#but that's not the point!! it's the fact that he KNEW her when she was 20 and later pursued her romantically

[readingselkie]

field notes on art analysis - "young beauty" by max nonnenbruch, 1892:

production date: the painting's production year is 1892, dating it to the victorian era

the model: there is something rather coy yet innocent about the model's pose. i also would like to note that the model could have been a courtesan. it was common for artists to use courtesans as muses and models for their paintings, and such practice still occurred during the victorian era. the elements that make me think she is a courtesan are the state of undress, the fabrics and draping of her clothing, and the gold band on her arm.

some may take my words and say because her draped clothing may deriver from asian or middle eastern fashion, it means she's a courtesan. this is not my point. my point is there was a time in which certain fashion trends and textiles, like silk, were accessible strictly through wealthy and influential people who often played hosts and clients to courtesans, and what better payment than a beautiful silk masterpiece? when analyzing art, it is important to recall the historical and cultural context surrounding the art one is analyzing.

her pose is demure but highly self-aware, as if she is perhaps being asked to depict innocence by the painter. her line of sight is directed at the artist, and the viewer, by consequence, suggesting she is perhaps attentive to any directions given to her during her portrait. the painting is titled "young beauty," and there is clear demand and compliance in the exchange between the model and the viewer.

there doesn't seem to be much tension along her shoulders or hips. her stance is rather relaxed, in fact. she isn't concerned about the artist having full view of the vase or her chest, and perhaps there wasn't a need to. it feels natural. perhaps they knew each other, frequented the same social circles. maybe this wasn't her first time posing. the way she holds her skirt is quite beautiful and it creates a sense of serene movement, as if she were unweighed by the world around her.

the flowers: victorians had a beloved language of flowers called floriography. the idea was to be able to communicate messages through floral motifs with subtlety, and at times, when secrecy called.

i do not know for certain which kind of flower the model is holding, but they look like morning glories. there blossoms open early in the day as their name suggests. the morning glory is a flower that blooms early yet closes as soon as nightfall arrives, giving spectators only a few hours of beauty a day.

the morning glory is also associated with unrequited love. it is the feeling of loving something or someone you know you might never be able to have. could the painter have been suggesting, by giving her these flowers to pose with for this permanent tribute, that he held a candle for her, even if it was unwelcome and unwanted?

or were those simply the flowers that just happened to be in the room when the painting process began?

Max Nonnenbruch, Junge Schönheit. 1892

[oceantornadoo]

ch8 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: reader has some body insecurities and a small panic attack. also oral sex. not at the same time lmao

masterlist | next

In the hazy morning of the next day, John moves to get out of bed at his ungodly workout time. Instead of feigning sleep like usual, you grab his shoulder forcefully. He freezes, then turns to look at you as you prop yourself up on an elbow. “Stay.” You murmur, voice gravelly from sleep. “You sure?” He asks, but he’s already sinking back down into the mattress. You nod, then climb on top of him, your head in the crook of his neck like always. “Go back to bed, John.” And he does.

-

The thing is, John wasn’t supposed to marry her. She wasn’t Kyle’s first recommendation, nor second. He had recommended an oil heiress, which his Captain turned down. Next, an Irish mafia princess, also turned down. In fact, his Captain didn’t seem to want to be married at all. Which was fine, if this was a normal life where Kyle hadn’t been nicked off the streets after picking the pockets of a Price man and plopped into the office of John Price, a leader who needed sneaky men with audacity like Kyle. Now, Price was pushing 40 without heirs, and that needed to be solved quickly. The Riley sister was only offered as an offhand comment.

“Christ, sir, if y’re gonna be picky, might as well marry the Riley. Then we’ll have a real shitshow on our hands.” Instead of answering, John leaned back in his office chair and stroked his beard, like a villain from a movie. “She single?” If Kyle wasn’t better trained, his mouth would’ve dropped. But he was Head of Security for a reason, so all he did was hand his boss her file. 

Kyle didn’t like the Rileys - specifically, John MacTavish. The bastard was always trying to one up him, with new toys on the streets and the threat of bombs lurking around every corner. He knew MacTavish was close with Ghost’s sister, having seen the two giggle, thick as thieves, at galas and weddings. If he was a stupider man, he’dve sensed an affair, but he knew she wasn’t Tav’s type. It was a well-kept secret, but Kyle kept it as well as his own. There were some lines you didn’t cross, even in this business.

Price flipped through the file, frowning at the data before him. “Ghost has had these weapons all this time?” Kyle shakes his head, pointing to a graph in the report. “It only really started when he recruited MacTavish, ‘bout six years ago. An’ my sources tell me the sister’s got a mind f’r business.” Price hums thoughtfully. Kyle knows what, or who, he’s thinking about. Shepherd encroaching on their territory, supplied with weapons from American ex-pats. The streets smell of gunpowder, more and more skirmishes by the day. “Ghost’s tryin’ t’ get cleaner.” It wasn’t a question, but a fact. Kyle’s informants had made him aware of the Riley family trying to buy businesses, only to be turned away when they found out who they were owned by. Price’s businesses for Ghost’s money and weapons. “Might not be the worst trade, sir.” Kyle murmurs. He can’t believe he’s proposing a wedding where he’ll have to see MacTavish on the other side of the aisle. 

-

After said wedding, Kyle started regretting the whole thing. He knows what it is to love a man, to be in love with one, and that’s not what he has with his Captain. It’s more like seeing a big brother leave for college, knowing he’s nearby but out of reach. The plan was to have Mrs. X, as the security team had taken to calling Price’s future wife, live in a property an hour out of the city. Out of harm’s way but easy to visit when baby-making was required. The plan had been developed before they’d decided on a wife for him. It decidedly went out the window once he’d decided on Ms. Riley.

Suddenly she was in the Castle, changing decor and befriending staff. She was meeting with Laswell and had taken Terrance as her own, a change Kyle had not approved of. So, sure, he was a bit of a jerk to her. It was the childish notion that she’d taken his favorite person, and he’d lashed out, only to be reprimanded by said person. Kyle's in toddler timeout, and he's determined to make it right.

-

A few days after the Friday incident, he finds her eating lunch in the kitchen. It seems she’s finally befriended Chef, a feat he could never perform. Chef’s a French grandpa, huffing out syllables that don’t go together under his breath. 

“What’re ya eatin’?” An odd opening, seeing as this is their second conversation ever. He plops down into the chair next to her as she sets down her sandwich, brows furrowed in a question. He can’t blame his Captain; she is pretty. Not his usual type in women, but her wit would attract any man. “Um, a sandwich.” She eventually responds, after getting over the shock of Kyle in her kitchen chair. He probably could’ve been smoother on entry.

“Right, well…” He looks at her and she stares back, like they’re locked in a game. He breaks away first, feeling like he’s lost. Kyle reminds himself he’s not a bloody twelve-year-old. “I liked wha’ you did with the sittin’ room.” That opens her up, a hesitant smile growing on her face. “Really? Those chairs were so uncomfortable, I could barely sit on them for more than five minutes without getting sore.” He huffs in agreement. There’s a reason no one meets in the sitting room. “Ya sure tha’s no’ the only reason you’re sore?” It slips out too easy, a question he’d usually tease one of his men with, not his boss’s wife. Kyle opens his mouth to apologize but is cut off by the sound of her laughter. It’s not manufactured to sound pretty, almost like a snort. “Sorry, I just haven’t heard those kinds of jokes in a while. You remind me of Johnny. Thank you for making me laugh, Kyle.” She seems almost grateful for his presence, and it doesn’t take an idiot to see she’s missing her family. Even if that means getting compared to MacTavish.

“Call me Gaz, ‘s what everyone calls me.” She nods contentedly, reaching for her sandwich to take another bite. The silence is peaceful, interrupted when he remembers why he originally sought her out. Kyle pulls out a report he’s been carrying and sets it near her plate, noting how she sucks in a breath at the title. Protection Plan for Mrs. Price.

“Since y’r openin’ up y’r store, Price wanted me t’ give ya a team. Could’ve done it on my own but I had a feelin’ y’d want to give some input.” She nods thoughtfully, pushing her plate away to focus on the report. It’s a few minutes until she finishes it, diligently reading every page. “I want at least one woman on my team. And I still want freedom, I don’t want to be followed everywhere.” He sucks in a breath at her words, which won’t be possible if Price has anything to say about it.

“Righ’ well, can’t guarantee tha’ second part. Not sure if ya’ve noticed, but London’s an active war zone right now. They’ll be discreet, an’ the lowest amount I can do is four.” She harrumphs, crossing her arms like how his Captain does when he’s upset. It’s eerie how they’re already starting to mirror each other. “Fine, but I want Terrance on it.” Kyle nods, going to stand. 

“Gaz.” She grabs his forearm to get his attention. “I know we didn’t get off on the right foot, but I’d like to be friends. If you’re willing.” He gives her a half smile, ruffling her hair. Kyle doesn’t notice how she freezes at his action, like she’s trapped in a memory. “Only if ya give me the rest of y’r sandwich.” Unfreezing, she laughs and pushes the plate towards him. “Don’t worry, there’s enough to go around.” He winks at her, and heads towards the security room. He might’ve accepted Terrance’s earlier security report, but he’s determined to make it up to his Captain, starting with re-running Phil’s background. Kyle’s got some security tricks up his sleeve, and he’s ready to prove his title to John.

-

The dress fits you like a glove.

It’s a fresh Saturday night, London’s night sky only slightly smoggy. John’s been invited to some benefit for cancer, a philanthropic cause you didn’t even know he supported. So now, you’re in a formal red dress, floor length with a high thigh slit. You stand in front of your vanity and smooth down the satin fabric, ready to slip on your heels. You usually do that step first, but they’re a mile high and you didn’t want to risk slipping on the carpeted dressing room floor. John’s been in the shower, but now he’s buttoning his shirt in the other room. Your dress is unzipped too, requiring a force of nature for the zip to go all the way to the top.

“John, can you help me?” He’s there in an instant, arms circling the length of your waist. “You look so fuckin’ good. Smell fuckin’ delicious.” He noses the crook of your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your perfume. John rubs his hands up and down, smoothing out creases in your dress. “So pretty f’ me, aren’t ya?” All you can do is nod when he’s like this, allowing yourself the precious gift of easy affection. “Can you help me with my heels?” He kisses your exposed collarbone, then squeezes your hip as he goes to find your heels. They’re higher than what you’re used to wearing, putting you closer to eye level with John. He goes to his knees, finding your right leg through the layers of fabric in his way. You got a pedicure the day before, patting yourself on the back as he kisses the top of your foot. “What’s gotten into you? It’s like you're under a spell or something.” He’s quiet as he slips on your shoe, kissing your ankle before setting it back down. John reaches for your other foot in quiet reverence. “Ya look like a princess.” He finally murmurs, having finished with your heels. “You feelin’ ok?” He asks. You shrug. Clearly, you haven’t hidden your nerves well. This is your first official entrance into mafia society as a couple, even if the lines of your relationship are too blurry for you to understand. 

“Let me make ya feel better?” His hands are already tracing your plush skin, parting the slit of your dress. He works his way up efficiently, stopping at the apex of your thighs. “What’s this?” You shrug again, this time with a smirk on your face. “It’s black tie, right?” By black tie, you mean the black lace under your dress. It’s a little piece you found at a boutique lingerie store near the bookstore. There’s a heart cutout in the middle of the front part, right above your slit. John kisses the exposed skin, sucking hard before he pulls away. “Black tie my fuckin’ arse.” You giggle and push your hips forward in a wanting motion. “Weren’t you going to make me feel better?” He goes to work with a single-minded vigor. John pushes the scrap of lace to the side, nearing closer so he can lift your leg onto his shoulder. He doesn’t tease you like usual. Instead, he licks and sucks lewdly, moaning at your wetness. He flicks his tongue against your clit as it hardens at his motions. “Even sweeter down ‘ere.” The low tone of his voice vibrates against your cunt, sending a spark to your core. “She like when I talk to ‘er?” He’s talking to your cunt, you think. It’s hard to hear over the rushing of blood in your ears. All you do is nod, pushing his head closer with your free hand as your other one scrambles for purchase against the wood of your vanity.

