#whhhyyyy?

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Tolling of the Bells

2018 31 Days of Ficmas, day 19 - Bells

@doctorroseprompts

31 Days of Ficmas masterlist

Summary: A TenxRose WW1 AU, featuring a dashing but injured pilot, a cynical war widow, and the church bells that echo through their story.

Rated M - sexual themes

AO3

---

March, 1918

Letting the last notes of the recessional linger, Rose lifted her fingers from the organ keys and let her body sag.  The church bells began the now painfully familiar funeral tolling, almost but not quite overwhelming the wails of the latest war widow in the village.

Closing the cover on the organ she gathered her things, tiptoeing halfway down the steps from the loft to peer around the corner.  The last stragglers from the funeral were trailing out, dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs, and she slipped out behind them, flinching at the first drops of icy rain.  A fumble in her bag produced an umbrella that refused to open; she was so caught up in the struggle that she startled violently at a voice.

“Did you do the music?”

The umbrella snapped open, and she raised it over her head before looking at the speaker.  He was a young man, perhaps thirty, leaning heavily on a pair of crutches.  The pristine army uniform said it was a war wound, but he wasn’t a local – she’d never seen him before, and she knew everyone, as daughter of the pub owner.

“Yes, I did,” she answered his question, meeting his eyes – brown, sparkling but sad, and world-weary.  Then again, most Brits’ were, after three years of losing their young men in trenches in France.  “Did you know him?”

He shook his head, shifting with a wince.  “No.  But I’m staying at Highclere, and heard them talking about the funeral… Seemed I ought to attend, I suppose.”

Of course he was a patient at Highclere – the local estate-turned-hospital.  Earlier in the war when it was first set up she’d volunteered there; until her compassion ran out, much like her patience and good nature, and she realized the best way she could support the injured troops was by staying away from them.  “That was noble of you.”  She eyed his crutches, which sank in the mud with every exhale, and frowned.  “How do you expect to return to the castle?”

“The chauffeur will return at fourteen-hundred.  Er, do you have a recommendation of where I could wait?”

“The local pub’s a five-minute walk,” Rose nodded in the general direction.  “I’m actually headed there – may I assist you?”  In truth, she’d rather be alone, but it seemed the right thing to do.

“I’d hate to impose,” the man hesitated, “but that would be very kind of you.”

Resigned to helping him, Rose ducked beneath his arm, smoothly replacing one wooden crutch with herself, tucking the now-extraneous aid under her arm.  “You’ll have to hold the umbrella,” she informed him, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him.  “Ready?”

-

The normally five-minute walk took at least twenty, and by the time they stumbled into the pub both were soaked to the bone despite her umbrella.  Her father, quick on his feet as always, was by their side before the door shut behind them, helping take some of the soldier’s weight off of Rose and guiding them to the nearest table.

Settling across from the man, Rose was concerned at his pale coloring, but her father was already returning to them with two pints of ale.

“Thank you,” the man muttered gratefully, lifting it to his mouth and taking several large gulps, his color quickly returning.  “You’re terribly kind, and you have my gratitude.”  In the relative quiet of the pub his accent came through clearer than before, making Rose’s eyebrows shoot up.

“You’re Scottish.”

“Aye.”  He hesitated.  “Is that an issue?”

“Of course not,” her father said warmly before she could open her mouth – not that she would have disagreed.  “Peter Tyler, owner.  Welcome to the Swan and Rose.”

The man offered him his hand.  “Lieutenant James Smith, RFC.  I’m currently convalescing at Highclere, as of last month.”

“A pilot?  God above, you’re brave.  Planes fly over occasionally as part of a training mission, and I don’t see how they don’t fall out of the air.  The concept’s fascinating, but I’ll keep my feet on the ground.”

The Lieutenant nodded, glancing at Rose, who smiled wryly, shaking her head at Pete’s glib comment.  “I’m Rose.”  She looked meaningfully at her father.  “He’s to be picked up by the estate chauffeur in a few hours – perhaps he might like a bite to eat?”

Nodding, Pete hustled off to find a menu, and Rose grinned at her impromptu lunch partner.  “So, whereabouts in Scotland are you from?”

