#but when france is involved i have to get in just to pray for their downfall

[lyramundana]

France might have all the Stray Kids concerts and attention they want

But guess what they'll never have??

The Eurocup🥰🤭🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

just for tonight

a/n: sure, I was vigilantly working on a different wip (a very long one that needed a lot of strength to get through) but then this whole fantasy came to me and i just couldn't stop myself... at least i downgraded the idea from a full-fledged series (which i sadly very much do not have the time for) to just a slutty little one shot in an au that i can always pop back into whenever the itch pops up (or when anyone has a slutty request for it hehe).

summary: before you could even consider the possible consequences, a desperate request then fell from your lips, “well, what if I’m not asking you to be with me? What if it’s just for tonight? What if I’m only asking you to be with me for one night? Would you give me that?” you blinked up at him, scarcely breathing at all, “would you be mine just till the sun comes up?” 

warnings: bodyguard!bucky barnes x reader, smut, reader's mom is the british ambassador to france, age gap (10-15 years), tattooed!bucky (both a metal arm and tattoos as picked in a poll by you), beefy!bucky, forbidden romance, posh political party, alcohol consumption, wet dream, lingerie, stockings, one night stand (except we already know those fools can't keep it to just one night), kissing, dirty talk, manhandling, size kink, oral, fingering, impact play, squirting, gaping, belly bulge, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

word count: 4907

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“You sure, you don’t want some?” you squinted over at your bodyguard as you lowered the champagne flute from your lips, “this shit costs more than my dress, which is really saying something,” you pointed to the red silk gown that hung from your frame, “this is Dior.”

“I’m good, miss,” Bucky uttered, tight-lipped as always. 

“Right, sorry,” you sat the glass down at the tall table you stood beside, “can’t drink while on duty.”

Posh parties such as the one tonight were always a bit of a drag to get through. Even though you’d been hauled along for most of your life, they’d never gotten any more amusing. 

But when your mother hired Barnes to be your personal bodyguard a few months back, the thought of getting dolled up just to have a bunch of provoking politicians talk your ear off about ideas you’d never in a million years support, somehow didn’t seem as bad as it used to now that he was constantly at your side. 

It had been a little incident involving your phone getting hacked, an explicit video nearly getting leaked, one that had been made for an ex who lived in another country to make the distance more barrable, and a few threatening messages from the perpetrator that had been the reason for your new shadow. 

Though you’d been resistant at first, storming into your mother’s office to state that you were a grown woman and didn’t need a babysitter just because someone tried to exploit an old sex tape that in your opinion wasn’t even that big of a deal, swiftly got squashed when a then stranger cleared his throat behind you and shared the more gruelling threats that had been made alongside the hacking. 

You’d hoped and prayed that he’d turn out to be a pain, that his personality could squash the feelings that fluttered inside of you whenever you looked at him, but unfortunately, he wasn’t an asshole. He was quiet, professional to a fault, but he wasn’t a dick. If anything, all of the silence and all of the glances to always keep track of you made the crush worse. It made you feel as if you were in a Jane Austen novel, reading between the lines of subtext your unreliable brain came up with.

“You tired?” he asked as a yawn rolled out of you. 

“Mhm,” you hummed behind the palm you had brought up to your lips. 

“The car’s ready to take you back to the embassy whenever you are.” 

A grateful smile twitched at your lip as you offered him a small nod of confirmation, “I’ll just go tell my mom.”

The ambassador, your mother, had her back turned to you as she talked business with a small group of people even though the hour had grown late. 

You waited for a sliver of a break before you tapped her on the shoulder and whispered in her ear.

“Hey, mom?” her palm found yours as she turned to look at you, “I’m gonna head home.”

“Oh, alright,” she leaned in and pressed a small peck to your cheek, “see you tomorrow, love.”

“Bye,” you gave her hand one last squeeze before heading out of the elegant venue, your guard still only a few paces behind you. 

A dusty drizzle met your skin as you exited onto the midnight streets of Paris. The sensation made you want to walk home, though you still followed Bucky to the black car already waiting and slipped in when he opened the back door for you. 

The light from the city reflected on the back of his metal hand as it gripped the steering wheel. You could faintly spot the prominent veins on the other one dance beneath the inked skin as it did the same, tattoos you still ached to discover just how far they stretched beneath his dark suit. 

Though soon your gaze flickered away from his silhouette as he drove, and fluttered out to the glittering cityscape rolling by, the vision of which swiftly lulled you to sleep. 

When you arrived home, Bucky’s steely eyes found your slumbering form in the rear-view mirror. You didn’t rouse when he opened your door and carefully picked you up into his arms. You didn’t wake either as he carried you inside, all the way up to your bedroom, and layed you down on your bed. 

Gently, he removed your heels and quietly placed them down on the hardwood floor before he grabbed your duvet and tugged it over your form. 

But just as he moved to leave your side, half asleep you caught his hand.

“Don’t go…” you murmured hazily, eyes still shut. 

And so, he didn’t.

Bucky simply reached for the tufted chair nearby and, as silently as he could, scooted it closer to the bed. 

Barely an hour passed before you woke. 

Before you even blinked open your eyes, your fingers began to slide down your body as the sinful dream you’d been blessed with still lingered in your foggy brain. 

Though when your eyes did flutter open and discovered the star of the dream sitting in a chair right next to you, your hand halted its voyage, and you sucked in a startled breath. 

“You okay?” he asked softly as you blinked a few times. 

“Uh,” the throbbing that still lingered from the dream probably wasn’t going to fade any faster with him sitting there with his unwavering stare, “yeah, I’m–, uhm…” you propped yourself up on your elbow before sitting up more, “I’m fine.” 

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“No, it wasn’t a–…” your sentence then crumbled as you sucked in a breath, “what are you doing watching me sleep?”

As you met his gaze, he then uttered, “you asked me to stay.”

Your eyes then widened, “I did?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh…” though you couldn’t recall, heat still began to bloom on your cheeks, “I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“It's alright,” his shoulders offered a faint shrug. 

Averting your gaze, you noticed that you were still in your dress. You weren’t quite sure if it pleased you or not that Bucky didn’t try to strip it off you, though it was probably less the moral intentions and more the fantasy of him peeling it off of you that swayed you. 

“Were you just planning on sleeping in that chair all night?” you asked. 

“No,” he shook his head, “I wasn’t planning on sleeping at all.” 

A tinge of guilt stung in your chest, “I’m really sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, I must have been asleep or something…” you then swung your legs over the side of the bed and got up. As your fingers raised up to pluck off your sparkling earrings, your feet began to carry you in the direction of your wardrobe. Dropping the jewellery off in a small porcelain bowl on the opposite bedside table, you then glanced back at your bodyguard and said, “you don’t have to stay any longer, you can go back to your room and get some sleep.” 

Offering you a nod, he then began to walk towards the door. 

Though, as you reached back to undo your dress, you abruptly uttered, “wait,” and he stopped before his steely fingers could enclose around the door handle. Turning to glance back at you, a bold request then hesitantly fell from your lips, “could you maybe help unzip me?”

He barely made a noise, simply hummed quietly in response before his slow stride carried him towards your frame as it twisted for your back to be turned to him.

When you felt his touch on the zipper, tugging it down ever so slowly, your breath came in ragged, and your eyes fluttered shut. You swore you felt his radiating heat seep into you as he exposed more of your goosebump-ridden spine. 

As the straps tumbled over your shoulders, your hands came up to your chest to hold it up even though you wished for nothing more than to let it drop before him.

And when the zipper finally reached its end, he lingered right behind you just long enough for you to catch the tether of it. Slowly, as if you were dealing with a skittish bird, you rotated around. You didn’t dare to look him in the eyes as you let yourself follow that magnetic pull you’d been trying to keep at bay. Your gaze flickered up to his lips as heated puffs of air seeped from your lungs and you slowly, hypnotically, inched closer. 

But then Bucky opened his mouth and said in a soft and quiet tone, “what are you doing?” making you halt, though not pull back. 

“Please don’t act like you don’t already know… I know you do…”

“You can’t,” he uttered, though didn’t move to walk away either as he captured your gaze, “we can’t, alright?”

“Why not?” you breathed, your eyes returning to his lips, “is it really that important for you to stay professional over everything else? Or is it that I’m just a job to you?” your heart felt as if it was gonna beat straight out of your chest, “you know I like you, I know you do. You notice everything, so of course you know. Am I right?”

A long exhale then flowed from his lungs before the faintest of nods tilted his head, “…yeah.”

“And I have eyes too, I’ve seen the way you look at me,” a shiver trickled down your spine, “so, are you really gonna just stand there and pretend you don’t feel something too? Just go back to your own room and continue to protect me like nothing’s going on?”

“Y/n, I can’t be with you,” he shook his head heavily, “you know I can’t.” 

Can’t or won’t?

Before you could even consider the possible consequences, a desperate request then fell from your lips, “well, what if I’m not asking you to be with me? What if it’s just for tonight? What if I’m only asking you to be with me for one night? Would you give me that?” you blinked up at him, scarcely breathing at all, “would you be mine just till the sun comes up?” 

As if your quiet whispers melted him completely, your bodyguard breathed, “…fuck…” and the next thing you knew, he’d grabbed your face and seized your lips. 

It was like something inside of him had snapped, something you had shattered, with the way that he kissed you as if he’d been drowning and your lips were oxygen. 

As you lost yourself in the sensation of his tongue dancing across your own, you let the red dress drop down your body, passed the sheer stockings that clung around your thighs, to the floor. Like fire, one of his hands disappeared from your cheek and ran down your frame, grazing over the black lingerie that was now exposed.  

Though heated and hungry at first, the kiss soon softened into lighter pecks. 

With his metal hand, he held your face close to his as he withdrew from the kiss, an action you weren’t quite ready for as you dreamily trailed after him a bit, longing for his lips. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” his hot breath fanned across your features. 

“Yes,” you whispered swiftly. 

But as you dizzily blinked up at him, he simply hummed for you to elaborate, “hm?”

“Yes, I want you,” goosebumps tingled across your skin. 

“You want me to what?” his thumb swiped over your cheekbone. 

“I want you to–, to–…” you fumbled as you felt your desire drip and soak your panties, making them cling to your aching core. 

“To what, huh?” 

“To–… fuck me,” the embarrassingly desperate words tumbled out your mouth. 

“You want me to fuck you?” his unwavering stare briefly dropped to your parted lips.

“Yes,” the syllable rushed out of you. 

“Say it again,” he tilted his chin. 

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Louder,” his feet began to shift, causing yours to shuffle back as well. 

“I want you to fuck me.”

“One more time,” his hand had dropped down to your jaw and his fingers curled slightly to dent your soft cheeks. 

“I want you to fuck me, please!” 

With the hold he had on you, he swiftly dipped down and pressed his lips to yours once more. The world then fell out from under you as his grasp scooped down your frame and plucked you up.

Your arms tangled around his neck right before your back collided with the closet door and your lips tilted away from his as a short squeak slipped out. The distance however lent Bucky to let his kisses dance down the length of your neck and across your cleavage, so perfectly framed by the sheer fabric of your bra. 

Though the hickeys he began to plant across your skin made your eyes roll in your skull, your fingers still captured his tie and tugged him back up for your lips to crash against his. As you moved to push his blazer off, his sturdy grip on you shifted though still held you close as the jacket fell from his burly frame and your palms swiftly scooped over his broad shoulders and down his chest, now one layer closer to letting you actually get to feel the furnace roiling beneath.

Cupping his face close, whimpers seeped out of you and vibrated against his lips as his fingers dug into your ass and rubbed your barely covered cunt over the palpable tent in his pants, your want surely drenching through your thin underwear and marking him as well. 

You almost didn’t realise that Bucky had moved till he dropped you down on the bed. Taking a step back, his tongue briefly flicked across his breathless lips as his fingers lifted to tug his tie off. 

Staring directly into your soul, he uttered, “take your bra off,” as he tossed the tie to the floor and your fingers scrambled to fulfil his request. When you flung the lingerie to the ground, right next to his crumbled tie, the cool night air kissed your pebbly nipples and Bucky let out a murmured curse right before bending down to press his lips to yours. 

Balanced on your elbows, you parted your lips and let his tongue sweep across your own. His touch coasted down your frame, barely granting your tits any attention before his grasp hooked around your thighs and yanked you closer to the edge of the mattress. A surprised yelp escaped you at first at the sudden shift, but as the sting of saliva, that had lingered and connected you from your sloppy kiss, snapped back against your skin, the short cry morphed into a fizzy giggle. 

The light laugh however faded away when you watched him sink to his knees at the foot of the bed. Your legs curled up even further on either side of you, though you weren’t quite sure if that was you or him pushing them up and cracking you open that much more. You could feel his breath hit your pantie-clad core as his gaze fixated on the soaked spot right over your puff. 

When his palm slid up your inner thigh, he only had to reach out his thumb for the broad pad to ghost over your covered slit. His eyes swiftly flickered up to capture yours, checking your reaction as you began to squirm from his feathery light touch. 

Hooking his finger in the gusset, he pulled it to the side and a glossy string stretched out and clung to the fabric as he revealed your glistening pussy. 

A breathy moan billowed out of you as he began to touch you, rolling your little pearl beneath his touch. Finding your eyes once more, he held your gaze as he then leaned down to press a gentle kiss over your clit. 

“This okay?” his voice vibrated against your bundle of nerves, making you twitch. 

“Mhm,” you nodded foggily, “you can do anything you want.”

“Anything?” his lips twitched into a smirk as his fingers stretched from where they were clutching your panties to brush over your button.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “fucking anything.” 

Your mouth then hung agape at the sight of him dipping down to ruthlessly taste your desire. It didn’t take long before he lost himself in you so fiercely that he momentarily leaned back only to rip your underwear off. Both of his hands curved around your bottom, raking across your skin as he drew you even closer to his tongue and dragged it through your wet folds.

Bumping his nose against your clit, he let himself make out with your cunt a moment longer before planting a farewell peck over your pearl and pulling back. A dollop of spit dropped from his lips down onto your pussy. Catching the drop with his fingers before it slid away, he rubbed it into your own juices and made you that much more of a mess. 

“O-oh,” you moaned as he slowly slid a long finger into you after teasing your weepy entrance enough to make you shiver. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned at the soppy sounds his efforts conjured.

Craning down to kiss your clit sloppily, Bucky then slid his ring finger in beside the other, curving them gently as he reached even deeper. 

When he momentarily retracted his digits to land a small tap over your puffy petals, the smile that bloomed on your face only egged him on further. Plugging you back up, he then retracted and repeated the slap though with more ferocity. 

Your head began to lull a bit as he brought his vibranium digits down to roll your clit and his fingers began to fuck you harder, not faster, but with an intent that made your pussy sing for him. 

With your thighs trembling, they nearly slammed shut as you felt the end near, but your bodyguard only slid his strong metal forearm over your legs, hooking it right under both of your bent knees, to keep you spread nice and open for him. 

The veins on the back of his inked hand popped from how fiercely his fingers rocked within you. 

Stretching his thumb up to strum your clit, he tried to sneak a third finger inside of you as he felt your walls begin to flutter around him. 

