#she’d better be glad she still has both her fucking kids alive present day. the way she acts towards me makes it less and less likely for

[flippedorbit]

sure mom. get mad at me for napping most of the day

#Rasp Rambles #not my fault i stay up all fucking night because all you want to do is fucking bother me constantly during the day. night time is the #only time i have any free time to myself. it’d stupid of me not to use that time for myself to do the things i want to do during the day. #she acts like she’s not the prime reason i sleep most of the fucking day. #because i don’t wanna deal with her bitchass. want me to not sleep all day? quit treating me like shit when i’m awake then. #she’s very lucky i don’t have the guts to rid the world if myself yet like i’ve thought about doing for more than four years now. #she’d better be glad she still has both her fucking kids alive present day. the way she acts towards me makes it less and less likely for #that to stay the same in the near future. like mother i don’t have fucking therapy anymore. i barely have an outlet to speak my mind freely #and even then i feel bad about speaking about how i feel because hundreds of thousands of people can fucking see it if they so wanted to. #suicide mention

[wizkiddx]

unusable faces

i have exams hence why i needed to write something exceptionally cringe :)

PSA: this is completely inspired from one of my fave writers own blurb @blissfulparker​ --> completely recommend u go read hers its much better than anything i could ever write!!!! (and just her whole account) = link

Summary: pure exhaustion and mutual pining, Tom Holland x actress!reader

^(just thought this was cute, doesn't really fit aha but full credit to op!!)

A scheduling nightmare would be putting it lightly. Perhaps almost unavoidable but that didn’t make it any less of a hellish form a torture. Harry had very helpfully said it actually was a form of torture, that is sleep deprivation. Y/n loved her job - it was all she’d ever really wanted - yet that thought was quickly becoming not enough to get her through the day. Not when it felt like an interrogation tactic used by the CIA. 

To give a quick timeline of the past few days may give a little context:

Thursday - filming the fight scene all day plus an evening-turned-half-the-night-shoot due to some technically difficulties delaying the process.

Friday - flying to New York while doing read throughs of scenes for the next few days; followed immediately by getting glammed and filming the tonight show with Fallon; then a dash across town to the late late show with James Corden; then straight back on a flight to Atlanta that landed at stupid o’clock in the morning

Saturday - a full day of shooting in a mock grand central station set

The press trip to NY had been unplanned… to say the least. But the star of their studios other new release had taken ill - meaning they had slots booked on some of the biggest talk shows in America that would just be abandoned (angering the shows bookers too). It was a waste of perfectly good promo time and since the studio had their two other stars together doing a block of reshoots - it wasn’t a conversation. Much more a call demanding the two of them to be on the plane.

Normally this wouldn’t be such an unmanageable ask either, except the reshoot block was really rather time pressured. You see, the promo tour wasn’t far from beginning meaning they really needed the final film in the can. So really it was a bit of a mess. Just to free up that single day the two were in New York the whole schedule had had to be rejigged - in doing so they’d lost a rare day off too. It was just typical.  

The joys of success hey?

Well, that’s at least what Y/n was making herself think whilst her incredibly talented SFX artist was in the process of crafting a deep wound onto her upper arm. The reason why she would be ‘dripping with blood’ whilst at a train station was beyond Y/n to be honest - she hadn’t been allowed to read a lot of the script so even now as filming was drawing to a close, the story arc of the movie she was headlining was still a little ‘fuzzy’.

“So I watched your ‘spill your guts’ thing on YouTube” Ellie giggled whilst reaching over for more prosthetic putty- a technical term apparently

“I’m glad one of us enjoyed the experience” Y/n replied with a sigh, rolling her eyes at the mischievous smirk on her face - no doubt Ellie took great joy out of seeing her suffer through eating a thousand year old egg. Which Y/n swore the taste of was still in her mouth… and it seemed as though it’d never leave. 

“Oh don’t worry darling I did too” Nelli called over from the next chair along, where she was doing Tom’s makeup for the day of shoots. “Between that and the animals on Fallon, you made a hell of a lot of people laugh last night” Tom’s artist was referencing the fact one of Jimmys other guests was a zookeeper, so at the end of the interview he had you and Tom join in trying not to scream at the snakes and spiders.

“You mean laugh at us?” 

“Well of course darling!” Nelli exclaimed back in an overdramatic bronx accent making all three of the women burst out laughing, Ellie’s unceremonious snorts echoing through the trailer only egged them all on more.

Tom in response, who had otherwise been absent from conversation for the majority of the morning, exclaimed a curse and jumped up in his chair. While you and Ellie collected yourself, Nelli apologised to him.

“Oh sorry love, I’m interrupting your snooze with my uncontrollable comedic gift” She spoke sweetly, even if still taking the moment to flaunt to the other women, as she squeezed his shoulder compassionately.

“No no” Tom waved off her apology, attempting to rub his eye before Nelli swatted his arm away - a stern look for the risk of ruining all her hard work she’d put into making his face look half presentable. 

“I’m impressed you can sleep while they poke you with all these er instruments” Y/n added in, having only just realised Tom had been in a light sleep for god knows how long they’d been in that chair. It did seem a bit unlikely, being able to fall asleep as you were dabbed, prodded and brushed. 

“Maybe you should try though Y/n… your purple eye bags are proving a struggle even for me” Ellie quipped back, now it was Y/n’s turn to give the stern look. Tom took the explain though, shutting her off from whatever kindly meant insult she was about to throw back at her friend. 

“No normally never, I just….” He was cut off by an ear splitting yawn, appearing almost powerful enough to crack his jaw - which would be a disaster, for no one should ruin such a beautiful and sharp jaw line. “…uh-sorry. I just think I ended up taking my NyQuil and DayQuil the wrong way round in the madness of yesterday.” Only Tom, the poor kid often seemed to lacking in any form of common sense - even if those closest to him knew just how intellectual and passionate he could be about the right topic. Affectionately, Nelli scalded his idiocy by jokingly swatting his head with a little tut.

“I can’t believe your still standing then! I’m barely alive and I don’t have any sedatives in my system.” It was true, Y/n was at that stage where every part of her body felt ridiculously heavy… eyes included … eyes especially. 

“But I did sleep on the jet back while your stupid self was studying the script!” Tom replied with a pretty inarguable point - at the time he knew her actions were stupid;  when their flight took off at 11 PM he was certain that the most valuable asset to his ability to act in the reshoots today would be sleep - rather than character development. And he’d tried to convince Y/n that briefly, but gave up. She was bloody stubborn when she wanted to be. 

“Stop competing about who has it worse cos I think it’s me and Nell”Ellie announced - making Nelli agree empathically with her coworker, nodding her head as she looked first to Y/n in her chair then back at Tom.

“Yeh because we have to deal with your unusable faces!!”

After much sarcasm thrown back and fourth, the trailer slowly ebbed it’s way back into serenity and peace as both artists focused on their work. Once Nelli was done she excused herself, Tom staying in the chair in favour of studying (more like staring blankly) at the dialogue for this mornings scenes. His pretence didn’t last long though and while Ellie was busy adding the final touches of fake blood to the now almost completely believable gash that she’d crafted on Y/n’s arm - Y/n had her attention focused the opposite way.

At poor little Tom. He looked so childlike, his slightly puffy eyes looked as if they had weights tied to them - they way he was having fight against gravity to flutter his eyes open, before loosing the next second only for the process to repeat as they dragged downwards. The broad muscles of his neck occasionally seemed to occasionally let up a little, letting his head tilt slowly at first until it gathered enough momentum to throw him off balance. The then sudden movement of his head unconsciously pulling itself back in line caused his eyes to bolt open prior to the whole cycle repeating again. All Y/n wanted to do was let him lay down someone, her heart feeling a tug in her chest just seeing him like that. 

Ellie proclaimed her completion of the wound, leaning back to admire her work before looking to get an affirming nod from Y/n. Yet instead, she was too preoccupied gazing at the boy slouched across from them. “Someone seems a little distracted.” Ellie smirked, finally garnering Y/n’s attention, only feeling more and more smug watching a light tint appear on the actors cheeks. 

“I-well-no… we need to go.” Y/n ignored her words as though nothing had happened, instead rushing off the chair to get Tom out the chair and onto the awaiting set. They had places to be.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (bcos im lazy)

Honestly when the director, Ed, called for lunch break, it was pretty apparent to be purely as a compassionate gesture to Y/n and Tom. Both of them had tried so hard this morning to fully commit, even so they’d both been almost completely useless. Y/n kept missing cues whilst all Tom’s actions and lines where slow, dragged out and at times completely prompted from someone behind the cameras. 

So when the lunch break was called there was only one thing on Y/n’s mind and what sandwich was available in the mess tent was not it. Still standing on the set next to her fake holdall bag she looked toward Tom, who was pulling himself up to standing from the train station bench - the pace of his movement making him look more like an old man. 

“You good?” His answer was predictable. 

“I’m so fucking shattered”

Tom swore he’d never heard anything sweeter come out of Y/n’s pink lips than her next statement.

“C’mon I know somewhere we can lie down.”

Without any sort of thought Tom blindly agreed, nodding as he took her outstretched hand in his. The gesture in itself brought a fresh wave of comfort to his aching limbs and as his feet stumbled to catchup with her slight head start he leant the majority of his weight into their connected hands. 

Neither would admit it but they were ‘a thing’… whatever the hell that meant. It was clear as day to everyone and anyone that worked closely to the two but neither of them had ever broached the topic with each other. They’d worked on a few films together over the years; each time they got closer and closer to the point any job without the other simply wasn’t as good. It was scary though, especially for two actors in the prime of their careers. If they weren’t working the same film they’d likely be the opposite side of the world to each other most of the time - quality time together would be few and far between, Really their jobs didn’t suit dating at all, yet it would be perhaps easier if one half of it worked a ‘normal’ job. Something with consistency, a regular structure. A level of dependability that neither Y/n nor Tom could offer to the other. 

So it was terrifying, acknowledging the growth in their magnetic attraction to each other. Both were acutely aware that doing that, confronting their feelings, would most likely signal the beginning of the end. 

Although none of this stoped Y/n from returning the gesture, tilting her shoulder into Tom’s left side as they took slow steps through and then out the set building. She steered the two past the hair and makeup trailer and round into a store and extra equipment trailer. Tom tilted his head as she climbed the stairs whilst beckoning for him to follow - it didn’t seem like the most obvious choice. Rolling her eyes, Y/n explained.

“It’s where all the blankets and coats and kept for the raining scenes plusssss no one will disturb us in here.” Again Tom was not in a position to disagree, eyes drooping as his shoulders sagged to the floor. Right now he’d take anything. 

So he climbed up the stairs and shut the door behind him, just as Y/n flipped the light on. She was right, it was well equipped and with an almost mountainous supply of red blankets that normally the crew and extra would all be wrapped up in after the freezing rain scenes with all the ‘waterfall machines’ as Y/n called them. However it was also um…. It was cosy. “Oh I don’t think I realised how small it was” She chuckled lightly, since now the door was closed her back was pressed up against the far wall of cabinets and still her front was mere millimetres from Tom.

“I…I don’t mind… if-if you don’t?”

“I’m too tired to care” She giggled in response, and Tom , now with her seal of approval, immediately started ransacking the piled shelves for all their worth creating a floor carpeted in the pale red of the blankets, in an attempt to make it more cosy. Joining in, it was almost remarkable how quickly their bodies suddenly agreed to move, with the new promise of rest mere moments away. 

Once the trailer was fully drowned, Tom kicked off his costume shoes and threw his jacket off - it haphazardly landing by the doorway. Y/n copied him, leaving her stood up whilst he had the advantaged of already settling down on the floor, her standing and looking down at him.

The space between the two opposing shelving units was not close spacious enough for two people to lie down whilst keeping a respectable level of personal space. Suddenly feeling a wave of awkwardness, Y/n stayed standing, wringing her hands slightly - whilst fairly certain Tom could hear her heart running at 100 mph. 

“You er… gonna stay there or?” Tom, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t a complete idiot - he could see she was suddenly self conscious. He got it too - they’d never crossed this boundary of choosing to cuddle into each other. It had happened once of twice accidentally over there 2 years of knowing each other. Both of those times it was completely accidental, falling asleep watching a movie with a safe distance of space b between the two, only to find hours later their bodies almost completely intwined. Tom would be lying if he said that his heart didnt skip a beat when he had awoken to Y/n’s soft and gently breath fanning into his neck. He’d loved it, but understood that was unconsciously breaking down part of the wall they’d both been the constructors of.

For fear of getting hurt. 

So now, as Y/n awkwardly bent down and lay on her side, he thought it was imperative to make her feel comfortable. Naturally then, his arm slid round her shoulders and pulled her down toward his chest, releasing a little breath as he felt her relax, her legs slowly wrapping round one of his. 

“This okay?” He murmured, now into the crown of her head as she lay half on her side half on his chest. In reply she nodded into him and Tom couldn’t help but grin- unbeknownst to him but Y/n was doing the exact same thing. 

The peace lasted all of 3 seconds until she groaned again.

“What?” Tom enquired as she wriggled out his hold and stood up. Instead of replying though she just leant over and flicked the one harsh light bulb off making Tom chuckle as she fumbled her way back onto the padded floor in the darkness, earning a few grunts from both as she accidentally kicked Tom’s thighs or banged her head on one of the now empty shelves. Fumbling her way back into a comfortable position, occasionally cursing when she stubbed her toe- or Tom did when she accidentally elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Comfy?” Tom asked a little sarkily as he squeezed her a little more into his side.

“Mhmmmm… I’m gonna sleep for 100 years”

“Yeh me… me too”

And with that they both almost instantly and in complete unison sagged into each other and the blankets - the pent up stress and tension of the past few days ebbing away.

What the pair had neglected to remember was that sleeping for 100 years wasn’t really an option. The whole crew of 50 people, who wanted to restart filming after 45 minutes, had not been told about Y/n’s little hiding place. The pair were so completely safe in their own little cocoon of comfort they were completely oblivious to their teams calling there names more and more frantically. Completely oblivious to the game of hide and seek the situation had descended into, completely oblivious to Harrys natural annoyance as the director asked him for the whereabouts of the two stars - as though Harry was childminder to the pair of them.

It was Nelli who found them first. She’d and Ellie and Tom’s manager had all been recruited by Harry as part of the man hunt. Both girls, having seen first hand the state of the two this morning, were fairly certain they’d both crashed out somewhere. So Nelli, already with a sneaking suspicion, opened the door gently, her figure blocking the majority of the light from seeping through to the dimly lit inside. The sight she was met with had her actually pouting at the cuteness - and yes its a cringey word but also the only one appropriate.

Between bedding down and barely an hour later the two had managed to become impossibly tighter pressed to each other. Y/n’s face was pressed into the crook of Tom’s neck and his arms seemed to have pulled her on-top of him almost completely. Her left leg was hooked under his right, which was then sandwiched by his left too. They both looked so pure and innocent and god did Nelli know they both needed any extra time they could get.

Nelli cared a lot about Tom, she’d been working with him from the beginning, from the child star days to now. She cared about him like her very annoying surrogate son and she wanted to see him looked after. She also so completely wanted the two stars to stop pining after each other. Because frankly it was getting a little frustrating for everyone else. 

So she chose to tactically forget about her discovery, sneaking a photo on the sly before silently pulling the door closed and leaving them to their sleep. 

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x actress!reader #fluff

[wastelandcth]

Father’s Day - cth

summary: calum celebrates another father’s day with his crazy family.

author’s notes: hello! welcome back to the doves! it’s been so much fun to be able to write them again, i missed them so much. 

warnings: the doves are too cute for their own good. 

masterlist || request || more doves

“Happy papa day!” Eloise squealed as she ran over to Calum, “I can’t believe you’re so old now, papa!”

“It’s not his birthday, Elly,” Charlie frowned, walking in after his four-year-old sister, “It’s just a day where we celebrate him!”

“Oh,” Eloise mumbled, looking up at her dad confused, “So you don’t have two birthdays?”

Calum chuckled, shaking his head and crouching down to pull his excited four-year-old into his arms. Eloise always loved special days like Mother’s Day, Valentine’s day, and as of recent, Father’s day. Ever since Dovey had mentioned what he’d wanted to do that day in front of the kids, Eloise hasn’t stopped asking about Calum’s special day and what he wanted to do. Every day at breakfast she’d ask Calum how many days were left until it was time to celebrate and every night when Calum was tucking her in she’d tell him about how excited she was for him. Calum, who would love every day trying to make sure his daughter always was as happy and excited for life as she’d been that day, couldn’t have asked for a better present than a whole day with his family.

“No, El,” Calum chuckled and shook his head, standing up and bouncing Eloise on his hip, “But it does mean that I get to chose what we do today!”

“What did you decide on, bub?” Dovey asked and smiled as she handed Charlie his water bottle, “Or is it a surprise like last year?” she smirked.

Calum had always gotten to pick what the family did on Father’s Day. His first holiday as a dad was spent pushing a seven-month-old in a stroller around the beach, not the brightest idea, but the sun was warm and baby Charlie had been giggly. The year before had been spent across the ocean and far from home, the Hood family hiding away in the privacy of a rental home in Sydney. Every year, Calum got to pick what he wanted to do with his family and this year had been no different. All he wanted to do was see the smile on his kids’ faces and the look of adoration on his wife’s face. The only reason he’d told Dovey his idea this time around was because they would need to pack for the kids and make sure they both had time off of work to do so.

“I was thinking we could go to the lake?” Calum grinned, looking as the two kids gasped and cheered.

They’d been to the lake plenty of times, enjoying the summer breeze and sun while the water outside the usual place they rented shone. It was the place where Calum had caught his first fish with Charlie, both of them too squeamish to do much about it besides throw it back into the water. He’d taken Dovey and Duke there years before their two kids had arrived, the snowy mountaintops hiding them away from the peering eyes of the world. And they’d even gone to the lake for Eloise’s second birthday, the giggling toddler splashing the day away by the shore as their friends and family enjoyed a barbecue in the April sunshine. Calum couldn’t think of a better place to spend a few days away, and maybe Father’s day was the perfect excuse to ditch town and hide away in their special cabin.

Dovey, who was the most amazing wife and Calum still wondered how he’d gotten so lucky, had already packed and stored their weekend bags away in the car. Her dramatic gasp and giggled that joined the children made Calum’s heart race and even if this day was all about him, he had her to thank for it. Without Dovey, he would’ve never become a father and would’ve never had two kids currently attached to his hip as he packed some snacks for their ride up to the lake. She’d changed his life the second she’d told him she was pregnant and ever since that moment, Calum Hood had never been happier to be alive. He was a father and that’s all that ever really mattered, sure he still loved the band and going out to create music, but being able to come home and see his kids was so much better. He was there for the food days where they’d both talks his ear off about school or something exciting they did with their mom and he was there for the bad days when stuffy noses and clogged ears meant he’d have one of them on his chest snoring the day away. He was a father and nothing would ever top that for him.

“Papa?” Charlie asked as he looked out at the passing scenery, “Is Duke my older brother?”

“What makes you say that, bud?” Calum asked with a chuckle, his eyes moving up to the rearview mirror to look at his son.

“Well mama always calls him your baby and he was here before me and Elly,” Charlie shrugged, patting the old dog’s head who was happily snoring away on his lap, “I think it’d be cool if he was my brother.”

“Well, then I guess he is, in a way, your brother.”

“Papa?”

“Yes, Eloise?”

“Is he my brother too?”

The questions continued for much of the journey up to the lake, each kid taking a turn to ask Calum a question and giggle at his response. That was one part of parenthood that Calum hadn’t realized would be his favorite. He rarely used to love answering questions, years of interviews with the same five questions being thrown at them making him numb, but his kids could ask him the same question all day long and he’d happily answer it to hear their giggles or the hum they gave as they thought it over. But as the sunshine high in the sky and the fresh air floated in through the open sunroof, the two kids quieted down until all they let out were quiet snores.

It wasn’t until the car pulled into the driveway of the familiar cabin that Calum had finally felt at ease. The past couple of months had been hectic and Calum was glad to finally let loose and not have to worry about anything but spending time with his family. He carried the two sleeping kids into the living room, laying them both down before helping Dovey with the bags from the car. The two of them unpacked and made a quick lunch for everyone while the kids napped and it wasn’t until the morning sun was high in the sky that they heard the snores fade and be replaced by giggles.

“Papa, can we color your hair?” Eloise asked excitedly, the toothy grin she gave Calum a weakness she knew and used often.

“What color are we thinking this time around, sweets?” Calum asked and chuckled as he helped the little one change into her favorite orange swimsuit, “Maybe pink again?”

“No! Charlie and I want green!”

“And yellow, papa!” Charlie nodded, his legs swinging off the side of the bed as Dovey slathered him with sunscreen, “And red like Uncle Ash!”

“Maybe once we get back home we can do that, yeah?” Calum chuckled and nodded, “It’ll look so cool!”

The rest of the day was spent with one another, with a lot of laughs and giggles from everyone. It was spent lounging by the lake and taking in the sun, making piles of sand into a tiny city while Eloise and Charlie fought over where the dog store would be. It was having a barbecue on the porch and drinking sweet lemonade while Calum told the kids the latest story in Luke’s new puppy adventures. If Calum could’ve imagined the perfect Father’s day, it would’ve been that day. All he needed was his wife, his two kids, Duke who’d been snoring inside all day, and the beautiful view of the lake from outside the living room. He’d been lounging on the couch, listening to Dovey retell the story of how she and Calum had met all those years ago to the two kids who’d hung on her every word.

“But now your papa and I have to clean up that bathroom that you all made a mess in,” Dovey teased, her eyes meeting Calum’s who only smirked, “Why don’t you two watch a movie with Duke, yeah?”

“Happy Father’s Day, Dove.” Dovey whispered and smiled, her lips pressing up against Calum’s as her arms pulled him in between her spread legs, “You’re an amazing daddy,” she teased.

“Yeah?” Calum chuckled and kissed her shoulder, her skin warm against his wandering lips, “Glad you think so, baby girl.”

“Mhm, of course, I do,” Dovey breathed out, her head tilting back as Calum’s lips traveled from her shoulder to her neck, “Maybe we should make you a father again.”

Calum chuckled softly and pulled Dovey’s hips closer to his, both of them groaning at the feeling of the other against them, “We both know that’s not happening anytime soon lovebug.”

“Ugh, yeah no, the thought of pushing another child out of me has me wanting to push you out of this bathroom,” Dovey teased and giggled as she squeezed Calum’s hips with her thighs.

“And on my special day?” Calum teased, smirking as his hands found their way up to the soft flesh on Dovey’s chest, giving them both a soft squeeze.

“Cal-“ Dovey whimpered out, groaning as she heard the inevitable sound of Eloise opening doors to look for them both, “She’s your kid,” she huffed and shook her head.

“Fuck, you stay right there and don’t move. I’ll be back soon.”

Soon, Dovey learned was pretty much never. 

As she walked out of the bathroom, with the pit in her stomach still burning and her thighs squeezing together to find relief, she hasn’t expected to find Calum and their two kids snoring on the couch. The sun and the dip in the cool lake had tired them out and Dovey couldn’t help but snap a picture of her family. They were crazy and sometimes things got chaotic, tears were shed and giggles were echoed throughout a home they’d built. It was chaos and love and everything Dovey could ever ask for. She pulled a blanket over the three snoring bodies, each one mimicking the other’s squishy cheeks and drooling mouth before pressing a kiss to Calum’s forehead.

“Happy Father’s day, Thomas.”

taglist: @hoodhoran @moonlightcriess @mxgyver @calpops @karajaynetoday @notlukehemmo @calumrose @devilatmydoor @lowkeyflop  @notinthesameguey @hemmo1996-5sosvevo @2fangirl4u @multistann @wiiildflowerrr @himbohood

#calum hood x reader #calum hood x you #calum hood blurbs #calum hood imagines #calum hood fics #calum hood oneshots #calum hood #5sos x reader #5sos x you #5sos blurbs #5sos imagines #5sos fics #5sos oneshots #5sos #5 second of summer #gemma writes #the doves

[fandom-imagines-stories]

The Haunted Ones: 1 Hello, Welcome Home

Tom Hanniger x Reader

Words: 2603

Series Summary: Scarred by their past, Tom Hanniger and his girlfriend decide to face their nightmares together. When the reader’s past begins to resurface, the two must hold fast to each other, or submit to insanity. 

Episode Summary: After six years together in the institution, the reader takes Tom back to her hometown. Back to where it all happened. 

Notes: I know I said fourteen imagines for October, but I just couldn’t resist this idea after watching this movie. I wrote a fic series for the video game Until Dawn and I’ve wanted to write something similar for a long time. I don’t know how often this’ll be updated, so just continue to check in if you enjoy!

Thanks to my wonderful beta @suckmysupernatural​. She’s a beautiful human and I love her!

-

Shake. Shake. Shake. You could hear the pills rattling around in your pocket. Shake. Shake. Shake. The jeep slowly creeped down the road, a heavy fog making it nearly impossible for Tom to see. You were getting close. 

Trees stretched up to the sky, looming over the car like they were ready to swallow you. You used to love those trees. Even they seemed to have turned against you. You kept your gaze on the road and with every mile, the weight on your chest grew heavier and heavier. It wouldn’t be long before you passed the house. 

Tom noticed the way you shrank into your seat like you were trying to disappear. The look in your eyes was one he was all too familiar with. It was a crippling combination of crushing guilt and absolute terror. You’d had it since you’d left the institution and it only intensified when a narrow road split the trees apart. It gaped at you, mocking your fear. Even though you couldn’t see it, you knew that the house was watching you. Tom drove faster, hoping to put your memory in the rearview mirror as soon as possible. 

With a trembling hand, you dumped a couple of pills into your palm. Shake. Shake. Shake. You brought the little white ovals up to your lips, feeling Tom’s worried gaze follow your movement. 

“Maybe we should go camping like we talked about.” He suggested, pulling the jeep over. He knew you hated those pills. He hated his too. 

“No.” You swallowed, shaking your head. “I have to go back. I have to go home.” You hesitated and made sure Tom wasn’t looking before you poured one more pill into your hand. Shake. Shake. Shake.

-

“Fucking hate motels.” Tom muttered as he stuck the key in the lock. You felt all of the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Someone was watching you. Afraid to look, you slowly turned your head. The curtains of the room next store closed in a flash. 

“What is it?” Tom asked, eyes searching the direction that you were looking.

“I thought… nothing.” You pushed inside the room. You were just being paranoid. You just had to keep reminding yourself what the nurses said. Dr. Krychek was dead. She couldn’t hurt you anymore. 

Tom placed both of your bags at the foot of the bed before collapsing onto the comforter. You kicked off your shoes and crawled up beside him. Tom slowly unbuttoned your jacket and laid his hand over the large, jagged line that stretched across your stomach. His touch grounded you. It kept you from going back there. Back to that house. 

While he soothingly ran his fingers over the length of the scar, you tapped the rhythm of his heart beat on his chest. 

This was a routine that you’d fallen into anytime one of you was having a particularly rough day. HIs touch kept the pain at bay and your steady taps reminded him that he was still himself. You anchored each other to the present to keep from slipping into the past. 

“Thank you.” You whispered into the fabric of his sweatshirt. The olive green color reminded you of a pond - steady and calming. 

“I still think we should leave.” He huffed, his arm tightening around you protectively. “I don’t care what the nurses said.”

“It’ll help me get closure. I need to move on.” It was a line you’d heard over and over again. Your voice sounded automatic, rehearsed. The following words were your own. “I have to go see her, Tom. She’s probably wondering where I’ve been all these years.” 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, last time you saw her was the trial and she nearly broke your nose.” Tom pulled away to give you a concerned glance. You shrugged. 

“From what I’ve heard, Amanda has been doing okay. She’s married now and adopting two boys.” You had a tone of envy in your voice. “She certainly coped better than I did.” For one, she didn't spend the last six years being fed a bunch of self-help bullshit. 

Tom didn’t try to argue. He just wanted to keep you safe, whether it was from this town or from yourself. Your eyes locked together and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Can we talk about something else?” You pouted. It had been a long day and you wanted to forget where you were, if only for a few hours. Tom nodded. 

It felt odd, having no one to hide from. Your nurses discouraged romantic attachments, especially with other patients. They said that a relationship would only confuse you more. They also thought that you were just some fragile little girl afraid of her own shadow. They didn’t know what you were capable of. 

And you weren’t hiding anymore.

Tom’s breathing hitched as you lowered his hand from your scar to the waistband of your jeans. His free hand undid the rest of the buttons on your jacket and snaked around your back, unclipping your bra with one motion. 

With your hands free, you removed his sweatshirt, followed by his belt. He slipped off his jeans before shimmying yours down your legs. You threw your jacket on the floor, followed by your shirt. The cool air found your bare skin, making your shiver, but his body was quick to warm yours. He whispered your name, kissing a trail from your neck down your stomach until he settled between your legs. Your fingers laced through his hair, desperate to feel something other than fear or anger or despair. You just wanted to feel him. 

-

By the time Tom woke up, you were half dressed. You walked around the motel room in slacks and your white lacey bra. He couldn’t help but smirk at the sight. 

“Hey,” He greeted, lazily swinging his legs over the side of the bed. 

“I’m just going out for some coffee. Sleep in.” You playfully shoved him back onto the pillows. Tom hooked his fingers through your belt loops and pulled you onto his lap. 

“Give me a second to get dressed and I’ll go with you.” His strong arms locked around your waist and those green eyes nearly had you. You shook your head and kissed his forehead. 

“I can go get coffee by myself, Tom. You spent all day driving yesterday. You need the extra rest. Especially after last night.” You silenced his argument with a kiss. “I won’t be gone long.” Tom gave you a disapproving frown. 

“Okay.” He said reluctantly. You pried yourself away and put on one of your nicer blouses. You wanted to look decent for your return to your home town. If you could look sane, maybe people would believe it. 

You went out the door and Tom laid down, but had no intention of sleeping. He didn’t like sleeping alone. Without you, he saw him again. Swinging that fucking pick ax into someone’s skull. Sometimes it was your body he saw in those mines. Sometimes he saw his own.

You didn’t really just go to get coffee. You to Alli’s, the diner in town that you went to as a kid. You had heard that Amanda was working here as a manager. Funny. She used to be a law student. But hey, who were you to judge?

The subtlety you’d been hoping for was quickly ruined. It felt like every pair of eyes were on you. Cars even slowed down to get a better look. You tried your best to ignore them. None of them understood. None of them except Amanda. 

The sign of Alli’s had new paint. It used to be blue. It was red now. 

Going in was like a scene from a movie. The music stopped, all chatter halted and everything just froze. Dozens of stares burned into you and you wished you could sink back into that motel bed with Tom’s warmth pressed against you. Holding your chin a little high, you approached the register. 

“What is going on out here? Y’all look like you’ve seen a-” Amanda froze, eyes meeting yours, “ghost.” 

“Hey Mandy.” 

Just like that, it all flooded back into you. And from the look of her eyes, you knew she felt it too. Neither of you were standing in that diner anymore. You were back at the house. 

 Seven Years Ago

Your legs ached, your muscles screaming from being strapped down for so long. But you couldn’t stop. If you stopped, she’d catch you. 

“We have to go back for her!” Amanda sobbed. You were practically dragging her down the hall, fingers clamped around her wrist. Your other arm was pressed against your bleeding stomach like you could keep your insides from spilling out. With the amount of blood gushing from the wound, your vision was turning black around the edges. And still, you pulled Amanda along behind you as you kept running. 

“Stop it! Stop!” Amanda fought your iron grip. “We have to go back for her! Ashley! Ashley!” Her screams for her sister went unanswered. 

“Ashley’s dead.” You blurted. Amanda pretended not to hear you. 

“Ashley! Ashley!” A figure appeared at the end of the hall. 

“Get back here!” Dr. Krychek shrieked. 

“Fuck.” You muttered, yanking Amanda through the door. She kicked and she screamed, but you didn’t care. You were getting out. 

Present Day

“Y/N?” Amanda gasped. “Jesus, I thought you might be-”

“Dead?” You laughed humorlessly. You stepped towards her. “Nuts? Yes. But very much alive.” 

You waited for her to yell. To slap you and to order you out of the restaurant. You weren’t prepared for her to fling her arms around you and cry happily into your shoulder. 

“I thought I would never see you again.” She cried. “And after everything I said at the courthouse… I’m so glad you came home.” 

Still shocked by the rush of affection, you hesitantly returned her hug. The last time you saw Amanda, she clawed your face and called you a murderer. She had to be pried off you by courthouse security. They said she wasn’t thinking straight because of the trial, but she was the only one who knew the truth. Dr. Krychek didn’t kill her sister. You did.

-

Back at the motel, Tom was getting anxious. Your ten minute coffee run had turned into an hour. His call to your cell went unanswered, sending an icy panic through his veins. If you were alone for too long, you could have one of your episodes, with or without those damn pills. 

“She’s abandoned you, Tommy boy. Left you all alone with me.”

Tom ignored him and called again. 

“Come on, you’re not really worried about her. You’re worried that, without her, you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

Tom quickly downed a handful of his pills and continued to ignore the voice. Leaving one more unanswered call, Tom decided enough was enough. He put on some jeans and his sweatshirt and grabbed the keys to his jeep. 

“I’ll be back, Tom. You know I will.”

Tom took a deep breath and started the car. He didn’t make it far before he saw the glare of red and blue lights. Again, the freezing hand of panic seized his heart. No, no, no. He slammed on the breaks, leaving the jeep in the middle of the street to investigate. 

The yard was teeming with police and paramedics. They had been called too late, judging by the body being loaded into the ambulance. 

“Poor woman.” One of the neighbors. “Emily was supposed to play cards this weekend… poor woman.”

He couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t you. 

“What happened?” He wondered genuinely. The woman shrugged. 

“The gardener found her. All cut up on her kitchen floor.” She shook her head. “It’s like the Krychek killings all over again.” She mused before walking over to a group of other neighbors. Tom observed the scene for another minute or two before returning to his jeep. 

He found you walking down main street with another woman. You were smiling. 

Tom quickly pulled over and caught up to you. You noticed the worry on his face before he threw his arms around you. In catching up with Amanda, you had forgotten he was waiting for you. 

“You didn’t answer your phone and when I saw those cops I-” He took a deep breath to calm himself down. “Paranoid, I know.”

“Tom, I’m so sorry.” You pulled back and placed an apologetic kiss on his cheek. “We got to talking and I didn’t even think about how worried you would be.” His eyes darted between you and Amanda. 

“Oh, how rude of me. I’m Amanda. Y/N and I were friends when we were kids.” She held out her hand to shake his and he took it, eyes narrowed slightly. She just kept smiling. 

“It’s okay, Mandy. He knows.” You could tell that she had this part rehearsed well, but there was no need to pretend with Tom. She visibly relaxed. He gave her a small smile. 

“Tom Hanniger.” Her expression was quizzical, as if she was trying to place the name. Tom clarified. “That Hanniger.”

You forgot that you weren't too far from Tom’s hometown. The news of the mine collapse and the Harry Warden murderers spread all over the state. Even after nine years, she recognized the name. 

You recalled something strange Tom had mentioned. 

“What were you saying about the police?” You asked. His expression darkened. 

“They found a body.” His lips formed a grim line. There was something else. 

“What?” You urged. You never hid anything from each other. He let out a heavy sigh. 

“I heard someone say…” He trailed off, reluctant to share in fear of scaring the two of you. You and Amanda watched him expectantly. “They said it was like a Krychek killing.” 

Amanda gasped, but you didn’t make a sound. It was like a light in your eyes just switched off. This is what he was afraid of. 

“Baby, hey, look at me. Y/N, look at me.” He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb lightly tracing your trembling lip. 

“W-what’s wrong with her?” Amanda squeaked. 

“Y/N, I'm right here. You’re right here.” He slipped his hand in between the two of you, resting it over your blouse where he knew the scar was. After a moment, his touch brought you back. You blinked and the light flipped back on. 

“Tom?” You whispered. He enveloped you in his embrace. 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He swayed slightly, rocking you in his protective arms. Amanda gave the couple a small smile. 

“I’d better get back to work.” She sighed. Her eyes brightened with an idea. “Come to dinner tonight. Matt and I would love to have you.”

You parted from Tom to give her a nod. She excitedly walked back to the diner, leaving the two of you behind. 

“She seems… well adjusted.” Tom noted, leading you to the jeep. 

“She certainly coped better than I did.” You scoffed, repeating your statement from the previous night. Still feeling the aftermath of your attack, you pulled out your pills and dumped them into your hand. Shake. Shake. Shake. With a heavy sigh, you looked at the town you once called home. “God, it’s like nothing’s changed.”

“One thing has.” Tom put his hand on top of yours. “You’re not alone anymore.” Your lips turned up in a loving smile. With a sweet kiss Tom started the car.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado

#my bloody valentine #jensen ackles x reader #not dean #but kinda dean #tom hanniger x reader #halloween #horror #slasher #there will be blood #lots of blood

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

How Kurt Cobain

PART TWENTY-SEVEN OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: drinking, anxiety about future, plentiful pop culture references, this is the product of intense writer’s block so who knows its quality honestly 

Word Count: 4.3K

Summary: Ella takes a morning walk through Philly. Then, she takes Jess to Lane’s wedding.

Tangled beneath the sheets, Ella awoke with the sunlight streaming through Jess’s window and into her closed eyes. She squinted as she cleared her throat and shifted to find Jess’s side of the bed empty. Furrowing her brows, she raked a hand through her messy hair and sat up against the green wall, Nietzche’s eyes looking over her almost comically. Still, she found no Jess in the room, though the door was slightly ajar. The smell of coffee drifted in from the kitchen. She worried frantically if she had missed her interview with the Dean.

“Jess?” she called.

After only a moment, he waltzed in with the paper in one hand and a mug in the other. He smirked when he saw the scowl on her face. Yet another thing he could count on never changing. Ella Stevens was not a morning person. “Yeah?”

“What the hell? Why didn’t you wake me?” she demanded, rubbing at her eyes with both hands.

Jess snickered. “Like it’s so easy. I tried. You told me to fuck off.”

“I did not.”

“Oh, but you did. Twice.”

Groaning slightly, she shook her head at herself. “Sorry.”

“No problem. I’m used to the colorful vocabulary by now,” he shrugged, taking a long sip of his black coffee.

She rushed over to her bag, convinced of her tardiness.

“Woah, where’s the fire?” Jess asked.

“What time is it?”

“Relax. It’s only nine. Your interview isn’t until eleven, right?’ he asked, smug smirk ever-present.

Blowing out a small breath, she nodded. “Yeah. Jesus. I thought it was noon.”

“Why?”

“That’s usually how late I sleep when I forget to set an alarm,” she said, running her fingers through her hair again.

He chuckled. “Well, you’ve got a while. I had to get up to let the poet guy in. There’s donuts in the kitchen. Campus is only a few blocks away. I can walk you there later, if you want.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she tried to fight the smile which threatened to cross her face. “I don’t need an escort, Mariano.”

“Oh, right. I forgot you know exactly how to get there from here,” he said, feigning understanding.

She rolled her eyes. “I brought a map.”

“That’s cute,” he teased.

“Fuck you.”

“It’s not the twentieth century anymore. Just let me walk you, Stevens.”

“Okay, fine,” she conceded, finally letting herself break into a little grin.

.   .   .

Cloudy light shone through the overcast sky in gray tones, but the air was light. Philadelphia was not due for rain. Ella breathed in the city as they strolled down the sidewalk. It was a little grimy, but so alive. The pulse of the noise and the people made her feel excited, inspired. She would have to draw something of it as soon as she got a moment. Jess had his hands shoved in his pockets, stealing occasional glances at Ella. He saw the same wonder in her eyes that he had when she’d come to visit him in New York all those years ago. A pleasant warmth radiated throughout him, and for just a little while he stopped wondering where they stood with each other, what would happen, about the words they still needed to speak.

She fiddled with the thin strap of her watch as she walked along. “Do you like Philly better than New York?”

He perked his head up as she suddenly broke the silence between them. “Oh yeah. Less people. Better art scene.”

“Really?”

“Definitely. And it also helps that my mom doesn’t live here.”

“Ah,” Ella replied knowingly, nodding slightly. “So, you guys haven’t talked much since the wedding, I take it?”

“Every now and again,” he shrugged.

They turned down a road lined with coffee shops and bookstores. Ella could tell it was a backwards way of getting to campus, but expected nothing less of Jess. It made her want to smile. The more she saw of the city, the more she could tell he belonged. Finally, he had a place where he fit.

“She did call me when April showed up, though,” Jess continued casually.

Ella uttered a small laugh. “Yeah. That was...straight outta left field. She’s a good kid, though. Can recite the whole periodic table in like sixty seconds. She kinda reminds me of my brother.”

“Adam?” Jess asked.

Ella nodded, the warm breeze blowing her bangs back from her face. Her hair was in a low bun, and she was dressed in the same clothes as the day before. Most of her wardrobe wasn’t the most professional. And straight-laced clothes, she thought, were an important balance for her visible tattoos.

“How’s he doin’?”

She shrugged, smiling lightly. “He’s good. Almost done with his junior year. He’s applying to all those big schools. MIT is his top choice, I think.”

“Jeez. Another valedictorian in the family?”

“Maybe. He might get a full ride, especially since…” she paused, biting at the inside of her cheek. Looking over at Jess, she saw his curious expression. He seemed more open than he ever had, comfortable in his own skin. When she continued, her tone was firmer, more direct. “Well, my dad left to live with my uncle in Baltimore a few months ago. It’s just Adam and Fiona back in the house. He’ll get lots of financial aid points for having a single step-parent.”

“Oh, that’s…”

“Yeah. But, I think everyone’s better off,” she said, averting her gaze from him. Again, Jess thought he saw her try and grab for a necklace, but instead she reached up to tug gently at one of her small earrings. “Once the baby thing didn’t work out with Fiona, my dad started drinking more and...I think he realized he’d never...losing my mom. He’s never gonna be the same. Adam’s doing well, though. And Fiona’s doing better. It’s better.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, appraising her with a careful eye. “I’m glad, then.”

“Me too.” She cast him a tiny, reassured smile. “Sorry. That’s heavy stuff and it’s not even afternoon.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry over,” he replied.

Rushing over a crowded crosswalk as the seconds blinked off the timer, Jess took her hand to lead her. She wouldn’t be late, but he could tell she was anxious to get where she needed to be. “We’re almost there.”

He thought for a moment about disentangling their fingers, but she gave his hand a squeeze instead. His heart glowed with nostalgia and hope. The noise around them seemed like music. Cherry trees, which dotted campus, were blooming and they stepped over the petals beneath their feet. Hardly thinking, Jess ran a thumb over the smooth skin of the back of her hand. Her smile grew.

They were approaching the brick building which held the dean of the art school’s office. Students whizzed past them with backpacks and frantic looks. A sense of surrealism dawned on Ella. She was going to end up at an Ivy League, after all. Just a little later than she had once hoped she would. The air smelled clean and damp with spring.

“So,” Jess began, coming to a stop a few feet from the walkway which led to the double doors, “after this, you’re all set?”

“Guess so,” she said, slightly breathless with the moment.

He hummed, looking around him. “Y’know, this morning, I was thinking-”

“That’s a bad sign,” Ella interjected.

Jess rolled his eyes. “Age has not helped your stand-up material, Stevens.”

“I disagree,” she said shortly. “Please, continue.”

He sighed heavily, separating their fingers and running a hand over his mouth. “Well, you don’t have a place to live here yet, right?”

“Not yet.”

“I was thinking maybe you’d want to come live with us. Above Truncheon,” he said, spitting out the words as fast as he could.

Ella’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really?”

Jess nodded shyly. “My bed’s big enough. And I don’t have that much stuff; there’s room for you. Chris already loves you. I’m sure Matthew wouldn’t mind either. And your sketches are down in the main room anyway. We could put a price on them and...only if you want to. I know it’s a lot to process, so you don’t need to answer right now or anything.”

