#he's like a man written by a woman so i write men like him 🥰🥰

[princessslut6969]

I'm not gonna invite ppl already on that post to come crucify me, & it's a quote already, so.

.

[“A secret about lesbian sex that I don’t think I have ever seen written about before is that lesbians appreciate different things about the vulva and vagina than do straight men. If popular culture and the rise of vaginal tightening and rejuvenation procedures are any indication, straight men value a “tight” vagina. But this is incomprehensible to me as a dyke. If I only had a nickel for every time I have heard queer people brag about being size queens with capacious vaginas and/or anuses that welcome fists and giant dildos, I’d be a rich woman! In queer space, what makes an orifice “good” is not how it feels to the person going inside it (for whom it might make sense for the emphasis to be on tightness) but how the orifice feels about itself: what it wants, what it can do, what it can enjoy. For many humans, the capacity to take something very large into one’s body is extremely pleasurable, and this is much more difficult when one has been told that the goal is to keep all orifices small and tight. It is fine, of course, if size is not one’s thing, but the point here is that it makes queer people—like my comrades quoted above—quite sad that in straight culture, a vagina is evaluated according to its capacity to please men and not its capacity to experience pleasure.”]

-- Jane Ward, The Tragedy of Heterosexuality

.

...That... is also incomprehensible to me? I guess, marry a man who's written by a woman?

& despite anything else I write or reblog, Hunny is straight, deadset against anything anal for him, & super masculine. Picture bodybuilder-dadbod, absolutely covered in hair.

.

Just a few hours ago, we had basically non-penetrative sex. His idea, even. Both came sooo hard.

We finally had one of our only two nights a week together, so when I seemed restless...

"What's the matter?"

"I'm horny..."

I'm still on my period, so I still have my cup in. Well, he wasn't about to let that stop him. He wasn't even horny himself, yet, lol. He pulled me into spooning me & fingered me til I came. It didn't take much, but it also simply wasn't a wild one I had brewing. Ah, sated enough to sleep, & not enough energy to do anything else. Sleepy. 🥰

But he wasn't happy with how not-crazy my orgasm was. 😈 He had other suggestions.

"Nah... I am sleepy now... It's okay."

"Can I rub my dick on your clit?" 😈

😳 "YES."

He wasn't even hard yet so not like he was trying to deal with taking care of that. Just missed me. Just in missionary, just spit-wetted dick between labia, just the pressure between us. (And a couple of his other tricks. 😏) But, clinically, no ~vaginal penetration. I have no idea how many times I came even, since he just never stopped, til I literally had to push him away & ride out my own freak out, practically crying (good) & almost screaming (good). 🤤

I finished sucking him off - as he fingered me again. No mercy. 😫 Made me go so wild on him. Back thigh pulling, ball squeezing, back-of-throat, moaning -- He came sooo hard, & twice as long as usual.

.

So, no, I don't know what it's like, to ever have a guy even come close to ignoring my pleasure.

True, I've only had full-on sex with 2 other guys besides Hunny. Both also straight to the best of my knowledge. But 1 had an oral fixation. The other 1 was only a few times, but also wonderful.

.

Yeah, "tight" pressure feels good to them. That's not bad in & of itself? How the... That's like saying you shouldn't care about getting pressure on your clit. 🙄

There's still wetness to take into account even. And, speaking of "size queens" or whatever, anyone even- we like to feel filled! Girth is more important than length! We like the other side of that pressure, hello???

.

She's just complaining about her partners ignoring what feels good to her. That may be a very widespread, mainstream, common problem, but that's not *because* the guy is straight. 🙄 What decent guy doesn't care about the girl feeling good? That's a requirement.

And, maybe she doesn't know this from never getting this far, but ever see a guy's reaction to your vagina climaxing and orgasming all around his dick? 🤨

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 24: Christmas Party

Pairing: Judge Turpin x Wife!Reader

POV: Second, Reader

Setting: Sir Penn’s Estate, Christmas Party 1850

A/N: So, it’s the last day of 2023 and I’m finally able to sit down for a little while to write and post this. We are having a calm New Year Celebration, just us three here at home with homemade sushi and some (neighbours will be shooting a lot though) fireworks so no dressing up, no extra cleaning, no extra cooking or prepping or anything (yes, I’m loving it after the super busy holiday 😅). This is a nice little thing to wrap up the year with I think, we get to look back a bit and then enjoy the present time as well with a stoic and sweet Turpin 🥰👏

A/N+:  I thought I’d have some fun and use some real people this time around, sprinkling in a bit of accurate history among the fiction is always a good deal of fun (do keep in mind I have used the real people to enhance this story and my portrayal of them aren’t accurate to any more degree than names, ages, time stamps and professions - have no idea how they were in real life so I’ve just sprinkled in some history I’ve found through the past few years while I’ve written Turpin stories. Just thought I ought to use some of it, you know? 😂) so you’ll meet a man called Johan Penn and his wife Ellen Penn (neé English) as they match the time frame and they too have a huge age gap (21 years) between them which I thought would be great fun to use 🥰 1850 they had two children and one on the way as well so figured I'd use that too ^^

Tags/TW’s: Confessions, Memories, Societal Differences, Fluff, Affection, Growth, Age Gap, Dancing, Friendship

Word Count: 2.5k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

The grand hall of Sir Penn’s estate was dressed in all things Christmas — garlands, tinsel, hundreds of candles, and sparkling decorations, each pillar wrapped in red and green, each surface covered in all things wonderfully Christmas-themed. You were in heaven, except for one thing — your husband was nowhere to be found after the first dance of the evening which he’d spent in a stiff sort of grace while twirling you about the room among all the pretty and chatty couples.

“Oh, Y/n, how good to see you!” came the sweet voice of Mrs Ellen Penn, you had first known her as Ellen English though as both you and Richard had been at their wedding three years ago. You felt a kinship with the sweet woman, both of you marrying men far beyond your age, but she had kept within her societal standing as she was the daughter of another well-known engineer, William English of Enfield, much like her husband was John Penn of Johan Penn and Sons . Your husband was of a different societal standing, of course, but both ranked high in their respective fields and often mingled in the same circles so you and Ellen had become great friends over the past years.

“Ellen, good evening, how are you?” you asked, smiling brightly while glancing toward her rounded belly where their third child grew. She laughed and patted her stomach affectionately.

“Oh, this is a wild one, I assure you, he’ll be the brawny one, I can feel it.”

“Sure it’s a he?” you asked and she nodded. “Well, three sons, what a blessing you are to your husband,” you continued and she laughed once more.

“I think he’s quite happy with his lot in life, lord knows I am. I do wish I could have a little daughter too though, you know?” You nodded, but you weren’t overly fond of children and still had none of your own. You were neither happy nor sad about it, your husband was not the fathering type either, you did suspect he wished for a son to carry on his legacy but you also knew he was not fond of the idea of children beyond that. As he always said, he was perfectly happy to simply have you as you were all that mattered to him.

“Where is the great judge?” Ellen asked while glancing around the room, being one of few who knew how you two loved each other and how well he treated you there was none of the usual fear or the like in her voice or expression.

“I confess, he’s managed to slip away. I don’t know where he walked off to but I’m sure he’ll find his way back, as he always does,” you said with a smile and Ellen smiled back at you. Both of you had been blessed with husbands who adored you, were fools in love, and were beyond possessive of all things regarding you — it was nice to have a friend who understood, who was in the same position in some ways. The gossip about you had been hard to deal with at first, seeing as you were of lower standing than your husband and with such an age difference the talks had been quite loud about town — with Ellen by your side, as a true friend in kind, things had become much easier.

You stood off to the side, watching the room while hunting for the man of your dreams who nearly none else seemed able to see as anything other than the ruthless judge who dolled out harsher sentences than any other in the country. He was more to you, different to you, something else to you entirely. It hadn’t always been like that, of course. You smiled to yourself as memories of the very first Christmas party you had celebrated together flooded your mind and you drifted off to the past while sipping a ridiculously expensive champagne…

“Will you come visit next week?” you asked and Ellen beamed at you.

“I would love to, I can leave John and William with my mother for an evening,” she said and you nodded, knowing full well it was for the benefit of both of you if she did not bring her children — they were two and one years old so they were a handful of needing constant attention and supervision.

“Ellen, my sunshine,” came the voice of Sir Penn and you both turned towards the man with his full beard and slightly upturned moustache. “Come dance with me,” he continued and you said your goodbyes before the two walked off. You felt blessed in life at that moment, surrounded by splendour and grandeur you were now used to. Richard had made sure of that, spoiling you endlessly in a manner only he ever could.

Four years earlier…

He was such a harsh, stoic man. Not a smile to be seen, not a softness to him in any manner. It had been a mere month since your November wedding, not enough time to get to know the man who had taken you off your family’s poor hands to be dressed in finery and held at a strange distance of close but not too close, far away but not too far away — as if your husband had a shield around him none could penetrate yet physically he had you close.

Your arms were wrapped around his, your hands gently resting atop his wrist, and it felt as if you had been standing there for an eternity, barely speaking a word or even being acknowledged at all. It was nearly as if you did not exist. Is it because of you, or because of my background? You wondered while you glanced up at the man whose arm you graced. The fact you got tingly all over at his appearance was something you barely could admit to yourself. He was so much older, his greying hair and the slight wrinkles to his face only made him more handsome in your eyes though. But how could you ever confess to such a thing? You still were not sure why the man had wed you.

“Judge Turpin,” said yet another round-bellied man as he bowed his head to your husband while passing by in the grand Hall of a man called Sir John Penn. You knew nothing of the world you had entered, nor any of the people inhabiting it. It was a terrifying place to be, yet you were not truly afraid as your husband always kept you close (just never close enough).

“Lord Burlington,” your husband said in that drawling dark voice of his but there was no bow of his head, a mere tilt of his chin was enough apparently.

“Tired?” he suddenly asked while you shifted your weight from foot to foot to ease the discomfort of standing still for so long.

You glanced up at him. “No, simply stiff,” you admitted while a slight blush warmed your cheeks from his stormy gaze solely focused on you.

“A dance, perhaps?” he continued and you thought his voice would be your undoing. You found no words so simply nodded and he led you out on the dance floor in that stiff yet gracefully respect commanding manner.

You danced around the room in a waltz, he led you with expertise and there was no hardship in following his lead. He really is a good dancer, if only he would soften a tad… He tugged you a little closer as you thought of that and your breath hitched.

“You look confused,” he murmured for only you to hear, “am I not leading well?”

“Oh, no, no you are an excellent dancer,” you hurriedly said in as low a tone as you could while he would still be able to hear you.

“Then why, do tell, the confusion?” You blushed even deeper at that, averting your gaze to the golden pin in his ascot to gather yourself as you had been wondering how you could be so attracted to a man like him all evening.

“Love?” he urged and your heart leapt in your chest, as it always did when he used any sweet terms while speaking to you.

“I— You are very handsome, sir,” you whispered and his fingers flexed by your waist.

“Is that so?”

“Yes…”

“And you are confused by this?”

“N-no,” you stuttered in admittance. “I am confused as to why I find you to be the most handsome man…”

“The most handsome?”

“Yes…” Not that I’ve found many men handsome before… Perhaps I have a very singular taste? Strange taste? Wrong taste? That last part made you nibble your lip and Richard spun you around.

As he caught you back up, holding you far too close, he leaned in and whispered by your ear. “I shall only ever need you to find me handsome, to hear I am the most handsome one in your beautiful eyes matters greatly.” His baritone voice had you shivering, goosebumps travelling down your spine in waves with the sensation of his breath against your skin.

“Richard, you are so confusing,” you confessed, your voice a meek noise you had little control over as it hitched.

“How come?”

“You are so cold, yet you say such sweet things at times.”

“I have been cold toward you?” A sound close to alarm in his voice.

“No, well, yes, well, no,” you stuttered as you thought of it. He hadn’t really been cold toward you, he was gentle and somewhat kind, a bit stiff and stoic, rough around the edges and somewhat harsh at times but no, he had not really been cold — in your presence towards others, yes, but not towards you now that you thought about it.

Had you really done so so many times? Had you missed his efforts? Been blind to his trials of getting closer to you while you had done all you could to be the good wife of a man in high society — in a world you did not belong, and did not know how to live within?

“Perhaps I ought to be the one confused,” he said with something you couldn’t possibly believe to be mirth in his voice. “You watch me with the most longing in your eyes, yet you do not take kindly to any of my advances, hiding away in the study or refusing to speak to me altogether when I endeavour to start a conversation with you.”

“What?”

