#Dickens knew what was up

[fictionadventurer]

What was the point of Scrooge's trip with the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come? On a structural level, it makes sense--three is the fairy tale number, and you can't visit the past and present without also including the future--but on a character level, it doesn't quite seem necessary. Showing a man that he'll die alone, unloved, and unmourned seems like the strategy you take as the last-ditch effort to convince a guy that he needs to change his ways. But that situation doesn't apply to Scrooge. He started softening immediately after he first arrived in his past. By the time he finished with the Ghost of Christmas Present, he was fully onboard with the need to reform, so the Ghost's vision of his future seems like unnecessary cruelty. Why show him all this when he was already planning to change his ways?

A few things come to mind. One is that this vision of the future wouldn't have affected Scrooge unless he had already changed his ways. A cold, hard businessman could have seen his lonely death as just the way of the world, might have viewed the people who stole the clothes from his corpse as just people doing what's practical in this world. He needed to relearn the value of the intangibles--human connection, respect for others--to see the true horror of the lonely death and the vultures who defiled the dead man.

But why the horror? Can't he reform without being threatened with doom? It's possible--but it's also possible such a reform would be temporary. After all, Scrooge started as a friendly, loving young man, but retreated into himself and his business out of fear of poverty and fear of the way the world looks down upon poor people. Even if a reformed Scrooge started on a course of Christmas charity, there was always a chance that the enthusiasm would fade, and the worldly fears would start creeping back in. The only way to beat those fears is to give him something to fear that's even worse than poverty. He needs to see the horrible end that his selfish ways would lead to, so he won't be tempted to slide back into them.

There's also the fact that seeing his death makes him ecstatically happy to find that he's alive after the Ghost is gone. Had Scrooge been spared the vision of his future, he might have been happy to find himself on Christmas Day, but his joy would have been nowhere near the manic glee he experiences after coming back from the future. Now, he doesn't just get a new start--he gets a second chance. Coming back from his own grave makes him mindful of his death, but it also makes him hyperaware of the fact that he's still alive. He isn't in the ground yet. He still has time to do good and make connections with others so he doesn't die alone.

Seeing the past reminded him of the innocence he'd lost. Seeing the present reminded him of the people whose lives he was missing out on. Seeing the future reminded him that death is waiting, so it's important to live virtuously while we can. All three are important because all three brought him outside of himself and taught him to value the wider world, just in time to live through another Christmas Day.

#a christmas carol #charles dickens #once again i've ponderously worked my way to the explicitly stated moral of the story #but i had to work my way there because stave 4 left me unsettled #had i been scrooge that trip probably would have squashed any desire i had to reform #the ghost *doesn't say* whether or not the future can be changed #what if this is just proof he's doomed no matter what so why bother changing? #fortunately scrooge was much better than i was about logic #namely: no reason to show him this future if it *can't* be changed #the point of these ghosts is to save him from marley's fate #plus we did have the ghost of christmas present's implications that future shadows can be changed #it's kind of interesting when you step back from familiar stories that just go this way because it's how they're supposed to go #and really dig into 'wait a minute. why did it go like this?' #it usually winds up with me figuring out that the writer knew what they were doing #but it's also nice to see the scaffolding that got us to the story

[dccomicsimagines]

Gift Exchange Mayhem - Young Justice Imagine

Requested by Anon - Can I have the team doing some last minute shopping for Christmas?? Maybe the reader waits until the last minute and needs help??

Author's Note - Happy Holidays! I finally was able to finish something.

***

"Dismissed," Batman said, waving his hand as he turned back to the computer to finish up whatever paperwork he had. The mission had gone well, so the debriefing wasn't too painful.

At least for everyone else, you found it excruciatingly slow. Every minute was a minute closer to the Christmas Eve party and the gift exchange.

Everyone moved off. You stayed where you were until you saw M'gann and Conner walk completely out of the room.

You turned, scanning the room until you saw Artemis heading toward the locker rooms. Dashing after her, you grabbed her arm. "I need your help," you whispered, voice tight with the brewing storm of panic in your chest.

"Ow," Artemis hissed, jerking her arm away. "What do you want, weirdo?"

You swore you saw Batman glance over from the corner of your eye. Your breath caught in your throat. "I need help, but we can't talk about it here. Please?"

Artemis sighed, but gestured for you to follow her. You quickly fell into step beside her.

The two of you walked in silence until you made it to the library. She spun on her heel and crossed her arms. "What do you want?"

You admired how cool she looked in this moment. You wished you could be cool. "I..." You swallowed away your insecurities. "I need help finding a gift for the gift exchange."

She raised an eyebrow. "You haven't gotten one yet? It's tomorrow."

"I know!" You threw up your hands, shaking slightly. "I couldn't focus on it, because I got M'gann and I knew I would blow it in the mind link at some point, so I decided I had to not think about it at all until the last minute. That way, she can be surprised."

Artemis sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Why do you always do this shit?"

"I wanted it to be good. It's her first Christmas on earth and she's already excited, but I don't know what to get her." You bit your lip and blinked back tears.

"Why can't you ask Conner? I got things to do." Artemis narrowed her eyes with that steady frown she was always inclined to give you.

You groaned. "I can't ask Conner, then she'd know. That boy doesn't hide anything from her anymore."

She rolled her eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall. "Okay, fine."

A grin burst onto your face. "Thank you!" You almost reached out to hug her, but she held up a finger to stop you. Your face burned. "Sorry. Can we go now after we change?"

"Sure." Artemis left the room. You let out a sigh to calm your heart.

***

Artemis' head ached at the bright lights of Star City's Megamall. Christmas music blasted throughout the place as people hurried about.

"Luckily, the west coast is still open huh?" You laughed, nudging her side.

Artemis swallowed back a biting retort. "Yep." You stopped by the big tree in the center of the main entrance. Glancing around, you seemed just as lost as you always were. Irritation bubbled up inside of Artemis. "Let's go. We don't have time. It closes in two hours."

You flinched slightly. "Right." You hurried off to your left, leading the way past a bunch of clothing stores.

Artemis took a deep breath. She shouldn't be so annoyed really. What other plans did she have today anyway? All she was going to do was go home and hang out with her mom. Christmas didn't mean much in the Crock household. Just a time where there was no school and a lot of Dad.

She shook her head. 'Reflect upon your present blessings of which every man has many - not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.' It was a quote from Sketches by Boz by Charles Dickens. A early present to herself when she spotted it in a thrift shop during her Christmas shopping.

You started to head into Spencer's, but Artemis snatched your arm. "No."

"Why?" You blinked. Sometimes Artemis wondered if you were also from Mars.

"There will be nothing for her in there, come on." Artemis pulled you along.

You bit your lip. "I don't know where to even start. What does M'gann even like anyway?"

"Conner." She snorted when you seemed to think she was serious. "You can't give her Conner."

"That would have made things easy. I could just put a bow on him." You dodged a family who was running to the mall.

"You're so weird." Artemis crossed her arms. "Let's go here." She walked into a trendy clothing store. It smelled expensive. Artemis' skin crawled.

You glanced around. "I can't give her clothes. She has...clothes that can be anything."

"Just look around!" Artemis snapped. She saw you deflate in the corner of her eye. She should be nicer to you, but...you were so annoying. You moved away from her to look at the wall of perfumes.

Artemis made herself browse at the other side of the store, ignoring price tags and just looking. Like a normal girl.

***

You sniffed at a perfume. It could work for M'gann, except you didn't know if it would be like giving her clothes. You haven't noticed her making a scent when she shifted her clothes.

Biting your lip, you glanced over to find Artemis across the store. She held up a nice brown moto jacket to herself. A hint of a smile on her lips. You smiled too until her face dropped at the sight of the price tag.

"Well, well, well, you went shopping?" A creepy laugh followed. You turned to find Robin in civies with sunglasses over his eyes. He glanced over at Artemis. "With Artemis?"

You slapped a hand over his mouth. "Are you alone?" You looked around wildly. Your heart stopped when you saw Wally, Kaldur, and Roy standing outside the store with big soft pretzels. Kaldur eyed his while Wally and Roy munched down.

Rob pushed your hand away. "We all saw you two sneak off and got concerned since Artemis and you...never mind."

You pursed your lips, wondering what he meant. However, you had other concerns. "Conner and M'gann aren't with you, are they? Please tell me, they aren't?"

Robin snorted. "Those two are occupied." He crossed his arms. "What? Did you have Conner as your secret santa?"

"No, I have M'gann and I don't know what to get her!" You blushed as your eyes filled with tears. "I'm going to mess up Christmas!"

"Woah, stay whelmed." Rob held up his hands. "Deep breaths." He took a deep breath. You copied him. Your heart slowed down. "Why did you wait until last minute?"

"I would have spoiled it through the mind link at some point. You know how I get distracted, so I made myself not think about it until I knew we wouldn't have another mission." You took another deep breath. "And I asked Artemis because she knows a lot...but...you know she's not happy about it." You saw Artemis march over to Roy, Wally, and Kaldur. "But she said yes."

Rob hummed, rocking on his heels. "We can all help you out with that." He nudged your arm. "Come on, I have an idea."

You grinned, skipping after him. Robin always knew what to do, even if he liked to sneak up on people.

***

Kaldur watched as you, Dick, Wally, and Roy headed across the way into another store with bizarre decorations. Artemis groaned and flopped onto a nearby bench. She crossed her arms, muttering how this was all a waste of time.

"Would you like this..." Kaldur held out the untouched pretzel. He didn't like the look of it. Plus seeing Wally dunk it into some plastic-like yellow substance made Kaldur's stomach turn.

Artemis took it and bit a chunk out of it. Kaldur sat down beside her. He looked around at the bright, shiny walls of the mall. The crowds were lightening now as it neared closing time.

"It was kind of you to help (Y/N)." Kaldur smiled as he saw Wally teasing you. You stuck out your tongue in return.

"A mistake. They are so helpless." Artemis took another big bite.

Kaldur's heart fell slightly. He knew Artemis didn't have a high opinion of you and wasn't shy to voice it. She often didn't care if you heard. Kaldur had to comfort you more than once.

"I know (Y/N) can be challenging." Kaldur pursued his lips, carefully choosing his words. "Not everyone is raised with the same experiences. That is what makes the world a more...intriguing place."

Artemis eyed him. She swallowed. "I'm being nice."

Kaldur nodded. "You are." He met Artemis' eye. "(Y/N) thinks a lot of you." You gestured for both of them to join you. Artemis avoided his gaze and yours. Kaldur saw you frown.

"I got to go. Thanks." Artemis stood up suddenly and walked off. Kaldur watched her go with a sigh. He got up and joined you and the others, hoping his words sank in.

***

You brushed away Wally's hand as he reached to tug your hair again. "Where's she going?" You asked as Kaldur approached.

"I believe she is heading home. Her mother was expecting her," Kaldur said kindly. You nodded. Maybe she wanted to get home earlier too? That's probably why she snapped at you.

"I think you could go for something space." Roy held up a metal print of a space nebula.

"Isn't that racist? She's from Mars. It would be like getting Kaldur something from the ocean," you said, waving the print away. "It needs to be good."

Rob tugged you deeper into the store where they had a retro tv show section. Roy followed the two of you, hands deep in his pockets. You noticed Wally and Kaldur stayed back, whispering to each other.

Your face burned as goosebumps appeared on your skin. You hated when you felt like you did something wrong. Was asking Artemis wrong? They didn't need to worry about your feelings.

Honestly, you only cried once. You gotten tougher over the last few months, or at least you waited to cry until you were alone.

"Hey, you with us?" Roy nudged your arm. You gave him a quick smile and moved to look through another stack of metal prints.

Robin and Roy joked with each other. You sighed, moving to the next stack. Kaldur and Wally joined them.

Suddenly, right after you paged through several tv shows you didn't know, you came across a sparkly Hello Megan print.

"Yes!" You held it up like it was priceless.

"Look at that. She'd love it," Wally said, grinning. "And you didn't need anyone's help."

"Well, you did direct me to the right store." You hugged the print of your chest. "She's gonna love it. Too bad Artemis didn't stay to see it."

Roy scoffed, but Kaldur quickly elbowed him in the side. "She'll see it when we open gifts tomorrow," Roy said, rubbing his side.

You hummed, studying the print again. "It's perfect. Good thing you four stalked us to the mall." Robin and Kaldur blushed. Roy just smirked.

"Hey, I wanted to come to the mall anyway." Wally shrugged. You narrowed your eyes knowingly. He blushed as red as his hair.

"He really just wanted to follow Artemis," Roy mumbled in your ear before flopping an arm around your shoulders to lead you toward the checkout. "Come on, let's buy this thing and head out."

You let Roy pull you along, giggling in delight.

As you all headed out of the closing mall, you passed the clothing store you went in with Artemis. The moto jacket was still there. You bit your lip.

"(Y/N), are you coming?" Kaldur asked when he noticed you stopped. Robin and Wally were teasing each other. Roy stopped with you.

"I need to make another stop. Like really fast." You flashed them a smile and headed into the store.

***

"Ekam ti elkraps," Zatanna said, waving her hands. The Christmas tree in the center of the living room lit up. You clapped your hands.

"Thanks Zat. The lights were getting the best of me." You laughed, tossing the jumble of Christmas lights back into the box.

"No problem." She sneezed. Zatanna had been down with a cold for the last two weeks. She was finally back on her feet just in time for Christmas.

You were glad, especially since this was her first Christmas without her dad. It was your job to keep her busy per Black Canary's request. Of course, keeping people busy was your specialty.

Zatanna stared at the tree. You saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "Alright." You clapped your hands. She looked back at you, blinking rapidly. "I think all this work calls for some Christmas cookies."

"But those are for the party?" Zatanna crossed her arms. A genuine smile on her lips.

"Yeah, but we also decorated the place for M'gann, so the least she could do is let us have some early. Besides, Wally will eat them all if we don't get some now." You led her to the kitchen where M'gann was pulling more cookies out of the oven.

You made sure to not think about your gift for her, just in case she was listening to your thoughts.

M'gann's back was turned as you went to the cooling rack and stole two snickerdoodles with red and green sugar. Zatanna pointed to the M&M cookies and you took two of those too.

"You could ask," M'gann said without turning around.

"What?" Your eyes widened. You quickly handed the cookies to Zatanna. "Ask what?"

M'gann turned to look at you. She smiled and shook her head. "Enjoy your cookies and thank you doing the decorations."