“Thought so. So wet, baby, like I’ve been neglectin’ ya. Have I?” You shake your head as he keeps up the pace of his tongue, adding a finger into your hole to up the pressure. “No, no, not neglected.” You cry from near-overstimulation. You can practically feel him smile against your pussy, the scratch of his beard making the coil in your stomach grow tighter and tighter. “Thought so. Yer husband takes care of ya, tha’ righ’?” Your hips cant against his face, almost fucking it. “Yes, yes, John.” He sucks your clit hard, finger pumping in and out. “She’s so close I can fuckin’ taste it. Come for me, go’on.” And you do, pressure rushing out of your core in waves. “Good girl, baby. Knew you could do it.” He tugs your underwear back in place, cleaning up the cum on your thighs with his fingers. You hear him suck them clean, sending another shock to your core.

John stands, wiping his hands off on his slacks. He’s in a full tuxedo and wears a dashing red tie to compliment your dress. You quickly peck him on the lips and pull back before he can ruin your makeup. His beard pulls up in a half-smile, elated that you kissed him first. It’s not hard to tell he loves when you do that, returning his affection of your own volition. “Thank you, Mr. Price. You clean up well yourself.” You tug his tie playfully. “Now zip me up.”

He does it gracefully, fingers brushing your back as he inches the zipper up. You swear this dress is too small as you suck in more and more the higher he zips. Unfortunately, your husband has the power of turning any encouragement into sinful words whispered in your ear. “There we go, tight fit, love. Squeeze in, baby, tha’s a girl. Feel ok?” You can only nod, ribs heavily constrained. It reminds you of your wedding dress, except this time you chose to be trapped.

It’s a whirlwind of a drive as John helps you into the limo and helps you out only minutes later. The gala is at a nearby museum, but etiquette and uncomfortable footwear required you to drive. It’s a grand marble building, like a bigger version of John’s flat. Limos line the outside as people step out of cars dressed to the nines. You do have something to look forward to tonight - your family.

John guides you in with a hand to the back and you’re already escaping his grasp to search for Simon, who promised he was coming. Apparently, philanthropic foundations are great to donate to when you run a gang that needs some tax benefits. You’ve been to a few of these, but a glance at John’s upcoming calendar revealed he donates a lot more than your brother. A new routine to get used to. 

“On your left.” John murmurs, and sure enough, there’s the top of Simon’s blonde head. He’s Mr. Riley at these events, not Ghost. You hold yourself back from running. Instead, you gather your skirts and walk quickly towards him, ignoring how John’s hand slips from your back.

“Hi!” You don’t give Simon a chance to answer, smothering him in a hug. He picks you up at your waist and spins you, a remnant from your few shared childhood memories. “Hi, lovie. Look at you, all dressed up.” He sets you down gently. Simon’s hand brushes your left one, causing you both to glance at the ring on your hand. You catch a slight frown, but it disappears into the collage of scars on his face. “Doin’ ok?” He asks quietly, only at a volume you can hear. You glance back at John, who’s making small talk with Johnny as the two men stand nearby. You turn back to Simon with a small smile on your face, nodding shyly. “It’s goin’ ok.” He drags a hand down in his face in exasperation. “Christ, the way he looks at you, kid. Not somethin’ a brother should be seein’.” You groan, swatting his hand away. “Gross. You’re acting like I don’t have to constantly dodge you and Johnny making out.” You say it in present tense, like it’s a problem you’re still facing. Unperturbed, you grab his hand and make your way to the bar, leaving your dates behind. “C’mon, Si. Let’s catch up.”

-

You must’ve had black magic in that perfume of yours. It’s the only explanation for why John feels like this, like he can’t be untethered from you for more than a minute. He was worried this thing between you, new and delicate, was just lust, but it’s becoming clear it’s much more. It’s the way you immediately sought out your brother, not caring for social niceties. How you challenged him with your argument at the bookstore, fire in your eyes as you protected your livelihood. It’s all rolling into a grand, sticky mess in his heart, weighing heavier and heavier every day.

The gala is full of politicians milling against the backdrop of the London Art Museum. Paintings of old rich geezers surrounded by the bodies of new rich muppets. There’s some people dancing in a slow waltz in the middle of the room, with high tables bracketing the dance floor in a crude outline. He doesn’t think you’ve noticed any of this, content to abandon him high and dry in search of your brother. John exchanges niceties with Johnny MacTavish, then leaves him to find Kate. She’s around here somewhere, schmoozing with potential clients. She may work on retainer for John, but she’s an independent contractor in her own right, always on the lookout for the next big fish. 

He finds her eventually, talking to a MP far from the dance floor near a statue. “Lord Walsh.” John inclines his head at the man, who’s severely shorter than him with a significant bald spot. “Mr. Price. I’m surprised to see you here.” Jon frowns at the insinuation. Kate slowly inches towards John, looking polished in her navy pantsuit. “How so?” There’s danger laced in his words which Lord Walsh takes a few seconds too long to process. “I, well, excuse me.” He exits not-so-gracefully with sweat beads running down his receding hairline. John turns back to Kate, who’s wearing a rare smirk. “What?” She shakes her head, turning to face the crowd. “Sometimes I forget how much of a shark you are. Too used to seeing you surrounded by finery at home.” He snorts, turning with her. 

They both find his wife in the crowd, easy to spot with the shocking red of your dress. You’re throwing your head back in laughter at something Ghost said, giggling like a little kid. John feels a smile growing under his beard. Kate notices too, elbowing him in the side. “We get it, you’re disgustingly infatuated.” He shakes his head, dropping the smile. “‘S not like that.” She snorts, a rare show of emotion, a credit to how long they’ve worked together. “Whatever you say, John. Now let me find new clients before you scare them away.” He nudges her shoulder, content to stay alone as she walks away.

Unfortunately, his newfound solitude is immediately interrupted by a foul-smelling scent. He turns and lo and behold, there’s a phantom at his shoulder. “Lady Walsh.” John takes a step away from her, preventing their shoulders from brushing. “I saw you talking with my brother.” There’s a bite to her voice. It’s reminiscent of the one regrettable night they shared years ago, a night clouded with too much whiskey and not enough forethought. “Exchanging pleasantries.” He can hear her frown from a mile away. 

“Is there something you need?” He bites out when she doesn’t respond. Lady Walsh does this occasionally, finding him at events and trying for a recreation of that lone night. He didn’t consider it then, but he especially doesn’t consider it now. In fact, all he can do is track the sound of your laughter and drown in it, even across the dance floor. Lady Walsh leaves, and John decides to find the bar that you’ve abandoned and bring you a drink.

-

“I miss you, Si.” You mumble after your second martini. He’s found you two a table in the corner, somewhere you can hear each other over the quartet. “I do too, kid. Manchester’s different without ya.” You take a sip of his water, then spit it out when you realize it’s vodka. “Gross! Since when do you drink vodka?” He takes the glass out of your hand and downs it in one sip. “Johnny’s been on a kick. Think he’s been bored since ya left.” There’s immediate regret on his face as you take in his words. “No, love, ‘s not yer fault. There’s been other things happenin’. Nothin’s yer fault.” You nod, swallowing hard. “I think I’m gonna find the bathroom.” He nods worriedly. You push on the table to get up, but he stops you with a soft hand on your shoulder. Simon kisses your forehead, then shoves you towards the bathroom. “Don’t overthink. Go piss.” You snort, swatting his hand away.

In the bathroom, you stop in the mirror to apply your lipstick. A woman exits one of the stalls behind you, going to wash your hands. She’s like the image of your better self, with clearer skin and a figure you’d kill for. It’s the gin speaking, your brain reasons, but that doesn’t stave off any insecurities you’re projecting. Your heart is raw after your conversation with Simon, and this just makes it worse.

“You’re John’s new wife, right?” The mystery woman says as she finishes washing her hands. It shakes you out of your reverie. “Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” She purses her lips, now reapplying her blush. “Lady Walsh. I’m not surprised; I don’t think John would’ve mentioned me.” You frown at her insinuation. She takes your silence as acceptance, turning towards you with a feline smile on her lips. “I’m surprised you’re even walking. Lord knows it took me a week to recover from the last night I spent with John.” Your mouth drops. “Anyways, love your dress!” She breezes past you in a whirlwind of soap and perfume, leaving the bathroom gracefully.

You, however, exit in a fit of starts and stops. Your chest aches with the pain of breathing, reminiscent of the panic attack you had in a London garden almost two months ago. That thought makes things worse, blurring your vision. Someone grabs your arm, a warm presence guiding you to a bench in a darkened hallway.

“Sweetheart, you okay?” It’s John.

“No, I- I just need a second.” In the background, you hear people laugh and glasses tinkle. John places a warm hand over your knee, grounding you to the moment. “In an’ out, yeah?” You nod as your breathing slowly calms. It’s just you and him for a second, listening to the sounds of your breath go in and out. “Want some water?” He moves to get up, but you grab his arm before he can. “Stay with me?” You whisper. John sits back down, wrapping that same arm around your waist to pull you closer. 

“Wanna tell me about it?” He kisses the temple of your head, and you stiffen under his touch. The change is noticeable as the air goes cold. “Why haven’t we fucked?” It bursts out of you, almost in anger. John’s shock is clear as day as his arm drops from your waist. “I- why’re you askin’?” His hesitation is not what you wanted to hear. “I talked to your friend in the bathroom. Lady Walsh.” John groans, dragging his hand down his face. “Christ.” You wrap your arms around your waist at the sudden chill between you. John shrugs off his blazer and places it on your shoulders. The scent of it is overwhelming: musk and pine and man.

“She an’ I happened once, years ago. Been followin’ me like a hound ever since.” That makes you feel slightly better, but the conversation brought out a monster you didn’t want to face head-on. Your insecurities over this limbo of a marriage have been haunting you, and now they’ve taken the form of that woman in the bathroom. “You didn’t answer my question.” You murmur. John nudges your shoulder, moving closer when you don’t scoot away. “I didn’t want t’ pressure ya. Could eat ya out every night an’ be the happiest man on earth.” You bark out a laugh. He takes it as a sign to close the distance between you, tucking you under his arm. “What about the kids? The heirs?” You emphasize it with an eye roll. He snorts, pulling you closer. “Ever heard of artificial insemination? Surrogacy? A lot they can do these days.” He talks like he’s a hundred years old and not barely 38. “Why wasn’t that in the contract to begin with?” He’s quiet. “Not sure, actually.” 

“I don’t think I want to do anything sexual for a while.” You eventually whisper. “‘S fine.” John replies. “I want to go to dinner.” You turn to him with a small smile on your face. “Ya want to go’on a date, baby?” You nod. He frowns in that way when he’s upset that he didn’t think of it first. A realization dawns on his face when he understands what you’re asking for. A new start, free from this societal gossip and pressure. John kisses your forehead gently. “Tha’ okay?” You nod like a lovesick teenager, giddy with the thought that he understands you so well. “Dance with me?” He stands and offers you his hand. You take it.

-

“Graves. Report?” The General is half-cloaked in the darkness of his office, eyes glinting through the shadows. “Comin’ along well, sir. Price has given himself a new weakness right when we needed one.” Shepherd hums in agreement. “Don’t fuck this up, Graves. You’re on your last strike.” Phil nods, backing out of the room. He will not mess this up. He can’t afford to.

-

yayyy gaz redeemed himself and we have a plot! i was lowkey getting worried. i hope nothing bad happens...

-

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[cjlouwho]

Death at the Farmer's Market

You guys all decided on this poll that Tommy should get stabbed at the farmer's market, so here you go! *no major character death, a murder/suicide plot is briefly discussed*

He supposed the farmer's market wasn't the worst place to die. He'd prefer to be elsewhere, but it could be worse than the farmer's market.

He hoped his dad never found out he died right by the fruitcake stand. He could hear the jokes now.

Actually, his dad probably wouldn't come to the funeral, but he'd have to tell his buddies at the bar at some point.

He'd either completely ignore the whole “he was right by the fruitcakes” part, or he's use it as a silly little anecdote to lighten the mood.