“Oh, sweet wife, you have not once engaged fully in a conversation with me, no matter my efforts to start one. You always turn your eyes away, fidgeting with those delicate fingers of yours or offer me one of those tight-lipped smiles. Yes, exactly like that,” he said as you smiled up at him tightly, endeavouring to stop yourself from breaking out in a flurry of words that you wished to speak but were afraid to as they were wholly improper given the differences between you and your husband.

“I don’t know how to act in your world,” you confessed, feeling guilt and shame overwhelm your heart and mind.

“Act?”

“Yes, act, be,” you said.

“Love,” Richard said and stopped dancing. “You do not act with me, never with me. You live and you are you. There is no acting involved, what ever put that notion in your pretty head?” he asked with scrunched brows as he nearly glared down at you with disappointment.

You gulped down a breath, feeling your shoulders tense under those intimidating eyes you adored. “I am not from your world, I am—”

“You are everything and all the things I could hope for, just as you are. Do you not think I am well aware of who you are? Where you come from? Do you think me a man of little resources and forethought?” You shook your head and he held on tightly to your waist.

Current time…

Richard leaned in closer, the world fell away and the beautiful music seemed to die out.

“I am well aware of who you are, from your favourite colour to your preferred foods, your manner of acting with people you care for and how you behave toward strangers. How you fidget when you are worried, how your shoulders tense and how you bite your lip when holding back words, I am beyond aware of your meagre upbringing and the lack of education within high society,” he said in a rough sort of way you couldn’t make heads or tales of.

“What are you saying?”

“I know you, love, and there is no need to be anything or anyone except for yourself with me.”

You chuckled to yourself, feeling a tinge of a blush creep up your neck while you thought of that day when everything between the two of you had changed. How you had dared to open up to the harsh man who craved your true self while he had softened toward you and become an encouraging, doting husband who made you blossom into the assured and strong woman you were now. The journey had not been easy, or smooth, but you had both grown together.

Richard had changed little to the outside world, while you had become a different person with him by your side. He was an affectionate, if somewhat depraved and simultaneously doting lover and caring husband even if he was somewhat possessive and harsh. He was perfect for you, as you were perfect for him. You challenged him nowadays, you dared speak your mind unhindered and he actually listened to your words like none other ever had — like he listened to none other, and no matter what it said about you it honestly made you feel too good to be heard by him.

“Love, there you are,” Richard said, jolting you out of your thoughts, while he walked up to you in two long strides.

“Richard, darling, where have you been?” you asked while slipping onto his arm after he gave your temple a swift kiss.

“Sir Penn wished for a moment, some legal matters for the Institution.”

“The Mechanical Engineers? Everything alright?”

“Oh, more than alright, love. Do not worry that pretty head of yours, I know you care deeply for Mrs Penn, and given her current state I dare say it’s at its height for you, but there are no worries, only paperwork,” Richard said with a hint of a smile.

“Truly, Richard? Paperwork during the Christmas party?”

“My apologies, sweet wife,” he said with softness and kissed the top of your head.

“You are forgiven, if you dance a waltz with me,” you challenged and the deep but low chuckle he graced you with was like music to your soul.

“I shall gladly parade you about, my most beautiful wife,” he said and began leading you onto the dance floor while your fingers squeezed his and he looked at you with that stormy gaze of his that promised endless love and adoration…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: THAT WAS IT FOR THIS YEAR DARLINGS! 71k of words and it's all finished! 😱❤

The last fic of Rickmas2023 and even if I'm a few days late I finished this year and I wrote a fic for every single prompt and it's been quite the journey. I have really enjoyed this year's event, and doing so many serials was a real challenge tbh but I feel it was the right way to go this year. Also, sidenote, the Penn family does have a daughter a few years after this as well so Ellen's wish does get fulfilled!

I hope you've had lots of fun and feel happy about how this year turned out. This last fic is a little extra dedicated to my Blossom ( @snowblossomreads ), who chose Turpin as the final character for this year's round and I am ever so grateful for her and each one of you darlings ❤❤❤ I will be getting to the comments, reblogs and tags steadily during the upcoming days as well - I am so so so thankful and grateful for all your loving words and all the time you've spent with me and my writing this December. THANK YOU!

I wish you a super happy 2024 - filled with loved, joy and all the good things! ❤❤❤

Q: Which of my fics were your favourite of RICKMAS2023? 🥰

A: For me, I'd have to say continuing Hans and Anna-Louise's story was my favourite to re-visit and write, but my favourite in general would probably have to be Prompt 9. Missing Star - I have no exact reason, I just absolutely loved it 🥰

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky  @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @leah1243 @elizabeth-baelish @severuslovebot @thethotthatbreathes @rickmandowneyjr @yellowbadgermole @snapesangel @commodoreseverus  @reinekefoxart @lght-n-drk @cathym1102 @mamawolfsmith87 @snowblossomreads @ladykardasi @a-queen-and-her-throne @eternal-silvertongued-prince @lyrixsnape @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @daddythanatos

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2023]

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

My first time doing a request but this seemed fun! #39 Rooster and Phoenix 🥰 Thanks!

Hi! Thanks so much for request Kiss #39 - because time’s run out with Rooster and Phoenix! I hope you love it! I'm sorry it took so long to write!

A Kiss Because Time's Run Out

What do you do when your best friend is getting married to somebody who is not you? If you’re Bradley Bradshaw, you don’t do anything at all, because if your best friend is happier with a man who isn’t you, who are you to stop her happiness? He’s the only man in the bride’s dressing room, in part because he’s her best man. She looks breathtaking, but Bradley always thinks she does. Wearing a white gown with her hair in shining ringlets down her back, she looks ethereal, rather like a goddess.

He stands at the back of the room while Natasha’s mom and sisters add the finishing touches and then the room falls silent as everyone makes their way out of the room. He can still remember the day he met Natasha Trace. She’d been the only woman in a room full of men and she’d outshone them all. She could outfly them all, too. He doesn’t know when he fell in love with her, though he has a suspicion it was sometime between when she first called him, “Roo” and when he made her laugh over beers.

But he’s always been too chicken, living up to his call sign, as Hangman says, “Sitting on his perch” to tell her he loves her. Coincidentally he lost her to that very same man, and he can’t stand to see the joy on her face when she turns to him. In another universe, it would be him on the other end of that aisle facing her in her beautiful dress.

“Roo” There’s something sad in her eyes.

“Nixxie.” He swallows hard. “You look beautiful. He’s - he’s a lucky man.”

“Tell me not to marry him, and I’m yours.” Her voice is shaky, in a way Bradley’s never heard it.

Bradley can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Nix, I can’t do that. Jake’s a friend and he loves you. More than I ever could.” 

She blinks back tears from her gorgeous eyes. “Then will you kiss me, Roo?” 

“Of course, Nix.” He dips his head down, and presses his lips to hers. He’s gentle as he cradles her head, pulling away after only a few more moments.

“This is the end of us, isn’t it?” Her voice hitches on a near sob.

“Why would it be, huh, Nix?” His voice is just as soft as he dabs away her tears. “You’re still my best friend. You’re still the best wingwoman I could have asked for. Be happy.”

Want to request a Kiss and a pair for me to write? Guidelines are here.

Want to see other Kisses I’ve written? Here’s the full Masterlist.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[velvetporcelain]

It’s always like- “where’s my phone?”📱 and not- “where’s my pocket diary?” 📔 -discuss.

I no longer call this my phone. 📱

It’s my pocket diary. As it should be- 📱📔

Everything I need and want to say is written and left here. I never really go back and doom scroll through my writing. It’s left here to be floating here. Like useless space trash. 🚮 🪐

And I’m totally okay with surrounding myself with my own dignity. I don’t know how I made it through my twenties without some type of diary. But then again I was an avid Facebook user and that is basically a journal in itself. Soooo 2000’s. 📱👀

If I can get my mind to think of social media as I do this void then I can probably document my life in the way I want it documented.

Please, yes, judge me. I get off on the shock value of a judgment. —> in some sadistic way when I’m judged it makes me feel seen and alive. And then I cry about it in order to learn more about myself. More ways to be judged because I want more and more and more. I want to be a Warhol on your wall type vibes.

I feel like a vampire to be honest. I’m a good woman who’s addicted to self sabotage to feel alive. I’m not broken because I was never even built. Like- tell me when you first felt like you were actually building who you are according to what you’re meant to be. Experiencing and free.

I do not give the pleasure of judgment that people seek just like me. Judgments are so incredibly powerful. I will not give people mine because I need them more than you. And you don’t even know how much you need them too. Who gets to decide anyways? Me. I do. You choose yours too.

I am able to separate from taking responsibility for their feelings. You know the things that create their judgments. I am no longer sorry that they feel the need to judge me. I am not here for your pain. I’m here for pleasure.

I can only help one through the judgment process. Because I think we just don’t know how to constructively build from a judgment. No matter what kind. Because let’s face it, a compliment IS also a judgment. Is it not?

I know there are therapists, life coaches, doctors etc out there that hold the knowledge it takes to understand human psychology. I am delusionaly convinced that I can help people in a much deeper way. 😆 I don’t know what the way is yet, but I feel my methods are going to be something never seen before. And it’s gonna work. Haha. I’m laughing.

Yes. What a beautiful pocket diary I have. It’s full of my favorite music anywhere I go. I have this amazingly vivid blog account, where I account and accept myself fully. I am able to text or call all my favorite people in this entire world, literally. So 🔥 I think the cellphone was the greatest man made invention. They are what I dreamed of the future being like. The same but just more ways to connect, move and interact. The depictions of the future are always my favorite but when I think of future, some how I’m always thinking back to the 1950s-1960s retro nostalgia.

So I think the future is just the past learning from its mistakes automatically making our future. Again, stays the same, but more connections, movement and interaction.

And that’s all life is. Picking up our past and creating the future right in front of us. Therefore meaning that the only “life path” is the one behind us. There is no yellow brick road.

What you need, you have to borrow. Make sense? There is no future to borrow from. We must be the unrealized idea. Because that is what the future is, an unrealized idea.

Today? I was the first one up and I got to spend quality ass time on my office floor with my two favorite men. My cats 🙈🥰🥰😆 Gary is my little angry demon, and I love when he lays on top of my chest like the king he is. His ears turn outward and sharp. He lets his eye coverings cover only half is eye, he is purring like a dragon and I love taking in the Hz frequencies. My other guy is my baby and I let him get a little rough with me and bite me and scratch my hoodie sleeves in hopes he would feel like the baddest African lion. I let him hunt and kill my arm. I don’t mind the pain, and my mom chopped off the tips of his from paws (declawed) him. Ugh so get me started on that—. It was amazing connecting and enduring the now.

I cleaned my entire house with my daughter’s headphones on feeling no animosity or anger towards my home. 🏡

Now- here I am. Self sabotaging with cigarettes, but- but- baby- it’s okay all the best writers smoke cigarettes in order to be able to endure the deep thought process. 💋

I’ll be fine. I’ll quit soon. 🔜 as I stop thinking.

-x

[brummiereader]

@emotionalcadaver another incredible chapter, hun😍!

I just love when Luca and his mum appear in this story. Not only do you write him so incredibly well. But the dynamic between them has me absolutely giddy.

Luca shook his head. “It’s more likely that it was those savages from the mountains that Shelby has hired to do his dirty work for him.” Arghhhh!! He's such an idiot to not believe his mum! I love it 😈😍! I feel like his obliviousness to the force that Lucy is, stems from the fact that's she's a woman. He can't fathom the idea that she's deadly. What I love most about this whole arc is the fact that it depicts perfectly the opinions men had at the time. And it's true to a degree. There was a certain amount that was expected from a woman in the 1920/30's. And Lucy doesn't fit that mold. But mama Changretta knows, which makes this whole storyline so intriguing. Maybe it's female intuition, I don't know. But she knows that if Luca doesn't listen to her, it'll likely be his own end!

Pity,” he said with a shrug. “But…there are still others in this city with hate in their hearts for the Shelbys that we can use.” eek 😬! The mention of Lizzie just before this, had me doubting her loyalty considering her strained relationship with Lucy. Now you have me wondering if she'll throw them all under the bus 😳.

It made things so confusing, sometimes. Not to mention almost impossible to properly discern how Lizzie really felt about her. Did she genuinely want to be friends, or was she just putting up with her because she had to if she wanted to stay close to Tommy? Did she really hate her, or was it just bitterness and jealousy getting the better of her in the moment? To all of this Lucy, I'm gonna say...she wants your man!! It irks me a little that Tommy is so nonchalant about this whole situation. I swear, men are so blind to the obvious 🤦🏼‍♀️. But we ladies pick up on it straight away! Lucy knows something's off, I just fear what will happen when Lizzie announces the dreaded news. Just how will they deal with that?? Even though their little encounter down by the canal was mutually agreed, I can't help but think that deep down Lucy would feel somewhat betrayed by what's to come 😩.

