#yearly recognition

[metamorphmigus]

Hello and well met! Meta here to give everyone a little heads up! This month marks my third year posting my art online for everyone to enjoy! It has been a journey, boy I tell ya. Much growth has been made from when I first began. I've worked on many projects and made many friends along the way.

To commemorate the accomplishment, and because I love having excuses to do things a little different, I wanted to extend a loving hand to my mutuals and fellow artists. I'm opening myself up to you, as you undoubtedly have for me, with an open invitation for colabs!

If you've always wanted to create something together, now is the perfect time! I'm willing to work with you to make beautiful art! Have an idea you've always wanted to do, but didn't know how/when to ask? Now's your time! Hit me up either in the ask box, or dm me directly! Not sure what to make, but still want to participate? That's totally ok! I'm down to workshop/brainstorm an idea that get's us both inspired!

I'll be accepting colab projects throughout the month of November, but I'm not going to put a deadline on them getting completed. This is partly because I don't have any idea how many I'll get and I want to make sure I give each one the loving attention it deserves. Don't worry tho, I'll be keeping in touch with whoever I'm working with so we stay in the loop on the pieces' progress.

Anyways, thank you for your time and support. You've made these last three years fly by.

Metamorphmigus

[lillazyboithings]

hiiii

just wanted to pop in !

hope you've been well :D

also, your lil tag rambles make me so happy hehe

-🌈

Omg 🌈!! Great to see u again :3!!

And yeah, I've been doing well, though, just nervous about seeing my batchmates again tomorrow.

And thanks :DD! I'm glad they make u happy, I just really love rambling in general, especially in tags hehehe

[belovedmusings]

Lay me down tonight.

Explicit Smut 18+ 🚫Minors DNI🚫

You were loyal to your boyfriend, Megumi, before you met his estranged father at the yearly family get-together. The second you met Toji, however, the righteous and innocent person you were died, and in their place, an insatiable monster was born. Toji ruined you, and even now, you keep allowing him to ruin you, all behind Megumi’s back.

Relevant tags: shameless smut, infidelity, cheating, Toji is rough and dominant, Megumi is clueless, reader are a good liar, reader is a little depraved, everyone addresses you without the usage of “y/n” for better immersion, Megumi is aged up so that you’re both of age, ‘cause we are not gonna have Toji catchin’ a case up in here, that said, age gap between reader & Toji, minimal gendered language though reader is AFAB, Toji is a horrible father

Recommended songs while reading: older (Isabel LaRosa), Unholy (Hey Violet), Fucked My Way Up To The Top (Lana Del Rey)

A/N: infidelity is NOT the answer but this is a lil smut just for funsies so enjoy!

Read below the cut:

You remember exactly how it had first happened. It was a year ago.

You were meeting tons of Megumi’s family members at once, flying through greetings to cousins and aunts and uncles and distant cousins and great-grandparents—no one stood out to you until he showed up.

The large hotel banquet room the Zenin family had rented out sort of got quiet as he walked in. Your eyes caught on him, and after he scanned the room, unbothered by the staring, his eyes zeroed in on you and Megumi.

He’d tilted his head to the side in interest and then made his way towards the two of you. You heard mumbles and whispers about him.

“He wasn’t invited,” Megumi muttered under his breath in annoyance.

“Who is that?” You whispered back.

“He’s…well, I wouldn’t call him—”

“What are we whispering about?” The burly man said loudly, now in front of you. He looked amused and completely shameless. Now that you had seen him up close, he looked sort of familiar.

“I was just wondering who you were,” you told him, looking around. The family was watching with various degrees of surprise and disdain. The man laughed haughtily.

“Oh, I see. Megumi didn’t tell you who I was?” He asked with a salacious grin. “He didn’t tell me who you are, either. You’re holding out on us both, Megumi.”

Your boyfriend huffed beside you. “That man is technically my father.”

Your lips parted in recognition. That made sense. You’d heard a little bit about him, enough to know he’s a dead-beat and that Megumi never speaks to him nor gets along with him. The family doesn’t like him as a whole.

“What are you doing here?” Asked Megumi with narrowed eyes.

“Relax,” the man chuckled, leaning against a chair. “I just came to see my dear family.”

“You weren’t invited.”

The man just held his wolfish grin on his face. “I don’t care.”

His steel gray eyes found yours, and he raised a brow. “Now, I still don’t know who you are.”

You introduced yourself, along with your relationship to Megumi, and the man hummed. “Well, it looks like Megumi has good taste. The name’s Toji. It’s very nice to meet you.”

He gave you an unconcealed appraisal and it made you feel hot. Megumi scowled.

“Don’t overstep a boundary,” he spit at his father, arm winding around your waist in attempt to intimidate.

The longer you looked at Toji, the more you realized how hot he was. He seemed so buff his muscles were practically bursting through the black t-shirt he had on. He was tall too. So tall. And his dark hair fell in layered strands around his ears and chin—his face was handsome as hell, too. You could tell where Megumi got his looks from. He smirked at you with all of the confidence in the world. He was like a more mature, more experienced version of your boyfriend.

He was really attractive.

“‘Course not,” Toji grinned, rolling his eyes. He’s amused. “I just wanted to greet my son. I’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Please do.”

Please don’t, you thought, but he turned on his heel and walked towards some other family members, already starting to talk at them instead.

Megumi sighed heavily. “Damn bastard. I had hoped you never had the displeasure of meeting him.”

The pleasure is all mine, you truthfully thought to yourself.

You felt a bad desire growing inside of you, and it wasn’t long before what you wanted came to fruition.

You and Megumi had had to travel to get to the family reunion. As such, you were staying in the hotel they booked the venue in for one night before you went back home.

You were restless, and Megumi was sound asleep in bed. You’d never been to this area, so you figured you’d walk around the hotel, maybe get some melatonin from the convenience shop on the first level to help you sleep. Truthfully, you hadn’t stopped thinking about Toji and how hot he was. You wondered where he went. You and Megumi had left the reunion a little early because he was tired, and you hadn’t seen him again after your brief meeting.

You slipped on some sweatpants and a crewneck before putting your slides on and leaving a note for Megumi in case he woke up.

‘Went to get melatonin and maybe a snack. Be back soon.’

With that, you slipped out of the hotel room and walked down the hallway. It was the middle of the night, so you kept quiet, padding towards the elevator. You pressed the button to go down, and after a few moments, the doors slid open.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

Toji.

A grin instantly spread across his face. “Hey. Goin' somewhere?”

Your blood pounded through your veins as you entered the elevator. “Uh…I can’t sleep.”

“You can't?” He asked, putting a hand on his hip. Bluntly, he replied, “I can fix that.”

Your mouth went dry.

You couldn’t remember exactly what happened next, but soon the two of you were stumbling into his hotel room a floor below yours, the door slamming and locking behind you as Toji took you into a bruising kiss. Your arms were wrapped around his neck the second he lifted you into his arms like a weightless pillow, tossing you down onto the hotel bed in the center of the room.

He kissed you again and it was like he was trying to eat you whole. The things he would murmur to you in between lip locks had your head spinning with guilty pleasure.

“Megumi don’t know how to treat you right.”

“I’ll bet he ain’t fuckin’ you properly.”

“I’ll show you how a real man does it.”

Each kiss, each word, each touch drew you closer to insanity. You both had your clothes off faster than you could comprehend, and Toji was spitting dirtily onto your mound, starting to rub circles into the pearl at the apex with flattened fingers.

You writhed beneath him as he scraped his teeth over your neck and chest, only stopping to lick the hand that was rubbing at you to coat it with more saliva before dipping it back down and slipping two fingers inside of you at once.

He finger-fucked you fast and hard.

Megumi never did that to you. Sex with him was always very vanilla and straightforward. Kissing counted as foreplay and then he was inside of you, always in missionary or sometimes spooning you from behind. That was it.

God, you had no idea sex could be this wild and mind-blowing.

You had cum on Toji’s fingers with a cry, not caring if the people next to you heard, and then he kept fucking you through it, adding a third finger and spitting over it again to get you loose and sloppy.

He had a giant cock. That was why he opened you up manually, because it would have done damage had he just fucked into you from the get-go.

When he did enter you, it still stretched you out past your limits, both impossibly thick and long, and you wondered how the hell anyone took a dick that big.

You quickly found out how.

He simply made you take it.

He held you up by your hips, suspending your lower half with the strength of his arms while he pounded into you. You could hardly even recognize your own voice. It was reaching pitches you’d never heard from yourself before, sounding so debauched and wanton you’d think he found some hooker off the street and paid her to moan like a porn star.

You swore you could feel his cock in your womb. With how big he is, you wouldn’t doubt it.

“Megumi doesn’t have a damn clue,” he had grinned to himself, looking at you as he split you open repeatedly. “Sleepin’ like a little bitch while his daddy takes care of you for him.”

You moaned loudly. “Toji…”

“That’s right,” he praised, “Whose cock is inside you right now?”

“Yours, oh—yours…”

“Say my name,” he growled, slapping your mound. You jolted, shivering at the harsh pleasure it gave you.

“Toji,” you mewled, scratching at the bed comforter. He was fucking you hard enough you knew you were going to cum from brute force alone.

“You belong to me now,” he told you. “You’re mine.”

That had sent you over.

“Oh my god!” It was a shout as you orgasmed, creaming all over his cock and onto the bed. He groaned deeply, shoving himself in harshly as he emptied his load inside of you, squeezing your hips so tightly they bruised.

When he’d pulled out, he watched his own seed drip from inside of you, sucking in a breath.

“You should do something about that,” he said. “Unless you wanna give your boyfriend a sibling.”

You shivered. Toji really didn’t give a shit about his son.

At that point, you knew you couldn’t pretend like you had any moral high ground either. You slept with your boyfriend’s dad. You cheated willingly. There was no sugar-coating it.

You had limped your way back to your room and cleaned up in the bathroom, falling asleep next to a still-sleeping, oblivious Megumi.

What’s worse is that a year later you’re still going back for more.

You and Megumi are still together.

He has no clue about Toji, and you want to keep it that way. The two of you barely mention him. He only talked about him the day after you met him once to say that he left when he was seven and never bothered to return.