Either way, Tommy wished he would've been stabbed literally anywhere other than by the fruitcakes. The soap booth would've been nice. Or by the bracelet lady. Hell, even the woman trying to get rid of the clothes she purchased at the height of some MLM scheme would've been preferred.

In fact, the MLM woman was super helpful at the moment as she used one of her checkered shirts to apply pressure to one of his wounds.

Tommy had managed to get the man on the ground before the stabbing happened. He just wished he'd known the guy had two knives instead of one.

He hadn't been the target. Had seen this man storming toward a woman and her daughter. She must've known him; she shouted his name when Tommy tackled him to the ground.

Tommy didn't let go of the man- Charlie, he thinks- until he stopped moving. The pain didn't register until the little girl screamed, pointing at him. He looked down to see blood soaking his shirt, and a knife sticking out of his chest.

He collapsed to the ground soon after that.

Right by the damn fruitcakes.

Thankfully, someone had the brains to yell out and make sure no one removed the knife.

Miss MLM dropped down beside him and pressed her clothing onto the wound that was bleeding the worst.

In his slightly dazed state, he tried to reach into his back pocket for his wallet. Felt the need to pay this lady for destroying her product.

Beside him, some man took his hand. Reassured him over and over that it'd be okay, help was on the way.

Tommy had heard that line before. Hell, he'd told people that line before. Not that help was coming, because he was the help. But he'd often tell people they'd be okay. Especially when he knew they wouldn't be. It's easier to die when you think you won't.

Tommy coughed. Ignored the taste of copper in his mouth. “T- The wo... woman?”

“She's okay,” another woman said. Tommy couldn't see where that voice was coming from. “You saved her.”

Well, at least he had that.

Then, there was another voice. A very familiar voice.

“Maddie?” Tommy mumbled.

Someone had called 9-1-1. They'd put her on speaker.

“M- Maddie, no... no one- eight-” he was cut off by another coughing fit.

The phone must've been near his head, because he was fairly certain she heard him.

“Tommy?! Tommy, is that you?”

The man holding his hand patted it, getting his attention. “Tommy? Is- Is that your name?”

“Mmmhm,” Tommy managed to hum.

“Yeah, his name is Tommy.”

Tommy was sure he heard an, “Oh God,” on the other end of the line. If he wasn't in the middle of dying he'd tell her she needed to work on her subtleties. Then she was off the line. Whether it was brief, or for a while, he wasn't sure.

“Hey, hey!” Hand-man exclaimed, hitting Tommy's hand harder now. “Keep your eyes open, Tommy! Come on, hang in there!”

Tommy glared at the man. He didn't need to be told what to do. If he wanted to close his eyes, he'd close his damn eyes! What the hell did it matter anyway?

Suddenly, people were yelling, and sirens could be heard in the distance. A path was being cleared seconds later, and familiar people with actual names dropped beside Tommy.

“Well look at this,” Chimney said, and Tommy made a note that he hid his panic much better than his wife did, “here to save your ass, yet again.”

“I ha- have... I have s- saved your ass a- a bunch,” Tommy deadpanned.

“Yeah, yeah, don't rub it in.”

“He's not wrong though,” Hen agreed, cutting Tommy's shirt open.

Tommy was about to attempt a joke about how he wouldn't have skipped his workout had he known he'd be exposed like this, but he was stopped before he could start.

“Tommy! Tommy!”

Tommy's eyes drifted up as Chimney and Hen continued working on him. “Ev- Evan, I didn't-”

“Shh,” Buck soothed, running his fingers through Tommy's hair. “Don't try and talk, just- just relax, okay?”

And oh, it ran in the family, because Evan was not doing a good job at keeping his tears in his eyes.

“S'okay,” Tommy said. His arm flailed up limply beside him until Buck took it. “S'okay. I- I'm okay, E-” He was cut off by another round of coughing, followed by severe pain, and ten suddenly, everything went black.

*****

Tommy wasn't exactly sure how death worked, but he was fairly certain it didn't involve waking up in a hospital bed.

He groaned as he blinked his eyes open, his body feeling stiffer than it ever had in his life.

“Tommy?”

He looked over to see Evan sitting in the chair beside him, eyes wide and wet. Their hands were tangled together, Evan's knuckles white from the tight grip.

“M- Morning,” Tommy muttered, voice gravelly.

He managed to get a little smile out of Evan with that. “It's actually ten at night.”

“Oh. Sorry for, um, sleeping all day.”

Buck rolled his eyes, letting go of Tommy's hand to grab a cup of water off the tray table.

“Sip,” he instructed, and Tommy obeyed.

“So... not dead, then?” Tommy asked once he was finished with his drink.

Buck sat and took his hand again. “Nope,” he confirmed. “Couldn't let you die by the table of fruitcakes.”

Tommy laughed, wincing when a flash of pain came over him. “Thanks for understanding.”

“Of course.”

“What... What about the other guy?”

“He... He didn't make it,” Buck replied. “I guess you two were, um, st- stabbing each other at the same time?”

“Didn't know he had the second knife,” Tommy said. “I'm not upset h- he's dead though.”

“You shouldn't be. He had a note with him. He was there to kill his ex-wife. Daughter too, then himself.”

“They'll... They'll be okay, won't they?”

Buck smiled. “They've already contacted the hospital. They'd like to visit, when you're up for it.”

Tommy looked down at their hands, giving Buck's a squeeze. “A day or two.”

Buck nodded.

They sat in silence for a moment, Buck rubbing his thumb over Tommy's. “I have a question.”

Tommy shook his head. “Here we go.”

“Why were you at the farmer's market? Alone? On a work day?”

“Are you sure I'm not dead? Positive th- this isn't purgatory?”

“Tommy.”

“I may have told a little, tiny fib about whether or not I could get off work early.”

“Thomas Buckley-Kinard!”

“I wanted to get you some flowers!” Tommy defended. “And I- I was gonna get the house all ready. Make you a special dinner, dessert, th- the whole nine yards.”

“See, this is what happens when we lie.”

“We get stabbed on our second wedding anniversary?”

“Exactly.”

Tommy sighed, pouting out his bottom lip at Buck.

“Don't do that!” Buck whined. “I can't deny your pout!”

“It's because I rarely bring it out. Forgive me, Evan?”

“I can't not forgive you after you got stabbed.”

“It would be very unfair,” Tommy agreed.

Another eye roll and Buck stood, leaning over the bed to press a kiss to Tommy's lips. “I love you, Tommy.”

“I love you too.”

“Don't ever get stabbed again, okay?”

“I'll try,” Tommy promised. “Especially not by the damn fruitcakes.”

[monogamia]

hiii! i loved the piece you wrote about caleb, sylus, and xavier’s reaction to their kid telling their mom to shut up. i was wondering if i could request a part 2 with zayne and rafayel?

i hope you’re well and stay hydrated!

੭⠀A LITTLE PRANK.

⋆⠀AUTHOR'S NOTES: I made this part a little longer than I intended, but I hope you like it. <3

⋆⠀FEATURING: Rafayel, Zayne.

⋆⠀WARNINGS: English is not my first language, so it may contain some mistakes.

𝜗ৎ ⠀⠀RAFAYEL

That afternoon, your house was bathed in an unusual calm, almost total silence, if not for the soft giggles coming from your youngest daughter as she played with her father. Rafayel was sitting on the floor, holding her tiny hands, dipping them into paint, and letting her clap them onto a piece of paper already grayish from so many colors blending together.

You watched the scene with a smile on your face, until your eldest son walked into the room, wearing that mischievous look you knew all too well. You swore his playful nature was inherited from his father—and the older he got, the worse it became. He wasn’t disobedient or rebellious, but he had recently developed a habit of testing boundaries, especially with his dad. This time, he had even convinced you to play along with one of his ridiculous ideas.

He flopped onto the couch, yawning. You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “You should take a shower before sprawling all over the furniture after your outings.”

Rafayel glanced over at the two of you, opening his mouth to say something, but your son spoke first. “Shut up—”

He didn’t even finish the sentence, falling silent when a high-pitched gasp escaped his father’s lips. Even your daughter looked up, slightly startled. Rafayel stood up, holding her in one arm, while his free hand pointed at the teenager. “Are you trying to get disowned!?”

While your son stood there completely speechless, you had one hand over your mouth, laughing. “Dad—”

“What are you, a caveman, to act like that?” Rafayel asked, his voice dripping with exaggerated disdain. The baby in his arm burst into laughter, clapping her hands and then rubbing one of them on his cheek, leaving a blue smudge behind.

”… It was a prank,” the boy explained, already embarrassed by how far his father was taking it.

Rafayel narrowed his eyes. “Oh, a prank? How wonderful, we’ve got a comedian in the family.” He gestured dramatically with his free hand. “Apologize to your mother. Now.”

Your son sighed, sinking further into the couch with a groan. “Mom…!” he grumbled, clearly hoping you’d tell him to shut up.

𝜗ৎ ⠀⠀ZAYNE

Your son was never a stubborn or messy child, at least not when he was younger. Whether it was adolescence or simply him picking up traits from his parents, the fact was that he had developed a habit of annoying his father. Not with any bad intentions—just a pure, innocent desire to disrupt the poor man’s peace. And this time, he had even managed to convince you to join him.

Zayne was in the living room, reading a book, and beside him, your son was doing the same. You entered the room to remind your son to tidy up his room, though you had already forgotten about the plan the two of you had cooked up. “So, when do you plan on making your room livable again?” you asked, glancing at your son.

Without even looking up from the book, he replied, “Shut up, mom.”

You pulled a genuinely surprised expression, as your boy had never spoken to you like that before. Sensing your disbelief, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow. And that’s when you remembered, letting out a sigh.

The book was suddenly plucked from his hands, and he could swear the atmosphere in the room had grown a little colder.

“Would you like to repeat that?” Zayne asked, his gaze locked on his son. The boy gave an awkward laugh and swallowed hard, already regretting the idea. “I think you should reconsider your actions… While you’re tidying up your room.”

Running a hand through his hair, he glanced at you, almost pleading for your intervention, but decided to obey instead, leaving you with the unpleasant task of explaining it had all been… a “joke”.

You sat down beside Zayne on the couch, leaning your head on his shoulder. “He was just trying to get on your nerves again.”

“I suspected as much, but your surprised expression threw me off,” Zayne said, pinching your cheek lightly. “I believe next time he’ll choose a prank that doesn’t test my patience like that.” His lips curved into a faint smile.

[impish-baby]

A few glimpses into 'both arms cradle you now' reader's childhood in no particular order

"Why do birds suddenly appear evertime you are near.." The wet tears running down your cheeks are gently brushed away, whatever nightmare plaguing your sleep seems so far away now that your dad is here. "Just like me, they long to be close to you.." Damien hoists you into his arms, still humming that familiar lullaby as he carries you to the kitchen.

"Why do stars fall from the sky every time you walk by.." You're set on top of the counter, Damien ruffling your hair softly before walking over to the fridge to fetch a carton of milk. "Just like me.. they long to be.. close to you.." The warm glow of the stove makes the quiet night more cozy, the shadows along the walls retreating as well as any lingering fear.

You can feel you eyes start to droop, a small yawn leaving your lips making the man chuckle fondly. "One sec, ok? Daddy has some angel milk for you so you don't have anymore bad dreams, then we'll get you tucked back into bed."

-

"Do you want to hold him, sweetie?" Not really, but a nudge to your shoulder has you taking a reluctant step forward anyway. You're not sure how to feel about him, he's your dad's but not your mom's.

Mary scoots over a little so you can climb up on the hospital bed next to her, a tired but kind smile on her face. "Here, it's ok, you just need to make sure you're supporting his head.." She helps guide your arms into the right position, placing the tiny buddle into them, a pair of equally tiny disgruntled blue eyes soon staring up at you.

When you were first told that your stepmom was pregnant, you tried really really hard to just be happy for them. You promise. The sinking dread never went away though, no matter how much you berated yourself for feeling that way.

Babies are a blessing, but the announcement only cemented the fact that the world as you knew it was ending. Your dad isn't just your dad anymore. Even then, he hasn't acted like one to you in a while. Maybe you were just denying the inevitable.