"Don’t know what you think you need the rest of us for, Tom, when you’ve got this one with her deadshot and new fondness for lopping off heads,” 🤣 i just love Johnny dogs! He tells it how it is 😌🤭.

She leaned her side more firmly into his, hoping that the press of their bodies together would help soothe him a little. He just sighed deeply, reaching out a hand to smooth along the back of her skull, down her spine to rest on the small of her back, encouraging her to lean more heavily into him. Urgh, this whole part was so bloody cute 🥰. I love that even when they're in a stressful situation, they find a moment to reassure the other. Maybe it's just me, but I feel like they only reveal their insecurities and stress to each other. It's honestly so beautiful how at one they are ❤️.

There was something in his eyes…something calculated and almost malicious. It made her stomach heave queasily with anxiety, instincts prickling in alarm. This is one of my fave scenes in the series, the acting by Cillian was phenomenal. Tommy knew something was up. And I think, in that moment he understood Michael's "loyalty" to him. “Like he’s sizing you up.” “Like he’s looking for weak points?” this whole part was so well written it gave me chills! I love how they mirror each others thoughts, but why do I feel like Lucy is taking this more seriously than Tommy 😬? Will this be a " i told you so" moment like I reckon it will be with Lizzie??

“Your mother is dead, Miss. Winters. She died this past winter. I’m sorry.” Aberamas news was heartbreaking. Once again, Tommy and Lucy are tied together by similar tragedies 😞. I fell in love with how he wanted to protect her in that moment. He was so quick to put an end to Aberama revealing anymore. But also, stayed back and let Lucy hear the details when she insisted. Just when Tommy heard the news of Johns death, Lucy was there, Tommy was there with her when she heard the sad news about her mum ❤️.

“When this is all over, we’ll take Sin and Wraith and go out together.” I'm glad this whirlwind chapter ended on a hopeful note, with little charlie and Tommy there comforting her. I think they're already well overdue that horse ride together, and things have only just begun 😳.

Wonderful as always👌! Can't wait to catch up with the next chapter 😍.

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Lucy begins to worry over the intentions of a member of the family, and receives some sorrowful news.

Word Count: 6,376

Notes: Warnings for depictions of jealousy, minor sexual content, violence, blood, and references to minor character death, depression, and suicide.

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Chapter 13: Traitor

“He was never the brightest. Or the most competent. But…he was such a good boy,” Audrey Changretta’s fingers clutched at her handkerchief. Just from looking at her, one would not have been able to tell that she had been crying just moments ago. Her eyes were dry, face as hard and as immovable as stone.

Luca rested a hand on his mother’s knee. “I know, Ma. I know. He was.”

He thought of his cousin, running rampant with them down the streets. Playing on the floor in his father’s living room when they were little. Of his wedding day, and how he’d smiled so nervously at Luca while he adjusted Alessio’s suit jacket for him. 

All gone.

They would not even be able to have a proper burial for him. Nor his wife or the two men who’d been guarding them. No open casket would be possible considering that the fucking heads of the deceased had been misplaced. 

His fingers tightened around the toothpick held between them. Fucking Shelby.

“It was her,” his mother said, lips thinning into a straight red slash across her mouth. “That red bitch. Shelby’s little whore. I know it in my bones.”

Luca shook his head. “It’s more likely that it was those savages from the mountains that Shelby has hired to do his dirty work for him.”

His mother shot him a glare. “You aren’t listening to me about her, Luca.”

He took a deep breath, reminding himself to be patient with her. Already she’d had to mourn a husband and a son. And now a nephew. How much more pain and loss would their family be forced to endure before it was enough?  

Deep down, he knew: as much as it took to put Thomas Shelby in the fucking ground.

“Winters is small. I doubt that she has the physical ability to kill and decapitate four fully grown people like that. Besides,” he added when his mother pursed her lips, “she never leaves Shelby’s side.”

“Your refusal to consider her a serious threat will be your downfall, Luca,” his mother warned in a tone of voice that reminded him eerily of being scolded in his childhood.

Luca chuckled to hide his annoyance. “I just find it hard to believe that one little girl could cause so many problems,” he put the toothpick between his teeth. “And if she does, we’ll mow her down like all the rest. I am being meticulous, Mother. You don’t need to worry.” Standing, he shoved his hands into his pockets while he approached the window. “You yourself told me that decapitation was never really part of Winters’s repertoire anyway.”

“She could be changing things up on purpose. As a way to trick you into not considering her a legitimate threat. She’s cunning, that one. Like a fox.”

Luca just hummed to let her know he’d heard her, peering out the window. It was raining again.

“Well, whoever it was, it’ll be taken care of. I promise. Alessio will not go unavenged.”

The clock on the mantle chimed, and he sighed.

“I have to go speak with Matteo,” returning to his mother’s side, he bent to kiss her on the cheek. But before departing from the room, he hesitated.

“There’s someone else. A secretary working for Shelby. Lizzie Stark. I remember Angel mentioning her in his letters. I was wondering if you know of anything that would be useful there. A grievance over Angel’s death that we could use, perhaps…” 

His mother’s face had gone dark. “No,” she said sharply with a bitter scoff. “No, you won’t be getting anything from that harlot. She’s loyal to the Shelbys. Always has been.”

Luca frowned. His impression from Angel’s letters had been that he and the Stark woman had been deeply in love. It had surprised him that she was still working for Shelby at all, after what he and his brothers had done to Angel. He’d hoped that she perhaps was looking for her own chance to take revenge on them. Or maybe was simply trapped into employment for Shelby due to economic reasons. That she could be truly loyal in her heart to him was…disappointing. 

The idea that his brother’s love for her may have been unrequited filled him with both sorrow and rage. As if she could do better than Angel Changretta. Had she misled him on purpose? Lured him into a relationship with her to give the Shelbys an excuse to come after him?

His teeth grinded against the toothpick with his thoughts. For a moment, he considered whether or not it would be worth it to pay the Stark woman a little visit. Probably not, in the larger scheme of things. At least not right now. But maybe after…once all the Shelbys were gone and their domain belonged to him…he and Miss. Stark could have a little chat about the way she’d behaved regarding his little brother. 

“Pity,” he said with a shrug. “But…there are still others in this city with hate in their hearts for the Shelbys that we can use.”

∗ ∗ ∗ 

“Well,” Lucy said, waiting until Mrs. Ross had left the office before speaking, “that may have just been the most obvious set-up for an ambush that I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Tommy made a sound of agreement, index and thumb rubbing together as he watched the door that Mrs. Ross had disappeared through, frowning. “Unless it’s intended to be that obvious.”

She leaned back, the leather in the chair creaking beneath her. “Why would Luca do that? If we all think it’s a set-up for Arthur, everyone will be near Mrs. Ross’s. Unless he were going to try to get the women during that time…”

“Or Michael.”

“Michael has guards.”

Tommy shrugged. “I think that you’ve proved quite soundly that guards can only do so much, love.”

“Mm,” she stifled a small smile. “Fair.” Her head cocked as she watched him, still staring at the door, mind working a mile a minute behind those pretty blue eyes. “What do you want to do?”

He finally turned his gaze to her. “I say we take the bait. See what Luca has in store for us,” he raised an eyebrow. “You think that you would be up for shooting some more people?”

She failed to stifle her smile, rising up out of her seat and stepping around the desk to him, setting her cigarette down in the ashtray. Tommy chuckled when she pushed him back lightly so that she could settle herself on his lap. 

“What do you think?” she asked with a cheeky grin, curling her arms around his shoulders. Tommy’s laugh rumbled in his chest, face tiling up to meet her kiss. His strong hands smoothed up her back, rubbing along her shoulder blades.

The door to the office opened suddenly, without even a courtesy knock in warning before it was wrenched harshly ajar. They both jerked apart hastily. While their relationship was no longer a secret as it had been during his marriage to Grace and the first couple of years spent together, they still preferred their privacy when it came to more intimate moments.

But it was just Lizzie, a mountain of papers clutched in her arms. Grateful that it wasn’t a client or someone else less familiar with their relationship, Lucy just shifted herself so that she was sitting across Tommy’s lap with her arm around his shoulders, his hand on her waist. Lizzie took one look at them seated behind his desk together, and scowled. 

“There’s a call for you, Tommy. And these,” she dumped the papers onto his desk unceremoniously, “all need to be signed.”  

Lucy raised an eyebrow at the chillness in Lizzie’s voice, frowning a little to herself. Apparently today was a cold day, as far as Lizzie’s feelings towards her went.

Her heart sank a little at that. And here she was hoping that perhaps they’d finally gotten past moments like these.

It made things so confusing, sometimes. Not to mention almost impossible to properly discern how Lizzie really felt about her. Did she genuinely want to be friends, or was she just putting up with her because she had to if she wanted to stay close to Tommy? Did she really hate her, or was it just bitterness and jealousy getting the better of her in the moment? 

Lucy had never been able to entirely shake the feeling that, if she had it her way, Lizzie would have happily erased her from all existence if given the chance. 

She felt bad for her, really she did. And she had tried to be more mindful of Lizzie’s feelings over the years, making an effort not to flaunt things between her and Tommy too much in front of her. 

But she had really thought, given Lizzie’s behavior and attitude shift towards her over the past year, that maybe she had finally gotten over Tommy. That they could be real friends. That she wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells regarding what she did or said around her for fear that she would unintentionally cause Lizzie to turn sour on her again.     

Apparently not. 

“Right,” Tommy said, picking up his pen and pulling the first paper towards him. “Transfer the call to the phone in here.”

Lizzie nodded, mouth set in a firm line, narrowed eyes fixed hard on them. Lucy shifted uncomfortably, wiggling out of Tommy’s grasp to stand up and move a few paces away from him. She caught him shooting her a puzzled look from the corner of her eye. 

“And call around to the boys, tell them I want to see them all in Charlie’s yard tomorrow morning.”

“Anything else?”

Lucy’s brows flew up at Lizzie’s tone. Even in her worst moods, it was rare for her to talk to him like that. Tommy blinked behind his glasses, looking more taken aback than anything else.

“No. That’s all.”

Lizzie shot Lucy a look that could have curdled milk, spun on her heel, and stomped from the room. 

“What the fuck is her problem?” Tommy asked soon as the door had closed behind her, his expression genuinely baffled. Lucy sighed, fingers finding the familiar pattern of her rings to fumble with. 

“We shouldn’t have taken her to the canal,” she bemoaned. Tommy’s brows pinched. 

“Why not?”

She sighed. For someone so smart, he could be quite daft when it came to things like this. “It must’ve, I don’t know, gotten her hopes up that maybe something was finally going to happen between you two or something.”

“From that?” he sounded incredulous.

“You were being very nice to her.”

“So? That doesn’t mean that I’m in fucking love with her. Besides, you were there too, so how could she think…” 

She shrugged helplessly, and he leaned back in his chair with a long suffering sigh.

“Fucking hell.”

“Who knows what really goes on inside Lizzie’s head.” 

He must have heard something in her voice, because his eyes snapped over to her.

“Hey,” he leaned forward, looping his arm around her hips and pulling her closer, “don’t let her bother you. It’s her problem if she misinterpreted things.”

“I always feel bad for her…” she said softly, even as she rested her hands on him.

“You shouldn’t. It’s not your fault.”

She bit her lip. Sometimes she wasn’t sure if that was entirely true or not.

But before she could say anything more on the subject, the phone on the desk started to ring.

“I’ll get it,” she said, “you work on getting all those signed.”

Tommy loosened his grip on her enough that she could reach over to pluck the phone from its cradle, but she could still sense him watching her carefully, probably sensing the confliction inside her that Lizzie’s behavior had triggered. 

“Thomas Shelby’s office,” she said into the phone professionally. 

“Lucy? It’s May.”

“May! Hi!”

Tommy’s head quirked up with interest at the name. 

“How are you?” Lucy asked, all thought or worry about Lizzie momentarily forgotten.

“Oh, alright. Busy, you know. It’s always hard work when getting familiar with a new horse.”

“Of course. How is she doing?”

“Actually, that’s what I was calling you about. I have a few things that need Tommy’s signature, so I was thinking that perhaps I could pop over to Small Heath sometime and give you both a full report.” 

Excitement bloomed in her chest at the thought of getting to see her friend again. “We’d both love to see you. When were you thinking of coming?”

