#we were all young and impressionable

[whim-prone-pirate]

how many times does neil gaiman have to specifically refuse to Word-Of-God anything before y'all take the hint—

he is the biggest supporter of fandom that there is, his own and in the broadest of senses. "is [x] canon?" is such an easily answerable question given that he has answered it twenty five times on one tumblr account. so, to reiterate, again, on his behalf:

book canon is stated in the book. tv canon is shown on screen.

anything that neil has said about his own characters outside of that specific and clearly laid out guideline is considered his own headcanon and opinion. there is no wrong or right version of aziraphale or dream or coraline. however you have decided to personalize these characters to help you love them does not make them any less real. Your Crowley is yours, and he is just as real as Neil's Crowley.

stop worrying. genuinely. you don't have to go searching for canon in the various gaimanverses because it's all been laid out in front of you since inception. you're all fine.

in neil's own words (possibly paraphrased as i don't have the post in front of me): "your characters are safe, and no one is going to take them away from you." not even neil.

[snixx]

getting my sex ed from my friends in class 5 deeply deeply messed me up. ten year old sex repulsed me trying to prove that's NOT how you make babies and you just get them by doing penance because no penance could be worse than doing THAT with a man 🤧 and there's no way my parents or - god, my grandparents did that. i literally had fucking nightmares over it and couldn't look at adults for three months without imagining them doing it because omg they've done it too and AREN'T THERE ANY WOMEN WHO HAVEN'T DONE IT I really have to do it when i grow up noooooooooooo and using the existence of gay people as my trump card because HA they have babies too YOU'RE WRONG (big brained i know) what if my older self marries a man and does it only to dyke out and turn out to be the ace-est person ever

[4kadhd]

Still dont know how to tell yall cp got no business being accessible or online in fiction or otherwise like...its gross and I hope everyone that writes it dies actually

[emeraldwarriors]

very old art

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

My brain is on fire same I can’t sleep and am thinking of this:

The way she writes about marriage/family/commitment through these different situations across the album is soooooooooo interesting.

You have a very intense first experience of it in “The Manuscript,” where it is first dangled in front of her/the narrator’s young, impressionable self as shorthand for real love in a situation that ended up being smoke and mirrors. She’s being told everything she wants to hear by someone who basically thinks it’s just foreplay. In the end, when it’s clear that the other person has no intention of actually making a life with her, it makes her feel used, but she forces herself to recalibrate and become the girl she thinks he and all the other hes want her to be. Easy breezy cool. But there’s a sense of loss in realizing those hopes were merely banter to the other.

You have the “grown up” version of it alluded to in “So Long, London” and “How Did It End?”, the years of putting in work to save a relationship and the “deflation of our dreaming leaving [her] bereft and reeling” leading to them “calling it all off.” The implication is clearly that they built a home together with plans for next steps at a point in time, but the commitment is shattered. (Obviously to me it sounds like marriage.) She’s bitter at spending her “prime” years with someone who ultimately didn’t want to be there, even if he couldn’t or wouldn’t admit it himself.

She felt like she did everything she was supposed to, but they were learning the right steps to different dances at as it were. Those dreams were at one point shared, but in the end they weren’t right for each other and she admits that, though bitterly (“I founded the club she’s heard great things about” eg the years she put in for him to help him grow up will end up benefiting his new lover, “but I’m not the one,” “you’ll find someone,” etc.). Mixed in with all this of her resentment of him wasting her youth (sacrificing herself at the altar), and his resentment of her for reasons less defined, and insinuations of betrayal in the shadows. The fantasy of the whole package disappears into the ether, yet she still has no answers as to how they got there.

Then in comes the wolf in sheep’s clothing in many of the rest of the songs, the one who promises her all those things she’s dreamed of since she was a kid instantly. After years of moulding herself to other men’s desires, someone comes in and tells her exactly what she wants to hear at the most vulnerable time of her life, as though the universe is answering her prayers, like some sort of cosmic payback for all she’s suffered, and it’s the most intoxicating drug of all. She’s gone from her wish for a family life feeling like she’s in a way being used for her body, to it being used as a chain to a relationship gone sour, to having someone put a metaphorical ring on her finger and tell her he wants to have babies with her, fuck those other guys.

In her grief and stupor, it’s too good to be true, which is exactly why she falls for it. But of course, it’s all an illusion, because this wolf is an amalgamation of the worst of all the men who came before him. He tells her everything she wants to hear not to make her dreams come true, but to make his. He takes the worst parts of these scenarios to make his move: he’ll stand by her, he’ll commit, he’ll do it out in the open under the spotlight’s glare (all things desperately lacking in her last relationship), but after he beds her he stabs her in the back in private and leaves her. He got what he wanted at the expense of her losing everything she wanted, this time as her world caved in seemingly for good. She feels like she gave up everything she thought she might have had for a chance that this is where the universe has been point her all along, only to be left broken for good (you represent the loss of my life as I knew it).

Then there are two sort of codas to this. In “But Daddy I Love Him” we get a sassier reimagining of “Love Story,” where the girl with the scarlet letter is mouthy and crass and tells everyone to go fuck themselves for cursing her in the first place, choosing her love above all else. And no, those haters can’t come to her wedding. Her daddy may have come around, but they sure can’t. Finally it seems someone is choosing her and will someday give her these things, and she’ll be able to show all the naysayers. (Also interestingly one of the more fictionally-veiled songs which ends happily vs the diaristic ones that don’t.)

Then of course there’s “So High School,” our first glimpse into what the future holds. Probably the only unabashedly happy (nay… electric?) song on the album, it’s all about reclaiming the buzz of youth (which is a whole other post) with a new lover. “Are you gonna marry, kiss or kill me? It’s just a game but really, I’m betting on all three for us two.” It’s, er, a direct nod to a certain now-infamous interview, but again, she’s staking her claim on her future, if not certain then at least hopeful again. This time the prospect doesn’t come with a “but.” It’s not, we’ll be pushing strollers but actually you’re too young. It’s not, we had these dreams for our future but actually I can’t move forward. It’s not, I’m going to promise you a ring and a baby but only until my needs are met and then I’m out. It’s, I know what I wanted and I’m not leaving, and thanks to that now she stays too.

The album dealt with the theme not at all in the way I expected, but is absolutely fascinating.

[writers-hes]

Toy Horses Outside the Brothel

You always knew Tommy as the cheerful boy who took care of you. He always knew you as the smart girl that he visited by the docks. The daughter of a prostitute, the son of a deadbeat father; a soldier who protected his country; a whore who protected him; a gangster who controlled Brimingham; and now, a wife. War changes people, you just didn't realize that war could change you both. (angst, depictions of abuse, poverty, prostitution, canon-typical themes, death, war, time jumps)

A/N: This is dedicated to @runnning-outof-time ! Thank you for giving me guidelines and for reading my work before anybody else did. You’re amazing and I wish I could write Tommy as good as you do. 

Want to be tagged?   navigation | main master lists | PROTECTION MASTERLIST

BIRMINGHAM, 1900:

Tommy first met her when his father took him to the docks. Arthur Shelby Sr. told impressionable young Tommy that there were kids he could play with by the docks. Tommy agreed, wanting to impress his father. On the way there, right outside of what looked like a house with many rooms, was her.

You were lonely and something in Tommy told him to play with you instead. Besides, the boys were too big around the docks. Arthur Shelby left him right outside the establishment and threw a shilling to you. You picked it up, stuffed it in your pocket, and looked at him.

He smiled at you widely, a tooth missing from his mouth and extended his hand towards you.

“I’m Tommy,” he said. You reciprocate the gesture, telling him your name and shaking his hand. You were more reserved, Tommy noticed. He was so used to the ruckus in their house that he expected every child to be as energetic as them. “Why did my father give you money?”

“He wants me to play with you while he’s inside,” you said. “I don’t have many toys but…I do have this,” you said, showing him your wooden horse toy. They were your prized possession, one of the few gifts that your father sent when he promised the world to your mother.

“Oh! I love horses,” he said. “Do you? I like watching horses,”

“Yes,” you replied. “My mother said that my father owned many. I’ve never met him though. Where do you watch horses?”

“That’s alright. Fathers hit kids. See?” he said, showing you a bruise on his side quickly. “My mother puts ice on it and it tickles. We watch it in the races. My mum takes me for my birthdays. She usednto ride a white horse before. She told me. Do you go to school?”

“No,” you shook your head. “But my mum taught me how to read and how to write. Sometimes, Big Johnny teaches me arithmetic. One plus one equals two,”

“You’re smart. Who’s Big Johnny?”

You hummed, making the wooden horse gallop on the murky ground. People in the house all told you that you were. If only poor Mary Magdalene had the means to send you to school. If only. You stop your movements and move your toy towards Tommy.

“Here,” you said. “Big Johnny is the man who runs this place. He’s kind,”

“You won’t have a toy,” he replied.

“It’s okay. I have more but they’re in my mama’s room. My father sent them. Sorry if it’s dirty,”

“Thanks,” he said. It’s the first time anyone has ever given him something without asking for it. He keeps it with him; keeps the memory of a girl who watched him intently while he played with a toy horse. That’s why when his father exited the house, with less money in his pocket, Tommy asked if he could come again next time.

-

When the house closed, you ran to your mother’s room. You usually had to stay out until five in the morning, sleeping on the sacks right in front of the brothel until your mother woke you up. She’s been seeing less men these days…always cooped up in her room, asking for you. She didn’t mind if you stained her bed with sweat and grease. She’d ask how your day was and you told him about Tommy, the boy you met earlier.

“I’m glad you have a friend,” she coughed into her white handkerchief. The blood stain was normal now. You were worried at first, but your mother told you to never tell anyone. You just never knew how serious it all was when you slipped once. You were talking to Big Johnny; he was teaching you how to subtract.

“If I help you, are you going to pay me?” you asked, perched on his lap. He had been the only father figure in your life. He’d help your mum surprise you for your birthdays and give you some money every now and then.

“Pay you? You’re robbing me,” he kids. “What do you need the money for?”

“I’m planning to buy mum a present. A nice handkerchief,” you said. “The one she has has blood—“

“What is it, bug?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, smiling sickly sweet.

“You have to tell me,” he replied. “It’s your—your safety,”

It was your turn to look confused.

“But mum told me to never tell anyone,” you whispered, heart racing. What did he mean by it? “Why would I not be safe? I’m safe. I have mum with me,”

Big Johnny ran his hand through his hair, then his chin. You knew that it was a sign of his agitation, so you relented.

“You can’t tell anyone,” you whispered. “But mum has been coughing up blood for a while. She said it’s fine. You won’t take her from me right, Johnny?”

“Fuck, kid,” he sighed, stressed at the sudden turn out of events. “No more arithmetic today, okay? I’ll go talk to your mum. Just go outside or play or whatever,”

“Is everything okay?” you asked, panic rising in your throat. It constricts while you keep yourself from crying.  “Mum will be so mad at me! Please don’t tell on me,”

“Do you know why she’s coughing up blood?” he asked, his voice serious. He knew that you had to be talked to in his “adult voice” for you to listen. You knew that he needed to be stern for you to listen.

“N-no…” your hair falls messily as you shake your head, picking on your nail beds.

“She’s sick, bug,” he said. “If we don’t do anything about it, you could get sick too. The two of you might die,” he explained. “Look, kid…you have a bright future ahead of you, alright?”

“What will you do?” you asked. “You can’t take her from me! Please, Johnny. My mum is all I have,” you cried, tears started flowing once the first one dropped.

Johnny couldn’t do anything else. He relented but locked your mother in her room. Whenever you went in, he made sure you had some face mask on to protect yourself. You only saw her for a few minutes every day. Parting her was painful and Johnny had to console you while you cried. He gave up his bunk and slept in his workspace so you won’t have to sleep with your mum.

A week later, your mum died of lung cancer.

It was too late, the doctor explained. Johnny let you stay in his bunk, never mind the fact that he had no space for himself now. He didn’t mind. You were his top priority. How is he going to raise a child in a brothel?

-

Your mother always told you that as long as you were with her, you would never be lonely. There was no burial, just her body being thrown and burned with the rest of Birmingham’s garbage. It made you wonder what your body would be like dead. You decided to never end up like her, one way or another you were getting out.

Tommy continued to visit you, but he knew that you were different now. It has only been a week and you’ve grown up so fast. When he arrived, a box of your toy horses was prepared for him.

“What’s this for?” he asked, eyes brightening up at the sight of the box. His father threw a shilling your way again.

“It’s for you. I don’t want to play anymore,” you said. “I kept one white horse for me but you can have them.”

“Why not?” he asked, galloping the toy you gave him last week. “Thank you. I don’t have my own. I always have to share with Arthur, John and Ada.”

“My mom died…you were my first friend and you never met her,” you said, tears falling on the ground. “I’ve been living in Big Johnny’s room,”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “My Aunt Pol says that friends are there for each other. I’m…I’m your friend,”

You smiled a teary smile, appreciating the underlying message behind his words. He’ll be there for you. But until when?

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1905

Fifteen, you were fifteen. You haven’t even turned fifteen for a week and you were working. The owner of the house told Big Johnny that if you wanted to keep living there, you would have to work too. Johnny had no place for himself, no house—his money all went to you. Your clothes, the books you’ve read, the food you ate. He'll get you a cake with a candle along with a pound for special occasions. If you were lucky, some of the girls would give you something. Tommy’s dad stopped coming and so was the shilling you got.

He stayed, though. He’d talk to you about school and how he wanted to leave.

“You’re lucky you’re in school,” you said, watching Tommy smoke a cigarette. You were never a fan if them, seeing as your mother died of fucking lung cancer. “You have to stay,”

“I’m not built for it though. They’re all so boring,” he said, blowing the smoke away. “If only I could work like you. Why are you dressed so nicely anyway?”

“The owner told me to work,” you shrugged, pulling the strap of your dress back on your shoulder. “Johnny asked the boss if I could help him with the girls and management, but he said no. Wanted me to work because it will bring more money in,” you bitterly replied. “I want to go to school but the fucking boss wanted me to present myself as a Cherry Girl. You wanna know what that is?”

“What?”

“A fucking virgin.” you shrugged. “Said many men will pay for someone like me. Today’s my first night and Johnny cried a little bit when he saw me. I’d kill and die to go to school, Tom.”

“Shit, love, I’m sorry. I was being insensitive,” he offered. “Hm, maybe you’ll bag one rich man you know? Some rich bloke from London and he’ll take you. Besides, at least you smell nice,”

“This shit is awful,” you countered, sighing. You blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. “Fuck, I said I wasn’t going to cry tonight.”

“Hey,” he said, sitting closer to you. He wraps your arm around you and lets you stay there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll stay in school and do well, okay? I’ll study so hard; I’ll take you out of here. Let you live in a mansion with lots of space to run in. Fuck, I’m sorry, love,”

“It’s not your fault, Tommy,” was your weak reply. “I’m just…I told myself that I would never be like my mother and now, I am,”

“You’re not her,” he whispered, tightening his arms around you.m, never mind if the grease and sweat of his clothes mixed with your perfume. “You’re not her.”

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1906

“Fuck, Tom. You can’t stay here while I’m working,” you scolded. You were lying, you appreciated the fact that Tommy was here. He’ll wait until you finish your shift, until you meet your quota. It was always quick, though. You had a rich patron that covered your every living expense.

“My patron’s coming,” you told him, and he tenses. He remembered the way you cried to him after your first ever shift last year. How some old fuck didn’t even bother. He finished and threw you some coins. He remembered his rage when you told him about this new guy. He’s quite scary but he pays the most, you said. “He doesn’t like seeing me with other men,”

“I’m a man now?” he quips, a smirk on his lips. “It’s not like I can afford it. I’m broke. Besides, I’ll act like a bodyguard, yeah? All I ask for payment is a day out with you. Aunt Poll is cooking something on Sunday. Want you to eat something that’s not whatever is being cooked here. We can go on a picnic. I met a girl who worked at this mansion, and they have lots of flowers in the garden. Shit you’ll like,”

You offered him a slight smile, nodding.