“That’s it, I’ve got you,” as he always did in every manner, evidently. A smile curved at his lips as your eyes fluttered closed and a symphony of moans flowed out of you with every last tender stroke he offered you to carry you over the edge, “atta girl.”

Melted against the sheets, you caught your breath as he planted one last peck on your inner thigh before standing back up. 

Slowly, with his gaze ever glued on you, he unbuttoned his shirt, gradually revealing the silver shine of the dog tags that hung from his neck and the tattoos that sprawled across his skin. Going all the way up from the hand still shiny with your essence, the ink swirled up his right arm, across his pecs, down his back and even curved over to his left shoulder and intentionally tangled into the gnarly scares sprouting from the border of his prosthetic. 

When the button-up hit the floor, his fingers drifted down to unhurriedly remove his belt, pulling it out of the loops, he let it join the shirt before he undid his pants and let his cock spring free. 

“Jesus christ…” your jaw couldn’t help but drop to the floor as your eyes fluttered at the intimidating reveal. 

Noticing the anxiety that peeked through your lust-ridden expression, his low voice found your ears, “what? Did you change your mind?” 

“No, I just–…” you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his fat cock as it throbbed before you, “I got a bit nervous all of a sudden.” 

“No reason to be nervous, baby,” he breathed out a smile as his fist curled around his girth.  

“Oh really?” you nearly began to laugh. 

“You’ll be fine,” drool threatened to escape the corner of your lips as he slowly began to stroke himself, “trust me.” 

“Really? Because I’m not so sure I’ll be able to take that…” 

“You will,” he uttered calmly as he dipped down to give you a kiss, “don’t worry,” a hand slid into your hair as he cradled your face and ushered your gaze to find his, “you know I’d never hurt you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you’ll be fine,” his thumb curved to sweep over your cheek a few times. 

“Yeah,” you gently nodded and repeated after him, “I’ll be fine.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiled. Kissing you once more, he then pressed a peck to your forehead before his grasp found your hips and he suddenly flipped you around, onto your stomach. 

Helping you up onto your hands and knees, a hazy smile stretched across your features as he bent down over you and pressed kisses all along your spine. Dragging his bulbous tip through your sopping folds, he then teased you for so long, never granting you any more than a dizzying nudge, that whines began to escape from you.

“P-please,” you heard yourself beg as your fingers bunched up the sheets. 

“What?” he continued to flick and tap your swollen clit with the head of his heavy cock.

“I–I want it–, plea–, please fuck me,” you blubbered desperately. 

“Oh, now you want it, huh?” you could hear the smirk that dominated his face, “suddenly not so nervous anymore about me stretching you out, are you?”

“Bucky, plea–, o-oh–,” you felt your limbs tremble beneath you as he slipped the very tip inside. 

His efforts were so slow at first, gradually giving you more of his length and just shallowly fucking you till you blossomed and opened up for him. 

Gradually, his thrusts began to ease from a mind-numbingly slow pace to something that truly scrambled your brain. You soon lost yourself completely to the molten sensation of his fat girth steadily splitting you open. 

Though when he finally bottomed out within you, a shrill gasp slipped out passed your lips and your frame shuttered beneath him. 

Drawing his hips back just enough for you to regain the ability to fill your lungs with oxygen once more, you heard him murmur in your ear, “what, is it too much dick for you?” retraining his thrusts slightly, he kept his tip from kissing your cervix, “that better or is it still too deep for you?” his hands dented your hips.

“N-no, no, it feels so good, it’s just–,” a whimper slipped out of you and broke up your slurring, “you’re so fucking big, I’ve never–,” you felt like you could feel him all the way up in your throat, “no one’s ever been that fucking deep before.”

One of his hands curved down to your clit at the exact same time as your own did. As they met, he let your own fingers swirl over your puffy pearl as his simply lingered, till he suddenly grasped your wrist and gently led it away from your pussy, further up to your lower stomach. 

“That deep?” he pressed down on your palm and let you discover the dull bulge that formed in your belly at every one of his dizzying thrusts, “has no one ever stuffed you that full before? Not even one of your pretty toys you play with so often?”

“Nuh-uh,” you panted as his warm contact dissipated from your spine and he straightened back up. 

A gravelly moan slipped out past Bucky’s lips as he glanced down to see how tightly your creamy pussy was gripping onto his cock. Your fingers returned to the sheets as his wide palm came down to slap your ass, your back arching at the impact and consequently angling his efforts so that the details of his dick brushed against your g-spot in the most heavenly way imaginable. 

He only buried himself inside of you a few more times, his heavy sack tapping against your buzzing clit at every electric buck, till your pussy gushed around his fat girth. 

“There you go,” he pulled out only to insistently flick your puffy pearl with his tip, “fucking hell,” he then plunged his cock all the way back in before dragging it back out, “keep going,” ushering more squirt to drizzle out. He kept up the overwhelming pattern till your pussy stopped gushing for him, till he’d pushed you through the overstimulation and your cunt slowly began to relax again for him. Eventually, when he steadily withdrew from you, he craned his neck to relish in the way your little hole had stretched out and accommodated so well for him, it even winking sinfully at him every time he pulled out, “good fucking girl,” he growled at the sight, “told you so, you’d do just fine,” your shaky frame jolted as he slapped your ass again, “look at you now fucking gaping for me, christ…”

With a ring of your cream staining the base of his cock, he let himself return to your warmth for longer than just a few seconds, fucking you with such ferocity that your pliant form, still molten and unsteady from your second orgasm, collapsed onto the mattress below. 

Though he successfully caught you before you could slip off his cock entirely, he still let you drop down on the bed, though softened the fall for you, before he followed suit. 

The weight of him on top of you felt so comforting and soothed on your tingly skin.

“You okay?” he kissed your cheek before spreading your stocking-clad legs with his own. 

“Hm,” you nodded foggily and felt yourself drool onto the sheets as he squished you further into the mattress.

Your shaky moans filled the bedroom as he slid back inside, “fuck, you feel so good…” sloppily nipping just below your ear before he picked up his pace. 

The chain that dangled from his neck felt cool on your skin and acted as a stark contrast to how hot his body felt pressed against your back. 

“You think you can be a good girl and cum for me again?” he groaned into your ear as his efforts echoed sloppily, “let me feel that pretty pussy squeeze around me one last time?”

“I-I don’t know,” you trembled beneath him, every one of his deep thrusts making you jolt and gasp for air as he was practically splitting you in half. 

“You don’t know?” he sweetly whispered in your ear as he curled his arms under you. One hand slid under your tit and caught your pebbly nipple in a rude pinch while the other soared down to your sore and swollen clit, “can you try for me? Try and cum again,” your eyes had fallen completely shut, so your whole reality had just become Bucky’s reassuring weight, his tantalising efforts, and his sinful whispers that seeped directly into your soul, “try and squirt for me one last time, sweetheart.” 

And so, you did. It didn’t even take that long before you tumbled over one last time and your pussy creamed for him, drenching the already damp sheets beneath you, as he swiftly came as well, throbbing deep within your clenching cunt and filling your little hole up to the brim till it tried to leak and escape around his girth.

His heavy pants faded from your ear as he slowly crawled off of you, cascading a tender trail of kisses all the way down your body till he gently retraced his track of pecks and settled down next to you. Fluttering your eyes open as his palm slid up to your heated cheek, he gazed into your hazy eyes for a moment before leaning in to softly press his lips to your own. 

You wanted to curl in closer to his frame, but your body was so exhausted that you could barely raise your pinkie finger. Fortunately though, as you layed there in wordless wonder, Bucky’s arms draped around you as he scooted in close, hugging you to him and gently caressing your skin as you continued to blink back into his ocean eyes, not uttering a word out of fear that you’d ruin the blissful moment.

After perhaps a small eternity had passed, he briefly raised his head up slightly to catch sight of the small clock on your bedside table. 

“There’s still a few more hours left before the sunrise…” he settled back down beside you.

“Oh, yeah?” a soft smile tilted up your lips as his touch began to travel south. 

“Yeah,” his lips gently parted in a silent moan as his fingers slid through your sore folds. His stare was transfixed on how your brows knitted together and a quiet hiss slipped out of you as he swirled over your sensitivity, playing with the hot load he’d pumped into you as it slowly leaked out, one of his digits too brash not to try and stuff it back inside, “what do you think?” sharing your breath, he inched in and let his nose nuzzle against your own, “do you want me to be yours just a little bit longer or would you rather I’d return to my own bed?” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[cosmic-crybaby]

Break My Heart Again- Tommy Shelby x Reader

Part 2

Summary: After being childhood friends, you and Thomas made a promise one day to get married, but when he returns from France, he comes back a completely different man.

Warnings: ANGST, Tommy being a jerk, talk of trauma/death/etc. Platonic(?) betrayal.

It had been what seemed like weeks after the men were shipped off to France to fight in the war. When in reality, it had been only a week. [Name] had went back to work rather quickly, her mother preferring not to have her daughter mope around the house like a widow. So, she wrote her first letter to him.

Thomas,

You've just left us and it's already quiet here. Too quiet. The betting shop, the street, and the pub are all silent compared to the liveliness we were used to when you were home. When we came back from the platform, Polly, Ada, Martha, and I had walked in silence. Even Finn wasn't being his usual disorderly self. It's almost as if no one knew how to fill the silence. No one can fill the void that you three left.

In all honesty, I am scared. Terrified something will happen, and you won't return home to us. I want you to know how much I think about you, how much I need you to come home to me. I want you to be my first everything, I want you to keep that promise you made me before you left. Even now, as I write this letter, I stare at the ring on my finger, imagining how our future would be. We will pray for you every morning for a safe return.

Stay safe and please watch over each other. We are sending our love and prayers.

Sincerely, Your love [Name].

The whole of Small Heath seemed to be silent the first few days, but the women quickly took over while most of the men were gone. She had worked and worked everyday with the other women in the shop. Polly and Ada were strong women, and they were cracking down on the books like no other. They had involved themselves with their work that [Name] didn't expect her letter to come a few weeks later. Ada came running in with the post, handing her Aunt Polly the letters, and dropping Thomas' letter on the desk in front of her new close friend.

[Name] had never pulled out her letter opener so quickly. She nearly missed the blade as her hands shook to open it. The pages of parchment fell on the desk, unfolding it to read the letter he sent. Her colorful eyes went wide as she read the first page, heart fluttering and beating fast as she imagined his voice saying these words.

[Name],

When the train had left the station, I had already found myself missing home. We Small Heath boys sat together and no one knew what to say. We try to stay optimistic but news is that the odds are not in our favor. It hits harder the further we are from home. I am currently at a training camp, and even when my face is in the mud I still think of you. Your eyes, your smile, your voice. You visit me in my dreams, even when I'm in this hell you still feel like home.

No matter how long this will last, it will be difficult for you as it is for us. But Polly with take good care of you, you are no doubt a part of this family already. You will soon be a Shelby. I had never forgotten my promise to you. You are my dearest friend, and the most beautiful girl I had ever met. I knew from the day we met, you were special.

I will be safe [Name] I promise you that. We are going to make this out alive and you and I will get married and have our future together, building our legacy. Keep your thoughts clear and your mind positive until our return.

Until I write again my Love, Tommy.

The single tear ran down her cheek. Smiling a bit as she folded the paper again, placing it back in the envelope and into the drawer. Hearing Polly and Ada read the letters out loud from Arthur and John as they laughed through the sniffles. It made her lean back into her chair, looking up from the ring to the ceiling.

"[Name]! What did Tommy say?" Ada ran into her office, leaning on the door frame. [Name] turns to the younger Shelby sibling.

"Wouldn't you like to know," She teased with a light-hearted smirk.

"Come off it, lemme see!" Ada skipped to the desk, sitting down on top as [Name] gave in and took out the letter again, handing it to Ada. She smiles brightly as she read over the letter.

"Oh, [Name], that's so nice...I've never heard him be so...well, that before," She laughed. The girl tsked and grabbed the letters back from the Shelby.

"You'd be surprised, he's quite the romantic," She arched a brow at Ada.

"Yeah sure..." She shook her head.

"How are John and Arthur doing?" She had asked, putting the letters back.

"As good as they can be, [Name]...as good as they can be..." She paused. "Have you talked to Martha?" Ada asked. [Name] shook her head.

"Is she still sick?" She asked, her voice laced with worry.

"We think so, Polly's gonna visit her after work today, give her some medicine make sure she's okay, but just don't say anything to Tommy about it...She doesn't want John to worry," Ada explained.

"Of course, your secret is safe with me," Her lips formed into a tight lipped smile.

"I'll leave ya to write your letters," Ada hopped off of the desk and left her office. [Name] lets out a heavy sigh, moving the record books out of the way to pull the typewriter forward, placing the paper in before thinking of what exactly to write. How she could pour her feelings into one letter. Taking her fingers away from the keys to take a quick prayer, the same prayer that Polly taught all of the girls at the shop.

---

It had been years since the men from Small Heath had left. During those years, the two of them wrote letters back and forth as often as they could. At some point the letters began to slow. Anyone could imagine the reason why. In the last letter Tommy sent, he gave [Name] an idea of what he had to endure. The carnage and violence was only the beginning. The deaths he encountered, the injury and damage that had happened to him physically and mentally was enough to hurt her. Just from reading it. It was the middle of July of 1918. She was writing another letter to Thomas.

Thomas,

I received your letter last night. I miss you more than words can describe. Everything is starting to feel like normal again, as normal as is can be. I suppose the women taking over the jobs while most of the male population being away was the norm for the time being. It was still strange though. However, business has been slow recently. Ever since Martha had passed Polly and I had been taking turns to take care of the kids. Cooking for them and cleaning up after them nearly every day was just as hard as I imagined, Martha made it look so easy. Please give John my condolences once again and that we are thinking of him. And let me know how he is holding up.

The horses are looking healthy, Curly has been taking good care of them. My mother and I take walks in your uncles yard after dinner nearly every night just to see how the horses are doing, and so far he has been doing a wonderful job.

As much as I want to keep this letter forward-looking and cheerful, I do hope you are doing alright Tommy. The last letter you sent me had me worried for you. You told me you were going to be in charge of digging tunnels to bury explosives, I just hope you make it out alive. You had been there for me when my father had passed, and I hope you will let me be there for you after this is all over. Of course I have no real insight of what you are going through, but I hope you are safe. You were always so determined and strong. Make us proud, you always do.

Please give my love and support to your brothers.

Your Love, [Name].

It took months to receive a letter back. Longer than usual, but you didn't question it as you knew his job was hard, but you'd be lying if part of you didn't think the worst. But those clouds that plagued your mind were clear upon seeing his letter. It was a short one this time, but you imagined that he barely had any time to write these days.

[Name],

I am writing this by candlelight, Danny and Freddie doing the same. Writing wills and writing home. I have left everything I had to the family, you included. I'm sorry it's not much or what we had planned, but this is inevitable.

Knowing what's waiting at home encourages me and I will do my best to come out alive.

I will make sure to relay your kind words to John next time I see him.

Until I write again, SMG, Tommy.

Her hands shook as she read over the short letter. Again and Again she couldn't believe what he was saying. She set the letter in the desk drawer, along with the other piles of letters, before shutting it. She didn't want to believe it, not one bit. She was still hopeful that he would live. He even said 'Until I write again,'...but she didn't expect the letters to completely stop coming after that. No matter how many letters she had sent his way, she still didn't receive one back.

