#you don’t give off strong middle aged man vibes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pearl-blue-musings · 16 days

Text

all the right moves ch 6

I told you I was gonna post something tonight!!

Pairing: Childe x fem!afab!reader

Warnings: 18+, business au, smau, written, nothing too crazy this chapter

Word count: 1.3K

Y’all it’s happening!!

You hadn’t meant to snap at the girls in the chat. You truly hadn’t. When she had found your location, you were scoping out the coffee shop near the recreational center and debating about the help wanted poster but didn’t have the courage to enter. A couple days later, you’ve ended your shift at the rec center, leaving with a tense aura, and make your way over toward the coffee shop. Your eyes scan the building that holds your idle anger and drive for doing what you do, and quicken your pace past it.

You’re tempted to throw up a middle finger but you restrain yourself and walk on, resume in hand. You take in the atmosphere of the coffee shop, huffing your breath at the hippy yet upscale vibe the store gives off. It’s certainly targeted to young and middle aged business people and you vaguely think of the possibility that you’ll run into anyone from Snezhnaya corporation. The thought sends mixed signals to your head and stomach. The first thought of wanting to tell any of those workers off for daring to work in such a terrible place. On the other hand, you realize what would be the point if they have no idea who you are?

The mere concept of letting any random worker know who you are ignites your nerves. There’s too much of a possibility of one of those grunts running and telling Signora or even worse the Tsaritsa herself. She’s just the CEO of a company, why can’t they call her that? Does she have some secret plan for world domination through conglomerates? Your plan must be kept in secret, your carefully calculated and thought out plan that has consumed you for more than half your life. You were so close, there’s no way you can back out now, you’ve sacrificed too much, worked too hard to turn back and give up now. You take a deep breath before approaching a barista and inquiring about the sign in the window.

****

You leave the coffee shop in high spirits as you huff out a warm breath. You know this isn’t a good idea, but you need the money and what the Kamisato siblings don’t know won’t hurt them! Of course they care for you deeply and worry about your mental health… But they don’t understand. They have the financial stability and backing. They have the ability to do whatever they want.

Their parents weren’t corrupted by business, so how would they understand? How would they get your plight and all of your struggles? Had they had to miss out on having an average teenage and early 20’s life? You didn’t fucking think so. They get to live in their above average houses with above average clothes and-

A strong and firm body halts your progress and you fall hard on the concrete. Well, not so hard as your hands are held by the someone you ran into. “Hey, are you okay?”

You had your eyes closed in preparation for impact and slowly open them to striking blue ones. The man’s red hair is a stark contrast with his pale skin and bright eyes. His smile seems genuine as he pulls you up to your feet. Warmth spreads through your palms and now up your cheeks. The stranger chuckles again as you silently stare at him.

You shake your head and blink rapidly. “S-sorry, I had a lot on my mind and wasn’t paying attention. Is your uh,” you look him up and down, “suit damaged, um…?”

The man drops your hands to politely extend out his hand. “Childe, with an E at the end. Don’t let the name fool you, I’m anything but childish.” His introduction causes you to giggle and relax, meeting his hand in a nice handshake. You’re about to introduce yourself when a large crowd of business people burst out of the headquarters of Snezhnaya, almost knocking you out of the way. Childe acts on instinct and pulls you into him to keep you from the huddled bunch. He knows his own coworkers can be standoffish and uptight, but to brush past him like that?

“Unbelievable.”

Childe’s own thoughts are interrupted from the loathing in your voice at the word he was thinking. He quirks his head toward you and sees your pretty face scrunch together in malice. Once the crowd of suits disperses you fix your face as soon as you realize Childe is staring at you. “Ah, sorry.” The world around you seems to vanish as the feeling of sheepishness rises within you as he chuckles again.

“Heh, guess you don’t like corporate folks like me?”

You shake your head. “No it’s not that. I just don’t like…that company in particular.” Indigo irises follow your line of sight to see the building he works in everyday. Interesting. He’ll have to ask you about it someday, if you even want to keep talking to him that is. He’s also secretly hoping you don’t notice the way he hides the label on his briefcase from your eyesight.

You visibly ease up as confusion racks upon his face. It’s not very common for people to outwardly say they dislike one of Teyvat’s strongest and most influential conglomerates. You try to shake off the weird feeling he’s been giving you from the beginning and check your watch. Although you’re not scheduled today, you do need to drop off some things at the rec center. Childe quirks an eyebrow and gently asks, “something wrong?”

“I’ve got to go drop off something at where I work. It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh do you?” This has got to be his lucky day. Ever since he saw you from a far a few weeks ago he’s been dying to try and see you again. He’s not going to miss out on this opportunity. “Well if you’re up for it, you mind if I walk you there? Who knows if random suits try stomping all over you.” His teasing tone is infectious and you laugh in response. You concede and start walking ahead of him. You turn your head over your shoulder and motion for him to follow. He’s not going to miss this opportunity and trots up to you.

The walk to the rec center is pleasant and enjoyable, something you think you can get used to. Childe’s presence is calming, yet leaves you curious about who he is and what her intentions are. He walks with you toward the side entrance and the two of you pause. Childe shifts between his feet as he’s unsure of how to proceed. You clear your throat and hold your things tighter to you. “Well,” you emphasize the last letter, “I guess this is where we part ways.”

For once, you don’t want this interaction to end. How long has it been since a stranger, let alone a man, kept your attention for this long? You pull out your phone, opening it up to new contact and shove it in his face in an attempt to hide the warmth rising to your cheeks. “H-here,” you stammer out, “in case I get bombarded with suits again. I might need your help.” Childe eagerly takes your phone with a genuine smirk and inputs his number. Your fingers touch briefly as the device is returned to you. It’s not lost on you that his touch, although brief, sent a jolt of electricity through your veins. You shove your phone back in your pocket, quickly wanting to take it out once more.

You begin to walk away as Childe stands there patiently until you get inside. He runs a hand through his hair and laughs cathartically to himself. He gasps when he realizes, “wait, I never got your name!”

You turn around with a sly smile and yell out, “I’ll text it to you!”

Taglist: @zireaels-igni @ilydottie

#atrm #childe smau #Tartaglia smau #childe ajax tartaglia #childe x fem!reader #ajax x reader #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x fem!reader #genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin impact smau #childe x reader #childe x you #tartaglia x you #my writing #i did the thing

9 notes · View notes

busterstrouble · 2 months

Text

flannel is the color of my energy - playlist

Buster to Ren

@ambereyed-mountain-prince

FITCOME is a playlist for: that feeling when you want to turn the music volume on max and rage. Hearing the hardcore breakdown of a guitar riff. Yelling at the top of your lungs in an open field. Flannel is the color of my energy is for the angst, the energy, the memories, and the background music you pick as your walk out song.

🎸 Enemy of the World - Four Year Strong

if you drop the bomb then I’ll pick it up. The song opens up with group acapella and a drum solo. Instant goosebumps. The theme tends to be team work but also ones true self worth. The battle with one’s self. You can’t help but air drumming as the song picks up. (Favorite Band of ALL time)

🎸 Came Out Swinging - The Wonder Years

my mind is made up, there’s going to be trouble. Everyone has had an end to a relationship and everyone has had a hard time. This song is the epitome of both. The pop punk double bass picks up and gives some great breakdowns.

🎸 High Regard - A Story So Far

you don’t deserve what you haven’t earned. When you have to cut off ties with someone and you have the one sided argument with yourself in the sjower…that is what this song embodies. Driving with this song on high volume and using the steering wheel as a drum.

🎸 Mind Your Business - Sunami

self important pricks learn your fucking lesson. Hardcore. From start to finish this sound is what fuels a hype up scenario. When you feel wronged or when someone turns on you…this song and the break downs make a scowl appear on your face and you vibe. (Very hardcore but bad ass)

🎸Cries of Pleasure, Heavenly Pain - Gulch

No real lyrics. When you think of a song your mother or grandma would say that is metal it’s this song. A lot of drums. A lot of guitar. A lot of yelling. This song is not the best song in the world but there is something about it that meets some inner angst.

🎸Riot Squad - Cock Sparrer

fighting the law with the rest of us. British punk rock from the 80s. This song is about friends changing and leaving the group. This band is still playing live at the age of 70 in England - sound just like the album. Just very very good.

🎸 For Whom The Bell Tolls - Metallica

take a look to the sky just before you die. This is the song you have playing as you walk out to the baseball mound. Or the song playing as you have an angsty power scene in a movie. The narrative song in a battle scene of a good book. Quality metal and always on repeat.

🎸 The Simple Type - Broadside

we shoot first, ask questions later. A good pop punk song that’s going to make you think about someone you’ve parted with. The light melody with the guitars just brings out the air guitar. Always going to boost the mood even if you’re not thinking about someone you’ve parted from.

🎸 Those Anarco Punks are Mysterious (Acoustic EP) - Against Me!

reaching out for a scary kind of perfection. against me! Has been the most punk rock band going from acoustic to rock and back again. trans front woman Laura Grace has brought the band to the future. The theme hold and it’s impossible to not sing along with all angst and distaste for the man.

🎸My Life For Hire - A Day To Remember

this is a battleground. The middle of the song has one of the most iconic breakdowns of all pop punk music. It is impossible to not close your eyes and let the build up fuel you. Working out to just processing life this song will build with you.

Hardcore, pop punk, metal, punk, and anarchy.

A playlist by Buster Palmerteri

#ren | Buster #&buster #swyntask #tasks

3 notes · View notes

dr-docktor · 11 days

Text

YALL EVER GET STRUCK WITH SUDDEN INSPO AND START WRITING AND DONT STOP. Yeah.

Anyway, Danny Castere fans come get y’all’s food!!

Your name is Daniel Castere (you have a middle name but it’s so atrocious you refuse to tell anyone)

People tell you how much you look like your mother. Except for your eyes. Those are distinctly your father’s. You hate it. And you hate him.

Hate is a strong word. But it’s certainly an accurate one.

After all, there’s a reason why you ran away.

Your home was large but oh so cold. Everything and everyone existed to fulfill a specific function. A cog in a disturbingly well-oiled machine. You, however, were never very good at falling in line. Your father hates it. But you’re never sure if he hates you.

As you get older, your purpose in that machine becomes clear. To one day replace your father and run his company. He starts to take you on business trips, dragging you to meetings and conferences. And it looks like your Father’s business partners had the same idea.

You were always too nervous to talk to them. The one with the wild hair and leather jacket stared at anyone who dared look their way with a seething hatred. The one standing behind him was always dressed far nicer, giving off the vibe that they were forced to grow up far too early. They’re still your age, yet you avoid them like the plague.

There was only one other man that you ever truly noticed. The one with bright blue eyes and long black hair tied neatly in a bun. He always sat by the head of the table, furiously taking down notes. You think his name is Greyson?

That’s what’s engraved on his lighter, at least.

He looks at you with shock and horror when you ask to bum a cigarette off him. Insisting that you are too young. He shoos you away, telling you to go hang out with ‘Roach’ and ‘Philip’. His tone is urgent and curt, but there’s a warmth behind them that you haven’t heard in a long time.

You decide to dub him as ‘the least evil person you know’.

It’s why, months later, when you finally booked it out of that cold, corporate house. Miraculously, you wind up on the ‘least evil’ man’s doorstep at an unholy hour. Soaking wet from the storm, you half expect him to turn you away.

Rather you are met with that same warm urgency from before. Even warmer now that you are wrapped in about 5 layers of bath towels. You learn that his name is not, in fact, Greyson (you don’t question his sudden pause and harsh laughter when you call him that, you’re still too busy shivering)

His name is Revon. Revon Apollo.

There’s also a blonde man who lives here. Whom Mr. Apollo calls ‘Tayo’. (You find out that his name is Mateo. But that won’t be until tomorrow morning)

You don’t really remember the conversation you have with ‘Tayo’ as he sets up your makeshift bed on the couch. Something about where you had come from? How it’s a miracle you didn’t end up lost and freezing in the forest around the house? Theres also some apology slipped in somewhere about how the guest bedroom isn’t ready for guests yet. Your eyes are too heavy to care, really.

Hope still flutters in your chest as you fall face-first into the couch. Like everything you see in this house, it’s well-loved.

And for the first time in a long time, the warmth of a flickering candle and a patchwork cradles you to sleep.

#oc stuff #small towns campaign #oc: danny castere #docktor's note #long post #lore dump #sort of?#I love her so much #poor kid was like 15-16 when she ran away #oc: revon apollo #OC: bad dad club

2 notes · View notes

sugdenlovesdingle · 11 months

Note

I was inspired by your last anon answer and the bit of «hire me Emmerdale». So I want to ask how do you envision the future ? What will you do to get the show right back on track ? Personally, I would get rid of multiple characters, there are currently 80+ characters and it’s just too much, although I will reintroduce or introduce my own characters. I will bring back the Windsors (Scott and Kelly), Daz Eden (Half brother of Andy and surrogate son of the Sugden), I will bring Adult Jean Tate ( Scott’s and Zoe daughter, unfortunately with Leah Bracknell passing, I would have to kill off Zoe) and also Adult TJ Woods (Terry and Dawn son who is also the grandson of Bob). I am torn about bringing back Jamie Tate. As my new characters, I will bring a new family with no attach to any Dales resident or secret. I want a regular and mundane British family, with middle aged parents and kids who are in the late teens to their early twenties to give company to Belle, Tom, Samson, Amelia, Noah, Gabby and Jacob. I was also inspired with how you brought up the necessity of the depiction of Matty’s identity as a trans man in today England who have more backlash against queer people by the day. The same with gay couple. Honestly I don’t hate Arthur and Marshall; I think there are cute however if it would have been up to me, I would have waited two years before putting them together, I think the actors age is restricting them too much, they are even below the age of consent. I would have wrote Arthur as having a crush on Marshall but M turning him down and then it would have been two years of unrequited love and will they/won’t they and then Marshall reciprocated Arthur feelings but it’s too late because Arthur met someone else at school and when Marshall confess his feelings, Arthur respond with anger saying he has been in love with him for the past two years, but now it’s too late. In the end, they do get together after Arthur realise his feelings are still very strong…

An absolute fantasy scenario of mine, where obviously I would write realistic storyline and bring back the community in Dales, with characters everyday life interaction and a diversity in jobs (too many vets). I will stop putting everyone together and create meaningful pairing. I will also bring back the cattiness and camp vibe of the late 90’s and 2000’s (Watch Dawn and Kelly fight in 2005 for context)

What about you ?

Ooh you've got interesting ideas anon! First of all - bring back robron (i don't care if Ryan and Danny would actually want to, in this scenario they do) and bring Liv back from the dead (what, stranger things have happened on this show) Let robron raise seb and their football team of other kids, let Liv and Vinny be happy with Chip and maybe discuss kids and how they would want to go about that. If Liv would want to carry a child or not, have sex to get pregnant or not - just a story of a couple figuring out if/how asexuality and having kids go together. I do like Arthur and Marshall together, they're cute. And even if they're underage that doesn't mean you can't tell a cutesy teen romance story with them (I mean look at the heartstopper boys or further back Jude and Connor (I think) on The Fosters. Arthur became an LGBT+ activist overnight but has 0 interaction with the other queer characters in the village. Even if his coming out was good/happy/his family and friends were supportive, it would be nice for him to talk to other people about it. With robron and Liv in the village he could talk to him, there's Ethan and Mack (I know the writers have forgotten about his flirting with Jamie and Aaron but no take backs - he's bi). He could (help) organise a proper village pride festival that actually focuses on the queer characters - and they could raise money for a charity that helps trans people. I would bring Jamie Tate back and have him be in Thomas' life - and Gabby having to deal with that. And him having to deal with his 2.0 version (Tom) working at the vets. I'd have him back at the vets too and have the awkwardness of working with Dawn - who has well and truly moved on but he still kind of has feelings for her. I don't know who he'd possibly date though - maybe revisit the flirting between him and Mack from Mack's early days.

If we're bringing in/back long lost relatives, I'd like some Sharmas to rock up in the village (maybe Jai has some long lost cousins out there) and bring back Andy and some Sugdens (doesn't Robert have a niece/cousin out there of around his age?) And I'd bring back Ellis and put him and Vic back together.

I'd get rid of WENDY, Paddy, Chas, Meatloaf, Mandy, Dan, Will, and Zak.

Definitely bring in some new characters - Ryan's brother maybe? Maybe he'll have a family to bring with him. and there's so many empty houses in the village, a completely new family would be good too.

I like Caleb and Nicky, they can stay, but I'd bring in Nicky's mother - and maybe her partner and his other siblings. Ally can stay too and he and Nicky get together properly and we get some insight in how/when they met and how long they've been in each other's lives

Moira gets to keep her farm and Kim keeps HF for now and hires Robert as her second in command.

Cain takes Nicky under his wing like he did with Aaron back in the day.

Amy and Matty get a HUGE wedding - only robron's was better - that's just the event of the year and we meet some of Matty's friends from when he lived in Manchester.

Charity and Vanessa back together - out of all the partners she's had, she works best with vanessa (and no unexpected pregnancies!)

Chloe and Sarah move to scotland to live with Debbie and only occasionally visit so Mack can spend time with Reuben - after a while they tell him they're together and are living their best lesbian lives up in scotland.

I like Bob and Bernice in the B&B - they can stay. Without wendy in the mix they'll be easier to deal with.

Liam and Leyla back together - their break up still makes no sense.

that's all i can think of for now but i'm sure just watching the show will make me yell more at my computer screen lol

#Anonymous #emmerdale

5 notes · View notes

theveryworstthing · 4 years

Photo

So over on patreon Trevor asked for my take on the Addams Family and I grew up LOVING the Addams family movies so here we are. Instead of doing a straight up style interpretation, I decided to do a full on design challenge, using the characters as bases to make a black southern gothic Addams au. I actually drew the kids first, using the character bases of Wednesday and Pugsley to create some delightful kiddos I'm calling Sunday and Blanche. I of course then redesigned Gomez and Morticia into Carlisle and Mortesha.

The Addams have a very specific high aristocratic goth aesthetic (they've got a butler and nobody really works among other things) so in this re-imagining I wanted to go with vibes that run a little more middle class/upper middle class. I thought it would be interesting to think about what would be considered weird and off-putting in an entirely different culture, and how being a big ol' goth is way less controversial than it used to be.

