#even if the situation was crafted by Finns

[categoricalglitches]

So... after watching a Control LP, am I supposed to feel the level of contempt that I do for the FBC???

Because... uh, they seem like a collection of questionably-competent to fully incompetent mad scientists and other than Jesse (who's not responsible for any of the bullshit that happened prior to her tenure--and sort of Dr. Darling who's just coasting on an ocean of charisma but who dropped SO MANY BALLS in the taking-care-of-the-kidnapped-and-disappeared-10-year-old department) or the lower-level grunts uh... no thanks?

[vintagerpg]

I love a kid adventure. The sub-genre, codified in film for the most part by Amblin Entertainment in the ’80s (but drawing on all sorts of sources, from Huck Finn to Lassie to Hardy Boys to Scooby-Doo), uses a straightforward formula: take some kids and stick them in a dangerous situation that only they can handle, because adults either don’t believe or aren’t around.

The problem with most kid adventure stories is that they are written by adults, and at least partially for adults, and because of that, they generally adhere to an adult sense of logic. This is true of kid adventure RPGs like Kids of Bikes and Tales from the Loop, for sure. You can hear an echo of Richard Dreyfuss’ Stand By Me narration in both those games. No so for Don’t Tell Mom & Dad (2022), which delights in its own kid logic.

You’re a kid. You live in a town (a big part of DTM&D is collaboratively creating that town using the included tiles, something I unabashedly love). There’s something weird going on (possibly many somethings) and you need to get to the bottom of it by the end of summer vacation. There are a bunch of cool mechanics to manage — dinner time, curfew, zzz (countered by the use of sugar), the scared-o-meter and cool points (there are also “good kid” skills and “bad kid” skills). There are summer jobs, of course, and chores. But there’s also cool stuff to buy at the corner store and endless equipment to improvise through crafting and the powers of kid imagination — they can bend reality with a successful roll.

There’s such an appeal to how these (light!) mechanics hang together to simulate the improbable twists and turns of childhood imagination. They’re poised to create off-the-wall adventures that are more dangerous than you’d expect and probably don’t make conventional sense, but that’s not the point, now, is it? Rather, the point is running around on a summer evening with your friends, having a blast (or, you know around a table, because you’re old in body, but young at heart).

[annie-creates]

Desperately by her side

Pairing: Queen Ravenna x reader

Genre: fluff (basically)

Words: 1400

Note: Right when I thought noone reads Ravenna fics anymore, I got such an amazing request! Thank you so much, I hope I didn't let you down.

The situation was slightly getting out of hand. Queen Ravenna was desperately trying to hunt Snow White down for weeks, even months at this point. And it was successfully getting her nowhere. Her guard always came empty handed, soldiers returning with nothing but dumb excuses for their incompetence. If she didn’t need to stay here and rule, she was starting to believe that even she herself would have a better success finding the girl. She needed for someone to finally get her and her patience was running thin.

“Finn!” She ordered for like the tenth time that day. “Why does everyone fail! It’s not that hard to catch a little girl, it’s not like she’s some witch!”

“Well she knows the land way better than our soldiers do…” the man was scared facing his sister’s anger.

“Then find me someone who does!” The queen orders and he scrambles away to execute it.

However unsuccessful they were trying to find Snow White herself, it didn’t take long to fins Y/n. Her reputation preceded her, Finn hearing all about the mighty warrior on his road. Apparently she knew the craft of swordwielding like no one else, and could track down her pray from weeks old tracks. Following precisely all the directions he was given from people in the village, he must have had the wrong house. Sure a woman that magnificent and skilled wouldn’t live in a small cottage in the middle of nowhere? He knocked non the less, asking your name.

“I’m looking for miss Y/n.” He barks, not wanting to waste any of his precious time.

“Yes, that’s me. What can I do for you?” You question with hands folded over your chest, leaning lazily on the doorframe.

“You?” His reaction didn’t offend you anymore, given your reputation no one ever expected the seemingly fragile girl of small stature.

“Yes, me.” You assure him, waiting for him to register the information.

“Then why do you..?” He critically eyed your small home with hardly three rooms, decorated cheaply but warmly.

“Did you come visit me to discuss my living choices?” You cut his train of thoughts, trying to get back to the topic.

“No, excuse me madam, I was just surprised.” He fixed his language and attitude back to someone who needs to employ you. “I come at the behalf of her majesty the Queen. Would you please accompany me back to the castle so she can discuss her offer with you?”

Judging by the few guards standing behind him at the forest road it wasn’t really a question, so you take your knitted sweater, place your sword by your hip and with a shrug of your shoulders you get into his carriage. The road wasn’t long, taking you straight to the capital city. Finn wasn’t one of the most talkative people you’ve ever met, honestly he wasn’t talkative at all. You thought maybe it was because of the knights riding with you, but maybe he was just like that. Quiet and intimidated by everything and everyone.

You stop at the courtyard and with just a quiet ‘follow me’ he takes you straight to the queen’s throne room. The walls are lined with pillars and guards, tall windows let in colored light and in the middle her throne stands, tall and cold, ruthless and strong as his lady appears to be. She wears a metal crown that makes you wonder if her head doesn’t hurt from the weight after a long day wearing it, her golden hair flowing down her shoulders. She’s mesmerizing, coldly gorgeous and mercilessly splendid.

You watch her as Finn runs to her side, whispering about you to her ear and she watches you intently. Her face changes facades from surprise to disbelief and it finally settles on something close to villainous satisfaction, an expression that leaves an unsettling feeling in your gut and makes your spine shiver in cold sweat. You have never seen a person of such angelic appearance with such an evil soul. It was like even the air around her was scared of her malice.

“My brother tells me you are an excellent fighter.” She states, her sight burying deep into your soul.

You stand in front of her stiff as one of the columns, mesmerized yet petrified at the same time. Now you understood why people spoke so highly but warily about her, maybe they were scared she’ll actually hear them. Her beauty had no comparison, but her presence put people on notice and her piercing eyes seemed to look right into the essence of your being.

“And you can track people?” her patience was clearly running thin, forcing you to answer her.

“Yes, your majesty.” Gaining up some of your courage and shaking her bewitching spell from your shoulders you step from foot to foot.

“Excellent. I have a little someone I need to find, yet my soldiers always return empty handed. You think you can find her?” She challenges you.

“I can find anyone.” You answer confidently this time. “What is their crime madam?”

“Let’s say she took something dear from me.” She plays with her words, charmed by your curiosity. “Say your price, I’ll give you anything you want if you bring me the girl alive.”

“You need to tell me who this lady is first, my queen.” Remaining polite you state your terms.

“Are you familiar with the girl named Snow White? I need her to come back here.” Of course you were, everyone knew the princess.

“No.” You shake your head shocking everyone in the room with your impudence.

“No?” Ravenna repeats in shocked disbelieve that someone had the audacity to oppose her.

“No. I know Snow White, and I know she wouldn’t have done anything to deserve your wrath.” Squeezing the handle of your sword for confidence you explain.

Before the queen could even register your determined resistance, Finn himself gave a silent order to the guards along the room. They all closed on you so fast you had hardly the time to even draw your sword, but your training and skill proved itself in a fight against the queen’s soldiers. Being pushed by Finn to leave the room and flee for safety, she couldn’t take her eyes off of you, gracefully moving between the armed men like in your own kind of dance, effortlessly cutting their limbs and piercing their bodies like it was nothing but a piece of fruit, your hidden muscles showing off now in a combat of death.

As she looses the sight of you, she’s not angry, she’s enamored. She didn’t care for the lives of her knights, they were nothing but her pawns in the great scheme of things. But you, you were truly something. As she paces the throne room now bathing in blood with her bare feet, lifeless bodies laying around like nothing but ragdolls, she admired your talent and skill, and adored your unrestrained personality. You were long gone, the guard watching you run out the city gates, and suddenly a feeling of longing settled in her chest.

For a moment she forgot all about Snow White and her petty disputes, remembering your pretty eyes instead. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have such a strong, uncompromising woman by her side, mighty yet compassionate and gracious. She used to be like that herself, a long time ago before the world hardened her smooth skin and sharpened her warm eyes. How you managed to keep your pure righteous heart in this cruel place and time was an enigma to her.

“Finn!” She calls again as he crawls to her presence more frightened than ever before. “Find her. You did it once, do it again. Find me that girl.”

This time it wasn’t to threaten or execute you for your actions. She wasn’t mad at you, she wanted you desperately by her side. Not only would you be a perfect protector for a hated figure in her position of power, you seemed to have a wit many people could only dream about. You were determined, strongminded and you weren’t scared to disagree with her, yet you did so politely and non-judgmentally. Maybe protection of her life wasn’t the only reason she wanted to keep you close after such a short encounter. Maybe she would be able to see you as her equal friend and partner.

[suekreandtheidiots]

The Joy of Parenting

Location // Characters: Aberdeen // Sofia and Craig

October 2004 - Sofia and Craig talk about their oldest son.

Status/Notes: finished / I love writing these two, and I love parent couples who are still very much in love with each other after years of being together!

___

October 2004

Strong but gentle arms wrapped around her body from behind, and Sofia closed her eyes, leaning into the very familiar touch with a content smile and breathing in her husband's scent. Sun and salt water in his long hair, his favourite cologne as well as a hint of fresh wood - it was an illustrious scent she could never get enough of, even after twenty years.

"Let's go and eat out tonight, Sof, hm?" Craig murmured into her ear. Sofia could practically see his wide smile, without turning around, right in front of her inner eye.

"What?" she laughed.

"I want to take you out to dinner, dear and hard-working wife of mine."

"Where does that come from now?"

"Well, I feel much better than I did last week, I made a secret wish on my birthday… that is now not so secret anymore, mind you, and it's been ages since the last time we went out. You're always so busy saving animals-"

"He says like it's a bad thing-"

"-and I miss going out with you!"

"Well, our budget's been a bit tight after all, with all the repair work in our bathrooms, Ali's new sets of sports gear and Lance's latest school trips? Besides, we are also still saving up to support him through university." Sofia said, snuggling a little deeper into Craig's embrace, savouring the moment.

"And we always managed to put food on the table, too." Craig said. "We've always been doing just fine, Sof. I have an eye on our finances, too. You just worry too much."

"Nooo, I just prefer to keep my head out of the clouds, unlike a certain gentleman whom I happen to be very much into… despite his tendency to gloss over certain situations." she mocked, knowing that Craig would not take it personally. He never did.

"Have I ever met that bloke? Sounds like an idiot."

There we go.

"Briefly, I think. He's quite adorable, actually." Sofia giggled and lightly patted Craig's arms.

The gentle pats were their own little signal to let go of each other, any time they didn't exactly want to part but had to, and Sofia sure would have loved to lean into her husband for a little while longer, but the ice cream that was sitting at the bottom of one of the grocery bags on the counter was probably about to melt right in front of her eyes within the next few minutes and that was not at all why she had bought it.

Once Craig let go of her, she started unpacking the bags, handing him some of the items so he could store them away.

"Nah, seriously, Sof… what do you say?" Craig tried again, putting a package of spaghetti into the cupboard above him. "Hm? Just us tonight. We can drop Ali off at Finn's and, as far as I know, Lancie has plans, too."

"He does?"

"Heard him say somethin' earlier and from what I understood, he won't be home before ten or so."

"I love how he's only sixteen and just assumes that curfews are no longer a thing for him."

"He's a good kid, Sof."

"I know, I know."

Craig put away the two new boxes of Weetabix and leaned against the counter. A wide smile spread across his face. "So, what do you say? I could get a table at Humphrey's at six o'clock?"

"Hm, go on?"

"Then we should be done with dinner around eight, at the latest, and that still leaves enough time for me to get you home real quick and show you some of my finest woodwork, if you catch my drift."

Sofia groaned. "Dear god, Abbott, that's it, I'm going to hide that book about puns."

"So that's a no to my well-crafted plans?"

Sofia pursed her lips and thought about Craig's idea.

She actually had made plans to declutter her office tonight, to go through all the documents she had not had enough time to sort into their appropriate folders in the past few weeks, and after that she had looked forward to wind down in front of the TV with one of her favourite movies, "Gone With The Wind" (hence the ice cream), and go to bed early, to enjoy a night of peaceful sleep.

A date with her husband, however, with the outlook of some… woodwork, as he apparently liked to put it now, was all too tempting.

Between them both working full time and managing everyday life with two very lively sons, making room for some actual romance could be a challenge, and it really had been a while at this point. Neither Sofia nor Craig had liked that a whole lot.

Sofia decided that her office could probably wait another day or two.

"It's a yes." she smiled. "Stop referring to sex as woodwork, though, and you will get lucky tonight."

"It's a charming code word, though?" Craig hopped on the counter and made himself comfortable, snatching one of the shiny bags next to him, opening it and devouring a handful of crisps within seconds. "Any time the boysh are around and we talk about woodwork, they'd remain entirely cluelesh."

"Really?" Sofia raised an eyebrow. "Have you met your own sons?!"

"Well… at least Ali would be clueless, and he might remain so for a long time, now that his cute little mind revolves all around football."

"Let's just hope so."

Sofia sighed at the very unsettling thought of her youngest eventually growing up, too, and she had just put away a can of baked beans when another thought crossed her mind. She turned to her husband.

"So what is Lancie up to later?" she asked. "I haven't seen him all day, and, well… he never really talks to me anyway."

