#this was never an issue when I didn't live here. but now it just draws a bunch of attention to the fact I don't really have people here

[birdmenmanga]

wehhh chinese new year is coming up... i have nowhere to go...

[blackopals-world]

I've Found Home

Fem!Yuu and Twisted Cast

(Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8)

Implied relationship

She moved on. She had to and had every reason to. She had someone who relied on her.

Warnings:hurt-comfort, Angst to heal your soul. Healing those and abandonment issues. Happy ending I promise. Don't read if you are not ready to cry. Did not proof read, wrote this late a night, sick and half asleep. Sorry.

Move on.

Forget.

There was no going back.

You chose this.

You wanted this.

After three years of living in another world Yuu couldn't adjust easily to her old life.

A life that no longer exists. So she began building a new one.

She found a good price on a place near the mountains. Private but not isolated. She had the money after her book deal.

People would never believe her story so she wrote fantasy novels. She felt closer to her friends this way but more lonely all the same. She couldn't share the truth with anyone and could never talk about them as though they were real.

Still, she could write new stories with new characters to forget.

Life had been quiet. Eat, sleep, write, watch TV, read and do it all again. Sometimes getting food deliveries, read fan mail and get a call to two. It was decent life. Something Idia would love.

He's probably taken over STYX by now. I bet he and Ortho are doing great together.

Nevermind, she could probably cook something. Eating instant meals was probably ruining her health. Vil would kill her if he knew.

...

Food can wait. She wasn't that hungry anyways.

The garden! Yes! She had to tend the garden! She had ordered a spring bundle to plant.

The tag said it had some tulips, mums, begonias, and specialty white roses.

Nevermind... forget it. She should take a nap. A lazy day never hurt anyone. Even beasts can afford to sleep.

...

...

...

Yuu decided to leave. She couldn't take this anymore. If she got one more reminder she'd collapse. Their faces were ingrained in her mind and guilt burned under her skin.

Life was funny you know. You don't know what come next.

Yuu certainly didn't.

She hiked up the mountain trying to forget every time Jade would drag her to go foraging with him. Every late-night walk she had with Malleus. Every magic carpet ride with Kalim.

It wasn't fair! Why did she have to go through this? She wanted to see them again. What did she do to deserve this?

She was good! She was kind! She just wanted to go home! Is that so wrong? She worked hard! She made a name for herself! She should have the life she wanted and be able to enjoy that life.

But she missed them...

Unknowingly Yuu had dropped to her knees and crying. Only the forest could hear her and perhaps it took pity on her.

(Warning: If you are sensitive to child abuse or dead animals please don't read on.)

When her tears were gone and her cries faded there was a response.

A different cry. High pitched and gurgling. The kind that every woman knew in an odd instinctual way. The kind that sets off every alarm in your head and makes every hair stand on end. A baby.

She ran towards it praying to God that this wasn't a mountain lion. It wasn't though.

She found a small shack off the path. It was surrounded by trash. Must have been occupied by squatters. Said squatters seemed to have vacated at least a few days ago.

Yuu muscled open the makeshift door. The crying had turned into unfamiliar cracking breathless howls. Their voice must have given out a while ago after who knows how long. Hours, days...any longer would mean death.

Yuu searched and found a bunker of sorts under the floorboards.

She found a soggy bare mattress, a few scattered crayons, a ball and-oh God, that smell. It was a rotting cat. Poor thing must have been here for weeks. There was an empty cat food bowl nearby. Little drawings littered the floor. Ones of a smiling child with a smiling cat.

The whimpering cries continued and drew Yuu forward. She found them curled up in a corner. A rope was tied around their leg. It was a child. They were wrapped in soiled clothes, had matted hair, and emaciated.

Yuu felt her heart break again. This poor baby. Who could do this.

He looked at her with fear and hope. He wanted-no needed to be saved. He was probably no older than 3. He had no understanding of what was happening to him. His tears had marked his face as the only place was covered in a layer of dirt.

"Hey, is okay I'm here to help. I'm going to take you away now. Is that okay? We'll get you some food." Yuu tried to keep her voice even to not scare him.

The boy crawled over to the place of the dead cat. And began shaking it.

"Nina!Nina!" He wailed trying to wake her up.

He didn't know she was dead. He didn't even understand what death was.

"I'm sorry Nina can't come with us." Yuu said pulling him gently by the back of his ragged shirt.

But children don't understand these things.

"Nina! No! Nina!" He yelled horsey.

"Shh, it's okay. Don't worry I'll come back for her later. I promise." Yuu hushed.

She could bury her in the garden. He clearly loved her a lot and the poor kitty deserves that much.

After untying the rope Yuu lifted the boy into her arms and carried him home. He made almost no noise as he buried himself in her arms.

Yuu promised herself that she'd never let something like this happen to him again. He would never be abandoned again, he'd never go hungry again, and he'd be loved. She'd love him, she swore it.

"My son." She whispered to no one at all but I affirmed everything she felt.

He needed a name. The case worker didn't have one for him on file. She got to choose one.

For a writer she struggled to find one.

Mal, Elliot, Leo, Cecil, Bishop, Ali, Jacob, Carter, Azure, Jess

Only one name stuck

Grimm

"Grimm! It time for bed. Grab a book if you want me to read it to you." Yuu said walking up the stairs.

Grimm scanned his bookshelf for one of his favorites. The titles were: "The Rose Queen", "The King of Beasts", "The Wishing Star", "The sea witch", "The Sand Serpent", "The fairy Gala", "The Little Robot", "Magic Cat", "The beautiful Queen", and "The Underworld and back again"

Grimm had a favorite right now. The newest among the children's book collection Yuu had written. She pulled it off the shelf and ran back to bed.

Yuu could barely keep up these days. Grimm was fast but Yuu had practice.

She pulled the covers over him and read the title as Grimm snuggled up with his favorite stuffed animal. It was another merchandise stuffed animal. It was a big gray cat with a stripped bow and purple crystal around its neck.

Grimm named it Nina and took it everywhere. Along as it comforted him Yuu said nothing.

"The Lonely Dragon: Once upon a time there was a powerful dragon prince who lived in a land far far away." Yuu began.

"But the dragon isn't lonely forever. He meets the lost princess and they become best friends! Oh and the Silver knight comes in stop the dragon here!" Grimm interrupted leaning over his mother.

" Well if you want to tell the story." Yuu sighed.

When Yuu finished Grimm asked her something.

"So the dragon isn't lonely anymore?" He looked at her with wide eyes.

"No, he has many friends and rules over a nice kingdom," Yuu said in a hushed voice as shifted his pillow to make him lie down.

"What about the lost princess?"

"The lost princess found her way home. She said goodbye to her friends and is where she belongs now."

"But is she lonely? Without all her friends?"

"She used to be but now she has a home. She misses her friends but she's happy."

"I wish I could meet her. I'd be her friend and she'd never be lonely again."

"I know, I'd bet she'd be so happy. Goodnight, baby."Yuu turned off the light as she kissed Grimm's cheek

"Night Mama." Grimm said kissing his mother back.

When Yuu left the room she kept the door open just a bit so Grimm wouldn't be afraid of the dark.

She took a deep breath. Maybe she shouldn't have written the Lost Princess series but it was so well loved these days what could she do?

Still, she could relive those days for just a brief moment and smile.

She made her way to the study to go back to writing her new book when a knock came from downstairs.

Yuu cautiously made her way to the door and pressed an ear to it to listen to who it might be. Forgetting she had a peephole. A familiar voice called her name from the other side.

[araminakilla]

Regarding Death Wolf...

Hear me out (NO, it's not the kind you are thinking)

We know Death has a job, right? To collect souls and most likely release them to the afterlife.

And for this job, he has to be there when somebody is about to die, as demostrated with him being there moments before Puss' eight death.

Supposing he is THE Death and he has been doing this since the beginning of time (or at least when there were enough stories of the Grim Reaper to adquire a physical form) that means he has seen a lot, A LOT of awful things.

Murders, suicides, massacres, death of infants, people who didn't deserve to die alone, animal cruelty, some other heavy stuff I won't mention here, etc etc etc.

And we thought "man, how is he able to cope with all of that? That job has to be utter torture for someone."

Probably many of you could think that he is able to do that because he is Death, and he was "born" with that purpose and only him can reap souls perfectly.

But while he is a force of nature, he also WAS a force of nature. Let me explain it well: He adquired a personality enough to be angry, excited, frustrated, amazed, happy, among other emotions.

While he has supernatural power and is most likely the most powerful being in the Shrek Franchise (or in Dreamworks as many say) he is also a PERSON.

Someone with a code of honor, morals, opinions, beliefs, etc.

Returning to the question "How can he bear all of that?" taking into account he is no longer an inevitable force, but a character of his own.

The answer is something you may relate to, and that is: Creativity and escapism.

To be the embodiment of Death, the guy is a very creative fella.

First of all, his design. I heard many people saying here and in Twitter that his design is something they would come up in their edgy, teen years of drawing their first fursona.

Guess what? They are right, the wolf form is someone's fursona. It's DEATH'S fursona. He clearly came up with this badass, piercing canine form to blend with the Fairy Tale Land assuming the form of the "Big Bad Wolf". He most likely had other forms he designed over the centuries and was able to present as them like if he were on a role play game in the living world.

His sickles? The weapon of choice with the little crossed cats on it to have a bigger effect of terror for Puss? Those who can become knuckles and join to create a scythe? Those are his creation, probably after thinking it for a while and writing all of those functions on a paper.

The way he presents himself? In the bar? The coins in his eyes as a "watching you" sign while being a cool reference to the Ferryman of souls? He transforming Perrito's forest into the background of a skull? The chilling reveal at the Cave of Lost Souls? The fire ring? It was all him.

As for the escapism part...

When the world becomes too heavy to deal with as real life issues tend to make us feel bad, depressed, angry... we tend to escape it somewhere. And in our time the common place would be the internet as in webpages or comics, stories, etc.

But what has to do with Death Wolf you may ask?

Well, while he would NEVER be able to escape his job entirely, he can have moments where he can enjoy a good hunt of people who don't appreciate life, like the whole plot of the Puss in Boots sequel could demostrate.

He managed to have a little time outside his eternal routine to chase an arrogant cat who took life for granted. He enjoyed it, it was thrilling, it was exciting.

It was a way to escape a monotonous, grim "life", if just for a short moment.

So, when the chase ended as his prey no longer feared him and now was ready to fight for his last life, the wolf retreats, happy for Puss' character development but resigned because he once again had to return to "The Eternal Duty"

And that's not even counting all the times Jack "I'm dead inside" Horner had to interrupt Lobo's hunt and remind him of his job even in his "spare time"

Death knew the chase had to end eventually, but he didn't want it to end.

He didn't want to return to his own world

And if we look at Death like that, then he is probably one of the most relatable characters Dreamworks has ever make.

In the Shrek Franchise:

Monsters can be loved

Princesses don't have to fit the perfect standards of beauty

Handsome guys can be possesive jerks

Love at first sight doesn't work like one would think

Happily ever afters had to be built and not just obtain them with magic

And Death is the most creative and "full of life" being in the world

Because he would absolutely go crazy with his life/work if he wasn't.

Because in a world of Kings, Poets and Soldiers, he's the Supreme King

And he's also a perky goth but none of you are ready for that conversation.

[weebsinstash]

You know, not that I've officially watched the movie or the second or third season of JJK yet or anything, but, I was sitting on the concept of, could you even fuckin imagine if Reader was like another friend in the Gojo/Geto group in their high school days but at some point, you're sent away, with my current running idea that the Reader falls into such a depression that they struggle to use jujutsu anymore and the higher ups have them sent away to either train or not be a danger to anyone any more

Fast forward to the future where Gojo and Geto have had their falling out and Satoru bumps into you again after having literally forgotten about you, and as all the memories come rushing back to him, all the pleasant nostalgia, the sudden crushing realization that oh my god he missed you, why didn't he even think about you, you hit him with, "so do you know where I can find Suguru?"

and Gojo is so so so SO fucking pissed because it turns out that after Gojo lost touch with you, Geto actually maintained contact, and you've been in touch all these years, and Gojo is just standing there with clenched fists about to crack his own gritting teeth as you're all smiles, "-and this keychain is actually from last year when we met up for some coffee and we talked about me coming back-" and Gojo is hit with the double whammy combo of, not only have you kept in touch with Geto all this time, GETO kept in contact with YOU and straight up fucking kept you to himself, did not even give half a fuck about connecting you back with Satoru, what seeing you again might have healed for him after Riko, nothin, just Geto keeping you to himself. Satoru ready to actually throw hands with his old friend as he asks you why you never reached out to him, what does Geto have that he doesn't, and you just look hurt and confused. "Suguru said you never wanted to come. You always had better things to do..." and you just look so sad, almost like you miss him--

Satoru over here 'SUGURU WHEN I CATCH YOU SUGURU' because you were literally sent away when he NEEDED YOU and you NEEDED HIM (in his mind) and Geto was over here LYIN "oh, no, Gojo says he doesn't have time for pointless things like these" as he took you to the zoo, the aquarium, arcades, totally not vicariously living his teenage years again with you, totally not borderline dating you, totally not amassing his own stalker shrine of photos and trinkets and the occasional piece of your hair

and of course, when Geto finally shows his true hand and has to be taken down, and you're there screaming and sobbing and mourning your only and closest friend, who else but Gojo is there? Who else is there that you know that you can even talk to? Satoru gets to play the good guy and help dry your tears and hold you as you're absolutely devastated.

Obviously now that you're a screaming crying mess, and you had all those issues in the past, and maybe just maybe Geto may have choked out amongst all the blood asking for Gojo to take care of you, Satoru can't possibly let you go your own way again. He isn't a boy who will just idly sit back while you're taken away anymore, either. He's a grown man now, and he can protect you. He's Satoru Gojo, the strongest, the enlightened one, and, now, you're his only true friend, and he'll keep you safe and sound for as long as you draw breath, even if you don't want him to

[wellgoslowly]

Hello! I was wondering if I can get a request please. The reader works for Lockwood and Co but she has the complete opposite personality of what Lockwood has (ex: reader is more of listener rather than a talker and when she is around new people she is more on the quiet side until she gets comfortable around them) and Lockwood falls for the reader. Thank you!

Ain't a Life a Many Splendored Thing?

a/n: a bit of a shorter post but I think I might make it into a series!! I loved this prompt and I loved writing it sm!!! it's not much but I didn't want to write more before knowing if yall would want a part 2 :) also yes the title is from hello hello by elton john from the hit movie gnomeo and juliet.

pairing: lockwood x fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: none :)

tags: @hufflepuff1619 (thank you for the request!) @oblivious-idiot @tangledinlove @ikeasupremacy @givemea-dam-break @neewtmas [if u guys want to be put on a tag list just lmk in the comments!!! also if i missed anyone im sorry!!!!]

The moment that you stepped into 35 Portland Row for your interview, it was obvious to everyone that Lockwood was a goner.

You two were clearly exact opposites- where he was confident and cocky, you seemed more reserved and humble. Where he was reckless, you seemed calculated and exact. And it was now evident that while he found it natural to talk in order to prevent awkward silences around new people (especially those whom he found to be very attractive), you were perfectly comfortable with listening to him ramble.

“And right up here is the attic.” He was saying now as the two of you climbed up the creaking stairs. “You've met Lucy, obviously- this is her room. And yours as well, if you choose to live here.” He watched you take in the room, filled with Lucy's drawings and scarce decorations on the walls, your eyes lingering on the small bed hastily shoved in the corner. He looked at you with apprehension, admittedly a little worried that you would turn to him and say that you'd changed your mind and reject the employment offer.

Instead, you turned to him with a slight smile on your face and said, “Is it ok with Lucy? If I stay here?” Instantly, Lockwood was filled with relief. “It was her idea, actually.” He said softly, watching you nod in understanding. “Alright then.” You said, a sense of finality in your voice. Lockwood smiled and watched as you walked to set the small bag of belongings you had taken to your interview on top of your new bed. “I'll leave you to it, then. Dinner should be ready soon.” He said to you. You didn't respond, but Lockwood wasn't worried- he knew exactly what your soft smile was meant to convey.

------

“Lockwood, I just- I don't know if she fits here.” It had been only 3 days after you had officially joined Lockwood & Co., but Lockwood wasn't necessarily surprised by the remark George threw him from across the table that morning. You and Lucy were asleep, still tired after facing an infuriating ambush from a large cluster of Type Ones while on a Type Two case.

“What do you mean, George?” Lockwood asked as he took a sip of his tea. “I mean, she's just so quiet. She never speaks, and when she does it's either in one word responses or a couple phrases- even then, she mostly only ever talks to you. I'm just worried about how well she'll be able to communicate in the future.” George explained, his hands moving wildly about.

“You haven't seen her in the field, George- she's brilliant. Her sight is comparable to mine, and her touch… it's like Lucy with her Listening. Yes, she's a bit… reserved, but I'm sure she just needs to warm up to us, is all.” Lockwood smiled at his friend as he took another sip of tea, peeling open the front page of a new issue of True Hauntings.

“Don't think I didn't notice how you avoided the comment about how she only seems to talk to you.” George grumbled, taking a bite out of a piece of toast. Lockwood didn't look up from the text on the page in front of him as he mumbled a soft “I don't know what you're talking about.” George scoffed in response, starting to say something that sounded a lot like “you're clearly gone for her, why do I even try”, when you walked in, hair amess and blinking sleep out of your eyes.

The kitchen fell into immediate silence, George's face flushing in embarrassment as you looked at him, your expression unreadable. “If you're going to talk about me, you could at least do it while I'm around.” Lockwood looked up at that as he didn't notice you silently entering the kitchen. He took in your sleep-addled state and the look of fear in George's eyes. And then you were softly smiling. “I was joking, sorry. Didn't mean to scare you.” You said before sitting down next to Lockwood.

George snorted. “I think that's the most you've said to me the entire time you've been here.” George said, apparently taking your joke to heart. Lockwood softly kicked George under the table, but you just laughed a little.

Deciding to change the subject, Lockwood turned to you with a smile. “I'm sorry for him. What he meant to say was good morning. Would you like some tea?” You smiled at Lockwood, and he was hit with the thought that it mightve been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. “Yes, please.” You responded. Lockwood nodded, getting up to turn the kettle on once more.

The morning passed like that- you and George softly trading barbs with one another, Lockwood making you your tea and toast, and Lucy stumbling in once you were almost done with breakfast and mumbling a “gmornin” to you and the boys. Soon, the discussion turned from an easygoing conversation over breakfast and lapsed into a more serious discussion as Lockwood started explaining the cases that you all had scheduled for that night.

