#sharde thomas

[myvinylplaylist]

Samantha Fish: Belle Of The West (2018)

Ruf Records

[slack-wise]

Surface of a kidney stone.

Thomas Deerinck: image taken under SEM (scanning electron microscope)

[that-one-tired-tiefling]

Another one done.

Trigger warning: uncanny valley.

So, I'm still not done with all arts for DnD campaign that are necessary for the main plotline to properly kick-off. I mean, of course, shards of broken god that are inspired by Thomas Sanders's YT show, Sanders Sides. Today we have - Virginia, the shard of fear.

In her mortal form, she is just a small, very young black tabaxi girl, around 6, maybe 7 years old. Her abilites resolve around striking fear in hearts of her opponents, making them see and experience their biggest nightmares and deepest fears. She also has some sort of clairvoyance, when she can randomy see evets that are either happening or about to happen, in her dreams. Those are always connected to her and/or other shards.

Her god form, however... welp. I initially wanted to make a mix of spider momnster with gaping mouth reminding a puppet, but after struggles and some soul-searching I decided to just go uncanny valley route. It scares the living shit out of me, so draing it was a nightmare for me as well. I can't draw realistically, so I used general photos of human eyes and human teeth, so it's even worse.

Hopefully, this post is already long enough that you'd have to unroll it to see the rest of the post and the photo, because I really don't want to jumpscare people.

So, behold - Virginia.

Not my best piece but I think it's good enough. And yes, the anatomy is supposed to suck.

And again, DeeSkakuna is one of nick furry nicks.

[mycological-mariner]

Happy (late) Christmas, I found the Trafalgar sketch

[whoviandoodler]

[Image description: a digital drawing of Thomas from Transatlantic holding Varian's hand and kissing his fingers while crying. We only see Thomas's face and their two hands covered in dripping blood. Behind them are black shards with designery red eyes on them. The pieces is coloured in desaturated blues with red accents. End description.]

We all have blood on our hands.

[jimmybramlett]

I Need More Perversion

I didn’t read as many books as I wanted to this year. I always have this illusion that I will be that pretentious motherfucker who just reads and reads and reads and will be really fucking insufferable about it. But no. For the most part it was me trying to hide myself from the world while watching stupid Youtube videos. As always. Yup.  But I did manage to complete two books I had always wanted…

[saintmuses]

❝𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙮𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙮 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙣❞

Pairing:

Soft!dark!Thomas Shelby x Ada’s BSF!Reader

Summary:

Thomas was alone in his office with his thoughts, his regrets and desires after the night she was gone.

Warning(s): brief sexual themes. Tommy being down bad and obsessed with Reader. flashback in italics. Hints of violence. Minors, dni! Note: this is a mini series, so there will be one more part.

Word Count: 1.1k

It started out in the small kitchen after he came home from the war under the watchful eyes of his, the feeling that sent electroshock waves to his heart when she sat at the table as he came in.

It festered in the narrowed hallway after she left Ada’s room when there was no room for them to pass each other without brushing.

His obsession with her didn’t start small. It engulfed him like trees engulfed in flames, like wildfires. He watched her from afar, wanting and loving her from afar whenever he could. 

Then it became all too much the more sunrises and sunsets passed, his hands used to be the sole company of his cock in the middle of the night.

The sun was dimming below the horizon when he knew that it was Isiah when he knocked on the door quietly.

That was his signature knock, and based on the time that chimed on the grandfather clock, it was time for their meeting.

“Enter,” he called out, a soft thud was heard setting aside the glass tumbler on the ordinated desk he was nursing his emotions with. “What do you have?”

When he found out she had left while the streets were silent a night ago because his men reported back to him that she had brought the luggage with her into the vehicle.

That was when he knew, even though he did not have any evidence, but his instincts were rarely wrong.

Anyone who was a beggar in the streets would find remnants of broken shards of glass he had shattered that night.

“I found her, sir.” 

He raised his eyebrow, beckoning Isiah to continue with his statement.

“I was able to trace her to London. They stopped by a church,” he swallowed down the poisonous emotion at the mention of church. Isiah noticed it, but continued. “The preacher caved after I showed him a wad of money…” he trailed off, leaving the implication in the air.

They eloped.

There was a tic in his jaw, anger simmering in his veins, but he made sure to keep his expression empty. “Where is she at?”

“At Eden Club.” 

Of course, she thought he would stay away from his enemies’ territories unless he had a plan. Well, he had a plan and it involved her.

“Thank you, Isiah.” He said curtly.

“I’ll leave you to it.” With that, Isiah turned on his heels and walked out of his office. 

He waited until the door was closed with a soft thud before lifting the tumbler and chucked it against the wall with a curse under his breath.

Even when she was running, she could not escape from him forever.

He made an easy call, not expecting the foundation to crumble so quickly, so soon the moment she stormed into his office with ferocity in her gaze.

He had no intention of scaring her, making her realize that her best friend’s brother hadn’t seen her as Ada’s friend, instead he saw her as a woman. He hadn’t expected things to get out of hand so quickly, especially when his primal desire was to touch her in any way, the distance he permitted himself to have.

Fuck, even through the layers of clothing, her cunt felt glorious on the pad of his fingers and that noise that escaped from her throat sounded so…

Never he would’ve imagined that things would escalate.

Her husband was a threat to them, an obstacle that prevented him from being able to have her. All of her to himself. 

She was supposed to be by his side, not Edward’s. She was not supposed to be searching for a man especially when he was there, she was not supposed to use her husband as a reason why she refused to even see him.

It began to unravel whatever left of sanity he had.

And when all he had was sleepless nights induced war memories instead of having her, he drank those hours away with Irish whiskey held in a fancy crystal decanter that resided in his office. 

And if she was around, he never felt the need to drink more than his usual because he had her soothing his soul.

After what happened that day when she found out what he had done, he drank heavily since then because he could not get the look in her eyes out of his head.

Her glassy eyes welled up with tears that did not fall. The sight of them seared through him with pain because he never wanted to be the one to cause her pain, to be the reason why her beautiful eyes were holding a glint of devastating betrayal.

The stinginess of her tears meeting his heart, it was still throbbing, still aching, but all he could think about was he needed her to look at him. To only focus on him, ignore everything around her but him that was taking her away, that was keeping her away from him including herself.

He just wanted her to look at him.

Either way it would end up where they were at this moment.

He needed to remind her that she was his, no matter how far and how long they were apart. It still didn’t change the fact she was his until the end of time or whenever the world chose to burn. Whichever came first.

It had been a month since he had felt her lips despite he barely touched them with his and how he was bold in his approach with his touch. How he missed her. 

It had been a month since he had heard her voice since she ran out on him.

The moment he laid his eyes on her again in the kitchen two years ago, he knew she was more than the sun, the moon and all the stars in the universe.

And his brothers and his sister remained oblivious to what had just transcended in his soul. The longing to have her rose from nothing and it seared him like celestial fire branding him, marked him to love someone like her until death was ready to knock on his door.

Even at the risk of losing it all, he would not let that stop him. After all, he was a gambling man. He may have been selfish, but she was the only thing that kept him together. 

He closed his eyes.

“Oh.” Her eyes lit up. “Welcome home, Tommy.” He swallowed thickly as she whispered, peering at him. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her beaming smile.

“Welcome home, indeed.” He murmured, looking down at her, unable to pull his gaze away.

The memory of her stirred a primal yearning within him, aching to be with her and keep her all to himself.

Opening his eyes, his hand already reaching for his weapon to place it in his holster.

He was going to remind her with a bullet in her husband’s brain, his upper lip curled in disgust and jealousy for the last time at the reference.

After all, time and tide wait for no man.

act i | ❝𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙡𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣❞

act ii | ❝𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙮𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙮 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙣❞

act iii | ❝𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙❞

[katskitoshi]

"CERTIFIED SOFT MOMENTS!" with the INAZUMANS from GENSHIN IMPACT.

synopsis: just some soft, sweet moments with some of the inazumans.

characters: ayaka, kuki, gorou, yoimiya, thoma, ayato, kazuha, and tomo (mostly separate) x gn!reader

includes: poly! kazutomo (i love them so you will too), sweet moments with some inazuma men and women!! ♡

--just watching ayaka dance. time seems to stop, the air seeming to cool around the two of you. she giggles nervously before slowly stepping into the water. drawing her fan out, she begins her angelic movements with little snowflakes and ice shards trailing her. your eyes follow her as she moves, love glazing them over. ayaka, your girlfriend, your future wife, seems so perfect in these moments that when your eyes meet, you can't draw them away -- and neither can she.

her dancing stops, but the world doesn't resume nor does the air warm. never breaking eye contact, ayaka slowly approaches you, and she takes your hand in her own. her usual ice-cold fingers feel so warm in your embrace. she leans in, then to your lips. a kiss that resumes time itself, warms the air, and sparks love once again between you.

--kuki, who rarely gets free-time from playing the gang's brain, finally finds comfort and relaxation with you. you take her to a secluded part of an inazuman forrest, where only you and her can exist. a little picnic is set up, all her favorite dishes and desserts presented before her on a soft blanket. when you show her, she's speechless, almost as if she doesn't like. perhaps you did to much? was it not enough? maybe she didn't like-

all the thoughts of what could have made her silent suddenly come to a close when her lips meet yours in a gentle moment. you hadn't even notice she'd taken off her mask. but since she did, you can see the clear smile on her face. "thank you so much for this, love. i guess you can really tell when i need a break." kuki begins to walk to the blanket, lowering herself on it before she pats the area besides her. "aren't you going to join me?"

--it's almost as if gorou is always busy or free, but never when you need him. he loves you dearly and always tries to make time for you but all his soldiers and kokomi work him like a dog. which is totally unfair! but you understand and try to help him out when you can. whether it's with his work, or a nice massage and meal when works done. he loves what you do for him, but gorou can't but feel guilty. he felt like he was the one working you! so, he decided to treat you to a nice night in the city once a festival rolls around.

each stand that catches your eye, he'll let you wander and stare as long as you want. and don't even think about pulling out your mora! gorou is sponsoring the whole night. any food or item you wish for he'll buy and carry for you. once the night is over, he'll drag you outside your little cottage and lay you down on the soft grass. you two can watch the twinkling stars, in silence or in conversation, but at some point gorou just turns to you and stares. the admiration in your eyes as he stares at the stars and the admiration in his eyes as he stares at his star.

--yoimiya who obviously brings you on dates to make, test, and watch her fireworks -- but also loves telling you stories during the process. she'll always bring you your favorite foods with a smile on her face as she drags you to some far off area from the village before gushing on about anything any everything. oh, did you see that butterfly? let her tell you a story she heard the other day about one she saw that was almost as beautiful as you!

just as you reach the mountaintop, the stars start to glimmer especially bright. yoimiya takes your hand and drags you close to the edge where she takes a seat and waits for you to accompany her. she sets the fireworks, and you two relish in the few silent moments before the loud booms start. crackles of [favorite color], red, orange, and pinks all explode against the dark sky.

your eyes focus on the fireworks, but yoimiya's eyes focus on you. she couldn't look away if she wanted too. of course the fireworks are beautiful, but your beauty alone surpasses anything she could make. yoimiya kisses your cheek and smiles before pulling your head to rest on her shoulders. the night quiets around you, the crackles and booms of the fireworks make a lovely melody in the background to aid the picture perfect moment yoimiya and you have created.

--the life of a nobleman's retainer seems to never come to a halt, but thoma will always put work to a pause for you. one day, he'll bring you out to the komore teahouse. taroumaru will greet you with loving barks before he leads you to a secluded room of the teahouse, where thoma awaits you. a shy smile is etched on his lips, and the table before him is covered in an abundance of dishes that makes your mouth water. as you take your seat across him, thoma thanks you for coming and tells you to help yourself.

as the night advances, his initial nervousness melts away. he'll start a conversation on just about anything; the weird odd jobs he's been doing, disputes he's resolved, even little secrets he's never thought to tell anyone! when he's with you, he stops being a retainer or the fixer, he just becomes thoma: your boyfriend. and he loves not having the additional weight of everything else on his shoulders.

--ayato never has free time but he'll sure as hell make some for his lover. perhaps you can join him in his office while he works for a bit? he'll let you rest your head on his lap, and if one of his hands are free, he'll even rub little shapes into your arm, or back, or whatever part of your body you'll let him. if you're not fancy to laying his head in his lap, perhaps you can sit on him instead. he won't mind. and, if that's also not to your liking, he's free to offer you to sit by him and let him rest his hand on your thigh. t

hese moments are sweet in itself, but this is just a little warm up for what he has planned later. once he's done working, he'll pick you up, and use one of his delicate gloved hands to cover your eyes as he leads you somewhere. soon enough, you're off the estate grounds and in the nearby forrest. he removes his hands from over your eyes, and behold: a tea party is set up. some sweets imported from across teyvat lay on the small table with

the finest inazuman tea already steamily brewed. off to the side there's a record player, playing some nice music the set the scene. still holding you, ayato gently places you in the seat across from his own, but does not seat himself. he notices you about to go for a pastry and dabs your hand away.

"allow me, darling." he grabbed the pastry you were going for and tilted your chin up with his other hand. "say, 'ahh~'" and you do, he places it in your mouth and you take a bite. his hand holding the pastry places it on the plate infant of you but he never lets go of your chin.

"ayato..?" "you have something right..." his pointer finger flicks a crumb off her cheek. and then he leans in and licks your lips before kissing you. ayato doesn't stop until you're nearly breathless. he chuckles as a string of saliva connects you before promptly snapping. he lets go and sits on his side on the table. "..there."

--besides for their travels, tomo and kazuha aren't ever that busy. with them, every moment is a soft moment. each mini cooking competition as the two compete for which of their dishes is best. each cuddle session, that started as a stargazing date. each time kazuha would write you a poem or make you a love letter and make tomo jealous. each time tomo would make a meal that puts master chefs and kazuha to shame, or plants and gives you flowers, or grooming and taking care of his cat, mimi. every moment was worth it with these two. even as tomo might not always be there because of each odd job he picks up. or kazuha might just take a moment to run off on his own. but at the end of the day, you all are together, and thats what matters.