“Outside of Glasgow.”  He paused as Pete returned with two menus, waiting until he’d gone again to continue.  “All my life I asked God to take me from there.  Only when I thought I’d die as a pilot did I realize perhaps I should’ve been more specific.”

She laughed.  “I understand, and know the sentiment – if not quite to that extreme.  I’d often wish, working here, that so many of the young men I knew would leave me be… I never meant so permanently.”  Her humor fled, thinking of her graduating class – most of the men had either enlisted or been conscripted, and only a few had returned alive; injured, but alive.  The rest were still somewhere on the continent, struggling to survive.

The pilot, James, made a noise of agreement before saying decisively, “If it’s all the same, I’d rather talk about life – death and dying and war is all anyone mentions up at Highclere, and frankly, too dreary for a conversation with such a beautiful woman.”

Rose blushed, taken by surprise.  “That’s kind of you to say, and I concur a change in tone and topic appropriate.”  Not that I can think of anything that doesn’t include one of those items at the moment.  “D’you have family, back in Glasgow?”

“Not anymore.  Only child, both parents gone.  A cousin just outside of London, but that’s all.  If I’m ever a free man again I’ll probably go to be near her, I suppose.  If I don’t find anywhere better to be.”

“I’m also an only child,” she shared.  “Some extended family as well.  What do you intend to do, once you’re ‘a free man’ again?”

“Travel.”  His eyes lit up.  “I’d love to see France – real France, not the dirty, miserable hell-on-Earth it is now.  Stroll in Paris.  Eat in Rome.  Two years ago I’d have said Moscow as well, but with the revolution… I’m starting to think going to America might be the only way to escape the ravages of war, at least for a bit, once it’s all done.”

“I’d love to see New York,” Rose gushed, leaning forward on the table.  “Or the Middle West and cowboys.  Mountains.  Los Angeles!  Or Australia.  The savannahs of Africa.  I want to see it all.”

-

By the time they’d returned to the church and were waiting for the Highclere chauffeur, Rose felt as though she’d known him her entire life.  They’d laughed and chatted easily, and she’d found herself sharing dreams she didn’t know she had, or had forgotten, in the overwhelming feeling that the war would never end, and life would never return to normal.

“I had a wonderful afternoon,” the lieutenant said earnestly, as the car came into view down the road.  “Thank you.  I haven’t enjoyed such conversation in… months, if not years.  Possibly ever.”

“So did I,” Rose said shyly, folding her hands in front of her to keep from fiddling them.  “I haven’t laughed so much in ages.”

He nodded, staring at the approaching car, and said with a would-be casual air, “Enough to repeat the experience?”

“Well, you know where to find me now,” she demurred.  “Come see me any time.”

The car pulled up then, the chauffeur jumping out to help James and another waiting soldier in.  Once he was settled Rose moved to the window next to him, and he met her eye.  “I will.”  His voice was heavy with promise, and it sent a thrill through her.

“I’ll be waiting.”

-

He did just that; at least twice a week he’d appear in the pub during the morning lull, each time healthier than the last, and they would spend hours chatting and giggling together, tucked in the semi-private corner booth to get some distance from her father’s watchful eye.

Rose wasn’t ashamed to admit, at least to her pillow, that she was quickly falling in love with the handsome pilot.  He was earnest and eager, to tell her his stories and to hear hers.  They had much in common, including their sense of humor and mischief, and after six weeks, Rose was ready to admit to him her feelings.

Wiping once more at the bar, waiting for the tinkle of the bell to announce his presence, the joyous sound finally came and she spun to see him – standing tall and proud, finally free of his crutches, but looking terribly, terribly sad.

Did someone die? was her first thought, before a worse, more likely scenario presented itself.

“You’re getting sent back to the front.”

“I am.”  He didn’t try to hide it, and all of the happiness they’d stolen over the last weeks vanished from her, leaving behind a physical ache in her chest.

“When?”

“Two days.”

She moved without thinking, throwing herself into his arms, and he hugged her tightly to him.  It was their first embrace, and she committed the moment to memory.  “I’m sorry.”

“No more than I am.”

Lips pressed gently against her hair, then her temple, and she squeezed her eyes closed, commanding the tears to return to their origin.

Time had no meaning as they swayed gently together, until a deliberate cough broke them apart.  A glance over her shoulder showed her father look pointedly at them and the glass door they stood in front of, and reluctantly pulling back, she guided James to their booth.