You hide your affair like it’s your job. So much so that now you’re on birth control. Beforehand Megumi had just been fine with condoms, never making a fuss about them. Toji, as you had quickly found out, doesn’t like them. The largest available size is too small, he had told you, and besides that fact he likes feeling you bare. He doesn’t bother to pull out either, so not wanting to risk pregnancy as well as not wanting to spend fortunes on emergency contraceptives like you had the first time, you just get on birth control instead. You also only ever meet Toji at his place, since you know Megumi doesn’t know where he lives and you currently live with your boyfriend. Having Toji over could easily end awfully. You don’t take chances.

Tonight, you’re seated in Toji’s lap at his apartment. Megumi is away on a business trip, and you’ve been staying at Toji’s place for the past few nights. You’ve had so much sex you can barely think straight, at this point. Since you walked in he was on you, and you’ve christened every surface in his small apartment. The doorway, the living room, the wall of the hallway, the bedroom, the bathroom shower, bent over the sink, the kitchen counter, the table, too…everywhere is free reign.

Right now, you’re facing away from Toji, back to his chest while he bounces you on his cock, burly hands clamped down on your wrists to keep you upright and prevent you from falling forward.

The lewd wet slap of your bodies connecting, his heavy breathing and groans as well as the desperate gasps you keep giving him are all you hear. You two hadn’t even managed to turn the television on before he pulled you in and slipped inside, only his t-shirt and nothing else on you giving him easy access to what he wanted.

Every time your body collides with his, his tip kisses your cervix and it gives you a jolt of pleasure. He’s so deep inside it feels like he’s rearranging your guts.

Then, from his slow and hard pace he suddenly switches up and starts ramming into you harshly, punching mewls from your throat.

“Toji!” You gasp, “Oh god, Toji!”

Your knees are bent and your legs are tucked under them, split apart by his own, and if he wasn’t holding you up right now you’d face-plant right into the floor. The danger and the trust it involves has your head spinning. How did you get here? This isn’t who you used to be—but you wouldn’t go back and stop yourself if you could. It’s too good.

He’s too good.

His right hand is clamping down on your neck from behind abruptly, other hand switching to your waist, wrapping around the front to forcibly arch your back, and you gasp as your air gets restricted, cock getting deeper inside with the new angle.

“Toji,” you rasp, hands covering both of his wrists just to hold onto something as the force of his thrusts start forcing an orgasm through your system. You sputter, body spasming as it begins to take over, building from the spot his tip keeps hammering and undulating through every one of your nerves, yanking a high-pitched whine from your compressed vocal chords. “Toji!”

You tighten around him as you finish, mouth falling open, eyelids fluttering as your vision unfocuses, covering his cock on your essence. He groans deeply, letting your neck go and instead pulling you flush against his chest, pressing your hips down as far as they can go so he can pump his load into you.

With a few sloppy thrusts, he’s cumming, coating your walls in what must be the millionth round this week. He groans deeply into your ear, keeping you pushed down on him, sensitive length throbbing inside of you with the aftershocks.

You then feel his rough lips dragging over your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to any skin he can touch, his heavy breaths fanning over your flesh hotly.

“So good for me,” his voice is hoarse and fucked out, and it makes your stomach flutter. Sex with your boyfriend is never this intimate—you’re never pushed to your limits. Toji does it every time and then praises you when you’ve pleased him. It’s so addictive.

You turn your face towards him and he covers your lips with his own, initiating a messy make out session that only ends when you need air. If you didn’t require oxygen, you’d have loved to keep Toji’s tongue in your mouth forever—you think that it could be your only form of sustenance if you had your way.

“When’s he comin’ back again?” Asks Toji. You draw in a breath to steady yourself. It takes you a moment to think.

“Two days from now.”

“Good,” his grin is beastlike. “I get to keep you longer.”

You grin, nodding, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips. The position is a little uncomfortable though, so you end it quickly, pulling off of him.

He grabs your hips and turns you around, staring at you with dark eyes.

“Who said you could get off?” He asks, and you take a look at him, noticing that he’s half-hard again already. His stamina is seriously unmatched.

Before you can reply, he pulls you back towards him, this time your chest to his.

“I’m nowhere near done with you,” he says, and it’s done in such a way that you sort of feel like Little Red Riding Hood about to be devoured by the Big Bad Wolf—it thrills you.

And you’ll continue to go back for more.

—-

A/N: MAPPA better whore Toji out like they’ve done for Satoru, Kento, and Choso next week or istg

Please don’t repost or translate but feel free to reblog & share!

[stareaterau]

Chapter 1 episode 3

←Previous episode

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Index

---

Let's see if these two have murdered each other yet

CW: injury, blood, violence

Read below↓

Or AO3

"You're that bird person from the alleyway."

In front of Scar, the familiar stranger stands motionless and quiet, framed by the striated walls of the ravine. Despite having placed their weapon back in its sheath, they still look as if they’re on edge. Their body is tightly wound, their wings held out slightly, in a subtle effort to make their form larger, combating Scar's height. At their side, their taloned hands hang, fidgeting restlessly.

Scar shuffles awkwardly under his piercing gaze, growing more uncomfortable by the second. His reflection stares back at him from the deep, black voids of their eyes. At first, Scar had thought that they were utterly black, but, looking now, he can see the slight edge of brown circling his wide pupils, the bright sun casting an almost purple sheen across their surface. They’re quite pretty, he muses, as he waits for the other's response. He rocks on his heels, grimacing slightly at the deep ache setting into his legs and the soles of his feet.

Growing impatient at the silence, Scar reaches out, tempting fate by waving his hand in front of the bird's face. Nothing. The stranger continues to stare at Scar, unblinking. The only sign of recognition he can decipher is the slightest flicker of his feathers as they bristle at the proximity. Scar huffs, disappointed at his failure to evoke a reaction.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have big, creepy eyes?”

That manages to break him out of his stoic stare. He splutters awkwardly, gawking, an incredulous look crossing his face. He looks away, embarrassed.

“Ah hah! You looked away, I won the staring contest!” Scar grins triumphantly.

“I wasn't- what? I was just processing-” The stranger doesn’t return the disarming gesture, their mouth a thin line. Their arms clank softly against each other as he crosses them. Scar hadn’t gotten a good look at them before. He’d thought that they had just been wearing a long, black undershirt at first, but there’s no mistaking the dark metallic casing and wiring of the robotic prosthetics.

“Imagine the chances we’d ever meet again, huh?” Scar grins wildly, stepping forward with as open a demeanour as he can muster, pretending he’s meeting an old friend. He almost is, in a messed up way.

The stranger doesn’t return this warm gesture either. Instead, he frowns at Scar, a multitude of emotions unsuccessfully masked as they cross his face. His gaze flickers up to meet Scar’s eyes before something scared or sorrowful flashes in him, directing the strangers' eyes to their feet instead. Their expression now hides behind their tangled hair as it falls across his face. He searches for the right words, but they die on his tongue. Shaking his head, he resets his expression, carefully masking any unwanted emotion. Finally, he looks back at Scar with a soft yet concerned smile.

“I- I couldn't- I sorta thought I killed you that night.”

“Oh… OH! I'm like a ghost to you!” Scar raises his hands in a mock scary gesture, making a low ‘ooo’ sound to do his best imitation of one. It would put everyone else’s attempts to shame at the yearly Vindicators' spaceween party, he thinks smugly. He’s sure his attempts to lessen the tension between his evidently awkward company and himself is working. It always works… or it works sometimes at least… Actually, this might be the first time he’s been able to get this far.

Unamused, the stranger raises an eyebrow. “Well not so much anymore- you'd be a pretty bad ghost if I could’ve tackled you that easily.”

“Ah- that's no fair. You have wings… and I don’t have the ability to turn incorporeal, yet.”

“Mm-hm.” The stranger hums, shifting as they drag their taloned feet through the sand, etching grooves in the grainy surface. Scar pauses, racking his brain for a response, desperately not wanting to lose the traction on the conversation he had just gained. If he lets the stranger shut himself off now, he’ll have to do all the work to get him to open up again. Scar doesn’t want the only sounds in this empty desert to be himself and the whistle of wind through sandstone tunnels.

“My name is Scar, by the way.”

The stranger turns his attention back to Scar. Pausing, as if they’re expecting there to be more to that statement. They frown, not looking convinced.

“Is that a nickname, or just an unfortunate coincidence?” They ask, tentatively, like they’re trying to avoid saying something to offend Scar.

“Hah! Wouldn't you like to know!”

That, out of everything, gets a laugh. However, the stranger quickly tries to disguise it behind a fake cough, burying his face in his arm. Scar smirks, satisfied by the other's reaction, ignoring a twinge of pain from the knife wound in his shoulder.

They look back to Scar, a more playful expression creeping its way onto their face. “…Yes, that is the nature of a question.”

Their wings slowly lower back into a more natural position, the muscles relaxing— not muscles, his wings look robotic, too. They’re covered in feathers, but they’re held up and moved by a metal armature where the bone should be. For a second, Scar wonders how much of their body remains untouched by metalwork.

Regardless, Scar just beams at him, revelling in his ability to make them laugh. Happy with his ability to lessen their agitation, he makes no indication of wanting to answer the question.

The stranger chuckles awkwardly at the silence and shrugs.

“Heh… well, my name's Grian.”

“Oh! That name really suits you.”

“Thanks?”

Scar watches as they pick up their helmet off the ground, shaking it gently to knock out the sand. They clip the helmet to their belt and turn away from Scar, walking off in the direction Scar had been headed earlier.

“Where are you going?” He calls out at him.

“I- We-” Scar catches the way Grian corrects himself, hoping that means his new friend has decided not to try attacking him again, “-should get moving to somewhere with more cover. It's getting darker.”

“Wh- how could you even tell that? It feels like the whole sky is just the sun.”

To emphasise his point, Scar stands up straighter, turning his gaze to the sky to try and pinpoint the sun within the harsh light. After a moment, he shields his eyes from the glare with his hand. Another moment later, unsuccessful, Scar lowers his gaze. He blinks rapidly and rubs his eyes, trying to lose the blurry afterimage that stays behind and plagues his vision. Grian looks away from Scar, an unreadable, mostly uncomfortable expression on his face. He flexes his wings, shaking his feathers out, then strides away.

Scar realises he’s falling behind. He catches up hastily, coughing up an air of responsibility to match Grian’s. They are a ‘we’ after all.

