#there should be foals there too

[rcrisdraws]

Now that the 'dog' trivia is out, i should really just draw a herd of horses and one of them has the fucked up mouth and it's just titled Shepherd-

[nereidprinc3ss]

rubber duck

in which reader is sick and spencer takes care of his girl!!

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as girl, non-sexual undressing + nudity/intimacy, reader takes bath, spencer doesn't but he is in fact present a/n: heeeeyyy guys.... sorry for not posting for a month... accept this as a token of my gratitude and know that smut is in the works. keep sending requests, might not answer them but you never knoww!!

Spencer gets home around ten PM. Granted, it’s not a completely unreasonable time for someone to be asleep, but for you? A person who’d rather not go to bed at all than wake up before eight in the morning? You being passed out on the couch at this time is definitely abnormal.  

He drops his bag on the coffee table as he approaches, kneeling next to where you’re curled up in the dark room. Part of him doesn’t want to wake you if you’re tired, but he’s mildly concerned. Normally after him being away all week you’ll stay up until he gets home regardless of how late (or early) it is. Ambient light coming in through the window allows him to see the sickly sheen to your skin, and he feels your forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Spence?” you murmur, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes. His response is equally quiet, wavering slightly. 

“Hey. Are you feeling okay, angel?” 

Even though you decidedly are not, your spirit lifts considerably at the sight of him in front of you. A wave of caramel hair falls over his furrowed brow as he scans your face, looking for signs that something is wrong. You brush it away, hand coming to rest on his cheek. 

“I’m fine. I missed you a lot.” 

Your voice is a paper-thin whisper, giving you away even as you try to downplay your condition. 

“I missed you too, but I’m a little worried. You’re pretty warm.” His eyes dart away from your face and down your body, seeming to notice your attire for the first time. “Did you go to work?” 

“I tried to. But I had to come home at early. I guess I didn’t make it all the way to bed.” 

This seems to worry him even more, if the way his eyes narrow and the line of his mouth tightens is anything to go by.  

“How long have you been asleep?” 

“Well... what time is it?” you ask sheepishly, still disoriented. 

“10:20.” 

“Oh god,” you moan, burying your face into a pillow (which does not make breathing any easier through all the congestion), “I’ve been sleeping for eight hours!” Panic wells in your chest at the ridiculous notion that you somehow lost an entire day to sleep.  "I didn't mean to-"

“Shh, relax, it's fine. Your immune system works a lot more efficiently when you’re asleep. It’s the best thing you can do when you’re sick. Studies show that melatonin may actually be an effective antiviral, and people who sleep seven hours a night are 300% less likely to develop an illness than people who sleep only five hours a night.” 

Despite yourself, you smile into the pillow at his unprompted information dump.

“So... am I... 500% more likely to be better tomorrow?” 

He laughs, running a hand through your hair. 

“I don’t even know where you got that number.” 

“I failed statistics in high school,” you mutter, pushing yourself up onto an elbow. 

“Honey, that’s Algebra.” 

You bury your face in your hand and laugh at your own stupidity- before it devolves into a coughing fit.  

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I know you hate germs,” you say once you’ve managed to get the coughing under control. You look at his face, but there are no signs of disgust or fear. 

“I could never hate your germs. But I am worried about the cough... do you think a bath would help?” 

You mull it over. Part of you wants to rot on the couch forever, but the more rational part knows you should definitely get up and try to take care of yourself. With a helping hand from Spencer you rise, stumbling into his waiting arms like a foal on shaky legs. Immediately you feel fatigued, but he patiently guides you to the bedroom and sits you on the mattress before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. 

For a few minutes the only sound aside from you catching your breath is the tub filling from the other room. Soon he returns, to find you curled up on the bed and barely conscious once more. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs, gathering you up in his arms and helping you to your feet once more. “You really don’t feel good, huh?” 

You shake your head, allowing yourself to be carefully herded into the bathroom. Spencer moves to sit on the edge of the steaming tub, pulling you forward gently by your belt loops. Deftly he begins to undo your jeans as you fumble with the buttons on your shirt. 

“I feel like I’m dying,” you groan. He glances up at you.

“I wish you would have told me you were sick. I would have come home earlier.”  

“I thought about it,” you admit sheepishly, “but I figured better I be sick and alone than more people potentially end up dead because I’m too needy.” 

Your boyfriend sighs, resting his hands on your hips as he looks up at you with a mix of earnestness and admonishment.  

“At least tell me next time. I don’t like the idea of you here all alone without anyone knowing you’re ill.” His fingers press gently into your flesh to emphasize his point. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” you agree softly, without hesitation. Spencer’s expression softens too, and he leans forward to press a kiss to your sternum. 

“In,” he directs after you wiggle out of your jeans, getting out of the way and helping you into the water. He watches as you carefully submerge yourself, a little tense as if he’s ready to jump into action at any second. “Is it too warm? I tried not to make it too hot because your body temperature is al-” 

“It’s perfect,” you reassure, sinking further in. Steam billows up around you and you sniff. “Lavender?” 

Spencer nods, settling on the floor next to you. 

“And mint. I’m surprised you can actually smell it.” 

Normally you’d tease him for his fussing, but the minty steam really does seem to be helping you breathe a bit easier. After only a few minutes, you feel noticeably better. 

“Will you read to me?” you ask dropping your head to your shoulder to look at him. 

He’s leaning against the wall and monitoring you with a contented look on his face. At the suggestion his eyebrows raise. 

“Of course. What do you want to hear?” 

“Fairytales. But only the super gory ones. The more disturbing the better.” 

“What? No Jane Austen?” 

“Ugh, no. I need to hear about terrible things happening to beautiful princesses so I can feel seen.” 

A small smirk graces his lips as he regards you, eyes sparkling with humor and thinly veiled affection. 

“You are utterly ridiculous.” 

“You have to be nice to me when I’m sick,” you whine, slinking lower into the bubbles. Spencer hums in sympathy, running his hand through the water to check the temperature before trailing his knuckles over your arm. 

“My poor sick girl,” he teases. You huff indignantly, attempting to hide the way his words make you melt into the bathwater. 

“Just get the book, Spencer.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He kisses your forehead (covertly gauging your fever, you’re sure) before pushing off the ground. You watch him leave, heart overflowing with adoration even though you still feel sick. Maybe it’s the bath that’s helping, or maybe it’s just his presence.  

A minute later he returns to his post beside you bearing Grimm’s Fairytales and a tall glass of water, which he tells you to drink all of before he starts reading. Regardless of how unwell you feel, you find the energy to make sarcastic comments about the characters’ intelligence and the implausibility of the plot (it’s a fairytale, Spencer reminds you) but soon the soothing cadence of his voice enthralls you. The illustrations and the story capture your imagination as you rest your head and arms on the side of the tub. 

More time has gone by than you realize when you begin to shiver in the now lukewarm water. Spencer notices, finally setting the book down. 

“Ready to get out?” 

You nod and he helps you step out of the tub, pulling you close and wrapping you with a fluffy towel. Absolutely no heed is given to the state of his own clothing as your wet skin soaks his shirt, or his own health as he breathes in your air. 

“I’m gonna get you sick, Spence,” you say anxiously, making a feeble attempt to pull away. Spencer doesn’t even begin to allow it, holding you even tighter. The honesty of his words is reflected in his eyes as he looks down at you adoringly. 

“I can live with the idea of spending a few days at home together.” 

You lean into him further, too tired to hold much of your own weight up. 

“I can’t believe you have to intentionally get sick to get time off work.” 

“You’re definitely worth it.” He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back for a moment.  

“And to think,” you muse, the words muffled by his shirt, "when we first met, you wouldn’t even shake my hand.” 

[pacifymebby]

Hi! I’m having a very hard time with anxiety at the moment I was wondering if you could do a peaky blinders characters (men) dealing with an anxious reader?

Hello lovely, I'm sorry to hear you're having a rough time at the moment and I hope these HCs can bring you a little comfort!! Anxiety is a rotter and when it gets bad it can feel v overwhelming I know that myself, so sending you lots of love and hugs and vibes <3

Slight nsfw in some places.

Tommy

🌿 When you first met eachother you both tried to hide your dark sides from one another. Tommy trying to hide his criminal activity, his brutal kill or be killed philosophy and his nihilistic world view which allows him to be so callous and cruel when he needs to be.

🌿 You were just trying to be the kind of woman that wouldn't irritate him. For as long as you could remember you'd been an anxious person, timid, easily scared, always caught up in your own spiralling thoughts, as skittish as a foal. You didn't want to get in Tommy's way, didn't want him to think you silly or hysterical...

🌿 So you tried so hard to pretend to be just like the other women in his life, women like Polly, Ada and Lizzy who you were sure feared nothing and nobody. Bold women who spoke their mind without fearing the consequences.

🌿And Tommy would try his best to play the gentle, gentleman. He'd do his best never to raise his voice around you, to always speak a little softer. Always being careful not to worry you, not to let you see his concern.

🌿 Though neither of you realised it for a little while, you were both hiding your true selves from one another because you could see right through one another's little acts.

🌿 Tommy could see the fear in your eyes every time you entered a room, he could see how you did the same as him - checked for every exit, every potential threat, every place to hide. Except he could tell you were seeing threats he wasn't. He knew you weren't like Ada or Lizzie or Polly from the moment he first laid eyes upon you and talking to you, getting close to you, seeing the way you struggled to force yourself to look him in the eye only to tear your gaze away seconds later, well that only confirmed his suspicions.

🌿 And you knew all about Thomas Shelby, infamous ganster, the war hero who threw his medals into the cut, a man quite opposite to you, never fearful, always feared. So his gentleness towards you confused you, made your head spin, left you so bewildered and perhaps slightly paranoid that you were falling victim to one of his tricks, that despite your best efforts you couldn't live up to the ferocity and strong willed reputation of those other women at Shelby Company Limited.

🌿 So despite his best efforts to be kind and careful Tommy Shelby still scares you and you find your anxiety so hard to control around him...

🌿 And though anxious women aren't usually his type he's so drawn to you, his need to rescue you is too strong to ignore. You remind him of a baby bird, a little twitchy and nervous, delicate and precious. All he wants is to pick you up off the ground and treasure you. Make you feel safe all the time.

🌿 He knows exactly how dangerous the world can be for women like you so he can't ignore his protective urge, can't ignore his desire to have you and take care of you...

🌿 Much to your torment then he refuses to let you alone, you can feel his eyes on you whenever you're in the room with him, he never strays far from you and you feel self-conscious worrying what he must think of you being so timid so often.

🌿 But all Tommy can think about when he sees you shying away from others is how he can protect you, how he can get you to feel safe around him... he wants to be the person you feel safe around, the one you look to in a busy room to keep you grounded and calm...

🌿 Deep down Tommy probably knows he should stay away from you, keep you away from his world where you will be in danger all the time, but in true Tommy fashion he thinks he's the only person on the planet that knows how you feel, the only person who could possibly take care of you and be everything you need.

🌿 Very quickly learns the things which seem to set you off, the daily household tasks which you struggle with most and has them taken care of for you... He doesn't say anything to you about this, just quietly deals with all the things he knows cause you dread... It won't necessarily help you get better but he doesn't care so much about forcing you to get better, not if he can keep you happy by taking the stresses away.

🌿 He uses words of reassurance when he can tell you're anxious, he will go over plans meticulously with you if he thinks it will help. However he can tell when that won't help, when you simply need to be told not to worry about a thing. "Don't you think about that now sweetheart, you let me do the thinking on this one eh, when have I ever let you down before eh? Everything's under control, there isn't one single thing you could think of I haven't already thought of so just you shut your eyes, take a nice deep breath, and relax eh? For me?"

🌿 Tommy's very good at talking you down from your anxiety, he'll pull you in close to him, his arms gentle around your waist, his lips right beside your ear as he murmurs reassurance and love to you.

🌿 He will always speak so gently and so carefully to you, holding your hands or your cheeks in his hands, lightly stroking his thumb over your skin to sooth you. He will play with your hair and tuck it behind your ear, stroking your cheek. All these soft affectionate little touches to keep your attention on him and the present moment.

🌿 "Look at me angel, you look at me when I'm talking to you so I know you're listening to me right?" you're so often too timid to look him in the eye when he speaks to you that he always makes sure to get close to you, tilts your chin up so you're looking up at him, and when you try to drag your gaze away he chuckles softly, "cmon y/n I know you're not afraid of me..."

🌿 He always feels guilty when he has to host busy parties because he knows they'll have your nerves in pieces so he always makes sure to come and rescue you, sneak you off for a breather... he'll cut into the conversation you're having, "My apologies, may I borrow y/n for a moment..." with no intention of bringing you back. It always makes you jump because he always seems to sneak in out of nowhere but when you turn around and see him your heart sings!

🌿 He will take you down to the stables, or off into the gardens. The stables is your favourite however, and his too. He thinks its amusing, to sneak down their in your finery, the two of you dressed to the nines stepping through the hay. He'll place you down on a hay bale and admire the view, how pretty you look with your dress and your jewellery, all silky and sweet... and shy. Then he'll sit down beside you and take your hands in his and he'll apologise for putting you through another party. "Y'know I hate these things too, I'd happily burn that bloody ballroom down right now..." he'll be trying to make you giggle, trying to relax you.

🌿 He'll make you dance with him in the stables, sometimes in silence sometimes humming to you... He'll have you resting against him, your feet balancing on top of his to save your little slippers from getting dirtied. And he'll turn you in slow circles, kissing you every now and then, talking to you quietly about how lovely it will be later when everyone else has "fucked off to their own homes eh..."

🌿 Deep down he knows he can't protect you from everything however it's what he tells you all the time, and he definitely believes that himself too, he's determined you'll never be anxious again... But obviously thats not how anxiety works and when he can see that your anxiety has been building and building with no outlet for too long he has other methods of alleviating your stress... Tommy knows that sometimes the only way to dispel that sickening physical anxiety you feel is to scream...

🌿 So when its all becoming too much for you he takes you out riding on his fastest, wildest horse (not so wild of course that he can't control it and keep you safe, simply wild enough that you have the impression of being in a little danger) hell have you sitting in front of him, his arms either side of you caging you in securely, and he'll take you racing across the moors so fast it snatches your breath from you, you'll be screaming, heart racing, adrenaline surging through your body but by the end of it you'll be laughing and rosy cheeked and you'll feel safe in the knowledge that Tommy is there to keep you safe always.

🌿 He'll help you down from the horse and place you down on the grass somewhere in the middle of nowhere, hold you lying back against his chest whilst the two of you get your breath back. And knowing Tommy he'll try to give you some wise little speech about managing your emotions, about how your mind has a way of working against you sometimes, that he doesn't know why it happens - probably because it thinks its helping you to survive- but that sometimes it does and its alright as long as you can reason with yourself, know when your mind is lying to you.

🌿 He takes you down to the stables to meet the new foal and teaches you how to talk to her without spooking her, you watch him in awe as he whispered to her gently and coaxes the timid creature to him, and he turns back to you, his knuckles still brushing the foals face, "see, you're not the only one y/n, she like her peace and quiet too..." he teased beckoning you over to meet her, "here we are girl, brought someone to say hello, there there now don't be shy, it's alright girl, it's alright... This is y/n, she's just like you eh... So she's gonna take good care of you, cause she knows exactly how you feel..."

🌿 Yes, Tommy thinks horses cure everything.

🌿 If you get bad anxiety at night which stops you from sleeping he doesn't mind you joining him in his study. He hardly sleeps anyway and he knows it comforts you to be in his presence. So he keeps a blanket in his study and a rocking chair with cushions for you to curl up. He'll make you something warm to drink or offer you a nightcap and he'll let you sit up with him whilst he works quietly, the two of you in a comfortable silence until you drift off. He always makes sure to carry you to bed when you do eventually fall asleep and often your drifting off is what reminds him he needs sleep too. So you always wake up snuggled up beside him in the morning.

🌿 He'll read to you when you're worn out, or on the days when your anxiety has paralysed you and you can't muster the energy or the stillness of mind to leave your bed. He'll pull the covers back and rest your head in lap, get you wrapped up in the duvet and then sit reading to you, one hand in your hair fingers tangling with your locks as he strokes your hair.

🌿 "it's funny ain't it y/n, when people talk about Thomas Shelby they don't tend to talk about a gentle man...but this is what you've made of me ain't it... This is what you've done to me..."

🌿 Tommy will talk you up in a very measured but determined way, when you're anxious about yourself he will remind you of all your strengths and he'll reassure you that your perceived weaknesses are not weaknesses at all. "Everybody has weaknesses sweetheart, it's all about knowing how to light them up just right..." He's always reassuring you that the things you perceive as weaknesses, such as your anxious nature, are strengths when looked at from a certain angle.