“Rose-”

“I-”

They started at the same time, cutting themselves off before laughing softly, Rose swiping at her nose as she sniffled.  “Go on.”

He stared at her, taking in what were surely red eyes and flushed cheeks, and said, “Marry me.”

“What?”

He looked as stunned at the words as she felt, but swallowing, he repeated, “Marry me.  Be my wife.  When the war is won and I am free, I’ll come back and get you, and we can travel the world.  I’ll take you anywhere you want for a delayed honeymoon – Los Angeles, New York, I’ll take you to the bloody moon if that’s what you want.  Say you’ll be mine.  Say you’ll wait for me.”

It was more that she’d ever dreamed of, and pressing a hand to her heart, Rose tried to steady herself.  “I…”

“Is that a yes?”

Licking her lips, she thought of the one thing she’d never told him, wondered if it would make a difference.  “That depends on what you say next after I tell you what I must.”

His brow furrowed, and she reached out a trembling hand to brush at a loose tuft of hair.  “You’re not already married, are you?”

“Not exactly.”  Rose let out a deep breath.  “Yes, I am- well, was- married.  I’m a widow, as of three years ago.”

He looked stunned, staring at her, excuses and equivocations bubbling to her lips but held back, waiting for his reaction.

“Because of the war?”

“What?”

“You’re a war widow?”

“Yes.  Well, sort of.”  Rose sighed.  “Quite frankly, it’s embarrassing.  Yes, Jimmy and I- my husband- were married shortly after he enlisted.  We had three days together before he got on the train.  Only, upon arrival at the camp, he signed his papers, got his haircut and uniform, and took a shortcut across a field – which turned out to be the target practice at the shooting range.”  She snorted.  “The moron didn’t make it an hour in the army before he died.  It’s humiliating – so many of my classmates have lost husbands bravely, at the Somme, or Verdun- mine got himself shot by friendly fire at training camp.”  Shaking her head at the memory, she gave him a wry smile.  “Are you sure you want to marry a woman with such atrocious taste?”

James stared at her in silence, long enough for her smile to slip, before he said, “That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I agree.”

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate, how much comfort I’m taking in how low your standards are, in terms of husbands.  Surely I can’t be any worse.”

Her breath caught.  “You’ll still have me?”

“If you, me.”  A brilliant smile spread across his face.  “Will you?”

“Of course!”

A throat cleared, and they looked up to see Pete standing in front of them, arms crossed.  “Question for me?” he gave James a challenging glare, who swallowed in response.

“Sir…”  Gently freeing his hand from Rose’s, James stood, snapping to attention.  “I would like to marry your daughter.”

“I won’t have her moving to Scotland.”

“No, sir.”  James glanced back at her.  “Perhaps London, if she’s willing, and a visit to Scotland, but England’s fine with me, so far as a residence.”

The two men eyed each other up, Pete’s expression stern and unwavering.  To James’ credit he held up well, though his Adam’s apple gave his nerves away.

Rose waited, heart in her throat, until her father’s gaze flickered to her; she nodded, smiling reassuringly, and his expression broke into a grin.

“Jackie!  Come congratulate your son-in-law-to-be!”

A shriek rang out from the kitchen as Rose burst into laughter, sliding out from the booth as James- her fiancé- all but melted in relief.

Amidst the cheering at chatter from the few patrons in the pub and her ecstatic parents, Rose took James’ hand, smiling up at him.  “I wanted to tell you that I love you.”

His eyes, already warm, brightened further, his pleased smile growing even wider.  “Quite right, too,” he teased, laughing when she nudged him.  “I love you, too.”

-

Pulling back from their uniting kiss, their guests cheered as the wedding bells rang out.  Grasping each other’s hand tightly, James in his pilot’s uniform, Rose in her Sunday best, they turned to face them together, both beaming as they started back down the aisle, out into beautiful sunshine.

Ducking through the shower of rice, they stopped at the end of the path to smile for the photographer.

“Reception at the pub in twenty minutes,” her father called from somewhere behind them, and they turned to watch the guests- most of the village, really- immediately head there.

Rose shook her head, unable to wipe the smile off her face and she looked up at her handsome new husband.  “We’ve always been a very popular family,” she said dryly, making him laugh.