Scar is honestly glad for Grian's company. He provides a familiar face, even if he is a familiar face he met only briefly… and a familiar face that promptly tried to kill him upon reuniting. At least Scar doesn’t feel like he has to pretend to be serious around him— Grian has that handled for the both of them. Although, Scar is certainly going to do his best to break through the birds' cold facade. “So, are we heading in any particular direction?”

Grian shakes his head, before realizing he should elaborate.

“I can fly up and scout out a direction later, but not now. Right now, I'd like to find a spot to rest.”

He stretches his wings out fully, the feathers bristling as the hinges make a soft rattling whine. Scar marvels at the impressive wingspan. He’s never seen wings quite this big before.

“You were flying a lot?” Scar watches them, intrigued. They don’t look like elytra, despite their metal parts, and Grian has far more control over them than even an experienced user. Elytra also don’t tend to come feathered like his— his look jarringly realistic. Maybe he’s an avian?

Scar’s never actually seen an avian before, though that’s not out of the ordinary. Most people haven’t. Could robotic enhancements be commonplace amongst them? Scar is somewhat familiar with enhancements, they’d even been offered to him once, but he’d declined, opting for the less invasive options. Mechanically enhancing what were once organic wings is the only option Scar can think of that matches Grian’s capabilities. That must be what he is, Scar concludes. Though, he pictured avians being taller.

“Yes,” Grian replies bluntly, his tone changing noticeably at the subject.

“Do you have an enderchest?” Scar inquires instead, searching for topics that aren’t sore spots.

Grian whips his head up to look at Scar, a bewildered expression spreading across his face.

“...What? No.”

“Dang it.” Scar sighs.

“Why would you want an enderchest?” He asks, growing curious after the initial surprise.

“I lost mine. It has some pretty important things in it that I need.” Scar hums, looking down at his scratched leg braces. They’re starting to creak under the strain of walking for so long. If Grian had one, he could use it to access his stuff. He really could do with his cane, or anything that can ease the stress on his braces. Grian follows Scar’s gaze, a particularly strained expression returning to his face. Scar frowns at how he almost looks guilty.

“I know you’re a Vindicator and everything,” Grian makes an effort to maintain the current topic and hide the distaste in his tone as he eyes Scar’s neat, albeit dusty, uniform. Scar isn’t surprised by Grian’s opinion on Vindicators. Grian was wanted by them when they had first met, but he at least has the decency to swap his tone out for a more apologetic one towards the end. “Enderchests aren't as common as you think. It might be a while till you can get to one.”

“...Really?”

“Yup.”

“Do you know where we are, then?” Scar quizzes, taking note of Grian's phrasing.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don't know where we are, or how I got here. You're the first person I've seen.”

Grian looks away, pausing to calculate his answer. His hard-won casual demeanour bleeds back into his previous defensive apathy. “We're in the same boat, I have no idea.”

Scar watches him, sure that Grian is holding something back. There’s something he doesn’t want Scar to know. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Pressing him on it would probably just push the avian further away. The last thing Scar wants to do is push away the only person he’s seen for miles, especially when that person seems to know more than what they let on. He chooses to stay quiet. He’s anxious to avoid agitating the bird further. He still has a weapon, and Scar is rather fond of the idea of not finding himself on the other end of it again.

Silence falls over the two, the only sound coming from their steady footfalls meeting the sandy ground, and the whistle of wind through the caverns. Eventually, his worry about Grian shutting him out completely resurfaces, but he isn’t sure what to say.

“So… got a favourite animal?”

“You have an awful way of being chummy with your would-be murderer.” Grian titters.

“I wouldn't call you that.”

“Still.” he shrugs, unconvinced.

“I don't think you were trying to kill me. At least not the first time.”

Abruptly, Grian stills, his feathers bristling.

“And about today- I'm not dead, and you’re not in the process of killing me, see?” Scar carries on. Grian turns away sharply, but Scar is undeterred.

“You're a pretty unsuccessful murderer, if you are one. I've put myself in more danger on purpose than you’ve put me in on accident.” Scar barks out a laugh, but receives no response. Grian's face hides behind his cheek feathers and hair.

“You don't know me,” Grian replies flatly.

“But I'd like to.”

Scar tilts his head, stepping in front of the bird, trying to get a read on his face. They lock eyes only briefly. Grian’s eyes are wide, his brow furrowed, and his face contorted by a frown.

“Anddd- we have time-” Scar adds more gently, “You said you wanted to rest.”

“What if my kind of rest doesn't involve talking?” Grian retorts, tone still flat, but the slight lilt of amusement is unmistakable.

“Oh, well-”

Scar doesn’t get the chance to finish his thought. A shrill, distorted cry fills the sky above them.

Grian and Scar both turn on the spot, their heads snapping in the direction of the sound. Soaring above them is a colony of three familiar creatures. Bright green eyes lock onto them both.

“Are those-”

“Phantoms.” Grian finishes, his feathers standing on end, fluffing up reflexively.

“What are phantoms doing here?” Scar asks, searching Grian for any indication that he knows what’s going on, but the avian looks just as clueless. Phantoms shouldn’t be here. They are artificially manufactured creatures, used as surveillance drones and protection in big cities, or anywhere where the landowners are wealthy enough to afford them. Scar encountered many during his patrols in the capital of Vindicator territory. They definitely aren’t something you would find in the wilderness, let alone a desolate desert like this one. They don’t even count as wildlife, as they’re more robotic than organic. The last of the desert sun reflects off the metallic plating lining their backs as they twist and glide through the air. The bright lights of their eyes shine, harsh and cold, illuminating Scar and Grian with a green glow in the ever-darkening wasteland.

Grian grabs Scar's elbow and drags him towards the walls of the ravine.

“We need to hide!” He hisses. Scar, not arguing, follows him through the tighter passages of the caverns. Unfortunately, they don’t provide as much cover as they had hoped, the walls still far enough apart for the bat-like creatures to give chase. They dash into a covered tunnel, but they have already been spotted, the phantoms fly lower, circling.

As one of the creatures dives towards the entrance, Grian pushes Scar behind him and backs them both closer to the wall. Scar, taken aback by the sudden protectiveness, can only go along with it in a dumbfounded daze.

“Do you have a weapon on you?” Grian asks, quickly scanning him up and down.

Scar falters. “Uh- no.”

“What kind of Vindicator are you?” Grian raises his voice, pulling an expression somewhere between angry and amused.

“Hey! I didn't decide I wanted to be stranded without weapons- they've been taken.” Scar counters, a comically sad look on his face.

“What?” Genuine surprise plasters across Grian’s features. Another piercing shriek fills the air, interrupting him, as another phantom separates from the group and dives towards them.

Quickly, Grian turns back to face the danger. Spreading his wings out as far as they can go, he presses Scar into the sandy, stone wall. Scar splutters, feathers catching in his mouth. As delighted as he is that Grian is now deciding to protect him, Scar can’t help feeling defenceless as Grian takes their lives into his own hands.

“We are so screwed with one sword between us.” Scar complains hopelessly, pushing the feathers out of his face. The phantom barely misses them, metal slamming into soft rock with a clang, causing sand and debris to rain down over them. The creature flies back to regroup with the other two, hopefully with wounded pride. That is, assuming it’s even capable of feeling pride.

“It's also a gun,” Grian adds.

“It's also a gun!?!” Scar gasps, a plan formulating in his mind. “How!? Show me! A gun is way more useful!”

Utilising the advantage of being held so close to the avian, Scar reaches forward and grabs the sword out of its holster, unnoticed.

“No, that's a bad idea!” Grian cries as Scar ducks, slipping under Grian’s wing and sprinting ahead to the mouth of the cave.

As he raises the blue blade, Grian lets out a shrill yell. He lunges for Scar as the Vindicator inspects the weapon, prodding at the grooves for a button and thumping the hilt against his palm.

Scar clicks a button that looks like a trigger. The knife folds in on itself, clipping in place, and the blue blade shrinks as a portion of its energy is diverted to fill a small bar. That must signify the ammo, Scar hums to himself, pleased at this discovery.

"Don't shoot it!" Grian yells with surprising ferocity, but Scar can’t see an alternative. Grian reaches him, grabbing onto Scar’s injured shoulder. He bites down on his tongue, hard, to avoid flinching. Making use of his military training, he forces himself to push through the throbbing pain.

Grian quickly releases him, hissing in pain himself. Scar doesn’t take the time to find out what hurt the avian, instead scanning the phantoms as they twist in the air, preparing to dive again, excited that their prey has moved into the open. He aims, and fires.

The shot makes contact with a phantom just as it dives towards them, long metal claws spread wide and teeth bared as it shrieks. The bullet burrows into the soft, fleshy material on its lower jaw, embedding itself deep in the phantom's head. The creature's cry dies in its throat, its eyes flickering out. It tumbles to the ground, kicking up dust in front of Grian and Scar. Smoke billows out of the mouth of the creature, the bullet wound smouldering.

Scar hears a quiet “woah” from behind him.

“Ahah! Did you see that??” Scan grins, amazed that he actually hit it on his first try. Scar spins on the spot to face Grian, who blinks at him, mouth agape. Scar twirls the gun in his hand, the remaining blade shrinking as more power is diverted to refill the used ammo.

Grian huffs, regaining his composure, and scowls. “Well, I was looking straight at it, so yeah- and give me that!” He snatches his weapon back from Scar with a grunt.

The other two phantoms dive into the ravine. They move faster and more daringly, learning from the mistake of their fallen friend.

“Oh … oh no.” Scar whispers.

Grian unfolds the weapon, its blade noticeably smaller than its original size, and places it back into its holster. “See, I told you the gun is a bad idea! Ask before you waste someone's bullets!”

This time he makes a point of keeping his hand on its hilt, both to prevent Scar from trying to take it again, and to be ready to fend off the approaching phantoms if they get too close.

“There's only two now- I could just hit them again!” Scar argues, casting a panicked glance at the approaching creatures.

“That was pure luck- without bullets, I don’t have a blade, and without a blade, I'm without a weapon!” A dark tone infects Grian's words as he glares at Scar, who sighs defeatedly.

“Well, what else can we use? There's no other projectiles.” The phantoms scratch at the exit, waiting for either of them to get too close.

“I don't know, be creative with it!” Grian huffs hopelessly, his face taut with frustration.

“I could throw you.” Scar teases, eyeing up the shorter man to emphasize his joke. Grian just stares back at him with a deadpan expression, and Scar giggles to himself. Scar takes a small step towards the exit. Not too far, but it's enough that one of the phantoms spots them separate and focuses on him with a screech.