🌿 And he'll never let you put yourself down, whenever you do start letting your demons get the better of you, he'll let you get it all off your chest but he'll never entertain your concerns, he'll be short and sweet about it, "It's funny you know hearing you say all of that with all of that conviction love, cause none of it's true is it?"

🌿 He never fails to let you know how proud of you he is. He's very fatherly in the way he guides you through challenges, always there to give you that little nod of encouragement, the hand on your pack to push you a pace forward when you hesitate. The warm smile, the quiet "atta girl" when you impress not only him but yourself too.

Alfie

🐻 You were Camden born and raised and your family were close with Mr Solomons. He'd known you since you were young and he'd watched a once somewhat precocious child grow to be timid, withdrawn and terribly reserved.

🐻 When you come to work for him as a secretary (a favour to your father who fears sending his timid daughter to work for strangers) Alfie is somewhat relieved to know he'll be able to keep an eye on you. Because he's always been fond of you... Your anxious nature has always brought out his tender side and despite everything, Alfie likes having someone to be soft with...

🐻 And he is so soft with you... It's almost embarrassing the way he treats you in comparison to everyone else and you're certain there's some resentment among the bakers because Alfie never raises his voice at you, never speaks sharply or cruelly to you. You get away with every mistake you make - and that's many because your anxiety has you so deeply in your own thoughts that often your fear of fucking up is what makes you fuck up.

🐻 But Alfie never seems to lose patience with you, he's always there to pick you up, guide you gently, fix your mistakes. "Never mind ziskeit, ain't no point crying over spilt milk... Although this here bread is a little more expensive than milk ain't it... Never you mind though yeah cause thats my problem ain't it, ain't your problem... You come with me yeah, into my office for minute, I'll get you a glass of somethin nice for those nerves of yours and we'll see you're feeling right as rain in no time at all my darlin..." he says putting his arm around your shoulder and guiding you away out of sight from any onlookers.

🐻 he can't help the affectionate way he feels towards you when he can feel you shaking like a little bird and the way he chuckles and says, "look at you, shakin like a little leaf caught in a very bad storm" makes you blush something chronic.

🐻 "Ain't no good at all that is it, nah ziskeit that won't do at all... We'll have to sort this out right away won't we, ain't no time to lose if you ask me..." he'd be tutting and studying your features, pinching your cheek until you smile, looking up at him shyly from under your lashes.

🐻 you've never been scared of Alfie Solomons, you've always known he was a friend to you, but that's not to say he didn't once intimidate you... When you first started working for him you used to jump out of your skin every time he spoke to you, and when he shouted at the bakers or when you could hear him ripping into someone in his office when a meeting had gone south well, he terrified you...Once... Not anymore...

🐻 Because whenever he saw you flinch at his raised voice he would apologise to you quietly, whenever he realised you'd probably overheard the goings on in his office, he'd have you brought to him and he'd spin you some yarn about the bad men he'd sent running for the hills. And he'd always take your cheek in his hand and stroke his thumb over your lips so gently when he spoke to you, told you that there was nothing for you to be worried about, that you'd find yourself held hypnotised by him. It would be impossible not to believe him and so you learned to look to him as your protector pretty quickly. He wouldn't have had it any other way.

🐻 He thinks you're like a baby bird and he tells you all the time, especially when he wants to tease you or see you blush. When he really wants to tease you he'll remind you what a precious young lady you used to be, he'll bring up all the times you gave the younger him a piece of your mind... "And some mind it is ziskeit, fuckin only God knows how scared of you I am..." he's only joking with you but the way he shudders makes you believe him. The wistful look he gets when he talks about the girl you used to be isn't lost on you though and you know he often wonders what happened to see you shrink into yourself the way that you have...

🐻 You're always anxious about getting in the way or frustrating him and so you almost always start your sentences with "sorry" and if you don't start your sentence with sorry it's because your sentence ends with "sorry" sometimes you start and finish a sentence with the word sorry... It drives Alfie up the wall and he makes a rule about "all this saying sorry unnecessarily when there ain't nothin to be sorry for..."

🐻 Whenever you apologise to him he gives you a little warning look, light-hearted enough but enough of a look that it stops you in your tracks. "Now now ziskeit, just what was it we agreed about that word?" "Uh.. if, if I say it I have to explain it?" "Right yeah, yeah that does sound familiar don't it... Yeah I'd say that is what we agreed... So... y/n ain't you gonna tell me then what you are saying sorry for today?" "Uh..." you always trail off because you never really know, saying sorry is just an anxious tick, one of those words which just slips out because you never really feel like you're doing the right thing...

🐻 "Right... Yeah, now thats exactly what I thought you might do y/n... That little trail off you just did there yeah, that's because you don't really know what you're saying sorry for right... And you know the reason you don't really know what you're saying sorry for yeah, is that there ain't no reason for you to be sorry at all..."

🐻 Naturally you open your mouth to say sorry, freezing with your lips parted halfway through the word when you realise what you're about to say... Alfie doesn't need to say anything, he'll just use his thumb to close your lips and give you a gentle pat on the cheek... "There..." he'll say softly, "that's better right, no more saying sorry... You ain't gotta be sorry to me for nothin ziskeit..."

🐻 Theatrical reassurance at the very least, this man will give you speech after speech after speech about how you should never be worried he's not going to want to see you, or talk to you, or be too busy for you, or be angry with you or anything... "Because you see ziskeit, and this is the thing right, this should have been inscribed by the finger of God on Moses' stones yeah... You are the light of my fuckin life right, and there ain't a single thing on this forsaken earth, not a single thing that could ever taint you in my eyes right... I am yours and you are mine and so that shall forever be..."

🐻 He likes to make you repeat that last bit for him everyday, just to make sure it really sinks in.

🐻 Alfie only teases you because he wants to try and build your confidence, he wants to coax that cheeky nature he knows you have out of hiding. So he gets a little playful with you sometimes, tricking you into letting your guard down, showing you it's alright to be yourself when you're with him.

🐻 Alfie praises you so much, he wants to make sure you know exactly how wonderful, how clever, how important to him you are... And the praise always makes you blush and shy away which is an added bonus for him because he thinks you're very pretty when you blush. He's always telling you how brave you are too, reminding you that you're ten times as brave as he is because you get through so many things that scare you, and you face every day even when every day things make you feel like hiding away for ever.

🐻 "As long as you ain't hiding from me my little ziskeit"

🐻 When you're feeling horribly anxious and sick Alfie will wrap you up tight in his arms, squeezing you in a big bear hug so that your body is pressed close to his snug and secure and he won't let go even when you try to pull away. He'll hold onto you and stroke your hair, lift you up off your feet. You can bury your face in his shirt or the crook of his neck and close your eyes or cry or just breathe in the smell of him to your heart's content.

🐻 He understands that you tire quickly, "I don't know my ziskeit look at you, gone an worn yourself out again... Come over here and rest awhile yeah, come curl up by the fire with your old man..."

🐻 He likes to have you curled up in his lap, the two of you sitting in his armchair by the fire in the lowlight of the evening or late at night when you can't sleep. The two of you will be listening to the crackle of the fire with Cyril curled up at your feet.

🐻 Alfie always pretends to be grumpy when Cyril, sensing your anxiety, abandons Alfie in favour of you. The sooky lump will plop his head down in your lap and nuzzle you until he gets your attention, draws you out of your negative thoughts to pet him instead... And Alfie will grumble and say things like "oh I might have known you'd abandon me - your devoted and loyal master for her you rotten old sook" but really he'll be glad to see Cyril offering you comfort, glad to see the smile warm your features when you begin defending Cyril, telling him not to listen to that grumpy old man who doesn't know anything.

🐻 "Oh is that what you think of me now ziskeit? Two betrayals in one evening, my godforsaken heart is in pieces, torn to shreds, you cruel cruel girl..."

🐻 At night he sleeps on his side with you nuzzled in beside him, his arm wrapped around you tight, the weight of his body leant gently against yours relaxing you as you fall asleep.

🐻 If ever any of the bakers do step out of line and snap at you, or if ever he hears them complaining that "that fuckin number girls always getting special treatment.." then Alfie likes to make a display of them, humiliating them in front of the rest of the men so that no one else will ever step out of line. "You wanna come up here and say that again?" He asks tapping on a barrel with his cane, making them get up on top to "present your thoughts to the room yeah? Cause not everyone heard you the first time and well, I'm sure it was important wasn't it... So I'm sure you'd like everyone to know exactly what you said just now about our y/n..."

🐻 And of course no man's ever stupid enough to get up there and repeat themselves. They only ever get as far as climbing up onto the barrel, hands trembling cause they're sure whatever comes next is going to hurt...

🐻 "Right... Yeah... Fuckin silence... Yeah I thought that might happen I did... You see your problem yeah mate, is that in this world right you've gotta pick one of two things right, you can either be fuckin stupid, or a fuckin coward... Now you can't be both right, you can't be both..."

🐻 Safe to say that what does follow makes sure they never say a word again.

🐻 When you do put yourself down, or he finds you getting yourself all worked up about a mistake you made or worrying that you're not good enough he will coax you over to him, get you as close to him as he can whether that's sitting you in his lap or towering above you, your body trapped between him and the wall, his knuckles beneath your chin..

🐻 "Now now my little ziskeit, what exactly have I told you about saying all these nasty, cruel things about yourself yeah? Now I wouldn't let anyone else get away with saying those sorts of 'orrible things about you would I? So how am I supposed to sit back and listen to all that without doing something about it? Will you tell me that ziskeit?"

🐻 Alfie can talk the hind legs off a donkey any day but when it comes to saying positive things about his lass he could talk for days, and he doesn't stop, all these meandering sentences laced with your praises, laced with teasing little threats too to warn you off ever saying those cruel things about yourself again... "Next time I catch you saying 'orrible things about yourself my girl I'll have to make sure you remember the rules right?"

Arthur

🍂 At a glance and certainly judging from his reputation you might assume that Arthur Shelby hasn't got an anxious bone in his body. That he's never experienced anything close to the full body panic which grips you at the slightest sense of uncertainty...

🍂 Especially because Arthur is well aware of the reputation he has as a blazé trigger happy thug and just how important it is that he keeps that reputation up... Arthur makes a show of being reckless, of brushing off everyone else's concerns with a shrug of his shoulders...

🍂 No matter what it is you're worrying about, no matter what it is that has your head spinning and foggy so that you can't think straight for all the fuzz, Arthur always says the same thing...

🍂 "Now don't you worry about a thing my love, nowt bads gonna happen to you my darlin, you're with the peaky blinders, everything's gonna go your way"

🍂 And sometimes it's enough to see someone else so confident, so self assured, sometimes his high energy levels, his apparent through the roof self esteem is enough to lift you out of your anxious pit... Enough to settle your nerves... Because if there's one person you know is always going to win a fight, always going to protect you... It's your Arthur...

🍂 But sometimes it's not enough and seeing him shrug off your worries just upsets you, makes you all the more scared... Makes you worry about other things you hadn't been worrying about before... Like what if you're too meak for him what if he's going to get sick of having a lass who's so "cowardly" and "pathetic"....

🍂 And because you're upset but also worrying about these other things you'll try not to show it. Try to keep it all bottled up, you get quieter, you start avoiding him (which is difficult because Arthur doesn't like to go a day without seeing you!) Trying your best to stay out of his way... Sometimes when you watch him, the way his confidence, his outrageous personality take over a room, the way he snatches up everyone's attention so easily, so proudly, makes you feel a little unworthy of him...

🍂 You love to see him so buzzed and lit up but it makes you a little sad because you know you can never be the same, you think you could never have that kind of spark, that ballsy charisma... That in comparison to him you're nothing but a timid little mouse that most people wouldn't even notice...

🍂 But the thing is Arthur knows more than anyone just what you feel like, how torn up and terrified you feel on the inside, because more often than not Arthur feels it too! He's always so so scared of letting everyone down, scared that he's too much, too volatile, too unpredictable, that he's going to put the family at risk by being stupid, by making the wrong move or by letting his fear and PTSD "get the better of him"

🍂 He's spent years trying to bottle all those emotions up just like Tommy always told him, have a drink and push the feelings down... Grit his teeth through the pain... But he can't. And so he knows just how you feel and he wishes he could find a good way to tell you but he isn't any good with words, so instead he tries his best to help you when he can through his actions.

🍂 Arthur wishes he could hug and kiss your troubles away, wishes that one lingering forehead kiss could cure your nerves, soothe those shivers... But he knows it can't... still that doesn't stop him from trying. He's a little clumsy sure, sometimes he makes you jump when he puts his arms around you and squeezes you tight sure, but nothing can make you feel better like one of Arthur's "everything will be alright" hugs. His mustache tickling your cheek as he kisses you and tries to reassure you, tries to soften his gruff tone for you talking as quietly as he can in your ear.

🍂 Arthur hates seeing you cry, hates seeing you look so scared but you so often do and it hurts his soul to see you in pain, he will do anything he can to try and make you feel better and so he is always bringing you little gifts, always trying to tell bad jokes to make you laugh, always trying to offer you reassurance... Although he doesn't like to focus on the things that make you anxious, he'd rather brush them off so that perhaps you won't give the thoughts so much gravity.

🍂 When you do look up at him with teary eyes though and he realises his assurances aren't working the way that he wants them to he'll take your cheeks in his rough palms and hold your face as carefully as he can, he brushes your tears away with his thumbs and presses a long kiss to your forehead. "Come on now my darlin don't you cry, no tears eh you're with me ain't you, so everythings alright... I know I ain't the friendliest man but you know I'll always look after you eh, you're my girl ain't you, so I'll always look after you..."

🍂 The first time you have a panic attack in front of him you're terrified he's going to think you're insane, scared that he'll think you're hysterical and slap you the way men often do to hysterical women, but when he sees you shaking, the tears streaming down your cheeks as you drop to the floor he recognises the emotional agony in you as something he's been through himself many times before...

🍂 And so he knows exactly what you need, how you need someone to be careful and gentle with you, how you need to be held, your head cradled to him as he gets down on the floor with you, slips his legs beneath yours and bundles you carefully into his lap. He keeps you close to him, reassuring you, telling you to breathe with him, telling you it will pass soon enough and that he's with...

🍂 "Salright my darlin I've got you ain't I, I'm here and I ain't goin nowhere, you're gonna be alright eh, I'm here... Me an you eh, we'll get through this together won't we..."

🍂 He lets you cling to him like your life depends on him, and in that moment it really feels like it does, like he's the only thing grounding you, like without him this horrible feeling would swallow you whole and trap you in a nightmare forever. But Arthur won't ever let that happen to you.

🍂 He'd kiss your hair and rock you, hold onto you for as long as you needed, he'd shush your crying but he'd let you get it all out of your system because he knows how awful it feels to be told to swallow it down.

🍂 And when you were ready he'd ask you what happened, what sent you spiralling and if you wanted to speak he'd listen, concentrating hard so that he can remember every detail, so that he can try and stop it from happening in the future.

🍂 But if you didn't want to talk about it that would be alright too, he'd make a little joke "shit at talkin anyway are I..." he'd wink, hoping to draw a smile on your tear stained cheeks. He'd be so gentle with you, wiping your tears away and then laughing at the dirt he's accidentally smeared across your cheeks.

🍂 He is unfortunately the king of unhealthy coping mechanisms and he would absolutely think he was doing a good thing pouring you a whisky for your nerves... He'll pour the both of you a glass and sit down beside you on the floor, he'll clink them together and help steady your hand as you take a tentative sip.

🍂 When you try to apologise for being dramatic he'll get annoyed, he'll try not to snap at you but it'll certainly come out as a grumble when he tells you not to talk "any of that shite..." It's only because he doesn't want you to put yourself down, only because he hates the people who would let you believe that you were being hysterical or dramatic.

🍂 And then he'll confess that he knows how you feel, knows what that feels like when you feel like the whole worlds ending, that he wouldn't wish that feeling on his worst enemy... That he's only sorry he couldn't do more to help you through it... That you're to tell him if that ever happens to you again because he never wants you to go through it on your own...

🍂 You're really quite shocked to know that your Arthur does in fact have his fair share of fears and doubts but him being honest with you helps build the trust between you so that it runs all the deeper and you become accustomed to depending on him, turning to him whenever you feel even the slightest hint of anxiety.

🍂 He's always there to reassure you that you're perfect the way you are, that you aren't getting in his way, that of course he loves you just the way you are, that you're not letting anyone down... And having someone look up to him the way that you do, does wonders to his own self esteem, knowing he's got someone who depends on him, who trusts him, thinks the world of him, thinks he's the bravest person they know, makes him feel fucking brave and dependable and strong.