“Will your aunt be okay with…me eating your food?” you asked. Tommy took notice of how insecurity laced your voice. His suggestions of meeting his family have always been met with resistance. He understood. Although Polly has been insisting on meeting the girl he’s been spending his time with, he couldn’t risk his father recognising you and then, treating you like trash.

“Of course. She’s been more annoying. Told my mum about the girl I’m seeing,” he said. “I’ll be the first boy to take you out, hm?”

“Shut up,” was your only reply.

Sunday comes and you asked your boss for a day off.

That day, Tommy took you to the garden with Polly’s chicken stew and his mum’s fig cake. Tommy didn’t let you work, he set down the food and opened the containers.

“The best meal you’ll ever have,” he said while you sat. “I should’ve done this earlier. What have you been eating?”

“I’m lucky enough to be fed. Johnny gets me some food out of the brothel sometimes.” you said. “Thanks for taking me here. I love it.”

“I knew it,” he said, spooning out your portion and giving it to you.

“I want to have a house with lots of flowers. Different coloured blooms all year round.” you said.

“The caretaker of the garden says that we can pick some flowers. Do you want to take some home?” he asked. You nodded, a flush on your face. How could someone not love him?

BIRMINGHAM, 1908

“How have you been my angel?” he asked, twirling your hair in between your fingers. “Can’t believe I missed you last week,” he mumbles, kissing your shoulder. You giggled. “I was in London and all I could think of was you,”

“I’ve never been to London,” you told him. “Are you going to take me there?” you asked, wide-eyed. He’s been your patron since you reached 18. He was quite younger than your usual customers. He always came to visit when you were seventeen but never looked at you. As if that made it better.

“You haven’t?” he asked. “I’ll take you there, Angel. I’ll show you the whole world. Hm?”

“You will?” you asked, faux excitement in your voice. He loved this; you knew. He loved that you were a fragile little bird in need of saving. He loved that you’d listen to him talk about his father. He’s the sappy kind. He liked to hold hands, talk, and make love. He’s paid you more than anyone else and gave you a hefty allowance. Big Johnny didn’t have to think about your safety anymore. “I want to go to the city! Buy everything that I see and just…breathe a different air,” you said.

“Fuck, baby, I’ll take you there and buy you everything you ever lay your eyes on. I’m not fucking around. I’ll take you there,”

“You will?” you asked. “I don’t like the idea of you leaving me. Did you know that? Sometimes, when you leave, I have to lock myself in my room and refuse everyone,” you lied. You locked yourself in because your quota was already met. You were just saying these things to keep him coming back. A little bit of pretending never hurt you. It meant a bigger tip, more money.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Of course,” you said. “You’re my hero…”

Somehow, you didn’t find yourself lying when you told him. You felt dirty, you felt like your mother when she thought your father would give her the world. But Simon paid big money to have you alone for multiple nights a week.  No other customers were to ask for services.

“I’m your hero, alright…you’re my little bird. I’m dead set on taking you with me to London. Once I get my inheritance, I’ll show you the world and get you out of these slums.”

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1909

“You don’t have to do this anymore,” Tommy said. You were well enough to have your own place somewhere near the docks now. Johnny had given you some furniture that the house wasn’t using anymore, helping you fix the tables and the chairs that you would be using.  You didn’t have to live at the brothel anymore and it was all thanks to Simon.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tommy,” you chuckled. “Do you like my place?” Tommy looked around, flowerpots littered your house.

“I’m serious.” he asked. “I’ll have you safe in Small Heath,”

“And my job? What will pay for this place? I finally have enough space for my flowers.” you asked. “I can’t just leave. Come on, you have to see the view on my balcony.”

You dragged Tommy’s hand to the balcony to show him the view. You were a little far from the docks now but from your balcony you can see it. The blue water, the usual chaos…you were smiling so freely, so beautifully. Tommy stills, unspoken words lingering in the air. You could realise it too…you’ve been realising it slowly. The world was in your hands. You could seize it if you wanted it. It fills Tommy with determination. It pumps through his veins, and it rings in his ears. Determination, consistency, and power. Three things to play with the world…three things that he’ll have. He could get you a bigger house. If he played right, he could have it all.

“This is why I got this place,” you said. “I mean, there were others but the view of the docks…I used to think everything about it was so ugly, you know? So grey, so evil…so grotesque but from the vantage point, everything is different,” a soft smile played on your lips when you let go of Tommy’s hand. He already missed your touch. “I can’t leave my job now because I wouldn’t have this,”

“I’ll work for it,” he says proudly.

“Tom, I know you’re not happy with how I earn money. Fuck, I’m not happy too. I hate that job. I know you hate it when I turn down your offer. But I have nothing else. You have to support your siblings. Don’t you get it? We’re all whores, Tom. We just sell different parts of ourselves. Mine just so happens to be my body.”

It enrages him and you could see it. See his face fall apart, how his jaw ticked.

“I’ll do it.” he said. “I’ll fucking do it. You think I’m fucking around when I tell you that I’ll protect you? I will. I’ll make a name for myself and protect you. I’ll fucking protect you; I swear on my life.”

“I know you will, Tom,” you said, inching closer. “But can’t you just be happy for me? This once?”

“We could add a little chair right here,” he relented. How could he ever tell you how much he hated himself for not being enough right now?  “I’ll bring some of Polly’s flowers. You’d let me stay here?”

“Only if you’re being nice,”

“What if I’m too tired to make the trip back to Small Heath? Can I stay here?” he asked.

“Sure,” you shrugged. “But only if you have food for me or something,”

“Or something? You’re not letting me stay for free? I’m your best mate,” he chuckled. “I mooch off you all the time,”

“You have more than I do. It’s time for me to mooch off on you,”

“Yeah? Well, I want yours,” he said. “I’m glad though…that you don’t have to live there anymore. You’re safer here,”

“Thank you, Tom,” you smiled, sitting by the railing of your balcony. “I’m glad too.”

“I’ll make sure you’re protected,” he promises.

“How?”

“I’ll protect you.”

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1910

Tommy gave you the number of his telephone years ago. You were shaking, something bad had happened and you didn’t know who else to turn to. Big Johnny was too busy breaking up fights in the bar beside the brothel. You walked home shakily. Tommy called the brothel earlier to tell you that he couldn’t make it tonight because of some gang business. It was fine, of course. So, you went to the market to buy some supplies. You just didn’t know that he would be there.  

You were waiting for someone to pick up the phone, biting your perfectly manicured nails.

“Who’s calling?” a woman asked from the other line. Her tone was snippy, and you knew she meant business.

“Hi,” you cleared your throat. “I’m looking for Tommy Shelby?”

“Who is this?” she asked, confused as to why a woman would suddenly call Tommy in such a manner. She was used to Tommy’s girls calling, an embarrassment usually hinted when they spoke. But this new girl had no shame.

“I’m a friend of Tommy’s,”

“Tommy has many girlfriends. You’re going to have to be specific,” she said, intrigued.

“Oh, of course,” you said. You told her your name. “Is he there?”

“Tommy!” you could hear her voice call. “Some girl is on the phone for you!”

“What, Poll?” he asked, scowling.

“Pick up the phone, Tom. Your friend is asking for you,” she said, passing the phone to him. She didn’t leave the room immediately, sitting on the nearby chair instead to listen in.

“Tommy Shelby,” he says, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Tommy,” you whispered. “He was there…he was there.”

“Who, love?” Tommy asked. Polly noticed how his voice softened, how his stance relaxed. “Do you need me there?”

“He was one of my customers before,” you forced out. “He was always…rude and rough,” you choked. “I hate this fucking job, Tommy. I fucking hate it and he treated me like an object today just because he paid for my services years ago,” you sobbed. “I’m sorry. I know you were busy but I fucking hate it,”

“Shh…it’s okay, love. It’s okay. I’m going over there, and you could tell me,” he said. “Will that be alright?”

“I—yes,” you nodded, wiping your tears hastily. “I got some of your favourite fruit from the market today. Didn’t know you have an expensive taste,”

He chuckled softly.

“I’ll see you, alright?” he asked. “Keep the doors locked. I have my copy,”

“Okay, Tommy. Stay safe for me?” you asked.

“Of course.” Tommy put down the phone until he heard you end the line. He sighed and went to go get his coat until he saw Polly with an eyebrow raised. “Fuck, I didn’t see you there,”

“Who would? You were too lovestruck to notice anything,” she teased. “That’s the girl you’ve been seeing?”

“We’re friends, Pol,” he clarified.

“She’s the girl from the docks, then?” she asked. Tommy nodded. “Fuck, that’s rough. She’s a whore,”

“Don’t,” he said, an edge to his voice. “Don’t call her that. I’m trying to build something for all of us, Pol. For her. She hates her job…she fucking hates it and I can’t do anything about it,”

“You don’t have to save her, Tom. You can’t save everyone,” she said but she knew that Tommy was stubborn. Everything that she’ll say will fall on deaf ears.

“It’s all her,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll get her out of there if it’s the last thing I do.”

The walk to your place was unnerving. Thoughts swarmed in his head. If he only had it in him to murder the man who dared to look at you. He’s never made peace with how you earned your money, but he still happily showed up after every shift. You never talk about your customers, and he didn’t like to ask.

“Tommy, you’re here,” you greeted. He could see how swollen your eyes were; how red they were.

“Of course, I am,” he replied. “Are you okay?” He hangs his coat on the coat rack and walks towards the couch where you were seated.

“I am now,” you sniffed. “I’m sorry for making you worry but this job…people reduce me to such an object. I didn’t even know his name, you know?”

“I know, love.” he said, his heart beating inside his chest. What was it? What was the beating?

“Tommy, I’m going to make a request. It’s absurd and we haven’t done it yet…”

“What?” he whispered, unsure.

“Can-can you hold me?” you asked. “You don’t have to but…I have no semblance of what it’s like to be loved anymore. I want to pretend. At least for tonight, somebody out there loves me.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said. “You’re my friend. Of course, I love you.”

You only smiled, snuggling closer to Tommy. You were his friend…only a friend. How else would he look at you differently? You still had to pretend because the love that he was willing to give was not the love that you were looking for.

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1911

Multiple knocks on your door woke you up. Someone was screaming your name outside and you felt yourself panic. You took the gun that Tommy gifted you last year and crept down the stairs. You opened the door slowly to reveal two men—one older and one younger. The younger one had a smirk playing on his lips while the other looked panicked.

“Who are you?” you asked, tightening the gun behind your back.

“Arthur Shelby,” the one with the beard replied. You nodded. “I’m Tommy’s older brother. This is John,”

“Where…where’s Tommy?”

“He asked us to come get you,” John replied. “We mean no harm.”

“What happened to him?” you asked. “Come in,”

The brothers entered your house and watched you lay your gun on the table. An unspoken threat.

“Tommy’s not in a good place,” Arthur replied. “Well, he’s asking for you. He’s having these…episodes. I don’t fucking know what thr fuck they’re called but sometimes, he calls for you when he shuts down,”

“It's even worse today,” John added. “Our mother died,”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” you said, offering a small smile. “Will you let me dress better? I’ll come with you,”

You met the brothers outside of your house, your gun secured on your skirt.

“Are you Tommy’s whore?” John asked as you walked.

“John!”

“I’m not his fucking whore,”

“So, why is he always at the brothel by the docks?” he pressed.

“We met when we were kids. Your dad used to visit the brothel with him,” you shrugged. “I never understood why your father took him there all the time. It’s a dangerous place,”

“Why were you there?”

“My mother worked there. I was born there. I grew up there,” you shrugged. “Tommy was my only friend growing up. Your father stopped coming but Tommy still managed to show up,”

“I see,” Arthur replied. “You’re the girl who gave him toy horses when we were kids, then. He never let us touch them. Even now, he has them lined up on his wall,”

“Yeah, I was. I gave it to him a week after my mother died,” you recalled.

“I’m sorry for calling you his whore,” John said. He realised now that your relationship with Tommy was deeper. It was more meaningful than he realised.

“It’s okay,” you let out a small smile. “It’s a fair assumption,”

Minutes of silence passed by, and your group stopped in Watery Lane. You’ve never been in his house before; you never had the time to do so. You were also quite ashamed to show yourself. How could you prove that you weren’t after Tommy’s money if that's exactly what you are after men?

The door of the house opens, and you assume it was Polly. The same woman who you talked to on the telephone before.

“He’s in his room upstairs. Last door to the left,” she said.

“Thank you,” you rushed to where Tommy was. You didn’t bother to stay and eavesdrop. You were there for Tommy. You knocked on his door slightly.

“Stay the fuck away from my door or I will kill you,” he shouted. You cracked the door open slightly.

“It’s me, Tom,” you said. He rose from his bed and rushed towards you, flinging his arms around you. He pulled you closer. “Hi,”

“She’s dead,” he murmurs against your hair. “My mum’s dead. My dad left. I didn’t even like him, you know? He always hit the three of us. I thought it would be better if he just fucking left but my mum died because he left. Now, I don’t have her.”

“I’m so sorry, Tommy,” you said. You knew he was still struggling after his father left many months ago. He was shaking in your arms, trying to grasp you tightly. Trying to be closer.  “I’m so sorry,”

“I…I don’t know what to do,” he said. “You never got to meet her. She’d love you; you know?”

“That makes us even,” you saw a small smile on his lips. “I’m here now, Tom. You could rest,”

“You’ll still be here when I wake up?” he asked meekly, like a child.

“I’ll be here,” you nod, caressing his cheek softly. He nods, yawning after he evened out his breathing.

“Shit, love. I’m so tired,” he yawned again. “Let’s both go to sleep. We deserve it. I’ll see you when I’m awake?” he asked, adjusting your position on his small bed.

“I’ll see you,” you confirmed, snuggling closer to him.

-

“Tommy’s playing a dangerous game,” Polly commented from downstairs. It has been met with no resistance.

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1914

“Good afternoon, Pol,” you smiled. You were invited for Sunday dinner, and you decided to bring cake from the bakery that Tommy liked. You’ve only met them last year, but you’ve become such an integral part of their family that people knew you were closely associated with them. Even Simon.

“Oh, you didn’t have to bring cake,” she said. “We’d rather you spend it somewhere,”

“It’s alright,” you said. “I wanted to do something nice,”

“Keeping Tommy levelheaded is nice enough. Seriously, what did you do?” Ada asked, chopping the vegetables. She was reluctant at first but now, she couldn’t go a week without ranting to you. Girls’ night is what she called them.

“I don’t know,” you chuckled. “May I help?”

“If you could kindly chop the carrots, please,” Polly said. You set yourself and rolled your sleeves, peeling the carrots first. “Tommy and the boys went out for a while. They said it was some business with the Blinders. While they’re out, how are you?”

“Oh,” you nodded. “Me?”

“Of course. Ada has been talking my ear off about some guy she’s so secretive about,” she scoffed.

“I’ve been working less,” you confessed. “I’m helping out on the counter. Helping Big Johnny with the money and the accounts. I work a few times a week now. Simon’s been frequenting the brothel and well, you know what Simon does. It helps that he doesn’t stay long. The brothel pays me for my assistance. I can buy you cake every week now,”

“Don’t do that. Finn will be spoiled rotten,” Ada says. “Besides, you deserve nice things for yourself, you know,”

“I know but I can’t help it,” you said with a soft smile. “I like doing nice things for you,”

The boys soon come through the door, spilling with laughter. Tommy makes a beeline towards you as soon as he spots you.

“How was the afternoon?” you asked, bumping your hips with him.

“It was good,” he said. “Finn got into a fight with some kids, and we had to deal with it.”

