#my entire adult life has felt like a slap in the face of my youthful ideals

[callme000]

what do men want from us what is it that causes them to devalue half the country what makes women's rights so inconsequential what level of groveling do we need to do to be seen as people deserving of rights how do i believe that any man i meet will ever see me as a human being

[toweroftickles]

ZELINK FIC - TICKLES THROUGH TIME

This is for @dyingtoleeya who suggested that I write about my “first ship ever.” That sent me on quite a nostalgia trip! Lol I’m a 90s kid, so most of my influences come from there. I didn’t expect to crank this fic out so fast, but something about it just inspired me. Hope you guys like it. :)

The fall of Ganondorf had seen the kingdom of Hyrule, though still shattered and broken, return to hope. The Hylian peoples had come together to rebuild, to settle into their old lives after seven long years. But for Link, and for Zelda, they had finally earned their rest.

It was a late night in the castle garden. Torches gleamed against white stone walls. The small stream that had once been present before the King of Thieves’ reign was dammed, but its mouth still bubbled peacefully through slabs of fallen rock. The stained glass windows, though broken, still cast their colorful lights into a swirling dance of shapes on the nighttime grass. Fireflies fluttered around. One landed squarely on the princess’ nose, and she giggled before returning to rest her head on the Hero of Time’s shoulder. They said not a word to each other, only breathed in the cool air, and listened for the sounds of a land returning to life. But finally, the princess spoke.

“So many years I dreamed I’d see you again,” she whispered, not looking directly at Link. “It’s funny...we only knew each other so briefly, but whenever I lost hope, I could always see you clearly in my mind. Waiting for you to wake up...was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Link silently brushed Zelda’s long hair behind her ear and gently stroked her cheek. They smiled at one another, and Zelda couldn’t help but reminisce.

“You probably remember better than I do...when I used to sneak out to see you?”

<whooshing flashback noises>

Young Link and Zelda relaxed on the beach of Lake Hylia. As Zelda watched the swirling Guay chase Navi overhead, Link waded barefoot into the water and flung a rock with all his might.

Twice...three times...six whole skips! The Goron Bracelet definitely helped. Link grinned, pumping his fist triumphantly. Zelda laughed and clapped for him, and he returned to the grass beside her.

“This is so much fun,” Zelda sighed as the wind blew her headdress around. “I wish I’d been able to have a whole childhood like this.”

Link smiled happily at her and retrieved a small sandwich from his hammerspace pouch.

“Hey, Link...why are you always so quiet?”

Link stopped to think about the question. He’d barely spoken a word to the princess since that fateful day they met in her garden. He supposed, he was just never sure what to say to her. Navi usually did the talking for him.

“It’s because he liiiikes you!” the annoying fairy chimed in. Link’s eyes bugged out in horror and he instinctively smacked Navi through the air. Zelda giggled.

“No! I don’t!” Link stammered - perhaps the first full sentence he had said in her presence. “It...I’m....uh...”

“It’s ok,” Zelda said with a reassuring smile. “Come on, what are you hiding? Tell me!”

Almost on instinct the young princess reached out with her hand and playfully grabbed Link’s side. A huge grin appeared on the Kokiri boy’s face.

“Heehee-Hee! *gasp* Heh-Heh Ha!” Link giggled and pulled away from her. Zelda was delighted by his reaction...she smiled uncontrollably and kept squeezing at his tummy with both hands.

“Come on, say something!” she laughed. Link fell back onto his side in the grass, and Zelda followed on her knees. Her fingers grabbed and poked and tickled, and Link couldn’t stop laughing. With a mischievous twinkle in her light, Navi darted inside Link’s tunic and fluttered her wings against the boy’s ribs and belly. Link squirmed and tried to cover his stomach with his arms, but it was no use.

“Haha-Haha Haha-Haha Haaaa, Ha! *gasp* Haha-Haha Ha!” Link giggled and gasped for breath. Zelda’s own reactions weren’t much different. She could barely utter her command “Say something!” through her own gleeful excitement.

Then, suddenly, Zelda stopped poking Link’s stomach and turned around. He could breathe, at least for a moment. With both hands she grabbed Link’s right foot and stood up, lifting his leg off the ground while the rest of him stayed flat. She looked back at him, smiled like a kid on Christmas morning, and wiggled all ten of her fingers along the bottom of his foot.

“Ha-Ha Ha-Ha Ha-Ha! *gasp* Aha-Ha! Ah Ha-Ha Ha-Ha! Uggghhhhyeeehh, Heheh! Ha-Ha Ha-Ha!” The poor boy laughed loudly and rolled around on his back, trying to pull his foot away from Zelda’s devious little fingers. Navi’s buzzing magical energy still tickled his tummy.

“Do you give up?” Zelda teased him.

She didn’t wait for an answer. After another moment of giggling, Link felt his bare foot drop back into the grass. Navi flew out of his tunic, laughing to herself. It was over. As the young boy attempted to suck air back into himself, he pondered what had just happened...it had been surprisingly fun. At least...when she did it. Zelda dropped to her knees again and looked down at his exhausted face, and both smiled. But Link’s energy was all wound up, and as if loaded on a spring, he reached up with both hands and tickled Zelda’s armpits.

“AHH!” she squealed excitedly. Her arms instinctively snapped back like a pistol shrimp’s, drawn tightly to her purple top as she jumped back. Link’s fingers dropped lower and started to dance on her sides.

“AHH Haha-Ha! Haha-Ha! *gasp* Ha-Ha! N-ho, no faihair!” Zelda squirmed around and pretended to be resistant, but in truth she was having far too much fun. Link bounced up into action and dove on Zelda. With a surprised yelp she fell back across the knoll, and before they knew it, the two kids were rolling down the grassy hill toward the sand, Zelda laughing and squirming in Link’s grip. He held her close to him and tickled her belly and sides nonstop as they rolled.

“Whoooaa-OOOO-ooooooh, Heehee! AH Haha-Haha! Ha-Ha Ha-Ha Ha! Th-hat tickles!” she cried out.

Within moments the two had collapsed in the sand, both grinning rapturously and unable to stop giggling. The rolling and wind had tossed Zelda’s habit-like headdress aside, and its fabric stood out colorfully near the top of the hill. She had such short hair for a girl, Link thought. But he also couldn’t stop thinking about how cute she looked. He blushed and tried to hide his expression from her, but she was laying on her side, eyes shut and breathing out her last few giggles. Then Link noticed something else had gone missing from the princess’ possession when they rolled down into the sand - one of her slippers.

He had to act quick, before she noticed! The youth grabbed a nearby piece of straw...dropped from the local scarecrow...and he grabbed her ankle. In his right hand he held her right leg still, sole-up, against the sand, and he began to wiggle the piece of straw right in the middle of her foot.

“HAA, Ha-Ha Ha Ha! Haha-Haha! L-hihink, stop it!” Zelda slapped her palms into the earth. She flailed and desperately pulled her leg. But the smile on her face betrayed her true feelings - she was happy. She was playing with a real friend. For one of the few times in her life, she was having fun.

Link tossed the straw aside and stopped tickling. Zelda’s toes still wiggled involuntarily, and she curled into a ball while the squeaks subsided.

“*inhale*...*exhale*....Heheh! I’m sorry. Are we even now?”

Link was lying down beside her, smiling just as much as she was.

“I talk...when I feel like it.”

The two burst into laughter all over again and reclined. Navi, who had been intentionally avoiding the rough-and-tumble tickle roll, finally sauntered down to the sandbank. She knew, looking at Link and Zelda, that the two had a future. The lake’s calming breeze blew their hair around, and sand dusted up against their cheeks.

Soon, Link would be off to Jabu-Jabu. But he wanted to enjoy his time with the princess, just a moment longer.

<whooshing flash-forward noises. ooo>

“Remember when I lost the slingshot game ? I almost cried, but then you won me a Bombchu,” the adult Zelda murmured dreamily.

Link couldn’t help but grin. These events seemed so recent to him, but for Zelda they may as well have been lifetimes ago. He put his arm around her shoulder and she watched the lights flicker on the ground.

“Hey...are you still ticklish?” Zelda asked him, trying to contain her excited smile. Before he could answer, she darted a hand in and jabbed all five fingers into his abs.

In truth, despite his recent physical adulthood, Link had lost his entire 11-17 growth period...his body was matured but lacked the experience and resilience that came with living through puberty. His immune system was still weak, he had basically no callouses, and he was still very childishly ticklish.

“GYAAHHH!” he yelled out, twisting away from Zelda’s fingers. The princess giggled and kept poking all over his stomach, and Link couldn’t avoid the chuckles building in his throat for long.

Seizing an opportune moment, he reached in with his leather gauntlets and launched his own tickle assault on the now-grown princess’ tummy. To his delight, it worked.

“AH! Hmhm-Hmhm Heheh-Heheh Heh! Hm-Hm Hm!” Zelda giggled through her sealed lips and pulled her arms in tight. Almost instantly she was in the grass, flat on her back, her sides quivering beneath Link’s strumming, spidery fingers.

Suddenly, he stopped. Zelda breathed. For the first time in seven years, she was at peace. She looked up at Link, smiling above her, and in her eyes bounced a light show of firefly acrobats, around Link’s head like a halo. Link had never seen anyone or anything so beautiful. He stroked her cheek and tussled her hair again.

There is rarely a single, isolated moment in a relationship where a boy looks at a girl and realizes for the first time, “I love you.” And there was no such moment for Link or Zelda either.

But this one came pretty close.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

She [10]

Warnings: non-consent sex (butt plug, vaginal sex); violence, spanking/whippinh

This is dark! Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Steve Rogers’ life is turned upside down by a reporter.

Chapter Summary: Steve takes control.

Note: Hope you enjoy the last chapter! 

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Steve

He walked around her and took another look at her ass. He could see a hint of the plug between her cheeks and his lashes fluttered hungrily. He came back around as the chain chafed down her stomach and she wriggled. Helpless, hopeless, she pulled with all her weight on the cuffs.

He grabbed one of the nipple clamps and pushed it even tighter around her flesh. She yelped and he released her as she stopped her struggle. Blood stained the silver, just a trickle, and he took a hot breath. He felt like a wolf, fangs bared and mouth salivating for his prey.

He looked down and watched his hands as they deftly worked at his belt. He unbuttoned his fly and pushed the zipper open. He paused and snaked the leather loose from the loops. He folded the belt in his hand and tested it against his palm. It sent a chill through him.

“N-no,” She gasped. “Please--”

He snapped the leather across her thigh and she gave a shrill shriek. She sobbed as she swung from the hook and fought to still herself on her tiptoes. 

“What did I tell you about that word?” He hit her other thigh and she gave another shout. He hit her stomach and she sputtered as the breath went out of her. “Well!”

“I--” Her eyes searched his. Sheer terror struck her and he saw the strength seep from her. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

His cheek twitched and he neared her. He tilted his head as he trailed the leather down her stomach.

“Good,” He licked his lip. “You’re a quick learner and the faster you learn, the better.”

He grabbed her shoulder and turned her. He rested the belt against her ass as he stepped around her and peeked at the lens. Assured that she was center stage, he drew back and lashed her. Hard. 

The strike reverberated around him and fed into the next. She let out noises he’d never heard before. Pure agony. Her feet slipped and he held her hip to keep her in place. He didn’t stop until she was sobbing. Until her head slumped in defeat and the welts on her ass were raised and some bleeding.

“Aw, no,” He cooed as he went around her. He grabbed her chin and lifted her head. Her tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. “Don’t cry. You’re stronger than that.”

She tried to shake his hand away and he slapped her. The split in her lip began to well again. She gulped down her breath and her eyes rolled back. She was dizzy as she swayed and her head lolled. She sniffed and her feet scrambled beneath her until she could still herself.

“Ah, don’t you do that,” He grabbed her head and forced it up. “I’m not even close to done. If you pass out, I won’t stop.”

She nodded and he raised a brow.

“Yath, Captam,” She slurred and blood dribbled over her lip. She’d bitten her tongue.

He let her go and repositioned her again. The curve of her ass visible to the lens as he came up behind her. He rolled the top of his underwear down along with his jeans. He let out a moan as his cock brushed up against his boxer briefs. He pushed the denim and cotton to his thighs and stroked himself.

He brushed his tip against her tortured ass and she flinched. She moaned and the link of her cuffs clinked in the hook. He pressed his fingers between her cheeks and wiggled the plug. She whimpered and he slid his hand lower. He bent his knees and spread her folds with his finger and lined himself up with her entrance.

He paused. He was holding his breath and so was she. He rescinded his hand and latched onto her hip. He slammed into her so hard she was taken off her feet. She exclaimed and grunted through her teeth as she kicked in pain. 

“I told you,” He snarled. “That toy was nothing compared to me.”

She shook and her fingers wrapped around the hook above her. He grabbed her shoulders and wiggled his hips as he tested her limits. She was tight. Very tight. She whimpered at every little move.

He thrust once, so harshly that she was once more off the ground. He repeated the motion several times until she was trembling in pain. Or pleasure. The way her cunt clenched around him was delicious.

He moved more steadily against her, slamming into her hard enough to jolt the plug in her ass. Her whines became laboured and desperate. He felt her cum and the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of her grew louder.

He leaned against her as he reached down to her leg. He grasped behind her knee and bent her leg up and then the other. He lifted her so she was hanging from the hook and impaled entirely by his cock. He held her like that as he hammered into her from below. Her voice was stuttered and strained.

He loved the sound. The slick squelch of him inside her, the broken cries of the woman at his mercy. And they were all for him. His little secret. His hobby. He crashed into her relentlessly and felt the ecstasy bubble in his core. 

He puffed as he felt the rise, too enamored to slow it. His flesh clapped against her as her juices dampened the front of his jeans. He squeezed her legs and bucked into her violently as he came. He bent his head and sank his teeth into her shoulder to keep from crying out. She yelped as he emptied himself inside of her.

When he was still, he let her legs down and she hung against him. He eased himself out of her and his cum spilled down her thigh and dripped onto the floor. He sighed and rounded her. He reached for the camera and removed it from the tripod. He pointed the lens at her face, her swollen cheek, her bloodied lips, her dazed eyes.

Then he turned her and showed her dripping cunt; a creamy mess. He cradled the camera in one hand and focused on her ass as he grabbed the stem of the plug. He began to pull it out but thought better of it as it was halfway out. He pushed it back in until her ring was tight around it once more.

“Actually, you can keep that in.” He said as he stood straight. “I’m not done with your cunt.”

🖋️

Steve had to keep from whistling as he walked through the halls of the compound. He doubted the man beside him would appreciate that. Nick Fury was never much for levity. And now was not the time for celebration; well not for what was left of the Avengers.

As they passed through the front doors, the familiar flash of cameras greeted them and Steve smiled. He looked around at the clamoring reporters. Not so troublesome as those paparazzi droning like flies. No, a pleasant little flock of birds waiting for him to dangle a worm.

“You sure about this?” Fury paused just outside. “It’s not too late.”

“No, I’m certain.” Steve preened. “It’s time.”

Fury huffed and stepped up to the podium, several microphones mounted before him. He flinched at the feedback which greeted him and he cleared his throat. The press quieted as he stared them down with his single stern eye.

“Good morning.” He said stiffly. “I am not one to mince words so I would like to get to the point of this conference and to hand this over to man who you all are here to see. So I will say it straight; we have brought you here today to bid farewell to one of our greatest heroes.” The crowd gasped and looked at each other and then Steve. “It is bittersweet for us but we wish Steve Rogers, Our Captain, the best in what is to come for him.”

Fury nodded and backed away. He waved Steve forward and the golden soldier happily took the spotlight. He smiled at the stunned crowd.

“It has been with a lot of deep and difficult consideration that I have decided that it is time for me to step aside. But do not mistake me. This is not because I am hiding or because I am running away from one little interview. In fact, I am thankful for that article because it made me see that my time has come and gone.” 

He looked around and took a breath.

“I am leaving behind a good team. They are brave, smart, loyal, hardworking, and devoted. I leave you in good hands, better hands. But that is not to say that I will leave you entirely. Should the day come that you need me or my shield, I will be here. I will do as I have always done.

“But in the meantime, I will do something else. I have chosen to take on a new crusade. Starting right her in New York. All across the five boroughs. My new project is called Sarah’s Sanctuary. An infrastructure of shelters, youth centres, and food banks to be opened throughout the city to support all those pushed to borders of society; elderly, adult, children; men, women, LGBTQ. It will offer specialised services to all; housing, counseling, addiction treatment to things as basic as daily meals.

“Because as you know, you can take the boy out of Brooklyn, but you can’t take Brooklyn out of the boy.”

A dozen voices called out at once. Steve beamed at the reporters as they shouted their questions, desperate for more. He retreated with a wave and left them to their cameras and notepads. Fury followed him inside. They were silent for different reasons as they walked the halls. Both with too much on their minds.

🖋️

When Steve got home, he wasn’t surprised to find even more photographers than before waiting at his door. He skirted past them and closed them out as he stepped inside his Brooklyn walk-up. He had everything he needed; right here. He locked the door and continued past the front room and to the kitchen.

He took his time, admired the fruits of his hard work. Two boiled eggs, toast and butter, and a small cup of yogurt with granola on a metal tray. He balanced it all with a tall glass of water and unlocked the door to the stairs. He descended and passed through the thicker door at the bottom. It locked behind him.

His eyes found her right away. She was curled in a ball on the thin futon, her arms wrapped around her legs. Her face was swollen and dried blood flaked away from her lips. She was still naked and shivered. Her eyes opened slowly but she didn’t move.

He stopped beside the mattress and set the tray down beside it. 

“Sit up.” He ordered.

She hesitated. Then slowly pushed herself to a sitting position. “Yeth, cap-tain,” She said through her clumsy lips. She flinched as her tender ass met the futon and the plug became more obvious. She covered her chest and kept her legs bent to shield herself.

“I brought you something to eat.” He said. She stared at the tray and frowned. “What?”

“Where are my clothes?” She asked and he growled.

“You wear whatever I give you or don’t give you.” He sneered. “And eat when I bring you food.”

“It’s cold in here,” She complained and reached for a slice of toast.

“You won’t be cold much longer,” He assured her. “Finish your meal, go get cleaned up, and I’ll make sure you’re sweating in no time.”

She blanched and gulped. She bit into the bread and looked at the floor. She winced again and he saw the glossiness in her eyes.

“I announced my resignation today,” He said with a grin. “So… you won.”

She looked at him, appalled. He snickered and paced the room.

“I’ll tell you what,” He turned to her and struck that famous stance. Hands on hips, squared jaw, stoic gaze. “If you do me a favour, I’ll get you a blanket.” He watched her swallow, realisation struck her harder than he had. “You see, I’m an easy man to work with. Once you figure that out, you’ll life will get a whole lot better.”

END

[misterewrites]

The Heart of Civilization (Welcome to the Underground!)

Summary: Abigail's first experience of the Underground's capital is nothing like anything she's dealt with before but luckily she's got two guides. While the group decides how to handle their current arrangement, Oliver comes up with a surprising solution.

Hello everyone! It's done! I'm no longer behind schedule! E HERE WITH THE NEXT CHAPTER OF THE UNDERGROUND! WOO! Sorry it's been a chaotic, long few weeks. But I hope you are all doing good. So here we go the first major arc of the underground. Enjoy! I hope you are all safe, washing your hands, wearing your masks, get the vaccine if you can and keep each other safe! Comment, reblog, tell your friends. All that is super helpful for me and I love feedback. That's it for me, have a great week! E is out! Gonna nap!

Read this chapter or the whole thing if you’re curious with the link found below

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/77710460

Cities were never silent. It was impossible to be given how much life was concentrated in a single location. Even smaller towns and villages in the middle of nowhere were always bursting with the sounds of the living: Cheery drunks, clanking armor of the city guard patrolling, the odd night owls who could never find rest under a starry sky. The life and soul of any place were the people.

So naturally Abigail was taken aback by the immense silence.

She knew there was sound given how sudden she was buffeted backwards by a wave of unseen force. Archie and Oliver felt it too given how their bodies jerked but unlike her, they had been expecting it.

There was a strange disconnect between Abigail’s senses and her brain as it tried to piece together what exactly was going on. She was actually starting to get a headache as her mind tried to make sense of conflicting information.

Her eyes watered and burned at the soft light that emitted throughout. It wasn’t as warm or bright as sunlight but it was close enough to make Abigail feel stuffy in her thick riding cloak. Oliver took off his cloak and began helping Archie out of his so Abigail followed suit, putting it away carefully in her backpack.

She asked how was there light down here but her words were muted and felt strange leaving her mouth like she was simply mouthing her question to herself.

It should’ve been noisy given that there were dozens of people on the stony street: children of various races running about playing different games among themselves, adults huddled together their faces serious with concern or relaxed at ease yet all were muted with a quiet that was inescapable.