[naurimastaur]

Seeing them for the first time, again

Summary: losing a lung and your friends to wkcd meant Gally had a pretty shit year. What’s the harm however, in seeing a familiar face?

Pairing: Gally (maze runner) x nb!reader

A/N: this is so cringe but I’m so obsessed with him Idc if this flops with the dying tmr fandom// also this is my first attempt at angst so go easy on me

———————————————————————

“Hey everybody relax, we’re all on the same side here,” Gally called out amongst the chaos. The faces of his old friends turning towards him in apprehension. The familiarity of his voice momentarily pausing their act of rebellion, the concealment of his face enhancing their confusion.

“What do you mean, we’re all on the same side? Who the hell are you?” Thomas, ever the skeptic, interrogated.

Gally’s eyes weren’t focused on him however, for lingering in the back was the reason he joined the right arm to begin with; y/n. Wretched and messy but all in one piece, they stood in front of him.

It was like seeing them for the first time, all over again.

———————————————————————

Gally had heard the familiar siren of the box’s arrival. He wasn’t remotely interested most of the time on seeing who came up with it. On this day however Gally had overworked himself, and the idea of joyfully revelling in a greenie’s newfound terror seemed like a treat.

Towering over the box he spotted a figure hiding amongst the supplies, crouched like a caged animal, eyes wild and ferocious. He had to admit his curiosity was peaked, most greenies were crying at this point. This one however had looked at him in rage, a hand lingered behind their back.

“Where the hell am I?” They snarled, chest slightly heaving, the only real indicator of their fear.

“Your new home,” Gally had replied, a sarcastic smile on his face. His gaze never left the greenie, whose eyes had regarded each and every teen boy in front of them with predatory caution.

“Why can’t I remember anything?” They questioned, eyes never focused on one person.

“All part of the glade’s charm,” Gally said, before he had reached out an arm for them to take. His admiration controlled his limbs before his brain did.

The greenie considered his offer before they had hauled themselves up, and bolted towards the maze doors. Gally hadn’t bothered to run after them, leaving the job to someone who actually cared like Newt. He had however returned his gaze to the supplies, noticing one of the crates was missing a shard of wood, no doubt a fault of the greenie’s.

He had to admit he was enamoured from that point onwards.

———————————————————————

Now they stood adjacent, mirroring their first encounter. Y/n was looking at him with rekindled fury, this time paired with their tainted memories. Their gally had died back in the maze, physically and figuratively. This version was a stranger; a defying act against fate.

The fire within them was awakening once again, where it was quieted by the nature of the glade, it now burned with the raw desire for revenge.

Their wrath was overcoming their joy. For where their heart was aching for the comfort of Gally, for the ease of his embrace, the overbearing rage was all-consuming.

Wkcd had taken Gally, that much they were certain of. This was a trick, a taunting illusion created from the depths of their imagination and wkcd’s tampering. Their time confined within wkcd’s laboratories meant they were forever trapped in their own mind, never knowing for certain what was real.

What was real was that there was a time when Gally had been theirs, when his company mellowed their temper and gave them faith. But those feelings had died with him, things were different now. They were both different; no longer two sides of the same coin but two puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit anymore.

( why did I write this cringe corny ass ending)

———————————————————————

A/n: might write a part 2 if I’m feeling silly. Also, why did I describe y/n so animalistic? Bc I’m so crazy and quirky and I can do what I want!!!! If you’d like to leave a request for any character for me to write, feel free I’m open to any! To my Weasley twin enthusiasts I will write them again don’t sweat it, I’m going through a phase<3

@thescrunkler despite you not being in a tmr phase, you’re getting tagged anyways x

[necroromantics]

🪓 — Teenagers. Ticci Toby

“you’re never gonna fit in much kid” / “make ‘em pay for the things that they did”

- toby rogers was an angry boy. angry at the world, at everyone. his rage was violent and loud, like his fathers was. it moved him.

- there was a biblical righteousness in his wrath, his calloused hands pridefully gripping the bloody axe as he stands tall over his pretty victim. what a mess he made. this was a typical scene for the boy, it was his desperate attempt at finding a sliver of control in his powerless life.

- one evening, he found himself mingling in a sketchy, broken down apartment with two familiar men he knew as tim wright and brian thomas, alongside some other faces he never cared to remember. it was the type of place heavy with past of brutality and crime. the type of place most normal people would be too scared to go near, fearing they would only become a victim to guys like him.

- though he was typically ignored in conversation, the rough boy forced himself into the world that constantly rejected him, intruding on any space he could. there was a loud, but subtle, desperate attempt to be something bigger than himself.

- volatility run coarse through him. for one moment he was sitting on a raggedy, stained old couch in the dank apartment living room chatting with his colleagues as they talked over beers, and the next he was storming angrily out of the building at a comment someone had made.

- he was always the runt of the group, the butt of a joke. the people around him would pick on him like predator to prey, and laughed as they watched him squirm between their teeth.

- when he left, slamming the front door behind him, the conversations and dark chatter continued on as normal. it was if he was never there, and nobody cared. there was a cruel indifference to the boys suffering, as god turns a blind eye.

- not until he returned with a metal baseball bat in his hand did they understand the extent of his rage. one look into his darkened eyes and they knew better than to try to restrain a rabid dog.

- with quick motion, he raised the bat up high and began smashing every bottle, window, tv screen and table in the room. he ignored the angry shouts for him to ‘calm the fuck down’ and to ‘put the fucking bat away’. he hit the weapon furiously at anything he could. “you think its fucking funny now?”

- sharp exhales escaped his grimacing mouth as his chest raised and fell in an attempt to catch his breath. he stood victorious amongst the destruction he had caused, shards of glass and splintered wood cluttered the dirty carpeted floor. through gritted teeth, he muttered “do not fuck with me”.

- the metal bat clattered to the ground as he let out a final frustrated sigh before taking his leave. he didn’t say another word. he had done enough.

[exactlycleverpirate]

This has been updated. See the new version here:

Part 1

Part 2

Really rough timeline from Xavier's perspective:

(Spoilers for main story, anecdotes, and character myths. I haven't finished the myths yet, so some things could change)

Xavier is born on Philos. Clearly someone important, as he is constantly under guard. Life is connected to the core of Philos, making him and most people on Philos immortal while the planet remains.

Xavier went to school with MC in year 214, which is 214 years after the destruction of earth. MC has a fatal heart condition.

MC gives him the star charm and dies in his arms. Xavier promises to seek her out in her future lives.

(Rafayel and Zayne's myths on Philos?)

Xavier meets MC again at a Philos Academy as knights in training, sometime near the end of Philos’ life as a planet. Jeremiah goes to the Academy too. Xavier is now a prince (was he from the start?), though he rejects the role. He has a trial in the forest that changes his attitude/demeanor noticeably.

The king dies, and Xavier disappears for about 200 years. MC and Xavier meet up again while investigating the suspicious forest full of Wanderers. Jeremiah is part of MC’s squad.

At some point MC becomes Queen and Xavier her knight.

Xavier leaves MC’s service, and she fakes his death, claiming he died with honors.

Timejump to the past.

1834 Xavier, Jeremiah, Isaiah, Noah, and others stranded on Earth (Part of a team called the Backtrackers? Were on a Backtrack mission when something went wrong in the Deepsace tunnel.)

2018 Xavier checks out a book in the library that MC will check out 30 years later.

2021 Zayne born Sept 5th.

2024 Rafayel born March 6th.

2026 MC born.

At some point in MC and Rafayel's childhood, she saves him and they makes a vow. Also, Rafayel is tricked and his people, the Lemurians, are slaughtered. Some few survivors go into hiding living on land among humans, including his Aunt Talia.

2032 Xavier joins Arthur's police team.

2033 That winter, Noah contacts Xavier for information to make a new identity. Noah mentions wanting to be an ordinary person in this timeline and that he fell in love. Xavier fakes his death as a police officer and encounters a lost little girl. Fights Isaiah in Linkon city in a fight that makes the whole city go dark.

2034 Deepspace tunnel appears and Chronorift Catastrophe (timespace anomaly in Linkon city). Lemurian ruins discovered. MC is 8, taken in by Grandma. Caleb is also adopted by Grandma. MC has protocore shards in her heart. Her first heart doctor is Dr. Noah. 12 year old Zayne loses control of his Evol at the end of summer and has a nightmare about the Grim Reaper for the first time.

Zayne spends 8 years in med school program (about 2037 (age 16?) to 2045 (age 24?)

2045 Xavier meets Arthur at his tombstone. (Zayne’s (age 24?) mission to the Arctic?)

Rafayel seeking revenge overseas, not painting. He then moves to Linkon city and resumes painting again.

Rafayel becomes a lecturer at Linkon University where MC is attending.

Thomas becomes Rafayel’s agent.

Zayne begins working at Akon hospital, eventually as MC’s doctor.

2048 Story begins. MC is about 22. Rafayel says he is 24. Zayne is 27. Xavier claims to be 23.

Thoughts? What am I missing? What did I get wrong? It's a lot to process.

[starglitterz]

serendipity. (x)

─── chapter 10 ! ~ a normal day at komore (until it wasn’t)

summary; when you, a waitress at the local coffee shop, are paired up with the new recruit scaramouche, you’re pretty sure both of you are going to get fired within a week. he’s just quit being a social media influencer and after being forced to work here to make ends meet, he’s ready to let everyone there know how much he hates it. the worst part? you can’t shake the feeling that you know him from somewhere. but as he slowly warms up to you, scaramouche realises that having a fresh start isn’t that bad after all, and perhaps the two of you meeting like this was pure serendipity.

a/n; new arc!! also i've been gone for a million years sorry 😭 life is just always on my ass for no reason, but hopefully i'll be able to finish this series soon hehehe, i wanna start a new one.

warning(s); none but i feel like the flow of the irl part is so abysmal it deserves its own warning LMFAO

previous.┃masterlist.┃next.

please reblog + comment ! it helps a lot :)

twitter #1 !

irl !

everything’s been going well today. the milkman delivered a couple extra bottles for free, a customer left an incredibly generous tip, and thoma perfected a new dessert. the day’s been going almost a little too well, but you don’t want to say it out loud for fear of jinxing it. it’s almost closing time, so thoma and yoimiya have already gone home too. maybe this could be the first time komore teahouse has an entirely uneventful day?! unfortunately for that dream, a second later you hear an easily recognisable shattering sound from where you’re cleaning out the storeroom – someone’s dropped a plate. sighing internally, you plaster on your best customer-service smile and grab the broom and dustpan before heading back out to sort out the mess.

the sight that greets you isn’t what you expected at all. scaramouche is standing opposite a tall, elegant woman dressed in a suit with neatly plaited purple hair, and the shards of the plate are scattered on the floor between them, almost like a line he’s daring her to cross. the woman’s eyes flicker with a myriad of emotions and she reaches out a hand, seemingly to cup his cheek, but scaramouche instantly slaps it away, fury evident in his gaze. hurt flashes across her face, and her voice trembles as she murmurs, “kuni-”. but before she can finish her sentence, scaramouche snarls, “fuck off.” “please, just hear me out,” she pleads, her indigo irises that look strangely familiar threatening to brim over with unshed tears. anger is practically radiating off of scaramouche, you’ve never seen him this upset – you’ve only seen his usual aloof facade. his fists are clenched, and his glare is so intense you swear it’s like he’s trying to strike lightning into the heart of the unknown woman as he spits, “you don’t get to just waltz back into my life after-” 

a piece of ceramic from the broken plate cracks under your foot as you step backwards, the sound almost deafening amidst the tension, and scaramouche’s head snaps to face you. for a moment, he looks so devastated that a strange urge to rush forward and comfort him almost overwhelms you, but then he conceals it behind a cold stare as he turns back to the woman, “i can’t do this right now.” with that, he walks out of the cafe, ignoring the way she winces as the door slams shut. with scaramouche gone, tears start to stream down the woman’s cheeks, and she buries her face in her palms as her shoulders shake with quiet sobs. tentatively stepping forward, you pat her back, “ma’am, are you alright?” as soon as the words slip out of your mouth you’re scolding yourself for asking such a stupid question – she obviously isn’t fine! thankfully, she inhales deeply before sighing, “no. but that isn’t your burden to carry.” unsure of what to do next, you settle for giving her an awkward smile before starting to sweep up the pieces of the plate. “i’ll compensate you for the plate, of course,” she says, placing a wad of cash on the counter, “i hope that makes up for the scene i caused.” “thank you…” you murmur, staring at the money and wondering how much this lady thinks plates cost, “and don’t worry, it was half scara’s fault too.” 

“scara?” her voice sounds strange when she utters his name, as if she’s testing how the name feels on her tongue, “is that what he goes by?” “yeah,” you look up at her as you finish sweeping, “he’s our newest barista.” “oh… good for him, then.” you can’t tell if she means it or not. “i’ll be taking my leave now, but i’ll be back soon. thank you for being so accommodating.” she continues, and you don’t dare look up until you hear the sound of the bell above the door signaling her exit. now what on earth was that about?

twitter #2 !

© starglitterz 2024. do not repost or modify in any way.

[marionluth]

[...] The room was just as he remembered it. Heavy velvet curtains, crimson Persian rugs, large carved wooden furniture. The marble fireplace in the center of the room looked like it hadn’t been lit in a long time. Alfred had placed a floral arrangement on it, and next to the large framed picture of Martha and Thomas Wayne was now a portrait of Bruce. Jason wondered if a framed picture of his own had ever stood on that mantle, then been taken down—maybe even smashed against the wall.

Several smaller framed photographs hung on the wall next to the fireplace—of Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Damian. In some, they posed together; in others, alone. A single centrally placed photo was of Jason, sitting in an armchair in this very room. He must have been fourteen at the time, engrossed in a book, his profile softly lit by the floor lamp next to him. Jason stared at it, and bile rose in his throat. He drew his fist back and slammed it against the frame. The glass shattered, shards raining down on the floor along with drops of blood. The frame and photograph remained on the wall, still hanging, his young self’s face now smeared with blood. He raised his fist again and slammed it down forcefully, time after time, targeting different photographs. He snarled and panted, breaking them one by one, tears carving trails down his cheeks without him realizing.

“Jason?”

He stilled at the sound of the voice echoing in the room, his fist hanging mid-air and his breath labored. It couldn’t be. It sounded like Bruce, but Bruce was dead. He’d seen the grave; he’d stood hidden in the shadows, watching the memorial from a distance. He’d broken every finger in his left hand that same night from repeatedly punching a wall. The shiny mahogany coffin flashed before his eyes, but it wasn’t Bruce’s—it was his own, and he was trying to smash it to get out. Panic rose inside him, and he slammed his hand on the frame, letting the pain pull him back to the here and now. No, no, he wasn’t buried, he wasn’t in the coffin; he just felt like he was because he was in the manor, and the manor was a grave of its own kind anyway.

He turned around slowly, searching for the source of the voice. His disoriented gaze landed on Dick. A flicker of movement somewhere on his right caught his eye, and Jason turned sharply, barely glimpsing a black shadow vanish as quickly as it had appeared. Or was it never there? Or was it still there, always had been? The room spun lightly, and his head hurt. Why did his head hurt so damn much?

“What are you doing here?” Dick asked. Jason winced at the sound of his voice, at how oddly familiar it was, even though he hadn’t spoken to him in three months, since the funeral. He stared at Dick, wondering if his brain was playing tricks on him or if Dick really looked that different, all hollow cheeks and tired eyes. [...]

From my new Whumptober story Broken frames on the wall (maybe we never really existed)

[artemisadore]

Hi, I'm currently working on a Catwin fake dating college AU loosely inspired by the song Mama's Broken Heart by Miranda Lambert. Here is an unedited snippet from the first chapter!

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"What in Heaven's name do you think you're doing?" Edwin asks, hands on his hips in the way Crystal says makes him look like a 'cunty British Karen.'

This, at last, startles the man into dropping the shard of glass onto the pavement with a clink. "Fuck!" he shouts as he jumps to his feet. "Can't a guy trash his fucking ex's car in peace?" He whirls on Edwin with the gracelessness of a man who is fully and utterly trashed.

Edwin, for some reason he cannot fathom, is startled by the man's appearance. The first thing he sees are black-lined eyes the color of honey, the golden hue almost glowing in the streetlight. From there, Edwin processes everything else all at once -- the running makeup, the unkempt curly hair, the knee-high stiletto boots with a missing heel, the all-black skin-tight outfit lined in what Edwin thinks might be feathers, the baseball bat discarded behind him.

Edwin has severely miscalculated, because the vandal is fucking gorgeous.

For all that Edwin has been assessing the stranger, he is being sized-up in equal measure. Revenge plot seemingly forgotten, a mischievous smile tugs at the corner of his wine-red lips. "Well hello there," he practically purrs. Edwin feels his treacherous cheeks heat up against his will. "My name is Thomas, but you can call me anything you like." Thomas does make a valiant effort in sauntering over to Edwin despite the crunching glass and missing heel, but Edwin holds out his hand firmly.

"Absolutely not," he quips. "I came out here to tell you to take your vandalism elsewhere, not to take part in whatever," he gestures vaguely with his hand, "this is."

If Thomas processes what Edwin is saying, he makes no indication of it. "Tall, posh, n' fucking British," he laughs, swaying a bit as he gets even closer. "What do I have to do to get into your bed tonight, handsome? Beg?"

[toms-cherry-trees]

Don't Hold My Hand (I'll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Ch. 1

Summary: Charlotte begins her new life at Arrow House, where things prove to be more daunting than she thought. The first bits of Tommy's past are uncovered

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Tommy being a violent insolent ass. Usage of period accurate ableist terms for a disabled person

Author's note: SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY! Life and health got in the way and I had a massive writer's block for this story. This one is more to law background for what is to come but I promise it will be worth! Next chapter is already on the works and I have it mostly laid out

Requested taglist: @call-sign-shark

《 Prev part - Next part 》

The clattering of broken porcelain disrupted the peacefulness of the Friday morning, the shards of white and the remnants of breakfast spread over the hand woven carpets. Thomas had launched the plate with masterful precision in what Charlotte could only describe as an adult sized temper tantrum akin to a spoiled toddler. The teacup had followed a similar fate, ruining the expensive fabrics furthermore. 

Charlotte had been working for a little over three weeks in Arrow House, and so far, things had progressed worse than she had originally anticipated. Enough to make her reconsider her vocation.

Thomas Shelby proved himself to be an almost unconquerable adversary, resisting tooth and nail every effort she made to help him in any way, shape or form. He refused aid in leaving the bed and dressing in the mornings, choosing instead to spend the best part of an hour struggling and cursing while Charlotte watched from the side, exasperated at his bullheadedness, but always within reach and ready to jump to his aid. He preferred his hair and beard to grow long and scruffy rather than allow her to give him a trim and shave; when Charlotte told him the castaway look didn’t suit him, he didn’t even cast a shadow of a smile. Any medicine served by her hand would be unjustly spilled or discarded, and even something as innocuous as a glass of water would be treated as if Thomas had been served poison straight from the bottle. She often had to sip or taste foods in front of him to prove she meant no harm.

That morning, he had refused to eat for the second day in a row, demanding to be served only whiskey or gin and his pack of cigarettes. He had been cross from the moment he woke up, all because Charlotte had laid his clothes on his bed within his reach to make it easier for him to dress unaided and grant him a piece of the independence he craved. She had even set a basin and cloth in a stool by the bed so he could have a morning wash to the best of his abilities.

Exhausted already with his mulish behaviour, she sat in front of him, ready to convince him by all means necessary, including force, to get him to have a bite. But no sooner had she sat next to him, he had flipped over the carefully arranged breakfast table, sending scrambled eggs and tea in every direction and destroying a most lovely set of blue crockery. Splatters of food stained the white apron and foresleeves of her uniform. A muscle ticked in her jaw, but she refrained herself from throttling Thomas and instead stood up slowly, hands laced and an amiable smile tugging at her lips, showcasing a patience that had begun to wear thin.

“You have to eat, Thomas” Charlotte spoke slowly, as if that way that man would somehow understand and change his attitude; but sooner would pigs fly than Thomas Shelby agreeing with anyone other than himself. He ought to be commanded on his determination to be obtuse. 

“And I said I don’t want to” He quipped, watching in near amusement as Charlotte dropped on hands and knees to gather the broken porcelain inside the empty water basin, using the cloth to protect her hands and wipe the food. She knew she could just call a maid in to do the dirty job, but back in the old days, nurses acted as caretakers, maids, cooks and everything in between. She didn’t see the point of calling a girl all the way from downstairs for so little; and besides, she didn’t want witnesses on her failure to control her patient, nor subject another innocent soul to undeserved wrath. 

“You need to eat to take your medicines, Thomas. Or you will ruin your stomach” The first couple of days he tried to force her to call him Mr. Shelby, but she quickly shot it down. Long gone were the days when she would have called him Sergeant Major Shelby and she would have been Nurse Tindall. They were Thomas and Charlotte, whether he approved or not. She would not give him even the slightless space to think himself superior to her in any way.

He waved his hand, dismissing her concerns as mere nuisances, as he did with every other thing she did for him. Thomas rejected the medicines daily, especially the pain medicines, but Charlotte knew better. Her sharp eye soon noticed how the liquid inside the bottles would remain the same and then suddenly drop a considerable amount overnight; Thomas didn’t retain enough usage of his legs to walk long distances unaided, but he surely had enough strength of body and mind to stagger towards the cabinet where she kept the vials and bottles. He drank his fill, even if he denied it, and surely more than he should.

“I’m not taking those fucking things” He snapped “Now get out of my room” He maneuvered the chair towards the doors leading to the veranda. If allowed to, any day he would move his bed and desk out there and just spend the rest of his days staring at the trees and the horses trotting in the paddocks, feeling the kiss of the sun in his skin and enjoying the breeze carrying scents of earth and trees. The first days, she offered Thomas many times to take him out for a walk in the gardens, or even take him to the paddocks; but he shot down every attempt with a ridiculing sneer and some less than kind words

Frustrated but not yet defeated, Charlotte tossed the last of the broken porcelain into the basin, perhaps with more strength than she should, and carried it downstairs towards the kitchens. As she descended the grand staircase, she made a conscious effort not to look at the paintings. For whenever she walked past them, she felt Mrs. Shelby’s penetrating gaze following her steps.

Her portrait outshone all the others, hanging front and centre overseeing the foyer. Blonde hair curled fashionably, clad in an emerald green frock with golden trimming and covered in jewels, from the impressive necklace to the heavy earrings hung with pearls. The frame stood as tall as two people, engraved mahogany wrapped in gold leaf. Her icon dominated the house, seen in multiple photographs and smaller paintings in every room. But none matched the opulence of that one, and none unnerved Charlotte as much. 

She had the portrait, but she didn’t have the person. In three weeks, not once had she come face to face with Mrs. Shelby. True, her duties limited her only to the second floor and occasionally the kitchen, but surely a wife would come to visit her husband every now and then? Charlotte never asked, as she had no reason nor true desire to know of her whereabouts, and simply assumed she was away, perhaps visiting family or on a trip to the new world.

But even then, it puzzled her to think she would leave behind her young son. Little Charlie, who lived his days surrounded by nannies since no one seemed to have time for him. Thomas seldom saw him; only when someone brought the toddler directly to him did he gift the boy some insipid paternal love in the form of a ruffle of the hair and a pinch of the cheek. These encounters distressed the boy, who pouted and whined most of the time, as if feeling himself endangered by Thomas’ presence. A child so isolated from his father he no longer recognised him as a source of safety. 

As Charlotte entered the kitchens, she came face to face with Mrs. Gray. The woman seldom left the house either, but unlike Thomas, for vastly different reasons. She spent her day, morning to bedtime, divided between meetings, phone calls, paperwork and more meetings. Arrow House housed the family’s race horses 

and she spoke daily with the trainers and the vet, as well as with a pudgy, bald man who came exclusively to deliver a foal. Men also came to the house, seeking to see Thomas but never making it pass the impenetrable barrier of his formidable aunt. They always spoke outside, as far as possible from prying ears, and left as swiftly and quietly as they came, more often than not pocketing paper envelopes or packing suitcases in the trunks of their cars. Charlotte never asked, having taught herself quickly to turn a blind eye to whatever happened under the roof that wasn’t supposed to. She had been hired to care for a man, not to keep tabs on the family affairs. 

But Charlotte suspected she also wanted to keep an eye on things, mostly on how Lottie and Thomas got along. It did not go unnoticed, how often Charlotte found her lingering outside the double doors or standing halfway through the grand staircase, always within earshot, but always with an excuse perched upon her lips should she be caught. Perhaps she just wanted to ensure Thomas behaved; or maybe stood at guard ready to catch Charlotte before she could flee the job in panic.

Now, she sat at the large wooden table sipping tea and nibbling biscuits, the newspaper spread in front of her. Despite her high status within the house, she could often be found having her meals downstairs alone, eating roasted goose and lamb chops and drinking oak aged whiskey while sitting on benches of coarse wood and warmed up by the cooking stove, her finely made clothes impregnating in the smell of smoke and onions. Charlotte knew the Shelbys had come bottom to top, but sometimes it appeared they hadn’t quite settled there comfortably. At least Mrs. Gray seemed to enjoy climbing down a few rungs in the ladder every now and then. 

Charlotte avoided eye contact with her at all costs as she fetched the garbage bin, her back turned to hide the basin from view as she tipped the food and shards inside. She tried to do it silently, but nothing could mask the unmistakable sound of broken porcelain and guilt. 

“He did it again?” Her voice broke through the silence, making Charlotte flinch instinctively, although the words only carried shame and tired exasperation, feelings shared by both women. Still she felt like a child, caught by her mother failing miserably at a task she promised she would accomplish easily.

She straightened her back and turned around oozing improvised confidence, smile never faltering as she faced her employer, the basin perched in her hands in a way that hid the porridge stains inside. No one would dare look at her and think that Thomas had slowly but steadily driven her to her wits’ end. No, they had to just take one look at her and immediately be assured that everything was perfect. She had to be the image of calm and composed, even when she just wanted to rip out her hair.

“Just a mishap, Mrs. Gray, nothing to be concerned with. I misplaced the tray and knocked it over when I stood. I promise it won’t happen again” The smile widened just enough to appear reassuring, perfectly matched with her soothing voice. She would sooner concoct a dozen lies than admit she might have found her match in the likes of Thomas Shelby. Charlotte was not foreign to difficult patients; men too prideful or obstinate to welcome help even at their lowest point. But they all bent the knee sooner or later. Everyone had a limit, a line that once crossed forced them to admit defeat. She just had to find Thomas’ line, wherever it drew. Surely no mortal man could be so obdurate.

The corner of Mrs. Gray’s lips rose in a half smirk, a glint of bemusement in her features; she knew liars and tricksters when she saw them, even if they only carried good intentions on their false words. She could smell them from fifty paces.

“You must have launched yourself from the seat then, since I could hear the plates crashing from down here. As if it flew across the room purposefully” Heat rose to Charlotte’s cheeks but she did not waver in her stance. Her lips parted to speak, but Mrs. Gray beat her to it, standing up and rummaging through the cupboards.

“Sit.” The order was spoken softly, but an order nonetheless. 

Lottie swallowed “There’s no need. I left Thomas alone and-”

“He can survive for fifteen minutes, and you look like you need a cup”

Defeated, and secretly glad to have a break, Charlotte abided, taking a seat and leaving the basin carefully hidden under the table. Soon a cup of tea steamed before her, Earl Grey with no milk and three sugars. She stirred it with the spoon tiredly, letting the metal heat up in her hand, but she couldn’t find it in her to bring it up to her lips as a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over her.

A comfortable silence lingered, broken only by the occasional servant who headed to the kitchen, but turned and left the second they saw the two women sitting there. Peering through her eyelashes, Charlotte noticed Mrs Gray didn’t even look in her direction, more focused on her breakfast and her newspaper, waiting for the younger woman to speak first. Lottie sipped her tea, hoping the soothing liquid would undo the knot she felt in her stomach every time she found herself in Mrs. Gray’s presence.

“He is difficult” She admitted, feeling like an officer admitting to the general that they had lost a battle. The battle, but not the war; she hadn’t sunk so low yet “And you warned me so, and I believed you because I saw it myself when I met him. But I thought he was just another veteran embittered with life that just needed the nudge in the right direction. I thought- “

“That you could help him” She completed the sentence with an understanding nod, as if she had seen the words written across Charlotte’s forehead. As if those piercing, dark eyes granted her the power to read others’ minds. And more than once, Lottie believed the Shelby matriarch possessed some skills that could only be described as magic or a sixth sense. She saw beyond the range of the normal eye, that much she could tell. And now the woman saw through Charlotte as easily as if she had been made of glass.

“But now he has proved to be more than you can chew'' The words didn’t come off as reproachful or taunting. Mrs. Gray didn’t seem to find joy in the admission of her defeat; rather she sounded empathic, as she could easily understand her plight. And she did, considering that she had been the one burdening the weight of her nephew’s care in between the cracks. Only she knew to a personal level the difficulties that came with caring for the ailing; worse even when they are your family.

Charlotte took a long sip, letting it soothe her nerves. Because if she freed her mouth to speak, she might say something she would regret; such as that maybe she overestimated her abilities for the job. Common sense told her that no amount of money could be worth being subjected to such treatment, but the sense of duty that pulled at her whenever she stared into Thomas’ eyes overpowered said logic. He had given all he had for the sake of duty, and Charlotte could not deprive him of the care she could provide him just because he behaved like an insufferable prick. 

“Has he always been like this?” The question left her mouth without permission. A question that had been circling in her head since the first day. War had changed them all, but such an attitude had to have a foundation. She had managed to rip out smiles from men who had been maimed, disfigured and ruined beyond help. Thomas only reciprocated her efforts by giving her the overwhelming desire to smack him around “I know he is angry, and he is entitled to it. But…” She shook her head “He is unlike anything I have met before”

“Tommy has that effect on people” Mrs Gray replied “He always had a special talent to be unsettling to others for various reasons. Even as a teenager. And he never withstood being seen as weak or defenceless.” She pushed aside the breakfast and newspaper to lean in closer to Charlotte, those deep eyes of hers fixed upon the young nurse.

“Before all of this happened, back when he was…normal” She grimaced at that word, and so did Charlotte. He was not abnormal, just different “He prided himself in dominating every room he stepped in. In the fear and respect he inspired on others. People looked at him and they lowered their eyes and shut their mouths. They moved out of his way when he walked and tipped their hats in his direction. No one spoke before he did. If he told a man to act like a dog, you can be damn sure that man would bark and wiggle his tail. No one went against him”

Mrs. Gray leaned back again, hands laced before her, her multiple rings making quiet sounds as she wrung her hands tightly “Having people looking down at him, seeing him as a broken and useless thing, it is something he cannot handle. As if all the power he once held slipped between his fingers like sand. So he overcompensates with his temper.If he cannot make you look up at him, he will make sure you feel inferior to him” The words resonated with Charlotte, and they made sense, in a sick way. If he could not tower over others, he could only diminish them to keep them under his foot. And he redoubled those efforts with Charlotte, who acted unwilling to bow her head.

“Is he the same with all his family? I mean, how does his wife stand him?” Another embarrassingly indiscreet question she didn’t mean to pronounce but could not be taken back now. Besides, the opportunity to sate her curiosity had presented itself so easily she could not let it go to waste. Whoever he had married, the poor woman had earned the key to the pearly gates for putting up with him. 

Mrs. Gray’s expression darkened, her lips downturning into a scowl and her shoulders tensing noticeably “She doesn’t. She didn’t” She sighed slowly, taking her sweet time to pick out a cigarette from the golden case “When his problems began, Tommy distanced himself from her. He refused to share her bed. You can imagine why” She took a long drag, exhaling the smoke through her nose as she stared at the wall behind Lottie “She didn’t try to bridge the gap; if anything, she made it bigger. I suppose when she said in sickness and in health before the altar, she hadn’t expected sickness to be like this. No respectable woman wants to be married to a cripple” Contempt and bitterness laced the words, her lips scrunched like she had tasted bile. 

“One day she left, as simply as that, fled in the night like a common criminal. Took the jewels and the money and boarded the first steamboat for America. Didn’t even think to take her son with her” Mrs. Gray spoke of the act with undeniable hatred; a hatred only a mother could muster, witnessing another mother abandoning her young child without a second look. 

The revelation shocked Charlotte, and a wave of sympathy flooded her suddenly. To lose the ability to walk, to lose his superiority, and also his wife? Even though it did not justify his actions entirely, it did allow him some slack. Any person in his position would harbour anger towards the world, but that didn’t mean he had to release it on every soul that crossed his path 

“What happened then?”

“Sent a lawyer to handle the divorce for her. I thought Tommy would fight her with everything he had, but he didn’t. He simply agreed to give his signature on the condition she left Charlie to him. And she did. Signed off her rights to her own baby for some American cock” She spat aside, as if riding herself of venom; as if speaking of that woman would be enough to poison her

Charlotte sat there baffled, still processing the information she had just received. To think that the woman whose face she stared at every day had abandoned her family, her husband and son, and yet her picture remained up there in the wall, in the place of honour like a venerable goddess. Tommy had given her the divorce to set her free, but he refused to let go of her memory. Out of love or to preserve it for their son she couldn’t tell. Pity crept into her, as much as she didn’t want to. It showed in her eyes and her face, in the way her posture dropped and how her hands lowered to her lap. 

“What a horrible thing” She lamented, her tone dropping an octave as she shook her head in disbelief “How could she do something like that?”

“Not many are willing to be a lifetime caretaker. You should know that better than most” She snuffed the cigarette on the table, leaving a little darkened mark along countless others, no doubt all of them of her own creation.

“Charlotte, there is a reason why I chose you to come instead of putting up an advertisement and letting candidates flock in like birds. You are resilient, I can tell just by the way you smile every morning at Thomas even when he yells and curses and breaks things at your feet. He is difficult and you are strong willed” The hint of a smirk returned to her face, a certain mischief glinting in her eyes “I know Thomas will eventually give in to you. Just give him more time” 

More time. How much more? She could only take so much, and even the most cheerful person in the kingdom would find themselves chipped away by constant berating and mistreatment. But she had made herself a promise, to pick up this lost cause and not drop it. Mrs. Gray counted on her and trusted her, otherwise she would not have made her privy to the secrets of Thomas’ life. And that pulling she felt, that unexplainable and irrepressible sense of protection she felt for him, whether he liked it or not.

She had never been one to believe in otherworldly things, but she knew, unconsciously, that she had been put in Thomas’ path for a reason. A duty she could not abandon. Because if she dropped his cause, there may be no one else to pick it up.

Charlotte finished her tea and took a deep breath. The conversation had renewed her vigour and boosted her confidence in the task ahead. She stood from the table and smoothed down her apron

“I won’t give up on him, Mrs. Gray. I know he needs help and I will be there for it, no matter how much he pushes me away”

Mrs. Gray smiled; not a smirk, but a sincere smile.

“Good to hear. He will need someone now more than ever”

That little bit puzzled Charlotte, her eyebrows furrowed and head slightly cocked to the left

“What do you mean by that?”

Mrs. Gray stood up, a new cigarette perched between two fingers. She let expectation build up as she went through the process of selecting a match from the box to light her cigarette

“A doctor is coming in a few days. A new therapist from London, expert in wounded veterans he says”

She flicked the butt of the cigarette with her nail, as if debating whether or not to continue.

“He thinks he can make Tommy walk again”

[puppetmaster13u]

@f4nd0m-fun here (I hope they allow us to ask with secondary blogs soon)

Just how wild do you like your Batfam cryptids? I've got ideas for days.

One is a wing fic where all the bats essentially end up half demon. Thomas and Martha make a deal with Alfred to help fix the city and clean up the curses and everything, and. Alfred asks for 'the souls of your descendants' at the point, not caring much for humanity but hoping to get ahead of those pesky demons in his soul collection (so and so said he has Constantine's soul but that's only a piece! What about a bunch of souls that have been tainted by the spirit of a city that has never had reason to hope? Now those are some rare and dark souls).

The Waynes were hoping he'd take their souls instead but he refuses (maybe they're too full of hope or something) but, over time, he grows attached and ends up giving Bruce a shard of his power, allowing him to transform into a demonic winged form based on an animal for his protection after his parents die. When he's young the form is a snowy owl, but once he come back and became Batman his wings have changed. Each of the babies is the same way. As Robin, they gain their baby wings, but, once they move to a new name, their wings evolve.

'The Demon's Head' isn't just a fancy title, the Al'ghul's are demon descended, so Damien is at least a quarter demon even at the beginning, but Alfred's power can't be passed genetically like they thought, so he was born grounded. In this, he shows up sooner, Talkia asking Jason to take Damien with him to his father since she knows her father will kill him for being wingless.

Tim, poor baby. He couldn't fly as Robin because his wings were a shattered mimicry of Jason's Robin wings. He felt like he was in the shadow of the previous Robin, making the 'replacement' nickname sting even more, but, eventually, he grows into the wings of a cardinal and learns to fly.

I'm not sure if Alfred marks Barbara as his person, but if not, maybe he regrets not doing so, thinking that she might not have ended up paralyzed if he'd given her power. But also she's not really considered a 'Wayne descendant' life the kids Bruce adopted, so he'd have to directly make the deal with her. Maybe he does this with Stephanie when she comes along, still thinking about how Barbara might've been better off with a deal. Also, he keeps trying to hold off on gathering their souls because he's grown attached. I figure he'd probably end up wanting to turn them into proper demons too tho when they eventually die but, for now, until the city has been restored (if it ever will be), the Batfam is essentially immortal, and Alfred might be pulling some strings so no one realizes the Waynes are as well. As a side note, I debated Alfred x Lady Gotham for this story.

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Then I had a dpxdc version of this where the wings were still demonic in origin but basically Scarecrow and Bruce are many many family lines removed cousins from an ancestor who was siblings with Jack Nightingale. On top of that, Danny had wings but they got charred when he was electrocuted. This one also has Clock x Pariah and they have wings due to something to do with ghosts, Danny gets a cloak made out of their feathers while his ghost side slowly grows its own wings (but he'll never have wings as a living again).

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Sorry for the long send, I got a bit carried away, but if you want I can dig up my AU again and share what I have for the wings at least, not sure what else I've got written down.

#colony of bats AU

Honestly I love both of these ideas, but what if they were say, combined.

Alfred gifts Bruce a shard of his power- everyone knows the Waynes have wings, even if in most cases too small to fly. But the wings are feathered, usually bright and flashy for the men who inherit the trait.

Which means they're very identifiable. But like you said, Alfred gets (ugh) attached to this little mortal. He's practically raised him and honestly thinks it's adorable watching him manipulate the other richfolk at galas into thinking he's such a "polite young man." Bruce is practically his baby!

So he gifts him a bit of his blood (which we know via Constantine can extend ones lifespan including giving them a bit of healing) and an itty bitty piece of his own power. Just enough for Bruce to be able to willingly call upon it. Just enough for him to disappear into shadows. Just enough for his eyes to gain a hint of an unholy glow. Just enough for a hint of claws. Just enough for feathered wings to shift into jagged mimicries of his own.

You know what could be an interesting thing? The wings are Realms in origin. We know the FentonNightingales separated into the Fentons and Nightingales some time after Jack, so whose to say that the Nightingales didn't get into magic. Perhaps they were given a gift to thank them after a bit of protection or assistance. And the infinite realms are well, infinite. It attaches to all worlds, including say the more demonic ones. But whose to say none of the Fentons made a deal or three in the generations following. They were witch hunters after all, perhaps they need something to keep up with the "traitors" of their bloodline.

Perhaps a deal which resulted in those matching wings.

Now, how could they find out their relation with the Fentons? While there could be the adoption route, what if instead it was right after Danny's accident.

He died screaming, visibly got electrocuted, his wings are torched, there's no way they're not taking him to the hospital. Which means things like blood tests, maybe even a donated organ or two because someone doesn't get blasted with that much electricity without consequences.

Which, it's the batfamily, they definitely have alarms set up for any sort of family pings for both themselves and their rogues. Just in case.

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Also had no idea where to put it but if this includes demons and ghosts feeding on fear, or emotions in general, then Scarecrow could be instinctively attempting to feed and grow his wings. Also he deserves raven or rook wings. Maybe a jay's if you wanna go for color.

Oh my gosh, even if Alfred and Gotham don't get together, they definitely have tea together and spar. They're definitely co-parenting either platonically or romantically, it doesn't matter this is their specialist lil boy. Who then brings even more of the specialist lil ones ever!

God I love the implications of Clockwork and Pariah creating a cloak of wings for a ghostling for them to use as their feathers slowly grow back. Love what that implies for the culture of the ghost zone. Love the idea of it maybe having an influence on Danny's wings in ghost form since a ghost's appearance is influenced by their image about themself.