#bedroom wallpaper for teenage girl

[aestheticaltcow]

Six Months

An attempt at some parenthood angst?

Similarly to the title, this fic has been in my WIP folder for a minute; it went through a handful of edits. I'd like to think this is good enough for y'all.

The Bear Masterlist

Next part

 

Carmy sat in the office staring at the paperwork Sugar needed his signature on; when he saw the date on his phone, it hit him—today marked six months. Six months of parenthood and six months of celibacy, to say Carmy was sexually frustrated, was an understatement. “Hey Carm, did you- are you okay?” Sugar asked when she caught him staring blankly at his phone. He didn’t respond until she put her hand on his shoulder. Her touch snapped him out of his trance. He looked at her before quickly apologizing, “Sorry, what were you sayin'?” Sugar grinned as she patted his shoulder, “You okay, Bear?”

Carmy nodded and straightened up in his desk chair, “Yea- just thinkin’ bout the baby.”

Carmy got home from work late. He quietly slipped his jacket off, and hung it on the coat rack before removing his shoes. Walking down the hallway, he slipped into the nursery, knowing the baby would be asleep. He found it impossible not to be happy in her room. The walls were decorated with vintage floral wallpaper you’d bought off Etsy, it may have been a pain in the ass to put up, but Carmy happily obliged when he saw how happy it had made you. He crept to his baby girl’s crib and felt the day's stress disappear. She was peacefully sleeping in a light pink sleep sack, furiously sucking away on her pacifier. “Sweet dreams, princess,” he whispered. “I love you.” 

The joy of watching his daughter sleep faded away as he approached the askew door to the master bedroom the two of you shared. “I’m home, baby.” Carmy grinned as he walked toward the open closet door, “Hi, Carm.” you called from the bathroom. When he entered the bathroom, you were brushing your teeth. As the mix of salvia and toothpaste residue dripped from your mouth Carmy’s breath hitched- was this enough to get him goin’? He shook his head as he pulled his shirt off and threw it in the laundry hamper before turning on the shower.

“How was work, babe?” you asked before bringing a small cup of mouthwash to your lips. Carmy watched as you swished it around your mouth and spit it into the sink. “Carmy?” you asked again; he swallowed. “Yeah, uh, it was good. Busy,” he answered as you hopped up on the counter. You were desperate for adult interaction after being home with the baby all day. 

“Mia, have a good day?” Carmy questioned. You nodded, “We did some laundry, then had mashed pears for lunch- she did. I had that leftover pasta sauce you made... Read a couple books and went on a walk... Then did her bedtime routine, and I worked on that stupid documentary I was telling you about.” 

As you recounted your day, Carmy nodded, but he was staring at your chest, barely hearing what you said. You’d been wearing one of his old T-shirts. He noticed how prominent your nipples were under the soft, worn-in material. He was captivated by the fullness of your breasts, and he’d do just about anything to touch them again. “Carm, you okay?” you asked, hopping down from the counter; he nodded. “Wanna get in with me?” he asked cocking his head in the direction of the running shower. You giggled, “Maybe next time, bear.”

“Oh fuck-” Carmy grunted as he worked his hand up and down his length. He felt like a teenager again, masturbating in the shower before going to school. However, now, instead of imagining the unrealistic scenarios he’d see in pornos, he had memories of you. Carmy thought back to the last time you’d really touched him. Heavily pregnant, hormonal, begging for his tongue and his cock… he’d expected a shift in your sex life as the two of you adjusted to parenthood, but this long of a dry spell was the last thing he’d expected. Carmy squeezed his eyes closed as he came down the drain.

~

“Good morning, princess.” Carmy cooed as Mia squirmed in her crib, trying to get out of her sleep sack. She spat her pacifier out and let out a gruggle. “So it’s one of those mornings?” he chuckled as he unzipped her. He watched her stretch before carefully picking her up, “See, you’re okay.” he rocked her gently before exiting the nursery and heading downstairs. 

You were making coffee and prepping a bottle for Mia as he entered the kitchen. “You’re off today, right?” Carmy nodded in response before handing you Mia. “You goin’ to work?” he questioned, as he got two mugs from the cabinet. You groaned in response, “Jenny called off, so I have to go in. I’ll be back before bedtime.”

“Well, looks like Mia and I are havin' some Daddy-Daughter time,” you smiled as Carmy gently kissed her head before going to get the milk from the fridge. When you’d met Carmy all those years ago at some trendy Chicago bar, you found him incredibly alluring. His disheveled curls, the mix of some musky cologne and cigarette smoke, the way his T-shirt wrapped around his muscular arms… he’d always been… sexy. But watching him interact with Mia was a different kind of attractive.

Carmy drummed his thumbs on the handlebar of the grocery cart. He scanned the shelf before him as Mia happily made her baby noises as she looked around the aisle. “Okay, princess… they don’t have almond extract. What kind of grocery store doesn’t have fuckin’ almond extract.” Mia put her hands out to Carmy, grabbing at the air. Carmy chuckled and ducked to kiss her cheek.

“Oh my gosh, she’s too precious.” a sickly, sweet feminine voice cooed from behind Carmy. He grinned when he turned his attention to her, “How old is she?” she asked. Carmy got a good look at the woman; she was pretty, but she wasn’t you. “Oh, uh, she’s six months,” he answered as the woman stepped closer. She smelled like cheap vanilla and a mix of flowery scents Carmy couldn’t place. Mia glared at the woman, and Carmy scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m Selena. I’m in this parenting group. You should stop by.” she smiled as she looked him up and down. The attention made Carmy regret not regularly wearing his wedding ring. “I’m not really the par-” Carmy started to say before Selena cut him off. “I’m not takin’ no as an answer. What’s your number?” she handed him her phone. 

Carmy didn’t know why he gave her his number- could he blame it on feeling uncomfortable? Was that even the right thing to do? It’s not like he’d ever do anything with this woman. He’d never throw away his marriage to you by hooking up with some woman he met at the grocery store. The reality of Carmy's actions didn’t hit him until he was in the checkout line. He gave his phone number to another woman- was that cheating on you? Did doing that in front of his daughter make him a bad father? “Okay, your total is $63.82.” the cashier smiled. Carmy nodded and swiped his card. He needed to get out of there as quickly as possible so he wouldn’t run into Selena again.

~

It had been a couple of weeks since Carmy’s interaction at the grocery store. He’d noticed Selena’s text messages here and there. They seemed innocent until one Friday night, he was working late, you were home with the baby, and Selena had sent Carmy an explicit picture, hoping it would get his attention.

We’re both parents. 

I’m not looking for anything serious, Carmy…

My son is at his Dad’s place

Come over <3

Carmy stared at the messages before his eyes went up to the attached photo. Selena had the hem of her T-shirt between her teeth, showing off her toned stomach. He swallowed as he admired the contrast between her skin and the brightly colored fabric of her lacy underwear. He should block her. He should just delete the messages and block her number. He had a wife and baby at home—he couldn’t make this kind of mistake. He locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket before returning to the kitchen cleanup, “Hey Carm, I can finish this up. Go home.” Sweeps grinned as he attempted to connect his phone to the Bluetooth speaker on the counter. Carmy grinned, “You sure, man?” Sweeps nodded assuringly. “I think I can handle this boss man.” 

You heard Carmy walk into the bedroom that night, “Hey babe!” you called as you put your blowdryer in its designated spot by the sink. As the bathroom door swung open, Carmy’s lips were on yours. The initial shock wore off as Carmy’s tongue invaded your mouth, and his hands pushed under the hem of your sleep shorts to grasp at your ass cheeks. Carmy pulled you closer to him, forcing you onto your tip toes. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers delicately tangling in the roots of his hair. The passionate kiss ended when Carmy started to kiss down your jaw. A giggle escaped your mouth as his lips brushed against your earlobe before he nipped at your neck. “Carm-m what got into you?” you croaked as you adjusted your hips against his.

 “I need you, baby,” he muttered, lifting you off the floor. You squealed as he crashed down onto your mattress. He hovered above your body, staring into your eyes. “I need to be inside you, baby.” he swallowed hard as you bit your lip. “Carmyyy,” you giggled as you watched him pull his t-shirt off. You ran a finger down his chest, making him moan softly.

 “Let me make you feel good, baby…” Carmy whispered in your ear as one of his hands found its way into your oversized sleep shirt. Your breath hitched when you felt his calloused fingertips graze your ribs. " I-I—" you studdered nervously. “Baby…please.” Carmy quietly asked as his lips brushed against yours. “No.” you whispered as you grabbed his wrist through your shirt, “What?” Carmy questioned as he stood up abruptly, “Did I do something? We haven’t done anything in like six months- clearly I did something wrong. Just tell me so I can fix it!” Carmy raised his voice as his eyebrows knit together in frustration. 

You propped yourself on your elbows and watched as he picked up his shirt from the floor, “Carmen, please don’t yell at me.” you said calmly. You watched as he rolled his eyes and paced before you, “Baby. I want to have sex with you. I need to have sex with you-” Carmy groaned as he pushed his hands over his face into his hair. Your eyes narrowed, “Carmen. I had a baby-”

 “I KNOW! I fucking know! You had my baby, but now you don’t even want to fuckin’ shower with me! I get it- pregnancy was hard, and then giving birth was hard, and now being a mom is hard.” Carmy started staring at the ceiling while he expressed himself. He took a breath and turned to look at you; regret washed over him when he noticed you were on the verge of tears. “Baby, please don’t cry…” he pleaded as he knelt by the bed. He reached for your hand, but you pulled away before he could grab it, “Sorry, I don’t want to fuck you after taking care of your baby all day.” you spat. Carmy closed his eyes and took another breath trying to compose himself before saying something dumb, “How dare I fail to meet my wifely duties.” you angrily laughed as you stood up. 

You crossed your arms over your chest and stared as Carmy got up. “Baby, I didn’t—" you cut Carmy off with a groan. “Shut up, Carmen. You don’t get to speak to me like that.”

Carmy sighed and stepped closer to you, as he reached out for your hips only for you to slap his hands away. “Don’t touch me.” you glared at him, “Fuck this.” Carmy muttered under his breath as he pulled his shirt back on over his head. “What do you mean ‘fuck this’?” you questioned as Carmy exited the bedroom, “I need air.” Carmy called back to you.

You moved to your bedroom window to see Carmy walking toward his car in the driveway. He got in and pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. 

Send me your address.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 18+ [6K] friends with benefits, but oh no! there's feelings. canon adjacent, kind of? smut, summer, car sex.

You heard the rev of the engine just before the headlights flashed over your bedroom window, casting shadows over your sheets, your own silhouette on the wallpaper. You didn’t need to look to know who it was, the sound of the car idling across your street, waiting. 

You did anyway, fingers parting the slats of the blinds as you turned off your television, grabbing a sweater to shove on, feet stuffed into sneakers as the knit fell to just above the hem of your skirt. A few months ago you would’ve rushed to check your reflection in a mirror, sprayed some perfume, dabbed on some gloss, maybe a cherry flavoured balm on your lips. Now, you just grabbed a set of keys from the dish in the hallway before you closed the front door as quietly as you could. You should’ve told your parents, you knew that. Hawkins wasn’t as safe as it used to be, teenagers getting murdered in broad daylight, an Indiana summer scape being used as the scene for some ripped off horror movie plotline. 

But sneaking off into the night with a pretty boy was all part and parcel of being young, wasn’t it?

The BMW was parked under a street lamp opposite your driveway and when he saw you making your way down, the boy got out of his car, greeting you at the passenger side with a kiss that he ducked down to give you eagerly before opening the door. 

It wasn’t always like that. The terms and conditions of this… situation, used to be a lot more strict. There were rules that came with hooking up with the guy from the video store next door. A casual fuck at a party became accidentally more and long gone were the days that you’d been pressed against a wall by someone who was more man than boy now, stubble scratching across your chin and jaw as you kissed him, tongues tasting like tequila, like cherry vodka and cheap beer. 

And you’d had enough sense left in you that night to pull away, gasping, panting, your hands in his hair as his snuck up your shirt, just barely, thumbs pushing nicely into your waist. You’d let your half lidded eyes drag across his pretty features and recognition managed to take over drunken hormones, over want. 

“Hey, you’re the guy that works in Family Video, right?”

And he’d nodded, smiling a little lopsided as his gaze stayed on your lips a second too long, loving the way they were glossy and bitten red by him. “Mhmm,” the boy had said. “Steve. You’re the ice cream girl.”

Not much else was said that night, not when the girl from the ice cream shop liked the way the boy from the video store tasted. You liked the way Steve held you, how he pressed you into a dark corner of someone’s house party, his eyes only on you even when there were so many other girls trying to get his attention. He’d walked you home when the sun was coming up, his sports jacket draped over your shoulders, your shoes in your hands. You’d written your number on his hand with an eyeliner pencil, smudged but there. 

He’d kissed you again when your neighbours sprinklers turned on, when the birds started singing from the cherry trees out back. It was a soft thing, too soft and too gentle not to mean much but when he pulled back, he squinted at you, looking regretful. 

“I, uh, I’m not looking for anything serious right now,” he confessed. Steve looked sad about it. “I don’t wanna lead you on— I just, there’s a lot going on right now, you know?”

You didn’t know, but you understood. So you nodded and shrugged, the boy's jacket moving against your shoulders and you could smell his cologne, the smoke from the party, your own perfume where it now lingered on the collar. 

So you said, “that’s okay. Doesn’t have to be serious, if we don’t want it to be. We can just… I don’t know. Hang out.”

Steve grinned that night, pleased, cheeks a little pink, ‘cause you both knew what hanging out meant. So he nodded too, told you to keep his jacket and that he’d get it back later, told you he’d see you soon and maybe he could take you for a drive or something. 

Casual, no labels, no expectations. No feelings. 

You were pretty certain that was the night you started falling for Steve Harrington. 

—————

You took Steve’s offered kiss with your chin tilted up, trying hard not to smile, failing when he held out a hand for you to hold as you ducked into the car. He shut the door for you, crossed the front of the beemer, lit up by the headlights, his white t-shirt hanging loose around his collarbones, threadbare and worn. His hair wasn’t done like he usually didn’t it, the messy strands falling across his forehead instead of pushed back. It made him look softer, like the Steve you’d grown to know past midnight. 

It had been months since that party. Months of hooking up on lunch breaks, using the staff room of the ice cream parlour to make out in instead of sharing food, rushing to Steve’s parked car to fool around in the back, letting the windows steam up, a sight too salacious for daylight. You didn’t date, Steve didn’t take you out to dinner, or the movies. You didn’t ask him too. Neither of you had met the other's parents, or friends. You knew a lot about Steve’s life, but you weren’t exactly enveloped in it. 

That’s how it was supposed to be. Just sex. Fun. 

But then Hawkins fell to scandal, a murderer on the loose, a boy you once knew from school. Weird goings on, strange sounds from the forest, news crews parked on streets, hoping for the latest story. Steve wasn’t around as much and when you did see him, he was with people you didn’t know as well. Nancy Wheeler, a kid called Dustin, Max Mayfield and another boy from the school basketball team. 

You’d watch across the street as Steve closed up the video store hours too early with Robin Buckley, rushing to his car with his friends in tow like there was some sort of emergency. So lunch hour sex sessions turned into late night drives, when the rest of the town was asleep and every house you passed was lit up by the street lights, by the aquamarine glow of backyard pools. 