"Ohh, I think he likes you.." Mary's head rests on your shoulder suddenly, distracting you from your sullen thoughts. "See? You're a natural with little ones!"

"He's glaring at me.."

She laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as she sits up. "No, he's just getting used to the world, darling. He loves you, he knows he has the best older sibling he could ask for."

-

"What's even the point?" You're both supposed to be sleeping even though it isn't a school night, Aunt Lisa is strict when it comes to things like that. What she doesn't know won't hurt her though.

"Because they look cool," Avery shrugs, carful of the fact you're currently snuggled under one of his arms. "And you get bragging points for catching them." You still don't get it, they're the same thing just a different color. "You've watched me play for like an hour, and now you're bored?"

"You were actually doing stuff before.." You huff, "You've been going around in a circle for fifteen minutes."

You scoff at his comment, now filled with spite to actually beat the game. You've barely moved an inch before the battle music plays, a black and purple pumpkaboo greeting you. "Oh, um..

"I

Well, excuse me," Avery sniffs playfully, "You play since I'm not entertaining enough." The console is handed over to you, the older boy simply holding you closer. "I bet you lose the first match you try."

"Huh?" Avery sighs, quickly pouting when he looks back at the screen. "Seriously? Damm, you're lucky." He pokes your cheek, "You catch it for me and I'll buy you some fries tomorrow."

-

"You're so annoying!"

With how hard you hit the ground, you know you're going to bruise. You weren't even talking, you just wanted to hang out with them.

"Seriously, who even wanted you to come over? I sure didn't!" No matter what you do, Lizzie doesn't like you. Doesn't matter if you're as friendly as can be or give her some space, you're always doing something wrong. "You're wasting good air, you know?"

"M' sorry, didn't mean to bother you." You won't cry, you're too old for that. "Liz-"

"You didn't mean to? Yeah, right!" Lizzie scoffs, kicking dirt into your face. Dust immediately stings your eyes. "You're a pest! No wonder everyone calls you bug, you're clingy like a tick, a parasite."

Your feeble attempt to rub the dirt away isn't really helping, you can barely hold your eyes open enough to look up at her. Miles isn't going to do anything to help either, silently supporting his sister.

"No wonder your dad left you! And your mom, she must be insufferable if you're her kid-"

You don't know when you managed to get up on your feet or when you grabbed a handful of Lizzie's hair. On the bright side, it makes her shut up.

"Hey!"

Your dad emerges from the house, miles trailing behind him. Of course.

"What has gotten into you?" You've let the older girl go at this point, she wasn't even crying until he came outside.

"Ow, dad.." Lizzie hides behind Damien, flashing you a smirk. "I wasn't even doing anything and they decided to be mean.."

Any inking of doubt you had evaporates in an instant. You don't have a dad anymore, you haven't in years.

"God.." He crosses his arms, the stern look would have made you wince if you weren't already shaking. "Don't even try to give me any excuses, Miles told me what happened. You can wait out here for your mom to pick you up since you can't behave yourself. I thought you knew better."

-

"Can you at least try to eat half, please?"

Your plate sits almost entirely untouched, having just been picked at over the course of dinner. Your mom's worried frown won't leave her face. "You're still a growing kid, I don't like how many meals you've tried to skip."

"I'm not hungry." You really aren't, there's always a nauseous feeling in your gut these days. "I'll eat a snack later, don't worry, mom."

"Baby.." She pinches the bridge of her nose and you feel a pang of guilt for how stressed she must be. "Please? For mommy? Or at least talk to me about what's going on.. i- it hurts seeing you so sad all the time."

What are you supposed to say to that?

Against your will, there's tears starting to drip down your cheeks. You don't think you've ever seen the women move so fast, her chair clattering to the floor in her rush to go to your side. "Oh, my baby.."

"I- I'm sorry.." For what you don't know, maybe the fact that she's stuck with you. "I- I'm so sorry, mom-"

"Oh, hush.." You're too big for her to carry, you both know, but she still scoops you into her arms. "There's nothing in the world you need to apologize to me for."

You sniffle, tucking your head under her chin. "I- I don't want to see dad anymore.. or.. or hear about him or-"

"Shhh.." She runs a hand through your hair in an attempt to soothe you, "you don't have to, alright? We'll figure it out. If that's what you want, you won't ever have to see him again."

(a/n: some ramblings while I start writing the second part to the series..reader will continue to go through it)

[xoxo-sarah]

If the Roles Were Reversed

My Wife part 2

Part 1

↝a/n: I have been given so much love for the first part and I can't express how grateful I am for it. It fills me with so much joy when people express how much they like my work. I have been asked to make a part two and who am I to say no?

↝pairing: season 1!Daryl Dixon x wife!reader

↝warning: season 1 episodes 3 & 4, angst, death, arguing, gore, zombies, typical twd stuff, not proofread, Ed

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 1.25.25

Daryl Dixon masterlist

“You can't go, Daryl. Listen to me-” You threw your hands around, watching Daryl pace in front of you. The peaceful expression he once had, when he had reunited with you, was wiped clean off of his face.

He was told the news about Merle and instantly became furious. No matter how much you tried to calm him, it was no use.

His brother was out there. Daryl argued that Merle would be out there looking for him if the roles were reversed.

“Listen, there are too many.” You stepped closer, trying to make him understand, “After the racket everyone made trying to leave, I bet there’s even more now.”

“They left my brother on a roof.” You could tell he was trying his hardest not to yell at you. He was never one to take his anger out on the one person he loves more than anything in the world. He was always gentle with you, just like you deserved.

Sighing, you didn’t know how to counter that. As much as everyone who was waiting on the other side of the R.V wanted you to talk some sense into your husband, Daryl had a point. After all, he had gone out to find you, even against Merle telling him not to.

If it had been Daryl who they had left behind, you would’ve already been in the city, searching. Even if you had to go by yourself, it wouldn’t matter.

None of that changed the fact that it’s dangerous. You couldn’t let him go.

You just got him back.

“He was out of control, you know how he can get. I don’t think they had a choice.” You whispered, trying to convince yourself just as much as him.

Daryl’s nostrils flared, as he tried to calm himself. He didn’t want to lash out on you, he never did. But he was about to break. “Merle is a prick, but he’s my brother.”

With that, Daryl walked around the R.V, shoulder checking Shane, who looked disappointed that you hadn’t helped de-escalate the situation. Daryl was stubborn, there wasn’t much you could do.

Carol quickly went back to what she was doing, not wanting to seem like she was being nosey. Which didn’t do much considering everyone in the camp was waiting. After the brawl that had happened when Daryl was told about Merle, everyone was interested in how this whole situation would turn out. Everyone else tried hiding their obvious interest as Daryl came into view. You walked behind him, head hung low, defeated and slightly scared.

Daryl walked toward the box truck, ready to leave.

Rick walked over to you, “So?”

“You shook your head, “He’s not gonna change his mind. I tried.”

He nodded in understanding. Lori looked on at the interaction. She had been the one to offer Rick showing Daryl the way to Merle. She was adamant on it, but at the same time mad at him for leaving. It was almost like she was testing him, seeing if he would actually leave his family to be the heroic cop from before. She wanted him to choose her and Carl over ‘the right thing to do’.

Rick cleared his throat, “It’ll be alright,” he nodded fiddling with the gun holster before turning back around.

Glenn backed the box truck closer, Daryl impatiently standing in the back. You walked toward him when the vehicle stopped. He squinted down at you against the beating sun, watching as you climbed into the truck.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Going with you.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Four’s enough.”

You didn’t care if Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog were also going. You had stayed in the city for a while, you knew your way around. Plus, you would be going for a different reason than the rest. They were going for Merle, you were going for Daryl.

“Stay here.” His voice was softer now. Truthfully, he didn’t want anything to happen to you. You were safer at the camp, with people you had grown comfortable with in such a short amount of time. “They’ll need somebody who knows how to hunt for somethin’ to eat. Fish is gonna get old fast.” You cracked a smile at his slight humor at the situation. Still, you didn’t want him to leave.

Daryl stepped closer, bringing you into his arms, his head resting on yours. The stench of sweat, dirt, and god knows what else didn’t bother either of you. He didn’t care that you didn’t smell like the sweet shampoo he loved, and you didn’t care that he didn’t smell like the body wash that you had bought him the last time you had gone to the store, or the cologne you loved.

“Keep an eye on everybody,” He kissed your forehead, mumbling against the skin, as he stayed close. “Don’t let anyone mess with ya.”

“When do I ever?” A smile threatened to make an appearance. But it wasn’t the time. He was worried about his brother.

Rick walked by, casting a glance back at the two of you, nodding. Inhaling deeply, you moved away from Daryl, jumping down from the truck. He sent you one more look before pulling the roll-up doors down. You stood there, listening to the box truck’s engine start. You continued to stand there even after the truck faded into the distance.

-

Dale watched as you fiddled with the rag he had given you to wipe the sweat off your brow. You kept fidgeting; ever since Daryl left.

He was quick to offer you to help him keep watch, but you were elsewhere ever since you climbed onto the roof of the R.V. You were trying, Dale could tell. But he saw the gears turning in your head, greased with the terrible thought of what could happen to your husband. The thought of Daryl always overpowered any other thought.

His greyed eyebrows raised as you shot up from your seat.

“Think i’m gonna go help with the laundry. To keep myself busy.” Dale didn’t say anything, only moving out of your way so you could climb down.

Making your way to the quarry, you focused on the voices in the distance and the sharp rocks under your feet. You walked past Ed, who sat comfortably in the back of the car, smoking while keeping an eye on Carol. He glanced up, taking a drag of his cigarette. Ignoring him, you carefully navigate your way down the rocks toward where Carol, Jacqui, Andrea, and Amy sat.

“Can somebody explain to me how the women wound up doing all the Hattie McDaniel work?” Jacqui grumbled, watching Shane and Carl fail at catching frogs, their laughter echoing.

“The world ended. Didn’t you get the memo?” Amy wrung the water out of a shirt, flicking hair out of her face. Carol glanced back, looking at Ed. She saw you walking toward them. Sending you a small smile. “It’s just the way it is.” Her eyes fell back to her husband.

“Care for some help?” You squinted at the group through the sun beating down into your eyes. Jacqui motioned to a turned over bucket, “Please.” Giving a tightlipped smile, you sat down ,grabbing a scrub brush and a piece of clothing.

The way the women conversated put you at ease. It was familiar. People at the office that you worked at, were exactly like them.

“I do miss my Maytag.” Carol said, scrubbing clothes against the old washboard.

“I miss my Benz, my Sat Nav.” Andrea added.

“I miss my coffeemaker with that dual-drip filter and built-in grinder, honey.” Jacqui smiled.

Amy pouted, “My computer…and texting.”

“I miss my t.v. And wine. Especially after a long day.” You groaned, remembering the days after work; where you would come home, take your shoes off and get wine and a movie ready. Daryl would come home a little later and join you.

Your reminiscing was cut short by Andrea, “I miss my vibrator.”

Stopping your scrubbing, you looked up at her, a surprised chuckle leaving your lips.

“Ohhhhh.” “Oh my God!”

Carol glanced back at Ed, “Me too.”

You laughed harder, along with the others.

“What’s so funny?”

Just like that, the atmosphere was ruined. Ed walked down, instantly taking the joy out of the air.

“Just swapping war stories, Ed,” Andrea looked back at him, before looking over at Carol. “Yeah.”

Ed walked closer. From your spot beside Carol, you could feel Ed looming behind. Carol instinctively folded in on herself, head sinking into her shoulders.

“Problem, Ed?” Andrea glared at him.

“None that concerns you,” He took another puff of his cigarette, “and you ought to focus on your work. This ain’t no comedy club.”

Andrea huffed, plopping the brush in the tin bucket.

“Just trying to make the best out of a bad situation.” You looked at him, face blank. He stared down at you. You waited for him to say something else. Surprisingly he only blew the smoke out, throwing the butt away. He stepped back, lighting another. Rolling your eyes, you turned back to the laundry. Andrea stood, walking toward him.

