#even if we had; i doubt i would’ve given a shit THEN??

[fingertipsmp3]

Full disclosure I do not care if someone copies me. I quite literally do not give a shit. Maybe it’s just because I’m 28 and getting mad about someone “copying” you is high school shit, maybe it’s genuinely not a big deal, I don’t know. I could run into someone who’s wearing the same thing, head to toe, that I am and I would neither notice nor care

[watchyourbuck]

There’s some people on Twitter saying that if Eddie were to have a queer storyline he’d necessarily have to come out as bisexual because otherwise it would be like – and I quote – shitting on Shannon and Chris, and I just wanted to come in here to say that that makes absolutely no fucking sense. I don’t think anyone here has ever doubted the love Eddie has for Shannon, even after her passing. Particularly after 7x05, with the context of the now canon catholic guilt, Eddie being gay (not that I think he’d label himself anyway) would complete a puzzle for him. This man was brought up in a catholic home, with catholic teachings, and I can tell you from experience that most of those schools intervene in every aspect of your life and not just your studies. He has said it himself that the reason he married her was because she was pregnant, which again, is a very common catholic view of life – and I’m not speaking deprecatingly – but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love her, or his son. Eddie loved Shannon, he would’ve given her life for her, and I also know he never used her as a beard, nor has he done that with Ana or Marisol. He’s never used any of the women in his life, and in fact, he actually broke up with Ana the second he realized his heart wasn’t in it. Eddie Diaz is a good man who’s had to unconsciously and subconsciously hide parts of himself, and even though all we can do is speculate about his sexuality, his coming out as gay would not destroy his family, it would actually only strengthen it, considering he’d be more comfortable being who he is, regardless of who he’s with.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Making Arrangements Part One

Masterlist | Part Two

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting will be blocked.

Length: 6.1K

Notes: It's a two-shot! Part two will have explicit content.

No beta, we die like Billy Kimber

Warnings: Arranged marriage; mentions of prostitution; canon-typical attitudes toward sex; slow burn; enemies to allies to lovers; Reader has a brother and an aunt; no physical descriptions of non-canon characters; Reader gets drunk

Summary: If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future. 

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man. You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies. 

“D’you think you could bother to give them a smile?” 

On the face of it, it seemed a fair question, but all things considered, it made you want to punch Thomas Michael Shelby squarely in the jaw. You didn’t, of course—that conduct would be unbecoming of a bride in front of her new family. 

You’d been getting knowing looks from the women all night—pursed lips from Ada and Polly, and a wide smile from Esme. It was almost wolf-like, the way she watched you—welcome to the pack. 

“I could,” You conceded, nodding, casting your gaze around the party. The revels had only just begun. It was early enough that nearly everyone was coherent, on their feet, but you knew that in just a couple of hours, the party would likely turn to shit. These people would be drunk, coked out of their minds, dancing, and flirting…Probably fucking. You had no doubt that you would be expected to do your wifely chore that evening. 

Maybe that was why a permanent frown had been fixed on your lips from the time you’d put on your wedding dress, as you’d walked down the aisle, all the way through the fucking I Dos. 

“You’re still frowning.” 

You didn’t bother to hide your eye roll before you turned your head fully to look at him. He didn’t give you the same courtesy. He watched the revelers with the same bored speculation as you’d given them just moments ago. 

“And this is what your fucking grin looks like?” You snipped. He raised his cigarette to his lips, drawing in a deep drag that sank his cheeks. He managed to cast you a knowing glance, his brow raising. 

“It’s the most that you’ll get of me tonight.” 

“And of me. Don’t ask me to stoop to something that you won’t bother with. I’m your wife now. At least pretend to respect me in front of them,” You insisted, nodding toward the others. It took him a moment, but Tommy nodded. 

“And behind closed doors?” He asked. 

“That’ll be none of their concern. And you’ll have to take it up with me later.” 

“I intend to.” 

--  

You sat on the edge of the bed, and watched. All Tommy did was light up another damn cigarette. You weren’t sure if you married a man or a chimney. 

You could hardly believe that you had married the man at all. 

Your family had never been a big player in Birmingham, or Camden. You’d kept your head down, stayed out of the way, operated cleanly. When the Shelbys had come to you with a proposition, it hadn’t been for your minor operations in the UK—it had been for your connections in America. They were looking to expand, offered you a good deal, and a union between the two households. 

When it had first been brought to your attention, you’d thought that it was a pretty good idea. But when it came down the line that Thomas Shelby had specified an interest in marrying you, well—the thought had become less and less appealing. If you’d cared less for your family, or known less about the mounting tensions that they were facing overseas, you would’ve laughed the idea off. If you’d been involved with anyone, if there’d ever been a hint or a whisper of a beau recently, you might’ve been able to plead differently for your future. 

But you knew as well as your family that this was your best move, and with no great love waiting in the wings, there was nothing to be done but to marry the man. 

You secured your interests, the interests of your family. You gained a powerful ally—but you also gained powerful enemies. 

Tommy had spoken to you only once before your wedding day. The meeting had been brief, and he’d done all of the talking. He’d promised to protect you, sworn to never raise a hand against you. 

“You know as well as I do,” He’d insisted, “That this is the best way forward for our families. And I know,” He’d leaned in a touch, “That you want what’s best for your people.” He’d reached into his pocket and drawn out a small velvet box, setting it on the table before he stood, straightening his waistcoat. 

“You have until tomorrow night. I need an answer.” 

You’d sent him your reply—a single slip of paper sent with your brother Lewis that simply read: Yes 

“...It was a nice party,” You offered now, unable to stand the silence any longer. 

“You didn’t seem to particularly enjoy it.” 

“No one left with a bullet wound. In my family, we consider that a successful bash.” 

Tommy’s lips quirked just a touch as he nodded. 

“Our brothers seemed to get on,” You hedged, desperate to draw this out. You worried that once you stopped speaking, he may…Want to consummate the marriage. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. You’d heard rumors, whispers that Tommy was a good lover, but you weren’t sure that you were ready to find that out yourself. 

“They did,” Tommy nodded again. “Lewis and John already seem thick as thieves.” 

“Yes.” 

The two of you fell into quiet again, and it was a harrowing few moments before Tommy pushed himself off of the dresser. Your hands dropped instinctively to the bed, grasping at the sheets—but Tommy turned and went for the door. 

“G’night, then.” 

Your brow furrowed as you glanced around. Goodnight? But—

“Where will you sleep?” 

Tommy stopped in the open doorway, nodding behind himself. “I’ve a room down the hall.” He turned away, adding, “Shout if you need something.” 

You hesitated a few moments longer before you sprung up, darting forward and shoving the door closed before locking it. You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes and letting your forehead rest against the dark, cool wood grain. 

He didn’t take. 

You had gone into the room expecting shoving hands and a quick coupling, but Tommy kept his distance. You weren’t sure if you were more relieved or insulted. You turned away from the door, leaning back against it and peering around your dim new living quarters. 

Relieved, you decided. 

--  

Insulted, you decided. 

Tommy had the gall to lean in and peck your cheek when he’d come down to breakfast that morning. 

It took everything in you not to shove him away.

Polly made no comment on how wane you looked the next morning, nor did Ada or Esme cast you knowing grins or teases. They all watched Tommy, and the little slip of a shadow that you’d met last night—a birch-pale, dark-haired woman named Lizzie. 

You didn’t think that the news had made it back to your family—the fact that your husband had just spent his first night as a newly-married man with a prostitute-turned-secretary while you slept alone in an unfamiliar room wearing the lacy nightie that you’d bought specifically for your honeymoon. 

Esme and Ada excused themselves as quickly as they could, but Polly lingered, and offered,

“He’s a prickly sort, and these things take time. Men have their needs and urges.”

“...Right,” You pronounced crisply as you stirred some sugar into your tea, “And I’m a novice in a nunnery.” 

--  

“You should’a seen the girls at the party last night,” Lewis groaned.

For all of your irritation during the last few days, you’d been happy, truly happy to see your family enjoying themselves. Carving out your space in the literary scene of London and running a few underground print shops wasn’t exactly a serene existence. You constantly had to move operations, vet workers, stop-up leaks in production cycles and deal with snitches. Your entire family was dedicated to the business, but your brother was the most determined of the lot. Lewis had become the man of the house at a young age, after your father had been hauled into prison for treason. 

So to see him let loose a little—well, more than a little, truth be told—was a heartening sight. 

“I don’t think I would’ve quite enjoyed them the way you did,” You raised a brow, smile widening as he ducked his head bashfully, “But I’m glad you had a good time.” 

“And you?”

The pointed question came from just behind you. You didn’t dare turn to look at your Aunt Pearl. She knew you far too well. You could hide your feelings and concerns well enough from Lew—you had plenty of practice. But Pearl had been a motherly figure, a guiding hand in what would’ve been an otherwise rudderless life. She learned to read you like an open book when you were young, and you had been powerless to change the way that she understood you, even as the seasons of your life had passed. 

You turned your head back toward her just a touch, biting the inside of your cheek as you waited for her to go on. It was a few moments of quiet before she urged: “Lewis, go get some air.” 

You drew a deep breath in through your nose, fighting to steady yourself, and giving Lewis an encouraging smile and nod before he stood, pushing away from the kitchen table and heading outside. You saw him tipping his head back toward you, trying to catch on the line of questions that Pearl was about to level—as if neither of you knew any better to wait until he was fully out of earshot. 

“Who’s Lizzie?” She finally asked. You weren’t sure how to answer at first. You scrubbed your hand over the back of your neck, making sure that you heard the door shutting behind Lewis. 

“It’s just…Growing pains,” You finally offered, gaze set stalwartly on the table. “Every couple has them.” 

“Where was he last night?” 

“How should I know?” “He’s your husband. You’re supposed to know.” 

You didn’t have a chance to argue before she strode closer, her hand resting on your shoulder. You didn’t flinch, or draw away. You were used to her hand on your shoulder, her nails digging into your skin. She didn’t dig her nails in just now—she merely rested and waited. 

“Growing pains,” You finally offered again as you looked straight ahead. It was as if Polly had her hand on your other shoulder, and was staring you down in warning. 

“Pains?” Pearl repeated. “Physical?” 

You don’t want to answer, but—

“Emotional,” You blurted. It was another moment of quiet before she hummed. You stopped yourself from turning to look at Pearl—to catch the no doubt heavy judgment in her dark eyes, and the twist of displeasure to her small mouth. 

“I see.” 

“It’s early,” You insisted. She hummed again, stepping around you to walk toward the window. It didn’t take much to glance over, to see where Lewis was playfully fighting with John and Finn. 

“Do they know?” Pearl asked. 

“About where he was?” You shook your head. “I’m sure his brothers do.” 

“And?” 

“And what?” You scoffed. “It’s no business of theirs. Our marriage is between myself and Thomas.” 

Pearl turned to face you with a crisp smoothness, her eyes narrowed as she cocked a hip.

“And that’s all you have to say about it?” She asked. You pursed your lips. You had plenty to say about it, but it would land on deaf ears. Any of Pearl’s meddling would spell trouble, and you weren’t about to sic the dogs less than twenty-four hours into wedded bliss. 

“Yes,” You nodded firmly. Pearl’s eyes narrowed further before she hummed, turning back toward the window. 

“...This is good for us, Pearl,” You reminded her. “The Shelby’s are strong, they know what they’re doing. I just have to hold up my end.” 

“And what end is that?” 

“That of a doting wife.” 

“And mother?” 

Doubtful. Thomas couldn’t even be bothered to touch you as it was. But it was early, you reminded yourself. Things could still change. Things would change. They had to. 

“Perhaps,” You leveled evenly. “Someday. Time will tell.” 

“Time,” Peal repeated, nodding as she rounded you. “Well, if we’re going on time, so far, you’re not managing it particularly well.” 

You slid down in your seat a little as Pearl finally left the dining room. Your interest in the day’s paper had been sapped; your tea had gone cold. You didn’t want anything to do with Thomas Shelby, or with his family, not anymore. If you were going to make it through at least one year of marriage, you needed to nip this in the bud. 

-- 

“I need to talk to you.” 

Tommy didn’t so much as glance at you, his gaze trained steadily on a horse. You waited a moment, shifting from foot to foot, but perhaps you shouldn’t have waited. You’d spent nearly two weeks waiting. Maybe he hadn't heard you? You stepped a little closer and raised a hand to touch him. You couldn’t bring yourself to make contact, and your hand curled in on itself just before it could brush his waistcoat. 

“Thomas?” You pressed. 

“I’m busy.” 

“When can we speak, then?” 

“Tonight.” 

Certain that he meant it earnestly, you turned away and left.

But the evening came and went, and you found yourself sitting alone, stewing in front of your uneaten dinner and eyeing his empty plate. The house was too quiet, and your thoughts were far too loud. You needed to clear your buzzing head—you wanted a drink, and some fun. 

-- 

“You can’t let them push you around.”

The warning was spoken knowingly. You knew that she was right, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Esme’s eye. Her gaze was so heavy, so all-knowing—nothing like the bright, uninterested gaze that Thomas often offered you. But Esme was having none of it. She dipped her head into your field of vision and clapped her hand over yours where it rested on the table beside your drink. You shook her hand away lightly, reaching for your drink instead. Maybe coming to the office to nip out of the bottle Polly kept in her desk had been a bad idea. But you couldn’t bring yourself to just sit in that house and rot in your anger. 

“No one is pushing me anywhere,” You grumbled.

Esme let out a soft, cruel chuckle. 

“I know what it is,” She insisted, “To come into this family and feel on the outside, feel that you don’t have a voice. Becomin’ a Shelby doesn’t erase who you were before.” She reached out again, taking up your drink and drawing in a deep pull before you could argue. As annoyed as you were, you knew that she was right. You nodded slowly, topping the glass up when she set it back down. 

“...Should I not bother replacing Polly’s alcohol, then?” 

Esme’s smile grew as yours did, and the two descended into quiet giggles. 

-- 

“We need to talk.” 

It was steely when it left you this time. Despite that, Thomas still paid you no mind. In fact, he went out of his way to take his time drawing on his cigarette before fishing into his waistcoat. He pointedly drew out his pocket watch, flipping it open and eyeing the time. The tick tick tick of the second hand passed for several long moments before he flipped it shut again, lifting his gaze to the hustle and bustle of the office around him. 

“Later,” He offered. 

Later, always later. Weeks of later, of hearing Lizzie’s footsteps and the creaking across the floor as she left the house before you were up and about for the morning. Weeks of sitting alone in that empty house, putting on a brave face for Pearl and Lewis. Weeks of anger and shame eating through your gut. 

“Now,” You spat.

He turned his head toward you, brows ticking up. You could feel the pace of the others in the shop around you slow just a bit, and speeding up again as Thomas shot them a glance.

“Alright,” He murmured, resting his hand on your lower back. You let him steer you toward his office, resolute in your irritation. He opened the door for you, waving you inside and shutting the door behind the two of you. 

“What is so urgent that you pulled me away from my work?” 

“Your work of watching other people count your money?” You quipped in irritation. 

“...What is it that you want to discuss.” 

“You need to keep your whoring private.” 

Thomas’s brows jumped with intrigue, his chin tipping down toward you.

“Explain.” 

“I understand that we went into this with our eyes open and a mutual understanding that the actions that we were taking were for the good of our families, but to the rest of the world, we are husband and wife. I will not ask you to stop your carrying on, as I can't imagine that you’d abide by it if I did, but keep it private. I will not step out on you publicly, and I expect to be given that same respect.” 

Thomas blinked before he straightened, pushing away from the door and stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk. He muttered something that you couldn’t hear, and you frowned. 

“Pardon me?” 

“Publicly,” He repeated firmly. “You said that you wouldn’t step out on me publicly.” 

“I did,” You nodded. 

“Do I get to know the lucky man’s name?”

Your face went hot with indignation. Was he trying to embarrass you? Whether he was or not, it was working. You folded your arms across your chest. 

“You’re missing my point.” 

“I take your point. You want me to treat you as my partner, and as my wife, you have that right.” 

“And will you?” 

“You can trust me to be discreet.” 

“I don’t trust you to do anything.” 

Thomas’ expression closed off, his eyes narrowing a touch, and your stomach twisted with nerves. 

“And might I ask why.” 

“What have you done to earn it? In our, what, two weeks of marriage, I have hardly seen you. You’ve made no point to acquaint me with your family or your business, and you’ve spent your nights down the hall with another woman. I’m not your wife, I’m a boarder.” 

Thomas considered for a moment before he gave a short nod. 

“I understand. I will make changes.” “Thomas—” 

“I will.” 

You pursed your lips together, pushing a sigh out through your nose before you gave a small nod of concession. 

“Alright.” 

“Anything else?” 

“...No.” And, just to seal the deal, “Thank you for your time. And for listening.” 

Thomas nodded, straightening up and opening the door for you. You strode toward it, and were nearly through before he rested a hand on your shoulder. You went still, turning your head toward him just a touch. Before you could get a good look at him, Thomas leaned in, brushing a kiss to your cheek. It was the most that he’d touched you since he’d kissed you the morning after your wedding. You thought that he may be making a show of affection for the office, but Thomas turned his head, brushing his lips against your ear.

“If I ever find out that another man has touched you,” He murmured, “I’ll take off the bastard’s hands and give them to you as an anniversary present.” 

You balked, shock wracking your chest as he placed a final kiss to your temple before he gave your ass a pat, spurring you into action and sending your scurrying back into the office, and out of his reach. 

--  

“It’ll be nice for you to fix up the place and make it your own,” Polly commented. 

“She was always going to get around to it of course,” Pearl insisted. You didn’t dare look away from the row of dressers. The one that you had in your bedroom was fine, but it was a bit small. You’d ordered several new pieces of clothing on Tommy’s account—well, on your joint account. Giving the name Mrs. Shelby had incited stunned, wide eyes from the shop keeper’s assistant and prompted fawning and a healthy discount. 

Still, as much as you were trying to bring your families together, you realized belatedly that in this case, it was an awful idea. Polly and Pearl had taken every opportunity to take digs at one another, leveling backhanded compliments with smug smiles and drags of their respective cigarettes. The two of them were so painfully similar, and perhaps that was why they seemed to hate one another so much. 

“Of course,” Polly echoed placidly.

“I want this one,” You pointed to the one in front of you.

“I’ll find the assistant,” Polly offered, brushing past you. You sighed heavily, shaking your head. 

“Please pull it together,” You muttered.

“I’ve nothing to pull together,” Pearl pronounced.

“Please,” You bit out again. “I can’t make any of this work if you and the others don’t, either.” 

You heard a deep sigh, chased by the tapping of her cigarette ash beside you. 

“I will be myself.” 

“I don’t need you to be yourself, Pearl. I need you to be pleasant.” 

A little knot of tension unwound as Pearl chuckled. 

“Becoming a missus really has given you fangs.” 

“I’d rather not use them, if possible.” 

“I understand.” 

“Thank you.” 

“...Are you going to give Miss Sourpuss the same talking-to when she gets back?” 

“Lord above.” 

--  

“You look like you’ve had a marvelous time.” 

Bringing Pearl and Polly to a somewhat peaceful place had been shock enough for that evening, but this took the absolute biscuit.

You might’ve yelped in fear at the sound of his voice if you hadn’t spotted the burning cigarette in the ashtray mere seconds before he spoke. As it was, you didn’t answer right away. You plastered yourself against the backdoor, your hands curled around your key and your purse. Thomas just arched a brow, expectant and silent. He wasn’t supposed to be there. You’d been told that he had business, and you had figured that once that had concluded, he would take care of other…Matters. You'd thought you’d have the house to yourself and have a nice cuppa before going to bed. 

You finally managed to push yourself forward, away from the door, your face hot with drink and embarrassment. 

“I didn’t think you’d be in,” You admitted. 

“You didn’t think I would be spending the evening in my own house?” 

“Esme told me there was a family meeting. She said that they can run late.” 

“You were misinformed.” 

“Clearly.” 

You watched Thomas warily as he drifted closer, going tense as he stepped around behind you. You hardly dared breathe for a moment, then let it out as you felt him slide your coat from your shoulders. 

“Thank you,” You mumbled as he stepped away with it.

“Were you with Esme?” He asked, tossing your coat over the back of a chair. 

“Mhm,” You nodded, taking a few steps deeper into the kitchen. “And Ada, Polly…And Pearl.” 

“Where were you?” 

“Polly’s house.” 

“Mm.” 

You watched Tommy round the counter, taking up a clean glass and a bottle of whiskey. You nodded, stepping closer. “Please.” 

He poured a good amount before setting the glass on the table. You sat down, watching him do the same. The light in the kitchen was low, casting an orange glow about the room. You felt almost like you were being interrogated as Tommy tucked his cigarette between his lips for another drag. You took your drink up in turn, giving your hands something to do. Besides, finding your husband at home had harshly staunched your blissfully tipsy mood, and you were desperate to get it back. Tommy made no comment as you took a deep swig, and you fought away a wince at the taste and burned as you gulped it down greedily. 

“How was the meeting?” You asked.

“Fine…Would you like to know what it’s about?” 

“If you’d like to tell me.” 

You figured he would let it go there, but he gave a short nod, offering: “We’ve reached a trade agreement with your man in New York.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” 

“Lewis can fill you in on the particulars later.” 

Your brows jumped. “Lewis was there?” 

“The business concerned him, I made sure he was in attendance.” 

“I’m sure he appreciated it.” 

He hummed, leaning back in his seat. You took another deep swig from your glass, but you couldn’t bring yourself to draw your gaze away from Tommy’s. He seemed so relaxed—though, maybe it was absurd to find a man relaxed simply because he had removed his suit jacket. Still, he looked irritatingly dashing in his waistcoat. 

“Tell me about yourself,” He ordered as you lowered your glass to the table. You cleared your throat, shaking your swimming head to try and clear that, too.

“Pardon me?” 

“Well,” Tommy plucked up the bottle again, topping your glass up. “As you have reminded me, you are my wife. I ought to know something about you.” 

“...Are you drunk?”

His lips quirked with a small smile. “No. But if you keep on like that, you will be.”

“I’ll be fine.” 

“If you say so.” 

“I do say so, thank you.”

“I have to be drunk to want to learn about my wife?”

My wife. It made you feel oddly warm as he said it…Though perhaps that was the whiskey. 

“We didn’t exactly have the most conventional courtship, or wedding,” You reminded him.  

“All the more reason for me to learn about you now.” 

“I don’t know where to start.” 

“How about with the things you like.” 

“I will tell you,” You nod slowly, “But only if you tell me about yourself in turn.” 

Thomas seemed to purse his lips before he sat up in his seat. He held his hand out, the gold of his wedding ring glinting in the light. 

“You have a deal.” 

You hesitated for a few moments, certain that he was putting you on. But when he didn’t draw it back, you raised your hand in turn, grasping his and giving it a shake. 

--  

The first hint of light made you wince and turn away. Your mouth was obscenely dry; your head was pounding harshly. You groaned, rolling away from the window. Oh…You did not feel good. Your head felt like it was going to burst; your stomach rolled like you were taking a rocky transatlantic crossing. Oh, god…Were you going to be sick?

You peeked an eye open, then squeezed it shut again. Oh, no. You weren’t sure which was worse, having your eyes open or keeping them closed. You hesitantly opened both eyes, then groaned more loudly, tucking your head beneath your pillow. No. Having your eyes open was definitely worse. 

You heard a harsh thudding, as if a giant has managed to get into your room. What on earth—

The pillow lifted away, and you tipped your head up into the cool brush of fingertips against your forehead. 

“How’s our Sleeping Beauty?” 

You weren’t sure what flustered you more: the teasing tone of Tommy’s voice, or the way the word beauty sounded coming out of his mouth. 

“Right as rain,” You mumbled. “Or I will be, once you stop yelling.”

His chuckle brushed your forehead. 

“Pearl is on her way to look in on you. Apparently Esme is doing just as well as you are this morning.” 

“I don’t wish this on my worst enemy.” 

“Rest up.” 

“I wasn't planning on doing anything else.” 

“Good girl.” 

Before you could ask, or argue, or throw a hand out to slap him on the shoulder, he brushed a kiss to your forehead, then drew away fully. You listened to the retreat of his footsteps, a pause, the scraping of the curtains being drawn closed, and the gentle scruuuuuuh—thump of him shutting your bedroom door behind himself. You only dared look around after a few minutes, when you were certain he was gone. You rolled onto your back, sighing and trying to ignore the thud-thud-thud behind your eyes. 

You feel like hell, but last night was sort of…Nice. 

Drinking with the girls and breaking down some of the barriers before your families had been a success, but coming home to Thomas was…New. It wasn’t unpleasant, as you would’ve previously thought. You scrubbed your hand gently across your eyes, trying to recall your conversation. You had it in bits and pieces—his love of horses, his devotion to his family, his worries for Arthur and John. You wondered if he told you those things because you’d been spifflicated that he didn’t think you’d remember a damn thing. But you remembered. 

You remembered the almost kind way that he’d smiled at you a couple of times. You remembered the way he’d taken your hand and led you up the stairs, steadying you when you’d wobbled and taken uneasy steps. You remembered him turning his back as you’d gotten undressed, waiting for you to get into bed before bidding you a goodnight. 

A knocking on the door drew you up from your recollection, and you winced at the sound. 

“Yes?” You croaked. The door opened, and to your surprise, two heads poked through. 

“You’re in a state,” Polly chuckled before Pearl opened your door the rest of the way. The two entered your room, each eyeing the furnishings that were soon to be replaced. You pushed yourself up, wincing as your head spun. 

“Had a night, did you?” Pearl settled onto the bed beside you. 

“Could you lower your voice, please,” You grumbled. 

“Did you go right to bed when you came home?” 

“I meant to.” 

“But you didn’t?” Polly chimed in. 

“No.” You winced as you raised your voice just a touch. “I…I had a conversation with my husband.” 

Polly and Pearl cast one another curious glances, so unlike the cutting looks they’d leveled at one another just a couple of days ago. 

“It was fine,” You added. “It was…” Nice? Enlightening? Something you would be happy to have again? “Cordial.” 

“Was he drinking?” Polly plied.

“We both were.” 

Polly and Pearl each hissed, chased by sympathetic tuts.

“You should’ve quit while you were ahead,” Pearl admonished. 

“I certainly know that now.” 

Polly took another look at you before she patted Pearl’s shoulder, offering, “I’ll put the kettle on.” 

“You’re a saint,” Pearl smiled. You sagged back against the headboard, scrubbing a hand over your brow as Polly disappeared.

“Since when are the two of you so friendly?” You asked. Pearl shrugged. 

“We’ve come to an understanding…As you have with your husband, apparently.” 

“I think it may be a very different kind of understanding.” 

“D’you mind if I smoke?” 

“...I don’t mean to sound harsh, but if you smoke, Pearl, I will be sick.”

“Better out than in.” 

“Please, no.” 

-- 

It wasn’t every night—it wasn’t even most nights, but you began to spend time with Thomas. It started with him coming home just as you finished dinner, and progressed to Thomas making it home just in time for dinner. Conversation wasn’t always freely flowing, and a few of those first dinners were a little quiet, and awkward. But as you spent more and more time together, those silences became more and more rare, and when conversation wilted, the quiet was comfortable. 

You still slept apart, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d heard Lizzie creeping out of the house as you awoke. Maybe she’d managed to work out which floorboards didn’t creak; maybe Thomas had stopped having her in the house…Or having her at all. 

You were certain that the second possibility was the most likely. It still wasn’t the ideal situation, but you appreciated it all the same. Not only had Thomas kept his promise and been discreet, but he was taking the pains to distance you from his romantic liaisons. It was…Almost sweet, all things considered. 

--  

“...What are you reading?” 

You jolted at the question, sucking in a gasp and dropping the manuscript that had been in your hand. Thomas’ brows rose as he walked deeper into the sitting room. 

“You scared me,” You grumbled. “How long have you been here?” 

“A few minutes. I called out twice when I came in.” 

“Oh,” You frowned. “I’m sorry, I must not have heard you.” 

“Clearly.” 

He walked deeper into the room, taking up the fallen manuscript and sitting on the green velvet settee beside you. You let your gaze linger, sweeping over him. His jacket had always been removed, though his waistcoat was still intact. His cool eyes swept over the page, brow furrowing a touch as he took in the content. His head began to turn toward you, and you hurriedly stood, rounding to the bar cart. 

“Would you like a drink?” You asked. 

“Sure.” 

You plucked up the bottle of whiskey, uncapping it and pouring a good amount. You rounded back to him, holding the glass out. He crossed his legs, resting the manuscript against it before he took the drink with one hand, patting the seat beside him with the other. You lowered yourself back down hesitantly, acutely aware of the way your thighs brushed. 

“What is this?” He asked, nodding toward the pages. 

“A book that was sent to us.” 

“Topside?” 

You smiled a little. Topside was how your family had always referred to the legitimate side of your publishing operations. You were certain that you and the others had said it around Tommy and his family before, but you were surprised he remembered. 

“Yes,” You nodded. 

“D’you like it?” 

“Ah…” You considered before you blew softly between your lips. “I’ve read worse.” 

“I’m not sure if that’s an indictment or praise.” 

You chuckled. “It’s got a good frame, but the writing is unpolished. Could be good, with a little bit of work.” 

“Will you work on it yourself?” 

“I may. Need something to do with my time.” It felt like the wrong thing to say as soon as you said it—but Thomas simply hummed, turning the page as he lifted his drink to his lips. 

“Redecorating hasn’t been enough of a challenge?” He asked after a moment. 

“Well it was, but I’m nearly through. The only room in the house that I haven’t touched is yours.”

“And why is that?” His eyes slid toward you, and the sudden shock of blue made your stomach flip. You shrugged a little, shaking your head. 

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.” 

