#quick curl Francie

[midcenturymyrtle]

[britneyshakespeare]

you know what i need? to buy another vintage barbie doll

[tarantulasnot]

Francis mosses is just a milkman, a nobody. But you were a something he wanted, and what's the difference between wants and needs?

CW: weed usage, hair pulling, cum eating, elongated tongue, misuse of shape shifting, Francis is a shy little freak, sub Francis, marking, reader gets stoned and gets an idea,

It's gonna be... 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 👅

You were so nice for a creature. Your smile, although a bit sharp was so mesmerizing. Your morning greetings were so pleasant, and genuinely made his day. He was so lonely, and you're small acts of kindness made him develop a small crush on you.

"Are you alright Francis? Your eyes have been getting darker." He'd shrug, however delighted that you'd noticed. "Mmm... Long shifts." You gave him a sympathetic look, and he looked the other way. "Come over tonight. I have something that might help."

So he came to you that night. He had changed out of his uniform into his button up pajamas, (1950s pajamas are Ebeneezer Scrooge couture okay 😭 lets act like that's sexy), and he approached your door, knocking on it.

Within a few seconds you had opened the wooden door, gazing at him with a smile. "Oh you're here already?" Another smile, it's like you're the original, but so much nicer. "Mmm, need all the help I can get." Your eyes scan him up and down and he shudders, but you shake your head, inviting him. "Take a seat on the couch, I'll be with you in a second." He does as told, but he's so stiff about it. Awkwardly sitting with perfect posture, his legs spread apart, and tapping his thigh anxiously. You return with a soft blanket and a two cups of hot cocoa, and two neatly rolled joints between your fingers. "Oh don't be so rigid, darling."

Fuck if only you knew the things you did to him. "Mmm, sorry about that." Francis apologizes, but you're quick to dismiss it. "I don't want to hear any of that." Settling down to his right, you pull out your lighter, and set the cups of warmed chocolate on the nightstand beside you. "Have you ever smoked weed, Francis?" The way you asked the question was so casual, that he looked almost taken back (this is the 1950s guys.)

"Mmm, well no." He glanced nervously at the joint in your hand as you set the end aflame, pulling on it once and holding the cocoa in your hand. You exhale the smoke and quickly take a swig. "I heard the coughing hurts."

You laugh, and it almost sounds like you're making fun of him. Once again, your teeth flash at him, and he swallows. Francis wonders how they would feel on his neck, his collarbone, his thighs... "Here," Lifting the other mug in your hand, you pass it to him. "If you exhale after a moment and drink this really fast you won't cough as much, if at all." He takes the drink, and sets it in his lap. However his attention is back in you and the way your lips curl around the blunt. You look so graceful about it.

"Here." You pass the joint to him between two fingers, and he copies you. "Now just take a small hit, this is your first time after all." The milkman nods, pressing his lips to it, and of course he doesn't listen. He barely feels it go down so after a solid 5 seconds you press your fingers to his lips and take the weed from him. "That's enough for you big fella."

Francis blows the white cloud from his lunge, and after a solid second of not feeling anything, he gets a scratchy burning feeling, and immediately sips on the cocoa. Afterwards he starts coughing, but it's not as bad as it would be without the drink. "H-Holy shit..." He manages in between coughs. "Damn that..." Francis leans back, his brain already starting to feel the effects. "That hits."

You chuckle lowly, taking another couple of puffs before passing it back to him. He goes through the cycle again before finally both of you are at a good high.

His eyes are dropped, eyelids lowered as he gazes at the wall. "Francis." You whisper, grabbing his attention, and suddenly he's locked in on you. Your hair, your lips, your eyes. God you're just a sight to behold.

"How are you feeling." He blinks at you, before smiling. "I feel great." He whispers. "Really good."

He moves a little closer, pulling the blanket further over himself. "Why haven't I done this before?" He leans his head back against the back of the couch, sighing. You can't help but appreciate the proximity. "Ummm..." He smells good, like deep cologne and the hint of flower in the air. "I don't know, but I'm glad you're feeling this good." Your hand goes to his thigh, landing on his knee and he shudders.

You had to be doing this in purpose. He felt his heart beating faster, and his body felt heavy. The way your fingertips glided over his knee to the center of his thigh, he wanted your hand just a bit further up. He wanted your hands everywhere. Really, he couldn't help it. His eyes fluttered shut as you kept running your hand over his thigh and he sighed heavily. "(Y/N)..." He whispered under his breath, and you took your hand away. You didn't want to push it, or do anything he didn't want.

You would have been an idiot to not notice that Francis had taken an interest in you. His flushed glances as you complimented him on his appearance, even if he was disheveled; or, when you touched his arm as a thank you for helping when you had "accidentally" knocked one of the bottles down.

"Are you alright, darling?" That nickname again, he parted his lips to speak. He wanted to be your darling, he had for a while. "I do like when you call me that." He admitted slowly, and his eyes sifted opened to peer at you. "Do you call anyone else darling?" He asked so innocently, but with a smidge of potential envy. "I don't." You reply simply, and you turn to face him fully. He returns the gesture, and now he's inches away from your face. "Mmm... So I'm your darling then?" He stated as though it were fact, speaking aloud.

Right in front of his eyes this time, your right hand drifts down to his thigh, and he twitches. "Mmm, don't do this to me." He wrenches his eyes from the scene back to you.

"What's the matter Francis?" It's his upper thigh this time that you graze, and it drives him to a point of no return. Already his pants are swelling with the thoughts he can't say, and if it weren't for the thickness of the blanket you would have seen it. However, you can feel the heat radiating from it. "Is there something wrong?"

Francis puts a hand over his eyes, he doesn't want to admit it, but he's already so painfully hard, a bead of precum staining his boxers and all you've done is pet his thigh. "Mmm... No- no." He shakes his head, and he nearly lurches out of his skin when all of a sudden your hand grazes over the spot that's affected the most. "Fuck- I just-" Francis mumbles, his hips chasing the contact, the stiffened member behind the clothing twitching beneath your ministrations. "Please-"

You don't deny him any further. You set your mugs to the side and crawl into his lap, and attach your lips to his. It's like a finely tuned instrument, both of you in sync, your hips moving over his slowly, and your kisses in the same agonizing rhythm.

He tries kissing you sweetly, this is the first time, but he can't control himself that well when it comes to this. "mmm- mm!" Your sharpened teeth bite his bottom lip, and he whines at the sting. But fuck he wants it, he wants those teeth to sinking into his neck, he wants the marks, he wants it all.

So you can't blame him when he grabs your hips and bucks into them, his eyes squeezed shut as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. Only to lose when your much longer one, which he hadn't noticed before, fills his. Your mixed saliva drops down his chin and he starts fully thrusting against you practically, his hands on your waist and your assisted pressure. "oh fuck- fuck-" he parts from the kiss to groan into your shoulder, and he sits down, begging into your ear while you did all the work. "Feels so good-"

Francis had been so lonely, so pent up. "Mmm more-" He pleaded, but you felt like being a little cruel to him. He could take it.

Your hand pulls his hair backwards and his hips jerk, a long moan escaping his throat. "You want more?" Your hips went faster and his eyebrows furrowed upwards, sweat at his hairline as you relentlessly dug your hips into him. "Huh, darling?"

The grip you had on his hair was just tight enough to ache and when you shook him around a little bit he couldn't stop himself from crying out. "yes!" He gasped, and suddenly he admitted what he wanted. "Please I want your fucking teeth in my neck- I want your tongue on my chest and-" he didn't even need to say it for you to know what he meant, because he keeps dragging his hips over yours when he has the mind to.

You quickly ripped his shirt open, and he shuddered when you let go of his hair. His tired eyes watched you get on your knees in front of him, his lip pulled between his teeth as you immediately peppered his neck with kisses.

I'm too lazy

@the-lazyyy-artist

[pomodoriyum]

the day after Halloween:

Nedward little: worrying about having to clean up the giant mess from the party. pathetically sweeping at a sticky spot on the floor with a broom

john irving: trying and failing to sleep off a headache from the copious amounts of alcohol he imbibed. still kinda drunk

george hodgson: drinking coffee, completely chipper, surveying mess with no intention to start cleaning any time soon

thomas jopson: sleeps in a bit late but pretty much functional. he’s eager to begin putting things back to order; the party was very fun!

solomon tozer: hungover pretty badly. wakes up and hes all cuddled up with heather, whos snoozing away. spends most of his day like this. gets up at like 2-3pm

billy gibson: slight headache from the noise/excitement from prev night, sleeps in ‘late’ (for him) but is up by like 6:40 am. also having coffee in the kitchen (black). kissed hickey’s head before getting up and was nearly ensnared by hickeys demands for cuddling (hes gotten really good at dodging grabby hands/arms)

cornelius hickey: did not drink, but likes sleeping in late so stays in bed until like 10 anyway. upset that billy got up to start his day; really wanted cuddles (and was hoping for a quick fuck). WILL smoke in bed. sometimes billy brings him coffee if he’s accidentally made too much in the pot

harry goodsir: sleeps in late, but wakes feeling refreshed. definitely showers first thing. he slept on the couch so silna could sleep in his twin-sized bed (she gets backaches on the couch)

silna: up early but stays in bed reading one of the books on goodsirs bedside table. eventually gets up and goes for a run with tuunbaq (patiently waiting at foot of the bed) and then breakfasts with goodsir

charles des voeux: ate himself sick on candy and had waaaaay to much to drink, so hes curled pathetically under the coffee table whimpering and groaning. tom hartnell takes photos before maneuvering him into a blanket and making him drink water.

tom hartnell: had a wonderful time at the party hanging out with the lads!! is actually helpful cleaning up; does take a vicious joy in vacuuming loudly a smidge too early for the folks who drank a lot/annoyed him the previous night (i.e, des voeux)

pilkington: a little hungover but mostly ok; is the designated driver to get people home. wakes up wedged next to des voeux on the floor between the couch and coffee table

francis crozier: initially avoided the party bc of the drinking; ended up going anyway bc james called him midway and convinced him to come. mosty hung out by the food table and the couch. he and jfj definitely took a romantic walk late in the evening

james fitzjames: put the party together with the help of dundy. drank quite a bit but knows his limits and is not hungover. is absolutely planning on making other people clean up the mess from the party, though

Henry le visconte: helped jfj put things together, partied *hard*, currently passed out in a bush somewhere. Fitzjames comes to find him and fetch him out of there and make him drink water and swaddle him in blankets

sir john franklin: came, politely said hello, had a few snacks, told a few stories, and left early before it got too loud. gave lots of back pats to the men.

graham gore: partied hard. got a bit sensual with the lads. had a great time and is only a little hungover. joins george for coffee and they have a rousing conversation about musical theory in the kitchen.

stephen stanley: did not attend.