You and Lockwood would be going out to a house that was reported to contain a Type Two and a couple Type Ones, George would be staying home to do some research for a bigger case the four of you had coming up the next week (he had also gotten injured a couple of days ago and his wound hadn't fully healed), and Lucy would be going to an office afflicted by a couple Type Ones.

Lockwood had been too busy dishing out the information for the night's events to realize that you hadn't been talking. It was only after Lucy and George had nodded in understanding and set out to set their own respective tasks- Lucy heading down to the basement and George getting ready to go to the Archives- when Lockwood looked to you and realized that you had been drawing on the Thinking Cloth the entire time.

He leaned over slightly, watching as you drew a small landscape on a tiny piece of empty space with a green pen that Lockwood wasn't sure he had ever seen before. He smiled as you drew, watching the concentration on your face. “Did you hear the cases for tonight?” He asked softly, watching the quirk at the corner of your lips.

“George is doing research, Lucy's got a couple of Type Ones, and you and me have got the Type Two.” You clicked your pen, signaling that you were finished with your drawing, and then you turned to look at Lockwood. “How'd I do?” You asked softly. “With the cases, or the drawing?” You shrugged, a look in your eyes that told him “both.” He smiled. “Excellent.” He whispered, making you smile.

Eventually, the two of you migrated from the kitchen to the library. Lockwood sat in his favorite armchair, surveying a stack of recent magazines as he decided which one to read first. You left the room quickly, and Lockwood frowned at your departure as he settled into the chair with a week old gossip rag.

But as quickly as you left, you had returned, a book in your hand as you sat down in the chair next to Lockwood. You two sat there for a while, Lockwood taking breaks to explain to you different London Society news while you happily listened and Lockwood smiling to himself every time you reached a point in your book that made you laugh or make some sort of exclamation of disbelief.

He was content, he realized, to just sit there and exist by your side. While he normally felt the need to make his presence known, to charm and impress anyone he might’ve just met, he found that he was very happy to just sit and read with you.

An hour or so later, Lockwood decided that he wanted to go down to the basement and get some training in before the case that night. He was about to ask you if you'd care to join before he noticed that you had fallen asleep, arms curled around your legs and head laying peacefully against the cushioning of the chair. He smiled as he closed his magazine, getting up slowly and draping a blanket over you without a sound.

As Lockwood walked out of the library, he realized that George had been right. Not about you not fitting in- no, you had definitely proven George wrong. Instead, he was forced to admit that George might've been right about Lockwood being gone for you.

hehehe thanks for reading!!! I just put in my 2 weeks at my soul sucking part time job so I'll hopefully have more motivation to work on these hehe!!! I'll also be making a masterlist very soon- I've been meaning to do that for a while

also if yall want a part 2, pls lmk! I loved writing this and I think I could do a lot more w it hehehehe. anywhom if you've read this far, thank you for reading!!! love u!

mwah, linnie

[mlmxreader]

What Remains | Cooper Howard x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ '' How I end up here''

And

"I wanna know who I'm looking at"

With ghoul please

( I didn’t watch the show but this character I.... What I'm thinking is bad...) ❞

: ̗̀➛ Cooper Howard is long dead, but maybe a part of him still lives in The Ghoul. Even if it's only a little bit.

trigger warnings : ̗̀➛ swearing, mentions of violence, jealousy, sex references, violence references

╰┈➤ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Cooper was too busy with searching the chem box to even think about looking up; with you standing guard so diligently and with great loyalty, he didn't know of any reason why he should have.

After all, you had been travelling together since you saved him from a group of super mutants, and although it was not easy, you had gained each other's trust, confidence and now it felt odd if you weren't together - you were a team, now, after spending so long together.

Of course, you still had disagreements, though, like when you wanted to help your old friend Valentine and Cooper it a bullshit distraction.

"Thou shalt not get side tracked by bullshit every time," he had grumbled, even whilst aiding you in helping Valentine.

It still made you laugh when you thought about it. He never wanted to play the good guy and was really only ever out for himself unless there were enough caps in the question; but you could see it, the layer of decency hidden under all that lone wanderer bullshit.

The humanity that he so desperately tried to snuff out. Trying to run so far from what he used to be but still clinging onto gope that somewhere in all the shit, there was something - someone - to bring him back. To pull Cooper Howard back into the light at last.

You cleared your throat, drawing his attention at last.

"It's gettin' dark, Coop," you told him. "We ought to find shelter for the night, then keep going."

Cooper grumbled even though he knew that you were right; being so close to the edge of the Glowing Sea was more dangerous at night than any other time.

Ravenous deathclaws stalked the land searching for anything they could devour. Glowing ghouls with rotted brains and empty dyes were just waiting at the chance to consume any sort of meat. There was always something in the shadows.

But Cooper still slammed the chem box shut and he still stood up and gestured for you to follow him back to the ruined house not far down the road.

It had only one bed, but it still had a roof, and that was better than nothing.

At least you weren't on that fucking foggy island again with all those gulpers and anglers and crabs. so there was that.

"You take the bed," Cooper told you with a huff. "I'll just sleep on the chair."

You shook your head. "Why don't we just share? It's plenty big enough and it wouldn't be the first time."

Cooper huffed as he took his hat and coat off, putting them on the chair before sitting at the edge of the bed; he watched you with great curiosity, taking notes of every movement as if he was studying you and trying to learn your behaviour.

You didn't think much of it - he had been doing it for a while now.

Well, ever since you met up with that Ghoul Mayor who had endlessly flirted with you; you knew Cooper didn't like the fact that you flirted back, but you assumed it was only because he didn't want you to be distracted by the oh so handsome ghoul.

"Hey," you cleared your throat as you looked at him, the buttons of your shirt undone to expose only the slightest glimpse of your chest. "We're okay, right?"

Cooper glared up at you, then nodded slowly. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"You've been different since Goodneighbor," you said with a shrug. "Ever since that Mayor invited me to stay the night, you've been weird."

"Thou shalt not-"

"Get side tracked by bullshit every time, I know, I know, but it ain't that and you know it," you told him, folding your arms across your chest. "It's like you had an issue with him wanting to get in my trousers."

He glared at you for a moment, then shook his head with a scowl. "How'd I end up here? Bein' fuckin' questioned about why I cockblocked that Mayor you fuckin' couldn't wait to jump on."

"Hust tell me why, Coop," you sighed.

"He weren't right for you," he told you with a sneer. "He didn't know what it's like out there for people like us. He spent all his fuckin' time in an office doin' chems - he don't know. Someone like that can't be right for someone like you."

"And you think you would be?" You asked with a raised brow. "Then why the fuck didn't you just tell me? Why the fuck did you have to go all stupid and weird?"

Cooper grumbled. "Shut up about it, would ya? It don't matter - I ain't... I ain't who I was and I ain't never gonna go back to it. So shut up, lie down and fuckin' sleep. We'll head out first thing. Second dawn comes up."

"Or what?" You challenged.

"Or I'll take you back to Goodneighbor," he all but growled out. "And you can stay there with your pretty boy Mayor."

"You wouldn't," you shook your head, narrowing your gaze at him. "I'm not an asset to you, Coop, and you care about me - whether you admit it or not. You care, you just won't let me in... but you want to... so tell me, because I wanna know who I'm looking at: The Ghoul, or Cooper?"

His expression softened as he looked down at the ground to hide his weakness, groaning and sighing heavily. "My name was- is Cooper Howard. I'm a bounty hunter, and I hated the way that Mayor looked at you, spoke to you... but I can't be what you want, and we both know that."

You came to sit beside him, your hand landing on his thigh. "So you can't be yourself? Because that's what I'd want. I'd want the snarky, violent, asshole who shoots first and asks questions later."

Cooper didn't say anything, just put his hand on yours and nodded slowly; he couldn't bring himself to say it, in all honesty. He tried to long to snuff out his humanity that it felt wrong to even try to engage with it again; Cooper Howard was dead, and he knew that.

if you made it to the end of this fic and you enjoyed it, then please, if you have any cash to spare, please consider donating to help Mahmoud rebuild his life.

[jo-harrington]

Sunsets.

They were always better when you watched them with someone else.

You glanced down at the hands in your lap: yours and Sam's, twined together like your lives have been for the past 5 years. The best of friends from the moment her family moved into town. You couldn't remember a time when you existed without her.

She's chatting now, telling some story about her boyfriend's dunce behavior to cheer you up after Mark broke your heart. Douchebag. You don't really know how you got here of all places; how things seemed to go so right with him and then so terribly wrong.

Sam made a joke at both Patrick and Mark's expense. You laughed and the sound of it was unfamiliar and almost roared in your ear, like a hundred people were laughing.

Everyone always laughed at Sam's jokes. Everyone loved Sam. Everything always worked out for her, even in the most unlikely situations. She was just lucky like that.

You told her once, after she won the talent show at school, that it almost seemed like she was the star of The Samantha Show or something. She found it hilarious, apparently, but you had an inkling that her feelings were still hurt. This was real life, not TV. She didn't just win because she was some main character, she worked really hard on her dance routine.

You felt a little bad after that, never brought it up again. The dark little voice deep down inside you smothered for now.

Because yeah, she did work hard. You knew that. She was smart and talented and funny and caring and a great friend and neighbor and that's just how it was because...

Because...

Because she strived to be all of those thing.

Things you…really didn’t bother with.

Because you were…

You.

Average, squeaking by a three-point-something GPA, wannabe artist who could barely draw, never left town before even when there was that field trip to DC because you got the mumps. A little nervous, a little clumsy, a little romantic with your head in the clouds. You always had a crush but nothing ever really came of those crushes until Mark.

The only boy to ever like you back and then he broke your heart.

“I just want to disappear,” you muttered pathetically and let go of Sam’s hand to cover your eyes again.

"So do it!" Sam finally hopped to her feet in the way that only she could, raring for another passioned, motivational speech that she was known for. You really needed one of those and also loathed that she was about to give you one. "Disappear! Leave!”

This was not the speech you expected.

"Uh, what?" you let out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh, tears forgotten for now. "What do you mean leave? Hello, graduation in a few months. Prom? Then college. What happened to your big plan last week? One last summer in Port Geneva?"

"Forget one last summer," she waved her arms wildly. "This is your life! You're my best friend, I want you happy. Tell me the truth. Do you really even want to go to college? Wouldn't you rather pack up big blue and go on that adventure like you talked about in 8th grade?"

At your blank stare, Sam grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you.

"That's the whole reason we're friends in the first place don't you remember? The ice breaker?! Are you kidding?"

"I don't have a clue," you giggled as she jostled you around.

"Our entire friendship built on a lie. UGH. Ok. Mrs. Mills what-do-you-wanna-do-in-10-years activity? And everyone's was stupid. Tina wanted to be on the cover of Tiger Beat for the Girl Superstar issue. Patrick...gotta love him...but he wanted to be the starting quarterback for the Miami Dolphins. Mine was so dumb I don't even want to say it, great first impressions I made as the new kid.

"But you wanted to see the world! Pack your bags and board a train around the US. Paint the sunset at the Grand Canyon. See glaciers in Alaska! Hell, you even said you'd travel to Middle Earth if you could. And I thought you meant the equator!"

You both laughed and as she went on and on about things you apparently said 4 years ago and as the memory came back to you, your heart ached.

Yeah, you did say that stuff didn't you? You’d been such a silly, idealistic kid before you grew up and reality hit you time and time again.

"That was just kids stuff Sammie," you laughed dismissively. "I'm...I'm gonna take classes at State, and I'm gonna work at the furniture store and I'm gonna..."

"You're gonna pine over Mark Greckman over the rest of your life?" The hands were on her hips again. "No, ma'am, you...you're gonna go on your adventure and...oh my...you're gonna find a prince of some European kingdom or...or a handsome stranger in an Italian villa. Or both. Hoards of men fighting for your affection."

"Please stop," you stood up and grabbed her as she started waving her arms around and pantomiming kissing a tall stranger. "Stop it."

"Ok I'm done, I'm done," she promised. "I just don't want you to be crying over that idiot anymore. And we might be close to graduation but...I don't know...you can still change your mind."

"Hmm," you shrugged. "I dunno. If just sounds so…”

“Unlike you?”

“Yeah.”

"Just think about it," she urged you. "You and your Volkswagen Beetle…and the world...the whole universe if you want it! The possibilities are endless. I just feel like...1985...it's gonna be your year."

There was a spark of inspiration that grew inside of you, and in your heart, you knew she was right.

You pulled her into your arms, grateful to have your best friend.

"Port Geneva was filmed in front of a live studio audience."

Eddie hit the rewind button on the remote and watched the scene speed in reverse until it hit Sam’s big speech. He hit play and watched for a minute then paused, the blurry image of your giggling face frozen on his screen for the foreseeable future.

He sighed and leaned back on the couch to enjoy your company for a minute.

The living room was dark, only illuminated by the glow of the TV and the street lights outside shining through the windows. There was a stack of tapes on the coffee table, along with his abandoned homework. The pizza he ordered would be here soon but for now…it was just you and him.

“M’sorry Mark was an asshole,” he said aloud into the still room. “To be honest…I kind of warned you about him way back.”

You don’t say anything. You never do.

“I know, the heart wants what it wants.” He picked a piece of lint off of his jeans. “I just want to look out for you honey.”

You stay smiling on the screen, and he can imagine it got the slightest bit bigger when he said that.

“I know you try to look after me too. Guess that doesn’t stop either of us getting hurt right?” He chuckled and pat his hands on his lap.

This was pathetic, talking to a fictional character like they were really in the room with him.

You were just…you were everything. And you’d been there for him, a balm to his woes. You had been since he started watching Port Geneva way back when, but especially since everything went down last year.

With his dad and the house and…

There was a knock at the door and Eddie hit the eject button so he could put in the next tape in watch with dinner. It was gonna be a good episode, you tell Mark off and even punch him; he remembered it fondly.

Defending yourself. He was proud of his girl.

Eddie ate his dinner and watched his episodes, taped from when they originally aired. Wednesday nights at 9pm, right before the news. He did his homework and occasionally repeated the rewind-pause-play act that he had perfected over the years so he could make another joke or, just once, complain about his chemistry homework.

Life was hard. For everyone. But especially if your name was Eddie Munson. Still, he endured. He’d never been a stranger to fantasy and escapism, he had his books and his game and his movies but there was something so…comforting in the realism that was your show.

A small suburban town full of normals. All sorts of mundane activities that mostly everyone made feel were…life altering events. And a handful of misunderstood outcasts—like you and Scott and Bonnie—who played supporting characters to the stars. Stars that were, quite frankly, unrealistic and annoying.

Eddie felt that way sometimes though, like he was just some background character waiting for his chance at the spotlight. Who had been the main character in his story, huh? Ronnie? Yeah…he could see that, now that she was on her great college adventure.

But with her gone, what would come of his storyline? Did he just fade into the background again?

Eddie ejected the tape before the current episode finished and propped his feet on the coffee table as he flipped the channels to something else. He needed to focus on something else. He would come back to his tapes, to you, another night and he would wish that you were real once again. Knocking on his door, taking him on a grand adventure with you.

But for now he just needed to stew in his…sad secondary character thoughts.

You got your time in the spotlight, a 2-episode arc at the end of the season, and as much as he hoped that it would be his turn soon…to be the character everyone loved…the person everyone loved…he knew it might never happen for him.

Eddie the Freak. Eddie the outcast. Eddie the idiot.

He would even take a single scene dedicated to him at this point.

Was that too much to ask?

Coming in 2024.

Find the Masterlist here. And the original blurb here.

[balkanradfem]

I experienced the biggest shift in my feminist consciousness when I stopped seeing women as the 'other' and start seeing us as 'we'. I realized it's not about how the world sees us or how my personality is different or whatever I couldn't relate to in other women; it's what's threatening and disadvantaging all of us. It's we, the women, who are fighting a common enemy and this threat surpasses any differences that we might have between us, it surpasses all my personal squabbles and disagreements, because this is bigger than that.

What happened to women historically are not distant and 'unfortunate' events that have nothing to do with me, they have everything to do with why my life is the way it is right now. M*n burned women, and because of this now we, the women, don't have reasonable or effective healthcare anymore. They didn't burn them in a craze or hysteria, they burned them for studying female illnesses and developing medicine, for keeping women healthy and sane, for benefiting us as a group. It's the reason why I suffer from menstrual pain today and the reason why there's not a ready cure, reason why me and others were not educated on our genitals or our sex-specific illnesses, it's why our health problems are not, and won't be taken seriously.

M*n also burned women for owning land, and during the history, did everything they possibly could to stop women from inheriting, owning and managing land. And it's the reason why I will not be considered to inherit my fathers land, why most of women will not gain land just by having family ties, while males absolutely will, they'll be the first choice to inherit both land and property. It's the reason I will have to fight for the most of my life to acquire a piece of land and not only it will be difficult, but most people will believe that I shouldn't own any. Because they've managed to create a standard where women historically rarely had land, and made this into our normal. They did it to give land to themselves.

The fact that women were barred from colleges and high education in the past is not unrelated to me and my situation today. It's the reason my female ancestors were subjected to poverty and servitude, with no way to free themselves – and by extension, the reason I am still in poverty today. If my female ancestors were from the start, well educated, owning both land and freely managing their health issues, I would inherit not only their knowledge, skills and property, but also the financial security that comes with it. My female ancestors would be able to invest in their children's future, to make sure their female descendants don't have to suffer and fight for food, or a piece of land to exist on. Instead, what they were forced to do was serve a m*n and hope that he would be kind to their children and maybe secure them some more financial safety than they had  - and he didn't. Because m*n save those things for their own class.

The fact that women were banned from their own last names and lineage cuts me off from my history and my heritage. I don't get to draw my female-centered family tree or know what my female ancestors lived through and how they got me here, and if they even did it purposely, or were forced into childbirth without ever having a choice. I don't get to be proud of their achievements, inherit their wisdom or read their life stories. Instead I had to hear about male war escapades and be disgusted that the male lineage was filled with violent offenders.

The fact that women were historically enslaved or trapped in various types of servitude, despite how it was being called, has huge impact on my life today. It's the reason why, from the very start of life, I've been taught that I would be better fit for a role of servitude. That my place is in the kitchen, keeping home, feeding others, cleaning and doing menial tasks that would never be rewarded or paid for. It's why even my reproductive rights have been represented to me as my 'duty to the humankind'. None of that would be happening if women throughout history weren't in a servant/slave class. But, this wasn't only ever true for women, was it?

