#polly writing process

[quietflorilegium]

“Polly finished her huge narrative during the summer term. The day after she had finished it, she went round with the oddest mixture of feelings, pride at having got it done, sick of the sight of it and glad it was over, and completely lost without it. By the evening, lost-without-it came out on top, and she began to make a careful copy in her best writing.”

Diana Wynne Jones, "Fire and Hemlock"

[divinekangaroo]

either way you take the pill - pettiot - Peaky Blinders (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Between S4-E4 and S4-E5. A slice of Michael's thoughts during the night after he chooses not to warn Tommy of Luca and Polly's ambush.

Michael was a quick study: brother, son, accountant, obedient child. Only Michael never really knew what Tommy wanted him to be. At least he thinks he knows what's to be done to be a good son.

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Michael Gray & Tommy Shelby, Mentions of Mrs Johnson, Mr Johnson, Henry Johnson's Brother, Father Hughes | Resentment, Fear, Disassociation, The Lasting Legacy of Catholicism, Regret, Post-Rationalisation, Symbolism, Dysfunctional Family, Triple Drabble

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[lis-likes-fics]

At the End of the Day

Pairings: Tommy Shelby x wife!Reader Word Count: 4k words Kink: Cockwarming Warnings: NSFW, smut, arguing, unprotected sex, fingering, desk sex, creampie, swearing... A/N: Nothing much to say for this one. Hope you enjoy and thank you! <3

He’s stuck behind his desk. Again. He’s got his pen in hand and a multitude of papers sprawled out on his desk as he works and works and works.

He’s been like this all week, buried under paperwork as you handle the children and the maids and the rest of the family. When he isn’t behind his desk, he’s out on business with Polly or his brothers or at a social event with you for the same business as Polly and his brothers. You could properly count on two hands the number of minutes he’s spent with the children or with you collectively.

You miss him. The kids miss him. You hate that he has to work so much.

“Tommy,” you whisper from the doorway of his office, knocking on the heavy door quietly as you look at him.

He hums deeply but doesn’t look up. Stuck in his work, he takes a drink from his glass and keeps his pen moving. His cigarette is still smoking in the ashtray set to the side, not quite finished yet. You sigh, saying his name again. Not so sweetly this time. “Thomas.”

He sighs and looks up, but his pen is still set firmly between his fingers. “Yes, dear?” he responds. He’s exhausted, you can tell, but he’s good at pretending he isn’t. You’re just better at knowing that he is. You stay by the door, looking at him as your eyes dart down to his pen. He looks down at it and sighs.

Tommy sets down his pen, a peace offering. He gestures toward you. “Come. Come in.”

You step forward, taking your time in coming into his office as you close the door gently behind you. You approach his desk, and he watches you walk toward him and come to a stop. You lean on the dark wood, your fingers pressing into it as you look at him.

“The children miss you,” you speak gently.

He hums, picking up his pen again. “I’ll tuck them in tonight.”

“Too late. They’re already in bed.” You sigh when he begins writing, rolling your eyes.

“Well,” he mutters, “that’s that, isn’t it?”

You clench your jaw, your eyes fluttering at the audacity of his words. You hum, watching as he writes, the sound of pen scratching paper filling the room as he gets back to work. He hadn’t even lasted a minute. You should know, you counted. He made it thirty-eight seconds between putting down his pen and letting it touch his hand once more.

“When I tucked in August tonight–” you snatch the pen forcefully out of his hand, ignoring the way he sighs as you slap it down onto the desk and look at him. It takes him a moment to look you in the eyes so you would continue, “–he asked if he’d done something wrong. He asked me if Daddy still loves him and his sister.”

In his eyes, you can see the regret beginning to blossom there. But as quickly as it comes, he’s masked once again in exhaustion and duty. “I–”

“I’m not finished,” you interrupt. He glances away but immediately looks back at you, knowing you won’t speak unless he’s looking in your eyes. “Delia wants to know why Daddy doesn’t brush her hair after she wakes up anymore. She said she’s scared that you got tired of her.”

That hurts him even more. His jaw twitches as he processes. “My–”

“I am still not finished.”

He sighs. With a shrug, he says, “We’ve only got two children.”

You close your eyes, clenching your jaw once more to show your frustration. He doesn’t speak again, allowing you the floor. “And you’ve got one wife who wants to know why you’re letting business come before family. Family above all else, that’s what it is. That’s what the whole fucking family is about, Tommy.”

He waits a moment to know if you’ll speak again, not wanting to interrupt you and feed your anger. He speaks slowly, “I’ll take the children into town tomorrow. We’ll spend time together.”

“And then you’ll go back to work.”

“I work for them, for you,” he says, his voice raising a bit. “I do all of this to keep you all safe and happy.”

You sigh, chuckling lightly as you shake your head. “Tommy, the kids are happier when they get to see their father. Spending time with them for a single day and disappearing for another month isn’t going to make them fucking happy!”

He doesn’t want to fight with you. He understands what you’re saying, and he’s frustrated that his efforts are not being understood, but he doesn’t want to fight. He looks at you, and he can see that you’re just as tired as him. He sighs, backing down before you both end up in a screaming match. Screaming at each other won’t fix anything.

He rubs his eyes and picks up his glass, taking a sip from it and setting it down gently in hopes of easing his nerves. He looks at you, staying quiet for a long time. You take his silence for what it is, a moment to breathe. So you take a breath and lift your hand, removing the crushing weight of your palm from his pen. He doesn’t look at it.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I’ll spend more time with the kids. They shouldn’t be missing their father.”

You sigh, looking around the room in an effort to level your voice. “It’s not just them who’s missing you, Tom.” You look back at him. “We don’t even sleep in the same room anymore. You’re always down here on this fucking couch or back in Small Heath on ‘business’. I can’t remember the last time you held me, the last time you touched me.”

He sighs. You watch his shoulders fall. “Come here,” he bids softly.

You shake your head, removing your hands from his desk and taking a step back. “No.”

“Come here,” he says again, not as softly.

You blink away from him, a heavy sigh leaving you as you make yourself move. You walk toward him, rounding the desk to his side. He reaches a hand out to your side. You begin to jerk away from him, but he’s not having it. He pulls you in, both hands on your hips as he turns his chair to face you.

Tommy looks up at you, resting his chin on your belly as his thumbs caress your sides. It feels good. Really good, you almost melt into his touch. But you don’t want to give him the satisfaction as you place your hands over his and pretend like you’re trying to push him away. He’s unconvinced, but he plays along.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. Two sorries in one night…you must have won the lottery. “I know you don’t want to hear me say it…but I have a little more work to finish tonight–” you go to push him off with a scoff, but he holds you tightly and raises his voice a bit above your frustration, “–and then I will tend to your needs. I promise you.”

“Tommy–”

“I promise,” he insists.

You look at him, wanting to be angry but finding yourself helpless at the sight of his normally cold eyes staring up at you with more warmth than anyone else—besides his children—would ever receive. You sigh heavily, rubbing your temples and refusing to look at him as you speak. “Fine.”

He actually smiles, breathing a gentle laugh. “As a matter of fact,” one of his hands slides down your side and ducks underneath your nightgown, “I can do two things at once.”

He pushes your panties to the side with his fingers and presses his thumb to your clit. Your hips jerk away from him at the sudden touch and you speak, annoyed that your voice comes out as a whisper. “Tommy.”

“Shh,” he kisses your belly over your gown. “Let me take care of you.”

He slides his fingers over your folds, swiping back and forth along the length of them before slipping between them. Your eyes flutter at the feeling, leaning into his touch a little more as his thumb continues to tease you. You set your hands on his shoulders, holding yourself steady as he watches you react to him.

You moan slightly when his finger pushes inside of you, parting your lips to delve deeper. He works it into you as the arousal begins to seep. “Good girl,” he bids, feeling you begin to slick up for him, just enough for him to add a second finger inside you. You grip his shoulders a little tighter.

He pumps them slowly, massaging inside you as you begin to move your hips to the rhythm. You’re becoming faster than you would have liked, enjoying his touch too much after being without it for too long. “Tommy,” you whisper, a little whinier now that he’s got you worked up. He can see your nipples poking through your gown now.

“Just like that, come on,” he whispers. “Get nice and wet for me.”

His voice washes over you like velvet. You find yourself succumbing to him. You lean against him, into his touch, accepting his truce. His thumb massages your clit some more, making sure you’re nice and ready for him as he feels his cock stiffening in his pants.

After a moment, he pulls his fingers out of you. You grunt, your frustration returning at the loss of stimulation. You open your eyes and look at him again. You huff. “If you want me calm, this isn’t the way to do it.”

He chuckles, reaching a hand toward his belt as he begins to undo it. He just tells you to hush (in a kinder way) and pulls his cock out as he fixes his seat. You consider for a moment before relenting. You bring one leg over him, hovering over his lap in a straddle. You watch him as you grab his cock and line it up with your pussy, slowly sinking down on him and closing your eyes at the pleasant stretch. You moan gently. He breathes a little heavier, his hands on your waist tightening as you take him deeper and deeper.

When you’re sitting in his lap, you both let out a relieved sigh as you rest your forehead on his shoulder. You stifle a moan and begin to grind your hips, but he quickly stops you with his hands gripping your waist. You huff, but it comes out as a whine. “What?”

“I still have to work, darling.” “You can work later,” you argue.

He chuckles breathily. “Yes, but I’ll be able to pay more attention to you if this gets done first.” He raises his hands to your face, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks. “You’ve just got to sit there and be still. I’ll take good care of you.”

You try not to pout. It would be too bratty, and you need him to take you seriously. But you do pout, and he does think you’re bratty, and he takes you seriously anyway. “How long is this going to take?”

He glances at the papers on his desk and considers for a moment. “Ten minutes.”

You roll your eyes and groan. “Hurry up.”

He kisses your jaw and retrieves his pen, tapping your bottom and telling you to be a good girl while he works. You sit and wait, keeping yourself still with more trouble than you think it's worth as the stagnant stretch of his cock feeds your hunger and refuses to quench it.

He braces his hand on your back as he works. You rest your head in the crook of his shoulder, your fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck.

When you grind your hips absent-mindedly, searching for some friction, he lightly smacks you with a low grunt. “Stop moving.” You hum lightly, refusing to apologize but choosing to listen.

He's so warm, and he fills you so well. The urge to roll your hips once more fills your thighs, but you remain as still as you can, little moans and whimpers in his ear acting as your only act of defiance. He was thick, sitting so deep inside you as you clenched to feel him pulse.

It's been too long. You don't know how much time has passed, but you're reaching your limit as your desire for him after being neglected for too long grew to unthinkable depths. He's right here. You might as well take what you can.

“How long has it been?” you complain, pulling away to look at his face.

He doesn't look at you, but you can see the slight turn of the corner of his lips as he replies. “Nearly finished.”

“How much is nearly?” you question, raising a brow at him.

He turns his eyes on you. “Nearly.”

But you're sick of waiting. You need something, anything, right here and now before you keel over dead. You roll your eyes, “That's enough for me.”

You roll your hips atop his lap, moaning deeply in your throat at the pleasure that blossoms at the feeling. He grunts, holding your hip tighter and gripping the pen as though it were a lifeline.

“Love, I–”

Your words lift from a moan as you shake your head. “No,” you take his pen once more and toss it across the room, “I'm more important than whatever it is you're working on. Otherwise you would have sent me away the moment you could.” You take his face in your hands and pull him close to yours, your lips just barely touching, your voice low and frustrated. “It's my turn.”

He stares at you, awaiting your next move in silence. But you don't move, against your greater impulses, you sit still and stare back.

His lips crash against yours, a bruising kiss that begs your attention just as much as yours begs his. You moan into his mouth as his hands tighten around your hip and hold the base of your head.

He grunts into you, enjoying the taste of your lips as he guides your hips, grinding you down on top of him as he devours you.

The pleasure is quick to overtake you, sinking into every limb and flicking at every nerve. You're dripping onto his lap as you lift yourself up on shaky legs. The puddle of slick you've created just from sitting there for who-knows-how-long would be embarrassing if you hadn't been in this position so many times, being filled up by Tommy's cock.

You lift yourself until the tip of him is embedded inside you, the flex of your thighs making you tighter as you do. When you drop back down it forces rough moans from both of you as you grip onto one another for dear life.

You do it again, setting a rhythm as the electric feeling of the thrusts spreads through you. The sound of your thighs smacking into his lap fills the room with the steady pace, creating a sinful beat for your love to keep time with.

And the bliss of finally being tended to is good, but it isn't enough. You need more.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bury your face in his neck, moaning meekly and rolling your hips. “Tommy,” you whimper, your voice a gentle plea, a helpless whisper, an innocent manipulation. “Tommy, I need you.”

He tries not to shudder at the way you sound, pleading in his ear. He holds you tighter.

“What do you need, darling?” His voice is rough and full of breath, eager to smell your perfume and taste the liquor on your lips.

“More,” you hum, followed by another whimper only half-real as you grind yourself once more. “I need more.”

He knows what you're doing. He knows all your tricks, all the little ways you get him to do exactly what you want. He knows the voice you use, the breaths you take, the way your eyes focus on him, the way you hold him just a little differently. He knows everything.

But at the end of the day, he is just a man who loves his wife. A man who would do anything to see her happy.

He strokes a hand down the back of your hair, his parted lips passing shallow breaths. Nevertheless, he pulls you from his shoulder. “I'm not giving you anything until you say ‘please’.”

You lick your bottom lip between your teeth, stifling a moan as you decide whether or not you'll obey. But you do. With your palms at the sides of his neck, you speak. “Please, Tommy,” you beg softly. “Please give me more.”

He considers you, stalling just to make you squirm before picking you up and putting you on the desk, ignoring the pages and pages he lays you on. They're mostly done. He'll finish them eventually and let them go to whoever it needs to go to, still smelling of sex and the perfume you wear if it must. He doesn't care, he just needs you.

He holds you by the back of your legs, kissing the side of your knee as he stares at you the whole time. You watch him fondly, your breath shallow in your chest. He slips his hands down your thighs to hold your hips, lining himself back up with you and sinking inside once again.

