#but my mother often like. 'borrowed' it. & then just never gave it back

[berrymeter]

never lending my mother money again. just remembered the 20€ she told me she'd "give me back when she could" & then when i brought it up again she was like "well i got u a pizza" like. ok then. this was gas money though. but ok

[yuri-is-online]

Out With the Old (Heartsabyul, Savanaclaw, and Octavinelle x Yuu)

"Look I would get rid of this thing if I could afford a new sweatshirt." You drag the offensive article of clothing over your head completely missing the spark of curiosity and mischief in your companion's eye. "I've got a lot of bad memories associated with this."

"If it's that uncomfortable we can go look for a replacement instead of-"

"Oh no not like that, it's super comfy. I just don't like it because it technically belongs to my ex."

notes: they/them used for Yuu, some questionable behavior from Floyd and Jade because who else? This is meant to be crack. Second part can be found here (x)

Riddle- "THAT'S LITERALLY ILLEGAL???"

He is too focused on hyperventilating because it sounds like you just admitted to a crime in front of him to even think about offering you one of his sweaters. Trey and Cater have to break it down for him unpaid therapist style that no, you are not wearing stolen property (probably), borrowing clothes is just something people in relationships often do. He then further needs it explained that no, you are not still in a relationship and since you want to get rid of the shirt it sounds like things ended poorly. His friends want to try and suggest he should give you an article of his clothing to replace the offending one but he's so focused on getting you something that matches dress code that they decide to quit while they're ahead. Literally.

Trey- "You know you can always ask us if you need help, right?"

Vil's right about Trey's tendency to fuss and spoil people being a bit of a flaw; he's in tune enough with his emotions to know that he should not, for his own sake, give you one of his old sweatshirts without being honest about why he wants you to wear it. But he can't exactly deny his instincts when it comes to the people he cares about. You're cold and uncomfortable, what sort of guy would he be if he just left you all alone? Just please don't brush this off with a comment about how much of a big brother or mother hen he is; it is already going to be pure torture trying to look at you in his things in a Queen of Hearts honoring way. He doesn't need an added complex on top of it.

Cater- "Oh honey no."

Cater doesn't like keeping stuff his exes gave him either, but luckily for him he's never been in a position where that's literally only the stuff he had on him. Speaking of things, he buys a bunch of clothes off magicam he barley has time to take the tags off of before the trend goes stale. You guys should totally ditch what you were planning to do today and have a little fashion show in his room. It'll be cute and he can get a bunch of cammable shots! Just ignore the pop music club hoodie he refuses to take back because it looks "so much cuter on you." <3

Ace- "That's extremely lame prefect."

He isn't blind; you're cute and poor. Anyone would jump at the chance to let you steal a hoodie, besides Ace isn't insecure enough to be super jealous of someone you clearly hate. He knows you well enough to tell when you are silently wishing death on someone, it's all in the vocal tone. But damn if this new bit of information doesn't make things tricky. He already makes a big fuss about not needing to focus on dating right now, and with that iconic sweatshirt of yours technically belonging to an ex it's not like he can just slide you one of his without making it super obvious what he's doing. Looks like you're just going to have to take some extra teasing for a bit prefect, it's his preferred method of cope.

Deuce- "You've been here for how long and the Headmage hasn't given you any clothes?!?!"

Deuce is a good egg whose primary concern is almost always your well being. He tends to act before his common sense and emotions can catch up with his thought process, and that's exactly what happens here. The concept of you dating someone is just so... foreign to him. Not because he thinks your undesirable! It's just that you guys are always hanging out, you not being around makes him feel a bit funny inside, and not in a good way. He doesn't mention that to his mom when he texts her asking if she has any of his old clothes laying around, but she definitely knows what's on his mind. Why else would she have sent his old delinquent jacket?

Leona- "Well that explains why it smells like shit."

Let the record show that Leona is in fact, lying to you. Your clothes don't smell like anything other than you and maybe some of the musk floating around Ramshackle Dorm, but that doesn't stop you from pulling the fabric and taking a good sniff. To Leona, all this really suggests is that you've been over the person long enough that you don't care about keeping their scent around anymore. Sure, a tiny thought does worm it's ugly way into his inferiority complex that "oh they liked someone else" but his equally large ego immediately slams the emphasis on "liked" and starts thinking about how to get his scent on you. He doesn't really own too many jackets like the one you're wearing, but he does have some nice silk scarfs he could wrap you up in. Much classier than whatever trash you had previously been going out with.

Ruggie- "You wanna toss it my way then?"

Clothes are clothes are clothes, you don't see Ruggie acting like his uniform is still Leona's just because that's who originally bought it. If you are really bothered by the memories of your ex, he's willing to listen and make fun of them, assuming that will make you feel better, but this won't make him jealous. That emotion is reserved for when you share food with other people. He is dead serious about taking the sweatshirt if you don't want it, as far as he's concerned that shirt belongs to you, and he wouldn't mind having an excuse to blend your wardrobes a little bit. It would make you even closer to being a real member of his pack.

Jack- "You can just take mine."

Jack's strong sense of justice and firm moral code are definitely his only motivations for offering you one of his sweatshirts. Forcing a student to wear clothes they find uncomfortable and associate with negative memories just because they didn't have the foresight to pack something they did like for a school they didn't know they would be attending is beyond unfair. That's what he tells himself anyway, and it's not like he isn't upset on your behalf, but it's plain as day to anyone that he wants to prove that you can rely on him; he's not like that other person, he doesn't mind being alone together with you.

Azul- "If your finances really are in such dire straights you know I could-"

Revealing personal information in Azul's presence is asking to be offered a deal. Sure that little complaint might have been insignificant to you, but for Azul? He's having a full blown Sherlock style breakdown going on in his head trying to decide what his angle is. 1) The prefect has dated in the past and doesn't look on that experience favorably. Does this prevent them from dating again? Needs further analysis. 2) Giving articles of clothing is an acceptable form of human courtship, even if used. Or is it especially if used? 3) Can he convince you to burn this if he gets you a replacement or is that too petty? 4) More importantly does this mean you have a type? And how does he press for that information without appearing desperate?

Jade- "Oh? Well that sounds extremely annoying."

Jade Leech is first and foremost a messy bitch who lives for other people's misery. Sure, he is reasonably certain he's in love with you at this point, but that doesn't matter. You have a story that's filled with second hand embarrassment and a bone to pick besides he is nothing if not an enthusiastic audience. The thought of you wearing clothes that he owns wasn't something he would have thought of himself, merfolk don't typically wear them so dating customs that involve them are a bit foreign to him. He would much rather just bite you. Or give you some jewelry. both he wants to do both

Floyd- "PUT THAT THING BACK WHERE IT CAME FROM OR SO HELP ME"

The instant you say that sweatshirt is from an ex he is taking off whatever shirt he is currently wearing and trying to tug off yours. Yes, even if it is his basketball jersey, and yes even if he just got back from practice. Isn't the scent supposed to be the point? He knows you miss him when he's gone, and he can get you something nicer out of his closet later. Just remember to tell everyone, even and especially if they don't ask, who gave it to you. Floyd's... nice? Enough? To not immediately burn your sweatshirt but it's up for debate if that's because he's actually being nice or if he just wants a trophy.

[toonztown]

Mafia husband! x (GN) reader Part 1

How did your life get this like, slaving away for a man you don't love? it started 10 years ago, back in high school.

you remember being in class writing a particular topic you had been assigned in your notebook when you were called the principal's office, when you reached your eyes landed on your parents faces. they were crying.

tears streaming down endlessly as they wept openly, with red faces and puffy eyes. It seemed they were shedding tears for a long period of time, you were bewildered. Your parents especially your father never shed a single tear, not even when we had to bury the family dog after it succumb to old age.

your eyes scanned the room, besides your parents were scary men dressed in black suits covered head to toe in tattoos and piercings that was when your eyes landed on him.

a tall gentleman with slick back hair was sitting at the principal's desk, like the others he also had numerous tattoos and piercings, but this man had more jewelry than the others and was more well built as well . you assume from the cold dead gaze he gave you when your eyes met, he was the leader.

the corners of his lips curled to make a smirk as he looked at you up and down, looking back you wish you could have slapped that damn smirk off his face hard enough to leave a bruise.

"a fair price to pay, consider your debt cleared Mr. Vincent," the leader said, smirk widening into a grin*

Your father, Vincent Harvey, finally looked into your eyes. the words that came next would ruin your entire life. Well to explain, you father had always had a tiny bit of a gambling addiction, him and your mother often fought about him spending the rent money to 'test his luck' at the pub, he never once won.

he looked you in the eyes, and there was silence momentarily before he finally spoke, his voice was so soft that it was just above a whisper

"..looks my gambling finally caught up to me, i uh- borrowed a large sum of money from some very dangerous people to gamble, i lost it all in a matter of moments and.. you have to understand- they were going to kill us. it was the only way, my dear (Y/N) Mr. Capone here, asked for your hand in marriage.. in order to clear my debt."

after he finished speaking, i couldnt say anything. It was like words were stuck in your throat. your heart beat was pounding in your ears like big drums.. your entire life forcibly taken from you, just like that.

over the loud noises you could hear your parents try to explain the situation to you.. you didn't want to listen, how can they be so selfish to sell their own blood.. their only child to save their own skins.

the next few moments after were a blur, Mr. Capone and his cronies escorted you out to the car. Reluctantly you got in, looking out the window as they drove off to your new life.

you remember feeling a hand on you shoulder, you turned your head to see Mr. Capone who was smiling at you. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, maybe you'll learn to love him? what a foolish thought that was.

the next moment his nails were digging into your shoulder causing you to wince

"why the long face my betrothed? after all, your getting wed in a few days, like it or not." he said, his grip on your tightening to the point your sure a bruise will be left, a small pool of blood started to stain your white uniform. No matter how hard you pulled he wouldnt let you go, he seemed to be getting immense joy from your torment.

they finally pulled up into the driveway for a big mansion, he got out and opened the door for you . As you looked around your unfamiliar surroundings fear was carved into your face, looks like your life as a mafia's spouse had just begun.

[waterless-witch]

Of knights and Demons

Chapter 3

TW: Rape/Non-con, Dark themes, forced marriages, threatening behavior violence and swearing. MINORS DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU

This is my first ever fic so please be nice to me, I’ve also got it posted on A03 under the same name in case anybody would like to read it there.

EDIT: this chapter contains non-con smut and I’ve never written either of those so if it’s terrible I’m sorry

Previous Chapter

You are the sole daughter of Byakuya Kuchiki, the sole heir to a noble family. Your father has broken from tradition with his refusal to marry you off against your wishes, instead wishing for you to find a husband of your own choosing. After years of arguing with not only your own family, but the other lords of your court all seems well. That is until a once thought dead knight returns with an army to take your home.

Souske Aizen, a man you once found kindness in has demanded that the two of you are to be wed, with your father still missing along with most of the guards you’re left with few options but to comply and hope that aid comes before anything can be set. How will you stop a man like Aizen from destroying your home and the people you care about? And who are these strange people with bone masks on their face?

You’d been taken back to the manor with your new husband to partake in your wedding celebration. For hours now you watched people laugh and dance, feast and drink without a care in the world. It made you sick. Aizen, for his part, played the doting husband well. He kept his arm draped casually over your hip, thumb rubbing what were supposed to be soothing circles into your skin. In the small breaks you’d get in between people coming to congratulate you two he would ask if you needed anything, you’d politely decline each time. You couldn’t even count how many times he’d bent down to give your forehead a small kiss. From the outside you were certain you’d looked just like a happy couple.

Eventually Aizen’s associate, Gin, came up to congratulate the two of you. You thanked him politely trying your best not to let your hatred for the whole affair show. After a few more minutes of small talk with the silver haired man he asked if he could borrow your husband to address a private matter. You obliged, happy to have his hands off you, even if it’d just be a few short minutes. Almost immediately after he’d walked away someone approached from the other side of you. You turned to greet them in the same facetious way you had everyone else but stopped.

Before you stood your friend Momo, she wore a fine pastel blue dress with her hair done up in its standard bun. Her family was one of the smaller, lesser known ones of your court but the two of you had been close friends since childhood. Your mother would often invite her to various occasions with you, she came from a large family and was mostly ignored so no one ever seemed to mind. She didn’t smile at you, instead her eyes looked misted like she might cry, “Hi.” She said simply with a touch of sadness to her.

You smiled at her, a genuine one, even though you felt like you might too cry just from looking at her. “Hi.” You answered back, you were so relieved that she didn’t seem to be happy for you, she understood what was happening, pitied you even.

“I’d offer to give you a hug but I don’t think you want to draw that kind of attention.” She joked, giving you a sad smile back. You nodded back to her, “For what it's worth, I’m sorry.” She said in all but a whisper, eyes darting back and forth to make sure no one had heard her. Your eyes misted a bit more as she’d said it and you tried your hardest to hold it all back not wanting to cry here. You’d been numb for so long but something about seeing your friend upset for you brought it all back and made it much more real for you.

You went to answer back but another lord was approaching, she gave you a slight nod before excusing herself. You whipped your eyes quickly hoping that the lord hadn’t noticed. You recognized him, though you couldn’t quite recall his name. He was from one of the smaller families and had all but begged your father to marry you off to his son when you were thirteen. Of course your father had refused. You gave him a sweet smile as he approached and grabbed your hands. “May I just start by saying-“

“Get lost.” Grimmjow interrupted from behind you causing you to whirl around sharply. He didn’t look at you, instead his venomous gaze was fixated on the smaller of the two men. If looks could kill the man would be dead ten times over with how Grimmjow looked at him.

The lord stuttered for a minute, face heating in embarrassment and anger, “Excuse you, I am-“ he started to say. A few people looked but turned away quickly to keep Grimmjow’s attention away from them.

“I said get lost,” Grimmjow growled out, “I won’t ask a third time.” He said taking an intimidating step towards the man. The man's eyes shot between the two of you before he scoft and left, grumbling under his breath the whole way. You turned to face him fully and raised a single brow in question. He shrugged, “Brought you a drink.” He said dryly, nodding to an overly full glass of wine. “For your special day.” He sneered like he was mad at you, you didn’t care if he was, you were already mad at the world why not add him to the list as well.

You crossed your arms in front of you, “I don’t drink.” You bit back just as dry. Lots of people drank at weddings and if you had been in a happier situation perhaps you would have too but today you didn’t feel like it. You were not a drinker under normal circumstances and certainly didn’t want to take anything from the strange man in front of you.

“Congrats, you do today.” He answered back to you with irritation heavy in his tone. You had no idea why he wanted you to drink so bad but it made you trust him all the less. You looked at him with a sideways gaze.

You shook your head, “Why is it so important to you? Or is it just another game to you? See what you can get me to do by being pushy? Make some entertainment for yourself?” You said getting annoyed with him.

“No games, I’m trying to be nice to you.” He said before reaching out and grabbing your elbow harshly. He pulled you a bit closer and kept his grip on your arm tight even as you tried to pull away, “Take the wine and get drunk, I’ll bring you more when you're out.” He whispered harshly in your ear, his body bent over yours, “I can guarantee you're not gonna want to be sober when your dear sweet husband holds you down and shoves his cock in you.” He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. He was right, as much as you hated to admit it and as vulgar as he’d said it he was right. Your eyes again watered, not wanting to have to go through with it, you knew you’d have to but that didn’t stop you from feeling sorry for yourself. “Don’t cry here,” he said as he straightened back out. “Don’t give them all the chance to see you break. Cry tonight as he fucks you, or alone in the morning or anywhere else but do not give all these bastards a chance to see it, they don’t deserve it.” He said angrily. You nodded, you didn’t know why he was doing what he was but you were thankful for it still.

You willed your tears back and he offered you the wine again. You took it from him gingerly, fingers brushing over his own as you did.”Thank you.” You said to him more earnestly than you’d ever spoken to him. He could be an ass but at that moment he was showing you something close to kindness.