Abigail knew this must’ve been the outskirts of the city given the conditions of the clothing and houses here. The only thing the homes shared was a ramshackle look to their construction and a strange mark written in their surface: Some were made of stone, others wood with a rare building made of metal. Short squat homes built deeper into the ground that were clearly dwarf design clashed horribly with the tall, gravity defying stacked one room story floors that were elvish hobbles.

Abigail pursed her lips, unsure what to make of this whole situation when Oliver’s voice appeared from nowhere, distant and echoing like he was speaking from the other end of a tunnel.

“You okay?”

Abigail jumped, flailing about wildly at the noise that cut through the quiet.

“Don’t do that!” Abigail shouted, annoyed, but nothing came out.

Oliver chuckled to himself soundlessly as he gestured to her with two pointed fingers.

“Haven’s Nest is the biggest city in all the Underground.” His voice crackled “You noticed it in the tunnels, no? How far sounds can travel in a confined space? Imagine trying to live in an entire city like that. You’d lose your hearing within a day. Well less given how much you like talking to people.”

Realization dawned on Abigail as she pointed to the strange items nestled in her ears.

Oliver nodded, his fingers still outstretched “Magical filters. They protect your ears from being overwhelmed by the noise or annoying conversations.”

Abigail thought for a moment before pointing two fingers towards Oliver.

“Is that why…?” she flinched at sudden reemergence of her voice “Wow that’s really off putting. Is that why they just hand them out at the entrance?”

“Mhm. Bad for tourism if you went deaf visiting the capital. Haven’s Nest: come to lose your money, leaving with 50% less hearing.”

Abigail stifled a laugh “So if I point like this?” she gestured with the two fingers “I can talk to people one on one. What if I want to talk to a bunch of people?”

“Make a fist. It’ll let you talk to and hear everything in the immediate area.”

Abigail looked at her hand before closing it into a fist. She winced as the city life popped back into existence without warning: The children shouting and cheering at their losses and victories, small talk about work and how members of the community were doing, unhappy grumbles about the price of food these days and the lack of respect the youth held for their elders.

The city was alive once more.

“Do we have to wear these the whole time?” Abigail asked, opting to keep her fist closed for simplicity's sake.

Archibald shook his head tiredly as he pointed to the strange symbol that were scrawled on every building’s surface.

“Sound bubbles.” Oliver explained “The magical symbols create a little pocket barrier around each building so you can only hear what’s happening inside. It be pretty infuriating if you need to sleep with the filters on. They don’t exactly stick in your ears perfectly.”

Archibald agreed.

“Oh okay. And the…”

“Lights?” Oliver cut in with a knowing smirk “Dwarfish design. A lot of important business happens in Haven’s Nest so a day night cycle is helpful. Harsher light for the day and softer glows for your shady night business.”

“Your shady night business” Abigail glared at Oliver before glancing upwards. Now that the bard pointed it out, she could see what he meant: Hundreds of smooth glass panels were packed tightly together on the ceiling of the cavern. Many of them gleamed with the warm light that bothered her when she first came in but she also noticed some were blackened, either powered down or broken from constant use.

“I take it this is the only place in the underground that has this level of dwarfish engineering.”

“Only non-dwarf city. Dwarves are a little hoardy with their tech.”

Abigail nodded “So this is the boonies, right?”

Oliver gave a mocking look of pride “Look at you knowing your terms. Yeah, this is the less fortune part of town. Still pretty nice all things considered. Up ahead is the Merchant Ward. Well ward is a misnomer but it’s the closest word I can come up with.”

“Looks like someone needs to up their vocab.” Abigail teased.

Archibald chuckled softly.

“And you.” Oliver gestured to the archer “What’s the plan now?”

Archibald eyes shone with understanding. He motioned for Abigail to help and handed her his pack as he began to search for something within. It took a minute but soon Archibald produced a crumpled up envelope. He handed it to Oliver while gratefully smiling at Abigail.

Abigail smiled back as Oliver tore the envelope and read the letter.

“Dear Greenfield and Bard, tis I! Borrick Copperstone. As you now no doubt have discovered, my boy Archie isn’t the most talkative person.”

Oliver spared Archibald a playful look “No kidding.”

Archibald waved Oliver’s comment off.

Oliver cleared his throat, his voice becoming booming and cheery as if mimicking the old dwarf “So I have written this letter with the following instructions. Archibald will be taking the 5 gold payment and I expect you to buy him a fine meal! As promised. In addition, Archibald has been given instructions to wait at the Right Hook inn in the Merchant Ward. Feel free to drop him off or you may part ways once in the city proper. Thank for your business and I wish you safe travels!”

Archibald reached to take the letter back but Oliver slapped his hand away with the paper.

“No.”

Archibald tilted his head quizzically.

Oliver narrowed his eyes “I don’t want you crying to your boss that you got injured on the job and we just dropped you first chance we got. We’re taking you to the Right Hook and we’re gonna keep an eye on you until we are sure you’re better. Right Abigail?”

Abigail was caught off guard by the sudden shift to her but she noticed the knowing glint in Oliver’s eyes “Right. Right! It’s only fair given you risked your life for us. I mean I still need to figure out what I’m going to do next and Oliver’s competition is in a few days so we don’t really have a reason to split up just yet.”

Archibald flushed a lovely bright pink.

“So it’s settled!” Oliver beamed “We’re taking to you Right Hook, get you rested, Abigail will buy you that meal she promised Borrick.”

“Hey!”

“You were negotiating” Oliver pointed out “You made the deal now you have to honor it.”

“I hate you.”

“And” Oliver went on without acknowledging Abigail further “We’ll get you to a cleric tomorrow, maybe do Abigail’s side quest and I still need to sign up for the competition.”

“My side quest?” Abigail’s face scrunched up thoughtfully “Oh! Cecilia’s wizard mentor person. That guy. Wait, how did you…?”

“So we take it easy today then we’ll go out tomorrow. Sorry solider boy you’re stuck with us a little longer.”

Archibald’s face was one of sheepish embarrassment but he smiled appreciatively all the same.

Abigail pursed her lips “Why don’t we do it today? It’s only afternoon if I’m reading the dwarfish sunshine right.”

“We almost died.” Oliver spoke plainly, shooting at glare at some people’s gaze who began to wander their way “I don’t know about you but I don’t wanna deal with anything else except a good meal and being alive.”

Abigail thought about for a moment. She could feel the tension in her body, her arms and legs were stiff. She was okay for now but the idea of doing more things today left her feeling drained.

“Yeah good point. We should take it easy for now. I’m not used to life or death situations.”

“I noticed.” Oliver turned to lead the group “Though it’s not like they get any easier.”

“What?”

“To The Right Hook!”

-----

At first traveling was relatively easy: The outskirts of town held only one path and it was simple to get her bearings situated. However the trouble started when they reached the Merchant Ward of the city.

Without warning the mismatched, battered homes became sleek, colorful uniformed buildings. Traditional human designs of varying heights and hues littered as far as the eye could see, each with the same symbol Oliver had pointed out. While the ceiling was narrow above the outskirts, here the cavern opened impossibly wide. Countless dwarfish panels of light were held high above in differentiating states of decay, blazing nearly as bright as the sun. The road became less stony and move cobbled as the paths branched out in every direction. People of various lifestyles hustled back and forth as the sounds of the city washed over her. Even the little Abigail could hear reminded her of the capitol on the surface, the sheer chaos that existed in larger, more populated places.

Oliver seemed to know where he was going. He would look at these towering signs with names written upon them. Street signs he called them. Abigail never heard of such a thing before but she was grateful for their existence.

As the trio traveled deeper into the Merchant Ward, Oliver began pointing out the various sections of the city.

“Over there.” Oliver pointed to a far off road that curved upwards through a tunnel “is the Clifftop Distract. Rich people turf. Anyone of value or wealth are squirreled away up there.”

“Of course.” Abigail murmured softly to herself. Somethings never changed.

“To the east past the Merchant Ward is East Haven. More homes less business but there are few inns, pubs, stores out there for all your shopping convenience.”

“Like a little village?” Abigail questioned, trying to see if she could equate it to something she knew.

Oliver paused for a moment “Actually yeah. Like a little village next door. Better off than the boonies but not as fancy as Clifftop. Middle of the road as it were. As you can tell, Merch Ward is a little chaotic. Not many people like the idea of living here.”

Abigail raised an eyebrow at a fist fight between a gnome and a dwarf “Couldn’t guess why. And past East Haven?”

“The east gate out of town. Haven’s Nest only has three gates: West in the outskirts, south for the Merchant Ward and East. The west and east are for public use but the south gate is only used for deliveries, soldiers, supplies, patrols etc etc etc.”

“How much further to the Right Hook?”

“Should be round here somewhere, right Archie?”

Archibald nodded in confirmation before pointing a nearby building.

The Right Hook was a wooden building painted a dark red and five stories tall. While the wood outside seemed aged and faded, the doors and window were new as if they had just been replaced. The sign that hung over the doorway was in a fancy font and showed an outstretched hand in the middle of a punch. The hand, ironically, was the left.

“I like it!” Abigail beamed cheerfully “It’s got character.”

“I believe that’s what we call a mistake.”

“It’s charming.”

“It’s wrong.”

“You’re wrong!”

Archibald softly laughed to himself as he followed the arguing pair inside.

The trio took off their filters, carefully placing them away in their pockets for later use. Abigail could feel her ears pop: Every laugh, word, noise was crisp. She could hear the sounds of all within the building but the chaotic symphony of the city remained outside.

“Now what?” she asked, rubbing her aching ears.

“Order some food. I’ll check us in.” Oliver offered “No doubt Borrick probably paid a room for Archie.”

Before Abigail could fathom what Oliver had just said, the bard disappeared deeper within the building.

“Always fun with Ollie huh?”

Archibald snickered then winced as he held his stomach.

“Sorry” Abigail smiled softly “Must be sore. Let’s find a table.”

Archibald and Abigail scanned the room and quickly spotted one nearby. The pair made their way over when Archibald pulled out the chair and gestured for Abigail to take a seat.

Abigail giggled while she sat down “Thank you good sir! I’m glad someone is a gentleman here.”

Archibald flushed as he pushed her chair in and took his own across from her.

-----

Food and drinks were ordered and brought out by the time Oliver returned, a quiet thankful look in his eyes as he noticed the third plate of meat and vegetables steaming in front of an empty seat.

“Thanks” He muttered quietly, sitting at the table.

“You okay?” Abigail watched him carefully “You look like you’re experiencing emotions.”

“I know I hate it.” Oliver gave a cocky smirk and returned to his usual self “Borrick paid for a full week for our good friend Archie so he’s cover.”

“But…” Abigail chimed in “I’m hearing a but.”

“You’re going to have to room with him.”

It wasn’t obvious who was more surprised by this information: Abigail or Archibald. Abigail’s eyes went wide and she could feel a blush spread across her cheeks while Archie simply choked on his drink and began coughing his lungs out.

“WHAT?!” Abigail and Archibald caught each other’s eyes “I...I-I don’t….I mean I don’t mind but…”

Archibald kept choking.

“Relax, it’s not as bad as you think.” Oliver began with a lazy wave of his hand “It’s...well big. On the 5th floor. It’s like a mini home I guess. It’s one room with two separate bedrooms inside. I think. It was a little confusing but I’m betting it’s for whoever is coming to pick him up. You know, to get a day’s of rest before they have to travel back.”

Abigail opened her mouth to protest but Oliver kept going “They only had one other room: A little broom closet on the second floor so be grateful I didn’t shove you in there and decide to bunk with my best friend Archie.”

Archie shot a glare as he finally cleared his throat.

Oliver grinned playfully “It’s only for a day or two until other rooms open up and we can all get our own separate, real rooms.”

“Well.” Abigail twiddled her thumbs “If it’s only for a few days…”

Archibald said nothing, opting to drink his water and hoping no one noticed the red in his cheeks.

“Well then it’s settled!” Oliver said with a hint of finality as he began digging into his meal.

-----

Despite the less than ideal sleeping arrangements, the trio managed to relax: Food, drinks, chatting idly about little things.

Night came quickly and true to Oliver’s warning, Abigail could feel exhaustion ebb into her bones.

The trio made their way to rest and as they dropped off Oliver to his little tiny room, they couldn’t help but ask.

“You sure?” Abigail eyed the broom closet distastefully “You could always sleep in our room. With Archibald.”

Archibald pointed to the floor jokingly.

Oliver gave tired chuckle “I’m good. I’ve slept worse places. Besides I need a break from all….this”

He motioned to the both of them. Abigail was unsure what he meant by that. Archibald simply shot daggers at him.

“Go” he shooed them away “Go and let me get some rest before I gotta deal with both of you in the morning.”

“Okay…..night Oliver.”

Archibald waved goodbye and the pair vanished up the stairs.

Oliver slipped into his room, a small place with a bed on one side and some walking space on the other. A window as wide as the room itself hung on the other end.

A tiny broom closet indeed.

Oliver locked the door behind him and placed his bag onto the floor. He took a moment to hide his lute and the more valuable possession he had, both monetary and sentimental. He cracked his fingers and neck before opening the letter the innkeeper slipped him. Oliver mentally mapped out the location scrawled on the paper then ripped it to shreds.

Oliver brushed clean his outfit from the day’s grime and made his way over to the window. The dwarfish panels shifted to night mode: the warm bright light of the day replaced with a cool, silvery glow that darkened the underground. He pulled out the magic filters from his pocket and put them on. He lifted the window and was grateful the barrier kept the sound outside from coming in.

“Thank god it’s the second floor” he murmured to himself as he began to climb out.

-----

4 hooded figures were huddled in the darkness of an alley, deeply engrossed in their conversation.

The tallest, a muscular woman, fidgeted unhappily “We been waiting for 30 minutes. I don’t think the guy is gonna show.”

Another cloaked figure, a woman a head and half shorter than her companion gently took her hand in her own “Sweetie you need patience.”

The muscular woman flushed in embarrassment “I know Flora but you know how I get antsy when I gotta wait. I hate waiting!”

“I know Terri but we must wait. He will be here. Correct Tyrell?”

Tyrell, a younger gentleman of 20 scratched his chin thoughtfully “That’s what the message said. Came in this morning on the West Gate board. Said he was traveling with some people but he’d meet up with us within the hour of the meeting time.”

“Ugh” Terri groaned “We should get a move on. The party isn’t going to last all night and we got work to do. We need to find the...”

“Wait.” The last figure whispered quietly “I hear something.”

The group held their breath, fists clasped tightly so they can hear what was approaching.

It was faint but Terri could hear the soft patter of footsteps. They moved with such a gentle foot that only Terri’s years of survival training allowed her to catch it.

Terri stood up to her full height, her thick muscular arms tensed for a fight as a shadow inched closer to the group.

“Show yourself!” Terri shouted, falling into a fighting position.

Oliver stepped out of the darkness, his hands lazily in his pockets.

Flora eyed him carefully “Very weird to be wandering back alleys, no sir?”

Oliver cleared this throat “My name is Oliver, First Chair Soprano in The Choir.”

The group shared a surprised look with one another. Their missing fifth member had finally arrived.

“Now.” Oliver spoke with a mischievous smirk “Who we robbing for the greater good?”

[all-things-fic]

Cavalcami

To everyone waiting for the secret girlfriend one-shot, I hope this quenches your thirst a little bit. I know it may not be what you want but this soft version of newly wed Harry, who can’t keep his hands to himself, and still encapsulates the filthy fucker we all know he can be sometimes is all I can think of at the minute. 

Shout out to @waitingfortwilight for a chat that we had quite a while back about thigh riding. Very dangerous, in the best kinda way, of course. Happy Saturday, dolls! x

***

You stood in the middle of your bedroom, white bed sheets in disarray from earlier on in the afternoon. Clothes were at your feet, strewn across the floor displaying the previous passion that had filled the space, hands fiddling with your dangly earring in your right ear as you secured it.

Eyes blinked slowly as you focused on the figure of your husband sitting out on the balcony, his legs crossed and perched on the quaint white railing of your balcony while his stare was transfixed on the lowering sun over the horizon of Positano.

A faint smile laced your lips as you thought about the two days that the two of you had been here. Your decision spontaneous, Harry deciding to hire a car and pack the two of you up out of the Amalfi villa that was occupied by the two of you as well as his family, to take the winding roads to drive you the short forty-two minute car ride to an equally dreamy destination.

There hadn’t been any questioning on your part, only giggles as he dramatically swung the overnight bags you had packed together into the boot of the white Alfa Romeo Duetto Spider that housed these gorgeous red leather seats. He, with his youthful tendencies, threatened to jump over the door, to climb into the car, as the soft top was rolled down, thanks to glorious sunshine that dominated your southern Italian getaway.

You had shaken your head at his boyish antics at the time, telling him to stop acting like an uncivilised Neanderthal and to get into the car like the real-life adult that he was by opening and closing the door. He saw the reasoning behind your lack of wanting to go against the grain and complied.

Giggles turned into smiles and even more giggles against each other’s mouth as you passionately kissed him over the centre console of the car when he joined you, all bright eyed and eager to get away from everyone else for a couple of days us time.

“‘M gonna shag you either in this car or on it before we’re done on this ‘oliday, d’ya know tha’,” he murmured against your lips, nudging his nose against yours to entice you.

“Plenty of time,” you replied, your vision of him blurred from how close you both were but still able to just about make out his smirk. You loved calling him out on his bluff and he loved it even more that you weren’t afraid to give it back to him.

On the quick forty-two minute drive you’d thought about how lucky you were as you turned your head to look at your husband of twenty two days and watched him easily handle the classic car.

The way the sun haloed around him as he drove the short journey caused you to fill with an immense amount of emotion that guided you to reach for his dormant hand that was sat languidly against the mushroom brown fabric of his trousers.

Italy made you both giddy, like love sick teenagers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Just that this time there was an edge of emotion that made it different, because you knew that this was your forever.

You and he weren’t going to question it.

His hand was against you lips next, mouth kissing at his knuckles and playing with his fingers. Harry bit away his smile from your affection, as he enjoyed the way you showered him with love, silently.

“Might need m’hand back ‘n a minute,” he commented, causing you to knock your eyes off of him and back onto the twists and turns of the coastal road. “Don’t want me driving us off the cliff edge d’ya?” He laughed, somewhat morbidly as you joined in.

“How can you find something so morbid funny?” You asked with a slight laughter lilt to your question.

“Same way you can.”

Hesitantly, you released his hand, watching him quickly lower his gear again as he turned a winding corner. You watched him in such a way that if someone was watching you like this, you’d find it slightly creepy. And maybe you’d be embarrassed if it were anyone else, but he was your husband.

“Gonna get a terrible crick in your neck, darlin’” he teased, wanting to provoke some kind of reaction from you. A slap to the top of his arm, or maybe a high-pitched squeal of his name as you wore an incredulous expression at how brazen he was being.

You had chosen to ignore him, turning your entire body to face him and curling your legs up on the red leather seat underneath you. His hand, the one you were previously playing with quickly fingered your outer thigh, pushing underneath the blush nude pink dress you had chosen to wear.

“Turn the radio on, doll,” he requested with a light squeeze to your knee. “Not long left now, make it something Italian.”

Like you had any other choice.

You didn’t mind one bit how long was left. You were happy and content to enjoy the coastal sea breeze in your hair and listen to nothing but the classic car engine and feel the magnetic pull of the sun above you, tinging your skin with a golden glow.

The next sounds that filled your senses were that of the car chugging in between the quaint Italian lanes that were filled by adults and little kiddies dressed in bright colours that likened the scene to some ninety’s photography.

Harry drove in first gear, conscious of those residents that were darting in and out traffic, adults on foot and kiddies on bikes, as he drove you to the charming apartment that was everything you needed to get away from family to continue to enjoy each other.

Terracotta walls, that had been bleached by the sun to give more of a subdue peach, greeted you when the car slowed in front of this quintessential Italian apartment.

Cherry blossom trees, mixed with the most beautiful olive vines, created a faux archway that caught your eyes from behind your sunglasses as you looked up from your seat inside the car and emitted the dreamiest sigh.

Once he had parked the car as close to curb as he could, Harry shot out from his side and turned his attention to getting your luggage from out of the boot and setting it at the foot of the car.

Wiping his sweaty hands on the backs of his trousers, he opened your door, snapping your attention away from your surroundings and onto the beautiful man in front of you that hung over your seated figure comfortingly as he rested his left hand on the headrest of your seat.

“Now you are just showing off,” you commented, nudging your head behind you at the surroundings that he’d brought you too.

Harry was pleased with himself, you knew that much. The quiet but oh so confident smugness radiating off him as he looked down at you. He had no intention of hiding that he knew he’d pulled it out of the bag. He knew this was the one that you had pulled up on his phone months ago and left open against the kitchen island while he cooked dinner and you were dragged off by a phone call with Gemma over table favours and whether you should go with sugar coated almonds or something less traditional.