“Ed, tell you what, you don’t like how your laundry is done, you are welcome to pitch in and do it yourself. Here,” She threw the soaking wet piece of clothing in her hands at him.

He threw it back. Andrea gasped. “Ain't my job, missy.”

Amy stood, wanting to de-escalate the situation. She touched Andrea’s arm, “Andrea, don’t.”

“What is your job, Ed? Sitting on your ass, smoking cigarettes?”

You glanced at Carol, who sat quietly, still working.

“Well, it sure as hell ain’t listening to some uppity smart-mouthed bitch. Tell you what,” He motioned for Carol, who was out of her seat in a second. You grabbed her arm before she could fully stand up. You could see the fear and timidness in her eyes.

“C’mon, let’s go.” He continued to beckon her.

You stood, keeping a soft but comforting grip on her arm.

“I don’t think she needs to go anywhere with you, Ed.” Andrea continued.

Carol glanced up from the ground for a split second, meeting your eyes. She didn’t want to cause any more trouble. She would be dragged back to camp by Ed if that meant nothing else would happen. She knew Ed, what he was capable of.

“And I say that’s none of your business.” Ed beckoned for Carol again. “Come on, now. You heard me.”

Carol moved away from your grip. Andrea turned to her, “Carol,”

“Andrea, please. It doesn’t matter.”

Ed glared at the interaction, “Hey, don’t think I won't knock you on your ass, just ‘cause you some college-educated cooze, alright?”

Andrea scoffed at the audacity of the male in front of her. You stepped forward, grabbing Carol by the shoulder. You weren’t about to let her go with him when he was clearly becoming hostile.

“Now you come on now or you gonna regret it later.”

You softly said her name, ignoring her husband’s glare, and stepped closer to her in a protective manner.

“So she can show up with fresh bruises later, Ed?” Jacqui piped up for the first time since Ed walked over. “Yeah, we’ve seen them.”

Ed chuckled, “Stay out of this,” his harsh gaze pierced through his wife. “Now come on! You know what, this is none of y’all’s business. You don’t want to keep prodding the bull here, okay? Now I am done talkin’. Come on!”

You cringed at his words, moving in front of Carol as he walked closer. He ignored you, reaching around to grab at her arm with a harsh grip. The embarrassment was clear on her face. He pulled, knocking your balance slightly off as he yanked Carol from behind you. Her shoulder crashed into yours, feet moving in a jumble over your own.

“No. No, Carol. You don’t have-”

Carol muttered something under her breath, ignoring Andrea.

Ed swung around, spitting in Carol’s face. “You don’t tell me what! I tell you what!” His grip tightened, jagged nails biting into the soft skin of her upper arm. She whimpered quietly at the force. He raised his hand, striking her against the face. Gasping, you caught her as she fell back, grabbing her reddening cheek.

Everyone clamoured; Andrea hitting and pushing him away, you cursing him as Carol started crying. She fell further into you, as you held her protectively, hauling her away from him.

Ed was pulled back and thrown to the ground, before being dragged by the back of his shirt. Shane threw him further into to the ground, before throwing a punch, and another straight after.

“No!” Carol cried, trying to get away. Shane kept throwing punches, more skin breaking every time his fist hit Ed’s face. Carol covered her mouth, body swaying.

“Shane, stop!” “Enough! Enough!” “Just stop!”

Shane stopped, pointing a finger in Ed’s swollen and bloodied face. “You put your hands on your wife, your little girl, or anybody else in this camp one more time, I will not stop next time. Do you hear me?” He grabbed Ed’s face, squishing it in the process. “Do you hear me?!”

Ed slurred, “Yes.”

Shane let go, pointing again. “I’ll beat you to death, Ed.” With one final punch, he stood, kicking the man on the ground and walking away.

“God!” Carol cried, using strength you had never seen from her before, to break from you, running over to her husband.

-

The tension in the camp was suffocating after that. There was a tiny victory after Andrea and Amy went fishing and brought back dinner, but it was short lived. Jim had been found digging graves, which disturbed a lot of you.

Night fell and everyone began eating the fish-fry.

You smiled at Sophia as she passed the pan of fish. She was well-mannered; all thanks to Carol. She was a shy girl, but became a seemingly different kid when she was around other kids. She found friends in a world that would probably take them away before you could blink. She, along with the other kids, didn’t understand what was out there, all of the bad. They held an innocence that would be demolished in front of your eyes.

“I gotta ask you, man. It’s been driving me crazy.” One of the men that you met in the city, Morales, spoke up, directing it at Dale.

“What?”

“That watch,” he pointed at the watch on Dale’s wrist.

Dale smiled, “What’s wrong with my watch?”

Morales continued, “I see you everyday, the same time, winding that thing like a village priest saying mass.”

“I’ve wondered this myself.” Jacqui smiled.

Dale threw his hands up playfully, “I’m missing the point.”

You looked between him and his watch, the fire casting a warm gleam over it, brightening the brown leather.

“Unless I've misread the signs, the world seems to have come to an end. At least hit a speed bump for a good long while.” Jacqui shrugged her shoulders.

“But there’s you, everyday, winding that stupid watch.” Morales raised his eyebrows at the old man.

“Time- it’s important to keep track, isn’t it? The days, at least. Don’t you think, Andrea? Back me up here.”

They shared a knowing look, their faces glowing in the fire from where you sat. She sent him a seemingly warning glare, but his smile didn’t falter.

“I like- I like what, um, a father said to son when he gave him a watch that had been handed down through generations. He said “I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire, which will fit your individual needs no better than it did mine or my father’s before me; I give it to you not that you may remember time, not that you may forget it for a moment now and then, and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it.””

Huh,” Morales nodded at the answer, not really expecting it.

Everyone sat in silence around the fire, before Amy broke it, “You are so weird.”

Laughter echoed as you took a swig of beer. It wasn’t wine, but it wasn’t pure water so it would do.

“It’s not me. It’s Faulkner, William Faulkner.”

Amy rolled her eyes at Dale.

The older man chuckled, “Maybe my bad paraphrasing.”

Amy stood, walking away from the fire. Andrea stopped her, “Where are you going?”

“I have to pee.” The younger sister raised her brows, “Jeez, you try to be discreet around here.” She quickly walked off, toward the R.V.

Dale turned to you, “What about you? You fiddle with that on your wrist.” You looked down at the bulky thing around your wrist. “Was my dog’s collar.” Dale’s smile turned sad. While rushing out of your house, you had grabbed the collar from the leash you would walk her around the block with. Her name was embroidered; a gift from Daryl when he first surprised you with a puppy.

You tightened it into a bracelet, holding her memory close. Truthfully, you had forgotten about it being on your wrist. You didn’t notice how much you fidgeted with it. Dale did, when you were on watch with him.

You didn’t think about the dog for long.

The R.V door opened, and Amy stepped out. “We’re out of toilet paper?” She yelled. Before she could get an answer, a hand grabbed her forearm from behind the other side of the door. She stood in shock as a walker moved closer to her. She screamed, feeling the walker bite down.

Your head instantly snapped up, eyes growing wide at the sight. More walkers came from each direction, limping forward. Everyone screamed, jumping up. Parents grabbed their kids, others grabbed weapons. Gunshots echoed, making your ears ring. You were quick to instinctively reach for your gun. Unfortunately, that gun was still in Glenn’s bag with no bullets.

A hand on your shoulder had you swiveling around, pushing the walker that simply snarled at you. Pushing with all your strength, you didn’t wait for it to hit the ground before you were running.

Another walker stumbled toward you from behind, dirty nails digging into your skin. This walker was closer, a stench wafting into your nose before you could push it away. You tried, but from the angle in which the walker had grabbed you, you could only push its head away, fingers avoiding its snipping teeth.

You screamed, still hearing Shane unload his gun in the distance.

Andrea wailed, watching another walker bite a gash out of Amy’s shoulder, right where her neck meets it.

The grip tightened on you, making you hiss. Their nails were long and had the bite to prove it. One final hit had the walker staggering back, grip falling off. You turned, running toward the R.V, where Shane, Lori, Carol, Morales, and their families were. More gunfire rang out.

Making it to the vehicle, you turned back, seeing Daryl and the others coming out of the woods. He was the first out, head snapping in ebery direction. The other were soon to follow.

Daryl spotted you. He looked around, making sure no more walkers were around, before running toward you. Your bodies collided, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

He pulled back, “You hurt?”

“No, i don’t think- I don’t know.”

You were in shock, your jumbled words and wide eyes proving it. You couldn’t think. You rubbed where you were scratched.

In your time since the world ended, you had hidden in the top floor of a building. If you were ever met with danger, you always had a gun or knife handy.

Tonight, you were completely unprepared.

In the dark, you couldn't tell if the skin of your arm was broken. Clinging back to Daryl, you turned your head to where Andrea laid beside Amy. Blood pooled around them. Amy’s body went limp, sending Andrea to sobs. Closing your eyes tightly, you turned back to Daryl, pushing your face into his neck. He held you close, hiding the shake in his hands.

He had heard your scream.

That’s what had him running through the woods with only you in mind, leaving the other behind.

•2021-2025 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

Tags from the last chapter who wanted part 2: @notmirnda @vomiting-blood @i93jjk @multifandomfan @gaudesstuff @cymbalta-slut

[universalzones]

"Well, maybe at one point she could retire from being a thief and just live a nice and peaceful life. You never know, right?" Belle couldn't ignore the now building tension in the room after Kitsunami's rather hostile words so thought it best try to keep the focus on something positive or at the very least keep the subject off of Eggman. Though why did she feel like it wouldn't change much.

"Yes, because Eggman is completely the same way, expect for the fact he's only ever helped just to save himself or to serve his own self interests. You can try to put the blame on Starline, though let's be honest, if Eggman wasn't around would Starline have even turned out the way he did?" Kitsunami knew this wasn't helping anything, just arguing for the sake of arguing at this point, though he couldn't understand how Sonic can still stand by his choice after all the damage it's caused.

===========================================================

"Well, I suppose I have the advantage of my speed and power, along with inheriting my mother's ability to a small degree. It allows me to foresee one's attacks, to a limit degree that is." Blaze could only see a couple moves as her mouth could see an entire battle just by looking at one and plan to counter ever single move. Though now was hardly the time to think about that. The feline wondered if she should have someone from Sol she trusts looking for Starline as well.

"I'm unsure the process of events if I'm being honest. However, I believe I was attacked before Surge and Kitsunami as when he attempted to attack me he seemed a tad more, unstable, if I were to put it. Perhaps that is another factor to take into how I dealt with him so easily. Even if he had that strange glove powering him." Blaze wished she has paid closer attention to details as at the time Starline was more of an annoyance than a threat, at least to her.

"I feel bad for saying this, though it could give us another advantage for making sure there's no doubt Kitsunami won't be arrested or even charged. If Starline is still alive then there's a chance he could attempt to get Surge and Kitsunami back on his side. In a sense G.U.N gets Surge as bait, though they'd more than likely keep an eye on Kitsunami as he could be considered an easier target than one locked in a G.U.N prison."

Blaze truly felt awful using this sort of logic, though it was certainly a good point that even this Commander Lupus could come up with. Not putting all your eggs in one basket as the saying goes. If Starline goes after Surge G.U.N can respond quickly and harshly, and if he goes after Kitsunami then they can spring in a surprise visit and have him cornered between them and The Restoration.

It wasn't that he trusted her as much as he knew where she stood in times of duress. Rouge might have been a thief, and a criminal but she was also still one of them. She didn't want Eggman or Starline to be in power anymore then they did. She was coerced into working with GUN and so had no real love of them either. Trust was probably to strong a word for how he felt about that bat. It was more of a mutual understanding. That and she'd saved there bacon to many times for them to hate her.

" it's always a risk to trust Rouge, and she's likely to have her own agenda. But even with all that said, she's bailed us out to many times for me to hold any harsh feelings..."

" What Miles said... Rouge has always done right by us when it counted. She has to play both sides, to keep Tower off her case but... if i ever needed her i'm sure she'd show. Besides... I'm about 90% sure she was who let the Chaotix know about Tinker. If we hadn't been there Shadow would have offed him..."