🍂 At parties and late nights down the Garrison he'll order your drinks for you, he'll keep you tucked up under his arm all night and he'll introduce you to more of those unhealthy coping mechanisms (staying up all night, drinking, smoking, dancing.... having rough risky sex in other people's bathrooms whilst dazzlingly drunk)

🍂 Will not however let you touch the snow because "see that stuff right it's fuckin amazin but it's fuckin horrible stuff an all, devils stuff, tricks you right, makes you feel on top of the fucking world and then it drops you down in bloody hell and abandons you there and I don't ever wanna see you endin up there my darlin..."

🍂 And if anyone ever says anything about how quiet you are, or how youre always hiding away, how you ain't much of a peaky blinder, Arthur will shoot them that warning look, silencing them in seconds. His eyes growing dark, threatening, looking to the culprit with unforgiving malice in his eyes.

🍂 So people quickly learn that if they haven't got anything nice to say about you they'd better not say anything at all. And the more time you spend with Arthur the more his wild side rubs off on you... Your anxiety never disappears, but some things do get easier with your Arthur by your side because you know he'll never abandon you or let you fall back into that darkness again.

🍂 And Arthur finds that his own anxieties are quelled too, that through loving you he learns that he can be soft, gentle, kind, nurturing, all the things he thought he was incapable of... He learns that he isn't the monster he has grown to believe himself to be... That he has a heart just like any other man, that he is loving.

John

🌼 Now John really doesn't have an anxious bone in his body. If he wants something he goes after it never stopping to question whether he's got ideas above his station, never stopping to question whether or not people will still like him if he prioritises his own needs...

🌼 That's the polar opposite of you and you know people must wonder why you're together, what he sees in you... Why he hasn't left you for someone more suitable, someone a little more fierce...

🌼 Because it is obvious, to everyone, how different you two are and even though John lives in his little world of optimism, despite his own lackadaisical nature, even he's noticed the way your shoulders are always tense, the way you hold onto things too tightly. The way you never stop counting the little ones, even when it's just the family at home.

🌼 At first he thought you were just an attentive mammy, but he's seen the fear in your eyes when you miscount because you're tired, or when one of the kids is hiding under the kitchen table and you lose sight of them for a moment. He's seen how quickly you pale and think the worst, how the tears rush to your eyes...

🌼 And he's felt the way you jump sometimes when you're tired and he's crossed the kitchen to your side a little quieter than usual, when you weren't expecting his arm to snake around your waist to pull you away from the dirty dishes and into him.

🌼 The way sometimes your eyes get this distant fear in them and you stop hearing the things people say to you because youve been sucked into another hole of anxious thoughts spiralling out of control in your mind...

🌼 He'd been drawn to you because you seemed so quiet and sweet, because you blushed every time he spoke to you, because you always looked so lost for words whenever he asked you a question or tried to tease you... You'd been unlike any other woman he'd ever been romantically interested in and that had felt like a challenge... A fun little game to play...

🌼 But the more he'd gotten to know you and understand the kind of lass you really were, the more the urge to protect you, sweep you up off your feet and soothe your worries, grew. The more he wanted to be the one you depended on. The one who could get you to relax a little, the one you felt safe around. He just wanted to give you a warm, loving home where you would feel safe...

🌼 He's so cheeky and always teasing you and his jovial nature makes it hard not to trust that everything will be alright, he believes that so firmly himself afterall... Sometimes his laidback nature is too much and you get stressed he doesn't seem to be planning or taking things seriously enough, however when you do snap or cry he can reassure you completely. Hugs, forehead kisses, an easy laugh as he pats your cheek and tells you everything's under control.

🌼 He will always step up to be the life of a conversation or party so that you don't have to, he'll include you in the conversation by slinging his arm around your shoulder and squeezing you into his side, occasionally looking down at you to lock eyes when he makes a teasing comment or a joke made only for you... Has a way of making you involved even when youre shying away from the conversation.

🌼 He's really proud of you, his "beautiful, beautiful flower!" And will shower you with praise all the time, he'll never let you or anyone else forget how important you are and he's always singing your praises, telling everyone what a brilliant mammy you are and how much the kids (and him) adore you, he won't let you or anyone else doubt you for a second!

🌼 He's a very chaotic man, very spirited, and boyish... He often takes a joke to far or gets a little too boisterous, and sometimes when you're feeling easily overwhelmed, senses working overtime, it can all get a little too much and John has to calm down so that he can calm you...

🌼 Sometimes John swears he can see your pulse racing in your throat as your eyes flicker around the room. You're constantly counting the little ones to make sure they're all there... He'll joke with you, come up behind you, hands on your shoulders giving you a little massage all "Relax would you sweetheart, this is a party... You don't need to worry about the kids we're all family here, they're perfectly safe..."

🌼 But when he bows his head to steal a quick kiss from your neck he really does feel how your pulse is racing and your body is shaking and when you turn to him with tears in your eyes he's really taken back.

🌼 "What is it love what's the matter?" Of course the moment he realises how frightened you are he stops his teasing, his brows knitting to a frown, his hand leaving you and reaching into the back of his pants for the gun he keeps tucked away just in case... "Is something wrong?" He asks in that tone which you know is reserved for only the most serious of situations and you feel so ashamed and embarrassed because this isn't a dangerous situation at all, you know it's not...

🌼 So you shake your head quickly and push away from him apologies tumbling out of your mouth quietly but dramatically, much more dramatically than you'd like... "Sorry... S.. sorry John this is just... Too much it's too much..." and just like that you're fleeing, out of the crowded kitchen and into the garden where the rain has sent the mud flowing over the stone path.

🌼 When these sorts of things happen and you run away from him in a panic, John sobers up to the situation pretty quickly, following after you, losing that boisterous streak, softening for you because he knows you need his softer side...

🌼 He'll find you outside in the rain and try to shield you from the weather with his body as best you can, gathering you towards the shade of a tree or the awnings of the roof. Somewhere out the rain, somewhere it can be just the two of you.

🌼 He'll wipe your tears with his sleeves and hold your face in his hands gently guiding your gaze up to meet his, "Why'd you runaway from me flower?" He asks even though he knows the answer now, realises that you had one of those moments where everything just became too much for you, the busy room, the noise of the party, the chatter, bodies having to squeeze by one another and around the furniture... It had all been too much and for a moment you'd lost yourself... And he hadn't noticed your panic until it was too late so he'd not been able to help...

🌼 "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't see it..." he'd sigh brushing your tears with his knuckles, pushing your hair from your face and kissing your forehead before giving you a warm gentle hug, completely surrounded your body with his as he holds you close. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, nuzzling into his shirt as he holds you steady and still. You feel better just for having his arms around you outside in the rain.

🌼 The garden is so peaceful, the pitter patter of the rain off the cobbles, and as John holds you close you feel yourself begin to calm down, your shoulders relax and your head stops spinning. You don't feel so sick anymore and you rest your body against his.

🌼 He doesn't like it when you try to say sorry after your "moments" as he calls them, doesn't like to see you looking guilty when he blames himself for you getting overwhelmed. He'll always tell you, "wasn't your fault sweetheart, don't say sorry for things that ain't your fault..." and then he'll make you promise that next time you'll find him before it gets too much so that he can rescue you in time.

🌼 John is very sensual, and whilst he might be a little boisterous and laddish his healing/love language is definitely physical touch... The signs of your anxiety which he notices first are always physical and his first instinct is always to try to soothe these physical signs...

🌼 He'll run you a hot bath for the two of you to share when the kids are all asleep (he'll have made up some silly story to keep them all in bed and quiet too) and he'll have you lie down between his legs, your head resting in the crook of his shoulder.

🌼 He'll run his hands over your shoulders and down your arms, massaging you in all the places you feel tender and sore, all the places he can feel tension...

🌼He'll bathe you, washing you gently, washing your hair and brushing it for you, wrapping you up in towels afterwards, carrying you to bed, smothering you in kisses, tickling and teasing you, physically relaxing you completely... Hovering above you in bed, scattering kisses along your shoulders up your neck to your lips...

🌼 John definitely knows exactly how to fuck the tension out of you and he's very talented when it comes to replacing that anxious head spinning fuzz with a blissed out kind of cloudiness instead.

🌼 If your adrenaline is all fired up and you've been restless and anxious all day he will have you lie across his lap, or have you sit between his legs so that he can let his fingers tease and then fuck that anxious adrenaline out of you...

🌼 He knows exactly how to take care of you when he's physically tired you out, scooping you up in his arms, letting you sleep with your head on his chest, his fingers stroking soothing patterns on your back until you fall asleep. .

🌼 He's always taking on that patriarchal roll, reminding you that he's your man, that that means it's his job to take care of you and look after you... So you can trust him to do just that...

🌼 "I'm your man eh, so trust me..." He'll say holding your cheeks in his palms, close enough to you that his nose is brushing yours as he looks at you not quite serious and not quite joking either. He'll pat your cheek and flash you a winning smile and when he's feeling particularly cheeky and he can tell he hasn't quite won you over he will bring the kids into it too...

🌼 "Katie love come 'ere for a second sweetheart, come say hello to your mammy..." he'll say scooping her up in his arms so that she's resting on his hip between the two of you. "Katie love, dya trust your daddy?" He'll flash you a cheeky smile when she giggles because you both knew she was going to say "Yeah!" Before he'd even asked the questio. "See flower... Katie trusts daddy, so you can trust him too eh"

🌼 John will absolutely make the most inappropriate dad jokes to try and lighten your mood and even when you feel sick with anxiety you can't help but smirk at some of them. They're terrible.

🌼 Whenever you put yourself down John never seems to take it too seriously, not because he doesn't care that you don't think very much of yourself but instead because he can't imagine a world in which any of the things you say are true... He'll laugh your negative self talk off light-heartedly, shake his head, hold your face in his hands as he gives you a kiss and says "sweetheart if you believe all that you're crazier than I thought..."

Bonnie

🍀Is such an observant lad that he tuned into your anxious ways within moments of resting eyes upon you. The way you would sit fidgeting, never able to look at anyone around you for fear they'd meet your gaze, the way he often saw you tugging on your sleeves or chewing your cheek, biting at the tip of your thumb or your cardigan hem.

🍀He saw how you would shy away from others, how you tended to keep to yourself and that if you ever did cross paths with someone else you only ever seemed to manage the word "sorry" as if you were apologising just for being near them..

🍀 He recognises the fear in your eyes when people start gossiping about the peaky blinders, notices how whenever you meet his gaze accidentally you try to hide yourself away... You seem so timid to him, so delicate... All he wants is to take your hand and show you you don't have to be so frightened all the time.

🍀 He's careful, watching you the way he'd watch a foal before trying to approach it, learning your anxieties by watching how you interact with others so that he knows how to go about befriending you without scaring you off.

🍀Watches over you from afar like the guardian angel you don't even know you have... If he hears someone ask you to go into the forest to collect some herbs, or into the city to buy bread, he will come to your rescue either by insisting he take you himself or simply by sneaking off to complete the errand before you even had the chance to start it.

🍀 He gifts you something like a rabbits foot or a four leaf clover to give you good luck and protection, tells you you're his lucky charm too. Something small and sweet that wouldn't mean alot to anyone else but makes you feel that little bit braver when you're trying to face the world.

🍀 Brings you lavender which he makes into an essential oil for you. He knows a lot about different herbs and plants that can be good for relaxing/soothing you. His dad taught him to brew chamomile tea too, whenever he can tell you're having a bad day he'll make this for you without even needing to ask, he'll just bring it to you and force you to stop whatever it is you're trying to do/ fretting over to take a break with him instead.

🍀 He's seen the way your anxiety makes you irritable, seen you muttering to yourself I'm frustration when your day is going from bad to worse and he can't help but think you're adorable... Still, when he sees you snap his heart breaks for you and nothing can stop him coming to your rescue.

🍀It happens one day, you're only trying to fold the clean laundry, taking it down from the line and shaking it out, but the wind is making your task harder than you can handle, blowing your hair in your face, blowing the sheet into you blinding you so that you can't see where you're treading. And when you trip and fall and land clean white sheet down in the dirt you find you've reached the end of your tether and just like that you burst into tears.

🍀You're not crying because the sheets dirty, you're crying because finally all that anxiety and tension you've been trying to bottle up for days now has bubbled over, the shock of your fall and the frustration of the wind blowing you about was enough to send the rest of your emotions cascading down on you like a tonne of bricks. So you just sit there in a heap, crying in the dirt...

🍀Until Bonnie sits himself down beside you, a cheeky but careful smile on his lips as he reaches for your hand.

🍀"What're we doing down here then eh?" He asks, looking at you with gentle teasing eyes, showing you he understands without a word. You just look back at him despairingly, feeling so hopeless and frustrated, your eyes spilling over with tears. You raise the dirty sheet up in explanation and he chuckles. "Well I reckon this'll need washed again won't it, I certainly ain't sleepin on that..." he says taking your fingers and unlocking them from where you'd been clutching at the sheet.

🍀"Never you mind that though little dove," he says shuffling up to sit closer to you, his hand rubbing your back soothingly, "you ain't in any sort of state to be washin sheets are ye?" He'll tease you a little about your sorry state but only ever gently, and he'll never let you feel useless or like you're letting him down. He'll always make sure you understand that actually it's the complete opposite.

🍀 Pulls you up into his lap right there in the grass, holding your face in his hands so that he can look at you and dry your tears. Kisses your nose and then your lips. "S'alright little dove, don't worry about the washin eh, worry about spending the rest of your afternoon with me..." He'll help you with your chores, which probably would have made them take ten times longer, had you been in any state to do them at all.

🍀 Then when you're finished (or when he's finished, having done most of the work for you) he'll take your hand and lead you away from the camp, somewhere you can be alone for awhile. Somewhere no one can burden you with anything else.

🍀 He knows that one of the best things for your anxiety is to tire you out, physically rather than emotionally. So he takes you down to the river to go swimming, splashing you and playing with you in the stream until you're laughing and giggling. He'll sneak up behind you and wrap his arms around you, kissing your shoulders and pulling you back to float with him in the water. Holding you with your legs wrapped around his waste as he carries you back to the bank, lying with you in the grass as you dry off, peaceful and quiet...

🍀He'll have you to sit so quietly with him listening to the different sounds of the woods. He'll teach you the different bird calls and then get you to tell him in future when you're anxious, he'll ask you what bird it is he can hear and it will force you to be grounded for a moment. Lights up with praise when you get it right.

🍀 You'll be lying with him in the grass, the sunlight through the trees warming you both as you dry, his hands wandering your body beneath the shirt he's lent you. His touch is so grounding and the way he holds you close to him makes you feel so safe and secure. He'll make up stories for you as you dry off, telling you tales about the forest, some of them silly to make you laugh, others romantic, about secret lovers stealing away between the trees. These stories are usually whispered in your ear between soft little kisses along your neck, sweet little distractions to take you as far from your anxieties as he can.

🍀 If you ever get the kind of anxiety which freezes you and makes it impossible for you to look after yourself properly Bonnie will excell at playing the patriarchal provider. He can cook and clean pretty well and he loves to look after you and spoil you anyway, so when he can see you're struggling he'll swoop in and save you without you having to ask. He makes you soup and serves it in your favourite mug then sit with you outside whilst you drink it together. He'll do things like wash and brush your hair when you're struggling and the feeling of him combing his fingers through your locks is so soothing for you both.

🍀 One of Bonnie's love languages is definitely physical touch and this is one of the only ways he knows how to sooth your anxieties. He is always showing you physical affection to let you know that he's there for you..

🍀Forehead kisses, hand holding, drawing circles round your palm, playing with your fingers to distract you. He likes to slip one arm around your waist or shoulders whenever you're standing together, holding your body against his so that you can feel him behind you. It's a protective thing, it doesn't just soothe your anxieties but also his. Makes him feel good to be looking after his girl.

🍀 When you're feeling anxious you have a habit of sucking your thumb or fingers, a lot of the time you don't notice yourself doing it but Bonnie knows that you don't like to be seen doing it by anyone else. That it embarrasses you because you think it makes you look childish. So as much as he thinks its kind of cute when you're sucking your thumb, if there's other people about he'll hold your hands and play with your fingers so that you don't suck your thumb.

🍀 Alone at night however, when he can tell you're struggling to calm yourself he will slip his thumb into your mouth for you to suck on him instead.

🍀When you go to sleep at night Bonnie has you sleep with your body on top of his so that your chest is against his and your heartbeat syncs up with his. He likes to be able to wrap his arms around you and hold you down against him, you using his body as your pillow, him able to kiss your hair as you drift asleep. It's the best place for you because it means you can feel him close to you and he knows he's right there if you need him.