Zatanna and you shared a look before giggling. "Thanks M'gann," Zatanna said as you both slipped away.

You took a big bite of cookie. Zatanna nibbled on hers. You both sat down on the couch in the living area and watched the tree sparkle away.

"Z, did you cast a spell on the tree?" Artemis came around the corner. She saw you and you saw a flicker of emotion in her eyes. You didn't know what that meant.

"Yeah, the lights got the better of us," Zatanna laughed, offering Artemis her other cookie. Artemis took it and sat down next to Zatanna.

You wanted to ask her if she was okay or at least thank her for yesterday, but you knew she wouldn't take it well. Besides, M'gann might overhear that you went shopping.

So you stayed quiet, listening in as Artemis and Zatanna talked.

***

"This is amazing!" M'gann gasped as she ripped off the paper to reveal the Hello Megan print.

You tittered, rocking back and forth while hugging your knees to your chest. You sat on the floor of the living area with Wally, Zatanna, and Robin. Artemis, Kaldur, Conner, M'gann, and Roy took the couch and chairs.

Wally poked your side. "She's gonna know it's from you if you keep doing that."

"They're excited. Shut up," Zatanna hissed, poking Wally. You took a deep breath and tried to calm down. However, you still felt like you could burst.

M'gann hugged the print to her chest. "Thank you so much, (Y/N)!" She looked at you. You grinned back.

"Wow, that was a quick guess." Roy rolled his eyes at your giddiness.

"(Y/N) broadcasted their delight. Like almost screaming it." M'gann laughed, handing the print to Conner before flying over to give you a big hug.

You hugged her back, giggling uncontrollably. "I'm glad you love it!"

M'gann pulled back and sat back next to Conner. Conner put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him. Your heart melted. Those two were always so cute.

"Not cool at all," Artemis muttered under her breath. You glanced at her to find her shaking her head at you. A jolt ran through you, but you quickly turned to blink away the burn in your eyes.

"Who's next?" Robin asked, looking around.

The exchanged continued. You played with the edge of your cozy blanket you had received as your gift. Taking a deep breath, you forced a smile on your face. You wouldn't cry on Christmas.

***

Artemis yawned as she made her way toward the zeta tube. Her new set of books under her arm. The party had died down. Artemis was the first to head home. Her mother was waiting for her.

"Hey Artemis," you said. She heard you jogging up behind her. She had to hold back the eye roll before turning.

"Yes?" She hugged her books to her chest. You stumbled a bit, tripping over the blanket you had wrapped around you.

"I..." You coughed, blushing slightly. "I wanted to thank you for coming shopping with me yesterday."

Irritation crawled up inside her. "You're welcome." She kept her face blank.

You smiled a little. Artemis took a deep breath at the moment of silence.

"Well, Merry Christmas." You pulled a nicely wrapped package from under your blanket and held it out.

Artemis flinched, blinking. "What's that?"

"A present." You bit your lip, looking down shyly. "For you. I know you...think I'm annoying. I'm working on it, I promise." You glanced back up at her. Artemis couldn't stop the guilt that sank her stomach. "Anyway, I hope you like it."

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "I got to get home."

"Yeah, have a good night." You waved, backing away before tripping over your blanket.

Artemis shook her head as you rushed back out of the room. She looked down at the present. It was nicely wrapped. Guess they aren't clumsy about everything, she thought.

She sighed before ripping it open. Her jaw dropped to the floor when she found the soft leather of the expensive brown moto jacket inside.

Setting her books on the ground, she slipped on the jacket. It felt smooth like butter. She hugged herself.

"Nice jacket," Wally said, walking into the room with a gift bag in hand. "Where you get it?"

Artemis pursed her lips. Rot ate her up inside. "(Y/N)."

Wally whistled. "It looks amazing, babe." He grinned. "(Y/N) must really like you. I know when I first met them, they gave me a PlayStation. I couldn't believe it."

"Really?" Artemis played with the sleeve of the jacket. "I should give this back to them."

"No, you'll just make them feel bad. They wanted you to have it." Wally held up his hands. "Listen, (Y/N) really cares about what you think of them." Artemis' eyes widened slightly. "So maybe...just try to be a little nicer to them...not that you're not." Wally blushed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

Artemis rolled her eyes. "I know I'm not, Baywatch." She let out of breath, admitting she always noticed that you took any comment she said hard. How many times had she made you cry? "I'll be nicer."

Wally grinned, nudging her arm. "Thanks."

Artemis punched his arm back. Wally dodged it, laughing. She snorted and picked up her books before trying to get him.

***

The next time you saw Artemis, she was wearing the jacket. You actually started jumping with excitement. However, you forced yourself to be cool as she approached you.

"Thanks for the jacket. I needed a new one." She met your eye before giving you a genuine smile. You felt your eyes widen as you couldn't recall another time she smiled at you.

"You're welcome." A big grin pulled at your lips. You rocked on your heels.

Artemis walked away to go to talk to Zatanna, who was across the cave with Robin. You watched her go, letting yourself bounce a little with glee.

M'gann flew up beside you and gave you a hug. You hugged her back. "Try to get back to whelmed," she whispered in your ear. You nodded, taking a deep breath. However, you felt that you could maybe count Artemis as a friend and nothing could be better than that.

#young justice' #young justice imagine #young justice x reader #dc comics imagines #dc reader insert #artemis crock #artemis crock imagine #artemis #artemis imagine #christmas #yj x reader #yj imagine

[smolvenger]

Greetings bestie 💖🫡

Requesting a Professor Hiddles story (you can choose what subject he's teaching) where he already has this friendly type of dynamic w/ Reader and she's nervous about finals week and he goes "Tell you what, if you ace all your exams I'll take you out to dinner. Anything you want."

…And then (surprise surprise) she wants to skip all that because she just wants him 🫠🫠

I shall leave spice level entirely up to you 😏

And for some ✨inspiration✨…

Hi bestie! Thank you for requesting a Prof! Tom fic! I loved writing it!

Exam Aid (Prof! Tom Hiddleston x Student! Reader)

Summary: When finals have gotten you down, your Shakespeare professor offers some help...and motivation...

Word Count: 5939 (woof)

Warnings: Eventual Smut at the end! NSFW! (Reader is a college student ((if undergrad or graduate that's up to you)) so she's over 18. Dom! Prof Hiddles and Sub! Reader, dirty talk, vaginal fingering, doggy style, doing it in an office. It's super filthy when it gets there, so be warned), mentions of anxiety and insomnia and mental health. My Shakespeare tastes and my IRL English Major college experiences are used and referenced bc it's my indulgent fic too and I do what I want. Some hurt/comfort. Prof Hiddles being both a dom and silly goofy in one fic bc get you a man who can do both.

Taglist: @huntress-artemiss@ijuststareatstuffhereok89@evelyn-kingsley@jennyggggrrr@five-miles-over@fictive-sl0th@ladycamillewrites@villainousshakespeare@holdmytesseract (smut starts at "I'm good at more than just kissing" and ends at "He looked at you with a sweet smile", for your comfort, bestie) @eleniblue@twhxhck@lokisgoodgirl@lovelysizzlingbluebird@raqnarokr@holymultiplefandomsbatman@michelleleewise@wolfsmom1@cheekyscamp@mochie85@muddyorbsblr

 It wasn’t the actual week of finals. Oh no, you knew how the drill would go. It was the month or week before. It would be assigned. Every last essay thrown on top of you. And with professors without a touch of reality for students.

“Who the hell has time to read and finish A Tale of Two Cities in two days?!” you thought as you shoved your unabridged copy of Dickens in your bag. Promising yourself to get through as much as you can and then read the Sparknotes summary in the morning. You weren’t immune to it.

Throughout your time in college, you had many a professor. Professors came in varieties. There were creative writing professors who ranged from tiny women who would assign short stories that made no sense to blonde men with glasses and toothy grins who loved it when their male classmates wrote exploitative abuse. Mythology professors with Greek accents and tans. Then there were the mixed bag of literature professors. 

The previous professor of the literature survey for Shakespeare also taught the American Literature Survey course. He was Dr. Rutledge. He wasn’t from this year, or even this reality. Either a wise old sage or a kooky scientist from the movie. He had long, thin grey hair, and wore bow ties with black glasses and thick tweed jackets. He smiled and would speak for hours in a tone half sarcastic, half serious. You knew he would go back home and cozy up with a whole copy of Moby Dick next to a fireplace as he sipped on tea or even scotch if he was feeling adventurous. When he brought up sex and seduction with the Scarlet Letter it was the equivalent of hearing a nun confess her last orgy. 

So when you registered this year for the Shakespeare course, that was the sight you were expecting.

Since the first day in walked someone different. He may have been wearing a suit, but he definitely was not Dr. Rutledge. 

Everyone was gossiping and chattering and sipping on their iced coffees when they fell silent. Every single back stood up straighter at the sight of him. Young, tall, virile. Long, curly reddish blonde hair. A goatee and glasses to show his maturity. Sharp suits that framed every inch of his lean but fit body. Eyes and cheekbones to die for. A jaw so straight it made the men taking the class question if they were.

No introduction of “hi, I’m-” No icebreaker games. He only stepped forward, to his podium. Held onto it, everyone leaned forward. He had all of you in the palm of his hand. Then, with his clear, bright baritone voice, he spoke-

“Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York…”

His voice…something about it. So…rich…Goddammit, he picked that one, the opening speech of Richard the Third. If he picked Romeo’s balcony declaration or something like that, you would be in even more danger of falling onto the floor in a horny heap of suppressed yearning. But no…it was Richard the Third’s monolgoue. Of all the characters he was playing, of all the characters in the Shakespeare canon you could thirst after, it was fucking Richard the Third. Definitely not known as a hunk or even a likable person according to canon. 

But the way he said it- threatening, villainous even. He leaned in and confessed his true feelings about the royal family and his plot to destroy them and rule over them. You could already feel something stirring inside you. And it was eight am in the morning. 

As he finished the monologue, speaking it so naturally it was as if it were his own words, the class burst into applause.

With a casual bow, brushing his curly blonde-red hair out of his face, he introduced himself.

“Hello class- good morning. I’m your professor- Professor Hiddleston, and I will make this as fun and engaging as a morning class on Shakespeare can be.”

From then on, you enjoyed the class. You tackled it on- after all, you wanted to have some fun. You loved Shakespeare. But Professor Thomas Hiddleston…was a bonus. Thank the lord he wore suits. And if not suits, white shirts with the sleeves rolled up. He might as well as taken it off for you. 

You went through various sonnets. Then explored the poetry- Aphrodite and Lucretia. Then the plays. Even plays that the undergrads thought the most dull he made intriguing. He made everything clear with Shakespeare’s life too himself- how the Bard lost a son named Hamlet. How Shakespeare was accustomed to the great courts and low brothels Prince Hal tasted both of. 

When theatres did productions or there was the odd movie adaptation in theatres, everyone went to go see it. Then he had a showing of lesser-known film adaptations. Showing how Orson Welles framed the shot of Falstaff to make the large knight seem even larger. The Bollywood Othello where at long, long last Emilia survived and she was the one to kill Iago, much to the class’s cheering.

“Are there any other movies we should watch?” he asked.

One kid shot up and suggested Shakespeare in Love. He raised an eyebrow.

“ It was not Shakespeare’s invention to have the lovers die. Romeo and Juliet was a a known story in Elizabethan era England and everyone knew back then that the lovers died. It’s like someone just suggesting that Superman comes from another planet- we all know he does. Not  because of him having an illicit affair as his poor wife was left to raise their surviving children far off and alone!”

“What about Anonymous!?” cried one kid, trying to be cool.

He let out a deep, ragged sigh. 

“There is more than enough evidence to suggest Shakespeare wrote the plays. Every criticism says he can’t write it because he was uneducated. However, if you look, there are hysterical inaccuracies in his geography And no one questions the authorship of Maya Angelou because of her lack of formal education! Just because he was not a nobleman, does not mean he was not aware of things as you are! Every Anti-Stratfordian argument boils down to classicism.” 

It was the best class you took. Having him teach definitely helped. And he would invite people for coffee talks and of course, you would bolt to join. Yet you enjoyed it- seeing him so relaxed. Warm in his coat as everyone circled around to talk about plays they knew of but hadn’t read in this class.

“Well- all of us went through our high schools. We all read Romeo and Juliet- what do you think?” he questioned them one autumnal day. 

“They’re just brats! Ugh!” one guy snarled out.

That you couldn’t take. You set down your drink, glaring at him. 

“They’re not!” you cried out passionately.

Eyes turned forward to you. You wished youcould have slapped him, but you stopped.

“Well, Y/N…why do you think that? Why are they not brats?” the professor asked. 

“I think…the plays aren’t meant to be realistic. Of course, they fall in love immediately- so do Rosamund and Orlando but no one calls them brats! It’s not Romeo and Juliet who get everyone killed! It’s not their love that hurts anyone- it’s just the feud and Paris l thinking he is entitled to Juliet’s body after her supposed death! No one knows about them- only they, the nurse, and the priest know about it! They’re innocent! Juliet calls Romeo her ‘friend!” Her one and only friend! That’s how alone she is without him! They are just innocent victims of a greater scheme. Hamlet and Othello fall prey to their own flaws- but Romeo and Juliet are just two young kids caught in the crossfire!”

You didn’t realize how passionate you were. You felt your face get hot with embarrassment as the class gaped at you. But the Professor was nodding his head. He gave you a small smile as you sat down.

“That was…very good. Next time, use the text and a few sources, and you have yourself a good essay, Y/N,” Professor Hiddleston said.

You liked how he challenged you. He would only want you to do better. He wouldn’t blow smoke up your ass, but he would support you. You would ask after each other. He told you a bit about his life- about how much there was to grade. How he got the job. Little things- but little things only added up to how much you liked him. Even…even…no, you couldn’t you would never say it aloud. But your bedtime fantasies…you were more than mere friends…but that was only for fantasies. 

You tried to let those regular Shakespeare classes comfort you. But finals were taking a toll on your sleep, and your health. You were so wound up and stressed, trying to read and perfect essays that you had trouble going to bed. Your brain kept churning- unable to think of anything else but your work. You couldn’t realx- you worked so hard to get into this school, this degree. If you didn’t pass then…you would be a failure and all that work to go to this school would be for nothing. 

