#candles are not ash trays

[mikeysw1fey]

video games

pairing: jenna ortega x female reader

warning: sadly quite short, fluffy

a/n: short and sweet (i’m so lonely 😭😭)

I don’t hear the front door open or close, my headset blocking out ninety percent of all noises. Only when Jenna’s body climbs into my lap do I realise she’s home.

Freeing one ear from my headset I glance down at the girl in my lap with a smile. She feels almost weightless though her grip on my waist is firm, something she does when she craves my attention. Jenna’s thighs rest on either side of my own, her head burying itself in my neck. These tells cause my eyebrows to furrow slightly.

“Hey baby. You ok?” I whisper letting go of my controller to draw patterns up and down her back. My game can wait.

Jenna shrugs her arms tensing around my waist confirming my suspicions. “Come on, I need words.” I coax her head from my neck to find her smiling softly, tears welling up in her eyes. “Baby?” I breathe gently cupping her face, my thumbs stroking just under her cheekbones. “I’m ok, just very happy to be home.” Jenna chuckles closing her eyes and leaning into my touch before once again nuzzling her face into my neck. “Long day and I’m ready to sleep.” She yawns.

I sigh in relief and return her embrace.

Beep Beep

Jenna sits up alarmed, hands clenching my shoulders tightly causing me to chuckle. Her body tenses only to relax at realising it’s simply my game being left on paused for too long.

“How does a shower sound? Then we can sleep.”I kiss her jaw gently goosebumps awakening at my touch. Jenna’s hand traces light patterns on the curve of my sides. “Are you saying I smell?” Her nose scrunches slightly, eyes narrowing in faux anger.

“Your words not mine.” I tease. Jenna doesn’t accept those words, her hand coming up to slap my arm. “Ow.” I wince frowning at the chuckling girl on my lap. “Shower. Go.” My eyebrows furrow, playful anger coursing through my body. “Grumpy.” Jenna whispers under her breath with a cheeky smirk.

My hands press against her stomach, nudging her off my lap to which Jenna protests her own hands wrapping tighter around my waist. “Come with me?” She pleads gazing up at me with those eyes. I huff and look away from her only to feel her fingers close around my jaw tilting my face back down to her own.

“Please.” She whispers, lips ghosting mine. It takes all my courage to not pin her to the couch and kiss her hard enough to leave bruises. “No baby cause we both know where that would go and you need to relax, not get riled up.

Jenna debates my answer before moving off my lap and heading towards our bedroom. “Be like that then.” She doesn’t turn to look at me as she walks away knowing I’m right.

Although she puts on the annoyed facade I hear her yell I love you from the bedroom, those three words assuring me she isn’t seriously angry.

Fifteen minutes pass by, my solitude being kept cosy with my controller in hand, gentle music playing in the background keeping the atmosphere calm amongst the violence on the tv screen.

“Can you come to here please?” I’d be lying if I said Jenna’s shout didn’t scare me slightly. But I obey, turning off the console and tv before heading towards the bedroom.

Candles flicker, the breeze causing a slight chill inside the dimly lit room as the window beside the bed remains open. Jenna smiles dopily, a cigarette in hand as she smokes beckoning me to her side.

“I missed you today.” She reaches for my hand to pull me down. A smile adorns my face seeing her flushed cheeks. “I missed you too.” I whisper softly nuzzling my nose against the side of her face. “Want some?” She asks gesturing to the cigarette in her hand. I nod, holding onto her wrist gently as she places the cigarette against my lips.

As the the cigarette becomes a dud Jenna throws it onto the ash tray with a sigh. “Bed please.” She groans walking the mere three steps and collapsing face first into the mattress. Following my girlfriend I sit on the edge, my hand tracing patterns under her baggy sleep shirt and along the hem of her sleep shorts.

“Closer.” Jenna mumbles against the blankets, her hand flailing around in an attempt to find my body and pull me against her. “Please.” She whines scrambling up the mattress and resting her face on her pillow.

“I’m coming.” I chuckle standing up to blow out the candles before swiftly moving onto the bed and beneath the covers.

Jenna finally pulls her face away from the pillow, head tilted in my direction she smiles. “Come here then.” I whisper opening my arms for the smaller girl to fall into. And that she does.

Manoeuvring her body so her legs slot between my own, soft skin against soft skin. Her head lays on my chest and her eyes close, relaxed as my fingers find themselves tracing patterns under her shirt once again.

“Goodnight baby.” I whisper pressing a kiss to her head. Jenna hums contently. “Goodnight.”

#wlw post #lesbian #fluff #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x female reader #jenna #ortega

[twig-tea]

screencap stolen from linked post by @burnsuncomet ; I was going to reply to your post but then I just kept writing and I didn't want to fully derail so I made this separate post instead!

I've skimmed the tag now and I'm going to need more people to be as obsessed with this mostly-unsmoked-cigarette-in-the-cake shot as I am. Mork quit smoking because the smell bothered Day, and we've since seen how much emphasis Day puts on scent so we know it really did matter to him. And when Mork was in an emotionally vulnerable moment after playing matchmaker for the man he's in love with to get together with someone else, he asks for a cigarette in a moment of weakness. But this shot shows us that he mostly resisted, and went for a walk instead, and it was the thought of Day's happiness (the birthday party and his relationship with August, as represented by this birthday cake slice) that helped him suppress his craving even as it drove him to emotional distress in the first place. Even while Day was worrying about him regressing, Mork was thinking about Day and doing what he thought was best for Day's happiness. Day didn't actually need to find Mork to help him stop smoking.

Plus just like, it's a cigarette put out in a cake slice. Rendering both unconsumable. Nobody will want to eat that cake now, and that cigarette cannot be relit. I can't stop thinking about it. It's fantastic. It's such a tiny and non-disruptive tantrum while simultaneously being an act of care. The ash tray is right there, but Mork said no, I'm ruining both of these things at once, because I can't have anything I want and I don't want anyone else to have them either and I'm mad that they will but I won't stand in their way so I'm taking it out on this symbol instead [because it's the merging of two symbols: what August did for Day (throwing the surprise party; performative) and what Mork did for day (quitting smoking; truly meeting Day's needs/wants)].

And as a visual bonus, it kind of looks like a candle, except it's a cigarette AND the wrong way round! Like the world's saddest and most disturbed birthday celebration.

And of course because Day is blind, he wouldn't be able to see it, and so he wouldn't know that Mork had signalled that he didn't actually smoke much of the cigarette.

OB.SESSED.

#last twilight #last twilight the series #bl meta #typed so i can stop thinking it #fr though this image of the cake with the cigarette is going to stay with me for ages #I think there's even more to this visual metaphor I haven't unpicked yet #it's poetry #it's the ceci n'est pas un pipe of visual shots #i said what i said

[zorosleftmantit101]

Bubble bath

A/N: wrote this after taking an especially nice shower.

C/W: fluff

Characters: not fucked to right them

Luffy: doesn't. Ever. Full stop.

Zoro: baths all of his swords first. They must be squeaky clean than he tucks them into bed with a little goodnight kiss, reads them a story and then wakes up from his weird ass dream by rolling off deck right into the ocean. thats all the clean he needs.

Sanji: cracks out "ALPHA SMELL" body washes proudly asks Nami if she think he smells more alpha male the next day.

Franky: baths in straight oil can't escape getting rust in his ass tho. 😔

Law: yeah he likes baths, he likes them a-lot actually, there so warm they feel like a hug he never got. A warm wave of fresh air on a cold morning A happy feeling on a sad day a- "CAPTAIN, CAPTAIN WAKE UP YOU FEEL ASLEEP AGAIN" oh yeah thats why he doesn't take baths cause Bepo always find him asleep half submerged under the water.

Kid: also bathes is straight oil not because he needs to like franky does he just wants to for the aesthetic of it.

Killer: he is a happy man in the bathtub ill tell ya that. He sits submerged in like meter height bubbles like an idiot.

Buggy: was a model for the L'oriél Paris shampoo adds. Flicks his hair around whenever he washes it like a super star.

Shanks: he sits their till his ass is wrinkly so he can go around flashing his crew mates.

Crocodile: majestic, beautiful, gorgeous gold plated bathtub lined with candles and fragrances of only the most expensive kind. Reads the news paper with his lower body submerged a cigar lit between his tight lips and the ash tray on the bath side. Actually lemme just turn that into a fic.

Mihawk: hes bored. he dosnt look bored. but now what. the waters nice ig but he likes the couch. so tedious he thinks.

Ace: running around butt booty naked while Marco chases him with a towel "ACE YOUR TAKING A BATH" "NEVER"

Sabo: no time for bath its an eat, sleep grind for this man he is batman

#zorosleftmantit #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece funny #one piece headcanons #headcanon #one piece x you #crack post #shitpost #one piece shitpost #one piece crack #ace x reader #sabo x reader #crocodile x reader #mihawk x reader #shanks x reader #buggy x reader #killer x reader #kid x reader #eustass kid x reader #law x reader #luffy x reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader

[tiniedemon]

. . .

reasons kenny mccormick has been banned from us mall retail stores

sephora

definitely takes off running with a makeup pallet for marjorine

trips and falls into a rare beauty display

sprays an entire tester bottle of cologne in the fragrance section

hot topic

connected to the speakers somehow and played material girl bass boosted for 45 minutes straight

customer couldn’t find a shirt so he went in the back to search for it

attempted to climb the wall to get a shirt and ripped four wall hooks out

played tag with the hot topic employees in a skirt he didn’t pay for

spencers

taste tested every bottle of flavored lube in the store

shattered three ash trays on the floor

opened a pack of incense and lit it for a smell test

tried to sell a vibrator he didn’t pay for for double the price

zumiez

assembled a skateboard in the corner of the store and then skated around the entire store

tried on every sock in a pack of socks and tried to return them (he didn’t pay for them)

tried a hat on without realizing he had lice

victoria secret

took lingerie off the display model, spit in the bra, and put it back on

drank a bottle of perfume for $5

asked every employee if they thought his dick could fit in a thong

stood on top of a display table and danced, broke the table

ross

tried to fit into a onesie and ripped it

ate an entire eyeshadow pallet

hid inside of a rug until after closing

put his fist through a painting

apple store

set a picture of the inside of his nostril as the phone background

played cotton eyed joe staggered on every display device full volume

tried to return his samsung.. to the apple store.. that he didn’t get it from

accidentally spilled half a bottle of water on a macbook

h&m

played the penis game with craig from across the store

rode a skateboard he was forced to buy from zumiez across the store

spilled an entire bottle of hand sanitizer on the floor and then ran through it and fell on his ass

bath & body works

stole two pockets full of hand sanitizer

lathered his body in lotion and told the employees he was having an allergic reaction

spit in a bottle of perfume and took it to the counter and tried to get it for free because it was contaminated

lit five candles, arranged them in a circle, and held a seance

sprayed 12 cologne testers on a test strip and ate it for $5

toys r us

had a nerf battle with craig in the middle of the store

took a doll out of the packaging and drew pentagrams and penises all over the face

arranged two barbies to look like they’re fucking

programmed every voice recording toy to say “eating ass is good for your mental health”

threw a bopit at craig and broke his nose

food court

food fight

#south park #kenny mccormick

[berriweb]

╰┈➤ ❝ 3:19 AM ❞

: ̗̀➛ ft. earth-42 miles morales x fem! reader

: ̗̀➛ warnings. both y/n and miles smoke weed, short mentions of some injuries

: ̗̀➛ a/n. feel free to laugh and correct me on any fucked up spanish because i highly doubt google translate will be accurate and 4 years of high school spanish can only get one so far /3 the 42! miles brain rot I’m suffering from is LETHAL

Every few minutes a gust of wind would send shivers down your spine and poke chill bumps into your skin as air blew through the cracked bedroom window. You did your best to block out the chaotic sounds of sirens and the occasional arguments and fights breaking out in the streets below the apartment complex by turning up the speaker playing soothing music ever so slightly to combat them. Striding across the room, the smell of lavender, citrus, and maybe just a hint of cherry blossoms filled your nostrils and the room as you carefully lit incense and candles scattered across the desk in the corner of the room, before using the same lighter to re-ignite the joint hanging from between your pointer and middle finger.