Weeks had passed, as Ada and Polly were receiving letters back to back every week, while [Name] came to an empty desk, but she never told them, afraid to hear if they received his letters as well or not. It made her heart hurt to think of the possibilities.

On November eleventh, a boy ran through the streets blaring the news. The war had ended. There was a shift in the air after the news broke of the war ending and the men finally returning home. The entirety of Small Heath seemed to be rushing to prepare for the return of the soldiers. Even Polly seemed increasingly distracted as she prepared for the return of her nephews, leaning on [Name] to review additional books and records. But tensions arise further as the official date was announced of the soldiers arrival.

Ada and the other girls grew giddier with each passing day, making [Name] just want to smack them. She was happy for them of course but, how could she witness their excitement for their men if she hadn't heard from hers in months. When the day finally arrived, it felt like the entire town was rushing to the station. Polly and Ada were waiting in anticipation for the train to arrive, while [Name] kept her brows stern in worry as she kept her gaze to the cement floor. She honestly had no idea what to expect. If he wasn't to return she would be heartbroken, if he was she would be confused by the cold shoulder he gave her. The sound of people cheering and screaming caught her attention as the train approached. Polly and Ada pushed their way forward as the train came to a stop. [Name] made sure to hold onto Finn as tight as she could so he wouldn't get lost in the crowd.

"Where are they?" Polly asked, excitement seeping in her voice.

"I dunno, [Name], do you see 'em?" Ada asked as she pulled her quiet friend along. Her eyes barely scanned the area as families reunited in tears, the boys finding their family members and just melting into their embrace.

"Um..." [Name] tried to get a better look, but the hordes of people blocked her vision.

"[Name]!" Ada called next to her...and she felt your heart drop. "I see them! Aunt Pol, look! There they are!"

[Name] couldn't catch her breath as Ada pointed somewhere in the distance. She squealed as she pulled [Name] with her. The closer they got, the more her heart began to beat. It felt like it was going to beat right out of her chest. She almost didn't want to lay her eyes upon them. In fear she would end up like the women receiving bad news that their own soldier had died in the battlefield.

But, she finally looked up. Ada, Finn, and Polly running to hug Arthur and John. [Name] stood in her place as she met this eyes. Those icy blue eyes and suddenly the air flew back into her lungs.

He was alive.

"Thomas?" She called, he stared at her. "Thomas!" She took off from her planted state and ran towards him. Throwing herself in his arms as she held him tightly, his arms wrapped around her tightly as he burred his face into her neck, inhaling deeply. She smelled like florals, an exotic blend of jasmine and violet. She smelled like home.

"You're okay...you're alive," She whispered to remind herself that he was in the flesh. She lifted her head to look at him, tears flooding her eyes as she rekindled with him. His hair was cut, short on the sides and back, nearly to the root with longer hair on the top that draped just across his forehead. The square of his jaw was clenched and sunk at the cheeks, sharp cheek bones...sharp enough to cut glass. Dark circles under his eyes and pale skin, but the same freckles littered his nose and cheeks. He looked so different. But nothing could beat the look in his eyes. He looked like a man that had gone through hell.

She supposed he actually did.

"My love? Are you really here with me?" She asked him, bringing her hands up to his face.

"I am...[Name], I'm here," He slightly smiled at her as he kissed her forehead. She knew he was physically here, but part of her knew mentally...he was distancing himself.

As the days passed, his once beautiful, vibrant blue eyes turned dull and emotionless. Just like before, he was sweet with her at first, but he started to grow cold. On some nights, she would sleep in his small bed, just waiting for him to come home in the late hours. When he did come home late, he would be drunk and simply stumble into bed, the faint smell of roses on his neck. He was a shell of the man she used to love.

One morning, she walked into his office.

"We need to talk," She told him, standing in the doorway sheepishly. He barely looked up at her before lighting a cigarette.

"What is it [Name], I am extremely busy," He huffed. The woman rolled her eyes, clenching her jaw as she closed the door behind her and walked to his desk until she were standing in front of him.

"You have been acting strange with me all these weeks, Tommy...What's happened?" She finally asked.

"Nothing happened, [Name]…Is that all this is about?" He asked, standing to grab some books from his shelf to look over, still avoiding her eyes. She almost felt delirious as she just wanted him to look at her. Her eyes followed him.

"You barely talk to me-"

"We're talking now," He quipped. She refrained from tearing her own hair out at how dismissive he was being.

"Hardly..."

"What is the point of this conversation [Name]?" He asked, arching a brow as he went back to his desk, again her body followed him, facing him again.

"The point is you don't treat me like I matter to you anymore, you hardly treat me as your bride-to-be let alone a friend! Does our friendship even matter to you anymore?"

He stayed silent as he just kept his head down.

"For Christ sake Thomas, look at me!" She shouted in frustration. His head snapped up to look at her. Surprised she had raised her voice as she had been so quiet since his return.

"You want to know what really happened, [Name]? Eh?" He quickly stood up and stalked towards her, her breath shuttered a bit as she was backed away into the wall, he stood tall over her.

"I saw people die, for four fucken' years! I nearly died in those tunnels, drowning in the mud and still, you assume I'll forget that ever happened?!" He shouted, getting closer.

"I don't blame you for what happened while you were gone...I understand-"

"No you don't [Name], stop fucken' saying you understand me when you don't! You weren't there, you will never understand what happened to me out there!"

"So what changed Thomas?" She asked, her lip trembling a bit. "What did I do to make you treat me this way?"

He scoffed, shaking his head as he pushed himself off of the wall and distanced himself from her.

"I thought you died out there Thomas, you didn't respond to my letters for weeks, I...I was so scared, and to find out you were alive and now? You treat me like a stranger... What did I do wrong?" Her voice was stern, but even Thomas heard the unstable wavering of some of the words. Thomas eyed her, looking at her like she was some common woman, not his closest friend and love of his life.

"You drain me...just being with you is exhausting, I mean for fucks sake [Name], you cling to me more that a fuckin' leach from the cut,"

"A leach?...That's what you think of me now?" She shook her head.

He hesitated.

"So that promise you made me was all fake?"

'What can I say? France gave me clarity..." He shrugged. [Name] was fuming. This wasn't the man she loved. Not anymore.

"I don't know who you think you are, but I loved you Thomas...But you're not the man I fell in love with,"

Thomas bit his lip before reaching into his pocket to grab another cigarette. There was still light in his eyes but he was too deep in his memories of France that he couldn't get out. He hardly slept as he heard the digging in the walls every night. She would have made those noises from his head and those terrors in his dreams if he had just given her the chance. He'd rather spend his nights elsewhere getting drunk and sleeping with the prostitute he met shortly after returning home.

"The old me died in the tunnels..." He spoke softly. She wanted nothing but to just kiss him and tell him everything would be okay. But the memories haunted him. And therefor turned her love away.

"I suppose the new you doesn't have love for anyone?"

"No," He replied quickly.

She nodded slowly. Reaching into her left hand and debating if she wanted to return the ring he gave her before he left. Tears brimmed her eyes as she slipped the gold band off of her finger. Thomas' eyes widened ever so slightly as he watched her walk over to him, grabbing his hand and placing the ring in his palm before folding his fingers over it, moving past him as she left his office without any last words.

she had stormed to her own office, slamming the door and quickly gathering her thoughts before gathering her things. She had left the shop in silence, Polly had called her name as she watched [Name] leave without a trace.

"Where has she gone, why is she leaving?" She asked her nephews and niece before going to investigate the now empty office. Thomas watched in shameful silence as Polly confirmed that her things were gone. Though the reason was unknown, Polly accused of Thomas being the reason for the young woman's departure. After she had voiced her (harsh) words, she left him in silence again.

"Trouble in paradise?" His brother asked, smirking a bit after watched their aunt butchering him with her words.

"Shut up John," He rolled his eyes before returning to work.

---

[Tag List]

@mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @milljane @cyphah @diosa-ahre-blog @badlandsbrunette

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

An Update from anonymous in Israel and a personal note from me:

*Hamas threatens execution of the hostages.

*1000 Israelis murdered on Israeli soil. The numbers keep rising. There are a few hundreds struggle for their lives in hospitals.

*At the strongholds of Hamas in Gaza whole neighborhoods were wiped out.

*Deputy commander of a Brigade killed in a confrontation with terrorists from Lebanon. Must be Hezbollah. Israeli doctrine is the commanders physically lead which can have a high price.

*The White House was lightened with blue and white Israeli colors. Solidarity. Will take it even if don’t like the occupants right now. We miss Trump.

*The Head of the Joint Staff of the US had a talk with the IDF Chief of Staff about making American Military support in the region stronger. My Interpretation: American fleet is on the way to deter Iran and Hezbollah from joining the war. We in Israel don’t like it. Israel should not rely on anyone else. Specially not Biden. Again , we miss Trump. On second thought it does feel good to know we are not alone even if the move is symbolic.

*Netanyahu -“What we will do to Hamas will eco for generations.” “We will treat them like ISIS” (like treating ISIS.)

*Biden – “11 Americans were killed in the attack”.

*My ____told me that the largest hospital in the North (Rambam Hospital) is converting the parking structure to a hospital space. It’s the north. Could mean preparation for a war in the north with Hezbollah.

*IDF- “Tens of terrorists were eliminated in the past day.”

*IDF – “So far we attacked 1707 targets.” Air Force.

*The leaders of the US, Germany, Italy, UK, France in a joint statement condemning the attack, warning others from joining the war and saying they support Israel. The Globalists are supporting Israel. I wonder why and for how long?

*The popular Telegram channel in Gaza is pleading not to publish names of terrorists because “the IDF is bombing their homes”. Some terrorists will be homeless and familyless. There is a black list of all the involved. Israel is known to have a long memory. All the involved directly or indirectly are going to die. I am sure.

*American Israeli in Miami – a wealthy guy- is organizing an operation room with volunteers. Arranged and arranging flight tickets for Israelis who are reservists abroad who want to come to fight. The numbers are confidential but I am sure that there are thousands who are coming back to fight. But the airport is closed. But airlines are getting prepared to help with this effort as soon as they can.

*Speaker of the National Security of the US (or whatever it is called) John Kirby is choking on live TV when asked about the images of the kidnapped. He is saying they have no direct intelligence of Iran’s involvement in this attack. (Israel will know the whole chain to the top shortly. From prisoners and other means).

Love, Shalom & God Bless you all my friends.

From me, GRITS on Tumblr:

I'm sharing the updates to encourage prayer. God loves EVERY human being, no matter your family of origin. Even those who deny his existence or seek to destroy Him are loved by Him. Why? Because He is Elohim who created everyone. He made a covenant with Abraham and God will NOT break His promises. If the entire world turns against Israel (and according to prophecy Ezekiel 38 & 39), that day will come), God alone will fight for them. This does not mean their government is good or righteous. Their government is corrupt just like the American government. It does mean that God keeps His promises in spite of politics and in spite of governments.

If you would like to pray for our world, I recommend reading aloud & meditating on the Psalms. We all have our favorites but in light of current events, start at Psalms 120 and just keep going. There are many translations. The ESV The NCV The CEV are more modern but less flowery/romantic.

If you are a Christian, you are commanded to "Pray for peace in Jerusalem" (psalm 122:6)

We don't need to understand the politics. Our job is to pray for peace.

For my friends here who are not Believers, I offer you the psalms. There is something very special about these words. We believe they were inspired by God Himself and preserved for thousands of years by a small group of Hebrew people. It was out of these tribes that God gave us our Lord Jesus who we believe is the prophesied Messiah, the Christ.

The Jewish leaders were expecting a political messiah to rescue them from a corrupt government---a political KING. God sent them a lowly, adopted son of a carpenter who waited until age 30 to begin a 3 year ministry. Jesus came not to be served but to serve. Jesus came to seek and save the lost. Unfortunately they didn't realize their greatest need was not political, but soul salvation.

Jesus, God's only son came to be the bridge between us and the Father.

Allegedly (Steve) founder of Apple Computers said, "God sent His son on a suicide mission but we forgive Him because He gave us trees."

I can see how people feel that way, but it was more than a suicide mission---It was a redemption mission: Him for us. One day we will all stand before our Creator and none of my "good works" will be enough to overcome my sinful heart. I was born a sinner but Jesus stands in the gap for me. I deserve death as the penalty for my sinful heart but Jesus defeated death. Now I will live forever with Him. You can too.

Maranatha!

[mcflymemes]

RATATOUILLE (2007) PROMPTS

if you focus on what you left behind, you’ll never see what lies ahead.

last night, i experienced something new.

you must not let anyone define your limits because of where you come from.

only the fearless can be great.

take a good long look.

we must live carefully.

when all is said and done, we’re all we’ve got.

you’re telling me that the future can only be more of this?

this is the way things are. you can’t change nature.

where are you going?

do you know what you’d like this evening?

which one would you like?

i’ll make you a deal.

you’re slow for someone in the fast lane.

i will return tomorrow night with high expectations.

pray you don’t disappoint me.

every second counts!

no one knows for sure.

i defrauded a major corporation.

i robbed the second largest bank in france using only a ball-point pen.

i killed a man... with this thumb!

no, i don’t think anyone can do it.

wait. you read?

i don’t like secrets.

it’s like you’re involving me in crime, and i let you. why do i let you?

thank you, by the way, for all the advice.

don’t look at me like that!

you’re aren’t the only one who’s trapped.

you’re the one who was getting fancy with the spices!

i need this job. i’ve lost so many.

did you nod? have you been nodding?

you understand me? so i’m not crazy!

look, don’t be so modest.

whatever you did, they liked it.

do you think you could... do it again?

i’m going to let you out now.

regrettably, we are all out of wine.

uh... excuse me a moment?

i think it’s apparent that i need to rethink my life a little bit.

if you are what you eat, then i only want to eat the good stuff.

look at him out there, pretending to be an idiot!

should i be concerned about this? about you?

i would have followed your advice to the ends of the earth.

so, we have given up.

you are better than that.

food will always come to those who love to cook.

why do you care?

you can smell all that?

now don’t you feel better?

it isn’t stealing if no one wants it.

let’s just say we have different points of view.

i don’t really drink, you know.

why are you walking like that?

what are you blathering about?

that storm’s getting closer.

always do something unexpected.

welcome to hell.

we gotta figure something else out.

so this is it. it’s not much but it’s, y’know. not much.

well, i just lost my family. all my friends. probably forever.

why am i talking to you?

you know how to fix it. this is your chance.

[jinxthejubilee]

Disney Villain Recruiters Personalities: Part 8

The damsel of dings! The canary of clings and clangs! The bell of the ball! !

Introducing: Veil!

For those of you who don't know, the Disney Villain Recruiters was a Tokyo Disneyland-only show held every Halloween. Basically, the minions of famous Disney villains come to our world to try and tempt us to join their villain bosses.

Warning: This particular Personality Page will include descriptions and themes of the corrupt church and bigotry seen in the Hunchback of Notre Dame movie/novel. If you are not comfortable with this, please heed this warning.

- By the way, they are not the sons, daughters, or genderbent versions of the villains. They are just minions.

- Also! I do not speak Japanese. Thankfully, there were a few that had English subtitles, but not a lot. These are just my interpretations of her based on the videos I've seen, along with my own personal ideas about his character. So, let's get started!