At least after a sleepless night, you had something to look forward to- to distract yourself. But even lately in those classes, you curled into yourself. The heaviness of your exhaustion and the jolt of your anxiety over finals in an unending cycle of misery. You were so…tired…and done…and drained…you knew it would pass with time…

After class, as everyone filed out, Professor Hiddleston walked over to where you slowly gathered your things. He held out a hand to you.

“What is it, Y/N? You’re usually smiling and happy here. But you seem very grave lately…has something happened?”

You shook your head.

“Not really just…finals…I want to do well. I can’t get C’s- I want to do them perfectly! I want to! I want this degree! Now I…I’m so scared of failing…I wanted this school so much, now I…I…” you began to mutter.

You felt tears wriggling out of your eyes, and your breath shook as you uselessly tried to hold them back. He handed you tissues from his coat pocket. You felt like a trashbag- crying in front of this fucking Greek God. But he looked at you kindly. You wiped your eyes. Snot threatened to release from crying and you blew your nose. Ugh, he would think you were especially gross after that. But his gentle smile did not change. You wrapped up the tissues and tossed them aside- then he handed you the little plastic package.

“Is it mansplaining if I give you some advice?” he asked.

“Oh, no…it’s not…” you said. 

“Break your studies apart, Y/N. Ten little minutes at a time. A break. Then ten more. If you take time to focus, it will help you. Or if you make it fun and play music or make little drawings, then you have a picture as well…I know it means a lot…but if you rest, you will recover…and you must think smart, not hard,” he advised.

“Okay…” you nodded.

“Y/N, there are counselors here…they will help you and you don’t have to pay anything. They; 've helped me, and so many others, they should help you…” he suggested. He got out pamphlets from a corner of his desk to give to you. 

“I’ll see one…Why are you so kind to me?” you asked impulsively, looking up.

He put his hands in his pockets, glancing down, and then back up.

“If I may be frank, you remind me so much of myself when I was a student. I had a thesis I had to write on Shakespeare’s problem plays…and it consumed me. I wish someone had given me that advice at that time-I only want you to suffer a little less. Don’t be so hard on yourself- like I was on me…”

You nodded up at him, adjusting the straps of your bag and gathering your things in your arms. 

 “And I’ll..I’ll make it fun- I’ll think of a reward for after…” you said.

He placed his hands in front of him, his lips tightening, and then in a rushed exhale, he spoke. 

“Y/N…how would you…you…you like dinner? After finals?”

You perked your head up. Was this real? You blinked at him, saying nothing.

“Y/N…make me a bet…Go to counseling, break apart your studying, get through your finals, and do as well as you can…and I will take you out to dinner, how does that sound?” he asked.

You smiled at him, your heart beating fast. But yet…you were touched. You put a hand over your chest and released an exhale.

“Professor that…that sounds wonderful…” you answered.

“Ah, excellent. Now- is that a deal?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

You gave him a smile and a small laugh.

“It’s a deal,” you replied.

You managed to get a counseling session scheduled for tomorrow. You went inside, sat, met the kind therapist, and smiled as you vented and cried out your feelings. When you went back to where you lived and spent your emotions, you crashed onto the bed. It was the best nap you had ever taken. 

You followed his advice. You broke down studying or writing essays and researching. You took more breaks. You had made flashcards with doodles for the tests and were catching on quickly. Your research was more fruitful and your essays were getting better in your eyes. You found you slept a bit better at night.

Each day as you sat in at 8 am, the Professor would smile at you and nod. You felt more like yourself again despite the looming deadlines. And they didn’t seem like a matter of life or death anymore. 

Everyone knows the week before finals are hell. To study and work so much with no time off from usual classes. But… you would still miss that 8 a.m. Shakespeare survey- and the handsome professor in his suits.

“Y/N, don’t be scared- you will be phenomenal,”  He gave you a wink that turned you into jelly.

Damn him. To think you would have dinner with him. You turned around to peek at him erasing the markerboard and glimpsing his curved bum,  how his hair curled at the back, and his broad back.

Yeah, now that was motivation to do well.

You studied and wrote with enthusiasm. You completed it all in due time. The essays were to your satisfaction.  When you settled at night, you cuddled his pillow. Remembering his smell- be it his shampoo or cologne, the mild, citrus scent. Fantasizing about him. Of dancing slowly at a formal event with you in an evening gown. Feeling his hand on your back and his head lowering down to touch your forehead. Of sharing ice cream. Being a damsel in distress for him to rescue. Then you thought of his body…. And the images changed to something naughtier. Wearing short skirts and showing up to his class. And him noticing. And lifting it up…

You conked right to sleep.

Finals week began. The entire campus knew it was stressful and went ridiculously out of their way to cheer up the students. But it was a lot of fun, you had to admit. Having dogs on campus to pet. Discounts on coffee. That Monday morning the cafeteria was packed with the free breakfast they offered. Once you brave the long lines for free food, you headed out to your first final. 

Professors, to your amusement, dotted around the campus. If they didn’t have a class to be in, they were handing little care packages while dressed in silly costumes. The sight amused you and made you smile.

Then walking up, you turned to the right and jumped at the sight with a happy, surprised gasp that became laughter. Professor Hiddleston himself wore a light, frilly tutu made for girls a quarter of his age over his pants, little costume fairy wings over his shirt,  and had a headband with little stars on top like ears. 

He turned towards you and his face turned bright pink. 

“Professor Hiddleston! What is this?!” you asked.

He opened up his arms to present his silly costume.

“We’re doing our anti-stress events! I am here to provide you with help with your stress!” he announced theatrically.

You put your hands akimbo and surveyed his costume up and down. If the class knew, they would lose it.

“And you’re doing it?!” you asked.

“Why not! I’m not a stick in the mud all the time! I can have fun!”

You laughed again.

“I should take a picture and send you to the group chat of our class!”

“I don’t see why not!”

He posed as you took a picture. 

“And how are you feeling?”

“I feel better! Much better now- I feel like I’m ready…”

“Good! It will be done soon! A bit at a time!”

He handed over a stress-free care package. Exchanging smiles, you continued by with a lighter step in your shoes. 

You went to every test outside of the pre-written essay. You knew what to do as you wrote short essays for the tests. You didn’t completely panic and wrote them as well as you could. When it came to every exam,  you felt you knew and understood the material. The week flew by. 

Sure enough, on that Friday, with shaking hands and a turning stomach, you looked up your grades. Taking in a breath right when the clock hit noon, you tapped a shaking finger on the mouse.  The link buffered on your computer to view them. Then it lit up with revelation. 

You passed them. You passed them all. In fact, you did very well. 

Your heart was racing but—you realized…you didn’t have his number. Only his email address. With the still nervous feeling…you emailed him, your professor.

“Hello Professor,

My grades were announced- and they’re all spectacular. I passed all of them. So…you made that promise…are you available for dinner?”

You sent it off. You could only ruminate for five minutes- his response was quick. 

“Of course, dear Y/N…

Here’s my number below… Meet me in my office. The parking lot isn’t far from it.”

You managed to text him immediately. You were giggling and pacing your room like a high schooler as your phone buzzed with his responses.  You re-read them as you paced about with your phone in your face. The high of your crush floating you into the clouds. You were going to go to a nice restaurant- one wasn’t finalized yet, but something nice. And that meant you had to look the part!

You were so excited. You made sure your makeup was how you liked and that your hair looked clean. You put on a part dress-one with a shorter skirt. It was too perfect not to. It was cut only a little low to show some mild cleavage. The collar was wide enough so that it showed your collarbones. It was nice, but flirtatious and romantic. It hugged you in a perfect fit while making you feel amazing and sexy. 

Sure enough, you went over to his office. The place was abandoned. All offices and buildings on the Friday of the Finals are in the early evening. You walked over and knocked on the door.

He opened the door and your heart almost stopped.

He was lovely. In his suit. His curls and that slutty goatee combed. Smelling fresh and clean. He still was in his blue suit- bringing out the blue in his eyes. Loving, beautiful.

“Ah, Y/N- please, come in,” he welcomed.

You followed suit. He closed the door. There was a second where you just looked at each other. Despite his goatee, you saw him biting his lip.

“Now, how about that dinner, Y/N…” he offered. “There’s La Gardeniera-suitable. A nice place for a special occasion as this…”

You gave him a shrug.

“I don’t care…anywhere…” you replied. 

“Anywhere? ” he asked.

He put his hands in his pocket and looked at you. It was a simple office- white and brown as many are. There was a bright window, the blinds turned over, as the setting sun’s rays fell over it. There was a small bust of Shakespeare and a pitcher with cups of water. His desk had a neat stack of papers, and annotated books all over it. Cozy and comfortable- like how he made you. 

“I just…I want to be with you…I don’t mind. Take me to a McDonalds and I won’t care…” you went on.

“Y/N…I…me?” he asked.

“Yes, you! We don’t even have to eat or…to, uh…I just…” the words were failing you and you felt your heart pick up. You looked down at the floors and then back up at him. 

“You want to…to be with me…” he walked forward curiously. But you did not retreat. Did not back away. You only met him in his blue eyes, welcoming him.

“Y/N…are you sure?” he asked.

He took a step closer. He was right before you. And you did not retreat. You met his gaze. So close. The tension between you.

“Professor Hiddleston, I am sure…I just want to be with you…anywhere…you just…make me happy…” you finally confessed.

“You make me happy too…” he murmured

He leaned forward, seeking permission. You gave a shaky nod. 

Then he kissed you.

 Something in you released. So long it was boxed up- now wild and free.  He immediately took his hands and ran them up and down you and you held onto him in the kiss. Feeling him as he deepened it with the wet sound of lips. Grabbing onto each other, releasing what had been held for so long. He released and then kissed you-again, then again. Like he was drowning and you were air. 

“Mphm- what-what were the grades?” he asked before kissing again.

You caught your breath and took a break still close to his lips. 

“Passed them. Flying colors,” you reported.

 He kissed you again, moaning into it. Then he broke it again.

“Well now…my little student…doing so well…” he rasped.

You grabbed him and heart racing you felt him kiss you. His facial hair scratched against you. He kissed you back. He backed you up.

“You’ve been…good…” he breathed, pressing you there into it. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. 

“Mphm- this feels…feels so nice…you’re a good kisser,” you whispered.

“I’m good at more than just kissing, my dear-”

He held you, pulling you close. He backed you to the door-holding you against him. He then reached a hand and turned over the lock. It was sealed with a click. His hands then returned to you. He cupped your cheeks, then it slid down your neck, and your chest, and then settled on your wasit. 

“I’ve…I’ve…God, I’ve wanted you so much…I…I don’t know if I…think I can…hold back…my dear, I-I-if you’re not…not ready, I’ll-”

“I don’t want to leave yet- let’s wait for dinner-take me. Fuck me here, now,” you begged. 

You didn’t need to say any more than that.  ou shuddered. He found your skirt and touched your leg, lifting it up. Feeling your skin, cold from exposure.

“All this…is all for me now…”

His hand reached over your leg. His long fingers possessively gripped each bit of flesh. Enjoying it- feeling you for the first time. Treasuring you and making his mark- you were his and his alone. He wrapped an arm around you and lifted you up onto that door. You let out a sound He then took your leg and guided it to wrap around his waist, holding onto him. You were so dripping wet you could feel his pants brushing your soaked panties. He held you easily-so, so easily. Just muscle and wall holding you and keeping you in place. He managed to lift you up- keeping you up with how pressed he was to you. How warm. Keeping him on you.

Your lips crashed again. You kept touching him. One hand finally touching his hair- his beautiful, long curls. The other kissing into him. In his suit, he began to ground against you now that you had nowhere to go away- not that you would leave. He kissed you with tongue and fire. You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him back, wet noises and messy, desperate need.

“Tom…Tom, I-” you murmured.

He touched your chin, shushing you.

“We’re still in my office, my dear. And you will call me Professor,” he said.

He reached a hand down- feeling hte seat of your soaked panties. Smiling from teh effect already.

“Yes…yes, I will…” you breathed out. 

“Now- my little angel. She did so well…and she comes to me, so needy…so desperate-first for her finals and now for my cock-”

You held onto him, touching his tie. Pulling him up. You felt his erection stretching through his pants. The hooded eyes and soft voice, his hot breath. You gave him a smile- eager to have him. 

“I’m going to rip your clothes off and fuck you senselessly- and I want you- I never heard a thank you- I want to hear your gratitude for how I take care of you in every way…how does that sound? Too much for you?”

“It sounds wonderful for me-Professor,” you purred in response.

He wrapped an arm to help you up and carried you- legs around his waist.

. He then backed you over to his desk. He kept one by you- so close, so close. He took a hand and shoved aside the books and papers. It didn’t matter- now there was you. 

He pulled up your skirt. Desperately trying to find the zipper. Almost shaking in his long fingers. His erection seeping through his pants- he was so pent up.

“All that time. Wanting you. Feeling you near. Do you know how many nights I had to jerk off to imagine this- you! Seeing you- feeling you right there- my little beauty, angel, and siren at once.”

He shoved your dress off and down. Now in your bra and underwear. His hands went to under your straps- feeling them already- his bare flesh on your bare flesh. You were backed there.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you what?” he asked darkly.

“Th-thank you, Professor.”

He kissed you again. You were his little pet, his toy, his plaything. And you would please him- You held onto his shoulders. Grinding more into his body, He was still. Yet you heard his breaths, catching in his chest. He still remained clothed. 

Then in a rush, he gripped your bra.

“You won't need these- not with me.”

With a strength that made you gasp, He ripped your bra in half. He breasted so fast, panting like a beast. Looking down at your breasts.  Both large hands fondled them, moving them around. 

“Th-Thank you, Professor,” you whispered.

“But there’s one thing- one thing keeping me- from what I need” he growled.

He reached down, and in a second, he ripped your panties apart again in half. You gasped at the feeling. The cloth in two- uselessly falling apart.

“No bra- no panties when I see you -easier access- do you understand…I have a need for you, do you get it-”

“Yes- yes, sir.”

“Close- but not it. You forgot. And you’ll be punished.”

He turned you around, so your bare ass was shown. He immediately spanked you hard- it clapped around you. You let out a shout.

“It’s thank you-Professor.”

“Thank you Professor!” you cried out, feeling the sting. 

“And you will get it right!”

He spanked you again, harder. The momentum made you move against the desk, feeling your ass move with it. And feeling his greedy eyes all over your exposed skin.