Grian shoves past Scar, who continues to giggle to himself, and reaches for the only other thing he has on him. Holding his helmet in his hand, he takes a full-bodied swing at the phantom clawing towards him, close enough to scrape against Grian’s arm. Metal cracks against metal as he hits the phantom, hard, and it’s flung back by the force. The creature rolls helplessly through the sand, metal plating creaking under the strain of the new dent. Grian inhales shakily, thankfully unharmed.

Scar lets out an alarmed cry, and Grian looks up in time to see the phantom regain its bearings. It shakes, sand flying off in every direction, and launches itself back into the air with a powerful flap of its wings. It circles a few times before swooping back down towards them, faster this time, its eyes blazing and its jaw wide and unhinged.

Grian panics. He makes an involuntary squawk and launches his helmet right at the injured phantom. The helmet collides with the phantom's head with a sickening crunch, and the phantom falls limply out of the air.

“Aha! I got it!” Grian shouts triumphantly. Scar cheers behind him, just as surprised that it worked.

Their celebrations are horribly timed. The final phantom wails and plummets towards them. They both throw themselves out of the way, only to watch it grab the helmet in its claws and retreat over the ravine walls, out of sight.

“Noooo!” Grian cries out, running hopelessly back into the ravine. He stretches his wing out, readying himself to take off after the phantom, but he hesitates. He decides against it, holding his head in his hands, groaning over the loss of his helmet.

“…. Well …at least it's gone now,” Scar says, walking up beside Grian, hoping to cheer him up a little. Grian just laughs, dejected.

Sighing, he looks up at the sky. The sun has almost entirely disappeared from view now, revealing a dark red sky. Grian yawns, stretching his arms over his head. He flinches as his wounded shoulder is pulled by the movement, and Scar yelps quietly to himself, his hand reaching for his own injured shoulder.

Grian turns to Scar, a tired look on his face. He eyes Scar’s jacket as he rubs at it absent-mindedly, the fabric stained from where Grian had stabbed him. Grian frowns, contemplating his next move.

He walks past Scar, his steps heavy on the sandy ground. Re-entering the cavern, he all but collapses onto the sandy ground. Exhaustion and pain catch up to him as the adrenaline from the fight wears off. Sand billows around him as Grian’s tail drags across the floor, curling around himself. He looks up at Scar, who hasn’t moved, hesitating over what to do while Grian makes himself comfortable.

“...Come here.” Grian instructs him, his expression softening.

“Okay?” Scar replies, and sits himself down next to the bird. Slumping against the wall, he lets out a sigh of relief, glad to finally be off his feet.

Looking at Grian, he expects him to move away, but the avian shuffles closer to him.

“Alright then, take off your jacket.” Grian taps Scar’s arm, directing him.

Scar complies, pulling his shirt over his head at the same time.

“Just your jacket!” Grian squawks, “You don't need-” he fumbles at Scar’s teasing grin.

“It's hot! Besides, it’s a perfect opportunity to show off my awesome pecs.” Scar flexes for added flare. The softness is gone from Grian’s face.

“I just need to get to your shoulder.”

“Oh- what are you doing?”

“Wound dressing, or it's gonna get infected.”

“You have healing supplies?” Scar raises an eyebrow.

Grian fixes Scar with a weird look. Of course he has healing supplies. He always has healing supplies. He was just hoping to save them for himself… Scar doesn’t need to know that, though.

“...Yea… I just- forgot.”

Digging into one of his trouser pockets, Grian pulls out a small box. He pulls open the latch, revealing a small collection of items inside. It’s nothing like the regeneration potions that the Vindicators are equipped with, but Scar recognises some small healing wipes and rolls of dressings.

Grian raises the wipes to clean up the now-dried blood. He inspects the wound— Scar’s lucky his blade didn’t go too deep or hit a bone. It just falls shy of being too wide to go without being stitched up. It still looks nasty though. Grian winces, looking up at Scar with an apologetic look. As gently as he can, he starts to clean the wound.

“Sorry about this… by the way.”

“It's alright.”

Grian carefully cleans and bandages Scar’s wound, while Scar sits and tries to think of jokes and bizarre questions to ask the avian. They never make it past his lips, though— he isn’t sure it’s a good idea when Grian is looking more and more guilty as he works, Grian’s gaze occasionally drifting to the scars covering the right side of his companion’s body. It isn’t hard for him to guess why they’re there. Scar doesn’t want to push Grian too hard on the subject in case he closes off from him again, and it’s awkward enough as it is.

Instead, Scar settles on a different, more genuine approach.

“You know, I forgive you.”

Grian's discomfort is immediate. Scar is close enough to watch as his feathers pin back against his head. The avian avoids Scar’s gaze, instead focusing solely on his wound. He knows exactly what he’s referring to.

“You shouldn't. That's not fair, I barely know you.” He frowns, his hands pausing over Scar’s shoulder.

“I know that! But, well, you looked a lot worse back then,” Scar explains, admiring the brightly coloured feathers covering Grian’s face and ears. He remembers how dull and grimy they looked two and a half years ago.

There’s a waiver in Grian's voice, a lump growing in his throat. “And I left you looking dead-”

“But it was an accident!” Scar corrects.

Grian takes in a sharp breath. Scar watches his tail flicking at his feet.

“What can I do to make you stop bringing it up?” Grian asks quietly, pushing unnecessarily hard against the dressing of Scar’s wound. Scar hisses, and Grian removes his hand immediately as if he had burnt himself.

With a muttered apology, Grian sighs, resigned, finally looking back up at Scar.

“...Okay. If we're gonna be travelling together, I'll make a deal with you.”

Scar sits up straighter, intrigued.

“For almost killing you… twice,” Grian elaborates, “I'll be indebted to you and will protect you until we escape this game.”

“Game?” Scar repeats, confused. Is this a game?

“Urh- trap-” Grian stutters, trying to cover up his choice of words. “I’ll help you get home, off this planet. It mostly- depends on-” he waffles on.

“You won't kill me?” Scar clarifies, briefly dropping the cheerful disposition he had so carefully applied.

“I mean… third time’s the charm-” Grian grins foolishly. He coughs out a laugh when Scar doesn't return the sentiment, instead pulling a concerned expression. “...No, I won't kill you, that was a joke.”

Scar mulls the idea over. He gasps at a realization. “So you’ll be my sidekick?”

“...No.”

“Driver? Sofa?” Scar asks, trying to think of the word.

“Chauffeur, and no.” Grian sits back. “As I was saying- you not bringing up that night again is also part of the deal.” His tone is serious, expression hardened with no hint of amusement. He stares right at Scar, his void-like eyes boring into him. Scar feels like he might get cursed by looking into his eyes for too long.

So naturally, he tests that.

“And you'll let me use your gun?”

“Nope.” Grian replies without hesitation.

“Oh, I mean gun sword.”

“You're pushing it.” Grian acknowledges, glaring at him.

“Okay. okay, deal.”

“Good.”

They shake on it. Long, metal talons meeting worn, gloved hands.

“Can I say one thing about that day?” Scar asks, pulling his hand back.

Grian stares at Scar.

“It's just a little thing.” Scar holds his fingers millimetres apart to emphasize his point.

Grian maintains his steady glare at him. Scar attempts to pull a sad puppy-dog face, earning himself a snort from the avian.

“Fine.” Grian groans, rolling his eyes.

“If it’s any help, I'm glad you look better than you did back then. Cooler, even. Not all beat up and soggy.” Scar says sweetly.

“That doesn't really help at all- for any reason-”

“No, I mean, like- your wings, they look all- fuller? Fluffy.” Scar adds, for lack of a better word. He watches as Grian’s face turns bright red. He doesn’t normally get described as ‘fluffy’.

“I- They're not pin feathers anymore- you mean.” He stammers, completely flustered.

“Oh- pin feathers?” Scar asks, curiously. He’s not too familiar with avian biology.

“It's like a waxy sheath that covers new feathers when they grow-” He cuts himself off, waving his hand as he stops the tangent.

“Anyway! We agreed not to bring it up!" He pouts, annoyed at how quickly he forgot his own rule.

Grian hastily finishes folding all the unused bandages back into their box, leaving a small pile of bloody gauze behind in the sand.

Scar stares at them, blinking slowly as he fends off his own adrenaline crash. Grian looks back at the Vindicator sympathetically.

“So, rest.” He offers.

“Rest.” Scar confirms absently.

“I'll be first watch.”

“You sure?” Scar looks over him. It had been Grian who first brought up the idea of resting, hours ago.

Grian just shrugs in response, turning away. “Yeah, I got this. You're the injured one.”

Not wanting to argue, Scar complies, shuffling down until he's lying across the sand. Grian quietly settles into a more comfortable position too, pulling his wings out in front of him. He runs his talons through the feathers, quickly preening the particularly dishevelled spots.

After a while, Grian peers back over at Scar, who is quietly snoring. He fell asleep remarkably quickly. His jacket is rolled up as a pillow— it doesn’t look particularly comfortable, but it’s not like they have any alternatives. Grian watches and waits, double-checking that Scar is fully asleep, slowly making noise with his feathered tail to test him.

Once he’s confident he won’t wake Scar, he turns his back to him and pulls back out his healing supplies.

Cautiously, he slips his sleeve over his shoulder, unbuckling his armour slightly. He gets as good of a look at his shoulder as he can. Blood clots the thick fabric, but thankfully, it must have helped to temporarily bandage the wound, preventing most of it from bleeding through. Not that it would have been easy to spot on the red fabric if it had. Grian winces as he tugs on the dried blood slightly. The wound looks exactly like Scar’s, albeit with more congealed blood. It was a good idea to get a closer look at Scar's injury, he thinks. This confirms his suspicions.

He sighs, reaching for the wipes and dressing, tending to his own hidden wounds until he can clip his armour back in place, the bandages hidden underneath. He frequently checks Scar’s status, who lies completely still, fast asleep.

He leans back against the walls of the cavern, wrapping his wings around himself for comfort. It’s not freezing temperatures, but the air has definitely cooled significantly since the sun dipped below the horizon. Even now the sky refuses to turn fully black, a soft orange glow shining from where the sun had disappeared, basking the world in a reddish hue.