He kept his gaze fixated on you in what almost looked like confusion for what felt like an eternity before he scoffed, “Don’t thank me princess.” He stood there until you took a drink and nodded his approval before he walked away. True to his word, once you'd finished your glass he quietly brought you another as you talked to the various people who’d come to speak with you. You weren’t too invested in any conversation, too busy thinking over what Grimmjow had said. Of course you’d known that Aizen would have you tonight but now that it’d been said out loud you couldn’t help but worry about it. You’d never been with a man, not even to fool around. Some of the married women had talked about their own wedding nights, and while some of them had pleasant stories, most of them only talked about how much the first time hurt and how rough their husbands had been, the thought alone brought a shiver down your spine.

Grimmjow had brought you a third glass before Aizen returned, looping his arm back around your waist. “Sorry to be away for so long love,” he called you, you didn’t say anything but you despised that pet name more than any other that you’d been called, you were not his love and he was not yours. “Have you been enjoying yourself?” He asked, beginning to rub those damned circles into your hip again. You hummed your agreement and he tsked his tongue, “No you haven’t, you hide it well enough but you're miserable.” You stared up at him not knowing what to say or what he wanted you to say. “Take a walk with me?” He asked, letting that smile that you were growing to hate grace his face again. You agreed not really having a choice in the matter.

He led you through the crowd, you hadn’t realized how much the alcohol had affected you until you began walking, you moved considerably slower with your eyes more focused on where you were going rather than ahead of you. If Aizen noticed your uncordnation he didn’t say anything about it. You found yourself in the gardens as the cold air bit at your skin, not that you cared all that much, feeling a bit of relief compared to the stuffy hall you’d been in for hours. “Would you like to know what I’ve been talking about with the other lords?” He asked.

You thought about your answer for a long moment, he didn’t like it when you lied to him and wanted you to be honest with him but the truth of it was no. You didn’t want to know. He would tell you anyway and maybe his asking was just a taunt. So that’s what you answered with, “Not particularly but I have a feeling you're going to tell me no matter how I answer.” You said with more spitefulness than you intended.

Aizen chuckled, “Well, don’t you just have me figured out?” He joked, you didn’t laugh. “We’ve been talking about you all evening. Most have congratulated me kindly, but more than a few have also expressed that they’d do the same.” He said, you knew he was taunting you, maybe trying to get a rise out of you but you still held his breath as he talked. “One young man in particular, told me that he was impressed by my restraint.” Your brows knit together and he gave another small chuckle, “He said if it had been him he wouldn’t have been able to hold off on taking you,” Your face drained of color and your eyes felt like they would bulge out of your head as he went on. “He informed me that he’d tried desperately for your hand but your father had denied him and you didn’t notice him at all. The poor boy.” He mocked in fake sympathy, “You should see how they all stare at you, where their eyes focus in on when your not looking, if only you knew what dark things they thought of-“

“Why tell me all this?” You cut him off before he could continue, you knew they were all traitors but you didn’t want to think about how many men in there would do the same or worse to you given the chance. You didn’t want to think about a man that was so upset that you’d not wanted to wed him as a child of thirteen that he thought you deserved this.

“I want you to think of it when you despair about your position, when you start to think I’ve been cruel to you.” The two of you stopped walking and he pulled your chin up to look at him, bringing his face close to yours, “Anyone of them would have done the same if not worse.” He whispered so close that you could feel his lips caress your own as he spoke, you were certain that he was about to kiss you again but he never did. Instead he pulled back, “We should get you inside before you freeze out here.” He said letting that sickly sweet smile frame his face again.

Back inside you noticed that a number of people must have left during your stroll, a noticeable number. You could feel your anxiety starting to pick up, he hadn’t mentioned anything about a bedding ceremony but now it was all you could think about and you had no way of being certain. You thought about asking him but decided against it, fearing that he might just do it if he thought you were afraid of it. As you gazed around the room you noticed Grimmjow sitting alone near the back of the tables, his eyes stared into yours for a moment before you were distracted by yet another person coming to talk to the two of you about what a lovely couple you made. The whole time you could all but feel Grimmjow's eyes staring at you which didn’t help settle any of your anxiety. You kept catching his gaze in between chats. He barley moved and you couldn’t help but feel like you were being hunted.

As time stretched on more and more people began to leave, everytime they did that uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach only grew. Eventually Aizen bent down to whisper, “I think its time we take our leave my dear.” Your breath caught and you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything as he gently led you to the hall. Your heart felt like it might beat straight out of your chest with each step you took. He kept his hold on you the whole time. At least, no one followed you out, meaning that there would be no bedding ceremony. At least no one would get to observe the humiliation you’d no doubt receive. “You look relived?” He said voice trailing in question. Your legs felt like they were made of lead and every step you took was a considerable effort.

“I thought that perhaps you’d have opted for a bedding ceremony but…” you let yourself trail off, he just hummed in understanding. You were at the door to your room far faster than you’d have liked. He held the door open for you and you stepped inside making your way to the center of the room, you stopped not knowing what to do with yourself. The door swung shut and you couldn’t help but flinch. You were terrified of the man you’d be sharing a life with, while you’d once thought him kind you’d come to find out he was anything but. He’d killed a whole family to get here plus countless others, he sent people to hunt you down specifically and he’d threaten to take another life if you didn’t do as he said.

A set of arms snaked around your waist causing you to gasp, “Are you nervous sweet girl?” Aizen rasped into your ear. You nodded yes but he just hummed as if he didn’t understand you, “I’m sorry love, I didn’t quite catch that, you’ll have to speak up.” You closed your eyes and you were sure your whole body must be beat red.

He knew you were and he was just trying to get under your skin. “Y-yes.” You said barely audible but he’d heard it nonetheless. He gently pushed the hair from your shoulder and began trailing small kisses from the exposed skin of your shoulder to the base of your neck. You flinched but he held you firmly in place with a hand on your hip, “Have you ever been touched like this?” He asked, his voice had dropped by at least an octave and was laced thick with arousal.

“No.” You gasped out as he nibbled at the space where your neck and shoulder met. Aizen hummed in satisfaction as one of his arms rose to just below your sternum, forcing you back into his own broad chest. He had you trapped up against himself in a hold that you had no way of escaping.

You swallowed thickly as his lips trailed up your neck to your ear, “Never?” He asked, warm breath fanning your ear. “Not even with that fetching young knight with the tattoos that was so keen on escaping with you? He seemed very intent on keeping you away from me.” You squeezed your eyes shut tighter and shook your head lightly. You realized he was talking about Renji, and while he’d help you escape you doubted he felt anything of the sort for you, he’d only helped you because he’d always felt indebted to your father. You could explain all that to him though, not while his mouth was still working against your neck and he held you so close to himself. “Words my sweet girl, I want to hear you.” He rasped intent on flustering you further.

You opened your mouth to say something only to be cut off by a sharp gasp as he pulled your head back to suck a mark into your neck. You tried to escape it but his free hand shot to your hip pulling you back against him tighter than before, stopping you from moving any distance. “No, never!” You all but whined out as his mouth kept working over your skin. You hated whatever game he was playing and you hated how you couldn’t help but react to it.

Aizen pulled back a few inches to admire the mark he’d left before chuckling darkly, “Aren’t you just a dream dear?” He asked before spinning you to face him. He pulled you close and captured your lips as your hands came up to try to put some distance between your bodies yet again. He kissed you with much more force than the previous times, his hand came up to tangle in your hair and pull you closer, his other hand snaked behind your back. He pulled back for you but kept your head firmly in place with his hand, “Open your mouth.” He ordered in a husked voice. You went to question him on what he’d meant but before you could his lips were again pressed to yours. His tongue pushed its way into your mouth and began tangling with your own. You couldn’t stop the whimper that left you, he pressed you closer, seeming to enjoy that he’d pulled any kind of noise from you at all.

The hand pressed to you back slid lower, reaching for the clasp of your metal belt and fumbling with it until it noisily clattered to the floor. You dress hung loosely around you now and bunched up under his hand as me moved it back to your hip. His tongue was still mapping out your mouth, making you feel lightheaded. He pulled away from you and looked you up and down as you panted. His hands moved to your shoulders aiming no doubt to fully remove your dress. Your hands caught his wrists not wanting him to continue, you realized your mistake instantly but couldn’t stop yourself.

Aizen's deep brown eyes shot to yours, he softened his gaze and tsked his tongue, you averted your gaze and let your hands slip off his wrists. “Sweet girl,” He called to you softly, “If you move to stop me again I’ll bring you your little knight's head.” You couldn’t stop the little cry of surprise that left you as tears sprang to your eyes. You looked back up to him as your tears collected in your waterline. “You poor thing,” he said bringing his hand to brush along your cheek, “You really don’t want this do you?” He asked, whipping at a tear as it fell down your face.

You knew he was just taunting you, you knew he wasn’t going to stop but you still shook your head in denial. Surprisingly he didn’t make you say it out loud, he just hummed sympathetically, looking at you with a tilted head. “How unfortunate.” He said before moving his hands back to your dress. He carefully pulled the fabric from you, letting it fall to the floor in a heap and leaving you in just your heels and undergarments. You turned your head to the side, unable to look at him any longer as his eyes raked over you, he hummed in appreciation taking in your lace strapless bralette and matching underwear that you’d been made to wear. The lace hid nothing from him, thin and see through with the same flowers and vines that had adorned your dress. A few more tears slipped from your eyes as he began walking you backwards towards the bed. Once the backs of your legs hit the bed he gently pushed you so the you were sitting on the edge of it, he tilted your head up to look at him.

He bent over you fully and kissed you again, this time as he ravaged your mouth it tasted of salt from your tear streaked face. His hand ghosted down your body to your thigh, he gave your thigh a light squeeze before sliding his hand further down to push your shoe off before repeating the motion with the other leg. He let his hand run lazily up and down your leg as he continued kissing you, everytime his hand would work up your thighs your muscles would flutter and heat began pooling in your lower stomach much to your displeasure. You hated that your body was reacting to him wanting desperately for it to stop.

Aizen released your mouth, straightening up to his full height, “Move to the center of the bed.” He nodded watching you move all the while. Once centered in the bed you pulled your legs together keeping them pressed firmly against one another. Aizen began removing his shirt button by button revealing his well muscled arms and chiseled chest. He removed his belt next, placing the sword attached to it gently on the dresser before stalking back to you. You couldn’t help but think that perhaps if he’d never left, if he’d never done any of the atrocious things he’d done, that you might have ended up here anyways. You couldn’t deny that he was handsome and even though you now knew his attention went much deeper he’d always made time for you before. He’d seemed sweet and caring. But now that you knew everything, what he was capable of, there would be no looking back, you couldn’t look past it. You would never forgive him for all that he’d done to the high lord's family and the common people, they had been innocent and he’d slain them for his own selfish interest. You thought of the girl you’d seen the first night, she’d bear that scar forever for simply doing her duties that day.

Aizen crawled over you, pulling you from you from your thoughts and pushing your back into the mattress as leaned into you. He pulled your legs straight and you kept them firmly pressed together as he again mouthed at your neck. You closed your eyes as he sucked more marks into your skin, his mouth trailed down your neck and to your collarbone where he nibbled at the bone. You gasped, causing him to chuckle as he let his hand run across your stomach, his fingers thumbed at the bottom of your bralette. You tried to focus on your breathing as he let his hand glide over your breast, you let out a breathy sigh and turned your head away from his as his thumb circled your clothed nipple. Aizen rose up on his elbow as he continued his ministrations, “You look absolutely sinful like this.” He stated. You fisted your hand in the blankets beneath you. He switched his attention to your other breast making you swallow a cut off moan which caused him to chuckle again. “I want to hear you, love.” He breathed into your ear, you bit down on the inside of your cheek not wanting to give him the satisfaction. You might not be able to stop him from doing what he wanted with you but you could try to at least control the noises you made. Or so you thought.

After a minute or so of you refusing to make any noise he dropped his head back to your neck and sunk his teeth into your pulse point. You shrieked, eyes shooting open and tears following in earnest as your back arched off the bed trying to get him to let go, his hand moved from your chest to your arched back and unclasped your bralette, throwing it behind him. He released your neck and soothed over the wound with his tongue as he settled you back on the mattress. Your neck throbbed and you felt a drop of blood run down your neck before he leaned back over to licked it up and place a quick peck to your throbbing skin. Aizen’s mouth trailed from your pulse point down to your breast, he looked up to you as you panted breathlessly trying to pull yourself together before flicking your nipple with his tongue, you couldn’t stifle the moan that slipped out of you which only spurred him on. He took your nipple into his mouth fully, lavishing his tongue over the sensitive nub and occasionally nipping gently with his teeth to watch your reactions. He pulled off with a pop before switching his attention to your other nipple and teasing the one he’d had in his mouth between his fingers. Catching your breath was an impossible task, your heartbeat was so fast you thought it might burst and your core ached between your locked thighs.

He again let you go with a pop, “You’re so much more reactive than I could have hoped for, I can’t wait to see what more you’ll show me sweet girl.” He rasped, rising to his knees and running his hands up your legs. “I understand you’ve never been touched by another man, but tell me love, have you at least touched yourself? Brought yourself to release on your fingers perhaps?” You gawked at his question, truthfully you had tried a few times but never could bring yourself anywhere near pleasurable, but you certainly didn’t want him to know that. “Well, love?” He asked again when you didn’t answer.

You knew he wasn’t going to let you get away with not answering and you were sure you didn’t want him to bite you again or something else equally as painful. You took in a shaky breath before saying, “I’ve tried but never been able to…” you trailed off not wanting to finish your sentence in embarrassment.

His hands made their way back up your legs before hooking in the sides of your underwear, “You poor sweet thing, I’ll have to remedy that.” He gently pulled them down, they caught on your knees for a second but you separated your legs just enough for him to toss them behind him to join the rest of your clothing. You were now completely nude for him, “Spread your legs for me love.” He didn’t give you a chance to comply as his large hands pulled your knees apart. He looked at you with lidded eyes causing you to look away before he brought his hand to ghost over your folds, he groaned at the wetness he found between your legs. “For a girl that insists she doesn't want this, you certainly are wet my dear.” His thumb begins rubbing tight circles against your clit causing your toes to curl and small breathy gasps to find their way out of your mouth.

It feels like there’s a knot being pulled tighter and tighter in your lower abdomen, your sounds rise in volume and Aizen moves the hand not occupied to grab your face and force you to look at him, “Look at me while you cum.” He growled lowly, thumb increasing in speed and pressure. It feels like you're going to snap apart and you look up at him through glassy eyes. His gaze is intense as your end draws closer and you can’t help but buck your hips against his hand. All at once the knot inside you snaps and you coming with a whiny moan as your back arches and stars dot your vision. You’ve never felt anything like it and you can’t help but shutter through the aftershocks.

His hand doesn’t stop moving, instead slowing to a lazy pace that has you trying to escape from overstimulation, his hand grabs your hip and pins you back down. “Please! It’s too much, I can’t take it!” You cry out, body on fire. After a few more strokes his hand stops and he swoops down to dominate you with another kiss. You're so overwhelmed by your previous orgasm that you just let him do as he pleases.

The two of you separate and he watches your face for a moment before pulling back fully, “Now that was a sight, perhaps I should have had a bedding ceremony, show all those stuck up lordlings what they’ve missed out on.” He mocks as he rises from the bed to kick his pants and underwear off. You’ve never seen a nude man before but you're sure that his cock is bigger than most. It’s long and thick with a few veins jutting up it and you can’t help but stare with wide eyes. There’s no way you’re ever going to get it inside of you, at least not without pain.