Veil 🔔

As the humanoid incarnation of The Hunchback of Notre Dame's greatest symbol, Veil was employed by Claude Frollo, to spread the word of God and keep her master in power.

Now, as for her backstory, unlike most of the recruiters who were either created through magic or born an animal, I believe it would be best for Veil to have been a simple human, rather than the bell coming to life. However, unlike Quasimodo, who was taken in and raised as a baby and was subsequently conditioned by Frollo, similar to a few other recruiters, Veil's backstory involves her own family.

Veil grew up very poor, living in a small house with her mother and father. Both of her parents were cruel, harsh, and clearly unfit to care for a child, but the only reason why they chose to have one was to use Veil for the sole purpose of child labor. At a young age, Veil was expected to do her part: cooking, cleaning, and being the target of her parents' frustration and anger throughout the day.

With no one to turn to, Veil found solace in the church, praying every day for the Lord to grant her the strength to keep going. Eventually, Frollo is introduced to her after a few kind-hearted members of the church take pity on her and call upon Archdeacon for help. Frollo, under moral obligation, takes the young girl in as his pupil.

Veil has been described as an almost "mysterious" figure by the three hosts of the show. A woman who is both sophisticated and quiet, yet loud, proud, and displays a lack of understanding or regard for, at least some, social cues. As a member of the church choir, she's displays her talent every chance she gets, much to the dismay of most of the recruiters.

Despite her "odd" behavior, she displays a cheerful disposition regarding her work as a recruiter, only outdone by Pretty Scar. Like the rest of the coworkers, she heavily disliked all of them in some way at first, especially with the way most of them would react negatively to her voice. Veil was not very social when they all first met, viewing most of them as "unworthy in God's eyes." However, she realizes how precious they are to her, even the ones she sees as rivals on the stage, and how hypocritical she was acting, as though she was somehow better than all of them. She can puff out like a peacock all she wants, but in reality, she is still that lost, scared little girl who longs for acceptance from somewhere, anywhere. Veil has friends now, true friends that she could easily call "family," and she will hold onto this family until her last curtain calls.

Monseigneur Claude Frollo: Her master and her father-figure, Veil has worshipped the Minister of Paris for most of her life, and very rarely questioned him, even though she is not as close to him as she wants to be. However, she adore him all the same. In her eyes, anyone who was punished by the Archdeacon of France, in her mind, it was rightfully deserved. After all, he was the proud, devoted enforcer of virtue and justice, how could he possibly commit any sins when it is the will of God? However, she had never really seen his "darker, unholy nature," of which a sadistic, savage beast laid dorment until he could sink his teeth into his victims once again. Veil hadn't seen her master for the delusional, bigoted madman that he was...until she came back from the recruitment program. With fresher eyes and a better understanding of the world, she returns back to her station, by her master, as she always should, and always would be, but it doesn't feel quite right anymore. She was no longer a blind follower, she had evolved, but just enough that she dared to ask Frollo for lesser sentences for the accused sinners; she wasn't strong enough yet. She still believed that her master was a righteous man. That was, until Esmerelda came along and Quasimodo grew stronger as a person. Will Veil see through Frollo's deception as a man of the Lord for what he really is? Or will she forever be a puppet at the hands of the corrupt church? Well, that is only up to her.

Quasimodo: Their relationship is...complicated. They have known each other since they were children, but that does not make them close at all. Due to his appearance and his job as the bell ringer, Quasimodo has hardly interacted with Veil. She was never awful or rude to him, but she was strict and acted coldly around him and other people. She does envy him, however, that he has a closer relationship with her master than she does. And that envy extends to Esmerelda, who has been granted numerous audiences with him. Due to her sheltered upbringing and brainwashing from Frollo, Veil doesn't understand why Quasimodo would betray their father for Esmerelda and his friends. That being said, she also doesn't truly understand why Frollo would want to kill Esmerelda when she hasn't committed any real crimes. Her master wouldn't kill an innocent for no reason! He wouldn't! ...Would he? Veil would feel very torn about this. Should she choose to renounce Frollo as her master and her father in the end, I see her and Quasimodo becoming very close, and together, they would help the town and bring the church to its former glory, where everyone is welcome.

Apple Poison: As the resident father/big brother figure, and one of the eldest among the recruiters, Veil respects Apple's authority for the most part. Occasionally, he may get on her nerves due his constant arguments with Jack Heart, and when he covers his ears when she's singing, but Apple, more often than not, praises her for her singing, which she very much appreciates. And anyone who can keep Jack on his toes, is an ally in Apple's book. They are not very close, but they have a genuine respect and understanding of each other.

Jack Heart: Jack is one of Veil's coworkers who really gets under her skin. They are rivals on the stage, and as much as Veil tries to be patient and humble about it, she equally wants to be seen and recognized for her talent, and Jack, the little mischievous bugger that he is, keeps getting in the way of that! Veil is often frustrated by Jack's antics, even once exclaiming that she "hates Jack more than dogs!" However, they do recognize each other's abilities, which they both reluctantly respect. They learn to tolerate each other more as the months and years go by, then they develop a more teasing, less violent relationship.

Malfie (Malfi): In comparison to Jack, Malfie does not nearly get on her nerves as much, but that's not saying a lot. They aren't "rivals" per se, since they mostly give off "close bickering cousins" energy. The two of them do seem to enjoy each other's company though, as Malfie seems to be one of the first to applaud her singing. And despite numerous instances with Veil knocking the ever-egotistical raven down a peg with the phrase: "Even though you're just Malfie," she appears content being around him. In summary, "close bickering cousins," is definitely the vibe you can expect from this pair.

Eight Foot Joe: According to Veil herself, she's not particularly involved with Joe, nor is she very close to him, but she doesn't hate him. Although she doesn't appreciate the octopus covering his ears every time he hears her sing (It's not his fault, Veil. He's sensitive.) Plus, I'm positive that with all of the mythical beings of the sea, he's had to have encountered sirens before. Moreover, there have been times when Joe lacks the spirit of the season and Veil tugs on his arm to get him to follow directions, much to her slight annoyance. But hey! Joe is one of the more competent members of the group, so she can't complain to much about him.

Mr. Dalmatia: Unfortunately for both Veil and Dalma, Veil has dog allergies, so her bias against the former dalmatian is most likely due to her ailment. That, or the fact that Dalma likes to tease Veil by stealing her bell to play with it. Or his and Jack's pranks against her. Or him constantly going near and bothering her in his dog form when he knows about her allergies... Okay, so maybe there are a few good reasons as to why their relationship is pretty tenuous. But! Like it or not, Veil is a member of Dalmatia's pack, a family that they both care for dearly, and that includes each other. They find a way to tolerate one another as the years go by. For example, Veil's lullabies, if they're quiet enough (again, sensitive ears), put him right to sleep. Give it up for the epitome of a pesky sibling relationship.

Pretty Scar (Mzuri): As stated before with many of the recruiters, Pretty Scar is not the most popular among them, with Veil being no exception. Veil acts distant around the hyena, simply addressing her as "Scar," while the latter refers to her as "Aunt Chillin', Chillin', possibly referring to Veil more cold and standoffish demeanor. So suffice to say, they are not on great terms. However, Mzuri's charm and efforts to get along with Veil, warms the bell ringer's heart. Just a tad. Similar to Dalma, Veil's lullabies are one of the only things that can soothe the savage beast, with her singing reminding Mzuri of the few songs she remembers of her childhood. Again, these two may not be close, but Pretty Scar views Veil as her older sister and a member of her cackle, so she's going to need to get used to it.

Ms. Hades: Another coworker who she views as a respectable authority figure. Veil appears to be on good terms with Ms. Hades, even though the fire maiden often questions Veil's devotion to her master, as Frollo clearly thinks highly of himself as a god-like figure, to which he is not. In her infinite lifetime, Ms. Hades has seen countless mortals fall to the depths of Tartarus for their crimes against humanity, most of which were driven by an uncountable amount of pride; Ms. Hades is simply offering Veil a warning in advance. Other than that, the older of the two helps Veil whenever she can, whether that be in advice, or when Veil struggles with her poses. All in all, they are great friends!

Lady Hock (Hook): Her own partner in crime! Lady H is Veil's best friend and most trusted confidant. The pair are often seen displaying affection for one another: linking arms, hugging, and Hock is Veil's biggest cheerleader when she sings for the crowds, and perhaps even join her! Should Jack and Dalma take their pranking streak too far, these gals are the first to jump on the opportunity to get them back. In a way, Hock inspires Veil, she isn't completely devoted to her captain as she is with her Master Frollo. Through her companionship with Hock and the others, this all may convince Veil to cut ties with Frollo...maybe someday...

Faja (Farja): If Hock is Veil's best friend, then Faja comes at a close second. Despite Faja more annoying and/or troublesome tendencies, including her lack of understanding of magic, her constant fights with Malfie, and her general Iago-like attitude, she and Veil are on surprisingly good terms. Perhaps it was their common goal of impressing their masters and earning a place alongside them that brought them together, maybe it was the opposites attract dynamic they have as one of the loudest and quietest members of the team, but they just...work. Veil may be distant and accidentally sarcastic due to her lack of social skills, but she means well and encourages Faja to do her best. Especially if it's against Malfie. Faja, meanwhile, is as equally supportive and appreciates Veil's patience during her more moody moments or crazy outbursts. What more can I say, they just work!

Overall: In spite of Veil's initial distaste for her colleagues, she finds herself more and more thankful for the friendships she was denied long ago as a child. Her distance towards them was not truly out of disapproval, but out of fear for rejection and her craving closeness of any kind with anyone, but not understanding how or why.

Regardless, she cares for each of them dearly, even if she has a difficult time expressing that to certain recruiters. Their time together and the lessons learned along the way may not be in vain when she inevitably returns. Should Veil overcome her sense of unworthiness, she could move forward and bring honor to the bloodstained church once again when her master meets his well-deserved fate. The question is: Can she surpass that fear?

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your patience! I know that I promised to finished the ladies in time for Halloween, but shenanigans and a gargantuan amount of essays can reeeaallly slurp up your creative juices. But again, I'm sorry and I appreciate you all waiting. Next up is Lady Hock, and if I'm honest, I'm not quite sure what to do with her backstory yet. But I'll figure it out, I promise that at least!

With that being said, thank you all so much for reading! Have a safe and fantastic day! And I'll see you later! Byeee! 💗

[renee-writer]

April 15th Chapter Thirty-five

AO3

The report shatters any hope of peace. Archduke Ferdinand is assassinated. A war that will eventually overtake most of the known world has begun.

 

“You and the bairns will be fine, no matter what. Da will see to you.” Jamie tells Claire.

 

“Certainly it will be contained.”  He squeezes her hand.

 

“Perhaps cooler heads will prevail. But with Germany getting involved, I fear it is only a matter of time before Britain must take a stand.”

 

A week later with the involvement of France, his prediction comes true, when British forces land in France.

 

“We may not be called up.” Ian argues. The three young man, sit with Brian, discussing next steps.

 

“Just so. Why rush to join the fight?” William agrees.

 

“I don’t want to do this any more then you guys do. I would rather stay here, at Lallybroch and raise my babies. But,” he shakes his head, “the world isn’t allowing that. We can wait or we can take our place in defense of our country. As Fraser and Murray men,” a nod to Ian, “ I believe we know what needs done.”

 

“Aye son. I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Brian adds, “No, I don’t want to see my sons go off to war.  That said, this family preforms their duty, without complaint or hesitation. You know I will see to Jenny, Mary, Claire, and the children.”

 

“Maybe this war will be short.” Ian offers. They all pray so.

 

He holds his children close.

 

“You will look after your mama and brother and sister while I am gone?” Fergus nods, manly holding in his tears.

 

“Aye Papa.”

 

Faith, but a year old, rests against his chest. His son’s are against his legs. Claire bits her lip with tears streaming down her face. In other rooms, Ian and William are saying goodbye to their families.

 

“We shall pray for you and our uncles everyday.” Quinton says.

 

“Every minute.” Claire adds.

 

He kisses his daughter’s head. He longs to memorize her sweet baby smell, knowing that when he returns, she will be a completely new person. That all his children will be.

 

“I love you so much.” He swallows, “so very much. Lads, you write us, letting us know all.  It shall help with your penmanship.”

 

Teary giggles. Both lads have trouble with calligraphy.

 

“We shall papa.”

 

“You Faith Ellen, please try not to change to much.” His first tears fall then. She frowns and touches his face.

 

“Dada?”

 

“He is sad.” Her mama says. She holds her own coming weeping back until she is alone, needing to be strong for her children.

 

They are saying goodbye at Lallybroch. A train station farewell is unfathomable. She wants to remember him here, not leaving for war.

 

They made frantic love several times last night and once this morning. Their bodies saying what words alone, can’t express.

 

It is time. With Faith in her arms and her sons pressed against her, they say goodbye to Jamie.

 

“On your way soldier. Hurry back to us.”

[princeescaluswords]

Hi, I’m the anon who originally wrote re: your book idea. I really appreciate your responses! Your clarification offered more of the nuance I was concerned might be being overlooked. FWIW I’m 100% in agreement with your points on how characters and actors were treated once they were on the show. I also think Jeff Davis seeing himself in Stiles and having an obvious affinity for Isaac (in comparison to other side characters) play significantly into his creative blind spots. Coincidence that both characters are white men? I’d say no. His record with female side characters (who were often killed off at the ends of their arcs/when they were written out), combined with the treatment of non-white characters, male and female alike, only reinforces my sense that he had narrow interests and characters who didn’t fit those interests were sidelined or disposed of when he got bored. And most of them didn’t get dignified send-offs akin to pursuing a career in the FBI or jetting off to France to Eat, Pray, Love.

(Your anecdote about that Sterek writer and the fabricated quote is wiiiiiild but absolutely in line with what I’ve witnessed. I will never understand never wanting to see the source material.)

Where I think inside info would be valuable is understanding just how tightly the writers’ room and MTV’s marketing/social media team were linked. If both teams were receiving a significant volume of coordinated marching orders from the studio, or if the marketing team was allowed influence over the writers, that would absolutely be worth exploring. If the relationship was more standard—writers largely make the creative decisions with some studio input and marketing takes the finished product and does their thing with it—then I think it would be harder to prove that feeding fandom’s racism was more of a driving factor for the writer(s) than, say, getting a pat on the back for diverse casting. All while knowing full well that they would rather spend 5000 more hours dwelling on Stiles’ and Isaac’s and Derek’s trauma than fitting Kira into S6 or exploring the aftermath of Mason’s possession or, I don’t know, acknowledging that Scott has truckloads of serious trauma that he’s never addressed on screen. It’s fine, he’ll heal.

Unfortunately, talking to mutuals -- some who have even worked in Hollywood -- I think it's going to be well-nigh impossible for me to get the information I need to grapple with interior dynamics of the production. The information released in interviews is always going to be suspect, because no one involved with the production is going to want to admit that they made decisions which favored fandom reactions that prioritized white characters. Jeff Davis is also known for saying things -- like how he promised we were going to meet Mason's large family in Season 5B -- that never actually happened.