“I have a few dates in mind. But really whenever works best for you and Tommy. I know how busy you can both get.” 

Tommy nudged her. “Tell her that I’ll send Charlie in a boat to pick her up from the station.”

Her brows rose. “May, can you hang on a second?” she covered the mouthpiece of the phone with her palm. “A boat?”

“Safer than having her come by cab. I don’t trust Changretta not to try to take her hostage should he find out she’s coming.”

“Okayyyy,” she removed her hand from the mouthpiece. “May, how would you feel about coming by boat from the station?”

“Boat?”

“Mhm. Charlie would come pick you up and you’d come in through the canals. It would be safer considering all the…trouble we’ve been dealing with lately.”

“You mean the mafia?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Curly let it slip when I came to pick up the horse. And a boat would be fine, if you think it would be safer.”

“We’ll talk with Charlie and I’ll call you later with the date and where you should go for him to pick you up.”  

“Alright.”

“Talk later.”

“Bye, Lucy.”

She set the phone back into its cradle, a bubble of excitement building in her chest. She had missed May.

“She said yes?” Tommy asked, eyes trained on the paper in front of him, scribbling his signature on the line at the bottom.

“Yeah.”

“Mm,” he looked up at her with dancing eyes. “Good.”

She took a step towards him, rubbing idly at his shoulder while she watched him sign another paper before setting it aside. “Something to look forward to, at least.” She bit her lip. “Maybe…you could book a suite for all of us while she’s here.”

His gaze snapped up to hers, cheeks twitching as he tried to hide a mischievous smile. “Oh? And what sort of things do you think we would do in this suite, hm?”

Her hands slid along the nape of his neck while he encouraged her back into his lap.

“All sorts of things,” she said, voice lowered. 

Tommy purred in deep approval, and brought his lips to hers. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

Lucy puffed on her cigarette, moving to push her curls more firmly underneath her cap. For not the first time, she cursed her dark red hair for its obviousness, silently wishing that she’d worn a wig to better conceal it. Tommy’s hand shot out to gently take her wrist, lowering her hand from her head.  

“You’re fine. Hardly anyone will be able to see us up here, anyway.”

She drew in a shaky breath, nodding silently and adjusting her grip on the rifle in her hand, peeking out the narrow window they were stationed behind, down to the square where Johnny Dogs was posing as a vendor selling meats. 

She had stood by quietly earlier at Charlie’s yard while Tommy had laid out the plan they’d come up with Arthur after Mrs. Ross’s visit to the office and the delivery of her strange invitation. Charlie had handed her a rifle that she leaned casually against as Tommy gave the other boys their instructions. 

“Don’t know what you think you need the rest of us for, Tom, when you’ve got this one with her deadshot and new fondness for lopping off heads,” Johnny had chuckled, reaching around the ruffle Lucy’s hair fondly. She had rolled her eyes at him affectionately, smiling to herself as all the men laughed. 

Would it be terrible to say that she had missed this? 

Her eyes fixed on the entry points to the square, muscles tensed and prepared to spring into action at the first sign of trouble. She could see Arthur climbing the stairs, heading in the direction of Mrs. Ross’s home. Taking one last long drag from her cigarette, she stubbed it out against the stone windowsill, bouncing once on her toes in preparation. 

Beside her, stress seemed to come off of Tommy in waves, his shoulder so tense where it lightly brushed against hers that Lucy was half worried he would snap like a rubber band. She leaned her side more firmly into his, hoping that the press of their bodies together would help soothe him a little. He just sighed deeply, reaching out a hand to smooth along the back of her skull, down her spine to rest on the small of her back, encouraging her to lean more heavily into him. 

They waited for what felt like an age after Arthur disappeared inside of Mrs. Ross’s home. A few beads of sweat rolled down Lucy’s back, her chest feeling tight with tension. 

They had told their men guarding Michael to be ready. And Polly, Ada, and Linda were all holed up at the betting shop, surrounded by a small army of their men. Just in case this whole thing turned out to be a decoy.

“Car,” she breathed out suddenly, spotting the nose of what looked like a Rolls Royce pulling up in one of the alleys. Tommy spotted it at the same time she did, a high whistle sounding from his lips in warning to their other men positioned around the square. She shifted the rifle in her hands, finger curling over the trigger.

The car idled in the alley, a man stepping out and leaning against one of the car’s doors while he lit a cigarette. Lucy narrowed her eyes, trying to discern if she recognized him or not from any of the photos of Luca’s men they’d acquired. Tommy raised a hand to Johnny and Isiah down below, silently ordering them to hold their fire. 

“Wait,” he breathed out, when she moved to raise her rifle and take aim. She raised an eyebrow, but did as she was told, keeping her rifle lowered.  

Another seemingly massive stretch of time seemed to pass. The man at the car didn’t move; didn’t do anything at all except smoke and stare at the wall.

A young girl suddenly darted out onto the street, a blue handkerchief clutched in her hand. She came to a stop at the mouth of the alley, waved it wildly over her head, and then took off running back the way she’d came. The man leapt back into the car and then it was reversing back, away from the square. Tommy shouted out the order to fire on it, but it was already out of their line of sight from the angle that the window was at. Johnny and Isiah opened up on it with their revolvers, but just based on the looks on their faces, she knew that they hadn’t managed to cause any legitimate damage. 

Beside her, Tommy was shouting to them that it was a decoy, ordering for the car to be brought around. He took her hand firmly, leading her along down the stairs. They took them two at a time, jumping into the car where it pulled up half on the curb.

“Who did you think they went for instead?” she asked, wiping some hair out of her eyes. 

“Michael. I can’t see Luca being dumb enough to try an all out assault on the betting shop with so many of our men working there. Michael’s the most vulnerable.” 

They took off speeding to the hospital, the horn of the car blaring to warn pedestrians and other vehicles out of the way. It was barely parked and shut off before they were piling out and tearing through the hospital’s front doors, footsteps clattering up the stairs, revolvers pulled from coats. 

Tommy pushed through the double doors first, coming to such a sudden halt that Lucy nearly collided with him.

The wall to the side of the door was splattered with fresh blood, dripping like crimson tears down the pristine, white paint. The body of one of their men was slumped on the floor, his head still oozing red in a sluggish river.

She and Tommy shared a look, and then they were rushing to the doors that led into Michael’s room. Arthur blew the lock off, and Tommy shouldered them open, hurrying to where Michael was half slouched against bed. His eyes were wide, face pale as a ghost. 

Tommy was by his side in a second, asking in a voice that was suddenly incredibly paternal what had happened. Lucy swept the corners of the room, fingers flexing on her revolver as she checked for any enemies that may have been hiding to ambush them. There was no one, but the door leading out the back way was hanging ajar. Michael was stuttering something about how the Italians had run away when they heard them coming.  

“Go,” Lucy ordered to Arthur, and he went racing through the door with Johnny. She doubted that they would be able to catch any of them, but it was worth a shot.    

Tommy collapsed into one of the chairs at the table in the center of the room, chest heaving as he caught his breath. Lucy uncocked her revolver and tucked it back into her holster, her own breaths labored from the mad dash from the square to the car and up the stairs. 

Her eyes landed on Michael, and the hairs on the back of her arms stood on end at the look she saw cross his face when he told Tommy that he was fine and unhurt. There was something in his eyes…something calculated and almost malicious. It made her stomach heave queasily with anxiety, instincts prickling in alarm.

There was something that Michael was not telling them. Something important.

Lucy suddenly couldn’t shake the feeling that while there may have been no Italians in the room with them, that did not mean that they were not in the presence of an enemy. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

She waited as Tommy finished up his phone call to Charlie, arms crossed and finger tapping against her bicep while she waited. The exhale that he let out after hanging up and leaning back in his chair carried with it the weight of the world, stress clear in the frown melding itself to his lips. He sat there for a long moment, just thinking, and then rose to his feet, indicating with a small jerk of his head that he wanted her to follow him. 

Lucy had debated whether or not to tell him about the thing she’d seen in Michael’s face the whole way back from the hospital to the betting shop. A part of her had thought–hoped, was actually the more accurate word–that she was just being paranoid. But the feelings of uneasiness within her had not gotten better since they’d left Michael. It was as if something had shifted. The moment Michael decided not to tell them the thing that was of such importance, everything within him and between him and Tommy had changed. 

“Tommy?” she started carefully. He just grunted in response. “Did you notice anything strange about Michael when we were at the hospital?”

He just sighed, long and exhaustedly. “You noticed that too, eh?”

“It was strange, wasn’t it?”

“Mhm. Yeah, it was.”

She lowered her voice. “I had told Polly not to tell Michael about the plan to offer you up to Luca on a silver platter. Maybe it had something to do with that? Luca might’ve said something while he was in the room with him.” 

Polly had told them that when she made contact with Luca, she had asked him to spare everyone else if she handed over Tommy. To get his focus off of the rest of them for a while. Alleviate the danger somewhat, at least for everyone else. Nervous as it may have made Lucy, it was a risk Tommy was more than willing to take.

“Luca’s clearly decided to take the deal. That’s the only way to explain why Michael’s alive at all. I don’t believe that shit he said about the gun misfiring. We would have heard it.”

“We should have been able to hear them running, had they still been in the room when we made it up there and made and break for it only after we arrived. But I didn’t hear any footsteps at all when we got into the room,” she sighed, pulling a cigarette from her pocket and lighting it. “Maybe…if he’s pieced it together that Polly is the one who made a deal with Luca, he’s just trying to protect her.”

Tommy gave her a look. “Do you really believe that?”

She exhaled again, a plume of smoke flowing from her lips and up into the air around them. “Not really,” she considered whether or not to share the next bit, “I haven’t felt good about him for a while now, Tom. Not since he killed Hughes, actually. I thought…that killing the priest would help him. Like how killing Matthew helped me. But I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Not everyone can be like you, love,” Tommy said gently. 

“There’s this way that he looks at you sometimes, when he thinks you aren’t watching. I don’t like it,” chewing on her bottom lip, she watched the black smoke rise up from the factories around them, suddenly feeling very anxious. “Like he’s sizing you up.”

“Like he’s looking for weak points?”

“Yeah. He’s gotten more ambitious. Maybe…” she shook her head, letting out a breath, rubbing at her eyes. “I don’t know. But I don’t have a good feeling about any of it.”

Tommy hummed, considering as they walked. “We’ll just keep an eye on him for now.”

“Right.” She nodded, and reached out to thread her arms through his. She asked him if they could stop for some food, and by the time they’d eaten, ran some errands, and gotten to Charlie’s yard, it was nightfall.

The lantern swung precariously from Tommy’s hand, clutched in the one not interlaced with hers. They found the Golds waiting for them in the stables, and she left Tommy to the business of paying them for the men they’d killed while she cooed over a few of the horses currently being housed there. 

“Oi! I got four all on my own earlier!” she bristled a little, looking over her shoulder when Aberama suggested that, considering the lack of casualties inflicted by them today, that they’d been spending too much time pushing paper. Tommy just grumbled, pointing out that Aberama and his men had also allowed Luca to get away, even if they had managed to take out two of his men.

She made a movement to follow him when he snatched up his lantern and headed for the door, but froze at Aberama’s voice suddenly calling out to her. 

“Miss. Winters! Before you go, there’s something that I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Aberama called, and she and Tommy both hesitated. Her memory, of Aberama trying to tell her something at the last family meeting before she’d stormed off to kill Alessio, was promptly jogged. Jesus, with everything else going on, she’d completely forgotten that there was something he had wanted to say to her. “You remember our discussion at the house, earlier, I mentioned knowing your aunt and cousins?”

Something cold washed over her. “Yes.”

Aberama nodded, removing his hat and straightening his back, looking her squarely in the eye. “The last time that I spoke with Miri, it was but a few months ago. She said that your mother had been traveling with them since about 1920 or so.”

That sounded about right. Her mother had left their family home in London at around that time to rejoin the caravans. After telling Lucy that she thought it best that they never saw each other again. 

Aberama looked for a moment like he did not entirely know what to say, lips parting, an expression of what she realized after a moment was compassion crossing his face. “Your mother is dead, Miss. Winters. She died this past winter. I’m sorry.”

Her brows pinched, for a moment not entirely understanding. Her legs swayed slightly underneath her, suddenly feeling greatly unsteady. The world felt like it had fallen entirely away, and all she could see was her mother’s face. Her mother who, for all of her flaws and shortcomings, Lucy had never been able to entirely bring herself to resent. Mum had tried, after all. And there had been moments when she was successful in protecting Lucy from her father’s abuse and fanaticism. Her mother had been a kind person with a big heart. And when Lucy was young, everyone had always told her how much she was like her mother had been when she was that age. 