You don’t even notice that he’s watching you until he laughs, making your eyes shoot to his face as your own face heats more in embarrassment. “Don’t worry sweet girl, I’ll have you well prepared.” He said as he makes his way back to you. You don’t quite believe him but there’s not much you can do as he climbs back on top of you, he spreads your legs on either side of his own. You swallow thickly as he again mouths at your neck and his hand returns to your slick folds. His middle finger circles you opening and you feel your anxiety pick up, his hand is a lot bigger than your own and even then you’d never done much with your own fingers. He gets his finger nice and wet before he starts to push it inside you.

Instantly your gummy walls clamp down on it, the stretch isn’t pleasant and it stings a bit. Your breathing picks up and his thumb resumes its slow circles on your clit in an attempt to force you to relax. He gets the digit into the last knuckle and stills its movement as his thumb continues. He licks up your neck to nibble on your ear, “That’s it sweet girl, just like that. Relax and take it.” He rasps as he gently pulls his finger back and forth within you. You whine at the strange feeling and he latches back onto your neck. After letting you adjust to his first finger he pushes in a second one. You try to pull away and groan because it burns, his thumb and fingers move at a steady pace and you can’t help but clench around them trying to get him to stop for a moment.

He groans in your ear, “Fuck,” he curses, “You’re so tight love.” More tears slip from your eyes as he continues his movements. You wish he’d stop talking but of course he doesn’t. “You have to relax for me love.” He breathes into your neck. “How can you ever hope to take my cock if you can’t take two fingers?” He laughs. You want to scream at him that you don’t want to take his cock and you want to push him and beg him to stop but you know it won’t do you any good. You try to focus on your breathing again but he starts hooking his fingers and they brush against something inside you that has you letting out another high pitched whine. He smiles at you and continues thrusting his fingers into you, taking care to hit that spot inside you with every stroke. You’re withering underneath him as he adds a third, it still hurts but he keeps hitting that spot over and over again causing you to lose yourself.

Your walls tighten again as that knot builds back up. Aizen speeds up his moments, “Again?” He asks, “Already that close? Just from my fingers?” He rumbles. Your fists are so tangled in the blankets you fear they might tear apart. Between his fingers hitting that sweet spot inside of you and his thumb rubbing those circles into your clit you're coming within seconds of him whispering. You whimper as he pulls his fingers from you, you watch as he brings them to his mouth before licking them clean. “What a delicacy.” He says eyes meeting your tired ones, “Maybe if you’re a good girl for me I’ll feast on you next time.” He offers as he aligns himself with you.

He pulls you further down the bed, hair fanning out behind you and legs coming to rest across his knees. He moves his hips, grinding his cock to you, using your slick to get himself ready to enter you. Once he deems himself lubricated enough he lines his cock up with your hole. You feel the tip begin to push into you and you expect him to go slow like he had with his fingers but he doesn’t instead he snaps his hips to yours and fills you in one fluid motion. You scream, pain filling you immediately as you try to scoot away. He pulls you back down refusing to let you escape.

He wastes no time before picking up a punishing pace that makes you sob underneath him. You feel like you can’t breathe and you move to try and push him away, clawing at him with your nails but he just grabs your wrist and pins it to the bed above your head. He folds over you and uses his free hand to push one of your legs up near your head, folding you in half. “Gods!” He moans, “You’re such a tight fit!” He smiles darkly at you before picking up speed. You can’t think straight but you know that you're begging him to stop in broken cries which only seems to turn him on more. “You’re taking me beautifully love, like you were made for it.” He groans. The only sounds filling the room are the sound of skin hitting skin, your cries and his groans.

His thrusts eventually start loosing rhythm and he grunts a few times, “Fuck, I’m close,” he moans out still rapidly snapping his hips into yours. He releases his hold on your wrist and leg and brings both of his hands to your hips to pull you back into him as he thrusts into you, he’s gripping you so hard you're sure to have bruises. He moans your name before trusting as deep as he can and stilling, you feel his seed fill you up and he gives a few shallow thrusts before pulling out completely. Your breathing is shaky and you're still crying as he watches his cum drip out of you. He collects what’s leaked from you before fucking it back into you with his finger. You gasp and close your legs which makes him chuckle as he pulls away from you. “Just making sure nothing goes to waste love.” He says looking down at you.

All you can think is that you hate him. You hate him for what he’s done to your people but as you lay there broken, used and crying all you can think of is how you hate him for what he’s done to you. How he turned your body completely against you. How he’d threatened you. How he’d used you. You look at him through glassy eyes and say, “You’re a bastard.” Not caring about the consequences, what more could he take from you now?

He just laughs, watching your chest heave, “Yeah, I am, sweet girl.” He says before pulling you to him, he pulls you and himself up to lay against the pillows and settling the two of you beneath the covers. “Now sleep my love, before I change my mind and decide to take you again.” He says stroking your hair. You’re too tired to put up a fight and wouldn’t want to chance him anyways.

[moongothic]

Many people have pointed out (in relation to Crocodad) how in Japanese the etymology of the word "wani" (crocodile) is a bit complicated to say the least and in mythology could mean a variety of things, including a shark, sea monster or a dragon

Which, of course, is quite an interesting coincidence. Crocodile does often get referred to as "wani" not just by Luffy but some other characters, and so it would be just a little funny if both of Luffy's dads were sorta kinda called dragons

There's also people pointing out how Zoro's mother was called "Tera", similar to terra (earth) and Sanji's mother was named Sora (sky). So if Luffy's birthing parent was named after a water-dwelling creature, well, it'd be cute and round out the monster trio's birthing parents in a funny way, since we'd have earth, sky and the sea

But what really is fucking me up about the whole wani-thing is the Myth of Toyotama-hime

So the TL:DR; of the myth is

The pregnant princess Toyotama came from the Ryuuguu Castle deep in the oceans onto land to give birth to her child, telling her husband that when she would give birth, she would revert back into her true form, requesting him to not look at her while she gave birth. But her husband could not keep that promise, so he peeked in on his wife, only to witness a giant wani giving birth. The sight of this horrified the husband so much he fled, while Toyotama princess was so hurt by what had happened that she returned to the sea, abandoning her child.

Indeed, this myth bringing up wani pregnancy is just. An interesting coincidence for Crocodad speculation

Of course, we know Oda borrows from mythology (fucking, Fishman Island's castle is literally the Ryuuguu Castle), so if Crocodad Real, it's genuinely plausible Oda could('ve) take(n) inspiration from that very myth

Thing about it is that though...

Like, if we're assuming Crocodile never fully realized he was trans until he got pregnant, then him transitioning either immidiately or as soon as he could after giving birth would make sense. Dude seeks out Iva-chan and gets the t-juice*, so on and so forth, but my question is like, would that have been before or after delivering the baby to Dragon (so he could then pass it onto Garp)

*(Or hell, maybe Iva-chan was there helping deliver the baby, helping Crocodile crack his own egg etc, maybe the secret Iva-chan is holding over Crocoboy's head isn't that they knew Crocodile is trans and could out them, but knowing Crocodile gave birth to god know whose child)

Because like

How did Dragon find out about his partner transitioning?

Did pre-T Crocodile tell him he was transitioning while handing over the baby? Or did he just leave without an explanation and allowed Dragon to just Take In The Change after it had happened whenever they saw each other again (if they ever did, for all we know he could've just walked away without talking to Dragon again and Dragon just found out either from Iva-chan directly or from seeing him on the news)

Or did Crocodile transition first and then deliver the baby to Dragon without any warning, again, just giving Dragon one hell pf a surprise

In any scenario, how did that even go down?

And we have to ask the sad question of... is Dragon a Bisexual King or not? And would Crocodile have been... afraid of Dragon's reaction? (This would've been a younger Crocodile mind you, who would literally have been just coming out of his shell, and that shit's scary man)

Because if Toyotama Princess is any indicator, this wani's relationship did not end well after her truth was revealed

Like, let's say Crocodile transitioned first and then showed up without warning as a man to Dragon to hand over the baby. Thing is, while we know VERY LITTLE about Dragon still, I can't imagine him being like violently transphobic or even lashing out at his partner when he'd come out. But I could imagine him being so shocked he'd be left utterly speechless.

And I'm not entirely sure which would be worse; Dragon outright but "kindly" telling Crocodile he's not into men and breaking the poor bastard's heart, or Bi!Dragon being too shocked to say anything, letting Crocodile to just jump to conclusions based on his reaction (and maybe then causing Dragon to jump into further conclusions (that Crocodile must actually be into women)), unintentionally causing a divorce out of sheer misunderstanding and literal lack of communication

And the sad part is, considdering Dragon is a very secretive man, who according to the Crocodad Theory can't even have told his partner his full name mind you... The miscommunication seems very plausible to me?? Does it not?

Or, maybe Crocodile delivered the baby to Dragon pre-T and told him he's going to Iva-chan without further explanation, jumping into conclusions, afraid to hear what Dragon would say. So he just leaves without explaining before Dragon gets to say a word. And Dragon just accepts it. Assuming he's the one getting dumped.

Either way, whatever might've happened can't have been good, can it

Also, considdering Garp is a fucking idiot (affectionate), and Luffy clearly inherited The Stupid from his grandfather, I would not be surprised if Dragon was also actually a bit of a himbo underneath that serious face he puts on (either that or Crocodile kept on smoking while pregnant)

Which could also turn what would otherwise be a tragic miscommunication into an absolute comedy if Crocodile and Dragon ever met again and the two realized that they're both idiots who jumped into conclusions and ruined their marriage by refusing to talk about their fucking feelings to each other. This is an absolute trainwreck of a family

But considdering the things Crocodile has done by this point*, would it ever even be possible for the two to reconcile?? Because, althought Dragon is pro-overthrowing corrupt governments especially if they're affiliated with the World Government, from what I can tell, he's still against unnececary violence (Vegapunk even comments that Dragon "hates war" in a flashback) and needless loss of life. And Crocodile caused just that.

*And I don't even mean the failed attempt at taking over Alabasta, I mean the drought Crocodile caused that caused countless people to starve to death and then caused the civil war which had already taken lives and permanently disabled people BEFORE the Strawhats ever even get to Alabasta. Like Crocodile's bomb may have been a dud but he still caused people to die for no reason, and I can't imagine Dragon being fine with that. But then again, Robin and other Baroque Works members also contributed to the loss of life and their sins have been neatly swept under the rug so IDK

And like. We don't know if Crocodile moonlighted as a Revolutionary for like 10+ years after Luffy was born and slowly went out of contact or if he just left immidiately. But theoretically, the two might not have even seen each other in like almost 20 years

That'd be a long time to carry a broken heart

How the fuck would you even heal from that

Also like

Crocodile did seem a little suicidal at Impel Down if I'm being honest

Like.

He had a dream of becoming Pirate King. But he lost to Whitebeard, and his dreams were ruined.

Dude had a master plan to take over a country that took him almost a decade to pull off, only for it to get wrecked in the final hour by a literal child.

His useless underlings then come and try to break him out of prison

And he chooses to stay

When we finally see his face for the first time in Impel Down... His mouth might be forming a smile, but those eyes aren't

And he even says it himself

"I didn't think there'd be anything for me to do if I were free"

Is it not like he has given up on life entirely..?

And sure, he does ask to be let out so he can get revenge on Whitebeard, but was it out of a genuine belief he could actually take down the old man or just a slightly more fun way to die than rotting away in prison for the next few decades?

You know the saying, "to be loved is to be changed"

Frankly, the same goes for the reverse. Being unloved, or believing yourself to be unloveable will change you. For the worse

[luverofralts]

Arkhelios Adventures

Dear Theo,

I'm glad to hear that you're able to enjoy some of your time away at least a little. I promise I'm not jealous. Elowen literally knocked some sense into me on that topic, trust me. I trust you. (Don't underestimate Elowen, she's quick with a wand)

Remember Master Josh Toyonaga's husband and that temple he's been working on in Strangetown? Well, they have a smaller branch in Arkhelios now and my parents allowed me to attend a day of study there. Well, my dad refused to sign the release form probably because he thinks that I'm about to run away and abandon the coven at a moment's notice. Mom signed it though, and hugged me really strangely afterward. She's acting weirder than ever, but at least she's willing to listen to me when Dad won't. I hope you get to check out this place when you get back. It's amazing. I got an official escort at President Bellamy's request from your grandfather and that pink demon who always yells at your dad. Not everyone gets an escort, but she said that I was an exception.

A lot of demons work there, more than I imagined anyway. Maybe they'd let you do a summer internship there and if you're already there, maybe my dad will see reason and let me join too.

I met your aunt(?) Ginevra while I was there. She works with her wife full-time there with their kid. She's really nice, I don't know why your dad doesn't have her over more often. He is related to her, right? I hope so, because I talked to her like she was your family. She says hi and to come visit when you're in Arkhelios. I think she wants us to hang out with her or something. That or she wants one of us to marry her foster kid who's in college. She wouldn't stop talking about him and winking at me. If she's not actually part of your family, she'd fit in perfectly.

Her wife, Maegan, is a full demon, but she studies the same weird religion as Master Toyonaga's husband and helps him both study ancient tomes and collect new information. She talked a lot about certain crystals that could be found deep in the ocean and others that have seawater crystallized within them. Theo, you have to help me convince my dad to let me intern here this summer. We could do it together and find the coolest things. You get to wear cool old robes too.

There are these cool meditation stones that channel different kinds of energy depending on the stone. I meditated on our future and when you'll come back for two hours, but nothing happened really. It's not the stone's fault. My mind is never clear when I'm thinking about you and how I feel about our relationship. Maybe I'll try a stone that channels love and affection next time. I hope there's a next time. Maybe they sell them online?

It's always fun to see how adults act when they think I'm not listening. Ginevra could talk your ear off about arcane magic, even blood magic. I feel like you two would have some very interesting conversations. She's looking for something even if she won't admit it. I hope that doesn't have anything to do with your father somehow.

Scary Pink Lady (I forgot her name and am too terrified to ask again) certainly has her mother's personality. I gather that she's not popular with the Sovereign and has been stuck listening to the concerns of the mortals as punishment. She thought I was you for a moment, despite knowing about my arrival. I don't think she can tell two humans apart, or if she can, she makes no effort to. I got to hear about a sippy cup she gave your parents at their baby shower that you would think was jewel encrusted by the amount of time she bragged about it. Demons are more complicated than I'd realized, even with having you in my life. Everything is so dramatic and the end of the world if they're slighted at all. Even the ones who serve this supposed Ocean deity are just as terrifying as the demons at home. Maybe you can tell me more about your studies of demons or let me borrow a textbook or something. Since I plan on being in your life for the rest of mine, I should really learn more about demonic society.

Your grandfather didn't say much. He mostly hung around the hallway, watching me intently. Your dad really does look like him (well, not like a zombie). It's uncanny.

One last thing-I saw a tree made with crystals growing in it. They developed a symbiotic relationship with the tree and now magic flows in its roots. It's different than the decorative trees made of crystal in Crystal Cove. The wood absorbs the magic and some people make wands from the enchanted wood. They taught me how to make it light up and it was the coolest spell I think I've ever done. (You usually do all the interesting spells we try)

You could just feel the magic running through it from the branches to the leaves. It reminded me of how you make me feel when we're casting spells together. Both of us working together, twisting our magic together and usually nearly blowing up the school together if you listen to my parents.

I hope this letter finds you well. I hope that you're doing great in your studies and that you can come back home soon. I miss you more than anything.

Love Sincerely,

Adam Darktide

[weissaddams]

Date with Death

Chapter 3

Wednesday Addams rarely failed at anything in her twenty-two years on this massive rock called Earth.

She failed to save Nero.

She failed to uncover Tyler as the Hyde before things became exponentially worse.

She failed to stop her heart from falling in love with Enid Sinclair.

The raven refused to add anything more to that list. Specifically anything even remotely related to waking up a nocturnal vampire. She was sorely tempted to stuff a roll of garlic bread into the vampire’s mouth, but that would surely hinder the girl’s ability to walk down the aisle as the maid of honor.