Thomas nodded before he turned back to the pages. The two of you fell into silence, and you leaned in a little, reading over his shoulder.  

“...Dinner’ll be ready soon,” You told him after a few moments. He nodded, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth, away from you. 

“What’re we having?” 

“Roast chicken.” 

“Vegetables?” 

“Potatoes and carrots.” 

“Gravy?” 

“Of course. I’m not an animal.” 

Thomas huffed a soft laugh through his nose. He turned his head toward you a little, his lips brushing your temple. The touch made your eyes slide closed, your stomach fluttering at the sensation. You were so caught up that you nearly missed what he said next:

“We’re going to London tomorrow.” 

You frowned, glancing up toward him. “Why?” 

“I’ve a meeting.” 

“A meeting that involves me?” 

“I want you with me.” He turned his head a little more, nuzzling lightly against your hair. “Besides, it’ll be good for you to get out of the house for a bit.” 

“I get out enough.” 

“I think you could do with a bit more.” 

You hummed thoughtfully before you leaned away, patting his thigh lightly. 

“I’ll go check on the bird.” 

You only managed to get up and take a single step before Thomas caught hold of your hand. You glanced back as he raised it to his lips, brushing a tender kiss to your knuckles. The action was so small, yet so intimate that it made your breath catch in your throat. He gave your hand a squeeze before letting go of it, letting his arm drift up to rest on the settee. You turned away, hurrying toward the kitchen. 

Once you were alone, you braced your hands on the counter, drawing in a deep breath and pushing it out again. Your skin seemed to tingle where he kissed it, and you glanced down, as if you could see some discernible change. You shook your head, shaking your hand before you turned to the oven. 

Dinner, get dinner together. You could worry about Thomas’ touch and the trip to London later. 

Next Part

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[ohmigoshiloveu]

The Queen definitely dominated Shilo a lot, like we can all agree on that, right? That’s what normalized casually upending people’s free will to Shilo.

I’m just curious how far she took it. Shilo was capable of leaving his room and the castle, but was that because The Queen didn’t want to dominate him to never leave, or because that would’ve been a safety hazard? While Shilo was growing up did she dominate him whenever he wanted to stay up past bedtime? Whenever he didn’t want to eat his dinner yet? Whenever he asked one too many times to see the outside world, read new books, to have a friend? Did she dominate away tantrums, dominate him into sitting still for portraits, dominate him into apologizing after arguments?

Did she use her discipline to skip over all the times a normal parent would discipline their child or adapt to their needs? She’s an old, old creature, and grew up in a very different era, it might not have even seemed wrong to her, exactly, just a useful trick that let her speedrun parenting because she knew what was best for Shilo even if it deprived him of every opportunity to be a person.

Did that extend out to Jeffrey (assuming he’s actually their dad and not like, some guy that The Queen dumped Emizel on to hide him and just dominated into believing that he was Emizel’s father), back whenever they were dating/whatever the fuck led them to fuck? Did she dominate away rough patches, rewrite his memories of plans when something came up and she knew she couldn’t make it?

Did she ghoulify him?

Think about it. She’s this great, wise, powerful Queen of all vampires with enemies around every corner, and then she falls in love/?lust? with this frail, vulnerable human. He’s a weak spot that can be exploited, a hole in her armor, and that puts him in danger. His first line of defense seemed to be secrecy, but why not have his second line of defense be a bunch of blood points to use at will? Ghouls are stronger, heal faster, and even have limited use of disciplines! Heck, if she love loved him, then she’d be extending his lifespan so they could be together for all eternity, at the low low cost of his free will and independence. But hey, it’s not like he didn’t already love her, right?

I’m not sure what would’ve had to have changed for her to have cut contact with Jeffrey and Emizel, especially since she clearly didn’t learn any lessons because she still raised Shilo to be the way he is, but like. I just want you to imagine Jeffrey slowly transitioning out of being a ghoul once he’s cut off from The Queen’s blood, slowly realizing what happened, slowly realizing he’d had a kid while under a blood bond and all the fucked up shit that entails, and then having to wake up everyday and look at Emizel and be reminded of it all.

If he stayed away from The Queen under a level 3 blood bond then she probably explicitly told him to do so, maybe even dominated him into doing it, so even just taking care of Emizel might’ve been by her orders, and as he de-ghoulified he was actively choosing to continue to follow the last orders given to him by someone who put him through all of that. That might’ve strained his relationship with his son, just a little bit.

Idk if Charlie would’ve made things that dark, but I still doubt dating The Queen of a society that sees people as walking talking buffets went super well for Jeffrey.

[shinystealingbirb]

Some thoughts on Yanqing

I don’t quite know how or if Yanqing was shown in Honkai Impact, but I’d like to talk about my understanding of him.

Biiiiiiig cut.

I assume many think he’s a flat character. He’s a child prodigy who arrogantly took on two immortals leagues more powerful than himself, and couldn’t get over his loss. Right? Who went out seeking some strange person, who Jingliu almost treats like an amusing pet, who tried to shortcut his way to total mastery. Who desires a title of a championship rather than the art itself. That’s the mark of a flat character- no displayed motivation, and traits we’re told, rather than shown, exist.

This is what the game explicitly tells us. In fact, it takes pains to push this narrative, and in my opinion, it’s specifically because he’s never in our party. To Stelle, or Caelus, or whoever you play as, Yanqing will always be on the other side. He faced Dan Heng and Blade, who we controlled. He duelled Stelle and Kafka. Faced us under the voluntary control of a heliobi. The only time we control him is when Yanqing battles Jingliu, and even then, he was canonically alone. To the Trailblazer, he is a child. An irritatingly strong one, but a child nonetheless, ultimately a footnote in their journey.

So that’s what the game says. But I want to talk about what the game doesn’t really put out there as much, but becomes more obvious the more we encounter Yanqing.

It’s a little hard to explain- I got a kick in the balls when I went through the Fyxstroll Garden quests and got to Yanqing, but I’ll explain that in a moment. For now, allow me to begin with a brief explanation of his character in the way I see it, rather than what the game has taken pains to show us.

He’s a winner- all he’s done is win, and he is young. It’s all he’s known, training and success. He’s showered with praise that he easily tires of, and the General is the only one he spars with that consistently defeats him. This praise is the expectation, the norm. You must win can be a hell of a motivator.

So when he loses to Dan Heng and Blade, it rocks his fucking world. He had no idea where he was in terms of power- really, the only thing he had to compare himself to was Jing Yuan, and the gap there is enormous. He got a taste of a true life-or-death scenario, as opposed to the competition he’s accustomed to, and according to the heliobus, the two immortals- who are way out of his league- left him teetering on the brink of death.

In an attempt to discover his prowess, something outside of the meaningless praise and predictable spars with Jing Yuan, he was absolutely ripped apart by an undead Hunter and a reborn Elder. The worst part? The heliobus in the Fyxstroll quest says he would’ve died “if the hunter’s blade pierced him,” which could quite possibly mean Blade was holding back. Given he was in a rush to beat the shit out of Dan Heng, I doubt it, but it is a possibility that would add salt to the wound- being defeated without being cut once by Blade, only using the flat side of his sword to almost kill him?

So he’s aching from that loss. He got fucked up and knows exactly where he stands, and that’s the single greatest defeat he’s suffered in his life.

For some children, for those who began or became skilled, who build and build and gather ourselves, trying to fight good to become great, a fear we have to overcome is failure. And failure is the single more horrifying concept to a gifted child, the absolute worst outcome.

A normal person fails. Oh well. Time to move on with life.

A competitive or gifted child fails, it means something. It means the effort put in, every single move spent in our lives, every thought, every moment of practice or rest, even if not working on that skill specifically, was a waste of a life, and as failures, that child, too, is a waste. Failure is like death. The way I can best describe the feeling… your heart clenches. Cold sweat, a sudden mental blank. A spider crawls up your throat, and with every step your throat grows tighter, the sense of dread closer and closer until the spider has made its way up to your stinging nose, your tearing eyes, and you are humiliating yourself with those tears.

It’s hard for people who do not understand this to be empathetic. To these people, a loss like this is just a loss. Things like “you’ll get them next time” or “they were out of your league” are said, and these things will never be consolations.

We, the Trailblazers, do not understand why Yanqing goes back to it in his thoughts so often, why it is a pivotal moment for him, why it appears in his character lines, and why he speaks about that battle so ruefully. It was inevitable, we think, that he would lose, isn’t it?

Shouldn’t he know he would never have beaten him?

Of course he knows.

But Yanqing is a child. For all his power, all his cheer and skill, he is a child. He’s gifted, and loss stings really fucking bad if you’re gifted, if you’ve won and won and already realized that praise is false and results are king (his trace voiceline sounds so sarcastic when he speaks of praise.)

Now: we can go over Jingliu and Stelle’s battles if you wish- more salt in the wound, to twist the knife just a little more(loser, loser, loser)- but by far our most interesting encounter with Yanqing is in the Fyxstroll Garden quest.

He’s possessed by a heliobi who claims- and delivers- that he can teach any weapon and advance the soldier to a warrior beyond compare. Despite the memory-wiping effects of the heliobi after possession, I believe said possession- at least for this one- is voluntary.

After all these losses, Yanqing finds a spirit who pushed a Cloud Knight into something lethal, and the spirit tells him, “I have seen your losses, I see them inside your head. Offer me your sword; offer me your allegiance, your body, and I will make you great.”

Knowing he was almost killed for his naivety, knowing he has been painted as the enemy, knowing he has won and won for his entire gifted life, right up until he hasn’t… why do you think he takes it? Of course he’s desperate, of course there’s a nagging doubt, a painful needling that tells him hes not enough anymore, nothing is enough. Of course he allowed himself to be possessed.

After all, praise is empty. Results are king.

The real kicker comes when Jing Yuan gets there.

I think Jing Yuan’s reaction to Yanqing’s possession says a lot. He’s not surprised it was him, nor how easy it was to get into his head. He knows these things, understands they are part of growth and motivation. He is only disappointed because Yanqing has allowed himself to cheat, to find the shortcut.

He arrives at the island, and so calmly he says “Yanqing would never lift his sword against me.”

Yanqing raises his blade. And then he turns to the heliobi and demands a duel. He proceeds to rip the false Yanqing apart with all the speed and precision that Blade and Dan Heng dueled him with.

I’ve seen people talk about how Yanqing was put in a loaded situation. That his choice was made based on disappointing one teacher over the other. It’s not an unreasonable claim, but a shallow one, i based on the surface teacher-student dynamic and taking nothing the heliobi or Yanqing said into account.

It comes down to the choices he has: in that example, his choices are loyalty to a heliobi he only just met, or a teacher he’s known since he was a little kid. In this perspective, the choice is obvious.

This one is not an incorrect perspective, merely an incomplete one. I think the complete choice was as follows: Instant power from an unpredictable, harsh master, one who is asking strange things of him- attack your friends, attack your previous master, don’t you want power?!- or turn back to the training he feels he’s outgrown, mentored by a man who he holds in such high regard and, if his voice lines are any indication, would trust with his life in an instant.

He’s braver than I am for choosing Jing Yuan’s side. Yanqing’s been shown to have an honorable teacher, but we have not seen him put in a situation where he has to prove it. We couldn’t confidently say what he’d do.

This quest displayed his desperate side. The heliobi had already exploited it, promised and delivered power. The heliobi proved it could be trusted, for that at least. Jing Yuan is a trusted mentor, almost a father figure, but those methods led to failure at the most critical of times. This undoubtedly crossed his mind- it certainly crossed mine as I played through that quest- and I genuinely thought I’d have to fight him again.

Frankly, I’m astounded he chose Jing Yuan, and that surprise made, at least to me, made him feel complete.

Yanqing is a child, with a child’s complex emotions and weaker understanding. He is cheerful and confident, a trait easily confused with arrogance. He is competitive. His worth is based on his prowess with a sword. He knows praise is empty and results are king. He is desperate, but more than that he is loyal beyond his own desires, honorable to a fault, which is more than I could say about most adults, much less myself.

He’s flawed and requires a certain prerequisite to understand. Yanqing feels childish in a different way than Hook and Clara, in motivations rather than actions. He feels human, and I really like his character

[gaysindistress]

Связи (n.) connections - one

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

pairings: mob!bucky x reader

Summary: “Did you think you could hide from us? That’s adorable, little one. There’s no where on this planet where you could hide from the Shostakov Bratva and even if you did manage to evade us, the Barnes Bratva would find you. Your связи, your connections, will always come back to haunt you, Y/N.”

Warnings: cursing

Word count: 2.5k

series masterlist | gaysindistress masterlist

Taglist: @unaxv @identity2212

Dreykov. 

The only man who has ever gotten close to destroying my family. 

Ironic considering that he was the Sovietnik to my father but that was before he took it upon himself to ensure that my sisters and I wouldn’t be able to secure a familial line for the Shostakov Bratva. 

He believed that only blood could produce blood. In other words, since we were all adopted, we did not have true Shostakov blood and could not carry on the Shostakov bloodline. My father did away with that outdated rule the moment Natasha came into his life but Dreykov refused to let it go. 

Frankly I don’t remember anything from that night aside from a needle stabbing me in the neck and waking up in a hospital room. My father held my mother as she sobbed over the three of us all laying perfectly still in our beds. From what Alexei told me, I’m grateful I don’t remember being given an involuntary hysterectomy. If he hadn't already, I would’ve hunted Dreykov down myself and killed him for what he did to us. 

Shortly after the three of us were discharged, Alexei sent us along with our mother, Melina, to live in Russia. He claimed it was safer that way but I could see the doubt in his eyes as he lied through his teeth. I think we made it two months before there was an attack. A trio of masked men broke in at night and had grabbed Yelena and I before my father’s men got there. The one that grabbed me was shot as he carried me through the foyer but another quickly grabbed me and yet again I was drugged. I remember the muffled screams of Yelena as the third dragged her away from the banister but then nothing. 

I woke up in a small cabin filled to the brim with jars and bottles of various things. Some looked like herbs while others looked like body parts. The woman who was puttering around in the kitchen turned at the sound of me moving and I swore under my breath. Before me was the woman who ran the orphanage I’d lived in for 7 years before my parents adopted me. 

She explained that Natasha had arranged for me to live with her until I was of age. “For your own sake,” she’d said and I knew once again I was being lied to by the people I’d trusted the most. 

After I turned 17, I found the first US embassy I could and demanded they give me refuge. I made up some story but they all knew I was lying. Even though Alexei may not have been my birth father, I was always told I was a spitting image of him. Whether or not it was the looks or the personality, I’ll never know but the embassy staff immediately jumped on the chance to bring back Oksana Alexeyevna Shostakova-Vostokova. 

As I was loaded onto the plane, I asked that they call me Y/N instead. Oksana felt too close to home and I wanted…no needed a fresh start. Y/N had been a nickname Melina gave me and even though I might never see her again, I would always have her near with y/n. 