🍀 He gives you soft but firm praise whenever you're alone together and you're anxious about your relationship or showing him affection. For as much as he finds your apparent shyness adorable, he wants you to feel safe enough to ask and tell him whatever you want. And he needs you to know how perfect you are to him, needs you to know that he's there for you always. So he's constantly offering you the reassurance you need and always there to tell you how proud of you he is or how good you've been.

🍀 "That's my girl, what did I tell you eh? Perfect little dove, that's what you are..." "Tell me what you need sweetheart, c'mon look at me darlin, talk to me... How can I help? There we go see, wasn't so hard was it dove? Good girl...."

Isaiah

🐀 Isaiah is not wonderful when it comes to recognising anxiety in other people. He just thinks you're a bit timid is all. A bit jumpy. He presumed it's because you know he's a blinder and that that makes your nervous. It takes a long time for him to realise that its anything more than that due to the simple reason that he's doesn't notice it himself and you are far too anxious to tell him about your troubles.

🐀 He affectionately nicknames you his "little mouse" and is always making teasing little remarks about how cute and mousy you are. It gets under your skin at first because you can't tell if he's taking the piss or if he means it when he says you're adorable... But Isaiah never stops, he's actually spurred on by the blush you get, the way your brow furrows into a little frown because you don't know what to say to him.

🐀 For all his teasing though he likes to try and keep an eye on you, make sure you're always at least still smiling. He's not shy about showing you he's there for you and you only either, he'll be next to you in every conversation, he'll answer for you when you hesitate or don't say anything at all. If ever you're talking and other people stop listening to you he's always there making eye contact and nodding, picking you up if others let you fall.

🐀 You spend a really long time hoping that your anxiety will just go away, that one day you'll wake up and you won't have that fuzzy sick feeling in your stomach which has a habit of paralysing you in social situations. But of course that's not how anxiety works and the longer you ignore it the worse it gets.

🐀 Until Isaiah does begin to notice that something is wrong. Because you're growing quieter, more mousy by the day and sometimes when you're out in public he swears he sees you searching for the quickest means of escape.

🐀 At first he doesn't know what to do about it, he can tell that you're troubled but he doesn't know how to get you to open up to him or admit that something is wrong. If you were anyone else, any other graft he would probably just leave you to it, wouldn't pry too much, wouldn't really be that interested in hearing your troubles... But you're not anyone else, you're you, and he has a strong patriarchal urge to protect you, take care of you.

🐀 So he has to be persistent. He tries to tease it out of you, tries to make relentless little jokes to force the issue, doing things which will leave you floundering in the hopes that you'll reach some kind of breaking point and have to explain yourself...

🐀 But it doesn't get that far because he can't stand the guilt he feels when he sees you start to get stressed out, when he sees your expression waver, your eyes growing watery, your hands beginning to tremble. So one day instead of making a dig at the way your hands are shaking when he's talking to you, he takes your hand in his instead. Holds it between both of his and let's out a little sigh.

🐀 "What's the matter love?" He honestly feels a little useless for having to ask, feels like really he ought to know without you telling him. After all you're his girl and he shouldn't be so clueless about your feelings. At least not as clueless as he is now. And of course you try to shrug your shoulders and pretend like everything's fine, you don't want to make him feel bad by admitting the truth.

🐀 But he isn't going to let you kid on and shrug him off so he shakes his head, his frown showing you he's being serious for once. "Don't give me that love, you're my girl ain't you, you tell me the truth..."

🐀 When you do try to tell him you struggle to get the words out, struggle to say it in a way that you think will make sense to him. But for all that Isaiah is often confident and cocky, he understands more than you realise. He knows how it feels to worry before he walks into a room, understands that edgy feeling of uncertainty.

🐀 And even if he can't exactly empathise, even if he knows he's never felt the fear you feel about entering social situations, never been frightened the way you are of busy rooms or men who raise their voices... That doesn't stop him from caring that you do feel that way, doesn't stop him wanting to help you...

🐀 He won't know exactly how he can help but he also won't be afraid to ask you what you need. "Let me help you darlin, tell me what you need..." He'll want you to tell him exactly what he can do to help and then he'll make sure he does every single thing. He surprisingly matter of fact about the whole thing.

🐀 He's kind of accepted that he doesn't get it therefore rather than question you when your anxiety starts playing up, or when you get anxious about something he thinks is actually pretty trivial, he just accepts that you feel the way you do and comes back with "well how can we make this easier?"

🐀 Please I know this is rogue but I really think if anyone was going to CBT you it could be Isaiah? I feel like he'd be really good at setting it all out like, he'll be the most "What is it you're worried will happen? Okay well, here is this other scenario which is pretty mundane but much more likely than all that you've just thought up... Cause if life was how you keep worrying it's gonna be, then I'd be pretty fuckin anxious all the time too Mouse..." I just think he'd be like, matter of fact, but light-hearted and jokey enough to actually really be able to help you rationalise and unlearn negative thought patterns... Which I understand sounds crazy because he's such a hothead in the show...

🐀 To add to that I think a modern day Isaiah would definitely take your anxiety seriously enough that he'd just straight up be like "well how can we get you the help you need?" And have 0 shame about taking you to a therapist or something, he'd be very clean cut about helping you feel better as quickly as possible.

🐀 I think he'd be an "any excuse to get his hands on you" type and would use "oh you're anxious in this social situation" as a reason to have you sitting on his lap, or have his arm around you. He'd never fail to pull the "oh you're so tense, come here..." Line and massage your shoulders just so he can get close to you.

🐀 Again, I think he'd definitely use sex as a de-stress technique too, I feel like he'd be very good at soothingly flirting with you until he manages to get you into his lap or into his bed, kissing your neck, gentle caresses over your body until your eyes flutter shut and you start to come out of your head and into the present moment where it's just you and him... He'd find a way to make you come undone and forget all your troubles.

🐀 It definitely boosts his ego having you always looking to him, dependent on him to look after you in situations which make your anxiety flare up. He loves being the one you come to at the end of a long day, loves the way it's him that makes you smile, your eyes light up, the little sigh of relief when you're finally returned to his arms. He's really proud of the fact that it's him that you turn to when you need help, and that it's him that you turn to for guidance.

🐀 When everything does get overwhelming and you just need to have a huge cry Isaiah will hold you so close, he'll stroke your hair and cradle your head to his chest, and he'll shush you and soothe you but he won't make you feel stupid for crying. In fact when you try to apologise for it he just makes light of it all, "sweetheart I'd be crying too if I had to deal with it, don't say sorry, reckon you're tougher than me..."

🐀 He's always the right amount of gentle and the right amount of joking about things... Most of the time. Sometimes he'll get the vibe wrong, not realise quite how wound up you are, make a joke at the wrong time which earns him a snapping at, or which tips you over the edge and makes you cry. He thinks it's funny when you get feisty because you're tense, but when you cry he feels so guilty and immediately drops any kind of joke so that he can give you a hug and try to make you feel better.

🐀 I feel like he'd be terrible at looking after you when you get "frozen" by your anxiety and you can't do normal household tasks like cooking a meal. Isaiah will certainly try his best to do all the things you usually do, but dinner is going to be a mess, and the kitchen is going to be a mess, but he's still going to do his best to look after you both as best he can.

Michael

☘️ If there's one man who really understands emotional turmoil it's Michael, his experiences in childhood mean he's familiar with anxiety/depression and that means he recognises all the symptoms in you pretty quickly.

☘️ Only thing is he's not much of a talker... He learnt at a pretty early age to repress all his negative, difficult feelings, to ignore emotional problems and just "be a man" but that's not what he wants for you. So it breaks his heart to recognise you struggling but not know how to talk to you about it or try to help.

☘️ So he uses his money and social power to make your life as easy as possible. He'll use his status with the peaky blinders to intimidate others into being nice to you, your boss at work, coworkers, family members, shopkeepers etc... anyone he thinks might not treat you as delicately as he believes you should be treated. If he ever hears of someone raising their voice at you he makes sure they pay.

☘️ He'll make excuses to be as much a part of your life as he possibly can be, that way he can assess the different ways he thinks you might be struggling so that he can throw more money at the problems... Paying for extra housekeepers, for food, for new clothes, your rent so that you don't have to work as many hours and you'll have time to rest... He'll probably accidentally overwhelm you and you'll start to grow anxious about why he's treating you so differently.

☘️ And of course in the end, money can alleviate some of the stressors which aggravate your anxiety but it can't cure you, and every now and then when Michael is forced to accept that fact, he gets really upset with himself for not being able to do more.

☘️ Might sometimes grow frustrated with your anxiety, not because he finds you frustrating but because he's frustrated with himself for not knowing how to help. He really beats himself up about the fact that he isn't doing enough and yet in your eyes he's doing more than he needs to.

☘️ Especially because for as much as you appreciate all the money he spends trying to "fix your problems" all you really want, all you really need is someone to talk to, someone who will understand what you're going through and be there to hold your hand or give you a hug when you need it.

☘️ You won't exactly argue about it but one day when you find yourself on the verge of tears in conversation with him, your fingers trembling, that horrible sick feeling in your stomach, your head all fuzzy with stress, he's asking you what he can do to help and you get desperate... "Please Michael stop it, stop it... You've already done so much fo me I can't stand it... I just... I just need a hug and... I don't know? Someone to listen to me..." You feel terrible and ungrateful for having burst out with it like that when he was only trying to help, but when he hears you he cringes and realises his mistake.

☘️ He'll do a little nervous laugh, pinch the bridge of his nose or rub his face with his hands and sigh. "Fuck," he chuckles, "of course, I've been a perfect fool haven't I?" He'll wrap his arms around you and hold you gently to his chest, lay a lingering kiss in your hair and shut his eyes. For a moment he'll just hold you, cherish you.

☘️ He'll stay up late at night talking to you, listening to you when you're worried about something, trying to reassure you with potential solutions to problems, or simply reassuring you that people dont hate you, or that you haven't upset anyone.

☘️ I think he probably gets anxious too, worries that he's still not doing enough, that he can't provide for you the way you need someone too. Michael will have to face a lot of his own fears, learn to talk about feelings and share his thoughts and emotions with you so that you can both depend on one another and feel confident depending on one another.

☘️ When you get anxious about his love for you he can't help but laugh your concerns off, when you worry that you're too much for him, that he'll get bored of you because you think you're a handful, he always has a witty line to fire back with before he gets deadly serious. Because if there's one thing you're not it's Too Much.

☘️ If you voice these doubts late at night when you're lying side by side in the dark Michael will sit up, turn the lamp on and make you sit up so that he can look you in the eyes and tell you how much he loves you. "I don't ever want you to doubt that my love, my heart will always belong to you..."

☘️ He'll kiss you and say it again between kisses, holding your hands and guiding you closer to him, only satisfied when he's got your body pressed tightly against his and his lips are free to scatter you in kisses whilst he whispers his love for you whilst you drift to sleep.

☘️ Because of your anxiety and the fact that you have a tendency to dwell on your worries and fears Michael will try to keep you as far away from his family and the family business as he possibly can. He'll be pretty successful too, keeping you almost completely naive to his criminal side. As far as you're concerned Michael is the perfect New York gentleman. He's always working behind the scenes pulling his strings to keep you safe, but you don't notice a thing.

��️ His family think you're sweet but terribly shy and Michael doesn't want to give them the opportunity to get to know you any better than that. He'd father they think his wife plain and timid than have you get to know them and realise the darker side of his life. He likes being your gentleman, and his family would be a threat to the peaceful sanctuary he's been trying to build for you at home.

☘️ Michael really likes to be in control of things, in fact not being in control is something which makes his own anxiety flare up, and so being in a relationship with Michael means you never have to worry about anything... No tricky decisions, no fretting over organising events or running the household. Michael has tabs on everything and everything runs smoothly and logically.

☘️ At times when your anxiety is so bad you feel like you can't function or do anything Michael will help you with every detail of life from helping you pick the perfect dress for the evening, choosing what you eat at the restaurant, speaking for you at social events, deciding how you spend your day, which chores you can do etc... he can and will organise every minute of your day for you so that you can get some semblance of order back in your life when you feel everything slipping...

☘️ At the same time however his favourite form of escapism is to literally just up and leave. When your anxiety is particularly bad and truly exhausting you he knows the perfect way to help you is to take you somewhere out of the city, a beach resort, a romantic European city... As long as it's warm and as long as its world's away from New York. He'll take you to a spa, spoil you rotten with gifts, organise the perfect week away for you. Let you live in a romantic dream world for as long as you need to to feel happy and peaceful again.

☘️ Deep down he knows that facing your fears will help to ease your anxiety, but he'd be a hypocrite to tell you that when he has so many of his own issues that he leaves unaddressed. And then there's the fact that he knows how much pain and stress you have to go through when facing those fears in order to get over them... He never wants to see you struggle, ever, not even if it's be good for you in the end... He'd rather construct a dream world for you to drift around in safely for the rest of your days.

Aberama

🐇 Being a fair bit older than you he's got far more life experience and though he was never particularly anxious in his youth he's certainly mellowed out with age. He's a very peaceful, calming presence and that's one of the things you love about him. The fact that just being around him is enough to settle your nerves a little.

🐇There's something do gentle about it, but so quietly self-assured that you know you'll always be safe when you're with him. He doesn't have to tell you -but believe me he does- for you to know he'd do anything for you.

🐇Just as you are drawn to him because his self-confidence and peacefulness soothe your anxieties, he is drawn to you because he can see how much you need someone like him. He's so endeared to you from the moment you first say hello. You're so shy and you look around the room the way rabbits look when they're twitching shivering and fearful.

🐇 He's so nurturing and he has that world weary wisdom too, any problem you present to him he can either come up with a simple solution or he can shrug his shoulders and say with such certainty that it'll all be fine, or that it isn't worth worrying about, that you have no choice but to believe him and put your faith in him. At times like these he will often ask "do you trust me y/n?" And your answer is of course always yes. There's no one on earth you'd feel safer putting your trust in.

🐇Honestly he Daddys you to pieces. It's been awhile since he really had someone to take care of and he's missed it so much. Taking care of you let's him feel useful again, makes him feel like for all the bad deeds and sins he's committed in life, he's got the chance to do some good in taking care of someone as precious as you.

🐇 He's really talented at curating physical comfort and he understands how much a calming, safe environment can contribute to calming anxiety. He builds the perfect sanctuary of a home for the two of you, lots of blankets, low lighting, candles, incense etc.

🐇 He makes a mean Chamomile tea and teaches you the family recipe... even then, he's always the one who makes it for you and will get you all cosy wrapped up in blankets in the vardo, bring you your chamomile tea and then sit with you in his arms quietly listening to the rain on the roof or the sounds of the forest/ fields/ river outside.

🐇 You love listening to him tell you stories. His voice is so soft and lilting that no matter what stories he's telling you you always feel so cosy, safe and relaxed by the end. You often drift to sleep whilst he's recounting an old folktale to you and stroking his thumb through your hair.

🐇 He will do his best to show you that you'll always be safe with him, that he'll never let anyone hurt you, that no matter what the problem is he'll always be there to work it out with you. He gets the balance right between "wanting to wrap you in cotton wool so you never feel anxious" and "wanting to help you learn how to cope/overcome your anxieties" and his way of striking this balance is to do everything with you, he never lets you go through anything alone and when you're having days where you don't feel capable of anything he will acompany you on every errand, help you with every chore - even the most simple things like bathing yourself, cooking/ eating, going to the shops...

🐇 He will draw a bath for the two of you and you'll wash together, he will wash your hair and wrap you in a towel afterwards, but he'll encourage you to help yourself too. The same when cooking, he'll sit and peel/prep the food with you, sharing each task between you to lighten the load, but keeping you busy so that you get the selfesteem boost from finishing a task.

🐇 When you need to escape he'll take you on the road just you and him, off into the wilderness where you can be immersed in nature and reconnect to the earth. The city, Birmingham being as grimy and busy as it is, is one thing that rages your anxiety and so Aberama is careful to make sure you get plenty of time away, out in the countryside. He'll take you foraging as a way of unwinding you, its the perfect combination of "slow, peaceful activity" and "task that requires a little concentration" he teaches you to recognise different plants, berries, mushrooms and will be so proud of you when you begin to learn and forage things for yourself.

🐇 He really believes that napping with your love beneath the shade of a tree on a summers day can solve all your problems and honestly, when he has you held in his arms, soothing you to sleep with some meandering story about the very tree you're sitting beneath, you can believe that he's right.

🐇 If theres something really really getting to you, a worry you just don't seem to be able to shake, Aberama will take you to a faerie tree to tie your wish to it

🐇 Lights a fire and wraps you up in a blanket, the two of you warming yourself by it as the night ages. He'll sing you to sleep with dreamy folksongs, the two of you watching the embers smoulder before you finally drift off and he carries you to bed.

