#and Wille's mum won't even look at him

[fourmoony]

hii so i was thinking could you write smth with james getting flowers for the first time from reader? it would be soo cute

hi lovely! thanks for requesting.

james x reader fluff | 711

James' shoes are haphazardly abandoned beneath the coatrack when you push your way through the door.

You're holding two bags in each hand, the crinkling of them loud in your ears as you struggle to move through the door way. The coat rack wobbles when one of the bags catches a coat that's been thrown over the top and you let out an exasperated swear under your breath. James rounds the corner with curious eyes, already changed out of his work clothes despite having only been home for what you know to be twenty minutes. He looks cozy in his Christmas pyjamas, socks pulled up with the bottoms tucked into them.

He smiles bright when your eyes meet his and steps forwards to take two of the bags from your hands. You hand them over gratefully, smiling to yourself when his lips press to your head in greeting.

"Hi, lovey," He murmurs, pulling away to make for the kitchen.

You follow, hot on his heels, chasing the scent of his boyish body wash and the warmth of his heart. "Hi. How was your day?"

James sets his bags on the kitchen island and you follow suit, "It was good. Got lunch with Sirius. He sends his love."

"No Remus?" You ask as you fall into a practiced routine of putting away the shopping, together.

It's domesticity at it's finest and you love every minute of it. James has a way of making the smallest things mean the world. With him, things like changing bed sheets or folding laundry isn't so boring. Simply because he's there, soft voiced and willing to help.

He squeezes your hip as he passes, headed to put the milk in the fridge, "Nah, he's got a deadline to meet next week, probably won't crawl out of his hole until after."

You make a mental note to check in on him through the week, even just to tidy up around him while he works, make him a meal that has more nutritional value than a Tesco microwave meal or a kebab. "I hope he's feeling more inspired than last week. Marlene said he was staring at the wall for over an hour when she went round to drop off the shortbread Mary made."

James hums in agreement, rustling around in the second bag. Cellophane crackles and your boyfriend makes a questioning noise - "Lovey, why didn't you tell me your flowers were dying, I only bought them last week."

You turn from where you're trying to stuff a bag of oven chips into the overly stuffed freezer drawer, eyebrows drawn together because your flowers aren't dying so why is James saying that they are? His eyebrows are furrowed, too, and he's standing with a bunch of bright yellow sun flowers in his hand. You smile, "They're for you, silly. Not me."

As if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

It only makes James more confused. "Why?"

Well, for starters, they're big and beautiful, and remind you of a summer's day - same as James. Secondly, he'd said only last week that his mum had grown them in her garden when he was a young boy and he missed the sight dearly. You tell him this and watch as his big hazel eyes turn soft, the hand that isn't cradling the bunch of flowers reaching out for you.

You crowd his space, happy to be so close to him, all cozy and warm and smelling so handsome. The tops of his cheeks are pink and he's smiling so wide it makes your heart melt. He looks almost bashful.

"I've never had someone buy me flowers before." He says it so quietly you're not sure if you were even supposed to hear.

"Well," You press your lips to the underside of his jaw, "Now you have."

He smiles even wider, presses his lips to yours and you feel the familiar warmth spread through your body at his touch. His fingers brush along your waist line, eyes on his bright bunch of sun flowers.

"Thanks, baby."

His smile is sweet and sticky like honey, a familiar feeling in your chest, and all you want to do is kiss him again. So you do. He welcomes it.

"You're welcome, Jamie."

[shepherds-of-haven]

Who in the shepards is good with hair? Who is willing to help MC do their hair if asked? Who is gentle with a brush and who brushes hair like a mum lol

Blade: is he good with hair? the results speak for themselves

but he is very gentle and tender about brushing and is good at braiding if you tell him it's the same principle as making a rope!

Trouble: he's not a good hair stylist, but he's happy to help brush your hair if asked! Just don't bring him into it if there's lots of complicated pins and structures involved. He's gentle with brushing and can fumble a ponytail or braid together well enough, but it will be crooked and will come out at some point

Tallys: probably the gentlest with hair of them all, she can style neat, simple things (braids and crowns or simple up-dos are fine, but not really complicated hairstyles or pompadours or anything like that). having your hair brushed by her is like going to a head spa and you are very likely to fall asleep! She's very happy to do it, too, it's probably one of her favorite things to do as a couple!

Shery: she's good at doing hair and is gentle about it, though perhaps a little over-anxious about hurting you and will check in too frequently with, "Does this hurt?" "Did I pull too hard? I'm so sorry!!" She can manage lots of different hairstyles though, it's very impressive!

Riel: he is not the person to ask for you to do or handle your hair, lol. He wouldn't enjoy it and I suspect neither would you... the concept of getting your ✨ hair oils ✨ all over his hands is distressing to him. It is definitely not something he'd willingly do and he would be frankly puzzled that you'd ask, there's like 20 staff members and servants on hand at his house at any given time that are more suited for helping you with that!

Chase: he's surprisingly gentle with hair and is good at doing hairstyles too! He takes more time with it when he's intimate lovers with someone (and probably uses it as a method of seduction) but can do it for platonic friends too!

Red: he's gentle, but unpracticed; he could manage a braid just from mentally reasoning through it, but please don't ask him to do anything more complicated than that lol

Ayla: she'll reluctantly help you if you're really close, but I don't think you'd want her to, she brushes hair like a mom 🥲 and don't ask her to do anything fancy with it, either!!!

Briony: she's gentle at hair brushing but hopeless about doing hair, even if you ask her to do a ponytail, which you'd think she'd be quite good at... it's like tying a tie on someone else, it's different than her habitual, unthinking movements and ends up giving her the yips! She's just neutral about being asked to do it, though, it's not something she particularly enjoys but she enjoys the closeness and intimacy it conveys (as long as they take turns)!

Lavinet: I mentioned this in this ask and this one, but although Lavinet enjoys braiding/doing hair for fun, she doesn't like being asked to do so by someone, as she views it as a bit servantile or demeaning unless she offers or does it of her own volition first! Like she's fine if you come up to her and say, "Hey, does my hair look okay for this ball?" and then she'll sort of sigh and fuss at it and comb it more neatly or style it better, tutting all the while, but she won't really like it if you approach her and say, "Could you sit behind me and braid my hair into a French plait?" --Something she knows you're perfectly capable of doing yourself, but presumably just don't feel like it. She's not used to doing hair on other people at first, but with practice she becomes quite the expert at it. She doesn't really enjoy brushing hair though as a bonding/intimacy activity and would prefer for it to be the other way around, and when she does it, she's quite firm, neither particularly gentle nor really hard!

Halek: gentle with hair and surprisingly adept at doing hairstyles, too, probably the best out of all the guys!

[serenhoshi]

𝐉𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐚 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

I got a request for our dearest gentle sexy joshua, so here it is!

tbh I don't think joshua would think too much of getting in a relationship

just like the members, he is very focused in his career, so it would take some time for him to notice love for someone else.

probably a highschool friend, a coworker or a staff member he really gets along with

i don't think he'd be into meeting and getting in a relationship with brand new people around him, he needs to know them

maybe, if he sees that you're a foreigner that seems nice, then he'll approach you in the streets

being the gentleman he is he stays very polite and respectful, he doesn't want to bother you too much or invade your personal space.

he is a very warm person overall, very cheerful and open-minded. It's easy to talk with him, about literally anything.

since you get along things could go fast, at least for you.

since he doesn't know you that much, joshua will see you as someone he knows, no more no less

like he has to realize he spends a lot of time with you, more than with anyone else, because of the members

they'll be like "you're seeing them again? You saw them yesterday, and the day before!"

and he'd be surprised, because they are right, because he didn't notice, and because they noticed

he'll start acting weird around you lmao

and he'll ask help from the members, who told him that he could be in love with you

he was like "what? no, i don't know them since that long"

and the members would answer "well it's been a year now" lmao

idk if he'd actually ask you out, or if you'd do it

i think it would be just mutual realisation? if that makes sense

like he's at your appartment one evening and you talk about everything and nothing

you joke around and burst out laughing together

and you just look at each other like something just happened between you two

you don't really need to declare your relationship as official, you just both know that it'll work and that you're in love with each other

now hong joshua as a boyfriend

he gatekeeps you from the members

when they ask if you'll come to watch them practice, he'd be like no they won't meet y'all go away

at some point you go see them by yourself because you want to

the members love you ofc, and they're surprised that you can keep up with joshua's chaotic energy

hes just too much sometimes

game afternoons? he'll cheat for sure

he made you food? wrong, his mum did it for yall

he teaches you how to sing? okay but he will tell you that you sing well when you actually don't

crafty days? he'll make you a bracelet/canvas/other with a mistake when spelling of your name

cute nickame? he called you "sarcastic fringehead" on his phone (which is a weird looking fish)

anyways he's funny overall lmao

smutty part below

joshua knows SO much

like he knows more than you do about your body

a great talker as well

knows the right words to make your knees buckle

the right moves as well

he knows damn well where to put his hands to make you feel good

not on the rough side in bed tho, not a lot at least

he's a dom, but like a soft dom

very much into praising and admiring your body, you'll feel like a queen/king with him

very vocal man, when he's not praising you hes moaning

like moaning

doesn't care if people hear/see you (except if it makes you uncomfy)

is willing to try many things in bed, as long as you both are okay with trying stuff

definitely not into knife play

won't go for many rounds, maybe 2, 3 if he's at his best i guess

the best with aftercare as well!!!

comforting words, helping you washing up and cuddles with no end!

[peramore-adastra]

sirius and regulus were never allowed to have pets growing up, just owls necessary for sending letters and they were in no way treated like pets.

regulus grows up and somehow ends up taking in every single stray cat he comes across that is willing to come near him. his beautiful apartment, perfectly designed down to the throw pillows, is also filled to the brim with cat toys, beds, trees, ledges on the wall for them to climb on, you name it, he has it. he doesn't know how it started, it just did. and now he has 8 cats. he is constantly doing research on the best food, the best treats, the best toys, he refuses to buy anything that he hasn't researched first. he took in a pregnant mother and when the kittens were born, crying as they came into the world, he cried with them because it's so easy to forget that the world can full of kindness and good intentions, that the world is not just pain and suffering. as he looks at the mum caring for her kittens, as they cry and are rewarded by soothing touches, he remembers again.

sirius has two dogs. they're bonded so it was hard to find people to adopt both of them, but when he saw them, it was love at first sight. the two dogs remind him of him and james, inseparable and goofy. they're scruffy and a little wonky looking, but he thinks they are the two most beautiful amazing little creatures to ever walk the earth. he buys them shoes so when they go for walks in the city they won't accidentally step on anything dangerous. in the winter they have little sweaters that james' mum knitted for them. he spoils them fucking rotten and then some because he knows what it's like to not feel loved and no one deserves that- let alone the two dogs that are always excited to be with him even when he is the absolute worst company to be around, who make him smile and laugh when he's forgotten how.

[aew-kun-age-regression]

Caregiver!Alastor Headcannons 📻

A/N ~ Maybe I got a bit carried away and wrote more than normal 🤭. In my defense, I am sleepy, kinda regressed and really quite like his character sooo 🤷🏻

Understanding regression wasn't something that he immediately understood however he was willing to make the effort to learn.

^ Started off as a case as he wanted something to do for entertainment, therefore he came to the conclusion what would be more entertaining than filling a Caregiver role. He didn't have any bad or negative intentions but wasn't really focused on much other than the entertainment originally. Shortly after looking after a regressor for a while he realises that he actually enjoys the role more than he thought he would.

Although he doesn't really like physical contact for the sake of a regressor I feel like he'd be okay with it.

^ He is capable of lifting Regressors. (he is very strong 😌)

Charlie was literally the only one that trusted him with you, like at all.. Husk was the most cautious, always keeping an eye on you when he could.. Everyone is incredibly shocked as they all realise that Alastor does actually care.

"My Dear", "My Darling" & "Sweetheart" are his go to nicknames.

He is an amazing cook (Something he learnt from his mother) and I definitely see him genuinely enjoying cooking with a Regressor, it's a fun bonding activity!!!