M*n during history were enslaved too, and yet all m*n are not taught from birth that they would be much very well fitted for a servant role, and to act as a resource for others. They're not told that their only value is to keep house, serve in the kitchen and clean house for others. To sacrifice their reproductive rights for someone else's purposes. That's because our age of servitude never ended. They're still at it, teaching every woman what she is before she even knows there's possibly a choice of freedom. Where they can't enforce us legally, they do it by grooming, by tradition, by violence in our home. We have not been freed from servitude until no female child is ever told that she needs to be a resource, to pick up and clean and cook and please everyone around her. We are still being trapped into belief that we have no choice, that our servitude is normal, expected, and nothing to fight against because they made it a tradition. We still have our female children in servitude before they even understand that what is asked of them is a part of a historical oppression.

Whatever was done to women and girls throughout history affects every bit of my life right now, and what my life would be without it is almost unimaginable for a woman who never experienced living outside of an oppressed class. Our history is not only scarred but then cut away from us, we're being convinced that anything from the past is 'long forgotten' and 'no longer relevant since we can now vote', but it's only done to isolate us from the female class consciousness, to convince us that our life right now, is the best we could ever hope for, and there was never any way for it to be better, for us to have any more power than we do. While they give power to themselves.

We had the right to freedom, healthcare, knowledge, education, land and inheritance, for the entire history. All of it has been cut away and taken from all of us, resulting in us never being able to accumulate any security or safety for our own, not even enough to keep us out of life of poverty and servitude, not even enough to ensure that our children will be safe. And on top of that, we've been 'othered' and isolated from each other, so we cannot even work together on acknowledging what's been taken and how to reach safety. We're turned to self blame, and self loathing for our low status in the population, as if it's personally each of our faults that we couldn't overthrow the oppression or thrive in a hostile society.

Women are not the 'other'. M*n are. We the women are robbed of our property, inheritance, resources and right by m*n, systematically and consistently. It's affecting each and every one of our lives. It's why we can't care for our children, why we get turned away from our doctors, why each of us has to heal their own organs, why our mothers and grandmothers can only give us horror stories of survival and tell us we should make peace with a life of servitude, for they've never seen a woman survive any other way. It's why we had and still have to rely on m*n for housing and survival, even though there would be absolutely no need for this had they not robbed us of our half of the land. It's why developing class consciousness is necessary, we cannot recognize or fight this while we're othered from each other.

[plusvanity]

To make this clear, Old Mayhem and me NEVER attacked one another.

There's no animosity going on between me and her. Although in the same 'fandom', our blogs exist separately and don't overlap. This doesn't mean hatred. This simply means a different public. The effort that me and her seems to put in the content that we create is massive, so as I said before, I will say I again, be a decent person and don't spread misinformation about what my dynamic between me and her is like. Also, don't spread hateful messages in anyone's inbox about how 'shit their art is' or 'how dare you not like this blog??' Because you NEVER know if the person who reads it has s*****e thoughts and the LAST THING that they read is your spiteful message. It happened with me before, and I wouldn't wish this feeling even on the worst people in my life.

This is all I had to say regarding Old Mayhem.

Now, I want to address the real issue who's name I didn't mention until now, Kelma 69, the one blog who's proud description is 'Getting rid of weird Mayhem fans, mostly from Pelle's fans'.

I don't even have to add anything about this description, her malicious 'witch hunt' intentions are more than obvious and the fact that I seem to be her number one target is sending a shiver down my spine.

I don't have an issue with people who block me and move on with their lives, this is normal, it's expected. But I have an issue with someone who blocks me and keeps endlessly talking about me with every chance they've got, so I want to ask her why?

I never interacted with her before, yet she comes across so vicious about my art and fiction for seemingly no reason other than envy.

Of cause that you're entitled to your own opinion, of course that you don't have to like me, this is absolutely alright, but you should assume your words instead of hiding behind blogs that had been here long before you or 'adjusting' your statements to how it seems more convenient for you.

Calling my art 'crap', than saying 'I'm not insulting the artist' is blatantly lying with proofs on her own page.

Also, the fact that she was both following me and my other artist friends, liking our 'Vargelle' fanarts until someone brought this to her attention and she suddenly blocked me and my friends is a 'getting caught' behaviour. I can understand that she may had liked those fanarts because of Pelle's design, as she mentioned at one point, but some of those drawings didn't even had Pelle's face in it, so how does this work? She also liked fanarts of Varg (alone) even if she hates Varg more than anything, so was this for his 'design' too? Is it?

Also, her parasitic tendency to accociate herself with Old Mayhem to seem relevant, to gain attention and admiration denote very evident deceiving and manipulating tactics.

Another aspect of her double-faced behaviour is the fact that she presents herself as 'shy' when she has no problem whatsoever getting rid of what might step out of her appreciation area. Shyness doesn't come with blunt insults and a covert need for conflict and drama. Shy people doesn't seek reactions, they don't go out to hate on people to boost up their ego and shy people DON'T throw the 'you just play the victim' card whenever they can't find solid arguments against their accusation.

Is calling out someone's falsehood the equivalent of 'playing' the victim? Is this the way to wash your hands clean from taking responsibility?

The fact that you won't allow a conversation to take place and once you consider that 'you're done playing your game' you pull out, just shows how unwilling you are to recognise what you've done.

I hope everyone can leave behind this senseless drama. I'm so sick and tired talking like a broken record about these things.

Live and let live. There's so much to do in life other than being angry about fiction, trust me.

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hey 👋 I’m not too sure if your doing requests( if not completely ignore this it’s fine:)) but I was requesting a peaky blinders one-shot where reader is like an orphan and lives in an orphanage and tommy the philanthropist he is goes down to the orphanage with Polly,John,Arthur,and Ada and whoever else you want and they see reader going at it with on of the sisters. You could choose the conflict or their argument but yeah, if you could draw the reader as someone who’s quick and sarcastic with their words like a speak before thinking type of person you know. Also can this be like a tommy Shelby x daughter!reader kinda like a found family kind of trope. Sweet kisses love your stories❤️

Dear Anon,

I hope this does it justice!! I changed a few things because I felt like it fit the story better (I hope that's alright) but there is lots of family stuff. And lots of Lizzie and Tommy - not something I have ever written before so hopefully that's also alright. Sweet kisses back to you love, thank you for this wonderful idea!!!

Warnings: peaky type stuff, religious language? Implied that a priest was going to assault the reader, bad words, not descriptive death of parents, mentioned death of a baby, grief, so much sweetness and hurt comfort and hopefully laughs. I promise it's not as dark or sad as it sounds. Also some Grace bashing / group hate.

Word count: 6606 - may have gotten carried away...

Part 2

Tommy watched Lizzie closely as they approached the large building. According to his sources it housed around a hundred and fifty children, the building was large but it didn't seem that large. 

It was gray and rainy, much like every day. The dark dampness didn’t bother him as it had seeped into his bones and made a home long ago. At this point, he was convinced that the sunlight would simply cause him to turn to ashes if it ever reached his skin. 

Lizzie looked nervous but that was expected, he felt beyond nervous. Suddenly hoping she would change her mind altogether. Children were overrated, he would know having raised Finn and half of John's kids. But after her she lost the baby, he would do anything to bring some happiness to her. He knew he wasn't the best husband, but he was trying to do better every day. 

Walking up the steps a voice in his mind started to remind him that he would only be bringing this baby into a world of danger and horror. Only going to ruin them so no God would allow them refuge. He pushed them down as best he could, reaching out to hold Lizzie’s hand. She looked taken back at the gesture, another thing wrong with them. Wrong with the situation. 

They were escorted in to look at the babies. They were just as expected, plump, cute, and small. Tommy tried not to look at them too close, no point in getting attached. Lizzie would pick a baby, and he would attempt to be a good father. 

He hated that he knew what it felt like to reach out for parents that were not there to hold you. He was sulking when a commotion caught his attention. 

“For Fucks sakes woman! ” A girl shouted. 

“You listen here. Father Stryker is a noble member of this community and organization. You will do what he asks of you.” A woman responded in a cold tone. 

“We both know that’s not what God would want you old bat.” The girl snapped back and he held back a smile. 

“Now you listen here, we do not know what God wants, that’s not our place. He has a way -” 

“No, he sure as hell doesn't. God would NEVER.” The girl demanded. “I thought God was in all of us, and GOD doesn't want me to be alone with him. In fact, I would say he’s overcome with passion about the issue. It would be a sin for me to ignore his protests.” 

“I will not tolerate such language, you foul girl!” The sound of a slap was dealt out. Tommy felt an odd feeling of unease about the situation. 

“You let this happen! You. And you will BURN FOR IT. Mark my words, you will suffer an eternity for his sins. There are no amount of crosses under the sun for Jesus to croak on that would make up for your grotesque choices you evil witch.” The girl's voice was pure venom, and Tommy was overcome with an urge to protect the girl. What type of place were they running here? 

“I want her,” Lizzie said clearly standing next to him looking at the Sister that was showing them around. 

“Sorry Mrs. Shelby ?” She asked looking for clarification. 

“The girl in the hall.” He looked at Lizzie landing her eyes on a girl that must have been about 15 standing off with the nun in the hallway. Her face was beet red, making her blue eyes seem extraordinarily bright in contrast,  her fists clenched ready for a fight of any size. That girl did not care what happened, she wasn't going to back down. 

“Ah, are you sure? She’s quite temperamental.” She responded looking embarrassed. 

“Excellent, I’ve never seen anyone look so much like my husband,” Lizzie said with a smirk on her face.  

“We’ll take her. And I’d like a word with management.” He asserted firmly. This was not the sort of thing he could look the other way on, plus it would only further the family image. Win-win. 

______________________________

Another sister came into the hallway. 

“Sister Margret, she has been requested by a family.” She said quickly. 

You were positive this must be some type of trap. But a tall angular woman moved into the hallway. She looked like someone from a painting, impossibly pretty, elegant, clothes worth a small fortune. This was impossible. 

The sister grabbed your arm and pulled you away from that bitch. Far away from the classroom you were terrified of. 

The lady looked you up and down and removed the sister's hand from your arm. She shot her a warning look and the sister apologized. Whoever this woman was, she meant business. 

“I’m Lizzie, Lizzie Shelby.” She said in a voice that belonged on a stage. You introduced yourself feeling embarrassed. 

“We’d like to take you home if you're alright with that.” She asked holding her arm out. Normally you didn’t like being touched for any reason, but being escorted out of the place was a good enough reason for you to make an exception. 

You looped your arm in hers and she strode out of the place with her head held high. 

“The Paperwork -” The sister called out 

“Get my husband to deal with it.” She called back, her voice dripping with power. You accompanied her into a very expensive car. You sat in the back seat beside her and watched her take in your appearance as if it had changed being in the natural light. 

“Do you read?”  She asked you lighting a cigarette.

“I had a tutor before my parents died.” 

“How did they pass?” 

“Car accident.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Me too.” 

“We’ll expect you to go to school.” 

“You’d be a shit parent if you didn't.” You mentally kicked yourself. “Sorry I -didn't” You were stumbling over an apology as the door opened and a man got into the driver's seat. 

“That’s my husband. Thomas.” 

“Hello,” You said feeling completely deflated. “It’s nice to meet you, both of you, It’s nice.” You couldn't remember a time being so embarrassed. You wished that they would just run you over with their expensive tires. There were just too many emotions in such a short period. 

An hour ago a priest was forcing himself on you, telling you God would never allow you to get adopted, and here you were making a fool out of yourself with your new parents. 

That phrase stung so bad you visually imagined pushing it from your mind.

“Did you sort the paperwork?” Lizzie asked in a frosty tone that made you wonder what their relationship problems were like. 

“That and a few other things.” He responded in a tone you assumed only ghosts were capable of. 

“Like what?” She said looking out the window with resentment. 

“Taking the place over.” He responded easily. As if it was no big deal, like spending money on petrol for the car. 

“What do you mean?” This caught her off guard and you watched a bit of hopefulness come to life in her eyes. 

“Saw things.” He hesitated, obviously aware of your presence in the car. “That I didn’t think God would approve of.” You caught a slight smirk on his face in the mirror. His eyes told you it was easier to poke fun at the situation. 

Lizzie hummed in approval, and even though you’d only known them a few minutes it felt like progress. 

_______

They wanted to give you a few days to settle in before introducing you to the whole family. Something you saw as a bit of a red flag. The house was massive, but it was clean and quiet. Both a blessing and a curse. You were too shy to ask for something to do or go explore. Your bedroom was unbelievably beautiful, and warm. 

There was a knock on the door that caused you to jump. 

“Yeah?” 

“Can I come in?” Lizzie’s voice rang through the door. 

“Of course” You responded stiffly. She came in and smiled at you, she pointed to your bed but you didn't understand what she was looking at. Should you not have been laying on it during the day? 

“Is it alright if I sit?” She asked you and you realized that’s what she meant. 

“Yes!” You sat up straight feeling like an idiot once again. You’d had to sit through two dinners each equally painful due to your rambling. 

“How are you settling in?” She asked kindly. 

“Um, fine. It’s nice. I love my room.” 

“What do you get up to in here?” She looked around with a frown. 

“Mostly sitting and thinking.” You responded blandly. 

“Are you sure I can’t take you shopping for anything?” She’d asked at least three times, and you felt horrible imposing on them further. 

“I don't want to bother you.” You finally broke. She let out a strange laugh. 

“Bother me. All the time. Big stuff little stuff, doesn't matter.” She picked a piece of lint off of your bedspread. “Plus kids cost money you know. That’s no one's fault, so don’t carry it like a burden.” 

Your eyes stung with tears. That was not the narrative you had grown up with parents or none. You’d always been acutely aware of the burden your existence placed on people. Her words made you feel like you were special, not something your parents could give you. This brought on a very large mix of feelings. 

“Don’t cry, really all this is-”  Her face appeared displeased with your reaction and it only made your hurt more. 

“Normal. Not for me, it’s not. If you wanted a kid that was used to this you should have had one yourself.” the words flew out of your mouth and she was up and out of the room before you could try to apologize. You felt so much worse, you wanted to pull out all your hair trying to make it stop. 

You stopped trying to hold the tears back and got up off your bed to apologize. An embarrassing apology was better than them shipping you back. 

You followed the sound of her soft crying sounds. Through a door that was slightly ajar. It was a beautiful nursery. They had tried to have their little spoilt children, the guilt only became worse. 

You locked eyes with her and decided the truth was always best. 

“You treat me better than my parents. But they're dead and it hurts. I don't want to bother you both, it's already some kind of miracle that I got adopted at this age, I don't want to push my luck. Or live through you getting bored of me and then tossing me aside.” 

For a moment you thought she was going to shout at you. But she just nodded in understanding. You both were crying, so why not try to risk a hug. You got down on the sheep skin rug next to her and hugged her. 

Her grief wrapped around you with her slender arms. She pushed your face against her chest and kissed the top of your head. You didn't understand, but the hurt in her felt a lot like the hurt inside of you. So you leaned into the feeling crying just as hard. 

“I lost her. She was born and - nothing anyone could do about it.” She said after a long while. The thought made your heart break all over again. “They told me I couldn't have kids. Spent years avoiding it like it was the plague and now, God it hurts.” 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m sorry for you too. My dad left before I was born, mother passed when I was 13. Prostitute till I was twenty.” She let out a sad laugh. “This life.” She motioned to the house with her arm. “Is not the life I came from and my husband doesn't have much. But he has money, so don’t ever feel bad for spending it.” You looked up at her in shock. There was no way she was telling the truth. She looked like she belonged in a palace like you wanted to trust her with the whole world. So elegant, kind eyes. 

“We’re the same then” you whispered. 

“Absolutely not!  If you become a prostitute I will have officially become the worst mother in history.” She said causing you both to laugh. 

“I’m not good with people.” You joked along. Tommy pushed the door open and you stiffened slightly. No matter how you tried to calm down, he made you uneasy. Like he would be impossible to please or get to know.

“It’s not a whore house?” He said with a confused look having caught the end of the conversation. You’d never seen a man look more confused as the both of you were tear-soaked holding each other on the floor. 

“Not anymore it's not.” Lizzie quipped causing him to almost smile. You wondered what made him so stuck up.

“Good lord, how did you guys make all this money again?” You asked cheekily, causing Lizzie to laugh. 

“Just you wait.” She said lightly, but you couldn't help but know already that it was not God’s work that placed them here.

“Come down for lunch?” he asked you both, still slightly put off by the situation. 

“Yes” she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands, you watched her walls of composure surround her once again. 

“Come on. Let’s see how much trouble we can get in before supper.” She said helping you up. 

_____________________________

You stopped by to pick up people on the way to the shops. 

“We’ll get Esme first. She’s John’s wife. Tommy’s younger brother - he made a deal with the Lee family - a bunch of gypsies - Tommy needed men, and she needed a husband. Technically I almost married John. It was a complicated time. But they both get along like a house on fire. She holds him down pretty good, probably the only reason he’s still alive.” You listened as she drove you through the countryside. “Then we’ll get Polly. She’s Tommy’s Aunt. She probably goes up against him the most. She’s some kind of Gypsy royalty, a very peculiar woman, but she means well. Hated Tommy’s first wife Grace. Well, we all hated Grace. Us women tend to stick together. We have to put up a good front against the boys or they raise hell like nothing else.” 

“You’re all gangsters then?” You asked her catching her slightly off guard. 

“Technically he’s a gangster turned politician. But trust me having been on the receiving end of both there really isn't a difference.” 

You blushed at her words and tried to hold your tongue. 

“I shouldn't have said that last part.” She flicked her cigarette case open and lit one up. “Forget I said that.” but you started laughing. You pulled up to a country-style house, chickens squawking loudly at the car engine. 

“Oi! That is not a baby!” A woman with wild curly hair approached the car. She slid into the backseat and you felt awkward sitting in the front. You looked at her looking you over. “Total babe, but not a baby.” She said with wide eyes in disbelief.

“She’s fifteen,” Lizzie responded looking at you like you were a brand new car. 

“Good lord. Going to have to beat the boys off of her. She’s pretty like you.” 

You blushed heavily at her words unsure of what to do with the attention. 

“Eh, as long as we keep her close I think we’ll manage just fine.” Lizzie smiled and turned the car around. 

“I’m Esme, I’m sure Lizzie caught you up to speed.” She lit a cigarette and smiled at you as you introduced yourself. She asked you lots of questions, about how you liked the place. 

“It’s cold. You can say it, love.” Esme blurted out. “It’s a monument to Grace. Should have been burnt down the second she left us.” You could tell this was a part of the stormy ocean of problems that rested between your adopted parents. You put that piece of knowledge into your back pocket. You pulled up to a stylish-looking complex and a woman in a black suit and sunglasses approached the car. 

“I was going to offer to babysit for you when you need a rest - but by the looks of it I’ll be asking you for help, love.” 

“How many kids do you have?” You asked while you waited. 