I was all but dropped in NYC with some falsified documents and $5,000 in cash as well as a promise to assist the government in any way I could. The military reached out to me while the FBI pounded on my door. NYPD cops tailed me everywhere and after 3 months of a shit waitressing job, I took up their offer. Within a matter of a few months, I was working as a personal assistant to the police captain of the 99th precinct. 

When I turned 21, I was sent to the academy and came back as a fully fledged police officer.   Thanks to the falsified documents, everyone knows me as Y/N Polastri and I’ve been able to forget about my life as Oksana Shostakova-Vostokova. My captain, Tony Stark, is aware of my past but only because I had called him one night when I first started, scared shitless because I thought I was being followed. I ended up spilling everything to him and begged him to keep it a secret. He, of course, honored that and from there, we grew closer. His husband, Steve, jokes that I’m the daughter they couldn’t have and even had us take family pictures together. At first Tony said it was ridiculous but he can’t say no to his husband and now his office is covered in various family portraits of us. 

Not a day goes by where I don’t think of my sisters or even my parents but I’ve tried looking for them. The only thing I’ve been able to find is an old Russian news article that claims several unnamed Shostakov Bratva members died in a house fire the night I was kidnapped. Aside from that, nothing. 

My father, however, hasn’t shied from the limelight. His name is plastered on every police board imaginable as one of the most wanted men in America. Tony does what he can to limit it at our precinct but it would draw attention if he completely got rid of any trace of Alexei. It wasn’t until two FBI agents, SSA Wanda Maximoff and SA Carol Danvers requested our help that I realized how much trouble he’s gotten into. 

SSA maximoff laid out her impressive file on him, spreading the papers across the entire conference table as she explained how he’s the largest arms dealer on the East Coast. 

“We’ve been able to connect him to not only the Barnes Bratva but also to the Widows,” she’d said while still admiring her work. 

I decided then to keep myself busy and do what I could to stay clear of the feds. 

I’d failed my own mission miserably but how is a person expected to avoid two people that have made it their mission to find me? A part of me wondered if they knew who I was but it became clear that they didn’t when SA Danvers began flirting with me. It was subtle at first, small smiles and touches which led to brief conversations and daily compliments. She reminded me of Morgan from Criminals Minds with special attention she paid me. It took maybe three months for her to wear me down enough that I finally said yes when she asked me out. 

Tony only ever asked once if I planned on telling Carol about my family and the answer was a resounding “no. They’re dead to me.”

My plan to move on and forget worked well for years. I was able to live the way I only thought possible in dreams. 

That is until I see a red envelope sitting on my desk. Everything around me starts to move in slow motion as I stare at the offending object so casually sitting among my things. The usually loud precinct drowns out to nothingness and the officers mill around become blurred streaks of blue. 

I approach my desk with caution and inspect the letter as much as I can without touching it. I already know who it’s from, I don’t need to look at the black wax seal or the symbol stamped into it. Taking a seat, I pick up the letter and hold it in my lap. The implications of it are swirling around my head. 

He knows. 

He knows who I’ve become, where I am, and I have no idea for how long. 

The letter feels disgusting and heavy in my hands. I have no idea what the contents are and I’m half tempted to throw it away without a second thought but I can’t. Not when he knows my cover and I need to know why. 

I peel it open and pull out the black invitation neatly tucked inside. It’s entirely in Russian and I struggle at first after choosing to never use my native tongue but one sentence is clear. 

“The Shostakov family regretfully announces the death of their daughter, Natasha Shostakova-Vostokova.”

The death of their daughter, Natasha Shostakova-Vostokova.

Death. 

Natasha. 

Natasha is dead. 

My sister is dead. 

And this is how my piece of shit father decides to tell me? 

A fucking letter on my work desk in the middle of a busy precinct after years of no contact? 

I keep reading. 

The next line is a date, time, and address. Her funeral is going to be held at the family’s estate three days from now on Friday. 

I wrinkle my nose, hoping to push away the tears that burn my eyes.

She’s gone. 

Nat is gone and the last thing I ever said to her was “fuck off”. Well it was the last thing I screamed at her the night Yelena and I were kidnapped. We’d gotten into a fight about stealing socks and being the rage filled kid I was, I screamed at her to leave me alone. When she didn’t, I screamed at her to “fuck off” and she did. I never raised my voice or cursed at her so I knew it would get her attention and it worked. I half expected her to knock on my door later to make up but there was only the sound of raining gunfire and Yelena’s screams. 

A light knock on my desk jolts me back to reality and I frantically look around before seeing Tony peering down at me. 

“You okay?” He murmurs, throwing a glance to the letter in my lap. I look between it and him before offering it up. 

He makes quick work of reading it and sharply inhales as he hands it back. 

“Go home,” he tells me, “pack a bag and go home to the cabin. I’ll have Steve meet you there, okay?”

I stare up at the man I’ve come to love as a father and consider his offer of safety. 

“No.”

He furrows his brows at me, “no?”

“No,” I say again, “I can’t leave. If he was able to send this to me, he’ll know about the cabin and have men waiting there. Besides, it'll look suspicious.”

Tony crosses his arms, “to who?”

I throw a loom to the redhead fed who’s walking in, “use your brain, captain.”

“She doesn’t know.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s not smart enough to figure it out. News will spread fast and I don’t want to connect the dots for her.”

He rolls his eyes and lets out a loud sigh, “Jesus Christ, Y/N. You need to stop being so paranoid.”

Carol drops herself onto my desk and saves me from having to listen to any more of his lectures about my paranoia.

“Everything okay over here?” She asks as she takes a sip of her coffee and hands me one too. 

“Just peachy,” Tony snarks and sends me a pointed look before walking away. He’s never really liked her but it’s gotten worse since we started dating. He claimed it was because he didn’t approve of office romances even though his own marriage had been the result of one. 

“What’s his problem?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I lie and shove the letter into my bag. She makes a move to grab the envelope but I’m faster. 

She goes to ask another question, presumably about my jumpy attitude but I cut her off with a quick peck and tell her that I have a lot of work to do. She looks upset with me telling her to get lost although in a nicer way but leaves nonetheless. I want to feel bad, I do, I really do but I don’t. Nat is weighing too heavily on my mind to care if I’ve upset anyone, let alone Carol. 

Nat consumes my every thought. She becomes all that I can think about as I mindlessly finish paperwork and reports.

All that occupies my mind is nat. 

Nat. 

Nat. 

Nat. 

Nat. 

Nat. 

I should’ve known better than to show up to a Shostakov event in black. My father’s signature color is red and my eyes are burning from the way the color drips from every inch of his house. The flowers, the banners, the signs, even the gravel are all the same shade of vibrant red. It reminds me of a crayon with how bright and primary it is. 

The guests are all dressed in various styles of the same primary red but I’m the only one dressed in only black. I know I stick out for the moment but as soon as I step inside, I’ll blend into the surroundings. Even out of practice, I still remember how to merge into a crowd with ease. 

As I walk up the polished steps of my father’s home, I search for any familiar faces amongst the crowd but I see no one. For a brief second, I think I spot Yelena’s blonde hair but it’s gone when I look again. A man dressed in a simple black suit with a rose pinned to his lapel appears at my side, asking to take my coat. I nearly jump from his unexpected closeness but smile and hand it to him. He’s wearing an uncanny smile and it sends a shiver down my spine as he clutches my coat to his chest. I make a mental note to “forget” it when I leave out of concern he might do something to it. 

A loud call sounds before me and my eyes dart to the origins. The person who made the noise can’t be seen but I know who it is thanks to his booming voice. 

“Welcome,” my father’s voice ricochets off the barren walls, “my wife and I want to thank all of you for coming to celebrate the life of our daughter Natasha. Her death is a great tragedy for our family but we are Shostakovs! We are strong and resilient! We will avenge her and make her proud as she watches over us!”

Men cheer while women wipe their eyes and nod in agreement around me. My eyes threaten to roll right out of their sockets at their performative sadness. Russians aren’t known for their sensitivity and Bratvas are even worse. When Dreykov was murdered, albeit by my father’s hand, no one mourned. His daughter was whisked away to live with her mother in England but other than that, the world continued as it had before. 

My father has one thick arm wrapped around a dark haired woman and the other around a younger blonde. I squint to make out their families and I gasp when I recognize them as my mother and sister. Melina looks almost exactly as she had all those years ago and Yelena…. She looks like a completely different person. Granted it’s been almost a decade since I last saw her but there’s a fundamental change in her that I can’t describe. 

Her sharp eyes seem to find mine and they narrow before moving to survey the rest of the crowd. A hand brushes against my back and I snap my head to the side, getting ready to curse at whoever touched me. 

The hand shifts to my hip and pulls me subtly into their side but they don’t bother to look at me. Instead they lean down and a chilling air caresses me as I recognize their baritone voice. 

“Welcome home, Oksana.”

So much for going unnoticed.

[slashersidewhore]

How would different slashers react to an s/o who has a service dog? Please include Jason Voorhees thank you!

Slashers! HC S/O with a service dog

Slashers x gn!reader

Including Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt, and Vincent Sinclair

Warnings: Beefy murder boyfriends, Established relationships, talk/mentions of murder, mentioned shitty people, cutesy stuff

Requests are open! Inbox or ask!

Michael Myers

A service dog 👀

…

Michael isn’t exactly a ray of sunshine, nor someone who cares at all about those around him

I can see him being cold seemingly distant in a relationship, although deep rooted with insecurity and self doubt

I mean he was locked up for years without proper psychiatric treatment

He knows what it means to be seen differently, not understood and frankly not given a shit about, whatever the reason you have a service dog for, he can relate it to some degree

Stalking. This man is a literal psychopathic murder, he can’t be seen with you out in public, but leaving you unwatched? Unprotected? Not happening.

Most of the time you notice a pair of eyes on you, comforted by the fact the man is somewhere keeping you safe with his presence

Other times, you’re distracted by certain people

You know those people when it comes to service dogs, we all do

The ones that feel inclined to pet it, or insist if you say no, or better yet question why you even need a service dog in the first place

Yeah they aren’t alive for much longer, especially considering the threatening man clenching a knife a few blocks away, heavy breathing under his mask

He doesn’t give a shit about your dog

The one thing keeping him from killing the mutt is you, the fact that whenever he’s not around, he knows that little guy will always be there for you

Definitely doesn’t like the dog

Not one bit

And no, that time you caught him awkwardly patting the dogs head doesn’t mean anything

Jason Voorhees

This man adores animals, and you

So having a s/o with a dog? Best package deal

A tad bit nervous early in the relationship, doesn’t want to make the poor animal hate him and in proxy, lose you

Someone tries to pet it without asking? Yeah no, not on his watch, the dog is for your comfortably and safety, not for senseless teenagers to bother

Whatever the reason you need it for, he’s always there to lend a helping hand

I can imagine he’s a protective lover in general, wants to keep you safe no matter what, especially since you have a service dog

Personally labels the food and water bowl with your dogs name, has created a schedule for feeding and going out

Knowing he keeps various traps around the camp and forest, Jason is normally always at your side if you feel like going out, walking you to the edge of camp or just keeping an eye out

This one time you nearly stepped in a bear trap, before Jason had become more clingy about you out alone

If it wasn’t for your dog, you probably would’ve lost a foot

Imagine this lumbering, beaten down and hardened man nervous about petting it, his large, scarred hand shaking like a leaf as he gently rests his palm against its head, softly repeating the motion

You don’t have to imagine it though, because it’s the same every time he gives the dog any sort of affection

To Jason, the dog that helps you is an extension of his own love for you, if this furry friend is taken care of and kept safe, then so are you

It’s a win win

Thomas Hewitt

You have two service dogs

One is huge, watchful and protective, keeping track of each step you make and when something could go possibly wrong

And the other is an actual dog

Such a softie, feeds it, gives it baths, takes it for walks with you

Even gives the little guy his own nickname, although he would never admit to it

He was a bit awkward at first, wasn’t sure the animal would warm up to him all that much, jokes on him though!

Dogs are great at sniffing out good people, it was definitely a great sign when it was on its hind legs trying to lick Tommy’s face

You have a command where if you need more support, the dog will go track down Thomas to come help you, something he’s glad of considering he unfortunately can’t always be glued to your side

Honestly sometimes forgets dogs can bark for no reason, always gives him a heart attack thinking you’re in need of help or in trouble but it ends up being a squirrel or something

Makes him feel all warm inside when the two of you are wrapped in each other’s arms at night, the fur baby at the end of your shared bed, curled in a ball

Hoyt once made a joke about eating it for dinner

He got bitten

You’ve never seen Thomas so confident in his laughter

Vincent Sinclair

It’s a friend for Jonsey!

Honestly I don’t see Vincent as a huge dog lover, he doesn’t hate them, but they can be too rambunctious for his more calm atmosphere

But… it’s for your support, to keep you grounded and safe

So he can make an exception

Doesn’t want the dog in his studio though, the possibly of dog hair getting mixed with his artwork would tickle his brain the wrong way

Don’t worry though, any help you need, he is more than happy to supply

In fact, this man would probably wear a collar if you asked

Kidding

…

Anyways, thinks the two of you are adorable, regardless of the shiver of disgust when he sees it slobber

Maybe he’s just jealous

I mean he can understand why you needed one before him but now? You have Vincent, your Vinny, your honey, why do you need to rely on anyone but him?

Like babe… you never leave the house? How are you supposed to be there every minute

It’s okay, on a serious note he just wants you to be happy and healthy

So if a dog can keep you that way, he’s all in

Just, don’t give the dog in question too many kisses in front of him

He gets pouty, even as a grown man

Requests are open, inbox or ask!

I hope this worked well for anyone who does have a service dog!

Thank you for reading!

[moonmoonloves]

Kinda confused at Sterek hate. Like, I’ve just been sitting happily in my little corner that I’ve curated for myself with lovely people that love all the ways they can fall in love. But a lot people really think we’re gross?

I thought Hoechlin said the age gap between them was originally supposed to be three years so that he would have been a senior when they were freshmen and that’s how they would’ve known him, but then JD decided to have Kate rape him so he had to age him up?

A lot of the haters try to pretend that Sterek shippers weren’t purposefully queerbaited, like that “we’re on a ship” moment didn’t happen. Also, they don’t seem to understand time progressing? In ALL of the Sterek fic I read their relationship is consensual and Stiles is above the legal age of consent. Stiles is in college, or back from college, or they’re just grown adults living their lives. I love a good slow burn, like years in the making: from enemies to begrudging allies to begrudging respect to friends to lovers. My favorites are Derek gets therapy. I would say the driving force behind me even getting into teen wolf fic was Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, because holy shit JD hates him (which can be further proven by the recent movie, not that we were ever in any doubt).

Let’s also not forget that canon doesn’t have to matter in fic. We can pick and choose. You can age them up, down, make them the same age, there can be time travel, time skips, au’s where you can change literally anything.

Shipping them for me boils down to the chemistry between the actors playing them. The ship wouldn’t exist without it. If Hoechlin had been cast as Scott for some reason, I’m quite sure we would have been Sciles shippers. And the fact of the matter is the actors playing them were 19 and 23. Their chemistry on and off screen is what fueled their ship despite the fact that that may not have been the intention of the show, the writers, or even the actors themselves. I started watching Teen Wolf thinking Sterek would eventually be canon just from gifs of them together because that’s how strong their chemistry was.