“Is Finn okay? I brought cake.”

“Just a bruised ego,” he chuckled. My favourite?”

“Of course,” you said. “But let’s pretend that it’s for Finn, alright?”

“It’s always for Finn,” he groans. “He has you wrapped around his finger,”

“He does. He’s such a charming kid,” you praised. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Taking a bath before dinner. You have me for now,” Tommy said. “Can I sleep at your house later?” he asks in a softer tone. He’s been sleeping at your place ever since last year. He said you make him sleep better.

“You know it’s never a problem,” you said. His presence made you feel safe. He made you feel secure. “Will we leave together?”

“Yes. I’d like to sleep as soon as possible,” he says, dropping his forhead on your shoulder. You only chuckled. “I’m so tired. So, so tired,”

“Who are they fooling?” Ada asked in whispers. “Are we sure they’re best mates?”

“They’ve insisted on it for years,” Arthur shrugged. “I don’t think they’re aware,”

“I don’t think so either,” John says. “But Tommy throws a fit whenever she has to meet that Simon prick. Calls him a rich bastard.”

“He is a rich bastard,” Ada nodded. “She says he just came into his inheritance. Ammunitions,”

“Shit. She hit the jackpot, then,” John commented. “Wonder how that’s gonna go?”

“There’s nothing to wonder, John,” Arthur says. John could only nod his head.

-

You stumbled inside your house around half past midnight. You were both quite tipsy, having drank Pol’s stocks of wine. The Shelby Company Ltd. has been gaining more popularity now, along with the Blinders. Hell, Tommy even posted two Blinders to guard you. “For when I’m not around,” he said.

“Pol’s going to kill me for giving Finn too much cake,” you giggled, leaning on him.

“I reckon you’re banned from Sunday dinners,” Tommy jokes, taking his shoes off. He takes note of how you’re dressed today. “You know you can remove all the fucking things on your body right? Rouge…the jewels. Where’d you get them? Is the rich bastard buttering you up?”

“I like it. Dressing up makes me happy,” you frowned. “I’m allowed to like nice things, right?”

“Right,” his jaw ticked. It should be him who's giving you these gifts…showing you a lavish life. He hated it. “Later?”

“Later,” you nodded. “When I’m banned from Sunday dinners, you wouldn’t let me be left out, right?”

“‘Course not,” he shrugged, pulling you to your bedroom like he owned the place. You didn’t mind. You were happy to see that he was comfortable in your home. “You’re my best girl.”

“That’s what you say to your horses,”

“You’ve got really good horse sense and you’re always on your high horse,” he says, peeling his coat away. He was rummaging in your chest now, looking for clothes he might have left until he settled on a simple white shirt and pyjama pants.

“Yeah, yeah. You and your horse wordplay.” You entered the bathroom to dress down. Just like Tommy, you settled in his shirt and pants. They were more comfortable than singlets and you certainly didn’t want to make Tommy uncomfortable.

He was already waiting for you on the bed when you came back. He pats the space beside him. You obliged. You were looking into each other’s eyes with small smiles, Tommy’s finger trailing down your arm absentmindedly.

“I…” words died in his throat before he could get them out. “I…”

“What is it, Tom? Are you okay?”

“I’ll get you out of here,” he rasps. “I’ll get you out of there and I won’t let you work a day in your life anymore.”

“Tommy,” you sighed. “I can’t—can’t leave this job. It’s all I have,” He tightens his arms around you, afraid that you’ll ask him to let go.

“I know but once I come back from the war—“

“The war?” you asked, removing his arms around you. “War?”

“We enlisted,” he clarifies, trying to gauge your reaction. “Once I come back, I’ll be so fucking rich. I’ll have you. I’ll keep you and you won’t have to lift a finger. We’ll live in a mansion and have servants. Just like what we used to talk about,”

“Tommy, you’re going to war?” you asked, standing from the bed. His eyes watched you settle down shakily on the single chair by the bed. “Fuck. You’re going to war. You’re going to leave me,”

“No, love. Come on, I—“ he grunts, sitting up from his relaxed position.

“It’s war, Tommy! They change people…I don’t want to lose you; do you not get that? Are you not happy here? Is that why you're throwing your life away?”

“I’m not throwing my life away,” he says, a frown. “We’ll be drafted one way or another because we’re poor. Might as well do it now than be forced. Some of my men will still watch over you every now and then. They’ll still make sure that you’re safe. We’ll send letters. Alright?”

“Letters,” you scoffed. “And what if the letters stopped coming?”

“Don’t say that, please,” he begs. “I’m doing this for all of us. The business will be handled by Polly and when I’m back, I’ll make it even bigger. Alright? You have to trust me,” You didn’t even want to ask about the business. You didn’t want to ask why more men wore peaky caps. You didn’t want to ask what the Shelby Company Ltd. really was. Not now.

“I know you will, Tom,” you said. “But I’m scared. For the first time since I’ve known you, you won’t be here. I’m scared,”

Tommy lays his hand on your shoulder. Words he couldn’t say lingered in the air. I’ll marry you once I step foot in England. He didn’t know what else to say; didn’t know if there was still something to say. So, he kneels before you and makes you look at him. You were crying. So afraid, so alone.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“When will you be leaving?”

“I have two more days,” he says. “Will I still see you?”

“Yes, of course,” you said. “You’ll come back for me?”

“Of course. I have a picture of you already in my pocket. I have to make sure to come back to you,” he said. “and everyone else, of course.”

He fishes a necklace from his pocket, his mother’s locket.

“Here,” he said, showing it to you. It was one of the last pieces of jewellery she owned. “Mum gave it to me. You know I’ve always worn it. I want you to wear it now. Think of it as a loan, yeah? You’ll give it back once we see each other again,”

“Tommy, I—“

“I want you to accept it. I want you to see you wear it now. I want to see you wear it before I leave. But most of all I want for us to stay the same,” he says, holding you and kissing your hair softly. You couldn’t push him away. You’ve longed for this your whole life. To be held, to feel loved. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“I’m sorry. So, so, so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think you’re wasting your life away,” you cleared your throat. “I’m so—I’m so proud of you and your bravery. I’m so proud of you but I can’t be fucking happy for you. I don’t want to wake up every day knowing that you’re not here. I don’t want to have to guess if you were alive or not.”

“I am,” he promises. “I’ll be alive. I’ll come back as your Tommy. Just…wait for me, alright?”

You clung onto Tommy two days later by the train. He whispered that he would come back. He said that he will make sure of it. He breathes in the smell of your hair—roses. He envelopes you in his arms once more and turns to leave, never looking back. You knew, in your hysterics, that if he comes back from the war, the same old Tommy you used to know would never be.

PART 2 PART 3

TAGLIST:  @shelbydelrey @runnning-outof-time @duckybird101 @thenattitude @swordofawriter @litteltourtius​ @trixie23​ @everythingelseisextra​

[yellowpsyduck]

𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warning: Smut

Her dress was white like the Arctic Snow. 

Her cheeks were red like the Chrysler Imperial. 

A glance was all it took for one to deduce that Y/N Elliot stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the sea of greys in the grimy streets of Birmingham. 

With her short tight curls and her eyes that seemed untinged with the horrors that plagued the notorious English town, she was a sight to behold. 

Mr. Elliot was the preacher at the local Presbyterian Church, but his daughter evoked the urge to sin in the minds of the lads of the town.

 And again, a glance was all it took for one to fixate upon this seemingly other worldly apparition that roamed the streets of Birmingham with her teasing smile and her plump red lips. 

And Thomas Michael Shelby was no exception. 

Soon the occasional glances that he threw her way should they ever cross paths turned into waiting by the front of her house to escort her to finishing school, much to the dismay of the girl’s father. 

The young Elliot girl was infatuated with the older man. The boys that previously courted her couldn’t hold a candle to his suave. With his cigarettes and his well pressed suits, Tommy Shelby was simply a dream come true for the impressionable girl. 

She couldn’t care less about her parents’ disapproval of their relation, nor did she care about what the towns folk had to say. 

‘He loves me, and I love him and that’s all that matters’ she assured herself each night. 

The two soon became inseparable, the leader of the Peaky blinders even barged inside the school and pulled his darling out of the classroom simply because he ‘missed’ her. The teachers and staff knew better than to obstruct the infamous gangster. 

The two went to the fair that day. He bought her all the dainty little trinkets that her heart desired. She didn’t go easy on the spending too; she knew his pockets wouldn’t hurt from her silly purchases. 

And for his kind generosity, she rewarded him with her first kiss. 

A simple kiss on the lips; that’s how it started but it soon turned heated and passionate. 

It goes without saying that she lost her purity to him, right in the backseat of the black Ford. 

Still clad in her school attire, she sat on his lap with his hands encircling her lithe waist. 

He left a trail of kisses down her exposed collarbone, his hands working to unbutton her shirt which her mother had carefully pressed that morning. 

The chemise underneath soon found itself discarded on the floor of the vehicle. 

Her pink coloured bra was on full display for him. The more conservatively fashioned fabric did little to hide the fullness of the plump breasts underneath. 

Her breath was shallow as she looked at him with those beautiful doe eyes of hers. 

Her cheeks tinted with arousal and her eyes misty with desire. 

She was a sight to behold as she guided his hand to cup her left breast, telling him that she was ready. 

Tommy couldn’t contain himself any longer and his fingers found themselves unclasping the fabric that shielded her modesty. He sucked with urgency on her perky nipples while he kneaded the other, giving equal attention to both of those glorious mounds. 

Y/N was a squirming mess. She loved the feeling of his hot mouth as he showered her with his touch.  

She could feel her panties dampen with each passing second. No boy had ever made her this hot and bothered. 

She needed more of him. She needed his touch. 

Tommy could feel the wetness on his thighs as the girl began grinding herself on his thighs. 

“Eager, aren’t we?” he teased with a raspy drawl. 

God! This girl was driving him crazy. 

He continued trailing his kisses down her stomach and halted at the waistband of her skirt. 

He swiftly tossed the heavy garment aside along with her garter and knickers. 

She was on full display for him. For him and his eyes only. 

He couldn’t peel his eyes off her body. 

She had bewitched him.  

Sure, Thomas Shelby had been with his fair share of women before her, but he had never felt so strongly for any woman before, nor did he think he could ever. 

Not after this. 

Not after her. 

His thumb slid across her clit, eliciting a beautiful moan from her. 

Gently, he prodded her glistening hole with a finger. 

She was too tight. 

He thrusted his finger inside her as she coated him in her lewd liquid. 

Now two fingers. 

He was thrusting her insides with just two fingers, yet it completely filled her up. 

She was a panting mess. 

She could feel his now bulging erection poking against her bare butt. 

Just as she could find her release, he extracted his fingers from the throbbing pussy, making her cry in desperation. 

“Tommy please.” she purred as she met his pale blue irises. She was a whimpering, desperate mess. 

“Just a minute darling.” he assured her as he hurriedly unbuckled his belt and freed his pulsating swollen cock. 

Y/N wasn’t sure how he was going to fit his fat cock inside her tight pussy, but she didn’t care anymore. All she wanted was for him to fill her up and make love to her. 

He carefully lined his cock that was leaking with precum to her entrance and gently entered her hole.  

Just the tip was in and even then, Y/N was threatening to spill teardrops from her lustful eyes. 

“It’ll only hurt for a second, Darling.” he whispered in her ear as he forced himself inside of her virgin cunt. 

Y/N was seeing stars. 

Oh! The pain and the pleasure; both feelings intertwined as she felt him thrusting inside of her giving rise to this otherworldly feeling of ecstasy. 

Tommy couldn’t control himself inside of her as he pounded into her. 

Her tight pussy was driving him mad with pleasure. 

He could see the scarlet testament of her purity flowing down her thighs as he corrupted her innocence. 

She was his. 

No one else’s. 

The two continued their lovemaking, completely engulfed in the throngs of their union.  

That night, as they lay in the meadow on the English countryside, with his hands around her and her head on his chest, they looked up at the sky that bear witness to their passions.  

And that faithful day, Thomas Shelby made a woman out of Y/N Elliot. 

[soracities]

if we should protect children because they are vunerable, this means you would protect cruel children who bullies people who different than them then. the children who responsible to trauma for someone else's entire years

You're assuming that "protecting" children is the same as absolving them of responsibility and that's not what I said. All children are vulnerable, because all children are children; they don't come out of the womb with a perfectly working moral compass anymore than they come out of it waiting to hurt people--they're vulnerable because their understanding of the world is entirely at the mercy of what we, as adults, consistently tell them and show them. Children behaving cruelly aren't exempt from that--they learn that cruelty from somewhere, or someone. Your job, as the adult, is to make sure they understand that it's unacceptable so it will not happen again--but your job is also to ask why someone that young is behaving this way to begin with, so you can ensure they become better.

"Protecting" kids is not ignoring when they hurt or torment others, it's not refusing to teach them consequences or right from wrong, it's not "zero tolerance" policies in schools that treat a child being bullied and the child bullying them as equal instigators, and it's certainly not protecting them from recognizing, and atoning for, the pain they have caused someone else. You don't have to make peace with the now-adults who hurt you when you both were kids, but you cannot let the horrors of your own childhood impact how you treat or respond to the children living theirs around you right now, either.

You don't protect kids so they can get a free pass for bullying or tormenting another child. You protect them because kids are impulsive, emotionally reactive, and profoundly social (which means deeply impressionable) human beings who are still learning & processing insane amounts of information every day about what it means to be alive, to be alive as yourself, to be alive as yourself with other people. Protecting them is realising that you can't isolate the responsibility of a 10 year old from the bigger responsibility of the literal grown adults around them, adults who are in charge of teaching them about the world and how to behave in it. Whether you have children of your own in the future or not is completely irrelevant to this; we all become those adults eventually--no matter what happened to us as kids.

[theemporium]

[REQUESTS OPEN]

happy birthday to @upsidedownwithsteve​!! this is a day late but we are gonna avoid that. enjoy some good ol’ danny ric smoot :) and we are gonna just pretend these are characters in drive to survive rather than real people💀ANYWAYS ENJOY!!

[6.7k] or, in which you and daniel have always hated each other. but maybe that’s just an excuse to avoid how you really feel about each other. (smut)

.

Daniel Ricciardo knew he was hot shit. 

He was young. He was successful. He was loving life and his life just so happened to be his dream. 

F1 Driver for Red Bull Racing. 

Daniel Ricciardo was one of those faces that everybody knew at the paddock. He was fun and playful and had a smile so wide, it was infectious. He was sunshine personified, the human embodiment of positivity and truly it was hard to not get along with the Aussie. 

Except when it came to you. 

And it drove Daniel mad. 

Daniel couldn’t even remember the first time you met, or even when the moment clicked that neither of you liked the other. It was just the way it had always been and everyone in the paddock knew that. The drivers knew it, the mechanics knew it, even the journalists knew it. 

You and Daniel Ricciardo did not get along. 

It was just a shame that you seemed to be best friends with everyone else on the grid except him. And maybe that was what pissed him off, maybe that was what made his jaw clench a little whenever he saw you laughing and walking down the pit lane with some of the other drivers. 

Or maybe, deep down, Daniel was jealous. 

He was fucking jealous he was not getting your attention, and he hated that when he did, all he got with snarky remarks and harsh glares. He didn’t get sweet, sunshine smiles or soft, lingering touches. He got the rough exterior, he got the six-foot walls you guarded yourself with and yet, despite everything, a part of him still wanted you.

It was inconceivably stupid but he couldn’t change it. 

“Oi, practice starts in fifteen, get to the garage!” 

“Alright, just coming!” 

Headphones slipped over his ears and music pumping through, Daniel made his way towards the garages ahead of the first practice of the weekend. It was a new season, he was feeling good and testing had been brilliant for the team, for both him and Max. He was on a high, with his race suit tied around his waist and his fingers aimlessly tapping along surfaces as he passed, there was little that could damper his mood. 