I tried to keep this short (HAHAHAHAHAHA) so I didn't spin off into an essay about villain coded families, black people in the horror genre, and normalcy as it pertains to social survival, but just...bits of that are in these designs and lore. Keep that in mind.

Also I made the kids twins because they've flip flopped in age so much in different media and also twins run in my family (i'm the daughter of one). And let's face it, I'm pulling a lot of their southern gothic traits from living as a southern goth so *shrug*.

10 thousand pounds of lore incoming loooooooooool.

The Parents

From the moment he saw her he knew that there was a 50/50 chance of him either never making it out of that swamp alive or marrying the figure that was creeping out from under the distant willow tree in a black cocktail dress. The third time she found him trussed up in one of her traps, he complimented her rope work and asked if she'd like to go out sometime after his head wound stopped bleeding.

Or while it was still bleeding.

If she was into that.

Some kids and a mysteriously burnt down Piggly Wiggly later, their love is still as strong and inescapable as a bear trap in a sink hole.

Carlisle Guillermo (now Addams through marriage but I wanted to give him two first names for a name since Gomez has two last names) makes a vaguely described living practicing ‘law’ around town. A loophole king, people come to him from miles around with contracts signed in blood, fights over chunks of hair buried in their rivals’ yard, dehydrated primate hands, memories that seemed like dreams until the evidence of their happenings became too real, and other regular Legal Items asking for counsel which he is all too happy to give. For a price. Sometimes that price is a homemade pie and sometimes it’s a million dollars, depends on who you are. Whatever you’re asked to pay it’s worth that price, and if you try to scam him out of work or he just plain doesn’t like you? Well. He knows how to twist a contract better than anything at the crossroads.

And he always gets his due.

He doesn’t just serve the local (living)humans though, there are many things that need proper legal representation in this day and age. You wouldn’t believe how many city councils try to build on sacred burial grounds even after he lets them know that his ghostly clients are totally gonna haunt the FUCK out of the ensuing shitty condos and curse their families for all eternity. At least 50% of his energy goes towards dealing with real estate bullshit.

Carl is an excitable and good natured(?) man who loves his family, cigars, dancing, and his many knife-based hobbies. People find him very charming once they get past the feeling that they’re talking to a sultry gator badly disguising itself as a human. I didn’t put a ton of deep thought into designing him, mostly I wanted to make a middle aged dude who looked like he would have been voted ‘most likely to smooch the literal devil’ in high school. Tbh he probably has, but no demonic ex’s can compare to his lovely wife~

Mortesha Addams(her name was already perfect so I just tweaked it)is a woman of many talents. A self proclaimed homemaker, she prides herself on a greenhouse full of Concerning Foliage, a beautiful wasp apiary, and a coop full of what are probably chickens that she keeps for what are probably eggs. She’s also an avid creator of the outsider art that can be seen around the estate. She has taken on the family business of selling her homemade goods in a little stall by the road just outside the swamp with her mom, and makes pretty good money doing so. A surprising amount of poison gets bought in quaint southern towns.

Speaking of poison, people who come out to the edge of the swamp to buy it are usually carrying a lot of secrets around, and Mortesha knows most of them. It’s not like she pries the truth out of people, it just so happens that many nervous hellos eventually turn into the tragic backstory power hour if she’s alone with a client for long enough. She supposes that’s just how people are. Despite the fact that the Addams are very active in the community (whether the community likes it or not) she especially, as a direct descendant of the first Addams matriarch, is seen as…Well not an outsider because the community feels A Certain Way about outsiders and despite it all the Addams are their people, but maybe something like an exception. They feel like whatever weirdness they’re hiding can’t be weirder than any given Addams, so they get a little loose with their words.

This is amusing to her, since Addams’ don’t naturally keep the kind dramatic secrets that their surface level prim and proper neighbors do. It’s much more fun to openly talk about those things.

Do they have a sadly decrepit yet terrifying grandma up in the attic? Yeah, like three. They got a tv, all the creepy porcelain dolls they could want, and they’re close to family. Where do you keep your gram-grams?

Any bodies buried on the property? Yeah some, but most are thrown to the gators.

Any creeping through the balmy summer night with ill intentions? Yeah dude, everyone loves a nice family stroll.

What about dangerous forbidden love? If an adult Addams isn’t incorporeal then they’re either queer or in a torrid romance with some person/thing mysteriously drawn to that awful swamp. Sometimes both at the same time. Most times actually.

Mortesha would know.

The current head of the Addams family is just as outgoing as her husband but a lot quieter and harder to read. She never really seems to get mad about much and always has a genteel smile for everyone whether they deserve it or not. A seven foot tall human shaped “Oh, bless your heart”. A perfectly composed Lady even when she’s, oh I dunno, burning down a Piggly Wiggly. You know. A regular southern mom. Chat her up at the hair salon for 50% off a jar of wasp honey with your next purchase of a mysterious but foreboding packet of herbs.

Designing her was pretty easy because I just drew a lankier Grace Jones and called it a day. I had some problems with her outfit simply because if we were going HARD southern gothic then she’d probably be wearing a white/cream dress with a fuller skirt but I thought keeping the silhouette and the black was more important. She’s supposed to be an anti southern gothic southern gothic character anyway. A woman who looks like she has a million secrets who is actually the most open person you could meet. For better or worse. The red hair came from a coloring error that I really ended up liking (my mom had red hair her whole childhood that only darkened up in high school so I can buy that an Addams can be naturally fire engine red) and the veil was to get more of that classic Morticia silhouette in there.

The Children

Sunday and Blanche are the twin children of Carlisle and Mortesha Addams. Some say the Addams clan got their cursed homestead when a wealthy local businessman made a deal with the devil and lost, leaving his grand mansion to his least favorite maid and cutting his losses once he realized that the swamp would do everything it could to drag the house into the water and take what was owed with its horrible curse. Others say that the family has just always squatted there and no one really cares because man, fuck that particular swamp. Have you been in there? Absolute horror show.

Anyway.

Blanche is the more outgoing sibling and quite the engineer/mad scientist in the making. He started going grey at 2 weeks old but considering he was also rocking some extra fingers, toes, and a tiny tail (he takes after his dad), his parents just put it on the 'not life threatening' pile and decided not to worry about it. He's the kind of smart that teachers find utterly infuriating, less a dog eagerly learning and obeying commands and more a hyena who keeps teaching itself how to pick locks. He has a few friends in his school's robotics club (which they honestly allowed him to make so the school could contain his... creations) but mostly hangs out with his sister exploring the swamp. They find all sorts of neat things in there! wedding rings, suspiciously lumpy garbage bags, cloaked cultists who can't read private property signs, it's an adventure every day!

Blanche is all about experimentation with his creations, his look, and his tether to this mortal coil. Is lipstick a cool thing to try? Let's find out. Can he get out of a strait jacket fast enough after being pushed into the depths of the swamp by his sister? let's find out. He's not dead yet and confused local doctors can attest to the fact that he's rarely attained more than a bad bruise so he's pretty set on continuing to kiss rattlesnakes on their cute little heads and have his sister practice her knife throwing at him until that fact changes.

Blanche is very much a country goth. Cowboy boots (customized by his mom), knife, and lighter are daily accessories. He likes to wear the crusty swamp jewelry they find (the rust adds a splash of color!) and despite appearances he does try to keep himself neat. He's just got natural Grunge Colors and a tendency to wear clothes he likes until they fall apart. Pugsley always seemed the most modernly styled to me (which might just be because little boys clothes have been the same for a long time) so I wanted Blanche to be the most purposely fashionable Addams. Everyone else is goth by nature, but he's the only one truly familiar with goth as an alternative fashion.

I got really into designing Blanche because honestly, I find Pugsley to be the most boring member of the family. And he was hard to design! I had to mess with his vibe a lot to get him looking how I wanted. I know he's supposed to evoke an " 'evil' little boy next door who's parents never reign him in", but that's just goth Dennis The Menace. I's 2020. We can at least go queer goth Calvin.

Sunday was much easier to design. Wednesday was my favorite as a child (of course) and I really wanted to keep the spirit of her look while adding things like billowy sleeves (it gets HOT down here), big poofy twists instead of braids, and a nice tie. She's a professional after all, been running the local pet cemetery since she was 6 and the previous groundskeeper met with an unfortunate accident after telling her that tarantulas don't have souls. Her specialty is creating beautiful naturalistic animal funerals similar to those that Maquenda (https://linktr.ee/artofmaquenda) makes, and she takes pride in creating miniature dioramas of her subjects after each burial which she uses as a kind of 3D catalog for future clients.

She really wants to try out her skills on humans one day. Well. Publicly try out her skills. Lotta random bodies float into the swamp. None of them have turned down her requests for diorama models so far. Most seem downright flattered. Plus, she usually figures out which graveyard/crime scene they floated over from and gets her parents to give them a lift back. She'll even help enact terrifying revenge from beyond the grave on whoever put them there if she's not, y'know, busy.

Besides arts, crafts, and pet based funerary arrangements, Sunday is an avid lover of archery (any ranged weapon really), books where little fantasy adventure animals die dramatic deaths, and history. She is That Kid who eagerly raises her hand when asked who Christopher Columbus was and ends up being sent out of class after 15 minutes for making 'a scene'. Her favorite party trick is just picking an item in the room and talking about how it relates to either some obscure historical figure with a buck wild life or a horrible disaster. At least one charity pancake breakfast ended with children in tears after her vivid description of the Great Molasses Flood of 1919.

Social-wise, while Wednesday is the girl that people ask to smile because they think she'd, "look so pretty", Sunday is rarely asked anything at all. People just kind of assume from her quiet nature (in between horrible history facts) that she's angry all the time and that she hates everyone. This is untrue. She hates some people but she's ambivalent to most everyone else and even downright friendly if you bother to talk to her like a person instead of a terrifying cryptid. Like, she IS a terrifying cryptid but she's also a little girl.

That’s about it for now. One day I might do the other family members but for now I’m happy with the four I’ve redesigned. Making an au! Lurch in a family that doesn’t do butlers could be interesting. Over on patreon I put forth that he could just be Motesha’s mute little brother (similar bone structure) but Amy Crook had the nice idea of quote: “ a mysterious "cousin" that "helps around the house" whose origins are both long in the past and faintly unsettling. He's good for lifting heavy things, like that tank of propane you're about to throw into the burning Piggly Wiggly... “ which i now consider canon. Who's kid is he? How old is he? Not important. Anyone willing to commit arson with you is family.

Annnnyway. This challenge was a lot of fun! I love indulging in AU’s.

#long post #the addams family #Character Design #au #design challenge #i am incapable of doing a design challenge like a normal person #oh god i forgot the cut lol

15K notes · View notes

andypantsx3 · 3 years

Text

subtle | shouto todoroki/reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

status: complete

length: 2,171 words

summary: Someone leaves chocolates on your desk. You're determined to track down the sender, certain it's a mistake, and Shouto Todoroki makes himself as unhelpful as possible.

tags: romance, reader-insert, fluff, valentine’s day

warnings: aged up characters (no smut though!!)

There was a box on your desk.

There was a box on your desk, and the sight of it was enough to instantly set you on edge.

The box looked normal enough, if a little fancy, maybe. Its lacquered top glinted brightly under the fluorescent office lighting, its smooth, polished sides waterfalling into the soft matte of your desktop underneath. You weren’t close enough to read the inscription, but you could just make out some elegant, curling script inlaid into the top of the box, possibly the name of whichever company had produced it.

The box looked very normal, in fact. Only, you knew it wasn’t. Boxes didn’t just show up in the middle of the Todoroki Hero Agency, a campus swimming with pros and armed with layers of security so deep it took even you--Shouto Todoroki’s manager--fifteen full minutes to get through screening every morning. It was something very much like being a prison guard at Tartarus.

So either this box meant the agency was dealing with a security breach the likes of which had scarcely been seen before, or someone had mistaken your desk for somebody else’s.

Which, considering it was Valentine’s Day, made a lot more sense.

Buoyed by the realization it wasn't a security risk, you crept closer, peering at the box, and the script resolved itself into the name of the extremely fancy chocolatier in Hiroo district that you made a point of drooling over every time you had to make a house call on Shouto. Their prices were literally insane, so you had never let yourself wander inside, unwilling to shell out an entire week’s pay for a tiny set of chocolates. Even if they did look absolutely fucking unbelievable from the window.

Your mouth watered.

That confirmed it--this was a Valentine's gift, and it was definitely a mistake. For the briefest of seconds, you’d wondered if maybe you had gotten obligatory office friendship chocolates, but this was too much. Some poor, love-sodden flop had gone out, spent their week’s pay on someone they were clearly very serious about, and then proceeded to fuck the entire thing up by plonking their gift straight onto your desk instead of their intended’s.

You frowned, quickly checking the box over for some kind of clue as to who had left it. There was no note included, nothing even mildly helpful that would give you the slightest hint of the person who'd left it here. Which left you with the question of how to return the box to the sender without knowing who they were, or how to pass it on to whoever they’d really meant it for.

You drew your bottom lip between your teeth, staring hard at the surface of the box like you could crack its code if only you glared hard enough. The box stared back at you, unhelpfully silent.

You were still skewering the box with your gaze some minutes later, determined to unravel its secrets, when a deep voice murmured from your doorway.

“You look puzzled."

You startled, whipping around to find Shouto propping up the wall, looking as unfairly handsome as usual. He was watching you intently, those heterochromatic eyes fastened to your face in that careful way he had, the one that always made you feel too warm and slightly unfocused. As usual, it was all you could do to remind yourself that you were a professional and he was something solidly between a friend and a coworker, and no matter how cute and attentive he was, you shouldn't get any ideas.

This morning, he was dressed in his hero uniform, tall and broad-shouldered, his distinctive hair only a little ruffled from his early patrol. It wasn’t often someone tried something in the districts he watched over anymore, probably too nervous to find themselves on the wrong end of the number four hero’s temper. You knew from the reports you received to your phone that the only trouble he’d encountered this morning was a pack of amorous school girls purposely misusing their quirks to draw his attention.

Thirty minutes ago, in fact, you’d almost spit out your coffee laughing at a photo of him looking wildly uncomfortable as he attempted to ice down some girl’s lava quirk with his right hand while fighting off her unfathomably enormous bouquet with his left. It was only right that he should suffer once a year, when every other day he got to stalk about as handsome as you please, oblivious to the effects his appearance had on every breathing person within a five mile radius.

You gave him an absent nod, gaze drawn back to the box on your desk.

“Somebody accidentally left something in here,” you told him, gesturing to it. “I’m trying to figure out how to track down who it was, or who it was meant for.”

Shouto made a small noise in the back of his throat, almost like a cough, and it was enough to startle you into looking up at him again.

“What?” you asked, peering at him. Was he coming down with something? It wasn't often he got sick, but when he did, he usually attempted to hide it and needed to be steamrolled into taking time off. You looked him over, trying to assess whether or not you needed to start badgering him now.

Shouto gazed back at you evenly, his expression deceptively bland. “...You think it’s not for you.”

You felt yourself blink at him, surprised by the comment and struggling to discern his meaning. What did he mean, you think it’s not for you? “Of course it’s not for me, Shouto, it’s from Grégoire Chardin.”

You knew he’d know the place, considering he lived in the same fancy rich people neighborhood as the chocolatier, but Shouto looked unimpressed.

“Why should that mean it’s not for you?” he asked, his tone dry.

The remark caught you off guard, as his comments sometimes did, and you bit down something like a smile. Bless his sweet, oblivious, rich boy heart. Either he overestimated your appeal to his agency staff, or he really did not understand the concepts of cost and return on investment.

“It’s expensive, it’s not something you would give someone as obligatory chocolates,” you explained, watching as a white eyebrow went up. His expression sharpened into something you couldn’t read well.

“It could be a secret admirer,” he said.

You stared blankly back at him, absolutely floored by the idea.

He thought you had a secret admirer? The idea sent an excited thrill all the way down to your toes, but you quickly squashed the feeling. So far, you'd never been on the receiving end of any furtive but romantic gestures, and you really didn't get any interested vibes from anyone in the office, no lingering glances or excuses to spend more time with you. The person who paid you the most amount of attention was Shouto, which was to be expected, considering how closely you worked together. And obviously he wasn't interested, he was just happy to stand in your doorway spouting wild conspiracies about his agency staffers like they were completely reasonable things to say.

“I don’t have a secret admirer,” you told him.

Shouto’s mouth pressed into a thin line and he took an intent step forward into your office. “Is the point of a secret admirer not to be exactly that--secret? How can you be sure?”

You couldn’t help it--you gaped at him, your face going weirdly warm. Okay, was he--was he serious? You obviously weren’t the most unfortunate creature on earth, and you even had your good days, but nobody in their right mind was going to attempt anything with you when there were girls like Nejire Hado and Ibara Shiozaki roaming the hallways of his agency. Even several of the analysts and most of the support crew had you beat out in terms of appeal--literally bless this man for his obvious indifference to your appearance.

“I, uh--thanks for your confidence in me,” you said, fighting down a laugh. “But I assure you, it definitely wasn’t meant for me. I just have to figure out who left it and who they meant it for.”

Shouto shifted impatiently, like he was waiting for something.

“You’re so certain,” he said, sounding frustrated.

“Of course I am,” you waved at him vaguely. It was actually super cute that he thought you could net yourself a dude who was willing to shell out Grégoire Chardin dollars, but you were just wasting time now, lingering over the least important part of this entire affair. “Listen, Shouto. I know sometimes men talk in the locker rooms. If you--if you hear anything, will you let me know? I just want to return it, it looks way too good sitting here.”

It was actually taking all your willpower not to open it and avail yourself of Japan’s finest chocolate, considering you would never have another opportunity like this again. Maybe you should just pretend it was for you....Really, no one could fault you for opening something left in your own office. But...no. No, you knew better.

Shouto appeared indifferent to your internal struggle. He watched you for a long moment, his features impassive. “Under one condition,” he finally allowed.

You cocked an ear to show you were listening, rifling around with the paperwork on your desk to distract yourself from the chocolate. You were strong, a good person. You had willpower like steel. You did not need to eat it, no no no.

“If no one comes looking for it by the end of the day, you will open it,” he said, moving closer.

You glanced up at him, shocked. “Shouto, this is someone else’s gift,” you hissed. “I can’t just open it.”

He placed a large palm down on your desk, leaning over you slightly. “That is my bargain.”