Mum had been what she would have become, had her father been successful in his attempts to force her into marriage with Matthew Sutton. A broken, abused woman, all fight and spunk beaten out of her through the years of horror that her husband had inflicted upon her. But she had loved Lucy and her brothers as best as she could. She had done her very best with all of them.  

Lucy let out a small sound, taking a few shaky steps towards the stall where the horses were. Her hand gripped the sturdy wood, using it to keep herself steady. One of the horses–one that belonged to the Golds, she assumed, since she didn’t recognize him–nudged his nose at her. She stroked it absently. 

“Love?” she heard Tommy’s voice distantly, almost as if he were underwater, and then felt his hand tentatively resting on her back.

“How?” she asked hoarsely. 

Aberama hesitated, and she knew from that alone that whatever he was about to tell her would not be easy to hear. 

“Miri said that she was unwell from the moment that she first arrived.”

Lucy frowned. “She always had problems with migraines…”

“Not that kind of unwell.”

She went quiet at that.

“Miri said that the melancholy would come and go. Some days she would be fine. Others, well…” he trailed off. Lucy sniffed, and could feel Tommy’s thumb rubbing circles into her back. Aberama continued. “It started to get worse, and last longer. It happened gradually, you see. And then, one night while the rest of the camp was asleep, Genevieve took a rope and found a tree–”

“That’s enough,” Tommy barked sternly. Lucy shook her head furiously, turning and taking hold of the hand that he’d been resting on her back.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I need to hear it,” her voice came out as a cracked whisper. Tommy looked her over for a moment, and she was touched at the deep worry in his eyes, squeezing his fingers in gratefulness. She looked back at Aberama. He met her gaze steadily.

“They found her hanging from a branch in the morning. They burned her and her vardo. As she wanted.”

Sniffling, Lucy wiped furiously at her eyes, not wanting to be seen crying in front of strangers. 

Could they really still be considered strangers, though? After what Aberama had just told her?

“Thank you for telling me, Aberama,” she said. 

He nodded, fingers playing with each other. “I thought you ought to know.”

Wiping a clammy hand across her forehead, she blinked hard, barely keeping the bulk of her tears back. “Tommy, will you take me home?” 

He was there in an instant, arm wrapping comfortingly around her shoulders, steering her towards the exit with a gentle “come on.” She let him shepherd her along, pressing in closer to his side, suddenly feeling very cold and alone. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Tommy said, voice deep and soft in the otherwise dark of night. She latched onto him like a child would a security blanket, suddenly terrified that if she let him go, she would slip away and be lost in the dark for good. 

He had to leave the lantern in the yard, and when they stepped onto the cobblestones without it, she was reminded horribly of her dream with the darkness rushing up to consume both her and Grace in one great swallow, the blackness washing everything away. But Tommy’s grip remained firm around her, guiding her through the dark with his warm touch and the soft murmurs of his voice. 

She didn’t start properly crying until they’d turned onto Watery Lane. Tommy ushered her quickly down the remainder of the street and finally into the house, and the moment that the door was closed and the lock latched into place, he was pulling her into his arms. 

He rubbed her back and stroked her hair gingerly while she cried. Not big heaving sobs but soft, spasming little whimpers, hugging him tight around the middle while her face buried in his chest. 

Her mother had killed herself. Had been so miserable and depressed that she hadn’t wanted to live anymore. Not even amongst the caravans and kin that she had always spoken so longingly of.  

Lucy had not wanted her mother to leave. She had wanted her to stay. Wanted to look after her. For her to get to know Tommy. The thought of how she would have no doubt doted over Charlie had another wave of tears springing forth into her eyes.

She’d let her go. Why had she done that? She could have forced her to stay. Could have insisted. But she’d let her go. And now her mother was dead.  

“Lucy?” Tommy asked tentatively once her tears had ebbed to just quiet sniffles, pulling back just enough so that he could see her face. 

“I shouldn’t have let her leave, Tommy.”

“Hey, no. None of that, now. This isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known,” at her unconvinced shrug, he took her by the shoulders, pulling back to look her sternly in the eye. “All you’ve heard is a greatly abridged version of what happened. There’s probably a whole lot of details that Aberama doesn’t even know about. And besides,” he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “You couldn’t have forced her to stay. She made the choice to leave. And what happened after is not on you. All right?”

She closed her eyes, nodding weakly, forcing herself to listen to him. Trying to believe what he was saying. 

“Come here,” he pulled her back into him, giving her a fierce hug that greatly helped to stifle the grief raging in her heart. 

“I didn’t expect it to affect me this much,” she mused after a couple minutes. “I mean…I’d more or less thought of her as already dead anyway…”

“Sometimes thinking and knowing are two drastically different things.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I suppose that’s true.”  

“Lucy?” a soft voice asked from the doorway, and they both started. Charlie was standing there on the threshold that led from the front sitting room into the kitchen, dressed in his pajamas and rubbing at his eyes.

“Charlie, mate, what are you doing up?” Tommy asked.

“I heard noises,” he took a step towards them, big blue eyes focused on Lucy. “Why are you crying?”

She hastily wiped at her eyes, managing a trembling smile. “I just got some sad news, honey. That’s all.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. Everything’s fine,” she gave Tommy’s elbow a small squeeze. “Your dad’s taking good care of me.”

Tommy gave her a small smile, pecking her on the forehead. Charlie shuffled closer, until he was right in front of her, and then wrapped his little arms around her waist, hugging her almost as ferociously as his father had been a moment ago. 

“Don’t be sad, Lucy.”

Tears of a different variety pricked at her eyes. “Thank you, kiddo,” she said, stroking the soft blonde hair on his head. He craned his head up to look at her. 

“Do you want my stuffed horse? Squeezing him always makes me feel better when I’m sad…”

She chuckled, ruffling affectionately at his hair. “No, that’s okay, Charlie. You can give him a few extra squeezes for me, okay?”

“Okay!”

Tommy smiled down at his boy, touching his shoulder lightly. “Let’s get you back in bed, eh?”

“But I’m not tired!”

“Mm, but Daddy and Lucy are. It’s past our bedtime,” he scooped Charlie up, lifting him onto his hip. “Which means it is wayyy past time you were in bed.”

Charlie pouted, but seemed content to be carried back upstairs. Lucy followed her boys with a small smile into Charlie’s room, Tommy depositing the boy gently onto the mattress, letting him get situated, horse squeezed against his chest and head snuggled into the pillow, before pulling the blankets up around him.

“Goodnight, my boy,” he said, smoothing a hand across Charlie’s brow. 

“Goodnight, Daddy.”

Lucy felt her heart squeeze, trading places with Tommy to kiss Charlie’s forehead. “Sweet dreams, Charlie.”

“Goodnight, Lucy,” he mumbled, the yawn he released greatly undercutting his previous claims of not being tired.

She switched off the light and joined Tommy in the hall, closing the door gently behind her and following him to their bedroom next door. The moment they were inside, he inched in closer to her, wrapping his arms around her so she could rest her head on his chest once more. 

“What a fucking day.”

She hummed in agreement, turning her face to kiss the underside of his jaw. “I’m starting to miss home.”

“Arrow House?”

She nodded. “Mostly riding around the grounds with the horses. Camping out in the woods by the house…”

“When this is all over, we’ll take Sin and Wraith and go out together.”

“I’d like that.”

He kissed the top of her head, and they remained there, just holding each other, for a long, long time.  

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[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Sansa I (Chapter 10)

My little chicken nugget! 🥰

Once, when she was just a little girl, a wandering singer had stayed with them at Winterfell for half a year. An old man he was, with white hair and windburnt cheeks, but he sang of knights and quests and ladies fair, and Sansa had cried bitter tears when he left them, and begged her father not to let him go. "The man has played us every song he knows thrice over," Lord Eddard told her gently. "I cannot keep him here against his will. You need not weep, though. I promise you, other singers will come."

They hadn't, though, not for a year or more. Sansa had prayed to the Seven in their sept and old gods of the heart tree, asking them to bring the old man back, or better still to send another singer, young and handsome. But the gods never answered, and the halls of Winterfell stayed silent.

But that was when she was a little girl, and foolish. She was a maiden now, three-and-ten and flowered. All her nights were full of song, and by day she prayed for silence.

Is it already time for another 'be careful what you wish for'?

Sansa had prayed to the Seven in their sept and old gods of the heart tree

Such an adaptable young woman.

+.+.+

If the Eyrie had been made like other castles, only rats and gaolers would have heard the dead man singing. 

It's too bad Jon's not a singer, because this would have sent me over the moon.

+.+.+

He sang of the Dance of the Dragons, of fair Jonquil and her fool, of Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies. He sang of betrayals, and murders most foul, of hanged men and bloody vengeance. He sang of grief and sadness.

I laughed.

+.+.+

"Please," she begged Lord Petyr, "can't you make him stop?"

"I gave the man my word, sweetling." Petyr Baelish, Lord of Harrenhal, Lord Paramount of the Trident, and Lord Protector of the Eyrie and the Vale of Arryn, looked up from the letter he was writing. He had written a hundred letters since Lady Lysa's fall. Sansa had seen the ravens coming and going from the rookery. 

My, what nice titles you have, Daenerys.

Writing all those letters like he's the smart version of Tywin Lannister.

+.+.+

It is better that he sings, yes, but . . . "Must he play all night, my lord? Lord Robert cannot sleep. He cries . . ."

". . . for his mother. That cannot be helped, the wench is dead." Petyr shrugged.

Regardless of what happened, it's a mistake to be talking about her like that in front of Sansa.

+.+.+

Sansa had met Lord Nestor Royce once before, after Petyr's wedding to her aunt. Royce was the Keeper of the Gates of the Moon, the great castle that stood at the base of the mountain and guarded the steps up to the Eyrie. The wedding party had guested with him overnight before beginning their ascent. Lord Nestor had scarce looked at her twice, but the prospect of him coming here terrified her.

I'll give the author a break and assume her hair was dyed at this point, but I'd really like to know when and where that happened.

Am I supposed to believe he's got L'Oreal on hand at his little sheep shit farm?

+.+.+

"What if Lord Nestor values honor more than profit?" Petyr put his arm around her.

I will rip out your heart, and feed it to you.

+.+.+

He smiled. "I know Lord Nestor, sweetling. Do you imagine I'd ever let him harm my daughter?"

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell. 

+.+.+

If not for Petyr Baelish it would have been Sansa who went spinning through a cold blue sky to stony death six hundred feet below, instead of Lysa Arryn. He is so bold. Sansa wished she had his courage.

Shhhh. You do.

+.+.+

Petyr studied her eyes, as if seeing them for the first time. "You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes."

Sansa did not know what to say to that.

"You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes." And then that never happened. The end.

+.+.+

"Some lies are love," Petyr had assured her. She reminded him of that. "When we lied to Lord Robert, that was just to spare him," she said.

"And this lie may spare us. Else you and I must leave the Eyrie by the same door Lysa used." Petyr picked up his quill again. "We shall serve him lies and Arbor gold, and he'll drink them down and ask for more, I promise you."

He is serving me lies as well, Sansa realized. They were comforting lies, though, and she thought them kindly meant. A lie is not so bad if it is kindly meant. If only she believed them . . .

It's like Ned, only sinister.

"We all lie," her father said. "Or did you truly think I'd believe that Nymeria ran off?"

[...]

"It was right," her father said. "And even the lie was … not without honor." - Arya II, AGOT

The good news is Sansa knows she's being served lies.

+.+.+

The things her aunt had said just before she fell still troubled Sansa greatly. "Ravings," Petyr called them. "My wife was mad, you saw that for yourself.

Woah, woah, wait a second. Why are you thinking of that? I was under the impression there was no point to you hearing all of those confessions.

+.+.+

Petyr saved me. He loved my mother well, and . . .

And her? How could she doubt it? He had saved her.

He saved Alayne, his daughter, a voice within her whispered. But she was Sansa too . . . and sometimes it seemed to her that the Lord Protector was two people as well. He was Petyr, her protector, warm and funny and gentle . . . but he was also Littlefinger, the lord she'd known at King's Landing, smiling slyly and stroking his beard as he whispered in Queen Cersei's ear. And Littlefinger was no friend of hers. When Joff had her beaten, the Imp defended her, not Littlefinger. When the mob sought to rape her, the Hound carried her to safety, not Littlefinger. When the Lannisters wed her to Tyrion against her will, Ser Garlan the Gallant gave her comfort, not Littlefinger. Littlefinger never lifted so much as his little finger for her.