[beastofburdenxo]

Look After You

This is based on later seasons of "Peaky Blinders" where Tommy has trouble with seizures. This time, he has you to look after him after he has one.

Hurt, fluff, comfort, mention of seizures, ptsd, typical Tommy language. @your-nanas-house

"Tommy.... there we are, it's alright. I got you." Tommy found himself in the kitchen floor, confused with his head in your lap. You were stroking the short sides of his hair, the gray starting to peek through.

Tommy tries to speak, but you silence him. "Don't speak, sweetheart, just relax. Breathe. It's over. I'm here with you." Tommy had a seizure at the kitchen table. He stopped talking mid sentence, and you knew what to do. You pulled him to the floor so he wouldn't fall out of his chair and hurt himself. Luckily, they never last very long.

"Another one?" Tommy finally whispers, tears in his eyes. "Mmm, hmm, just a short one, sweetheart. I pulled you to the floor so you wouldn't fall out and hurt yourself."

"Why am I wet?" Tommy asks you. You give him a forehead kiss before replying. "You lost control of your bladder. The doctor said that was normal, remember? It happens a lot during seizures."

"I fucking pissed myself on the kitchen floor?!"

"Shhhh, Tommy, it's okay. We'll get you cleaned up all good as new. Would you like me to call Francis or Arthur to help you up?"

"Fuck no!" Tommy cries with embarrassment. "I rather be shot! What kind of a man am I?!"

"Tommy." You coo, wiping his tears away. "You are the same man I married. Between being in the war and your various head injuries over the years, you can't help it. Now let's get you up and into the bath, yeah?"

You run Tommy a nice hot bath and help him out of his clothes, ignoring Tommy's fussing about it. ("Fucking fell out and pissed myself, surely I can undress myself without issue!")

With Tommy in the bath, you make quick work of washing him up. "Relax, Tommy, let the warm bath do its job."

"I can't. What if I have another one? What if I have one while driving? What if I have one in parliament and piss everywhere in front of God and everybody?"

Terror is evident in Tommy's eyes. You know his seizures and ptsd go hand in hand. You look at him, but his eyes have gone elsewhere.

"Tommy. Hey, come back to me. You'll throw yourself into another one if you don't relax. Shhhhh. There you are. Nobody knows, do they?"

Tommy brings his knees up to his chest, hugging himself. "No one but you. I feel so small and weak. It honestly scares me."

You hold Tommy while he sobs quietly in the bathtub. "Have you been taking the tablets the doctor gave you?"

"They're fucking useless, love. I still have them."

"Because you won't let them do their job. You hardly eat, hardly sleep, and you smoke like a freight train. You've got to take better care of yourself, sweetheart."

"Is that your diagnosis for me, doctor?" Tommy asks you with a sniffle.

"Yes, it is. Now, let's get you out and into bed. You need to rest. You always feel wiped out afterward."

This time, there are no complaints from tommy as you dress him in comfortable clothes and tuck him into bed. "Now get some sleep, Tommy. You'll feel better when you wake up."

"What if I don't wake up?" Tommy asks quietly, the terror set back in his eyes.

"Tommy, baby, don't think that. I'll be right here next to you if that's what you need. You have to sleep. I'll hold you for as long as you want me to. If you have another one, I will be right here as always. You are in the middle of the bed, so you won't fall off and get hurt. You are safe here with me, I promise. Now, please get some needed rest. I love you, tommy."

"I love you too. Promise you won't go anywhere while I sleep?" He is anxious like a child that just had a nightmare.

"I promise, baby. Nothing can pull me away."

Tommy curls up into your chest, breathing in your scent to relax him. You gently rub his back and listen to his breathing slow and ease into sleep.

[mediocrecowboyhat]

Set in sand - Chapter 22

We mark the year 1934 and a peculiar journal falls into your hands. It's telling the tale of an outlaw and the downfall of a gang. Some pages are torn and others are downright unreadable, but nevertheless, you are still able to make out some parts of the tragic story.

With the help of a certain time traveler friend of yours, will you be able to save the author of the journal or will you be the cause for his demise?

Previous chapter - Next chapter

Word count: 4k

TW: end-game spoilers will be mentioned very early on in the story, 18+ MDNI, sexual themes, violence, gore, death, misogynistic themes (anything that happens in the game as well), she/her pronouns

"Who pissed in your coffee this mornin'?" Sadie seems to materialize out of nowhere next to you and you let out a startled gasp at her sudden appearance.

"What do you mean?", you breathe out and she eyes you from top to bottom. You squirm under her intense stare.

"You look like you're ready to stab a man for breathing wrong."

I do?

A sigh escapes you and you run a hand over your face. It doesn't come as a surprise to you that your fight with Arthur yesterday has left it's mark on you. There surely are some words and actions you regret, but it's as if the outlaw has been swallowed by the earth.

Earlier today, or rather right after you woke up, your eyes were scanning the camp in hopes to catch him, but he was nowhere to be seen. That still is the case. At this point, you might need an iron to straighten out the deep crease between your eyebrows.

"Don't tell me there's trouble in paradise." Sadie rips you out of your thoughts with a teasing smirk plastered on her face. Once she notices that you don't find her joke amusing at all, the smirk falters and her expression turns into a more serious one. "Shit, do you...uh wanna talk 'bout that?"

Even though the question comes out as awkward as can be, you appreciate her efforts to be there for you. Maybe that's good. Maybe what you need right now is a distraction.

You give your surroundings a quick look-over to make sure no one is standing close enough to hear you. Afterwards you tell her what happened after Arthur fixed up your shoulder, intentionally leaving out the part where you two almost kissed of course.

Sadie stays silent the entire time, only nodding every now and then to indicate that she's listening. Once your story comes to an end, she shakes her head and looks at something in the distance.

"He'll come around, trust me. My Jakey...", she speaks up and kicks a pebble away. It takes a second for her to continue and when she does, it's with a strained face. "As wonderful as he was, he could still be a moron sometimes. But we always figured things out at the end and so will you."

"I'm just scared that he won't stop pushing me away.", you admit hesitantly. These thoughts have been plaguing you all night and all day and you're afraid that, now that you voiced them out loud, they might come true.

"I heard from the others that he had a pretty unfortunate love life before he met you. What was her name again? Mary? They were serious, right?"

You nod before answering. "They were engaged, but she left him eventually. Married someone else after that."

"Jesus.", she breathes out with a surprised huff and crosses her arms infront of her chest.

You recall Mary's words from back in Saint Denis, when Arthur went to get her brooch back and left you two alone. She told you that it would work out for you and him. The memory sends a stinging pain through your chest and you immediately shake it off.

It will be fine, I had told Francis. Nothing will go wrong, I had said.

Thinking about your old friend, makes your lips curl up into a bittersweet smile. He would be so incredibly pissed if he'd know what you've been doing this entire time. Robbing, killing, fooling around with outlaws.

Only that it feels anything but fooling around when it comes to Arthur. Every private and intimate moment with that man always leaves you dreaming and hoping, fantasizing about a life together. Do you have the same effect on him? Is that the reason he's pushing you away?

Sadie bumps her shoulder against yours (your good shoulder, thankfully), startling you. Something flickers in her brown eyes. Something mischievous.

"Come on. We're leavin'." With that, she strolls towards the horses and you hastily follow her.

"To where?", you ask, confusion lacing your voice.

"You promised to take me out of the camp, didn't you?" She throws you a knowing look over her shoulder and mounts a horse. As puzzled as you are, you still mimick her actions and get ontop of Penthesilea.

"But we were talking about jobs. Sadie, I don't really think that robbing a homestead is going to make me feel better."

Her long, blonde hair falls over her shoulders in waves as she tilts her head back to laugh. "No! We're just gonna take a walk in town, do some sightseein', maybe visit a saloon."

All that sounds harmless enough, but knowing Sadie, that could very well change throughout the day. Going out with her will either end with the both of you absolutely hammered and having to go through a hellish hangover the next day or you find yourself running from a bunch of lawmen.

Now that you think about it, you probably shouldn't narrow it down to just the law. She isn't picky when it comes to pissing off people. Excited laughter cuts through the air, drowning out the sound of your horses' hooves and you can't help but smile, seeing your friend like this.

"It'll be fun! I can feel it!", she shouts in your direction and you sigh in amusement.

"As long as you behave.", your voice comes out in a teasing tone and she furrows her eyebrows as she looks at you.

"I can behave."

"Sure. Arthur told me what a normal shopping trip with you looks like."

An offended gasp can be heard from her and she places a hand on her chest, clutching her non-existent pearls. "I can't believe he'd go behind my back like this and tell you."

The rest of the ride to Saint Denis goes by with some more banter and chatter and you hitch your horses on the side of the road once you make it to the center. You're not sure if you will ever get used to the smell here.

"How's your shoulder?", Sadie asks and your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. With everything that's been happening, you totally forgot about that bruise of yours. Whatever cream Arthur used on you, it's doing fantastic work.

Your fingers carefully press against your shoulder and a mild, dull pain spread in your arm. Granted, you should probably still take it a bit easy, but all in all your arm is almost fully functional again. "Pretty good actually."

"Good enough to get rowdy tonight?" A sinister smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth and you shoot her a warning look.

"No fighting.", you say in a firm tone.

"Of course!" She snickers, making it obvious that getting into trouble is exactly what she was thinking of. "I meant drinks."

"Yeah. Sure."

With it being noon at the moment, you don't really feel like you're in the mood for drinks just yet. Fortunately, neither does Sadie and she motions with her chin towards a store. It is a tailor, but a tad less fancy than the one Trelawny has dragged you too.

"What? You want a new dress or something?", you ask, amusement evident in your tone and she let's out a scoff.

"No." Her response comes out faster than a bullet and she examines your attire. "You got the guns and the scars, but there's somethin' important missin', outlaw."

Something within you stirs upon hearing the nickname. It's not wrong. That is precisely what you are, an outlaw, but being referred to as one makes you uneasy. Before she could sense that anything is wrong, you school your features and match her energy.

"And what's that?"

"Do you even to ask? Ya need a hat, sweetheart!", she says in a matter of fact way and it gets a chuckle out of you.

Next thing you know, you're being dragged by the wrist towards the tailor and she pushes open the door. The shopkeeper and some of the customers there turn their heads in your direction after that energetic entrance and you shoot them an apologetic smile.

Sadie picks up a bunch of cowboy hats from the wall and places them on your head, one by one. Her lips are pursed in concentration as she studies every single piece closely and you raise your brow. "Do I have a say in what I'll wear?"

"Obviously. I'm just narrowin' it down for ya.", she mutters, lost in thought and you decide to leave her to do her thing.

After a few minutes of her mumbling incoherent words under her breath as she tries out almost every single hat on you, a satisfied smile begin to spread on her freckled face. Seems like you got a winner.

Finally she allows you to see what she picked out as she hands you a handheld mirror. It's a pinch front style hat that is made out of a dark leather that matches your belt. The band is a similar color, but lighter, complimenting the accessory quite nicely.

"That one is perfect.", you breathe out, impressed by her ability to pinpoint what you'd like. Her satisfied smile becomes a proud grin at your reaction to her choice and you go to pay for it.

Afterwards you two spend the time with some errand running and window shopping. There are some rifles she eyes at the gunsmith, but none of them end up being what she's looking for. The next stop is a small restaurant and by the time you leave it, the sun has set.

Sadie stretches her back, cracking and popping some bones with a pleased sigh and she cracks a yawn. "I don't know about you, but I could go for a drink."

"Same." You don't feel like returning back to camp just yet. Sure, you could maybe run into Arthur there and try to talk things out with him. Though, there is also the possibility that he's not there and then you'll be left sitting alone at the campfire, spiraling. Tonight you don't want to go down that rabbit hole that is your complicated feelings towards the outlaw.

Sadie takes you to a small saloon, located more on the edge of the city. The area doesn't strike you as too safe, but it's not too worrying either. You've budded heads with worse than some Saint Denis thugs.

Leaning against the bar counter, you two order a glass of whisky each and you bring it to your lips.

Oh, sweet sherry, how much I miss you.

"Have you talked to Dutch again about joining on jobs?", you ask and a shadow falls over your friend's expression. As if you hit a nerve, she downs the alcohol in one go and brings the glass down with a loud thud.

"No, but I don't think it's much use anyways.", she murmurs and signals the bartender to give her another drink. "Even though I went all out with that O'Driscoll trash durin' the ambush."

Memories of that fight flood your mind, images of bloody corpses scattered on the docks. A shiver runs down your spine and you take another sip, hoping that the alcohol will ease the tension in your muscles.

Maybe it's better to move onto a lighter topic. "Thank you for helping with the hat, by the way. I really like it."

Your words get a cheeky grin out of her and she nudges your good shoulder with hers. "It's the least I could do for you."

"What do you mean?", you ask, confused, but then you roll your eyes in feigned annoyance. "Listen, don't worry about how I feel. Arthur and I only had a fight. Not a falling out."

I hope.

"It's not that.", she counters and lowers her gaze. Suddenly, the air between you becomes awkward and tense and she plays around with her glass. "You've been so kind to me since the beginnin'."

Quickly, your hand shoots forward and you place it on her arms, giving it a gentle squeeze. When she looks up to meet your eyes, you smile softly at her.

"Of course, my friend." Then you clear your throat and order two more drinks. The whisky is going down faster than you expected, but it's nice. "Enough with that sentimental mood now. Let's have some fun!"

It doesn't stop there. The alcohol flows like honey, becoming easier to swallow with every sip and you drink.

And drink.

And drink.

Sadie says something that you can't quite make out, but that isn't stopping you from finding it incredibly funny. You bend over, cackling and she does the same. Some of the customers throw irritated looks your way, but you don't pay them any mind.

Another glass is being placed infront of you and you furrow your eyebrows. "I didn't order that."

"Consider it a small gift from a kind stranger.", someone next to you says and you turn your head to face a man who looks to be your age.

He's rather handsome with his bright green eyes and curly blonde hair, but maybe the alcohol is clouding your judgement. You take a moment to study his features some more, noting how his eyebrows are darker than his hair and how there are dimples on his cheeks when he smiles.

"Might the stranger extend his kindness and tell me his name?", you ask, playing along. Your positive response makes his smile go wider, exposing a set of bright white teeth.

The shirt he's wearing looks old and stained and his pants are dusty, but the skin on his hands is smooth without any callouses. Nothing about this man indicates that he has worked even a day in his life, yet his outfit begs to differ.

"Jim.", he says, extending his hand out to you and you shake it. Indeed, it's very smooth almost delicate. "And you?"

You give him your name and bring the glass to your lips. Before taking a sip, you subtly breathe in the scent of the whisky, but nothing stands out to you. It passes the taste test too.

Maybe you're reading too much into it. So what if that guy is from the upper class? He could be living a double life to get away from something. It wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary.

"So tell me, Jim, what is someone like you doing in a place like this?", you ask and watch him from the corner of your eyes. Sadie shifts in her seat next to you, listening in on the conversation.

The man doesn't look unsettled by your suspicion. On the contrary, he chuckles and shakes his head in disbelief. "Am I that bad of an actor?"

His reaction makes you relax and you allow yourself to smile. "I don't mean any offense, but you don't look like you have lifted a single finger in your whole life."

"No offense taken, my good lady. You're correct, I haven't."

"Then why pretend? Saint Denis has some high-end saloons with liquor that doesn't taste like dog piss." The tipsy state you're in has loosened your tongue quite a bit.

"But they're filled with...snobs.", he counters, wrinkling his nose.

A sly smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth and you cock your eyebrow. "And you're trying to tell me you're not like the others?"

For a moment you're afraid that you might be taking it too far, crossing a line of some sort, but amusement flickers in his eyes. He seems to be enjoying your boldness.

"If you give me a chance then I could prove to you that I'm not."

Sadie let's out a snort next to you and you give her shin a light, but firm kick. You don't think that it's going to go anywhere with Jim. Arthur stills occupies every nook and cranny in your mind.

"I'll think about it."

Jim nods, content with your answer. "Don't worry, I don't intend to rush you. Rome wasn't build in a day either."

The way he speaks makes you smile and you lower your gaze to look at the glass infront of you. Sadie shoots a knowing glance your way and you playfully slap her arm.

"That's a mighty fine gun you got there." Your attention is back on Jim and his eyes are set on the pistol at your side. 

"Can you shoot?", you ask and his eyes go wide in shock before he shakes his head in a bashful way.

"No, I seem to never get the aim right.", he declares with a soft chuckle. Casually, he lift his own glass and swirls the liquid inside it around. "Perhaps you could teach me some time."

Hope flickers under that confident, playful mask of his and you open your mouth to answer, but a deep voice beats you to it.

"You better mind your own business, boy."

The hair on the back of your neck stands up upon listening to that familiar southern drawl. Arthur, your Arthur, is standing next to you and you rub your eyes to make sure that it's not some hallucination your drunk mind has come up with.

"Oh, shit.", Sadie hisses behind you, visibly delighted by the unexpected turn of events, but you, on the other hand, would rather have the ground swallow you whole.

"What are you doing here?", you breathe out in disbelief and maybe a bit of horror as well.

"What I'm doin'? I'm gettin' the two of you home.", he says in a matter of fact way. He stands before you like a dream. Broad shoulders, hat tilted low and his large hands on the belt.

I think I had too much to drink.

Jim is looking between the two of you, confused by Arthur's sudden appearance and hostility. "I'm sorry, friend. I didn't know she is your girl."

His girl...oh, I'm definitely too hammered.

"First of all, I ain't your friend. I ain't nothin' to you and neither is the Lady here, so do yourself a favor and bother someone else.", Arthur snarls in a low, threatening voice that doesn't tolerate any backtalk.

Jim straightens his back and raises his hands. "I didn't mean any offense, sir. We were just talking."

The outlaw moves his jaw, but before he could do more damage, you extend your arm and pull at the sleeve of his leather jacket. "What is your problem, Arthur?"

"C'mon. We're leavin'.", he says, completely ignoring your question and he makes his way towards the entrance.

Sadie snickers, but downs the contents of her glass and follows him. Quickly, you mouth an apology to Jim, but he waves it off with a warm smile and you rush out of the saloon.

Cool night air fills your lungs as you take a deep breath, but it does little to nothing to calm your nerves. It clears up the fog in your head, in fact, leaving you seething in anger. Heat rises up to your face as you think about how much of a fool Arthur has made you look like back there.

With your hands balled up into fists, you stomp towards the man and grab him by the shoulder to face you. In the corner of your eyes, you see Sadie become suddenly very interested in a lamp post.

"Have you lost your mind?", you snap at the outlaw and he looks at you as if you grew a second head.

"Have I lost my mind?", he repeats, absolutely baffled and your mouth hangs open. For a while the both of you just stare at each other through narrowed eyes and with flared nostrils until you decide that it's enough.

