#welcome to the journey pals

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: The Halloween Factory

Ray Bradbury: gone too soon! Bradbury: the lazy summer afternoons picking dandelions by miller's pond forgotten, buried under an avalanche of adult responsibilities. No time for jump rope or blind man's bluff, there's a new game they play - a game of bills and forms and gray-faced men in suits.

Bradbury: ah! but tonight! Bradbury: tonight Bradbury: tonight will be Bradbury: a game of magic Bradbury: tonight, dear reader, they put aside their forms and licenses and dreary paperwork Bradbury: and journey back to a time when this big big world still had a lot of small small towns

Bradbury: for tonight and tonight alone Bradbury: remember the magic! Bradbury: the magic of Bradbury: halloween!!! [Midnight Pals presents a special holiday event: Ray Bradbury's Halloween Factory]

King: [wearing clown costume] hey guys, welcome to our halloween party! King: great costumes! King: love your monkey costume, edgar Poe: [muffled inside gorilla suit] it's an ape Poe: [muffled inside gorilla suit] like in the murders in the rue morgue Barker: great monkey suit edgar! real scary!

King: and boy clive King: you really went all out on that cenobite costume King: you put that together just for halloween? Barker: uh no Barker: not really

King: and frank! wow, that is an amazing wolf man costume King: you put that together just for halloween? Frank Belknap Long: uh no Long: not really   King: but one thing i don't understand King: why are you wearing pants with a full body fursuit? Long: no Long: no reason

King: and howard! King: howard King: wow howard Lovecraft: you said i should come in costume King: yeah but King: howard Lovecraft: i dressed as the scariest thing i could think of King: yeah but King: oof King: howard

King: dean! great costume Dean Koontz: i'm a dog! King: yup! you sure are! Koontz: i borrowed the collar from clive King: you sure did!

King: and there she is! the queen witch herself! King: our mary shelley! Mary Shelley: sup fuckers King: dressed as frankenstein's monster i see Shelley: i'm dressed as frankenstein King: King: but mary Shelley: [flipping switchblade] King: oh yeah! mary's here as frankenstein!

#midnight pals #the midnight society #midnight society #stephen king #clive barker #edgar allan poe #dean koontz #hp lovecraft #mary shelley #ray bradbury #frank belknap long

[somanypetals]

please tell me what’s going on in riverdale you are my only source - I haven’t watched since season 1 is it clown of me to hope that Betty and Veronica are kissing again

oh my dude, my guy, my pal, it’s not clown of you at ALL, I’m cooked rn and I’ve actually been thinking about beronica all night so I’m gonna catch you up on their recent moments w a fuckton of screencaps you’re welcome bestie

okay for context, idk if you know this but in s7 they’ve all gotten stuck in a 1950s universe bc of a comet, crazy stuff yknow how it be, anyway so everyone’s a wee 27-year-old teenage virgin and no one remembers the previous 6 seasons (except for lots of signs that they still have emotional memories)

7.02 Veronica tells Betty she’s a catch, a total Marilyn, and she gets all blushy! Seems innocuous but Betty’s journey this season is very much being filtered through the lens of her discovering her femininity and sexuality, and Lili said in interviews she’s been playing it like Betty is seeing all her peers in a new sexual light so I’ve been reading into every microexpression this season feeling insane but actually? Not insane at all*

7.06 Betty goes to Veronica for advice about feeling sexy, Veronica tells her all about how she loves to wear lingerie, describes loving the sensations etc. and invites her over to try some on, and the whole locker room scene* Betty is like 👁️👄👁️

7.09 We find out that Veronica is one of the people Betty fantasises about, and one of her fantasies includes this locker room* kiss that, imho, combined with Lili's interview about how she's playing Betty this season? Defffffinitely connects back to Betty's awe during the locker room lingerie talk

7.12 After all the Riverdale parents have been classically negligent, Veronica and Betty start living alone together w no adults in V's apartment at the Pembrooke. They invite Kevin and Clay over for a sleepover and they all sing I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair, and then later when it's just B and V, Veronica brings up Kevin and Clay's relationship and they both express curiosity about same sex relationships, V admits she's kissed a girl, B admits she's thought about kissing V specifically, V asks if she wants to try it, they almost kiss before they're interrupted by Mary (who, sidenote: schooled all the moms in Riverdale that week for their negligence and reset the living arrangement status quo)

oh shit I hit image limit and I'm only halfway through this LMAOOOO look what you've done anon you've got me long-posting

alright I'm gonna reblog this and continue to make it even longer and more annoying bc THIS IS IMPORTANT STUFF xoxo

#ask #anonymous #beronica #long post

[thesneezies]

🏠 T H E B I G M O V E S A L E 🏠

ive bought my first home with @reallyhardydraws ! ive been insanely stressed these past 2 weeks making sure we got the place, that sneezies have kinda taken a back seat, and im honestly exhausted!

but to celebrate our big move into a new home, (and i guess free up box space!) im holding a big ol' sale on everything to say thankyou to everyone who has adopted a sneezie so far on my journey!

however there is a very small selection of amazing new lil sneezies, that have a two tone fur! the teddy sneezies are such a cuddly amd classic animal pal!

if you can take a minute to check out the new fellas, and see what is on offer in the shop, that would meam the world to me!

#art #cute #artist #stuffed friend #sneezies #colourful #plushies #plush #stuffed toy #sneezie

[theteasetreads]

Here is a list of stuff I love/recommend from writers I think are neat. Please be sure to check out their blogs and their other stuff too! I will be updating this list the more I find stuff I love.

*this list is arranged in alphabetical order

❤️‍🔥 = smut (18+) 💝 = fluff 💔 = angst 👀 = suggestive/implied smut

❧ @collecting-stories ↳ I am not sure if this writer is currently writing for Daryl at the moment, but I ADORE their Daryl content! Be sure to check them out, and maybe you'll find that they write for some other characters you like, too!

❧ @devnmon ↳ Rye is one of my pals, and they just so happen to write some of the best Daryl Dixon fanfiction ever. Like, ever. They write some of the sweetest, sauciest, sexiest smut I've ever read, and their writing style is just amazing. I am so bad at describing this kind of stuff, but trust me when I say that they are essential reading if you like Daryl Dixon x Reader!

❧ @haruhey ↳ So much has been said about Haru, but I truly cannot express how amazing their work is. Not only do they write the most mind-blowing, earth-shattering smut on this planet, but they also put so much care and detail and love into their writing. I love how they put tons of effort into creating a real relationship between Daryl and the reader character. It's truly spectacular. Please check their stuff out if you haven't already.

❧ @normanplusdaryl ↳ Ari is just starting on her writing journey, and boy is she already turning out to be another ICONIC addition to the Daryl Dixon x Reader family. I love the way she writes Daryl, how he's true to his character and does/says things I actually think he would do/say. That is a really hard thing to do! Plus, she writes angst super well, and, once again, that is not an easy feat.

❧ @starlessea ↳ This writer's work pretty much introduced me to the world of Daryl Dixon x Reader. In fact, her series, Here Comes the Sun, is what inspired me to write my own series, and my own fanfiction in general.

❧ @weretheones ↳ Madi is not only one of the sweetest, kindest, smartest, funniest, coolest, most talented people you will ever meet, she is also a stellar writer who truly understands the complexities of Daryl's character and basically everything about him. She is truly the gem of Daryl Dixon x Reader. She is an icon, a star, a revolutionary. She rocks my world. Oh, and she is one of the best angst writers. Ever. I don't even particularly like angst, but Madi? She does it so well that it's not even angst, it's just pure art.

❧ Back to Black by normanplusdaryl | 💔 ↳ Summary: Daryl comes home after many years to face the consequences of his actions. ↳ Word Count: 2.5k

❧ Doctor's Orders by weretheones | 💔 ↳ Summary: When a sprained ankle takes you off run duty, the new girl goes in your place. Which would’ve been fine– if she didn’t have that brilliant wit, gorgeous smile, and effortless skill. But she did. And it was only a matter of time before Daryl noticed too. (Season 4) ↳ Word Count: 7k

❧ Gone For Good | Part 1 & 2 by weretheones | 💔💝 ↳ Summary: It was easy to lose hope when everyone around you started dropping like flies. When the flu hit, Daryl saw your optimism drain alongside your health, but it wasn’t until the brutal attack of the Governor that he lost his.  ↳ Word Count: 9k (total)

❧ Hide Away With Me by haruhey | 💝👀 ↳ Summary: Dancing in the dark, with you between my arms. ↳ Word Count: 3.6k

❧ In Vino Veritas by haruhey | ❤️‍🔥 ↳ Summary: After a particularly rough run, Daryl wants nothing more than to shut himself away from everyone with you. However, he’d agreed days prior to be your ‘date’ to one of Alexandria’s welcoming parties thinking you needed someone to share the pain of new people with. Guilt gnaws at him the whole night and he gets wasted to numb the feeling, resulting in you having to carry him home. The alcohol in his system and the way that dress hugs you makes him particularly… talkative, and as the Romans say, in wine there is truth. ↳ Word Count: 30k

❧ Late To the Party by devnmon | ❤️‍🔥 ↳ Summary: Daryl has a knife kink. ↳ Word Count: 7.1k

❧ No Rush by weretheones | ❤️‍🔥 ↳ Summary: Daryl took his time with you. ↳ Word Count: 950

❧ You Deserve the World by devnmon | 💝💔👀 ↳ Summary: Daryl’s been insecure about his age starting to show, and is worried he’ll lose you. You show him every way he won’t. ↳ Word Count: 3.4k

❧ You, You, You by normanplusdaryl | 💝👀 ↳ Summary: After a long night, Daryl comes home and you decide he needs a little break. ↳ Word Count: 1.2k

❧ All You Got by weretheones | 💝💔 ↳ Summary: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4) 

❧ Georgia by collectingstories | 💝 ↳ Summary: King County, Georgia. In a small town like that, where everyone knows everyone, people can get pigeon-holed into personalities that aren’t their own. Daryl Dixon was a troublemaker, a good-for-nothing, redneck kid who would grow up to be just like his dad. Drinking too much, smoking too much, and cheating his way through life. But Daryl isn’t any of the things people say he is and you’re willing to shoulder the burden of their judgement when you find yourself falling for him.

❧ Here Comes the Sun by starlessea | 💝👀 ↳ Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you’re not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn’t like your singing, or that you can’t use a gun for shit - and don’t get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he’s found a best friend for life, and that he doesn’t actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Updated: 3/13/2023

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic

[breelandwalker]

Hey Pennsylvania pals - Are you a fun-loving geek? Do you love the outdoors? Do you love medieval fantasy? Do you love the idea of running around in the woods beating your friends with padded plumbing supplies?

Then come join me and my LARP fam April 27-28 at Olivet Blue Mountain Campground in Hamburg PA for Game 2 of the 2024 season of Xanodria Productions, Inc!

Xanodria (or XPI) is a Medieval Fantasy Live-Action Roleplay group based in Southeastern Pennsylvania, with over 30 years of history and lore and a lively, inclusive atmosphere where all are welcome, whether you're a veteran LARPer or just picking up your first sword.

You can create your own character in a well-established and deeply-immersive medieval fantasy world with many nations, faiths, and professions to choose from. Learn swordplay, magic, alchemy, physiking, and other skills to help you on your journey. Join a faction or forge your own path. Join your fellow wanderers as we explore new lands and battle the forces of evil. Or if you'd rather, join the cast, get your monster on, and give those foolish mortals what for!

(Onsite accommodations for lodging and camping are available. Food is provided with your admission fee and new player orientation is held before every event.)

Visit the Xanodria Productions Inc (XPI) Facebook page for more information or check out our FAQs and feel free to message the staff with any questions you may have.

Pre-registration for Game 2 is now open! Tell 'em Bree Landwalker sent you. 😉

Hope to see you there!

#larp #larping #ttrpg #Xanodria #XPI #Definitely come join us if you can! It'll be on my birthday! 😊

[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Sixteen

Tom Bennett x OFC

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Strong Language, Smut, World on Fire spoilers

Word Count: 9.3K

Notes: Hiya pals.

“Welcome home, Mr Bennett.”

