his eyes nearly knocked her off balance. Those blue orbs were unmistakably aroused, but there was something else, a staggering softness, a near adoration, that left her stunned. She brushed away some of his dark fringe that had fallen into his eyes, his lashes fluttering at the movement, face leaning into her touch. Maybe…

Pressing her chest more fully against his, she sighed as she rubbed her hands along his torso, feeling the muscles ripple beneath her fingers. His cock twitched when she traced over that tattoo surrounding his pec, ghosting over his nipple with her thumb. A vulnerability shivered across his face as he watched her appraise him.

“Is it okay that it’s me?”

Her eyes darted back to him in shock at the sudden…unsurety in his voice, like he expected her to say no.

A ridiculous thought. She had never wanted anyone as much as she wanted him.

The need to comfort, to reassure spread over her heart, a want to soothe the eternally sad look in his eyes. Tightening her arms around him she kissed him as softly as she knew how.

“I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.”

His entire face softened, features relaxing, the thrusts that had ceased at his question picking back up again, hips bucking with more urgency while he cradled her face and kissed her like he was suffocating and she was air. 

“I’m going to make you feel so good, love,” he promised, moans already leaving her lips as they began to fuck in earnest, bedframe creaking. With his arms around her he helped to lift and lower her onto his cock, their skin slapping together, bodies entangling.  

“Tommy,” she gasped out. “Fuck. So big, so big,” that massive cock rubbed against a patch of nerves inside her that made her moan and babble wantonly. All it took was a few more well aimed strokes, and she was clawing at his back, all nervousness or self consciousness gone as she started riding him with abandon, his hips rolling up to meet her every thrust.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck,” Tommy’s hands were all over her, groping greedily at her breasts, palming at her back. “Can I touch your hair?”

The question took her by surprise for a moment. But of course. Of course he had noticed her aversion to having her hair tugged.

“No pulling,” she said and he nodded, hand sliding up her back and into her hair, just letting the strands pass through his fingers without yanking. Lucy sighed, head tipping backwards into his palm. He suddenly readjusted her slightly in his lap, and she wasn’t sure what exactly he did, but on the next forward snap of his hips she was howling in pleasure.

“Lucy,” the way he said her name, with such utter reverence, had a shudder going through her, his thumb rubbing at her clit.

“Please,” she didn’t even know what she was asking him for.

“I know, I know,” he began to kiss her again, greedily swallowing each of her moans. She was so close…so close…

He put a little more pressure on her clit, and she was done for, crying out his name as she clamped down hard on his cock, trembling through her orgasm. Tommy clutched her tightly to him.

“That’s my girl. That’s my girl. Come here,” he squeezed her to his chest, fucking her through it, thrusts slow and so deep she was sure she could feel him in her belly. His cock was beginning to throb so hard she would plainly feel it, pulsing with every deep plunge into her. A final, impossibly deep thrust home and he let out a massive growling moan, holding himself in place as his cock twitched and then throbbed powerfully. The sudden wave of warmth as his load pumped into her made Lucy answer with a moan of her own. Tommy’s head drooped to rest against her shoulder, body relaxing against hers as he orgasmed.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, still clinging to each other tightly while panting. Tommy stroked Lucy’s hair, nuzzling at her shoulder before finally shifting, pulling out of her and maneuvering them both so that they were laying on their sides, under the covers. She cuddled up to his chest, his skin so warm she doubted that she even really needed the blankets to keep the chill away when she was pressed up against him the way she was. Wrapping an arm around her, Tommy hugged her close, kissing her forehead.

“Are you okay?” he asked, curling around her as he got comfortable in the bed.

“Yeah,” she slipped an arm around his waist, head resting against his pecs, the smattering of hair on his chest tickling her cheek. “Thank you.”

“You really don’t have to thank me, love,” he chuckled, brushing some hair out of her face, expression unbearably soft as he looked at her.

“What?”

“I think you might be the prettiest person that I’ve ever seen.”

She let out an undignified squeak and buried her burning face into his chest. “Stop making me blush.”

He laughed, chest vibrating with the sound, hand falling from her face to join the other around her. His cheek rested against the top of her head. She squeezed the arm she had looped around him.

“I’m glad that I have you.”

Leaning his head down, he kissed her with a softness that made her want to cry, chuckling when they parted and she promptly yawned. 

“Go to sleep, love.”

“You’ll still be here?”

Pulling her even closer, he tangled her legs with his.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

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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!

[ghost-proofbaby]

GHOOOOST as much as maroon has taken over every single brain cell of mine, i can’t seem to stop thinking about 24 hours!eddie and reader lately! they still got me on a chokehold!

i was just thinking, like in the long run, were they endgame? i know they’re head over heels for each other but like.....are they in it for the long haul? what would happen if like the topic of getting married or having kids was brought up, how are they both going to react? 👀

i’m not asking or forcing you to write a blurb out of this or anything so please don’t feel pressured, i’m genuinely just curious about their lore!!! 😭 and i also miss them so much lmao might end up re-reading the series again while waiting for the next maroon chapter ❤️❤️❤️

anyway i luv u and i hope you’re having a great day!

wanna know a secret? they definitely still live rent free in my mind as well.

they were definitely end game in the long haul of things. in my mind, it's actually funny, because i've thought about them watching their friends constantly getting into relationships and those relationships constantly ending, and yet they're still there and going strong as ever while everyone is just like "...what the fuck?"

nancy and johnathan would probably end up breaking up in the twenty four hours universe. that's actually canon based on a sequel idea i had. like, we're talking not very long after the events of the main fic. nancy would go to reader and probably rant in the midst of her heartbreak "i just don't get it. i thought me and johnathan - we were gonna make it, you know? i thought we had the perfect relationship. and, no offense, but compared to you and eddie, we did." (which she obviously doesn't mean, but she's just hurt and projecting. we all know nancy was a number one reader x eddie shipper). and reader could grow insecure about it and overthink, but when she ends the day getting to gossip all about it to eddie, he just scoffs and said "excuse me? what the hell does that mean? out of spite, we're definitely gonna end up growing old together. gonna mock them from across the retirement home as i kiss all your wrinkles. that'll show them." and she's just reminded that, oh, yeah. it doesn't matter what other people think. this is her idiot for the long haul. and spoiler: it isn't spite keeping them together. it's the way eddie looks at reader like she painted the night sky just for him. it's the way eddie is the first person reader wants to talk to in nearly every scenario, the way he's the first person her eyes draw to in every room no matter how crowded. they bicker endlessly, they aren't always acting the most lovesick and nauseatingly affectionate with each other in front of others, and there's certainly been plenty of fights where the gang holds their breath for the announcement of a breakup, but they always find a way to make it through. always. they're one of those couples, ya know?

and i could also ramble about the whole marriage/kid discussion, but i actually had a short one shot about it i wanted to write! i think i've avoided posting any of the excess content i had planned for them because i don't want to beat a dead horse, you know? it's been over a year now, and even though i love and adore them, i don't want to seem like i'm milking that universe haha. if that's something y'all would like to see now even though it's been so long, i am finally out of my funk with writing them and could probably post some of those one shots! especially because the way they go about conversations like kids/marriage is so fuckin funny to me.

i luv you even more, and hope you have the most wonderful of days, friend <3 thank you for not letting one, but TWO??? of my stories take up residency in your thoughts. it means the world to me and i'm giving you all the hugs and forehead kisses <3

[patchworkgargoyle]

🌿 Wip Ask Game

Thanks so much for the tag @numinosmoon!!

Rules

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We're posting progress here. If you haven't made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you've posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That's it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

I'll be doing this from today until Sunday, so send in as many asks as you'd like!!

Non-obligatorily tagging: @steves-strapcollection @scarcrossdlvrs @inairbinad @stobinesque

WIPs

i recognise you're a hideous thing inside (steddiebang)

mouth of the wolf, eyes of the lamb (kas!eddie)

Boot Shine (NSFW)

Snippet

A big, juicy one from mouth of the wolf, eyes of the lamb~

There was a warm touch on his shoulder. A voice. Eddie groaned, his throat tight, feeling his face pull into a frown and he turned away. The touch became more insistent. A hand, shaking his shoulder, the voice clearer and calling his name. He didn’t want to wake up. Exhaustion held his body down like lead but his mind was pulled out of the syrupy darkness of deep sleep by the hands on his arm.

“What?” Eddie asked in a low, raspy crackle. “Go away.” He tried to burrow further into the plush pillows and cosy duvet but he was held in place.

A snort. “Jesus, Eddie, I thought you’d sunk into a coma or something.”

Oh right. Steve. And… fuck, everything else from yesterday. Eddie cracked his eyes open at the relief behind the humour in Steve’s voice, met once again with the appalling decor of the room but also Steve’s bright, teasing smile. It began to fall, though, when his eyes skated up Eddie’s arm and down to the bit of bare chest revealed when Eddie shifted under the covers.

“You looked, huh?”

Swallowing, Eddie glanced at the mirror and away again. “Yeah.”

“Are you… okay?”

“I dunno, Steve, would you be okay if you got shredded like ground beef to death and came back fucking wrong?” he snapped, wrenching his arm out of Steve’s grasp to sit up. The duvet pooled around his waist but he refused to look at the damage done, unwilling to acknowledge that he didn’t remember going to bed buck naked last night.

From the corner of his eye Eddie saw Steve put his hands on his hips. “Sure. Fair. Not even gonna say ‘I told you so’ because that feels like beating a dead horse, so: breakfast is ready downstairs if you want it.” And Steve left, shutting the bedroom door behind himself.

Gritting his teeth, Eddie turned his head to look at the door before correcting himself, blinking down at the horrifically patterned duvet instead, unable to avoid seeing the dark stains on his skin the the periphery of his vision.