Another thing he is amazing at that he learnt from his mum is sewing. Did your Plushie or clothes get a bit ripped? That's okay because Alastor can fix it and you won't even be able to see that there was ever an issue in the first place-!!!

No TV. He hates it.

^ He loves sitting with you and listening to music on the radio. So so calming.

^ Also dancing to the music together in his radio tower.

Another activity he loves is reading. Doesn't matter if it's you reading a story to him, or him reading to you. He loves it all the same.

Tea Parties with him and Rosie >>>

He has a very calming voice and will quietly sing/hum to help a Regressor sleep.

The absolute best at coordinating outfits (him, you and your stuffies of course!!!)

SO protective. Like, if he's not with you one of his shadow are.

His go to babysitters are Rosie and Husk. Rosie's his best friend (they are platonically married your honour) and he knows that although Husk doesn't like him between Husk never even thinking of hurting a regressor and the deal between the two of them he knows you'd be safe.

He has brought you to an overlords meeting before. Everyone (apart from Rosie obviously) was beyond baffled as this is not the Alastor they know. (You spent your time with Carmilla's daughters whilst the overlords all spoke 👍🏻)

He would occasionally let you nap on his lap in his radio tower as he broadcasts.

I feel like he's the type of Caregiver to store all artwork you do in a binder to keep it safe. (He will literally never admit this information.)

For Regressors with longer hair, he absolutely would be good at styling hair.

He can and will spoil you. He has powers which means he can literally summon objects, there is no way he isn't spoiling his little one with that ability.

I truly do not believe he'd be able to decipher baby talk. Will just stare at you like "👁️👄👁️"

[interlagosed]

As per your request i humbly remind you to post your massage table hc

The first time it happens, Lando doesn't expect it. In fact, he doesn't expect to see Carlos in his driver's room when he opens the door at all. He screams, hand over his heart, and says, "Carlos, what the fuck-"

"Mind your language," Carlos replies, his voice muffled. That's when Lando realizes Carlos isn't just in his driver's room, he's on Lando's massage table, facedown, lanky arms draping off either side of the table. His polo shirt is slightly hiked up in the back, exposing a sliver of hairy back. Lando gawps for a moment, before regaining control of himself.

"Why are you here?" Lando demands, scowling. "You've got your own massage table, mate."

"I was looking for you," Carlos says, voice still muffled, though Lando can hear the smile on his face. Fucker.

"What for?" Lando grumbles, and then adds, "I was on the phone with my mum."

He doesn't know why he adds that. Carlos doesn't need to know. But then Carlos says, "Oh, how is she?" and Lando's glad he brought it up.

"She's good, yeah. She says hi."

That makes Carlos lift his face up from the table, and Lando's heart skips a beat at how stupid handsome he is. Carlos smiles.

"Good. Hello to her, also."

Why does he have to be nice on top of everything?

"A-anyway, don't change the subject," Lando says, trying to force steel into his voice. "Why were you looking for me?"

"I wanted to show you a video."

"You wanted to- we have texting powers," Lando says, laughing, but Carlos is already shaking his head.

"No, no. I have to see you seeing this. Lando, please. I must," he says, and rather than sitting up like a normal fucking human being, he scoots back, his eyes big and pleading, and turns onto his side. He pats the narrow space beside himself on the massage table.

Realization dawns. Flatly, willing his tone not to betray his anxiety, his- his- his stupid crush, on his stupid teammate, Lando explains, "I won't fit."

"You are very small," Carlos says, as though it were no matter.

Lando scowls, his heart beating faster. And then Carlos has the audacity to add, "And I will not let you fall."

Fuck. Son of a- fuck.

"Won't let me- you'll push me off!" Lando laughs, incredulous, but Carlos is shaking his head again.

"Me? Push you off? Never," he replies, aghast, but the effect is ruined when he wiggles his eyebrows and says, "except if you deserve it."

"Bye."

"Lando! Wait!" Carlos says, laughing, his hand reaching towards Lando. Lando rolls his eyes and steps closer, and then Carlos' hand is on his side briefly, then in his shirt, and Lando is frozen in place. "Please. Please. Just for a little bit, eh? I promise, I will not push you. Promise."

His hand. Why is it so warm, even through Lando's shirt?

Lando looks at Carlos' big, hairy hand. He follows the hair up Carlos' arm, where it disappears under the sleeve of his polo, stretched as it is by Carlos' bicep, and then he sees Carlos' face: open, good-natured, hopeful, god, so handsome.

He sighs and slips onto the massage table, and Carlos grins. "Thank you," he says, as though he has the right. He doesn't touch Lando as Lando lays down on his side. It's a tight fit, as Lando expected, and he nearly teeters over the edge-

But then Carlos' arm is around his waist in a flash, pulling him close. Lando gasps, and Carlos says, his voice gentle, "I told you, no? I won't let you fall."

Lando lets Carlos believe the gasp was about him almost falling. He hopes Carlos attributes the wild, certainly audible beating of Lando's heart to that, rather than to the proximity between them. There is no gap between their bodies. He feels Carlos' stomach, his chest, against his back. He can feel Carlos' chin just grazing the top of his head. He feels Carlos' fingers, steady, on his shirt; his pinky is just on Lando's skin, where his own polo hiked up slightly. The touch is searing, it's unbearable, it's-

The whole thing is perfect.

Then Carlos hands Lando his phone, commands him to hit play on the video he had been nursing for apparently nearly twenty minutes, and Lando can't help it: he laughs hysterically. Yes, the video's funny, but he laughs at all of it.

Before they know it, they've been watching stupid videos on Carlos' Instagram feed for nearly half an hour, tears in their eyes, laughing until their sides hurt, then laughing even harder as they both try to keep each other from falling off the massage table. There's one particularly precarious moment where the whole table seems at threat of tipping over, but Carlos pulls Lando half onto himself, trying to rebalance everything, and it works. Their giggles subside, then; Carlos seems to realize at the same time as Lando just how...how they are. And they look at each other, residual mirth still carved into their faces, and it's a long moment. Then, then, Carlos' eyes crinkle as he begins to quote a stupid line from the first stupid video he showed Lando, and they're laughing all over again, loud and outrageous.

That's how Charlotte finds them, and even the annoyance and frustration on her face as she tells them how late they are for what they were meant to be doing isn't enough to make them stop laughing.

So, the next time Lando sees Carlos on his massage table, he just grins, closes the door behind himself, and says, "How long have we got?" before hopping up onto the table to let Carlos take his waist again.

For safety, of course.

[holyhead-hufflepuff]

the great war

DRACO MALFOY X READER

"My hand was the one you reached for All throughout the Great War" - Taylor Swift

notes: this was an anon request for a third-person draco malfoy fic so enjoy!!

"HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED RETURNS." The headline forced witches and wizards everywhere to prepare for the inescapable; they had to make a choice. Muggleborns huddled in the corners of the wizarding world, hands shaking and voices hushed. They had to choose between the fight for their lives or the flight that'll cost them everything. Half-bloods everywhere sat in the kitchen as lights everywhere dimmed and debated their options; fight alongside a child, fight alongside evil, or turn the other cheek. Many closed their eyes in shame at the thought of choosing the latter. Could they turn their cheeks and wipe away the blood— the remorse of playing an 'innocent onlooker?' 

Then, some read the headline without internal conflict brewing in their hearts. Harry Potter knew his place; his fate was sealed by a prophecy, and he would carry the weight on his shoulders until the end. Ron Weasley was raised to know this was wrong; his loyalty to Harry, Hermione, and the cause would push him to see it through. Hermione Granger knew what would come of the world if she ran; her identity and belonging to both worlds would give her the courage to finish it.

Then there was Draco Malfoy. 

Draco Malfoy knew his place. His fate was sealed by a mark on his parents' arms. He was raised to know that you believe what's wrong if you want to survive. He only had one identity. He was a Malfoy. 

Death Eaters, his followers, had been conditioned and told to believe in Voldemort's return. Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Y/N Y/L/N, and many others saw the headline and knew what it meant. This was the start of the war they were told to be prepared for. This was the cause that they would lay down their lives for. There was no choice; this was what they were raised for. 

_ 

"Sometimes, when I lay in your arms, I imagine that we're entirely different people — that we won't have to turn into people we hate whenever he calls." It was a bold statement to say aloud, especially within Hogwart's walls, but y/n could feel that this was the last night. Y/N could feel the burn of their mark intensifying, the tension becoming palpable, and the guilt creeping into their soul. 

Draco was quiet, his arms tightening around y/n as their breathing quickened as more time sat between their thoughts and Draco's response. 

"I get it," Draco breathed out, breaking the silence and allowing himself to say what he'd been thinking for years. "I used to pretend I was someone else occasionally when I was a child. It's been more frequent since I got the mark. I'll lay awake while you sleep beside me and wonder how I'll beg for forgiveness from our future grandchildren." 

"Before they villainize us in textbooks, will they ask why we did it? Will they ask themselves why children were even used in the first place?" 

"No, but I ask myself that a lot." 

"Do you feel this is the last night we'll have, too?" 

"Yes." 

"I-I sometimes think that I can't go through with it." Y/N's voice shook as the words tumbled out, ugly and exposing the worst thought imaginable. To their family and to Voldemort, this was a thought of treason. To Draco, this was a thought of unbelievable bravery and stupidity. 

Draco pulled away from y/n, his face cold and unreadable. "Stop it. You can't say things like that — not here and not to me." 

"Why am I ready to die for a cause that I doubt? Why are you willing? I look at Potter and his little band of misfits whose chances are slim to none, and I wonder how their faith in the cause carries them through. They are laying their lives down for something they believe in, and we're-" 

"We're keeping ourselves and our families alive, y/n. My mum and dad are one more mistake away from losing their lives, and I refuse to be that mistake." 

"I know our circumstances are different, but I can't help but wonder if my parents wished they had made another choice. I look my dad in the eye and see fear. I don't see loyalty to the cause, and honestly, I don't see loyalty to-" 

"I call my you, my followers, and every dark creature that has pledged their loyalty to me. I call you to begin the attack against Hogwarts." 

The pain of their marks blinded them; for a moment, the two moved as one. They moved away from each other and towards their wands — in complete unison and with total devotion. The moment lasted less than a minute. Draco was propelled by his family, but y/n was hindered by hesitation. 

"I have to go, but we will see each other again. This is the last night before everything changes but not our last night together." Draco grabbed his mother's wand and looked back at y/n momentarily. "I love you." 

"I love you, but I'm sorry. I can't do this — Draco, I'm going to fight, but not alongside you." The words hung in the air; Draco and y/n were frozen in time as they shared a bittersweet look. 

"I love you," Draco repeated, his eyes glassy. Y/N would have thought it was a parting gift or goodbye, except for the genuine smile. "We will see each other again, and I will tell our grandchildren about how brave you were in this moment." 

With that, a sign of hope, Draco apparated. He wasn't sure if he could choose to be as defiant and brave, but for the first time in a long time, he felt rebellion fluttering in his heart. 

[pullhisteeth]

end of beginnings | eddie munson x reader

summary you spend christmas and new year with Eddie. in other words: crossing the line. [5.3k]

contains tw! canon-divergent convo about deceased parent (eddie's mum), sad munson xmas vibes, sad Eddie :(, money problems. eventual happy Eddie! christmas & new year celebrations, fem!reader, pet-names, friends to lovers, pining, fluff, alcohol, weed.

-

"Where's your tree?"

The weight of Eddie's head shifts off your knee where it's dangling off the edge of his bed. You feel your chest deflate. Hot breath passes your lips and mists before your eyes. His room is cold.

"What?"

His hair shifts past your bare skin and makes your ankle twitch, the ball of your socked foot nudging his chin. He huffs out an "hey," through a breathy laugh and reaches up to brush your shin with warm fingers. They're gone as quick as they come.

You push yourself up onto your elbows to look at the top of his head, but find his eyes staring at you. The bottom of his face is obscured by the crumpled comforter at the foot of his bed, so there's just a mass of dark curls and wide, brown eyes looking back.