“You want me to steal somebody’s shit in your own agency,” you accused him. You tried not to pay attention to how close he had gotten, how straight his nose was up close, the way his eyes seemed brighter and his mouth pulled into a pout almost too pretty for a man.

The rest of his expression slipped into something like annoyance, matching his pout. “If no one comes for it, then it must be evident that it was meant for you.”

You suppressed a derisive laugh. Now was not the time to get shirty with your own boss, especially when his delusions were kind of sweet. It was honestly just short of a miracle that a man who looked like Shouto did could possibly think anyone on earth would have a thing for you, regardless of his own tastes.

“What if they’re just too shy to ask for it back?” you asked, watching those heterochromatic eyes flick over you curiously.

“If it’s as expensive as you say, someone will come looking,” he said. Which was actually kind of annoyingly reasonable.

A smirk flitted across his maddeningly perfect face when you failed to come up with another argument. He had a point, and he knew it.

You let out a gusty sigh. “Fine, but only because I’m certain someone will come looking for it. Please be subtle when you’re gathering info, okay? I'm sure this is embarrassing for whoever made this mistake.”

Shouto looked almost offended. “I am perfectly capable of being subtle,” he intoned in his deep voice.

This time, you did laugh. He was quiet, maybe, very perceptive, and unobtrusive when he wanted to be, but no one had ever accused the man of possessing tact. “Yeah, okay. Just, try to channel more subtlety than you think you need, okay? No one else but the sender needs to know about the mix up.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Shouto was leaning over you more fully, eyes glittering strangely as his clean, fresh scent met your nose. You froze in your chair, brain going horrifyingly vacant as he leaned impossibly nearer. What the fuck was he doing?

“It will be like I’m not even asking,” Shouto promised, his voice light. “Not asking anyone at all.”

You tried to scrape your thoughts back into something resembling order, but the effort was all but futile. You needed to get him out of your space stat before you embarrassed yourself.

”Okay, then it’s a deal,” you said quickly. “Now go...flambé a villain or something.”

Shouto lingered for a long moment, his mouth curling a little at the corner, like he was being let in on a secret you couldn’t hear. His eyes brushed over you, almost like a physical touch. And then he was gone, pulling open the door to your office, looking annoyingly pleased with himself.

“You will see,” he said by way of farewell. “You will find out how subtle I can be.”

You stared at him in confusion, but he didn’t explain himself. He just smirked, and closed the door behind himself.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto #bnha #bnha fanfic #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #shouto todoroki x reader

1K notes · View notes

sirensmojo · 3 years

Text

"Big Bank!" - Hubby! Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Big Fluff, Old Money love story vibes.

Summary: Tommy decided to let his wife take care of his Gin. He comes to taste it for the first time after the Gin was met with great success.

A/N: We stand for a caring & trusting Thomas, sorry not sorry.

*Masterlist*

It was a windy day when Tommy entrusted you with his Gin distillery.

The sun was out, as your children were running around the garden, their giggling easing his mind. His head dropped backward on the garden chair as fingers of one of his hands were fidgeting with his cup or whiskey, as a cigarette was locked in between his lips.

Spring was early this year, much to your family’s pleasure. Spending time outside was something you loved to do, and knowing Tommy’s busy agenda, you made sure to make every family moment the best one.

No need to say time flew so fast, the days becoming months, becoming years.

Tommy and you was an evidence. From the day you bumped into each other in the London’s library his sister Ada used to work, you were inseparable. Thus you didn’t know each other for very long, but everything between you made this fact questionable.

You were acting as if you knew each other since children, a single look and you understood what the other thought. Not too many words were said, but not too many words were needed.

Although you weren’t Tommy’s first wife, you were “the perfect two”, making all the people you knew jealous and envious.

“My love,” you announced your presence when coming closer to the garden table as your husband was eyes closed. “I did some thinking.” You added, catching his attention.

Tommy straightened back his head and he was now facing you as you seated in front of him, glimpsing from afar of your three little boys.

“You know I don’t like your whiskey or any type of alcohol, truly.” You raised your brows, and he puffed on his cig, waiting for you to continue. “I want to make Shelby’s Gin.” You let out outright.

No need to turn around your wish, by the way he shifted position you already knew he was ready to hear anything, and you didn’t want to disturb him from his peace. You knew how he dearly appreciated those little moments in which he didn’t have to think about running a business or dealing with dirty gangsters and rude people.

“You want to do what?” He raised a brow not too sure he heard you well, but when he caught eyes of your lips curling at the corner of your mouth, he knew he had heard it well.

His family was his haven of peace and you would do anything to take off some weight off your Shelby’s shoulders. it was a regular task, a daily basis habit that you quickly took and that you’ll probably never lose.

“I already tried a mixture.” His deep voice accentuating your smile.

“It’s my turn now, you played enough with that, you need to focus on real business now. Put your mind elsewhere and let me fill my bottles.”

You couldn’t quite put your finger on what changed precisely, but you noticed a shifting in your husband’s expression along with the gleam animating his iris.

You thought it was worry.

You lost your father a few months ago due to lung disease and your mother died long ago when you were the age of your own children, and as an only child, you were now all alone without your parents.

Gracefully you had Tommy and the kids because if you hadn’t you didn’t know how you would’ve handled this loss.

As being a sensible cord, your husband didn’t bring it up, and he wasn’t the type of comforting people with words anyway, but he tried it his way, which means he bought you a ridiculous amount of new jewellery and books because he knew how much you liked to read and how you were a simp for big diamonds.

Incidentally, Tommy always found it funny how much time you spend with your nose in books while having a voracious appetite for jewellery. He would never miss an occasion to make fun of you when catching you reading as you had to wear glasses, and it was all funny and stuff till he too, had to wear glasses to read.

Now, in bed, you looked like two old people, instead, you were reading adventure and dramatic novels whereas he was stuck with political subjects.

“Okay.” He didn’t hesitate a single moment which made you smile.

“Okay?” you repeated, your smile growing as seconds passed. He straightened back, leaning over the table to you and his hands reached for yours.

You intertwined your fingers together with ease, sparkles spreading at the tips of each of it.

It was that way with every of his touches. He just had that power over you, which you were proud of as it was just love. It could never be anything else.

His deep blue eyes were anchored into your Y/C/E’s ones and you knew he was trying to bring you comfort. He knew what it felt like to lose people, and was ready to give you whatever if that meant to ease your pain.

You neared your faces and he ran his thumb over the end of your nose, down to your lips as cupping your cheek with his palm. Tommy’s head was slightly tilted to the side, his only purpose being to reach your soul with either his touch or his soul hidden behind his iris.

You leaned your head into his touch and closed your eyes for a second, enjoying that moment between the two of you as the breeze made its way to your neck under your mane.

Now, nearly five weeks later, all Birmingham was only speaking of the Shelby family as the people making “the good priced good gin” according to what you heard in the streets. From the fancy restaurant to the underground pubs, everyone in town had tasted of that oh so liked liquor.

Tommy first heard how good the gin was by his brother Arthur. He, who liked to get drunk all day long and all night long, was always keeping a bottle of it in his car or even on himself.

Then it was Ada, always offering him a drink of it whenever he would visit her.

(...)

It was 4 in the afternoon when Tommy walked through Charlie’s yard to join the Gin factory, when opening the door he was surprised to see you, seated at the old dusty desk filling paper and sipping on several cups.

Your husband frowned, “Y/N?”. He didn’t know if he should be worried or glad to see you working in such a place while drinking a lot knowing you’re not even a drinker in the first place.

You lifted your gaze to him and a huge smile instantly warmed up the atmosphere in the space, “Tommy!” You exclaimed as you got up. Being a bit dizzy you were strongly holding onto the table while getting up but you wanted to join him, and that’s when Tommy noticed your reddened cheek and little eyes.

“You’re drunk,” he stated, concerned. His expression shifted. He seemed a bit worried as he took one of your wrists to help you walk correctly.

You waved your free hand before you as to blow away his remark, “I was trying a new mixture for the Gin.” You informed him. You slid a hand into his rough one and stepped backwards, to the desk. “Here, choose one and tell me.” You proudly pointed to each of the cups. “This one on the left is spicy, the middle one a little too sweet for the Americans, this one to the right is the version that is out, and the last one is a bit strong. If the sadness hit too much.”

“The sadness?” Tommy asked while grabbing the third cup, being the gin that was already out. He was quite startled by how implicated his wife seemed to be, he didn’t actually think she would invest that much time and energy in this activity, but he was relieved she found a reason to get up every morning other than their beautiful family.

He knew how living a life without having or serving a purpose was meaningless and boring, even more, when being saddened by something you can’t control such as the death of a loved one.

The Shelby brother will sleep better now, knowing his other half found purpose somewhere, even if seeing her drunk was a sight he could never get used to…

At this moment, he felt the need to feel her skin under his touch before doing anything else, and that’s what he did, putting his hand at the end of her back, he pulled her closer, his thumb rubbing her skin over the fabric of her dress.

Tommy then drank from the cup and took his time judging the taste of it.

He opened his eyes and dropped the cup on the desk before turning to his wife, she was looking at him, impatience spreading all over her face. She seemed ready to hear Tommy’s opinion on her Gin... On their gin.

The blue-eyed man grabbed her face in his hands and pressed his forehead to Y/N’s. She closed her eyes a couple of seconds before opening them to a staring Tommy. He was fondling her cheeks with his thumbs before exhaling deeply, “I now understand why everyone’s talking about us, Shelbys, being fucking genius’, eh” He got distracted by her lips.

“This,” he pointed to the bottle standing at the corner of the table, and, once again, Tommy got distracted, he noticed words were present on the bottle down the name. “Distilled for the eradication of incurable sadness.” He read out loud.

A faint smile was found on his face before he agitated the bottle in his hand. He was proud.

He put down the bottle and directly sealed his lips to Y/N’s, the calling for love being too loud to resist.

That was exactly why it was her and no one else, she was always unpredictable and versatile. Who would have thought his bibliophile wife could be a real gem in the making of gin?

She put away, gasping for air before looking him in the eyes, “What? Did I never tell you the fact that my grandpa was making alcohol?” She teased his lips by speaking inches away from them, “I know one or two tricks. That’s why it’s selling well.” She concluded before pressing their lips together eagerly.

“This is a big bank, yea” He succeeded at saying in between two kisses.

#Thomas Shelby x Reader #Tommy Shelby #Peaky blinders #husband tommy shelby #hubby!Tommy Shelby

436 notes · View notes

theshelbyclan · 3 years

Text

Bells and Smoke

Summary: The youngest Shelby has to be send away to a convent, but you have no intention of conforming to their rules, even if you’ll die in the process

(Gif by @harmon-jane-black) A/N: Requested by anon: Could I request a Shelby sister where she is sent off to a boarding school and is getting badly bullied by teachers and pupils for being what they think is Birmingham poor scum. Maybe she comes home or gets visited and is losing her Birmingham accent and is a little thin and tired. V Polly and tommy nun scene vibes. Only if you aren't busy ❣️ x This has gotten really long, but this request gave me SO many ideas! Warning for abuse and neglect though. And I hope you like it!

Words: 6020 *** You couldn’t remember how it had all happened. One minute everything seemed to be fine and the next, life as you knew it had ended. Maybe it was Tommy’s idea, to give you the opportunities the others never had. But he never cared much about his siblings’ education. Maybe it was Arthur’s idea, thinking you’d finally become too wild. But he was too busy fighting his own demons. Maybe it was Aunt Pol’s idea, making a woman of style and class out of you. But she’d never abandon you like this.

All you knew was that one morning you had been in bed. As usual, you’d woken up with the workers as the factory whistles sounded, but there was no need for you to get up at five. So you’d turned around and tried to sleep on. But then Finn had come in and he roughly shook you awake. “Aunt Pol says you have to get up,” he had said, his voice filled with urgency. But you hadn’t been awake fully yet, “What… Why? It’s so early!” “You have to pack.” “For what? Where are we going?” Your brother had refused to meet your eye, “Not me. Just you.” And before you knew it, Aunt Polly had taken you and your small bag into the car and you were speeding out of Birmingham. At least Finn had come along, though Polly had forbidden him to go, but he had been adamant. “Where are we going?” you had whispered to him in the back. He had hardly replied to any of your question, but gave evasive answers like, “Away. Pol says it won’t be forever.” You remembered the all-encompassing feeling of loneliness that had washed over you in that moment. Was it something you had done? Were you being punished? Was the family giving you up? You were only fifteen, you’d never been away from Small Heath without any of your siblings by your side, and the separation had been too abrupt, too cruel. Suddenly, Aunt Polly had swerved to the right and stopped abruptly in front of the train station. “Get you bag,” she’d ordered you. Anger had flared inside of you, “No! You tell me where I’m going first!” “Y/N Shelby, I am your aunt and you will do as I say. Remember who you’re talking to and don’t think for one second that you will win this fight. Grab your bag and get out of the car.” Petrified at your aunt’s tone of voice, you’d gotten out of the car. And like a zombie, you’d walked over to the train. On the side it said Oxford. “Where do I get off?” You’d asked no one in particular. “Oxford,” your brother had never left your side, “Just sit tight until the end.” “You know what’s going on.” “I can’t change it, Y/N,” his eyes had been pleading for your forgiveness in that one moment, “I tried, I swear to God I did, but I can’t change it…” Not really understanding, you had only been able to nod, “Will you explain it to me?” “I’ll write.” Suddenly, tears had begun to fall from your eyes. The great unknown hadn’t even scared you that much, but the sudden realisation that everything had been altered had. “Here,” Finn had nudged you, as you’d hoisted your bag on board, “I nicked this for you,” and he’d handed you a hipflask, “might get you as far as Oxford. After that, you’re on your own.” His words had hit you hard, so there’d been nothing left to do but take a swig from the whiskey he offered. “What did I do wrong?” you’d asked him, uncertain. “Nothing. Don’t let the bastards tell you otherwise. You did nothing.” His voice had been so strong then. “Finn?” “Yeah?” “You can’t fucking write.” He’d burst out laughing and you couldn’t help yourself but join him. Then the train had started to depart and you’d taken one last look at the car with Aunt Pol’s silhouette inside. You’d turned to Finn and it’d been like you would never see him again. “Finn?” “Yeah?” “I bloody love you, you know?” He’d smirked, “I fucking love you too.” Eyes still locked, the train had started to move and just before it was too late, he’d added, “I’ll make sure you’re coming back home.” You’d clung to those words *** At five in the morning, the whistles sounded. Waking up this early was now your habit, as it was the habit of all the girls here. Like robots, you all climbed out of your sober beds, to put on your drab grey dresses and to stand neatly next to year beds. The dormitory looked like a prison cell and the girls’ faces were ashen. Shivering in the cold, you waited for inspection. “Adams!” “Yes, sister.” “Lee!” “Yes, sister.” “Williams!” “Yes, sister.” The first voice rang through the room like the bells of hell and the girls answered in meek tones. This was your morning ritual and there was no comfort to be found in it. Silently, you waited, while a part of you still dreamed of the horses you once loved and rode. Remember the freedom you felt, you told yourself. Remember the wind in your hair? The people who cared? The place called home? Remember Finn running alongside you? “Shelby!” You suddenly looked up, “Yes, sister,” and faced the nun who’d stopped by your bed. “What’s this?” she asked her rhetorical question. “My bed,” you weren’t supposed to answer, but it had escaped you before you could stop yourself. The middle-aged woman crouched down and tore up the neat bedding you’d just finished tucking in perfectly. Locking eyes with you, she gloated, “Look, it isn’t made properly.” “It was,” you replied through gritted teeth, “you just went and fucked it up again.” Without a warning, she struck you across the face hard. Then she flipped over the bed in one smooth motion and said, without any emotion, “Do it again.” Seething with rage, you counted to ten in your head. In your mind, you went back to Small Heath. You could feel the warmth of the fire in your kitchen, hear the men counting the money and could smell Aunt Polly’s cooking. This and only this was how you managed not to explode. “Ankins!” she continued her list. “Yes, sister.” “Elliot!” She was new here and you looked at her without turning your head, a skill you’d mastered in recent weeks. Some of the girls said she’d gotten pregnant, but she’d lost the baby before coming here. No one really knew what had happened to her. You only thought she looked too young, too fragile, like a little bird that could be squashed with a single movement of the hand. “Yes…” she mumbled, practically inaudibly. “Speak up, girl!” She hardly increased her volume, but repeated, “Yes, sister.” Just as you’d promised yourself you’d try to look out for her, evil incarnate turned around to face you again and snapped, “Shelby. You’ll report to my office after you’ve finished making your bed, properlythis time.” Great, you thought. After she’d left, you looked at your hands in resignation. Faint white lines betrayed the cane that had been on them. They’d only just healed. *** A few months earlier, Tommy was meeting a man dressed in black in an alleyway. As the rain was pouring down on Small Heath, they spoke in urgent whispers. “What did she do this time?” the concerned brother said with a slight hint of annoyance in his voice. “Theft, mainly,” the other replied, “And she was seen at the races, leaving the scene of the murder.” Tommy knew his sister hadn’t been responsible for the death that day, but none of it mattered now, “How much do they know?” “Enough.” Tommy took another drag of his cigarette and paused for a second, “Well, what do they want?” “Nothing. Leverage.” “Fuck…” “Thomas,” the informant urged, “Get her out. Out of Small Heath, and do it fast.” “Where the fuck is she supposed to go?” He shrugged, “Don’t you have family some place else?” “Can’t protect our Y/N when she’s away from here,” Tommy said coldly, not betraying the emotions he felt. “Then send her somewhere she will be protected.” Tommy sighed deeply, “I’ll ask Pol, eh? She’ll know what to do.” The man looked at Thomas Shelby: gangster, businessman, brother. His face was impossible to read and his feelings remained hidden. So he said, “Do it tonight, Thomas, if you can. He said she’d hang for it. Get her out.” ***

The first time you had tried to escape you didn’t think about it. You hadn’t even planned it and had just decided to run. With two nuns hot on your heels, you’d raced through the corridors. Pretty soon, you ran into your first locked door. You knew all was lost there and then. “Shelby…” the mother superior had mused as you stood in her office, “I knew it would be you.” “And how the fuck would you know that?” you’d replied quick as a flash. “You watch your tone, filthy rat,” she’d shouted, but added calmly, “We know of your kind, child.” Through gritted teeth, you’d questioned, “And what kind would that be?” “Gypsy scum,” she’d spat, before beating you senseless for the first time. The second time you tried to escape, you’d thought it through more. In the middle of the night, you’d crept out of bed and tiptoed across the dormitory. “Get back in bed!” one of the girls had whispered, “Remember last time?” “Yeah, I fucking remember, that’s why I need to leave!” you’d whispered back, voice filled with urgency.

