#I love to be a workhorse I love to get shit done and I love to play around with ideas in that way

[fuckitfireeverything]

re: my last post, I’ve been thinking and talking a lot about how my creativity works and the forms it takes, and I’m so bad at having ideas but I’m so good at building on ideas — it’s why I really thrive in collaborative storytelling like ttrpg/actual play but could never write a novel, for instance

and I know that it’s just as valuable a skillset but there are so many fewer opportunities to make things in that form, because even if I wanted to put together a creative team to work on something like an audio drama, I don’t know how to approach people I want to collaborate with without being like “but I don’t have any ideas, that’s where you come in” because it feels like putting the hard work onto them/like a really big ask

#at all times I have like #4/5ths of an ideal creative team for a project like this at my fingertips and a little bit of money set aside to pay them and to do it but #I don't have THE IDEA and I feel like I never will #minus one really elaborate limited run actual play project I've been mulling over for like three years now which I would still love to do #like.... eventually #but like: the best play I ever wrote was a concept my brother had and he said 'i'll never have time to do anything with this so why don't #you try it' and it RULED it was so good and I loved getting to play in that space #it was some of the best writing I've ever done #I love to be a workhorse I love to get shit done and I love to play around with ideas in that way #but I'm not the one to *have the idea* ever that's just not the space my brain operates in #and like maybe I should just be a producer instead and lend my support structure and connections to the people who do have the ideas but #that's not really what I want either

[helenofsimblr]

Elita: Let's check in again on the new girl shall we? This is DC remember? She works at my half brother Kane’s strip club. She runs the bar, and as you can see, it's busy! DC is a no nonsense, get shit done kinda girl. 

****

Elita: The “customers” loved DC nearly as much as the strippers themselves! And my brother certainly loved the way she could run a bar, she was a workhorse, and could keep going most of the night.

Kane: Everything ok DC?

DC: Sure is boss, better put an order in for more vodka we’re down to half.

Kane: Gotcha!

DC: Sexy pose? How’s this ya fuckin’ pervert? … Glad you like it. And what you want to drink and what drink shall I pour for me?

Kane *to himself*: Girl’s a natural! I’d love to see her on the poles…

****

Elita: He may have wanted to see DC on the poles, but that was not likely to happen. DC really didn’t want to strip off in front of the club clientele. She did have some standards. And besides, who the hell could have worked the bar as efficiently, she really was a workhorse. She could run from 8pm to 4am like it was nothing. During the busy period of 11pm to 2am she breezed it. Right now, it was late in the night hence no massive congregation round the bar.

DC: One nice cold beer for you my lovely. And if you’re interested in some no strings attached fun cutie, let me know! I got time for a quickie before I clock out.

Woman: Oh! I would love to take you up on that, but I already have a girlfriend. 

DC: You guys must be so much in love if you’re coming here!

Woman: She works away a lot… and I have needs.

DC: Gotcha. I’m the most fuckin’ discrete barmaid ever, far as I’m concerned honey, you buy me a drink, you were never here.

#ts4 #ts4 story #sims 4 #sims 4 story #ksu #crossover #tac #tales from the district #Season Two #DC

[pegasusknightsonly]

end cards under the cut

i can't believe how every woman other than Felicia gets "she was a loving wife and mother". come on if anyone has opinions on policy it's Charlotte

"the only thing we know about Elise is that she was sooooo close to Effie. Just Really Good Friends". owain distributions copies of the manual of justice telling everyone how awesome he was... wow

real men die with their wives #FuckJakob

look at those battle numbers. i gave them so many resources but they're still shit. obsessed ngl

im shocked Ophelia wasn't first but she was actually third behind Silas and Pepsi !!! i knew Silas was a workhorse but i didn't think he'd done THAT much. wow

overall it was definitely a game i played

if i play CQ again i think I'll use significantly fewer characters and just do royals + one retainer each for their marriage options. that could be kind of fun?? leolicia + ... xander/Effie + Silas/Camilla + odin/elise + laslow/selena could be kind of #swag

#fates lb

[jeysuso]

Oh god Jey is going to get the spike and it's going to be so sad because of everythibg he's done for his family 😭 Do you think the Usos are going to get a vacation then build to something or do you think they are going to build to something right away? Just they are really protecting Solo (except for the Cody loss lol) so I don't know how a fued with them wod run, but at the same time most of his wins have been Uso interference and them holding him back when he's mad. I mean we k ow Roman isn't going to be there to properly build anything yet lol. Also Im worried how they build this be a use when Jey was showing he was really torn this would have been and he was already super over as a face until they dragged him back in and while he still was torn after Wrestlemania I know it's been only two weeks but they've played him as I'm in this bloodline shit for life and I don't know how it will play out for Jeys character with him being turned on verses him turning and choosing himself making it a full circle moment. Like before Wrestlemania Roman didnt trust Jey now is haha I have a new toy (Solo) and you guys are losers so I'm kicking you out. I'm probably over thinking this honestly but it just seems like the story trajectory and character arc is changing post mania. I hope I'm wrong because I'm really invested I Jeys story. It brought me back to wrestling AFTER YEARS. You just usually have great insight ❤️

hii love!! i mean, as far as giving the usos a vacation goes, i don't think they're gonna get one any time soon. those boys are workhorses, and, honestly, i don't even think they'd know what to do with a vacation at this point. 😭 plus, i think if they take them away for a while, they run the risk of the hype surrounding the storyline dying down, or they run the risk of dragging it on even more than they already kind of are, so, i'd be surprised if things don't start ramping up in the next few weeks (specifically backlash, and thereafter).

in terms of bloodline, i don't think he is showing that he's bloodline, if i'm honest? i get more of an impression that jey's showing he's uso > bloodline, personally, but he's bloodline when he has to be. he'll do anything for jimmy and when jimmy is there, sure, he'll be part of the family, do whatever he has to do, but when jimmy isn't there, he isn't that same guy. when jimmy wasn't around on smackdown last week, jey wasn't bloodline-centered. even when he kicked sami, that didn't look to me like an allegiance thing, it looked more like a "okay, yeah, i can do this, i can solve this problem" because he has more to think about than just himself in this situation. he has to prove to roman he's to be relied on, or else shit will hit the fan. but he was wearing his old uso shorts, he looked uncertain holding up the one, he heard sami out when he probably would've just beaten him up had jimmy been there. nothing about him screams bloodline when he's not with his brothers or roman.

i think the thing is with roman, too, is that he still doesn't trust jey. that's why he's losing patience with them, it's why he's bestowing this huge task upon solo to take jey out if necessary, that's exactly what happened on smackdown last week. he ordered jimmy to stay home so that if jey failed in dealing with sami (which, without solo, he probably would've), solo had a clear chance to take jey out. that much is obvious to me. i guess it doesn't help because we don't see roman that much so just being told this stuff doesn't really have the same effect, but i still think things are going in the right direction. unless the usos win the tag-team titles again (which, you know, i can't say isn't possible. i think there's every chance they're gonna win them again through cheating, honestly) i do think we're heading towards something big. i'd be stunned if we get through backlash/the draft weekend without anything happening, honestly.

the one thing i'm unsure about is that i don't know about jey getting his full-circle moment. like, i hope they give him that, but i'm not... confident they're going to? they're fully aware that people want jey to turn face. that's why they keep teasing it. i just don't know if it's going to end in the roman vs. jey finale we're all wanting.

#anon ask #💜 #ask #cw: long post

[robinplayspokemon]

pokemon anime 1x03 "ash catches a pokemon" & 1x04 "challenge of the samurai"

these are the viridian forest episodes. the first episode is actually a bit misleadingly titled as ash actually catches two pokemon, caterpie & pidgeotto. pidgeotto is gonna go on to be a serious workhorse for ash, it feels like he whips him out way more often than you'd expect. caterpie has a whole fun arc that starts in this episode with him looking yearningly up at a butterfree and evolving into metapod by the end of this episode, and into butterfree by the end of the next one!

honestly there isn't a lot to say about these two episodes? they get the job done. i don't love the samurai kid as the titular antagonist in the second one? he just doesn't strike me as particularly interesting? the metapod vs. metapod "fight" was pretty hilarious,, though. and i liked the beedrill being used as the looming threat throughout the episode, including silly shit like team rocket carrying a tank around with them to protect themselves.

anyway, yeah. kinda run in the mill episodes here. b-rank

new pokedex entries:

#pokemon #pokemon anime #pidgeotto #weedle #pinsir #beedrill #kakuna #butterfree #pokemon indigo league

[cococowboah]

Hail Santa!

Sharing a bit of this because I'm genuinely loving how it's turning out. A snippet from Hail Santa!

TW: mentions of taking ones own life, religiously-typical homophobia.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alan Rodriguez has been my best friend since birth. Our families were thick as thieves, or as close as fellow Jehovah’s Witness families could go.

I knew early on that Alan was different from me. For example, he actually gave a shit about going to meetings, studying, and doing well in service. At age 11, he was working towards the goal of getting baptized. I had to be dragged along that path by my earlobe, because my parents insisted that I get baptized at the same time as him. By the time we were 14, he had 3 ongoing bible studies and was averaging 70 hours in service per month. The boy was a workhorse for the cult, and yet no matter how much he gave, he constantly told me that he didn’t feel like he was doing nearly enough.

In between his busy schedule of bible thumping and forcing a cult down the throats of the masses, Alan spent his time with me, playing videogames, going to the park, listening to music together. He was like a brother to me, the closest thing I ever had to one, and my parents couldn’t approve more because of what an excellent record he held in the hall.

Around 16, the cracks in my best friend’s facade of faith began to show. While showing me something on his phone, I caught sight of a tab that seemed a bit… gay.

 I was well aware that anything with a rainbow on it was to be avoided at all costs, unless it was made directly by Watchtower. I was taught that the rainbow had been hijacked by the gays, a beautiful thing now tarnished by the homosexuals.

But maybe with a name like XGayHub, Alan was seeking a space for ex-homosexuals? Maybe he was struggling with the tendencies and was requesting advice from fellow ex-gay men.

So I looked up the website at home and, nope. It was porn. Gay porn. Very very gay porn.

I felt at a loss. I just caught my best friend looking at gay porn and, oddly enough, I didn’t care. Alan liked men, so the hell what?

But wasn’t I told again and again and again that homsexuality was wrong? Well, yeah, I was. But, I hadn’t been convinced. The way homosexuality was discussed among Jehovah’s Witnesses was different depending on who was speaking.

In private, especially older Witnesses were known to say some unsavory and hateful things about LGBT people in general. I once saw a mother and father proudly declare that they had kicked their 18 year old daughter out of the home for catching her in a homosexual act with another sister. The other girl’s parents did not kick their daughter out, they left the religion and were seen as outcasts from that day forward, an entire family disfellowshipped for refusing to abandon their daughter, ridiculed by our entire congregation until this very day, becoming a warning for any other parents who may find they love their children more than God’s supposed command to shun them.

Watchtower’s public stance on homosexuality is that it is wrong, but that the person committing the act should not be harassed or hurt because of his lifestyle. They repeat again and again that the bible does not condone the act alone, that the person is still worthy of God’s love, that they can change, that others should not judge them too harshly or beat them into submission.

At 18, Alan confessed to me that he was gay. He went on to say that he was tired of trying to hide it, fight it, deny it. He never found a woman attractive, and the devastation that he was experiencing from being expected to remain celibate and single for his entire life was eating him up too much to bear.

So I told him, “then go get a boyfriend.”

He looked at me, his face full of disgust. “And seal my fate as a monster to God?” He shook his head. “When I say I am done with trying to fight this, I don’t mean I want to engage in my desires.”

“Well then what do you mean?”

“I mean, with God willing, I will be ending my life and my earthly desires along with it. Jehovah willing, I will meet you in paradise, fresh and free of sinful temptations.”

I was in shock, could hardly speak. “Alan, you can’t!”

“It’s either end my life right now while I am free of physical sin, or find myself waist deep in a homoerotic centered bathhouse by the end of the year!”

“Jesus Christ, Alan, relax. Being gay ain’t the worst thing in the world. In ten years these fucking nutjobs will probably be all gun ho about accepting the alphabet people once their rank and file die off from old age.”

“Kai!” He grabbed my shoulders, terror in his eyes. “What is this apostate speak?!”

“I ain’t an apostate, I’m saying you are who you are and I personally don’t think God’s got any issue with who you wanna sleep with.”

“How deep does this go, Kai? Have you been on JWfacts? You haven’t been watching John Cedars have you?!”

I pushed him away. “No, Alan! You’re my brother! Unlike this cult I give a shit about you and I won’t let you take your own life over something as menial as getting a boner for guys.”

“The Bible condemns these acts!”

“Where, Alan? Where specifically does the bible state that-”

“Leviticus 18:22, You shall not lie with a man as with a woman; it is an abomination.”

“You had that one ready, didn’t you?”

He held his body close. “I repeat it like a mantra. It’s my sword for when anyone, even a fellow brother, attempts to steer me wrong.”

“Alright, well, what’s the bible say about suicide then?”

He held himself closer, turned towards the window. “I don’t know.”

I sighed. “I won’t sit here and act like I know more about the bible than you do, Alan. But what I do know is that if God would rather you take your own life than live it out happily with someone who loves you, that someone being another man or not, then that’s not a loving and all-knowing God. That’s the opinion of a few men who need a reason to hate what they don’t understand.”

“I don’t understand it either! I have done everything perfectly, all of my life. I can’t comprehend why I was cursed with these desires. I was prepared to battle a flood of hormones demanding that I fondle and grope every woman I met after puberty, but to be suddenly enraptured by thoughts and daydreams of fellow men day and night, nothing could prepare me for this!”

“You thought you’d want to fondle and grope women after puberty?”

“I never liked women prior, I assumed that would be my downfall. My father and mother prepared me for my blooming into my teen years, warned me that women would be all over me, being what most would describe as a pretty boy.” He touched his face, his features, lightly. “I expected to fight my way through singlehood while pursuing a career as a pioneer, to one day meet a beautiful godly woman and marry, my troubles would end in a swirl of blissful fidelity. But I was wrong. I will never meet a satisfying conclusion to my desires, not while maintaining my stance with God.”

I knew it wasn’t fair to keep insisting to him that God didn’t care about him being gay, because to him, God did care. And to Alan, God hated him for his glaring imperfection, his desire to go against his bodily design and lay down atop a fellow man the way he believed he should with a woman.

Or vice versa, I never took Alan for a top if we’re being honest.

#lgbt fiction #lgbt #lgbtqiia+ #lgbt pride #lgbtq #gay christmas #gay #gay love #original fiction #writing #love #ex christian #ex jw #exjw #ex jehovah's witness #ex jw memes #jehovahswitnesses #jehovas witnesses #comedy #dark comedy

[egons-twinkie]

Pls tell me your thoughts on rock lee I love the boy

AHH YES! ✨

Rock Lee. My son. One of, if not the strongest Shinobi in the entire village. Certainly the strongest in willpower. He is such a force of nature, and I absolutely adore characters like him, "joke" characters that yeah, they're funny guys, they may be a lot to handle, but damned if they aren't some of the strongest emotional workhorses in the book/show/movie/etc. And Lee is one of, if not the best (second maybe only to Samwise Gamgee of Lord of the Rings in my personal opinion as far as strength of will derived from love) examples of this archetype (maybe the incorrect term?). His subplots and arcs are my life force I swear. A character so driven by his desire to fit in, to be good and accepted by those around him whom seem to all have what he never can. To be loved and to prove that anyone can change if they just try hard and don't give up—call it cheesy, call it cliche, I call it an absolutely refreshing and incredible effort of love.

This boy who no one loved. This boy with no apparent family, no childhood friends, no real talent at anything except maybe eating curry and sheer willpower by the bucketful—Lee is inspiring in so many ways. To get where he was. In a sense he shares a kinship with Naruto, but the village had a reason, terrible but plausible I guess, to hate Naruto. He holds the thing that killed their beloved Hokage, that destroyed the village and took so many lives, but...Lee was just Lee. No horror demons, no curse, just what could be classified in a world like that as a form of disability. And they ostracized him for it, sheerly because he looked weird and couldn't keep up. I relate so hard to this. I'll try to keep it brief touching on his relationship with his team and Guy Sensei in specific, which is probably silly to say because of how important they are to his growth, but at the same time—your friends, family, classmates etc. can only push you so far, encourage you or challenge you in some cases, but you have to put in the effort yourself and Lee goes so far above and beyond effort. He becomes the greatest Taijutsu user to spite all those who said he couldn't, a hefty Fuck You to those unbelievers like early seasons Neji, who said he couldn't. He fought and fought to be seen and be good, and then lo and behold, this alleged failure, he ROCKED GAARA OF THE SAND'S SHIT. And yes, he still lost, but he had still done what no one else could do. He hurt a Jinchuuriki (been a long time since I've spelt that so rip I may have butchered it) who had never ever been touched before, never come close and, I think, inadvertently was one of the first gears to spin in turning this heartless sand demon vessel on to a new feeling: love. Pure protective and very human love. The Jōnin I think showed him first, stepping in to save Hinata's life when Neji was about to take it, but Guy stepping in to save Lee only to find him still standing (after having his arm and leg given sock-full-of-gravel treatment)...I still get chills. Guy saved Lee, still determined to fight despite being literally comatose. These things, the love of his team and the sheer force of effort that drives Lee, put those seeds of humanity in Gaara, Naruto and company more or less beat the rest out later, and I feel much of it is due to Team Guy's sheer closeness and (ik I keep using the word I'm sorry) humanity... To be seen as a failure to many, to lose, was not the end, not a death sentence—even though he had his limbs crushed to dust like freaking chalk, obliterated all his muscles opening the Gates ... AND THEN HE CAME BACK. This is also due to incredible medical Shinobi and their techniques but again, they could only do so much. They gave him the option, told him he could and more than likely would die or be paralyzed for the rest of his life with only the minutest chances of success, but he MADE IT, and he CAME BACK. Through his sheer effort and willpower he came back. And none of it destroyed what counts most to him: his (literally) unbreakable passionate spirit. His love for his village, for being a ninja, for his teammates and for life itself. Nothing short of death could break his spirits and even then I think he'd challenge the Reaper and win. Rock Lee holds my heart in the palms of his bandaged beaten hands and he holds it so gently and with such care. This is a metaphor but u know he WOULd.