“Th-Thank you, Professor!” you cried.

He pulled you back up but kept your back to his chest. He kissed your cheek, fondling you from behind, whispering in your ear.  

“If you don’t want another punishment-Tell me what I am-”

“You-you’re my-my-”

The words failed you. He leaned you down again and spanked you.

“You’re my professor!”

He spanked you again.

“Say it again- and say thank you-”

“Yes- yes- thank you, Professor…”

He grazed over you. Feeling you. You were catching your breath. Dripping so hard. He put his hands against your inner legs. 

“The more I do this- the more I see you, the more I’m with you, the more you- you torture me. I can’t stand it- I-I have to have you, Y/N- I have to, I have to-do you- do you want-”

You lightly turned your head over to see him and could have gasped. 

He unzipped his pants and lowered them. Already his cock was large and twitching. It leaked so much, that his precum made you shiver. It drizzled down and made a path down his leg. You clutched onto the desk, smiling and bracing yourself. 

“Yes- take me- take me on your desk, Professor…”

He smiled, and then his hand made you bend over it again. ‘

“Spread. Your. Legs.”

You were such a horny querying mess, he touched your legs so that they spread for him. Then finally, you felt him at your entrance, and inside. 

You let out a long groan- and so did he. As he got in - inch by inch. 

“Yes- yes all-ah!” you cried out as he got all of himself in you. 

He eased you in at first. Your legs again over. He gave a few gentle, experimental thrusts. It was slow, even sloppy. Each intrusion, poking you inside. You were making an appreciative groan. You ground your hips further against him. The room was hot and smelled thick with sex.

“There…you can take…take all your professor's cock, can you?” he growled.

“Yes-yes I can..”

He then made a sharp thrust inside and you cried out.

“Oh!”

He then experimented- hips rolling towards your ass. You let out sounds like you never heard yourself make. He then had a hand to keep you down. To keep you down And then he began to pick up. Slamming into you. Keeping you still, close, on him. 

“Nrg-nrgh- yes-there-fuck-there’s my-myfuck- good litlte student-nrgh-want to please me- hrng-begging-begging to-shit-yes-yes-darling-begging for me-”

You were moaning into it. Your body shakes forward and back from his thrusts. You felt yourself spiraling. Then he slowed. He leaned down and whispered into your ear. The pleasure was at a standstill, you caught your breath as you heard his hot voice right beside you.

“You have another order- cum only when I’m about to-cum when I tell you- yes?” he demanded

“Yes!”

“Yes, are you grateful!” He moved his hands to feel your arms. 

“I am- th-tahnk you, Pr-Professor.”

He went back up and began to thrust again. Slow- then medium. You let out those pornographic sounds out as he did.

“Fuck- what you do to me, darling,” he breathed out. 

He let out another gasp, his voice itching up in a groan and then back down. Then he slammed into you, letting out a loud voice. 

“Who is going to let you cum?  Who lets you cum when you’re a good girl?” he rasped. 

“My-my- fuck-professor will- will let me-cum-yes!

“Not yet- not yet-mine is-if-fuck, it’s building.-”

He spread your legs wide and entered you. Then he grabbed your hips. He began to pound into you. The desk shaking- the wall quivering. Slamming against that wall with a thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud. He whimpered your name. You clung onto it, your knuckles popping out of you.

“Yes-Yes you are-beautiful little student- you are-g-grateful- fuck.-tight-so tight- shit-”

He was so deep, just rutting into you. He was an animal. Pure fucking you into the desk You felt the itch of his suit- the deepness of it. The papers scrambling away- scratching you. The pure ecstasy of it.

“And” thrust “tell me-” thrust “tell me this”- thrust “darling-”

He laced a hand, it reached your folds. You let out a whimper. He dug around- two fingers in-already feeling you. God- you weren’t going to last. He wasn’t going to like it, but you weren’t going to last. You let out a whimper as you felt him inside you.

“What” thrust “ is it” thrust”- “what is it- good” thrust “good girls do- ”thrust

“They-they-they get to-to-to come, Professor-”

“Yes! Yes-you're at my-my limit-gods-gods- what you do to me-You’ve been good-so good- I can’t-I can’t-so cum, darling-”

He strummed you. And you let out another intense gasp. He was strumming you. His fingers making you more open, his cock in, out, in out. You felt it build- he played with your clit so much. Trying the right place, You felt it rise, but not there. And he kept thrusting. A frustration in his rasp.

“Yes- dammit- why won’t you now? Why won’t-won’t you cum?! Cum, dammit- cum- darling- fuck, fuck- god- yes, gods, I’m there…I’m getting there, cum, dammit- why won’t you cum…”

With a new fury, he pounded against you into the desk- the filthiest, most intense thing you felt. The pleasure building up you, going up, up about to be out of control. 

“I’m- I’m going to-I’m going to-I’m going to cum, professor I-I-I”

It would spiral up, yes, but you had yet to reach it. You ground your hips further, moving from his thrusts, as his fingers were there- finding you at the still of your high and just needing your brink.

“Yes- God, yes-cum, darling-I order you, your professor orders you-Yes- yes, cum, girl, dammit- do it, cum, darling- fuck, I’m about to- do it- CUM!” he deamnded like a yell.

With a last shout you cried- “PROFESSOR!” and you came.

Spiraling down from the pleasure. It broke into chills over you-your voice left you and yet your heart was racing. You could feel him gushing into you and yet you could also feel the cum from your own body between your legs, on his fingers.  He panted. He then moved you over. You saw his hair wild and arrayed. You moved it out of his face.

He looked at you with a sweet smile then took your hand and kissed it. He sat you down on a chair and took off his jacket- putting it over you like a cape. Then he went over and got you a glass of water from the pitcher. 

His voice had softened, he kept touching your face, checking for any accidental bruises or marks.

 “How are you? Are you…are you alright, Y/N? I didn’t go too…too-”

“You were perfect- it was perfect,” you replied with a smile. The water wasn’t super cold- but it was fresh. 

He let out a sigh of relief. He then cupped your cheek. 

“You should see yourself how I see you. You’re glowing. Absolutely glowing-I had only hoped you were…were happy with it…”

He looked down at the ruined bra and panties.

“I’ll buy you another…” he muttered in apology.

“Oh- an orgasm and dinner and new bra and panties? You spoil me rotten already!” you teased.

He gave you a kiss on the forehead and then he helped you back to dressing. 

“Here-we could…go back to my place and order something. At this rate, it might get late. I’m not that good of a cook-I was hoping a restaurant would impress you. I hope you don’t mind…”

“How could I, Professor?” you added, taking your hand in his. 

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[loulouwrites]

MOMENTS . ALFIE SOLOMONS

summary: alfie's third child is about to be born, and he reflects on the births of his eldest children. warnings: pregnancy, childbirth, traumatic birth (but it's all okay), strained familial relationships, angst (not as bad as usual), swearing, murder, drinking, unedited wordcount: 2.4k a sequel to home but can be read as a standalone. <3

Alfie called his wife's name from the bottom of the stairs, his exhasperated shout echoing up the staircase and into the master bedroom. There was no response to his call, save for a pained scream that he was almost certain was not directed at him.

He breathed a sigh, climbing the stairs to at a time and knocking on the bedroom door, his wife's cries muffled by the heavy oak door. He called her name again, louder this time. "The kids are bein' fuckin' mental, I don't know what to do with them."

The door swung open, revealing a very angry old woman. Ms Abrams was a stern woman, she had delivered hundreds of babies, including all of the Solomons children, his wife insisting she was the best midwife they could ask for - she was also one of the few people Alfie was genuinely scared of. So scared he had considered stopping getting his wife pregnant just so he'd never have to see her severe, wrinkled face ever again.

"Mr Solomons, your wife is in labour, I will not have a repeat of last time," the woman hissed at him, swatting him away with a blemished hand.

"I don't know what to do with them," Alfie said, desperately, his hands thrown out at his sides. Ms Abrams gave him a pointed look that caused him to shrink back slightly, memories of her beating him with a heavy Charles Dickens book during Bessies birth flashing in his mind.

"You're their father, Mr Solomons - figure it out," she slammed the door in his face before he could protest, and he was left to figure it out alone.

"Dad, Bessie got into your office again!" Benjamin called from the bottom of the stairs, the giggles of his little sister following his voice.

When Benjamin had been born, eight years ago, Alfie had been mortified by the entire experience. His wife had woken up in the middle of the night, in unbearable pain, gripping onto his arm so tightly that in the haze of sleep, he had reached for the gun he always kept in his bedside table.

When she had told him to call for the midwife, he had done so without hesitation, and when there was no answer, he had sent Ollie to collect her and bring her to the house personally - it was a terrible first impression for both Alfie and Ms Abrams.

When the old woman finally did arrive, she had instructed Alfie to leave.

"Go to the pub or something, it's what most men do."

But Alfie was not most men, and had insisted he be close by, just in case. It had not impressed Ms Abrams, who had rolled her eyes at the gangster as if he were a spoiled child, before telling him to wait downstairs for however long it would take.

It was three hours in when Ms Abrams came running down the stairs, hurriedly asking him where the phone was, and he directed her to it wordlessly. He asked to her what was wrong, but she had ignored him, speaking into the phone in a tone that Alfie knew too well - panicked.

His head went fuzzy as he watched the woman clutch the phone to her ear, speaking in a hushed tone to whoever was on the other end.

"We need a doctor here immediately," she had said, and Alfie had started for the stairs before either of them could blink. He ignored the protests of the older woman, rushing up the stairs and into the bedroom too fast for her to catch up and stop him.

He didn't know what he was expecting - maybe blood, maybe his wife lying lifelessly on the bed - but there was no red stains on the sheet, and she was lying on the bed, very much alive, though pale and tired.

"Alfie," she breathed out, her head flopping back on the headboard. "What's happening?"

He had no response, he just lingered in the doorway helplessly.

What was happening?

"Get out," Mrs Abrams pushed past him, a man in a nice suit following behind her, giving the scared husband a polite smile as he squeezed past.

"No," Alfie spat at her. "You tell me what's going on."

Neither of them responded, sharing a worried look, before the man kneeled at the bottom of the bed, ensuring his wife that everything was going to be fine.

Ms Abrams glanced at Alfie, and with a heavy sigh, placed a hand on his shoulder to push him out of the room, closing the door halfway so she could speak to him through the crack.

"The baby is in distress," she said, holding a hand up when Alfie went to interrupt her. "It'll be fine, Mr Solomons, the doctor is here now. I'm certain it will all be fine."

But Alfie could read the midwife's face.

She wasn't certain - how could she be?

Eveything worked out, Benjamin Solomons was born one hour later, his cries filling the house, and Alfie shot up from where he sat on the floor outside the bedroom, waiting for the door to open.

"Your son is here, Mr Solomons," Ms Abrams said, smiling for the first time since he had met her all those hours ago. He nodded at her, pushing into the room as the midwife and doctor left, not paying any mind to them as he approached the bed where his wife lay, with a now quiet baby in her arms.

Alfie had seen babies before, though they were at least a few weeks old, cleaned and dressed properly, ready to meet strangers. This one, though, was purple and swollen, with his eyes scrunched shut and his lips pursed as he took in his new surroundings.

Benjamin was an ugly baby - but he was theirs.

"Bessie, please stop," Alfie sighed at his daughter as she sped around his study, throwing pieces of paper in the air, laughing when her dad would try and catch them before they hit the floor.

She was a fast two year old, she seemed to have endless energy that didn't burn out until the very end of the day, Alfie swore she tried to tire everybody else out first.

The knock at the door interrupted Alfie's protests, and he gave up, scooping the little girl into his arms and making his way to the front door, stopping in the foyer at the sight of his mother-in-law greeting her grandson and stepping into the house.

Her eyes flickered from Benjamin to Alfie, and the smile fell from her lips, pursing into a look of disgust.

"Alfie," she nodded, scoffing when the man ignored her, spinning on his heel as his daughter laughed, reaching her arms out to her 'bubbee'.

He was sat at the kitchen table with Bessie, pretending to listen to her babbling when the woman walked in, hand in hand with Benjamin - they had always gotten along - and it pissed Alfie off like nothing else.

"How long has it been?" She asked, pulling off her gloves and sitting in the chair opposite him.

"Four hours," Benjamin said proudly - he had been counting.

"Might be a while yet," she sighed, turning to her grandson. "Why don't you take your sister to the shop and get yourselves some sweets while we wait?" She was already reaching into her purse to pull out some coins before Alfie could protest.

"Sweeties!" Bessie laughed from her seat, jumping down and pulling her big brother by his hand out of the door.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that," Alfie grumbled, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

"They're just sweets, Alfie, it won't do them any harm," she waved a dismissive arm. "Besides, it looked like you could use a break," she let her eyes trail across the room - he would admit, it had been tidier.

"Surprised to see you, don't usually show up for these things," he was challenging her, and from the way she sat up in her seat, she was ready for it.

"I'm her mother, Alfie, she asked me to be here."

"Well she's emotional," he shrugged calmly. "Pregnancy brings out her meloncholy side."

"I'm trying to be a better mother, I would appreciate it if you let me."

"Yeah," Alfie scoffed, "too little too late for me, love."

"Glass houses, Alfie," the woman glared at him. "You've hardly been an outstanding husband."

"Never threw her out on the streets, though, have I? Let me tell you somethin', you can see her as often as you like but if you dare come into my home and try and poison her, or my children, against me" he leaned forward in his chair. "Your body will be floating in the thames before those kids get home from the shop."

She seemed taken aback by his comment, and it made Alfie want to throttle her, if it wasn't for his wife upstairs, he probably would. She opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the two children running back into the house, the front door slamming shut behind them.

"Dad, she stole my cola cubes," Benjamin whined, pointing to his younger sister, who had a sly grin on her face and her hands tucked behind her back.

"I'm going to go and check on your mother," she spoke to her grandchildren, offering them a smile as she left the kitchen.

"Is mummy hurt, daddy?" Bessie asked, climbing onto his lap, a white bag of cola cubes in her hand.

"Yeah," Alfie nodded, "but not for long. It'll be over soon."

Bessie's birth had gone much smoother than Benjamin's had - from what Alfie could remember.

He hadn't been home when his wife had gone into labour, he had been at the bakery, dealing with business that could not be delegated to anybody else.

The was a rat in the bakery, and after months of searching his men had finally figured out who it was. The phone rang in his office incessantly, but nobody heard it over the sound of the man's screams from the main floor.