Enid would be sad were that to happen. Wednesday was left with no other choice when the vampire refused to get up yet again. 

She set the bed on fire.

Well, she would have liked to. Instead she had to settle for pouring ice water all over Yoko’s face. Only slightly making sure she didn’t drown herself somehow.

“What the fuck!”

“Welcome to the land of the living, Tanaka.”

“Addams!”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to kill you!”

“You would be surprised how easy of a feat that would be today.”

Wednesday gave a quick nod to a very amused Divina before promptly walking back to the suite’s kitchen to return the glass she borrowed for the water. She could faintly hear the siren’s chuckles as she calmed down her nocturnal girlfriend. 

All was well.

For now.

She was left with nothing to do or anyone to talk to as Enid was called on by one of the photographers. The raven idly wandered into the music room. Acoustic plywood, soundproof panels and sound curtains. Ah. Maybe she should have brought her cello for one last performance.

She settled for the grand piano. Steinway & Sons. Shiny but dusty.

Wednesday sat behind the keys as she opened the lid. There was nothing sadder for an instrument than to be displayed instead of brought to its full potential. She had no doubt that most visitors who could afford the penthouse suite would be able to play some music, but an instrument of this quality deserved more than just dust and the occasional love song. 

She let her hands do as they please, pressing into the keys, no actual piece in mind when Bianca Barclay emerged from another room, all dressed up and ready for the make-up team. Though, the raven wondered if anything more could be done to enhance a siren's naturally alluring features. 

“I didn’t know you could play the piano.”

“My mother taught me. I just happened to resonate with the cello more.”

“Couldn’t fit one in Ophelia Hall dorms?”

“The floor would have collapsed under the weight.”

“Just like you’re trying not to now?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Happy human beings don't play Kreisler’s Liebesleid, Addams.”

Oh. Was that the piece she was playing? How... appropriate. 

“I do not consider myself happy or human, but your curiosity begs the question, why do you know the piece?”

Deflection. What were the lyrics Enid kept singing at godawful hours in their dorm? Ah. Conceal, don’t feel.

“This doesn’t seem like you at all.”.

"And what exactly do I seem like?”

“Like the love of your life is getting married, but not to you.”

Wednesday chuckled darkly but continued to play. Bianca seemed content to listen. No, Enid was not getting married to her and that, decidedly, was best for everyone. Wednesday had long since made peace with it.

The siren often forgot that Wednesday was only human. A formidable and feared outcast, sure, but still quite human though she didn't consider herself as much. It seemed even ravens weren't immune to heartbreak. The piece ends and Bianca feels her own heart clench painfully at the sad smile on Wednesday’s face. 

“You’re many things, Wednesday, but you’re not a coward. You still have at least a few hours to tell her.”

“There is nothing to tell, Bianca. I was simply passing the time.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“When have I never?”

“Today’s a good a day as any to start being wrong, Wednesday.”

Wednesday knew Bianca easily saw through her poker face, but there wasn’t much she could say to keep the siren from pushing. It would be best to reply with silence. It was fortunate that Enid walked into the room when she did.

“Hi, girls!”

The dour mood immediately changed thanks to the sunny werewolf and Bianca quickly followed her lead. What was that saying? You can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink?

“Enid, did you know Wednesday could play?”

“The piano? Oh yeah and she’s really good! She always plays me a few songs whenever I visit the Addams’ Manor during our breaks.”

Bianca raised an eyebrow and all but gloated in front of Wednesday upon hearing this little snippet of information she so conveniently kept under wraps. She never should have even asked. Enid always spent a few weeks over the year at the Addams’ manor. Personally invited by Wednesday and/or her family. Of course the werewolf knew about Wednesday’s apparent ability to master just about any instrument. 

“Why aren’t  you preparing?” Wednesday intervened as the blonde werewolf sat beside her on the stool, close enough that they were pressed against each other even though there was plenty of space on each side.

She was now dressed in what seemed to be a loose, white dress that ended at her knees, blonde hair softly dried and with the new bracelet very noticeable on her wrist. Along with the engagement ring from Ajax, of course.

“They said they’d prepare me last. Divina is first up. Yoko is taking a bath so I think Bianca’s next. They took a few photos but they said I’m free until then.”

The siren eyed the way Enid’s hands started pressing down on the keys. Wrist up and loose as her fingers flew about the piano. Another piece Bianca recognized. Salut D’Amour.

“Didn’t know you could play, too.” Bianca leaned in slightly.

Wednesday and Enid certainly looked good together. She couldn’t keep convincing herself otherwise as Wednesday liked to do to herself and everyone else. Ajax was a good guy, but how did he ever hope to match up to this?

Only Enid Sinclair could enthrall Wednesday Addams like this. Like she plucked the moon from the sky and gave it to the raven when all she was really doing was playing the piano.

“Wednesday taught me.” Enid smiled at her as she continued playing, even giving the raven a slight nudge to get her to join in.

“Really?” Bianca inquired.

“Yes. Enid was certainly dedicated to learn some sort of music during our last two summers at Nevermore.”

“Why? I always thought singing was more your thing.”

“Singing is fun, but I saw Mrs. Addams accompany Wednesday when she played the cello. I thought it would be neat if I could do that for Wednesday, too. Turns out I still need to put in a few more years of practice for that.”

“That’s not true. You’ve accompanied me plenty.”

“I don’t think it counts as plenty when I only learned on piece, Wends. I was only able to play so much because you practiced with me for hours every day during those summers.”

Well, Wednesday could argue that it did, in fact, count. Their rendition of Salut D’Amout was certainly nothing to scoff at. She'd personally witnessed the effort Enid put into learning to play. There were days she would not stop until Morticia encouraged her to rest or Wednesday invited her for a walk.

“I think I’ll go make sure Yoko hasn’t fallen asleep in the bath. I’ll come get you when it’s your turn, Enid.”

Bianca gave them a small smile before walking away. Enid gave her a quick thumbs up and Wednesday nodded and gave her what seemed like a grateful look. It was hard to tell.

Saluit D’Amour was literally French for “Hello, my love.”

Enid and Wednesday apparently accompanied each other for Salut D’Amour. A piece originally written as the composer’s gift to his future wife for their engagement. 

They were even dressed in black and white and Bianca would have been blind not to notice the matching Es on Enid’s new bracelet and Wednesday’s signet ring. It made no sense and at the same time it made so, so much sense.

Bianca could only conclude one thing. They were hopeless.

She wasn’t one to interfere, though. Maybe a little bit? At least?

Sure, this was something they had to figure out by themselves, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask the hired photographer to take a few candid shots of Enid and Wednesday at the piano.

For... the wedding album. Surely.

--

Date With Death master post

--

All the chapters are in the master post up there!

This fic is really just me indulging myself. I’ve always been an angst writer because it’s very easy to draw from heartbreak. I can’t promise any consistency but I have ideas in mind that I will certainly be writing out. Still on the fence about making an AO3 account. I love reading and discussing in comments, though, so I might actually make an account.

I linked Liebesleid and Salut D’Amour. Try to start listening once the piece is mentioned in the fic. It adds angst, I promise!

Saluit D’Amour isn’t a beginner piece but for the sake of the plot, let’s say Enid managed to accompany Wednesday by the end of that summer. I’ve read the sheet music for the piano and it would take a lot of practice for a beginner but it’s very doable.

Also, watch how the women in the video play. I imagine Enid and Wednesday’s movements to be about the same. 

And yes I got Liebesleid from watching YLIA. It’s Kousei’s rendition in the anime. Go watch it, too, if you haven’t already! Full of angst.

[theoneandonlysemla]

Hello there Juliafriend <3

I would like to ask about 5 and 20 for Nevri.

And 🤩 (First big inspiration for writing (an author? a piece of media? a plot idea?)) for you.

Hi Winter! <3

Thank you so much for the asks and giving me a chance to ramble about Nevri 🤭

5. First time breaking a bone

Nevri's first broken bone was her nose. She wanted to go out hunting with her father and readied her pony, when it rose its head at the wrong moment. (Inspired by me breaking my own nose because my horse did exactly that and it hurt like hell 😅) She was around 11 back then and seeing blood coming from her nose, what she never had happen to her before, she broke into tears and feared to be disfigured now. Her father told her that she looks like real fighter with it and that cheered her up a bit. Her mother on the other hand gave her father a scolding because she had to wash out the blood out of Nevri's tunic.

Well many more hits on the nose have followed and it became quite crooked over the years 😁

20. First time they felt accepted/welcomed by another character

Being a Dunmer child in Windhelm is not easy, especially because she was the only one in her age group. The others were either to young for her or found her too young to be around them, so she was quite alone. The Nord children bullying made it quite worse and Nevri often played alone for herself and avoided the company of other children. One day, when the Nord were extra mean, Canmal found her and chased them away by threatening them with a beating. He had "borrowed" his fathers mace for that (quite difficult to hold that up with his little arms) but it worked. That was the start of their friendship and Nevri's mistrust quickly disappeared when she realised that Canmal was not at all interested in the fact that she was a Dunmer.

🤩 - First big inspiration for writing (an author? a piece of media? a plot idea?)

That's difficult. I've been making up stories for as long as I can remember. I've always had a vivid imagination, I've also read a lot, etc. When I had my first computer, I just loved typing (just wild sequences of letters) and dreamed of one day filling so many pages with real words. Looking back, I think typing is a stim for me 😅 I kept asking my dad to give me 5 words and I used them to write little stories that made absolutely no sense. At some point, I started to write down stories in which I put together little fake scenarios with random stars that I adored at the time. Then, when I was about 13 or 14, I discovered fanfiction and read so much that wasn't meant for my age. Well, did it do me any harm? (Probably yes.) After all, I somehow didn't find what I wanted to read browsing the sites and then it was a case of "then I'll just do it myself". So I started writing fanfics. I think when I was like 15 or something I created my first original work that was uhm... a ride? Hella disturbing and definitely weird kid™️ coded. Wrote more fanfics after that, mostly pancing. (Does not work for me.) But I'm rambling. I guess the essence is, that I have a very vivid mind and an obsession with typing and words and that's what is my biggest inspiration for writing :P

[iwant-fuitgummi]

Part 2 of my mondstadt headcanons!

(FF = Found Family)

pt. 1 here

Diona Katzlein

she/her

10

Family: Draff Katzlein (Father), Diluc Ragnvindr (FF Dad since draff sucks), Margaret (FF Mom), Eury (FF Mom), Fischl (FF Sister)

Best Friend: Klee Babler

Diona has type 1 diabetes. Margaret helps her get insulin and dietary supplements.

She has tourettes. Her most common tics are meows, hisses, mouth pops, whistles, and jumping.

Diona is very sensitive to sound. Diluc commissioned Albedo to make soundproof earplugs made specifically for her ears.

Diona goes "fishing" with Klee. She turns all of the fish Klee blasts into her specialty dish, and the two use them for picnics.

She loves birdwatching. She sometimes has the urge to catch them, but she stops herself. This is how she teaches herself self control.

Fischl taught her how to use her bow

Fischl von Luftschloss Narfidort (I did the actual Fischl and the Immernachtreich Fischl because I wanted to highlight some differences)

she/they/he/xe/star/starself/nil/thy/one

16

Xenogender, Omnisexual, Polyamorous

Currently dating Bennett Faust and Razor Minci

Family: Mother and Father, Diluc (FF Father), Diona (FF Sister), Mona Megistus (FF Sister)

Best Friend: Oz

Fischl has autism, ADHD, tourettes, and BPD. SHe is also a maladaptive daydreamer.

Fischl loses sleep due to how often she stays up writing her books. Diluc gives her tea to help her sleep.

Speaking of which, they spend a lot of time at the winery to avoid going home to their parents. Diluc gave them their own room that they can decorate however they want.

Xe taught Diona how to use her bow. Xe is mostly self-taught, but Kaeya helped xem learn the basics.

Diluc lets star borrow his falcon so that star can take it and Oz on playdates. Star loves watching them fly together, but it reminds star of stars lack of friends. Diona offers to come with star, though, so star feels less alone.

Immernachtreich Fischl looks significantly different from the real Fischl. Most noticeably, their more confident expression and lack of eyebags. She also has a smile, while the real Fischl has RBF.

Diluc Ragnvindr

ANGST WARNING BTW

he/him

24

Transgender man, Biromantic, Homosexual

In an unlabeled relationship with Venti

Family: Crepus Ragnvindr (Dad), Kaeya Alberich-Ragnvindr (Brother), Diona Katzlein (FF Daughter), Fischl von Luftschloss Narfidort (FF Daughter)

Best Friend: how do i say this nicely. none.

Everytime Diluc sees Kaeya and Eula drinking together, he feels a pang of sadness. When this happens, he gets Charles to cover his shift so he can take a break. He doesn't want his patrons to see him sad because of his brother finding a new family.

Diluc has severe burns on his hands from the delusion.

He wears a necklace under his suit. It has a starconch that Kaeya gave him as a kid. He keeps it there in hopes that it'll somehow help him get his brother back.

He has a lot of extra rooms in the Dawn Winery. One was given to Venti, another to Fischl, and another to Diona whenever she wants to stay there...but Kaeya's room is never occupied. It's exactly the same as it was when he left six years ago. Diluc's kept it the same, and occasionally just sits in there when he misses his brother.

Diluc loves animals, even though the only pet he has is his falcon. He has a special soft spot for cats, but he never lets them near the winery in order to keep Venti safe.

Eula Lawrence

she/her

27

Cisgender Woman, Asexual, Lesbian

Dating Amber Hasenkamp

Family: Kaeya Alberich-Ragnvindr (FF Brother), Mika Schmidt (FF Brother)

Best Friend: Jean Gunnhildr

I don't have many thoughts about Eula tbh, I always kinda forget she exists.

She has BPD and depression. She often loses sleep trying to figure out how to make people like her.

She spars with Kaeya all the time to try and hone her sword skills. She never spars with him using her claymore, though. She doesn;t want to remind him of the fight with Diluc.

She sees Mika as a little brother, though Mika always gets nervous when she's around. She tries to be super nice to him, though. She's also helped him learn techniques that help with his anxiety.

Albedo Kreideprinz

they/he/she/it

~24 physically, possibly 500+

Agender, Asexual, Demiromantic, Biromantic

Dating Sucrose Hertz

Family: Rhinedottir (Mother), Durin (Brother), Fellflower (Sibling), Alice Babler (FF Aunt), Klee Babler (FF Sister)

Best Friend: Sucrose Hertz

Albedo is autistic (obviously). They hyperfocus on their projects for days at a time and forget to take care of themself. Sucrose takes it upon herself to bring them food, water, coffee, tea, meds, whatever they need. Honestly, they neglect themself so often that they'd be dead if it weren't for Sucrose.

She has a pet mouse that she keeps in the lab. She was gonna use it for an experiment, but decided against it. The mouse has been in the lab for over a year now and is named Fritz.

Albedo wears gold makeup to highlight the mark on his neck. He's extremely proud of it, as it reminds him of his imperfections. He also has golden streaks in his hair and Khaenri'ahn pupils.

He sends letters to Cyno and Tighnari. He tells Tighnari about his experiments and exchanges jokes and TCG strategies with Cyno.

Sucrose Hertz

she/they (doesn't care though)

23

Nonbinary, Bisexual

Dating Albedo Kreideprinz

Family: Klee Babler (FF Sister), Collei (FF Sister)

Best Friend: Albedo Kreideprinz

Sucrose has really bad anxiety (duh). She's also selectively mute and knows sign language. Albedo makes anxiety medicine specifically for her.

They have a crush on Rosaria, but are too afraid to say anything about it.

She has her own garden, which she grows sweet flowers in. They're her favorite type of flower. She has a separate garden that she grows fruits and vegetables in, which she donates to the Cathedral for their soup kitchen.