She did her best to make the last part sound like a casual statement, and she knew that it had never been personal either, but the way Lance felt mostly drawn to Craig still had potential to nag at her sometimes.

"I don't know, really. Think I heard him mention 'Diana', though."

"Dear god, no." Sofia let out another groan, losing composure for a second, despite trying not to, and leaning on the counter in frustration.

Next to her, her husband chuckled and helped himself to another handful of crisps. "You really don't like the little lass, eh?"

"I want to, Pooky, I really do. It's more that... I don't know, I just don't like the way she makes Lancie run after her. That's just not like him at all."

"Sof, he's sixteen. A damn teenager."

"So? Doesn't mean he can't have any standards?"

"You're cute. Do you really need me to spell out for you what he's after?"

"Craig!" Sofia moaned. "You're not helping."

"What? Most of us go through that awful phase, and trust me, it pains us more than it does you."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because you lassies know you're sweet and gorgeous, and intriguing, and that we're all into you no matter what, and you know we know it, and you can do whatever you want with that. Don't tell me you weren't a scheming little goddess at sixteen."

"I wasn't?!"

"I don't believe you at all." Craig laughed. "What I wanted to say, though... we usually come out of that phase as better, wiser people."

Sofia glanced to the side to where Craig was still sitting happily on the counter, his long legs dangling and his blue eyes sparkling with excitement as he was looking at his bag of crisps like it was his own, personal revelation. He, too, resembled a damn teenager in this very moment and it was one of the things she had always loved about her husband - life, no matter the circumstances, had never hardened him and she hoped it never would.

Her lips curled up into a smile. "Better, sure. Wiser however-"

"Hey, I managed to woo you!"

"I was young and very easy to impress." Sofia laughed.

"You were never easy to impress, Miss Thomson, I am really just that great." Craig pointed at himself with two thumbs, grinning like the gorgeous, confident fool he was, before he joined in laughing.

A few moments later, he shrugged and added: "Honestly, Sof, don't even worry. Besides, it's not like there's a whole lot that Lancie could do wrong, so let him do his thing, he'll be fine."

Sofia cocked her head.

It's not like there's a whole lot that Lancie could do wrong.

What a strange and out-of-the-blue statement that was. It sure sparked her curiosity, so she decided to address it.

"What do you mean, he can't do wrong?"

"You know what I mean. Our oldest isn't exactly set up for failure, right?"

"I don't even know how to answer that."

"Just think about it - has Lance ever done anything truly stupid? Name one thing!" Craig dared her, putting his bag of crisps away, before he jumped off the counter, proceeding to put the last few groceries to their designated places.

Sofia smirked and raised an eyebrow. "So you're tryin' to tell me that you already conveniently forgot how he snuck out to a party he wasn't allowed to go to last year?"

Her husband turned around, making a face. "Oh, that-"

"And didn't even manage to sneak back in, like he had planned? Instead he passed out drunk at some stranger's house and we called him about three hundred times, worried sick, before he gave a sign of life - the next afternoon."

Craig pressed his lips into a thin line, and he blinked. "Just, uh… name one other thing he fucked up."

Sofia laughed and gently tugged at the hem of her husband's sweater jacket. "Pooky, what are you even on about?"

"That party incident was merely a glitch, don't you think? What I'm saying is that our son is a force of nature. I'm so proud of him. I mean, he's good at everything he tries, it almost scares me."

Ah. The age old tale of the Golden Boy. Sofia looked down and bit her lip.

She had always loved how Craig had proved to be a devoted father. In spite of what everyone else had to say about their young relationship back in the days, he had done simply amazing right from the start and while there had been many voices trying to talk her out of 'settling for that silly lad', Sofia had always… known. Sure, Craig had been young, but even back then, in his very early twenties, she had sensed that hint of security about him. It was never about money, status and possessions, she could've had that plenty of times. Craig Abbott had the heart and soul that she had always looked for, to even think about starting a family. Craig had always seen her for her, and he wholeheartedly believed in the people he loved.

Sofia had always known that and not much had changed about it, but the past was the past and the present was right here, always waiting to be faced in whatever way necessary. And believing in loved ones was one thing. Putting them on a pedestal, however, was another.

"Lance is good at everything he does, that's true." Sofia nodded reluctantly and she let a few more moments pass before she went on. "And I'm beginning to wonder whether that's actually a good thing."

Craig put his hands on each side of her neck and gently caressed it with his thumbs. "That doesn't make any sense, love. How can that not be a good thing?"

"Because I'm not sure if I like the person he's becoming... because of that."

"Come on, Sof. What is that even supposed to mean?"

"Haven't you noticed how... reckless he has become? Inconsiderate? I mean... sometimes?"

"He's neither reckless nor inconsiderate, he's confident."

"Confidence is a good thing, I'd never complain about that. I don't know, Craig, it's the way he talks to his friends sometimes. His tone, his manners. Happens with Cal, mostly. You might want to listen a little closer the next time the two are talking."

Craig sighed. "I don't know... aren't you reading a bit too much into all of this?"

Sofia knew that her husband was not exactly trying to brush off her concerns or to invalidate her perception on purpose but it still angered her a little that he did not even try to think about it for a while longer, pretty much proving her point right on the spot.

"Perhaps I am." she shrugged. "I can't help but notice a little change, though. You keep encouraging him in a way that... I don't know." She sighed. "I don't know, Craig. There's just something I don't quite like about this."

"So what? Lance has figured some things out sooner than others, what's the big deal? Makes things easier for us! It's what I'm talking about after all, he's a bright one, and I still don't know how that's a bad thing."

"Because teenage years are exactly the time to fuck up. It's how we truly learn and grow. We make mistakes. We learn. We grow. All the time, on repeat. We need to experience those mistakes, to really feel the weight of them. That way, we learn how to reflect ourselves. How is Lance supposed to do that if no one is around to humble him every once in a while?"

"You want us to wear our own kid down?!"

"God, Craig, no!" Sofia groaned. "Of course not. All I want to say is… you might want to grant him a little more room to make mistakes. Because he will. He already has. Question the things he says. Look a little closer, just every once in a while."

"Who says I'm not doing that?"

"I'm not saying that it happens on purpose, but you aren't exactly- I mean, sometimes-" Sofia struggled to find the right words. "The way you talk about him sometimes, like he's already a fully fledged grown up friend of yours… it concerns me."

Craig pulled his eyebrows together and made a tiny step back. "But… why? I love him and I admire him. Why can't my son be my friend, too? How is my support wrong all of a sudden?"

"It's not wrong but… I don't know, Craig. And you know what, sometimes I can't help but ask myself whether you remember that we have another son."

"Hey, no. Just no! That's not fair, Sof." Her husband now let go of her entirely. He took another step back, crossing his arms in obvious defense, and shooting her a glance of disapproval. "You know I love Ali just as much!"

"Well, I can sure assume that, but does Ali know?"

"Sofia, what the fuck is this about? How did we go from dinner plans to me being on family trial, what did I even do?"

Sofia looked down and shook her head. Damn. That was not at all how she had meant for her concerns to come out. She made a step forward and gently squeezed her husband's upper arms and she knew she was not exactly acting reasonable right now, but acting reasonable could be so hard when the subject of debate was her children. Her still-so-very-young sons.

She had to let Craig know that this was still an eye-to-eye discussion.

"Look, I'm sorry, Pooky." she said, stroking his arms. "You are definitely not on trial, and I am not trying to hurt you here, but… sometimes I can't shake off the feeling that you're..."

Doing more harm than good. No, way too harsh. And not quite true either. Sofia pondered her choice of words carefully.

"... that you're putting Lancie in a position he is not at all ready to be in. You may see a force of nature but he is still a boy, Craig."

"Are you… are you tryin' to tell me that I love my son too much?"

"No. No, Craig, that is absolutely not what I'm trying to tell you." Sofia shook her head. "I love the way you love him, alright? I'm just a wee bit worried you might be putting more pressure on him sometimes than what is good for him, without you even realising. You know how you get carried away at times-"

"I'm not putting any pressure on him!"

"Craig-"

"It's not like I expect him to do any of the things he does? I never expected him to master "Painkiller" on the drums at only fourteen, I never expected him to do that well in school and I sure don't expect him to go to med school. It is what he wants, Sof, it's all him! He is the driving force in his own life, he has always been."

"I know that!"

"So what are we even arguing about?!"

"We're not arguing!"

"No? Because it feels like that to me!"

"We're not! I just happen to know that Lance looks up to you. He looks up to you so much, and it might not appear like that to you but he wants your approval. He wants you to think high of him. I know my son, too. He might favour you and he might not even be aware of all the things I just said, but I can see it."

"If it was me he looks up to, he would strive to become a rockstar and hedonist."

"Craig." Sofia breathed out in mild exhaustion and she rested her forehead against her husband's chest.

"The doctor thing is cool, too, though." Craig said after a few moments, offering a tone so soft now that Sofia instantly knew that she had him back on her side, right where he belonged. Craig put his arms around her once more and gently rested his head on hers. This felt good. They stood like that for a while until Sofia felt ready to speak again.

"All I want to say is… try and look behind the facade at times. Be gentle with him." she murmured. "After all, this world won't always be. He might be more fragile than both of you think."

"I am gentle with him. He doesn't care for it all that much."

"I'm not telling you to coddle him. I just- I need to be sure you have his back, even when he messes up."

"Why would you even question that?" Craig asked, unusually timid, stroking her hair while he was still gently rocking her in his arms.

"I know you think he can't do anything wrong but... just play pretend for a moment." Sofia pulled out of his embrace, not much, but just far enough so she could look up into his face. "Assume that Lance does something really stupid... will you be there for him? Will he have your unconditional love and support, even when he's not the amazing self you admire so much? Even when he makes loving him very hard?"

"Sofia-"

"I just need to know, Craig. Please."

Her husband took a deep breath, and he also took his time before he answered.

"Sofia, I will always love him, no matter what he does. And I will always be there for him, too. Even when he messes up. Even when he messes up bad. It... it hurts that I have to spell it out like that."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm having a moment. It's been quite a week, I'm letting it all out on you and I'm so sorry."

"It's all good, love, but you need to tell me what this is really about."

Sofia pondered the question. "I don't know. Sometimes I hate seeing him grow up so fast. Love it, too. But mostly hate it these days. The world is scary, and I keep wondering whether we're giving our sons enough-"

"Shhh. Hey. Our sons have great parents, trust me. They will be fine."

"Why can't I be the funny and gorgeous, happy-go-lucky half of this relationship at times?"

"Because you're perfect the way you are, and no one wants you any other way. And I get that you're thinking about these things, Sof, I really do. I think about it, too. But our sons growing up is the way things are supposed to be, and we may not always like it but neither you nor I can change it. All we can do is watch them live in the moment."

"I know." Sofia sighed. "Wow, that was one hell of a speech, I just remembered again why I love you."

"I told you I'm just that great!" Craig smirked down at her, earning himself a light punch to his upper arm but it only made him laugh and pull her a little closer again. "It'll be alright, love, Lancie still has us. And just to assure you once more - I'll be around to catch him the second he falls. I promise."

Sofia nodded. "Alright, good. I'm sorry, Pooky... can't promise it won't happen again but I'm done being a crazy mother hen for now."

"As long as you always end up telling me what's on your mind, I'm fine with you acting a little crazy at times."

Sofia let out a little laugh and gave her husband another little squeeze.

"Are we good?" Craig asked, kissing the top of her head.

"We're always good." she assured him and stood up on her toes to kiss him. "I meant what I said earlier, though."

"Hm?"

"I know you love him. Of course you do, but please make some room for Ali, too. It won't hurt. He needs his father just as much, if not more. I mean, you have already established that Lance is a force of nature so I think you can let him run free sometimes."

"That coming from you, right after your crazy mother hen meltdown?"

"Arsehole."

Craig let out a hearty laugh. "I promise I'll make room for my little Ali. Of course I will. He'll be fed up with me soon enough."

"You don't need to suffocate him?!" Sofia scoffed. "Just... pay a little attention to him, he's really sweet and entertaining, actually."

"I know he is, and now that I think of it... the prospect of having an entire lifetime of pestering both my sons to pure and utter exhaustion ahead of me... it's pretty great!"

"Oh god." Sofia groaned and rolled her eyes, but she did it with an honest smile. It felt so good to let it all out every once in a while, and another thing she loved about her husband was that he always had a way of making her feel better.

"Honestly, I live for that!" Craig added, a mischievous little spark in his eyes. "For now, though... how about we both finally enjoy the prospect of going out to dinner later?"

"Sounds great to me!"

***

[skelezomperman]

Between Finn and Lachesis who will likely:

gets caught in random fights

gets targeted by an enemy

ever be captured by the enemy

kill bugs in the room

do better at budgeting their funds

have a Leonsterzon premium account

slide a caterpillar into Quan's socks

cuss

do bridal-carries

braid another person's hair

burn dinner

love craft beer

contract computer malware

have an Instagram

have a gun

Lachesis would be most likely to get caught in a random fight, I think Finn has an uncanny talent of slipping out of bad situations.

Lachesis would be most likely to be targeted but she might be a bit more agile than Finn so Finn would be more likely to get captured. Or maybe he surrenders himself more easily.

Both of them can kill bugs, neither of them are scared at it.

Finn is frugal so Lachesis is more likely to have a Leonsterzon Premium account...but they're both good at budgeting. I don't think either one is the type that overspends.