His gaze falls on the sad, broken remains of the phantoms from earlier. He’s got a feeling they’re not going to be the only challenge put in place for them here. He’ll wake Scar up in an hour or so, so he can get his own opportunity to sleep through the rest of this short night.

For now, he sits, and watches.

[angstober]

Welcome to another year of Angstober! We're delighted to unveil the prompts for this year of angsty, spooky fun.

What is Angstober?

Angstober is a yearly October challenge with 31 angst-themed prompts to inspire you to create. The challenge is open to all sorts of creative work - writing, art, edits, whatever you want - in whatever medium you want. Original work or fanworks? Whatever you feel inspired for!

How do I take part?

Tag your works with #angstober2023 and the day of the prompt (e.g., #day 01) to share on tumblr. Feel free to @ us directly in the post as well! To share your work on AO3, add it to the Angstober 2023 collection.

You can post your works whenever - early or late - and use as many or as few prompts as you feel inspired for! We'll do our best to reblog as many works to the @angstober blog as we can.

Is there a banner to post my work with?

Absolutely!

Anything else?

Nope. Happy Angsting!

Angstober 2023 Prompt List:

Honorbound

Anxiety

A Dangerous Gamble

"I want to believe you."

Dried and Cracked

"What's wrong?"

Attacked

Dark Days

The Catch

Can't Go Home

Beyond Recognition

On Your Own

From Childhood

What You Swore To Destroy

Lessons in Failure

Wake Up Call

Weakness

"But I love you."

Look Away

Just Breathe

Can't Save Everyone

Grasp

Crimes of Passion

Taught You Better

Tired of Fighting

The Day I Lost You

System Collapse

Face the Consequences

Almost

Full Circle

Won't Forget

[huntingingoodwill]

how to steal a million (t.s.)

masterlist

pairing: tommy shelby x reader

prompts: must include: a confession, hurt/comfort, a family tradition, forced proximity

a/n: this is my fic for @runnning-outof-time 's holiday bingo challenge! i hope you like it <3

You hitched up the skirt of your gown, the silk gathering in your fingers and tumbling past your knuckles as you hurried down the hallway. 

You heard your name echo down the corridor, and you swore under your breath, wisps of hair falling from your perfect coiffure as you evaded the voice.

“Where are you? Everyone’s asking after you! Come down and join the party!” 

Your eyes landed on an inconspicuous door, and you scrabbled toward it, heels clicking frantically against the marble floor. 

You slid into the broom closet, hurriedly clicking the door shut behind you. You were immediately plunged into darkness, the only sliver of light peeking through the gap at the bottom of the door. 

You watched that little strip of light fall across your feet, holding your breath. Your fingernails dug into the soft flesh of your clammy palms as you heard the voice get closer, footsteps quickly approaching.

You breathed a sigh of relief as the footsteps receded into the distance, the voice growing fainter as the shadow that obscured the light moved past the closet. 

The tension draining out of your body, you sunk toward the door, bracing your forehead against the smooth, cool wood. 

You heard the click of a lighter behind you, and you whipped around to see a man in the darkness, illuminated by the orange glow of the small fire. 

“Cigarette?” He mumbled, the smell of tobacco filling the cramped space as he lit the cigarette that dangled off his lips. 

“Jesus Christ!” You exclaimed, jumping back in shock. 

Your hand shot up to feel around for the light switch above you, yanking on the cord. 

Suddenly, the tiny closet was awash in light, and you took in the sight of a man sitting in the corner, casually nursing a cigarette. 

“Who are you?” You blinked at him, astonished. 

“A guest.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, folding your arms over your chest as you felt suspicion swirl through your mind.

“A guest.”  You repeated, your tone brimming with doubt. “And what is a guest doing, hiding here, so far away from the party?” 

“I could ask the same of you.” He quipped, icy blue eyes holding your gaze.  

“Ah, but I’m not a guest.” You defended yourself, holding up a manicured finger as you corrected him. “This is my family’s party. I’m technically a host.” 

“Well,” He began, taking a puff of his cigarette, silver smoke spilling from his lips as he spoke. “You’re not being a very good host if you’re hiding up here, are you?” 

You gave him a tight smile, eyebrow cocking as you looked at him. You hadn’t been able to put your finger on it before, but recognition now registered in your mind. 

“I remember you.” You wagged your finger at him, beginning to catch on. “I saw you with May Carleton at Cheltenham in March. Tommy Shelby. I don’t seem to remember my father mentioning that gangsters would be on the guest list tonight.” 

“Why not? We’re good fun at parties.” He replied, shrugging nonchalantly. 

“Cut the shit, Shelby. What are you really doing here?” 

“Well, if you must know,” He sighed, bothered by your incessant questioning, “I’m here to rob your family blind.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Your father has come into quite a bit of money recently.” Tommy said, words calculated and measured. “He’s been stepping on the Blinders’ business. So, I came here tonight to take back what’s ours.” 

“How much?” You asked.

“A million dollars.” He sighed, punctuating his statement with a drag of his cigarette. 

“You’re seriously admitting to me right now that you came here to steal a million from my family?” 

“You’d hardly miss it.” Tommy explained. “And, with your family’s yearly legendary holiday party going on tonight, I figured I could hide until all the…” He took a second to ponder, searching for the words, “rich fucks down there were drunk enough. Then, I’d take what’s mine and leave. No one would be any the wiser.”

“Well, I’m sorry to ruin your plans, Mr. Shelby, but I won’t stand by-” You said, turning to leave and warn your father. 

“You’re not going back down there.” He interrupted. 

You swivelled back around, glaring at him. 

“Is that a threat?” You spat. “I’m not scared of you.” 

He sighed, shaking his head. 

“You’re not going back down there, because you don’t want to.” 

“What?” You said softly, your tough exterior faltering for a second. 

“I can tell you don’t want to go down there. So don’t.” He said. 

You reached for the doorknob, but as your fingers grazed it you lost your nerve. You sighed, flexing your fingers. Your hand returned to your side. 

“Move.” You ordered, and Tommy listened, sidling closer to the wall as you squeezed next to him, pressed up against him in the cramped space. You plucked the cigarette from his fingers, taking a drag for yourself. You took a breath, carefully considering your next words. 

“It’s not that simple, you know.” You mumbled, eyes trained on the glowing end of the cigarette. 

“Sure it is.” He replied, taking the cigarette back as you passed it to him. 

“It really isn’t.” You chuckled.

“How so?” You furrowed your eyebrows, turning to gaze at him. 

You could hardly fathom why he’d care. Still, you felt the emotions you had kept bottled up all your life bubble up within your throat. You pressed your lips firmly together, fiddling with your fingers nervously as you felt a lump form in your throat. You felt so silly, feeling yourself unravel little by little, all because the criminal you were squashed up against in this tiny room asked you a simple question. But, no one had ever really asked you about how you felt, living in the gilded cage of high society. It felt foreign, sharing your feelings, and you grew nervous at the prospect of having to do so.

“I don’t know.” You muttered, folding your hands in your lap meekly. You could feel the barrage of emotions pooling in your mouth, the true feelings you had kept hidden for so long ready to spill out. “It’s one of our many family traditions, this stupid holiday party. I don’t like any of it.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, just thinking of it making you feel dizzy. “All the parties, all the gossip, all the expectations. If I make one small misstep at one of these, I’m immediately filed under disappointment.” You rolled your eyes, smiling. “I feel…trapped. It’s better to hide than risk being a blemish to the family because I wear the wrong dress, or my soiree conversation isn’t polite enough.” You forced out a laugh. “Sorry. It probably sounds stupid to you.” 

“It doesn’t.” He replied immediately, and you turned to him, a little stunned. “I’m not going to pretend I know all about what it’s like being a high society woman,” He started, earning a little laugh from you, “But, I think you deserve better than this. You should go. Leave it all behind.” 

You smiled, shaking your head. 

“It’s not that simple, Tommy.” 

“It won’t be.” He replied. “But, I think you deserve better than living a life you hate. I’ve heard about you for a while now. As you said, stupid high society gossip. But, meeting you has confirmed it. You’re bold. Brave. Intelligent. You should do what makes you happy.” He paused, thinking over what he wanted to say next. “I… would like to see you happy. I want you to be happy.” He said, trailing off quietly at his final revelation. 

“Really?” You whispered. 

“Really.” He cleared his throat. "And... if you ever need any help, come find me, alright?"

An uncontrollable smile tugged at your lips. You reached out for him, pulling him into a hug. You felt him tense under your embrace, but he soon relaxed, melting into your touch.

“Thank you.” You mumbled into his shirt, cheek pressed against his shoulder. 

“Alright, that’s enough.” He mumbled, patting you awkwardly on the arm, already missing you as you pulled away. 

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, leaning against each other’s shoulders in the small space. 

“Hey, Tommy?” 

“Yeah?” He turned to look at you, eyebrows raised, noses practically brushing each other due to your proximity. 

‘How’d you like some help with stealing that million?” 

[scotianostra]

On November 1st 1756 the Wanlockhead Miner’s Library was established, the second oldest subscription Library in Scotland and indeed Europe.

It was only the second subscription library for working people to be founded anywhere in the World. It was closely modelled on the first, the neighbouring Leadhills Library, founded over ten years earlier in 1741.

Throughout the mid eighteenth and nineteenth centuries libraries like Wanlockhead flourished, it is one of the few remaining examples of a phenomenon which was once found throughout Scotland. That of the community (or subscription) library. A community library is really a sort of club. Members can join upon payment of an entry fee and afterward pay a yearly subscription. Money raised in this way was mostly fed back into the purchase of stock and gradually a permanent library is accumulated.

The founding of a library suggests that there were high levels of literacy amongst the local population. The ability of the miners to read and write can be traced back to the village school which was established by the Duke of Bucchleuch in the eighteenth century and a teacher was employed to teach local children.

The Society has a fascinating history for example it amassed a collection of around 3,717 books by 1925, although only around 2572 or around two-thirds are housed in the library today.

Having ceased to function as a working library in the early 1930s the fate of the book collection and society archives appeared sealed. However, having been looked after by villagers for a number of years, the preservation and promotion of the collection became a fundamental aim of Wanlockhead Museum Trust when it was formed in 1974. The Miner’s Library collection itself became a ‘Recognised Collection of National Significance’ in 2008. A survey of its archives was recently added to the National Records and Archives of Scotland Register.

In addition to gaining this official recognition, the Museum was also awarded £40,000 by Museums and Galleries Scotland which was used to research and promote the collection.