You knew this place too. This was the place that boasted those beautiful Italian patterned tiles that you were somehow hoping would transition into your Hampstead home, even if they just went into the utility room and you chose to close the door on them rather than have them breaking up your cosy, English aesthetic.

“When am I not?” He counter argued around an off centred smile and laughter laced tone. “Get up here,” he reached for you, hand spreading out across the top of your back as you swung your legs neatly out to hide your knickers and slowly pushed yourself from the already lower than low classic car.

As you stood, he pushed his sunglasses gently off his nose and up into his hair. Hair that you couldn’t wait to wash the lingering sea breeze residue out of, that you knew would be crisp and crunching underneath your fingers if you ran them through his locks.

“You’re going to regret that,” you winced for him, knowing that the sunglasses nose pads would no doubt get tangled up in his hair.

“S’alrigh’, it’ll give you enough reason to get on m’arse ‘bout cutting it-“

He pulled you away enough from the car as you spoke to obnoxiously slam the door, before returning you to rest against the cool white metal.

“Hey,” you started, mouth slightly fallen, leaning back and feeling the coolness of the car against the backs of your thighs. He spread his legs wide as he enclosed you and saw the way you sat against the car lightly, “I love you however you come to me.”

“S’nice to know,” he deadpanned.

“You’ve gone a bit soft since the wedding but-“

“Oi, ‘m on my m’holidays y’know,” he stopped your hands that had spread over his rounder than usual tummy, close to his hips and those love handles that you loved purely because of how out of place they looked compared to the rest of his lean and sturdy body. You loved how he always eased off any work regime when he was on holiday. “S’not a nice way to talk to your husband, is it? Especially your husband who has these-“

Your eyes cut to his hands as he dangled keys to his right. The way they swayed in the light breeze, enticing as you stared at them.

As you looked at them, you felt Harry press closer to you, his nose rested against your cheek bone and his lips skimming you skin as he spoke. “Remember what we said about testing out the bed. You said it looked massive, said you couldn’t wait-“

He didn’t even try and snap the keys away from you as your left hand enclosed around his right and the keys. His hand slowly falling away to rest against your hips once he knew you had a tight enough grip on the keys.

You squealed as he pushed you up and sat your more firmly on top of the car door and caused you to wrap your arms around his shoulders and grip tightly.

“Not arsed about the car anymore then?”

“Nah, it can wait.”

***

You didn’t quite make it to the bed, but the couch was good enough. More than enough and definitely better than good, you thought with a smile as your eyes ran over you husband’s body that was slouched against the cushions. 

Harry sat at the other end of the couch, shirtless, after you had decided to grab it after your little escapade in the middle of the living room. His trousers sat lower, the waistband still open in his laziness but also cheekiness at wanting to be ready to go again as soon as you were.

He was reading a book, you didn’t know what, but you knew without a doubt it wasn’t a novel from the way the text was laid out on the page. You admired him as you sat at the opposite end of the couch, one leg resting on his lap, the other bent up against the back of the furniture. His right hand softly clutching to your ankle as he stroked his thumb against your bare skin - the top of your foot to be exact - making you know he was still very much aware of your presence, even if his eyes were engrossed with something else.

God, you loved his mouth. It had been a while since he had given it to you properly, but you were sure you would get around to it at some point on this holiday. Always did. He just liked to make you bide your time for certain things, made you savour them that much more when they actually came around, he said.

The way it moved now as he read words to himself, under his breath, while he perused the pages just drew your eyes to that part of him in particular. His lips were so pink against his faint beginnings of a tan and the soft facial hair that appeared lighter - much to his dismay as he already struggled with it and the sun bleaching it lighter was definitely not helping matters - thanks to the sunshine, only further enticed your lingering gaze.

“S’rude to stare y’know,” he smirked around his words as he kept his eyes on his book, lips twitching at the corners as he called you out.

If that was the case, then call you rude because you couldn’t get enough of him.

“Can do what I like now we’re wed,” you replied, a bit too sure of yourself, your foot lightly hitting his leg that was now clad in those trousers that he’d chosen to wear that morning, but this time you knew he was commando underneath. You made a mental note to make sure you looked for his boxers before you left. Last thing you wanted was for those things to be on eBay by the time you had gotten back home.

“S’tha’ righ’, Mrs Styles,” his drawl was so lazy, you felt yourself sink further into his button-down shirt and the couch beneath you. He warmed you always when he spoke but with the added tag on of your new name, you were gooey. Gooier than you would ever admit to, of course.

“I’ve not legally changed my name yet so don’t know if you can call me that, passport very much still thinks you haven’t made an honest women out of me-“ he turned his eyes to look at you with this stare that gripped you instantly.

Taking his name hadn’t been a topic of conversation. Neither had it been a given that you were going to change it.

“Don’t have to,” he swallowed, his book loosely held in his hands, his other hand slightly clammy as he continued to softly stroke at your calf. “S’completely up to you.”

“I know I don’t, I want to,” you replied, giving him some kind of unnecessary reassurance.

The smile he gave you, caused this explosion of fluttering butterflies in your stomach. That smile, you knew the one well, where it curled up slowly onto his left side and his lazy eye went slightly smaller than it already was. His head fell lackadaisically against the back of the couch and lolled to the side to look at you as he tried to bite it away. You were sure he was blushing, his eyes holding this twinkle of hope, lust, love, a future and everything in between.

“Really darlin’,” he was breathy, with wonder.

“Of course, don’t be a numpty,” you pressed your toes into his thigh again, “married you, didn’t I? Want it all-“

“Want it all, wi’me-“

You hummed as you nodded over at him, watching the way he let himself get lost in his thoughts, even if only for a fraction of a second.

He sighed, his chest heaving as he closed his eyes. When he was like this, slightly emotional, you knew you were the luckiest woman in the word. While he couldn’t always express himself in the ways that he wanted with you, especially at the beginning, sometimes getting a bit tongue tied and flustered, his ease in showing his vulnerably with you now was something that two of you had taken great pride in working on together as you became more than just lovers, but equals.

“Best day of m’life,” he easily confessed, eyes still closed and voice breathy. “Let’s do it all over again.”

“Harry-“ you giggled, feeling him tug at your leg, wanting you closer. “We got married twenty-two days ago, don’t think it’ll wash with our guests if we say we want a vow renewal already.”

“How’d you know if we don’t try? Didn’t have you down as a quitter, love-“

“Oh shut yer face-“ he went straight for the jugular with the competitive dig, his tongue running over the front of his teeth to try and stop him from smiling. He loved it when he could get a short and snappy rise out of you. “Anyway, what’s got you so taken from me-“

You swung your legs around to get closer to him, heart swelling at how he raised his right arm up, ready to accommodate you whenever you were ready to fall into his side.

“Jus’ brushing up while we’re here,” he commented, when you sank into his warmth and pressed your hand to the middle of his chest, feeling the way his slightly rounded belly moved with each inhale and exhale.

With slow, blinking eyes you let them run over the words on the page, feeling his head dip down slightly to silently watch your reaction.

Mouth now agape as the penny finally dropped, you tapped his body lightly with your hand. “You filthy fucker,” you chastised him, eyes wide from what you were looking at as he barked this dirty laugh and let his head fall dramatically behind him again. “Just brushing up are ya?”

Page after page of filthy words written down in Italian, sentences that made sure the reader was using any filthy language in the correct context because heaven forbid if they weren’t.

“When in Rome,” he spoke deeply before correctly himself, “or the Amalfi Coast, eh?”

You could feel yourself blushing, so strange for you, as he eyed you and soothed his hand up and down your back over the top of his expensive Gucci shirt.

“Why’ve you gone coy on me?” He mused, pulling you to him and pressing his lips to your temple. “You fuckin’ love it when I talk dirty to you-“

Nails scratched at his skin as he spoke, giving away just how much of an affect his words were having. “Yea’ you do- adds ‘nother dimension don’t it-“ he nudged his nose into your cheekbone as he continued to watch your eyes run over the page of filth. “Succhiandomi,” he huskily spoke.

You pulled away from him slightly, hearing him chuckle when he saw how you tried to scan the page his book was currently open at, to get some sort of idea what he had just said, even going as far as to reach for the book that of course he playfully pulled out of your reach just in time.

“H,” you whined, as he pulled you closer to him, hair falling into your face as you met his warm side once more.

“Forget ‘bout the bloody book, s’more fun to find out wha’ they mean together,” he reached for your hand, pressing it lightly to his hardening cock underneath his trousers. “Succhiandomi,” he repeated, “please, doll. Suck m’off fo’a bit-“

“You’re not going to be hard enough-“

“Lemme get hard in your mouth,” he replied, quickly (some would say desperately), brushing your hair back and letting his thumb brush gently against your jawline, coaxing you to look at him. “S’yours-“

You turned to him, doughy-eyed, blinking at him innocently. “God, don’t look at me like tha’-“

His head tipped back again as he repeated the word, “Succhiandomi, darlin’.”

Pressing your lips to his skin you slowly moved down lower to his waistband but didn’t move to remove yourself from the couch. You toyed with the open waist band of his trousers and scratched your nails against the faint line of hair from his belly button, noticing the way he sucked in a breath in anticipation.

“I think this is just your way of telling me a kink of yours without actually expressing it,” you mumbled against his skin, lips sucking at the top of his fern as you felt his hands scoop up your hair and pinch it in one hand to stop it from getting into your face and covering his view.

“S’up to you to work tha’ one out, wifey. Go’ all the time in world, don’t we? Eh?”

You smiled at his words. Yeah, you did have all the time in the world.

***

Bare feet tapped against the tiles of your bedroom floor quietly, eyes lingering on Harry as he enjoyed the final sunset before you went back to the Amalfi villa tomorrow and joined his family once more to see out the rest of your holiday/first honeymoon.

You say first honeymoon because having had you to himself for the past two days he had made it known that you were definitely going to have another honeymoon and not one that tagged onto a holiday with Gem, Anne and Michal. One for just the two of you.

You smiled thinking back to the conviction he had delivered that news to you in. His tone set as he held your eyes and brushed your hair out of your face at breakfast that morning. He had enjoyed how youthful you looked when you had woken to him cooking breakfast, face a little puffy from your lay-in, an extra spring in your step that you had boldly admitted to him was completely and utterly down to the amount of sex the two of you had managed to cram in over the entire apartment over the last two days.

For the record, the bed was as fucking fantastic as you knew it would be.

Sitting in his boxers with his dress shirt sitting on his shoulders, still unbuttoned, your eyes ran over him and the way he looked completely content. Right hand resting behind his head and left on his bare stomach, Harry was a type of relaxed he hadn’t been in a long time, and you knew that just by the way his shoulders didn’t seem to have weird pinch to them where they were slightly risen even when he claimed he was stress-free.  

Sauntering over to him, you rested against the door frame of the double doors and softly spoke, as to not startle him, “Want me to press your trousers before you put them on for dinner?”

You watched him slowly turn his head to look at you from over his shoulder. He smiled as he took in you, hair blowing across his forehead in the light evening breeze. “Look at you slippin’ right into the role of being m’wife-“

“Alright, you can iron your own bloody trousers, won’t offer next time,” you joked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Already done ‘em, why’d you think I’m not sitting in ‘em. Can’t risk creasing ‘em ‘fore we go out-“ he stilled, tilting his head back to see more of you. “Look nice, love.”

“You look comfy-“

“I am, c’mere,” he nudged his head, spreading his legs wider as an invitation, holding his hand out above his head and wriggling his fingers over towards you, wanting you to take it.

Smiling softly, you walked over to him, swaying your hips in that way that he loved, knowing your dress would flow over your curves just right. He knew what you were doing, his smirk told you that as he swung you around to join him on the chair that he had almost taken root in to watch the sunset.

He hummed into your hair as you made yourself comfortable on his lap, eyes turning to look at the sunset while he pressed his face half into your temple. You could feel the span of his palm across your back as he spread it and gripped for a short amount of time to your skin.

This time of night was your favourite, just as the world chose to take on either an orange glow or that warm pink colour that mesmerised you enough to fill you with an exciting buzz while making your feel so inconsequential and small within the world. In the best way.

Blindly you reached for Harry’s hand, while the two of you sat in comfortable silence, letting the bustle of the Italian streets below fill you senses. You toyed with his fingers once more, like you did many a-time on this holiday, playing with the ring on his left hand.

“Got a quite tan line here,” you joked, with a soft smile after you let your eyes linger on his fingers. You felt proud of the way his wedding ring had already made itself known onto his skin subconsciously.

“So have you,” he relayed, toying with the strap of your maxi dress. You looked at him, knocking your eyes back to his, enjoying the way his hand slid so slowly from your shoulder to cup the back of your neck and his eyes followed his fingers.

He guided his lips to yours and passionately enveloped his lips over your top lip, softly pulling away after he left the sponging kiss knowing he could get heated as his warm breath mixed with yours. “Gonna show me your other white bits,” he breathed, taking on his lower register as you rocked yourself closer to him. “Or ‘ave I gotta find ‘em all by m’self.”

You whined, frustratedly at him, causing Harry to laugh. “Wha’?”

“I’m trying to be all sentimental here,” you complained, watching him rest his head back onto his seat to look down his nose at you, with those slow and sleepy blinks. “And you’re more interested in getting in my knickers”

“Can’t get in ‘em, if you’re not wearing ‘em,” he mumbled, like a know-it-all, slowly moving his right arm from the back of his head and down to you back, smoothing his hand to the back of your dress and over your bum cheek. You’d forgone knickers knowing that the dark pair you’d brought along with you would only be on display through the light material of your maxi dress.

“Now do I need to smooth my hand under to confirm or is the feeling of you against my thigh enough?”

You breathed deeply through your nose as you closed your eyes from his words. He snickered, lightly through his nose, pulling you further up. You pushed his boxer leg up as you went.

“Like this, s’better than nice,” his voice was deep as he complimented your wrap maxi dress that gaped open at the front from underneath your boobs due to the way you straddled him but managed to keep you covered up from behind. “Like how it lets me see, but no one else.”

You were panting now and you were not ashamed. His eyes begged you to fall in closer to him, for you to put your mouth onto his. And you did, heavy breathing mixing together once again. Wet kisses, open mouth and filled with tongue consumed your thoughts as he pulled away and cupped your cheek.

Mouth skimming yours he whispered, “Cavalcami-“

“Harry-“

You knew that word. It was the one that you had been practicing under your breath for the rest of that afternoon as you milled around the apartment.

“Rock forwards, go on,” he requested, having listened closely to your practicing mantra. In this moment now he enjoyed the way he could see your cheeks tint with a blush that spread slowly down to your chest. “Ride me-“

And you did, not needing to be told twice. You rolled your hips forwards, enjoying the feeling of his thigh underneath you, the coarseness of his hair against your soft, shaven, smoothened skin caused your breath to catch in your throat as you mouth fell.

“Yea’, look at you usin’ m’leg,” he leaned forward dropping his face into your sternum and took to pressing wet, open mouthed kisses to skin of your chest. Once he’d had his fill, he pressed his forehead to your chest, his eyes falling to watch the way you rubbed against him. Hands pushed into his shoulder to seek the leverage you needed to get the desired outcome.

Rolling back and forth against his leg, you dropped your head back; Harry taking advantage of the space you gave him, sliding his lips upwards, skimming your neck and then your jaw line. He sucked particularly harshly at the skin underneath your ear lobe, against his better judgement knowing that you would give him a right bollocking for giving you something so on show for the rest of the world to see.

You could feel his right hand slide to the front of your body, his palm spanning across the front of your stomach, softly stroking your skin and enjoying the way it jolted as your hips moved with more frantic rocks.

Your mouth was guided back to his, the both of you catching your breath when he tried to kiss you, sloppy and off centred once more. “You gon’ make m’thigh smell of you, darlin’? Eh? Gonna make the hairs of m’thigh stick to my skin-“

Nodding fervently, regardless of how filthy his words were that you were eagerly approving of, you hummed in agreement. “Yea’?” He asked, eyebrows raising, “you dirty girl, dry humping your husband on a balcony in Italy-“

“Press down a bit harder, tha’s it-“ he hummed as you bit down on your bottom lip while he watched you through hooded eyelids and fought the urge to take his left hand and squeeze at his own growing bulge in his black boxers.

“H-,” you gasp, when he slid his hand that was resting on your abdomen that little bit lower, his thumb tauntingly close to where you needed it.

Forehead resting against his now, you were both almost cross-eyed as you looked at each. He was completely taken in by your flushed beauty, glassy eyes and pouty lips as his chest heaved with anticipation and eagerness.

“Wha’s’got you this hot ‘n bothered, darlin’?” he asked, tone light and chaste, “s’jus’ me innit, gonna let me watch you finish.” It was not a question. He knew you would.

“Wanna make yeh feel good, want-,” he growled low in his throat as he felt you press down harder against him. “Want y’to come. Want it all over m’leg, c’mon-“ he encouraged you.

And you were. All over his leg. You could feel how wet and slick you were and the pitchy, whiny, breathy sounds in the base of your throat that were leaving your lips in response to his words only made you more desperate and wet.

“M’getting’ so fuckin; hard,” he moaned pitifully, forehead creasing as his bottom lip jutted, “S’takin’ everythin’ in me not to pull m’self out and wank m’self raw, doll. Help me, baby, please-” His admittance, desperation, his pained groan as you felt his hands squeeze at your hips and his teeth gritted lightly.

“You comin’ all o’er my thigh,” you shook your head, lips pouting as you looked at Harry and the light smirk he wore; the bumps of your hips becoming that little bit more off rhythm. He knew you were, and you knew you were, but the way you started to ease up almost to spite yourself in wanting to not prove him right.

He shook his head. “Don’t, don’t ease up,” his throat was tight as he spoke, swallowing harshly around his pants and licking at his lips which suddenly felt dry. “Be m’good girl and go an’ get it- show me jus’ how good you can be-“

“M’ close, Harry-“

“Show me-“

The encouragement he was giving you, the praise and the admiration, mixed with the warmness of his hands and the way they guided you. Wanting you pressed down harder, needing you to grind quicker over his leg.

And what are you doing? You’re on the balcony, in the open air with many a window looking down upon you both. And importantly- “you’re fucking loving it aren’t you,” he noticed, and more notably, he approved. “Yea’ baby, tha’s it-“

And you’re gasping. A sharp cry leaving your lips before you buried your face into his shoulder, nipping at his skin lightly, as your whole body tensed, as your rubbing and rocking slowed. You pressed your torso into his, pulled taut as he held you to him with that large palm spread out across the span of your back once more.

Soft mewls pulled from your lips as he tightened his arm around you to keep your anchored to him, not wanting you to topple anywhere in your jelly-like state. Eyes remain closed as you felt him reach for your left hand, pressing it to the front of him. You felt the way that he was warm and wet underneath his underwear, the shuddering breath that left his body from the contact of your hand.

“Have we got time before dinner?” you sounded meek, needy, still trying to comprehend what had just happened.

“We’ll make the fuckin’ time,” he growled into jaw, “sit on it.”

“We’re outside-“

This breathy laugh, deep and manly bounced against your ear as he gripped your hips and moved you against his leg. You looked at him, watching this dopey grin slide over his face before he raised his eyes brows in challenge. “Didn’t stop you a second ago-"

“That was different-“

“S’tha’ cause it was f’you-“

He watched your eyes widen as he spluttered a laugh out his pressed together lips. You whined, dropping your head into his neck again as he weaved his fingers through your hair and scratched lightly at your scalp.

“I’ll let it slide, cause s’you- plenty of time to make it up t’me, wifey. Rest of m’life in fact. S’a long time, stuck wi’me-“

[smokeybrand]

Smokey brand Select: Dark Stalkers

I wanted to take the time and kind of suggest films in particular sub-genres i find amazing. I’ve seen a lot of movies in my day and some stand out as real experiences in specific categories. To kick this thing off, i chose to delve into a few flicks in one of my most beloved film sub-genres; The Vampire film. When executed properly, you can create an entire world of unique romance or gory horror within this set theme. Some of the best character studies i have ever seen, begin with that irreverent perspective on life of someone cursed to live forever. Sometimes the vampire aspect is just thematic device to frame a series of savage massacres in the most lurid of bloody reds and violent imagery. There is so much flexibility in this particular category that i felt compelled to speak on it in the inaugural post to my Select series.

10. Doctor Sleep

Probably the most recent entry released on this list. Doctor Sleep plays out as a Shining sequel but don’t be fooled, this is a Vampire movie at it’s core. Wonderfully directed and acted, the vampirsim takes a backseat to the humanity of these characters. You see them at their worst, sure. I can’t say they aren’t ravenous animals, predators who tear children limb from limb, but there is a very human hubris to their overwhelming strength. I love the story told about this particular brood. These creatures are more psychic than sanguinarian but they still feed on humans, nonetheless.