There's simply no benefit in it for anyone connected to the series to speak candidly. Couple that with the fact that I lack access, insight, and resources to get at what the studio and the production crew would want hidden, and the whole enterprise seems quixotic.

So, if I do go ahead with the the work, I will have to concentrate on writing about fandom racism in this specific context. There is, quite frankly, almost too much information when it comes to this. I have the show itself, both scripts of the earlier seasons and the actual broadcast show to quote from, and I have the endless reams of racist bulllcrap from Tumblr, Twitter, and AO3 (like the untagged story this morning which describes Scott's fighting against Derek and Gerard in Season 2 as "fighting his own personal dramas" which is countered by actual dialogue) to talk in length about how fandom simply couldn't imagine a non-white heroic protagonist. It's an embarassment of riches.

Thank you for your insight, once again. I appreciate it.

[dark-veiled]

Hi Spencer! 💙 Glad to see you posting again! I hope finals went well 😊 How has your spiritual journey been, while you've been gone? Have the deities helped with anything fun? Any interesting signs? Any new deities you've reached out to? I'd love to hear from you!

hi!! i'm sorry for saying i'm back and then leaving again (*cries*) school ended and i was traveling to see family and aaaa busy

my answer got pretty long so it's under the cut!

my spiritual journey has been... interesting. lots of ups and downs, weird times, etc. because i was so busy and distracted, i actually lost a lot of my faith during my break which i'm not proud of. i stopped praying daily, stopped regularly giving offerings, etc. my faith was just kinda.. gone from my regular routine. honestly, part of that was due to leaving tumblr. i lost the constant reminder of my faith by being on tumblr, and being here really motivated/inspired me to make my faith a big part of my life so when things got super busy and i left tumblr, it's almost like my faith was put on the back burner.

but !!! in the past month or so i tried to start connecting again in small ways: getting a new oracle deck and doing more readings, attempting to contact some of my spirit team (and being successful!), doing lots of research on my ancestors and family history, finding out what they most likely practiced/believed, and now trying to incorporate that into my current praxis!

i wasn't always someone who was super big into the idea of trying to connect with my ancestors, family history, etc. but pretty recently i developed an intense interest in it.

about deities helping with anything fun: i think they've definitely been around during certain moments or sent me little signs, but nothing big that i've noticed. i wish i could answer these two questions better, but i most likely missed a ton of signs or "hello"s from deities since i've been so distracted.

i haven't reached out to any new deities recently, but i plan to soon! as i said, i've been doing a lot of research and i've found a lot of old french and gallic folklore that my ancestors most likely would've believed and practiced because of the the specific area in france my family is from (which is northwest france right outside of paris)! i'm gonna be doing a lot more research but i'd REALLY love to start involving that in my faith.

thank you SO much for the ask!!! i hope that you're satisfied with this answer!! pls pls feel free to drop by again! i'd love to hear from you as well <3

[crazy-pages]

#i will hear no robespierre slander#this is not even getting into how he never held absolute power over revolutionary France

I mean I actually will slander him about the tens of thousands of civilians he is responsible for murdering in various horrifically inventive fashions. (People lined up and cannons shot down the lines, chained up on barges and drowned, it's a bad list.) He didn't need absolute power to have a leading role in that.

The Reign of Terror's violence in the Vendée region had fuck all to do with nobility or tyranny. The French Revolutionary government had started a war against basically every single neighbor it had and then some, to externalize internal complaints about how the (very wealthy, mostly bourgeoisie) people in the revolutionary government decided laissez-faire free market economics would fix the bread crisis in the cities. The very real bread crisis caused by environmental factors and (get this) exacerbated by the very laissez-faire bread policies they'd previously pushed the king to adopt. (Ain't letting the king off the hook, he fucked up, but let's be real clear that the new regime wasn't exactly uninvolved in the previous regime's messes.)

Of course more capitalism failed horribly (it's almost like the French Revolutionary government was actually just our current villains) and the government responded by declaring war on anyone and everyone in marching distance (and some beyond). Which of course just made everything worse, and also involved forced conscription and massive forced requisition from all parts of France (this, for those not familiar with the practice in history, involves a lot of punitive rape, torture, and general atrocity to deal with all the people who'd rather not flirt with starvation). The Vendée region objected to this, strenuously, and tried to revolt. You know, the exact kind of thing we'd cheer if they did it against a king.

Now, most people don't really get how starvation works among pre-industrial subsistence farmers, so let's go over it real quick. Just as you need to retain seed stock for planting, the family members who are in their prime need to be physically fit to do the extremely labor intensive manual farmwork. This means they need to eat their fill over the winter. No ifs ands or buts. So they eat full meals while their children don't, and their parents don't either.

Now this typically didn't kill people outright. What it did was weaken the immune system, increasing the odds of a fatal winter illness. So a bad harvest or a forced requisition meant working adults were forced to eat full meals while they watched their children sob hungrily and their parents nobly wither away, terrified the dice would land the wrong way and they'd die. And this is, in fact, how maybe as much as half of child mortality occurred, and many elderly deaths too. Just about every single goddamn peasant farmer had experienced their own fucking children die this way, and had seen parents or grandparents die the same way.

When we talk about the people of the Vendée resisting forced conscription (which takes laborers away from the farm) and forced requisition (which is just straight theft of food and supplies) this is what they were resisting. The terrifying and traumatic experience of having to eat your fill while you pray with all your soul that your children and your parents don't die of lack of nutrition, something you are already intimately familiar with. That is what the French Revolutionary governments, and Robespierre very personally, wanted to needlessly inflict on them, so they could quell internal conflict with an external war.

Robespierre was personally involved in a lot of what went on there to punish them for their revolt, and it involved at least 10,000 summary executions in various horrible fashions. Probably a lot more. And even more unjust arrest, beatings, robbery, rape, torture, the list goes on. This was exactly the same type of violence which had been the status quo under the French monarchy, performed for exactly the same reason, over the fallout of literally the exact same policies and to suppress the same civil grievances, just worse and compressed into a shorter timeline because of the instability of revolution.

The reason I say this is because it's very important to remember: Revolutionary violence can be violence to destroy the system. But it can also just be the same old violence, stripped of norms, fueled by insecurity, and given more enemies to fight.

We should not ignore the violence required to maintain the status quo and we should not fear violent response to that violence as some ultimate evil. But we should in fact fear the fucking hell out of revolutionary violence. It's the only way to make sure it isn't just the same old same old, but worse.

people refuse to see the violence it takes to maintain the status quo as such and instead fear the hypothetical violence it will take to destroy it. they see the current order of things as a state of stasis and inaction, instead of as a violent order upheld by constant action, which can be undone by action

[flawedconqueror]

a bit painful

i remember you leaving the driveway with the Lutheran Pastor

And shortly after gushing about my Brasilian bestfriend to my coworkers

Not sure years later how it got here

but perhaps the waning of comms or perhaps life and its events

I realised I'm more on the periphery...

i also apologise for not being as warm as Luis in France, I think I tried to extend an olive branch when I came to Portugal, and was looking forward to getting to know you two better as a married couple

And the wedding again, it must've hurt you a lot and i profusely apologise about my absence - i also did look forward to attending future milestones

God has also been working on me to address selfish and immature ways, to be as you told me more grateful

but ultimately I'm looking for 'a connection that goes beyond superficial interactions or occasional engagements. You want to be valued as a friend who is genuinely involved and considered, rather than just being on the periphery or treated casually.' Nerdy me went to ChatGPT

but then you also offered to be my patron which was so sweet so perhaps this relationship is not beyond repair but i can't hang on by a thread

and maybe it's making the path of recovery

but pray if you have time, love and see i'm happy to chat on the phone

[anime-lover-forever-1127]

The Queen's Daughter & The King's Heir {Klaroline}

The Queen's Daughter & The King's Heir

----------

Disclaimer - (Cause fanfiction is tricky ground and I hope not to offend the creator of the original story and get sued)

I do not own "The Vampire Diaries", it belongs to its original creator Kevin Williamson, Julie Plec, and L. J. Smith. Nor do I own "The Originals", which belongs to its rightful creator Julie Plec, Michael Narducci, Leslie Morgenstein, Gina Girolamo. This is only a fanfiction, it is a piece of nonprofit work - that I was inspired to write by the original work. I do not own the images/art used. So these images aren't mine; just edited a lot of the time. If you own a picture or Video that I found online, and you either want your name added, or me to take it down. Contact me and we can talk it out. P.s. I also ask that you do not copy my fanfiction and/or publish it onto any other website.

Warnings: Cami Bashing, Angst (Caroline's dead T-T), Klaus still loves Caroline (he will ALWAYS love Caroline)

Word Count: 1.4K

Requested By: Animeloverforever1127

Summary: I know of no Queen of England, save my mother. And I will accept no other queen, except my mother.

----------

It was the king's thirty-fifth birthday, so a celebration was held in his honor. The whole royal family, the council, some ambassadors, and a few select nobles had been invited to attend the event.

Normally, the event would be put together by the king's wife, the Queen. But when she passed away three years ago, her daughter, Princess Elizabeth Coraline Mikaelson took over, assisted by her aunt, as well as her mother's old ladies-in-waiting, when possible.

Each guest was chosen by the women, and the event was strictly invite only, with the threat of imprisonment, and even beheading, keeping any unwanted personnel away.

But sadly, that did not mean all pests were kept out, as a result of the council's insistence for the king to begin seeking a new bride, so they could secure a male heir, Camille O'Connell had made her way onto the invite list.

She was a distant cousin of the current king of France, and with Sean O'Connell constantly pushing the matter, the council had decided to accept her as a candidate. That was the official statement the council had written down in the documents. But everybody knew the real reason.

Camille was the closest, blue-eyed, blond woman that the council would find, with the most royal blood to be crowned queen.

There were many women who were much closer to various royal families, but all of them had been rejected by the king.

So the council, in one last Hail Mary, had prayed that this woman, who shared a resemblance to the late Queen, would be enough for the King to accept.

But so far, after the initial introduction, the king hadn't glanced twice at the women.

This didn't dismay the women, who constantly tried to involve herself with the people at the party.

She tried to mimic the late Queen by trying to involve herself with the politics, but was quickly dismissed by a quick glare and hiss from her brother, to, "Join the ladies."

So with her head hung low, she picked up her skirts, and approached the women, only to be greeted with fans. Katherine's bright red lips formed into a smirk, Camille couldn't see it from the other side of the fan, but the ex-lady-in-waiting's eyes said it all.

The blond was unwanted.

"It's quite pathetic isn't it." Katherine said, snapping her fan shut onto her hand as she stared down at Camille, "I would have thought for sure the council would have taken the hint by now."

"Well they are men. What can you expect?" Bonnie Mikaelson, the wife of the youngest Mikaelson sighed, joining her sister-in-law. She glanced at Camille, "As a woman, I would have expected better of you. You should be able to take a hint, no."

The blond grew angry, "How dare you! I'm going to be the next Queen! I suggest you show me some respect!"

This outburst caught everybody's attention.

Klaus stopped talking with his brothers, his eyes narrowing at the women, he took a step towards her, only to be stopped by a manicured hand.

He turned to see his sister smiling at him. Without a word, she nodded towards her niece, who was making her way towards Camillie.

"And who dares spread such lies?" Elizabeth asked, joining the group of women, her tone low. Her expression was calm and controlled, unlike Camillie's who was beginning to huff from her outburst.

"My brother! Sean said so!" Camille answered proudly.

"That's unfortunate. Your brother must be lying to you." Elizabeth informed the women. "I know of no Queen of England, save my mother." Camille opened her mouth to try and argue, but she was stopped by the look in the princess' eyes, "And I will accept no other queen, except my mother."

This left everybody speechless.

Nobody could counter the princess' words, the only one who could, was the king, and he was remaining silent.

If the princess herself refused to acknowledge any other queen, then what could they do?

The last Queen was beloved by the people, the king himself trying to gain another, would not please the people, leaving the council with no other option then try to gain the royal family's approval.

But now, the princess had publicly refused to acknowledge any other Queen, other than her mother.

Katherine and her husband smiled, proud.

If you looked closely, you could see Lady Rebekah's eyes grow glossy, well a tear slid down Lady Bonnie's.

And the king…

Klaus' eyes were wide, as he stared at his daughter.

"Caroline…" He whispered, the name that left a sweet taste in his mouth, and a hum in his ears.

If only she could see their child now.

The older Elizabeth got, the more she reminded him of her mother.

Her hair, the same sunshine shade of mother's hair.

Her eyes, the same bright pools her mother's were.

But this…

Back straight, head held high, the strength in her eyes. The very image of a Queen, just like Caroline was.

The king walked over to his daughter, the attendants wondering what he would do, Elizabeth stared her father in the eyes, having no intention of taking back her words.

Klaus smiled, pleased to see her determination, which only reassured him that he was about to do the right thing.

He embraced his daughter, before turning to some of the most important and influential people in the nation. "Let me be clear, I have no intention of re-marrying. As your princess clearly stated, England will only have one Queen. And so long as I reign, her Queen will only ever be Caroline Elizabeth Mikaelson."

"But what about an Heir, your majesty?" Sean pleaded, trying to get the king to see reason.

Klaus smiled, and turned to his daughter, "England already has an Heir, when my time comes. Elizabeth Coraline Mikaelson will become Queen, and King."

Elizabeth nods, smiling, she agrees with her father, "The Queen's Daughter and The King's Heir."

----------

I know this was short, it was sad/sweet/heartwarming, with multiple layers of emotions (at least that's what I thought), but it was short nonetheless. I feel kind of guilty writing short drabbles, because my disclaimers are so long, so this is the disclaimer I'm going to use for shorter fics. I know some of you may say, why don't I use this shorter version for all my fics then, well because like the disclaimer says, I'm scared of getting sued (not enough to stop writing - but enough to have a long ass disclaimer), and the long disclaimer gives me a peace of mind, because I searched up everything I needed in a fanfic disclaimer, and then created my disclaimer based off that, so I could cover all my bases.

Also, the prompt line came from "The Tudors", delivered by Marry, and I just loved it. And ofcourse, my Klaroline obsessed brain came up with this as a result. This is what I was watching when I got inspired to write this: reign_supremacy/video/7116209497676287238?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7089957633293108742

Anyways,

KLAROLINE FOR LIFE BECAUSE I WILL GO DOWN WITH THIS SHIP!

[theshamelesshussy]

Excellent meta. Well discussed and illustrated. I'm especially taken with how you point out the echos of the bandstand scene in S2E6. But I cannot let pass this much Aziraphale worship without playing Devil's Advocate a bit.

For Eden, I refer you to what Crawly questions. What if the demon did the right thing and the angel the wrong one? The apple Crawly tempts the humans to eat imparts knowledge and free will to them and us. Aziraphale is already afraid of what the Almighty's reaction will be to Adam and Eve doing something "against the rules" and so he ushers them out of Eden but gives them his flaming sword to protect themselves with. Which brought violence and war to humans and earth. So as with most situations in GO, there is NOT a clear line between good and bad. One more point about Eden, When Aziraphale lies directly to God, that's the last time that we see him pray. But we are given an important scene later where Crowley is still carrying on a conversation with God, pleading with the Almighty on behalf of humanity. He even mentions to Aziraphale that the almighty is no longer speaking to any of them. So it leaves the impression that "Crawly" also had conversations with God at some point and tried to continue for some time despite falling and being ignored.

Not taking an opportunity he has to help someone has never sat well with him - even if that person is a naked Gabriel showing up on his doorstep.

The only time in actual TV canon when we see Aziraphale do something to help someone that doesn't benefit him in someway is saving Job's children. And that comes AFTER the flood. Where we see him stand by watching and not acting despite knowing that the majority of humankind will be drowned, including innocent kids. Crawly is there questioning again but Aziraphale says God is tetchy lately so best not to say anything. Instead of discussing drowning innocent children, he defends the system pointing out that he believes the Chinese will be spared and anyway, the Almighty has created a rain bow! Yes, on some subconscious level, the angel is questioning this, possibly due to Crawly, but he shoves it way down inside. Some protector of humanity!

This scene echos what he tells the starmaker angel in heaven. 2 rather different personalities from the start. A potential leader and a follower. And perhaps truly why the starmaker, whose name reveal will be very important, was booted out of the family and his home.

By when we get to Job, Aziraphale HAS had time to contemplate God's/heaven's killing of innocent kids. But also, now he is being tasked directly with not interfering while hell does this. The party line is, "We are the good side. We're just standing here doing nothing while the bad guys punish Job." (Because of a bet between all powerful leaders!) An echo of the great flood where Aziraphale stood there doing nothing while God punished humanity. But this time the angel is supposed to be right there, personally involved. Now, he seems to feel the line is the children. He cannot stand by and not fight for the innocent children (even though he seemingly hasn't spoken out to management about innocent Job's other punishments.) On the other side, we have Crowley, who will not kill for his side, not even animals. TOGETHER, they manage to come up with a plan on the fly to restore Job's family right under the other angel's eyes. And we see how hard it is for Aziraphale to lie to save those children from heaven's wrath should the deception be discovered. Lying is not the issue. We've seen Aziraphale lie to God's face! The issue here is that he disobeyed a direct assignment and truth would have consequences for himself as well as Job. And yes, here the angel does the truly good thing. But it's not unselfish.

And I'll mention another time when Aziraphale was totally selfish and self absorbed. The Bastille. He supposedly got into this trouble because he wanted to take a wee vacation so he popped over to France for great nibbles. During the middle of a revolution. Now how did "I was reprimanded for too many frivolous miracles" get there? Hmmnnnn. So anyway, instead of miracling himself out of the jam, he sits prettily like the princess locked in a tower and waits for his prince to save him. But once Crowley shows up, not looking as princely as the fantasy required, Aziraphale uses another miracle to exchange his clothes with the executioner and he turns a deaf ear to his being dragged off the his death in the angel's own place. Because now, he's totally back into planing his lunch date! Hmmmnnnn, so much for the innocent and good angel who always protects humanity and does so much good for everyone, including his enemies! Also, Aziraphale doesn't make his own plans to get himself out of trouble because it makes the demon so happy to rescue him? I say, it takes two to tango.

I'll just leave the smug, "guns give weight to a moral argument" hang out here for awhile.

We do see Aziraphale do good things for those who cross his path through the world like healing Anathema and her bike, forgiving Maggie's back rent and fixing the cell phone that he borrowed. But we see him use much more of his miracles for his own comfort. Like modifying Crowley's car!

As for his complicated relationship with Crowley, there is a great deal of "I'm holier than thou" there. But knowing what we do about both, if we weigh it, is he? Crowley has a finely developed set of morals that he abides by, or he tries hard to. Aziraphale mostly relies on, I'm an angel, I can't do the wrong thing, can I? When what he feels is right and heaven disagrees, he consoles himself that he's probably actually doing God's will and following the ineffable plan.

Yes, Aziraphale worries about Crowley's safety. But how many times have we seen Crowley defy hell, putting himself in grave danger? And he's done this both for humans and for his best friend. Both live in constant danger from their former sides but as we've seen, hell is much more violent and psychologically insidious. Crowley thought he had an understanding of sorts with hell, which unfortunately left him homeless. He is however begrudgingly coaching his London replacement on human life. Aziraphale we are told, misses his side to some extent. Who can he tell about his good deeds? Crowley, as we hear in S2E1. But he hasn't noticed that his "love" is homeless? WTH?!! I put to you that he's buried that knowledge and won't examine it because he's afraid of what it would look like if he had a demon living with him. My evidence, despite the showdown at the airbase, he tells Crowley, my side wouldn't like my staying at your place. Aziraphale wouldn't allow Crowley to shelter in place with him during the covid lockdown despite covid not being able to affect either. Yet he immediately shelters his murderous former boss, an archangel, in his home. So, is a murderous Supreme Archangel holier that Crowley, who is good and nice for a demon? It's no wonder that Crowley is angrier than we've ever seen him when not only does he find out that Gabriel is in the bookshop, endangering them both, but Crowley is told to leave. So the angel is choosing his former side over his "love" AGAIN because Crowley is a demon. Something he claims to forgive but that he can never forget.

So what are Aziraphale's motivations in returning to heaven as the Supreme Archangel? I agree, he does want to protect Crowley and himself. But note, he doesn't yet consider Crowley his equal. After everything. Even reinstated, he's offering to make Crowley his PA, basically like he is on earth. Aziraphale has always been privy to The Great Plan. He knows, the Second Coming and Judgement Day are supposed to follow Armageddon. He heard why Gabriel was demoted so he knows this is still in the offing. One way or another, earth will be destroyed. "Nothing is forever." Crowley has told Aziraphale how he feels about this before. He feels they should stand with the humans against both heaven and hell but that if this planet turns into a burning pile of goo, they can travel through space. Better scenery at least than heaven or hell and probably better company too. Crowley motivates Aziraphale to prevent Armageddon by reminding him that it would be the end to little restaurants where they know your name, sushi, fine wines, books, theater, great music and all of the other things our hedonistic angel loves. This time, Crowley tried to remind Aziraphale of himself by showing him the very human kind of love they could have if he were to stay. This is what you are giving up! And yes, Aziraphale still "makes the sacrifice." But does he really believe that he is giving Crowley up? Or, does he believe that Crowley will capitulate to what the angel wants, as he always has? And are his other motives all about sacrificing for the world, to prevent its destruction? Or, is there some thoughts in there about recognition, promotion and being on the side of everything bright and good again instead of being a side of 2 outcasts?

I do love Aziraphale. Because he is flawed. Like Crowley and the rest of us. But I don't see him as morally better than Crowley. Or, even more traumatized by heaven. I see them more as yin and yang. Or, the good and bad parts of myself but neither as all good or all evil.

On Aziraphale, Protection, and the Greater Good

Alright folks. I’ve already written quite a bit about the ways the Metatron was trying to manipulate Aziraphale here, but I wanted to give credit where credit is due and talk a little bit about how I don’t think that necessarily means it worked nearly as well as the Metatron thinks it does.

Because Aziraphale? Is not stupid. It’s one of his defining traits that though he might occasionally be slow, he has always been intelligent. He has also always been a fighter. And a bit stubborn. And though the fact he is allowed to be all that and still stay soft is one of my favorite things about him, that does not mean he is soft and soft alone.

With or without Crowley, Aziraphale has nearly always been a character who, above all else, does what’s right. This is part of what Crowley loves about him and it’s part about what we as the audience love about him too. He shelters a demon on the wall he is meant to be guarding. He gives away a sword to humans and lies to God about it directly to Her face. He struggles immensely with being asked to do anything he cannot reconcile with his morals and, even if he might fight against his impulses as to what’s right for a little bit, when push comes to shove he almost always falls on the right side of that scale. It’s important especially that this is also true of him even without Crowley in the equation.

Now, Crowley makes it much easier for him to be this person. He encourages and enables Aziraphale to be himself. He complicates and challenges Aziraphale’s worldview but in a healthy way that helps him grow and develop it, but never forces Az to be someone he isn’t. He also, most importantly, gives Aziraphale someone he understands. He is a connection. And a connection that allows Aziraphale to take his time and to make the excuses he needs to, at least for a little while. Because he understands that while Aziraphale is slow to change, he is not as resistant to it as he often reads to be - especially when he thinks that change can benefit the greater good.

Because Aziraphale fundamentally loves Earth and the people on it. And he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Crowley does too. Not taking an opportunity he has to help someone has never sat well with him - even if that person is a naked Gabriel showing up on his doorstep. He does not run away with Crowley in season 1 because it would have been wrong to run away when he felt he could help and the same principle applies here too with the decision he comes to about the Metatron’s offer.

While I definitely think the Metatron was using lovebombing and other manipulation techniques on Aziraphale I highly suspect he is underestimating his new Supreme Archangel. And I highly suspect that what is happening here is not Aziraphale folding back into this own cult as much as much a few other things that could be happening.

I may poke around at a few more of these later but for now I want to focus on Aziraphale lied theory laid out here by @las-lus. This whole season has focused quite a bit on Aziraphale lying/using sleight of hand for Crowley's sake. It makes sense he would do this too to protect him from the Metatron and critically I don’t think it’s an accident that the only shot we get of his conversation with the Metatron are flashbacks from Aziraphale's narrative point of view. Reading this actually changed the whole trajectory of this meta so please take a look at it if you've got the chance! I really love this theory a lot and would've slapped this all on a reblog if it wasn't so big. (Though I'll be the first to admit I'm biased to anything that lets Aziraphale do some rescuing.)

At it's core this makes this action a protective one. He is a guardian given a flaming sword by God. He was built to protect. And we see him in this role throughout the series even if it's not always in the way we expect or in the way he was necessarily built for.

I want to start before the beginning. This scene is an important one for a lot of reasons, but for the context of this the important bit is that Aziraphale is already anxious. He’s a bit starstruck and a little baffled by the strange angel he’s stumbled into chatting with, but his primary focus in the meat of this scene is actually concern for this stranger's welfare. The instant the topic turns critical he immediately starts glancing around anxiously. This scene ends with him saying, "I'd hate to see you getting into any trouble." and giving us one of the most worried expressions I've ever seen on his face.

Then again at Eden, the first time we meet Aziraphale, we are shown him acting twice in a row for the sake of keeping others safe. We see him offer Crowley shelter from the storm and also give away his God given weapon to protect Adam and Eve. A lot of people tie Crowley to Eden for obvious reason but I think people often forget that, yes, without Crowley humans don't leave Eden but without Aziraphale they do not survive it.

We then see him in conflict over the Flood. As far as we know he doesn't act here but he quite clearly thinks it is wrong. He's high strung and tense and his attempts to rebuke Crowley's frustration feels more like him trying to convince himself.

Now we get to Job. This minisode is so fascinating to me for a lot of reasons because through most of it, against pattern, we have Aziraphale as the driving force throughout it. First we get Aziraphale checking in with Heaven to make sure there wasn't some official solution to this. (We also get a line in there that I think says a lot about Aziraphale's priorities when he specifically draws attention to his concerns for Sitis being old enough birth that many times would be hard and risky.) Once Heaven fails him here Aziraphale is the one to reach out to Crowley and Aziraphale is the one to press for them to work together. He takes a gamble, hoping that his instinct that Crowley does not want to hurt kids is accurate, and gets up in Crowley's face to challenge him when Crowley refuses to prove him right. It is not Crowley taking the lead here, bringing Aziraphale in but rather Aziraphale trusting his owns instincts are right.

Aziraphale is also crucially the one constructing the charade Crowley plays in front of the angels as Bildad the cobbler/midwife. Aziraphale immediately and without hesitation provides Crowley with the pieces he needs to make the lie convince enough. He tells him that what they need is an expert on human births and Crowley rolls with it and then clarifies very quickly that Gabriel witnessed Eve's birth, signally to Crowley that mimicking that would be the play.

He is trying to tip the scales to get the outcome he wants - to keep this family safe - before he ever utters a lie. And then he does. He lies directly, giving his word as an angel. This is an act that eats him alive inside. He literally thinks he has fallen for this and has perfectly resigned himself as being damned to Hell for it and does it anyway. Because he knows it was right. Because he thinks a family of five he has no real connection to are worth falling to protect.

By the time we hit the Globe in 1601 Aziraphale's primary objection to their Arrangement has evolved from concern about what Head Office will think into concern specifically for Crowley's safety.

Then in 1827, even if it's in a misguided way, his concern starts out on Elspeth and her soul. He tries to protect her and very quickly changes his tune as soon as he's given proper evidence that what she was doing was net good. Again he is the one driving most of this narrative and the duo's actions forward as Crowley drifts along trying to get him to see that some actions aren't fully good or bad but can exist in a moral gray space. We also get him verbalizing his own moral code here explicitly when he wants to heal Morag.

He continues to have concern for Crowley on the forefront of his mind - asking very quickly after his good deed for Elspeth if he's safe or if hell noticed and then a few years later denies Crowley holy water out of concern that it could destroy him.

In 1941 we first get him operating under cover trying to unsuccessfully lie his way into dispatching some Nazi. We then get him offering himself as a magician for Crowley's sake and using sleight of hand to keep evidence of their relationship from making its way to Hell.

In particular I want to draw attention here to the fact the episode we revisit this moment in has two very similar moments toward the beginning and end of it. This episode opens with what the episode is named for - Shax hitching a ride with Aziraphale. He's relatively amicable with her until she at one point implies harm to Crowley wondering out loud why he would risk destruction for Az. Then toward the end when Furfur enters the dressing room, Aziraphale is pleasant and kind until the moment it becomes clear Crowley is being threatened. In both cases his expression turns more neutral and his body language becomes more focused and serious. He is ready to protect at all costs and is done being polite to these people who threaten his demon.

From there we go to 1976. Here as he hears about Crowley's holy water heist, he makes a choice. Even though he does not want Crowley having this weapon at all and tells Crowley as much that that position hasn't changed he realizes how dangerous trying to steal it could be. So he decides to make it as safe as he can in the circumstance, putting aside his own wants and feelings for the sake of minimizing even potential harms.

Even good old 'you go too fast for me' is a form of protection here. Even if it hurts and even if it's not want they want they need at least one of them to pump the breaks to make sure they are not discovered.

Then the world nearly ends. I won't examine what happens there too closely but I think we can all agree Aziraphale was willing to do quite a lot to insure the world and Crowley were safe once Crowley gets him on board with raising Warlock. Though I do want to note I don't think it's an accident that a lot of what Aziraphale says to Crowley at the end of six has echos of the bandstand - the last event Aziraphale has to reference that he knew would make Crowley go away.

A lot of the core of the current season is built around all sorts of protective Aziraphale actions. The flashbacks all gesture at it in some capacity, and anther notable one is him sacrificing books both as weaponry and to make the ball happen. He has committed to securing their safety before a single demon even shows up lokking for Gabriel. We also get him willingly risking war to defend the people in his shop. Episode six in particular shows us a lot of Aziraphale in this mode, which he's pretty much locked into from the moment the demons arrive, Whether it's protecting Gabriel, Nina and Maggie, or at one point putting his body between the demons and a whole crowd of people including Crowley.

This season is a season that emphasizes that Aziraphale is a liar. It is one that draws attention to him pulling tricks and on him learning to do that for the greater good. It it about him learning that sometimes the choices we make are often more morally gray than we would like. And most importantly it is about Aziraphale believing this world and the people in it are worth protecting.