More about the Leadhills Museum and the library here

[spell-cleaver]

Portrait of an Empire

Flufftober

Day 5: Acorn, Chestnut, Pinecone

It almost seemed ridiculous to formally carry out the test. But Sheev insisted—just to be sure. Luke was, when he touched it, a supernova in the Force. A live wire that shot through right to the heart of anybody nearby. But he wasn’t sure he could trust that.

Sheev refused to examine that more closely. Why would he not trust the Force? He had trusted his sense in the Force for as long as he had been alive. When he reached out to Luke in the Force, and young Luke reached back, alight with joy and jubilation, what other feeling could send static through his chest and set his heart fluttering than the Sith Lord’s eager recognition of a well of enormous, untapped power?

But he suspected, somehow, that that feeling was not the Force.

So he had to test Luke. Just to be sure.

In the background, Vader hovered.

“That’s an acorn,” Luke said surely, sitting nicely on the sofa.

 Sheev nodded and flicked to the next image on the datapad in his hands. He’d checked behind him; they were in Luke and Vader’s quarters, and no mirror or window or polished surface could possibly be reflecting the image. Vader favoured warm, soft surfaces in their quarters. Less for Luke to bang his head on.

“A— a conker,” Luke said. “No, a nut. Chestnut?”

Was that what that was? All Sheev saw was a round, brown pip. He had never cared much for nature.

Another image, this one of a more distinct, bristling shape. Sheev thought that he’d seen those on the ground a lot around his family’s estate as a child, but he hadn’t cared what they were then, either.

“Pinecone!” Luke crowed.

Why were all these images nature based? Sheev flicked a few ahead, until they were going through ships. Here too, Luke called out the exact model and make. The mind and interests of the young.

Vader stirred after the fourteenth image. “Is this still necessary?”

“A few more,” Sheev insisted.

“Candlewick flower from Alderaan,” Luke said gravely. Sheev barely glanced at the screen. It was a flower, sure. All he knew about candlewicks was the yearly show the Organas put on in Aldera and invited senators to come and see—he couldn’t be expected to recognise one that wasn’t glowing.

“Enough,” Vader said. “Are you satisfied that he has the Force? You know as well as I the basicness of that test.”

Sheev switched off the datapad. “I do,” he said. He smiled at Luke. “Congratulations, my boy. We can be sure of your power.”

Luke grinned and jumped to his feet. He did have power, Sheev told himself. He did have power—so he needed to be manipulated. Sheev needed to cultivate a relationship with him. He had to rely on his grandfather; he had to trust him totally.

So it was alright that Sheev bent down to give Luke a tight hug and smiled against his cheek. It was all in service of the Sith.

[pimpin-not-simpin-moth]

What benefits do your models get?

- 💜

A…generous paycheque. Free entry & drinks to my clubs. 10% discount on VoxTech products.

Fame. Recognition.

Protection from the yearly exterminations if you make it to the top 10% of high earners.

And so much more…

~ Valentino, Overlord of Lust & Depravity

[harrietpotterandthedemigods]

Yay, episode five is out!

I really like that this was the episode for Percy and Grover to show some of their knowledge. Percy is the one to figure out what the deal with the chair is. That it’s a replica of the throne Hephaestus made for Hera and that one of them would have to sit in it. Not Annabeth, Percy. Even though Annabeth most definitely knows the story as well, it’s still Percy who makes the connection.

Meanwhile Grover takes full advantage of his alone time with Ares. He gets him to open up by finding common ground. He’s such a sly little goat!🥰 He knows exactly what to say to get Ares right where he wants him. Percy suggested that they’ll need to be detectives and Grover aced it! He definitely figured out that Ares was somewhat involved, (huge spoiler, I guess, but the book’s been out for 17 years!) but we’ll have to wait and see about how much he actually figured out.

And we also get a glimpse of the winter solace field trips. Like they’re a yearly occurrence, which I always thought was a bit vague in the books but maybe that’s just me. And presentations? Oh, gods! Imagine the year around kids trying to put together their presentations in hopes of impressing their godly parents! What do you even do a presentation about for a Greek god? Unless you’ve done a quest recently I imagine that choice of subject is a bit of a moment of panic.

I really like the portrayal of Ares. Just sort of unhinged and a bit mentally unstable, just what I’d expect from a god of war and bloodlust. I know some people don’t really like PJO Ares not being entirely mythically accurate, but I think there is a reason for that. The gods in universe reflects what humankind sees them as, Apollo comments on that in ToA. And today, the wast majority of people, who only has a vague understanding about Greek mythology, thinks of Ares as a bloodthirsty war god and nothing else. Hence he’s not able to be much else. He hates everything and everyone, just some people slightly less than others.

Also Percy’s comments about how his dad saved him. I get the feeling he annoyed his companions a bit with his talk about it. I think it serves to show that Percy is still open to the idea that the gods aren’t all bad, and maybe some of them do care for them even if it isn’t as obvious as one would wish. He must also be dealing with a lot of conflicting emotions about it. Poseidon saved him when Percy fully expected to die, in stark contrast to Athena, who practically signed her own daughter’s death warrant. Annabeth hoped and trusted that her mother would help them, Percy expected his father to do nothing, and Poseidon ended up helping them without being asked. But no matter how remarkable that may be, it can’t erase twelve years of growing up without a father.

What we directly see it doing, however, is making an impression on Annabeth. She is now realizing that a kid shouldn’t have to grovel at their parent’s feet to get some love and recognition. Percy has been saying it all along and he ended up being right. Poseidon was the better parent at the Gateway Arch, he was the one who saw his kid in danger and stepped in to save him, without being asked. Poseidon’s love for Percy is more unconditional than Athena’s for Annabeth, and maybe Athena’s way of parenting isn’t as right as Annabeth believed. She says it outright. Zeus, Ares and Athena is like that but Annabeth don’t want to be like that anymore, she wants to be more like Percy, which ends up making an impression on Hephaestus. It’s a ripple effect. More and more people, gods as well as humans, can see Percy’s example and decide they want to be more like that too.

It’s overall a great episode, might actually be my favorite so far, but one thing that stood out to me like a sore thumb was the Fates. I just don’t see the reason why Annabeth is the one to see them this time around. In the books it’s Percy, before he even meets Annabeth, and I just don’t see the reason for this change!

On a more positive note, Hermes is up next! Now it’s basically confirmed that the clip with him in the trailer was from the Lotus Hotel and Casino. He hangs out there? Oh, gods! But that must come with a scheduling nightmare, and he’s busy enough as it is!😅 I can’t wait! And again, if you don’t like Lin Manuel Miranda as Hermes, do me a favor and block me, Lin is the Perfect Hermes and you may quote me on that!

[hyunin]

every month of 2023!

got tagged by @strayklds to do the classic yearly wrap up of my most popular and/or favorite things i made this year and it's always fun so i will do both 💓 plus some commentary because i can't shut up. i'm going to do it on this acc instead of yangjeongin so i can tag my non-skz cc friends properly, but i'll include stuff from across all blogs 🥳

i'm not sure who got tagged to do this already and who didn't so i will just tag some pals/favorite ccs and anyone that sees this should feel free to do it and say i tagged them if u would like!

@foxinys @seo-changbinnies @miyawaki @wahgifs @twoce @dinoboos @agibbangs @xiaojuun @exocean @hyunsung @huiracha @seungs

putting everything under the cut let's go

JANUARY popular: slutty hyunchan. i get it. also didn't realize this got That many notes asdlfkasjdlgk favorite: 2022 mbc gayo hyunjin. i just thought my coloring was neat for this. first set of the year also!

FEBRUARY popular: wolfgang ending fairies. these are ugly idk what y'all were on about but okay it do just be like that sometimes favorite: yellow wood era hyunjin bday countdown set. this was in the top 3 of my fav sets from this countdown in general

MARCH popular: hyunjin's 2023 bday set. thank god. looking back at this is making me emotional actually just kidding it was this one. boooooo fine he's cute i get it. favorite: i had a ton of countdown sets this month and i liked a lot of them but in retrospect i think my fav is the christmas evel era one. shoutout to oddinary and in life too.

APRIL popular: this random hyunin set for some reason. ok favorite: dfesta the movie 12 set i guess. these were good hyunjins and april was a flop month for me lowkey

MAY popular: hyunjin just standing there at the one versace event. i still hate y'all for this favorite: i think the hyunjin maniac tour mini vlog actually. kinda surprising myself with this one but i just think it's very cute. makes me happie. maybe this one tho. idk. i like the coloring on these too. whatever! this month was kinda mid no standouts to me

JUNE popular: hyunjin doing That move in s-class. so true favorite: the introducing skz gifset of the era. not my best of these but still my fav this month

JULY popular: TAEMIN AND HYUNJIN DESERVEEEE favorite: maybe taemin and hyunjin as well bc it changed my life but hyunjin's cardboard cutout of chan is also a fav because it makes me laugh every time

AUGUST popular: hyunjin at kcon la. i get this too favorite: hyunin squish compilation. very important 2 me. but a rare main blog contribution, i love this eunbi set i made.

SEPTEMBER popular: we had multiple sets do numbers this month actually but precious nacific hyunjin wins somehow. i made this set so randomly but it be like that sometimes (2) favorite: 230908 hyunjin not even because i like the set that much but just because it's a hyunjin of all time and he deserves recognition

OCTOBER popular: angel rockstar trailer hyunjin. yeah favorite: i don't know guys. everything i made this month was so mid. nothing notable at all. so i'll agree w the people on rockstar trailer hyunjin

NOVEMBER popular: dramatic hyunjin. i don't like my coloring for this but he was so funny so i can accept it favorite: i think 231118 music core hyunjin?? i like the nine set i made for this day a lot as well bc i'm just obsessed w this look but i think i like the stage gifs better

DECEMBER (so far) popular: dancing sweaty hyunjin. y'all are so weird but i'm the one who giffed it so, favorite: hmmm i think the hyunin set just because they r so important to me and i had fun giffing it

thank u to everyone that read all of this and that liked and supported my content this year 🫶 looking forward to what 2024 brings <3

[f1-disaster-bi]

Ok lando and his ducklings and he follows their carriers as they get older and he supports then in the lower categories and then maybe one of them makes it into f1 and lando has been there for a long time at this point (like fernando or lewis age) and press is kinda confused about why this kid has such a good relationship with lando (since he has kept everything very hush hush) and lando doesnt want to talk about all the work he has done for kids because he doesn't want it to seem like he was doing it for the press. But by this time the kids have figured out that lando was the one who arranged sponsorships and helped fund their carriers and the kid wants lando to get recognition so maybe in a press conference they talk about how much lando has supported them and how much they look up to him and lando is just sitting there blushing because he never thought it was that big of a deal. He just wanted to support the kids. (Sorry this ended up a longer than i thought it would)

Oh that'd such a sweet idea 🥹

Lando just keeping an eye on them all, helping them where he can. Even the ones that don't make the lower formulas or formula one or even decide it's not really their thing, he keeps up with what they're doing and helps where he can.

Maybe one of the older kids went into engineering and Lando helped them with getting an internship. Maybe one goes into public relations or new media and he does the same.

A few love art and Lando let's them help with designing some helmets for their portfolios. Maybe one goes into design and he gets Quadrant to take them on for a bit and show them how they go about designing their merch.

Some of the kids expected him to stop being interested when they stopped racing, but he never did and they all still have a yearly reunion if they can all make it at the old kart track.

As for those that get to the lower formulas and maybe verge on getting into F1, everyone would be interested in know why Lando seems to be keeping an eye on these juniors and why they speak so highly of him.

Maybe it's his last year in F1, one of the kids has been there for a year at least and another has just come up, some others are racing in other categories or in the lower formulas still, and they want people to know.

They want them to know it's "not usually cause we're English or part English, it's cause he cared".

If Lando was in the conference, he'd probably clear his throat and try stop them cause it was never about recognition, but one of them just laughing and going "Please, you've been helping us for years and playing dumb. I know it was you that kept me in racing. We always knew it was you helping us"

Lando's touched and just joking a little because "damn, I thought I was sneaky with it"

[cherokeecharles]

#Hottakes #11: White Mediocrity at The Grammy’s Isn’t a Surprise Anymore.

It wouldn’t be award season if we weren’t talking about white mediocrity being rewarded or people being surprised that it was awarded. The never-ending saga of ‘I can’t believe Taylor won over [insert great black artist here]’ is now plaguing my timeline for the time being and what better way to break my silence?

During my writing hiatus, I went on an inspiration scavenger hunt—poking around pop culture, TV, music, and yes, even sports (times are tough, sisters). Yet, nothing sparked that writing flame. Then came the Grammys buzz, the usual drill: nominations, snubs, and the betting game of who should win versus who will win. We all would like to think of ourselves as Grammy psychics to some degree. So, imagine my surprise at the post-Grammys shockwave. Why the gasps for the winners? Why the faux shock when black artists get the snub? And seriously, why keep submitting music if it's playing hide-and-seek with recognition? It's like sending your resume to a job that never calls back—maybe it's time to rethink the application process, huh?

Jay-Z delivered a powerful speech while receiving his honoree Hip Hop award. Rather than talking about his accomplishment he went on to give a rant about his wife, Beyoncé, being the most awarded Grammy winner yet always falling short of her peers of winning the coveted Record of the Year award. The speech was compelling and it reflected what many of us said for years. I would’ve been moved by the speech if I knew they weren’t going to keep submitting their music to be snubbed yearly. The speech reflected all of my thoughts of Beyoncé being categorically snubbed every year for that award that we know is likely missing from her résumé. However, I don’t like the fact that it’s being deemed that she’s missing this one thing from greatness. Beyoncé is great on her own and her career, music, and work ethic back up that claim. I think that it’s unfair that her ‘shortcoming’ amounted to an award where the line is always moving.

The award show progressed, and we’re all left to simmer with Jay-Z's speech about snubbing at the Grammys. The end of the award show comes around, and the last and biggest award is Album of the Year. The album of the year award was presented by the one and only Celine Dion. The Album of the Year award is a coveted award, it’s essentially the album that shaped the year we just went through, and the cultural and social impact of said album are factors into who gets the win, or so I thought. The category for album of the year was groundbreaking on its own because this is the first time it has ever had seven of the eight nominations be women. The category on its own with poised for someone who showed great artistry through one album that spoke to the public, and to the Grammy voters. Imagine the lack of surprise on my face when Taylor Swift won. Taylor Swift’s album Midnights won the most desired award beating out SZA’s SOS, Miley Cyrus’ Endless Summer, Janelle Monae’s Age of Pleasure, etc. This Album of the Year award made Taylor Swift the most winningest recipient of the award receiving the most nominations and win in this category.

The aftermath was a storm of criticism that hit Taylor Swift like a hurricane. From her award-acceptance antics to dropping her album bombshell mid-show and dragging poor Lana Del Rey on stage, Swift's behavior was undeniably tacky. But let's not kid ourselves—the uproar wasn't just about her manners. It was the fact that she clinched the Grammys' holy grail, becoming the all-time winningest. Viewers collectively winced, wondering why Taylor got the crown instead of, say, SZA. We act shocked, but really, we've read the exposés, pondered the think pieces, and still tune in annually. Artists keep submitting, black artists keep getting snubbed. If Taylor's the poster child for white mediocrity, why do we willingly sign up for this annual masochism? It's like déjà vu with a side of irony.

I'm not exactly Taylor Swift's number-one fan (and never will be), and I join the chorus of critics giving her the side-eye. But what grinds my gears is the phony shock everyone's putting on. Sure, there are more deserving artists out there, and it's downright ludicrous that a powerhouse like Beyoncé hasn't snagged the top prize. Yet, when does the surprise party end? We've witnessed Grammys snubs so brutal they make 2024 look like a tea party. That's why Jay-Z's speech didn't move my needle. Valid points, definitely, but let's be real, you're still cashing in those Grammy chips and probably gonna play again. Our beloved artists secretly crave that Recording Academy nod and that's why they keep tossing their tunes into the Grammy ring. It's like a messed-up lottery where, once in a blue moon, an artist (looking at you, Zayn and The Weeknd) says, "Enough is enough!" If it's a rigged game, why keep rolling the dice? If you know the ending, why splurge on the movie ticket?

The Grammys will persist as the top accolade artists crave for artistic validation. However, it's crucial to grasp that Grammy wins don't make or break careers. Complaining without a push for change is futile. The Grammys will keep snubbing until artists stop submitting. Despite acknowledging the celebration of mediocrity, there's a glaring lack of transformative action. Perhaps, giving Grammys less power than fans and artists do is key. Even Beyoncé, the greatest artist, faces snubs. Does she need another Grammy to prove her greatness? No, because she already is. Embracing this mindset could make music more enjoyable, sans the Grammy obsession.

What do you guys think? Do you think artist should continue to submit their music to the Grammys? Do you think the Grammys are losing their credibility every year go on? What can the Grammys do to gain back the credibility?

Let me know what you think!

Until then…

Cherokee🤎✨

[ginnysgraffiti]

heya ! i really love your writing, it’s so intimate and earnest and absorbing ;was wondering if you’d ever consider writing about taylor russell or even maren? i feel like this is a totally untapped concept on here which is so odd to me considering her unflinching beauty and loveliness

heyyy!! i'm so touched by your comment, it's so heart warming to know that someone likes my (horrible) writing style TT

also, i definitely adore your request! taylor's my favourite actress and i'm so glad she has been receiving the recognition she deserves lately! plus, maren has always been my favourite character and i couldn't wait to write about her <33

i tried to arrange something, but i'll definitely write more about her or taylor directly.

reader as lee from bones and all

&. MAREN YEARLY x yn.

you loved her since the very first day.

you found yourself falling for the way her jacket sleeves covered half her hands, how her curls moved with the wind when she let your pick-up window down, how she clumsily cleaned herself after feeding and you always had to give her a hand.

she often preferred to spend time with your sister, chatting nonsense just to make time pass or go for an ice-cream.

maren wasn't your first love, she was your first everything.

words couldn't express the gratefulness you had towards her for being an eater, for understanding you, for not making you feel like the monster you were.

however, time seemed to slip through your fingers.

you always dedicate yourself to feeding, reassuring your sister that everything was going in the right way in some phone booth outside the city, gathering the little money you could and protecting you both constantly.

that evening, you could notice a blanket of darkness covered the sky from your pick-up window as you waited for maren to return from feeding. the occasional engine noises and leaves bustling from the gentle breeze filled the night outside. a faint glow of silver moonlight caught your attention for half a second, when the passenger door opened and maren jumped in.

she had surprisingly cleaned herself already, but a light smell of iron and mud made its way into the car.

she kept silent, like most of the times where one of you had gone feeding and you're too vulnerable or self-conscious to put up a proper conversation.

your eyes travelled down, her little hands were nervously teasing the hem of her white sweatshirt, as to silently ask the fabric to hide her little frame completely.

she suddenly looked so small, fragile and broken.

without sharing a word, you drove towards a nearby motel.

you were actually proud of the fact you managed to put up a decent nest egg of savings earned from part-time jobs or feedings victims' wallets, so you were aiming to a comfortable room.

as soon as you turned off the engine you gave maren a few seconds to look around.

you could tell she had got used to the idea of sleeping in your truck, even if you also shared the bed at your aunt's house in the past and she never seemed uncomfortable with it.

maybe because you two never got intimate, maybe because she was completely oblivious of the turmoil that was taking control of you and the butterflies you were feeling all inside.

talking about love wasn't on the agenda, at all, especially since you talked often about your unconventional habits and past experiences that ended up ruining both your moods.

maren was a girl of many words. she spoke with you every single time, every single second to ask stupid questions you always found yourself smiling at, and you loved it. how would it feel to open up to her and talk about your feelings?

as you stepped in, you already knew that she was not gonna waste any more time before entering the shower. rightfully so. it was good to take advantage of the small benefits when you could afford it - or better, when you could do so without feeling bad about it.

you sat down on a small wood chair near the double bed, wondering how such a twisted eater like you would have been able to become a damn hopeless romantic.

the way her curly hair as black as pitch bounced on her shoulder in the truck, the way she insisted on ordering milk and cereal at every diner, many little and useless things that got you on your knees for her.

when the chair revealed uncomfortable, you decided to stay with your tanktop and jeans and lay on the mattress, waiting for her without moving a single muscle.

your mind was still thinking about how you couldn't bring yourself to make a clear move on her when maren got out of the bathroom, holding onto her bathrobe fabric.

her hair was as dry as before, all curly and arranged in a clearly-self-made chignon.