This isn't something you want to take out in public. The streets of Saint Denis are buzzing with life and you don't want to draw more attention to you. So with a quiet huff you make your way towards the horses and your trio rides back to camp in awkward silence.

As you hitch up Penthesilea, Sadie taps you lightly on your shoulder and you turn around.

"I'll go ahead.", she whispers and you nod. It's obvious what she's trying to do with this.

Talk to him.

Arthur goes to follow the woman, but stops in his tracks when you softly call out to him. It's very late and you don't want to wake anyone up with your shouting.

"What was going on back there?", you ask, more calm now than you were back in the city. Anger still burns in your chest, but not as hot anymore.

When he doesn't answer, you let out an irritated sigh. "Why won't you talk to me? I thought we were fine. More than fine even until you made it very clear yesterday that you don't want this, that you don't want me. Then when someone talks to me you act like some territorial ape. What do you want from me?"

It's difficult to make out his expression in this darkness, but it's evident that he's carrying out an internal battle with himself. His shoulders are tense and his chest rises and falls heavily.

"I...I'm real bad at this.", he mutters after a while and you dare take a step closer to him. Hesitantly, you take his hand and bring it up to your chest, holding onto it tightly.

The warmth of his body and the feeling of his skin under your fingers has become so painfully familiar.

"That's okay.", you answer in a hushed tone and you take another careful step. He let's you in, let's you stay close to him so that you feel his breath caressing your face and you remove his hat to get a better look at him.

"I had a son once. Isaac was his name."

Your heart drops at the sudden confession. You don't make a single sound, don't move a single muscle. He's finally opening up to you and you don't want to push him.

"It was years ago. I met this waitress, Eliza.", he continues, voice strained and raspy as if he's fighting to hold himself back. "I didn't stay with them, but visited as much as I could. I shared my earnings from the gang, so they could live somewhat comfortable."

His fingers twitch in your grasp and you feel his thumb circling over the back of your hand as he continues.

"One day I came over and was met with nothin' but two graves. Some folk robbed and killed them."

"I'm so sorry, Arthur." Your voice is trembling and he shakes his head.

"Don't be, sweetheart."

For the longest time, both your breathing was the only sound aside from the rustling of leaves and an owl making itself known occasionally. Sadie wasn't kidding when she called his lovelife unfortunate, but you don't think that anyone knows about this. Aside from Hosea and Dutch maybe.

"And you know how it ended with Mary.", he then says and you nod to yourself. There isn't much context needed regarding that topic.

"You don't have to worry about me or us for that matter.", you answer and he let's out a deep sigh, but you continue before he can respond. "I'm part of the gang. We're together in this."

Mary was right. You understand the way he lives his life. Hell, you're living his life yourself. Granted, there is no divine shield protecting you from the dangers that come with this line of work and you're never 100% guaranteed to see the next day.

But that is just the risk of living.

"I'm not a man that you should-"

"Arthur Morgan." You say his name with stern emphasis and he immediately shuts his mouth. Your hands find their way up to his face, cupping his cheeks. "I don't care if you're the man I should be with or not. You're the man I want and that is the end of the matter."

A defeated sigh escapes him and he grabs one of your hands, tender lips brushing over the palm. The gesture sends jolts of electricity through you and heat boils up in your lower stomach.

"You're gonna be the end of me, woman.", he mumbles in amusement.

Taglist: @shackspossum @abducted-cowz @heloixe

[anewkindofme]

For the terrible trio- could I request please number 13- “BOOM! That oughta show you not to mess with me!” 🥰🥰🥰

Thank you for sending this in! Length got away from me with this one but it ties into a plot in the "Teen Terrible Trio" verse that i've been wanting to touch on for awhile...I hope to finally write a one shot about it eventually. Until now, here's a small snippet. The kids are 16 here.

Send me some prompts!

---

Jackson flips over a bag of chips to inspect the ingredients. “How many carbs do you think are in these things?”

Alex makes a face. “I don’t know, Regina George. Why do you suddenly care?”

“I need to start gaining some more muscle for football…how do you know who Regina George is?”

“That’s irrelevant. I think one bag of Doritos will be the least of your worries. If you want, there’s a nutritionist who works with the wrestling team. I’m sure she’d be willing to help you, even though you’re not a part of it. Just use those magic dimples.”

“I do not have magic dimples.” Jackson waves off Alex’s arched brow. “Why do you guys get all the cool stuff?” He scoffs. “Football’s supposed to get all the attention.”

“Not when the wrestling team wins more than you losers. Now open the bag and give me some.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Now.”

Jackson rolls his eyes but passes him the bag once it’s opened. Alex has 2 shoved into his mouth when Blaze walks over. He leans back in his chair, rolling his eyes.

“April’s not here,” he makes out through a mouthful.

“I have eyes.”

Alex swallows the chips. “Can you really see through all that eyeliner?” Jackson snorts. It’s Blaze’s turn to roll his eyes.

“I came to see the two of you.”

“We don’t know where the nearest Hot Topic is, sorry.”

“Would you shut the fuck up for 5 seconds?”

“Hey.” Jackson holds up his hand. “How about you don’t talk to him like that?”

“I came over here for a reason and I can’t get it out with your smart ass running his mouth.”

“Fine. Alex, zip it.” Alex mimes zipping up his mouth. Jackson glances back at Blaze, warily. “What do you want?”

“I want the two of you to stay the hell away from April.”

“Not gonna happen. Anything else?”

Blaze puffs out his chest. “I’m serious. How would you like it if your girlfriend was constantly hanging around two dudes?”

“I wouldn’t care unless they were flirting with her or whatever. Which we never do.”

“That’d just be gross,” Alex chimes in. “April’s…April. We have zero interest in her. She’s like our sister.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not what I see,” Blaze says. “So, the two of you are done hanging out with her.”

“Did you talk to April about this?”

“I don’t need to.”

“April can tell us when she’s done with us,” Jackson says, narrowing his eyes. “Until then, we’re not going to listen to someone who gets his piercings from people’s basements.”

Alex and Jackson return to their lunch. Blaze stands there, curling his balls into fists. Alex glances up at him.

“Anything we can help you with, Francis?”

“It’s Blaze,” he makes out through gritted teeth.

“I knew you back in 7th grade. It’s Francis.”

“You’re going to stay the hell away from April. Or we’re going to have a problem.”

“Oh yeah?” Alex rises out of his seat, kicking his chair to the ground. “And exactly what kind of problem is that?”

“Alex,” Jackson warns. “He’s not worth it.”

“He’s not going to do anything, Jackson. He’s about the size of a toothpick.”

Blaze’s fist extends but Alex catches it in time. He twists it. Blaze grits his teeth again and tries to get him with the other hand but Alex is quick. He pulls both hands behind Blaze’s back before knocking him into the ground. Jackson groans as the cafeteria erupts into cheers.

“Boom! All state baby!” Alex shouts with a smirk. “That oughta show you not to mess with me.”

Blaze moans in pain on the ground. He tries to get up but every time, ends up grabbing his face instead. A flurry of red hair rushes over.

“Blaze!” April cries, dropping to her knees beside him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Blaze manages to sit up a little. “Your dumbass friend just threw me to the ground.”

April’s eyes widen as she looks up at Alex. “What the hell is the matter with you?!”

“April,” Jackson says. “You didn’t hear what he…”

“No! The two of you have been acting absolutely ridiculous!” She helps Blaze to his feet, shaking her head. “It’s bad enough my dad is being an idiot about this thing, but you two? I thought you were supposed to be my friends!”

Alex frowns. “We are your friends. That’s why we don’t want you with this loser.”

“He’s not a loser!”

Another voice takes over as the click clack of heels come into frame. “What in the world is going on here?”

“Alex tried to knock my teeth out,” Blaze tells Mrs. Thornton, the vice principal. Blood still flows freely from his nose and some bruises are starting to appear.

Alex scoffs. “If I was trying to knock his teeth out, he wouldn’t have teeth!”

“Alex only pushed Blaze because he was going to punch him,” Jackson jumps in, rising to his feet.

Mrs. Thornton shakes her head. “The four of you to my office, now. We’ll get to the bottom of this…and call your parents.” She looks around at the crowd forming. “The rest of you, back to lunch. Now!”

Alex scoffs as they all scurry off. April’s still glaring at them as she wraps an arm around Blaze’s skinny frame and leads him away. The blood’s already staining his Nirvana shirt. That’s about the only thing Alex can find joy in as Jackson guides him to follow Mrs. Thornton.

[alldni]

ranking the ada by how good the blunt rotation is.

number one is kenji. he is a good young man and never touches it which is why he’s the best. other people get really weird when they’re sober around high people and start treating them like little kids. but kenji looks at you like this 😃 carries entire cases of water bottles to you and tells you stories about cows and gardening that would be so fucking boring sober, but are absolutely resplendent when you’re high as fuck. he can one hand carry you to bed too so you don’t have wander through The Fog to curl up in the sheets if you green out. unfortunately the one downside is that if you smoke in front of kenji kunikida puts a gun to your head

two is tanizaki. he’s just so totally chill about it. he owns a beautiful ornate bong that always has crystal clear water. you sit there and smoke and eat fritos the whole time and it’s beautiful. now unfortunately his illusion is super freaky so if he’s high and using his ability you might have a bad time. but also he could make sesame street appear before your eyes and you’d have such a beautiful time.

coming in at number three definitely atsushi. the first time he smokes he is terrified horrified crying shaking sooo nervous but the second time you can tell he did a bunch of research and suddenly he’s like super expert at it. or less that he’s expert and more that he’s so desperate to prove he’s good at it he starts taking furious bong rips so fast you think he’ll die and his ability is probably the only reason he survives. also he becomes insanely hilarious and out of pocket

fukuzawa at four. this experience would be heavenly. you’d feel like an eighty year old lounging on the front porch in the sun. you smoke from a perfectly rolled joint and listen to him share every opinion he has on everyone in the ada or whatever and then he starts showing you pictures of his cats. he has a medical marijuana card for joint pain. he tells you he loves you and starts listing all your strengths and then lovingly explaining in vivid detail how he thinks you can improve.