"Your Christmas tree."

"Oh," he breathes. The air's hot on your knee and it makes your ankle twitch again. How can a short puff of air, a word that is barely a word, make you feel so silly?

You watch him turn back around and lean his head on the bed. He's hidden again, by his own hair this time, but you can tell he's staring at the ceiling by the way his breathing's gotten loud. He does that when he's nervous: stares up, breathes out.

Air fills your lungs again when you lie back down. Eddie's bed is warm and comfortable but you're stoned and your skin's sticky with embarrassment and you can't lie still. On the stretched skin of your hips, where your top's ridden up from friction, your fingertips drum aimless rhythms.

You hate the stillness of the room. You can't hear Eddie's mindless strumming and he's not humming anymore.

You feel him shift beside your leg, hair bunched up between his head and the bed.

"We've never really done Christmas," he murmurs. You barely hear him but something inside your chest constricts and cracks anyway.

The stillness is stubborn and doesn't shift. You wait for him, like you always do; everything you do hangs on Eddie. You bate your breath, willing him to say something else, but he doesn't, so you say, "why not?"

Regardless of how much of yourself you have given over to Eddie, how many things you've let go of, this feels like a line crossed.

By your feet, he stirs again. As you let your eyes trace a fine crack across his ceiling, you listen as he places his guitar softly on the carpet and hear the dramatic groan he lets out when he pushes himself to stand. In your peripheral you see him stretch, arms locking up above his head, fingers grazing the ceiling. You force your eyes rigid, not daring to look, knowing that if you do you won't be able to stop.

Beside you, the mattress dips as he flops backwards to join you. His leg is across your own, the juncture of his knee over your shin, and even though it's no different from every other time he's sat beside you, it's unbearable. Under your scalp there are little fires spreading, climbing down the line of your spine between skin and bedsheet. You arch your back.

"I wanna tell you," he whispers. "It's just hard."

Something wills you to turn. On your side, arm tucked beneath your head, you can study his face better. The curve of his nose, where his teeth bite his lip, two stray eyelashes on the rise of his cheek.

You reach over quietly and pick them up on the tips of your fingers. Bringing them to your lips, you close your eyes and blow gently.

Make a wish.

"It's okay," you whisper back. "I want to hear, if that helps."

He breathes a deliberate sigh and says, "just never had the money, y'know?"

You hum an affirmative noise and shift, wriggling so the bunched-up comforter under your hips is more comfortable. His eyes are still closed, lashes still kissing the tops of his cheeks.

"Wayne works most of it, 'cause the plant pays double and incentive pay so I think he earns, like, five times what he usually would, and it's kinda hard to say no to that."

At the word no, Eddie's voice wavers. It's slight, so quick you'd never notice if it weren't so quiet in the room. Along his collarbone your fingers dance to soothe him, tapping encouraging spots in the hollow of the bone.

You don't say anything, instead basking in the way the stiff air has finally dissipated.

The two of you lie still for a while. Eddie's breathing slow, shallow breaths out of his nose, and for a moment you think he may have fallen asleep. Through bleary, weed-stung eyes you can see that he's not, because he's still biting his lip. A crimson split appears in the centre, bold enough to make you gasp. He sticks his tongue out to lick it clean, but more blood seeps out.

Between licks he tells you, "mum used to work Christmas too."

You picture her. In her mind she is a combination of the few photographs Eddie has shown you, movement stilted because you can't fill in that gap on your own. As you think about how much you wish you could meet her now, your heart seizes.

You picture her in a uniform. It's a nondescript white shirt, red trims and a pretty name tag. Her hair's pinned up and she's running around, flitting behind a counter holding plates and smiling at fawning men.

"She did it for the same reason, y'know, extra pay for undesirable hours." The words come out of his mouth bitter, dripping with insincerity, as though they're the reason she was stolen away.

"She'd take me with her. I used to sit behind the counter and have a hamburger for Christmas dinner, and way too many slices of cherry pie." These words are sweet and come out in the shape of the slightest smile, curved only at the edges. He shifts next to you and turns to mirror you; his arm bends under his head and his other palm plants on the bed. His fingers are so close to your own you can feel the space around them pressing phantom indents into your skin. There's an urge somewhere inside you to reach out and grab him, but you decide to blame that on the weed and you lie still instead.

You avert your gaze from where your hand is and look at his face instead, a choice that you can't turn back from. His big, stupid eyes have descended on you and are unrelenting, boring holes through your own, like they have their own heat source. You stare back and take in how soft and sad he looks, face squished against the skin of his arm.

"I love cherry pie," you say.

He smiles, and says, "me too. She used to give it out for free when her boss wasn't looking, said it was Christmas and people deserved somethin' sweet. The guys who used to come in on Christmas were, like, truckers who never saw their families, or lonely old guys from the area. I never saw her eat on those shifts, always used to say..."

He trails off because his eyes have gone all watery and there's a tear on his nose. As you wipe it away with the knuckle of your middle finger, you ask, "used to say what?"

"This is so stupid," he groans.

"'S'not, Eddie."

"She used to say I was all the sweetness she needed."

You can't help the giggle that bubbles out of you. "That's the cutest thing I've ever heard," you tell him.

"Yeah, she was the best."

"Sounds it."

"Christmas's never really been a Munson thing, I guess."

"Do you want it to be?" you ask, hoping to high heaven he can't hear the trepidation in the question.

"'S'alright, Wayne leaves me to it and I make a good go of it most years. Usually rent a couple movies and save some of the good stuff for the occasion." He wrinkles his nose when he tries to smirk at you, and it pulls that bubbly giggle back again.

It takes you a moment to work yourself up to asking him the question that has been sitting stubborn in your mouth for the past fifteen minutes. You wanted to ask it even before he told you these things, because you're not stupid and you know that the gaping lack of decorations in this trailer means the Munsons don't do Christmas. Eddie is your best friend, and the thought of him alone on the holidays is enough to send you loopy.

So you breathe deep through your nose and close your eyes, and then say lowly and quickly, "d'you wanna spend it with me?"

You squint your eyes further shut when you feel the hot release of a sigh on your arm. You hear him shuffle beside you and then his cold fingertips on the exposed skin of your waist.

He's pressing all the right buttons, willing you to look at him, so you do. You find those big, warm eyes and a silly, stupid, sympathetic smile you never want to look away from.

"You want to spend your Christmas day here, with me?"

"No, no, I want you to spend it with me. And my family."

Searching his face, you find nothing. No inkling of joy, shock, horror.

"Really?" In his voice, in that one word, there is a strange concoction of surprise and distrust. Perhaps you should be offended, but you get it. "I know I've met them, but, like, would they really want me there?"

"If you mean my parents, then yes." You reach up to move some hair behind his neck. "Mum thinks you're great. Dad'll come around quick enough."

"Dunno if I want to face him again," he murmurs, words genuine but playful.

You laugh through your nose and say, "you've just gotta give him a chance. He's a lil' protective of me, that's all. Same as you are."

That's another toe over the proverbial line. It's a thin one, and getting thinner, tight underfoot and your balance is going.

Your hand hasn't left his neck. It rests there gently, toying with the strands at the nape. Your faces are inches from each other, if that, so close you can hear his breath and you're sure he can hear yours too. You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat.

Something unspoken seems to hang over you, because even though you could kiss him without moving much at all, you don't. Time passes like this; you're both coming out of the other side of stoned, skin hot to the touch and hearts beating too fast. It'd be too easy.

-

Sure enough, Eddie appears at your front door on Christmas Eve, as agreed. You slide down the hall in new socks to swing the door open, finding him on the other side with a heavily packed bag on his back and another in his hand, hanging by his shins. He looks a little lost, eyes wandering until they land on yours.

Stepping forward to grab the bag he's holding, you reach up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. Your wrap your fingers around his and he releases, giving the bag up, stunned in part by the brashness of your kiss.

"Merry Christmas, Eds."

You don't call him that often. When you do, it's moments like this - soft, familiar, and, of course, crossing the line.

"Merry Christmas, sugar."

You pull him over the threshold and before your family can ambush him, you head upstairs to your bedroom. Behind you, you hear him huffing, dramatics dialled up to eleven in an attempt to match your energy, and you’re laughing to yourself the whole way up.

In the small space between your door and your bed is a makeshift situation. There’s an old mattress and blankets, and you’ve stolen two pillows from your own bed to give to Eddie.

"Dad insisted," you tell him when he stops in the doorway and looks at the floor with an expression you can’t read but assume is disgust.

His voice, though, is softer than you expected when he says, "I didn’t think I’d be in here at all."

"Oh, obviously," you say, as though there even being a question about him sleeping elsewhere is unfathomable. "Slumber party."

From across the room he beams at you. He treads over the careful arrangement and drops his bag from his back next to the other one, which you placed at the end of your bed. He goes to unzip that one, rooting around inside until he pulls out something small.

"Do you want your present now, or tomorrow morning?"

He’s got it in both hands behind his back, hiding it from you. To wind him up you crane around him to try and get a look but he twists with you, so you say defiantly, “tomorrow.”

"Ugh, really?!"

"You won’t let me see it!"

"Yeah, but I want to see you open it."

"Tomorrow, Eddie."

"Fine."

He tosses it lightly back into the bag, and you watch it fall onto a pile of similar looking objects. As he wanders off, going to look at the new records you told him you’d found downtown, you peek into the bag to see he’s got at least eight perfectly wrapped gifts in there.

"Did you buy presents for my whole family?"

He turns back around to look at you with a Talking Heads album in his hands, face blank.

"Yeah. It’s Christmas."

Inside yourself, you feel a winding feeling, like there’s something growing out of the chambers of your heart.

-

"Good morning, handsome."

Squinting, Eddie eases his eyes open. You're bent over him, breath hot on his nose. Your face is split in two with a grin and from what he can tell, your hair's pinned up all pretty.

He grumbles, trying to deflect from the searing hot affection he feels for you, and turns over. But you're not having it, and soon he's lying exposed on the mattress on your bedroom floor, pyjamas on full display. He hears you giggle from above him and when he looks at you, he thinks that maybe he died in his sleep.

You're towering over him, hair half pulled back and eyes crinkled shut by your smile. Your lips are a pretty, deep colour and your clothes are pressed and fresh. Everything is rosy, mostly because behind you is your bedroom window, and through it there's a heavy stream of morning sunlight. It's lighting you up, broken only by the shape of your head. You're divine.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, sugar." 

He's got that morning voice you've only heard a handful of times before, and most often over the phone. It's lower than usual and brittle, rough like the strike down the side of a matchbox. It sparks just like that, too; sparks inside your gut, down your spine, in your knees.

You extend a hand to pull him up. He takes it and you pull, heaving him off the ground. His knees bend to help himself up and he stands before you, made slightly taller than usual by the mattress beneath his feet.

"You look real pretty," he tells you from above. You look up at him through your lashes and bat them dramatically.

"Why thank you, bedhead." You reach up and tug playfully at the ends of his hair, and pretend you don't hear the involuntary noise he makes in response. "C'mon, get dressed. We've got presents to unwrap, and mum'll kill us if we take any longer. I'll meet you down-"

As you turn to leave him, aiming for the door, your breath hitches when his hand closes round your wrist. He pulls you backwards and you trip awkwardly, ankle hitting the edge of the mattress, so he catches you quickly and angles you so you're face to face.

"I mean it. You really do look pretty."

"I know you do," you say earnestly. "Thank you."

Quickly, you give him a kiss on the cheek.

"And I mean it when I say we'll be dead soon, so get dressed."

You leave him standing, shell-shocked, in the centre of your childhood bedroom, hopping down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

-

With your backs to the wall beneath the window, yourself and Eddie sit beside one another in your living room. The tree's tall and your mother decorated it to the nines, and the once-healthy pile of presents underneath has been nearly obliterated. There have been cheers and hugs and lots of wow, thank you!'s passed around. Everyone's cheerful.

Except Eddie.

You are acutely aware of the fact that this is all new to him. You check in every few minutes, hopeful he's not completely overwhelmed, and he seems okay. He's just quiet.