Subtle changes happened first. There were still no dates, no talk of feelings. In fact, whatever was stressing Steve seemed to only be fixed by fucking you. He wasn’t rough about it, not mean, nor careless. But there was a different kind of urgency when he parked up somewhere dark and hidden, pushing his lips to yours and sighing hard like he’d been waiting all day to taste you. Eyes closed, forehead pressed to yours as he let you pant into his parted lips, quiet, soft noises mixing with the slap of his hips against yours. And when you were both fully dressed again and he was ready to take you home, he pressed extra kisses to your cheeks, your hand. 

He’d stare at you, longer than he used to, eyes filled with something you weren’t able to place yet and the boy would tell you to promise him you’d be safe. 

Steve would watch you until you made it inside, he’d do that all the time. But now he was in the habit of only pulling away when he saw your bedroom light flick on, your silhouette waving to him from behind the glass. 

After that, Steve took to kissing you more and more, sex not required. A kiss hello, sweet and chaste, a kiss goodbye, longing, meaningful - even if you didn’t know what it was yet. He was touchy, more open, talking to you and opening up when you’d get into his car and see the boy’s tired eyes. He’d tell you it was fine, that it was nothing for you to worry about. But you spotted a bat in the back seat footwell once, an old looking thing with fucking nails poking out the top.  

Steve had turned a little ashen when you stared at him, promising you earnestly that it was only for protection. You know, because of everything that was going on. You weren’t sure what made you believe him so easily, but you did. Night time drives turned into make outs broken up with Steve burrowing his face into your neck as you raked your hands through his hair. You’d watch him grow sluggish, words drowsy as he spoke about how the bad guys aren’t always bad, are they? And should we really believe what the cops on TV are telling us? And wouldn’t all of this just be so much easier if people had superpowers?

You weren’t sure what any of it was supposed to mean, but you’d nodded and dotted your lips over his hairline, letting him lean heavy against you until he scrubbed a hand over his face and coaxed you into his lap, telling you softly that he’d feel a lot fucking better if he got to make you fall apart with his fingers. 

You let him. And you returned the favour too. 

—————

You knew tonight was different by the way Steve was white knuckling the stick shift, antsy as he brought his touch to your bare thigh instead. He rubbed his thumb there, exhaled heavily when you covered his hand with your own. 

“Are you okay?” You asked him quietly. You didn’t dare break the quiet, the one that only came with driving out of town when the sky was inky, when the wheat fields whispered in the breeze and the bus stops stood empty. Hawkins was asleep, but there was something that Summer that made the town feel less than peaceful. Maybe it was the ‘wanted’ posters on every street light. Eddie Munson’s face staring back at you. “Steve?”

“Yeah, yeah, m’fine.” He glanced at you, taking his eyes off the road for a second or two. He looked heavy, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Atlas, the man with the earth on his back, cast in marble, ready to crumble. “Just a little stressed ‘bout stuff, that’s all.” 

It was the same answer he always gave. You assumed it was his parents - his dad and his relentless tenacity about his job, his future. Maybe it was Keith, giving him a hard time about shifts. Maybe he had a friend in trouble. You were ready to ask, to pry a little deeper when the boy said:

“You’re not, uh—  you don’t get headaches, do you? Like bad ones.”

You squinted at him, confused. You watched the streetlights run over his features, casting the boy in a white-yellow glow before they stopped completely, signalling you’d reached the edge of town. The water tower passed you both by, only fields, the road and stars for company now. 

“Um, no more than anyone else who works with sugar loaded ice cream and six year old customers all day,” you joked. “Why?”

Steve didn’t laugh, shit, he didn’t even smile. He looked as serious as before and he ignored your question in favour of asking his own. His hand squeezed at your knee, affectionate, his thumb running circles into the inside of your leg before he had to let go to shift gears. “You don’t have nightmares, do you?”

You were really confused now. You leaned back against the door, watching as empty farm pastures blurred past Steve’s face. His lips were pressed right, concern in every part of his face, drawn in there like it was permanent. He looked tired, scared. Your throat drew tight. “Steve, is something wrong?”

“You’d tell me, right?” Steve was slowing the car down, pulling into an empty gas station lot that sat on an desolate road a few miles out of town. The place hasn’t been used in years, the pumps empty, the shutters on the windows covered in graffiti. But the neon sign above the roof still flickered, bathing you both in red and purple lights. “You’d tell me if something was bothering you? If you felt like…” Steve swallowed harshly searching for the right words. “If you didn’t feel safe?”

You unclipped your belt to lean forward, your hand resting on Steve’s thigh. Your brow was furrowed in concern, a worry knotting in your chest because you’d never seen the boy this serious. “Steve, what?” You watched as the boy exhaled again, a heavy, shaking thing and he looked at you with the most tender eyes. “Hey, hey, Steve, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

Steve swallowed, throat bobbing hardly and his face crumpled, frustration and worry easily read. He was scarlet lights and inky shadows, neon purple bathing the dashboard as rain started to fall on the windscreen. Light drops of it, dotting here and there until it got heavier and heavier, a dull roar against the car roof. Water droplets slid down the windows, racing each other and Steve tried to find the words. 

He couldn’t. 

“I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t really explain. Not right now,” Steve dragged a hand through his already messy and he truly did look apologetic. He looked so tired. “Just, please, you’d tell me if something was wrong, right? If you needed help with something, or, or, someone to talk to? You’d come to me, wouldn’t you? You know you can talk to me? About anything? This— this isn’t all sex, I know, fuck, I know it was supposed to be but, shit, we care about each other right? I, I care about you— ”

You nodded, eyes wide, moving as close as could over the middle console, the parking brake digging into your tummy so you could clasp his cheeks between your hands. You soothed your thumbs over the slight stubble there, eyes searching his, wondering if you’d find any answers there. You didn’t. So instead you kept nodding, hoping the boy would believe you. 

“I’d tell you, Steve. I’d come to you, it’s okay. I’m fine, yeah? There’s nothing to worry about, not with me, okay?” Your voice was urgent, hushed, a frantic whisper almost drowned out by the rain. 

But your words seemed to soothe the boy and he visibly relaxed, face leaning into your touch. “So, no nightmares?” He asked again. 

“No nightmares,” you promised him and he turned his face into your palm, kissing the skin there, the way a boyfriend would. It made your stomach flip, an undeniably tender gesture. “Are you okay?”

Steve nodded, eyes closing briefly to gather himself and the lights made the shadows under his lashes turn a deep ruby red. The rain splashed the hood of the car, puddles in the forecourt, purple lights reflecting back like an oil spill. “Yeah. I’m sorry, fuck, it’s just— I wish I could tell you.” Steve let his head fall back onto the seat when you moved your hands. “You must think I’m insane, right?”

You smiled wryly, bringing your feet up to rest on the dash, a move he would’ve told you off - semi jokingly - a few weeks ago for. “No more than I did when I first met you.” Your skirt gathered at your thighs with the move, pooling in the cradle there, cheap silk, lilac and more suited for a trip to the mall rather than a rainy night. But Steve tracked the movement, gaze dropping to the bare skin it uncovered before his eyes found your own again. “And for the record, Harrington, I care about you too.”

It seemed to break something in the boy, those earnest words, real enough to shatter, to make someone crumble in the best way. He punched out the breath he’d been holding and he leant his cheek against the headrest, eyes on you, amazingly soft. “I just wanna keep you safe,” he whispered and the statement made your heart ache. 

This wasn’t part of the agreement. This wasn’t even in the rule book. 

“I am safe,” you whispered back, brow still wrinkled in confusion. “Is this about Eddie Munson? The police are looking for him, Steve, they’ll find him soon—”

“Somethin’ like that,” Steve tried to smile but it was thin and tight lipped. “I didn’t mean to worry you, m’sorry.”

You smiled, still confused but eager to bring the boy out of his strange mood. You wanted to help, you wanted to comfort. “It’s okay,” you told him, soothing a hand over his thigh again. “You don’t have to worry ‘bout little, old me.”

Something in Steve’s expression told you maybe all he really did was worry about you. But he didn’t say anything more about it, not then. He just slid his hand over your own, let his fingers wrap around your wrist and climb up your forearm, tugging gently. “Hey, c’mere,” he whispered and you knew that look, you knew that tone of voice. 

Wanting, needy. Desperation coloured it this time, something new. 

He’d normally meet you in the backseat, lips crashing in the middle, a faux argument about who was on top that time. But instead, Steve just coaxed you onto his lap, sliding his chair back from the wheel to make room for you, your legs spread in either side of his hips. He seemed greedy for you, wide palms sneaking under your sweater immediately, the stitch between his brows softening once he got his hands on you. 

“Wanna touch you,” the boy sighed and he sounded far away, voice dreamlike now you were closer, like his worries had been eased. “Can I? Wanna make you feel good, think ‘bout it all the time,” he confessed, leaning in until his forehead was pressed to yours, his chin tilted up to meet you, noses bumping. 

You nodded, eyes falling shut because all you wanted to do was feel. It was easy with Steve, easy to close off the rest of the world and put all your trust in him. The cocoon of his car felt safe, warm and smelling like leather and his cologne, the hazy light filtering through the rain on the windshield, a kaleidoscope of crimson and violet. 

“Yeah, please,” you nodded and your voice sounded so much softer and smaller than before, like you were giving into it, like you were begging him. 

Maybe you were. 

His hands found the hem of your sweater at the same time yours found his, but you tugged at his cotton shirt with more insistence. You watched his face falter, like he was remembering something. You frowned, fingertips searching under the material for the familiar feel of his warm skin, the trail of hair that led down his navel and into the band of his underwear. Your brow wrinkled deeper when you found something scratchy, a crinkled band that seemed to wrap around him. He flinched when you pressed your palm to it. 

“Steve— what—?”

“Babe,” Steve tried to placate you with sweetness, his eyes worried, his hands holding your waist and pulling you closer. “Jus’ leave it on, yeah? It’s—”

“Are you hurt?” 

You couldn’t help it, worry and panic taking over and you hated that you didn’t listen to the boy but you were tugging up the hem of his top before he could protest. A bandage was wound around his torso, crisscrossing at his stomach, climbing up to the bottom of his ribs. There was a dark shadow under the right side, like there was a bruise hiding there, or worse. 

Suddenly, all the talk of keeping you safe seemed laughable. Your eyes watered at the sight of him, the skin that peeked out from the edges of the wrap a little mottled, an angry red mixing with green and yellow. “What happened?” You sounded distraught and the watery concern Steve that could hear was thick in your throat and it made him fucking ache. 

“Nothing,” he tried to lie, but he sounded tired, like all he did was avoid the truth. “I’m okay, I swear. I promise you. I just, I just took a bad fall. Bruised my ribs, caught myself on somethin’ sharp, or  whatever, but I’m good.”

You didn’t believe him. Your heart was telling you not to. But Steve Harrington was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and he was too exhausted to argue. You stared at him, saw how he pleaded with you, silent, hopeless.  

Your hands found his jaw, thumbs smoothing over the apples of his cheeks and held him like he was precious. He was. So much more than some guy you found in the dark corners of a stranger’s house party. Who would’ve thought?

“Are you in trouble?” Your voice wobbled. You felt helpless. You were trying to tamp down the ugly thoughts in your head, wondering about all the worst case scenarios, thinking about the kinds of people who could do this to someone. You wondered if your dad could help, if he’d give you some cash if that’s what Steve needed, the spare room, a way out— “can I help? What can I do to help?”

“No, no,” Steve answered with a new sense of urgency, eyes wide. “No, listen, you’re staying far away from it all, okay?”

The fact Steve didn’t deny that there was something to fear, that there was something he was caught up in - something he wasn’t telling you - made your worry spike even more. “Steve, what the fuck is go—” 

You were cut off by a kiss. A crushing thing, all consuming and it swallowed your words, your worries, your tears. Steve was warm all over, his lips just as hot, soft and plush and always tasting like mint chapstick. He chased your mouth as you went to pull away, an argument still on your tongue but he kissed you until you turned pliant, hands falling from where they’d been planted on his chest to winding around his neck. You made a soft noise of defeat when his tongue licked over the seam of your lips, your mouth opening for him, the kiss turning deeper. You took in the sound of Steve’s shaky gasps, the way his hands mapped out the curve of your back, the dip of your waist. 

Steve kissed you until you both couldn’t breathe. 

You pulled away panting, eyes heavier and half lidded than before and Steve’s were no better. He was trying to coax you back, his fingers on your chin but you were reminded about what lay under his shirt and your features were crumpling with concern again. 

“M’gonna hurt you, I’m too heavy,” you whispered, aghast, shifting onto your knees awkwardly as if you suddenly just realised you were sitting on his lap. “Steve.”

“No, hey,” Steve protested, squeezing at your waist until you sat back on his lap. He whispered your name, serious. “You’re not hurting— Jesus, stay please? I’m fine, okay? Please. Babe, please, just…” he looked up at you, words trailing off and lingering in the small space that was between you both, floating in the red-purple light. 

It was still raining. 

“What do you need?” You asked him and you tried not to let your eyes turn glassy but the boy underneath you was gazing at you like you were the first one to ask him such a question in years. “What can I do to help, Steve, huh? I’ll do it, okay?”

“Need you,” Steve managed to choke out and he looked lost, he looked desperate but his eyes were hungry and falling to your lips and god, god, his hands were trailing up the sides of your ribs and he was groaning softly when he found you’d left your bra at home. “I swear to god, I promise, I just need you.”

It made it easy to fall into him, lips pressed to his as you tried to hold yourself off of the boy, just slightly, enough to hopefully not cause the boy any pain. But Steve was having none of it, sighing against your mouth and tugging you forward, his hands gripping your hips, sliding underneath your sweater and along the waistband of your skirt. He groaned, a sound you knew well, his lips chasing yours as he kept you pressed down in his lap, the cotton of your underwear pushed to the denim of his jeans. You kissed him back, pliant before turning eager, your hands clutching at his shoulders as you resisted the urge to roll your hips over him. 

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” you whispered again and you sounded scared, worried. “Steve.”

“Shhh,” Steve soothed you with a hand on your jaw, tugging you back, keeping you grounded against his. His thumb was pushing to your cheek, trailing down to catch over your lip, his mouth ghosting over yours. Your noses knocked, breaths mixing. “S’okay, m’fine, yeah? You’re fine, babe.”

Steve watched through hooded eyes as he coaxed you into moving, a gentle back and forth of your hips over his and he smiled, nodding when you let out a soft noise, forehead falling to rest against his own. “There you go, there she is,” Steve whispered and it felt fond, it felt familiar, the way he spoke, the way he held you. 

It didn’t feel like something friends did, not even friends with certain benefits. Not anymore. Not with the way he was looking at you. 

“I just need to, fuck,” Steve let his head fall back onto the chair, chin tilted up to watch your face, the scrunch of your nose when something made you feel good. He was blue in the shadows, navy, inky. Scarlet skin, red cheeks, purple lights making him ultraviolet. “I just need to feel you, I’ve not stopped thinkin’ about it all day, I swear. Is that crazy?”

You shook your head, lips parting as you let out a heavy breath, the kick up of Steve’s cock in his jeans hitting your clit just right. You kept rolling your hips, slow, even strokes over him. “No, s’not crazy,” you let out a quiet whine, chasing Steve’s touch as he gripped your hips a little tighter. “Think ‘bout you too.”