Bringing it up to your lips, you took a long drag before releasing it and making an attempt to blow towards the crack and avoid stinking up the room with the stench of weed and burning paper, hence the candles and cracked window.

When you flopped back onto the made bed after setting your joint in the ash tray, your gaze turned from the dimly lit ceiling to the glowing red alarm clock sitting on the nightstand next to you, 3:19 AM.

Reaching for your phone charging next to it, you squinted at the screen before using Face ID to unlock it, your previous messages with Miles already being displayed seeing as you couldn’t stop checking to see if there were any updates.

5:15 PM

M&M <3: Something came up, got some business with Uncle Aaron. I’m going to be late.

You: we still on for movie night ? :(

M&M <3: Of course, wait for me til then? Give me til 11.

You: i’ll keep your spot warm :) stay safe, i love you &lt;3

M&M &lt;;3: Te amo, Ma.

5:19 PM

You: oh!!! tell aaron i said hey 2, haven’t been around to visit n a while😞

12:01 AM

You: everything good?

12:45 AM

You: a little worried, txt me back when you can :(

2:00 AM

You: ?

Despite trying your best to ignore the nightly chaos ensuing outside, it was becoming increasingly hard to do so when your boyfriend of many years had recently admitted to being the Prowler and spending most of the nights he wasn’t with you out in the city carrying out orders on behalf of Kingpin, especially when he’d texted you earlier that day planning to be back by 11 at latest for a movie night, only to follow up a few hours later saying that something had come up.

He’d assured you when he first broke the news that he’d always come back home to you, but that never stopped you from worrying every once in a while that something awful would occur that was out of his control. Especially when he wasn’t replying to any of your attempts to check up on him.

What if he’d been captured? What if it was a mission Aaron sent him on and he somehow screwed it up? What if someone had screwed him over? A rouge villain? An assassination gone wrong? A stray bullet he couldn’t dodge fast enough? What if-

Creak.

Your unintentional spiraling into horrific ‘what if’ scenarios was interrupted by the sound of rusted metal grinding against another, your head tilting up in less than a second to see a clawed hand further pushing up your window frame.

‘Speak of the devil.’

The relieved expression on your face couldn’t be hidden as you nearly jumped up from your spot on the bed to his side as he crawled through your window, with an admittedly suspicious gait when he stepped back from the window.

“You’re back! What took so long?” You chirped as you stood. Normally you would’ve avoided bombarding him with questions as soon as he’d come back, seeing as he’d likely already been dealing with enough before arriving, but he’d never come home this late before.

The plates on his mask pulled back to show his gorgeous, as usual, yet tired face behind it, exhaustion pulling at the ends of his lips. “Lo siento mami, tomó más tiempo de lo que pensaba, I got caught up with some bad people,” he hummed while carefully removing his clawed hands and leaving them resting in your desk, the rest of his geared suit coming off after until he was left in just his shirt and some nice sweatpants. Without all of the extra gear, you had a better chance to size him up before he pulled you into his embrace.

You suspected he kept it brief to avoid/distract you from worrying about him, which was hard to do when you noticed the slight discoloration on his ankle when part of his pant leg moved and his attempt to not put as much pressure on that foot when he walked, paired with the way his nose scrunched when he moved and his right side of his torso flexed.

Part of you admired his dedication to protecting you from knowing too much about what he did as the Prowler and trying to be a role model for you. The other part of you thought he was a fool for not letting you in and allowing you to help, which you often voiced your opinion on.

“They had you at it for hours? Are you alright?” You buried your face into his chest to get a whiff of his cologne and what you were sure was a hint of blood and outside. He mirrored your actions by resting his head on top of yours, making you appreciate past you for choosing to oil your scalp earlier that night.

“I’m alright, but why are you still up? I’ve told you about-” “I’m awake-” you cut your boyfriend off before he could start to lecture you, which you didn’t want to hear no matter how much you loved his accent, “because my boyfriend promised to be home for movie night but instead left me worrying for his safety all night then has the nerve to lie to me when he finally makes it back hours later.”

A look you’d learned was his attempt at hiding his guilty conscience crossed his face before he rose a brow at your accusation of lying. “Wait, wha-” this time he cut himself off when your arm slithered back from around his waist and you used to fingers to dig into his side, causing Miles to jerk back and wince, holding his side.

"¡Hijo de puta! What’s your deal Y/N?! Eso duele como el infierno! Jesus-”

You tried (and failed) to hold back from giggling at his irritated gaze before grabbing him by both hands and leading him to your bed, practically forcing him to sit down at the edge, not that he tried to fight back.

“Consider it karma, Miles. If you’re gonna go out and do dangerous shit at least don’t lie to my face about it,” you tsked, kneeling down as you ignored the pointed glare and mean mug he sent your way as his nose scrunched and he muttered something under his breath about you being cruel. Lifting the side of his shirt up, you eyed the damage his assumed rivals must have caused before he came, black and purple bruises littering his side in different colors and shades. You sucked your teeth, looking up at him with narrowed eyes which he only responded with by looking off to the side and biting the inside of his cheek.

Moving down, you pulled his pant leg up to see matching colors on his ankle, and given his previous limp you’d have to take a guess as to what happened. He hardly ever let you treat him in any capacity, which was mostly due to him feeling the need to always be treating you, but judging from the look in your eyes Miles knew he didn’t really have a choice this go round.

“It looks sprained, and those bruises are gonna take forever to heal. Do you need an ice pack?” “Please.” You we’re already rising to your seat, not waiting for a response before you quickly and quietly left your room to go retrieve one from the kitchen without waiting your parent(s).

When you returned, you were carrying an ice pack, along with some bandages to keep it in place and a small snack just in case he hadn’t eaten in a while, and knowing how he gets when he prioritizes being the Prowler over everything else, he likely hasn’t. He’d taken the liberty of finishing off the rest of your joint, evident by the evidence still being in his hand and the smoke blown into your mouth when you leaned in for a quick deep kiss before kneeling once again to work on his ankle the best you could. You were by no means a professional, but your attempt was better than leaving it alone and your guilty conscience wouldn’t let you even if you wanted to.

As you worked in silence the initial tension in the air seemed to ease up, partially due to the weed, but you couldn’t help but still be slightly bothered by how worried you’d been for him. Yeah, he made it back relatively okay this time despite his lateness, but what about next time, and the time after that?

“Y/N.”

Miles’ voice pulled you out of your thoughts, mainly due to the fact that he hardly ever called you by your first name, and you realized that you’d been quietly staring at the floor for a while after finishing up treating his injuries. You could feel him reach down to grab both your hands and pull you up to his feet until you were standing between both of his legs looking down at him.

“You worry too much,” he started, but that didn’t help at all to ease your mind. “You don’t worry enough! Miles, you were supposed to be here hours ago. How can you expect me to just sit around and go about my normal routine knowing that you’re out their risking your life nearly every night? I can’t do that for you and you know that!”

Miles felt guilt creeping up his throat, this felt like a long overdue conversation. “I don’t expect that of you, but what do you want me to do mami? I can’t just drop out and you know that. All of this- I do it for you, for us, you know I can’t just back out now, it’s my only sense of normalcy ever since-” he didn’t finish his sentence, but you didn’t need him to. You couldn’t bear to look him in eyes, your heartstrings tugging painfully at the reminder of how he ended him the way he was now.

You’d been there for him through the worst of it, when his father died, when the city went to shit. It was awful for a very long time, your only glimpse of hope being when Miles seemingly started regaining a sense of who he was long after the fact. You’d been happy for him, encouraging him to go out more and constantly reminding him that you were there for him. Unbeknownst to you, the “healthy” outlet he’d been using to cope with the fact was sneaking out with his Uncle to commit crimes on behalf of some of the worst known criminals. You’d be lying if you said you approved, that you were okay with what he did and that you thought Miles was too, but you’d learned to accept it on account of the fact that there really wasn’t any other option. You knew you couldn’t even entertain the thought of not always being by his side, you needed him just as much as he needed you.

You couldn’t argue with his point and couldn’t hold eye contact, trying to look off to the side to avoid his hardened gaze but he was quick to gently take hold of your chin and turn your head back to him, making a warm feeling crawl up your neck.

“Siento haberte preocupado, mi amor. Do you remember the promise I made you when I first told you?” He asked.

It was a random callback, but you remember it as clear as day, the night you’d shown up at Miles’ house to surprise him with a gift you found at the mall which reminded you of him, sitting in his room awaiting his return only for him to crawl in through the window clad in Prowler gear mid-unmasking. You swore you could still occasionally hear the sound of your jaw hitting the floor.

“You promised that you’d never keep another secret from me,” you recalled with a small sigh, feeling your shoulders drop.

“And?”

“And…that no matter what you’d always come back home to me.”

“Dije que nunca te dejaré esperando a alguien que nunca volverá a casa,” Miles’ hands caressed your sides before falling still at your hips. “I promised to always, no matter what, come back, no?”

Your hands fell down to his shoulders, tilting your head until your foreheads were touching and you could feel his breathe hitting your collarbone.

“I’m sorry baby, I just…”

“No need to apologize, mami, I don’t blame you.”

His words ease your concern, but you know that the issue is too big for one conversation to solve. At the same time, however, it’s also out of concern.

Deciding that you’ve stressed yourself out more than enough for one night, you move away from him to flop back onto your bed before tugging on his arm to bring him down with you. Miles wraps his arms around your waist to bring you closer and you throw a leg over both of his while being careful to not hurt any of his already injured parts, burying your face into the crook of his neck while your free hand reaches to run your nails across the part for his braids.

“They got you good, huh? Messed up your pretty braids n’ everything, they were so neat,” you mumbled, making Miles chuckle.

“You can always do ‘em again for me, huh mami? You always do them the best.”

“And you missed out of movie night, I had the best trilogy picked out…” he could practically feel your pout on his neck.

“How ‘bout I make it all up to you tomorrow? No school, I’ll take you shopping and we’ll go eat someplace nice. Then we can watch all the movies you want, I can even find a decent theater for us, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’d like that…” judging by the slur, he knew you were practically out for the night, which was confirmed by the yawn that followed your words. He let a small smile tug at his lips as he kissed your forehead before pulling the blankets up to covered the two of you.

“Buenas noches, mami.”

“G’night baby.”

#earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #spider man #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #miles g morales #miles morales prowler #prowler miles #earth 42 #earth 42 miles morales #e42 miles #e42 miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles g morales x reader #miles x reader #atsv x you #atsv fanfiction

[oneforthemunny]

haunted home |mafia!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: mafia!eddie surprises you by decorating the house. an expansion off of this blurb :)

read the rest of the spooky stories series here!

contains: nothing really lol. fluff. mafia!eddie themes and you can read the rest of the mafia!eddie series here!

“No, no- fuck, Gareth! Are you fuckin’ blind?” Eddie’s voice carried through the doorway in an echo, bouncing off the marble floors, wrapping around you like the cold, autumn air behind the heavy doors. 

The dogs jumped around you, tails wagging, whining and excited at your arrival. Three days away, at your parent’s house for the weekend, and the boys had missed you. You had missed them. You missed Eddie too, more than you expected in the short time you were apart. 

“Eddie, if you want to fuckin’ do it-” 

“-I am fuckin’ doin’ it, and you’re fuckin’ doin’ it wrong!” Eddie’s voice boomed, rattling the crystals of the chandelier. 

Your brows furrowed, quiet, muffled steps over the ornate rug in the foyer, following the sound of Eddie’s voice. 

“Eddie, I am trying. I’m not a goddamn interior designer-” Gareth huffed. 