“I can see why,” he replied warmly, pulling her into his side.  “I’m certainly fond of you all.”

James kissed her, making her toes curl and her breath catch; they’d stolen plenty of kisses in the twenty-four hours of their engagement, but none had had this much intention behind it.  “Do these receptions tend to go on?  Back home, it could go all night.”

His intense look sent heat through her, and she was glad not to be alone in the direction her thoughts had gone.  “They do.  Especially now, with so little to celebrate, they go into the early hours, spill out into the streets, the whole thing.  However, as populated as they are and as free-flowing as the wine is, it can be easy to get… lost in the crowd.  People be lost track of, and easy to slip away.”

“Good.”  Turning to face her he captured her face in his palms, kissing her deeply enough that the vicar called, “You’re still on church property, thank you!”

They broke apart giggling, turning in unspoken agreement and heading towards the pub with the stragglers, walking hand in hand.

Rose had so much she wanted to say, to tell him, but no words would come, and really, would any suffice?  She was well aware that as happy as this moment was, it was possible- if not likely- that he wouldn’t return to her, that any plans made would never come to fruition.  Don’t think like that, not today, she told herself fiercely.  There’ll be time enough for worries after you kiss him goodbye tomorrow.  For now, get through the reception so you can get to the wedding night.

She looked up at him only to find him staring down at her, a soft expression on her face.  “Penny for ‘em.”

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I’ll do everything and anything I can to come back to you.”

“You better.”  She squeezed his hand, but they’d reached the pub, and the cheering didn’t allow for more conversation as they were mobbed by well-wishers and showered with more rice.

Through no design of Rose’s, the main portions of the reception happened within the first hour or two; the local band who played the pub did a beautiful slow number for their first dance, and the baker had outdone himself on such a tight timeline and with rationing to make a wonderful cake.

Dancing together to a song from the radio, Rose’s heart stopped when an officer she’d seen from Highclere stopped James to whisper in his ear.  Pulse pounding she waited as they conversed, possibilities flying through her mind – a complication with the legality of their marriage, he was being sent out early, something that would take him from her- only for James to nod and shake the man’s hand, who instantly disappeared into the crowd of dancers again.

“What-”

Her new husband shook his head, guiding her towards the stairs to the family’s private quarters and behind the partition; it was moderately quieter back there, and he took her into his arms, kissing her deeply.

“James, what’s going on?” she asked when they finally parted for breath.

“Do you have an overnight bag?  Do you need to say goodbye to your mother?”

She blinked at the questions.  “I have a bag, it’s upstairs.  Are we leaving?”

“If you want.  Harkness says Highclere is mostly empty, and he’s giving us his quarters for the night.  We can head there now, if you’d like.”

“God, yes,” she breathed, laughing.  “Look at me, I’m blushing.  But, yes, I think we can sneak out of here – the celebrations are done, now it’s just drinking.” 

Running upstairs she grabbed her bag, taking a moment in the mirror to check her reflection, and marveled at the happiness in her face.  It had been so long since her eyes had sparkled, and she said a quick prayer that he would come home to her.  She left a short note on her bed, then bag in hand she returned to him, and they hurried out the back.

-

Rose hadn’t known what to expect as they pulled up to the castle, but rather than heading into the main building, he brought her around the side to a small cottage tucked near the tree-line.

“Jack’s in charge of security,” he explained, fumbling the key into the door, “so he got these quarters.  Usually the gardener’s shed, I believe, but it should do.  Hopefully.”  He got the door open but kept her from going inside, taking her bag in before returning for her.  “Ready?  I’ll try not to drop you.”

With those auspicious words he swept her into his arms, carrying her into the room.

“This is… nice,” she said, once her feet hit the ground and she could look around.  It was just a room, and she suspected he was right about it’s former purpose; it smelled of dirt, but it was relatively clean and put together, especially with a single male occupant.

“Not bad,” James agreed.  “Once the war is over I’ll take you somewhere for a real honeymoon; a nice hotel in London, at the least.  But will this do for tonight?”

Stepping into the middle of the room, Rose gave a twirl before sitting on the bed, bouncing lightly.  “Comfortable enough.  And private, which is good.  I think it’ll do.”