“Just wanna— wanna switch off sometimes, you know?” Steve groaned when you reached for the button of his jeans, wrapping an around your waist as he lifted his hips and helped you tug the denim down one handed. “Bein’ with you, it helps. It helps so much. I just wanna get lost in you— baby—”

Steve cut himself off with a groan, eyes clenched shut and the term of endearment falling from his lips too easily. You’d ached as he spoke, staring at his soft eyes, the tiredness around them, busying yourself with freeing his cock from from his boxers until you knelt up a little and pulled your own underwear to the side. 

You were already wet from his kisses, the way he’d helped your rock your hips over his, but god. God, Steve was a stretch. The boy would normally work at you before hand, legs spread for him in the backseat so he could fit two fingers inside, his tongue and mouth helping ease you, melt you. Then he’d give you inch by inch, jaw unhinged and eyes dark as he talked you through it, telling you how good you were at taking his cock. 

Desperation won over this time, though. It took a little squirming, a wriggle of your hips and a sharp gasp until he was fully seated inside of you and there was always a dull burn as you did. It was worth it though, to feel so suddenly full, to watch the way Steve’s brain seemed to glitch at the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him. He moaned, brows scrunched together as he pressed his fingertips into your hips so hard you were sure he’d leave a lavender coloured map of touches behind.  

“Shit, shit,” the boy gasped out and he clung to you as you did him, pulling you into his chest so he could wrap both arms around you, big hands spanning across you back. “Baby, fuck, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

You felt breathless at the sensation, stuffed full, your nose pressed to Steve’s neck as he surrounded you, as he held you. You shifted, just slightly, adjusting as he throbbed inside of your cunt and Steve hissed sharply through his teeth. 

“You’re gonna make me fuckin’ come, ohmygod.”

You laughed, softly, not at all mean and pressed a kiss to his cheek, nuzzling closer as you stayed still, just for a minute. “Easy, cowboy,” you murmured. Steve’s hands moved to your ass cheeks, grabbing them, kneading them. “You okay?”

He nodded and you pulled back enough to see the way his cheeks flushed pink, lips parted and eyes flutter closed. The boy sucked in a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, you just feel so fucking good. You’re so warm,” he marvelled. 

It was getting harder and harder to stay still, your cunt clenching around Steve’s cock, making you both gasp, soft noises falling from each of your mouths and it was anyone other than Steve, you would’ve seen embarrassed at the wetness gathering at the base of his cock, coating the insides of your thighs. “Can I move?” You asked him, whispering. 

Steve nodded, too blissed out already, his pretty brown eyes getting that far away look to them. Hazy, fuzzy, dreamlike. He seemed less tired now, less stressed, less tense. So you lifted yourself up gently before settling back down on him, the tip of his cock nudging deep inside of you and it made you cry out, a strangled sound that Steve stole with a kiss. He kissed you through it all, hands everywhere at once, roaming over you, sneaking under skirts and sweaters to slide over your bare skin, like he was making sure you were real. 

There was a neediness to it all that surpassed hormones and urges. 

So you let him, kissed him back with just as much fervour as you rode him, hips moving slow and gentle, the pressure building between you both, filling the air in the car, filling the cracks between your ribs and it made you spin, it made you dizzy. You kissed Steve until he didn’t look so blue anymore, and when you pulled back, letting him mourn at your neck, your jaw, your chin, the rain had stopped and the purple light above the gas station was flickering. 

“Steve,” you sighed, your voice cracking, watery. 

“I know,” the boy mumbled back and he sounded the same. 

You were staring into his eyes when you came. One hand pressed between your sticky thighs as you pushed mean fingers to your clit, the other in Steve’s hair, holding him to you, anchoring yourself. Steve swore as he felt you tighten around him, pussy fluttering as you came, movements turning a little messy and unbalanced but the boy gripped you under the ass and helped you move through it all, fingernails leaving crescent moon marks on your skin. 

“M’close,” Steve groaned, pressing his face into the crook of your neck and you could feel the heat from his cheeks, the softness of his hair against your throat. “Fuck, babe, I’m so goddamn close, where—?”

You doubled down on your efforts despite your shaky thighs, despite how sensitive you were. You rocked over him, pace quickening, wanting nothing more than to make Steve fall apart. You heard him gasp, lips parting against your neck, heavy breaths falling over your skin. You held him to you, let him bury himself there, helped him hide until he could piece himself back together again. 

“Inside,” you told him and your voice didn’t sound like yours anymore. You sounded wrecked, wild, desperate. It’s not something you and Steve did often, in fact, you’d only done it once before and you’d both been too tipsy to really remember it. But you were on the pill and Steve trusted you as much as you trusted him. “Wanna feel it, Steve, please, inside—”

“Oh, fuck!” Steve gasped as he came, hips bucking up into you with a little less rhythm than before  and he abandoned his grip on your ass to wrap his arms around you again, pulling you in, crushing you to his chest. He held you, pumping you full, cock twitching as he cried out, the sound muffled against your cheek. He whispered your name, a prayer. “Fuck, fuck. Baby.”

You could feel how hard his heart was beating, your cheek pressed to his chest as the rain started back up, heavy drops on the car roof, more lines trailing down the steamed up windows. You could hear Steve’s soft pants in between, his breath huffing over your hairline. You felt the boy skin his lips over the same spot, his nose pressed to your forehead. 

“You okay?” He whispered and you nodded, pulling back enough to look at him. 

He looked so much softer than before, the harsh lines gone, tension released. Steve ran a hand over your cheek and you leaned into it, kissing his palm. “I should be asking you that.” You brushed a gentle hand over his side, where you knew his bruise lay under his shirt. “Did I hurt you?”

“Quite the opposite,” Steve laughed, soft, quiet. The rain was growing louder, heavier. He was still inside you, heavy, warm, big. It was a comfort you didn’t want to read too much into. “Feel cured,” he joked. 

You huffed out a breath of a laugh, smiling, cheeks warm and you winced as you shifted up on your knees and Steve made a soft noise, cooing at you as he held your waist and helped you move. You bit your lip as you moved your stretched out underwear back into place, your body burned at the feel of Steve’s come slipping from between your folds, warm, wet. 

“I don’t even have anything to help clean you up,” Steve murmured apologetically, but he would’ve been lying if the idea of you going home full of him didn’t make his dick twitch again. 

“S’okay,” you told him and when you made to move off Steve’s lap, the boy gripped your thighs. 

You looked at him, brows raised, because this was normally the part of the night where you fell back into the passenger seat, satisfied and a little numb, laughing over a stupid joke Steve cracked before he drove you home and kissed you goodnight. “Stay,” he asked, whispering. You watched him swallow roughly, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Can you just—? Stay here for a bit, yeah?”

You softened, eyebrows scrunching as you took on the emotion on Steve’s face, the shyness there, the hope. You nodded, settling gently back onto Steve’s lap and you reached out, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, using the gesture as an excuse to let your fingers trail over his cheekbone. Steve turned, catching your knuckles with his lips, a fleeting kiss. 

Then he sucked in a breath and seemed to ready himself, his hands on your hips again, sneaking under the fabric of your sweater so he could rub circles into your skin with his thumbs. 

“So, it all started with this girl…”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Who doesn't love a perfectly preserved time capsule? This 1968 beauty in Rockford, IL is like stepping back in time. 4bds, 4ba, $450K.

The small entrance has tiled flooring to protect the carpet that runs all through the house.

Why is it always green? This was a dramatic home when it was new- stone fireplace, sunken living room, and wrought iron railings were the height of fashion.

The living area is huge. Note the large stone bench matching the fireplace and the cornice boards that discreetly hide the unsightly curtain rods.

The fireplace stone continues and has a huge mirror. In the corner is shelving and 2 steps up to the dining room.

The dining room has dated curtains that the buyer will inherit. I love the kitty-corner table. That was a common placement in mid-century style.

Next comes the kitchen. Actually, they must've updated it b/c I don't think that 2-tone cabinets were a thing yet. But, the ditzy, small, busy print of the wallpaper with matching shades was definitely the style. Note the original avocado dishwasher and dust shelving above the upper cabinetry, that was later replaced by soffits.

Wait a minute, I'm seeing props here- there's a new dishwasher and new ovens, but they kept the old avocado ones. I wonder if they work or, if it's just nostalgia. There are also 2 cooktops. Wow, they really preserved everything.

Look at the green glass.

Large laundry room off the kitchen.

Oh, look, an avocado washer/dryer set. This is amazing. And, look at the old sink. I hope someone who loves it, buys it, b/c it was so lovingly cared for.

Nice large everyday dining area has a pony wall separating the family room. So much green everywhere. I wonder if this set came that way or if they painted it.

Another stone fireplace flanked by shelving. Knotty pine walls, and folding shutter doors- all fashions of the past. I can't believe that they have the Colonial furniture that was so popular at the time. Even though it was all the rage, you don't see it around anymore. According to the listing, there is going to be an estate sale, so this furniture will be available.

The primary bedroom is pretty big. Geez, there's carpeting everywhere and some of it is looking gnarly.

It has an en-suite, which is unusual. Look at that fancy cabinet. Green laminate counter, too.

This bedroom is also pretty big. Look at the consummate girl's white bedroom furniture of the mid-century.

The den has a big old map probably with countries that don' t even exist anymore.

More bedrooms on the 2nd fl.

Oh, look at that! A hope chest! They were popular for a teenage girl to receive as a gift. Then, she would put in blankets, etc., in the hopes of one day getting married and using them. I can't get over the historic furniture in this place.

And, then they've got a big family room up here. Wow, this house has so much furniture and tchotchkes.

Winter? No problem. Just set the lawn furniture up in the basement.

There's also a finished part of the basement. This is a craft room, and there is also a canning room.

Look at the antique freezer on the right. This place is a museum.

This part of the basement isn't finished even though it has a brick fireplace. No matter, they still used it as a family room, anyway.

According to the listing, this is a 2 car garage, called a "cottage garage," b/c I guess it looks like a residence.

This cool log cabin on the property is used as a playhouse, according to the listing.

Yeah, but look at it, it's really a residence.

There's a lot of land, 3.50 acres.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/6151-Newburg-Rd-Rockford-IL-61108/5537324_zpid/

[nataliesscatorccio]

Alright I've rotated it in my mind for long enough now. I don't think Laura Lee dived into the shallow end of the pool on accident. I think she was trying to kill herself. Consider. This is an intelligent and athletic girl who teaches herself to fly a plane and qualifies for Nationals, yet walks right up to the "SHALLOW END" lettering and head-first plummets.

Before this we see her sitting all alone at the pool. Detached, dreamy, expressionless. The camera pans across the other VBS kids laughing and playing together. "The devil's after me / he's always throwing bricks" they chant. She is excluded from this. Then she stands up, walks to the clearly marked edge, and hits the bottom hard. Like Lottie's baptism, Laura Lee floats motionless in the water until she is yanked out, reborn. Girls in crisis, medicated with delusions. "No, Laura Lee. I didn't save you. He did." / "That's the Holy Spirit, you've been touched."

I don't think it's difficult to infer what her home life was like before the crash. I don't think it's difficult to imagine someone wanting to escape that. Someone feeling they can't live up to the expectations of their family, the church. Shamed and neglected in the name of God. This is not a new story. Her thoughts are policed to such an extent she legitimately worries thinking the word "cunt" caused them all to crash. Her teenage bedroom is comparatively bare save for a picture she kneels to pray to on the wall above her bed and the raggedy Leonard bear she's had forever. Even her sheets are plain and white, even her clothes are just an extension of the wallpaper. Suffocating. But we know when Laura Lee is trapped, she flies her way out. Even if it's a suicide mission.

She tries to kill herself and they tell her God saved her. Now she has to believe. Now she has to trust he will protect her. Now she knows he is listening. Now he has given her a sign. Now she learns to fly a plane to save her friends because she has faith God is watching and loves her and forgave her for her sin. Now her God fails her. He wasn't saving her he was only saving her for later. Now she is punished. Now she is dead. This time, she drowns in fire.

[marvelmusing]

Total Eclipse

Chapter One

Pairing: Darklina x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lord Morozova returns to his summer residence earlier than usual - accompanied by his new wife.

Word Count: 2.7K

My Masterlist

At the sight of the black coach, you drop your sketchbook into a secluded nook at the entrance to the church and take off, running back inside and heading towards the servants entrance.

As always, the minister scolds you for running, his stern words startling you, but you don’t pay him any mind as you continue to run. After stumbling through the back door, you weave by the girls pulling up weeds from the spot where their strawberries had been planted last week and leap over the old stone wall at the end of the garden.

Heart pounding, you follow the tracks carved into the fields by the farmer’s horse and cart, hoping that you can reach Lord Morozova’s summer residence before the coach arrives.

Growing up in Keramzin means that you know the fastest route to anywhere in the town and as a child you had snuck onto Lord Morozova’s estate countless times. He very rarely used the house there, aside from a month or so during the height of summer.

It is barely spring now. He’s here too early. The chill in the air hurts your lungs as you run but you can’t stop.

Mikhael and Dubrov are your closest friends. They had invited you to join them today on a visit to Lord Morozova’s house - a bit of fun for old times’ sake. Too busy with the mural you’ve been painting in the church, you had declined.

But at the sight of the Black General’s coach tearing its way through the town, you knew you needed to warn them.

There’s no sign of the coach as you approach the house, gravel crunching beneath your feet. Whatever window the boys had used to climb inside they must have shut behind them, so you pick the easiest one. Underneath the window to the drawing room sits a stone basin filled with flowers which you stand on to provide enough leverage to open the window and slip inside.

The curtains are soft against your skin as you wade through the thin white fabric adorned with shimmering golden threads that catch the sunlight beautifully.

The drawing room is a private space used only for entertaining Lord Morozova’s most valued guests. Silence greets you and despite the urgency that had fuelled you into running here, you can’t resist stopping to admire the room for the first time in years.

Tracing your fingers over the wallpaper, you’re surprised to find it as smooth and intact as when you last saw it. Dark blue, like the night sky, decorated with pale gold sketches of the summer constellations.

Some people say that Lord Morozova is descended from the Starless Saint. If that is true, this room is a perfect reflection of that heritage.

After hearing how quiet it is on this floor, you slowly make your way upstairs to search for the boys. The stairway is the same as you remember. A dark swooping beam of wood that curls in companion to the black metal rungs connecting it to the steps.

Those that don’t believe Lord Morozova is descended from a Saint are usually the ones who believe he is a descendant of the Black Heretic.

If his drawing room is that of a Saint’s then his bedroom is fit for a heretic. Almost everything is varying shades of darkness. Stained oak vanity table, wardrobe, and chair. His bedsheets are black, as are his pillows and the plush looking cushions that sit against the carved wooden headboard.

For a moment guilt tugs at you. As a child, Lord Morozova was more fantasy than reality. Some dark figure that was never seen. His presence had always felt almost ghostlike as you wandered through these halls. All those times you had visited, even as a rebellious teenager, you had never set foot in his bedroom.

Now, staring at his bed, he feels like a very real man. A powerful one. One that would not take kindly to some commoner breaking into his house - whether he used it often or not.

Heart pounding, you shut the door behind you, moving onto the next bedroom. Relief fills you at the sight of your friends, though that quickly fades into a mixture of horror and anger when you see the contents of a jewellery box lying spread out over the vanity table.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?”

Mikhael says your name in disbelief as he pockets an ornate looking necklace and a slow grin spreads over his face.

“You couldn’t stay away could you?”

Rolling your eyes, you move closer to them.

“Not when you two idiots are about to be caught by the Black General.”

They both freeze.

“What?”

“I saw his coach. He’ll be here any minute.”

Dubrov frowns.

“Are you sure? He’s never here this early in the year.”