Two hairpins. The day you’d found those were the day you’d planned your second escape attempt. Because if growing up in Small Heath had taught you one thing, it was how to steal and lie and cheat. And, coincidentally, how to pry open any lock. The first locked door was conquered quickly, but the second one had proven to be more troublesome. The large black doors that were said to protect you from the outside world did their job of keeping you all caged inside. The hairpins were too small to reach all the tumblers. Cursing under your breath, you’d soon realised that you disappearance had been noticed. In a panic, you’d grabbed a chandelier from the chapel and broken a window. Ignoring the shards you’d climbed through, while they tore at your skin and blood stained your nightgown. Once outside, the fresh air had an intoxicating effect on you. But you’d never gotten far. Again, you were brought to the mother superior, who stood waiting eagerly this time, cane in hand. “Go on,” you’d urged, full of defiance, “Beat me and get it over with.” “No…” she’d said suddenly, “you will tell me what your plan was first.” “To fucking get out.” “Why would you want to leave this place?” she’d questioned innocently, “Why would you want to leave the house of the Lord, where we only want to offer you safety and education? Where you can atone for your sins and regain your place in heaven?” “I’m not an animal,” you’d replied, “I need to be free.” And with that, the nun had smirked at you, “Free. You want to be free. Well, maybe this will finally break your spirit.” They’d locked you up in the cellars for three weeks. Darkness had enveloped you, only broken when she came in to beat you or feed you. You could never be sure. After every beating, she’d say, “Now, I’ll pray to God for you and ask him for his forgiveness.” “I’ll do it myself,” came your steady answer each time, “I’ll deal with him on my own.” And in the dark you’d cling onto the black Madonna around your neck, the only mother you still had left in this Godforsaken place. Now, some girls would be broken by now, but not you. If anything, you’d been more determined than ever to get out. But you had to be smart about it. Maybe Aunt Pol wouldn’t take you back and maybe you’d shame Tommy, but Finn would look out for you. Running hadn’t worked so far, so a new plan had started to form in your mind: a new plan that involved the boy that delivered the bread. Because as the days droned on after you were being released, you started paying attention to the delivery boy for the first time. You knew he’d always had a thing for you, but you weren’t interested. As a way out, you were now extremely interested. “Hi,” you greeted when it was your turn to help him unload. He was so startled by your talking all of a sudden, all he could manage was, “Bread…” “Yeah,” you smiled your prettiest smile, “Bread. That’s what you’re here for, right?” “I am.” “Good,” and you continued to unload the crates, sending him a few glances over your shoulder. He was still rooted to the spot, so you decided a bit more effort was required in this case, “You only come here for the bread?” you asked with humour in your voice. “Well, that’s my job…” he almost stuttered, but when you made eye contact, he finally relaxed a little, “What else would I come here for?” “Me?” you asked innocently. You could tell his confidence was growing, “Well, maybe a little. I mean, you are the prettiest girl in the school.” That was easy, you thought. So you flirted on and chatted him up and soon he was all yours, “Your name’s Billy, right?” “Yeah.” “Well, Billy. I need a favour…” This plan was a lot more complicated but it had a higher chance of success. And it would’ve worked too, if it hadn’t been for the younger nun who’d spotted you talking to Billy. Before the third attempt had even taken place, you found yourself back at the office. This time, the mother superior didn’t even speak. As soon as you were marched in, she’d grabbed you by your hair and attacked you with a pair of scissors. “Get off me, you crazy bitch!” you screeched, as strands of your hair fell down left and right of you. But the old nun remained completely calm in her tone, while becoming increasingly vicious in her attack, “Do you know what we do here?” You clenched your jaw for the pain, because this was no longer just about cutting your hair, but also hurting you as much as possible in the process. You had about a thousand replies to her question, but quickly weighed your options and decided not to piss off an angry old nun with a deadly weapon in her hands. So she continued, “We offer you the gift of education. Through hard labour, lots of prayer and penance the girls can find their way back to Jesus Christ. By humbling yourself, denying yourself rest, food and drink even, and working beyond human endurance one may come closer to our Lord. Save yourself from eternal damnation.” “No, thanks,” you replied inaudibly. When your hair had been cut, she crowed, “Your arrogance has been defeated and your vanity has been lifted. You will do well here now.” The fuck you would.

*** “Aunt Pol?” “What?” the woman snapped. He faltered, “Is this a bad time?” “It’s never a good time. Speak up, Finn.” “Fine,” and he took in a deep breath, mentally preparing himself, “When’s Y/N coming home?” Aunt Polly turned around abruptly and said, “For fuck’s sake, Finn.” “It’s been months!” “And we haven’t heard from her,” with a large gesture, Aunt Polly threw some more wood onto the fire, “If something was wrong, she would’ve written.” “Well, no…” her nephew started protesting. “Yes,” his aunt interrupted him, “She’s fine. It’s Y/N. She can take care of herself.” “She can’t now, can she!” Finn suddenly erupted, “Yousend her away and for fucking what?! She didn’t do anythingwrong!” Polly held up a menacing hand, “You mind your fucking tone or I’ll slap you back to where you came from.” “I’m sixteen, Aunt Pol, same age as Y/N. Remember, we’re twins?” He’d only gotten more heated, “Something’s wrong. I can feel it, alright? And she wouldn’t write to you anyways, because you’re the one that send her away! Why would she write to someone who doesn’t even fuckingwant her?” Polly paused for a moment and seemed to calm down, “What do you mean you feel it?” “I just know, Aunt Pol, like when we were little and she fell in the Cut and I couldn’t breathe? It’s like that, only… longer.” She put down her black cigarette, “You’ve been dreaming, haven’t you?” “I dream about her, but I can never see her,” he nodded, “And sometimes…”

“What?” “It’s stupid…” “Finn, you tell me, right now!” everything about her was focused on the urgency of the situation now. But he didn’t understand, “Seagulls, alright? I keep dreaming about seagulls.” “Fuck,” his aunt whispered to herself, “I need to talk to Tommy.”

“Aunt Pol, you’re missing the fucking point!” he was seething again, “I was trying to talk to you about Y/N! I just want to know why you send her away and whenshe’s coming back!” “I didn’t send her away. Tommy said we didn’t have a choice,” she grabbed her coat and continued talking to herself, “I thought she’d be safe there…” “Isn’t she?” Finn asked, panicking as a result of his aunt’s strange behaviour. “Seagulls, Finn, fucking seagulls!” *** You couldn’t understand why they hated you so much. At first it had just been the nuns, and you had a vague notion of them calling you ‘gypsy scum’ had something to do with it. From the start, they’d commented on your accent, reminded you of where you came from and told you that you were nothing compared to the others girls here. And in a way this made sense: on the one hand this school had the outward appearance of being an institution of learning for young ladies, but the reality was very different. Parents who no longer wanted to deal with them or who had ‘shamed’ their families often dumped girls here. Others were orphans. Either way, the nuns collected the large amount of money paid for each girl and treated all of you badly. And you weren’t a complete idiot and you knew you were partially to blame for the situation as it was now. You knew you hadn’t made a great entrance when you walked into the school, but even from the start they had disliked you. But your resistance had made it worse, much worse. All the girls were treated harshly, had to work and were kept in line, but you were being treated like a slave held captive. There was zero intention on your part to come into the school to make friends. From the moment you’d stepped off that train, you’d decided you were done with people. All you wanted was your brother, and the rest of the family if they still wanted you. But after a few weeks, you had started craving some connections and you had tried to make friends with the other girls. But it soon became clear that you had very little in common with them. This however, wasn’t the main problem: they feared you. Your defiance made them anxious to be around you and receive similar punishments to yours. They kept away. “Elliot!” you whispered to the new girl, who was crying in the dark. You rolled onto your other side in bed to face her and tried to ask her gently, “What’s your name, your first name I mean?” After a few residual sobs, she said softly, “Anna.” “I had a cousin called Anna,” you smiled at her, “Why are you crying? Who do you miss?” “It’s not who I miss, it’s about who doesn’t miss me…” “How do you know…” you started, but you were interrupted. “Don’t talk to her!” another girl called out and Anna turned around to look at her. The girl continued, “Yeah, I’m talking to you. Don’t talk to Y/N. She’ll get you in trouble. Just… stay away from her.” Anna looked at you for a few seconds, eyes filled with fear and then she turned onto her other side. You couldn’t even blame her really. She was new. But slowly, it only got worse. All the girls crossed the halls when you passed and not only did they begin to shun you, but they started taking your things, stealing your food at times and made you an outcast in every sense of the word. And you suddenly understood: if they made you stand out even more, all the attention would be drawn to you. The nuns would leave them alone. You were the easy scapegoat, because you’d been the most likely choice from the start. And as the months wore on, you started to wither away. Jealous or full of hatred, you couldn’t tell, but the other girls tried to hurt you as much as the nuns did. You were cold at night because they’d taken your blankets. You didn’t eat because you were being punished. You didn’t sleep because you were locked up downstairs and the beatings kept you awake. And so you fell ill, heavily. After you recovered, you stopped eating, sleeping, fighting. Not because you no longer could, but because the loneliness had finally caught up with you: you no longer wanted to. *** Tommy watched his aunt as she strode over towards him. He’d known the woman for years and usually he would be annoyed by her interrupting his meeting, but by the way she walked, he knew she wouldn’t wait for anyone right now. “Get out,” she told the man Tommy had been talking too. He left at once. “It’s Y/N,” she said as soon as he’d gone, “We need to get her out.” “She’s at the school, the one you recommended, Pol. You told me she’d get a good education there.” “We were wrong, Thomas, wrong to send her away.” “What’s all this, eh?” he frowned, “We had no choice and she alright where she is. We took care of it.” With a wave of her hand, Polly referred to Finn, “He feels she’s in danger.” And Tommy turned to his youngest brother, raising his eyebrows sarcastically, “Is that right?” “I have a bad feeling, Tom…” Finn said uncertainly. “He’s been dreaming of seagulls,” Polly emphasized, locking eyes with her nephew. “Fucking seagulls…” he rubbed his head, “More gypsy witchcraft?” Swiftly, she slapped Tommy across the face, “You’ve forgotten where you’re from.” Quickly, Tommy’s face went through a range of emotions. First there was anger and the urge to strike back. Then there was the reaction of wanting to hide, like he was being chastised just like when he was little. The hurt over her comment came next, swiftly followed by a sense of shame, because she was right. His face settled on worry over his youngest sister. “What do we do?” “What will happen if we get her back to Small Heath?”

Tommy lit a cigarette and thought out loud, “Connor wants her dead. He has high influence in the police and he’s using her as leverage, after having seen her at the races.” “Y/N didn’t kill that soldier!” Finn called out, full of indignation. “Yes, we know…” Tommy said in a low voice, “But that doesn’t fucking matter because no one’s going to believe our word for it against his.” “Who else knows?” Polly continued. “My guess is no one does yet…” “JOHN!” Polly howled suddenly and for a second Tommy could only blink. Then he continued, “If anyone else knew, we’d heard by now. I’m guessing he intends to save the information for when he can use it.” Aunt Polly bend down and started unlacing one of her boots. That’s when John walked in and he immediately paused when he felt the tension hang in the air. “Take this,” she ordered him and handed him the small revolver that she kept hidden in her boots, “Shoot Connor.” “Fucking what?” he nearly spit out his toothpick. John looked at Tommy for an explanation, but it didn’t come. Instead Tommy asked Polly, “Then what?” “We go to Oxford.” Tommy nodded slowly, “John, go on. Shoot the man. Get Arthur out of bed when you’ve done it.” Shrugging like it was just another small task he had to fulfil without much enthusiasm, John walked off with the gun in hand. But Finn said carefully, “What if I was wrong?” “Have you ever been wrong about your sister?” Aunt Polly asked, “Apart from that time you thought she was in love with that Jewish boy…” “No.” “Trust your gut, Finn,” Tommy confirmed, “Pol’s right.” Aunt Polly smiled at him with an almost motherly warmth, “Let’s bring Y/N home.” *** Eventually you were moved to the hospital wing of the school. The neglect and lack of food had caused your body to shut down and you could no longer force yourself to get up each morning. At first, you were branded lazy and got punished for it. Finally, even the nuns acknowledged this was serious and the last thing they needed was another girl dying at their school. You’d lost all feeling for days, drifting in and out of sleep. One nun took care of you and she was different from the others. During your hazy periods, she tried to persuade you to eat, but with the last strength you did have, you refused. If you were to die, it’d be your own choice. “Y/N…” someone whispered to you gently. You tried to open your eyes, but it felt like lifting bricks with muscles you did not have. “Y/N,” the voice said again, and you realised this wasn’t the nun. Slowly you opened your eyes and saw Anna, sitting by the side of your bed. “What do you want?” you croaked. She looked down and said, “I came to see you.” “Why?” “Because I’ve made a mistake.”

You didn’t care for her feelings. You knew she despised you just like the others did and you didn’t need another girl gloating by your bed. So you decided to just wait and not answer her. “The girls told me you were scum,” she continued, “that you didn’t belong here. They said that’s why you always got into trouble, because you’re just Birmingham working-class trash.” Great, you thought, and how is this supposed to help? “When they told me to not talk to you, I listened. I thought it would help, that I would fit in more and the nuns wouldn’t beat me like I saw them do with others. But I was wrong.” “The nuns don’t need a reason,” you replied before you could stop yourself, “Reasons help, but they will find a way to vent their cruelty, no matter what.” “That night,” Anna said, “you talked to me and asked me who I missed. You were the only one that asked me why I was crying.” “I didn’t want you to feel too alone…” Anna nodded, “I know. That’s why I’m here.” But you didn’t understand, “Why are you here?” “Y/N. You’re not alone. Tell me, who do you miss?” Much to your own annoyance, tears welled up in your eyes. For last couple of months you had tried so hard not to think of Finn, Arthur, John and Ada. And you tried to ban Polly and Tommy especially from your mind, always wondering why they didn’t want you. Your heart can be cruel like that: those who don’t want you, you miss the most. Anna took your hand in hers and for the first time you felt another human being without pain. And so you started telling her of your brothers, of your aunt, of the horses and factories and of the streets of Small Heath. Anna didn’t say a word, but she listened intensely. After you’d cried all your tears and there were no more stories left to tell, all she said was, “Please. Eat.” When she offered you soup, you ate. *** It was a sight to behold: Polly Gray walking through the city of academia with four brothers practically having to run after her to keep up. When she arrived at the front doors of the convent, she didn’t ask to come in, but simply walked on into the halls. “Aunt Pol,” John ventured, “What do we do?”

“Keep up,” she said simply. Arthur looked around nervously. He didn’t like nuns and convents. But Tommy and Finn scanned every room and corner for you. Left and right, girls looked up in surprise as the strange family invaded their home. “Who’s that?” they whispered. But the nuns urged them away and said, “No one. Don’t look at them. They don’t belong here.” Tommy frown deepened as he noticed the faces of the girls. These weren’t what he expected. Of course, he wasn’t familiar with schools like this one, but he knew education played a part. These girls all looked tired, downtrodden and most of them were cleaning or scrubbing the floors. He shared a look with Aunt Polly and she nodded in understanding. “How are we going to find her?” Finn asked. “Oi!” Arthur called out to one of the girls, who jumped up at his voice, “Y/N, you know her?” “No, sir…” she shook. “Listen to my voice,” John added, “What about a girl who sounds like me?” And then one other girl stepped forward and she tilted her chin up high as a sign of arrogance, “She’s not here.” “And whyis she not here?” Polly asked pointedly. The girl got nervous, but tried to keep composure, “Because she’s filth and this is a decent school.” Again, Tommy looked around at the skinny girls, all dressed in the same drab depressing dressed, “Decent, eh?” His low menacing voice knocked all the attitude out of her, so she changed her mind, “She was taken to the hospital ward a few weeks ago.” “Where,” Arthur demanded. “North wing,” she gulped.

Aunt Polly marched through the halls like a woman on a mission. Her face bore a gritty look of determination and none of the bells, smoke and threats of a holy place could make her quiver. In fact, God shook as she walked passed.

Still, one nun tried to stop her, but before she could open her mouth in protest, Aunt Polly had pushed her aside and casually commented, “Better get out of the way, sister, you certainly won’t be the first woman of God I’ve knocked down.” When they entered the hospital wing, they walked into another depressing space filled with beds in lines. Most of them were empty, but one nun stood up and walked over to Polly. Her first instinct was to actually knock down this one, but when she saw her soft face, she paused. “Y/N Shelby,” she demanded, “We’ve come to take her home.”

“You’re her aunt?” the nun asked, “She’s asked for you.” “Is she alright?” Finn stepped forward, “What was wrong with her?” “We thought she might not make it. She stopped eating, you see,” the nun explained. John frowned and protested, “That’s not Y/N. She would never refuse food, unless…” Tommy didn’t need to hear the ‘unless’; worry was already eating him alive inside. So he walked around in search for his sister. He found her in a bed, with another girl sitting next to her. His sister was asleep. “Who are you?” Polly demanded harshly. But the brothers couldn’t speak when they saw their sisters. You were too skinny, eyes sunken deep and bruises were still visible on your face. The long black hair was gone. In many ways, it wasn’t their sister anymore, just a shell. The nun answered when the other girl was too afraid to, “This is Y/N’s friend. She came to visit her every day, even though she wasn’t allowed to.” Polly lifted one eyebrow, “Then why did you allow it?” “Anna got Y/N to eat again. She’s the reason she’s alive.”

Anna. Polly walked over to her and carefully took her hand, “You watched over my niece.” “I didn’t want her to feel alone. She felt abandoned, she said…” Anna said in a soft voice. Polly shook her head in an effort to banish the emotions, “Thank you, Anna. You’re a good friend and a guardian angel.” “What did they do to her?” John asked her through gritted teeth. “She was isolated, singled out for being… different.” Anna explained without meeting their eyes, “She tried to fight them from the start, but never won. She kept trying to run away. They beat her, kept her locked up in the cellar, but when the other girls turned on her and she thought she would never leave this place, she just… gave up.” Slowly, Finn had walked over to the other side of the bed. Clumsy but lovingly, he started stroking the hair out of your face. Seagulls, he thought. “Who’s in charge here?” Tommy suddenly spoke. “The mother superior has an office down the hall,” the nun said, “Anna can take you there.” “No,” Anna gasped, “I can’t…” Fear was written all over her face.

“What’s wrong with the office?” Tommy asked her with unusual kindness. “It’s where she…” And in an instant they all understood. So Tommy demanded, “Tell that woman to come here.” “She won’t like it, sir…” “You fuckingtell her to come here,” Tommy spat filled with venom, “Or I will burn this entire place down to the ground, and don’t think for a second I won’t fucking do it.” So the nun with the gentle face nodded and walked off. Somehow, Tommy’s explosion had triggered some old memories in you. Before you were properly awake, you dreamed of being back in your bed in Small Heath. The smell of the factories penetrated your nose and you could hear your family arguing. But when you opened your eyes, they were actually there. You looked at them one by one and stopped at Finn, “You said you’d explain.” “And I will,” he said, “when we get home.” “Am I allowed to go home?” you questioned in disbelieve. Aunt Polly shook her head, “You should’ve never been anywhere else.” “Can’t protect you if you’re not at home…” Tommy added with a slight hint of guilt in his voice. “It’s safe now,” John said, “I’ve dealt with it.” And just the way he said it made you smile a little. “Arthur, John,” Tommy started ordering them in his usual business-like manner, “Take Y/N out of here.” And Arthur lifted you out of the bed into his arms like it was nothing. “Finn, you go with them. Make sure you get her things.” At that, John pulled a gun and Finn nodded solemnly. “What about Anna?” you asked, looking at your friend, “I won’t leave her here.” “Pol and I are going to have a word with the mother superior,” Tommy stated matter-of-factly. You sighed in relief, but Anna still had a look of confusion on her face, “What will that do? She won’t listen to anyone.” “She’ll listen to us, love,” Polly said to her with a reassuring smile that left very little room for arguments, “We’ll make sure of it.” You smiled at Anna too, “This convent will be closed by tomorrow. Trust me.” “We’ll see you at home, Y/N,” Tommy said, “And then we’ll talk.” Just before Arthur walked out of the door with you in your arms, Aunt Polly ran over to you and pressed a kiss on your forehead, “Safe journey, sweetheart.” Then there was just Tommy and Polly left, clearing their faces of all sentiment and hardening their features. Arms crossed, they waited and knew what had to be done, and nothing would stop them from doing it.

“Mr. Shelby, Mrs. Gray?” the hospital nun had reappeared, “The mother superior will see you now.”

***

Masterlist

3K notes · View notes

markosmate · 3 years

Text

lady

Pairing; Marko x Emerson!Reader

Summary; Moving to a different state with your younger brothers and mother just to live with your grandfather was hard enough, but falling in love with a vampire and then watching your brother do the same thing? Much different story.

Warnings; strong language

au:// Welp lovelies I had promised you a Marko series in February that I started writing while I was manic, then after writing a good five/six chapters I fell into a deep dark hole of depression and didn’t write anything but sad, worthless poetry about a boy I’m in love with who doesn’t love me back :) But now it’s May, a spark of inspiration and happiness has suddenly hit me and I’ve come back to this series to finally deliver it to you!! I hope y’all like it cause I literally stress cried over finishing it three different times :,)

I’d also like to point out that any kind of feedback at all is so so appreciated. Most of my inspiration comes from feeding off of people’s reactions to what I write. So if you enjoy it or have any recommendations or comments at all please please don’t be shy to send me an ask or DM or even comment to let me know :( Thank you and enjoy!!

Part 2

I wasn’t exactly mad about moving, there was nothing holding me in Phoenix that I would be particularly sad about leaving behind. The only thing that struck a nerve was that it was dumped out of nowhere on me. Suddenly Mom had divorced Dad, let him keep everything, and made plans with Grandpa for us to move into his place with him. A little prior warning would have been appreciated, but regardless when we were told it didn’t change the fact that everything we knew was changing. Sam wasn’t happy about it at all, leaving his friends, leaving Dad. Michael... well Michael didn’t really have an opinion. In my view, he was just indifferent. He didn’t really care where the hell we were as long as he had a motorcycle, a job, and some hot chicks to swoon over.

But here we were, packed into Mom’s truck and driving through a town that I’d most likely have memorized like the back of my hand in a good few days. As the three in the car argued over which station to keep on, I turned my head and leaned my forehead on the window of the car. I watched the beach as we drove along the road, and admired the waves hitting against the sand.

I was ready to drift off until we got to Grandpa’s house when a short, exited yell left Mom’s lips. “Oh!” She grinned happily as Sam landed on a station familiar to her. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Oh, that’s from my era! Grooving on a Sunday afternoon!” She sung along with the song as Sam threw his head back and groaned in protest. I laughed at her antics, enjoying seeing my Mom acting so carefree and happy.

“Alright, keep going, keep going.” Mom and Sam agreed with each other at the same time, Mom leaning over to continue skipping through the stations. Finally, the next station was agreed on and my pounding head thanked the universe for the quiet that I hadn’t been able to achieve the entire drive here. “Hey we’re almost there!”

“Ugh,” Sam scrunched his nose up in disgust after taking a deep breath. I leaned forward to wrap my arms around his head-rest and pull my face closer to the open window. The pungent smell hit me, and I recognized it immediately, low tide, but it wasn’t bad - anything to do with the beach was calming to me regardless. “What’s that smell?”

“Ah!” Mom breathed in deeply and turned to share a knowing grin with me, “That’s the ocean air!”

I turned to look at the welcoming sign, taking in the colors and faded lettering. “Smells like someone died.” Sam muttered as Mom tutted at him softly.

“That’s likely.” I muttered to Michael, nudging his head in the direction of the back of the sign, where in big red spray-painted letters sat the phrase “Murder Capitol of the World.”

“Aw guys, I know the last year hasn’t been easy. But I do think you’re really going to enjoy living in Santa Carla.” Mom tried to remain happy about the situation, but a shared glance with Michael after we both read over the sign revealed there wasn’t much he was excited for.

The rest of the drive only increased my excitement. Hippies galore filled the streets, a large amusement park covered most of the boardwalk, and the rest was filled with small shops and food stands. We stopped for awhile so Mom could give some teenagers rummaging through garbage some money to eat and so Michael could unhinge his bike and ask around for job openings, but before I could even think to step out of the car and get a look around we were already heading into the backroads to get to Grandpa’s house.

Grandpa’s house was farther into the plains than expected, but still only a good fifteen to twenty minute drive away from town. Before Mom could ever fully park the car, I had already jumped out and was looking around the property. Michael pulled his bike up next to Mom’s car, and they all took a good few seconds to look around at all the wood carvings and chimes before turning their vehicles off. I took note of the horses grazing in one of the back fields before walking around the front of the truck and seeing a man laying on his back across the front porch steps.

Sam lead the way towards him before Mom cut in front and marched up the steps to squat beside him. “Dad?” She questioned gently. “Dad?” The three of us leaned closer to get a better look.

“Looks like he’s dead.” Michael remarked.

“Like... really dead.” I quipped in, raising an eyebrow at Mom.

“No, no. He’s just a deep sleeper.” She brushed our comments off.

“If he’s dead can we go back to Phoenix?” Sam remarked, earning a snort from me and a sharp look from Mom.

Suddenly Grandpa sat up, a cocky smirk apparent on his face. “Playing dead. And from what I hear, doing a damn good job of it.”

Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation before Mom laughed faintly. “Oh, Dad!”

That night, Mom decided that it would be good for the four of us to leave the house after a night of unpacking and explore the boardwalk when it’s at its liveliest. I could admit it looked much more enjoyable now that it was dark and a little chilly, the sweaty people that had been occupying it earlier were now less sweaty and more stoned.

Almost as soon as Mom’s car and Michael’s bike were parked, Mom sent us off on our own so she could spend some time staking out a job in one of the family-owned shops. “Do you think she’ll be able to find one?” Sam questioned as the three of us weaved through crowds, trying to find our way to the beach concert. We could certainly hear it, we were just having a bit of trouble actually getting to it.

“One what? A job?” Michael scoffed as if it was hard to believe, still bitter over the fact there was no legal jobs for him to get hired in.

I laughed, elbowing him softly in the side, knowing that this place was exactly his vibe and in time he would most likely come to love living here. Sam was the only one I was actually worried about. “She’ll probably be able to find one. What, with all these missing people, there’s bound to be tons of job openings.”

“You’re telling me. It’s like there’s hundreds of bullet-boards around every corner with dozens of people missing. This place really is the Murder Capital.” Michael remarked as the concert finally came into our line of sight.

“Don’t say that!” Sam pleaded, shoving Michael’s shoulder with his eyebrows knitted tightly.

Michael just held his hand up in surrender and with one last shrug of his shoulders he turned to me. “You checking out the shops? We’ll find you once we get bored.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I agreed, turning sharply on my heel and blindly making my way back into the crowd. The concert was loud, sweaty, and crowded, and it wasn’t even my style of music - the last thing I wanted to do was spend my first night there. I figured it would be much more productive if I were to check out all the shops and stands running up and down the entire area, maybe find some new pieces of jewelry, or even a possible summer job opportunity.

Many places caught my eye, and I made a mental note to check them out the next time I had free money to spend, as it wouldn’t be wise for me to make an impulse-buy when I’m so close to being completely broke. Instead a small stand in the middle of the walkway drew me to it. A piercing stand. One person working on someone already sitting on the chair. There was a large wall selection of different studs, and many different kinds of disinfectants lined along the counter.

I walked closer to the wall, admiring all the different designs they had. I’d absolutely love to get a helix or orbital piercing, but I knew it wasn’t the wisest to spend money doing something like that at a small stand on a boardwalk in Santa Carla of all places. I was suddenly broken out of my thoughts when a voice spoke up directly behind me.

“It’s a scam, you know.” I jumped, hand flying to my chest, and whipping around to look at the owner. A teenage boy, my age, maybe a little older, with long curly blond hair and a grin that could have probably wooed me into his bed by the end of the night had he not literally just scared the shit out of me.

I laughed breathlessly, shaking my head. “What is?”

“The piercings. If you need one done, I could do it for you. But they use the guns instead of a needle which will definitely infect if you’re planning on doing a cartilage one.” He explained with a tilt of his head as he turned and began making his way towards the restaurants. I took that as an invite to follow, jogging to catch up and walking next to him.

“You know a lot about piercings?” I tried to make small talk, not wanting him to get away just yet.

He nodded with a confident smirk. “I did my own, and my friends. Someone had to learn.” I laughed a little at his mock-annoyed tone and shoved my hands into my pockets to appear to be doing something. He suddenly stopped and turned to me, holding out his hand. “Marko, by the way.”

“Ivory.” I accepted his hand and we both shook, hard and firm.

“You’re new.” He nodded as if finally understanding something that had been going on inside his own head. “I would’ve noticed you before if you’d been here all along.”

We dropped each other’s hand and I gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean by that?”

He barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Nothing rude, you’re just too gorgeous to go unnoticed around here.” Before I could reply, another voice cut in from a few yards away.

“Marko! Marko, man, we’re supposed to meet David in ten!” I looked over to see another punk-looking dude calling out to Marko with his hands cupped around his mouth.

I laughed and look back towards the curly blond. “See you around?”

He nodded in confirmation, sending me one last crooked smile before turning to jog over to his other friend. I turned as well, making my way back into the crowd and away from the middle lane stands. I didn’t make it very far before the body of my youngest brother crashed into my side. I glanced down at him in bewilderment as we used each other to steady ourselves.

“Sam? Aren’t you supposed to be with Michael?” I laughed as he looked as though he’d just had the weirdest conversation of his life.

“Well, I was. Then he saw some girl at the concert and wandered after her so I went to check out the comic store.” He explained, shrugging before letting his eyes wander around once more in search of Michael. I rolled my eyes, of course Michael left Sam behind to go chase after some girl. It didn’t take long to find him, he was only a little further down the stretch of restaurants. He was more towards the end, walking out of the crowd near where the last building - a bar - sat in place.

We walked up behind him, and as soon as I was at his side I followed his eyes to a girl who was walking behind a small child, hand on his shoulder, and steering him in a certain direction. She was pretty - with big, curly hair and a beautiful smile that curled her lips up as her eyes grazed over all the lights of the carousel one last time for the night. I followed her line of sight, trying to place why Michael was following her instead of just walking up and introducing himself, but I immediately realized what the problem was.

She hoisted herself up onto the back of a motorcycle, accepting the help of the blond driver. He had a spiked mullet, dressed in all black, and when he realized Michael was staring at his girl, a cocky kind of smirk crossed his face. His friends parked next him all revved their engines to a start, and I tore my eyes from the platinum blond to see the others. I didn’t manage to catch a good look at two of them, because my eyes immediately looked onto those of the punk from earlier who’d started a conversation with me over pierced ears.

He was already looking at me, and when he realized my attention immediately locked onto him, a predatory look filled the black circles of his eyes and his lips formed into a boyish smirk directed exactly at me. He lifted his hand in a short wave, laughing along with the friend who called him away from me earlier as he shoved Marko’s shoulder in a teasing way. I lifted my hand in a small acknowledging wave back, but was knocked out of my small trance by Sam, who began teasing Michael.

“Come on, she stiffed ya!” Sam laughed harmlessly, gently punching Michael’s shoulder and turning to probably go and find Mom. I broke my gaze away from Marko immediately, turning to follow after Sam and not bothering to look back at all as I heard the bikes pull out and speed off down the road.

“Too bad she left with Mr. Mullet, she was pretty.” I tried to break the tension with Michael, I really didn’t want him to be upset over the lose of the girl, he still had all of Santa Carla’s teenage population of girls to meet.

He cracked a smile and nudged his shoulder into mine. “She really was.”

Once we made it home for the night, I separated from both my brothers and made my way into my own room. It was the smallest of all of ours, but that’s the main reason why I had chose it. It was cozy, and cute. I liked the way it came out once I had finished decorating it.

I couldn’t help but let my mind wander to those boys on the motorcycles from earlier that night. Marko seemed nice enough, even if I didn’t know whether or not I was brave enough to try to pursue a friendship with his more than intimidating friends. Just as I came to the conclusion that I should just get over myself and approach them, a sharp sting of anxiety wedged itself into my gut and nauseous filled my stomach and rose up in my throat. No. I didn’t need to become friends with those boys, there was something off, something I didn’t need to meddle in.

If I saw them again, I’d avoid eye contact and conversation completely. I was never able to understand my anxiety, but I always listened to it when it struck me.

258 notes · View notes

pascalpanic · 3 years

Note

I’ve been feeling it for Javi lately because I just started narcos and safe to say I’m obsessed. I was thinking about how sometimes he might not be the best at communicating when he’s had a bad day or needs something from his partner but imagine him coming home after a long week and being surprised by his girl welcoming him home in a full on matching lingerie set like Ouf. He would be so feral but also so happy that he finally has someone who just knows him enough to know he needs a lil loving

Angel (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: ^^^

Warnings: lots of sexual shit, pwp essentially, lingerie, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, unprotected P in V sex (pls wrap it before you tap it), squirting, cum-eating, spanking/a single slap to the thigh, dom/sub elements

W/C: 2k

A/N: I’m trying to clear out my inbox! if you have a request it’s coming! anyway good morning have some smut.

“Welcome home, baby,” you coo as the lock clicks open and Javier walks into the apartment. There’s a thud as he drops his briefcase, and a strangled noise as he looks up and spots you, perched on the arm of the sofa.

You’re wearing a creamy white lingerie set, and Javier thinks he’s going to die. Long white stockings cover your legs, held up by a garter belt encircling your waist. You wear lacy white crotchless panties, and your legs are spread open to showcase the fact. Your breasts are held up by a tight bustier, with sheer cups to allow him to see how your nipples have peaked. There’s even a matching white choker around your neck, lacy and delicate. The bustier has straps across your chest, with a ring in the middle- the whole thing has a very bondage-esque vibe, and it sends all of the blood in the DEA agent’s body to his painfully hard dick.

Javier nearly quakes when he sees the sight in front of him. It’s been a long week, filled with seemingly endless hours at the office, coming home for a few hours of sleep and a shower. He’d been at Steve’s throat, but when the office got sent home early on this Friday night, he took the first chance he could to get out.

You’ve noticed. How can you not? Javi’s never around, and when he is, he’s frustrated. What better way to relax him than with his favorite vice, your body?

From where you sit, you beckon Javier over with a single finger. He gulps and you can already see his pants tenting at the sight of you. The white is stunning, making him fall to his knees in front of you. It makes you look so innocent, so pure, and Javier thinks of all the nasty things you’ve done to each other; you’re far from innocent now. “Baby girl,” Javier whispers reverently, his hands sliding up your stocking-covered legs.

“You like it?” You ask and arch your back a little, breasts sticking out further, legs spread wider. “It’s all for you, Javi,” you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hair. “Know you had a tough week. You didn’t tell me, but I knew.”

He nods and rests his head against your knee. “The hardest I’ve ever had. So fuckin’ close to getting Quica, and yet-“

“Don’t start talking shop,” you whisper to him, massaging his scalp. “It’s the weekend, baby. No work until Monday.” Your foot traces up and down his clothed side. “I got all this for you,” you murmur to him and take his hand, tracing it up to cup your breast, moaning softly as you make him roll his thumb across your nipple.

“Look so fuckin’ pretty, baby,” Javier groans as he paws at the skin through the lace, feeling the delicate nub against his fingertips. “Like an angel.” His Texan accent comes out when he’s tired or turned on, and it’s hard to tell at first which one.

You know which one it is when his other hand traces across the lace panties, his fingers running over skin where the panties are slit. “Javi,” you whimper as he finds the dripping wetness of your core. “Please, baby. You wanna use me? Go right ahead.”

Grunting, Javier stands. He pulls his hands away from you completely, making you groan, but then he picks you up bridal style and carries you to the bedroom. He tosses you on the bed, making you squeal, and gets to work undressing himself. He mutters in frustration as he has to go through every little button.

Moments later, he’s completely nude, his rock-hard length evident. “Mm, dulzura,” he murmurs as he kneels on the edge of the bed and pulls you to it.

