#because in seeing them together of course the woman would assume he was the husband buffy told her she had

[oveliagirlhaditright]

LOL. In the Buffy tie-in book I read ("Unnatural Selection"), Buffy had to come up with the cover story that she and Angel were married and had two daughters: Ginger and Joy. And she came up with those names because ginger (the spice) was right in front of her, and the brand of the dishwasher she owned was "Joy"?

But an AU--or better yet, a continuation of this--where they have daughters and actually name them that. Pfft.

Also, interestingly enough, in these tie-in books, Buffy dreams of having kids with Angel quite a few times (like in moments where she gets to see her perfect life).

Not that that's what this was, but it's still definitely interesting.

[pixeltwix]

{The Disconnect & The Spiral}

(I realize this isn’t my usual content, but hear me out, the rekindled GF fixation is going hard rn)

- -As an avid fan of Gravity Falls and an even bigger fan of the tragic old man lore packed into the mystery trio, I honestly gotta say..

I refuse to believe this is the full story towards WHY Fiddleford and his wife had a whole blasted argument over…him forgetting to get her a Christmas present?? Upon reading this section, I can frankly say I had a similar reaction to Ford. The immediate sense of, ‘really? That’s it? Your family reunion was torn up over that?’

I mean- your husbands been gone for lord knows how long, your young son also hasn’t seen him in ages, and let’s be honest- with how much trauma the ole hillbilly is stacking up on a day to day through his adventuring with Ford, how often is he actually able to call home or write a letter with a sound mind?

It just doesn’t feel feasible that a man who started this journey so troubled and in yearning to return home to family would be so forgetful as to not scrimmage up not even a souvenir or postcard from Gravity Falls for his family. So what is it then? Perhaps he’s become so averse to everything in the small town he wouldn’t dare bring a trace of it home with him, or rather, he truly had forgotten some small one off promise he made. Perhaps he’s forgotten a lot by this point-

Because of lack of dates on a majority of his entries it’s a little difficult to put together a timeline of when Fiddleford finished his memory wipe gun and when he started using it. By all means he racked up a lot of memories he wished to forget in the beginning being as quote ‘weak minded’ as he is. But then of course we all know he becomes addicted to quite literally erasing every little inconvenience until of course the end result. The freedom of a clear mind outweighing all consequences for him.

Instead however I choose to believe these were the first persisting side effects of his machine. We know enough about it now to get the fair suggestion that even one use of the memory wipe gun can be more damaging than can truly be discerned, so seeing as he quite possibly has used it at least twice by now- both events he used them for being extensive (the shifty incident and the gremloblin incident cited in journal 3) I believe it only fair to assume this quoted argument he got into with Emma-May was hardly over one measly little present. True, we have no frame of this woman much less the rest of the family (minus what we get of Tate once he’s grown), but I am TRULY giving her the benefit of the doubt in believing her husbands mind has begun to scatter in ways he didn’t even realize. So much to the point that a fight possibly fueled by ‘it’s not just about the Christmas present, it’s about ————“ would truly confuse him

I say that in the kindest way, I love Fiddleford, truly he’s the most tragic character in my mind regarding this story, but the man’s self destruction and drift from his family had to have started somewhere. And just like any addiction that can tear a family apart, this one was definitely packing punches. I realize I don’t have much backing, and I’m really just rambling some nonsense, but Alex Hirsch just doesn’t feel like one to write a one off ‘oh by the way this silly reason is why Fidds is alone from his family for the holidays, something he clearly holds a deep fondness for’. Nah, that man is too cryptic for him to write something like that and for me to not overthink it <3

(But with all that said and done- dear god the snow globe cabin and the knitted six fingered gloves literally killed me- that hillbilly is such a damn sweetheart, it can almost make me ignore the doom that will befall him and the town <3!!)

[brokenheartsrecords]

track three: voices in the wall words: 0.7K tw: none taglist: @lxvebelle , @that-daughter-of-hephaestus find track two here

YOUR MOTHER IS A BIT TOO glad about your almost-ruined reputation. As she runs around the sitting room, planning the engagement and wedding breakfast and oh, God, the wedding night, you feel compelled to make her stop.

“Mama, what if I have a secret lover I will elope with? What will come of your planning then?”

You, in fact, do not have a secret lover. It’s not because you aren’t beautiful, it’s just that people see you more as a friend rather than a potential bride.

And, yes, you’ve rejected quite the lot of suitors because you just didn’t like them.

You can’t be blamed.

“If you had a lover, I would’ve known by now. If it weren’t for this wedding, you’d be a spinster your whole life! This is a sign from God, darling. He orchestrated this because you and Lord Hawthorne were meant to be together! It’s His holy word.”

Good luck telling Lord Hawthorne that God orchestrated this, and not me.

You know that Grayson Hawthorne thinks that you somehow created this situation, when it really couldn’t be far from the truth. You could try to break it off, but that would dishonour not just his, but your family too.

It didn’t matter how you’d break it off if the result would always be the same.

And Grayson was too much of a gentleman to break the engagement off himself.

You tried to find faults in him on the carriage ride home. Like how he was too uptight, or if he gambled (how would he gamble if he never took a stroll in society, though?). Maybe he had a secret collection of horrid paintings, or he hoarded Marie Antoinnete’s fatal guillotine? 

But you couldn’t find a single fault in your memory, unless the fault was him being too gentlemanly. And what type of fault was that?

“Tulips or lilies? I would go with lilies, but I wonder what Skye will say about that.”

And just like that, you had an idea.

“Mama, if I marry Lord Hawthorne… wouldn’t Ms. Skye be part of the family?”

Your mother stilled, a light frown pulling at her lips. “She would. But that does not matter, because all household tasks will be shifted to the Lady Hawthorne. And Lady Hawthorne would be you. Skye would hold no responsibilities in that house, child.” She came over to you and patted your hair, which you had left loose down your back. 

Slowly, your mother gathered the strands and parted them into three, beginning the foundations of a braid. “I might be too happy for your wedding, but that is because I never really thought I’d be able to attend it.” She says, her voice but a whisper. “I’m truly overjoyed for you, and you secured such a great match, too! Trust me, your marriage will be nothing like mine.”

The house was too large. Too silent. The only sounds came from outside the sitting room, where the maids were running through the staircases to prepare baths. Your mother’s husband wasn’t to be seen.

“Can I speak to Lord Hawthorne tomorrow?” You ask, trying to shift your mother’s attention.

You can hear her smile. “Of course. I’ll send a letter to Skye.”

In your room later that night, you can’t sleep. You blame it on nerves, but you know that that is not the case.

Outside, you see a light approach the stables, and it slowly disappears. 

It’s probably a stableboy walking back to the servant’s quarters, you assume.

Until you hear shuffling from the walls.

“Report.” A female voice says, and you jolt up in your bed. 

A deep breath. Not from you, but from someone else in the walls. 

“There is a wedding being arranged, madam. I know nothing more.”

The tinkling of coins, and the hard sound of them falling into someone’s hands. “Tell me more.”

The voice is soft, seductive. 

“The wedding is to the Miss. Lord Hawthorne and the Miss. They will be calling at the Hawthorne residence on the morrow. Please, that is all I know.”

“Shame.” The voice says, and you can hear the frown. “Matthias, you know what to do.”

Footsteps.

You don’t hear the second woman again.

[morning-star-joy]

Hey there! So this crazy idea crossed my mind and even though as of now you only write for joel and recently javi, i still need to share this with you bc i think you’re just the right person: tim rockford fic based off no body no crime by taylor swift where reader has either committed or helped someone commit a murder (of either reader’s or someone’s abusive husband) and he is the detective but he falls in love with her 🤯

no body, no crime (Tim Rockford x F!Reader) part 1

Unfinished & Discontinued

Warnings: 18+ MDNI Themes of Murder and Grief, Sexual Tension, Language, Alcohol & Cigarette Use, Smut (f and m masturbation, separately)

Wordcount: 5.5k

A/N: Okay so, first of all, hi anon ilysm, you have infected me with Tim Rockford brainrot. This has quickly become my new favorite thing to write, there's so much creative freedom, this entire concept is GENIUS and I've been obsessing over it since you sent it in. I quickly realized that it's going to have parts JFKDLS SO, I hope you enjoy because this one is for you my friend!

Smoke still curling up into the stuffy air of the mess of an office from the cigarette not properly snuffed into the ashtray perched precariously on the edge of the desk, Detective Tim Rockford couldn’t help but think that these were the nights he loved and hated the most.

Nothing and nobody to keep him company other than the mess of evidence that may not even be evidence strewn across the room, spending hours pacing back and forth to pick up pictures and put them back down, wearing a hole through his polished dress shoes when he’d pivot on his heel once something clicked, and he’d race to grab a paper to pin on the large evidence board taking up one wall.

It had been wiped clean the moment he took this case, and the detective was taking his time collecting his thoughts to put the pieces of the puzzle together night after night.

That was, until this night in particular.

Tim was seated at his desk, reaching for the takeout container he had been mindlessly eating from, recoiling with a wince as he quickly realized he had accidentally grabbed an old one without looking.

Place needs a serious clean, he thought to himself as he leaned back in his chair to toss that container into his overflowing trash can before actually looking for and finding the one he had been eating from that night.

Lord knew he wouldn’t clean it though. He wouldn’t even let the janitors in, worried that something would be misplaced and throw off his entire externalized thought process that was his disaster of an office.

When a knock sounded on his door, he hardly glanced up as he called out an invitation to come in, setting down his chopsticks in the container to grab a pencil and jot down a possible lead on a piece of paper before glancing up to see Abigail, the sweet red-head receptionist, standing tentatively in his door.

“Somebody here to see you, Detective,” Abigail said, shifting in her short heels and glancing behind her shoulder, and Tim frowned at the thought of having a guest, because he never had those. “Said she’s here about that case of the housewife?”

Tim straightened instantly, setting his pencil down as he began to rise from his seat, reaching out subconsciously to pinch out the still smoking cigarette in the ashtray before nodding at Abigail.

“Send her in please, Abi,” Tim said, pulling back his hand with a wince as the tips of his rough fingertips singed a bit on the cigarette, shaking his hand out before glancing around the room that was very much not in a state to receive any kind of witness, if that’s what this woman was.

Abigail murmured a confirmation behind him, closing the door before moving back towards the front desk where he assumed the woman was waiting, and Tim was racing around the room then, simultaneously trying to make it at least a smidge presentable while also getting rid of anything too telling about the case.

Of course, he couldn’t do anything about his painfully old-fashioned method of an evidence board in the corner of the office, but hopefully it was too chaotic for anybody to be able to glean anything from it.

Tim shook his head to himself then, rolling his head across his shoulders and rubbing at the back of his neck to try and soothe a perpetual ache from too many nights hunched over in a chair going over cases combined with the telltale pains of age.

The creaking of his office door opening made him turn halfway around, glancing back to see Abigail gesturing for somebody to enter.

And that was the first time Detective Tim Rockford saw you.

Standing there in the doorframe of his office, face half-cast into shadow from the warm wash of the yellow light in the hallway behind you, even as it cast an almost halo glow around your hair as your head turned, glancing about the room before fully stepping in.

Abigail shut the door behind you, leaving Tim alone and at a complete loss for what to do with you when he saw your face properly in the gentle glow of the lamps set up around his office, breath catching in his throat at the stunning clarity of your eyes when they met his.

“Detective Rockford?” you asked, voice a melody even in its slight hesitation with the question, and the sound of his title snapped Tim back into action, giving a nod as he strode forward to extend his hand to yours for introduction.

“At your service, ma’am,” he replied automatically, his fingers twitching as yours slid against them, your smaller palm finding its way into his for a shake, and Tim pulled away quickly, clearing his throat before asking for your name.

When you gave it, he nodded, repeating it once out loud as his mind wouldn’t stop chanting it in the dark crevices of his thoughts, glancing over the humble cardigan and knee-length skirt paired with dark tights you were wearing before spinning away, telling himself he was simply trying to get a read on who exactly you were as he gestured towards his desk.

“Please, sit,” he said, moving back towards his own seat, glancing back over his shoulder when he realized you hadn’t moved.

“Um,” you hedged, shifting in place with uncertainty, and his brows furrowed, glancing over you again as you asked, “Where, exactly?”

Only then did Tim look over across from his desk, mumbling some colorful swears he hoped you didn’t hear or would graciously ignore as he realized there was no chair for you to sit in.

“Uh—let me just—” he spun in place, eyes moving around the room quickly before he found a fold up chair crammed into the corner, and he hurried over to it, arms flexing in the tight fabric of the white-button up he wore as he extended it with a quiet grunt before walking over quickly to set it in front of his desk.

“Sorry about that,” Tim murmured, cheeks flushed in embarrassment as he gestured for you to sit, which you did, slowly sinking down into the uncomfortable seat before smoothing out the fabric of your skirt while he moved around the desk to sit in his own chair.

Once the both of you were settled, Tim looked over your face again, brows furrowed as he noticed the heavy lines of sleep and something else, something distinctly weary covering the beauty of your features—fuck, not beauty, don’t think that way at work, Rockford—as you pulled your cardigan tighter around yourself.

“My receptionist mentioned you were here for the case of Mrs. Haim, is that right?” he asked, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the desk as he watched you carefully, noting the way your eyes darted up to meet his at the name.

“Yes,” you whispered with a nod, licking your lips Tim just now realized were painted with a soft pink lipstick that accentuated the natural color of them and no, stop it, you were saying something now, and he was embarrassed he had missed the first part of it until the next five words caught his full attention.

“I think he did it.”

And with just that simple confession, that quiet declaration, Tim Rockford knew you were not only going to become heavily intertwined in this case, but completely wrapped up in his life.

Your best friend was dead.

It didn’t matter that they hadn’t found the body.

It didn’t matter that you were still setting up “have you seen me?” posters around town and the next two over, ignoring the looks of pity shot your way each time you taped one up on a wall or streetlight.

It didn’t matter that the detective in charge of her case had assured you that they were doing everything they could to find her.

She was dead. 

You knew she was dead.

You knew it because she didn’t show up at your traditional Tuesday night dinner, a habitual get-together to vent about your weeks and giggle over glasses of wine that she had never once missed in all the years you had known her.

You knew it because the last time you had dinner like this, she had confessed to you her sleepless nights lately, plagued with the doubts and suspicions that her jackass of a husband was seeing somebody on the side.