Mikhael sighs with a smirk.

“Honestly, you see one black coach and you’re spooked. It’s a good job we didn’t involve you in this part.”

“This part?”

There’s no time for him to explain as the sound of a coach approaching at high speed reaches your ears. All three of you go still, hearts pounding as panic sets in.

“We need to go.”

Turning back to the door, you stop when you realise they aren’t following you. Instead, they’re both filling their pockets with jewellery.

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

Mikhael scowls at you.

“He won’t miss it.”

“Come on.”

Dubrov tosses the rest of the jewellery back into the box, fumbling as he returns it to its original position on a shelf by the window.

The three of you tear down the stairs as the coach wheels turn rapidly over the gravel outside. If you leave through the drawing room window now, they will see you.

“The library. Quickly,” you order them.

The old door creaks louder than it ever has before, and the new layout of the library takes you off guard for a few seconds. The sofas have been moved towards the centre of the room and your favourite armchair is now placed by the window – a perfect spot for basking in the sun.

You rush to the back of the library, opening up the window at the far end and pulling yourself out.

It’s a small jump but you land awkwardly, knees buckling a little and the gravel digs into the skin of your kneecaps even from underneath the fabric of your trousers. The boys follow you, Mikhael closing the window behind him before he jumps off the ledge. Both of them land better than you.

Hidden from the view of anyone at the front of the house, you rush towards the treeline, using the cover of foliage to circle around and watch as the coach comes to a stop.

The Black General’s silhouette alone is imposing, and a shiver runs through you at the sight of him. His dark eyes scour over the grounds as he holds out a hand for someone else to exit the coach.

“Who’s that?” you ask quietly.

The two boys duck down to follow your eye line.

“I hear a rumour he got married,” Dubrov muses. “That must be the new Lady Morozova.”

She’s beautiful. Despite the paleness of the spring sunlight, she practically glows. Her dark hair is tied neatly into an intricate combination of braids, and she smiles widely at him as her hand remains in his. Even from this distance, they look like a matching pair.

Mikhael tuts sympathetically.

“Poor girl. Imagine being married to a monster.”

You elbow him hard in the side and he winces.

“Ouch! What was that for?!”

“He isn’t a monster. He won the war for us against Fjerda.”

“Yeah but he’s still a Darkling. His ancestor created the Fold, and he has the same power. He could make another one, whenever he wants.”

Unfortunately, Dubrov doesn’t back you up.

“I heard he had one of his Grisha sew a man’s mouth shut. He died of starvation, after days of writhing in agony.”

“Dehydration would have killed him first,” you correct him, moving out from the bushes as the travellers disappear into the house.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽��☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Two days later, it’s approaching noon and your hands won’t stop shaking. Sighing, frustration claws at you as your paintbrush hovers over the face of Sankta Ursula. The minister had wanted you to start retouching the depiction of Sankt Feliks by this afternoon, but as your fingers continue to shake that goal seems further and further away.

Rolling your shoulder, you try to figure out what has you so unnerved. The church services that honour Sankta Alina are held twice a day - at sunrise and sunset - and you had missed this morning’s service. Perhaps your body is waiting for the minister’s scolding. Or maybe you should stop to eat something. The bakery had smelt particularly tempting this morning and you have a few loose coins in your pocket.

Then a shadow passes over your painting and you turn around, almost dropping your paintbrush when you see who has joined you in the empty church.

“Lord Morozova.”

He sits down on the old wooden bench beside where you’re kneeling on the hard stone floor. Dark eyes flicker over you, taking in every detail – the paint flecks on your skin and clothing, the tension in your muscles and the shadows under your eyes.

In turn, you take the opportunity to look at him. His kefta is a marvel up close. Despite the lingering winter weather, you have seen a few Grisha already sporting their silk summer keftas. Lord Morozova must feel the cold as you do, as he is still wearing his winter kefta. Delicate threads of black embroidery weave over the wool, accompanied by a small addition of golden threads. Is the gold a new feature? Something for his marriage perhaps?

As you realise you’ve been staring, your cheeks flush with warmth. Lord Morozova makes a dismissive gesture as you move to stand and possibly bow. You’ve never met a noble; you’re not quite sure how to interact with him.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt your work.”

A small smile touches the corner of your mouth.

“It’s fine, I was about to take a break anyway.”

He nods slowly, moving over a little for you to sit down beside him. Wincing, you stretch out your stiff legs. A few small bruises linger from where the gravel had pressed into your skin after jumping from the window of Lord Morozova’s library and the memory makes you nervous of his presence. His shoulder brushes against yours as you adjust your position on the bench.

“How long have you been painting?” he asks.

“I started not long after dawn this morning.”

The corner of his mouth twitches with the hint of a smile and something akin to laughter sparkles in his eyes. Heat flushes over your cheeks once again as you realise you had misunderstood his question. Shutting your eyes briefly, you sigh before running a hand over your face. The sound of his chuckle is a soft balm to your embarrassment, encouraging you to answer his question properly.

“But I’ve been painting for as long as I can remember.”

When your eyes flutter open, you find his gaze already on you. His thumb brushes delicately over your cheek and for a moment you don’t dare to breathe, stunned by his sudden proximity. A thrill runs through you at the brief contact of his skin against yours and something deep inside you calls to him, tempting you to lean into his touch. He is an incredibly handsome man, but this feels like something bigger than attraction.

His brows furrow as he withdraws his hand, rubbing at the speck of blue paint he had removed from your skin. Ducking your head down, you stare at the stone floor beneath you, worn and weathered by thousands of visitors over hundreds of years, as you try to slow your thunderous heartbeat.

“My wife is extremely fond of painting,” Lord Morozova says lightly with a tender smile. “Whilst she might protest against such compliments, I believe she is a highly talented artist.”

That draws your attention back to him. The rumours are true. He is married. As he speaks of his wife, there’s a fond edge to his voice and he doesn’t even look at you, clearly lost in thoughts of his beloved. Then he appears to rouse himself, glancing over at you as he continues,

“She wishes to repaint the ballroom in my summer residence, and though I have warned her it will be a trying feat she seems determined to prove me wrong.” There’s a hint of laughter in his voice, as if his wife is often eager to achieve the impossible. “She wants to paint the summer night sky - sunrise on the eastern side with sunset on the west.”

“That would be beautiful,” you admit softly, thinking of the ballroom in his house and imagining how you would create such an image.

A rich midnight darkness in the centre, fading into the soft yellow and pink of summer sunrise on one side and the warm orange and blue on the other side. Sparks of silver stars would be painted over the blackness, perhaps even accompanied by the height of the summer moon.

Then a frown creases at your brows.

“But you are right, ceiling paintings are rather taxing – especially on a scale like your ballroom.” His brow lifts slightly and you panic, stomach plummeting as you recognise the familiarity in your tone and hurry to stammer a justification, “It’s quite large, from what I’ve heard of it.”

“Do the townspeople often discuss the dimensions of my property?”

As you observe the hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth, your heart skips a beat.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but not a lot happens around here,” you remark drily. He chuckles quietly and some of the tension leaves you. At least Lord Morozova doesn’t appear to be suspicious of you.

After your escape from his estate, you hadn’t spoken to Mikhael or Dubrov. You don’t want to know what they did with the jewellery they had stolen, and your heart rate picks up again as you wonder whether Lord Morozova had noticed any missing pieces. Perhaps he hadn’t even entered that spare room yet, and never would.

A comfortable lull settles between you both, and despite the fact that he is one of Ravka’s most powerful men, you don’t feel anxious to fill the silence with unnecessary chatter. The sound of the minister calling out for you has you sliding down a little, hoping that the figure of Lord Morozova might shield you from sight.

Once again, Lord Morozova’s mouth quirks slightly in amusement as he observes your sheepish expression.

As the minister steps out from behind a pillar, his eyes bounce between you and the lord beside you. Saving you from the scolding that was without a doubt already on the minister’s tongue, Lord Morozova stands smoothly and offers his hand to the man.

“Lord Morozova, what an unexpected surprise.”

As the two of them discuss the history of the church and the service schedule over the course of the summer, you decide to use this opportunity to your advantage. Slowly, you tuck your supplies back into your cloth wrap, folding it carefully and tucking it against your body. Sticking to the shadows, you attempt to make a quick escape.

Before you can move two steps, the bench you had been sitting on creaks at the sudden lack of weight against it. Ever the optimist, you keep walking casually.

“Not so fast,” the minister says firmly and your footsteps falter. “You missed service this morning.”

Turning back towards the two of them, you find Lord Morozova’s scrutiny far more nerve-wracking than the minister’s.

“I apologise. I was working late and did my prayer before bed instead.”

He purses his lips together. Night prayers are for the Starless Saint, something the church feels is optional, unlike the morning service which had been for Sankta Alina.

“Remember to ask our Sankta for forgiveness tomorrow.”

“I will.”

He holds your gaze as he says,

“The candles on your Saint’s table are burning low.”

The cream candles used for Sankta Alina’s altar are always in abundance, despite the fact that the wax is mixed with flecks of gold leaf. You know which Saint he’s referring to.

“I’ll go to the market tomorrow.”

The two of you both know that the market doesn’t sell the black candles traditionally placed on the Starless Saint’s altar, but you’re not going to tell him where you get the candles from. He would never let you work in the church again, and this position is the only way you can afford to paint.

Lord Morozova inclines his head in a small bow, providing you with an out as he says,

“It was a pleasure to speak with you.”

Warmth spreads over your cheeks as you duck your head. Looking down at your boots, your reply lacks his elegance, but your words are no less genuine.

“It was nice to meet you too.”

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[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hello! ❤️I love your stories and was maybe wondering if you would write a Shelby Family x reader story where she is their half sibling who grew up in America. Like  Arthur Sr. Had an affair with a woman visiting from the US right around the time Finn was also conceived and maybe that woman was who their father ended up running to when he left like a year later, but not because he was in love but because she had money and he could get her drugs and stuff. And so the reader kinda grew up “seeing” Arthur sr rarely but also being raised quietly by her richer non gangster grandparents (even unofficially taking their last name instead of Shelby)while her “parents” just went off and did whatever. one day her grandparents die and even though she is almost 19 and only a few months younger than Finn she is sent all the way to England to live with the son of her grandparents friend. And who is that son of a Friend she is send to live with? Our favorite Jewish Baker Alfred (who also doesn’t know she’s a Shelby) !!! And then like Alfie kinda takes her under his wing and cares for her like her grandparents and let’s her work in the legal part of the bakery (while not telling her about his gang b/c she actually wanted a quiet nonviolent life having seen how her parents acted) then one day she’s talking to Goliath for lunch when three men come in and one says his name is Arthur Shelby and then R gets all confused. Because as far as she knows there’s only One Arthur Shelby and the man in front of him is ABSOLUTELY not him (this guys to nice and sober to be her sperm donor). So she starts arguing with him that he’s not actually Arthur Shelby and like “why would he be impersonating such a random drunk who never did anything” and and Arthur being Arthur gets kinda offended and starts arguing back with this random teenage girl (very similar to how he would argue with teenage Ada) that he is in fact Arthur Shelby “Yes I am -no you’re not -yeah I am -no your NOT…. Etc.” and they both just end up bickering and everyone is confused until like John realizes that the she may be taking about Arthur Sr and they figure it out. Idk what would happen next the older Shelby’s would probably like be pissed and ignore her for a bit but I could see Finn being curious would be the first to reach out again kinda excited to have a sibling his age who isn’t as rough as his family and they would get close and then Ada would be the next to follow excited to have a sister. And yeah, idk sorry this is long but basically it would be the Shelby’s having a half sister who ends up in Alfie’s care and only realizes she has siblings after arguing with Arthur about his own name😂😂 you don’t have to though!!❤️❤️❤️

Dear Anon,

This request was amazing, and I don't think my writing can live up to it's greatness. Thank you for entrusting it to me and for waiting forever. I really hope you enjoy it!

Lots of love & Happy New Year!

Warnings: Peaky-type themes + Happy ending

You were crushed as you lay on the worn hardwood floor of your bedroom. All your family was suddenly gone leaving you out in the world on your own. In a year you would have an impressive estate to fall back on, but as for now, it was their request to send you to England. You looked up at the floral wallpaper suddenly determined to commit it to memory, once you walked out that door this, this, this energy…. You struggled to label what exactly would be ripped from you once you walked out the door. All you knew was that everything would become real the second your feet touched the bottom of the front steps. 

The possibility, no matter how stupid, of them simply being on a long trip would become a distant dream. They would officially be dead. 

They had a family friend who had called on the phone to let you know he had arranged everything. His gruff voice made you weary. You didn't like men, but strange men you would live with, in a foreign country? Absolute no. You were very aware that they were probably murdered and if sending you to this man was their wish you knew it was because he would protect you. 

Anger was boiling under your skin overshadowing the deep grief you were experiencing. People had you packed up out of your childhood home on a boat before the dirt had been poured over their coffins. 

Over the long journey, your mind ran rampant over the finer details of your life. Your father was English, what if this was just an elaborate plot to drag you down into that life. He was an abnormally cruel man, keeping your mum sedated with drugs, and spending her money. What if he was the one to murder them? Getting his hands on you only to gain their estate money…. Your body started to spin out of control at the thought. 

Your Grandmother was a Scottish woman with a hellfire temper, seeing what was happening in the home she’d removed you. You squeezed your eyes tightly knowing she’d never be there to hold you again. 

They were good people, they taught you to be a good person despite the heartache that came from being stood up and endangered countless times by your parents. You made a promise to yourself that if things were rough, or if they were improper in any way you would leave and use the little money you saved up to find your Grandma’s sister in Glasgow. 

After what felt like an eternity, but also a very short and hazy amount of time you had arrived. You watched as black cars pulled up and a very well-dressed man got out. His employees took your suitcases from your hands and you initially flinched at the attention. 

Mr.Solomons was massive. Both physically and in personality. He came up to you and squeezed your slender frame in a crushing hug. 

“Sorry ‘bout the family, love.” He grumbled. 

“Thanks,” You said breathlessly as he squashed you. 

_____________________________________

Despite being a rather posh group of people he could tell she’d not been treated properly in her life. Jumpy, timid, and refused to make eye contact. She was bat-shit scared of the situation. 

He thought about taking her down to Arrow House. Dropping her off with her proper extended family. Thinking of the New Years' party he attend with the maids whoring themselves out, he thought it best to hold on to her a bit. Thomas was a lot of things and none she would find comfort in. Not that he was much better, but at least the beach house only kept a small staff, two maids, and one cook. All female and all well into their 60’s. 

Alfie watched as she slowly settled in after a few weeks. He tried his best to act in a predictable manner in an attempt to scare her less. She asked a million questions about what he did, he knew she wasn't stupid so he told her the lighter version of the truth. 

A mistake. 

But she eventually calmed down enough to come to dinner and question him some more about morality and ethical values. 

Give it another week and she was helping in the front bakery. She made all sorts of treats he’d not heard of before and insisted that single mothers or folks struggling didn't have to pay. He’d wanted to argue but he could still see that she was hanging on by the thread and needed a project more than a business lecture. 

She’d finally laugh with her whole belly, and tease him endlessly.  

He’d just about gotten used to her presence when everything had to get blown up. 

______________________________________________________________

You were just done telling Alfie that he smelled like a wet dog when a tall man in a funny hat came in. 

“Can I help you?” You asked in a hesitant voice. Alfie had disappeared and it was just the man and you in the back warehouse of the bakery. 

“Probably not, love. Where’s Alfie then?” There was a sharp edge in his voice that made you absolutely refuse to tell him. 

“Who’s asking.” 

“Arthur Shelby,” He said waiting for you to run and announce his presence. 

“Yeah and I’m the Virgin Mary. Try again.” You crossed your arms across your chest. This is exactly the kind of thing you were expecting. Obviously, he’d send someone to ruin what bit of happiness Alfie had given you. 

“Oi! What’s this ‘bout. That’s my fu-ck-ing name” 

“No, it’s not. Arthur Shelby is a right useless cunt that’s probably too drunk to stand at this hour. Did he send you here then?” 

“That’s- I am a man of God. Now enough of these stupid games. Go get Alfie” He cursed under his breath and you refused to be intimidated by him. 

“NO.” You said sternly. “No man of God would pretend to be such a bastard. You should leave.” 

“Look!  I am on business. Can’t leave till it's done. Now get him the fuck out here” 

You both entered a weird staring contest when you heard Alfie come down the stairs. 

“Right little brat you have here,” Arthur growled and you sneered at him. “How many Arthur Shelbys are probably out th-” 

“Do you mean Arthur William Shelby?” Another man asked stepping into the warehouse. 

“See you do know him!” You growled. 

“Your dad fucked about, that can’t be much of a shock to you,” Alfie said with a chuckle. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The two men said in unison. 

You watched as the men squared up against each other. 

“Half-sister” Alfie pointed to you. “Her grandparents took her in when her mum went the same way your mum did. Must be his type.” Arthur looked like he was ready to punch him in the face. “Her Grandparents helped me with business in New York. Left her to me when they knew you lot were the only other option.” 

Arthur spat on Alfie’s shoes. “Like you’re a better option?!” He handed Alfie an envelope. “You better call Thomas before I speak to him.” He stood there for a moment obviously contemplating whether he should attempt to fight Alfie or leave. “And this better not be some fucking joke.” He stormed off. 

“You’re really his kid?” John said and you noticed the sadness in his eyes. You nodded and he turned around and followed after his brother. 

You looked at Alfie and suddenly needed to sit down. He caught you before you landed on the floor. He placed you in a chair in his office. 

“I don’t want to know any man -” You shook your head unable to finish the sentence. Obviously, something had to come crashing down. You’d become accustomed to your little cramped bedroom, eating breakfast in his office, and tea out by the water no matter how awful the weather was. He always listened and would ramble on about stuff that seemed completely useless. It wasn't home, but he made it feel more like an adventure. His hands were gripping the sides of your arms. 

“Easy now, love.” He said softly. “It’s not that bad.” 

“You knew I had family - His family around here and didn't say anything?”

“Well, they left you to me not them -” 

“Alfie.” 

“I didn’t think you would mix in with them right away. Figured you needed some space from everything.” 

“Are they like him?” 

“Gypsy trash? Mostly. Thomas is a right mess -” He sighed at your expression. “They aren’t that bad.”

“Lie” 

“I like hating him. Were friends for the most part. His family is pure chaos, but he treats them well enough.” He squeezed your arm. “Wanted to give you a bit of time before introducing them.” 

Tears started to prickle in the corners of your eyes. 

“I wouldn’t send you anywhere I thought wasn’t safe. Despite being a right pain in the ass, you're not a terrible person. Don’t deserve to live with terrible people.” 

________________________________________________

Tommy made his phone calls. Got all the evidence together, all of it pointing to him having a half-sister. With this knowledge came a heavy dilemma. 

Bring her into the never-ending mess. Or let her live a nice life with all that money. 

He thought about her being with Alfie, not much different than having her here? 

He groaned pouring another glass of whiskey. 

Fucking fuck. He thought about his dad and settled into the familiar acidity of his anger. 

He made the phone call. 

“Thomas.” 

“Alfie.” He took a long drag of his cigarette. “Got my sister there?” 

“She’s in bed.” 

“Bring her around then. I’ll take her in.” 

“She’s not a bloody horse Tom” 

“How old is she?” 

“18” 

“Why bother with her then, eh?” She was an adult no reason to keep her. 

“She’s in my care till she’s 19. That’s how it is ‘cross the pond.” 

He sore silently. 

“Still she’s my family. Should have her here.” 

“Exactly what her grandparents didn’t want. I don’t know your father but he did a right number on her.”

“On all of us,” Tommy answered bitterly instantly regretting expressing that to Alfie. He thought of the poor girl and felt for her. “Just bring her around eh? She can decide. But I need to speak with her.” 

“I’ll ask her. She’s flighty when it comes to the business though. M’ not having her over there with maids whoring about and men getting shot in the parking lot.” 

“Fuck sake! It was one party, ages ago, that got out of hand.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“That’s because you party like fucking savages!” 

“We've got kids now- things are different-” 

“Fuck off - you lot are always running from things! “ 

“From what?! All my fucking money?!” 

“Alfie?” a quiet voice interrupted whatever he was going to reply with and suddenly the line went dead. Fucking idiot, they always bitch at each other like schoolchildren. Not even Arthur or John act like that. 

He climbed the stairs and got into bed next to Lizzie. 

“She’s your sister then?” She asked in the dark. He didn't respond. “Can always tell when you're talking to him - shouting your bloody head off.”

“I don’t want her to stay with him. Just the two of them in that dusty house. It’s not right.” 

“Have her over then.” 

“That’s the plan.”

Lizzie made a soft sound before coming over to press against his side. He didn't sleep. 

Waking up in the morning he called the family in. Feeling stupid for overlooking one specific and glaringly obvious issue. 

Polly. 

The girl stood in the entryway looking equal parts terrified and ready for a fight. Polly looked over the girl in a way that told Thomas everything he needed to know. She’d be a part of the family no matter what anyone wanted to say about it. 

Two weeks after Michael left to go back to his adoptive parents. A month after hearing that her daughter had died. Now there was an awkward lanky girl, with eyes that had seen too much, looking back at her. A need was filled. 

Looking at Alfie it was obvious that it bothered him. Why he’d grown attached to her, for his sake, better have been a paternal thing. 

“We have some business,” He said to the girl once the introductions took place she gave a nod and followed him with her head held high. He wasn’t surprised to see Polly following closely behind her. 

Alfie decided to stay in the entryway and harass Arthur some more.

He motioned to a chair and she took a seat looking around the space. Polly’s eyes watched her like she was a showhorse up for bid. 

“You knew my father then?” Her face twisted up and he realized he probably could have started things off in a better way. 

“Yes. And I’m almost certain he killed my grandparents. That’s why I’m here with Alfie. So if you're in on his plan” She leaned on the desk and stared at him. “I see you.”

“Haven't seen him in years. Don’t need the extra cash either” He motioned to the house. That seemed to appease her slightly as she leaned back into the chair. 

“He is an awful man and if this is where he would go when he wasn't drugging my mum or making my life hell then I want nothing to do with you lot.” 

“Not here with us.” He confirmed wondering where on earth he was now. “I don’t like the thought of my sister alone in that junk museum with a potential enemy.” 

“Alfie’s fine.” 

“When he wants to be.” He answer wondering why he cared. 

“Same as you, no?” She challenged. 

“Look, let’s just get to know each other. We are family, one more at the table is a blessing. We have no other motives going on. It’s not much of a shock that you're here, I just wish it was under better circumstances.” Polly said squeezing her shoulder. “Alfie has been unpredictable in the past, but he is a good friend of the family. Both of you can come around whenever.” 

“Thank you.” The girl responded with a small smile. “If we really are all on the same side. Perhaps you could help me find out what happened to my Grandparents?” 

“I-” 

“Of course, we can, love. We know lots of people in New York.” Polly responded before he could tell her it was better to let these things be forgotten. 

___________________________________

You sat in at dinner and found yourself having to leave the room for laughing so hard. Tommy and Alfie were like cat and dog. If anything they seemed more married than anyone else at the table. They clearly had a long history. 

You stepped out on one of the balconies trying to catch your breath. Everyone told you that laugh was not table-appropriate and you didn't want to offend these people. 

Suddenly the door opened and Ada walked out. She gave you another look over and touched your cheek. 

“Can’t believe I have a proper sister.” She said in a warm tone. 

‘Half-” You were going to correct her but she cut you off. 

“Same thing. You look like things weren’t the best for you growing up and I wanted to tell you I can relate. I remember dad too clearly. I really wish I didn’t.” She gave you a sad smile and you realized that they had him around all the time when they were young. Not just here and there when he wasn't on long trips. 

You tried to say something but just ended up silent hands making an awkward gesture. 

“Don’t have to explain it.” She tucked your hair behind your ear. “I hope we can get to know each other better. Do our hair, go out, gossip. I always felt so jealous of my friends who had sisters.” 

You thought about how nice that sounded and gave her a nod. 

“I’d like that a lot.” 

“I’ll warn you though.” Your stomach twisted up waiting for her to tell you something horrible. “Polly’s found out her daughter that was taken from her died, and her son went back to his foster parents recently - it’s a long story - She’s probably going to try and smother you.” 

“Really?” 

“Oh yeah. Every time we see a baby in a carriage she starts crying. It’s not been an easy time for her lately. Just try to humor her if you can. I’ll be staying here for a while with Karl. Nice to have the family around to help out with him.” 

“That’s your son?” 

“Yes! I’ll introduce you to all the kids in the morning.” She smiled brightly and you got excited at the idea of being an aunt. 

“Esme will also probably want to recruit you. The boys always end up outnumbering us so I’m sure she’ll be happy-” 

“Stop making me sound like I’m a cult leader!” Esme whispered taking the cigarette out of Ada’s hand. “I’m just saying that Tommy needs to be kept in line - look at her she’s got fight in her eyes!” They both looked at you causing a thick blush to cover your cheeks. Just then Lizzie showed up. 

“Oi stop making me sound like a bad wife! I keep in check plenty these days thank you.” 

“Maybe you could use another round of that, looking a little tense, love.” Esme pinched her bottom and she slapped her playfully. 

“Cult of bad wives or whatever nonsense they were corrupting you with - It’s lovely to have you around. Got a nice laugh.” 

“No! I know it’s horrible I wasn't allowed to laugh too much- that’s why I came out here -” You stuttered trying to explain. 

“They wouldn't let you laugh?” Polly interrupted closing the patio door behind her. 

“I mean it wasn't proper for me to laugh like that.” You crooked your head to the side wondering why that wasn't obvious to them. 

“YOU LOT BEST BEHAVE YOURSELVES!” Tommy called out loudly interrupting his current argument with Alfie. 

You started laughing again much to their delight. 

“As you can see we are not the most proper.” Lizzie did a little wave with her hand. 

“You all spend a lot of time together?” Suddenly you wanted to be cool like them. The way they all looked different but so pretty. Esme had wild hair and dark makeup, Lizzie looked like she belonged on the cover of an expensive fashion magazine, Polly looked like a part of her was owned by a force of nature, and Ada was soft but elegant. 

“You could say that!” They laughed

“The boys are always out-” 

“Better than being alone -” 

You nodded. You never had real friends growing up, certainly none like this. 

“Don’t worry, love. We will corrupt you in due time.” Esme said with a wink. 

You got pulled into the kitchen and watched as they got louder and louder. Loud enough that Thomas came in eventually with his sleeves rolled up and his face red. 

“How could you possibly be louder than us eh?” He looked angry till a smile broke out on his face and he went over to kiss Lizzie’s cheek.

“Hope you lot haven’t melted her brains” Alfie grumbled but also looked in good spirits. The rest of the boys, your brothers piled in. Finn was around the same age as you a fact that made your heart hurt a little bit. His dad spent all his time tormenting you instead of being there for him. Would he see that as a blessing or a curse? He shook your hand and started up with a million questions about New York and your funny accent. His friend sat down beside you resting his arm on the back of your chair. 

He reached out his hand “Isaiah”

You introduced yourself, shaking his hand. The two boys went back and forth asking different things. It was nice to be with people your own age. The three of you chattered on and then quieted down to listen to Alfie’s story.

You burst out laughing and all the women started cheering you on turning your face a deep shade of crimson. 

“I like that laugh,” Isaiah said quietly and the thought of staying around here wasn't so bad suddenly. 

_______________________

You were torn, but you decided to go back with Alfie in the early morning. Polly made you promise to call once you got it and wrote down eight different numbers to reach her at in case of emergency or just in case I wanted to talk. 

You smiled at her and saw a familiar feeling behind her eyes as she kissed your cheek.

On the drive home, Alfie mumbled about how they are a good lot of bad people. Something you would have to embrace unless you wanted to go off on your own.

“Thanks for going with me.” You said once settled in the beach house. 

“No need to thank me.” He said brushing you off. 

“If I were to go live with them, could I still work at the bakery?” 

“Of course.” He gave you a tight smile and you felt bad for him being shut up in the house all the time.

“Can I stay over sometimes too? I love all of them but the kids, and the horses, and its - erm - a lot at times?” 

“My house is always open to you, no matter what.” He patted your shoulder and you went off to bed. 

Polly fussing over her unsure of what bad stuff had happened to her over the years. Wanting to help her figure out what actually happened to her Grandparents and starting one of those massive pinboards with string in the sitting room trying to help her piece it all together. Eventually, Esme and Lizzie got really invested in helping. Thomas wondering what's going on and poking his head in and all of them shouting at him to leave. Him muttering Women under his breath but sneaking in at night to circle a few things he thought was important in the evidence anyway.

Them actually cracking the case and being surprised when she wakes up to a newspaper on the kitchen table saying that a local Jewish gang was suspected in the murder of Arthur William Shelby Senior. 

Being shocked and watching as the family all came over to the house. You finding it weird that they spend more time talking to you about your grandparents than they did mourn their father. Once they were sure you were alright the celebratory drinking started. 

Isaiah suddenly always wanting to come over and hang out around Arrow House or Polly’s place whenever you were there. Finn teasing him endless amounts but also making it very clear that if it ended badly that Finn would do his job as your brother. 

Alfie coming over constantly to bother Thomas and slowly becoming more of an uncle in your eyes. Always around to cause trouble. 

Ruby fell in love with you, always insisting loudly that you had to be the one to carry her around. She’d often bust into your room at strange times to see if you wanted to play. Once you came up to your room to find her asleep in your bed. 

Finally being able to laugh and speak your mind about literally anything. Listening to them rant about things or poke fun at you. Shopping, parties, trips to London to shop and party some more. You thought it funny that they would go to parties basically just to watch people and only interact with themselves despite always being around each other. The gossip was always very spicy. 

Isaiah and you getting caught kissing on a street corner after a romantic date. A friend of Lizzie calling her saying she saw you. That going dramatically across the phone tree leading to you coming home and getting dragged into the kitchen for whiskey and interrogation. Was it good? Did he use tongue? Where were his hands?  Did he walk you to the door or just wait in the car? He did wait to see that you got in right?! 

Isaiah dealing with Tommy in the office when Alfie shows up and both of them being over protective dads. 

Finally, your 19th birthday rolls around. Finn saying that he felt you might leave, try being on your own for a bit, or that maybe Isaiah would propose. Polly overhearing it and starting to worry about you to the point where she sits you down and has a long talk about what it’s like being on your own and the head of a house, what it's like being married. You interpret this as them feeling like you should leave. Esme catching you in your bathroom crying as she dropped your dress for the party off. Clearing up the misunderstanding she wipes the tears from your face and does your makeup for you. “I’m not ready to be a grown-up.” You whisper looking up at her dark eyes. The warm glow of your pink bathroom makes you feel even smaller. “Look you’ve got a hot boyfriend that your family will literally kill if he hurts you, a hot dress to wear, and your makeup is finally done properly. Party is going to be amazing because I planned most of it. All of this is growing up. With this much love, it won’t be so bad.” She kissed your forehead. “All that stuff Polly told you was about her life. Back then she didn’t have anyone as cool as us watching her back.” 

The party becoming an absolute mess with some business deal going on in the background. Isaiah defending her bravely then going in for a big kiss in the middle of the entryway as things around them are falling apart. Guns firing, people screaming and throwing things. The whole thing wrapping up and you sitting in his lap in the kitchen sipping a whiskey out of his glass. The family finally feeling like he earned your attention and leaving you both alone for once.

[ophxlxa]

・｡  [ aimee lou wood.  ciswoman.  she/her] - ophelia wood  was  blasting   girl i’ve always been by olivia rodrigo  on  the  sidewalk  in  austin today .  according  to  other  atx  residents  , the  twenty-six  year  old  florist at groovy garden has been  given  a  reputation  of  being mpressionable ,  but also  empathetic.  [ scrunchie secured tightly around one’s wrist; the squeak of a new pair of sneakers against a gym floor; smiles that don’t quite reach the eyes but ooze kindness ]

trigger warnings: teenage pregnancy, adoption

Ophelia was born to teenage parents, too scared to properly commit to being just that. Instead, as soon as she's born, her biological mother places a kiss on her forehead before placing her up for adoption. Sometimes, if she close her eyes just long enough she swears she can see her face; blue eyes and blonde hair that she would come to match years later. Scared, with tear stains marking the otherwise rosy bloom of her cheeks. She never knows what your biological father looks like, but you imagine him being handsome. Comforting her mother with a smile, a hug… a joke. The image of naive teenagers in love, wondering how they got into this position.

Her story really begins on a hot summer’s day in July. A two year old with chubby cheeks, blonde pigtails and a smile that never fails to be reciprocated. The older kids are running around, making her feel dizzy. Her little legs carried you far, but they weren’t quite as speedy. Instead, she sits on Mrs. Bates’ lap, being read her favorite story; Rapunzel. A tale of a princess locked in a tower with gorgeous long blonde hair. Hair that matched her own. “You’re going to have a new mommy and daddy soon.” She tells her after the story, she's confused. She's heard stories from the older children about their various mommies and daddies, but they were here. Did that mean she’d come back here too, after a brief stay?

A week later, as promised, her new mommy and daddy arrived. Mrs. Bates made sure that she looked her very best. Dressed in her favorite pink dungarees, hair in two pigtails. She held her hand as she made her way down to the reception area to meet them. Eyes weary, slightly frightened by the idea that she’d be leaving all she’d ever known. The comfort of Mrs. Bates and the routine she’d come to find herself in. As soon as she sees them though, it all just makes sense. Comforting smiles, a feeling of safety that extended beyond what she’d known. “I hear you like stories?” Mrs. Wood asks, she nods, trying to shake the nerves. “I have this one. It's about a little girl and three bears, would you like to read it with us?” She bobs her head excitedly. Letting go of Mrs. Bates hand, as she rushed over.

The day that she came home for the first time is still one that sticks out vividly in her mind. She’d never really known what luxury was, the clothes that she had were the only sense of new that she had understood. Her pink dungarees being the most prized of all, obviously. Even her beloved Rapunzel story book had been with the orphanage for well over the two years that she was there. Mrs. Bates had insisted that she took it with her as a reminder of all the friends she made; including her, at your first ever home. A shared bedroom was replaced with her very own pink palace. With pink bed sheets, pink wallpaper, even a small pink tv. Undoubtedly the biggest shock was meeting her siblings; she’d lived with other children at the home, but having her own siblings… was a shock to the system. A nice shock to the system, but a shock nonetheless. Hugging had been a rare thing back in the home, but, she took to quickly appreciating each hug that she received, whether from her mommy and daddy or her brothers and sisters.

For a few years, she was able to play and explore the hotel that you lived in. Finding new hiding places, eating new foods; rushing around with her siblings. Then, it was time to start kindergarten, she was excited. While she had grown accustomed to the new life she was living, she missed meeting new children. Asking them innocently if they wanted to be her friend and holding hands for the rest of the day, just because. School was where she thrived, from the moment that she stepped foot into the building for her first day. Her parents encouraged her entire educational career to push herself, ensuring that she attained the best possible grades that she could. Socially, she wasn’t popular, but she wasn’t a loner either. Making friends was easy; like water gliding off of a duck’s back.

Entering into high school, she maintained the grades and expectations that she set for yourself. Though it was a lot of pressure, she knew that in the end it would be worth it. Albeit, there was also a part of her that wondered whether the pressure she put on herself was in part due to the fear she had of being sent back to the orphanage. Of course she knew that, that would never happen… but she’d had direct experiences with kids who had been sent back. Too much for their new families to deal with.

Graduating High School meant trying to decide on a career for herself. Ophelia knew that she wanted to help people, in a small way. She'd always found a certain charm to flowers, too. So applying at the flower shop seemed like the most natural choice in the world. It quickly became a passion and it's what she's been doing since.

STATS Full Name: Ophelia Marie Wood Nickname(s): Lia Sexuality: Heterosexual Birthday: 11th November Star Sign: Scorpio

[hinagamoizaf]

Ishida-Yagami House Tour (Part 5) When you go upstairs,there’s another family room and this is the much cozier one. This was just an empty intersection point for the bedrooms, but I was like ‘nope this house has young kids’. Some of the furniture is a bit mismatched, but personally I think that’s an element of family rooms. Through the kids’ different ages, I liked moving around stuff like the ottoman, toys & drawing table and being like ‘well depending on the kid and their age, things move around here’.I did go for cooler tones, whites, like it’s chill up here & I feel with white walls, if you put artwork with darker frames it’s really gonna pop. For each of the bedrooms, I had specific Monster Inc-like doors & this bug lamp from Realm of Magic. I had this scenario of it being late at night, everyone’s asleep and it’s all dark, but these bug lamps are like hallway nightlights. I liked the soft glow as well ‘cause it felt like fireflies in like the forest, which ties in with the Realm of Magic floral wallpaper. From the staircase of the hobby room & before you enter the master bedroom,there is another wall of memories.This time it’s of the kids when the girls are teenagers, the boys are kids & the youngest are toddlers. Just opposite this is a wall of Hikari’s paintings and the kids’ drawings, like a gallery. 

[haberdashing]

The Attic

TMA statement fic. Statement of Michele Johnson regarding the attic of her childhood home.

on AO3

My house has never had an attic.

I have the original blueprints to prove it now, a diagram from when some uninspired architect planned the place out back in the 70s, but truth be told, I knew it well enough before I ever lay eyes on those. There are only four models of house in my subdivision, after all--classic suburbia, right?--and I'm close enough with the neighbors that I've been in a few other houses in the same model, without spying even a hint of an attic there. It's a weird feeling, honestly, being in a house that would be identical to your own if not for the furnishings and the wallpaper and the occasional addition.

Plus, my parents are kind of neat freaks... well, my dad is, anyway. Maybe it's his asthma, but he's always been really big on keeping the place clean, making sure dust doesn't build up, all that good stuff. So if we did have an attic, we definitely would have cleaned it at least once in the over three decades that I've lived here.

...right, to clarify: I've lived in the same house all my life. Nice enough house in a nice enough suburb. Three bedrooms, two and a half baths, decent schools, you can walk to a McDonald's and a WalMart without breaking a sweat. I know that place like the back of my hand at this point. Hell, I could probably draw a detailed blueprint like this one for the other three models in our subdivision, too; this has been my neighborhood since I was a little girl, and most of my neighbors are also my dear friends at this point.

But it's one thing to know, abstractly, logically, that the house can't have an attic, and another thing entirely to hold the blueprints for your own, clearly attic-less house in your hands.

Because here's the thing: one of my clearest childhood memories revolves around that attic that doesn't exist.

I was... six or seven, maybe, at the time. Not my earliest memory, but up there. And my older sister, Heather... I'm not sure if she was quite a teenager chronologically at the time, or just a tween who was all too ready to grow up, but she was already full of that classic teenage rebellion. Even though it was a quiet night at home, she had a face full of make-up that she had clearly put on herself, none of it applied quite right, all of it colorful and glittery and bordering on downright gaudy.

Heather was standing between my bedroom door and the ladder leading up to the attic, and she had a pickle ornament in her hands that she kept dangling in my face. I've never liked pickles, see, and she was making a rather ham-fisted joke about it, or trying to at any rate. I didn't think it was funny, though.

Then she tossed the ornament onto my bed--thankfully, it didn't break or get lost in the process, landing cleanly on one of my pillows--and said that she was going to see what else she could dig up from the old Christmas decorations in the attic.

I can picture Heather so clearly in that moment. Her frizzy brown hair wasn't up in a ponytail like she usually had it outside of the house, but left loose, with a few strands falling onto her face. Her nails were long and painted an eye-searing hot pink, with the nail polish already visibly chipped in a few places. She had on an old Phantom of the Opera shirt that was a hand-me-down from our mother, clearly too big for her and now covered in dust and grime, and her jeans had holes in the knees that she refused to let our father repair. If I close my eyes, I can see the way her wild hair moved as she took each step up that attic ladder before disappearing into the murky depths beyond, the way bits of dust fell from her clothes onto the floor below.

The memory is clear, and it feels as real as anything to me, but I know that it can't have happened. Because my house has never had an attic. And because, as my parents so delight in reminding me whenever they think I'm acting up, I have always been an only child.

I don't have any other clear memories of Heather, but I remember a few pieces of information about her, have a few fleeting glimpses into daily life with her as my sister. Her favorite color was a tie between green and pink--I can picture her thumb nail painted a neon green, with a stripe of dark pink down the middle. She wore a ton of spray deodorant--the bathroom we shared would reek of it on school day mornings. She was a picky eater--I can see her sneaking a handful of vegetables to Elmo, our family dog, under the table. She had a beautiful singing voice, and sometimes, when I close my eyes and concentrate, I think I can almost hear her singing Christmas carols.

The pickle ornament is real--it's been on our Christmas tree ever since I can remember. And I spied the Phantom of the Opera shirt in a pile of clothes my mother was giving away to the local Goodwill a few years back. But no one else, it seems, remembers anything about Heather. Or if they do, at least, they haven't admitted as much to me just yet.

They aren't just keeping quiet, though. I've done my research, once I was old enough to think of it, old enough to wonder if Heather was just the subject of some family scandal they were trying to keep hushed up. The common last name didn't do me any favors, but after hours and hours of fruitless searching, it became pretty clear that there was absolutely no record of one Heather Johnson being born to my parents, or living in the area, or existing as my sister in any way.

And, of course, there's no proof that my house ever had an attic, and every bit of evidence to suggest that it never did.

I still think of Heather sometimes. At my parents' funerals, I wondered if in some other world, she would be there to give a eulogy for each of them. When I got married, I thought that maybe if she really existed, I might have made her my maid of honor. But I know better than to bring her up in polite company, at least. I learned early enough that those who don't know better think I'm either lying or insane when I mention the sister that doesn't exist going into the attic that isn't there.

I'd write it all off as just fodder from an overactive childhood imagination, maybe, if it weren't for what happened after I started putting together the nursery.

I'm expecting, see. My baby girl's due to be born next month, though Derek and I haven't decided on her name yet. But while my husband and I sleep in what was once my parents' bedroom, what was once my bedroom is now being set up as her nursery. Bright purple walls being painted baby pink, putting the crib in place, all that sort of thing.

I don't know if it has to do with me spending time in that room again, somehow, or if it's just a coincidence, but several times now while I've been working in that room, I've seen the attic again.

Or--not the attic itself, actually. Just the outline of where it might be in the ceiling, a patch of wallpaper that's less dusty than the rest because we'd move it to go in and out, dings and dents in the wood floor in an area where nothing has ever rested... evidence of the attic, perhaps, but not the attic itself. Just enough to look like the attic is there, had always been there, until I blink and it all goes back to normal again.

I screamed for Derek the time I saw the attic ladder out in the middle of the hallway, but by the time he arrived, there was nothing there. Because how could there have been anything there to begin with? After all, my house has never had an attic.

Except, apparently, when it does.

I didn't look up there when the ladder was open, though. I'm trying to ignore it as much as I can. Trying to ignore the part of me that wants to learn more, wants to explore what might or might not be there, wants to see if climbing up there will reunite me with my sister Heather after all.

But I can't do that now. I know I can't.

Maybe I can accept being an only child now, but I won't accept my daughter growing up without her mother.

[writingboutbrainrot]

All of Me Loaves All of You

[this'll eventually be on ao3 and i'll switch this blurb to a link, but i didn't know there was a waitlist for signing up and i didn't see a point in having an account until i revived my want to write this thing i started about 9 years ago and only wrote a prologue and one chapter for that i just kept editing and never adding to]

So anyway here's Wonderwall some Louigan slow burn that I will now have to commit to finishing because I saw there's still breath in the community and wanted to join in....

He looked at her as if it were the first time. As if he hadn’t met her 14 years ago, when they began a lifelong rivalry. As if he hadn’t seen her nearly every day for the past 5 years, working together at her dad’s burger joint. 

In a way, he did think of this as the first time. At least, this was the first time he saw her as someone other than the little girl whose bunny hat he took; the little girl who dropped a rotten melon on him and almost got his grungy teenage armpit in her face in return, the little girl who engaged in a snow war with him and yet still helped him when all the girl-jocks of his school were ready to pummel him in ice.

Standing at the bottom of the Belcher house steps in a simple green blouse and black dress pants, hair done up sans hat in a way that accentuated a face that’s been subtly changing, she looked more like a woman. He must’ve forgotten how to blink, because soon she was glaring at him.

“Don’t you say a thing Logan or I swear I’ll-” her threat was cut short by her mother’s own warning.

“Louise, be on your best behavior today.”

The way both Belcher women had their arms crossed and wore admonishing looks could almost be considered comical. The younger broke first, a hand coming up to her chest as she gasped in mock hurt.

“Mother, I am always on my best behavior.” She batted her lashes, Logan wondering when they got so long, as Linda grunted.

“I mean it Miss Missy. This is Tina’s rehearsal dinner, we want this to go as smoothly as possible.”

Before anyone else could say anything, Bob made his way down the stairs. He was still fussing with his tie and grumbling by the time his feet touched the ground floor. Linda gave a small smile as she stepped toward him. Her hands were up and reaching for the tie before she even spoke,

“Here Bobby, let me.”

Finding the simple exchange endearing, Logan grinned to himself. He risked another glance at Louise. The youngest Belcher was fidgeting with a stray bit of curled hair. Logan guessed she was trying to avoid the emotions involved in the scene, she never was one for sappy things. Before she could notice his gaze, Logan switched to looking at a suddenly interesting wallpaper peeling.

“Alriiight, let’s go rehearse that dinner!” Linda soon cheered.

“Lin that’s not what..nevermind,” Bob muttered as he quickly thought better than to try and correct his wife.

-x-x-x-

The rest of the night went more smoothly than any Belcher-related event had ever gone. Louise hoped that meant tomorrow would go just as good, despite it all being a love-fest. She may have a healthy dislike for these kinds of things, but she loved her sister and thought she deserved all the happiness she could get.

Zeke’s family actually wasn’t that bad. A few rowdy kids like he had been, but nothing she had trouble handling. What had been a problem for Louise was the guy who seemed to be staring at her all night. She had no idea what Logan’s problem was, but with her mother’s warning hanging over her head she hadn’t been able to confront him. Therefore she was happy to be back in the safehaven of her bedroom hours later.

Tomorrow probably won’t be any better, she thought as she looked up at her ceiling. In some cruel twist of fate, she and Logan had been chosen as the maid of honor and the best man. Louise tried her best to talk Gene into her nemesis’s place, but he was content with his role as flower bearer/dj.

“Can’t do the music and dance to it at the same time Lou, so no can do.” As she recalled her large brother’s words, Louise felt her face scrunch up. Damn him.

And damn Jimmy Jr for having to be across the country last minute. She was going to be just fine having to do some menial tasks with her sister’s old flame, but noooo he got invited to feature at some prestigious dance seminar. He thought about turning it down to support his friends, but both of them had insisted this would be big for him. That was when Logan walked in for work and Zeke jumped to ask him to stand in. With all three giving him puppy dog eyes, the blonde found it hard to turn down such a big role.

Now she was going to have to dance with that stupid, smug not-so-rich-now boy and do her best to avoid his stupid, smug face. They’d be in close proximity and she wouldn’t be able to slap him for any of the various reasons she would normally find. She would have to be around Logan for hours. With not too many other things to do to distract herself. She’d have to sit there and her mind would fill with wishes of him complimenting her on how grown up she looked, how nice she cleaned up, saying anything to show that he realized she wasn’t a kid anymore.

Oh shut UP Louise Belcher! You do NOT care about that scuzzbag and how he feels about you. You’re just being a gross and hormonal person. Stop it! 

The young woman berated herself for letting her thoughts get out of hand. Heaving a sigh, she threw an arm over her face and thought back to when Logan started working at the restaurant...

She’d recently graduated and turned eighteen, opting to take online courses for business rather than leave her family like some other traitor siblings. With only three people, the workload would sometimes become a little much. That’s why Bob had been so quick to hire Logan Barry Bush even against his daughter’s instant protests. The youth had recently come back from his own college exploits, but wasn’t quite ready to go into the work his parents laid out for him. Louise had been adamant about not hiring her arch-nemesis and was ready to start pelting him with condiment bottles the moment he walked in. 

In fact, she’d had a bottle in her hand, arm back as soon as she heard the bell alert the family to the open door..only to freeze when she saw him. After the seconds it took her to take in how he’d filled out over the past seven years; taller, more broad, light scruff covering a jaw that had gotten more defined..the mustard bottle made contact with Logan’s face.

Louise watched as the bottle bounced from that face and landed in his hands. Her dark brown eyes went wide as he looked from the bottle to her and smirked.

“Guess you heard, huh Four Ears?” he said while gently tossing the bottle. After catching the bottle again he lifted the counter and officially invaded the most sacred space Louise had. 

“Yo Mr. B!” he called without a second glance at the teen.

Louise watched in horror as Logan waltzed to the back and greeted her dad with a high five. She angrily wiped down the counter while listening to the banter.

“Logan! It’s nice to have you back,” she heard Bob say. Her face scrunched up as she mocked him, head tilting from side to side. “So you got your master’s? Congratulations.”

“Yeah I did, thanks. Cynthia wouldn’t pay for anything unless I did, something about wanting me to go into a cousin’s business. But since she paid in full already-” Ooof course she did. “-I figured I was free to cut ties.”

“Gene mentioned some of that. I was surprised when he said you were interested in coming back here.”

Louise gripped her rag and gritted her teeth as Logan replied, “Just thought it’d be a good place to try some of the things I learned in culinary classes.”

Bob’s excitement was so obvious, Louise wanted to gag. “You took culinary classes?”

Why don’t you just marry the man? she sneered as she scrubbed an imaginary spot on the counter - ignoring the plenty of actual spots.

Logan laughed and Louise felt her gut clench. “I needed something to cut through the horror of the other business majors.”

The bell jingled again and Louise had never been happier to see Teddy. She called out for a burger of the day before the handyman sat down. Bob could be heard going over the process with the newest burger flipper.

“Bob, Bob you have a new worker?” Teddy asked while leaning to see the kitchen.

“Yes Teddy,” Bob called back.

“Who is it Bobby? Anyone I know?”

Louise loudly groaned. Before the conversation could continue Logan showed his stupid face while putting the burger on the counter.

“Order up Four Ears,” he said, looking smug. Then he turned his attention to Teddy and finger gunned at him. “Long time no see Teddo.”

Louise. Rolled. Her. Eyes. And. Screamed.

Teddy, on the other hand, slapped the counter and gave a singular “HA!” while not noticing the girl’s outburst.

“Teddo, I LOVE it. Bob, call me Teddo from now on. Ahhh..who is this again?”

Louise couldn’t take it. She stormed out the restaurant while still wishing the door could slam. 

She was sick to her stomach, obviously, at the idea of her worst enemy working in her most sacred restaurant and getting buddy-buddy with her dad and Teddy, and no one had even noticed. The sheer audacity!

The Release the Bracken burger sat on the bar for minutes before Teddy realized Louise never gave it to him.

[ x - 1 ]

[scarlettrhettelizabethrichard]

Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, or the fascination of a child of 1970

Fascination: this is what summarizes the irresistible attraction between Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.

"Fascination" holds the scent of intertwined passions and dangers, violence and sweetness, fights and tender words, hypnotism and rejection, reunions and separations, the unsuitability of being one, but the impossibility of living apart.

"Fascination": "A mirage of beauty of the ages, irresistible like the pull of gravity.” (Verbatim of Richard Burton's description of Elizabeth, in his private diaries.)

Fatal fascination: two days before his death, Richard Burton confided to a friend actor who came to visit him in Switzerland - in a low voice, so that his wife at the time (his fourth marriage), could not hear him: "She still fascinates, you know..."

Fascination: as soon as their illicit affair was revealed, "the scandal" decried even by the Pope, their story unleashed the hysteria of the "paparazzi" - a function of the scandal journalists invented in "La Dolce Vita", and pushed to its paroxysm for the Burton/Taylor couple -, to satisfy the voracity of their admirers, all over the world.

Fascination still as intense so many years after their death by renewed generations addicted to digitized memoranda on YouTube consecrating the timelessness of the couple of lovers of the 20th century.

Fascination finally because they filled the imagination of a child of 1970 for idols of flesh and passion who had for rivals only Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler!

Three forgotten magazine cutouts

This fascination with her four movie icons was displayed all over the childlike wallpaper in her bedroom with illustrations cut out from magazines.

Then, naturally, life took its toll. Her passion waned as the Burton/Taylor couple remarried, only to divorce immediately.  As for the little girl of 1970, real life was waiting for her.

 Scarlett O'Hara, Elizabeth Taylor, Rhett Butler, Richard Burton, were carelessly filed away in a drawer of the past. The precious documents, hard won and costly acquired, were torn up and thrown away with indifference.

The fascination, the passion, the obsession, then extinguished with a chokehold and petrified like the useless memories that litter a life.

The destruction of these cumbersome witnesses on glossy paper was massive, because it was necessary to leave the room on the walls to other stars more anchored in her "high school" years.

Except for three images of Richard Burton furiously embracing a desperate Elizabeth Taylor in a car. They radiated such an emotional charge that she did not have the heart to sweep them away carelessly like the other witnesses of an innocence that no longer existed.

Vivid reminiscences

These crudely cut out pictures had such a magnetism that when she found them by chance in an old misfiled file, an emotion crossed the time.

To transport her more than fifty years back in time!

Isn't it strange that these documents arouse in the middle-aged adult as much emotion - more emotion? - than some of the testimonies locked up in her family albums?

After all this time?

And yet... After being completely forgotten for decades, these reproductions have come to life before her eyes. So much so that she can hear her heart pounding at the mention of the feelings felt by the actors - in the movies and in "their" real life.

#ElizabethTaylor, #RichardBurton, #Elizabeth Taylor, #Richard Burton, #EndlessLove, #Fascination, #child Dream, #1970 Teenager.

[djuvlipen]

girl lmao you have NO idea 😭 they were my main ship in hp, I didn't care about drarry or dramione, the only other ship that I genuinely liked was romiobe but they were sooo tangential in comparison. Deamus was also my main otp all media included when I was in high school. I wrote a fanfiction about them and it won a FANFICTION CONTEST 😭😭😭 people were saying I really nailed the characterization... 😭 When I turned 16 my cousin's birthday present to me was a deamus Fanart she drew herself and she framed it and it's still on my bedroom wall at my dad's 😭 still one of the (the?) best birthday presents i ever got. Devon Murray who plays Seamus also interacted with me a few times on twitter and wished me a hbp when I turned 16 too iirc? and it's still today my computer's wallpaper (at my dad's) bc I never cared to change it. random people were jumping into my twitter DMs so that I could recommend them some good deamus fanfictions 😭😭😭😭 truly wild days.... I made a few friends because of this lmao. but yeah they were so formative to my teenage years because I projected a lot (for some reason????) and I have a ton of headcanons and also fanfictions to recommend so if you or anyone wanna DM feel free to!!! I was born a deamus warrior and I will die as such 😔✊

one of the things I love the most about dean Thomas is that he was clearly made in a lab to make Harry (and all the boys of their year for what matters) very mad. he is always described as handsome funny nice friendly, he is artistic he is a part of the quidditch team he doesn't hesitate to argue with umbridge to defend minorities (lupin). where are his flaws? The only one mentioned is that he is too chivalrous to his girlfriend (this is not a flaw) no wonder harry wanted to kill him in hbp lmao. like come on Neville is always described as clumsy and not very pretty and Seamus is kind of annoying but Dean's flaw is he is too cool?? 😭 You just know he could date any girl at Hogwarts effortlessly but choses not too (and you KNOW WHY? I won't tell you why because my deamus days are behind me, let's not open this book again today). another thing I love is that he is clearly one of those characters Jkr wishes she had had more space/time to talk about. you can see this from the way he keeps showing up, he is clearly the character from harry's year we see the most outside of the main 3 + neville + draco. and you know what? If I had been JKR's editor I would have told her girl go for it!! give us a random chapter dedicated to dean that's totally unrelated to the plot just like Victor Hugo gave us a whole chapter dedicated to Parisian sewers in lesmis. I for one would rather read about dean than Parisian sewers!! Anyway if I was in the writers' room for the TV show.....

[marijides]

tw child abuse

I'm interested in gore mixtapes, and sometimes it seems to me that they are mentally traumatizing me, but I just don’t realize it. I calmly look at gore and cruelty, in my country now this is literally the norm lol, but something is not right, it's like on a subconscious level my brain is in a frenzy and panic. I often have disturbing dreams, one of them was like an ARG or something from True Crime. Since this is a dream, I didn't remember half of the "plot". It all started with watching a low-quality video, where, against the background of children's toys, a girl of 13-14 years old, ash-violet hair, a blurry desperate face and an emaciated body covered with bruises, are being raped and beaten. (For some reason, i often dream of suicide and rape) Somehow I found the address of the house in which it all happened, the door was unlocked but there was no one inside, I just went to the room where this recording was filmed, it obviously does not look like a teenager's bedroom: Yellow-pink striped wallpaper, neat teddy bears and lolita style dolls, a vintage small carousel that was seen in the video, i got in a fucking clip of Melanie Martinez. There were no signs of a crime, the general picture of the room looked like a picture for a portfolio of a children's bedroom designer, but this did not take away the feeling of anxiety, so I had to put up with it and I went to look for information about this video, later I found the victim's Facebook page, Nancy, on the avatar was a smiling girl in a sailor fuku and purple ponytails, she seemed to be cosplayed that character from Lucky Star. There were open comments on the page, and under the last photo of a happy Nancy taking a selfie in the car with her old-looking mom, there were a bunch of comments of all kinds, from which I extracted the sudden news that the girl was arrested, not the rapist, what the fuck? No one gave an explanation, no one knows, but as always, people began to build theories, conduct their own investigations, etc., the mass support of the girl, which consisted in cosplaying her image, was most striking (like once cosplayed Nevada chan, only she is not a victim). I don't know how it all ended, I woke up before the plot moved, I was hooked by the theory that everything that happens on the tape is a fake organized by Nancy's mom, but what's the point? So many questions to my sick mind. This nonsense reminds me of the story with WorldCorp, despite the fact that I found out about this case 4 months after dream, I think this is the effect of reading information about tape "Daisy Destruction", this shit disturbing and i tried to recover from the shock, although i just read the info from the wiki. I hate humanity.

[burgundybmw]

Munson's Mixtape

Masterlist

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Cunningham!Reader

Word Count: 3,056

Warnings: Brief slut shaming (Jason's a dick)

Summary: Chrissy has been acting weird, and like a good big sister Y/N drives to Hawkins from Notre Dame to check in on her. Only to find out she has plans to meet up with Eddie Munson. Things take a turn for the worse and now Y/N gets wrapped in to the horrors of Hawkins. Hey, at least she has the company of the guitarist she was sweet on back in high school for comfort.

Author’s Note: So I did get ambitious and managed to pump out another chapter. Hope you guys enjoy!

Track Eleven

It took longer than Y/N would like to pack all of her things, but she was finally finished. After she the left the church she radioed Eddie and told him her plan. She didn't give him many details about what happened at Chrissy's funeral, the hurt still fresh in her mind. However, Y/N did tell him that she gave her parents a piece of her mind. Eddie said that he was proud of her, and wished he was there to see her unleash her righteous fury. Y/N glowed with the praise he gave her, and she held onto it as she packed up her old life.

She changed back into her Notre Dame uniform, most of the clothes left in her childhood home closet was formal wear, so she was left with little choice. Most of the things she packed up were more personal items, things she didn't bring with her to college. Old diaries, her old Hawkins High cheer uniform, the books she couldn't carry in her car when she first left Hawkins. Before she left for good, she took one look at Chrissy's bedroom door.

A part of her still didn't want to go in, thought it would be too painful to see her sister's room without her in it, but there were a few things of her sisters that she wanted to keep. The car was already packed and ready to go, so it would be the last time she would ever see what was left of Chrissy.

Y/N walked into the room, and it was just like she remembered last time she visited over winter break. The ornate yellow wallpaper was crisp and pristine, not a single poster on the walls. Their mother would have thrown a fit if they ruined the paper, so Chrissy put all of her photos on a large bookshelf next to her bed. Y/N took a moment to look at all of the snapshots of Chrissy's life. There was a picture of both them when they were little, Y/N burying her sister in the sand. She took in a deep breath and quickly moved onto the next one, a photo of Chrissy and Jason the night of junior prom. Y/N remembers how Chrissy called her and asked how get to birth control without their mother finding out, and she just laughed at how embarrassed her sister was on the phone. Chrissy chastised her at the time, and now Y/N just wished she could hear her voice again.

The next photos were normal for any teenage girl, pictures of Chrissy and her friends. A school newspaper clipping of the Hawkins cheer squad in a pyramid, her sister at the very top. A few polaroids of her and Jason on dates. One picture surprised Y/N, she never noticed it on the shelf before.

It was a picture of Chrissy and Y/N on graduation day. She was in her cap and gown, Eddie's mixtape in hand. Chrissy was in a blue sundress, a big smile on her face as she hugged her sister. Their dad took the photo, but what wasn't surprising was the two sisters together, it was who else was in the background. Y/N could see Eddie walking towards them, hand in the air like he wanted to get their attention. After he gave her the mixtape, Y/N assumed he drove away, but there he was. She remembered her mother rushing the girls into the car after their dad took the picture, said she wanted to get to Enzo's before the rush. At the time she believed her mother's complaint, but now Y/N thought it was because Eddie was trying to talk to her. She'd have to ask him what he wanted to say to her, if he could remember. It was two years ago.