“Baby,” you whine as he spreads your legs, but he doesn’t go for your aching slit quite yet. Javier’s lips find the edge of your stockings and press kisses there, then he traces along the edges with his tongue. The feeling is overwhelmingly arousing, feeling Javier’s hot mouth through the holes of the lace. He finishes one leg and moves to the other, making you pout. “Please, Javi. Don’t tease.”

Javier smacks his hand into your thigh, hard, leaving the hot mark of his palm and fingers behind. He looks up at you with fiery eyes. “You told me to use you. I’m doing what the fuck I want to do,” he murmurs, going back to his actions and nipping at the skin.

You squeal at the feeling of his teeth, at the way he’s manhandling you but somehow painfully soft and affectionate. It’s the most perfectly Javier moment, especially when he sits back and stands, then pulls you to him by the loop over your chest.

“I’m not playing nice tonight,” he warns you, his face close to yours. “You still want it?”

Now it’s your turn to gulp. Javier is painfully hard, you can feel it against your side, and all you want is that inside of you, no matter the cost. “Yes, Javi,” you purr submissively, and he pulls you even closer with a finger through the metal loop.

He kisses you bruisingly hard, his hip starting to rut into your side. You nip at his lip teasingly and Javier grunts, breaking away and panting. “Oh fuck,” he shudders as he looks down at your breasts in that bustier, pushing them up higher. He falls to his knees on the bed this time, pulling you closer by the loop once more and turning his attention to your chest.

Not a millimeter of skin is untouched, Javier’s mouth kissing and licking and sucking and biting you. There’s sure to be constellations of love bites and bruises across your tits tomorrow, but you want it. You wrap your arms around Javi and fall back, lying down now.

Javier suckles your nipples through the lace, dampening the lingerie and making you groan helplessly. One of his thighs is pressed against your aching clit, and you grind against it, desperate to feel anything from him. You cry out as he tugs at the nipple with his teeth, pulling the lingerie with his mouth. You grind yourself harder into the strong muscle of his leg, desperate.

“You want my mouth somewhere else, bebita?” Javier murmurs with his mouth between your tits, eyes looking up at you with both teasing and desire.

Nodding, you roll your hips into his leg again. “Right here, Javi,” you choke out, spreading your legs wider and planting your heels on the bed for traction.

“I want to take my time and devour every inch of you, pretty girl,” he murmurs as his lips find your navel, just above the garter belt. “And you’ll take it, won’t you?”

Nodding, Javier laps at the soft skin of your stomach, his hands gripping your sides as he works lower, dampening the edges of the lace panties with his painfully wet and hot tongue.

Your legs open wider and you bury your hands in his hair, and he finally turns his attention to the aching between your legs. “I haven’t even touched you here yet,” he murmurs in astonishment as he runs a finger through your folds, smirking as you keen into his finger when it presses against your clit. You’re drenched and you know it. “Hands and knees,” Javier orders, and you immediately comply.

He does this sometimes, when he wants you to feel it in a different way. His hands grip your ass, digging into the soft plush skin he finds there. The soft noise you make at the feeling of his fingers digging in is overtaken by a louder moan as his mouth finally finds your clit, sucking and lapping at it.

You’re so aroused that it takes a very short time before you’re coming apart, face pressed into the pillows. “Javi, Javi,” you cry again and again, fingers digging into the bedsheets.

He slips two fingers inside of you and you’re done for. The second he curls them, you shout his name again and let yourself go, the agonizing bliss rushing through your body.

When you’re done, Javi delivers a sharp smack to your ass. “Didn’t say you could cum,” he reminds you and kneads the flushed skin he just struck. “That means I’m going to fuck you and I don’t give a damn if you cum again.”

With any other man, you’d snort. One orgasm is all you get if you’re lucky. But this is Javier. He’ll spend hours with his mouth on you, making you cum so many times he has to be the one to keep track.

But this is Javier, and so you nod and wave your ass seductively in the air, daring to push into his hips and grind the soft skin there into his hard member. “Okay,” you murmur, and Javier pushes into you harshly, groaning at the way the lace parts with your folds.

The feeling of him inside of you is always a stretch, but always in the best way. He wastes no time in chasing his own high, gripping your hips hard and thrusting with all of his might.

Every slap of his hips into your ass, every time he pounds into your g-spot, every little thing he does is too much. You’re still reeling from the orgasm not too long ago, overwhelmed and rushed.

It doesn’t matter that Javier isn’t trying to get you off; he does it anyway. The pounding into your g-spot coupled with the way his dick stretches you had you orgasming again, squirting all over him and crying out his name.

“Look at that,” he says with a smirk, between grunts. “Look at you, bebita. Not even getting you off, just fucking using you, and you squirt all over me. But you didn’t fucking ask, did you?” He says with another smack to the ass. He pulls out completely, leaving you feeling desperately empty and fluttering against nothing. “Sit up.”

You comply, feeling your sensitive clit as it brushes against the cool bedsheets. You look up at him with wide eyes, as if you don’t know what seems to be the problem.

“You said to use you, I’m going to use you. Open,” he says and cups your jaw. Once you do, he wastes no time in slipping himself into the desperately hot confines of your mouth. You swirl your tongue around him and he grunts. “Dirty girl. You don’t even get to cum like this and you love it.”

You nod as you suck on the tip, working your tongue against the frenulum. He’s achingly hard, just about to cum. You know it. You know Javier’s body, know the little mannerisms.

“I’m going to cum down your throat, you got that?” He asks as he holds onto your throat, not squeezing or pressing. Just holding you there. In response, you take him into your throat and swallow around him, making him groan harder.

“Fuckin’ dirty little angel, wearing white lingerie and making me fuck her,” he says with a strained voice, impossibly close. “I ruined her. I ruined her and she fuckin’ loves it- fuck,” he cries as he shoots his hot release down your throat and you swallow every last bit.

When he’s done, he pulls out from your mouth and groans, lying on the bed and pulling you to follow him. His arms wrap around you and he kisses your head. “Was that what you had in mind?” He asks with a hoarse voice.

“Are you relaxed?” You ask, swallowing hard and knowing your throat will be sore in the morning. Just another delicious reminder of how good Javier is.

He nods softly, and you smile and kiss his lips ever so lightly. “Then it’s exactly what I wanted.”

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfiction #javi peña #javi peña x reader #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfiction #narcos fanfic #narcos

223 notes · View notes

tiktaalic · 3 years

Note

Why exactly do you see Dean as gay rather than bi? Absolutely feel free to completely ignore this ask if you don't want to go into it - it's just I've heard that interpretation a few times here on Tumblr and I'd genuinely be really interested to hear your thoughts behind it, and how you relate it to the way Dean canonically acts on the show

the pithy answer is projection! the unpithy answer is that out of 320 episodes over the span of 15 years, there is one (1) where his attraction comes off as genuine to me, and it took place fifteen years ago (cassie). i’m a lesbian, and when i was younger i had really genuine and meaningful friendships with men that i thought meant i was in love with them. they were very dear friends to me and i cared deeply about them, and they continue to be dear to me and people i care deeply about now that my head’s on straighter. so that’s that point.

this is. going to be a long post so this is the preemptive warning to everyone who can’t read tumblr paragraphs to zip scroll.

lisa straight up reads as a lavender marriage to me. the focus for both lisa AND dean is him stepping in to be a father figure. their conversations about how much they care about each other center around how good he is with ben/how much he loves ben. there’s like, nothing where they’re smiling at each other and actually enjoying each other’s company. she’s a two night stand he’s seen 4 times in the last decade. she is dean putting on his brave face and keeping his promise. lisa’s post dean boyfriend matt is in one episode for about 3 minutes purely so he can die, but this is the scene.

so like. lisa is CAPABLE of interacting with a man she’s dating in a way that looks like they’re dating, versus. this.

so that’s that point. we’re at season six and we’ve already gone through every long term relationship with a woman dean’s been in. but let’s get really technical! let’s go through bad boys and after school special and amara to boot.

in bad boys, robin is dean’s first real crush when he’s fifteen or so. first crush being when you’re 15 rather than in elementary or middle school? gay behavior (joke). let those among us who have not had a straight crush as a teen because they were the first person to be nice to us throw the first stone! and that’s what it boils down to for me. it’s the first time dean’s had ANY stability, and he relishes it. it would not surprise me if she’s his first real friend. she’s definitely his first real NORMAL friend. she asks him what HE likes, what HE wants to do with his life. and that’s totally new for dean! to have choices and to have his wants given consideration instead of just having expectation after expectation loaded onto him.

it does not surprise me that dean, who’s been taking a masterclass in repression and masculinity since the tender age of four, dates robin. it would not surprise me if he dated robin and was gay. of course he’s going to throw himself 100% into a relationship with a girl when he knows he’s at an age where boys are supposed to be skirt chasers, when he meets a girl and she’s NICE to him and KNOWS him like literally no one else does. all of this accompanied by the “i am a boy and have positive feelings for someone who’s a girl this MUST be romance this MUST be a crush” like. this is going to get into overshare territory for a moment i apologize but As A Lesbian when i was 15/16 i actively had crushes on girls and rational-ed them away as Girl Best Friends :) while telling everyone that the feelings i had for my boy best friends were crushes aksdkfkndf. repressed gay people are stupid and dean is MUCH more repressed than me aged 16. so. robin box ticked.

after school special: jail for dabb jail for dabb for a thousand years i know. trust me i know. BUT. 17 year old dean who’s fully pulled on the leather jacket and womanizer persona, who doesn’t talk to anyone in his class and just hangs out in janitor closets making out with a girl who thinks his persona is hot. and when she tries to get close to him, to form an emotional connection, he panics and self sabotages. which. yes. peak straight man behavior. i’m not arguing that this little characterization bit is the pillar upon which gay dean rests, i’m saying if you’re inclined, you can nudge it into gay kid going “oh no this is too much responsibility i gotta get out of this” behavior. and i’m inclined!

amara: the amara stuff is so. hdnfdkf. it’s this primordial connection or whatever stronger than dean and amara both and yet dean’s still able to buck it a few times for [drumroll........] cas! + i don’t have any of the posts on hand but i DO agree with the whole vibe of. “i would fuck the embodiment of my destruction and horrors and failings because my self loathing is THAT strong”. also: gay af for the being of destruction with an immutable pull on you and towards you to say i will give you your greatest desire and then give you your mommy back and dip.

and then there’s the various one night stand stuff. i don’t have the comprehensive list on hand, but off the top of my head these are times when dean has sex scenes that are given huge focus:

when he comes back from hell and everyone’s gently asking if he’s fine and he’s like could a guy who wasn’t fine do THIS [tries to sleep with a bartender and or angel]. when bobby dies and dean’s hardcore mourning and hardcore drinking to the point where i think his drinking is acknowledged for one of a true handful of times in the series. just checked the transcript for that one. the morning after:

DEAN: Ugh.

SAM: You look like crap.

DEAN: Yeah, well, I feel worse than I look. I do recommend the Cobalt Room, by the way. Awesome night. Although I think I'm getting too old for this.

which. again. normal straight man commitmentphobe hitting his 30s and going hmmm.... perhaps real connections would be nice? but that doesn’t contradict gay dean at all, it slots in. also this is season 7. season 7 and he’s too old for this. top of my head i can think of two more similar instances: s11 baby when he groans and goes “mistakes were made”, s13 advanced thanatology when cas is dead and he’s FULL ON grieving so hard that sam takes him to a strip club. and again. he over does it. again he throws himself too hard to the coping vices and when he wakes up he’s tired and sore and has a headache. the other time he gets laid is endverse, which uh. is basically dean in 24/7 mourn drink sleep with someone mode. there are like... a handful of times he has sex For Fun, enough to count on one hand. the rest are all real easy to slap the label PERFORMANCE or COPING WITH MOURNING on.

obviously all of these points go either way - you could absolutely interpret them as legit attraction to women. you can interpret them as legit attraction to women while these instances are still coping/performance. but for me personally they all end up on the gay column instead of the bi column. um. end manifesto i think.

#long post #spnwatch #anonymous #ask #dean

152 notes · View notes

mah-gah-lee · 3 years

Text

What a weird family reunion Reggie x Reader (xLuke)

gif originally posted by @jatpsource

Word Count: 3515 words

Summary: You’re Reggie’s little sister. You were 3 when he died. You’re now a ghost for a decade. One night, you recognize your brother and jumped into him to an unexpected family reunion. How is it going to happen? Will Reggie believe you? In a mysterious way, that’s Luke who help you to convinced Reggie.

Warnings: cuss (language), mention of death, mention of divorce, mention of drugs

A/N: This is my first fic about jatp characters. Hope you’ll enjoy! keep in mind that french is my first language, so i’m so sorry if there’s some mistakes in my fic

disclaimer: It takes place during episodes 6 and 7. I do not take into account the possibility of a Juke. The chemistry while they sing is there but no romantic feelings.

Tagged: @asdfghjkl-fanfics @standingtalllove

_______

Losing a child is the worst thing a parent could live, losing two is unimaginable. It’s seems being 17 years old was a new malediction in Peters family.

You were 3 when your older brother, Reginald, died in a weird hot dog accident. At that point, your parents were literally a fight away from a divorce but never did it because of you. You were too young to be in a divided family, according to them. But Reggie's death separated them for good. Yet they really tried to support each other, to overcome that and give you all the attention you needed. But your mother overprotected you and made you live in the shadow of your late brother. Your dad couldn't stand it. And when they finally divorce, moving out from reggie’s childhood house, you went to live with your dad.

Even though you were too young to form a strong bond with your brother, in a way you missed him. Your mother’s house was full of pictures of him, some of his clothes were still in a room, dedicated to him. When you visited your mother, you didn’t understand why you always found yourself in this room. You were drawn like a magnet to the comforting room. Reggie’s presence in this new house brought you such a sense of security that your mother had repeatedly found you asleep on a pile of your brother’s T-shirts.

And then you died in 2009. Kanye West had interrupted Taylor Swift's speech at the VMAs, Miley Cyrus hadn't gone crazy yet and One Direction didn't exist yet. What an era! You didn't know why the great light didn't come looking for you but you were there, as a ghost in 2009. And the time has passed ... You've had your best concerts, the best parties. A forever teenager who couldn't eat, drink or sleep.

And then 2020 came.

…

You were tired of always doing the same thing for over a decade, but you couldn't help but go to every open scene that came up in your beautiful city. It was as if an inexplicable force was pushing you to go there.

This evening was no exception to the rule and you were in a very hip little bar in the city center. You wore one of those sleeveless, gray crop tops with high waisted pants, your leather jacket draped over your shoulders. Your eyes were directly drawn to a group of girls in colorful costumes. You couldn't help but roll your eyes. It's been 10 years since you died and it seemed to you that these girls looked like the same plagues that ruined the lives of so many teenagers in your time. You put on an expression of disgust when they all took the stage, but when the music started you couldn't help but admit it was pretty catchy. However, you didn't expect a ghost to appear in the middle of the stage, improvising a choreography. Was that part of the show?

But looking at the audience's non-reaction, you knew it wasn't. The ghost disappeared for the first time, and your gaze sought directly the distinctive light source of another apparition in the room. Your gaze lingered on a small group of three boys - the blond boy included - and two girls. You have wrinkled your eyes to better distinguish the teenagers, and your face expressed confusion.

“Reggie? “

You wanted to go see him so badly. You were pretty sure it was your brother but it all came too fast. The moment you decided to walk towards them, the organizer announced a new band.

“Okay, looks like we're close the night out with one more group…Julie and the fat ones.”

What was that for a name? Your attention had been diverted and when you looked back at the group, the boys had disappeared as one of the young girls took the stage. Your heart was beating so fast. You couldn't go wrong; you had seen so many pictures at your mother's house that it was impossible that this boy was not your brother. But you missed your chance…

Julie started to sing and your eyes were captivated, as much as your ears were. This kid was so talented! When she sang a rather high note, the tension in the room charged into electricity. The next second, the young singer was joined by the group of boys you had seen in her company. Appearing distinctly as the ghosts did. On drums there was the blond boy you had seen dancing a few moments earlier, on the electric guitar, a boy with tousled brown hair who seemed slightly familiar to you ... and on bass, with a flannel shirt, there was your brother ... Reggie was there, identical to the photos you had admired so much.

The bar was on fire as Julie and The Phantoms performed. What a sick name for a group made up of two-thirds of ghosts! The song was so catchy that your heart beat to the sound of the music. But your eyes did not leave your brother, you were unable to move, frozen in place. What should you do ? Will you introduce yourself after the performance? And, what would you say? "Hey hi Reggie, I'm your sister, I died ten years ago and you twenty-five years ago. Unbelievable, right?! Nice to see you again" And once again, before you knew it, the song was over and the boys were gone again, leaving Julie alone on stage in the bewilderment of the many people in the facility.

“for God's sake, where are they?”

You didn't want to miss it anymore. Even though the whole situation was strange, you wanted to see your brother again.

Your eyes flew over the room before seeing the scene play out before your eyes. Julie seemed petrified in front of a man. The boys watched in amazement and as Julie left with what appeared to be her father, you rushed over to the group of three musicians before they disappeared again.

“omg please don't poof out again.” You said almost out of breath

The boys looked at you like you were crazy before the guitarist jumped off the bar counter, bursting with energy.

"Wait, you can see us?"

“as much as when mister "all eyes on me" made his performance”, you were pointing your head at the blond boy.

The group looked at each other in puzzlement and Reggie finally spoke, his blue eyes full of mischief.

“So…hi there cutie, how can we help you?”

Your face expressed disgust and you stuck your tongue out mimicking vomiting.

Luke gave Alex an amused smile, seeing Reggie flirting and your spontaneous reaction. The bassist couldn't help but charm the pretty ladies.

“Wow Reggie, that's gross ... you're my brother.”

Reggie burst out laughing at your response, not noticing that you called him by his first name when he hadn't even introduced himself to you yet.

“Yeah right, for sure. You just could tell me you weren’t interested. But I’m charming...”

It was the first time he had been given such an excuse but you looked so serious that he stopped dead in his tracks as Luke and Alex watched you. They always knew Reggie had a sister. But the scene unfolding before their eyes seemed impossible. (Y / N) was so young when they died and now must have been around 28, something like that. But the girl in front of them was a teenager, their age. How was this possible?

You didn't want to drop the information like that. It was worse than anything you could have imagined. But it had escaped you. Now he didn't take you seriously. Your eyes were wet with tears. It was scary to find you in front of your brother for the first time as a ghost teenager. Luke looked panicked when he noticed your eyes, squeezing Reggie's shoulder as you seemed to beg.