I have read so much great Sterek fic, some of it was better written than books I’ve read, and it was given for FREE. I think that’s amazing and I just don’t get the hate lol.

[sorchathered]

Heard it through the grapevine

A/N- SNB Chapter 8 is coming on Wednesday, but to tie you all over here is a one shot of what’s been going on with Bradley in the aftermath of Mirage’s pregnancy announcement. Thank you guys for sticking with me on this journey!

Pairing- Bradley Bradshaw x OC (Mirage/Erin Riley)

Warnings- language, drinking, Bradshit being an idiot

Summary- Bradley is hungover as hell the morning after Mav’s wedding, what the did he get himself into overnight?

————————————————————————-

Bradley had fucked his social life up to the highest degree in the past 6 months but even he had to admit this shit took the cake.

He’d gotten completely trashed last night, after months of trying to get sober, because his biggest insecurity played out right before his eyes. He’d be an idiot to deny he’d never been worried about Jake getting in the middle of his relationship over the past few years, the man had an ego the size of his home state and he wasn’t bad to look at either. But you had always insisted it was platonic, never given him a single reason to doubt you, yet it somehow never stopped the jealousy that bloomed in him when he saw the two of you together. It was stupid really, he’d been the one to cheat on you in the end and burn everything he’d thought he wanted to the ground, but watching your former fiancée make out with the guy he’d always worried about and then get whisked away to no doubt fuck each others brains out stung a little. So he did what he knew best, drown himself in bourbon and promptly pass out at home, or at least that’s what he thought had happened.

He woke up the next morning feeling worse than he had after that rager in his frat house right before graduation, every step had him convinced he was going to throw up everywhere but his tiny french bulldog was a force of nature and she was insistent that they go outside. He was half dressed in his suit from the night before, no idea where his phone could be but that was a worry for future Bradley, right now he needed aspirin and coffee. Still trying to piece together what had happened in the aftermath, it looked as though he’d made quick work of destroying the leftover pizza and most of the lasagna he’d made earlier in the week, clearly couldn’t be bothered to close the fridge as the damn thing was wide open when he entered the room. The last of his expensive bourbon was gone, and it looked like he was out of beer as well. What a mess. As he set about to clean things up he heard his doorbell go off, then someone beating on his front door, what the hell could possibly be this important on a Sunday morning? He grumbled all the way to the entryway, flinging it open to find his best friend Natasha Trace looking even more pissed off than normal, clearly he’d fucked something up judging by the rage on her features.

“I’ve been calling you for HOURS! What did you do just fall off the face of the damn planet?!” She said as she elbowed her way into his living room, he didn’t have the energy for this he was sure but there was no point in stopping her now.

“I was asleep, and honestly I don’t know where the hell my phone went, I’m hungover as fuck right now Nat so can we just skip to the part where you tell me what I did wrong and yell at me?”

She rounded on him and he staggered back, a little nervous until he saw the look of pity across her face. “Bradley we need to find your phone, but first I need to show you something.”

He was going to pass out, he was sure of it. As she scrolled through her instagram to the profile of the girl he definitely shouldn’t still be sleeping with he was almost hopeful that she’d decided to move on from him and posted a new boyfriend, but he knew he couldn’t be that lucky and after all she had just been at his house earlier in the week, if she was seeing someone else she would’ve told him. Right?

What he most certainly didn’t expect was to come across a set of photos, pictures the two of them had taken and never posted because it didn’t seem right, and at the end a picture of a onesie and a positive pregnancy test. Oh he was definitely going to be sick.

Nat had shoved him into the bathroom to shower while she made a pot of coffee and Bradley was frozen in place as he watched the bathroom steam up. How the hell had he let this happen? Why wouldn’t she have said something to him before posting about it? He picked up his phone and looked at the photos again, he did like Mirage despite the circumstances that had started their entanglement, she was funny and very pretty, impulsive yes but he wouldn’t have thought she’d do this to him. He opened his texts to message her, they needed to sit down and discuss this in person, but as he opened them he realized just how drunk he’d been last night. There in the messages were all the answers he wanted, she had in fact told him first and he had told her to go for it about posting the announcement. He was such an idiot, how did he let himself get this way? He needed to piece together the rest of his night and fast, so he shot her a quick message to come over and jumped in the shower. He didn’t know how to fix this, but he knew he couldn’t avoid it this time.

Nat was furious with him, she’d found out through Stormy about everything leading up to their breakup and now finding out that he’d somehow green lit this pregnancy announcement while black out drunk had her fuming. “Do I need to pack you up and send you to a rehab facility Rooster?! What the hell has been going through your head lately?” She was shaking her head between death glares, in his entire navy career he’d always had Nat, since they met in training as young kids, and she’d never been angrier than she was right now. “I know Nat, I know I fucked it all up, but I can’t change it now. All I can do is sit down with Mirage and see how to go forward with this, I-I’m going to be a dad…Holy shit how the hell am I supposed to do this? What if I fuck this kid up? What if I-“ she puts her hand up to silence him, he’s spiraling now and that’s not going to help anyone.

“We are going to work this out ok? Just take a breath, we also need to find you a better therapist because this guy is obviously not teaching you anything beneficial.” She wasn’t wrong, the guy clearly just phoned it in and received his paycheck, Bradley had been going through the motions but not making any real progress. It was times like these he longed to have his parents around, maybe then everything wouldn’t have gotten so out of control.

Within the hour Mirage was at his door, Bradley let her in with a small smile and gestured for her to sit down, but when she saw Natasha she wavered; looking back at Bradley like a deer in headlights. “Relax Erin, I’m not here to whack you, I’m just moral support.” She says with an eye roll, and the girl, albeit irritated, finds a seat on the couch. “So I take it from your texts you drank a little too much last night, I had a feeling you’d be upset after the wedding but I didn’t think you’d forget our conversation entirely” she was frustrated, he knew she would be, especially considering how important that conversation was. “Look, Erin I know I keep fucking it up. I’m a mess, I never should have dragged you into it in the first place but here we are. I’m going to try at this, and you give me all the hell you need to because I really do want to make this work. If you want us to be a real family we can work at it, or if you just want me to co-parent I’ll respect your choices, but no matter what got us here I’m not going to keep letting you down.” He knew he didn’t have a right to promise anything, and he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t make a mistake again, but he knew what life was like without a dad, and he couldn’t let that happen to his child. His child. He was going to be a father.

——————————————————————

Before he knew it 6 months had passed, He and Erin had been going to couples therapy on top of seeing a new therapist for himself and Bradley could say with confidence he’d been sober for all of it. He wasn’t going to the bar like he used to, instead choosing to come home in the evenings to binge tv and cook dinner with his girlfriend. They had found out just last week that they were having a little boy, Nicholas Bradshaw jr. and truly Bradley couldn’t believe how well things had been going.

He’d been transferred to the Golden Warriors, still working out of North Island but no longer actively working with the Daggers, and while initially it had hurt he knew it had been for the best. His relationship with Jake had boiled over into his work life and he agreed that it was best that they work apart. Life was going well, which usually meant the other shoe was about to drop but he was feeling pretty confident. Until one fateful evening when he received a call after work from a distraught Maverick, Stormy’s plane had gone down over the Atlantic and she was in critical condition. Jake and Admiral Simpson were heading to Walter Reed in Maryland to meet her and they didn’t know when or if she’d wake up. He didn’t know what he could possibly do to help, and without realizing he had already dialed the number of his old wingman. No answer, which he expected but he left a voicemail of support nonetheless. Whatever happened now all he could do was pray that the kindest girl he’d ever met would be ok.

————————————————————————

Tagging- @mamamaystbr @mamachasesmayhem @bobgasm @attapullman @roosterforme @floydsglasses @shanimallina87 @jessicab1991 @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @djs8891 @mrsevans90 @pinkdaisies9285 @nouis-bum @86laura11 @angelbabyyy99 @dizzybee03 @mygyn @jostan456 @dempy @its-the-pilot @kmc1989

[emmie-writes-stuff]

Part two of Emmie rambles about Blue Lock chapters

HES STILL THERE!!!

I think that Kunigami is definitely different after Wild Card, but that his original personality is there, hiding below the exterior that he currently has

I might to a whole ramble post on Kunigami himself and how I feel about the WC cyborg persona, but I like this small slip in the front that we got to see this chapter

Just the smallest itty bitty sliver of a break in the armour to the Kunigami that we all knew from the first and second selection

I have way too many thought about Kunigami and WC that I need to organize before I can have a coherent ramble about it, but this is what I was thinkin while reading the chapter

GET HIM KUNIGAMI

I may like Shidou, but I’m still so pissed off that because of him, Kunigami had to go through Wild Card and lose himself in the process

And for Shidou to have the nerve to not even remember Kunigami at first?

Smh, he deserves all the shit that’s been talked to him these past few chapters

I wanna kick him in the face lmao

ISAGI SHUT UP THIS ISNT ABOUT YOU RN

I’m with Kunigami here, what do you want?

To be relevant this chapter?

When you were just continually fouling Rin for the past two?

Smh go find somewhere else to be relevant, this is Kunigami’s revenge time

LITERALLY SCREAMING

Ugh, I can’t wait for the next chapter, I need to see these three pop off against their respective rivals of the game

Except, I don’t want Isagi to win

He beat Rin the last time, in the U-20 game, and took away the chance he had to earn Sae’s respect (even though I doubt Sae would’ve given it to Rin, Rin still thinks that he would’ve gotten the respect)

So yeah, Rin deserves to beat Isagi this match, he deserves his petty revenge too

What I want in the next coming chapters is for Hiori to figure out how Charles operates, Kunigami to score against Shidou, and for Rin to absolutely destroy Isagi

We’ll see how many of my desires are met, but this has been Emmie rambling about stuff

Go check out the previous post for my other rambles about this chapter

Hopefully all this was coherent-

I had too many thoughts for this one

Part one of this ramble

[yikesharringrove]

thinking thoughts about billys self medicating and about steve trying to get nancy to slow down at the party and how steve genuinely probably could have helped billy if given the chance (like i dont think its my harringrove riddled brain talking, i fr think steve would have helped)

Three times have I tried to answer this and I’ve written something and then tumblr shits itself and I lose so PLEASE let’s try this again.

What strikes about Steve is that he literally NEVER in the whole show tries to get Nancy to do anything like drink or smoke or whatever.

In season 1, he offers Nancy and Barb a beer, and that’s when Barb, feeling clearly left out, decides to try shotgunning, gets hurt, etc. after that, Steve doesn’t try to get her to drink or anything. He’s smoking nearly the whole time and doesn’t offer it to her or gets her to try it, anything.

He’s also very respectful of her sexual boundaries. In the studying scene, he starts pushing his luck by suggesting they strip study, and he does go for the buttons on her shirt when theyre kissing, but she pushes him away, and he goes. At his house, he turns around so she can change. Clearly, they’re in his room and he’s wanting something to happen, but he lets her make the decision. She tells him to turn around.

ANYWAY season 2. The whole reason he wants to go to the party is to be “stupid teenagers”. In that library scene, he doesn’t say, let’s get shitfaced ass drunk. He says he wants to go to a stupid party and wear the costumes they had worked on and dance and be stupid.

WE ALSO DONT SEE HIM DRINK AT THAT PARTY.

Nancy starts drinking and it’s very 10 Things I Hate About You and he is immediately on the question, because this isn’t like her.

He knows she’s only drinking because she’s upset, and he tries to get in between that, because he knows this is past her boundaries, even if she made the choice to do it on her own.

(She’s clearly interested in drinking and things bc if she weren’t, she would’ve told Murray to fuck off when he made her a drink later in the season)

Even in season3, we get the joke about marijuana, but we never see Steve in a scene where it’s even implied he’s high, unlike season 4 Jonathan, but I digress.

ANYWAY canon Steve isn’t really a substance user.

Now, Billy.

In season 2, he is smoking in all but two scenes. He’s drinking like mad at the party, but he’s also just fucking pounding a beer in the middle of the day on like a random Saturday. So, clearly his boundaries around substance are not as clear as Nancy’s. BUT it’s interesting to think about what those interactions could’ve looked like.

I think there is a certain level of substance use Billy would bring out in Steve. There is not a single doubt in my mind that Steve starts smoking again when he and Billy hang out more, even if he is only smoking occasionally. But, at Steve’s little season 1 party, he had five people there, and some beer. There was no hard liquor that we saw, and everyone was shown to only really have 1-2. They literally went to school the next morning. Like. These bitches were not guzzling hard alcohol.

Some of those behaviors would natural rub off on Billy. Having a beer while hanging out instead of something harder. Only having a few instead of a case. Eventually, he starts having them less frequently (read: stops drinking by himself midday while working out like a weirdo).

Steve’s biggest personality trait is how much he fucking cares.

Everything he’s ever done, is because he cares about Nancy, or Dustin, or Robin. Sometimes, in canon, we (myself SO included) inflate that a bit, but even bitchy season 1 breaking the camera Steve, did so because he cared about Nancy, and about the violating pictures of her that Jonathan took. Even the little moments of him giving Carol is meatloaf in season 1, because Tommy squished hers around, mans CARES.

So OF COURSE that care would extend to Billy. And sometimes, it’s more subtle. Sometimes he’s outright trying to pry a bottle out of Billy’s hand and telling him to tone it down. But it’s all because Steve’s Harrington’s #1 Thing is caring about people.

[sulky-valkyrie]

Val! Can I get "there’s nothing you could have done." for Fenris/Anders?

You know it 💜 Honorable mention to @shardsof-stars because she'd requested a wee bit of Fenders on the run after the boom, and these two ideas ended up all tangled and muddied together and it doesn't quite use the dialogue and it doesn't quite have them on the run, but I'd like to think it fits the spirit (heh, Jsutice pun) of both thoughts

for @dadrunkwriting

Kirkwall was burning, and Meredith had gone mad.  Or maybe Meredith's madness was why Kirkwall was burning.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.  No, that wasn't right.  It hadn't been supposed to keep going after this.  No, that wasn't right either.  He wasn't supposed to keep going.  

Boom, Justice and I are free.

It was supposed to be a symbol, a spark to light the fires of the world, to force Thedas to confront its prejudices, and to remind mages they could fight back.  And fight back they had, but Anders had never expected it like this.  A summary execution should’ve been his fate, or a show trial and a chance for him to make his case for the end of the Circles before being sentenced to death.

He hadn't accounted for Meredith's paranoia.  Well, he hadn't accounted for it enough.  Or her hatred.  Bloody knickerweasels, he'd confessed to her damn face, and she'd still blamed the whole of the Gallows and called for an Annulment.

Granted, he might still die today.  Orsino had nearly turned himself into a fucking abomination in a futile act of defiance and despair.  He shuddered.  If not for Merrill and her own demon, things would've been so much worse.  And it was bad enough already.