I can never see Finn willingly doing anything like that to Quan even if it were a harmless prank, so Lachesis with the caterpillar.

Wouldn't be surprised if Lachesis somehow ends up picking up the habit of cursing even based on her upbringing whereas Finn learns to not curse even though he's a commoner.

Lachesis does have the strength to bridal-carry Finn but I feel like Finn does it more.

Finn wouldn't know how to braid hair so Lachesis would do it more often, though not super often.

Lachesis definitely is more likely to burn dinner.

The craft beer one is the tough one. On the one hand, Finn probably likes beer more than Lachesis. At the same time, in a modern AU I feel like Finn is more likely to just go with a commercial beer brand than to go for craft beer. But probably still Finn because I don't think Lachesis would be a beer snob.

Finn is probably a bit less adept at computers than Lachesis but I don't see either of them getting a virus.

They both have an Instagram but Finn only got Insta to follow Lachesis and like her posts.

Lachesis has a gun because Finn is more likely to keep a spare sword or something for self defense.

[mysticdragon3md3]

🧠✨️💭

It always bugs me in scifi/fantasy when characters get hung up on "being human" or "being real". Not that i dislike these story themes. I actually enjoy how it reveals that compassion is actually what's important in life and that "mundane" experiences matter. But characters who act like people aren't valid unless they're "human" or who act like nothing matters unless it's "real", feel so small minded to me.

Take it from someone who experienced a lot of lucid dreaming when asleep and a lot of depersonalization/derealization while awake. On top of that, my memory is so bad, i keep getting it confused with dreams, daydreams, and plain old gaps in my memory of events that everyone assures me, happened, because i was central to it!

"Real" doesn't matter. All the feelings in the moment, as they happen, all feel real. The pain, they joy, the empathy, etc. The "reality" of when those feelings happen don't matter. Everything is important, all the time. (Cloud was right about that.)

And often in these stories, characters are just using "inhuman" and "not real" as an excuse to not take the time/energy to be compassionate towards someone. Like they were holding back a floodgate of cruelty, too eager for any excuse to be expressed. As soon as the "not real" label comes out for a clone, an android, an artificial intelligence, an experimental lifeform, etc., the antagonist shows their true lack of empathy/compassion, towards a being that can feel pain and---as Finn said---have ambitions.

But regardless of the contested being's ability to feel, i like to fall back on an old idea i think i learned from witchcraft: concern with what you are becoming. Because even if the contested being cannot feel pain and does not have ambitions, i want the characters to be concerned with what their actions say about them. Their willingness to disregard, is just one choice among many, daily, that craft who a person becomes. Even old dolls in animism religions get funeral ceremonies. I think there's value in acknowledging the emotions one spent in something "not real", instead of denying their significance, in the vain hope that a cold heart, free of attachments, will somehow be protected from pain.

And another problem with these antagonists advocating callousness towards the "not real", is the effect it has on those who become/are not human. I don't understand how Sayaka Miki could suddenly think she was less of a person, unworthy for love, just because she had her soul placed outside of her body. She may no longer be human, but she's still a valid person. I get offended at calling clones "not real", as if disposable, when it's no different a situation from identical twins. Maybe it bugs me, because as a woman, I've seen what happens, first hand, when all of society crams ideas of invalidation down people's minds. Suddenly, the invalidation of a sentient being comes from inside, internalized, as well as externally. It's twisted.

I get in real life, it's useful to have objects that we don't have to worry about the feelings for. There is so much emotional labor loaded onto life already. I don't want to worry about the feelings of my tools...but i do sometimes. And that's useful too. It leads me to take better care of them. But it is an emotional labor that i do need a break from. Still, scifi characters who take that slippery slope too far are just jerks. Not that a non-sentient clump of zygote is the same as a fully sentient, walking, talking clone, with its own agency. But these villains are always quick to call someone "inhuman" as an excuse to be "permitted" to be cruel. (Maybe it bugs me because it reminds me of immature 12 year old me, with repressed anger issues. Jungian Shadow, and all that.)

[belvatoplaces]

Discover Bali's Nightlife: A Journey from Beach Clubs to Traditional Dance

Bali, the famed Island of the Gods, offers more than just picturesque beaches and serene rice paddies. As the sun sets, Bali transforms into a vibrant playground, offering a diverse array of nighttime activities. Here, we explore the multifaceted nightlife of Bali, from the pulsating beach clubs to the enchanting traditional dance shows, illustrating the island's unique blend of modernity and tradition.

Beach Clubs: A Modern Twist to Bali's Nightlife

Bali's beach clubs are the epitome of tropical luxury. These venues, often situated along the coastline, offer a unique blend of dining, music, and entertainment. Places like Potato Head Beach Club in Seminyak and Finn's Beach Club in Canggu are prime examples. These clubs provide an unparalleled ambience with infinity pools, internationally renowned DJs, and a selection of cocktails and culinary delights. They are a perfect representation of Bali's modern, sophisticated side, catering to both the international jet-setter and the casual holidaymaker looking for a taste of the high life. For those looking to extend their stay in paradise, there is a wide range of Bali villas for rent, offering the comfort and luxury to enhance this extraordinary experience.

Traditional Dance Shows: A Cultural Journey

In contrast to the contemporary vibes of the beach clubs, Bali's traditional dance shows offer a journey into the island's rich cultural heritage. The famous Kecak Fire Dance, performed at Uluwatu Temple, is a must-see. This dance, characterized by a chorus of chanting men, dramatic costumes, and a captivating storyline based on the Ramayana, provides an immersive cultural experience. Similarly, the Legong and Barong dances, often performed in cultural venues and temples, showcase intricate movements, elaborate costumes, and a glimpse into the island's mythological tales.

Bars and Pubs: Casual and Lively Hangouts

For those who prefer a more laid-back evening, Bali's bars and pubs offer a variety of atmospheres. From the chic and trendy beachfront bars in Seminyak to the more casual and intimate settings in Ubud, there's something for everyone. These spots often feature live music, ranging from international hits to local Balinese tunes, creating a lively yet relaxed environment perfect for socializing and unwinding.

Night Markets: A Feast for the Senses

Bali's night markets, such as the Gianyar Night Market, provide a different nightlife experience. These markets are bustling with activity, offering various local street food, crafts, and live performances. It's an authentic way to experience Bali's local culture, taste traditional Balinese cuisine, and interact with locals and travellers alike.

Conclusion

Bali's nightlife is as diverse as the island itself, offering something for every type of traveller. Whether it's partying at a high-end beach club, delving into the island's cultural heritage through traditional dances, enjoying a laid-back evening at a bar, or exploring the vibrant night markets, Bali ensures an unforgettable night experience. This vibrant mix of modern and traditional, international and local, creates a unique atmosphere that encapsulates the essence of Bali. For those wishing to fully immerse themselves in this eclectic environment, considering a stay in one of the many luxurious Bali villas available for rent could be the perfect choice.

[dragondropgaming]

Creatures & Contraptions Tuesday: The Haunted Shores 1

Toliaran Fisherman

Most of the townsfolk of Toliara are fishermen, producing enough fish to feed the town and export the remains as trade to other factions.

They’re a simple folk who don’t want trouble and will tend to flee if provoked. If approached by Newcomers, they tend to be very defensive and will gently direct them to see Father Foukes.

A Toliaran fishing pole is a prized possession that is crafted with care as part of a coming-of-age tradition. Most of Toliara townfolk are able to identify the owner of a Toliaran fishing pole on site alone, and rarely would a Toliaran Fisherman willingly give their pole away.

Toliarans respect honest hard work and are often willing to give strangers a chance or attempt to help if they have the ability to do so. Should a threat to the town arise, Toliarans are known to band together and look after one another.

The Toliarans do not use surnames, and examples of first names may be:

Coral, Finn, Marina, Kai, Pearl, Reed, Nami, Kaiya, Jonah, Wake, Sirena, Lina, Cove, Aria, and Dorsal

Lamenter

Lamenters are Non-Player Characters that have succumbed to the effects of The Lamentations. They vary in their severity of affliction, with the most severe cases being known as Oblivion. The moment a creature succumbs to Oblivion, they are broken of mind, spirit, and body – sometimes transforming into hideously grotesque monsters. The below NPC blocks can be used as is, or you can customize other NPC stat blocks to become Lamenters by adding the desired level of Lamentation ability trait, which will supplement the stat blocks of the creature.

For example, you could add the Lamentation: Oblivion (Harmless) ability trait to the Toliaran Fisherman block to make a Toliaran townsfolk that has succumbed to the Lamentations.

Newcomers

Beings that are new to the Immortal Realms are known simply as Newcomers. Newcomers often appear in the Immortal Realms by washing up on the shores, finding themselves lost in the woods, waking up on the side of a snow drift, or some other mysterious way. They do not recall being brought to the Immortal Realms and they are without equipment and very little clothing. Non-player Characters can find themselves in the same situation, and the below NPC stat blocks can be used as is or customized using the Newcomer ability traits to signify their status as Newcomers.

Reactions to Newcomers vary as some will pity the newest souls to the realm and offer help and assistance while others will take advantage of them. Often times they become prey to monsters or slip into madness becoming Lamenters. For this reason, many peoples of this land think very little of Newcomers if they even pay them enough mind to acknowledge their existence at all.

Most equipment a Newcomer has will be scavenged, makeshift, and tattered, though as a source of loot for the party you can modify this as necessary.

A band of Newcomers can be an unpredictable force depending on their disposition.

· Avoidance: Scared, outnumbered, and under geared Newcomers may go out of their way to avoid encountering people, monsters, and towns.

· Bullies: If Newcomers are desperate enough and think they have an advantage, they may attempt to challenge player characters to rob them of resources.

· Diplomats: Players and Non-Player Newcomers form an alliance in hopes that there is protection in numbers.

· Imbedded: Newcomers often awaken in groups, it’s possible that one is with the party at the start of the adventure, use the Newcomer (Fresh) stat block

Newcomer (Fresh)

This Newcomer has recently found themselves in the Immortal Realms very recently. If they have any clothing or weapons, it is tied together rags and a plank of wood used as a club. Chances are bleak for this creature’s survival in combat.

Newcomer’s Desperation: The look is familiar to all intelligent creatures in the Immortal Realms. Fear, confusion, and a willingness to do whatever it takes to survive has given everyone a reason to keep alert around Newcomers. But this desperation also drives the Newcomer to endure beyond their previously known limits.

Newcomer (Survivor)

This Newcomer has spent a few weeks in the Immortal Realms and has found some basic armor and a sharp piece of metal that it can use as a sword. They may have constructed a crude bow and shoddy arrows from fishing line and beach flotsam.

Newcomer’s Resilience: This Newcomer is learning the way of things in the Immortal Realms, having become used to seeing a few shapes in the fog and having found ways to defend their minds from the ground whispers. With a bit more time and luck, this Newcomer may just have what it takes to thrive here.

Newcomer (Mage)

This Newcomer has put together a spellbook after arriving in the Immortal Realms and has found courage in their regained ability to cast spells. Such Newcomers are intelligent enough to attempt to band together with other Newcomers so as to have a barrier between themselves and any harm. Though if needed, the small metal shard or rusty dagger can be brought to bare as a means of defense.

Find more at my Patreon

[forgottenronan]

forgottenarias @forgottencassandra @forgottenronan CASSANDRA GURL! Omg this is all SO GOOD THOUGH and this could DEF be a moment for the injury/aria's powers thing for SURE. also just like... the idea that the resistance (if aria finds out about it before hand) not being the good guys really in this situation!? (at least in Aria's perspective! like yes cassandra is super annoying but that's not her fault and let's not kill her she is legit hte MOST innocent out of all of them!!!) giadesstrin @forgottenarias yasssss I feel like there’s sooooo much we could dissect here honestly!!!!!! @forgottencassandra also def still pondering Godfrey’s move (we all know he’ll wait till the last minute to share most of it w me anyway smdh 😂😭) but he’d deffff feel this is an opportunity bc everyone’s expendable to him in the face of saving the whole world but at the same time he wants the resistance to 1) endure or if they go out go out as heroes around whose memory astairans can rally and most of all 3) fir them to be sympathetic/inspiring to the Astairan imagination and maje ~roderick TBC Look bad but obv this ain’t that!!! I def feel like this is a situation that calls for a scalpel and yeah he’d def want the solution to read pro Astairan while also being edmunds 🤔 I had a larger point but anyway!!! Much to think on shjhfv Probs try to maneuver Ronan himself by tryna play on what ~Ronan ultimately wants tbqh 🤔 forgottenfiona @forgottenronan @forgottenfinnegan so I was thinking about Fiona’s stance on this and I think she’s ultimately going to be against it! (And then yell at Finn if he flip flops sides!) giadesstrin @forgottenfiona @forgottenfinnegan all the resistance families going in for the drama 🙌💀

asdfkasdljf ok so i wrote all of the above in a fog of sleepiness last night but im a lil more ~aware now hahah and have some more thoughts!

so, if we follow the thread where ciara goes to @forgottengodfrey, his priority is not, in fact, to save poor cassandra (tho ofc he ~says it is 'dont worry ciara im gonna do everything i can to save ur lil cousin!' ...'s soul! bet you thought i meant her life! etc ;DDD), its to craft a story that astairans can get behind so that he can weaponize them in order to unleash the apocalypse alskdjfkjdsf so he ~does want the resistance to be heroic, and its pr clear atp that ronan is no longer playing by those rules atp, so i kinda feel like he's now thinking the best thing he can do is swoop in, kill ronan, and wrest control of the more reasonable resistance members away from ronan by martyring him in some fashion, and handing the reins over to edmund (eventually) but atm he's probs thinking either ciara or even ~himself for resistance leader 2k24 sklajdfkldjf

so yeah i think godfrey's play here would basically be to get ronan to rile up roderick sufficiently to put malconaire to the sword, only for godfrey's assassin to pop up and kill ronan, disguised as a roderick soldier ofc to further sell this story, as well as any other unruly resistance members too dklsjafkjsdf

so what happens now? noW ronan's tragic backstory leaks, how roderick's cruelty drove him half to madness as he watched the nation he loves crumble beneath roderick's cruel shackles and, in utter desperation, ronan captured cassandra -- while never intended to do the sweet princess any harm in truth! -- hoping to appeal to the only thing he believed the emperor might love in the hopes of finding a way out (if cassandra died the story'd say that they were treating together, if she survived it'd say that the threat on her life was just a bluff meant to galvanize the emperor), only for roderick to instead of hearing him out, slaughter an entire county (again) in his wrath rather than allow even an ounce of freedom to a man who had fought all his life for the good of others blah blah blah and if the ppl of astaira respond the way he hopes to this story, godfrey's just abt ready to douse the eternal flame of kolchis (since its his ppl who're attending it etc) and do whatever else it takes to unleash the gods or whatever it is he's intending to do to bring abt the apocalypse

tbh tho idk if his plan would actually take root tho bc i do think ~cillian would take up arms against his own brother before allowing so many innocents to be slaughtered and he'd be like 'you do this and you're no better than roderick! the brother i know would have died before perpetrating sm evil on innocent ppl and, mark my words, if you allow this to happen, its not just roderick slaughtering all these ppl -- its you' basically

saoirse isn't gonna go for ANY of this, however, and cillian fully preparing to take up arms against their brother, and thus possibly to kill him if he has to, might ~also be smth to throw her to ronan's side at which point i think saoirse would, first, pray to the guardians to help them all but, if they didn't, she'd take matters into her own hands and sneak in to wherever cassandra's being held and release her, herself (tho lbr this would probs take a number of conspirators to pull off successfully etc but that'd be the general plan)

unfortunately, even w cassandra safely restored to him, roderick is still gonna wanna obliterate the place and ppl who dared do this! unfortunately, idk that any of them will be prepared for the storm that's coming but i think roderick will appeal to his fav element and put malconaire wholly to the torch and, like, sow its fields w salt and yeahhhh esp if this is after the malconaire witches have all escaped, roderick is now thoroughly convinced this is an evil place. the trees are now torches, and soldiers will be posted to prevent ppl from escaping from the fires and yeahhh anyone who happens to survive is either a witch or the god found that this was a person of virtue and they will be put on some sort of witch trial to find out which and yeahhhh

obv if we dont want roderick decimating malconaire, there're some things we cna still do to keep this plot AND malconaire and here're a few

roderick actually never learns of this, its legit just like ~arthur or whoever (in which case the threat to put malconaire to the sword is a bluff bc arthur knows ppl would believe his ~dad would do this and that arthur is his dad's dog -- and ~he thinks ppl know he's the butcher of kil-kennar but he's wrong hahah -- so they'll probs take it srsly w/o him having to go through w it, etc, and he's gonna do and say whatever it takes to get his sister back, safe and sound!! soooo yeah)

the above but its some evil mook, not arthur, so the threat's real bc this dude wants to get in good w the boss man when he reports to roderick how he found the princess in this situation and took care of it just as roderick would have, BUT evil mook gets assassinated before he can give the order to destroy malconaire etc

when this goes down, the resistance isn't in malconaire for whatever reason so all this same stuff can 100% go down but its not malconaire specifically being put to the torch its ~whatever other locale~

it all goes down EXACTLY as above w roderick himself there etc, but the guardians or whatever ~did hear saoirse (and probs aria and all of malconaire's tbqh) pleas and, at great cost to themselves no doubt, protect the place -- the fires roderick tries to set instantly go out, the troops who try to sow w salt cannot lift their arms and the ploughs break the instant they are hitched to the warhorses, etc etc etc -- ofc in THIS case roderick is freaked right the fuck out and is either convinced that this is ~the place of the true evil~ and must be destroyed at all costs and a whole thing ensues in which case he'd do IDEK what aljsdfkljsdf etc, OR alternately he becomes convinced that malcoanire is SACRED to the god and must be protected at all costs (its just inhabited by evil parasites he must drive out and exterminate etc) and yeah!!!! idk!!!!

there's also just like...sooooo many other directions this could all go in bc there're so many moving pieces etc but re: my characters, i think these are the behaviors you'd see them exhibiting/tryna exhibit etc so yeah!! laksdjfkljdsf lmk ur thoughts aksldjfksd this is *gwen stefani voice* bananas! B-A-N-A-N-A-S

also re: @forgottenarias kinda love that she's being put in this position where like...this is not heroic! this is just tryna play roderick at his own game but w fewer resources and a lot more desperation and like!!!!! both aria and a ~lot of the rest of the resistance just gotta be like 'where do we go from here? what're we fighting for now?' etc re: the resistance etc w all this, and ronan just too broken and blinded by hate and fear and despair to even fully see the cost of what he's playing w and just!!!! yeahhhh adlskjfkldsjjf i def think there's a lot we could do w this!!!!! also you know me, def prepared for (some of) my character(s) to die here (arthur and roderick, at least, are probs making it through tho they've got more to do i feel like) depending what kinds of directions we wanna pursue etc so yeah!!

anyway, i did have some other thoughts here (including some alternate godfrey things but ive gotta flesh those out a lil more fully first) but i can't recall atm and so yeah! anyway, i wanna hear everybody's thoughts <33333

just gonna @forgottencillian @forgottensaoirse @forgottenroderick @forgottenarthur @forgottengodfrey

OOC | Ronan & Cassandra

fun fact! ur not!bf's big brother wants to kill you </3 #datingproblems

lkasdjfkldjsf hi, so, cassandra has never hurt a fly but ronan is convinced she is evil and needs to go! i do think he's a touch less vitriolic abt the varmont women (including the queens even tho amira might literally be the worst of alllll the varmonts slfkjaksldjfkjsf but here we are) bc i think he is aware that women in the varmont empire have less agency so he doesn't blame them for anything, and he frankly feels terrible for them and believes they're just pawns, but he does believe that no matter what they have to die bc as long as roderick's kids survive, so does a vestige of his evil empire and that must be smashed no matter what so yeahhhh

i do think he'd try to make her death as quick and painless as possible, but he does def want her dead sooooo that's fun lkajsdfkjdsf

[oursecondcousin]

One Of The People.

Tap the window frame. Judge the acoustics. Devon was still bothered by the buzzing in her right ear. She stepped back and turned into the centre of her room. It was clean. The buzzing panned to her left ear, leaving the right to echo the sound it was now missing out on. All the tidying had been done before I’d even woken up. This London flat was Devon’s safe haven, she treated it as such. A solo palace, where she thrived.

She paid 1,950 pounds a month. A big cost to find peace in the city. A cost that will slowly make her realise that the constant outflow of money to her landlord will make it nearly impossible to save up for a place of her own. The buzzing increased and transposed 12 tones. Tap the window frame. Judge the acoustics. There...wait... yes. The ringing had final given up. She could now hear the silence.

Rap shows weren’t her sort of thing. Nonetheless, Devon thought it would be a cool place to take Finn. He’d expressed interest in the 12 piece rap collective GIRLS LIKE SHOWS on many occasions. Even going as far as stealing the Aux cord at multiple university parties to personally promote the rap groups music. Finn would only survive half a song at most before a swarm of unhappy pop music loving party-goers separated him from the sound system, and on one occasion was thrown out all together to ensure that the glue between the sexes, materialised in the hosts carefully crafted playlist, wouldn’t be disturb ever again. Finn was Devon’s uncool ,but that made him really cool, best friend. I’m fond of him, but I hated GIRLS LIKE SHOWS. Even more so, I hated that Devon liked them as well. I’ve been playing rap music around Devon since we started hanging out but not once did she ever express interest in the poetic verses I offered up. This 12 piece rap collective that Finn & Devon bonded over had the childish gimmick of painting themselves purple! What’s that got to do with Hip Hop?

Finn & Devon met in their first year at Kings College. They studied different subjects, ate at different lunch spots but both grew up in London. They shared a love for books. With Finn it was hard to know if this love was genuine or if he just valued being seen with a book in his hand. For Devon, reading was a ritual, a solo religion. Reading a lot of literature would end up justifying Devon’s whole demeanour to me. She loved ideas that weren’t her own and that gave her sense of connection to the ideas of humankind as a whole and felt autonomy in imagining the imagery that the author laid out for her. This is

how the relationship with her parents worked, they’d set up a life for her and all she’d have to do is desire a certain set of situational factors that would fit into the preexisting framing. Hence this London flat was viewed by Devon’s Mum and then recommended to her as the ‘perfect place to start adulting’, while her Dad would proceed to give Devon 350 pounds every month as a way of finical support and stunting her independence.

I woke up that morning to find Devon starring at me from the foot of the bed. She must had only had about four hours sleep. It was the scent of cigarette smoke that woke me up when she returned from the gig at about five in the morning. She was soaked in the stench of her evening. It was confronting, to the point that it forced to me bury my head into my pillow and search for a new scent in the lining. Devon’s movements on the other hand were delicate as ever, lightly tip toeing around the bed, trying not to make a sound. Almost afraid to wake me if you will, but please know, I’m really nothing to fear. And yes, the sounds alone didn’t bother me one bit, which is impressive, as I’m assuming she’d drank heavily that night- she always did when she was with Finn. Hell, for all I know she could of flown in through the window and violently ripped out her wings all before the smell of the concert gave the game away. The scent just arrived suddenly and I woke up. If you ponder on it for too long it’ll end up haunting you. To just find yourself suddenly, with another presence in the room... That feeling turns me back into a child.

There it was again. Devon’s ear’s, now in reciprocity both screamed. The ringing made her head aggravated, as if it was impossible to sit still. Her only resort was to literally shake her skull as a means to cope- the same movement she used as a sign of appreciation to the rap groups music the night before. What can you do when the problems inside? I could see her urge to throw herself on the floor but she suddenly gained some composure and refrained from doing so. ‘AHHHHH’ Devon moaned to the window in-passionately, trying to expel the sound from her ears. ‘What? What’s up?’ I asked, still getting accustomed with my conscience and the new day. ‘There’s a loud ringing in my ear.’

She had a speedy monotone delivery, now with her knees slightly bent and lent against the mattress at the foot of the bed.

‘How close were you to the speakers last night? My Dad got his tinnitus from standing too far to the left at a David Bowie concert. It’ll probably sort itself’- ‘I know, IT’S FINE. It’ll sort itself out’. Devon brushed me off as if it was my fault. Her tone demanded a moment of silence. Her expression cold, as if she didn’t want a verbal response. Instead just wanting to occupy a time and space that would act as a stage, where she could liberally perform her complaints about the suffering that she’s been forced to succumb to. She jolted her neck away from my direction towards the window behind her, the weight of her head following in quick succession, as if she hoped some magic power would fling me out of the window in response to this movement. Instead it left her awkwardly looking over her shoulder towards the window, leaving me with a profile shot of her face, as if she wanted me to marvel at the extremity of her jawline and not be able to help myself but to reach for the nearest camera.

I could sense hatred. I took the mental photo anyway for this reason. The hate was obvious and awkward. It engulfed the bedroom and bleed onto the mattress. It was as if I myself were that annoying buzzing she was trying so desperately to get rid of, as if I myself had both hands on her temples and were forcefully pressing inwards, trying my best to penetrate her skull with my thumbs. As if it were me screaming inside her ears.

Only then did I realise how tiny this bedroom was. The double-bed took up all the space in the centre of the room, allowing for only two narrow slits of walkway either side. At the window, by the foot of the bed, was a desk covered in organised clutter. Plastic pots and boxes filled high with undistinguishable belongings. The window donned off-white blinds, suitable for a detective to glimpse through in the climatic moment of some murder mystery. I only wish there were some mysteries out there for me to discover. The bedroom window looked out onto a block of flats across the road. The building was so tall and so close that you had to open the window and arch your neck upwards to see the sky. I used to catch Devon in that exact position every time she had a cigarette, her body contorted, gnarled and awkward, but her mind thinking of herself as the main character in a Hollywood film. This is

a mental image I should burn. How dare Polaroid pictures reduce people to their past. I used to take pleasure in looking out to the windows of the flats and just observe another persons miserable inner city existence through another frame. I used to find people watching peaceful, but if you watch for too long you can no longer separate yourself from what you see. Those people, in their houses, and me in this room of mine, made me realise that I too am just one of them. One of the people. Obviously, but devastatingly so. Of course we are all people, and all but people we must be. I just hoped for more when I left Scotland. I hoped for a better life and for something better to be.

The thought of going to live in London made me think higher of myself, but once there, I was just another one of the miserable people. This is why I found it so easy to stay laying in bed for long on Sunday mornings, all before I’d be woken up by some ghost at the edge of the bed.