She sends letters to Collei talking about her experiments and experiences with anxiety, helping Collei learn how to cope with her stress.

The surname I gave her, Hertz, means heart.

Mika Schmidt

she/they

15

Transfem, Bisexual

Family: Huffman Schmidt (Brother), Eula Lawrence (FF Sister)

Best Friend: Bennett Faust

Mika is a HUGE Barbara fan, but is too scared to talk to her. She goes to all of her concerts and gives warnings to her fan club that, if they mess with her life, she WILL arrest them.

She's come close to arresting Albert more times than she can count.

They have awful anxiety. Eula helps them learn how to manage it.

Kaeya taught them how to use their vision and Rosaria taught them how to use their polearm.

I don't have many thoughts about Mika, sorry. She's one of the two four stars I don't have, so I haven't read much about her.

Rosaria Nacht

she/they/vamp

27

Transgender Woman, Aroace

Family: Varka (FF Dad), Razor (FF Brother), Barbara (FF Sister)

Best Friend: Kaeya Alberich-Ragnvindr

Okay first of all I replaced her eyes with Immernachtreich Fischl's since I don't like how her eyes are a different art style than everyone else's.

She's SUPER pale. This is due to her having anemia. She often takes iron supplements to help with this, but she's still super pale. It's also because she's a night owl and almost never gets sun. This has led to many rumors about her being a vampire, but she doesn't mind. She likes being feared.

Vamp is friends with Diluc and often gives him updates on how Kaeya's doing. Vamp is also one of the few people who knows that he's the Darknight Hero, and the two work together a lot.

They get antidepressants from Sucrose for free.

The surname I gave her, Nacht, means night watchman.

Astrologist Mona Megistus

she/they/star/starself

26

Transgender Woman, Bisexual

Family: Fischl von Luftschloss Narfidort (FF Sister)

She wears a full-length dress and blue makeup. She also has glasses.

Mona works with Lisa a lot to try and cure her curse.

They have a crush on Rosaria, but aren't really interested in pursuing it, especially since they know Rosaria's aroace.

She has a pet cat named Effie. Effie is a Birman and often stays in Mona's library, sleeping on the bookshelves. Effie hates Oz and tries to eat him whenever Fischl visits.

Star graduated from the Akademiya in the Rtawahist darshan, but star also took a lot of Vahumana classes and is a licensed therapist. Star reads people's constellations and learns their pasts, then star helps them cope with any issues they have. Star also prescribes medicine if needed, sending a prescription to Sucrose and Albedo.

[tgmsunmontue]

From the Ask Meme for @phisworld14

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

You didn’t specify a fandom. 😂 I’ve been reading fanfic for 15+ years now. Some authors I do not read any more, however Sara’s Girl is an author I will always read, even though I do not consider myself part of the fandom anymore. Her weekly fanfics got me through some rough times and her weekly updates were what I would hang onto sometimes (and she knows all this – she’s someone from my FFnet/ LJ days and I made and sent a wedding present). And just typing that is clear evidence of why I feel like fandom has shifted, because I don’t feel that same sense of community anymore. It’s more about content creation and consumption than the community.

For TG the author whose fics I am slowly working my way through reading are @film-in-my-soul and it's always a treat to curl up and read their fics. (There are also 100+ fics and I'm about 80% of the way through).

I am a chronic re-reader. Also a commenter who tries to leave long comments, which means I prefer to not read on my phone as typing comments becomes more difficult. So I will often re-read fics on my phone.

🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before

I don’t post personal stuff this blog because I chuck all the stuff over on main, where I am pretty much an open book. 😂 People with ten minutes and the motivation can find where I work.

I guess that fact that I came out as bisexual when I was 16 (mid 1990s) and my parents were both very laid-back about the whole thing. Despite being with my husband for 24 years I have had more female sexual partners than male. I told my best friend I loved her, and she had to reject me (we’re still best friends and were each other’s head bridesmaids at our respective weddings).

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

Apart from the fact that they all need therapy?

For Hangster, the headcanon is that they allow themselves to be soft with each other. It takes them years to get there, and these softer sides are never exposed to others, but they slowly get there. (And yes, this is exactly where OAA is going).

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

Everyone in my family is currently well and healthy.

I’m in a job where I am valued and I enjoy coming to every day.

I am very content and settled and am in a good place most days.

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

My mum, who has been dead nearly 17 years, was a LifeLine counsellor. She gave me a mug when I was 13-14 and it said:

"Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday"

I basically take from that to mean "don't be borrowing worry/trouble", and she also taught me to direct my worry towards action and things I COULD change.

I have many life hacks that work for me personally, however that's just me. My lists and dice rolling and getting people to tell me what fics I should write - it's all about making myself accountable to other people. That would backfire horribly for many others.

❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

If I dream up a fic plot, it usually eats away at me until I write it myself. As in, I cannot settle mentally until it is out there on a screen or piece of paper. I've been writing fic for over 30+ years and as creative outlets go it's one of my favourites. Involves less swearing than patchwork quilting at least.

🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately 

My dad's is getting on in age and I am facing the very real reality that he will likely be gone in the next five years. I haven't needed my parents in decades, but neither am I ready to be parentless either. It always makes me sad knowing that my own children will never know my mother.

🦗 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

                “I...” Bradley starts, because he really does want the company right now, Natasha is off with Coyote, and she’d come if he called, but he doesn’t want to rain on her happiness. Not when there is no guarantee of any future right now, the bird strike and g-Loc incidents both really driving home how dangerous their jobs are.

(Jokes on you because I have 15+ WIPs and it’s anyone’s guess which one that’s from…😂)

Feel free to send in more - I'm using up my lunch break covering reception...

[shouldyouwakethewriteblr]

Angst - “I had to clean up your mess. Again.” John and Sly?

I was really eager to do this one, as I've been in a angsty, violent mood and this has been sitting for months in my inbox. Lol.

It's first-drafty, but I like it. Hope you do, too.

---------------------------------------------------

Words: 1'345

Characters: Sylvester, John-Ira, Some random lady idk.

Setting: Opportunity, 1900

Rating: T? Cw: Violence mention, death mention, cussing.

-------------------------------------------------

Sylvester pulled his arms about himself in the alleyway, narrow enough that the sagging pipe from the opposite wall dripped down on the toe of his outstretched boot, ice cold even through the dark leather, but he just watched it through bleary vision, his left eye still stinging and pouring over.

As fast-paced footsteps approached from the alley’s back end, Sylvester dropped and turned his head away, already knowing what would come.

“Again.” John’s voice was a low, agitated hiss as he appeared, standing with one hand up on the lowest platform of the fire escape which congested the space, all Sylvester could see from the edge of his vision.

“Again, I must clean up your goddamn mess, Sly? Again?”

Sylvester looked back up. As John stood over him, he looked more focused on wiping blood from his upper lip, which already coated the back of his hand and stained the cuff of his sleeve beneath his coat.

“I’m sorry.”

“Fucking sorry.” John scoffed, futilely shaking his hand out at his side. “Well, that’s perfect, then.”

“Why do they have to laugh?” Sylvester tugged his fingers back through his hair, feeling his jaw shake through his thumbs. “—I already know. They don’t have to laugh at me. Why do they--?”

“No, no,” John staggered forward, taking Sylvester by the shoulders of his coat and yanking him up to his feet. “Get the hell up. We don’t have time for this.”

Sylvester stood willingly, meeting his brother’s eye with a glassy stare.

“I can laugh at myself just fine.” He tittered with a tilt of his head. “I—I…”

“You can’t do this shit, Sylvester.” John gave his coat collar a hard shake. “Not here. Not in this city. I am your younger brother, why am I always the one dealing with the cataclysm that is you?”

“I’m sorry!” Sylvester growled, and John responded by shoving him against the wall.

“You understand that we are borrowing time, you ass?” he asked. "Our mother made a deal two decades ago and we have to honor it in her absence. All it will take is one big man with a big name to decide we aren’t welcome here anymore and that’s it… And if they see this?" 

He paused, baring his bottom teeth. “—I promised Prudence I’d never stop coming back. We lose our deal with Opportunity, I’ll get myself killed trying to keep that promise. Tim Appeldoorn already swore he’d see me hung if I’m caught outside the western district. Do you know where the western district is, Sylvester? Look down, because it’s not here.” 

Sylvester turned his eyes down for a moment, then curled his lip. 

"Fuck him," he said. "Fuck all these people.

"I couldn't agree more, but that's not how this works." 

John let Sylvester go, swiping again at the blood that would not cease to run down his chin, as well as gathering in his throat. 

"Sly, I've been a no-good thief since I was eleven years old. You think my fingers don't itch like hell around these people who have more today than our people will have in their lifetimes? Still, I am on my best goddamned behavior the entire time I'm here…" 

He gestured vaguely to the street. "Martha? Martha's so subtle, I often forget we even brought her with us. Everyone is able to keep their heads down and do their jobs but you, Sylvester." 

"You’re not looked at like I am, here!" Sylvester snapped, his head trembling atop his neck as he spoke. "They look at me and they know. They know my blood and how it's soiled. They see how my body fails me and they know why!" 

He held his hands out from his chest, seeing how John glanced down at them and quickly away, jaw shifting uncomfortably.

"I can see it!" Sylvester went on. "When they look at me, I can see how much they know and it's degrading." 

"So stay home, Sly." John's voice was flat and unsympathetic. "You were the one who begged to join the scavengers. I understand you wanted to… prove yourself, prove that you could do it, but you so clearly fucking can't." 

Sylvester winced, turning his head down. 

"I… I can do this, John. I can. I'm sorry, I just…" 

He paused to rub at the freshly torn skin on his cheek which had quit burning and begun to itch, until John quickly yanked that hand away.

"Don't rub at it, idiot. What are you doing?" 

Sylvester grunted. "The bitch nearly took my eye out." 

"Well… We ought to get out of here, man. I paid the fellow off– not before he gave me a good wallop, mind you, but he won't talk." 

"And the woman?" Sylvester sniffed as he looked back over.

"You…" John stared back, eyes flicking back and forth across Sylvester’s. 

"You killed her, Sly. She's dead." 

Sylvester gave an incredulous laugh. "No, I didn't." 

He waited a moment, watching John press his lips with a subtle shake of his head. 

"I… I didn't do that." 

"Let's go, man." 

John reached for Sylvester’s arm, only to have it shoved away. 

"I didn't do that, John! I just scared her a little, that's all." 

"You crushed her windpipe, Sly. The man is gonna– gonna tell the police he found her like that, but she… You know." 

"I…" Sylvester glanced over at the wall, watching that same pipe dripping a slow, gradual hole into the worn-out pavement beneath it. He stared until his vision glazed over. 

"I just scared her a little, I swear, I–" 

"Hey." John put a hand back on his arm. "Come on, Sly. We gotta go." 

Sylvester looked back, taking a moment to refocus his eyes on his brother's face, even as everything trembled. 

"I never meant to…" His voice cracked. 

John sighed, pulling Sylvester in and hugging him tightly enough to somewhat steady his quivering. 

"I…" All the bitterness had gone from Sylvester’s voice, replaced, instead, with something fragile.

"There is so much that is wrong with me, brother," he said. 

"I know," John nodded against his shoulder. "But I love you the same." 

He patted his back with a firm, flat palm, then leaned away. 

"Let’s go home, alright?" 

Sylvester nodded, following John as he inched them out towards the street. However, the moment they stepped into the streetlight, his arm shot back, blocking Sylvester from going further. 

Sylvester craned his neck over his brother’s shoulder, catching the shadow and half the skirts of a woman standing frozen on the walkway. 

"Heavens." The woman spoke, her voice incredibly hesitant. "Are you alright, sir? Your nose–" 

John glanced about the empty street around them. 

"Just fine," he said. "Beautiful evening, isn't it? Might I suggest you try walking that way? I'd wager the moon shines even more brightly over there." 

A short pause came, followed by an uncertain "Indeed." 

She cleared her throat, then stepped from the lamplight, headed back the opposite direction as John waved her off, turning on his heels the second her shadow slipped from view. 

"Not that way," he said, eyes traveling in a zig-zag up the walls. He then gestured with a tilt of his head towards the fire escape. 

"Up. Go, these roofs connect." 

He squeezed past Sylvester and already had two feet up the steps of the ladder when Sylvester finally spoke up again. 

"I thought you weren't supposed to set foot in this part of the city?" He asked. "How do you know..?" 

John cast his gaze up to the lip of the rooftop, edged out in moonlight. Then, looking back to his brother, he clicked his tongue. 

"My feet never touch the ground," he answered. "Come on." 

With a grunt, John skipped a couple of rungs, hoisting himself up onto the first grated platform. 

Sylvester scoffed, but followed suit, climbing a couple of rungs and taking his brother's outstretched hand to help hoist him up the rest of the way. 

"Your best behavior, hm?" He muttered when they both got their footing. 

"Shut your goddamned mouth, Sylvester." 

[caseyrussell]

FULL NAME: Casey Kennedy Russell

AGE: 20

BIRTHDATE: [tbd while Ella looks for a date in april that will give this man his astrological placements... bear with me x]

GENDER: Cis man

OCCUPATION: College student, prospective internship at HAH

POSITIVE TRAITS: dauntless, outgoing, protective, adaptable, passionate, direct, resilient, compassionate, loving, caring, fun loving

NEGATIVE TRAITS:  impulsive, impatient, brooding, reckless, secretive, cynical, hotheaded, adaptable, defensive, stubborn

ASTROLOGICAL PLACEMENTS: Aries sun, Scorpio moon, Pisces rising, Taurus mercury, Pisces mars, Aries venus (yes, that one earth placement is clinging on for dear life) 

INSPIRATION: [John Bender (The Breakfast Club), Ronan Lynch (The Raven Cycle), Sirius Black (Harry Potter), James Cook (Skins), Jess Mariano (Gilmore Girls), Han Solo (Star Wars), Daniel Desario (Freaks and Geeks), Heathcliff (Wuthering Heights), Marianne Sheridan (Normal People)]

Biography (tw child abuse/child neglect)

It feels like a life borrowed from someone else a lot of the time. Like watching yourself from the outside in as the movie plays before you. Life led as if it's a chair whose occupant had recently left - the uncertainty of when they might come back and take it away at any moment. Or at least, that's how it would feel when Casey grew old enough to understand his feelings beyond the confusion, sadness and loneliness that would tug in his gut no matter how busy their house was. With a name borrowed from two men greater than he, perhaps it was set in stone from day one that he'd settle nicely between his two brothers. Slap bang in the middle (although there's never a complaint, Ronnie and Noah have always been two of the better things going on in his life).

It wasn't as if Mila Russell ever gave the impression she wanted kids. In fact, from the way Ronnie often felt like more of a parent than his mother - Casey would argue that they were all just something that kind of happened to her rather than the kind of wish mothers made in Disney movies. Or whatever the Cabbage Patch dolls origin story tried to sell. Mr. Russell didn't give much of an impression at all; out the door when Casey's just about old enough to nag Ronnie for answers and imagine what their male 'role model' may be up to.

And it's fantastical. In the way children's imaginations often are, the ideas are farfetched. Ideas of him travelling and collecting stories, contributing to world peace... saving people from burning buildings and cats from up trees. To a little boy who had a mischievious grin and was otherwise told he had too much energy, the fantastical tales of what his 'dad' may be up to got Casey through his earliest school days. Your dad's an accountant? Well, my dad sang with John Lennon'. He never says it's in his dreams. Mr. Russell is a hero to everyone in his imagination. Everyone except for Casey who had longed for a parental figure at parents' nights without ever really knowing. For the kind of stability that he saw his friends have at school and that his mother's latest fling wasn't providing.

He'd picked up a bass that a fling had left behind at some point and that was the new story. Mr. Russell - had to leave at the drop of the hat as the Stones requested him as their understudy bassist. It didn't matter then that Casey didn't even know the name of the instrument in his hands. It was about vision.