“Too fuckin’ many,” Polly responded climbing into the back seat. “I thought you asked Tommy for a baby, not a miniature replica of yourself?” 

“Come off it Pol,” Lizzie said starting the car. 

“I’m serious, I thought I was seein’ a bloody ghost. I’ve known you since you were the size of a potato, when I say she looks just like ya, I fuckin’ mean it.” 

You looked at Lizzie and wished you looked even a fraction of how beautiful she was. 

“How's he managing with this then? He was always good with the kids when they were little but I can’t imagine he’d know what to do with her.” Polly said stealing Esme’s cigarette. 

“Eh, like everything else, he’s adjusting.” Everyone seemed to find this funny. 

“You look at me, that boy gives you any trouble you call me alright. I’ll set him straight.” She was strong like Thomas but soft like Lizzie, and something distinctly her own. You could tell she was in charge. 

“Thank you.” You said sheepishly unsure of what else to say. 

“You're welcome, love,” She said kindly. 

Shopping was a lot. You cried on the way home and they had a unique way of comforting you while also making fun of you, making you laugh. Once you started laughing with them it seemed impossible to stop. You assumed that you would all pile into the sitting room, but instead, you piled into the kitchen, which quickly became your favorite space in the house. A large wooden table surrounded by something that felt so perfectly warm. Grace clearly didn’t touch this space much. 

They poured you cranberry juice and set into a bottle of whiskey. The jokes got worse as the night progressed and for once your sharp tongue and misplaced comments brought a great deal of joy. 

“Where did you find this girl!” Esme said between laughs 

“Fighting off a Nun in a hallway,” Lizzie replied still laughing from the joke before. Tommy and you assumed his brothers appeared in the doorway.

“Wow, Looks like you Lizzie, but with Tom’s eyes” John said, or you thought it was him because he went to stand behind Esme and she looked up at him in a way you hadn't seen before. 

“And his mouth.” Esme quipped and you hoped it was a compliment. He reached across the table to shake your hand. 

“John” 

“It’s nice to meet you” You introduced your self. Arthur came and gave you a crushing hug. 

“They got you out numbered now brother.” He joked letting you go to pour himself a glass of whiskey.

Tommy gave you a tense look, like he was worried about something. He took the seat next to you puting space between you and the boys. 

“Might be enough women to put some life back into this place.” Polly said with twinkling eyes. 

“I’ll try my best.” You responded quickly seeing that Tommy didn’t seem happy. 

He stuck close to your side, sliding glasses of Whiskey away from you as the boys started drinking. His youngest brother was only a few years older than you, and he showed up with a bunch more men that introduced themselves politely before joining into the savagery. 

You scooted your self along the bench to sit closer to Tommy not knowing the others well enough to want to sit as close. 

“Thank you, Lord, for blessing us with such a wonderful girl! May she shine bright for us in these dark times. To the newest Shelby!” Arthur’s voice boomed and your face turned bright red. Everyone finished a drink, but you caught Lizzie and Tommy sharing a look. 

Tommy put his arm around and you were grateful to have something to lean into with all the commotion. They were the loudest and rudest, most funny group of people you’d ever seen. 

“Think it’s time for bed, eh?” He asked you quietly and you nodded. 

“Alright! Clear out you lot. She’s got to get to bed. We can have a proper dinner tomorrow night!” Tommy called out causing a few groans. 

“But we just got here!” Finn mumbled.

Everyone said their goodbyes and goodnights to you moving out of the kitchen. Polly placed a kiss to your forehead. She said something in a different language, to which Tommy responded with a sharp nodd. 

Once everyone had piled out the front door, they took you up to your room. You hit the bed feeling more tired than you could ever remember.

_________________________________________

You slowly became more at ease around Tommy. Sitting alone at the table didn’t frighten you nearly as much. You heard him shout at people occasionally and that made you determined to keep your distance. 

It wasn't until Lizzie stayed away for a night getting stuck at Esme’s due to a storm. You assured her that you ate dinner and that everything was fine. In reality, you'd been sitting by the front window praying for her to come back. You hated storms and you’d just trusted that she’d be there and know what to do about it. 

Eventually you decided to retreat to your room to avoid any conflict. 

“Goodnight.” You poked your head into his study. 

“Night, love.” He responded kindly looking up from his papers. You thought about bothering him for a moment, telling him that you were scared. You decided to slip up to your bedroom instead. Girls your age didn't get scared of these types of things. 

Without Lizzie, there was an impending sense of doom about the place. Like there was pressure pushing down on you. Listening to things creak and shift, you had an idea that maybe without Lizzie here Grace’s ghost would try to snatch you up. 

Laying there listening to the storm and the house, your mind cooked up a story of revenge. Grace would kill you to get back at Lizzie for stealing her mourning husband. Maybe that’s why Lizzie’s baby wasn't born right. Your heart started to race as your stomach twisted.

There must have been some deeper story, Lizzie always seemed like she was very hurt by Grace, despite having come into Tommy’s life after. But Polly’s known Lizzie since she was a baby….

Questions were swirling in your mind non stop trying to make sense of it all. Your door made a horrid sscreeching sound and you let out a scream in response, pulling the blankets up above your head. 

“LEAVE ME ALONE GRACE.” You shouted hoping that it was enough that you could see it was her this whole time. She’d be deterred by your cleverness and the quilt Polly had made you. 

The quilt was tugged away from your face and you balled your fists ready to fight her off. However you looked up at Tommy’s horrified face instead. 

“I don’t do well with storms” You blurted out hoping that would make it better. You both looked at eachother for a moment.

“Let’s make some tea.” He said firmly. You knew that you’d fucked up and the last thing you wanted to do was have tea over the situation. You got up and he pulled your quilt around you, keeping his hand on your shoulder as you moved down the stair case. 

You watched him light a fire in the kitchen and grab two glasses and fill them with whiskey. 

He passed one to you and sat across from you, he took off his glasses and placed them on the table.

“Why do you think my first wife is out to get you?” He cut right to the chase.

“I got scared of the storm, and Lizzie is trapped, Grace- it’d be the perfect opportunity to get revenge on Lizzie for stealing her mourning husband.” You rushed the words out wishing you were dead. Tommy actually chuckled.

“That’s the story you’d been told then?” 

“No, just the one that made sense.” 

“How so?” He took a sip of whiskey. 

“Everyone says this place is some kind of shrine for her, Lizzie hates it. Hates her, why exactly,  I’m not sure but I know it’s because she’s hurt.” 

“Lizzie is hurt by Grace?” He asked with a wrinkled brow, you didn't think he was capable of such emotions. 

“That’s obvious.” You said sadly. He made a humming noise.

“I didn’t intend to marry Lizzie. She got pregnant and I married her.” He answered easily, suddenly you were very angry at him. Happy he did right by her and married her but - 

“Doesn’t mean she hasn’t always loved you.” You argued. 

“Is that so?” 

“Obviously. Have you ever looked at her? This place, the family, everything, me. Obviously.” You were dumbfounded. How on earth could someone so smart and sharp be so daft. “She puts up with a lot of shit around here. Not once has she ever mentioned leaving or hating you.” 

“Perhaps I should talk to her about it.” 

“You’d better. Everywhere we go men look at her.” You said trying to scare him into doing the right thing. 

“I’m sure they do, she’s a pretty woman.” He answered tensly. Suddenly you started to worry that maybe he wont ever love her, and if that was the case he would certainly never learn to love you. Panic started to wash over you.

“Do you want to watch the storm then?” 

“How?” You answered even more uneasy. He got up and you followed him through to the dark sitting room. He pulled the curtains open adding the slitghtest bit of light to the room. You helped him turn the couch around to face the big window. 

You watched him pour more wiskey and sit down motioning for you to do the same. Wrapped in Polly’s quilt you sat next to him and he put his arm around your shoulders.

“The only way to stop being scared is to face the thing that scares you.” He explained easily. He held you close to his side as you watched the dark figures of trees swaying violently. The lightening causing you to jump. Eventually things calmed down but you found yourself wishing that it would continue on so you could spend more time sitting like this. He just sat with you tucked into his side sipping his whiskey. 

“ I do care for you and Lizzie. More than anything.” He kissed the top of your head. “Things in the past weren't always easy or safe. Keeping her at arm's length seemed like the best way to keep her from ending up like Grace.” 

You listened to his voice in the dark, feelingthe pain in his words. 

“However, I would hate for her to leave me for a man at the shops.” He said lightly and you snorted. 

“Sorry for overstepping - I didn’t mean that she looked back at them” 

“S’alright.” He answered easily. Suddenly you saw headlights coming up the drive. You felt his body tense. “Hide behind the desk,” he said seriously. He grabbed a gun hidden in the paneling on the wall. You could hear the door open and to your relief, you heard Lizzie’s voice. 

“Fuck sake, Thomas! A gun! Scared the bloody life out of me!” She started to scold him but suddenly she stopped. “Are you alright? Where is she?! I knew something was wrong! Where-” her voice was muffled and you assumed it was because he was holding her.

“She’s fine, in the sitting room” He answered calmly.

“The sitting room at this hour!” 

You got up and moved back to the couch hoping that they might sit with you a while longer before going up to bed. 

“Why is the couch the wrong way?” She asked sitting down pulling you against her. “Miss me enough to sit up at the window like a couple of dogs.” 

“Something like that.” You said enjoying the way she held you tightly. Tommy came to sit down on the other side of you. His arm came across your shoulders pulling Lizzie towards you slightly. 

“Did you give her whiskey? She smells like distillery.”

“One glass to calm her nerves, won’t hurt her any.” You felt him reach over you to kiss the top of her head. 

“Alright. But don’t you go turning into your father.” She said sternly causing you to laugh. 

You sat for a while with the them till eventually the gray sky started to brighten with the sun of the next day. 

“Let’s get to bed. We can all get in a nap before the day starts.” Tommy said. Lizzie followed you through to your room to help you into bed and make sure you were okay. After you were settled you heard them talking down the hall and hoped that he was ready to face his fears. 

The next day you all had breakfast around noon in the kitchen. Lizzie and Tommy seemed in better spirits, might have had something to do with the marks on her neck, but you hoped he’d talked to her about the situation. 

After that night things were noticeably different. You went to school and tried to get along with the other kids, your marks were not great, leading to long nights in the kitchen studying extra with various family members. Esme was the best person to sit with, having learned maths and reading from her mother. She knew how to encourage you without stressing you out. 

Tommy on the other hand would look over the material and already look stressed. He always tried to keep his temper in check, but it was unbearable feeling him be frustrated with you. Eventually he caught on that you did worse with him there because of the added pressure, he learned to just sit next to you and work on his problems and offer you help when you needed it. 

It took a lot of struggling but eventually you were caught up and getting good marks. 

Things were going well till some old business needed to be handled. Tommy was to go away for two weeks, something that seemed to crush Lizzie. 

To her surprise he called her everynight. You’d watch her sitting on kitchen counter talking and occasionally laughing. Then he’d talk to you about school and the weather, telling you that he missed you. That was when you realised that something must be very wrong. He was clearly in a great deal of danger where ever he was. Polly came to stay at the house with Arthur, you enjoyed having them around but it only confirmed your suspicion. Everyone seemd it was best to keep you in the dark on the whole thing. 

 When he came back he was very different. Somebody, or some people, were most certainly dead. A great relief fell over the family and something was different about him. He had a smile on his face when she rushed to the door to greet him. You watched how they held eachother and thought back to when you’d first met them. Things were very different. You eventually butted into the hug feeling left out. 

______________

Extra Blurb. 

Eventually the unthinkable happened. The boy you had your eye on at school asked you out. Not knowing what to do or what the rules are you decided to get some more information on him make sure he was worth the risk of asking. 

Finn laughed at you.

“Not from the best family. But not a rival either, Tommy’s sure to have a fit, and Lizzie, I’m not sure. All in all, I don't mind the guy, you might be better off not telling them.” He said looking out the stained glass window of the Garrison. “If he gives you a hard time, come see me yeah? Don’t let him take you out of Small Heath” He looked at you seriously. 

“Sure thing.” You said getting up. You shouted a thank you over your shoulder rushing out of the pub. 

You thought long and hard about the situation. He made you laugh, didnt seem to care to much about your last name or who your dad was. Didn’t care that you were adopted. He was very polite, but enjoyed your peculiar sense of humor and misplaced words. 

You thought about turning him down. It was too complicated and anything that would upset your parents was too much of a burden. Thinking of what you would say to him, your heart gave a painful wrench. 

You went downstairs towards Tommy’s study. God this boy better be worth it or you’d put him in the ground. 

You poked your head in to see him writing and Lizzie sitting on the sofa reading a magazine. 

“Erm - So.” You started and watched them both look up at you. 

“What are you wearing?” Lizzie said smiling at your dress. 

“Go upstairs and change” Tommy cut you off before you could respond.

“Theres a boy -” You watched his face fall into his hands. “And he’s picking me up in a half hour if that’s allowed.” You fumbled with your words, wanting them to say yes badly.

“What boy” They said at the same time, giving eachother a glare. 

“Noah Solomons. I met him at school.” you responded expecting an explosion. 

“No. absolutley not. No way on earth am I sending you anywhere with him.” 

“Finn said he’s alright.” You started by stopped once he let out a sigh. 

“Finn! Fucking bastard.” He pinnched the bridge of his nose. 

“Where is he taking you then?” Lizzie asked

“Just around Small Heath for dinner. I told him that I can’t be out late.” Your face got red and you looked out the window.

“Put on a longer dress. The purple one, and put your hair up -” 

“Tommy! Don’t make her wear the purple one” Lizzie started to argue but stopped once she saw the look on his face. Her eyes narrowed back at him. 

“How bout I wear the red one -” 

“The black one is fine” They both answered suddently. 

“Just put on a cardigan,” Lizzie said getting up. “I have a nice one upstairs.” You followed her up to her bedroom. She pulled out a nice cardigan and some less opaque stockings. After you’d changed you looked yourself over, more modest, but that wasn't a bad thing. Especially if it got Tommy’s blood pressure back down. Lizzie got your hair up and you were grateful for her help. 

“Do you think dad will let me go?” You asked as she fixed your make up. 

“Dont think he can stop you. But, we’ve done business with his father. I think he’s worried this is apart of some elaborate plan.” 

“I don’t think so, but I’ll keep an eye on him” You were even more nervous now. Lizzie gave you lots of advice and you felt bad making her this worried. When you walked down stairs you could see Tommy talking to Noah at the door. 

You loved the way his face lit up when his eyes landed on you, he looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world. You watched the front door swing shut, keeping him on the other side. 

“No.” He said firmly looking at Lizzie.

“Going to have to let her find her own way sometimes.” 

“No I don’t. Not with boys, not dressed like that.” He responded angrily. 

“Look, I told Finn where we are going, he said him and Isaiah would be around to keep an eye out. I’ve known him for the past two school years. I - please” You looked up at him in what you hoped were puppy dog eyes. You saw the conflict rage in his eyes.

“Fine.” He sighed in defeat. “But you don’t like something, anything, you call me from the restaurant and -” You cut him off with a big hug. 

“I won’t be out too late. Love ya” You said flying out the door before he could change his mind. 

__

He kissed you on the cheek on the door step, promising to take you out again next weekend. After saying goodnight you watched as he drove down the drive way before opening the front door.

You were surprised at how quiet it was. You slipped your shoes off and followed the lamp light into the sitting room. Much like the day with the storm, they sat on the sofa turned around to face the large window. You moved towards them to see your dad looking beyond relieved, and mum asleep on his lap. 

“So how was it then?” He asked you handing you the last bit of whiskey in his glass. You sat down next to him, watching him look you over for anything out of place. 

“Felt a bit like the Queen to be honest. More Blinders than people in that restaurant. Not to mention people watching from their windows.” You gave him a look as he started out the window. “But he was nice. I -He is nice, I enjoyed myself”

“Just for food then straight back?” 

“You already know that’s what happened. Can you help me get the pins out of my hair?” You turned away from him and felt him struggle to find them, pulling slightly too hard. 

“What? No, this is my job hands off.” Lizzie said groggily. “What did I miss? Tell me everything.” You felt the two of them shift and Lizzie's expert hands start bringing your hair down. By the time she’d gotten it brushed Polly and Esme had showed up for a full debrief in the kitchen. 

You were giggling like mad for hours with them, hearing their stories about past lovers. Some sweet, other cautionary. Eventually it was time for bed and you stopped into Tommy’s office before going to wash up. 

“Dad.” He gave you a shocked look then you realised what you had said. You didnt feel like apologizing though, too tired to make a big deal of it. You leaned over and gave him a hug. “Thanks for letting me go tonight.” You felt his arms wrap around you tightly. 

“I don't like it, and there will be lots to talk about tomorrow. But I'm happy that you're happy.” You kissed his cheek then headed up to bed. You knew that he’d probably already called Noah’s father, a tense conversation awaited you, but you had no doubt it was because he loved you.

@kpopgirlbtssvt

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[sankttealeaf]

artistic endeavours

pairing ; arthur morgan x gender neutral!reader

summary ; during a walk around Saint Denis, you find yourself drawing a rather interesting stranger's horse.

other info ; this is completely self-indulgent, because all i want to do is draw with arthur. first time doing any sort of 'x reader' and i had a lot of fun. it's so silly i love it. left the ending open ended because i thought of a part 2 if people are interested <3

word count: 2.5k

psst, part two is here: masterpieces

Finding inspiration for various art projects came easy to you while living in Saint Denis - the city was full of interesting subjects to study and draw, and whenever you found yourself in a creative block it didn't take much to reignite the spark. You had signed up to paint some pieces for a new exhibition at the end of the month, “The Beauty of Saint Denis”, a love letter to the city you currently called home, and so far everything had been going smoothly. Three paintings were complete, with another needing a few finishing touches. The issue was with your main piece, a large oil painting of the Théâtre Râleur at night. Something was missing and you had no idea what it was. With a few days left to go for all submissions to be collected by the gallery, you were running out of time to make this work. You were hoping that some of these paintings would be sold during the exhibitions, and you really couldn’t afford to give up now.

The room you used as your art studio was beginning to feel stuffy and small; the ventilation was poor and you had forgotten to open a window to let some air in when you first started this morning. Perhaps that was why you were pulling your hair out, trying to get something down on the canvas - the oil paint was starting to mess with your mind. You sighed, deciding that now was the best time to go for a walk, find something for lunch and not think too much about how close you were to starting this painting from scratch, not that you had the time to do so. You packed away your sketchbook, grabbing a few charcoal pencils and crayons too in case you saw something that sparked inspiration, and left. Fresh air would do you good, you told yourself. 

The city was busier than usual today as you stepped out onto the street, the midday sun warming you up immediately. Your plan was to walk around for a bit, just to see if anything felt interesting to draw, and then grab some food. The walk and air would do you good, even if nothing was drawn. You walked around slowly, pausing every now and then to take down some notes on people’s outfits, wondering if you should add a crowd outside of the theatre to make it look busy. The more you imagined it in your head, the more you decided it wouldn't hurt to try. You quickly sketched down a few ideas, before moving on, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself from those you were drawing. The last thing you wanted was for someone to get angry that you were doing that - it had happened more times than you liked to admit. You decided to loop around the docks, and then walk back around and stop off at that bakery you frequented a lot.

The docks were busy, but there was no surprise there. People walked about, carrying boxes and bags between places. There was enough going on here to definitely spark some form of creativity, and you hoped that something would be interesting to draw. You took a moment to scan over your surroundings, trying to piece together things that could work with your painting at home when you saw something. A lone horse was hitched outside the general store, and it felt like a perfect thing to draw. 

You took out your sketchbook as you approached the horse, careful not to spook it. The pattern was something you had never seen much of before, and it stood out to you the moment you saw it. Maybe a horse was missing from your painting? You began to quickly sketch out the main shapes of the horse, keeping it loose and soft to get the basic idea of how everything fits together. Once you had filled up a page on quick drawings, moving around to get different angles, you opened to a double page and began a more detailed drawing.

“Ain’t you just the prettiest thing,” you mumbled softly, taking a small step to the side to get a better view of her head. You took more time with this drawing, making sure to capture all the details you could, from the markings to the way her mane fell to the style of the bridle. A quick look at the horse and you could tell that her owner loved her a lot, she was clean and looked well fed, and if you knew what kind of treats she liked, you would definitely give her lots of them.

You found yourself getting lost in the piece, now moving on to giving it pops of colour. Your charcoal pencil was tucked behind your ear, and you switched out between two colours to try and match the shade of its coat. The more you thought about it, the more it would fit well in the painting of the theatre. You were excited to go back home to add her in.

"If you're goin' to steal her, you might wanna be a bit quicker at it next time." A voice spoke, taking you by surprise. You quickly turned around to see the owner of it - a tall, rather rugged looking man. The guns at his side made you weary, and you closed your sketchbook, holding it closer to you.

"Oh, no, I ain't in the horse stealing business, sir," you said quickly, taking a step back to put some distance between you, him, and the horse. "But if I was, your horse would be one I'd steal." The words left your mouth before your mind could tell you that it probably wasn't the best way to compliment someone's horse.

The stranger raised his eyebrow at you, giving you a once over. "Sounds like somethin’ a horse thief would say.” He let out a small chuckle to himself, and then shrugged. “You don’t look like much of one, anyway.”

He wasn’t wrong, you definitely didn't give off the same vibes as a horse thief, though you didn't know many to compare yourself to. You watched as he gave you a nod, walking around to the opposite side of the horse. 

"Definitely not going to steal her." You looked down at your sketchbook, giving it a small wave in his direction. "Just drawing her, if that's alright. She looked really interesting, and I've been facing a real bad block lately."

“Saint Denis seems to have a lot of you artsy folk around, huh?” He asked, as you nodded.

“It’s a unique city. I find that there are a lot of things to draw here,” you replied, opening up back to the page you were just on. “Lots of horses, too. None as good as yours, though.”

“You sure you ain’t trying to steal her?” He raised an eyebrow, and you were quick to shake your head again.

“I promise I’m not!”

“I’m just messing with you.” He gave you a smile. “You're some kind of artist, then?”

You nodded. “It’s one of the only things I’ve got going for me right now. I came to Saint Denis to capture its beauty, and haven’t left since.”

“Beauty is a strong word for this place,” he replied, scrunching his nose up as he spoke, and you tilted your head to the side in confusion.

“You don’t like it?”

“Too crowded. Too… city-like.”

You let out a laugh. “Funny that, considerin’ it is a city.” You turned to a new page, deciding to get a closer sketch of the horse’s head. “I hope I ain’t keeping you or anything.”

“Nah, you’re fine,” he said, and you looked up to see him take out a brush from his bag, giving his horse a quick brush down. “I know how frustrating it can be when the thing you’re drawing leaves too soon.”

“You’re an artist, too?” You stopped, giving him a look up and down. He didn't seem like the artistic type from the outside, but you supposed looks could be deceiving. He looked to be the kind of person you would bump into late at night, looking for trouble. The guns on his sides didn't help with that much, but he didn't appear to be threatening. The way he looked at his horse was anything but threatening.

“I draw. Not a proper artist or anythin’.” He looked at you, and you gave him a small smile.

“I think anyone who draws can be considered a proper artist,” you said, as he shrugged in response.

You watched him for a few moments, before going back to your sketch, smoothing some lines out to give the impression of shadows and depth. It wasn’t your best work, but for a fast sketch, it was decent. The stranger had moved during your sketch session, and was now leaning up against one of the wooden poles that held up one of the various awnings on the store, hat tipped in front of his face. You paused for a moment, your pencil hovering over the page before the horse’s head. With a deep breath, you began to very loosely draw the man. You had drawn other people that day, so there was nothing weird about doing it again. But with the person so close, you could feel your cheeks warm up from embarrassment - all he needed to do was look up and catch you drawing him. But he didn't. 

You kept things simple, using few lines to give the impression of features, smudging other lines to use as shadows. A quick line behind him, and you had a very rough outline. You took a mental note of the colours he was wearing - a dark red shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the well worn jeans, the dark boots. He looked like trouble, and yet here he was, letting you draw his horse without a complaint.

The sudden rumble from your stomach brought you out from your drawing session, and you knew you had enough to use as a reference for your painting now. You did feel a little bad for keeping him waiting, and looked down at your drawing of his horse’s head. You didn't have any change you could give him to thank him for your time, but you did have art… With one quick movement, you ripped out the page. Closing your sketchbook and shoving it back into your bag, you approached where he was leaning.

“Sorry for keeping you around,” you said, as he tipped his hat back, looking at you. He straightened up, giving you a nonchalant wave of his hand.

“Don’t worry about it. Like I said, it’s easier to draw things when they’re still,” he said. “You done?”

“Yes. Thank you. Uh, here-” You held out the drawing for him with a smile. “It’s not much, and you don’t have to take it, but… a token of gratitude, if you will.”

He looked down at the paper, gently taking it from you. You watched as he held it up to where his horse was, looking between them. “‘Ain’t much’? I can’t even tell the difference between the drawin’ and her!” He looked at you with a smile. “Thanks, uh…?”

You told him your name quickly, holding out a hand for him to shake. Between all the art, you had completely forgotten to introduce yourself. 

He took your hand in his, giving it a firm shake. “Arthur Morgan.”

“Thank you, Arthur, for letting me draw your horse,” you said, taking a small step back once you let go of his hand. You wondered if it would be weird to invite him along to the opening night of the exhibition, as you felt pretty confident now that you’d be able to finish the piece. You knew what it was missing now, after all. He carefully placed your drawing in his satchel, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. You rarely share your art with anyone, let alone hand someone a piece for free, and you weren’t too sure what had gotten into you to do that. There was something about Arthur that made you feel like you could share it easily. You stepped aside to allow him to walk by you to his horse.

Arthur gave you a nod, as he walked to his horse, unhitching the reins from the post. He turned to look at you. “There’s a lot of good places outside Saint Denis to draw at,” he said, pulling the reins over his horse’s head. “Lots of animals, too. Even more horses.”

“Maybe I’ll have to branch out one day,” you replied with a laugh. “Take a week long trip out to New Hanover, I’ve heard a lot about the landscape there.”

He seemed like a well travelled man to you, and you could easily see yourself going around to different places to draw landscapes and animals and people. Horses were expensive, so you would have to travel by train, and then find somewhere to stay… Maybe you would take his recommendation. You could always do with new focuses to paint whenever you got bored of Saint Denis.

You hadn’t told many people that your art was going to be displayed yet, and Arthur seemed interested enough in art. It wouldn't hurt to drop the suggestion, right? You searched through your bag for a small card that held the information for the exhibition on it. Your brain was telling you that it was strange to ask him to come along, but you pushed the thought away. It’s a public event, anyone could come, it didn't mean anything if you asked him to drop by. He turned to mount his horse, and you spoke up.

“If you’re in the area at the end of the month-” you started, making him look back at you. You took another deep breath to get you through this, holding out the business card to him, “the gallery downtown is hosting an exhibition, and I should have some art up on display there…” You hoped he understood what you were hinting at, as the thought of asking this stranger to see your artwork was causing a bubble of anxiety to rise in you. “Opening night is when I’ll be there, but it’ll be up for a week after that if you're still in the city.”

He took the business card from you, reading it and flipping it over in his hand. “I’ll drop by if I can,” he said with a smile, and you felt your anxieties leave you. With a smile, he nodded at you, before pulling himself up onto his horse. “Been nice talkin’ to you.”

“You too, Arthur.” You gave him a small wave. “If you ever need a drawing partner, be sure to let me know!”

“I might just take you up on that offer,” he laughed, and you watched as he left, walking off down the street. 

Nothing would come of it, most likely, but the idea of going around with someone and drawing together filled your mind. Especially with the idea of travelling - maybe this was your calling? To travel and paint together with someone. You pushed that thought away, not wanting to get too attached to the idea, however lovely it may be.

You began your walk back home, eager to get out the paints. This was going to be one of your best pieces ever, and you were now looking forward to the exhibition instead of dreading it.

[l0ves1ckf0ol]

NOT SO BAD | xavier thorpe x gn!reader

"rita wouldn't be wrong though."

this was requested by anon, but i accidentally posted it by accident ( a draft) but then i took down the post to write a new one (aka this one) enjoy (also theres some mentions of death so.)

"hey freak!" before xavier could even turn around and see who it was, he got shoved down to the brick floor, he would have tasted dirt if he didn't close his mouth. he sighed, standing up to look back at the jericho goons, "you think you could storm your way here? in our own homes? you're the one who makes drawings come to life right?" they flood xavier's head with taunting questions that he didn't even get to answer.

it was the dreaded day of the festival. he had a lot of stuff going on in his head, and he certainly did not want to have his fun with these normies. defeated, he continues to walk away, not wanting to deal with them right now. they kept on chasing him though, until he stops next to a certain someone.

"look will you guys just shut the fuck up and leave me alone, you won't even be eating real food right now if it weren't for our principal funding your stupid charities to a town that can't even appreciate the minority." xavier spat, fed up the dudes just looked stunned, he thought he'd shut them up but it wasn't quite the case. xavier turns around to see a normie, in which was glaring dread into their souls.

"scram." that they did.

once they scrambled away, xavier only stared at the person. they look towards xavier and sighed, "sorry. the welcome comittee isn't as welcoming as it is intended." they apologized. xavier hummed, as his eyes landed on the tray of bread samples you were selling by a bakery.

"hey, can i have one? long day." he asks and they nodded in response. he takes a piece of cheese bread and began to eat.

xavier begins to wonder why he hasn't seen you, in the previous trips to jericho. "you new here?" he asked "ancestors lived here for years, i just went insane and managed to run away. and by insane i meant that an outcast friend of mine was killed." you told him, xavier sighed "did you kill that friend?"

you laughed hysterically, he then grew concerned of your behavior. "no, no, i didn't. someone killed her, no one in this town would just admit it. it's kept on the down low since then." you replied gravely. "when was this?" he questions you, you could sense his own curiosity "she didn't even make it until school starts to actually go to your school, she stayed at home mostly, it was around june when she got killed."

xavier hummed, never hearing of such a thing. it really was well hidden, if not, the normie was lying.

"your name?" xavier looked at them and forced a smile "xavier." you nodded, "y/n."

"i'm visiting her later, well by later i mean 30 minutes from now, my shift ends from there. wanna meet up there?" xavier scoffed, "typical setting to beat an outcast up, huh?" you rolled your eyes, "look mr. trust issues, i know you're on edge and shit and it's more than fine if you wouldn't come. as much as i hate to say this, you're unattracting customers." you grit your teeth, facing the groups of people staring at the both of you. xavier then walks away, contemplating whether or not would he want to meet up a normie.

he looks back, seeing customers now swarning the normie with the tray of bread, seeing you smile and attend to them made his heart go soft for a moment.

at that moment, he swerved his direction to the cemetery instead of weathervane.

-

when he arrived, you were following right behind him. holding a plastic bag of chips and scented candles. "what are the chips for?" he asks you as you stomped on orange autumn leaves, on your way to your friend's grave, passing by mossy and old ones, xavier was still doubtful of his decision, the cemetery was inclosed and no one would even hear him scream for help. "rita hates flowers, she likes junk food and scented candles so i bought some." you told him as you finally slowed down to a less flithy gravestone. you set down a bag of lays chips on the stone and opened one for yourself, setting down the candles as well. xavier crossed his arms as he read the engravings:

rita lupin

born: 2006 died: 2021

it was glad to know that his possible normie friend wasn't an asshole after all. he has never been to a funeral before, let alone even visited a grave, this was his first time and he definitely didn't expect some smiles from you as you stare down at the grave.

"hey rita, this is xavier. he was going to be your classmate y'know? anyway what are you- a werewolf or.."

"i'm just telekinetic."

he did not expect a normie to be talking to a grave.

you looked at the sky, closing your eyes and smiled. "rita would find you cute." you chuckle, he raises an eyebrow, stifiling a giggle "wow, rita is nice." he mutters. you knelt down and grab a lighter from you back pocket and leaned the candles on the stone, lighting up each one "i mean rita is not wrong though" you wink at him and he rolls his eyes with a wry chuckle. now it was just plain silence, the wind brushing past them, leaves occasionally floating along with it.

"do you ever cry, whenever you... y'know, visit her?" he asked you. "who wouldn't? she's the best werewolf i met." you replied, now facing him ever since you both arrived here. "you've never visited a grave before?" you asked. he shook his head, "nope." you nod in response. "to relieve you right now, sorry for y'know whatever normies fo to you and your peers. i also actually never knew you all existed until.." you trail off. the silence grew louder, xavier raised an eyebrow.

"until?"

"until ol' rita here." you point towards her with a sigh. xavier examines you, you're glassy eyes and your longing gaze, you seemed genuine. he didn't know why would you invite an outcast like him to visit your dead friend, or why did he even agree.

xavier silently admits he was wrong about this normie. maybe they were the exception, they weren't that bad after all.

[thetomorrowshow]

for a light

okay I PROMISE that comfort is coming I PROMISE

~

Scott stares Xornoth down from across the plateau, wind whipping the demon's hair and robes, black streaking out from him like some decaying flag.

They're alone, just the two of them, so far away (ndisu ndikitá'ána).

He's here.

It's time.

He sets the crown of antlers upon his head.

His fingers tighten on the thin grip of his sword.

-

Scott hisses as his finger bumps the pot, drops his hold and sticks the finger in his mouth. He was just trying to shift it to settle it better in the coals. Stupid cloth slipping.

Right. There's literally snow right there.

Scott removes his finger from his mouth, digs it into the snow beside him. The burn cools, eventually going numb.

That's one upside to living in a permanent winter. There's snow everywhere.

This little clearing in the woods that he took used to have a tent pitched in the center, grass and trees and wildflowers all around.

The tent is long gone, having collapsed under the weight of the snow and ice that collected upon it. Scott replaced it with an ice hut of sorts, which he thinks he created while asleep because he's not exactly sure how he did it. It's kind of ugly, but it has four walls and a roof and a little hole for a door, and it works.

The grass and plants aren't really visible anymore, the ground covered in a thick blanket of snow. Scott's not sure how, but someone had managed to get him a good pair of elven work boots, insulated and sturdy, so that he can tromp through the six or seven inches of snow without much issue. He's cold, this old, patched coat not quite enough to block out the chill, but the gloves keep his fingers from feeling too much like ice and the hand-knit hat prevents a majority of the headaches that his frozen ears cause. He's not too badly off, to be honest. There's just so much . . . cold.

And if he could get it to melt, that would be great.

He can make ice and snow appear just fine. There's plenty of snow, and he can point and ice spikes will shoot up out of the ground, and he can picture a cube of ice and watch as it forms in front of him, but that just means that now he has a little pile of ice cubes and a ludicrous amount of spikes the size of a tree. He can't get rid of anything.

And sure, he has a modicum of control. He can form ice cubes, and spikes, or whatever. But he can't turn off the way ice and snow just grows around him, or the freeze that blasts from him when he waves his arms.

He's been here for two weeks, figuring absolutely nothing out, and he doesn't have much hope for the future.

It feels like there's a wall in his head, a literal barrier keeping him from finding the way to draw back the ice. He's spent hours, days, even, pushing and shoving and just sitting against this wall, trying to force it to work.

It won't give. It's exhausting, day-in and day-out, to try again and again and again as the ice and snow just build up around him.

"Scott!"

Jimmy.

They haven't really . . . talked. Of course, Jimmy turns up every day without fail, bringing with him food and supplies. He always stands on the fringe of the clearing, shares news of the camp, of their latest excursion, of the fight they have planned.

Scott never really says much. He doesn't know how to respond, and Jimmy always leaves with his shoulders sagging the slightest bit.

What is he supposed to say?

I mourned you. I cried for you every day, because I knew I'd never see you again. I attended your funeral. I comforted your sister. I wore a depressing mimicry of what we once wore together, covering myself in the same darkness that took you. I lost you.

You didn't die, you survived, and I still lost you.

How is he supposed to tell Jimmy that what hurts more than anything about this situation is that he never tried to disabuse Scott of the notion that he was dead?

He thinks he still loves Jimmy. Their hearts were made for each other. They've been through too much together to just let go of everything they had.

But there were forty-two of the worst days of Scott's life, in which Scott believed his betrothed to be dead. He can't forget that. He can't pretend that Jimmy even attempted to contact him.

His mind always returns to that. Why didn't he? What reasons has he given, other than his ominous “it wasn't time yet”? Why?

And now they're here, in this horribly awkward phase where they haven't even discussed whether or not they're still an item (Scott's desperately in love with Jimmy but he isn't sure he can even stand to see him it hurts so much) or if that's even something they want to pursue right now (Scott wants so badly just to hold his hand but he can't let himself hurt Jimmy).

"Hey, Scott!"

Scott straightens (his wings shudder under the weight of the ice coating them, but none of it cracks), shakes the snow off his hands, and turns, stomach twisting.

Jimmy is standing there, a good ten feet away, leaning out from between the trees. 

It's just Jimmy. Hair still too long, beard still obstinately there, an anxious smile on his pockmarked face.

Doesn't he have anything better to do, rather than visit Scott every day?

Jimmy holds up a bundle of cloth.

"I brought some bread and . . . venison, I think? I forgot to ask what it was. Does that sound good?"

Scott tugs his scarf up a bit higher on his cheeks. "Sounds fine," he calls back, voice muffled by the fabric.

Jimmy tosses it; Scott catches the bundle, grimaces when it frosts over the moment it touches his hands.

"What are you cooking?" Jimmy asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Scott glances back at his little pot on the dying coals.

"Just porridge," he says. That's all Jimmy gave him yesterday, after all. The grain for whatever chunky porridge it is that they eat at the camp all the time.

"That's . . . that's cool," says Jimmy. Dear Aeor, he looks so unbearably awkward. What does he want?

Thankfully, Jimmy gets straight to the point, no more hobbling around small talk.

"We're going on a mission," he says, the words coming out in puffs of frozen air. "There's a village about a day's walk from here, the largest we've gone for yet. They're going to be a huge asset to our rebellion."

Scott nods a couple of times. "Okay. How long until you're back?"

Jimmy chews on his lip—the way he always does when he's anxious, or isn't sure how to approach a problem. "That's . . . well, I wanted to see if you would come, actually."

It takes Scott a few seconds to process that, but when he does, he almost laughs out loud.

He's out of his mind if he thinks Scott will risk something like that. He can't control this! He's had to separate himself from the rest of the camp because there's a ten foot radius of winter wonderland that appears around him!

He has to be joking.

"You have to be joking," Scott says.

Jimmy shrugs. "I talked about it with the others that are coming on the mission, and they're all fine with it. If it makes you feel better—"

"No, I'm dangerous—"

"—we can walk apart from you, and—"

"—you don't understand, I hurt Gem, I'll—"

"—was just thinking that it can't be good for you to—"

"Jimmy, I said no!"

And childishly, to emphasize his point, Scott stamps his foot.

Ice crackles along the ground like a whip, shooting up in little spikes, a ten-inch wall down the middle of his little clearing.

It stops just short of Jimmy, the last little spike rising just inches from his boots, and Scott almost wants to go and shove him out of the way because Jimmy doesn't even move!

Doesn't he have any sense of self-preservation?

Jimmy doesn't seem scared when he looks up at Scott. He just seems sad.

"That's why I can't," Scott bites out, wrapping his arms around himself. His scarf is slipping, nose exposed to the cold. "I'm not safe. I don't want to hurt someone."

"Okay. Can I explain myself, though?"

Before Scott can give an answer, Jimmy takes a small step forward, boot crunching on snow.

Scott takes a step back.

"We know how to keep ourselves safe," he says. "Most of the people here escaped terrible conditions where one wrong move could kill them. They know how to recognize threats and keep a safe distance. It wouldn't even be an issue to travel with you."

Scott wants to argue, but Jimmy takes another step. Scott quickly steps back, swallowing down the fear that rises in his throat, burning like bile.

"We would travel kind of separately, and it wouldn't even be a long journey. Two days at most, I think. So the main group would stick together, and you would stay within sight off to the side. We usually move quietly, so you wouldn't miss out on conversation or anything."

Okay, that's probably what Scott would do if they were forced to travel. He's pretty sure that he can cause ice issues outside of the ten foot radius, if he tries, but it doesn't automatically happen. Travel plans like that might actually work.

Which doesn't mean they're good. They aren't. They just might work.

"This village has a lot of soldiers, from what we can tell. Way more than there ought to be. They're beginning to figure out our game. We usually wouldn't go for someplace so risky, but there's so many people there. If we freed them, we could easily add two hundred to our able fighters."

Is Jimmy stupid?

"It's a trap," Scott says, pointing out what seems obvious. "Why would they have so many Mythlanders there if not to wait for you?"

Jimmy scoffs. "We know it's a trap," he says. "That's why we want you. We want to avoid fights if possible—and if you were there, we would have a really decent chance of getting in and out without losing anyone."

"You're forgetting that I can't really control this," Scott says icily, and as if to match his tone, it spontaneously begins to snow. "I'm just as likely to hurt one of you."

"We just need you to make it as cold as possible. The Cod will survive—we're pretty good with cold temperatures. But humans are a bit more sensitive to that kind of thing. So we thought—if you could freeze over the village, then all the guards would go inside and we could sneak everyone out!"

That. . . .

That is a monumentally idiotic plan.

Scott blinks several times, just to make sure it really is Jimmy in front of him and not some hallucination induced by so much time alone.

"Or we could not do that," he says. "Just a suggestion."

Jimmy laughs a little. "I kind of figured you'd say that," he says. "But it's worth a shot, right? And if it doesn't work, we can go back to camp and figure out something else. No harm done, right?"

"Other than the possible harm that my very presence could cause," Scott says. "Do you really think that staying ten feet away while traveling would work? Just because that's my snowglobe radius doesn't mean anyone is safe outside of it."

He re-crosses his arms, waits for Jimmy to meet his eyes.

Jimmy's quiet for a long time, looking around at the unintentional ice spikes and piles of snow. Long enough that Scott turns away, tosses the sack from Jimmy into his ice hut.

That's that, then. He and Jimmy aren't going to talk about any of their real issues. Jimmy's so focused on this inconsequential rebellion of his that he won't even think about the fact that Xornoth may be controlling the world by now. Gem might be dead—literally any of them could be dead, Lizzie or Shubble or Joel all could have fallen—and Xornoth has control of half of the empires or all of them. And the only way to stop him didn't work.

Yet all Jimmy will even give thought to is his stupid little rebellion.

"I know it's hard," Jimmy says, voice awkwardly too-loud, rousing Scott from his thoughts. "It's really, really hard. I know that you don't trust yourself, and that you're hurting, and there's so much tangled up between us that I don't really understand but I know isn't making any of this easier for you. But I know you want to get better. I know you, Scott. And I know you will do everything in your power to keep those people safe."

Scott doesn't say anything, blinks back the sudden tears. He doesn't need this. He doesn't need Jimmy telling him what he feels.

Even if he's right.

He would do everything to keep the others safe.

He just can't guarantee that it would work.

"I trust you," Jimmy says firmly. "We trust you. I wouldn't have even brought it up if I hadn't cleared it with everyone else. And if it doesn't work, I'll never ask you to do it again. But please, Scott. If not for the people suffering, do it for me."

He doesn't owe Jimmy anything.

As a ruler, he pledged to defend his people, and he failed. What about when he fails again? Will he even be able to live with himself?

Will he be able to live with himself if he doesn't try?

In the grand scheme of things, a rebel attack to evacuate citizens of a small town in the Codlands is absolutely nothing. It will likely not contribute at all to the ending of the war.

But it's somewhere to start. Jimmy's always talking about how if they're still alive after everything, they ought to be doing something good with it. If he wants to eventually try to launch some sort of hopeless attack on Xornoth, he has to start somewhere. He has to figure this ice stuff out.

"Okay," he says eventually, reluctantly. "I don't . . . I don't want to. I don't think it will go well."

"If you can't trust yourself, you can trust me," offers Jimmy, and Scott grimaces at the hope in his voice.

He doesn't respond. 

He wants to trust Jimmy. He wishes nothing had ever broken the trust that was there.

He isn't sure what did break it. He can't exactly blame Jimmy for not dying.

"I'll come get you tomorrow around midmorning, okay? We're hoping to arrive when it's dark the next day, then just have you freeze it overnight and get the Cod out before sunrise. Sound good?"

Scott shrugs. "It's your plan," he says. "Does it sound good to you?"

Jimmy doesn't respond, glancing over his shoulder. "I need to go finish prepping," he says when he turns back. "Take care. I . . . I'll see you tomorrow."

Scott doesn't move (frozen to the spot, he thinks idly), just watches Jimmy go, picking his way back between the trees.

What has he agreed to?

-

The journey goes exactly as Jimmy had laid out. Jimmy travels in a band of thirty-two people (Scott counts them during one of their fifteen minute rests), all able young Cod, some with cobbled-together armor or swords, others with nothing but the clothes on their back and improvised weapons. Scott sees two hand-made slings, one little hunting bow, and a couple of large branches shaped into clubs. All from afar, of course.

Scott walks a good thirty or forty feet away from the group, shying away whenever someone accidentally veers a little close. They always hurry back to the others, shivering and rubbing their arms.

Jimmy, of course, comes close on purpose. He keeps trailing along on the edges of the group, giving Scott terribly hopeful glances.

Scott just keeps his eyes on the snowy ground before him and wishes he could figure out how to talk to him.

Does he even want to talk to him?

Of course he does. Of course he wants to talk to his . . . to Jimmy.

He just can't. He can't risk hurting him. He can't risk getting hurt.

And soon enough, they've arrived at the town.

Scott has somehow managed to avoid hurting anyone, though one Cod only narrowly avoids getting stabbed by a flying ice spike when Scott gets startled by a bee.

He isn't sure how powerful he is, just that he's managed to tie it down and lash it to himself. But Scott, more often than not, feels like there's a thin door being battered and blown by a terrible snowstorm, ice seeping in through the cracks, and soon enough he'll have to try to open the door just a little bit. He can only imagine it blasting it open and sending bursts of unstoppable power out, forever unable to be closed.

Jimmy approaches him as Scott finishes up eating a cold supper, and even though it's dark Scott knows it's Jimmy because he knows Jimmy, he knows his habits and his tendencies and just weeks ago that had been painful, precious knowledge and now it means nothing significant.

"We're about ready," Jimmy says, not looking at Scott. He's looking out over the ridge that they're hidden behind, toward the town below. Scott wants to shake him, scream at him, drag him down to the ground. Doesn't he know he'll be seen? That his outline against the darkening sky will be obstinately visible?

"I'll take you down there in about a half hour. Then you just need to drop the temperatures to about freezing, all right? We'll do everything from there."

Scott doesn't answer. He doesn't have anything to say.

You left me you died to me I lost you and you were here. You were here this whole time and I've been hurting, and I'm still hurting and you just don't care. Why didn't you comfort me? Why aren't you helping me? Why won't you listen to everything I can't say?

Jimmy doesn't say anything, either, despite Scott's silent cries. He just stands there awkwardly, then gives Scott a nod and jogs back over to the main group.

Scott flexes his fingers in their gloves, blows on his hands, relishes the momentary warmth that brings him. He's always so cold these days. For good reason, of course—and despite all that, elves naturally run colder than humans, with the climate of their dwelling—, but he doesn't have to like it.

How is he meant to freeze an entire town without accidentally doing more damage than intended?

At this point, Scott has absolutely zero doubt that he'll be able to freeze the town. Piece of cake. The problem is drawing back the power after it's been extended.

It doesn't help that he doesn't know what he's doing. It doesn't help that all he's done for the past two weeks is try to not explode. He hasn't actually learned anything about control, or using the magic to his advantage.

And now he has to save a town. Use this untamable magic in moderation.

He's going to fail so badly.

And yet, when Jimmy returns not long later, Scott readjusts the little knapsack that hangs off his shoulder and sets off around the ridge, following Jimmy from a safe distance.

They skirt around their little camp on the side of the ridge, giving the refugees a wide berth so as to avoid getting any of them mixed up in Scott's personal snowstorm. That wouldn't help anything about this situation.

The ice hasn't been unfreezing behind him, either. That's been kind of concerning. He'd assumed, back in his little patch of the forest, that the ice hadn't gone away because he hadn't gone away. But now there's just a path of frost and snow through the long grasses of the outer Codlands, a trail leading directly to the rebel camp.

Scott really hopes it melts with time. It wouldn't be good to have one of fWhip's flying fish spies follow it and discover the camp.

He gets pulled from his thoughts by necessity as they approach the town, Jimmy making sure to keep them to the shadows, out of range of the torchlight from the perimeter guards. They crouch down behind some bushes (Jimmy beckons Scott closer, miming something about talking, and Scott reluctantly settles down close enough beside him—about five feet away, the closest to anyone he's been in weeks), peering between the brambles. Sure enough, there's more guards than a small border town ought to have—Scott counts at least four that patrol by the edge of town in the five minutes that they sit there and watch.

"We need to give my people a few more minutes, probably," Jimmy whispers, glancing up at the sky. The moon hasn't risen yet, so Scott's really not sure what he's checking. "But if you want to start the freeze, you can."

Right. Freezing an entire town.

Scott reaches inside himself for . . . for something. He isn't sure what. It's not like there's anything in there. Just his aching heart.

He legitimately feels fatigued from holding back the magic the best he can, but he doesn't know how to let go. He doesn't have any sort of point of reference for this. What is he supposed to do?

After several long minutes of indecision, of pulling at different parts of his mind to see if something just releases the switch, Scott gives up on figuring it out and just pushes.

He's not sure if the dam is broken, but a little flurry of snowflakes shoots out of his hands and he imagines the town, water in barrels and canals slowly freezing over, the temperatures dropping, the night air becoming frigid and biting.

Why does it have to be him?

"Nice," Jimmy whispers beside him. Scott blinks, looks up.

It's snowing. All across the town is snowing.

He didn't mean to make it snow. He only wanted to make it cold.

And it is cold. His fingers through their gloves are aching, the exposed skin on his face burns as a gust of freezing wind blows past.

"Was that too much?" he whispers, twisting his hands together. "I didn't mean for—"

Jimmy breathes out a near-silent laugh, gives him a grin. "I knew you could do it. I knew it!"

He made Jimmy happy.

Despite all the confusing hurt keeping them apart, that still makes Scott's heart squeeze in the best way possible.

The guards glance around at the fat flakes of snow, clearly confused. There's some shouting person to person, and within torchlight on the edge of town, a cluster of guards gather, rubbing their hands together and stamping their feet and pointing back to the center of town as they talk.

There's no way this will work. If his guards at Rivendell left their posts because it got a little cold, they would be in severe trouble with their captain.

But as Scott watches, one by one, the guards begin to trail away, heading toward what Scott assumes to be the inn.

There's no way. There's no way this is actually working. This can't be real.

Jimmy takes in a near-silent breath, lets it out in a low, loud, whoop/whistle. It sounds strikingly like the call of an owl that Scott has heard occasionally in these parts, late at night.

When did Jimmy learn bird calls?

It's a small thing. It's not even anything that matters. It's tiny and unimportant and Scott really shouldn't be close to tears right now.

It's like he doesn't even know Jimmy. He doesn't want to be upset, but he can't seem to stop it.

Jimmy still loves him and wants him; Jimmy wants them to be in love again.

How is it so hard?

Every guard has gone inside now, the town quiet.

The snow continues to fall, slow, drifting gently onto a peaceful street, becoming a picturesque winter scene.

Yet staring at it doesn't bring Scott peace. He only grows more and more anxious, eyes scanning from point to point, as though he might miss the operation entirely if he only watches the snow.

And after five or so minutes of waiting, Scott sees, past the falling snow, camouflaged people stealing through the streets, peering in windows, tapping lightly on doors.

The Cod residents are quick and quiet to answer, which is absolutely absurd.

It's actually working.

The other day, this was the most ridiculous plan Scott had ever heard. He never would have believed that any part of it would actually come to any sort of fruition.

And here they are.

He continues to watch as entire families sneak out of houses, glancing left and right before stepping out into the street, some bundled up in layers of clothing and others with nothing but a thin tunic protecting them from the weather.

The rebels move in phases, ushering out first this side street, then that one, making sure each sector of the town doesn't leave without instruction.

Scott watches, and something within him marvels.

This is the work. This had seemed so inconsequential to him just days ago—there are much larger things to worry about, after all—but now he can see how this had become Jimmy's whole world.

There's so many of them. They're moving house-by-house, sending one group before beckoning the next, but the streets are still close to packed.

There's a woman, hands covering her mouth as tears stream down her face, following a group into an alley. A shirtless man, carrying two children at once, his shirt draped over the both of them. A child—a tiny slip of a girl, surely not older than eight, clinging to her parent's leg, the torchlight from the abandoned guard posts illuminating her face just enough that Scott can see a hand-shaped bruise spanning her cheek.

The people are malnourished, injured, terrified. They’ve been desperately praying that someone will rescue them, someone will come along and deliver them from this darkness.

And here Jimmy is, a shining light, their once-dead king returned to save them specifically, as unimportant as they feel they are.

It makes sense. Jimmy's forces aren't strong enough to take on Xornoth, so why should he even focus on something so unattainable?

This, while not easy, is doable, and something that both strengthens his numbers and helps his people.

Scott gets it. It's about hope. It's about remembering the lost. It's about finding strength and life in this world of corruption.

"Scott," Jimmy whispers, pulling him from his realization.

Scott blinks, looks over at him. Jimmy's teeth are chattering, his nose pink, his lips pale of color. His arms are clutched around himself, doing nothing to hide the way his entire body trembles.

"You can reel it back in, a bit," Jimmy says, clearly going for humor, but the words fall flat when his lips can't even twitch up in some semblance of a smile.

Oh.

Scott looks back to the town, and now, he doesn't just see the wonder of it all. He sees how slowly everyone is moving, the way the rebels look up fearfully at the quickening snow, the way none of them are wearing any proper winter gear.

It's cold out. It's very, very cold out. It's definitely far below freezing, icicles already hanging from buildings, a thick layer of snow blanketing the ground.

It's too cold. He sees, all at once, three children collapse, and their caretakers pick them up but can barely keep going.

It's too much. It's too cold, so cold that a man stumbles and falls, and those around him are too cold to stop and help.

"Scott, make it stop," Jimmy whispers with increasing urgency. "It's too cold. Scott, stop."

He can't stop.

The door has been opened, and Scott doesn't know how to close it.

He can't make it warm up, he can't even stop it from getting colder. The night sky is growing steadily darker as more clouds roll in, the snow falling harder and faster—there's actual ice spreading, visibly spreading, crawling out from the bushes where he and Jimmy are crouched, heading toward the town and Scott can't stop it—

"Scott—"

"I can't stop it," breathes Scott, and it's nothing but the truth. He can't just turn it off, that isn't something he knows how to do—he doesn't know how to do anything, this is a curse and he hates it and nothing will ever be right again!

"I can't stop it," he says again, louder, voice shaking. "I can't—I can't do it, I told you I can't, I don't know how—"

"Just try," Jimmy says over him, hands held up. "I know you can do it, I trust you—"

"Just—just stop!" Scott bursts out, finally, all those terrible emotions rising to his tongue. "You keep saying—you keep—you were dead, you left me and you don't get to—you can't tell me what I can and can't do, I don't—"

"Scott," Jimmy says, something horribly placating in his voice, and it sounds just like the old Jimmy, just like the one who died—

Scott stumbles up, backing away from Jimmy. He can't—he doesn't want—this is all too much, too much, he's ruined everything and it's too much—

Jimmy stands as well, taking a couple of steps toward him. "Scott, I'm going to touch you, okay?"