Not only all of the above plot stuff, they're my favorite arcs, but just him. He. My son. My boy. Made of passion, forged with willpower, sharpened by adversity, charging headlong through the crucibles of life and death and coming out on top every time, even if it takes time and work no one else in their right mind would put in. He puts it in. He only gets better. Every failure is progress. Every injury is strengthening. Every success is life-altering, worthy of joyous celebration, worthy of tears and jubilation. No challenge can break him, no hatred can take his spirit, and he functions so heavily on love, on trust and hard work and comradery and will. His chivalry, his nobility, his strength of character as much as his strength of will and body. God I fucking love Rock Lee ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

idk if any of this is coherent lmao

#faith rants #faith rambles #faith vents #naruto #rock lee #ask faith #i have admittedly not finished Shippuden but AAAAAH MY BOY #he #do it for him #this is super incoherent but i am never gonna pass up an op to go off abt my boy #i also had a whole oc i made with a background and history and special techniques and yes she loves rock lee #but thats....classified information #imjustanothercowboy

[seat-safety-switch]

Tractors have been in the news a lot lately, for reasons that I don’t care to look into unless it means that I have greater access to vehicle parts. Wait, that’s exactly what it means? We’ll, uh, catch up with that later, but the fact remains: the average adult human in our coddled white-collar society doesn’t know what a tractor is.

In childhood, we are taught by our equally coddled, white-collar parents that a tractor is like a special car. It goes around a farm, and pulls or pushes shit, and then the farmer gets his work done and is paid. That’s the end of the story, nighty-night, and your architect father and mechanical-engineer mother look at you from the bedroom door with loving eyes as they coo to each other about how you are really starting to “get” how things work around here.

They are mostly correct in that a tractor is like a special car, but only insofar as it contains an internal combustion engine and is a box full of nightmares, previous-owner hackjobs, and wiring faults. Past that, there’s virtually no comparison. The tires are huge, made of bizarre new materials, and are usually filled with water or pig excrement. The gearbox is shithouse, and won’t do highway speeds even when the cops are chasing you. There’s a turbocharger, but the manufacturer refuses to publish the quarter-mile times out of shame.

What tractors have that cars don’t is a sort of reflective calm about the world. At these low speeds, with these burbling engines, out in nature, it’s easy to let your thoughts drift away from the here and now. You can contemplate the universe as you accidentally run over a day labourer.

Once you start to comprehend the humble farm tractor as its own thing, you’ll see its true personality start to emerge. That’s usually when a lot of folks buy a second, or third, or sixteenth tractor. They feel bad for these abandoned workhorses sitting on the side of a farmer’s field as newer, better industrial implements are put to work destroying soil quality. Even though those folks live in a downscale suburb and have no legal parking or storage facilities for dozens of full-size diesel tractors, they’ll still bring their new friends home. And we have to salute that kind of commitment.

Salute, but perhaps not understand. And if we can’t understand it, we can’t prosecute it. Your honour, I’d like to move for a trial delay, on the grounds that my attorney is still a few hours away from the courthouse as his Cub Cadet only does fifteen km/h.

[accursedkaleeshi]

Depressing Grievous Headcanon: The Inhibitor Chips

        TL:DR Grievous had inhibitor chips in his brain, 2 in particular made him The Worst™. One chip opened the flood gates of fury & the other chip slammed those gates shut & threw it in reverse. Let the rage flow until it reached “I will kill you or die trying” level, then click oh, shit I have to leave immediately.

How sure was Sidious that the inhibitor chips worked? Very. For every nefarious galaxy-rending plot he had you know there was untold fallout from prototype trials. Grievous was a prototype for a lot of things Sidious was trying to get off the ground. He got his money’s worth out of that bitch. The inhibitor chips used in Grievous ranged in complexity but were generally simpler as compared to those in the clones.

        The pair of chips that did most of the work in the general literally just stimulated areas of his brain under certain conditions. Grievous knew that his behavior was altered at its core, but due in part to the other lovely things that were done to him, he didn’t really care. In fact, he found a horrible sense of freedom in this. He did not have to put in the work into making decisions. He could just be a monster with little to no accountability.

        He was able to eventually recognize & pick out the triggers & circumstances under which these two particular chips activated. Towards the end of the Clone Wars he had far & away conditioned himself to act ahead of the resulting impulses. This did him zero favors, but maybe somewhere in his ruined mind he counted it as one of very few things he had control over. That was not, in fact, the case & he was just fast-passing the sith’s intentions.

        What I’m calling Chip A for simplicity’s sake was the angry chip. Chip A basically ran this stupid cyborg. It was trigged by stress, which… yeah, he was always stressed. When it detected the chemicals it was looking for the chip would just unload electric signals into his brain’s more primitive functions & turn his fight or flight reaction to (Steve Harvey voice) KILL. As you might imagine, Kaleesh have a good chunk of brain dedicated to rage & violence. The Techno Union had to patch this a few times at the start b/c he would Kylo-Ren a perimeter around him for dumb shit. They added like. A dimmer switch.

        Dooku used this in conjunction with his spooky sith mind games, having obscured most of his positive neural pathways & replacing them with an ominous void. Grievous did the rest himself. He was once a man that did a lot of thinking to back up his action, but they no longer needed him to think. If Grievous tried to think too deeply on something he couldn’t reach, like many of us, he would get very anxious. So, then Chip A would be like “yo we aren’t allowed to worry, it’s time to be mad. Pog.”

        Needless to say Chip A was goddamn workhorse. Grievous was constantly seething with rage. The Separatists all congratulated themselves on a job well done, creating a rage machine. Until Dooku discovered The Plateau. Grievous was very easy to manipulate; he was largely an open book. Dooku expected there to be a peak to how mad Grievous could get versus how well he made tactical decisions. But instead he found The Plateau while training him. He wasn’t sure if it was a biological state or some remnants of his culture’s spiritualism & he didn’t care. Apparently Kaleesh did not peak in rage & then crash. They hit the top & stay there.

He tested it several times, y’know for science. Grievous hit the maximum amount of fury he could convey & instead of breaking down he just stayed there, especially no longer being susceptible to physical wear. Dooku had to incapacitate him each time. When questioned, Grievous had given him some native word that boiled down to “one death either way”. Kaleesh would fight until they dropped. Commendable in some savage way, he supposed, but that was problematic. Sidious needed this broken bone lizard for his plans. Plans that didn’t have an execution date just then.

The Plateau was the kind of state some cultures referred to as berserk. They couldn’t have their very expensive scapegoat kamikaze a frigate into Coruscant in a frenzied martyr-making rage 2 months into a galactic war. So they slapped another chip in this bitch. When Chip B activated it immediately cut signal to Chip A & zapped a slightly different area. It basically shut off the “fight” & reversed straight into “flight”, breaking off the lever in an area that Grievous had seldom even touched previously in his life.

Chip B was the nope chip. It was the disengage button. It forced him to stop & immediately question what he was doing & whether or not it was a good idea. You’d think, as an honor bound warrior, he would hate this. He actually didn’t mind it & oftentimes found it hilarious. He internalized it as choices he was making. Very convenient props to hold up his fort of denial. He had no personal stake in anything during the Clone Wars. If Dooku’s little errands didn’t go as planned, he actually did not give a fuck. He knew (or, he thought he knew) that Dooku could not kill him unless Sidious was done with him.

Again, that relinquishing of responsibility for his actions is what kept him running. He was Dooku’s problem. If he got punished, not usually physically but mentally, he would be irate yes, but he was already constantly furious. If he performed poorly it was the Count that took the flak from Sidious. Dooku hated his guts & if he could not die in battle there was at least a smug satisfaction in inflicting himself of the Count. He was there to kill Jedi & cause problems.

Kenobi, then, was the Republic’s perfect anti-arch clanker weapon. Obi-Wan Kenobi used his wholly defensive lightsaber stance to buy him time to be the sassiest, most obnoxious bitch ever from behind his blue blade. As Grievous is an easy read, Kenobi could just rocket him into the Plateau wherein he made worse & worse decisions the more pissed off he got until A switched to B.

The Jedi council figured after a while that Kenobi was essentially annoying General Grievous into retreating, but they had no idea how literally that was happening. Toward the end of the war it was rather pavlovian. The droids would report Kenobi and/or Kenobi-adjacent activity in the area they were operating & a lot of the time Grievous would just straight leave.

He’d be like, “I have shit to do. Either Kenobi will come stop all of you from whatever the fuck we are doing or he will chase me. He cannot do both. Bye, bitch.” He called it leading Kenobi away from Separatist operations but really he just didn’t want to deal with it half the time. “I don’t have time for this” was already conveniently embedded in his DNA. ROTS he could have just yolo merc’d Kenobi when he dropped his lightsaber like an idiot. But then the clone army showed up & he was just like, click “Ugh, I don’t want to deal with this right now.”

#accursed!grievous #it's funny but also horrible #sw headcanons #call him a coward to his face he will laugh but his ancestors will cry

[finestkind4077]

Bananas, Crackers, and Nuts

Onto episode seven! I would like to thank the writers of M*A*S*H from the bottom of my nerdy little heart for that Oxford comma in the title.

° I feel like this opening scene is the first time they’ve really illustrated the full implications of doing a 12- or 18-hour round of surgery. It’s really well done

° “You know what this means?! NO MARTINIS!” I’m not saying that’s a mood, but I’m not saying it’s not a mood, either.

° Oh, look! Henry is still a tool who only gives a shit about himself. Honestly, I’m really surprised by just how much I dislike this character at this point in the show. I’m hoping that he becomes more multi-faceted as the show goes on, because I genuinely do remember liking the guy when I watched the show as a kid, but damn.

° “I think the last person we have to worry about is Hawkeye Pierce.” You wonder how many times Margaret found herself regretting nodding along to that particular assertion down the line.

° Frank Burns saying that “Pierce has always been a rock” is quite a revelation.

° Sir, I don’t know who you think you are, but I promise you, you are no Sidney Freedman.

° “I’m in love and he doesn’t even know I exist.” Ah, yes. The line that literally launched a thousand ships.

° So here’s the thing. Yes, Hawkeye is faking. But Henry doesn’t know that, and it’s pretty shitty to see this guy care about nothing except whether or not he gets to keep his workhorse chief surgeon.

° “My profession is helping people find their way in the dark!”   “Ohhh, yes sir! Very good sir!” LOL.

° Oh, an attempted rape by the psychiatrist while everyone stands around doing nothing. Great. Jesus, this episode is really messed up. I literally don’t even know what else to say.

#tv: mash #mash #mash 4077 #hawkeye pierce #trapper john mcintyre #bananas crackers and nuts #who are you and what have you done with the Henry Blake I remember #and where the hell is Sidney Freedman

[orionwhispers]

Swan Song// Thomas Shelby 🍸

(A.N )- holy shit. holy shit. you guys... its finally finished. it took months but its finally done!!here is the long awaited and highly requested lolita wedding. im so happy you guys finally get to read it! i feel like my baby has all grown up lol. there might be errors and stuff bc its 16k words and im exhausted but hopefully you enjoy it. thanks for being so wonderful and patient. ily) also sorry for all the pics in the moodboard being white i try and be inclusive but smh pinterest sucks sometimes, anyone is welcome here. we are all hoes for tommy)

Trigger Warnings; so much fucking fluff, implied smut, some angst and mention of past injury.

PART 1  PART 2

It was one of those dreamy midsummer nights.

When even the sun didn’t want to retire for the evening; the sky a rich, milky blue, and the air still thick and warm like honey. You were on the window seat, clad in one of Ada’s many wedding presents, a blush silk slip and matching robe, a gift she had brought back from her week in Boston.

You were happy. Irrevocably so. The floor and love seat crowded with the people you held closest to your heart, the room smelt of expensive vanilla candles and strawberry wine, and the deep throaty rumble of laughter filled every empty space.

It was perfect. Well - almost.

You missed him.

It was only one night apart, you had spent longer times separated when he went out of town for business or you had a rambunctious girls weekend with Ada and Esme - but still you missed him entirely.

You knew he missed you too. That much was obvious from the disdain on his face when Arthur and Polly laid bare their plans for the night before your wedding. There hadn’t been time for an engagement party let alone a bachelor party - a few weeks after announcing the news Tommy had been due to attend to some business in New York, and he was adamant that you were to come along. He wanted to treat you, show you the vibrant city and all of the glitz and glamour of Broadway, but you knew that was only part of the reason. He didn’t like you out of his sight for too long, the wound on your chest might have been puckering into a scar but the pain was still fresh in his mind and his overprotectiveness had tripled.

After a brilliant few weeks away in the big apple, filled with passionate, breathless kisses and red satin dresses and driving hand in hand down the Brooklyn bridge, you finally returned home - but much like the city you had just left, Thomas Shelby had no time for sleeping. He was knee deep in new deals and navigating his partnership with Alfie Solomon’s, as well as his new venture of manufacturing gin. Despite the long nights and the early mornings, you never felt neglected. You loved him, all of him, and that included his workhorse nature and tenacity. And besides, he struggled being away from you, finding himself noticing the lack of warmth in his office, when at home you would be perched on his lap, pressing dizzying kisses to the base of his neck. He missed the sound of your laugh and the way that you giggled, biting your lip innocently, making him want to bite it even harder.

He loved you, and that god awful summer had shown him that all he truly cared about was having you by his side. So for every night he was at the office, or every morning he was out of bed before you woke up, he made it up to you with a weekend away, or a signed first edition of your favourite book, or a piece of jewellery he had made for you. They might have been material things, but the meaning couldn’t be clearer, he was hopelessly, dangerously, completely, in love with you.

His main present to you though, arrived a few days after his sudden proposal in his office.

He originally wanted to take you into London, show you the finest jewellers by the water and let you choose anything that caught your eye - only the best for his best girl - but, after everything, his plans had changed.

Truthfully, marriage had been on the tip of his tongue since that very first day he locked eyes with you in the Garrison. He knew he had to have you, even before he knew your name, and by the time the two of you first kissed, tasting like sweet strawberries and cigarettes, he knew you would be the woman to take his.

But things got in the way. Marriage wasn’t as simple as it might have been for the people you passed in the streets. Marriage to him was like putting a target on your back, it meant your entire life being intertwined with his, the whole world knowing that you were the woman that made him fall to his knees. It would take everything from you, and the darkness would slowly start to seep into the light that surrounded you, and he needed to keep you safe for as long as he could. He knew he was going to marry you, it was just as clear in his mind as it was that he was the leader of the Blinders, you were the missing piece in his puzzle.

But of course, his plans were blown to smithereens when the bullet shattered your collarbone that summers eve. His visions of red roses and rich wine and getting on one knee, feeling like a goddamn kid again when you gave him that smile as he pushed the ring onto your finger, were flung to the wind. And instead, his honeyed words were swapped with breathless desire and need, whispered in your hair as you were cradled in his arms, in the afterglow of such a dreadful day.

The one thing he knew he could get right, however, was the ring.

It had to be special. It had to be you. Something soft and sweet and gentle, but with an edge - sharp and strong and beautiful. Of course, it would be impossible to find any diamond or pearl that could compete with your beauty, but he wanted you to have the best.

That wasn’t the only reason though.

It had more to do with the jewel that had hung around your neck that day at the ball, the one that haunted him when the sky got dark and you were fast asleep beside him. He had come so close to losing you, only a hair away from the girl he loved being buried, and the thought was driving him mad. He controlled every aspect of his life, but this was something completely out of his grasp, and he needed to stop his dangerous thoughts.

He hadn’t been superstitious since he was a boy chasing his brothers through fields of wildflowers and listening to Polly’s ramblings by the fire, but he had to rule out every possibility. So a few days after he proposed, and with the best doctor in Birmingham giving you the all clear (and triple checking that the house was secured and being watched by practically a small army of Blinders - and a stern warning to Michael, Isaiah and Finn that if even a hair on top of your head was misplaced by the time he got back, none of them would be able to have any children)- he set off.

He told you he was signing a deal in Manchester, but he was really only a few miles away, at the campsite where he had spent the majority of his youth. It was all rolling hills of deep emerald and jade, and fog that curled and twisted around his ankles, and for the first time in a long time, he felt out of place. He had chosen the ring with the help of Polly, who was adamant she knew your taste better than him, something he vehemently denied.

It was beautiful and unique, just like you, and he never felt such a profound rush of love quite like when he pictured slotting it onto your finger. It was big, but not overly so - nothing tacky or too much, Tommy knowing that you never wanted anything glimmering or gaudy and that you’d probably hit him and then faint if you knew the price. But, in his eyes - nothing was too expensive for his little girl. Besides, he particularly liked the way the ring shone in the light, imagining all the men that would fuck off and leave with their tail between their legs when they saw it and realised that the most beautiful woman in the room was already spoken for.