Devon swirled her fingers on the mattress. I should of busied myself with another task but for reasons unknown I just sat there in bed and observed. I was sucked into the pattern of her actions. It was seductive but with a glint of malice in its intention. The circles she drew with her finger were small, but the motion was fluid, so much so that it made time slow and dangle on the precipice of coming to a halt altogether. Time was at the mercy of Devon’s control. She’s conducting ever note in times symphony. I could feel my heart beat. It was fast. Not the on set of a panic attack, just fast in comparison to the pace of the circles, to the room, just fast in relation to Devon. My heart beat might not of been irregular at all, but the trance she put me under pulled every part of the subconscious into calculated thought. My brain and body were running a race I couldn’t keep up with. I was just out of sync in some way or another that morning. I was made to feel alien to those surroundings, and some how Devon made it so. I could of sworn it. It was her doing. As if she were muttering spells over and over in her head until she’d glued down a solid mantra which would spark control of the bedroom and manifest my demise through making me an infant to an unforgiving terrain. That feeling, as I recall it now is at the edge of my understanding. It’s hard to justify with words. I felt anxious. I had never felt such a thing in Devon’s presence before. It was her cold calm. It gave off a sense of performance that

morning which made me know I was being deceived. Why all of a sudden play calm when you just let slip that your ears are screaming? I wish she kept on complaining. I wouldn’t of butted in like last time. I wouldn’t be quick to comment. I would of allowed her to stage her complaints and I’d be a willing member of the audience, chucking roses on the stage as the curtains closed and be left begging for one more scene. I wish she screamed! I wish see gave into the buzzing. I wished for anything to take over the silence. I would of even taken another beating! It would of granted me some peace, it would of matched my rhythm, the thudding of my heart, the internal drum, and brought me back into the room.

I say another beating, she only ever hit me once. Okay, she hit me a couple times but on one occasion. It took place a week before that morning. Devon was drunk. I was drinking with her. She insisted on me doing so as she felt it looked bad for her to drink alone, so she insisted on baby feeding me the wine bottle. But who else is there to look bad for other than me? And I didn’t care! She got me drunk to help the way she viewed herself. I whole heartedly expressed this to her. She perceived this as an attack on her character and the foundation of her virtues so she proceeded to slap me a couple times. All directed to my face and neck.

To not hit back. To not be the a monster- to be harmless. That’s characteristic of a true gentlemen right? And gentle I am, but pathetic I feel, and horrid is my head for still thinking about her after all this time.

Devon’s index finger stopped tracing circles. She recoiled her hand away from the sheets. Her index finger was then left to drag along behind it, her knees pressed and then bounced off the mattress, as if never even touching the floor. She left the bedroom, as if flying away.

I woke up that morning not knowing why I upset her, but I was desperate to find out. I’d been living with her for two months at that point. I moved down to London four months prior to look for work on film sets. No real plan, just to get involved however I could. I’ve been making tea and coffee for actors ever since. I was only meant to stay with Devon for two weeks. But we started dating and had sex most nights, so me staying over every night seemed fair.

But that Sunday morning, something was different. Maybe she’d had enough of me. Maybe we hadn’t been having enough sex. Maybe that’s what I needed to do to earn my keep in that flat. My heart began to slow a little. Even when we had sex my heart never had a presence like it. Our intimacy was never hot headed and exhilarating like displayed in the countless sex scenes I’ve witnessed actors perform in warhouse studios, surrounded by wooden facade sets, while I’m holding there coffees that will grant them the energy to go again, another take, another chance at performing love in the hopes that this time it’ll appear more real than the last. No, our intimacy was slow, a cunning dance, calculated but not in the clinical sense. Calculated in a way that made me feel as if sex with Devon was in some way connected to the natural formula of living. That there was no other choice but to comply. It felt written in the stars to the point that even a parallel universe would have us meeting at that coffee shop, in the same framing of circumstances, just with our genders swapped or something.

She was meant to be in a lecture, she studied History & Modern languages, which had a year of studying abroad. She desperately wanted a better reason for studying the subject but in truth a year abroad to study in Spain was the most gratifying aspect of the whole thing. As I write this Devon is probably in Spain as we speak, lent over a balcony somewhere- performing her Hollywood dream.

Her Mother is French so was raised in the language at home. Her Dad is German, and would teach her regularly all throughout her childhood, but German was the language that had to be a lesson. Devon’s Dad spoke French and English also but her Mother only knew a few German fraises, and rude ones at that. Therefore, by default, French and English were the languages of the household, with German being the language of the summer house at the back of the garden. Devon’s Dad made it his personal mission to get her speaking the language of his homeland so every Tuesday and Thursday at 6pm, between the ages of nine & fourteen, Devon would have an hour long German lesson in the summerhouse. In the last years of this ritual, when Devon was close to fluent, the 6pm meeting became a lot more than just language recital. They’d read German literature, non fiction, and proceed to argue over the ideas. Sometimes going on over the hour to the point that the

dinner Devon’s Mum had made would get cold. Overtime so did she.

After her parents divorce, Devon latched onto the German language. It became her weapon that she could use in the domestic battlefield against her Mum. At any formal gathering, Devon’s parents would do a great job at putting on a civil performance. However, Devon would start war by speaking German to her Father, something her Mum hated. Devon’s Dad would always be courteous by responding in English but nonetheless this made Devon’s Mum start to resent her only child. To find yourself armed with a weapon of destruction and not to use it as tactical warfare in the domestic battlefield takes a resilience and virtue that Devon will always be blind to. For her, exercising power is no different than freedom itself. Only now do I realise the spell I was under is the same spell she put over her Dad. So anyway, I’d been walking a long the river and went to get a coffee. I was reading Dostoyevsky. She approached me. I looked up from my book and there she was, hovering over me, with the tips of our shoes touching. To keep a grasp on formality I shifted back in my seat and gaged her eye contact but it was unnervingly focused. If I didn’t choose to find it charming it would of seemed nothing less than intimidating. It seemed she desperately wanted to make a friend that day. With every question she asked I could see her desires become more realised and it didn’t seem specific to me. It seemed as if she went to that coffee shop, on that day, missed that lecture, put on that lipstick and would start talking to any man, anyone who was sat in that chair, that my independence up until that point was now a book broken and burnt and that the role I needed to play wasn’t to be myself but to be in her story and be okay with revolving around her axis for the rest time to the point that I’d be begging for the Sun to concave and implode at every given moment.

In the first call and response I had already stated my name and that I had just come down to London from Scotland. It was the way she framed the question. She stated her name so I mimicked this gesture and mumbled mine. She then said in a playful and slightly wide eyed way

“So...what’s happening in your universe?” It was a good tactic. It set a precedent for the rest of the conversation- if your willing to play with the framing then nothing can go wrong. She taught me a

lesson that day. Being coy or shy is to not be fully aware of person infront of you. My Mum tried to install this in me also. Devon’s conversation that day was a breath of fresh air. She was the first person I spoke to in the big city while sober.

I think she liked the idea of a man with a book, I know so. When I admitted to her that I was thinking of giving up on reading I had in front of me she was visibly disappointed. I could witness the ideal framing she had of me in her head start to crack in that very moment. She even glanced around the room to see if she had made a mistake and arrived at the wrong chair.

The first night we slept together plays back in my mind with almost a nightmarish tone. Nothing to do with Devon, she’s objectively beautiful, but my mind has contorted the past into something corrupt. As all memory does, the supernatural quality to the mundane often presses too much of a burden on the mind. We can’t help ourselves but to feed our own fantasies to survive. I’d only been staying with Devon for two nights. I slept on the sofa in the living room. The kitchen and bathroom were down the hall with Devon’s bedroom safely nested upstairs. That night, the first time I stayed over, she’d had an argument with her boyfriend. My memory fails me slightly, but the argument must of been so bad that he didn’t stay over that night. I’d gone to sleep in good time. I had a FIVE A.M start time the next day and was working as an assistant to a particularly difficult actor at the time (I’m always tempted to name drop but I’ll refrain from doing so). The sofa I slept on was originally advertised to me by Devon as a sofa bed, but as soon as I arrived for my first nights stay we realised this wasn’t the case. I wasn’t annoyed at this news particularly. It was hard to be frustrated at Devon, especially early on in our relationship. I was obsessed with her, so this sofa bed ending up just being a sofa that one could sleep on only added a new fun story for us to share. Coming to think of it, we had a big laugh about this that night to the point where it became no longer about the sofa bed and just some abstract short hand that helped us find comfort in each others company. I remember this pissing off her boyfriend but please know that I don’t believe I’m the reason for him leaving that night. I’m harmless and at the time was well intentioned. I wanted a free place to sleep. That was all. I was just one of the people.

On the second night I was willing to learn from my mistakes. I took away the big side pillows to have a bigger surface area to sleep on. I’d decided to sleep in my boxers which I refrained from doing the night before just incase someone came in, but with Devon’s boyfriend gone I felt comfortable enough to do so. Something in me liked being in boxers with the knowledge that Devon was somewhere upstairs laying half naked just like me. The house was quiet. I could hear the silence and feel Devon’s presence. This was a soothing feeling but made my heart beat fast. I struggled to fall asleep for about an hour, but fell deep into the vortex of unconsciousness once I did.

I’d must of been asleep for at least a couple hours. I snapped my eyes open which was queued by a sharp inhale through my nose. I was confused about weather my eyes were open or closed. It was pitch black and must of been around two in the morning. A new scent had entered the room. I popped my eyes open again to make sure I was truly awake wasn’t stuck in some lucid purgatory. I remember glancing upwards at the foot of the sofa. That’s when I saw it. Stood at the foot of the bed was a silhouette nestled amongst the deep darkness of the living room. A feminine outline submerged in a void. A figure that seemed like a projection of my soul state or a guardian of my slumber. However, it stood in the same position as all the ghosts that haunted me from the foot of my bed as a child. It towered over me as I laid half asleep in my boxers.

“Hey” Said the figure. So softly that the sound of the parting of her lips was more dominant than the word itself. She stepped forward, revealing herself to the room. She was naked. That part was almost easy to accept as if it made the whole experience fall even deeper into fantasy and therefore easier to define. I was lost for questions as their were too many of them washing around my brain. I was only able to focus on coming to terms with the image before me, and that was an impossible task. Analysing the present will always force you into the past. Devon lent forward, crept her hands over the arm rest and placed her fingers by my feet. With the sound of silence now given the rhythm of shallow breath she stalked forwards and crawled up towards my torso. I tried to sit up but she interrupted this movement by resting her body weight on my chest. I forgot what intimacy was before that point.

Back to the Sunday morning. Now alone again in Devon’s room, with the privilege of being upgraded to the glory of sleeping in her bed, I felt terrible. I used to feel her presence in that house but once a door was closed it was the division of different worlds. I noticed all the cleaning she’d down that morning. How did she move so many clothes into draws and tuck the hairdryer under my side of the bed without waking me? I must of had a deep sleep. You would think I was the one who went heavily drinking with Finn.

My feet were still wrapped under the bed covers, it must of just gone eleven o’clock. It was definitely time to start moving. My body was sweaty. I felt glued to that bed, I didn’t want to face the world. I didn’t even want to pee. Even the thought of going downstairs felt dangerous. I always felt as if she looked down on me if I slept in. To her, too much sleep was anything over eight hours a night and she saw anything more as overly indulgent and a waste of life. Maybe I’d not cleaned the kitchen to her liking. Maybe our timings that week were set at completely different tempos- hers a heart beat, mine a clock. As I look back at this moment of thought, I believe it to be only right that this was the worst depression I’d ever faced. And it only lasted a mere moment. After my Mum died I still managed to go on walks to the local park with my Dad. But that Sunday I couldn’t move. What spell was I under that morning?

Then, chatter... I could swear it... I heard chatter from downstairs. It was Devon’s voice, and that placed this noise into reality, not just some chatter in the skull. It was definitely her voice, but who on Earth was she speaking to? My Mum would have friends round for a dinner parties throughout my childhood years and me being too shy, no, scared to go down stairs would make me stay glued to my bed. I wouldn’t even leave to go to the toilet, just pee in some open container and empty it out the next day. It’s the images of the mind that we create for ourselves that hold us prisoner, and this chatter from downstairs seemed to chain my ankles to the bed. As I knew deep down what it was. I’d argued with Devon the night before, just before she left for the concert about how much she’d been seeing Finn. That’s why she must of been mad at me that morning. Maybe she never had any ringing in her ear at all but

was using it at an excuse to not show off her annoyance about having to wake up next to me that morning. Maybe I should of stayed in bed that until I saw darkness from the window, but a darkness had already been imbedded inside the house.

But no, I thought. Be a gentlemen. A guest is downstairs with Devon in the living room. A space that you and her now share, and as a member of the house hold you should engage in the current conversation at hand. What are you? A child? Did your Mum raise a coward? Are you that impotent that you can’t get yourself dressed and go offer a guest a cup of tea? I unlocked my legs out from under the bed sheets. Still only in my boxers. I put on a white t- shit and black suit trousers and rocked into my slippers. A laugh... another laugh from the living room. A male voice, definitely a male. The chatter was only getting louder. Maybe they heard my movement upstairs and spoke louder on purpose, a cunning tactic to make me regret my courage and quickly retreat back to the bed. But no, I muttered it to myself. ‘You go downstairs’. I could hear Devon and the male voice painfully clearly now, as if we were in the same room.