You had never liked Jonathan, the Mr. Haim who had been married to your dear Este for nearly a decade. You hadn’t liked the way he looked at her when they met, or the way he held her once they got married. Possessive, and not in a healthy consensual way, judging by the look in her eyes whenever he was around.

Still, Este had assured you time and time again that she loved him. And you had no doubt that she did.

But whether he loved her, respected her, or treated her right was another matter entirely.

“Last night,” Este had said slowly as she pushed her fork around the plate of alfredo she always ordered every Tuesday, avoiding your gaze as you sipped at your glass of wine. “He tasted like merlot when he kissed me.”

You paused, understanding exactly what she meant when you looked at the glass in your hand, and then the bottle of her favorite pinot noir that was sitting on the table.

“There’s charges on our account,” she continued quietly, almost curling in on herself with the information she was revealing, and you could feel your rage rising with each shaky breath she took as she told you all this. “Jewelry—silver, I think.”

One glance towards the gold ring on her finger, and you stiffened, trying to keep yourself under control at the revelations.

“Two timing son of a bitch,” you whispered angrily under your breath, setting your glass back down on the table in a way that caused the wine to slosh around inside. “Leave him.”

Este looked up with a sigh, saying your name quietly, and you said more firmly, “Leave him right now.”

“I’m not you,” she snapped, and your eyes widened, leaning back into your side of the booth as the words pierced your heart in the same moment Este realized how sharp her words were.

She sighed, leaning forward to place her face in her hands, shaking her head in a way that made her flowing blonde hair fall past her shoulders and catch the light of the Olive Garden that had been your meetup spot for these dinners for years.

“I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean that,” she whispered, bright green eyes watering as she lowered her hands and looked up at you, and you brushed off the way the words had hurt more than you would ever let her know, because you knew she didn’t really mean it, and you didn’t want to upset her any further when she was already aching so deeply.

“So?” you asked quietly after a moment of tense silence, playing with the stem of your wine glass as you watched her set her shoulders back when you implored, “What are you going to do?”

Este took a deep breath, holding it in her lungs and letting it fill her with confidence before she exhaled the words, “I think I’m gonna call him out.”

And that was how you knew her fate.

Because you knew her husband, you knew his pride and his lack of real love for your best friend.

You knew that when you showed up at Tuesday night dinner, and your usual booth was empty, without her showing up the entire night even as you sat there waiting with her favorite bottle of pinot noir—she had called him out, and he had done something about it.

It was the third week in a row now without her sitting across from you in that booth, time spent with you staring at the empty space, glass of pinot noir untouched beside you as you ripped yourself out of your depression to look down at the small notebook in your hands.

Those pages were filled with every detail you could remember of Este’s life, words crossed out and underlined, some even highlighted or emphasized in ways only you could decipher if they seemed especially important.

You had always had an analytical mind, a path that had led you to pursuing psychology in college. But then you had chased a picket fence dream instead, and now you didn’t have either a husband or a career, spending your days running your little cafe on a street corner, where you were lucky if you had even five customers a day.

The end of the pen was placed against your lips, rolling it there as you tried to recall any further details, when a voice caught your attention.

It was deep, masculine, but there was an underlying softness to it that brought your head up from your little notebook, eyes meeting the dark brown you had only seen once in person.

The other times you had seen those eyes were on a screen, collecting all the information you could about the detective in charge of the case of your best friend’s disappearance online before you showed up at his workplace to try and convince him of your theory.

Every pixelated image you studied could not have prepared you for the depth of that gaze, how wide and calming those brown eyes were when they had fixed on you from across his desk as he listened to you unravel your suspicions—and now, looking down at you next to your table, peering kindly at you through wide-rimmed glasses you hadn’t even seen online.

“Detective,” you finally found your voice, straightening subconsciously as you glanced over him, noting the same white button-up he had worn in his office, paired with another tacky striped tie, but this time with a long brown trench coat to complete the look.

How wonderfully cliche, you think with a small smile at his fashion choice, one you quickly bit back as you glanced back up into his curious face.

It was still as kind as when you had met him, but there was something else to them. A keen observation as he glanced from you, to the empty seat across from you, the untouched wine next to your little notebook, and back to your face again.

This too was something you had noted about Detective Tim Rockford from the first moment you had stepped into his office—he was a smart man, and you weren’t sure yet if that was going to help your case, or harm it.

“What are you doing here, Detective?” you asked with a tilt of your head, your hand coming up to gently close your notebook and slowly pull it closer to yourself in a way you hoped would escape his attention.

It didn’t.

In fact, his gaze seemed to hone in on the movements of your hands, focusing on your fingers as they tapped against the cover of the small notebook, and you tried to ignore the way the attention sent a shiver of something you really shouldn’t feel for this man through you.

“Dinner,” he replied simply once he pulled his gaze back up to your face, a half-smile stretching across his face.

The smile was easy, carefree almost, but there was still a hint of that cleverness to his dark eyes, and you found an eyebrow arching as you replied slowly, “Right.”

Your head tilts down, turning your wrist so you could glance over the ticking hands of your simple watch, your mind going back to the mess that had been the detective’s office as you remembered the piles of takeout containers on his desk.

The gears in your mind were turning as you looked at the face of your watch for another moment before glancing back up at him, seeing there was something else in his gaze now. A studious way he was observing you, and for some reason it sent a thrill through you, as well as stoking a need to challenge this intellectual who had found his way to your table tonight.

“A detective who lives on ordering food went to a town over from his for a bite to eat,” you found your lips moving as the challenging words fell from them, watching with satisfaction as his eyes widened a fraction before you glanced down at your watch again, “at the exact day and time his witness mentioned getting dinner with a missing woman?”

Your head lifts, a larger smile than before curling onto your lips, and you couldn’t hide it this time, nor did you want to as his eyes flickered down to it, his own lips parting slightly before curving into that same half-smile he had given you before, though there was something distinctly more mischievous to it this time.

“Ah, well,” Detective Rockford cleared his throat, reaching a large hand up to rub across the patchy beard on his chin, and you watched the way his fingertips brushed the scruff, shocked by the way your thighs squeezed together subconsciously at the sight, “Seems I’ve already been had. This is embarrassing.”

He glanced back towards you, still a kindness to his eyes as he chuckled quietly, and you let out a soft laugh, feeling your cheeks heat up a bit in your own embarrassment as you realized your body had been attracted to him for a moment.

“I promise, I didn’t come here to spy,” the detective said as he raised his hands in a gesture of peace, but your eyes were drawn to the lines on his palm, how thick and long his fingers were, and suddenly you knew that you weren’t attracted to him for just one moment.

“No?” you found your voice replying anyway, eyebrow lifting as you forced your gaze back up to his face when he lowered his hands back to his sides. “So I’m not your prime suspect that you’ve come to do a stakeout on, then?”

Detective Rockford laughed again, glancing away from you as his smile grew, and you weren’t sure if the avoidance of your gaze was because you were right or wrong.

“I’ve actually been there,” he said as he turned to point at a booth behind him, one that was down a ways from you, but leaving a perfect view of not only your table, but the rest of the restaurant. “For about half an hour. And, uh, yes, it was a bit of a stakeout, I suppose.”

He winced at the admission, lifting one of his hands to rest in the other, rubbing his thumb along his palm and you swallowed thickly, reaching out for the glass of wine you had avoided sipping from all night that you suddenly felt like you needed as the detective sheepishly met your gaze and murmured, “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”

You shrugged, taking a long sip from the wine that you almost choked on as you could almost feel the way his gaze intensified on you when you swallowed it thickly, but you managed to force the drink down, and when you looked back he was looking away again, glancing over the nearly empty restaurant.

“So why come over here now?” you asked, stroking your fingers up and down the stem of your wine glass subconsciously, breath hitching at a rush of desire when his eyes followed the slow movement.

You blamed your next course of action off being a fucking lightweight, the small sip of alcohol going right to your head and empty stomach as you pulled your hands together, wrists up and offered towards him as you asked slyly, “Come to take me away, Detective?”

A laugh punched out of his chest with a heavy breath, and Detective Rockford leaned back with a startled wide-eyed gaze at your teasing, though there was a wide smile on his face and a spark in his eyes as he stared down at the soft skin you were displaying for him before he shook his head quickly.

“No, of course not, ma’am,” he assured, and you noted the faintest hint of pink coloring his cheeks, the sight making you bite your lip as that desire you should really feel ashamed of having for him right now only heightened. “Sorry, it’s just—”

The Detective bounced back on his heels for a moment, a sign of nervous energy that he quickly composed himself from, straightening up as he gestured towards your table.

“Couldn’t help but notice you haven’t eaten anything,” he admitted in a quieter tone, and you paused, your good mood fading to a pensive sorrow you had been spending most your days in lately. 

For a moment, you simply stared at the empty booth across from you, remembering the smiles, laughter and bright green eyes that used to cheer you up every single Tuesday night, before shifting beside you brought your attention back to the present.

“Well, I’ll—”

“Would you like to join me?”

You shouldn’t have asked.

You knew as soon as the question left your lips, you shouldn’t have asked it.

Maybe Detective Rockford knew it too, based on the surprise on his weathered face when he glanced back at you, the way his lips parted to answer even as he hesitated with whatever he was going to say.

It was loneliness that had made you extend the invitation, and loneliness you would surely return to when he said—

“Yes.”

And that was how you found yourself in the indescribably bizarre situation of eating dinner with the detective in charge of the case of your best friend’s disappearance.

“Murder,” you corrected as you swirled the spaghetti noodles around your fork, bringing them to your lips as Detective Rockford shook his head.

“I can’t discuss case details with you,” he said for what might have been the third time that night, and you sighed, nodding a confirmation even as you both knew you would try again eventually.

It reminded you of the first time you met in his office, how you had tried to lay out a strong case for him, watching as he took notes on what you were saying while also fending off any subtle prying from you on the details of the case.

“Do you have any evidence for your claims?” he had asked back then after you had repeated yourself with absolute conviction in saying that you thought your best friend’s husband had killed her.

“Isn’t that your job?” you had asked right back, arching an eyebrow after he raised his, stubborn intellect from both sides of the desk as you tacked on to make a point in the guise of being respectful, “Detective?”

There was a shift in him then as he regarded you, a way he was looking at you again now as you poked at him for any revelations you could get.

“We’re doing what we can, Ms.…”

The detective trailed off then, fork pausing halfway to his mouth, a piece of pasta falling from it back to his plate as his gaze suddenly shot towards your hands.

“Mrs.,” he corrected himself, and you froze, stomach turning to lead as you followed his line of sight to where you were holding your wine glass, unassuming ring on full display, small diamond sparkling in the warm glow of the cheap lights in the chain restaurant. “Sorry. I didn’t think to ask if you were married. I shouldn’t have assumed—”

Detective Rockford broke off then, and you found yourself leaning forward slightly, curious as to what he shouldn’t have assumed, but he didn’t finish that line of thought as he set his fork back down, eyes downcast away from yours now.

“Divorced, actually,” you forced the words from your mouth, wincing even as they were the truth. But the way the detective’s eyes snapped back up to yours so quickly made you feel a bit less self-conscious as you shrugged, shifting your hand to wiggle your fingers, showing off the ring more as you clarified, “The ring’s just a force of habit. And it tends to scare away most of the unwanted men.”

He chuckled a little then, shaking his head to himself as he rested an elbow on the table, placing his forehead in the palm of his hand with a mumbled, “Most of them. Not all, huh?”

Embarrassment surged through you then as you shot up in your seat, eyes wide as they tried to catch his and you stumbled over an explanation, “I mean—Detective, I wasn’t—”

Your heart was pounding, worried he had thought you were alluding to him, and not sure why you wanted him to know you weren’t.

But then his face lifted, hand curling into a fist to rest his cheek against, a slow smile curling onto his lips that looked so cunning, so knowing and fuck, there was that desire again, burning with something else, a feeling more dangerous at the softness to his big brown eyes.

Neither of you said anything else at that point, turning back to your meals to finish them in silence, even as you wondered if his heart was racing as quickly as yours every time your eyes met by accident and lingered on purpose.

“Thank you, Detective,” you said quietly once you both stepped out into the cool night air, pulling your cardigan tighter around yourself and giving him a small smile as he rifled through the pocket of his coat. “You didn’t have to pay.”

“I know,” he replied with another small smile, still knowing in a way you couldn’t put your finger on, and your pleasantly full stomach flipped as he pulled out a box of cigarettes.

He offered them silently, and you gave your own tiny smile, biting your lip again to try and hold it back even as you nodded.

The two of you moved around the side of the building, finding yourselves cast into darkness in the alley between restaurants that were in the process of closing down for the night, an atmosphere that was only broken when a flame came to life at the beckoning of his thumb on a lighter.

You watched with parted lips as his brow furrowed in concentration over those dark eyes that looked almost black behind the flickering flame, lighting the cigarette perched between his own lips before those very eyes you were admiring so openly flashed up to meet yours.

Breath catching in your throat, you felt a heat grow between your thighs as he watched you watch him for just a split second before the flame disappeared, the lighter slipping back into his pocket.

That heat began to pulse in time to your heartbeat as you heard the slow inhale of the smoke from where he stood so close now, smelling the tempting nicotine as he blew it out slightly to the side so it didn’t quite hit your face, but was close enough to tempt you before he held the cigarette out to you in offering.

Your heartbeat was pounding now, in more places than one as his other hand reached out to your side, finding yours to gently wrap his rough fingers around your soft ones, lifting your hand to wrap it around the cigarette carefully, guiding you so you wouldn’t burn yourself as you took it from him.

When your lips wrapped around the end of cigarette, you could almost fucking moan, tasting the lingering tang of the wine you had shared with him and the savory hints of the pasta you had watched him eat across the table from you.

This was bad, you realized suddenly.

This was so, so bad.

So bad because you wanted to fuck this workaholic detective, ride his cock until you both forgot about the disappearance that had taken over your lives, coming so hard with him and living in that bliss until you would eventually remember again.

Then you could do it all over again.

Your breath was trembling as you sucked in the cigarette smoke, holding it deep in your lungs to try and satisfy your lust with another vice before blowing it back out sharply by instinct.

A quiet moan that took you a split second to realize wasn’t yours told you that you had blown that smoke directly into the face of the man you had been fantasizing about, and your eyes flashed up to meet his, searching for his handsome face in the darkness that shrouded you both in this moment, giving you the allusion that nothing else existed except for this desire.