You nudge his knee with your own and he gives you a smile so soft you almost miss it.

"You gonna open mine?" you ask him softly.

He nods, reaching to his small pile that he's half opened. Your parents made sure to get him a few things, mostly socks and some pyjamas that you could barely hold back from laughing at. They're bright red and covered in little Christmas trees.

He picks up the large, flat package with both hands. It's kind of obvious what's in there, but you're excited to see his reaction anyway.

He tears gently at the paper, stopping abruptly when he reveals an unmissable detail.

"No fucking w- shit, sorry, I mean - shit. Sorry."

You're laughing at him, because he can't help his filthy mouth, even in front of your parents, but it's alright because they're laughing too. He breathes in, deep through his nose, eyes closed, before continuing.

He's rougher now, tearing back the pretty paper. He pulls out a black frame, and inside is a very normal looking tour poster.

Except it's not just a tour poster. It's a Metallica poster, from the tour the two of you went to in Indianapolis three months before. And at the bottom, over the illustrations, are pen marks.

"This cannot be real."

"Hundred percent genuine, promise," you tell him.

"No, seriously, what the- what the hell?"

You watch his fingers trace the glass over the signatures, and then look up at his face. His eyes and grin are wide, and you wish so badly you could frame that instead.

After a moment in which you catch a confused glance shared between your parents on the couch, you're tackled into a bear-hug. He seems to forget where he is when he kisses you a thousand times all across your face, a littering of silly, wet pecks that make you giggle. And then he squeezes you, and beside your ear repeats a chant of thank you, thank you, thank you.

"It's okay," you say. "Y'deserve it."

When he sits back upright, he says, "okay, your turn. But just a warning, I will literally never match this." He holds up the poster, squishing one side of his face with the edge of the frame.

"I can live with that," you say, reaching for the small box he'd hidden from you the previous evening.

The wrapping is surprisingly neat. It's a small cube, maybe a few inches wide all round. It's making you nervous.

You tear the paper gently and reveal a small velvet box.

"Am I going to be paying for a wedding I don't know about?" your dad says from across the room. You both look at him, tense, but ease when he starts laughing. "It was a joke, kids."

You laugh nervously, and look at Eddie. He simply nods, desperate for you to see what's inside.

You pull up the hinged lid and inside is a chain and a golden locket. It's gorgeous - an oval with an intricate pattern of swirling leaves.

"Eddie, I... This must have cost you a fortune," you breathe.

You look at him and find him looking away from you, up at the ceiling. Nervous.

He breathes out, slow, and says, "it's secondhand, so it wasn't too bad. The guy said it's probably, like, thirty years old. D'you like it?"

"It's absolutely beautiful."

You feel his fingers around your own and the box you're gripping so tightly. You release and he takes it into his own, pulling the chain out gently and gesturing for you to turn. When you do, his other hand pulls your hair to one side, and you try to ignore the way it melts your skin.

He reaches around you and does up the clasp behind your neck. You instinctively reach up to hold the locket and fold it over between your fingers, before getting up to show your parents. They coo at it fondly, complimenting Eddie on his considerate gift, and you give him a smile made of syrup from the couch.

-

"Are you awake?"

You're lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. It's late, probably one or two in the morning, and your room is dark. Eddie's on the mattress on the floor.

"Yeah," you hear him grumble, as though he's only telling a half-truth. "What's up?"

Sitting up, you adjust to the low light and try to find him on the floor. He's lying on his back, looking up at you.

"Come here?"

There's some shuffling - the pulling back of multiple blankets, the rustling of pyjamas, his light footsteps - before he's sat on the edge of your bed. Eddie likes to keep a respectful distance and it's driving you insane.

You shuffle forwards until your crossed legs nudge his elbow.

"Was today okay?" you ask him. No matter how hard you might try, masking the worry in your voice is impossible.

He seems to pick up on it, because he turns to hold your hands that are in your lap, and says, "I have had the best day ever."

"Really?"

"I don't think I can tell you what all of this means to me."

You can tell he's being perhaps the most earnest he's ever been with you. Sure, you know nearly everything about each other, but this feels different.

"That's good," you respond, smiling. "I wish Wayne could've come."

"He's bummed to be missing it," he says. His voice is low. "Thank you, seriously."

"Eddie, the idea of you alone on Christmas made me cry. I wasn't having it," you tell him, laughing softly. 

"You cried?!"

"Yes!"

"Why?!"

"You'd be so lonely!"

He laughs with you, mouth sticky with fondness for you and your seemingly boundless compassion. His hand sits beside his thigh, gripping the sheets tighter than perhaps is normal. You don't notice, but his nerves are firing in every which way.

In the beat of silence you're sitting in together, you look at his fingers, where they scrunch your bedsheets, the vacant spaces by his knuckles that usually house the rings, and the silly pen scrawls on his skin. Without thinking you reach down and trace them with your pointer finger, joining them to the small tattoos on his wrist and up his forearm. Up and down you go, back and forth, both of you just watching in silence.

"We should get some sleep," you say absentmindedly with no true intention of moving.

"Hm, yeah."

Neither of you go anywhere. Your finger has stilled by his wrist, and the rest come to wrap around it. You lift his hand from the bed and place it firmly in your own, intertwining your fingers.

"Wanna stay here," you whisper.

"I'm not going anywhere," he responds, matching your volume.

He doesn't miss the way the corners of your mouth turn up, or the way you bite your lip to suppress it.

"Good."

Without another word, you shuffle backwards. Your hands remain locked, you pulling him with you. He clambers over your sheets and settles slightly awkwardly between your body and the wall; your bed's not small but it's also debatably not meant for two fully grown people, so it's a squeeze.

You have been in this situation only a small number of times before now. Sharing a bed with Eddie is easy - the boy sleeps like a fucking log, immovable and firm, but it's not him you worry about. You're a mover, wriggling through the night, and you'll be damned if you stop him getting a good nights sleep.

Eddie, though, is pretty sure the only time he ever has slept well has been the four times you've been next to him (who's counting?). You squirm, sure, but you also spread yourself out so much he can't help but be wedged under you somehow. Usually it's your legs over his, an arm over his waist, hair in his face. And it's blissful every time. Comfortable. Home.

"If I steal the duvet, kick me," you tell him with a mock sternness that makes him chuckle a breathy laugh. You're facing him, impossibly close to one another, with the sheets up under your chin. Beside you, he looks entirely effortless. You want to tell him so badly.

"Aye aye, captain."

At this, you kick him.

"I'm serious. I know I move."

"I think I can help with that."

"What-"

Thick, strong arms come around your middle before you can ask him what he means. Eddie has never handled you like this before. In every scenario in which you are close to each other, he's ever the gentleman, maintaining respectful distance and only reciprocating touch, never initiating. This is new, unexpected, uncharted.

It's dark and you can't make out his face properly when it's so close to your own, but he doesn't give you much of a chance to try when he brings it into the crook of your neck. You're startled stiff, but he doesn't seem to care.

And neither do you. In fact, the stiffness ebbs away into comfort, and you mould into the shape of Eddie's vacant space. Legs wind between legs, your arms come around his middle, and you settle your own cheek on what you think is his shoulder.

It's the best (and most peaceful) sleep you've had in a long time.

-

"What the fuck is this song?"

You just about make out Eddie's voice over the frankly offensively loud music playing in Steve's living room. Where the fuck he got this speaker system from is beyond you, and you wish he'd play something better through it.

"I have no idea," you shout back.

His hand is on your lower back, which is half-exposed by the plunge back of the top you're wearing. It's New Year's Eve and you're at Steve's infamous annual party, which usually ends with you throwing up in one of Mrs Harrington's plant pots out back.

This year, though, you're here with Eddie. With Eddie.

His hand falls from your back to find your own hand, and with it he pulls you through the bodies of all the people you went to high school with. Coming out in the kitchen feels like bringing your head up above water.

"That boy needs some serious music education," he grumbles.

Before you can answer, there's a heavy slap on your shoulder. You feel Steve before you see him, his weight resting on your back. You can tell he's drunker than he maybe wanted to be.

Turning around beneath him, you say, "hi, Steve."

The smile he gives you is lopsided and goofy and you and Eddie both laugh at him.

"Hey, big boy," Eddie tries. Steve's too drunk for his usual retorts; he just laughs back and says, "you kids havin' a good one?"

"You need to play better music," Eddie says.

"How- how dare you!" Steve slurs, hiccuping.

"Okay, soldier, let's get you some water," you say, bringing your arm around his middle and pushing him softly across the room to the sink.

Eddie helps you, getting a cup from the island and filling it. You feed Steve the water together, laughing when he protests and laughing harder when he downs it like he's been parched for days.

He disappears quickly into the throng of people in the adjoining living room, leaving you and Eddie in the quiet kitchen. You nudge up onto your toes and lean to see past Eddie's head, looking at the clock above the oven.

"It's nearly midnight," you tell him in a low voice. "We should find the guys."

You lead him this time, up the stairs and to the first door on the left. All the doors off the landing are ajar, thank god, so you try them until you find Robin, Nancy, Jonanthan and Argyle in one that smells incredibly strongly of pot.

"Shoulda known we'd find you in the fuckin' hot box," Eddie says, grinning, leaning with his arms crossed against the doorframe.

"It's nearly midnight, guys, c'mon."

Amidst a chorus of alright, alright, we're coming, you get them all on their feet and down the stairs. To your surprise, Steve's there at the bottom.

"There you all are! C'mon, countdown's about to start." His voice is pleasantly sobered, and the mom attitude is back, hand on hip and all.

The gaggle of you seep into the heaving living room, where the music's softened and someone's balanced the clocked from the kitchen on the mantlepiece.

Thirty seconds.

Eddie's behind you. His hand is still in yours, as it has been for most of the night. You turn to face him and find him staring back at you with eyes all lovedrunk and silly.

Twenty seconds.

Robin's beside you. Inhibitions lowered by pot and vodka, her wingwoman tendencies are unparalleled. And by unparalleled, you mean completely unnecessary.

"Munson, do you know how great this girl right here is?"

She leans her elbow on your shoulder and rolls her brows like she's straight out of some cheesy cop movie.

You and Eddie look at each other, then at her, and then back to each other. You laugh, and he says, "yeah, Rob, pretty sure I do." His smile's all lazy and fond.

Ten seconds.

The countdown begins, everyone around you shouting the numbers.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

You're still staring at him, at how he's looking at you, the way he did in his bedroom two weeks ago, how he did when you opened that locket, how he did when you asked him to stay.

Six. 

Five. 

Four.

Eddie thinks he might explode. How anyone has ever felt like this before without screaming on a regular basis is beyond him.

Three.

Robin's voice is booming loud in your ear, but you can barely hear her.

Two.

You have a moment, half a second, wherein you realise this is it. It ends here.

One.

"Happy New Year!"

There's a deafening cheer throughout the room, but Eddie is all you see. His hands come to pull your face into his own, where he plants the stupidest, most dramatic kiss he can muster. You smile into it too wide for him to keep going so he stops, but you force the grin down and pull him back, arms around his neck. You've wanted this for too long, thought about it for what is probably hours, maybe days. That line, the one the two of you have been dancing over for the past months, has vanished. In fact, you wonder if it was ever there at all, or if this has been the destiny for you and Eddie forever. Funny to think you ever thought any different.

He's still on you, all over you, hands in your hair and lips on yours. He tastes like spearmint and beer and peace. He's rough, perhaps from having to wait so long for this, and you can't blame him. How could you ever?

You pull back to look at him. He's all flushed, you can tell even in the low party lights, and beaming at you.

"Happy New Year, sugar."

"Happy New Year, Eds."

Is this really where it ends? Or is this the beginning?

[silverteacups]

⚠️ ANOTHER FAIRLY LONG PRSK POST (from yours truly)! ⚠️

Original post

I was reading The Metamorphosis again earlier and holy shit. This is my 3rd favourite group (L/N in first, MMJ second) but FUCK.

I pointed out a lot in the Samsa post, and I picked up some more today and decided to post them.