Meredith's sword sang with an oily discordant wrongness, jangling at his nerves and setting Justice on edge as she cut down her own people.  Even half an hour ago, the sight of Templars losing their guts and screaming would’ve given him grim satisfaction, but now, it was simply grim.  They fought against her as fiercely as they'd fought with her, and died just as easily.

He threw every spell he could, even healing fucking Cullen when the statues came to life and one batted him across the courtyard, but it still wasn't enough.  Over a dozen people stood against her, but they were starting to tire, and Meredith seemed unstoppable.  At least the rest of the Gallows mages made it out through the tunnels.

A whistle caught his attention, bright and piercing as it cut through the clatter of battle.  A whistle that sounded like -

"Ancestors balls, we can't leave you alone for one minute, can we?"

He glanced down and smiled, even as his heart clenched in fear.  "Siggy, babe, you're in the wrong place."

"Nah, we've been tracking that shit –" she waved a dagger toward Meredith "– for years. Good job making her show it."

"Is that what I did?" Anders asked sarcastically.  "Jolly good for me then."

A volley of fiery boulders rained down from the sky, battering Meredith to the ground. Velanna's work, no doubt.  

The new threat was apparently enough to send Meredith over the edge.  She looked as deranged as a blood mage as she climbed to her feet and shouted, “I will not be defeated!”

As she thrust her sword in the air, the horrible jangling feeling ramped up, like it was trying to crush his skull and burst it open from the inside at the same time, Sigrun winced and gritted her teeth. Interesting.  He'd assumed it had something to do with being a mage, or Justice's sensitivity to lyrium, but Sigrun was neither mage nor possessed.  

Interesting, but a question for a later time.  Even if he’d had the time to think about it, the pressure on his mind made everything blank with pain, as bad as what he remembered of the Joining, and when he started to worry that it might actually kill him, the damn sword exploded.

Shards of red lyrium flew out, but, for once, Templars actually came in handy.  What they didn’t block with their shields they blocked with their bodies, however unintentionally, leaving Hawke and the rest of Anders’ former-comrades unscathed.  At least they’ll be alive to hate me.

"Come on, we need to get you out of here."  Sigrun's hand caught his and she started to pull him away.  

Not how any of this was supposed to happen.  He resisted on reflex, but she was a Warden too, and built like bronto.  A small one, but a bronto nonetheless, full of densely packed muscle and maddening persistence.  

"Mage!"  Suddenly Fenris was there, tearing him from Sigrun's grasp and snarling, "You won't take him!"

His vehemence was a shock.  Fenris had barely spoken two sentences to him since the Chantry had exploded, but here he was, defending him again. Fruitlessly.  Anders had always known death would be the only escape from the Wardens.  "Fenris, there's nothing you can do," he sighed.

"Venhedis!”  He put his arm across Anders’ chest and glared at Sigrun.  “You won’t take him,” he repeated.

Sigrun held up her hands, not quite in surrender, but an obvious gesture of goodwill and grinned.  “Stones, Anders, you’ve been making friends again, haven’t you?”

“Er… in a way?”  He pushed Fenris’ arm down gently.  “What do you want with me?”

Before she could answer the paving stones shattered as a tangled mass of roots forced its way up next to her and Velanna stepped out, face pinched in even more irritation than usual.  “What are you standing around for, let’s go!”

Fenris reached for his sword.  “He goes nowhere he doesn’t wish to.”

“Oh for the Maker’s sake, Fenris, please,” Anders said before turning back to Velanna.  “Where are we going?”

She rolled her eyes.  “Where do you think?  The Chantry will be baying for your blood any moment now!  You know as well as I do that the Deep Roads are the safest place for you.”

He shuddered at the suggestion, but couldn’t find a fault in her logic.  I should’ve planned for this better.  He glanced back at Hawke, still arguing with Varric.  Probably about him.  He inhaled slowly and rubbed at his face.  “Let’s go.”

Sigrun and Velanna nodded, then headed toward the docks.  As Anders moved to follow them, Fenris fell in step behind him.  “You may be a fool, but you're my fool.”  His voice was soft, but challenging.  Daring Anders to argue with him, just like old times, yet nothing like them at all.

Debate wouldn’t solve this.  He was a fool.  Foolish to believe Meredith would blame the right man.

“I’m sorry.”  Once the apology fell from his mouth, the words wouldn’t stop, a rush of everything he’d wanted to say since he’d started planning this.  “I should’ve - I’m not sorry I did it, but I wish it hadn’t come to it, and I’m sorry she made it worse, but there was nothing you could’ve done.  I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, or Hawke - sorry that I used you, that I lied about –”

Fenris pushed him to the wall and cupped his chin.  “Hush, mage.  You think there was nothing I could’ve done?  You asked for explosives: saltpeter and flammable stone.  You asked for help distracting the Grand Cleric.  Nothing I could’ve done?”  He kissed him softly.  “Anders, I did everything, not nothing, and I’m not leaving you for this or anything else, and there’s nothing you can do about that.”

[redahlia-writes]

you make loving fun. | frankie morales x ofc

four. crystal

content (for this chapter): smut, family gatherings and That really annoying relative, a lot of feelings, a hint of possessiveness, frankie is once again being an idiot

word count: 5.8k

a/n: i'm so sorry for the delay, life's truly kicking my ass and i hope the chapter will make up for it. updates might be a little bit slow from now, but i'll do my best

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

series masterlist | masterlist

previous

“For the first few months of their relationship, Fish didn’t even know it was a relationship. They moved in together, and still he would say stuff like she’s not my girlfriend, we haven’t talked about it, I don’t want to pressure her. Considerate, really, but so–Alba, chiquitita, cover your ears a moment–so fucking dumb. And that was how I knew. We’ve known Frankie a really long time, we’ve been together through a lot, and that was the first time I’ve seen him be so stupid–which is saying a lot. But, after all, isn’t that what love does in the beginning? It makes you foolish, nervous, doubt things you would’ve never doubted before. It was a new look on him, and it made it crystal clear how enamored he was, probably without even realizing it in the beginning–because I know he fell for Camila right off the bat. And I mean, how could he not? He called me, that first morning, and even then Camila was a surprise. Will said it all already–funny, kind, smart, beautiful, but most of all right. You were, and still are, right for him, Cami, the right person at the right time, and that is something rare, something great. Sometimes I think we should thank you more, because you changed Frankie’s life, and with his, ours too–mine for sure, because not only did I get to see my best friend finally start living again, but I also gained a sister. So, one Garcia to the other: thank you. That being said, it’d be nice to have him back every now and then–seriously, they’re practically glued together, can’t keep their hands to themselves to save their lives! I have some stories–”

Frankie’s hand tightened slightly around the glass of water in his grip when he felt a hand clasping him on the shoulder, tight and all too buoyant, shaking him and forcing his eyes away from Camila, Alba and his mother–Alba was lying on her back over Verónica’s knees, the older woman laughing in her chair as the child stretched and let her head dangle back towards Camila, sitting on the grass and smiling.

“Who would’ve thought–young Cisco with an actual girlfriend,” the man at his side was grinning, a glaze clouding his eyes, mouth stained red from wine. “Well, not so young anymore, are you?”

“Takes one to know one, Nicky,” he retorted with a hint of a laugh, some of the tension melting from his shoulders when he saw Camila move again at the corner of his eye, could hear Alba’s loud giggles from his spot.

His cousin laughed, clearly not put off by his comment–he wasn’t trying to be mean, exactly, but out of all the people in the family currently gathered in his mother’s backyard–

“So you got one of the last good ones, huh?” he still had his hand on Frankie’s shoulder, standing a step back as they were angled towards the other three. Camila’s hand was underneath Alba’s head, supporting it up as she leaned in, brushing their noses together as the child giggled again. A small smile caught on Frankie’s lips, warmth spreading across his chest. “Man, and she’s good with the kid. You oughta keep this one.”

Frankie’s family wasn’t mean–they’d never given him too much shit for what had happened to him, for what he’d done, at least not to his face and certainly not to his mother’s, for they wouldn’t even be there if they had. But he’d gotten good at understanding people’s double meaning, at hearing the light shift in their voices. You oughta keep this one, not like the last one, or all the others before.

“Thanks, Nic,” he sighed–across the garden, Camila tilted her head as she looked at him. She quirked up an eyebrow, and he was quick to shoot a smile in her direction, the slightest shake of his head at her silent question.

“Fine, too, your girl,” he continued, clearly not put off by Frankie’s lack of trying at keeping up the conversation. “Young face, pity for the grays–I mean, she could always dye it,” he shrugged, before grinning and elbowing Frankie in the side, making him turn fully towards him, his lips pressed in a thin line as he inhaled deeply. “Although I’m sure she makes up for it plenty in–”

“Listen, Nicky–” he exhaled sharply, the sentence dying on his lips when he felt a hand brush up his back, from the lower side up–his shoulders sagged slightly, leaning towards Camila’s touch as she settled at his side.

“Sorry,” soft-voiced, she pulled his cousin’s perplexed gaze towards her, too. “I need to borrow Frankie for a moment–Alba spilled some juice on my dress and I could really use the help before it stains.”

“Oh, of course,” Nic cleared his throat, stepping back, his gaze flickering from one to the other–shy, all of a sudden. Frankie almost rolled his eyes, held in check only by Camila’s hand sliding into his, gently pulling him along.

“Alba wasn’t drinking anything,” he murmured, his head bowed slightly as they walked back inside the house. She shrugged lightly, then looked over her shoulder as she smiled–quick and amused, making him scoff. “Mila–”

“Just come with me for a moment,” she retorted before he could finish forming the protest. “Alba’s with Santiago and your mom, it’s alright,” she added as he went to speak again, walking past the kitchen and living room.

“I’m still not sure why he’s here,” Frankie muttered, making her chuckle and pull him slightly closer as she reached the stairs–he placed the glass on the closest surface at hand.

“According to him, he’s included in the family for the family reunion,” he got closer each step, his now free hand coming up to brush her hip. “Don’t get ideas, Morales,” she added, giving a delicate slap to the back of his hand.

“You’re the one getting me away from the rest of them,” he retorted as she pulled them both inside the bathroom–to which he arched an eyebrow, as if that was proof of his point even before she turned the key. “Really difficult to not get any ideas now,” Camila laughed, shaking her head before turning fully to face him, eyebrows slightly arched. “What?”

“Out with it,” she said simply, resting her hands on the countertop of the sink behind her back. Frankie frowned slightly, stepping closer again–she tipped her chin up to look at him, her gaze soft.

“With what?”

“You’ve been jumpy all day,” she told him, voice as soft as her eyes, and he wondered if he was truly that obvious or she simply knew him so well. “Your family is not so bad, you know? I mean, Nicky is–” she let the sentence hang, mouth turned in a grimace.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he sighed, and she shifted the weight on one hand to reach for his face with the other, cupping his cheek.

“You don’t have to apologize, honey,” she hummed, thumb brushing along the apple of his cheek, warm from the sun. “I like them–by now somebody in my family would’ve started a fight for sure,” she added with a quick grin that made him scoff out a laugh, gaze lowered. “But they’ve all been nice,” he must’ve tensed up again, because she tilted her head to try and meet his gaze. “Is that it?”

“No, it’s–I’m glad they are, it’s just–” her hand moved down across his cheek and jaw, pushing underneath his chin to get him to look up at last. “It’s nothing. Nicky said some shit, and he talked about me having an actual girlfriend or something,” he scoffed, gaze darting away and back–behind her, he saw their reflection in the mirror, her hair shifting with the movement of both her arms shifting up.

“Frankie, sweetheart,” her words carried her soft smile as she took his cap off, putting it aside because she held his face in her hands, looking at him with such tenderness in her eyes he almost crumbled in front of her, hands twitching at his sides. “So what?”

“I don’t know,” he groaned softly, eyes shut for a longer moment before letting out a long sigh. “We just never discussed it, and people keep bringing it up, and I didn’t want to pressure you or–” when he looked at her again, her lips were parted, brows knitted tightly with perplexity as he repeated, “I don’t know.”

“Pressure me?” her confusion bled into her voice, her touch getting a little hesitant for a moment–if he were to look past her head and into the mirror, Frankie would register the guilt in his gaze. Instead, he only noticed the realization dawn in her eyes. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry–I kept thinking I would bring it up and then never did and I was worried it would be too much, or too early,” he shifted back a little, her hands falling to his shoulders.

“Wait, so this is because he called me your girlfriend?” she asked, a little baffled. At his little nod, a quick laugh escaped her, and she pushed herself towards him. “Frankie, honey, we’ve lived together for two months,” she smiled as she said it.

“I know,” she locked her hands behind his neck, pulling him slightly closer in the process, fingertips pushing at the nape of his neck. “I just didn’t want to assume,” she laughed again, a little louder, and Frankie frowned once more, pouting slightly. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not, I promise I’m not,” she said quickly, getting herself closer, though still laughing. “I’m sorry, just–I thought there was nothing to discuss. You’re it for me?”

“You–” he was still frowning, a little deeper, and she let one hand move from the back of his head up across his face, gently kneading the spot between his eyebrows where lines were etched. “You’re still laughing. Camila–”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, unable to help herself as she shook her head through the laughter turned giggles, shifting her body weight so she was leaning against his chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, keeping her upright and ducking his chin to keep his gaze on her face, the lines at the corner of her eyes deepening as her smile widened. “Why would you worry about that, honey?”

“You told me you thought you’d jumped in too fast with that guy,” he’d been that guy for months now, no longer Jason–Camila found some amusement in it, her nose scrunching up.

“I did,” she nodded, bringing a hand to his chest while the other still cupped the back of his head. “But you’re not him, and I’m no longer 20-something, so I’d like to think I’ve wised up,” Frankie sighed, carefully lowering his head towards her. “Then again, I’ve moved in with you after–what, eight months? So maybe–”

“Mila,” he groaned in half-complaint, making her laugh again before she tipped her chin up, kissing him in full. He sighed again, the tension in his back melting away as her fingers brushed through his hair, the other palm pressed firmly against his heart.

When she didn’t pull back, Frankie’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him and straightening his back to sweep her off her feet, taking the half step that separated them from the countertop to sit her there–he slotted himself between her legs, her back arching slightly as her lips parted for his tongue.

He kissed and kissed and kissed her until the rest of the world blurred away, until there was no Nicky or Jason, no Santi nor the rest of his family, just the two of them tangled together, sharing soft breaths and touches and the only thing grounding him was the weight of her against him, the shift of her body as he let his hands wandered back and thighs and legs, right underneath her dress.

“Are you gonna ask me, then?” she breathed out once they parted, heavy breaths from both of them and Frankie’s vision blurry for just a moment as he chased her, interrupted only by her soft words, the hint of laughter in them.

“What?” he licked his lips as if trying to cling onto the taste of her, fingers digging into her flesh. Her cheeks were red, bruised lips as she looked up at him while it all came back into vision for Frankie. “Is it–official?” her smile turned into a snort at the uncertainty in his tone, a shimmer in her eyes to highlight her amusement.