Rats didn't die quick. That was his policy when it came to such matters, and this day was no exception. It had taken hours for the man's body to finally give up, for his body to slump on the floor with little fight left in him, and that's when Alfie shot him in the head - like a lame horse.

It was divine retribution in a way. This man died while Alfie's daughter was being born - there was a clear winner in the scenario.

He had drank rum from the distillery after, the phone had stopped ringing and it was quiet again, and he took a moment to himself, drinking half the bottle before he decided it was time to call it a night.

He didn't drink the rum out of guilt for what he had done, nor had he done it in celebration - he just needed a moment of silence, a moment to cleanse his mind of what he had done before he went home and hugged his son and kissed his wife.

He had come home stumbling, Benjamin was already in bed, fast asleep and the house was eerily quiet - until he stumbled into the bedroom that is.

The screams were delayed when they hit his ears, a frown on his face when his bleary eyes lifted from the carpet to his bed, where his wife was sat up, a screaming infant in his arms and an unimpressed look on her face, the midwife stood at her bedside seemingly shaking with rage.

"Fuckin' hell, you had another one?" He laughed, throwing his head back. He was still laughing when Ms Abrams approached him a book from the bedside table in her hands, delivering a smack to the side of his head, knocking his hat onto the floor. "For fuck's sake," Alfie groaned, cradling his ear with his hand, but the woman didn't stop, hitting him repeatedly with the book until he backed out of the room.

"Go and wash the smell of rum off of you and get youself together, man," she hissed once she had him backed into the wall outside the bedroom.

He didn't argue with her, shuffling into the bathroom before she could get another hit in.

"Her name is Elisabeth, by the way," she called out after him.

Bessie was finally in bed when Mrs Abrams came into the kitchen.

"You have another son, Mr Solomons," she said plainly, her coat already on her shoulders and her bag in the crook of her elbow.

Alfie got up from his seat and nodded greatfully at her before he rushed for the stairs, glaring at his mother-in-law as she passed him, heading for the door.

Benjamin was already in the room when he got there, kneeling on the bed to gaze at his new baby brother in wonder, and Alfie approached cautiously, coming to stand at the side of the bed, placing a hand on his wife's shoulder and looking down at the baby.

It didn't look much different to the other two when they had been born, it had the same purple and swollen face, the same scrunched up expression on its face, though he was much smaller than Benjamin had been.

"What's his name, mum?" Benjamin asked bouncing up and down on the bed, trying to contain his giddiness.

"I think your dad should choose this time," she said, looking up at her husband with a dazed smile on her face. Benjamin's head turned to his father expectantly, and Alfie froze. He had had no part in the naming of his first two children, their names chosen before he had a chance to process they were even born, it had annoyed him until this very moment.

"What about Isaac?" He offered eventualy, and mother and son shared a thoughtful look.

"No," they spoke in unison.

"Fine," Alfie sighed. "Benny? What do you want to name him?"

"Noah," Benjamin said proudly, and the husband and wife shared a look, nodding together in silent agreement.

"Benny, go to bed, now." Alfie spoke, ignoring the frown on his son's face as he clambered off the bed.

"I heard you threatened to throw my mother in the Thames," she said when the door closed behind Benjamin.

Alfie shushed her, moving to sit on the bed. "Don't talk about her, Noah's listening."

Her eyes began to droop shut and Alfie gently took the infant from her arms, holding the little thing bundled in a yellow blanket, watching as his eyes began to close too.

Alfie was the last only one who didn't sleep that night, keeping a hold of his youngest son until the sun came up.

#alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons fanfic

[sabo-has-my-heart]

Hi Astra! How are you doing today? I'm mostly fine except for being sick since Tuesday.

I have this headcanon that Sanji still sleeps with a plushie that Zeff gave him when he was little. Can I please requests reader finding out about it and Sanji maybe getting embarrassed thinking they're gonna laugh at him because he's a grown ass adult still sleeping with a plushie but no, they think it's cute and why would they laugh when they, also a grown ass adult, have a whole hoard of plushies?

-🦇

Hi 🦇 anon! Sorry this took so long! I was interrupted when I first started writing it and lost my entire train of thought and had a dickens of a time coming up with something new. Plus it's been so hard finding the right parameters for me to write. I never thought I had a writing process or requirements, apparently I do.

Warnings: none, fluff, GN!Reader

Word Count: 1010

      It was something he’d received from Zeff years ago. The man had become like a father to him and while they often had their spats and disagreements, the two still cared about each other. In one of the man’s softer moments, he’d bought something for Sanji. As a child, it brought him comfort, something to hold close when he was feeling particularly vulnerable or needed something to hold after a nightmare. Even as he grew into adulthood, he kept the little purple plush toy. An eggplant stuffie, about the same size as an actual eggplant, that stayed either in his bed or in his locker at all times. It was something that few people knew of, all of whom were part of the Baratie, the blond unwilling to tell anyone that he still slept with such a thing. After all, he was a grown adult sleeping with a stuffed toy!

     The few times he didn’t end up sleeping with it were when he fell asleep in the kitchen or lounge or on the rare occasion he fell asleep somewhere with you. You were the only thing that brought him as much comfort as his plushie, the only other thing that could truly comfort him after a nightmare and to be fair, you were the love of his life, so it was understandable. That being said, despite how much he loved you, even you didn’t know about the toy. How could he tell you? Tell you that he, the love of your life, a full grown adult, your fierce protector, slept with a stuffed toy!

     Maybe if he’d thought about it more, he’d have told you. An entire ‘army’ of plushies cluttering your own area. The likelihood of you saying anything about a comfort item was next to nothing. It was about as likely as Luffy turning down an all meat buffet! But he hadn’t thought of it, too concerned with the possibility of being mocked and laughed at for it. Just one of many things that he should have thought through. Like how he should have thought through things when he asked you to retrieve something from his locker. Ever the chaotic mess, Luffy had spilled the broth Sanji had been working on, the liquid dying patches of his shirt brown. He’d been more concerned with getting a new shirt and jacket, taking the garments off, asking you to get him new ones while he put his current ones in the laundry. 

     Standing in front of his locker, you couldn’t help the smile as you looked at the toy in your hands. You knew of Zeff’s nickname for the boy, knew that this was likely a gift from the man who’d raised Sanji. What you didn’t know was why he hadn’t told you about the thing. The two of you had been dating for some time, had told each other multiple secrets and insecurities. Neither of you had a problem with telling each other things, yet this was one that hadn’t come up yet.

     Hearing the door open, you quickly stuffed the toy under the shirt you’d grabbed, sighing in relief when you spotted Sanji, looking at you in confusion.

     “Is everything okay, my darling?” the blond asked as he walked over to you, taking the shirt from you. His eyes widened, dropping the shirt when his eyes landed on the stuffie hidden beneath the shirt, horror and shock running through every fiber of his being. You’d found his deepest secret, the one thing he didn’t want anyone finding out about, the thing he swore to protect at all costs. 

     Y-Y/n, it’s not what you think! I-it’s just a memento! It uh, it’s just um, it’s… a gift! It’s a gift for someone special! I got it recently to give to… Zeff! I’ve been meaning to send it to Zeff!” Sanji sputtered out, making you chuckle.

     “Then why does it look so worn and well loved, Sanji? It’s okay, I promise.” you said with a fond look, running your thumb sweetly over the plush. Despite its age and wear, it was surprisingly soft still. Looking back down you pulled it close, hugging it slightly. You could immediately tell why he kept it. It was soft, comforting, and smelled like him. Sanji looked at you in a mix of bewilderment and relief. You weren’t laughing at him? Teasing him? You were… snuggling it? Holding it close as if it was one of your own precious toys.

     “You… don’t mind?” he asked, needing to know why you seemed so unphased by this. You smiled and shook your head at his ridiculousness. 

     “Sanji, have you even noticed my mountain of plushies?” you asked with a small laugh, holding it close to your heart. Sanji paused, he had noticed it before, so why had he been so worried about you finding it? Why had he hidden it from you of all people? Breathing a sigh of relief, he smiled and kissed your forehead, “You know I’ll never make fun of you for something like this, for anything. I promise.” you said, caressing his cheek. The boy nodded, relaxing as he smiled at you.

     “Can you do me a favor then?” he asked, smiling when you nodded, “I need a better place to hide it so nobody else notices it. Can you hide it with yours?” he asked, making you grin and nod. To be honest, you loved the idea, it meant that when he woke up early and placed it with your own, you had the chance to ‘steal’ it and snuggle it yourself. Maybe, on the nights where you both fell asleep together, you could sneak it in between the two of you. Nobody would think twice about you bringing a plushie to sleep with and it meant that Sanji would have the two things that comforted him most with him. Glancing down at the plushie, a mischievous grin crossed your face. Maybe you should get him another one, a shrimp or something. He did really like seafood.

#one piece #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #op sanji #sanji #black leg sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke x reader #sanji vinsmoke #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji

[greenerteacups]

Hi! I am an ardent fan of your writing, and I hope to be as sorted and planned as you some day in my own writing journey.

My question is: you have a keen eye when it comes to planning character personality, dynamics, and such. I've also been wading through your ask replies, and your insights into how you write people and how you make them play off of each other is so wonderful to read. If it's not too personal a q, how did you learn how to write like this? Did you go to school for writing, does it come from years of observing people, do you have reading list recs for "how to write real people and real interactions"?

Thanks! This is a really flattering question. I'll try to answer it honestly, because I wish someone had been brutally honest about this with me when I was a young writer.

I didn't go to school for writing. I started doing it when I was about nine years old. It sucked very badly. I kept writing throughout high school, and it still mostly sucked, but some of it was occasionally interesting. ("Interesting" here does not mean "good," by the way.) I took a break in college, and then came back. I've been writing ever since. Sometimes, I feel good about it. A lot of the time, I don't!

I hate giving this advice, because I remember how it feels to get it, and it's the most uninspiring, boring-ass, dog shit advice you can get, but it's also the only advice that is 100% unequivocally true: you have to write, and specifically, you have to write things that suck.

I do not mean that you should make things that suck on purpose. I mean that you have to sit down and try your absolute hardest to make something good. You have to put in the hours, the elbow grease, the blood, sweat, and tears, and then you have to read it over and accept that it just totally sucks. There is no way around this, and you should be wary of people who tell you there is. There is no trick, no rule, no book you can buy or article you can read, that will make your writing not suck. The best someone else can do is tell you what good writing looks like, and chances are, you knew that anyway — after all, you love to read. You wouldn't be trying to do this if you didn't. And anyone who says they can teach you to write so good it doesn't suck at first is either lying to you, or they have forgotten how they learned to write in the first place.

So the trick is to sit there in the miserable doldrums of Suck, write a ton, and learn to like it. Because this is the phase of your path as an artist when you find what it is you love about writing, and it cannot be the chance to make "good writing." This will be the thing that bears you through and compels you to keep going when your writing is shit, i.e., the very thing that makes you a writer in the first place. So find that, and you've got a good start.

Some people know this, but assume that perseverance as a writer is about trying to get to the point where you don't suck anymore. This is not true, and it is an actively dangerous lie to tell young writers. You are not aiming to feel like your writing doesn't suck. You are aiming to write. You are aiming to have written. Everything else is dust and rust. And of course, you'll find things you like about your pieces, you'll find things you're proud of, you'll learn to love the things you've made. But that little itch of self-criticism, in the back of your brain — the one that cringes when you read a clunky line, or thinks of a better character beat right after it's far too late to change — that's never going away. That's the Writer part of you. Read Kafka, read Dickens, read Tolstoy, you will find diary entries where they lament how absolutely fucking atrocious their writing was, and how angry they are that they can't do better. A good writer hates their sentences because they can always imagine better ones. And the ability to imagine a better sentence is what's going to make you pick up the pen again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Which is what I mean, and probably what all those other annoying, preachy advice-givers mean, when we say: a good writer is just someone who writes every day. It's that easy, and that hard.

#by the way a lot of this draws on ideas inspired by 'letters to a young poet' by rainer maria rilke if you're interested #that's a formative text for me as an artist #it won't teach you how to write but it will teach you how to think perhaps #and once you know how to think. well. life is just pretty good #and i can't say the writing gets easier but when life is pretty good i find myself enjoying it a lot more #this word vomit was prompted by the question 'how do you write real people and real interactions' #because that's like — i'm not trying to be pedantic but— #that's kind of just 'how do you write literature'? #because that's all literature is. what are human beings? how do you write a person? how do they interact with each other? #like shoutout to the void if you know for sure how to write real interactions then please for the love of god tell the rest of us #because i think most of all authors in history have just been giving it our best stab #'this is how the world looks for me. is it how the world looks for you?' #so my advice on that score is: try to see how the world looks for you #and then try to share it with me #don't worry about whether it looks the same for me. it won't

[corazondebeskar-reads]

fic recs - Joel Miller (one-shots pt. 2)

fic recs for one-shots starring Joel Miller.

Key: 🏴 = dark, 💕 = fluff, ⛓ = rough/bdsm elements, 💀 = dead dove do not eat

Mind the warnings, and please read responsibly. you control your own media consumption.

All Fic Recs | TLOU Fic Recs | Joel series | one-shots pt. 1

fluff

💕 as natural as another leg around you in the bed frame by @tightjeansjavi

summary: Joel returns home to you after patrol injured, and hiding it from you.

catching by @softlyspector

summary: None of your partners had ever been able to make you come before. Joel changed that.

safe and sound by @joelsgreys

summary: Your daughter has a nightmare—her daddy makes it all better.

keep you warm by @alwaysmicado

summary: You reveal to Joel that you are carrying his child. He vows to keep you both safe and warm, always.

no outbreak/AU

⛓ spend all your love making time by @haylzcyon

summary: You're everything Joel never knew he needed.

Lay Off The Flannels by @endlessthxxghts

summary: Joel gets handsy while your father temporarily steps away.

💕 Honey-Do by @kiwisbell

summary: It’s Sunday, chore day, and Joel has a honey-do list item of his own: get his girl pregnant.

freeze-thaw by @covetyou

summary: With your holiday plans ruined when a freak snow storm blows through town, you spend the fesitve period holed up with your partner, Joel Miller, learning exactly how warm you can keep each other in the snow.