MAFUYU AND MIZUKI

Eventually, Samsa's sister stops trying to make him comfortable. Eventually, everyone just sees taking care of him as a task. Eventually, they all give up on him. They're not going to change things for him. They're not going to put in effort for him that they could use to work. With him "gone", they need money, not this filthy, wounded creature that used to be family. And here's my point - they're not going to change, not for him. Why? Because he changed, but not for them. Not even for himself - he just did.

So what does this have to do with Mafuyu and Mizuki? Mizuki did change for themself, because it made them happy, but even then, look at their classmates. All the people who don't accept who they are because they see this change as wrong. They're like Mizuki's apple. A painful reminder of how people will probably always feel about them, one that always be there. One that hurts so much that some day they won't be able to keep going. And that brings me to Mafuyu.

Her mum isn't going to start wanting Mafuyu to be in a music group and pursue a career as a nurse. She expects Mafuyu to change her dreams. She expects Mafuyu to change for her. To her, a child is like a doll. A puppet. A marionette, even. See where I'm going with this? I'm not going to think of reasons why, because that's not what my point is. Mafuyu's mum does not see her daughter as who she really is. She sees her as a perfect student and loving daughter. That is all. Never has she seen Mafuyu and seen someone who loves to make music, and how would she ever be able to see her hurting?

I love the irony here. Mafuyu's mum threw the apple. The apple. Mafuyu's mum was the one who wanted her to be perfect. The one who doesn't care about what made her (or her friends) happy - the Snow White dress mentioned in the Saisei event, for instance - but she does care about what makes her seem better in her eyes. And that event is the apple event (that sounds stupid, but you get what I mean). She associates it with something that made her happy, and now it only hurts her.

TL;DR: People won't change for them. They expect Mafuyu and Mizuki to change, instead.

ENA

Skipping Kanade, because I don't have much more to say about her yet, and I think Ena is particularly interesting.

Ena could be closest to the charwoman, with how she acts with Mafuyu, but I don't think she really represents anyone in particular. For a moment, let's just go back (or forward?) to the 3 options they've offered Mafuyu: running away (Mizuki), to talk (Kanade), and Ena's option - rebellion. So how does that play into this? (Quick warning, my thought process might not make much sense but just bear with me)

Look at the difference between them. Kanade wants nothing more to protect Mafuyu, and Mizuki looks almost evil. If it weren't for the setting and all, you might think Ena is just genuinely smiling. Kanade isn't willing to talk anymore, Mizuki isn't running anymore, and Ena isn't rebelling. Mostly because Mafuyu hasn't truly done that yet, with the path cut off (The road that has been cut off.....), but that's not it.

Look at everything around her. Think back to the I nandesu event, too. Ena has taken a major part of Mafuyu's pain, one that Mafuyu doesn't understand because it's what she's used to, and she's made it clearer. She's drawn that pain because as much as it might hurt her, she can start to understand it. So what does that have to do with not rebelling?

Ultimately, it's about Mafuyu. Like I said, rebelling isn't something Mafuyu has done, and I doubt she's really considered it yet. She knows that she's hurting, she knows - even just a bit - what's hurting her, but she can't accept it. She can't rebel because it hurts her.

If we continue to imagine Mafuyu's mum as that apple, I think it's easier to understand (and explain). The only way to remove the apple and start to heal is by actively trying to remove it. But that scares Mafuyu. She knows that the moment she even touches it, it will hurt. Everything hurts because of it, and she wants it to end, but she's scared of it hurting so, so much. As much as it hurts now, it will hurt most right before it's over. She'd rather live with that pain than face it - just like Mizuki has done. Kanade is trying to be gentle with it, perhaps to work around it, but at this point, that's not enough.

Mafuyu has to face that pain. Ena is never going to force her to do that, but she can at least show her what it's doing it to her. Maybe if Mafuyu understands, she'll find that courage. She'll understand her feelings a little better.

Ena doesn't want Mafuyu to fear her feelings. She doesn't want her to fear the apples or the pain that comes with them. She wants to be by her side when she hurts the most, and stay there when she's recovering, and stay there after. She doesn't want Mafuyu to disappear, but she doesn't want her to continue living while suffering. Even if her option of rebellion isn't an option to Mafuyu yet, she'll wait as long as she needs. Mafuyu's mum sees her as the daughter of an artist, and if anything, just another reason why Mafuyu is so perfect (in the sense that she's befriended her and such), and she can keep believing that, but that doesn't mean Ena will. Ena will do what she can to protect Mafuyu in her own way, even if she doesn't exactly love it, and I think that makes her so incredible.

Again, I apologise if I stopped making sense near the end, but there you go. I might come back tomorrow to comment on the 3DMV.

[supercriminalbean]

Father Love.

Summary: Coming out isn't always always, but your dad always has your back. Reader comes out as Non binary. (AFAB)

Warnings: Coming out gone wrong. Homophobia, tranphobia, disowned. Crying, self-harm (briefly mentioned) mental breakdown.

A/N: I need to vent. Always here if anyone needs to talk. I love you all. Remember to breath and go at your own pace.

The tears wouldn’t stop as you ran inside, slamming the front door shut behind you. Just willing yourself to get to your bedroom before the sobs completely take over.

“Hey!” Your Dad calls out, as the door echoes through the house. Great, of course he's here the day you wish to be alone. Groaning softly as you reach your bedroom, being more careful when closing the door, just hoping he’ll leave you alone for a while. Throwing yourself on the bed as the tears fall down, the heartbreak ripping you in half. Covering your mouth to stay quiet as you try to listen for your father, making sure he isn’t coming to check on you. After determining he’s still in the kitchen, you let yourself continue to break down, the emotions and sobs rocking your body. Pulling yourself into a ball as the words that were screamed at you float around your brain, the faint feeling on your cheek where she slapped you seems to throb, even though you’ve had worse. Your world seems to be crashing and you know longer care as your sobs get louder and your hands pull at your hair, small screams seem to be slipping through you. Your hands seem to be flying outwards hitting anything it can, letting the anger and sadness out that way. You don’t even seem to notice your hands are slamming into your own arms and legs until they’re being grabbed and you're being pulled into someone's body. Your arms are being restrained, it doesn’t matter how much you try to fight him, tears flow down your face as you cry out in pain. You don’t need to see to know whos holding you, his arm is wrapped around you tightly as his other hand runs through your hair, pulling your face into his chest. 

“Darling it's okay, It's okay, I'm right here you're safe now” His words cut through your screams, and soon they faded away, turning into small sobs. His touch is relaxing, he rocks you softly as you calm down. You grow quiet as you listen to his words, finding comfort in his words, closing your eyes as you focus on his heartbeat. 

~~~

You stay in his arms for a long time, and refuse to move. You both stay silent, scared to ruin this moment of peace.

“I'm sorry” Your voice is rough and dry due to the crying, its barely above a whisper when you push the words out. 

“Don’t apologise darling.. It's okay” His hand continues to run through your hair. Worry and anxiety run through him as he looks down at you. The noise that were escaping you were filled with nothing but pain and, Dave has heard many horrible sounds in his life, but you falling apart in his arms is something he wishes he never has to hear again. 

“Can you tell me what happened…?” Dave has a terrible feeling in his gut, and if someone has hurt you, you bet his ass that his team is going to have to arrest him for murder, no one touches his daughter. 

“I..I can’t” You lean even further into his arms, you can’t let him know, you can’t lose him either.

“Please sweetheart.. I’m only here to help, I’m not here to judge” Dave takes a deep breath as he sees the look in your eyes. Disbelief and fear. 

“You're meant to be at your mothers, so can you at least tell me why you're not there?”

Tears seem to form in your eyes again as you pull yourself out of your dads arms, pulling yourself into a sitting position. 

“Promise you won’t get mad?” Fear starts to swirl through your body again, you already lost her, you can’t lose him, but it's Dave he won't leave you, right?

“I won’t be mad at you” His voice is gentle as his eyes soften taking in your vulnerable state.

“Mum disowned me” You lip shivers as her words start to flash through your mind, tears slipping down again. 

“What?” Dave stares at you in confusement. Why the hell would she do that, and what the hell did she say to you. 

“I.. she got mad at me, I tried to reason with her but her words hurt so much Dad, I just had to get out of there, so I ran here” You stare at him, your eyes shining with tears, fearing the next part of this conversation.

“My love, you don’t deserve that, but I need to know what happened to cause that” Dave is careful with the way the physics things, not wanting you to think he blames you for anything, he just needs an answer.

~~~

“Please don’t hate me” Your throat feels like it's collapsing on itself as you look into his eyes, seeing nothing but love and concern reflecting back. Oh how you're going to miss that, how you're going to miss that, you're going to miss your family.

“Never” Dave gives you a small smile, encouraging you to continue. He could never imagine hating you. 

“Mum found out I’m going to the pride parade in the weekend” Taking another deep breath as you beg yourself to continue. “She found out I have a girlfriend and that I’m trans” You stare at him, waiting for the same words to leave his mouth, waiting to be disowned, waiting to be kicked out, or worse. 

Dave's face falls, all the blood draining from him as it sets in. His ex disowned their kid for being trans, you’ve got to be kidding him. Anger starts filling him, but he has to ignore it, because right now what scares him the most, is the petrified look on your face. You're staring at him in fear, your body inching away from him slowly, just waiting for him to respond.

Dave smiles softly at you before holding his hand out to you, his eyebrows rising at you as you look at him confused. Slowly you take his hand, to which he pulls you into his arms, giving you the biggest, tightest hug he can, placing his lips on your forehead.

“I love you kiddo” He whispers softly, letting out a soft breath as he feels you relax in his arms. 

“I love you to Dad” Closing your eyes as you enjoy his embrace, everything feeling right in the world for the moment. After a few moments you two slowly separate which your meet by his kind and loving eyes.

“So do you want to tell me about it?”

“You don’t hate me?” You smile weakly, feeling your heart starting to mend.

“I could never hate you, especially just for you being transgender” Dave smiles, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, enjoying the smile spreading over your face.

“Thank you”

“Always kiddo” He chuckles softly as you snuggle down. “Now tell me about your pronouns, what gender you identify with and um did you want to change your name, also anything else I need to be aware of?”

You can’t help the smile that spreads over your face as you start to speak, feeling incredibly grateful you get to open up to him.

“Pronouns are They/Them and He/him and I identify with more Non-binary than anything else, also I think I like the name (Y/n), I feel like it suits me” Smiling softly as you feel peaceful wash over you.

“(Y/n) Rossi it suits you” Dave smiles more as he watches the tension slide out of you. “So am I referring to you as my son or kid?”

“As your kid please, I like it better”

“Good, and do you want anyone else to know?”

“Yeah, I want everyone to know, I mean my close friends already do, but I'm tired of hiding I want everyone to know”

“Good, well we can tell our family tomorrow if you like, everyone is coming over for pasta night, also Garcia and Morgan are going to the pride parade this weekend to if you want to go to with them” 

“Wait really?” Grinning up at him, the pressure on your chest completely gone and now you can breathe normally again.

“Really” Dave smirks, knowing just how close you are to his team. “And saturday morning you and me are going shopping anything you need, I can get it for you”

“Thank you Dad, um does that including a binder.. There's a shop at the mall that sells them” Nervous run through, mainly at the idea of finally getting one.

“We sure can, and anything else you need, but only on two conditions” Dave smirks at you seriously.

“Um what's that?

“You wear it safely, you follow the rules, also you let me meet that girlfriend of yours” He teases you softly earning a soft groan that turns into a giggle.

“Okay fine, only because I'm dying for you to meet her, she's Italian and she is so beautiful and so kind Dad’ You can’t help but start gushing to him about her. Your fears melting away, everything else can wait for a later date.