kunikida at five purely for humor factor i think. in high school he was a super stoner and now he has seven bongs hidden under his bed. if you somehow got him to smoke with you he would manage to, in mere hours, procure the most amazing heavenly fresh weed you’ve ever smoked. you’ve gone to the garden of eden. unfortunately (and the reason why this is number four) he gets high and starts like reading shit from his ideals notebook to you and now you know too much about his ideal woman. and the next day he refuses to look you in the eyes. BUT he would be great at taking care of others while high i think — he’s the guy making sure everyone guzzles water at the sesh

lucy at number 6 for sure. the weed she gives you is so strong so lightning mcqueen quick-hitting so pungent… it’s probably a new strain called rainbow ballzapper4000 that francis bought from an illegal dispensary in america and she’s been waiting for the perfect moment to smoke it. she would end up taking you to her stupid pocket dimension because she would think it’s really really funny but you would feel like you’re trapped in your own personal hell. a mirage of pink and candy lord almighty. and you would be rapidly weakening shriveling up dying while she only gains strength. and you would want to kiss her

naomi at 7. i would rather kill myself than think about this further

number eight definitely yosano like this would be hell. because she would be so beautiful and transcendent and funny and cool and suave while you’re absolutely fucked up with whatever bullshit hopped up illegal strain she just presented you with. and if you started greening out she’d like give you water or whatever but then she would decide the height of comedy is like describing all the ways you could suddenly die in that moment. “did you know you could get vitamin E lung poisoning from smoking carts? do your lungs feels tight right now? 😃” and it would almost seem like she hoped you say yes. however she would actually try to keep your physical well-being in mind and she would make sure you ate and drank and got to bed ok etc

nine dazai. the ninth circle of hell. i would rather smoke with like francis or something than with this guy. dazai hears “smoke sesh” and asks chuuya to procure him weed and chuuya goes to his basement where he has the saddest most shriveled up little plant and he carefully harvests some flower and carefully prepares it and carefully rolls up two joints and kisses them both (in case dazai smokes from them both) and then you smoke this sad weed that barely hits and you sit there and wait to get high and dazai doesn’t even smoke anything. and you’re like dazai what the fuck. and then dazai pulls something out of his pocket and it’s fentanyl laced shit he got from somewhere else and he starts talking about how much he hopes it’ll work. and then he stares wide eyed and pathetic faced at you and starts ranting about how much he hates chuuya. and then he hands you the fent laced weed

last ranpo. if you start greening out he just starts reading you to fucking filth and you’re mentally destroyed for a week.

[nervousladytraveler]

Smutty one-liners:

“Don’t act innocent when we both know where your mouth was two minutes ago.” 🙈

Ah @veryflowerobservation my dear friend, you probably thought I'd forgotten this (but like Ross, I forget nothing). I do apologize for the delay. Untitled, but on the theme of quick learners, this is roughly from The Shift universe (but only barely).

---

Ross squinted into the sun as Demelza, dripping and shimmering, emerged from the sea. 

Aphrodite, subtle of soul and deathless,

Daughter of God, weaver of wiles, I pray thee

Neither with care, dread Mistress, nor with anguish,

            Slay thou my spirit!

“Ha!” Demelza cried. “The water is brilliant!”

“Is it then?” Ross managed to reply. He suddenly felt as though he’d never really seen her before.

Where had those lines even come from? Classic verse forced upon him in school stored out of reach--In the head? In the heart?--until such moments when it could be properly applied. 

Yes, Demelza was something like a proper goddess, wasn’t she? Although less ruthless than Aphrodite and hopefully less vengeful as well. Perhaps there was some other mythological being who controlled the tides and men’s hearts in equal measure.

Her face was serene--muscles relaxed, eyes fixed forward in a soft focus. Eyes the same blue-green as the sea. Her usually spirited curls had temporarily been pulled straight by the water but a single jerk of her head put things right. She strode slowly and purposefully forward as though she belonged there, on that beach. And always had.

Demelza was good that way. A quick learner but also someone who’d early on come to understand--as a means of survival--that people had a tendency to take you at your own valuation so poise, or faking it, could carry you quite far.

Ross admired her for this. He knew that In fact, she’d come rather late to swimming altogether. While so many Cornish natives claim to have the sea in their blood, Demelza’s upbringing in Illogan had been a somewhat landlocked one. 

“First time I ever swam wasn’t by choice,” she’d once explained. “At my mate Tamsin’s 14th, her brother threw me into the pool--he was having a laugh and didn't mean any harm--but I figured I'd better sort it out or drown then and there.”

“I'm quite glad for your sake that you’re a quick learner,” Ross had replied.

“Oh no, it wasn't for my sake at all. It just didn't seem fair to ruin Tam’s party since she was having a rough go anyway. Her parents had just split and her dad was living at a hotel for the time being--which is why there was even a pool. Maybe your set had pools of their own but mine most certainly did not.”

“No, not my friends. Francis, my late cousin--he went to pool parties quite regularly as a teen but I just swam here at the beach with the village kids,” Ross had explained. One wouldn't suspect now that Demelza hadn’t been one of those village kids, let loose on the strand as soon as they could walk. 

She was a quick learner.

In the few years that he’d known her, he’d watched her quietly and casually collect new skills time and again, often to his benefit. On her first attempt at making a pie, she’d gotten it nearly right--but the second time, she’d absolutely nailed it. Since then, without any great fuss, she did most of the baking for the cafe. 

Of course, recently there was another domain where Demelza had honed new abilities. When they first slept together, she’d openly admitted to not having much prior experience but her sharp instincts--and eagerness to practise had taken her far.

Now, five weeks into their romance, there were times he felt she was the master and he the apprentice. She certainly had bolder inclinations than Ross did when it came to where they made love. The cafe storage room was an early favourite, as was his car after hours. On those rare occasions when she mustered enough patience til they got to his, even before they made their way to the bedroom, she often first required a dalliance in the kitchen, the sitting room, or on the hall stairs.

Today had been no exception. Before they’d had their swim, they’d been exploring one of the many caves carved in the rockface long ago. 

“Come, Ross…” Two words but he knew what she meant.

“Demelza,” he’d said weakly as she deftly undid the front of his swim shorts. 

“No one is here,” she’d assured him. “Just a few odd gulls.”

“But your knees…the rocks are so sharp…” 

Her fingers were cool but her mouth was smooth and warm and he quickly forgot his objections. Their exclamations no matter how quiet and muffled they aimed to be, still echoed in the empty darkness, and afterwards they stood breathless for what seemed like hours, until they made their way back out into the warm sunshine.

She’d stayed in to swim longer than he had. Content, in more ways than one, he sat on the soft sand and watched while her body glided through both air and water. Around them all was dazzled by that particular light only found by the sea in summer.

Dipping vibrant wings down the azure distance, through the mid- ether…

“Right ho! Hullo!” An unfamiliar--and unwelcome--voice now called down the beach from the north.

Ross pulled his gaze away from his beloved damsel emerging from her seashell and saw the Reverend Mister Odgers walking towards them. A wet black dog ran circles at his heels.

“Good day to you, sir,” Demelza returned the salute with a wave. She was wiping herself off using Ross’s shirt--they’d forgotten to bring towels--and though still clad in only her swimsuit, she’d suddenly transformed herself into the model of demure respectability.

“I say,” Odgers went on after a cursory nod to Ross. “Have you seen a dog round here?”

“You mean that one?” Ross asked sarcastically. He would have been considered the one with the ill manners had the beast not taken that very moment to shake his wet fur in Ross’s general direction.

“No, not our Daniel. Another one--a buff sort of colour, quite a bit like sand!” The man laughed and tugged irritatingly at his collar.

Like sand? That’s fucking helpful at a beach. Ross let out an exhale and grit his teeth, resenting that his intimate moment had so abruptly been intruded upon--and by a pompous man of god, no less.  

“Oh?” Demelza immediately began to scan the horizon. With hand raised shading her eyes, her present posture seemed to accentuate her lovely bust line. Then she licked her lip, presumably to taste the salt from the sea, but it reminded Ross how she’s done the same thing earlier in the cave to signal a job well done. This did little to assuage Ross’s annoyance.

“He couldn't have gone far…” Odgers fretted.

“Oh there he is!” Demelza laughed and pointed to a very small creature, barely noticeable amongst the sharp dune grass behind them. 

“Mufasa! Come, boy!” Odgers pleaded but the dog in question lifted his hind leg in defiance, ignoring his master’s calls. The man took a few steps and the little devil immediately scurried off in the opposite direction.

“Oh dear!” Odgers began to run in an inefficient arc to catch the errant Mufasa. The black spaniel barked great editorials at his heels then abandoned the scene entirely to chase a gull at the water’s edge. “Thank you, miss--and God bless!” Odgers called over his shoulder to Demelza, failing to acknowledge Ross was also present.

“Good lord!” Demelza laughed and took Ross’s hand in hers.

“The man's a fool,” Ross grumbled.

“In more ways than one.” She wove his fingers through hers, then raised their joined hand to admire her work. “First of all, Daniel? Daniel, the spaniel?” She rolled her eyes playfully and Ross found himself smiling. “And the other one? Oh you didn't catch it? No, you wouldn’t, would you. Our dear Reverend Mister Odgers thinks he’s so very clever. Mufasa is a lion from The Lion King. So Daniel and the…?” She danced on one foot waiting for Ross to catch the vicar’s Old Testament joke.

“Is that what passes for humour at the vicarage these days? Or for dog training?” Ross was someone who tended to like dogs but the Odgers pack had gotten under his skin.

“I think the small one is what’s known as a Chiweenie--dachshund and chihuahua mix.”

“Well, the man’s giving him exactly what he wants. A game of chase.”

“Then we should admire the little fella for being such a quick learner,” she said, then read his mood and softened her tone. “Oh Ross, forget Odgers. He’s long gone now. It's just us and the gulls again.”

“Yes, of course,” Ross said and watched her lick her salty lips again. 

Come to me now thus, Goddess, and release me

From distress and pain…

“Demelza,” he teased, ”Tell me, when did you get so friendly with clergymen? Is this one of your newly learned devices?”

“Are you suggesting that somehow I shouldn’t be polite to him of all people? That I should quiver in his very reverent presence--and that of his sacred dogs?” She dropped his hand in mock alarm and raised a brow. Then she smiled to show she was teasing back. “Truly, Ross, I was no more neighbourly to Odgers than I would be to any other passersby,” she added. 

Still, she’d managed the scene so well. And once again Ross was impressed at her poise, her own valuation of herself--and her deceit.

“Demelza,” he laughed. “You may very well act innocent but we both know where your mouth was two minutes ago.”

“Hmmn…” She played along. “I seem to recall something vaguely entertaining occurred between us this afternoon but that was far more than two minutes ago. In fact, it has already faded from my mind. Or maybe it just wasn't so memorable?”

“Oh, you are a little devil,” he said and pulled her close for a kiss. “Perhaps you need a fresh lesson to remind you.”

“Yes, Ross,” she said, “Perhaps I do.”

----

Notes: Verse Ross quotes come from Sappho’s “Ode to Aphrodite”. Read it here.  Do I think Ross would have read A level Classics and Sappho at school? No, I do not. But I liked the poem so let's just tuck that away under “artistic licence.” Also, line borrowed from Demelza’s first Trenwith Christmas visit in Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall: “But she was learning fast that people, even well-bred people like those, had a surprising tendency to take you at your own valuation.”

[liminsendhelp]

Hannibal AU because my lastlast post was liked by one person and now I'm obligated to show it off

An excerpt from my fanfic where Will is a girl, a psychiatrist (and something else), cooperates with the FBI, wears dark glasses to quietly glare at everyone.

Hannibal is two or three years into BSHCI.

Will is about 25, Hannibal about 33.

Again, writing through a translator, if something translated badly, don't be sad.

Enjoy

"The right of exclusivity of the kindness. I see what you want."

Hannibal was distracted from erecting the walls of the Sistine Chapel on the sheet in front of him. A quick glance in Will's direction was correctly interpreted as a request to continue.

"You want my good, attention, interest in private. You long to remain the only speck of light." Hannibal watched Will spread out the papers on the table in front of the cell. He seemed to recognize Randall's work. Such an ambitious, lively, but utterly sloppy subject.

All the sheets fell into place. Barimore Howard, Randall Tirr, Arne Palertin, Travis Tesvair, Francis Dolarhyde.

All of his former patients.

In the last five years.

Considering he'd started his official practice five years by the time he'd been locked up... The fact that the potential of so many of his patients turned out to be free (at least for a fraction of what was possible) was gratifying. Animal rage pulsed beneath their skin, hidden in a vain attempt to be duller than they were at their core. Even though they'd been caught up in the outcome, Hannibal knew the real number of people he'd helped with self-acceptance before and after BSHCI.

He raised charcoal gaze to the doctor's. Will watched his attempt to hide his pleasure with a frown.

"In a world of people sorted second-rate from tolerable to vile, you see yourself as the primate of consciousness."

"Trampling on my view of the world or your view of me?"

"Don't."

Will put her hands in the pockets of her sweatpants. Hannibal waited for whatever it was. Today she felt more excited than ever. Despite the control over her body that was clearly held by her, Will's mind was not with him.

She sighed:

"You asked for a job." Hannibal hummed. Will raised an eyebrow, her pupils (if the glare from the lamps hadn't thrown off his perception) narrowed behind the glasses. "Asked." she nailed it. Will walked around the table, turning to face him.

"What can you say about them?"

In the second it took Hannibal to decide between "About the pictures?" and "Depends on what you want to hear," Will cast him an eloquent glance. Amazing ability to burn a hole with her gaze through her dark glasses. Hannibal almost twitched his cheek, smelling the unfurled scent of darkness behind the glass of the cell.

"I know they're all former patients of yours. I don't need to form a charge to throw a couple dozen on your sentence and change the conditions of confinement a bit, it would be enough to slip a hunch to our mutual acquaintance." she touched a finger to her right shoulder, clarifying." So I won't pretend I don't know who influenced them, and you won't stall."

"Threats. Again. Did you not sleep well?"

"Deadly."

Given her nightmares, Hannibal had no doubt the dream really could have been a dead one.

They looked at each other. It was as if the glass hadn't even been there. Will bowed her head. An unruly curl fell across her forehead, brushing her cheek. Soft carpet pad the austere monolith of her marble skin. His gaze traveled farther, to where the long grace of her neck was hidden behind the thick material of a dark hoodie.

She quietly gave him some time, for a closer look, watching the curve of his gaze.

"Hannibal."

A patient reminder of her unquenched anticipation.

Hannibal's gaze remained on her lips.

"I believe that the similar is drawn to the similar and greater. The strong to the strongest." He said.

[clandestinegardenias]

Welcome to the next installment in my 15 minute fitzier first kiss fic challenge! For the anonymously submitted prompt "Could you write a fitzier kiss where one of them sustains a minor injury and the other kisses it better 🥺"

Hope this post finds you, anon!

A Metaphor for This

“Ah, damn,” James hisses, and flexes his hand, bending to inspect it. 

There is a dot of blood welling on the tip of his finger where the envelope has cut it. 

It is a vibrant, nearly lewd red against the pale of James’ skin, backgrounded by the slushy white of London’s slowly melting snow. 

Francis’ heart is suddenly rabbit-quick in his chest, fluttering up against his ribcage in distress. 

A memory, unbidden, of blood on shale. Blood dripping from James’ eye. 

His throat is too thin for air to pass. When he attempts to gulp down a breath it stutters through him, strained. His mind is a susurration of buzzing sound, fuzzy and muddled.  

James stares down at the blood now swelling from his finger, dripping down the side falling to dot the street. 

“Clumsy of me,” James says, as if to himself. 

Francis steps forward, shucking off his gloves as he goes, and takes James’ hand in his own lightly shaking grip.  

He is gentle, so very careful, but he hears James’ sharp intake of breath nonetheless. He rubs a thumb over the soft underside of James’ wrist, reassuring. He will not hurt him. 

“F-Francis?,” James says, voice lilting up a little at the end making it a question. 

“Shush,” Francis tells him, and James does. He relinquishes himself to Francis’ care, posture slumping so that he rests against Francis’ side. As if he has just been waiting for this moment to lean on him, to be supported. Held. Cared for. 

Francis fishes a handkerchief from his pocket, dabs ever so gently at the cut. 

Within seconds, the blood is beading up again, the wound resisting. There is the vague thought in the back of Francis’ head, the specter of old wounds long-healed reopening, reopening, reopening–

He brings James’ finger to his mouth and licks it, cleaning the blood from it with a short swipe of his tongue. James makes a strangled sort of noise somewhere above him. 

His blood tastes like iron, like salt, like the sea. 

The cut is slower to bleed again, this time. It is working. 

Francis lowers his head a bit further and slips the tip of James’ finger into his mouth, sucking. 

Pressure, to stop the bleeding. 

He pulls back to evaluate his work. The cut is still angry, red, but the active bleeding seems to have stopped. He nods in satisfaction and wraps his handkerchief around James’ finger for good measure, pressing the extra fabric into James’ palm and using his hand to curl James’ fingers around it. That should serve, until they can get home to proper medical supplies. 

Duty fulfilled, he straightens to find James looking at him, wide-eyed and startled. 

“James?” he asks, suddenly worried he has done something untoward, something to upset the man–

James drops the handkerchief, takes Francis’ face between his hands, and kisses him, once, firmly, right on the lips. 

He pulls back just as fast, looking even more shocked at his own actions than he was at Francis’ suckling on his fingertip. 

Francis feels as if he is melting, as if he is floating. He brings a hand up to card through James’ hair, thumb stroking across his cheek, and pulls him back in. 

[bbynedtime]

A very soggy and sleepy Ned being half-woken by his caregiver changing him multiple times per night... so cuuuute... he might sleep through it eventually...

He'd definitely sleep through it if they were quiet and gentle enough... I'm melting with cute ;_; The first few times I think there'd be trouble since he's not used to waking up at night like that. But... eventually he just sleeps through it 😊

I had promised a fic and there it is ^^

The house was quiet, safe for Francis's steps in the hallway. He had hands full of supplies to change Ned with - wipes, fresh nappy, powder and his pacifier in case he wakes up. Hopefully that doesn't happen.

He opened the door with his elbow and left it open after he came through, to let the light illuminate the room.

Ned was sleeping soundly in his bed, curled up under the blanket with his mouth slightly open.

Francis placed what he'd brought onto the table nearby, then slowly tugged the blanket from underneath Ned's legs. He folded it aside to make room and look at what he's working with.

The bed wasn't wet, altough Ned's nappy had grown since he saw it last. He came just in time.

He slowly turned Ned around on his back. James could change a nappy while Ned was on his side, but Francis wasn't as skilled in that department.

He began taking the nappy of, while keeping an eye on Ned. It was only when Francis pulled the wet nappy from under him, that he began to stirr. Francis threw it onto the ground and shuffled closer to pet Ned's cheek. "You're alright, go to sleep, okay?"

He hummed and stopped moving.

"Good boy." He began wiping Ned clean - that he didn't seem to appreciate, as he began squirming again.

"'M... cold..."

"I'll be done in a moment." He reached for the pacifier and held it against Ned's lips until the little took it. He intended to keep the promise of being quick, but just in case Ned wakes up before he does, he wants to have a barrier between himself and the tears that might come.

He finished with the wipes and got the powder. He tapped the container a few times to get the powder everywhere he needed, then set it back on the table.

Ned is not going to cooperate, so he'll have to slide the nappy under his bum. Hopefully that doesn't wake him up. Francis closed one eye, praying, hoping, as he slowly pushed the nappy into place.

Ned whined something out of which Francis understood only 'dada'. So he shushed softly and placed a hand on Ned's thigh. "Be a good boy..."

Just a bit more now and they're done.

He wrapped the nappy around him and fixed it into place, then gave it a few tugs to see if it will leak anywhere. No gaps. Good.

He pulled the blanket down over Ned's legs again and tucked him in.

The little opened his eyes for a flickering moment before they fell closed. He's almost sleeping, but not quite.

Francis leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Sleep well," he whispered, then got up. Tomorrow morning Thomas is on changing duty, so Francis can have some rest.

Thank god. He yawned and stretched his arms. He needs it.

[jd-arts319]

"That's Not My Neighbor" Oc: Mayari Ageha

First Name:

Mayari

Last Name:

Ageha

Age:

Mid-late 20's

Birthdate:

3/25/1967

Gender:

Female

Occupation:

Doorman

Nationality:

½ Filipino

½ Japanese

Apartment:

F03-02

Apartment Phone Number:

20193

ID:

20319250302

Floor Number:

F03

Appearance:

Pale skin

Blueberry black hair

Honey brown eyes

Flower shaped-pupils

Red eyeliner

Nose bridge scar

Description:

She is a 5 '9 ft. woman with long blueberry-black hair tied in a low-loose ponytail with small blunt bangs with side curled locks,cherry pink lips,pink eye shadows and red eyeliner. She also had gentle doe light brown eyes and pale skin,due to she never goes out much as she used to.she also had a scar on her nose bridge that she had for a long time.

She is described to be an incredibly beautiful girl despite the visible scar on her face and was told to have really good figure-(well-endowed) for someone her age-(by the Sverchtz Sisters)

Background:

Not much is known about her, aside from the fact she is a foreigner who came to the City for a job. She was given a doorman job by the D.D.D as she was scouted by them after a year adjusting in the city,ironically she actually lives in the same apartment as the rest of the Neighbors does.

Before The Game:

Nobody knew much about her aside from being quiet and reserved. She lives in the 3rd Floor of the building and is the neighbor of the Milkman(Francis Mosses).

Her relationship with the neighbors isn't much known but she is close to the Milkman and the Twin Model Sisters.

She was born in the Philippines and moved to Japan before leaving abroad to start a new life. She was born around 1930,she had gained the scar years ago when before she went abroad and had her first encounter with a Doppelganger that she managed to kill, hence the scar on her face.

She had a family but she doesn't talk to them much due to the circumstances but she always gets updates on their wellbeing.

Her Lore (Will Be Updated):

When she was young,she had her first encounter with a Doppelganger after they suddenly raided her village in the Philippines.

However through smart tactics she managed to survive on her own when she was separated from her family when they all evacuated the village afterward.

However, because this occurred when she was only around 10-11 yrs.old, she was alone and scared but with a sheer will she was able to survive for a while,hiding,scouting and what not-

That was until she came face to face with a Doppelganger who slowly took her form however,seeing this she immediately took her chance and killed the doppelganger while gaining a scar, switching their clothes before she escaped the village completely so the other doppelgangers believed she was dead.

She was eventually reunited with her family but they had to move to Japan for safety purposes.

Over the years passed,when she was in her early 20's she was now able to leave abroad and study for 2-3 years until she graduated and finally was able to land herself a job as a doorman.

Her mother was a Filipina that went abroad to Japan and met her father there back then.

Personality:

Quiet, reserved and aloof. Mayari is always silent most of the time and never spoke too much,she always wore a blank exterior and people couldn't really tell what she is thinking about as she makes it harder,even for the smarter ones and Doppelgangers to read her easily.

She is paranoid,withdrawn and always keeps to herself as she doesn't socialize much aside from a few people.She is known to be kind and thoughtful to others whenever she can as she is altruistic and empathetic.

However, there's instances where she is shown to be quick witted and cunning as well as keenly observant around her surroundings due to the ongoing circumstances of doppelgangers,driven by survival she slowly grew more tactical and strategic to ensure her survival for another day.

But even with all that,she is actually bubbly and very sweet once she was able to trust others. She also knows how to gain others' trust for the beneficiary of the two or more parties.

But she is also mildly oblivious around certain topics or signs-(romantic ones,she will get there eventually)

While it was not implied,it is stated she had a huge crush on the Milkman.

Relationships:

Close:

Milkman (Francis Mosses)

Both met 3 years ago after moving into the apartment on the 3rd floor and became Francis' neighbor. She and him were just strangers at first but Francis helped her feel at least welcome around the place and she generally grew to like him. Both became close friends, although she always heard rumors that he was a divorcee and frankly he did confirmed he was indeed married previously but due the ongoing issues about the doppelgangers had caused a rift between him and his wife as trust are strained leading up to their divorce soon after-

The Twin Model Sisters (Elenoise and Selenne Sverchtz)

Mayari met the sisters when she first decided to do an inspection around each floor,she came across the two in the hallway and they were immediately taken in by her beauty.Selenne and Elenoise are upcoming modelers,making sure they kept up with their beauty and what not but Mayari had a natural beauty on her that doesn't require any makeup that much,the sisters are awe by her natural beauty,this is the start of her odd friendship with the Sverchtz Sisters.

Acquaintances:

Margarette Bubbles (Seamstress)

Not practically close but Mayari and Ms.Bubbles would be seen talking a lot as Mayari would ask for help from Ms.Bubbles regarding her dress or materials. Ms.Bubbles liked that despite how withdrawn Mayari sometimes was,she was an easygoing and soft-spoken girl who sometimes didn't mind helping her out in the goodness of her heart and in return,Mayari would do the same.

Nacha and Anastacha Mikaelys (Ex-Wife Of Francis Mosses & his Daughter)

She never talked to them much but she had a cordial relationship with them as Anastacha was aware of Mayari's friendship with her Ex-husband,Nacha and Mayari didn't talk much as well but get along enough to be comfortable with each other and there's a time Mayari would check up on them for Francis.

Others:

Likes:

Novels

Milk tea

Mochi

Ground beef omelet

Champorado

Halo-Halo

Taho

Banana Bread

Flowers

Stars

Night time

Classic & Jazz Music

Francis Mosses

Anime

Dislikes:

Doppelgangers

Unwanted Attention

Walking Alone

Unable to see who is real or fake.

Relationship Chart (Might Update):

Abilities:

"Mendacity Detection"

Users can sense when they are lied to by various means. Unlike regular humans who can also discern when they are lied to with limited accuracy and consistency, the user can detect any and all lies being told at any moment, even if the one spewing lies is doing so through supernatural or abnormal means.

Trivia:

"Mayari" is a Filipino name driven from the Philippine Mythology from the "Goddess Of The Moon,Mayari" & her last name means "Ageha" actually means "swallowtail butterfly" as she is ½ japanese & filipino.

Her Filipino genes are much stronger,so it will be surprising to others to find out she is also japanese.

She wasn't ashamed of her nose bridge scar,in fact she wore it proudly.

Despite her timid yet bubbly nature,she was someone never to be messed with as she trained herself in combat due to her circumstances in her past.

Due to her Filipino genes,she was perceived as a "natural beauty" but she doesn't think so because of her scar on her nose even though others said otherwise.

She had a weird food cravings,rice is her favorite though.

Oc by me

That's Not My Neighbor by nanomoss

[abitmoody]

「 ✦ rahul kohli. cis man.  he/him.  ravenclaw  +  hogwarts alumni.✦ 」 was  that  ALASTOR MOODY seen  wandering  the  streets  of  diagon  alley ? the  THIRTY-EIGHT  y  /  o  WIZARD/HALF-TURN was  last  seen  in LONDON. i  hear they  are  working  as  an  AUROR and  have  sided  with THE ORDER. they  have  been  described  as  STRATEGIC +  PARANOID  with  the  familiarity of a personal vendetta; still getting used to the feel of his prosthetic leg and the weight of a cane in his hand; sharp, bloodshot eyes assessing those around him; the slight tremble of fingertips when the adrenaline has faded from his body, though his wand does not leave his grasp; fresh scars claw marks down his face and an unfortunate craving for raw meat. they  have  been  heard  humming  PARANOID  by  BLACK SABBATH.      

CHILDHOOD & HOGWARTS

Francis and Evelyn Moody were well-off individuals, though they didn’t keep up with the scandals that seemed to encapsulate London’s pureblood society – at least, not since twenty-three year old Evelyn married forty-one year old Francis and the pair were the talk of the town. The well-to-do purebloods were well behind modern society standards. They said he had married for love, besotted with the young lady; but whispers flew that she married him for his money – after all, he was a well-established potioneer with international connections. So, the Moodys set off for a quaint cottage with sprawling hills near Bingham, where they could leave the whispers behind them. 

Alastor was born just a year after their nuptials – a quiet boy, sweet, with a mind that whirled a mile a minute. He was a serious child, and that seriousness turned into a quick wit and scathing comments. Though tucked away near Sherwood Forest with just his mother and house-elf Posy, Alastor never found that he was lonesome, with large grounds that he could take a miniature broomstick out on, dense forestry that he could usually be found curled up with a book in. Solidarity activities suited him just fine; he’d never known any better. 

Alastor was fond of his mother—she was his mother, after all—but she was flighty. Enough time had apparently passed and the London Wizarding World buzzed with other scandals rather than the lengthy age gap between Mister and Madam Moody, so Evelyn’s vulturish friends frequented the house, squawking about. They doted on their own children yet never seemed to ask a question about anyone else’s, the garden parties tended to consist of women talking, talking, talking at each other, rather than having conversations. Alastor, having attended simply by nature of proximity, had been the most well-informed eight-year-old of the goings-on in ‘well-bred society’.

While he truly did love his flighty, gossip-monger mother, Alastor positively idolized his successful, infrequently seen, father, who had stories of India and France and and America — embellished for young Alastor’s interest — and could jabber about the wonders of potions and medicines if no one stopped him. And Alastor never would. Francis seemed to always be gone on business endeavors, but, like any good father missing his son growing up, always brought back exorbitantly priced gifts. 