“Can I ... can I meet you in a quieter time please, Reginald?”

Your brother's eyes widened as Luke's hug on his shoulder tightened a bit. The eagerness and desperation in your voice had made both boys react, Alex was just looking at all of you like all of this wasn't real. The use of Reggie's name made him tense, surprised. Few called him Reginald. In fact, only his family, and the boys when they wanted to annoy him, called him that way. And although his nickname is obvious enough to deduce his

full first name, he deeply felt that you weren't just anyone.

He seemed a little panicked and looked around for his friends to support him. As if the solution would fall by itself just by the presence of Luke and Alex.

“Okay, but I want Luke and Alex’s there! What about tomorrow? I’ll give you the address!”

Wow, that was quick.

“hm, yeah, yeah sure, as you want”

You nodded and Reggie silently slipped a note to the drummer. Alex took a pen, write something on a paper towel and gave it to you. You weren’t surprise, you also can make some tricks. And you just had the time to thanks them before they poofted again.

…

The next day, you landed in front of Julie's garage. Lucky she's at school because you shouldn't be explaining your presence, so she managed to see you the way she saw boys.

Before entering, you peeked out the window and frowned. There seemed to be only Luke so far. He was leaning over the piano, his head in a notebook. Your body went through part of the garage door and you cleared your throat.

“hmm, hi ... i came to see Reggie ..”

Luke instantly raised his head and you caught his attention.

“oh uh, hi! He should be here soon, come in.….”

Silence felt as Luke motioned for you to sit on the couch. It was a rather pleasant studio; the plants gave a warm atmosphere to the room and the music set sent you good vibes.

"Does your girlfriend mind that I'm here? I mean, that seems to be your HQ"

"girlfriend?"

"The girl you sing with" I simply said.

"Julie? Um, yeah, she's not my girlfriend. She-sh-she’s great and we have this powerful connection but…not, not in a romantic way. Music tied us. Music and friendship "

Luke chuckled lightly as he scratched his head. You were surprised they weren't dating. Yesterday the tension was intense. He seemed authentic when he had continued his momentum. You let out a smile amused by so much overflow.

“It's okay, I don't need to know your full relationship statute or your social security number.”

The guitarist gave you a frank smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. For a ghost, his gaze was really alive.

“ I’m Luke, by the way”

"Y / N… Re .."

"Reggie's little sister… I-I remember you a little."

"You look familiar to me. Maybe I saw you in a few pictures with Reggie."

Silence fell and you started to feel anxious. Maybe it was a bad idea? You had grown up since Reggie died ... were you still his little sister after all? Luke seemed to notice your dismay and put a comforting hand on your knee.

“hey, is something bothering you?”

“What if he doesn't believe me ... if he definitely thinks I'm not his sister.”

“Let's be honest, it's a little hard to believe. The last time I saw you, you were three years old.”

It was as if the memories flooded into your mind and let you carried away in your words.

“Yeah, you gave me this teddy bear with a guitar and told Reggie you wanted to be my favorite.”

Luke chuckled slightly before staring at you, speechless. He seemed dazed. This anecdote dates back to twenty-five years anyway. He himself had a hard time remembering it until you said it a few seconds earlier.

“what was the smell of the stuffed animal?” he asked, confused about that funny fact

“sorry, what?”

“the plush, what did it smell like?”

“hot waffle, why?”

“okay ... maybe you are his sister ... tell me more about what you remember”

You looked at him with a puzzled expression. Everything had been so natural before he stopped in all the movements. And now, it was hard to think about for the memories you had of Reggie on demand. The teddy bear given by Luke story had slipped out of your mind without you realizing it. As your brain seemed to boil, the fog of your thoughts cleared.

“can I use your guitar?”

“hell no ... why?” Luke exclaimed with far too much anticipation

“I have this lullaby stuck inside of my head ... I think Reggie sang it to me when I was a child”

Your pleading and desperate gaze fell on Luke who categorically refused to let you take his guitar. He ends up grabbing his six acoustic strings, terminated. There was something about you that made him weak.

“Maybe you can teach me but ... my guitar is my guitar, nobody touches it.”

You nodded and the lead singer moved closer to you. You were stunned by its smell, like a distant memory. Luke had definitely been a part of your life before he died, you were sure of that. You leaned over her shoulder, humming the lullaby that was left in your head. It didn't take long for him to find the right chords. Luke continued several times before you stopped singing, looking at him intently.

“that's exactly it ... this lullaby”

You both looked at each other, an indecipherable expression in your eyes. You both jumped at the sound of the garage door. Reggie appeared with Alex.

"Ready to compose hellish songs! oh did I interrupt something?”

"No, no I was there to see you. I guess you have a lot of questions."

"hell yeah, can we start from the beginning?"

You smiled to approve his request. The boys settled down on the sofa, while you sat down on one of the single armchairs. And the flow of questions began

“When are you born?”

“(your birthday date) 1992” you simply answered.

“What’s your name?”

(y/n) (y/m/n) Peters

It’s seemed to convinced a little Reggie but doubt was all over his face. It was information you could easily get on the internet nowadays.

“What’s my favorite food?”

“Pizza, mom said your favorite was the extra cheese with pepperoni”

“And what was my favorite toy?”

“I freaking don’t know, how can I suppose to known that?”

“ah ah!” he pointed the finger at you, as if that answer was proof that you were lying. It broke your heart but you didn't show it.

Instead, you rolled your eyes and Reggie kept going to ask you some question. Of course, you would have liked to have answered his questions correctly. Your mother told you some anecdotes about him but not to the point of knowing all the details.

“What’s the most terrible thing I said to my mom?”

“Omg I don’t fucking know! I was 3 when you’re died, asshole!”

Luke smiled when you exploded. Reggie was Reggie, as weird as possible. Now you were angry and desperate. Your brother didn’t believe you and he kept dragging you into this miserable feeling that you were never going to get your brother back. You had spent your short life living with a faint memory of him. Your blankie was one of his t-shirts, his voice reasoned in your head when you couldn’t sleep.

But then, in front of him, you were a stranger to him. Your heart was bruised from not being able to hug him and to finally meet this brother who had left far too soon.

“Okay, okay… So, how can you proof me you’re really my sister?! “

In the room’s corner, Luke looked at you, you looked desperate, about to cry again. He grabbed his guitar and cleared his throat. Reggie turned to him as the guitarist still had his eyes on you, a heartwarming smile hanging across his face. You had managed to convince him in a few minutes. He felt connected to you and the things you told him were disturbing. You could only be Reggie's sister; it was impossible otherwise.

"Hey…What about the song you told me earlier." he said with a soft and comfort voice

Your eyes caught his gaze, grateful for the initiative. You nodded and Luke started playing the few notes you had taught him a few minutes earlier. It was so different from all the songs the brunette could play before. It was a lullaby, such easy children's music with just a few notes. Of course, the band wasn’t supposed to play when Julie wasn’t in the room but, Luke had thought it was the best thing to do to encourage you to keep going. He didn’t know why, but he wanted Reggie to believe you. Luke believed you, hard as nails. There only had to look at your eyes to understand this reality, and Luke had noticed that. You had the same blue eyes as your brother. How could Reggie still doubt that? You started to sing

You're so sleepy

Very much sleepy

You want to go to the fairyland

You close your eyes

And jump into your dream.

When you'll wake up

I’ll still be on your team.

The instant Reggie heard the first notes, he knew. But hearing you sing the lullaby he had invented for you when you didn't want to sleep as a child, was a magical moment. You were his baby sister. He gave you that sad little puppy face, so overwhelmed. Reggie opened his arms and you jumped into a hug, so glad he finally accepted the fact that you were his sister.

You felt oddly safe again, like taking a nap in Reggie's pile of old t-shirts. You were so happy to find your brother and to be able to live your non-life by his side. Nothing would be as boring as it used to be. Reggie pushed you away with a concerned look

"but wait ... how did you die?"

"Yeah ... I don't really know ... I was at a really, really good rock concert and I bought this drink ... and I think I got drugged up there and ... I guess I'm dead? tadaa " you tried to tell him in a light tone.

He had just learned that he had a little sister. He didn't have to know that she was sneaking out at rock concerts and drinking alcohol before she was old enough. Right? Alex looked at Luke and Reggie with his half amused half confused smile. As for Luke, he fidgeted from foot to foot at the discovery. Y / N was as much rock and roll as they all were. Rebellion had to be his middle name

You loosened Reggie's embrace and lowered your head, pursing your lips so as not to show your embarrassment. He asked if you wanted snacks and you nodded. There was a slight silence. You didn't notice the urgent look Luke gave Alex but the next moment the blond jumped up to accompany the bassist, leaving you alone in the garage with the lead singer.

The silences were a little longer until Luke cautiously approached you. You could feel the awkwardness from miles away.

“ Sooo, you made this.”

“ yeah ...” you answered in a shy voice

It was the moment you had to thank him but your words seemed frozen. You mustered all the courage to plant your gaze in Luke's eyes.

“Thank you ... for helping me earlier.”

“oh it was nothing”.

“I ... yes, yes it was. You can't imagine how important seeing Reggie again is to me. Thanks for ... for helping me open his eyes.”

A slight smile caught his lips and he reached for your cheek before stopping his gesture. Instead of stroking your skin, he simply put a section of your hair back behind your ear.

“I would do anything for my best friends.”

And Reggie was definitely one of Luke’s best friend. You hardly swallowed, your stomach contorting under the effect that the guitarist made you. Time had seemed to fly at an incredible speed as the moment was interrupted by Reggie and Alex coming back to you.

“OMG LUKE DON’T FLIRT WITH MY SISTER, SHE’S 3!”

You cleared your throat and stepped aside to pull yourself away from Luke as far as possible. Your gaze fell on your brother and you raised an eyebrow at the last remark. 3 years old, really? You were 3 years old twenty-five years ago ... now you were eternally a teenager

“I’m seventeen.”

“Listen, i'm your big brother, you’re three, end of discussion.”

Your face wanted to laugh and you pursed your lips to keep from succumbing. But your eyes… Your eyes met Luke's in a complicity that slowly settled. Could you fall in love with your big brother's best friend? Definitely yes...

#jatp #jatp cast #jatp cast x reader #jatp imagines #jatp fic #julie molina #luke patterson #alex mercer #reggie peters #reggie x reader #reggie peters x reader #luke patterson x reader #charlie gillespie #jeremy shada #writing #owen patrick joyner #madison reyes

365 notes · View notes

skai6 · 3 years

Note

Geraskier modern au where one of them is a bartender? I resent the fact i turned 21 in the middle of a pandemic, sometime you just wanna do a bar crawl.

I hope you will get to bar crawl next year! Loved the suggestion, by the way. <3

---

Jaskier has been craving this for as long as he remembers. A craving he had to fulfill a legal requirement to finally give into. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t been sneakily indulging before. Oh, dear, no. Jaskier was far from innocent. He had even faked his ID one too many times he became infamously renown in the area. From bouncer to bartender, word was bound to get out, and Jaskier was banned from the entirety of the city bars until he became of legal age.

And now, oh boy, are they all going to regret having stomped on his fun.

Black boots, tight jeans and a pink shirt, Jaskier walked into the bar with his nose up high. The noisiest, dirtiest, messiest of the neighborhood. The kind of hole in the wall you do not leave without at least throwing up twice in the bathroom either from overconsumption or whatever it was your seat-neighbor had slipped into your drink while you were busy checking out the bartender.

Jaskier never said this kind of place was safe. But to hell with it. Tonight was the night he would be getting legally wasted and rub it into everyone’s face.

And if he got laid on top of it all? Well, extra points for this bitch.

He settled himself behind the bar counter and watched the well-built frame of the bartender reaching out for a bottle of whiskey at the top shelf without sparing it a glance, like his entire body knew the whole system, like he’s been doing it for years. White hair, black shirt, big biceps.

Sexy, Jaskier thought, half-distracted, half-invested, until the other turned around and caught him staring. There was a short silence, in which the bartender was busy shaking the drink with skillful ease, his eyes - a beautiful amber - sized Jaskier up and down. Jaskier was smirking inside out. He knew that look. And he knew it too well.

Ask me my age, I fucking dare you.

“You’re new,” he said instead, and dragged down his gaze to the cocktail glass he was filling to the brim. “What will it be?”

Sexy and courteous? Jaskier might have half-joked the bit where he would check out the bartender but now, well, it might not be so terrible an idea.

“The strongest you have,” said Jaskier with pride, “Make it extra.”

The handsome man hummed, a smirk gracing his lips as he went to serve the cocktail to a girl at the other end of the counter. Giggles and small talk ensued. Jaskier’s shoulders slouched. He wasn’t alone at eyeing the guy, obviously.

He began turning his head to the rest of the bar, instead, letting his eyes wander, thinking: Look, plenty of fish in the sea, when the sound of glass hitting the surface of the counter brought his gaze back in front of him. The bartender was already returning with his order, a strange mixture of -

“What’s this?”

“The strongest we have.”

“Is it extra?”

“Just for you.”

With a proud grin, Jaskier lifted the glass up and downed the content in one-go. By the time the bottom of it hit the surface, his lips were burning and his throat was on fire.

“Fuck,” he mouthed hoarsely, “Another.”

With a skeptical look, the bartender left with the empty glass and this time, Jaskier watched him mix four different bottles from the upper shelf. Some he recognized, some he didn’t. Who was he to complain so long it knocked him out for good? He was here to get wasted, after all.

The surprising result landed in front of him soon after. Once he finished chugging it, Jaskier began forgetting the way back home.

Fuck. It was strong.

“Easy there,” said the gruff tone, “At least enjoy the effort I put into it.”

Jaskier flushed.

“Sorry,” he said, voice slurred.

“First time drinking outside?”

Jaskier chuckled. "Do I give off first-timer vibes?”

“I work full-time here. I’d remember a pretty face like yours.”

His breath caught up in his throat, a drop of liquor going down the wrong pipe, and Jaskier broke into a fit of coughs. The bartender returned back with a glass of water, grinning smugly.

“Sorry, too much?”

“God, no!” he managed to utter, teary-eyed from the coughing. “Not enough, is what it is.”

A chuckle, rough-sounding but soft on the edges. The bartender leaned over the bar counter, biceps inflating in the process and god help Jaskier, he desperately wanted those arms around him by the end of the evening.

“What’s your name?”

Amber eyes flared golden from up close. Jaskier’s heart was thumping miles a minute.

“Jaskier,” he said, “You?”

“Geralt,” came the answer, “You have an interesting name.”

“It’s, well, not my real name but -”

“I like it.”

A smile. Simple, thin, sincere. Jaskier was weak.

“Are you normally this nice to everyone?”

“Nice?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re being nice, right?”

Geralt laughed. Jaskier’s cheeks turned bright red.

Then another customer called for his attention and Geralt pushed himself up to get back to work.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he said with piercing eyes and a curved smirk, fingers grazing Jaskier’s before peeling the empty glass away from his hold. “I’m not done being nice to you, Jaskier.”

And fuck. Plenty of fish in the see, my ass.

Jaskier would either get him or embarrass himself trying.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #modern au #bartender geralt #jaskier turned 21 #skai6fic #skai6prompt

304 notes · View notes

qlala · 3 years

Note

Is it cheating to submit a fic request for the pride post you just made? I neeeed the whole thing (I'm on my laptop, but insert the big gay eyes emoji)

fjskdgjslg "big gay eyes emoji" you know what? just for you. just for you i have written this. i'll clean it up and upload to ao3 later but for now: have 2.7k of len dragging a sunburnt, tipsy, and glitter-covered barry back to his apartment, and happy pride!

Len wasn’t the type to begrudge anyone a good time, especially when the good time involved loud music, leather harnesses, and throwing water bottles at cops. Central City’s annual pride parade came as close as it got to challenging that attitude; families, fellow queers, and queens descended on the city waving more flags than the United Nations after a hurricane, all decked out in color combinations that Len hadn’t been able to keep straight since the ‘80s.

The end result was the kind of crowds that could make a grown man feel claustrophobic in the middle of a city block, and that was without the visible haze of alcohol wafting off the whole event.

But what the parade lacked in personal space, it made up for with one very important commodity: unattended wallets.

The flock of sunburnt twinks in denim cut-offs made Len’s job almost too easy—a hand on a sweat-slicked lower back, a flash of blue eyes, and most of them wouldn’t have noticed their wallets going missing if Len had dangled their IDs in front of their faces afterwards. (While there were plenty of women dressed in just as little clothing whom Len certainly wouldn’t have minded getting within robbing distance of, he’d found queer women as a group to be less enthusiastic about uninvited touching and more enthusiastic about wallet chains, even when three sheets to the wind off of canned rosé.)

He’d taught a dozen visiting suburbanites the importance of not keeping valuables in their back pockets by the time he spotted a familiar profile in the crowd.

His usual red getup wasn’t much more modest than some of the outfits Len had already seen, but even knowing the shape of that body didn’t prepare Len for seeing Barry Allen stripped to the waist, bright-eyed and flushed and shimmering all over with a fine dusting of glitter. Len noted, on auto-pilot, that it didn’t seem like he’d put any of the glitter there himself; he was standing dangerously close to a drag queen throwing handfuls of the stuff on anyone who got within arm’s reach of her. It set the sun refracting off every dip and plane of muscle across Barry’s chest and stomach. Barry’s hair, already wild and dark at the roots with sweat, was full of it.

Len’s feet were carrying him closer before he gave himself permission to move. Barry managed to drag Len into his orbit at the best of times; visibly tipsy and dripping sweat, Len would’ve had better luck resisting the turning of the earth.

Up close, Len could take that Barry had lost his shirt somewhat recently; the slight touch of pink spanning his shoulders and chest had nothing on the serious flush across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He had a spray of new freckles as well. They were barely distinguishable under the haze of glitter stuck to his skin, but Len noticed them at once, the change unmistakable on an otherwise unchanging face (not a scar to be seen, even after three years of running into burning buildings and jumping in front of bullets; Len was equal parts frustrated and relieved).

It looked like someone had painted a few strokes of color across one of his cheeks at some point, but it was smudged to hell and back. The back of one of Barry’s hands was stained a tell-tale matching purple, and Len could only guess at what it had been at the start of the day.

He stepped into Barry’s space as easily as he had the rest, taking care to keep Barry between him and the source of the glitter, and hesitated for the briefest moment with his hand above Barry’s spine. He’d never touched Barry like this, skin to skin; the gloves had never come off between them, metaphorically or literally. Kept things neat.

Nothing about Barry was neat right now. He turned even before Len touched him, and the movement brought Len’s hand into contact with his side instead. It took everything in Len not to pull it back in a flinch, and he met Barry’s curious glance with a tightly-controlled smirk.

He’d expected Barry to step back, maybe add a bit of blush to those already-pink cheeks. Instead, Barry’s eyes took a belated second to focus, and then he gave Len a face-splitting grin.

“Snart!”

That time, Len did have to pull backwards to avoid Barry dragging him in for a hug. To think he’d been concerned about a hand.

Barry didn’t seem the least bit put out, smiling loose and easy like Len hadn’t iced him to the door of a bank vault the last time they’d seen each other. He hadn’t taken Barry for such a cheerful drunk—he seemed inclined toward melodrama on a good day—but Len would take it over any of the alternatives.

“Barry. Fancy seeing you here. And so much of you, at that.” He let his gaze slide down his bare chest and stomach, pulse ticking up at the warm brown of his nipples and the sharp vee of his hipbones that invited his gaze further down.

“You’re overdressed,” Barry disagreed. He wasn’t quite slurring, but there was a careful deliberation in his tone that told Len it was a near thing. He took a step closer and peered at Len, suspicion evident in those pale green eyes. “And… sober.”

“I’m not here to score. Perks include keeping my shirt on.”

For the briefest second, Barry looked almost disappointed. But it was gone in a blink, confusion taking over. He glanced down at himself, puzzled. Then his expression cleared, and he looked up with another easy-going smile. “I got hot.” His gaze dropped again, to Len this time, and he licked his lips. “Aren’t you… you gotta be hot in all that.”

Len was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and thin jacket, and it hadn’t hit eighty degrees all week. But he wasn’t in the mood to argue with drunk logic. And besides, another scan of the nearby revelers had made something unpleasant begin to scratch insistently at the inside of Len’s chest, and he tapped Barry under the chin with one knuckle to bring his attention back up.

The contact startled both of them—Len’s control had slipped, something he could not afford to happen around Barry Allen—but Len recovered first. “Where’s the rest of your team of do-gooders?”

“Lost ‘em.” Judging by the return of Barry’s crooked grin, it was an accomplishment, not a concern. “Cisco said the shot was too strong, but I didn’t wanna go. He’s the d…” He faltered, brows pulling together as he frowned. “S’the designed. Designinated, superhero, anyway. Shh!”

He shot a pointer finger toward Len in a movement that Len clocked, alarmingly, as intending to be pressed to his lips, as if he were the one who’d been chatting about Vibe’s secret identity. Len had three years of dealing with the Flash to thank for being able to catch Barry’s wrist in time to stop him, and he glared at him for the attempt.

But Barry only gave him a crinkle-eyed smile and twisted his hand in Len’s grip to clasp his wrist back. “S’so good to see you here. I didn’t think…”

“Don’t tell me you had me pegged for straight.”

Barry made a frankly insulting noise halfway between a scoff and a hiccup and tilted Len a condescending look.

“Speedster, remember?” he asked, far too loudly, even for a crowd currently screaming along to a pop song that’d been bad enough the first time Len’d heard it in 2000. “I see it when you...” He let go of Len’s wrist to make a gesture with two fingers, parting them in a V and sweeping them up and down Len’s body, the muscles in his forearm shifting distractingly under Len’s hand. God, the kid had to be a hundred degrees. “When you check me out. In the suit.”

Len smirked. “It’s cute you thought I was being subtle.”

“You’re cute,” Barry muttered, childish and sulky, and Len took it for the compliment it wasn’t.

“You had a point, Barry.”

Barry still looked displeased with him, but his brow was furrowed again when he met his gaze. This close, it was impossible to ignore that Barry had an inch or so on him. “About what?”

“You didn’t think…?” Len prompted him.

Barry stared at him blankly, and Len rolled his eyes and let go of his wrist.

“Get out of the sun, Barry,” he said. “Find a park bench. Wait for your little friends to come find you. Shouldn’t be hard—you’re as red as your suit.”

Barry either ignored his last comment or didn’t hear it. “Iris is here somewhere,” he said, possibly to himself. “She’s…” He twirled his finger absently beside his head. “Curly, today. And… bikini.”

Len strongly considered abandoning Barry to his sunburn to go find out for himself. But Barry was beginning to sway a bit, and a man closer to Len’s age than Barry’s was giving Barry’s toned back a speculative look from a few feet away, and Len gave in to the unsettled feeling gnawing at his ribcage. He refused to call it worry. It was annoyance—or, at the very least, the feeling was annoying him, which was close enough.

“As much a sight for sore eyes as that would be,” he said, allowing a magnanimousness he didn’t feel to color his tone, “I doubt Miss West ran away from her group and got heatstroke. Unlike some people”

Barry didn’t look the least bit chastened, lips curving up mischievously in a way that drew another couple interested looks. Len needed to get them both out of the crowd before he started breaking noses.

“Tell you what. Give Cisco a call, tell him you went home. My bike’s on Kingsbridge, away from the parade route.”

Barry’s smirk sharpened. “Trying to get me out of here, Snart? I thought you weren’t here to score.”

Len gave him a flat look, ignoring the decidedly interested way his body was reacting to Barry’s tone.

“You can barely stand.”

Barry’s eyes glittered at the challenge, and Len realized his mistake.

“Barry—”

He hadn’t even finished biting out the second syllable when the world spun out from under him, the noise and the heat and the press of the crowd swallowed up in a hair-raising charge of yellow lightning. Exactly two and a half seconds passed in a blur of movement, just long enough for Len to realize Barry was supporting the back of his head with one too-warm hand. Then the world came skidding to a stop around them. Barry’s momentum carried them both forward several feet even after their new surroundings materialized, and they very nearly went straight through a window again before Barry seemed to remember how to stop.

Len considered pushing him out the window anyway for the stunt. True, he’d been itching to get another taste of that feeling, the ozone snap-drag of Barry’s power like a live wire under his hands, but he’d rather have waited until Barry could pass a breathalizer.

He realized Barry still had an arm around him and shoved him off. It did nothing to dim Barry’s self-satisfied grin, and Len had to look away or risk giving into the interested once-over Barry was skimming over his body again.

“Pretty sure the point of a designated driver is not doing that.”

Barry followed him when he took a step back. Len made a calculated decision, decided the risk of touching Barry again was worth it, and pressed his fingers to the middle of Barry’s chest—right where the Flash insignia would be on his suit, his brain offered unhelpfully—and pushed him backwards, hard.

Barry unbalanced and wheeled back a step. Then the backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch, and he toppled, satisfyingly, back onto the dark leather cushions.

It was a nice couch. The whole apartment was nice, actually. Len could’ve drawn a perimeter of possible locations based on Barry’s speed and how long it had taken them to reach it if he hadn’t already known the address.

“Sit,” he said. And then, with a smirk: “Stay.”

Barry rolled his eyes. “Gonna have to ask nicer than that if you wanna boss me around in bed.”

The way he threw it out there, easy as anything, almost made Len miss a step as he turned away. He wasn’t going to lay a hand on Barry, not when he was drunk on sunlight and skin and whatever concoction Cisco had apparently cooked up for him. But hearing him say it, like they’d already gotten all of the messy parts out of the way—it set off warning bells in Len’s head, flashing past all the possible off-ramps he would’ve taken if Barry had ever tried to have the conversation in a more linear fashion.

“You’re drunk,” Len said, which was a coward’s answer, and behind him, Barry made a vague noise of agreement.

“Probably,” he acknowledged. “You could stick around ‘til I’m not.”

Christ. Len didn’t trust himself to look at Barry again, not when he knew he’d find him sprawled out and shedding glitter all over what had looked like a very expensive couch. “Stay,” he repeated, and went off to find the kitchen.

By the time he got back with two glasses of water, the problem had solved itself; Barry was out cold on the couch, his painting cheek pressed to the throw pillow he’d curled himself half-around. He was shivering faintly in the air conditioning, all cooled sweat and goosebumps, and Len resigned himself to the now-familiar impulse to help him that stirred in his chest. He put one of the glasses down on the table and, not trusting his hands, knocked his knee into one of Barry’s where it was bent close to the edge of the couch.

Barry buried his face into the pillow with a noise of displeasure, and Len said his name again.

“Last warning,” Len said. “Ten seconds, you find out if I put on steel-toed boots today.”

Barry groaned, and if the sound hadn’t made Len’s pulse skip, the easy shift of muscles in Barry’s arm as he pushed himself up to sitting again would’ve done the trick.

“Water,” Len said, unnecessarily, as he passed him the glass.

Barry took it with the tips of his fingers, as if it were something personally offensive to him, and took a single, polite sip before putting it down beside the other with no small amount of distaste. Then he glanced between the glasses, and up at Len, a dirty spark already lighting behind his eyes again.

“Don’t get your hopes up. They’re both for you.”

Barry let out a breath with audible annoyance and dropped back against the couch cushions to glare at him.

Len felt a modicum of sanity return to him. This, at least, was familiar ground: Barry, frustrated, asking for too much, too soon. True, it had always been about the hero business until now, but Len knew a pattern when he saw one. Give Barry an inch, and he always took a mile.

Len gave Barry one last, appraising look. He looked ridiculous, all self-righteousness and bare skin. There was only one break in the otherwise even coat of glitter, there on Barry’s side: faint, but unmistakable, the outline of Len’s hand on his waist. The feeling in Len’s chest coalesced into something pleased and possessive. He met Barry’s glare with a slow curl of his lips, then gave him an inch.

“Call me when you’re sober, Barry,” he said, letting his voice slip into the Cold drawl just to watch Barry’s eyes go dark. “And you can show me how well you sit up and beg.”

He could see the impatience radiating off of Barry’s frame, the effort it was taking him to stay on the couch instead of closing the space between them.

“Call your friends,” he reminded him. “Enough people got a look at your face today without the CCPD splashing it on every milk carton, too.”

In the elevator, Len reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the thin black wallet he’d liberated from Barry during their sprint across the city. Two and a half seconds: child’s play. A little extra incentive for Barry to track him down in the morning, not that Len thought he needed it. He flipped it open, noted the deer-in-the-headlights picture of Barry on his driver’s license with amusement, and then thumbed open the bill compartment.

Len smirked. Barry wouldn’t miss a few dollars; he owed him for the dry-cleaning it was gonna take to get the glitter out of his jacket, anyway.

#coldflash #leonard snart #barry allen #the flash #my fics #is 10 pm on a tuesday peak posting time? no! is it when i finished this? yes!#also this is blatantly nyc pride sorry #write what you know etc

73 notes · View notes

deadontheinsidebut · 4 years

Note

Hi angel!! I just wanted to say that I just found you today and I think you’re really talented! But I was wondering if I could have hc’s for suga, oikawa, and kuroo where you’re best friends with them but one day you wake up with them in your bed and ur like wait we just had a one night stand 😳. I hope this is okay and if you aren’t comfortable writing this I def understand!! Thank you!! 💞

HI ANON!!! That’s literally so nice of you wtf😳✨💗 Im sending you all the positive vibes and I’m hoping you have a wonderful day/night. 😌💗✨💗✨💗

— Waking up from a one night stand w/ Suga, Oikawa, and Kuroo

a/n: all the characters are aged up!! And there are mentions of alcohol and protective friends and siblings but it’s all cute and fun :))

—Sugawara Koshi

The two of you met in high school and immediately hit it off when you decided to become the manager for Karasuno’s volleyball team

Together, you, Daichi, and Suga formed the parent trio and looked over your little crows with pure dedication

But you and Suga had always been a little closer than the rest with your hidden sassiness and love for everyone around you

So five years after your graduation, it’s not a surprise that you two have managed to keep the bond alive

It’s been a long night at the karaoke bar with you crying over your ex dumping you and Suga doing everything in his power to comfort you

You’re definitely not in the best mindset right now as you sing your heart out to the boy who broke your heart and take shot after shot with your bestfriend

The sloshing of the alcohol in your stomach is burning and Suga tries his best to keep the two of you afloat as he calls an Uber

But he’s so out of it that he forgets your address??? So you two just end up at his house??? And the night is now fair game

You wake up with a killer headache and the smell of pancakes in the room next door

The clothes you’re wearing looks nothing like the ones from last night

Instead, you’re wearing an oversized gray sweater that smells like warm vanilla and laundry detergent

You step out of the strange bed only to notice the framed picture of you and Suga on his desk and you immediately knew where you were

As you make your way through the familiar hallway to the kitchen, you groan and whimper from the pain in your head

Suga is standing there in his pjs making breakfast??

And you stand there in shock as he turns his head to you and ask if you had a good sleep

You’re sputtering as you ask him why you’re here and what happened

And he sheepishly starts to explain the situation and how you two had ended up getting it on while drunk as hell

So you’re sitting on his chair trying to process the night as he serves you the pancakes and you go “what the actual fuck???”

You two eat breakfast in confused silence until you choke on a piece of the pancake and Suga is rushing to get you water and you two are laughing at how awkward you are

The laughing eases the tension and you two are back to just talking and teasing. He starts to apologize for last night but you reassure him that it’s definitely something to cross off the bucket list

And who knows; maybe it’s something you might want to happen twice

—Oikawa Tooru

You’re Iwaizumi’s little sister and you’ve known Oikawa since you were children

You were always by his side and watching every game of his up until he left for Brazil to pursue his dreams of volleyball

You’ve always had a crush on him and your friendship has always been strong, but maybe a future with him was too much to hope for?

Until he came to visit

You two were catching up at a local bar and laughing as if you had never been separated at all

He begins to order drinks for you and you start to blush at his familiar chivalry

You two have basically caught up on everything when you start to feel your eyes droop and your body lose its normal functions

Surprisingly, even Oikawa is a lightweight and almost passes out until he feels you tug at his sleeve and he mans up just enough to call you both a taxi to his hotel room

The smell of alcohol on Oikawa’s breath was the last thing you remembered before your eyes drifted shut

You wake up to the blinding light of the sun coming from the windows and peek open an eye to see a tuffle of dark brown hair

‘omfg...’ is all you think before you let out an ear-shattering shriek

Oikawa’s head shoots up and is darting his head side to side before registering your terrified face as you gather the blankets to cover your naked body

“Oh god... Iwa-chan is going to kill me,” Oikawa let’s out before gulping nervously

As you two begin to put together the pieces of last night, you let out a little giggle

Oikawa is actually horrified and is slightly shaking as he asks you what’s so funny

“Isn’t it so funny how I haven’t seen you in over a year and this is the first thing we do when you come back?”

He’s scratching the back of his head and turns a dark shade of red

And that’s when you had a brilliant idea

You pick up the phone and dial Iwaizumi’s number, eagerly awaiting his answer to tell him everything that happened

“Hey y/n, what’s up? You do realize our timezones are hours apart and I should be sleeping right now.”

“OIKAWA AND I HAD S*X!!!” You shout excitedly

You put him on speaker when he didn’t speak for a couple seconds

“YOU AND SHITTYKAWA DID WHAT???”

Oikawa is literally shivering in the corner with no clothes on and you’re roaring with laughter

“THE NEXT TIME I SEE HIS ASS, IM BEATING HIM ALL THE WAY TO ANOTHER PLANET-“

“P-please spare me!” Oikawa interrupts meekly

“But... just tell him to take good care of you since I can’t be there. You hear me shittykawa? Take good care of my little sister. Part of her belongs to you now.”

Oikawa looks from you to the phone and back to you before giving you a firm nod and a “yes sir” to the phone

Well, I guess that’s one way to start a relationship

—Kuroo Tetsurou

You met Kuroo the same time he met Kenma

The three of you went to the same middle school and Kuroo is the reason why you decided to play volleyball

Your job as the libero was full of diving so of course you would go hang out with Kuroo and Kenma full of fresh bruises and scrapes

Kuroo was always super protective of you from the get go and never wanted you to feel any sort of pain so it wasn’t a surprise when he was the first to help you clean up your wounds

He likes to tease you from time to time about how a pretty girl like you shouldn’t be hurting herself like that but has always supported you whenever you lost a game and encouraged you to carry on

So when you decided to go pro after highschool, he was right by your side

And it was even better since he worked with the Japan Volleyball Association

But after a devastating loss against one of the best teams in the league, you were a crying mess in Kuroo’s arms

He held you tighter than he’s ever held you and whispered words of encouragement as you two sat on your bedroom floor

And you two did the regular ritual for a depressing night where you down shot after shot while letting out every worry and doubt you’ve ever had

You were lost in the alcohol and the room was swirling more than you’ve ever experienced

You woke up to a pair of familiar biceps around your body

As you turn your body to face him, you’re met with a sly grin and beaming eyes

“GET OFF OF ME YOU BAFFOON” you cry out as you try to shove the beautiful man off your bed

“That’s not what you were saying last night,” Kuroo responds while cocking a brow

“Oh shut it you Cheshire Cat,” you mumble half-heartedly

He snakes his arm back around you and inhales the sweet scent of your neck before continuing to talk

“You know princess, if I had known you would be this good, I would’ve hit on you a looong time ago.”

You roll your eyes at his comment before surprising him by cuddling him back

“It’s not like I would’ve let you,” you mumble back

You feel him press a soft kiss on your head before holding you even closer

The day after, you two met up with Kenma for dinner and he immediately picked up on your guys’ suspicious behaviour

“You guys had s*x didn’t you,” he deadpans

“KENMA AJAOSNOSKS” was literally your reaction

Kuroo just sat there like a sly kitty cat

“You told him didn’t you?” You basically sneer

“Ah ah ah, a man never kisses and tells. Or in this case, smashes and tells?”

“No y/n, you just happen to smell like trash today so I assumed Kuroo left his mark on you.”

“HEY I’m not trash!” Kuroo barks back with a slight pout on his face

He pulls you closer until you were basically one nose apart

“Although, I don’t mind leaving my mark on you to make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

Kenma: get me out of here

Taglist:

@janellion @darkdinosaurpeanut @personality-still-downloading

People who may enjoy hcs of their lovers:

@herakosmos @myhaikyuuhq @shrimpyblog @sugacookiies @anianimol @spicyricerice @sstardusty

752 notes · View notes