"all clean?" you asked, putting up a reassuring smile.

she nodded, and you asked yourself why she hadn't dressed herself in the bathroom directly.

your pulse quickened terribly when she dragged her slippers on the floor, climbing shyly on the bed.

such a fool you were making of yourself, being all worked up and blushing when she suddenly reached your body, spreading on top like a sleepy animal. her hair looked so full and her skin soft as she rubbed your cheek against your collarbone.

her little little hands slowly searched for your waist, allowing herself to straddle you better.

you couldn't tell what was going on in her mind, either what her intentions were, but you just hoped it could be a nice beginning of the relationship you always dreamed of.

"can i sleep like this...?" her barely-awake tone asked.

"sure you can." you quickly replied, kissing her head. she smelled like vanilla body wash the natural skin scent you loved.

[clicheantagonist]

WiP Wednesday Friday

just shy of the weekend!!!

Thankies for the continued inclusion in the tags: @socially-awkward-skeleton @adelaidedrubman @aceghosts @josephslittledeputy @shallow-gravy and @inafieldofdaisies

I'M BACK ON MY BULLSHIT AND I'M FINALLY POSTING THE BOYS AU after I completely changed the plot I worked on for months a day and a half ago. Ehehehehe chaos.

Be gentle, I really did just let the first impulsive thought win after months of struggling to write and KEEP writing.

“You'd sell me to the Devil without a second glance. Trade me for a paycheck if you got the chance. […] One of many, but you say the best you've ever had. So tell me that you love me, then stick the knife in my back. God, I really worry 'bout the people that you stab, but it's your turn soon. Karma is a bitch like you.”

-Maisy Kay (ft Teisto), “Karma Is A Bitch Like You”

 “There was some other God then, a God for whom the spilling of blood was a prayer, an act of devotion. And they’ve been praying to that God their whole lives.”

-Brandon Taylor, “Filthy Animals”

“Shepherd.” Alex answers, work phone trilling loudly beside her as she lounges in bed, watching the news with morbid fascination. It seemed the Supes had beaten the mad scientists and their corpo overlords in the race to control the country. Not something on Alex’s yearly bingo list, but not entirely shocking, either.

“Got a job for ya, love.”

Alex sits up, eyes narrowing as she looks frantically for the remote to mute the tv.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not taking new clients right now and – “ Alex starts, laying low amidst the current political unrest.

There’s something familiar about the voice on the other end of the call, but it brings a vague, anxious connotation with it.

“Aw, don’t remember me, eh? That stings.”

Alex’s lips pull up in an amused smirk. At her age, coupled with her substance abuse and all the head trauma through the years, her memory isn’t what it once was and she’s open to being wrong.

“Refresh my memory.” Alex invites, curiosity gnawing at her. Its not often she can’t recall a voice, certainly not one as distinct as this guy’s.

“You and yer hubby had a run in with tha C.I.A. some years ago over biological weapons trafficking.”

Alex has to think back a moment, there had been several close calls with various law enforcement agencies throughout the years, but there’s a reason Alex is still a free woman.

“City?” Alex presses, drawing a blank.

“Miami.”

“Were you a bribe or a break?” Alex asks, not finding the further information helpful.

“Break. Ya dislocated me shoulder.”

He doesn’t sound annoyed or resentful, rather it sounds like he’s chuckling around his words.

“Ah! Yes! Handsy Fed that treated me like I  was bein’ trafficked! I do remember you. Got some tracking skills, Mister - ?” Alex laughs in recognition, the memory flooding back of the scene she unintentionally caused when some DHS assholes wanted to get a little too hands on with Wesker (and their bags). There was no quicker way to piss Alex off, especially at the end of a long, stressful retrieval mission. She'd been more than a little upset over being heckled by the stupid government after that.

“Butcher. Glad I made an impression.”

 “We are the last people standing at the end of the night. We are the greatest pretenders in the cold morning light. This is just another night, and we've had many of them. To the morning we're cast out, but I know I'll land here again.”

- Bastille, “Get Home”

Alex makes the short flight to Delaware, to meet Butcher in the smallest, most 90s diner she’s ever been in.

He’s already there, sitting in the last booth opposite the door. The diner is long and narrow, like a strip mall bar. There’s a cook barely visible in the little window behind the front counter, and a tired looking waitress straightens up off the table with a sigh, reaches for a menu and passes it to Alex as she passes the table.

“Here ya go, honey. Sit wherever ya like and I’ll be over with coffee.” She instructs, fixing a smile on her face that doesn’t look genuine (but Alex is glad for the attempt to seem happy).

“Thank you. No rush.” Alex takes the laminated menu and continues towards Butcher’s dark shape in the back. Alex notices her heels tapping on the tiles louder than the old TV in the corner, over the counter, playing the news.

‘Good ol’ 24 hour news cycle. Worst thing that ever happened to this country.’

“Good morning,” Alex greets brightly, sinking into the other side of the booth, facing the door, and making eye contact with the former Fed. ‘Well he’s quite handsome. That’s a plus.’

Butcher makes no attempt to hide the way he sizes Alex up as soon as she nears the table. Alex knows right away she’s dealing with a predator like her; there’s a look that comes with that, one that sees more than most would at first glance.

‘That’s okay, I’m eye-ballin’ you too, handsome.’ Alex thinks, casting him a cursory once over before returning to the single page plastic menu. From her peripheral, Alex watches the tired waitress return with a white mug and pot of coffee.

“Need a minute, hon?” The woman asks, causing Alex to look up with a pleasant smile.

“I’m ready actually. I’ll do the steak and eggs, rare, over medium, no toast, and home fries, please.” Alex orders, waiting for the brunette to stop writing on her pad before offering the menu back.

“You hungry? I’m payin.” Alex asks the stoic ex-Fed across from her, noticing he makes no attempt to even acknowledge the waitress.

Butcher’s eyes narrow briefly in Alex’s direction before he answers, still not bothering to look at the waitress.

“Jus’ eggs an’ toast. Scrambled, wheat.” He mutters, voice a gravelly rumble that Alex wouldn’t mind hearing more of.

“You got it. I’ll have that right out for ya.” The waitress chirps, sounding a bit more awake, and seemingly not taking offence to Butcher’s stand-offishness.

They wait for her to leave before Alex speaks again.

“How safe is it to talk here?” She asks, reclining in the booth, stretching her legs under the table, crossing them at the ankles, toes resting on the bottom opposite booth. She reaches up, rubbing her eyes and blinking them clear.

“Safe enough for some specifics. But I’m gonna come righ’ out an’ say it now – this ain’t for tha faint of heart. They all gotta go, an’ if you get in me way, you will, too.” Butcher tells her seriously, jumping right to the meat of the situation, as it were. Alex appreciates that in a client.

Alex’s lips twitch up, eyes half-lidded even as they occasionally shift between the door, the counter, and the man in front of her.

“I appreciate the warning. Do you expect me to get in your way?” Alex asks, playing it diplomatically, she wants to get a read on this man who managed to find her – its not often those outside her very particular circle manage to locate her.

Butcher smiles.

“Ya never expect it, but it happens.” He replies coyly. Alex raises a brow, smile widening the slightest bit.

“I think I understand. As long as you keep me in the loop, you won’t have to worry. I’m still alive because I deliver.”  Alex replies, knowing well what kind of animal she’s dealing with now.

“That’s what I hear.” Butcher replies, the muscles in his face visibly relaxing.

“So hang on, what makes you think I’ll take such a dangerous job with no guarantee of payment?” Alex chuckles, cutting into her steak.

“Ya don’t survive this long doin’ stupid shit like that. Sell it to me.” Alex requests, gesturing vaguely in Butcher’s direction with the piece of steak speared on her fork.

“Aw c’mon, don’t bust me balls, love.” Butcher grumbles around a sheepish smile Alex knows is not genuine.

“Get used to that. C’mon, convince me why I should risk my life for a stranger, taking on what could well be an actual Fool’s errand?” Alex encourages, curious as to what’s up Butcher’s sleeve. She can tell he’s quite calculating and clever, certainly he’s thought of this before reaching out to her.

“Savin’ tha world ain’t enough?” Butcher asks, still smiling, knowingly this time. He’s teasing her.

Alex hums a laugh before popping the piece of steak into her mouth. She chews and swallows before she replies.

“That was very cute, but you wouldn’t have reached out to me if you thought that line would have worked.” Alex replies, unaffected.

Butcher nods and laughs softly.

“You’ve kept a low profile since ‘e died. Condolences, by the way.” Butcher tells her abruptly, still smiling that malicious little smile. Alex knows her mask cracks some at the unexpected mention of Wesker, but she rolls with the punch, no stranger to the mind games people play.

‘I play them better.’

“Thank you,” She replies, voice the slightest bit choked. He knows more than she would like him to.

“I’m askin you because you’re rudderless. Adrift in tha open ocean. Wouldn’t it be nice to ‘ave direction and purpose again? Really shake up tha world, jus’ ta show ya can?” Butcher asks, leaning forward conspiratorially, arms resting on the edge of the table.

Alex tips her head and sets her fork and knife down, regarding Butcher critically. It’s concerning he’s so confident about his read of her.

“Son of a bitch, I’m in. Fuck it.” Alex answers, around a stunned laugh, reaching over the table with her right hand to shake, and Butcher grasps it firmly, pulling her in over the table.

Alex gasps, but catches herself before she lands chest first in breakfast.

“We gotta leave now then, you’re workin with a marked man.” Butcher murmurs around a reckless smirk that makes Alex think she’s found an unexpected comrade.

Her brows shoot up and her expression twists briefly in stunned shock, more over being physically dragged than his actual words.

‘I’m a magnet for troubled men.’

“Woulda worn different shoes, if I knew that.” Alex replies, expression relaxing into a soft kind of annoyance.

[blorbocedes]

I say this with utmost respect and recognition, you seem like someone who’s had a tumblr since before dashcon and religiously watched at least one show of superwholock

superwholockians raise your wands! do not cite the deep lore to me witch I was there when it was written

you're not exactly wrong... I watched supernatural until season 5, doctor who from 9-capaldi (ofc 10 was my doctor), and unfortunately was the target audience for bbc sheelock where I came across the love of my life andrew scott. and now sherlock is garbage and here's why by hbomberguy is my yearly comfort rewatch <3