And who does he want to keep safe more than anyone? Who did he fight to share his life with? It makes sense to me that he would do this for Crowley. It's perfectly in character and gives Aziraphale the due credit I think a lot of theories lack. Because, to me, Aziraphale isn't the one that walks away from Omelas, Aziraphale is the child who would willfully sacrifice himself to keep the people he loves safe.

[writingisbetterthandying]

Regret - TS pt.1

Warnings: cursing, a lil bit of violence at a wall? also reader is christian

A/N: this is just a self indulgent lil thing I wrote on my phone, but it's not done yet? I have a good outline but idk is it a fic? sure why not! peaky content! enjoy :)

Edit: i’m gonna make this a series! this piece on its own is a bit too long I feel, but nonetheless i’m gonna add to it! I tried to keep this piece canon-ish but things will definitely diverge from here

Posted: 3.17.21

part 2 is up here! part 3 is here!

Word Count: 3.1k

- growing up next door to the shelby’s

- being ada’s best friend since the start, but closer in age to john

- always preferring the domestic tasks needed, but growing up with the shelby’s and three older brothers, knowing how to rough it up when needed

- even going to church with pol

- wanting to own a bakery one day or be a dressmaker, making beautiful gowns

- your brothers, arthur, and john laugh it off, but tommy believes in you

- polly always swore you two would end up together one day

- staying in school

- growing into yourself quite a bit

- catching the eyes of many (even john boy!)

- never paying them any mind, politely laughing them off

- eyes set on tommy since you were 8 years old

- oh how you had hoped

- but he had found greta

- and you were still the neighbor girl, taking care of finn, but taking no shit from the boys around birmingham

- then the war

- being older than ada and not giggling away the introductory nursing classes paid off

- more than willing to help in any way

- being sent out to france as a nurse

- saving lives, but also seeing so much death and loss, everyday

- with any given alone time, trying to write to your brothers and the shelby’s

- receiving a rare response, but keeping those letters safe, reading them on the nights where it just gets to be too much

- one rare and quiet day a high ranking officer, obviously not in the trenches as he was older, announced the death of your youngest brother, just two years older than you

- you cry hard that night

- but not harder than two months later, when tommy is brought to you, wounded, looking worse than death, but you sit with him every moment not spent with another patient, caring for him

- holding his hand, whispering words of encouragement though he might not even hear it, praying

- he’d wake up quite cockily, a slight hint of playful tommy, who had all the girls falling at his feet, not the soldier amidst war

- “no need for god when i’m right here love, aye?”

- tears falling at the sight

- forgoing any self control and wrapping yourself around his neck, whispering how you thought he’d gone, but not before managing through whimpers to get out a, "don't use the lord's name in vain, tom."

- his realization setting in, remembering that you had lost your brother not long ago

- “it’ll all be over soon, aye? we’ll be back home in no time, yeah? back with polly and finn and ada. we'll be safe.”

- you cling onto those words during the last months of war, bursting into tears in the train at the sight of your two brothers now, and the three shelby boys, safe.

- your brothers are the ones to hold you through your sobs, all feeling the loss of your brother

- crying even harder upon seeing finn, all grown up, and polly, who practically raised you

- working in the betting shop with the numbers

- helping patch up after bar brawls, or business meetings gone wrong

- aiding john when possible, absolutely adoring his children, having known martha closely before her passing

- attempting to keep finn out of trouble and teaching him to read

- being an older sister and confidant for ada, and knowing all about her fling with freddie

- post war, being a little less idealistic, settling with the business, but going head to head with tommy quite a bit

- he wrongfully dismisses your contributions as he deals with his feelings of grief but also the uncertainty of how he feels for you

- being very involved in the business, something he doesn’t necessarily like

- feeling crushed with every interaction between him and grace

- sympathetic gazes from even fuckin' arthur!

- lots of nights slipping away from the snug to get away from the loud thoughts, and the sight of them

- polly comforting you, then giving tom the death glare

- disagreeing about the whole predicament with kimber

- the row gets really bad as tommy starts throwing insults, the rest of those present at the betting shop scared to move, silent tears running down your face

- “what the fuck are you still doing here, aye? maybe want to pretend to play family? then want to go ‘round and try and tell me how to run my fuckin’ business, yeah? talk to me about the numbers as if you of all fuckin’ people would fucking understand? well you’re not family so stop acting like it! useless, just like in france”

- each jab making things worse, his face redder with anger, your face redder with tears

- before he slams the door to the betting shop closed, you manage to get out a “damn you thomas shelby. damn you to hell.”

- he feels that you wholeheartedly means those words, feeling the weight more so than if you had given him a ripe “fuck you”

- it hurts more than it should in his heart, but he heads to the garrison, for the company of the pretty barmaid

- the shelby’s all seething in anger, the boys already headed to the garrison to knock some sense into him

- polly just taking you from the floor, where your sobs had led you, to the kitchen table, rubbing your back softly

- ada cautiously approaching, glancing at polly for approval, with a nod, coming down to comfort you

- “my brother’s a right foul git ya know and i have half a mind to go and-”

- “that’s enough now ada.”

- a sheepish, “sorry aunt pol” murmured out in reply

- having calmer sobs now, but still red in the face

- “why did i have to love him? why does it hurt so much?” you barely get out between the cries

- they both murmur sweet nothings, rubbing your back in an attempt to calm you down

- polly makes some tea

- at the garrison

- turns out grace wasn’t even there

- john and arthur absolutely fuming at the sight of tommy calmly drinking alone in the snug

- they thought of you as their younger sister too, just less annoying than ada

- soon enough, everyone’s yelling and a bottle is thrown across the private room

- rather than a dramatic storm off, they all eventually sit down and just drink in silent anger, letting their emotions stew

- after a long pause, arthur speaks up, feeling the need to, as the oldest

- “what you did there tommy was wrong. you know that y/n’s very important- to the business, and to us.”

- john seemed to find his voice, too, just only after arthur had spoken up

- “it wasn’t right of you to bring up france like that either, man. even if she wasn’t a soldier, she still took home that soldier’s reward, she still has nightmares, and she was the one who saved your life not all that long ago.”

- silence filling the snug once again until tom lights up a cigarette

- a twinge of guilt hitting tommy as he remembers your face during your argument

- if you can even call it that

- it started calmly, you simply bringing up a concern, but with tommy’s doubts about grace and everything else he snapped

- it was his fault

- and he was being childish, choosing to yell, rather than listen

- he decided to head back to the betting shop and at least acknowledge your presence

- he wouldn’t apologize yet- he still was emotionally constipated, seeing any use of “i'm sorry" as weakness

- getting to the office and seeing your office empty, door open, but desk neatly made as always, your coat rack missing any sense of your hat and coat

- immediately going to the kitchen, with ada and polly wordlessly communicating, still no sign of you in sight, his heart dropping

- they start yelling at him upon recognizing his presence, all of the obscenities and more

- he just nodded, dismissing their cruel, but warranted words

- “where’d she go, yeah? her office is empty”

- “home. anywhere away from you. oh, maybe fuckin' london? cause it sounds like she’s leaving birmingham, tommy- leaving us.”

- “oh shit.” he never thought you’d leave.

- but, not too far away, you were writing letters, to each of the shelby’s, your suitcase steadily gaining more items, deciding to explain to your brothers when they came home that you would, in fact, be going to london.

- despite your involvement in the shelby business, your brothers chose, like freddie, to keep work separate, working in the factories and other jobs, but occasionally being used for blinder business

- you needed to state the events without incriminating tommy though, because as much as his words hurt, your brothers were scary, and tommy didn’t deserve it

- but it all just hurt too much, so you wrote.

- first, to arthur:

Dearest Arthur,

I know you have a tendency to drink a tad too much and go a bit overboard in trying to protect your honor afterwards. As much as I do enjoy our time spent as I patch you up at ghastly hours of the morning, just know, neither Ada nor Polly have the same hand or training as I do. Or patience! As much as I do care for them both, they can be quite rough. With them, you’ll get a firm talking too, while I tend to dismiss the cause or reason for fighting. They’re also quite harsh with your wounds, and you might end up with salt in them, or a scar from their sheer frustration if you need stitches. Please try to not need getting stitched up while I'm away. Not saying that they wouldn’t be able to help you, they would, but just think of these thing next time before you try to talk things out with your fists, for me, yeah? Or at least your poor knuckles at the very least.

With love,

Y/N

- then, to john

Dear John,

I know it’s been hard without Martha. I miss her too, but you must try for your children. Promise me to spend time with them, and remember, as scary as it is, you are their father, John Boy, and a great one at that. You just have to remind yourself every once in a while. I’ve included their favorite stew recipe, but I’m sure you could ask Pol (nicely, mind you) to help out with some of those domestic tasks I know you would find emasculating. You mustn’t let Tom get to you either, alright? Believe in yourself John, because I do, and you are smart and caring, you just tend to show anger and a tendency to not think with your upstairs brain. Remember to laugh when appropriate, and don’t forget me!

With love,

Y/N

- then ada:

To Ada,

My sweet, sweet Ada. I’m kidding of course, but you must remember to write me, alright! I can’t have my best friend forgetting of me all because of a certain Mr. Thorne! You’re sure to visit me in London, and we’ll live largely! It’ll be splendid, you’ll see. Until then, however, you must let your brothers breathe. I know you enjoy to rile them up, mainly just because you can, but their hearts are in the right place, they just don’t know how to express it. They love you Ada, they really do, they’re just quite the brutish bunch most days. Look out for Finn, too please, he needs to see some support, truly, and it certainly won’t be coming from some...

Have fun, but please do not bring your brothers to early graves! (I don’t include Polly in this because I know she is much above your foolishness.)

With love,

Y/N

- finally, to polly, with something for finn too.

Polly,

Words cannot describe how grateful I am for you. For your support, for taking in myself, teaching me what it is to be a woman, how to find faith in moments so dark, and for simply being you. I am forever indebted to you for your wisdom and teachings, and I am so deeply saddened I must go to where you won’t be next door, ready with open arms, sharp wit, and a calming cuppa waiting. I wish nothing more than happiness to you, so please do not let your excitable nephews disrupt that. I will be visiting you soon, so I’ve chosen to keep this brief.

With Love,

Y/N

P.S. I’ve included a second sheet with some lettering outlines for Finn, and have left a few books for him to read, as I don’t expect him to ignore our lessons! Additionally, one of those has his letter for him, but I was much too sad to have it come to him now, I hope you understand.

- you finished your letters just about when your brothers came home, and they obviously noticed the suitcase, now at the bottom of the stairs.

- the explanation and following discussion being very difficult, but your brothers understanding

- it wasn't like they hadn't seen you gaze at tommy for so long, and they had figured something had happened at the betting shop today

- they weren't blind, and while your feelings hadn't changed, despite the war, tommy had.

- so, in the morning you'd drop down to the shop, hand in a letter of resignation, and the more personal letters to polly, so she could distribute them

- when you got to the betting shop the next morning, it was early, and no one seemed to be there, so you simply placed all the letters on the kitchen table, and headed towards the train station

- it wasn't as empty as you thought, and a certain shelby came running up to you shortly after exiting, shouting down the lane

- "y/n, are you really going and moving to fuckin' london of all places?" tom called out, but you still walked ahead.

- he kept shouting, berating you at this point, until you turned around sharply, and he quieted down

- "not that it's any of your business, thomas, but yes, i have an aunt there. i didn't realize that i still owed tommy shelby an explanation about my every move, or that he has the right to shout up the lane at any hour he pleases," you whisper at him.

- tears were starting to form in your eyes, silently pleading for them to go away.

- tommy looked sad too

- "i mean, Jesus, y/n, you can't just leave us like this!"

- "do not use the lord's name in vain, tom. also, yesterday you made it very clear how you feel about my involvement in your  business and your  family, so i won't be staying much longer."

- he had to laugh, that you still mentioned the lord in such a high regard, despite baring witness to the horrors of france.

- but also realized that you were really going away.

- no more hearing you quietly teach finn to read while business was being attended to

- no more having you mend his hands after he does feel pent up enough to go into a bare knuckle fist fight, your touch soft as you attempt to scold him, but never truly succeeding

- no more of the sweet loaves and cakes that you always seemed to have time for

- no more, "do not use the lord's name in vain, tom," something you always seemed to find time to get in there, even in france. your tone was always soft, never menacing and sharp, like polly used to when you were children

- no more of his, "well he's not my god," in response (he really does try his best not to use it again with each of your reminders)

- no more of your ideas for the business- as much as he liked to argue, you undeniably had a deep understanding of what was needed for the advancement of it all, legally and with the more morally ambiguous things the shelby's tended to.

- the sound of your high heels clacking away made him snap out of his thoughts- you were really leaving.

- "wait!" he was running again, and surprisingly, despite his regular damage to lungs and liver, was quite fast

- "i'm not leaving because of you tom," yes you are, "it's just that i need a bit of independence, some time in the big city. i won't be gone long."

- he knew you were terrified of being away from your family, which had become his family, and who knows what a pretty young girl like yourself would face in london. he knew you didn't want to leave, but it was for the best.

- so he nodded, but with one condition

- "i'll walk you to the station," really leaving no room for argument or protest.

- the way to the station was quiet, the only sound being the factory workers getting ready to start their days

- it was tense, something relatively unfamiliar when it came to tommy and yourself

- the teasing was always there, but you both protected one another fiercely, making the consequences of his words yesterday much more apparent

- tommy attempting to slow his pace, trying to savor the last moments with you, even if they were silent

- not being as slick as he thought, and still making it to the station just before your train was to depart

- “tom-”

- “i just-”

- you both started at the same time, but you decided to give him a sad smile and a nod, a gesture for him to continue

- he cleared his throat

- “y/n, i just wanted to say- i” he faltered, running his fingers through his hair, making him look much younger, more relaxed, the soft hair not as dramatic as the look of the soldier you had come to know after the war

- you could tell he was trying his best to apologize, so you nodded. he didn’t have to say it for it to be heard, even if his prior words still lingered in the air

- “tom, i'm leaving. i'm getting on this train and going to camden town to stay with my aunt, because i know when i’m not wanted, tom, and no matter how i may feel about you- or how i have felt about you, i need to go.” 

- he stared at you as if he were looking at a dainty sculpture in a museum

- the thought almost enough to make you smile

- tommy shelby would never take the time to go and smell the roses, or notice what was really wrong

- the development of his selfishness was heartbreaking, but also admirable with his ambition and dreams for his family

- family first, like he always said

- you just weren’t a part of that picture anymore

- so you got on the train without a second glance, and he headed back towards watery lane, feeling the weight of his actions roll onto him, each step more laborious than the last, until he eventually collapsed into his desk at the betting shop

- later that morning everyone opened their letters

- he couldn’t deny the drop of his heart upon not seeing one addressed to him in your delicate print

- but it was all his doing

- something he wouldn’t let himself forget- something his family wouldn’t let him forget, either. 

[fruitquake]

The Notebook

Remus had been in such a rush to get to class, he didn’t notice he had grabbed the wrong bag. In fact, in his absentminded state, he didn’t realize before he opened the bag to find Sirius’ things inside: Pieces of crumbled up parchment, a couple of chocolate frogs, a bottle of ink, and his notebook. 

Remus remembered buying that notebook with him, in a bookshop in muggle London. Sirius had immediately fallen in love with the notebooks that had silly “inspirational” quotes written on the cover. The one he had bought said “Shoot for the moon; even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars”, which didn’t even make sense. Of course, Sirius didn’t care if it made sense or not. 

“Alright, now, students, you will be taking notes today, so get your quills and parchment out,” said Professor McGonnagal as she entered the classroom. 

Fuck. Remus didn’t have his own bag, and therefore didn’t have anything to take notes with. He turned in his seat to try and catch Sirius’ attention, but to no avail. 

He would have to borrow Sirius’ notebook then, just for this lesson. He could give it back to him afterwards. 

But as he opened it, something written on the first page caught this eye:

This notebook belongs to Sirius Black Lupin. 

Remus felt his heart rate speed up as he flicked through the pages. On some of them, Sirius had written things like “S+R”, usually with a heart neatly drawn around the letters, as well as “Sirius Lupin” over and over again. A larger block of text caught his eye:

“Why do I feel this way? I know it’s wrong, but no matter how hard I try to make the feeling go away, it’s still there; making me weak in my knees every time I look at him. 

He doesn’t realize the effect he has on me. Every damn time he smiles, or ruffles his hair, or bites his lip when he’s concentrating… Someday, one of these things will be the bloody death of me and he doesn’t even realize. 

If he found out how I feel, he would surely hate me. He can’t know I’m hopelessly in love with him. No one can ever know.” 

Remus stared blankly at the page. Surely, this couldn’t be about himself? Sirius wasn’t in love with him… Was he? 

He quickly closed the notebook before anyone around him could see what was written in it, and turned around to look at Sirius. He was staring at his desk, though he didn’t appear to be taking notes, or doing anything, really. Remus couldn’t help but wonder if Sirius had seen him reading the notebook and if so, what was going through his head?

-

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Sirius’ ears were ringing, his whole brain in panic mode. It was like an alarm inside his head, frantically ringing out:

He knows, he knows, he hates you now, everything is ruined. 

He thought of all the possible ways out of this: Fakng his own death and moving to France and live under a new name. Or faking his own death and move to the other side of the world. Or perhaps even better, faking his own death and going into outer space, making a life for himself on Mars. In fact, he didn’t really have any idea that didn’t involve faking his own death. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remus turn in his seat to look at him. 

Alright, Sirius, he said to himself. Keep your eyes down, don’t make eye contact. As soon as Transfiguration is over you can make a run for it. 

By the end of the day, he would be Pierre The Frenchman, living on a cozy wineyard in France. Or an astronaut on his way to Mars. 

But as the lesson ended and students hurried out, he started to realize he couldn’t leave. Even if Remus now hated him, he still loved Remus, and a life without him, even if he got to meet some cool aliens instead, wouldn’t be worth living. 

He stood up, finding himself face to face with Remus. “Hey,” he said, praying his voice wouldn’t betray his nerves. “I think you have my, uh-”

“Notebook?” Remus interrupted in a strangely high-pitched voice. “Haha. What notebook? I didn’t read it. I didn’t even notice it was there. Here’s your bag! Goodbye!” He tossed the bag onto Sirius’ desk, before practically running out of the door, leaving Sirius behind in the nearly empty classroom. 

“What on earth was that about?”

Sirius jumped. He’d completely forgotten that James was there too. He turned around to face him, making a desperate attempt at a nonchalant expression. “No idea,” he lied. 

James didn’t seem so convinced. “Why was he being so weird about a notebook? And what notebook was he even talking about, anyway?” He reached into Sirius’ bag, but Sirius was quick to snatch it out of his hands. 

“It’s private!” he said. 

But James had managed to grab the notebook, and had already opened it. “Oh.” he said, realization dawning on his face. “Oh!” 

“James, give that back!” Sirius pleaded, no longer able to keep the panic out of his voice. 

James looked up at him. “You’re in love with Remus,” he almost whispered. “Shit, mate. Everything makes so much more sense now.”

Sirius looked down, shame mixing with the panic. “You weren’t supposed to have read that.”

But James ignored this. “Sirius, you have to go after him! He clearly feels the same way!”

“No he doesn’t!”

“Yes, he does,” James insisted. “Did you not see him running out of here all red in the face. And how weirdly he acted before… Pads, that is not the behavior of someone who just learned his friend is in love with him and doesn’t return those feelings.” 

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath. “You don’t know that,” he mumbled. 

“Yes, I do! Listen to me, dimwit,” James said, grabbing a hold of both Sirius’ shoulders, forcing him to look at him. “If he didn’t have feelings for you too, he wouldn’t have acted that way. There would have been an awkward conversation where he tried to let you down gently. ‘I really like you as a friend, Sirius, but I would like to stay just that.” Something like that, you know? He definitely wouldn’t have acted like that!”

Could James really be right? Sirius fiddled nervously with his shirt collar. “So… you think I should find him and talk to him, don’t you?”

“Exactly!” James responded. “Come on, no time to waste!”

Sirius sighed. “Alright,” he muttered, taking hesitant steps towards the door. 

“Actually, wait.” James said, grabbing his arm. “Look, Pads, I know I shouldn’t have meddled in this. That notebook was private. And, well… I imagine this isn’t how you planned on me finding out that you like blokes but, uh… I want you to know that I love you just the same. You’ll always be my brother.” 

Sirius didn’t have the words to explain what a relief it was to hear that from James. All of the sleepless nights he had spent, after realizing he was gay, picturing James’ reaction. In his imagination, it was usually the end of their friendship. James looked disgusted, angry, betrayed. But as he looked into his eyes, a deep, gentle brown, there was none of that. No hatred, no disgust. “Thank you, Prongs,” he said with a small smile.

James returned the smile, pulling him into a brief hug. “No problem, mate. Now go talk to Moony, for Merlin’s sake!”

-

Remus had gone to the place he always went when seeking comfort or a place to clear his mind: the Hogwarts library. Surrounded by books, with no people around, except maybe for the librarian, he felt strangely at peace. Today, however, there was no peace. His mind was running at a dangerous speed, way too fast for himself to keep up.  

Sirius liked him… maybe. It could’ve been a prank. Could Sirius have meant for Remus to find it? Was he trying to humiliate Remus by tricking him into confessing his own feelings? Or it could all have been something Remus’ own brain, desperate for love, had made up. Either way, he was going to do what he always did in uncomfortable or scary situations: ignore it until it hopefully went away. 

“Remus.”

Fuck. It was going to be hard to ignore the problem, when the problem was standing a few feet away from him, nervously fiddling with the strap on his bag. 

Sirius shuffled awkwardly next to Remus’ table, eyeing a chair as though he was debating whether or not to sit down. “I thought I might find you here,” he said. 

Remus got up, grabbing a random book off the nearest shelf. “Congrats, Sherlock,” he said snarkily, sitting back down again. He opened the book, pretending to read. It was better than having to face Sirius.

“Moony, I- I know you looked in my notebook,” Sirius said, pulling out the chair opposite Remus and sitting down.

Remus kept his eyes on the book, without catching any of what was written in it. Sirius continued:

“I don’t know how much you actually read, but… Well, I’m pretty sure you saw enough to know the truth.”

“No, I swear, I have no idea what you’re…” Remus trailed off. What good would lying do? He had known Sirius since they were both eleven. There was no one more stubborn or persistent. If Sirius wanted to talk about this, that would happen whether Remus wanted to or not. “Yeah, I did,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.” 

“I need to know the truth as well,” Sirius said. “If you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. I’ll… I’ll get over it, I won’t make it awkward or uncomfortable, I promise. But if you do feel the same…”

Remus opened his mouth, but no sound left him. He didn’t know what to say. This didn’t feel real. It was too good to be true. A prank, for sure. James was probably hiding somewhere, ready to jump out and laugh at him with Sirius if he confessed. 

Silence stretched for what seemed like an eternity, while an internal war wreaked havoc inside of Remus. Should he tell Sirius the truth, or stay silent?

But before either side could win, Sirius had already drawn conclusions from his silence.

“Right,” he said, his voice choked-up and distant. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed there was even a chance you liked me back.” He got up, before Remus could say anything. “Just forget about it, okay?”

Fuck. Remus looked up. Sirius was walking away, his shoulders slumped, his steps heavy. Remus stood up, knocking the chair over in his hurry. “Sirius, wait!”

He had caught up with him in a few long strides. Sirius turned around, his expression hardened like he didn’t dare let himself hope again. 

This time, Remus didn’t waste any time worrying about the consequences. He cupped Sirius’ face with his hands, leaning in to kiss him, and oh Merlin, was it the best decision he had ever made. 

The kiss was returned almost immediately, like it was all Sirius had been wanting to do for years. And maybe it was… Remus thought that was the case for himself, even if he had only recently realized it. 

Both of them lost in the other’s lips, they accidentally backed into a bookcase, sending a few books falling onto the floor. 

“Who’s there?” Called the angry voice of Madam Pince. 

Sirius and Remus looked at each other, both trying to suppress their laughter. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Sirius whispered. 

Remus nodded, letting Sirius take his hand as they both ran from the library. He grinned, feeling the rush of adrenaline and euphoria take over his mind. They hid in an unused classroom, both of them laughing and panting. 

“That was close, huh?” Sirius said. “Imagine if Madam Pince had seen us. She would’ve lost her damn mind.” 

“Definitely.” Remus’ cheeks hurt from smiling. “So,” he said. “Sirius Lupin, huh?” 

Sirius groaned. “Shut up,” he said, his face turning red. 

Remus laughed. “No,” he said. “Never. It’s embarrassing for you.”

“It is,” Sirius agreed. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Remus’ lips. “Will kissing shut you up?”

“Mmh.” Remus stroked his chin with mock thoughtfulness. “You know, it just might. Why don’t keep kissing me to find out?”

[paperandsong]

Illustration by André Castaigne, 1911

Phantom of the Opera and Carnival - some thoughts

While ALW’s Masquerade lyrics imply that the masked ball happens at New Year’s – toasting to a prosperous year and a new chandelier – in Leroux’s novel the masked ball happens sometime before Shrovetide/avant les jours gras. Shrovetide is an archaic English way of saying Carnival. While Masquerade is a great song, ALW’s decision to move the date of the masked ball means that it loses some of the symbolism and disconnects the story from the greater tradition of Carnival. I have some thoughts about this. It’s a little long, apologies.

What is Carnival? Primarily, it’s a season: the period of time between January 6 (Twelfth Night) and Mardi Gras (the day before Ash Wednesday). The date of Mardi Gras changes every year because it is linked to the dates of Easter and Passover and calculated using the lunar calendar. Carnival is celebrated in some way in most of Europe and in most of the Western Hemisphere, especially in areas colonized by France, Portugal, and Spain. It is not widely celebrated in the U.S. except along the Gulf Coast, primarily in Louisiana, because this region was colonized by France and Spain and the tradition became entrenched before the area became English-speaking. Carnival is celebrated to a lesser extent in Africa, again as a result of colonization. I’m not sure about Carnival celebrations in Asia (leave a comment if you do know!) While Carnival traditions vary widely depending on geography and culture, there are some elements that define the celebrations: masks and hidden identities, processions that later became parades, an excess of food, music, and dance. Carnival is older than Christianity. Most of the pre-Christian elements seem to come from the Romans. But the Carnival that was exported across the world along with colonization was very much a medieval Catholic tradition.

Modern Carnival is usually celebrated as a secular holiday.  But in order to explain Carnival, I have to address the religious roots. [I’m not trying to preach, I promise.] The word Carnival comes from the Latin carnes, flesh. It is a celebration of the flesh in every respect. The excessive hard partying could be viewed an attempt to eat up all the butter and get out all the sinful behavior before Lent, the 40 day liturgical season proceeding Easter, when there is an expectation of fasting and hard praying and grim contemplations of death (Stations of the Cross, Passion Plays). But you can also view Carnival as a very intentional celebration of the ephemeral nature of life.  The dates of Carnival correspond with the liturgical season of Epiphany, which is the only period of the year when Jesus is alive and concerned with human things – he is a mischievous child, he goes to weddings with his mom, his miracles are often quotidian and material – wine and bread and fish. Only three to four months pass from the time Jesus is born at Christmas to the time he dies at Easter. His human life was short and fleeting. Carnival/Epiphany are about the fleeting nature of all life. A celebration of the flesh. Ash Wednesday serves as the reminder that eventually it will all turn to dust. You must burn through the ephemeral to reach the eternal. Carnival isn’t only about excess before deprivation. It is a celebration of life in the face of death.  

New Orleans Carnival/Mardi Gras provides the perfect metaphor for this. Parades involve “throws” to the crowds – trinkets, usually beads, plastic coins, toys, cakes. People can get a little crazy in their thirst for beads – especially the rare glass ones. But come Wednesday, the beads grow dim before your very eyes. Thousands of them get crushed beneath the wheels of garbage trucks cleaning up the streets. No matter what wealth you have accumulated in this world, no one, absolutely no one, can take it with them when they die.

Carnival is a time when the old order is inverted. Jesus was meant to turn the world upside down – a king born in a barn! Costuming and masking blur gender and class lines. In the Americas, while racial lines were historically very much imposed even during Carnival, it was also a rare time when slaves and later free people of African descent were allowed to express their cultures in public. This is clearly still true in Carnival as it is celebrated in Brazil, the Caribbean, New Orleans. Carnival can work to temporarily equalize the masses as masked people blend into each other and lose their own identities.

So, what does any of this have to do with Phantom of the Opera? Erik appears at the masked ball dressed as the Red Death. Yes, clearly, he is a fan of Poe. He’s a well-read man! But death very much has a role to play in Carnival and it isn’t at all uncommon to see people dressed as death or other morbid figures. Because Carnival celebrates life, it is inherently celebrating the ephemeral. All life ends. And that is what makes it beautiful and worthy of celebration.

Erik enjoys his connection to death. Depending on your reading of Leroux, Erik is probably not even wearing a mask, stalking the party in his full hideous glory, as Daroga might say. This is especially meaningful when you consider Leroux’s famous quote about Parisians and masking. While Erik is a trickster and a liar, on this night, a night of inversions, he is the most honest man at the Garnier. He is there to remind others of their own mortality. And this is a perfectly normal and sane way to celebrate Carnival. The party goers aren’t afraid of Erik (except that one guy who touched him) – they greatly admire his costume; they even ask where he had it made. As if he were just a normal reveler. Even today it would be completely normal for there to be a guy dressed as death walking around a Carnival party. In this way Erik is almost the opposite of Poe’s Red Death, whose mere presence offends Prince Prospero so much he orders him killed on sight. Perhaps it is because Prospero himself does not understand the nature of his own Carnival or life itself. You cannot lock Death outside.

While the party goers seem amused by Erik’s costume, and we enjoy Erik’s moment of pure arrogance and swag, I don’t think Erik’s performance is entirely symbolic. It’s also a threat. If he really had as much gunpowder under his house as Daroga informs us, then it would have taken a while to get it all down there. On the night of the masked ball, isn’t it possible that the gunpowder was already there beneath the Opera? Only Erik would have known this. I think this made him feel powerful, to walk around knowing that at any moment he could end it all. He was there to embody Death, to incarnate it. To make it flesh.