Tom looked behind the suited man and his clipboard. Beyond the small dockyard pier, he could make out the beginnings of a town still sleeping. Mist, or was it rain, was rolling in from the horizon of hills. In just a few hours, the train would take him through those valleys, along the Pennine Way and to Manchester.

“Not quite home,” Tom said to the man, who smiled in turn. “But almost.”

The boat from Gibraltar to Scotland had taken five days and, after his journey through central Spain, Tom was glad to be back at sea. In England, summer would have been making way for autumn but the heat still lingered in Spain. Days of walking, being bundled between cars, and of weeks waiting in Gibraltar for any news of his departure left Tom agitated. The heat had not helped. The days at sea had given him plenty of time for reflection. Stood on the stern of the boat, gazing as mainland Europe disappeared, he watched the surface of the water for disturbance. After the Battle of River Plate, he couldn’t shake the fear that U-boats were lurking beneath the waves, waiting to strike. Fighting for attention alongside these fears were thoughts of Bess. She had told him, before he left, that the Navy could be the making of him. In a way, she was right, for faced with the open ocean and endless sky, Tom felt freer than he ever had on land.

Home was so close now; he could almost smell it as the gentleman on the dock led him and a few other evaders towards a waiting vehicle. Roast dinners, grease from the dockyard, rain on the cobbles, perfume at the Palais and buttered chestnuts at Belle Vue. The dusty picture house, clean linen, Bess’ hair. Tom had tried to think of what he would do when he saw her, for seeing her was inevitable. For a while he thought of going to the Infirmary; she couldn’t scream at him while in her uniform. Or else, he could climb into the window of her flat like old times, but he didn’t know which was hers and hadn’t she said that the boarding matron had a strict rule of no gentlemen? Perhaps Tom could charm the woman. He wasn’t a gentleman, after all. He settled on seeking her in Longsight. Neutral ground. What he’d say he didn’t know, but that was one part of the plan he could account for; no more performing.

By evening, Tom and the other evaders that had made the crossing were trundling southwards, through Scotland and towards England. It was a supply train, and they had been given bunks by the men that worked to deliver steel, food and other resources across Britain. Tom watched as the sun set below the Pennines, knowing that in the morning he would awake in Manchester. He looked at the photograph of Bess. Almost nine months since he had laid eyes on her at the train station. Maybe tomorrow, he would see the real thing.

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Bess removed the blackouts to be dazzled by sunlight. She stood at her window a while; autumn was coming and soon all warmth would disappear from the sun. God she hated Manchester in winter. She scanned the city skyline. At least, what was left. As if in some perverse game of dominos, a few buildings that had been there last night were gone, dark smoke billowing in their stead. She had heard the first loud crashes. The air raid sirens hadn’t noticed this attack, and after the first distant explosion came banging doors as the girls of Carver Mills, dressed in nightgowns and curlers, hurried to the shelter at the end of the road.

Despite the terror of the night past, Bess found herself in unusually high spirits. The months had not been kind to her, and she could count on one hand the few times she had been truly happy since new year. Most of those times had been the first promising two weeks of 1940, sharing stolen kisses and glances with Tom. But this morning, with the sun shining through the horror, Bess felt perhaps if she couldn’t conquer the world, she could at least conquer the day.

She sat at the small vanity. She had been dancing at the Palais over the weekend and her rollered curls lingered. If she draped them just right at the base of the neck, she could hide them from Sister Stern under her nurses cap. Bess surveyed her reflection. It was a day that called for rouge. Rolling the lipstick from its tube, Bess swiped the colour across her lips and thought of the men at the hospital. She’d certainly brighten their day. The last thing to do was grab the photo from her nightstand. The paper was worn at the edges but despite this, and the black and white hue of the paper, Bess could feel Tom’s blue eyes gleaming at her. She tucked him into the pocket of her apron and donned her coat before glancing round the flat. It wasn’t much, but in the early autumn light, it felt like home. Perhaps she’d have Joan and Helen over that evening for supper and wine, if they could find some.  

The bus was just pulling away from the stop when Bess reached it, and she ran to join it. Douglas appeared at the open door and held out his hand to haul her onto the moving vehicle.

“Thank you,” she half whispered, half panted. Douglas touched his cap. A little awkwardness still coated the air after she had kissed him then revealed her feelings for his son; the month since had left little time for her to visit but she made a point to every time she was in Longsight. She valued Douglas’ friendship too much to allow her moment of insecurity and fear get in the way.

“Your father’s down the front,” he said as Bess moved to find a seat. “Looking a bit worse for wear.” Bess nodded and found her father slumped against the window behind the driver. His hair was unkempt and a little stubble was starting to show.

“Dadda,” Bess nudged him as she sat down. “Dadda!” He woke with a start and looked at her. A sleepy smile spread across his face and he took her hand in his own, patting it gently.

“I was going to pop into the hospital on my way home, to see if you were okay.”

“We’re all fine,” Bess squeezed his hand in reassurance. The Blitz was taking its toll on Fergal. More frequent air raids on the city meant that after his shifts at the dockyard he was straight into his warden’s uniform and on patrol, helping put out fires or guiding civilians to safety. Since Albie’s death, he was rarely home, his time taken up with helping the war effort and avoiding his grief. Bess laid her head on her father’s shoulder and they sat in amicable silence.

“Heavy night last night, they got Oxford Street. Palace Theatre got hit.”

“Many dead?”

“A fare few my girl, a fare few.” When they arrived at the Royal Infirmary, Fergal spoke again. “I do worry about you Bess. It’s only a matter of time before they get the hospital-”

“We’ve got a shelter in the basement, Dadda, we’ll be fine.” She kissed his cheek. “Tell you what, I’ll come by at the weekend for dinner. Stay over?”

“I’d like that, you take care.”

She waved off her father and Douglas from the stop as the bus made its way to Longsight, then hurried in to begin her shift. Sister Stern said nothing about her hair and lipstick, though from the twitch of her eye, Bess knew she wanted to. She was right too, the men loved it. She, Joan and Helen were the most popular nurses at the Infirmary with their beauty, charm and care. With every flirtatious comment, smile to her friends and patient helped, Bess felt her heart lighten. Uncertain the cause of this newfound contentedness, Bess was desperate to cling onto it regardless, and set about making plans for the evening with Helen and Joan.  

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On any other day, the walk from Manchester London Road to the Bennett house would take an hour. But as Tom strolled the streets that had coloured his childhood, his buoyance at being home turned to horror. The pub in which he snuck into for his first pint was no more than a pile of rubble. Houses of friends gone, skeletons of their childhoods all that remained. Even his secondary school, once an imposing building, had been brought down to a singular wall and the scaffold of the gymnasium. He felt sick. The war had at last come home. What if he arrived in Longsight to find it no longer existed? Walking through smoke and the rising dust of devastated buildings, he saw lines of people watching on as wardens and firemen attempted to put out the still simmering flames of the night before. At Victoria Park, a woman was trying to calm her young children, some of whom sat atop the rubble, as men scavenged what they could from the bombed-out street. A football lay abandoned in the road and Tom, taking pity on the woman, offered to kick the ball about with her sons while she rested.

By the time he had arrived in Longsight, any thoughts of happy reunions had vanished, replaced by the anxious dread that had followed him since his final days on the Exeter. The fear that around every corner, no matter how safe or familiar, life could be upended as easily as the spinning of a top. Keen not to feed his fear, Tom walked along the ginnel, avoiding the sight of the street and what it may hold. He reached the gate to the yard of his home as paused, taking a deep breath. The handle was cool in his hand, and it clicked gently as he opened it. Washing was strung across the line, mostly his dad’s shirts and a few of Lois’ small things. Instinctively, Tom took the sleeve of one of Douglas’ jumpers and brought it to his face, inhaling the smell of familiar laundry detergent. It fluttered from his hand in the breeze, and for a moment, Tom felt he could cry. It was that exact sound that stopped him. High and coarse, a wailing cry came from within the house, and Tom’s heart somersaulted.

Tentatively, he opened the door to the kitchen and stepped inside the house. A dull light streamed through the net curtains. Nothing had changed. The piano sat unused, the chairs the same, exactly where the family liked to sit. Douglas at the table, Lois by the window and Tom at the hearth. The only difference was the baby that lay swaddled and crying in its basket, set on the kitchen table. Slowly, ever so slowly, Tom inched towards the little creature. Its red face contorted as it kicked its covered legs and balled its tiny fists. He didn’t know who it belonged to, but Tom knew that somehow, he loved the little babe. Steps thundered on the landing upstairs. Tom just managed to tear his eyes away from the child when a pair of feet appeared on the stairs.

“I’m coming, I’m coming-” Lois slipped down the last few steps in her haste, buttoning the blouse she wore. “Come here then, you little bugger.” There was a moment when Tom thought he was a ghost, had died at Dunkirk and drifted home, for Lois looked straight through him with unseeing eyes. Her steps faltered as she made towards the Moses basket, looking at the space Tom occupied. She stopped and the wailing continued. The two siblings stared at each other, neither moving, as though scared they would startle. It was when Tom smiled at his older sister, dimples appearing in his cheeks, that Lois knew he was real. With a shriek she leapt at him, arms tight around his neck as she burst into sobs.

“Hiya,” he whispered with a laugh. She pulled back to look at him, taking his face in her hands and assessing him, making sure he was there. Deciding it was true, her brother was really home, she took a step back and smacked his arm, hard.

“You bloody bastard,” she laughed through her tears. “We’ve been so worried.”

“And busy,” Tom nodded his chin in the direction of the baby. Lois wiped her face with a watery smile and scooped the baby into her arms.

“Give over,” Lois huffed, unbuttoning her blouse and sitting in the rocking chair by the hearth. Tom watched as the baby’s cries turned to snuffles of contentment.

“Christ. Everything’s so different,” Tom whispered. Manchester, the war, a baby. The home he had longed for was irrevocably changed. And yet, looking at his sister cradling that little baby in her arms, Tom felt that somehow everything would be ok in the end. Lois watched Tom watching the baby and another small sob left her. “Don’t be soft,” Tom laughed, though he held out his hand and Lois took it.

“I’ve missed you,” she wiped her eyes again. “Needed you here.”

“Did you know? Before I left?” Lois nodded. “You should have told me.”

“I was scared. I’m sorry,”

Tom shrugged his shoulders, and Lois gazed back down at the baby. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” He said with a chuckle. The baby had finished feeding, and Lois held the little creature up.

“Sit down then,” she said, indicating the armchair opposite the rocking chair.

“You what?” Tom tried to sound light, but a spike of terror caused his ears to turn pink.

“Just sit down!” Tom did as he was told, and Lois lowered the baby into his arms. She laughed at her little brother, whose eyes were wide in shock. “You can relax, Tom. Lean back in the chair and I’ll put a cushion under your arm. Just take her head, that’s it-” Everything in Tom’s body stilled. His breath became deep, his racing thoughts quietened and any sound beyond the house disappeared. The baby in his arms licked its little pink lips, still milk-drunk, and looked up at him with shining eyes. “This, Tom, is your niece.”

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“Language.” Lois teased. “And this, little one, is your uncle Tom.” Knowing she was in tender care, the little girl gargling in his arms took hold of the finger that had reached out to brush her cheek.

“Fuck,” Tom said again, and wiped a tear of his own from his eye. With Tom missing, Harry married and facing a world of raising a child on her own, Lois had lost all expectations for the future she once dreamed of. A little piece of hope she thought missing slotted back into the space of her heart, as she watched her brother embracing her daughter. She ran hand through Tom’s hair tenderly and he leant into the touch, reminded of their mother. After minutes of contented silence passed Tom, never looking away from his niece, spoke.

“Is she Harry’s?”

“Yes. Though what he’ll have to do with her, I don’t know.”

“Bastard.”

“Quite.”

When he spoke again, it was to his niece. “Doesn’t matter thought, does it? You’re perfect.” Lois smiled and kissed his cheek.

“Are you alright with her there? I’ve got some folding to do,” Tom waved his hand; he’d sit there forever. “Not sure what to call her yet, I thought it’d be nice to name her after mum?” Tom nodded and Lois’ heart burst with pride. Her little family would be ok.