‘You said it was a fucking sofa bed’. This statement was followed by a eccentric giggle. As if was some punchline to a meticulously crafted joke, but people only laugh at such mundane things when they are trying to develop a social short hand in order to feel at ease with one another. This sentence was the on set of a distorted dream. This sentence landed like the another slap from Devon that was perfectly placed onto my cheek. This sentence made my brain thick. I physical ducked to move onto a new thought. To go downstairs. To go into the living room. To engage in conversation and face whatever figure you may be met with. Even when you know what monster lurks in the darkness, you should lay eyes on it just to be sure. And then it happened... I heard a buzzing.

At the bottom of the stairs, across the hallway, both of them there, framed by the living room doorway. They had big stupid grins on their faces, laughing about some silly pointless mishap of understanding. Devon standing there, a charlatan, performing for her audience of one. Pretending, with me in ear

shot, that this is the first time she had made this innocent mistake. It still isn’t a fucking sofa bed and never will be! I pivot adjacent to the door frame to get a view of inside the living room. There he was. Slumped down, arms rested wide on the sofa, with Devon hovering over him stood in the middle of the room. The two pillows from the sofa were still on the floor, as if somebody sleeping on the sofa that night needed a larger surface area to sleep more comfortably, only in his boxers. I knew it. How could I of been so blind! I should of left the night before. I was just one the people sucked into the pattern of her actions. I packed my things, left within the hour, and never saw Devon again.

I was just one of the people who would have been told that the sofa was in fact a sofa bed.

[holo-sims]

Compared to the previous two families, the first week in the Le Doux household wasn’t marked by scrounging for food so it was a welcome change! Still plenty of work to be done though, with Finn and Morgynn crafting items for the shop. Finn became friends with Kumo, despite the picture saying otherwise. It’s an opposites attract situation for sure! Speaking of attraction, Kumo and Morgynn got to know each in a more... intimate way.  As for enemies, Finn and Josephine absolutely hate each other’s guts. Many a fight has broken out outside the shop. ....BUT they also have a mutual three-bolt attraction, and Finn even kissed her when asking her to leave the house. Will we see a rivals to lovers situation here??? Something even more odd is that Finn and Morgynn are technically not attracted to each other (like disgusted even, no bolts whatsoever) but they try to flirt constantly??? I don’t know what’s going on here. Anyways! Yoshi was a walkby at one point but Morgynn didn’t appreciate his attitude all that much. Can’t forget the shop! Finn fumbled a bit with the cash register but they were able to make a good profit during the week.

[shanie-the-toyaddict]

Something just occurred to me and I wanted to share that I really love how Sami takes Finn's coup de grace. Other people lie there, braced for it; Sami rolls into place just in time to receive it. Damn fucking impressive tbh.

If you watch the "Broken Skull Sessions" interview, Steve Austin makes a comment about how Sami is basically an otherworldly genius in the ring because he doesn't even have to look around or see anything to know exactly where to be and when. He's basically good enough at wrestling to function purely on situational telepathy and I've said so many times in the past that it shows the most when he's wrestling Kevin because they could probably put on an entire match in a pitch-dark room and not miss a step due to the level of telepathic ring chemistry of them.

I mean, not nearly enough people pick up on it when it happens, but seriously, just watch Sami in most of his matches and you'll realize very quickly the sheer perfection of his craft.

I fully admit I'm biased for my guys but I will always stand by Kevin every single time he names Sami as the best wrestler in the world right now and it's absolute bullshit that he's never been given a world title run in the WWE.

[moral-turpitudes]

Burnt Toast:

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Angst.

Word Count: 4,226

Characters: Polly Gray + The Shelby Siblings x Shelby!Sister Reader

Requested: Yes

Requested by: @atjafshelby​, I hope you like it love!

Summary: After seeing her family turn to a life of crime, one incident causes Y/N to finally leave Small Heath in a desperate attempt to rid herself of the Shelby name. But when the family makes a sudden appearance after years of no contact, she soon realizes she’s not the only one with news to bear.

“Kids! Breakfast is ready!” Shouted Y/N from the kitchen, the smell of toast and crackling bacon snaking it’s way through the two story town house in the middle of suburban Manhattan. The sight of the meal reminding her of home when she’d help cook, practicing her craft until she rarely made burnt toast. The voice of her aunt telling her how long to toast it so it would be perfect, even if the family eating it was far from so.

As she prepared the table, the scurrying of little feet pattering away on the floorboards filled the room as they sprinted down the lavish hall. Giggles erupting as two bright eyed girls climbed into their seats.

“Now girls, you both have to get ready quickly today alright? I have some errands to run.” Y/N said, placing a mug of coffee in front of herself. Heavy footsteps came trotting down the stairs as her husband, a man of status in the banking industry, waltzed into the room.

“Morning love. I have to go in early today. Are you sure you and the girls are okay?” He asked, adjusting his tie.

“Yes, I’m going to take them with me. I have some...personal matters to attend to.” She said, her tone dropping slightly as the girls played with their food.

“I know plenty of children back home who’d love to eat what you’re playing with, now stop it...” She said sternly, memories of her mother swatting her hand when she’d go to eat with her fingers instead of the silverware.

“Is it your family again?” He asked, brushing a stray hair from her face as he sat down next to her.

“Yes.” She said, taking a sip of her coffee as her hands shook, the anxiety of ever seeing them again gnawing at her brain.

It seemed like only yesterday that it happened. Her younger brothers running out of the old shop in Small Heath to go on a another mission after their fathers business had been left on their shoulders after the war. The sight later that night making her swear off violence all-together.

Her younger brothers had a knack for messing with the wrong people, even before the war changed them. John was the feisty one, always rough-housing with the boys and bullies on the streets, always pestering her and Ada as they chased rats through town. “I’m trying to help you defend yourself sis! Don’t be such a baby!” He’d say after tackling her to the ground where she’d cry and hesitate to fight back, Ada always punching him in the shoulder to stop as their aunt Polly would come running out of the house with the Devil in her eyes.

“You’re too sweet for your own good, Y/N. Too sweet to be a Shelby.” Polly would say while bandaging any cuts or scrapes.

“You sure as hell didn’t get it from your father...” She’d say, looking at the oldest Shelby girl with a mixture of awe and pity. Y/N resembled her mother more often than not, her temper only shining through in certain situations. But she never thought she’d lose it like she did that night.

It was the night of her first real date, Polly helping brush her hair as she flipped through an old book she’d found in their house.

"That Tommy’s?” Polly would ask, looking at the cover to see a horse running wild in a field.

“Yeah.” She’d say, wishing she could be free like the horse.

“Where are you meeting this young man, Y/N?” Polly asked after a moment of silence.

“The pub down the road.” She said shortly. She remembered Polly’s grip on her hair tightening at the mention of it.

“Ow! What is it?” She asked yanking herself free and turning to look at her aunt.

“D-don’t go. Please don’t.” She said, a fearful look in her eyes.

“Why? Arthur, Tommy, and John get to go anywhere in town and I can’t?!” She said, angrily putting her hair up herself and adjusting her dress.

“It’s not safe...” Polly said, walking down the hall.

“Right...so you want to lecture me on what’s safe because I’m so nice aye? What do you fucking see in me anyway?” She asked loudly. She never really raised her voice to Polly, fearing her to a slight degree. But as her younger brothers went out on business more often, she was practically shoved away, only being able to see Ada and Finn even though she was the oldest.

Polly’s eyes welled up with tears as she spoke.

“I see hope for this god-forsaken family. You have more control over yourself than I care to admit and I can’t bare to see you squander it all away by becoming one of them. You should live for yourself, at least then one of us in this family would be doing something good for a change.” She said, sauntering off into the kitchen.

“Tommy’s planning something isn’t he? That’s why you don’t want me to go on the date.” She said, following her into the kitchen with tears in her eyes. Even if she was older than Arthur by two years, he and the rest of them never stopped being over-protective.

“Yes.” Was all Polly said before Y/N ran out the door. If she wanted her to live for herself then she was going to do as she pleased. She was tired of being seen as some family secret, some mystery sibling that was different. She never liked the violence she grew up in but was that such a crime? To know how to not hurt people? To be able to know when to call it quits? These were thoughts she still struggled with as she looked at her two little girls getting up from the table and racing up the stairs. Their hair wild and smiles a mile long. Carefree like she always dreamed of being, and like most of her aunts family always claimed to be.

“I want you girls ready in 10 minutes!” Y/N yelled as the girls moved about upstairs, her husbands voice breaking her from her thoughts.

“Well I’m off love. I’ll see you all at my lunch break.” He said, kissing her goodbye and heading off to his ordinary job. Despite him being successful and full of money himself, she couldn’t shake the fact that they led very different lives before they met. He’d go off to college while she stayed and helped Polly with Finn, and Ada occasionally staying to help as she was always wanting to be out and about. While he grew up with a silver spoon, she grew up with rusted broken ones. She couldn’t for the life her know why he chose her, maybe it was luck? But nevertheless they worked out together and she was grateful no matter how many times her past haunted her.

As she cleaned up the kitchen, she fell back onto the memories from years ago. Her heart still aching like it was yesterday.

Remembering herself sprinting towards the pub where her new date had agreed to meet her, seeing a rowdy group of men near the entrance. The sharp sound of bottles breaking and slurs being spewed as she warily made her way over. Her eyes landed on her date and her stomach dropped. Arthur was holding him by the neck as Tommy pulled off his cap, slashing the mans face open in one fell swoop.

Y/N’s screams soon pierced the air as she saw him fall limp to the ground, Tommy finishing him off with a harsh twist of his neck.

The blinders all looked up to see their older sister just mere feet away from their mess. Without thinking, she ran over to the man she had grown to know, his face almost unrecognizable after what they’d done to him. As she cradled him, her eyes blurred with tears as her brothers stood in silence, the rain washing the mans blood off Tommy and Arthur’s hands as they waited for her to speak.

“Tommy...” She said, seeing red as she started at the man she once knew, lying dead on the cold pavement.

Her brother walked over, a tired look in his eyes as he crouched down to her level and put his cap back on.

“We had to do it Y/N...” He said, trying to reach for her hand.

Without warning she slapped him across the face with all the strength she could muster. Her hand stinging with the impact.

Polly came running in the distance, stopping near John who’d been holding his rifle as he sat against the wall of the pub.

As she got up, she wiped the blood on her clothes as she stared down her brother. A red handprint forming on his cheek as she neared him. With one hand she took his arm and with the other she grabbed Arthur’s hand, leading them near Polly and John.

“I knew him you know. How was he so bad that you had to kill him? Why was this part of your fucking plan?!” She yelled as they all looked at her with sorry expressions.

“He was working with Kimber’s men. Remember him?” John asked.

She got closer to John as she spoke, her arms folded in frustration.

“No John. I don’t remember. I wasn’t part of the family meetings...remember that?” She asked, knowing they always kept her, Ada, and little Finn in the dark ‘for their safety.’

“He was bad Y/N...” Tommy said, sticking a cigarette in his mouth.

“Like you all are any better. You didn’t even know him!” She shouted.

“Y/N love, please calm down. We had leads on him. He was trying to get with ya in order to get to us.” Arthur said.

“No...he wouldn’t.” She said, shaking her head as her tears fell.

“He did. Not everyone has a good heart like yours alright?” Tommy said, lighting a cigarette.

“You know what? Fuck the lot of you!” She yelled, her eyes boring into Tommy’s specifically.

“I can’t even look at you all anymore. You took away my one shot at meeting someone that wasn’t associated with this family and you all ruined it. You all ruined everything I’ve ever tried to do and here I am, the oldest fucking Shelby and I can’t even leave me own house.” She said, giving a side eye to Polly. As she spoke she remembered her aunts words, her eyes tearing up as she spat out her frantic goodbyes.

“You know what? I’m listening to what you said Pol. I’m going to go live for myself and I don’t want any of you to come for me. I can’t stand to be around any of ya. Goodbye.” She said, walking through the familiar dark streets for what felt like the last time.

“Mum? We’re ready!” She heard her oldest yell from the front door, ripping her from her thoughts.

“Alright, c’mere you.” She said, swooping her youngest up in her arms and walking out the door. As she walked with her oldest hand in hand they noticed the rain falling slightly as the city life bustled around them.

“I wish daddy didn’t take the car. He’ll be at his lunch break before we get there.” The oldest girl said, her white dress flowing in the wind.

“We’re going right up to the bank. He’ll be there. I promise.” She said, her nerves getting to her as they entered the tall building.

“I got a call about a check being sent from Polly Gray?” She asked the teller.

“Ah yes! Here you are. She also left a note.” She said, handing her the envelope.

Y/N’s eyes widened at the figures on the check, having to clutch the desk for support.

“Jesus fucking christ.” She said quietly.

“Jesus fuckin cwist!” Her youngest mumbled excitedly.

“Hey! We don’t say that.” She said smirking down at the little girl.

“Darling! Didn’t expect you to be here so early!” Her husband said as he stepped out of his office.

“This was uh...one of the errands. Can we go outside for a moment?” She asked.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, looking at her with concern.

“Oh um...it seems me aunt gave us a check for...$100,000.” She said.

“My god...you’re kidding. How did they get that kind of money?” He asked, even though they were well-off in New York it was still a shock, especially since the shop back home was far from successful all those years ago.

“Oh...you don’t want to know.” She said, her eyes scanning over the letter.