The diamond was brilliant and a “Princess” cut, something that made him smirk because it was one of his favourite pet names for you, and he couldn’t imagine anything more fitting. The band was solid gold, two different paths that intertwined and curled like summer vines, making him think of the lightness and whimsy you carried around you. What really sold him though, were the soft, twinkling rose quartz gems that cocooned the diamond.

“For protection.” Polly had muttered as he twisted the ring between his fingers under the dim lighting in the store. He had rolled his eyes when she spoke but secretly the meaning behind them made his gut twist. Protection was something that he needed you to have in abundance, even if it came from small crystals the size of a half grain of rice.

The ring was so perfect. So rare and alluring and undeniably you, and he walked out the door with the feeling of pure content, something that only even happened when he thought of you. But he knew there was more for him to do. He sent Polly home, ignoring the raised eyebrows she gave him and brushed off the sixth sense his Aunt had always had. And with the ring safely nestled in its plush navy box in his breast pocket, he drove off.

The campsite felt like the past. It felt as though he was visiting somewhere deep in the confines of his mind, somewhere that he had locked and stored away and forgotten about, only now being able to see through the thick haze of smog. He met the elderly woman by the doors of her caravan, noticing the difference between his sharp suit and the furs and shawls she had covering her body. She smiled and invited him in, pouring him a cup of something that smelt like sap and crisp autumn apples.

“It’s been a long time, Thomas.” She said, eyes so dark they almost looked black as she watched him curiously.

“That it has.”

“What brings you to this part of the woods then? I thought you would have forgotten about the rest of us.”

It was a dig, but he refused to rise to it. He wasn’t in the mood for petty jibes.

“I’ve been busy.”

“So I hear.” She exhaled, stirring her tea meticulously with a golden spoon. “They tell me you’re practically running the country.”

He smiled softly and falsely, digging his hand deep into his pocket. “Let’s cut to the chase, eh?” He pulled out the small box, opening it in his palm, and twisting it round so that the clear cut diamond was twinkling right before her.

She grinned, leaning forward on her elbows to get a better look. “It’s beautiful. Must have cost a pretty penny.”

“The woman it’s for is worth it.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“I know why you’re here,Tom. The boys told me what happened at that party of yours.”

He cleared his throat, not liking the lack of control he had over the conversation.

“Right, well then. Just tell me what I need to know.”

She closed her eyes, muttering something under her breath, and Tommy sat back on his haunches, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. Was he really fucking doing this? Sitting in a caravan in the middle of fucking nowhere getting his jewellery cleansed by some batty old woman he knew as a child? It went against everything he believed in, and was the exact opposite of the calm and level headed way he ran his business.

But then he thought of you. And your light. Your sweetness and the sound of your laugh, the curve of your lips and the flowers you wore in your hair and the grass stains on your little white dresses. He thought of the scar that ran along your collarbone, and the feeling of white hot desperation that had coursed through him when he that you might not wake up.

You were worth it. Fuck sensibilities and rationality. He’d drive to the fucking ends of the earth if it meant that it would keep you even just a little bit safer.

After what felt like an age, the woman opened her eyes and raised her head. She used the edge of one of her many colourful scarves to wipe the surface of the gems, her hands moving in quick, rhythmic circles.

“It’s clean.” She said. “There’s nothing bad on it. At least, not that I can see.”

Tommy felt the anvil strapped to his chest suddenly fill and float like a balloon, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he brushed off the relief flooding though his body, and straightened up. “Well I came to the best.”

She smiled, both smugly and bashfully, the way most women felt around Tommy. “That you did my love.”

His fingertips merely brushed the top of the roll of money he had stuffed in his pocket, and the elderly woman sat back, shaking her head at him.

“It’s on the house. Maybe you can bring your girl around one day, I know we’d all like to meet her.”

Not fucking likely he thought. No way in hell would he bring you to a place like this, whilst he still had good memory’s of his youth, he didn’t trust the people that still lurked in the fields around this place.

Wanting to settle the score, he held out a wad of notes. “I insist.”

“And I decline.”

He didn’t like the way the conversation had ended, it didn’t sit quite right with him. He liked to make his deals as open and closed as possible, money was the best way to seal a deal, he didn’t work with favours. “Right, well. Thank you for everything.”

He looked out of the windows of the caravan as he gathered his things. It was starting to get dark, the sky blushing like summer strawberries and freshly sliced peaches, the air still a little thick from the heat. All that he wanted now was to get home to you, everything else had faded to static in his ears. He bit back a grin as he thought of how you would smile, all teeth and round cheeks and wide eyes when he showed you the ring. He imagined it sitting pretty on your finger, the nudge of the jewel against his when you intertwined hands and the way it would dazzle at night, not nearly as beautiful as you as you laid beneath him, sweaty and breathless and ethereal.

As sudden as a gunshot, sharp words from behind him cut through his daydreams like a blade.

“Have you ever considered, Tom?”

He merely paused, not even bothering to spin on his heel and face her. He knew what she was going to say and yet it still felt like a knife digging into a fresh wound as she continued speaking.

“That maybe it’s not the jewels? Maybe it’s you?”

He wasn’t the type of man to back down from a fight, and he was the unrivalled champion of maintaining his composure and remaining calm under every type of pressure, but even he couldn’t deny the shivers that twisted around the bottom of his spine at the implication of her words.

“Yes. I have.”

He could feel her shifting behind him, ready to lure him in, tell him the thing that kept him up at night and clawed at his throat when he watched you sleep; that perhaps he was the poison that seemed to follow you like a dark cloud. He was much too selfish, far too infatuated with you to keep you at arms length. The deafening ache that perhaps you were the reason he finally felt alive, and that maybe he was the reason you would end up buried. 

He didn’t allow himself to think any more, tossing his cash towards her, not even bothering to check if she caught it or if it landed on the floor, instead he raised a hand and walked off, murmuring under his breath. “Keep the change.”

He waited until he was back in his car, with a cigarette between his lips and the sour smell of petrol and ash filling his lungs before he finally inhaled, glad to be out of the fucking fresh air.

—————————————————————

Your reaction was even better than he imagined.

It was dark by the time he eventually got home, and he didn’t miss the buzz of warmth that pulling into the driveway brought. It was bizarre, he had spent so long feeling nothing that meeting you had reignited everything inside of him, he felt like a boy again, nervous and elated to see the girl he loved.

The lights were on, reflecting through the windows like flickering candles, and a pleasant yellow glow engulfed the shadows in the gravel. He could hear voices, (mainly Arthur’s), deep low laughter and the sound of music all throughout the halls. He winced slightly, hoping that whatever ruckus his family had brought wasn’t keeping you from resting. He was certain that this impromptu gathering was his brothers idea of raising your spirits, but Tommy would have felt much more comfortable knowing that you were peaceful and recovering somewhere safe, knowing that you were far too polite to send his family away.

“What the fucks all this noise, eh?” He shouted as entered, his tone was sharp but even he couldn’t stop the tiny grin making its way onto his face as he watched Arthur and John drunkenly dance in the living room.

“Ay! You’re back? How did it go?” Arthur asked, holding out his arms in greeting as his speech slurred.

“Everything’s in order.”

“Hurrah!” Arthur swayed on unsteady legs like a sailor on the rough seas, and

“Bloody hell Arthur, what the fuck are you on?” John laughed,

“It’s a celebration, brother.”

Tommy pushed him aside playfully, tuning out the sound of their bickering as he strode further in the living room, eyes brushing past all of the faces crowded around, his heart stopping when he finally found the one he was after.

You were curled up on the sofa by the fireplace with your legs tucked underneath you, your face flushing deliciously, the spark slowly reigniting inside of you - and Tommy swore that he had never seen something so beautiful. Michael, Isaiah and Finn were crowded around you, looking much younger than their years, playing cards in their hands and big, toothy grins, occasionally accusing the other of cheating. Polly watched from beside the fireplace, something that had once been the beating heart of the house, a place where the two of you coexisted so magnificently. He thought of the flames from the logs and also from deep inside of him, devouring you completely on the hardwood floors, the sound of your moans mixing with the crackle and snap of the kindling. He hadn’t looked at the fireplace since you had been shot, it was too intimate, too personal, memories of early morning laughter and pure carnal hunger when the sun set, his fingertips pressing against the softness of your throat as you melted like paper under him.

Now though, it had been filled with empty wine bottles stuffed with candles, wax dripping and melting down their green glass necks, the room smelling like cherries and lavender. He knew you had put them there, and it made him exhale, because it no longer hurt to look at it, and he knew that eventually, the fireplace would be yours again.

Polly caught his eye from over the sofa, hers glittering and twinkling with suspicion of where her nephew had been, taking a long, poignant drag from her cigarette. He ignored her. He had no doubts that she was completely aware of what he had been doing, and that imagining him back at his roots was conjuring a particular mental image in her head, but right now that was the least of his concern.

He tore though the living room, almost colliding with a dozen bodies, it seemed Arthur had dug up every close acquaintance within twenty miles and invited them over. The room smelt like sour whisky and spilled wine, and he swore he could see his expensive furniture lowering in price by the minute.

He loved his family, he would do anything for them, but God he wished to the highest heavens that they would fuck off so he could spend some time with his girl. If it was up to him the house would be completely empty, nothing but the sound of your laugh and the thump of your heart, fuck everything else.

You were wrapped up in your poker game, head tilted back as you laughed at something Finn had whispered to you, the small creamy corner of your bandage poking out from the collar of your dress. Tommy swore inwardly, the sight making him falter. As quickly as the feeling came, he brushed it away, not wanting you to see him worry, not wanting himself to fall into old and dangerous habits.

Finn saw him first, his youngest brother looking impossibly boyish and playful as he laughed with his friends, a world away from the man he tried so hard to be. One look and he was on his feet, quickly swatting Isaiah and Michael and gathering the cards in his hands. Tommy patted his shoulder fondly, his eyes fixed firmly on you, watching your pupils dilate and sparkle when you finally caught sight of him.

“You’re back.”

Breathless. Angelic. Innocent. It took everything in him to not gather you in his arms and take you upstairs all for himself.

“And you should be in bed.”

He sat down next to you, his knee brushing against yours.

You smelt of home.

Of sweet cinnamon and strawberries and wildflowers, messy hair and woodsmoke. You finally smelt like yourself, not like the chemicals and disinfectants that now filled the halls, making him want to set his whole damn estate alight because the reminders of what they caused were too painful.

“I’ve been resting for weeks, Tommy. Let me have a little fun.”

You gave him that smile. The one that made his knees buckle. The one that would have made him sign his company over to you if you asked - not that there would ever be a time he would say no to you. It was bizarre, how you were sitting there with no makeup on, your hair tied back with a baby pink ribbon, and you were undoubtedly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Alright, alright, enough with the pouting.” He winked at you, making a kaleidoscope of butterflies erupt in your stomach. If it had just been the two of you he would have leant in and kissed you stupid, but he didn’t want to give his drunken brothers something else to whoop and tease about. He would save his romantics for later, when you were alone, and he could take his well earned time and leisure to ravage you.

He pulled you close to him, wrapping an arm around the edge of the sofa and over your shoulders, keeping you as close and protected as he possibly could, the simple action comforting him immensely. You snuggled into him, his body so warm and firm and safe, and he pressed a kiss to your neck as you relaxed, his lips scorching you like a brand. He felt his whole body exhale, feeling at ease because he was with the people he loved most in the world, with you tucked into his side like you were carved there, and the feel of your fingertips ghosting over his chest. His life was so fast paced and hectic and his mind was whirring a mile a minute, but at that moment, the there was no where else he would rather be.

His patience lasted exactly 47 minutes. His composure and lenience with his family finally snapped when Arthur bet John that he could do a better handstand than him, proceeded to leap onto his hands, flail about disastrously and then crash right into the console table, shattering an array of fine china and imported vases.

“Oh John, look what you did ya’ stupid cunt.” He said when he got to his feet, his hands slashed to ribbons and blood dripping onto the carpet. Esme rolled her eyes, grabbing her brother in law by the collar and dragging him out of the room to bandage him up before he inevitably passed out from all the alcohol.

Tommy straightened out next to you as Mary quickly rushed in and gathered the glimmering shards with a dustpan and brush. He heaved himself to his feet, reluctant to withdraw from your side, and he cleared his throat once before speaking. “Alright, that’s enough for tonight, everybody fuck off.”

You rolled your eyes at his terrible bedside manner, tugging on the edge of his rolled sleeve playfully, making a small smile cross the edge of his lips. Polly pressed a hand to your shoulder as she herded the boys out of the room, each of them mumbling drunken goodbyes and pressing whisky stained kisses to your cheeks, mindful of the placement of their hands and your scar, mainly because of Tommy’s sharp, warning glare.

Johnny Dogs grumbled something along the lines of parting, but instead passed out face down on the carpet, his body rising and falling with heavy snores. Tommy waited rather impatiently as you said goodbye to the remaining guests, wanting nothing more than some well earned solace with his girl.

When you were finally alone, the moon dancing across your skin through the large open windows, soft music filling the room and the smell of sticky split wine following you both, he pulled you into his arms. He looked at your face and smiled. You were ethereal. Golden and glowing in the twilight, eyes sparkling like diamonds. Your face had changed a little in the time you had been together, your body and mind maturing and adapting, but you still looked so young. A breath of clear, fresh air amongst all of the smoke.

He lifted his hand to wipe a few specks of shimmering rose rouge from your cheeks, evidently left from where Esme hugged you goodbye, but you got there first, playfully taking his finger in your mouth and gently sucking and biting at his fingertip.

He felt a fire ignite in his stomach and his trousers tighten. How were you - so small and sweet and innocent, able to control his body like you were a master puppeteer and he was nothing but wood and string? It was baffling to him, an enigma that he craved to solve but knew that he never could. He was completely and incurably love sick.

You were going to be the death of him.

He pulled you even closer, freeing himself from your grip and taking your head in his hands, smashing his lips onto yours. You melted into him, practically putty in his hands. His teeth clashed against yours, the kiss was messy and desperate, as though you were two kids determined to make the most of the time you had alone. He felt everything wash off of him, all of his stress and tension melting down his spine like candle wax. Because, with your body flush against his and his mouth pressed up against your own, he was home.

You pulled away shyly and reluctancy, and he felt the absence of your warmth immediately. He moved to drag you back, not done with you just yet, but he followed your gaze to the man on the floor. Johnny had somehow managed to roll over onto his back, still asleep and snoring, but with his eyes half open, his gaze focused on the two of you. Tommy let out a rare, genuine laugh, and it made you feel like somebody had lit a firework in your chest. He wrapped his fingers against your own and tugged softly, his voice deep and rumbling like the ocean.

“Let’s go upstairs, princess. I’ve got something to give to you.”

Your room was safe and it was warm. It smelt like ripe peaches and fresh mint and rolling tobacco, like leather and lace; innocence and sin. It had finally become yours again, interlocked like your fingers, intertwined like your hearts, something so precious and belonging to just the two of you. It had broken his already shattered heart when you were separated, and looking at you now through heavy eyelids as you sat on your knees in bed, waiting expectantly for him to reveal his present, he took a moment to thank whoever was listening for giving him a goddamn angel.

“You need to stop buying me things, Tommy.” You scolded gently, shifting on your legs.

“I’ll do whatever I bloody feel like.” He replied, undoing his cuff links and loosing his tie. He liked to always be properly dressed and sharp, but around you he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in your sweet comfort.

You watched him, so beautiful and angelic looking under the yellow lights. You smiled to yourself at his mussed hair and natural pink pout; the side to him that only ever flared up around you. You kept your eyes trained on him as he rummaged around the room, taking off his jacket and folding it over a chair before turning around and pointing a finger at you.

“Close your eyes.”

You huffed. “Is that really necessary?”

“Close ‘em.”

You looked up at him teasingly, exhaling loudly before closing your eyes. You felt him moving around the room, listening to the soft creaks of the wood and the sound of his footsteps as he approached the bed. He lifted your arm and you giggled as his fingertips ran down your skin, stopping at the middle of your wrist, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. You opened your mouth to speak but before you could he pushed something onto your ring finger. Even with your eyes closed you could feel his smile.

“Open.”

It took you a moment to register what you were seeing, the surprise knocking the air right out of your lungs. Your eyes flickered from him back down to your ring, your mouth agape. You hadn’t really thought about an engagement ring, flashy diamonds weren’t really up your alley and with everything that had happened tradition seemed to have flown out of the window, but you should have known Tommy would always be one step ahead. It was beautiful. So brilliant and classic and totally you, and you could feel tears pricking behind your eyes, your mouth going dry.

“Oh, Tom! Oh, Tommy it’s beautiful!” All of your restraint was gone, and you leapt onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist as he caught you effortlessly, like he always would. He let out a laugh, slightly stunned from your reaction, and the feeling of your lips pressing hot, quick kisses all across his skin. He held you tight, burying his nose in your hair and pulling you impossibly closer.

He felt your lips at the base of his ear, brushing against his flesh as you spoke. “This must have cost a fortune!”

He shook his head, not even needing words to convey his feelings. To him it was obvious. Nothing would ever be too much for you.

You admired it from over his shoulder, watching the hypnotising way that it glimmered in the light. He gently walked forward, leaning you down so that you were in contact with the bed, tilting up your face so that you were looking him in the eye.

“There’s something else.”

“Tommy - ”

He had already started unbuttoning his shirt, and you sat back and watched as his nimble fingers looped down his torso, finally grabbing something underneath and holding it towards you.

You inhaled sharply, feeling yourself floating.

He had your name engraved on a silver dog tag, much like the ones he had thrown into the cut with Freddie along with his medals of honour. This was what mattered to him, your name carved into the metal, dangling right next to his heart, because it was only you who owned it.

Your eyes met, filled with love and lust and true happiness. A week ago you had been lying in bed, terrified that Tommy might not be in love with you, but now it was clear that the two of you were bound together, that you were the safety of a lighthouse to his wandering ship.

He kissed you - greedily and open mouthed, and you fell into him, letting him devour you. His hands worked quickly, desperate to see all of you, everything laid bare for him, with nothing but the ring glinting under the pale light of the moon. He kissed your neck, collarbone, throat, his hands and calloused fingertips brushing your flesh.

“I love you, (Y/N).” He said and you melted. You never felt short of love around him, but hearing those three words was like a hit of heroin, and you were desperate for more. You knew that he was as well, that he craved your stability and the sweetness you gave him, and you pulled his head from the crook of your neck, getting lost in those ocean eyes.

“Oh, Tommy. I love you.”

—————————————————————

The weeks passed, and the ring on your finger still gave you goosebumps when you saw it - a reminder of the man you loved. Life continued, business slowly dripping back into your days, the hazy bubble of love you had entered starting to pop but never fully dissolving. Tommy was adamant that you shouldn’t start back at work, making it very clear to you that he didn’t want you doing anything until he was beyond certain that you were completely healed.

You hated being stuck in the house however, and still managed to find a way to get a very reluctant Michael to sneak in some accounting work for you to do. Something that made Tommy see red when he found out, only to have you pout and preen and make all of his anger subside, although Michael wasn’t as lucky.

Wedding planning hadn’t been on your mind, not with business booming or the wonderful trip to New York. You were happy with everything, dizzied with love and lust and laughter, and whilst your finger had gotten much heavier, there was nothing in your relationship you wanted to change.

That didn’t stop Polly or Ada however from trying to plan the best party England had ever seen.

You remembered a sleepy Sunday morning with the two of them, and the shrill sound they both made when you said that you didn’t want a big wedding.

“What? Finally something bloody good happens to this family and you don’t want us to celebrate?”

You rolled your eyes, dunking your biscuit into your coffee with a smile. “I’m not saying we can’t celebrate, I’m just saying that I haven’t really thought about it, I just want something small.”

“Small? Every woman has dreamt of her wedding day!”

You looked over at Ada, wanting her to back you up against such traditionalist views. Instead, she held up her hands and laughed, shrugging her shoulders. “I hate to admit it, (Y/N) but I agree with Pol! It’s about time this family had something good happen, and you and Tom deserve a bloody wonderful day. I’ve never seen a love story quite like yours.”

You smiled at her kindness but didn’t let up, stirring your tea with your matching spoon.“I don’t want a fuss! I don’t need a big wedding to be happy, I just need him.”

“Well that’s sweet.” Polly interjected. “But I want to buy some new furs and get drunk and wake up next to a man who likes to buy me diamonds.”

You laughed out loud.

“Since when do you need a man to buy you diamonds?” Ada snorted, staring down her aunt over her strawberry filled pastry.

“I don’t. But they always look better when they’ve been bought by someone else.”

You sighed, watching the two of them playfully bicker, feeling so grateful that the stars had aligned and they were now your family.

“So you don’t have any plans? Not even a date or a dress in mind?” Polly asked, her brisk voice cutting through the banter.

“No.” You smiled. “The only thing I’m sure about is the groom.”

Polly rolled her eyes. “Well that’s going to need to change.”

——————————————————————

Slowly but surely you started to fall back into old habits and patterns, picking up where you left off at the Garrison, and meeting Michael and Isaiah for drinks in the city. Tommy was reluctant to loosen his grip at first, so used to having you all over him in the comfort of your own home, safe and warm under the protection of his watchful gaze and gentle hands. He knew that he didn’t own you, and that he couldn’t keep you under lock and key like a prisoner, but he spent those first few weeks anxiously pacing in his study, dreading the phone ringing and finding that you had once again been hurt because of him.

He kept his work as separate from you as he could. He knew you wanted to be by his side through everything, but the wound was too fresh for him, too raw, and he needed to know that you were safe. So he kept his sins and misdemeanours away from you, making his home his sanctuary and you his oasis, finding religion in your lips and solace in your touch.

You were in no hurry to arrange anything. As much as you loved the idea of Tommy being your husband, you were happy to just let things slowly fall into place and try to regain whatever normalcy you had lost - but your future in laws had different plans.

Polly was a whirlwind. She spent the majority of her free time writing letters and phoning different market vendors from all over the world, her office filled with sugar icing and the finest loose leaf tea that money could buy, all gifts from those wanting to cater what was set to be the “wedding of the century.”

You didn’t mind - even when she stole you away for an entire work day to pick out cutlery and matching table runners, or you came back from the department store with pin pricks up and down your body from hours of having dresses fitted. She was happy, and when darkness seemed to follow the family like a storm cloud, you were adamant at grasping at whatever you could get, even if it wasn’t quite what you envisioned.

You knew Tommy found the whole thing hilarious. How his stoic and level headed Aunt had been swept up in lavender and lace, snapping at bakers over mango whipped frosting and arguing about the best way to cook lamb. It made him so damn happy though, when you came home after a long day - eyes tired but sparkling, face flushed and glowing, the way that he always wanted you to be. The distraction was what you needed, something sugar coated and dreamy to blur everything that had happened, and he knew that you were in great hands with Polly.

He couldn’t even deny that he was looking forward to the day. He knew more than anything that he wanted you to be his wife, and whilst he loved shiny, expensive things, all he truly needed was you by his side. He didn’t want a fuss, he wanted whatever you did, but imagining you all wide eyed and honey lipped at the alter, rings forever symbolising your connection, the sound of your first name with his last.

Well, that he liked.

Even though you were feeling a little out of your depth amongst all of the wedding planning, there were some things that you knew that you wanted. Like, the powder pink roses from the bushes Tommy had gifted you for your birthday to line the stairway, and ocean blue forget me nots in the bouquet - to match his eyes. You even had a hazy vision of what you wanted your dress to be, the hours spent walking through boutiques in London with Ada paying off as you debated A line, trumpet, and ball gown style dresses.

The main thing you were certain about, however, was who you wanted by your side throughout the whole thing. You had a feeling he knew something like this was coming, he always did have a way of knowing what you were thinking, but even Michael wasn’t expecting you to leap out of his wardrobe hand in hand with Finn, holding out a small cupcake with a candle on the top one rainy evening.

“Holy shit!” He squealed, watching as you and his cousin broke down in fits of laughter, clutching each other as you toppled onto the floor, jackets and shirts trailing behind you.“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Surprise!” You managed to say in between deep throaty giggles. “We wanted to catch you off guard!”

“Well you fucking did.” He tutted, “Hiding in my wardrobe! Nearly fucking shat myself.”

Your laughter was infectious, and soon all three of you were close to tears, your bodies exhausted and elated, gripping onto one another to stop from completely collapsing.

“So what was the point of this ambush, then?” He asked finally, his hands on his knees as he gasped for air, his face slowly returning to its normal colour.

You thrust the cupcake under his nose, the tip of the flame narrowly missing singeing the little hairs on his upper lip. “I want you to be my maid of honour! Well, man of honour.” You corrected quickly.

“You want me to be your what?”

Quick to silence his objections, you added - “Finn’s going to be flower girl!”

“Flower boy.” He interjected, “Katie’s flower girl. I’m just doing you a favour.”

“Yeah. Right.”

You and Michael locked eyes for a moment, challenging the other with your gaze. After a tense minute of silence, he broke out in a smile, one of the classic, cheesy ones that you loved so much.

“Do I have to wear a dress?”

You grinned. “Only if you want to.”

He threw his arms in the air in mock defeat, and he seemed so much younger, reminding you of running barefoot with him through raspberry fields, and throwing pennies down a pretty little well.

“Alright. Okay. Yes! Bloody hell.”

You leapt into his arms and Finn whooped triumphantly, partly pleased for you but mostly happy that he wasn’t the only member of the family who had somehow been talked into something he was bound to be teased over.

You felt Michael press a kiss to the crown of your head, his words getting muffled by your loose hair. “God, does Tommy even know what he’s got himself in for with you?”

You smiled, as sweet as spun sugar.

“Nope.”

—————————————————————-

As much as you wanted to stay in the rose tinted bubble that wedding planning had created, more and more problems with the business started to arise, and everything had to be put on the back burner - but it never dampened your spirits.

The hot summer days bled into crisp autumn nights, and you were trading your short lavender dresses for fur lined coats and boots. You celebrated Christmas with everyone, and discovered that a day you never used to enjoy was now your favourite, all because of the man you would up beside.

New Years passed in a flurry of drunken kisses and gold dresses and dancing until the sun rose. You vaguely remember finding Arthur passed out in the bathtub, surrounded by ice and champagne, the gramophone shaking the paintings on the walls. Your main memory was Tommy pulling you down the hall with him, away from the rest of the family, kissing you right as the clock struck midnight with hands tangled in your hair and a smile on his lips.

He often left for weeks at a time, work taking him up and down the country, and that meant that every morning and night you spent together was treasured.

One particular spring morning, when the air was starting to warm up and the days getting a little longer, you were sprawled on Tommy’s lap in the garden, reading from your novel whilst he read the paper. The day was less than half way though and you had already spent the entire morning in bed, making up for all the time you had lost. Now you leafed through your book with strawberry stained fingers, the curl of cigarette smoke twisting around you both.

Tommy had made it certain that he was not to be bothered that day. It had been almost an entire month of nothing but speaking over the phone and stolen kisses before he had to up and leave again, and the only thing he goddamn wanted was to do absolutely nothing with you. He was exhausted, not that he would ever admit it, but because you knew him better than absolutely everyone, you forced him to take a break before the man you loved completely crumbled like a bourbon biscuit.

So when you knew that he was coming back, you gave Mary strict orders to ignore all phone calls or mail regarding the business until the weekend was over. She had happily obliged, so you and Tom were both confused when you saw her running through the grass in her wingtips, her hands still soapy and wet from doing the dishes.

“Oh Mr Shelby! And Mrs Shelby!” She called, her voice so shrill that a few birds even took flight. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Tommy sat up as best he could with you on his lap, his arms snaking around your waist to stop you from toppling over. You could feel the cigarette moving with his lips as he spoke, his accent deep and throaty in your ear.

“Mary? What is it?”

She didn’t reply, instead thrusting a sage green and gold piece of paper at you. You caught it before it fell to the floor, and let out a loud, genuine laugh when you read the script. You felt Tommy leaning over you shoulder, and felt the rumble of his body as he laughed with you.

“Well,” He said finally, pressing his lips to your neck. “Guess we know what we’re doing next month, Princess.”

On July 20th

Please join us for the union of Mr Thomas Shelby and (Y/N, Y/L/N).

The wedding of the century!

————————————————————————————

Polly had organised everything. Whilst you had been dealing with the accounting from the Garrison and Tommy had been building his business, Polly had managed to do her job, and single handily plan a wedding.

Everything was full steam ahead. The house was a flurry of florists and caterers, the grounds were picked and preened and polished by gardeners that had sailed over from Italy and the south of France. It was wonderful, if not a little overwhelming, but it was worth everything to see your future Aunt beaming as she supervised everything.

Tommy had pulled you aside a few times, determined to make sure that this was what you wanted, ready to pull the plug if he even caught a whiff that all of the glitz and glamour were out of your comfort zone. But Polly knew you well - not that you ever doubted her - and everything was beautiful and muted, classic and beguiling, just like something out of a fairytale.

You tried to be as involved as you could, picking out flowers for the bouquets, letting Esme try out a million different hairstyles on you as you sat barefoot and cross legged on the floor like a child, running around the kitchen with Katie, taste testing all of the frosting you could find. More than anything though, you were excited, elated for the day and it had nothing to do with all of the smoke and mirrors, instead it was the man you would meet at the end of the aisle.

You could tell that Tommy was getting antsy for the day as well. He was softer, calmer, his touch on your skin gentle but possessive, calling you “Mrs Shelby” as you came apart under him. He found himself falling asleep a little easier, his breath not getting caught in his lungs, his mind wandering and imagining his favourite girl in a pretty white dress, waiting for him under an arch of blush coloured tulips.

The real surprise though, came the morning before your wedding. You were curled up on the sofa drinking strong coffee and eating honey toast as Tommy finished some paperwork. He was trying to get everything done before the end of the day, wanting tomorrow and the weeks that came after to be nothing but the two of you.

You told him you never felt neglected. You had been by his side through it all, you knew just how demanding his job was, but that still didn’t ease the niggle of pressure at the back of his neck when he had his nose in his books for too long. He truly couldn’t wait until he could shove everything and everyone else aside. All he wanted was his girl in his arms with his ring on her finger, and a bottle of sweet gin.

Everything seemed so within reach, until the front door banged open like a whirlwind, and you heard the sounds of Polly’s stilettos against the hardwood floor.

“Alright you two, no time to lose!”

You and Tommy lifted your heads quickly, your eyes meeting across the room. “Polly?”

“- and Arthur!” An voice added, accompanied by the familiar face of the eldest Shelby.

You smiled, shutting the cover of your book. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Tommy shot you a sharp look that said, don’t encourage them, but you ignored him, getting to your feet to greet them both.

Polly kissed you quickly on both cheeks, leaving you covered in a light layer of sticky red lipstick as she surveyed you both.

The study was the only place the two of you could find solace amongst the craziness of the wedding planning, every other room in the house filled with servants and buckets of flowers, the floors freshly waxed and polished. You could practically feel Tommy rolling his eyes behind you as Mary pushed open the double doors, holding your pastel pink overnight bag.

“Mrs Grey, I’ve packed all of Mrs Shelby’s things like you asked.”

“You did what?” Tommy said, rising to his feet.

Polly brushed him aside, reaching for the bag in the maid’s hand.“Ah. Thank you Mary, but it’s not Mrs Shelby yet, not till tomorrow. Let her be Miss (Y/L/N) for one last night.”

“Polly?” You asked, “What are you up to?”

She winked at you, her eyes catlike and beautiful, filled with the mischief that always hung around her. “You’re coming with me, love.”

“And you Tom, are coming with me.” Arthur said, pointing a finger at his brother.

“No. Fuck off, both of you.”

Polly put her hands in the air, but you could tell she had been expecting his resistance. “No Thomas. She needs a night as a free woman! Lord knows after tomorrow you’ll be keeping her all to yourself.”

Tommy straightened his back and crossed his arms, never one to back down from a fight, especially with his Aunt. “She’s staying here.”

“It’s tradition!” Arthur interjected, his voice already slurred despite it not even being noon yet.

“Fuck tradition.”

You moved forward, blinking up at your future husband. You knew why he was being so stubborn, the day before your wedding would be the prime time for something to go wrong, or something to happen with you, and keeping you within reach was what he wanted. As much as you loved spending every second with him, you also loved his family, and knew that perhaps a night of drinking and laughing and exhaling, was what you both needed.

He looked at you, his eyes unmoving and stern. You didn’t falter though, mimicking his frown and knitting your eyebrows together, trying to knock down the walls he was so insistent on putting up.

“It might be nice, Tom.” You said. “You deserve to have some fun, and it’ll make seeing each other tomorrow all the more special.”

A moment passed and you felt him falter, the corner of his lips moving ever so slightly.

“Alright. Bloody hell, fine.”

“Good decision brother.” Arthur said,

“We’re not leaving town.” Tommy stated simply, laying down the law.

“We wouldn’t dream of it! Johnny brought his caravan down, all of you men are camping in the woods. Us girls are staying here.”

“Aberama Gold doesn’t happen to be one of these men does he?” You said playfully, nudging Polly with your arm. She rolled her eyes but pulled you closer, her fingers toying with the satin ribbons on your blouse.

“Cmon, love, lets go.”

“Wait.”

You felt Tommy approaching you both, his large hands cupping around your face. You melted into him, his touch so soft and so warm. His eyes were so very blue, cobalt and icy, but they made your stomach infinite. He pulled you into him, smashing his lips against yours, not caring who was watching as he dug his fingers into the roots of your hair, dragging you against his body. Breathless, he pulled away, smiling at the frown on your face from the lack of contact.

“Be safe. Alright? I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Alright you two.” Polly said exasperatedly, but you could hear the happiness in her tone. “Let’s go.”

You let her lead you away, smiling at Arthur as he bounded towards his brother, filling him in on the multitude of activities he had planned for the night.

Every single one of them involved drinking.

As you left, Tommy shot Polly a look, one that told her to keep you near and to keep you safe, and she nodded in response. As soon as you made it into the hall she laughed genuinely, squeezing your shoulder.

“You will definitely fit in with this family, (Y/N).”

“Hm?”

“Yes. You have the Shelby woman’s gift.” She leant down, her lips to your ear. “The power to control a strong man like a puppet.”

———————————————————————

So there you were. Wrapped up in satin and lace, a glass filled with blood red wine, your friends happy and tipsy, swapping stories under the moonlight.

Bea and Violet, two of your closest friends from back in the little village had arrived to be your bridesmaids, their eyes wide and glimmering when they had seen the life you now lived. You watched as they sat with Polly, telling her tales of when you and Michael had been young and stupid - not that much had changed.

Polly had invited all of the girls from work and your friends from in the city, and the laughter bounced off the walls and engulfed you. Ada was enchanting, completely beaming as she sat next to you, telling you every embarrassing thing about her brother she could remember as she downed shots of vodka and cinnamon whisky.

Michael was lounging on the floor with one of Polly’s fine fox scarves draped around his neck. Charlotte was curled up in his side with a cigarette, her hand intertwined with his as she watched him with dopey, loved up eyes. You caught his eye and smiled at him, and he winked in response, joining in with the girls’ as though he was one himself.

You had told him to enjoy the night with the boys, but he refused. You partly suspected that it had something to do with Tommy, and that your fiancé had wanted you to have more protection, but you also knew that Michael wanted to spend tonight with you. Things hadn’t changed per say, but there was no denying that the both of you were getting older, and soon you would be a member of his bloodline rather than just his best friend.

You still had all of your wonderful memories, like running through sunflower fields and swimming in the river until the sun set, but they seemed further away now, almost out of reach. Part of you still clung to the past, the innocence of your youth, all peach skies and daisy chains, but there was no denying that your vision was cloudy, blurry, only focused on the future, and the only man that you wanted to be in it.

Somebody flipped the record over. You listened to the thump and rhythm of the music, smiling at those you loved as they danced around you. You adored everyone in the room, even Lizzie who had arrived already drunk and had glared daggers at you every time you turned around. These were your new family, your new life, and whilst you were elated and excited for it all, you also really needed some fucking air.

Almost on cue, Violet toppled over a champagne flute as she kicked her legs like a cabaret dancer, and you sighed playfully as she covered her mouth with her hands like a small child, her eyes as wide as the moon.

“Oh! Oh! I’m so sorry!”

“Violet, it’s alright! I’ll go and get some cloth, you ladies stay here, try not to break anything else, eh?” You said rising to your feet and darting out of the door, the sound of laughter following you like twinkling diamonds. As soon as you could you ran down the stairs, your feet pattering against the carpet, sneaking out of the back door and into the jet black night.

————————————————————-

The moon was round and full, and you sat cross legged on the grass, your bare feet dipped into the lake that wrapped around the property. It was your favourite place to clear your head, under the weeping willow, listening to the sound of the animals around you, the night air brisk yet comfortable. It was hard to believe that in a few hours you would be married, bound to this brilliant man that had swept you up like a rough wave, capturing you completely.

“Not having second thoughts are we?”

You smiled in the dark. His voice cutting through the night like a knife through butter.

“Tommy.” You breathed, turning around and facing him, the spark of his cigarette as bright as the stars above you both. He grinned at the sight of you, his shirt unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled up, looking like a vision under the moonlight. “What are you doing here?

“I should be asking you the same question.”

“I just needed some air.” You said, curling your toes and inhaling the cool air, you felt his eyes all over you, and you wanted to get as close to him as possible, replace his gaze with his fingertips. You were inches apart and yet you still missed him, and you knew that you would feel this way forever.

“Ah. I take it the ladies are just as boisterous as the men. I only managed to get away after Arthur fell into the bonfire.”

“Bloody hell! Is he alright?”

“Burnt moustache and bruised ego. Nothing he can’t handle.”

You were about to laugh but you stopped suddenly, remembering something important.

“Wait! It’s after midnight!”

“Are you about to turn into a pumpkin?” Tommy asked, amused by your change in tone.

“No! We’re getting married today! You can’t see me!”

“(Y/N).”

“Turn around!” You squealed, pushing him away from you and spinning on your heel.

You heard an exasperated laugh.

“I think we’ve had our fill of bad luck, little one. Turn around, I want to see your face.”

He took you in. No makeup and loose hair and still squeezing all of the air from his lungs.

“We don’t have to do it like this, you know.”

“If this isn’t what you want - all the fucking champagne and caviar. We could leave tonight, get married in a fucking courthouse - just us. Or we could do it in Johnny’s field, get him to marry us right next to his caravan. I don’t care where it is or what we do, I just want - I just need to be with you.”

His words made your gut twist, the sincerity in his voice meaning everything to you, knowing that he would move mountains if it would make you happy, and that you would do the same for him. “I think Polly would murder us.”

“She doesn’t scare me.”

“She should.”

“No. I want this. Yes it’s all a bit... much.” you struggled to find the right word, feeling overwhelmed but ultimately completely spoiled by all of the fuss. “But I think it will be lovely. Your family deserve this. You deserve this.”

Looking at you all sleepy eyed, dressed in silk and satin and lace, your necklace hanging in the sweet dip of your throat, the ring on your finger glinting under the summer twilight, he really wasn’t sure he did.

He pulled you into him, not wanting to be apart from you for any longer. You smelt of home, like violets and green apples and vanilla cupcakes, and he felt like heaven, with his strong body and warm hands and comforting arms. Safe in his presence, you mumbled the words that had been the reason for many of your sleepless nights.

“Do you think she’ll come?”

She being your mother. The woman who had nursed you and bathed you and kissed the scrapes and bruises on your knees when you were a child had all but refused to attend your wedding. You understood why. Your trip to visit Michael in Birmingham was only supposed to be a few days, a week at most, and here you were two years later engaged to a man on the other side of England. You had tried to come home a few times, but the visits were cold and severed, Michaels foster parents filling your mother with poison about the family you had entered.

The phone calls stopped. No more weekly letters from your mother or care packages wrapped in string. You still wrote, but you never got a reply, only a small impersonal card at Christmas and your birthday. Michael understood, and always knew how to comfort you. He had also left the only family he had known and entered the strange underground where you both now lived. He was a boy from the sleepy village who had grown into a man.

It was harder for you, being a woman meant that you were held with certain standards and expectations. But, luckily you had Polly and Ada who taught you that you could be more than just a housewife.

It affected Tommy the most though. If anything was bothering you he knew how to deal without immediately, crushing whatever had made you sad with the heel of his boot, using his power to make everything alright again. He couldn’t do anything about your mother though, couldn’t twist her view of him, not when it was so accurate.

He was bad for you and you were too good for him.

It hurt him though, when late at night you would get that sad, wistful look in your eyes. Or when you would wait for the postman every Monday, the disappointment bleeding from you every time nothing came. He wanted to fix everything, but he didn’t know how. He left the bulk of the comforting words to Ada and Michael, and did his best to show you how much he cared in his own way, with gentle touches and shared looks and those three words that always made him feel better.

Your wedding though, was a different matter. There was no way in hell that you would be anything less than happy if he had something to do with it. His heart broke a little the day that the RSVP came back in the post, a simple “unable to attend.” scrawled at the bottom, as though it was a routine doctors appointment and not her daughters wedding day. Tommy knee he had to fix it when he heard the muffled sound of sobs coming from your bathroom, his heart ripping in two just thinking about the tears staining your beautiful face.

He had a meeting in London but he pushed it back, determined to right the wrongs that lingered around you both. His black matte Bugatti looked incredibly out of place as it trailed down the quiet village lanes, the purr of the engine much louder than the bird songs and running water in the background. It wasn’t hard to picture you in the chocolate box cottage that he parked in front of, smiling ever so faintly at the thought of you running through the grass when you were a child, hanging up laundry in the summer, drinking hot chocolate in the winter.

She opened the door after the first knock, her eyes the size of dinner plates and her mouth agape. Usually, Tommy would be firm and curt and rude, demanding exactly what he wanted and when he expected it to be done, but he knew that he had to be somewhat kind to your mother, even if he currently resented her because of the state you were in.

“I won’t stay long, Mrs (Y/L/N.)” He said, not bothering to step over the threshold, knowing that she’d probably scream if he did. “You might not like it but I’m in love with your daughter. I intend to marry her, and as my wife, I want to make her happy.”

Your mother didn’t interject, merely nodded, and Tommy took that as a sign to continue.

“I know what you think of me and you’re not wrong, but don’t punish your daughter over it. (Y/N) is safe and she is happy, and as her mother that should make you pleased shouldn’t it? Not behaving like a child and treating as if she is a stranger. I want my wife to be happy, so put aside your fucking prejudices and buy a nice hat, alright? For her sake.”

The tension was thick and hot and practically dripping over them, but their eyes met briefly, and something flickered between them.

“I hope to see you at the wedding.” He bit, his tone as sharp as his canines, turning on his heel and heading for the car.

He hummed quietly, listening the sounds of the night. The flicker of the bonfire in the fields behind, the sound of drunken singing and chanting that was louder than a siren.

“I think she will.”

You thought about saying something but held it in, not wanting to ruin the tender moment of him holding you against his chest, the heat of summer nothing compared to the two of you.

He moved you slowly, placing his hands either side of your face, his eyes veiled and moonless.“Go and get some sleep.” He said. “Because you won’t be getting any tonight.”

His voice was low and wolffish, and you felt your entire body setting alight at his words and the darkness in his eyes. His hold on you was so tight it was almost painful, but there was nowhere else that you would rather be. You smiled prettily, already feeling the butterflies coiling in your stomach, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him, sweet as strawberry ice cream and fresh honey, the taste lingering on his tongue. You left silently, leaving him grinning dopily, drunk on you and the heat of the evening.

He watched you as you walked away. His eyes never leaving as you stalked back to the house, his gaze lingering long after your shadow grew small, and the front door opened and closed behind you.

————————————————————————

Polly let you sleep in until 8.

You had crashed out after seeing Tommy, Polly had scolded you for leaving and then insisted that you got some beauty sleep, and you practically collapsed into the powder pink pillows on the guest bed.Sleep had come easily, and you grumbled a little when your new in laws had barged in the next morning, pulling back the curtains and letting in the heavy sunlight.

You were ushered into the master bathroom. The claw foot tub had already filled to the brim, rose petals shimmering on the surface, epsom salts dissolving around you. It was warm and inviting, steam billowing around your face as you undressed, and a cup of cinnamon coffee waiting for you on the cabinet by the side, next to an almond croissant from your favourite bakery in London.

You were slightly confused as to how she acquired it, but you knew by now to never question Polly and her methods.

Mary came in not long after, the maid you now thought of as a close friend unable to keep the smile off her face as she helped wash your hair, dragging a soft toothed golden comb over your locks and massaging lavender oil into your scalp. You scrubbed your skin until it shone, washed your body and dragged a razor across any unwanted hair, soothing your skin with thick coconut cream and honey salve.

You could hear everyone on the floors below, the sound of clattering china and rivalling voices coming up through the floorboards. You thought it might make you nervous, but it didn’t, if anything it made you feel more certain. The butterflies in your stomach were a swarm now, and all you could think of was him.

The girls were spread out in the largest guest room. The big windows had been opened, the lace curtains billowing in the warm breeze, and you could see start of the canopy being set up along the great expansive garden, one of yours and Tommy’s favourite places.

Ada squealed when she saw you, even with just a towel around your body and hair, she showered you in compliments.

“You’re glowing!”

“That’s because I’ve scrubbed off ten layers of skin.” You teased, letting her hug you tightly.

The rest of the girls clambered towards you, cigarettes in their fingers and champagne on their tongues. They were a blur of sweet lilac and warm honeysuckle, the colours of their soft chiffon dresses sparkling under the low lights, and you could feel your heart burst at the sight.

“Oh, Pol.” You said quietly, “Everyone looks so beautiful.”

She came towards you, a vision in her golden draped dress. It was covered in glimmering beads and diamonds, and she looked like a starlet on the big screen. She took you in her arms and laughed, “All you need is Auntie Polly to wave her magic wand.” She shook you slightly, running her fingers along the damp skin of your arm. “Come on, you. I think there’s a very impatient man waiting for you.”

Your nails were filed and painted pink, your hair mused and styled by Mary, leaving it long and wavy down your back, the way that both you and Tommy liked it best. You laughed out loud when Bea and Violet showed you their wedding present, a beautiful swan white lingerie set from the dressmakers in the village, complete with high stockings and a frilly lace garter.

“Maybe keep a doctor nearby when he sees you in that tonight.” Bea giggled as you fingered the delicate stitching and fabric.

Not everything was perfect though. One of the caterers dropped a plate of crab cakes and goats cheese bruschetta onto the floor, and one of the mares that was going to lead the carriage to the church had bolted at the unfamiliar hands and raced around the paddock away from the grooms that tried to catch her. Polly had huffed loudly and left with the girls and promises that she would be back with someone’s head, you had nodded, oblivious to everyones anxiety, too dazed at the thought of the day ahead to worry about the little things.

So they left you alone in the big bedroom, staring at your reflection in the golden mirror. It had been a four woman job to get you into the dress. Ada holding you steady by the armpits as Mary and Polly and a unsuspecting servant from downstairs was roped into helping you slide under the fabric, the tulle and lace as heavy as an anvil on you all. Polly had the dress shipped over from Paris after months of searching for the perfect dress, finally ordering one completely hand made and one of a kind, just like you, she had said.

You had never seen Polly cry.

Once, almost, when she had too much brandy at Christmas and she spoke of how much she wished Anna could have been there, the lump in her throat unmistakable as she told you how much she missed her daughter. And now in her nephews bedroom, her smile so wide and her eyes glistening, as she took your face in her hands.

“Thank you for making my boys so happy.”

You could hear her downstairs. The click of her stilettos and the sound of her voice, and once again you were infinitely grateful for whatever cosmic force had brought this wild, brilliant and chaotic family into your life. You turned back to the mirror, running your fingers over the delicate beading on the corset of your dress.

It was without a doubt the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. It was the colour of a fresh blanket of snow, so angelic and pure. There were thin straps at the shoulders, decorated with tiny crystals and jewels. The bodice was cinched and slightly scooped at the neckline, the puckering of your scar showing just above the pristine chiffon.

It had never been something you wanted to hide. It showed that you were alive.

The skirt was wide and full. Layers of expertly fitted tulle and crinoline holding it together, gilding and cascading like a waterfall down your legs and to the floor. There were pearls and thread and diamonds in the shape of flowers stitched right into the fabric, glimmering and twinkling like the stars in the sky when you shifted in the light.

“I’ve left the car running.”

You turned at the noise, smiling when you spotted Michael in the doorway, looking like a million dollars in his rich navy suit and tie.

“Just in case.” He continued.

You rolled your eyes, laughing sarcastically. “Ha. Ha.”

He stepped further into the room, his eyes soft and kind and as wide as dinner plates. The emotion on his face making your heart constrict, his face suddenly so much younger. “Wow.” He breathed. “You look beautiful.”

You blushed, your eyes darting to the floor as he approached you.

“Really, (Y/N). You look... wow.”

“Thanks Mikey.” You said softly, the two of you comfortable in the silence. In that moment nothing else really mattered, you were two kids again, running through waist high grass, sledding down the hills in the winter, splashing each other in the river. So much had changed and yet it would always be the two of you.

He broke the silence first, not one to linger in the past for too long. “This is for you.”

“Oh. Michael. You shouldn’t have! You’ve already done so much.”

“I wanted to.”

He rummaged around in his pockets, finally pulling out a large scarlet velvet box, slowly lifting off the lid. Inside was an exquisite sparkling marquise diamond necklace, intertwined with yellow and rose gold, oval shaped crystals draping and falling from the band like raindrops. Beside it, were two matching earrings, brilliantly cut, so clear that you could see your reflection, the gems woven together like ivy on a cottage. So stunning that you started to tear up.

You gasped, unable to swallow your shock. “Michael! This must have cost a fortune.”

“Nah. I stole it.” He teased, his voice a little shy.

You pulled him in to your arms. He kissed your head, pulling you tightly against him.

“I love you.” He said, his words muffled by your hair. “You deserve this. God, you deserve the world. I am so happy for you.”

You smiled into the fabric of his suit, muffling an “I love you” into the stitched seams. He squeezed you playfully, making you squeal as he hoisted you into the air.

“Careful. If you smudge my makeup there’s a good chance that Polly will shoot you.” You giggled.

“I can handle her.”

“Can you?”

His gaze faltered and you laughed, hitting his shoulder. He spun you around, lifting the necklace from its box and settling it onto your throat, his skilled hands fastening the clasp. You gasped at your reflection, your eyes meeting his in the mirror.

“It looks perfect.”

“I love it Michael.”

He pressed a kiss to your crown, watching as you delicately picked up the earrings and put them on.

“And tell Tommy that if he ever hurts you that I’ll kill him.”

A moment of silence, and then:

“- you’re not going to really tell him that are you?”

You both laughed as he outstretched an arm, looking you up and down proudly, his eyes already a little glossy and big. You thought of how much younger he looked.

“Cmon.” He said, “ I think they’re waiting for you.”

————————————————————

Thomas Shelby never felt apprehensive. He wasn’t familiar with the prickling anxiety that lingered at the bottom of his spine, or the dread that that had settled itself low in his gut, or the way that his palms were growing hotter by the second. He never got nervous. Until now.

Perhaps nervous wasn’t the right word. He had no doubt that you would be walking down the aisle in a few minutes, he knew that you would say “I do.” with as much certainty as him, and he knew that the golden band in Arthur’s jacket pocket would soon be on your finger. But still, the foreboding remained, hanging around his head like a dark cloud.

He didn’t deserve you. He knew that much for sure. He was the devil, his hands stained with blood, his lungs filled with ash, his insides dark and mean. You were an angel, soft and sweet and gentle and warm, the girl that could bring him to his knees.

The church abbey felt big, the summer sun filtering through the stained glass windows, the high ceilings making the room feel vast and empty, despite the crowded benches. He needed you to arrive, to settle the unease inside of him, to light up the room in the way that only you could, feeling every single empty space with your light.

He glanced around the room. Arthur was next to him, nursing a pretty tragic hangover and still a little ashy from his burn, but his smile was bright and he winked at his younger brother. There were plenty of blinders here, working rather than as guests, Tommy was insistent that he wanted as much protection over the day as possible, and even though it was your wedding day, he never would stop protecting you. He wouldn’t put it past his enemies to try something on what should be the happiest day of your lives.

He saw your friends from work. John and Esme and their litter of children. Lizzie and her new boyfriend, hanging off his arm and looking at Tommy with already drunk, hazy eyes. He even smiled as he saw Alfie perched in a middle row, his hat bigger than his head, his beard neatly combed and an array of golden rings on his fingers. Ollie was next to him, watching the room warily, always on guard.

Once Alfie had heard about the engagement he sent over fresh loaves and flowers and then invited himself to the wedding. But he needn’t have, as he had always been on the guest list.

Tommy’s eyes grazed over the person he had been looking for though. Your mother. Sitting in a pew near the front, draped in fine silk and a matching hat, looking entirely out of place but smiling tightly nonetheless. Their eyes met, a single flame of acknowledgement flickering between them. Unspoken but still lingering in the air, that they would both always put you first and that was all that mattered.

“You nervous, Tommy boy?” He heard Arthur say from behind him. He opened his mouth to answer but stopped as he heard noises from outside, the clunk of horse hooves and the rattle of the carriage. He felt his palms sweat and his heart race like he was back in battle, but this time the feeling was so sickly sweet and warm, he felt so fucking happy.

There was so much light when the doors opened. Polly was traditional, and even with all of the immorality in her life, she was adamant that you would both be married in a church. Neither of you protested, Tommy would have said “I do” in front of God himself if it meant you would be his wife. None of it mattered to him.

He remembered the day you came back from seeing the cathedral for the first time. How wide your smile was as you laid curled up in his chest, his lips leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck as you told him all about the ivy covered steeples and wildflowers and beautiful black jackdaws.

You were smitten, and so was he.

There wasn’t much they could do to decorate the church. Back at the house was where the main party was going to be held, but Polly was a genius, and every empty space was filled with tall flickering candles and bouquets of flowers. Everything felt clean and soft and pure, a mixture of old and rustic and fresh and new.

Light. So much light coming in from outside. The day already so sticky warm and wonderful, much like the summer the two of you met and fell in love. Katie came in first, giggling at the eruption of “aww’s” from the pews, everybody watching as she threw small white daisies and coral amber rose petals down the aisle.

Finn followed, looking like an adult in his suit and tie and freshly polished brogues. Then the bridesmaids, coy smiles on their faces, hair curled and polished and smiles that seemed to stretch all the way to the moon. Tommy could feel Arthur’s sly grin from behind him, and knew that he would have a job of distracting his older brother from the beautiful young ladies later on.

The fabric of their dresses swished and swayed under the light, the softness of the skirts and the sharp heel of their stilettos such a wonderful contrast. The ladies whose faces he vaguely recognised moved to your side of the alter, young and impressionable eyes looking around the grand room, obviously astonished and surprised that one of their own was going to be married in such a remarkable chapel.

Ada was next. Polly at her side. His sister and his Aunt commanding the entire room with just the sound of their shoes and the sway of their hips. They looked incredible, such a mixture of power and beauty. Polly’s smile was smug and self assured, but also filled with a certain kindness that was meant just for Tommy. Ada’s eyes were glistening, looking at her brother with adoration and pride, and that playful tease that he knew and loved.

The room was quiet for a moment. The anticipation roaring around like a wasp trapped under a glass, and Tommy could see Curly smiling happily, peering down the aisle as they waited for you to arrive.

For Tommy, his whole life had once been so loud, and then, as if by magic, everything stopped. All of the noise, the blur, the people. They all faded and disappeared. It was like having his head held underwater, the rush of the ocean and the pounding of his blood in his ears deafening him. He felt movement around him, everybody in the pews rising to their feet, the orchestra starting the bridal chorus. His friends and family were smiling so widely, enjoying the ambience and the atmosphere, holding their hands to their chest and wiping their eyes and muttering how beautiful everything was.

He didn’t see any of it. He only saw you.

You had always been the most beautiful woman to him, the kind of woman that made the air leave his lungs and his heart beat a little faster, but oh god, did you look magnificent. In your dress that wrapped and dipped and swayed around your legs like running water, the bodice that cinched you in tightly, exposing the dip of your throat and the curve of your collarbone, just begging him to leave a necklace of bruises next to the diamonds. Your eyes were wide, lined with kohl and blush on your cheeks that reminded him of sun soaked days and strawberry jam and wax stamped envelopes. The curve of your lips, raspberry red gloss that made him think of kissing you until neither of you knew where one of you began and the other ended, his hands in your hair, your legs around his waist.

He felt tears prick behind his eyes. Such a foreign feeling that he almost recoiled. He was so used to being strong and in charge, never letting his emotions bubble up on the surface where somebody might see. But seeing you walk down the aisle, filling the room with love and youth and kindness - knowing that you were going to be his wife, that your days would begin and end with each other, that you would fight and fuck and laugh and cry, tell each other everything, hold him when the shovels got too loud, clean him when he was dripping with another mans blood, be the one you called because no one else would ever compare.

He let his eyes grow glossy as you stepped forward, taking his hand in yours. You were so smooth and soft and small and he was so large and rough and hard, but you fit together like you had been moulded that way, as though there was no where else you two could ever be. So in a room filled with people who respected him and trusted him as a cruel, calculated leader, he let himself be washed away with you,

Because he was in love. And nothing else fucking mattered.

———————————————————————-

Champagne and crystal chandeliers. Cotton candy coloured roses across all of the banister, wide full petals looking like silk under the lights. Pearl necklaces snapped in half and black satin gloves ripped up the seams, pretty fine china filled with bourbon, and laughter that never seemed to cease.

Tommy had tried to keep the party civilised for as long as he could, but the Shelby clan were persistent, and with the amount of booze in the house, they saw it as a challenge to drink it all.

The wedding dinner had gone well. Only the nearest and dearest invited to a seat at the grand table, you and Tommy at the head, his hand possessively on your thigh, your shoulder pressed against his chest. There were more courses than you could count, great big plates and bowls of honey roast ham and glazed partridges and peach trifle and jam soufflé. Your glasses were never empty and yet everyone was well mannered and kind, their voices a little softer than usual, their jokes a little bit cleaner.

You suspected it had something to do with the woman sat next to you, safely nestled in between yourself and Michael, the two people she knew. Your mother had been quiet but mellow at the ceremony, even going as far as hugging you with tears in her eyes as you gathered outside for the photos. There had been tension of course, but it meant the world to you that she was willing to put on a smile for the day.

You had no doubt that Tommy had ordered everyone to be on their best behaviour around her and you could feel yourself chuckle lightly as Arthur gave a very uncharacteristically charming toast to the two of you. The rest of the dinner passed pleasantly, and you could even see your mother start to loosen up as Ada spoke to her about her favourite novels and the current political climate.

After the plates had been cleared away and the guests started arriving for the party, your mother pulled you aside before you got to the living room.

“This might not have been what I wanted for you, (Y/N). You’re my daughter. I only want the best for you.” She murmured, wringing her hands as though she was willing herself to continue. “And it pains me to say it but... Thomas clearly loves you, and I truly feel safe leaving you in his hands. He might not be a good man, but he is good for you.”

Those words were more precious than all of the diamonds and jewels you had stuffed in your dresser upstairs, that your mother accepted the man you loved.

“Oh, Mum.” You sighed, pulling her into you. She was so familiar and warm and you could feel tears prickling behind your eyes. She held onto you tightly, kissing the top of your head and wrapping her arms around you as though you were a baby again.

“I must go and catch my train. But - I’ll call you (Y/N).” She said, and you nodded wildly, your smile so big you thought your cheeks might split.

You walked her to one of the cars, instructing the driver to take her to the station, waving at her as the car got smaller and smaller in your eyes. You felt Tommy approach you, his hand snaking across your waist, and you let him pull you close. He opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off, kissing him ferociously, letting your gratitude show in your touch. He accepted greedily, devouring you on the front steps of your home, his hands in your hair and your lips between his teeth, the sound of the party and music suddenly sounding so far away.

——————————————————-

With your mother gone, the party was in full swing. People were dancing barefoot because their shoes were stained with blood, sharing wide smiles between friends, the rooms smelling of skin and sweat and expensive perfume. You saw pupils blown up to the size of the moon, horse racing and gambling in the paddocks at the back, whoops and laughter vibrating around the house and shaking the paintings.

Tommy had kept you close, not that you ever wanted to stray. It was obvious that despite the genuine fun and admiration for him and all he had accomplished from those walking through his house with slack jaws, he only really wanted to be with you. It worked for the majority of the time, the two of you nestled on one of the ruby velvet chairs in the lounge, letting the crowds of people come and find you and offer their sincere congratulations.

But as always, being Thomas Shelby came with a price, and he often had to leave begrudgingly, with a tense jaw and closed fist, every time someone (Arthur) tore a painting or someone else, (Finn) crashed a car into the allotment and ripped up all of the courgettes.

He always left with a grumble and obvious annoyance swimming in his ocean eyes, planting a firm kiss to your lips and a promise to be back soon every time somebody called for him. He was never one for public displays of affection, he liked to make everyone know you were his but he preferred to keep his tenderness private. Maybe it was how drop dead gorgeous you looked in your gown, a looser, more intricate number you had donned for the evening party. Or maybe it was the rings you shared, the two solid gold circles looking like a sky full of stars under the lights, or maybe it was a mixture of the champagne soaked kisses and pure, uninhibited bliss he felt when he touched you - but whatever it was, you loved it, relishing the attention wholeheartedly.

You weren’t sure where he had got too this time, and somehow you had been wrangled into a conversation with a very tipsy Lord and Lady something or other, both of them fawning over you, their voices high like children. Your saving grace came in the form of a very tall, very stocky baker, his rings cool and comforting on your shoulder as he pulled you away.

“Yes. Yes. That’s very nice right, I’m just going to take (Y/N) away now, yes. Yes. Finish your drinks.” He waved them off as you laughed, “God, these rich fucks can talk for England. Fucking Liberty. Plus, I’ve seen them finish off all of the crab cakes. It’s not on.”

“No. Alfie, it’s not.” You said with a smile, letting him lead you into the parlour, the room almost empty and the faces that you recognised were pleasantly familiar. You grinned as you thought of how well Alfie knew the inside of the manor, something that you were sure to use as ammunition against Tommy any time he tried to tell you that “they weren’t friends.”

That was how he found you almost an hour later. Somehow the rest of the family had migrated into the room, bar Arthur who said he wasn’t drunk enough yet to be in the same room as Alfie. Tommy had been pulled and tugged in every direction, speaking to people he really didn’t give a shit about just to keep the party running smoothly, for your sake. He was on high alert, Johnny had said his boys had seen a figure running through the back paddocks, and just that alone was enough to send him spiralling. It was probably just a stray, strung out guest trying to get home, but it made his blood feel like it was electric.

He made all his men stay on guard, shut down the gambling and horse racing in the garden and made every single person who worked for him stay on red alert. Perhaps he was over reacting but he would never admit that, better to be overly cautious than have something happen to you. After doing laps of the house, checking on the cooks and gritting his teeth through drunken chats with whoever managed to grab him, he finally made his way back to you.

There you were. Face lit up under the candlelight, eyes tired but still sparkling, obviously exhausted but still enjoying the conversation, wanting to keep everyone happy. You looked ethereal. And for a moment he just watched you from the doorway, captivated by the movement of your hands, the bow of your lips, the way that you formed your words, so careful and light.

Alfie noticed him straight away, smiling cheekily as he pulled you into him. “Mrs Shelby.” He said, putting emphasis on both of the words and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. It was crazy how he could rile Tommy up more than anyone without being tipsy or high, somehow knowing how to push all of his buttons. “If you’re ever in London right, come to the bakery. I’ll show you a good time.”

You rolled your eyes at him, instantly knowing his game. You followed his gaze and saw the man you loved, your husband, watching you from the doorway.

“Tommy.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” He said firmly, brushing Alfie’s hand off you a little harder than he needed to. “I need to borrow my wife.”

God. Were you ever going to get used to him calling you that?

His hand slipped into yours and you melted, his lips grazing your ear lobe, deep accent rumbling like waves. “Cmon, lets go outside.”

You would have followed him anywhere, to the edge of the world if he had looked at you the way he was now, with those goddamn sky blue eyes and that smug, boyish grin.

Instead he led you through the party, playfully tugging on your hand as you both ran, desperate for nobody to see either of you and try to trap you in another mind numbing discussion. He took you through the servants entrance in the kitchen and into the courtyard, one of your favourite areas of the gardens. It was beautiful sculpted, with its high, emerald green bushes and intricately crafted pots and flower beds. You moved towards the fountain in the middle, surrounded by the rows of lilac and salmon tulips that swayed like ballet dancers in the wind.

He cleared his throat as you watched the water drip and fall and ripple down the stem of the fountain, the night sky reflected across it like a painting. It wasn’t chilly out but still he wrapped his blazer across your shoulders, filling your senses with cinnamon and nicotine and whisky sours.

“I want to read you my vows.” He said.

You turned to face him, confused.

“I know we both said we weren’t writing them, and I haven’t, not really, but there are some things I need to say to you.”

You opened your mouth to speak but closed it, watching him under the moonlight, how beautiful and how strong and how vulnerable he seemed all at once. You could feel your heart beating rapidly, your belly coiling and twisting, somehow he always managed to knock you off balance. He came towards you, close enough you could see the faint scars on his face from fights he had both won and lost, see the brilliance in his eyes and the sadness that always seemed to linger deep down in them, the curve of his lips and the sharpness of his teeth, the way that they had clenched around your heart and never let go.

“I deserve a lot of bad things. I do bad things, and I always thought that everything good would be taken away from me. I wasn’t born into a life like this, I’ve worked hard and given my blood sweat and tears to live like this, to get the things I have now. I’ve spent a lot of nights alone. Fuck, I’ve... felt alone since the moment I got on that train to France, and ever since I’ve been trying to find... something.”

“I thought it was all of this, but maybe it isn’t. I was always searching for the next big thing, the next move on the chessboard, the next city to take over. I didn’t realise how none of it made me happy until I walked into the Garrison the day you came here.”

A pause. A beat of silence.

“Look, I’m not the most articulate man, but God, I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you since the very first moment that I saw you. And - and - ” His voice crackles, fizzles out like a firework. “That day that I almost lost you, that nearly fucking killed me. That was when I realised that you were the thing I was searching for. You’re it for me.”

His hands on yours, pulling you in.

“For the first time in my life I don’t have to pretend to be happy. Whenever I see you, I just am. I can’t promise that I’m not going to fuck it up, but I’m trying, you make me want to try. You want to make me be better. You make me better.”

“I love you, (Y/N).”

He said, pressing his palm to your jawline, looking in your eyes with such sincerity and love that you felt as though you were floating.

“Oh, Tommy.” You breathed into the night, swept up and drowning in him, lost in lust and love and devotion, pressing your lips to his. “I love you.”

#tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #ts imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders oneshot #thomas shelby oneshot #tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby x reader

[sloppy-butcher]

could u write some hcs for kate and jane (like, separately) and a survivor whos completely whipped for them so in trials theyre always unhooking them, acting as a distraction when theyre being chased by the killer and theyd totally headbutt the killer and get hurt just so that jane/kate can escape safely. just literally anything to make sure they stay safe. thank u

i will absolutely write ANYTHING for the sweet ladies! thank you so much for the request and i hope these are good!

HeadCanons For Kate Denson and Jane Romero with an overly-altruistic S/O

Kate Denson

Many would say that Kate is one of the more subtle of the lady survivors. But when compared to the likes of Nea and Meg, anyone can be made to look extremely dainty and girly. Kate, however, sits precariously between refined and bat-shit crazy. She starts off quick and kept-to-herself but when fire sparks under her feet she can be pushed to do the most outlandish and unexpected. So imagine what it must have been like in that first trial with you and her.

Kate is getting chased by a rather pissed off Huntress when suddenly out pops a fiery head, screaming and rushing over with the grace of a giraffe on stilts. You holler at Kate, waving your hand over your head not only to greet the beautiful girl but also to distract the killer. Huntress goes to swing and you manage to push Kate just enough to narrowly miss the attack. She looks at you with wide, impossible eyes.

“Why did you do that?” Kate gasped, passing her attention between you and the killer who was quickly gaining distance again. You grin a most marvelous smile, “I dunno. Just wanted to help.” Kate scoffs. “You’d help me more if you did gens.” Then the chased started anew but with the addition of a rather annoying tag-along. She found you most bothersome but when ultimately she and everyone else escaped unscathed, Kate turned to with a bright expression. You smiled at her again, reaching out and grabbed her hand in yours and lifting in triumphantly in the air. You were too busy cheering to notice the gentle blush that accompanied her fond face.

That is how things would go from then onward. God help the killer that had to deal with your combined tom-foolery, when the two of you were together no one could be caught - it was simply impossible. If you were the first one to be found and chased, Kate would be by your side in a heartbeat. Oh, you’d die for her? Well not unless she dies first. However, like nuclear atoms, the two of you bounce off one another until you created a toxic reaction. Unstoppable and unbeatable.

In a fit of rage, you once slammed a toolbox into the back of the Trapper’s knee causing him to buckle slightly and drop your Kate. She fell gracefully and disappeared into the brush with a grateful ‘Thank you’ look. Later in that same trial when the Trapper had finally cornered you, Kate appeared and viciously grabbed at the various spikes sticking painfully from his back. Thrown off-balanced he chucked you in her arms. Kate looked down at you and raised a cocky eyebrow, “Just wanted to help.”

Kate waited for you at an open exit gate, arms open and calling as you ran with the killer still hot on your heels after a 5 gen chase. She explodes in delight as you smash into her wrapping your own arms around her body and hugging her close. She starts peppering kisses along your neck, with each one pulling away momentarily only to smile. By the time she reaches your face, you have already pulled her into your lips, kissing deeper and deeper and tipping her over slightly. She melts into you, giving you everything she has to offer. Finally, you break apart from your blissful embrace only to see the killer roll their eyes in either annoyance or disgust and hurridly shoo you out.

Jane Romero

Jane is the most regal lady. Though sensitive to others with a heart big and deep enough to swallow the ocean whole, she is able to always get the job done regardless of the strain it would put on her. She is a workhorse, bearing the yolk of her suffering with determination and diligence. She prefers to work alone however, it is easier to only blame yourself when things go wrong and not drag others down with you. But that all changed when you showed up. From the first moment you saw her at the campfire, back straight with one leg crossed over the other, you knew that she was the one. A most gorgeous creature, mother nature incarnate. She looked so beautiful bathed in the golden light of the fire that for a moment you forgot exactly the type of place you were in - oh right, this was purgatory. And you were all going to die.

You vowed then that as long as you could run, as only as you could breathe you would try your absolute damnedest to protect Jane, no matter the cost. And that’s exactly what you did. It started off subtle, always showing up exactly when Jane needed healing or assistance, and slowly progressed to you actively taking part in her chases. She taught you how to stun killers by jumping out of lockers and quickly you put your new skills to good practice, stopping killers who were gaining too much distance on her. Jane appreciated your help but never expected that there were deeper implications to your doting help. It was only after you sacrificed yourself for her did Jane finally notice everything.

She approached you at the campfire, eyes watery and fists balled. “Why did you do that!?” She demanded, standing over you looking like on the verge of a breakdown. Fearing the worse you rise to your feet and with palms open, you reach fr her. “Jane, dear, what is wrong?” Before you could make contact however Jane pulled away, “Why did you sacrifice yourself for me back there?” You frowned, confused about what she was referring to. At your expression, she scoffed, turned her head away, and wiping a hand over her face to catch her falling tears. She inhaled deeply, body shaking from the physical and mental exhaustion she had been enduring for so long. Your heart arched to ease that long-worn suffering. “You died...” Jane tried again, not daring to face you for fear of losing all control again, “You died back there. For me.” There was a stretch of silence between you two, one that allowed you a moment to piece together her tragic story. You had sacrificed yourself for her, taking her place at death’s door and giving a second chance at life. When you died you must have forgotten it all but when you caught wind of the muffled sobs Jane tried desperately to choke back. She moved you by doing almost nothing at all, your fingers burning for only an inch to move forward.

“You are so stupid.” Jane finally composed herself enough to speak without wavering. Her head turned to look at you with red, weepy eyes and a trembling hand clutched to her chest. “Why would you die for me? I had everything under control.”

“Because I love you.” You said without hesitation, taking a bold step forward, your heart calling out for her to please not block you out. Surprisingly, Jane did not retract from your approach and instead stared at you with the most heartbroken and sad face. Very quietly as if not even said, Jane whispered, “That’s what you said before.”

Jane would accept your love with the only condition being that you would never go out of your way to be stupid for her sake again. And though you did dial it back by some degrees, there were still some hairy moments like taking a hit for her when a killer tunneled or going in for the risky unhooks. She, of course, never appreciated your uncalculated actions and often scolded you with a lecture and wigging finger like a mother would a child. But afterward, when huddled by the warm campfire, Jane would wrap you in her sweet-smelling arms. She breathes out and the world would be good and she would rest her head on yours. No longer was this her burden to bear alone and how relieved she was for you.  

#dbd imagine #dbd survivors #dbd jane romero #dbd jane romero x reader #dbd x reader #dbd kate denson #dbd kate denson x reader #dbd headcanons

[comrademango]

I keep thinking about last match, in particular the changes made in the way Hendo (and the rest of the midfield) plays. I doubt he doesn't track back as much just because—accuse Hendo of a lot of things but lazy or not following instructions isn't among them. He played as a DM for years because it was what was demanded. Anyway.

(Take note that I have next to no experience in playing football apart from five-a-sides and my role was basically stop the player from getting to the goal area, and my knowledge comes from YouTube videos and reading articles here and there, but here goes.)

The injury to Harvey Elliott just when he, Mo, and Trent were creating a very creative triangle at the right side was such an early letdown in our season that when Hendo slotted back, he tried to fill that role, most probably by instruction. And he was kinda good at it. He and Milly vs. Palace did that overlapping moves that Trent and Harvey had done before, and they kinda controlled that right flank very well. Problems were seen, however, vs. Milan (I think). And then this game vs. Brentford. It didn't help that the whole backline had a bit of a shit game, but one has to think that maybe Trent wouldn't have to face 3-4 players by himself had Hendo been in his previously preferred position in the deep right pocket of the midfield. Curtis was also playing a bit more forward throughout the time he was on the pitch, which leaves Fabinho to guard the backline.

There are some advantages to the tactical change, I suppose. A lot of people on LFC twitter were highlighting the increased attacking output from our MFs this season (and pushing their agenda vs Gini but that's another can of worms) but all of the previous goals came from set pieces. Against Brentford, we actually had goals and assists from our midfielders during open play. But Hendo and Curtis playing forward—and Hendo was more noticeably forward, probably because he used to play quite deep—left us kind of denuded in the midfield.

Does this mean we would not have conceded the three goals had we played the old workhorse midfield tactics? Maybe, but we probably would not have scored as many goals. Could the backline have defended better and not let those goals in? Definitely, but would we have gotten in those scrambles in the penalty area if the midfield had better control of their area? I don't know. It didn't help that the left side had its own problems with Robbo also having a bad game and Sadio cutting a bit of a frustrated figure in front of the goal again. I doubt there would even be as much talk about this game had our attackers been more clinical and we killed the game off and ended at 4-2 or something. (Yes, Raya turned into Prime Buffon, but a lot of keepers turn into that against us.)

With Thiago sidelined until after the international break, we'll have to face Man City without him to slow things down and control the game, and the other midfielders have to step up. Naby is also still out. Either the midfield of Curtis/Fab/Hendo gel together within the week, or make some changes. If instructed, Hendo will probably go back to that box-to-box type and go forward and then track back to cover Trent and he gets run to the ground and his hamstring gives out in a few months. (Knock on wood.)

Don't ask me about Ox. He at times seems like the baby is keeping him up all night. And he performed better on the wing vs. Norwich. There was that dude on twitter that commented how it's awful how Ox seemed to love Perrie more than football and I thought, I hope so? I hope Ox loves the mother of his child more than his job. Ox is another story and I haven't thought about it, basically.

There's also probably something to be said about Taki finding spaces and being a good and calm finisher, and Divock with fans looking like he could be a cult hero again, but, again, another story. I'm not smart enough for all that yet.

Anyway, up the Reds.

#this is what i did instead of my laundry #liverpool liverpool liverpool

[joeys-piano]

Joey’s Writing Process - Questionnaire

Was inspired by an authortube questionnaire tag thingy from YouTube and wanted to answer those questions and post them here~

You could say I was tagged by Kelley Tai from the authortube community because I decided to do this after hearing her responses to these questions ^^

What genres do you write?

Being someone who doesn’t write for a specific genre in mind, I dabble in everything and anything -- depending on the concept in my mind. But during the past few months, I can summarize that most of my works would be considered contemporary. Whether it’s young adult, romance, or a few character studies I was interested in. The kinds of genres I typically play with are dependent on the fandom I’m writing for.

  What setting gets you the most productive?

I am the most productive when I’m writing in a quiet, comfortable spot. Preferably, alone because I talk while I’m writing. So because of that, I mostly write in my bedroom or private living space -- it lets me jabber on and on and read as loudly to my heart’s content.

As well, as long as I have a sturdy structure to lean my back against and a soft blanket or pillow to drape over my lap, that is my ideal writing setup as I kickback on my laptop. Somewhere during these past two semesters, I’ve conditioned myself to be my most creative when I’m on my portable laptop because my brain has associated it with “fun” and “chill time” while my workhorse, gaming laptop has been associated with “academic” and “not-so-fun stuff.”

If you have multiple story ideas, how do you go about picking which one to start on first?

The ideal response would me saying: “I’m picking the work that has the most potential, is the most fleshed out, follows the current reading trends, etc…”

But in all honesty, there’s only two criteria I use when narrowing down multiple projects: 1) how am I feeling? and 2) which one will I make time for? I know myself well enough that when I’m very interested in an idea, I will carve out time and do everything in my power to work on that story -- despite all the nonsense I have to do for life and uni. And this is dependent on how I’m currently feeling and what story ideas resonate with that feeling.

I’m well aware that as creatives, it’s unwise to have our emotions dictate what we’re doing because it can make us wishy-washy and that’s how excuses crop up. I get it, I know it, I’m staring it down it down the pie hole. But in spite of this flaw, it works really well with my writing style because I’m more emotion and introspective-heavy. If I’m not feeling for what’s going on, I just shelve the idea for a while and come back to it when I’m in the right vibe. And that works well since I’m a short story writer, and it lets me pivot easily and not be stuck in a specific mood for long. I believe that’s why chapter-works are so hard for me because I’m stuck in a perpetual mood and it’s very exhausting.

  Do you outline?

I only outline as much as I need to know -- meaning that, I outline enough to get the momentum rolling and for me to put thoughts onto paper and to get the story flowing. As a pantser with recurring self-doubts, I use outlines as a way of motivation and to convince myself that an idea isn’t as (insert self-doubt) as I originally thought. Because of this approach, I love knowing what my beginning will be and I will outline the shit out of that while I leave the middle and ending up to my interpretation as I pants my way through the story and see where it naturally goes.

That’s why whenever you read my works, you’ll notice how solid the beginning is and how it meanders towards the end. Because at that point, I’m flowing by feeling and am steering the story to where it wants to go. Having this loose trajectory is great for me because I’m often inserting bridge moments or extra scenes or am embellishing something throughout the story, and that gives my stories the texture that make them a bit more exciting. 

  Do you start your first draft with pen and paper, typewriter, or computer?

I computer everything.

With how weak my finger, hand, wrist and arm nerves and muscles have been, I can’t write by hand for very long and I don’t have the funds to purchase a typewriter, the ink or the special paper that those need. So a laptop is my go-to and it saves me a lot of physical clutter. 

  What do you do to get through writer's block?

Read, watch, and listen to as much as content as I can get my hands on if I’m experiencing a creative burnout and if it’s hard for me to find ideas that I want to devote my time to. If the writer block is stemming from doubts that I have, I like to read quotes from Goodreads and to expose myself to other styles and concepts or just reading how someone worded something in a certain way. Because that expands the choices where I can take my writing or concept, and it’s motivation in its own way as I truck forward with what I’m doing.

  Do you format your project from the beginning or worry about that later?

Font: Times New Roman Font Size: 11 Font Color: White Page Color: Black Line Spacing: 1.15, space after a paragraph

Every time I open up a new word document, those are my go-to configurations for a successful write. I believe a few years ago, I read something about how writing with a dark page is easier on the eyes. So ever since I did that, I’ve never looked back.

  Do you edit as you go or when you're finished with the first draft?

Many writing advices out there say that you shouldn’t write as you go, and they have convincing reasons as to why. However, for my writing style, I do edit as I go and it’s worked really well for me -- especially since I’m a pantser. Because whenever I feel stuck, I know it’s because something earlier in the work isn’t working well for me. So I often reread and edit as I do so and revise and shape the story to where I left off and I know where to go.

It’s why I don’t have a “true” first draft. Because in actuality, different parts of my draft are in different stages of the writing process. So in a sense, I have a living draft that is whatever it wants to be.

I will say that this is much easier to handle when the work is short, but I’ve done this for 12k, 15k, 22k stories before. It’s a lot harder and it’s very exhausting, but it does work and I have systems in place to keep me moving forward.

  After finishing your drafts/manuscript how long do you give it a break before you start going back over it or do you give it a break at all?

As I mentioned in the previous question, I revise and edit as I go so it’s difficult for me to answer this question. However, I try to give myself a few hours or at least half a day away from the story before I come back to it and continue where I left off.

I will take breaks between short story projects (at least one day). But other than that, that’s it.

  Is there something that you prefer to do to get you through writing? (Playing music, tv, having your favorite drink, or food) 

I love starting my writing session by listening to some music I don’t mind repeating for a long time and listening to music that vibes with what I’m doing. And if I’m beginning a story, I like to go on Goodreads and read some opening quotes or random lines to get my gears turning as I approach my writing. If I’m picking up from where I left off, I like to reread from the beginning or from a beginning marker that I’ve left behind and go from there to where I left off so I can get back into the moment.

  Do you schedule your writing sessions?

I write whenever I can -- through pockets of time. So no, I don’t have a schedule.

However, I tend to begin stories or at least through the density of them through the morning to around the early afternoon. In the early evening and late at night, that’s when I’m loosely outlining and brainstorming new ideas because my inner-editor is a lot quieter than those periods.

  Do you have word count or chapter goals for your writing sessions?

No. However much I write, that’s how much I write.

It could be 300 words in one day, or it could be 1.8k words in one day. Wildly depends on how I’m feeling and how I’m scheduling everything else in my life around my writing.

  Are there any quirky things you do to make your projects more fun?

I did a lot of poetry before I got serious with narrative writing, so something that I do to make the writing more fun is that I incorporate poetry techniques into my stories and use that rhythm to have it interesting. This feeds into my writing habit of reading out loud as I work and because I’m stressing on how the rhythm goes and how it sounds when I hear it, much of what I write is meant for the ear -- rather than the eyes. 

  Do you work on multiple projects at one time? 

My brain can only handle one story concept at a time. Already, writing takes a lot out of me and I would run myself ragged if I had to juggle more than one in a single day.

  How often do you research what you're writing?

Depends on the work itself.

If I’m writing my first fic for a fandom or am writing for a character or pairing I’m not comfortable, I’ll research around on fandom wikipedia and read a few works from other writers to get a sense of how I could approach the character or pairing.

I’m working on a story that’s heavily involved in a certain topic or whatnot, I will go ham on that research because I want to know the rules of what I’m incorporating and how I can spin those rules to find solutions. However, it’s been a long while since I’ve done something like this.

  How do you organize your projects? 

I write in a word document whose only purpose is for me to draft, revise and edit on. After I’m finished with that story, I transfer that work onto a new word document and shelve that to a “Completed Folder.”

There’s something about having a word document purely dedicated to just the writing process, there’s something about that helps me out a lot. I don’t know what it is, but it feels like there’s magic there. There’s thousands upon thousands of blood, sweat and tears drenched into that word document and I just build upon that and let it carry me through. It’s very motivating on a primitive level.

  Do you reward or punish yourself for achieving or missing out on your writing goals?

No.

I’ve done something like this in the past and it just didn’t work out because it spiked my anxiety. I don’t know how to define my relationship with writing, but it’s definitely not that. It feels more like a friendship than a -- than a platonic BDSM, work-related creative thingy. I don’t take pleasure in pain nor pain in pleasure, so yeah. No.

  Are there any works similar to your projects that you look for and use - for inspiration and/or comparison?

Again, Goodreads quotes for inspiration. That’s about it. 

  How early do you wait to start looking for and hiring editors? 

Being that this is an authortube writing process questionnaire, it doesn’t apply to me as a fanfic writer. The equivalent to this for the fandom space would be a critique partner or a beta reader. I don’t use either. I just read my things over and slap it through an editing and grammar program before posting for others to see. And if any errors manage to slip through, I let the lucky bastards live.

  If you've finished a first draft or a manuscript. Tell us how you felt afterwards. (Pick your favorite) If you're not through the first draft yet tell us how you're feeling about it at the moment. 

I feel very calm and content after finishing the Ever Given x Suez Canal ficlet I wrote earlier this morning. Given the whirlwind experience March has been, this felt like a great well to close the month with and it was genuinely a lot of fun.

  Tag someone! 

Tagging @nightyelfy because I know you’ve published a book and I would love to see what your responses are.

#fanfic writer #writer #writing community #writeblr

[swordarkeereon]

Tech Review for Writers: reMarkable2

I got myself a piece of interesting tech this year in hopes it would get me from out in front of a computer screen more often. Meet the reMarkable2, a distraction free (i.e. it’s not connected to the entirety of the internet) e-ink tablet workhorse that’s easy on the eyes.

The reMarkable2 Tablet

First things first. The reMarkable2 tablet is not for everyone and your average person probably won’t find it the least bit useful. So let’s talk about why you don’t want this tablet first.

reMarkable 2 is not for you if: 

– You want an eReader.  eReaders have a VERY DIFFERENT function than the reMarkable2. Yes, you can read PDFs on a reMarkable, but it’s more for *marking up* a PDF and commenting in the margins of a PDF. Not just reading. eReaders like Kindles and Nooks often have built in dictionaries, ways to bookmark pages or passages of text, etc…  that the reMarkable2 doesn’t have. You can search your documents for specific phrases and words and also highlight things in a light gray, but if you’re just looking for an eReader, I suggest a Kindle.

– You want a full functioning tablet that you can put apps on and surf the web with- If you’re looking for a full functioning tablet, you’ve missed the whole point of the reMarkable2. The main point behind reMarkable2 is so you can go to your creative place (wherever that may be) and brainstorm, free from ALL distractions. You can’t stop to surf FB or your Twitter feed on a reMarkable2, thus making it more likely you’ll stay on task and get more done.

– You want something with color so you can highlight because what you really want is a fully functioning ebook reader or tablet. This tablet is really more of a no frills brainstorming and note-taking tool for entrepreneurs, professionals, academics, and creatives (including engineers, writers, musicians, possibly artists if they like to sketch in black and white) who use a lot of black pens and plain paper.

I bought the tablet for the following reasons (which I wrote down BEFORE I received the device):

– I wanted an electronic notebook (not a tablet). I’m one of those people who goes through 3 packs of sticky notes every month, and countless notebooks every year. I am constantly jotting stuff down to keep myself focused and on track while running my own business and helping out at the family business.  My notes can be anything from putting together presentations, classes, and meetings, to extensive to-do lists for the day. Sometimes it’s just me keeping track of sales figures. As a result, my desk is always filled with papers and notebooks and I’m constantly searching for shit. The electronic notebook cleans up all this clutter and helps me organize my brain. (Have you seen my brain!? It’s a mess in there.)

– I  like to write freehand, especially when I’m plotting the next book or writing a blurb, or even writing a chapter – and it must be distraction free. This is something only fellow authors will understand. The fact that the reMarkable2 can convert handwritten notes to text sent via email has me excited because, if I’m lucky and it works, I won’t have to go through and transcribe all my handwritten notes. It basically saves me time by eliminating a step. I can copy/paste the note from my email into the appropriate file on my laptop. This will also save me the clutter and weight of carrying countless notebooks.

– I am involved with projects that require me to sketch out ideas for marketing and/or artwork. I do have tablets that can do this, but nothing that does it *well*. The closest is my Surface tablet, which can do a lot of things, but it still doesn’t feel like paper or allow me the fine detail paper allows. I’m hoping this tablet is a bit more responsive in this area. – I am forever printing out rough drafts of manuscripts for markup – wasting a ton of paper and toner in the process. All because I can’t edit on a backlit screen. My eyes get tired and I miss too many errors. If I can transfer my PDF drafts to the reMarkable and mark them up there with minimal errors left over, I could save some $$. I am actually estimating that I could easily save the cost of the reMarkable2 in 6 months to 1 year’s time by not having to purchase the paper, pens, and toner I usually go through in that time frame.  Plus, these marked up manuscripts often end up in a stack on my office floor for 6 months to a year after publication. 

– I am forever having to read PDFs of laws and regulations for the family business, and while I usually use them on the computer, I sit in front of a computer 8-13 hours a day. I need a non-backlit screen for reading in the evenings just to give my eyes a break.  Yes, I imagine I could do the same with a Kindle paperwhite, but I may just want to jot some notes in the same way I’d mark up a paper copy. I’m still a pen and paper girl. I’m really hoping the reMarkable is my replacement for that (most of the time anyway).

reMarkable2 test to sample the pen styles.

Some considerations I took into account before purchasing:

A lot of customers complained that it took too long to receive the reMarkable or to get support. From all of the research I did, and in reading their website, it’s clear to me that this company caters to academia and businesses. I ordered my reMarkable2 on January 16, 2021, and had it in my hands by January 25, 2021. 9 days. I also ordered it and paid for it through my business. I don’t know if that’s actually why I got mine so fast, but I wouldn’t be surprised. That said, I do think the company should work a little harder to increase their customer service efficiency. 

With regard to customer support – the website clearly states it can take up to 10 business days for support to get back to you. And a lot of the things people seem to be complaining about have troubleshooting instructions on the website. Clearly people weren’t going to the website to try to look up their issue through the support FAQs, which likely would have helped them out sooner.  They were just contacting support immediately, and angry when they weren’t getting a response after 3 days, when it’s clearly stated on the website that it can take up to 10 days due to the fact that reMarkable is a small company. But like I said earlier – they would be smart to increase their customer service team.

reMarkable’s folios are a custom fit and really pretty, but a bit pricey. I made the tablet more affordable by skipping the upgrade on the pen, because a friend of mine got the eraser feature and she wasn’t digging it initially (she loves it now), and I purchased a relatively nice folio from Amazon for under $30 (with no magnets – research told me magnets can cause dead spots in the screen of the reMarkable2). You can also just buy a 10″-11″ tablet sleeve and it would work much the same. There are also universal tablet folios that will fit 10″-11″ tablets that are free of magnets and will likely work just fine. All for under $20 bucks — even a few in faux leather. Remember that a case should protect your investment, not just make it *look* sharp. 

Right out of the Box.

Right out of the box I set the reMarkable up and started using it for brainstorming. Here were my first impressions:

1. It really is pretty damn close to writing on paper.

2. You can rest your damn hand on the screen and it won’t fuck things up or make it wobble as with traditional tablets.

3. My handwriting actually looks like my handwriting and you have almost the same control with this as you would with real pen and paper.

4. The interface is simple and intuitive and anyone who uses computers and tablets day and in day out will have no issues figuring this out.

Now some thoughts on the features:

Handwriting to Text: As an author who likes to occasionally spend time writing the old fashioned way, one of the things that attracted me to this tablet was its ability to translate handwriting to text. No writer wants to have to transcribe their written notes and waste all of that time. So of course I tested it with my horrific handwriting, vs purposefully trying to be neat, and the reMarkable2 was able to convert my chicken scratch into actual text that I could read. I was able to turn the handwritten notes into a PDF, but I was also able to send the handwriting converted to typed text as the body of an email, where I was able to cut and paste it into any program I wanted. I took it further and wrote 1000 words (about 8.2 pages) longhand. It converted all the pages to text in one swoop and I was able to copy/paste it into my manuscript. While there was a little formatting and editing involved — it was a lot faster than retyping handwritten notes. WIN! 

Handwriting for conversion test.

Conversion successful

PDF Transfer, Markup, and Signature: Transferring PDFs to the reMarkable is easy. You simply download the app on your phone and your desktop, and you can take any pdf from either device and import it onto your reMarkable, which you can then markup. I sent myself a slew of PDFs that I had to read and markup. It’s amazing how much more focused I am on a screen like this. I really got the same experience with editing on a digital PDF as I did with editing on a paper copy. My only caveat is that I don’t have more space to make notes since the margins are a bit small on the screen and there’s no “back of the page” to carry notes over to. I can likely manage. Despite that – what a great experience. Goodbye manuscripts all over my office floor!  Hello being able to drag editing work with me wherever I go!    

You can also transfer your PDFs that don’t have an electronic signature option to the device, sign them, and send them back. Talk about HANDY since I do that a few times a month by default. This just eliminates the print/sign/scan. Now I just have to transfer it to the device, sign the document, and email it straight back to whoever sent it. 

Digital Planners may be something I look into for 2022 because reMarkable actually makes them feasible. I tried a tester digital planner, courtesy a friend, on my reMarkable and I have to say – it offers just as much satisfaction as a paper planner. Plus, you can SEARCH large pdfs. It won’t find search terms in your handwriting, but it will find it in your PDF. That’s definitely a handy feature when you’re working with 500 page PDFs. That said, the tablet saves your place (last page you visited) as you’re navigating a PDF, so no need to search for the place you left off. However, there is no way to bookmark multiple pages.

ePub Reading: suppose I could sideload books as ePubs, but I really have no use for this feature. If I want to read ebooks, I use my kindle or the Kindle App on my tablet or phone. Unless I start doing editing of ePubs or want to check out an ePub format for something?  I didn’t buy this as an eReader, and it is terribly lacking as an eReader. Where the reMarkable excels is as a tool for marking up documents. So my guess is it would be great for that if you have a lot of files in ePub format that you have to go over. You also can’t change font sizes for easier reading. You can zoom in and zoom back out to regular size. That’s it. (And this is another reason this is not an eReader.)

Storage: Storage is a little over 6GB (you do not pay for the reMarkable website cloud-sync). But even with about 15 PDFs (some of them really long) on my reMarkable at any given time, I was only at .38 GB. 

reMarkable2 Storage

File System: Like I said earlier – the system is highly intuitive and easy to use. I made folders for my most common notebook uses, then I moved the appropriate PDFs to those folders, and created any notebooks I needed for those folders.

Exporting: You can export as .PNG, .SVG, and PDF.  Handwriting to text can only be sent as text via the body of an email. This is actually great for writing because then you just have to copy/paste from your email into your Word Doc, Google Doc, or Scrivener.

Importing: Imports PDFs and ePubs.

Templates: The templates are great. I generally only use graph paper, plain, and lined paper myself. But I could see how a lot of these would be useful to people. The to-do list is a crappy template just because it requires you to hide your menu to use it (you can’t tick the the checkboxes until you do this). To hide the menu tap the circle in the upper left top of the menu bar. So if you want a partial page to-do list, you can easily make your own checkbox lists using the graph paper option. There are also dot pages for the folks into bullet journaling.

A small sampling of reMarkable2 Templates

Search Feature: You can search within a PDF, but not through your own handwritten text. You must be in the PDF to search it, otherwise you can only search for file names. You can not search across documents for a phrase or word. So if you’re looking for something with the same search capabilities as a laptop or possibly a tablet, you won’t find it here.

Zooming: You can zoom in on PDF documents and write on them while zoomed. However, you cannot change font sizes to make reading easier.

Battery Life:  On days where I used it heavily (about 4-5 hours), I was using around 15% power in a day because I didn’t put it in airplane mode. Three days of 4-5 hours a day use drained my battery to 50%. So me, as a heavy user, not in airplane mode, will likely get 6-7 days out of a single charge. Possibly more since clearly not every day will be a heavy use day. The device does go to sleep after 10 minutes of inactivity.

Pen:The pens are a bit pricey. I did not buy the expensive pen with the eraser and I’m okay with that. But $60 for a pen is still a bit — ouch. 

Pen Nib: I am expecting I will be one of those poor unfortunate souls who will be replacing pen tips every 3-4 weeks during heavy use. Luckily the pen itself doesn’t use batteries. The pen nibs seem reasonable in price, just be sure to order a new pack with your device and when you start that pack, order another as shipping times on those can take a week or two depending where you are and how efficient your mail service is. You don’t want to accidently run out and find yourself without a pen. Yikes.

Security: You can add a password to your reMarkable to keep prying eyes out. But if you’re like me and self-employed, that’s not really an issue. Your remarkable has Wi-Fi, yes, but you can put it in airplane mode to cut the connection. Plus, it only syncs to your cloud storage. There really aren’t any entry points for viruses or people hacking into your device. But then I’m also not a tech person. Let’s just say I highly doubt security will be a huge issue on this thing. Besides, anyone who wants to take a peek at my tablet would likely find themselves bored stiff, unless they like reading really rough first drafts of speculative fiction.  LOL

Backup/Download: You can easily transfer your files back to your computer by opening the app and simply exporting your finished documents, etc… to your computer, backup drive or cloud drive. You can also just email yourself a copy to make it super easy.

My Wishlist:

1. I wish I could add or append new, handwritten pages to an existing PDF. That would definitely solve the space issue. Now, I just make notes in a different file and jog back and forth between the PDF and the notes, which is a little annoying, but doable. One way to solve this issue would be to save all your PDFs to double spaced. It might make markup a little easier. I’ll try that with the next books to go under the editorial knife.

2. I wish there were cheaper alternative covers. My $17 cover looks great and protects my tablet. reMarkable could easily come up with a few additional low-cost choices here. The ultra professionals are still going to buy nice leather folios. 

(I may add to this list in the coming weeks, but right now these are the two main things jumping out at me.)

Overall Review Summary

For writers, reMarkable2 truly is a remarkable distraction free device that can help improve your concentration and organization, give you the freedom to write out longhand and convert it to text without the tedious re-typing, and help you mark up drafts with ease. This would probably serve prolific and professional writers more liberally than the writer who takes a few years to pen a book. Plus, it will probably save you a lot of printer paper, toner, pens and notebooks. For business owners/users – reMarkable will likely save you pounds of sticky notes and legal pads, and hours of time transcribing your notes. Plus, it’s a great on-the-go working tool for content creators and people who review a lot of PDFs. 

Have some thoughts on the reMarkable2? Feel free to leave a comment below!

#distraction-free #not sponsored content #reMarkable2 #tablets #technology reviews

[frenchielacreateur]

Tools of the Trade

My lovelies! Hello!

So, I’ve been thinking about exactly what my process is since NaNoWriMo is here--two weeks in...god I’m late.

And I realized that I use a LOT of different things interchangeably. It seems (and probably is) rather chaotic, but with how my noggin works, I need to be able to have options so I can continue working and not just come to a stand-still.

I use both pen & paper as well as my laptop. One gets priority over the other, depending on how fast my brain is processing things, and what part of the process I am in.

IE-if I’m early on, I’m likely working with a pen and paper since I write slower than I type and am not moving too fast for my brain to think of new things. However, if later in the process, I’m likely on my laptop click-clacking away to get things down as fast as possible to meet/beat word count.

But, since my process is…odd I figured I’d go over what I use to plan/write my works of fiction, in case there’s anything that interests ya’ll.

 PEN & PAPER

·         NOTEBOOKS hi, I’m Frenchie and I hoard notebooks. I am extremely particular on how they’re kept, and if it’s a nicer one, and no perforations to remove pages, I will REFUSE to use it because I don’t want to ‘waste’ the notebook. I get antsy if I have more than one ‘subject’ or story in a notebook. Hell, I have a 600 page one that’s JUST for character profiles. Either way, I realized, bulk + cheap is the way to go.

·         PENS if I don’t have a good easy flowin’ gel pen, then I tend to press too hard and aggravate my carpal tunnel. So, I’m somewhat of a pen nerd. Right now, for bulk black and white writing my favorite is the Sharpie SGel in the 1.0 size, or if not in reach a Pilot G2 Gel Pen. Both are intense, fast drying (important for us lefties!) and rarely fuck up while you’re trying to work.

·         HILIGHTERS I like to color code when I’m working in my planners/writing so I know who’s speaking. If I’m not wanting to switch between colored pens, I go back after I’m done and highlight. With what? Mildliners. The Zebra Mildliners more specifically. They’re in a shit ton of colors (I bought them all), so I can use as many differentiating colors as I want.

·         OFFICE STUFF post-its, my written to-do list (its got sloths on it <3 ) and anything that isn’t a spiral notebook or a pen. If I’m somewhere in my house away from my ‘office’, I will use a list app on my phone to get the job done if inspiration strikes or the rogue receipt if necessary.

·         LAP DESK(s) yes, plural, because I have one for working in my bedroom (which I do on occasion) that doesn’t fit on my couch, so I had to get a cheaper one for my couch. My expensive one is hard plastic that has folding legs, a book stand, tablet holder, and a drawer with cupholder. It’s nice, and tall and works well if I have the room to bring it out. My cheaper on (still $30) is plastic with cats and books on it, a beanbag bottom, but DOES have a cupholder. <3 It is worth ten times its weight in gold.

 LAPTOP APPS

·         NOTEPAD yes, regular Notepad. Again, the informal nature of it takes my worries about being perfect (though the delete key is a thing) and tosses them out the window. I use Notepad for writing down things from generators I use (because unless a name is REALLY important, I use a generator). Sometimes, if I’m feeling squirrely, I even outline in it (broad strokes).

·         MICROSOFT WORD the real workhorse of my programs. I am in MS Word every damn day for one reason or another. (like now O_O…spooky right?) I used to outline in MS word with bulleted lists, but now I use it for drafting, and editing.

·         CAMPFIRE PRO my first foray into a novel building software—and I’m never world building without it EVER again. You can tell it’s built by writers—it just works so well, and I’ve even re-purposed things like the Timeline feature to do my full-on Outlines. I have all the bells and whistles because I also play tabletop games and if I decide to GM one day, you best bet I’ll be using Campfire for it.

·         EXCEL I use this to count my total words per day during NaNo season as well as to track how many words total my Short Story Collection is. I know NOTHING of Excel, well none of the cool stuff, but you best bet I figured out how to color a cell, so I wasn’t looking at a boring spreadsheet.

·         NOTION the newest part to my system, but HOLY FUCKING SHIT this program does it all. It’s set up like Scrivner with a side bar that does folders, and you can make pages, kaban boards, calendars, etc. that show up. Currently I have a folder for my household, one for my author platform and one for my art commissions. It is, to be frank, a lifesaver. I’m getting more done than I ever have before.

·         SPOTIFY if I don’t block out everything, I don’t focus, so when Husbando got us Spotify Premium a few years back, it instantly became a part of my ritual. I have playlists ranging from lo-fi, instrumental, to lyrical 90’s boy bands to death metal. I’ll put on a playlist and just go.

 NEW & EXPERIMENTING WITH

·         NOVEL FACTORY another novel building/plotting software, but this one has a word processor in it as well. Its interesting and I’ll be looking into it more after NaNo (gunna use what I know works for this). To be honest the Windows XP look is…distracting, but it has a good layout, and a solid character questionnaire.

#amwriting #writing journey #writing #writers tools #writers programs #writing program