🐇 He is so soft and reassuring whenever he speaks to you, you often get anxious about your relationship, you fear abandonment or that you are too much for anyone to ever really be able to love, and knowing you feel these things hurts Aberama's heart. So he does his best to gently reassure you of his love for you night and day. He makes sure its the first thing he tells you every morning and the last thing he says to you as he kisses you goodnight.

Taglist

@inalovesrabbits-blog @liliac-dreamer @cocoaflowers @impossibleheartflower @call-sign-shark @mollybegger-blog @itsghostgirlyo @marwwfairy @toddlerbodybag @everysage @kas3yhatesyou @kxnnxy @starrykitn @only-malala @galactict3a @vanhelsingsbigtoe @darkcastle167 @feyresqueen @hp-hogwartsexpress @niktwazny303 @user469908764 @shylobster2020 @zablife

[kiame-sama]

I need to know! Depending on certain species that the Monster Boys are, if they do get Darling pregnant, how exactly would the pregnancy/birth happen? (Live birth or egg laying) and I guess the pregnancies would probably be longer to shorter depending on who?

Would some of their babies be born as eggs? And it’s just a period of time for them to hatch (Jade, Floyd, Azul, Jamil, Vil, Rook, Malleus and Sebek?) to live birth (Riddle, Trey, Deuce, Ace, Leona, Jack, Ruggie, Kalim, Lilia and Silver)

I was unsure of Cater, Idia and Epel because of their species (I did not add Ortho to the list because he’s a baby and it’s not gonna happen)

Though depending on certain species that they are it would probably be better for Darling to have a C-Section (Riddle, Trey, Silver) since the babies might be way too big for a normal birth (I hope to the Seven this world has the option for that because she’s probably going to be very screwed)

There’s also Egg Clutches (Birds, Amphibians and Reptiles lay them) and Litters (Jack)

Warnings: Cross breeding, monster-Human children, fem reader, oviposition, live birth, mention of various species infancy, gestation periods,

First thing's first, categories of infant type because there are actually THREE

Monster-men whose hybrid results in live birth:

Ace, Deuce, Trey, Riddle, Che'nya, Jack, Ruggie, Leona, Kalim, Idia, Sebek, Silver, Lilia.

Monster-men whose hybrid results in eggs:

Floyd, Jade, Azul, Jamil, Rook, Vil, Neige, Malleus.

Monster-men whose hybrid results in element cores:

Cater, Epel, Rollo.

Context: Elemental cores are the 'hearts' of the elementals/nymphs of those elements. An Earth/plant nymph's core is a heart shaped seed. A fire nymph's core is a coal-like stone that burns like an ember (harmless to carry in a womb, but is much warmer than others). A water nymph's core is a jelly-like capsule of water akin to an egg but not exactly. An air nymph's core is a miniature cloud-like tempest that only goes out when the nymph dies. To grow these cores into children, the core must be tended to carefully and kept in their proper element to grow into a full infant.

~~~~

Second part: C-section or regular-birth needed for Human mother?

Makes a hybrid that need to be delivered by C-section:

Trey, Riddle, Silver,

Makes a hybrid that probably should be delivered by C-section:

Cater (Water nymph cores are delicate as all hell and should be removed gently as possible, not squeezed by a birth canal), Epel (That seed core isn't coming out without a fight or a lot of pushing), Rollo (Fire nymph cores need to be kept hot or they will burn out, best to remove when fully formed and keep in a constantly tended fire pit), Lilia (Those wings are delicate and could possibly be broken by the birth canal if the infant is too large), Malleus (Dragon eggs are BIG when they grow), Ruggie (Gnolls are big and even regular Hyena births can be dangerous for the mother due to infant size),

Makes hybrid safe to deliver regularly:

Ace, Deuce, Jack, Leona, Floyd, Jade, Azul, Jamil, Kalim, Rook, Vil, Idia, Sebek,

~~~~

Number of offspring likely to be produced and gestation period:

Ace: 1-4 kids ~5 months

Deuce: 1-4 kids ~5 months

Cater: 1-3 water cores ~6 months to form cores, 8 months in pool of water (salinity depends on parent salinity nymph type) to form infant.

Trey: 1-2 foals ~11-12 months

Riddle: 1-2 foals ~1-2 years

Che'nya: 1-6 kittens ~6 months

Jack: 2-6 pups ~6 months

Ruggie: 2-3 cubs ~8 months

Leona: 1-4 cubs ~9 months

Jade: 2-8 fry ~2 months until safe to lay eggs, 6 months for eggs to hatch

Floyd: 2-8 fry ~2 months until safe to lay eggs, 6 months for eggs to hatch

Azul: 1-10 larvae ~6 months until safe to lay eggs, 8 months to hatch

Jamil: 2-10 hatchlings ~4 months until safe to lay eggs, 6 months to hatch

Kalim: 1-2 babies ~7-8 months

Epel: 3-4 seed cores ~4 months for seed cores to form, 10 months buried to grow plant that grows into infant

Rook: 5-20 hatchlings ~2 months until safe to lay eggs, 9 months to hatch

Vil: 2-8 peachicks ~5 months until safe to lay eggs, 4 months to hatch

Neige: 1-4 chicks ~5 months until safe to lay eggs, 4 months to hatch

Idia: 1 infant ~3 years

Sebek: 1-4 pups/hatchlings ~If pups; 8 months. If hatchlings; 5 months until safe to lay eggs, 4 months to hatch. (Sebek is a half-fae Raiju, Fae Raiju are canine creatures, non fae Raiju are crocodilian creatures, sebek takes more after his father but has qualities of his mother as well, likely to have pups not eggs as fae genes are stronger)

Silver: 1-2 Calves ~7-8 months

Lilia: 1-2 pups ~6-7 months

Malleus: 1-2 hatchlings ~8 months until safe to lay eggs, 1 month- 50 years to hatch depending on ammount of love received from parents

Rollo: 1-2 flame cores ~10 months until cores can be delivered/removed, 4 months in a constantly tended fire to form infant

[relax-and-read-on]

I have not made made a generic hc post about the primarch in a LONG time. I miss it, and it's good for the warhammer tumblr ecosystem. So, without further waiting....

Primarch, and the absolutely shitty gifts they give each others for a White Elephants gift exchange

Roboute: A classic coffee mug (primarch sized!) Filled with sweets and a indestructible fancy fountain pen. The mug say "World Most Okay Dad" on it, and he joke that it apply to them all.

Lion: a stuffed bird. The number of eyes on it is vaguely unnerving. It's unclear wich way is the head suppose to go, and all agree that it's probably an awful mutant bird. Lion is too proud to admit that it's just a really shotty taxidermy he made himself.

Alpharius Omegon: They give a series of mysterious CD in blank case, wich is a very rare and hard to read format on most ship! It's the entire series of MLP:FiM, famous lost media in the 30th millenium.

Rogal: A thick, sturdy, and perfectly elegant multi bit screwdriver, with extra standard bits put in the handle. Give a proud presentation on it, explaining it's superior design and all it's ergonomic features. It's 45 min long.

Perturabo: it's a coupon that say "one (1) construction from me and my legion, free of complaining. Valid until the 31th millenium." It's the most popular gift of the night.

Corvus: slipper and kigurumi, all crow themed. They are *adorable*. Sadly, the size is a bit tight and vaguely indecent on the more muscular primarch.

Lorgar: a traditional colchian tea set, with hand dried craft teas! The set is beautiful, and the teas prove to be only mildly hallucinogenic.

Konrad: A very, VERY pretty embroidered set of throw pillow! They have delicate pattern of flower and nature imagery... And are made with human hair. Konrad is very proud of himself, and even more of the absolute bloody screaming his gift create when he explain it.

Sanguinius: put out by Konrad's gift, but he also made a pillow, but this one filled with his own feathers. Has surprising property against nightmare.

Vulkan: He was actually sweet, and brought homemade hot sauce, his mother's recipe! The problem is that the stuff is so strong, it's considered a dangerous chemical in most of the galaxy. Can be used as jet fuel.

Horus: Edible sexy underwear. Insist that whoever gets it has to wear it, and jokingly say that, if they are too shy, he can do a demonstration himself.

Mortarion: a succulent growing kit. Even his most dumbasses of brother should be able to keep a succulent alive, right? Doesn't mention that it's an highly invasive species that will colonise the entire ship of his poor victime.

Jaghatai: a foal. Yes, he carry a whole ass live animal to the gift exchange, and keep insisting that it's an appropriate gift. The horse is chewing on Magnus' hair.

Leman: Mad that he didn't think of bringing a puppy, but he has the most amazing looking collection of smoked salmon, caviar and preserved fish to offer.

Magnus: his patience is wearing thin, but he still offer a perfectly beautiful robe, that act as an honest to good mood ring and change color depending on the person's aura.

Fulgrim: A painting of himself! Wich is actually a joke, it's just a thin and hand painted decorative paper covering the true gift: a painting of all their family, together. Get called a try hard.

Ferrus: a collection of very pretty crystals and fossils! Wich he arranged in a chocolate box, and explain that those are his favorite flavors.

Angron: A punching bag that even *he* find durable. He made sure of it, by thoroughly testing it before giving it out, wich explain it's used appearance.

I know exactly who gets what..... Yall want to know in a part 2 ;)?

[frostbitebakery]

Tholme felt more than saw Quinlan flop down next to him, gangly limbs tucked under the robe with the foal grace of youth.

Quinlan looked thoughtfully across the expanse laid before them, his eyes darting to Tholme as he pursed his lips, brows lowering deliberately before raising them again.

Tholme felt his own frown deepen in curiosity, watching the same happening with Quinlan’s features.

“Humbling, isn’t it,” he said after a moment, indicating the view in front of them.

Quinlan nodded solemnly. “Indeed, Master,” he replied in a too deep voice that cracked into an octave higher. Color flushed his cheeks and Tholme watched his padawan slump into himself. “I can’t do it,” he coughed out, voice falling back into its usual timbre.

That was new. “What can’t you do, dear padawan?”

“Look serious like you,” Quinlan complained with the slightest of whine Tholme would never point out. “My whole face just… hurts! I have no idea how you manage it.”

The laugh cracked out of him wholly unintentional, fondness rushing through him, as Quinlan fell further into a pout. He nudged him with his shoulder, still smiling. “Quinlan, you have no face for frowning like this old man. Embrace the stars in your heart and let your face reflect them as you want, not as you think you should.”

“Like Master Yoda at Temple Bingo?”

“That might be too much reflection,” he commented drily, watching the smile settle back where it belonged as Quinlan leaned against him.

for @bewize-blog and @foreverchangingfandomsao3 who helped me a lot with this one

[azsazz]

In Storm

Rancher!Cassian x Reader

Summary: You want a baby and Cassian looks all too good in his flannel.

Warnings: Conversation about having a baby.

Word Count: 1,098

Notes: The Cassian era is era-inggg

_________________________________________

Rainy mornings are your favorite.

The sky cracking open and letting her feelings loose means that you get to sleep in, that your husband’s warm body holds you tightly as rain patters the windows in pretty songs. It means gentle calloused hands roaming your curves, soft breaths as he mouths against your skin. It means a slow and sensual fucking with a steaming hot bath following, where you can lean back into the comfort of Cassian and rest the day away.

But rainy mornings are not his favorite.

You find your husband standing in front of the large windows of the living room, staring out into the expanse of land you get to call yours. Yesterday’s flannel hangs loose around his broad shoulders, unbuttoned from when he’d hastily thrown it on to examine the conditions of the farm under the onslaught of rain. His hair is tousled, not yet thrown up into a haphazard bun the way he does when he works up a sweat from milking the cows or fixing the fence. His feet are bare, just as yours are, the hardwood flooring holding a chilled bite to it as you near his side.

Stepping up next to Cassian, you gaze out the window as well. The weather hadn’t called for a storm but the springtime is unpredictable. The horses graze in the pasture, seemingly unaffected by the drizzling skies. Their coats are dark with water but they’re getting on with their days as if the sun is shining brightly. 

Lightning cracks the sky and Cassian grunts, displeased. You can see it in the downwards slope of his mouth that he’s unhappy with the fact that he hadn’t brought the animals in yesterday, when he knew he smelled the metallic tang of a storm creeping in.

“They’re animals,” you try to soothe, “They should be used to it.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the stallions,” Cassian responds, not even sparing you a glance as he stares at the horses. “But my mares shouldn’t be out in this storm. Especially not Carrington. Ol’ girl can have that foal anytime now and she’s only out in the rain because you were adamant she needed ‘fresh air.’” His voice pitches at the end in a terrible impersonation of you and you scowl.

“So now it’s my fault?” you ask, incredulously. Cassian lets you sidle up to his side anyway, slipping between the opening of his flannel and his bare chest. You nearly growl with delight because he’s so warm. Turning your head, you press your lips to his pec. “You’re grumpy when it rains.”

“‘M grumpy because there’s chores that need to be done,” Cassian sighs, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I should go out there.” 

Out there looks miserable. The trail leading up to the barn is muddy, puddles of rain scattering the path. The rain has kept its steady pour since you’d come down here to find your husband, and if you think he’s grumpy now, you know he’d be absolutely miserable after working out in the rain all day.

“Or, you can stay in here and we can spend a little time together,” you drawl, trailing your fingers along his chest. His muscles clench the closer to his waistline that you get. 

His hazel gaze cuts down to yours, “Last night wasn’t enough for you?” Cassian muses, eyes sparkling in the way that you know you have him. 

“Won’t be enough for me until I look like your best girl Carrington out there, nice and full with child.” 

Cassian’s fingers still from where they’re tracing patterns on your hip. “You really want one, don’t you?” He asks softly.

You shrug. It hasn’t been something you’ve talked about much, a child. Cassian is busy running the ranch and ever since Rhysand and Feyre moved closer to the hustle and bustle of the city to raise Nyx, you haven’t had anyone to really talk to besides the mares. And they just whinny and snort at everything you say. 

“It would mean extra hands around the farm,” you try to play off, cheeks heating. You slide from his side, eager to dispel the conversation your husband surely doesn’t want to have at this very moment. Not while Carrington is getting rained on, Gods forbid. “What do you want for breakfast? Pancakes? An omelet? I just gathered the eggs yesterday morning so they’ll be nice and fresh.”

“Hey,” Cassian calls gently, snagging your hand as you try to dip away. He tugs you back to his chest, bushing some of your sleep mussed hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear so he can caress your cheek. His hazel eyes search yours, and the frown tugging his lips downward makes your heart ache. “Don’t walk away from me, sweetheart. You want a baby?”

Your eyes well with tears the longer he stares at you. His brows are pulled tight as he waits patiently for your response. The emotion in your throat is thick, but you nod, voice coming out raspy with it when you answer. “More than anything.” 

Cassian nods a little, taking in your answer. His throat bobs but he’s agreeing, nodding firmer. “Then let’s have one.” 

Your entire body locks up at his words. You didn’t think it would be so easy to convince him. All you had to do all of this time was ask? Surely, that is not the case.

But Cassian would be so wonderful with a child in his arms. He’d love them just as perfectly as he loves you, as he cares for the animals of his ranch. You’ve seen him with the foals and chicks and lambs. How he holds each one with care and parades them around the ranch, kissing their little heads and talking to them in soft voices. He’s made to be a father, even if he doesn’t know it himself.

“We’re trying to have a baby,” you breathe, clutching onto him. An all-consuming feeling rushes through your body, nerves perhaps, because holy shit, you and Cassian are going to try for a baby. “We’re trying for a baby!”

Cassian grins, mirroring your excitement. He pulls you into his arms and you lock your legs around his waist immediately, diving down to capture his mouth against yours. The kiss is exhilarating, hot and sensual as they both of you settle into the feeling that maybe this time next year, it could be you giving birth instead of Carrington.

You could not be more excited for the adventure you and your husband are about to embark on.

[pinkmirth]

I think we need some headcanons of cowboy Reiner

— ( save a horse, ride a cowboy! )

༉‧₊˚. — synopsis: just a cluster of fluffy and smutty headcanons for none other than the love of my life, cowboy reiner!

༉‧₊˚. — contains: (2k words of…) cowboy!reiner x fem!reader, (black coded), fluff, nsfw/smut, modern au, southern setting, established relationship (married), fantasies of having a child, breeding kink (‘cause this is reiner we’re talking about duh!), mentions of pregnancy, bondage kink, oral (m!receiving/blowjob), cowgirl position, doggy-style, creampie, reiner calls himself “daddy”, use of the petnames (mama, sugar, darling, honey, cowgirl), reiner calls you “woman” once, lowercase intended, minors shoo!