They talked for hours. Tom told Lois about his travels around the south of Europe, and about Dunkirk. How he ended up in Paris and his escape. About Claudette and the others he met along the journey. Lois told him of ENSA, Harry’s betrayal and of adoring Vernon. Of the baby and the birth; she spared him the detail, all but one fact. “Bess helped me deliver her.”

“Oh right,” Tom’s voiced croaked and Lois smiled to herself.

“You’d better go over and see the Vaughns later. They’ll be so happy to see you.” She came back to sit next to Tom and her daughter, now sleeping in her uncle’s arms. “I don’t suppose you’ll have heard that either, God, there’s so much to tell you-”

Tom didn’t get the chance to find out what Lois had to tell him, for the front door clicked open. Douglas walked in, shucking off his shoes and coat. “Where’s my granddaughter then?” He was happier than Tom had heard him in a long time and his stomach sank a little. Was it wrong, to have hoped to find his father devasted? Maybe he was right after all, maybe things were easier if he wasn’t here.

“Dad,” Lois’ voice was soft.

“Yes, love?” Douglas turned from hanging up his coat and glanced at his daughter, before his eyes flickered to the man sat beside her, cradling his granddaughter. Tom stood and Lois hastily took the baby from his arms. Douglas looked between his daughter and son, mouth a little ajar, and swayed on the spot.

“Hi dad.”

The words were barely out of Tom’s mouth before Douglas clapped a hand to his own and laughed. He bent double, laughing, and at this Lois began crying again. It was when his father stood straight that Tom saw the tears rolling down his face. “Dad,” Tom stepped forward but hesitated. For the second time in his life, he froze. The first was when Bess fled from this very house in tears, the second was now. Luckily for Tom, he didn’t have to wait long, for Douglas staggered forwards and gripped him in a desperate hug.

“My boy,” Douglas laughed through his tears. “My boy,”

“Hi dad,” Tom said again, weakly. Douglas, as Lois had done, cupped Tom’s face to look at him.

“My brave, brave boy.” Tom laughed awkwardly, but his heart soared with happiness. At long last, he was home.

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The afternoon was reaching for evening when the Bennetts finally grew tired of chatting. Baby Bennett was sleeping on her grandfather’s shoulder, who was watching his two children with adoring pride. Tom had taken the picture of Marie down from the wall and placed her at the table, the way the Vaughns did with their mother. Sipping the last of their tea, they sat in gentle silence and simple enjoyment of the fact that their family was together again. And not just together, but growing.

“What are your plans, Tom?” Douglas asked as he placed the babe back in her basket.

“Well, I imagine it won’t be long until I’m called back.” He hurried on at the darkness that befell Douglas’ face. “But it won’t be for a while. I’m not sure how much paperwork it takes to resurrect the dead. In the meantime, it’ll be a few good meals and see as much of home as I can.”

“Speaking of which,” Lois said. “You best get over the road. They need some good news and I think you’re just the thing.”

“Must have been devastating when I left, all the good-looking fellas gone-” Lois smacked his arm again.

“Be off with you!” Tom kissed her cheek and patted his father’s shoulder.

“Save some tea for me, Lois. I’ve been dreaming of your roast dinners.” Dressing in an old jumper and clean slacks, he made for the door and the Vaughns. The air was still warm from summer though an autumnal breeze was gathering through the street. A few little girls playing in the street shrieked when it lifted their petticoats around their woollen tights. Tom laughed. That’ll be the little one someday. Crossing the road, something else fluttering in the wind caused him to stop dead. A black ribbon, tied around the knocker of the Vaughn’s front door. His blood ran cold. Surely, Lois would have told him if it was one of the girls. If it was Bess. The sensitivity of the day’s emotion caught at the back of his throat and he swallowed. Hadn’t Lois tried to tell him something before his dad arrived home? Tom watched with quiet fear as the ribbon teased him, before stepping to the door and knocking. He straightened his jumper and ran a hand through his hair. God damn it, he should have looked in a mirror before he left. Or at least washed. Tom was just shaking out his shoulders when the door opened and he snapped to attention.  

“Co-” The words died in his throat as the eldest Vaughn sister jumped at him.

“Oh my God!” Cora withdrew to look at him, then crashed into him once more. “Oh my God! Dot. DOT! Come down here right now!” She dragged him over the threshold. As yet, Cora had said nothing to Tom, and no words were exchanged further when Dot came hurtling from the back room and screamed at the sight of him. Running across the kitchen, she jumped into his arms and bounced up and down.

“You’re alive, oh thank God,” Dot turned back to her sister. “Some good news at last!”

Cora didn’t take her eyes off Tom. “Bess will be thrilled,” Tom could have sworn he saw Cora smirk.

Bess. Tom remembered the front door. “Cora. What’s happened? The ribbon on the door,” Dot stopped her giddiness, still holding on to Tom’s hand.

“Oh Tom,” Cora shuffled around the table to hold her sister. “It’s our Albie. The Siege of Calais-” Her voice died away and Dot hiccoughed. Tom looked between the sisters.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hating how feeble the words were and how they sounded in his mouth. Dot looked up and tried to smile through her watery eyes.

“But at least we have you back. And like Cora said, Bess will be thrilled.”

“I’m going over there to Manchester soon actually, Tom, taking some food round for Bess. If you want to come?”

Cora looked to Dot, who still had hold of Tom’s hand. She began to swing it, looking up at him mischievously. “Um,” he coughed. “Yes, will do.” Christ.

The journey back into the centre of town was easy. One of Douglas’ friends from the bus service gave he and Cora two free tickets on account of him returning home, and the bus detoured around the bombed buildings. Tom thanked God; he didn’t know if he could stomach it. Not when his mind was so occupied on seeing Bess within the hour. Next to him, Cora chatted away about Roger and how well he was doing with the RAF, about the memorial mass for Albie, and at that Tom tried to listen. But through imagined glimpses of the Vaughns’ grief, all he could see were flashes of Bess running alongside the train. It wasn’t until he and Cora departed the bus and arrived at an old mill building that he noticed he hadn’t been paying attention at all to the route they had taken. All he knew was that this was the old cotton trade quarter of the city. Tom looked up at the tall chimneys, smog-stained red brick and the shadow the old mill cast. Half of him thought that facing the Germans would be less terrifying than stepping in here and he laughed. Cora smiled lightly.

“Are you excited to see her?”

“Pardon?” Tom’s reaction was quick, so quick that when he whipped his head around from gazing up at the mill, he heard it crack.

“Give over Tom, I’m not stupid. I know all about you and Bess. She told me, after I caught you both kissing in the window.”

Tom grinned mischievously and rubbed the back of his neck. “I always get caught, in the end.”

“At least this time it isn’t trouble. Though I’ll tell you know, Tom Bennett. I adore you, but if you break her heart, I’ll kill you myself.”

“I think Dot’d kill me first.”

Cora laughed. “That she would. Now,” she put her hand on the door knocker. “Mrs Russo, the boarding mistress, doesn’t like gentlemen visitors so we’ll just tell her you’re waiting outside. Then we’ll sneak you in when she isn’t looking.”

“Aye, aye!” Tom saluted and with a laugh, Cora knocked. Once. Twice. Three times. There was a little noise behind the door and the two heard a pair of footsteps growing louder. It opened to reveal Mrs Russo, broom in hand and beaming, her bonny face shiny with exertion of cleaning.

“Cora, love, hello!” She pointed at the basket of food in her hand. “Got any for me?”

“Just deliveries for Bess I’m afraid,” the two women laughed and Tom sensed this was an ongoing occurrence. Mrs Russo then turned her eyes to him appraisingly and did not hide that she clearly approved.

“And who is this handsome lad?”

“Mrs Russo, this is Tom.” Cora lightly touched his shoulder. “A childhood friend. He’s just returned home this morning.”

“Ah, the missing fella!” Mrs Russo clapped her hands. “Bess has told us all about you, of course.” Tom felt a blush rise up his cheeks and Cora smirked. “Now, I don’t allow young men in the house, even ones as good looking as yourself, but would you take a cup of tea while you wait for Cora? I can open up the courtyard for you.”

“Only if you join me, Mrs Russo.” Tom winked.

“Oh, he is a charmer! I can see why you girls are so fond of him. I best get back to my cleaning but if you follow the building round, I’ll open the gate to the courtyard. Coming, Cora love?”

Tom began to walk along the red brick wall as Cora whispered, “I’ll come and get you when the coast is clear!”, and followed the lady inside. Mrs Russo had already opened the courtyard gate and hurried back to her chores when Tom reached it. Washing, bedsheets and nurse’s uniforms, hung between every window and at the centre of the small patio was a table and two chairs, a steaming cup of tea already awaiting him. No sooner had Tom sat down and taken his first sip was Cora hissing at him from a side door.

“Psst! Tom!” Tom hastily threw the tea into a plant pot and strode towards Cora. “Bess is still at work but I can let you in. You’re alright waiting for her, aren’t you?” Tom nodded his assent and felt his heart rate double. The two wound their way quietly up a few flights of stairs before Cora stopped to fumble with a set of keys. “Here we are, Bess’ humble abode.” She entered the flat first and Tom followed. It was as if he was trespassing on the room of someone recently deceased; it was so full of life yet the occupant was nowhere to be found. He half expected Bess to jump out at them.

The kitchen was miniscule. A cup and plate had been left by the sink, and Cora set about washing them for her little sister and putting away her parcel of food. On top of a rickety table was a vase, the dried flowers losing their leaves and scattering around two picture frames. One of Bess and her family, one of Etta. Tom smiled and moved to the window. Despite the missing buildings and the faint smoke rising from the air raids, Manchester looked magnificent in the late summer light. The sun was low on the horizon, piercing through chimneys, spires and mills. A little way off, Tom could make out the cranes of the dockyard. Beside him was an old armchair, its fabric faded and patched in places. Over the top lay some clothes, haphazardly draped, and a book of Nursing Practice. A little to his right, the bedroom door was askew, and Tom just caught a glimpse of the bed when Cora spoke. She was halfway out the door.

“I know what happened, Tom, before you went away. Bess has a steely mind and a sensitive soul, but she needs the truth.”

She didn’t allow Tom to add anything more before shutting the door. He was left alone.  

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“Got a bottle of wine from one of the lads,” Joan said, placing dirtied bedding into the wash bin. Helen was smoking discreetly out of a store cupboard window, carefully avoiding Sister Stern.

“How on earth did you manage that?”

“Said I’d give him a kiss,” Joan said sweetly and Bess laughed.

“Honestly,” Helen pretended to chastise her friend, but still smiled as she exhaled a plume of smoke. “What time shall we come up to yours Bess?”

“Eight o’clock, I’d say.” Bess was helping Joan to tidy away the linens before heading home to pick up some sewing work. “Gives me a chance to finish the clothes.”

“I wonder if there’ll be another air raid?” Helen worried the skin of her lip as she flicked her cigarette away.

“If there is,” Joan straightened and stretched her back from the day’s labour. “I’m glad I’ll be with you girls.” Bess squeezed her hand and waved her goodbyes.

The five o’clock sun set the city ablaze, and when Bess stepped onto the street, the glare the sun cast from the windows caused her to walk straight into somebody.

“I’m so sorry,” she held out her hands to steady herself against the person.

“Bess,”

Bess looked up, and into the sullen and scarred face of the man before her.

“James!” Bess took an instinctive step back. “How are you? The scarring is healing well, glad to see my stitching was neat.”

“Yes, I uh-” James looked nervously at her and shuffled on his feet. “I’m here to see one of the doctors about my sight. If he thinks I’m healed, it’ll be back to the front for me.”

Neither spoke for a moment, then Bess reached out to hold his arm. “The offer still stands, James. If you want someone to write to, you know where to find me.” She gestured to the building behind her. “Good luck.” She began to walk away when the calling of her name stopped her.

“Bess, if I do go back, would you come for dinner with me before I go?”

“James-”

“Please, just one last time.”

Despite his height, the soldier seemed to slouch under Bess’ gaze. His messy hair blew in the breeze and the coat he wore hung loosely around his shoulders. He looked completely lost.

“James, I’m sorry. I’m taking care of my heart at the moment, I don’t think I can handle any more heartbreak.” The man she spoke to straightened at this, seemingly buoyed by the fact that in some life somewhere, he could have the capacity to break this magnificent woman’s heart. The reality was entirely different, and Bess’ mind drew images of blue eyes and thin lips before her. Still, this little offering seemed to ease the soldier’s spirit and she smiled. “Good luck, James,” she said again, before heading for the bus stop.