9. Bram Stoker’s Dracula

I adore this flick, man. I remember seeing it as a youth and it is, indeed, one of my favorite interpretations of the Dracula tale. It takes some liberties with the overall narrative but, as a whole, it’s an amazing film to watch. Legitimately a feast for the eyes. I can’t say it’s a great movie on it’s own, truthfully it has some of the worst performances i have ever seen captured on film, but it’s absolutely gorgeous with all of it’s Gothic, yet, campy aesthetic, and has my absolute favorite rendition of Dracula as a character. That, alone, is enough to make this list.

8. What We Do In The Shadows

The beauty of the Vampire genre is how flexible it can be. Shadows is a perfect example of this. ore a comedy about social misfits than a vampire movie, it executes a rather creative narrative around the admittedly tired trope of Vampirism. It’s rare that such creativity and revelry is seen in this genre. Everything is always so dour and somber. This movie is not that. It’s actually rather hilarious and refreshingly upbeat. It’s the most human I’ve ever seen Vampires and i love that contradiction to bits!

7. Interview With The Vampire

This was the first Vampire flick i saw which actually asked the big questions about living forever and being a literal plague on humanity. you know i love my existential nihilism and this is rife with that sh*t. The premise was pretty amazing but it was the resolution that got me. Here you have a man, cursed with the what he has become, pouring his heart out to a man as a warning, and due just turns around and begs to be turned. This man told you his entire, depressing, f*cked up life story and you turn around and BEG to be afflicted with his condition. It’s the greatest slap in the face anyone can deliver. Aside from that, the entire look of this film captures that romantic yet dangerous nature of the vampire romance. It’s truly beautiful but absolutely brutal in it’s own way.

6. Nosferatu

It took a while for me to appreciate this movie for what it was. Seriously, a black and white, German language, silent film. I saw it as a kid and didn’t care for it but, as a n adult, i learned to love this thing. This film,considering these shortcomings of cinema at the time, had to earn it’s place on this list and it did it with the most palpable atmosphere I’ve ever seen in a movie. Later in life, I’d see this done just as deftly with films like Under The Skin, Suspiria, and the VVitch, but Nosferatu was the first and it made an impression. i was enthralled but what can be described as core film making on display.

5. Lifeforce

Lifeforce is another one of these not-bloodsucker vampire flicks. Indeed, these creature suck the life force out of people, thus the title. This movie is kind of ridiculous. It’s all over the place but still, a damn interesting watch. it’s said this thing was influenced by alien and it kind of shows, but still has it’s own unique flavor. This is basically a Roger Corman production with an actual budget so, if you know how those films go, you have a general expectation of how this thing is executed. It, by no means is a great film, but i loved the ride.

4. Byzantium

This film made the list on the strength of it’s gorgeous visuals. There’s an underlying current of despair that i love but, more so than any of that, the look of this movie entrances me. It’s truly stunning, especially certain scenes. The use of reds and shadows is impeccable and the actual lore is some of them most unique I’ve seen in a long time. I wanted to know more about these characters, about this world. It’s wild to see such human monsters; The regret they display for just existing, the trauma that they live with daily, and the resentment for their survival. It’s wild to see and an incredibly unique look at a centuries old theme.

3. Blood: The Last Vampire

Blood is easily one the best Vampire movie i have ever seen, as just a straight vampire slaying outing. The plot is incredibly simple but the execution is amazing. Blood is one of the most beautifully animated films i have ever seen. It can realistically give Akira a run for it’s money. More than that, an entire world was developed from this one film, and it’s just as compelling. If you follow this blog and keep up with the interjections of text between all of the images, then you know i am a lore hound. I love this world and everything in the expanded universe. Hollywood has been looking for an anime they can successfully adapt to film and Blood is it. The plot is simple, the pacing brisk, and the violence is more than gory enough to put butts in seats. If they give this thing the big budget treatment and someone who respects the source material, Blood can be one massive box office hit. On it’s own, as an anime film, it’s still one of the most excellent vampire tales I have ever seen.

2. A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night

This is going to start a trend. Girl is a fantastic film in it’s own right. More than just a vampire film, this thing is a master class in direction. This is actually a Persian-Language film, yet, one of the most compelling movies I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing. Seriously, this movie is absolutely beguiling in it’s imagery, which is a lot to say because it’s in black and white. That was a conscious choice which elevates the film as a whole, letting the brilliant direction bring this movie home. Girl is absolutely one of the best movies I’ve ever sen and it just happens to revolve around a vampire. Don’t let the subtitle barrier deter you from a truly excellent cinematic experience.

1B. Let The Right One In

Netflix suggested this movie to me a few years back.. I was mad skeptical at first but then i watched it. And then i watched it again. And then again. If you’d have told me a Swedish-language, child lead, vampire romance would become one of my all-time favorite films, i'd have called you crazy but, here we are. Let The Right One In is f*cking incredible. It takes the tired trope of boy-Meets-girl and turns it on it’s head, for several reasons. I won’t get into those because you really should watch this film, but it’s absolutely genius how that trope is turned on it’s ear. There are so many themes explored here, so much depth to the storytelling, i was actually shocked. It took multiple viewing for me to peel back all of the layers and, to this day, i still love checking this thing out. The vampirism is inconsequential, it adds a bit of flair to the narrative, but, at it’s core, this is a story about two people falling in love with each other. Or is it a story about the cycle of abuse and manipulation? There’s no definitive answer and i adore that.

1A. Thirst

This is a masterpiece of cinema and no one knows it because it’s from South Korea. Seriously, I’ve written about the shortsightedness of American audiences the second subtitles are brought up but gt the f*ck over that because this movie is one of the best ever made. It’s gorgeous and cruel and wonderful and painful; All of which are captured so richly on film. It’s rare a film can both hurt you and disgust you at the same time. A lot of that has to do with the direction but the to leads bring home this frailty and savagery like no other. There is gore in this film, and it is poignant, but it’s more a punctuation than a set piece. No, Thirst is the study of losing oneself to the passion of humanity and it’s rare you see such raw emotion articulated so well in a genre that decries humanity. Thirst is f*cking awesome and should be seen by everyone, but film buffs in particular.

Honorable Mentions: Vampire Hunter D, Lost Boys, Blade II, Nosferatu The Vampyre, Cronos, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Let Me In, 30 Days of Night, From Dusk til Dawn, Salem’s Lot, Fright Night, Innocent Blood, Vampire’s Kiss, Vampyr, Shadow of the Vampire

[bondsmagii]

🌻🌻🌻

new ask game send me a 🌻 and ill just tell you whatever the fuck i want

lowkey stealing this idea partially from @wintermutal as least as far as songs go but here’s three songs and some really random memories I have associated with them.

so this song was everywhere when I was younger but I remember it most vividly from a car ride when I was about 13. I was Quite The Delinquent™ at that time and I had been in constant trouble at school for the whole year, and I was also a total Asshole With Attitude™ and my long-suffering guardians decided that Drastic Measures™ needed to be taken.

something that is very important for you to understand at this point is that I was totally obsessed with Green Day at the time. I mean, they were my life. I was consumed. I was possessed with all the passion of a 13-year-old emo for this band. my room was covered in posters. my notebooks were covered with lyrics. I never went anywhere without my Walkman and American Idiot was the constantly playing album. (I played that album so much I wrecked one and had to buy another -- this was back in the day where CDs would get scratched up because they’d get jostled as you walked.) quite literally I was addicted to this band. I thought of nothing else and listened to no-one else.

well, as punishment... my dear guardians confiscated every Green Day thing I owned. they took my posters. they took all my CDs. they even found the tiny little badges I’d pinned on the inside of my school jacket. everything was gone. I’ll spare you the gory details of the mental breakdown because it wasn’t pretty -- the only bit you need to know is the dramatic moment where I was threatening to run away and the person who was acting in the role of Mother™ that month said, equally dramatically, “if you can’t behave for us, behave for them!”. really wish I could re-watch that moment now because holy god, how over the top. but anyway, the deal was if I got my act together I could get my Green Day shit back in a week. 

moving on to this song. a couple of hours after this incident we had to go grocery shopping. I obviously had to come along, and I was distraught because usually I’d be in the back listening to Green Day and now I was going to have to listen to the BORING ADULT MUSIC with the BORING ADULTS. I’m sitting in the back looking like a prisoner being led to my execution and this song comes on as we back out of the drive. about a minute into the song it began to rain, which added to the drama. I leaned my head against the window and watched the raindrops running down the window, and I thought to myself you know, thematically, this song is pretty good for the current situation. it’s regretful, a bit morose. it got me thinking about the tough week ahead of me, and with all the hopelessness that you have at that age facing something as long as a week, I gave in to the sheer despair running through me and reached out to dramatically trace my finger down a raindrop on the window as I blinked back tears.

don’t get me wrong, I still like Green Day now. but christ, I came outta the womb a dramatic bitch.

so this song is an absolute banger and I listened to it all the time when I was about 16. for those of you just tuning in, I’m Irish and went to school in the north -- if any of you have tuned into Derry Girls it was basically that except my school was boys and girls. I was Michelle. sure none of you are surprised. anyway.

to cut an extremely long story short (if you want the full story please hit me up because it’s golden) my school and another school had to go on a like, team-building thing because of the civil war and we’re Catholic and they’re Protestant and apparently if you get The Youths together we’ll won’t kill one another once we reach adulthood. seems good in theory but unfortunately they brought us to this outdoor activity camp where we have to abseil and rope climb and fucking cave, in the fucking rain, and we didn’t just want to kill one another but rather every fucking person involved. things got worse until an absolutely disastrous caving experience (which did admittedly result in some cross-community bonding) but really the whole day was fucking nightmarish. we were wet, we were cold, we were being constantly exposed to heights, our safety device was to be tied to a rope and let the kids from the other school hold it and just hope they didn’t let us fall to our deaths... can I remind you that our communities were at war and had been at war for 30 years at that point and our grandpas had probably killed each other or some shit? it was stressful.

anyway, something that’s very important to culture there is singing. the Catholics especially. we have a whole load of rebel songs about killing the British and all that fun stuff, and the Protestants have a few (much more mediocre) (sorry guys but nothing you have slaps as hard as Come Out Ye Black and Tans) songs of their own, and after we got back from the caving disaster and found all our teachers sitting in the fucking warm drinking tea, we’d had enough. this song was on the radio constantly, we all knew it, and me and a guy from the other school (both of us possessing a talent for re-working song lyrics) ended up re-writing this entire song into a rant about the trip. unfortunately I cannot remember most of the lyrics now, but I do know it included a verse about how “in five years’ time” our frozen corpses would be discovered in that fucking cave.

this song is the soundtrack to one of the most subtly unbelievable moments of my life, and that’s strange coming from me considering on the surface it was very normal but for me, someone who has near constant paranormal experiences and has been widely believed from childhood to be a witch, it qualifies as unbelievable.

I’m sure everyone has had a moment in their life where they’re like “wow, this is literally like a movie”. this song is the soundtrack to that moment for me. again for those of you just joining me I have had a fairly fucked up life in some respects, and this lead to a few months of homelessness one summer. I crashed with some friends for a couple of weeks while waiting for my then-friend now-husband @vestriis to come up and meet me in Scotland, where he was going to join me as I turned said homelessness into a roadtrip around the country, urbexing and checking out haunted places as we went (that’s yet another story) and for those entire two weeks my life was one of those summer teen movies where they all live in a small town and get up to wacky adventures and they’re all slightly edgy but ultimately good fun, etc. this is something I had never experienced before because I moved around so much as a kid and never got to make like, actual friends, so having a group to roam around and be feral with was insane.

one of my friends from this time period was very musically-inclined, as was I, as was some other mutual friends. we would jam together with an assortment of instruments, and he and his friend were working on a cover of this song (which was fairly new at the time). it’s a kickass song and it’s challenging in a fun way to sing, so I’d help him practise when the other friend wasn’t around, and then one evening we all found ourselves at this other friend’s house and we ended up playing a bunch of songs together and then finally we belted out this one. by this point it was late, and people were coming home from the pubs; we were at their third-floor window, both of which were thrown open to let the summer air in, and I was sitting in the window seat writing and occasionally joining in the singing. our friend was on guitar and we were having the best jam session yet, summer air and the city streets below us, and then we realised a bunch of drunk people were cheering and clapping us from the street. like, when does this happen outside of a movie? when are you sharing drinks basically on a rooftop with your friends in a summer that seems endless, playing music and actually being fairly decent about it and having people clap? it sounds like something that would be in a YA romance novel when the protagonists finally fall in love but actually we just got fish and chips and my friend taught me to play the ukulele enough that I could torment our other roommates once he’d moved out.

and this was just how the summer began. I spent the rest of that summer with my future husband, living in my car and urban exploring, and then living in London for the final month. every time I hear this song I just remember that summer and how it kind of was endless because I still think about it now, and I can still feel how it felt.

[nightglider124]

Dickkory Week: Day 2

I liked writing this one... any excuse to write about pregnant Kory? I take. 

This hasn’t been proofread properly yet, as is always the story with ship week entries lmao.

Hope ya like it.

__________________________________

In-Laws

The downpour of rain continued to fall from the dark sky above, pelting everything in its path within the city.

Water flooded the streets, cars continuing to speed through and drench the sidewalks even more. 

Few people were around, besides the usual thugs and homeless that were huddled around low embered trash cans down quiet alleyways. 

Drops of water smeared across the glass of the car window and Kory sighed, peering out of it.

“I do not know if I will ever get used to Gotham…”

Dick smiled from his position in the driver’s seat and shifted his grip on the steering wheel so he could reach down and lace their fingers together.

“I don’t even think I am used to Gotham, babe.” He murmured, keeping his eyes on the road on account of the hazardous weather.

“I just wish it had more color… nicer streets and perhaps… not so much rain…” Kory told him, quietly.

“That’d be the day.” He paused and looked over at her, “How are you feeling tonight?”

“Nervous… I always am when we go and visit Bruce.”

He returned his focus to the road, “Why?”

Kory pulled a face that she knew Dick could see in his peripheral, “Even after all these years… I still do not think he is too… keen on me.”

“Babe, he loves you. You’re part of his family.”

She looked at the silver engagement and wedding rings that were wrapped around the same finger of her left hand.

“Not by his choice…” 

“Hey… c’mon, he was quite happy when I told him I was marrying you. And he didn’t object when given the chance at the wedding, did he?”

Kory took a deep breath, “No… apologies. I love Bruce like family… I just… worry that he does not.”

Dick smiled and turned his head towards her, “I know. It’s hard. He isn’t the most affectionate guy but he cares in his own ways.”

Nodding, Kory tried to shake the bout of insecurities she felt in her heart but not before she felt a bump and she groaned.

“Something up?”

She inclined her head and tiredly smirked, “I think she is also telling me to be calm…”

Dick grinned and as they pulled up to Wayne Manor, he reached over and placed a palm on his wife’s swollen belly, waiting to feel his baby kick from inside.

He received two bumps almost immediately which only brightened the smile he wore, “Hey little one… should mama listen to daddy when he says she is loved by grandpa Bruce? Gimme one kick for yes.”

Dick chuckled when a kick was given and he eyed his wife, “Well, the princess has spoken.”

Kory rolled her eyes but smiled, placing her hand over his atop of her stomach. Dick quickly reached through the window at the gates and buzzed for Alfred to let them pass which he did so straight away.

Once they pulled into the large driveway, Dick parked the car up and leaned down to kiss her stomach.

He pulled back and brushed his nose against Kory’s, “Ready to do this?”

With a tight smile, Kory nodded.

Dick got out first, using his coat as a shield from the onslaught of rain before he hurried over to Kory’s side and opened the door up, giving her a helping hand to get out.

Using his coat still, he covered them both as the couple ran to the front doors, already open with Alfred waiting to greet them.

“Thanks Al.” Dick huffed as they got into the foyer, pulling the coat away from their heads and shaking it down before hanging it by the door.

“I do believe the rain will not be letting up this evening.” Alfred sighed, eyeing the window with distaste,

“Such is life when it’s Gotham.” Dick shrugged, leaning in to give Alfred a brief yet firm hug, “He around yet or is he out?”

Alfred patted Dick’s back once before he replied, “He called to say he is on his way back now.”

With that, Alfred turned and smiled at Kory who was excitedly waiting to force another hug on the older gentleman, just as she always did.

“Miss Kory, you are looking radiant.” He told her as she threw her arms around his shoulders,

She snorted, “I do not feel radiant. I feel most like a whale. But, thank you, Alfred. It is lovely to see you again.”

Alfred patted her back and eyed her protruding belly briefly when pulling away, but Dick caught it and smirked.

“Guess what?” Dick paused, “Baby has started kicking since we last saw you. Want to feel?”

The sparkle in his eyes told Dick the truth that Alfred would never voice on account of being a ‘butler’ in his own eyes, despite Dick and Bruce thinking of him like blood, “Oh no… that is-”

Kory dramatically rolled her eyes and stepped forward, grasping Alfred’s hand and placing it on her belly.

They waited in silence for a few seconds before Alfred received a tiny bump against his hand; one that turned his expression to one of utter astonishment.

“Extraordinary… truly extraordinary.” Alfred gushed, before he stood back and took Kory’s coat from her to hang up beside her husband’s.

“Touching a pregnant stomach is deemed a form of luck on my home world; you need not be so hesitant, Alfred.” Kory explained, a grin toying at her lips,

He nodded, his smile one that could only be described as bashful. Dick laughed aloud before the two were led into the den by Alfred as they waited for Bruce to arrive home.

The billionaire by day, vigilante by night materialized from down in the cave after a short while, having swapped the cowl and cape for a smart shirt and pressed dress pants. 

He offered them one of his dazzling smiles that always reminded Kory of Dick’s boyish grin and she wondered if he’d picked it up from his adoptive father back in the early days of his youth.

Dick smirked and got up from the leather sofa they had been lounging on first, shaking Bruce’s hand and giving him an awkward half hug which ended with a casual slap on the back.

“Dick, glad you two could stay over this weekend. I wasn’t sure if you would when I saw the storm tonight.” Bruce said, releasing his son from his hold,

“We were already nearly here when it started so it was smarter to just come.” Dick told him, stuffing his hands in his pocket.

Kory slowly got to her feet, one hand supporting her belly as she rose from the sofa. She smoothed down the creases of her woolen, long sleeved bodycon dress; it was a forest green color that worked well to really emphasize her baby bump.

Bruce’s gaze fell on her and she could have sworn his expression softened as he crossed the space to greet her as well.

“Bruce… it is good to see you again.” She states, smiling brightly at her father in law.

He nodded and collected her into a polite hug, giving her cheek a kiss for good measure. 

“Hello Kory…” Bruce stepped back and his eyes fell to her belly, “How are you feeling lately?”

She lifted her shoulders, “Uh… she certainly keeps me alert…”

“Oh?”

Kory sighed and nodded, “Kicking. Just always kicking recently and I feel the need to blame Dick for that.”

Bruce smirked and the two of them ignored Dick’s weak protest from where he stood by Alfred now.

His eyes trailed upwards until he met her emerald orbs, “May I?”

Kory beamed at him, her heart warm at the interest he had been taking in connecting with his granddaughter.

“Of course… you need not ask.” She giggled, bringing the hand at his side to press against her tummy,

“Well… some women on Earth don’t like people always feeling their bellies.”

Kory smirked, “True but… I am not from Earth. Tamaranians deem it lucky every time someone touches their stomachs.”

Bruce nodded his head in intrigue, waiting patiently for hers and Dick’s child to give him some kind of response. And, after a minute or so, he was rewarded with a powerful bump directly under the palm of his hand.

His blue eyes widened and he slowly smiled from ear to ear, the true wonder of new life exciting all of them. 

“She is certainly an active little thing, isn’t she?” Bruce commented, patting Kory’s belly before removing his hand entirely,

“She is, indeed.”

“Only a couple more months to go, isn’t it?” 

Kory nodded and cradled her belly with both of her hands, an attempt to soothe her unborn daughter into a light slumber; just for a while so that she could relax a little more during dinner.

“I believe I shall miss being pregnant.” Kory admitted,

Bruce chuckled and threw a smirk in Dick’s direction, “I suppose you’ll just have to have another then, hm?” 

Dick choked on his tongue and a blush leaked across his cheeks as he stammered, “Uh… I-I don’t… I think we’ll be a little busy to…” 

Whilst her husband stumbled over himself, Bruce turned to Kory and gave her a secret wink only she could see, drawing an amused giggle from her.

“Right, let’s eat. Shall we?”

Alfred bobbed his head, “I’ll start preparing to bring it out, Master Bruce.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” 

With that, Bruce, Dick and Kory started to make their way towards the long dining table in the room just next door. 