༉‧₊˚. — mira’s note: oh absolutely, nonnie! here are some thoughts I have on cowboy rei-rei 💕 (check masterlist for other reiner fics!)

this man is always covered head-to-toe in classic cowboy attire— embroidered cowboy boots, blue denim jeans with a lasso hanging from his belt loop, and a trusty old cowboy hat. he’s got the whole getup, and he looks even sexier in it every time you see him! though, his best look by far is the shirtless one. it’s the highlight of your day when whenever it gets too warm outside, because he’s soon to peel off his top. from across the farm, he can feel your eyes burning into his lightly-tanned skin as he does the most mundane chores. his muscles tense and flex with every move, pecs gleaming with sweat. he shoots you a smirk, folding his arms across his bare chest. “y’like what ya see, honey?” you pray the weather’s even hotter tomorrow.

it warms his heart whenever you come around to watch him do his daily chores around the farm. your presence motivates him to work harder, so he can continue to provide for you and sustain your comfortable lifestyle. you try not to be too much of a distraction, but you can’t help wanting to be closer to your husband; so you tug at his leather belt and pull him in for a kiss. that gets him giddy like nothing else. “ya know how much i love it when y’do that… gimme another,” he puckers his lips, and you giggle. “i don’t wanna keep you sidetracked for too long, rei. you were busy before i got here,” you caress his stubbled cheek and he pouts in response, leaning forward to receive another pillowy kiss. “jus’ one more, mama.”

cowboy reiner loves to cook and bake! he often goes on farmer’s market dates with you, walking hand in hand as you help him pick out the freshest ingredients and spices. you chat and laugh amongst one another, dropping carrots and apples into the hand-woven basket that reiner made for you. after arriving back home, he allows you to relax in yours and his shared bedroom while he whips together a hearty southern meal for the two of you. he shouts from across the house, adorned in nothing but a short pair of checkered boxers and a flimsy apron, “supper’s ready, darlin’! come on down ‘n eat!”

he’s great with animals! reiner cradles an adorable month-old horse in his strong arms, feeding milk to the baby with a soft smile. it’s just about the sweetest thing you could ever see! all the little foals follow him around the ranch because they love papa reiner just as much as you do <3 he’s built something of a connection between himself and his beloved herd, which is why he’s able to bring the horses over to their stables with no hassle whatsoever. this man could practically be a veterinarian with all the animal knowledge he has!

he’s a locally known rodeo champion! reiner wins the prize for longest bull-riding every single year. he should allow someone else a fighting chance, at least 😭 but he’s just effortlessly good at anything he puts his mind to! he skillfully rides the beast with such ease, leaving the crowd in awe. courtesy of his natural-born strength, he hardly ever gets tossed off. reiner’s got medals galore hanging on his wall from every competition.

as a southern man, he’s very family-oriented. his loved ones are of the utmost importance to him, and he’ll always put family first before anything else. he utterly adores you, and can’t wait to start a tiny lil family of his own with you <3 when I tell you this man cannot wait to be a papa, I mean it! there’s no denying that reiner would be an amazing father, considering that he’s so caring and attentive. he knows the best tickle spots to target, and the silliest faces to make to get a child cracking up (both of which he discovered through spending lots of time with gabi when she was small.) he constantly daydreams about dressing up his little one in tiny boots and overalls and carrying them up on his shoulders. (yes, I’m pushing the daddy rei-rei agenda on this fine weekend!)

cowboy reiner has manners like none other— the epitome of a true gentleman! he’s a great listener, is always so patient, opens doors for you, pays for your things without hesitation, gives frequent massages, carries you when you begin to feel tired; the list goes on! he’s just so kind and selfless, and never fails to show it. cowboy rei-rei is truly the perfect husband. “your feet hurt? well c’mere, sugar. i’ll carry you. it ain’t too much for me, y’know i can handle ya! jus’ hold onto me. i gotcha, okay?”

cowboy reiner is a grown man who can wholly appreciate your body and every striking detail about it. he scrutinizes the small dotted beauty marks scattered across your skin, your cutely patterned stretch marks, the curves and crevices of your soft tummy and thighs, and he fucking loves it all. makes it a habit to kiss up and down your body, just to give you a well-needed confidence boost. this man right here surely knows how to make a woman feel special! “listen t’me— you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, y’know that?”

(nsfw) — reiner loves when you treat him to a surprise blowie during work. he’s up to the usual, arranging things around the barn and tending to the animals. you then make your entrance, wrapping your arms around his waist to hug him from behind. your plump lips curve into a sensual smile as you ask him, “can I steal you for a moment, baby? it won’t be for too long, I swear it.” in an instant, he's allowing you to pull him away from his duties, unknowing of where you’re taking him, but also uncaring because he’d allow you to do whatever you please. he follows you with the goofiest smile plastered on his charming face, because he knows that he’s about to receive the most knee-buckling blowjob of his entire goddamn life. you bring him into the hayloft, pushing him against the red-painted wall until he’s flat against it. you drop to your knees and bring his jeans down with you. “fuck, darlin’… kiss the tip ‘fa me.” he moans lowly. you do as he wishes, suckling on his cockhead with the most beautiful, glistening eyes. you’re so eager to please, and it makes him throb on your tongue. with a hand at the back of your head, he guides you further onto him until you’ve swallowed the entirety of his fat dick. reiner ruts his hips, fucking into your wet mouth. you always know just how to make him feel so good, so loved. he adores you like nothing else. “oh, that’s it, honey, right there… atta girl.”

(nsfw) — the bondage kink on this man is insane, I tell you! cowboy reiner loves to keep your hands tied behind your back and watch you squirm against the rope. “rei,” in a breathless whine, his name falls from your plush lips. you wiggle your ass in the air for him, anticipating his next move. he takes you from the back, raw-dogging your pussy with a merciless pace. you truly wonder where he gets all this unparalleled energy to drill you into the bed, especially considering all the hard work he puts into maintaining the farm every day. one large hand of his stays planted on your waist, hastily grabbing, while the other holds onto your tied hands for leverage. he delivers harsh, deep-reaching thrusts, with his firm hips sharply smacking against you from behind. your wrists struggle against the rope, and he can tell just how desperate you are to touch him. his gaze is fixated on your soft body; every jiggle of your ass and ripple of your thighs is more hypnotizing than the last. you mewl for him, stuttering out something along the lines of ‘t—too much!’ … reiner leans down until his chest grazes the arch of your back, so that he can say, “quit alla-that whinin’, woman.” he clicks his teeth, flooding your ears with that sexy southern drawl of his. “y’can take it all, you’ve done it before.”

(nsfw) — we all know it, the entire goddamn fandom knows it: cowboy reiner has a massive fucking breeding kink! he wants nothing more than to get you pregnant by stuffing your pliant womb with his thick loads of cum. giving you a creampie makes him go completely wild; he watches his seed drip down your slit with hitched breath. a sight such as that is enough to get him hard all over again. the lust takes over, and he’s thinking with his dick for the next three rounds. plowing into you and rubbing at your puffed clit with calloused fingertips, reiner asks, “want me to come inside you? hm?” he gently holds onto your chin, directing your gaze to him. you dazedly look at your husband, pulsing around his thick cock. seeing how fucked-out you are makes his chest swell with the utmost pride. his greatest achievement is being able to please you. “tell me how bad y’fuckin’ want it, baby.” he rasps. your pleading moans urge him to release for you. his warm, pearly arousal seeps into you for the nth time that night. all he wants is to fill you up until you’re walking funny, with your leg shaking from all the stimulation. or, at least until that little stick comes out positive one day. having you grow plump with his child is his ultimate fantasy. “you’d look so stunnin’ as a mama, carryin’ my baby… don’t’cha think so, sugar?”

(nsfw) — reiner likes to let you wear his cowboy hat while you ride him. mounting onto your husband with your legs on either side of his hips, you straddle him. your dainty hands are planted on his broad chest for balance. he pulls off his iconic hat, hair cutely tousled from wearing it all day, before sitting up to place it on your head. “since you’ll be the one ridin’ tonight. giddyup, cowgirl.” he teases with a slick grin. you tip the hat with a breathy laugh before sinking down on his fat dick, maintaining sharp eye contact with him as your throbbing cunt takes him in little by little, until your clit’s grounded and snug against the dark-blonde tufts of his happy trail. his warm palms rub along your body as you swivel your hips, slamming down on all nine girthy inches that he has to offer. he watches your tits bounce, one manicured hand of yours squeezing at your left boob while the other holds onto his hat that rests upon the crown of your head. you rock back and forth with fervor, and he swears he can feel every spongy ridge of your contracting pussy. he throws his head back onto the pillows and gazes at you with the prettiest set of honey-golden eyes, hooded and lust-blown. gravelly moans fall past his agape lips as he spurs you on, giving your ass a thorough smack, “bounce on it, jus’ like that— yeah, fuck daddy’s cock.”

[alkali1]

Belly Attendant 3: Delivery Pt 1

The next morning you awaken to Naia whimpering and moaning through a strong contraction, her womb quivering and rolling under your fingertips. Her contractions picked up in frequency and intensity over night, and you figure that sometime today she'll have to push out the overgrown centaur foal. "Oh god, my hips are so sore. Maybe I overdid it last night" Naia whines. "Your body was probably telling you to help loosen them up and get things moving." You respond, pressing your hands deep into her plush buttocks to provide soothing counterpressure to her strained pelvis.

You cuddle for hours, keeping her milked, fed, and pleasured, as the contractions slowly dilate her. You pay special attention to her sore pelvis, spending lots of time squeezing her fat birthing hips as she struggles with the pain of them opening up to pass the overdeveloped surrogate foal. With the help of her magical weightbearing harness, you ease her into whatever positions her body urges her to take. A semi-squat on the edge of the bed is perfect for burying your face between her plump thighs and making her gasp and moan in pleasure for an hour. Wiping off your face, you check her dilation again. "15 centimeters. But it still feels like you have a ways to go." Privately you wonder what the absolute maximum diameter is that she can possibly stretch to. Having to go beyond 10 is rare for her, only needed for the absolute largest of her surrogate children, and this foal is large enough to really push her limits.

After laboring all day, it's now early evening. When you sense her energy and willpower flagging you wipe the sweat from her brow and pepper her face with kisses, whispering loving reassurances to her. "Oh God, I feel like I'm about to hit transition." she moans. "Should we get you to the birth chamber?" you ask. "Ooh, not quite yet" she moans, grabbing your hand and pulling it towards her needy cunt. You finger her clit, feeling her thighs squeezing desperately around your arm, while kissing and worshiping her heaving, lopsided belly. She cums hard after only a few minutes, but her moans of pleasure are soon replaced by pain as she feels something deep and low inside her shift. "Get me to the birthing room, now. I need to walk to get this foal positioned right." You hold her arm and arm, helping her balance as she slowly waddles through the temple halls. Each contraction makes her stop and let loose guttural screams of discomfort and pain. She realizes that the baby is malpositioned, and the too-large head is jammed awkwardly against her back. You provide as much counterpressure as you can in the small of her back but it seems to do very little to help with the crushing pain.

"This is the worst back labor I've had since that stubborn half-giant a few years ago. It feels like my spine is going to pop out of alignment."

The contractions get stronger and closer together as her womb attempts to squeeze the awkwardly angled head through her painfully stretched cervix. She's barely able to waddle for 30 seconds between each one before instinctively dropping into a wide squat, clutching desperately at her poor hips while pushing furiously. Even with the harness it's difficult for you to heave her back upright. You finally make to to the chamber when her water bursts dramatically, soaking the tiled floor and your shoes. Without the cushioning bag of fluid the head is able to align well enough with her birth canal for her pushes to start to make progress.

You get her lying down on the room's mattress, on her side with one plump leg hiked up as far as she can, resting in a loop of fabric dangling from the ceiling. You push your arm into her darkly swollen pussy to check her, and feel a cervical lip impeding her progress. You gently, manually stretch her cervix during her pushes, feeling the cannonball-sized head bulging forward millimeters at a time.

Elves have the unique ability for their pelvic ligaments to stretch like rubber, a necessity for a race that carries babies for 36 to 40 months. After two hours of pushing, her hip bones have separated several inches, just barely enough for the foal's human head to start squeezing its way between.

"I can't stretch any more!" she whines, "It's so big!" "You're doing such a great job, honey. I know this is a big one but it's nothing you can't handle."

She pleads for you to help her into the ceiling harness: a device similar to her magical belly support belt. It allows birthing surrogates to be suspended semi-weightlessly with their body supported, to allow for a greater variety of birthing positions. You strap her in and hoist her up so she's lying on top of her belly, which still touches the ground. You help her pull her legs forward to open up her hips. Finally, her desperate, grunting pushes are starting to force the oversized head through her separated hips. Her pussy starts to get puffy and bulgy, a sliver of hair visible deep within her folds. "Oh god I can feel it, it's way too big!" Petting her belly and covering her in tender kisses, you reassure her that it isn't, that she's going to be able to do this. Privately, you're starting to have your doubts. The horse half is going to be wider than the head, will it get stuck in her straining, creaking pelvis? You quickly tap out a magic message to the temple abbot, letting her know that Naia is having a difficult birth, and to remain on standby to provide auxiliary support if needed.

You work soothing oil into her swollen pussy, magically infused to help her stretch beyond her natural capacity. Though it may help her stretch, it does almost nothing to help with the pain of being spread and stretched around a 70 pound centaur. You can tell the burning pain is unbearable for her. She lets out a high pitched shriek of "Noooooooo!" with the push that parts her tender lips around the beginnings of the massive crown.

"Oh my god it burns so bad! Please get me to the pool now!" she cries out. You move the harness over the room's hot-spring fed birthing pool, lowering her in and unstrapping her swollen body from the uncomfortably tight fabric. Kneeling down behind her, you run your finger around the tight rim of her cunt. She's stretched tighter than she has been in months, and the head is still not even at its widest point.

You start to worry that she could tear. With one hand, you brace her perineum, and with the other, you press down on her clit, reassuring her that she's not going to rip, that she just needs a little extra time to stretch. You help coach her through panting away the contractions, fighting the urge to push to let her body work at the pace it needs to. But no extra stretch is forthcoming, even as you hold the head in place for over half an hour. You painstakingly manipulate her achingly tight lips a millimeter at a time, gradually pulling them back around the hard surface of the head, easing it out of her without letting her tear. Finally, with a guttural shriek from Naia, it squirts forward on its own, finally fully crowned. But you both know that the hardest part is still to come: the horse body.

[syd-slays]

Warning: blood, war, death, etc

Sophie forgets that elves are actual living beings sometimes.

She’s been awake for over 36 hours and all she can think about is the possibility of her friends/family dying. She’s the Moonlark, it’s her inherited duty to protect.

So she starts making a plan. Writing down names and marking them with a bright red X. The easiest way to defeat the Neverseen is to eliminate them.

But the plans become increasingly more violent, more blood, more sacrifice.

She picks out the easiest plan, hiding away the rest, and calls Team Valiant.

They step into her room and she begins to explain the plan. She’s far too tired, the kind of tired that settles into your bones and fogs your brain, to notice as the horror appears on their faces.

Stina leaves before Sophie can even finish the plan. This is the first time Stina hasn’t run off yelling but the way the door slams says enough. She wants to be strong enough to be part of this team but not if it means the violence Sophie describes. Stina is rude and ruthless but just a kid. She runs home and curls into a ball by the unicorn pens. She’s too scared to share those plans with her family so she watches the foals chase their mother. She sees so much life, in the unicorns and in the mirror every morning, how could she take that away?

Stina resigns for Team Valiant the next morning.

The slamming door knocks papers onto the floor, all the worst plans finally on display. Dex bends down and collects all of them. He views them with more calm than a child should manage. He can’t hate Sophie for them because he understands the strategy. He’s a technopath, he sees the entire world through science and mathematics. He hates how he agrees with them.

He’ll organize them and set it off to the side. He’ll spend the entire day with Sophie, they don’t talk and she sleeps through most of it. In the many hours when her eyes are closed, he’ll walk over to her desk and read through the worst plans. Again and again and again and again. He tried so hard to find holes in the logic.

He doesn’t cry until he gets home and walks right into a prank the triples planned. They wait for him at the top of the stairs and cover him in glitter. It’s silly and juvenile but Dex just breaks. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, covered in gold, and sobbing. The triplets freeze for a second before running away. They come back with the rest of their glitter and cover themselves in it. It makes a mess, the entire stairway is absolutely covered. It makes Dex laugh through his tears.

As the Dizznee family stands, covered in glitter the color of sunrises on the beach, the color his last invention lit up as, Dex finally finds the flaw in Sophie’s plan. These idiots in front of him cannot be reduced to a single statistic, they are worth so much more.