“Dear Y/N,

I know you don’t want to hear from any of us especially after so long, but we wanted to let you know we’re planning a visit to New York. We have some business to take care of and Tommy saw it best to come there personally. We’d love to meet up upon our arrival if you’d like. We have some unfortunate matters we’d like to discuss. In the meantime though, I wanted to gift you this check, seeing as we’ve come into more than enough good fortune over the years.

With love,

Aunt Pol”

“I have to get to a phone. Watch the girls please? I’ll be back.” She said, running inside the bank.

“What’s mummy doing?” Their oldest asked.

“Calling her family.” He said, holding her hand.

“She has a family? Like us but somewhere else?” She asked.

“Yeah...” He said, not knowing much about them as well. She’d kept that part of her life a secret for a while, but she’d let a few things slip every now and then, and she always got a check from Polly despite her refusing her help, but they never got one for this much before.

“Shelby Company Limited.” The woman said over the phone.

“Yes, this is Y/N...Y/N Johnson-I mean...Shelby. Y/N Shelby....is Polly there?”

“I’m sorry miss. The family has left for America, they’re expected in New York at noon.” She said.

“Alright, thank you.” She said, her watch ticked towards noon at a fast pace, knowing they’d be arriving soon.

“Girls were taking a trip. We uh...have to meet some of my family.” She said rushing out of the bank, scooping their youngest up in her arms with the others following.

“We need to get to customs, now.” She said, hurrying towards her husbands car.

Within the next 30 minutes they’d scrambled to get there, seeing the passengers get off the ship in groups. Her heart sped up as she saw her family, more dressed up now than before, but still the same tired features give or take Finn growing up before her eyes.

“Stay here you three. It’s going to be a moment.” She said, taking a shaky breath as she walked towards them.

“Y/N? Is that you?” She heard Polly call out. She stood frozen as they walked to her, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Hello Polly.” She said with a small smile, her tears plummeting to the ground as she gave her a warm hug.

“Oi! Is that really you?! Look at ya!” Arthur said with a smile.

“Yeah it’s me. Same old Y/N.” She said, wiping her tears as her brother Tommy stared at her.

“Cat got your tongue brother?” She asked, he gave her a hug but it was half-hearted at best.

“Right...so what are you lot doing here aye? Why’d you send us all that money?” She asked looking at them, Tommy’s eyes were more dead than all those years ago. She couldn’t shake the feeling something had happened as Polly spoke.

“Can we talk about this somewhere private at least? We just got here love...” Polly said.

Y/N sighed as she turned to her little family, the ring on her finger glinting in the sun as she nodded.

“Of course...follow me. I uh, have some people I want you to meet.” She said.

“Y/N...” Polly said in a shocked whisper as she saw the two girls and her husband standing there looking at them with smiles on their faces.

“This is my husband. His name is Charles Johnson, he’s a banker in Manhattan. And these are our girls. Jane is 7, Polly is 3.” She said, picking the little girl up as she giggled and waved at them.

“You...you never told us you’d met someone. Never told us you’d gotten married...Never told us you had children...” Polly said, waving at the girls.

“Well the street goes both ways. Didn’t know you got married aye Tom...” She said nodding to him, he lit a cigarette as they walked ahead. The tension growing in the air as she nervously took her husbands hand.

“It’s complicated, but yes I did.” He said shortly, the smoke wafting through the air.

“No smoking...please.” She said, her girls looking curiously at the man with piercing blue eyes.

“You serious?” He asked.

“Yes, the girls don’t like it. You’re such a grump though love. You’ve turned into an old man, older than Arthur even. Jesus.” She said, none the wiser to what they’d all been through over the years. Tommy just nodded with a slight smirk, knowing his past couple years would’ve destroyed her.

As the Shelby’s made small talk with the little girls, Charles got them a ride to their house, the bustling city taking them a little bit by surprise.

“I don’t know how you live here. It’s hectic.” Polly said, sitting in a small armchair in their living room.

“Well you wanted me to live my life for me Pol. I came here and I loved it. Never saw a reason to move.” She said, pouring her a glass of wine.

“Anyone want a drink?” She asked as her worse-for-wear brothers sat around.

“Now there’s our sister. You got whiskey?” Arthur asked.

“Did you think I left all of Birmingham behind? Of course I do.” She said, pouring out a couple glasses and handing them out. Her husband taking one and giving her a small peck on the cheek, Tommy staring him down for a moment before she came to him with a glass.

“What kind?” Tommy asked before drinking it.

“Irish...what else would it be? You taught me that.” She said with a smirk.

“Right...” He said, fixing his golden glasses.

“So tell me, what’s life been like here? It seems...grand.” Polly said looking around the place as the girls ran around giggling.

“Jane! Polly! No running in the house...go out to the courtyard.” She said, taking a sip of her whiskey.

“You named the little one Polly? I’m touched.” She said, sipping her wine.

Y/N sighed before she spoke, her husband sitting near her on the large sofa, holding her hand as he knew she had some things to get off her chest.

“Look...I was....angry. I was angry at the world when I left and...I’ve held onto that for so long it’s eaten me up. I know you all don’t care for me now, hell I wasn’t invited to anything anyways, but I did the same. I did this for me. And I’m happy here. I’m happy with my children. I named her Polly because even though we wanted to rip each other’s throats out some days, you were the one that helped me realize who I wanted to be. You helped raise me and I couldn’t not name her after someone I loved dearly.” She said, the room falling silent.

“You want us to forgive you?” Tommy asked.

“No. Honestly Tommy I’m still trying to forgive you. It was because of you all that I watched you kill him. I moved here so you’d never take people away from me again, but no I’m not looking for forgiveness or anything, I just want it behind us.” She said finishing off her whiskey.

“That was for your protection, love. You can understand that now at least, since you have your own children now.” Polly said, clasping her hand over hers.

“I can. But I wouldn’t kill someone. That’s how we’re different. I’ve told Charles about it, because I’ve always been the nice one. He may think otherwise though.” She said smirking at her husband.

“But, I’ve tried to move on. I just want you all to know I’m happy and I’m honestly not that hurt by it anymore. I’m just plagued with the memories that’s all.” She said.

“What about back home? How’s Ada? I’m assuming she’s with her kid...Karl right?” She asked, trying to change the subject.

“Yes. She has another on the way as well. Different father. Deceased though.”

“That’s too bad, I know she’s probably torn up, the poor thing. Give her a hug for me will ya? God I haven’t seen her in so long.” She said and Polly nodded.

“What about John? Where’s the cheeky bastard at anyway?” She asked. Polly teared up as Tommy held her hand, which he never did unless it was something important.

“He....he got shot. One of the mafias with a vendetta against us got him...it was recent enough that we figured we’d come to tell you.” He said.

“No.” She said, getting up quickly.

“No...no I-I said the most hateful things the last time I saw him. He can’t be...” She said as tears poured down her face.

“Hey....shh it’s alright darling.” Her husband said attempting to comfort her as she clung to him, her tears staining his expensive suit as Arthur and the rest looked away, their hearts growing heavy after re-hashing the news.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. We couldn’t get to you in time for the funeral though, love.” Polly said, walking over.

“I have to sit down.” She said, her face paling as she sat on the sofa.

Her hands shook as she wiped her tears away. Polly kissed her forehead as she walked outside, observing the little girls as they played in the garden to keep from breaking down as well.

As Y/N settled down, she took another shot of whiskey, wincing at the burn of it going down. Since having her kids and working, she didn’t have as much time to drink, at least not like they did back home.

“I should’ve came back sooner...I-I should’ve written you all more often.” She said.

“Y/N that wouldn’t have changed much. We’re just happy you’re happy alright love?” Arthur said, patting her on the back.

“Yeah...” She said.

“Say...I know you all are tired. Would you all care to stay? We have enough room...” Charles asked as Polly walked in with the girls.

“Mum! Who that?” Little Polly asked in her sweet voice.

“Hello! Oh you silly girls! I hope you loved meeting Polly! These are your uncles, Arthur, Tommy, and Finn.” She said wiping her tears away as they came in, letting them walk over to them. Tommy smiled at them and put on his best kind expression, knowing how impressionable kids were.

“So uhm...Tommy do you have kids?” Y/N asked, circling back to the ring on his finger and trying to lighten the conversation.

“Yeah. I have a boy name Charlie, and a girl named Ruby. Charlie’s mum was uh...shot...by the mafia, Lizzie is well, she’s working at the office and helping with little Ruby.” He said.

“Shot! Jesus fuckin cwist!” Little Polly squealed out.

Y/N’s mouth dropped as she picked her up. Arthur and eventually everyone erupted in laughter.

“We do not say that Polly! Don’t repeat bad words!” Y/N scolded her, trying to hold back her own laugh in the process.

“I’m sorry about your first wife Tom...I’m also sorry little Polly over here has the mouth of a sailor.” She said playfully eyeing her daughter and giving her brother a pat on the shoulder.

“It’s alright love. Things happen aye?” He said, his heart still hurting after the loss, but warming at the sight of his little happy and not so nicely-mouthed nieces.

“Maybe we can visit the rest of the family sometime? I’m sure we can arrange that.” She asked looking at her husband.

“Of course! We’d um...we’d like that. Very much.” Polly said a genuine smile on her face as she watched her niece with her children.

“I’m so glad you’re doing well for yourself dear. Truly. We all are, and if we haven’t said it yet, welcome to the family Charles.” Polly said, shaking his hand.

“My offer still stands though by the way...” Charles said after a moment.

“What’s that aye?” Tommy asked, finally loosening up a bit.

“You all can stay here. You all aren’t the only ones with big houses you know. You’re family after all.” Y/N said.

“Well it’s not like we have anywhere else to go. What to do you say?” Polly asked, looking at Tommy. He smirked a bit before answering, Y/N could see the conditions he’d have with their stay floating around in his head.

“Alright...As long as we get to have the toast you always made. I’ve hired many a housemaid and none of them could make it like you do, they always burn it up.” He said.

She chuckled at the memory, always making a bunch of it in the mornings before they’d all go running off in the streets.

“Deal.” She said, giving him a small smile, knowing that even after all the years and all the losses, she knew she could never fully be away from family.

[thethiefandtheairbender]

What’s the issue with zutara?

with the ship? nothing, beyond it being a tired ship archetype i’m tired of seeing, and it’s just not my personal taste, and i think they have a stronger bond as (narratively reinforced) surrogate siblings.

the rabid zk shippers? everything.

the way they demonize aang and the buddhist principles he upholds in ways that eerily reflect how ozai - head fire nation imperialist - sees them

they way they scream about thematic graces (zuko is fire and katara is water!!) and yet completely ignore how themes work in aang’s arc bc it dismantles a good chunk of their critique at him

ignorance of the fact the ZK fandom has spent the past 15+ years bashing aang for every little thing they could get their hands on (i have legit seen anti KA, pro ZK metas claim that bc aang doesn’t carry katara’s basket in 1x04 he’d never help her with chores... even though in 1x03 he started the campfire all on his own... smells like bullshit)

they think aang is an abusive manchild

favouring the loss of katara’s mother at the hands of the fire nation so hard over the loss of her culture because zuko can only relate to the first and aang can relate to both, but they can’t let that happen now can they

The horrific quantity of transphobia and hate they aimed at Mai. 

Death threats being sent to Maiko shippers to the point where someone who moved on to the Marvel fandom still considers Zutara the worse experience and 

i was a finn fan in the star wars fandom for 3+ years and flat out left the fandom because of how racist the reylo fandom was, and i actually think ZK stans are worse than Reylo shippers, too

the ehasz conspiracy they crafted that consists of 3 batshit beliefs: 1) bryke and aaron ehasz - head writer of atla - had a secret feud bc they disagreed on ships 2) bryke wanted KA & ehasz wanted ZK, 3) ZK was supposed to be canon but was foiled at the last minute by evil bryke

this got to the point where ehasz himself in the past couple of years had to debunk ZK interviews or information he apparently gave as false rumours

why the conspiracy is bullshit

taking quotes out of context of both lore and conflict in order to paint them as romantic

how unbearable and dominating they’ve been in the atla fandom, particularly on tumblr, until very recently. this comic is not an exaggeration. 

claiming that aang assaulted katara by kissing her in “the ember island players” even if she’s reciprocated twice in the past, katara easily and immediately pulls away, tells him to back off, and aang does and berates himself

think that zuko using katara’s necklace against her is peak romantic foreshadowing bc it turns out her necklace is a betrothal one, but anything along those lines with aang - who weaved her a new one, gave it to her, and retrieved her old one from zuko, and got a kiss on the cheek from katara for it - is just reading too much into it / gets completely ignored

claiming that KA was only canon bc it’s “hero gets the girl” while ignoring canon ZK would have been that but in the most stereotypical way possible

the way they treat katara like a shallow teenage girl

claiming that mai is abusive and toxic, which is untrue, and ignoring all of zuko’s faults in their relationship (like extreme & physical jealousy and anger issues) because “zuko is a uwu good boy who deserves better”

ignore zuko’s entitled behaviour towards katara while demonizing aang for privately getting jealous two (2) times and then once he removes himself from the situation that’s upsetting him aang assumes that katara doesn’t have feelings for him and presents that to her as a valid option

the hyper focus on ZK parallels while ignoring that aang has all those same parallels with them too. Z and K both lost their moms? aang lost his parental figure too and also has a necklace to remember gyatso by. ZK both have alter egos!! yeah the blue spirit robs ppl and helps the avatar. aang’s kuzon and katara’s painted lady happen back to back and are both created to help the fire nation citizens who are suffering under their own government!! katara and aang even help each other do so!! you get the gist

a more objective reading of the scene they claim shows a profound understanding

how the stan ZK fandom operates with a cult like mentality

i could go on and talk about how they straight up ignore or misremember canon events (ie. “aang didn’t let go of katara in s2” except that he literally did, because had to let her go to access the avatar state, did so, and then was shot with lightning in the avatar state... it happened and is kind of a major plot point), harass other shippers and cast members and have for years, cross tag, etc. but i think you get the point

it truly is a case of “i didn’t even know this ship existed” to “huh okay not my cup of tea but i get the appeal” to “if i ever see this ship and the rhetoric that follows it ever again in my entire life it’ll be too soon”

[funkymbtifiction]

I absolutely loved the sorting chats thing but I was wondering if you have any other questions for figuring out your primary house? I took the test and I got the hatstall thing twice so I basically had to give my own imput on what house I think I am, but I can't figure out if I'm a Slythering primary who models Ravenclaw or the other way around and the questions on the quiz were too abstract to be helpful

Both the questions and the official descriptions, while helpful, are indeed vague. It always helps me to ‘see’ a House (or anything else) in ‘action’ in an actual person or a fictional character, in order for me to wrap my head around what someone of that House ‘looks like.’ They had a great many examples on their tumblr page until it was accidentally deleted / purged which helped me -- you kind of need to think about what each House values and represents, and then see them in a character that manifests those traits. Which is what I try to do when I write up my ‘Sorting’ posts (on my blog, previously linked) -- show how this character differs and how they might disagree with someone from another House, because of their primary focus.