"No!" Scott bites out. The wind is whistling in his ears, he can barely hear Jimmy over it—he can barely see Jimmy through the snow, there's so much of it, and Scott can't make it stop! He can't fix this! "Don't touch me, I don't—I don't even know you, I'll hurt you!"

"Scott—"

"Get—away—" Jimmy's just coming closer, one step at a time, and Scott doesn't want him, that's not his Jimmy, he doesn't want to hurt him—

The storm is rapidly getting worse, the snow beating down on his face with little pellets of ice, he had never meant to make it snow let alone storm, he's cursed, he's forever cursed, there's no way he can make things right, there's no way anything will ever be right again—!

And then there are arms around him.

Jimmy squeezes him tightly, good pressure and tightly enough that his brain is forced to settle into a more peaceful state, despite his surroundings.

His lover is warm against him, and Scott instinctively buries his face in the crook of Jimmy's shoulder where it belongs and perfectly fits.

Something inside doesn't really click into place. It doesn't quite work. It's close, but it's just not where it needs to be.

But it does slide together nicely, and Scott somehow finds a slippery grasp on the cold and tugs it back in.

He hadn't even been able to have this before. He hadn't even been able to feel a way to control it, let alone actually take hold.

But there's some kind of power positively radiating from Jimmy, something that Scott can feel and recognize in this entirely new world of magic that he never even knew existed.

It's got to be Jimmy's love.

Jimmy loves him so so much that it overpowers the curse.

And Scott, for the first time in weeks, feels warm.

He feels warm. Jimmy's here, his arms wrapped around Scott, and he feels warm.

A sob rises in his chest.

This is his Jimmy.

His Jimmy is holding him, and loves him, and is so very warm.

"There we go," Jimmy whispers into his hair, voice slightly muffled. "Not too much, now.  We still need a little bit of snow coming down."

Right.

Scott doesn't think he has the emotional capacity to pay attention to anything but Jimmy, but he loosens his grip on the ice just a little, enough that the snow doesn't stop.

The sob bursts out of his mouth, and Scott clutches Jimmy as close to him as possible.

His Jimmy is here. He's actually here.

And Scott can feel his fingers again, warmth washing over every part of his body.

They don't move for a long time. Jimmy watches the exodus over his shoulder as Scott cries into his chest, letting all of the emotions that he's been feeling for the past two months pour out onto Jimmy's coat.

They stand there, and Scott sobs.

After too long, long enough that the tears on Scott's face become more sticky than wet (they aren't freezing on his cheeks, like they've been doing, and isn't that just a miracle), Jimmy pulls away.

Scott feels his tenuous control slip from his grasp—too cold again, too cold—and he launches himself back into Jimmy's arms.

"Don't go," he chokes out.

"Okay."

"Please . . . I can't—I can't do this without you."

"Okay."

Scott takes in a shuddering breath. He's stronger than this. He can do this.

"Do you think you can stop the snow?"

Scott nods, his nose wiping across Jimmy's coat. Then, with a mustering of what little strength he has, he shuts that imaginary door.

It almost doesn't shut. Scott strains against it in his mind, inch by inch, but eventually it clicks shut.

He can't lock it. But holding to Jimmy keeps it shut, and Scott doesn't plan on letting go.

Jimmy's right here.

Jimmy is real.

He's alive.

"You died," Scott sniffles, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. "You died!"

"I know," Jimmy murmurs, sounding absolutely heartbroken. "I know. I'm here."

"You weren't there, though. You—you left me! I was so—so alone!"

"I know," Jimmy says again. "I'm so sorry, Scott. I'm so sorry."

Jimmy's crying too, Scott realizes. They're in snow up to their knees, in full view of the town, and they're both just standing here crying.

Scott. . . .

Scott doesn't really care.

His heart, broken by the weight of the grief hanging so heavily on it, is finally beginning to heal.

That's more important than anything else around.

-

Scott doesn't let go of Jimmy's hand the entire trip back.

They walk back to the camp, bringing up the rear of a long crowd of refugees. Scott's trail of frost is barely-there, and he never feels like he's a danger to anyone while Jimmy is at his side.

They arrive back at the camp almost three days later, the group slower-moving with the addition of a good three hundred people. The camp is thrown into chaos, more than doubled in size, and Jimmy's pulled every which way by every person possible as they try to make arrangements and adjustments on such a large scale.

Scott stays with him through it all. He presses himself into Jimmy's side during a hurried meeting about leadership for splitting into several camps; he clings to him while Jimmy directs new refugees to food; he holds his hand through long hours of pointing people this way and that.

Jimmy doesn't end up being forced to bed until past midnight, a young Cod practically pushing him and Scott to his tent. Jimmy goes reluctantly, walk stumbling and eyes bloodshot. Scott can't imagine that he looks any better—he can feel how oily his hair is, limp after being literally frozen for so long, his wings unkempt and dragging. He can barely stay upright, and relief floods him when they finally reach Jimmy's tent.

Jimmy collapses onto his bedroll without even taking off his boots or unbuckling the enchanted sword on his back, and Scott is just able to manage loosening the laces of his own boots and kicking them off before he falls down beside him.

"There's still so much to do," mumbles Jimmy, and instinctively, they wrap around each other, knees slotting perfectly and arms weaving just right.

It's like nothing changed.

It's like everything is right again.

"I missed you," Scott whispers, though his throat threatens to choke on the words.

He lost Jimmy. Forty-two days of mourning, of the worst torture he's ever been subjected to.

He lost him, and it still hurts. Everything still feels so terribly hopeless, so dark, and Jimmy forsook him for so long.

But he's back. He's here, and alive, and through his thin tunic under the hilt of the sword Scott can feel a new scar just below the nape of his neck (Jimmy shudders as his fingers trace it, but doesn't pull away) but he's alive and in Scott's arms.

He died. Jimmy died, and it must have been terribly traumatic for him in ways that Scott hasn't even considered.

But by some miracle, he's here. He's okay.

He is, isn't he?

"Are you all right?" Scott asks quietly, seized by the need to know that his love is well. He doesn't know the specifics, not really—but Jimmy said he'd been stabbed several times, and that can't have been easy to recover from—and Scott had made it awfully cold earlier, and he knows that some of the refugees suffered because of it, and Jimmy only had that thin coat on.

Jimmy doesn't respond, though, breathing slow and even, and Scott eventually relaxes, assuming that he's asleep. He can get his answer tomorrow, after all. He can fuss over him all he wants.

Scott honestly can't believe that he let himself drift so far from Jimmy. He let his feelings of abandonment and despair and everything else get in the way of being here, holding his beloved, giving him comfort and receiving it in bucketloads.

He was so wrapped up in losing Jimmy the first time, he almost lost him again.

Then Jimmy shifts in his arms, sighs a little bit. "I'm okay," he finally replies. "That's what you asked, right?"

Scott nods against his shoulder, and Jimmy lets out a low chuckle. "My good ear is pressed to the pillow, sorry," he says by way of explanation. "Couldn't quite hear you. Are you okay?"

Is he okay?

He's not physically injured. And he's not quite so cold—with Jimmy's love warming him, he can keep a lid on the ice magic, stopping it from spreading beyond his fingertips.

Everything about this situation still hurts. Everything's still so terrible, and there's no way to overcome it.

But Jimmy's here now, and he loves Scott.

And Scott loves him.

"I'm all right," he says eventually, before burying his face deeper into Jimmy's shoulder.

And he thinks, for the moment, that it's true.

-

Scott dreams that night.

He dreams of a plateau, ice, wind whipping dark robes every which way.

He dreams of his hand tightening around a sword hilt.

He dreams of a crown upon his head.

Inka kuuna ndikitá'ána.

-

It's just barely past dawn, and a young girl with mousy brown hair and scales smattered across her face like freckles is wandering down to the river to collect water.

It's a bit of a long walk, but Lithi doesn't mind—it's preferable to the walk back, when the empty waterskin strapped to her back will be filled with water.

She's a girl forced to grow up too fast, barely in her teens, yet made to take up her mother's armor and flee into exile.

But she doesn't cry. Lithi never cries, and it's a point of pride for her. Her peers seem to be constantly crying, after all. She isn't going to let herself be perceived as a weak little girl. Not after everything her people have been through.

The ground beneath her bare feet becomes squishy, pockmarked with little puddles of water, and she veers right. Her course has taken her too near the slow, swampy portion of the river, and while she longs to go splash about in the swamp, she knows that the water there isn't clear enough to use back at camp. Not to mention, the Codfather wants them to avoid the swamps, for some reason.

She misses the marshes of home. They all do—Cod aren't made to spend all their lives on land.

She knows the swamp misses them, too.

And that reminds her of the folk song that her mother taught her, and her mother's parents taught her, and their parents taught them.

So, while the girl walks, she sings.

The sun is brighting,

Children, come home!

The grass is sighing,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The frogs are croaking,

Children, come home!

The critters woken,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The birds are singing,

Children, come home!

The trees are ringing

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The fries are playing,

Children, come home!

The wind is saying,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The night is falling,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is crying,

Children, come home!

She reaches the riverbank as the song comes to a close, singing the last line over and over again, in a myriad of styles and keys.

She shrugs the waterskin off her shoulders, clumsily dips it into the water. The riverbank is uncomfortably dry and sandy between her toes, which long for the mud of home.

Why can't they go to the swamp? Not that she would ever rebel against their Codfather, but she just wants to feel at peace again.

The waterskin isn't totally full, but she draws it up out of the water and ties it closed, arms shaking, straining to hold it up. And now she has to make the long walk back to camp with this heavy load, the leather straps cutting into her shoulder blades with every step.

So maybe she dawdles by the river. Maybe she dips her fingers into the water, swishes it around.

It's that distraction, perhaps, that changes everything.

Because had Lithi not lingered, she wouldn't have seen the glimpse of bright green caught under a rock in the water. She wouldn't have levied up the rock, pulled loose the thing. She wouldn't have held up the sodden leather bag, beautifully embroidered with a bright green cod and a sky blue stag.

And most importantly of all, she wouldn't have opened the bag to find a thin, Oceanic book, nor caught a glimpse of gold shimmering in the silty mud beneath where the bag had lain.

[deadpool15]

Ch.2 To be loved

Seeing him was the highlight of my day. I remembered when I was nothing but an orphan, though I can't remember my biological parents. I sometimes like to think they died. It was the best way for me when I was just a kid. To accept the fact that even the ones who gave you life viewed as nothing but a mistake was difficult. My mother viewed her destiny as saving her country, getting rid of the drugs that were taking lives. In my opinion, people died all the time. Life was hard. We have no idea what someone is going through until they are pushed to the end. She would never understand that struggle. That pain. When I heard it was si-o behind all this, I had to know why. People have reasons, I had to be the one to see the good in him. Even if no one else could. I was falling in love, love makes you do dumb things.

Whether I was dumb or hopeless, I wanted to know him. Not the version he showed to the public, the fake smiles meant nothing to me. I wanted to see him truly smile, to be happy. I happened to be at one of my mothers many chain restaurants. And to my luck sitting there was the man I had hoped for, now I hadn't prepared myself to speak to him and I realized that when he had made eye contact with me. Stern, serious glare like he knew I was watching him. Talking to people wasn't necessarily the issue. I talked my way out of parking tickets, jail, and even school punishments as a child. I was a smooth talker, one thing I developed from my mom. Though he made me nervous, my hands were sweating, and I had the urge to convert into oxygen. I wanted to cry because as much as I hated to admit it, his opinion of me meant a lot. One accidental interaction, and I was hooked. He knew me as Tseg tseg rich spoiled friend. I wanted him to see me. It already pissed me off that he had eyes for my sister. She took everything from me without even fucking trying. I had to man up and fight for what I wanted.

"Hello sir, you probably don't know me, but my name is Danny. We kinda met before when I bumped into you at your company." He smiled though I could tell it was fake, after years of faking happiness myself. I knew a fake smile from a mile away. "Right, your Tseg's little friend, correct?" Irritation couldn't even be used as the word for what I felt in that moment, I wanted him to see me. "Technically, that's how we met, though I just wanted to say something t-to you. Please." I stood up drawing attention to myself truly not what I needed right now, but I had to tell him before anything else happened. My anxiety was through the roof, I wanted to crawl into a hole and die right then and there standing under his intimidating stare. I had to do this, though. He was the first person I felt genuine feelings for, and I didn't even know him personally. The effect he had on me was outrageous.

"I wanted to go out with you. I want to get to know you, and I know I'm not korean, and your parents may have an issue with that, but I mean Nationality vise I am. Everyone thinks I'm just this spoiled rich assshole, but i im not, and i want to show you that there is more to me than my money or parents' money. I have korean parents, so that counts, I'm well accounted for, and I have seen you before, and you're all I think about no matter what. I try to get my mind off of you, and my brain proceeds to show different connections to you. And if you p-plan to reject me, just sit here and silence, and I won't ever bother you again. Well, I hope so, I can try." He was astonished but my speech. Everyone had turned their attention towards us and started clapping. I hadn't even noticed at first. I couldn't handle rejection, especially not by him. I wanted to be with him, breathe in his scent, and help him with anything. Live a life with him. Silence was what I got, and I took the message. I had embarrassed him and myself.

Suddenly, walking out, trying to hold back tears, I was 5 years old me again. I'm sitting at my dance recital waiting for my mommy. She promised she would come today since I told her how much this meant to me. Sitting there for the next 4 hours in nothing but silence was the worst feeling a child could feel. The competition was over, I didn't even dance, missing a chance to get picked for a major academy. I saw dad pull up. Why did she hate me so much. "Honey, you didn't tell me you had a competition today, and I found the scouts there as well. I would've shown up, baby." I stared at him. I was a daddy's girl simply because my mother broke my heart before I could ever feel love from her. "I didn't tell you because I told Mommy. I wanted her to come watch me this time. To surprise her with my skills." Just glancing at him, I knew that look, the look of a father who was afraid to break their already broken child. I snapped out of it when I felt someone shaking my shoulders. Looking up, it was him. "I've been calling you for 20 minutes. You almost got hit by that truck. Are you even paying attention?" I stared at him, I didn't know what to say, would he care enough to hear. "You ran out before I could say anything. Scared? You're very pretty. And bold. I've never had someone confess their love for me in a public area at that. I admire that, while I don't really know you, I would like to get to know you. Experience something."

I was so happy at that moment that I completely ignored the world around me. I jumped onto him. He was startled at first but caught me with ease. I leaned back and cupped his face, pecking his cheek, and for that first time, I saw a genuine smile. A real surprise for me, I enjoyed it. "You look beautiful when you smile, like a hidden jem only made for the luckiest humans to gaze at." He stared at me, blushing. From that moment, we slowly got to know each other, getting closer day and night. Developing an unbreakable bond. I didn't care he was a so-called criminal. When I was with him, none of that mattered. I never asked about his business, letting him know if he wanted to tell me he could. I kept this from my family, I knew they would never approve of what we had, especially my mother. She didn't give a shit about me, but in a situation like this, she saw him as an enemy.

We sat at a Korean BBQ shop. It was simply nice to spend time at a place with no worries. "I could've taken you someone nicer, you know." I placed some meat on the grill what grabbing a piece and putting it in front of his mouth. He smiled and opened his mouth to eat it. "Is it good? And you know I don't care about expensive restaurants. I've been to enough in my lifetime. I just want to be with you. To be honest, you could've gotten fried chicken and took to me the beach to eat. It's the thought that counts, babe." He smiled at me, I smiled back until I realized the petname I gave him immediately going to apologize. "It's fine, I actually like it. Babe." Blushing, I gave him more meat. We talked about our days, he was stressed and I wanted to help. Thought he said I shouldn't stress myself. We finished eating and literally had a full-on battle over who would pay the bill. I won, "Maybe I'll let you pay next time." He laughed, grabbing my hand and walking out of the shop. While pda was no foreign concept to me, it still made me feel like it was the first interaction between us each time it happened. "Come home with me, please." I stared at him in shock. He had never asked me this. I had no experience in relationships, but usually, that leads to other things. I didn't know what was gonna happen, but I trusted him.

We showed up to his home. He told me to wash up for the night. I happily got in the shower to think I was happy. A foreign feeling. My shower lasted well over 30 minutes, I looked down and saw a towel and a button-up shirt. Luckily, I always kept a spare thong with me. Putting on the clothes, I walked out of the bathroom to find him already washed up and laying in bed. A blue robe and pajama pants on while he was on the phone. I walked out of the room to got place my clothes in the hamper, then grabbed a glass of water. I was drinking it while examining the home I had never been inside. Eventually, I walked back towards the room where he was done with his phone call. And looked up with a dropped jaw. I smiled at his antics. "You're still so pretty. With and without the makeup. Come here." Walking slowly towards his bed, he gestured for me to move closer. I crawled to him, and apparently, it wasn't close enough because he picked me up and placed me on his lap while holding my hips. I felt nervous. He noticed squeezing my hips with his larm hands.

I grabbed one of his hands, placing them in mine. Comparing the size and then kissing his palms, I looked up at him to see a bright smile. "I'm not tired yet." I told him it usually took me a while to go to sleep. I was just always up. He nodded and pulled me closer in a hug. Affection from si-o was always the best. I could tell he wasn't the most affectionate person, so I didn't push him. Though I craved his touch, I craved everything about him. Looking out the window, I saw the stars. "This reminds me of when my mom took me and my siblings camping once. It was weird, though it was fun." I continued to look at the stars until he spoke up. "You don't talk about your mother much. Actually, you don't talk about her at all. For a second, I thought she had passed." I was shocked by the thought of my mothers absence. Sure, I never spoke about her because there weren't any good memories, to be honest. "It's fine if you don't want to speak about it." I looked at his face full of concern he was so patient with me, but I wanted him to know and trust me like I did him. "It's ok, it's just.....there isn't much to talk about, you know. She was there but not there. She was always focused on my older sister. She was the amazing daughter who could do no wrong. And I was simply the girl that lived in her house, or that's what it felt like. Sometimes, it felt like I didn't have a mom to begin with. To think I used to pray to have a mother that would be there for me. Then my sister went missing, and as much as I hate to say it, I was happy, for once I though she would pay attention to me, realizing she had two daughters but it only got worse. I was just there, and I hated myself for the fact that I was happy my sister was gone. I've always been jealous of her she is better in every way. That's so evil of me, but I was so fucking lonely. She is such a good person, and makes friends so easily and everyone likes her but me they look down on me. I'm nothing more then a spoiled bitch using her parents credit card to fill the void."