Biana sobs when she first sees the plan. She can’t even bring herself to move, just waits for the tears to ruin her mascara and turn her eyes bloodshot. In her head she knows this is war and she’s been a good little soldier this whole time. She has learned the commands fight, break, and heal over a hundred times. She can perform them with extreme efficiency. This is the first time she’s heard ‘kill.’

She cries because if Sophie really asked her to, she would. She has learned that Sophie knows what’s best when it comes to these situations and Biana would do anything to protect her family.

She waits for the tears to dry before leaving. Gives Sophie a smile and pleasant goodbye. She light leaps home and sneaks into her brother’s room. He’s not in yet so she waits on his bed. He’s her older brother, surely he can protect her from this.

When he enters the room, he’s covered in blood. He had been outside training with Grizel. It’s a small cut but the red is alarming against his thin white tee shirt. He looks so frail in this moment that Biana can’t bring herself to force this unsettling news upon him. He calls her a loser and tells her to leave. She tells him that his cologne smells like dinosaur poop. They’re both laughing when the door closes behind her.

She passes her dad on the way to her own room. He makes some half hearted comment about how important family is. How ‘everything will be alright.’ Biana knows it’s a lie. She’s known for a long time but she can’t tell if her father knows. She refuses to burden him with this new knowledge.

Biana decides that he’s right, it is her job to protect her family. It’s how she will uphold the Vacker legacy. But her hands still shake when she holds a knife. She won’t kill anyone, yet, not while better ways still exists. She’ll call Sophie in the morning, plan something better. She’ll think of her brother’s laugh and father’s doomed optimism and realizes that any death might take these qualities away.

Wylie is the oldest member in the room. This is the first time he notices how much of a difference this can make. Sophie mentions her plan and suddenly they all look so young.

He can’t even blame Sophie for thinking about all this violence, he’s been there. When his mom died he punched the mirror in his room, until his reflection was cut into a million tiny pieces and blood dripped from his knuckles. When his father was exiled, he dreamed about unfortunate things happening to the council. Nothing as violent as Sophie but enough that he isn’t surprised. Trauma and fear can destroy a person.

He doesn’t waste any time lunging across the room and pulling Sophie into his arms. She bursts into tears immediately. He tells her about his family and how much their lives mean to him. About how death destroys so much. He asks her if it’s really worth it. She crying so hard she can’t even utter the word ‘no.’ He know though and that’s all that matters.

He looks over her head at all the other children in the room, Stina running, Dex panicking, and Biana sobbing. For the first time he wonders if this is the reason he was placed on Team Valiant. His coworkers are so young, so full of life. He must make sure they don’t forget that. They have such wonderful futures ahead of them.

Later he’ll visit Stina. He’ll find her a job where she can still help the Black Swan but at a distance that makes her comfortable. He won’t let her feel guilty for leaving. He knows it’s what’s best for her health.

He’ll find Dex and Slurps and Burps, reminds him that there is so much more to him than the technology he creates. He’ll offer real human connection, a way to pull Dex away from the metal objects that consume him.

He’ll pass Biana at the mall. He’ll follow her through a few stores holding her bags. He tries not to notice the delicate way her hands run over fabric, tries not to imagine her using the same elegance when wielding a knife. She’ll talking about what clothes are in, how Wylie should change his hair. He’ll tell her that this is the future she should focus on, following her fashion designing dreams, instead of a future where she wasn’t enough to protect those that matter.

Nobody mentions the plan again. It’s stored in Sophie’s dream journal, a somber reminder of being a broken and terrified child.

They will find another way to best the Neverseen.

There is a future out there for each of them.

[craigslisthorses]

Hi I just found this blog and it’s awesome :) just curious, when is it important to geld a horse and when should you let a horse be a stallion? :0

Thanks! In my opinion most stallions should be gelded! Even high dollar race horses that made a lot of money often aren't breeding stock worthy due to their horrific conformation. ie, Into Mischief has horrendous leg conformation that he does pass to his foals. A breeding stock worthy horse must have good disposition, no genetic diseases (like HYPP, ect) do well in the show circuit, and have good conformation. AND 2 BALLS! People don't realize cryptorchidism (where only one testicle drops) is hereditary. You also don't want to geld a horse too young however, because it can stunt the growth of their penis and lead to issues like kidney stones. Gelding a horse too old has a higher risk of it being fatal. Perfect age to geld one is about 1 year old, the longer you wait the more likely you'll have a horse with longer term stallion like behavior, and issues from castration.

We personally refer all gelds over the age of 5 to referral clinics, in the Tennessee Walking Horse breed we tend to have larger "rings" where gut can drop through the castration site. They surgically sew the rings to prevent that, so it's a bit more detailed than a standard castration.

[quietblueriver]

Because I can't imagine Imogen was ready to let that moment in the basement go, some quickly written Southern Gothic angst/love/comfort set between their nighttime excursion and Imogen's visit to the temple the next day. Light spoilers for ep. 77.

-

When the door closes, the sounds of Fearne’s hoofs fading down the hallway, Imogen turns quickly to her pack, doing what she can to look busy as she shuffles clothes and tries to catch her breath. She needs a minute. She needs more than a minute. She needs…

“Imogen.” 

It’s loving and soft, because of course it is, because it’s Laudna, but it’s also…she’s doing that thing she does sometimes, where she acts like Imogen doesn’t know what she wants. Like Imogen is too young and too naive to understand. The same tone she used in the basement. Promise me. 

As if Laudna wouldn’t burn the world down for her. As if they don’t both know it. 

It’s not the first time she’s dealt with this bullshit. Laudna gets to be passionate and protective and fierce in her love (I would murder everyone around us if anything happened to you) but Imogen is supposed to pretend like Laudna’s life is worth less to her, to the world. Supposed to somehow just…let Laudna go. Because what? She’s a little bit dead? A little bit different? Imogen leveled a city block without conscious thought and nobody’s trying to put her down like a rabid dog, so why does everybody act like that bitch Delilah makes Laudna’s life irrelevant? Why does Laudna act like her life doesn’t…like Imogen should just be able to…

Her veins crackle, shoulders so tight they rival Ashton’s, and when the sound of Laudna’s boots stepping closer reaches her ears, she says, sharp and unyielding, “Not now.” 

The steps halt immediately, the room quiet aside from the settling fabric of Laudna’s skirt and Imogen’s heaving breath. 

“I’m…I really am sorry, darling.” 

Her body moves before her brain can stop it, eyes bright and anger flaring as she turns fast enough to surprise them both. Laudna is running her eyes up and down Imogen’s body a bit frantically, like she’s working out a puzzle, and it’s not fear, but it’s a close enough cousin that Imogen sees a flash of her daddy, hard eyes turned on Imogen in the barn after one of the foals got out. The shame is enough to temper her, but it means all the rest of it comes up instead: anger, still, but hurt and fear and the deep grief that lingers in the corners of her dreams, in the desperate way she sometimes holds to Laudna. 

“For what?” Her voice breaks, but she shakes her head again as Laudna holds out a hand, so Laudna drops it, fists her skirt nervously instead. “Why are you sorry?”

There’s genuine confusion on her face as she says, “For everything in the basement. I know…I know how it must have seemed, when my form of dread looked so much like her. I know it can’t have been pleasant to watch me lose control that way. Being there just…” 

Imogen holds her hand up, light licking up her fingertips, and Laudna’s words trail off, her eyes caught on the lightning running through Imogen’s scars, worry furrowing her brow. Imogen forces down the impulse to comfort. She’s started this conversation, and she needs to finish it. For the both of them. If she lets herself get close enough to run a thumb over the crease between Laudna’s eyebrows, to hold the hand still playing with the material of her skirt, that’ll be it. So she doesn’t, focuses instead on the memory of Laudna’s hands in hers in that room. Promise me. 

“I’m not mad ‘cause you looked like her, Laud. Or ‘cause you…I know what that place was to you, an’ I can’t imagine what it must have felt like for you to be there again. You don’t,” she works to keep the frustration from seeping into her words, “you don’t have to keep apologizin’ for her. You’re not her, Laudna, even though everybody keeps actin’...you keep actin’ like you are.”

She crosses her arms tight across her chest and stares at the floor, blinking hard as her vision blurs with tears. 

“I know I’m not her. I know that, darling.” 

The toes of her boots come into Imogen’s line of sight and she doesn’t tell her to stop but she does back herself up, pressing as hard as she can into the table behind her and wincing slightly as a sharp corner digs into her skin. The boots come no further. 

“Do you? Because it feels like you…” She uncrosses her arms to wipe her palms swiftly across her cheeks. “It feels like you’re just waitin’ on her to take over. Waitin’…” Her voice cracks again, and she grabs behind her, finds the handkerchief sitting beside her pack and brings it to her face. 

“Imogen.”

She shakes her head fiercely, forces a deep breath and then looks up to meet Laudna’s eyes, fist clenched around damp fabric. “Waitin’ to leave.”

Laudna takes half a step forward and stops as Imogen tries to back up further, managing only to dig the corner of the table further into her flesh and guarantee herself a bruise. Laudna’s going to gnaw through her lip, Imogen can already tell, and there’s black pooling at growing nails, ichor waiting to be pulled between nervous fingers. Still, Imogen holds the line, appreciates the distraction of pain, the sturdy wood that won’t yield to her body’s pressure. 

“I don’t want to leave, darling. I don’t want to leave you. I’m not giving up. I promise.” 

Promise me. Her eyes shine, anger forcing its way to the front of her mind again, and Laudna begins to say something, but Imogen beats her to it, words cutting.  

“Oh, do you? Promise? Should I go get Fearne, then? So there’s a witness?”

“Imogen, what…”

“Is it…d’you think I’m so out of line that…or maybe so ridiculous? So naive that…” Her scars burn now, heat across her skin and in the tears pressing against the corners of her eyelids. They continue to leak despite her best efforts, tracking down her cheeks until Imogen brings the yellow fabric of the handkerchief back to her face, letting her eyes slide closed for a moment. 

When she opens them again, Laudna looks stricken, her body fighting its instinct to close the distance between them, frozen in the face of Imogen’s obvious desire for space. 

She presses out through the thickness in her throat, voice rough, “You made me…you made me promise to…in front of Fearne, Laud. Did you…how was that fair? What was I supposed to do, when she was right there? Are you…are you that scared to talk to me about it? You think I’m that…that absurd, that you needed somebody else there to…to keep me in line?” Imogen laughs bitterly, and shrugs. “I mean, I guess I get it. I’m standin’ here provin’ your point, yeah?” She ducks her head and stares at the worn leather of her boots, breath shaky as shame heats her face. 

“No. No, of course not. Imogen. That’s not…” 

Darling, can you look at me? Please? 

She does, because Laudna asks her to, but even as their eyes meet, Imogen’s jaw aches as she holds herself together, shuts herself off, refuses to give up any more of herself. She can’t bring herself to deny Laudna’s request, but she doesn’t force herself to vulnerability. Not now. It’s strange, to put up her walls this way with Laudna, but it’s Laudna who has hurt her this time. 

Laudna, whose black eyes are nearly as wide now as they are when she transforms, full of concern and confusion and a love obvious enough that it makes Imogen grind her teeth in resistance. 

“I’m so sorry, Imogen. I didn’t realize…” Her lips are black with ichor and her hands are in constant motion at her sides, strings of black magic expanding and contracting as she fidgets. “I thought it would be…You were…you were so alone, last time. I thought maybe, if you had Fearne, if she knew what I wanted…what I wanted for you…Imogen, I don’t want you to have to carry it alone. Not again. That’s all, darling. I don’t think you’re absurd. Of course I don’t. I wasn’t trying to…to trick you. Or trap you. I would never. Please.” 

The pleading tone makes no dent in the wall Imogen has put up, is nothing in the face of the voice in her mind, reminding her of Laudna’s words in the basement, the look on Fearne’s face. I’m quite literally a dead end. Promise me. 

“Why are you so sure I’ll have to carry it at all? Why are you so sure she’s gonna win?” 

The tears are constant and furious, dripping unchecked down her cheeks, and she hates it, hates feeling this exposed, but she forces herself to keep her head up, to hold Laudna’s gaze. 

“Imogen.” 

The same tone–love, yes, but something far too close to pity for Imogen to let it lie. 

“No. No. I’m not stupid, Laudna. I know what you are. I’ve been in your mind, remember? I’ve seen her there. I’ve known since the day we met that you were different, and I still…I fell in love with you, knowin’ full well what you are and what that means. I’ve seen your form of dread, seen your body split open. 

The curtains on Pate’s house are made from my old shirt. Your hound has laid its drippin’ head on my lap. For fuck’s sake, Laudna, I slept next to your dead body. Your truly dead body. An’ I sleep next to you every night. Have for years and will for as many more years as I’m alive, if I have anythin’ to say about it. 

I love you, want you, all of you, and you know that. I’m not quiet about it. So why do you keep actin’ like I’m gonna wake up one day and be surprised by what you are? Why the fuck do you keep callin’ yourself a dead end?” 

“Because I am one, darling.” It’s sad, and resigned, and there is ichor dripping down her cheeks now, thick tracks left on pale skin. “I don’t want her to win, my love. I don’t. Please believe me. But I have to be realistic. For me. For the both of us.

And Imogen, even if she doesn’t win…

I love you so very deeply. More than I’ve loved anyone or anything in any of my lives. But I am dead. I’m not meant to be here, and you deserve someone who can…who can live, really live, with you. You deserve everything, and I can’t give you that.”

Bullshit. It’s bullshit. The part of her that understands why, understands what Laudna’s been through and the demons that pull at her, whisper to her, the part that drives her almost always, that keeps her soft–it’s gone, lost for the moment to a lifetime’s worth of hurt, of being abandoned or tolerated, never quite good enough for love. 

She aches as she spits out, voice as hard as it ever has been with Laudna, with anyone, “If you don’t wanna be with me, you can just say it. You can just…” She shudders, hardens. “Just stop pretendin’ you’re doin’ this for my sake, alright? It’s insultin’ to the both of us. If you don’t want me, just say so.”  

“Imogen.” 

She can’t do it, not anymore, so she turns to the table behind her, grips the edges as her body shakes. She clenches her jaw until she’s overcome, until a sob escapes, loud and ugly and broken, and then Laudna’s arms are around her waist, cool lips and cool breath against the shell of her ear, “Imogen. Darling. My love. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. There’s nothing I want more than to be with you. I’m trying. I promise I’m trying. I don’t want her to win. I don’t want to leave you. Ever.” 

She turns and buries her face in Laudna’s neck, her own arms wrapped around Laudna’s fragile ribs as tightly as she can manage without hurting her. A hand buries itself in her hair, nails scratching against her scalp as she’s held close. 

“I’m sorry, darling. I’m sorry. Come sit with me? Please?” 

She nods into Laudna’s shoulder, body still shaking, and Laudna hums as she holds her for another minute, pressing kisses to her temple before pulling away just enough to grab Imogen’s hands and lead them both to the bed. They settle across from each other, Laudna holding one of Imogen’s hands between them as she brings the other to Imogen’s face, pressing two fingers gently against her chin until their eyes meet. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She’s so sincere, so unfailingly honest, and Imogen fights against the urge to duck her head again, ashamed and sheepish. 

“No, Laud. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t…I know you love me and I know you’re tryin’. I do. I’m just…I’m scared. I lost you once and I can’t…I don’t think I can do it again. And sometimes it feels like you think it’s an inevitability, that you’re gonna leave me. That she’s gonna…

And I get it. I do. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to have her with you, to know she’s there all the time. But to have you ask me to…to let you go? To move on? To be happy? With Fearne right there like it was…What would you say, if I asked you to do that? Could you promise me?” 

Laudna flinches at the thought, her head almost unconsciously shaking in denial. 

“I know I…I know I’ve said some things. About Predathos and Ruidus and what it might take, what I might have to give up. But I hope you know I don’t…I’m not bankin’ on that, Laud. I don’t want it. Especially not now. Not when we…” She brings Laudna’s hand to her mouth and kisses her palm, her wrist, her knuckles. “I want you.” 

Laudna rocks forward, kissing Imogen fiercely, catching her bottom lip with sharp incisors and settling a hand possessively against Imogen’s throat. 

I want you, too. I’ve never wanted anything like I want you. 

Imogen lets herself be pressed back into the bed, sighs as Laudna trails her mouth across her jawline, bites at the lobe of her ear before making her way down to her collarbones, nipping and soothing with a cold tongue. 

I don’t want to leave you. I never want to leave you. 

A hand drags at the fabric of her dress, pulling up and up until nails run sharp against the skin of her thighs, fingers moving until a palm presses against her hipbone, holding her down as Laudna’s mouth finds hers again. 

Let me show you, darling. Let me show you how much I want you. Please. 

Later, tucked into the stupidly nice bed, with Imogen’s head resting on her chest, Laudna says, “It’s still difficult for me to believe that you want me. That you’d give up a normal life for me.” Imogen runs her palm over Laudna’s ribs, waits quietly. “Selfishly, I want you to, even though it…it’s not what I want for you. You deserve so much more, so much better than what I can…” Laudna squeezes at Imogen’s arm before she can object, and Imogen snaps her jaw shut. “Thank you, love.” She feels the press of lips against her hair. “I understand why you were angry with me. I…I would be, too, if you tried to tell me to leave you. To live without you. Even if I knew you were doing it for good reasons, as you undoubtedly would be. 

I know you want to be with me, even if I don’t understand why. Even if I worry that I can’t give you what you deserve. I’m sorry that I keep trying to take that choice from you. I'm going to try to do better. I promise.

And as for me…I want you, Imogen. I want to be here, with you. And if I’m lucky enough that you want me, too, well. Please believe me when I say I have every intention of trying my hardest to stay.” 

Imogen pushes herself up to kiss the sharp point of her chin, the corner of her mouth. 

“I love you. I wanna live my whole life with you. A stupidly long and real happy life. And anybody who tries to get in the way of that is gonna have a real hard time of it. You hear me?” She’s not talking to Laudna, and they both know it. “I’m gonna fight for you, Laud. And I’ve been told I’m real capable.” 

She kisses her again, and again, until eventually they settle, Laudna’s breath evening out slowly the way it does in sleep, muscle memory stronger than the reality of her undeath. While she sleeps, Imogen plans. She might be capable, but she’s also owed a few favors, knows how to make sure she’s owed a few more. She’s never really prayed before, but she can learn. For Laudna, she can do a whole lot more than that. 

[sirianasims]

Chapter 44.2

Summer is coming to an end, and the warm glow of the early evening bathes everything in gold, casting long shadows and making everything seem almost dreamlike. The sturdy planks of the bridge creak slightly as we cross, the sound blending with the gentle thuds of hooves against wood and the faint rush of the river below. In the distance, the constant song of the waterfalls form a faint, rumbling backdrop.

The sound of Serafina’s hooves changes as we leave the bridge and turn onto the cobbled stone road that leads to the estate. On evenings like this, I love Tartosa so much it makes my heart ache, and I wonder why I ever leave. The air smells sweeter here than anywhere else, a hint of saltwater mingling with the ever-present lavender and the more subtle, grassy notes of the earth itself.

I slow Serafina down as we reach the large mosaic that marks the crossroads. The colour has faded slightly with time, but the motif is as clear as ever, two intertwined wedding bands surrounded by the waves of the Tartosan sea. My great-grandparents commissioned it for an anniversary years before I was even born, a tribute to their love story carved into the very ground.

Serafina tosses her head impatiently, the reins tugging on my hands and pulling me out of my reverie. I feel her muscles tense up under the saddle, and she paws at the ground with her foreleg, restless.

“Sorry, girl,” I murmur. “We’ll go back to your baby now.”

I dismount as soon as we reach the paddock, stroke her neck and thank her for the ride. The light sheen of sweat on her coat is warm against my palm, but her focus is not on me anymore. Her tail swishes in agitation as a delicate, high-pitched nicker can be heard from the stables and I quickly open the gate and lead her through.

My uncle Gio waits for us in the doorway, brushing bits of hay off his gloves. Behind him, Serafina’s foal whinnies excitedly at the sight of its mother.

“There you are. How did it go?” He takes the reins from my outstretched hand and lets the impatient mare into her stall.

“She did great, she’s definitely getting her strength back. I let her gallop along the coast for a bit, you should have seen her. She was practically flying.”

“That’s my girl,” Gio mumbles softly, almost to himself. “Thanks for taking her out, she needed the exercise. As much as Sofia tries, she can’t ride all of them every day and school starts back up soon. How long are you staying this time?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Another week, maybe more. I need a break from everything, some time to figure out what to do next.”

“And a week or two is enough for that?”

“It’s a start. I’ll be fine, you know me, Gio.”

“Exactly, I know you. Well, tell your aunt I’ll be in soon, I’m almost done here.”

“You don’t want any help?”

He laughs, waving me off.

“You were always more useful in the kitchen, my boy.”

As soon as I open the heavy front doors of the main house, I’m met with the sound of laughter. Aunt Teresa is wiping tears of mirth from her eyes as they both turn to me.

“Hi mum, Teresa. What’s so funny?”

My mother lights up at the sight of me, and I hurry over to give her a hug before she can attempt to stand.

“Paolo, did you happen to see Giovanni out there? Is he coming in too?”

“Soon, zia, he’s just making sure the vineyard doesn’t run out of fertiliser.”

My mother laughs, giving my arm a feeble squeeze with her left hand. “I don’t think that’ll happen any time soon.”

“Well, we better not take any chances, mum. The entire Romeo fortune could be at stake, and I’m currently unemployed.”

Teresa shakes her head, smiling, then calls towards the stairs. “Sofia? Come down, please.”

Seconds later, my youngest cousin skips down the stairs.

Her older sisters, Laura and Anna, both moved out years ago, but Sofia was a late surprise addition, still just a baby when I first moved to Del Sol Valley. To Gio’s endless joy, Sofia is just as obsessed with the horses as he is.

“Sofia, you can do your piano lesson while I make dinner. Is that alright with you, Rose?”

My mother nods and carefully gets up and walks to her usual chair by the piano. Her steps are agonisingly slow but dignified, and I resist the urge to help her, instead distracting myself by picking a few white horse hairs off my shirt.

Teresa disappears into the kitchen, and I opt for simply taking the shirt off before following her.

A copper pot simmers on low heat on the old stove. Teresa’s kitchen was always my favourite room in this house, filled with delicious smells and tastes. Ever since I could walk, I kept ending up in the kitchens, both here and at the vineyard, and my grandmother and aunts never hesitated to put me to work.

There are herbs everywhere, clay pots of fresh basil and oregano. Recently picked thyme and sage, still with their purple flowers, hangs from the ceiling and fills the air with their fragrance.

Teresa points to a bunch of ripe tomatoes by the sink, drying next to the carrots and zucchini she picked earlier.

“You can start by slicing the tomatoes.”

I wash my hands and begin cutting. There’s a small bowl of large, juicy grapes from the vineyard on the table, and I pop one into my mouth. The taste brings back memories of long summers helping out with the harvest, of sun and dirt and the first time I was allowed to taste the family wine.

“How are things over in Del Sol? Your mother says you’re no longer doing voices?”

“Yeah, the show I was working on has ended. But one of my friends is trying to set me up with her agent. For movie roles, I mean.”

“You’re going back to movies? That sounds wonderful! You were so happy back when you did that.”

I know for a fact that Teresa hasn’t watched a single second of Llama Man’s adventures, animated or otherwise, but she was always supportive.

“Yeah, I’m still considering it, but…”

A wildly off-key chord sounds from the living room, followed by laughter as my mother explains something and Sofia starts over.

I glance at the crutches leaning against the wall and lower my voice slightly, although my mother is unlikely to hear me over Sofia murdering a Tartosan folk song.

“How is she doing? When I’m not here, I mean?”

“You always worry too much, tesoro. Your mother is fine.”

“I know, I just… I haven’t been home much lately.”

“You’ve been busy. It’s understandable, you have your own life over there.”

“But now that… There’s nothing that really keeps me over there right now. And both her leg and her hand seems worse lately. I was wondering if I should take a longer break, stay home with her for a while…”

Teresa sighs.

“Paolo, listen to me. It is not your job to replace your father. Your mother is happy. She has family, she has friends, she has so much joy in her life. You need to try and find some joy in your life too.”

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[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Forget the horror here.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Words count: 1445

Rating: Mature (but there’s only allusions to smut this time)

Warnings/Tags: Javi’s POV for Poison and Wine, Internal conflict, sad thoughts, mention of Javi’s work, sweet Javi, bad at feeling Javi, love bites my friends, sad ending.

A/N: Poison and Wine can be found here, I promised a second part from Javi’s pov and here we are. I hope you’ll like this.

Titles comes from one of the most beautiful gut wrenching song I’ve ever listen, Spanish Sahara by Foals.

You are the easiest thing I deal with during the day. A relief, a safe haven to return to.

When I approached you for the first time I did it almost without thinking.

It had been a terrible day, I had lost half of my men in an ambush and that piece of shit had managed to escape again. The drug lord, may the devil take him.

I had entered the bar with an unbearable weight on my shoulders. I should be used to it but I'm afraid I never will. How could I get used to seeing death and destruction all around all day.  

You were at the counter, you were wearing a dress that slid down your hips in an absolutely crazy way, you were breathtaking.

You were laughing, talking to the bartender.

I had nothing to lose, I ordered a tequila and spoke to you.

We chatted for a while, you seemed so spontaneous, confident, funny.

And you were beautiful, you have eyes that could stop time.

I felt almost clumsy in front of you.

Like a young boy.

A really weird feeling for someone like me, I usually just take what I want.

I've paid for sex several times, I'm certainly not a saint.

I'm not even a total asshole, so I tried to treat you with respect.

I'm sure you knew exactly what I was looking for so I didn't look for excuses, it would have seemed to me to offend your intelligence.

You are a smart, proud, free and independent woman. Fierce and incredibly charming. You smell like sugar and taste like heaven.

I figured it all out that night and it hit me hard.  

That's how it started.

I was convinced that it could be a loophole, a distraction.

 I ask you to see me to shake off the images of devastation that I have to face every day.

It's easy not to think of anything else being with you.

A glance is enough for you to understand what I need.

I would never tell you about my job, I can't and in any case it wouldn't be fair.

That's not what I want to do with you.

I don't want to talk.

I don't want to analyze anything.

I just want to let go and forget the rest.

There’s too much pressure on me and I feel liberated with you.

I always try to be cautious and watch my back for my own safety but most of all because I would never want to put you in danger. You have always lived here so you know well what the situation is like in your country. You are certainly not clueless and you have your own problems to take care of, you don't need mine.

I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.

I leave you in the dark about this but I hope you have understood it.

You did, right?

 Sometimes I think you're too much for me, I don't deserve you.

 You are disarming.

 The way you melt under my hands drives me nuts.

The way we have sex is amazing, every time.

 When I’m with you, I feel like I finally find peace.

Your skin is soft and warm, your neck so delicate, your lips turgid and delicious, your breasts beautifully designed to fill my hands, your legs toned and sensual, your sex wet and sweet under my tongue. 

And your eyes.

 Your eyes are so intense, deep, every time I stare at them I feel a fire burning inside.

I noticed how they try to discover me, to understand something more about me, some secret that I try to hide from myself too.

Every damn time I sink into you I feel like I've been pardoned by God or whoever for him.

 I don't know how else to describe it.

 We are in a shabby motel and you radiate beauty around even in a place like this.

 I fucked you right away, without a word, it was one of the usual horrible days and I wanted to leave it completely behind.

I know I'm not an easy man.

My bad temper gives some problems even at work sometimes.

 I wish I could be more serene, have a more stable life, be able to offer something more than sex.

 I wish I could take you to dinner in a nice restaurant, give you flowers, make you feel like I care.

I would like to take your hands and tell you that you are the best thing that has happened to me in years. 

I would like to tell you how much you are helping me. 

I don't even know how I can think of certain things when the situation makes them impossible.

I became a sentimental fool.

 Sometimes I feel like you want to ask for more and every time I hope you don’t.

I can't, you know I can't.

Should I put up with seeing the same look on Connie's face as she watches Steve leave without knowing if he'll return?

Yes, I am a coward when it comes to this, my courage is all absorbed in work, even though I often feel like it's all for nothing.

I run from one side of the city to the other in an attempt to achieve something, to at least partially solve the chaos, the fear, the guerrillas. 

Every small victory pales into insignificance in the face of another death.

This place has a lot of hidden secrets, I can't imagine them all.

If I succeed in eliminating a small part of its evil, I know that there is still so much that it wouldn't take two lives to defeat it completely.

I feel like I will never be able to hold anything in my hands, like I will never get close to the end.

 I only feel some kind of comfort when I'm inside you.

I've been with a lot of women but none has ever made me feel like you do.

I can't tell you that.

I can't risk it all.

I can't let you walk into my life any more than I already have.

What if I let myself be totally vulnerable? What if you lost me? What if I lost you?

I closed my eyes to make you think I was sleeping.

You were watching me, I could feel your eyes on me.

 You looked away so I wouldn’t notice, but I know.

Damn it.

Please don't do that.

It crushes me.

I'm quickly getting attached to you and I feel it's the same for you.

I have to back off.

 I have to be able to leave you out of all the crap that grips me.

From the horror that haunts me.

Your eyes are fixed on a point on the wall, seemingly careless. 

I still feel your warmth, the taste of your skin, the sweetness of your body, your moans of pleasure.

You have a power over me that makes me restless, hungry, eager.

I reach out to stroke your arm and you give me a smile that hurts my soul.

God, you are so beautiful.

 I would like to start all over again.

I would like to grab your waist with my arm and draw you back to me.

I can't get enough. 

Every time I touch you, every time I kiss you, every time I hear your tongue dancing with mine, every time I bite your neck and feel your smile on my skin, every time I smell your fresh and flowery scent, every time I sense you tremble with pleasure, every time I hear you scream my name I hope it never ends.

I get up without saying anything.

It's time for me to leave.

I take my clothes from the chair, while I hate myself.

My fucking stubbornness, my fear of getting close to anyone for fear of hurting them, my obstinacy in living a lonely life.

I hate all this.

I have to live with it but it hurts like fucking hell.

I get dressed feeling like a bastard.

I just wish everything was different, easier, I wish I could have you every day.

I’m the fury in your bed.

One day I'll just be a ghost in the back of your head.

Tagging @aurorawritestoescape and @thundermartini that were both so kind and encouraging and enjoyed the first part of it ♥️

Thank you so much 🥰

[yandere-daydreams]

thinking about a yandere cowboy,, transporting a wanted criminal,, sucks that they only have 1 horse and have to practically hold you in their lap the entire journey

it’s that or they drag you behind

hnnnn,,, they just like to do a little bounty hunting between cattle drives, and you're not even a proper criminal; just a runaway from a wealthy family who can afford to have you dragged back home. you put up a fight, sure, but it's no harder than wrangling a particularly feisty calf, and you resign yourself to playing nice as soon as they get you into the countryside proper. it's close quarters. there's only one horse, one tent, one set of bedding, and since you're too much of a city flower to do much of anything on your own, you're pressed against their chest more often than not - either tucked in front of them in their saddle or curled up on the edge of their sleeping mat. by the time the two of you reach civilization again, they've gotten used to having a sweet little thing to take care of, a stubborn foal who can't help but melt into the first sign of affection. they could turn you in for the bounty, sure, or they could keep you for themself, make sure they have a cute little thing to come home to next time they have a few weeks to kill.

they're a cattle driver at heart, after all. just this once, they should get to keep the prize pick.

[the-raindeer-king]

Another COD au that I'm too lazy to write. This one is for the og games because it's about ✨️ Captain MacTavish ✨️ it's a time travel au based off these adult romance novels that I read in high school.

So reader is from our current time, and accidentally stumbles upon some fae magic stuff, maybe you get tricked, idk, and gets sent back in time to medieval Scotland. Right into the lap of Lord John MacTavish (not really but god I wish.)

Now, this could progress via one of two ways. The first is that you're mistaken for MacTavish's arranged bride, who was supposed to arrive a week ago. Or one of the servant ladies finds you after a freak storm, shivering like a newborn foal, and convinces MacTavish to let you stay while they try to figure out who you are. Either way, your brash attitude and lack of modesty is refreshing to MacTavish, who's never been a fan of meek women.

Regardless, no one believes you when you try to plead your case. That you're from the future and you don't know how you got there. Maybe you give up after a while, besides things are good with Lord MacTavish. Or maybe you're able to convince him by knowing things that no one should know, and he gives you his aid in trying to return you to the future.

You end of falling in love (duh) but, the fae who sent you here, Roach, is in serious trouble with Fae King Price for meddling with human affairs, and now he has to send you back. I personally think it would be so so funny if you got sent back in the middle of having sex with MacTavish.

You end having to find Roach again to plead your case, and he takes you to Fae King Price to ask to be sent back. As much as he doesn't want to, concerns about the time continuum, you're clearly distraught. And if he doesn't take pity on you, there's a good chance you'll take darker routes to get back.

And this time, when you get sent back, it's literally right into the lap of Lord MacTavish, who glad to have you back and eager to make up for lost time.