Except to get me out. He did that for me. I thought it was Ser Dontos, my poor old drunken Florian, but it was Petyr all the while. Littlefinger was only a mask he had to wear. Only sometimes Sansa found it hard to tell where the man ended and the mask began. Littlefinger and Lord Petyr looked so very much alike.

Is she already questioning whether he loves her? Am I understanding that correctly? He's so screwed.

+.+.+

She would have fled them both, perhaps, but there was nowhere for her to go. Winterfell was burned and desolate, Bran and Rickon dead and cold. Robb had been betrayed and murdered at the Twins, along with their lady mother. Tyrion had been put to death for killing Joffrey, and if she ever returned to King's Landing the queen would have her head as well. The aunt she'd hoped would keep her safe had tried to murder her instead. Her uncle Edmure was a captive of the Freys, while her great-uncle the Blackfish was under siege at Riverrun. I have no place but here, Sansa thought miserably, and no true friend but Petyr.

Pretty sure I read this exact same breakdown in the previous chapter, only this time one person is noticeably missing. Again.

Or would she seek her own blood instead? Though all of her siblings had been slain, Brienne knew that Sansa still had an uncle and a bastard half brother on the Wall, serving in the Night's Watch. Another uncle, Edmure Tully, was a captive at the Twins, but his uncle Ser Brynden still held Riverrun. And Lady Catelyn's younger sister ruled the Vale. Blood calls to blood. - Brienne II, AFFC

"They never think about each other!"

Yeah, I wonder why, you concrete block.

+.+.+

When she closed her eyes she could see him in his sky cell, huddled in a corner away from the cold black sky, crouched beneath a fur with his woodharp cradled against his chest. I must not pity him, she told herself. He was vain and cruel, and soon he will be dead. She could not save him. And why should she want to? Marillion tried to rape her, and Petyr had saved her life not once but twice. Some lies you have to tell. Lies had been all that kept her alive in King's Landing. If she had not lied to Joffrey, his Kingsguard would have beat her bloody.

Still no cause for concern in Sansa Land. She's trying hard, but she knows it's wrong.

+.+.+

But as the first light of dawn was prying at her shutters, she heard the soft strains of "On a Misty Morn" drifting up from below, and woke at once. That was more properly a woman's song, a lament sung by a mother on the dawn after some terrible battle, as she searches amongst the dead for the body of her only son. The mother sings her grief for her dead son, Sansa thought, but Marillion grieves for his fingers, for his eyes. The words rose like arrows and pierced her in the darkness.

Oh, have you seen my boy, good ser? His hair is chestnut brown He'd promised he'd come back to me Our home's in Wendish Town.

Is this about anyone other than Catelyn?

+.+.+

Gretchel and Maddy were helping Robert Arryn squirm into his breeches when Sansa stepped into his bedchamber. The Lord of the Eyrie had been crying again. His eyes were red and raw, his lashes crusty, his nose swollen and runny. A trail of snot glistened underneath one nostril, and his lower lip was bloody where he'd bitten it. Lord Nestor must not see him like this, Sansa thought, despairing. "Gretchel, fetch me the washbasin." She took the boy by the hand and drew him to the bed. "Did my Sweetrobin sleep well last night?"

"No." He sniffed. "I never slept one bit, Alayne. He was singing again, and my door was locked. I called for them to let me out, but no one ever came. Someone locked me in my room."

"That was wicked of them." Dipping a soft cloth into the warm water, she began to clean his face . . . gently, oh so gently. 

[...]

Robert's lip quivered. "I was going to come sleep with you."

I know you were. Sweetrobin had been accustomed to crawling in beside his mother, until she wed Lord Petyr. Since Lady Lysa's death he had taken to wandering the Eyrie in quest of other beds. The one he liked best was Sansa's . . . which was why she had asked Ser Lothor Brune to lock his door last night. She would not have minded if he only slept, but he was always trying to nuzzle at her breasts, and when he had his shaking spells he often wet the bed.

Sansa, you seem so matured, and good with children.

+.+.+

"My poor Sweetrobin." Sansa smoothed his hair back. "You miss her, I know. Lord Petyr misses her too. He loved her just as you do." That was a lie, though kindly meant. The only woman Petyr ever loved was Sansa's murdered mother. He had confessed as much to Lady Lysa just before he pushed her out the Moon Door. She was mad and dangerous. She murdered her own lord husband, and would have murdered me if Petyr had not come along to save me.

Woah, woah, wait a second. Why are you recalling that? I was under the impression all those confessions went in one ear and out the other.

+.+.+

The slender pillars looked like fingerbones, and the blue veins in the white marble brought to mind the veins in an old crone's legs. Though fifty silver sconces lined the walls, less than a dozen torches had been lit, so shadows danced upon the floors and pooled in every corner. Their footsteps echoed off the marble, and Sansa could hear the wind rattling at the Moon Door. I must not look at it, she told herself, else I'll start to shake as badly as Robert.

[...]

Brune lifted the boy in his arms and carried him from the hall. Maester Colemon followed, grim-faced.

When their footsteps died away there was no sound in the High Hall of the Eyrie. Sansa could hear the night wind moaning outside and scratching at the Moon Door. She was very cold and very tired. 

If that's Bran, I wish he would be less creepy in Sansa's chapters. Like, would a gentle breeze be so hard?

Don't ask me about the footsteps and shadows.

+.+.+

"As oft he did," Lord Nestor said. "The man was craven, but the favor Lady Lysa showed him made him insolent. She dressed him like a lord, gave him gold rings and a moonstone belt."

You won't believe how Littlefinger has dressed Marillion for his questioning!

Marillion by contrast looked almost elegant. Someone had bathed him and dressed him in a pair of sky-blue breeches and a loose-fitting white tunic with puffed sleeves, belted with a silvery sash that had been a gift from Lady Lysa. White silk gloves covered his hands, while a white silk bandage spared the lords the sight of his eyes.

+.+.+

Petyr Baelish sighed. "It was unseemly," he agreed, "and I put an end to it. Lysa agreed to send him away. That was why she met him here, that day. I should have been with her, but I never dreamt . . . if I had not insisted . . . it was I who killed her."

No, Sansa thought, you mustn't say that, you mustn't tell them, you mustn't. But Albar Royce was shaking his head. "No, my lord, you must not blame yourself," he said.

He leaned forward. "If I gave her Jon Arryn's true killer, she might think more kindly of me."

That made Littlefinger sit up. "True killer? I confess, you make me curious. Who do you propose?" - Tyrion IV, ACOK

It's my goal to catch him doing this again in TWOW.

+.+.+

"Mord, take him back to his sky cell," said Petyr.

"Yes, m'lord." Mord grabbed Marillion roughly by the collar. "No more mouth." When he spoke, Sansa saw to her astonishment that the gaoler's teeth were made of gold. They watched as he half dragged half shoved the singer toward the doors.

"The man must die," Ser Marywn Belmore declared when they were gone. "He should have followed Lady Lysa out the Moon Door."

"Without his tongue," Ser Albar Royce added. "Without that lying, mocking tongue."

Lots of hidden Tyrion in this discussion about tongues.

+.+.+

Lord Nestor seated himself beside the fire. "This will not be the end of it," he said to Petyr, as if Sansa were not there. "My cousin means to question the singer himself."

"Bronze Yohn mistrusts me." Petyr pushed a log aside.

"He means to come in force. Symond Templeton will join him, do not doubt it. And Lady Waynwood too, I fear."

"And Lord Belmore, Young Lord Hunter, Horton Redfort. They will bring Strong Sam Stone, the Tolletts, the Shetts, the Coldwaters, some Corbrays."

"You are well-informed. Which Corbrays? Not Lord Lyonel?"

"No, his brother. Ser Lyn mislikes me, for some reason."

"Lyn Corbray is a dangerous man," Lord Nestor said doggedly. "What do you intend to do?"

We'll save the deep dive on Lyn Corbray for another chapter, but I will say I think it's a big deal one of the first things we learn about Ser Lyn is that he dislikes Littlefinger.

Book Littlefinger and television show Littlefinger are very different characters. They're probably the character that's most different from the book to the television show. There was a line in a recent episode of the show where, he's not even present, but two people are talking about him and someone says 'Well, no one trusts Littlefinger' and 'Littlefinger has no friends.' And that's true of television show Littlefinger, but it's certainly not true of book Littlefinger. Book Littlefinger, in the book, everybody trusts him. Everybody trusts him because he seems powerless, and he's very friendly, and he's very helpful. He helps Ned Stark when he comes to town, he helps Tyrion, you know, he helps the Lannisters. He's always ready to help, to raise money. He helps Robert, Robert depends on him to finance all of his banquets and tournaments and his other follies, because Littelfinger can always raise money. So, he's everybody's friend. - George R. R. Martin

I know what you're going to say. You're going to tell me it's all a show, and they're on the same team.

Fam? Fam. You need to trust Sansa's instincts. If Sansa senses something is wrong, then is something is wrong.

+.+.+

Lord Nestor clutched the parchment tightly. "I will not say I had not hoped for this. Whilst Lord Jon ruled the realm as Hand, it fell to me to rule the Vale for him. I did all that he required of me and asked nothing for myself. But by the gods, I earned this!"

"You did," said Petyr, "and Lord Robert sleeps more easily knowing that you are always there, a staunch friend at the foot of his mountain." He raised a cup. "So . . . a toast, my lord. To House Royce, Keepers of the Gates of the Moon . . . now and forever."

[...]

"Do you understand what happened here, Alayne?"

Sansa hesitated a moment. "You gave Lord Nestor the Gates of the Moon to be certain of his support."

[...]

She nodded. "The signature . . . you might have had Lord Robert put his hand and seal to it, but instead . . ."

". . . I signed myself, as Lord Protector. Why?"

"So . . . if you are removed, or . . . or killed . . ."

". . . Lord Nestor's claim to the Gates will suddenly be called into question. I promise you, that is not lost on him. It was clever of you to see it. Though no more than I'd expect of mine own daughter."

"Thank you." She felt absurdly proud for puzzling it out, but confused as well. 

+.+.+

He wants to believe that Lysa valued him above her other bannermen. One of those others is Bronze Yohn, after all, and Nestor is very much aware that he was born of the lesser branch of House Royce. He wants more for his son. Men of honor will do things for their children that they would never consider doing for themselves.

Judging from the comments I read about this chapter, everyone seems to believe this is a reference to Jon. Uh, maybe? Personally, I think it fits a little better with Sansa.

"So what is your answer, Lord Eddard? Give me your word that you'll tell the queen what she wants to hear when she comes calling."

"If I did, my word would be as hollow as an empty suit of armor. My life is not so precious to me as that."

"Pity." The eunuch stood. "And your daughter's life, my lord? How precious is that?" - Eddard XV, AGOT

+.+.+

Littlefinger put a finger to her lips. 

I will boil your teeth, and air fry your liver.

+.+.+

"I know what I know, and so do you. Some things are best left unsaid, sweetling."

"Even when we are alone?"

"Especially when we are alone. Elsewise a day will come when a servant walks into a room unannounced, or a guardsman at the door chances to hear something he should not. Do you want more blood on your pretty little hands, my darling?"

God he's good. I hate it.

+.+.+

"I am tempted to say this is no game we play, daughter, but of course it is. The game of thrones."

I never asked to play. The game was too dangerous. One slip and I am dead. "Oswell . . . my lord, Oswell rowed me from King's Landing the night that I escaped. He must know who I am."

"If he's half as clever as a sheep pellet, you would think so. Ser Lothor knows as well. But Oswell has been in my service a long time, and Brune is close-mouthed by nature. Kettleblack watches Brune for me, and Brune watches Kettleblack. 

Good idea, let's do a random recap of everyone that knows.

+.+.+

Trust no one, I once told Eddard Stark, but he would not listen. 

Oops, oops. He fucked up. He should not have said that. That was a mistake.

You better pray her brother never escapes that tree.

+.+.+

He put two fingers on her left breast. 

I will gouge out your eyeballs with a rusted nail, and drink from your skull.

+.+.+

"Even here. In your heart. Can you do that? Can you be my daughter in your heart?"

"I . . ." I do not know, my lord, she almost said, but that was not what he wanted to hear. Lies and Arbor gold, she thought. "I am Alayne, Father. Who else would I be?"

Looks like Littlefinger taught Sansa how to lie to him.

There goes Sansa. Welcome, Alayne.

+.+.+

Lord Littlefinger kissed her cheek. 

I will braid your veins, and crack your manhood like a glowstick. 

+.+.+

"With my wits and Cat's beauty, the world will be yours, sweetling. Now off to bed."