Before I noticed, I was full on sobbing in front of him. I broke down, secrets I've never told anyone in my life. I was afraid of what the world would think of me. He grabbed my shaking hands, kissing them slowly, whining, moving up to wipe my tears. "Your feelings are normal baby, you went your entire life playing second place because your mother is a terrible mother, no offense. A bit of a bitch you know. No secret there since she is Hwang Geum Joo." Hearing that part made me laugh. Until I sat there shocked he knew of my parent. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you." It was all I could say at the moment. He looked at me and pressed against my cheeks, letting me know it was ok. And he underdtood the urge to protect her even if she wanst good to me. Or cared for me, it seems."You are so amazing and kind and beautiful. She isn't better than you at all. I wish you could see the way I see you. You have lightened up my world as a whole. I was nothing but a cold, damaged asshole when I met you, then I realized no matter how my life pushes and kicks your ass its your choice to get back up. To keep going, you taught me that baby. All the drug business and shady stuff I do, you don't judge me at all. Sitting by my side supporting me no matter what I choose to do. When I was an orphan and Pavel took me in, trained me to become the person I am today, hit after hit. Missed meal after another, I prayed for a better life. You have provided that life." Hearing those words, my heart was swelled. I felt nothing but love for the first time someone chose me, loves me. I wasn't an option. I was a need. "I'm so glad you chose me or tseg." Hearing that, he laughing pulling me closer if that was possible. "I never liked tseg baby, she is a worker at my company that'd all. If anything, I had my eyes on you since you walked into the building." Similing in pure joy, I leaped forward, causing a groan to come of his mouth. Scared I hurt him, I tried to get up until he forced my hips back down. It was then I realized I hadn't hurt him. In fact, the moment u felt something hard poking me thigh, I blushed.

"How in the world did you get hard, sir?" He simply smiled at my words, moving me forward to the point where I was sitting directly on top of his hard on. My core pushed further into it slowly until he began grinding me against him. I couldn't help but moan. It all felt too good. "Have you seen my beautiful girlfriend sitting right on top of me in nothing but my shirt? If anything, it was difficult not to." Moans slipped from my mouth before I could let out a sarcastic response. Finally, I said the words I had been so afraid to ever tell anyone. "I love y-you." Hearing this, he sped up my hips against his, leaning in to capture my lips into a kiss. "I love you more, baby." We continued until we were left naked and bare before each other, and all the insecurities, abandonment issues, and pain left my mind. Leaving nothing but si-o. The night was a night to remember.

Stay tuned for chapter 3.

[genericpuff]

A while back you made a post mentioning Down to Earth is trash and I would like to here your take on it. No pressure on it I just like hearing your opinion on things. FYI I hate Kade lol

I did, and I've been meaning to post about it, but I've been taking some extra time to re-read as much as I can so that I could better collect my thoughts :' )

Now I will mention, I have not caught up to the most recent episodes. Most of my thoughts here will reflect the earliest parts of the series, as I didn't end up sticking with this one. So please take my criticisms as someone who just never got into this series for various reasons, not as someone who was incredibly into the comic and fell off it (like I am with LO). I will try to judge it and review it fairly based on that context.

Most of my issues with Down to Earth don't stem nearly as deep as my issues with LO, Let's Play, or even Big Ethel Energy. Frankly, I think the comic is 'fine', but I don't think it's necessarily all that good either, and the amount of attention it gets from the platform lends to the fact that I really think its success is due to a lot of generated hype. This is one of the other comics on the platform that gets a LOT of priority advertising, not quite as egregious as LO, but still a lot.

The short answer: I think the comic is just overrated and pretty basic in terms of its storytelling and art, and I don't think it's necessarily a good "romance" comic for some of the same reasons I don't think LO or Let's Play are good romance comics. I think the only reason I don't get quite as mad at it as I do with LO or BEE or LP is because (as far as I can tell) it's not really advertising itself as some feminist progressive piece of work. It's sorta just "what you see is what you get", and what you get isn't really all that great (for reasons listed below) but at least it doesn't try to sound smarter than it is most of the time. Read it the same way you would watch a fluff anime.

Moving into my long answer, I will say some of the things that were initially appealing about it: the art is very colorful and cutesy, the comedy (for the most part) is inoffensive and simple, and the story is really easy to pick up and get into.

That said, I do think some of those praises are also part of its weaknesses.

While the art gets better over time, there are certain aspects of its stylization that still feel very "baby's first webcomic" to me. Which is great if you're someone who's into that style, but when I read it, it never really stops feeling like a Canvas comic, if you catch my drift. Nothing really sets it apart from the flood of Merryweather-esque fan service comics that are in the Canvas section.

And boy, is there a LOT of fanservice in this comic. I think the main plot point itself is fanservice in and of itself - cutesy anime alien girl crashes on earth, and winds up living with the depressed NEET-like guy, shenanigans ensue from how "inexperienced" she is due to her alien status. Everything from the circumstances of this character's plot to how she's drawn screams "this is for people who like to read about small titty girls with big asses being put into a situation where they have to rely on a man". The comic takes many opportunities to draw the FL, Zaida, as wide as possible (and of course, the ML Kade loves this trait about her, it's one of the first thing he notices aside from the fact that she speaks an alien language and can do weird alien things like telepathy and flying).

Thankfully this does get a little better in the later episodes, you can tell the creator was struggling with anatomy in places and then honed their skills, but there are still times it regresses back to the extremely-pinched-waist-mega-badonker-hips look.

Don't get me wrong, having a protagonist with wide hips like this is all fine and dandy, but there's a point where you can tell it's purely for fanservice and that's definitely what the comic wants you to know from the starting gun. She fits perfectly into that "born sexy yesterday" trope that so many romance FL's do (cough Persephone cough) while also having that "uwu I'm so inexperienced :(((" vibe that you get from characters like Sam in Let's Play. Shit, Kade pretty much starts sexualizing her before he even knows what her deal is as a person. Does he even know how old she is? Is "she" even a "she", do these aliens have different concepts of gender identity or even different types of reproductive organs than what you would find on Earth?

Look, I get it that I'm probably WAY overthinking it, you can write comics about characters from other dimensions and planets without having to get into the nitty gritty of whether or not they have periods, that's fine. But the real problem is the fact that her being from another planet seems to be used purely for creating an infantilized character with extra steps who's easily laughed at for not knowing things (don't even get me started on how "alien" could be replaced with "someone who doesn't speak English or have access to modern devices" in a lot of this comic, but I feel like that's way too deep of a criticism to be pinning on something that's literally designed to be a quirky fanservice fluff comic.)

Like, you want an alien girl who looks human but still acts reasonably like an alien - while even tackling subjects that come with being an "outsider" - without making her act like a literal baby? Starfire from Teen Titans.

(granted, the whole "smooching to transfer information" thing is definitely a little weird in hindsight, and there are definitely moments of fanservice, but that's about as weird as it gets lmao you don't see Starfire acting like a literal toddler, she is smart and capable, she just isn't from Earth, which is the whole point of her characterization being parallel to that of what foreigners experience ! She's not stupid or incapable of taking care of herself, she's just not accustomed to life on Earth!)

Like, this is in one of the newer episodes and I just-

(I suddenly have to throw up-)

It really dials the creep factor of this whole relationship dynamic to 100 when they drive home just how "babylike" she is through panels like this. It's not really her being unaware of customs around her, it's just her being written as babylike as possible with the fact that she's an alien being used as justification.

But it really makes you think about Kade's intentions when he goes straight to buying lingerie for the girl he just met who's been forced to stay with him in his home. He doesn't even really make efforts to help her get on her own feet, he just accepts this as his fate and goes "welp I guess I gotta make sure I don't get fired from my job" because now he has to support the baby girl that landed in his backyard. So Zaida ends up having no agency as a result. It just feels like a contrived situation meant to force an unaware, vulnerable girl into being taken care of by a guy who's, frankly, a creep.

And boy, Kade is actually kind of a creepy scumbag.

Kade makes for a really uninteresting and frankly pathetic character, he's just sort of a whiny man baby and you just know if Zaida was an earthling who had spent time on this planet longer than a few days, she probably wouldn't put up with this shit LOL Like, deadass he basically threatens to harm her within the first few episodes of the comic-

Like, this is after she's ruined his Playstation or w/e, and it's just like DAMN girl, this is a RED FLAG. But of course, she's an alien girl who's ignorant about everything, so it creates that power dynamic where he basically has full reign to take advantage of her at any time. Ladies, if a guy says you shouldn't trust him, take him at his word.

Zaida's characterization is also very inconsistent between her being an alien and her just being an "uwu baby girl". Often times it just makes the whole "alien" thing feel like it's only there to justify writing yet another "I'm babyyyy" romance. Sometimes she's WAY more privy to things than you'd expect her to be and then other times she's doing the dumbest shit for laughs.

Now to be fair, she DOESN'T put up with his shit here, but the fact that the writing for Zaida is inconsistent makes scenes like Kade being a creep being more about the creator realizing they're leaning too hard into her being vulnerable to abuse and so they quickly have Zaida combat it with some strange amount of awareness despite the fact she's only been living with him for a few days... but not enough awareness to maybe realize this isn't a good living situation. Like, again, she may be able to speak English, but that doesn't mean she's fully aware of what Earthlings are like, so she's suddenly really smart about what it means to be taken advantage of by a human man even though everywhere else in the comic she's written like a toddler.

And of course, like many of these webtoons tend to do, they don't linger on the implications of this scene too long, so they quickly turn it into a punchline to ease the tension. Audience comfort restored.

And that brings us to the comedy. The "jokes" in this comic basically boil down to, "haha, the alien girl doesn't know how to take care of herself on Earth!" , which frankly, I think is just a very thin veil for infantilization. I mean, really, the fact that she's an alien doesn't even really matter in the world of this comic, it takes a while for the comic to even really give us a glimpse of what her life was like off Earth so most of the comic is just typical slice of life cutesy moments you'd find in literally any shoujo or romance webtoon. You could switch out the fact that she's an alien with her being from another dimension, or turn it into an isekai where she was the female character in Kade's favorite video game who suddenly got zapped into the real world, and it would make fundamentally zero difference.

They even sorta lampshade this fact but swiftly move on from it.

There's nothing really that makes her an "alien" in any unique or consequential way, she's just a carbon copy anime girl with pointy ears who could be replaced with any other trope from other romance subgenres like this. She can eat human food just fine, dress in human clothes, and as long as she wears a hat over her ears, she's literally indistinguishable from the humans around her.

I will add as well that there are a lot of little ways they hint towards the implied dynamic between these two, at least in the beginning. The whole "second rule: obey" bit, while passed off immediately after as a joke, feels like it was inserted there JUST to create that imbalanced power dynamic that so many "romance" webtoons rely on, similarly to LO and Let's Play. The fact that he corrects himself from this just feels like, again, lampshading.

And again, after this we do see Kade legitimately acting like a creep and he DOESN'T DO ANYTHING to help Zaida get her footing beyond paying for her room and board and telling her to mind her vocabulary, so this seems more like him trying to create a situation that's beneficial to him where he's effectively trapped this girl into relying on him.

They even lampshade this as well so that leads me to believe they're fully aware of this dynamic and how creepy it is, so they try and play it off as a "haha so funny" joke to ease the tension or create suspension of disbelief.

When it comes to the actual execution of punchlines, again, 90% of the jokes in this comic are "haha alien girl so stupid!"

(I will admit this scene did make me laugh, but it's telling that it was the only one that stood out to me for that because every other joke in this series is very mid and resorts to the same type of "haha she's a stupid alien girl" punchlines.)

(omg mental illness! so funny! /s)

If you really want comedy written around aliens describing human things in weird ways, then just go read Strange Planet. They're actually aliens and they're consistently funny through much smarter writing that doesn't rely purely on "lmao they're stupid because they're not from here". If anything the aliens in Strange Planet are way more welcoming and endearing to the concept of being a fish out of water than simply making them stupid for a punchline.

(i swear to christ, "crisscross flop disc" and "prohibit anxiety" are lines that have lived in my head rent free for like 3 years now, it never gets old and THAT'S how you know it's a good joke LMAO)

And the story, as mentioned, is easy to get into, but ultimately that winds up meaning it's not really all that well done. Like, it's fine! It's a cute comic to read if you're into this sort of thing, there are a lot of sweet little moments that feel good to read between Kade and Zaida, but ultimately because of the focus on the fluff, that's all it ends up feeling like - weekly doses of fluff. Even when it tries to have some semblance of plot, it's quickly undercut by fanservice. So it's just kinda boring and vapid.

Case in point, one of Kade's observations of Zaida is that she apparently looks "just like his ex girlfriend" who he still clearly hasn't gotten over, but we don't actually see even a hint of what his ex-girlfriend looks like until MULTIPLE episodes later after the "sparks" have already started being formed between him and Zaida.

Um... she doesn't really look like Zaida at all aside from them both being generic anime girls, but okay lol by that logic the girl he served at the store in Episode 7 also looks like Zaida.

So it kinda makes the whole relationship feel superficial, like he's only interested in her because she vaguely reminds him of his ex, and it's taking so long to get through any amount of plot through all the fluff that I can't be sure if they ever actually address this. I'd like to think they do eventually, though from what I've heard of the later episodes after his ex-girlfriend makes an appearance, it seems more like they go the LO route of making the two relationship "choices" just be complete opposites where one is actually sweet to the ML and the other is abusive JUST to make the sweet FL seem like the "better option". IDK, obviously my criticism of this is lukewarm because I haven't kept up on this comic in ages, but I have the sneaking suspicion the whole ex-girlfriend-the-ML-can't-get-over plotline isn't gonna be used for his development, just to further propel him and Zaida into a relationship - and by extension, manufactured drama to make their relationship more "interesting".

Overall, I don't think Down to Earth is anywhere near as egregious as Let's Play and LO, but it's definitely cut from the same cloth, and that's why it frustrates me to see it - alongside LO and Big Ethel Energy - being marketed as "new voices in romance".

(also real talk, it's so disingenuous for them to include LO in this "new voices in romance comics" panel when it's been around for so many years that everyone and their grandma who uses WT knows about the comic, if they aren't reading LO by now they REALLY don't want to. It's not "new", if anything it's one of the oldest ongoing webtoons on the platform and it REALLY needs to end already lmao)

Far be it from me to gatekeep an entire genre, but this brand of romance comic isn't really "romance". It's vapid fluff loaded up with egregious fanservice that's meant to give you a hit of dopamine every week, while never lingering on serious scenes for too long because they don't want you to realize just how imbalanced the relationship is between the two main characters. It's not quite as concerning as LO or Let's Play, but it does have a vibe that's really uncomfortable when you start to feel it. So having comics like these held up as the "golden standard" of romance is just... it's really telling as to what WT's priorities are and how unhealthy "romance" has become in mainstream media.

And if I can get a little "old man yelling at cloud" for a second, I miss when romance was sweet and soft and earnest and heartfelt. I think the only mainstream and successful romance webcomic (and it's not even an Originals!) that I've seen in the last several years that isn't loaded up with these problematic tropes is Heartstopper. Heartstopper is sweet and soft and earnest and heartfelt. Heartstopper is way more of a pillar for a healthy romance than what any of these "new voices in romance comics" can provide. It literally couldn't function as an Originals series because the definition of a WT romance comic would undercut the actual point of Heartstopper.

These unhealthy standards and dynamics that we've set in the romance genre have been so pervasive for years now and I really just wish they'd go away.

y'know what, this whole essay is really just a promo post for Heartstopper now, go read it-

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Some replieeeees, also hey it’s Summer (just noticed that)

Anonymous asked:

WELL I DIDN'T KNOW I WAS GETTING BLESSED WITH SAVANACLAW ROOK TITS TODAY

GOOD LORD I'M GOING TO MOTORBOAT ON THEM VROOM VROOM 😚😚😚

SURPRISE, ANON! Motorboat them to your heart’s content.

I am very happy that you liked Rook tits; it was probably very naïve of me to think that his nipple won’t be the main star of the drawing lol

Anonymous asked:

Planning on revisiting aus?

We might, but there isn’t any planning involved here; we just randomly remember about them from time to time and sometimes want to add to them lol

 I’ve sketched a comic for the mafia AU not so long ago, but we only posted it on ko-fi for now…

Anonymous asked:

More Lilia content when?

Hopefully soon! We have some new stuff with him, so it’s a matter of time... If everything goes well, you should see a lot of more stuff relatively soon. For now he’s also on ko-fi, being unable to post regularly has fucked up our posting flow really badly.

Anonymous asked:

I'm not exactly caught up on the Savanaclaw Rook stuff,

But that doesn't mean I don't have some pretty fun thoughts.

Like one I had while looking at that art you recently posted.

And I'm just imagining Savanaclaw Rook and Pomefiore Rook are in the same room, for whatever reason, who knows, and Vil walks in-

And Pomefiore Rook looks at Savanaclaw Rook-

And he just sees the hearts in Savanclaw Rook's eyes while looking at Vil.

And he knows that Savanaclaw Rook's already as hooked on Vil as he is.

Cause Rook just having an "on sight" moment when first meeting Vil is something I absolutely love.

:)

Awwww, this is so cute. At first I thought you were going to make a ménage à trios joke…

He absolutely had an “on sight” moment when he first saw him at NRC; and while I think it’s fair to assume that this isn’t Rook’s actual first time seeing him (being such a theatre nerd and all),  seeing him irl probably felt different somehow.

Looking at S!Rook’s reaction is probably pretty nostalgic for P!Rook.

No but really they really should hug Vil together and show him all kinds of love-

Anonymous asked:

Thinking nonstop about the characters being called daddy and master post,, it makes me imagine a scenario where Silver's sleeping around campus (probably because his father told him to so he could live a little) and someone asks him to call them daddy... He would be so confused like "???? I am not your son 🤨" save my boy LOL

Silver calling Lilia daddy or papa in bed would just end up being so cute 😭 Lilia stopping what he's doing and totally breaking his image as a cool and strict dom to be like "Eh?? Ehh??? You haven't called me that in years 🥺"

(this is about this post)

I am very happy you enjoyed that one, Anon!

Oh poor Silver lol Or should I say poor people who will never be the father that Silver loves dearly… even though this isn’t what they wanted from him at all. And these poor fools would think that the issue is that the word is too familial, and this is why Silver doesn’t consider it sexy. If only they knew…

Imagining Lilia dropping his dom thing to gush over his precious son being very cute and suddenly calling him daddy/papa is very funny though, he wouldn’t expect that at all. Despite being all kinds of cursed, for some reason  this is the one moment that Lilia would consider pretty wholesome… which only makes it even more cursed lol

Although to be honest it’s surprisingly difficult to imagine Silver calling Lilia anything other than “oyaji-dono”. Imagine Silver’s first word being not “papa” but “oyaji-dono” instead…