His eyes went to Kit who he knew would have harsh words about that decision.

" Some folks still say i shoulda let shadow do the deed. But i still stand by my decision... the real criminal was always Starline... i think we can all agree on that "

==============================================

Lanolin wasn't so sure she agreed with Blaze on her perspective. Based on what Surge and Kitsunami told her, and all the files she'd read. Starline was a cunning adversary, who was always 20 steps ahead of everyone else. The real question in her mine was why attack blaze? what was he after? did they just cross paths by mistake? how did he survive his fight with eggman? was it really starline or maybe some copy cat?

" If there is anyone i'd consider to be near as dangerous as eggman it was---is Starline. He created Surge and Kitsunami... nearly replicating Sonic's speed and Mr. Prowers intellect and more. I think we'd be foolish to assume this attack was some vain attempt to defeat you... "

" Alerting GUN is probably wise, even if we aren't on equal terms now. Neither of us want Someone like him running around doing who knows what. As for Surge... i can't keep this from her or Kitsunami... i just worry they'll break this deal and flee... with intent to settle the score. honestly i don't even blame them... "

She sighed and looked rather somber as she stared out the window to the group below.

" Both of them have put some amount of trust in me. I've grown fond of them both as strange as that sounds. If i kept this from them they'd never forgive me... and i'd betray there trust... No, Once Surge returns i'll tell them. I owe them that much..."

[dedise]

comprehensive list of things CriMi fans need to accept:

both JJ and Reid were valid in their reactions in season 7: JJ didn't have a choice, as much as she saw her friends hurting if she had told just one of them that Emily was alive Emily's life would have been in serious danger; likewise, Spencer had a right to be hurt by it, and as a recovering addict it's fair that he might have thought of relapsing. both points of view were fair, JJ's comment on Reid's profiling skills was probably made so that Spencer would talk to her

people getting hung up on Rossi's comment of what he had done to the black kid when he was a child in the 60's (or around then) are incapable of accepting that people can change, and that the world isn't black and white. wether it truly happened or not, it happened during a time period where racism was, in fact, the norm, and where Rossi might not have had an easy time either (Italians weren't exactly liked by Americans at first, that's a fact). it was poor person versus poor person, an unlucky and uncomfortable situation. the fact he was wrong in his actions doesn't mean he wasn't able to grow and become better, people change

JJ's character ended up being used to shoulder everyone else, she was demonished in lieu of elevating others

Derek's "Devil's advocate" persona was unnerving, he was never right in his assumptions. sometimes he was an horrible friend, referencing to when Penelope wanted to visit the guy that almost killed her and Reid in the season 9 finale. get a grip my dude, emotions are conflicting

as much of a light in the darkness Penelope is, she was objectively too much sometimes. her being unable to keep secrets is not quirky or cute, it's embarassing. y'all defend her because she is a fictional character, if you had someone like her around you probably wouldn't be able to stand her

Hotch leaving the way he did did not make sense. he didn't leave when his wife was murdered while their son was in the house, bfr

Jason was NOT a good mentor. he brutally ignored Spencer's addiction (technically it was his problem, as Reid was his protegé), called Hotch on his birthday even tho he had the weekend off, and probably knew Hotch and Haley were having issues. he was kind of a dick tbh

Haley had her rights. she married a lawyer, not a fed. they had a child. she was worried and wanted her son to have a father, and Hotch to know his son

fans baby Spencer way too much. he's a grown ass man, the fact he's "hot" doesn't mean he can't make mistakes. "uwu autistic" he's an adult

the CriMi writers jump from one money bag to the other; when Hotch left Spencer became the sole focus of everything, now that Spencer isn't in the show anymore they're queerbaiting with Jemily, and their quirky one liners for Voit are just cringe

they're trying to paint Voit as the new Foyet, only problem is that Foyet was actually terrifying, and had a sarcastic and cynical sense of humor. Voit tries, and fails

Evolution is NOT good. the team went from incredibly smart to a bunch of idiots, Voit did not need to appear for season 17, let alone 18. Bailey's "master plan" to dismember the BAU is empty, he tells them "don't", they do, and nothing happens to them. he's there as a place holder because the writers needed a way to reach the 45 minute episode mark

the "family dynamic" in Evolution does not exist. they left Rossi to his own devices for a whole year, where's the family in that?

Luke Alvez is a good character, argue with the wall

"BAU gate" existed for years, the Unit Chiefs knew, yet Hotch didn't say anything, or Penelope (master hacker) wasn't able to close it and track the creator? yeah, no, that plotline sucks

Will DOES NOT deserve the hate he gets. he's a great husband, great father, Jemily shippers are hating on him because it gets in the way of their fantasy ship

back to Derek, when he was angry he said hurtful stuff indeed, unfortunately tho some people do react that way, it's very realistic (also considering that due to what happened when he was child, he tends to be distrustful). he's very well written, and people ignore that at his core he is a teddy bear. he's complex, and it is interesting to see the two worlds collide lmao

every BAU member is human, they all have good and bad qualities, humans are not monodimensional

maybe I left something out, lmk your thoughts (asks are open if you wish to stay anonymous)

[the-raven-and-the-tower]

Viago: You're the client?

Fun fact: Viago knows Lace Harding from a prior quest, so I tried to bring her to this meeting and was bummed when she wasn't included in the cutscene.

Teia: This is Rook. Did you want a drink? I promise not to let Viago near it.

Viago: (Sighs)

I fucking love the way exasperated way he handles her affectionate bullying. It's adorable and I love their dynamic. I especially like that despite Viago outranking Teia (click here for a cute bit of banter between them about that), he doesn't bother with rank. If anything, Teia pushes him around.

Viago: Viago de Riva. Fifth Talon.

Quick, efficient, brief, and without boasting.

Viago: And this is Caterina Dellamorte. First Talon of the Crows.

I love how his tone shifts to one of profound respect / a call for respect as he indicates Caterina. We didn't hear any of that when he referenced himself, which I think is cool.

Rook: An honor. And you are?

Illario: Illario Dellamorte. Her grandson. What brings you here?

Also brief, blunt and to the point. Why is he here? He's her grandchild. Not a Talon, not a named assassin. Caterina's grandson, a role he sees himself as having been reduced to and is planning to break free from forever.

Rook: Right. My target is a pair of elven gods—or that's what they call themselves. They're ancient blighted mages.

Rook: My detective says you have a man who brought blood mages and Venatori to their knees.

Caterina: Lucanis.

Caterina: My grandson. They called him "the Demon of Vyrantium." He was the one who did those jobs.

Rook: Sounds like there's more to it.

Viago: Lucanis Dellamorte is dead. He was killed a year ago, now

Caterina (tapping her fingers pensively): What I say doesn't leave this room.

Caterina: The body our people brought back was not my grandson. It was dressed in his clothing, but it had been altered with blood magic to have his face.

Real quick, let's look at a slowed gif of Illario's face.

The facial expressions are pretty limited in most cutscenes, but we still can catch that quick flicker of surprise and then fearful concern on Illario's face as he checks first Viago and Teia's reactions, then Rook's. If Lucanis is alive, that means Zara didn't uphold her end of the bargain to kill Lucanis and instead kept him for her own purposes. This is the face of a man realizing his plan is unraveling.

Illario: My cousin is still alive? And you didn't think to tell me?

Quick recovery, responding to the shock with anger to cover his dismay. "You didn't think to tell me" is an interesting choice of words.

Viago: His ship was attacked. We knew someone sold him out... so you kept your suspicions to yourself.

I pulled this from the wiki for Viago, under the Eight Little Talons quest in Tevinter Nights; "Given his familiarity with poisons, suspicions fall on Viago. He declines Teia's offer to lie for him to give him an alibi, and Caterina orders for him and Dante to be locked in their room[s] as suspects." The way Viago willing accepts that suspicion points his direction then... and sees the reason in Caterina withholding information now- it's great. Unlike Illario, there is no protest, no immediate offense. Not only because he has done no wrong, but because he understands. He knows what they are and the nature of their lives. He trusts Caterina. That's enough for him. I love it. And him.

Rook: But you've brought it up now. Why?

Caterina: I've had eyes on the Venatori ever since they took my grandson from me.

Despite all her failings, I do appreciate that she refers to him as her grandson and not the Demon (of Vyrantium) or 'her best assassin' or even just his name, Lucanis. She wants her grandson back.

Caterina: They were hunting your Dread Wolf. And what you did to his ritual threw them into disarray.

"Your Dread Wolf" and "what you did" - I like the direct acknowledgement of not only how Rook's actions gave her this important knowledge, but also the direct nod to Rook's quest and the overall reason he's here, asking the Crows for help with his cause. Their goals are bound together, as are their paths forward.

Caterina: They made mistakes. And now I have a location. The Ossuary. Where the Demon of Vyrantium is kept.

Now she calls him the Demon of Vyrantium - that's who Rook's looking for. She wants her grandson back, but Rook needs the Mage Killer.

Caterina: Find this Ossuary. Free Lucanis. You'll have your god-killer. And I'll have my grandson.

I fucking love "you'll have your god-killer", the faith she has in his abilities. Granted, they're abilities she systematically beat-and-starved into an orphaned seven-year-old boy and I do not love her for that, but I do like knowing that Illario probably grit his teeth pretty hard when he heard it. I gobble the angst up like cookies.

[sundew199]

Harmless Prank

a/n: you know those videos of kids reacting to their dad shaving off all their facial hair? I thought this would be cute with Reiner 🥰

tags: reiner braun x f!reader, fluff, harmless prank on yours and reiner's daughter,

You recently saw one of those viral videos of a baby reacting to their dad shaving off their facial hair, and it gave you the greatest idea. Your daughter, who was just shy of turning a year old, had only ever seen her dad with facial hair. Even though Reiner's facial hair wasn't thick and taking up his entire face, it was still extremely noticeable when he shaved and after seeing all the reactions from the videos you watched after coming across the first one, you were dying to know what your daughter's would be.

Reiner was so against it at first when you brought it up that night in bed, saying it was mean to prank his baby like that and he already can't stand it when she cries and doesn't want to be the reason she was crying. But you were determined because it was the most harmless prank ever and his facial hair would grow back in no time.

After managing to convince your husband, you waited until the weekend to do it when he was off of work, sitting down on the floor in the living room with your daughter, distracting her with toys so she wouldn't notice her dad wasn't next to her playing. She was insanely attached to Reiner, had him wrapped around his finger the moment she was born and you swore she knew this fact too. Every time she got upset or wanted to be held, she was reaching out to Reiner first instead of you. It was hard not to take offense in the beginning when she was a couple months old, since she was your first baby, but their bond was so damn adorable it was impossible to be upset.

Hearing the sink water shut off, your grabbed your phone, propping it up against the stack of books you had on the coffee table, angling it to face the couch where you set your daughter down, keeping a close eye on her until Reiner started to come out and you could press record. The shuffle of his feet came into earshot and you tapped the red button, grabbing your daughter's attention to get her to look over at Reiner as he approached the end of the couch with a hand towel covering his mouth.

He was giving you puppy dog eyes, already feeling bad knowing she wouldn't recognize him and burst into tears. Yes you'd admit it was just a little mean, but god it wouldn't be the end of the world.

"Who's that baby? Is that daddy?" Gasping and pointing over to Reiner, watching your daughter's face light up seeing him, giggling at the towel over his mouth and clapping her hands once.

Without having to be told, Reiner dropped the towel and forced a smile at his daughter and out of the corner of your eye you could see her expression fall.

Her bottom lip quivered, looking at you and then back to Reiner, her pretty little eyes welling with tears as she realized that man was not her father. Not even a second later and she was wailing, reaching her arms out to you and hiding her face in your neck, and you let out a tiny laugh as you stopped recording and comforted her with pats on her back, holding her in your arms.

"It's still me sweetheart, it's still daddy." Reiner said as he rushed over, trying to get to look at him but that only made her cry harder when she peaked a look. You rocked her as you trying to fight off a grin, Reiner scowling at you with a pout and hands on his hips.

"I told you it was mean."

"Just give her a second, she's never seen you without facial hair."

After about a minute of crying and getting her to calm down, she took another look at goatee-less Reiner, whining and shying away but not crying. Reiner took her from your arms and cradled her like she were a newborn to his shoulder, kissing the side of her head and promising her that it was still him. You rolled your eyes, both of them so dramatic it was humorous.

"Mommy made me shave, I would never do this on purpose to you baby." He cooed, turning back to look at you with narrowed eyes, placing another kiss on her head. Your daughter came up from his shoulder, giving him a look, examining him to make sure that this strange man holding her was her father.

"You are so dramatic Reiner I swear to god."

He shrugged, turning back to look at his daughter and waiting for the final verdict. She giggled and smacked both her hands on his cheeks, smiling wide as she finally recognized him, smacking her little hands repeatedly on his freshly shaved cheeks.

Rolling your eyes again, you opened up your phone and played the video of her reaction, laughing under your breath as those two reunited. Editing the video just a bit to cut out the shaky end, you send it to all your friends and slipped over to Reiner give him a kiss.

[motziedapul]

Liberal media like the New York Times actively contributed to genocide by peddling Israeli lies and justifying the mass murder of Palestinians.

Liberal government armed the genocide and liberals continued to support the Vice President in power who refused to show any opposition to the genocide instead of pressuring her to make any sort of moves to end the genocide because they were confident she could win on a pro genocide stance.

Democrats cozied up with the Cheneys instead of making any real move to address real issues. They kept promising things like A STRONGER MILITARY in a time most Americans across the board have shown displeasure at how much money the US is sending other countries for war, AND Kamala campaigned on stronger borders.

They basically said that Trump was right and tried to say they would be better at it.

I'm not gonna play the "not all liberals" game here because liberal politicians in the USA decided to be fascism lite, and when they started parroting fascist talking points as campaign promises alongside what their constituents actually want, everyone knew that the people who wanted Nazi policies would prefer the actual Nazis over the ones who were trying to cater to the Nazis for election season.

Also I'm not delusional enough to think Trump won't fuck Palestinians over; he already is, but the fact that a ceasefire was called because Biden is on his way out means Trump's getting to take credit for it. Because every liberal failure is his to take credit for.

And in this case, everyone who's been following this knows that Biden-Harris admin has actively blocked any sort of ceasefire despite claiming they've been seeking one, such that multiple Biden admin workers resigned over his inhumane Palestine policy and unceasing support of Israel and their genocide.

Trump is a monster and everyone knows this. The fact that Biden, in the course of a little over a year, proved himself an even bigger monster in Palestine, is why the Democrats were doomed from the start. They lost any moral high ground they had.

The fact that the opposition was not just weak, but actively trying to be more like Trump, is a huge part of what led to this outcome. This was not a secret or a surprise to anybody paying attention. Not because anyone wanted this outcome; but because everyone who was ACTUALLY trying to avoid this outcome saw how little most Democrats cared about addressing it.

And quite frankly; Trump is a monster regardless, but he's not the one that oversaw and enabled and armed the genocide of hundreds of thousands of Palestinians. He'd have to try REAL hard to be "Worse for Palestine" given Biden's track record.

"So the solution is fire bombing Gaza" are you stupid or did you not notice Biden actively doing that the last year and a half?

[multiheadcanons]

TF2 MERCS AND FAMILY

scout: he loves his ma. he loves his ma so much if you even think about thinking about making a your mom joke he is genuinely on the verge of losing his shit. his ma is not a joke. she was a wonderful lady who did the best she could at all times and everyone better respect it before he respectfully shoves his foot so far up their asses they’ll be tasting his toes until christmas. he didn’t know his dad, so he doesn’t care. insult the fact he doesn’t have a dad all you want. but keep his ma’s name out your fuckin mouth. i know people like to think he’s got brothers, frankly i think he’s got cousins. all boys, from his ma’s side. about four of them. the genes are very strong on his ma’s side, so they look like they could be brothers. they were hellions. couple of them have chilled out at this point, and scout respects them for it. even if it is weird with them being dads and shit. couple of them haven’t, and he respects that too. at least they didn’t bother to lie about it.

soldier: soldier had decent parents. his dad was a drunk, and was pretty emotionally distant, but as far as he knows was never a mean or violent person. his mom was a nice old lady. no nonsense, no coddling. she was a woman with a good head on her shoulders surrounded by fools. they had both passed by the time he took the job in teufort. he misses them sometimes, but he’s glad his parents are able to rest. comforted snipes when he heard about his parents. he knows snipes really loved them. only child; his parents had fertility issues and didn’t try again after they succeeded with him. they just didn’t have the heart for it. he sees the team as his brothers. he fights with those guys (and pyro), sometimes he actively fights those guys (and pyro), and frankly is that not what brothers do?

pyro: pyro doesn’t really remember their mom or dad, but they remember their older sister! about twelve years older than them, they did most of the parenting. it wasn’t good parenting, and they argued and physically fought a lot with their sister, but as pyro grew up pyro came to understand that their parents… probably weren’t good people if their sister had to raise them. they don’t know where their sister is, but they did take the time to locate their parents, with the support of the team behind them, helping lead the charge. it was a disheartening, frankly frightening experience to see them withering away in a nursing home, but they barely knew them. they don’t know why it aches so much. they don’t know why they’re so scared. they see the team as their family. those are the people who have shown pyro they will always be there. they don’t think the team would just leave them somewhere to die. the team loves them for who they are. and they love the team. most of the team. no, no, all of the team, all of them. they just love some of them more than others.

demo: demo’s dad passed about a decade before he took the job. a jolly man. a drunk. easygoing. down for anything. demo realized after he passed he was the one who kept his mom from imploding with neuroticism. but he loves his mom. the firecracker she is. he remembers her when he was really young. she was a woman who was simply always on the ball. intelligent, creative, brutal. a giantess of a woman, though she stands five feet two. they’re on good terms as long as he’s got a job. most of the degroots are chemists of the explosive subvariety; few made it to retirement. so he cherishes his mom. he’s glad to have her around. he had a lover at one point. genevieve. a wild woman, sporadic in her time in his life and explosive when she was in it. she brought life into him, more than he thought he could contain. any day with her was a total mindset shift for tavish. quite a few years his senior; one of the brightest chemists he grew to know in his higher educational, perhaps his professional life in general. a flame he could not stay away from. she was magnetic. she passed at 30, cutting their budding romance short. breast cancer. he couldn’t make it to her hometown to attend the funeral. he sent flowers to the next of kin. it floored him. he didn’t know how she would go, but he never thought it would be from something so mundane. thinks of her often.

heavy: heavy loved his dad, he supposes. very quiet man. it was hard when he passed. it was hard being the only man in a sudden matriarchy. and in a way, he was almost blinded. he didn’t see how well his mother actually had a handle on things as he grew to fill his father’s role. so as he matured, and took the job in teufort, he was constantly worried about them. he loves his mother. he honors his mother, prays the lord blesses her every step so she may leave nothing but life and light in her wake. he will actually fucking kill you if you even speak about his mother without his express permission. and his sisters… god help them. it has taken him a very long time to accept his sisters’ absolute abysmal tastes in men. he can’t even think about it he starts to gag. he loves his niece and nephew though.

engineer: engie comes from a big family of bright and creative minds. his mama had her masters in music theory, his dad had been an engineer, as his father before him, as his father before him. middle child of four. two boys, two girls. his younger brother became a hotshot doctor, his baby sister’s a vet; his older sister does underwater welding, and family reunions are hell to plan. he’s very proud of the family he comes from. he just wishes he wasn’t the one who got roped into the mann business. but he wouldn’t wish this on his siblings either. the siblings do a conference call every couple of months to make sure everyone’s still alive. they last maybe 30 minutes before someone is called away. his mom passed about three years into the job, and they cremated her because nobody could get the time to go to the funeral. their father followed shortly after; which they understood. he wasn’t the same man without her around.

medic: medic has been surrounded by intelligent, wild, wonderful women his entire life. he is the result of a teenage pregnancy, and he is his moms best friend. she had him when she was 16. with all credit to the man, his father did stick around. he struggled for them. but they did pretty okay as medic grew up. normally went with his mom to university and was cooed over. his dad died when he was 16 from a work accident. it rocked the home. he and his mother leaned on each other heavily in the grief, and he entered adulthood with a dear friend instead of a mother. but that’s okay, because he truly needed that. he loves his mother to death. and she is very proud of her son. she’s a zany woman, with a wild imagination. fully aware of what her son has become, and is simply happy that he found a place for himself that treats him well and isn’t jail. they call each other all the time to chat, and normally will entirely halt what they’re doing to spend time with each other. heavy’s met the woman. they have the same smile. he married his childhood best friend young. another pathologically high spirited, highly gifted woman. a chemist. genevieve. something about it never felt right (he’s gay.) but nobody could deny he loved that woman with every fiber of his being that he could spare. they were two peas in a pod. you couldn’t see one without seeing the other. the first person he came out to. she passed at 30. breast cancer. it destroyed him. he didn’t think he would survive to find someone he truly loved like her. keeps their wedding photo in his wallet.

snipes: oh man. ohhhhh man. do we have to go into it. he loves his stepparents so much. he loves them so much it hurts. he just wants to do right by them. the idea he’s failing them or has failed them or will fail them genuinely eats away at his soul. he knew he wasn’t gonna have long with them, that they were on the older side when he fell into their lap, and he was grateful for every moment he got with them. it wrecked him when they passed. and nobody was there to comfort him through it. as far as he knew, nobody tried to reach out. his real parents can get fucked though. he doesn’t hate them, but he does wish he didn’t spend so much time thinking about them either.

spy: youngest of two sons. came from a decent home. both parents were hard working and supportive. he and his brother were just brutes. they argued all the time, and his parents didn’t know how to even begin pacifying them both. his mother was a schoolteacher, and his father did paperwork for a nearby firm. they were fine, honorable jobs. made enough to live comfortably. it just wasn’t enough for him. for either of them. it wasn’t enough for one of them alone. his parents passed shortly after he reached adulthood, and he hasn’t spoken to his brother since the funeral. in a way, the team is his family. he has nothing left to go back to, that he knows of. he wouldn’t know who else to even turn to if he needed some backup muscle, or a medication, or a differing perspective, or a soundboard, or entertainment, or company, or support. the team has taken care of him, and in a way loved him, truly, for years. even if they weren’t explicitly in the room, they’ve seen him at his absolute worst. they’ve seen him at his absolute best! and stayed. and even if they don’t think it’s true, spy would be there for them if they needed him.

[citylighten]

Let's Talk Lost Love

(aka how Zoe ends up with Michael)

Abhijit and Zoe grew up knowing each other due to their mother’s close friendship, but they were not close. For college, he moved to Del Sol Valley with aspirations to become an actor, however, this was an experience he largely failed in. He relocated back to San Myshuno after a few years, and began to work as a copywriter at an advertising agency. This is when he and Zoe reunite and mutually find one another attractive.  They felt a sense of understanding with one another. Zoe was a recent college dropout who had disappointed her parents for being aimless, and Abhijit could never get his mother’s approval. The two accepted each other for who they were (mostly. Zoe often picked on him for having a new personality influenced by Del Sol Valley) In due time they began living with each other. This went on for three or four years: he was her first big love, her first time, he was her everything and everyone knew it. Like, it was clear that any day he would propose to her. They had already reached a point where they (playfully) discussed having kids. Then one night, Zoe begged him to go to the local corner store to pick up some candy for her, and he didn’t come home. He died. Zoe underwent deep despair, she sincerely wanted to die, she couldn’t wrap her mind around how he was gone so easily. She wouldn’t leave her apartment. She blamed herself for wanting a stupid candy bar. Then she decided to leave the city and become a van-lifer. Her parents and friends all disapproved and thought this was a radical shift, but Zoe kept insisting she was fine and something she always wanted to do. But you know, this was really just a means for her to run away from home and avoid the past.

She gets some spontaneous tattoos, travels place to place having misadventures and uncomfortable experiences. She acts happy but her mental health is in the gutter. It's not uncommon for her to look over Abhi's social media pages and just grieve the fact he wasn't even thirty.

She meets Mitchell, J, and Gavin but despite two of these men being attracted to her, Zoe has no interest in romance or sex. Not much later, she meets Michael who was the first guy she was really into in a long while. The minute she saw Michael’s eyes and smile she felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She grew close to him and loved that he had a similar adventurous spirit. She couldn't help but chase the feeling she felt with him. Then of course, in less than a year she has little Rohan. 

But sometimes, she was still thinking of Abhijit. Sometimes when mad at Michael this early in their parenthood journey she would have an intrusive thought like, “Rohan should be Abhi’s son” or sometimes it would simply cross her mind, “I wonder how my kids with him would’ve looked.” However, as she and Michael grew together with their family, the more deep her love for Michael became. She realized her heart had enough space for new experiences, loves, and memories.  

The downside of this? One of Zoe's worst fears is Michael not coming home one night. Her worst fear is outliving him because at the moment she doesn’t know how she’d cope with losing her husband. She’s able to go back to the Spice District. She’s able to talk to Lavina, but looking at Rahul? That’s nearly impossible.

Now as for Mayor Chopra, she's still haunted by Abhi's death because she knows her parenting was riddled with errors, and she pities the pain Zoe went through. So when she sees Rohan and Kiara in the Spice District this winter she's thinking: "those could've been my grandchildren if things were different."

When Rohan's a teen and works as the mayor's protege, Lavina lets this slip. But that's another tale for another day.

[elizabeth-holland24]

this as a Mexican this movie is a complete insult to my country. The director has admitted to making no research on Mexico for the movie claiming he knew all he needed to know from when he visited Mexico in the 70s. He didn’t even bother to understand or learn the language, the movie and songs sound as if he used google translate to translate the script. I speak Spanish English Italian franco and a little German, so it’s not about the accent is about the lack of effort. The main actress has called the Mexicans who criticized the movie “gatos”. In the song of Zoe when they are asking her why she “abrir su despacho” which is a French play on words for when she’s going to have kids. She claims she won’t till she is no longer of dark skin. “Cuando ya no sea prieta” Prieta is a word used to describe those with darker skin tones in Mexico. As an actress who claims to be proud of who she is, it’s kinda baffling to see that you would support a dialogue such as that one to be one the movie. Another point is the fact that the so called moving song of the child remembering what his father smelled like. It’s literally a bunch of stereotypes, the only thing they missed would be saying taco, chimichanga, garnacha. There is a ton more points and things wrong with that movie the fact that is has that many nominations just proves how the Oscar’s and Hollywood lack awareness.

Emilia Perez, a movie that supossedly concerns itself with the victims of violence and organized crime in Mexico, wins the golden globe

and yet there is not one mention or acknowledgement from either the director or the cast to the real victims of organized crime in México and that should tell you everything you need to know about it

[etherealval]

actress!reader and chris sturniolo’s first time meeting | a/n: so excited to expand into this au !!

the party was in full swing, the bass from the music thrumming through the walls and floor like a second heartbeat. bodies packed the house, filling every corner with chatter, laughter, and the faint clinking of glasses. you stood in the corner, nursing a drink you didn’t even like, a sugary, overly sweet concoction that phoebe had handed you earlier. you’d tried to sip it as slowly as possible, mostly as a distraction from the fact that you didn’t want to be here in the first place.

phoebe had dragged you along, promising it’d be fun, that you’d meet cool people and make memories. but right now, she was in the bathroom, and you were stuck standing awkwardly by yourself, dodging glances from strangers who looked a little too eager to start small talk. part of you wished you were at home, curled up with a book, the soundtrack of this party replaced by pages turning.

when phoebe finally emerged from the hallway, you let out a quiet breath of relief, until you noticed she wasn’t alone. trailing behind her were three guys, all tall, with strikingly similar features. it took you a second to realize they were triplets.

“this is nick, matt, and chris,” phoebe introduced, her tone casual, as if she hadn’t just walked over with some of the most recognizable faces on the internet.

your eyes flicked between them, offering a polite smile. “hi,” you said softly, unsure of how else to respond. but before you could even finish your greeting, the one in the beanie, chris, you remembered. stepped forward with a teasing grin tugging at his lips.

“wait a second,” he said, pointing at you like he was making some grand revelation. “aren’t you that girl from that netflix show?”

you blinked, caught off guard by the playful accusation. “uh… i guess? if you mean stranger things, then yeah.”his grin widened, and he snapped his fingers like he’d just won a bet.

“knew it. max mayfield in the flesh.” he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms in an exaggeratedly cool pose. “wow, never thought i’d be rubbing elbows with a big hollywood star tonight.

you rolled your eyes, but a laugh bubbled out before you could stop it. “you’re being dramatic,” you said, shaking your head. “i’m not that big of a deal.”

nick, standing just behind chris, snorted. “you’re kidding, right? this dude is obsessed with you. we’ve heard about you, like, a hundred times.”

“nick,” chris hissed, his face flushing as he shot his brother a sharp look.

your brow quirked, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “oh, really?” you asked, tilting your head as you met chris’s flustered gaze.

“ignore him,” chris muttered quickly, running a hand through his hair. but the telltale redness creeping up his neck betrayed him. “he’s exaggerating.”

phoebe, who had been watching the exchange with an amused expression, leaned closer to you and whispered loudly enough for chris to hear, “looks like someone’s been caught”

“whatever,” chris muttered, his usual playful confidence faltering for a moment before he straightened up again. he met your eyes, a boyish grin creeping back onto his face.

“i’m just saying, it’s cool to meet you. no shame in admitting it.”the sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and you felt a warmth bloom in your chest that wasn’t there earlier.

“thanks. it’s nice to meet you too.”“so,” he said, leaning a little closer, “what’s a big hollywood actress like you doing in the corner of a party like this?”

“hating every second of it,” you admitted dryly, a playful glint in your eyes. he laughed at that, the sound rich and warm over the music.

“then let me make it better,” he said, his voice softening just enough to feel genuine. “stick with me, and i promise i’ll keep it interesting.”

and for the first time that night, you didn’t feel so out of place.

taglist: @heartsforvin , @sturncakez , @matts-myloverboy , @mattsbitchh , @zayluvss , @ilyttmatsa , @sturniolosluttt

[a-bottle-of-tyelenol]

Seeing people on tiktok say that they can’t feel bad for Ctimene (ody’s sister and eury’s wife) because Eurylochus gave up on her, unlike Odysseus who never gave up on Penelope, genuinely infuriates me.

cw: discussions of suicide particularly towards the end

People act as if it’s Eurylochus’ fault for not being strong enough, as if Odysseus is the expectation and not the INSANE outlier, and say that Eurylochus borderline deserved to die because of it. Ignoring how gross that mindset is, especially given the implications that Eurylochus killing the cow was effectively an act of suicide, Odysseus should NOT be seen as the typical man because he isn’t.

He should have died. Multiple times, in fact. If we look at the Iliad, Odysseus would have died during the war if not for Athena’s intervention (she literally redirects a spear in his abdomen so it’s not lethal when he’s alone and completely surrounded by Trojans) and that was likely the case for the ENTIRE TEN YEARS that they fought, a luxury that no other man (barring Diomedes) would have been given. I bring this up because it sets a precedent on what to expect with Odysseus and how he is inherently treated differently than regular men.

I see Eurylochus defenders often bring up how magic and monsters are not the norm for regular men, and how Odysseus is only chill with it because he was chosen by Athena and related to Hermes, and they’re RIGHT. I literally cannot stress enough how insanely bonkers it is to treat Odysseus as the standard for men, or humans as a whole, when his experience is so different! Even just as a king, he was likely far more exposed to the gods and magic than your regular footman would be. Do you genuinely think Eurylochus would have ever spoken even a word to Achilles, a half-mortal? How likely was it that he knew Ares and Aphrodite were disguised and physically on the field (so close that Diomedes literally stabbed them), let alone got close enough to experience it himself? He likely knew that Zeus’ favor was in play, or that Apollo was blessing the other side, but how much was he really faced with? How much did Odysseus bother to tell him? Within the context of how I think EPIC’s version of the Iliad would go, how much of Eurylochus’ experience of the war just him handling the men and spreading the basic plans or news from Ody to their armies? How much did Odysseus filter that news? And even if he didn’t, how real was it to Eurylochus when, as a normal man, he likely never faced any of this himself?

It’s implied in EPIC (through the fact that it’s never brought up) that the crew, including Eurylochus, don’t even know about Athena! They don’t even know that she was helping! They don’t even know that she left!

How is Eurylochus ever comparable to Odysseus?

Back to the original topic, Odysseus’ will to go home was so inhuman that it nearly destroyed him! He spent the entire musical desperately grasping to the side that makes him human— the man that he was when he left home— and his choice to stop and delve into the other side of himself fundamentally changed him! He is not the man Penelope knew! And she will have to fall in love with him again!

Odysseus is consistently placed as something above man and below god, and it is consistently the driving force of every conflict he experiences. He is too mythical, which drives the wedge between him and his entirely human crew. He is too much of a man, which incites the tensions he has with every god he comes in contact with. The only reason Odysseus makes it home in EPIC is because he started leaning away from being a man! That is the entire point of Monster! That is the entire point of Scylla likening him to her! That is the entire point of Odysseus having a song named after him!

Eurylochus fundamentally does not have this option! He, quite literally, is just a man and that is the whole point of him taking the phrase from Odysseus! He isn’t attempting to justify himself, he’s admitting defeat because no regular man can go on like this! And he’s right!

You can make a thousand arguments over the conflict of free will and fate— particularly when it comes to the cows and the crew. In the Odyssey, it is very likely that, had the cows not been touched, it would have been possible for everyone to return home, but because they ignored the prophet’s warning, man’s free will overwrote that and their fate then became to die. This only works in the Odyssey, however, because Poseidon never actually tries to kill Odysseus (and by proxy, his crew) in that story! He can’t because it was always Odysseus’ fate to return home and the gods cannot ignore fate! In EPIC, however, that’s not the case and Poseidon likely would have just killed the crew in that final fight before they reached Ithaca anyways. Odysseus would have been the only survivor regardless!

And why is that? Because Odysseus is unlike the other men and comparing any of them to him is inherently setting them up for failure. Eurylochus did not have to love Ctimene any less than Odysseus loved Penelope in order to give up. He did not have to love her less than he loved the crew that he fought so hard to keep alive. He did not even have to be weaker in will than Odysseus. His fate was sealed as soon as things started going wrong because that is the fate of a mere man in a tragedy.

And even if that weren’t the case and Eurylochus could’ve gone home if he hadn’t killed that cow, he literally could not have know that. He was starving and wracked with thirteen years of trauma and three years of grief and starvation. It is insane to me to say that he couldn’t have loved Ctimene as much because he gave up after everything that he went through— because he thought (correctly) that he was going to die regardless. As someone who severely struggles with suicidal thoughts and has for my entire life, I do not love anyone any less just because I’m on the brink of giving up and the same is true for anyone that’s given up. They don’t love their family, their partners, their friends any less than the ones that fight to keep going. It is simply more complicated than that.

We don’t know much about her in canon, but I believe that Ctimene was loved and that she deserves to have the space of anger towards Odysseus and grief towards her lost husband, regardless of his decisions. Eurylochus can love her with his entire being and still end up where he did. Iirc, Odysseus in the Odyssey wished that he had been killed during the war because of the hardships he faced trying to get back home. That wish, regardless on if he acted on it, does not mean he loved Penelope any less.

I don’t like this notion people have that Eurylochus’ love is lesser than Odysseus’ just because Eurylochus gave up, and I don’t think it’s fair to compare them at all.

The message this gives off is really gross to me and is a bit too victim blamey and unempathetic for my tastes. Eurylochus made a hasty decision (a lot, if not most, people who commit suicide do it impulsively during a low point) and it was one that was fueled by extremely idiosyncratic circumstances. To me, everything Eurylochus did was understandable and even relatable to a degree, even up until the end.

Eurylochus is more like me, more like the average person, and Odysseus could ever be and I would never see his love as any less just because he failed to meet those impossible expectations.