Until he saw you walking towards the McLaren garage, which was unfortunately situated beside the Red Bull garage, animatedly chatting away to Lando Norris with a wide smile on your face. 

It wasn’t an unusual sight nor was it shocking, but that did nothing to fuel the bitter feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

You worked for McLaren, starting a couple of years ago. You were a good friend of Lando Norris, having known him before you ever stepped foot into the world of motorsport. Talented and impressionable, it didn’t take long for the team at McLaren to snatch you up when they could. With a camera in your hands, you were a powerful force. 

He had worked with you in his two unfortunate years at McLaren. He had seen what you were like with the people you worked with, he saw how much of a team player you were. It was just a courtesy that was never extended to him. 

Even after he left, all you could offer him was a strained smile and a wish of good luck in his new team. 

And yet, there you were laughing away at something the Brit said like it was the funniest thing you had ever heard. 

Daniel wasn’t bitter, not at all. 

“Danny Ric!” A familiar voice called out and it was hard to bite back the smile growing on his face. 

“Lil Norris!” 

He didn’t have much time before the younger driver was speeding towards him, his laugh already echoing through the paddock and the cameras around them picking up on the wholesome moment shared between the former teammates. But Daniel’s eyes were focused over Lando’s head, where you stood a few feet away now entranced by something on your phone instead of them. 

“Not gonna even say hi, sunshine?” Daniel called out because maybe he was in fact a little shit, and maybe he enjoyed pushing your buttons too. 

“Hi, Ricciardo,” you replied bluntly, with no hint of amusement or interest in your voice.

Lando only snickered in response. 

“Thought the new season would brighten you up a little,” he continued. Some would argue Daniel didn’t really learn his lesson, nor did he know when to stop. But he knew exactly what he was doing. He was just playing the game, just as you were. He just wanted to make sure he ended up on top. 

“You thought wrong,” you retorted and this time you lifted your head from your phone screen, sarcasm dripping from your words even when you flashed him a pretty smile. “But I guess that’s not unusual for you, is it, sunshine?”

Daniel’s eyes narrowed on you. 

“It’s like nothing’s changed,” Lando remarked, staring between the two of you with an amused smile. He had gotten fairly used to this behaviour when Daniel was in McLaren, it was no surprise that it continued after he left. 

You only rolled your eyes before focusing on the younger driver. “C’mon, I wanna take some photos before practice.” 

“Trying to run away from me?” Daniel teased, prodding and poking because he just wanted a reaction—no, he needed a reaction from you. 

“Always,” you stated bluntly as you tried to move past him, letting Lando catch up with you on his own time, but the Australian driver was quick to step in front of you.

He knew you couldn’t create a scene with all the cameras and journalists around you, and you knew that too. But that didn’t hide the irritation that flashed across your face as you tried to side step him, only for him to repeat the action. 

“Are you done yet?” you retorted, hating the way your eyes lingered on his smile for a little too long. 

“Hm, not yet,” he murmured as he glanced down at you, having a good few inches on you. He wasn’t even shy about his wandering eyes, the glint of mischief that could always be linked with Daniel Ricciardo. But being on the receiving end of said look made you shudder—whether it was in disgust or something deeper you didn’t wish to admit, that was a whole other story. “I’m enjoying the view.” 

“Fuck you,” you sneered, nose scrunched up in annoyance as you shrugged the strap of your camera bag further up your shoulder. 

“Begging now, are we, sunshine?” Daniel quipped back, a wide grin spread across his face and you hated how attractive he looked. 

“Asshole,” you grumbled as you finally pushed past him, not even glancing back at the cocky driver or to see if the young Brit was following you. Your gaze was focused ahead on the papaya garage that was about thirty seconds away from where you were standing. 

“You know, this whole thing you’ve got going on with her is cute and all, but it would just be easier to tell her you like her.” 

Lando’s voice broke him out of his trance, his head snapping away from your retreating figure and instead turning towards his friend. It was always easy to get along with Lando, they were similar in so many manners and, in some ways over the two years they spent together, he had become like a little brother to Daniel. A younger version of himself even. He adored it most of the time. 

But right now, he couldn’t help but scoff at the teasing, little shit Lando was. 

“I don’t like her,” Daniel denied adamantly, squaring his shoulders back as he said so. 

“You sure about that?” Lando snapped back, eyebrows raised in questioning. “Because you seem to flirt a whole lot with someone you supposedly don’t like.” 

Daniel shook his head. “I just like messing with her, she’s easy to wind up.” 

“So is Jimmy from engineering but you never fucked with him this much,” Lando said, snickering a little as he slapped his friend on the back a few times. “You’ve got the hots for her, admit it.” 

“The hots?” Daniel’s nose scrunched up a little. “What are you? An eighties rom-com or something?” 

“Stop denying it.” 

“I’m denying fuck all,” Daniel said with an exasperated sigh. “I don’t like her. At all.” 

Because he didn’t. 

Was he attracted to you? Yes, the boy wasn’t fucking blind. 

But he didn’t like you. He never has over the years and he never will. He just liked messing with you, playing the game only the two of you seemed to know. That’s all it was, Lando just needed to stop reading into it so much. 

“You know that saying about little boys pulling on a girls’ pigtails to get attention?” Lando asked as he started to take a few steps back, knowing he only had a couple of minutes before he was meant to get into the car. 

Daniel frowned. “Yeah?” 

“You’re pulling on the pigtails, Danny, but that’s all you’re doing,” Lando grinned at his friend. “It’s only a matter of time before she kicks you to the side and chooses someone who can actually admit how they feel.” 

He hated the way the young driver’s words stuck in his head. 

.

As much as Daniel tried, Lando’s words never really left him and they were starting to get on his nerves. 

The season had fully kicked off, Daniel had a brilliant start with ending up in the top five for every race so far and yet, he couldn’t even fully enjoy it with Lando’s knowing glances and smug smiles hovering around every corner. 

And every time he saw you, it was like he was suddenly hyper aware of everything and anything around him, he was picking up on stuff he never usually cared about and it was getting to him, slowly but surely. 

Australia was the first bump in the road. 

It was a Thursday—media day. Everything was just kicking off, the sun was shining and the crowd were as loud and vibrant as they always were for the Australian driver. He was in a good mood, it was hard for him to feel down in his home country with so many adoring fans supporting him through every minute of the weekend. 

He had made it into the paddock, a big smile on his face and a laugh that seemed infectious to those around him. 

And then he saw it.

He didn’t recognise the man, but he saw the Ferrari logo on his shirt and he knew that fire red shirt could belong to no other team. He watched as the man smiled at you, how your attention was never drawn away from him. He saw how the man placed a hand on the small of your back as you made your way towards the motorhomes, how you didn’t even glance in his direction as you followed the Ferrari man and chatted idly away to him.

Daniel felt something quite like bitterness settling into the pit of his stomach. 

It was quickly followed by the Imola Grand Prix over two weeks later. 

It wasn’t unusual for drivers to grab breakfast together, or any other meals, especially since most of them stayed in the same hotel for the race weekends. And knowing that they would have to get up early to get to the paddock for a long day, the drivers and team members alike usually took over the hotel restaurant in the mornings. 

Today was no different. 

Daniel had made his way down to the restaurant for breakfast, feeling a little more sluggish than usual after a less-than-adequate sleep. He was restless and on edge, and he didn’t quite know why. But a meal shared with his friends was something he needed right now, and it was why he gave his usual greetings but made a beeline towards one of the tables hidden away in the corner where Max and Lando were sat. 

“You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.” 

Daniel shot the Dutchman a look. “Thanks. Just what a guy wants to hear in the morning.” 

“Someone’s grumpy,” Lando muttered from beside him, stabbing into the fruit bowl that he was undoubtedly forced to eat on race weekends as a part of his breakfast.

“Just had a shit sleep,” Daniel mumbled under his breath as he flashed the waitress a polite but strained smile as she placed his plate before him. “That’s all.” 

And yet somehow, like it was some fucking cheesy movie scene, he heard your laugh and it felt almost instinctive for his head to snap in the direction of the sound. 

It was easy to spot your bright orange shirt in the sea of red. You were sitting amongst a large group of Ferrari team members, laughing away and looking like you were friends sharing a meal rather than rivalling teams in a competitive sport. Daniel noted Charles and Carlos at the table and a few other faces he recognised, but the one that stood out like a sore thumb was the Ferrari man at your side that he saw you with in Australia. 

“Yeah,” Max scoffed from across the table. “Just a shit sleep.” 

Daniel didn’t even respond to him. “Since when is she best mates with the Ferrari team?” 

“She always has been,” Lando said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Guess she got to know them when Carlos moved.” 

Daniel’s frown deepened. 

Max’s eyes shone with childish delight. “Oh, you have a crush on her.” 

“I do not!” 

“He so does!” 

Daniel’s eyes narrowed on Lando who only flashed him an innocent grin before he turned back to Max. “I do not have a crush on her. I just think it’s weird.” 

Max looked amused. “Why?” 

“You just don’t see many team members who are friends with so many other rivalling teams,” Daniel stated simply as though it was a fact, as though it was the only reason he felt like he wanted to go back to bed and start the day all over again despite it only being an hour or so since he had woken up. “It’s wrong.” 

“You don’t seem to feel that way when she visits the Red Bull garage,” Max pointed out with a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“That’s different.” 

“How?” 

“Do you two ever just…shut up?” Daniel grumbled, eyes lingering on you for a few seconds too long before his eyes shifted down to his food, promptly ignoring the snickers of both drivers beside him. “Fucking youths.” 

“Never thought I’d see the day Daniel Ricciardo got pissy over a crush,” Max commented which only made Lando laugh harder. 

“Zip it, Verstappen.” 

Then it was in Miami. 

It was the night after the race. The air was still warm and thick, the celebrations hadn’t really stopped and Red Bull were on a high with their grand 1-2 finish. The music was bumping so loud that you could hear it from down the street, the club was full of familiar faces and close friends alike. Daniel was riding a high for a season that finally felt like was going good for him–something he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

He almost hated how quickly he noted your absence. 

It wasn’t until a few drinks later that he saw a familiar head of curls bouncing away by the DJ booth. With one hand firmly wrapped around the neck of his beer bottle, Daniel pushed his way through the crowd—smiling as people slapped his back and congratulated him on the win—before he finally made it to the other side of the club. 

He didn’t even pretend with formalities as he leaned closer to his friend, only one thing racking about in his head. 

“Where is she?” 

Lando’s eyebrows furrowed for a second before realisation dawned on him. “Missing your girl, lover boy?” 

Daniel shot him a look. “Where is she?” 

But this time Lando just shrugged, looking a bit sheepish as he replied. “I don’t know, I think she said she was catching dinner with a friend or something.” 

“A friend? Who?” 

The Ferrari man from a few weekends ago popped into his head. It did not settle the bitterness in his stomach. 

“I don’t know, mate,” Lando huffed out, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t ask because I am not a nosy shit.” The Brit stared at him for a few moments before adding. “You know, you seem to care a whole lot about her when you claim you don’t like her.” 

Daniel scoffed. “Shut up, I was just curious.” 

“You just landed a podium, mate, and instead of celebrating at your own party, you’re moping around,” Lando pointed out as though Daniel wasn’t highly aware of how pathetic it must have seemed from an outside perspective. “I think you should—” 

But Daniel was already disappearing into the crowd before he could finish. 

“Bye Lando!” 

Then Monaco arrived on the season calendar. 

The Monaco Grand Prix was always a big event. It was a historical and prestigious race, it was a fan favourite and it was the race that every driver dreamed of winning, even if they wouldn’t necessarily admit it. He remembered his win in Monaco like it was yesterday, he remembered the thrill and adrenaline pumping through his body as he crossed the line. He remembered it like a dream.

In between the galas and the events and the media duties, Daniel was buzzing to race again that Sunday. And following strong practices and a brilliant qualifying, he felt confident as he got in the car on that sunny Sunday morning. 

Though he may be partially biassed, crossing the line to secure the win for the Monaco Grand Prix for the second time in his life definitely triumphed the first. 

It was his proof, his evidence. It was his massive middle finger to those who said he was washed up and done for, it was his massive middle finger to those who judged him for his return to Red Bull. It was Daniel’s way of proving that he was still here, he was still kicking ass and he didn’t plan on stopping anytime soon. 

With Max on one side and Charles on the other, Daniel let himself stand on the top podium with his arms stretched out and his cheeks hurting with how wide he was smiling. But he didn’t care, he felt like he was on top of the world and he could do anything in that moment. 

And when he stood on the edge of the pool, Max cheering from somewhere behind him with the rest of the Red Bull team, Daniel didn’t think a single thing could make this day better.

So, it was really no surprise when the drivers had dragged him out of his apartment to celebrate his win (not that he needed much convincing). 

And it was no surprise that the majority of the Formula One world were out that night in Monaco, drowning in the luxuries and highs the country had to offer in being such a pinnacle stop on the map for the season.

And it was no fucking surprise that Daniel saw you in the club, dressed in a little black dress that was simple and nothing special, but dear god, it was so different to the bright orange shirt you usually wore that he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

He was staring. He was well aware he was staring, and the elbow digging into his side courtesy of a certain Dutch driver also told him he was staring. But he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Not after the first drink, not after the second and certainly not after any of the others. 

You sat by the bar, legs crossed over, looking so pretty as you leaned against the counter, lips wrapped around the straw of whatever fruity cocktail you were drinking and your head tilted in faux-interest as you listened to whatever the man beside you was saying. 

“For fuck’s sake, man, just go up to her!” Max yelled from his side, one arm thrown across his shoulder to stop the drunk man from stumbling too much. “You are taking the piss now!” 

“I am not taking advice from you,” Daniel yelled back, but his eyes never left you. “You’re, like, twelve!” 

“Go!” Max said and pointed towards the bar, to where the man leaned closer to you with his hand resting on your knee. “Or he’ll get her first.” 

Daniel had all but ceremoniously pushed the Dutchman to the side as he shoved through the throng of dancing strangers, his eyes focused on the bar. He didn’t think twice about his actions, and maybe if he was two drinks more sober, he would have gone about it a whole different way, but drunk Daniel was his own person with his own mouth and, apparently, his own fucking attitude. 

“Piss off, mate,” he said to the man across from you as he settled into your side, standing beside the stool you sat on with his arm leaning against the counter just behind you. In his drunken haze, he half-managed to identify the man across from you as the Ferrari man he had seen around the paddock. 

The man’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Piss. Off.” Daniel stated a lot more bluntly, the usual cheeriness to his voice was nowhere to be found. Instead, his darkened gaze met the man’s and his face remained fairly blank. “Do I need to repeat myself?” 

You looked at him, a little surprised. “Daniel–”

The man puffed out his chest. “We are having a conversation.” 

You turned to the man this time. “Jack–” 

“Listen to the lady, James,” Daniel said, and this time there was a smug grin on his face. “Fuck off.” 

It wasn’t until you shot Jack a look that he finally backed off, his hands raised in mock defeat and somewhat of a glare sent in the direction of the Australian driver, but he didn’t seem to care. Instead, Daniel waved him a mocking solute, watching the Ferrari worker get lost in the crowd at the club. 

Only then did he turn to look at you, grinning when he saw the angry pout on your lips. 

“What the fuck was that about, Daniel?” You spat at him, a little tipsy yourself and really fucking confused at the driver’s sudden behaviour. 

“You’re cute when you’re angry,” he stated, completely disregarding the question you had just asked him. “Kinda hot, to be honest.”

Your eyes narrowed on him. “You’re an asshole.” 

“Any other names you wanna call me?” Daniel teased like you were two friends bantering, like he hadn’t just stormed over and sent another man away. Like he was in any right to act the way he did. 