Her eyes were calculating as she gathered her thoughts. “Just so I’m clear...you want us to get back together. And you want us to live together in your apartment. With Matthew and Chris. Above Truncheon.”

“Yes,” Jess confirmed, tone growing more confident, though his heart was beating painfully against his ribs.

“Are you sure? I mean...we haven’t seen each other in two years. Maybe time has corrupted me,” she said, voice serious despite her weak joke.

Again, he sighed. “I think we were both pretty corrupted to begin with-”

“How Kurt Cobain of you.”

“And I don’t care how long it’s been. We’ve got a lot to make up for. I feel like I’ve been waiting for you forever. And I’m tired of waiting. I’m ready to try again. Really try, this time. But only if you are. Only if you want this too,” he said.

A familiar nausea rose in his throat, and his hands began to shake. The only other time he’d taken such a leap of faith, it hadn’t gone over well. But everything was different. He was settled, with a steady income. She had graduated, and was finally embracing her dreams. His foolish hope persisted, even still. When he’d woken up next to her again, in a bed which he’d bought himself, and eaten breakfast with her, read morning papers with her, he could think of nothing he wanted more. Communication, he reminded himself. Open and honest communication. Even if he still wanted to roll his eyes at just the thought of Luke’s self-help nonsense.

“And,” he continued, when she hadn’t said a word, was only turning thoughts over in her head silently, “you don’t have to say anything now. I...dammit. I should’ve done this after your interview. I just got caught up after yesterday and this morning. I wasn’t sure if I’d see you later and...I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’m sorry. Really, you don’t have to say anything-”

“Jess,” she interrupted, finally locking eyes with him again. “Just shut up for a second.”

“Okay.”

After chewing on her thumb nail for a moment, she blew a breath out through her nose with finality. “Can I get cactuses again? There was no place for them at Lane’s. And, Jesus, you guys have got to organize your living room. I mean, the kitchen and your bedroom are okay. But I have no idea how you guys even find anything. The piles of paperwork on the table are, like, seven feet high.”

A slow grin formed on Jess’s face, and the worry began to clear from his brown eyes. “You can do whatever you want, Stevens.”

“Truer words never spoken,” she agreed earnestly. “You better make room for my fucking records then, too. They’ve been living in my car for way too long.”

Jess chuckled, nodding slightly. His eyes lingered on her lips. “I was thinking about kissing you, just now. Is that okay?”

Ella thought her heart would melt at his words. “Go for it, Mariano.”

Jess brought his hands to her waist and kissed her. For the first time in years. Ella smiled into it, pressed against him. It tasted sugary-sweet, from the donuts they’d eaten. Her fingers tangled into his hair, longer and less greasy than she remembered. But it felt much the same. A tingly joy began in her stomach and then spread throughout her body, new and old and welcome and perfect.

.   .   .

Of all the people not to be at Lane’s wedding, Ella did not expect Luke to miss it. For some reason, he was still out of town for April’s field trip. Not that it was any of her business, but she couldn’t help be slightly irritated at his absence. However, she wasn’t entirely alone. Though Lane and the other people in her life weren’t exactly sold on him, Ella had taken a shot in the dark and invited Jess. At Mrs. Kim’s millionth reference to her loneliness, her lack of a date, Ella had finally let it slip to Lane. She had seen Jess again. They were talking on the phone every single night. She was set to move in with him in a week. And, soon, she was calling him up. Hearing the surprised tone of his voice, his apprehension to come back to town. But, honestly, he’d caved a little quicker than she thought he would. All it had taken was her offering to try Hemingway again. And Kerouac. She knew she was going to absolutely loathe the latter, but it would be worth it.

As the ceremony ended, most of Lane’s family, including her mother, left the gathering in town square. None of them were eager to party with the townies. Kirk revealed the white food truck parked on the street opposite the gazebo to actually be the bar. He was exploring business ownership, and Yummy Bartenders was his most recent endeavor. Lorelai, without Luke and somehow having ended up with Rory’s father, Christopher, as her date, flocked straight to the alcohol. It made Ella snort a laugh, but inside, it made her heart ache. Luke and Lorelai had taken so long to get together. And now, things were headed nowhere good. A hot, dry sunlight shone down on them in yellow tones, and soon the sky would darken. Everyone’s mood had changed as soon as they left the church. Lorelai ripped off the bottom half of Lane’s dress, revealing her calves joyfully. Standing beside Ella, Rory let out a hoot of excitement and rushed over to the new bride. Snickering, Ella took the long pin from her low bun and let her blonde waves loose down her back.

Jess tucked her hair behind her ear gently as they both took a moment to breathe. The church had been stuffy and hot, filled to the brim with people. The air was no cooler, but at least there was a wide open space to mingle in. Grabbing his hand, Ella ventured a glance at Jess. As soon as his rusty Ambassador had rolled into town three hours earlier, she could sense how anxious he was. Maybe just being in Stars Hollow made him uncomfortable, or maybe it gave him too many flashbacks to his own mother’s wedding.

“You okay? I have the key to the diner, if you wanna go. I called Luke earlier and he said we could stay in the apartment. I’ll be up there later,” she said, tone apologetic.

Jess shook his head. “No. I’m fine. Just don’t know where we should sit.”

“Next to Miss Patty?” she asked. The dance teacher had noticed her across the way, and Ella waved back at her.

“She’ll eat me alive,” Jess sighed. “What about with Rory and Lorelai?”

Narrowing her eyes, Ella considered it. Then, she bit the inside of her cheek for a moment. “I don’t know. I haven’t been so close with them recently. And I don’t know if I wanna get in the middle of the happy family back together.”

“Fair enough,” Jess agreed. “Alright. Miss Patty and Babette, then. But I’m counting on your protection.”

Her grin grew wicked. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m your knight in shining polyester.”

.   .   .

Hep Alien was on fire, despite the wasted state of every single band member. Balmy breezes blew and Ella’s flushed skin was finally beginning to cool down. The night was dark and the sky clear. Every so often, her eyes flicked to Rory, Lorelai, and Christopher’s table. Sookie and Jackson had been sitting with them, but they had long since left. Without Ella to babysit the kids, they’d had to hire a new girl. Jackson could barely handle the nerves at a random high-schooler watching his babies. Ella twirled her rings nervously on her fingers, while Patty, Babette, and Maury chain-smoked across the centerpiece floral arrangement. Jess, at her side, had his arm around her shoulder. He stroked her upper arm absently.

He raised an eyebrow and followed her gaze to Rory. “What’s with you?”

“Hm?” she asked, blinking the reverie from her eyes. Facing him again, Ella was struck by how much more mature he looked. Back in Stars Hollow, but as a man with a publishing business and a decently neat bedroom of his own. Despite the uneasiness brewing in her stomach, she also felt pride appear. It didn’t shock her where he ended up. But it still made her feel such joy to see him successful and content.

Jess nodded in the direction of the Gilmores, three tables over. “Did something happen between you guys? Is it why you weren’t a bridesmaid?”

Ella shook her head. “No. I wasn’t a bridesmaid because Mrs. Kim hates me with the fire of a thousand suns. I mean, my outfit alone is probably enough for her to condemn me.”

Giving Ella a once-over, Jess smirked wider. Her camisole dress was black, with small pink flowers embroidered on it. It had thin spaghetti straps and fell above her knees. Of course, there were no heels on her shoes, black leather ballet flats. The ensemble was so very Ella, along with her dark eye makeup. And, it was true, Mrs. Kim was not a fan of anything which could be described as ‘so very Ella.’

“It does give off a certain Beetlejuice vibe,” Jess agreed.

“The best compliment you’ve ever given me,” she said lightly, then turned back to the crowd of wedding-goers. “But...I don’t know. Rory slept with Dean when he was married and then took a year off from Yale and stole a boat.”

“What?” Jess chirped, almost choking on the watery soda he sipped. He’d debated going to the bar, but decided against it. Best not to get drunk in the town where everyone hated you. Especially when your long lost girlfriend didn’t drink anyway.

A certain sadness came to Ella’s smile, shrinking slightly. She tugged at her earring. “Yeah. And she was fighting with Lorelai forever. They weren’t talking. I’m also pretty sure the guy Rory’s dating now is some trust fund kid from Yale with a porsche.”

“Ugh,” Jess grimaced, unable to hold back his distaste.

“We’re just...different. We grew up. Went in different directions. I mean...Lane and Rory are still best friends. I was friendly with her at a bachelorette party last night. But it’s weird now. I can’t...I don’t really know her anymore, I guess.”

Jess nodded.

She shrugged again, deflective. “I still love Lorelai. But I haven’t seen her much lately, since Luke didn’t want her to meet April, which is a whole different beast. Things...changed. But, hey, maybe I changed too.”

“You did,” Jess said. “But not in a bad way.”

She scoffed, gently plucking at the collar of his white button-up. He wore with it black pants, completing their gothic look when they stood together. Ella knew, though, that both of their outfits came cheap and basic. That’s why they had them. Of course, he still refused to wear a tie of any kind. “You too. Still a jackass, though.”

“Glad you see me in such a positive light.”

“But, in an arguing-with-me-about-Kerouac kind of way. Not in a gnome-stealing, running-off-to-California kind of way,” she explained, feeling goosebumps rise on her pale skin where his fingertips still brushed against her arm.

As much as Jess lived in his words, touch had always been such a major form of communication with him. Older and able to judge it more easily, Ella could see it. It calmed him down, made him feel safe. She could understand that. It was what happened when someone grew up in a place where they were often touched in anger.

“Well, the Kerouac defense will never change. He’s a genius,” Jess insisted mockingly.

Ella rolled her eyes, leaning back against him. “You’re impossible.”

“Right back at ya.”

The band began one of their familiar White Stripes covers. Ella couldn’t count how many times she’d heard it over the years, during nightly practice. It was so odd to see Lane in a wedding dress, all grown up. A nostalgic smile ghosted over her lips and she sighed. Neither she nor Jess said a word for a long while, comfortable in each other’s grasp. June crickets and cicadas sung, mixing with the sound of Zach’s vocals. Patty and Babette laughed heartily at something across the table. The air smelled of cigarettes and beer and summer-cut grass. Soon, the song faded away and Zach played the opening chords to something different, something Ella hadn’t heard him play in a long time. “Sweet Thing” by Van Morrison, a cover they’d attempted after Ella moved in, when she’d let Lane hear one of her Jeff Buckley live albums, on which he did his own cover of the song. She broke into a full grin. It was the perfect song for a late-night wedding reception, romantic and long and calm.

Jess seemed to notice her brightening up at the tune, as he sat up and faced her with a mysterious smile. “You wanna dance?”

She snorted a disbelieving chuckle. “Excuse me?”

“Do you wanna dance? I know you like this song.”

Ella raised her eyebrows. “Liking the song is one thing. Subjecting everyone to the horrifying visual of my dance moves is another.”

He rolled his eyes, standing up and extending a hand to her. “So dramatic. It’s a slow song. And we didn’t dance at Liz and TJ’s wedding. Making up for lost time.”

“Fine,” she sighed, taking his hand, and letting him pull her up. “But it’s your funeral.”

“I like to live dangerously,” Jess said, leading her to the dance floor.

“Whatever, James Dean.”

Before they were out of range, Miss Patty blew a stream of bluish smoke in their direction and gave a bark of haughty laughter. “I’d watch out for her, young man. Have you heard about the domino incident of 1992? Ella made the Gazette. Her talents run more towards the musical.”

His smirk grew. “I’ve been warned.”

They passed Lorelai on the way, lingering by the bar and sipping her Manhattan. Tumbler filled with cherries, sugar on the rim. The sight almost made Ella want to chuckle, almost grimace. The drink looked as sweet as cotton candy, but she would expect nothing less of a Gilmore woman. More than half of the sleepovers she’d had with Rory involved a midnight raid of the kitchen. S’mores pop tarts were one of Ella’s personal favorites. Lorelai reached out an arm to stop them, wavering drunkenly on her feet.

“Ugh, I can’t believe Sid Vicious is back,” she slurred to Ella, pointing at Jess angrily.

With Lorelai so close to her face, Ella could smell the tequila on her breath. “I told you before. He’s got more of a Richard Hell vibe, in my opinion.”

Jess blushed, but said nothing. He only tightened his grip on Ella’s hand.

“Your uncle is out of town,” Lorelai continued, facing Jess.

“That he is,” Jess said shortly. Time had passed, but it was clear Lorelai still wasn’t quite over her contempt for him. Though, he could definitely recognize what an asshole he’d been as a teenager.

Lorelai laughed bitterly. “He’s with his daughter. Who Ella’s met and you’ve met and Rory’s met. And I haven’t met!”

Searching her head for a careful response, Ella was utterly relieved when Rory came up from behind her mother.

“Hey, mom, let’s get some coffee for you, why don’t we?” Rory asked, voice bouncy and nervous.

“You got her?” Ella raised her eyebrows at Rory as she took her mother by the shoulders and began steering her away.

“Oh, I guess we’re going over here now,” Lorelai muttered in drunken surprise.

“Yeah, go have fun,” Rory answered with a little wink, disappearing into the crowd with her mother, headed for the table where her father and some steaming coffee sat.

Blowing out a long breath, Jess shook his head. “I take it that she and Luke aren’t seeing eye to eye.”

“Understatement of the year,” Ella scoffed. “No matter where she and Luke are though, I think you’ll always be a portrait of Sid Vicious to her.”

“Not even with the haircut?” he asked as they made it to the edge of the wooden dance floor.

“Not even with the haircut,” she replied with a smug smirk.

With a heavy breath, Ella placed her hands on the back of Jess’s neck as he brought his hands to her waist. She felt glad Hep Alien’s version of the song was nearly ten minutes long; it would have nearly been over after Patty’s warning and Lorelai’s ramblings if not.

“Don’t worry, Elle. Just follow my lead,” Jess said quietly, beginning to sway side to side, taking small steps.

“Shut up, I’m focusing,” she hissed, watching her feet.

He chuckled slightly. “Relax. Just look at me.”

Sighing again, Ella managed to drag her gaze away from her shoes and up to Jess’s big brown eyes.

“Hi,” he whispered, smiling fondly.

“Hi,” she replied, feeling the anxiety in her stomach lessen slightly. “Deja-vu, huh?”

“Maybe a little,” he said, shrugging. “But I’d say things are looking a little sunnier now.”

“Still finding those silver linings.” Ella gave him an affectionate peck on the lips.

Why was she nervous?, she asked herself. She didn’t need to be. Maybe it was the future creeping up on her, or her exit from the only place she had ever lived only a week away. But, as she looked at Jess, she felt her heartbeat slow. And her lips even turned up a touch at the corners. Where she was going, he’d be.

#jess mariano fanfiction #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano #jess #mariano #gilmore girls fanfiction #gilmore girls imagines #gilmore girls imagine #gilmore girls au #jess mariano au #lane kim #lorelai gilmore #rory gilmore #jess mariano x oc #jess mariano x original character #original character #original character stories #fanfiction

[angelaiswriting]

Good Luck | Tommy Shelby x Romani!fem!reader

[Photo by Andreea Ch from Pexels]

✏️ Pairing: kind of platonic Tommy Shelby x Romani!fem!reader

✏️ Summary: Sabini thinks he’s smart, but she’s smarter. All Tommy needs to do when the Italian kidnaps her is wish him good luck. (Requested by @kind-wolf)

✏️ A/N: I’m trying to work on a writing schedule that could fit me and my uni life, so hopefully I’ll be back with content soon!

✏️ Beta-read by @sweetvengeancee

✏️ Warnings: none I can think of

✏️ Word-count: 3,620

It’s almost comical, the horrified look on Polly’s face as Tommy absentmindedly listens to what Darby Sabini in person is telling him on the phone. She’s standing there, as still as a statue in the frame of the door of his office, right hand covering her mouth and left hand clutching onto her right wrist for dear life.

So un-Polly-like, Tommy thinks as he tries his hardest not to chuckle.

She has a slightly-more-than vague idea in her mind and the thought is fleshing out before her eyes as she torments herself about Y/N’s possible conditions. She’s heard enough – she’s probably heard more than Sabini would like to know, but this is still Polly and she has her ways.

“The situation doesn’t look as golden anymore, Mr Shelby.” Sabini’s voice is unctuous and even through the phone, Tommy can see that smirk tugging the left corner of his lips upward.

He’s proud of that – Sabini. He’s proud his men managed to get their hands on one of the most important friends the Shelbys have – or so they think. He can now use her however he pleases, can send threats to the Peaky Blinders and exploit her to do it.

“Oh, about this, you’re right.” Tommy is smirking, too, but for a completely different reason than the one currently boiling and fluttering inside Sabini’s twisted mind.

Y/N is a wild horse – free and uncontrolled and untamed. Reckless, more reckless than the other gipsies back at her camp would like her to be. She stands her ground, bares her teeth, hisses with the same fearless energy of a stray cat cornered against the wall of a house.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.” He’s slow, unhurried, and Polly is horrified by it. She’s seen Y/N grow up, she’s seen her blossom from stray kid into tempestuous woman, and the last thing she wants is for that girl to end up in danger’s claws – or to be the dangerous claws that could fuck them all up. “I’m going to hang up the phone,” and he exhales smoke from his mouth as the cigarette dances between his fingers, “and give you one day, two at most.” His voice is rough, beaten by cigarettes and alcohol as he stretches his legs under his desk. “More than enough to realise the extents of your mistake. When she’s done, we will meet and discuss whatever topic you’re trying to use her to threaten me for. I’m sure my brothers will enjoy hearing it straight out of your rotten mouth.”

Sabini doesn’t have time to answer: true to his word, Tommy cuts the call to its end.

Polly is silent – for now. He sees the storm raging behind her eyes, sees the frown on her face, even the set line of her lips when she lets her arms fall to her sides. She’s desperate to yell at him what kind of a dick he is, but she’s refraining herself from doing it. It’s already as bad as it is that someone like her is in Sabini’s basement possibly getting beaten up for intel she doesn’t have; she doesn’t want to add more petrol to the fire.

“Yes, Pol?” Tommy is relaxed against the seatback of his chair and as peacefully as ever, he’s finishing his cigarette. In his mind, he’s thinking about the evening slowly approaching and the meeting he’ll hold at The Garrison to inform his brothers about the new turn of events.

She’s stern, as stern as she had been that day many years ago when he had been seven and had come home from the market with stolen apples in his pockets. She’s the stern mother he’s never had, but it doesn’t bother him – he doesn’t fear her, not for this. “You could have done something.”

And Johnny, too, he scolds himself. He has to inform someone from the Lee camp about the reason why Y/N is missing and Dogs is the only one he doesn’t have some sort of trouble going on with.

“I did something.”

Sure, he will probably have to face Zilpha again, tell her that the Shelbys and the Lees are facing yet another obstacle, but that there’s no need to reopen the wound John’s wedding to Esme has closed. Zilpha will spit in his face, of that much he’s sure, but she won’t curse him – she knows Y/N just as well as he does, probably even better. Both of them know she is more than capable of keeping herself safe.

“Leave her in that bastard’s hands? Is this your grand plan?” Polly is dismayed. Her shoulders hang lower, almost heavied down by Tommy’s stupidity, and her eyes are open wide as incredulity slowly paints a thick layer on the canvas of her face. “Are you insane?”

It’s a luck Ada isn’t present – this is what both of them are thinking. Tommy considers not telling her about tonight’s meeting at the pub, Polly contemplates not meeting up with her and Karl the following day. Both of them wish she’d just leave for a day or two – or seven, enough for them all to fix the situation before she’s back so that they can never speak about it again.

“She’s more than capable of getting out of this situation on her own,” he replies, voice flat and steady as he reaches out for the bottle of whiskey standing forgotten on his desk. “She’ll be back before we even know she’s escaped.”

He doesn’t say her name and while Polly wants to fight him on this, wants to force him to pronounce it, she keeps her tongue between gritted teeth.

“You will lead us all to our demise, Thomas Shelby.” It’s a stab to his stomach, that full name of his coming out of his aunt’s angry mouth, but it doesn’t sting as much as it used to before the war. He’s been desensitised to it and now it’s just an inconvenience he can almost completely ignore. “You wouldn’t be doing this if you had listened to me ten years ago.”

She’s referring to the past prospect of a union between him and Y/N. Again. Tommy hates it when Pol goes back there, hates the fact that he didn’t want her back then but does want her now – now that he can’t have her.

“That’s dead and gone, Pol.” His voice remains as flat as before, but there’s now a hint of annoyance lingering on the tip of his tongue that makes Polly square her shoulders as she stares at her gone-mad nephew. “And even if she were my wife now, this would still be my reaction.”

No, it wouldn’t. Polly doesn’t say it out loud, but both of them feel those three words pricking the skin of their faces. Tommy would be angrier, for starters – angrier and thirstier for blood.

“She can’t be tamed,” he says, putting out the cigarette in the glass ashtray with a little more harsh strength than he intended to. “You know this. I know this. Everybody in this fucking town knows it. Zilpha and the clan will understand and when she’s back, this will all be forgotten.”

*

Polly doesn’t forgive him. She also never forgets, so Tommy will probably still feel the consequences of his reaction ten years from now – just like the turned-down marriage proposal that soured the shared soil under his family and the Lees’ feet.

Zilpha won’t forgive him, either, he’s sure of this.

The late-September sun shines palely behind the thin clouds blocking out the blue of the sky. It’s an unforgiving sky – as unforgiving as the women in-between which he’s standing and as unforgiving as the cutting breeze sending shiver after shiver down his spine.

He’s glad Johnny Dogs is there, too, or as glad as he could be when his best friend is selling Y/N off to his god-son. That’s his one and only possibility of making Zilpha come back to her senses if things were to go downhill. Again.

He would have loved to have Esme to wait in the car, just so that in case of need and emergency, she’d be by his side as the new addition to the Shelby family she is, to help him calm the waters back down to a state of placid tranquillity. She’s not there, though – she won’t be standing in the eye of the storm when gipsy blood and curses will be spilt. She knows all too well not to go against her own people.