It would have been easier if Mr. Russell had remained a dream. Casey could have handled the arguments with his mother's boyfriends or the tension in their house if he'd still had a hope that somewhere out there, an adult in his family was good. But, as he'd come to accept, that just wasn't life. Not black and white. Because Mr. Russell comes back and he makes sure all of them know he's returned, too. It's not even the bruises or the gashes that happen subsequently that hurt most - it's the thought that they'd been abandoned because a man loved liquor more than he loved them. And it leaves a confused ache in Casey's bones that he's not sure has ever fully shifted (only lifted slightly by Elaine and then Zahra). But it's more than that too. Because where the hurt glazes over, and the tear stains dry on pillows, it leaves something deeper in his chest. Anger. As intense as he's ever felt it.

Which might just be Casey in a nutshell. Intensity in every emotion that rips through him and takes control. He's the loud guffaw at the back of the car on a long journey when the silence is a bit too loud, the excessive tap to a back and riproaring cheer at a friend's success, and the need to replace nights spent crying into a pillow with sources of entertainment by any means necessary. It's all or nothing.

Of course, over time, the intense feeling of anger died to a duller feeling of resentment and cynicism that carried him forward through high school. Faded into the biting remark that would chip away at one of his mother's new flings or the need to stand up to Mr. Russell on behalf of either of his brothers. It would have been easier to ignore them entirely. Perhaps take solace in the fact that in a few years, Ronnie would be eighteen and could save them all from it. But Casey has never been known to take the easy way out of anything. Driven solely by his heart and not guided by his head. If no adult would stand up against his demons and fight for him - he'd do it himself; craft stories out of the bruises that sounded fantastical and make himself a hero. Still would. Even if, somewhere in the midst of hearing criticisms and remarks, he wasn't so sure he was worth fighting for. (He still isn't).

High school was mainly just another way to act out. Stupid rules and stupid social hierarchies. Somewhere... however... the want to escape from the bubble that was Cherry rose up in between wanting to actually be someone Elaine would want to be with and crafting himself into what his richer friends seemed to be granted naturally. The kind of person that his friend's father, Harvard Hargrove II seemed to be - poised, put together... being able to command effortless respect (aside from the capitalism). Of course, in Casey's eyes, this also meant needing to be twice as good as his best friend - Harvey.

It fails in many ways. He fails in many more and it takes the next two years after high school just to scramble together the pieces in an attempt to put them back together again while hoping behind a scowl that no-one would notice. He thinks he's just about holding together now - somehow. There's less nights spent chugging away at a bottle and asking people to dare him to do something careless. There's a lot less hoping he leaves the world rather than just the town borders... although he'd still take leaving town in an amazing blaze of glory any day and leaving his mark. But for now, he'll handle it. He somehow always manages to anyway.

HEADCANONS

Massive Led Zeppelin fan. He has three tattoos behind his left ear of the symbols from their fourth album and hopes to be able to get the full four eventually!

Adores animals. Is the guy at a party who purposely seeks out ur dog just to scratch them behind the ears. Would happily petsit for anyone in the gang and probably has, like, a crap ton of polaroid pictures of himself with Rex Russell. 

Very much a follower of the ‘here for a good time, not a long time’ mantra. 

Loves ABBA an ungodly amount but hides all of their records in inconspicuous sleeves. If you see two copies of 'London Calling' in his house? One copy is ABBA gold.

Rides a secondhand motorcycle that backfires far too often and really should probably be scrapped but he’s ~nostalgic~ and loves it anyway. 

Used to play soccer in high school but was asked ‘politely’ to leave the team after being constantly red carded for trying to start fights with the other team. He still kicks around a soccer ball every now and then and will happily talk your ear off about his (not so lowkey) crush on Diego Maradona. 'Did you see him at the 1982 World Cup? No? Want to watch the highlights I recorded on VHS?".

He has a map of the world taped to his wall covered by... another map of the world taped on the wall! The old one is ripped at every corner from where he has almost torn it down in a fit of rage, and yet it stays. It serves as a reminder that there’s more to life than just Cherry where everything seems impossible.

Loves a microwave meal. For the longest time, they were the only thing he really knew how to make so he’s learnt how to spruce them up a little. Nowadays, his cooking abilities don't extend much beyond this rip.

Adoooores Albert Camus and existentialist philosophy. Yes, he does want to understand the meaning of life because really,,,, what the fuck.

[i-need-your-help-discontinued]

The Context

For those of you who read my “About Me” post, you already know that I’m an Indian immigrant who lives in the US. I moved here when I was just a seven year old girl back in 2012. One of the very first friendships my parents made when we moved here was with an Indian immigrant couple, who have a son around my little brother’s age. My parents really bonded with these two people, due to their shared culture and experiences as Indian immigrants. Ever since they all first became friends, our families have continued to get closer and closer over the years.

The husband in this couple my parents became friends with is a man we will call Mr. P. I won’t be using his real name. Mr. P is my parents' trusted family friend, and I never felt like I could completely trust him for some reason. I felt guilty about it since he never really gave me a reason to feel like this- that is, until the summer of 2021.

During the summer vacation before I was going to start my junior year, my family and a bunch of other Indian immigrant families went to stay at a villa near a beach in California for a week. Naturally, we went to this beach pretty often during our stay there. One evening, we were coming back from the beach to wash off the sand on our bodies in the public showers. My mother and I were having a discussion where she randomly commented that I’m still a child. The context behind this comment is not important; however, what is important is that Mr. P chimed into this conversation by first scanning my body up and down, before telling me that “I am no longer a child, I’ve now grown up into an adult”. Despite how incredibly uncomfortable and disgusted I felt by the implication of his response, I politely told him that my mother is right- I am still a child. He spent the rest of that night lightheartedly insisting that I had in fact grown up into an adult and was no longer a child every single time we interacted for the rest of that day. Throughout the rest of the trip, he became much more friendly than I was used to all of a sudden, and even complimented my looks more than usual. This uncanny, friendly behavior and sudden increase in compliments on my physical appearance continued even after summer vacation had ended, and continued for the rest of my junior year.

During this time, not only had I confided in my friends about this uncomfortable situation I was dealing with between me and Mr. P, but I had also told my mother several times that I don’t think Mr. P had innocent intentions when we had these awkwardly creepy interactions. Alas, my mother insisted that I was looking too deep into things, and instead suggested that Mr. P was simply being so affectionate with me because he sees me as a daughter. I felt so helpless because it felt like there was nothing I could do to put an end to his inappropriate behavior. However, I had not even faced the worst of it yet.

The worst case of Mr. P pushing my boundaries happened during a trip to Mexico with my family and his. This was during the summer vacation of 2022 before senior year. One night, I was on the rooftop of the villa we were staying at. I had asked Mr. P if I could borrow his portable charger, and he came up to the roof top to give it to me. I called my mother as soon as I plugged my phone into the charger so I could inform her of my whereabouts since she was at the “adults only” pool. Unfortunately, the call did not go through due to the incredibly poor service in our area. While I was waiting for my mother to pick up the phone, Mr. P had his arm wrapped around me, his head on my shoulder. He was not exactly sober either. I felt so immensely uncomfortable from the physical contact, but had no courage to speak up against it. When the phone call didn’t go through, he told me he’d let my mother know where I am. Then all of a sudden he leaned in and….kissed me on the cheek. After a couple minutes of him profusely apologizing and me (untruthfully) insisting everything was okay, he finally left the rooftop to go join the other parents in the “adults only” pool. Months later, I finally confide in my mother after my friends insist that I should, and she still thinks it’s all just a big misunderstanding. That I’m still looking too deep into it, and that Mr. P is really only being so “affectionate” with me because he loves me like a daughter.

I feel so helpless and confused. What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to think? Is my mother right? Am I villainizing an innocent man because of my own melodramatic tendencies? I need to hear what other people have to say on this subject for my own sanity. And if you have any further questions on this issue that you’re curious about, feel free to ask them for further clarification.

Anon asks I have gotten so far.

[thewatercolours]

Right, my top ten! Let me emphasize this is not a countdown, because picking favourites is already tricky enough, without ranking them.

“Well,” he said dubiously, “in Llewdor everyone wishes on falling stars. And eyelashes, and sneezes, and ladybugs, and dozens of other things. And I never heard of anyone running into trouble with fairies afterwards.”

“Daventry is different.”

The king considered a moment, and then a smile settled across his face. He leaned against the merlon again, and by the flicker of the candle, the guard saw him draw a deep, contented breath of summer night air, and exhale slowly. Graham closed his eyes, and murmured. “Yes, Daventry is different.”

---

"Stargazers" is one of those fics that gave me tremendous satisfaction to write, because writing it felt exactly the way I hoped the reader would feel experiencing it. I loved that one wishing star art that @gerbiloftriumph had drawn a few months earlier, and I had a lovely time trying to evoke that feeling of warm summer air cooling as the constellations appear, and of just completely being in the moment (at least, in Graham's case. Not so much No1's.) It was a first time for a lot of things that have become habitual for me now. First time trying to liberally spatter it with nods to fanon developed by others. First time trying to fill a scene with tons of Rippling Consequences Easter eggs and groundwork. First time doing my stereotypical scene arc structure (which I haven't actually used as often as I thought I had! But it's lovely to pull out when I just want to let the characters ramble.)

“Well, that’s not right, to make people wait between names. You take away a boy’s name, the least you can do is give him a new one soon as you can. You can borrow one for a little, maybe. Who’s back home that you care about?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think. I can’t think.” The boy reaches up to press his temples.

Gloriana for sure, then. Known for simulating a kind of panic attack in the brain and blood, without the freezing up. Nelia pulls one of the boy’s hands away from his head. “You can’t think? That’s all right – people don’t always have to be thinking. You just have to be here with me. Hold my hand a moment. Tell you what. We’ll use a name I care about, just for today. My son was a John. Will you be a John for a little, so as I can call you something?”

"The Waystop Woman" I have a soft spot for characters finding themselves in terrible places - villains' lairs, or enslaved regions - and finding they can't just go in, guns blazing, but have to play a longer game and live there for a lengthier time than they thought. So that they can't constantly exist in a state of urgency to fight, but have to live the slower, ordinary moments of life, and make the best of it even in the strongholds of evil (and of course, character development happens.) Something about finding small moments of joy and humanity in this vale of tears. Anyway, that's really what The Waystop Woman is about. Even though I decided to leave this one unfinished for a few reasons, I'm still very proud of it. I feel like I had some stronger writing here at the prose level than usual, and I really enjoyed writing Nelia herself. A very conflicted character, she was, but with a kind heart. I never truly figured out what her plan was, and wonder if she did either. Perhaps she was just trying to arm herself , with as much information and as many relationships as possible, on the intuition they'd eventually prove useful. That scene where she helps Graham through a bad potion reaction is my favourite.

“You stopped talking. We’ve been over this. You just end up hurting when you stop. That’s our rule, remember?” Something broke in his voice, but he made himself go on. “Focus. Find the parts that still sound like you, and use them.”Swallowing, he blanked out on anything further to say. “I—but, it’s just that… hardly any of it still sounds like…” His right ear itched worse than his mother’s homemade laundry starch. But he refused to scratch it. It itched farther away from his head than should have been possible.

"Goblin Graham" - Oh, my little, green king. I still love you so much. You are a paradox. I have much higher, perfectionist standards for you than just about any other fic I write, and yet you are possibly the most over-the-top indulgent thing I've ever written. You are the heart of the whole web of Rippling Consequences, and I have to overthink you hugely to make sure you tie in properly and lay the groundwork for everything else - and yet somehow I also plot you entirely on the fly in very episodic fashion. I think there are 12 instalments that focus specifically on long-eared Graham at this point, but I had to list about half of them as favourites. Passages I really enjoyed: The sheer fun of revealing the situation little by little in "On the One Hand." Really leaning into the angst of losing your voice and you face in "On the Other Hand." Going crazy exploring goblin lore and Mordon's parasocial relationship with the unknown prisoner in the cell who gives him lots of sentences to imitate in "Voice." The fun limits I had to work within for the conversation between Mordon and Graham in "Fingers" and "Human Goblins," where Graham can hardly pronounce anything and Mordon can only quote lines he's heard Graham use before. "Threshold" was fun because I let Manny say all the horrible things that would really be hard to shake from your psyche because they're half true, and then made Graham choose to walk through the door anyway. "The Marchlands" was written in a wonderful flow state and so it has a magic to it for me. And "The Fairy -" I loved the dynamic I was able to get between Graham and Orri, and I can't wait to write them again!

(and obviously you shouldn't base the work you're proud of on how other people responded, but I think the fire was definitely fanned when I got showered with kind, beautiful GG art after I wrote that initial chapter!)

"But we were talking about salamanders.”

“Can we skip to the part where you end up with one in your mouth?”

“Did I say that was where this story was going?”

“It’s kind of obvious.”

"Salamanders and Diamonds" was a blast to write. Comedy is tricky for me to get across on the page, but I think I landed what I was trying for with this one. I had just as much fun with Grandpa and Gwendolyn's comments as I did with Graham being a human playground for salamanders, cartoony, cosplay-making goblins, and giving the king three shiny gold coins at one time, which I would have killed for on first playthrough. And you know, I don't think Graham ever catches on which fairy tale it is within the story. It was fun just making him very confused and the goblins very frustrated with his inability to play properly, even though they expended every effort on his look!

His mind feels like a stained-glass window. Strict black bands of cold metal divide every part of him. No overlaps – all neat, defined, compartmentalized. All the light that gets through the stained-glass is strange and altered. He’s not confident he remembers most colours anymore, even setting the window metaphor aside. He still has a grasp on green, and maybe gold, which helps him imagine yellow by extension. The rest have gone murky in his memory, replaced by the hazy greys and ice-blues that his eyes perceive. A year or two ago he could still remember the feel, if not the look, of most colours. With time, those have failed too.It doesn’t bother him anymore.

"Bitter Cold" is another one where I was quite pleased with the writing. I enjoyed the idea that Graham really believes he has lost his conscience and emotions, except perhaps for fear, but making it manifestly clear that he still had both, even if they show themselves differently. I enjoyed the chat he and Princess Vee have in the wine cellar - Vee has potential to be such a wonderfully voicey character. She so grounded and fun to write. And I enjoyed the leadup to Graham asking her if she thought it was possible they might be falling in love, while they are in the carriage on the way to delvier him up to arrest. I think part of what was cool about this scenario was that it forced Vee to be the emotional one who encouraged him to open up, but I think I also managed to keep her true to her character.

Many a king had ricocheted down the wishing well shaft. Or at any rate, the flattering profiles of kings, embossed and etched on brass, silver, and gold. In the two centuries it had stood, the well had seen nearly a dozen different rulers fall. Robbers tended to wander down the rope for a bit of royal graverobbing now and again.

Graham was not quite king yet. But he was the nearest thing the well had known to a king shinnying back out. Not riding jingling in a thief’s pouch, but climbing with his own rope burned fingers and knocking knees. He hadn’t come for vengeance. Only for a looking glass. But he’d got it into the bargain.

What's Past is Prologue (The Well Fic) - I haven't forgotten! I haven't! I just realized that Part Two has to be either the final or nearly final scene of Rippling Consequences. I still love this one, the one that started it all. This was back before I had absorbed any fanon, and all the jokes were game jokes ("After a little bit of trial and error later (not limited to spooling and unspooling the well rope at least ten times, loping around touching everything in the area to see if anything useful met his fingertips, and trying to hack through the thornweeds with absolutely everything on his person, including the blanket...")