“Yeah, you’re a prick,” you said as your finger poked his chest as aggressively as one could when they were three pornstar martinis deep. “An entitled, arrogant, cocky prick who thinks he can do whatever the fuck he wants.” 

“Don’t stop,” he murmured, hooded eyes focused on your lips, glossy and pouty and he could bet his bottom dollar that you tasted like the mango lip balm he would always see you putting on. 

“And you are just so full of it!” you huffed out as you turned in your stool to face him, not even noticing the way Daniel stood between your legs to get a little closer. “Just walking about with your head up your own arse!” 

“Keep going, sunshine,” Daniel urged, so close to you that he could smell your perfume, the hints of vanilla and something floral he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He hated how much he fucking loved that smell. 

“And you just walk around like you own the place just because you flash everyone that stupid pretty smile and I am sick of it,” you affronted with your hand now promptly splayed over his chest, your fingers teasing the buttons of his shirt and his grip on your wrist keeping the contact between you two. 

“You think I’m pretty?” Daniel spoke up, his voice was low and husky and you shouldn’t have been able to hear him. But only then it seemed to click to you now how close he was, his nose almost brushing yours and your bodies almost completely pressed together. You didn’t want him to move away. 

“Infuriatingly so,” you grumbled under your breath, eyes fluttering shut when you felt his lips brush against yours. 

“Well, sunshine, I think you’re fucking gorgeous,” Daniel whispered against your lips, his warm breath tickling your skin. “And I think that every man in this club knows that too. But you know what?” 

You swallowed. “What?” 

“I think they can look as much as they fucking want,” he said to you, so sure and certain and confident in his words. “But they can’t fucking touch.”

You could feel your heart thumping wildly in your chest. “They can’t?” 

“No, sunshine, they can’t,” he said, his free hand fitting itself against your jaw, fingers dancing along the side of your cheek and dangerously close to your lips. “I don’t let people touch what’s mine.” 

You almost scoffed. “And I’m yours, Ricciardo?” 

“Come with me and I’ll show you just who you belong to.”

“I’m not an object.” 

His lips twitched. “Baby, if you want me to get on my knees and tell you that I belong to you too, you just have to say.” 

Your cheeks flushed, your hand fisting the material of his shirt. “Stay on your two feet, Ricciardo.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

There was a pulse in the air, a brief pause in the world where the music stopped and everything froze and it was just the two of you. Lando’s words pissed him off because he was right. Because Daniel did like you, he had liked you since the first day he met you and it just infuriated him that you weren’t as simple to woo as other girls were. 

But that just made him crave you more. 

And you know, no matter what you told yourself or even told Lando on the countless nights he would tease you, that you were attracted to Daniel Ricciardo. That no matter how much you told yourself you hated him, that he was the asshole you had made him out to be in your head, that you fucking fell for that stupid smile and that stupid face and that goddamn stupid accent.

You fell for him even when you weren’t supposed to. 

Neither of you were sure who leaned in first. If it was Daniel or you or some weird mix of the both of you gravitating towards each other. Your lips met his, the music was pumping through the speakers of the clubs so loud that you could feel the bass in your teeth and suddenly you felt the need to get out of there, to feel the cold night air of Monaco against your skin and somewhere away from everyone else. 

Mumbled words and whispered promises were shared before you finally pushed him back, empty glasses left on the bar counter and your hands intertwined as you quickly made your way towards the exit. 

It was a blur to his apartment. 

Climbing into the back of the taxi, his hands all over you and his head ducked into the crook of your neck. The words he whispered in your ear and the way he seemed to paint a million different stories on what he wanted to do with you. You vaguely remembered Daniel handing the driver the cash for the ride, a heavy tip added on top before he pulled you towards his apartment complex. 

You barely had a moment to take anything in with his body pressed against your back after he placed the keys of his apartment in your hands, telling you to unlock the door as his fingers pulled the fabric of your dress higher up your thighs. 

It took an embarrassingly long time to finally get inside the apartment. 

Heels and shoes kicked to the side by the door. The buttons of his shirt being undone and pushed off his shoulders until it hit the floor. The back of his knees hitting the bed until he was seated on the edge, you standing between his legs and his hands working on unzipping your dress until it fell to the floor. 

“Fuck,” he muttered as his hands ran up the expanse of your thighs, squeezing the flesh and tugging you closer so he could press soft, feather-light kisses along your stomach. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you told him as your fingers ran through his curls, tugging his head back so he was looking up at you. 

“Demanding,” Daniel retorted with a smile as his hands dropped to the button on his trousers, quickly shrugging them off until he was left in his boxers, thigh tatted thighs on display. “You’re staring, sunshine.” 

“I’m admiring,” you corrected, hooded eyes focused on his legs rather than his smirking face. 

“C’mon,” he murmured as he pulled you closer, guiding you until you were straddling his lap, but quickly manoeuvring you onto his thigh with an ease you could only admire. “Show me how much you like ‘em.” 

Your breath hitched. “I–” 

“Don’t get shy on me now, sunshine,” Daniel said with a wolfish grin on his face. “Wanna get wild with you.” 

Your cheeks flushed. 

“Put on a lil’ show for me, baby,” he whispered with one hand on your waist, the other cradling your face so you couldn’t look away from him. “Then I’m gonna fuck you until you forget that little fucker’s name.” 

You frowned. “Jack?” 

“Don’t,” he gruffed out, his fingers digging into your cheeks. “Don’t say his fucking name. I don’t care what he is to you or who–”

“He’s just a friend,” you muttered quickly, his hand on your waist guiding you against his thigh. Your breath got caught in your throat as your clothed clit brushed against his muscular thigh. “J-Just a friend.”

“Just a friend?” he mocked, watching as your lips parted in a silent scream. “Just a friend who wants to fuck you like I’m gonna fuck you?” 

“I don’t–” your hands darted out to grip his shoulder, your hips rolling against his thigh. “I was never gonna–” 

“Oh, I know, sunshine,” he cooed as he brought you into a bruising kiss, your moans muffled by his lips as you felt the coil in your stomach tightening. “I know he can’t make you feel half as good.” 

“So arrogant,” you muttered between broken whines as your head fell to rest on his shoulder. Unable to deal with the growing pleasure, you bit down on his shoulder, his whispered praises washing over you as your orgasm washed over you. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head. 

“Danny,” you whimpered into his shoulder, muscles relaxed and body slumped against his. 

“That’s my name, baby, gonna get used to saying it a lot more tonight,” he said with that pretty smile. 

For a moment, you thought that was going to be what ended you. 

For a moment, you honestly didn’t mind if that was the way you went. 

You could feel his lips all over you. 

Along your collarbone and shoulders as he pushed the straps of your bra down. Down the valley of your chest as the undergarment was thrown somewhere else in the room. Along the plane of your stomach as his tattooed fingers worked on pulling the matching panties down your leg. 

You didn’t have it within you to stop him when the head of curls ducked between your legs, teasing your sensitive cunt to the point you were so sure your heart would fucking stop. 

But then his face was just above you again, his movements were soft and gentle as he cradled your face and kissed you. His boxers were long enough and his hard cock was free, and big, and fuck, it was kind of hard not to stare. 

“Danny,” you whimpered with a neediness he couldn’t help but grin at you. He liked you when you begged, when you clung onto his arms and looked at him like he was the only one who could give you the world. 

He liked it a lot. 

“Patience, sunshine,” he whispered against your lips, his body covering yours and the head of his cock teasing your cunt. “Gotta make sure you’re ready f’me.” 

Your eyes were wet and glossy by the time he was finished with you. His fingers stretching you out, your nails digging into his biceps and his name leaving your lips in a hushed mantra as you begged for him, as you begged for his cock. And only then did Daniel finally slide into you. 

Someone could have told you that you had spent days in between the sheets with Daniel and you would have believed them. Whenever you thought you were done, Daniel was kissing you sweetly and whispering “just one more, sunshine”, and you didn’t have it within you to say no to him. 

Whether it was with you sprawled on his king size bed, lips and teeth clashing in a messy kiss as he thrusted at a pace only an athlete with his stamina could achieve. Whether it was with your face pressed into the pillows, his hands on your ass and filthy words leaving his mouth. Whether it was with your legs thrown over his shoulders, his hands pinning your hips to the bed as he lazily lapped at you soaking, sensitive cunt until you were crying. 

Daniel Ricciardo was insatiable and you fucking loved it. 

And yet, when he woke up the next morning—though it was closer to the afternoon—the sheets were crumpled and empty, your clothes were gone and the only proof he had that the night had even happened was the faint scent of your perfume on his pillow. 

You had fucking ran off before he woke up. 

.

Daniel would be lying if he said he wasn’t hurt by your actions. 

At first, he tried to rationalise it. 

It was a sudden shift in your relationship. The two of you had been so used to spending the years at each other’s throats, that rolling around in the sheets would be a big change for anyone. Maybe you just needed a day or two to wrap your head around it, maybe you just needed some time to think things through. 

But the days passed and the next thing he knew, it was the weekend of the Baku Grand Prix.

Daniel felt a buzz in his veins as he entered the paddock, ready to see you again after weeks of nothing. All he had were the vague updates Lando would give, but those weren’t enough for him. Those updates and the memories of your shared night together could only sedate so much before he needed to see you. 

He didn’t see you on Thursday. He couldn’t even catch a glimpse of you on Friday. He actively went to the McLaren garage on Saturday in hopes of seeing you. And by the time the race had come and gone on Sunday, the paddock and teams were packed up and moving to the next race. 

The same routine followed in Canada and Silverstone. You were avoiding him and whatever feelings he had before slowly became anger. If you wanted to pretend it never happened, that was fine by him and he could respect that. 

But avoid him completely? Daniel wasn’t having that. 

It wasn’t until the Austrian Grand Prix came around—home of the Red Bull Ring—that he finally managed to catch you. 

Well, kind of. 

The moping and grumpy moods had become too much for Max and he couldn’t stand it anymore. A little bit of wine and Daniel was spilling his sorrows to the Dutchman, who then took it upon himself to concoct a plan. 

It was honestly surprising that anything planned by Max and Lando had managed to work if anyone was being honest (and in years to come, they would continue to boast about so), but maybe that was also to do with the fact you were too cautious on avoiding Daniel to notice the glint in Lando’s eyes and Daniel was too mopey to see the grin on Max’s face. 

But it all came to play the second you found yourself in Lando’s driver room, not even having a second to process the Australian already in the room before the door was locked behind you. 

“TALK ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS OR WHATEVER IT IS THAT IS MAKING YOU BOTH SO WHINGEY!” 

“OR JUST MAKE OUT AND GET IT OVER AND DONE WITH!”

“NOT IN MY ROOM!” 

You stared at the door for a moment, listening to the snickers and the retreating footsteps on the other side before you turned to face Daniel, a somewhat sheepish expression on your face. 

“Hi,” was all you could manage to say. 

“Hey,” he replied, but it was blunt and lacked any real enthusiasm. Because whilst he was thrilled to see you, to be close enough to reach out and touch you, the lingering anger he had felt over the last few weeks was still there. 

The silence was suffocating as you just stared at each other, neither one wanting to make the first move. You were almost shocked when he was the first to speak up.

“Why did you do it?” 

You looked at him, lips pressed together as you tried to come up with a response. You could have lied, you could have said a million different things that would have gotten you out of this situation but only the truth managed to slip out in a quiet voice. 

“I was scared,” you told him, watching as his blank persona dropped and a mixed look of confusion and concern crossed his face. 

“Scared?” he repeated, almost like he wasn’t sure he had heard you right. “Scared of what?” 

You didn’t say anything. 

“Talk to me, sunshine,” he whispered, his voice slightly pleading and the nickname you had craved to hear over the last few weeks was what finally broke you. 

“I was scared by how much I liked it, okay?” you said as you let out a shuddering breath. “I…I should hate you! I did hate you, or at least I thought I did and then that night…”

“That night?” Daniel prompted, risking to take a step closer to you. 

“It was so easy,” you whispered, your voice a little shaky and he didn’t think he had ever seen you look so…vulnerable before. “It was so easy to be with you, to kiss you. It was easy and it was nice and…”

“It scared you that you didn’t hate me,” he finished for you and all you could do was nod. 

Daniel closed the remaining distance between you and you didn’t fight him when his hands came up to cradle your face, both palms warm against your cheeks and those big brown eyes of his staring at you with an unreadable emotion. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, tongue darting out to lick your lips and his eyes watched the movement closely. 

“Give this a chance,” he whispered to you, a slight shake to his words like his nerves were shining through but the confidence he held in his gaze remained. “Give us a chance. You said it yourself, it was easy. I wanna make it work.” 

“Danny–” 

“Just promise me you won’t run away, sunshine,” he murmured, his nose brushing against yours and he felt something like pride bloom in his chest when he saw your lips twitch a little. “Just want you to talk to me, that’s all. Just…give me a chance to prove how easy this can be.” 

You let out a shaky breath. “You’re still arrogant.” 

His lips broke out into a grin. “I know.” 

“And cocky,” you murmured as you felt his lips ghosting yours, almost touching but just not enough. “And a real pain in my ass–” 

“And I can’t wait for you to remind me every day, sunshine,” he grinned before he kissed you. A long overdue kiss that left you breathless and flustered and your cheeks tinted pink. 

Yeah, it was easy for you to spend years hating Daniel Ricciardo. 

But it was also damn easy to fall in love with him too. 

.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 407: Wait Why Are You Running Away

Previously on BnHA: Kacchan figured out how to control his quirk upgrade and was totally chill and normal about it. Definitely not terrifying at all. He actually spent the entire chapter smiling and laughing like the wholesome little boy he is. I don’t know why Kid For One is so freaked out about it. He even politely introduced himself using his childhood nickname. Clearly he just wants to be friends with you, KFO!

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “sorry to keep you waiting, here’s the AFO and Yoichi flashback you ordered at long last” and proceeds to serve a nightmarish stew of HUMAN MISERY and RATS and STABBING and CARNAGE and SO MUCH MURDER and THE SINGLE MOST FUCKED-UP CASE OF CODEPENDENCY ANYONE HAS EVER WRITTEN. I was not even remotely prepared for any of this, and if anyone else claims that they were, I will call you a liar to your face. If this chapter had a mouth it would scream. Or just sob, ceaselessly and uncontrollably. I’m really glad Horikoshi is on break next week because that man needs to take a fucking nap. My god.

okay WOW

anyone else read the first two words and just immediately say to themselves, “oh okay, so it’s gonna be one of those chapters”? I mean, I guess we were due for a darker chapter after last week’s Kacchan Comedy Tour. but idk, I just wasn’t expecting “homeless sick prostitute with a drinking problem” levels of dark

AND SHE’S PREGNANT?!

what exactly is this manga rated again? doesn’t this backstory seem just a little bit raw for the impressionable kiddos??

has anyone actually checked in on Horikoshi recently? you know, just to make sure he is okay??

what a fun and wholesome manga this is

the lil baby arm covered in blood with the AFO hole on the palm. lying next to the dead mom hand. what an image to sear into our minds. I guess it’s been a while since he killed any dogs. gotta keep us on our toes somehow

also wasn’t expecting AFO and Yoichi to be twins! that puts an interesting spin on their relationship, because it’s usually a closer bond than even regular siblings. especially with all of that delightful shared trauma from a young age!!

yes, exactly

ohhhh this chapter is gonna hurt me, isn’t it. okay. ooooooookay. let’s do this

OH I’M SORRY, THERE’S MORE?!