“You can do better than that, Francisco,” she murmured, mockingly, and he huffed out a breath as his lips quivered in a semi-pout. Camila leaned forward, kissing it away, but before he could chase her again she pulled back abruptly–one hand on his chest, the other falling behind her over the counter to support herself.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he scoffed, letting his hands travel a little up across her skin, the skirt of her dress bunching up with the movement.

“Maybe,” she said with a light shrug, letting her hand travel down across his torso, lingering on each button–just teasing to undo them, Frankie’s eyes following the movement as his own fingers moved up and up. “You know what I’m going to say,” she murmured then, the tip of her first and middle finger hooking in his belt and pulling him forward ever so slightly, “ask.”

“I don’t need to ask,” he lowered his head towards hers, hooking his fingers at each side of her underwear–she squeezed her knees at his sides, humming softly as he pulled. “Do I?”

“Ask,” she repeated, lips still curved in an amused smile.

“Camila,” uttered as a warning before he kissed her again, a little harsher than before, almost feverish, pulling and pulling at her underwear that wouldn’t shift.

He could feel the laughter bubbling in her throat as she pushed against his lower stomach to make him step back, hopping down the counter to bare her lower half–Frankie kept his hands on her legs, her dress bunched up between the two of them, and slowly began lowering himself, ready to shift onto his knees in front of her.

“We don’t have time,” she mumbled against his lips, swiftly undoing his belt. “Later. Home.”

“Did you not tell me to not get any ideas?” his mocking question ended with a groan when she cupped her hand to his front, stroking his already half-hard length from above his briefs–his hips twitched into her touch, and he felt the grin forming on her lips at his immediate reaction.

“Ask me,” she replied instead, stroking him again.

Again, and again, until he was panting in her mouth, hips bucking with each movement–Frankie kissed her one more time before turning her around, her hands coming down against the counter for balance as he gently kicked her legs apart to slot himself closer, his still clothed front pressed against her back.

“I don’t have to ask,” he repeated, punctuating each word with a kiss to her neck, one hand to her hip as the other bared himself. Camila’s reflection smiled in the mirror, her head ducked as if hiding herself but not quite, as he pushed the tip of his length against the seam of her folds. “You’re my girl, aren’t you?” he murmured then against the shell of her ear.

Before she could form a response, her mouth fell open as he nudged at her entrance, slowly–agonizingly slow–starting to push into her. Her eyes rolled back and she nodded, soft gasps leaving her as she gripped the countertop, both of Frankie’s hands now on her hips, guiding her back to meet him.

“Look at you,” his gaze remained glued to the mirror as she tilted her head back towards him–her eyelids fluttered a moment, trying and failing to focus on their reflections as he kept going. “My beautiful girl,” another kiss to her neck, right behind her ear, making her shudder and rock her hips back. With a groan, his front pressed to her back as he sank fully inside her, he spoke against her shoulder, “mine.”

“’Course I am,” she panted, her thighs trembling slightly against his. “Yours,” at the word,  Frankie’s cock twitched, his grip on her hips tightening. “God–Frankie,” she moaned, back arching as her walls fluttered around him.

“Baby, you gotta keep quiet,” he mumbled, pushing forward so her hips were against the countertop, and he was leaning against her in turn. One arm wrapped around her middle to keep her flush to him, he let his other hand wander up across her torso, the fabric of her dress wrinkling underneath his touch.

“Thought you liked it when you could hear me,” her gaze flickered over their reflections, down to his rising hand and up to meet his eyes, a flush spreading from her heaving chest up and her lips slightly parted.

“Yes,” he shifted back, the slow drag of his length as he pulled out almost all the way making her breath quicken. “When I–” he snapped his hips forward, and Camila bit down onto her lip to keep herself from crying out, knuckles turning white as she gripped the counter a little harder, “can. Not the rest of the family.”

“We wouldn’t be here if that were a problem,” each word felt like it was punched out of her chest, Frankie’s movements steady, hitting a spot deep inside of her that had her vision wavering. “You enjoy the thrill, Francisco,” she added–not a question, rather her ability to read him so perfectly laid out in a tease.

And he did–he liked his life, his new one, with no drugs and very little alcohol, a steady, almost boring job, a home with the two halves of his heart, a bed with hogged blankets and slow nights. He loved that life–but sometimes he missed the rush, and Camila seemed to know exactly when he felt like he was starting to waver. Exactly what to do about it so that he wouldn’t topple over again, returning back to her each time.

“Fuck–don’t stop, don’t stop,” he’d gotten so lucky. He was so goddamn lucky.

The hand that had been traveling up her body moved up again, grabbing her by the chin to turn her head so that he could kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her, swallowing each sound away as he picked up his pace, his hips snapping against her skin almost too loudly–and only spurring him further.

A shiver ran through her as Frankie stopped with one last thrust, his head falling into the crook of her neck as he came–he tightened his hold around her, keeping her flush to his front. Her walls fluttered around his length buried deep within her, a weak, frustrated cry leaving her at his sudden stillness–he breathed out a quiet laugh before pulling his head up, chin hooked over her shoulder as he brought two fingers to his mouth, coating his fingertips before reaching for the apex of her core.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” Camila’s pupils were wide, eyes glazed over as she let her head loll back and sighed at his perhaps-too-delicate initial touch. Each of Frankie’s words was accompanied by a soft kiss across her skin–cheek and jaw and neck, his gaze never leaving her face as he began drawing quick circles over her clit.

“Frankie,” with a breathless cry, she grasped at his arm still wrapped around her, holding her upright. He kissed her neck, humming at her sharp intakes of air with each of his movements.

“I know,” he could feel her muscles grow taut under his touch, her thighs shaking as she got closer and closer–he groaned when she squeezed around his length, sensitive and softening as she tethered the edge. “Come on, baby, I can feel you–so good, you feel so good, baby, you–”

Camila twisted her neck and kissed him abruptly, harsh and trembling as her orgasm rippled through her–she quietened herself, the loud moan muffled by Frankie’s own bruised lips. He drank the noise greedily, slowing down the movement of his fingers until she twitched in his hold and dug her fingernails into the arm she was holding onto, a weak whine as she went limp into his hold.

He pulled out slowly, another softer moan escaping her as she folded forward, hands coming down to the countertop with a shaky exhale and equally shaky arms. His gaze remained low a moment longer, following the slow trail of their combined releases dripping down her thighs, and then he bowed down, kissed the space between her shoulders softly from above her dress.

“You alright?” he spoke softly, hands rubbing soothing circles on her bare hips as she evened her breathing, head hanging forward. She hummed quietly, rolling her shoulders back.

“I just need a minute,” she nodded, bringing her head upright again and wincing slightly. “Jesus–maybe two minutes,” she sighed, and Frankie chuckled softly, another kiss pressed against her shoulder as he tucked himself back in.

“Turn around,” he guided her by the hips tenderly, meeting her eyes for a brief moment in the mirror. “Let me clean you up.”

She hummed softly as she let him move her, leaning back again with her hands on the counter, her breath now even as Frankie recovered a clean towel from underneath the sink, turning on the water and waiting for it to turn lukewarm. Camila’s eyes remained on him as he moved, eyelids low and a tired half smile stretching across her lips.

He sank to the floor in front of her, gently brushing the towel up between her thighs, one hand on her calf rubbing circles with his thumb again against her skin, gentle and soothing. He helped her get dressed back up, smoothing down the skirt of her dress and pressing one last kiss to her now clothed hip before standing back up, mere inches from her.

“Promise me something,” she wrapped her arms around his middle, threading her arms underneath his. Frankie lowered his gaze to her still slightly flushed face, a small frown crossing his brow. “You’re gonna ask me whatever it is that crosses your mind, anything you want to–even if it’s something as banal as is my hair alright,” her fingers curled against his back, gently bringing him closer.

Frankie sighed, cupping her jaw in his hands before nodding–small movements, getting closer to leave a delicate peck against her lips.

“Promise,” he conceded, voice a little hoarse as he kept it low. “We should head back–you okay?” she nodded, mimicking his quick kiss before detangling herself from him and stepping aside, reaching for the door. “Wait, Mila,” he caught her hand as she unlocked the door, her gaze a little perplexed when she turned back around. “Is my hair alright?”

Camila laughed, a light roll of her eyes as she reached for the cap left on the countertop, putting it back on his head and pulling it low over his brow–he grinned in return, tipping his head back to keep his gaze on her.

“Better,” she nodded, wrinkling her nose before opening the door.

He pulled her under his arm once they were into the corridor, fixing his cap as she wrapped one of her arms around him again, bumping her hip with his while they stepped forward–and stopped at the stairs creaking, Santi’s head popping up with a deep frown that vanished as soon as he saw them.

“Ah, there you are–Alba’s been asking for you,” the other man said, looking at Camila, then made a face, somewhere between a pout and a grimace, muttering, “for some reason. Also, is it me or has Nicky gotten worse?” this he asked Frankie, his expression turning into a full scowl. His gaze then darted from one to the other, still tangled together, and surely somewhat guilty-looking–Camila’s face was still reddened, Frankie’s shirt slightly wrinkled, their hair just about messed up. Santi groaned, full on rolling his eyes. “Seriously? Gross.”

Camila laughed, loud and amused, leaving a rapid kiss to Frankie’s shoulder before sliding from under his arm, keeping her own open as she advanced towards Santi.

“Come here,” she said at his mock disdain, reaching for him. “Come on, Garcia–give me a kiss.”

“No, I don’t know where that mouth has been,” he argued, trying to step away and back down the stairs. Camila all but leaped for him, laughing again and throwing her arms around him–he quickly got his arms around her, too, keeping them both upright with a huff of protest as she smacked a kiss against his cheek. “Fish, will you keep your girlfriend in check?”

Frankie just watched them, the quick, purposefully sloppy kisses she peppered across his face from the upper step, his twisted expression as he tried to pull away but couldn’t make a move–they both knew it was an over-dramatization on Pope’s part, that he’d been basking in the affection Camila reserved for them all.

With one last kiss to Santi’s forehead–loud and possibly even sloppier, making him groan in protest–she skipped away with a laugh and a gentle pinch to his arm, one last glance in Frankie’s direction from above her shoulder with a wide grin across her reddened cheeks before walking down the stairs.

“What, no not my girlfriend?” Santi muttered, running a hand across his face before looking back up at Frankie–his gaze somewhat lost towards where Camila had gone.

“No, not this time, actually,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Oh, thank God,” Santi exclaimed, lifting his hands. “Seriously, fucking finally!”

Frankie had gotten used to sleeping as close to Camila as he could get–whether she was curled up in his arms, her back pressed against his front, or her body draped across his, it was rare for them to roll on opposite sides of the bed.

Mostly because she still hogged most of the covers, and Frankie would wake up in the middle of the night with half of himself exposed to the room, and she would then complain his hands were cold when he sought out her warmth.

He didn’t mind it one bit–each excuse he could find to feel her skin under his hands, to wake up and know she was still there, would be enough to make him withstand anything.

And he always woke up first, taking a few moments before her alarm would go off to look at her sleeping, relaxed face, hair braided back and away, eyelids trembling as she seemed to be following her dreams, lips slightly parted to let out soft huffs of air–he would pepper her skin in quick, delicate kisses as soon as she turned off the alarm, tightening his arms around her.

But the alarm didn’t sound that morning, and when he glanced over her shoulder to where the clock was he sat up so quickly the whole room spun, dragging the covers with him before turning towards the already curling up woman, her face twisting in a still-asleep frown.

“Mila, we overslept,” he called, gently shaking her by the shoulder. She groaned softly, burying her face into the pillow. “Mila,” he tried again, and she turned in his direction.

“You overslept,” she protested, bringing a hand up to rub her eyes. “I have the day off,” she added in a mumble, head heavy on the pillow and exposing the sleep lines on her opposite side of the face. “Did you not set an alarm again?”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, leaning in to press his lips to hers as he brought the covers back up over her while simultaneously sliding off the bed. “I didn't–you know I usually rely on you.”

“And that is twice you’ve made that mistake,” she mumbled, her eyelids drooping again, ever so slowly. Frankie scoffed, quick steps around the room as he searched blindly for some clothes. “I’ll take Alba to daycare, it’s alright.”

“Are you sure? You can go back to sleep,” he was still rummaging through the closet as he spoke, and suddenly the light was on and he could see the shirts hanging in front of him.

“I’m up already,” Camila groaned softly, and turning around he saw her sitting up, rubbing at her eyes again as she suppressed a yawn. Frankie’s expression softened as she kicked her legs off the bed, lingering there a moment with her head tilted forward slightly. “Go finish getting ready, I’ll make us some coffee.”

Frankie grabbed a shirt before turning around, padding across the room to reach her–he tipped her head back gently, hooking one finger underneath her chin before kissing her. Camila hummed softly, her eyelids fluttering open and shut and open again when he pulled back, thumb brushing along her jaw.

“See? I knew it’d be convenient for you to move in,” she snorted at his grinning remark, pushing him back with both her hands on his chest before getting up the bed, stretching as Frankie kissed her again, lips just at the corner of her mouth.

He passed by the living room once he was dressed, Alba sitting on the couch with her morning cartoons playing, hair still ruffled by the night–her breakfast was waiting on the coffee table, along with Camila’s empty mug.

“Morning, nena,” he murmured, placing a kiss to the top of her head. The child moved her legs, bouncing her feet and smiling and looking up at her dad. “Are you waiting for Mila?”

“Ma!” voice laced with sleep, Alba nodded, eyes squinting as she smiled. Frankie chuckled, ruffling her hair before heading towards the kitchen, leaving her to the images on the screen.

It was a new development, ma–an imitation of Frankie, of possibly the other children at daycare. The beginning of a word that signified much more for them both. The three of them, actually. Frankie’s doubts had dwindled with one single word, and he had started to tell her truly what went through his mind (almost everything).

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” he murmured as he walked up to her at the sink, one hand falling to her hip as he reached for the travel mug she was already offering him with the other. She smiled in the reflection of the mirror, taking the moka pot from the turned off stove. “I’ll set an alarm next time, I promise.”

“Heard that one before,” she chuckled, bumping her shoulder into his front as she gently leaned back into his half-hazarded embrace. “Go on now, before you’re late.”

“Thank you,” he kissed the curve of her neck–a peck, really, quick and non-committal. “I love you,” he added then, stepping back.

Camila’s head straightened abruptly, the sleep seemingly still clinging to her leaving her all of a sudden, and in the reflection he saw her eyes widen ever so slightly.

He told her almost everything.

Until that moment. He wasn’t sure he’d fully woken up just yet.

“Alright, bye,” he said just as quickly, a little louder, walking away before she could even begin turning around. Alba babbled for him from the couch and he went on, holding his breath through the corridor and entrance, down the steps and across the front yard until he reached the car.

Only then did he exhale, heavy and almost too loud as he leaned his head forward towards the steering wheel, almost hitting his forehead to the honk in the process, a soft groan abandoning him. I love you. Alright, bye.