“-Clearly, you’re not.” Eddie scoffed. “Can you just look at the catalog?” 

“Eddie, I am looking at the catalog.” Gareth snapped. “Make Max do it. She’s the chick.” 

“Hey,” Max huffed, and you could practically see her snarl. 

“She’s not tall enough to reach the ceiling.” Eddie muttered. The cigarette smoke from the room met you before he did, that ashy, pungent smell burning your nostrils. 

You turned the corner, Eddie’s hand on his hip, ashing his cigarette. You didn’t like him smoking in the house, the smell lingered and always soured after it settled and made the dogs sneeze. Luckily, the state of your living room distracted you from that. 

The grand mantle over the fireplace had been transformed. Fake cobwebs, brooms, ghosts, fake spiders, and large candles that had wax rolling down the wicks, dripping dramatically onto the wood. Lanterns that gave an eerie, orange glow propped onto the side tables, bats hanging in the windows. Even the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace was festive, a small witches hat on the head of the growling bear. 

Gareth was on the ladder- the really tall ladder that always made you nervous when the house cleaner would dust the chandelier- glaring down at Eddie. “Couldn’t you just hire someone for this? Fuckin’ stupid- oh, wow.” Gareth’s eyes met yours, rolling his eyes. “There goes your surprise, Eddie. She’s here. Can I get down?” 

Eddie’s head turned, wide eyed- caught. “Baby,” Eddie choked, cigarette burning in his hand, ash flitting onto the ground. “You’re-You’re back early. What time is it? I-I thought you said six.”

“I got back early.” You looked at the decor around you. “What, uh… What have you been up to?” 

“Shit, it was supposed to be a, uh, a surprise.” Eddie muttered, bumming the cigarette in the tray, free hand running over his bangs. 

“Can I get down?” Gareth huffed, slapping the ladder with his hand, making you cringe. 

“No,” Eddie growled. “I saw that catalog you brought home the other day. The home one? I know I’ve been busy and shit, and-and we can’t decorate outside but…” Eddie rambled, arms lifting around him. 

Max watched you, bright eyes tracking you expertly. Eddie’s teeth clenched, heart lurching at your silence. “If you don’t like it, I can take it down. Fuck, this was stupid. This was stupid, wasn’t it? Goddammit. Gareth, get that shit down from there-” 

“-What?” Gareth boomed, eyes bulging from the ladder. “Eddie, what the fuck? We just put this shit up-”

“-So take it down!” Eddie roared, throwing his hands out. The dogs stood at alert, Vecna moving to Eddie’s side, Lucifer sticking to yours. 

You didn’t flinch, didn’t cower or shush the dogs. No, your eyes were wide, taking in every single detail. The boxes in the corner, bags from Melvald’s, happy pumpkins with smiling plastic faces that Eddie always snorted at. That you loved. That he had bought just for you. 

“Eddie, I am not taking this shit down. Get someone else to do it. Get Jeff or Dustin-” Gareth snarled, climbing down the ladder with heavy stomps. 

“-Gareth, I swear to fuckin’ God-”

“-You’re not gonna do shit, Munson! C’mon!” Gareth yelled, the dogs growling under his feet. 

“-You wanna bet, Emerson? I’ll shove you off this goddam ladder. Send you through the fuckin’ window if you-” 

“-Can both of you shut up?” Max huffed, face scrunching in annoyance at their bickering. Her eyes stayed on you, studying every quirk of your face. 

Eddie’s eyes followed her own, to you. His heart sank and raced at the same time. He hadn’t felt like this in years, not even when Billy’s guys had a Ruger in his face. Why was he so nervous? So anxious that he’d displeased you, disappointed you. 

“Baby, I can get all this shit down. I just…I thought you wanted it because you dog eared the page, but I shoulda asked you before. I was just wanting to surprise you.” Eddie muttered. 

Max watched you, Gareth’s face snarling in disgust at the softness in Eddie’s tone. “Munson, ew-” 

“-She likes it.” Max said, cutting Gareth off with a raise of her hand. 

Eddie’s eyes snapped to the redhead, flickering back and forth from you to his partner. “What?” Eddie hissed, brows creasing in confusion. “No, she doesn’t. It’s fine, I can just take it back-” 

“-No.” You shook your head, the lump in your throat strangling your voice. The bats and crows, you knew Eddie had chosen for the “creepy ambiance” he always liked to go for with decor. They were a stark contrast to the happy ghosts holding little pumpkins next to them. It made your nose burn with the threat of tears. 

“Max is right. I love it.” You nod, looking over at Eddie with a wobbling lip, a watery smile, eyes shining in pure adoration. 

Eddie felt that familiar blush creep through his chest, up his neck and to the very tip of his ears. “Really? I mean if you don’t, I can just get rid of it, and-and you can get whatever you want.” 

“No, Eddie, really. This is so,” You looked around the living room, at the cobwebs that were dramatic and stringy that Gareth was going to hang, tiny, plastic spiders sewn in. “This is perfect.” 

“Perfect.” Gareth grinned, smug, a little mocking in his tone. “See, Ed, you were freaking out for nothing.” 

“Shut up, Gareth.” Eddie hissed, his tone dropping and changing to menacing in a beat. Gareth just snorted, unfazed by his mood change, too used to it. “Just… Get the fuck outta here. Both of you. Gimme some space.” Eddie waved his hand. 

Max followed behind a smirking, smug Gareth, shutting the heavy front door behind them, the click of the latch echoing through the living room, rattling off the high ceilings. 

Eddie took slow, calculated steps behind you. “You don’t have to act like you like it.” He muttered in that soft, gentle tone that was reserved just for you. “I’ll take it back.” 

“No,” You shook your head, grabbing at his hand blindly, finding it easily and holding it in yours. “This is… This is just… I can’t believe you did this for me.” You smiled, the tears brimming in your water line. 

“What d’ya mean? Hey, don’t cry. Shit, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Eddie cooed softly, pushing Lucifer back when he guarded you, hands grabbing at your waist, pulling you into him gently. 

“Why’re you crying?” Eddie muttered, curls brushing against your forehead, tickling at your collarbones when he dipped his head towards yours. You could still smell the nicotine on his breath, soothing you with the soft coo. “What’s the matter, hm? You don’t like it?” 

“Eddie, no, I love it.” You mutter, resting your head against his gently. “You didn’t have to do all this for me. I-I know you can’t decorate-” 

“-I can do whatever I want.” Eddie said firmly, hand cupping your jaw, holding your gaze in his. “It’s my house. I wanted to decorate it for you.” 

Heat rushed to your cheeks, turning into his palm, your own hands enveloped over his. Diablo nosed at your knee, watching you carefully.

"And, ya know, it is my favorite holiday." Eddie shrugged, dimples creasing when you giggled.

“Thank you.” You beam, pressing a delicate kiss into his calloused hands. “It’s perfect, really. Too much, Ed, you didn’t have to do all of that. I had some in my storage I could use.” 

“No, it’s no big deal. I wanted to get it for us, for the house, y’know?” Eddie shrugged, soft lips pressing to yours, a gentle, sweet kiss that had you both melting into each other. 

You pressed your cheek against Eddie’s chest, arms around his waist, looking at the decorations. “This is really nice, Ed.” 

“Yeah? Spooky enough for you?” Eddie grinned, squeezing your hips gently. “I just gotta put up the webs and shit on the chandelier. Gareth was being such a fuckin’ bitch about it.” 

“I can help you put it up.” You offer, looking at the pile on the coffee table. 

“Nah, I’ll get someone to do it later. Wanna hear about your trip.” Eddie hummed, pulling you into his lap onto the couch.

#oneforthemunny #oneforthemunny spooky stories #eddie munson halloween #mafia!eddie munson #mafia!eddie munson x reader #mafia!eddie #mafia!au #mafia au #mafia!eddie x reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson au #stranger things #eddie stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie x fem!reader #eddie my love <3 #eddie x reader #eddie munson #oneforthemunny blurbs #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

[avocado-writing]

I gave this one a little bit of a different set up but hopefully it still hits the spot!

Tagging: @sinfulrefugy​​ @venusthepirate @lunarpansexual @wanderedaway​​ 

​ thank you bullet-train-2022 for the gif!

Reblogs appreciated, Requests open - let me know if you want to be tagged for future works!

Okay, really, you shouldn’t have gone on the date with him in the first place.

Hooking up with people in this business is a bad idea. Especially when you have the same handlers. Conflict of interest and all that. But he was charming, and your curiosity was piqued. 

So you’d let Tangerine take you out for dinner. And it was nice! Lovely, actually. He was a good conversationalist. He listened to you, asked you questions, grinned whenever he gently teased you. And maybe you’d kissed him goodnight. With tongues.

And then maybe you’d realised it was sort of a bad idea, and that you’d always be gunning for the same jobs, and letting someone in always meant weakness.

So. 

Maybe you hadn’t returned his texts or calls after that first night. 

You expected it to be over and done with. That he’d give up easily. After all, there was nothing that special about you. 

Why would he want to fight for you?

Then you’d found the book.

It was meant to be an easy job. Big house, minimal security. An MP who’d pissed off one too many people. Your gun was silenced, your steps were quiet.

And there he was. Already lying dead in his bedroom.

To say you were furious was an understatement. This was your job! You knew the mark of a professional assassin all too well. Clean shot to the back of the head.

And, sitting innocently next to the body was the book. The fucking book.

You’d been talking about your favourite novels on your date. You’d innocently mentioned that North and South had a special place in your heart. And there it was, plain as day, right next to your mark. Looked like a pretty old copy, too. The sort that could have gone for a couple of hundred from a proper collector.

Or maybe a quid from a charity shop, if they didn’t know what they had.

There was no way it wasn’t for you. So you picked it up and checked the cover.

Call me, sweetheart.

    - T

You fought the urge to throw the thing across the room. Instead, you shoved it into your bag and left.

It really was a nice version. But you pouted as you read every page, knowing who’d left it for you. You did pick up your phone, though. Look at his contact information. Hovered your thumbs over the keyboard ready to fire off something scathing to him. 

You sent no texts. You dialled no calls.

Rather, you went on your next job a week later and found the exact same thing.

Gang leader. Nasty piece of work. Lying in a pool of his own blood. A small pack of very expensive cigars resting nearby.

Bastard. He knew you were trying to quit.

You remember him offering you a cigarette on your date. You said no, but reached out and took a drag from his own, held between his fingers. He’d licked his lips like he wanted to devour you.

You found a woman cowering in a wardrobe. She let out a little squeak when you threw it open, clamping her hands over her mouth too late.

“Oi, love. Did you see who killed him? Was it a fucker with jewellery and a moustache out of a seventies’ porno?”

She managed to nod. You sighed, knocked her out, and went on your way. There was a note in the cigar box.

I know you’re getting these.

   - T

You chain smoke them over the next couple of days. Bit of a waste, really.

The third job is your last straw, though. When you find everyone that you’re meant to take out at the casino already dead. He can’t have been that far in front of you. There are still lit cigarettes burning in ash trays. 

On the craps table there’s a set of candles. Your eyebrows shoot up. Sandalwood.

The restaurant you’d gone to smelled of sandalwood. You’d said you liked it. He’d remembered.

Fucker. 

Relenting, you leave the scene and head to a nearby alley. Quiet. Shadowy. You unlock your phone and airdrop him your location.

You see Tangerine silhouetted not five minutes later. The man fucking struts - struts! - towards you, cocky as anything. 

“What are you fucking playing at?” you snap, furious. 

“Oh, alright darling. Hello to you too.”

“Don’t ‘darling’ me!” you’re nearly snarling now, jabbing your finger into his chest. “Why do you keep nicking my jobs? They’re my jobs!”

“Didn’t see your name on the contract, love. Open to anyone in the company.”

You want to slap him. You flex your fingers, getting ready to square up.