Horikoshi my dude. you do realize that their mom dying in childbirth and the two of them just barely surviving and growing up as street orphans would have already been MORE than tragic enough, backstory-wise. you did not have to turn this into a freaking horror show with RATS TRYING TO EAT THEIR NEWBORN SELVES jesus christ

and THAT’S where you chose to put a one year timeskip?!

what the fuck am I reading here, you guys. no please tell me, I am actually desperate to understand

so the narrator is saying that some of the quirks manifested later in life, in “pubescent and pre-pubescent stages”, which is interesting because it’s the first time I can recall hearing about someone actually manifesting a quirk that late. maybe Deku’s old OFA cover story was more plausible than I realized

anyway so eventually it occurred to everyone that they should maybe freaking study this shit, idk. and eventually the researchers concluded that the superpowers came from a new gene that apparently isn’t human. and upon hearing that, society apparently lost its freaking mind. which is fascinating to me because it implies that the turning point wasn’t actually the superpowers themselves, but the realization of what it meant

like, so they were apparently fine with it when they thought it was a “mysterious disease”, but somehow it hit different when they learned it wasn’t actually a sickness at all, but instead the Next Step in Evolution. and it became an “us vs them” thing, as opposed to a “we have to cure these poor people” thing. damn

anyway so now Japan is a dystopia and we’re cutting to a big crowd of merc-looking dudes who are getting ready to attack some “meta freaks”, how lovely

but who is this figure in the shadows

I ask politely, as if it wasn’t already beyond obvious that this is AFO about to wreck some people’s shit

ohhhhh my god lmao

hopefully Katsuki and Deku can take the present day AFO out before he winds up looking like this. because this little fella is clearly demonic and idk if anyone can stop him

you all don’t understand. you need to run the fuck away right now

oh shit it’s already too late for them

it’s too late for any of us. it’s over. it’s all fucking over

((((；゜Д゜)))

AFO I am putting the manga down. I am backing away slowly with my hands in the air. I mean you no harm. please for the love of god have mercy

holy

“you see, we told you he wasn’t human” okay Scientific Research Group, you know what?? you win this round I guess

“HE WAS LITERALLY EVIL FROM BIRTH” HORIKOSHI SERIOUSLY ARE YOU OKAY??

HE WAS BORN AN ARROGANT BABY is literally the most terrifying sentence I have ever read

what the entire fuck

it’s a gorgeous sunny mid-November afternoon outside my window. but no matter how hard it tries, the light cannot reach this place

what kind of moron would throw a can of soda at him. officially the stupidest person we have ever seen in this manga

OH MY GOD OF COURSE IT’S HIM LMAO

(ETA: how come baby Yoichi has clothes that fit him perfectly but baby AFO is just stomping around wearing a tablecloth.)

BABY YOICHI. OH MY GOD. HOW THE HELL DID YOU GROW UP TO BE SANE AND KIND AND GOOD. THAT’S MY QUESTION THAT I NEED ANSWERED RIGHT NOW. YOU ARE LITERALLY A MIRACLE. YOU ARE AN IMPOSSIBILITY, DO YOU KNOW THAT

small and weak, but also so, so cute. all of the cuteness genes went straight to him. no wonder AFO was jealous

(ETA: just want to press pause for a second to speculate about what type of twins AFO and Yoichi are, since it has some relevance to the story, and especially to the OFA/AFO quirk lore. so! at first glance the two of them would appear to be fraternal twins, just based on the fact that they have very different appearances, and also the fact that Yoichi doesn’t have the AFO quirk – no holes in his hands, etc. identical twins are born from the same fertilized egg, so in theory they would both have the same sequence of DNA, which means Yoichi would have had the same quirk as AFO. but that doesn’t appear to be the case. so all of that points to them being fraternal, not identical.

on the other hand, there is one piece of evidence in this chapter that does support them being identical twins, and that’s the fact that per the narration, AFO absorbed most of the nutrients from their mother. a few minutes of google fu informed me that this condition is relatively rare, and only happens in cases where two twins share a placenta, which typically is only the case for identical twins. HOWEVER, for what it’s worth, there have also been rare instances where two fraternal twin placentas fuse together and become a single placenta. AND this apparently also increases the chances of one of the twins gaining more of the nutrients and causing the other twin to have a lower birth weight.

so based on the evidence here, my conclusion is that the two of them are most likely fraternal twins with a case of placental fusion. besides, you can’t tell me that stealing his baby brother’s placenta while the two of them are literally still in the womb doesn’t sound like exactly the type of BS that fetus!AFO would pull, lol.)

HEY!?!

okay?!?!?! well to be fair he did throw that soda at him

oh my god this is so fucked up. in like the best and worst way possible

I genuinely couldn’t ask for a better AFO backstory. it’s so incredibly twisted, and you actually do feel sorry for him. or at least I do. but it’s also beyond clear that this kid was FUCKED UP BEYOND ALL REASON right from the get go. zero goodness in him. literally doesn’t see other people as people. sees them as possessions only. things to rule over. not other thinking, feeling human beings. and that includes his own little brother

but. even if it’s not actually what I would call love, there’s still... attachment, there. it’s the closest he can get to actually caring about someone. guh. just, somehow they have both managed to humanize him, and at the same time made him less human than ever. this manga, man. this fucking manga, though

lmao and here we go. Captain Hero

you know, all those times that I made fun of AFO for not knowing how to read, I never suspected that the twist in his backstory would be that he LITERALLY DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO READ dfksjdlfkjslkdf

but seriously though. because Yoichi appears to be self-taught, and I can’t see AFO having the patience for that, and CLEARLY no one else was around to teach him, sooooo...

oh my goodness it’s actually getting wholesome up in here

what a good fucking boy. poor AFO. fuck me, I can’t help it. it’s not your fault you’re the world’s greatest monster you poor bastard

now we’re cutting to THREE YEARS LATER. okay

is he going to declare war on the glowing baby

typical teenager concerned about nothing but likes and view counts. AFO you would be so much happier if you stopped worrying about all of that and just focused on your own growth

oh, lol. well that was quick

(ETA: r.i.p. Damien.)

“this guy had more instagram followers than me. so I killed him” honey. sweetie pie. you need therapy

omfg

all this time I was wondering who AFO’s middle school lit teacher was who had failed so spectacularly at teaching him reading comprehension. and it was YOICHI ALL ALONG. omg

“and, presumably, that’s how it always was and always will be.” dude. can you imagine listening to AFO’s oral book report on A Tale of Two Cities. “ahem. it was the Best of Times. the end” buddy noooooooo

it was at that moment when Yoichi knew, etc. etc.

oh my GOD I scrolled down to the next panel right after this one and I just IMMEDIATELY DIED LAUGHING

“WAS IT SOMETHING I SAID” ffffffffffffffff I fucking can’t omfg

NOW THIS HUSSY IS STEALING HIS BROTHER AWAY FROM HIM NOOOOOOO

HE’S HIS!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!! THAT’S NOT ALLOWED!!!

oh my god the hands. so wait, is this just the standard symbolic BnHA handholding, or are there More Levels To This. when exactly did Yoichi pass OFA on to Kudou. like is that why the sudden close-up and all that? omg

WHAT!!!!

OH THAT’S THE END, HUH? THAT’S THE END RIGHT THERE, AND THAT’S JUST HOW IT IS. I SEE. OKAY THEN. EXCUSE ME WHILE I PUT MY LAPTOP DOWN AND GO INTO THE NEXT ROOM AND SCREAM INTO A PILLOW

oh my god. and break next week too. this is what you guys have been dealing with this entire time huh. I understand your feelings now. godfuckingdammit lmao

[watchingtheearthrise]

One of the many things I find fascinating and heartbreaking about Atreus and Sindri is that their friendship is built on two entirely different foundations, and two entirely different love experiences.

For Atreus, Sindri is a friend, but he’s also a means to an end. He can’t go sneaking around by himself, so he drags Sindri along for help. When he was traveling with Kratos, Sindri was there for gear and weapons. With his own father treating him as a tool to be sharpened and used, Atreus does similar to Sindri. He’s useful, and so Atreus makes use of him. With Faye dying when he was so young, Kratos’ ‘love’ is all that Atreus really knows now. We see how impressionable he is as a youth, it’s not hard to imagine that he adopted a lot more of his father’s mannerisms over the years between Faye’s death and Ragnarök. It’s all he knows, and it’s how he loves.

For Sindri, Atreus is a friend, but he’s also a client, a boss. With the exception of Faye, it’s safe to assume that Sindri (and Brok) experienced quite a lot of demanding Aesir clients. Odin and Thor? Yeah, things most definitely got rough when deadlines were approaching. He’s used to people demanding things. A Greek god with a rap sheet as long as the World Serpent comes in demanding stuff? Was married to one of the few Norse who treated you well? Yeah, you’ll treat him kindly. You’ll hand the stuff over! We see it in how Sindri acts with Atreus: he never truly once acts like the leader, the one in charge. He’s always submissive, even when voicing his displeasure and hesitation.

On top of that, Sindri is used to Brok and his loud, no-nonsense demeanor. Atreus has similar traits, being brash and blunt at times. For Sindri, it’s entirely possible that some of the wisdom he passes to Atreus were things also said to Brok.

Throughout Ragnarök, Sindri gives up everything. His home, the source of his wealth, privacy and the cleanliness of the one place that was left sacred to him. Submissive, helpful, a tool to be used. And yet, despite handing over everything, letting more and more people in, they can’t protect the one thing he had left, the one thing he had refused to let go of before: his brother.

With Brok gone, Sindri is left with the rug yanked out from under him. He believes his worth is nothing to the heroes, he’s just a means to an end. And Atreus had helped with that, by treating him as such. Because it’s all he knew.

Atreus and Sindri were definitely friends, I firmly believe that. They just were products of their lives, their pasts, and they couldn’t express their care for each other in healthy ways.

[crystallizedday]

So I have no idea if anyone else has made a post like this already, but at this point, I’m gonna EXPLODE if I don’t get this out of my system.

This has been haunting my brain for WEEKS & I am NOT having it.

So

Ice Marcy.

Lil angel.

DEFINITELY a result of Marceline dying at some point.

I mean, we have the Winter King telling Simon he can ALWAYS make an Ice Betty if Simon misses her so much, & while he SAYS that he’s joking & states how such a thing is clearly unethical…

Let’s be honest…

Bro’s a fuckin hypocrite saying that.

I mean, what he did to PB is fuckin unethical as hell, so if he’s morally fine with THAT, what’s stopping him from coping with the death of a loved one by making a living ice replica of them?

Anyway, a bunch of people already agree with that shit anyway, so that’s not what I’m here to address.

I’m here to talk about the when & how of the situation.

Cause I’ve seen a lot of people assuming Marcy died at a very young age due to her appearance as a child in her ice form & this “flashback” scene from WK’s song.

But that just cannot be the case.

Why?

Marceline’s bass.

Her bass (that in actuality is just a fuckin ax) is a family heirloom that once belonged to Hudson.

She only acquired possession of it to modify it into a bass once she met Hudson AFTER Simon had left her for good in her adolescence(?).

This means she COULDN’T have died during the apocalypse phase of Ooo.

So when could she have died?

Well, while a ton of people speculate it was right before or even right after the Winter King’s transformation into himself, I believe it was sometime AFTER, just not quite right away.

Cause ya gotta remember:

Marcy & Bonnie weren’t talking for HUNDREDS of years after their breakup.

& they only started hanging out again about two decades earlier from where we are in the present, which is still FAIRLY RECENT.

As Simon states in the episode, the Winter King had cursed PB ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

This means she & Marceline were STILL not on speaking terms by the time she got cursed.

HOWEVER

As we see in the very first Adventure Time finale, right before our two favorite lesbians kiss, Marcy admitted she was still TERRIFIED that PB would get hurt WHILE they weren’t talking.

So what does this tell us?

Lemme pitch y’all MY take on how Marcy TRULY died.

The Winter King found a way to project his insanity onto Bubblegum, reshaping himself & his kingdom with his newfound lucidity.

Sometime LATER (either soon after or even decades later), Marceline checks up on the situation after seeing the Candy Kingdom absolutely FUCKED & the Ice Kingdom flourishing, sees what happened to the two rulers, slowly puts two & two together, & interrogates the Winter King on it.

Cause like… while it’s awesome to have “Simon” back, Marceline realistically would NOT stand for it to come at the cost of Bubblegum’s sanity. Even if their relationship was still rocky, she still CARED about Bonnie & her safety.

She demanded the Winter King to undo this, telling him what he was doing was MONSTROUS…

But at some point, whether intentionally or unintentionally…

He did it.

HE killed her.

Either to stop her from reversing the spell herself or to get her to shut up so he wouldn’t have to face the fact that what he did was wrong.

He killed her, & felt such an overwhelming sense of guilt that he decided to cope with what he did…

In probably the most fucked up way possible.

As long as she didn’t know the truth, everything can be fine.

& what’s more oblivious & unquestioning than a small, impressionable child?

Much like how PB intentionally made her citizens stupid to avoid conflict :))))))

Anyway, uh

That is all.

You’re welcome for the heartbreak IWJWOWJWOSKWODK

[moonlit-imagines]

You’ve Got the Wrong Guy!

Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz x adoptive!reader

warnings: blood/gore. u know. BOP movie icky stuff

a/n: silly little gif

prompt: @jokekinsjoke505: “Hey I need a new adoptive father's Roman and victor because I think this will be a good idea where either they kidnapped the wrong kid and it ended up with Roman and victor adopted the reader or that one day that the reader walks in while victor is peeling off a face and Roman are eating popcorn watching it happened but they just says ' I'm to tired for this shit' before walking out again and then acted like it never happened.”

“Who does this child belong to?” Asked Roman to his mercenary and dear friend, Victor. In front of him was Victor holding you, a small child, calm in demeanor despite being taken from the comfort of your own home and family.

“Maroni.” Victor replied without a single doubt. “That’s who you told me to grab and I grabbed the kid. Just like you asked. One cool kid if you ask me.” Victor continued, noticing Roman getting visibly upset. “I don’t get it, what’s the problem?”

“That!” Roman shouted, startling you enough to start struggling from Victor’s grasp. He gently set you down as Roman tore him a new one. “That’s the problem, you don’t even see your failure!” You stood behind the bleach-blonde man, trying to understand what was happening, you were just waiting for the ice cream you were promised, you were so hungry. “That’s not Maroni’s kid. I don’t even know who that is? Did you take some random child off the street?”

“I, uh, I don’t know. I could’ve sworn this is the kid.” Zsasz answered.

“I’m hungry.” You quietly mumbled, just loud enough for them to hear you.

“Yeah, I’ll get you something in just a second.” Zsasz assured you, patting your head gently as Roman kneeled down to your height. You flinched and backed up a step, remembering his blind anger from just moments before. “It’s alright, he’s a good guy.”

“Who are you, dear?” Roman asked you in such a kind manner that you completely forgot how scary he was.

“Y/N.” You simply stated.

“Where are your parents, y/n?” Roman questioned further.

“I don’t know…” You sighed. “I didn’t see them for a few days.” Roman looked up to Victor with worry in his eyes, and was surprised to see a smile on his face.

“Can we keep them?” Victor giggled a bit, even more when you grabbed his leg. “Please?”

“Y/N, would you want to stay with us instead of your parents?” Roman had asked you a very heavy question for a young child, but you had no idea what he would really be asking of you. Of course, you didn’t come from a happy life and this already seemed better. You just wanted a sense of belonging.

“Can I get ice cream?” You innocently requested of them.

“Of course, dear! What kind?”

“Uhhh…chocolate!”

“Victor, go get y/n some chocolate ice cream!” He commanded and Victor ran to fulfill your wish. “So, you’ll stay here?” He asked you once more.

“Yeah!” You exclaimed and hugged him around the neck. He felt his heart melt at your embrace and hugged you back, lifting you up to take you with him to the kitchen. “So, who are you?” You asked him.

“I’m Roman. And my partner over there is Victor.” He smiled to himself. In a matter of moments, he’d created a family. One he’d kill for.

Once you were given your bowl of ice cream, you were sold on this new life. Truth be told, you didn’t have the greatest parents. They were absent and neglectful, which was the exact reason Victor found you all alone. It was still unknown why he mistook you for the child of a notorious mobster. Roman had his suspicions that Victor had planned this, but he laid them aside knowing this was good for them. For you all.

The two of them scrambled to make you a room, promising to buy you anything you would ever want when tomorrow rolled around. You were thrilled to be taken in by these two strange men, forgiving both of them in your young, impressionable mind. Roman, for his anger, and Victor, for kidnapping and misleading you.

“Victor.” Roman lowly said after you were tucked in. “I do apologize for raising my voice at you.”

“It’s okay, I understand.” Victor looked down at the table, then felt a hand wrap around his.

“No, I shouldn’t have done it. Especially when you’ve improved our lives so much.” Roman sat beside him. “I don’t even care about that Maroni kid anymore. This is what I care about now. You and y/n.”

“You mean that?” Victor smiled and relaxed his tense body, worried that his mistake would be unforgivable. But Roman always forgave Victor, that was what made them so special. Now they had a new challenge to tackle together: fatherhood.

—————

Years after you’d been adopted by the pair of criminals with high status in the underworld, you’d grown quite accustomed to their behavior. It wasn’t unusual to find Roman frantic or angry, or a bit violent at times. But never toward you, he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you or raise his voice to you. You could do no wrong.

You could also find Victor coming home from a late night, covered in blood—be it his own from a mark or someone else’s from a job—and being very nonchalant about it. It was always, “y/n! I’m glad you’re up! Would you like some ice cream?” They never left the freezer understocked, even if ice cream wasn’t your favorite anymore.

But there was one “normal” you’d never really get used to, even if you were used to their brutality. Roman was a well-respected crime boss, and to keep that respect intact, he had to do some rather gruesome things.

Well, he didn’t have to. It was a personal choice for him, you could almost consider it a hobby at this point.

You’d been looking for your fathers for going on an hour now, needing some permission slip signed for school. You wandered all their possible routes hoping to catch them across one, asking around to any lackey you managed to catch. No one had an answer for you, so you continued on until you stumbled onto a horrible scene.

One father held a segment of his victim’s hanging skin from their face as they shrieked at the top of their lungs. The sound pierced your eardrums and you winced momentarily. Then you saw the other leaned back in his seat with a bag of popcorn in hand, yelling words of encouragement to Roman, as if he needed them.

“You guys are really something.” Your voice startled them both, so much that you nearly had a gun pulled on you.

“Y/N! You scared us, I’m sorry!” Victor jumped up and ran to give you a comforting hug. “I wouldn’t have shot you, I promise.” You patted him on the back.

“I believe you, Dad.” You mumbled into his shoulder. “Can you just sign this thing real quick? Make sure there isn’t any blood on your hands.” Victor pulled away and wiped his hands on his shirt.

“Of course, of course. Roman, are you almost done with that? We should take our dear y/n out for a nice dinner soon, they deserve it.” Victor explained as he grabbed the pen and paper from your hands.

“Sure, that sounds nice. I should be done in a few minutes. Don’t rush me.” Roman continued dragging the knife under his chained victim’s skin and you shook your head at the sight. By now, this didn’t even faze you, it was just another day in your life. Well, maybe the first few times you had nightmares, but you weren’t a little kid anymore. Now, you could care less what your fathers did for work. So long as they gave you the world and their love, life was good.

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @randomfandomimagine // @summersimmerus // @bad4amficideas // @xoxobabydolls // @evilcr0ne // @amirahiddleston // @sydknee624 // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @elenavampire21 //

[thebadgerclan]

Sister

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x sister!reader 

Summary: No one knew that Kaz had a sister...

Idk why or how I came up with this, but I loved the idea too much not to write

Also third person just fit this one lol, I’m not the biggest fan, but let me know what you guys think

No one knew that Kaz Brekker had a sister, few people even knew about his older brother.  But he had: back when he was Kaz Rietveld, the only thing on his mind being whether he could convince Jordie to buy him a hot chocolate, there had been a third Rietveld.  Jordie, the eldest, entrusted with his father’s fortune, Kaz, the impressionable, joyful young boy, and Y/N, only a year Kaz’s junior.

When the firepox came, and Kaz succumbed to the fever, she had as well.  And when Kaz woke to find Jordie cold beneath his touch, her body had been nowhere in sight.  Was she dead, or had she somehow survived?  It was easier to assume the former, for Kaz to forge ahead alone in the world.  All three Rietveld siblings died then, but only Kaz was reborn, vengeance burning like an inferno in his heart.  For Jordie, for Y/N, he would bring Ketterdam to its knees.

Years later, Kaz would learn that she had indeed survived.  After the plague had passed, a pair of Ravkan nobles arrived in Ketterdam, offering to take in the orphans the firepox had created.  “It was a Ravkan ship that brought it,” they said.  “If our country can give these children a life, then we will take them.”  She’d been one of the first children taken, adopted by the Duke and Duchess themselves.  Y/N had been raised in Ravka: learned their language, their customs, their faith.  And when she came of age, she was presented to court, as all the children of nobility were, to make a good marriage.  

Y/N had been lucky.  She had not only made an advantageous match, but she’d found true love as well.  Her new husband doted on her night and day, granting her every wish.  And when she wished to discover whether her brothers had survived the Queen’s Lady Plague all those years ago, she discovered her husband had many connections in which to obtain that information.

It hadn’t been easy, but Y/N’s husband had found him.  Kaz wasn’t a common name, after all.  When he’d received the letter, he’d thought it a joke, but as he read on, he realized the letter contained details that no one but his sister could have known.  Kaz, it said.  If you’re reading this, then I want you to know that I’m alive.  I was adopted and taken to Ravka after the firepox passed.  If I’d have known you survived, I would have insisted they take you too.  But I had no clue where you were or if you and Jordie had made it.

I want you to know that I’m alive, that I’m safe.  Life in Ravka has been good to me; I’m married now!  Saints, I think you’d adore my husband, the two of you are exactly the same.  At least… how I remember you to be.  Please, Kaz, write back to me.  Let me know that you’re alive, that you’ve survived, that I haven’t been mourning you for no reason for 15 years.  I’m afraid I can’t disclose too much about my life in writing, but if you give a letter to a woman named Lila at the Ravkan embassy, she’ll ensure it gets to me.  I love you, brother, time has not changed that.  -Y/N.

There had been no last name affixed, no address, so naturally, Kaz’s interest was piqued.  For months, he corresponded with her through Lila, learning more about who she was,  her life in Ravka, and who she’d married.  It interested him not only because the information might be useful one day, but because Y/N was family, she was his sister.  Indeed, the information was useful, as Kaz and his Crows had been tasked with a nearly impossible job.

A Shu priest had hired Kaz to steal what she claimed was a relic of Sankt Kho, one that had been taken from the temples of Amhrat Jen decades ago.  But, as Nina so aptly pointed out, breaking into the Grand Palace’s religious archives would break at least a dozen Ravkan laws.  “We’d be arrested immediately and labeled as heretics as well as criminals.  The Apparat himself would try to oversee our executions.”

“I have a way around that,” Kaz had said, but Nina wasn’t convinced.  “Do you?  I know your tricks Kaz.  Those archives are guarded day and night, there’s one way in and one way out, no windows, no secondary escapes.  Do you think you can waltz right in and take Sankt Kho’s relic?”  “Not quite waltz, but yes.”  The Heartrender snarled.  “Short of a letter from the Queen of Ravka, there’s no possible way you can get in there alone.  Do you have that, Kaz?”

“Actually I do.”  Jesper, Inej, and Wylan looked on with disbelief.  “All Saints, you can admit defeat, you know?  We won’t judge you!”  Kaz pulled a letter from his coat and tossed it on the table.  It bore the Lantsov seal and the Queen’s signature, and Nina gaped.  “And how did you manage to get your hands on this?”  Kaz, if there’s ever anything you need, know that I will use the full extent of my powers to help you.  I couldn’t help you before, brother, so let me help you now.  Of course, if it’s blatant murder, then I’ll have to deny.  We can’t have the Queen of Ravka tied up in a homicide, now can we?  “Because,” Kaz said, hesitant to reveal this, the ace up his sleeve, his final secret.  “She’s my sister.”

[sokkas-therapist]

Ok so I decided I am going to post that “atla live action hot take” I mentioned

Click below the cut if you’re interested in hearing my take on the whole “taking away sokka’s sexism” thing

1) nobody is glorifying sokka’s sexism by saying it should be kept in the show. It’s quite literally the opposite. The original series did a great job using his sexism as a lesson; any time sokka made a sexist remark in the first 4 episodes it was made abundantly clear that he was wrong, and as soon as Sokka was proven wrong he admitted that he was misguided, apologized, quite literally bowed down on his knees to ask for forgiveness, and even asked to learn from the kiyoshi warriors, and excepted wearing their traditional uniforms, further surrendering his flawed perspective of societal gender roles. A wonderfully executed example of writers using their characters to teach viewers a lesson: which was, in this case, that sexism is wrong. Sokka’s sexism was not left unresolved, so why take away a valuable lesson in the show??

2) if you take away a character’s flaws…then they don’t have development. A character can’t learn and grow from their mistakes if they never make mistakes.

If a charecter starts off perfect and unflawed then they are surface level and lack depth or the ability for an arc.

And no, this is not saying that Sokka didn’t have many other admirable qualities like his intelligence and adaptability etc.. He 100% had those qualities. But one of the coolest things about the original atla series was their ability to flesh out side charecters and give them depth. A charecter who is simply smart then becomes smarter, or adaptable then becomes even more adaptable, lacks depth and internal conflict.

Sokka’s sexism was the starting point for his internal conflict. Sokka wasn’t just sexist to be sexist, or because the entire southern water tribe was misogynistic (and we know for a fact they weren’t, because if they were misogynistic, then Katara wouldn’t have been shocked when the North denied her waterbending training). He was misogynistic because being seen/accepted as a “man” and a strong warrior was all Sokka wanted after his father left him behind. In reality, we know his father was only trying to protect his son from the horrors of war. But to a young and impressionable child, Sokka internalized this as him not being “man” enough, so he dedicated himself to becoming the person he thought would make his father proud. He was always reaching for this unattainable standard he set for himself, which lead to him having a skewed and toxic view of masculinity that he took out on the women around him. He associated being a worthy warrior with being a traditionally masculine man, and leaned way too far into fulfilling the gender roles men and women are told to play in society in hopes of gaining his father’s approval. We see him do this by suppressing his feelings of inferiority as a nonbender, along with all the aspects of himself that he thought could be seen as “weak” or “feminine” (ex: his love for shopping and poetry and art that we see develop up until the literal end of the series).

So clearly, the vast majority of sokka’s charecter development that deals with internal conflict stems from the toxic view of masculinity and gender roles that he adopted after being left behind by his father, which caused him to outwardly lash out toward katara and Suki with misogynist comments. So taking away the sexism we see in the first few episodes eliminates important context that makes sokka’s character development throughout the entire series significant, not just an “iffy unnecessarily bigoted message”, because it was quite literally used to show that sexism was wrong.

I wasn’t going to say anything about this at first but seeing so many people display a fundamental lack of understanding for the premise of character development and the usage of charecter flaws to promote positive messages in media set me off. Just…WTF????

(Also I know I wrote a summarized version of this in the tags for another post but I wanted to expand upon it more and make this a separate post)

[cowgurrrl]

Lavender Girl

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: A field trip [4.7k]

Warnings: financial stress, school fight, June once again introduces an ex, having a muse is creepy and weird, flirting that’s not flirting but it’s not not flirting, June putting her art history knowledge to work

Most days, you're a good teacher. A teacher that students want to eat lunch with or inadvertently include in their silly TikToks. Most days, you're patient and kind and only have to raise your voice a handful of times, if only to be heard over the blanket volume level of teenage conversation. Today is not one of those days. "Guys!" You yell, pausing the music on your computer and turning to look at your class, obviously annoyed. "We're supposed to be talking about Picasso. I don't know why I'm hearing so much conversation about lunch." It's a lie. There was a fight between two students at lunch. It'd also been the topic of conversation in the teacher's lounge, but still.

"Miss, we already talked about Picasso!" One of your kids bemoans, and you raise your eyebrows at them. 

"So, if I asked you right now, you could tell me what historical event his painting Guernica is supposed to depict?" You ask. The entire class goes silent as you wait for a response that never comes, and you sigh. "Please, do your work."

The day started with getting yet another email from another gallery, this time from down south, telling you they loved your work but not enough to showcase or buy it. Then, a text from your manager letting you know that paychecks will be late because of technical issues with the system, even though you're already beyond broke. Then, a sad text from Andie about how she's feeling homesick and misses you and wishes you could get on a plane to come see her. Then, to top it all off, an email from your ex, Henry, popped up the second you pulled into the school. 

Hey, long time, no talk! I hope you're doing well. I wanted to reach out and let you know I've got an exhibition going up later next week and wanted to invite you to the opening. It's about-

You didn't read any further, anger and a wave of past emotions drowning you before you could. You and Henry were together all throughout college. You met during a freshman art class and were inseparable after that. He was tall, sensitive, and had a penchant for listening to country music when he worked, leading to many delirious nights spent crooning to Emmy-Lou Harris together. He surprised you with new paint and spontaneous trips to scenic parts of Texas to fuel your inspiration. You were happy for a long time. You even thought you'd marry him at one point. He wanted to be the next young, groundbreaking artist, making you his muse, no matter how many times you tried to assure him you were also an artist. Your work would go up in galleries and exhibitions, and everyone in your small program would gossip about the two of you. "He's so talented. It's insane," you heard one of your classmates say once. "And she's so beautiful." 

The compliment dug under your skin and stayed there as your relationship failed. You didn't want to be a muse anymore. You stopped letting him paint you in various states of undress and started asking for more alone time to work on your own stuff. You went from being the perfect, polished doll he could position however he wanted and started living in your paint-stained jeans and old, ratty shirt. You started arguing more and more, first about little things like why he left his paint water cups everywhere, and then about big things like your decision to pursue teaching and the "inspiration" he found in an impressionable freshman. He suddenly moved out after graduation without a word, leaving you to nurse your wounds in a half-empty apartment for the rest of your lease, and you hadn't heard from him until this morning. 

There's something more than the sting of hearing from him all these years later that bothers you. You're a high school art teacher struggling to make ends meet, and he's doing exactly what he set out to do. He's getting his work in front of his eyes and receiving praise for it. "Why do you wanna be a teacher when you can just be an artist?" He asked you one morning as you studied for your certification exams. "Or, at least, an artist's wife." 

"And what if I'm not good at that?" You asked. "Then what? I'm just supposed to be your muse for the rest of my life? Have kids to fuel someone else's inspiration and have no time for my own work? Wither away while you go on to make art and give talks and become a cynic? Fuck that." 

You stand by what you said, even all these years later, but there is an irony in that, even as a teacher, you don't have time to do your own work. Still, fuck that. The bell rings and signals the end of another class, and you quickly stand as students start packing up their stuff. "Okay, guys. Remember, your art history essay is due in two weeks! I'm excited to read all about everything you've learned since we started this unit. I love you, and please make good choices." You announce, hoping that at least some of them are listening to you, as they spill out of the classroom and the next students stream in. Ellie's sweet face is a welcome reprieve when she walks in. 

"Hey Bellie! How's your day going, kiddo?" You ask, and she smiles. You'll swear up and down all day that you don't have favorite students, but if you did, Ellie would be one of them. 

"Good. I have my signed permission slip for the art club field trip." She says. After your experience with Joel outside the bar, you couldn't sleep and knocked out all the field trip paperwork before falling asleep on your couch. But you weren't safe from his lips and broad shoulders, even in your subconscious. 