Dick followed closely, falling in beside Kory and touching the small of her back, causing her to smile in content. His touch was a godsend; something her body and the baby had craved since the moment they discovered she was with child. She leaned back into his hand, appreciating the way his fingers rubbed circles against her cloth covered skin.

As they approached the dining table, Dick hurried ahead of his wife, pulling her chair out and taking her hand to help her sit down on it. She smiled and sweetly kissed his cheek, thankful to have married someone who was so protective and devoted to her basic well being.

He grinned back before he took the seat beside her.

The corners of Bruce’s lips lifted upward, silently proud of the way Dick had turned out. It made him feel like he had steered him right, despite his own conquests throughout his adult life, with only select women meaning something to him the way Kory meant something to Dick.

But, he did wonder if any woman had actually meant something to him like Kory meant something to Dick. Their sturdy relationship was something rare and special and he was genuinely very happy for his son, to have found something like that.

As Alfred served the dishes for the evening, conversation began to flow, the natural streak slowly starting to show itself. 

“So…” Bruce started, cutting into the meat on his plate, “How are the Titans?”

Dick smirked, “You mean… how is Damian doing as leader?”

Bruce shrugged, not wanting to show how obvious he was.

“He is doing extremely well. He has learned a lot from his time with the team… he is much more… patient and aware than when he first came to us.” Kory explained, lifting her fork full of chicken into her mouth,

Dick nodded and took a swig of his wine, “He’s definitely matured. I mean… 16 years old and he’s proving to be a very good leader. Hardly any complaints from the others.”

Bruce raised a dark brow, “But there are some.”

Kory stifled a smirk, “It would seem not everyone is a fan of his early morning training sessions.”

The head of the table paused, blinked in disbelief before he burst into laughter, “Well, I suppose that’s a fair reason not to be happy with him.”

Dick and Kory laughed alongside him, nodding their heads in agreement.

“Kory?” Bruce began, “Do you think you’ll return to your role of leader once you are settled with the little one?”

The Princess paused in her sipping from the glass of water and tilted her head to the side as she swallowed the mouthful, “I… am undecided… we are… still deciding what we wish to do in terms of the future.”

“Oh?”

Dick cleared his throat and his cerulean gaze fell on his former mentor, “Well… we were considering leaving Damian as the team’s leader… y’know… permanently.”

Bruce’s brows shot to his hairline, “Really?”

Sighing, Dick briefly dragged his fingers through his hair, “We need to pull back… maybe not forever but… our daughter is gonna need our focus. I’m working on arranging a roster so that I’m not always away from home as well. We’re… really taking this seriously.”

“We never want her to feel like she missed one of us whilst growing up…” Kory murmured, pattering her fingers against her belly in a moment of playfulness.

Bruce took a long moment before he nodded earnestly, “That sounds like a smart idea, you two.”

Kory smiled and glanced in Dick’s direction as he clasped her knee beneath the table, “Thanks.”

“So, I’m assuming you don’t want to come along for the secondary patrol later tonight.” 

Dick lifted his head, “Uh… I didn’t say that. As long as it doesn’t go past midnight, I’m permitted to go with.”

“Permitted?”

Kory smirked into her food as Dick chuckled, “Didn’t you know, Bruce? Kory makes all the final decisions.”

Bruce smiled, “She is the more intelligent one so that makes sense.”

“Hey!” 

Kory burst into a fit of giggles, taking another gulp of water from her glass. She felt her cheeks grow rosy from the banter that was being shared around the table and slowly, the walls that seemed to go up whenever she came to Gotham started to crack; just a little. 

She returned to slicing up the succulent chicken breast that sat on her plate, popping a piece into her mouth and allowing the flavors to dance across her tongue. 

“So, Kory… will you be visiting your parents on Tamaran closer to your due date?” Bruce asked, making gentle conversation,

Kory froze in her seat, her body going rigid at the question, despite Bruce’s complete obliviousness to the elephant in the room. She realized that Dick had never told his father about her own lack of family members; with most of them having perished years prior.

“Uh-” Dick made to save her from explaining but Kory held a hand up, stopping him. She felt a need in her heart to be honest and direct with her personal life. There was a constant feeling that dwelled in the pit of her stomach that Bruce merely tolerated her and that he barely knew anything about her, despite being his daughter in law for the past 2 years. 

But, she wanted him to know all about her and she wanted to share things with him; to have a closeness with her father by marriage that she did not necessarily have with her biological father.

Bruce had paused in eating, sensing that he had erred somewhere in his question.

Kory swallowed the mouthful of poultry and gently dabbed her lips, careful not to smear the lipstick she wore. 

“Unfortunately… my parents are deceased.”

Realization suddenly dawned on Bruce and his shoulders sagged in obvious sympathy and understanding for the woman sat at his table, “Oh… I’m sorry, Kory.”

She offered him a tight lipped smile and shook her head, “Do not be. It was… a long time ago…” She paused, considering how they treated her when she was alive and what she had endured at the hands of her parents, using her to barter for peace on their world, “Besides… they were not… the nicest of people.”

Her father in law stared at her for a long stretch of time, as if mulling over things in his head before he gave her a gentle smile, one that revealed his own pain from a young age. 

She knew that they were all orphans in truth, the three of them sat at the oak wood table that lined the middle of the room. She knew about Dick’s parents and then she later learned of Bruce’s origin as well, which was no less saddening than hers or Dick’s.

“It doesn’t make it much easier… whether they are good or bad people. It still hurts.”

Kory eyed him and felt a lump in her throat. She nodded in agreement, “No. It does not.”

She felt his hand cover hers, gently against the surface of the table and she looked up to hold his stare to which he offered her the softest smile she thought she had ever seen on him,

“Well… you know you’ve got us, Kory. You’ve always got a place here, in this family.”

Kory felt tears prick the back of her eyes but she refused her emotions for once. Her smile trembled as her heart felt so full before she nodded back to him, understanding that Dick had been right about what Bruce supposedly thought of her after all this time.

“Thank you, Bruce.”

[valiancyvulnerability]

Body Image and Young People

This is a big topic that has so many layers to it. I have been trying to collect my thoughts the past few days in order to try to cover as much as I could, so I am going to do my best.

I want to begin by going into detail about my battle with my own body over the years, in detail, in order to create a clear image about what goes through someone’s brain that is struggling with severe confidence issues.

I never was a skinny kid, necessarily, but sports were never truly my scene. Throughout my last few years of elementary school and middle school, I was pudgier than most of the kids in my grade, but I was not an unhealthy weight by any means. That being said, as I mentioned, I didn’t play sports, so I was already a target for people that felt superior to me as someone who wasn’t athletic and was “heavier”. This was the stem of my self-confidence issues, but it didn’t get to its worst until I was in high school.

I became accustomed to swimming fully clothed at pool parties, wearing clothes that were oversized in order to cover any lines or bumps that I felt like were flaws on my frame. If that meant wearing sweaters and sweatpants in the summer, then that’s what I needed to do. 

When I turned sixteen, I wanted to change my whole image into someone I wasn’t (see past blog posts) and started working out excessively and cut my eating almost entirely in order to lose weight, and in my head, get people to like me. I got results both physically and socially and ended up losing about twenty-five pounds, so I persisted. I was so focused on how I was viewed by people, that I failed to acknowledge the issue at hand until February of 2020.

My anxiety was at its peak and when Covid-19 hit, I found myself alone and focusing on nothing else but what I was eating, what I looked like, and what number the scale flashed back at me. I substituted all my meals with a powder drink that satisfied me for a few hours, and then I would repeat. I lost about twenty pounds in a month. 

The way this situation is different, though, is that I wasn’t attempting weight loss in order to please others, it was a competition with myself, and it wasn’t a friendly one. I didn’t view it as what it truly was until I started passing out. One afternoon, I got ready to take prom pictures with my friends with a local photographer in my town. I went to go pick up my friends and got out of the car and they started speaking to me, but I could hear nothing--I blacked. I started sweating and couldn’t form my sentences properly. I would get up and walk to my bedroom when I felt it coming, and I would just wipe out completely. I knew it was an issue, but it was not enough to get me to stop what I had already started, because I wanted results. Anytime we would get carry-out or I would eat an actual meal, I would return to my room and tremble, thinking about every bite of food I had just consumed.

Although I am on a more nourishing and healthy track now, it is still a daily occurrence where I want to slap myself across the face for eating breakfast, for going out to dinner with my family, or for having a snack now and then. I have spent many a night, alone, driving around screaming and crying at nothing simply for feeling the way I do. It’s almost an addictive behavior that I didn’t want to acquire, but the truth is that I did, and I am doing my best to overcome the obsession that gets in the way of my everyday routine, and we are getting somewhere.

Enough about me, though. The reason I am writing this in the first place is because I have so much to say as it’s something I know I am still personally dealing with, and I know the majority of people my age are. If we are being honest, we all would change something about our body if we could. Whether it be that we want to lose weight, or gain it, we all have our personal battles. In today’s day and age, though, it’s a more toxic world regarding body image and perception. Here is why.

SOCIAL MEDIA

As of 2019, teenagers often spent up to nine hours on social media on a daily basis. The most toxic platforms for young people struggling with their body, in my opinion, would be Instagram and TikTok. Because most social media apps are programmed to spit out information and content that interests the user, the posts that are viewed are specific to each individual. 

With Instagram, especially, everyone aspires to be an “influencer”. They are skinny, tan, have clear skin, travel, eat power foods, and young people love that. The reality is, is that most of us don’t live perfect lives like that, but we truly wish we did, so we want to get as close as we can.

With this, diet culture is a very popular concept among those wanting to bring a change to their bodies. Although this has been something that has been advertised for years now, mainly for adults, the new wave of diets for adolescents is scary. Most of them are malnourishing and can do more damage than one would think. Often times, though, they are bizarre or unheard of, but seem simple enough for someone who wants fast results. Because of this, once again, it’s easy for both myself and people my age to get reeled in quickly into that idea.

(I don’t want parents reading this to think that this necessarily entails that social media needs to be taken from their teenagers, but it is something to be aware of. Social media is a great way to stay connected (especially now) and gives us a voice to do good and bring change, as well.)

THE SOCIAL FACTOR

Because this is an issue that most of the youth deals with, whether it be minor or major, it can become a competition without intending it to be. If my friends are losing weight, why aren’t I? If they’re doing this diet, then I need to. They feel better about themselves than I do. What am I doing wrong? 

If you find yourself feeling like this too often, and it gets to a point where it gets in the way of your relationships, then it’s a conversation to be had. You shouldn’t have to feel like you are competing with those you hold close to you, but you also shouldn’t feel like you have to walk on eggshells every time you are with them to not say the wrong thing. Find some common ground, and support each other at times of insecurity.

High school can be a terrible atmosphere for someone who feels like their weight isn’t ideal. Teenagers are quick to make mindless comments and insults about people’s appearance. Whether it comes from a place of low self-esteem themselves or not, it doesn’t justify it, and this can be a direct and harsh cause of body image problems.

THE MENTAL FACTOR

If someone struggles with general anxiety, depression, or another mental condition, having your body as an enemy can sometimes heighten the severity of the issue as a whole. It truly goes hand in hand. For me, my anxiety was at its worst when my eating habits were at its worst. I was focused on what I was eating, focused on what the scale read back to me, and in the rare moments I wasn’t fixed on that, it was worrying about other things happening in my life. Everything was just raised to a higher degree.

The two words I have been trying to avoid so far, “eating disorder”, is something that I would love to say is just a false or dramatic phrase, but the reality is is that it’s a demon, and a real one. With the world of social media, again, they’re often glorified to be an artsy aesthetic to be achieved. Eating disorders does not mean “just not eating”. It can be anorexia, bulimia, binge eating, body dysmorphia, and because there are so many forms, it’s not always going to be apparent just looking at a person. Often times it isn’t. That is something to keep in mind, because one of the most damaging things for someone struggling with an ED is making them feel like their issues aren’t valid because it’s not physically obvious to you, or that someone else is worse off in your eyes.

HEALING

The first step that has helped me, personally, is just becoming comfortable. I need to become comfortable with myself in the way I am now for me to appreciate any way my body looks in the future. If I’m unhappy with myself now, when am I ever going to be happy, regardless of the supposed improvements I’m making? It’s been a tricky thing for me to figure out, but I force myself to go to pool parties, I hang out around the house sometimes just wearing underwear, so I can become familiar and comfortable with seeing myself and my body so I can reach a point to where that’s normal. 

The next thing is to follow the steps that you know are going to be beneficial and healthy for you. If that means working out to gain muscle, to lose weight, or dieting, then do it, BUT do it in such a way that is going to be, again, beneficial. Don’t go to the extremes for quicker results, because you will end up falling down a hole that will be hard to climb out of.

Lastly, if you see fit, go to therapy! There’s a large stigma around therapy as it makes people think that those who go are insane or can’t function on their own, which is far from the truth. Think of it as more of a helping hand from someone who has a different view and has solutions that may be overall helpful. Reading this blog is simply just how I see things, and that goes for any post I make. I am not a professional. I am not an expert. I am an eighteen year-old that just wants to share his experiences in order to bring awareness. There are many great therapists out there, and there are several websites you can visit to find one that meets your needs specifically.

I am overjoyed to see that the modeling industry, for example, is heading in a more positive direction as far as inclusivity goes. Plus-size models, LGBTQ+, and people of color are booking shows, spreads, and can be seen on billboards. This is just the start, and the rest lies within everyone as people to stop shaming others for their appearance, because if we didn’t from the beginning, there would be no reason for anyone to feel uncomfortable in their own skin to begin with. Imagine a world free of judgment for a moment. Imagine how differently every single person on the planet would be living. It’s something to think about.

I want to reiterate--don’t be afraid to ask for help! It is a direct demonstration of strength, rather than weakness, to admit that you need an outside source to help you get through whatever battle you may be experiencing.

And as always, be kind to one another and stay safe out there!

[master-sass-blast]

Planning Pains

Whoooo boy. Gonna have to slap a big ol’ trigger warning on this one.

Summary: You attempt to start planning your upcoming wedding with Piotr --and run into a major emotional wall instead.

Rating: T for adult language, past child abuse, mentions of abuse, trauma from said abuse, and just a lot of anger, angst, and emotional pain.

Set after ‘Questions and Answers’ and before ‘The Literal Crack Fic.’

Also

TRIGGER WARNING: If you’ve got any hang ups on your ability to be loved or be in a relationship (which I absolutely understand and am not judging anyone for because I went through the same stuff as a teenager), this may not be the fic for you! This fic deals extensively with being led to believe that you (as the character of the Reader, not you irl obvs) weren’t worthy of being loved and the trauma that extended from that, and even if you haven’t suffered the abuse and gaslighting that I’ve detailed for the CHC, it’s heavy.

Obviously, y’all are fully capable of making your own grown-ass decisions, but I wanted to put it out there. Just in case.

Taglist:  @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @starman-thorsus-canos-jock

(Want to be added to the taglist? Send me a DM! Seriously, DM me, I don’t trust Tumblr’s ask box system or reblog notification system to catch everything lol.)

You should be able to do this. You’re smart. You’re capable. You help herd around a bunch of malcontent mutant teenagers and take down various groups of mutant criminals or groups planning to enact crimes against mutants –and the former is arguably more dangerous than either of the latter. You can make pancakes without burning down the kitchen –and have an edible product by the end of it (though the overall “pancake” appearance is largely questionable)!

You can fucking fly, for fuck’s sake. Know how many people can do that? A significantly small number, and they need planes or fancy equipment to do it, the chumps.

(Alright, that last point may be a little moot due to your mutation set, but still.)

Point stands: you are a confident, competent, capable adult, who is capable of accomplishing many different things with varying but usually large amounts of success.

So, why is it you can’t plan your own wedding?

You’re staring down at one of the tables in the library; you’d opted to set up in there for the sake of space, so you could spread everything out and get a good look at all of it, but now you’re thinking that was a mistake because the sheer amount of everything only makes it that much clearer that you don’t know what you’re doing.

Venues. Catering options. Invitations. Cake. Flowers. Wedding dress. Bridesmaids dresses. More cake. Music. Groom’s suit and groomsmen’s suits. Cake again. Rings, vows, honeymoon reservations, wedding party details, finding a minister, finding a house, or maybe an apartment, legal name changes—

It’s all too much. Even something simple, like picking what flowers you like, is impossible because…

Because you never even thought someone would want to marry you. For nearly your entire life, you were told that you were a monster, whole-heartedly undesirable, and because of that you never even dreamed about what a wedding for you might look like. Not even once.

And, as a result, you’ve got absolutely nothing in mind for what you might even want.

And it’s making you furious.

Because you should’ve been able to dream about your wedding –or even if in some alternate timeline, you never wanted one, you shouldn’t have been so beaten down that you couldn’t even fathom someone finding you desirable, let alone worthy of committing to.

You’re shaking in your seat, hands trembling as rage courses through you. The longer you stare at everything in front of you, the more helpless you feel, and the angrier you get.

Fuck your parents. Fuck them, fuck them, fuck them, fuck them fuck them fuck themfuckthemfuckthem—

“Hey, Y/N.” Russell grabs your shoulder gently. “Are you okay?”

You realize that you’re basically angry-sobbing in your seat, glaring at all the wedding planning materials while you tremble all over.

Yukio materializes on your other side and hugs you gently. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t!” Russell protests. “She’s crying over a picture of shoes!”

“A lot of women do that.”

“Should we get Piotr?” Ellie asks, ever the voice of reason.

You nod, largely beyond words at this point as you try to wipe off your face and reign yourself in a little now that there are people in the room with you.

Ellie and Yukio head off to track down your fiancé, but Russell stays behind, sitting next to you and gently holding your hand while you –unsuccessfully—try to calm down.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “It’s gonna be okay. Colossus’ll be here soon.”

You nod, trying to soothe him more than you are yourself at this point, because –honestly—you’re just so angry. It’s like a wound you never realized you had is now ripping open, deeper and deeper, tearing through you until you can’t breathe and all you can do is bleed and rage—

How dare they.

Betrayal. Pure and simple. Betrayed by your parents, betrayed by the town you grew up in, betrayed by the members of the church you were dragged to every Sunday and Wednesday…

Week after week, a community of adults bore witness –to the anti-mutant sermons you were forced to listen to, to the times were the kids in the middle school and high school youth groups would bully you even though you were barely out of first grade yet, to the growing fear with which you reacted to your parents, to the times where you were dragged back to your home by men toting rifles after you’d tried to run away, to the bruises that covered your arms from your father’s abuse, to the bags under your eyes from constantly being afraid and upset, to how you retreated further and further inside yourself as your parents bore down harder and harder on you…

And they did nothing. No one, not once, ever looked at you and decided that you deserved protecting because you were just a kid and couldn’t control your genetic make-up.

How fucking dare they.

You didn’t deserve to hate yourself, you didn’t deserve to feel worthless, you didn’t deserve to believe that you were so unlovable that you’re completely lost at sea in the face of planning your own fucking wedding—

And then Piotr’s kneeling next to you and drawing you into his arms. He’s in his uniform and armored up –he must’ve been overseeing training sessions, and now you feel bad for having inadvertently interrupted him.

“Tische, myshka.” He gently lifts you into his arms, then says something to Ellie before carrying you out of the library.

You wind your arms around his neck and bury your face in the shoulder piece of his uniform. You’re still shaking, borderline hyperventilating as you try to cope with the sheer level of wrath coursing through you. How dare they, how fucking dare they; I was a kid!

And then you’re in the bedroom you share with Piotr.

You’re vaguely aware that the teens have followed you and that they’re setting the wedding stuff on the desks, and then they’re leaving and closing the door behind them—

And then it’s just you and Piotr.

“What’s wrong, myshka?” Piotr murmurs. He armors down before sitting on the bed, carefully settling you in his lap so he can nestle you in his arms. “What has you upset?”

What you want to say is that you’re upset and enraged over the mistreatment you suffered as a child, and that it still extends so far into your life that you’re finding yourself unable to help plan your own wedding because you literally have zero ideas on what you want due to being abused for so long.

What comes out, however…

“I hate them,” you seethe as you sit back. “I hate them so fucking much. I was just a kid, I didn’t fucking deserve to be their punching bag—”

Fortunately, Piotr knows you well enough –and the tragic story of your upbringing—that he can decipher from your rambling that you’re upset about your family. He frowns, sad and concerned, and tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I am so sorry, moya dusha.”

“I didn’t deserve it,” you insist, almost frantically, as tears sting your eyes. “I didn’t deserve it, I didn’t deserve it, I didn’t fucking deserve it—”

“Konecho net. Never.” He draws you back into his arms, kissing the top of your head and rubbing your back and generally doing whatever he can to soothe you. “You never deserved how they treated you. You never could, and you never will.”

You sob brokenly against your fiancé’s chest. “I can’t even plan my own wedding, Piotr! I don’t even know what I want it to look like!”

And then it all comes pouring out –the panic you’d felt in the library, how it’d morphed into fury as you realized what was causing your utter lack of ideas for your upcoming wedding, how the teens had found you in there, borderline hyperventilating as you’d stared at all the wedding stuff.

Piotr, for his part, just holds you and kisses the top of your head over and over again. “I am so sorry, moya lyubov’. Had I known you would have felt this kind of distress, I would have not left you to work on our wedding details alone.”

“But aren’t most brides supposed to plan the wedding?” you ask as you sniff inelegantly.

“I do not think ‘supposed to’ is right word. I think most brides wind up planning weddings because they have more aesthetic preferences,” Piotr explains. “However, I think it might be better if we work together for most of it. If only so you do not have to deal with your pain alone.”

“But you’ve got job stuff to do,” you whine. “And X-Men stuff, and teacher stuff, and this is gonna take a lot of time—”

“And you are my fiancée and love of my life and future wife and we will find way to make this work,” he insists as he presses his lips against your forehead. “Your well-being is more important than easy schedule.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I just don’t want you to wind up hating me by all the end of this.”

Piotr just holds you tighter and kisses your temple. “Impossible.”

It’s not going to be easy. Even the thought of trying to work on wedding stuff makes your stomach churn with anxiety and unreleased rage.

Nothing in life comes easy, though. And with Piotr by your side –and your friends and newfound family—you know you’ll get through it just fine.

[edmund-valks]

What Lies Beneath... the Barn

“Wait, if you can think of that, why do you need me?”

Ilandreline brushed dark hair back from her sweat-slicked brow, carefully pouring molten metal into gear molds.  “Because I can only do the calculations, not the actual magic.  Also I would prefer to be able to validate it before I get my friends sucked into terrifying cosmic voids.”

She was really glad for this setup, even more glad that nobody seemed to notice she’d built a basement into the barn using a disintegrating arcanodrill while they’d been off engaging in weird things like “commerce”, whatever that meant.  Not that she didn’t know what the word meant, but.  Is my internal dialogue supposed to be this bad?  No, it’s not.  Maybe you’re not as smart as you hoped.  Fair.

“Anyway,” she said aloud, setting the fresh gears to quench, “you’re the only one I know who even cares about my planar work, much less understands how to use it in this fashion.  You already made it better, remember?  That second letter of yours?”  She spared a glance for the other elf, trying to gauge her reaction.

Perched on a corner of her workbench, the diminutive ren’dorei was… blushing?  Either that or suffocating; her cheeks were flushed a soft violet rather than her whole face, so presumably it wasn’t asphyxiation.  “Well, I mean, anyone could have if they-”

“If you finish that sentence I’m going to hit you with a wrench.”

She stopped so fast her teeth clacked.

The Fence Macabre’s resident -- whether they knew it or liked it -- engineer continued.  “If anyone could do it, then I’m a fool for not having done it myself, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t just call me a fool.  And second of all, no, they couldn’t have, so stop trying to downplay your work.  You’re smart about this stuff and you’ve got a unique perspective.  You’re a valuable colleague and I’d love for you to be a co-author when I publish this theory.”

More colour rushed to her cheeks, making Sentua look something like a blueberry.  Poor thing!  Whatever the ren’dorei had done to themselves, it had really screwed them out of any fashion choices they may have liked beforehand.  Red and gold just… didn’t… with that complexion.

“I… would like to be published with you, thank you.  Are you sure- Wait, of course you are, otherwise you wouldn’t have said it, right?”  She took several deep breaths.  “Sorry.”

Ila shook her head.  “Don’t worry about it.  You about studied up, ready to try out the first one?”

“Um.  Let me take one more look at the diagram and re-check the math.  Then I’ll go over the runes again.”

“Sure thing, take your time.  I got a bunch of these brass bastards to make anyway.”  Anyone from the Fence who wasn’t her was unlikely to have any idea why she was making multiple copies of something that was already built.  That was probably for the best.  Nobody else really seemed to appreciate the old grandfather clock the way she did.

While she worked, her visitor did exactly as she’d said she would, tracing the structure they’d slowly developed using extraplanar theoretics combined with several known nexus points.  If they’d had access to a superior medium (who wasn’t also wholeheartedly opposed to their purpose), maybe they would have been able to determine if it was going to work without having to craft a prototype.  But what would be the fun in that?

Well, it would certainly involve less child endangerment.

Hey!  That’s not fair, she’s an adult!

...In human years, yes.  How old is she?  Twenty?

Twenty-three?  Give or take a year.

This is wildly irresponsible parenting!

I’m not her parent!

Good point.  It’s really irresponsible of them to let her hang out with someone like us.

No kidding!  What are they thinking!

“Okay, I’m getting started now.  Try to keep quiet and stay over there.  I’m… not sure what this is going to look like when I get it going.”

That made two of them.  Ilandreline very casually moved behind a thickly armoured panel she used in case one of her iron molds exploded.  “Righto, let ‘er rip, Senny!”

Despite her youth, she sure looked like she knew what she was doing.  Having grown up around an assortment of arcane manipulators (as well as normal manipulators), Ila could usually follow spellwork as it happened.  She was utter rubbish at it herself, but that was why she’d done theoretical work.  That way she never had to prove anything except on paper.

The interweaving runic designs began flaring to life, unexpectedly nightblue with pinpricks of starlight within them.  A brief peek without her goggles in place confirmed that wasn’t a trick of the lenses, it was the Real Deal.  Since she had no idea what it meant, if anything, the sin’dorei kept waiting and watching.

A subaural thrum filled the air, slowly building intensity.  Sentua seemed unbothered, continuing to do… whatever a wizard did during a lengthy ritual.  Concentrate or something.  The vibration became more sensible until it started to feel like her teeth were going to rattle from her skull.  Then it stopped and things got weird.

When your family was exiled due to a misunderstanding involving the regular sacrifice over centuries of sentient beings to dark powers, you grew up with a different baseline for weirdness from others.  As a result, this wasn’t the weirdest thing Ila had ever seen, but it was certainly up there.  She pulled her goggles off to see with the tainted vision that same “misunderstanding” had gifted her.

Portals were opening and clothing, like mouths made of eyes, evaporating as soon as they formed.  A loop made of itself (what?) turned outside-in until they disappeared inside it.  Eyes of darkness flared against the backdrop of interminable void within one of the gaping portal-maws and she felt uncomfortably seen.  Maybe I messed up the math after all.

A crackle of power flared through the starlight rune-circles, drawing constellations like the antipodal counterpart of what she’d seen in drawings from Ulduar.  This was a place she recognized, but not in a way she’d experienced it before.  There was the old, familiar whisperings, comforting as ever, slipping over and through her being with their gentle rubberiness.  The sensation of being watched, as always, and knowing what was heard wasn’t her own thoughts; just another day looking at what the authorities of Silvermoon had called “the wrong side of things” when they’d been exiled a couple hundred years back.

The ache in her jaw was new, though.  And… getting worse.  Something was affecting the pressure in the room.  Maybe I should open the door up to the barn, help equalize it?  Ilandreline tried to move but her body wouldn’t respond right.  She tried to talk but nothing came out.  The air felt like molasses, though, and it started to… ooze… into her open mouth in one of the more unpleasant sensations she’d ever encountered.

This is definitely bad, this is going to keep increasing until we pop like overfed ticks.  It wasn’t a comforting thought.  She’d die like she’d lived, though: making bad decisions with dangerously undertested experiments.  Her jaw was being forced wider and wider, until it felt like it was going to pop out of its socket.  Then something did pop and there was a roar like an entire storm’s worth of thunder if it was packed into a giant’s sneeze.

Wetness -- blood?  Probably! -- trickled from her ears, but she could close her mouth again.  She did so, gingerly, rubbing at it.  “Faoh,” she mumbled, unable to make real words quite yet.  Her brain didn’t want to form them, her mouth couldn’t.  She blinked far too often for several minutes before recovering enough to replace the tinted lenses through which she typically viewed the world.

Sentua was still standing, looking… mostly normal.  Maybe slightly dazed; half catatonic?  No more than that, maybe only a quarter.  But she was also grinning like the cat who’d eaten a smaller, weaker cat to gain its feline prowess.

“Ah wubna!” she said in triumph.

“Fwah?” was Ila’s response as she stuck her little finger into an ear, trying to pry loose the inability to understand.  It came back covered in what was definitely blood, possibly with a little extra something she didn’t want to think about too closely.

The ren’dorei worked her jaw a bit, then tried again.  “I did it!”  The words formed right that time, managing to get through the sticky haze in Ila’s ears.  “I don’t know if it worked, but it went off just like we expected it to.”

“Hleva nuhs!”  Frowning, she slapped herself once, then a second time, harder.  Wiggling her jaw from side to side, she formed the words very deliberately.  “Ve...ry… nice.”  Moving over to where the first pocket watch -- more staggered, really, as if she was quite drunk -- Ilandreline examined it.  It looked right.

She turned it just so, opened a back panel to look into the mirrored surface there, checking behind her.  And sure enough, just as she’d hoped, there was the leering grin of a lurking specter, axe poised and with a hungry look in its eyes.  “Hey, fella! ��Good to see you again.  We made you portable.”  She laughed, gave a wink that the cursed entity could never see.  “Look out, world!  The Fence Macabre has portable curse detectors now!”

Her new partner came to look over her shoulder and practically jumped out of her skin.  Sentua glanced hurriedly back to the real world then into the gleaming silvered expanse.  “This… this is what you were trying to do?”

“Absolutely!”

“But… why?”

Ilandreline just stared for a moment.  She didn’t understand why people kept asking that.  It was clearly a great idea.  “Because why wouldn’t you want to be able to see what kind of horrific spirits are lurking in an area?  This is a much more portable form of the curse, one that can be replicated multiple times using the demiplanar transpositionalities we derived, augmented through a series of linking and magnifying matrices.  So long as I keep at least half of the original gears in the grandfather clock, I can use the rest to create portable horror viewers!”

Sentua stared at her for rather a long time.  It got awkward.  Eventually she shrugged, though, which was probably for the best.  “Well, as long as you’re happy and it works, I guess that’s good enough for me!  I think I’m gonna go home and sleep, though, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, absolutely.  Get your rest, that was probably pretty draining.”  She grinned, squeezed the young elf in a one-armed hug.  “And be proud!  You did great.”

“Thanks!  I… don’t know if replicating a curse into multiple other objects was what I thought I’d be doing, but at least it confirmed our theories.”  She grinned weakly, then stumbled off to the designated teleportation corner, keying one of her completion-tokens to zap her back home.

Ilandreline kept turning the pocket watch over, chuckling.  It didn’t tell time worth a damn, but she didn’t care about that.  It had worked.  And she was going to be published again for that work, damn it, preferably somewhere that would absolutely irritate her parents to no end.

Truly, she was living her best life, and it was all thanks to the Fence.

[writethiswaymaam]

The Last Goodbye

Author’s note: This does not really follow a particular timeline of the show, but refers to events that have happened in both SOA and Mayans. 

Summary: Marcus reunites with his estranged wife and daughter only to find out that some mistakes can be forgotten, but never forgiven. 

Warnings: Angst, Death

   Tessa sat quietly, holding her mother's hand. Her mother was crying, hysterical. She begged to see her husband. She begged to see her son. She didn't understand why they weren't here with her. She was hurt. She was mad. She was terrified. Alzheimer's was like a rabid coyote. Picking apart the flesh, and leaving a hollow version of the person who once was. Tessa had no words for her mother. There was no way to reason and no way to comfort a woman who couldn't remember what led her to this moment. There was nothing she could do short of breaking every rule she had made for herself. Tessa wiped the tears from her mother's face as she wept, and paged the nurse. She needed to make a phone call.

   It was a late Saturday night, and Bishop was nursing a whiskey as the boys blew off some steam. His phone buzzed in his vest pocket, and the caller ID showed a number he didn’t recognize, "Hello?"

   "Obispo?" the voice was hesitant.

   "Tessa?" Bishop sat up straighter and Tank turned abruptly with a questioning look on his face, "Are you okay?"

    Tessa sighed trying to hold back tears, "I need your help."

    Bishop motioned his head to Tank, and they headed into chapel closing the doors behind them.

   "Who's Tessa?" EZ asked. 

   Coco exhaled a smoke ring, before saying, "There are some things that are just way above our pay grade, hermano." 

   Angel echoed his sentiment, "Yeah, that phone call is only going to lead to trouble. Trust me." 

   Angel and Coco walked away to go back to the party, while EZ kept restocking the bar with Chucky. "El Padrino, Marcus Alvarez, has a daughter, Tessa, but they haven't talked in years after the whole Esai thing," Chucky offered EZ another crate. 

   "Who's Esai?" questioned EZ.

   "Marcus' son. The one he agreed to let SAMCRO kill as a peace offering. Tessa and her mother left after the funeral." Chucky said as he headed back to the storage closet.

   EZ stared after him before resuming stocking the shelves.

    It was no surprise when Bishop and Tank emerged from Chapel, grabbed Tazo, and headed out to an unknown location without much word to anyone else.

 --------

    Emily Galindo was hoping for a quiet night at home with her family, but while she and Miguel sat on the floor playing with Cristobal, the door bell rang, and she knew that her hopes were probably dashed. Especially, when the three elder members of the motorcycle club were there looking for Marcus. As they quietly discussed something amongst themselves, Emily gathered Cristobal in her arms, kissed his heads, and headed off to his nursery.

    "Primo," Bishop greeted Marcus, "Tessa called me tonight."

    "Tessa? Is everything okay?" Marcus brow furrowed.

    Tank interjected, "Gloria's health has declined. Late stage Alzheimer's. The way Tess describes it is that she has lost a lot of the past, while living in it, and she is confused most of the time."

    "Gloria's asking for you, primo," Bishop placed his hand on his cousin's shoulder.

    Tazo spoke, "Tessa thinks that maybe if you come it will help Gloria's soul be ready to leave from this world to the next one."

    The air left Marcus' lungs, as he tried to process everything. He looked at Miguel, "Of course, you should leave as soon as possible, " Miguel agreed, "take whatever resources you need."

    After grabbing a few things, Marcus got into the back of a black SUV that pulled onto the highway surrounded by motorcycles. He closed his eyes. He wasn't sure where this road was going to end up taking him, but he had a feeling it was going to hurt like hell.

 ---------

    A long winding driveway lined with cattle pastures where the sunken stomachs and hooked long horns could be seen meandering in search of an approvable area to graze, led to a spacious white stoned ranch house. As the cars and motorcycles pulled into the circular drive, a woman stepped out onto the front porch. Her long dark hair had the wild wave of someone who had spent too much time running their fingers through it. She wore an oversized sweater and ripped black jeans, and her feet were bare. She leaned against the porch post, crossing her ankles and her arms. Bishop approached her first, arms out stretched for a hug, "Hola, princesa."

    She broke the hug quickly, wiping her eyes and readjusting her dark rimmed glasses. "Hola, its been a long ride. There is food in the kitchen, and the guest rooms are made up if anyone needs to rest."

    The small crowd split as Marcus approached. Tessa's arms crossed back over her chest. They assessed one another with the same dark and calculating eyes. While Tessa had elements of her mother's beauty, her coloring and mannerisms were a deafening echo of her father's much to her chagrin. Marcus made to say something first, but Tessa cut him off, "I'll take you to mama, if you're ready now."

    She didn't wait for an answer as she turned and walked through the open door. Marcus and Bishop exchanged looks, and they followed her inside. The house had a fairly open floor plan, the entry way connecting into the kitchen and a living area. The kitchen counters were lined with appetizers and a bucket of iced drinks. "Make yourself at home gentlemen," Tessa motioned to towards the kitchen as she turned down an hallway that led past a formal dining room and office. She made a left and headed toward the back of a house stopping short of the doorway, "Before we go in, did Obispo explain about her condition? That she doesn't remember things? That the past and the present get all blurred for her?"

   "Si, " Marcus looked intently.

   "So if she begins to not make sense or starts to get upset, don't try to argue or reason with her. It will only agitate her more, "she started to open the door but stopped short, "also, if she mentions Esai just say he'll be here soon, and don't get emotional in front of her. It will only upset her more."

   With that Tessa opened the door. A nurse sat reading a book next to a hospital bed. There were monitors and machines, beeping. It looked like a hospital room, except for the warm coloring of the room and an entire wall made of windows showing the majestic landscape of desert and mountains. "Mama, " Tessa walked over to the bed placing her hand on her mother's shoulder, "there is someone here to see you."

   Her mother's blank stare slowly morphed into a smile, "Are you a new nurse? Oh my, you are so beautiful. Your hair reminds me of my daughter's. She and her brother, Esai, went out to play, but I am sure they will be back soon."

   Tessa reached for her mother's hand and kissed her palm before bringing it to her cheek, "We have met before, but its okay that you don't remember me, mama. Because right now, there is someone here to see you."

    Marcus shuffled forward. There on the bed, was the woman he had spent most of his youth and adult life loving. The woman who had agreed to marry him despite her father saying he was no good. The woman who gave him two beautiful children. Her stare remained blank at it met his, her eyes searching his face expectantly, until something click, a small spark of memory ignited, and her eyes became bright with tears, "Mi Amor. You have finally returned to me."

    She held out her hands to him, and without hesitation, he walked up to sit on the side of her bed. Her hands cupped his face, as she cried in delight, "It has been too long, mi vida. I have missed you so much."

    "I have missed you, too, preciosa." Marcus held her hands to his face. Not breaking eye contact until he heard the click of the door. Tessa had gone.

   Tessa walked back down the hallway heading toward the kitchen, but stopped suddenly to lean against the wall. Hot tears ran down her cheeks, a myriad of emotions boiling over. Strong arms encased her from behind, turning her and bringing her head to rest on a leather covered chest. She clung to Bishop as her body shook with sobs. When she finally got control of herself, she pulled back wiping her face, "Sorry, I'm a mess. I guess I forgot, too. What it was like before…." 

   Before her father killed her brother. Before her father chose the club over his family. Before her father broke their hearts. Bishop looked at her with a pained and worried expression. Marcus was his cousin, his mentor, and the club was his life, but he understood Gloria and Tessa leaving. The club life was a difficult path to navigate, especially for the women who loved these outlaw bikers.  He pulled Tessa back in for a quick hug and a peck on the top of her head, "You don't have to apologize. I love you like you were my own daughter, princesa. And I know that going through this alone can't be easy, and that reaching out like you did wasn't easy either. Now come on, let's go get a drink. Tank and Taz want to say hi."

   They headed back into the kitchen where Tessa was quickly enveloped into separate bear hugs from Taz and Tank. Tank even lifted her up off her feet, to which she giggled, "Don’t throw out your back, old man. I am not as young and skinny as a I used to be!"

    They talked, laughed, ate, and drank like time had never passed. Tessa hadn’t felt this much at home in a very long time until a large crash was heard from the back of the house. Tessa sprinted to her mother's room. A vase was shattered on the floor, with flowers floating in a small puddle of water and glass. Her mother screamed, "WHERE IS HE MARCUS? WHERE IS MY SON? WHY ARE YOU HIDING HIM FROM ME? YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME! WE MADE A PROMISE ON OUR WEDDING DAY TO LOVE ONE ANOTHER! YET, YOU TAKE MY BABY FROM ME? BRING HIM HOME, MARCUS! ESAI NEEDS ME! HE NEEDS HIS MOTHER!" she sobbed as she hit Marcus over and over again.

    Marcus stood like a statue. Taking every hit from Gloria. One right after another. The disease had made her feeble. They punches and slaps barely made an impact, but he would take the worse torture from Hobart all over again not to feel this pain.

    "Mama," Tessa ran to her mother as she and the nurse each grabbed an arm to restrain her. The nurse digging into the bedside drawer for a needle, "Mama, I promise you will see Esai again. He's on a trip remember? He went on a long trip," the nurse injected the sedative into Gloria's arm, "but, he'll be back soon. He wants to see you again. He wants you to go with him this time, mama. He never wants to leave you again," Tessa kept talk as her mothers anguished sobs slowly began to quiet.

    "He wants to see me," Gloria repeated, "He'll come for me soon."

    "Yes," Tessa whispered tearfully, "He loves you so much, mama. We both do."

    "Oh, my beautiful, Tessa. I missed you so much," Gloria pet Tessa's hair.

    "I missed you, too, mama. I missed you, too." Tessa said with tears running down her cheek.

    "Your father is here! Did you know? He wants to marry me. My father says no, but we are going leave Mexico. We are going to go to America and get married and have the most beautiful life, isn't that right, mi amor?"

   “That's right, mi cariño" said Marcus, "we had the most beautiful life."

    The full effects of the sedative finally overtook Gloria, and she drifted off to sleep.

    "Do you want me to call the doctor?" the nurse asked.

    Tessa still silently crying, shook her head no. There was nothing else they could do, but wait for the end.

 -----

   Three days later, Gloria whispered her beloved son's name one more time before taking her final breath. Marcus holding her left hand. Tessa holding her right. Marcus quietly reached for his daughter's other hand, but she pulled it away, "Please leave me alone with her," Tessa said without meeting his gaze.

    When the coroner and funeral home officials came to take Gloria's body, Tessa emerged from the bedroom following her mother's corpse until it was placed in the back of the hearse. She turned back toward the house, to the men of her past, her face splotchy and eyes red-rimmed, she looked at Bishop. "You all are welcome to stay until morning, but then I would like you to go home."

    Tank was the first to protest, saying they could help with funeral arrangements, but Tessa silenced them, "I took care of my mother myself. Her funeral is already planned and paid for.  I appreciate you coming, but I need to finish this on my own." Then she grabbed a bottle of Tequila and headed toward her bedroom.

    The next morning as Marcus and the others got ready to depart, Tessa came out of her bedroom. She was freshly showered, in black leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. She looked tired and small, but also determined. She walked up to the Mayans, the men of her past, and gave each of them a hug farewell. "Are you sure your okay?" Bishop asked. "We could stay, and help you, or you could come back with us for a while."

    "I'm going to be okay, Obispo. I promise you that, "she hugged him again, "Thank you so much for everything."

    "Of course, Princesa. I am only a phone call away if you ever need anything," He reassured his, stepping back towards his bike as Marcus approached.

    "Mija--" Marcus began, but Tessa interrupted him again.

    "Stop. I want to say thank you for coming. Thank you for being there when Mama needed you. It was a great comfort to her in the end, " Tessa kicked the dirt.

    "Mija, I loved your mother very much. I love you, too." Marcus stepped closer, but Tessa took a step back.

    "Don't," she held out her hands defensively, "mama may have forgotten the past, but I haven't. I can't. I don't want your love. I don't want you. You are nothing to me. My brother and mother are dead. My family is dead. Go back where you belong El Padrino. You have no family here." Tessa walked back into the house closing the door behind her.

   Marcus climbed back into the back seat of the black SUV and let the pain overwhelm him as he silently wept.

[thephantomcasebook]

My favorite entries in the Martha Levinson “All my children are idiots” Burn Book.

On Cora

She didn’t voice these dreary thoughts, because, well, Cora seemed happy enough. Though, since her beautiful little dummy married that idiot, she rather always seemed happy. The old woman always felt like a bad mother, because, she was sure most mothers would’ve been happy that their daughter was happy, yet, Martha couldn’t help but feel sometimes like strangling Cora … nobody is that happy all the time.

On Robert

She didn’t dislike Robert, he was an idiot, he was fancy, and as over sophisticated as the instructions to cheap furniture, but he loved her little girl, still does, and she suspected always will. Robert and Cora were devoted to each other and she couldn’t grudge Twiddle-dumb and Twiddle-dumber for it she supposed.

On Mary

The truth was simply that Martha Levinson loved her descendants, but the word “detests” seemed only slightly stronger than how she would describe her opinion of them all.

The Crawley girls were ingrates. She couldn’t find any other way to describe her granddaughters. Both Mary and Edith walked around this place with airs that was all Cora. Yet, their pride and dignity were so completely unearned. Her Mary was perfect in body and face, her manners rivaled a queen, and she acted like a princess. But why she thought she could act such a way, Martha couldn’t figure. From what she understood, and voiced constantly, was that all Mary has, she had stolen from the dead and a young boy. To be honest, Martha had never had a more fun night in years, than accusing Mary of this at dinner, in front of everyone. Her poor baby always looked a vampire her entire life, unable to get any color in her cheeks. But lord only knew how much a cherry she looked when told that she had stolen her position from a small child. Robert was howling, Mary was rancorous, and Cora could hardly keep the peace.

“Matthew willed the Estate TO ME! ME, GRANDMAMA, NOT ‘HIM’!” Mary did not yell, but her voice raised as she slammed her pudding spoon on the table uncharacteristically that gave it an impressive shake.

Martha knew that it was a sore subject, fore half the county, more over the ones that didn’t have a peerage, often accused Mary of stealing from a young boy. She had been told to her face in recent years that her position was short lived, that she would not rule the county for long. And she hated it, they all at Downton did. The accusation hung ever over Mary’s head wherever she went amongst the common people. It was untrue, Matthew Crawley did will his one true love all his possessions, but Crawley House, to which he left to their son. But in the aftermath of poor Baby Cora, and the exiling of the young master from Downton Abbey, someone, possibly from the house itself, started the rumor that Matthew Crawley’s last Will and Testament was a fake, a forgery by an envious and wicked mama who felt jilted. Martha didn’t know who to believe, but she did enjoy spiting in ‘Queen’ Mary’s beans when she got too uppity.

On Edith

Meanwhile, on the other hand, she loathed being around Edith for the complete opposite reasons to her sister. Edith had more governmental and societal power than Mary could ever dream of abusing and using to walk around high and mighty. But her other baby didn’t use it. To all those bastard intellectuals in bumfuck Russia who claim that God is dead. She could only give proof that he isn’t, and in fact, has a sense of humor. Fore it was only by divine comedy that anyone would give Lady Edith Crawley any modicum of power, much less making her a Marchioness, Lady of Government position, and a Literary tycoon. And it tickled her in irony and prescribed pride for one who was dear to her, despite her flaws. But more so she was disappointed now that this grown woman was still flickered and twisting as a teenager at the prospect of losing her virginity without all the facts. She still acted like the unsure, wishy-washy, and mama’s favorite screw up, despite her ultimate power.

She still watched as Mary continued to step all over her. She still took her sister’s insults, she still allowed Cora to make plans for her, and she still asked Robert for his permission. Even her husband, Bertie, a solid man, as solid as Robert had been when the girls were young, remained nothing special. They seemed like a very happy, very loving, beige wall ornament that is commented on in tours and never noticed again. They loved one another, which was great and all, but they looked rather like the poster couple in the pages of an offensive parody to an idiot’s guide to England. They were full of receding hairline, big inbred nose, panic at the first whiff of a foreigner. Yet, at least in Edith case, both were attractive enough to warm your bed for a few nights, if only because they try so very hard to please when given even the tiniest of attention. But to Martha Levinson that was, by far, nowhere near good enough. Edith was a Marchioness, a multi-millionaire, goddamn it! She should expect someone with that type of power to slap her provincial princess of a sister across the face with her checkbook and show off her name with her titles which should be embroidered on her panties. But instead, she only ever looks with commiseration to her batman of a husband and pokes at her food in disappoint.

Bonus on Edith (Feat. George “The Comet” Crawley)

“What exactly, are you doing?” She asked trying to take a sip of an empty drink.

“Looking for something …” He replied without glancing back.

Martha sighed, getting to her feet and shuffling over to the refreshment table with her lipstick stained glass. “In that book?” She asked.

The boy grunted. “It’s not a book.” He corrected.

The Earl of Warren’s gagged pleas was met with a condescending pat on the head as Martha browsed Robert’s booze collection in decanters. “Could’ve fooled me …” She shouted back over her shoulder as she attempted to open the brandy.

“It’s a diary …” The boy said distractedly.

“Don’t tell me, Edith’s?” She asked.

“No …”

“Yeah, you’re right ...” She agreed. There was an annoyance of trying to open the brandy with one hand. After a moment of looking around, she settled on the Eton Prefect. “Christ knows it couldn’t be Edith’s … You’re still awake.” The youth growled in protest through the nylons as Martha carefully balanced her alcohol glass on the hostage’s head.

On George, Sybbie, and Marigold

(Used adult versions, because I know nothing about child actors)

This famous heir whose shadow Mary flinches at, that Cora and Edith leave twice a day at different times to visit and dine with, she had little hope for. Martha didn’t hear anything that impressed her. Yet, even with all the loyalty of the people of the county, he seemed to her to be a morose and weak child that was still attached at Cora’s tit, and used Edith’s shapely ass as a snuggle pillow as he hid behind her fashionable silk skirts. As for Sybbie, the lovely girl was every bit the priss that Mary was and is, maybe even worse than her ‘mama’. She was as beautiful as a fairy princess, even for one so young. But she also acted like a princess, was treated as a princess, and was in fact as spoiled and unkind as a one as well. Though she was not rude to her family, sweet as a little June Bug. But to the other children and guests, she expected to be worshiped and loved. And worse of all … they did as she commanded. Then, when it came to Marigold, she wished to take her home and cuddle her. The loveliness of this elven creature was stupefying, and she was the soul of kindness and courtesy. But she also had the failings of her secret mama, the same quiet anxiety, the same allowing of less beautiful, yet much meaner aristocratic girls insult and bully her. If this unseen heir hid behind Edith, then poor Marigold buried her ribbon and golden head in Bertie’s chest, or clutched Sybbie’s hand and hopped not to be noticed by anyone, however impossible it may have been. The Ballerina had no fight in her, no strong will, she wished only to dance and love those whom she held in her heart.

[candyshua]

Intertwined | Chapter Three - Bad Timing

Kim Mingyu was your best friend, your knight in shining armor, your crush, your everything. But sadly, you were not his.

After getting his girlfriend pregnant in his fourth year of college, the two of them moved away to America after graduation. And then, you were all alone.

Meet Yoon Jeonghan, your current best friend. An aspiring video game designer, he has been your rock for 5 years. He helped you through so much drama. You would be surprised to learn that he was madly in love with you. What happens when Mingyu comes back to Korea?

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 2,733

Warnings: Foul Language, drunkenness, suggestive language.

Everything was falling into place, for once in your life. Work was fine, and your side-hobby of singing was also fine. Your view had gotten about 500 views within two weeks, and even some comments! People were complimenting you, and it felt good. You had decided to make a new video.

Something you hadn’t noticed, however, was that Mingyu had not passed your mind once these past two weeks. You had postponed your trip with Jeonghan, mainly because you got busy with work. You would go this weekend instead.

It was Tuesday, and you weren’t waiting for the week to end anymore. Albeit you were excited, you allowed yourself to relish in your newfound contentment. No, you weren’t happy, not quite yet, but you were getting there.

Things felt great. Clarity had returned to your life, and now everything wasn’t just one hazy mess. After work, you had decided to go to a local cafe in the heart of Seoul, since you were in desperate need for a coffee. You had a project you wanted to finish that night, so a coffee would really hit the spot.

After ordering and sitting down, you heard the bell attached to the door ring, signalling a new customer walking in. You wouldn’t have even looked up, things would’ve been completely and utterly fine, but you heard his voice.

Mingyu’s voice.

His voice was extremely distinguishable. You would recognize it anywhere.

So, you looked up. Low and behold, there stood the 6’2 giant that you were once in love with. He looked...great.

His hair was black, which you weren’t used to. He always had it dyed some cool color.

He wore a blue t-shirt, which showed off his toned arms. He looked much more muscular than the last time you saw him. He even had a bit of a stubble, which shocked you beyond belief.

Then, it hit you. It was like being slapped in the face by reality.

You were seeing Mingyu, your childhood best friend, your first love, again. For the first time in over five years.

The air from your lungs had dissipated. You couldn’t breathe, so you elicited a huge gasp, which caused him to look your way.

The moment you had locked eyes, you knew you were done for. All of those feelings that you had suppressed throughout the years of not seeing him came back in one huge tidal wave. The love, hatred, resentment, adoration, everything. The feelings consumed you, and you didn’t know if you’d ever be able to feel anything ever again.

Then, he smiled. It was a sad smile, but he still wore a grin. Okay, you would feel again.

He walked over to you, with apprehensive and wide eyes. “Y/N.” He had stated, his voice as soft and silky as honey, and you wanted to collapse into yourself.

You internally debated on what to say, whether it would be a simple greeting or an insult.

“Long time no see.” You whispered, feeling a lump in your throat starting to form, because oh my god, it was Mingyu.

He was here, right in front of you. In the flesh. You wanted to cry, no, scratch that, sob.

Mingyu sat down at the table, right across from you. After the two of you basked in an unsettling silence for a bit, you broke.

“What the fuck!” Was all you could murmur, bringing yourself to bury your face in your hands.

“I’m sorry.” Mingyu said, with nothing but sheer emotion protruding from his tone. What the hell were you supposed to say? It was fine? It wasn’t fucking fine!

“Just explain this to me.” You demanded, your tone thickening. Authority soon consumed you, as you fixed your posture and gave Mingyu a confused scowl.

Mingyu looked a little lost. He had expected you to cry and laugh, he had expected you to be in a glorious state. Instead, you looked really fucking pissed.

“I’m back, Y/N. Isn’t that enough?” Mingyu asked with a wince in his tone.

“Stop spewing bullshit and tell me why you’re back!” You shouted, calling attention from the workers and the two other customers that were there. You didn’t care though, you just wanted to know what the fuck was going on.

“Jieun and I divorced, okay? She decided to move back to Korea with Junghoon, and I came back because I didn’t want to be away from him.”

“Junghoon?” You mumbled.

“My son.”

Oh. Suddenly, pain poured into your heart. It was like an overflowing dam, and it turned into a waterfall. You were being attacked by grief and confusion, wanting nothing else but to wake up and redo this entire day.

If you were able to redo the entire day, you wouldn’t have come to this stupid cafe. It would’ve been fine.

“Were you even going to text me? Call me? Let me know that you were back?” You asked, feeling

your icy exterior crumble. The authority and power you had once possessed was crumbling before your very eyes.

“Of course! I still have your number.” Mingyu reassured, but you only felt the overwhelming forlorn feelings in your heart deepen.

“Then why didn’t you call me?” You mumbled, earning a lost puppy look from Mingyu. You got him there.

Mingyu had a very cut and dry reason, but he just couldn’t bring himself to tell you.

Not yet, at least.

“I just...couldn’t.” Mingyu murmured, and you scoffed while crossing your arms.

“I gotta go.” You bitterly spewed, huffing a breath of frustrated air. Mingyu debated letting you go. Yet, out of intuition, he grabbed your wrist and looked up at you with pleading eyes.

“Please.” He said. That was all he needed to say, with that one sad word he made you crumble.

“Let’s go to my place. I don’t want to cause an even bigger scene.”

-

You had expected the walk back to be awkward, but it wasn'’t. You grew up together, you knew one another. You would travel to Seoul, coming from Anyang-si almost every weekend together. You two had a few friends in the city as well, so it was an enjoyable time.

One night, he had refused to let you walk to your friend’s house by yourself. You didn’t want to be a burden, but you were a bit tipsy and it was late at night. You remember how your heart swelled when he just grabbed your hand and walked you to your friend’s house. You two were silent the entire time. The only thing that could be heard was the beat of your heart.

“Mingyu,” You began, while you two walked down the streets you grew up on, “how the hell did you get by in the States?”

“What?” Mingyu asked, dumbfounded, but a little bit offended.

“You sucked at English.” You deadpanned, and it resulted in a huge laugh from Mingyu’s end. You let yourself bask in the smooth sound of his laugh, since it was the first time in over five years that you have heard it. You couldn’t help but laugh a little too.

“I studied a lot when I was there. We were in New York, so there were some ESL classes for Koreans.” Mingyu explained. You looked up at him, your skin being illuminated by the city lights and moon.

Mingyu thought you had looked beautiful. He felt the familiar twinge in his heart settle back in, the twinge that signified that he could never have you.

-

You two had finally arrived at your apartment. You had made more small talk on the way, but now it was time for the truth to be unravelled.

You both sat down on your plain couch, but not before you got a beer for him and you. “So,” You began, fiddling with your fingers.

“I missed you so much.” Mingyu blurted, resulting in a dumbfounded look on your part. You had never expected him to tell you that, mainly because you felt unwanted. You were pushed aside, because Mingyu had somebody else.

But you, you had Mingyu.

“Gyu…” You croaked, feeling the pace of your heart quicken when he shifted slightly close to you. You felt 18 again. The familiar feeling of being so helplessly in love with somebody that would never love you back rose to the surface again. You had expected to hate it, but you didn’t. You were already very well acquainted with unrequited love, so it didn’t hurt as much anymore.

“Y/N,” Mingyu began, “remember when we went away? Right before I left?”

“Well, kind of. I was drunk most of the time.” You said, cowering in embarrassment.

“Exactly. So you don’t remember confessing to me, do you?”

What?

What did he just say? No, that couldn’t be. That couldn’t possibly fucking be. You would remember that, wouldn’t you? You would remember some a monumental and important moment from your youth!

Mingyu remembers the moment like it was yesterday. The two of you were outside, on the front porch of the beach house your parents owned. They had let you two go down to their beach house for a week over the summer, since they couldn’t afford to bring you anywhere else that summer. They were struggling financially.

Graduation was close. You would both be full functioning adults soon. No more staying at your parent’s house, you would be making lives for yourselves in the real world.

On your nth drink, you walked outside to the front yard, finding a hammock to settle in. Mingyu amusedly watched you fumble with the seemingly foreign device, and soon he heard a plop. You had fallen, and Mingyu was laughing uncontrollably at this point.

He jogged over to where you lied. You giggled drunkenly, basking in the smooth grass of the front yard. “Hey Gyu!” You greeted, smiling profusely.

“Hey, Y/N!” Mingyu mimicked. This was something Mingyu absolutely adored about you, your drunk side. You were absolutely adorable when drunk, and you were entertaining as well. You were just yon amplified when drunk.

Soon, the two of you were lying in the hammock, swinging softly. You lied your head on Mingyu’s chest, feeling your heartbeat pump at its maximum rate. It was an intimate and lovely moment, being able to be entangled with Mingyu like that. You even forgot that he had a girlfriend, and you pretended he was yours, even if it was just for a little bit.

“Mingyu…” You slurred, causing his eyebrows to raise in curiosity.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.” You lamented.

“I love you too, you big dummy.” Mingyu giggled.

“No, you even bigger dummy, I love you. I’m in love with you. Whenever I see you, I get happy. But then I’ll remember that I’m not yours, and you’re not mine, and then I get really fucking sad.”

“What?” Mingyu croaked. At this point, you were standing up, watching him lie down on the hammock. Despite being the one in the vulnerable state, you felt bigger. Stronger.

“And whenever you bring a new girlfriend around, it really fucking hurts! I know you’ll never love me like that, and I’ve known that ever since high school. Yes, high school, when I first fell in love with you. It’s been years, Gyu, fucking years. It’s like I’m being sucked into this huge black hole, and--”

You were interrupted with Mingyu’s lips crashing on yours. Had you expected it? No, of course not! But did you enjoy it? Hell yes!

You immediately reciprocated the kiss, even if you were in a drunken shocked state. You felt the electricity you always felt around Mingyu multiply by the millions, and the feeling of his hands on your body only excited you.

You were melting under his touch, you were nimble and controllable, but you liked it that way.

Mingyu soon pulled away, resulting in you frowning.

“I liked it.” Mingyu whispered.

“What?” You blurted.

“The fucking kiss, Y/N! I liked it. No, I fucking loved it! Shit! I have a girlfriend, Y/N. Why now?” Mingyu rambled, and you just confusedly stood there, feeling tears start to well in your eyes.

“You know what? You’re really drunk. Just go to bed, alright?” Mingyu said, and all you could do was nod in drowsiness. You stumbled all the way to your bedroom, and you didn’t know if you were more drunk on alcohol or if you were more drunk on Mingyu’s lips.

-

“You mean...I said that to you? All of that?” You murmured, completely and utterly dumbfounded. Not only that, you felt humiliated and extremely anxious.

And then it had sunk in. That night, Mingyu had kissed you. He kissed you.

“Jieun’s pregnancy was just really bad timing. If she had never of gotten pregnant, who the fuck knows what would’ve happened?”

“Yeah,” You began, “who knows?”

The silence between the two of you was thick and tense. You felt like vomiting after hearing Mingyu’s story.

“Did you, um...Did you love me back?” You whispered, biting your lip apprehensively.

“Yes, I did. I mean, do.” Mingyu answered, scratching the back of his neck.

You nodded, letting his words sink in. He was still in love with you.

“Why did you get divorced?” You asked. You knew the answer, you had just wanted to hear him say it.

“Because I was still in love with you.”

There we go. Bingo. Those words made you feel relieved and burdened at the same time. You were the reason that a marriage fell apart, and said couple did have a kid together…

But on the other hand, the man you were in love with for years had loved you back. Reality wasn’t always a slap in the face. Sometimes it was a firm pat on the back, congratulating you. This was your reality, and you didn’t exactly know how to deal with it.

You really wanted to kiss him. But something deep inside of you was stopping you.

And then soon, you thought of him. Of Jeonghan. Why would he stop you of all people? Wouldn’t he encourage this? He had set you up with people before, but for some reason, it felt different now.

And to think, if you hadn’t gone to that stupid fucking coffee shop today…

“I think you should go.” You suggested. Mingyu’s face fell immediately.

“W-why?” He questioned.