[mcybree]

Ok ok ok I'm not Tryna start discourse but bluestars prophecy was my first ever warriors book and bluestar will always be my favourite so I'm gonna make some counterpoints to you about her being a Smajor character

bluestar has always been led by an intense loyalty and dedication to those she loves and cares for - this includes her mum, her sister, her clan, eventually Firepaw when he joins the clan, and she has a VERY strong moral compass when it comes to doing the right thing - when she sees thistleclaw teaching tigerpaw to hurt a then baby scourge she very much discourages it and is against it

Afaik scott is Not like that, he doesn't have an emotional or love-driven moral code, he does things because they're smart decisions in the long term or because he wants to. Granted I havent seen a ton of his stuff but I have seen his limited life and 3rd life perspectives and he is very much a singular team player there, there to look after himself and well if people align with him that's great he's got allies (jimmy and Martyn) but he won't go out of his way to care for them

Bluestars defiance of starclan in the first series is BECAUSE she gave herself to them and what the warrior code demanded so much - yes she broke clan rules by having kids with crookedstar but she did everything in her power to make sure they'd have a happy life and felt terrible that thrushpelt was willing to say they were his to save her reputation. She didn't do it out of a selfish want, she only ever wanted to help her clan and those she loved, and her becoming clan leader is emblematic of that want. When she rejects starclan so wholeheartedly in the first series it's because THINGS KEEP GOING WRONG WHEN SHES TRIED SO HARD TO STOP THEM FROM DOING THAT - starclan has never cared about the sacrifices she made to keep her loved ones and clan safe, she lost her mother, her sister, her kits, her mate, literally everything, and things STILL KEEP GETTING WORSE. it's not a demand that she deserves to have everything good, it's a cry for help that shouldn't something go right after she's tried so hard???

C!Scott isn't like that. He puts himself above others and inherently believes he will get the best if he just plays his cards right, and he is good at it, he's very competent at lasting a long time in life series and getting what he wants - the ruthlessness of gem driven by desperation kills him in secret life, Martyn's complete fucking about face kills him in limited life, and I'm pretty sure it's etho who gets him out in 3rd life by luck. He doesn't plan to look after the ones he cares about, because he cares about himself first and foremost. Yeah you can argue when he doesn't get what he wants he gets annoyed, but his is less of a 'why don't I get this don't I deserve it' and more of a 'oh fuck this didn't work. Ok new plan double down on getting what I want by appeasing to people cos they're easy to read and therefore account for'

I don't doubt Scott would make a bluestar adjacent character if he made a warrior cats oc BUT his character would honestly be closer to darktail or ashfur than bluestar and that's that on that.

(sorry you activated 13 year old me's unskippable cutscene sjdjsjsjja this isnt meant to be a serious argument I just love bluestar a lot and love talking about her)

OKAY 1. this is fucking awesome thank you 2. i am going to do something new and exciting (advocate for scott instead of beating him to death with sticks) because unfortunately this bluestar info has only made me believe she is a smajor character even more.

As a general note when I talk about smajor characters as a collective here I’m referring to characters more in the realm of esmp/traffic/rats/pirates/etc, less vampire scott or necromancer scott who are intended to be villainous.

Scott characters tend to operate under a “If I am not a Good Person I may as well die” rule, and consequently abide by a strict moral code to keep themselves feeling clean. For instance: traffic Scott will never go back on his word, he will avoid dishonesty, and he won’t take from others unless he is sure that he can repay them. He will never betray his seasonal primary ally (even when they betray him first), and will often give people things just because they asked him nicely. He stakes a lot of his own identity on this, because it is through being a “good person” that he justifies his superiority (and, by extension, his own existence); in his mind he deserves the best and *is* the best because he is such a good person. When things don’t go his way, he thinks he doesn’t deserve it because he has been nothing but good, so he tries to place a reason. He often assumes that somebody must “have a vendetta” against him, even if this somebody is the world (see: him asking if limlife episode 1 boogeyman is some kind of joke played on him for not giving in to the boogey curse in Last Life.) which is very Bluestar to me, convinced that her misfortunes are a divine punishment.

This is all to say that Scott does have a strict moral code and deep sense of loyalty. Being a “good person” and devoted partner in the ways he understands it are so ingrained into what he is that I think he definitely has the capacity to be a Bluestar if he were raised being taught clan values, even if his internal systems are often built around never letting gross emotions be fully felt rather than what those emotions compel him to do.

[abubblingcandle]

So so so so intrigued by your Dad!Higgins fic. I hadn't really thought about Higgins in that way but despite bad advice to Jamie about his dad, Higgins is one of the best examples of dad figure that we see on the show

If you want to share any more then please do!

Ahhh thank you! So I am on a mission to just give Jamie all the dad figures and the same thing hit me. Like he does give bad advice but we see so much more of Higgins being a supportive figure to the lads and even in S1 genuinely caring about them!

Despite you asking for Dad!Higgins, I've just finished a scene that's been haunting me this morning with something from that fic that might be even more important ... Mum!Julie 😂 Julie who's husband announces he is bring home an injured and troubled 23 year old who is known for chatting shit and trying to antagonise people. Julie who looks at this boy and sees a lost teenager under all the posturing and immediately goes into "I'm going to parent this boy so hard he won't know what's hit him" mode. Julie Higgins has raised 5 boys and has a football team invade her house every Christmas Day, what's one more son?

“Oh fucking hell,” Jamie groaned and Higgins watched him slowly straighten and fumble for the remote as soon as his own face appeared next to the Sky Sports pundit.

“Language Jamie,” Julie softedly scolded. Jamie turned the TV off and froze in place. He turned to look at the table and frowned.

“Um, what?” he replied, straightening up and throwing the remote onto the cushions next to him.

“Don’t swear in front of the children,” Julie prompted, returning her focus to her laptop. Stevie and Dana both looked at Higgins in shock and then at each other with slightly fearful glee. It had been a long time in this house since someone had talked back to Julie. If Jamie had an ounce of sense in his body he would apologise and never say another swear word in Julie’s presence. Instead, he scoffed and leant back on the settee.

“Ain’t nothing they haven’t heard before I can assure you and I’m an adult, in case hadn’t noticed, I can say what I want,” he smirked, waving it off dismissively.

“Not in my house you can’t. For as long as you are staying here you need to follow my rules. Therefore no swearing when the children are in the house,” Julie closed her laptop, turning in her chair to hit Jamie with the patented mum glare. Jamie’s smirk shifted through a fair few different emotions before his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“That’s bullshit. Free speech and all that,” he huffed.

“Last warning Jamie. You don’t have to stay here if you are not willing to make some concessions to sharing your space,” Julie glared back.

“Fuck it, then I won’t!” he levered himself up from the settee with his good arm and stormed past the table to the door. “Didn’t even want to be here anyway. Might as well be at home,” he grumbled, kicking on his shoes. “Fuck all of this,” he exclaimed and then the door swung in his wake. Higgins jumped as it slammed shut. The house was left in silence.

“I’ll go after him,” Higgins sighed, placing his hands down on his knees and sighing as he prepared to get up. Julie pressed her hand down on top of his.

“Give him time to calm down,” she sighed, smiling sadly. “Boys you mind going to your rooms to play for a bit,” she suggested but all three of the present Higgins men knew it wasn’t a selection. They left their homework scattered around the table and sprinted off up the stairs pushing each other.

“I’m sorry. We can tell him to go,” Higgins muttered. He had hoped more than anything that being in a positive atmosphere might somehow fix Jamie like Ted always thought it might but it seemed not. He was still the smug and sarky fool that Richmond knew.

“I don’t want him to go. I don’t even particularly care about the swearing love,” Julie chuckled. Higgin’s head shot round to frown at her. “Oh Leslie he’s a hundred percent right. The boys have definitely heard worse language than that and Jamie is an adult and adults swear sometimes,” she added with a shrug.

“So why did you make a scene about it?”

“From what you’ve told me and from what I’ve seen, Jamie’s probably never been parented. It’s one of those stupid things about the football system. You control these kids then move them from their parents often as teenagers and give them so much money, so so much money, and fame and then expect them to make good choices. Mentally Jamie is around 15 but with the resources and freedom of a 23 year old celebrity. Someone needs to set him boundaries and show him that no matter what he can do with his right foot, he needs to show respect if he wants to be treated with respect. And that is something that a parent should teach their child,” Julie finished her monologue and thesis on childhood development. Higgins just stared at her. How on earth had he got so lucky? “Now I am going to open that bottle of incredibly expensive wine that Jamie got us. We are both going to drink a glass and pretend that this is a blissfully child free day and then you are going to go find Jamie,” she kissed him on the cheek.

“Will he be fine out there? He doesn’t know the neighbourhood that well,” Higgins frowned but Julie’s kiss moved to his lips.

“Well as he explicitly told us, he is an adult. I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she smiled.

[microwave-core]

Yo, that Leon post was LEGENDARY, dude!!! If I kindly asked you to make the NSFW version of that, would you? 🥺🥺🥺

I can try, however I SUCK at writing smut. Dog-shit at it. We're talking my immortal levels of writing. I'm also very boring and don't have single dominant bone in my body. That being said, editing and refining goes a long way, so I'll try my best.

Starting off, he's a bit inexperienced, which I mentioned previously. He hasn't been in many relationships, much less been intimate, and he doesn't fuck without feelings. Prefers to take things slow and can get overwhelmed easily at first. That being said, he's a quick learner.

In general, I'd say Leon is a soft dom. He's caring and doting, if not a little shaky at first, but he learns quickly. He's kind of an unstoppable force in his regular everyday life, so being dominant comes naturally to him. Could totally be on the submissive side, though, especially if he's tired.

He's normally gentle, but he can also be rough. His touches aren't always feather light and experimental. If asked, or if he's just stressed out and/or pent up, he can be more aggressive. Normally, he lets off steam during a workout, but, hey, if it works it works.

Very attentive lover. He likes to take his time learning the ins and outs of what his partner does and doesn't like. From their big kinks down to which spots make them sigh in content when kissed. Willing to experiment, but has certain lines that he won't cross.

Big on praise. He wants to know he's doing a good job, that he's a good boy, and loves to return the favor. On the other hand, he hates being degraded. He's a bit insecure, honestly, so being insulted just kind of hurts. Kills his mood. If asked, he can try to degrade his partner, but he's not very good at it. He doesn't want to be mean to someone he loves so much, even if they're literally asking for it.

Speaking of things he isn't a fan of: pain. Leon has no real interest in being hurt, nor does he want to hurt anyone else. Boy is strong, so he's sure to be careful, even when he's being rough. At most, he could potentially be convinced to do some light choking, but even that might be a bit too much for him. He can leave marks, sure, but that doesn't mean he needs to inflict actual pain, right? Also, hates having his hair pulled, his scalp is very sensitive.

Okay, last "things I think Leon wouldn't be into", bare with me. He's not into anything remotely public. The rush he feels in public is not that of excitement, but that of pure dread and panic. He has a reputation, if anyone found out, he would die from sheer embarrassment, mainly because his family would find out. He'd never be able to look his mum in the eyes again out of pure shame.

He's much more lenient with nudes, even if leaks can happen. It would still give him a heart attack if anyone found out, but it's far more socially acceptable to be found exchanging steamy pics with your lover than fucking in public. Tends to lean more on the side of thirst trap then full on nudity. Wouldn't make a sex tape.

Doesn't usually jack off. Doesn't usually feel the need to. He has other outlets for stress relief that get the job done better. That being said, he is considerably needier when he's in a proper relationship, but, even then, it's still not often. He'd rather wait to get off with his partner then do it alone, at that point.

We're far enough in the post where I can just be honest. The first thing that I thought of when I read your ask, anon, is that Leon eats an insane amount of pussy. And he'd also suck an insane amount of dick. He's Mr. Bi King, after all. He just really likes giving head and is incredible at it to boot. Receiving isn't his favorite thing, though. It's not that he doesn't like it, of course he likes it, it just makes him feel a bit awkward.

Slight oral fixation.

The other thing that came to mind is that he has a breeding kink. I completely forgot to put it on the main post, but Leon really wants a big family one day. He loves kids, he's great with them, and is all around family oriented. And so, the thought of starting a family gets him off. Like, a lot. It's a little embarrassing for him to admit that, though. It doesn't even matter if he can get his partner pregnant or not, honestly. At the end of the day, it's about the sentiment.