Your eyes close and you purse your lips, a moan slipping through at the feeling. He presses himself inside you, rubbing against that deep part of you that makes your eyes roll. “Mm, Tommy.”

He sighs deeply, pulling out and pushes back in to set a steady pace. He starts with long, slow strokes that eventually build into a slew of quick, rough thrusts. You moan as you lay your head back against the desk, closing your eyes and trying to stay quiet as you gripped the desk behind your head. Your limbs tingle with the feeling of the pleasure spreading throughout your system. You clench around his cock and bury your face in your arms. You wrap your legs around his waist and bite your lower lip with the smallest grunts.

“Come on, love,” he rasps, his hair disheveled and his breath rough with exertion and desire. “You wanted this, don’t hide from me.” He reaches one hand out to gather your wrists in his palm. “Moan for me, darling. Look at me.”

You bring your attention to his face, your lashes fluttering with each little thrust inside your quivering pussy. You release your bottom lip from your teeth, setting free more whimpers and whines as your back rubs against the wood of his desk, the rock of his hips having you bouncing atop it.

He looks pretty. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide with lust as he gazes upon your body. For a moment, he wonders if he should take off your gown to see your naked body beneath him. But if he has to pull out of you before he’s finished, heads will roll. “Is this what you want? Eh?” he wonders aloud, letting go of your wrists to place your legs over his shoulders. You reach forward just enough to grab his waist, holding him close as the pleasure builds to wavering heights in both of you.

He presses his thumb to your clit, pulsing and in need of stimulation. “You needed me to fuck you nice and rough? Make it all up to you, eh?”

You nod sloppily, not paying too much attention to what he says as the pleasure gets closer and closer to that so desperately needed release. Your thighs tremble, the delicious shocks of desire bringing them to life as he continues to fuck into you.

“Tommy,” you gasp, dropping into a moan at the end of his name. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“You are, eh?” he teases, rubbing your clit just a little faster. “Have you said ‘please’?”

You mewl, helpless as you obey simply for your own satisfaction. He’s got you laying on his desk with his cock shoved in your cunt, and you’re moaning for him like the whores he used to fuck, but you’re still mad at him, even if you still love him with everything you’ve got.

“Please,” you moan. “Please let me cum, Tom.”

He grunts as he accepts, his thrusts becoming sloppier as he keeps on. “Alright,” he says. “Go on, love.”

The pleasure rises within you until you can’t hold it in anymore. With a thrust of his hips and a flick of his thumb, you fall apart as you close your eyes and lay your head back, your lips parting with a loud moan to let his name slip from your lips like honey. Your thighs tremble, your pussy flutters around him and pushes him over the edge.

A rough groan, bordering on a growl, erupts from his throat as he shoves his cock as deep inside you as he’ll go, grinding his hips to bury himself there. “Fuck,” he curses, your name rumbling in his chest. He spills inside you, rolling his hips into you as he does to fill you up with his warm spend. Your body tenses as you accept him, your lungs full of breath as your whimpers bleed into each little sigh until you feel the pleasure beginning to wane in the tingling of your toes.

He leans forward, towering over your body as his hips continue to thrust into you, his lips finding the junction of your neck and shoulders to taste your skin against his tongue. His kisses embed themselves in the fabric of your skin until they reach your lips, eager to slot into their natural place and become whole once more. The sounds he muffles into your mouth borders on a moan as his eager thrusts slow against the sensitivity of your pussy still coming down from your high.

You both linger there moments after you’ve returned to the earth through obligation. When you’ve come to yourself enough, wrap your arms around his neck and let out a long sigh, releasing the deep breath you’d taken moments before.

“Fuck,” you curse on a sigh, carding your fingers through his hair.

Tommy pulls his face from the crook of your neck and kisses you again, long and slow and almost possessive. He leans back to see your face, bringing his fingers up to brush them over your forehead, looking fondly into your eyes and searching your face for all of his favorite little features.

He sighs. “I don’t say it enough,” he says, his voice low and gentle and sincere. You stare back at him, stroking your knuckles along his jaw. “I love you, wife.” Your noses bump. You breathe each other’s air.

You breathe a little laugh, humming lightly. “No, you don’t say it enough.” You close the gap to kiss him again, a quicker kiss. “I’ll make sure you do.” You don’t return it, but he can see it in your eyes that you do, you do love him. He can see in your eyes just how much you can’t measure it. You don’t have to say it. He knows.

He taps your side, breaking away from you as he pulls out with a small sigh. He takes your hand and helps you to sit up. As you do, you take hold of his shirt and bring him close to your face. He thinks you’ll kiss him again.

“And, Thomas,” you smile a little, but he can see the threat lingering on your lips before they speak it, “if those words come out of my children’s mouths one more time, I’ll cut your cock off and feed it to you.”

Part of him wants to believe it’s just a threat—you love him (and his cock) too much. The other part knows it isn’t. You love your children more.

He smiles at you, nodding. He laughs as he says, “I love you, woman.”

You sigh on a hum, taking in the sight of his pretty face. “Hm… I know.”

Cillian Murphy taglist: @lyarr24​ @runnning-outof-time @goblinjnr @kmc1989 @shelbyism @weepingwitchofthewest @cl-0-vr @thoticious @sinarainbows @the-nerdy-goddess @urmomsgirlfriend1 Tag yourself here...

[runnning-outof-time]

Hi K, congratulations on 3.5K once again!!!! Saw you reblogging your celebration post, reminded I hadn't sent anything in yet due to a busy schedule. Anyway, I'd like to request a blurb for John with the prompt number 10. ''Look at me.''

You're awesome. And hope you have an amazing week this week :)

Thanks so much for sending this in, Merel @twvstedsouls !! I’m sorry it took me so long to write it! Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration — find more stories here!

I Don’t Care What They Say

John Shelby x Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 736

Summary: John hears what he needs the most after learning about (Y/N)’s parents’ opposition of their engagement.

“Why the long face, darlin’?” John Shelby asked his fianceé a few seconds after she entered the room he’d been sitting in. He immediately nodded the downcast expression that she was wearing and wasted no time getting to the bottom of what was bothering her.

“I don’t want to talk about it, John,” she answered with a sigh as she took her coat off and hung it up by the door. “It’s nothing, really. There’s not much that can be done about it. It’ll pass over.”

“It’s not ‘nothing’ if it’s got you looking like that. So what’s wrong?” he gently prodded her for the answer.

(Y/N) finally looked in his direction, and she stood still for a few moments, thinking on whether she should share the conversation she’d just had. John had an expectant look on his face, one that told her she wasn’t getting out of this so easy. So with a sigh, she dropped her gaze to the floor. It’d be easier for her to get it out if she didn’t see his reaction.

“My parents don’t agree with our engagement.”

The breath got stuck in John’s throat. It felt like the world had stopped for a moment as her words sunk into his mind. His eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to make sense of it. “What…what did they say?” he stumbled on his words, not sure if he wanted to hear more about it or not.

“They said that you’re no good for me. That I can find someone much better than you,” she answered, her heart breaking as she watched him process what she was saying. The words left such a bad taste in her mouth, and repeating them made her recount the long lecture her parents had given her about her choice.

John blinked a few times, trying to wrap his head around what her parents had said about their engagement. Thoughts started seeping in; ones telling him that he actually wasn’t good enough for her, and that she was going to heed to her parents advice. He dropped his eyes to the floor, swallowing thickly as he brought his hand up. He waved it around as he tried to think of what he wanted to say next. “And what do you say?…about our engagement,” he asked, squeezing his eyes shut for extra measure. He didn’t want to see her reaction.

If it wasn’t broken before, (Y/N)’s heart shattered at the sound of his voice as he forced his question out. She could tell that his mind was reeling; that he was fighting so hard to keep himself together. “Hey,” she called out, hoping to get his attention, but to no avail. “John. Look at me,” she continued, not wanting to say anything else without his eyes on hers. She wanted him to see how much she meant every word.

Slowly John lifted his eyes to meet hers again. He placed his hands on his knees, bracing himself for what would come next. It was in that moment that he wished he could be more like Tommy or Polly, so that he’d be able to read her expression and gain some clues from it.

After what felt like minutes of waiting, (Y/N) spoke again. “I don’t care what they say about our engagement. I’m marrying you, John Shelby,” she said, her words ringing out loud and clear. “They don’t have control over what I do. I’m old enough to make my own choices, and I choose you. I’m always going to choose you.”

“You are?” he just had to check, well aware that he sounded like a child in doing so.

“Yes,” she nodded, “I can’t wait to marry you. Nothing anyone says against it is going to change my mind.”

A breath of relief left John’s lips then, and all of the built up tension quickly resolved within seconds. “You have no idea how happy hearing you say that makes me, (Y/N),” he told her, shaking his head as a relieved smile formed on his face.

“You have no idea how happy you make me, John,” she countered, moving over to where he was sitting as a similar smile formed on her face. “Me and you…no one else matters.”

“No one else matters,” he repeated the ending of her statement, standing from his seat so that he could kiss her.

*tags in reblog so they hopefully get sent out

MASTERLIST

[prodigaldaughteralice]

So, I was tipped off a while ago by a post that’s probably still in my queue (I have a long reblog queue u_u;; ) that a few words were changed in the US edition of Monstrous Regiment. As it’s my favourite Discworld book, and I’d only ever read the US edition, I tracked down a second-hand UK first edition online and had a re-read as soon as it came, with my battered old US edition next to me so I could check when anything pinged me as ‘off’. Here’s what I found, not counting minor UK->US spelling changes like turning “girlie” into “girly”.

(There may be more that I missed, I didn’t have both copies open the whole time, but I’m pretty familiar with this book. As my sister teased me about when I mentioned I’d done this comparison, I did have it in my bed for several years as a teenager so I could reread it whenever my insomnia was hitting particularly hard.)

Spoilers from here on out, of course.

The first two are just kind of pointless? Changing “coprolite” to “coprolith”, which is just a less common word for the exact same thing, and changing “riff-riff-raff” to “riffraff” feels like they forgot Jackrum was playing drunk in that scene. Whatever. These don’t bother me.

There are a few UK->US type changes in the next one (“wooly vest” to “woolen undershirt”) which similarly feel pointless to me, but what really gets my goat is the last word. “The man’s bare chests,” plural, being changed to “the man’s bare chest”. Because that’s foreshadowing, but it’s not a giveaway, because on a heavier (cis) guy they do hang separate. It’s a nice little touch, and they took it out.

The next one is the one I’d been tipped off to, and it’s the change I’m the most annoyed about. “Turned her chair to the fire/around him the kitchen worked” -> “turned her chair to the fire/around her the kitchen worked.” I’m sure whatever editor changed it didn’t do so with any kind of malice or agenda, they just weren’t paying enough attention and thought they were fixing a continuity mistake, but it’s just such beautiful writing that they removed.

Because they’ve just had this incredible, delicate, vulnerable conversation about the girl Jackrum left behind him, and that that girl was him, and that he has a son out in Scratz and he doesn’t know what to do now that he’s leaving the army. Polly cries. And it’s Polly who suggests that he really can remain Jack Jackrum, he can go back to his son in medals and braid and be his father, and Jack gets to really settle in to the idea that he can be happy that way. Both those pronouns being “her” doesn’t feel wrong, necessarily; I always read it as Polly processing. But the switch between the two sentences is so beautiful. It’s a gentle closing of the conversation, it’s that girl being fully put behind him, and Sergeant Major Jack Jackrum (retired) getting to go on with his life.

The last one is just… odd. Inexplicable, and it’s the hardest to explain as just an editorial accident. They added a word that specifies something that was not previously specified. “One of them was Maladicta, in full uniform” becomes “one of them was Maladicta, in full female uniform.” I was thinking about it on this reread, and Mal is the only member of the squad who wasn’t publically outed at the Keep. Mal wasn’t involved in the actual raid— too busy gibbering and sucking on a sack of coffee beans— and at the trial Mal kind of stood in the back vibrating from caffeine overdose. Even Jackrum said “with vampires, who cares”. Only Polly knows about Maladicta.

And what that means is that Mal is the only member of the squad who could reasonably remain presenting as male in the army. Polly encourages a couple of young recruits in the very end that it’s their choice to enlist as men or as women, with Mal right beside her, and I think the original ambiguity there is really lovely— it doesn’t matter if Mal has an ‘a’ on the end at the moment, because Mal is there to help Polly fuck shit up, and that’s what matters. By adding the specificity, they just… took away a really nice bit of subtext, a really nice effect.

So yeah, I’m ticked off as a queer person about the (minor) subversion of the book’s general gender fuckery, but I’m almost more ticked off as a writer. Pratchett was so talented, and we talk about it a lot on a large scale of themes and motifs and characters, but he was also just so fantastic on a sentence to sentence level. This is craft! This is really beautiful, delicate writing, elegantly put together and perfected, and some US editors just. Took out some of it. And it’s still an incredible book! As I mentioned, I had it in my bed for years as a teenager so I could reread it over and over, it means a ton to me, it’s my favourite of his work and I love his work! But it hurts to see these little places where it was originally even better.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 21: Shadow of the Abattoir

Summary: Mistakes are made, and the consequences have begun to come home to roost.  

Word Count: 4,415

Warnings: Violence, decapitation, and pregnancy.

Notes: Don't ask me why I continue to chose to write things that require a good deal of action when it's one of my weakest points as an author. But I did try to do a few things stylistically to make it hopefully a little less painful to read.

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Chapter 17: Heads Will Roll

Luca was still inside the truck when, to his horror, the roar of machine gunfire began to assault them from above. One of his boys who had already stepped out into the square went down, blood spraying from the holes that the weapon ripped through his torso.  

He had just enough time to burst from the doors of the van and dart behind it, using the body of the truck for cover from the barrage of bullets raining down on them. He only had the briefest of moments to catch sight of Shelby up on the terrace above them, hunched behind a massive machine gun aimed down at where they were all gathered in the square. 

For a moment, his head spun, heart hammering in his ears, trying to process just what the actual fuck had happened. 

One second, they were following Shelby’s car into a secluded little square surrounded by apartment buildings, the next, they were being assaulted with seemingly unending gunfire.

His teeth gritted. It had been Polly Gray. That bitch had baited him. Shelby had probably been in on the whole fucking thing from the beginning. 

There were no easy exits, and very limited cover, especially with Shelby already up above them with a bird’s eye view of the square. They were like rats in a fucking barrel.

His finger flexed preparedly against the trigger of his gun, waiting for the cease in the gunfire. Shelby would have to reload sooner or later. And Luca was fairly certain that it was just him. The little red-haired whore hadn’t been with him when he left the hospital, and if he had any other men with him–especially that mad dog of a brother–they would already know.

There was a brief break in the gunfire, and Luca took his chance, whipping around from his cover behind the truck, firing wildly in the air towards the terrace. Shelby ducked down behind the rail and out of sight, but Luca didn’t stop firing. Behind him, his men joined him in unleashing a storm of bullets in Shelby’s direction. Luca just barely could make out his figure dart from the crate he was huddled behind and into the open door of the flat nearby. 

A seize of rage squeezed at Luca’s throat. The fucking bastard was getting away. He roared orders to his men, sending them in different directions to come at the apartment from the multitude of entrances available to them. Matteo and a few others remained behind him as he ducked into a doorway that led to a staircase. 

His focus was so intensely turned above, fingers flexing against the trigger of his gun while he climbed the steps, ready to fire in case Shelby suddenly appeared above them, that neither he, nor any of the others, noticed that while they had entered the building with five of them, only four had made it to ascending the stairs.

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy slowly lowered the heavy body of the Italian to the floor, her left hand clamped tightly over his mouth and nose, the other supporting his shoulder so she didn’t drop him.

They had not even noticed, as she jumped stealthily out of the shadows she’d been crouched in, snatching the Italian lingering at the back of the group after the others began to climb the stairs. She’d cut his throat at the same second she covered his mouth, keeping his sounds contained in the leather of her gloves as he died. It did not take long; her hunting knife cut into him like butter, purposefully angling his body back slightly so that the blood poured out onto his chest, rather than splattering all over the ground. 

She kept her movements smooth and silent, slinking up the stairs like a cat. Luca and two of his soldiers were climbing the stairs quickly, their focus up above, where Tommy had been, and not down below. The fourth member of their party had fallen behind a little, taking too long to try to peer out a dirty window. Quick as a viper, Lucy darted forward, and repeated the movements she had just inflicted upon the first Italian, hand clamping over his mouth and carving into his throat with her knife. 

It was risky, taking him like that out in the open on the stairwell. But they were still in the shadows, Luca and his men so far up ahead and focused on getting Tommy that they weren’t even considering what might be creeping up on them from behind. Still, after setting the body of her second victim down on the stone steps, Lucy pressed her back against the most shaded wall, waiting until she heard the men step out onto the terrace of the level that Tommy had been shooting at them from. Not that Tommy would be there anymore. 

She knew where he was headed next, just like she knew a shortcut through this very stairwell that would lead her right to him. 

Halfway up the stairs, she heard an exchange of gunfire from somewhere nearby, her shoulders instinctually drawing in until she realized that it wasn’t for her. It lasted only for a few moments, and then there was silence once more. She continued to race up the stairs, swallowing the bead of fear in her throat. 

Please be okay.

She had to figure that he was, otherwise she’d have been hearing the shouts and jeers of victory from the Italians right about now. Angling her head up, she adjusted her grip on the knife, and continued her ascent. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy shouldered his way past the sheets hanging from the clotheslines. They fluttered and twitched in the breeze, surprisingly heavy as he pushed through them.

He flinched at the blast of gunfire that sharply followed him, pushing his legs to run faster, barely keeping ahead of the stream of bullets that clinked audibly where they smashed into the railing that lined the roof. The Italian man who had shot at him in the stairwell was still following him. 

Tommy raced to the door that led off the roof, then hesitated. The Italian had stopped firing, fidgeting to reload his gun. Fast and silent, Tommy ducked and weaved through the white and blue sheets, taking care to avoid stirring them and giving away his approach. 

He came to a stop when he could see the silhouette of the man through the large, white swath of cloth hanging between them. He fired at it, teeth gritting savagely, bullet casings falling to the ground with a tinkle of metal. The white sheet stained red.     

There was a shout to his right, and he mentally cursed at the realization that the Italian had brought a friend with him, the man’s rifle already half raised to point at Tommy’s chest. 

His movements were impeded by a sudden, violent jerk, eyes going wide as saucers, a hand flying to his throat as a knife embedded itself in the space just below his ear. He went down like a bag of rocks. 

“You alright?” Lucy asked, jogging out from behind the fluttering sheets, going to the Italian where he had crumpled and unceremoniously yanking her knife from his neck.

“Yeah. Are you?” he reached out a hand to her, helping her to straighten, looking her over for injuries.

“Yeah.”

“Right. Come on,” he beckoned. She followed right behind him as he pushed his way back through the swaths of drying sheets, leading the way inside. They burst through doors, into apartments containing huddled family members, staring back at them with terrified eyes. Tommy shouted orders for everyone to stay down and inside. Not just in the hopes that they would listen to him and remain out of the crossfire, but also to draw Luca in and after him with the sound of his bellowing voice. 

“Do they know you’re with me yet?” he asked Lucy as they rushed down a hallway. 

“I don’t think so. I’ve gotten three so far,” she stopped as they came to a staircase. “You go ahead. I’ll stay here and hunt them through the halls. I think that I might be able to get one or two more.”

Tommy hesitated, the thought of just leaving there making his stomach churn. “I don’t…”

“They’re so focused on you, it’ll be a wonder if they see me at all.” She was reaching up to tuck her hair more securely under her cap to hide the distinctive shock of red. “Most likely they’ll just think I’m a tenant of the building. A tiny little woman in an apartment building full of women and children? They won’t give me a second glance.”

“Unless they recognize you.”

She gave him a look, touching his cheek. “I’ll be careful.”

He glanced nervously at the hallway behind her. There was no time to argue. And he trusted that she knew what she was doing. He stooped low to kiss her.

“Be safe.”

“You too.” She took a step back from him, twirling her hunting knife. “Go.”

He cast her one last look, and took off climbing the stairs. 

∗ ∗ ∗

“Luca,” Matteo hissed from over his shoulder. “Luca,” he repeated, when he didn’t answer right away. 

“What?” Luca growled back, head snapping around the glare at him like an angered dog. 

“Where are Vincenzo and Sal?”

Luca looked back down the hall where his men were lined up behind him. Vincenzo, Sal, and Frankie had met up with them inside the apartment, having already swept the lower levels. Good thing, too, considering that Marco and Dante weren’t with them. Strange; he’d thought that they had followed him inside, but they must have stayed out on the square.  

But now all he could see were Frankie and Rocco behind him and Matteo. 

“Did you tell them to break off?” Luca asked, annoyance sharpening his tone to that of a needle, eyes narrowing in slits at Matteo.

“No! I didn’t say a thing to them.”

His face twitched in frustration, fighting back the urge to shout. “Useless motherfuckers…” they would be in for a sharp reprimand when this was all over. Breaking plans and formation without orders…

“Do you think Shelby might’ve gotten them?”

Luca gave him an unimpressed look. “How?” Unless Shelby had suddenly changed his tactics from shooting to a silent method of killing, or, even more unlikely, managed to somehow sneak around and behind them, there was no way he could have picked off Marco, Dante, Vincenzo, or Sal. 

No, it was just his men thinking that they knew better than him. Fucking Matteo, encouraging everyone to read that book about taking initiative a few months ago. What was so wrong with just being a good fucking soldier and listening to your superior officer?

He couldn’t focus on that now. All that mattered was getting Shelby. He was so close. So close to getting the vengeance and justice he had dreamed of for over a year. He would bring Shelby’s head to his mother, he decided. As a gift. She could mount it on her wall. Or place it on a stake outside her house for the crows to feed upon. 

He shook his head sharply, and, like a panther stalking its prey through the jungle, began to lead the way down the hall.  

∗ ∗ ∗

Frankie peered into the apartments, eyes sweeping over the mother laying facedown on the floor, both arms around her two children, holding them tight against her. She peaked up at him through a curtain of dark hair, gaze massive and terrified.

The creaking of floorboards behind him made him jump, spinning around, gun raised and at the ready. There was no one there, but he swore that he saw a flash of movement through the crack of the door behind him. Rifle still raised, he inched towards it, chancing one quick glance back at where Luca, Matteo, and Rocco were advancing in front of him, heading towards a staircase at the end of the hall, checking inside each apartment as they went.

He pushed the door to the flat open with his fingertips, immediately replacing the hand on his rifle, steadying his aim, preparing to fire upon Shelby the first moment he saw him. 

Instead, he was met with a tiny woman crouched down on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, head bent to bury her face in them. She had on a large dark coat, and he wondered if she had just gotten in when the shooting began.

A tad disappointed, but also distinctly relieved, at the lack of the man they were seeking, Frankie huffed, lowering his weapon and turning away. Luca had said that they were not to harm any civilians. 

He failed to see the blood from Vincenzo and Sal that was staining the woman’s hands, her face so properly hidden from him that he could not make out the splatter of red across one of her pale cheeks, the dark folds of her coat covering the crimson-slathered blade of a hunting knife laying by her feet.

Nor did he have time to process the greatness of the mistake he had made, as the second that he turned his back on the woman, she sprang up with near-paranormal, inhuman speed and silence, seized him from behind, and began to saw into his throat with her knife.

∗ ∗ ∗

Her hands were wet and sticky, the mixture of the Italian’s blood coating them almost entirely. It was mostly from the last two. The last one in particular, had made a considerable mess. 

Though to be fair, there was a good reason for that. 

She could feel blood sticking to her face and wetting her waistcoat and shirt. 

At least no one would ever be able to say that she was afraid to get her hands dirty. The coppery smell seemed to envelope her, familiar and metallic.

She flexed her fingers around the prize she had collected from the last one she’d killed. A little gift for Luca, should they manage to cross paths during this whole bloody affair.

He hadn’t seemed all that concerned that so many of his men had vanished. Too hyper-fixated on Tommy to think of anything else, she assumed. He would be regretting that soon enough.  

She heard a few horrified gasps from some of the tenants who saw what she had clenched in her hand as she passed by their doors, but for the most part, everyone remained silent, waiting with baited breath for the gangsters to leave.

Lucy paid them no mind as she moved to the stairs, taking them down towards the exit that led out onto the street. If Tommy had gone upstairs and then went out and down the fire escape, they should meet in approximately the same place. 

The sudden cacophony of shooting suddenly thundered from outside, the sound making her wince, fingers tightening around her knife, footsteps hastening down the stairs.  

∗ ∗ ∗

“Come on, me and you, Tommy,” Luca jeered, standing out in the middle of the street with his arms spread wide. “Come on.” His machine gun was empty, tossed haphazardly to the ground. He’d ordered Matteo to stand down. He waited with baited breath, watching hungrily as Shelby slowly emerged from his cover, stepping out, gun clutched in his right hand, footsteps loud as thunder as they slowly drew nearer. Luca felt the semblance of a smile emblazon itself upon his face as he stared down his enemy. This was it. 

This was what he had been waiting all this time for. 

He began to recite the prayer in his head, the one that he had always known would be the one he’d say just before putting a bullet in the face of the man who had stolen his father and brother from him. From his coat, he drew his gun. Shelby’s blue eyes stared at him intensely. He looked like a big cat or a wolf, prepared to pounce at any moment.

But Luca had shot wolves before. On a hunting trip with his father in the mountains in Italy.

He cocked the gun, eyes narrowing slightly, ready to move…

“Hey, Luca!” A voice suddenly shouted from his right. A voice that he recognized. And suddenly he could hear his mother whispering in his ear. 

“Wherever Thomas Shelby goes, the Red Demon is never far behind.”

She was walking towards him with purposeful, measured steps, black coat swirling around her legs, dark red hair pulled back out of her face. She wore the cap of the Peaky Blinders atop her head, and when she turned her head just the right way, he could see the faint glint of the razors sewn into the brim. Blood was splattered across one of her cheeks, and there was something vicious and mad blazing in her dark gaze. When she saw him looking at her, her face stretched into a wide grin. She held something dripping and grotesque up in her hand. 

“Is this yours?” she shouted, and threw it at him.

He stared, in open-mouthed horror, as Frankie’s head bounced and rolled across the pavement, settling at his feet face-up. Frankie’s eyes were open wide, staring up at him with his mouth slackened into a horrified O. As if begging for Luca to save him. 

He looked up, and the demon was standing there, grin widening, mad eyes electric with mirth.

A realization, violent and terrible, came crashing down upon him. 

She had been there the whole time, and they had not seen her. 

Where were the rest of his men? Probably splayed out in that apartment building, having suffered the same fate as poor Frankie. 

As poor Alessio, too. 

He had thought that it was those savages Shelby had hired from the mountains who had killed his cousin, but this suggested something else.

It had been her. Lucy Winters. The Red Demon. Thomas Shelby’s bitch, who had cleaved his cousin’s head from his shoulders.

His mother had been right. He had not listened to her warnings, but she had been right.

Everything, from Winters’s announcement of her presence to Luca’s earth shattering realization, happened within the span of about ten seconds. Behind him, Shelby had his arm raised, gun cocked and ready to fire at the back of his head. 

And then the police arrived. 

They began firing upon them almost immediately, rushing from their vans to swarm them Luca ducked. Shelby tried to fire at him a few times, but missed, and Luca cringed away against the onslaught of gunfire from the gangster and the police, turning heel and racing down the street with Matteo in tow. 

The police gave chase, but were easy to lose in the winding alleyways. The moment they were sure they’d lost them, he and Matteo leaned against the cool brick walls, panting. Luca bent over to clutch at his knees, staring at nothing as Matteo began to ramble off frantic questions that he did not really hear into his ear. 

Before arriving in Birmingham, Luca had made a list of potential problems and caveats that would need to be dealt with so that they could not impede his mission in enacting his vengeance on Tommy Shelby and his entire family.

The Jewish gang in London had been on the list. As had the Romani people with such close ties to Shelby that they were practically blood. And the people of Small Heath, who for some inconceivable reason, seemed to have developed some sort of fondness for Shelby and his gang. 

And now, Lucy Winters was at the top of that fucking list. 

∗ ∗ ∗

It took both her and Moss to pry away the three officers who had swarmed onto Tommy. Moss was furious, shouting at both Tommy and his men in equal measure. 

“There are three bodies that need cleaning up,” Tommy told him, still a little out of breath, reaching into his pocket and holding out a wad of bills.

“Nine,” Lucy corrected. They both looked at her with wide eyes. She shrugged. “I got six.”

Moss shook his head, cursing under his breath.

“Come on,” Tommy mumbled, indicating for her to follow him as Moss turned to bark more orders to the officers under his command. Why the fuck did they have to show up then? They’d had Luca. 

Neither of them said anything for most of the walk back to the Shelby’s house, Lucy digging around in her pocket for a handkerchief that she wiped her face and hands on. Tommy was sullen the whole walk, head down and lips set in a deep frown. 

“It’s not all bad,” Lucy tried to raise his spirits. “We didn’t get Luca, but we got a whole lot of his men. Enough to make a dent in his forces.”

He just grunted. She sighed, patting his arm.

Polly was waiting for them inside, a clove cigarette clutched between her fingers, lines of worry etched onto her face. There were several other finished black cigarettes already stubbed out in the ashtray. Clearly she had been smoking and pacing anxiously for a while. 

“You alright?” she asked them, taking a cautious step forward once they were inside. Tommy nodded, silently going to put his rifle away. Polly watched him go, then turned back to Lucy, eyes bugging a little out of her head at the sight of her bloodied shirt and waistcoat. “My God–”

“It’s not mine,” Lucy assured, waving her away. Tommy came back, collapsing in a chair, pulling a cigarette from his case. Lucy moved around to stand behind him, smoothing her fingers along his hair. “I need to go change. I’ll be right back.”

He nodded. Polly frowned. Lucy pecked the top of his head, squeezing his shoulder and darting upstairs to their room, stripping out of her bloodied clothes and into some fresh, clean ones, taking a detour to the washroom to make sure she’d gotten all of the blood off of her face and hands. 

By the time she came downstairs, she could hear the rumble of engines as the rest of the family pulled up outside. Charlie was playing in the sitting room, while they all gathered in the kitchen. 

She sat down in the chair in front of where Tommy stood, twitching with her rings and smoking, not saying much at all as he debriefed with the other family members. The adrenaline was finally starting to leave her system, leaving her to feel jittery. 

“Look, I didn’t get Luca, but I got three. All right? Lucy got six. That’s it. That’s what happened,” Tommy explained.

Johnny Dogs whistled. “Six, eh, Winters? You’re giving all of us a run for our money.”

She smiled slightly, still fiddling with her hands, shrugging bashfully. “I got lucky.”

There were footsteps behind them, as Charlie bounded into the doorway. Tommy scooped him up, hoisting him to rest on his hip. Soon, everyone was rising from their seats, Arthur insisting that she and Tommy come with them for a drink. She raised from her chair, shaking out her hands, giving little Charlie a soft smile and a gentle ruffle to his blonde hair. 

“You owe me lunch,” she mumbled into Tommy’s ear as they made for the door. He looked at her with a raised brow, head cocking while his lips quirked as he remembered their agreement from before the ambush. 

“Mm. I suppose I do, don’t I?”

She giggled, and placed a kiss to his cheek. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy watched Lucy shield a yawn with her hand, squinting at the print on the paper she was reading. Dark circles had appeared under her eyes since they’d returned to the office, and he could recognize the telltale unsteadiness that so often settled in after a situation like the one they’d found themselves in earlier that day.

Shifting in his chair, he glanced over at the pictures on his desk, eyes settling on the ones of Grace. One was just of her by herself, a professional photo taken during her days working as an operative, and the other from not long before her death, baby Charlie settled in her lap. 

Tommy looked away, gaze focused up on the ceiling miserably. God; what she would have thought of them…

He stood suddenly, well aware that if he continued to just sit there and stew in his own thoughts, he would drown in them. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and head home?” he suggested, hand landing on Lucy’s shoulder. She looked up at him quizzically. 

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm. I won’t be long. I promise.”

She considered, then nodded. “Okay.” She must have been even more tired than he thought. He took the papers from her, tossing them over onto the desk while she went and got her coat. He followed her to the door, Lucy turning and giving him a quick kiss.

“I’ll see you soon.”

He nodded. “Less than an hour.” Really, all he needed to do was put everything away and lock up for the evening. She gave his arms a strong squeeze, and ducked out the door, mumbling a soft goodbye to Lizzie who was still at her desk.

Tommy busied himself tucking things away and tidying his desk, before going to the shelf of liquor that he kept, pulling out a cigarette and fumbling with a glass. He’d have one last drink, lock everything up, and go home to Lucy and Charlie. It would feel good to just lay in bed with Lucy on his chest, listening to her breathing while she slept, his fingers carding delicately through her soft red hair. 

The door opened, and Lizzie stepped in. He glanced back at her, then again to the decanters of alcohol. 

“Want a drink, Lizzie? I’ve had a hard day.”

He heard the door click shut behind her when she leaned her back against it. While he had been keeping his distance since the whole incident between her and May, he still tried to be kind and respectful towards her. She was part of the family, after all.

“I don’t drink whiskey or gin anymore, Tom,” Lizzie said after a long pause.

“Why not?” he asked, pouring a glass for himself.

And then she dropped seven little words that carried with them the promise of yanking his entire world completely off its axis:

“Because they say it harms the baby.”

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[svtsdancingqueen]

“Sometimes I wish I was a vampire.” I spoke breaking the silence and glancing at him. He furrowed his brows and cocked his jaw a little as he looked at me, “okay…” he started cautiously, “why…” he fished trying to see if he, my favorite middle school drop out, could piece together the complex puzzle of his girlfriends mind. I started to trace his veins as I spoke almost absentmindedly “Well, I just feel like I met you so late in our life, it makes me sad, we only have so much time together, the past is wasted and what’s the future, how long is the future? If we were vampires, theoretically we’d live forever and ever.” He started to nod slowly and then, as if the loading icon in his head had sped up and finally processed, he sat up. “IS THIS WHY YOU LIKE TO BITE ME SOMETIMES?!!?!!” He asks, the many emotions of shock, understanding, and uncertainty present in his tone as if he just found out the answer to a quantum physics problem that’s gone years being unsolved. I scrunched my nose in response, head still resting on the pillow. “Oh, that? no, if I bite on the right spot of your forearm it feels like those rubber Polly pocket clothes.” I shrugged and looked back at him, watching as his triumph over finally understanding why his girlfriend thought the way she did faded into the atmosphere. He fell back down onto the pillow with a thud, shaking the bed as he stared at the ceiling.

“You. are really something.” He spoke, a pause between each word as if he didn’t know this already. I rolled my eyes and took my rightful spot back under his arm and resting my head against his sweatshirt clad chest. “Well so now that we discussed, your…. uhh habits?” he phrased the word delicately, almost as if not to offend me when he saw me side eye him from below. “What was your favorite Polly pocket item to chew on? I liked the jacket but not because-“ and as he started his tangent on the subject, I realized in that moment what everyone for my entire life had been talking about when they had said the word - “soulmate”

———————

A/N please don’t come for my grammar being incorrect, I only write when i can’t sleep and in my notes app. Also if my Vernon drabbles seem scarily accurate it’s because I’m pretty sure we’re the same person and his thoughts are my thoughts

[dannybobany]

Just discovered this in my notes app

Honestly these are good concepts… might still write some of these

Not all of these are exactly self explanatory so to elaborate… “sunflower but biblical Armageddon” was an idea I had where post neutral ending during their funerals the end of the world happens and they both wake up undead and get a second chance at life expect also the world is in the process of ending so they have like a week at most to do that

“Witch basil fic” is just a fic where incident never happened and Basil is magical and idk shenanigans! “Witch Basil but onward” is a witch Basil fic where the incident DOES happen but years later Basil uses magic to try and resurrect Mari, this does not work very well and Basil is forced to go to Sunny for help, they go on a quest having to drag a brainless undead Mari along with them in a somewhat similar vein to the Disney Pixar movie “onward”

“Sunny and Basil missing 411” is a fic where Basil and Sunny run away together but set from the perspective of Polly who can only assume the worst, dedicating herself completely to finding them because she’s afraid they (mostly Basil) are in danger out there, from Polly’s perspective it’s a detective thriller because she runs into a lot of crazy stuff along the way and is slowly loosing her mind king in yellow style, from Sunny and Basil’s perspective this is a coming of age romcom.

Anyway. Id y’all have thoughts on this go ahead but mainly I’m posting this so I remember lol

[justimagineitblog]

“You Used To Love Me” Michael Gray Fan Fiction - Chapter 13

Well hi *I wave sheepishly from behind the computer screen*

Let me start by saying I am so so sorry that the conclusion of this story took so long - I have barely been writing for a really long time. 

But this story and doing it justice has always been in the back of my mind, and I finally got myself to finish it for all of you who have been so loyal and patient.

Here is the final Chapter of You Used To Love Me.

All my love, I hope you enjoy x 

Besides the obvious shock at seeing him at such a fucking inopportune time, his presence sends an immediate chill down my spine. 

I have to physically close my eyes to try and rid my mind of the thoughts and flashbacks to the other night, when he kissed me. When we kissed each other. 

The room collectively falls silent. No one tries to stutter over their words. No one tries to save the moment with some excuse. Just pure silence. All of us processing what has just unfolded. That is until Gina finally speaks. 

“Well, I guess the gig is up” she says, almost laughing. 

I don’t even look at her. My eyes are just glued to Michael. I watch his face contort into 100 different shades of confusion. 

When no one else speaks, when nothing is elaborated, he looks back and forth between all of us, searching desperately for an answer. 

“Izzy?” He says my name, his tone just begging me for an answer. 

“This isn’t on her…” Gina begins, standing up slowly from the floor and straightening her dress “I’m pregnant, Michael” 

And just like that, the bomb is dropped. But that’s not even the worst of it. My heart aches inside my chest, knowing that it’s about to get so much worse for Michael. 

I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow the air in the room grows heavier. 

My whole body tenses at I wait to see Michael’s reaction. 

He doesn’t know it’s not his yet. 

He runs his eyes over her, covering his mouth in shock when he finally notices the small baby bump just beginning to show through her dress. 

“Oh my god” he runs a hand through his hair, his hands trembling.

He doesn’t speak, he just shakes his head in disbelief. No excitement. No joy at the thought of having his own child. And that says it all. He isn’t happy. This is not the life he wanted for himself. 

Part of me want’s to tell him about Gina’s infidelity. To tell him that he is not having a child. That he is not going to be stuck raising a child with a woman he doesn’t love. But before I can even find the words, his head stops shaking and his brows furrow. Like a lightbulb switched on in his mind. Like something clicked. It’s like I can see him mind doing back flips as he realises that something doesn’t add up. 

He looks back up at Gina, who is chewing at her bottom lip nervously. She is also waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Like she said, Michael is smart. It won’t be long before it dawns on him, and I know she does not want that moment to unfold before all of us, here in this room. 

“I would like a moment alone with my husband” Gina says quickly, as she looks over at Polly and I. She knows Michael is starting to catch on to what he knows deep down inside. This is not his baby. 

I take her queue to leave immediately, reaching for Polly’s hand. “Come on Pol, let’s go make some tea yeah?” I say, locking eyes with her and nodding towards the doorway. 

Polly’s catches on, and she takes my hand as we both make our way out of the room. As we exit I quickly glance back over my shoulder to find Michael looking at me gravely, before Gina closes the door behind us.

Polly and I walk downstairs and into the kitchen in complete silence. I start making tea, but Polly touches my arm.

“This is not a time for tea… I’ll get the whisky”

I nod. I’m like a soldier with shell shock. I can barely speak. I can barely move as I lower my body stiffly into a chair at the dining table. 

I’m straining with all my might to hear the conversation going on upstairs between Gina and Michael, but it’s eerily quiet. 

I know what she is telling him now is being said in hushed voices. 

Polly slides a hefty glass of Whiskey in my direction, and tasting the bitter drink is the only thing that brings me out of my frozen trance. 

“Michael’s not going to be a father” she says out of the blue, with her face all knowing, as though she has read the room and understands the situation. 

“No” I affirm her suspicions, although she already knows without me needing to “No he’s not” 

“One day” Polly responds, holding eye contact with me.

I’ve always known Polly has senses. Everyone in the Shelby family knows. Hell, everyone in fucking town knows. She see’s things. Feels them. She know’s Michael will one day be a father. I’m not psychic and even I knew that. He has a way with children. He’s wonderful with them. And in this moment, I know exactly who she thinks he will be having children with. I know what she’s insinuating. 

I almost jump straight out of my seat when I few minutes later, I hear footsteps coming down the staircase. 

I quickly sink the rest of my whiskey, as Gina and Michael enter the dining room. 

“I’m taking Gina to the hospital, I’ll be back later. Tell Tommy we have to reschedule our meeting to another day” 

Michael is holding his cap in his hands, gripping it so tight that his knuckles have gone white. But they’re not as white as his face. I can’t tell if he looks like he’s seen a ghost, or if he is the ghost. 

Gina looks down at the floor, then up at the ceiling. Basically anywhere but at our faces. 

Polly nods, knowing that now is not the time to have words with either of them. I’m actually impressed with how civil she is being towards Gina in this moment. In light of the severity of the situation. 

Michael ushers Gina out the front door, and moments later the cars wheels turn on the gravel and make their way out of the street. 

Polly and I sit in silence, drinking for a little bit longer, until everything catches up with me. The whiskey, the sleeplessness, the bomb that was just dropped. 

Without saying much, Polly and I hug goodbye. She holds on a little longer than usual, and before we depart she gives me a knowing smile. 

I know what she’s thinking. I know she can tell something happened between Michael and I.

But I can’t let my brain run off with the possibilities. I don’t know what is going to happen between us. 

Even with Gina now possibly out of the picture, there’s a lot that has gone on between Michael and I. I still carry the pain, nursing it in my arms every day since he left for America, and came back with another woman. I don’t know what he could ever say to fix that.

And then there’s the possibility that he stays with her, despite the news. Which might just send me over the edge. Truly into a place of no return.

I wander the streets in the short walk back to my apartment, where I pour myself another drink when I arrive. 

I don’t know why, but I sit by the window. Waiting, I guess. Hoping that he might show up. Maybe even part of me is hoping that he doesn’t. But still, I can’t pull myself away. 

I have so many errands, so many jobs to do. But I can’t move on. I spend the rest of the day worrying about him. Picturing him at the hospital, sitting by Gina’s bedside. Supporting her on what might be the worst day of this life thus far. I picture his face when he found out she was pregnant. The horror and fear that he was trying to disguise. 

He didn’t have the glow of someone who just found out their wife is having a baby. 

By the time night falls, and dusk gives way, I have bitten my nails down to the quick without even noticing. 

Feeling horrid and heavy with anxiety, I decide to drag my sleep deprived body into the shower. It’s a peaceful moment, and I start to feel like I could finally settle into bed when someone knocks at my door as I’m getting changed into my night gown.

I catch myself in the mirror for a moment, willing myself to be strong, because I already know who it is standing at my door without even having to open it. 

As I make my way to my visitor, I run over 100 speeches that I have planned in my head. But once I grab that handle and pull it open, the chatter in my head falls silent. 

Michael Grey. 

He stands in the door way, a look of relief washing over his face as though he didn’t think I would actually answer him. 

Of course I would. 

He opens his mouth to speak, inhaling deeply, but the words never follow. With this much history between two people, it’s impossible to know where to begin.

He looks like he’s been to hell and back. 

“Sorry” he stammers, snapping himself out of his trance “Your door was unlocked, but I didn’t want to just walk in-”

“It’s always been unlocked” I breathe, knowing that I’ve kept a lot of parts of me unlocked, incase there was a moment where Michael Grey decided to wander back in. Just like he has right now. 

He nods, understanding what I meant immediately.

“Can I come in?” He begins “I can go if you want, I just…”

He looks so small in this moment. He’s the most timid and sheepish I have ever seen him.

“Of course” I nod, stepping aside to let him in.

We move about my apartment in silence, as we both take a seat at my dining table. When he does, he places his elbows on the table and rests his head in his hands. 

Without even needing to ask, I pour us both a drink.

“I figured if I need one of these you probably do too”

I looks up at me gratefully as I place the glass in front of him and he takes a swig. 

“How is she?” I ask, nervous to actually address the situation at hand. But I know there’s no way around it. We’re not going to talk about the fucking weather. 

“They’re uh, they’re going to keep her overnight until she’s got her hydration back”

There’s silence for a moment before he continues, and he looks as if he’s not able to believe what he’s about to say.  

“Then she’s going home”

My heart jumps and skips over a few beats, making me feel unsteady as I realise what he just said.

Gina is leaving. 

“We’re done” he says, and I suddenly take note of the fact that he’s not wearing his wedding ring. 

“Michael I’m sorry-” I begin, but falter when it comes to finishing my sentence.

I am sorry. But the truth is that I’m fucking relieved. Relieved for Michael. Relieved for myself. Relieved that I don’t have to watch him raise a child with someone else right in front of my eyes when it was supposed to be me. 

“It’s okay” he nods “Her and I we weren’t… I didn’t love her Izzy” 

I knew this whole time. I want to scream it from the rooftops. I want to scream it at him. I want to ask what possessed him to act that way for so long. 

I want to ask him who he loves. I want to ask him if it’s still me. 

“It still hurts though” I say instead, trying to keep my wits about me. And that is the truth. He is still in pain. 

“Yeah well I had that coming didn’t I” he almost laughs to himself, shaking his head. 

He looks up at me, bearing himself. He knows what he did was wrong. And he knows as far as karma goes, he was now getting his. 

“I’ve done so many things wrong… Everything got so out of control Iz” I notice his knee is bouncing rapidly beneath the table. 

I hold my breath, so much so that I begin to feel light headed and my chest begins to burn.

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to” he says once he notices my speechlessness, “I just owe you an explanation. I owe you that much” 

I nod, giving him the go ahead. The green light of redemption. 

We’re on the edge of the moment. The moment I’ve been waiting for for months. 

“You know I don’t even know why you let me in, you’re always so kind, so good. Too fucking good. After everything” 

His chest rises and falls beneath his shirt and vest, growing faster with every second as he gets himself more and more worked up over the train wreck of his life. 

“You know I can’t get the look on your face out of my head, from the day that you saw me and Gina. The day I came back and told you to leave me alone. It fucking haunts me Izzy. Because I didn’t want it. But when you’re in too deep…” He shakes his head, as his words just keep pouring out frantically “I thought it was the only way… the only way to deal with what I had done. I couldn’t even look at Gina. I couldn’t even touch her. So I thought if I forgot about you, that I could move on”

“Did you?” Are the only words I can utter, as the lump in my throat swells, almost cutting off my voice completely. 

“Never. Fucking never” 

I had built this moment up in my head for so long. 

What I would say to him. 

How I would teach him a lesson. 

How I would show him what he had done to me. 

That he can’t get away with doing that to a person.

I had rehearsed how I would make him get on his knees and beg for my forgiveness.

Make him explain himself until he was blue in the face.

Until I was satisfied. 

I wait for that feeling to come, the rage, but it never does.

Instead, I stay silent as he takes a deep breath to steady himself. His eyes are welling up, threatening to spill over as he continues to explain.

“I lost my way over there. I was losing my fucking mind without you. I got drunk, Gina was forceful. One thing led to another and I woke up next to her one morning. Then I couldn’t get rid of her. I was doing business with her family, and it’s like she saw something she wanted and would stop at nothing to get it. That’s when I stopped contact with you… I couldn’t bring myself to talk to you. To face what I had done”

The first tear falls onto his freckled cheeks, but he wipes it quickly. 

“I was going to cut her off before I came back home, but she threatened that she would cut off the deal between Shelby Limited and her Uncles if I left her. She threatened fucking horrible things to the people I loved Izzy, you have no idea” His voice is panicked as he recalls every last detail, and I can see the flashbacks taking their toll on him. 

“Her family and her people, they’re something we’ve never dealt with before…She begged me to let her come with me. I was in way over my fucking head. And so I had to pretend. I didn’t want her to sink her claws into you too. I didn’t want anything to happen to you. I didn’t want you involved. So I had to pretend like I fucking hated you when all I wanted was to come crawling home to you”

By now, one tear had led to another, and he was no longer wiping them away. His eyes red, his cheeks drowning. 

Unable to keep swallowing the lump in my own throat, I abandon all control over my own emotions, and my own eyes spill over with tears. 

“You could have told me” my voice scrapes out of my throat “You could have told me what was happening”

He shakes his head “I wanted to protect you, and I had to break you in order to do that. And I’m so fucking sorry” 

The feeling comes again, where I’m certain I should be screaming at him right now. Cursing him for everything he put me through. 

But I can’t. After all this time, after everything. I just can’t. 

I still love him. 

My small, shaking hand glides across the top of the dining table, and lays gently over the top of his. 

Of course it did. We’re like magnets, him and I. We’ve never been able to keep away from each other. 

My touch has an immediate effect on him, as his breathing begins to calm.

But in an unexpected turn, he holds my hand and brings it up to his lips. His eyes close as he places a kiss on the back of my hand, and then another one on the soft, sensitive skin of my inner wrist. 

This is something we used to do all the time, and right now, it’s like he doesn’t realise what he’s doing. Muscle memory takes over. 

“You’re fucking stupid Michael Grey” I sniffle “I should hate you. I should fucking hate you” 

“Do you?” He asks, still holding onto my hand like it’s his only lifeline. 

I stare back at him for a moment, before I feel my head start to shake in response.

“Never” 

I feel a pull on my arm, as I realise he’s pulling my closer to him. 

And I don’t resist. 

Our bodies creep closer, slowly then all at once as we collide. His arms wrap around me fiercely, engulfing me. My arms wrap around his torso, and I make no mistakes about holding him tight. 

It’s almost crushing, suffocating, the way we are clinging onto one another. 

I can’t breathe, or cry, or laugh. I can’t move. And I don’t want to. 

His hand holds the back of my head, and I bury it into the crook of his neck. 

“I’m so sorry” he apologises, his voice muffled as his face presses into my skin “I’m so fucking sorry” 

I could have stayed like that forever, but he pulls back holding my face in his hands as he looks down at me.

“I love you” he begins, his breath tickling my face ���I don’t know if that’s okay with you, but I still love you. Izzy. I never stopped” 

I look up at him, our breaths slowing and steadying, until we’re breathing in synchronicity. 

“I still love you the same as the day I met you” I shake my head, but I can feel the smallest of smiles begin to creep onto my lips “I love you Michael” 

“Yeah?” He asks one more time, as if he doesn’t believe it yet. 

“Yes, you fucking idiot” I exhale a laugh, unable to stop the smile now “I love you”

He beams back down at me, his head lowering until his lips meet mine. 

He’s slow, this time. Unsure. Gentle. As if this moment might fall away and escape him if he makes one wrong move. 

But I can’t hold back any longer. 

I kiss him back, pressing my body even harder against his, which I hadn’t thought was possible. 

I expect a ravenous kiss to follow, for clothes to start falling off our bodies and to gravitate our way towards my bedroom.

But after he returns a tender kiss, he pulls away. 

“Wait” he breathes

“You okay?” I pant, biting down on my lip. 

“Can we wait…” he whispers nervously “I don’t want you to think this is all I want. I just want to talk to you. Stay up all night talking like we used to. God I missed you so much”

My chest warms up, as I realise he really means it. That he doesn’t want me to get the wrong impression. That he missed my body, but more than that, he missed me. 

“Of course” I coo “I would like that” 

He presses his lips to mine one last time, then plants a few soft kisses across my nose and cheeks. Just like he used to. 

We lead each other to the bedroom, and flop down next to each other, taking in the days events. And how the hell we ended up here. 

It doesn’t take long for the conversation to start, as we turn to face each other. 

He caresses my face the whole time, stroking my cheek with his thumb gently. 

It’s all so familiar, and right now in our little bubble, it’s like no time has passed between us at all. Like no hearts were ever broken. 

We talk for hours, neither of us ever feeling tired for a moment. We laugh, getting carried away and wrapped up in each others. Sometimes we cry. He apologises more times than I can keep count. We hold each other. Sometimes I want to ask him to pinch me, to make sure I’m not still concussed from earlier in the week and imagining all of this. That I’m not going to wake up and realise it wasn’t real. That he won’t be taken away from me again. 

We talk about how things used to be.

We talk about the future.

Eventually at some point in the early hours of the morning, once our voices are tired and we can’t keep our eyes open any longer, we fall asleep. 

When I wake, I’m alone, but next to me I can see the indent of where Michael had been next to me the night before.

My heart starts to race as I become more aware.

He’s left. He’s gone again. 

I’m almost carried away into a full panic attack, when something snaps me out of it. The sound of the radio coming from somewhere in the house.

Wondering if someone is here, or if I just left it on, I wrap myself in a robe and make my way into the heart of my apartment. 

And there he is. 

Fixing up breakfast, still in his clothes from the night before. Humming along to the radio. 

He doesn’t even realise I’m there for a few moments, and I’m glad I have some time to process this all to myself.

I had thought I’d never see this scene again. Maybe in my memories, but never in real life. 

Michael, in my kitchen, making us breakfast on a cold morning. 

My chest floods with warmth.

I didn’t realise how I felt like I had been holding my breath up until this moment, and how now I can finally exhale. 

“Morning” he greets me when I he catches me standing there out of the corner of his eye “Sorry, I just thought I’d make you some breakfast, or at least coffee” 

“Thank you” I smile, as I force myself to hurry up and adjust to the moment. 

“You still like your eggs the same?”

“Absolutely” I smile, endeared by him asking. 

He holds out a hand, and I take it, as he reels me in towards his body. 

“If this is too much just tell me” he says softly, checking in with where I’m at right now “Is this okay?” 

I can tell he’s still unsure. Unsure of whether I’m going to tell him to leave. To get out. That the mistakes are unforgivable and that we can never get it back. 

But the truth, that I can feel in my core, is that what we had never really left. 

I run a hand through his hair, and he closes his eyes briefly, taking in the sensation. 

“I think so” I nod, and he perks up, his eyes look hopeful and bright again “I thought you had left” I admit, revealing why I looked so startled just now.

“No chance” he shakes his head “I’m here. I’m yours”

And I believe him.

It’s a pivotal moment.

Standing on the edge and letting yourself jump. 

I know it will take time. And I know he will work every day to prove it to me. 

But I choose to trust him.

In whatever way that means right now.

I am his.

I always have been. And I always will.

TAGLIST

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[abiiors]

Limbo

for someone who adores hurt/comfort i don't write nearly enough of them.

vague descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks

wc: 2.2k

You’re stuck in a liminal space. 

The airport is bustling and empty at the same time, people are loud and quiet. The lights around you are too strong, too bright. Spanish conversations fly all around you and right through you.

Your stay in Mexico has come to an end. 

Stay…as if it was any more than 24 hours. 

You don’t know how long you haven’t blinked in; your eyes burn, your head throbs in rhythm with the bouncing of your knees. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time. 

‘Coffee, love?’ Adam towers over you, extending the second styrofoam cup in his hands toward you. He looks just as exhausted as you feel; the bags under his eyes are purple and pronounced, his shoulders look droopy like he can’t wait to just crumble into himself. And it makes sense. The boys (and you by extension) have travelled practically all across South America in a matter of days. And between all the performances and the heat, you feel like you haven’t gotten any real sleep in at least a month.