“Because I need time, Gyu. I need a lot of fucking time, because it has been five years, and you got divorced because of me, and you have a fucking son named Junghoon, and--need I say anymore? Because we both changed! And we can’t go back to the way things were, because we’re not young anymore, Gyu. We’re getting old, and we can’t live our lives based on one childhood fantasy!” You yelled. You had expected to leave Mingyu speechless, but unlike him, he retaliated.

“It wasn’t a fucking childhood fantasy, Y/N! It was us, it is us. We don’t have any time to waste, do we? So let’s just fucking do this!”

“Just go home, Gyu.”

He looked at you with angry eyes, but he would do anything to appease to you.

So, he was about to walk out the door, but then you let your impulses control you, like you’ve never done before. You always thought your way through things, never taking huge risks or living on the edge. But now? Fuck it, where the hell has thinking and living on the safe side of life gotten you?

You grabbed Mingyu’s wrist, turned him around, and fervorously pressed your lips against his. You pulled away after a minute of heated kissing, and both of you were blushing.

“Can you go home now?” You smiled weakly.

Mingyu nodded eagerly, and soon he was out of your apartment, and there you were, all by yourself. Now you only had your thoughts to listen to, not Mingyu’s silky smooth voice.

And then suddenly, you had wanted to call Jeonghan.

You then checked the time, and realized it was 1 AM. You and Jeonghan both had work the next day, so you decided not to bother him.

The excitement was over. Now you had to relish in the reality of what just happened. You loved Mingyu, sure.

But, for some reason, your head wasn’t so sure of it. Because you couldn’t help feeling guilty when you thought of Jeonghan.

You had a lot of shit to sort out.

[asilverjackal]

ok, ya’ll wanted it.

–1982, BEDFORD-STUYVESANT.

She puts on diamond earrings. Salvatore likes her to dress up, after all. Now, Delores’ maternal-stand ins had not only been the occasional aunt who believed in what was essentially conservative wear, but these figures were primarily women such as Bertha Jones, Lorna Howard. Two who a very young Delores knew, on a practical instinctive level, that she had to not aspire to be, but become if she desired to be a woman worthy of respect. Salvatore, however, has a particular taste in which prevents Delores from fully following the image the old women laid out in her youth. What he finds alluring is a shade of red on full lips, a hue so strong that she would have once considered it whorish. For rich perfumes that maintained their fragrance in full strength after the first hour. And for a dress that clung to her figure in the right places, also exposing the right amount of cleavage. While wearing such a thing, it was expected that Delores would appear respectable. The black furred caplet draped over her slim shoulders truly brings forth that sort of look. “Mrs. Lombardi.” Upon the sight of the adult descending from the stairway, Roxanne the babysitter stops her pursuit in making Isabelle squawk and coo. Bashful yet bold, that Southern accent her step-mother scolds her for is laced in her starstruck observation: “y’look like a movie star.” Much to Roxanne’s dismay, ‘Mrs. Lombardi’s’ face does not light up. To an unworldly sixteen-year-old, she looks indifferent responding, “thank you.” This was Salvatore’s taste.   He is no slob, but Delores believes age is doing him well all the same. Despite his upbringing, he holds fondness towards what she deems ‘high art’: stories from foreign cultures, statues where men and women bare it all with no shame have a place in their home, she believes he wants to learn another language, too. Whether he will achieve it or not, she does not know. But all and all, he was looking to life beyond Brooklyn - and yet, he was not truly refined in Delores’ mind. For not only was he ‘the most talkative man she knew,’ but he failed to observe social rules in ways he ought to have. Instead, he approached all matters as though he was a King who ran the entire borough, businesses and all. This is why he would sweep his dark locks back, don a three-piece suit and shamelessly lay his whole palm against the horn. Ignoring Cassie’s pleas to tell Daddy ‘hi,’ Delores bids Roxanne goodbye. Entering the dark evening with one eyebrow higher than the other. “What is your problem?” The question slides off her tongue remarkably smooth. He lifts his hand, gesturing to nothing with a little smile on his lips. As though he didn’t just wake many sleeping babies. “I wanted to make sure you were ready!” “Have I ever been late?” She sits beside him. In a moment of thought, lips pull to the side in a moment of thought. Soon he’s nodding. “I can recall three times!” Love. It’s why this sort of conversation is meaningless in the long term of things. In moments to come, lips will lock, a teasing question will be uttered: “did you miss me?” As if his absence has occurred over hours and days.

“How could I when I knew I was going to see you?” And though her answer is one of blunt honesty, tenderness is attached to each word.  

Sal believes Delores holds obligation to Cassandra and Isabelle, the house has to be cared for in a similar sense as well. And between this and that, nights like these were very essential to him. Delores acknowledges that the areas he enjoys taking her to have changed with age, as well. In the very beginning, there was a focus on fun. But now, Donna Summer’s voice could only be heard on record as more silent settings were traveled to.

In this restaurant, she gathers lettuce and tomato on her fork. Meanwhile, he savors the taste of soft ice cream, his dinner plates have been long-gone. Delores lifts her gaze, sights traveling to her left. As expected, those blue eyes were still on her. “That woman has been looking at me the entire night.” Too good to return a long-term glance, to above it all, she focuses on her business and the remains of the salad before her.

Surely, the young woman is wondering how these two could sit at a booth without the company of four. They dressed although they came from a background with money, yet there had been something so ‘shady’ of such a couple.

Salvatore has no problem making prolonged eye contact with the culprit. A blonde twenty-something, maybe thirty. Her hair has a lot of volume, a lot of body. Shoulder-pads protrude in her own suit. Her own partner is a man, suited and young. Yuppies, he concludes. It’s not enough to witness her surprise at the sight of him gazing her way, Sal is shameless enough to raise his hand in greeting.

And for that Delores hisses low and sharp, “Salvatore!”  

“What?” He knows he’s done wrong, and yet he looks to her with curious eyes. Almost childish, “she’s wondering if you’re real!” What he receives is a hum of disapproval, his innocent demeanor dissolves. “Hey. Look at me.” She’s focused on the leafy greens, “Dolly, look at me.” There’s still no meeting of the eyes, but he goes on to speak carefree, “the service was respectable, the food was good, what else could we want?”

Delores looks at him, but it is a cold gaze he receives. “I want people to mind their own business.”

He smiles, “Forget about them. Get closer to me – c’mere Dolly.” Fork down, she obliges. Scooting close, allowing his arm to fall over her, allowing herself to inhale his cologne. Of course, the twenty-something couple fully in her view range now. They dare not look now even as the interracial pair grows more intimate. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”  

“Like what?”

“Well.” There comes a grunt as he grows more comfortable in his seat, “I’m going over some old ground, that’s all. I told you, what I think I would like-“ think, not certain. “-is a big family.”

“I remember.” Even with a nod, she is also perplexed at the concept. Cassandra was an unexpected pregnancy, Sal wanted Isabelle. And Delores could understand why: she has no fond memories of being an only child. Child birth was unpleasant, though delivering both girls was a smooth process. Yet, from what Delores knows, her own mother passed on through giving birth to her. So even after Cassie, after Belle, succumbing to a similar fate stays in her mind.

“So, if we have more kids.” A pause, he begins to think of a good number, “ten, thirty…”

“Thirty?” She knew he couldn’t have been serious.

“I said big!” He laughs, “But, really Dolly, in the long term of things I don’t want any of our – future girls, or current girls, to wonder why we have different last names.” No breaking eye contact, she feels drawn in – yet intimidated all the same. Her breasts rise, they fall as she watches him fish in his back pocket. Butterflies even come, fluttering in her abdomen. Before she knows it, a box is presented to her. A small silver band inside, “I want you to marry me.”

She stayed in the moment longer than she should have. 

“You hesitated.” “I told you yes.” And this is how their night ends. Sal’s hands on the wheel, looking forward into the night. Delores’ hands in her lap, finger without a ring. The box has returned to Sal’s pocket, and Delores supposes she will never see it again as he said this was all okay. He would get his money back, get something she wanted.

“You told me yes after seven seconds!” “You’re going to sit here and act like I don’t love you or something.” “Look,” He gestures to himself, one hand on the wheel. “I get that you love me. I don’t have doubts about that, Dolly. But do you know what you always do?” She looks to him, eyes squinted and a tone so sharp it could cut: “what do I do?” With a nod to himself, he answers, “you pussyfoot around. That’s what you do.” Had they not been on the road - had Delores not desired to return home to her daughters safe and sound: she would have slapped this man across the face. “Don’t say that to me.” “Well!” A rough shrug, “It’s what you do! We wouldn’t be where we are now if it weren’t for me!” Rather than responding, Delores huffs. Head forward, hands folded. “Like when you didn’t want to meet Aunt Penny.” And yet Sal still speaks, determined to make a point. “What?” “I told you, ‘Dolly, I want you to meet my aunt.’ But! Back then you didn’t even hesitate! You bluntly said no to my face!” His recount is not even slightly exaggerated, Delores had done this. Yet, she had done this for personal reasons that she feels far too embarrassed to disclose. “I’m not the person I was then.” But Delores can admit this. “Ah,” He parks at the curb of their home, “we never really outgrow all our traits.” Her lips part as he unfastens himself and steps out the car. Only thinking that if she had not been blessed with the patience of a saint, if she did not care about Roxanne seeing her employers in a state less than ideal, she would have backhanded him now. However, as he unlocks the door, she ensures he hears her low hiss. “Damn you and your masculine pride.” Sal had to blink. “What?” At this point, Delores had no desire to speak to the teenager in their home. It would be rude of her, Delores felt, but at the same time no obligations bounded her. Therefore, she marches up the stairs in her heels, ignoring the fact she was even greeted. The payment and send-off were left to Sal and his smart mouth.  

Diamond earrings were the first to be removed, then the necklace. She was in the process of removing simpler rings when spotting Salvatore’s reflection at her vanity. “So why are you in a bad mood?” He speaks so curious, it’s a wonder she fails to roll her eyes. “Salvatore, I’m not playing into any more of your little games tonight.” “Hey! I’m just letting you know that Roxy was wondering what was wrong with you.” “Roxy can stay in her place.” Hearing such a apathetic sneer is how Salvatore knows he has pissed her off. Delores is not an aggressive woman – Sal deems her to superbly sweet, but her mouth is full of venom when enraged. The critical thoughts in her mind are released, and even if it does not wound someone: such exposed scorn has you bewildered. He has never seen Delores at a limit in which all her rage is unleashed – part of him doubts she could ever be filled with rage. And again, another part of him does not wish to know if such a part exists. And for that, he desires to calm her down. “Hey, Dolly.” Hands rub at slender shoulders, sliding down to her upper arms. “I’m sorry.” Lips are pressed at the top of her head, she shuts her eyes when he kisses the space between eye and ear. “Damn me. Damn me and my masculine, Italian pride!” “Um-hm.” His descend to the floor is a gradual gesture. A position no other woman, or man, would dare find him in for any context. Below her, he takes slender, dainty hands into his own for a caress. “But you gotta understand this wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. I’ve been thinking of this for a very long time.” He raises her palms, lips pressing against brown knuckles. “I expected a nice dinner.” An ordinary dinner, she means.  “Why are you above this?” She gives no reply, but her stare does not wander or weaken. “I wanted you to have the sort of engagement story that – that you could tell our youngest granddaughter when she’s in need of advice.” Delores finds herself shaking her head in disbelief. But contempt is not in this gesture, his silly nature has charm. “I want you to be my wife. I want you to be Delores Lombardi…” she can hear him utter this among other sweet little declarations. “I’m not above any of this.” Delores finally speaks, “I love you.” A pause, “I want to marry you.” “Then why did you hesitate?” “Because.” Because she thought of change. But now, here in the privacy of her home she is thinking of their wedding, where Italian men and their wives sit. Associates of Salvatore, not her own. She wonders what could that publicity mean, even in a small circle? “I’m scared.” “Of what, Dolly?” He’s looking up, “I know you’re not scared of me. We’re basically married right now. I moved you here. We had Belle. The neighbors know us. But when I look at your pretty hands, I don’t see a ring. And that throws me off.” She watches as he pulls into his pocket: performing an action all too familiar. And before her is the silver band that he slides on her digit himself. Delores finds her breath hitch; her whimper is odd, bursting from her mouth without control. A lover of romance, many of the books she read would conclude with a proposal. But she never imagined what a proposal would be like for her in reality. She refused to lay in bed beside Sal at night, thinking, obsessing when he would show her a ring. Perhaps she did believe herself to be above it – if not excluded from such a gesture. Those she desired in her youth, she never spent time with. She was far too quiet for a bad boy’s taste.  Years would pass, and Delores felt her likely spouse would be far older than her. Age would have him understand her, and her own history with elders would cause her to understand him. And though they would be wed, Delores knew it would in ways – be a marriage based upon circumstance and benefits. Again she feels butterflies, looking down to the man knelt before her. A mere three years older, handsome, he makes her scoff, he makes her roll her eyes. He talks too much and yet, she loves him more than she has loved anyone. And the circumstances of this love terrify her. Still, it’s tears of glee, not sorrow, that slide down her cheeks. “Look at you.” He’s teasing, she feels embarrassed. “You’re beautiful.”  Delores can feel his hand gently stroking at her inner thigh, Salvatore has that access from this position. “Lean back.” She complies.

[mitchmarnier]

BLOOD IN THE WATER

summary: “That’s ridiculous,” Ben said, feeling his hands shake around the pen he was using. The accusation made the back of Ben’s neck break into a sweat though his body had never felt so cold. “We’re not at war.”

Tozier looked up from underneath his messy fringe, a humourless smirk sliding across his face. “You’re a fool if you believe that.”

[or: after the gruesome murder of his younger brother, Bill Denbrough is determined to bring about the end of the string of crimes in Derry no matter the cost. As stories unwind and fall apart, there's only more questions as everybody's lives hang in the balance.]

chapter count: 1/19

chapter warnings: mentions of murder, minor character death

[Read Full Story on AO3] [Playlist] 

Taglist: @honkhonkrichard @hufflepuffkaspbrak @reddie-for-anything @saddhippie @reddiesetrichie @wowdidiask @emmieliabedelia @beepbeepbitchard @lemonadeandrice (if you want to be added, message me off anon!) 

“You know that taste?” Audra Phillips asked from her place in her boyfriend, Bill Denbrough’s arms. She held the blue plastic bowl of popcorn in front of her face and narrowed her eyes at it. “When it’s like… you can’t decide if it’s sweet or salty?”

Bill tilted his head and closed his arms a little more tightly around his girlfriend. “No, can’t say I’m familiar with that one?”

“It’s literally what this popcorn tastes like!” Audra shook the bowl a little bit and giggled. “They can trick us into believing that it’s real movie theatre taste but this isn’t even close. They didn’t try at all.”

“Baby girl, I know you wanted to go out tonight,” Bill said, heart thrumming in his chest with guilt. He’d have done anything Audra asked of him, so long as he could keep the girl he loved happy and safe. The problem being, of course, that sometimes doing the things she wanted to be happy weren’t going to keep her safe. “It’s just-“

“I know,” Audra patted his stomach and smiled up at him. “With all that’s been happening lately, it’s way better to just stay in. I just wish we had better popcorn.”

Bill chuckled and cuddled Audra closer. Bill Denbrough had lived in Derry, Maine his entire life, and his family had been residents of Derry for many generations. He’d grown up on stories of the town’s legacy- while being small, also being beautiful and a wonderful place to live. When Bill had been thirteen, his father had run for Mayor and won and Bill could barely remember what it had been like before. Their house was large and airy and Bill loved every single room in it. Bill had his father’s political career to thank for the bright, bright future he had ahead of him. His mother would often lightly joke about Zack running for senate someday in the near future, and though Zack always laughed it off, but Bill thought it was a wonderful idea. He knew his father would be wonderful at it.

Derry, though, hadn’t been the same town that it had been when Bill was child though, the past couple of months. There had begun a string murders back in the spring, none too close together, but slowly growing more and more frequent. It had taken three deaths for the police department to come to take it as seriously as people had wished it would. Sheriff Butch Bowers hadn’t believed it the act of the same person until the deaths of Eddie Conchran and his little brother less than a month earlier. Since then, a mandatory 7pm curfew had been implanted on the town for adults and youths a like, and things had seemed calm.

Loud thumps came down the stairs and Bill’s fourteen year old brother, Georgie, came bouncing into the front entrance. “Where are you going?” Bill called out, shifting into a sitting position. Once upon a time, Bill and Georgie had been so closer they’d practically been inseparable. The kind of brothers that parents dreamed of having. Around the time Georgie turned thirteen and started demanding to called “George”, something had changed. It had been nearly a year since then, since Georgie had changed without warning, and it didn’t feel any more normal to Bill. Georgie kept so many secrets now and he was so sarcastic it sometimes gave Bill whiplash. His parents didn’t seem concerned about it, going as far as to say that Bill had been an abnormality in the teenage would and most people could be expected to behave and darken as Georgie was. Didn’t make Bill like it anymore.  

“Out.” Georgie said coldly, grabbing his yellow sweater off the coat hanger in the front foyer. Bill sat up fully, Audra twisting at his side to glance nervously between the two brothers.

“There’s a curfew, George.” Bill said, notably deepening his voice in way that resembled his father so greatly that Audra couldn’t deny that she was impressed by it. “You can’t be running around at all hours of the night.”

“Come on, Bill,” Georgie rolled his eyes, shrugging the hoodie over his shoulders. “Nothing had happened in weeks! There’s no reason for the stupid curfew anymore.”

“The reason nothing has happened in weeks in because of the curfew, Georgie.” Bill stood up, crossing his arms angrily. Georgie’s burning desire to disobey as many rules and orders as he possibly could was starting to become a serious issue, even if Bill’s parent didn’t seem to think so. “It’s keeping people safe! Dad authorized the curfew himself and-“

Georgie started flapping his hand in a mimic of his brother talking, and Bill felt the back of his neck grow hot. “You really are just the perfect son, aren’t you?” Georgie laughed with an eye roll as he pocketed his house keys. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe not doing what your mom and dad say is way more fun?”

With that, before Bill could say another word, Georgie was slipping out of the front door and disappearing into the rain. Bill let out an angry huff of breath and dropped back down onto the couch. Audra wrapped her arms around his mid-section. “He’s just going through a phase.” She promised him.

“I know,” Bill sighed sadly. “But if he keeps acting like this, he’s going to get himself killed.”

xxx

Georgie shook his wet bangs out his eyes as the hooded girl stepped out from behind the house. The empty house on Neibolt street was the well known place where North side and the South side of town came to meet. So it was, of course, the perfect place for one Georgie Denbrough, son of proud and prosperous town mayor, to meet up with Janie Tozier, daughter of one of Derry’s most notorious criminals.

Janie didn’t look like the kind of person whose family was rumoured to actually kill people for a living. Not that Georgie believed that, but looking at Janie you wouldn’t expect her to involved in any sort of gang activity. Fourteen years old, and yet to look as though puberty had hit her at all. In the maximum of her height, she still stood underneath Georgie’s chin and wore her hair in two thick brown braids.

“About time!” Janie called out to him, lowering her hood. She smiled out a Georgie and he felt his heart skip inside his chest just a little. Maybe Janie wasn’t his girlfriend, she couldn’t be in a town like this where they were barely allowed to be friends, but she would always be something to him even if the other Denbrough now pretended they had never known the Toziers. His best friend. His sunshine. “I thought you were going bail on you?”

“Bail on you? Why I would never, my darling.” George said and Janie burst out laughing. She stepped forward and linked her fingers in with his.

“Don’t talk like that,” Janie giggled. Georgie stepped forward and smiled down at her. “Soon enough you’re going to be doing those terrible accents like my brother.”

“Better than sounding anything like my brother,” Georgie said, voice dim and almost sad.

Janie frowned at him. “I don’t think you give Bill enough credit. He’s a good guy he’s just a circumstance of his birth.”

“He’s a what?” Georgie laughed, all trace of his previous discontent vanished. “What does that even mean?”

Janie shrugged, grinning slightly. “It’s just something my dad says. I’m pretty sure it’s the nice way of saying his the son of a capitalist bastard.”

“Am I the son of a capitalist bastard, too, then?”

Janie smiled sadly and gave no reply. The pair continued their walk through the South Side with their hands tangled together until the sound of deep, heavy footsteps brought them to a halt. Georgie’s felt as though every hair on his entire body was standing straight up as he turned to see who’d been following them.

“What are you doing here?” Georgie asked them, trying to subtly push Janie behind him. He felt her hand tangle up in the back of his yellow hoodie. His heart felt as though it had been slapped on a frying pan and made into breakfast. “Hello?”

The person smiled and lunged. Georgie didn’t even have a chance to process his fear. The cold rainy night’s peaceful silent was broken off with the sound of Janie Tozier’s screams, cut off abruptly.