Also, slight pregnancy kink. It just goes hand in hand with the above.

Aftercare king. At the end of the day, Leon is a very sweet and caring person, so it only makes sense to clean his lover up in the afterglow. He's all about gentle touches and massages for bruised marks and tender skin. Whether he runs a bath or settles for a wash cloth is entirely dependent on how tired he is. Cuddling and pillow talk is an absolute must.

In terms of stamina, he's pretty decent, and can usually push two or three rounds if he paces himself properly. He likes to edge himself, though, so he tends to last for awhile.

His dick is thick and so are his fingers. Do with this information as you will.

[mariana-oconnor]

The Red-Headed League Pt 2

until the comical side of the affair so completely overtopped every other consideration that we both burst out into a roar of laughter.

Professional people being professional. Mmhm. You'd think a doctor would be better at keeping a straight face, I'm pretty sure humans have been sticking inappropriate things in inappropriate places since time immemorial. But these two are giggling like school boys. A lovely image, but I'd be a bit mad if they did it to me. I can't blame Mr Wilson for being mad at them.

Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the ground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell me what had become of the Red-headed League. He said that he had never heard of any such body. Then I asked him who Mr Duncan Ross was. He answered that the name was new to him.

Surprising no one at all. I said it in my comments about the first part, but I love how this whole scam has been echoed in heist shows/films right up to modern day. Acquire offices under false pretences, create hype around fake business, use office to make business look legit, pack up shop and leave an empty office behind and no one with any clue what the mark is talking about.

"I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my assistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say that if I waited I should hear by post.

I mean, honestly, for someone who is supposedly unassociated with the league in question, that's more than he should be able to say. A more normal response would be 'That's fucking weird, boss. I think it might be a scam.' But clearly Victor is entirely trustworthy, so I shouldn't question him. Totally trustworthy.

On the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some 30 pounds, to say nothing of the minute knowledge which you have gained on every subject which comes under the letter A.

I expect that pub quizzes weren't around in 1890, but if they were, Mr Wilson would be an excellent addition to your team.

The internet tells me pub quizzes only date back to the 70s. Which seems late, as I swear my Mum's dad and brothers used to go religiously to their local league when she was young, but maybe I got the timeline on that wrong.

Further investigation has found me to be correct as the very league my family used to frequent is apparently referenced in an article from the early 60s. In fact it quotes someone who absolutely must have known my grandad and might even be in the picture of the quiz team on top of our bookcase.

This tangent has been brought to you by my love of trivia... Pun intended.

Back to the 1890s

"Why did you pick him?"

"Because he was handy and would come cheap."

"At half-wages, in fact."

"Yes."

A lesson that stands to this day: if something seems impossibly good value, it probably is. And if someone is willing to work for less than they're worth, one of you is the bad guy.

"As a rule," said Holmes, "the more bizarre a thing is the less mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this matter."

This reads like a contradiction, but I'm pretty sure it's true. It's the weird things that make crimes stand out and lead to the people committing them. The crimes that are completely run of the mill, like house burglaries, are one of a thousand almost identical crimes. But if a juggling clown robbed a shoe shop and rode off on a unicycle, that would cut down the suspects drastically.

"To smoke," he answered. "It is quite a three pipe problem, and I beg that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes."

Infamous line is infamous. All problems may be measured by how many pipes it takes to solve them. The standard SI unit of mysteriousness, I believe.

"Sarasate plays at the St. James's Hall this afternoon," he remarked. "What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you for a few hours?"

"I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very absorbing."

Let's hope no one has stuck a candlestick anywhere unmentionable... But seriously, you can just ditch your patients for the day? And I complain about waiting times for the NHS!

Watson is just: 'My bff asked me to play hooky. Lol. Byeee!' and these people are paying him.

"Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes as we walked away. "He is, in my judgment. the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring I am not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known something of him before."

Holmes, the man is a terrible con artist. He's the most suspicious and he was so obvious it was embarrassing. And you're putting him right behind you in the list? (I assume Mycroft is number 1)

I guess that being intelligent doesn't mean you have to be good at conning people, but really, he's terrible at it. He couldn't have been more obviously involved if he had a sandwich board on saying 'The red-headed league is a con. Ask me how!'

I know Mr Wilson didn't work it out, but literally everyone else did. I bet that 14 year old child labour maid Mr Wilson hires knows he's a con man and just doesn't care because she's not paid enough to.

"Not him."

"What then?"

"The knees of his trousers."

I have been on this website too long, because my mind absolutely went into the gutter here. Which, incidentally, was also one of the places I thought of his knees being.

"Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it."

Is it a bank? Please be a bank. I honestly can't remember. But I want it to be a bank. Just for that good, old-fashioned bank robbery shenanigans. Although I will accept jewellery shop.

"There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-building depot."

Oh yeah. Got to love a bank robbery. Classic.

This has been copied so many times in media it's difficult to tell whether contemporary audiences would have been as able to work it out as modern readers. But it's a classic for a reason.

Also worth noticing that there's a Vegetarian restaurant in London in 1890. You'd have been hard pressed to find a vegetarian restaurant in most parts of England in 1990, so that's ahead of its time.

My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All the afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the music, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those of Holmes, the sleuth-hound, Holmes the relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to conceive.

Watson's crush is showing again. 😆

This description keeps going in a further totally heterosexual way. Look, I'm not saying straight guys can't appreciate their bff's 'languid, dreamy eyes', but when directly compared to his descriptions of other characters... This is exceptionally effusive is all I'm saying.

And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger, so kindly put your army revolver in your pocket.

Must. Not. Make. Joke.

[brezchez]

I remember - Tenrose

Welcome to the first of my 1989 themed fics! I know that Style is before this, but I'm having a bit of trouble writing it at the moment so I'll be releasing the next ones and hopefully, before this is all over I'll have written it.

This fic is written from Rose's perspective, sort of like a diary entry in a way, and takes place around 5 months after their goodbye in 'Doomsday' (I'm still in mourning). If you spot any lyric references, comment them!

With that all being said, enjoy :)

Song: Out Of The Woods

Pairing: Tenrose (Tenth Doctor X Rose Tyler) - Doctor Who

🥀⌛

I once knew a man called The Doctor. He, like his name, was strange, mysterious and confusing; you could rarely ever get a straight answer out of him. And if you managed to, it would only be because you’d have to force every damn bone in his body to get it out. 

When he talked, it would sometimes be as if he was only saying words, making noise, not as if he knew that someone was listening.

But I was.

I was always hearing The Doctor. I soaked up his endless rants like a sponge absorbing water, and I loved it. Somewhere along the lines, I think that, one day, he picked up that I was actually there, that I was someone who was present with him in the moment, someone who was willing to truly pay attention to every word that flew out of those pinkish little lips of his.

He saw me, like I saw him, and that was all I needed in life.

Looking at it now, it all seemed so simple. Those adventures that we’d have all seem like distant dreams now. What I wouldn’t give to go on just one more with him. Please, just one. Every night, I look up at the stars. I search for that blue box, knowing that I’d never find it yet still clinging onto that glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, I will. Mum says that she understands, and I suppose to an extent she does. But she’ll never know how much my heart aches and cries and screams for him. And neither will he. He’s probably off bouncing between galaxies and shooting all over space, battling evil forces and saving the entire universe from destruction. The worst part is that he won't have anyone with him. He's alone, and that’s what breaks me the most.

During every adventure we’d go on together, my head told me it wasn’t safe. I always knew that there was a looming danger hanging over me, whispering in my ear that whatever foreign planet that we were on would be the last I’d ever step on. The constant questions: Are we out of the woods yet? Are we in the clear yet? They’d continuously ring in my ears like sirens blaring, but I’d ignore them.

That constant anxiety of being around The Doctor; I’ll admit it was suffocating and of course frightening. But at the same time, it was also so thrilling. To know that I would spend the rest of my days living on, not just the edge of the universe but also the edge of life; I revelled in the feeling. And to also be by The Doctor’s side through it all? I knew that that was all I wanted. Gone was the boring life I knew as a shop assistant in London - I never wanted to go back.

But of course, fate had other plans.

Looking at it now, The Doctor and I… we were built to fall apart, yet somehow we’d always find a way to fall back together. It was as if we were defying the laws of time and space itself by surviving through everything. Our first adventure (with his new dashing face) on New Earth, becoming stranded on Krop Tor, dealing with aliens in 1953 or even stopping an attack from outer space during the 2012 London Olympics. All the while, those questions: ‘Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet? Are we in the clear yet? Are we in the clear yet?’, they would echo over and over and over again, swarming in my mind. There were times where I’d think they’d come true and the end would finally catch up to me.

However, we pulled through it all, and we did it together. But I guess, with every disaster that we made out of alive, the angrier the universe became. Until finally, we were dealt the final blow and I was separated from him. Forever.

Not a day goes by that I don’t remember his face; in those final moments that I saw him, the real him, not just a hollow image of a man I used to be able to touch. I remember his expression as clearly as if I was still there, the daleks screaming as they were being sucked into that void and me, clinging onto that damn lever like a lifeline. His eyes, wide with dread as his face paled in horror; it burned into my memory, scarring me forever. Whenever I close my eyes, I can still see it.

The next time I saw him, it wasn’t him. Not really. He said it himself, “just an image, no touch”. I remember how quickly my heart dropped and all my hope vanished. I remember breaking down, sobbing, falling into a million pieces right in front of him. I remember wishing that we would hold me, comfort me, tell me it was just a glitch in the system that he could easily fix, like he always knew how. But he had to tell me the truth that I wouldn’t face.

I still remember that grin on his face that always did its best to hide The Doctor’s true emotions, and those silly, sweet eyes that would betray him, and lay himself bare to me when we said goodbye. The last things he said to me, that I was the one adventure he could never have, will stay with me forever, cemented in my memories like the stars in the sky.

I’ll always remember the aching of my heart, the screaming pain of confessing through my sobs, “I love you.” And I’ll always remember his final words…that were never finished.

“Rose Tyler…”

* * *

I once knew a man called The Doctor. He, like his name, was strange, mysterious and confusing. But that’s who he was, and that’s who he’ll always be. Maybe I’ll never know what he was going to say to me that day, at Bad Wolf Bay. Maybe I’ll never truly know if he ever loved me back. Maybe I'll never know if I'll ever see him again.

But I'm out of the woods now. Hopefully, I'll be in the clear soon too.

🥀⌛

Please like, comment and reblog! 🫶 (If I haven't broken your heart too much)

[bucky-barmes]

♥︎ You should see me in a crown, but you won't ♥︎

Being the daughter of the royal family sounds all fun and games, except when you despise it all. The only one that seems to care is your bodyguard, James, but will that cause friction with your father?

bodyguard!Bucky x f!royalty!reader

word count: 2,976

chapter 1

warnings: angst, so much angst (i was in a major angsty mood apparently) asshole bucky (& i'm not even sorry tbh), no nsfw themes yet

As always, my blog is 18+ only, minors dni

[ all my work is my own and not to be reposted or translated anywhere else ]

[ gif from @unearthlydust ]

Your father was seriously off the mark if he expected you to actually show up to breakfast at 7am. The only reason you were awake in the morning at all was thanks to your old Governess, Juliana.

Even though your baby sister, Aria, was almost 18 and nowhere near being an actual baby anymore, your father insisted on keeping her around. He probably felt bad, people weren’t exactly looking for governesses in this day and age.

“It’s almost 8:30.” Christian, your father, boomed as you dragged yourself into the dining room, the smell of bacon being your only motive.

“And you’re lucky I’m here at all.” You shot him a glare as you slid into your usual seat between your mother and sister. “I’d still be asleep and away from you if it weren’t for Juliana.” The words came out as a growl as you piled bacon rashers and eggs onto your plate.

“Darling, don’t speak to your father like that, please.” The last part of your mothers sentence came out as almost a beg, a plead to not do this first thing in the morning. She knew how you felt about your father, and that the relationship had always been a complicated one, but she couldn’t stand it when the two of you went at it like that.

“Sorry, mum.” Was all you could bare to mumble out, eyes lowered at the plate of food, not wanting to meet your mothers sad eyes. You hated disappointing your mother, but your father made it hard sometimes.

“What was that? I’m not sure you mother could hear you.” Christian’s hold on his knife and fork tightened as he stared you down. So it was going to be like that, was it?

“Oh, I’m sure she did, considering she’s sitting right next to me.” Your jaw jut out in defiance. There was no way you were going to let his shit slide today. “Right, mum?”

“Yes, I heard you quite fine,” your mother agreed, her pleading eyes now directed at her husband. “How did you find the ball last night?” She looked back to you as she took a delicate bite of the bacon on her fork.

“Intolerable, as usual.” Your reply came out between mouthfuls of bacon, a silent prayer for the nausea that was beginning to rise in your stomach to fade.

“I see your lack of food etiquette has followed from last night.” Christian sent you a disgusted scowl, before turning his attention to his wife. “She turned down every single eligible bachelor I had arranged for her to speak with. You need to control her.”

You mentally thanked your father for avoiding the part of last nights story that involved your early departure. As much as you both despised each other, there was an unspoken agreement to never tell your mother about your extracurricular activities. You both knew it would devastate her, and that was something neither of you were willing to do.

“Sweetheart, when are you going to allow your heart to open and just entertain the thought of seeing someone?” The sadness in your mothers voice was deafening. “And if it’s a problem with the fact that they’ve all been men, I’m sure we could work something out, right Dear?”

Christian almost choked on his mouthful egg and toast. “Well, I suppose so-” he cleared his throat. “But one can’t exactly continue the bloodline if they’re,” he paused, struggling to find the right words so as not to upset your mother. “Well, you know.” His sentence trailed off, deciding less was more unless he wanted to endure a lecture from his beloved wife.

“Don’t worry, I like men, if that’s what you’re concerned about. Just not the awful ones that dad is so great at choosing.”

Before the conversation could go on, and potentially end up with your father being chastised by your mother for being so closed-minded, the door to the dining room opened.

Your eyes lit up as they landed on the body emerging from the hall. It was your bodyguard, James. You gave him a small but bright smile as he entered, but you were merely offered a curt nod in response, before he turned to acknowledge your father.

“Good morning, your Majesty,” he bowed his head slightly, then turned to your mother. “Your Highness.” Another bow. “My Lady.” His eyes met your little sister, Aria, as he spoke, this time with a slightly smaller bow.

Finally, he had made his was around the table to you, but all you received was a brief moment of eye contact accompanying the formal “my Lady” before he bowed his head and moved to the corner of the room to wait for further instructions from your father.

You’d be lying if you said that didn’t hurt like a bitch. After the events of last night, of him allowing you to use his nickname, the name some men had nearly died for using. Of course your father would try to ruin the only good thing you had in your life.

There was no other possible explanation, he had to have threatened James back into line. He had only ever been this formal with you during his first couple of moths working with you. Now the two of you had almost 10 years of history together, and you were determined to get that back.

~

Breakfast was well and truly over now, and you were getting ready for the day when James entered your room. “Care to explain what the hell that was?” You just about threw your hairbrush at him as you spoke anger coursing through you.

“I’ve realised our working relationship has been getting too personal.” He was still standing in the doorway, arms clasped behind his back, eyes looking straight ahead at nothing in particular.

“You realised that, or my father gave you an ultimatum?” Your eyes narrowed at him through the mirror you were sitting in front of.

“His Majesty employs me, not you.” That elicited a scoff from you.

“And since when did you care about what my father thinks? The last I remember, you hated him almost as much as me, Bucky.” You instantly regretted the final word out of your mouth, all sense of confidence dissolved at the speed in which James moved to you, standing behind you, towering over you.

“Don’t ever call me that again.” His voice was low, each word enunciated sharply. It sent a shiver down your spine. How could he turn so cold so quickly?

A meek “sorry” was all you could manage as you fumbled with the hairbrush still in your hand. You may have had your eyes glued down at your hands, but you could feel James’ boring through you, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

“I’ll be escorting you to the ball tonight.” James stepped back to his place in the doorway, hands behind his back and eyes looking ahead again, demeanour snapping back as if the previous interaction had never happened.

“And there will be no leaving early this time.” Momentarily, his eyes flicker to yours in the mirror. If there was any emotion behind them, it was impossible for you to pick up. “The Majesty has requested that you have a list of your picks from the suitors he’s lined up for you. You won’t be leaving the ball without that list.” With that, he ducked out of the room, but not before a sharp nod in the direction of your wardrobe, signalling you to get a move on.

You sat there, motionless, for what felt like hours, but could have been only minutes. You could only assume as much seeing as James would have most definitely returned and thrown any old outfit from your wardrobe at you. Well, at least, he would have before, who knows what he would be like now.

The weather was nice out, sunny without being too warm, so you decided on your favourite jeans, the ones that hugged your body in all the right places, paired with a basic satin button down blouse. Loose and flow-y, perfect for catching the late spring breeze. Also a staple outfit you knew you would be comfortable in, no matter what the day threw at you. On your way out the door, you slipped on your ankle boots.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Christian pursed his lips as you entered the combined lounge and dining area for the second time that day.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise there was a dress code for that day?” You bit back almost immediately, eyeing the room to see what everyone else was wearing. Your mother and sister were both wearing nice summer dresses, the kind regular families would wear to fancy family lunches. Even James was in one of his best suits.

“So, apparently I missed the memo, what’s happening today?” You shot daggers at your father as you questioned, sending them James’ way first when your eyes wandered back to Christian.

“Well, if you were ever actually present for family conversations, you would know that we’re going to the Beauchamp’s for lunch today.”

It was enough for you to try and hold the eye roll in, let alone that groan that begged to accompany it. The Beauchamp’s were one of the neighbouring royal families. The ones that just so happened to be one of your most despised.

“I don’t suppose this has anything to do with trying to set me him?” A shudder rippled through you at the thought. The fathers of the two families had been trying to set up you and their eldest son, Kingsley. You couldn’t make it up if you tried. A royal family calling their son Kingsley. That was too much, even for you. Then you throw in the fact that he was a right asshole. The thought of it all made you want to gag.

“Well, there’s no time to change now.” Christian sighed, looking your outfit up and down again. “This will have to do. I suppose we should be thankful that it’s actually covering everything.”

The slim patience you had left for the day was beginning to wear thin. You knew he was talking about the aftermath of your dress from last night. “Well maybe I just won’t go, don’t want to embarrass the family with my disgraceful outfit.”

“Unlikely,” Christian scoffed. “You’re the topic of conversation for this lunch. You’ll be there and you’ll be on your best behaviour.”

~

The lunch could not be going worse. Much to your surprise, the Beauchamp’s actually liked your outfit, Kingsley especially, as the top few buttons undone on your blouse left plenty for him to gawk at.

It made your blood boil. But what made your blood boil even more was that James didn’t seem to care at all. Under any other circumstance, he would have been death glaring him to hell and back, potentially even pointing it out and telling him to ‘quit it unless he wanted to lose an eye’. But James just stood there by the door, looking at no one or nothing in particular. And that upset you more than anything.

The topic of you and Kingsley marrying had already been brought up three times, and every time you chose not to answer, blatantly ignoring everyone throwing questions at you. You could see how much it was affecting your father, and you loved it.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.” You pushed your seat back from the table and stood, making your way inside. James followed closely on your heel.

“What the hell are you trying to pull in there?” He hissed in your ear, annoyance evident in his tone. You knew exactly what he was talking about, but decided you weren’t going to entertain him. If he was going to treat you like nothing more than a job, so would you.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Your tone is casual as you fix your lipstick in the mirror of the bathroom, James following you inside and remaining behind you, scowling at you through the reflection.

“You know damn well what I’m talking about. Why are you acting like such a child, your father is just trying to find you a husband.”

Your eyes snapped up to his in the reflection, narrowing dangerously. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I don’t /want/ to get married? Maybe I don’t want to be another pawn in his royal game.” You turned to face him now, glaring up at him. “And you know damn well what I think about all this bullshit with arranged marriages, so why don’t you cut the crap James, my father isn’t watching over you right now. What the hell happened to you?” You hadn’t noticed it, but your voice was steadily raising as you spoke, to the point of almost yelling.

James could only scoff. “What the hell happened? Maybe I realised that our relationship was getting too personal. I’m your bodyguard, Y/N, it’s my job to make sure you stay safe and keep your annoying ass out of trouble. That’s it.” You’d be lying if you said those words didn’t hurt. A lot.

“Wow, James, that’s really what you think of me? So I’m just some annoying princess you were assigned to?” You’re lost for words, all you could manage was a disdainful laugh.

“Fuck this, I’m going home.” You shoved past him to leave the bathroom, but he grabbed your forearm with his right hand.

“Like hell you are. You’re staying for this lunch whether you like it or not, Christian’s orders.”

“And when have I ever followed any of his orders? Let me go.” You attempted to pull your arm from his grip, but it only tightened.

“Well you will be starting to, today.” He moved to drag you back to the table outside, but you pulled back in resistance, causing him to grip even tighter.

“You won’t win this, Y/N.” James’ eyes narrowed at you, pulling you towards him again, harder this time.

“Ow, James, you’re hurting me now.” Your eyes widened at his attitude, at the sheer flip he had done from just a couple of days ago. The thought brought tears to your eyes. Never, once, in the entire time he had worked with you, had he ever even got close to accidentally hurting you, let alone intentionally. The thought made you instinctively retract into yourself, sullenly trying to pull your arm back with you.

For just a second, James’ eyes flashed with guilt, his grip loosening just enough for you to draw your arm in and grab the spot he had gripped, bruises already started to form.

You pushed past him before he could stop you again. “I’m going home, James, you can’t stop me.”

You were halfway up the driveway of the Beauchamp’s estate when a car honked a slowed beside you.

“Let me drive you, Princess.” James spoke to you from the window, slowly rolling along with your walking pace, but you ignored him.

“You can’t walk home, princess, it’ll take hours.”

“Who said I’m walking?” You bit back.

“How else would you get home? It’s not safe.” There was concern in his words, but you didn’t trust that it was genuine.

“What’s it to you? If something happens to me then you won’t have to worry about my annoying ass anymore.” You snapped back, stopping in your tracks to glare at him.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it, Y/N.” He stopped the car, getting out.

“Then why would you say it then? It sure sounded like you meant it.”

“Just get in the damn car and let me drive you home, for Christ’s sake.” James’ voice had risen, not unlike yours in the bathroom before.

“Why are you so fucking pissed at me, James? I’ve done absolutely nothing to you and you start treating me like shit out of nowhere. Maybe I’d be better off marrying Kingsley, or any one of my fathers arranged marriages, just to get the fuck away from you.” You were practically screaming at him now, right up in his face, stabbing into his chest with your finger.

James went silent, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. “I’m taking you home.” He opened the back door and pushed you inside, his job made easy as you closed the distance between you moments before. There was no getting out of it even if you wanted to. You did, however, want to go home.

The car ride back to your estate was silent and tense. James glancing at you every so often through the rearview mirror, hands gripping the steering wheel like he was trying to choke the life out of it.

The second he opened your door for you, you were out of the car and marching inside and away from him, James following you the whole way to your room.

You made it inside your room and slammed the door shut just before he reached you. The sound of the lock clicking a deafening symbol loss of connection between the two of you. He stood outside of your door, fists resting on it.

“Can we just… talk?” He sounded defeated, yet still nothing like the James you knew before.

“I have nothing left to say, James, and I think I’ve heard enough from you.” He couldn’t see you, but you were stood facing him from the other side of the door, arms folded over you chest in frustration at him.

“Fine, if you’re going to act like a child, you’ll be treated like a child.” His words hit you like ice, sending a chill down you spine. “I’ll see you at breakfast, Princess.”

taglist: @boofy1998 @nerdy-bookworm-1998

& tagging some moots i luv: @traitorjoelite @sweetdreamsbuck @beefybuckrrito @posinhay @igotnoname4thisblog (hi bbys i haven't talked to some you y'all in way too long 🥺)