But tragedy struck the Moodys just two years later when a ‘freak accident” killed Francis at work, leaving an unemployed Evelyn and ten year old Alastor to fend for themselves. The family never got details of the incident, appearing to be ‘too top secret’ and simultaneously could ‘destroy all they had been working towards’; it was a mystery—at least to any ten year old boy who read too many forbidden Sherlock Holmes novels. In reality, there was nothing that could have been done; explosions, accidents, unforeseen amputations occurred often in the name of magical innovation. Even still, there hadn’t been enough of him even to bury, so the coffin was simply symbolic—and empty. 

It was almost laughable, in Alastor’s mind, how quickly his mother found her second husband. And therefore how often he was left with just Posy for company as she and her new beau traipsed around in London society. He hardly saw his mother that last year before he went to Hogwarts, and by the time he came home for the Christmas holidays, he’d acquired a step-father. 

Though he and his father had both been promptly replaced (his mother seemed to have no trouble getting pregnant), Hogwarts was somewhere that he was one of a kind. He was still quiet, never one to insert himself into unnecessary conversations, but his dry sense of humor could send chortles around a room. He was an ace with a well-timed, cutting joke and even better in classes - could transfigure a piece of straw into a needle with his eyes closed. 

His mother had his little sister Clarissa, and he didn’t spend much time at home, for Sam made it clear that he was not his father. But he had his studies for company. And his broomstick, and the gaggle of friends that sent messages in and out of his window during the holidays. 

He’d just gotten his Prefect letter when another one followed right on its tail – five years ago, his father hadn’t died in a potioneering incident, but had been dealing in all sorts of illegal ingredients that he couldn’t pay for, and was subsequently murdered. 

The letter wasn’t signed, and his mother would have had a fit had he asked her for details, so the information was stuck in his brain and his alone; who could he have told, anyway? Who would have believed him? It knocked his nearly-perfect father down a peg in his mind, but it also opened up questions he didn’t have the answers to; why did they cover it up? Was this about saving face, or was something more sinister involved? It was the first real mystery that he’d seen, but one that never gave him any answers, not that he delved into it too deeply. It was painful, it would have tarnished his father’s, and his, good name. 

Hogwarts passed without incident, save for being a Prefect and Head Boy and a fill-in Beater for a few Quidditch matches. High marks on his OWLs and even higher marks for his NEWTs, it wasn’t even a question when he was a shoe-in for Auror training. He’d hoped this would allow him to gain control in his life. That he could make things happen instead of happening to him. And, besides, he’d get to be a regular Sherlock Holmes. 

AUROR ANTICS & THE FIRST WIZARDING WAR

Alastor rose quickly through the Auror ranks, and by the time he was twenty-five, he had already become a Senior Auror – even though, technically fifteen years of experience were supposed to be needed; desperate times called for desperate measures, he supposed.. Moody was bright, with a head for strategy and an ear for stealth. Stealth helped him in more ways than one, as Dumbledore pounded on his Chiswick cottage mere days after his promotion, asking not only for information, but for help. 

Though Albus Dumbledore had been his professor and headmaster and was forty years his senior, there was a camaraderie between the two, a wealth of information and intuition that made it a productive pairing. It was advice that Albus needed, it was an ear on the inside, listening to hear rumblings of what Lord Voldemort was going to do. Listening for secrets. Listening for liars. That icy February evening was the first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, and Alastor Moody was the first unofficial member. Whispers swirled of Voldemort’s rise to power.

It took years for those whispers to catch, and for the whole world to erupt in flames, but eventually, everything was shot to hell. The Auror office was in a tizzy, trying to figure out who was acting of their own accord and who wasn’t. Alastor was out in the streets night after night after night that he couldn’t ever really think straight – raids would be called, and he would head them. Dark Marks burned green in midnight skies, and he could only take a breath and face whatever was waiting for him underneath. 

They were rough years, and any time off work was spent with heads bent over blueprints with Dumbledore – the headmaster had added a few people to the group by then, as Alastor could only be in so many places at once. But it still wasn’t enough, and soon, to Alastor’s dismay, Dumbledore had added fresh-faced kids right out of school to the Order. They wanted to help, of course, but they were reckless. They didn’t know battle, didn’t know loss like he did. 

All this time, Moody had never felt safe, but he had always felt as though he flew under the radar. Sure, he’d gotten a healthy promotion and was running covert missions for both the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix, had landed multiple suspected and convicted Death Eaters in Azkaban cells, but that didn’t ever make him a target. It wasn’t until his boss, Darius Runcorn, Head Auror, had brought him a gift for his birthday – single malt whiskey – that he ever figured there was a problem. It had been a long day at the office, and he had just gotten off duty, so he and a handful of Aurors popped open the bottle to celebrate; after all, thirty was a big year. But Lionel Edgecomb had been the unlucky victim, as the whiskey passed his lips first, and he stopped breathing within seconds. Runcorn, it was later found out, had been under the Imperius Curse.

There’s a reason Alastor only drank from his hip flask – just don’t ask about the bourbon smell that perfumed the air.

The war continued and suspicion grew. Alastor could barely keep straight who knew what and who was pretending they didn’t know things and who he was pretending to not know in public. But the unthinkable happened–even with all the intel The Order was supposedly receiving from a handful of spies–and Voldemort’s prized pet quite literally bit the hand that fed him. Pandemonium, obviously, ensued. Despite Alastor’s very hearty protests, the Ministry decided to let convicted Death Eaters out of Azkaban–many of whom Alastor had personally dealt with–in the name of ‘reformation’ and began a new werewolf registry and new taskforce. The Ministry was coming from a place of fear; Voldemort had been a known enemy, but the werewolves were altogether an unknown force.

An unknown force that somehow managed to take his leg, the better part of his nose, and give him a newfound craving for particularly raw meat. 

RANDOM FACTS & TIDBITS

Alastor is painfully technologically illiterate. He might call someone on his runestone phone, but if you attempt to text him? You’ll receive an owl in 1-2 business days. If it’s urgent, you might have a very grumpy Auror standing in your fireplace at three in the morning.

Frequent flier at St. Mungo’s–the man has a dangerous job! Knows many of the healers on a first-name basis, even if he’s a horrendous patient and always wants to get back to work before he’s fully ready. 

Very recently got bitten by an untransformed werewolf, still hasn’t quite come to terms with it, as he’s healing from his many other injuries sustained in that particular raid. He’s struggling to hobble around with his new prosthetic leg and angry that he can’t go back to work yet. (Haven’t figured out whether this was a Ministry/work related event or something with The Order so I’m waiting for connections to solidify that).

Bad relationship with his family–no he does not want to talk about it.

As much as they get on his bloody nerves, he does look at the younger bunch of kids in The Order as… bothersome younger siblings who he’s actually begun to care about. Even when they do idiotic, reckless things like actually join The Order. 

BITS & BOBBLES

Full name: Alastor Francis Moody

Age & birthday: 38; January 2nd

Blood status: Pureblood

Occupation: Senior Auror

Former House: Ravenclaw

Residence: Townhouse in Chiswick

Wand: 12 inches, ebony wood, dragon heartstring core; fairly rigid

Patronus: Eagle owl

Positive traits: strategic, determined, intuitive, dependable, resilient, wise

Negative traits: paranoid, gruff, scathing, suspicious, closed-off

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Mentee – someone for Alastor to pass on his wisdom to, whether they’re an Auror or not, and hopefully help them stay alive.

Adversar(ies) – any ‘reformed’ Death Eater that Alastor personally put in Azkaban (bonus points if they now have to work alongside each other). 

Trusted healer – the one that Alastor always requests when he’s (once again) in St. Mungo’s.

Confidant – Alastor doesn’t have many actually, fully trusted, friends. This is someone he can share his deepest thoughts with and know they won’t blab to the whole Wizarding World

Enemy (aka ‘The Bastard That Cost Me My Leg (and Bit Me)’) – mildly self-explanatory, but Alastor has a personal vendetta against this particular werewolf.

Friends & casual acquaintances – he just needs people that don’t hate him, I’m begging.  

[blondiexbiites]

"This is Jeopardy!" the announcer crowed, dragging out each word. Madison sat in her ultra-comfortable, overstuffed pink chair and curled up with a big bowl of popcorn. The popcorn would remain uneaten, but holding something that reminded her of late nights watching movies with her friends felt nice.

The three contestants were identified, and as usual, Madison watched their faces, not even hearing their names. The one in the middle, she thought. He would win. He looked quick, his eyes lively with intelligence. Madison liked to play a game with herself, trying to guess beforehand which contestant would win. Lately, it had been relatively easy. Decades of watching the same game show did to you.

The streak of luck was starting to annoy her. Craving for blood was one thing, but if her appetite started affecting Jeopardy night, she would punch a hole through the wall. She loved the show.

Alex Trebek came out and began the game by reading the categories. "Mystery Writers."

"Dick Francis," said Madison, flicking a salty kernel at the television screen.

"Potent Potables."

"Absinthe," she responded. "This is too easy. Gimme something challenging."

It was another little game she played, trying to guess what the questions would be before she heard the clues. Lately, she had been doing well at that, too. The defending champion began with Potent Potables. Alex read the clue. Stumped, the contestant stared at the board as if he could force it to give him the answer. The buzzer sounded, and the contestant in the middle rang in. "What is absinthe," he said. Madison reached for the remote control and turned the television on mute without waiting for Alex to confirm the correct question. She knew it was right. These days, she was always right.

Whipping out her pink iPhone, Madison began tapping the cracked screen, texting the one person who might liven up her night.

Maddie: Hey, u up? I'm watching Jeopardy, and you're missing the best parts!

@thefastestaround

[thelivesofourdolls]

Finally got our first Francie 😄 Quick curl Francie has joined Quick curl Barbie 😊