Met the Devil Last Night by @pedgito

summary: i made a joke about wanting to screw dirt-covered joel even if he was deep in trenches of hell and...well, yeah. this is pure filth and nothing else. porn with minuscule plot, if you will.

⛓ diet mountain dew by @mochiduh

summary: your boyfriend has been cheating on you, but his uncaring, selfish, and very flirtatious father wants to make it up to you the best way he knows how...

⛓ In the Next Room by @atticrissfinch

summary: When the peace and quiet of your apartment is disturbed by the noisy escapades of the couple in the neighboring unit, you find yourself entranced by the mystery man on the other side of the wall. And when you stumble upon him on a dating app…well, it might just be fate.

walking through fire by @macfrog

summary: you’re neck-deep in a bout of seasonal depression. your boyfriend suggests an autumnal walk.

crystal by @ezrasbirdie

summary : Joel's live-in girlfriend is a little witchy. It takes some getting used to.

Sticky by @ezrasbirdie

summary: You send Joel a new toy to keep him occupied while you're away.

sundown by @bageldaddy

summary: you're used to being alone. that changes when joel moves into the trailer across from yours.

what happens after by @hellishjoel

summary: A string that pulled you out of all the wrong arms, right into that dive bar. And what happens after

holiday themed

Saints and Sinners by @loquaciousferret (ft. bonus Javier Peña)

summary: The yearly Halloween rendezvous with your long-term no-strings lover Joel Miller is set to be shaken up when he invites a third- Javi Peña- to your hotel room.

need that charles dickens by @janaispunk

summary: “What do you say, have I been a good elf for Santa?”

“Am I Santa in that scenario?”

“Sure,” you grin mischievously, “if you come down my chimney.”

baubles by @covetyou

summary: Santa Joel fucks you with his balls. That's it.

photograph by @tightjeansjavi

summary: Ellie gifts Joel a present worth more than a million words.

Here cums Santa Claus by @softpascalito

summary: Jackson needs a Santa Claus - and Joel is the perfect fit. Getting to have you on his lap is just a bonus.

more

squirming by @frannyzooey

summary: you share a sleeping bag with joel

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x f!oc #joel miller fic recs #the last of us fic #the last of us fic rec #tlou fic recs

[pratchettquotes]

"Now, this is a soldier's song, see? You don't look like soldiers but by the gods I'll see you sounds like 'em! You'll pick it up as we goes along! Right turn! March! 'All the little angels rise up, rise up, all the little angels rise up high!' Sing it, you sons of mothers!"

The marchers picked up the response from those who knew it.

"How do they rise up, rise up, rise up, how do they rise up, rise up high? They rise heads up, heads up, heads up--" sang out Dickens as they turned the corner.

Vimes listened as the refrain died away.

"That's a nice song," said young Sam, and Vimes realized that he was hearing it for the first time.

"It's an old soldier's song," he said.

"Really, Sarge? But it's about angels."

Yes, thought Vimes, and it's amazing what bits those angels cause to rise up as the song progresses. It's a real soldiers' song: sentimental, with dirty bits.

"As I recall, they used to sing it after battles," he said. "I've seen old men cry when they sing it," he added.

"Why? It sounds cheerful."

They were remembering who they were not singing it with, thought Vimes. You'll learn. I know you will.

Terry Pratchett, Night Watch

#samuel vimes #dickens #night watch #discworld #terry pratchett #the glorious 25th of may #people's revolution #memory #war #veterans #soldiers #music #history #grief #battle cry #learning #time travel #wear the lilac #how do they rise up #long quote

[igotanidea]

Scrooge : Jason Todd x reader

Christmas bingo day 16: Scrooge

"What are you reading?"

She had quite a day at work. End of the year were always full of dealing with overdue stuff once everyone figured how many thing should be finished before Christmas. And she couldn't really hide the annoyance at her coworkers trying to get her to do their jobs and the tiredness at all that.

But once she walked through the door and saw Jason on the bed, looking all relaxed, happy, healthy and not bleeding or injured all that was left miles away. It was strangely comforting knowing that he felt enough peace to just indulge in a book and let his guards down while being at her their apartment.

She kicked off her shoes, hung her coat and snuggled next to his warmth ready to be pampered, even if that only meant as little as some cuddles.

"Christmas classics. The Christmas carol" he murmured not tearing his gaze from the story, which didn't stop him from wrapping an arm around her running fingers through her hair.

"Once a Dickens fan, always a Dickens fan" she smiled enjoying his touch and the feeling she was at home whenever he was around. "At what point are you?"

"the ghost of future Christmas"

"so you're almost finishing. How could you read a whole book without me?!"

"not sorry princess. Had to think." He put the book down looking into her eyes with an expression that was a mix of love, vulnerability and something she couldn't quite decipher.

"hey." It was impossible to not get alarmed. Y/n knew Jason ling enough to catch up when something was wrong. And this was it. "Jason." In a blink of an eye she was in a cross legged position sitting next to him, entwining their fingers, squeezing them reassuringly "Jason, talk to me baby. What's going on in your head?"

Asking Jason Todd to share his feelings and emotions was a russian roulette. It could backfire, turn him into a frenzy and become the reason of his walls going up preventing her from ever climbing them and reaching out. It could make him break down, turn into a mess of unhealed trauma, reliving the past and swimming in the sea of regret and misery. Or- it could make him open up, even if only a little, and actually talk to her, which was the outcome she was hoping for.

And that was why she was caressing his palm in a soft, soothing motion doing her best to show him she was not going to hurt him, she loved him and it was okay to get emotional. Despite all that time they have been together, Jason still needed reassurance he was not a burden or a pathetic mess.

That he was human and it was the most human thing to need to be be loved and accepted.

"y/n..." He stuttered a little before lunging forward and encompassing her in the tightest, most loving hug ever. Almost crushing her in the process since sometimes he was unaware of his own strength.

"im here. I'm here it's okay, talk to me" she hugged him back, knowing he was deep in some memories and needed grounding. Clearly her soothing voice and gentle touch free of any fear or urgency worked miracles on him.

"when I died and was relieved -" he shuddered

"we don't have to talk about that baby-"

"please just listen to me" he pulled back looking straight into her eyes for a moment before getting scared of showing too much and lowered his gaze. "When I died and was relieved, i always felt lonely-"

"i know"

"no matter how many lifes I've saved, how many bloody dirty deeds I finalised for greater purpose, I never felt good."

"Jason -"

"please just listen to me" he pleaded with a teary voice. "I never stopped to think about what I was loosing and how estranged I was. Bruce-" Jason shook his head, the memory of what his adoptive father did to him "I was like a Scrooge."

" what do you mean?" She frowned in a bit of confusion, not seeing the parallel. "It's not like you were hating Christmas or anything..."

"not just Christmas. Life itself."

"what?!" She almost jumped at those words. Now that was new. He never told her that and it took a lot of strength to not freak out straight away. A lot, when her first instinct was to grab his shoulders and demand answers immediately.

So she took a deep breath calming herself and giving him the most peaceful and loving gaze she could produce given the circumstances.

"do you still?" She smiled lightly cupping his cheek begging for him to say no.

He shook his head.

"not since I got you in my life. You make me want to be better."

"as cliché as that sounds" she chuckled before stopping herself, wishing it won't deter him and make him shut her out again. Luckily he only smirked.

"as cliché as that sounds" he repeated stroking her hair "and even if its not working most of the times"

"im so glad you're aware of your shortcomings"

"its not like you're letting me forget sunshine."

"you can count on me in that matter babe" she tilted her head in a funny way "feeling better now?"

"you just make it so easy you know" he shifted position leaning on the headboard and pulling her close so that her head was laying on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. One of the most visible sign of trust and vulnerability, letting her so close to him "making everything better. Brighter. For years I was scared I would die alone with no one even noticing or caring, and then you showed up and turned it all around." His warm breath hit her face, his whispers ringing in her ear. "I love you. I don't ever want to loose you."

"And it was the story that made you realise it?" She chuckled kissing his shoulders in a loving gesture.

"not only. But it definitely helped" he grinned, running fingers up and down her side, punching her waist causing her to let out a gasp.

Thank you Charles Dickens!" her soft, happy laugh was quickly muffled as Jason pulled her towards a kiss that seemed to be neverending and drowned all his sorrows and worries about the potential future Christmases.

He was not going to get a visit of three ghosts.

He didn't need them.

Not as long as she was his Christmas miracle.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x y/n #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff #Christmas bingo

[footprintsinthesxnd]

It’s Not Christmas Without You

Hello @supervalcsi I am your Secret Santa for @hbowardaily secret santa. I’ll prewarn you this fic is a bit angsty (like a little bit 😂) but I heared that you like angst so I’m hoping it’s okay. I hope you have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Warnings: very angsty, mentions of death and images of war

Johnny had always loved the festive season, the lights, the carols, the food and the general feeling that no matter what the year threw at them they would make it to the next Christmas. But this year Johnny didn’t feel even remotely festive. He couldn’t see any hope of him making it through the night, let alone the next year. The artillery barrage had finally ceased, and debris lay strewn across the once crisp, white landscape. Fallen branches blocked his view of the front line but he knew they were there, hiding… waiting.

Loud footsteps drew him from his thoughts as a figure stood over him, blocking his view of the sky that for once was clear. Blue smudges spread between the grey clouds almost like a sign of hope.

“Hey Martin, whatcha thinking about?” Y/n all but threw herself down beside him, her characteristic smile on her face, the wide grin that no matter how down you felt on your luck, could make you smile too.

“That we’re doomed.”

Y/n snorted, “Well you got out of the wrong side of your foxhole this morning.” She rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Well, we are. Kraut artillery is hammering us every chance they get, and when they aren’t shelling us the damn cold sets in and you all but freeze your balls off.”

“Come on Martin, don’t be like that. We’re alive aren’t we, that’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, just,” Johnny grumbled, snuggling further into his jacket and shoving his glove-clad hands even deeper into his pockets.

“Right you old Scrooge, you’re coming with me,” she stood, grabbing hold of his arm and dragging him from the depths of his foxhole.

“Who the hell is Scrooge?” Johnny moaned, trailing behind her like a dejected puppy.

“You don’t know who Scrooge is? From ‘A Christmas Carol? Charles Dickens?” Johnny continued to look at her blankly.

“I wish Webster was here, he’d know who I was talking about.”

Johnny laughed, “Yeah good old Webster, couldn’t even go AWOL to help us in this shit. I bet he’s really nice and warm back in that hospital.”

Y/n sighed, turning around to face him, “Don’t be such a downer. I’m glad Webster’s not here. It means he’s safe which means one less of my friends could die at any second. Now I’ll take that as a win.”

Johnny had to admit that it was nice to know that at least one of Easy Company wouldn’t go through this debacle.

“Now come with me and try to smile at least.”

Johnny followed Y/n, walking past foxholes filled with their friends who were still deep in slumber, taking advantage of the few hours of peace.

They approached Y/n's foxhole that she shared with Eugene and she gestured towards the small fir tree that stood a few meters from the hole. Around the tree was strung some rope with rudimental Christmas decorations of fir cones and leaves, a few scraps of red fabric that Johnny wasn’t sure where Y/n had gotten it from.

“What is all this?” He asked, disbelief and confusion evident in his handsome features.

“It’s our Christmas tree and this…” Y/n dug into her pocket and pulled out a ragged looking lump, “is your Christmas present. I’m sorry it’s not much. It was all I could get in Bastogne when I went in at the last supply drop.” Johnny’s face softened, and he lifted his hand, brushing it gently against her frozen cheek.

“I’m sure it’s perfect.” He unwrapped the bandage material from around the gift and found a small, ceramic angel ornament inside.

Johnny's face crinkled into a smile and his eyes shone brightly as he looked down at the angel.

“Thank you, Y/n but you didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” Y/n interrupted, her bright eyes staring up at him through hooded lashes. Johnny had never truly appreciated her beauty until now. The way her hair hung down framing her face, her nose scrunched as she laughed at jokes that George would tell her, the way her forehead creased as she glared at Skip as he won another bet against her. Even now all covered in the dirt and grime of the Bois Jacque she was a picture of beauty.

“Y/n, could I ask you something?” Johnny felt himself growing nervous, his mouth felt dry and his left eye twitched as he tried to find the right words.

“Of course.”

“Well, you know as it’s Christmas… and well we might not make it through the next year… I was just wondering if I could…”

Y/n having grown impatient by Johnny stuttering, grabbed the lapel of his coat and yanked him towards her. “Yes,” she replied before placing her lips against his. The kiss was soft and full of feeling. Johnny felt himself winding his arms around her waist as Y/n fingers delved into his hair, tugging at the grimy, brown lock. Johnny normally would have felt self-conscious about his appearance but at that moment all he could think of was the woman in his arms.

When they pulled away, both couldn’t help the large smile that grew across their lips.

“Merry Christmas Y/L/N.”

“Merry Christmas Martin.”

“Hey Luz, you owe me 20 bucks,” Skip mouthed across the snowy ground to where George was sheltering in his foxhole.

“Fuck off, it’s Christmas for Christ's sake,” George grumbled, shoving his helmet further over his head to shield himself from Skip's view.

“I’d pay up if I were you, Luz. Skip owes Bull money and if you don’t pay up, he can’t pay Bull. I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of Randleman,” Malarkey confessed, looking up from his canteen of steaming coffee.

“Yeah right! Bull’s not going to do anything to me,” George’s laughter soon ceased as a large snowball hit the back of his helmet, splattering down his back and allowing the ice to penetrate his winter coat.

“That son of a bitch!”

“Pay up, Luz!” Bull’s hearty laughter could be heard from a few feet away and George sighed.

“After everything I do for you lot. All those Hershey bars I saved for you guys and this is how you repay me. Merry fucking Christmas to me.”

That was last Christmas. 1944. Amid the Ardennes, the snow created a frozen wasteland where the dead lay in shallow graves, forgotten by many.

Patty was bustling around the kitchen, clattering pots and pans while she had left Johnny in charge of decorating the tree with the children. The kids were messing around while Johnny half-heartedly dug through the box of decorations until his fingers brushed against something smooth, familiar, cold to the touch. He pulled the ornament free and with a shaky breath he ran his thumb over the dusty angel. It still had mud crusted to one of its wings and the other hung slightly lopsided where Webster and his clumsy hands had dropped it in Haguenau. Johnny didn’t realise he was crying until Patty laid her hand on his shoulder making him jump.

“Oh Johnny, it’s beautiful. Here let me hang it on the tree,” she reached forward for it but Johnny snatched his hand away.

“No!” He snapped, “Don’t touch it… don’t…” Patty looked a little hurt but she knew her husband didn’t mean it out of malice. He was hurting more than he’d ever admit and she knew the war had been hard on them all but Johnny would never talk about who he’d lost.

“You got it Belgium, didn’t you?” She asked, trying to coax her husband to share his feelings.

“Yes,” he whispered, looking down through blurry eyes at the simple figure. “A friend gave it to me.”

Patty nodded, moving around to crouch in front of her husband.

“Well, how about we put it on the tree? To remember him by. I know he meant a lot to you.”

Johnny stood, moving across the room in slow motion. As the ornament connected with the branch of the tree, it felt like the whole world stopped for just a moment. He was back in the forest, snow covering his helmet as he walked hand in hand with Y/n. Her cold fingers wrapped tightly in his palm, her laughter wafting through the trees.

Patty’s hand slipped into Johnny’s and she squeezed it gently, resting her head on her husband's shoulder she hummed, “I would have liked to have met him.”

Johnny cocked his head to look at his wife, “I wish you had too. They were taken from me far too soon.”

The couple stood silently side by side, their children playing at their feet while music from the radio drifted around them. Johnny felt a single tear trail down his cheek.

“Goodbye, Y/n.”

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @sharpshootershifty @liberteuniteegalite @msmercury84 @mayhem24-7forever @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @lena-basilone @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @whollyjoly @bucky32557038ww2 @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike @malarkgirlypop @hanniewinnix

#Johnny Martin #johnny martin x reader #band of brothers #hbowardaily #hbowar daily’s secret Santa #hbowarsanta23

[sasukesgucciflops]

Here I am back on my John Marston BS.

I pointed this out before ab how ppl loved calling John “watered down” but I’m also seeing people forget that he was also put on a very high fucking pedestal and had no idea how to handle it. In other words; he was the gifted kid who got burnt out after everyone expected everything from him. John never expected to be seen as such. He actually preferred to not be held to such a degree. I’m sick and tired of people feeding into the “John’s a golden boy” “John’s a piece of shit” narrative. Clearly these people have only seen RDR2 and have no clue about everything in RDR1 and yes I’m giving an attitude so y’all better catch it.

Here’s my John Marston character analysis and this is only about one aspect of him. (Wait until you see every other aspect bc I’ve literally dissected this man like a frog oops)

He never fucking asked for it. In fact, he didn’t expect jack shit from anybody. If anything, people used him. People used him up. You see it plainly in rdr1, he’s being used to hunt down his old partners. To find his old partners he’s gotta ask the sheriff, what does the sheriff do? He uses him to handle some lowlife gangs around the county. The sheriff ACCIDENTALLY—not even voluntarily—reveals someone that ends up somewhat helping him out. West Dickens—and what does he do? Uses him. Seth? Uses him. Travels over to another country, what do they do? USE HIM!

Okay, so rdr2—if you couldn’t get the picture already—John was one of Dutch’s MAIN PAWNS. That man raised John to USE HIM. John was young and had lots of energy and he was gullible enough to let Dutch do whatever with his naivety. The most fucked up thing about all of it, not only about how (almost) everyone saw him as a pawn, not as a genuine friend, saw him only for his uses;

John didn’t care. He knew he was being used but he didn’t care. Yes it bothers him and again he’s fully aware he’s being ran around in circles by all these people; it doesn’t matter. He sees himself as someone who is replaceable. He’s expendable. It’s whatever. He was always made to think this and perhaps he knew that it was his fate to be all used up and thrown out like it was nothing. And that’s what ended up happening.

No, he wasn’t a perfect father. He SHOULDVE done much much better about that. Just for that I let anti’s breathe a little because in Jack’s younger years, hell no John wasn’t a good father! John was in denial, busy trying to live up to his dreams of being someone he isn’t. On that note, John slowly realized that Abigail and Jack were probably the only ones that didn’t see him as a pawn; they just wanted him to be present and that causes him to do a 180. To him, it was worth dying for them. Maybe he felt as if he owed them a debt that could never be repayed—it’s almost like he expresses this to Jack a dozen different times. “I’m sorry, Son. I’m not going anywhere.” And “I know I wasn’t around a lot for you but I’m trying to make up for that”. He becomes viscerally aware of the damage of his absence (as he should) and it becomes something he fears he’ll never get to make up for.

Abigail never wanted to use him. She just wanted HIM. Jack—OF COURSE never wanted to use him, he wanted a FATHER. Honorable mention, but Arthur never saw him as a pawn either. In fact, he was well aware of how John was being treated, even mentioning it to him canonically, along the lines of, and I’m loosely quoting this, “At first you’ll be a prize pony until you become a work horse”. These people become so important to John—among others such as Bonnie, Charles, Sadie, even Uncle—because they never tried to use. him. John was more than expendable to them, he was worth something to them and for that he loved them and felt as if he would owe them for eternity.

I truly can’t believe some of y’all completely miss that whole point because it’s written EVERYWHERE it’s literally how John’s story goes and we experience it with him. His story is so fucking tragic and yes, while Arthur was the prime example of “having a doomed narrative from the start”, people don’t talk about how John is literally in the same boat. That man was always doomed, by his friends, the people he would try to call family—he was raised all the way up just to be put down…. THAT’S the story of John fucking Marston.

#sry Dutch Stan’s I didn’t even mean to shit on him like that I actually love y’all #I saw a post saying wild shit ab John and I just had to clear the air #John anti’s dni #number 1 John Marston defender and protector beside Arthur Morgan #john marston #rdr #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #text #character analysis

[dimicul]

I’d like to think Simon’s first ‘girlfriend’ was purely on accident.

Ink stained fingers, scratched up beaten palms - he has his hands around a paperback book he had been eyeing for weeks now. He’s not one to steal, he knows from his right and his wrongs - Simon doesn’t see anything wrong with sitting idly on the stairs of an empty hallway, nose in the dusty pages.

It’s his retreat. From the world, from his classmates, from home. Letting his blackened eyes skim over the words slowly, the worlds and wonders of sci-fi alien ships and snotty romances blurring his reality for only a few hours. Maybe it was a bit sad - he didn’t want to go out and kick the ball around for lunch, instead he wanted to draw his knees into his chest and read the rest of this Dickens paperback. Peace and quiet.

It’s not until a girlish, skittish voice echoes from the top of the stairs. Simon’s always been someone on high alert, having to live life on ‘fight or flight’ mode. His shoulders tense, head peering up, tightening his hold on the pages. A girl. Simon scrunched his nose up. Most of the girls in his class were annoyingly cheery or just painstakingly shy, but Simon was also aware nobody really wanted to be friends with the quiet boy with purple and blue-ish hues on his skin.

“‘M just gonn’a wash my hands!” The voice calls out to someone before they rush down the stairs, the tapping of their kickers hitting the concrete steps. Lisa Wright. Small, skinny little girl with knobbly knees and black unruly curls. Simon feels like a deer caught in headlights when her bright expression flickers to his. Lisa smiles, an unusually warm one that softens when her gaze flickers to the book in his palm. Instantly, he shuts it away, expression souring.

“Lads like you don’t read, Simon. Ye’ too fuckin’ thick.”

It hits him like a wave of nausea. His teachers didn’t care if he read, in fact they said he was reading at a higher level than most people, but he didn’t know Lisa. Small Lisa with her baby pink chipped nails and pain splattered clothes. Somehow messy but put together, like her parents cared enough to iron her clothes and kiss her to bed.

A week passes after their weird stare off, and she’s somehow always finding him - well, that was what Simon was in disbelief about, but the girl can’t help but giggle - “You’re always sat there!”

A few weeks pass, Lisa is stopping now. To talk to him. It’s stupid little questions, about their maths homework or about the cartoon character on his school bag, and Simon is left with his ears burning red at the tips. Lisa Wright was a kooky, crazed girl with no awareness whatsoever, and Simon was left wondering why he was starting to look forward to speaking to her.

“You still haven’t finished that book.” Lisa had said in a matter-of-fact tone, looking up from the plush carpet under them. Their English teacher had let Simon sleep on the rug for an hour before lesson. He knew the bruises were getting worse, he could feel a sharp shooting pain every time he nudged his back up, but when Lisa opens her mouth he’s found himself to be distracted. Like she sees past the black smudged under his eyes, the crinkled uniform, sullied skin.

“It’s long.” The young boy mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He sits up warily, eyes flittering to the book in her hands.

“What are you doing?” Simon freezes, heart jackhammering in his chest - he lunges forward and snatches the Dickens book out of her tan palms. It was his - his property, and she had been holding it all wrong -

“I just wanted to read it!”

“Then don’t break it.” He grumbled back, fingers tracing the binding.

“I didn’t.” Lisa insisted, her eyes rolling back dramatically. Simon knows if he had done the same thing at home, his parents wouldn’t have approved. Simon sighs, and points to the binding.

“You can’t hold it like that - you gotta be car’ful with the pages.”

Lisa copies his movements. She holds it gently, finger tips brushing against the pages. When he nods, much to her delight, she beams.

The next day Lisa was carrying a book.

“Look! I told my mum ‘an I wanted to read like you!” She bubbles, pointing at the cover when they’re situated on the carpet again. It’s hard for him to look up with the searing pain in his neck but he nods, cheeks flaring up. Roald Dahl book. James and the Giant Peach.

“I didn’t like that one.” Simon mutters, playing with the loose thread on his school trousers.

“Why?”

Simon shrugs, almost embarrassed. “‘S scary.”

When her eyes light up with amusement, lips drawing into a grin, Simon flushes again and grips the plush pillow beside him. Lisa is giggling a little. She was making fun of him. Of course she was. I mean, she was Lisa Wright, with her all her preppy little friends and colourful beads in her curls - why would she wanna be friends with someone like him? A good for nothing twat who’s scared of books. Simon tenses his jaw so hard he can hear it crack.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to be scared.”

Obviously, it takes him by surprise. He’s never been told that. Never really felt it either. But the next day, when school ends and he’s sat perched on the office waiting chairs, slumped with his school bag alone because mum had forgotten to pick him up again, he understood. He doesn’t have to be scared with Lisa.

Lisa and her mum pick him up instead. He’s sat bright red in the back of a white Corsa - feeling a little grubby to be in the plush seats - listening to Lisa beg and beg for him to stay. “Just for tea!” she says.

He didn’t have to be scared. Not when Lisa’s big dog jumped up at him and his arms go to protect him instinctively, because the girl is calming the canine down and coaxing him with a smile. He didn’t need to be afraid when Lisa’s mum bombards him with questions about his mum, or his scars - the girl is lying for him, telling her it was football.

“Is your mum nice?”

Simon looks up from the faded comic in his hands, fingertips stained from blueberry sherbet sweets. His mum used to be nice. She used to sing and dance clumsily to Just Dance, pulling Simon in to join her, peppering him with kisses when they’re done, sweaty and happy. But now all she did was sleep, and if it wasn’t that, it was yelling. At him. At anyone.

He was too young to understand at the time. She was absent from parents evenings, forgetting to pick him up, neglecting the house work. He missed his mum - the once bright and lively woman he could trust. Now, he can’t even run behind her legs when Dad was drunk.

“Sometimes.” Simon says quietly, the shame burning in his throat. Perhaps Lisa had realised, and he had to give her credit for being so perceptive. But he hated it. Simon didn’t need pity, he didn’t want it.

“Well, I think you’re really nice.”

“Don’t care.” He grits out. His ears redden.

A beat passes, and she’s tilting her big brown eyes up at him. Simon realises how similiar she is to her mum.

“Are you my boyfriend?”

“No!”

“Mum has one. His name is James. He taught me how to chop fire. But sometimes, they kiss ‘nd stuff.” Lisa’s button nose scrunched up and Simon feels himself becoming a beetroot.

“Well, I don’t wanna be yours!”

“Oh.” Lisa slumps her shoulders, almost looking a bit confused. Simon shouldn’t have come here. He blows out a breath of frustration, adjusting the blue collared shirt around him.

“Is it because I can’t read?”

Simon frowns. He’s not sure of Lisa is pulling his leg, but judging on her purely puzzled face, she seems to be genuine. “You.. can’t?”

Lisa nods. “Not like you can. ‘M too daft to read. The words go all weird.”

The cogs in Simon’s brain are cranking, her words igniting something familiar. He thrusts the comic towards her. “G’won, read that.”

“No!”

“What, you scared?” Simon sneers at her outraged expression. She’s rolling her eyes again, something she knew got on his nerves.

“You’re the one scared of a peach!”

His expression goes stony. Lisa narrows her eyes and glares at him before grabbing the comic harshly, brown eyes bobbing up and down the pages.

“Bhaat… man. Batman.” Lisa sounds out. Simon snorts.

“You’re really that bad?”

“Goooth.. Ghootam.. Goothum..”

—-

#young simon riley #childhood #simon riley #cod modern warfare #captain price #ghost #fluff #angst #soap #cod #blurb #child!simon

[tryingtimi]

Books of 2024 (2023 or close to it)

Thank you for the tag @barbex it sounds like a fun one hehe. 9 books should be listed that were read in the last 12 months (or alternatively liked when you read it) if I'm right. And when I read the rules I had the same reaction: mind went blank on if I ever read a single book lol. Luckily I keep track of my reading because I like watching them back.

No pressure tagging: @aninkwellofnectar, @bloodlessheirbyjacques, @the-void-writes, @circa-specturgia, @aalinaaaaaa, @dyrewrites, @italiangothicwriteblr, @cherrybombfangirlwrites, @blind-the-winds and anyone who wants to join.

All of the listed were read last year and which I liked especially.

When The Stars Alight by Camilla Andrew (@aninkwellofnectar). Bi MC, gaslamp fantasy, gothic, court intrigue, delicious spice

You've already seen this many times on my page, because I really enjoyed this book and it was a window to many things I didn't know I'd enjoy in a story. So many beautiful description, beautifully emotional and sexy sex, rarely seen complex character dynamics and so much mouth watering food.

Éjféli Iskolák (Midnight Schools) by Attila Veres. lovecraftian horror set in Budapest

It's a horror short story collection by a hungarian author who I got recommended by a collegue. Attila Veres has a talent to capture that melancholic, sometimes surrelistic feeling living in Budapest which makes his work so authentic. But also very Big Ew for all the horroristic shit he created (in the best way.) My favourite one was the 'Porn After Midnight'.

Yumi and The Nightmare Painter by Brandon Sanders. M/F romance focus, sci-fi/fantasy, anime-esque

You all know I'm a Sanderson trash. And the fact I, the slowest reader on the earth, read this book in two days, proved that very much lol. It felt like watching an anime, I swear to god. There's magic, time travel kinda thing, pretty innocent humour, loads of painting in it.

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickenes. christmas nostalgia, historical fiction?

We all know this, but I'm very behind on classics book-wise so I began to catch up last year. Espceially because I love the animated movie so much. It was a lovely and educative read.

Y/N by Esther Yi. litfic, kpop fandom and industry satire basically, comteporary

It was one of my favourites from last year tbh, because I couldn't put down the damn e-reader. A very strange little read, 100% unhinged, but made me realise I might enjoy litfic, so I'll read more this year. Also, the story is not "summarizable" but the fact that this is the first two review on GoodReads tells a lot I think: reading this feels like that one night when i accidentally smoked weed for the first time I sort of feel like I just hallucinated this entire thing Yeah.

Even Though I Knew The End by C. L. Polk. F/F romance, fantasy, novella

Lesbian magical detective. Done, sold. I wanted to read this a while now, and it did not disappoint. It gave exactly what it promised. Fast paced little adventure with some humour and a lovely couple. Not a life-chaning read but as I mentioned, it gave what it promised. I enjoyed it anyway.

Interview With The Vampire by Anne Rice. M/M romance kinda, supernatural, philosophical

Finally started to read the books my all time favourite movies are made of. Loved every bits of this, though sometimes it got way too wordy or I don't even know what. Overall though, it got me. Full of contemplation about human nature, God (though I could do a bit less without that) and death, plus the iconic vampire husbands and their arguments. It's just a real long broody monologue of Louis tbh. I'm fine with that it seems, though.

Legend & Lattes by Travis Baldree. F/F romance (not focus), cosy fantasy

Read pretty fast too. It's very much what it promises also. Cosy, and relaxing, and endearing. Love the concept of how a stoic warrior woman can settle finally and do something other than fighting. It was cute.

Tress of The Emerald Sea by Brandon Sanderson. M/F romance (not that important i think), cosy fantasy, Princess Bride-vibes

Yes, I got all the secret project, because of course I would. This one was also something like Legends & Lattes imo. In Sanderson style tho. I'm also loving when the narrator is a third person telling the story. Those are always fun. Oh and the story had many cuteness, humour and Our Flag Means Death kinda pirates.

#tag games #book recs #sandersons are my comfort reads what can i say #this year will be all about unhinged and dark and horror tho #fun times

[royalsunshinehotel]

hi hi hi hi!!!! love your work! love your fics!!!!!! amazing and wonderful and lovely and wow💗💗 is it too much to request a gawain imagine??? he's had a long day and is annoyed at everything but he comes home to his wife and melts into her because she makes everything better. slow, loving smut in the end?? love your copperfield smut too⭐️ david and gawain are dreamy asfffffff

Crawl Home (David Copperfield x wife!reader, 18+)

thirty six days until monkey man!!

A/N: The first half of this fic is based on lore I've heard about Charles Dickens being regarded as "the man who invented Christmas." Could be filthier, but I digress.

It was the dead of winter, about to be Christmas in London, and it was supposed to be a good, cheerful time of year, but a calm holiday never seemed to be what laid in store for David Copperfield. It was bordering on ridiculous. The whole day, something hot, sharp, and painful had been stabbing him behind the eyes, and he couldn't get it to stop.

He'd been out of the house since the sun rose that morning, doing everything he could to get it together for the holiday. The two of you were actually going to leave the city, back to his Aunt's home, but the energy in the air told him that the trip was all but doomed.

You heard him coming back, stuck in his head, chatting to himself, more annoyed than he usually would have been.

He struggled with the key, and you don't even look up from your book. Usually when he's this heated, it's best to let him wear himself out.

"I just don't understand the need for everyone to go to the shops at once!!" He blew through the front door, slamming it behind him, stomping his boots clean of snow.

"Really? why would they do that?" You asked, knowing your words really weren't of consequence at that moment.

"It's like there was an announcement that everyone steps out at 11am, I could barely get out the front door of the publishers! Ridiculous! Any shopping? Why do we have to get people gifts!"

"David, it's Christmas, give the people a break." You tried, closing your book and putting it to the side.

"They would do the same! People don't want to show a shred of mercy for the less fortunate!" His hands were tight at his sides, his feelings simmering, almost at a boil.

"What do you mean?" You questioned, your husband ran a hand over his face, his curly hair fluffing up as he pulled off his hat.

"I nearly brought home two children that were 'available to work' on the corner near Darby St. Some rich toff was chatting to the Dad, god knows where they'll end up!" David and his big heart.

A familiar ache pulsed through you, "I'm so sorry lovey."

He just roamed the streets of London, seeing and feeling everything!

"I scared their father, I'm sure I can find them tomorrow though." You knew your husband. Tenacious was a word for it, but you should really start preparing to have two more on your Christmas vacation. Later, you thought.

"I worry for you, and your big heart."

"You won't be saying so when we've got two children to feed for Christmas." When, he said, he was thinking about it too.

"Hm, since we're adopting street urchins now, I should take advantage of our privacy." It was an inappropriate thing to say, but you knew if you didn't fuck him into a more temperate mood, there's no way the children would agree to come with him, even if he did find them again. He would, you knew he would but still.

"You are sitting in my lap." You had your chest in his face as well, however you gave him another moment to notice that.

"Back down to earth, are we?" You teased lightly, David's hands cold against your skin.

"...Have you been in your nightgown this whole conversation...?" You shivered as he pushed the gown off one shoulder.

"Yes. I think, since it's the holiday, you might take time off." Your words seemed muffled, heat pooling in your belly as David put his mouth to work on your breast, cold hands kneading the flesh casually, because he'd been doing it for years.

"You've been working so hard on your serials, I miss you." You all but moaned as David's freezing fingers teased your hardened peaks,

"How much?" He flashed a smile up at you, as you adjusted your legs.

"You should feel!" You prompted, and a cold hand wandered down to your dampening heat. You moaned loudly at the contrast of temperature, pitiful and absolutely perfect.

David whined, in the way you like.

Now normally, the two of you would tease more, enjoy each other with hands and mouths. Its a favorite past time for you like to hold his member in your hands and watch it twitch and grow...another day perhaps.

For now, you're not rushing, but you're not going to wait. You warm your hand a moment before pulling David free of his trousers. He sat perfectly still, like a good boy. He deserved a treat after the day he had.

Helping you, he took a large hand and bunched your nightdress to your hips, and he supported you, other hand on your ass as you mounted him.

He was simply so lucky to have you.

With a wet, filthy sound, you took your husband in deep. It was supposed to be a treat for him, and here you were, barely a thought in your pretty little head.

It was his fault, his cock was too lovely!

He paused, to let you catch your breath, but with a squeeze to your rear, you begin to move, to ride.

"You always feel so good inside me," your breathy little whine prompted a nip to your collarbone. The soft velvet of the chair only heightened how your hair stood on end.

You'd wanted to take control, you'd wanted to come after him like an avenging fertility goddess, taking what you want.

And yet, like most things, you were doing it together.

"I'll always crawl home to you." He murmured, trying everything he could to stay calm. Not too calm, but calm enough.

"You'd better keep your big heart wide, I know sometimes it hurts." You crooned into his ear as he tightened his grip on you, just as greedy as he needed to be.

"It's all worth it for this comfort I receive from you, dear wife." He groaned, humming against your skin. You smirked, bringing your hot breath up to his ears.

Cold. Not for long!

You tugged his earlobes between your teeth, pulling ever so gently, as David melted under you.

A few more rolls of your hips, and you clench down around him, muscles keeping him hostage in you as you milk him for all he's worth. You get to keep him safe, when he's inside you like this.

"What was that, worrying about gifts for the family?" You grabbed his chin, pointing his face towards you.

He smirked, before giving you a sweet, chaste peck, "Once again dearest, you are all that I need."

#david copperfield #david copperfield imagine #dev patel #dev patel imagine #david copperfield smut #dev patel smut #i am manifesting a monkey man popcorn bucket at amc don't mind me #david is chatty nobody move

[seiya234]

TAU prompt: I successfully bezazzled my face!

"Mom! MOM! MOM MOM Mooooooommy mom." Mabel, who was currently hot gluing a sheep skin she got from YQEA to a Halloween skeleton she found in the garbage, didn't look up but said, "Mmm yes Acacia?"

"Mom I did it."

"Did what?"

"I SUCCESSFULLY BEDAZZLED MY FACE!"

Mabel froze.

The mom part of her was horrified- what if Acacia put an eye out with the hot glue gun because her mother had not sufficiently trained her in the noble art of the Glue Gun? How on earth were they going to get all of them off because Mabel knew from first hand experience that it hurt like a son of a dickens? Also, and she couldn't believe that her, Mabel Anna Pines, was even thinking this- you shouldn't be bedazzling your face, much less at seven years old!

She took a peak through the exposed ribs of the skeleton, and was instantly blinded by the refracted light upon a thousand different sequins and rhinestones.

Oh my god.

She was so proud. This was so bad. She should be a mom. She really wanted to take a picture or pee herself laughing or-

"Mom. Mom. Mom do you like it Mom what do you think mooooooooo-"

"Caci, I love it," Mabel managed to creak out.

And she really meant it. Which is why she decided to pass the buck and continued with "Why don't you go show Daddy, honey?"

(sometimes parenthood meant punting)

#transcendence au #seiya writes!

[ladamedusoif]

Books (Professor!Ben x OFC Lydia)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 14

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist.

Follow @ladameecrit for my writing updates!

Pairing: Professor!Ben x OFC!Lydia (part of the Visiting universe)

Word count: 848

Warnings: Language, angst, pining

Rating: Teen

Summary: What’s the harm of imagining an alternative future, when you’re lonely this Christmas?

This Fic-Mas story can be read as an add-on/deleted scene to Chapter 8 of Visiting, 'Sister Winter'.

Iceland has this thing called Jolabokaflod - literally, “book flood”. It can mean the rush of new books published for Christmas gifts, or it can mean the tradition associated with them. 

Put simply, the idea is that on Christmas Eve, you exchange books with your nearest and dearest. And then everyone snuggles up in bed, armed with hot chocolate and candy, and reads their new book. 

It sounds like heaven. 

The book flood tradition pops into your mind as you place a neatly-wrapped selection of books under the tree at your parents’ house on Christmas Eve. And with it, a pang, and another thought. 

Ben would love that. 

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself, trying to fend off the thoughts of him. “I think it’s time for bed.”

You creep up the stairs, last one to turn in for the night, and nestle in with your hot water bottle. 

You wish he was keeping you warm, girl. 

“Fuck.”

Sleep doesn’t come easy. And you begin to imagine, to let yourself daydream (if one can call it that) about an alternative reality, an alternative future, if only for the night. 

It is Christmas, after all. It’s canonically a time for what might have beens, for counter-factuals. What was A Christmas Carol, if not that? And - even more obviously - what of It’s A Wonderful Life?

Alright, you think, maybe it’s not quite the same. Clarence the Angel had to show George Bailey how much better he made the world, and how wonderful his life actually was. And Dickens showed Scrooge terrible things, to help him change - a far cry from the cosy scene you were about to conjure up. 

Still, the point stands. What if things were different? What if things could be different? 

You close your eyes and let your mind wander, telling yourself it’s just idle fantasy. It’s not hurting anyone. Right?

So indulge. Find comfort in thinking about how it might be, could have been. Imagine the comfort of books, of warmth, of him.

You had thought for a long time about the book for Ben. Eventually, you settled on a personal favourite, one that reflected your personality, your interests, yourself: The Belly of Paris, by Émile Zola. You knew he hadn’t read it - “just Thérèse Raquin and Germinal”, he’d told you as you raved about Zola’s books - and you wanted to see what he thought. 

The edition is a recent translation, a handsome paperback, and you wrap it up in brown paper and add a length of dark red ribbon, placing it under the tree to await Christmas Eve. 

The next day, it’s joined by a matching book-shaped gift: this time wrapped in dark green paper, your name written in his distinctive handwriting on an old-fashioned gift tag. 

Christmas Eve is idyllic: mulled wine, old movies, talking and preparing food for the next day’s meal as the snow falls softly outside. By about 8 that evening, you’re settled cosily on the couch and your eyes land on the little packages. 

“Time for book flood, I think.”

Ben smiles as you reach under the tree and retrieve the gifts. “You want to open them here?”

“I’d rather do it in bed, baby. C’mon, grab some hot chocolate.” 

He follows you upstairs to bed, making you giggle as he purrs in your ear: “Gonna make you read soooooo much, Lyd. We’re gonna read so hard.”

You wiggle your eyebrows at him as you join in the suggestive jokes, pulling him close to you. “Well, you know I can keep reading for hours, Benjamin.”

You can. And you do. 

Ben’s book gift to you is a gorgeous vintage copy of Love in the Time of Cholera, which you clutch to your chest in delight. He opens his parcel carefully, a wide smile spreading across his face as he recognises the title. 

“Émile. Of course.”

And now it’s just the two of you, side by side in bed, the only sounds the occasional crackle from the tall candles you’d lit in the bedroom, one or both of you sipping your hot cocoa, and the turning of the pages. 

Without lifting his eyes from Zola, Ben’s left hand finds your right, and holds it: safe, secure. Your thumb traces over his tattoo, making him hum quietly with pleasure. 

“Imagine if we hadn’t figured things out”, you muse, eyes still fixed on Garcia Marquez. 

Ben turns and looks at you, eyes warm and expression most serious. “Not figuring things out was never an option.”

When you wake in the grey light of Christmas morning, it takes a moment for you to remember.

The pain hits you all over again. The fantasy - simplistic and all as it might have been - had been too convincing, and facing reality feels even harder. 

You can hear your family already waking and pottering about the house, little nieces stampeding out of the spare room they’re sharing with your sister and brother-in-law for the holidays. 

Craving the warmth of a familiar hand on yours, you turn over and cry into the pillow. 

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #mr ben snl #mr ben au #professor!ben #professor ben x OFC #visiting fic #visiting inspo #mr ben x ofc #mr ben fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedrostories