#newborn jewellery

[dvbabybracelet]

Dolce Valentina: Special Baby Jewelry for Your Little One

We make cute baby jewelry at Dolce Valentina. Each piece is like a little treasure for your child's early years. We have bracelets and bangles in silver and gold, all made safe for delicate skin.

The Perfect Gift for Any Reason

Our baby jewelry is a great gift for any occasion, from welcoming a newborn to birthdays and christenings. Make it extra special by personalizing it with your child's name, birthday, or a loving message.

Something for Every Baby

We have charming bangles and bracelets for both baby girls and boys. We also have a special selection for newborns.

Beautiful and Long-lasting

Our gold and silver bangles are made to last and look amazing. They can even become a special family treasure passed down through the generations.

Make it Unique!

Want your baby's jewelry to be one-of-a-kind? We can engrave it with your child's name, a special date, or a sweet message.

Real Gold for a Special Touch

For something truly luxurious, we have a collection of real gold baby bracelets for both girls and boys. These beautiful pieces are made with extra care.

Celebrate Every Milestone with Dolce Valentina

Our personalized baby jewelry is more than just an accessory. It's a way to celebrate your child's special moments. We have something for every style and occasion. Find the perfect piece at Dolce Valentina and create lasting memories!

[dolcevalentinaofficial]

Personalised Baby Bangles: A Perfect Keepsake for Your Little One

When it comes to celebrating the birth of a baby, few gifts are as timeless and cherished as personalised baby bangles. These exquisite pieces of jewellery not only add a touch of elegance to your baby's wardrobe but also serve as a lasting memento that can be treasured for years to come. Whether you're considering a baby gold bracelet or a baby's gold bangle, these items offer a blend of tradition, beauty, and personalisation that make them truly special.

The Charm of Personalised Baby Bangles

A Unique and Personal Touch

Personalised baby bangles are a wonderful way to create a unique keepsake for your child. Engraving your baby’s name, birth date, or a special message on the bangle makes it a one-of-a-kind piece that holds significant sentimental value. This personal touch ensures that the bangle is more than just a piece of jewellery; it becomes a cherished heirloom that tells a story and celebrates a momentous occasion.

High-Quality Craftsmanship

When selecting a personalised baby bangle, it's important to choose one that is crafted with high-quality materials. Baby gold bracelets and gold bangles are particularly popular due to their durability and timeless appeal. Gold is not only beautiful but also hypoallergenic, making it a safe choice for your baby’s delicate skin. Opt for bangles made from 9ct or 18ct gold to ensure longevity and a stunning finish.

A Timeless Tradition

Gold jewellery has been a part of many cultures for centuries, often symbolising wealth, status, and good fortune. Gifting a baby gold bracelet or a baby’s gold bangle continues this tradition, welcoming the newborn with a symbol of prosperity and love. These bangles are often passed down through generations, becoming a treasured family heirloom.

Choosing the Perfect Baby Gold Bracelet

Design and Style

When choosing a baby gold bracelet, consider the design and style that will best suit your child. From simple and classic designs to more elaborate and intricate patterns, there is a wide range of options available. Some popular styles include:

Plain Gold Bangles: Simple and elegant, these bangles are perfect for everyday wear and can easily match any outfit.

Engraved Bangles: Personalised with your baby’s name or a special message, these bangles add a personal touch that makes them truly unique.

Charm Bangles: Featuring small charms such as hearts, stars, or animals, these bangles add a playful element to your baby’s jewellery collection.

Sizing and Safety

Ensuring the bangle fits comfortably is crucial. Most baby bangles are designed to be adjustable, allowing for a secure and comfortable fit as your baby grows. It's also important to check that the bangle has smooth edges and a secure clasp to prevent any discomfort or safety hazards.

The Benefits of Gifting a Baby’s Gold Bangle

A Lasting Keepsake

One of the most significant benefits of gifting a baby gold bracelet or bangle is that it serves as a lasting keepsake. Unlike clothes or toys that are quickly outgrown or discarded, a gold bangle can be kept and cherished for a lifetime. As your child grows, the bangle can serve as a beautiful reminder of their early years and the love and care that surrounded them.

A Versatile Gift

Personalised baby bangles are suitable for various occasions, making them a versatile gift choice. Whether it’s for a christening, a birthday, or a baby shower, a gold bangle is a thoughtful and meaningful present that will be appreciated by both the parents and the child.

Enhancing Family Traditions

Gifting a baby’s gold bangle can also help to enhance family traditions. Many families have a tradition of passing down jewellery from one generation to the next. By giving a personalised baby bangle, you are not only creating a new family heirloom but also contributing to the continuation of a cherished family tradition.

Where to Buy Personalised Baby Bangles

When purchasing a personalised baby bangle, it's important to choose a reputable jeweller who specialises in baby jewellery. Look for jewellers who offer high-quality materials, expert craftsmanship, and customisation options. Online retailers and local jewellers both offer a variety of options, but be sure to read reviews and check their credentials to ensure you are making a wise investment.

Conclusion

Personalised baby bangles are more than just pieces of jewellery; they are keepsakes that carry memories, traditions, and love. Whether you choose a simple baby gold bracelet or an intricately designed baby’s gold bangle, this timeless gift is sure to be treasured for years to come. As you celebrate the arrival of a new baby, consider the lasting impact of a personalised bangle—a beautiful token of affection that will be cherished forever.

[cutiepatootiejonesboro]

Sugar Plum Fairy Jewelry Box| Jewelry Boxes | CUTIE PATOOTIE

Sugar Plum Fairy Jewelry Box, Unicorn Jewelry Box, Swan Lake Jewelry Box and more. Get yours today! https://cutiepatootie.online/products/sugar-plum-fairy-jewelry-box?_pos=7&_sid=b602c1f70&_ss=r

[changisworld]

Baby fever

Husband!Chan x reader

word count;3,200

Summary: Your husband, Bangchan has finally decided that he too wants a baby, after you constantly pestering him & getting it into how good parents you would both be.

-just HAD to write this after I got an ask about & then having my amazing 🪫 anon AGREEING which has now encouraged me to write this heheh,

18+, MDNI, SMUT WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT

©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post.

main masterlist here

SMUT WARNINGS: PIV, oral(f rec), B R E E D I N G kink, creampie, lactation kink if you squint, nipple sucking, slight dirty talk, channie is BBBIIIGGG, bulge kink, body worship, marking, lovemaking, praise, aftercare but more off screen, 99% smut 1% backstory :3

You & your husband, Chan are just strolling around Walmart, doing some grocery shopping for your fridge & cupboards & you both end up walking past the small clothes section & your eyes land instantly on the cute newborn baby onzies & cute baby packs of socks.

"Channieeee, how can you even look at this n not want a baby? the clothes are so teeny & adorable!" you cheer, looking at him with a big smile & doe eyes on your face & chan just looks at you & rolls his eyes, smiling at you as he reaches out to touch the baby clothes, looking at all the cute patterns on them.

"Shhh! It's not that I don't want a baby, It's just scary! You say the exact same quote every time we walk past anything to do with babies I can rehearse it!" He giggles before putting his hand up & splaying it across the little onzie, comparing the size to it.

"I know but I'm just dyyying for a baby! Would you prefer a boy or a girl? & you've been saying you'll 'think about it' for monthhhs! We'd be the best parents on earth n you know it, I've seen you with kids & you'd be the best dad evverrrrr!" you cheer back, reaching out to ruffle his soft black hair & he kneans into your touch.

"I wouldn't care if about gender as long as I got a mini us & I knowww but still! You've came off the pill so now we just gotta see if it happens, can you get us some tomatoes? We forgot to pick em up." He questions you, putting both hands back on the cart & giving you a kiss on your cheek, making you blush.

"Doesn't mean much if you pull out Channie! I'll grab five." you sigh as you leave your husband & walk to go get what he asked you to. Chan watches you leave before he looks back at some of the cute baby clothes & he picks up three different onzies in different stripes & also polka dot patterns, he also picks up a cute little white baby hat before he buries it underneath the small mountain of items still in the cart before making his way to the checkout, texting you to just put the tomatoes back & meet him at the car.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･:༅｡.｡༅:ﾟ::✼✿　　✿･⭑✼:ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ

"I didn't even realise that you'd asked me for tomatoes but while I was there I remembered you don't even like tomatoes!" You whine as you buckle in your seatbelt, turning to look at the man beside you, now laughing as he turns the key.

"I just wanted to see if you'd remember! You failed the test." he chirps back & you swat him on the arm jokingly & he just laughs at you again before driving back to your shared home.

The rest of the day goes without a hitch, Chan insists on putting the items away & you don't complain, deciding to just tidy up your shared bedroom instead, reorganising the room & making the bed before deciding to just do some laundry since you have the habit of letting it pile up.

You are sorting out your jewellery box, using your shirt to make each piece shinier before replacing each part, fully rearranging the box in front of you when your bedroom door opens & Chan enters the room, hands behind his back.

"Ah, what ya doin babe?" he questions, looking a bit antsy. "Just tidying, why? Wha'cha hiding?" you reply, your head nodding towards him, referring to whatever he is holding behind his frame.

"well eh, I couldn't decide if I was gonna hide it for a while longer or if I wanted to lay it on the bed with rose petals or something, make it all romantic but you caught me, can I do that or are you gonna be stubborn n make me show you now?" he hums to you & you frown your eyebrows at him, chuckling as you try move your head to see what is in his hands, but he is quicker & keeps moving his frame.

"You know me too well, I really am that stubborn, show meeee." you reply as you do as he asks of you anyway & you stand in front of him before closing your eyes & cupping your hands in front of the both of you.

He takes in a deep breath & you just know his hands are shaking behind is back. "Just know y/nnie, no pressure! I don't want you to feel like I'm putting you on the spot." he says in a soft voice as he places something in your hands.

You open your eyes after nodding at his words & look down & what is it you see? A few of the tiny baby onzies you were dreaming over just a few hours ago & an adorable tiny tiny baby hat laying on top of them.

You look up at Chan, nerves smeared all over his features, his adams apple moving through his throat as he swallows, not taking his eyes off you as his hands cup themselves over the outside of yours, his thumbs caressing your hands.

"Is this what I think this means, Channie?" you ask, your mind going at a million miles an hour & the butterflies in your stomach being that crazy you're convinced they're about to fly out of your mouth.

"Uh.. yeah, I've had my mind up for a while, just got a bit scared to directly say it I guess?" he replies, his cheeks a shade of rose pink as you can feel his hands slightly shaking & getting warmer against your as he keeps his on yours.

"Channie, you're so silly, there was nothing to be scared of when I've been begging you to knock me up!" you joke as you softly throw the small fabric on the chest of drawers beside you both before practically throwing yourself at him, connecting your lips together, he freezes for a second before melting into your touch & kissing you back passionately.

He ushers you towards the bed & you lay down once the back of your knees hit the edge of your bed & chan follows right behind you, putting his hand & forearm on the bed beside your head to hold up his weight as his tongue begins to break past your lips, tasting you deeper, which you have no problem reciprocating.

You worm your hands beneath one of his usual black shirts & you feel over his chiselled abs, making him squirm. "You really are desperate, aren'cha?" he teases as he takes the three seconds to take his top off before getting back into the same position he was in before, taking the time to admire your slightly reddened & spit glossed lips.

"Well why waste time when I've been begging for so long?" you chirp back as you wriggle yourself up the bed, making chan follow not long behind you.

Your husband just smirks at you before kissing the tip of your nose. "I love you, soooo much, you mean the world n more to me." he murmurs in a sweet tone to you before he begins to kiss your jawline before making his way down to your neck, nibbling on different spots of your neck before lightly suckling on the exact same parts of skin, leaving four dark red marks on the right side of your neck.

Chan bunches your shirt up at the top of your chest, not bothering to take it off as he wriggles himself downwards just an inch & begins to fondle your tits over your bra as he kisses the parts not covered by the fabric & you sit up just enough to unclasp it for him & he lets out a hum of approval before taking a look up at you, the both of your eyes completely full of lust, pupils blown out & your stomach does a flip.

He cups your right tit in his hand as he starts to tongue your left nipple, your nipples perking up even more than what the cold air caused. He takes it in his mouth & suckles on it, making your back arch off the bed & you let out a small hum as you let your fingers find their way into his hair, playing with it.

"Your tits are so perfect, can't even imagine these filled with milk, try save me some, alright?" he says, more to himself but he still takes the time to look up at you, his fingers not stalling on your right nipple before reattaching his pretty, pink, puffy lips to your nipple, sucking on it as if it's the last time he will ever do so.

"Channie with a lactation kink? who woulda guessed." you chuckle at him as he switches tit, repeating the action & you close your eyes, simply taking in the feeling.

He then stops his motions & gives yet another hickey to your left tit before kissing all the way down your stomach before pushing your shorts & underwear off your smooth legs without much struggle.

"How do you blame me, have you seen you?" he remarks back at your words, not even looking up at you this time as he now settles down at your legs before pushing them open, now looking at your pretty, now glistening cunt & he sighs, a dreamy look painting his features & your heart melts.

He wants to tease you but his own patience is wearing thin so after a few kisses to your thighs, working his way inwards, not missing the way you squirm & twitch beneath him as your thighs rest on his broad shoulders & he licks a long, slow stripe up your cunt which makes you shudder.

He uses the tip of his tongue to slightly tease you but mostly to get a deeper taste by licking the outside part of your folds before using his tongue to part them further before he works his way up to your clit & begins kitten licking it.

"Chan, like that, fingers please." you request, sucking a breath through your teeth, trying your best to stay still for him. "say please n I will" he teases to you before moving away from your clit, much at your disapproval & begins teasing your now leaking hole.

"Pretty pleaseee, Channie, please." You beg as you try push your hips towards him, giving him that little bit extra of your cunt on his lips & he obviously can't help but let out a muffled groan as he starts to grind his hips against the bedsheets, trying to ease even a tiny bit of the pressure in his cock as he listens to your pleas & enters his middle & index finger into your pussy, a small squelch being heard.

He picks up the pace on your clit as he begins to suck & nibble on it, not caring about how much spit is escaping his lips as his fingers match the same speed, doing a 'come here' motion & you begin grinding against his face, your hands reaching down to twist your nipples in your fingers as you begin to fall apart.

"Gonna cum channie, don't stop." you basically demand as your eyes scrunch closed & your legs close in on his head, but he doesn't budge & continues at the same speed, smirking into you & humming & moaning into you & your orgasm bubbles over not even five seconds later, moaning his name non stop.

He lets you ride out your orgasm on his tongue & fingers as he slowly slows down his movements until you begin to whine & he knows your body well enough to know it's the overstimulation setting in.

He pulls out his fingers & puts them up to his mouth & sucks the orgasm you just had off his fingers & groans to himself before licking his lips & then making his way back up to you & kissing you, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue & you whimper on his lips.

"Taste as good as always, do you still wanna do this Channie? You can still pull out if you have any doubts." you reassure him, cupping his cheek with your hand & moving your thumb back & forth, giving him a warm smile. "I'd never back out babe, especially now that it's out in the open, lemme put this baby in you, mkay?" he chirps, nuzzling into your touch before allowing you to sit up so you can take your top off & he strips too, his cock slapping against his lower stomach as he helps manoeuvre you towards the edge of the bed & stands between your legs, jerking himself a few times, his tip already shiny with the amount of precum that has been leaking for the past twenty minutes or so.

He gives you a warm smile & he reaches down to hold your hand, your wedding rings beside one another as he begins to slowly push in, knowing he can't go too quick as he is aware how big he is, he knows he needs to allow a lot of time to stretch so he doesn't make it hurt any more than needed since no matter how much prep he gives you, it still makes you hold your breath for a second.

He buries himself to the hilt & he pauses, letting you get adjust as he kisses your ring finger, making you both blush as you look at each other, nothing but love & adoration in both of your eyes.

"You can move, 'm ready." you softly speak & chan hums as he moves his hips before softly moving them forward again, both of you letting out a moan in unison. "you're so tight, y/n, I'm fully convinced you're made for me." He says in a hoarse voice, biting his bottom lip, making you clench around him.

He begins a medium pace, hitting your G-spot each time & you can barely catch your breath as you both make eye contact, not one of you daring to break it as you can both slightly hear the wet, squelching noises of your cunt wrapping around his cock over your shared moans.

"Chan-nie, you're in my s-stomach, fuck." you yelp as he changes his position slightly, hammering into your spongey spot & kissing your cervix in a painful yet addicting way.

"Hmm yea? I can tell, look at it sweetie." he groans back, slightly breathless as he stands up, pace not slowing as he takes the hand which he is still holding & placing it on your lower stomach & you can't help but get giddy as you can feel his cock in your pelvis, making you clench around your husband more than you already were, making his pace falter.

"Taking me so well, babe, see? too bad we won't get to see it in your pretty belly once my cum sticks, can't say I-I'd complain though." he basically whimpers as he leans back over you, taking your lips in his own as he continues to destroy your poor hole & you yelp into his mouth with how deep he is.

"C-I'm gonna cum, gim-gimme it." you shriek as your hands reach onto behind his back & you dig your nails into his back, refusing to let go & chan just groans into you as he kisses you again, muffling both of your moans but only slightly.

You begin clenching around his cock & he stands back upright to be able to take in the whole sight. He reaches down to rub your swollen button with his thumb & you don't even have the right mind to even be able to warn him before your second orgasm hits you like a brick wall & your legs begin shaking as your back arches & you let out a shriek as you cum, this time all over his cock, your orgasm so strong it almost pushes him out of your hole.

He doesn't falter his pace this time & continues at the same speed & rhythm, throwing his head back but not for long as he feels his own orgasm starting to bubble up.

He looks down at your pretty, reddened face, a small shimmer on your skin, your tits bouncing along with his thrusts as you pinch your nipples again, not breaking eye contact with you.

"Cha-channie, s-so big I-I swear to f-fuck, please c-cum in me, gim-gimme your baby." you whine up at him, trying your best to ignore the overstimulation he is giving you for the sake of his own release & mostly focusing on just trying to push the simple sentence out.

"Wou-wouldn't dream oth-otherwise, beautiful, your pretty belly gon-gonna be so full for me, I know it's gonna s-stick, you're t-too good for me, my angel." he says, breathless & he takes your left hand in his again & he sucks on two of your fingers as he lets his orgasm take over, having to use all his strength to keep himself standing as he lets his cum coat your walls, you taking in the feeling of it too.

Chan lets his own orgasm come & then pass before he slowly pulls out, not failing to notice how his dick is so shiny you'd think he put lube on it & he uses the rest of his strength to help you lay at the top of the bed & he rests his back against the pillows, letting you lay between his legs, your back against his chest.

He grabs the bottle of water from his side of the beds bedside table as he always insists on having water there & feeding you it as he kisses the top of your head.

"Did so well for me hunny, you not sore or anything? I love you sooo much. want me to run you a bath n make food?" he questions softly as he reaches down with the hand not holding the bottle to rub over your stomach.

"I'm fine, more than fine actually, just daydreaming about out future bundle of joy! Just wanna lay here for now but yes, we can bath n eat soon, just lemme melt into you a bit more first." you half joke as you turn your head way from the bottle, indirectly telling him you're finished drinking & he just half laughs as he puts it back where he originally found it & cuddles you.

"Just gotta think of baby names don't we? It can't come soon enough, you can choose food since you'll complain if I order something for us if you give me the freedom to choose." he jokes & you just 'tut' at his words, smiling as you rest your head on his arms.

->Taglist:open!

->Anon list:open!

[bangtanficsforyou]

Hello, Love! (JJK)- 01

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, probable smut (we don't know yet lololol)

Rating: 18+

Summary: You had a plan when you returned home, seven years later. However, falling in love with your sister's fiance wasn't it.

Word count: 2K (approx)

Warning: mentions of drug addiction, familial neglect.

The ring fits Jungkook as if it was meant just for him. Not one bit tight nor is it one bit loose. Snug around his finger as if it has always belonged there.

A round of applause breaks out and he looks at the smiling faces of his family and that of his soon to be in law's. 

As the cheers and claps die down, he takes it as his queue. His hand makes it’s way to his pocket. However, when he is not met with a small square jewellery box, he immediately checks his other pocket. That pocket, too, disappoints him. 

He looks up awkwardly at his fiancee and tries to give her a reassuring smile. Now checking for the pockets of his trousers, he fumbles around to somehow make the box appear out of thin air. 

Realising that he is running out of time, he turns towards Jimin. “Jimin, did I not give you the ring box on our way here?” 

Jimin looks at Jungkook with eyes wide like that of a newborn baby. “No, you didn't.”

“Yes, I did,” Jungkook claims with more surety than he actually feels inside. 

“When?!”

“When we were outside–”

“You were talking on the phone—”

“And, I gave it to you while—”

“Here,” Riya offers, with the small red box resting on her palm. Before Jungkook can ask, she answers, “I found it lying on the floor of our balcony.”

Jungkook gives an awkward chuckle in response, trying to play it off. “Jimin has become very careless these days.”

Before Jimin can protest and defend himself, Jungkook shoots him a look that somehow shuts him up. 

Jungkook doesn't waste another minute before taking the ring out and putting it on Riya's fingers. The sooner it is done, the lesser are the chances of running into any other bumps on the road.

Another similar round of applause breaks out and Jungkook heaves a sigh of relief. 

The engagement is done. 

“Dad,” Jungkook greets cheerfully as he takes a seat.

“Hmm,” his soon to be father in law doesn't bother looking up as his eyes remain occupied with the official documents he's currently working on. 

Jungkook remains unfazed by the lack of enthusiasm and continues. “You know I'm currently discussing a project with Mr. Elgin, right?’’

“Hmm.”

“And well I was telling him how I'm about to marry your daughter Riya Roy.”

“I see.”

“Do you know the praises he sang for you?”

Now that somehow catches his dear soon to be father-in-law's attention. 

“Did he?” He interlaces his fingers, and relaxes against the chair, temporarily discarding the documents in the process.

“Yes!” Jungkook nods excitedly. “He was telling me how well you would display and advertise your designs to potential investors during the early business days.” 

“What else did he say?” he muses.

“He also told me how well you have single handedly managed the business. How you started it from scratch and made it what it is today.” 

The older man lets out a chuckle. “It doesn't sound too odd for someone to praise me for advertising my clothes in a clothing line business or for working hard when I am the one who started it.”

There's a brief pause where Jungkook seemingly processes the words.

“Now tell me, how much money do you need?” 

Oh. 

Now, it's Jungkook who lets out a chuckle, albeit an awkward one. “You haven't even listened to what he said on learning that you're planning on expanding your business.”

“Trust me, I don't need to know,” comes the reply. “You tell me the amount, I need to get back to work.”

Jungkook considers his options then in the blink of an eye, his whole demeanour changes. “You know how I almost have the contract for this year's cricket world cup?” 

Much like earlier, the man hums. 

“However, suddenly, they have raised the bid by six million.” 

“So you need six million dollars?” 

Jungkook nods, hoping that the amount doesn’t sound as big as it is. 

There’s a pause and then there’s a low hum in response. “Did you return the one million dollar you had taken from Riya?”

“Well I almost have. There’s only a little left to pay back.”

“How much are you yet to pay?”

Sometimes, Jungkook wishes he knew how to read this man a little better. His father in law, undoubtedly, is every bit of the businessman you’d think of him to be. He thinks like a businessman, walks like one and talks like one in every sense possible. 

Jungkook knows that one would never find this man speaking one word, that is not required. And that just makes it all the more difficult to ever get a hint of what his father in law is thinking. 

Sometimes, Jungkook thinks speaking to this man is the equivalent of playing chess with a computer. You’d never know what the next move will be but you can rest assured, that you'll never outsmart them. 

“Some two hundred thousand.”

“That’s the amount you are yet to pay?”

Jungkook pretends he hadn’t heard the question properly, the first time. “Uhm, no that’s the amount I have paid.”

“So what’s the amount you are yet to pay?”

“Eight hundred thousand—,” he replies and then quickly adds, “—but I will pay everything back as soon as the contract is finalised.”

“Sure,” his father in law nods, not buying his words. "I'll need some time to think about it."

“Listen, no matter what, I anyhow, need a meeting to be scheduled with Mr.Shro—I don’t care what his manager is saying about him being busy.”

The wind blows at a steady pace and somewhere in the lobby, a toddler shrieks in joy. 

“Mail his manager as many times as you need to. Just refuse to accept no as an answer.”

Poor Sam, Jimin thinks, pitying the poor boy who didn’t know what he was signing up for when he agreed to be Jungkook’s manager. 

“Yes, yes! Mail them again—not now Jimin!”

Unfortunately, Jimin doesn’t seem to catch the hint and taps him on his back, again. 

“What is it Jim—”, only it is not Jimin. “Sam, I’ll get back to you later.” 

“You asked dad for money.”

Uh oh. Jungkook could tell Riya wasn’t in the brightest of moods, but nothing could have prepared Jungkook for this. 

“Riya why don’t we take this inside?” Jungkook suggests, keeping his voice soft and calm. He hadn’t thought much of it when he was screaming at his manager left and right in the balcony, for everyone to hear. But an arguement between the freshly engaged couple, might just not be that ideal.

“Jungkook, do you not have any self respect?”

I do, in fact that is why I am asking you to move this inside, Jungkook thinks to himself. Instead of speaking the words out, he again, mildly tries to guide her inside a room. 

Riya, however, remains adamant on not cooperating with him. “You tell me, Jungkook, how can i respect a man who has zero self respect?”

“You do—”

“You know what keep your ring, I don’t want it.” In the blink of an eye, the ring that had almost managed to cause a commotion merely a few hours ago, now rests on Jungkook’s palm, again. 

“Riya, what is your problem?” Long gone is the calmness Jungkook was trying so hard to keep. Now, he sounds extremely confused and perhaps frustrated. 

“My problem is the fact that I cannot marry a man who has zero self—”

“It’s not self respect that I lack! Its ego!” Jungkook snaps. “If I know asking for help could get me the opportunity that I have worked so hard for, why shouldn’t I? Plus, it’s not like I have ever failed to pay back.”

There’s a beat of silence, where Jungkook tries to regain his composure. “I don’t understand Riya, the years when you were struggling to make it into the industry, I supported you in every way I could. So now that I'm the one who’s facing struggles, why can’t you find it in yourself to do the same?”

Something in Riya softens at the mention of all the times, Jungkook stood by her side like a rock. Every penny Jungkook earned was spent on Riya’s then struggling career. Lord knows, there were times when she felt like giving up but Jungkook wouldn’t let her. When she lost faith, Jungkook would believe in it for both of them. 

She inhales shakily and looks at the ring and it somehow manages to ground her to why she said yes to Jungkook in the first place. 

“And if it bothers you so much, I won't ask dad for money.”

She nods and then gently takes the ring from Jungkook. It's in that gentle touch of her's that Jungkook knows things are settled, at least for the time being. 

“I'll go look for Mili aunty, I heard she was looking for me,” Riya says, and somehow the abrupt end of argument doesn't surprise Jungkook, in the least. 

As Riya walks back inside, Jungkook releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He finds it a little difficult to believe that Riya almost broke off the engagement. Although he probably shouldn’t be so surprised. 

Over the years, Jungkook has become very familiar with Riya’s habit of breaking up with him at the slightest inconvenience. Now that they are engaged, breaking up means...well, calling off the engagement. 

Arguments with Riya are always like this, short lived but very frequent. Riya would state the reasons why she thinks this won’t work and all the reasons why Jungkook is wrong and then Jungkook would have to remind her of all the reasons as to why the both of them have stuck together for so long. 

Maybe it has always been like this, be it for Riya’s career, or for their relationship, Jungkook has always kept faith on behalf of the both of them when Riya couldn’t. 

Perhaps securing the deal he's currently working on, would finally give Riya the reassurance that she's looking for. Well, he sure hopes so because if this contract doesn't, Jungkook doesn't know what will. 

Getting this deal has the potential of turning you into the equivalent of Leonardo DiCaprio of the event organisation industry. There's simply no looking back from then on. You'd have career stability, money and a reputation among your peers. 

It's probably everything a woman looks for in the man, they are marrying. 

So yeah, he genuinely hopes that he can prove himself to be capable and can put rest to this constant breaking up and patching up cycle the two of them have found themselves in, for years. 

And he's definitely going to give his best, even if that means being rude to his innocent, sweet, doe-eyed manager. 

Chapter two will be up on my Patreon on early access by the end of this week!

[gulnarsultan]

Can you do Separately what The Yandere Tudors Men (Edward Seymour, King Henry VIII, Charles Brandon and Thomas Boleyn) would give their Wife a really, REALLY expensive necklace either as a wedding present, a just because present or something following the birth of one of their children?

Hello. I hope you like it.

King Henry had passed many difficult trials to marry you. You will never forget the moments of lust and desire you experienced on your wedding night throughout your life. King Henry shed tears of joy when he received the news that you were pregnant. He took very close care of you throughout your pregnancy, unlike usual. Not even a minute was left outside the door of the room where you gave birth for hours. He was praying to God for you and the baby to be delivered safely. When the birth was finally over, he quickly entered the room. You were tiredly smiling at your husband with your newborn son in your arms.

"My King. We now have a male heir."

King Henry came to you and kissed your forehead. It wasn't hard to understand that he was happy and proud from the look on his face when he held your son in his arms.

"My son."

King Henry proudly kissed his newborn son's forehead.

"Our son's name will be Edward. Prince Edward."

You smiled at your husband's words. King Henry gently placed Prince Edward in his crib. He handed you the box in his hand. Surprised, you take the box and open it. Inside the box was a necklace decorated with Tudor symbol roses and made of expensive jewellery.

"My King. This is beautiful."

"Not as much as you."

King Henry took the necklace out of the box and placed it around your neck elegantly.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

You were Charles' third wife. Honestly, you never thought that an arranged marriage would turn into love. Charles was a possessive and passionate husband. Even though his love was suffocating at times, you had learned to cope. Charles did not yet have a son. This meant that a big task was on your shoulders. You got pregnant shortly after the wedding. You honestly thought your husband would move away from you and take mistresses. But it didn't happen as he thought. Months later, you gave birth to healthy twin boys. You would never forget the smile on Charles' face. He held his sons in his arms and wasn't afraid to talk about how proud he was. One of your sons was named John and the other Edmund. After naming the babies, Charles gave you a very dazzling necklace as a gift. From what you heard from your bridesmaids, Charles paid a really large amount of money for this necklace.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Your wedding to Thomas Boleyn was modest. You came from a noble and powerful family. Frankly, your mother and father were not very keen on this marriage. After all, Thomas Boleyn did not promise great possibilities. After months of conversations, you had finally managed to gain your family's approval. You were getting ready in your room on the wedding night. Thomas slowly pokes his head through the door.

"I got you something, honey. Your wedding gift."

"There was no need, my dear. It is a great gift for me to know that we can spend our lives together now."

"My beautiful wife. I am truly a very lucky man."

Thomas holds out the box he keeps behind his back. You slowly take the box and open it. There is a really expensive necklace inside the box.

"Thomas. This is too expensive."

"I couldn't have a big wedding that suits you. I should have at least bought you a gift that suits you."

"Thank you, Thomas. I will keep this necklace for the rest of my life."

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Your wedding to Edward Seymour was beautiful. It was literally like a fairy tale. Queen Jane had spared no expense for her brother's wedding. The wedding hall was decorated very beautifully. A luxurious wedding dress and a wonderful flower bouquet were prepared. After you put on your wedding dress, the bridesmaids did your make-up and hair. You were waiting for the ceremony to start. There is a knock on your door.

"Come in."

Edward comes in. Edward has a look of admiration on his face.

"Oh my God. You look like an angel."

"Edward, you're embarrassing me."

"I came to give you a gift. I hope you like it."

When you open the box, you are surprised to see the expensive necklace inside.

"Oh. Edward, that's beautiful."

"I'm glad you liked it, my beautiful."

[jhoneybees]

Hi! i read your other Elvis oneshots

can you make one with early 70s elvis

him and the reader just had a baby, and he doesn’t really help and it turns into this whole big argument. and one day the reader finds him singing the baby to sleep?

idk random though😭

This idea is real sweet :( And I love random ideas! Thank you for requesting 💞☺️

Realization

Characters: Early 70s!Elvis X wife!reader

Warnings/triggers: arguments, crying, avoiding Elvis

_____________________________________________

It is known that it’s the wife’s job to take care of the children while the husbands go out to work but something that you never got as a child was having a father who was present, there for you when you needed one most and you don't want your newborn baby to go through that as well.

You understand that people have very busy schedules and can’t exactly pause their lives to make you feel happy and satisfied and you definitely understand that Elvis is one of those people but his schedule is ten times as busy.

But he could at least try to make time for your child, right?

“Honey, you know my schedule is hectic all the time. '' Elvis exhaled as he placed his glass of bourbon down on the kitchen island. Keeping his head lowered with hands set on the cold marble “Yes Elvis, I know…but- you have to understand that he is our son…we brought him into this world together and-” your eyes lift up “We gotta raise him together, Darlin’ I understand that but again my work is go go go all the time and it’s hard enough as it is…makin’ time for Jesse is almost goddamn near impossible these days'' Elvis replies sharply, your breath being caught in your throat “You can at least try…” your voice soft and quiet.

His eyes shifting to look at you as you look down at your fingers playing with the fabric of your shirt “Try? Y/n you know damn well I try” pushing himself off with his hands “You don’t think I do?” bringing his hands up to rest on his hips “Try to make time to spend with my family? Honey- I hafta fight with the colonel every damn time to get away from the studio to be with you…” you gulp “Elvis I-” he stopped you with a lifted finger “I give you everything, anything you could ever want, Jewellery, clothes, cars, I ain't only working for the fans, Y/n, I’m working to make sure you and now Jesse to have the best life you could ever have and that’s final-” his words came to a halt as you cut in “I don't want all of that, I just want you to be present and be here for Jesse! Is that so hard to ask?!” Elvis' eyes grew with fire and as he was about to say something “I don't want my kids to not have a father figure-” your voice started to break and tears brimming in your eyes, silently shaking your head “Honey-”

“I DON'T WANT THAT!”

Elvis' eyes flinched at the sudden outburst and watched as you stormed out of the kitchen.

_____________________________________________

After what had happened a few weeks ago, it still made your heart sting. You didn't mean to yell at him like that, you just wanted to get your words across.

To possibly make him realise.

You're ashamed of yourself and as much as you cherish the moments of falling asleep with Elvis in your shared bed, you can't bring yourself to even look at him to which you insist on sleeping on the couch, leaving Elvis in the large bed alone.

_____________________________________________

“Darlin’ you don't gotta sleep on the couch, it ain't comfy-”

“Go to bed, I'm sleeping here”

_____________________________________________

He was right, the couch isn't comfortable but you just don't want to be in the same room as him for too long.

You really are ashamed.

Why did you say that to him?

Maybe you should apologise.

Fiddling with the edging of the blanket, you nod to yourself. Breathing in deeply, you get up from the couch and make your way to the bedroom.

Walking up the steps, you breathe in again. Seeing the bedroom door being slightly ajar, you push your fingertips against it “Elvis?” You say softly, scanning the room only to not see him in there. You thought you'll have to wake him up from his much needed rest to apologise but he's not even in the room.

So with a quick look in the bathroom, to see if he's in there. You walk out and begin to walk the halls, poking your head in each room before you stop in your tracks just a couple of metres away from the baby's nursery.

Singing.

Cautiously, you tiptoe towards the door, being careful to not make too much noise.

The sight you see makes your heart melt.

“Love me tender, Love me true..all my dreams fulfil, for my darling… I love you…and I always will'' His chuckle, deep and quiet.

“Ya quite a good-lookin' fella ain't ya?” he snickers softly, as he gently swipes his thumb against the baby's small cheek. A soft grin growing on his face “Gorgeous…” he whispers.

You really can't hold in your tears.

Bringing your hand up to open the door lightly, watching as Elvis lifts his head, his eyes softening at your sadden face.

“Oh Honey…”

[womenaremypriority]

This is so horrific.

———————

I have been following Siro’s story for 30 years, ever since I went to interview her and four other rural midwives in India’s Bihar state in 1996.

They had been identified by a non-governmental organisation as being behind the murder of baby girls in the district of Katihar where, under pressure from the newborns’ parents, they were killing them by feeding them chemicals or simply wringing their necks.

Hakiya Devi, the eldest of the midwives I interviewed, told me at the time she had killed 12 or 13 babies. Another midwife, Dharmi Devi, admitted to killing more - at least 15-20.

It is impossible to ascertain the exact number of babies they may have killed, given the way the data was gathered.

But they featured in a report published in 1995 by an NGO, based on interviews with them and 30 other midwives. If the report’s estimates are accurate, more than 1,000 baby girls were being murdered every year in one district, by just 35 midwives. According to the report, Bihar at the time had more than half a million midwives. And infanticide was not limited to Bihar.

Refusing orders, Hakiya said, was almost never an option for a midwife.

“The family would lock the room and stand behind us with sticks,” says Hakiya Devi. “They’d say: ‘We already have four-five daughters. This will wipe out our wealth. Once we give dowry for our girls, we will starve to death. Now, another girl has been born. Kill her.’

“Who could we complain to? We were scared. If we went to the police, we’d get into trouble. If we spoke up, people would threaten us."

The role of a midwife in rural India is rooted in tradition, and burdened by the harsh realities of poverty and caste. The midwives I interviewed belonged to the lower castes in India’s caste hierarchy. Midwifery was a profession passed on to them by mothers and grandmothers. They lived in a world where refusing orders of powerful, upper-caste families was unthinkable.

The midwife could be promised a sari, a sack of grain or a small amount of money for killing a baby. Sometimes even that was not paid. The birth of a boy earned them about 1,000 rupees. The birth of a girl earned them half.

The reason for this imbalance was steeped in India’s custom of giving a dowry, they explained. Though the custom was outlawed in 1961, it still held strong in the 90s - and indeed continues into the present day.

A dowry can be anything - cash, jewellery, utensils. But for many families, rich or poor, it is the condition of a wedding. And this is what, for many, still makes the birth of a son a celebration and the birth of a daughter a financial burden.

Siro Devi, the only midwife of those I interviewed who is still alive, used a vivid physical image to explain this disparity in status.

“A boy is above the ground - higher. A daughter is below - lower. Whether a son feeds or takes care of his parents or not, they all want a boy.”

The preference for sons can be seen in India’s national-level data. Its most recent census, in 2011, recorded a ratio of 943 women to every 1,000 men. This is nevertheless an improvement on the 1990s - in the 1991 census, the ratio was 927/1,000.

By the time I finished filming the midwives’ testimonies in 1996, a small, silent change had begun. The midwives who once carried out these orders had started to resist. 

This change was instigated by Anila Kumari, a social worker who supported women in the villages around Katihar, and was dedicated to addressing the root causes of these killings.

Anila’s approach was simple. She asked the midwives, “Would you do this to your own daughter?”

Her question apparently pierced years of rationalisation and denial. The midwives got some financial help via community groups and gradually the cycle of violence was interrupted.

Siro, speaking to me in 2007, explained the change.

“Now, whoever asks me to kill, I tell them: ‘Look, give me the child, and I’ll take her to Anila Madam.’”

The midwives rescued at least five newborn girls from families who wanted them killed or had already abandoned them.

One child died, but Anila arranged for the other four to be sent to Bihar’s capital, Patna, to an NGO which organised their adoption.

The story could have ended there. But I wanted to know what had become of those girls who were adopted, and where life had taken them.

Anila’s records were meticulous but they had few details about post-adoption.

Working with a BBC World Service team, I got in touch with a woman called Medha Shekar who, back in the 90s, was researching infanticide in Bihar when the babies rescued by Anila and the midwives began arriving at her NGO. Remarkably, Medha was still in touch with a young woman who, she believed, was one of these rescued babies.

Anila told me that she had given all the girls saved by the midwives the prefix “Kosi” before their name, a homage to the Kosi river in Bihar. Medha remembered that Monica had been named with this “Kosi” prefix before her adoption.

The adoption agency would not let us look at Monica’s records, so we can never be sure. But her origins in Patna, her approximate date of birth and the prefix “Kosi” all point to the same conclusion: Monica is, in all probability, one of the five babies rescued by Anila and the midwives.

When I went to meet her at her parents’ home some 2,000km (1,242 miles) away in Pune, she said she felt lucky to have been adopted by a loving family.

“This is my definition of a normal happy life and I am living it,” she said.

Monica knew that she had been adopted from Bihar. But we were able to give her more details about the circumstances of her adoption.

Earlier this year, Monica travelled to Bihar to meet Anila and Siro. 

Monica saw herself as the culmination of years of hard work by Anila and the midwives.

“Someone prepares a lot to do well in an exam. I feel like that. They did the hard work and now they’re so curious to meet the result… So definitely, I would like to meet them.”

Anila wept tears of joy when she met Monica. But Siro’s response felt different.

She sobbed hard, holding Monica close and combing through her hair.

“I took you [to the orphanage] to save your life… My soul is at peace now,” she told her.

But when, a couple of days later, I attempted to press Siro about her reaction, she resisted further scrutiny.

“What happened in the past is in the past,” she said.

But what is not in the past is the prejudice some still hold against baby girls.

Reports of infanticide are now relatively rare, but sex-selective abortion remains common, despite being illegal since 1994.

If one listens to the traditional folk songs sung during childbirth, known as Sohar, in parts of north India, joy is reserved for the birth of a male child. Even in 2024, it is an effort to get local singers to change the lyrics so that the song celebrates the birth of a girl.

While we were filming our documentary, two baby girls were discovered abandoned in Katihar - one in bushes, another at the roadside, just a few hours old. One later died. The other was put up for adoption.

Before Monica left Bihar, she visited this baby in the Special Adoption Centre in Katihar.

She says she was haunted by the realisation that though female infanticide may have been reduced, abandoning baby girls continues.

“This is a cycle… I can see myself there a few years ago, and now again there’s some girl similar to me.”

But there were to be happier similarities too.

The baby has now been adopted by a couple in the north-eastern state of Assam. They have named her Edha, which means happiness.

“We saw her photo, and we were clear - a baby once abandoned cannot be abandoned twice,” says her adoptive father Gaurav, an officer in the Indian air force.

Every few weeks Gaurav sends me a video of Edha's latest antics. I sometimes share them with Monica.

Looking back, the 30 years spent on this story were never just about the past. It was about confronting uncomfortable truths. The past cannot be undone, but it can be transformed.

And in that transformation, there is hope.

[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Twenty Three

Tom Bennett x Bess Vaughn (OFC)

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Strong Language, Angst, Smut, Violence, Depictions of War, Mentions of Death, Depictions of PTSD, Injury Detail, Era typical Sexism, Era typical Homophobia, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mentions of Domestic Abuse (very brief), Depictions of Reproductive Health, Suicidal Thoughts, World on Fire Spoilers.

Notes: Been a while, hasn’t it? Here's 7K for ya. I’m writing this for me and the few people that are still engaging with it. If you enjoy it, and you know who guys you are, then I’m happy!

There are probably mistakes, but I'm ill. Soz.

“Morning, pet. Brought you a cuppa. Poor thing,” A soft hand ran over Tom’s forehead, as though testing his temperature, and brushed the hair from his eyes. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

Tom’s head was pounding. Rubbing bleary eyes, he took the tea from the person above him. Perfectly manicured nails, ringlets, red lipstick and the overpowering smell of lavender.

“Cheers, Queenie.”

“Anytime, love. Here,” she draped his threadbare jacket over the bedframe. “Tried to get the mud out as best I could.”

“Mud?”

“Yeah,” Queenie chuckled. “You fell over by the park. Our Frank was worried he’d have to carry you the rest of the way. Listen, I’ve got bacon and eggs on the stove, pop down when you’re dressed.” With small, high-heeled steps, she tottered from the room.

Fuck.

Tom rose tentatively from the bed, his head pounding. When he felt he could stand without vomiting, he made his way to the small wash basin in the corner of the room and caught sight of himself in the old mirror.

If it wasn’t for the pulsing of his head, Tom would have suspected he’d died and was looking at his own ghostly reflection. Purple circles rimmed his usually bright eyes, which were dull and tired. His skin clung to his face- he could do with twelve plates of Queenie’s bacon and eggs by the looks of him -and the shadow of his stubble was darkening his chin. Despite his age, he looked old. As though someone had tried to draw youth after only having it described to them. A thousand lives had been lived behind his eyes, some of them he wouldn’t wish on anyone.

“Breakfast, Tom!” Queenie called up the stairs. Tom splashed his face with water and, looking at his reflection once more, had to fight the urge to spit at it. Pathetic.

Downstairs, Queenie was fussing around the kitchen table at which sat two distinctly different figures. Frank Smith was reading a newspaper, a steaming cup of tea beside him. Upon seeing Tom, he muttered a quiet “good morning”, and hid behind the paper. Opposite him was perhaps the oldest lady Tom had ever seen. Wrapped in moth eaten shawls and gawdy jewellery, she wore a permanent smile, though even from where Tom stood he could see that nothing much was going on behind her eyes.

“Have a seat, Tom.” Queenie passed him a plate of breakfast. The only seat available was by Frank, and the man shuffled awkwardly as Tom sat beside him, memories of Tom screaming at him in the school corridor swirling in his mind. The old lady opposite looked slowly up at Tom and gave him a gummy smile. She gargled a little.

“Hello, m’am,” Tom nodded his head and went about adding sugar and milk to his tea.

“This is Tom, Nanna.” Queenie bent low and shouted in the woman’s ear. “Tom. Bennett. Poor old thing doesn’t know today from tomorrow but she seems happy enough,” she directed at Tom, who nodded wearily and shovelled eggs into his mouth.

“Beautiful boy,” the old woman said. Her gummy smile was a little off putting but the kindness, even if she said this kind of thing to everyone, was just what Tom needed in his hungover shame. He placed his hand over hers. “Beautiful boy,” she cooed as though looking at a newborn. Tom supposed, compared to her great age, he was.

“She’ll be one hundred and two in March, won’t you Nanna?” Queenie shouted.

“Don’t look a day over twenty-one,” Tom said.

Nanna Warren let out a hearty heh heh and allowed Queenie to spoon porridge into her mouth. They all ate in silence, apart from Nanna Warren’s little murmurs and mutterings, and when they were done, Queenie took their plates to the sink. “Frank, love, take Nanna into the front room.”

Frank set his paper down resignedly and lead the old woman into the hallway. “Beautiful boy, beautiful!” 

“Got plans for the day, Tom?” Queenie turned from the sink and fixed him with a watchful but friendly gaze.

“Find m’self a bed to sleep in and a shower. Reckon I’ve got a few apologies to make an’ all.”

“Mmm,” War had matured Queenie Warren too. She was still girlish and flirtatious, but she seemed to have realised her words had meaning and was making amends for her off-handed comments of old. “Bess is some woman-”

Tom laughed fondly. “Yeah,”

“- I could never put up with you.”

Perhaps not. “I’ll be off Queenie, thanks for letting me stay. Say ta-ra to Frank for me.”

“I won’t, I know you two don’t see eye to eye. Take care of yourself, give Bess a kiss from me.”

Tom shrugged on his jacket, pulled up the collar and made his way into the cold day. Apologies. Where to bloody start.

Each of the Vaughn girls was looking at their father with disgust.

He had come downstairs that morning reeking of ale and grease from the dockyard, sat in his armchair, let out an almighty belch and promptly dozed off. When Cora kicked him and shoved a plate of eggs under his nose, he took them with a scowl and ate in silence.

“Just one more bloody man to worry about,” Bess huffed from the kitchen table.

“Bugger off back to Carver Mills then,” Fergal snapped.

“Don’t you two start,” Cora slammed a fresh loaf of bread onto the table. “I’ve heard enough bloody bickering these last twelve hours to last a lifetime.”

“Watch your language-”

“Be quiet!” All three girls shouted at their father and he fixed them with an annoyed stare.

Breakfast was a solemn affair with Fergal fighting through his hangover, the girls’ lack of sleep and Bess’ additional worry over Tom. In truth, some of it had waned in the hours since she woke up. After hearing Tom’s idea of a woman’s purpose in this world, her worry had dwindled to a mild apprehension. When Dot came in from collecting the milk and told her the Mrs Mason’s eldest had seen Tom entering Queenie Warren’s Cringle Park home late last night, her mild apprehension became a fully borne rage.

Bess liked to think she trusted Tom to stay loyal to her. But something in his astoundingly arrogant display at the Palais gnawed at her confidence.  

“Got any towels, Cora?”

“Dot, for God’s sake, wash your own.”

“Bess?”

“One, in my handbag.”

Dot kissed her sister’s cheek and began rummaging through her bag. “I’ll wash it and give it back.”

“Keep it, I won’t want it back-”

“I don’t need to be hearing about your filthy woman talk-”

“Be quiet!” Each of the girls shouted again at their father. Bess watched as Dot disappeared upstairs. She had been carrying a towel with her everywhere, just in case. She always did of course, in the event of her monthlies, but her monthlies were now three weeks late and she had an appointment with Sister Murphy in a week’s time.

A knock at the front door made each Vaughn jump.

“That’ll be Dennis with the post,” Cora was already rounding the kitchen table, pulling her apron off as she did so. Bess was in no mood to see rat-faced Dennis Warley and the contemptuous looks he saved especially for her and her tailored slacks. She stood from the table, gave Fergal a wide berth and went upstairs to dress.

Stuff Dennis Warley and his shit taste. Bess pulled out a dark dress from the draw she still kept in her sisters’ room, covered it in a dark jumper and pulled on some thick woollen socks. Her hair, still curled from last night, she tied off her face with a scarf, the frizzy strands settling on her shoulders.

Lying back on the bed, she cradled her stomach. It was a little plump, thinner now because of rationing, but still soft and doughy. Bess rubbed circles over it, wondering what it would be like to feel it grow. In her need for him, and his for her, Bess and Tom had been reckless. But surely, it would have happened by now? When he found his way back to her after his months on the run in Europe, she was so certain in her need for him, her love for him, that a sheath didn’t matter. When he had returned this time, so hungry for her after discovering his father gone, hadn’t she welcomed him openly? Given herself over to him completely because that was what he needed? Perhaps this time, she had given too much. She’d seem him with Vera, and Jan, and not worried about the consequences. After last night, however, she was scared.

Downstairs, Cora and Dot’s voices raised in pitch and volume, and Bess looked up at the ceiling. A new crack had formed there. Trust Dennis to say something stupid.

Only it wasn’t Dennis Warley at all. Downstairs, Cora Vaughn was locked in a battle with none other than Tom Bennett.

“I wondered when you’d show up,”

“Cora, I-”

“Roger’s not here, so don’t worry-”

“I’m not worri-”

“You looked worried last night when he dumped you on the pavement.”

“Give over, Cora. Posh knob wouldn’t get his hands dirty. S’why he’s off flying planes and leaving us lot in the muck-”

“Don’t you start on Cora!” Dot pushed past her sister and jabbed a finger into Tom’s chest.

“He tried last night, Dot.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Fergal Vaughn stood from his chair by the hearth and made his slow way to the front door. “Give him a piece of your mind did you, my girl?”

“I did, Dadda.” Cora’s eyes were still set on Tom. Indeed, so were Fergal and Dot’s. “And Dot gave him a smack.”

“Save your energy next time, Dot. You could beat Tom Bennett into next year and he’d still come up with some sorry excuse-”

“Is Bess in?” Tom pinched his nose.

“Care about Bess now?”

“Shut up, Dot.”

Fergal lunged at him. Tom’s arms instinctively reached outwards. The two men stumbled into the cobbled street, each gripping the other’s collar. They grappled for a while, Fergal’s size and Tom’s athleticism preventing either from felling each other.

Hearing the commotion from upstairs, Bess hurried down the narrow stairs and into the street.

“WHAT IS GOING ON?”

The bundle of bodies stopped moving at once. Dot slid off Tom’s back. Fergal dropped his arms from Tom’s collar and Cora stumbled backwards from her attempt to restrain her father.

“Bess, love-”

“Look at yourselves.” Bess folded her arms. “A disgrace to mam’s memory. And Marie’s.” She pointed at Tom. “Get inside. The lot of you.”

Like a troupe of naughty children, Fergal, Cora, Dot and Tom filed into the house. No sooner had Bess slammed the door was she grabbing Tom’s wrist and pulling him into the yard. “I’ll deal with you lot later,” she said to her family, each stood sheepishly in the kitchen.

The autumn air was crisp outside. Dadda’s chickens were scraping at the earth and scurried forward when Bess turned over a bucket to perch upon. Seeing she had nothing to give them, they went about their business.

Tom watched Bess as she lit a cigarette and stared ahead. God, she was gorgeous. Sat there in the morning light, hair aflame, all haughty and tight-lipped. She was just as he always imagined her. When she turned her head ever so minutely to look at him from the corner of her, he winked.

“Don’t flirt with me.”

Tom raised his chin and straightened his back. He knew Bess loved his neck, and from her low position she would be able to see the perfect angle of his jaw. “It’s working then.”

By way of a reply, Bess blew smoke into his face. With a small smile, Tom crouched before her and took her empty hand in his.

“I’m sorry,”

Bess watched him, taking another drag of her cigarette.

“I-,oh fuck,” Tom stood up again and paced the small yard. Apologies. How the fuck do you apologise? Not as a way to wriggle out of trouble, but to truly make amends? Before he could start, Bess spoke first.

“I heard you and Dadda had a little chat.”

“Yeah-”

“And then you insulted Bobby. And my suit,”

“You looked gorgeous-”

Bess hmphed. “Then you made a scene-”

“Dot smacked me!”

“Not hard enough!” They glared at each other. “And after that, you had the bare-faced cheek to insult Cora and Roger. On their special night!”

“I know,” Tom deflated visibly in front of her and Bess’ heart melted a little. A little. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

“What for?”

Christ, Bess was breaking his balls. He sighed. “For fighting with your father, for ruining Cora’s night and for the awful things I said to you and Bobby.”

“And?”

“And what?” He was getting annoyed now.

“Didn’t think you liked Frank Smith.”

“I don’t. He’s a prick.”

“But you spent the rest of last night with him? Was Walter Watson there too? Bragging about how you got into my knickers? Or planning how the three of you could next embarrass me, as a joint effort?”

“No,”

“Anything else to add?”

“No?”

“Then think.”

Tom looked up, wracking his brains. Cora, Dot and Fergal were peering out of the window, transfixed by the goings on in the yard. Cora and Dot hastily withdrew from the window. Fergal continued to stare at Tom and Bess.

“Erm-”

“Where did you stay, last night? Only, I said you could come to ours but-” She let the sentence trail off.

Fuck.

Bess’ eyes had turned dark. She leant forward on her knees and casually flicked the ash from her cigarette. She was waiting. Had thrown down her gauntlet. The challenge? Daring Tom to make up an excuse, as he always did. Well, enough people had tried to outsmart him before. There was a reason he was so good at stealing car parts and had managed to wrangle his way out of jail. It wasn’t this, though, that made his blood boil. No, it was Bess’ lack of trust.

“Stayed at Queenie’s.” It was blunt. Tom wanted to embarrass her for trying to trip him up. It didn’t work.

“She finally got you in her bed then.”

“Yes, she did.” At Tom’s words, Bess blanched. A few tears pin-pricked her eyes and she looked like a child. Tom softened immediately. “She slept in the other room, with Frank. They’re courting, remember?”

“Yes.”

“Or had you conveniently forgotten so you could have a reason to be angry at me?”

“You managed that yourself.”

Silence.

Once more, Tom crouched in front of Bess. She had nowhere to look but at his sandy hair, that silly old jacket, those extraordinarily blue eyes. “I know I behaved like a fucking prick, but I’d never do that.” It was too horrible an idea to even voice. “Please, please, of all people, please trust me.”

Bess looked at him. The little crease between his brows. The world-weary, tired eyes. His lips, pursed with tension. She reached out and stroked his cheek. From the window, a small squeal sounded. Dot.

“I do. God help me, I do.”

The door opened abruptly. There was Cora, a crying Vera in her arms. She shoved the baby at Tom. “Make yourself useful.”

Tom scooped his niece into his arms, confusion evident on his face. “Why do you have her?” He began bobbing on the spot to soothe the crying babe and Bess felt he stomach clench. Her stomach, and something farther south.

“You haven’t told him?” Cora scowled at Bess and Tom looked between the sisters. As though she could sense him doing this, Bess turned from her sister to Tom.

“It’s fine,” she stood up and approached Tom and Vera, running a soothing hand over the baby’s brow. “She’s fine, Connie popped over with the baby this morning.” She took Tom’s hand. “Lois was injured in last night’s raid.”

“Oh fuck,” Tom’s legs wobbled and Bess made to cradled Vera. He found his footing, but fear was etched across his face. Day by day, his family was growing smaller.

“She’s ok, Tom, she’s ok. Hit her head but she’s at home. Well,” Bess swallowed awkwardly. Where was the Bennett home now? “She’s at Connie’s.”

“You best get over there, boy.”

“Cora,” Bess said warningly. With folded arms and a small tut, Cora turned on her heel and stalked back into the house. Bess rapped a knuckle on the window. Dot and Fergal hurried away from the glass.

“Take Vera,” Bess gripped Tom’s jacket and pulled it around the wee thing. “Go and see Lois and maybe, if I’m not still angry at you, I’ll see you at the flat?”

Tom looked down his nose at her, taking a step closer. Vera, nestled between the two, settled and was content to make small gurgles as she watched two of the people she loved most above her.

“You won’t be angry for long,” Tom’s lips were dangerously close to Bess’. Thank God Fergal wasn’t still at the window.

“Is that so?” Bess whispered, bringing her face close to his. Thank God the baby was between them. From here she could smell yesterday’s cologne, the slightest whiff of lager and his Marlboro’s. It was intoxicating. Damn Tom Bennett.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Bess Vaughn.” Tom gripped the front of Bess’ jumper and pulled her close. “The way you’ve always looked at me.”

Both were remembering the day Bess returned from the central Manchester, clad in white and turning heads everywhere she walked. Remembering the way she watched Tom as he stretched to fetch her a glass of wine.

Just as Tom made to kiss Bess’ plump lips, she pulled away. “I need to go. Meeting Kasia at Southport.”

Tom looked at her with mock bemusement. “Southport? This time of year?”

“Aye,” Bess kissed Vera’s mop of soft hair and straightened. “She needs a friend and I’ve decided to be that friend. It’s nice, she tells me all about how disappointing Harry is-” she looked Tom squarely in the eye. “- and I do the same about you.”

“Nothing disappointing about me, love.” Again, he winked and Bess felt herself blush.

“Get away with you. Go to Lois.”

“Yes, captain.” With Vera tucked against his chest, Tom made his way to the gate into the ginnel. He saluted to Dot and Cora, who were once more watching from the kitchen, and opened the latch. A small hand wrapped around his wrist, and before he could fully turn around, Bess’ warm lips met is.

“I love you.”

“I know,” she smacked his arm. “I love you.”

Bess closed the gate behind him and listened as made his way down the ginnel, cooing to Vera all the way. When she turned around, the back-room curtain rustled. No doubt Cora and Dot would have plenty to say.

Vera was asleep by the time Tom made it to Connie’s small flat. He knocked on the door and was welcomed by the one-legged young man he had met just a few days before.

“She yours?” He used his walking stick to point at Vera.

“No. She’s Lois’. From upstairs?”

“Oh right. Yeah. Heard your sister took a knock in the raid last night.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here.”

“Lucky really. Or unlucky, depending on how you look at it.”

“Unlucky, how?” Tom’s anger prickled.

“You’re in the war, mate. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen men blown to pieces somehow still clinging on to life-” He knocked is fake leg with his cane. “Better sometimes that the war finish us off, rather than making us linger in this living hell.”

“Can I see Lois, mate?”

The strange man shuffled aside and, cradling Vera close to his chest, Tom ran up the stairs to Connie’s flat two steps at a time. The door was open when he got there. Connie sat at the small table, making notes on some sheet music. She looked up at hearing the floorboards creak as Tom approached, and silently waved him in.

“She’s in my room,” she whispered. “Been sleeping most of the day but I heard her get up not long ago.”

“Cheers, Con,” Tom made towards the bedroom door but Connie stepped in front of him.

“Give Vera here,” she held out her hands and Tom tentatively let his niece go.

“Won’t Lois won’t to-”

“Best if it’s just you, I think, love. Will be alright, won’t we?” Connie cooed at Vera as she babbled happily.

The small room that Lois shared with Connie was dark. The dirty curtains were drawn and piles of baby clothes littered the cupboard. Fresh and folded, but left out of the drawer. The bed creaked and from beneath the tattered blanket, Tom’s sister appeared.

Her head was wrapped in a large bandage, the kind that Tom would give her when they played hospital as children. Her curly hair poked awkwardly from the bottom and did little to hide the black bruises beneath her eyes.

“What the fuck happened?” Tom perched on the end of the bed.

“You got any cigarettes?” Her voice was hoarse.

“Always,” he grabbed the packet from his trousers, lit one and passed it to his sister. “Since when do you smoke?”

“Since this morning.” Lois coughed through the smoke and relaxed against the iron headboard.

“So,” Tom nudged her leg gently but spoke firmly. Despite their argument, he was still her brother. “What happened?”

“Was getting an old fella from a house last night, it had been hit in the raids.” She shuffled uncomfortably. “And yeah, the ceiling came down on my head.”

“Only ‘cause you went back in to get his bloody teeth!” Connie walked past the door with Vera on her lap.

“Dad’s spirit is living on then,” Tom whispered under his breath.

“Oh for God’s sake, Tom!” Lois tried to get up from the bed but Tom was still sat on the covers. “I’m really not in the mood to be shouted at about dad. Again-”

Tom swore under his breath. “Lois! I know you think I’m a wind up but I meant it as a fucking compliment. Going back in to make sure that old lad was comfortable is exactly what Dad would have done.”

They sat there awkwardly for a moment and watched the cigarette dwindle into nothingness. When it was done, Lois covered Tom’s hand with hers.

“Thanks for coming,” she whispered quietly.

“I’d be a twat not to. Wish you’d called.”

“Where would I call?”

Tom huffed a sad laugh. There was no happiness to it at all. “The Vaughns?”

“From what I hear, you’re not very popular in their house.”

“Jesus Christ,”

“Connie told me after she dropped Vera off this morning.”

“I’ve already been round. Apologised.”

“Ooh, I suddenly got a chill,” Lois huddled under the covers. “It seems hell has frozen over.” Tom smacked her leg. “Don’t hurt me, I’m ill!”

“Doesn’t count when it’s self-induced.”

“How did it go? Your apology? Charm your way out through the back door?”

“I see you’ve still got no faith in me,”

It was Lois that nudged Tom this time. “Don’t be daft.” Tom didn’t reply, simply stared at the watch on his wrist. The battery had stopped, its hands pointing to 6.04. “Be more like dad.”

“You what?” Tom glanced at her. She looked ridiculous with that enormous bandage wrapped round her head, and in his eyes she seemed just as tired as he was, but her annoying I-know-something-you-don’t attitude remained.

“Actions, not words. That’s the best way to say sorry. To really say sorry. Something Harry could never manage…” Lois’ voiced trailed off but, when Tom laughed, she looked at him sharply.

“Bess is off to see Kasia this afternoon. Said something about slagging me an’ Harry off.”

“I could give them some fodder!”

Tom laughed, without bitterness, for what felt like the first time in years. “You should join them.”

“Can’t,” Lois sighed resignedly and looked around the tatty room. “Too much to do.” Dirty napkins and baby toys were scattered around the place. The laundry basket was overflowing. A plate of half-eaten toast was forgotten by the bed. With hands on his knees and head bent, Tom pushed himself from the bed and began sorting the clothes.

“What you doing?” Lois was standing now, wrapping herself in a dressing gown and making her way towards the small room where Connie was singing to Vera.

Tom looked over his shoulder at his sister and winked. “Actions, not words.”

An old gentleman and the woman tucked into his side scowled at Kasia and Bess as they ran past.

The young women’s shrieks took flight in the sky and carried across the flat beach. The tide was way out, a few algaed rocks just showing beneath the lapping waves. In the miniature tidal pools, Bess and Kasia stomped, kicked salty water at each other and ran away from the waves. It had been so long since Bess felt this carefree. For Kasia, even longer.

“Robina will kill me,” Kasia gasped between giggles as she wiped sand from her grey skirt.

“The sooner I get those trousers finished the better.” Bess huffed as she slung her arm around Kasia’s neck, and together they walked the long stretch back up the beach. In the distance, the old couple kept glancing back at them as they made their way to the promenade. Ahead of them, a solitary figure was making its way towards the water. Probably one of the clam fishers, thought Bess.

“Do you know,” Kasia said, looping her arm through Bess’. “I don’t think I ever saw Harry laugh like that. Not really.”

“Me neither. Saw him grin once when his private school lads beat the St Thomas’ team at cricket.”

Kasia exaggerated a frown and pouted her lips. “So. Serious.”

Bess laughed. “Our Tom doesn’t have a serious bone in his body. Perhaps we should swap!”

At this, Kasia fell about. “Poor Vera wouldn’t know who is who.” The pair cackled and cackled until Bess could do naught but gulp for air.

“I like to think Tom’s changed,” Bess laughed. “But I know he’d swap with Harry just to wind up Mrs Chase.”

“Brought you girls some dinner.” Over Kasia’s renewed giggles, Bess almost missed the voice behind her. She span around quickly and lost her footing in the wet sand. As quickly as she did, Tom heaved the paper bundles under one arm and gripped Bess’ with his free hand.

He’d washed since Bess saw him that morning, though he was still pale and tired looking. Over the top of his blue jacket, he wore a woollen coat of Albie’s, and Bess smiled sadly as she ran her hand over the lapels.

“Thanks, love.” She kissed his cheek. Behind her, Kasia was tucking her hair behind her ears and smoothing her clothes.

“Alright, Kasia?” Tom nodded at her and held out one of the paper bundles. As it passed Bess, she caught the delicious whiff of vinegar. Fish and chips.

“Yes, thank you.” Kasia smiled and took the food from him.

“Bess.” Tom handed his girlfriend her portion before turning back to Kasia and clearing his throat. “How are your brothers?” Bess saw him puff out his chest, an attempt at nonchalance. His eyes were worried though, downcast, as he tucked into his chips.

“They’re well, thank you. Jan is missing his play friend though.”

Tom smiled. “Well, anytime he wants to play footie just let us know.” He faltered and Bess held on gently to the sleeve of Albie’s coat, to remind him she was there. “And Grzegorz?”

“He’s managing. Vernon and Roger got him a job at the RAF base.”

“Was a good man, Vernon.” Tom said, and the three fell into a solemn silence, punctuated by the call of gulls and rustling of newspaper.

When they had each finished their food, Kasia collected the scraps and bid goodbye to Bess with a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Stay a while longer, there’s no need to leave ‘cause of Tom.”

“That’s alright,” Kasia smiled at Tom, who looked a little stung. “It’s a lovely evening. You two enjoy your walk.”

Not leaving Bess to reply, Kasia left for the promenade. Tom made for the other direction, towards the sea. Bess watched Kasia go before trotting after Tom. His hands were tucked into his pockets and she looped her arm through his. He let go, instead bringing his arm about her shoulders so that she was tucked into his side.

He smelled of cigarettes and that laundry detergent that always reminded Bess of Douglas. There was something of Albie too that lingered on the coat. That cheap cologne he used to wear when they went out dancing. Bess chuckled and Tom looked down at her.

“Thinking of Albie,” she said simply. “And your dad.”

“Mmm,” Tom pushed Bess near the waves as they approached the water and she shrieked. He laughed and grabbed her around the waist. “Had to do it. ‘S what Albie would have done if he was here.”

“Yeah. Remember all the family trips we used to have down here when mam and dad wanted to wear us down?”

Tom rested his head atop Bess’ and they watched the water turn orange as the sun lowered behind them. They didn’t talk awhile, content in each other’s company and thinking of the past, but something in Tom silence told Bess he wasn’t happy. He was almost rigid behind her, his usual relaxed swagger gone. Tentatively, she inquired about the afternoon.

“How’s Lois?”

Tom almost jumped at her voice. “Fine, yeah, fine. Was rescuing some old man’s teeth when the house came down.”

“Douglas’ll never be gone.”

“That’s what I said.” He said nothing else.

Bess turned in his arms and looked up at him. “Where are you, mister?” She ran a hand through his hair. It needed a cut before he went back, surely it was too long for navy regulations now.

“What do you mean?”

“What are you thinking about?” He finally took his eyes off the ocean and looked down at her. Bess shivered. His eyes were stony and distant. The wind ruffled his hair and for a moment he looked like Gary Cooper or Spencer Tracy. “You’re so handsome.”

Tom ignored her. “’I’d like to think Tom’s changed.’”

Bess’ cheeks prickled with embarrassment. “Pardon?”

“’I’d like to think Tom’s changed, but I know he’d swap with Harry just to wind up Mrs Chase.’” He quoted again.

“We were only mucking around-”

“I know you said you and Kasia would have a giggle at me an’ Harry’s expense,” Tom was looking back at the water and not Bess. “But I thought at least you’d have a higher opinion of me.”

Bess’ lip trembled and she ran her hand through Tom’s hair again. “You know I think the world of you-”

“I saw the way you looked at me last night. The way your father looked at me. You all still think I’m exactly the same as before, don’t you? Just a petty criminal with nothing to give.”

“Where the hell has this come from?” Bess sadness was making way for anger now.

“Bess, I’ve come back to find my dad dead, my home gone and what do I get? Bloody,” he waved his hands angrily, struggling for the word. “judgement and dirty looks.”

“No-one’s judging you-”

“’I’d like to think Tom’s changed’,” Tom began to quote Bess once more but she cut him off.

“Well, I’d like to think you have changed but your behaviour last night proves my point. Getting drunk, fighting, staying at Queenie’s-”

“Jesus Christ. NOTHING HAPPENED!”

They stared at each other.

“Why do we keep arguing?” Bess said sadly.

Tom kicked a shell and made his slow way along the tide line. “I don’t know,” he sighed, rubbing his face.

Walking beside him, Bess thought that, in truth, she did know. They were opposites. Where her grief was quiet and slow-burning, Tom’s was sudden and raging and, as it shrouded them both, neither knew how to help the other.

“Did you and Lois chat much about your dad?” She didn’t know what else to say, and maybe talking of Douglas would ease Tom’s grief.

“Not really.” Never mind.

“Please Tom,” Bess clutched his arm stopped him in his tracks. “You can’t just shut down and never talk about it.”

“It’s what you would do.”

She stared at him. Fine. If he wanted to be difficult, she could do it too. “You’re not the only one who misses him, Tom. He was my friend-”

“He was my dad!” Tom bellowed. “I suppose you wouldn’t have minded a swap with him either. Harry, my dad, anyone’s better than me-”

“Oh stop being so fucking put down upon. You’re using this as some stupid excuse not to confront your grief. The war. If you don’t want to talk to me about it, fine, I can’t know what it’s like out there. But I’ve lost people too, and, and-” Bess stomped her foot like a child. “And I love you. I want to help.”

“How could you possibly help?” Tom sounded resigned rather than angry, but nonetheless, it felt as though he had struck her.

“I-I-I’m trying to do my bit, for you. For the war effo-”

“Patching up cuts and scratches? Fixing holes in soldiers’ socks?”

“I was under the impression,” Bess snapped and wiped a tear from her face. “That that is exactly what you think I should be doing.”

Tom shook his head. Actually shook his head in confusion. “What the hell do you mean, woman?”

“Woman! Exactly! Heard all about your argument with Lois,”

“Fucking Dot-”

“Yes. Dot. Connie told her that you blamed her for your dad’s death-”

“I apologised-”

“-that her job was being at home looking after him and the baby. Is that what you think? That that’s all we’re good for?” “This is all you’re good for, Bess Vaughn.” “You know that’s what Walter Watson said to me? That night? Do you agree with him?”

“No-” Tom took a step forward but Bess stepped back.

“Well?”

“WELL WHAT?”

Bess held her stomach. Tom didn’t notice. “Do you think our role s just that? Give you children and then while away our lives at home, mothering you all?”

“It’d be a damn sight more peaceful than whatever the fuck this is!”

Neither of them was listening to the other, just shouting over the top of whatever they had said last.

“Cos you know, you’ve barely said one word to me that isn’t “bend over” or “come here” since you got back-”

“Now I know why no-one would come near you-”

Bess stopped shouting. So did Tom.

“Fuck you.” Bess turned on her heel and marched towards the promenade.

“Where are you going?” With his long legs, it was easy for Tom to catch up, even if he was so tired.

“Home.” Tom still walked beside her and she found his very presence so close angered her. “Go away.”  

“Unfortunately for you, love, we live in the same place.”

They walked in stony silence towards the run-down bus stop, Tom a few steps behind to give Bess space. They perched at opposite ends of the bench and, when the bus arrived, were dismayed to see it full. Squeezed together on the leather seats as the bus rattled back to Manchester, Bess stared out of the window. Tom did too, glancing down occasionally to look at her. The exposed line of her neck. Her lips set into an angry pout. The place at which their shoulders touched burned and he wanted nothing more than to be even closer to her. He leant his head down, and light as baby’s breath, kissed her below her ear.

The skin of Bess’ neck rippled with goosebumps and Tom smiled a satisfied smile. When she turned her head to him, she didn’t meet his eyes, nor speak. She simply brushed her nose against his cheek, her lips grazing the morning’s stubble, and turned back to the window. It was as if to say, I’m still angry at you, but I love you, and at that very moment in time, that was enough for Tom.

The sun had set by the time the bus rumbled into Manchester. Air-raid wardens were already out on shift, their small torches replacing the streetlamps that would give the city away to enemy airplanes.

Bess made in the direction of Carver Mills when she stepped off the bus, but faltered when she realised Tom wasn’t beside her. Instead, he was stood at the bus stop, hands in his pockets.

“Gonna check on Lois. And the baby,” he said, answering her questioning gaze.

“And then?” Bess didn’t need to elaborate. They both knew she was alluding to his new found homelessness. Tom shrugged. “Dadda will still have you. You’re a bloody pair, the both of you, but he won’t have you on the street. And if,” she took a step closer and pulled Tom’s coat lapels around his neck to keep him warm. “-if Dadda won’t have you, I suppose I’ll have to.” She stretched up to peck his lips.

“Yes, captain.”

BANG

Bess shot up in bed and flicked on the lamp. A pair of study nurse’s shoes were forever positioned by her bed, and a jumper and coat were slung over the bedframe in case of this very moment. The bombs.

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry.” Tom was stumbling through Bess’ bedroom window, his back leg caught on the frame. “Forgot about the blackouts.” He hastily replaced them in the window with a lopsided grin. No sooner were they in place was he peeling off his jumper and slacks.

Bess rubbed her eyes. Despite her sleep-filled haze and her lingering annoyance at the man before her, she could still appreciate the lean muscle of his pale torso that had only strengthened in his days in the navy. A light sheen of sweat clung to his smattering of chest hair, and his breath was laboured.

“Did you-” Bess budged up in the bed so that he could climb in beside her. “Did you climb up the building?”

“Why so shocked-” Tom nestled beside her.

“Your feet are freezing,”

“Used to climb through your bedroom window all the time,”

“Yes, but it wasn’t on the fifth floor.”

“Ah,” Tom said nonchalantly, leaning back against the bedframe. “Anything for you love, and a place to lay my head.”

Bess hmphed but curled her body against Tom’s. One large hand came to her waist and rubbed lazy circles there. It was a while before either of them spoke. It was in these moments over the last year that both Bess and Tom had learnt to enjoy their simplicity. Tom may not return from his next posting. A bomb could land on the roof at any moment. To lay there, with someone you loved so completely, really was the simplest and most divine miracle.

“’M off to the docks tomorrow,” Tom whispered into Bess’ hair. “To collect my papers.”

“So soon?” Bess pushed herself to sit and face him, her voice wobbling as it betrayed her worry.

“I can’t stay,” Tom pulled her back to his chest. “As much as I want hide here with you. You said it earlier, I need to stop running from everyone. From everything.” He rubbed his eyes and sighed. From her bedside table, Bess pulled a packet of cigarettes and lit one, placing it between Tom’s lips when she’d taken her first drag. Tom winked at her. “’S like sitting on the front step again.” He paused. “No. I think the only way for me to work out what I’m doing, who I am, is to get back out there. The open sea, the purpose. You an’ dad were right. The navy is the making of me.”

“Take me with you,” Bess gripped his small waist all the tighter and buried her face in his chest.

“No chance. Not letting you loose with a load of sailors.”

“I can look after myself-”

“Exactly. It’s them I worry about.” Tom pinched Bess’ plump hips and she squealed. The sound, so unlike any Bess would ever usually make delighted Tom, and he did it again, tickling every bare patch of skin he could reach until Bess was on her back, writhing to get away from him as he penned her in with his arms.

She was panting when he finished, and her giggles took a while to subside. Red blotched her cheeks and her dark eyes were bright with laughter. The mess of her hair was unrulier than ever, tangled on the pillow. Below his hips, her nightdress had ridden up her thighs, the curve of her breasts just visible through the thin fabric.

Tom shut his eyes, committing her image to memory. “I’m sorry about earlier. About everything,” he whispered.

“I know,” Bess ran a hand through his hair and he stooped to kiss her.

“I’m sorry,” he kissed the juncture of her neck. “I’m sorry,” Nipped at the underside of her jaw. “I’m sorry,” his tongue ran languidly over her lips. A throaty moan left Bess and Tom lowered his hips between the spread of her legs. “I’m sorry,” he kissed his way over her chest. “I’m sorry,” lightly bit each pert nipple through the fabric.

“Tom, please-”

“I love you,” Tom kissed her stomach.

A jolt of fear gripped her. What if? “Tom, please-” It was said with hesitation then, but it died in her throat when his head dipped lower. Warm hands slid around the underside of her thighs and gripped her hips.

“I’m sorry,” his warm breath fanned across her core. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice muted as he brought his mouth to her centre. “I’m sorry.”

Notes: I’m sorry it’s been ages. Life, ya know? This will have a happy ending!!

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @heimtathurs @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandomprompts @allthefandomtherapy @reblogedworks @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @adragonprinceswhore @notasockpuppetaccount @houseofdupree @marysucks-blog @chattylurker @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @nolongereviliwantlove @just-emmaaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring @fangirlninja67 @evita-shelby @cherievictoria @schmexie @ewanmitchellcrumbs @blairfox04 @theoneeyedprince @targaryenrealnessdarling @cherievictore

[zayray030]

Your favorite ship with ace and headcanons about it?

I'm such an indecisive bitch so I quite literally do not have a favourite ship. However I do know which shops I prefer and which ships I don't care for so we're doing ones that I prefer!!

Treyace! Trey enjoys having Ace sit on the counters when he's baking and anytime he's baking cookies he let's Ace eat the cookie dough

Catace! Constantly couple photos. In fact Cater takes them out to fancy places because Ace's eyes widening cutely and he flushes prettily and Cater can never have enough photos of his boyfriend being that gorgeous

Leoace! Leona let's Ace skip classes in his dorm so long as Ace let's Leona use his thighs as a pillow and doesn't speak so Ace can speak. Also Leona encourages Ace to grow out his hair and Leona loves running his fingers through it

Rugace! The two of them together would have the combined dental problem of the entire school lmao. Those two enjoy buying the other bakes goods and when the other isn't looking they'll steal a bite of each others food.

FloAce! Floyd enjoys carrying Ace in many different positions. Bridal, over his shoulder, piggyback, like a newborn, legit any way he can carry Ace is a win for him

JadAce! Jade pierced Ace's ear and used one of his gemstones to get Ace a custom little earring like his

Jamiace! They enjoy making little golden jewellery for each other!!

Vilace! Ace routinely bullies Bils more rabid fans who try and make fun of Ace. He bullies them by taking pictures of Vils hands wrapped around him and sending them saying: "could never be you"

RookAce!! They have their wierd stalker thing that people wanna question but don't. Also Rook enjoys buying Ace clothes and makeup

IdiAce!! Idia begs Ace to wear cosplay outfits for him. Ace has repeatedly been restrained by Ortho so he doesn't burn the costumes

Malace!! Malleus tries to make meals for Ace but always ends up burning them. He then ends up restoring to giving Ace ice cream

Liliace!! Lilis is Ace's sugar daddy and I refuse to take critism

[dawnchorus-if]

There's something pure to the way they look at you, childishly curious. Their eyes are weighed down by dark bags, though, you wonder how long it's been since they last slept. Dawn's skin is winter silk, hair a summer straw, their smile is the subtle warmth of spring and their presence is as refreshing as the newborn leaves in autumn. They encompass something natural, something so beautiful you feel off-kilter under their gaze.

Dawn was born alongside the sunrise on the first day of spring, every bird in the kingdom sang in choral praise of their coming. Though not the eldest, that title lands with Dawns sister Mara, King Cedric and Queen Lyra took a special liking to their golden-haired offspring and named Dawn next-in-line for the throne. Henceforth, their upbringing has been laden with preparations to rule: how to act, how to speak, who to marry when the time comes. On Dawn's seventeenth birthday, King Cedric was assassinated and a grieving Queen Lyra came to power in his stead. Balancing not only their own grief, but the reckless way in which their mother rules and their duties as Crown royalty takes its toll. And yet, despite all this, Dawn still remains the most precious thing in the kingdom-you'll rarely catch them without a smile.

Dawn has a playful and bubbly personality, though they can be timid in their mannerisms. Dawn also has an air of naïveté to them, as they were so often kept away from the general kingdom growing up in the palace. They aren't 100% sure how the world works, or how complex human interaction can be, for that matter.

F!Dawn has dirty blonde waves that end at her upper back.

M!Dawn has dirty blonde waves that are cut just long enough to always be getting in his eyes.

Dawn is 5'11, and has pale skin, blue eyes and a soft but slender frame. They have a regal style, thanks to being royalty, and often wear large statement-piece jewellery. They wear a plain silver circlet atop their head that curves into a V.

[aressapereaude]

Lore dump! :3

As usual, 18+ only, minors and Ageless/faceless blogs DNI you WILL be blocked, etc etc,

Live Laugh Love Touchstarved Visual Novel

Lorrla's Origin:

The Unnamed

The Hound

The Alchemist

{The Burdened}

You traveled the lands as a musician for most of your upbringing, never staying in the same place too long except for one instance of a brief fling with a fond patron. Over the years your curse has gradually spread from your hands to the rest of your body, and now you travel to the Senobium not to play music but in search of a cure, to rid your body of the curse that keeps you from holding your newborn baby.

Lorrle's skills as a musician make her adept at quietly gathering information, blending into restricted environments, and charming potential allies/enemies. During her travels she has acquired a few weak but helpful spells, pocket-sized artefacts, and various ingredients to be brewed into elixirs. Her proclivity to hide in plain sight, however, makes her recognisable, as well as an easy target to bandits. She must be careful not to steal too much of the spotlight, lest she put a target on her back.

Her preferred pronouns are She/Her, and she identifies as Female. Her romantic and sexual orientation is best described as AroAce, and sex-positive. She refuses to specify the gender of her child. In addition to knowing a few different musical instruments, Lorrle is highly skilled at vocalising. She struggles to dance. Her outfit consists of a patterned peacock themed dress with long sleeves and a feathered tail, a feathered crest atop her head, and a full-body veil secured to er head by her crest and secured around her waist by a bejewelled corset. The majority of her belongings are worn on her person, and she owns very little of value that isn't able to be worn or carried. Beneath each eye are two studded piercings, and on her lip she wears a vertical labret hoop. Her ears are also pierced, and adorned with dangling jewellery.

Her child wears plain clothing of the same theme and colour, and is typically swaddled and secured to her using a cheap but strong fabric, tied beneath the veil at her hip. More often than not, she holds her child in her arms. There is always at least one layer of fabric between them, except in cases where the baby needs to be soothed or fed.

[dolcevalentinaofficial]

Personalised Baby Bangles: Cherishing Moments, Creating Memories

Welcoming a newborn into the world is a joyous occasion filled with love and anticipation. As parents, we seek to surround our little ones with tokens of affection and cherished memories. Personalised baby bangles stand as a timeless symbol of this love, offering not just adornment, but a tangible representation of the bond between parent and child. In this article, we explore the significance of personalised baby bangles and why they make an exceptional choice for commemorating milestones and creating lasting memories.

The Sentimental Touch of Personalisation: What sets personalised baby bangles apart is the ability to imbue them with unique meaning. Engraving a baby’s name, birth date, or a special message onto the bangle elevates it from a mere accessory to a treasured keepsake. Every glance at the bangle serves as a reminder of the cherished moments shared with your little one, making it a meaningful addition to any jewellery collection.

Craftsmanship and Quality: When it comes to selecting jewellery for your baby, quality and craftsmanship are paramount. Personalised baby bangles crafted from premium materials such as sterling silver or gold not only ensure durability but also exude elegance. Opting for reputable jewellers known for their attention to detail guarantees a piece that is not only beautiful but safe for your baby to wear.

Milestone Markers: Babies grow and reach milestones at an astonishing pace, and each achievement deserves celebration. Personalised baby bangles serve as perfect markers for these milestones, whether it’s their first birthday, christening, or any other significant event. With each milestone, the bangle becomes a living memory, telling the story of your baby’s journey through infancy and beyond.

A Thoughtful Gift: Searching for the ideal gift for a baby shower or newborn can be challenging, but personalised baby bangles offer a thoughtful solution. By gifting a personalised bangle, you’re not only presenting a beautiful piece of jewellery but also a heartfelt gesture that will be treasured for years to come. It’s a gift that speaks volumes, expressing your love and best wishes for the new arrival and their family.

Passing Down Traditions: Personalised baby bangles have a timeless quality that transcends generations, making them ideal heirlooms to pass down from parent to child. As your baby grows into adulthood, the bangle becomes a link to their past, connecting them to their family history and the love that has always surrounded them.

Conclusion: In a world filled with fleeting trends, personalised baby bangles stand as enduring symbols of love, tradition, and cherished memories. From their sentimental value to their exquisite craftsmanship, these bangles encapsulate the essence of parenthood and the joy of welcoming a new life into the world. Whether as a gift or a keepsake for your own little one, a personalised baby bangle is more than just jewellery – it’s a testament to the enduring bond between parent and child.

[yellowcry]

Special just the way you are

Eleven years ago, Mirabel wouldn't believe how far she had come today

@encantober-official prompt - Thread

Just a little more left!

Mirabel sat under the fluffy tree. The burning sun crawled against her skin, light wind ruffled her hair. The cold metal pins clanged against each other. This was her day off, so naturally she would spend it on her hobby rather than making embroidery for the local tailor. Nobody seemed really surprised when Mirabel said she was going to tie her life to embroidery.

Mirabel loved embroidery. This was something she realized back in the beginning of school when she was very young. They were taught some basic sewing skills. In the very least how to patch a clothes or embroider something small. And suddenly she found herself drawn to it. Her various skirts were growing in decorations. Same to her family, except for the fact that theirs was professional. But Mirabel didn't feel like she deserved it (sometimes she really wished to hug her younger-self), so she decorated her clothes herself. Stitch after stitch. Even after collapse, embroidery was always a constant. Like an old friend, ready to embrace her no matter the day. If she was anxious, if the walls felt like they would crush... Mirabel would pick her needle and embroider her feelings away. With the passing years the flow of the thread became easier. And the style became finer, more delicate. And she loved how this life was going. Simple but steady.

The woman closed her eyes, listening to the whispers of the faded leaves. After all these years, Mirabel was proud to say she came this far. Yes, pain of the past didn't let go completely. But compared to what was ten years ago? She was in a far better place. There were good days, there were bad days.

There was a heavy thud as somebody dropped besides her. 'Luisa' – she thought briefly. Simply from the estimated size.

"What cha' doin'?" Luisa looked down, resting her head in her hands.

"Oh just some knitting to relax." Mirabel shrugged. "Have you checked Paloma's dress design? Should I start working on the embroidery?"

This was one of the things that made Mirabel nervous lately. This was another gift ceremony to come. And, unlike Teresa, Luisa's daughter was very stubborn. There was no way to force her if she didn't want to comply. So naturally, Mirabel was worried. She was the one decorating her family's clothes for the last few years. And, obviously it included ceremony dresses. With all their white lace and sunny golden flows.

"Looks great to me. But I haven't asked her yet." And even when they asked, knowing her sobrina Mirabel was sure she would find something to complain about in the end. Making her redo the embroidery. Paloma just had to take Mirabel's attention to details and Isabela's demanding nature. The only really good thing is that she wasn't into insane level of energy like Luisa. "Why does my girl grow so fast? I'm so very not ready!"

And Luisa could agree. It feels like just yesterday Mirabel was knitting a blanked to wrap newborn in. Just yesterday Luisa seemed to be freaking out, unsure if she was ready to be a parent. Now she was so grown up. Even if there wasn't such pressure as it used to be back in the day. Ceremony was probably still the most important day for any Madrigal. And Mirabel couldn't allow anything but her best for such an important event. Call her whatever you want, but it was her sobrina. And it was a big event too, pretty much everyone would be at the ceremony. So, there was a worry of not doing it good enough. Failing her supposed job

The fact Paloma was so big already was unbelievable. Needing her very own ceremonial dress. All embroidered and decorated. Jewellery dancing in the snow. And even stranger for Mirabel was her own role at this all. Back at Antonio's ceremony, she would never think anyone dared to give her such an important role. Embellish costume that was the most important for them all. 

Of course, Mirabel did decorated clothes for her family included. But when ceremony was such an important event in life, Mirabel felt even more honoured by this. And also wanting it to be even better, even despite Luisa assuring Mirabel she shouldn't overwork herself (and interrupting her work sometimes to ensure Mirabel had rest enough). But then again, it wasn't just about Luisa. It was about a birthday girl. And Mirabel wanted to be sure it was the best day of her life. It was hard, of course. Sometimes thinking about upcoming celebration was just too much. A salt into old wound. Even it was over twenty years, Mirabel wasn't sure she would ever forget it. The trauma didn't define who she was, not anymore. But it was a ever-living presence. She wanted to be present at the ceremony. Just for her love to Luisa. But, just as it happened with Teresa, her parental cousins allowed Mirabel to stay over with them.  

But, after doing one more ceremony, after ten years since the last one, when Antonio was getting his own gift, it did calm Mirabel's anxiety a bit. It was all okay, she didn't feel as bad as the last time. And for now, Mirabel wanted to focus on what she had to do in the moment. Bringing the dress to life, painting in write and gold. Just to ensure she made the best dress of all time for her special little girl. And know Paloma would have fun at the party. No matter if it was successful or failed, leaving the girl with empty hands. Let her know her family loved her regardless.

[lilly-onthevalley]

Yes please!!!!

Guide to Basics: Mrs Nugget

We'll call my teacher, Nugget, cause that's what we all call her because of her husbands name.

She's my Roman Empire and in the classroom I'm hers. We see eye to eye, on the board and in fashion.

Her

She loves a basic white or black T-shirt. Ever since the baby she's been opting for more black because it brightens her face since when pale white. I do the exact opposite since I have dark skin. Contrast does wonders for the skin.

Whenever she's feeling fun, she goes for some Commes Des Garçon shirts. The heart with the little eyes is so cute. It's either the shirt or the converses with her just to add some flavour to the fit.

Mrs Nugget is also fond of high neck knits in the same blacks, whites, and reds. She can wear these for weeks interchangeably and they will always look refreshing because of the quality and the jewellery she wears.

Goyard is her go-to. Ever since I've known her, she'd have a Saint Louis on her arm squashed with books. Absolutely abused, but if you're going to buy a bag, why not use it to its full capacity?

In a world full of spandex, tights, and the like, she always makes sure to wear pure denim pants out. She won't tell me where she gets them but they are gorgeous as you can see every single detail put into them. She goes for white or marbled light blue. They compliment her perfectly.

She loves masculine watches and wears a silver one with a blue face (her husbands lol). Very chunky, but it suits her frame. She made me realise that metal mixing doesn't have to be ugly. Just like her watch, she has these chunky black glasses, which suit her even better.

Gosh, she can make the most basic of things look so unique because she manages to add a bit of her person into it. She has a multitude of gold and silver thin rings combined with her 3 diamond engagement ring. She likes small plain gold hoops and a diamond on the others.

I love her honestly, and everyone does. I'm glad to see her after she was gone for maternity. She hasn't lost an ounce of her style. I trust her style as she can manage to sustain it and constantly look good everyday with a newborn, a husband and a social job. Her personality is the final accessory as she's a joy to listen to and be around. She wears her intelligence proudly, which is wholly inspiring.

⭐️

[coochiequeens]

Heroes

Amitabh Parashar BBC Eye Investigations

Midwife Siro Devi is clinging to Monica Thatte, sobbing. Monica, in her late 20s, has returned to her birthplace - the Indian town where Siro has delivered hundreds of babies.

But this is no straightforward reunion. There is a painful history behind Siro's tears. Shortly before Monica was born, Siro and several Indian midwives like her were regularly pressured to murder newborn girls.

Monica, evidence suggests, is one they saved.

I have been following Siro’s story for 30 years, ever since I went to interview her and four other rural midwives in India’s Bihar state in 1996.

They had been identified by a non-governmental organisation as being behind the murder of baby girls in the district of Katihar where, under pressure from the newborns’ parents, they were killing them by feeding them chemicals or simply wringing their necks.

Hakiya Devi, the eldest of the midwives I interviewed, told me at the time she had killed 12 or 13 babies. Another midwife, Dharmi Devi, admitted to killing more - at least 15-20.

It is impossible to ascertain the exact number of babies they may have killed, given the way the data was gathered.

But they featured in a report published in 1995 by an NGO, based on interviews with them and 30 other midwives. If the report’s estimates are accurate, more than 1,000 baby girls were being murdered every year in one district, by just 35 midwives. According to the report, Bihar at the time had more than half a million midwives. And infanticide was not limited to Bihar.

Refusing orders, Hakiya said, was almost never an option for a midwife.

“The family would lock the room and stand behind us with sticks,” says Hakiya Devi. “They’d say: ‘We already have four-five daughters. This will wipe out our wealth. Once we give dowry for our girls, we will starve to death. Now, another girl has been born. Kill her.’

“Who could we complain to? We were scared. If we went to the police, we’d get into trouble. If we spoke up, people would threaten us."

Amitabh watching the extraordinary interviews he did with the midwives in the 90s

The role of a midwife in rural India is rooted in tradition, and burdened by the harsh realities of poverty and caste. The midwives I interviewed belonged to the lower castes in India’s caste hierarchy. Midwifery was a profession passed on to them by mothers and grandmothers. They lived in a world where refusing orders of powerful, upper-caste families was unthinkable.

The midwife could be promised a sari, a sack of grain or a small amount of money for killing a baby. Sometimes even that was not paid. The birth of a boy earned them about 1,000 rupees. The birth of a girl earned them half.

The reason for this imbalance was steeped in India’s customof giving a dowry, they explained. Though the custom was outlawed in 1961, it still held strong in the 90s - and indeed continues into the present day.

A dowry can be anything - cash, jewellery, utensils. But for many families, rich or poor, it is the condition of a wedding. And this is what, for many, still makes the birth of a son a celebration and the birth of a daughter a financial burden.

Siro Devi, the only midwife of those I interviewed who is still alive, used a vivid physical image to explain this disparity in status.

Siro has worked as a midwife since she was a child

“A boy is above the ground - higher. A daughter is below - lower. Whether a son feeds or takes care of his parents or not, they all want a boy.”

The preference for sons can be seen in India’s national-level data. Its most recent census, in 2011, recorded a ratio of 943 women to every 1,000 men. This is nevertheless an improvement on the 1990s - in the 1991 census, the ratio was 927/1,000.

Anila Kumari (second left), a social worker, led sessions in the 1990s to nudge the midwives into a different approach

By the time I finished filming the midwives’ testimonies in 1996, a small, silent change had begun. The midwives who once carried out these orders had started to resist.

This change was instigated by Anila Kumari, a social worker who supported women in the villages around Katihar, and was dedicated to addressing the root causes of these killings.

Anila’s approach was simple. She asked the midwives, “Would you do this to your own daughter?”

Her question apparently pierced years of rationalisation and denial. The midwives got some financial help via community groups and gradually the cycle of violence was interrupted.

Siro, speaking to me in 2007, explained the change.

“Now, whoever asks me to kill, I tell them: ‘Look, give me the child, and I’ll take her to Anila Madam.’”

The midwives rescued at least five newborn girls from families who wanted them killed or had already abandoned them.

One child died, but Anila arranged for the other four to be sent to Bihar’s capital, Patna, to an NGO which organised their adoption.

The story could have ended there. But I wanted to know what had become of those girls who were adopted, and where life had taken them.