Graham spluttered as the guard released him, but before he stepped away Number One poked him sharply between the shoulder blades. Muscle memory kicked in. Graham found himself straightening up and putting his shoulders back, as he always did on the training ground when Number One corrected his posture. Then he turned and glared, meeting the guard’s gaze. He deliberately slumped his shoulders and let himself fall into the easy bow-legged stance Number One was always giving him grief for. Zards; what was even the point of dragging him out here if they were just going to be embarrassed of his existence? Maybe they should just put the crown on Number One’s head and send him round to smile and wave at smug villagers. Stars knew he wouldn’t mind taking it off for a while.

"Paths, Chapter Three" (Graham vs. the Tollbooth) It's probably just because I only posted it a few days ago, but I'm still beaming with pride over this one. I think it turned out as funny as I had hoped, and it was also tremendously pleasing to cross the finishing line o f writing and editing, because this one took perseverance. Originally Graham was going to make a speech next to the Mannerly Stove goat pond and somehow fall in and get wet, and it would be embarrassing. Then I decided that wasn't embarrassing enough - I still wanted him to get wet, but i wasn't sure how to up the ante. Then my brother said, "What if he got wet with paint?" And somehow everything fell into place just from that. I also wanted to make a joke about how if the pass ever closed, this valley nation would have to subsist on lavender.

But Graham could barely make her out through the flare of the brilliant blue light, the source of which he couldn't tell. He shielded his eyes with his leather-braced arm, and the light gentled. He squinted at her old face, cracked as summer’s day mud. Her hair, on the other hand, was golden, lustrous and young, and didn’t seem to be weighed down at all by the pull of the earth. It drifted and curled round itself as though she were laying back in water. Orma. She smiled. She reached out two hands to Graham, but he instinctively hid his own behind his back.

"The Witch" was the first ficlet I ever got tag comments on - and to say I was ecstatic would be an understatement. But I especially love it now because when I revisited it recently I found I had accidentally set up a bunch of story elements I didn't even have a notion of yet! Read "The Witch" after reading "The Fairy," and you may well be able to guess where this whole unwieldy story is tending. Love it when my own writing surprises me.

“I think I speak for all when I say we are very proud to welcome our youngest knight, who, by the most incredible series of coincidences I have ever seen, joins our ranks tonight. He deserves the very heartiest. Time and again he caught us off guard, discovered the most audacious loopholes, and has already been the cause of more than half a dozen revisions to next year’s rulebook. Well done, Pockets. Astounding.”

All clapped, even some of the patrons who weren’t at their table. Kyle and Larry cheered vigorously – only Graham himself was louder. Syrup, however, tilted his head and  murmured something in the speaker’s ear. Not-syrup muttered, “Well, I would have thought that was clearly implied.” But he nonetheless waved for silence and added, “He has also, of course, thoroughly earned his position as a knight, and shown skill and gallant conduct throughout the course of the tournament.”

"Popping Corks" was an experiment in getting back to canon - trying to use people i don't usually, trying to play mainly with details already suggested by the game, and all that sort of thing. I had been wanting to send Graham out for drinks with his friends almost as long as I had been writing fic, but didn't try because I didn't have any plot ideas. And finally I said, "No plot - only drinks and friends." And considering that's all it really is, I think I did a good job. Most of us need a reminder that actually, incredible as it sounds, people do love us and it's good for everyone involved to let them show that love without second-guessing. Maybe sometimes that reminder can be a ficlet?

AND....

Ooh, I didn't do a messy doodle for this last one! Whoops. Well, um, here's a picture of it from canon.

He rolled up the poster and tucked it back the leather pocket below where his steed’s reigns attached. “Well, Triumph,” he said, “This looks as good a place as any to camp for the night. Let’s rest up. We have a big day tomorrow.”

He patted the dear gerbil, gave the castle one last “hello” glance, and almost leapt out of the saddle.

BUT THANKFULLY…

You know, I think "Extenuating" wasn't bad at all! It's really just a glorified observation that if Graham hadn't fallen down that mountain, he would have gone on blissfully believing the tournament was Tuesday and missed it. But I crafted it lovingly, and it somehow turned out to be even more about how Graham's travel books shaped him growing up. I loved writing the paragraph about all the ways he's wrecked his favourite book over the years. I remember I even did research about old-timey geography books for inspiration, and stole the name "Microcosmus" from somewhere or other - it's ok, the author died centuries back. (I also had a secret plan to get everyone to start calling the mountain round Daventry by the same name I gave them, but turns out there isn't much need to mention the mountains in most fics anyway. ;-)

---

Those are my picks for today! One thing that's gratifying - I can see that my favourites tend to be the ones I spent the longest time writing. That's rewarding! Must bear that in mind when I'm dashing off something in the heat of the moment. Got to ask myself - is the speed and brevity coming from passion for the story, or impatience?

Tiny honourable mention to one which was most definitely was rushed and yet turned out exactly how I wanted it to anyway:

*Because I love putting characters in situation where they're aware their mind is being altered by an outside force, and have to figure out how to deal with it. And I was pleased with how the whole monologue thing worked.*

Hey, KQ friends. Tell me what your ten favourite KQ works* you have created are. It can be a list of fics, art, other creations, or a combo. And if you like, tell us why. It’s not boasting- I am just very curious and it would give me joy to know.

*define KQ works as you like. If it’s got a mighty pirate in it but you consider it arguably KQ too, that counts. I’m not rules lawyering. Also you get to choose what count as separate works. Count a whole series/story as one, or highlight specific chapters/pictures out of the whole.

[bradshawsbaby]

The Proposal

Pairing: Rooster x Girlfriend!Reader

Author’s Note: This one was requested by @raefoxiegirl​! It will soon be followed by the wedding headcanon requested by @mercury-mae​!

I’m extra proud of this one, so I’d love to know what people think through comments/reblogs!

Warnings: Mostly a lot of fluff, but also some angst that comes with parental illness and loss.

- Rooster had known almost from the very start of your relationship that you were the one. You were the only woman for him, the woman his mom had always told him to hold out and wait for.

- The thought of getting to call you his wife and, hopefully one day, the mother of his children filled Rooster with the most indescribable joy and also the most calming peace. That’s how he knew you were his forever.

- “There won’t be any fear at all when you find the right girl, honey,” his mom had often said. “That’s how you’ll know it’s her.” She’d always grabbed his face with affection and pressed a big kiss to his cheek whenever she said that. “And hearts will break all over the world when my handsome Bradley gets taken off the market.”

- Rooster had enlisted Phoenix’s help before purchasing the ring.  Thankfully, the two of you were close friends so it was easy for her to spend time with you.

- “You’re lucky that we just so happen to be the same ring size,” Phoenix grinned, reporting back to him after she had casually asked to borrow some of your jewelry.

- The ring Rooster ended up picking out was a gorgeous vintage piece, which he knew you would love. It featured a large pear-shaped diamond, encircled by several smaller diamonds which sparkled beautifully in the light. It was perfect, just like you.

- Carole had wanted to give Rooster her engagement ring, as well as her wedding band, but he hadn’t been able to bear the thought of her being parted from them. His whole life long, he had never once seen his mother take those rings off. They’d been a lifelong sign of her love and commitment to his father, even years after his death.

- “Mom, I can’t take them from you,” he’d told her tearfully, holding her hand tightly as she lay in her bed, propped up with pillows and weak from the cancer that had taken her from him. “Dad got them for you. He wanted you to have them. They’re yours,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

- “My sweet baby,” Carole whispered, reaching out to cup his face. It had broken her heart that she wouldn’t get to see the man her son would become, the woman he would marry, the family he would build, the life he would lead.

- A month later, Rooster had buried his mother, the rings that belonged only to her still firmly on her finger. He knew it was the right decision. And as much as he missed his mother, he knew she was happy to be singing and laughing with his dad once again.

- Rooster hoped that you would cherish the ring he had picked out for you just as much as his mom had cherished the rings Goose had chosen for her.

- After he had the ring, Rooster decided he wanted to get your family’s blessing. Your father had abandoned your mother, brother, and you when you were just a kid, so you didn’t have a relationship with him. But Rooster knew how much your mom and brother meant to you. They had moved to Florida, which was perfect since there were a number of naval air bases out there. It gave him a great cover for why he had to travel.

- Rooster had only met your family in person a few times, but they adored him and couldn’t have been happier to give their blessing for his proposal. “She’s going to say yes,” your mom had assured him with a wink and a smile that reminded him so much of you.

- With the ring and the blessing secured, the only thing left for Rooster to do was to plan the actual proposal itself. He racked his brain, trying to come up with something that would be creative and special, but also meaningful and intimate. You deserved nothing but the absolute best in his eyes.

- Ultimately, Rooster decided he wanted to propose at The Hard Deck. It was the place where the two of you had first met and a place that held a lot of special moments and memories for you both.

- To pull it off, Rooster enlisted everybody’s help. Penny agreed to close the bar for the night, claiming maintenance work needed to be done, so that they could have the space to themselves. Maverick, Amelia, Phoenix, and Bob helped decorate the bar with flower petals and candles. Hangman and Coyote went to pick up the champagne you loved from a winery you and Rooster had gone to. Payback and Fanboy set up the speaker system and connected the playlist you had once made for the two of you.

- The night of, Rooster told you that he was taking you out for a fancy dinner, so you had gotten dressed to the nines. You went all out with your hair and make-up, glad that you’d just recently gotten a new manicure. Feeling particularly bold, you even wore the new lingerie set you had recently purchased while on a shopping trip with Phoenix and some of your other girlfriends.

- Rooster’s eyes had nearly bugged out of his head when he saw you. Whistling, he took your hand and twirled you around slowly, admiring the view. “Baby girl, you are a wonder,” he told you, kissing you softly.

- “Don’t mess up my lipstick before we even get out the door,” you teased, nudging him playfully as you grabbed your purse. “What restaurant is it we’re going to again?”

- “Some new one downtown. Hangman said it was good,” Rooster replied casually, shrugging his shoulders. He hoped he didn’t appear as jittery as he felt. He wanted tonight to go perfectly. “Don’t kill me though. We have to make a quick stop at The Hard Deck first.”

- “Everything okay? Penny said she had to close tonight for some maintenance work,” you replied, slipping your hand into his as he led you to his truck and opened the door for you, helping you up.

- “Yeah, she just needs my help with something really quick,” Rooster nodded, hopping into his truck and driving the short distance from your apartment to The Hard Deck. “Come with me, baby. Penny would love to see you, and she’ll pour you a drink while you wait,” he grinned, helping you climb back down out of the truck.

- “It looks kind of dark in there. Is everything okay with the power?” you asked in concern as the two of you approached the entrance to the bar.

- “Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it. I got you,” Rooster winked, squeezing your hand as he led you inside.

- You gasped at what you found. The entire bar and most of the surrounding tables had been covered in yellow rose petals (yellow roses were your favorite) and soft, flickering candles. As soon as you stepped inside, you heard the opening strains of Frank Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight.” It was one of your favorite songs, and the first song you and Rooster had ever slow danced to.

- “Babe, what is—”

- Before you could say anything else, Rooster was stopping you in the middle of the room and dropping down to one knee before you, which made your heart rate accelerate immediately as you covered your shocked face with both hands.

- “Baby,” Rooster began, reaching up to take one of your hands and tug it away from your face. You already felt yourself starting to cry. “I love you so much. So, so much,” he said, squeezing your hand gently as he gazed up at you with adoration brimming in his eyes. “From the moment you came into my life, it’s only gotten better. You are the very best part of me.” 

- You were definitely crying now, tears streaming down your cheeks despite your best attempts to stop them.

- “I–I’ve been so lonely for so long. But with you, I know I’m never alone. You make every day so special, baby. My mom—” You could tell he was getting choked up when he mentioned his mother. “My mom always used to tell me that when I met the right girl, I would know she was the one because I wouldn’t be afraid. I wouldn’t be afraid to commit to her and want to spend the rest of my life with her. That’s how my dad knew my mom was the one. And it’s how I know you’re the one for me. Baby, I don’t want to live a minute in this life without you. Will you marry me?” he asked, opening a black velvet box to reveal the most breathtakingly exquisite ring you had ever seen.

- “Oh, God, baby,” you cried, hoping you hadn’t completely destroyed your make-up, but grateful that the man before you wouldn’t care if you had. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes! A thousand times yes!” you exclaimed, your hand trembling with excitement as Rooster slipped the ring onto your finger. A perfect fit.

- As soon as it was on, Rooster rose and took you into his arms, swinging you around as you kissed him hungrily. “I love you! God, I love you,” you whispered against his lips, while his fingers ran through your hair.

- “I love you, too, baby girl,” Rooster murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead and holding you close.

- At that moment, unable to contain their excitement any longer, everyone came rushing out of their hiding places, cheering and screaming and covering the two of you in confetti.

- After getting repeatedly hugged and kissed, and sharing a champagne toast with all your friends, you and Rooster managed to slip out onto the beach while everyone else kept celebrating inside.

- “I’ve never been happier in my life,” you told him, gazing up at him as he slipped an arm around your waist. “I can’t wait to call you my husband.”

- “And I can’t wait to call you my wife,” Rooster replied, taking your hand in his and holding you close as the two of you began to sway to the music that was softly trickling out of The Hard Deck.

- Rooster knew that his parents were looking down tonight and that they were smiling.

[toms-cherry-trees]

What Could Have Been || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Love is not enough. Not even for soulmates.

Word Count: 4270

Warnings: Angst, no proof reading

Author’s note: Nothing to see here, move foward to the reading. Enjoy!

Let me know if you wanna be in my taglist

Ever since you were ten years old, everyone around you commented on the same thing. 

You would marry the boy next door. Tommy Shelby. 

He had been your playmate since the most tender infancy, being born one day after the other, you being the oldest of the pair, which you would use against him every time you had the chance. 

He had treated you like another mate, despite being the only girl of the Watery Lane’s rascals gang. He taught you to climb trees, shoot rats with a slingshot and whistle different tunes to attract birds. You taught him how to feed said birds from his hand and to steal sweets and fruits from the market’s stands while you distracted the owners.

Everyone down Watery Lane noticed the special connection you two seemed to share. While some neighbours advised your mother that boys and girls should not mix up, for fear of spoiling your upbringing and reputation, others smirked for themselves and augured a future where you two shared a house down the road and half a dozen children swarming around you.

You were 13 when Thomas taught you to ride your first horse, your knees trembling as you tried to hold onto the shiny chestnut colt he had borrowed from a Lee boy during the fair. Sensing your uneasiness, and fearing you might fall and injure yourself, Tommy hopped onto the animal’s back behind you, circling your frame with his arms as he held the reins and led the beast into a peaceful trot down the bank of the river. When you let the horse rest, you two sat together under the leafy branches of an oak, in a tattered blanket you had brought from home, and snacked on blackberries from some nearby bushes and clear water from the spring. He gave you a makeshift bouquet of wild poppies and daisies; you had never felt your heart leap so strongly in your chest.

He was your Tommy and you were his Poppet.

Often you two would sneak out in the middle of the night and let your hearts run free. From climbing onto rooftops to bathing in the cut, or sneaking to his Uncle Charlie’s yard to help Curly deliver a foal, the night was yours to own and do as you pleased, away from judging comments and criticising eyes. Even if it lasted for just a few short hours,they were just for the two of you, the King and Queen of town. 

The years passed, the two of you grew, so did everyone around you. As everyone expected, you became his sweetheart, and he became the envy of the block, having the sweetest piece of woman Small Heath could offer on his arm. The days flew by, the months became years, and people began to murmur. Why weren’t you two getting married? Why hadn’t Tommy proposed? The nagging gave way to the gossip. Maybe one of them lacked commitment? Maybe Tommy had found a fault with the lady? Or maybe she had found flaw in perfection?

Truth be told, none of you were in a rush. Tommy wanted to build a career and business before focusing on a family, and you had no desire to dedicate your young years to become a housewife. None of you had much money to spare anyway, and you wished for something a bit better than borrowed clothes and an appointment in the registry office. You may not be engaged yet but you had dreams. You wanted a nice party and a pretty dress, and he wanted a celebration that would be remembered for years. And in order to achieve the stars, you had to be patient.