A desire you now suddenly realized you weren’t alone in feeling as your mind replayed that sound he had made just from the sensation of the smoke blowing from your mouth into his face, residue of nicotine caressing his lips in a way you wished you could—with your own mouth, your fingers, your pussy, anything.

Fuck, maybe you had too much to drink tonight.

But you hadn’t even finished the bottle together, and both of you had eaten your entire meals, but that didn’t stop Detective Rockford from leaning closer now, your head tilting up as you subconsciously shifted backwards until the wall of the restaurant hit your back.

“Detective…” you whispered, eyes half-lidded as he hummed, only able to see his head shaking in the darkness, and not the exact expression on his face even as it leaned closer to yours.

“Tim,” he murmured, and your lips parted after you pulled the cigarette out from between them, gently blowing another stream of smoke right up into his face and revering in the shuddering breath that left him as you passed the cigarette back to him. “Just Tim.”

Now it was your turn to hum, considering the offer to make things considerably more personal between you, a large step in a very dangerous direction that you were getting the distinct feeling would quickly snowball if you called him by his first name alone.

“I get the feeling you won’t be going home tonight if I did call you that,” you whispered, mouth opening to inhale the smoke he blew down towards your lips, aching to feel his own lips there instead of just the nicotine he was breathing or the taste of his tongue on the cigarette you were sharing. “Detective.”

The ache between your legs was hot and throbbing, almost unbearable now as you both stayed like that, breathing in the smoke from the same cigarette that was close to burnt out, and you knew that if he stubbed it and walked away, you were having a very long session with your vibrator tonight.

And you were right.

That intense desire that had crept up out of nowhere lingered, haunting you with its heat when the detective managed to pull himself away from you, tossing the stub of a cigarette to the pavement and crushing it under the heel of his polished dress shoes.

Neither of you acknowledged anything that had happened as you followed him out of the alley, a rush of the night breeze running past your face. You inhaled it deeply, trying to rid your lungs of the heady cigarette smoke that had mixed with the taste of him you were aching to experience first-hand, even as he backed away from you towards his little old brown car sitting a couple spots over from your small steel colored one.

“Good night, Detective,” you offered as you pulled your door open, daring a glance back over your shoulder to see him standing with one hand on his own door, still closed as he watched you about to get into your car.

“Ma’am,” he greeted cordially, although the look in his eyes you could now see more clearly in the moonlight was anything but respectful.

It was an image you clung to desperately that night, eyes squeezed shut as you replayed that quiet moan of his over and over as you rocked your hips up against the vibrator stimulating your clit and sending delicious waves of pleasure through you, pulling as many orgasms from your body as you could as you imagined how those full lips would feel on your pussy instead.

Little did you know that in the next town over, that very man was picturing you in much the same way, fucking up into his hand as thoughts of you plagued his mind. Images of you biting your lip and those intelligent eyes peering up at him invaded his thoughts every time he twisted his wrist, picturing how you would look on your knees between his thighs, whimpering when the thought of you sucking him off with that coy mouth made him cum all over his own fingers.

“So fucking unprofessional,” Tim groaned to himself after he cleaned up his mess, glaring at his face in the mirror as he shook his head and said firmly to his reflection, “Stay away from her. She’s a goddamn witness. Stay. Away.”

There was no way for the detective to know that when his case didn’t go anywhere, you were going to become much, much more.

taglist: @darkroastjoel @thetriumphantpanda @sinsofsummers @dinsdjrn @cupofjoel @cavillscurls @tightjeansjavi

[desertfangs]

if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

I do keep outtakes but usually only longer ones and I just checked for the most recent fics I've posted and I don't think I have any, which is not typical for me. Either that means I just removed some sentences or reworded things, or somehow lost the outtakes.

BUT I was especially looking for Look Right Through since it's a longer fic and while there aren't any outtakes I can find, I do have a false start. When I started this fic, I wanted to do something plotty that would force Armand, Marius, and Daniel to work together to solve a problem. And my first inclination was to have someone show up and ask Daniel for help. It wasn't working so I ended up going in a different direction, where Daniel finds a body in the house instead, but I don't know, I may eventually write use that premise.

Beneath the cut is the first beginning I wrote for what became Look Right Through, complete with Daniel wearing his shabbiest clothes for funsies:

Daniel jolted at the knock on the door. It wasn’t typical for people to come knocking on Trinity Gate’s front door. It wasn’t unheard of—god knew between Armand and Benji, Amazon packages were a regular occurrence—but at eleven o’clock at night, it was a little strange. It got stranger when he reached out with his sense and realized the unexpected visitor was a vampire.He set down his iPad and walked to foyer. The pounding on the door continued, so hard Daniel was worried they’d break the door. He was tempted to tell them to hold their damn horses but instead, crept up to the peephole and looked out. He frowned. The immortal was a woman who appeared to be in her thirties or so—near Daniel’s mortal age—with her messy brown hair in a bob. She was frenzied, looking behind her as if scared she was being pursued. She turned back and pounded on the door again. Daniel hesitated. Trinity Gate was, technically, the official New York Coven House, but he felt strange inviting an unknown immortal inside. Armand was out at some art fundraiser Daniel had managed to avoid going to, purely because Armand knew those people and they knew him to be with his “husband” Louis, who was in Paris. Daniel felt ill-equipped for this and suddenly wished Marius had made good on his promise to come to New York for the summer. He ran his fingers through his short ashen hair and then, after taking a breath, opened the door. The woman looked surprised to see him. Then again, Daniel was probably not what she expected, and it didn’t help that he was currently wearing sweatpants and a David Bowie t-shirt. “I seek protection from the Court,” she said, voice high and full of fear. “Can you help me?” “Yeah, of course,” Daniel said, moving back and gesturing for her to come inside. He poked out his head and looked down the street and out across the street into Central Park. He didn’t see or sense another immortal or anything threatening, but he wasn’t always convinced of the accuracy of his Mind Gift. He shut the door and then, for good measure, locked it, not that the deadbolt would do much against another immortal. Armand had other security measures for that. “What exactly are you seeking protection from?” Daniel asked. The woman was shaking, he realized, and deathly pale. She had marks on her wrists, dark bruises that were fading, but slowly. She hadn’t fed tonight, he gathered, and from what he could tell, she was fairly new in the blood. She looked Daniel over and frowned slightly. “You’re a vampire, so I assume this is the right place.” “Yeah, it is. Sorry. I should have… I’m Daniel. The official Coven Representative is out right now.” Daniel pulled out his phone. “I’ll text him.” Daniel texted “Court Emergency.” And then a second later, realized that could mean anything and Armand was sure to panic if he thought any of those he loved were in danger. “Stranger showed up here, wants our help.” The woman was looking around the foyer, still hugging herself. “What’s your name?” Daniel asked her. He should have asked that first, but he wanted to know what sort of situation he’d just let through the door. “Hadley,” she said, smiling faintly. It didn’t reach her eyes. Daniel’s phone buzzed. “On my way,” was Armand’s only reply. Good. Relief washed over him. He didn’t want to be handling this alone. “And what’s got you so scared?” Daniel asked her. She swallowed and shook her head. “He’s trying to kill me.” Daniel frowned. “Who?” “My maker.” Daniel winced involuntarily. “Why?” Hadley stared at him and did not answer. He figured the sweatpants weren’t exactly giving him an air of authority, but then, his plans for the evening had been to finish the Sunday Crossword on his iPad and maybe boot up the Playstation until Armand got home, at which point he’d hoped to ditch clothes entirely.

[agentnatesewell]

hello lovely mar!! i just read "they saw you in my written words" for the first time and i just wanted to say what a wonderful writer you ❤️ i love how you write nate and suri is just an absolute goddess

a question! i have never seen bridgerton before, but that regency art of N & A got me thinking. do you have any thoughts or headcanons about if nate & suri had met in a similar setting? 😌

Bree!! I am literally just sitting here with my jaw on the floor! Thank you so much for reading ‘they saw you in my written words’ and sending me this very, very sweet message!

I am floored!! Blushing!

And thank you so, so much. Nate’s always been a little bit tough for me to try to figure out writing wise, but it was really fun writing him and Suri together. I think about them all the time, and it was nice to put them together. Especially in that sort of way 🥰

Ah Bridgerton! I loved season two, and I really love Anthony&Kate, and Benedict. So much that I also really love Benedict’s book because of his love, Sophie Beckett (who is a maid, and I really, really hope she’ll be on season four!)

As for Regency Nuri! I’ve had a few thoughts!

* Nate would be a member of the gentry, still. Surina would be the daughter of a dowager titled woman (Rebecca) and they both participate in society. While the others learned the more common second languages like French and Latin and Italian - I think they both knew Arabic (and he would know more, such as the tongue of his biological father — I assume Mama and Papa Sewell in this AU) . But that was a draw for them both (they would have known each other before the official debuts)

- And in true historical romance fashion, of course the titles and succession might be smudged, just a little bit

* For fun, because they knew they loved each other even before debuts, I imagine - in true historical romance fashion - they get up to some sneaky things, and do a lot of fun sneaky things. Do they get caught? Well, if they did, they were wanting to get married anyway!

* I went to a butterfly garden today in the afternoon and it was just lovely. It made me think that N’s family probably had a stunning orangery and grounds, and that’s also a headcanon!

* Before we were told that N’s family was part of the gentry, rather than the peerage (titled), I hc’d (with a friend) that Nate and Suri eloped because she quoted Violet Bridgerton saying that rakes make the best husbands and Nate agreed (not that he still couldn’t be a rake but I don’t think so at all)

One of these days, it is my goal to play around with a Nate and Suri historical/modern romance and see where that goes (actually the thoughts are very angsty but I’ve been enjoying doing some mental plotting)

Ah! Thank you SO much! You’re so sweet and wonderful to take time out of your day to send me such kindness! I am so, so glad you’re here with us!

I loved your Adam fic so much! We were on a road trip that day you posted and I couldn’t wait until we got to our destination so I read in the car! It was amazing!!

[hello-nichya-here]

Maybe I'm stating the obvious here, but I think Sansa and Arya got some subconscious daddy kink (no shaming btw) because why else would Sansa fall for a man mistaken for her father and Arya is so attached to Jon, the Stark son who looks most like Ned. There's also Jon basing all his crushes on Arya, who unbeknownst to him, is like his bio mom, Lyanna, in both looks and personality. Overall, I find it very interesting.

As much I'm a total slut for a good Daddy kink, and would love some Sansan and Jonrya fics with that, I don't think that's what's going on.

Unlike something like Jon explicitly comparing his girlfriend's body to Arya's, when she's undressing for him so they can have sex, these other situations have some key differences.

Like you said, Jon doesn't even know Lyanna is his mom, so him being drawn to Arya, who has a simmilar personality to her aunt, doesn't strike me as his brain doing that level of freudian connections, but rather the simple fact that, as her son, Jon has things in common with Lyanna because one's personality is a combo of nature (aka genetics) and nurture - so naturally he gets along well with (and was originally going to fall for) a person that is a lot like the woman he himself resembles. It's more a matter of compatibility than having some complex about his mother.

The same goes for Arya liking Jon, who is a lot like Ned - who she also has a lot in common with. They also have the added bonus of feeling like outcasts. Arya doesn't like typical "girly" things, Jon is a bastard. They don't fit in, so they stick together. Of course they're closer to each other than to their siblings - all of which have lots in common with Ned.

Their looks are also not that relevant, because they are close friends, and were going to be into each other in the original plans, because of their personalities (See Jon liking Val and Ygritte, who look nothing like each other or Arya, but have the same kind of personality he's naturally drawn to) so them happening to resemble each other's parents is not really significant (even if it becomes funny considering they're cousins/siblings).

Sansa mistaking Sandor for her dad is a bit more sus considering all the romance themes in her dynamic with him, but the context in which it happens is one of their few interactions that does NOT have a romantic coding. People are scared of her wolf, Lady - aka one of the magical creatures that protect the Starks - and she's feeling unsafe around all these strangers that are looking at her weird, and some that ARE being somewhat thretening... and then Sandor Clegane, the Hound, comes in, and she assumes is her dad there to protect her. That is a role Sandor will take on A LOT. We even have Robert's famous quote when it comes to making Ned kill Lady "Give her a dog, she'll be happier for it."

If she had thought about the simmilarities between Sandor's physical appearance (aka the half of his face that has not been burned) or any of his Ned-like personality traits - which are not that many, though the ones that exist are important - in moments like when she's imagining him replacing her husband on her marriage bed, yeah, that could absolutely be taken as her having a complex. But that's not what we got.

The closest we got to Ned having an influence in Sansa's romantic choices, is her wanting someone who was like the ideal husband her dad wanted her to have - brave, gentle and strong. She consistently refers to Sandor as being all three (even if the gentle part can go out the window if he's triggered and/or drunk) but that is more a sign of her realizing her dad was right and that she would have been happier with someone like that than with freaking Joffrey.

Considering she's freaked out by Littlefinger, who IS very much trying to be both her father and her lover at the same time, I'd say that is simply not Sansa's deal.

Littlefinger is also why I think Sandor's features are more northern-like (besides representing Sansa eventually chosing the North over the South) - he "lost" Catelyn to both Stark brother's, and now will lose his replacement!Catelyn to a man that was literally mistaken as Arya's father, aka could easily pass for a Stark. It's just perfect.

But like I said, I'm 100% into that kind of thing, so if you ever find any good fic for these pairings with that aspect in it, drop the link.

[the-engdyssey]

Day 4 OC-centric

Title: In Misery

This is a fanfic I don’t really have time to write, but I thought it would be interesting to share the idea with everyone and see what they think! I've tried to add as much detail as I can for this, and I hope you enjoy it!

Gif credits:  Tangerine: @peachyspaceslvt Elizabeth Olsen: @may0osh and @elizabethlailolsenfan

Tag List: @bullettrainpromptweek @phantom-wolf

Prompt filled: Mainly OC centric prompt, pre-canon, and butterfly effect prompts. It’s also an opportunity to flesh out some headcanons about Tangerine that have developed because of the course of this story. 