“If I understand this correctly,” the Lee matriarch starts, voice measured and eyes squinting through the fog of anger clouding her sight, “you chose to do nothing.” There’s a sense of condemnation to her words as they bite the air between them like rabid dogs tied to a much-too-short chain.

She’s holding back – and even Polly is holding her breath, next to him.

“You chose to leave a member of my family in your enemy’s hands to prove what? Your untouchability?”

“Tommy knows what he’s doing.” It’s weird to have his aunt on his side after the twelve hours she’s spent avoiding him like the plague. But it’s also comforting to know that, after all, she still has his back.

Even though Tommy needs no one to speak for him.

“I wouldn’t have gone for it if I weren’t completely sure Y/N would manage to muddle through it.” He’s staring straight into the snake’s eyes and he’s hoping it won’t bite him back in the ass.

Zilpha is calm – or so she poses. There’s turmoil boiling in her veins like acid and he can see traces of it in the steely gaze of her eyes. There’s no denying it’s scaring him – not enough to truly be afraid, but definitely more than he’d like to admit.

He’s walking on a fine thread, not on thin ice. This is way more dangerous than crossing the freshly-frozen river at the shy beginnings of winter. He can sense the void under his feet, can feel the knotting in his stomach churning him alive – and everything is giving him vertigo.

Fuck Sabini and fuck his men. Fuck Solomons, too. Fuck London and fuck rum, fuck cocaine, fuck expanding his business. Tommy wants to go back to horses and races, to fixing them, to strolling through the doors of a pub he doesn’t legally own yet.

Fuck Y/N, too – and not in the way he’d like to help her with.

Fuck Pol, who doesn’t want to fully stand by his side, and fuck Ada, who’s given him the headache of a lifetime just this morning, when she learnt of the news.

Fuck Arthur for being by his side and fuck Johnny for the man he proposed to Y/N with.

Fuck everything and anything, and fuck himself for putting himself through this.

Avoidable. That’s the one word he doesn’t like, not at this moment, and that’s the word he so stupidly decided to avoid. But if there’s one thing he wants to avoid the most right now, that’s the possibility of fucking his expansion up in a whim.

“If anything happens to her, Esme won’t be able to save you all.”

She’s closer now, Zilpha, standing toe-to-toe with him like the fearless chief she is. Unafraid and unable to be scared. Unbending. Dominating, with those dark eyes and straight posture of hers. She doesn’t care about who he is nor about who the Peaky Blinders are – she doesn’t give a single fuck. She only wants her daughter-like girl back in one piece and she’s going to fight like a lioness to make that happen.

“There will be no need for Esme to save anybody.” Or so Tommy hopes. He’s more than capable to save himself but he doesn’t want to have to protect his clan from two fronts – the Lees on the left and Sabini on the right, both slowly closing in on him to take him down.

“There better not be.”

*

On the early afternoon of the fourth day, Tommy gets word that Y/N has left London thirteen hours before. He doesn’t divulge it – he knows better than to trust rumours just as he knows better than to make known something of this reach. Ada would cause a scene and as a reaction, Polly would probably do the same; Zilpha would be sucking the blood from his neck and he’d have to deal with more trouble than he likes to take on.

So, he resolves on waiting – and the wait is excruciating. It seems to burn the outer layer of his skin as he sits around his office first and The Garrison later. He drinks, he smokes, he chats with John as though nothing was.

The need for opium slowly crawls its way up his neck, makes him tick like the clock of a bomb ready to go off and he feels as delicate as a bar of dynamite. Handle-with-caution Tommy Shelby sits in the private room at the pub and stares off into the void without seeing Arthur sitting in front of him trying – and failing – to teach Finn how to write his name.

He’s on the brink of the abyss he himself has dug and there’s no stepping away from it, not until she is back – safe and sound and all in one piece, without a single hair missing.

Presumption – that’s his sin. Back on the phone with Sabini, he had been sure she’d be out of his grasp in a matter of hours. It’s been four days. The fear that something – something he gives no name to – might have happened to her has already started to crawl its way to the very base of his mind, munching away pieces of grey matter and neurons and blood vessels. He can almost feel those seeds, fat and heavy inside his skull, pulsing in his temples as though they wanted to bloom into worms of their own.

Maybe he’s thought too high of her – or too low. Maybe he’s miscalculated what she’s capable of. He wished Sabini good-luck with her but he didn’t wish her good-luck with Sabini. Maybe that is the mistake, he reasons. He thought she could do it effortlessly and he got his maths wrong.

But she’s out of London, he has to remind himself. And if she’s out of London, then it means she’s alive.

He finds himself hoping for the rumours he did his best to silence to be true.

She’s on her way to Birmingham and she’ll surely be here come morning. Maybe she’s had a little more trouble than he had estimated her to have, maybe that’s it.

She doesn’t walk through the door of the pub like he thought she would, though. It irks him – it probably annoys him more because he knows he’ll have to face Polly sooner rather than later. His aunt is probably already waiting for him in his living room, nursing some spiked tea as she makes herself at home on his couch.

This is what he thinks about as he walks back home. Each step is heavy, almost as though his shoes were filled with lead. He doesn’t fight it, though: he wants to postpone his return for as long as he can. It’s stupid and childish, but he has better and more pressing things to do than to put up with his aunt’s rebuke. He’s no child anymore. He knows what he does – or so he likes to think.

The entrance of his apartment is nestled in the darkness of the night. He can vaguely make out the greyish light of the moon through the tiny window at the other end of the corridor, but it’s not enough to shed light into the pokey space.

The lack of artificial light is a good sign, though. It means Polly is not there. She’s back home, doing whatever it is that she always does at this hour of the night, but with one more worry than usual today.

It’s a good thing. It’s a great thing. He’ll come up with something to tell her on the dawn of Y/N’s fifth day missing – he’ll have eight more hours to conjure up some lie in waiting of Y/N’s return.

He can put that off a little longer, though. He’s still thirsty, of a thirst that’s not for water nor opium nor pussy. It’s a call for some more whiskey, the bottle he keeps hidden away from his brother Arthur under the sink in the corner of the cramped kitchen-mixed-with-living-room. He’ll grab the alcohol, skip the tumbler and go sit on the old and worn-out couch for five minutes, ten at most. Then, he’ll go to sleep.

It sounds like a plan to him and it’s what keeps him going as he takes off his coat and shoes and abandons them next to the door as he locks it closed.

There’s no need to switch on the lights: he knows his way around his own place. He knows where he’ll find a stray chair, remembers where he’s left the case with the firewood he brought up from the cellar. He also knows how to reach the bottle of whiskey without problems and as he kneels down in front of the cabinet, the dim red light of his burning cigarette is just an added bonus to the wonder his memory is.

But just as he stands back up on his feet, his head slightly dizzier than usual thanks to the drinks he’s had at The Garrison with his brothers and Jeremiah, the light turns on and the bottle almost slips from his grasp. He’s quick to turn around, revolver in his right hand and whiskey in his left, but he’s not quick enough – he’s not as quick as he usually is.

“It was about time you made your appearance, Mr Shelby.” The cackling voice feels as though it’s scratching his eardrums, a nail screeching against a window.

“For fuck’s sake,” is all he manages to mutter as his wrist trembles for a second too long before he can put the gun down on the table. “I could have shot you.” And I’m not sure I would have minded.

“You were free to try. I’m like a cat, I have nine lives, so you would have had to be careful. I would have bitten your ass.”

“What took you so long?”

She doesn’t even move from her spot next to the light switch. A closer look at her and he notices her clean clothes, her clean shoes, even her clean hair. He wonders whether she’s stopped somewhere to get cleaned up, or if the rumours were lies and she left the capital for longer than people said.

“I had never been in London before,” she shrugs, hand still on the switch almost as though she was contemplating turning the lights off again. “I thought I could as well seize the opportunity to see some of it.”

“We were worried,” he groans, “and you were sightseeing?”

“And shopping,” she adds with a smile. “I bought this dress there, if so one could say. And who was worried? You? Zilpha? Pol?” She chuckles at the thought, laughs at the sheer absurdity of her own words. “I sent word to Zilpha three days ago, when I left your Italian friend’s care, and I’m sure she told Polly since we share a past.”

Tommy doesn’t like the look she gives him – accusatory, almost venomous. It’s almost as though he’s fifteen again, when a marriage with her had been brought up for the first time. She hadn’t been as pretty as Greta, that girl he was trying to court at the time, and he had called her a ‘filthy witch’ as he threw the possibility of a union between them straight into the flames of the campfire. At the time, she had been in love with him, Y/N – or maybe it hadn’t been love, maybe it had just been a crush, but he knows he broke her heart that night.

What a turn-around, he thinks, to find himself in the opposite situation he had been in that night. To now stand here, in his house, craving for someone he can’t have, pining for someone who has feelings for someone else. She’s Tommy, chasing her own Greta while he stands there, unable to push her away from the man she now has feelings for.

It has taken them long enough.

“Why didn’t I know?”

“It would have been too easy, eh, Tom?” She winks at him and the grudge for the past disappears into thin air. “You left me there, told your friend ‘Good luck with her’ in your own way… I wanted you to worry about me, at least a little bit.”

He can’t hate her for that, can’t bring himself to, not even when he’s spent the last twenty-four hours with worry churning his stomach, digesting it, even. “Well done, then, you’ve succeeded.”

“So, are you going to offer me a drink for playing you just right or not?”

If the situation were different, he would tell her this was the time he took her against the wall, fucked her arrogance out of her in the only way he knows of, but they aren’t fifteen anymore. Instead, he swallows his pride – that one thing that is trying to push him to teach her a lesson – and points a chair with his forefinger. “Be my guest.”

I apologize to @kind-wolf for the mega-long wait haha wow, I’m terrible.

How was this fic, though? Did you like it? Let me know!

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ask)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892  @mblaqgi​ @becs-bunker

Peaky Blinders: @whimsylavender​ @thethyri​ @friendleyneighbourhoodvillain  @flowers-in-your-hayr @oddsnendsfanfics @medievalfangirl @inforapound @niamhmaria @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy

People that might be interested: @kellydixon01

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #pealy blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby x reader #angelaiswriting

[cottonwren]

Valentines day is for capitalists | A.S.

A/N: Happy Valentine’s, you guys! I’m alone for this one and so are you, probably, if you follow me. Enjoy 2K+ of Ada x Fem!reader

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

"Tommy. I need a car, a reservation at a restaurant, and for you lot to leave me alone for tonight and tomorrow. Think you can do that?" Ada was frantic. Your second Valentine's together and you had outdone her horrifically last year - two things that Ada couldn't stand were being outdone and not being enough, and last 14th Feb had done just that. "Yeah. Course." Tommy nodded from his fag. "What's going on?" Arthur asked, ever oblivious to the current situation. "It's Valentine's day, Arthur, and Ada wants to do something nice for Y/N" The passive aggression in Linda's voice made Bonnie and Michael choke on their tea - they had nowhere to go because Aberama and Polly had gone AWOL.

“Right, that reminds me, uh, what are you doing tonight after Billy boy has gone to bed?” Arthur asked softly, looking at his miracle of a wife - he really didn’t believe that he deserved her sometimes, especially when he forgot every holiday to ever exist.

“Nothing, Arthur. Why do you ask?” Linda asked with a sly smile. She had some things planned, actually, but that would be for later. Much later.

“Can I take you out? To that restaurant you like so much with all the crosses?” He asked, wrapping an arm around her waist gently. Linda nodded with a smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. God, she loved her husband - misguided, rugged, and she wouldn’t have him any other way.

“Right, so if anyone knocks on my door, unless my child is dying, I will not hesitate to hack your heads off. Y/N works long hours and this is the only night she’s been able to get off for fucking forever - I will not have you lot ruining it.” She clarified before going to leave, then as if pulled back by some invisible voice, she retracted her steps to look at Bonnie and Michael “I’m doing the right thing by trusting you two with my baby, aren’t I? If not, let me know, because I will find an alternative. I cannot have it fucked up”

“Karl loves us, it’ll go great! Bon’s gonna tell him stories” Michael told her with a grin, setting Ada on edge. Nothing was more unsettling than his cockiness.

“Right. I’m going to get everything ready. Tommy, I’ll come to collect the car and the name of the restaurant later. A good one, please” Ada told him, though she knew that, as always, Tommy would go above and beyond for her happiness. Well, not always, but mostly. When he could, and when she was this worked up, he had always done the very best - that was lucky, because it was the least that Ada thought you deserved.

“Don’t worry Ada. I’ve got it. Go do Ada things and I’ll sort the restaurants out, and get you a good car. Tell Y/N I said hello” Tommy told her with a hum, almost nudging her out of the door.

“Right, because when I’m on a date with my girlfriend, telling her how much I adore her, I’m going to start talking about Mr Tommy Shelby OBE MP of Small Heath” Ada grinned, walking out.

“Forgot you communists don’t like the finer things in life” Tommy teased, handing her her bag that she’d thrown at the wall, widely missing literally anything she could have been aiming for.

“We just don’t think that the 1% should exist, Tom - believe that the ‘liveable’ wage should actually be liveable,” Ada told him, now standing on the path.

“Now now, Ade, don’t give them any ideas. Last thing we need is a commie revolution around here” He told her, the door closed behind him as he spoke to his little sister.

“Might do it just for fun. Bye!” Ada joked, then walked off in the direction of the train station - Tommy always thought it ironic that she hated the 1% and lived in London, of all places.

Once Ada had caught a train to London and angrily sholderbarged her way through the crowds, she was met by you waiting at the entrance. You weren’t meant to get off of work for an hour.

“Heya love” You grinned, still in your work suit. She wrapped her arms around you, confused but ultimately surprised.

“Hi… As much as I love the surprise, why’d you get off early? You weren’t sacked, were you?” Ada asked, slipping her hand down to hold yours as you began walking through the busy streets.

“Sacked? They can’t afford to lose me, love, can they?” You laughed, swinging your hands a little “Thought I’d surprise you and just spend some time with you and Karl then see if we can find a restaurant”

“Or, you could relax at home a bit, have a nice bath, I’ll pick Karl up from nursery and then let me be the best partner in the world?” Ada asked softly, proud of herself for being the one with a plan - she normally was, but when it came to anniversaries it was left up to you.

“What’s the point of a bath if you’re not in it with me?” You asked, feigning confusion before nodding “That sounds great, love. Thank you so much. You’re the best. I’m not going to ask questions because you look very proud of yourself and that means you’ve excelled - not a surprise there. Manage to excel in everything you do.”

“Good. Don’t ask questions. Just follow my orders” Ada told you in a strict voice, leading you down an alleyway that would lead you towards your apartment.

“Is that part of the Valentines Day Ada special?” You teased, giggling incessantly as she playfully slapped your shoulder.

“It could be. But shh, kids are around and god forbid we give them the homosexurabies” She hummed, mocking the countless complaints you’d recieved from the neighboring nannies and the mums that you walked past.

“What’s the worst that can happen - they end up happy?” You asked in mock horror, making her laugh. God, what a beautiful sound.

“God forbid!” Ada laughed, fishing for her keys in her bag and walking with you through the doors to your apartment complex and walking up the stone steps until you reached your floor.

“Do I get to give you my Valentines day present aswell? Or should I wait till the experience is over of your grandiose expression of love?” You enquired as soon as you were safe inside the homey apartment. Hanging your coat over the hook on the door, you checked yourself in the mirror - her present wasn’t visible at all. Great.

“Either works - unless there’s a dog somewhere, otherwise you should probably not suffocate it or kill it of starvation” Ada commented dryly, hanging her own coat next to yours and sitting her bag on the coffee table. “How does he manage to leave toys everywhere when he’s at nursery?”

“Been learning off of me - making a mess all the time” You hummed, gently pulling her closer into a kiss, your hands around her waist. She tasted like birthday cake and everything that was great about being alive - it made you wonder if she was real, sometimes, if she and Karl were just figments made up by a lonely mind. Then you’d reach out in bed and feel her strangely toned arms wrapped around Karl’s chubby little frame and try to memorise everything in that moment because nothing this perfect ever stayed that way for long.

“Takes off his mum more than his mom, then. Hopefully the same is true for his anger,” Ada joked, gently tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

“No, he’s got your blood in his veins, Ade, and you don’t learn fighting as primal as that - and as often, holy hell. I’m surprised you aren’t off fighting Bonnie and the likes of him for money and fame.” You were joking, but it couldn’t have been more obvious that Ada wasn’t made for fame - she barely handled being called a Shelby well enough when the peaky blinders were just a gang. Now? They were an international force.

“Mhm… Better go get the little bastard whilst I think about it. You go get in that bath and I’ll wish I was with you the whole time” Ada decided after a quick look at the clock and a gentle tap to your ass, narrowly missing feeling the ring box in your chest pocket as she leant forward.

When Ada got back, you were dressed up and sitting at your vanity. “Ada? Karl?” You called out, getting up, not bothering with shoes as you walked out of your shared bedroom and towards the hallway to just see Ada. No Karl in sight. “Where’s Karl? Is he ok? Do I need to phone your brothers?”

“Bonnie is babysitting him, love. He’s fine. But for now… fuck, why do you look so gorgeous? For now, we’re going out for dinner” Ada told you, amused and warmed by your worry. It really shook her that someone could love her son as much as she did, but she was sure that when she saw you read to him or when you woke up in the night and reached out for them both, you loved them both more than she could ever know.

“Where are we going then. Ms. Organised?” You asked, following her to the bedroom, turning the lamp on once again “Please don’t tell me it’s Linda’s scary restaurant with the bleeding jesus and the crosses?”

“No, that’s where Arthur is going. We’re going to Viennetta’s, I’ve been told it’s the best italian in town. Plus, I got us a nice car - as much as I hate the 1%, you have to admit, it is good” Ada hummed, pulling out a dress from her side of the wardrobe and taking off her own normal day dress before pulling on the baby blue one. “Zip me up?”

“Sure” You nodded, sliding on your heels and walking over to her to carefully zip up the chiffon dress. “Love this dress”

“Why’d you think I’m wearing it?” Ada grinned, glad it was all going to plan. “So, how was your day at work?”

“Exciting - one of my clients, you know the pub that your brothers pretty much destroyed? That one, had me assess all the damage, account for it all, and then complained about your whole family to me. Lied through my teeth, but it was funny to see someone bitch about them almost as much as you do”

“Oi” Ada laughed, clipping on her necklace after putting on her dress - she was a relatively quick changer, something you could never even attempt. “How do I look?”

“Absolutely gorgeous, Ade” You told her, sneakily swiping the velvet box from under one of your hats and hiding it behind your back “Can I suggest one more little accessory, though?”

“You can” Ada nodded, looking at the vanity desk “Should I change my earrings?”

“No, love. Close your eyes” You scoffed, watching as she rolled her eyes but did it anyway. “Your earrings are great”

Getting down on one knee, you got the ring box out, holding it open and then attempting to speak coherent sentences - it took a couple breaths but you finally got it. “How about a ring, Ada? Open your eyes”

“A ring?” Ada asked, then opened her eyes. She was taken aback “I…”

“Ada, I know we can’t make it official, but will you marry me? I know you’ve been thinking about going by another last name, so how about mine? Plus, you get this sweet ring in the de-” You were knocked off balance by Ada practically jumping on you, kissing you and then sliding the ring on her finger.

“I’ve always wanted your last name, you idiot” Ada told you with a wet smile, sitting on the floor with you, hand in yours “We’ll have a little ceremony - my family, yours, Jeremiah.”

“Little? Your family are like rabbits, love…”

“I know” Ada laughed, standing up and taking you with her “Now, let’s go have dinner and then we can get on to phase two of my awesome valentine’s present”

“Don’t forget a coat, you’ll catch a cold” You reminded her, getting your nicer coat out of your half of the wardrobe. Valentines day was a load of capitalist mush, but somehow Ada made it feel like a day of real love. A day where nothing mattered and you could be engaged to the woman you loved.

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder #peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders imagine #Ada Thorne #Ada Shelby #ada thorne imagine #ada shelby imagine #ada x fem reader #wlw #fluff #valentinesday #valentines gay #valentines fic #proposal #gay #queer #babes being babes #old writing

[gods-rising]

May Post - Mothers’ Day

How would the cast of Gods’ Rising celebrate their mothers - or just their family in general - on Mothers’ Day? Mothers’ Day has happened already in England however that month was dedicated to Birthdays. Sorry for how late this is, life got busy at the wrong time.

Main protagonists first, then minor protagonists, then main antagonists, then minor antagonists. Background characters not included.

Jakob Sullivan - Jakob doesn’t remember his mother or if he even actually had one. But if he did have a mother, he’d buy pretty flowers, a nice card (and write a personal message, maybe thanking her for specific details, maybe nodding toward an inside joke) and cook her a nice breakfast in bed. Even if it turns out he didn’t, or doesn’t, have a good relationship with his mother, he’d try his best to make her feel loved that day.

Zlatko Jones - Zlatko celebrates Mothers’ Day by bringing his mother breakfast in bed and treating her and his little brother to a three person feast with a homemade dessert and ice cream. He’d get his brother a present and card to give to their mother, and get a smaller present and card for himself as well as a big card from the both of them. It’s her day, he reminds himself, and it’s up to him to make her feel special, everyday.

Charlie Parker - Charlie is sans a mother figure, so she takes it as another day to celebrate her father, whom she loves dearly. She’ll throw him a present, probably a corny mug, and give him a Mothers’ Day card and write a joke in it. She likes hearing his laughter; even if the joke is terrible, he’ll chuckle over a hot mug of coffee, which she’ll make (and maybe deliberately fuck up), and she’ll know that she made his day a bit better.

Alex Wilson - Alex, before everything fell apart, would rarely help his siblings get gifts for their mother, having to be urged by either his father, uncles or grandparents to just wish her a good day. Sometimes he’d give her the presents that had been bought by someone else and wouldn’t resist too much to be in the pictures they took each year with her. Looking back in time, he realises, he wishes he’d been persuaded more often.

Kenna Collier -  Kenna wants to stay as far from her mother as she can after the divorce - her mum’s... bizarre nature often ruins her daughter’s plans and mood, and there’s certainly a disconnect between the pair. The moment the opportunity arises to avoid spending Mother’s Day with, well, her mother, she’ll take it without hesitation. She’s disinterested in spending time with her mother. Her mother knows nothing about her.