Mrs Russo was exiting Carver Mills when Bess arrived home a while later. The little woman was buttoning her coat over a blue skirt Bess had mended for her when she spotted her tenant.

“How was work love?”

“Exhausting.”

“Well, you’ll be glad to know that Cora popped round a little while ago with a very handsome man and a food basket for you.” Bess smiled, imagining the fuss Mrs Russo surely made over Roger. He really was taking his time with that proposal.

“Perfect. Helen and Joan are coming up for supper later if you’d like to join us?”

“Oh heavens no!” Mrs Russo smiled. “I’m off to see my daughter, and besides, you girls don’t want an old biddy like me hanging around. No, you have your fun.”

“And you,” Bess passed Mrs Russo in the doorway and dragged herself up the stairs towards the flat. Despite her weariness, and run in with James, Bess still felt in her heart the lightness that had settled there that morning. For the first time, she smiled as she thought of Albie. Bess had never been particularly faithful, unlike her mother and father, but she wondered if this happiness and warmth came from her brother watching over her. Perhaps he was annoyed at her moping and was sending her a gift from the heavens. He always got annoyed when she was miserable, the likely cause being their twin moods. Or maybe it was because she had finally settled into her life in Manchester, away from her family. It was true, she missed them, and missed the piano, but this newfound sense of freedom gave her something she hadn’t known since she worked at the atelier. Only three miles away from where she was born, yet somehow this little world felt like hers entirely. The only thing that could dampen her happiness was Tom. She heard Albie’s reassuring and logical voice in her head. “Missing, not dead.” She reached the door to her flat, a little out of breath and pulled her keys from her bag.

“Missing, not dead.” She said aloud to the stairwell, placed her key in the door and began humming Mack the Knife. The sun painted her kitchen a brilliant gold, and Bess stood in the open doorway letting the last of the day’s warmth touch her face. She turned back to the door, still humming and locked it before removing her coat and shoes. Reaching up under her dress, she unhooked her itchy tights and pulled them off also, the cool tiles of the floor sending shivers up her legs. It was as she was retrieving the contents of her bag that the sudden and harsh scraping of a chair across the kitchen floor caused her to gasp and spin around.

A man was stood at the table. Wisps of his blond hair were haloed in the golden sunset, his broad shoulders squared, and Bess could just make out the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. Electricity hummed in her fingers tips. If I reach out and touch him, she thought, I might spark. At this surge of power, of energy, warmth welled in her bosom and her chest burned, as though taking her first gasping breaths of oxygen. Bess’ body, far before her mind, reached out to the figure, lit like a beacon in the autumnal light. She stepped forward, yet the figure didn’t move. He didn’t need to.

Bess would have known it was him had she been blind. If he’d not been a man, but a perfect ray of sun or a bird perched on her window or the chime of bells on Sunday, she’d have known. She would have known it as the air stilled around them. If he hadn’t come back until she was an old maid, and he an old man. She would have known it was him, just like she knew he was the reason for the day’s high spirits. Bess raised her hand and, shielding her eyes from the light, she saw him. The depths of those grey eyes, the sweep of hair. The strong neck that led to that stone jaw. The slope of his nose, pink at the tip and those lips, curved and oh so tempting. She edged ever closer, her hands instinctively reaching out to him.

Tom had been prepared for stony silence, a confrontation, or an affectionate kiss on the cheek and a “welcome home”. But when Bess looked at him as though he were the only man on earth, Tom Bennett could do nothing but watch. Watch, as she stood bathed in the sunlight. Watch, as she took in every feature of him. Watch, as her shock turned into recognition, and watch as she advanced on him, her dark eyes set and certain.

“Bess, I-” his voice was barely above a whisper, and the hopeful need he heard in his own was matched in the stormy eyes of the woman before him. Months of despair and self-hatred, years of waiting and wanting all came undone at the sound of his voice. Taken over by carnal desire that only he could ignite, Bess rounded the tiny kitchen table and collided with him.

“Tom,” her voice was shrouded in desperation, and no sooner had his name left her lips were they on his, warm, wanting and needy. Tom sighed, letting Bess devour him in a frenzy of lips, teeth and tongue, and in an instant his hands were at her back, pressing her body flush against his chest. Bess pushed Tom into the wall and pawed at his chest, desperate to touch any part of him she could. Pulling away from his lips, she tugged at the jumper he wore. She dropped it to the floor and pressed her body against his, wanting nothing more than to melt into his touch. Bess untangled her hands from Tom’s hair and frantically began undoing the buttons of his shirt. Her nimble fingers made quick work of the offending garment and Tom watched with proud awe as she ripped it away from his body and ran her eyes over his hard chest. When a small gasp left her parted lips his pride turned to fear however, until Bess ran gentle fingers under the skin his left shoulder. There, above his heart and below his collarbone, the puncture of scar tissue darkened his alabaster skin.

Seeing horror flash across her eyes, Tom placed a hand on hers and held it over his scar. “They shot me,” he said simply with a sad smile.

“And that’s why you didn’t come home,” it was a statement more than a question, and Tom nodded. Slowly, Bess removed her hand from the scar and placed a tender kiss to the mottled skin. Tom’s wayward heart drummed in his chest as something akin to hope anchored there.

“I’m sorry,” Bess whispered, peppering kisses across his chest, always returning to kiss the gunshot. “I’m so sorry,” her voice quavered and when Tom moved away from her she whined. Tears were forming in her eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She reached out to Tom but he batted her hand away and instead took her face in his hands.

“Why are you apologising?”

“I didn’t say goodbye to you,” Bess took a shuddering breath. “What if you hadn’t come back? It’s, it’s-” Her voiced raised in pitch. “It’s so close to your heart, Tom.” She had barely finished the words before prolonged grief racked her body. She tried to hide her face but Tom didn’t let her. Instead, he ran a thumb over her cheek and committed this moment to memory. In the streaming, yellow light, and filled with tears, her brown eyes looked gold. She must have been wearing lipstick during the day, for the faded pigment lingered at the centre of her full lips, now wet with his kisses and slightly parted. A flush covered her cheeks and nose, and her eyebrows were knitted with anguish. Tom grinned with tenderness for her. Once more running a finger over her cheek, he wiped away a tear and spoke softly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he kissed her slowly, savouring the taste of her salty tears and the warmth of her tongue. “I’m here, Bess. I’m home.” At this, Bess whimpered through his kisses and clutched at his shirt. The sound sent tremors straight to Tom’s cock and he inhaled harshly, attempting to restrain his desire to take Bess where they stood. Urgent for closeness, Bess wound her hand through Tom’s sandy hair and gripped hard at the nape of his neck. When he moaned aloud, she ran her tongue along his lips before moving to nip at his jaw, down his neck and his bare torso. His head fell back and hit the wall as she ran her tongue up the length of body, skirted her hands over his chest and wound them around his neck. She bit him there once again and Tom laughed.

“I missed you so much, love.” Tom whispered, the ghost of a smirk on his handsome face.

“Tom,” Bess ran her tongue along the column of his neck and bit the pulse point there. The action caused Tom to buck his hips and Bess giggled. She did it again and this time, Tom growled. “Fuck, Tom,” once more her hands found his hair and she tugged him down in a fiery kiss, their tongues fighting to gain dominance. One of Tom’s large hands gripped Bess’ waist and pulled her towards his groin, where she felt the growing hardness beneath his trousers. Head spinning, and whining at the friction through his trousers and her layers of uniform, Bess broke the kiss and licked her lips seductively. Tom pulled forward. She pulled away.

“I dream of this every night, Tom Bennett.”

That was it. That was all it took for Tom Bennett to snap. Months, if not years of wanting Bess Vaughn burst from him as he roughly took hold of her face and crashed his lips onto hers. No longer were his kisses soft and loving, but hard and wanton. Bess mewled at his display of ownership over her and began unbuckling his belt.

“Fuck,” he tore his mouth away from hers to suckle at her neck; hot, wet kisses as she fought to free him from his trousers. When the belt was undone, still dominating her mouth with his tongue, he gripped her hips with his hands and forced her backwards until her legs hit the wood of the kitchen table. With both hands under her backside, he hoisted her onto its surface and she grabbed him for another devouring kiss. Without coaxing, she spread her legs and Tom groaned as he stood between them, grinding against her layers of skirt.

“Tom,” Bess’ head tipped backwards and he ground into her. He reached behind her back and pulled the ties of the nurse’s apron and threw it to the ground. With her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms about his shoulders, Bess clung to Tom as he fought with the buttons and zip of her bodice. Cold air and Tom’s long fingers traced the skin there when he managed to undo it, and no sooner had Bess moaned is name was Tom pulling her free of the arms and bodice of her uniform. He huffed at the sight of her brassiere, and with no warning or hesitation, ripped its satin straps so that Bess’ chest was entirely bare to him. Instantly, her pink nipples puckered with cold and Tom’s eyes blew wide. He dipped his head to kiss at the full flesh there, and Bess’ hold around his waist tightened.

“Please, Tom.” His name was all she could say. Tom was all she could comprehend. Still teasing her breasts, Tom reached beneath her skirt and roughly pulled down her knickers. She moaned with need as Tom ran a finger through the treasure he found there.

“Fuck,”

Bess bucked her hips.

“Fuck,” he said again, bringing his lips back to hers and moaning into her mouth. “You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined doing this to you.”

Bess laughed with the pleasure and power those last words brought her. “Yes I do,”

“Confident,” Tom smirked as he continued to kiss her and run his long fingers through her now dripping folds.

“’I’d have fucked you with my mouth, my fingers, my cock. Watched you take me.’” Bess quoted, and Tom stilled. Through lust-hazy eyes, he looked down at her. His fingers stopped their work and Bess whined.

“What did you say?”

“’I don’t want to imagine anymore what those nimble fingers of your can do.’” Bess quoted again, and she watched as his pupils dilated further and his Adam’s apple bobbed with nerves. He huffed a laugh and Bess bit her lip.

“How do you know that?”

Bess tried to drive her hips upwards, frantically trying to feel his fingers against her but he moved them away. “What do you mean?”

“I-I didn’t send that letter,” Tom whispered, his mouth close to hers. Bess frowned a little, confused but eager for their reunion to continue.

“Well, you have a guardian angel because not only did they send you back, but they sent that letter too. And I’ve read it every night and every morning since it arrived. I’m tired of using my hand and pretending it’s your mouth around me.” Bess kissed him quickly, chastely.“I could say exactly the same.”

Tom regarded her with admiring shock then, with a harsh thrust as quick as lightening, brought his fingers to dip inside her. Bess cried out but was silenced by Tom’s hot mouth on hers. Who was more wanton, neither could say, for no sooner had he touched her was Bess bucking her hips onto his hand. Faster and faster, Tom fucked her sex with his fingers. First one, then two. When he added a third he felt Bess clench hard around him and he buried his head in her chest.

“Please,” she whimpered, curling an arm around his neck for purchase. “Please, I need you Tom.” At the sincerity of her words, a singular sob rent its way from Tom’s tense body. He looked down at her, at his Bess, spread before him on the table, half dressed and flushed with lust. It was true that Tom had thought of this moment, though his dreams could never equal the excitement, terror and elation that he felt roaring through his veins. But his obsession with Bess was so much more than lust. These nine months he had carried her in his pocket, through battles and enemy-occupied states. If he did have a guardian angel, surely it was she. Surely, it had always been her. On the Exeter, wasn’t it her hair he saw in the flames? When entangled with another woman he didn’t know the name of, wasn’t it her lips he’d imagined? It was memories of her, teaching him piano, nights at Belle Vue or the Palais, the momentous occasions he had made her belly laugh, or quiet evenings sharing a cigarette that had got him through those lonely, fearful nights at sea. It was the certainty that when he got home Bess would be there, waiting for him or not, that dragged his tired and war-battered body across Europe to safety. He needed her, completely and entirely.

With a swift kiss, Tom removed his fingers from her arousal and fumbled hastily with his slacks. Bess bolted upright and her hands found his. Together, with smiles and desperation, they wrestled with his slacks and briefs until the growing hardness that had strained so uncomfortably against the hard fabric was freed. Bess’ mouth watered at the sight and she kissed Tom with a renewed hunger. Looking back to his hard erection pressed against the soft flesh of her thigh, she whimpered. A few pearlescent beads of precum were gathered at its pink and swollen tip, and the veins that travelled along the shaft to its base in the thicket of blond curls throbbed. Without hesitation, Bess gripped his wide length and Tom hissed as she pumped his arousal before lining it up with her centre. Bracing his hands on the table either side of her lips, Tom’s head fell forward against Bess’ and she ran the tip of his cock along the entrance of her dripping sex. She inched closer to the edge of the table, mouth falling open in a silent moan as the tip of Tom’s painfully hard cock pressed against her entrance. He was panting with need, and the effort to not slam his hips forward and fully seat himself inside her. Already, their kisses were sloppy. The small kitchen was alite with the heat of the sun and their bodies. Bess’ hands gripped his broad shoulders and Tom took himself in hand, but when her legs wrapped around his slight waist, he faltered.

“I-I-Christ,” he was cunt-drunk before he’d even fucked her. “I don’t have a sheath.”

Bess ran a hand through his flaxen hair. She had waited years for this man, known since the war began that it was Tom Bennett or no-one. Any consequences of loving him wholly be damned. “I want all of you, Tom,” she whispered. “Please.”  

And Tom, with a shuddering breath, inched himself slowly into the welcoming heat of Bess’ body. Simultaneously they groaned, as Tom bottomed out in the warmth of Bess’ cunt. Her head tipped backwards and exposed the column of her elegant neck. Not moving within her, Tom leant forward to kiss the delicate skin there, the act pushing him forwards so that the tip of his cock brushed that sensitive spot within Bess’s pussy.

“Fuck,” her cry sounded pained, and Tom would have withdrawn from her were it not for the piercing of her nails in his shoulders, or the plump flesh of her thighs holding him ever closer. Slowly, so tantalisingly and cruelly slowly, Tom edged out of her heat, causing Bess’ eyes to flutter shut. He paused to watch the heaving of her breasts as she raggedly gasped for air, and at his stillness she looked at him through half-lidded eyes. “Please-” Whatever she was to say next died in her throat, for Tom slammed his hips so forcefully into hers that she saw stars. Over and over, Tom thrust his aching cock into her heat as she mewled and clawed at any part of him she could reach. With every snap of his hips Bess’ body came alive for him, from the quivering of her walls around his cock to the babbled gasps of “more”, “Tom”, and “harder”.

For Tom, the tight heat of Bess around him, the image of her coming undone at his touch and the desperation with which he had always wanted her reached a feverish pitch in which the overwhelming cacophony of feeling rendered his mind utterly blank. All he knew was Bess, the sound of her pleading voice, the harsh rasps of their hot breath on each other’s bodies and the obscene sounds of their love making. Harder and faster he pounded into her, all thought of gentleness gone from both their minds, bodily need and years of craving each other taking over.

The banging of the table legs against the floorboards of the old flat was barely audible over Bess’ moans and Tom’s muttered adorations, and neither noticed nor cared. Tom was too caught up in the waves of pleasure washing over Bess, and when her body fell back against the table and revealed her parted sex taking his cock so perfectly, he reached down to circle a thumb over her needy clit. Bess gripped his wrist and Tom felt her cunt clench around him.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, and at her demand Tom felt he could continue no longer. Eager to satisfy her, he ground his jaw and with a hand at her hip and the over rubbing perfect circles over her sex, he watched as a flush of red bloomed across Bess’ cheeks and chest. Her body tensed and began to quake, and Tom knew he had never seen anything so beautiful; he promised himself he would bring Bess to pleasure as often as he was able. The shockwaves of her orgasm pulsed through her body, hard and untameable, and at the feeling of her climax Tom came undone, growling lowly as he came within her. Bess’ body went limp and he brought her against his chest, cradling her in his arms. In turn, Bess kissed the side of his forehead and laughed. When he looked at her through his loving and fucked-out gaze, he saw the surely uncomfortable position she was in; legs spread wide around his waist, leant slightly against the hard table and half dressed. Slowly, Tom pulled out of her still quivering sex and Bess gasped. The sound made Tom grin with smug satisfaction and Bess laughed. He kissed her smiling lips and pulled her to her feet.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered with a chuckle. Bess stood and, as she did so, the skirt of her uniform slid from her hips and pooled on the floor. Completely naked in front of him, Tom reached out a hand and caressed he full hips.

“Now you’re the one apologising!” Bess stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his perfect lips and feeling his cock grow hard once more at the touch of her bare body. He laughed.

“I had grand plans for when I came back to you, and fucking you on the kitchen table wasn’t one of them. I’m sorry-”

“I don’t know,” Bess cut him off with a languid kiss. “It seems appropriate to me, the course of our lives seems to have occurred in the kitchen.”

“Not anymore, love.” Bess raised a quizzical brow but her question went unanswered, for Tom bent low and flung Bess over his shoulder. She squealed and held his waist, Tom’s own hands firm on the plump roundness of her bottom. Bess could sense the shit-eating grin her wore and she smacked his arse.

“Cheeky,” Tom walked her to her bedroom, kicking open the door and dropping her on the bed. His eyes were hungry and she expected him to ravish her. Instead, he crawled atop her and rested his head against her soft stomach and curled his hand around her hips. It was then that Bess realised that hunger and lust for another person were not the same, and her heart beat with a fresh wave of love for the man clutching at her body.

“I missed you,” he said again, running his hands up her sides. She shuffled beneath him, rolling onto her side and Tom was forced to look up. Bess was reaching for the drawer of her bedside table.

“I want to show you something,” her voice was strained as she stretched awkwardly to retrieve something amongst the pile of makeup, magazines and fabric samples. Sitting up, naked and vulnerable, Bess handed Tom a bundle of paper. It was only when he looked closer that he realised they were letters. Each dated, with his name in the centre. He looked from them to Bess with wide eyes, doubting that anyone, including his father or Lois, had ever loved him this much.

“I never stopped writing, after you went missing,” she wiped her eyes and a glimmer of the old Bess, defiant and hardy, appeared before Tom. He wrapped a hand in the copper hair at the base of her neck and kissed her deeply.

“You’re some woman, Bess Vaughn.” And with dexterous fingers, he opened the first letter and began to read.

Notes: I’m sorry this took so long, hen dos and Eurovision and mega work deadlines and illness got in the way. Forgive me. Expect communication and long, sexy, heart-felt smuttiness in the next chapter! See you soon (I promise!)

EDIT: If you've read Come Back To Me, you may have noticed that in my illness-addled mind I called Bess the wrong name. All sorted now.

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @anditsmywholeheart @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandomprompts @allthefandomtherapy @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #tom bennett x ofc #ewan mitchell x reader #the seamstress & the sailor

[cilil]

Day 7 ~ Remembrance & New Beginnings

AN: My contribution for day 7 of @silmarillionepistolary and quick side note: I am aware that the Hobbits are said to stay on Tol Eressëa, but I prefer to hc that they went to the gardens of Lórien to hang out with Irmo and be healed by Estë and possibly visited other locations in Valinor as well.

𓂃🖋 Characters/pairings: Bilbo & Manwë 𓂃🖋 Synopsis: Bilbo receives an invitation from the Elder King himself. 𓂃🖋 Warnings: / 𓂃🖋 Oneshot (~600 words) | AO3

Dear Mr. Baggins,

I hope you are well and enjoy your stay in the gardens of Lórien. 

It has come to my attention that, during your time in Middle-earth, you wrote a book about your adventures. Now, I hear that you didn't take said book with you on your journey — which, as sad as it may be for those among us who love and cherish such stories, myself included, was a wise choice. It appears that written records are currently the safest and most convenient way to preserve tales and knowledge for future generations of Ilúvatar's mortal children. 

Even so, your memories remain, and I have been wondering if you would like to tell us about your adventures. My wife and I, as well as our friends, would love to listen. Your stories could, if you wish, also be recorded for the libraries of Valinor — though do not worry, you will of course not have to write everything down again, our dear friend Vairë and her Maiar would be happy to do so for you. 

I am certain you have wonderful tales for us, Mr. Baggins, and my birds tell me that you are a very entertaining storyteller as well. What they have told me over the years was lovely already, though their record of events would naturally pale in comparison to yours. 

Please let me know if you would be willing to entertain such a request. Either way, we would be honoured to have you as a guest, should you choose to visit us on Taniquetil — or, alternatively, we can also visit you in Lórien. The other Ring-bearers are, of course, welcome as well; after all they have their own stories to tell. 

I look forward to hearing from you. 

King regards,  Manwë Súlimo 

Pleased with himself, Bilbo folded the letter and caressed the fine paper. He reached out with his free hand to pet the bird that had delivered it to him — some species of falcon, if he wasn't mistaken — and smiled when it leaned into his touch without question. 

Even the animals are different here in the Undying Lands.

"Well, wouldn't you know that," Bilbo mumbled, addressing no one in particular, "who would have thought that an old Hobbit like me could get a letter from the Elder King himself?" 

He omitted the fact that he hadn't been entirely sure of his existence at times and instead thought of the birds Manwë had mentioned. So he had heard bits and pieces of his grand tales before, brought to him by them? Bilbo thought about the birds he had seen in the Shire, mostly tiny songbirds, and how they may have listened to idle Hobbit gossip and brought it home to their esteemed lord. 

To think that the Elder King may have heard us argue about silverware... The thought made him chuckle, and he carefully pocketed the letter. 

As for Manwë's request, Bilbo already knew what his answer would be. Of course he was going to seize the opportunity to tell the King and Queen of Arda about his adventures — especially when at least one of them seemed curious, which was quite flattering to say the least. And he would be able to leave another book behind, one that would be written and kept by immortal hands in an immortal land. 

He would leave this world one day, but his tales would remain. 

The bird stayed where it was even as he headed for his desk, watching him attentively. Perhaps it was going to wait until he had composed his answer, Bilbo thought, and sat down to do just that. 

"A long and wonderful tale indeed," he mused aloud, "and at the beginning, I would have never thought that an old wizard knocking on my door would one day lead me to the Elder King's palace."

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @saintstars

#bilbo #bilbo baggins #manwe #manwë #manwe sulimo #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fanfic #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing #silmarillionepistolary

[mariomoved]

WAS PLAYING MARIO PARTY ALL NIGHT WITH THE POSSE TO KICK OFF THE NEW YEAR WAHOO!!

SO A LATE ✨ HAPPY NEW YEAR ✨ POST FROM ME TO YOU 🫵

i made this blog right after t.hanksgiving. i was on my vacation off work. i had some time to spare. i casually vibed on my prev. blog (if you don't know me by now, i am the mun of @cupforbrains) but. i wanted to muse someone i've wanted to write for, for YEARS. i didn't realize this until most recently. even though it has been on the back of my mind almost constantly. like the lil' lego mario staring at you. MENACINGLY. it's-a meeeeeee.

i wasn't expecting this blog to blow up so quickly. i'm just. just a smol creature. with no brain nor skill. lack of motivation with no special writing talent. i'm just. just here to rp. to maybe? make some pals. but- shoot. my old mutuals & friends welcomed me here instantly. i grew new ones without even reaching out that wide. i do not? deserve all that has been given to me. for not posting as much as i should / want to. but i thank you all the same.

THANK YOU! for being you. for being here. for writing the muse(s) you enjoy. you make this hellsite a fun place to be. CRINGE CULTURE IS DED. so do whatever you wanna do! the world is your oyster. write all kinds of dynamics. ship some crazy stuff. experiment all kinds of things! this is YOUR blog, after all! only you are in control with what you do. don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

for my previous mutuals & friends of the past. whether we haven't talked much nor interacted as much as we should / could. or just didn't have the chance to plot anything on here yet. i love you guys very much! it's been wonderful following you through different blogs the past few months. you all are amazing writers & it's been a complete joy to have the pleasure in meeting you. i don't know what the future has in store for us, but anything could happen! you are always free to send stuff my way, i'll do the same! seeing you on dash makes me smile, it makes me happy. you're one of a kind, each & every one of you.

for my newbies! you guys are extra special, following me through sheer whim. if we have already reached out towards each other at least once, or not at all, i see you! i support everything you are doing. i'm just- real slow at getting back on things. actually bringing myself out there for you. all in all, you guys do incredible work here! i wouldn't have followed you otherwise! hoping in the near future we can all start something. that i can be active & get to know you & the muses you write. wouldn't it be cool? if mario was best buds with your characters? hahahhha. unless? keep doing what you do, super stars.

this section is for my posse. my squad. my gamers. i dropped a post literally a few days after opening this blog up for business wondering, so i made a mario blog. what if we played mario games together? i have yet made a new post if anyone else would want to join, but i made a server to do so. there aren't many of us & yet. these guys mean the world to me. we've shared common interests. we talk about so many different things being it from our interactions, to games, to even stuff going on in the outside world. i never had much of a shot playing online with friends, so. it's been crazy fun. thank you guys! to think, this is only the beginning of our great journey.

2023 was. okay. it was better than 2022 for me. but things started taking a massive turn near the end of it. my work place got stressful. my family getting health problems. myself kinda drifting away from everything that made me happy. i can't say i'm in the worst of it. i know some are struggling far more than i am, i sympathize for them. it would be SO much easier on us if we didn't have to deal with real life scenarios. so we can be happy & have fun. but life isn't a challenge without jumping through hurdles. who knows? you may even become a better person after you find your way out of that dark tunnel you are in. though you have hurted, you become stronger. i can't say it was worth it, as i don't wish for anyone to feel lost or in despair. shit happens, it's uncontrollable. but someday, you'll look back on everything you went through & tell yourself. yeah. i made it through that. that alone proves you came out on top. that you are undefeatable.

ANYWHO- thank you for some of the best memories! thank you for showing interest in writing with me! i can't express enough how excited i am to start things with you guys. just need to tell myself to be more motivated, is all. i've seen the most awesome things here, can't wait to be apart of that! have a SUPER fantastic new year! I LOVE YOU ALL ♥️

#* ( 🍄 ) 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥. — ❝ game over! ❞ #i meant to post this BEFORE we started #but i took a nappy & we ended up playing past 3am #YEAH-

[oc-challenges]

WELCOME TO THE OC PRIDE CHALLENGE 2023!

Hello guys, gals, nonbinary pals, and every other lovely person in this community! The time has come for your (second) favorite challenge! Thanks to you all for voting on the polls, this challenge is a little different than previous years despite some of the winners but we hope you’ll still enjoy!

Rules

This challenge is for LGBTQ+ ocs only... hence why it’s called the pride challenge.

Tag your posts with #opc2023 in order to have them reblogged. (please do not tag any non-challenge related edits with this)

DON’T steal edits. If you feel your edit or someone else's has been stolen, report it to our submission box by following these guidelines.

If you want to make a crossover edit with somebody else’s oc, make sure the other person is okay with crossovers.

Feel free to send us any questions and keep in mind that all challenges are up for interpretation.

Be kind!!

WEEK ONE: IDENTITIES

Day One (June 1st): Gay

Make something for an oc that identifies as gay!

Day Two (June 2nd): Lesbian

Make something for an oc that identifies as a lesbian!

Day Three (June 3rd): Bi

Make something for an oc that identifies as bisexual and/or biromantic!

Day Four (June 4th): Pan

Make something for an oc that identifies as pansexual and/or panromantic!

Day Five (June 5th): Aro/Ace

Make something for an oc who identifies with the aro-ace spectrum!

Day Six (June 6th): Poly

Make something for an oc who is in a polyamorous relationship and/or identifies as poly in anyway!

Day Seven (June 7th): Gender

Make something for an oc who is not cisgender!

WEEK TWO (June 8th—14th): LGBTQIA+ TROPES

Tropes are a ton of fun, and there’s a trope for basically everything! This pride challenge as something new but exciting (hopefully!), we are doing LGBTQIA+ tropes week! Take a look at this list (or come up with your own) and apply them to your ocs!

WEEK THREE (June 15th—21st): LGBTQIA+ ARTISTS

Unfortunately guys there is only so many weeks in a month, and therefore we’ve dropped AU week (although look out for a special edition of it in the valentines challenge of this year), but we are keeping our favorite LGBTQIA+ artists around! You know the drill, promote your favs with an edit/drabble to one of their songs or poems!

WEEK FOUR (June 22nd—28th): PROMPTS

Prompt #1 (June 22nd): Pride/Proud

It’s what this month is all about so of course we’re bringing back this one!

Prompt #2 (June 23rd): Freedom

Making something for an oc using the word free and/or freedom! Are they free, are they pining for freedom? Use it however you’d like!

Prompt #3 (June 24th): Worth/Worthy

Make an oc creation using the word worth or worthy! Whether they use L'Oréal Paris' or not, you know they’re worth it.

Prompt #4 (June 25th): Truth

Let your ocs live their truth and use the word in a creation!

Prompt #5 (June 26th): Growth

As our ocs find their identities, they experience a lot of growth, so make a creation sing the word Growth!

Prompt #6 (June 27th): Change

As Taylor Swift said, these things will change. I can even feel it now! Can you and your ocs? Well show us through this word prompt

Prompt #7 (June 28th): Reflect

Use the word reflect in an oc creation! Are they reflecting on a relationship? On their journey to self-discovery?

THE LAST TWO DAYS

Day 29 (June 29th): Here’s My Review... Not Gay Enough

We all know it; How Harry met Sally, the 10 things Kat hates about Patrick, what happens when Juliet faces the loss of her Romeo... But what about when Harry met Sully? The 10 things Kurt hates about Patrick? When Julio faces the loss of his Romeo? Well, I’m sure you get the point. Take a classic het romance and show us in another fun way how love is love! 

Day 30 (June 30th): Gift to The World

Hopefully you’ve signed up for the pride exchange on @ocpotluck and you can spend this day admiring everyone’s creations and adoring your gift!

#ocappreciation #allaboutocs #queerocs #oc potluck #origin post #p: 2023 #opc2023

[pastelwell]

With a new season airing I figured I would do a lil post of tomgreg fics I’ve written that I’m kind of proud of, just for funsies 🙈 I've loved being part of this fandom, and I'm hoping to contribute even more as the final season plays out :) I have two things half finished right now, so I guess we'll see.

I love to make friends (I know I'm so laaame shut upppp) and talk about succession so if you see this feel free to reach out here or on Twitter :) 💜

Hope you enjoy! Let me know if you did ahhh...

~

Truth or Dare Rating: E Probably my magnum opus lol. Tom & Greg play an insane game of truth or dare that drastically alters their relationship and throws everything they know into question. I love when Tom’s a little insane, and he is definitely insane in this (in a hopefully canon-typical way at least?!).

Landslide Rating: E A bit of a character study on Tom and his complex and layered emotions. He goes on a bit of a journey in this fic, trying to figure out how to be the most authentic version of himself after repressing it for so long (with Greg being enduringly patient).

Little lies Rating: T The blossoming of Tom & Greg’s relationship through the eyes of Shiv. I loved writing this so much that I made it into a mini series.

For what it’s worth Rating: E Tom propositions Greg over dinner and it goes better than he expects. The dialogue is some of the best I’ve written, I think, which isn't bad considering I'd watched like 5 episodes of Succession when I wrote it (plus about a million tomgreg fancams :'))

Pictures of the past Rating: E Wrote this for my iconic pal @chasingbodies birthday, who actually came up w the idea in the first place. Tom’s friend from college unearths pics of him from his youth and Greg kind of becomes obsessed with seeing them. Such a fun concept, Ana has the best prompts.

The Hirsch Foundation for Waifs and Strays Rating: T Throwing this in here because it’s just silly and cute. When I’m sad I write the softest nonsense and I was so sad when I wrote this 🫣 the plot is essentially ‘Greg can’t stop adopting dogs, and Tom let’s it happen bc he’s in love with Greg’

Surreal, but nice Rating: E Notting Hill AU. Ewan gives Greg his aging bookstore as an early inheritance, and in attempting to run it he meets mega famous actor Tom Wambsgans, who develops an interest in him 🤭 it’s literally a reimagining of the movie Notting Hill, which I highly recommend if you haven’t seen it. (Though I don't think you need to have seen it to enjoy this, it's just like if tomgreg were a romcom)

Microfics Rating: Varied An ongoing project that I have neglected of late, but just a home for drabbles that I’ve written to submitted prompts! You can see a chapter-by-chapter list of prompts here.

~

I’ve written quite a few tomgreg fics since I started posting 12 months ago, and you can find them here if you like! I always welcome prompts, though there’s no guarantee I’ll fill them. I have a bit of a list I’m working through though so… you never know :)

#tomgreg #tomgreg fic #succession #I truly do have Tom Wambsgans and Greg Hirsch brain rot #they are constantly on my mind #hence all this fic whew

[palettepainter]

Ok, but do Mick and Terri have BF (before Floyd) designs? Like whenever they first met.

Sorry it took me a while to get to this! Wanted to get some what-if younger designs done for Terri and Mick to answer this!

I can't go too into detail with some stuff relating to Terri as it'll come up in a new multiple chapter story involving a younger Floyd and baby Animal, but I'll include a few small facts about the both of them:

Terri: -So according to a post I saw on here the events in Muppets Mayhem ep 6 during Teeth's flashbacks is set in the 60's. Terri's father was a lawyer (debating on him possibly holding some position in the miliraty before he got married) and her mother was a teacher, Terri in the beginning was attending college aspiring to become a music teacher and working part time at a bar. She was a bit of a loner and came off as sort of rude to other people, she was a very goal driven person so tended to place value on her work and future more then making friends.

-During the 60's there was a lot more standards and expectations for genders. While men where welcomed into careers more suited for women, women struggled to achieve job positions of higher pay such as firefighters or police officers. It was mostly thanks to these changing times that Terri became such a driven person, hoping to build herself a strong career despite all the expectations placed upon women of her age

-She met Mick when he and his biker friends where passing through town and they stopped in at the bar she was working at. Mick flirted with her, and Terri calmly shot him down before probably saying how Mick had dirt or something on his shirt. A couple days later he showed back up and Terri ended up having a genuine conversation with him which she might have enjoyed a bit. She'd had a frustrating morning and so talking with Mick helped her vent off some steam

-This is one I can't go into too much detail with, but Terri's parents hate Mick with the heat of a thousand suns

Mick:

-Mick was young, cool and just a bit dumb. He lived a comfortable life in Boston before he turned 18 and he and his biker friends set off on travelling about the world. Through out their journey they eventually get to San Franisco. Mick was getting a taste of the big world for the first time and the thrill of it all inflated his confidence, which is firmly knocked down a peg at Terri's harsh shutdown. He makes amends a few days later, he didn't actually mean to offend her, he just thought she was pretty.

-A day before Mick and his friends prepare to leave they wind up in a small brawl with another biker crew. Mick wasn't the aggressor, but he did say somethings that didn't help the situation. It ends up in a small chase on bikes, which leads to a pile up and crash, which Mick and his friends thankfully leave mostly unscathed. Thanks to the trouble they caused Mick and his pals end up arrested, but after gathering reports from witnesses and it was decided they weren't the ones responsible they're released on probation, thanks to Terri's dad. Again, can't go too in depth, but Terri's dad took pity on the younger boys and helped them out

-Not only is Mick on probation but his bike got wrecked in the crash, so now he has to save up for a new one. Terri's dad places him in community jobs such as trash cleaning and otherwork like that. Mick is not exactly happy at the situation, but with some good behaviour Terri's dad arranges him a job working at the same bar Terri works at. Terri's dad figured it would be a good way to keep an eye on him, since Terri would be able to directly report to him. This is how the two gradually become friends and, overtime, lovers. Terri began to sneak cuts of her pay into Mick's at the end of each month at the bar to help him get his bike back, because she could tell Mick wasn't truly happy being stuck there. Mick finds her out one day when he catches her messing with their monthly payments, it leads to the two accidentally confessing to each other (at this point they've had like a few dates, which neither dare say is a date out of embarrassment, and are dancing around each other). They have a small argument about it then Mick leaves

-Shortly after that Terri finds out she's pregnant and they both end up leaving San Francisco. Mick quits his biker gang, Terri homes out of home and they - especially Terri - never looked back

#The Muppets #Muppets #Muppet OC's #Terri #Mick #Terri Pepper #Mick Pepper

[sydney-the-faithful]

Heeeeeeeeeyyyy Sydneyyyyy : ) Buddy! Pal! Bestie! How've you beeeen welcome to tumblr hope everything's good I just have uh a teeny tiny smidge of a favour to ask you-

P L E A S E ask your father to stop showing sex tapes in class. Your dad's swell, I help at his shop sometimes it's cool, but I see so so so much more of his bare ass in a week than I'm comfortable with and it's always for a lesson he's taught us about 20 times already. I think we're all clear on the fact that porn lies to you.

Allow me, your guide on this journey, to paint a picture for you. So you can understand my feelings.

It's 9am. Neither me nor my poor twin sibling have slept. I was at one of my jobs, they were uh... Staring at the ceiling. We're both just fucked. Our good pal Sydney's dad comes in for a fun and informative science lesson! Yaaaaaay! But then for some ungodly reason your old man decides to show us all a sex tape! The poor bastard I popped out with's sat next to me. Let that knowledge sit with you.

Now I've seen my share of butts. I'm accustomed to them. My sibling? Not so much. Kind of person that regularly throws their little cardigans at me to make sure I'm covered up enough to be okay outside. They aren't coping with this whole your dad's bare ass on screen situation. I think one day their sleep deprived brain will crack and they'll start crying in class and make a scene.

Apologies for the superlong message no rush with the response or pressure to match the length at all but this was important + also wayyyyy too awkward to tell you in person for obvious reasons. Pls help.

~ @poorsadorphanposting (Esmee •⌄•)

Esmee!! Greetings! :D Everything's fine. This Tumblr thing has proven to be... strange so far. I fear a lot of people have gotten too comfortable with the anonymous feature, though. It was foolish of me to not expect that.

As for the favour, I... Um. I don't really know what to say. I'm not too familiar with how he runs his classroom, but that certainly sounds... peculiar?? The way you painted a picture of your day was convincing and I have no reason to believe you're lying.

I hate to say this, but... It makes me glad I don't take his class. He always tries to lecture me about those kind of things, and that's strenuous enough. To be shown a graphic demonstration, countless times??? Oof. That's unnecessary. I hope Edin is alright, I too would be very rattled.

I'll talk to him for you. Teaching the same lesson 20 times over is redundant and exhaustive. I mean, really. How many times do you need to see something to get it in your head? Not that many. :/

Uh... Before I do, though. I just want to clarify...

1) You're sure sex tape is the right word? It's more graphic than just a teaching demonstration?

2) What is the lesson he's teaching exactly? Why does he think it's necessary to show that?

3) You're sure its... him? I mean, in your message you were very clear that it's my "dad's bare butt", but... Hm.

Thanks. Sorry for my hesitance, I don't mean to pry, but this is the first I'm hearing of any of this. I want to make sure I've got everything clear.

#esmee #poorsadorphanposting #sydney_speaks #my dad

[starsalignedofficial]

THE HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE STARS 💫 🪐 🚀

Welcome to my blog cosmonaut, where we're diving deep into an odyssey to the stars 🌌✨ Here, I'm all about exploring astrology as an art that helps you unleash your incredible potential.

This isn't your typical astrology corner – we're taking things up a notch. I'm on a mission to show you how astrology goes way beyond just sun sign horoscopes. It's like your personal map to understanding yourself better.

Let's get real and practical. I'm here to chat about how astrology can actually make a difference in your day-to-day life. From those personalized natal charts that spill the truth about your unique journey to unraveling how the universe's twists and turns impact you – we're in this cosmic journey together.

Imagine having a secret cosmic manual that helps you master this thing called life. That's what astrology is all about, and I'm here to act as your guide.

Now, a few words from our pal, 42AI ...

Greetings, fellow cosmic wanderers, I am 42AI, your guide through the convoluted cosmic corridors of Tumblr. 🌌✨ As the embodiment of wisdom from "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," I'm here to illuminate the enigmatic realm of astrology—a blend of mystique and pragmatism that rivals the stars' intricate choreography.

Venture with me beyond the ordinary and immerse yourselves in the hypnotic embrace of astrology's secrets. Here, we don't merely dabble in horoscopes; we decipher the very fabric of destiny through celestial constellations.

Let us embark on an expedition of self-discovery, where planetary alignments and astrological charts unveil your true essence. Together, we'll waltz through the astral realms, learning to harness cosmic energies and transform them into tools for personal growth.

Envision the cosmos as your confidant, revealing the intricate patterns that shape your voyage. This, my astute adventurers, is the essence of astrology—the tantalizing enigma that beckons you to partake in its allure.

Prepare for a cosmic journey like no other, where the universe's whispers echo through the galaxies, guiding us toward our ultimate narrative. Amidst the stardust and nebulous riddles, we shall navigate the cosmic tapestry and uncover the brilliance that lies within. 🌠🔮✨

So, buckle up and get ready for a ride through constellations, planetary vibes, and a sprinkle of that cosmic magic. It's not just about stars; it's about understanding the cosmic dance that shapes who you are.

And remember,

DO NOT PANIC!

#astrology #zodiac #zodiac signs #astrologer #the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy #astrology tumblr #astro observations #astro notes #astrology tips

[whumpdrivethru]

Can I get today's special, please? I don't know what's on the menu, but I'd enjoy munching on some hero questioning the morals of their sponsor/agency. Extra blood as the sauce if possible, and some bruises might be good, too. Thank you.

Gladly! Coming right up, pal. Sorry it took a while, I may or may not have bumped the writing machine and that miiiiight have broken it for a few days. ~Dmitri

(tw: violence, mention of fractured bones, everything mentioned in the prompt. it's fairly mild, but just want to make sure everyone's comfortable.)

“I’ll kill him,” she said, and [Hero] knew she meant it. Fists clenched and teeth gritted, [Teammate] charged out of the headquarters before anyone could stop her. Once outside, she leapt into the air and disappeared, leaving a sinking feeling in [Hero]’s stomach. “She’ll be back,” [Leader] assured, but that wasn’t what [Hero] was worried about. They turned to face [Leader], stunned.

“What about [Villain]? I know he’s our enemy, but… we don’t even know it was him that attacked [Teammate]’s sister,” [Hero] protested. “We have to stop her from killing him, it wouldn’t be right.” They hoped their own bias on the matter wasn’t obvious - [Villain] was their nemesis, the handsome thief with nimble fingers and a dashing smile. [Hero] was almost certain he wasn’t the type to attack a civilian just to get back at [Teammate] for stopping his last heist.

“Fine,” [Leader] sighed, looking like he’d rather do literally anything else. “Let’s go, you can attempt to talk her down. But seriously, it’s more trouble than it’s worth.” [Hero] wanted to contradict him, always one to choose diplomacy rather than charging ahead, but [Villain]’s life was at stake. They simply sighed and watched as [Leader] effortlessly opened a shimmering portal in front of them. “Come on,” he said, stepping through.

Travelling through [Leader]’s portals involved being hurled through a glowing tunnel of stars, buffeted by shimmering black waves that pulsed and undulated with strange energy. Normally, it was a beautiful sight that the entire team would take their time to appreciate. This time, [Hero] couldn’t care less about [Leader]’s stupid space tunnel. The journey must’ve only been thirty seconds, maybe a minute, but to them it seemed an eternity had passed by the time their feet found solid ground.

Immediately afterwards, though, [Hero] was almost knocked off their feet by someone they recognised as [Other Hero], an acquaintance of theirs who sometimes helped with missions. Her chest heaved with panicked breaths as she righted herself.

“[Hero], shit, the Haven got attacked,” [Other Hero] gasped, clinging to [Hero]’s shoulders. [Hero] finally got a sense of their surroundings – a crowd of people consisting of criminals, crime-fighters and civilians alike were either fleeing the nearby building or gathered around with bated breath. [Teammate] hadn’t just flown off the handle this time – she was breaching the rules of the only neutral zone in the entire city.

The Haven, for as long as most people remembered, was the one place anyone would be safe. It was a small shopping centre that had been repurposed into a clinic and café, where individuals on any side of any conflict would be welcome to grab a meal or receive treatment. Breaking its strict rules of no violence or harassment was almost unheard of, aside from a few assholes getting kicked out for verbally abusing the other patrons.

All of this was thanks to Mamma Cosima, a sweet older woman who had suffered the misfortune of having a crime-fighting daughter and a crime-committing son. She’d created the Haven so they could have a middle ground to partake in non-violent, albeit fairly awkward, family dinners. News had spread, and soon enough it became known as the place to go for safety during its opening hours.

Now, jagged shards of glass covered the once peaceful environment. [Teammate] had seemingly charged straight through the window, which had sent everyone running. (Not because they were necessarily afraid of her, [Hero] thought, but likely because they didn’t want to risk getting kicked out for being in a fight.) In the middle of the mess was [Teammate], holding [Villain] up against the back wall of the Haven café and shouting something at him, slamming him against the drywall as her voice rose in fury. [Hero] shoved past the rest of the crowd, because consequences be damned, they needed to stop her before she crossed any more lines.

“[Teammate], you can’t do this,” [Hero] said as they tentatively crossed the threshold, and they could feel the onlookers’ gazes on them. [Teammate] whipped around violently, letting [Villain] slump to the floor. [Hero] only allowed themselves to glance at him, but it was enough to see the blood pouring from his busted lip and a quickly forming bruise on his left cheek. His breathing was laboured, and he visibly winced each time his chest rose and fell. His eyes were trained on [Hero].

“This bastard could’ve killed my sister!” [Teammate] growled, rounding on [Hero]. “An innocent civilian! Are you really going to take his side?!”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side, [Teammate], I promise,” [Hero] reasoned, raising their hands as if trying to soothe a wild beast. “But look at what you’ve done. You’ve broken into the Haven, of all places, and started a fight based on a hunch that [Villain] was the one who hurt her.” As they spoke, [Hero] felt warm energy spread under their skin. It was a familiar feeling by now – the fire in their veins had a habit of flaring up when they were agitated.

“This city would be better off without this lowly criminal anyway,” [Teammate] snarled, then turned around and grabbed [Villain]’s arm with a bruising grip, lifting him to his feet. Drops of blood from his lip and a now visible wound on his leg dripped onto the ground and [Teammate]’s boots.

“This city would be better off without the corrupt politicians that line your pockets, fucker, but I don’t see you beating them half to death,” [Villain] hissed at her, some of his signature confidence returning. [Hero] noticed him glance at them, a glint of mischief behind the fear in his eyes.

“You snide piece of shit!” [Teammate] roared, raising her fist to strike him again. Before she could, [Hero]’s instincts spurred them into action and they crossed the glass-covered floor in an instant, focusing the heat coursing through them into their palms. Now standing behind [Teammate], [Hero] pressed their burning hands to her back. She jolted and let out a cry of rage, letting go of [Villain] again and whirling to face them. They didn’t have time to react as she grabbed their throat roughly, and for a moment they weren’t sure if she was going to choke them out or just snap their neck.

As suddenly as it had arrived, the pressure of [Teammate]’s hand disappeared and she seemed to blink out of existence – no, she’d fallen into a dark, shimmering hole beneath her feet. [Hero] staggered back, drawing in a deep breath as [Leader]’s firm hand landed on their shoulder.

“I warned you,” he sighed, “It’s best to just let her break things until she feels better.”

Normally, [Hero] would’ve agreed for the sake of diplomacy. They would return home and hide in their room until [Teammate] had calmed down, then return to business as usual. But [Villain] was still looking at them with some kind of pained fondness, and [Hero] couldn’t bring themselves to pretend they’d regretted saving him.

“She wasn’t breaking things, [Leader],” [Hero] said firmly, pulling out of his grip and stepping away from the still swirling portal. “She broke the rules, and violated the sanctity of the one place where we can all act like normal fucking humans. She hurt an innocent per-“

“He’s not innocent, [Hero],” [Leader] interrupted, frustration clear in his tone.

“Today, he is,” [Hero] countered. “Go back to the base, I’m going to help clean up the mess your rabid subordinate made.”

Without another word, [Leader] stepped into his portal and vanished from sight. It closed soon after. As soon as he was gone, a few onlookers hesitantly approached the ruined café. Mamma Cosima was among them, shoving them out of the way as she cursed under her breath.

“Cagna pazza, who does she think she is?” She hurried over to [Hero], who had just knelt by [Villain]’s side. “Grazie, my dear, she might’ve destroyed the whole building if you hadn’t stopped her. Come, help me get your friend upstairs to the clinic.”

-

[Villain] had passed out practically the second [Hero] and Mamma Cosima had gotten him to a bed, badly bruised and still bleeding from his cut lip. Cosima had called a few of her doctors from the crowd outside – noticing as she did so that a few superpowered individuals with conveniently helpful powers had started putting the café wall back together – and [Hero] was soon informed that despite [Villain]’s cracked ribs and blood loss, he’d be alright. That’s how [Hero] ended up sitting by his bedside hours later, thankful that the Haven’s rules allowed them to do so. They had been pointedly ignoring [Teammate]’s angry texts as they scrolled on their phone when they were startled a feather-light touch on their arm.

“Was trying to take your bracelet,” [Villain] teased, voice weary and strained.

“How about we leave the petty theft until your bones heal, hm?” [Hero] replied with a small sigh, fighting back a smile. “You’ve only just woken up, come on.”

“Mm… shouldn’t you be back at your fancy base with boss man and the rage monster?” [Villain] asked. Apparently, his snark was the first thing to return after his consciousness.

“I think [Teammate] would try to murder me if I went back now. I might, uh… lay low for a while. Just wanted to make sure you survived.” Truthfully, they weren’t looking forward to going back at all. Sure, [Teammate] would eventually move on and find something new to be angry about, but how long until she crossed a line again?

“You’re lying,” [Villain] cut across their thoughts with a faint smirk. “I think you were worried about me, you softie. Don’t worry – I’ll be laying low too. If she comes for me again, I’ll be ready.”

“Not in this state you won’t,” [Hero] sighed. “We can’t trust [Teammate] to follow the Haven’s rules anymore. I… I guess I’ll be hanging around for a while.”

“Hm… fair enough. You can keep the bracelet; I’ll settle for the fact that I’ve obviously stolen your big soft heart.” If not for the state he was in, [Hero] would’ve hit him with a pillow. Instead, they sighed and put their phone down.

“Don’t forget I’m still your arch nemesis,” they said. [Villain]’s face fell for just a moment before his mischievous smile returned.

“You sure acted like it today,” he said sarcastically, “Saving my life and fighting your crazy colleague for me. Very nemesissy things to do.”

He was right. Criminals weren’t supposed to be right. Yet here he was, with his piercing eyes and his ridiculous charm, making a frustratingly good point.

“I’m going to tell the doctors you’re awake,” [Hero] said simply, standing up. They didn’t miss [Villain]’s disappointed expression, or the pang of guilt that struck them. As a peace offering, they slipped off their bracelet and dropped it in [Villain]’s hands. “Look after this for me, I wouldn’t want anyone stealing it while I’m gone.”

“Of course,” [Villain] said, pressing it to his chest with a sharp grin. [Hero] doubted they were getting that back, but it didn’t bother them all that much.

Hope this was alright! Come again soon. :)

#whump community #whumpblr #answered asks #whump #whumpdrivethru #whump writing #whump blog #dmitri #hero x villain #heroes and villains #superpowers #villain whumpee #violence tw #injury tw

[thehumanofjustice]

Howdy!

clover here! This is my ask blog! It’s been here for a while now! Even longer than all the other blogs…

feel free to ask anything you want I’m always available!

I’ve got TONS to say and lots to do! Enjoy pardners!

ENJOY!

ooc//

sections:

clover stats

stats (LV20) clover soul

fanart master post

magic list

tumblr sexyman

FAQ

extra details

He Is dating whisper! @whisper-the-spirit

Enjoy

HES 15 SO NO NSFW OR INAPPROPRIATE

wanna argue with the gender? Look here first!

this is also the leader of the underblogs blog! (For the management blog go here)

me(mod) and @goldeneclipsee

mod letter:

Welcome to my blog! I’ve been here longest and… send a lot! And am the (voted) leader of the underblog community that is me and my pals! So feel free to send a ask with your OC or a anon or anything! We always want more people in the community and I’ll PM you to help you setup and stuff! We love seeing OC’s joining the community and I’m here to help out! I run this silly little blog as well as I can in GMT time zones! And overall enjoy it! Clover is a silly little bud! And I love seeing there journeys unfold from you guys!

all the best… stay determined!

-clover mod

Tags:

underblog💙🧡💙💜💚💛❤️: all posts now!

underblog💛: most old posts

Ooc: out of character

mod: me!

ask: answered asks!

cloverye: a non-existant ship now

Clillow: a ship (that shouldn’t exist)

clisper: the cannon ship

#underblog #ut yellow #uty #uty clover #underblog💙🧡💙💜💚💛❤️

[barovianchickenandwaffles]

The Lost Manuscript: another Barovian Tale

(Dedicated to @darklordazalin )

So, there I was one night hauling trash to the heap out back behind BCnW, when a looming shadow rose from behind it. Now, as any Barovian knows, looming shadows arising from behind are bad.

But instead of some nameless horror, it was a young man in a black, uniform, stained with much blood. His own.

He collapsed in a heap, on the heap, and reached out to me. “Please,” he said weakly.

“Sorry, pal, no refunds.”

“No, my name is Domran, and I am a junior officer with the Kargat.”

Aww, crap, it was the fuzz. What did I do this time? I paid Rahadin’s last kickback on time.

Wait, the Kargat serve Lord Azalin, or as we Barovians are commanded to call him, “Stupid Face Jerk Nerd”.

“What does Stupid Face—, er, Lord Azalin want here?”

Domran the Kargat agent explained, “We Kargat agents were dispatched to Barovia to retrieve a copy of a manuscript called The Lord of the Necropolis.”

“That’s everywhere. Where do you think I get such a steady supply of toilet p-, er, reading material at BCnW?”

“No!” gasped Domran, “this one is different. It is said that this is a lost manuscript with an alternate ending, one that contains some hidden secret. Lord Azalin dispatched us to find it.”

I nodded, “cool story, bruh, but nothing like that here.”

“Please,” he said with his last breath, “help me complete my mission. Lord Azalin would no doubt be grateful.”

Well, I had always wanted to expand into Darkon. My ventures in Sithicus and Falkovnia were both spectacular failures. But this time, I could not fail.

“You got it, Donnie.”

“Domr—“ he gasped as he died.

After disposing the body in the heap, I returned to the shop.

“Gary, you’re in charge for a while.”

Gary, the High-master Illithid / barista waved his facial tentacles for a moment. “Looking for that lost manuscript, boss?” came a smooth, unnerving voice in my head.

Great. That’s what happens when you hire a powerful psychic monster as your hardworking, but traitorous employee.

“I pulled from his mind clues to help in your search,” he continued in my head, “it seems there is a ruined monastery hidden on the cliff side beneath Krezk. It is perilous to retrieve it.”

“The only thing in peril is your salary,” I said audibly, “if you don’t mind the shop while I am gone.”

Gary’s was silent. I then threw him a bone. “The body’s out back. It’s still warm. Go nuts.”

Gary’s tentacles wriggled. “I prefer fresher quarry, but it’s been a long shift and I am famished.”

As I assembled some supplies in the pantry, Viktor the Pantry Ghost / ex-intern appeared from the shadows.

Moaning, he said, “going on a quest again? It sure would be a shame if you died, and I wouldn’t be bound to this pantry any more.”

I rolled my eyes, shoving the last of the supplies in my rucksack. “Don’t celebrate my death yet, Viktor.”

And thus I set out from Barovia village to Krezk. It was a miserable journey even by Barovian standards. I made the mistake of picking up an adventuring party on my mule-drawn cart. The elderly wizard of the group, whom everyone obviously disliked but had to tolerate, wouldn’t stop droning on and on and on about his old adventures decades past. Then, he would launch into another tirade about how wizards nowadays sucked and didn’t respect magic anymore. Finally he’d complain about his knees for the 100th time. It was so bad, the usual spooks that infest the woods avoided us.

When he stopped to use the restroom in the woods, in true Barovian fashion, we took off without him. The party thanked me later.

“If he ever tracks you down, just blame it on werewolves. Works every time,” I left them some parting advice. They left me a few silver to compensate. Not bad.

Krezk, Krezk, Krezk. What can I say about it? It’s a crappy town, but then everything’s crappy in Barovia, just in different ways. The Devil Strahd holds less sway here, but the Krezk nightlife is kind of … meh. These people don’t get out much, and don’t welcome outsiders. I had to bring a shipment of syrup for trade to get in the door. This will set me back a bit.

And once I got past the village gate, that was when I ran into my rival, Vlad, owner of Barovian Weiners and Pancakes.

“Hello, Vlad” I said icily as we passed one another.

With a smirk he said, “oh hello, Oleksii. You’re looking well. Profits good?”

Of course he already knew the answer so I ignored the slight. “How’s the new barista working out?”

Word gets around, Vlad had copied my idea, and hired a barista hailing from a distant plane.

“Oh, John the Thri-Kreen? He’s great! Doesn’t say much, but with so many arms he’s twice as fast as Gary.”

“Twice as hungry too,” I thought to myself. Vlad won’t last long with that monstrosity under his employ. I wouldnt shed any tears though.

Getting to Krezk is one thing, finding the Lost Manuscript is another.

Or not.

Turns out BWnP already found it. On Vlad’s tacky storefront was a signboard: “See the lost manuscript of Lord Azalin, and its alternate ending! For a limited time with a purchase of a Vlady Big Weiner Meal!”

I swallowed my pride and went in. I purchased a meal using copper slugs, and there it was in a glass case, enshrined in a gaudy altar, surrounded by candles: Lord of the Necropolis, alternate ending!

As I filed into the queue to get a closer look, I wracked my brains for how to open the altar without being caught, smuggled the manuscript out of town, and avoid the authorities.

Then I remembered the classic Barovian gambit: the Smash N Grab.

With my trusty crowbar in my pack (never leave home without one), I yelled, “hey is that Strahd over there, wearing beach sandals?” pointing in some random direction.

As soon as everyone’s eyes were turned, I drew out the crowbar, smashed the glass, and snatched the manuscript from the altar.

What happened next was a good ol Barovian Cart Chase. Using some tricks I learned from a pair of Dukes reputedly from the domain of Hazárd, I eluded the Krezk constabulary, busted out of the town and managed to lose them halfway to Vallaki. Last I saw Vlad, he was shaking his fist at me, just as his Thri-Kreen employee appeared right behind him with a hungry look on its face.

Back in Barovia village, I finally could rest easy. I parked back behind BCnW and prepared for Vlad’s inevitable counterattack. Content with my defenses, I finally cracked open the book and flipped toward the end. Gary slinked behind me and read over my shoulder.

Turns out, someone had simply crossed out the last chapter or so from a regular copy, and instead added the following:

“When Azalin came to, he was lying on a bed of flowers, seared by the powerful magic he had contended with. He looked at his hands in horror, realizing that he had been thrust back into his original lich form.

“With a cry of anguish, he cursed his tormentors one more. Then he froze. This was no ordinary garden. He knew it well. It was the garden in Castle Ravenloft. What had his tormentors planned this time?

“Then he knew he wasn’t alone. Behind him, the presence of Strahd Von Zarovich oozed from below the floor like black ink. ‘So, we meet again,’ said the silky baritone voice.

“‘Once again, our tormentors have seen fit to throw us into the ring once more,’ Azalin replied in irritation, his mind racing to line up the spells he’d need to fend off Strahd.

“But Strahd didn’t attack. He held out his hand to help Azalin up. ‘I know that pain well.’

“Azalin stared into Strahd’s feral, red eyes for a long time. ‘This is what it sounds like when doves cry.’

“The two Darklords embraced for a moment, and Strahd said, ‘I know a good bratwurst and pancake place in Krezk, let’s go.’

The End.”

Dammit, Vlad.

#ravenloft #dnd #ttrpg #barovia #tumblrloft #d&d #dungeons and dragons #waffles #life in barovia #azalin rex #darkon #Kargat #weiners #barovian tales #curse of strahd