“For fuck’s sake–” he muttered, bumping his head against the wheel again. “Alright, bye?” he grimaced. He jumped in his seat at the quick knocking against the window, pulling his head straight quickly and turning around, gripping the mug tighter to not topple it. “What–”

Camila stood next to the car, hair wild around her now that it was unbraided as she gestured at him to lower the window, bouncing ever so slightly on the spot. With a slight frown he did as she asked, and before he could form the question she was leaning into the car, grabbing him by the collar of the shirt to pull him closer and kiss him.

Frankie’s body relaxed, his eyes fluttering shut as he shifted in the seat and brought his free hand to her shoulder–he could feel her lean closer and closer, her torso sticking inside the car as she used his shirt as leverage and kissed him, kissed him, kissed him.

“I love you too,” she gasped, pulling back. Though his gaze was unfocused and he felt slightly breathless, dizzy, he managed to make out the shape of her body draped over the car door, legs dangling and the shirt of her pajama riding slightly across her back. “I thought you heard me already–a while ago.”

“What while ago?” he muttered, still a little dazed. He would think about her smile for the rest of the day, distracted out of his mind.

“I was talking with Alba, she couldn’t sleep,” the tip of her thumb brushed the side of his neck, right where his pulse was stuttering rapidly. “Telling her how much you love her–and I love her, and you,” she murmured, still leaning close, the tip of her nose almost brushing his.

“Well you didn’t tell me,” he could feel the pout on his mouth that seemed to only pull her smile wider. “I just thought–” she kissed him quickly this time, pulling back before he could register it, return it.

“Always a bad idea, honey,” she quipped, her eyes shimmering ever so slightly. “I told you, Frankie–you can tell me anything. Everything.”

“I know,” he sighed with mock defeat, leaning towards her until he was the one resting against the car door and she could touch the ground again, his head sticking out of the window. “Everything?” he asked then, looking up at her once she straightened.

“Yes,” she let her hand shift so it was cupping his jaw, thumb pushing gently into his cheek.

“You keep stealing the covers,” he whispered it, like it was a secret, and after the moment of initial shock Camila laughed. As she laughed, he turned his head to kiss her wrist, the heel of her hand, her palm, words murmured against the soft skin there– “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she repeated–she’d repeat it over and over from then on, whispered close to his ear or shouted from across the house when either one or the other left for the day, mumbled before falling asleep and just awoke. It’d always have the same effect on Frankie. “But I’m cold, so I’m not giving up the covers.”

“I know you’re not,” he chuckled, taking her hand in his to turn it around and kiss her knuckles, too. “I’ll just have to stick close, then.”

She hummed in assent, squeezing his hand in hers before leaning one last time, the kiss too brief for both their tastes–if it were up to them, that’d be where they’d spend the whole day, just as close to each other as they could get.

“I’ll see you later,” she said instead.

Frankie remained in the driveway a moment longer, watching as she ran back inside–still barefoot, a light skip in her step, and one last look over her shoulder towards him.

next

[lesbianballofgender]

Okay but in all seriousness the writing of season two is perfect to portray exactly who Ed and Stede are and who they’ve always been. If David Jenkins had said “fuck it” and given them a happy ending right away it would’ve been magic, but so false. Stede and Ed aren’t perfect like that so a perfect and easy ending isn’t correct for them.

They’re going through another break up over the pettiest of shit (I mean a fish for fuck sake) but that’s exactly what Stede and Ed would do. Because we all know it’s not actually about a fish. As Ed was running away he said ‘fishermen and pirates are nothing alike’ which just surfaces a whole bunch of new things they need to talk through. Because in that scenario Stede is the pirate and Ed is the fisherman, a complete 180 to season one’s dilema where Ed’s the pirate and Stede an Aristocrat. Stede knows it’s not the real reason he’s leaving because he even yells ‘it’s not about that’ to which Ed yells back ‘it’s everything about that! It’s everything about fishing!’ yet there’s no reason it would be. Ed is making up an excuse because he’s afraid. He kept repeating how he wanted to take things slow yet (like he mentions) everything has been doing the exact opposite. They had sex but I don’t just mean that. Stede also was very close to confessing his love for him, which to Edward I’m sure would be a huge deal as no one has probably ever loved him truly and purely before in that way. And I’m not being funny but especially a man. Ed killed his own Father and as far as we know the only person to have loved him (besides like ig Izzy) is his Mother. So it may be difficult for him to accept love especially from another man because he never received it growing up. The entire episode ‘man on fire’ also highlights exactly how truly whim-prone Ed and especially Stede are. It doesn’t take much for Stede to get swept away by praises from his fans, enough so he even gets his ear pierced. And Ed deciding to become a fisherman from catching one fish is really… the best example.

Even in ‘Calypso’s birthday’ when Ned calls Stede Ed’s ‘pet’ it brings about these doubts Stede could have about Ed’s true feelings for him that, paired with ‘Man on fire’, is fucking incredible. Because right after Stede has been told that his boyfriend only likes him because ‘of his bumbling amateur status’ he changes completely, kills two men (Ned and the man on fire), has gay sex for the first time, gets his ear pierced and a bunch of people start to get tattoos of him on their bodies. These doubts need resolving though but instead of talking it out, of course his initial response is to bottle it/have sex… though it isn’t like he was given much of a chance to bring it up to talk about it because Ed ran away (a response that is so fucking accurate to both of them as characters).

I’d just like to point out that I love the detail of Stede always preaching for everybody to ‘talk it through as a crew’ yet I swear he has never practised what he preaches. This man running away back to Mary instead of talking his feeling out but telling the crew to share their thoughts is one of the most realistic thing about his character.

No one can say this show has bad writing. The inevitable conflict was hinted at so many times throughout the season. Ed and Stede could’ve never stayed happy as soon as they met up in ‘Fun and games’ because Stede still hadn’t met his goal of being a known pirate (his whole goal from season one) plus he literally ran away from having a normal life so of course he wasn’t going to give up the seas quite yet while Ed has been so clearly saying he’s done with pirating for a long time. The entire persona of ‘Jeff’ is the only evidence we need. He wants a normal life, not as Blackbeard but as ‘Edward Teach born on a beach’ or as ‘Jeff’ - the innkeeper or accountant. It’s impossible not to pick up on this. Even the line ‘you wear fine things well’ is just this idea incarnate. They both say it to each other on severed occasions, it being a complement showing their adoration for one another. When Ed tells Stede those words it’s a comedic moment because he’s relaying Stede’s words, it’s sweet because they kiss and it’s such an obvious thing to say because Stede is (as he put it in ‘a gentleman pirate’) landed gentry so of course it suits him. Yet when Ed’s being told he looks good in nice things it’s the best thing someone has ever told him, because Stede looks past him being a pirate and a murderer and says “hey, that suits you”. No one has ever seen him as someone worth anything more so he feels seen more then he ever has before. That one line is so powerful and that’s probably why it’s repeated in season 2; because it feels like proof they will end up back together again.

They don’t understand their own feelings half the time, they’re whim-prone and they’re very good at running away, however they see one another for who they are and so far have always found their way back to each other.

[ouatsnark]

Hi. This isn’t an ask or anything, just me ranting since this is the only place for it tbh. I literally can’t find any OUAT blogs that have similar opinions 😢

Anyway on to the rant

I absolutely HATE that they didn’t do more with Henry’s character! Henry is my favourite character in the show for many reasons, the main one being that he is the backbone of the entire show in my eyes. Without him, Emma never would’ve gone to Storybrooke, and there wouldn’t even be a show at that point.

Henry was a child at the beginning of the series (10 or 11, I don’t remember) so it gave them a lot of room to basically do whatever they wanted with him. I personally would’ve loved to see him go dark, but maybe that’s just me. It would’ve been cool to mix it up seeing as many of the villains in OUAT had a redemption arc of some sort, so seeing someone go from good to bad, instead of good to bad to good again, would’ve been interesting. Again, maybe that’s just me lol.

My point is, Henry being so young at the beginning they basically had a blank canvas and could’ve painted anything on it. Instead he turned out to be a lot like David (one of my least favourites in the show) which kind of pissed me off ngl.

And in my opinion, it would’ve made a lot of sense for Henry to turn bad. Let’s face it, he was never exactly treated fairly to say the least, especially as a child. I know a lot of people like to try and sugarcoat this or just plain act like it didn’t happen, but Regina was awful to him. And so was Emma. I want to sit here and list out all the shit they did to him, but that would be way too long and would take forever, so go back and watch the show if you don’t remember. Let’s just say it includes years of gaslighting, manipulation, and being so ignorant to the point where he had to poison himself because no one would listen to him, and that’s not even the half of it.

Henry always came across as someone who would be pretty morally grey to me, even if he was technically on the good side. Remember his little run-in with Cruella in the Underworld? I haven’t watched the show in a while so correct me if anything is incorrect, but didn’t he literally agree to work with her for something? (I can’t remember what LMAO) Even though she’s a villain. Regardless of the reason for working with her, I doubt you’d see Snow/Mary Margaret or David/Charming working with her, or even Regina at that stage in the series.

Even if they didn’t make him evil, they could’ve done literally anything with his character besides making him a near copy of Charming. They could’ve at least given him his own storyline (I know he technically had his own in S7, but I don’t count that because it was shit lmao, it wasn’t even the same actor 😭). Those two episodes where Henry had to go into the Heroes and Villains book to save his family were the best episodes in the series for me and it would’ve been amazing to see more of it.

Anyway so sorry for the long ass rant 😭😭 Really hope you can post this to see other people’s thoughts, but no pressure since I know you’re not as insane about Henry’s character as I am lmao 💀

So what do you guys think? Leave your thoughts in the comments (or reblogs)!

I lost all interest in Henry once they retconned him and ignored Regina's abuse just so they could have her join team hero.

Personally, I have never had a need to see heroes go dark. There seems to be this huge obsession with that as of late and I honestly don't get it. Like people wanted to see Dark Swan go all the way and I am like "no, no it makes her special that she was able to resist. So no." But alas that is my opinion on that. We had enough villains. I didn't need to see Emma's son become one.

[ifhymona]

٭* Not Too Late *٭

Chapter 2 | chino moreno x reader

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 3 | AO3: @romantic_daydream

1.1k words

it’s been around a month ever since i started working with the deftones. not much has happened this past month, just them teaching me the ropes. although i didn’t have a lot of experience, they were very patient with me and helped me get the hang of booking venues and making advertisements for them and etc. they were right about the chemistry between us. i feel like i could really be myself around them as if we have known each other our whole lives.

their album adrenaline has been making good money lately so my pay is pretty good so far. the only con is chino. he’s been a dick to me since day one. and it’s only because of high school drama.

yup, you heard it. high school drama. me and chino had first met in middle school. i was a 7th grader and he was an 8th grader. he started hanging out with my older brother and he would come over almost all the time. since he was always with my brother, i started hanging out with them and got closer with him too.

there were always some type of feelings i had towards chino but nothing major. sometimes, it was just the two of us hanging out without my brother. we would have fun with each other and he knew that. slowly after time went by, my feelings for him started to grow even heavier. that was until my sophomore year. he started dating a very insufferable girl named cassandra but he just saw what he wanted to see in her.

i knew something was wrong with her. i didn’t know what but she just seemed off. it might sound like i was jealous but never doubt a girl’s intuition. keep in mind, this was chino’s first girlfriend. he was head over heels for her. but i could tell she didn’t feel the same. i never seen them have a full on conversation with each other and she never looked like she was enjoying herself around him. it was the worst seeing that since chino was my best friend and he meant a lot to me. he deserved to be with somebody who treated him as an equal. the day i tried to tell chino, it didn’t go well.

i was over at his house playing the nintendo with him. it was the perfect time to bring it up.

“camillo, i’m gonna say something that might come off the wrong way but it’s because i care.”

“okay? i doubt anything will make me mad at you.” he chuckled.

“i don’t think you should go out with cassandra anymore.”

he paused the game and he turned to me with the biggest stink face ever. “what did you say?”

“i know that you love her camillo but i can just tell she’s not into you. i know that’s fucked up to say but-“

he started yelling at me. “what do you know about cassandra? you two aren’t close!”

“yeah but it’s not hard to see camillo. i just don’t want you getting hurt.”

he got up from the floor. “if you were my friend, you would support me no matter what i do with my life! don’t be mad at me because i’m finally getting some action! it’s not my fault that nobody likes you! don’t try and backstab me because I have what you want!”

“oh yeah? what is that camillo?” i shouted at him.

“i’m not a nobody!”

i could feel the tears coming up to my eyes. i will never forget those words. that was what my parents told me at my most vulnerable and he knew how much they affected me.

i ran out of his house before i could start fully crying. i couldn’t let him see me grow weak.

a week later, he found her cheating with a college dude.

so not only had he lost his so called “girlfriend”, he lost one of his best friends too and i hoped that would’ve sat with him. but unfortunately it didn’t. because he still held that grudge against me. although we had stopped talking in general, i could still feel a coldness he held towards me. i couldn’t have given a single shit though. if thats how he wanted to treat his best friend then fine.

shocking for him to still be a dick to me all these years later though. even though all i did was try and be a friend. whatever. the past is the past.

so although things were going great with the rest of the band, chino still refuses to talk to me. i was tired of feeling like the villain when he knows that i did absolutely nothing wrong. so i decided to talk to him.

it was band practice. they said they wanted me there for every practice in case something went wrong and they needed an errand girl. so i was pretty much spending most of my time with them now.

“alright guys let’s take 5.” chino told the rest of the band. as everybody scattered, i tapped chino’s shoulder.

“chino, can we talk?” he looked at me. “outside?” he rolled his eyes but nodded. we both went outside into the parking lot behind the building. i looked around to make sure no one was near.

“what’s your problem with me?” i asked.

“excuse me?”

“you heard me. i said what is your problem with me?” i stared at him.

“my problem? my problem is that you’re a backstabber.”

“oh my god are you still running along with that? i just tried to warn you!”

“no not that! despite even after you heard she cheated on me, you had never called! never came over and never asked how i was doing!”

i stared at him in disbelief. “are you actually fucking kidding me right now? please tell me you’re joking?” i mentally prepared my self for what i was about to say. “camillo you were my best friend. you’re only mad at me because i was right! i’m not your mommy, i didn’t and still don’t owe you anything! are you forgetting about the fact that you held my insecurities against me?! reminding me that i’m a nobody! you think i didn’t know that already?” he looked down. “i tried to be your best friend camillo! but you didn’t even try to be mine! you disrespected me like it wasn’t even your first time! you never not once cared about my opinion! did you even notice that i was on the verge of crying when you told me those things?” he didn’t respond. “did you!?”

“no.” he mumbled, looking down at his shoes. i stared at him. i could feel the tears coming up so i calmed myself down before i continued.

“you are the most selfish person i know and i want nothing to do with you.” i said trying to hurt him. “if you don’t want me around, then i quit.” he looked up at me in disbelief. but before he could say anything, i walked away.

a/n: i hope you guys like this chapter ! please leave a like, if you did ! that would be much appreciated. chapter three will be out in a few days ! :) love of love <3