Pairing: Tangerine x Sarah (Female OC)

Warnings: Major character death, canon typical violence (there's a scene with a stabbing) 

Note: I have included gifs for some visual reference/inspo. My “face claim” for Sarah is Elizabeth Olsen which might be an odd choice to some people. But for context: I didn’t know that Aaron Taylor Johnson  and Elizabeth Olsen had played siblings in a Marvel movie before. I first saw them and really enjoyed their acting together in the 2014 Godzilla movie where they play husband and wife. I thought they were really cute together, and I was disappointed that they didn’t get more screen time with each other. I like their chemistry together, and I hope they act together again sometime. So, when my brain thought of a fic where Tangerine has a girl he’s in love with, I thought of her character looking like Elizabeth Olsen. That said, here’s a bullet point run down of my Tangerine and Sarah fic! (Partly under a cut due to length not necessarily content.)

Sarah meets Tangerine purely by coincidence. She is not involved in the world of assassins or the criminal underworld whatsoever. In some regards, it’s almost as if she “cleans up their mess”. She’s a young doctor for the NHS, and she works in A&E (the emergency room). She often deals with trauma patients, but she encounters just about any kind of sickness or injury in the emergency room of a hospital. She has a few friends lovingly drag her out to a pub one night to let off some steam, because she constantly works, and they fear she never has much fun. She meets Tangerine in that pub, and perhaps she’s a little tipsy, and he’s very handsome. Tangerine on his part clocks onto Sarah instantly. He can’t help himself—she’s exactly the kind of girl he likes. She’s sweet, a little shy at his open flirting but incredibly receptive, the cocktails have her a bit tongue tied (but it's also her nerves at talking to him), but she’s well spoken and intelligent. She’s pretty and cute. He likes her smile, he likes her laugh, and he simply has to have her. Which is fine with Sarah, because he’s the kind of guy she dreams of but thinks she’ll never have because he’s too good looking. There’s instant sparks, instant chemistry, and they wind up sleeping together that first night. And it’s incredible for both of them. Tangerine is an attentive lover in her opinion. He checks before he does anything, but he knows how to navigate his way around a woman’s body. Sarah feels safe with him, which means a great deal to her because she's never slept with anyone she just met, she always waits. She feels confident and sexy with him, and it’s a reminder of how it’s supposed to feel to be with someone. But surprisingly for the both of them, there’s an innate intimacy to being together which neither of them was expecting. There’s a care and a passion for each other that catches them both off guard, but it’s not entirely unwelcome. Despite thinking it’s a bad idea, Sarah slips her card into Tangerine’s shirt pocket and says he can call her anytime before she heads home that night. She assumes he won’t. But he does the next day wanting to take her out on a real date. He promises that he'll be just fine with giving her a kiss goodbye if she wants to take things slower. He really likes Sarah, he wants her, and he’s all in. It doesn’t take long for him to make her feel the same. 

Personally I love the duality of Tangerine dating a doctor, someone who spends their life trying to ease the suffering of others or preserve life, when Tangerine is primed to do the exact opposite. He doesn’t mind hurting or killing other people, the only thing stopping him is an increased likelihood of getting caught. Sarah is an inherently good person who tries to navigate her life according to the edict of “do no harm”. Tangerine most certainly doesn’t. Sarah doesn’t know what Tangerine does for money as their romance blossoms, but her kindness and compassion is what draws Tangerine in further. She is everything he’s never had in his life; true romantic love, friendship, loyalty, compassion, care, tenderness, support. He’s not looking for a woman to take care of him, but part of her loving him is doing exactly that, while he takes care of her. (Being a doting and consistently caring boyfriend is part of his love language, but it’s also him knowingly struggling with his abandonment issues having grown up in the foster care system. He feels like he has to prove to his lovers why they shouldn’t leave him, prove himself worthy of them, but Sarah silently and patiently reassures him that she’s not going anywhere.)

Tangerine is honest with Sarah about a great many things, honest to the point that Lemon thinks he’s an absolute idiot. He tells Sarah his real first name which is Tom. (Yes, I imagine his name is actually Thomas, and everyone who actually knows his name calls him Tom for short. Because Aaron Taylor Johnson was in a movie called ‘Tom & Thomas’ when he was little and because Bullet Train likes to make references to actors' previous roles in other films, this is the hill I’m dying on. Especially because it makes his annoyance with Lemon’s Thomas the Tank Engine obsession all the more infuriating as adults, and because Sarah can harass him by calling him her ‘Tom Cat’, and it makes him cringe so bad his stomach hurts while she’s crying with laughter. To which he inevitably runs after her fully intent on tickling her until she can’t breathe as revenge.) He makes up a last name for him and Lemon to go by, but he also tells her his actual birth date, he tells her honest stories about when he was younger and the people who mattered to him in the past. He even opens up about some of his worst experiences in school and foster care. He tells her the truth of who he is as a person, something that no one really knows except Lemon. Everyone else who does has left him behind in one way or another. He does not tell her anything about his real work, he hides that incredibly well from her. But he actually feels like this girl could be in his life long term, something that he never thought would actually come about, and not lying to her feels important to him even if there are certain key details that he leaves out. 

If I could summarize this story in a single sentence it would be this: No matter how deeply and truly Tangerine loves Sarah, he is nothing but an absolute poison in her life. Because Sarah is inherently good, and Tangerine is someone who is morally gray at best. He is the very antithesis of what she is, what is important to her, despite the fact that he matters to her dearly. Despite cherishing and wanting to protect her gentle and kind nature in a world that easily makes people become jaded, he is an incredibly selfish and manipulative man. He wants Sarah in his life because he loves her. That's the simplest and honest truth. But he also explains to Lemon that having a doctor as a wife would come in handy for the both of them. No more shitty patch up jobs themselves, or hoping that established organizations will take pity on them and let them utilize their resources for a fee, they’d have a trained medical professional to help them out. (And I’m not entirely sure of the legalities of it in the UK, but sometimes spouses can’t testify against each other in court, and if that’s the case, that's an added bonus). So, Tangerine asks Sarah to marry him. Because he loves her, and if Lemon asks him about it, she’s useful. And Sarah, none the wiser and utterly adoring him, says yes. 

But a relationship with a man like Tangerine is not sustainable. The violence that he so desperately tries to keep under control around her exposes itself more and more over the course of their relationship. Getting in the face of someone here. Shoving someone or nearly getting into a fight there. It’s subtle at first, to the point where Sarah doesn’t question it. He's had a past where picking fights was a way of coping and oddly enough, protecting himself. He's always been protective of her as well, but it's become more intense. It’s something she notices, but she misses it for what it really is. She’s never had any reason to believe that Tangerine is a truly violent man. Until she finally sees it for herself one day. She sees the man she’s going to marry kill another (for a quick local contract). It’s not an accident, it’s not a mistake. It’s something bloody and brutal, something she was never supposed to see. Something that brings her whole world shattering down around her.

Tangerine knows that Sarah knows. He realizes too late that she saw what happened, and he rushes over to her flat to try and talk to her when he can't catch her on foot. He’s a tad arrogant enough to think that it’ll take some time and effort, but he should be able to soothe this one over. He thinks Sarah is probably shocked and scared, but he can calm her down, surely. Tangerine underestimates the effect this has on Sarah. He underestimates the Pandora’s Box seeing such an act of violence opens within her. She’s got a head start on Tangerine. She’s able to get to her flat and barricade the door before he gets there. She’s panicking and rightfully begins to question everything. As she begins to look through Tangerine’s belongings that he’s brought over to her flat (he's essentially been living with her for some time), she realizes just how deep the lies run. Fake passports and driver's licenses, numerous burner phones, foreign cash, dozens of weapons all hidden carefully in various pockets of his duffel bags in the bottom of the closet. All things lingering in her space, her life, right under her nose, and she never had a clue. She realizes the man she loves is an illusion. The man she loves is in fact a total stranger, someone violent, a killer, and seemingly a professional no less. Tangerine isn’t stupid enough to leave copies of the contracts or mission briefs around, but she doesn’t need them to understand how dangerous Tangerine is. He’s a murderer, and she’s a witness. So Sarah does the only thing she can think of: she runs. 

It is because Sarah still loves Tangerine, despite knowing that everything he’s ever told her or shown her could very well be a lie, that she runs and instead of contacting the police. She’s scared, but more than that her heart is broken. She doesn’t realize that what Tangerine always showed her was his real self, but the darker, more violent side of himself is his real self as well. While wrestling with the realization that the man she wanted to have a future and a family with wasn’t real, she also begins to question and berate herself. How could she be so stupid? How did she not have any inkling of what he was? What kind of woman loves a man like that? Is she not as bad as he is? He makes a wave of guilt wash over her for loving a man who causes the very harm to others she tries to fix in her profession. Her phone has been buzzing non-stop since Tangerine came back to the flat to find it empty and his things rifled through. Sarah is in a taxi on the way to the airport to catch the first flight out of the UK. She answers though she can’t even see the screen with the tears swimming in her eyes. She should yell at him, curse at him, do anything but already miss him terribly. She can’t. Before Tangerine can even say anything, she simply says, “I’ll never say anything to anybody. I still love you, Tom. I'll always still love you, but I can't stay. Take care of yourself.” She pulls the SIM card out of her phone and chucks it from the taxi cab. Her plan is to head back home, her actual home. Her dad is English, but he met Sarah’s mother and settled down with her in Canada. Sarah has dual citizenship, and the only thing she can think of or wants to do is go home in her time of greatest need. 

Sarah makes a prudent decision by running away from Tangerine, but the problem is she’s not good at running away. Why would she be? That’s not a skill set most people learn. And while Tangerine and Lemon are not as skilled or “professional” as they are by the time they step on that bullet train, they have no trouble figuring out how to track Sarah down. Between budding connections to other operatives with handlers or “independent contractors”, and the fact that Tangerine enabled things like ‘find my phone’ on Sarah’s electronics without her knowing, it doesn’t take long for them to find her. Lemon has had about enough of all of this. He’s met Sarah, he actually likes her very much, he appreciates that she listens to him talk about his interests, he's grateful that she loves his brother like she does, but according to him, “I’m the one thinking with my brain. Unlike you. I don’t know what you’re thinking with, mate, but it’s gonna get us both in trouble.” Tangerine either needs to win Sarah back or he needs to take care of her, because leaving a witness behind is bad for business. Tangerine understands the situation they’re in, but he also refuses the idea of doing anything to Sarah. He can frame it in the context of wanting to preserve her usefulness, but it’s because he loves her. It’s as simple as that. And Lemon isn't stupid, he knows that.

Sarah leaving causes Tangerine’s emotions to go all over the place. He’s stressed because of the implications to his and Lemon’s safety and freedom. He’s a little angry, but more than anything he's hurt that she left. She promised him she never would. And though logically he understands why, it still feels like a rejection of some sort. And he misses her. Her leaving reminds him of all the other times he's been left behind. That same feeling of being a scared little boy who will never see those he cares about again settles in his chest. He hates it, but it shows him how not having Sarah in his life just isn’t an option. It’s a rather warped and selfish way of loving her at this point. When he finds Sarah the first time, he doesn’t confront her right away. In fact, he spends a great deal of time simply observing her from afar as she tries to navigate a life without him. He sees her parents and wishes he could have met them and tried to impress them properly. He sees her settle into new work. He watches her interactions with those around her. He sees the smile on her lips doesn’t reach her eyes anymore, he feels sick that it’s his fault. He sees Sarah safe and helping people as her true calling encourages her to do, and for some time, he considers leaving her be. Trusting her word and letting her have a life without him. But then he sees that she’s still wearing the engagement ring he bought her (and he did buy it, it felt wrong to steal it, he has a sense of pride that he actually bought it in an honest transaction for her), and the choice is made for him. When she’s out, he sneaks into the flat she’s renting. And he sees that she still has room for him in her life. She’s wearing the ring he gave her. There’s space in the closet for his suits to hang up. The double sink in the bathroom has everything sequestered to one side. He can tell she's only sleeping on one side of the bed. He likes to hope she is waiting for him and will be glad to see him. 

She was, and she’s not. She’s been waiting with baited breath for Tangerine to come find her, terrified that he’ll kill her if he does. She hasn’t stayed with her parents because she doesn’t want them to get hurt. When he’s there in her flat when she comes home, she immediately tries to run, but Tangerine is faster and stronger than her. He overpowers her, but he doesn’t hurt her. He tells her to be quiet, but his voice is gentle and loving as always, his warmth is reassuring, the strength in his hands and arms is familiar and comforting. When she goes limp in his arms, crying and defeated, he thinks he might be able to finally reach her. She asks what he plans to do, and he says he wants to take her home. He wants things to be like they were. He loves her, he would never hurt her, and he’s never lied to her. But he continues to lie by omission, never really answering the questions she demands of him about what she saw, what he does, who he is. She asks him if he loves her, and he says yes. She asks why she should believe him, how can she possibly know he’s not lying. He kisses her because he doesn't have the words, and she knows. She knows deep down that maybe he does really love her, but that doesn’t change anything. But she lets him love her for that night. She makes love to him again and again, telling him that she’s missed him, she still loves him, that there’s no one else for her but him. She means every word she says, they're a declaration of love and a confession. But they're also a goodbye. When he wakes up in the morning, she’s not there. She’s not even in the same province anymore. Tangerine is simultaneously furious and amazed that she managed to slip away from him again. He steals something small from her apartment, a little trinket that reminds him of her, and heads out to find her again. 

Every time Sarah runs away, she gets a little better at it. A part of Tangerine is proud of her, but he’s also getting sick of this game. Especially when other men start showing their interest as soon as she's settled down somewhere. Sarah rebuffs them every time. She doesn't want anyone else, her heart still belongs to Tangerine. She also knows full well that if Tangerine caught her with another man, that other man won’t survive the interaction. And after her father has sent a private detective to look into this man he sees as harassing his daughter, Sarah realizes that she might not survive him either. She learns more about Tangerine than she ever wanted to. She knows about the murders he’s been suspected in, she’s seen his previous arrests, mug shots, learns about his dealings with the fringes of organized crime, and it's enough to knock the wind out of her. She knew it was bad, but she never dreamed it was this bad. The private detective, a retired cop, looks at Sarah and asks her, “Honey, how’s a girl like you gotten involved with a man like that?” She takes the silver chain holding her engagement ring off from around her neck and places it on the table. “I said I would marry him.” The private detective just sighs and closes his eyes despairingly, but he’s a decent man and wants to help. “That’s okay. We have places that can help. There are damn good women’s shelters around here, we can protect you—“ “I think you’d better go.” “I’m sorry?” Sarah just looks at him as she places the necklace around her neck once more, resigned to the fact that it’s too late for her. The only thing she can do is try to make sure no one else gets hurt. And this man being here is putting his own life in danger. He leaves very reluctantly, but he can’t force Sarah to do anything. And he promises that if he doesn’t hear from Sarah within a certain time frame, he'll give a letter to her parents telling them that she loves them. After that, she cuts off contact with everyone she cares about, and goes as off-grid as possible. She has to get serious about hiding and running now. 

Tangerine can still find her. He finds her a total of three times. She manages to slip away two. Each time he tells her that he loves her, he’ll never hurt her, he wants her back. Upon discovering that she knows everything, he assures her that he’s never truly lied about anything. But he’ll tell her everything from now on. He won’t keep anything from her if she wants to know, but he won’t say anything she doesn't want to hear. She knows everything now, she sees him in his entirety, will she please come home with him again. And Sarah does see the real him. She sees the man that utterly adores her, and the monster that makes her question her own morality. She’s never taken kindly to people accusing doctors of playing God, and she doesn’t think it right for him to play God with other people’s lives. She doesn’t like the pseudo moral righteousness of Tangerine more often than not killing those involved with organized crime, men who often sell, beat, rape, and murder women and children. He kills men who are scum, and thus his actions could be framed as some sort of service unto humanity. But she doesn’t enjoy the notion of justifying murder– for do those same men not have wives and children who will mourn their loss? It's not her right to place a value on another life or to end it, her calling is to ease the suffering of others. She still questions herself, berates herself for still loving him like she does though she's helpless to stop it. She’s still trying to fight the inevitable, but it’s a losing battle. The fear is waning every time he comes to her, the longing for him is ever growing, the relief at seeing him is near overwhelming. It’s getting harder to leave every time. So when he finds her at a train station that final time, both of them have reached the end of their rope. Tangerine catches up to her but keeps his distance lest he spook her. He's out of breath from running, his three piece suit a disaster in his rush to get there before she slips away once more. And he finally tells her, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry for all of this! I never wanted this for you. Please, love, I want you with me… But I…I understand if that’s not what you want. I love you, but if you step onto that train, I promise you’ll never see me again.” He means it, and he’s willing to keep his word. For the first time, he is willing and able to love Sarah unselfishly, and in turn Sarah is finally willing to be selfish. “Do you still love me, Tom? Really love me. Not because you want me to keep quiet. You really did before, didn't you?” Tangerine can’t help but snap a bit because, “Of course I fucking do! I never stopped! Bloody hell, woman, why do you think I’m here chasing after you?! Why do you think I asked you to marry me?! Sarah, I love you!” She can’t help but smile even if the tears are running down her cheeks. Tangerine prepares himself for his heart to leave with her on that train, only for the girl he loves to run and jump into his arms. The cold air of the train speeding past washes over them as does the relief and elation of finally coming together. He kisses her slowly, adoringly, and asks again if she’ll be his wife. She says yes. He tells her to be a good girl and put her ring back on then. She laughs and waggles her ring finger in front of him, showing that she’d been wearing it the whole time. 

Sarah and Tangerine begin to settle back into their life together in London, though it takes time for Sarah to put the pieces of the life she left behind back together again. There was always open communication between them before, but this time it's easier with no secrets. Sarah can establish the boundary that if Tangerine is going to continue with his work, she'll never help him and Lemon with a job. She'll never be a part in harming someone else. But she will always patch them up when they come home, and he better not get himself killed or he'll have her to answer to. She's got a cute little stern frown on her face and her hands on her hips as she tells him this, and Tangerine just melts. He agrees, because he doesn't want Sarah involved in his world. She's too good for that. But taking care of others, especially those she loves? That's just who she is. Yet a man like Tangerine in Sarah's life is a poison, regardless of how much he tries to protect her. Lemon and Tangerine tend to not see the long term consequences of the various jobs they take. To them, each job is an isolated incident. They feel as outside contractors, they retain the right to bounce from contract to contract without any sort of comeuppance from the various crime syndicates they interact with. Things don't work that way. The Twins work in the fringes of organized crime, but mob bosses do not take kindly to losing their underlings at the behest of another mob. Tangerine and Lemon can take contracts from the Italian/Russian mobs and the Yakuza all they want, but they really are foolish to think there won't be consequences. Especially when they have people in their lives they care about. So when Tangerine and Lemon take a contract to get rid of some Russian mob members for other organized crime bosses, they set off a sequence of events that seals all their fates.

After Tangerine and Lemon kill a group of Russian mobsters in London, the mob’s first instinct is to kill them. Until the local Russian boss (naturally someone who falls under the umbrella of the White Death's control) realizes they're talking about The Twins. This guy likes The Twins, they've done good work for him in the past. It's a shame that they accepted a contract against the Russians. Instead of killing them and losing their future value completely, the boss decides to remind the Twins why loyalty to a good paycheck should never be broken. To not bite the hand that feeds them. The order is given to hurt the people close to them as a reminder to behave themselves. (Can't have Tangerine and Lemon badly beaten, then they'll be useless for any upcoming jobs.) After a couple of the Russian mobsters have been tailing the Twins for a while, the only person they see with them consistently is Sarah. And considering the one with the mustache is the one who seems to be in charge of accepting contracts and she's his girl, all the better. 

Sarah never saw it coming, and Tangerine wasn't there when it happened. Sarah has just finished her shift at the hospital and is just about to pop into one of the shops, before heading to where Tangerine and Lemon plan to pick her up. Sarah walks along a little side street, a short cut to the closest convenience store. A route she has traversed dozens of times without incident. A sudden large hand on her shoulder forces her to turn around, two hulking men with tattoos before her. Before she can pull away and run, before she can fight back, or yell for help, one of the Russians has a knife buried in her belly. The shock of the injury leaves her dazed at first before the knife is pulled out, warm blood following in its wake. She's stabbed again, the agonizing pain that suddenly hits her would make her scream. Instead, it steals her breath as does the force of the blade being driven into her. Five stabs in total, four in her abdomen and one in her chest. Sarah collapses after she staggers away a few steps. The other man roots through her purse taking her ID as she struggles to breathe, struggles to speak past the searing pain with every movement. Her scrubs are soaked in her own blood, and she focuses on not passing out. She hears the two men speak in Russian, doesn't know why her mind latches onto that detail. She tries to look at their faces, but it's a fog, and she knows it's because her blood pressure is dropping. She also knows the signs of various organs and blood vessels sustaining damage during a stabbing. She knows that her injuries aren't good. But she just has to wait for them to leave, wait until they assume she'll be dead soon, and then she can properly put pressure on the wound, call an ambulance, call Tangerine– her phone smacks onto the pavement before a heavy boot crashes down onto it. A heavily accented voice tells her, “Tell him he should have known better. Tell him to be on his best behavior. We know where you live.” Sarah nods weakly and finds herself alone. If not for her injuries, she'd question whether or not those men had even been there at all, or were they just phantoms from the shadows? She yells for help as best she can. She tries to get her phone to work to no avail. She tries to get up but realizes that sensation in the lower half of her body isn't as good as it should be. She can't rise to her feet, and she doesn't have the strength to drag herself along the pavement. Her breathing sounds suspiciously wet. The only warmth she can feel is her own blood. She puts pressure on the wounds with what little strength she can muster, forcing herself to stay awake. It's a losing battle. She's slowly dying. 

Despite Lemon’s rebukes of needing to trust Sarah more, that she's just running late, she hasn't run off again, Tangerine can feel something is wrong in his gut. As Lemon is chastising his brother, Tangerine pulls up the tracking app that he's once again put on Sarah's phone. The one she still doesn't know about. Lemon is about to tell Tangerine off further when the look on his face makes him pause. He glances at the phone. The little dot signifying Sarah's phone is stationary. Lemon assumes it's because she's in a shop, while Tangerine feels his heart drop into his stomach. She's stationary in an empty side street at night. Tangerine can't help himself from rushing out of the car to where Sarah is according to his phone. He keeps calling her, and she doesn't pick up. A visceral fear takes hold of him, worse than the turmoil he felt the mornings he would take up to discover Sarah had run away from him again. He gives up using the phone to call her and yells out for her instead. It's a flash of teal, the color of her scrubs, in his peripheral vision that allows him to find her in the dark and quiet of the side street. He's on his knees beside her in a second, and his heart is pouring out over the pavement along with her blood. He doesn't even recognize the tears in his eyes as he dials 999 and tenderly takes Sarah in his arms. He gently encourages her to wake up, holding her close to give her his warmth, her blood soaking into his clothes. She's pale and clammy, she's groggy and her eyes are a little unfocused, but she's alive. She's looking at him and saying his name, and therefore she's as beautiful as she's always been. His lips are all over her face and though Sarah can't return the affections, she's appreciative of the warmth. He asks Sarah to tell him what to do to help her while they wait for the ambulance. Instead, she tells him about the men who attacked her. All the fragmented details she vaguely recalls and the warning they had left her with. Sarah asks Tangerine to be careful, and the fact that the woman he loves is dying in his arms but her kind heart is more worried about his safety, breaks him. She's never seen him cry. Very few people have. But he holds her close and weeps in worry and regret, kisses her lips to cease the gentle reassurances falling from her lips. “It's supposed to be me telling you it's okay, not the other way around.” “Tom, tell me everything is going to be okay.” “Everything is going to be fine, love. You're going to be fine.” And he makes a silent promise that he'll kill them for this, but saying it out loud will make her worry. “Love you. Always have. You know that right? Love you so much Tommy.” “I know. I love you too. So much that I won't get mad at you calling me Tommy.” It makes her smile but barely. His voice is barely above a whisper as he continues, “I've never loved anyone like I love you. You're my dream girl, you know. I've…I've wished for you my entire life. Please don't leave me yet. Stay awake for me Sarah.” Her eyes fall closed, her breathing shallow. Lemon comes to his side as the sirens draw closer. Tangerine’s desperate pleas for Sarah to wake up go unanswered. 

Lemon has to help the EMTS to get Tangerine to let her go so they can get Sarah in the ambulance, and he drives them both to the hospital. He sits with Tangerine the entire time as they wait for updates of Sarah's condition, squeezing his brother's shoulder or neck in reassurance. Tangerine lets him do it more than once, a sign of how distraught Tangerine is. Lemon apologizes to the nurses at reception when Tangerine snaps at them if they refuse to give him any information for privacy reasons. Lemon helps ease the burden of the brief encounter with the police asking initial questions about the incident. But they won't know more until Sarah is out of surgery. Lemon urges Tangerine to clean himself up in the bathroom, because Sarah will hate to see him look like such a mess. Lemon is also right beside Tangerine as one of Sarah's closest friends at the hospital comes out to speak to them. The look on her face says everything before the words tumble from her lips. Lemon is there as his brother's heart shatters before his eyes. Sarah died during emergency surgery due to the severity of her injuries. Lemon takes hold of him as a grief so profound overtakes Tangerine that he nearly sinks to the ground. The last of Tangerine's strength is the only thing keeping a scream erupting from his throat and sobs wracking his frame. Tangerine never liked to cry, not even when they were kids. Lemon never had that problem, and he still doesn't. His eyes shine with tears for this brother and the girl who he looked forward to having as a sister in law. His friend. Lemon pulls Tangerine to a quiet place and says nothing as his brother falls apart. It's the first and last time Lemon has ever seen Tangerine mourn anyone in their lives like this. And he realizes with the greatest despair, that Sarah was the first and last woman that Tangerine had ever or would ever truly love. 

Tangerine is never the same after he loses Sarah. His hurt morphs into anger, a wrath against others that reaches new levels. Tangerine was not Sarah's husband legally. He was not her next of kin. He had no say in where she would be buried. He was certainly not welcome at her funeral. Regardless, he lingers in her Canadian home town to visit her grave, leaving flowers every time, often as he can before he leaves again. He and Lemon have another job coming up. Lemon thinks it's a bad idea. Tangerine has to work otherwise his grief will swallow him whole. It's wet work. And a part of him realizes that Sarah would be disappointed to know it's work that demands he takes the lives of others. But the ember of compassion Sarah fostered within him left along with her. The next job the Twins take is the Bolivia job. Tangerine accepted it because the group down there supposedly had connections with the Russians. The Bolivia job was an absolute blood bath due to his rage born from grief. A showcasing of his wrath. There was no compassion. No humanity. The rumors spread about The Twins begin to refer to them as “insane” and “psychopaths”. Tangerine likes that. The Bolivia job made him start to feel better, though it can never begin to fill the empty space inside his soul. The only regrets Tangerine has about the Bolivia job is how unprepared Lemon seemed to be for it. And that his newfound reputation as a psychopath was not given to him in time to save Sarah. He often thinks that if they all knew what he was really capable of, then maybe they would have thought differently about touching what was his. Maybe Sarah would still be alive. 

The butterfly effect of Sarah's death leads to Tangerine being how he is by the time he and Lemon step on the bullet train to Kyoto. His anger lingers. He snaps at Lemon much more than he used to, but Lemon doesn't really take it to heart. He knows when to push back and when not too. Tangerine’s fuse is a lot shorter than it used to be. He's polite for the most part, but cold with others. He's always attracted the attention of women, and even a few men, but his overall demeanor shows that he is completely unavailable. Tangerine can't even begin to think about being with someone else. But Lemon also knows that Tangerine's heart has not gone cold, it's broken. Where Lemon forgot the innocent civilian they caused the death of, Tangerine remembers. Mainly because he thinks of how upset Sarah would be over it. What little conscience he has left is the small piece of Sarah that lives on inside him. But at the same time, he can be derisive towards the pain of others. He's remarkably callous when talking about the fatal accident of the White Death's wife. Tangerine understands that pain, to him Sarah was his wife, but he doesn't feel sorry for the White Death. To Tangerine, he's part of the Russian mob, so there's a sense of vindication. A sense of ‘it sucks to lose her, doesn't it?’ But the irony is, Tangerine couldn't possibly know how full circle things have come. The Russians took Sarah away from him, he played a part in the chain of events that lead to the White Death's wife dying, and by stepping on that train, he's signed his own death warrant. Tangerine also holds no sympathy for the White Death not having left his compound because Tangerine has a thought process of ‘Well I got over it and got back to work. And you have kids. You've no excuse to hide yourself away.’ It's a thought process that holds the bitterness and anger of grief and a distinct lack of self awareness. Sarah's death is also why Tangerine frets over Lemon like he does. He wasn't there for Sarah. So when Tangerine finds Lemon knocked out in the silent car, he assumes the worst. It causes the seed of anxiety to bloom in his gut. By the time Tangerine gets kicked off the train and has to punch his way back in, his fear of it happening again has run away with him. He knows Lemon can take care of himself, but Lemon is the only person Tangerine has left. Tangerine's worst fears are realized when he finds Lemon in the bathroom. Lemon has been shot, and Tangerine wasn't there. He wasn't there again. He failed those he loves again. He's lost a loved one again. He's all alone. And something inside him snaps, the last link in the chain of events leading to the end of his life. 

Lemon has Tangerine cremated after his body is recovered from the crash site. He thinks about keeping the urn so he doesn't have to let his brother go. He thinks about spreading his ashes in numerous special places in England. They never talked about what to do if one of them died. Talking about it made it seem too real, but Lemon thinks that's silly now. He just wants to do what his brother would have liked, and the only thing he can think of is to let Tangerine finally be with Sarah. To let them both rest. Lemon goes to Canada, goes to Sarah's small town and sees it with different eyes than when he accompanied Tangerine with the intention of getting Sarah back. It feels like a lifetime ago. He almost breaks down at the realization that for Sarah and Tangerine it truly was a lifetime ago. He goes to the cemetery in the evening with a shovel, intent on burying the urn with Tangerine's ashes on Sarah's plot. An unmarked grave, but not alone. Lemon is interrupted by Sarah's mother. He hurriedly explains that he knew Sarah. That they were friends. Recites details about her that make her mother's face melt from confusion and horror to a bereaved smile as Lemon says a silly little phrase that Sarah used to say all the time. Someone else who really knew her daughter, bore witness to the wonderful person she was, gives her an odd comfort despite the bizarre circumstances. She nods at the urn, “Who's that?” “His name was Tom. He was in love with Sarah. He wanted to be her husband.” “Is he the Tom she was running from?” Lemon can't look at her as he nods and says, “Yes, Ma'am. But he loved her. He really really loved her, and he never hurt her. I promise you that.” “I know. I could tell by the way she talked about him. She was just as crazy about him. Even when she was scared of him, she adored him.” Lemon can't speak due to the tears, and Sarah's mom comes closer. “Were you going to leave him here with her?” He nods. “Yeah, but…I'm sorry, I'll go–” “Don't go,” she gently reaches out to touch Lemon's arm. Loss is a universal language, the companionship and understanding of another going through it a precious commodity. “I don't mind if you let him stay with her. I'd like that. I think they would have too.” Lemon is amazed at how kind she is, how giving and forgiving. But he realizes Sarah must have gotten it from somewhere. He can see Sarah in her mom, and as she helps Lemon dig a small hole to nestle Tangerine's urn into, he thinks about how he would have enjoyed getting to know her family. Would have loved the idea of him and Tangerine having a family with Sarah and her relatives. When they're done, and before he can awkwardly shuffle off, Sarah's mother asks if he'll come have dinner with her and her husband. A friend of Sarah's is always welcome in their home. Though she also asks that this be their secret for now, Sarah's father isn't ready to forgive Tangerine. And she also asks that Lemon keep the fact that Tangerine was his brother a secret for now once she finds out. Sarah's father isn't ready yet, but in time he will be. For now, it's important for those that loved them to be together. Because for Tangerine and Sarah to be remembered by the ones that love them is the surest reminder that they existed. 

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this! I hope you liked it! I swear I do love Tangerine and I do love Sarah despite the ungodly levels of angst. They are together forever at the end, and Lemon and Sarah's family have each other from that point on. In the spirit of Bullet Train, something good always comes out of something bad. 

[mariatesstruther]

Do you think Maria and Tess would immediately get along, or would it be a process to become friendly? Not due to woman vs woman bullshit but due to both having overly protective natures and Maria being (rightfully) hesitant/suspicious around Joel at first for his past actions that Tess has been his partner in all ways in?

yes! very much so! (full disclosure i have only watched gameplay of tlou and tlou2 and it was a while ago so im gonna be show specific here): i think if tess survived and made it to jackson to meet maria as she was in the show, it would be extremely tense—but still definitely smoother than it was in the show because of how much better tess is with people than joel.

her and maria would essentially be in opposing positions. maria would be protective of tommy and tommy first and tommy’s trauma first because that’s her mf husband, her partner, her everything (and i know most people assume from what is said in the show that tommy has only been in jackson for maybe a year or shorter or since he stopped contacting joel—i actually suspect he stopped contacting joel because/after he found out maria was pregnant. it makes communicating over the radio way more of a pressing risk. considering tommy and maria are MARRIED and she’s already months along, id think they would have been partners for a few years, if not at least half a decade. that’s a long mf time in the world they live in, even in the place as nice as jackson. so yeah maybe her and tommy haven’t been through quite as much as joel as tess, but they’ve definitely been through a lot and enough—so much so that they got married and are excited to raise children together. they’re a team).

and of course, tess would be protective of joel and joel first and joel’s trauma first because that’s her mf husband, her partner, her sub, her everything. she’d be pissed at tommy for leaving joel and then even more pissed at him for not radioing, mostly because it puts her partner in distress.

i do however think tess would be less combative with maria and more just cautious, because i do think she’d be objective enough to understand why maria feels what she feels. she’s heard how people talk about her and joel around the QZ, and she knows how threatening and dangerous they seem: it’s literally by design. she’d probably think maria would be an idiot to not be cautious of her and joel, honestly. i don’t think she’d be offended by it, moreso impressed.

i also think maria would’ve been far less cautious of joel had tess been there, because let’s be real—those two situations would look very objectively different to maria in terms of ellie’s safety, which is what she was concerned about in the first place.

and furthermore, i think maria would hear enough stories about tommy’s time with joel and tess to understand where tess is coming from, as a woman who also needs to do what she’s gotta do to survive. i think they’d see a lot of themselves in the other woman in almost an instant

so ultimately, there’d always be respect between them

also, i know i just mentioned them but @hypnotisedfireflies wrote a chapter of The Ensemble (so sorry im unable to link rn!) that i think covers this dynamic beautifully, based off a prompt i wrote to them on anon because i was too shy to tell them how amazing drifters is and didnt have this blog yet 🤪 i really recommend it to anyone wanting more maria and tess!!

[lovecolibri]

I’ve seen people say we shouldn’t assume every female character is there to be Buck’s and Eddie’s LIs but the thing is; it has happened before. Not to mention, when I visit 911 hashtag on Twitter, there are plenty of locals who wish for every girl they introduce to the show, to be their girlfriends. I even saw someone say they want Buck to date Marisol even though they had less interaction than her and Eddie. People are already going crazy over Buck and Natalia, when they had 3 minutes together and all they did was talk about death. That’s why I agree with what you said, about the show not being clear enough for general audience, but enough to keep the fandom going.

Yeah, while it would be nice to not have to go through the "uuuugh, another love interest?!" every time a young woman breathes near the set, people react that way because the show itself has proven time and time again that they are only bringing these characters on as love interests 🤷🏻‍♀️ And for some people it's no bother and that's fine! But some people would rather prepare themselves ahead of time so they don't get blindsided and that's fine too. (Also, we know the show has changed tack a few times when the reception for stuff isn't great so I'm team "it's fine to call a show out when it's trying to do dumb shit and maybe everyone will get lucky and they'll change course.)

I...do not have Twitter and every day I'm reminded that's for the best, but I do sometimes see things and I remember people on Instagram shipping Eddie with May in season 5 and my coworker thinks Carla and Eddie need to get together because she's so good with Chris (as if Buck isn't RIGHT THERE and Carla doesn't have a whole ass husband at home) so I'm sure there are people already being happy with "hot people standing near each other". Couldn't be me though. I'm a sucker for a good love story and for good chemistry and none of these random women hold a candle to Buck and Eddie's chemistry together. Also, entirely outside of Buddie even, I would just rather watch both of them talk to each other and the firefam about things instead of wasting screentime introducing new characters for several episode arcs so they can talk to them instead. Like, it's happened enough times, Buck and Eddie both learned the lesson they needed to with their last girlfriends (Eddie more so because the BT breakup was nowhere near what it should have been wrt Buck walking away because he was miserable), I don't need them to learn the same lesson in a slightly different font.

I have BEEN a casual viewer of other shows before and been absolutely *blindsided* by a couple getting together that I didn't even clock until they were kissing so it's not like shows don't do this already, but Buck and Eddie deserve an epic love story that's more than just "implied" by little things we see.

[themanywomeninmyhead]

The Caged Bird: Chapter 3: Settling A Debt

Peaky Blinders OC: Nurse Flo matches witts via letters with Thomas Shelby over the years as their lives lead them on separate but similar journies.

Pairing: OC(Florence Bell)/Tommy Shelby

Muse Insert (Will Post a Y/N Version As Well)

OC Aka Flo Belongs To Me

Time Period: 1924 (Season 3)

Warning: 18+, Violence, Suggestive Language, Eventual Smut

Ch.1 |Ch.2 | X | Interlude |

“What can I do for you Pollyanne?” Thomas said as he sat on the edge of his desk glass of whiskey in hand and an exhausted look on his face.

His Aunt Polly stood next to one of the bay windows looking out at the lawn, fingers working to light the cigarette in between her lips. Turning she raised a brow at him and inspected him from head to toe before replying.

“You don't much look like a man who is set to be married and just under a month.”

“As you know Aunt Polly the work doesn't stop just because I'm getting married.”

“So it's not because you don't actually love her?” She asks watching as the end of the cigarette finally bloomed to life, and she inhaled slowly savoring the taste of it.

“Now what would make you think that?” Tommy said an edge to his voice as he knew that Polly had never really liked Grace. And he needed the only woman in his life who was like his mother in every way possible to like his future wife.

“Don't catch an attitude with me Thomas Shelby I've known you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper. And I may be old but I'm not stupid. I know very well that you're doing right by her because you got her pregnant. But I also know that you never look happier than when you're looking through the day's mail and see an all too familiar envelope.”

Tommy looked up from the contents of his class like a deer stuck in the headlights. He had always been a rather private man. Making plans and contingency plans before he ever spoke a word about the thoughts that were going through his head. Florence whose hands had one time been inside him holding him together and her letters were one of his best-kept secrets. Of course, Tommy knew that he could lie but who better to call him out on his life than the person who knew him better than anyone else.

Sitting down his glass he stood, walked around his desk, and picked up an envelope. Inside the envelope was an invitation which would go inside a package along with a gift that might be the last gift and a letter. He had been agonizing over sending these things for months, ever since he proposed to Grace in fact. When he looked up at Polly it was like a blast from the past. All she could see in the pleading baby blue of his eyes was the same little boy who had just lost his mother. Who just needed someone to tell him what to do.

“Her name is Florence Etta Bell. And if you were nice and she liked you well enough she would let you call her Flo.”

“Florence is a beautiful name.”

“Oh, Aunt Polly she is exquisite, and sometimes when I close my eyes I can still hear the sound of her voice as she laid into me in a way that would make you proud. She never let me get too big for my breeches as she was sewing me up. Or allowed me to seduce her as she bandaged my wounds.” He said so much longing in his voice that Polly had the urge to send people out to bring her to him herself.

The man, no the boy had never allowed himself to want anything for himself. Doing what was right for his family and for his community time and time again. But He talked about her with the fervor of which the like was only comparable to the family business. It made Polly sad because what type of woman had managed to so thoroughly ensnare Thomas Shelby? And why had he allowed himself to become so infatuated with Grace instead of working to bring this young lady to his side?

“I'm assuming she comes from good stock and that's why you're not marrying her?”

“Grace came from good stock.”

“Grace was a spy who then got married, cheated on her husband with you, and got pregnant. This will be her second marriage after her husband offed himself. May he rest in peace.” Polly pointed out tapping her cigarette so the ashes landed on the floor and pointed the red hot end in his direction.

“Flo-”

“Flo is it? She likes you well enough to let you call her by her nickname but not marry you?”

“Aunt Pol, please! Just listen to me for just a moment.”

“Fine…fine.”

“Flo was an orphan and she moved to France from the United States for a better life. She is brilliant and exceptionally talented. The one nurse that did not discriminate against any of the men and boys who were brought to her to take care of. But Flo….. is a colored girl from the deep south of which I don't care but she was very quick to point out that the world would. And I-I'm a monster and she is as close to Heaven as I will ever get.” He sighed shaking his head as he tossed the invitation in the trash and packed up the letter and gift for tomorrow's post.

“Oh, Tommy.”

“So how! How Polly do I ask someone who has worked tirelessly to better herself and live a better life than what was handed to her to come down into the mud with me? And I know we're better off than what we were before I went to war. But we are still fighting and clawing our way up and people are dying and if I lost her because of my own stupidity.”

Polly stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray and rounded the desk taking Tommy's face in her hands. It was the first time in a very long time that she had seen him so very afraid. She had always been a little scared that his ambitions would lead him to never being able to know love. That as close as he would ever be able to get to it would be obsession because of how his relationship with potential lovers was almost clinical. Having all the same hallmarks of a well-laid-out plan with no spontaneity. But here he was agonizing over the safety of a woman who would probably never be his. She must have loved him in her own way. If she continued to right after all these years. Never asking anything from him or using him to further herself.

“Shhh Tommy, darling. Nothing will happen to her. I swear these words and her name will never leave this room or my lips willingly.”

“Y-You were right before. I am doing right by Grace because it is my fault just as much as it is her fault that she's no longer married to her first husband. And while I don't regret my son I regret his mother. It is probably cheap of me to say this because she is a living and breathing person with feelings but when I first slept with Grace she was a distraction. And you know me I have used many a man and a woman as a distraction in the past.” Tommy explained as more than a dozen different faces and names of people who had gone into his bed knowing there would be nothing more than sex. Unfortunately, Grace had come at a time when the call of the void had been especially tempting. Where the only thing keeping him above the water was his family and Flo’s letters. So Grace….the terrible singer, the protestant, and the spy was like a lighthouse. Dim and barely visible through the storm but still a tangible thing he could touch.

“But I allowed myself to get so wrapped up in her as a replacement for what I truly wanted that it tainted my judgment. And when she appeared in my life again I went spiraling down that same rabbit hole of obsession. So I will marry her, I will give her my last name and make her the lady of my house because that is the right thing to do. But the guilt of her will lay on my skin like a veil for the rest of my days. And I may never truly love her the way that she hopes and the way that she deserves.”

She wanted to lie to him and tell him everything would be okay. That in time that he would learn to love Grace. All throughout history people who married for circumstances and not love have learned to do it and he could too. But Polly was not that type of woman. She herself had not married out of duty but because she loved her husband. Which was one of the reasons why when he passed she never remarried. And it made her heartache at the idea of her nephew who already carried the weight of the world on his shoulders adding this to his burden as well.

“Tommy If you are going to do this you do it because you want to. Not because the world would think you are less of a man if you didn't. not because anybody else told you to but because it's what you want. Because if you must marry and give up what you truly want and desire you must make peace with that decision before you walk into the fire.” Polly said releasing her hold on his face and dropping one of her hands to his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. She already knew that he would throw himself into work, the family, and the bottle in order to ignore the sting in his chest. Because if he never stopped moving he would never have to acknowledge the damage that he had done to himself. Cutting out his own heart and set it aside in order to uphold antiqued and ridiculous social standards.

“I will support whatever decision that you make. I just want to remind you that you're going to have to live with it. And bare in mind that Florence who has had no say in this decision will also have to live with it.”

-

Dear Florence,

By the time you read this I will be married. It sounds odd just reading what I wrote but it is the truth. I don’t want you to think that my feelings were disingenuous or fleeting because they were not. You and the time we spent together was some of the happiest moments of my life. But I messd up and because of that I feel wrong it would be wrong of me to continue this contact. I have never been the sort of man fit fo you. But I hoped in my hearts of hearts that maybe if I worked a little harder, did a little more that I can have my cake and eat it to. I know I never mentioned it in my letters but the bride has given me a son my first child; Charles. It is Grace the songless bird that you poked fun at me about.

Might I ask if there was ever a chance that the two of us could have been more? Maybe with time, you would have seen me as more than a criminal maybe even as a man. Do you remember when I told you about my first love and how I held her hand as she died? I thought that no one would ever be as important to me as she was. And perhaps I am mad to think it but to me you were. You have always looked at me with no expectation but to be myself. never asked anything more of me than what I could give. And never looked at me with fear or disgust in your eyes. It was easy, too easy to fall in love with you; which was like a dream that I was so afraid I would one day have to wake up from.

I have woken up now and in the future and concerning my wife I will no longer be writing. And with respect to you, I know you probably no longer want to receive my letters or gifts. Along with this letter, I have sent one last token of appreciation for me to you. Which is a letter of recommendation from a rather prestigious peer. And I already know that you won't want to know how I got it. You can use it regarding that young child that you have been helping to raise in order to send them to a better school. My hope is that they will have a chance at one day matching the brilliance I have often times seen in you.

Of course, it's not fine jewels, teas, books, or clothing like usual. But something that I think you will see the value in all th same. If this is the last time that I get the chance to write to you I want you to know I appreciate this. These brief reprieves from the real world and glances into your life have been something to look forward to. Outside of the hustle and bustle that became my life, your letters became something that I could forward to at the end of a long day. I will miss the times and can only hope that I occasionally cross your mind every now and then.

Your Humble Friend,

Thomas Shelby P. S. Florence you have never struck me as the praying type but I would like to request a blessing all the same.

-

Dear Thomas,

Congratulations are in order. It's odd that I never pictured you as the type to get married. Or to have a child out of wedlock or to even have a child at all. There is no doubt in my mind that fatherhood suits you very well. Charles? That’s a good name I’ve enclosed another package containing the essentials for a growing boy. There is no need for you to apologize to a person that you have no obligation to. We were not lovers nor were we going steady if anything we were simply friends. Or at least that is probably what I will need to tell myself for a little while longer while I get used to the idea of it all.

Thank you, I know it probably sounds cold instead of saying that I love you back. but I truly want to thank you. Reading between the lines of your letters and actions has been the only time in my life when I felt like someone loved me. Not that my parents didn't love me or even the people who work under me and who I treat as my family. It is just that men have a way of wanting to own you. Of desiring to shut you up from the world, isolate and consume you as if you're meat will sour if you open your eyes and realize their true intentions. But with every letter and small token that I received from you, it became clearer and clearer to me that you didn't want to own me. That you thought of me as your equal even as you struggled underneath the false delusion that you needed to become my equal.

Since this is the last time that I will likely hear from you I feel as though it's the perfect time to be a little bit more sentimental than normal. Though I do not want you getting ideas in your head. I still think you're too terribly ambitious and that one day it'll get you killed. and you are a terrible rake of a man. and I quite feel sorry for your wife; I believe you said it was the songless bird, Grace. She's only known you for a very short while and does not know what she signed herself up for. It has been 5 years since the last time we saw each other and coming up on 10 since the first time that we met. I am so very proud of you Thomas. You have managed to drag yourself and your family from poverty into the lap of luxury. And I have no doubt in my mind that you will continue to chase the lifestyle in which you can best keep them safe.

Atticus is his name. His father passed during the war leaving his mother to try to make ends meet on his pension. With the money that I paid in order to buy their family home Atticus will be able to go to a rather nice school as long as he has the grades and now he has a recommendation as well. I think this might be the most lavish gift that you have given me, even more so than the rubies and pearls. Even though you yourself never went on to higher education the fact that you understand the value of it makes me very happy. With these documents, Atticus will be able to secure a future not only for himself but any children that he will have down the line and maybe even further.

Did I ever tell you that my family is descendant from a long line of priestesses? Dating all the way back to the shores of the motherland on my mother's side. I suppose that's why we got along so well when you spoke about how you would convince people that you would curse them as a child. My mother never taught me the ways but left me with a book or two. So I will give you a blessing. Thomas Arthur Shelby, I hope that you live a long and prosperous life. I hope that it is full of calm winds, good luck, and smiling babies. I hope that you get everything that you deserve in life and more. And that when the debt comes due that it will not take any more than you owe.

Your Friend,

Florence Bell

P.S. It was ever so hard to write this without the ink running. I don’t think I’ve cried like this in a very long time. It seems you have made me feel Tommy.

[hekate1308]

Fictober 2022, #26

Prompt: “I’m doing it, shut up“

Fandom: Death in Paradise

Rating: G

Pairings: Camille/Richard

Richard is not nearly as much a stickler for rules as she first assumed, or he pretends to be – really, he loves playing the stiff British man despite a tendency to bend the rules when he can and feels it’s right.

Even so, Camille knows that, between the two of them, she’s always been the one to think on her feet and perhaps do things in a rather… unusual way, rather than check the rule book. It’s part of the reason she did so well in undercover work.

Richard, for the most part, has come to accept that she will now and then rush in where angels fear to tread, and has even more than once covered her tracks when it needed to be done.

Anyway, here they are, watching Dan Allen drink in a bar. He’s suspected of being responsible for at least sixty percent of the contraband that flows into Saint Marie, and of course Richard feels very strongly about this, strongly enough that he didn’t complain when customs asked them for help.

“If we could just talk to him…” Camille muses.

“Yes, but we don’t have any evidence that would hold up at court” Richard reminds her.

“Look at him and tell me that man isn’t guilty.” Before he can say anything, she adds, “Yes, it’s a gut feeling, but humour me.”

It’s one of his sayings she has adopted, and it seems he accepts her request, for he frowns at Dan. “I suppose he does have a certain… air about him.”

“What gave it away” she says dryly as he knocks back another drink. “Say, we can’t talk to him as police, but he wouldn’t mind speaking to  a pretty woman who happens across him at the bar, would he?”

After all, one of the few things they know for sure is that Dan Allen is a bit of a womanizer.

“Camille, you’re not saying…”

“What? No law against it, is there?” After a pause she cannot help but add (as has become somewhat of a hobby for her because… well… she loves to see how he reacts) “Unless you don’t think I’m good-looking enough to catch his attention?”

“I – I didn’t say – of course you are – there is no – I just don’t think that –“

"I'm doing it, shut up" she decides because she can see that Allen is getting ready to leave, and she really wants to get something out of this – well, apart from having had another excuse to spend some time with Richard, but that’s neither here nor there (Again, as he would say).

So she gets up and, without giving Richard a chance to process, walks up to the bar, guessing correctly that he is the sort of man who prefers to approach the woman, rather than the other way around.

“Hello there beautiful.”

She forces herself to smile at him and is about to greet him or make some flirtatious comment when she sees the look in his eyes and the alarm bells start ringing.

She has met her fair share of men, and she knows that look. This is the kind who won’t accept No for an answer once he has decided he wants someone, and they can’t risk –

She decides to play naïve and simply ask, “Yes?”

But it seems that Richard read her body language correctly, because even as Allen licks his lips like a predatory animal and gets ready to answer, he calls out, “There you are, my love!”

And he strolls up to her, looking much more confident than he usually does – play-acting, she realizes. “I’ve been looking for you!”

He hesitates and she makes a split-second decision to press a kiss against his lips, since they are clearly meant to be together. Richard blinks at her, but quickly recovers. He turns to Allen. “Hello, I’m the husband.”

Camille takes his hand and, to her surprise, sees Allen back down. He must be one of those who doesn’t like being challenged by other man, since he immediately backs down.

They leave soon after that.

“Richard, thank you so much. Really” she says as soon as they’re a few streets away. “I had a bad feeling about this. You played the jealous husband rather well, really.”

Richard flushes scarlet and clears his throat, shaking his head. “Yes – well – it wasn’t difficult, not at all –“

A pause.

“To pretend” he then hastens to add, “That I was jealous. Or your husband. That’s what I meant.”

“Of course” she agrees happily because it’s too late – she has already realized what actually happened, and her heart is singing in her chest.

Not that cold and British after all, just as she knew all along.

She steps up and kisses his cheek. “Still – thank you. Again.”

When she pulls back, his face is still bright red, and she can only laugh.

She is ready to bet the next weeks and months will be very interesting in more ways than one.

[bradsmindbrain]

Russallis reactions to a lost puppy wandering over to their camp?

Puppy

Summary: During a walk through the woods, Jack and Ted stumble upon a lost canine.

TW: None

Ted enjoyed the woods that Jack’s backyard was connected to. Surrounded by nature, almost never another person in sight, and most importantly, an effective cover for getting to Jack’s house. So it was no surprise that he and Jack found themselves walking through it, simply taking in the sights and in Jack’s case, the smells. Jack had thought just walking through the woods would be a nice change of pace for them, rarely did they spend time enjoying nature while they were together, even when in the Everglades. 

He was the first one to notice the dog as they walked, a tiny golden retriever puppy, leash and collar still attached. He grumbled.

Jack turned to face him, a smile on his face, “Yes, Teddy Bear?”

He rolled his eyes, of course this just had to happen when he occasionally called Jack “Puppy” as a petname. He grumbled to clarify, pointing at the dog.

Jack’s eyes lit up, and he scrambled towards the dog. He gently picked it up, moving close to his face, “Poor little guy. Are you lost?” He gently patted its head as it liked his face. He watched Jack check the dog’s collar, turning back around to face him, “His name is Buddy!”

Buddy looked at Ted, giving a happy yip when he spotted him. It was odd, the dog didn’t seem to react with fear at all, but perhaps that was because Jack was holding him. Speaking of, he was more surprised Jack hadn’t reacted with aggression, he had expected Jack to see the dog as a threat to his territory or something similar, but it seemed like that wasn’t the case.

Jack approached him, holding Buddy up, “Come on Teddy Bear, he wants a pet.”

Tes did as he was instructed, gently rubbing the dog’s head before Jack pulled him back into his arms, cradling the canine. He grumbled, curious at what they were going to do. 

Jack tilted his head to the side, a gesture Ted had come to associate with Jack thinking or being curious, “Well we should take him back to his owner. They can’t be too far from here. I guess they took him on a walk and he got loose.”

He watched as Jack brought Buddy up to his face, visibly sniffing the dog. He knew Jack was an excellent tracker, he supposed it was to be expected given Jack’s wolf-like nature. After a moment, Jack pointed off into the distance, “That way.”

And so began their trek, Buddy in his husband’s arms as he followed close behind. He found his husband’s interactions with the dog to be quite cute, wiggling a finger in front of the puppy’s face and scratching his chin. He supposed that Buddy’s young age coupled with Jack’s wolf-like nature had led to the odd paternalism his husband was currently displaying towards the puppy. That was just a theory though, he was pretty sure most anyone would treat the puppy the same way Jack did. 

He’d always been fond of dogs, even before Jack entered his life and even before his accident. His family owned a handful of dogs growing up, and he loved all of them to bits, and seeing Jack play with and tease Buddy reminded him of those simpler times. Perhaps that’s why he found Jack’s dog-like mannerisms to be so endearing, as it reminded him of those happy years during his childhood. 

It wasn’t long until they heard a woman shouting, “Buddy? Buddy, where are you?”

He gestured to his husband to go forward as he laid down on the ground, trying his best to appear as an inconspicuous mound of plants. 

He heard Buddy yip as Jack moved farther and farther away, “Is this your dog, señorita?”

He heard the woman gasp, “Oh my God! Buddy, you found him!” Buddy yipped as he was reunited with his master.

“Me and my husband found him while we were walking through here. I sent him to look for you the other way,” Jack said and he assumed his husband gestures back the way they came.

“You’re a lifesaver, Mr…” the woman trailed on.

“Russell,” Jack interjected, audibly smiling. 

He heard Jack and her talk for a while, mostly just her profusely thanking him and Jack assuring her it was no big deal. Soon, he heard her leave, and once he was sure he was gone, he stood back up, Jack standing right in front of him. Jack smiled, “First a kid and now a puppy, I think you attract cute things just as much as you attract trouble, Teddy Bear.”

He rolled his eyes at the comment, grumbling.

Jack grinned, “I’m just joking, big guy, but you have to admit, Buddy was pretty cute.”

He gave a grumble in response, nodding his head.

Jack stretched his arms above his head, “I think that’s enough hiking for today, let’s head home.”

He grumbled, rubbing his hands together.

Jack nodded, giving that usual goofy grin, “Yeah, Italian sounds nice. I’ll order some when we get home. Maybe if we’re lucky we can pull a Lady and the Tramp with the spaghetti.”

He just rolled his eyes as they prepared to head back to Jack’s house, his husband was so stupid, but so, so funny.

[hightidelowmood]

* meet cute!!!! Meet cute!!!!! Mary Winchester is cute af such good casting. Literally adore her! So pretty! Exactly how I would assume a young Mary w would look!

*‘See you around soldier boy’ excuse me did Jensen know he got picked up as soldier boy when putting this together cos LOL love that subtle nod.

* AHHHH NANNA WINCHESTER IS A FOX OOOOOFT I have the biggest crush!!!! She’s so sweet! already adore the shit out of her

*‘my husband and kid walked out on me’ ok ok ok mummy winchester no worries.

* ‘time to let the past go kiddo’ John winchester doesn’t just let things go…

*it’s very clear that Dean is much more like Mary than we thought! Ooooo who is Maggie!??? Also mary exercising a demon wheewww

*hahahahaha John winchester freaking out about demons is so great! I wish I could recall who Maggie is?? Did we ever cover Maggie??? Is she in canon?

*oh oh oh who is the man that gave that letter to John???? Is that man of letters????? wait so john’s dad was a man of letters??? Why are both their dads missing???? I adore this!

*oh his dads dead dur

*the chemistry is great! Well done to Jensen / casting people, these two already have me wanting them together

*This is extremely adorable that John is so accepting of demons and he’s just accepting it. Like literally demons? Weird bunker under ground no worries totally normal whatever

*was John always that tall??? Can we get a side by side of John and Mary???? Or Jeffrey and this actor??? Like he’s pretty tall… is he taller than Jared???

*side note - can’t wait to see them at the winchester panels and Comic-Con’s hahahahaha

*What a big bunch of shoes to jump in for this actor… how do you play Jeffrey Dean??? Hahahaha anyway, back to business

*soooo glad we’re covering man of letters and this will be their home base… it begs the question why didn’t John know about this in supernatural??? How was he not familiar with this man of letters base for him and the boys??? Does that get covered? Do we ever get closure on this? I feel like I didn’t pay enough attn to spn beczhse I’m feeling like John winchester from spn didn’t know about men of letters.

*don’t worry son… I know how to trap it awwwwww god bless John! So accepting of this whole demon situation I just like this energy, doesn’t even think twice just decides to be a demon hunter, what career????

*lubbock Texas ok ok ok we have flickering lights here we go! What demon is going to possess this woman???? Run lady run!!! Oh oops she wasn’t fast enough

* Mary drives a bad ass car and of course John is waiting by her car hahahaha oh we’re on a hunt!!!!!! Yay!!!!! Also adore that Mary is so stand off energy with John is in love. Mary is literally like please fuck off I don’t want to love you / like you energy and he’s very much golden retriever energy

*John hating his dad for keeping hunting away from him is so funny because he learnt about that and decided not to hide hunting from his kids… so weird

*oh we have an English accented chick

*PTSD John that’s so sad ‘I think I’m being haunted’ well ok… I love that they’re opening up to one another. I like that we’re seeing a heavier side of them as a pre couple. It’s clear they’re going to fall in love but it’ll be a slow burn - it’s also nice that John is likely going to have a few episodes where he’s dealing with the fall out of loosing his close mate

*i can’t get over the fact that Dean is so much like Mary in mannerisms and Sam so much like John in mannerism

*carlos hehehehehehehe ‘come on rookie.. learn something’ oh oh we are totally going to love Carlos ~johns first exorcism, well done john 😂 ‘jimmy, Janis, hahahahahaha wait is johns real name johnathan???? Excuse me????

*oh oh we officially are in Samuel’s hunting stop? He maps his hunts the same way that John did in season 1 of spn that’s interesting and slight nod

*carlos being ?bi is so great, so glad they are going down this route! Well done!!! How is the Winchester’s more progressive than spn???

*the English girl is definitely a great addition, she’s like the walking encyclopaedia, she’s giving fred from angel the series or willow from Buffy, the intelligent walking encyclopaedia that every Scooby gang needs

*☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️maggie… who the hell is Maggie???? Why does Mary think it’s her fault that whatever happened to Maggie happened???? Who is Maggie guys????

*carlos is my favourite character I just know it

*john is so caring, so sweet, such a darling ‘maybe we can be nervous together’ god bless him, imagine he was this sweet in the original series it’s so nice to see this beginning of him, the young version of him makes me appreciate and love the Jeffrey Dean Morgan version of him cause you just know there are many layers to this character 😭

*yes!!! Who is Maggie?!!!

* she’s a hunter like Mary, a vampire of course, a sister to Mary and Mary couldn’t save her and I’m emo, 18 years old and gone

*🥺Mary wants out

* back story time about Mary and how she wants to walk away :( how she’s so sad that her mum and dad put a knife in her hand ahhhh that’s so sad and that’s exactly what John did to their children 🥴🥴🥴🥴that’s so sad

*although we’ve already gone through that backstory in the original series it’s nice for them to cover this in this series so new viewers know what’s happening hahahaha and when and if they go down the route of spn they’ll understand the level of OUCH Mary felt when she saw her two babies these amazing hunters but so sad for herself and the life they could have had ugh I’m emo

* Mary is soooo in love it’s so cute!!! Her big smile at him makes me LAUGH!!! they just vibe so well together. Anyway we just jumped down a well? That is heavily guarded… oh my god wtf is that??? A loogaroo

*did John really cut his arm open for Mary to buy her enough time to get it out of there?? That cute sacrificial thing is such a winchester trait

*surely Carlos isn’t going to o get his ass beat this early in the fold????

*mary is kicking some sweet demon ass and John is fighting a dinosaur looking thing odd odd definitely weird ok he just cut off it’s head how very winchester of him

*side note mary kicked some demon ass but only threw John a knife? As if he could fend for himself the level of sureness she had in his abilities to fight the dinosaur

*oh! Mummy winchester owns a whole ass garage where she fixes cars???? Aww mum winchester wanted nothing more than to be like her dad and then she fell in love with john’s dad and ☠️☠️☠️☠️

*mum winchester literally just said ‘I knew I would do anything to keep you safe, when you have kids you’ll understand’ and I am crying big real fat tears

*wait who voiced john’s dad’s voice???

*no John don’t go down this road please ‘saving people, hunting things, I was born to do this’ ugh John please and also what happened to Johns mum? Did we ever deal with that? Was that covered in spn??? Also wish he said ‘saving people, hunting things, the family business’ 🫣

*lata, Samuel would be proud of you! You kicked some ass!

*ada confirming John looks like his dad and telling him how kind he was is so lovely esp. for John winchester because it’s clear that by the time we hit spn Johns so lonely and sad and seeing this bright and happy version of him with the weight of the world not on his shoulders ugh I’m crying again

*oh oh we are going on a road trip to savannah and that’s when Mary winchester gets heart eyes for John winchester 🥺

*acreada my man’s who r u and why u trying to end the world?????

*oh my god Jensen!!!!!! ‘Until then I will keep picking the music’ oh my god the fucking goose bumps call the police on me right now and the impala baby ugh perfect pilot!!!!

[treadmilltreats]

Why are you still sending pictures of your junk?

So if you follow me, you know that I used to write about this a lot while I was on dating sites. Then I had enough of men doing this, of men just wanting to text and never wanting to meet or men who clearly couldn't read my profile and just wanted a hook up. I took a year off of dating because I had had enough. After a year, I decided to try again. Omg! Well, things have not changed!

Men are still out here, just wanting a texting pen pal and never wanting to meet. Men are still lying and saying they want a relationship but are only looking to hook up. Men still can't or won't step up and then there are still the ones who have this burning desire to show off their dicks!

Yes, we all know about them if you are a women, the "Dick pic guy"

The guy who after a few good mornings, and how are you texts, decides out of nowhere that he must show you his junk.

And BAM! There it is, a good morning picture of his junk in what he thinks is, all of his glory. Well, after only less than a month back at dating I got not only a dick pic, I got a dick video!

We were actually going to go on a date. I texted him and said I am jumping in the shower and would text him when I was on my way.

He replied “You should send me a picture”

I ignored the comment and jumped in the shower.

When I came out of the shower, there was a message from him. He had sent me a dick video. Well, I wrote back: "At least I didn't waste my time getting ready to meet you, now lose my number." Seriously? Wtf?

Look, I get it. If this is your boyfriend or husband and you want to spice things up, then it's good, you're playing together, and it's okay. But when you just meet someone or, in my case, haven't even met him yet and then they decide to do this, It then becomes a Wtf??

Like in Wtf... is wrong with you?

Wtf...why would you think I want to see your junk? Wtf... all junk looks the same?

Or my very favorite.... Wtf... Don't send your picture of your junk to a woman who has been with a black man (It's not an urban myth!)

One guy said, "So you're assuming I have a small dick?"

I responded, "No, I no longer have to assume!"

Seriously! I am going to cut you down, insult you, and then I will send it to all my girlfriends, and we will laugh at you.

Oh yes, we all do this, and we ask all the Wtf questions to why you think we needed or wanted to see this.

Some of you should be embarrassed to send this to anyone... ever!

Some need some serious manscaping. Some are just nasty with hanging, saggy balls...Yuggh, please, it's not all that, trust us!

You've seen one junk. You've seen them all.

(Ok, maybe not..refer to paragraph above about urban myths)

To add insult to injury, this last one was while he was on the toilet first, and then he took it in the shower with him....

I'll wait till you stop laughing....

I can't make this shit up, people!

Ohhhh...like that is so sexy, in a dirty bathroom no less.

Do they think "Oh, I'm going to send this picture of my junk while I'm on a nasty toilet and this woman is going to cream in her drawers and come running over with her pants down to have sex with this sexy beast!"

Really, this is what you must be thinking inside of your pea brain... Why else would you possibly send this?

Wait... Sorry, I'm still laughing... See Mr. Dick pic, this is what we are doing... we are frigging laughing at you! This is not sexy, this does not turn us on, this makes us mad actually, that you think we must be some kind of women that after 5 texts that it would be okay to do this or that we would welcome this behavior.

Did we ask about your junk?

Did we discuss anything sexual? Did it say anywhere in our profile that we wanted to hook up? No! So where in the world did you think it was a good idea?

It's not! It never will be! So stop sending them, unless, of course, you want to be in my blog about saggy balls.

Seriously... just...just don't send them, ever!

Dating today is hard enough. We don't need to see pictures of your nasty junk that probably isn't all that when it comes down to it anyway. Let's be real. It already shows us all we need to know about you, what you want, and who you are, so I'll be betting it's all about you in bed as well...

Next....swipe left....delete.

This makes me want to go back to not dating again.

So today, my friends feel free to send this to all the men that send you these pics.

And to my guys who follow me, send it to a friend who needs help keeping it in his pants. Share it everywhere, as there are many men out there still doing this.

Speak out loud and clear and help me start my new movement...

#dontsendmepicturesofyourjunk

#Wtf

#nosaggyballs

It's okay...I'm still laughing, too!

"Be the change you want to see,"

@TreadmillTreatsCheck out my daily blogs @ https://treadmilltreats.blogspot.com/?m=1

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[sunderedoldfriends]

@atdutiesend asked: [ shock ] for sender to find receiver covered in blood and delirious. { Phobos for Hades and/or Hythlodaeus }

Hythlodaeus quietly hummed to himself as he knelt in the garden, tending to the flowers of the home he shared with Phobos and Hades, the men he loved and vowed to cherish until it was time for them to return to the star together. And even though life had not always been easy, it had still been good and for that he was grateful. Little did he know that this beautiful day would change their lives forever.

When a visitor walked up the path to their home Hythlodaeus rose to meet them, though he hesitated for a moment when he realised who that visitor was. Demeter. Phobos‘ mother.

For a moment Hythlodaeus narrowed his eyes, he was prone to sending her away, Phobos was not here anyways, but when she requested a meeting with Emet-Selch he assumed he couldn’t simply turn her away. Emet-Selch would have to decide what to do with her.

Taking the woman up the stairs and to their study felt strange. She wasn’t supposed to be here, this was Phobos‘ home, his safe haven, and Demeter was nothing more than an intruder. On top of that did her soul just look.. wrong. Like there was something malicious beneath it, usually hidden but laid bare by Hythlodaeus‘ excellent soul sight.

„Hades, can you please come here? We have a guest.“

And Emet-Selch wore the same judging expression on his face as he looked upon the person that had come to request a meeting, and it was then that the pleasant smile on Demeter‘s face turned into a wicked grin.

Only in that moment did Hythlodaeus notice the knife she must have hidden somewhere on her body and he was too slow to react and had it not been for Hades she would have struck down the lavender-haired man right where he stood, but instead his husband had moved, stepping protectively in front of Hythlodaeus and he could only stare in horror when the blade sunk deep into Hades‘ chest. The light of his soul faded almost instantly when Demeter pulled the knife out and Hythlodaeus tried to catch him but he slipped through his shaking fingers and fell to the floor.

„Hades!“

Of course he wanted to tend to Hades first, to try and save his life even though a part of him already knew that he was gone, but then he was grabbed by the his robe and pulled forward and he gasped softly when the knife buried itself deep in his stomach. Again. And again. His knees were threatening to give in, but Demeter held him up bis chin, forcing Hythlodaeus to look into her eyes. And all he could see on her was all-consuming hatred.

„Why..?“, he asked weakly, not understanding what could drive someone to commit such a cruel crime. Her answer would forever be burned into his mind. This was a reckoning.

"How... disappointing. Your pedigrees are sufficient; if she had the sense to focus on important matters none of this would have been necessary. But with both of you out of the way, she'll snap out of this defiant delusion."

Then she let go of him, letting him fall to the ground and leaving them to die.

The blood loss already made his limbs feel as heavy as lead, but Hythlodaeus managed to drag himself over to where Hades collapsed and even though his breathing had already ceased he pressed his hands to the wound on his chest. But he had no magic and there was nothing he could do to bring him back. Hades was gone. Because of him. Because he wanted to protect Hythlodaeus‘ life.

Tears streamed down his face as he eventually collapsed next to Hades‘ body, slipping his hand into the one of the man that saved his life.

„I‘m sorry, Phobos.. I‘m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to protect us. I‘m sorry you have to come home to find your dreams shattered once more.. I’m sorry..“, Hythlodaeus whispered into the silence as blood began to drip from his lips and in resignation he closed his eyes, awaiting his fate.

Hythlodaeus did not know how much time had passed since Demeter left, his life slowly seeping out of him, clinging to his dead lover, and when finally he heard footsteps approach fear gripped him. What if Demeter was on her way back to finish the job? What if she had changed her mind and decided to attack Phobos as well?

But no, he heard soft feet approaching. Oh, how he wished he could spare Phobos this sight, but still Hythlodaeus reached his hand out toward the other‘s soul as he breathed one word in a broken and barely audible voice:

„Phobos..“