Klara Lullay - Klara never really celebrated Mother’s Day. Without a mother and a father and grandfather she didn’t see worth celebrating, there was never any need. She’d celebrate herself, because she was the only one who was worth it, in her perspective. When not being hassled or tutored by her grandfather, she’d make herself a cup of tea (despite not being fond of it, she saw it as a celebratory drink) and make some food.

Eban Jones - Eban really wants to make his mother feel special but his anxiety gets in the way of him buying things (it’s hard to buy things when you can barely talk to the cashier). So he finds himself still having to get Zlatko to buy stuff for him. He does help his brother in the kitchen though when making the Mother’s Day meal - but whether that’s for better or for worse, no one is really sure. It’s a hit or miss most years.

Grace Smith - Grace was the closest with her mother and would often draw things for her, get her father to make a breakfast for her to bring to her mother in bed and would go outside and pick flowers from the neighbour’s garden for her. But now, her mother is gone, so she takes the time to appreciate her father and, since she can’t ask him to cook for her, she either gets Kai to help or just goes down to the nearest shop to buy a meal deal.

Kai Smith - Kai was never really too close with his mother, and she seemed to feel the same way, but would still try to participate in Grace’s celebrations of her. This usually met carrying anything Grace couldn’t or wouldn’t. Even before his mother was gone, Kai would prefer to spend time with his father, helping him wash up from Grace’s endeavours, watching television with him and playing video games. Now they have a Player Three.

Maddie Eyighes - Maddie barely celebrates her foster mother, only joining in just enough to get by without hassle, whether that means carrying the breakfast or just being in the background while her foster siblings surprise their mother or opening doors for her foster mum. The moment her necessary deed is done, she’s off, outside and running. Not like she can do anything inside, it’ll be taken up by her foster mother, and outside she’s free.

Nastasia Lavisco - Nastasia, for Mother’s Day, decides to get into more paid fights, win more supplies, trade some of the rest for more profitable supplies to sell, put some of the original supplies up as winnings for two people to fight over, hide some of the profitable but criminal supplies in too, sell the rest, use the money to buy better weapons and repeat the cycle. It’s what she does everyday, and why should a holiday about a mother change that?

Aidan Lavisco - Aidan is very lucky to have help from the people of the palace, as Mother’s Day is almost a necessity rather than a celebration. It’s the one time Aidan is allowed to run a dance, because the mother in question can’t be involved. He decides the scheme, the theme, the dress code, the predominant dance and the menu of it all, but it’s barely a choice. He’s been trained exactly what to say, by a mother who pulls the strings.

Valeriya Jones - Valeriya, as a mother herself, loves Mother’s Day. She always has, as she was especially close to her mother. They would cook together, Valeriya always learning a new recipe, a new trick, a new skill each time, and she treasured that time with her mother. Being a mother of two boys has been a challenge, but she can’t help but be cheerful when her sons show her their appreciation, especially through recipes she taught them.

Kyle Smith - Kyle had been eager to bring his mother gifts and flowers when he was younger, but stopped as the teen years got closer and his fights with his parents became more prominent. Then, when he had kids with his wife, he helped the two celebrate her, or spent time with his son if he wasn’t helping his sister at all. But those days, with his mother and wife, are behind him, and now he’s the one celebrated on Mother’s Day.

Tyler Brae - Tyler, being the immortal Demon King, is obviously without a mother but he finds the day endearing. For him, Mother’s Day is another opportunity to show how much his ragtag family means to him. He’ll choose some corny but interesting film, buy some snack food while his family is preoccupied during the day and get them all in the living room to watch it. They’ll pretend to hate it and complain but he knows that there’s nowhere they’d rather be.

Shadow - Shadow never celebrated Mother’s Day before and would happily continue to not... too bad he lives with Tyler. Finding himself wrapped up in the demon’s shenanigans continues on this day as he helps Tyler set everything up for the rest of the family. If Tyler wants to cook something, Shadow is there to help him and stop the inevitable house fire. Tyler might ask him one day if he’d prefer to stay out of it, but Shadow won’t let him do it alone.

Mehmun Salton - Mehmun doesn’t remember many Mother’s Days - not with his mother, not with his aunt, not with the mother of his daughter. He prefers not to, because who knows what other memories will arise? All he knows is that he had too few Mother’s Day with his actual mother and not enough with his wife. So he has no idea what he used to do - but he finds he enjoys watching shitty films with a group of other traumatised misfits.

Preston Sin - Preston’s mother is long gone, thanks to his immortality. When she was alive, Mother’s Day was special for her and gifts were expected. If she received one less gift, there was hell to pay, even though all of them knew the gifts would maybe last a day or two at best before finding themselves in the bin. But now, she’s gone, and he’s still around and kicking, with a new family who would never throw away presents.

Maggie Snare - Maggie didn’t celebrate her stepmother for Mother’s Day after her actual mother divorced and left her father, which may have started the rivalry and contempt but who knows? Most Mother’s Days, she’d go out with her friends or spend the day studying and being as far away from her stepmum as she could humanely be. If there were plans, she’d reluctantly abide by them. Now she has more freedom and people worth celebrating.

Luke Fortunato - Luke was too young to be able to get things for his mother before he and his brother were sent into care, plus there wasn’t much she cared for. The people running at the carehome weren’t motherly (or fatherly for that matter) so they never expected gifts, almost never received them and they seldom deserved them. He’s glad he didn’t bother because if he had, maybe Ezekiel would have been more bothered. 

Ezekiel Fortunato - Ezekiel’s only gift was to fuck shit up for them - pour the carers’ secret stash of booze or weed into the gutters, piss in their food, blocking the drains up, anything really to make the carers’ lives just as miserable as their clients’. It was a daily gift, because he didn’t know Mothers’ Day was a holiday for a long time, barely escaping his teen years without knowing it existed. He regrets not knowing - coulda done more.

Kiyoshi Kornai - Kiyoshi didn’t have a mother figure, even though she was a Born Hell Demon, and demons don’t celebrate human-made holidays regardless. It took a while for her to be introduced to the concept of the holiday and she’s still uncertain on how she feels about it - cute and something she celebrates with her family now but, at the same tine, how many times was she suffering on Mother’s Day?

Amber Miller - Amber used to love her mother and was often buying her flowers and chocolates. She’d buy her all sorts of flowers, like roses, and try to pick out all the best chocolates for her, wrap them up and bring them to her in her bed. Now she regrets bothering. She could have saved up that money for something, maybe for when she ran away after her parents refused to accept her as trans. But she didn’t. She wasted it on her mother.

Johnny Miller - Johnny would chip in with their sister’s presents to their mother, giving maybe a pound or two extra to really buy something nice. However, they weren’t as close with their mother, or their father really, Amber being the parent-adoring child. Johnny preferred his own company. But that didn’t make it any harder for Johnny to run away with Amber. Not that they’d ever choose them over their twin. They’ll never be far from her side.

Damien Roth - Damien was an Original Demon, created by the hands of the gods personally, meaning he has no family. He would celebrate the gods, before the war, and give the divine gifts - loyalty, worship, love. That changed when his eyes opened to the injustices demons faced in a world catered toward mortals. Now, with the gods dead and a King who needs to die, the only thing he’ll celebrate will be the promise of them never returning.

Ayla - Ayla is usually in charge of all the Light World balls - not the Mother’s Day one, however. She’s not involved, and leaves it to her son. However, she makes sure he knows what she wants, and that there’s hell to pay if demands aren’t met. Though the Mother’s Day ball is often praised as her son’s, it’s a product of her incessant control and manipulation. That’s the best Mother’s Day gift she can get - relentless power.

Loki Lullay - Loki grew up within the Lullay family and the supposed Lullay curse took his mother from him at a young age. Mother’s Days were the days he’d visit her grave with his brother and father, to lay the most gorgeous flowers for her. He hasn’t seen her grave for eighteen years while his traitor brother keeps up the tradition, or at least he assumes he does. Maybe that’s what drives him to madness. Twenty years away from her.

Malcolm Gull - Malcolm bought flowers for his own mother and his best friend’s mother, before she died at least. After that, he’d buy his best friend flowers on that day, even chocolates, and they’d have a picnic as well. Those were some of the best days for the pair of them, playing Frisbee and football. Then his best friend died. Because of the sorcerers. Because of a sorcerer. He’ll avenge them. He’ll avenge them both. He’ll avenge him.

Nico Angel - Nico never got into Mother’s Day. He’d buy stuff, or at least his father would, for her, maybe bring her a half-hearted breakfast in bed, but no real effort or time put into it. That changed when he became a father, as he’d help his child treat his wife on that day, making food, buying flowers, showering gifts. Too bad it didn’t stay that way - he didn’t stick around for long with them. He just hopes his sons treat their mother well.

Davey Sullivan - Davey grew up with no mother, a dead brother and hatred for his cousin. His father made sure he knew it was his cousin’s fault his mother and brother were dead and made sure that he knew it was his fault that his cousin got away unpunished for his guilt. But for Mother’s Day itself, he’d go to his mother and brother’s graves, lay flowers down and promise them he’d get his cousin punished. Once and for all.

Aerron Yelad - Aerron’s mother loved him much more before he got diagnosed with autism. Despite being ‘vaccine injured’ and ‘proof vaccines do more harm than good’ and ‘the reason I’m not vaccinating the rest of my kids’, he still loves her a lot. He understands that she does love him, he’s just harder to deal with, and she’s giving all the attention she can. But he still feels alone. Alone enough to make bad choices. He’s so desperate.

#gods' rising book series #gods' rising #gods rising #gods rising book series #gr #g'r #mother's day #mothers #mothers day #mothers' day #mother #may #may 2019 #writing blog #writing community #writing #writers #writeblr #original character #my characters #ocs #my ocs #original #original characters #indie books #book writing #writing books #book #bookblr

[mattyrambles]

08:53

A slow continuous pain - stabbing and prickling up his arm, is what wakes Matty up. Slowly - eyes heavy, thoughts clouded and jumbled. The only thing that rings loud and clear is the numbness of his arm. 

It takes him a few minutes, sleep infused sounds. Threadbare blue curtains - doing little to hold back, shield the morning light from the room, his room. Posters he hasn’t seen in months, morning sun rippling - over Pamela Anderson, casting shadows over My Bloody Valentine. He blinks, a yawn.

A twin sized bed - faded bed sheets that smell like home, like school days and homework, like spending evenings messing around with guitars and video games instead of doing said homework, and sneaking out with stolen alcohol from the kitchen stash, like trying and failing to roll a spliff for the first time, like cramming the night before exams. 

There’s another poster of Pamela Anderson on the ceiling directly above his used to be bed, along with scattered pictures and polaroids of his mum, dad and brother, and Pip, and Penelope, and George, and everyone else in between. Faded from sunlight. 

His arm throbs - Penelope. Curled up beside him, warm between the sheets. All pouted lips and messy hair, and right on top of his right arm. Explaining - the pain, numbness. The closeness of bodies should be uncomfortable, but he finds it comforting. She’s almost spent almost as much of her adolescence in this bed as he did. 

He watches - for a bit, fingers tracing features, pushing back stray strands of hair from her eyes, face. Wondering - what she’s thinking about, dreaming about when she lets out small sounds, when her features shift and shape. Morning light - spreading higher on the walls, brighter. Complacent. 

It’s when his arm feels like it’s been detached from his body, that he slowly shimmies it from under her, biting his lip, trying not to wake her. Successfully - she rolls back into a cocoon of bedsheets, he picks his t-shirt from yesterday up off the floor. 

Downstairs, kitchen - he finds his mum making coffee. She visibly jumps when she sees him, coffee nearly spilling. “Christ, Matthew!” 

She had grown used to him not being here, so understandably she wasn’t expecting to find him lurking around before nine on a Sunday morning. Admittedly, if it hadn’t been for the fact it was Louis’ birthday yesterday, he probably would still be in bed and violently hungover - the shared flat with George, or Penelope’s house. He doesn’t remember the last Sunday he was awake before midday with a clear head, he doesn’t even remember the last time he shared morning coffee with her. Something that makes him slightly uncomfortable, realising how detached he’s been.  

“Louis not up yet?” he asks, noting how quiet it still was. Sitting at the counter - she slides him over a cup of coffee. She laughs quietly at that, he misses her laugh. 

“I think you and Penelope tired him out.” 

He had turned nine, Matty had gotten him the latest Fifa game - he prayed he hadn’t gotten it already for Christmas, and then felt equally shitty and guilty for not knowing what his little brother had gotten for Christmas, or even the fact he couldn’t even remember what he had gotten him for Christmas. Luck was on his side though, Louis hadn’t already had the game, and according to his mum was in a perpetual state of sulkiness over it. So Matty was once again hoisted onto the pedestal of big brothers, it made him feel a bit sick. What made him feel worse was how tightly Louis hugged him when he had walked through the front door, like he was actually worthy of it. Like he seen him every weekend and not once, twice a month, if he was lucky. Matty had never been a role model older brother. 

“He absolutely adores Penelope, bless him.” 

He catches the end, or middle, or start, he’s not to sure, of his mum’s sentence and scoffs. The way she said it was tinged with her own adoration, spilling over her name. 

“Everybody does, don’t they?”

It comes out sounding more bitter than he had intended. Not missing his mother’s questioning glance. He avoids her eyes, instead his gaze lands on the fridge behind her - pictures stuck with magnets. Family pictures, and the dog, and of course Penelope. He doesn’t need to question that, she’s always been considered part of the family. 

“I didn’t think she’d come yesterday,” his eyes flicker back, his mum. Nonchalant, buttering a piece of toast. He knew that she knew something was off between them, that they had split sometime last year. Penelope was absent from his scattered visitations home. He failed to tell that it was because she had fucked one of his best friends. Ross. Knowing - she’s fishing for information now. Were they back together? Matty didn’t even know himself, where they ever together in the first place? He blinks at the piece of toast sat in front of him.

“She always comes to Louis’ birthdays.” 

Louis’ eyes had light up even more when Penelope had closely followed Matty through the front door. There were squeals of delight, and what Matty suspects was a tighter hug than he had gotten, and proclamations of how much he had missed her. Of course, he had asked why she didn’t come around with Matty anymore, and he didn’t really ever know what to say. How do you tell a nine year old that the girl you’re kind of in love with and who’s kind of your girlfriend, fucked one of your best friends? You can’t, he couldn’t. 

She had bought him a board game. Scrabble. On the way over, the van, he only half joked that it looked like something she had found in the £1 bin at the shops, she - of course, denied that. Saying that at least she got him something kind of educational, not a video game. Matty argued that his present was educational, that his little brother was brutal at football so maybe it could teach him a thing or two. ‘Matty he’s nine; was the reply he received, and an obligatory eye roll. Typical. 

Louis hadn’t shown any favoritism between the presents, giving both equal attention. The afternoon consisted of Fifa tournaments, and Matty throwing a fit when Penelope beat him best out of 3, insisting a rematch, because that was ‘fucking bollocks’. Enticing obligatory scoldings from his mum, and obligatory gazes of admiration from his younger brother. 

The evening was spent over pizza and Scrabble. Even after Louis had gone to bed, Matty and Penelope had continued, the words gradually becoming more vulgar, which sounded immature giggles. Something his mum had reinforced, calling them ‘a pair of immature children’, before bidding them goodnight. 

Toast crumbs - sprinkle across the counter, marble. He remembers the time when he and George hadn’t gotten up early enough to clean up after a house party, his mum arriving home, livid at both of them. Penelope and Ross had escaped through Matty’s bedroom window, avoiding his mum’s wrath and keeping their place in her good books. The counter where him and Penelope shared their second kiss, second make out session. One that had gotten quite heated, quite fast - until George ambled in looking for another drink, or spliff, Matty can’t remember the details, only that he had quickly backtracked back out to the hallway, insisting he had seen nothing, but killing the mood all the same. 

“You two would have cute kids, nonetheless.”

Is what he zones back in on, caught between nearly choking on the toast, and an eye roll, scoff. Obligatory. 

Denise was back at the fridge, thumbing over a picture - a fond expression. She slides the pictures over to him - not that she needed to, they’d been stuck on the fridge for just about as long as he can remember, and like the posters in his bedroom - were slightly faded from constant sunlight. It’s them, Matty and Penelope when they were kids, Spain. The first one is posed - all smiles, obligatory. The second one, coaxes a smile from him. A candid, obvious from the look on her face that she’s arguing with him about something - and she must only be 9 or 10, Louis’ age now, but that vexed expression is something that never changed, classic Penelope. A Scrabble board - the corner of the picture. 

“Don’t get any ideas though - I’m too young to be a Nan just yet.” 

The tone of her voice - teasing, and suddenly Matty feels claustrophobic, trapped. Pushing the pictures away, in favor of the half empty packet of cigarettes, coffee in the other hand as he makes his way to the nearest escape with a huffed, ‘Mum, please,’ and an of course, obligatory eye roll. He refrains from telling her that that’s the least of her worry’s. Whatever his relationship was with Penelope, it was less built on sex these days. Last night - they only made out for a bit, but it was different. It was the closest he had felt to her in weeks, months. It felt like how it used to feel, how they used to feel. Maybe things were getting better. Maybe. 

“Okay moody,” still an entertained, light tone. And he’s glad she seems happy this morning but that doesn’t help his own notions of blurry affections and hazed feelings. “They’ll kill you, you know.” Tacked on, a more serious sound. His cigarettes. 

He smiles at that, a nihilistic kind of laugh - “Not soon enough.”

“Matthew!” 

It’s the same shrill sound she scolded him with when he was a kid, and a tea towel is chucked at his head for effect. He manages to properly laugh, ducking out the backdoor. 

Morning dew - permeates the air, along with the insolent chirping of birds. It’s spring, everything seems to be alive again. Blue skies, smoke curls through the air - he’s sat on the patio bench, his third smoke. He can hear voices back in the house - Penelope. He never has any escape, relief from her. Even in his family home, evidence of her. Integrated into every facet of his life. He’d written songs about her on this bench, he’s written his first ever song about her in his childhood bedroom. His first song ever. Penelope. 

Her voice, closer - the back door opening, laughs. No tea towel treatment for her. He looks away, taking a mouthful of cold coffee only to spit it back into the mug. 

“Swap you.”

A cup of hot coffee - extended to him, and a crooked smirk, and bright indigo that he loves and hates all at the same time. Her hair looks a bit shit now though, one flaw that he could pick out. She was growing it out - and it was some form of mottle blonde and dark brown. A flaw that wasn’t even really a flaw - she could still pull it off, make it look cool. 

“For?” 

She sits herself down on his lap, handing him the coffee while helping herself to his now nearly empty packet of Marlboro’s, something he protests. “Oi!”

She shushes him, “Told your mum I quit.” 

Muffled, cigarette hanging from her lips. He scoffs - she’s wearing one of his long forgotten t-shirts, Mortal Combat, and plaid pajama pants. “Why would you lie about that? Seems stupid.” 

Once again, it comes out more bitter than he had intended, and she doesn’t let it go as easily as his mum did. Fingers - ruffling through his hair. “She said you were right moody this morning, wasn’t wrong.” 

Another eye roll - obligatory. “Having a nice gossip about me, were you?” 

Smoke clouding - he takes a sip of the better coffee. His hands are cold, cool morning air - she’s warm against him. 

“Only about how this has to go,” fingers - trailing down to his jaw, unshaved. He had been trying - and admittedly failing, to grow a beard. It was patchy, and made his basically non existent jaw line reduce further, but of stubbornness rather than admitting she was right, he kept it. 

“Why? Makes me look proper rock star, innit.” 

“Yeah, proper serial killer more like. Feels weird too.” Disproving, and he smirks at that. 

“Never complain about how it feels between your thighs, darlin’.” 

“Matthew!”  

Scowling, her eyes darting over to the back door a few feet away - and it’s the exact same expression as the one in the photograph, faded from sunlight. Now - sun glints off darkened indigo, when he laughs. 

“What? Fucking hell, relax - not like mum can hear us, and I’m sure she’s figured out that we don’t just sit around playing bloody Scrabble all day, she knows that we fu-”

He’s swiftly cut off when her elbow - jabs into his ribs, spilling coffee. Obligatory. 

“Ow! Fucking Christ, Penelope!”

“Then stop being such an arsehole, Matthew.” She hisses, taking a final drag of the smoke before dropping it in the little left of the coffee, gone cold now as well, pushing herself from his lap.

“C’mon, I told G we’d meet him for lunch.” 

He watches her walk back to the house, shaking his head - but he follows all the same, it’s grown colder now, and clouds had begun to invade clear skies. She made him feel everything, and nothing at the same time. He wonders if that will ever change.

#hey i wrote this when it was raining and i was feeling agnsty #also procrastinating #it's literally an aimless ramble #but anyway #matty healy #the 1975 #matty healy fanfic #imagine matty healy

[ayma-nidiot]

“Don’t Speak Their Names” - Shrimpshipping fic Chapter 33

Author’s Note: Detailed depiction of childbirth and minor blood.

This chapter can be found here on AO3.

Chapter 33 - Reborn

~29 December 2005, 16:00~

“I’m… awake again…” Rex’s eyes quickly fluttered open after passing out for the second time that day. “What is goi- Aaaaaah!” His screams piqued the interests of the other patients, nurses, and doctors in the campus hospital.

“Rex, we’re already there,” spoke Joey as Dr. Balls and two of his nurses briskly whisked Rex into the delivery room. Joey, Mokuba, Tricera, Ptera, Camellia, and Spinos were the only ones allowed into the actual delivery room while everyone else was ordered to wait just outside.

“Aww, come on, I want to see some of the action!” Tristan pouted. Even though the delivery room was larger than anyone imagined, he could see very little with so many people in there. “Why Joey and not me?”

“This isn’t about you, you idiot.” Téa bopped Tristan on the head. 

“Ma’am… Mrs. Raptor?” Joey began as Dr. Balls attached an EKG to Rex. It was too late into the delivery to administer an epidural now. “I have a small request. May I hold Rex’s hand throughout this birth?”

“May I hold his other hand?” Mokuba asked.

Ptera blinked, surprised that someone who once claimed he could “duel circles around Rex” would ask this of her. “Yes… Yes, of course you may. The two of you have been nothing but helpful to my boy throughout all of this.”

“Thank you so much, ma’am.” Joey and Mokuba bowed as they both flanked Rex.

“Hehehe…” Rex received a short break from the contractions, and smiled at his friend and rival. “I never thought we’d find ourselves like this . Let me know if you’re going to be late to your own kids’ birth, and I’ll gladly hold Mai’s hand for you.”

“Should you really be making japes at a time like this?” Mokuba scolded.

“Hey, I’m just trying to make this process a little easier for myself before-” The contractions began again, and Rex cried louder than ever.

“Oh, gods…” Espa winced as he could hear Rex’s cries well enough. Naturally, said cries were laced with cuss words. “That’s going to be me in five months? And I’m going to have to go through that twice in a row! I… I don’t think I’m going to be ready…”

“Yes you will, love… Well, minus the cuss words, of course.” Mako hugged his boyfriend’s shoulders. “I believe in you, so let’s believe in Rex too.”

Even throughout all his pain, Rex could still hear every word being said on the other side of that glass. “At least… hah… someone believes in me… ‘Cuz I can hardly take this anymore!”

“Less talking and more breathing,” Dr. Balls ordered.

“If you can survive the two times I’ve beaten you, then you can survive this.”

“That’s not helping, Joey!” Rex snarled. The contractions were practically nonstop at this point; even his stubborn attitude couldn’t help now. “I just wish… Weeves was here…”

“Rex…” Mokuba could see the hopelessness in his cousin’s eyes.

“Amber… My baby is going to have to grow up without her father!” Rex’s cries were softer, but with more tears, as he didn’t have the energy or desire to push anymore. 

“Rex, don’t give up now!” Dr. Balls encouraged. “Look! I can already see the top of Amber’s head!”

“Weeves…” Rex’s vision began to fade, and he really thought he would die in childbirth right then and there. 

But then, all of a sudden, Dr. Balls took a break to open the door and shout, “FOR THE LOVE OF RA, people need to stop running in this fucking hospital!”

“Now who might that be?” Camellia peered out the door too. “It’s… Oh my gods…”

“It must be the prime minister or something, if you’re all going to abandon me at a time like this!” Rex shouted as everyone except Joey and Mokuba looked to the man who barged into the delivery room.

“No, I’m someone even better than that,” replied the “intruder.” “Number one in all of Japan, to be exact.”

“It can’t be… Weeves!” Rex’s vision returned, just in time to see the face of his boyfriend, alive and well. Weevil had bandages wrapped tightly around where his right arm used to be. “How did… I mean-”

“As a not-so-wise man once said, less talking and more breathing.” Weevil rushed to Rex’s right side, taking Joey’s place.

“How could you have heard that-”

“Ahem.” Dr. Balls cleared his throat. “There are way too many of you in here now. Can you please wait outside with the others?”

“Yes, of course.” Ptera joined Rex’s friends on the other side of the glass without protest.

“I’m glad you made it… Hngh!” Rex could sense that most of Amber’s head was already out. “It would have been nice if you didn’t fucking wait until my daughter started crowning! ”

“I’ll explain later, I promise,” Weevil reassured as he held Rex’s right hand with his left hand, occasionally stroking Rex’s hair with it too. “I would have gotten here sooner, but as you can see, I’m a little… short-handed. ”

“OH MY FUCKING GODS, WEEVIL, CAN YOU JUST SHUT UP ALREADY!”

“All right, all right…” Five minutes had passed before Weevil said, “Come on, hun, you can do this. Just a couple more pushes ought to do it.”

“Easy for you to say, bug boy! FUUUUUUCK!” Rex gave those two final pushes his all.

“And you would be correct, Weevil!” Dr. Balls presented a crying, very pink and sticky baby before Rex. “Here’s little Amber!”

“Hun, you did it!” Weevil teared up as he and Rex looked upon their tiny newborn daughter. She had not yet opened her eyes, and there was so much blood and amniotic fluid in her hair that it was hard to discern her hair colour.

“She’s so beautiful…” Rex kissed his daughter’s little head. “Oh…”

“Isn’t she?” Weevil’s smile soon faded when he noticed that Rex wasn’t awake, even as he expelled the placenta. “Hun?”

Dr. Balls took note of the irregularity on the EKG. “He’s going into ventricular fibrillation! Get the defibrillator ready before his heart stops!”

“Hun!” Weevil began to panic as Dr. Balls tried to defibrillate Rex, a nurse tended to Amber, and another nurse ushered him out of the delivery room. “Rex!”

“He’ll… He’ll be okay.” Téa never thought she’d see the day when she’d hug Weevil in consolation.

“You sure? I mean… even after all I’ve done to him?”

“If I say that he can, then he will,” spoke an approaching voice that was definitely not Téa’s. 

“It’s… Kaiba!” Weevil exclaimed at the sight of his stepcousin. “You’re alive too!”

Even from where he stood, Kaiba could see that Rex’s vitals had returned to normal. “See? Just my presence could cure him. I’m that awesome.”

“Papa!” Heka gave his mother a tearful hug. “Thank Anubis for having mercy on you!”

“How did you make it?” Atem asked.

“This pinworm would know. It’s the same reason he managed to survive.” Kaiba winked.

“Oh…” Weevil understood what Kaiba meant.

“Is that supposed to be some kind of code?” Joey leered at Kaiba.

“Yes. A.k.a. ‘it’s none of your business,’ Wheeler.”

“Yup, this is the real, very much alive Kaiba, all right. Who else can be just as annoying?”

“...” Weevil had not seen Atem since the war from two years ago.

“Ah, Weevil.” Atem patted a barely accepting Weevil on the shoulder. “I hope you’ve been well. I am so sorry about the loss of your daughter.”

“She’s reborn, not dead. I thought you would know about rebirth better than anyone, King of Lame. As for why I am late… Well, I’ll tell you all later, if I feel like it.” Weevil fell silent after saying this, and that was when Dr. Balls came out of the delivery room. “Doctor! Is… Is Rex…”

“He suffered a minor hemorrhage, which is what caused the v-fib. But he’ll be fine after a day’s worth of rest. You guys are more than welcome to visit him tomorrow, though.”

“Doctor…” Weevil reached into a shorts pocket, but declined to retrieve what was in it. “No, it can wait until tomorrow.”

________

~30 December 2005; 16:30~

“Phew…” Even though Rex had woken up twenty minutes ago, he was still not fully awake, even with Amber breastfeeding from him.

“How are you feeling, Rex?” Dr. Balls asked as he checked Rex’s vitals, being careful not to disturb Amber.

“I’m tired as shit, but I think I’ll be fine after a bit of rest.” Rex twirled one of Amber’s small locks of hair. “Not that I think I’ll be getting it any time soon, thanks to this little bean.”

“In that case, you’re free to go whenever you’re able. You are fortunate to have recovered so quickly; your vitals look perfect.”

“I’d like to go now, but a certain pest problem said he’d be here in ten minutes.”

“How about more like ten seconds?” Weevil knocked before entering the room.

“I’ll leave you two be, then.” Dr. Balls met Weevil at the door. “Oh, and one more thing before I go.”

“Yes?”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Weevil spoke as Dr. Balls left Rex’s hospital room. He beamed when the first thing he saw after that was Rex breastfeeding his newborn daughter. “Hey, hun. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Quite the contrary, baby.” Rex put his shirt all the way on. It was only just then that he noticed Weevil’s prosthetic right arm. It looked like a hand manikin from the art supply stores, except it was made of black titanium, with a few wires visibly running through the fingers and wrist. “Yo, nice arm.”

“Yet another reason why I was late today. I had to make a pit stop by the city hospital to get fitted for it and, thanks to KaibaCorp’s technology, that process didn’t take long.”

“Yet another reason to like Mokuba! Anyhoo, Amber just finished eating. You want to hold her?”

“And why wouldn’t I?” Weevil took the seat next to Rex as he gave him a swaddled-up Amber. As soon as she landed in his arms, Weevil immediately started crying. Amber had a short blanket of mint green hair on her head, with two small lavender sideburns sticking out just above her ears. “She looks just like me!”

“But she has my eyes.” Rex smirked.

“Hmm?” Weevil looked as Amber finally opened her eyes for the first time. “No, she doesn’t, dino brain. Look harder.”

Rex leaned in to get a better look at Amber’s eyes. “She has a purple right eye and a blue left eye! Well, her eyes have my eyes’ shape, so my point still stands.”

“Even in her future incarnation, I never noticed,” Weevil remarked.

These words gave Rex a solemn reminder. “Speaking of our future daughter, she’s dead.” Rex shook his head when he remembered future Amber’s dying words. “Scratch that. Amber…” Rex smiled as he stroked his daughter’s fat baby cheeks. “You’re back… You’re alive.”

“Gooooh!” Amber cooed happily, grabbing Rex’s finger as he played with her.

“Hey, I’m here too!” Weevil booped Amber’s nose; the infant was quick to grab his finger too. “I’m sorry you have to deal with a metal finger, my little love bug. Your daddy has been… a little mean.”

“Gooh?” Amber waved Weevil’s finger before kissing it.

“You…” Weevil cried even harder as he kissed Amber’s hand too. “Aww, I love you too, Amber!”

“You’re already a father, and yet you’re still a crybaby.” Rex chuckled. “So, bug boy. Care to explain why you barely made it in time to your daughter’s birth?”

“Why, it’s the same reason why Kaiba managed to live. We’ve… had a little help from beyond.”

“What do you mean?”

No sooner had Rex asked this question when a miniscule whirlwind whipped about, and a ghost appeared before the three. “He must be talking about me. ”

“Who…?” Rex squinted at the scarred, tan-skinned man before him. “Bakura?”

“We meet again, Hu and Sia.” The thief king swooped down gently to touch Amber’s face. “So… You have a child together now. Congratulations.”

“Bakura, what are you doing here?” Rex wondered.

“I came here because even from the afterlife, I could sense Priest Seto and Sia were in trouble.”

“Thanks again, Bakura… I’m indebted to you.” Weevil turned to Rex after Bakura’s spirit left. “But that’s only one reason that I’m late. In fact, it isn’t the main reason why I’m late.”

“It isn’t?” Rex watched while, after putting Amber in her wheeled baby buggy, Weevil reached into his pockets and took a small item out of them.

“It’s actually…” Weevil took a deep breath. “I had to make a pit stop to a high-end jeweler’s on my way here. I despise my Underwood surname, and I just thought of the best way to do something about it.”

“And how’s that?”

With full confidence, Weevil got down on one knee and presented a red-and-black ring. “By changing it to Raptor.”

“Oh…” Rex’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, Weeves…”

“Rex Raptor, will you marry me?”

“Yes…” Rex started bawling. “Yes, Weevil, I will! But first…”

“‘But first…?’”

Rex reached into his handbag, which thankfully stood upright on the closeby coffee table. “Darn, you beat me to it,” he whined as he produced a much cheaper-looking rose gold ring. “It’s got rubies and sapphires, just like your Metamorphosed Insect Queen.”

Weevil held out his left hand, and the new fiancés exchanged their rings. “And yours is made of black zirconium, with dinosaur bone inlay.”

“Sounds fancy!” Rex admired the ring placed upon his hand. 

“Yeah, it’s ¥109472 kind of fancy.”

“Yeesh! S-Sorry yours costs only ¥31277. But it’s all I can afford, even after saving money from working at Mama’s restaurant… and doing odd jobs for my dad. When we actually get married, I’ll be sure to get you something fancier.”

“Don’t worry about it. On the contrary, I quite like this ring.” Weevil picked Amber up and handed her to Rex.

“Aww, I’m glad…” Rex lightly combed Amber’s hair with his fingers. 

“Did you hear that, Amber? We’re going to be a family soon!” Weevil spoke.

“Goo gaaaa!” Amber laughed.

“And we have like, what? Ten people to break the good news to?” Rex put Amber in the buggy again. After donning his jacket, muffler, and handbag, he tucked Amber with a cozy blanket.

“But shouldn’t you still be resting?” Weevil held Rex’s back as the both of them walked forward with Amber in tow. 

“Eh, Dr. Balls said I’m okay to go whenever I feel like it,” Rex responded after the two had just exited the campus hospital. “I was just waiting for your sluggish ass to get here.”

“Naw, Joey is the sluggish one,” Duke spoke as the “Dweeb Patrol” met with Rex and Weevil. “He insisted that we stop by the grocery store to get cake, but you guys have already left.”

“Sorry, dude. But we just had something we had to tell you all.” Rex held Weevil’s hand and showed off their rings. “Weeves and I are gonna get married.”

“Awwww!” Mai and Téa loved Weevil’s engagement ring. 

“Don’t you dare tell them how cheap it is,” Rex whispered to Weevil.

“Hehe, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Téa took a glance at Amber. “Oh my gosh, is this your baby?”

“You know it.” Rex made finger guns.

“Look at those pretty eyes!” Mai remarked while the members of the “Dweeb Patrol” looked at Amber too.

“ My pretty eyes.” Rex waggled his eyebrows at Weevil, who bonked him on the head in response.

“She’s a cutie, that one,” Joey noted. As soon as he got his face close, Amber poked him in the eye. “Ouch!”

“Pbbbbbbbt!” Amber sputtered.

“Haha…” Joey rubbed the eye Amber poked. “She hates me already. Looks like I’ve got a lot of work to do… again. And I’m really jealous that you beat me to the delivery room, Rex. But congratulations anyway.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Mai scrunched her face.

“N-Nothing! Ya’ didn’t hear that!”

“I’ll give you babies when I’m good and ready! And no sooner!”

“Okay, okay…” Joey couldn’t break free of the noogies Mai gave him, and the “Dweeb Patrol” laughed at the couple’s antics. “Hmm? Eh, it’s that stinkin’ rich boy.”

“I’m surprised you have the cojones to say that after all I’ve done for you.”

“And… You’re here too.” Joey acknowledged Thief King Bakura’s spirit.

“Thank you for helping us.” Atem bowed to Bakura from the waist down. “Even after the Kul Elna massacre, you were still willing to help both Weevil and my husband.”

“Ooh!” Heka pushed everyone aside to look at Amber. “Amber is, like, the cutest baby ever! So, this is what my girlfriend looked like when she was a baby!”

“Watch it, you sick fuck,” Weevil warned with a bop on the head. “She’s only a day old.”

“I know, I know.” All of a sudden, Heka stopped talking before using a more serious tone, with a hint of tears. “No matter how long it takes, I’ll win your heart again. Even if I have to nearly die for you again.” Heka kissed Amber’s feet before stepping back, earning a glare from Weevil.

“We must go back to ancient Egypt now, but we’ll be sure to make it in time for your guys’ wedding.”

“Yugi… I-I mean, Atem…” Weevil stammered.

“Don’t worry, Weevil. If I say I’ll be there, then I will.” Atem ruffled the even shorter duelist’s hair. “And you can entertain your wedding guests by having your revenge on me in a duel.”

Weevil’s tone of voice turned happier. “I’ll squash you, Pharaoh! I can assure you that it won’t end like our train duel.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Farewell!” Atem gave Weevil a fist bump before singing the Incantation, returning himself, Heka, and Kaiba to their own time.

“Oh?” Weevil noticed that not only did Bakura not leave yet, but he also got really close to him and Rex. “Why are you still here?”

“So you and Hu are getting married. I’m… sniff… I’m glad…”

“Bakura…” Weevil reached a hand out to the Thief King. “You were in love with my past self, weren’t you?”

“!!” Bakura jolted at this question, but didn’t bother to deny it. “Sia… He was my whole world. I couldn’t possibly tarnish my friendship with him by telling him how I feel, so I allowed him to have a relationship with Hu.”

“I’m so sorry.” Weevil took Bakura’s hand into his own and hugged him, allowing him to cry on his shoulders.

When Bakura stopped crying, he turned to Rex. “Hu… I’m sorry, Rex. Honestly, congratulations. You just might see me at the wedding, too. In the form of a friend, if I might add.”

“Bakura…?” Rex tried to chase after a fading Bakura. “Wait, what do you… Aaaaaand he’s gone.”

“And we should be, too.” Weevil walked ahead, with the intention of going to the park later with his friends. “But first… Let’s go home and get something more appropriate to carry our newborn baby in.”

“Actually, can you do me a favour, Weeves?” Rex brought his hands into a praying pose. “I promised Espa that I would go clothes-shopping with him today.”

“Rex, you don’t have to,” Espa half-heartedly insisted. “I mean, you just gave birth yesterday, so I’m sure you-”

“Now, here’s something you gotta learn about shapeshifters, m’dude. We heal faster than your average Joe.”

“Gee, that makes me feel loads better about this whole process.” Espa grunted as he felt his twins kick at the same time. “These two are literal demon spawn.”

“Don’t let Mako hear you say that,” Weevil warned.

“Aww, come on, it’ll be worth it!” Rex threw an arm around Espa’s shoulders. “I swore early in my pregnancy that I was going to give Amber what for, but now that I can see her sweet little eyes and baby cheeks, I can’t say no.”

“Rex… Okay. Well, what are we waiting for, then?”

“Weeves…” Rex turned to his fiancé and kissed his ring finger. “I’ll be back.”

“You better. Unless you want Ptera to read you the Riot Act.” And with that, Weevil was out of sight, already wanting to show his newborn daughter the joys of the insect world.

#yugioh #ygo #shrimpshipping #mpreg #fanfiction #childbirth

[angryhausfrau-writes]

Something Old and Something New - Chapter 8: Dinner...

“I feel like an idiot.”

BJ curls into Peg's side and she wraps her arms around him. And they're still standing right outside of the hotel room door, blocking the hallway. But her husband clearly needs this right now – and she won't be the one to pull away.

“I just – I just spent so long getting ready to see Hawkeye, you know? And then he wasn't there. It was Trapper!”

And BJ's voice is full of anguish. Peg holds him closer.

“I know dear, I know,” she soothes.

He had clearly been thrown for a loop. And she can understand why. He'd been both looking forward to the reunion and dreading it for weeks now. He'd stood in their hotel room tying and untying and retying his tie in an expression of nervous excitement – and a desire for everything to be perfect for his and Hawkeye's reunion. And that's been shot in the foot, now, hasn't it? But there's nothing either of them can do about it now.

And they are running a bit late at this point. Late enough that Trapper has disappeared downstairs with the wedding present and they're left standing alone in the empty hallway. Late enough that she doesn't have the time to comfort him like she wants to.

None of this is going how they wanted it to. But it will all turn out all right, she's sure. Because the two of them are here together and they'll figure things out - come hell or high water. So she holds BJ tight once more and then gentles his head out of the crook of her neck. A position that he'd had to contort himself into, bending his knees to reach – and that can't have been comfortable at all.

“BJ, look at me. You're not an idiot. And I'm sure Hawkeye is downstairs with the others, waiting for us.”

The “So let's get a move on, huh?” is silent but heavily implied. And he can't really argue with that – much as he just wants to spend the whole reception in his room where it's safe. Where he doesn't have to confront his feelings for Hawkeye. Where he doesn't have to have the coming awkward conversation of just what, exactly, those feelings are. Where he doesn't have to come face-to-face with Trapper – the lover of the man he's in love with, and who he just made an idiot out of himself in-front of.

At least things can't get any worse, impressions-wise. And Hawkeye's already seen him at pretty much his worst anyway and they're still friends.

“Ok, yeah. Let's head down.”

--

Trapper makes the long, awkward slog to the gift table at the front of the reception hall. And it feels like all the rich fuckers are staring at him – cussing him out with their eyes for daring to be late, and be him, and pollute their refinement with his presence. And Jesus fucking Christ, he hates Back Bay. Charles had better fucking appreciate this.

And he ain't feeling too fucking charitable towards BJ for making him this late – and therefor the center of attention like this - either.

But Trapper's had plenty of practice bullshitting his way through poncy parties where people just barely tolerate his presence – left over from his college days at Dartmouth and the yearly holiday shitshow with his ex-wife's family – so he keeps his back straight and his face blank and his seething pissed-offedness locked up tight.

He delivers the gift. And Max owes him so fucking big for this. But also, he's glad this is happening to him and not her and Soon Li. Cuz that would prolly get about a million times worse for them than it is for him. And Max would mouth off at someone – or Soon Li would, cuz she ain't one to be condescended to either. And then whatever rich fucker'd started it would get even more upset. And that wouldn't end well for anyone.

Trapper can see the whole scenario play out piece by piece – and it ends with Max and Soon Li getting kicked out. And then the party wouldn't be no fun at all. So it's just as well she's a conniving little bastard who knows just how to play him.

But he ain't gonna let it go that easy, either. Not when he can prolly knock her down another five percent or so on that lingerie price via guilt trip, anyway.

Task complete, Trapper swings by the bar cuz he's noticed that none of the tables have any drinks other than booze at them. And maybe Marjory made sure Hawkeye's got something he can drink - but he wouldn't bet on it, given that even the kids got champagne to toast the happy couple – whenever they actually show up. And some of the kids are clearly parroting their parents in describing the bouquet of the wine or whatever else bullshit. Which, Jesus Christ. Imagine being a wine snob at eight.

So anyway, Trapper gets Hawkeye a Shirley Temple, which nets him a weird look from the bartender, but it ain't like he gives a shit about what he thinks either. Thought even the reception's bartender is posher than just about anyone else Trapper's ever regularly interacted with. Only the best at this wedding, apparently.

And then finally, Hawk's drink in hand, he makes his way over to his designated table, and thank God that's over with. And thank God that they – all the MASH contingent, plus Letta and her husband – have been put at an out of the way table so none of the Emersons or Winchesters or Oakes will have to look at them. And maybe that should feel like a snub, but Trapper's honestly glad he won't have to put up with any of the sneers and glares he got walking into the reception while he's eating dinner.

--

“Hawk!” BJ exclaims and goes tearing across the ballroom toward a tall, thin man with salt and pepper hair and an old fashioned tuxedo, sitting next to a man who appears to be a priest. Which seems rather out of character for the description she has of Hawkeye Pierce. But the man stands at her husband's shout.

And responds with an equally exuberant, “Beej!” before getting pulled into a bear hug.

At least BJ's anxiety about seeing Hawkeye again appears to have abated.

Peg approaches more sedately than her husband, so they've broken apart by the time she gets close.

“The infamous Hawkeye Pierce, I presume?”

He looks different from the grainy black-and-white photos she's caught glimpses of in passing, when cleaning BJ's study or when they'd been passed around to her and Erin if BJ'd been telling bedtime stories about Korea and in a particularly nostalgic mood. The man in those photographs had looked gaunt and tired and overall worn down by the mundane horrors of war. This man here is vibrant and alive and full of the kind of childish mischief most people outgrow a decade or so earlier. But despite the differences, this man is undoubtedly Hawkeye.

He grins and holds out a hand. “And you must be Peg! It's wonderful to finally meet you in person.” Then his expression turns sly. “BJ, you've been holding out on me. Your stories didn't come close to doing her justice.”

Peg finds herself grinning despite herself. Hawkeye is quite the charmer - no wonder her husband had been so taken with him.

“Hey, hands off my wife! Go bother your own date.” BJ pretends affront.

“Would that I could, but alas, Margaret has run off to the powder room with Kat and half the other women at the table. They're either unionizing or planning a bank robbery.” He turns conspiratorially to Peg. “If you want to get in on the ground floor of the heist, I'd cut out now.”

Peg laughs. “I think I'll wait a few more years to start a life of crime. At least until the children are a little older.”

“I'm just surprised Margaret agreed to be seen with you,” BJ chimes in.

“Well, it was between me and Trapper – and Kat drew the short straw in the date department.” Hawkeye grins at Trapper, who's just arrived at the table, presumably from dropping off the wedding present.

“Ouch,” Trapper says, not sounding very hurt. “Just for that, you're getting your own drink next time, Hawkeye.”

But he's smiling as he hands over the glass of whatever it is. And Peg watches as their fingers brush and linger. And she sees how Trapper angles himself around Hawkeye, pressing against him in a way that would look innocuous if you didn't know better.

Peg hadn't been entirely certain that her husband wasn't reading too much into things. That Hawkeye and Trapper weren't simply very close friends, the way she assumed BJ and Hawkeye had been. Friends forged in war and terror – and closer than brothers for it.

But it turns out that BJ's in love with Hawkeye.

And then she'd thought that maybe BJ was reading too much into Trapper and Hawkeye's relationship because of how he felt about Hawkeye. Like if Hawkeye really was a homosexual and in a relationship with Trapper, then there was a chance for BJ too. And maybe it's all just wishful thinking.

But it's fairly obvious, now, that BJ was right. And that Hawkeye's relationship with Trapper is more than simple friendship. Which has some potentially unfortunate implications for BJ's chances with Hawkeye. Which Peg doesn't really know whether to be happy or disappointed about, she honestly doesn't.

And now the conversation has foundered with her focus on Trapper and Hawkeye – and on the two of them together– and BJ's focus on her reaction. So she endeavors to set those thoughts aside for now and return to the social niceties.

“Who's Kat?” Peg asks. BJ hadn't mentioned her in any of his stories about Korea. Maybe she left before he got there.

“Margaret's roommate,” Hawkeye supplies. With perhaps a touch of emphasis. Hmmm.

“So you're on a double date?”

Trapper laughs. “Just like old times. Though I don't remember them running out on us quite this fast in Korea.”

“That's just because there were fewer places to hide.” And that's how Peg meets Major Margaret Houlihan. BJ really was not exaggerating about her in his stories at all.

--

Finally, Charles and Marjory and all the rest of the wedding party show up – so Trapper'd been glared at for nothing. He guesses the rich get to decide how late is fashionable and how late is rude and everyone else just has to lump it. But their arrival seems to be the signal for everyone to sit down and shut up so that a succession of really boring people can make terrible speeches about how great Charles and/or Marjory are. All without really seeming to know them at all.

Trapper's a little jealous of Hawkeye, BJ, Peg, and the Padre cuz they're carrying on a silent conversation in sign language the whole time – even with the other three way down the table - and that looks like a lot more fun than trying to actually pay attention. But Trapper does have Kat whispering sarcastic commentary in his ear. And sure, it's mostly so he'll whisper it into Margaret's ear like some kinda lesbian to lesbian telegraph service. But he'll take what he can get at this point.

And God, he'd forgotten how much fun Kat is. Not that Margaret ain't a good time – but Kat has one hell of a sharp tongue and Trapper's counting on her running commentary to make this upper-crust shitshow of a wedding reception bearable. Since all the Back Bay snobs are gonna be gossiping about Trapper and his friends all night, he may as well get his own entertainment outta them.

And then Honoria joins their table after the speeches finish up and dinner gets started. And she's apparently stolen a bottle of top-shelf champagne from the head table to get their portion of the party started early.

“Shouldn't you be in the wedding party?” Hawkeye asks her after turning down a wine glass of champagne. “You know, since your brother is the one getting married.”

“And your dress looks an awful lot like a bridesmaid dress,” Trapper adds. “You on the lamb?”

“It-t's tr-true,” Honoria says, with a dramatic hand to her brow. “I confess, I've run aw-way from home.”

“They gonna come hunt you down?” Trapper's a little wary of causing more of a scene this early in the proceedings.

“Ooh, do you need a disguise?” Hawkeye asks, delighted at the prospect. “How bout you and Max swap outfits, you're about the same size.”

“And I look absolutely stunning in teal, it has to be said,” Max adds from down the table.

She laughs. “Th-thanks, but I doubt th-they mind I've gone missing. Less chance of embarrassing th-the family w-way over here.”

“I'm sure that's not true,” Margaret chimes in. “Charles always spoke very fondly of you, Honoria.”

“And you seem like a fun gal to spend time with,” Kat adds with intent.

Trapper bets her and Margaret will run off somewhere with Honoria the minute they can get away with it. Not that he can really blame them for jumping at a good time when it lands in front of them. He's just a little sore that his built in dance partner is gonna abandon him – given that was the whole point in getting a date to this shindig. He'll have to hope there's someone in the rest of herd of MASH vets and their partners that wants to take a spin around the dance floor.

“In fairness,” Hawkeye says, interrupting some pretty heavy eye contact between the three women, “Charles is too busy making eyes at Marjory to notice a herd of elephants stampeding through the ballroom – much less that his sister is missing.”

Trapper looks up at the happy couple. “I'll say this for 'em. They do genuinely seem to be in love.”

If Winchester gets to looking any sappier, he's gonna have little hearts coming outta his eyes like in a cartoon.

“Isn't it something,” Radar interjects in an awed tone.

“Radar! Come sit with us, it's been an eternity since I've seen you.” Hawkeye pats the seat next to him. They've all started playing musical chairs as various couples swap with each other, using the time it's taking for the servers to reach their table at the back of the room to catch up with everyone they've missed talking to, either upstairs or before the festivities got underway.

“You saw me upstairs ten minutes ago,” Radar grumbles under his breath. But he sits with them readily enough. And brings his date along as well.

Their whole table's completely ignoring the fancy little place cards set out for them – and given that Honoria's stolen a chair from some other table, that appears to be spreading across the whole room. Trapper can spot at least one surreptitious chair theft happening while the former owner is busy at the bar. And some of the guests are just baldly demanding others give up their seats since their own have gone missing and they're obviously much more important. It genuinely feels like things may come to blows – or the posh equivalent – at some point this evening. So at least there's that to look forward to.

And it's good to know that the 4077 can still sow chaos wherever they go. Though hopefully it doesn't get them booted out before dinner's even served.

And it's nice to catch up with Radar. He's changed a lot since Trapper'd last seen him – and even since Hawkeye had, apparently. And it ain't really a surprise. He'd been just a kid back in Korea, stuck in a shit situation with way too much on his shoulders. But now he's really come into himself, it seems like.

Radar talks about running the farm – and it sounds like him and Park Sung are doing a good job of it. Not that he's one to judge or anything. The depth of his experience with rural living amounts to going to visit Hawkeye's dad and a few semi-disastrous Boyscout camping trips as a kid. But he's glad Radar's happy. And his Ma's apparently doing fine too.

But mostly, Radar talks about Patricia – his date to this little shindig and who's been pulled into a conversation about nursing by Margaret and Kat. Leaving Radar to gush over how smart and pretty and all around wonderful she is - to Trapper and Hawkeye's amusement. To hear Radar talk, she's invented penicillin and polio vaccines all in one.

Finally, Radar pauses to take a breath and Hawkeye mock whispers, “Do I hear wedding bells?” And at Radar's blushing nod, he sniffs dramatically and pretends to wipe his eyes with a handkerchief. “They grow up so fast, don't they Trapper?”

“Seems like just yesterday we were conspiring to get him a date.”

“Yeah, after his fiance threw him over – jokes on her,” Hawkeye says, pinching Radar's cheek, “Radar's grown up to be quite the catch.”

“Oh, cut it out you guys. I ain't some dumb kid no more. And me and Patricia are engaged now, anyway. So I ain't thought about Lindy Sue in forever.”

“Engaged!” Hawkeye gasps, affronted. “And you didn't tell us? Does family mean nothing to you?”

Radar looks abashed and mumbles “I didn't figure you'd wanna come all the way out to Ottumwa for the wedding so I didn't bother sending nothing out. Id'a told you after I was actually hitched.”

And it makes sense, given Radar'd been left at the altar before. He wouldn't wanna jinx nothing by spreading things around. But it looks like both of them are in this thing for the long haul.

So Trapper throws an arm around his shoulders. “Radar, Radar, Radar. It's us.”

“Your Aunt and Uncle,” Hawkeye continues. “We threatened to adopt you.”

“And those threats ain't made lightly.”

“Of course we'd come to Iowa for the wedding.”

Radar blushes. It's a little embarrassing – them talking like they're his kinda parents still – but it's nice too. “Thanks you guys. I'll make sure to invite you once I know when it's happening.”

It sure won't be as grand as this one is. But it'd be real nice to have his friends there – Hawkeye and Trapper and maybe Max and Soon Li'd wanna come down for the wedding. It ain't that far from Toledo to Ottumwa. And maybe Colonel Potter'd wanna be there. He ain't Colonel Blake, but he'd done his best to look after Radar – just like Radar'd done his best to look after him. And it'd be real nice have the Father there, even if he'd have a pastor to officiate.

Radar leans back in his chair, closes his eyes, and lets himself open up to the future like a sunflower opening up to the sun. Till now, he'd been real careful to keep whatever it is lets him look squeezed shut tight, just in case he'd see something he don't wanna see. Like Patty leaving him like Lindy Su'd done – not that he's been thinkin on that or nothing. Or maybe he'd see some other kinda disaster befall them that'd keep 'em from getting hitched. And he's still scared of all that.

But here, with all his friends, it feels like things are gonna work out just fine. And like it ain't gonna hurt to let the future in.

Eventually, Radar and Patricia leave – running off to go talk to Max and the Padre about their engagement, looks like. And Trapper doesn't mind that. He knows they'll have time to chat again later if they want.

What he does mind is that BJ steals Radar's vacated seat, plopping himself right between him and Hawkeye.

BJ'd been kinda hovering in the background for a while now, like Hawkeye had suddenly gained a blond, over-earnest shadow. And Trapper figures he's probably missed seeing Hawkeye everyday like Trapper knows he had after getting home, so he can't begrudge them wanting to catch up. And he has a wallet full of kid pictures and enough public-appropriate stories from work they oughtta make it through dinner ok. If BJ even deigns to talk to him, that is.

He seems real fixed on talking to Hawkeye – and only Hawkeye. Margaret barely warrants a distracted nod and Trapper doesn't even get that.

But it ain't like they've ever been close, so he just shrugs it off and goes to talk to BJ's wife. She's small and blond and pretty – and bears a striking resemblance to Louise. It's a little uncanny, if Trapper's being honest.

Mrs. “Peg, call me Peg” Hunnicutt seems like a nice gal, though. Shame about her husband.

And that's maybe a little too catty. So he turns to engage Peg in conversation about her real estate career – and the interior decorating that goes along with it - cuz it seems polite and she's kinda being ignored by BJ, too. And maybe not his favorite topic – or one that he knows anything about, given that he'd pretty much left his house like Louise had had it, plus a few additions from Hawkeye and his dad – but it beats trying to horn in where he ain't wanted.

Seeing Hawkeye is... seeing Hawkeye is indescribable. BJ almost can't believe that he's real and here and sitting next to him. Close enough that BJ can feel Hawkeye – electric and chaotic and full of an infectious joy that's not exactly settling but that feels familiar like home and bright shiny new all at once. Magnetic in a way that makes BJ have to fight not to touch him, press against his side, throw an arm around his shoulders, pull him into another hug and just never let go.

He turns sideways a little in his seat to more fully face Hawkeye and it brings their knees bumping together under the table and it's like there's a live wire running through him lighting him up and he can't fucking stand it.

Can't keep hold of the thread of whatever story Hawkeye's telling because he's too busy watching the dance of his hands. Too busy feeling the press of his leg when he leans towards BJ during an especially emphatic point. Too busy looking at Hawkeye's face – split by a huge grin and with his eyes all crinkled up in mirth and shining with joy as he tells the punchline of a joke.

He can't bear to tear himself away.

And then Hawkeye's leaning behind BJ to talk to Trapper and the little world he's built around just the two of them comes crashing down. Because, oh yeah, there's other people in the room aside from him and Hawkeye.

All the ambient noise of the room rushes back in – including Hawkeye rattling his glass of ice meaningfully at Trapper.

Who's leaning around BJ to smirk at Hawkeye – and there's an intensity so very visible in his eyes. “Why Hawk, would you like another drink?”

Hawkeye effects a “who, me?” expression, which just prompts Trapper to roll his eyes and take the glass from him – hands brushing and lingering – and BJ has to turn away.

Trapper stands and turns to the ladies. “You want a drink, Maggie? Kat?”

Kat waves him away but Margaret orders, “Scotch and water, tall,” with all the strength and steel of a military command.

“Yes ma'am!” Trapper sketches a sarcastic little salute. And then he turns to Peg. “How 'bout you, Peg? What're you drinking?” And he seems very familiar, leaning towards her in a way BJ doesn't particularly like.

“I'll be buying Peg's drinks,” BJ interjects. Where does Trapper get off flirting with his wife?

Trapper looks a little taken aback – and maybe BJ shouldn't have been so quick to jump down his throat. It's just that things between him and Peg have been a little – not strained, never that – but different. Like they're standing at the precipice of something neither of them can see and trusting that everything will be ok if they jump. So BJ's maybe been a little protective of her.

Luckily, Trapper just shrugs and says, “C'mon then” over his shoulder as he heads to the bar. And he seems completely relaxed walking through the crowded room, even as BJ wilts a little under the bald stares of the other wedding guests.

Although some of his self-consciousness may have something to do with being alone with Trapper without the buffer of Hawkeye – or even Charles – to ease the conversation along. And the way Trapper's lounging at the bar, all broad shoulders and long, lean body – seeming perfectly at ease – doesn't help any. And neither does the way Trapper plucks the cherry out of Hawkeye's drink, puts the whole thing in his mouth, stem and all, before pulling the stem back out, tied in a perfect little knot - which he places back in the glass like some kind of trophy or calling card or something.

BJ squirms a little in what's probably jealousy.

He downs his double Scotch in one and orders another. But the feeling is still there whenever he catches a glance of Trapper out of the corner of his eye – still sprawling on his barstool like he owns the whole damn hotel.

And it doesn't help when they get back to the table and he puts a big, possessive hand on Hawkeye's shoulder as he hands over his drink. Yes, definitely jealousy - and nothing else. Because what else could it possibly be?

And jealousy is something he's been trying to be better about. But hasn't exactly been easy – particularly with Trapper right there in front of him, flaunting his closeness with Hawkeye.

“Don't forget to tip your waiter,” Trapper jokes as he hands over Margaret's Scotch.

“Oh, I'll give you a tip and a whole lot more later tonight.”

Hawkeye's lascivious whisper right into his ear makes Trapper almost forget where he is and who he's with. But all he says is, “I look forward to it.” And then turns his gaze towards Margaret and Kat – two much more socially acceptable targets for whatever the hell his expression looks like right now.

And Margaret just smiles knowingly at him, bless her. “I don't know, Trapper. You took an awfully long time bringing a lady a drink. I'm not sure I care for the service at this establishment.”

No, she wouldn't, would she.

He laughs. “It's not my fault some pompous asshole ordered a punch Romaine – to be made immediately, of course – right in the middle of the bartender making your drink. I had to sit there for fifteen goddamn minutes while the poor guy chipped ice.”

“Oh! Is that why my cherry's already been plucked?”

BJ chokes quietly on his drink.

“Sorry Hawk. I know how much you like to watch.”

Hawkeye opens his mouth for a rebuttal, but Margaret interrupts them by asking after the girls. Probably for the best, cuz they're being maybe a little too overt. BJ's giving them a kinda weird look, anyway. And the change in conversational topic means Trapper gets to show off Becky and Cathy's school pictures and a real nice snapshot from when they all went up to Maine to visit Hawkeye's dad.

Despite Hawkeye's insistence that Trapper loves his daughters more than just about anything else, BJ is still surprised when he pulls out a series of photos of his daughters and shows them to Margaret. Who passes them around to Kat and then Peg.

“Oh, Trapper, they're lovely!” Peg exclaims.

“That's Cathy.” Trapper leans over her to point out which daughter is which – and BJ has to stop himself from doing something stupid. Like tackling him from across the table.

“And that's Becky. She's smart as a whip – got that from my ex-wife, along with her looks, thank God.”

“Oh, I don't think you do too badly,” Hawkeye interjects glibly.

Trapper studiously ignores him. “And that's all of us at the beach in Maine with Hawk's dad and Steve and Millie.”

Peg laughs. “Here, BJ. You'll get a kick out of this.” She hands over the photo – and BJ's a little afraid of what might be in it to make Peg so certain he'll want to see it.

And oh boy. There's Hawkeye in swim trunks - and nothing else. And sure, BJ's seen him in his skivvies plenty – one of the dubious pleasures of living together in an army tent with no privacy and a roommate with even less shame. But this is different. This is... wow.

BJ's almost glad when the waiters show up to serve them dinner and he has to hand the photograph back to Trapper. But only almost. Because what he really wants to do is look at it long enough the planes and lines of Hawkeye's sunkissed skin are burned into his memory forever.

Maybe Hawkeye'd like to come out to California sometime – he's talked about it before in some of his letters. Then BJ would be the one throwing a casual arm over Hawkeye's naked shoulder. The one Hawkeye would lean into to keep his balance on the shifting sands.

Instead, it's Trapper that's standing there with his arm around Hawkeye's shoulders and with Hawkeye pressing into Trapper's side. Trapper standing there tan and built and – BJ will admit, but only under duress – attractive. The crooked grin and aviator sunglasses certainly don't detract from that impression and BJ wants to punch the non-photograph version right in his stupid, handsome face.

Because, the thing is, is that Trapper's not a bad looking guy, objectively speaking. BJ can see why Hawkeye might want to be with him – with his movie-star looks and his secretive little smirk. Flirtatiousness practically oozes out of him like an oil slick.

But that's the thing – he never seems sincere. Through all of their interactions – and now, through all of Trapper's interactions with Peg and Margaret and Kat and even Hawkeye – BJ has never once gotten the sense that Trapper has actually displayed a genuine emotion. He just sits there joking and flirting indiscriminately like none of it matters – like none of it means anything.

And BJ thinks Hawkeye deserves better.

Dinner's really nice. Lots of laughing and joking around and yelling down the table to pass the salt and elbowing each other in the ribs cuz they're all packed together like sardines. It's almost like being back in the mess tent – minus the accompanying horrors of the Korean war.

And they tell stories from Korea, all shouting over one another and arguing about how events actually transpired. BJ joins in for most of the ones from his tenure at the front. Including stories of pranks he'd played on Frank and Charles and even Hawkeye – which causes him to elbow BJ in the ribs while Trapper leans around him to grin at Hawkeye in silent laughter. And Margaret even chimes in with little tidbits about Frank Burns that none of the rest of them had even known about, so that's fun. Particularly the part about him having a weird thing for her feet. Just lovely. Hawkeye is so glad he's learned this little fact.

“Between Frank and feet and Ponobscott and fingers, I feel like you tend to attract a very peculiar class of man, Maggie,” Kat says.

So it's just as well I've given them up, now isn't it, her eyebrows seem to say in response. And it really, really is.

“Wonder what that says about us, Trap, given that she wanted to jump your bones and actually jumped mine.”

Trapper laughs. “Don't worry Margaret, Hawkeye's into completely normal things like getting stepped on by women in high heels. You have nothing to worry about there.”

BJ blushes as Hawkeye practically launches himself across his lap to slap a hand over Trapper's mouth. “Shut up, Trap. Now she's never gonna wear those leather hip boots around me.”

Kat raises an eyebrow at Margaret who just smiles demurely. She makes a mental note because that. That bears future investigation.

Meanwhile, Trapper has licked Hawkeye's hand in a bid to get it off his mouth. And poor BJ's looking a little squashed with Hawkeye still half in his lap. And a little red in the face.

Probably because Hawkeye is now exclaiming, “Gross, Trap. Stop that – I know where your mouth has been.”

Trapper waggles his eyebrows lecherously. “And I know where your hand's been.”

Hawkeye laughs and runs his wet hand through Trapper's hair to dry it off. And their faces are right in front of BJ's when Hawkeye's hand catches in Trapper's curly hair and it's like time stops. They're just staring into each other's eyes – expressions full of such naked desire – and it's like BJ's caught in some kind of sexually charged force-field. And he's got to get out from between them, he's just got to.

Luckily, Peg rescues him by nudging Trapper in the shoulder – conveniently knocking him and Hawkeye out of their trance – and saying, “Why don't you swap with BJ? I'd like to spend some time talking to my own husband tonight.”

And Trapper agrees readily enough. Probably because it means he gets to sit next to Hawkeye too. But BJ can't bring himself to mind too much, not when he's got Peg's hand on his thigh and Hawkeye and Trapper have stopped looking at each other like they want to devour one another. Though Trapper pretty obviously has his leg pressed into Hawkeye's under the table – the way BJ had until just moments ago.

But he doesn't really want to think about that right now. So he gets down to the business of eating dinner and lets the chatter and laughter blend into a wash of background noise. The only thing that's real is him and his fork and Peg's small, soft hand on his leg.

BJ's gone a little quiet, Hawkeye notices. Quiet like he'd gotten towards the end of his visit to Boston. But maybe that's just how he is now. Hawkeye himself had gone through a similar change after the war, so he's not one to judge. And he's more than capable of filling the silences with stories of the better parts of the war – helped along by Trapper, who remembers some good ones that Hawkeye has half forgotten about.

And even though BJ isn't saying much, Hawkeye's enjoying getting to sit next to him. Just sort of soaking in his presence. Because he has missed BJ a whole hell of a lot over the years since Korea. And they have an unspecified number of days after the reunion to visit with one another, anyway.

Maybe BJ will open up a little more when it's just the two of them. Well, the two of them plus Peg. Who's an absolute delight and Hawkeye can more than understand why BJ's completely and utterly besotted with her. Which Trapper obviously picks up on, cuz he tips Hawkeye a very knowing look when Peg starts talking about the injustice of the government mandated redlined neighborhoods in San Francisco.

She's truly a woman after his own heart. And he's really looking forward to getting to know her better over the next few days.

But the dinner conversation mostly stays light. Funny stories from work, or joking flirtation with the women at their table. And he and Trapper fall back into their little double act from Korea pretty easily – just treading the line of overt camp and humorous insinuation, with Maggie and Kat playing along happily enough – and Peg, once she figures out the game. And she's very good at it – which makes sense, given that she's married to a man who makes terrible puns on an hourly basis.

All in all, it's like being at a better version of the 4077. One without death or bombs or rats or death. Plus, the food's a whole hell of a lot better than army food. Not a single powdered egg in sight – and Hawkeye's more than grateful. Though all the talking he's doing means he doesn't have very much time for eating and he has to pawn the rest of his plate off to Trapper. Who's never exactly been shy about eating Hawkeye's food, invited to or not.

Trapper takes the plate of mushed together potatoes and vegetables – stirred together by Hawkeye as a pretense that he was actually eating the food, rather than just playing with it – with a grimace. But he ain't one to waste food. And it means something to Hawkeye to give it to him.

“You're lucky I love you,” Trapper whispers into Hawkeye's ear.

He throws his head back in a laugh. As if Trapper has said some uproariously funny joke, rather than a declaration of love – framed as a tease or not. And it lets him slap his hand down on Trapper's thigh – totally accidentally, of course, and not at all an excuse to touch him intimately in public. It's a gesture that absolutely doesn't end in a gentle caress of said thigh. Or in Trapper slapping a hand to Hawkeye's shoulder in shared mirth – a hand that ends up with the thumb stroking gently at the nape of his neck.

Hawkeye feels something inside him settle at the gesture. At the reminder that Trapper's here with him and they're home and that Korea is just funny stories and distant memories to be rehashed with friends. He bumps his shoulder gently against Trapper's in appreciation and understanding. And then steals his dessert.

“You just did all this so you could eat all my cake while I finished your vegetables, you little sneak,” Trapper says with a mock glare. It's obvious he doesn't really mind – and he ought to be used to Hawkeye stealing his dessert by now, anyway.

But Hawkeye's feeling generous, so he holds out his fork. “Fine, you can have one bite.”

“Wow, thanks, Hawk. One whole bite of my own cake.”

But he takes it anyway.

And they probably can't get away with much more than that in such a public setting. BJ's already giving them a weird look. But for now, it's enough.

#mash #piercintyre #something old and something new #chapter 8

[spacyparker]

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MASTERLIST - PROMPT LIST

Request : “Hi! Can you do 164 for Peter? thank you xx“ @chrislaufeyson

»  “I heard you singing Taylor Swift in the shower this morning, are you okay?”

Characters : Peter Parker x reader

Word count : 1.9k

A/N : This isn’t that much long but it’s the longer imagine I’ve done yet lmao. I hope you like it, don’t hesitate to tell me what you thought of it under anon or even in private, I’d be happy to taaalk ! Don’t forget my requests are open, so... GO FOR IT BABES

“Oh please, May ! It'd be the best present ever ! I'm a big guy now.”

Peter had been begging May for 2 weeks now, and the aunt was still reflecting either or not it was a good idea. For his 16th birthday, his nephew wanted his girlfriend to sleep with him, but May thought he was too young for that, she didn't want to be a grand-mother right now, she was even quite young when she had to become Peter's mother. All was going too fast, and she wished Ben was still there to say no. Ben would have said no. They both knew it, that's why Pete would have asked May if his uncle was still alive. But she had to say no by herself now, take all the responsabilites.

“Stop harrassing me, I can take you to some restaurants or cinema, but you're too young to sleep with a girl.”

Peter crossed his arms on his chest and sighed. He hated when May treated him like a child, and she recurrently did. “C'mon, many boys sleep with their girlfriends at my age. I won't do sh- stupid things. May, you know the feeling. You know what it's like, wanting to wake up to the love of your life.”

It was May's turn to sigh. Obviously, she knew, it was a feeling she was used to, a feeling she would never get rid of. Someone was missing in her bed just like someone was missing in Peter's. If one human on Earth knew that you needed to enjoy someone's presence before it was too late, it was her.

“Door open, and if I hear something weird you a dead man, Peter Benjamin Parker.”

He instantly jumped, doing some dance of joy. His heart was beating faster as he ever did. This was it, it was happiness, true happiness. This news had him reaching the nirvana, this estate of maximal pleasure, the plenitude. He kissed his aunt's cheek, thanking her a good million times. You soon was informed and you both fangirled. Your first night together. This was a brand new step, but everything with Peter seemed natural anyways. You could do everything.

“I'm taking your present ! And a toothbrush of course, I can't wait to sleep in your arms oh my god. I'm taking movies, can I borrow you a new shirt to sleep ? What should I take beside all of this.” Peter could tell over the phone how happy and stressed you were, you barely allowed yourself to breathe while talking. “Happy birthday, love.”

He smiled, the sound of your voice was a music to him, a melody he could never get bored of. “Come here quick to tell me in person.”

“Peter !” May called him back to have a quick chat with him. There was no way he could sleep with you before she'd have gave him the talk. He soon hung up, excited as never.

Peter smiled as soon as he woke up, you were still in his arms, your head on his chest, sleeping like an angel. His heart started beating fast again. He had thought right, this was the best morning of his life, this was the way he wanted to wake up everyday, with his love right next to him, stuck to his body like the world out there was spinning and the only thing letting her be safe was his touch. He was his remedy to any problem. Both your bodies were hot, the night had been so soft.

Peter kissed your forehead, pulling you closer to him which woke you up. There was no way you'd feel happier any day, you put your head on his neck and kissed his perfect jawline. “Hello pretty boy.” You whispered in a rough matinal voice before kissing his jawline again. “I've never slept that good in my entire life before.”

“Me neither.” He whispered at his turn, and his rugged voice had you shook. You've never heard him talking with such a deep tone and it was exciting to discover new things about your dedicated one.

Minutes passed by without doing nothing, just hugging and kissing. You wanted to spend the entire day there, in this bed, wrapped around Peter's warm arms. But May would have never let you, plus it seemed like the super-hero had a project for the day.

It was super late when you got up, 2pm actually. Peter tried to make you a breakfast as a lunch, but his pancakes were terrible and he had burnt the bacon. His secret talent was surely not cooking. You ended eating ice cream before he went take a shower. You came back in his room, watching the wall where he put some pictures. One particularly kept your attention. This picture was one Peter had taken of you two during your first date. It was all awkward and sweet, and you were glad he had taken pictures of it.

“Is it weird if I take photos ? I know it's the first time we... we... This is a date, right ?” Peter had is cheeks all red from asking this, and you found it super cute. You liked him since you started talking, he was the kindest boy you've ever met, way different than all of the others. The day you met was the day your ex dumped you because you didn't want to have sex with him, but what the fuck you was having sex at 15 anyways ? So not you. Peter found you crying in the school's hallways and tried to cheer you up, then he asked you everyday how you were feeling, and soon you became friends. But there always were that extra something, this little sprinkle in your eyes telling you he was a man who would change your life. And he really did change you, he made you a better person, he built you.

This first date had been really different than what you already had experienced with other boys. You knew you loved him, you knew he wasn't some jerk trying to use you. “Of course this is a date.” You held his hand with a big smile on your face. “And take photos, I want to have souvenirs of this evening !”

It wasn't some fancy going out in a restaurant or cinema, it was just a chill walk, all was about talking and being happy to be together, it was all fluff and natural, it was just all love. Peter took as many photos of you as he could, not afraid anymore to look like some kind of a creep. “I love taking photos, and you're so beautiful, you... The camera loves you.”

A little smirk took place on your face as you turned to him. “Only the camera, not you ?” He instantly blushed, panicking. Was it a bad thing, were you making fun of him ? His hands started shaking and he shook his head, his mouth wide open just as his eyes. “You don't need to respond.” You laughed. “I was kidding, this is too soon for all of this.” But deep inside, Peter knew he loved you.

“I shake it oooooff, I shake it oooooff !” Peter's singing got you out of your memories and you gigled listening to this song. He might be... Really excited for today. “Haters gonna haaate, haaate, haaate !” Well, this was for sure the best shower he had taken in while.

He came back right after his song, his hair damp and curlier than you'd ever seen before. He was so handsome, you were so screwed.

“Look, this is the camera I told you about ! The one May offered me yesterday ! She did such a great job, I missed photography.” He said as he was taking his new camera out of his backpack. You soon took his treasure in your hands with a look of admiration. It was a vintage Leica, and you wished you knew more about photography to understand how awesome it was for Peter to have it. “It has a lil defect on its lens but you know how I love things when they have something unique.” You nodded, and gave the camera back to him. “Okay, now that I can take pictures again, go against this tree and be my model.”

Your nose creased. Be his model ? What ? “No, no Pete there's nooooo way. I'm not.. I'm so ugly today, I hadn't brought my makeup to your place, my skin is awfully oily.” You soon pouted, Peter's eyes wide open.

“You kidding, right ?!” He literally seemed attacked. “You the most beautiful girl I'll ever get to see, Y/N ! I just want memories, you're a real muse for me. Please, as a birthday gift, love !”

“I love you, thank you, but it's still a no.”

Peter rolled his eyes, he for sure needed you to be okay with his idea of taking pictures of you, because it made a long time since the last time he did. “I'll buy you japanese food.”

And suddenly you chaned your mind, you looked excited and even jumped a little when you heard 'japanese food'. “Ok, well, Why are we still here ?! C'mon Parker, let's take photos !” He laughed, fuck he knew you so well, he was sure japanese food was a good compromise. It always had been. Photoshoot session started right away. “You know, I heard you singing Taylor Swift in the shower this morning, are you okay?”

Peter rolled his eyes, happy Taylor Swift's songs was his guilty pleasure and no one was supposed to know. He blushed a little. “Don't be a jerk honey, be beautiful and pose for me, that's all I'm asking !”

“This is some kind of song you should be singing to Flash.” You giggled. And Peter blushed even more. He always had that thought that Flash was better than him, he was popular even if he was an asshole. You saw Peter getting lost in his thoughts and grimaced. “Babe, focuse on me !” His eyes immediately met yours and he couldn't help but laugh. You were ugly, but in a beautiful way, weird. I guess it was just love. He took a picture, and you frowned. “I don't want this on facebook or I'll kill you !”

“Love, you know I don't have a facebook.” He creased his eyes. You harrassed him to do one, but he never understood the utility. He had no friends. “I'll download them in my phone, so I can show people how pretty my girlfriend is !”

“I'm not, Peter !” You shouted, leaving the tree to get back to him.

“You're not my girlfriend ?!”

“I'm not pretty you idiot !” You hit his shoulder.

“People don't believe me when I say I have a girlfriend.” He shrugged while a sad smile took place on his face.

You pouted, a little embarrassed. Yeah, Peter wasn't popular and all, people thought he was a fucking loser, but they were missing it. “We don't need people, Peter Parker.”

#tom holland imagine #tom holland #tom holland writing #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland prompt #peter parker imagine #peter parker #peter parker writing #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker prompt #spider man: homecoming #spiderman #spiderman imagine #spiderman x reader #spiderman au

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Tagged by @saxrohmerwon ages ago on my brief other blog and just noticed it, thanks bruh ily <3

Rules:  Always post the rules, answer the questions given to you, then write 10 questions of your own, and tag some friends!

1. Favorite city (or town/small island/et cetera) in the world and why?

I guess it’d be Avalon. I basically spent every summer of my life there with family and it’s really small (only seven miles long) so you wind up going to the same few ice cream places or antique stores or pizza shops all the time but you never really get bored of it. The whole place has a quiet, old-timey shore town nostalgia to it too that’s super sweet. And like some of my all time favorite memories were staying on the beach until sunset when the lifeguards were gone so we could swim wherever we wanted, or climbing on the outfall pipe and walking to see how far out I was brave enough to go (it got “higher” ((read: the sand started to disappear)) the further out over the water you went), or walking on the beach at night. That was my favorite part, the nighttime. It’s weird how quiet but how alive everything got after dark, and I could hunt for ghost crabs or watch fireworks and the lights from town on the water, and the sand never bothered me as much when it was cool from the dark.

2. Describe your favorite scent/s.

Autumn, if that counts as a smell. But the combined scent of really brisk air and smoky burning leaves and fresh damp ones and hay and I guess plant life generally decaying, but in a sweet way? I also like flower smells obviously, and food smells, but those are boring to talk about. Gasoline, the specific kind of fake (cotton) paper money is printed on. Coffee. I’ve learned to kind of like the smell of cigarettes on clothes, because my boyfriend smokes and I like waking up in the sweater I wore the night before with that smell still on it. People have smells too. Like my mom smells like perfume even when she isn’t wearing any, and it’s nice. And babies smell rad and trigger ALL of my maternal impulses (cannot wait to reproduce, it’s gonna be gr8). And the boy smells really nice... Not even in like a what-deodorant-are-you-wearing kind of way but like skin and sweat and waking up warm in a cold house on Wednesday mornings. And when he comes home from work smelling like fresh cut grass and wet dirt it’s v nice.

3. Who is/was your favorite teacher and why?

My Romantic Lit professor currently, because he teaches exactly what I want to teach and I have a career crush on him. He’s also just super excitable and enthusiastic (let’s talk about that WEIRD weekend in Geneva the Shelleys took guys! Blake was an EDGELORD!) which I love.

I also had a professor at my old school who was super cool and helped me through a lot of shit? I took her personal essay class right as I was sort of in recovery for depression following a terrible, low key emotionally unhealthy (abusive? I still don’t know if I can use that word? Either way, OVER-SHARING YAY) romantic relationship and I explored that and a lot of other stuff pertaining to my childhood and relationships and discovering my queerness in my work for her class, and she was super supportive and involved in helping me experiment with new formats and really use writing as a therapeutic tool and it helped me heal a lot. She was also just a super cool lady (lots of tattoos and wispy blonde hair and a quiet voice, kind of a hipster fairy) who hung out with me at a local music festival in town when I was like fresh out of the hospital and having trouble being around my normal friends. She just always made sure her door was open and went out of her way to make me feel better, and to this day I appreciate that.

4. What is your favorite poem?  (Substitute with “song” if you don’t have a favorite poem.)

Oh my GOD, don’t make me choose. I’m obsessed with the Romantics and a few contemporaries have my heart, but I guess I’d have to say “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost. It’s just beautiful and hopeful and simple enough that tiny me could fall in love with it and appreciate it almost in its fullness when I was too young to grasp other works.

5. Weirdest thing you’ve ever heard out-of-context?

Ever? I don’t tend to remember stuff like that for a long time unless I’d like hypothetically overheard a murder or something, but last night some girl was walking back from our student center with her friends and angrily shouted that she wanted to “put her dong through a snare drum” which made me laugh.

6. Best concert experience?  (If you have never been to a concert, what do you hope your first concert will be?)

Still gotta say Green Day after just turning 15 years old. I’d never been to a concert before and they were my favorite band at the time. I was so proud to be there because I had 0 dollars to my name and no one would hire me because I was underage, so I had to earn every penny for those tickets doing gross menial work like removing and scrubbing window frames that hadn’t seen soap in maybe a decade (SO MANY SPIDERS), and teeny bopper me thought that was 'punk.’ And at one point Billie Joe Armstrong, who my pathetic little emo self wanted to MARRY told the audience he was proud of everyone who’d worked their ass off to afford to come see them play and I remember turning to my dad and screaming “HE MEANS ME!” It was so wholesome.

7. Favorite holiday (or other special occasion) and why?

Christmas! My house was THE Christmas house growing up. My parents put so much effort into it and it was the cutest thing. Besides the outrageous amount of decorations and the amazing food that takes all week to make and the cute tradition of having my grandparents spend the night to watch us open presents first thing in the morning, the best part of Christmas growing up was definitely the effort my family put into making us kids believe Santa was real for way longer than necessary. One year my uncle got a flashlight and a red solo up and climbed trees in our yard so we’d see “Rudolph’s nose” if we looked out the window. We put out reindeer food every year. My dad would stomp around shaking jingle bells and someone always climbed on the roof making noise, and my mom knew calligraphy, so she’d write us scrolls from Santa on legit parchment and toast it in the oven so it would curl. One year we had an old, old family friend who was a Santa impersonator show up with a legit sleigh and a giant book with all the family member’s names and the years they were naughty and nice in it and stories about why and it was so cute. So whereas most kids found out around like 8 my parents went to extreme lengths so that I believed it until I was like 11 and honestly, I’m really glad they did, because it was a kick ass childhood. I definitely want to be that level of extra when I become a parent.

8. Did you ever play an instrument growing up?  If so, how did it go for you?

Guitar, bass, after I learned guitar I could play pretty much anything pluckable with strings, so I had a Romanian lap harp (I was such a cool kid) and I would sometimes play my sister’s viola (often incorrectly and like a guitar, but it was fun to sample when I recorded stuff). I haven’t sang or touched an instrument in like seven years though. I kind of gave up after sad life stuff happened but I want to pick it back up again. I really miss music.

9. If you were given $100 today, what would you do with the money?

Use it toward Christmas presents for loved ones. Since I’m basically not allowed out of the house after I go home for break I have to do Christmas early with the friends and boyfriend.

10. What’s the scariest movie you have ever seen?  (Define scary however you like.)

I love scary movies so this is hard, but I guess anything in which children are genuinely evil? Like not even in a supernatural way; it’s not horror but watching We Need To Talk About Kevin fucked me up. I guess being a mom is like so much something that I want, and imagining that happening would def keep me up at night. Especially because I would not know what to do.

Now, for questions:

1. What’s your favorite article of clothing?

Dresses but also plain black leggings. And I have very soft sweatpants that fit just right.

2. Do you still sleep with a stuffed animal?

Nope. I can’t sleep with the live one either lol, Bynx likes to sleep RIGHT where I want to roll over and screams and puts his paws in my mouth when he wants attention.

3. Do you believe in heaven? Hell?

Both, Catholic.

4. Do you listen to podcasts? What are your favorite ones?

Not really, but I’d like to, in theory. It just seems like more effort somehow than watching TV and I am always tired.

5. What was your go-to game during recess?

Four square.

6. Where do you see yourself in the next ten years– not in a job interview kind of way, but actually?

Awwww this is cute to think about. I guess I’d like to be living in like a really woodland but not isolating place, somewhere where my house can be on a lake or by woods or mountains but if I drive ten minutes there’s a cozy-sized town with all I need. Maybe in like Virginia or Vermont. I’m a professor of Gothic Literature at the local college, and my students are engaged and inspiring and call me by my first name. I’m in a pretty and not-too-big house, but it’s warm and smells like our fireplace. I’m married to my lovely guy, and both our jobs are flexible enough that we can have dinner as a family and spend time with our brood of kids. And they pay well enough that we might not be wealthy but we never have to worry. The cat’s still with us and we’ve got a dog, too. We go on camping trips and The Lumberjack teaches the kids how to build fires and tie knots and dad stuff like that. One of the kids at least loves reading and the house is full of books - I’ve got a home office full of bookshelves and a reading nook. We’ve got a porch where we can bundle up and drink wine in the evening after the kids are in bed. We’re not rich but not poor, and our families get along and come to visit. My parents still ask us over for Christmas every year. Wherever I teach, my kids can go there for free.

7. Do you have a favorite visual artist? Who are they?

Oh lord, I don’t know. I mean I like art but I hate the process of liking art. It’s so much more involved than “I like how this piece makes me feel” and I don’t enjoy that. I like individual pieces and I don’t know enough about art to really speak on it.

I guess, though, I like Dali and Khalo as people. They seem unpretentious and fun. Which is surprising because I guess the way their work is talked about you’d think the opposite.

8. Do you really like a food that most people think is disgusting? Or, do you like a popular food to a disgusting degree?

Not really but like I put too much hot sauce / jalapenos on everything and it disgusts people. And I put way too much sugar in coffee, and creamer too.

9. What music did your parents play in the house/car?

My mom is a New Wave junkie like me and my dad had more complicated taste. He was never big into music, so he only really likes a few artists for their voices and some songs for nostalgia. So we listened to a lot of oldies and swing and Judy Garland, but he also loved Blondie and Boston.

10. What would you tell your 15-year-old self?

I’d tell her she’s a lot stronger than she’s going to think she is one day and to tough it out. That people love her and will love her. That when you get older, family is hard, but it’s worth it to work on things. That she’s smarter than she thinks she is and should try harder in school, because when she finally does have faith in herself, it’ll pay off. 

Tagging whoever else wants to do this - it’s cold and rainy (here at least) and we could all use a day of warm socks and procrastinating with asks, honestly.