Y/N grabbed the photo and put it in one of Chrissy's old cheer duffle bag and continued her path around the room. There was the stuffed dog Chrissy always slept with at night, a little black terrier she named Toto. Y/N knew her parents would throw it away, but Chrissy loved it, so she put that in the duffle too. She grabbed the gold locket that she gave her sister for Christmas, a small picture of them both as children inside, and she grabbed a few other knickknacks as well. Y/N found an old scrapbook they made together, and when she sat down on Chrissy's bed to go through it, a thick leather bound book fell out from under the pillow.

Y/N put the scrapbook in the duffle bag and reached for the book. It was Chrissy's diary. She knew that her mother would probably go through it if she found it, and the last thing Chrissy would want was their mother knowing her personal thoughts. Y/N was going to put it straight into the duffle, but she paused. The same temptation to read it when through her head, and she knew it was wrong when she read Eddie's journal, but Y/N couldn't help herself. She opened a random page and started to read.

February 14th, 1984 Dear Diary,

Today is Valentine's Day. Jason is taking me out to dinner later, and for once I'm really excited about it! He bought me flowers, and gave them to me during lunch. A huge bouquet of red roses! Mom gave me a vase to put them in, and they're sitting on top of the dresser. I can't wait to tell Y/N about our date later. I know she doesn't have a date for Valentine's Day, but she said she was going to the movies with her friends today, so I know she won't be alone. Nobody should be alone on Valentine's Day. I was afraid I was going to be after the fight Jason and I got into, but he seems to be over that now. I'm still a little upset with him about what he said, but he seemed sorry. So I guess everything is okay now!

Y/N didn't know about any fight between her sister and Jason back then, they were just starting out in their relationship and in the honeymoon phase. She flipped back a few pages to see if her sister wrote about it.

February 9th, 1984 Dear Diary,

Jason and I got into a fight today. He got mad at me for trying to comfort him after we slept together for the first time. I told him it was okay that it didn't last very long, and that Y/N told me that we were still getting used to each other and that's normal. Jason said that she wasn't the type of girl to be getting advice from. When I asked him what he meant he said that Y/N hooked up with Eddie Munson, so she must be easy. I yelled at him for that, and told him it wasn't true. Apparently Matthew Grayson told everyone on the basketball team that Y/N cheated on him with Eddie, and that's why they broke up. I told him it was a lie. Jason said that Eddie said nothing happened between them too when he heard about it, but no one on the team believed him. Matthew and other guys from the team beat him up after he tried to tell the truth. I told Jason he should apologize to Eddie, but he said he wouldn't be caught dead talking to the freak. That made me sad. Jason isn't a mean guy, but sometimes he says mean things. I at least told him to say it wasn't true to the other guys, and he said he would try his best. I don't want a rumor like that to spread around school about my sister. I know Y/N likes Eddie, even if she won't admit it, but she would never cheat on her boyfriend.

Y/N never knew Matthew said all those things about her. She broke up with him when she realized that she didn't have feelings for him anymore. It was a messy break up, but she didn't think he would make up lies about her. If she ever saw Matthew Grayson's face again she wouldn't hesitate to put him in his place. It was one thing to spread rumors about her, she could have handled it, but to get physical with Eddie? When he was just trying to set the record straight? He really had the worst luck with the people of Hawkins. Y/N flipped through the pages to find some of her sister's more recent entries. The most recent one was from the day she died.

March 21st, 1986

Dear Diary,

I had another nightmare. This one was really bad. I can't even look at Mom's face without seeing the monster I saw in my dreams. The headaches are worse, and I don't know what to do. I just saw an old clock in my room, and when I blinked it wasn't there anymore. I was awake. I know I was. I wanna talk to Y/N, but I can't with Mom home. I don't want her to hear me. I need something to calm me down. I tried drinking myself to sleep last night, but that didn't work. I know Sarah likes to smoke weed to chill out, but I'm not even sure that would work. I think I need something stronger. I know Sarah buys stuff from Eddie, maybe I can get something from him. I just hope Y/N doesn't find out, she'd be so disappointed in me. I'm afraid to talk to Eddie alone though. Y/N says he's a great guy, but he scares me a little. Jason says he's a devil worshipper. I don't think that's true, but you never know. At this point I'll take a deal with the devil, anything to make this stop. I wish Y/N was here. She'd know what to do. She always knows what to do. I miss her so much. I'll call her when I get to school, maybe she can help me.

Y/N could see the ink smudge from her sister's gel pen as she cried over the pages. A deal with the devil was right, she'd do anything to bring her sister back. But she couldn't, and she would never be there for her sister again. The only thing Y/N could do now was stop Vecna once and for all.

Y/N put the diary in the duffle and made her way to the car. She tossed it in the backseat along with the rest of her things and started the drive back to Rick's house. It was already dark, she'd been gone for too long. She left the walkie in the passenger seat while she was in the house. She prayed Eddie didn't try to reach her while she was gone.

"Eddie? Are you there?" She heard some rusting before Eddie's voice rang through.

"Y/N! Christ, there you are." He was whispering, Y/N could barely hear him.

"What's going on? Are you okay?" She was speeding now, desperate to get to him.

"Yes, no, I don't know, man. Jason and his posse are inside Rick's house. I don't know how they figured out where I was, shit. They've got bats, and crow bars and shit. Where are you?" Y/N slammed her foot on the gas, zipping through the back roads of Hawkins. Why was Jason after him? He was at the funeral with the other guys from the basketball team. Y/N would have liked to think Jason wasn't the type to go vigilante, but she always knew something was off about him. Chrissy's diary didn't make her feel any better either. Jason hates Eddie, and if he thought he was responsible for her death... Y/N didn't like to think about what he was capable of.

"I'm 5, maybe 10 minutes away. Try calling Dustin, maybe they're closer. I'll be there soon just hold on."

Y/N pulled up to Rick's house to see Jason and his friends walking towards the boathouse. She jumped out of the car and ran over to the group, they were still dressed in the suits they wore to Chrissy's funeral. They must have been looking for him all day.

"Jason!" She shouted. They all turned to look at her, weapons tightly gripped in each other their hands.

"Y/N? What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here." Jason said with the fake polite tone he used on her parents.

"It's none of your business why I'm here. What are you guys doing here? Why are all of you carrying weapons? What's going on?" Her heart was pounding in her chest. She prayed that Eddie could sneak away while they were all distracted.

"We're looking for Munson. We just want to talk to him." Andy, Chance, and Patrick all nodded behind him. None of them looked like they just wanted to talk, they were looking for a fight.

"Talk? Do you need crowbars to talk Jason? And why are you looking for Eddie anyway?" Y/N tried to peak behind the boys in front of her, but it was too dark to see anything. She didn't know where Eddie was, and it terrified her.

"He's the one that killed Chrissy!" Andy shouted.

"No, he's not. What happened to Chrissy wasn't his fault. You've got it all wrong." Y/N tried to reason with them. She hoped they would listen to her and leave Eddie alone.

"And how do you know anything about that Y/N?" The fake polite tone was gone from Jason's voice then. He sounded sinister, violent. Like the crowbar in his hand wasn't just for Eddie now.

"Because I was there when she died. What killed her wasn't... it wasn't Eddie. Eddie and I were trying to give her an intervention that night, because she wanted to buy some Special K. I was in his room with him when she died in the trailer. He's innocent." Y/N was trying to be brave now, show no weakness in front of them. She couldn't afford to break, not with Eddie's life on the line.

"Did you see who killed her then? If you are so sure of his innocence?" Y/N didn't know what to say, what she could say. She thought they had more time to get their stories straight. She thought she could talk it over with Dustin and his friends once they had more information to go on. It was too late now.

"I didn't see who killed her. Chrissy was already dead when Eddie and I left the room." It was a half truth, but it was the best she could come up with in the moment. She hoped it would satisfy Jason.

"Oh I see..." Jason was laughing at her now, mean and cruel. "While you were busy whoring yourself out to the freak, Chrissy was left alone to die." It felt like a slap to the face. Every word out of his mouth dripping with venom as he said it. Andy and Chance were laughing behind him, as if this whole thing was hilarious.

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into. Leave Jason. Right now." Y/N steeled herself in front of them, sick of their useless judgement. All of the boys stayed put, refusing to back down while their leader continued his charade.

"So you don't deny it huh? Wow, turns out Grayson was right boys. Y/N Cunningham, Eddie Munson's little slu-" Y/N didn't let him finish the sentence before she punched him in the face. Jason didn't expect the hit, so he nearly went down when her fist connected with his cheek. Andy and Chance caught him before he fell, dropping their weapons in the process.

"For once in your life Jason just shut the fuck up! You talk as if you have any clue what's going on but you don't! So why don't you just take your little toys, your laughable alpha male attitude, and go... Chrissy would be mortified with your behavior right now. If she weren't already gone, she'd dump your sorry ass in a second." Jason looked like he was about to lunge at her when Chance saw something in the water.

"Look! There's something over there!" Jason turned towards the lake, noticing the ripples in the shoreline. All of them took off running, Y/N following closely behind. Once they got around the boathouse she could see Eddie peddling the small boat in the water.

"Holy shit.. Hey freak!" Jason shouted. Y/N could see Eddie twist to look at them, he pulled the oar out of the water.

"Where do you think you're going?" Jason started to take off his suit, and Patrick started to do the same. They was going after Eddie.

"Stop it!" Y/N screamed. She tried to run closer to the shore, but Chance and Andy held her back. She fought against their firm grips on her arms, neither of them possessing the gentleness Eddie had when he held her.

"Y/N!" Eddie shouted. Y/N looked up, he looked like he was about to dive into the water.

"Go! Start the engine and go! Now!" Eddie paused. He didn't want to leave her there.

"I'll be okay! Just go-" Andy covered her mouth with her hand, she bit it as hard as she could.

"Ow! You bitch!" He kneed Y/N in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She could see Jason and Patrick swimming towards the boat, what was left in her lungs she screamed to Eddie.

"Go!" Eddie tried pulling the engine cord, but it was a bust. So he started rowing further out in the lake, Jason and Patrick quick on his tail. Y/N kept fighting Andy and Chance off, but they had her arms pulled so far back she thought they would rip out of their sockets. She was stuck. Stuck watching as Jason and Patrick began closing the gap between them and Eddie.

All of the sudden Patrick stopped, Jason was yelling something but she couldn't hear it. They were too far out. Eddie stopped too, and they all watched in horror as Patrick flew into the air. His body was contorting in every direction, just like Chrissy's body did. Then just like her, he fell. His body plummeting into the water with a deafening splash.

It was happening again. Vecna's curse. He had taken another victim.

Taglist:

@imchangkyunned , @creativedogs , @nightless , @kik51199 , @thecraziestcrayon , @dabzzallday420 , @science--hoes , @efvyqrs , @justanotherkpopstanlol ,

[samcky]

I've been having a real shit week and something very shitty but also kind of fun just happened and I wanted to share it.

it's 4:50am and I haven't been able to sleep because I've been hearing scratching noises all night and haven't found where it was coming from, and then at 4am, I finally found it in the guest bedroom, a RAT!

like a big ass fucking city rat just scratching at my wallpaper and I freaked out and ran out of the house, but because I'm a big girl I went back in (also because my family is sleeping and I can't go to their place until 7am) and tried to kick the rat out or squish it with a broom or idk, just do something about the underdeveloped chihuahua trying to kick me out of my own house.

The point being, I was standing on the bed with a broom, yelling at the rat to "fuck off, fuck off, fuck off you piece of shit" (not the exact translation, but it sounds way worse in my language) and trying to get it with a broom as it was running around equally as freaked out.

Which is terrible and doesn't sound fun at all, but the fun part is that I just realized that is exactly the opening scene of this fic I wrote a couple of months ago. So life imitates art or art imitates life, whatever you wanna call it, but there were many other parts of that fic my life could have imitated, some of that phenomenal sex for one, but no, it had to be THE RAT.

anyway, I broke the broom and didn't get the rat and unlike in the fic there wasn't a super hot hunk to get it and rescue me from the giant rodent, so rn I'm sitting in the finest establishment the city has to offer at 5am - a 24-hour supermarket café - with a very sleepy cashier, a horny teenage(?) couple and a very nice drunk DIWNLF (dad I wouldn't like to fuck) that bought everyone some baklava, waiting for my family to wake up.

[chaoticjoke]

He's been following her for nine days. Right from the moment when he saw her on that parking lot in the Narrows. There was something... something about her that caught his attention. Maybe it was the way she wore her hair, or the way she walked carrying her bag, a teenage girl in a woman's body, or maybe it was the way she cursed when she sprained her ankle climbing the stairs in those ridiculous high heels. He couldn't really tell. He just followed.

You can learn so much from simply watching. Watching and waiting. He knows now that she lives alone, knows the time she usually goes to bed and the time she wakes up, how long it takes for her to shower, what food she has for dinner, where she shops and, most importantly, the place where she works. All that information has cost him absolutely nothing. Zero effort.

Time to move their little relationship to the next level. Time to find out what's inside. Time, time, time... What's the time? Right. Shower time.

Well, well, well. Isn't this a cozy bedroom, he mused, casually chewing on the insides of his scars as he took his time to observe his surroundings. Pillows, toys, framed pictures seemed to be everywhere, a small tv, shoes, magazines... So...typical. Predictable.

He didn't miss the chance to explore the contents of her bedroom drawers. What do we have here?.. Bingo. How much underwear is too much? The Joker whistled as a red lace thong caught his eye and he wrapped it around his gloved finger, bringing the piece of underwear up to his face for closer examination. How much longer? He checked his pocket watch as he started spinning the thong around his finger absent-mindedly, knocking the lamp that stood on the drawer over in the process. Oopsie-daisy. Has the water stopped running? Showtime.

"The walls are pretty." Joker confirmed matter-of-factly, black-ringed eyes shifting to quickly glance at the girly wallpapers, then his gaze returned back to her. He was fighting the urge to burst out laughing, amused by her attempt to intimidate him with her weapon of choice, wearing nothing but that towel. Completely unfazed by her threat, he tilted his head to the side and smacked his lips.

"Would be a shame if we ruined them, now wouldn't it?"

@chaoticjoke

Harleen Quinzel had just stepped out of the shower, toweled herself off and wrapped the towel around her slender body. She examined herself in the mirror, nose scrunching slightly as the slight wrinkles around her eyes from late nights bunched around her temples. She still looked good but she took a cold spoon to her eye sockets anyways to reduce the puffiness of her eyes.

Completely distracted, she didn't hear the noise in the other room or the apartment door open because she was too busy inspecting her vanity in the mirror. Sometimes she lacked common sense in this way, her apartment wasn't located in the best side of town in Gotham city but it was cheap and affordable and she would rather buy nice clothes and feed herself delicious food than worry about security.

Besides, no one really bothered to mess with her anyways and she did know self defense, being a gymnast for several years it came like second nature. The sound of a lamp being knocked over alerted her from applying her mascara in the mirror and she turned her shoulder slightly to look, then she capped the mascara quickly and went to investigate, not before grabbing a worn wooden baseball bat though she kept beside her hamper.

"You have two seconds to identify yourself. Or I'm splattering your brains all over my pretty walls!" She called from the hallway, pressing her back against the divider and readying herself for the intruder.