“I’m glad,” he said, standing somewhat stiffly and awkwardly by the door.  “Erm, what would you like to do?  I mean- uh, there may be a radio, we could dance?  Or talk?”

Rose tilted her head, studying him, as she leaned back on her hands against the mattress.  “Now that we’re married, can I ask- I know sometimes with injuries… Whatever the case is is fine, but… I mean…” she fought down a blush; though she’d been married to Jimmy, it had really only been for three nights, and she hadn’t had a chance to become comfortable with such intimacy in a conversation.  “Does everything… work?”

James’ brow furrowed.  “I’m fully healed, that’s why they’re sending me back.”

She licked her lips, trying to be delicate.  “I mean… for tonight.  Are we able to consummate?”

“Oh!”  His eyes went wide, and he tugged at his collar.  “Yes, it works- that would’ve been cruel of me, wouldn’t it?  To marry you without telling you you wouldn’t be able to have children, or anything like that.  No, there’s no reason to think my injury affected… that.”  James coughed.  “Is that- are you-”

Rising from the bed she approached him, going up on tiptoe to kiss him softly.  “How long do we have until your train?”

He checked his watch.  “About twenty hours.”

“We can talk and dance between other activities,” she said, starting to undo his belt.  “I want to make use of those twenty hours as best we can, though.  There will be time for talking and dancing after the war.”

“If you’re sure.”  James’ breath caught on the last word as her fingers found him.  “I suppose you are.”

They kissed languidly as she fondled him, undressing slowly and migrating towards the bed.  By the time her back hit the mattress she was in just her pearls and wedding band, her husband his socks and RFC hat.  But when she tried to pull him on top of her, he panted, “Wait, wait.”

He rolled away and she pushed herself up onto her elbows, watching as he dug around in a small drawer.  “What’re you doing?”

“Jack said… aha!”  He pulled something out triumphantly, returning to the bed and kneeling between her legs as he did something to himself.

“What is that?”  He’d rolled something over his manhood, and she had no words to describe it.  “Are you planning on…”

He sat back on his heels, hands rubbing at her spread thighs.  “It’s called a condom,” he explained patiently.  “My intention is to prevent, well, a pregnancy, if possible.  If something happens to me… well, there’ll be time enough for babies after the war.  I don’t want worry that I’m leaving you behind with a burden.”

“Why does your friend have them?”

“They also protect against disease, and Jack… Jack is very popular.”

Rose nodded slowly, considering the concept.  She reached out, brushing tentative fingers along his length.  “If you think it’s best.”

“It shouldn’t be much different,” he reassured her, “or at least that’s what Jack says, and he would know.  I just want tonight to be about us and enjoying ourselves, and this can help avoid any consequences.”

“All right, I trust you.  Go on then.”

She tried to relax into the mattress as he stretched out on top of her; but rather than just sticking it in as she expected, James kissed her and touched her, stoking a fire in her until she was begging for him.  Only then did he push inside, and by the time they were sweaty and sated, she’d all but forgotten about it.  Letting her legs fall to the sides, she winced as he removed himself, but the expected sensation didn’t come.

“It also helps with cleanup,” he said, pleased, disposing of the sock-like thing.  “How do you feel?”

“Wonderful.”  She turned onto her side as he laid back beside her, and they chatted softly between languid kisses.  He told her of his childhood home, of Scotland, while she shared anecdotes of growing up in a pub, and pulling pints from the day she could reach handles.

Wandering hands would lead to heavy breaths, and each time he would dutifully leave the bed to get another condom, and by the third time she was eager to roll it on him before sliding down over it, loving the noises he made and the words he whispered as she took control until the inevitable occurred, and they collapsed together.

-

Morning found them bright and early, sunlight streaming in directly at Rose’s face, stirring her.  Rolling over she found James there, ready and eager once again, but as the sun climbed in the sky their lovemaking took on a desperate, frenzied air as they tried to savor every last moment.

Naked but for her jewelry, air drying from their shared bath, Rose lounged in the bed as she watched her husband dress.

“You’ll be able to rest, won’t you?” it finally occurred to her to ask, as she fought the urge to help him, knowing it would only cause delays; but she hated to see his skin disappear behind clothing, wanting to kiss it, touch it, one more time.  “We didn’t sleep much last night.”