Ah yes, Cat's beauty. Beautiful Catelyn Stark, who recently visited the Vale, giving everyone the opportunity to see what she looks like.

+.+.+

Sometime during the night she woke, as little Robert climbed up into her bed. I forgot to tell Lothor to lock him in again, she realized. There was nothing to be done for it, so she put her arm around him. "Sweetrobin? You can stay, but try not to squirm around. Just close your eyes and sleep, little one."

"I will." He cuddled close and laid his head between her breasts. "Alayne? Are you my mother now?"

"I suppose I am," she said. If a lie was kindly meant, there was no harm in it.

Everything will be okay, because she's 27.

Final thoughts:

Strange, we have a Sansa -> Asha transition here, and I can't think of any connection.

"Asha?" A shadow stepped out from behind the well.

Her hand went to her dirk at once . . . until the moonlight transformed the dark shape into a man in a sealskin cloak. Another ghost. "Tris. I'd thought to find you in the hall."

"I wanted to see you."

"What part of me, I wonder?" She grinned. "Well, here I stand, all grown up. Look all you like."

"A woman." He moved closer. "And beautiful."

Tristifer Botley had filled out since last she'd seen him, but he had the same unruly hair that she remembered, and eyes as large and trusting as a seal's. Sweet eyes, truly.

[...]

You look so lovely in the moonlight, Asha. A woman grown now, but I remember when you were a skinny girl with a face all full of pimples."

[...]

Of the five boys her mother had brought to Pyke to foster after Ned Stark had taken her last living son as hostage, Tris had been closest to Asha in age. He had not been the first boy she had ever kissed, but he was the first to undo the laces of her jerkin and slip a sweaty hand beneath to feel her budding breasts.

I would have let him feel more than that if he'd been bold enough. Her first flowering had come upon her during the war and wakened her desire, but even before that Asha had been curious. He was there, he was mine own age, and he was willing, that was all it was . . . that, and the moon blood. Even so, she'd called it love, till Tris began to go on about the children she would bear him; a dozen sons at least, and oh, some daughters too. 

If anyone has any theories as to why these chapters are back-to-back, I'd love to hear it.

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[pandoras-princess]

Ronnie’s World (Ronnie Kray x fem!reader)

*gif not mine//credit to the owner

A/N: Hello my lovelies! 🌸🌸 I hope you are all well. I’m not too sure where this came from, but I’m very happy it’s here. My first time writing a proper one shot for Ronnie, it was inspired by the drabble I posted a while ago 😊 obviously an AU world where Ronnie isn’t solely interested in men and in terms of that if any phrases I’ve used in relation to Ronnie cause any offence please let me know and I will be more than happy to find an alternative that works, but I don’t know anything if you guys don’t let me know, so please always feel comfortable enough to just drop me a message 😊😊 the last thing I want to do is upset anyone. So with that said, I give you this one shot, maybe a part two if you want it?? Idk status pending on that one 🧐 Happy Reading People’s! 🥳🥳 as ever I appreciate every like, comment, reblog and follow so thank you so much for the love shown already on this blog 🥰🥰 feedback is always welcome 😌

Summary: In Ronnie’s harsh world there’s no time for love and feelings and all that nonsense. No, Ronald Kray was a heartless man, interested only in chasing the infinite highs of life. That is, until he meets you...

Pairing: Ronnie Kray x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing (it is a kray one shot after all)

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Ronnie Kray’s world was a unique one, to say the least. Draped in sex, drugs and all things gangster, it was hardly what one would call normal.

But the world worked for Ron, and Ron worked for his world.

The moment he saw you, that world tilted on it’s axis. The movement was so slight it could’ve gone unnoticed. The insatiable desire to claim you as his own, however, was not so easily ignored.

It was a drizzly Friday night and the club was at it’s peak. Packed from wall to wall with happy go lucky couples, the live entertainment was going down a storm.

Ron was enjoying a whiskey, puffing away on his signature cigar when he noticed a sodden young woman enter the club. Drenched ringlets clung to your face and your chubby cheeks were as red as your velvet coat, but he couldn’t drag his gaze away. He’d certainly never seen you in the club before, and as he wracked his brain, he couldn’t say he’d ever seen you in the surrounding area either.

You push through the crowded bar to lean over and whisper something in the bartender’s ear, who then calls Reggie over and introduces you. A growl rumbles through Ron’s chest as Reggie embraces you in a hug and leaves a kiss on the back of your hand.

It was no secret that Ronnie was of a different persuasion to his brother, so he couldn’t fathom where these feelings were coming from. He couldn’t fathom why it made his skin crawl and teeth itch to watch Reggie flirt with you. He’d never been this attracted to anyone, much less a woman. But as his eyes drink you in, you’re the only person left in the world he has any interest in.

The hand creeping up his thigh brings him crashing back into reality and he roughly pushes it away. “I am not interested.”

“C’mon Ron, you’re always interested” Teddy purrs.

“Not anymore.” Standing up, he makes his way over to the spot you were occupying at the bar.

“Hello there.”

“Alright Ron” Reggie nods towards his brother, a smirk plastered across his face at the apparent infatuation written all over Ronnie’s. “This is the new singer, she’s on in a bit.”

You whip around, spraying his face with fine droplets of water in the process. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Er right, nice to meet you. Are you from around here?” Ron sips his whiskey, his posture awkward and stiff as he shoves his free hand in his pocket. It’d been a long time since he’d had to impress anyone. And never anyone as beautiful as you.

“No but close, Hackney actually.”

“Mm very close indeed.”

An awkward silence sweeps through the air and you smile politely at him, unsure of what to say next.

“Well, break a leg.”

He raises his glass to you before stalking back to the table, grumbling to himself along the way.

‘You’re a fucking idiot Ronald a fucking idiot! Should’ve asked the pretty lady out when you had a chance, probably thinks you’re a fucking weirdo now...’

Half an hour later you were up on stage. You’d traded your damp coat for a red gown that hugged your body in ways he could only envy, and the room falls silent as you begin to sing.

“Tell me that it’s true, tell me you agree... I was meant for you, you were meant for me...

Dearly beloved, how clearly I see... somewhere in heaven you were fashioned for me...”

By the time you’d finished, Ron was in complete awe. If he thought your beauty was breathtaking, the voice that came from you knocked the remaining air right out of his lungs.

This time he made his way over to you smiling and relaxed, back to his usual cocky self. Hearing you sing had given him the confidence he so desperately needed and nothing, absolutely nothing could stand in his way of getting you.

“Like my very own angel! Here have a drink.” He hands you a fresh glass of champagne as his eyes rake over your body.

You were a good few inches shorter than him despite your heels, and as you smile up at him through your lashes, Ron’s heart stops beating. Just for a second.

“Thank you.”

After a few more glasses and many more compliments, you agree to let him take you out to dinner.

The rest, they say, is history.

6 months later you and Ron are leaving the church hand in hand as your closest friends and family shower you in rose petals. You weren’t quite sure how you had found your soulmate buried within the psychotic gangster, but you didn’t need to know. All you needed to know was that he loved you more than life itself, and the feeling was very much mutual.

6 months after that you and Ron are driving round to Vi’s for your weekly visit. You had finally managed to grab Ronnie by the ear and drag him with you and the man had complained nonstop since.

“What am I meant to talk about anyway?” He grumbles, glancing out of the window as he drives at a snails pace down the cobbled roads.

“She’s your mother you should know what to talk about.”

“See that don’t answer my question now does it?” He turns to you, and the innocent look of despair almost makes you giggle.

“Normal things, you talk about normal things Ron.” You plant a quick kiss on his lips and he begins to list all of the normal things he can think of.

“The weather...”

“That’s always a good’un.”

“Er, the future weather. They’ve got all those predictions now don’t they?”

“How about you start with how you’ve been?”

“Because you said normal things love, and I am not normal.”

As he pulls to a stop outside of Vi’s, he’d come up with 6 topics of conversation appropriate for the visit. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his mother, he always wanted to see his mum. It was just that over the last 6 months Ron had become so accustomed to your way of translating the ‘normal’ things he found so hard to understand, that he didn’t actually know how to speak with other respectable adults. He dealt solely with you, Reggie and gangster’s, and only one of those relationships required him to be sane about things. So spending an afternoon on his best behaviour, participating in common conversation with a woman he most certainly could not disrespect, was fucking terrifying.

Your reassuring squeeze of his hand calms his nerves, and he tries to relax. It was his mother and his wife after all, what could go wrong?

“Y/N, Ronnie, what a nice surprise! Come in, come in!” The small woman pulls you both into a hug before ushering you inside. They both take a seat at the breakfast table as you set about making the tea.

“Lovely cup of tea, darling.”

A smug smile tugs at your lips as you drink the compliment in. A good cup of tea was the ultimate seal of approval when it came to Violet Kray.

“Thank you, mum.”

After a few minutes of tea sipping and mundane chit chat, Ronnie had reached his limit. Excusing himself from the table he disappears upstairs to join Reggie.

Once he was out of earshot, Violet turns to you. “So, when were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That I’m going to be a grandmother!” She sings, clasping her hands around yours.

“I’m sorry I don’t follow.”

“I know the look of a pregnant woman when I see one love, you’ve got the glow. I’d say around 8 weeks.”

Time grinds to a halt as you count back the dates in your head, realising you were indeed a month late. Your boobs constantly ached and within the past few days there were few foods lucky enough to remain in your stomach, but you didn’t think too much of it at the time. Just a bug, you thought.

With all the newlywed bliss you’d not noticed the missing period, something you were now cursing yourself for. A wave of nausea washes over you as the image of Ron’s face twisted in anger flashes across your mind. Dashing to the loo, your lunch comes back up as quickly as it had gone down.

Sagging against the wall, you will your racing heart to steady itself. How you’d been so careless you’d never know. Ron would be furious. A baby hardly fit into his gangster world plans.

Knock. Knock.

“Y/N are you okay?”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Y/N...?” Ron’s worried voice replaces Violet’s but you still couldn’t bring yourself to answer.

“Y/N, open the door...” His tone changes and if you knew your husband, you had about 30 seconds to open it before he opened it for you.

Dragging yourself to your feet you do as he says, and one look at your face tells him something isn’t right.

“Y/N what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“We’re having a baby.”

Before you know it his strong arms are around your waist spinning you in the air, a smug grin plastered on his face.

“You’re pregnant?”

“I am.” You watch the smile spread to his eyes, both twinkling with excitement, as you nod your head.

“Oi Reg, guess what?”

“What?” Reggie’s head pops over the banister.

“We’re having a baby! She’s pregnant!”

“That’s great news Ron! Great news. About time n’all.” He makes his way downstairs with the rest of the gang in tow, and Violet barely gives him the time to hug you both before thrusting a glass of champagne in his hand to celebrate.

Soon time comes for you to leave and tears threaten to spill over as Violet congratulates you again, Ronnie fighting to prise you from her grip before bundling you into the car. The stress of panicking and excitement over the news was far too much for your unstable hormones to bear and you spend the whole journey home blubbering into Ron’s suit jacket as he tries his best not to laugh.

You were adorable, and he couldn’t wait until there was a mini you running about the place.

Unfortunately pregnancy was not kind to you, most of it spent in and out of the hospital. This only served to elevate Ronnie’s worry to levels he’d not thought possible and by the time your baby girl had arrived, his protection was a force to be reckoned with. 

The tiny bundle of joy was everything he’d dreamt she’d be, born with a full head of ginger curls and eyes the colour of storms at sea. Ronnie swore if you stared into them long enough, you’d see the cloudy skies swirling around her inky irises.

She was nothing short of perfect, and Ronnie couldn’t imagine loving anything more than he loved her. Apart from you, of course. 

You stand in her hand painted nursery, cradling your daughter to your chest as she gently suckles away. 

“From this valley they say you are going... we will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile...” 

Ronnie follows the voice he’d fallen so hopelessly in love with - the voice that had calmed his sufferings countless nights before - and stands quietly in the doorway so he can enjoy the private performance. 

“For you take with you all of the sunshine... that has brightened our pathway for a while... 

Then come sit by my side if you love me... do not hasten to bid me adieu...

Just remember the red, river valley and the cowboy who has loved you so true...”

He moves behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and drawing the pair of you into his chest. Luna gurgles in satisfaction and her big blue eyes find her father’s as her little eyelids start to droop. Ronnie rocks you both from side to side, stopping only to plant a kiss on your temple and within seconds she’s sound asleep in your arms. You place her in her cot before turning around to face him.

“Hey” you whisper, careful not to wake the sleeping newborn.

“Hey.”

“We should probably get out of here.”

“Yes we probably should” he chuckles, leading you out of the nursery.