"Oh, my hero! I've been meaning to remind everyone about those. Thanks for getting that in so quickly." You say as she hands the paper to you, Joel's scribbly signature at the bottom. Somehow, you're not surprised that the box indicating he wants to be a chaperone is ticked. "Perfect. Your dad knows when the field trip is?" 

"Yeah. He wrote it down on his calendar and everything." She says, rolling her eyes fondly, and you laugh.

"Well, good, because I'm gonna need all the help I can get when I'm dealing with you guys."

"Hey!" She feigns offense as the bell rings, signaling the end of the passing period, and the last of your students comes running in. Ellie takes her seat near the front, and you grab your silly, colorful pointer to talk about Guernica, which is still proudly displayed on the board. After a quick art history lesson, you release them to work on the projects they've been working on for a week now. They still have a few more days before it's due, so more than half of them are slacking off quietly, which you're fine with. As long as you get a finished assignment at the end, they can do whatever they want.

You play quiet music as they work to help them focus and answer some emails. One email that catches your attention is from the parent of one of your students, Dalton, who's an amazing football player but is less than passionate about art, to say the least. You emailed his dad to let him know he was missing some assignments and could still turn them in late for only a slight penalty, but if he turns in nothing at all, you'll have no choice but to fail him. You also CC'd the football coach so he'd know the academic standing of one of his star players. Needless to say, you've been subject to a few not-so-nice emails from all parties involved. 

Once you're done firing off another round of emails, you decide to step away from your computer so you don't have to see the next reply until absolutely necessary. Walking around the room to answer questions, give opinions, or just hear what's happening in students' lives always makes you feel better. In one period, you helped a handful of students put the finishing touches on their projects, heard the latest gossip, and talked one of your girls out of sending a nasty text to the boy who just broke her heart. And they say teachers aren't important. 

The second you get a little bit of peace during your planning period, your phone buzzes with a notification. Given all the notifications and messages you've received today, you're hesitant to even pull it out of your pocket. But curiosity wins, and you open your phone to find a text from an unsaved number.

Is there anything I should bring to the field trip? Snacks, gum, alcohol?

You laugh to yourself and start typing a message back. 

Alcohol won't be necessary, but it might be good to bring some lunch and a few snacks. I think we're gonna try to have a picnic or something at the museum. 

Yes, ma'am.

You still feeling up to chaperone? Teenagers are no joke.

Do I need to remind you that I've raised two? I think I can handle a few more.

Oh, I can't wait to see this.

It can't be that hard, right?

On the day of the field trip, it turns out to be that hard. The only adults accompanying twenty teenagers to the museum are you and Joel. They're excited to be out of school and doing something new, but you can feel your migraine starting before you even get on the bus. Thankfully, the ride to the museum (and the traffic) calms them down, and they're more manageable by the time you arrive. A curator meets you outside the front doors and begins by walking your group through the outdoor sculptures, giving a little bit of history of the museum and the pieces themselves. The kids ask insightful questions and take turns snapping photos or even sketching a rough outline of the piece before moving on to the next. You stay at the front of the group while Joel manages the middle and back, silencing kids with a stern look. You fight a smile when you catch him and Ellie lingering at a sculpture, whispering to each other before he urges her forward and takes a sweet picture of her smiling in front of it. 

After the initial walk of the grounds, you stop to have lunch in a sunny garden and listen to the kids gush about their favorite part so far and what paintings they're most excited to see inside. 

"Miss, what's your favorite thing here?" Kayla asks.

"I like Dream Village by Chagall. If you find it before me, you'll have to let me know." You say. "Do you have a favorite?"

"Not yet. Maybe I'll find it today." Kayla says.

"I like that attitude!"

"Kissass." Jacob coughs, and you both give him a look. You can feel Joel's eyes burning a hole in the back of your head as you stare at Jacob.

"What's my policy?" 

"Are you really gonna make me say it?"

"Yep." You say, and he sighs.

"You can be anything you want to be, but you're not allowed to be a dick." He mumbles.

"Exactly. So, please, be nice," you say as you fish around in your lunch box for something. "Here, have a cookie. It might help make you feel a little better." He mutters a little thanks and unwraps it, already in a better mood after one bite, and you smile. 

"You just carry around cookies, waiting for a kid to be in a bad mood?" Joel asks, and you turn to look at him. He's wearing a plain blue t-shirt and jeans with sunglasses sitting atop his head, but you think it might be your favorite thing he's worn in your presence. You like it when he wears color.

"It was my cookie, but he needs it more than I do," you shrug. "Besides, things like that are a great morale booster. It's hard to be grumpy when you've got something sweet." 

"I'm inclined to agree with you." He quips a little too smoothly, his eyes flicking across your face and down to your lips, and you feel your cheeks getting hot. Thankfully, all the kids have returned to their own conversations and couldn't care less about what the Adults are talking about. 

"You're relentless." You whisper.

"Do you want me to stop?" He whispers back, and you sigh. If you were a stronger or better person, you might be able to think fast enough to come up with a response, but you're not. So, you just look at him and rack your brain for something to say but come up empty. "That's what I thought." He smiles and offers you his sweating Dr. Pepper can as a peace offering. You roll your eyes at his smug look but take a sip anyway. 

Once everyone is done eating, you all stand and make your way into the museum lobby, the kids already chattering about what they want to see. 

"Okay, you guys are free to roam but please, please, please remember that you're representing not only the school but also me. Be respectful and kind, and please don't act like you've never been in public before, okay? Go, be free." You say before the kids split off into their little groups with their obligatory activity in hand. Ellie stays near Joel, only a little shy, until Kayla turns around suddenly and waves her on.

"Ellie, c'mon!" She says. Ellie takes a few steps in her direction before turning to look back at Joel.

"Go. I'll be okay." He says.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Now go. Have fun." She doesn't need any more encouragement after that and skitters off with the rest of the kids, leaving you and Joel alone in the atrium. 

"She's doing really well." You tell him even though he can clearly see for himself. 

"Thanks to you." 

"All I did was give her a push."

"Take the credit. You deserve it." He says, his lips pulling into that award-winning smile. 

You fall into silence as you walk through the different galleries, Joel never too far behind you. Sometimes, he'll start at the opposite end of the room and work his way down until you meet in the middle, making a deliberate effort to bump your shoulder or hand as he passes. Other times, he'll stay right next to you, and, for some reason, it doesn't bother you. You like being so close to him and feeling his eyes work over the piece like it's a puzzle he doesn't quite know how to work. When he can't stand the quiet anymore, he'll whisper a question to you about the artist or the history, his breathing fanning out across your neck and making the hair there stand on end. 

After moving through a big part of the museum together, you and Joel end up at the same painting as the dull hum of voices fills the space between you. You smile to yourself, practically hearing him trying to find something to say as he stands there and observes how the lines of bright colors follow each other. Some are stark and almost resemble lightning in how they move around the canvas, but others are muted, blended together with careful precision and patience. It's hard to imagine what West Texas could've been like in 1953, but this makes it a little easier.

"What's this one supposed to mean?" Joel mumbles, leaning ever so conspicuously into you. 

"I can't tell you." You mumble back, and he finally turns to look at you head-on. You meet his eyes with an amused smile, and he shakes his head at you.

"You're really not gonna tell me?"

"I can't tell you what art is supposed to mean to you. I can't tell anyone that." 

"But, you're a teacher."

"If you're asking me for an art history lesson, I'd be happy to help, but that's about all I can do for you."

"'S cruel and unusual punishment."

"If art and culture are cruel and unusual punishment, why'd you sign up to chaperone?"

"Maybe I wanted to see my friend," he says, bumping you with his shoulder, and you laugh a little too hard. "What? We can't be friends? Is there a school policy against that, too?" 

"Nope, no school policy. I just," You pause and revel in how enraptured he looks at every movement, pause, and breath you take. "I already have friends, so..."

"Oh, and you're 'fraid of bein' too popular?"

"Famously." You say, and he chuckles next to you. You go back to staring at the painting quietly with him so close you can feel his body heat. You're the one to break this time, knocking him with your shoulder to get his attention again. You didn't need to. When you glance at him, you see his focus is on you, not the painting. "It's Texas. Canyon, to be more precise. Up by Amarillo where there's nothing but cattle and desert. O'Keeffe taught out there for a few years and wanted to paint something that showed how big the West is. It's supposed to make you feel like you're two feet tall and seeing the sky for the first time. For her, it might've been the first time in a long time she'd gotten to see a sunset that big. So, she painted it so other people could enjoy sunsets like that. It's like a love letter." 

"How d'you do that?" He asks once you're finished explaining, and you furrow your eyebrows. 

"Do what?" 

"Make little things seem so beautiful." He answers easily, like you asked him what color the sky is. You don't know what to say. What are you supposed to say to something like that?

"'S just what art does." You shrug and break away from his gaze to look at the painting, if only to not feel him staring into your soul.

"No, it's what you do to it. 'S why those kids love you so damn much. You make everythin' feel like a masterpiece, even the little things." He's not flirting. He's not trying to persuade you to do one thing over another. He's genuine and heartfelt. You swear you would start crying if you had a little less sleep. You take a deep breath and lean into him for half a second, just enough to feel his body against yours, before standing upright again.

"Thank you." 

"It's what friends are for," he says, leaning into you in return. "I should make sure they haven't seized the museum or anythin'."

"Oh, I can do it. You're a guest."

"And you work too hard," he stops you. "Take a break and enjoy what you love. The world won't end if you take some time for yourself." If ever there were awards to be given out for sweet talking, you think Joel Miller would win all of them. 

"Okay," you say, and he walks behind you to move on to the next section. "You really wanna be my friend?" You ask before he can fully pass behind you, looking at him over your shoulder. He smiles devastatingly, light sparkling in his eyes, and nods.

"I really wanna be your friend." He says softly, his voice low and rumbling in his chest. He lingers for a second or two before finally making his way to the group of students, leaving you to scrutinize the painting you've been staring at for God knows how long.

The day crawls to an uneventful close, with you forcing all the students to take a picture in front of the museum for the yearbook. Joel takes your phone out of your hand and all but pushes you in the photo, and your students lovingly welcome you into their little group. In exchange, you grab Joel's phone and take cute pictures of him and Ellie for their own memories. They smile almost identically, and Ellie makes a fake annoyed face when Joel kisses her temple. Your fingers brush against each other when you hand it back, and for a second, you can feel the callouses from his job. It feels like unlocking a new piece of him or a new quirk. 

Too bad this isn't a date. Too bad nothing can ever come of this. Too bad you had to meet this way. Too bad. Too bad. 

The ride home is quiet and full of the clinking of backpacks and new souvenirs. When you get to the school, parents are waiting in the parking lot with fast food dinners and excited ears to hear all about their days. Almost everyone immediately slinks home, tired and happy, before you can even get close to the school doors. Almost everyone. Joel and Ellie help you carry your backpack and some things you bought for teaching purposes at the museum into your classroom. The school is virtually deserted, and you return to your room to find all the lamps flipped off and mostly positive notes from the sub. 

"Dad, what are we gonna do for dinner?" Ellie groans as you sit in your chair and open your email quickly before you can pack up the rest of your stuff. Their dinner debate becomes background noise as you find your inbox full of annoyed messages from Dalton's parents, coaches, and even Principal Martinez regarding his grades. Under all that vitriol sits Henry's half-read message about his gallery opening, and you feel the perfect bubble of your day burst around you. Joel and Ellie seem to realize it because they're both quiet when you tune back into their conversation, and you turn in your chair to look at them. 

"Are you okay?" Ellie asks, and you snap out of it, putting on your best teacher everything-is-fine face.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just some emails. It's not important." You wave her off, but Joel isn't so easily convinced. He thinks for a second before pulling his keys out of his pocket and handing them to Ellie. 

"Go get some practice driving." He says, jerking his head toward the door, and Ellie's eyes light up.

"Really?!"

"Just bring the car to the front, and don't hit anything!" He says, but she's already taken off with the keys and her stuff in an excited whirlwind. You laugh at her enthusiasm, and Joel leans against one of the desks near you, crossing his arms in front of him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." 

"Your whole face fell when you opened that computer." 

"It's nothing." 

"If we're gonna be friends, you're gonna have to tell me if somethin's wrong otherwise I can't help you." He says, and you fight a smile. 

"I don't know how you're gonna help me with this one." You say. He bumps your foot with his and gives you a pleading look. Big brown eyes on men like him should be illegal, you think.

"Talk to me." He begs quietly, and you take a deep breath.

"When I was in college, I dated this guy. He was an artist, too, and we were like the little power couple of our program. Things ended kinda badly and abruptly, and I hadn't heard from him since graduation until last week when he invited me to his gallery opening. I really don't want to go alone because, honestly, I haven't been able to get anything showcased in years, and I'm embarrassed. Plus, he broke my heart and made me feel like shit for a few years." You can't stop the words from falling from you once the dam is broken, but Joel doesn't flinch.

"Well, you've got friends to go with, right?"

"I do," you say. "But I want to invite you."

"Oh." He says, seemingly unintentionally.

"Oh." You repeat. "You can say no. I just thought... since we're friends and all now."

"I just... I don't..." he struggles before finally giving in to what he wants to say, what you think he's wanted to say all day. "I don't think I'm smart enough to go to somethin' like that. I don't know anythin' about art. I don't even know how to dress for those kinda things."

"Nobody knows anything about art. Not really, at least. Especially not Henry."

"You do."

"Then I'll stick with you all night and feed you lines about composition or some shit," you say. "And you just wear a nice shirt and some slacks. Maybe a suit jacket if you're feeling snazzy. It's really not as big a deal as people make it seem. We'll go, drink wine, say something about the colors, play nice, and then we'll leave. I'll have you home by 9:30. Earlier if you really hate it that much." He rolls his neck like he's rattling something around in his head or thinking about your offer, and all you can do is watch him and the way his Adam's apple pressing against the delicate skin of his throat. You're convinced he's gonna say no.

"Are you asking me on a date?" He finally asks, and you laugh.

"Not a date."

"Sounds like a date. You even promised to have me home to my girl at a reasonable time."

"Fine, it's a friend date."

"A friend date?" He raises his eyebrows at you, and you nod. 

"It's perfectly normal to go on friend dates, Miller. You're just behind on the times."

"Seems like I am. Maybe you can bring me up to speed during the gallery opening?" He says, and your shoulders drop in relief. "I'll pick you up if you agree to help me not look like an idiot."

"You won't look like an idiot." 

"Not with you there, I won't." He says, and you want to laugh, but you also want to tear up a little at his kindness. It's been a long week. 

"Thank you, Joel. Really. I owe you." You say, and he nods. 

"'S my pleasure," he says. For a minute, you two just stare at each other in your empty classroom like teenagers with an obvious crush. You think that's what you feel like. You think that's all you'll ever be able to feel for him. "I should go. I've got an impatient teenager waitin' for me." 

"Yeah. Go get her some dinner, and I'll text you the details." You say as you stand to walk him out. He stands to his full height, opens his arms, and approaches you. You didn't think you were hugging territory, but as his arms wrapped around you, you couldn't help but hug him back.  

"Goodnight." He says into your hair, lingering for another moment before disappearing as fast as he appeared. 

"Goodnight," you say. With that, he starts walking to the open door with a smile stuck to his face. "Hey, Joel," you call before he can step over the threshold, and he turns around to look at you. "Art is for everyone, and even if it wasn't, you're more than smart enough to enjoy it."

"Yes, ma'am." He says with a half-salute and a wink before stepping out of your classroom. You let yourself rest against your desk and take a deep breath. Finally, you let yourself pull out your phone and read the rest of Henry's email detailing the time and place of the gallery. 

I hope you can come. It would really mean a lot to me. I miss talking to you and even though things ended the way they did, I still love you.

See you soon,

Henry Hall

"Fuck that."

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