But fuck. He is so handsome. In the low light of the alleyway every stupidly perfect angle of his face is lit like he’s a piece of art.

The two of you stare at each other for a long, long moment.

Then, in the blink of an eye, your mouths are on each other.

With a strength he didn’t quite expect you push him up against the brick wall opposite, hands grabbing his collar, lips working against his. His tongue presses against yours in a passionate movement and you eke a groan of pleasure from him. 

He’s so fucking frustrating.

And you fucking love it.

You go on the date he begs of you the next night. And this time, you do text him back. 

#tangerine x reader #tangerine x you #tangerine x y/n #tangerine bullet train #bullet train fanfic #tangerine and lemon #bullet train x reader #request

[coffeeghoulie]

Hi! For the Kiss prompts, how about Dewther and 16? ^^

Thanks for the prompt! Hope you enjoy!

Prompt from this list

16. lazily

The room is dark, candle burnt out on the nightstand, incense crumbled to ash in the tray next to it, when Aether finally returns from the infirmary. He's careful with the hinges, knows exactly how hard he has to push to keep them from squeaking loudly as he enters.

His eyes shine like amethyst in the dark, taking a moment to adjust to the low light. Dew's exactly where Aether had expected to find him; sprawled out on his stomach, legs and arms splayed out, neck craned, oversized band shirt ridden up, exposing the fair skin at the small of his back, and the covers kicked down to the foot of the bed. Aether carefully shuts the door behind him, turning the handle so it doesn't latch loudly.

Dew deserves every second of sleep he can get. He's been spending most of his days since coming home from tour passed out in his and Aether's bed. Aether can't complain- it gives him an excuse for him to stare at his mate for hours, sleep softening his stoic features, smoothing out the crease in his brow, mouth soft and relaxed, eyelashes pressed against the sharpness of his cheek.

Aether groans under his breath as he hangs up his white infirmary coat, exhaustion hitting him like a bus. He was supposed to finish up a few hours ago, but there had been a Sibling with a medical emergency, and Aether loves his job even more now that he can dedicate his whole self to it, but he wants nothing more than to collapse into bed with his mate now that they're both home.

He washes up quickly, changing into sweats and setting his glasses onto the nightstand before leaning over the bed.

Dew smells sweet, like cinnamon dumped onto a campfire, and Aether hums softly, nosing at the torn point of Dew's ear, nudging the silver ring pierced through it. He smells the strongest behind his ear, in the crook of his neck, and Aether's eyes flutter shut.

The fire ghoul grumbles, shifting on the bed, but he doesn't quite wake; Aether watches his spindly fingers twitch, grabbing at the pillowcase like he's looking for something.

"Darling, 'm home," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the warm skin behind his ear. It flicks, and Dew grumbles a little louder, copper eyes cracking open.

"Hey, Aeth," Dew mumbles, voice heavy with sleep, and he swallows, bringing a hand to wipe at his lips.

"Sorry to wake you, baby," Aether says, the mattress shifting as he settles down half on top of him.

Dew purrs, a sound like a rusty engine coming to life, and Aether can't help himself but bury his nose behind Dew's ear again, chuffing contently. "You're not sorry," Dew laughs, eyes still half shut.

"I am," Aether says. "You deserve your rest."

"I deserve time with my mate, and I don't get that if I sleep through it."

Aether chuffs apologetically. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

Dew huffs, craning his neck further to rub his cheek against Aether's. "S'alright."

"Darling," Aether says, trying to arrange the two of them so they're both comfortable, limbs and tails tangled together as tight as they can get. Dew doesn't make it particularly easy, all limp with sleep, but Aether's well-versed in wrangling fire ghouls, this one in particular.

"What?" Dew huffs, nosing under the scruff on Aether's jaw.

"I'm not on the infirmary schedule again for two days, barring an emergency," Aether whispers, pressing a soft, easy kiss on the corner of Dew's mouth. "But you have my undivided attention until then."

Dew grins lazily, every sharp fang on display. "Fuckin' excellent," he says, kissing him softly.

Aether, privately, thinks that this is his favorite version of his mate. Soft and pliant, so affectionate it almost makes his teeth hurt. He kisses him back, big hand cupping the side of his face, smoothing long strands of hair behind his ear.

There's no rush, no urgency, not with the promise of time after so long apart. Aether kisses his mate, holds him close, and they keep kissing until sleep claims them again.

#dewther is so good for the soul #i love writing dewther sm #dot's writing #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #dewther #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #nastylittleghouls #fic request

[robertogreco]

By burning incense [we] know the o’clock of the night, With graduated candle [we] confirm the tally of the watch.

Those are the words of sixth century poet Yu Jianwu referencing incense clocks.

The incense clock takes the basic concept—timing by combustion—and elevates it to a new level of gorgeous complexity. Examining the example held by the Science Museum, I was struck by its diminutive size: no larger than a coffee mug. Yet its small compartments are carefully packed with everything it needs to operate. In the bottom tray, you’ll find a bite-sized shovel and damper; above that, a pan of wood ashes for laying out the incense trail; then, stacked on top, an array of stencils for laying out the labyrinths. As Silvio Bedini, historian of scientific instruments, explains in his extensive study of the use of fire and incense for time measurement in China and Japan, the variety allows for seasonal variation: longer paths to be burned through the endless winter nights, while shorter ones serve for summer

[...]

To set the clock, start by smoothing the ashes with the damper until they are perfectly flat. Select your stencil, then use the sharp edge of the shovel to carve out a groove, following the pattern, and fill it with incense. Finally, cap it with the lacy lid to vent the smoke and control the flow of oxygen.

To track smaller intervals of time, place small markers at regular points along the path. Some versions had little chimneys dispersed across the lid, allowing the hour to be read based on which hole the smoke was venting through. And some users may have used different kinds of incense at different parts of the path, or inserted scented chips along the way, so that they could tell the time with just a sniff.

If you are interested in reading more about incense clocks, there is much more in the article the above passages come from including pointers to longer documents about them too.

#clocks #time #incense #smell #scent #all the senses #senses #Yu Jianwu #poetry #timekeeping

[zablife]

Tachipen (Part 4)

Tommy x female reader

Summary: With the flip of a coin, Tommy makes a deal to bring a 20 year old gypsy girl into the Shelby clan. Considering her too young to marry, he employs her as a nanny. When tragedy strikes, he’s forced to confront the truth he has always known. 

Author’s Note: This was requested by @honey-im-hotdog who asked for a fic about Charlie’s nanny. I decided to turn it into a series. The story will be told through flashbacks, but I will note the year. Tommy meets y/n in 1919 and the story goes thru present time which is the year of the vendetta, 1925. 

Warnings: language, ethnic slur, violence, childbirth

1924, Tommy’s wedding day

A broken side window and a smell of petrol. Nothing left, but smoke and ash. You tried to put the disturbing thoughts out of your mind, but it was all you could think of as you sat at the long banquet table adorned with tapered candles and silver trays of food. Across the table, John laughed at his own joke, an expensive cigar in one hand and a glass of Irish whisky in the other. Isaiah clapped him on the back as he joined in and you wondered if they held a shred of remorse for what they had done.

“Y/n, is everything alright?” Ada asked, noticing the far off look in your eye.

“I need some fresh air,” you lied. Pushing your chair away from the table, you threw your napkin on the table and turned from the rowdy men as they called after you, feeling nothing but disgust. Finding the front of the house occupied by Grace’s family, you attempted to escape the sea of red uniforms with the rest of the staff below stairs. As you paced the darkened hallway outside the kitchens, you heard someone clear their throat and you looked up to find Arthur standing before you, hands in his pockets as he watched you carefully.

Unable to hold it in any longer you demanded to know, “I’m not allowed a man on my arm?”

Adopting the tone of a weary older brother reluctant to enforce his authority he began softly, “It’s about your choice of man. You know the rules.” You turned from him and he lay a hand on your shoulder attempting to console you, “Come upstairs and enjoy the party, love.”

You faced him, wiping a tear away with your sleeve. “Pretend we’re all a happy family, is that what you’d like?” you asked, failing to contain your spite.

“Aren’t you happy for Tommy?” Arthur asked, confused by your words. As he pulled away from you to study you with concern, Michael passed through with a girl on his arm. Motioning for her to go on without him, he stopped to speak to you.

“Everything alright?” he asked, the hazy, cocaine induced grin fading from his face. 

“You know it isn’t! You know why he didn’t come, don’t you?” you asked bitterly, placing your hands on your hips to stare him down.

“Who? You mean the wop?” he said scrunching his nose as though the very idea was repugnant. You could tell by his reaction he held no concern for Angel Changretta’s plight and that made you angrier than before.

“His name is Angel Changretta and his restaurant was burned to the ground to stop him coming tonight!” you corrected as you charged Michael, unable to believe his callousness.

Arthur stepped between you and Michael, placing a hand on your shoulder as he said in a calm voice, “Now, y/n, we tried to tell you. Angel Changretta weren’t good for ya. He’s a dangerous man. He’s had five different names in the last six years, and he’s got connections with the Naples boys.”

“How could you be that bloody stupid? The order was simple! No fraternizing with foreigners!” Michael spat at you from over Arthur’s shoulder.

You shook free from Arthur’s grasp, a wild look in your eye at the thought of being told what to do by the youngest member of the family. “You have no right to choose who I see in my own time!” you shouted at him. Micheal only returned an icy stare as you shook your head at him in disbelief.

Then you added more quietly, “Maybe I was stupid…to have told John that Angel showed me kindness.” Looking down at your shoes you said to more to yourself than to the men surrounding you, “Angel didn’t deserve this for being with me. I wasn’t even serious about him. Just passin’ the time cause I can’t be with the man I want.”

“Be glad it was only a warning then. Sometimes killing is a kindness and the Peaky Blinders do that very well,” Michael threatened, holding your gaze a moment before stalking off to find his girl.

You gulped as you watched him go, feeling chilled to your core. Your anger soon returned as you picked up a nearby vase and threw it as far as you could, letting out a scream of frustration. You slid down the wall, watching water drip down the subway tiles across from you. Arthur surveyed the damage, before shuffling toward you.

“It goes for all of us. We all have our orders,” he said as he extended a hand to you.

You ignored it as you picked up a crushed flower at your side, “But you have someone so you couldn’t possibly understand,” you answered sadly. Pulling your knees into your chest and pressing your cheek to your forearms you muttered, “Go back to Linda, Arthur, and leave me alone.”

Arthur slipped away quietly. As he passed Tommy on the stairs, Tommy asked, “Where’s y/n?”

“Downstairs, but she wants to be alone,” Arthur said as he stood in his way.

Tommy cocked his head and squinted at Arthur. “Have you said something about the order given last night? She wasn’t to know, Arthur.”

“She already knows, Tommy. I tried to explain it to her, but fucking Michael was high on snow. Made it worse,” he said running his hand through his hair.

Tommy punched the wall beside him in a fit of rage. He had only tried to keep you safe. He hadn’t intended to hurt you. 

From somewhere deep within the house calls for the groom could be heard and Arthur shifted uncomfortably. “We need to go back up, brother. Let’s go see your lovely bride,” Arthur suggested, but he could tell that wasn’t what consumed Tommy’s thoughts.

Tommy hesitated on the stairs as he took one final glance around. Massaging his sore knuckles, he murmured to himself, “I will make this right.”

—————————————————-

1919 

It was far too late for you to be awake, but you couldn’t sleep. Some nights you still dreamt of home. It was difficult not to think of your sisters at times, wondering what they were doing, and if they ached for you the way you ached for them. As you sat at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of tea, Tommy descended the stairs. He looked exhausted, braces hanging from his shoulders and hair tousled as though he had tried to sleep and failed.

“What are you doing awake, ey? Thought the kids would have worn you out,” he said, voice raspy from the late hour and too many cigarettes. He lit another as you thought of an answer.

“Why are you awake?” you countered, looking him in the eye. You wanted to show him you weren’t afraid of him, hoping to put the unpleasantness behind you and start anew.

Tommy sat back in the chair across from you, blowing smoke into the air. “I asked you first,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“Alright, I was thinking of my family. What they’d say now,” you confessed, swallowing harshly.

Tommy nodded thoughtfully, then leaned forward, digging into his pocket. He placed a bullet in front of you, standing it on end and left it there for you to consider. “That’s what they’ve said. Go on, have a look,” he said, taking another lazy drag.

You watched his eyes as your fingers reached for the cool metal, rolling it over in your hand before reading his name etched on the side. You knew what it meant. His death had been ordered. You knew it wasn’t your father, he wouldn’t have bothered. Your sister would be married by now though to one of the men Tommy and his brothers had cut the day you had left so this could only have come from one family.

Nodding thoughtfully you replied, “This came from the Lees?”

“That’s right, love,” he said seemingly unbothered by the fact that men were trying to kill him.

“What are you going to do?” you asked, eyes darting to his for some sign he understood the severity of the threat.

“Nothing,” he replied simply.

“But…the bullet has been written, Tommy. They will kill you,” you stressed to him.

Tommy shook his head and a small smile crept onto his face as he leaned forward, “No, I don’t think they will. And do you know why?”

You shook your head, fearing what he might say next.

“Because you know everything that went on in that camp. So I need some information from you to implement a plan for my business. Do you understand?” he asked snatching the bullet up and holding it in front of you.

You nodded fiercely. “Yes, what do you need?”

“You can start by telling me what you know of the racetracks,” he said with a grin. 

————————————————————————-

“Are we going to see Daddy?” the children asked excitedly. 

“Yes, we are. We’re going to surprise him today,” you said with a big grin, swinging hands with Clara along the way. The sun was setting over Small Heath at the end of a long day and the golden light made everything look softer somehow. 

“I want to see Uncle Tommy!” William shouted.

“He’s not there now. He and Aunt Polly have gone away on business,” you explained as everyone began talking at once. 

As you came upon the front door, you noticed a Lee boy sneaking inside. Your stomach turned, knowing something wasn’t right. “Katie, why don’t you wait outside for me while I fetch your dad?” you suggested. She shrugged, taking Henry from your arms and you carefully ventured inside. 

The moment you crossed the threshold, hands clamped over your shoulders and the front door slammed shut. Before you could scream, the man holding you clapped a filthy hand over your mouth and pulled you into his sweaty body. You inhaled a sharp breath as a knife came to your throat. “So you’re still here, y/n,” a familiar voice hissed in your ear. The knife pressed against your skin as he tightened his grip on your waist. “Like being Tommy Shelby’s whore do you?” You attempted to shake your head, but thought better of it, replying through clenched teeth, “What do you want Erasmus?”

“Just taking back what’s ours, sweetheart. Every last dime you helped Tommy Shelby steal at Cheltenham” he spat. “And more because I know he’s got it,” he sneered. Angered by his words you fought with all your might, feeling the sleeves of your dress tear and nails drag across your skin as you pulled away. You jabbed and clawed your way free until you could sink one hand to your boot to retrieve the knife Esmerelda had given you to defend yourself. Unsheathing it quickly, you raised up cutting Erasums from his chin to his forehead. He reared back with a roar of pain, holding his face as blood gushed forth in bright red spurts.

As you tried to run through Polly’s house you were met with the sight of Ada, asking what was wrong. You gasped for breath as you replied, “We’ve been done over. Run, Ada!” But the warning came too late, as one of the Lee boys barged into the parlor with a gun pointed at you.

“You’re not going anywhere. Sit the fuck down,” he said and you did as he said, watching as the men who accompanied him, mostly kin, overturned the shop. They broke everything in sight and stole what money and valuables they could find, four cash boxes in total. When they were satisfied they had what they wanted, Erasmus came in to see you, jerking you up from your chair by your elbow. 

“You give Tommy a message from me,” he said, holding you harshly by the jaw.

“What’s that?” you asked defiantly. 

“Tell him we want our cut or there'll be more of this,” he said, striking a blow to your cheek that knocked you to the ground. Ada screamed, rushing to you as you fell. The men ran out as quickly as they had arrived and you were left alone in the disheveled house. Only then did you hear the children calling to you, grateful that they hadn't witnessed any of it.

You called them in, hugging them tightly to you. You rocked Henry until he stopped crying and checking everyone over to be sure they weren’t harmed. William shouted out in protest. “Y/n, you’re hurting me, let me go!” Soon your attention was stolen by Ada’s whimpers then a shout.

“Holy shit. Water!” Ada said, looking down at the puddle at her feet.

“What does that mean?” Katie asked.

“Means the baby’s comin’,” you explained. “Take your brother to the neighbors’,” you said trying to keep the fear out of your voice as you pushed Henry into her arms. Of all days for Polly to be away, you thought. 

“Alright, let’s get you comfortable,” you said to Ada, praying you’d be able to do just that, but knowing you were in for a long evening. As the night wore on, John eventually came looking for you and the children and was met with Ada’s screams. 

He’d obviously been drinking because he didn’t seem to notice the state of the betting shop or understand what was happening with his sister asking, “What’s going on in here? Someone strangling a cat?”

“I’m going to strangle you if you don’t get the fuck out, John Shelby!” Ada yelled at him before lurching forward to push once more.

“Keep going. That’s right. Push,” you encouraged her, trying to ignore John. Ada screamed out in obvious pain once more and you looked up to see the note of recognition wash over John. You shook your head at him as you felt her stomach, prodding at the top of her bump and then the bottom. He eyed you suspiciously, your look of concern sobering him instantly.

“The baby’s the wrong way round,” you proclaimed, feeling sick to your stomach.

“How do you know?” John asked.

“I’ve attended three other girls before in camp. One was like this,” you said, biting your lip and trying to think.

“What do we do?” John asked removing his coat and hat, rolling up his sleeves to show he was ready to help. Ada threw her sweat soaked head back against the pillows, too tired to care who was in the room now.

“There’s something else to try. Lean her forward,” you instructed and John helped you move Ada onto all fours. 

“It’s not long to go now,” you cooed in her ear, rubbing along her back, then helped her count “one, two, three. Push.” Ada groaned out a miserable sounding whine as she forced herself to push harder through the pain before trying to collapse onto her elbows.

“Ada, if you stay strong, I’ll fetch Freddie soon and he can see his son,” John said, and that gave Ada the motivation she needed. In two more pushes, her son Karl was born, wailing to the heavens.

“It’s a beautiful, baby boy,” you said as you cleaned and swaddled the child to hand to his mother. You helped Ada move into the rocking chair by the crackling fire just as Freddie burst through the door, tears glistening in his eyes at the sight of his wife and newborn son.

As you washed your hands clean of blood in the porcelain basin, your heart swelled at the sight of Ada leaning her head onto Freddie’s shoulder as he cradled their child and whispered to him softly. Sneaking out the back as quietly as possible so as not to disturb them, you collided with John who was waiting for you in the alley.

“You did well, tonight, love,” John said, moving toward you with a warm smile. 

“I couldn’t have done it all by myself,” you said, shyly. Then jerking your chin across the street you asked, “Do the children know you they have a cousin?” 

John nodded and added, “Yeah, but then they went back to sleep. They’re gonna stay with Mrs. Andrews tonight. Tommy just got back so I sent a blinder to tell him the news….how should we celebrate, ey?” he asked, placing a rough hand to your cheek. Your breath hitched as he leaned down to ghost his lips over yours, pressing against you gently until you were moving in perfect sync with him. The pad of his thumb caressed you softly as his tongue pushed your lips apart, seeking more of your warmth and you let out a quiet moan against him, feeling him smirk against you. 

Suddenly you heard someone in the darkness clear their throat and then you saw Polly’s figure come into view in the doorway, her curls outlined by the lamplight. “John, I would’ve thought you’d be at the Garrison by now wetting the baby’s head.”

John pulled away from you slowly, hand dropping to your shoulder as though unwilling to let you go as he replied, “Aunt Pol, when did you get back?”

Polly motioned to you as she offered, “Y/n, I’m sure you’d like a nice, hot bath after the day you’ve had.”

You realized what a state you must be in, moving to smooth your hair before ducking under John’s arm. “Thank you, Polly.”

She nodded, glancing back at John who still stood frozen in place, one hand against the brick wall. 

After you’d gone, Polly lit a cigarette, walking toward her nephew in slow, measured steps as she considered him. Standing at his back, she turned her head and blew smoke into the night air. “John, she’s only just found her footing here. She’s young and the last thing she needs is heartbreak,” She placed a hand on John’s shoulder, thinking of the many affairs he’d had since he returned home from the war. “Find someone else to put your fires out,” she warned.

John only nodded in reply and headed back toward the Garrison to join his brothers in celebrating their new nephew. As he opened the door of the snug, Tommy and Arthur greeted him. He stepped inside, removing his cap and glancing to the corner as he took in another familiar face, kind and beautiful. “Hello, John,” she said brightly.

------------------------

Tag list:

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#Peaky blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby x reader #John Shelby x reader #John Shelby x you #John Shelby x y/n

[magicaguajiro]

La Bóveda | Caribbean Ancestral Altars 101

What is a Bóveda?

A boveda is an altar that comes from cuban varieties of espiritismo and spread through the caribbean. It combines concepts from Alan Kardecs teachings on 19th century spiritism and Taino and African (Yoruba and Congo) Beliefs. It is a space where you can work for the elevation of yourself and your spiritual frame, which comprises of your ancestors and spirit guides. The word Boveda means vault. There are alot of taboos and tasks that come with starting a boveda, it is a commitment to your ancestors.

How do I build a bóveda?

So there are a few basic elements that comprise a boveda as I learned it. These are light in the form of a white candle, a glass of water, and a white table cloth. There are other tools that can help, but I find it best if you start with these three things first and slowly allow your sacred items to come to you naturally. The white candle is there to give spirits illumination, guide them to your call and give them comfort. The water allows them to better manifest in your space, giving them a physical current to work through. Think about it, a human body is 70% water, so you are giving them 70% of a body in a way. The water also serves to cool any of them who may have a hot disposition, and to bring clarity. Once you have a good understanding of how to work this basic altar, then begin experimenting with how the energy if different tools affects your sessions.

Other tools you can incorporate:

Bells - call in spirits like knocking, clearing energy

Colognes- florida water and the such as offerings of scent and cleansing agents

Tobacco/Incense + Ash Tray + Matches (they need to have a way to light them, duh!)

Food offerings - should be given sparingly, as to not ground your spirits too much and hinder their and your elevation.

Prayer books - alan kardec books/the bible/orphic hymns/self written prayers

A cross-represents christian influences, the body of a spirit and the Crossroads.

Coffee- energizes spirits, helps them work quickly especially with money and foundational work, also just nice to share a cup with them for comfort sake.

Flowers- bring life and energy, Earth element

Cascarilla-draw symbols on altar/floor/self

More glasses- depending on the tradition, you can have variations of anywhere from 1-9+ glasses. Sometimes each one is a specific spirit, or group of spirits. Other times the configuration is the key and has to do with the working being done

What do you do at the bóveda?

You will pray, sing, talk to your spirits, give offerings and meditate here. The purpose of the prayers and items is to further your spiritual development as well as the elevation and healing of our spirits and building a strong relationship with this spiritual court who are tied to you from birth. It also helps you in developing your spiritual gifts over time. Through elevation, your spirits gain strength, power, clarity and can better aide you in your endeavors. I recommend having a mentor who can guide you when it comes to most Caribbean Spiritual Practices, but Bóveda work is one of the tools almost anyone can at least try and it can actually help to lead you to the right mentor! A basic routine can be to approach the altar clean and dressed in white or light colors. Light the candle and knock on the table three times to awaken and alert the spirits. You can choose to say a written prayer from one of the books or just speak from the heart asking your good and guiding spirits who have your best interest and free will at heart to come and partake in the offerings and commune with you. From that point on just sit, talk or listen. Keep a notebook nearby to record anything important. Over time you will be able to know when your spirits are trying to tell you something even when not at the altar. You may also choose to do workings in front of the Bóveda, or on it if you choose although I usually prefer the former.

A note on spiritual hygiene at the Bóveda:

I’d like to bring up an important concept called Hot/Cold. So some things carry a hot energy, while others have a cooler energy in a sense. Bóveda work is very centered around peace, cooling, and enlightenment because you are essentially working with the dead, so keeping them cool is how you protect yourself while being around that intense energy. You keep the altar cool by keeping it clean and behaving appropriately at it. New offerings of things like water and flowers are cool because they still are full of life force to offer your spirits. After a set amount of time, usually no longer than a week, they begin to wilt or mold or rot and are therefore becoming hotter and hotter, which agitates the household and the spirits. To avoid this, refresh offerings once a week or more and do a major altar clean at least once a month. Also, when approaching always be respectful, calmed, present and clean (physically AND spiritually).

Always approach the altar cleansed physically and spiritually, in clean (preferably light colored) clothes . This is so important because unwanted spirits can come through if things are done improperly. Keep the surrounding area clean and tidy and cleansed. If things become to hot and dirty on the altar, you may see your blessings become blocked or may feel like you have a dark cloud over you. When working with spirits, holding up your end of the bargain to avoid this is CRUCIAL. Your Guides are not sabotaging you on purpose (usually), but rather are unable to operate in their full and usual capacity since they are lacking their full and usual offerings and environment! Spiritual hygiene includes behavior too. When the candles are lite, try to be respectful in front of the altar, as if your Great Grandma were in the room, because in a way she may be.

This is an amazing tool for beginning your journey into Cuban Folk Magic or Caribbean Spirituality. A good Bóveda sets the stage for an amazing practitioner.

Bendiciones 🧿

#witchcraft #florida #bioregional animism #bruja #brujeria #florida witch #santeria #swamp witch #witch #traditional witchcraft #espiritismo

[louiseintrees]

Lovers Rock

.:°.:.:::..::°•:.:….:.

The pack of cigarettes he had put down months ago stared him in the eyes. Boring holes into his skull, begging him to get back to his old habit. And at this point he might as well. Everything was fucked, why not fuck it a bit more. Break that idiotic sobriety because it’s not like it would matter to him anymore. The most important thing to him is gone because of a stupid thing. Something so entirely stupid. Because of an asshole who played with the love of his life’s heart. So, in his moment of sorrow and woe, he grabbed it. And the small lighter he had got from her on his birthday. No matter how much she hated the fact he was smoking it was a promise for that when it stopped working he wouldn’t need it anymore.

He went to the balcony. Sitting on the sad chair. The ugly brutalism looking concrete floor, ceiling, and walls, and the metal bars, haunted him. It didn’t feel like a nice place to rest after a long day. No lights she hung up, or plants she treated better than herself, nothing like that, not even a nice smelling candle. No life was left. No life was left without her here. Not even the breathing sad excuse of a man that sat in the plastic chair had life to him. He was nothing as he pulled the small rolled stick and sat it in between his fingers and lit it. Taking a deep breath in and out.

He told himself it was taking the edge off of things but he knew it wasn’t doing anything anymore. Smoking didn’t have that effect anymore. It just made him guilty. He felt as though the girl who used to sit in the empty chair opposite to him was still there biting the inside of her cheek as her nose was in a book begging him silently to put it out. He hated everything now. He wanted to blame her for everything and move on but he would never do that, I don’t even know if it would be possible for him to do that.

“But if you're too drunk to drive, and the music is right, she might let you stay, but just for the night.” He sang to himself as his voice cracked ever so slightly and his eyes became glassy and full of water.

It was her favourite song because it was quiet and peaceful. It was sweet and short, and she loved it. It was all she played for a week at one point she was so into it, only slight exaggeration. Only now it made sense. It was about her. Not literally but if the singer knew her it was about her. Wether she subconsciously knew she was listening to words that fit her perfectly or not, he didn’t know. But after all that he went through the words were an exact description of her. Down to the very last couple of lines.

“Because love can burn like a cigarette, and leave you alone with nothing, and leave you alone with nothing.” He let out letting the tears flow and to let his emotions out.

He put out the cigarette leaving its corpse in the ash tray, and huddled himself up, crossing his arms in front of his body, laying them on his legs as he hunched over crying. Letting more of the tears that had plague him flow.

He missed her. That much was certain. And he had come to realize he couldn’t live without her. And much later he would come to realize,

She also couldn’t live without him.

#alex turner fanfic #alex turner x reader #alex turner arctic monkeys #arctic monkeys #angst

[thelunarsystemwrites]

Childhood.

Fun fact, I love poetry! And uhh, I have a TON written, here's an old one! (They're all dark, all of my poems are dark.)

TW: Mentioned sewerside, smoking, addiction, overworking, depression, ruined childhoods, just this whole thing is depressing.

Smoking glitter, on the playground. When did arts and craft, turn into a way to drown?

Sippy cups. Turned into your ash trays. Swing sets, are now where nooses hang.

Burning London Bridges, watch them falling down. Playing with wooden blocks, make them cages now.

Pancakes, turned to your war reverses. If the world was run by children, we'd all get what we deserve.

Maybe less taxes? Or make them double. Fill your papers out with crayons, and baths with bubbles.

Sometimes it's nice to sit back, fill you lungs with glitters. Roads run by toy cars, then blocked off with liter.

Makes shapes out of the clouds, religion fills us with doubt.

Birthday cakes and candles, broken lock handles.

With one word, that seems pure. Associated with another. filled with dirt.

Do you miss mom and dad, reading you books at night? Now those books are filled with text, for your project you fight.

Bed filled plushies, plushies sold for food. Food earned by labor, that became your glue.

Eyes blurred in the morning, blinded by the sun. Where did your sunny smile go? Your rays filled with cancer.

So smoke that glitter, let your mind warp. Go back to the time, when you were just bored.

Not just stressed, felt less depressed, go back to to a time where you could go back to bed.

Pay a professional, to keep your mental health in check. Then give them the check that keeps you in debt.

Now you got a job, you could gamble it all. Sounded fun as a kid, now just sounds like addiction.

So smoke that glitter. Hopefully laced with cyanide. If your eyelids shut. They'd stay closed for real this time.

Work a dead end job, because recess had to be cut. Asking all the why's, and it was because of a low budget.

#tw sewerslide #tw depressing stuff #tw depression #Tw #tw noose #tw smoking #tw cigarettes #tw addiction #poetry #poem #poets on tumblr #original poem #writers and poets #i wrote this #posts i actually wrote #i wrote something #i wrote it #writing #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #tw death #tw mental illness #read the tags

[manwalksintobar]

if we’ve gotta live underground and everybody’s got cancer/ will poetry be enuf?  // Eisa Davis to Ntozake Shange

         dear ntozake,

I got sacks of mercury under the skin beneath my eyes either cried too much or i’m abt to the cool war’s burnin up my retina again does poetry start where life ends? i know i’m supposed to be cool: i wear corrective lenses that feature high definition tragedy. baby in the dumpster       ethnic cleansing assassinations       multinational mergers i’m supposed to shake my head write a poem believe in ripples. but i ain’t cool. i emit inhuman noises i imagine terrorist acts as i flick my imaginary ash onto the imaginary tray i imagine going insane with a purpose and writing it down feels sorta unnecessary does poetry end where life begins? berkeley girl       black girl        red diaper baby born of the blood of the struggle but with reaganomics and prince pickin up steam in ‘81 nothing came between me and my calvins 10 yrs old       unpressed hair       playin beethoven readin madeleine l’engle       got scared in my pants when i heard this girl testifying ‘TOUSSAINT’ in the black repertory group youth ensemble i was just sittin in a rockin chair pretendin to be 82 and talkin like I knew all bout langston’s ‘rivers’

i wasn’t as good as her and i definitely wadn’t cool so i gave up drama and decided to bake soufflés zake you wda beat me up in the playground if we’da grown up together and you did eighth grade       ‘he dropped em’ at the regional oratorical competition i saw another fly honey rip it this time it’s ‘a nite with beau willie brown’ i was bleedin on the ground i became yours no more soufflés i jacked for colored girls right off my mama’s shelf my mama fania who was sweatin with you and raymond sawyer and ed mock and halifu osumare dancin on the grass       back in the day in you i found a groove never knew i had one like that did that monologue over and over alone in my room my bunk bed the proscenium arch 13 yrs old       screamin and cryin abt my kids gettin dropped out a window didn't know a damn thing about rivers but i knew abt my heart fallin        five stories you were never abbreviated or lower case to me you just pimped that irony that global badass mackadocious funkology you not only had hígado you had ben-wa balls in yr pussy

betsey brown on my godmother's couch nappy edges in mendocino at the mouth of big river spell #7 after the earthquake in silverlake the love space demands had to be in brooklyn yr poems are invitations to live in yr body love letters yr admirers dream they coulda written themselves no one cd find a category that was yr size blackety black but never blacker than thou you teased me into sassiness when i had none to speak of made profane into sacred but never formed a church sanctified women's lives whether we were reading nietzsche or a box of kotex we were magical and regular you many-tongued st louis woman of barnard and barcelona you left us the residue of yr lust left us to wander life as freely as sassafrass cypress and indigo and even the unedumacated could get yr virtuosity cuz you always fried it up in grease you built an aqueduct from lorraine hansberry's groundwater and it bubbled straight to george c wolfe you never read what the critics said and you scrunched up the flesh between yr eyebrows like everybody else in my family

but zake is poetry enuf?

i beg the question cuz you grew me up you    and adrienne kennedy     and anna deavere smith and all my mothers you blew out the candles on my 26th so when there's mercury under the skin beneath my eyes and the world ain't so cool do you write a poem or a will?

like leroi jones said     if bessie smith had killed some white people she wouldn't have needed that music so do we all write like amiri baraka does or do we all get our nat turner on?

i beg the question cuz i wanna get my life right do some real work and i really don't want to kill any white folk i mean     can we talk abt this maybe it's just my red diaper that's itchin but i still got that will to uplift the race sans bootstraps or talented tenths or paper bag tests this time we uplift the human race and i know the rainbow might be but is poetry enuf?

it's a naive question but i'm old enuf to ask them once in a while if we do finally unload the canon clean it out stock up on some more colorful balls ain't we only gettin the ones that are available at a store near you? doesn't the market end up setting the new standards anyway? is poetry enuf if it ain't sellin? if ain't nobody readin it? can poetry keep a man     who can't read from droppin his kids out a window?

and how can i call a ceasefire to this cool war in stanzas of eights when we've declared poetry a no fly zone? we have learned to protect it and its potential politics like a mother shoot down anyone who might overdetermine a poem's meaning (while we poets divebomb everyone else's politics with impunity like we're the United States or something)

if poetry is just poetry we save it from the conservatives but doesn't that mean it's of no use to the progressives?

is poetry enuf? cuz that's all i'm doin. makin up stories    on stage     on the page keepin the beat and that's all my friends are doin and that's what a lot of folks my age are doin

but if we've gone and burnt up everything in the sky if there's nothin else to eat but landfill stroganoff if we've gotta live underground and everybody's got cancer will poetry be enuf?

my aunt angela says i can do my thang and keep swinging left hooks to oppression if i stay up stay into it stay involved just one form of praxis will do. it's just my guilt that thinks i need twenty-two what's enuf?

shouldn't i (or somebody) be our secular bodhisattva become a real power player but skip the talk show can't we stabilize, rekindle collectives and cooperatives and collaborations therapeutic communities that double as creative juggernauts a publishing house     a theatre where the plays cost less than the movies get the neighborhood coven back together take dance breaks in the cubicles sing until the flourescent lights burst into snow i ask you because you changed me zake you changed thousands of women and i know poetry can't be enuf if you drunk

i ain't tryin ta walk off wid alla yr stuff and i got nuttin but love for ya so that's why i gotta know i'm sittin on my bed encircled by every book you've ever published they're open like fans marking pages with the flint of genius all i want is for this circle to grow so tell me:

is this where poetry and life are twins? i felt so crumpled up when i started writing you poetry seemed so useless and dingy next to all the bright red bad news but now that the poem is over i feel wide open like an infant of the spring just tell me how to feed this light to my responsibilities and poetry just might be enuf           love           eisa

#poetry #Eisa Davis #Ntozake Shange #is poetry enuf? #American poetry #feminist poetry #feminism #for colored girls #Amiri Baraka #Leroi Jones #Black American poetry #Bessie Smith #Angela Davis #mothers & daughters #girls & women #politics #poems of protest #poems of rage #growing up #despair #loving the world anyway #letter #advice #letters to a young poet #radical art

[moral-terpitude]

congratulations on the second of many 100’s! “Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you.” with Tommy please?!

🖤 thank you so much! For some reason, I’m writing about Christmas in this one 😬

This was wrote for part of my 200 follower celebration that you can find more info about here!

Christmas Eve

The fire crackled as she had tossed and turned on the couch, content under the warm blanket until finding a comfortable position with her forehead pressed against the worn leather cushion.

She had been fairly asleep before hearing the repeated and, whoever it was they thought to it be, silent, blowing out of the candles on the tree. A quick huff for each one. By the end she could have told how many candles were on the tree if she’d had been counting.

Mrs. Shelby was awake by the time her husband tried to place the pillow under her now dented curls, and turning to face him, he looked caught like a small child trying to wait for a glimpse of Santa.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, averting his gaze, and ashing the almost extinguished cigarette into the ash tray on the coffee table, “I didn’t want to wake you.”

She smiled rising with a stretch and into the waiting arms of an apology, a kiss to the forehead and circles rubbed into the small of her back by once worse calloused hands.

“It’s okay, Tommy. You don’t even know where I have all the presents hid anyway, you would have had to wake me at some point.”

#tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky fucking blinders #peaky fookin blinders #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #fanfic #ava’s asks #Ava’s200

[llliiinnnaaa]

Reprisal | Chapter Twenty

coriolanus snow x gaul oc

Summary: Ten years after the Tenth Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow is under Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s wing as a Gamemaker alongside her niece. Unbeknownst to either of them, they’re both being prepared for a much greater task.

Warning: This story will contain explicit violence against adults and children alike (I mean, it’s Dr. Gaul AND Snow) as well as explicit language, and sexual situations.

***This fic is in no way, shape, or form, me endorsing or co-signing the horrific shit Snow does, nor am I trying to romanticize it. Also, apathy and will be the main driving force of any remnants of a relationship between my OC and Snow’s character. So if you’re interested in something very romantic and fluffy…it’s not gonna be this.

Thank you for reading, I hope you like it!

     An uncomfortable heaviness spreads throughout the small group of three, accompanied by a shroud of Peacekeepers. 

Snow, Tawny, and Philo approach Mayor Lockleer’s home with hesitance and dragging feet. 

“Remember what I said.” Coriolanus reminds her under his breath.

Behave yourself , she can hear his words echo in her mind. 

Fumbling with the string of pearls adorning her neck and burrowing further into the gray and black fur covering her arms and shoulders, she nods at him in acknowledgement.

The door of the home is snapping open in another blink of Tawny’s brown eye, a short, bright eyed and bushy-tailed man shining bright with a wide smile. 

“Mr. Snow!” He pipes, eagerly extending his hand, but Snow has already beat him to the punch, grasping control of the situation as he firmly grasps Mayor Lockleer’s hand. 

“Mayor Lockleer, pleased to make your acquaintance.” He replies, his hand leaving his to fall to the small of Tawny’s back, Philo’s eyes darting from the sight of it to Mayor Lockleer once more, as Snow adds, “This is Dr. Tawny Gaul,”

“Wonderful to meet you, Dr. Gaul.” Lockleer replies nervously, holding his hand out to her. 

She glances at it, a lump in her throat forming—it feels like cement the way it refuses to be swallowed down, blocking her from speaking comfortably. 

“And my right hand, Mr. Philo Marius,” Snow doesn’t miss a beat, speaking the words while he steps aside and allows Philo to be introduced to the Mayor, though the future President glares at Tawny throughout the exchange.

“Wonderful to meet you, Mayor Lockleer.” Philo says to him. 

“Well, let's get you all out of the cold!” Lockleer says, ushering them into his house. 

It’s now that they see an even shorter woman, shaking like a scared lap dog at the sight of the Capitol at their door—in their home—somewhat invading, the feeling even more looming as two Peacekeepers follow them inside. 

“This is my wife, Ardith.” Lockleer pipes,, a familiar charming smile coming to Snow’s lips, Tawny eyeing him as he grasps Ardith’s hand, warmly, stating, “A great pleasure, Mrs. Lockleer.” 

She blushes, Tawny raising her brows as she turns her head to look at Philo who’s standing behind them, still. 

He knows she’s silently mocking Snow’s words with her eyes, but he widens his own a smidgen as if silently telling her to cooperate. 

When Coriolanus is finished with his flirting, Ardith looks at Tawny and clears her throat, plucking the woman’s attention forward once more.

“It’s such an honor, Dr. Gaul.” She reaches for her hand, taking it by near force, paralyzing Tawny with the touch of her hand. “Truly.” 

Her full lip twitches, fighting back a snarl as she plucks her hand from Ardith’s grasp. 

“Mhmm.” Is all she can muster with her brows raised for the moment, Philo swooping in to rescue her and introduce himself while Tawny quickly follows after Snow, who’s following the Mayor into his living room. 

It’s clear they’ve tried to dress it up a bit to host such company, old but decently conditioned furniture, a few pieces of crystal here and there in the form of a vase, ash tray, and candle holder. It’s as if they’ve rummaged through dumpsters of the Capitol and collected out-of-season prizes. 

“Make yourselves at home.” The mayor says, looking at Ardith as she comes in to say, “Is the tea ready?”

“Yes, dear.” She replies, offering up, “Would you all like some tea?”

“We don’t want any.” Tawny says it as politely as she can, grimacing at the thought of it but Coriolanus pinches her leg, out of sight from their hosts, and states, “We would love some. Thank you.” 

“Alrighty, coming right up.” Ardith smiles, stepping into the kitchen as Mayor Lockleer adds, “Give me just one moment while I help her,” and disappears.

Without warning, one of the Peacekeepers follows after them, the other standing neutral attention in the corner farthest away as if not even present.  

“I’ve never been a guest to hosts that vanish before we can even have a decent conversation .” Tawny mumbles as Snow stares at her, sharply. 

“You won’t even speak to them, Tawny. What kind of conversation do you expect from them, exactly?” He hisses, lowly. 

“They’re in that kitchen cooking up bombs . We’re about to be martyrs. And you're at fault for thinking any of this was a good idea.” She speaks hushedly through her clenched teeth. 

“We have security, Dr. Gaul. We’ll be here for just a few minutes, and then we’ll get to leave.” Philo assures her quietly.

“Thank you, Mr. Marius.” Snow says to him before stating, “Dull your paranoia before you fuck this up for all three of us,” in a manner that the Peacekeeper in the corner can’t quite make out what he says.

“Oh, I’m paranoid?” Tawny whispers harshly as the blonde spits out in the same tone, “You can at least pretend to want to get along with them.”

“Like you? ‘A great pleasure, Mrs. Lockleer’.” She mocks him.

“We are not speaking about this right now.” He cuts at her, blue eyes bearing into hers before she continues, lowly, “Is that how we’re going to maintain an amicable relationship with the Districts? Have all the Mayor’s wives rubbing their legs together at the mere thought of the ever so charming future President Snow in their home?”

Her question has him seething, and when he goes to reply, Philo abruptly stops him, hearing steps approach from the kitchen. 

“Shh!” Mr. Marius says as the Mayor and his wife return, bearing three tea cups, resting on finely painted saucers. 

“It’s still a bit hot.” Ardith says sweetly, offering it to Coriolanus. 

Tawny grits her teeth but accepts her own from Mayor Lockleer. 

“Thank you.” Snow says politely, as the Mayor and Ardith sit across from them on the opposing sofa, waiting patiently for someone to speak.

room, Tawny’s jaw rolling as she eyes Mayor Lockleer, waiting for either him or Snow to speak from where they’re seated in his home. 

It’s painful for Snow, truthfully. 

He wishes to speak plainly, to skirt around the cordial routine of upkeep appearances.

He knows Tawny is somewhat right by not trusting any of these people, but he also doesn’t want to leave the condition of the rumored rebellion in worse condition than when they arrived. 

He needs allies in the Districts. 

Not Mayors that will condone their Districts’ uprising. 

Everyone in the room hates each other equally, it’s merely about favoring peace over who is right in their hatred. 

“. . .Those are neat shoes.” Ardith says, motioning down to Tawny’s heels that match her coat, Snow’s attention snapping in the direction of Mrs. Lockleers gaze, only his eyes get there by sliding down the smooth skin of Tawny’s legs.

Tawny ignores her, earning a subtle nudge from Coriolanus. 

“Thank you,” She forces out, clearing her throat. “They’re maddeningly uncomfortable.” 

Another moment of silence drives both the Mayor and Snow closer to insanity with each passing second. 

“Mr. Snow,” Lockleer begins, the young man raising his brows as he takes a small sip of the bitter liquid and sets it aside, clearing his throat as he awaits the mayor’s words, “Not that me or my wife don’t appreciate your company, but we are a bit confused as to why you all are here? We weren’t even made aware you would be here until early this morning, truthfully.” He continues, nervous but even, Ardith wringing her hands as she nods. “We just. . .” He pauses, “. . .Is something the matter?” 

Snow rolls his jaw, glancing at Tawny before asking, “Is something the matter, Dr. Gaul?” 

She doesn’t know if it’s a test, if he’s wanting to see if she’ll reply politically or merely as herself, but there’s a shift in the air around them once he asks the question to her, her brows raising as she discards her own tea onto the coffee table in front of them and states, “I don’t believe so.” 

Snow watches as the two across from them look somewhat relieved, only for him to add, “Unless the whispers of possible uprising in District Nine are true.” 

Color drains from their faces, Snow waiting patiently for them to respond, Tawny no longer hiding her glare that threatens to melt them under its intensity. 

“Which I don’t think they are.” He adds. “But there are some in the Capitol who do. We’re here to find middle ground on the matter, if need be.” 

“Oh, no, there’s no need.” Ardith immediately chimes in before her husband can answer, shaking her head. “District Nine has always agreed and complied with the Capitol.”

“Do you have siblings, Ardith?” Tawny asks her, Snow feeling her tense up beside him, looking at her cautiously as she eyes the mayor’s wife. 

“I do. Two older brothers.” She replies. 

“Old enough to have possibly been in the war, I presume?” 

Ardith’s expression, gentle and optimistic, slowly drops. 

With a small nod she replies, “Yes, Dr. Gaul.”

“Up North?” Tawny presses further, to which Ardith swallows and once again nods. “I had four older brothers.” Tawny informs her with a soft smile. “All of them were in the war, too.” She adds, raising her brows. “In fact, if I recall correctly—and I do —Cicero was also here in Nine. . .up North. . .” She pretends to think about it, clearly a show of sarcasm because every detail of it will forever be ingrained in her mind forever. 

It’s when her brown eyes flicker once more to lock with Ardith’s own, that her facade of naive pondering  comes to an abrupt halt. 