You collapse onto your bed, arms high above your head as a long sigh escapes you.

“Your daughter is so exhausting!”

“My daughter yeah?”

“Yes, when she’s loud and grizzly and hungrier than a cattle farmer, she’s your daughter. When she’s cute and smiley and adorable, she’s my daughter, okay?”

“Alright then whatever you say yeah.” Ronnie holds his hands up in surrender, not daring to argue with his exhausted wife.

You feel the bed dip beside you as his large hand rests on your thigh. “How about we get some sleep love, how about that?”

You grin sleepily, tired eyes peering up at him. “Sounds perfect.”

You quickly undress and climb into bed, your heavy limbs sinking into the soft mattress as you snuggle into Ron’s side. Within seconds your breathing slows, and the rise and fall of your chest evens out as you fall into a deep slumber.

‘Like mother, like daughter’ he thinks to himself as he focuses on the steady beating of your heart against his own, your warm breath fanning his bare chest. He soon falls into his own dreamland utopia.

Yes, meeting you had spun his world entirely on it’s head. Emotionless sex was replaced with raging passion and marriage vows, drugs were replaced with cups of tea and breastmilk. Gangster’s were replaced with... well, there’s only so much you can change about a Kray.

But, Ron had to admit, this world worked for him too.

[pirunika]

Who is your LI in each book? How did you choose them?

thank you for asking 🥰 ill reply abt ones i actually care about 💀

Heavens Secret > Mimi, then Malbonte : essentially i went w Mimi bc i loved her design (who doesn't) but while her badass independent attitude is charming u see there's sth soft and vulnerable in her and i found her route very satisfying,, her love of plays, relationship with her father (rip btw ;-;) is just so precious... loved how she gets jealous and angry and won't let the mc walk all over her,, eventually I went with Malbonte bc he reminded me of another li I loved from another (now dead) app... that I didn't love tbh, I love an against the system character but I guess his 'love' wasn't enough for me... well my character. I love his backstory though and he is a very interesting character

Sails in the Fog > Chris Chris Chris... and Manta : so I played this story twice n each time I couldn't pick anyone but Chris (and not only bc I headcanon her as a lesbian and didn't want men to hit on her 🤭) she is very brave, she is beautiful, she is good with knives ~ what more could a girl want! Seriously through I think she s my favourite in the whole app with her bashfulness in emotional moments, protectiveness and fun loving personality. She has a bleak upbringing - doesn't let it bring her down, knows what she wants... yes she's very young (18?) and you feel this restless energy, but it doesn't feel sexualised,, in my story she kept disguising as a guy and they lived that way which I felt was the most respectful option like she doesn't need ball gowns to be a woman,,, and obviously in that time it'd be more comfortable if they went around as a man and woman instead of 2 women... Manta is just too mysterious I couldn't not pick his scenes but I never went w becoming his 'slave' route... the thing between them was just a brief intense experience nothing more. He s interesting

Path of the Valkyrie > Liod : y'all if u know me u know I played this book more than anything so I romanced all the characters. Liod supremacy fr. I love her I think she s so so interesting and different than other characters like her --- which is tall and sorta likes fighting, strong, you know the type. She'd usually be weirdly dominant and aggressive (well she is aggressive but not like that) a badly written wlw subversion of this big brute barbarian li.... But no she s anything but that. Liod is really thoughtful, she s smart, she s not afraid of asking for help, while she s protective of the mc she also teaches her how to fight and supports her. She's really loving and in moments she becomes vulnerable its clear to see she cares a lot for the mc u see this w/o anyone clearly saying those 3 words I call it good writing. They don't need to be constantly outwit each other w the mc tbh I'm not fond of that constantly bickering couple trope so I love the loving calm understanding these 2 have going on. Now I also really love Andvari he is very different too like with his delicate build or polite speech,,, honestly wish I could do both their routes

Theodora > Friedrich or Yoke : man i was really set on being a second mommy to Bruno and suddenly this shy german soldier got my attention... mostly i kind of related to him for his personality, interests 'wanting to feel safe and cared for by his so' and aversion to conflicts... He might be one of the top 5 characters i relate to rn.... ~ no but rlly i loved how he was trying to help that kid, trying to make up for the fact he's with the invading force and how he so obviously doesnt want to be there... unless he s like a spy which is a theory of mine... Doesnt help that i have a thing for blond men too.. Still its too early to say more. With Yoke i kind of loved the single mom representation? like some people have kids they still find love w others, its a thing. How she stands behind her decisions — during ww1 nonetheless! She might not be very flashy rn but i find her bravery and refusal to get shy her life and choices such as not taking very dangerous jobs bc she s the only parent her son has - very attractive. She s lovely.

Kali Call of Darkness > Ratan : im not gonna lie the first time i saw him i was like omg please be a love interest 🥺 He is one beautiful man. He is charming. He is definitely keeping secrets. Probably the dangerous kind. But man i cant help love him. The sensual way he speaks during the diamond scenes, his politeness and the way he urges the mc to be bolder w/o overstepping boundaries, and reminds her of her worth and significance and strength as a woman is just 👌🏽👌🏽👌🏽 very beautiful... Something I never saw before. I love how they are both surprised at this intense cinnection they got (which i hope is a sign of something something 👀) He explains everything so delicately i find his dialogues to be one of best (perhaps #1 for me rn) in the whole app.

Arcanum > Liam : i kinda lost interest in this book but Liam is still a fave,,, kinda lost my feelings tho 🤷🏽‍♀️ so my professional opinion abt Liam is that he's pretty af and i wanna brush his hair

[intheorangebedroom]

Maddie, hi! i have just finished reading your story and loved it immensely! i can totally see how classic pieces of literature influenced your writing and the way you build a narrative. it’s really beautiful

can i ask you about your love for Master and Margarita? what fascinated you the most in this book? who’s your favorite character? just anything you’d like to share with me on this novel, i’m really interested in your thoughts on it

✨tell me everything please✨

My lovely ❤️

It's taken me far too long to answer you... I sincerely apologise for it.

First of all, thank you for reading, for your kind words, and for taking the time to write 🥰

I’ve re-written this answer approximately five times already. I tried to draft an analysis of the novel, second-doubting every word, so instead I'll tell you how I perceive it and what I love about it. And even so, I feel like I'm only scratching the surface...

First, the interwar is by far my favourite period (I think I’m repeating myself here, sorry). So to me, it’s already the perfect setting. 

Then, there's the magic. The black magic and the dark humour. I love the inversion of values (I always do), the idea of the devil coming to earth to right the wrongs and actually do good, only in his mischievous, wicked ways… It's delicious.

Then, there’s this beautiful, wistful, doomed love story… which I’ve always read as the emancipation of Margarita. Her journey -her ascent- into witchcraft is one of liberation. Again, there's an inversion of values, in my opinion, and for once womanhood is positively assimilated to witchery, as a way for the female protagonist to come into her rightful power, and I cannot think of a scene more evocative of feminine freedom than that of Margarita and Natasha flying naked under the moon in the Muscovite sky on their way to the Midnight ball. Riding men turned into pigs!

I also very much love the story within the story, the Master's book, Pontius Pilate and Yeshua. I love the contrast of colours and sensations between the two. To me, both are very visual and sensory experiences, that complete each other. Pontius Pilate is such a relatable character, overtaken by events, which, he has accepted, are beyond his control, yet desperately wanting to find solace and peace and... rest? He's the Master, and he's all of us. And it's a concept I can appreciate even as a fierce atheist, the idea of waiting for a divine person to miraculously walk into my life and redeem me, save me from my circumstances, from myself, like Margarita does the Master, and Yeshua Pontius Pilate (I believe it's central to Pleased To Meet You).

When I began to draft PTMY, I decided to use The Master and Margarita because it's my favourite novel and in a recent interview, Pedro had mentioned it as being one of his favourite too. And it was just that, at first, a funny nod to myself. But then as I dug into it, I realised how it also fitted the story I wanted to tell, of this sad, lonely girl, who grows into a woman after being revealed the extent of her own power, and unleashes hell to save the man she loves madly from his own pit of despair and be with him at all costs, regardless of the consequences...

But as much as I love Pilate and Margarita, they're not my favourite characters... Behemoth is. I wish Behemoth was half of my brain: his playfulness, his levity, his roguishness, the way he aggressively turns everything into mockery, like nothing's really that bad or that serious, he's my antidote to fear and despair. I just love him.

I hope this answer is not too boring, as it is very personal... And again, I apologise for taking so long to answer you.

ILY ❤️

[writing-for-marvel]

🌹

a flower for another flower

Aww Bia stop it I’m all blushing as red as that rose now 🥰 just for that you get more than just one sentence, more like a snippet (this is an idea I’ve had for a while and only have part of it written cause I’m not sure what to do with it tbh)

“Believe me, if you knew the day I was having, you’d buy me another round.” You said off the cuff without looking at the man, hoping the threat of actually having to buy you a drink might be enough to scare him away. From your experience, you weren’t the type of woman men lined up to buy drinks for.

“Alright, if it’s that bad, you’ve got yourself a deal. Lay it on me.” He said to your surprise, sliding onto the stool beside you rather casually. Your heart fluttered as you looked into his eyes for the first time, so intensely blue, like the colour of the ocean at sunset. There were no two ways about it, this man was beautiful, with a jawline so sharp it must have been carved from stone.

for every "🌹" received in my inbox i'll post one random sentence of a random WIP i'm currently writing

[the-pale-goddess]

Lovely Hilde, hello! How are you? Just wanted to come on here and tell you how much I love Tiffany. And I'm really sorry because this is a bit long.

This woman, this incredible, amazing, magnetic, devastatingly beautiful woman whom I can't even begin to describe how in love with her I am. She gives me queer panic, like I don't know if I want to be her or be with her (who am I kidding? It's definitely the latter) She's so freaking gorgeous and witty and intelligent (which is honestly one of the most attractive things about her imo) and strong and powerful (a #girlboss may I say lmao) and just so so perfect. And that the fact that she has a tattoo and on her hip bone no less... I am deceased. I would be thinking about her (and I do that quite a lot) and remember this and then I would die and come back to life. Seriously, that's so hot. (Also, I love the fact that you have tattoos yourself) She's one my absolute favorite MCs ever. The things I would let her do to me... She could ruin my entire life, step on me, run me over with a truck and I would still thank her. And listen, I love Ethan, completely adore the man (with the exception of OH3 canon Ethan. He falls into the category of "fictional men written by men") but he doesn't deserve her. Nobody in this whole wide world does, we are not worthy to even be in the presence of such beauty and magnificence.

Also, her in Conquest>>>>>>>> I cannot for the life of me stop thinking of her in that masterpiece, it's seriously a problem at this point. She literally surpasses everything and everyone in that fic and I fell in love with her even more after reading it.

In conclusion, I am completely, utterly and hopelessly in love with this woman, she's the love of my life and no one can ever compare and if she ever gets bored of Ethan... I mean, I'll always be here😌 Love you and her so so much and I hope you're having an incredible day, darling❤❤

I'm writing this response with tears streaking down my face, full of happiness and gratitude I can't even explain properly. I may end up inventing some words because I need you to know how deeply moved and thankful I am for you and this wonderful message - I've reread it about a hundred times already, memorized it and carved it in my heart ❤️❤️❤️

Are you kidding me? A freaking love letter to Tiffany? This is the best reward I can think of and truly every writer’s dream. I can die happy now 🥰

Can’t thank you enough for taking time to let me know how much you adore Tiffany and writing this perfect message. I get emo every time I think about it (and I think about it all the time ever since I’ve seen it in my inbox)

The fact that you remember all these details about her leaves me speechless! 😍

I’m glad I’ve decided to give her some ink then 😏 She’s far more subtle than me though, my tattoos are huge and I have plans for another kdjgkdfjd

OH3 canon Ethan falls into the category of "fictional men written by men

SCREAM! This is the most accurate description of OH3 Ethan’s evil twin. I don’t know him, honestly ✋

But I definitely see your point, dear, Ethan’s usually one step behind her because of his faulty emotional intelligence kdjfkdjfkdj If she gets sick of his grumpy ass I’ll tell her to find you 😌

I’m terribly sorry for this sappy rant, but I truly am stunned by your kindness and love for my homegirl. Sometimes I feel like I don’t even belong here and everything I create is pointless, but then an angel like you comes my way and makes me feel so valid. You deserve the world! ✨

The answer is long and messy enough, but once again - thank you for your generosity and support, you’ve made my heart so full ❤️

I hope you’re living your best life, dear! I’m sending lots of love to you ❤️❤️❤️