‘Thanks,’ you accept it gratefully. Your third cup for the evening, should you even be drinking it? It doesn’t matter because it’s nice to have your hands and mouth occupied. If nothing else, the coffee might make the pounding headache go away. 

Unfortunately, it does no such thing because it’s just weak bean water. Both you and Adam sit side by side, not talking and barely even interacting. You want to ask him where your boyfriend is along with the rest of your friends. Matty and Polly have long since curled up on some of the reclining chairs, you suspect Ross and George are off for a smoke with the others. And that leaves you with Adam who’s on the brink of falling asleep himself. 

One more hour till boarding starts.

You try to close your eyes, try to get at least an hour of broken sleep but the weird rhythm of your heart won't let you relax. So instead you go back to staring at nothing and bouncing your knee up and down. The ebb and flow of the pounding in your head is the only constant companion.

—

Ross’s hand is warm on your back as he guides you to your seat. Your entire body feels heavy; heavier than it has felt all day. There’s pressure on your chest and the out-of-rhythm beat of your heart doesn’t help matters. 

His eyes are already fluttering shut even while he stands upright. The rest of the boys are in no different state and your heart breaks for them. So you can’t exactly blame Ross when he passes out as soon as he gets into his sit. His massive body is sprawled out, legs stretched out as much as his seat allows him to. There are tired lines on his face; it has been a long month, longer still for you because you haven’t been able to sleep properly in the last few days and now as you prepare yourself for a 38 hour long journey, you regret not getting proper rest. 

Nothing that can be done now, unfortunately. 

The cabin crew do their usual safety demonstrations that barely anyone pays attention to and the plane starts to taxi. 

The thought of being stuck in the air like this for hours upon hours before going through the whole process all over again for the connecting flight is absolutely terrifying. Just thinking about it deepens the pit in your gut and now with almost everyone around you passed out from exhaustion, there’s no one who will stay up with you to calm you down. 

The plane tilts as the front wheels lift up. You’ve never been one to be scared of flying, it’s usually a very normal, generic experience but the shit combination of exhaustion and anxiety and panic has your stomach churning. 

So you dash to the bathroom as soon as the seatbelt sign is off. 

The weak, disgusting coffee from before sloshes in your stomach along with the remnants of whatever pathetic dinner you had the night before (a panini? Some pasta? You can’t exactly remember). You kneel in front of the toilet, waiting for something to come up but the only thing that’s constant is the hum of the plane and the thudding of your heart. And then the tears begin. 

This is so pathetic, so so childish and immature. Everyone has had the same rough few days, the band more so than the others. And yet the only person currently crying in the bathroom is you. 

With renewed annoyance, you roughly wipe at your eyes and your nose with your sleeve. You just need to wash your face and get some sleep. You just need to suck it up and deal with it. Yet the panic and nausea don’t subside. 

After a while the disgusting reality of being sat on the floor hits and you scramble fast to close the lid and sit on it. There’s no way you can face your friends right now and on the off chance that anyone is awake at this point, you don’t want to explain why you can’t seem to get a deep enough breath. So you just grip the sink tightly and fight to get things under control. 

Which is how Adam walks in on you in the bathroom sobbing your eyes out. 

There’s the initial shock and the apologies that follow when he thinks he’s just walked in on you on the toilet. But it only takes him a second to realise that’s not the case. That you’re in here hiding from the rest of them. 

‘Hey…’ he speaks gently and tries to crouch in front of you but the bathroom barely has space for it. ‘Love, what’s the matter?’

‘I don’t—sorry,’ you sob out as you try to maintain some control, ‘sorry, I’m okay, I’m fine. Just give me a minute.’

He buys none of it. Mostly because he’s not stupid enough to believe you’re fine while you’re sobbing your eyes out right in front of him. 

‘Do you want me to call Ross—’

‘No, don’t!’ you burst out, startling him a little bit. ‘I mean…he’s tired, you’re all tired. Don’t wake him up…’

Adam tuts in pity as your voice breaks on the last word. It’s so clear to him that you need your boyfriend but he knows you won’t put your needs before anyone else’s. That’s always been your best and your worst quality. 

‘You’re tired too,’ he points out and you can only shrug your shoulders. 

‘I just need to relax. I’ll get over it, Adam, I promise.’

He doesn’t look like he believes your watery smile for one minute but he nods once and closes the door on his way out. 

Left alone in the silence of the bathroom, your heart squeezes once again. You would have liked the company and now surrounded by the faint whirring of the plane, you can’t help but let more tears slip. Your breath comes out in sharp, short bursts as you try to get things under control. It’s only fourteen more hours, only fourteen more…if you could just breathe through it and close your eyes and just sleep a little…

‘Baby?’ 

Ross’s voice is soft and sleepy as he dwarfs the entrance to the bathroom. In his disoriented state, it takes him a good second to figure out the sight in front of him. Even after Adam woke him up and asked him to check on you, he didn’t realise it would be his bad. He didn’t expect to find you on the verge of a panic attack. 

He almost goes through the motions on autopilot; running to you and scooping you up in his arms while shushing you. If Adam couldn’t fit into the bathroom with you then there’s no way Ross can…and the door stays awkwardly open. Fortunately, your cries are a bit muffled by his shirt. 

Even his hand rubbing your back in soothing circles only does so much to calm you down until eventually, you feel Ross breathing deeply next to you. You know it’s his way of getting you to mirror him and it has worked countless times in the past. So you force yourself to try and match him. 

It goes just as expected at first; deep breaths that turn into panicked and choked gasps halfway through. And yet every time there’s a setback he shushes you and patiently starts all over again. His grip on your shoulders is gentle yet firm each time he takes an exaggerated breath and slowly but surely, your blurry vision starts to clear and the fist around your heart loosens its hold. 

‘Should we try going back to the seat?’ he searches your eyes for any more signs of an impending panic attack while he waits for an answer. When you nod, he wraps an arm around you and gently ushers you back to your seats. 

Once again you’re aware of how warm and loving his hand feels on your back, something that grounds you further before he hands you a bottle of water to sip on. 

‘Why didn’t you wake me up, love?’ his hand rests on your knee, fingers moving in soothing shapes that tickle and distract you from the headache that’s intensifying. ‘Come on, talk to me.’

‘You were so tired…’ you confess in a small voice, ‘I didn’t want to be a bother…’

All he has to do is tut and give you a look before everything else comes spilling out. 

‘I don’t feel well,’ you admit to him like a child; shaking your head and biting your lip to stop it from wobbling. ‘I feel so anxious and tired and nauseous. Everything feels off, it’s like I’m so exhausted but I can’t sleep,’ another small sniffle, ‘I just want to sleep.’

He listens patiently until you’re done listing off everything that’s wrong. And at the moment, thirty thousand feet above in the air, it does rather seem like everything is wrong with the world. 

Except…except maybe when Ross moves his hands to gently comb your hair back. The last thing you see is a frown on his tired face before your eyes flutter shut. His fingers move through your hair again and again, nails gently scraping on your scalp, applying just the perfect amount of pressure. And for the first time in days, a sense of calm descends over you. 

‘That looks like it feels good, love,’ he whispers softly after a bit and you reply with a small hmm. Because it does feel absolutely magical. 

Maybe it’s not the ultimate cure for the anxiety you have been feeling but it’s certainly the best thing you’ve felt in the last few days. 

‘How about we try to sleep, yeah? I know you said you can’t but I'll play with your hair for a bit. Does that sound good?’

‘It does. But…’ you hesitate a bit, ‘you’re tired too. I don’t want you staying up for me.’

‘Who says I’m staying up?’ he replies instantly and pulls you into him as much as the reclining seat allows, ‘we are both taking a nap.’

‘Oh.’

He laughs a little at that. ‘Now unfortunately I can’t serenade you without getting dirty looks,’ he jokes, ‘but we can cuddle…well, as much as these seats allow us to.’

‘Oh you were planning on serenading me?’ you giggle lightly and immediately get shushed by someone in the back. That however makes you both erupt into silent laughter; shoulders shaking and hands pressed tightly to your mouths like children who have sneakily stayed up way past their bedtime. 

‘Okay okay,’ he takes a deep breath and presses a small kiss to the crown of your hair, ‘close your eyes and take a deep breath for me.’

You do as he says, relaxing a little more when a whiff of his (somehow still fresh) cologne hits you. The pressure of your chest lingers still but it’s nowhere near as prevalent as before and now you just feel stupid for not telling him sooner. 

But now is not the time to overthink and dwell on that as you finally, finally feel yourself getting sleepier and starting to yawn. You could cry with relief at how good it feels to have him play with your hair and to have him lull you to sleep. 

‘Ross?’

‘Hmm?’ he answers sleepily. 

‘Thank you. So so much.’

He’s quiet for a whole minute and if it weren’t for his moving fingers, you would have been sure that he’s fallen asleep. ‘I can think of a few ways you can thank me,’ he replies in a quiet, suggestive voice, ‘tomorrow.’

‘Oh my god, ROSS!’ you slap at his thigh which makes him burst out laughing for three whole seconds before you’re slapping your hand on his mouth. 

Another annoyed grumble. This time it’s undeniably George. 

‘I meant you could buy me dinner. It’s not my fault your mind’s in the gutter!’

You roll your eyes at him and snuggle into his chest once again. ‘Sure you did love, sure you did.’

[evita-shelby]

🕯

ohhh nice!

Florence:

Eva thinks she's taking too many risks considering if she ends up knowing or exposing too much too many people will get hurt(especially Finn) amd they would be forced to kill her. Eva is intrigued because journalists wind up dead in her country at that point in time(and now, political murders have never stopped in Mexico) and the Shelbys are going easy on her considering they would all hang for their crimes and Campbell would ensure Ada and Finn are also hurt horribly in the process. Eva also faces possible extradition to Mexico where she is wanted for sedition and at this point just needs Flo to quit writing about them. would absolutely break into Flo's apartment and steal her notes, typewriter and everything she's written so far before burning them in front of her for the greater good(ie she and the Shelbys not fucking dying) because she knows Florence has no idea what the consequences are for the people she is writing about.

Lydia: Eva absolutely adores kids, Lydia is no exception. volunteers to babysit any chance she gets because taking care of a five/six year old girl is not much different than taking care of her senile grandmother.

will dress in colors for her, if she ends up finally meeting Tommy(they crossed paths but Polly has not managed to successfully set them up together) through her Polly will make sure it is Tommy who drops her off and picks her up from Eva’s house.

[aevallare]

hi i don't know if this is too late but i just saw it and for the fic asks i would looooove to know 29, 76 (for kindred) and 77 (for gossamer) <333

it IS late, but i love to talk about myself :)

29. What’s your revision or editing process like?

imagine editing

i do a lot of it as i go. very much write a paragraph, edit, write another, etc. but when i'm writing fic, i don't edit too much. it's my day job. this is supposed to be my hobby. i don't want it to be work even though i do work hard.

76. Did you have any ideas that didn’t make the final cut of [Fanfic Name]? 

oh, tons lmao. the kindred dump doc is almost 50k words. highlights include:

Cazador was the vampire who killed Auri's mom

Auri eats brains to feed Polly, who otherwise would have no choice but to eat Auri's brain matter

Amar joins the gang in the Crimson Palace

Auri's mom is one of the souls trapped in the House of Hope

Halsin and Viv sleep with the drow twins

77. Do you have a favorite scene you’ve written from [Fanfic Name] story/chapter? 

oh far and away the scene where 38 asks astarion to kneel.

“And what would my most faithful servant ask of her master?” 38 raises an eyebrow. And she always does like to see just what he’ll let her get away with. “I do wonder what the great Vampire Ascendant looks like on his knees.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief; she expects him to refuse. 38’s leg is still slung up over the armrest of the throne he’d eviscerate anyone else for touching. He would refuse anyone else. But she’s not anyone else. 38 is the one he signed a contract with. She’s not his equal– But she’s the only person that even comes close.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Hi,

for your prompt request.

💻 angst for Austin. There was a short lived rumour he'd perform at the Oscars. I had this in my head for months, that he'd perform the in memoriam section (what Lenny Kravitz did this year). Maybe with the beautiful Elvis rendition of BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATER .

Obviously that's a daunting thing, so maybe some praise kink that leads to more at rehearsals? With whoever your comfortable with writing this but if live to read it with Polly Bennett his movement coach.

Xxx

Ohhhh, dearest Nonnie, did you give me a challenge! It took me a minute to try and get into Austin's head because I've never written him before, so thank you for your patience! 💖

I really ended up leaning into that praise kink, and this turned out waaay filthier than I intended, but 'twas where my muse took me lol. The Bridge Over Trouble Water lyrics actually were a bit of an inspiration, so the song appears more figuratively than literally. I hope it's okay that it ended up being so much smut vs. storyline, but it is Austin and Polly! Thank you for your request and I hope you enjoy, When Tears Are In Your Eyes, darlin'! 💋

TW: This is utterly filthy. Minors BE GONE! 18+ only! Really, there is so much SEXXX, but, like, in a sweet, subby Austin way. Panic attacks. Negative self-talk. PRAISE KINK--so much praise kink... Sub space? Not as edited as usual! Hopefully this isn't too much of a mess cuz I'm a little nervous about writing about Austin (and Polly!)...I'm definitely not an Austin expert 👀

When Tears Are in Your Eyes

The first time was a fluke. The panic before he’d had to go out and really perform as Elvis for the first time, for the ’68 Special section, was utterly paralyzing and he’d needed something or someone to break him out of his mind prison, someone telling him he was going to be okay, that he was going to do a great job, that he was good enough. Desperate times had called for desperate measures.

Baz and Olivia and even Catherine had tried help him shake his nerves, but no matter the massive amount of support and encouragement from them all, he was convinced there was no way he could do Elvis justice. That he would fail completely, not only tanking his own career, but also Baz’s, and disappoint millions of Elvis’ fans across the world in the process. To say he’d worked himself into a frenzy was an understatement.

When Polly came in, his amazing and fiery movement coach, he was convinced she wouldn’t be able to stave off this horror building inside him, this pure terror that he was a complete fraud. But they’d worked so many hours together, one on one, that she could sense something in him that he could not. When she’d embraced him and told him he was going to be alright, that everything would be fine, he almost broke into pieces at his friend’s words. He’d sniffled into her blonde hair, his Elvis makeup running, clutching at her like she was a life raft.

And then it had happened. As she whispered words of encouragement into the shell of his ear, praising the commitment he had to the role and how he was already doing Elvis’ legacy proud, he’d felt it. Unfortunately, pressed up against her in that tight black leather suit, it didn’t take long for her to feel it, too.

He was totally mortified, of course, chalking it up to his anxiousness and heightened emotions, and it sent him into another kind of panic because Polly was his colleague and his friend and oh my god, he didn’t want to ruin any of that. Whimpering in her hair, he wanted to pull away and hide even more than he had before, but she just kept breathing praise into his ear. As if he wasn’t rock hard against her.

It hadn’t taken long for his body to go off the rails, his hips rolling into her ever so slightly, the friction of those damn pants coupled with what she was saying arousing him to the point of bursting. But she didn’t flinch or move away, she just kept her arms around him tight and let him grind and whimper into her.

It wasn’t enough. He was a sniveling mess, terrified of going out there and humiliating himself, and now he was insanely aroused, his mind starting to white out, and he needed release but the dry humping just wasn’t enough.

Somehow, she’d known exactly what he needed and for some unknown reason, hadn’t hesitated in the slightest in giving it to him. When she’d popped the button on the pants, unzipping him just enough to reach her tiny hand in, he’d nearly passed out from the way she’d groped his too-sensitive cock through his underwear.

“Doing such a good job for me, Aus, always doing so good for me. Always putting in your all. You’re gonna be perfect,” she’d whispered as she pumped him expertly. His mind went blank, hearing nothing but her praise, and he surrendered quickly. Shuddering violently, he crested and felt the hot spurts of his release coat the inside of his briefs.

“That’s it, let it go, Aus. Cumming so well,” she’d praised him, talking him through his orgasm, then released him with a genuine smile, pressing her forehead to his as he tried to regain his senses.

It wrecked him just enough to break him free of his anxiety. He’d gasped in both refraction and shock and Polly had just patted his cheek sweetly and handed him tissues to clean himself up, like there wasn’t something completely bonkers that happened between them. Like she hadn’t just jerked him off and successfully made him feel like he could go out there now and be Elvis. Like his confidence hadn’t been restored by the magic power of her words and her hand.

Things had happened so intensely and fast after that with filming that he’d barely had time to think on it. When he’d stripped out of the suit and his messed underwear later that night, he’d actually laughed, thinking of the story of how Elvis had orgasmed in his leather suit as well.

How very ‘method’ of me, he’d thought with a chuckle.

He’d also been confused and embarrassed, but Polly acted like nothing strange had occurred at all. No lingering glances or silly winks. No uncomfortable silences or awkward words. Business as usual.

So, he’d moved on. It was a fluke. A moment of weakness.

Except now, backstage during rehearsals for the Oscars, he finds himself in that same completely panicked headspace for the first time since the ’68 Special. His agent had somehow convinced him to agree to singing “Bridge Over Troubled Water” during the “In Memorial” section of the show. But that was months ago, before he was exhausted from all the award shows and press and schmoozing and the traveling across continents, all the while trying not to let his grief for Lisa Marie (and the residual grief it triggered about his mom) consume him.

He is terrified. Stomach churning and palms sweating, he shakes all over, a leftover effect of those pieces of Elvis still lingering within him. Singing in front of people was never something he’d been able to do until Elvis. But even then, he’d been playing a character. It was so much more vulnerable to get out there singing as himself. In front of a room filled with the biggest names in Hollywood, in front of his heroes, and for millions on live television, no less.

No pressure or anything.

Sure, they’d convinced him to sing briefly on SNL, but that was still under the guise of Elvis and it had been only a small part of the farewell for Cecily, the focus being on her, not just him. He’d been nervous, to be sure, but it had been different. Not this. Nothing like this.

Of course, he knows the song in his sleep, it being one of his favorites to listen to while prepping for Elvis. But as much as the critics and the world loved his performance, and as much as he tries to draw upon the superstar’s confidence, he is not Elvis Presley.

His shallow and quick breaths as he waits for his turn to rehearse makes him think that he might pass out if he keeps freaking out at this rate. Forcing himself to breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, part of the dynamic breathwork he’d learned, he manages to keep from ending up on the floor. But his mind is still whirling and his stomach is churning.

You idiot, you’re just gonna go out there and embarrass yourself in front of everyone you admire. What a failure you’ll be, his inner critic berates him. Stupid fucking fool.

He can’t do this. There’s no way in hell.

Austin feels the tears prick in his eyes. Oh, good, now I’m gonna cry, too. Perfect.

It’s then that he feels the small arms encircle his waist and he knows.

He knows it’s her.

He’s not sure how Pol managed to get backstage—the security is insane—but like a miracle, she’s here. “Come on, Aus. You’re going to be okay,” she says quietly.

Gently, she pulls him back, back, back through the wings of the stage, whispering words along the way (“You can do this, hun, and will do it well. I know you will.”) and into an empty dressing room. He follows more than willingly, letting the tears free fall down his cheeks now.

He finds himself in that strange little space again where all he hears and wants and needs is her, her reassurances and praises, and she gives them liberally.

Polly gently pushes him into the room, closing the door and engaging the lock behind her. His brain is overloaded, his body buzzing with anxiety, but her words leave him wanting and he feels his cock twitch in his pants. All rational thought is abandoned, his body beginning to take over, and he doesn’t have the strength to hold himself back.

Austin steps into her, pressing her back against the door, nuzzling his head down into her neck. She lets him, her hands running softly, comfortingly, through his hair, causing a low moan to escape his lips.

“I-I-I need…please…” he begs through hiccupping little sobs.

“I know, shh, I know.”

Then, she proceeds to murmur at him all the ways he is good and talented and true. He can’t help rolling his now-aching cock into her belly, but she does not falter.

The sensations are all too much this time, even more than the first time, and he is running his hand up her bare leg and under her skirt before his mind even registers what he’s trying to do, all the lines he is going to cross. Because he has to do something, something he knows he’s good at, something he knows he won’t fail.

And by the little squeak that turns into a mewl when he reaches the apex between her thighs, the thin cotton covering her warm little sex, he knows he’s right. Slipping his fingers under, he runs them through her already dampening folds and up to circle the sensitive nub at the top.

“T-this o-okay?” he stutters out, needing to know he’s doing right by her.

“Yes, Aus, that’s perfect, oh god,” she moans breathlessly in his ear.

The praise fully short-circuits his brain, sending him into that white space where his career expectations and fears don’t touch him like they did before.

Please, please, please…is all he thinks and he realizes eventually that he’s panting it out loud, ignoring the straining in his pants because he wants to get her off, he needs to please her, and if he does, everything will somehow be okay.

He slides his fingers down through her softness, and finding her wet and ready for him, turns her around to face the door and slides two fingers into her heat, his thumb working circles on her clit. Pumping, his fingers search for that spongy spot, the one he thinks will make her keen and pleased, and when he finds it, he curls his fingertips into it.

“That’s it…just like that,” she pants, then she bucks back, her ample ass giving him some much-needed friction. The sensation is almost too much, causing him to press her into the door, his throbbing erection making him desperate.

“Oh, my good, good boy. Oh god. Oh g-god, Aus, you’re gonna make me cum,” she chokes out and it’s music to his ears, this approval and proof of his goodness. “That’s p-perfect, you’re perfect!”

Her cry couples the fluttering of her walls and the dam breaks, arousal flooding onto his hand. But her release sends his body into overdrive, and he pulls his fingers out of her, leaving her moaning. Frantically, he pulls her soaked panties down her legs and unbuckles his pants, letting them slide down and free his cock.

“Please, I-I-I…can I?” he whimpers at her.

She nods. “Yes, yes!”

He is in shambles. It only takes a second before he’s rubbing his cock between her legs, coating himself in her slick, and they both moan at the sensation.

Going into that white space, the one he only gets to when with her, all he can think is please, please, I need, I need, and it causes him to rush a little. He pushes up into her comforting and plush folds, meeting a little resistance on the way because he’s thick and she’s small but oh god, she’s so tight around him.

Through the hazy fog of his brain, he hears her pretty little gasps as she adjusts to his girth, but when he bottoms out in her wet heat, it feels too good and a fresh panic hits him. This awareness of what he is doing to her—spearing her and splitting her in two—and the thought that he might be doing it wrong or hurting her in some way has him sobbing, “Pol,” as he clutches at her waist.

“It’s okay, you’re perfect, Aus,” she moans, encouraging him. “Now move those hips, just like I taught you.”

Relief and fresh arousal floods over him. He knows this. He can do it in his sleep. Cock twitching inside her, he starts to move, rolling those narrow hips of his smoothly, precisely, just as he’d practiced for hours and hours prepping for Elvis.

Polly lets out a low, pleased groan as he does so, and it fills him with pleasure because he’s pleasing her, he’s doing it right. With each thrust, she coos at him words of praise and he eats them up like he’s starving. The terror and the trepidation are banished into the shadows, consumed by that white space, the space where he is perfect and good and doing everything just right.

He could stay here forever, surrounded by light and warmth and comfort, buried deep in his friend.

His smooth thrusts become pointed because the more she praises his work, the hotter he becomes, like he’s burning up from the inside in the best way possible. She writhes below him, pushing back into him, the sound of his balls slapping her weepy, perfect little cunt sending every ounce of blood straight into his dick.

One hand slams next to hers on the door, using it as leverage to pound into her. Deeper, need to be deeper, oh fuck, oh Jesus. The other grips desperately at her waist, anchoring himself to her so he doesn’t fly too far away into that glorious white space.

Her voice does that, too, her breathless sighs of, “Yes, yes, you’re doing so good, giving me that perfect cock so well, Aus,” are pushing him headlong to the brink.

Reaching around under her skirt, he finds her puffy clit and works it furiously, even in his blinding fog knowing he wants her to come over the edge with him. She keens and he pistons erratically at the sound.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be a good boy and come with me now, right Aus?” she pants, taking him like she was made to do so.

“Mhm,” is all he can manage, biting his lower lip and nodding. Heat floods him, overwhelming his senses as he fucks into her, needing every inch to remind him who he is. He begins to shudder when he feels her walls clench tighter around him.

“Oh, fuck, you’re g-gonna make me cum again, Aus! Oh, YES,” she moans, fluttering around him, and he shatters into little pieces right behind her.

He’s too far gone to pull out, selfishly claiming her and painting her walls white with his seed. Relishing in her warmth, he clings to her in his climax, not realizing the tears of relief streaming down his face.

Every ounce of tension in his body releases. The only sound in the room is their heavy breathing as they recover. She lets him linger inside her, seemingly aware of how far away he’s gone.

Eventually, the white space dims and he comes back into himself, sliding his softening cock out of her. He kisses her softly at the place where her neck meets her shoulder.

“I—Thank you,” he whispers, voice low and gravely, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to make her understand that she managed to banish his self-hating demons away right when he needed her.

She turns around and pulls his head down, pressing her lips to his forehead. “Anything for you, Aus.”

His now-relaxed body fills with warmth at that.

Finding a box of tissues, he grabs a clump, then falls reverently to his knees in front of her with the intent of cleaning her up. He pulls up the hem of her dress, revealing the short thatch of hair at the top of her pussy, worked swollen and red from him.

“You don’t have to do that, Aus,” she breathes. He can sense the blush in her voice, a modesty that was absent when she was trying to help him through his panic.

“Hush.” He taps her legs open and she relents quickly, unable to deny him. Pink and slick and bare to him, he looks up at her from below and adds, “You’re beautiful.”

She flushes pink and bashfully looks away.

His initial task to clean her abandoned, he watches in a kind of awe and pride the way his spent arousal, mixed with her own, leaks from her tight, little hole. He abandons the tissues on the floor. So entranced is he that he can’t stop himself from running his fingers through her folds and the slick.

She gasps from above, which quickly turns into a punctuated sigh when he leans forward and softly kisses her oversensitive nub. Fueled by her reaction and the deliciously musky taste of her on his lips, he flicks his tongue there.

She nearly doubles over, her hands flying into his sandy locks.

His body, still recovering from their sex, hums with pleasure. He laps at her again, and again. He can’t seem to help himself because she just makes him feel so good.

She shudders over him, trying to still his head. “Aus, I can’t,” she whines. This was obviously not part of her plan to calm him.

He smiles against her clit, then pulls back to watch as he uses two long fingers to push his dripping arousal back up into her tight heat.

The sound of her loud moan resonates in the small space as she falls back against the door, eyes closing with pleasure.

He holds there for a moment before he turns his attention back to her puffy, oversexed clit. Licking, sucking, and kissing it, he teases her. He works her into a frenzied, whimpering mess above him.

He pulls away briefly. “Am I doing good?” he asks with a hopeful little smile, still needing her approval. He scissors his fingers, sliding them in and out of her soaking and nearly-wrecked pussy.

All she can seem to do is nod frantically. That thrill of praise runs through him again.

Diving back in, he relishes the taste of her, of them, adding a third digit into her stretched hole. The noises are obscene, the squelching of their combined arousal filling the room as he fucks her relentlessly with his fingers. Her mewling whimpers let him know he’s still satisfying her. He can feel himself hardening again, but it’s an afterthought to her pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby, let me make you cum. Come on now,” he urges her.

Once he curls his fingers into that soft spot inside her and sucks on her nub just so, it doesn’t take long until she goes rigid and comes undone with a panting shudder. Again.

Austin strokes her through her climax then releases her with one last soft kiss to her mound. Then he finally uses those tissues to clean her gently. She shudders with overstimulation.

“You are too good, Austin Butler,” she gasps out.

“Promise?” he says, only half joking as they both put themselves back together.

Polly grabs him by the cheeks and stares directly into his big, blue eyes. “Aus, you are one of the best, most talented men I have ever known. Anything you choose to do, you give it your all. You will do well,” she says seriously. “Now, go out there and kick some ass for me, will you?” She smiles and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

He can’t help but grin from ear to ear, his doubts banished.

And even though he is nervous and emotional the night of the awards, he thinks of that sublime and calm white space where he is always good enough. And when he sings at the show, he gives it his all, knowing that Polly is watching.

[onyondump]

Sly Fox 

Part 2 of Infatuated

Arthur Shelby x M!Reader x Linda Shelby

WARNING! : Slight NSFW🚨 , Slight Angst, Harsh Language, None of the characters here are good people  

Synopsis : Arthur came home to a silent wife and a smiling fox

Note : Thank you for liking “Infatuated” and wanting a part 2 of it. Honestly I don’t even plan on continuing it, I just had a funny one liner I thought would be good to write a fic around it.

Infatuated | Masterlist

English is my second language, my grammar and writing is not good. Please don’t eat me

It was dinner time when Arthur finally arrived home from the Arrow House only drinking one glass of whiskey which came as a surprise to Tommy and John. It’s a huge progress from finishing two bottles of auburn liquid in a single day, all thanks to the day he met you. 

When he first met you he had broken your nose out of suspicion. A smile he can only attribute to that of a cunning fox was plastered across your face and your eyes that follow his every move he makes irks him into thinking  that you were some opportunistic hooligan mistakenly taking the high in adrenaline Arthur Shelby as his enemy. Much to his surprise you would come back to his club the next day with a bandaged nose with the same shit eating grin asking if he’d like a drink. He laughed of course at the thought of this stranger buying him a drink. At his own fookin bar? Nonetheless he accepted, curious of what he presumed to be a stupid stranger buying booze for his own assaulter.

You were full of surprise for him, enchanting him with your stories, jokes and wit that he couldn’t get enough talking to you, not realizing that the club was now empty and the warm morning sun greets their tired eyes. You would come to his club every night after your unspecified job just to talk with him over everything and nothing at the same time, building up your friendship and maybe something more. The last day of his supposed ‘three month work’ (his excuse to get away from Linda for a while) he finally confessed his feelings for you. He explained how you made him feel like his old self again, how the sound of screaming and booming of war became a far away echo since he met you, and also how his stomach and heart aches for something. In his honesty, he told you how much shame he feels loving another man but also that he might explode if he never told you how he feels. You took it slow, processing the information he had just given you, this was Arthur in his most bare. Admittedly you had only wanted to quell your curiosity for the gangster, maybe even enticing him to be your new customer. You hadn’t really expected to develop feelings for the man much less him reciprocating it. That same night you hold his hands gently as you kissed his thinly chapped lips in the dimly lit private room of his club. Arthur wanted to be a good man for you so he thought bringing you to his house would be a such good idea, it’s not but you could figure something out. 

‘I’m home luv” Arthur open the door to the house to his wife and his lover preparing dinner, instantly relieving him of the stressful environment of the Arrow House 

“Welcome home, Art. Billy’s with Polly so its only us adults in the house” Linda flinched at your response, not even replying to her husband which Arthur found odd. Usually she would scold him for being late but any chance Arthur gets for peace he’ll take it. 

Dinner was awkward. Arthur tried to sprung up a conversation only to be returned with his lover replying dryly and his wife avoiding even looking at him. He couldn’t help but be worried at what happened when he was gone. 

He retired himself to his shared bedroom excusing his tired old bones expecting Linda to follow suit in a couple of minutes so he could ask her in private, not wanting to subject you to any of the fighting. Tiredness from the long drive got the better of him and he fell asleep waiting for Linda to enter their room. 

The sound of shattering glass woke him up, half asleep Arthur grabbed his gun he keeps in his side drawer. Even when life has gone soft on him he still needs to protect the ones he loves. As he ran to the living room expecting an intruder as he pointed the gun at the sounds of gasps and moaning. Wait! Moaning? Fully awake he realized that he’s pointing the gun to his lovers head

“How was your nap Arthy?” the ever distinct foxlike grin on your face “Care to join us?” Only then did Arthur realize what he’s witnessing. His wife was on your lap with her skirt hiked up revealing her bare wet cunt rubbing on your thighs and you naked with a face covered in his wife's favorite color of lipstick, Coral. 

“What The Fook IS GOING ON HERE!” his horse screamed echo’s through the vast and lonely land he purchased for Linda. Betrayal was the first thing he felt, forcefully separating both of them from each other. He was a good man! He doesn't deserve this!

“He told me he fucked you! He told me that your three months of ‘work’ is spent fucking around at your satanic club” she barked back with an equal amount of emotion. She felt empty, the man that she sacrificed her perfect life to redeem went back to his old ways

“I gave you everything Linda! This fuckin house, this big ass land, the fuckin chickens. I cut off Tommy to be with you, I became a good man FOR YOU. I deserve to have some time away from your screaming” 

“You were a sack of sad shit when I met you. YOU were a child begging for his dead mommy to come and tell him he’s a good boy after snorting a whole bottle of satan’s seeds and now your bent. I deserve a better man than you!” 

A laugh escaped your mouth like you were watching some kind of circus act unfolding in front of you. What a conundrum to catch your partner cheating with the same man you were with, while both of you try to spin the story like they’re the good one in this situation. 

Of course it didn't go unnoticed by pot and kettle as their furious face snaps at you like dears realizing the fox has tricked them. 

“What the hell are you laughing at?” his voice softens when asking you, its almost unfair.

“Well for one, you're hard” you eyed his growing tent in his trousers which he tries to hide with his hands which really didn’t do much as both yours and Linda’s eyes had already preoccupied itself on the shape. 

Without warning you push both of them down into the sofa, “Second its funny that you two decided to cheat on the same person, me” you let off a small laugh 

“He cheated on me first” Linda’s pride in her righteousness is something to behold honestly. How she convinced herself that se had redeem the gangster is beyond ludicrous. 

“Now you're just being a kid Linda. You didn’t know that before you confessed to me earlier this morning. Talking about running away to the States like I’m some kind of prince charming here to save you from you big bad gangster husband” 

“YOU WHAT?!!” 

“Look! The truth will set you free eh? You're both lonely people that grew apart as the spark of your marriage dims down. So why not accept me as your new addition to your relationship? Besides you two can’t get enough of me anyway” sly as a fox everybody tells you

“That's immoral” “Your cocky ain't ya?” 

“Yea well what do you expect? you’ve both sinned so why not just dive into the deep end and enjoy the ride since your both still in this living room and haven’t beaten me out of your house yet” both of your legs moved between each of their thighs, dangerously close to their leaking arousals. 

“What do you say Lovers?”

[hallowood-hcs]

if polly, mort and yaretzi were in a noir detective film yaretzi would be the grizzled, hardy detective who sits with her feet propped up and her fedora carelessly tossed on the desk, absorbed in cleaning her revolver until polly, dressed to the nines, bursts into her office soaked from the rain outside, dramatically exclaiming ‘oh detective, you must help me find my husband’s killers!’. it’s very obvious that polly has killed his husband. yaretzi doesn’t care especially since he turns out to be quite good company. mort is the ineffectual, naïve muscle that polly hired for respectable bodyguard purposes. he’s a bit shit at it but he’s such a sweetie. the countess is a devastatingly attractive femme fatale who makes it her mission to seduce yaretzi. also in the process of typing this i’ve decided i’m probably going to write a fic for this. sorry for the absolute monster of an ask but i had a vision that had to be shared

this is all such a wonderful vision actually; i can already hear yaretzi’s noir detective inner monologue and how it’ll be consistently interrupted by polly, unimpressed but amused, and mort, unintentionally out of curiosity

would definitely look forward and make time to read this if you do write it!

[wr3nns]

Things I thought about after Watching and Dreaming, with no particular order. Much of this is pulled directly from my notes document

Hunters tv tropes page says Caleb is hinted to be albino

Lilith may have let Luz fall in Agony of a Witch if Eda hadn't sent Owlbert to catch her

Hunter relaxes slightly with everyone else at the beginning of For the Future when Luz says she's okay after coming out of the portal. He's relieved she's okay, even wrapped up in his own head as he is

Belos lights up the Titan's opposite eye from the one the Titan has lit. The Titan has a functioning left eye but a dim right one, and Belos lit the right one. King has a crack on the left side of his skull, Eda has a grey left eye, Luz has a scar over her left eyebrow. All of the Flapjack tattoos are on the left side except for Hunter's, which is where his sigil was (or is, if they had just started developing that technology and hadn't removed it yet)

The palistrom shortage was not only from Belos taking palismen, but also using the wood to make grimwalkers

Oh no did he ask Hunter to kill the Selkidomus because he expected this grimwalker to be the last and he wasn't giving himself room for failure. He needed to complete his mission, and failure wasn't an option if he couldn't make more grimwalkers. Because he had to have Caleb in the picture.

The fact that the show itself says point-blank that Belos is genuinely delusional and his goals are self-serving (through the Titan talking with Luz)

King never saw the room full of Titan skulls in Edge of the World, so he's seeing it for the first time in Watching and Dreaming

Luz's scene of standing and watching Belos melt while he tries to talk to her perfectly mirrors the scene of ghost Caleb standing and watching Belos melt while Belos tries to talk to him. They have the same expressions, angles, shots. And it's flipped. The scene is flipped. It's literally mirrored. And she has a similar hair thing going on. A fluffy hair noodle.

The speech Belos gave to Luz probably parallels how he tried to convince his brother

Luz's Titan magic orb is like the light glyph. King also had one when he yelled at Belos. Also Luz was zapping around like Hunter, the sound effect is even reminiscent

The parallels between Belos' skeletal form and the Titan's skeletal form

Waffle/s sitting on Hunter's head at the very end,,, feels familiar. No I'm not crying

Alador doesn't hunch anymore, and his belt has three symbols for each of his 3 kids

King finally got to play catch

Willow is definitely about to kiss Hunter in the Grom photo. Also look at his suit. Atrocious. Absolutely wretched. Perfect.

Green fungus vs red grass. Just. The colors in general there's so so so much going on there I have so many thoughts about it

Polly

The fact that Caleb's kindness and forgiveness did not work on Philip. Caleb hugged his brother even as Philip was corrupted and monstrous and it did not work. And the Collector ran into the same problem. Can you stop haunting the narrative for five minutes

Dana as a Hexside student cameo

The earrings exchange

The basilisks!!! At least two others survived!! And maybe reunited with Vee! This is excellent news

The airship with the abomination styled like the way Luz styled the Blight's household abomination to look like a cat

Dana signing Luz's writing scholarship. Luz getting a writing scholarship. Remember at the end of ASIAS when Lumity had the idea of their book club also being a writing club

Amity recognizing Luz quoting Azura in Covention (which Luz also outright states) but not saying anything. Imagine her inner dialogue, must have been so confusing

The kid who introduced sigil application way back when being the one to introduce the removal process. Good for him

Amity and Lilith have a good relationship. They were sort of like a mirror of Luz and Eda's mentor-mentee relationship such a long time ago, but less healthy. Now they're friends

Hunter gets all the family ties. Clearly a Noceda because of Thanks to Them, clearly a Deamonne from Watching and Dreaming, which also makes him a Blight, and he also gets Eberwolf with Darius because of course. If you include being a clone of Eda & Lilith's great-something grandfather AND being Luz's sister AND the fact that there may be a shared guardianship of Luz between Camila and Eda, which also includes Raine, he gets to be a Clawthorne, which also means he gets to be a Whispers. And let's not forget how he's obviously also a Park. If desired, for good measure, you can cite brotherly relation and tack on Porter as well. And don't forget the actual canon where he is adopted by the entire school as the resident cryptid

Hunter is literally a cryptid and I have been thinking about this for a very long time. I wish they got to talk about that more but they didn't, which means it's free real estate

The sheer amount of love and care baked into the finale. It's splendid. The hugs and kisses and words and actions and feelings

Eda and King both got mega evolutions. Then Luz did too

Making a stand against Belos at the site of the DOU. Paralleling prior shots, like looking over the Isles and talking about destiny, the parallels between Luz's Titan mega evolution vs Hunter's possession (there's quite a lot)

How they avoided the feeling of powercreep by keeping a lot of the actions very readable and down-to-earth. Even when they were fighting kaiju puritan with decay laser, there weren't world-shattering mega-powers. Everything was built on what we already understood. We got glyphs, we got Harpy mode and Beast mode and King's powers were heightened but they were still the same powers, we got Luz with her staff and Belos with his usual strategy, Raine fighting back in ways we already understood but also ways which meant more (like breaking their instrument). The archives collapsing and the Collector holding them up with ribbons while standing on the shooting star, we understand those powers because we saw them earlier, it made sense

While the archives start falling, Hunter zips toward Willow before stopping short when they stop falling. Hmmm now where have we seen something like that before. For reference I am talking about COTH

Amity finally using a glyph

Amity using vines, Willow using fire. That's the reversal of their usual things. Amity used the fire spell in Adventures in the Elements, that was tough for her. Willow's got plants down. Hunter using ice. Gus flying around and levitating

Hunter being able to save a palisman

Eda's absolutely MASSIVE smiles throughout

Magic coming from the heart, callback to The Intruder

The massive Titan heart in the throne room appearing way back when, and us all wondering about it, and it finally FINALLY came back with significance. Awesome

Luz burning away the rot before making an ice path to give her a clear shot at Belos. Utilizing the glyphs to their fullest, one after the other, super fast. She's become fluent in the Titan's language

Luz's confident speech to Belos paralleling her prior speeches in a moment of pure epicness as she annihilates him. And that's the last she ever says to him

The Collector crowning the Titan

The Titan acknowledging that he went after the wrong person

Everyone being so very gender

The Collector explaining "Hide and Seek" scene was just so. Intense. Them not understanding how mortals work. How empathy works. They're a young child who was raised by the wrong sort of people, they honestly didn't know any better. But that's when compassion comes in

The way the Collector flinched away from Amity paints a bad picture of the sorts of expectations he has

The Hexside kids are okay!!

Belos obviously tries one last Hail Mary, and Luz Is Not Having It

Did the rain come from Luz channeling the Titan's powers?

You can see scarring on Raine's arm. Almost matching Eda. And someone else we know. They should talk