“I’ll be able to sleep,” he promised, pausing in his buttoning of his shirt to come back to her, and she came up onto her knees to meet him for a kiss.  “I’ll sleep well, and I’ll dream of you.  Sometimes I’ll dream of you on the day we met, of your beautiful playing and your kindness, of your smile and laugh.”

“And other times?”

Despite them being alone, and all the pleasure they’d shared, he still leaned in close and whispered low in her ear, “And other times, I’ll dream of the way you looked riding me, chasing your own pleasure, and how you flushed when you found it.  I’ll dream of your mouth on me, the way you’d beg me to be inside you, the noises you make as I move.”

Rose moaned against his mouth as they kissed, gasping when his fingers pushed inside her.  “Mhm, yeah.”

“Exactly,” he encouraged, “those noises.  I love to hear them.  Some day I’ll buy you land somewhere we can have total privacy, so you can scream and scream and no one will hear your pleasure.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she panted, fucking herself onto his fingers as he massaged her, not sure if she was agreeing with his words or his touch.  “So good.”  He was a quick study, and brought her over the peak quickly, groaning as she clenched around him.

Wriggling back she bent over, and it took longer to free him from his trousers than to suck him off; she’d barely started before he coated the back of her throat, and she eased off him, rising up on her knees again to find him looking terribly sad.

“If I don’t make it back-”

“Don’t talk like that-”

“If I don’t,” he spoke over her, “know that I love you.  Truly.  To be honest, the day we met wasn’t the first time I’d seen you.  A few weeks before I was at a funeral for one I did know, and I saw you in the loft like an angel.  I came to every church event  I could after that, even liturgies, trying to get an opportunity to meet you.  Finally I was able to catch you, and I’m so, so glad I did.”

“Me too,” she whispered.  “I love you to, so much.”

James closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers for a long minute, before murmuring, “Put some clothes on, will you?  They shoot deserters, and if I lose my senses again, I’ll be dangerously close to being late.”

-

Trainside, they kissed as long as they could, surrounded by other couples savoring every last moment until the train whistled, and they were forced to part.  Watching him board, she found herself moving along the platform with him as he found an empty seat, leaning out the windowing just to hold her hand while he could.

“I’ll write you,” they promised in unison, before laughing.

“Take care.”

The train started to move, and she tried to keep up with it.

“I’ll come back for you,” he shouted, leaning halfway out the window.  “Be here!”

“I will!”

With the other wives she waived and cheered until the train was out of sight- then one woman burst into tears, starting the rest of them off.  “Come back to me,” Rose whispered, hands pressed against her heart, the steam in the distant sky the only visible part of him left.  “Please, God, let him come back.”

-

December, 1918

Eyes closed, lost in thought, Rose listened as the church bells pealed.  Midnight.  Christmas.

The church was restless as late arrivals streamed in, the musicians starting to tune their instruments in preparation for the service to start.  War was over, many of the young men home for Christmas.

But not all.

Rose’s last letter from James was dated October, and as hope faded a little with every passing day she kept it close to her heart, the last lines running through her mind on a loop.  I love you.  I’ll come home to you.  I love you, I love you, I love you.  It was painful, now, to walk through the village, or even be behind the bar; so many reunited couples, their joy almost infectious but for the jealousy burning deep.

All I want for Christmas is my husband home - alive.

“Rose, budge up,” her mother said unexpectedly from next to her, tugging her arm.  “Move over.”

Opening her eyes, Rose frowned at her.  “What?”

“Room for one more?” a voice asked behind her, barely audible as the choir began to sing O Come, All Ye Faithful, and she turned to look, breath catching in her throat.

“James?”

Her brain refused to believe her eyes, but there he stood, looking exhausted and older but so, so happy  - and he wasn’t the only surprise Christmas return, based on the cries and exclamations going around the room.

“Hi, love,” he said gently, and she burst into tears, throwing herself into his arms.

“Are you real?”

He just hugged her tighter against him, peppering kisses over her face before finding her lips.

“All right, all right, into the pew with you,” her mother hissed, and they broke apart with a laugh, staying wrapped around each other as they moved out of the aisle and into their seats.

Rose didn’t hear a word of the service, too busy with her own prayers and thanks for his safe return, burrowed into her husband’s side, his arms tight around her.

And when the bells rang again at the end of the service, her heart sang along with them.

[ashestoshadows]

I absolutely hate the fact that I’m needing to get Pokemon Shield to finish my Pokedex to get the shiny charm 😭 I think it’s the most asinine thing Nintendo does with their games. (Then again, this is Nintendo I’m talking about here.)

[bearotonin-international]

Oh don’t mind the team, we’re just late night bear posting instead of doing better more sensible and productive things like f*cking sleeping

[robinshandhurts]

[allyheart707]

RAHHHH tumblr hasn't been showing you on my home page at all this is so homophobic

Oh lame!! I hate it when my moots don't show up on my feed >:(

But may be because I haven't been posting. Art block has me in a death grip.

[beybuniki]

turning asks off, this is getting too entertaining but I can’t get distracted, I have 3 deadlines to keep 😭

[sesanghe-myah]

the MoCo bros before they became 🥜-less

they were so tiney and innocent 🥹

[whirling-ghost]

I have spent all day dreaming about lying down, reading something terrible and maybe having a nap. I did not know there was server downtime until ten minutes in to it

[arimis]

A pizza place, a little grocery store, a bike shop, and a laundromat~ Been working on this island off and on since 2020 and I’m still not sure of the best ways to use some of Cocricot’s items, like shelves. Each one is takes up a blocks space so if you want one above a counter you then can’t put anything on the counter. So you have to have really tall walls? F💀

[seeveekat]

Just went through the stages of grief realizing that the first official Mayuri figure (if they release one which im sure they will) is going to probably be him in the fucking Sunflower outfit.

[armandsdivorcelawyer]

Girl on tiktok went to Korea and now is facing life for drug smuggling

This is the moment where everyone who has ever lived in SK gets to come together to merciless call someone a dumbass

[perfectharmonyloveschaos]

Well, I watched the entire last season of The Umbrella Academy...

Let the fix-it-fics BEGIN!

[thedevotionaltour]

you will be having a good time and then remember how an acquaintance of yours made weird and presumptive comments about your identity and aw dangit

[primewritessmut]

A, H, P (He Speaks Daggers), T

A: Of the fanfic you’ve written, which is your favorite and why?

You may not know this about me but once a fic is completed, it is dead to me. I shove it out of the nest without really caring whether it can fly and literally never think about it again.

But... if I had to pick one... I'd say Songs for the Zombie Apocalypse. It was an experimental fic for me in a lot of ways. I wrote in a genre I'd never written in before. I absolutely refused to let it have a happy ending. I gave myself a word limit. And I think it has the highest ratio of words to my vibe reading typing "PRIME" and "sicko!" in my docs of any other fic I've written (so far). Which is really one of my biggest litmus tests.

H: How would you describe your writing style?

Drawing a summoning circle, placing my laptop inside, and letting the spirit of whatever demon comes to call take over the keyboard.

Maybe that sounds flippant but every time I sit down to write, it's the equivalent of turning the key in an absolute jalopy and praying the engine turns over. Then driving that bitch until it breaks down on the side of the road. I am on a journey. A ride. I'm not really even steering the thing.

Basically, I don't know what it is or how it happens, I'm just along for the ride.

P:  Where did you find the most inspiration for your story He Speaks Daggers?

Not to sound flippant again, but Loki's daggers. More specifically, the long dagger that Kid Loki gives him before he goes to fight Elioth. I just wanted to write a horny, yet soft knife kink that ended up being an exploration of friendship and trust and intimacy.

The subtext of the show, specifically Loki and Mobius's relationship, was a big inspiration, too. Really anytime they're in a room together and you sort of watch them orbit around each other like they have their own personal sun. And all the grounding physical touch. I really, really wanted to see if I could capture that in writing.

T: Any fanfic tropes you can’t stand?

I'm a mood reader in a lot of ways so a trope that I would absolutely click away from today might be the trope I'm scouring the internet for tomorrow. But I'm usually pretty picky about my power dynamics. There are some pairings that I won't read at all (teacher/student) and some that I have to be sold on depending (boss/secretary, certain age gaps). However, like I said in a different ask, I read very weird shit and I'm willing to try almost anything once.

(Seriously. Ask me about the fingerling potato book. Or, you know, don't.)

x

[laymedowntorest]

FUCK IT CAUGHT UP TO ME