But life had other plans.

You knew about the unrest in the continent. You heard the news of the assasination of the archduke and his wife. But you and everyone around you carried on as usual, too preoccupied with daily life to worry about those living thousands of miles away. Sure, a member of a royal family had been murdered, so what? How could it affect you, in a small town on an island not even remotely close to them?

You had held onto those hopeful thoughts all the way down to that day. You were in your parents' kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner when a young boy ran down Watery Lane, tightly clutching a piece of paper, and hollering at the top of his lungs that the Kingdom had declared war on Germany. People rushed towards their homes in such a haste you would have believed they had the troops on their tails. You tried to keep up with dinner, but your hands trembled so violently you sliced off the top of your index. 

You didn’t see any of the Shelby brothers for three days.

And when Tommy showed up, he knocked on your door like he would do any other day, leaning into the doorframe, with his hand stuffed in his pocket like he had been away for just half a day. You would have smacked him with his cap if you hadn’t been so happy to see him. Truth be told, you had already experienced nightmares of the war generals sneaking into town in the middle of the night and dragging him out of his bed and straight into Germany. 

You two sat in the small kitchen, your hands laced around a cup of tea and his hands over yours. 

“Where did you go?” Your voice trembled at the end

“Tried to run away”

That answer took you aback. You hadn’t expected something like that from him, and by the expression he bore, neither did he. 

“After the declaration, Polly told us to leave. Pack our bags, get on the road with the Lees or the Boswells, lay low until things have calmed down, no matter how long it takes. And we considered it, honestly. She wouldn’t let us go out the house, in case the recruiters came. I actually thought about running away, but that's not who I am. That’s not who I want to be. I don’t want to go down in history as one of the cowards. I want to be one of the heroes. So I will be enlisting”

That’s all it took for you to break down crying. You knew Tommy had a knack for hopeless causes, and he always seeked for the greater good. You had dreaded he would want to enlist before the war office came to drag him. But you had hoped you’d have a bit more time. 

“Hey hey, no need for tears, I am not dead yet, am I?” His dark humour didn’t help, making you in fact cry harder. He placed his index under your chin, gently lifting your face so you’d met his gaze “I will go. I will fight. And then I will return and we will get married with all the pomp and pageantry you deserve” 

And so he went off for his training alongside his brothers. Two weeks before he was due to depart, he asked for your picture to carry with him, close to his heart. You agreed, only with the condition that he’d take a photo with you, so you too would have something to carry close to your heart. He protested, but agreed nonetheless. Anything to help ease your pain. You got four pictures, two of you wearing your best Sunday dress, and two of you together, him standing behind you with his hands on your shoulders.

The last day you had, you decided to ditch everyone around you, packed a basket and went to the river, for the sake of the old times. With a bottle of beer, a bunch of fruit and the same blanket you used ten years prior, you dedicated the last hours for yourselves. There was a lot of kissing, and also a lot of tears. Tommy promised over and over he would return, and entertained you with stories of the future that awaited you, with a nice house, a dog, and no less than three children playing in the garden.

As the sun began its descent, tinting the waters and the sky of a deep red hue, you pulled from your pocket a small box, neatly tied with white ribbon, and presented it to him. Tommy raised his eyebrow, but without asking, undid the bow to reveal the present.

Inside, nested in white cotton balls, laid a locket. Oval shaped, with a smooth, silvery surface. Tommy popped it open, only to find inside a picture of yourself on one side, and on the other, a lock of your hair shielded behind glass. 

“I know you have my picture” You explained, meeting his puzzled gaze “But pictures can get wet or be lost or destroyed. I want you to have me close, as will I” You pulled out from your neckline your own locket, heart shaped, containing his picture and an empty space. Tommy got the hint. He grabbed his pocket knife and snipped the strand which usually fell over his forehead, just a small curl, enough to fill in the space. Now he had as much of you as you had of him. 

“This is a promise locket. Because that locket and that hair is mine. I am lending it to you, so you have to promise to come home to give it back” Despite the painful tightening in your chest, you managed to crack a smile. Tommy leaned in for a kiss, his hand resting on the curve of your hip, slowly descending as the kiss deepened.

Five minutes later, the heart locket was the only thing you had on.

~

4 years of waiting. Four years of anxiety, sending letters every month, and getting replies every 3 to 4 months. Opening the front door every time the mailman walked down the lane, hoping that this time he’d stop at your door, while at the same time drearing receiving a very different kind of letter. The first two years, his letters were filled with sweet nonsense, pouring his love in the paper and adding small anecdotes of the trenches. But over time the letters became shorter, colder. You tried to blame it on the stress, the lack of time, any excuse at all, while you eased your worry by keeping busy helping Polly with the business and looking after Finn and Ada.

It wasn’t until the first days of 1916 that he was granted leave, and you saw him for the first time. You were the only one waiting in the station, since the kids were at school and Polly didn’t want to close the shop. The train came to a halt with a screech, and soldiers poured from the doors like an avalanche, onto the open arms of weeping wives and mothers. You scanned the crowd for him, panic bubbling in your stomach when you couldn’t find him. Perhaps he had missed the train? Or his leave had been cancelled? The station had almost emptied completely when you saw him, but you had to look twice to recognize him. Could that be Tommy? Your Tommy? His sunken face and gaunt complexion resembled more a man on his deathbed than a twenty something year old. He sported a thin cut alongside his left cheekbone, and walked with a limp. He had seen you too, but made no effort to approach you, waiting for you to run to him. When you clashed into his chest, he circled your frame with his arm, but his body felt stiff, and the embrace cold.

Still, you wiped your tears and got the best of the ten days he would be home. You cooked his favourite meals, forewent a few commodities to afford him a bottle of nice whiskey, and generally went out of your way to make his visit pleasant. But something seemed off in him. Something had changed. Not only had his body thinned and his voice deepened, perhaps the effect of cheap spirits and toxic fumes, but something deeper seemed to be off as well. The only way you could describe it was that he had lost the joy to live. Good food and drinks had no effect on him, and not even when you laid on his bed, tangled in his sheets wearing only your promise lockets, did he show any more emotion. He had also begun to sleep during the day and keep vigil at night, his pale eyes fixated on the wall until dawnbreak. 

You didn’t see him again until the end of the war.

For months, no letter arrived, nor from him nor from the war office. You heard at home the horrors of the battles of Verdun and the Somme, only known through those who lived it, since the newspapers refused to publish anything that could tamper with the people’s spirits, and even the letters sent home were subject to censorship. The more days passed, the more your worry grew. You were forced to remind yourself that no news was better than bad news, and perhaps Tommy just hadn’t found the time to write, or had run out of pencil and paper. 

It wasn’t until the beginning of 1917 that you heard from him again. He had received leave and decided to spend it in the north of France, claiming he didn’t have enough days to make the journey back worthy. You tried to understand, but you felt the pain in your heart nonetheless. Perhaps it felt too painful for him, coming back home knowing he’d have to leave once again. Perhaps he wished to rest and did not want to make the journey home and back for just a couple days.

Perhaps he had found a better company in France. 

You pushed those unfounded accusations to the back of your mind, keeping them under lock and key. How could you think that way of Tommy? He loved you, and he would never betray your trust like that.

Right?

His lacklustre writing got you through the war, still clinging desperately to every strand of his love you could. When peace finally came, you awaited eagerly for his return and for your life to go back to normal. But you couldn’t have imagined what normal meant.

You gave the army a man and they gave back a corpse. A living, breathing, soulless corpse. If you didn’t know better, you could have sworn they sent you the wrong man. This…person, the thing he had become, he wasn’t your Tommy. He wasn’t the one you had fallen in love with.

None of them came home the same, truth be told. But obviously your attention focused on the one you cared about. You could bear some aspects, like the nightmares and the initial paranoia. But some became unmanageable. The opium, the alcoholism, the violence.

The coldness.

It felt as if romancing a snowman. Everything inside Tommy had gone cold; not just his joy to live, but also his relationships with others. With his aunt, with his brothers, and with you. He hadn’t ended things with you, perhaps out of respect for your unwavering loyalty, but he might as well have and once and for all end your misery. 

You slept with him for several nights after his return, but he would always be gone before you awoke, and would only take you to his room after dark, as if you were a cheap alleway whore and not the one he had wanted once to marry. During the days you seldom saw him, with his mind buried in the business, or perhaps still buried in the French mud. You had simply faded into the background of his life.

For your own sake, and to not let ten years of your life go to waste, you endured. You could turn a blind eye to his crooked ways, and even could pretend that the pretty barmaid from the Garrison wasn’t batting her eyelashes at him every time their eyes met, much to his apparent delight. You could pretend that you didn’t hear from Arthur that Tommy caught the fucking clap in France.

But you couldn’t deal with the violence.

His anger, rarely incurred before the war, seemed ready to lash out at any moment now. Even the slightless things sent him into madness. His hand didn’t waver to shoot an inconvenient person, or to blind them with those godforsaken blades he had sewed into his cap. It became the murmur of the town that the new copper was after him, and they even said he had killed two men inside the Garrison, before leaving with the pretty barmaid. 

One particular day, he gave you a train ticket, and offered no more explanation that I’d do you good to be away for the day. Go to London, buy some clothes, get some fresh air. Of course you threw the ticket in the fireplace and stayed home all day, knowing he would be up to something if he wished to get rid of you so desperately. News reached you about the shootout in Garrison Lane. Orchestrated by a certain Billy Kimber after Tommy tried to sack him from the races. You knew he had been shot, but didn’t attempt to go and see him. He’d have plenty of company in the afterparty to keep the mind busy and the body warm. But you? You have had enough. You could ignore anything but this. This was just the beginning, and things would only get worse from here. And you hadn’t lived through a war, only to live the rest of your days in another one. 

If this was the path Tommy wanted to take, you’d have to swallow your feelings and go the other way.

~

You were bent over your coarse kitchen table. Beads of sweat gathered at your temples and rolled down the crook of your neck, getting lost in the valley between your breasts. The curves of your body swayed in a slow cadence. You had spent the last 15 minutes working on that bread dough, kneading the sticky lump into shape, while the unforgiving summer sun heated up your tiny kitchen through the opaque window panes. The last thing you wanted to do was light up the stove, but homemade bread was considerably cheaper than store bought, and in the current situation, every penny counted. Oh, what you’d give to be laying under the shadow of an oak, enjoying the breeze and dipping your feet in the river. 

A knock on the door pulled you away from your thoughts. You weren’t expecting any visitors, at least not any that would simply drop by unannounced. The force of habit made you open the door without looking through the peephole, and you found the entrance blocked by the imponent presence of the one and only, Tommy Shelby.

Not Tommy. Thomas. He had long ago stopped being your Tommy. 

“Mr. Shelby, what brings you here?”  The formality in your tone made him flinch. Four years had passed since you walked away, and he still couldn’t get used to it.

“Mr. Shelby? My my, (Y/N) I believed ourselves to be past those formalities”

You were ready to tell him you were busy and send him off, but he decided to push past you and into the house, displaying his lack of care for social formalities.

“Make yourself comfortable, why don’t you?” You crossed your arms over your chest, watching him take a seat in the chair your husband sat in.

“Your husband came today to my office, you know?” Husband. Tommy had never used his name, Daniel. The few times he spoke to you or inquired to others about you, he only called him that. Husband. Trying to turn him into an object and not a human being.

“Did he now?” You asked, uninterested, as you wiped the table clean and covered the dough with a cloth to rise.

“Asking for money” Tommy spoke slowly, letting the words drag to test your reaction “A considerable sum, in fact” He had a triumphant smile, as if he had caught Daniel doing some evil thing and was now exposing him to you “Any idea why?”

You hesitated with your words, unsure on how to proceed. But he would find out sooner or later anyway.

“Babies are an expensive business and we need more space” You turned to face him, seeing the colours drain from his face. His pale eyes scanned your figure, stopping over your belly, covered by a white apron.

“You…”

“Why did you come here Thomas? To tell on my husband, hoping to expose him? To make me upset? What is it that you want?”

He stood and grabbed your hands, making you stumble and forcing you to hold onto him for support.

“That means this is our last chance” You were taken aback by the urgency in his voice.

“What do you mean our last chance?” You tried to step away, but he only held you tighter “We left our last chance behind many years ago. When you almost left to be with Grace in New York. When I told you I would be getting married. Now-”

“Is not too late yet” He cupped your face, and much to your dismay, his touch still sent sparks coursing through your skin “We can be together. We can be happy. I would raise your child as my own and no one needs to know”

Your knees trembled. Your mouth dried up. Had he come here, into your home, first wanting to put you at odds with your husband, and now to ask you to elope with him?

“Tommy” You spoke softly, hoping to reason with him “That is not okay. We cannot do that. Our time has passed. I have Daniel, you are due to marry Grace and have her son. Your son” He raised his eyebrows, puzzled. Officially Charles was the son of the late Mr. MacMillan, but you were no fool. The Shelby eyes never lie.

“Screw your husband. Screw Grace. I know you love me still. Isn’t it all that matters? I need you. We can grab our things and get away. Start over. Be together as we should have. Leave behind the gang, the business, our pasts. ”

Your lips trembled. A tear threatened to spill off the corner of your eye. A knot tightened painfully around your windpipe, making it hard to breathe.

“Tommy, I.. We…No. Is not the right thing. You can’t abandon your boy. And Daniel, he deserves the world, I couldn’t break his heart like that”

Tommy slammed his fist on the table “For fuck’s sake. Do you want to be happy? What is so good about Saint Daniel? He took you from me!”

You immediately became defensive, feeling anger seep into you, replacing your softer emotions. He actually had had the nerve to question your husband, instead of questioning how his own doings drove you away. You took a step back.

“He makes me happy. He loves me. He is a nice man. A nice, good, honest, hard-working man. He…”

“He’s not me. That’s the point, isn’t it? He’s safe. He is honest. He would never hurt a man, let alone kill him. He’s everything that I’m not”

His eyes scanned the room, going from the flowers Daniel had brought you and were now in a vase, to the embroidery frames with sweet little messages hung on the wall, and the two armchairs in front of the blackened fireplace; over the mantelpiece stood your wedding protograph. You saw longing in his features, longing at what his life could have been if circumstances had been different, if things hadn’t gotten in the way, if he had been different, if…

“Tell Daniel to forget about the loan” He couldn’t mask his defeat. Tommy had aged years in just a moment. He had never lost a fight, nor being kept from what he wanted. He had never known defeat. “It's a gift, for the baby. I’ll rip the paynote and we will forget about it” He opened and closed his mouth, wanting desperately to say something else but not daring to “If you ever need anything, and I mean anything at all, just call me. It doesn’t matter when or where, I’ll come to you. I’ll always come to you” 

Tommy hesitated in the soles of his feet, not daring to breach the distance between you two. In the end he leaned closer, just enough to brush a kiss on your forehead. His lips lingered more than it was wise, and you caught a glimpse of silver peeking out from between his clothes. A silver necklace. Blinding pain shot through your chest, making you gasp for breath. You tried to reach out and touch the necklace, but he had already pulled away. He fixed his cap and left.

You rushed to the window, your teary gaze following him until he had disappeared from sight. Even after all those years, your knees trembled and your stomach tickled with butterflies in his presence. Heart aching for the man he had stopped being a long time ago. For the Tommy who had been buried in France and replaced with a new one. One you never knew.

Feeling weak and shaky, you went into your room and reached into your nightstand, pulling off the bottom of the drawer to reveal a small silver chest. It had been a while since you last opened it.

Inside were no riches or jewels or great secrets of the State. Only a bunch of pressed poppies, two lovers smiling from a faded picture, a dull heart locket, and all the dreams of what life could have been.