But all of that is rather abstract too, isn’t it? ;)

Bottom line. Are you a Katniss Everdeen or a Luke Skywalker?

When you consider Slytherin, think about Katniss. What is her #1 priority in life? Her sister, Prim. She volunteers as Tribute so her sister does not have to go into the arena. She is willing to run off with Prim and Gale (another “chosen” family member) into the woods, and let the rest of society fend for itself, because at least her prioritized people, those to whom she is most loyal, would be safe. Katniss cares nothing for most of the other Tributes, but she adopts Rue in the arena, because Rue reminds her of Prim. She hunts for Prim. She tolerates the big orange cat that she hates for Prim. She does everything... for Prim, and later, for Peeta, once she has invited him into her small circle of ‘caring.’

For Slytherins, it’s MY people. MY family. MY city. MY country. It’s possessive, and personal, and it would gut them not to feel a sense of responsibility to prioritize THEIR people. If they were on their way to help a friend or a sibling and they ignored someone stuck in the ditch that tried to flag them down, there would be no guilt, because My People Come First. Always. That’s how they are wired. If this is only a ‘Model,’ it will be dropped like a hot potato the minute things get rough, and the person will feel no guilt. But the Slytherin would feel enormous guilt at not putting their people FIRST.

The Ravenclaw is not a loyalist house, but an idealist house. The Jedi Code is a perfect example of a Ravenclaw system -- it asks the Jedi to abandon their own instinctual feelings and gut impulses and live according to a set of high idealistic rules. Their expectations are lofty and their chosen system is something they live by, because they have created or adopted it to take the place of emotionalism. The Ravenclaw might craft ‘it is good to defend and prioritize one’s family’ into their system, but it would come from a place of intellect more than emotion. Luke Skywalker is a good example of this -- of a man who chooses to live by the Code of the Jedi, but who also crafts and shapes it more to his own form. Luke, being a compassionate individual, adds such things as love and mercy to his own version of the Code. And he lives that out. Kylo Ren is also another Ravenclaw, who is rejecting his own emotions in an attempt to live up to an ideal -- for much of the first two movies, a bad ideal, but a system he believes in (the Dark Side of the Force, and a renouncement of his feelings) and tries to enforce on other people through persuading them to join him (Rey).

Fortunately, being a Ravenclaw also means that when he sees another, better way to be (again, through Rey’s influence and her healing him)... he can discard the old system without a second thought, without guilt, and adopt an entirely new one. That is the skill and talent of the Ravenclaw. To forever be tinkering with what they hold to be true, and what they live by. If they find out their system is flat out wrong, irrational, corrupt, or immoral, most Ravenclaws will abandon it. Like Kylo Ren, they will toss the broken lightsaber into the sea and go build a new one. (The lightsaber being their “I live by these principles.”) These ideals come from the outside and their own tinkering, but they aren’t instinctively felt. Unlike the Slytherin, they do not go by emotions -- they go by what they have chosen to be.

As previously mentioned, I know a Slytherin. She always had a deep abiding affection for Katniss, because she understood her completely. When The Hunger Games first came out, and I was struggling to understand why she liked it so much (I found it incredibly depressing and morbid), she just said, “I would do that for my sister.” Years later, when she was taking the Sorting Hat test, I knew she would come out a Slytherin, because... she is Katniss. But the difference between us was distinctive. She would rush to defend, to protect, to be loyal to, and I would sit back and analyze the situation from a detached viewpoint, ignoring any emotions I might be having in the process... because I am constantly weighing everything against my logical reasoning and my faith. It’s as simple as that. Of course my family comes first, but my faith also says to treat everyone with kindness and “do unto others what you would have them do unto you.” So there is always a push-pull in me between instinct (my family, not MY family) and everyone else, according to my belief system.

Consequently, if you want an idea of what a Hufflepuff looks like, look no further than Rey Skywalker. She may be a little grouchy and standoffish, but she also stands up for and defends... everyone. She has a collective emotional loyalty to the entire human race. She protects BB8. She protects Finn. She attaches herself easily to Han Solo, then to the mission to find Luke, then to the Rebellion, and finally, she even sees the potential for good and healing in Kylo Ren. Everyone is fair in her mind, everyone is equal, it would never occur to her to prioritize a select few over the greater good. Hufflepuff values.

And Leia, of course, is a Gryffindor. Someone who has found her Cause and intends to champion it, and you can come along for the ride or get the hell out of her way. She and Han, a Slytherin, butt heads a lot, because he has no interest in a Cause, until he attaches himself to her. Then her Cause becomes his Cause, in a truly Slytherin fashion -- what matters to My People, matters to me. She trusts her gut and does whatever it tells her to do, and entertains no turning aside for anyone. She will stand alone if she must.

You need to ask yourself, who am I? What do I trust? And what would gut me to ignore? My loved ones? Slytherin. My system and logic? Ravenclaw. My general concern for humanity? Hufflepuff. My gut instincts? Gryffindor. What are you willing to do in your life? Sacrifice other things to maintain and cultivate your intimate relationships? Slytherin. Abandon belief systems that you know to be erroneous without a second thought? Ravenclaw. Defend everyone who cannot defend themselves? Hufflepuff. Walk away from your entire family and friendship group on a matter of principle? Gryffindor. Who, by the way, do you ‘understand’ on a completely instinctual level? My Slytherin friend understood Katniss. My Hufflepuff friend understands Hufflepuffs. I understand Ravenclaws like Kylo Ren, because I get his struggle. It’s familiar to me. And my Gryffindor father understands Gryffindors and in true Gryffindor fashion, thinks cowardice is unforgivable. 

[anna-pixie]

my wife / poe dameron -> 3

PART THREE

escape time!!

summary: you’re back to being tortured once more, but a sudden power cut gives you a chance to escape.

pairings: poe dameron x reader

warnings: mentions of torture

***

Your legs are numb, you’ve been sat in the same position for about a week now and you can feel your will shattering already. Is this really happening again?

It makes sense that after a while, the First Order would realise you were feeding them false information. You managed to evade detection for about 4 months, but now you were back at square one, chained up in a dark room being tortured again.

You let out a scream as the ship suddenly drops, your body lurching forward as the dim lights cut off completely. Your cuffs unpower and release your limbs as all of the power in the ship seems to have been stopped. This only lasts for a second but it is more than enough time for you to get out of your binds.

The lights flicker back on and you notice that the door is not fully closed, you sprint over to it and quickly jam your bare foot in it to stop it from sliding closed. You wince at the intense pressure, trying to ignore the pain as you realise this is probably your only chance to escape. You can hear yelling as you make a run for it, and as you hide in a small cubby in the corridor, you realise that there must be members of the resistance infiltrating the ship. Oh, this is way too good to be true.

What if they don’t want you to go back with them? They’ve left you here for 9 months, that’s a pretty clear message, right? You press your back against the wall, holding your breath as you hear the familiar sound of stormtrooper’s marching. A squadron of about 50 troopers march past, thankfully not spotting you as you crush yourself against the wall.

You let out a breath once they pass, carefully creeping into the hallway whilst keeping your back against the wall. You’re so focused on looking behind you to make sure the troopers don’t turn back, that you don’t notice the person running your way.

You crash into a hard body, which sends you tumbling to the ground with a scream that you desperately try to stifle.

 “...Y/N?” You look up, a choked sob lodging in your throat as your eyes land on Rey, her saber out as she gazes at you like she’s seen a ghost, “Y/N? Oh, Maker!” She screams, crushing you in a hug that has her tumbling to the ground, her on top of you.

 The both of you seem to just forget about the danger surrounding you as you sob, clutching onto each other for dear life.

 ��Rey?” You question, you’re unsure whether you’re hallucinating or whether she is actually there in front of you. You touch her face lightly, a stifled breath leaving your mouth when you feel her warm skin.

Rey isn’t one to get emotional during dangerous situations, but as she sits before you with sobs racking her body, you realise that they never abandoned you, they couldn’t have. You embrace each other some more until Finn rounds the corner, reminding Rey that they need to hurry up. He stops in his tracks, his eyes wide as he takes in the scene before him.

 “Y/N…?” He takes a moment to be shocked, thankfully snapping out of it quickly and telling you both to get a move on, you can reunite properly later. Finn can always be trusted to be the level headed one.

You realise that yes, you’re still on the First Order vessel surrounded by 1000s of stormtroopers who are ready to kill you on sight. Rey stands quickly, holding her hand out and helping you get to your feet too. Her and Finn take a moment to drag their eyes over you, sorrow coating their features as they take in what has become of you.

To put it simply, you’re a shell of what you once were. The starvation has pulled your cheeks taught and made your skin sickly, you’re covered in bruises and your lip is busted at the side, a trail of blood that hasn’t been wiped is still underneath your lip. Rey blinks back her tears and snaps back into action, pulling out her saber as Finn lifts his blaster.

 “Chewie is waiting in the craft for us, we need to go left, we created a … diversion … on the other side of the ship.” Finn explains as the three of you creep quietly down the silent halls, and you jump suddenly when you hear an explosion from the way you just came.

“Yeah, Poe is shooting out the canons as we speak.” Your breath stills, and you fight the tears that prick your eyes at the thought of Poe.

 “He’s… he’s here?” Your voice shakes and Rey quickly shushes you, hearing the approaching sound of marching. It’s only one set of footsteps this time but you would recognise them anywhere, “We need to go. Now. It’s Kylo.”

You take a detour down a small corridor, breaking into a sprint once you’re close enough to the hangar. You spot the falcon at the front of the ship, presumably the troopers are too focused on finding the intruders that they didn’t even notice Chewie flying the ship in.

The three of you only dare breathe again once you have climbed into the falcon and the door is closing behind you. You risk one final glance back into the ship and lock eyes with the approaching Kylo. His eyebrows are furrowed and his lips downturned as he watches you finally escape. You expect him to shoot at the vessel, sprint towards you with his saber bared, but instead he just mouths two words.

“I’m sorry.”

***

Getting off the falcon at the resistance base feels like it’s too good to be true, you’re greeted by a teary-eyed General Organa who wraps you in your favourite blanket.

Finn and Rey explained everything to you on the way back to the base. You listened in horror as they explained the body that they found (they realise now must have been planted by the First Order) and the funeral they had for you. All the while, you were being excruciatingly tortured. You tried to contact Poe on the ship but his comms must have been busted during the mission, because there was no reply from him.

 “We failed you, Y/N. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive us.” The General speaks as she walks you across base, you try to ignore all of the shocked faces looking your way. To them, you’ve literally risen from the dead. And you sure do look like hell.

 “You didn’t fail me General. Believe me I have spent the past few months cursing you all, but that was before I found out that you thought I was dead. You already have my forgiveness.” Leia presses her forehead onto yours, telling you what she doesn’t need to say with words.

 “A certain Commander went straight to bed from the mission. I don’t think he knows about the good news.” She gives you a knowing smile and nods in the direction of Poe’s quarters. You grin at her, giving her a hug before wandering off towards Poe’s room.

Nerves overtake your body suddenly, will it be awkward? You haven’t forgotten what happened the last time you saw each other. You rap quietly on his door but realise that it is propped slightly open, so you wedge your hand in the gap and slide it open.

 Poe is curled up in a ball on his bed, surrounded by blankets as he sniffles slightly. You smile sadly at the sight and bite your lip when he grumbles suddenly.

“Who is it?” His voice is deep, unbothered as he doesn’t even look in your direction.

 “It’s your wife.”

His head snaps up so quickly you think he might have given himself whiplash, and he chokes on his breath as he sees you there, your eyes meeting for the first time in 9 months. Poe thinks he must be dreaming.

***

(inbox me if you would liked to be added to the tag list, whether for this fic, poe in general, or another character entirely)

tag list:

@thescarletknight2014

@starrykitn

@starlite41

@loki-an-idiot

@kasiarella