Bitterness overtaking her pretty features, venom enriching each word, “ Your brothers and their rebels chased my brother down through the snow. With starved dogs.” She says, Ardith’s eyes fleeing the lock of hers after she says it—so Tawny turns her attention to Mayor Lockleer. “We eventually got what was left of him after he’d been maimed and eaten alive .” 

Philo glances at Snow, who looks at him, keeping his mouth shut as the mental image of Tawny’s brother getting torn to shreds and being able to feel all of it replays in his mind. 

There’s no telling how many Capitol soldiers fell so sadistically at the hands of the rebels. 

At the hands of the Districts . 

“So, Ardith, we can all sit here with one another and pretend as if District Nine has always agreed and complied with the Capitol, but there is a few bones buried in the Gaul crypt that are proof that District Nine did rebel, and it did actively participate in the unnecessary war that killed thousands of Capitol men, women, and children. And it’s  reckless to pretend rebels aren’t very well lingering under our noses—my dead daughter can attest to that, as well.” 

Blue hues look at her, she feels them burning into the side of her face. 

He has to keep his smirk hidden. 

“I agree.” Mayor Lockleer states, gently. “Several arrests and executions have been made, Dr. Gaul, in the passing months.” 

He now looks to Coriolanus—the man he very well knows will be the President whose thumb he’ll have to grow accustomed to being under. 

“Any and every mutter of rebellion launches a thorough investigation that rarely ever happens to be a waste of time.” He adds to him. 

“Is that so?” Snow asks evenly, his interest now piqued. 

“Certainly.” Lockleer confirms with a nod, a proud nod. 

“And why is it, exactly, that so many here in Nine feel comfortable enough to even consider defying the laws set in place to protect not only the Capitol, but their own District as well?” Snow asks, watching the Mayor clear his throat before scrambling to explain, “Mr. Snow, there’s rebels everywhere—as Dr. Gaul stated before.” He explains. “But they aren’t welcomed nor tolerated here.”

“Then why so many?” Tawny presses, interrupting just to watch Lockleer further squirm. 

“I understand your concern, but I assure you, The Capitol has nothing to worry about.” 

“We know.” Snow retorts, flatly. “Increased security will ensure that. Accompanied by more. . .discouraging shows of execution to better get the point across. Yes?”

Lockleer frantically looks from Snow to Tawny, to Philo, and back to Snow.

“President Ravinstill recently adjusted the taxes as well as executions—”

“Giving District Nine a generous inch. . .yet it appears as if they’ve all taken a greedy mile from it.” Snow points out. 

“Like a dog on a lax leash .” Tawny adds.

Lockleer sees now that there is no room for an argument. 

They’re being as nice as they can be given the circumstances.

Ardith keeps her mouth shut, allowing them to finish their conversation. 

“Thank you, Mr. Snow, Dr. Gaul, and Mr. Marius for the honor of your company. I District Nine would be more than pleased to see more security to ensure the safety and peace of the Disctrict.”

A faint grin holds at Snow’s lips as he smoothly replies, “ Wonderful .”

     The ringing of the phone drags on for seemingly forever as his fingers tap impatiently against the wall, waiting for Livia or her mother to pick up the phone. 

Just as he’s about to hang up, someone picks it up.

“Hello?” He sighs at the sound of his wife’s voice.

“Livia, Darling, it’s Coriolanus.” 

“Sweetheart!” She pipes, bringing a smile to his lips. 

“Hello, darling, how are you?” He asks her, glancing around in the empty train station where they’re permitted to make personal calls home. 

“I’m a little better since you’ve called.” She replies sweetly. “How’s life among the barbarians?” She adds, raising a brow. 

“District Nine is much like the Capitol.” He sarcastically mumbles, making her scoff. 

“How are you, Livia? And the baby! Is she out, yet?” He chuckles it lightly.

“No, we’ve discussed it and she agrees that we want you home before any of that happens.” She tells him, her hand rubbing at her huge stomach. 

“Well, we’ve gotten one District down—only four more to go and then we’ll be home.” He assures her. “I’ll be home. And then I can have my inauguration, you can have my baby—”

“Oh, your baby, is she? Maybe we should’ve waited for Scientists  to find a way for the husband to have a baby for the wife.”

“You know what I meant.” He says to her. “You’re both mine. I’m struggling with the notion of having to share you once you’re First Lady.” 

“You won’t be sharing me more than I’ll have to share you.” She comments, raising her brows. “You aren’t even President, yet, and it’s already started.” She adds with a heavy breath just as the echo of heels sound around him, his eyes looking up to see Tawny stepping toward a phone on the other side of the empty lobby. 

“I won’t have to take trips like these often, Liv. This is just a freak thing I’m having to settle out.” He explains. 

“. . .With Tawny Gaul. . .” She comments, waiting for his response as Tawny dials a number. 

“Livia.” He turns his back to Tawny casually, guarding her from hearing their conversation while  being as honest as he can be. 

He and Tawny had been finished for months—though, of course, Livia hadn’t known they actually ever had an affair in the first place. 

“I don’t understand why she can’t endorse you from the Capitol.”  She asks, next. 

“Because that doesn’t. . .”

“. . . Hey, honey ,” Tawny pipes, causing Snow to clench his fist up at the sound of her doting on her criminal fiance. 

“. . .Dr. Gaul highly suggested we do this tour together. To show a united front that Pias’ withdrawal in the race only means he sees me more suited for Panem.”  

Livia doesn’t say anything for a moment. 

“I’ll be home before you know it, Darling. And we’ll be together again, and have our little girl, and everything we’ve both wanted for a decade, now.” He assures her. 

“I’m not sure this is something I want, Coriolanus.” She confesses softly, and he can hear the tears pooling in her blue eyes. 

He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose while Tawny’s giggling grates against his nerves. 

“You only feel that because I’m not with you when I need to be.” He tells his wife, calmly. “But I’ll be back soon, Darling, and I miss you,” He adds. 

She takes another moment of silent and finally nods to herself. 

“I miss you, too. Be careful out there. I’ll see you when you come home.” She says, gently.  “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” He knows she needs to hear it—whether he genuinely feels it or not. 

“Goodnight, dear.” She tells him, and he replies, “Goodnight, darling.”

She doesn’t hang up until he does, slowly dropping the phone back to its hook as she wipes stray tears, the muted television of her room flashing video of his arrival in District Nine, Tawny and Philo on his heels. 

He turns to see Tawny twisting a piece of her hair around her finger, grinning into the receiver of the phone as she pipes, “I can’t wait to get my hands on you.” 

“Ha! Hopefully I’m done with all of this by then.” Pias mumbles to her. “I really shot myself in the foot with this entire debacle.” 

Her eyes lock with Snow’s as he steps toward her casually, causing her to take in a breath and add, “This will all blow over soon, sweetie. My aunt’s pulling a few strings and you’ll have your career and reputation still intact because no one knows why you’re withdrawing. It’ll be as if none of this happened.” 

“That’s the part I’m worried about.” He admits, clearing his throat. “How is Snow ? Is he behaving himself? Provoking anyone else to blind rage?”

“No, no, he’s on his best behavior.” She assures him with a small grin, still eyeing the blonde who merely stares down at her. “It’s myself I’m trying to keep a hold on, truthfully.” She informs him. “I think Mr. Marius is nearly ready to throw me off the tour.” 

“Just grin and bear it and it’ll be over soon.” He tells her before a Peacekeeper approaches him.

He sighs out and adds, “I have to go. I love you, I’ll talk to you soon.”

“I love you, too, Pias.” She replies.

“Bye.” He hangs up, and she lets out a sigh, slamming the phone onto the hook before stepping past Snow, heading toward the train.

He doesn’t say a word to her, nor her to him, the two of them stepping past the Peacekeeper guarding the entrance of the train cart.

Philo is already eating his dinner, watching the two of them walk by him, Tawny muttering about taking a shower. 

     He downs the rest of the burning liquid that has him wincing with its bite, setting the glass aside as his racing mind starts to dull some.

Orange flames from the fire shine against the blue of his eyes as quiet steps approach. 

“I take it you’re doing to him what you did to Crane?” He says lowly, not looking at her until she’s sitting on the rug by his feet, propping her elbow on the sofa next to him, her hair damp from her shower—her body only covered in a lilac colored silk bathrobe. “Acting like you don’t know a damn thing.”

“I’m doing the same to my aunt.” She says to him. “We can’t do anything until you’re elected. So why let them know that we know.”

“Pias knows that I do.” He states, rubbing his forehead. “Of course he won’t suspect that you know if you keep laying it on as thick as you are.” He adds. 

There’s a bitterness in his voice that has her glaring at him. 

“How’s your wife ? And her baby ?” She does what she’s been doing the last several months, digging into him with her words like he had done to her. 

“They’re fucking peachy, Tawny.” He hisses, leaning his head back, staying quiet another moment before adding, “I know this is difficult, being in the Districts your brothers were killed in. . .but what happened today does not happen again.” 

“Me clarifying their horseshit?” 

“ You getting personal with these people.” He clarifies. “They do not care about our losses. The only reason they pretend to is to stay in our good graces as best as they can.” He adds. “I don’t want any arguing or tension between us and them.” 

“They started a war that killed our families! Excuse me for being a little hard-pressed when it comes to not having tension—”

“I know what they did!” He leans forward, his eyes holding her own captive. “But I’m saying enough . Not here . For the last time, we will deal with what we need to deal with when we get back to the Capitol.” 

She lets out a defeated breath, her finger tracing the pleat of his slacks—taking note of the way he clenches his jaw—before asking, “What do you plan to do with Pias and my aunt?” 

“I haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.” He lies, and she knows it, but she doesn’t push any further, allowing the soft hum of the fireplace to be the only sound before she adds, “What do you plan to do with me once we get back to the Capitol?” 

“I haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.” He repeats honestly, letting out a breath as she shifts to her knees, her fingers reaching up to twist at one of his curls starting to form from wear through the day. 

He flinches and grasps her wrist.

She expects him to toss it aside and her with it, dismissing her. 

But he doesn’t, he just stares at her, trying to get his tipsy thoughts together.

All of which, now, are of their past. 

He wonders if she still tastes the same, if she still sounds the same, if she still feels the same. 

It’s only been months apart but it feels like decades. 

She recognizes the look in his eye, the one she’s seen from him so many times before. 

The one she’s missed so much despite it being her own stubbornness that kept her from him. 

She grasps the hand around her wrist with her free hand, standing on her knees, their faces inches apart as she whispers, “What do you plan to do with me, now ?” 

He closes his eyes momentarily, before recoiling from her. 

“We can’t do this.” He tells her quietly. “I have a family and a Presidency—”

“You’ve said it yourself.” She says softly, gently tugging at the silk fabric of her robe tie. “We’ll deal with what we need to deal with when we get back to the Capitol.” 

She doesn’t take it off, the robe merely falling open just enough to see she’s completely naked underneath, her smooth, supple skin taunting him with the fragrance of her bath soaps and moisturizers. 

It’s a dose of his own medicine, all those months he’d cruelly tease her, trying to seduce her. 

She always stood her ground, no matter how tempting he was. 

He doesn’t protest when she straddles him, the growing strain in his pants becoming painful when she gets on his lap, her lips brushing against his softly, leaving a delicate kiss that sharply contradicts the second one they share. 

His hands grab handfuls of her hair, tongues meeting as she grinds against the bulge she feels underneath her, friction of her bare skin against the material of his pants causing her to break their kiss and let out a quiet moan that he once more smothers with his lips before trailing his tongue along her neck. 

She reaches between them, fumbling with this belt, pulling him out of his hazey trance. 

Anyone can walk in at any moment and everything will be ruined . 

He pulls away from her neck, and she kisses him once more, only for him to reciprocate it for only a second. 

Furrowing her brows, he takes a deep breath and grasps her robe closed, stating, “Go get some clothes on.” 

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x oc #coriolanus snow x gaul oc #coriolanus snow smut #young!coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes