#as you can tell it’s only Oswald that’s been drawn

[sunny1927]

And another scene that’s a work in progress of my animatic, this one is actually the most difficult to do so haha(considering it’s all 100+ layers… yeah my storage is gonna die :’D)!

Oswald and Mickey really are wasting my animation budget-/j

[maxwell-grant]

This feels like the kind of ask someone should've gotten around to a million years ago, but it seems it falls to me: The Shadow vs. The Penguin. Is there anything there?

Anonymous asked: How would pulp heroes like the Shadow or Green Hornet respond to The Penguin. Characters like Joker or Ra’s I can see them gunning down but that feels weird to do with Oswald “Pengy For President” Cobblepot

(Penguin by Mike Mignola. The Shadow by Lela Dowling)

It's amazing, really, what you've built here. You had a vision and made it real. Every Batman in existence respects you for it, Oswald. In fact, I'll tell you a secret…people assume that Batman's last enemy on most worlds out there is Joker. Maybe Riddler, or Ra's…but it's you.

See, you grow this crime empire until he has to deal with you. - The Batman Who Laughs #3

What there is here is a bit of an impasse, because yes obviously this is brutally, comically one-sided against The Penguin. Pitting most if not all Batman villains against The Shadow is going to be already one-sided in The Shadow's favor. Pick a Batman villain, even the big ones that make Batman the underdog like Ra's and Bane, and you can name a similar threat that The Shadow already defeated. Even if you don't count superpowered cheating with whatever abilities The Shadow has this moment, he's already dealt with most of everything they can do, he's beaten these strategies and puzzles and countless death traps at their own game, and yeah there's the fact that he's known for the fact his villains don't tend to come back for round two even when they don't die facing him. Villains that he faces tend to die specifically because they try to kill him and he returns their fire (it's important to establish here that, unless his enemies have guns drawn on innocent people, The Shadow rarely shoots first - they always have a chance to lay down their arms and walk away, a chance that most obviously never take), and Penguin's known for his unwillingness to go down without a fight and for his signature move being a concealed sneak attack, which means his odds of dying are near dead certain.

In fact, The Shadow already fought a Penguin-esque guy as one of his few reocurring villains, via The Wasp, Gibson's latter day attempt to make another Voodoo Master/Shiwan Khan. The Wasp is a "Napoleon of crime" whose body and strange buzz voice and antics and operations are themed after his namesake animal/insects, who uses a concealed weapon part of said theme (an electric "sting" on his hand powered by batteries on his belt), who connects Cranston to The Shadow and was also the only villain to figure out that Kent Allard is The Shadow. He was cleverer and more resourceful and harder to defeat than most of the typical Shadow villains, and to his credit he did achieve a thing nobody else really achieved in the run, and it didn't really do him that much (learning the secret identity tends to be a death sentence for vigilantes, but for The Shadow it's really not that big a deal, given how easily he can make new ones) and he still went out like a chump, and he's only really remembered as the less impressive of the reocurring supervillains, lacking the outright superpowers of the others. It seems like a fairly closed case.

Problem is, the more comically one-sided the odds are against Oswald, the more likely he is to actually win or at least survive because of that. Going up against people who should have his goose cooked, getting away with things he absolutely shouldn't, slipping away to survive and put one over Johnny Law, that's his thing, it's been his thing from day one. He is no stranger to dealing with vigilantes or people much bigger and stronger and scarier than him, it wasn't that long ago he was walking off getting shot at point blank and later faking his death. Penguin is no common criminal, and he isn't just a guy who's unusually smart and competent at it enough to waddle among supervillains either. In his narrative domain, The Shadow is unbeatable, but in his narrative home, The Penguin is unkillable, and not just because he's a comic book villain who survives by editorial demand. He has protagonist survival clause now.

In his ups and downs over the years, he survived in large part by becoming a fixture of Gotham, someone impossible to uproot from the setting, with his ignanimous transformation into stool-pigeon and banal crimelord in part a consequence of said survival. After more or less retiring from villainy, the next step was to very gradually join the likes of Catwoman, Azrael, Harley Quinn and Renee Montoya in their careers as independent Gotham-adjacent protagonists, which is why he now gets to have his own tv series (the second one at that, because Gotham exists and if it achieved anything, it was proving that there's an audience for The Penguin Show - and yes it still is very much shitty, but also not remotely surprising, that the instant they made a version of Oswald thin, that guy became a critical and fandom darling overnight). The Penguin wormed his way into becoming irreplaceable and they tried, they tried very hard over the years to replace this guy, and he's taken some brutal lumps and fell off very hard from the Bat-villain totem pole, but even that just enabled him to ascend to a different pole and one that makes it he can't really be just another gangster or supervillain to be knocked around, and one that's almost specifically built to ensure his narrative survival. Someone who serves the story better by being alive.

Has The Shadow ever dealt with a guy like this? Yes, yes he has. The Shadow is no stranger to criminal protagonists, or the concept of nuance, or redemption. He is certainly no stranger to the gentleman of crime who is more than what he seems.

The man who entered was tall and well built. He had the manner of a gentleman. He was attired in a perfectly fitting dress suit, which he wore with the easy air of a man of the world - Kings of Crime

The gentleman of crime arose, picked up his hat and coat and reached for his cane. There, his form obscured, The Shadow stood close enough to overhear what Graham Wellerton was saying. The gentleman of crime was talking to members of his mob.

What was Graham Wellerton's purpose? How and why had the gentleman of crime parted from his men? Why was he no longer engaged in robbery? - Road of Crime

To all appearance, George Ellerby was a gentleman; and he was actually qualified to prove such a claim. But tonight, he was to be a gentleman of crime - Battle of Greed

"I wonder," said Sandersham, slowly, "just how much The Shadow can do, or intends to do. Who is he, Krengle? How powerful is he?"

"No one knows who The Shadow is," replied the lawyer. "But he is death on crooks, they say, and he considers crime to be much broader than its legal implications." - Battle of Greed

There's about 5 Shadow novels that specifically touch on the topic of redemption. There are others where it comes up, plenty of others where The Shadow goes the extra mile in giving criminals a chance, and stories that highlight the lines that The Shadow draws in deciding how to deal with criminals (“To murderers, The Shadow dealt death: to such schemes (robbery, fraud, etc), he dealt ridicule.” - The Third Shadow), but those 5 make a focus of it. In all of those 5, we meet characters that can be called a "gentleman of crime". They are cunning, respectable-looking young men who use their smarts for crime, largely because of social circumstances that force them into using criminal tactics for dealing with life-consuming problems that the law has failed them in, and The Shadow assists them in addressing and rectifying said problems and turning their lives around.

In Kings of Crime, blackmailer and swindler Hubert Carpenter. In Road of Crime, the protagonist Graham Wellerton, "bank robber deluxe". In The Broken Napoleons, engineer Curt Sturley. Battle of Greed opens with George Ellerby, although he's not really the protagonist and is stopped before he commits his first robbery, and that story has two other redemptions that pull more focus. And in House of Shadows, Kid Pell, whose tragic demise opens the story. With the exception of Carpenter, all of these young men are given understandable and even sympathetic reasons for having become criminals, as all of them became criminals specifically because the law failed them profoundly and allowed them to suffer horrible injustice and ruin upon their lives and families, while shielding those that inflicted it upon them and provided no other recourse for them, and The Shadow goes out of his way to directly or indirectly steer them away from the paths they're walking.

Out of these, only Hubert Carpenter had a body count: he is not a murderer outright, but his past deeds had pushed victims to suicide, and The Shadow fully intended to let him serve his sentence in full. It is through the involvement of innocent parties (he took a dive to get the money to his family, he was betrayed, and his wife fell ill, making him break out of jail and desperately try to get the money for her treatment by robbing an old man who turned out to be The Shadow in disguise) and Carpenter’s own serious efforts to reform himself and assist in the downfall of his far crueler former partners that he’s able to redeem himself and face a new life (The Shadow delivers a government pardon so that he serves a month instead of 10 years).

“Somehow, he knew that The Shadow would not see the innocent suffer for the guilty.” - Kings of Crime

Kid Pell, who had already shot at least 6 people and killed 2 before the story began, wasn't quite so lucky. Dying of blood loss after trying to shoot The Shadow, his last words are a plead for him to get the guy who pushed him into this path, and keep an eye on his brother Denry to stop him from going down his path (which ends up happening, but The Shadow is able to save Denry in time).

"They called me a public enemy," declared Pell. "What else could I be, after my first kill? You know what it is to be quick on the trigger. That's the way I am" - he hesitated, his smile dwindling - "or was."

"I tried crime," said the Kid. "It didn't pay. But I was in it - deep. So I stayed. I've got no excuses. I'm not even blaming the fellow that started me in it. What I did was on my own. Understand?"

"Do me a favor," muttered the dying man. "Let me be forgotten - as Kid Pell. I rigged this hideout, so I could close accounts. Let me go through with it the way I want."

The Shadow's whispered tone gave agreement. Pell's face relaxed. In the glow of the lantern, his features lost their forced hardness. It was easy to see why he had been nicknamed the Kid. His age couldn't have been more than twenty-two.

Even his surroundings spoke a pathetic story. The shelves of the trailer were provisioned for a long stay; and among the canned goods were a few jars of homemade jam; probably the very sort that he had swiped from his mother's pantry only a few years ago.

There were books, too, that dated back to boyhood. Even when he had embarked on his career as a public enemy, Kid Pell had taken these along. He was looking at them, eyes open, the jam jars and the books, and he was smiling again, Kid Pell was. But the dampness from his dying eyes was forming into little beads, like raindrops. Suddenly, the Kid's lips stiffened.

A hand was resting on the Kid's shoulder. He could feel the power of its grip: the hand of The Shadow, merciless to men of crime. To this dying youth, murderer though he was, the pressure of that hand had the warmth of friendship.

"Maybe, Shadow" - The Kid was choking the words - "I ought to have met you before. Maybe… if I had-"

The grip tightened. It brought an end to regrets that could not be remedied. It steeled the Kid for what lay ahead - House of Shadows

-the words that The Shadow delivered held Sandersham rigid. Never in his life had the millionaire listened to such pointed accusations; such words that jogged his memory, nor such tokens of prophecy. "Rupert Sandersham," came the voice, "you are a man condemned by your own avarice! You are a master, not of finance, but of greed!"

"While your wealth grows greater," resumed The Shadow's voice, "your life grows shorter. As your schemes expand, your soul shrivels. You have physical comforts, yes"—the tone was mocking—"but who knows how long you shall retain them?"

"Your power, Sandersham, is not equal to the strength of the law. There have been loopholes in your schemes, that certain eyes may discover before your attorneys plug them". - Battle of Greed

Is The Penguin sympathetic? In some ways, yes. Is The Penguin redeemable? Not a question I'm remotely interested in handing a firm "Yes/No" to, because it's kinda both and neither, redemption tends to be conditional and fickle like that, and also irrelevant to the matter here: We've established that The Shadow (again, speaking for the pulp version here, it's what I tend to do) does not go out of his way to execute criminals, but doesn't hesitate to kill them when they try to gun him or others down. Would The Shadow extend The Penguin an olive branch and spare his life in the hopes that he'd come around and use his impressive intellect and resources and drive for the better? No. It would be useless. The Shadow doesn't deal with that kind of "hope", and The Penguin would not be interested in doing so either.

There have been occasions where The Shadow was caught in a bad enough situation that he had to momentarily pause the pursuit of a criminal, but The Shadow does not compromise, nor does he ever really need to, and he knows a true villain when he sees it. He is not keeping Oswald around as a informant, because he doesn't play by Gotham City rules where that seems like a reasonable thing to do. The true villain of most Shadow stories is always the person who stands to profit the most from said calamity, and most of the time they operate beneath suspicion. There is 0% chance of him underestimating Oswald the way Oswald prefers to be underestimated.

There are two ways Oswald Cobblepot would walk away from meeting a quick death at the hands of The Shadow. The first would be if he never killed anyone, or did anything that led to anyone's death ever again. He'd have to commit to undoing the ruin he brought onto people's lives and give back as much to the city and his victims as he possibly could. Such was what The Shadow did in Battle of Greed to Rupert Sandersham, a millionaire who got a kick out of ruining others financially. He is not the villain, nor is he a murderer, but The Shadow manipulated and terrorized him into making amends and repaying all the people he destroyed. These would be the best, most impossibly nice terms The Shadow could offer Oswald, along with him serving time and spend his whole life looking over his shoulder when, and if, he gets out.

"Look at yourself, Sandersham! You are wearing stripes! In front of you are bars! Beyond you, the outside world. Regard it as an omen, and make your choice. Amend the past; rectify the wrongs that you have done—or face the future consequences that your present methods will bring you!"

Rupert Sandersham was staring downward. His startled eyes saw the stripes that The Shadow had mentioned: those alternate ribbons of dark and light, that came from the setting sun. They had turned his gray suit into a convict's garb! Could it be that he, Rupert Sandersham, might find himself within a prison cell?- Battle of Greed

And that is not happening. There is not a single version of The Penguin who would accept these terms or accept this as a thing he's going to do. Short of the most kid-friendly media and even then, much as I argue that he should have rules of conduct, I don't think there is a single version of the Penguin who'd balk at murder or who hasn't committed it with little to no remorse. Oswald Cobblepot may carry much bitterness and heartbreak, but The Penguin loves what he is too much to accept being anything else. He isn't scared of any of these terms and would find them deeply absurd, because who is this, trying to tell The Penguin he isn't allowed to rob this thing, or kill that guy getting on his nerves, or ruin that rich asshole over there. The audacity of this laughing clown! As if he didn't have one too many to deal with!

The other way he lives, at least for a while, is if he turns out to be right about the way Gotham City works, and it turns out that he really cannot be removed from his position without far worse things growing as a result. I don't think The Shadow would have issues with the Batman villains individually, but neither do Batman or most superheroes. It's Gotham City that's the real problem here, and it's a problem that Batman hasn't solved in nearly a hundred years, and neither has Superman or any of the billion superheroes in that universe, a problem that will never be solved so long as there's a profit to be made on Batman. The Shadow can and has cleaned cities of organized crime before, usually by manipulating it's players into destroying each other, but even he has limits and Gotham City is no mere gangster-ridden town, much like how the man who claimed it is no mere crimelord either.

So the final matter at play here is whether The Penguin is right, and if so, whether The Shadow can afford to kill The Penguin, when there are other more pressing matters. Because the biggest reason Penguin's able to position himself where he is, as a necessary evil in-universe and a reocurring side character/even protagonist out of it, is by never being the nastiest or most urgently threatening villain in the room, and therefore always being the one that the heroes have to compromise with or have to defeat quickly to get moving. He has weaponized a Kingpin-esque idea that he is a necessary deterrent, because Gotham can always get worse, and everyone else who can take power in Gotham from him is much worse than him, and therefore you save the most innocent lives by allowing him to do his thing under a leash. Refer that line above, about how The Shadow will not suffer the innocent for the guilty.

There has been at least one Shadow story where he's dealt with this dillemma, in Face of Doom, as I elaborate here. The Shadow defeated the Face through taking the long way around, disarming his individual lieutenants, luring them into traps and disguising himself as The Face and all kinds of strategies necessary to checkmate the guy, but in the process also giving The Face enough time to regroup and strategize and target his agent(s). A similar thing happened when he had to take down Benedict Stark, and had to considerably slow down the operations to rescue Rutledge Mann from kidnapping. Issuing any kind of harm or death to The Shadow's agents guarantees him unleashing carnage on you personally, refer to Gangdom's Doom where he obliterates organized crime in Chicago in response to the death of Claude Fellows, but The Penguin can play smart. He can refrain from doing that, and buy himself more time, as The Shadow goes after those that think they have what it takes.

I think The Shadow vs The Penguin would probably pull elements from all of these stories I'd mentioned. If The Penguin is right, The Shadow would have to defeat, or at minimum stall, crime in Gotham City in a way that could then remove The Penguin from the picture, which means The Shadow would have to go through the rest of Batman's Rogues Gallery. Difference being, he's not going to fight those guys forever, he might not even fight them at all.

For The Shadow, he's up against a particularly smart, resourceful and powerful "gentleman of crime". One with personal tragedies and codes of conduct, one who might have even been like the ones he'd been able to reform if life hadn't twisted him, but who at present poses an active danger to the lives of people of the city, and stopping that is the bigger concern. He's taking down not just one crime king, but an empire that the crime king holds at bay, and god knows how many crime kings in the way, and possibly others who would see the innocent suffer for the guilty and keep this stalemate forever. The Shadow doesn't do stalemates, and Oswald Cobblepot is going to repent for all he's done or die, and nothing in between.

For The Penguin? He might very well be in heaven. He's dealing with death itself arriving from nowhere to give him the greatest challenge of all: surviving. Which just so happens to be the thing he does best and takes the most pride in doing. It might even be the kind of thing that makes him feel alive again. Facing down someone every bit the implacable wall of terror the Bat is, but who is less about the martial arts brute showdowns and more about god knows how many other subtler espionage chessplay and psychological mind tricks, and zero hesitation in putting a bullet in his head.

And possibly taking it's sweet time wiping out all of the competition, going through the long list of wiping out all of Oswald's hated rivals and competitors for him, and possibly a few unfortunate friends. Years, decades of playing the long game, gathering his assets, putting pieces in place, keeping his head low, letting the Bats and the others walk over him and forget he's there, and he's rewarded with the game of a lifetime! To be the arch-criminal who took on The Shadow and won! You'd almost think he'd have planned for The Shadow to come after him, and getting very angry if Batman shows up to get on the case to stop this because huur I'm a big selfish brute who wants to hog all the fun, duuuh Oswald you can do better, we don't kill around these parts Shadow huurgh, god, Batman, *waugh* can you BE any more of a self-important killjoy?

Sure, if no divine intervention comes, he's absolutely going to die, he is not walking out of this confrontation alive even if The Shadow has to go through Gotham ten times to get to him. But, you know, the real problem with Icarus was that idiot drowned when he fell, because he forgot to pack a bathing suit.

And you know what penguins do best, right?

*WAUGH WAUGH WAUGH*

[cactusmisslittle]

Real Penguins Make Do - BTAS Oswald Cobblepot x Reader

Summary: You decide to bring a new toy into the bedroom. Oswald is more than happy to oblige. GN reader. (The title is from a joke on the Arkham Discord)

Word Count: 2.3k (I'm so sorry)

Warnings: Ovipositors, slight breeding kink, dom/sub dynamics, dom!reader, Oswald's trust issues

It never failed to amaze you how authoritarian Oswald was in his day-to-day life juxtaposed against how, frankly, needy he was when alone with you.

Oswald's whole body shuddered beneath you, even without having been touched, and you thought to yourself, not for the first time, how lucky you were to get to see him like this. With his poise and dignity stripped away, leaving him bare and raw and open. Only you would ever know how touch-starved he truly was, how he'd preen under the smallest scraps of affection.

"Such a sweet boy..." Your voice was barely above a murmur and you gently touched his cheek, smiling at how his head subtly tilted into your palm. His eyes were already soft and glassy as he looked up at you with that lovestruck grin that always appeared when you held him like this.

"And what do you have planned for us tonight, my turtledove?" You could tell how hard he was trying to retain his usual smooth, collected tone, but the tremor in his voice was unmistakable.

"And ruin the surprise? You'll find out as we go."

And, god, that worked exactly as you had hoped. All the air escaped his lungs in a reverent 'oh' as his pupils dilated.

"W-well," he swallowed thickly, "I am yours to do with what you will."

"Mm, I already knew that." You twisted your fingers into his hair and pulled, relishing the drawn-out whine that you elicited. As much as you loved cradling him in your arms like this, you did have a plan to get to. "Alright, pretty boy, I want you on the bed, legs spread."

Oswald nearly tripped over his own feet in his rush to obey.

Once situated, he looked over at where you were standing, brow furrowed in confusion. You were holding what he could only assume was a sex toy, but the shape was unlike any he had ever seen before. The length didn't seem terribly intimidating, no more than six inches, but the thought of how girthy knot at the base and the little bumps that covered it would feel inside of him made Oswald whimper and unconsciously rub his thighs together. The strange part, though, was the hole in the tip that seemed to go all the way down the toy and the clamshell container you held in your other hand.

Still, the fact that Oswald had no idea what he was looking at only made him impossibly harder. He hadn't requested this. You were bringing this into the bedroom entirely of your own volition, because you wanted to use it on him, and that thought alone made Oswald dizzy.

At this point, he was convinced that there was almost nothing he wouldn't eagerly let you do to him. While he had gotten a lot better about it over the course of your relationship, there would always be some lingering doubts as to whether you were only with him to use him, or worse, out of pity. So, if you wanted to do something that normally wouldn't interest him, that only made it all the more appealing. He could know with certainty that you were doing it for yourself, and that, no matter how hard it was to imagine, he was desired.

Oswald was wrenched from his thoughts by your hand settling gently on his thigh, and he couldn't help but gasp softly at the touch. God, he must look so pathetic like this, and yet, he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"Ozzy?" You set the clamshell down on the bed so that you could hold the toy in both hands. "Do you know what this is?"

Oswald shook his head, eyes widening as he took in the sight properly. It was even more intimidating up close, and he had to bite his cheek to keep from moaning out loud.

"You can touch it, if you'd like. It's called an ovipositor." He tentatively reached out to touch the bumpy surface, and you smiled before opening the clamshell. Inside were yellow, translucent eggs. "These are made from gelatin. That way they'll dissolve if they get stuck."

"Get... stuck..." Oswald looked between the eggs and the toy as it slowly dawned on him what it was designed to do. A shiver ran down his spine and he squirmed in place. "Oh, lord have mercy..."

You snickered at his reaction, but he was too dazed to care. You squeezed his hand lightly to pull him out of it. "Colour, baby?"

His eyes flicked up to meet yours and he swallowed, nodding once. "Green. Very green."

You brought his hand up to your lips and kissed his fused knuckles gently, smiling at how his already red face turned nearly purple in embarrassment. "Alright. Don't hesitate to tell me if it's too much, okay?"

Oswald nodded, breath quickening as you nudged his legs apart once again. He heard the squelch of lube being squeezed onto your fingers, but even with that warning, he still jolted when he felt your fingers press against his hole.

"Please..." he whispered, though what he was begging for, he wasn't sure.

You smiled down at him, and Oswald had to close his eyes to keep from swooning. As always, he opened up beautifully for you, eagerly accepting your fingers as his hole readily stretched to take more, as though he had been made for this. You'd mentioned that last bit more than once before, and even as he hit your shoulder indignantly in response, his cock invariably betrayed him.

Now, though, you decided to spare him the teasing, and he was silently grateful for it. He was already showing you far more vulnerability than he'd be comfortable with were it anyone else. Still, that didn't stop him from arching his back with a soft wheeze when he felt your fingers brush against his prostate.

His eyes opened a fraction, still heavily lidded, and he looked up at you with an embarrassing squeak. His eyes flicked down to the toy in your hands and he licked his lips in anticipation.

"You ready, honey?" Your voice pierced through his haze like an arrow and he sucked in a breath. He waited for a moment before answering, wanting to drink in every moment, every soft gaze and kind word, until they drowned the ghosts of his past in their sacchirine flood.

He was not, however, a patient man, so it was only a few seconds before he was nodding frantically, biting his lip until a metallic tang burst on his tongue. He knew how pathetic he must look, how ashamed he ought to be, and yet, with you, he couldn't bring himself to care. Need washed over him like an oppressive cloak and his mind could only repeat you, you, you in a broken prayer.

Slowly, (far more slowly than Oswald would have liked, and yet, the strange tenderness of it could make him cry), you began to inch the toy into him. It started off easy. Most of the toy was smooth and gently tapered, so it slid into him with little resistance, and for a moment, he allowed himself to relax.

Then he reached the knot. The toy doubled in girth at the base, and Oswald threw his head back against the pillow with a soft thump, choking on his own spit. The bumps were tantalizingly prominent, and he swore he could count every single one of them as they dragged along his inner walls. His hands scrambled for purchase on the sheets and he keened helplessly, his hips twitching and writhing of their own accord, only to cause the toy to shift inside of him and repeat the cycle all over again.

Once he had taken it in to hilt, you stopped, allowing him to get used to the new sensations. By this point, he was babbling incoherently and his chest was red and splotchy from arousal. You smiled down at him and cupped his cheek in your hand, and he leaned into it without even seeming to realize it.

"Colour, Ozzy?"

His forehead crinkled in dismay at having to try to get something coherent to leave his mouth, but he managed a weak, "G-green..."

You smiled your approval, and Oswald felt like he was flying. Then the toy began to move.

The sounds leaving Oswald's lips as you fucked him with the ovipositor were absolutely broken, and it took him a moment to even realize they were coming from himself. It was all too much, far too much, and yet if you stopped, he thought he might die. The toy plunged deep inside if him, but the knot was what really broke him. It slid in and out, stretching his hole to the limit and then suddenly releasing it in rapid succession. It was so fast, so brutal, and yet the dramatic texture ensured that he felt everything. Squeals that he would surely be embarrassed by later fell freely from his throat and he alternated between begging for you to slow down and fuck him harder. You did neither. You took him at the pace you wanted, and when your free hand held his hips in a bruising grasp to stop them from moving, he could only moan.

"You're such a good boy. Taking it so well for me," you cooed, your gentle tone juxtaposed painfully against what you were doing, "Do you want me to pump you full of eggs, baby? Want me to breed you?"

And fuck, he never stood a chance, did he?

Oswald was too lost in his own pleasure to respond verbally, but he nodded desperately, and you noted the way he squirmed with every word. You smirked as you realized you may have awoken something in him.

"Yeah? You want to carry my eggs for me? Incubate them just like a real penguin?"

Okay, maybe that last part was a little silly, and you snorted internally, but Oswald didn't seem to notice. His eyes were glazed over and hazy and could only whimper in response, reaching up to cling to your shoulders with trembling hands.

You lined one of the gelatin eggs up with the ovipositor and pushed it down the tube. Oswald cried out and kicked his legs frenetically. He could feel the egg as a lump inside the toy slowly working its way to the tip, as though it were pulsating. When the egg popped out the tip, he felt it slide in deep as his hole swallowed it down greedily. Vaguely, your comment about the potential for the eggs getting stuck echoed in his mind, and he moaned at the thought.

One by one, you pushed the eggs through the ovipositor slowly, watching him writhe and gasp with every one. By the time you were lining up the last egg, tears were blurring his vision. He felt so full, in ways that he had never experienced before, and he was holding his orgasm back by his fingernails.

"P-please... please... I-I need..."

You smiled at his incohesive prattling and bent down to kiss his forehead, noting how he whined just as sharply at the affection as if you had grabbed his dick.

"Just one more, Ozzy. Just take one more egg and you can cum. Think you can do that for me?" you said gently, running your free hand through his hair. You were getting it greasy with lube, but with how much he was sweating at this point, it didn't seem to matter much.

His breath was quivering and he looked on the verge of weeping, but he nodded meekly in response.

"Good boy."

The praise sent a shudder down his spine, and it took all of his concentration to hold back as he felt the slow movement of the egg inside of the toy working its way into him. He looked absolutely wreaked, and as soon as he felt the soft pop of the egg being pushed out of the toy, he screeched in white-hot pleasure and finally allowed his climax to overtake him. His whole body convulsed as he rode it out, almost looking as though he was being electrocuted, and you couldn't help but take hold of the toy to fuck him through it.

For Oswald, the next several minutes were an exhausted blur, and the next thing he knew, he had been cleaned off with a wet towel and was curled up against your chest. He clung to you with slow, shuddering breaths and slowly looked up to meet your gaze.

"Good?"

He nodded his assent and hid his face in your shoulder once again. "Mm. Very good." His voice was hoarse, and he found himself being gently pulled away from you to have a water bottle held to his lips. He begrudgingly took a few sips, then returned to his prior position with a soft sigh.

"You did so well for me, my sweet boy," you said with a smile as you put the bottle back on the end table, then began to gently play with his hair, "I wasn't easy on you, but you took it so beautifully for me. I love seeing you come undone."

Oswald grumbled, vaguely embarrassed, but you could feel his smile against your skin.

"Hey, you know I love you, right?" You cupped his face in his hands and gently nudged his chin upwards so that your eyes met. His cheeks were red, but he looked content.

"I do," he agreed quietly, and that alone made your heart soar before he could even say it back. It had taken you ages to reach this point, to gently repair the trust that had been shattered by so many others before you. Still, your chest did warm as you heard his meek: "And I love you."

You ran your fingers along his cheekbones to his temples as you leaned forward to gently kiss the tip of his nose, torn between finding the broken gasp it elicited adorable or heartbreaking. Even with how far you've come, it would take far more for him to truly believe that he was worthy of love. You knew that. But until that day came, you'd just have to love him enough for the both of you.

[thedancingcockroach134]

Human Tito x Human Ozzie cause I can

Warning: ⚠ SOME LEMON, GAYNESS 💅, AND STUFF THAT REMINDS YOU THAT YOU'RE A SINGLE PRINGLE-

Place: Mental Asylum

It's been 5 days already since Ozzie had arrived. Depression just only makes it worse. Ozzie's an autistic man, this causes him to see the world differently with a childlike, patient processing mind. He's around his 20's in his age. He has a bald head, some hairs showing, a scar on his neck that was caused by his abusive mother, a mark from being sexually abused, and mostly excited but sad in the inside. Woken up, Ozzie hear's a knock on his room door. He gets up to see one of the orderlies' with his laundry. "Here you go, Oswald," the orderlie said, " it's all clean. Dr. Fine also wanted me to ask you about your 5th day so far. So, how is it?" Ozzie tries to process an answer correctly, "Uhm...I-I feeling happy good! H-Happy is good, right? Yeah! Happy good!" Ozzie lies to the orderlie about his day so far. "Well, that's, uh..., great!" the orderlie says, "Alright, I'll see you later, bye!" The orderlie places Ozzie's laundry on the mini desk and closes his door. Ozzie giggles, "Happy good, happy good, happy good!" He jumps around and laughs. "Bad sad, good happy!" He says, "Do not be sad, Ozzie," he tells himself, "mommy will never be here again. Mommy bad to Ozzie." A few hours later pass, everyone's supposed to be in regular schedule now. Session circles, therapy, comfort zone, Super Happy Fun Room, eat leftovers until lunch is ready, the asylum was weird. Jerry Robert Willis, Ozzie's boss and best friend, calls his Crazy 8 gang over to have a "meeting". Ozzie never hears the first time, so his "mother" like best friend makes sure that he's there. Ozzie was drawing a picture of him and Tito, his other best friend who's Mexican. The drawing showed him and Tito as line figures holding hands. A little heart was drawn between the middle. "Uh, Ozzie," a curley haired, blond girl says, "you okay?" Her name was Camila, a.k.a "Cammy". "Ozzie okay, Camila. Ozzie be fine with Camila and friends." he said.

[ghost--girlfriend]

You!! Do you have an s/i you haven't revealed yet and if you're comfortable share us some fun facts about em'!!! Otherwise tell us some funky facts about your current or favorite s/i!!!

‐@side-self-shift

!!! thanks for the ask, and yes :D! lets see.....

heres Serum, for my ship with Infected <3

(shes the angel, and my Infected design is to the left!) I LOVE HERRR BEEN WANTING TO TALK ABOUT HER FOREVERRR i just always forget to actually post about her!!! Serum is an angel who can join the Elevator(regretevator, infected's source, is an endless elevator type game) and, from first sight, fell in love with this fucking freak gamer Infected. Infected introduced her to much of the world, and sense Serum wasn't grossed out or avoiding him(Infected's disease is, shocker, infectious! But as an Angel Serum is immune to sickness) Infected caught feelings HARD. They soon after started going out, totally latched onto each other, and now this divine being watches Infected play video games and they eat pizza together. Shes never been so happy

My Scott Pilgrim s/i for Roxie...

I only have this picture of her and no name yet or anything <///3 (heavily based off of this picrew!) I know I want her to be able to soothe Roxie's heart after her breakup with Ramona... and thus starts a whirlwind romance! They both get weird about the other. and make out in public. im thinking I want my s/i to have some cool powers like a few of the other characters but im not sure how to go about it just yet rtyfgu

Loretta Lamb with Oswald the Lucky Rabbit-

That doodle with gloves/shoes is the first time ive drawn her wearing. actual 'clothes' and i DONT LIKE IT so im TAKING IT BACK IMMEDIATELY but shes a cute little sheepy and Oswald's wife! At first glance you'd take her to be a mellow and charming individual. and you'd be right to an extent... Loretta can be just as rowdy and silly as her husband! Shy around others, but once shes warmed up to you Loretta gets all energetic and bouncy :)

And Astrid for my ship with Shirou!

Shes a sea otter beastman living in Anima City :) once, she was saved by Shirou, and searches him out to thank him. After noticing he seems so lonely, Astrid decides to be his friend. Shirou is apprehensive about that. To be honest I'm nottt really sure how the transition from strangers to friends go because Shirou is NOT the sociable type and tends to push people away but Astrid just worms her way into his heart! Shirou starts finding himself falling for her... theres a lot of hesitance in pursuing a romantic relationship and lots of 'its better for you if youre not with me' on Shirou's side but Astrid is determined to smooch that Wolf! They take the relationship slow, and in the future get married and have a daughter <3

[farads]

Something that's been bothering me for a while is the Heather - Oswald disappearance timeline and how little it makes sense based on what characters have said and what was written in Oswald's letter to Dagur. But I think I've come up with something that kinda works?

For the timeline we have:

ROB episode: Twinsanity - the treaty signing with the Berserkers is annual, Stoick etc were confused that Dagur was now chief meaning that the most recently they've seen Oswald was one year before the events of ROB

this means that Heather is 13/14 when he goes missing as is the rest of the gang.

HOWEVER it is stated that Heather was set adrift as a child and early enough that she has almost no recollection of her life in the Berserker tribe. Her memories also show the hands of a child who is - at most - eight years old and very likely younger than that.

This leaves a >7 year gap between when Heather was set adrift and when Oswald disappeared.

If this had been addressed in searching for Oswald and chicken it would've worked out fine but in Oswald's letter to Dagur he mentions he hopes Dagur takes good care of her.

At this point heather has been missing for 7+ years and Oswald should know that so why does he imply otherwise? Especially with no mention of her going missing?

The only way I can think of this working logically is if Oswald had some kind of memory loss. There are several possibilities (early onset dementia, various forms of trauma induced amnesia, etc) personally I think dementia fits the best for reasons I'll explain below.

if we look at the cave drawings he does of Dagur and Heather, they both look really young. Especially for heather it's clear it's how they looked several years prior to ROB. Which would make sense, if he's forgotten some or all of the past few years, he would remember his kids looking younger (especially Dagur) and he wouldn't know Heather has been set adrift (especially if she was older (5-6) when she went missing) or that Dagur very clearly hasn't taken care of her.

Memory loss may also explain why his journal was so disjointed and hard to follow.

Afaik some memory loss conditions like dementia (especially the beginning stages) have both moments of lucidity (when he could write the letters but still 'living in the past' ie before Heather was lost) and confusion/ideas that no-one else can understand (when the nonsense/dangerous journal entries were written) it's also very likely that at some point he DID have specific questions he wanted to answer that eventually got clouded mentally and made his work incomprehensible.

As for how his journal somehow made its way into Dagur and Heather's hands instead of being shipwrecked with him. He may have seen the island from a distance and drawn the Bewilderbeast skull and then returned home (maybe was running late to something - like a treaty signing - and couldn't stop) and left his journal with the Berserkers, then at some time later, decided to go and explore the island without telling anyone (dementia patients are known to wander off) and shipwrecked. He very well could've tried to leave and the Sentinels stopped him (wrecked his ship) because he hadn't proven himself yet. Only then did he decide to make the most of it and help the sentinels fight off the grim gnashers.

As for his death there are plenty of possibilities because living isolated means that even is something minor goes wrong it can kill you. Disease, old age or injury could have caused it and even if they were usually minor, because nobody was able to care for him, whatever it was became fatal.

[neoncrowpen]

Hey Crow, can you write male reader as Tommy's son? not Charles, but maybe his older brother or an only child? Whatever works for you. We know that Tommy was more openly affectionate while Grace was alive, attentive too, but after she died (and I'm referring to his conversation with Charlie inside the wagon after Johnny Dogs took them to Wales) he shut himself off, and buries himself in his work, though he is still calm and warm towards Charlie in the scenes we've seen so far (+his bad health in S5.) That makes me think about reader wanting to spend more time with him especially after his marriage to Lizzie and the birth of Ruby; but then Tommy becomes a politician. Which brings me to this request - what do you think about reader breaking into Tommy's office in the House of Commons, hoping to get some of his attention but it backfires? Tommy yells at him instead and reader tries to explain himself but Tommy wouldn't hear it. I just really need some angry Tommy/dad Tommy content and I really enjoy your portrayal of him in my first two requests. I hope that this one is okay, too.

As you sped off in a good sprint, you thought of your uncle Finn. He had driven you into the city after you lied to him about ‘wanting to spend time with your favorite uncle’. Either you were taking on more of your stepmother’s traits or Finn was the dumbest Shelby in the family. It didn’t matter in the end. You got to exactly where you wanted to be.

You had been studying London city maps for a while and it paid off. Funny how maps worked and told anyone where everything was. It was a new concept that delighted you. Your father would be so proud that you got here all by yourself. Trouble was, how to get inside.

“I’m a Shelby,” you told yourself. “And I can do anything.” You eyed the alley to the side, noting a delivery man loading a cart with food and tea items. Bingo. You easily crawled underneath, stowing away. As your plan worked, a rush of excitement ran through you. The delivery man wheeled the cart inside without noticing his extra cargo. However, you only got as far as a storage room. You watched an aide load a different tea cart.

Dad took tea. He took tea often. It was a good, calculated risk, you thought. When the aide was turned around, you crawled into the second cart. You tucked yourself even further as the aide placed more tea cups underneath the cart. You kept your sigh of relief to yourself as the second cart started to roll down the hallway. You tugged back the thick, white tablecloth to read the office names. Williams. No. Baskins. No. Dick Johnson? You snickered, still no.

And there it was. Thomas Shelby, MP.

Yes.

The aide slowed the cart pass your father’s office. After making sure the coast was clear, you rolled yourself out. The lockpick kit you lifted from Finn earlier proved useful now. It wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be. At first, you had the tools all switched around. Then, a few people walked by, and you his yourself behind the second cart again. Frustration started to give you a decent headache until you heard a satisfying click.

“Just wait till Dad sees me,” you snuck inside, leaving the door wide open. “He’s going to be so surprised!” The office was much smaller than you thought. Your dad’s office back home was twice the size. Dusty books and boring colors didn’t capture your attention. The windows didn’t have any curtains to hide behind, so all gray daylight streamed into the room. No secret passageways or nonsense here. You scrambled underneath your father’s desk once you heard oncoming footsteps.

Ah, a perfect place to surprise him. This plan was your best yet. Everything was going so well! You couldn’t wait for your father to come in. He would be so proud of you and your cleverness. This definitely warranted a good reward. Ice cream? A tour of the building? It didn’t matter. All you really wanted was for your dad to tell you how clever you were and smile at you.

You couldn’t remember the last time he did smile at you.

A set of familiar footsteps stopped in the doorway. You heard the distinct sound of a gun clicking into place. It was subtle, but you knew the sound. Last month, your father taught you how to use a gun and why it wasn’t a toy. Your excitement couldn’t be contained much longer. You jumped out from underneath the desk with your hands raised.

“Papa! It’s me! Look! I made it all the way here!” you shouted. As your eyes adjusted to the daylight again, you were not greeted with your father’s smile. Instead, Thomas’ breath hitched, his grip tightened.

“What the hell, Y/N? You nearly fucking—what are you doing here?” Thomas berated you. His hand immediately closed the office door behind him. Your face started to fall.

“I was reading the map of London and I figured how to get here,” you gave him your proudest smile. “And now that I’m here, we can spend the whole day together! Isn’t it great?” You waited for your father to congratulate you. Thomas grabbed the scruff your shirt collar and forced you into one of his office chairs. You winced at his grip. He never grabbed you like that before.

“You’re supposed to be at school.” He sounded angrier than you thought he would be.

“Uncle Finn took me out. I tricked him! You’re right. He is the dumbest Shelby,” you laughed. When your father didn’t laugh with you, yours faded. His eyes glared down at you.

“And did you stop to think that this was a good idea?” His question cut into you. When you didn’t answer right away, he shook your chair, startling you. Why was he so angry? You made a good plan and you executed it perfectly.

“I just missed you,” you admitted. “I never see you anymore.” Hurt flashed in your father’s eyes. You watched him exhale a long breath except no cigarette smoke came out of his mouth. Thomas tucked the gun away. He walked towards his desk.

“I could’ve seriously hurt you. Guns are not a toy, remember?”

“I remember. But, you wouldn’t hurt me.” You mustered a different smile this time. It didn’t matter if your plan was clever or not. You could just settle with being here with him. Thomas dialed the phone on his desk. A new excitement made your heart beat faster. “Are you going to order tea for us?”

“No,” Thomas flatly told you. “You’re going back to school where you belong.”

“What? No,” you shook you head. You jumped out of the chair and rushed towards his side. Your hands grabbed his suit jacket. If you could just hold him really tight, like you did when you were younger, maybe he’ll understand. “I want to be here with you.”

Thomas pulled you off. “This isn’t the place for children.”

“But—

“Stop this right now, and listen to me.” You looked up. This was not your father. This was wrath. His tone felt like a knife sinking into your chest. “You may think this was a clever thing to do, but you’re wrong. This is, by far, the dumbest thing you have ever done. What if someone hurt you? Grabbed you? Would you like that? For a stranger to come and grab you and take you away?”

“No,” your voice broke. You bit your lip down hard. You heard someone knock at the door. An aide tucked their head inside.

“Afternoon, Oswald. If you could please wait with my son outside, his uncle will be by to take him back to school soon.” Thomas bent down to you. He gripped your wrist as if he was hurting you on purpose. “You will not do this again. You hear me?” You nodded. “Say you’re not going to do something stupid like this again.”

“I’m not going to do anything stupid ever again.” Your eyes more drawn to the floor than to the man in front of you. “I’m sorry, Papa.”

As the aide guided you out of Thomas’ office, you went over the plan in your head again. Every single thing you did was thought-out. Every move was deliberate. None of it worked. You glanced back at your father. He ran his hand down his face. The same frown you had gotten used to hardened on his face.

This was your fault. You resolved that he would never smile at you again.

[thegreenfairy13]

Bits and Pieces

After months and months I have finally been inspired to write a one-shot again. Hooray! You can find my Gobblepot mini-fic collection here on Ao3.

Summary: Jim considers what he has been giving up for Oswald.

When it comes to Oswald, Jim never knows when it’s going to be his last time. It might be today, it might be in ten years, but it will be him. Of that he’s certain. 

‘If only you weren’t a murderer.’ Jim realizes too late he said that out loud. He closes his eyes and throws his head back. They have been here before, haven’t they? In a room together, one or two of them bleeding from their wounds and their aching souls. 

Jim looks up, turns his head towards the sound, that tap tap tap Oswald’s cane makes on the wooden floor. The darn thing is just as polished as everything else in that room. 

Expensive, precious, the voice in his head whispers. He isn’t quite sure what he did this time to earn himself a place on the chopping board. More specifically, he did so much he can’t pinpoint what exactly it is. 

A gloved hand catches a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back. Jim sees his hurt mirrored in two clear eyes of green. 

“If only you weren’t a hypocrite,” the mobster spits. 

Ah, that old tune, Jim thinks. It’s true, though. And once more, he’s just as drawn to the man as he’s disgusted with him. 

Oswald taps the handle of his cane against Jim’s head. It’s a threat of all the things to come. They both know there’s a blade hidden inside, just waiting to come out to play. All that anger bottled up inside that tiny, polished frame, it’s going to explode. And one day, Jim’s going to feel it all. He has seen it, witnessed what he can do when pushed over the edge. 

‘It’s maybe time for a prayer?’ the kingpin suggests and Jim huffs out a humorless laugh. 

‘I stopped believing a long time ago,’ he replies, surprised at how much that confession hurts. After all, he had been raised catholic, and he just realizes how Gotham stripped that away from him, too. Just like his first child, and his second, and his wife. 

He taps him again, this time on his nose. ‘Why does it always have to be so difficult with you?’ Oswald wants to know and Jim feels the tiredness hitting him like a tsunami. It strips away all the guilt, the pride, the fear and solely leaves him with the wish to sleep for eternity. 

There’s nothing difficult with him. In fact, it’s all so very easy. When everyone just wants him to look away, to forget, to let the bloodshed and insanity happen, to accept the corruption for what it is, he simply can’t. 

Isn’t that easy to understand? Oswald isn’t different from anyone else. He just wants him to make exceptions left and right, to chop off pieces of himself, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left. But Jim fights for those pieces, claims them back whenever he gets the chance. That’s not hard to understand, is it?

The knife carving into his flesh hurts. This demonstration of power is entirely unnecessary, though. Oswald has already carved his name into him, irrevocably. And he should know. Jim has sacrificed more pieces of himself for him than for anyone else. Not for Lee. Not for Harvey. 

But then Oswald could never see what was right in front of him. Like a dog chasing his tail, he longed for what he already had. When it comes to Jim, that is. 

Jim can’t tell him, though. If he would, he’d stop claiming those pieces back. It would mean offering them up, giving them up willingly. And he simply can’t do that, can’t forget the man he used to be, he wants to be. 

He can’t withstand his torture much longer, either. Briefly, he wonders if he could maybe pass out, sleep through it all but then Oswald is too much of an expert for this. 

‘The funny thing is,’ he mocks, ‘I’ve never even been convicted for murder.’ Oswald grins triumphantly, sharkishly and Jim clenches his jaw. He needs to scream, to give his pain some leeway, yet he chokes it down. 

Maybe this has been his biggest piece, his biggest offering. He looks down, stares at Oswald’s handmade, polished shoes. He hasn’t always worn these. Once upon a time, he has worn workshoes, the ones that are suitable for a kitchen help. A boy wore them. And then an aspiring mobster wore them, if only briefly. Maybe the boy’s name was Alvarez. Maybe it was Jose. 

Blood soaks Jim’s clothing, trickles down to form a puddle of red on the floor. He’s freezing to death and sweating simultaneously. The pain is deafening, overpowering. 

With his last strength, Jim reaches out, pulls the mobster down to his level. The fabric between his fingers is soft, delicate. Unlike everything else around them. Oswald smells exquisit, just like oblivion should. He breathes in.

‘I can’t remember the name,’ he confesses, marveling at the surprise in his tormentor’s face. 

Their mouths collide just before Oswald can ask the question. 

[enigmainvestigations]

**The events of this mini-episode take place after the events in Season 1, episode 12. AO3 post: ???    Series link: ???

Season 1 Mini-Episode - The Most Dangerous Enemy

The bats above him screeched as he exited the Batmobile. The engine’s rumbling always agitated them, but by the time he’d climbed the steps up to the large computer tucked into one of the cave crevices, the bats had started to quiet down. Batman entered his personal code on the keyboard and pressed his hand into the handprint identification reader next to it. The computer turned on with a lazy hum, and the area was flooded with the red light emitting from the multiple screens as they flickered on.

After a few agonizing minutes, a message popped up on one of the screens. Batman leaned forward on the computer console and pressed the authorization key to download the file. Oracle had finished her search of the city records -- lightning fast, as usual. After a few more impatient moments, the files popped up on the screen and he typed in the code for the computer to begin analysing the information. He scowled as he saw the results of her investigation; with this amount of data, it was going to take a lengthy amount of time for the interface to complete the search. It seemed he was in for a long night, again.

In the distance he heard a motorcycle approaching, followed by the sound of the south entrance’s door rising out of the water. The bats stirred once more, and by the time the bike had pulled up to its platform, they were in full upset. The sound of footsteps filled the cave behind him, followed by a drawn-out yawn from his partner. Then Robin appeared beside him, and the teenager’s attention immediately fell on the screen before him, scanning the information.

“Wow. That was fast.” Robin said.

“She’s good at what she does.” Batman responded, continuing to watch the slow progress of the analysis.

“Good? I thought you said she’s the best?”

“She is.”

Robin smirked. “Any more information on Two-Face?”

“He went off the grid again.”

“We really need to figure out how he’s doing that.” Robin said, stretching.

“He’s avoiding any of his previous connections. It just makes it more difficult to follow him, but not impossible.”

“I don’t blame him, but he’s not just avoiding his friends. He keeps vanishing. He’s figured out some way to disappear right under our noses.”

“As long as we get to his next target before he does he won’t have time to vanish.”

“If you say so.” Robin rested his staff against the side of the computer. “Has he let anything slip about why he’s targeting the locations?”

“No. But the computer will find the connection.”

“You still think he’s doing all of this because he was locked up during the attacks?”

Batman didn’t look at his partner, but the muscles in his neck clenched. “Yes.”

“All of this chaos, just because he feels emasculated,” Robin said in a huff.

“It’s more complicated than that, Robin.”

“Doesn’t sound like it is.”

At that, Batman decided to drop the conversation. Robin was right: it was a childish and emotional reaction, but those are some of the most dangerous ones. And with all the damage he was causing, it sounded wrong to trivialize Dent’s motives, and the subject had started to make him uncomfortable. Robin took the hint and wandered off for a time, eventually returning with a large glass of water -- which he downed half of right away.

Batman eyed him briefly, then resumed his impatient glare at the screens. “You’re back early again.” Robin grumbled in response and finished the rest of his water. Batman decided to continue with his assumptions. “Nigma kicked you out again, didn’t he.”

“Actually, no. I had a normal departure this evening.”

“Why did you call Batgirl to his apartment?”

Robin paused. “We’ll have to talk about that in a minute. I’m currently waiting for an update from her.”

“I thought you were calling for back-up.”

“No, no, it’s not that. Nigma hasn’t escalated to throwing fists or anything foolish like that. He was… actually pretty decent tonight. Bizarre, but decent.”

Batman watched as the computer began segmenting some of the data to one of the other screens, and he leaned forward to give it a brief read. “Bizarre?”

“Yeah. I’ll explain it all to you in a minute.” Noticing Batman’s brief look of impatience, Robin said, “I’m just testing a theory. I’d like to have that answered before I delve into all of this.”

“After what happened the last time, I’m surprised you went back.” Batman admitted.

Robin ruffled his wind-beaten hair. “Not going to lie, that thought did enter my mind. But, hopefully, a dramatic scene like that won’t happen again.”

“Why is that?” Batman asked, reading over more of the segments the computer found in the documents. It looked like his theory that Dent was targeting his previous associates was holding true, and if it was, it shouldn’t be too difficult to predict his next hit.

“I set up some boundaries with him.” Robin said in another yawn.

Batman paused. He pushed himself off of the computer console and stared directly at his partner. Robin looked startled by the attention, confusion clear on his face. “What?” he asked, but Batman just continued with his unnerving stare.

“What?” Robin asked again. “You're looking at me like I said something stupid.”

“You… set up boundaries, with Nigma?” Batman tried to clarify.

“Yes.”

Batman frowned. “What kind of boundaries? Personal boundaries?”

“Yes.” Robin drew out the word as he said it, and Batman returned to his silent stare. His partner let out a huff in confusion, “Why, what? Stop looking at me like that, you're freaking me out.”

“What were these boundaries?”

“Just -- normal human boundaries.” Robin could tell that answer just upset his partner more and elaborated. “I told him to stop taking out his frustrations on me. That I wasn’t going to put up with that anymore. I explained it in a way I think he understood, that it was stalling the investigation and it’s a complete waste of time. He seemed to understand.”

“And Nigma agreed to adhere to your boundaries?”

“Yeah.” Robin answered, and as Batman returned to staring, the boy hissed. “Stop looking at me like that, you're making me think I made some sort of mistake.”

“No, Robin. That's not it -- it's... continue.”

Robin gave an animated shrug. “There isn't much else to add.”

Batman’s frown deepened. “You're telling me, you set up an expectation to be treated fairly by Nigma and he agreed to your terms? And that was it?”

Robin made a slight grimace. “Well, that sounds nicer than what actually happened. He was still a huge jerk about it.”

“What did he say?”

“He made the insinuation that I was expecting him to cater to my every whim, y’know, instead of just treating me like a person. I asked him to stop being so dramatic about it, and -- he did look angry about that -- but, he agreed, and then he wanted to change the subject. That’s about it.”

Batman began the stare again, but his partner hurried to set down his empty glass as Batgirl’s voice came through on their earpieces saying: “B2 to R.”

“Go ahead, Steph.” Robin replied.

“Well, he didn’t stay inside.” Batgirl reported, triggering a grunt from Robin as she spoke. “But all he did was go down to the bar next door. Then he went back inside his office. But, now we have another problem.”

“Great, what now?” Robin asked.

“Harley showed up. She went up to his place, but they’re not screaming at each other like last time. And,” Batgirl stressed that word, “there’s a car parked across from his building now.”

Batman looked at Robin, who gritted his teeth. “Great. Are they just watching him? They’re probably looking out for you, so stay out of sight.”

“No worries there, Boy Wonder. They haven’t seen me, and they look kinda spooked. I think they’d be more scared to see me up here, think they’d just run off.”

“Don’t chance it.” Robin said, and Batgirl sighed.

“Stop pestering me, I’m not so green anymore.”

“Stay out of sight, Batgirl.” Batman cut in, and the two adolescents went quiet.

“Will do. I’ll keep you posted on any developments.” Batgirl responded, before the line went silent once more.

Batman turned to face Robin, now giving him his full attention, only barely registering the computer’s blips as it continued its analysis.

“Bizarre.” Batman said.

Robin blinked. “What?”

“You said he was acting bizarre.”

“Oh.” Robin gave a brief nod. “Yeah, but, like I said, I kind of get why.” His partner took a deep breath and leaned against the computer stand, signaling this was going to be a long discussion. “Remember how Nigma went nuts on me the last time?” Seeing Batman’s confirming nod, he continued. “Apparently I was right. He was scared, and really rattled. Echo and Query are back in town.”

“I heard.”

Robin frowned at that. “Well, did you know that they’re working for Penguin?”

Batman’s white eyes narrowed into thin slits upon hearing that information. “No.”

“Yeah. And, he’s posted them outside of Nigma’s place.” The two of them exchanged a serious look before Robin spoke again. “Nigma told me that Penguin has been threatening him. Not verbally, as far as I can tell, but he’s been showing signs of it. He’s had men following him around the city, watching his every move. So, I don’t know what the hell that meeting at the Iceberg Lounge was all about, but it’s starting to look like the others are turning on him, Batman. I think we might be wrong, I don’t think they’re working together.” Robin crossed his arms, giving Batman a firm look. “He was scared, Bruce. That night, he looked terrified. I’m starting to think that if all of this ‘private investigator’ stuff is some Riddler plan, the others aren’t in on it.”

Batman slowly let out a breath through his nose. “If Oswald is targeting him then that means he knows something Oswald doesn’t want spoken about.” Batman’s gaze wandered around the cave as he thought. “Has Penguin tried to take him out, or is he just threatening?”

“Well…” Robin began, but then he paused for a moment. “This is when things get bizarre.”

Batman gave his partner an expectant look. “Go on.”

“Nigma kinda had a meltdown, at least, that’s the best way I can describe it. He let some of that wall of his drop, and he told me a lot of things that I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have under any normal circumstances.” Seeing the immediate attention Batman gave him, Robin smirked. “He said that Penguin keeps tightening the grip, so to speak. That he keeps turning up the heat but not acting on the threats. Which Nigma determined means that he doesn’t actually want Nigma dead, he’s trying to intimidate him.”

“Why?”

“He said he doesn’t know why, and I think I believe him about that. He was -- Bruce, he was completely out of his mind trying to figure it out. You should’ve seen him, talking a thousand miles a hour, talking with his hands and rambling.”

Batman pondered that information for a moment. “I can see how you’d think he was being honest. Edward has always preferred to have all the answers, that’s most likely part of Oswald’s plan.”

“Exactly.” Robin went silent, thinking over what else he needed to say. When he spoke again, he himself sounded rather bemused. “There’s another thing, well, two other things. I’m sure you’re still wondering why I called Batgirl, the thing is… Nigma told Query and Echo he’s working with us -- screamed it at them, to be more specific.” Batman’s eyes widened at that information, and Robin could see the apprehension in his expression. “Yeah. So, now the Penguin knows about this little test of yours.”

“Why?” Batman wondered. “Why did he do that?”

“That goes into the other subject, the one that makes me think it's possible he’s being truthful. He told me that he had no idea why he told them, that it just came out and he didn’t have a reason. But, that he knew somewhere in his brain there was a reason.” Seeing the look on Batman’s face, Robin chuckled. “I know the feeling, trust me. That’s really when the meltdown happened. He said that he’s been having a really tough few months, he said something about his mind attacking him all the time. That his doctor told him to be more truthful, to be honest with other people.” Robin pushed himself off of the computer stand and uncrossed his arms. “He said that he’s tried it in the past and he does feel better, so that was the solution he jumped to when he was put in such a tough spot. At least, that’s what I got from all of that rambling.”

Batman remained silent for a time, finding it difficult to believe most of that information, but his partner was right, it made sense. “He’s listening to his doctor.”

“He’s talking to his doctor.”

Batman turned away from Robin, and his gaze wandered over the cave again. He watched the water drops from the stalactites above drip onto the platform before him, listened to the humming of the computer, as he processed this new information against his theories. “This doesn’t make sense,” he muttered.

“Unless he’s actually trying to get help with something. He didn’t explain it very well, but I think he’s having flashbacks. At least, that’s what it sounded like -- kind of.”

“Nigma would know what flashbacks are.”

“True, but it is Nigma. He thinks everything he experiences is unique and one of a kind. He might not be able to see it for what it is.”

“No. I’m not buying that.” Batman’s frown deepened again. “He said his mind is attacking him?”

“Yep.”

“He used those exact words?”

“He said: My brain is usually my best friend, but now it's attacking me non-stop.” Robin let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not saying I believe everything he said, but, if this was an attempt to manipulate me, it was a very poorly orchestrated one. Most of what he said didn’t make sense,” he paused for a moment, “but, it sounded like he wasn’t talking to me.”

“He was talking to himself, just through you.” Batman added, and Robin nodded.

“Which is exactly what you said he does to you all the time. That’s why I believe it, I don’t think he was trying to convince me, he was trying to figure it out for himself.”

Batman went silent again, his gaze wandering off to look at nothing in particular. “Or he could just want you to come to that conclusion. He’s got to be up to something.”

“Well, when you figure out what it is let me know, because I can’t figure it out.” Robin was about to walk away from him, but a swift look from his partner stalled him.

“You’ve seen nothing? Heard nothing out of the ordinary while in his apartment?”

“No. I’ve told you everything, every single thing from every time I’ve seen him.”

“He has to be hiding the evidence.” Batman said, and his gaze wandered off once again.

“If he is, he’s doing a damn good job of it. That office is so small and pretty bare, and I told you, I haven’t seen any evidence that he’s hiding things in the walls or the floor. He also doesn’t really go anywhere, so I find it hard to believe he’s concocting this whole plan of his at another location.”

Batman looked back at his partner, a scowl forming on his face. “Nigma is very good at making things look a certain way to throw you off the trail. He’s good at hiding in plain sight, at using your preconceptions against you.”

Robin stared at Batman, pressing his lips together as he thought. “I get that, I do. I’m not saying I don’t think he’s planning something. All I’m saying is that I think it’s a possibility that we were wrong. All that means is that we need to start looking at it differently, maybe from a perspective we haven’t before.” He paused, taking a few deep breaths through his nose. “Bruce, he can be trying to work through something with his doctor, and planning something at the same time. It’s possible. We have no idea what happened to him on that island. He might just need some help dealing with it.”

“The idea of Nigma going to anyone for help --” Batman stopped himself; the words he was about to say felt wrong, and he forced himself to rethink his position. “Nigma thinks he has all the answers. He doesn’t feel the need to go to anyone else because they couldn’t tell him anything he doesn’t already know. That’s how he sees the world.”

“I know, that’s what you’ve always said. But, again, maybe it’s possible things have changed for him, and he’s run out of options to work on them, at least on his own?” Robin pondered out loud.

Batman’s scowl intensified. Robin wasn’t understanding the full scope of this; he needed to explain the gravity of this troubling situation. “Him going to someone for help is potentially very dangerous.”

Robin blinked. “Uh, okay? Explain that one, please.”

Batman’s back straightened, his expression turning more serious as he chose his words carefully. “If Nigma has decided to turn to a professional for help, it could mean he’s become more self-aware. It means that he’s learning, and Nigma learning new information is never a safe prospect.” Batman glanced back at the computer screen; the search of the last few files were almost complete. “I might’ve been wrong. He might have changed his tactics.”

Robin stepped closer to his side, and Batman could feel the anxiousness seeping off of him. “Mind explaining that a bit better?”

Batman returned his attention to his partner -- the boy’s expression was one of concern, but mixed with a layer of distrust. He understood why. He must sound too pessimistic in his worries, but this was a situation he’d feared would occur for a long time now, and he needed Robin to understand his reasoning. Batman looked Robin in the eye, hoping for his partner to grasp the truth behind his words. “If Nigma is breaking down his own walls and learning what his weaknesses are, it’ll make him very difficult to stop. I’ve always used the same strategy with him: exploit his vulnerabilities. No matter how much he tried to adapt to my solutions, he could never fully match up with them -- because the issue wasn’t me, it was him. He was so self-centered, so convinced he was superior that he couldn’t see the obvious holes in his logic. If he’s realized that he does have weaknesses, that his own issues are what’s been holding him back all this time, and he’s actively trying to rid himself of them --”

“Then…” Robin interjected, his expression more concerned now. “Are you saying you don’t think you’d be able to stop him?”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

The two crime-fighters stared at each other. Robin looked surprised by the admission, but his demeanor shifted after a few moments. Batman frowned, knowing that look all too well. The boy thought he was being too dramatic and he was skeptical of the rationale.

The computer blipped beside them. It had finished its analysis, and Batman turned his attention back to the screens. Three locations popped up, one of which was a clear possibility for Dent’s next attack. Robin picked his staff back up, giving Batman an expectant look, and Batman gave him a confirming nod in agreement. As the two began to descend the stairs to the Batmobile, Batman felt an anxiousness seep into his bones. The fear of what Nigma was up to gripped him, and he hoped he would be able to rid it to focus on the current case at hand.

Robin hopped into the passenger seat, the skepticism still clear on his face. He turned on some of the trackers on the car’s console and said, “I don’t know. I know you know him better than I do, but, all of that seems way too calculated for what he’s currently doing.”

Batman climbed into the car, a low growl of disagreement escaping his lips.

“I’m serious, Batman. If he was using his doctor to make him into some unbeatable super-criminal, I doubt he’d be starving and killing his brain with alcohol.”

Batman frowned as the car’s engine revved and the bats began to shriek. “I’ll admit, I can't explain the drinking.”

Robin looked at him, his brow rising. “Really. In all your years working with criminals you've never seen someone deal with problems by hiding at the bottom of a bottle? And it'd make sense, actually, if what he's saying about the flashbacks is true…”

But Batman really didn’t want to hear anymore of Robin’s theories about the evidence. He closed the hood of the Batmobile, revved the engine to signify the end of the discussion, and as his partner readied himself in his seat, he sped off toward the cave exit. As they neared the hidden passage door, Batman decided he was more than willing to see whatever distractions Two-Face could provide for the evening. Hopefully it would be enough to get his mind off of that disturbing hint of a notion that maybe, just maybe, Robin was actually onto something.

[spoocyshrub]

So I’ve been wanting to try out some new styles for my Fan Characters and get some updated references out for the crew. But since being sick it’s been difficult. I managed to pick up not only my pencil but booted up audacity to get some recordings. I’m trying to move most of my videos, including voice claim ones, off of youtube.

I managed to get some things done today. so Allow me to share them with you!

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Over on our Oddfam discord server, we have an art challenge tab. We will put stuff there just for fun. Sometimes it’s palate challenges, sometimes it’s drawing muses in certain clothes.

@themudokonmessiah posted a very specific shirt for the challenge. And I could not heckin’ resist drawing my girl wearing that shirt. Since she’s been in her relationship with Alf, she’s been getting more comfortable about showing off her body.

This might also be the most accurate height difference of these two I’ve drawn to date. Tried a little something different with her smaller feathers. Her medium sized ones are off on the back of her head. I’ll be drawing a better reference for her bio page at a later date.

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Next up. Me and @themudokonmessiah had been poking each other’s brains about what direction we wanted to go for the merverse that she wanted to try her hand. That was also around the time I had shared a little fact about Leon with her that will be revealed a little later. It is a fact that applies to all his appearances. From the main story stuff to all his AU content.

I managed to draw up the dude’s concept with a more accurate take on what his head feathers are SUPPOSED to look like for the little merssiah universe.

Leon's feathers are similar to a cockatoo's crown. Where they will flare up when he's upset, or angry. Minus the two that drape over the side of his face. those are the feathers you often see the guy tugging on.

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That's it for the drawings, next are audio. First with Leon.

Leon has 2 voice claims. one for when he speaks. and one for singing. When Leon speaks, it's Rob Paulson. Specifically the range he used for Cinderella II's human Jacques/Jaq.

((Which I will admit, might have been the partial inspiration for the guy))

When Leon sings, he has Nick Pitera's singing voice. Nick Pitera has done much work and has done many Disney covers such as A whole new world, and the Aladdin remake's song "Speechless"

there is a big reason to why Leon the Mudokon can pull these notes and it has to do with how he was born. Unless I get asked about that in my box, that'll be a post for another day. Possibly when I get the Bio page written up for him.

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Elli's half brother Tufford (He prefers to be called Tuff for short) Is a fully evolved and noticeable drone. When I say "Noticeable" it's not like Gabriel who you can't even tell he IS a evolved drone besides the muscular arms. Tuff Looks more like @ghostmoor or @francoisl-artblog's versions. The really tall, muscular versions.

With that, Tuff comes with a very deep voice. His voice claim is Brad Garret, to which I often make memes in discord over the guy.

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and finally this is more of a shitpost recording I made for @brassclaws-of-oddworld since we make so many plankton memes.

Oswald Buptkitzer, my Glukkon Fan character, has Mr. Lawrence as a voice claim and we enjoy meming the hell out of it. it's why we have so many plankton memes with Oswald.

I made this: Oswald threatening Dr. Baren by the end of the Operation K.O. Arc

[claraoswaldfics]

Halloween Night

The throbbing in her neck was the first thing Clara noticed as she woke up. The second was that she was naked. What had happened last night?

As she pushed her fringe out of her face, she noticed a trail of clothes winding their way from the door to her bed. Heels, jumper, skirt. She lifted the covers, where she discovered her bra and underwear, neither of which were still on her body. But strangest of all were the orange knee-socks on the unoccupied pillow beside her. Were they hers?

On her bedside table, her phone announced it had finished charging. That should have taken it about one and a half hours, so either there had been a power cut last night, or someone else had recently plugged it in for her. Clara looked at the screen and saw on it a message from her flatmate, Priya.

“Noticed a redhead sneaking out of your room this morning. Congrats on losing your gay virginity!” Dozens of emojis followed; huge blocks of pride flags and fireworks lit up her screen, then the message continued, “Not going to tell the group chat until you’re ready of course, but girl, I am going to need all the deets!”

There may have been more to the text, but it was then that Clara noticed the date. November first. Suddenly it all came rushing back.

 It was Halloween at Glitz.

The club itself had been dwindling for a while now and most of the cool young people had probably moved away to venues that were more ‘hip’ or ‘fresh’. The fact that Clara assumed that was still the lingo was part of why she still came to Glitz. Not often, granted. It was strictly on an annual basis now. An ersatz tradition dating back to their university days (back when they’d all briefly experimented with paganism) to dance at this increasingly outdated, overpriced discotheque every 31st of October.

Even in the rain

Clara was as usual the first to arrive. It wasn’t so much that she was always early as everyone else was always late. The whatsapp group had assured her a few hours ago that they’d be there though, so there was still a chance (however small) that they were already inside.

She flashed her ID to the bouncer, who made a point of studying it. She was 26 now, old enough to appreciate being mistaken for someone younger, but still young enough to be impatient about the delay. Or maybe it was the costume that was holding him up. Thinking about it, it must be hard to tell if someone is who they say they are when they’re dressed as Velma Dinkley.

Ever since she’d gone for a more bob-like haircut, she’d been getting a lot of comparisons to the Scooby Doo character, so it was an easy decision to lean into it for Halloween. This didn’t mean it was an easy or cheap costume – Clara Oswald never did things by half, after all. She’d been nosing around high streets and second-hand shops the last two weekends putting it together. The orange jumper was baggy but sewn so as to give a good impression of her figure. The glasses made her eyes seem even wider, and combined with the freckles she’d drawn on took five years off her face. Surprisingly it was the little red skirt that had taken her the longest to find, only appearing in a last-minute lunch-break scrabble in Oxfam, and between it and the knee-socks, she was showing a lot more thigh than she was used to.

I mean it looks damn good, she thought to herself, but it isn’t half cold…

The bouncer finally nodded her through, and soon she was enveloped by the warm haze and pounding bass of Glitz. Maybe two dozen people were on the dancefloor, jumping and swaying to a song Clara was fairly sure had come out this year, but not one she knew the name of. I’ll dance at the next one, she thought, or maybe wait until the others get here.

It seemed that almost the moment she found a seat at the bar, her phone pinged. Naomi and Ellen weren’t coming. Apparently some couple had been trying to book their wedding venue out from under them so they were resigned to staying in and shouting down a phone all evening.

That wasn’t good. Those two were the lynchpin of all group planning. It was always worth going out with Naomi and Ellen because there would always be a story the next day. This was because the drunker they got, the more they’d dare the other, and those dares usually involved even more drinking. Clara had even had to bail them out once after they got arrested for shagging on a pool table.

But without them, the group dynamic fell apart. Priya loved nothing more than when a plan got cancelled. For her it was an excuse to shrug her bra off and fall asleep in front of the tv. Clara herself only owned two bras, one good but itchy and the other comfy but old, but Priya could have five littered around the living room at any one time. She’d hidden them on one occasion to encourage future tidiness.

And Emerald, the last of the group, Clara didn’t know particularly well. She knew they kept up with Yugioh (somehow) and read PG Wodehouse, but they’d joined the group in Clara’s last term at uni and she’d had her nose too deep in books to get to know her in any great depth. No doubt they’d have put a lot of effort into some anime costume, but if it was just her and Emerald left, they wouldn’t come.

Okay Clara, it’s not too bad. Shake it off, get a cocktail in you. This night could still go well.

The two pings of doom arrived before she was even halfway through her pina colada. Two more cancellations. Urgh. This calls for a consolation drink. And make it a pint this time.

It wasn’t even nine yet and it felt like the night was over. Clara sighed audibly. Such a shame, she thought. It’s my first Halloween as an out bi woman. This should have been like gay Christmas! I had all this Sapphic energy built up inside me tonight and I’m going to waste it fingering myself in the bath reading Jane Austen again. I’m even wearing the bi flag underpants Ellen got me for my birthday!

She’d been considering the idea of a second pint for around five minutes when she got a tap at her shoulder.

“Velma!”

A jolt of electricity raced up Clara’s spine. She knew that voice, didn’t she?

She turned around in her stool just as the lights above the dancefloor shifted. The woman behind her was briefly illuminated from behind, her face a shadow, but her hair a fiery red halo. Putting a hand in front of her face for a second, Clara took in the rest of her body; a purple dress and go-go boots. Her brain rushed to piece it all together, arriving at the costume before the face.

“Daphne?” She replied, weakly.

As the lights shifted again, Clara was blessed with another view of this woman, who was somehow more dazzling out of the spotlight. She stood imposingly tall, her soft moon-like face looking kindly down on Clara. Taken altogether with her vibrant red hair, Clara felt like she was looking directly at a solar eclipse, and one she couldn’t look away from.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind. My Shaggy’s gone off with my Scooby.” The woman smiled apologetically. “Thought I might go and make some new friends and well… the costume…”

Clara blinked. In fact she blinked rather a few times. She was still trying to process the fact that an angel had descended from heaven right in front of her.

“I beg your pardon?”

The redhead explained herself again. Clara made a note to focus on what she was saying, which, she justified, involved looking at this woman’s lips a lot.

“I did a group costume with these two guys. One was Shaggy, one was Scooby; we thought we’d come here for the night, have a few drinks, have a few laughs, but instead,” the next part of the sentence involved turning her head to shout pointedly “they’re GETTING OFF IN THE TOILETS!”

Clara let out a nervous giggle. It was a good cover for the big red wave of excitation that was coursing through her body. There was something about the way her Scottishness had just announced itself in her voice that made Clara’s thighs shudder. That woman could shout!

“Shaggy and Scooby-Doo?” Clara repeated. “The dog and the dog owner?”

“Exactly!” she bellowed. “Isn’t that mad?”

“That is so mad.” Clara nodded. Agree with everything this woman says, she thought. If she asks you to rob a bank, do it.

“And after only one drink as well!” She continued, exasperated, “They. Are. Terrible!”

“I guess that’s why they call him Shaggy?” It was a weak joke, Clara knew. And I fumbled the delivery. But frankly the fact that I managed a straight sentence around this woman is a miracle. Managing a straight anything was a challenge, to be honest.

And she laughed! She laughed at my dumb joke! I made that sound come out of her! That brogue-y Scottish cackle! Oh this is the best feeling in the world!

“I know! And that dog will do anything for a Scooby Snack!”

God, me too, thought Clara, as she unleashed a laugh a lot less cool than she hoped she would.

Ahem.

“Can I get you a drink?” Clara asked, thankful she still had any rational thoughts left.

“Ooh, yes. Rum and Coke, please.” She smiled. Such a lovely smile. “Do you have a name, or should I just call you Velma all evening?”

“Only if I can call you Daphne” Clara replied with a grin, signalling to the barman. This was a bit of damage control. It was suave and flirty, but she’d missed the window to introduce herself properly, or find out this charming redhead’s name.

“Oh, you want to play that game, do you?” Clara braced herself for the next word, as the redhead’s lips formed around it. “Velma.”

Beads of sweat started to form under her jumper. It was then that Clara realised where she’d heard that sexy Scottish brogue before…

The kissogram from Naomi and Ellen’s engagement!

Six months on and I’m just as flustered.

The drinks came and Clara positively snatched hers off the table. As long as her mouth was occupied with alcohol, she had more time to think. And as always, Clara, try and play it off as glamorous and mysterious.

The more strategic side of Clara’s brain spoke up; so you know who she is, but she doesn’t know who you are. What does that mean? You know what she does for a living – is that an okay thing to bring up? Does the fact that she hasn’t recognised me yet mean my costume is too good…

…or was that kiss unmemorable?

She chanced a look. The woman in the Daphne costume was nursing her rum and coke, but her eyes were still fixed on her over the rim of her glass.

Right. So what if she didn’t remember that kiss. It was half a year ago and in her line of work she couldn’t be expected to remember everyone she’d ever kissed. Clara could hardly do that herself. What it meant was that Clara could make another first impression. A confident, in-control one.

“Miss Blake.” She congratulated herself on remembering that scrap of Scooby Doo trivia.

“Is that Daphne’s last name?” The redhead half-giggled. “I’m sorry, I haven’t watched Scooby Doo since I was a wee bairn.”

Aha! The strategic part of her brain roared into force again. I know more about Scooby Doo than her! I can leverage this to my advantage… somehow! Strategy brain realised it should probably shut up for a bit, and that the reason it had been allowed to think so long without interruption was because the rest of her brain was once again cooing at the Scottish turn of phrase.

“So why Daphne, then?”

“It was a group costume with a bunch of friends, but there were a few no-shows, you know?”

Clara made a gesture to the four people who were definitely not standing next to her “I do know.”

“Between you and me, I’d have quite liked to come as Velma.”

The seriously unstrategic part of Clara’s brain practically roared: Come into the bathroom with me! We can swap clothes right now!

She continued. “besides, what other characters are there to dress up as, as a tall ginger woman?”

Jessica Rabbit, said Clara’s brain.

“Jessica Rabbit” said Clara.

Oh shit, said Clara’s brain.

“Naughty” she chided. “But I don’t think so. Not two years in a row, anyway.”

Oh shit, said Clara’s brain again, but with purpose (and without vocalisation). This is definitely flirting! This could go well! I haven’t made an embarrassing mess of myself!

Tonight, I’m going to rock her world.

“Would you like to take a seat?”

High on her own hubris, Clara hadn’t noticed the seats either side of her were taken. Um…

“I’d love to.”

Sirens blared in Clara’s head as ‘Daphne’ draped one arm over Clara’s back and slid both her indigo tight-clad legs over Clara’s until she was Sitting! In! Her! Lap!

“Oh, you don’t mind, do you?”

In a moment, all of Clara’s newfound confidence melted and words stuck in her throat. Clara worried for a moment maybe her nose was bleeding, or her entire lower body had turned to steam, or worse, that her damn traitor face might be giving Amy some reason to stop sitting on her.

“Oh, not at all.”

THINK OF SOMETHING TO SAY!

“So…”

SOMETHING WITTY, FLIRTY AND MAYBE TO DO WITH HER COSTUME!

“Daphne…”

HERE WE GO! SHOOT YOUR SHOT!

“Would you like to get in the van with me?”

THE VAN???

“The van?”

“The um… the mystery machine.”

“Oh, the van from the show”

“Yes”

“So you want me to get in the Scooby Doo van with you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a van?”

“No.”

“But you just invited me to your van.”

“Yes.”

Clara blinked a few times while her brain rebooted.

“It’s a metaphorical van.”

“And what exactly is it a metaphor for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Truly, this is one mysterious machine.”

“…Yes.”

A few mortifying seconds later, her strategic brain came back online. As did her non-strategic brain. They both made this noise: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

The Daphne impersonator slid her legs off Clara and stood crouched at eye-level.

“Look, can I propose something?” asked the redhead “Instead of you trying to entice me out of the club, into a dirty alley, and into the back of your metaphorical van, why don’t we just get a taxi back to my place?”

Clara fell off her seat.

“Oh my God, your little flustered face!” She belly laughed. “Oh we are going to have such a lot of fun tonight! Come on, Clara.”

Their hands touched as the redhead reached down to help her up. In all future memories of this moment, it seemed to Clara like she was in Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam. Any hints of the reality, that a wide-eyed, shakey-legged sex-addled Scooby Doo cosplayer was being picked off the floor of a bar, were quickly purged from her mind by a greater realisation.

“You know my name.”

“Of course I do. I don’t get to snog many girls in my line of work.” She winked “And I make a note of the cute ones. I’m Amy.”

Clara nearly fell to the floor again.

But Amy kept her on her feet, one arm pulling her whole body to her.

“How about we get you into that taxi, I let you calm down for a little bit, and then you and I can get to know each other, okay?”

A sigh of relief from Clara; this was going well at last!

“Okay.”

“And then after that we can make out a little and I’ll put my hands up your jumper, sound good?”

“Oh God yes.”

 END OF PART 1

[thedreammweaver]

Not Over Any Oceans Chapter 5 (Nygmobblepot, The Santa Clause 2 au, Santa!Oswald, elf!Zsasz, elf!Penn, Toy Santa!Burtonverse Oswald)

Chapter 4

When Ed opened his apartment door he was distracted by how dapper Oswald. “Shall we go?” Oswald asked offering his hand. Ed took the shorter man’s hand with a mix of hesitance and excitement “You still haven’t told me what we’re doing.”

“It’s a surprise, silly.”

Gertrud breathed a sigh of relief as she made it to the stables though she startled when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Luckily it was just Penn. “What are you doing?” He whispered.

“Leaving to get Oswald.”

“I’ll come with-“

“No, no. You stay and stall or something, just keep Penguin here until I can get Oswald.” She instructed before sneaking off to Prancer’s pen.

      “Okay..now open!” Oswald said taking his hands off of Ed’s eyes once they were outside. Ed gasped softly as he laid eyes on a horse drawn sleigh. He was still a bit dumbfounded as Oswald lead him too it.

Ed cleared his throat as he and Oswald rode in the sleigh “Can I ask you something personal?”

“Go ahead.”

“You look really different, are you alright?”

“You know, it’s um- it’s a genetic metabolism fluctuation thing, it’s fine- I’m fine- would you like some coco?”

“Uhm, yes. You really have thought of everything, huh?” Ed mused as Oswald reached for a thermos and a cup in a front compartment of the sleigh.

“Well, this time of year I really shine, I suppose.” Oswald said pouring the coco for Ed and handing it to him.

“I can’t wait for it to be over.” Ed scoffed, taking a sip.

“You don’t like Christmas?” Oswald asked, sensing a kink in his plans.

“No, not really. It was always...my parents were too busy fighting to put any effort in.”

“Oh..”

“Oh.” Ed stared into the cup “I never really believed in Santa...Wow. What great sleigh riding conversation, Ed.” He said sarcastically, thinking himself awkward.

“It’s fine conversation.” Oswald assured.

There was a beat of silence before Ed spoke “Alright, we have coco, we have a blanket, we have a horse drawn sleigh. The only thing missing is-“ Ed stopped talking as it started snowing.

“What?”

“It’s snowing!” Ed laughed “That’s what I was going to say, it should be snowing!” Ed looked so beautiful laughing in the snow. “As if by magic.” Oswald hummed.

It was quiet in the Van Dahl Mansion besides Ed’s giggling on Oswald’s couch. Oswald was standing by the fireplace, his heart racing as he knew what he was about to do could go terribly wrong. “Ed, I need to tell you some personal things.”

Ed sat up “You sound so mysterious, Ozzie.” He said, feigning seriousness. Oswald chuckled “Well, I am a man of many sides. I'm a puzzle if you will, a rubik's cube with pants.” He joked.

“You know a love a puzzle.” Ed said giddily.

“Hopefully what I’m about to tell you will make things less mysterious.”

“Okay..”

Oswald cleared his throat “Usually I’m a lot bigger than this.”

“I’ve seen you a lot bigger than this, remember?”

“I mean bit bigger than that.. My hair is usually a lot longer and not this colour. I work a long way from my home and when I get back I sleep for long periods of time.”

“It’s not that bad so far.” Ed chuckled.

Oswald took a deep breath before continuing “I’m Santa Claus.”

Ed’s face immediately fell “What??”

“The red suit is real, though I’m trying to get it changed to purple but that’s another thing. The elves, the reindeer, the North Pole, it’s all real.”

“That’s not funny, Oswald.”

“It all exists, I exist. Remember the snow and how magical that was and the little girl in the park??”

“I told you something very personal from my childhood and now you’re making fun of me.” Ed muttered, getting off of the couch.

“I know it’s hard to believe but please connect the dots, Ed.”

“I can’t believe I actually thought you would be different- I- Goodbye, Oswald.” Ed went to the door to get his shoes and coat. “Ed, wait!” Oswald, chased him outside, thinking quickly “You don’t have to stay but at least tell me why you lied.”

Ed paused “Excuse me??”

“You lied. When you said you’d never believed in Santa.”

Ed scoffed “I think we’re done here.” He starting to walk away.

“You believed until you were twelve an-

“Stop it!” Ed shrieked “You are being very manipulative right now and I don’t want to hear it!” Ed was angry but at least he was facing Oswald again and gave him enough time to say one last thing “Green silk and pink lace.”

Ed looked like he’d seen a ghost, tears started streaming down his face “I...I don’t know what you’re talking about..” he lied, before continuing to walk away. “Stop lying to yourself, Ed! You know there’s only one way I could know that!” Oswald shouted before giving up and going back inside as Ed continued to walk away.

        Gertrud petted Prancer after they’d landed in the backyard of the Van Dahl mansion. She ran into the house startling Oswald who had been drinking by himself in the dining room. “Mom??”

“Oswald, something terrible has happen- are you alright?” She ran over to him when she noticed the tears staining his cheeks.

“I..... Ed didn’t believe me or..he did but he refuses to admit it...looks like I’m not going to be Santa anymore.”

“Ó, szegény kicsikém!” She cupped his face to wipe his tears away. Oswald’s brow furrowed “Wait, you said something terrible happened??”

Gertrud suddenly remembered herself “Oh, yes! Penguin is evil!” She said, grabbing Oswald’s hands.

“What??”

“He locked up Zsasz and enslaved the elves with giant toy penguins and I think I heard him say he’s going to give all the children coal!! I’m almost afraid he’ll decide to do something worse..”

Oswald was in shock “I have to get back there!” He said getting up.

“I’ll come with-“

“No, mama, you hang back for a while please. In case things get bad. I’ll use Vixen to get back and- you did come here on one of the reindeer right?”

Gertrud nodded. “Okay, so just wait a while and then come, I don’t want you caught up in the middle of something dangerous.” Oswald’s mind flashed back to the horrid time with Galavan where he’d almost lost her. He hugged her tightly “Even if I’m not Santa anymore I can at least try to stop Christmas from getting even more ruined.”

“Your father would be proud of you.” Gertrud said sincerely.

Gertrud had been pacing alone in the Van Dahl mansion for a while. Oswald had left about forty-five minutes before. Her heart was breaking at the thought of Oswald losing something that made him so happy, she’d never seen him put his heart into something so much. That galvanized her into acting on an idea that’d been forming in her mind.

          Ed was surprised when he opened the door to see Oswald’s mother standing there. “Hi, Mrs. Cobblepot..?”

“Can I come in?”

“Actually I’m sort of bus-“ he was interrupted by Gertrud pushing past him. “My son is a very nice boy.” She started.

Ed pinched the bridge of his nose “Mrs. Cobblepot, please, I can’t believe Oswald sent you to-“

“He didn’t send me. I’m here because he’s a nice boy who deserves nice things that make him happy! You are not very nice but you do make him happy so I need you to reconsider-“

“He told me this wild story about him being Santa! Gertrud, I think your son needs help.”

“Will you listen to me?!” Gertrud stomped, Ed had never seen her angry before “He is Santa! He has to get married by tonight or he can’t be Santa anymore. It makes him so happy and if you keep being stupid and selfish you’ll ruin everything!”

Ed looked at her like there were toucans coming out of her ears “You’re saying I have to marry him now? Wow, this has escalated quickly. Mrs. Cobblepot, I think you should leave.” Ed went to escort her out but stopped when she pulled Oswald’s revolver on him. “Whoa!” He was backing away now “Gertrud, you’re not going to shoot me.”

“Yes I will!” She shouted, not enjoying being underestimated “I will shoot you in the foot and kick your shins and...then take you to the ER cause I’m not a horrible person like you!” She shouted.

“I can’t marry Oswald, even if this were real!” Ed had been convinced but wouldn’t admit it.

“Why not?”

“I- Uh-“ Ed fumbled for an excuse “What if Isabella comes bac-“

Ed was interrupted by Gertrud stomping over and punching him square in the jaw, not giving him time to recover she grabbed him by the tie and forced him down to her eye level “If you ever mention that name to me again I will boil you alive like the sniveling little crustacean you are.”

“How dare yo-“

“She left you! She’s not coming back and you broke my baby’s heart for nothing!”

Ed did not appreciate his past being brought up, especially as he did feel guilty for standing Oswald up that night. He tried to move away but Gertrud’s grip was surprisingly strong. “Don’t rob my son of his happiness again just so you can lie to yourself.” There was something profoundly heartfelt in the woman’s eyes. It was scary. “I...I..” Ed huffed stubbornly “I’m not marrying Oswald.” Gertrud let go of him and for a moment he thought she’d leave but she pointed the gun at his feet “Which foot is your least favourite?”



[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Promises Not Kept Part 28

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 28: Leah reaches her breaking point and has to take a step back from it all

        After delivering the news about Ben Younger’s death, Leah sat in the car. She stared ahead in a daze. How much more could they lose? The deaths just kept getting closer and closer to them. When would it be her turn? Would she die at the hands of her husband’s work? What if Tommy was killed? Leah would be left pregnant and alone just like Ada. Three kids and no father.

           It made her stomach turn just thinking about it.

           Tommy got in the driver’s seat and paused for a moment to take a breath. He didn’t speak for a long moment. The silence settled over in the car as he lifted his hand to turn the key in the ignition.

           Leah glanced over at him when she didn’t hear the car engine start. Her husband was staring in the rearview mirror, his face flushed and his hand on the key shaking. “Tommy.”

           Grace reached from the backseat and touched his shoulder. “Come home to me, Tommy.” She whispered. “Turn the key and come home.”

           “Tommy.”

           Jonah sat beside Grace and leaned forward. “Bring her home to me, Tom. Be a man and bring her home, let me hold her again.” He coaxed.

           “Tommy.” Leah was growing more concerned as her husband’s eyes didn’t move from the mirror.

           “Come home.” Grace pled softly.

           “You’ll be doing the right thing, mate.” Jonah agreed. “Let me hold my Lee again.”

           As if driven by an unnatural force, Tommy turned the key and braced himself. But the fiery arms of an explosion never met him.

           Instead, he was left sitting in a car chugging to life. The ghosts in the backseat disappeared. Only Leah was left behind. Staring at him with immense concern.

           “You’re ill.” She whispered. “Tommy, you’re really ill. I know you are, just please tell me.” She begged. “Tell me and I promise we’ll get you help. I’ll be with you every step of the way.” She reached for his hand. Trying to pull him back to the world of the living.

           But Tommy was so content with one foot in the grave. His body tensed up when she touched him. “I’ve been seeing Grace.” He wiped a hand over his face. His skin felt numb. So numb.

           “What?” She whispered in disbelief. “What are you talking about? You mean you see people who look like her?”

           “No.” He shook his head adamantly. Continuing to pull away from her. “I hear her. She was just sitting in the back seat. Sitting with Jonah.”

           The sound of her late husband’s name alarmed her a great deal. But hearing him describe his hallucinations was even more alarming. Leah knew there was no one in the backseat but she still looked over her shoulder just to confirm that she wasn’t the crazy one. “Tommy, you know that’s not real. They’re just visions. You’re under stress, maybe that’s causing-”

           Tommy laid all his cards on the table. He reached into his coat and showed her the vial.

           Angry tears formed in her eyes when she recognized it. “No...God, no.”

           “I’m sorry.”

           “No, you said…you promised!” Leah frantically grabbed at his arms in a daze. Her rage controlled her muscles, snatching the bottle away from him and tearing at the sleeves of his coat.

           “I’m in pain, Leah!” Tommy rose his voice and tried to push her off. "What else can I do? I'm trying to keep this family together on me own! It doesn't matter what I'm taking!"

           Suffocated in the tight space of the car, she ripped open the door and stumbled out into the street. “You promised me! You said you wouldn’t take it anymore!” Her fist tightened around the vial, threatening to shatter it. Instead, she threw it to the ground and stomped on it with her heel. The blue-green glass crunching helplessly, the liquid flowing across the crevices of the cobblestones. The cracking sound released something inside Leah. The things broke since the very start of their relationship. Everything was so broken and she thought she could just hold him tightly and keep the cracks from showing. But Tommy Shelby would always be Tommy Shelby.

           He got out of the running car and came to her. “I’m sorry. I don't know what else I can say apologize.” Even he knew the apology was weak. How many times had he apologized over their relationship?

           “You promised.” Leah was sobbing uncontrollably at that point, her knees giving in from the crippling grief and anger coursing through her veins. “You promised me, Tommy!” She screamed. “You promised me everything and you just…you just break everything. You break everything! You’ve never kept a promise, never, never, never.” She resulted in nothing but repetitive rambling. The stress seizing her, gripping onto her and refusing to let go.

           Tommy caught her before she fell to the ground. The explosion, the death of Ben and the young boy. Everything overwhelmed him. She was right. He broke everything. It was about high time he broke Oswald Mosley.

~~~~~~~

           “Mumma, where are we going?” Johanna had woken up from her nap in the backseat. Charlie was peacefully watching the scenery pass by the window. Cyril was wedged between the two children, panting happily.

           “A little holiday, won’t that be fun, love?” Leah asked from the front seat. Tommy drove beside her, driving down the winding roads to the destination he’d once been before.

           “There’s the ocean!” Charlie exclaimed. Cyril barked happily when he began to recognize his surroundings. His tail began to wag and he pawed at the seat in front of him.

           “Alright, alright, calm down.” Tommy hushed the large dog. “You’re gonna flip the car over.” He pulled down the long driveway to the large manor on the ocean.

           “Now, this isn’t our house so we have to be on our best behavior,” Leah said gently as she opened the door to let the kids and Cyril out.

           The bullmastiff ran right for the front door that opened once the car pulled up the drive

           “Hello, Alfie.”

          “Hello, Cyril. Hello, boy. Yeah, there’s a good lad.” Alfie took the first few minutes to greet his dog. The bull mastiff’s tail was wagging almost violently as he whined and pressed into Alfie’s legs.

           “Well, he hasn’t missed you at all.” Tommy joked.

           “Dogs, yeah, they’re smarter than most people, mate. Got real strong loyalties.” Alfie straightened up. “Let’s have a look see, then. The Shelby family.” He put his hands on his hips.

           “Charles, Johanna, this is Mr. Solomons.” Leah introduced the man, trying not to gawk at his left eye. The injury her husband left was horrible and she couldn’t imagine how painful it was. It was a wonder Alfie had survived it.

           Johanna beamed up at Alfie, not too put off by his marred eye. “Hi.” She waved at him.

           Charlie, however, was old enough to know that most people didn’t have scars like Alfie did. “What happened to your eye?” He blurted out.

           “Charles.” Leah bent down. “That’s not nice.” She scolded.

           “S’alright, Leah.” Alfie held out a hand to reassure her. “It’s quite a story, Charlie boy. S’got dragons and monsters so if you’re good, I’ll tell it to ya.”

           The little boy’s eyes widened in awe and he nodded.

           “C’mon in then.” Alfie let them inside. Cyril made himself right at home, trotting into the parlor and sniffing around.

           “You have a lovely place, Alfie,” Leah said as Tommy took her coat for her. "And right on the ocean, it's quite the view."

           “Thank you, yeah, s’nice to be here year ‘round now, innit?” Alfie walked down the hall. “Want tea?”

           “S’pose we should sit down and have a chat.” Tommy agreed.

           “Would it be alright if the children played outside?” Leah wondered. She had a feeling the conversation wouldn’t be something the kids should hear. Not after the confrontation the men had years ago.

           “’Course, they can fucking tear up the garden if they’d like. It’s getting overgrown anyway.”

           “Alright, I’ll get them settled.” Leah looked to her husband. “Maybe you two should talk first.”

           Charlie and Johanna went out to the front lawn to play with Cyril. Leah stood out with them for a moment before heading back inside. She entered the parlor where Tommy and Alfie were talking.

           “Come in, come in.” Alfie greeted her. “Just having a chat ‘bout your husband’s shit aim and the number he’s done on me face.”

           Leah sat down in one of the many comfortable chairs in the parlor. Her eye was drawn to the strange oddities that Alfie kept in the room. Taxidermy animals, antiques, and gadgets that looked valuable. All things that were sure to keep the children entertained for the week that they planned on staying there. Of course, the timing was tentative. It all relied on Tommy’s plan going smoothly or not.

           “I was glad to hear you survived.” She said but the words sounded strange and awkward.

           Alfie appeared amused. “Well, you are one of the few to actually say that.” He folded his hands over his stomach.

           “Well, thank you for taking us in at such short notice.”

           “Curious to know, Tommy, how did you even find out I was dead?” Alfie didn’t want to appear weak by giving refuge to the mother and children. Of course, he would protect the innocent, even if they were Tommy’s family.

           “You wrote me a letter, Alfie.”

           “Did I?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

           Leah looked shocked too. Tommy had failed to mention that letter. She was sure that he would tell her about a letter from a man who was supposed to be dead. It pointed to the distance in their relationship.

           “You asked about your dog.”

           “Yeah, well I were on a lot of drugs.” He gestured to his face. “On account of being shot in the face by a cunt.”

           Leah bit her lip. “How are you faring now?” She hoped being gentle would be her best bet.

           “Learning to live with just one functioning eye.” Alfie shrugged. He glanced over at Tommy. “Think I’m doing better than your husband. You’ve gotten yourself into fascism, aye, stupid boy?”

           Tommy didn’t react probably in the way Alfie hoped. Instead, he just calmly took a drag of his cigarette. “I’m planning on killing Oswald Mosley.”

           “You’re going to kill the man and then you think you can kill the message.”

           “I will kill the message.”

           Leah looked down at her hands and felt like just curling up into herself. She didn’t want to know what dangers they were really facing. If she focused on it then she may have tried to stop Tommy from leaving.

~~~~~~~~

           But he did leave. After kissing the children goodbye, Tommy got in the car and started to drive back to London. Leah stood in the doorway, watching his car drive off. Her chest was tight with fear and it felt almost paralyzing.

           “Would ya like to bring the kids down to the beach?” Alfie came up behind her. “Get your mind offa things?” His tone was significantly gentler once Tommy was gone. The gangster act he upheld so well could be set to the side. He didn’t need to keep his reputation for Leah and her children.

           She turned. “Oh, yes. I’m sure they would like that.” She forced a smile.

           Johanna and Charlie were delighted to visit the beach. Alfie brought down a little pail for Johanna to collect shells and a ball for Charlie to throw for Cyril.

           “Forgive me, but I didn’t think you’d be so…”

           “Nice?” Alfie chuckled. “Funny thing when you die and become resurrected. Makes you think ‘bout all the things you used to do, right? Spent decades fighting. But a man can’t fight forever.”

           Leah’s forehead creased. That didn’t ring true for Tommy. He couldn’t relax, couldn’t accept a quiet life. He always needed to fight and she didn’t understand why.

           The two were quiet as the stood near the dunes of the beach. Watching Charlie running around with Cyril was refreshing. The little boy was allowed to forget about the grief he had over his horse and the misunderstanding between him and his father. Johanna seemed content as she trotted around with the pail. She dragged it through the sand as she would stop, crouch down and pick something up.

           “This is the first time you didn’t call me Rosetta’s girl.” Leah realized quietly. "Before you used to call me that every time we met."            

           “That right?” Alfie didn’t seem surprised. In fact, it appeared that he knew what she was talking about. “Well, to be honest this were the first time you’ve looked like your own person.”

           She looked at him in surprise. “Pardon?”

           “You’ve got two kids, a life of your own, yeah? Sure, you’re married, but you ain’t lost anymore.”

           Leah wanted to ask what he meant by ‘lost’ but then it hit her. She wasn’t lost. Alfie was correct in that. She had found her place in the world. “I’m afraid everything is going to unravel.” She admitted. Never in her wildest dreams did she think Alfie Solomons would be a confidante for her.

           “Your husband’s campaign is foolish. But at least he’s doing something that no one else will.”

           “You believe he can do something about all of this?” She asked in disbelief. Encountering Mosley was a different experience. The man gave an impression of arrogance that was almost justified. The kind of man that thought he could get away with anything because he had already gotten away with so much. Knowing Tommy was up against him scared her.

           He looked over the horizon where the ocean met the sky. “Time will tell, won’t it?”

           “I suppose.”

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

           Once the sun began to set, they went inside to wash up for dinner. The kids waited in the parlor as Alfie’s maid prepared the meal. Johanna sat on the floor with the pail, pulling out each shell and rock to show Alfie. The little girl decided she like the man, despite his appearance. Even Charlie warmed up to him almost instantly.

           “Lookit.” Johanna handed Alfie a smooth stone.

           “That looks like a skipping stone. You know how to skip stones, Charlie?”

           “Yeah, dad taught me.” The little boy nodded. He was sat outside on the balcony overlooking the ocean with Alfie’s binoculars.

           “Let’s save this one, aye?” He set the rock aside. “Your brother can skip it tomorrow."

           “See?” Johanna held up a conch shell next.

           “Look at that!” Alfie turned the shell over in his hand. “Hard to find ones that are complete like this, no chips or pieces missing.” He showed her the inside. “That’s where little critters live. They hole on up in there."

           “And this!” Johanna passed him something else.

           “Let’s see then. Well, lookit here. Tha’s sea glass, Jo.” He held the smoothed over green piece to the light. “Lucky find, that is.”

           “This is for mummy.”

           “Oh yeah? What’s this?” Alfie gently took the scallop shell, his thumb smoothing over the pinkish cream-colored inside and then over the ridges of the outside. “Want to give that to mum?”

           “Yeah.”

           “You have the other half? Oh yeah, look.” Alfie touched the two halves of the shell together. “Critters live in here too 'til they outgrow ‘em and find a bigger shell. How’s ‘bout you give the other half to dad?”

           “Okay.” Johanna agreed and continued sifting through the pail, the objects clinking against the metal.

           Leah came into the parlor after freshening up for dinner. “Looking through your treasures?” She kissed the top of Johanna’s head.

           The little girl beamed up at her mother. “I found s’glass.” She chirped happily.

           “Maybe you can leave Alfie some, I’m not sure we’ll be able to bring all of that home.” Leah laughed softly.

           Johanna cupped her hands, picking up a handful of rocks and shells and promptly poured them into Alfie’s hands. “Tha’s yours."

           “Oh well that’s very kind, that is. We’ll have to find places to put ‘em.” He smiled and stood up.

           Leah walked out to the balcony and sat down beside her son. “See anything?” She smoothed his blond hair back and briefly thought about having to get him a haircut soon.

           “Yeah, there are ships.” He continued looking through the binoculars.

           “I wonder where they’re going.”

           Charlie simply shrugged. He had something else on his mind. “Why didn’t dad stay here with us?”

           “He’s got to work.” She replied. “He’ll take a holiday with us this summer.” She promised and hoped it was something that would come true. At that point she was just hoping everyone ended up alive. They could discuss holidays later.

           “Mum,” The boy lowered the binoculars and set them down in his lap. He looked up at her with concern in his eyes. “Is dad okay?”

           It was everything Leah was afraid of. It didn’t matter if Leah and Tommy argued behind closed doors. Children picked up on everything even if it was unsaid. That’s why Johanna liked Alfie. She could see beyond his tough exterior. Charlie could see the decline in his father’s mental health. It didn’t matter how hard Leah tried to keep a positive atmosphere in the home.

           “Sometimes, people struggle with being sad. Daddy will be okay but…” The words got stuck in her throat.

           “But what?”

           “But we need to give him lots of love to help him.” She tried to smile but her muscles felt too tense to even function correctly. “You and Joey can do that, right?”

           Charlie nodded. “Yeah.”

           “Mummy, I got a shell for you.” Johanna came wandering over with the scallop shells. “And this is for daddy.”

           “Oh, thank you, poppet.” She took the shells in her hands and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Daddy will love it. C'mon you two, I'm sure dinner'll will be done soon."

~~~~~~~~~

           After dinner, Leah got the children to bed and went into the parlor to read for just a little bit. She noticed some of the shells that Johanna had collected were now placed among the artifacts on Alfie’s shelves and cabinets. Some sand lingered on the wood surfaces.

           Alfie came in with a cup of tea and settled into his armchair. He glanced out the balcony to where the sun had disappeared. The sky blooming into an array of purples and blues.

           “Did Tommy tell you I was pregnant?” Leah wondered.

           “He did.” Alfie nodded. “Used it as a threat. If I hurt you-such and such.” He waved a hand.

           Leah tilted her head in acknowledgment. That sounded like her husband. “It’s funny. When I was pregnant with Johanna, I thought it would make things better. Tommy would settle down more.” She shook her head. “It was stupid to think that.”

           “What’s your end goal?”

           “My end goal?” She paused. Most days, she didn’t even know which way was up. So many things had rocked her world beyond repair. It ended up that she couldn’t only think one day at a time. As long as her children were safe in bed at the end of the day, it was a success. But long term? “I don’t know.” She admitted quietly. Could she even guarantee tomorrow? Could she guarantee that she wouldn’t get a call saying that Tommy had been shot dead?

           “Something to think about.”

           She frowned and felt some anxiety bubble in her stomach. “I don’t want to wish for something that’s not plausible. It’s not worth the time spending if it’s unrealistic. I just want my children to be safe and have a good life.”

           He watched her with thoughtful eyes. “And you don’t think you can provide them with that?”

           Leah paused. When she lost Jonah, her world came crashing down. But she didn’t have children to care for back then. If she were to lose Tommy, she wouldn’t have the option to break down again. She would have to hold everything together for the sake of Charlie, Johanna, and the baby on the way. “I want Tommy to be okay.”

           Alfie nodded. “Think doctors can get into that brain of his?”

           She sighed quietly. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’m close and he slips away.”

           The man was quiet for a moment. “Well, I wouldn’t want to be fucking married to ‘im that’s for damn sure.”

           Leah shared a laugh with him. “It’s hard to explain love." She admitted. "But I'll never stop loving him."

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​  @biba3434​ @kimmietea​ @karmezii​ @enrapturedbythemoon​ @tarafaithe​ @vampgirl1997​ @evelynshelby​

Tag list: @shelbyblinded​

Masterpost

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[sazafraz]

Oh! Can I ask for 142 “Hold my hand so he gets jealous.” with Tommy Shelby please? Only if you feel inspired though! 🖤 Thanks Darling!

I’ll ALWAYS feel inspired for Peaky Blinders!!! Cut for S5 spoilers!

You’ve been around the Shelby family from the very beginning. A very good friend of Ada Shelby, you couldn’t help but want to help them out while the boys were off at war. Once they came home, it felt natural to just...stay. You noticed the drastic change in them, the way war beat their spirits into almost nothing.

Tommy was the one who seemed most affected. Once a cheerful, smile-filled lad, he was abrasive, cold, cocky. Very cocky. Still, he recognized the help you gave his family, and to your relief, treated you with kindness and quiet appreciation. You could feel the small spark of something between the two of you, but he was so hardened, it was locked up behind the steel walls around his heart. So deep, most people believed he didn’t have one in the first place.

It was no surprise to you the actions he took to grow the family’s wealth and business. His methods were hard-hitting and drastic, but he was intelligent about it. He’d always been that way. You always trusted him, although most of the time it was out of habit rather than a conscious effort.

So imagine your surprise when you could see uncertainty in his eyes for the first time. It was when Oswald Mosley came into the mix of things. You were going to take Tommy some food, given that he didn’t eat much (or often). He wasn’t aware you were coming, otherwise he would have found a way to ensure you weren’t there as the same time as Mosley. They had just gotten done sizing each other’s secrets up, and were staring down into determined and calculating eyes. This must be your favorite whore. The words echoed in his mind. For anyone to insult someone he so deeply (but secretly) cared about made his mind gallop like a wild stallion, thinking of how he should kill the cretin. The way Mosley looked at you, basket in your hands, a sweet casual dress with a light fur coat wrapped around. You were so sweet, so kind, so soft. Everything Mosley loved to corrupt.

Tonight, he still stared at you. You could feel his animalistic urges from across the dining room, as could Tommy. He was on his fourth (fifth?) glass of champagne, his tolerance allowing his mind to continue sober. This little party wasn’t just for your birthday, it was to make Mosley more comfortable. Comfortable enough to get right in range of the knife Tommy would slash his throat with.

Thing is, Mosley did research on everyone in the Shelby circle. You came up with...nothing. A prime example of a perfect women. The alpha female, in his mind. So while he revered in the fact that he could have anyone he wanted, you were the one he wanted most. Untouched and perfect for the taking.

Tommy knew this. Tommy also knew of his deep seeded feelings for you. It was something he could never admit, for fear of you getting hurt, or worse. So how upset could he make Mosley if Tommy soiled you with his dirty gypsy self, as Mosley thought? Oh, the thought made him smirk ever so slightly.

You wondered what was in his mind. You could tell he was running a scenario in his mind. He did so often, but this time there was an almost evil love for whatever he was thinking.

“Tommy?” “Hm?” “What is it?”

He looked down at you, his piercing blue eyes seeming to look through you. Every time he laid his eyes on your face, he seemed to imprint another feature of your face into his mind. At this point, you were the only face he could see in those rare dreams of him.

“....[r/n], do you feel like a whore?” His gaze was unwavering.

Your eyebrows kit in confusion. “Thomas?”

“Mosley seems to think you are one.” Silence. Sure, Tommy could see and know everything, but to be so forward about it...felt as though Tommy was accusing you of being one.

So your next question is careful.

“Do you think I am one, Tommy?”

He stared at you for a moment. 

“Hold my hand so he gets jealous.” He held his hand out to you kindly. 

You had never seen Tommy’s drawn out eyes soften so mischievously. You knew this meant there was something deeper to his words. This was a way inside. He was ever so carefully inviting you within, while using the opportunity to get Mosley a little off-balance. You accepted it, going so far as to even lace your fingers with his, the feel of his calloused fingers sending signals of the true hidden Shelby inside. 

Any tip to the scales would be a monumental step to defeating the evil that is Oswald Mosley. By the scowl on the pervert’s face, it was working.

Tommy Shelby was a step closer to winning.

@thebookishfeminist @solari-needs-therapy @supervalcsi @juniperjane-blog @crimsonheart01 @thegirlwhowritesfics

[untilmynextstory]

CHAPTER FOUR: Na Trioblodi

WORD COUNT: 8K

Alma tries her best to keep the more traumatic events that surround the club from her kids. She knows in the long run it may bite her in the ass, but they are under 6. There are some things that they just don't need to know. Their minds don't need to be tainted with the harsh cold reality of their world yet.

Yet, there are times it can't be avoided when they need to go to the hospital to visit members. Nathan never really questioned things. He took it at face value, or she believes he saves the hard questions for his father or even Opie.

Kaylee always asks more questions. Alma thinks she would make a good lawyer or journalist when she is older. Kaylee's brows furrow as Alma kneels down in front of her and tries to explain Chibs booboo.

Kaylee had drawn him a lovely picture to keep in his room and even "donated" one of her stuffed animals to keep him company.

"But how did he get hurt, Mommy?" Kaylee asks again.

"You know how cars have wires," Alma starts and pauses to see Kaylee nod her head. "Well, Chibs accidentally put two wires together and it caused him to get a booboo on his head."

Kaylee purses her lips and Alma thinks she is going to ask the question again. Instead her little girl takes her hand and leads her inside the hospital room.

Chibs is laying in bed. His eyes are closed and Alma thinks he is sleeping. However, his eyes open slowly and a smile comes across his face.

"Chibby!" Kaylee exclaims, but then slams her hands over her mouth.

Alma chuckles lowly.

"It's my favorite lassie." Chibs comments as he moves the bed to recline higher.

Alma places Kaylee on the bed where her little girl gives Chibs a gentle kiss on his bandage that is wrapped around his head.

"A kiss to make you feel better." Kaylee says as she settles in Chibs lap.

"I already feel better, lassie." Chibs says.

"I hope so. The only boy I kiss is Daddy and sometimes Grandpa."

Alma snorts while Chibs chuckles. "Good. You shouldn't be kissing any boys."

"Boys are gross. Besides, you and Daddy are man." Kaylee points out. "Besides, I brought you Rummy."

Kayle hands over her blue monkey to Chibs. "It is so you have a friend since I'm not allowed to spend the night."

"That's sweet of you luvie." Chibs tells her as he accepts the soft stuffed animal.

"Any idea of how long you'll be here?" Alma asks softly.

"I'll say a couple weeks if I don't have any complications. So hopefully my brain doesn't act funny."

"Are you going to be able to come to my birthday!" Kaylee cries out.

"Oh, luvie, I don't know."

Alma is surprised when the tear line Kaylee's eyes. She is immediately grabbing her daughter and holding her clothes. "Baby, what's wrong?"

"I want Chibs there and Daddy," she wails.

"Honey, Daddy is going to be at your party. Why wouldn't he?"

Kaylee hides her face with her small hands. "Daddy isn't home like he used to be. You and Daddy mad at each other."

Alma frowns as she cuddles Kaylee closer to her. She presses a kiss to her forehead. "Daddy will be at your party, sweetie. You'll probably get mad because he won't let you play with your friends. And Chibs booboo needs to be watched by the doctors. We'll save him some cake and you never know maybe Chibs can come over and have a tea party just you two."

Alma looks over at Chibs who is watching her with a serious face. Her troubles with Jax officially leaving the walls of her home.

Kaylee nods her head and looks back at Chibs. "I'll save you a piece of cake, Chibby."

"A lass after my own heart." He tells her.

.

.

.

Alma will feel awful if she ends up lying to Kaylee. It seemed Jax may end up missing his daughter's birthday as he and the club ended up in jail. They had apparently thought it would be a good idea to attack some church meeting.

From what little she gathered or cared to listen to, Gemma told her it was a set up. Alma knows it probably was, but they should've been smarter trying to get retribution for Chibs. Alma can't find it in her to feel sad or mad. She simply does not even care at this point. The only thing that matters is her childrens' happiness and safety.

She knows any happiness she has managed to conserve is going to be sucked up by her mother's upcoming visit.

She is currently at the Stockton Metropolitan Airport waiting for her mother. Apparently she is coming back from a trip from Paris with her current sugar daddy. Her mother had gladly informed her she was cutting her trip short to come to her own granddaughter's birthday party. Alma can already feel a headache forming as she looks at her mother strolling out of the airport with her designer suitcase and carry on. Her mom's eyes are hidden by the Gucci sunglasses, but by the frown on her face Alma knows her mom is about to lash at her for something.

Alma waits as her mom strolls over to the car and places her luggage in. Ana gets into the passenger side and slams the door. "You could've helped me with my bags." She snaps.

Alma sighs and just pulls out of her parking spot. "Sorry," she mumbles.

"Don't mumble," Ana tells her. "And don't be moody because your husband is locked up."

Alma looks over at her mother. "How'd you know about that?"

"Google alerts since my daughter doesn't tell me anything."

"It really isn't -" Alma begins to say, but is cut off.

"It is my business! My grandbabies are affected by this shit." Her mom practically screams. "And a fucking explosion at the garage. Those babies could've gotten hurt if they wanted to help out."

Alma purses her lips. She loves her mom. She really does, but she has never been there. Sure Alma had food, clothes, and shelter, but it seemed the moment Alma didn't conform to what Ana wanted her mother gave up instead of listening. Her mom reminds her of those pageant and dance moms she sees occasionally on TV. Her mom only wanted a good image.

After all, despite her mom's bitching, she didn't care about the criminal aspect of life. Her mom's sugar daddy has connections to the Russian Mafia. To her the mafia was cleaner than that of a motorcycle club. Alma doesn't bother pointing out her mother's hypocrisy.

"Is he even gonna be home for Kaylee's party?"

"I hope so, but it's not like this is going to be the only one he misses right." Alma remarks bitterly.

Ana chuckles. "I warned you about this. I told you what you should've done when you got pregnant."

Alma whips her head at her mother. "How can you say that! How can you look at me and tell me I should have gotten rid of Nathan."

Ana sighs. "You know I love Nathan. You were just a kid, Al. Jax knew fucking better than to mess with you. I'm still fucking confused why you spreaded your legs for him knowing how he fucked anything. You could've gotten out of this town. Out of this life."

"You can't change the past, Mom."

"Just repeat it as it seems." Ana remarks sadly.

.

.

"Grandma, why are we at a church?" Nathan asks as he licks his ice cream.

Gemma looks down at her grandchildren. Nathan is looking up at her with Jax's blue eyes. Does Gemma feel some guilt for what she is about to do. Maybe, but her boys are locked up and if Oswald can't be swayed by a pair of doe eye kids missing their daddy then the man is heartless. She just didn't want her granddaughter's birthday to be ruined by her father's absence. She knows with the charges the men have they might be going away for a while.

"We're going to visit a friend." Gemma tells him.

"Why?" Kaylee asks.

"Because I haven't seen him in a while." Gemma replies as she digs in her bag for a wipe. Somehow they always manage to get ice cream everywhere.

Kaylee tries to fight her when she is wiping her face.

"Grandma!"

"Well if you didn't get the ice cream everywhere I wouldn't have to do that." Gemma replies.

"I'm not a baby. I can wipe me face." Kaylee replies sternly.

Gemma looks at her with a raised eyebrow. She knows Kaylee is going to be trouble as a teenager for the whole family.

"Just be nice and quiet when we go in, alright?"

Both kids nod their heads and they make their way inside the church. The choir is singing beautifully and Gemma can spot Oswald's daughter in the front. She is the same age as Nathan. Oswald turns around from the side of their arrival, Gemma waves before ushering her grandchildren in the pews.

Gemma waits silently for the practice to finish. Luckily the kids were still entertained by their ice cream. As soon as the practice is over, Gemma is taken back by Tristan running over to them.

"Hi Nathan!" The girl greets with a wide smile.

"Hi, Trissy," Nathan replies and Gemma watches, entertained as her grandson's cheeks turn pink.

Tristan smiles before turning towards Gemma. "Hi, I'm Tristan."

"I'm Grandma," Gemma replies while Oswald comes up.

"Why don't you show Nathan and Kaylee the church while I talk to Gem." Oswald suggests to Tristan.

The kids don't need a verbal response as they rush out of the pews.

"She sings beautiful." Gemms starts.

"I'm gonna be out of town for the recital. Trying to catch some rehearsals." Oswald explains.

"You're a good dad."

Oswald smiles as he stuffs his hands into his suit pocket. "Sometimes I forget Jax is a dad. Him and Alma were the last couple I expected. Tris is always talking about Nathan though." He pauses as his face turns serious. "I heard about him and Clay."

"Your office told me you were here. Didn't know who else to go to." Gemma explains.

Oswald sits in the pew in front Gemma. "Maybe it's time for a lesson, Gemma, for all of us."

"Maybe." Gemma agrees slightly. "But this isn't it. Zobelle set up that bust. He's ripping apart the club. He's ripping apart charming." She tells him bluntly. "Clay outed Jacob Hale's bullshit scam, saved your land. Thought maybe you'd like to return the favor."

"How big a favor?"

Gemma licks her lips. "300 against three mil."

"Jesus Christ. I'd have to put up the same land for that kind of bail. One infraction, one guy splits, I lose it all. I lose it all." He explains to her hotly.

"They're not safe, Elliot. If I don't get them out of there, I might not see any of them again. Nathan and Kaylee might not see their father again."

Oswald doesn't say anything as he gives her a closed lipped smile. Gemma stands as she digs in her bag. "I'm not sure if Tristan got an invitation." Gemma passes over the invitation to Kaylee's upcoming birthday party.

.

.

Jax sits in the stiff metal chair with the cuffs around his wrists as he waits for Stahl to be done with her pissing contest. He doesn't know what she gets from having him sitting alone in a room especially in prison. If anything it's welcomed considering the shit show the club has found themselves in.

It was clear Zobelle had connections everywhere with how early on Juice was able to get attacked. They were lucky that Half Sack was able to pull his weight in getting his top rocker in securing them protection through Laroy. However, he was right in telling Clay that it would be stupid to make such a rash decision regarding retaliation. They would be playing right into Zobelle's hands and look where that got them. In jail and Clay decided to throw his fists at him for whatever bullshit Stahl managed to trigger in Clay.

Finally Stahl shows her face as she enters the room with an infamous manilla folder. She sits down and smiles at him. He is brought back to the last time they were in a room together where she brought him the worst news of his life.

"I know you want the MC on a better path. Put some distance between the law and the harleys. Legit porn business is proof of that. It's real smart, Jax. My guess is that you don't even want to be dealing guns." Stahl begins as she sits up straighter and opens the folder, which reveals pictures of their Irish contact Cameron Hayes meeting with Zobelle. "I'm not after SAMCRO. I want Cameron Hayes's true IRA contacts. Consider it retaliation for the Mick assholes jumping ship. And we both know that you'll never win this war against Zobelle."

"I'm not in a war." Jax replies.

Stahl smirks as she tilts her head. "You look pretty battle-worn to me." She replies back. "Look, I don't give a shit about this beef between you and Clay. Your club, your business. But maybe I can help you repair the damage, very least keep you alive. How long do you think you're gonna last out there on the yard?" She taunts. "They will pick you off, one by one, same way they did Juice."

"Then get us a decent bail." Jax answers as he leans back in his chair.

"I'll do better than that." She promises. "You give me inroads to the Irish, I'll get you and the club full immunity. I might even be able to get Otto's parole back on track."

The room is silent as they stare at each other. Jax isn't stupid nor is she. He will give it to Stahl she is a manipulative bitch who knows how to do her job for the most part.

"You have to think past your hatred for me." She implores. "You're smarter than that. I am offering you a bigger picture."

Jax isn't prepared for the next pictures that she pulls out. It is of Alma with the kids. They are at a park and the kids are smiling wide and happy. However, looking at Alma, despite the smile on her face, he can tell in her oversized cardigan that his wife isn't happy.

"You have a great girl, beautiful kids. I know how much they mean to you. I heard you and your wife have been having marital troubles and can't fix that from a prison cell, Jax."

Jax shakes his head and gives her a nasty smile. "You know my family...being a father...they've given me a new pair of glasses. Find myself thinking about the things I do, things I say. Ramifications." Jax leans up and looks down at the photos. "You have to. Not as angry or reactive. I can see that. For instance, you showing me these photos, trying to play my rage, my need for revenge. It didn't work." He tells her bluntly. "See, I was able to take a moment, think. And I realized that if we did have a relationship with the Irish... Which of course, we don't... What'd stop me from tipping them off? Letting 'em know you got 'em under thumb? You took a huge risk playing that card, which means you're desperate. You got nothing."

"You really are the smart one." She muses as she stands up and gathers her things. "By the way... Your bail was posted. You're all free to go and make sure you say hi to your mother in law for me. Heard she was back in town."

.

.

.

Alma is up late at night wrapping the presents for Kaylee's party. She had picked up last minute gifts for her daughter for the party. Gemma was actually going to keep the kids for the next couple days so the set up for the party could be a surprise for Kaylee.

She had headphones in her ear so she didn't hear anything or even feel the vibration from the door closing. She has placed the last piece of tape on the present when her eyes just flick forward for a brief second and they fly back to the figure standing in the doorway. Alma almost screams at the site before she realizes it is Jax.

Her body instantly relaxes at the sight of her husband and she removes her headphones. She pushes the presents away as she stands up. She is only wearing a simple white tank and just a pair of black cotton panties.

Jax's gaze is just burning her. He isn't speaking. Alma looks him over and she can see some cuts and bruises on his face. She walks over to him slowly and her arms wrap around him tentatively.

She isn't going to ask about the wounds. She knows she won't get an answer. She is surprised when his arms come around her and he holds her tightly. She is pressed tightly into him. She thinks she could cry. Even in his warmth, she still feels so cold. She doesn't move away and she only closes her eyes as she listens to his heartbeat.

They stay that way for a while until she feels his hands trail down her body. They settle on her hips and his fingers dip below the band of her underwear. She leans away from him a little.

"Jax…" She questions as to what he is doing, or more so what this even means.

It's instinctive as he moves his hands to cup her thighs and brings her up that she needs to wrap her legs around him.

Their lips meet instantly. Jax is walking them towards the bed as their tongues clash together. Her legs become tighter because despite how much she feels as if she hates her husband, she loves him just the same.

He lays her down on the bed and she quickly discards her shirt while he grabs at her underwear ripping them off quickly. He pulls away from her and he rids himself of his shirt while Alma works to unbuckle his belt buckle. Jax pushes her hands away. He scoots to the end of the bed and his hands grip her thighs as he moves her with him to the edge of the bed.

His fingertips graze her thighs as they trail past her stomach to her breasts. Their eyes lock on each other as his fingers circle her nipples. He pinches them and tugs causing her stomach to clench. He leans forward and captures her nipples in her mouth and her hands come up into his hair for support. His tongue worked on her nipples making them hard to the point it stung a bit. Alma bucks her hips up for some type of relief before he pulls away. He brings his fingers up to her mouth and Alma immediately opens up and takes his fingers. She moans as she coats them before he tugs them out of her mouth and trails down between her legs. His fingers ghosted over her center in a teasing manner as he moved up and down her and circled her opening before he moved his attention to her clit.

"Fuck," she moans out as it catches her by surprise.

"Let me hear you," Jax tells her as he applies more pressure and sinks his middle finger inside her.

Alma can feel the clenching in her abdomen as her toes begin to curl as he massages her clit with his thumb while fingering her.

"Come for me, darlin'," Jax demands.

Alma's body clenched as she felt her fire ignite her body. Her thighs tremble from her orgasm and she is still coming down from her high when she feels him lick a long stripe up her folds.

"Jax!" Her hips buck up as her grip on his hair tightens. It was almost painful as he traced a pattern against her clit. His fingers dug into her thighs and Alma knows there might be bruises tomorrow morning. She was caught off guard when Jax sucked on her clit and nibbled it and it triggered a second release.

She screamed when she felt Jax slam into her and her walls clamped down hard around him. He didn't give her a moment of reprieve as he started to thrust slowly, but deeply in and out of her.

"Shit...Jax," Alma moans out as she tightens her legs around him. Her hands moving from his hair to his shoulders.

Jax moves one of her legs so it rests on top of his shoulder. Alma moves her arms so that she clenches the bedsheets.

Alma cries out from the change in position. "Jax...I -"

"Give me one more, Alma," Jax demands.

Alma opens her mouth, but no sounds come out as her mind goes blank.

"Fuck!" Jax roars as he chases his releases.

She can feel warm spurts coating her walls. She comes down from her high she is well aware of the mess between her thighs that have leaked to the sheets. She hisses as Jax pulls out from her.

"Fuck, babe," Jax whispers.

Alma somehow manages to look down. Her thighs are still twitching as she watches Jax's fingers ghost over her thighs. She whimpers as she feels Jax push his fingers back into her and keep his release there.

Her mind is foggy still and she almost misses the words he says that clears any ounce of peace and relaxation she has.

"I want another baby."

.

.

Jax thinks he would prefer to be in a standoff with the Mayans than standing directly across from his mother in law. Ana always had a way of getting under his skin. Not only his, but everyone around her. He dreads even letting his kids be near the devil in disguise.

However, coming back from lockup, the last thing he wants to deal with her in his kitchen staring him down. Maybe Alma could have given him a better warning than waking him up to inform him that her mom was there before she dashed off to fucking somewhere. Considering how he ambushed her last night, her mother was probably the last thing on her mind.

He doesn't know how Chico dealt with Ana for how long as he did. Of course, Ana is a beautiful woman despite the shitty personality. Alma gets her looks from her mother because if how Ana is aging is any indication of how Alma is, he is going to be a very lucky man.

Yet, as he stirs his coffee, Ana has been glaring at him since he walked into the kitchen while she drank her own cup while pretending to read the newspaper.

Jax runs his hand down his face. "Is there a problem?"

"Your face looks like it hurts." She replies as she places the newspaper down.

"Your concern touches me." Jax mocks.

"One day Alma will wake up."

"Ana, I really don't feel like dealing with this shit."

"Do you really think I care?" Ana retorts.

"Actually, no I don't. I don't' think you care much about anything except for what guy is gonna write you a check."

Ana laughs. "Do you think those words hurt me?" She flicks her hair over her shoulders. "They don't. Nothing your mom or you can say will cause me to lose any sleep at night. In fact, you just wasted your breath." Ana stands up and folds her newspaper. "Alma was young - is young. The betrayal of what you did...that will never fade. Fucking her and trying to get her pregnant isn't going to keep her here."

Jax shakes his head. "I'm not doing this."

Ana snorts. "Of course you don't. I'm not putting you on a pedestal."

.

.

.

Jax is glad that their house is big enough where he can hide and not come into contact with Ana. Although, he is sure she left the house shortly after their "talk". So he has been mostly left to his own devices. He at first was gonna head to the club as the last place he wanted to be was his house. However, he wasn't going to run away from his problems. He wasn't going to play right into Ana's hands. He knows her favorite thing to do is playing mind games with people. He might have fallen into that trap.

So he decided to work out and try to burn off that anger because at the end of the day, whatever is going on between him and Alma is between him and Alma.

He did a brutal workout that left his arms feeling like noodles. He walked into the kitchen to refill his bottle of water before jumping into the shower when the front door opened. He is silent as Alma comes in carrying some grocery bags no doubt filled with more party supplies for Kaylee.

"Hey," Alma greets with a bright smile.

"What the fuck are you telling your mother?"

Alma's smile deems immediately. "What?"

"She seemed to have a lot to say about the state of our marriage."

"She always has something to say Jax." Alma replies as she begins to put away the groceries. "I'm surprised you would even listen to her."

"Well it seems that I have to listen when my wife isn't talking to me."

"Talk?" Alma sputters in disbelief. "Since when in the fuck do you even want to talk?"

Jax and Alma stare at each other before Alma is the first one to break away by shaking her head.

They don't speak to each other for the rest of the day.

.

.

Alma smiles as she watches the group of kids running around in her backyard. The turn up of kids was quite surprising. Most of the kids are from Nathan's class who have younger siblings that are closer to Kaylee's age. Considering that Kaylee hadn't been in daycare, the only friends she has managed to make were from the many hours they clocked in at the playground.

However, Alma is aware that most of these parents are just curious as how the Tellers are living.

With the flurry of activity, it has led her to keep her distance with Jax. They have a semi united front. She just has been keeping her distance. This day is about Kaylee turning 5. Her baby is getting older and there doesn't need to be any drama.

Alma picks up some trash and throws it in one of the garbage bins before heading back into the house to get the birthday cake. She knows Kaylee is itching to open some of her many birthday gifts.

Alma heads into the house and begins gathering the materials she needs. She is grabbing the candles and the lighter when the backdoor opens. She looks up and she is surprised to see Gemma is the one to walk through the door.

Gemma has been the main person keeping the kids all together and making sure nothing can ruin her granddaughter's day.

"You better be careful with Tristian and Nathan out there."

Alma laughs. "He has a crush. Let him be."

Gemma snorts. "I'm pretty sure he is already planning their engagement."

"I bet Karen would love that." Alma tells her. "I'm sure Clay would really love that."

Gemma snorts. "So I do want to know what your mom and Jax said to each other for them to act like they don't exist?"

"Honestly, I am not all that sure what my mom said." Alma reveals truthfully. "But I know best not to get in between that."

"Still, it must be alot on you."

"Mom only visits a few times a year and afterwards I treat myself to a nice spa day." Alma jokes.

"You know...your dad would be proud of who you've become. It's a shame he isn't here."

Alma nods her head. Alma never knows what to say when it comes to comments about her dad. She loves him and the few memories she can remember. She knows he was trying his best to be a good father. She also knows that it didn't erase his faults as a man involved in an outlaw club or the fact he treated her mother like shit. She knows there are things she doesn't know about her parents' relationship. She knows at one point they had loved each other. Yet, her dad had broken something in her mom to turn her into the person her mom has become.

Besides, Alma thinks if her dad was alive he wouldn't approve of her relationship with Jax.

She knows if her father was alive, the path her life has taken wouldn't be the same.

"I wish the kids would have been able to meet him."

Gemma goes to answer, but the doorbell goes off. Alma leaves the kitchen and heads to the front door. She checks the side window and frowns at the sight of David Hale. She opens the door with a confused smile.

"I don't remember sending you an invitation." She jokes.

David gives a sad smile. "Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you guys should hear this from me."

"Al, who's at the door?" Gemma asks as she walks into the hallway.

"Hi, Gemma," David says as he walks into the house a bit. "You should sit down for this."

"What's going on?" Gemma demands. She doesn't move to sit. She just stares David down.

David sighs as he focuses on Gemma. "We just found Luann Delaney off county 18. Beaten to death. There's no other details right now. I'm sorry."

Gemma is frozen and Alma doesn't have any words.

At that moment, there is laughter coming from the kitchen. Alma recognizes them as Jax's.

"Alma?" Jax calls out.

"Excuse me," Alma tells David and Gemma before she walks back into the kitchen. Jax has a birthday hat on and he is admiring the birthday cake on the table.

Jax looks up at her and his smile fades. "What's wrong?"

Alma takes a shaky breath. "Luann was killed."

.

.

Alma never had to plan a funeral before. Luckily it seemed Luann had her wishes already laid out. Based on the dates on some of the paperwork, it seemed she had been prepared since Otto got locked up. Luann already had the plot, casket, and gravestone picked out for both her and Otto.

Somehow they were able to get through the party and didn't say anything until the guests left. Alma didn't engage in the conversation. She took care of getting the kids ready for bed. She really couldn't find anything to say about this. The only thing she does know is that Luann was having trouble with another porn producer, but she really doesn't want to think about porn scabbles would really lead to murder.

Her heart just went out to Otto. She knows most likely that he won't be able to even attend his wife's own funeral. And to lose her in such a violent way, she can't imagine that pain.

Alma just knows that now she has to get in touch with a lot of people in the adult entertainment industry to set up some type of memorial for Luann. She thinks she'll asks a few of the girls to help with that.

Alma buries her head in her hands and resists the urge to cry. Luann had always done so much for her and looked out for her. Luann was the only old lady that ever reminded Alma that she needs to come first before her old man.

The sound of her doorbell going off causes her to jump. She wipes her face in case any renegade tears managed to slip before answering the door. She is surprised to find Unser standing on the other side.

"Sheriff?"

He gives her a small smile. "Hey, Alma, sorry to come over unannounced. I'm looking for Jax."

"He is visiting Otto. Don't when he is going to be back. What's going on?"

Unser sighs and she can see the internal debate of wanting to tell her. "Couple of the girls were busted in a prostitution sting. One mentioned Jax was their boss."

"Fucking great," Alma mutters.

.

.

.

Jax thinks telling Otto that Luann was murdered and he believed his actions led up to it was one of the hardest things he has ever done. It is easily the worst and he can't even imagine the pain his brother is in. His brother entrusted him and the club to protect Luann. To take care of her since he couldn't. He sacrificed years with Luann for the club and the club couldn't keep their end of the bargain.

Jax parks his bike in his driveway. He had plans to go to the club and get a rundown of what they had planned for the day, but right now he doesn't want to be near his brothers. He just wants his family. But he knows the kids are with his mom and Alma was at the house setting up Luann's funeral.

He enters the house through the side door that leads into the kitchen from the laundry room. He finds Alma standing by the stove and it seems she is making some tea. She was never one to really drink coffee.

She looks up at him and gives him a sad smile. "How was Otto?"

"Broken." He tells her simply as he leans against the counter opposite.

Alma folds her arms across her chest. "Are they going to let him go to the funeral?"

"He said probably not as he and the Warden are in a pissing contest."

Alma kisses her teeth and he moves to get closer to him, but she turns around causing him to frown.

"Unser stopped by." She informs him.

"Yeah?"

"Apparently a couple girls were busted for prostition."

Jax rolls his eyes. He almost growled in frustration. "You gotta be shitting me."

"Named you boss. Unser said he would be at the station."

"Jesus Christ."

"This isn't going to mess with your charges is it?" Alma asks softly.

"I don't know. It's not like they have any proof."

"They work at Cara Cara, Jax. You are now practically the owner. It is not going to take long to connect those dots." Alma points out. "Have you even thought about what it means for you to be possibly going to jail, Jax?"

"Are we really going to have this talk now?" He questions her. Jax thinks this is the last thing they need to be worrying about. He doesn't even have a court date yet. They can worry about logistics later.

"No, I guess not."

The teapot screams.

.

.

Jax is tried. He is exhausted. It took them forever to find leverage for the judge so he would drop the case against the Chinese's contact. It's early in the morning - very early. The kids will still be sleeping, but as he walks through the door he can hear Alma in the kitchen getting breakfast ready.

He knows he should immediately make the move to shower and wash off the day. Instead he walks into the kitchen and sits at the breakfast island. Alma's eyes flicker over to him. From the profile, he can tell his wife is tired.

He has noticed the dark spots under her eyes have been increasing since Luann's death. He didn't realize Luann was teaching her about business. Alma has been handling a lot of Cara Cara's paperwork with Bobby as they figure out where to go next in leadership to oversee Cara Cara. Jax is proud of his wife and he realizes he hasn't said it or even showed her.

Yet, he has found his wife has gone out of her way to never be alone with him. She uses the kids as a buffer and when he comes home to go to bed she is already asleep. She also keeps her distance at Cara Cara.

He is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't realize she made him a cup of coffee until it is sliding in front of him.

"Thanks, darlin'." He tells her.

She smiles as she goes back to what he realizes is cutting up some fruit. He can see that she has taken out bacon and sausage and she has supplies to make French Toast.

"How long you've been up?" He asks her.

"About 30 minutes."

"You need some help?"

That causes her to look up at him confused. "I'm good, Jax."

"Babe…"

Alma sighs. "I don't want to do this right now."

"We need to talk."

Alma looks at him and he can tell she wants to say more, but she doesn't.

"I'm lost here, Alma." Jax tells her the truth. He doesn't know how to fix anything between them. He doesn't know how to go back to where they were. "I'm trying to put it back together, but... I don't know if I can."

Things with Clay are shit and the club can't see fucking straight with how hard ZObelle is coming at him. At the end of the day, all he wants is his wife.

Maybe it's pity, or she believes him as she looks him directly in the eyes. "I know."

He can feel the tears building. His throat is getting thick with emotions. "I just feel so far away from you now." He reveals. "I know that's my fault." He admits and takes the blame. "Please, just tell me, how do I get back?"

Alma closes her eyes and she turns her head from him. She shakes her head. "I don't know if you can."

Jax can feel his heart breaking. He can feel this is the end of his marriage. "Babe... please let me back in." He begs.

Alma opens her mouth, but the phone cuts her off.

"Ignore it."

She doesn't listen as she goes to the landline. Her back is turned, but he notices she becomes tenser than before. He becomes confused when she ends the call mentioning Hale's name.

"What is it?"

"There was a fire at Cara Cara."

.

.

"This is a lovely house." Stahl tells Alma as they wait for Jax to arrive. Coming back from the grocery store with the kids, the last thing Alma expected was for Agent Stahl to be on her doorstep. Alma had quickly told the kids to play outside while Alma told Jax he needed to come home immediately. So now she is entertaining the ATF agent who is making herself comfortable on her couch.

"Thanks," Alma says briskly as she darts her eyes between Stahl and her kids.

"I'm also sorry to hear about Luann."

"No, you're not." Alma fires back. "If you were you would be looking for her killer."

"Unfortunately, my area of criteria is alcohol, firearms, and tobacco."

"Convenient, so why are you on my doorstep." Alma fire back.

"You're not like Gemma, are you?" Stahl muses. "I mean with the few meetings of your mother, you seem to take after her."

Alma rolls her eyes. "I'm sure you and my mother got along great."

"DIdn't have nice things to say about your father or your husband."

"Tell me something I already don't know."

Stahl's eyes light up in glee, but before she can say anything Jax is walking into the house.

"What's up? Text was vague." He asks before he spots Stahl. His jaw instantly hardens. "You got a warrant?"

"You see me searching?"

"I got nothing to say to you." Jax fires back before turning to Alma. "Where's the kids?"

"In the backyard."

"Look at you two." Stahl coos. "Ozzy and Harriet."

"Shut up." Alma snaps.

"Get out, now." Jax orders the federal agent.

Stahl's smile is sickening. "I was just curious, Jax. I just wanted to know why you were leaving SAMCRO."

That causes Alma's head to snap towards her husband. She can't hide the shock at that news.

Jax looks guilty as he looks down at Alma. "Give me a minute?"

Alma doesn't argue as she goes outside with the kids. Jax doesn't hide his wince as she slams the door.

"I'm sorry, I thought old ladies were privy. Has she got issues with the extracurricular?" Stahl says mockingly.

"Just say it."

"Same pitch. The Irish screwed you, so you screw them back. More importantly, you screw Ethan Zobelle. You even the score, you protect the MC."

"Same response. I don't rat." Jax replies.

"Sons are living in grace, sweetheart. You're not my target now. But if you don't help me, I will come after you." Stahl threatens.

"You know with Alma doing nails...does she have permit to practice? I'm curious on how a mechanic and nail technician can afford such a house especially with Kaylee's medical bills."

"You're so full of shit."

Stahl smiles. "It was nice talking to you Jax."

Jax doesn't leave his spot until he watches Stahl leave his house. He sighs and knows he is about to be in a world of shit. He moves to the sliding door and finds Alma sitting on one of the lounge couches watching the kids get dirty in the sand box.

Jax's feet have barely touched the deck when Alma speaks.

"What was she talking about?"

Jax slides the door closed and he sits next to his wife despite knowing he could be for some bodily danger. "I'm joining the nomad charter of the Sons."

"Did you conveniently forget you have two kids at home. You can't be heading up fucking north for church every week, Jax." Alma thinks she can throttle her husband. She wants to. She wants to scream, cry, and maybe get a few slaps out of him.

"I got to do this. I need space between me and Clay."

"Why?"

"I just need to do this." Jax tells her. He doesn't even know if he can explain how since his mom's car accident things have been different. The stress of Zobelle is eating at all of them. He knows it's best to take some space.

"I ride independently for a few years and wait for him to step down." He adds.

"A few years?" Alma scoffs. "We've barely made it through the last few months. You made this decision without me."

"Well what else am I supposed to do when you won't fucking talk to me."

"Do not put you going Nomad on me!" Alma hisses. "You don't tell me shit. You haven't since you came back...since Ben…" Alma gets choked up. Jax licks his lips because he is not even sure what he wants to say. Alma takes a breath. "I can't do this anymore."

Jax's brows furrow. "What?"

"I can't." Alma tells him as she stands up and moves to head back in the house.

"Al, wait," Jax tries to grab her hand, but she pulls away quickly leaving him all alone outside.

.

.

With a clubhouse full of visiting members and family, the kids are occupied and cared for. Alma decides to take a breather and walks down to Jax's dorm room where they are staying until things with Zobelle are handled.

A Lot has happened the last few days, which have been overwhelming. Alma isn't even sure how to digest a lot of what was told to her. The first truth to be revealed was the Gemma's car accident was in reality a rape. She was raped by a man name Weston, who happened to be Zobelle's right hand man. Gemma's attack was orchestrated by Zobelle along with the club being sent to prison, the burning of Cara Cara, and recent issues with the Irish. With that, the tension of Gemma's trauma and her relationship with Clay being affected led to Clay making decisions in the club that rubbed Jax wrong. It was the cause of the tension that made Jax want to go Nomad. Although none of that changed, her marriage and it's strain could be easily explained and fixed. Now the club is on lockdown as they have formed a plan to deal with Zobelle.

Alma walks out of the bathroom and is startled to find Jax sitting on the edge of the bed. He gives her a tight smile. The thing with Alma is she knows how to be an old lady. She knows where to play the part so no cracks can be seen. She knows that leads to a lot of false comfort mostly to Jax.

Her instinct is to stay standing by the desk but she moves over to the bed and sits on the edge.

"Everything okay?" She asks quietly.

Jax nods his head. "I love you, Alma. I know since I came home I haven't done my best to show you. I have to live with that consequence. When this is done...if you need me out the house. If you want to take the kids away for a bit, I'll do what you want me to."

Alma isn't sure how to respond. She isn't exactly sure what she wants. If anything in these past few months she has learned her life revolves around Jax. She isn't sure of who she is outside of her marriage.

"Do you want a divorce?" Jax asks her quietly.

"You know I would never keep the kids from you Jax." Alma promises. Despite the mistakes and hurt she and Jax make in their relationship that would be put aside for the sake of their children.

"No matter what, I'll always take care of you, Al." Jax promises and she knows he means it.

"Jax…" Alma isn't sure what to say and she doesn't know if it's a good or bad thing.

Jax stands up from the bed and moves to stand in front of her. His smile is sad and he bends down and places a kiss on her forehead. He walks away and out of the room and Alma tries to muffle the sobs that escape her throat.

.

.

.

Jax and the club are outside of a small deli as they watch Zobelle. Tig is working on getting people to leave the premises as quick as they can. They can't enact revenge with women, children, and innocents around.

Jax can feel the burning in his veins to get vengeance for his mother. Sure, killing Weston felt good. A weight lifted from his shoulders a bit, but the main objective is Zobelle. He is the mastermind behind everything.

After he handles this, he can work on his marriage. He can do everything he can to focus on mending his relationship with Alma. He hopes they can find their way back to each other. He can be a better husband, father, and man. He is pacing in front of the store, his eyes covered by his sunglasses when he feels his phone vibrating.

He looks at the ID and sees it's Alma.

She knows what today means and wouldn't be calling unless it was an emergency. He answers the phone and doesn't like the feeling that settles in his gut.

He can hear crying, screaming, and he swears an ambulance.

"Al, what's wrong?" He asks over the chaos on the end of her line.

Her broken sobs reach his ears. The phone falls out of his hand and Jax thinks he fell to his knees and maybe almost toppled his bike before the guys intervened.

"What is it?" Clay barks at him.

Jax is in a daze. Zobelle is forgotten as he gets to his bike. He has to get to St. Thomas.

"Kay...Kaylee's…" Jax can't finish the sentence. He doesn't even want to have it escape his lips. "I gotta go to St. Thomas."

[sheliesshattered]

This Isn’t A Ghost Story - Chapter 8: The Temple

Whouffaldi non-canon AU. Now complete! 8 chapters, 32,000 words. Rated Mature for heavier themes in earlier chapters, please contact me privately if you’re worried about triggering topics. Clara Oswald/Twelfth Doctor. Mystery, pining and angst with a happy ending. Available on AO3 under the same username and title.

This Isn’t A Ghost Story

Chapter 8: The Temple

18 May 2021, Deir el-Bahari

“Do you ever wonder if we’ve done this before?” Clara asked, her voice hushed as they stood together looking at a wall full of hieroglyphs and painted figures illuminated by the sunlight filtering in through the open walls of the temple.

The Doctor glanced at her, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Visiting the Temple of Hatshepsut was more or less our first date,” he replied. “A hundred years ago this week, in point of fact.”

“No, I mean— lived before,” she clarified. “Transversed the twelve hours of the night and come back out the other side. Rebirth and all that.”

“It’s possible, I suppose,” he said, frowning. “We know it’s happened at least once for each of us, so why not? What makes you ask?”

“There’s something... Not quite a memory, but a feeling, I guess.” She turned away from the temple wall in front of them and led the Doctor back to the large display near the entrance that informed tourists about the history of the Mortuary Temple of Hatshepsut. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the photo of an ancient artist’s sketch on a limestone chip depicting a man in profile. She glanced up at the Doctor and nodded at the drawing on the display. “Tell me about him?”

“That’s Senenmut,” he said, following her gaze. “He was the chief architect of this place, royal adviser to Hatshepsut, and tutor to her daughter, among dozens of other titles. Many people believe he was also Hatshepsut’s lover, even though he was a commoner and at least twenty years older than her.”

Clara made a thoughtful noise and walked a few steps further, squinting up at a towering statue set just outside. “And that’s her?” she asked, looking to the Doctor for confirmation. “Queen Hatshepsut?”

“She was Pharaoh in her own right by the time this temple was built, but yes, that’s her.” He eyed Clara curiously. “Why the sudden interest in Hatshepsut and Senenmut? I thought you’d be more taken with the ceiling.”

She pulled her gaze away from the statue to grin at him, and then stepped back inside the temple just so she could see that high ceiling again, a deep dark blue covered in spindly stars, so very like the star sapphire of her wedding ring, twinkling in the midday sun. “I do love that ceiling,” she told him, lacing their fingers together without looking away from the sight above. It had only been a few days since that miraculous moment in the Cairo museum, and Clara found herself taking every possible opportunity to touch the Doctor during daylight hours, still not quite used to finding him warm and solid beneath her hands. “If we ever settle down anywhere long enough to have a house or a flat again, I might just have to paint something like that above our bed,” she added.

“You should see the ceiling in Senemut’s tomb,” he replied. “Stars like these, but organised into detailed astronomical information. The oldest of its kind in Egypt. It’s not open to the public, but it’s just around the corner from here,” he said, gesturing vaguely back out at the desert behind them. “He wanted to be buried as close to Hatshepsut as he could possibly manage.”

“You’re practically making my point for me, Doctor,” Clara said, finally dropping her gaze from the ceiling and turning towards him.

“Which is what, exactly?” he asked, looking at her as well.

She used their joined hands to pull him back to the visitor’s information. “He has your nose,” she said, pointing at the ancient sketch of Senenmut. “Your chin, a bit, too. Give him your eyebrows and the resemblance would be downright uncanny. And her,” Clara shifted her attention to the other side of the information display, to a photo of another statue of Hatshepsut, considering it critically. “It’s not nearly as jarring as the first time I saw our wedding photo, but there’s something...”

“Your cheekbones and your giant eyes,” the Doctor agreed thoughtfully. “She was about your height, too.”

“It makes me wonder, is all. If this isn’t the first time we’ve done this, if we’ve found each other before. And there’s something comforting in that, I think.”

“How so?”

She shrugged. “Just the thought that maybe some things don’t end. Not love, at least, not always. That maybe there are dozens or hundreds of versions of us, out there scattered throughout history. Finding each other and falling in love, getting it a bit more right each time.”

The Doctor was quiet for a long moment, then said, “I’m not sure it matters to me, in all honesty. If we’ve done this before, or if this is the first time — I’m happy with this version of us, the here and now. That’s enough for me.”

“You mean the here and now where we’re stuck in Egypt while we try to fabricate enough of a legal identity for you to be able to travel?” she asked dryly.

“Since when have we ever been stuck in Egypt?” he snarked back. “I love it here, and I suspect you do too, your complaints notwithstanding. But maybe you do have a point. Maybe there’s a reason we keep gravitating back to this place in particular.”

“A reason you were drawn to study ancient Egyptian languages, and that I was so set on seeing Egypt in 1921.”

“Exactly. And you’re certainly right about one thing,” he added, studying the image of the pharaoh queen, “her face is weirdly round, just like yours.”

Clara snorted and elbowed him playfully.

“Ow, hey,” he said, rubbing at his ribs in mock-injury. “I can actually bruise now, don’t forget.”

“And sunburn, as it turns out,” she sighed, glancing up at him. “Your nose, again. Come here,” she said as she pulled a bottle of sunscreen from her bag. “I suppose some things never change: my round face, your sunburnt nose.”

“I could do with a little less sunburn,” he grumbled, bending down so Clara could apply more sunscreen to his nose.

“I’m happy, too,” she told him softly, her focus on her task. “This version of me and this version of you, and this second chance at a future we’ve been given. But who knows, maybe in the next life, we’ll get to travel the stars together,” she added, glancing up at the painted ceiling overhead, the rows of spindly stars against the deep dark blue.

“It’s a nice thought, my Clara,” the Doctor agreed, and leaned in to kiss her in the bright desert sunlight, standing together under those ancient stars.

--

The End