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#Not enough clips out there of my beloveds being boy best friends

hooked-on-elvis · 7 months

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MY EYES... MY TEARY EYES! 🥹

ABOUT ELVIS AND GLADYS' BOND. ♥

"Watching the snow reminded me of Elvis' mother. She used to say that if snowed in Memphis when Elvis was gone, she always went outside and gathered up enough in a pan to make snowballs for Elvis to see when he came back. She put them in the freezer of the refrigerator to keep. Elvis loved to see it snow at Graceland." Excerpts from "Elvis: This One's For You" by Arlene Cogan.

No wonder why EP missed his mother dearly. There's many types of moms but the Gladys type of mommy is a true blessing - the ones which heart's that almost burst while trying to make you feel their love for you. It's almost a physical need to pour love in their children every way they can. Towards their children, they have all love languages at once: words of encouragement, sound advice, physical touch/cuddles, actions… It's suffocating, but in a wonderful way. Gladys Love Presley was the sweetest mom anyone could wish for. EP was fortunate in many ways - starting from his family - but what a misfortune was to lose Gladys so early in his life. Love is a dangerous splendid thing anyway. It's best to have it and lose it than never being touched by it. Gladys' love for her son was bigger than life anyway. ♥ -- Note: The excerpt from that book reminded me this footage below, where Gladys is playing with the snow with Vernon (C. January, 1958). There's also another book that mentions her saving some snow so that Elvis could see it later when he came back home (i don't remember what book, unfortunately, but I've read this before).

Above, pictures takes in 1957, during "Loving You" movie production. Gladys actually appears on the big screen for a few seconds in this Presley early movie. EP dances next to her while singing "Got A Lot O' Livin' To Do" by the end of the movie… It's so cute!

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Photo 5-13: March 23-24th, 1958

Elvis was about to be inducted in the US Army. The photos showing the Presley's alone were taken March 23rd, a day before Elvis' army induction day. On the actual induction day, on March 24th (pictures 11-13), there's footage where EP's hopping a bus together with other fellow guys, heading to the army camp to the beginning of the basic trainning and his 2-year epic journey as Private Presley in the U.S. Army. Gladys was visibly shaken and heartbroken to see her beloved son go away and the reason why. Some family members and friends said Gladys was terrified thinking about the horrors of World War II that she seriously feared for Elvis' life and well-being as a soldier. She never got over it, even though Elvis and everybody else tried to convince her nothing was going to happen, after all they were living at the Cold War period, therefore there wasn't reasonable reasons in being anxiously alarmed. Nothing seemed to comfort Gladys. We know she sadly passed away on August, 1958, a few months after Elvis was inducted in the army. Years later, EP would say to one of his intimate acquaintances "my mommy really worried to death." It's so sad... in a poetic way. IDK what I'm talking about right now… It's like she couldn't live without her little boy, literally. Gladys was so close to her son! The reciprocity is true. She was the only person EP trusted blindfolded, with all his heart, body, mind and soul. Gladys only had the best intentions for her son. She didn't care about the money or fame. She actually asked him many time if it wouldn't be better/safer if he gave up his career and just became a business man, a owner of some local company in Memphis/TN, got married, had his own family, and lived a nice, calm, Southern life. EP used to get upset with that "nonsense" talk, because he loved his career greatly and everything was working out just fine for him... he was in love with his music and his fans. He was born to be the King of Rock and Roll and he worked very hard for it every single day. It wasn't right to chicken up. He wouldn't give it up his career, even for his beloved mommy. Yet, Gladys couldn't help herself but to worry something bad could happen if she was not by his side 24/7. A typical loving mom behavior. Even when she acted overprotective like that and drove Elvis insane sometimes, it was all out of the purest heavenly true love... and he knew it.

Although she was uneasy most of the time, thinking about Elvis' well being, the constant travelling on the road all the time, having tabloids badmouthing him, a portion of American society threatening to put him in jail, crazy passionate fans scratching the hell out of him, trying to touch him to the point they'd tear his clothes off his body, even so Gladys supported Elvis' career and was by his side whatever he decided to do. He knew how blessed he was having her for his mother, and Elvis did his best to protect his mommy's heart - even by hiding some of the bad happenings in his life from her. He wouldn't let anything break her heart... even himself.

Yet, so soon the day came when she was gone. Elvis never ceased missing his mommy.

Shantay Perrish, a dedicated fan shared the following story: "We arrived about 7:00 pm that following evening and were shocked to see Elvis leaving on his Harley with a blue flower arrangement strapped to the rear. I quickly went to the guard house shack and asked Harold Lloyd, "Is that who I think it was?" Harold said, "Yes that was Elvis, but don't follow him." We waited there and he returned to Graceland within the hour. Earlier that day we had gone to pay our respect to his mother at Forest Hill, never thinking of Elvis possibly showing up. The next morning we again went to Forest Hill Cemetery and there on Gladys grave was the arrangement of blue flowers we had seen the night before on the motorcycle. Elvis had been to visit his mother in a quiet personal moment."

Photos and excerpt from the book "Elvis Behind the Image."

This event possibly took place circa August 11th, 1977. A few days before Elvis Presley sadly passed away on August 16th. The photo 1 shows Elvis leaving Graceland that day and the photo 2 is Gladys' grave site with the blue flower arrangement he placed there for his mommy for one last time. Elvis assured to send flowers there often over the years since Gladys' passing, but this time he delivered it there himself. Isn't intriguing, to say the least?

Oh, mama liked the roses but most of all she cared About the way we learned to live And if we said our prayers Oh, mama liked the roses in such a special way We bring them every Mother's Day And put them on her grave Oh, mama liked the roses Mmmm Mama liked the roses

In loving memory of Gladys Love Presley ♥

#gladys presley #mom love #elvis presley #elvis #elvis the king #50s elvis #ep #army elvis #privatepresley #elvis fandom #elvis fans #Youtube

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aprilblossomgirl · 1 year

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Enchanté, an aftertaste.

I didn't think much when I started the first episode. I didn't even remember why I actually picked the show. I thought I would drop it after 1-2 episodes, yet I finished all ten episodes in two days. Yes, I was that hooked!

So, was it good? Now, this depends on how you would define a good show. Personally, I don't think I would classify the show as my top ten drama, but it made me fall hard for one of its leads: Akk Itsara. He's definitely sneaking in fast into my compartment of beloved favorite characters. So, I'm just going to list the things I loved or enjoyed about this show during my watch that allowed me to love this character very much. And also, because there's just some aftertaste that I wanted to record.

The rest of this post is under the cut.

#1 The childhood (best)friends-to-lover trope. I am a sucker for this trope. Starting the show without knowing anything about it, I was pleasantly surprised to meet with one. I liked that the leads, Akk and Theo, were two childhood friends with different characters without having to be the complete opposite. They gave that bratty calm plus caring chaos vibes without contrasting each other that much. Having a temporary separation trope, I loved the details of the 'keepsake' in the show. That includes the fox cushion, the plane clip, the ball marks on Akk's house wall, and the ice cream shop promise. I found it the sweetest thing that Akk kept his promise to go to the shop with Theo and thus decided to wait to visit it together. The show did a great job of incorporating flashback scenes effectively. Each flashback brought a glimpse of the past just enough for the part of the story currently shown.

#2 Theo's reverse culture shock. I appreciate the show giving enough attention to the details regarding this issue. The post-arrival jetlag, the upset stomach because of the food, the shock due to crazy traffic, not being used to giving 'wai' to the seniors, and the loneliness. All were incorporated into the story smoothly. Theo had been away from Thailand for six years (if I remember correctly) after all. Culture shock is one thing. But reverse culture shock is another big deal, especially when your return was prompted by something unexpected. I could go on and on about this, but I'm going to focus on one thing: the loneliness that Theo feels. It was so easy to feel detached from other people or even our daily life once we touched down home. In Theo's case, I feel it was a good thing to have him locked out, which let him reunite with his neighboring childhood friend, Akk. The familiarity, the shared memories, and perhaps the lingering feelings that might have always been there helped them to quickly reacquaintance and be(best)friends again. Akk might not fully understand the reverse culture shock itself, but he understands Theo very well to help him overcome the shock with everything he got. The level of caring and protectiveness Akk had was really off the chart, and if I were Theo, I couldn't wish for a better (best)friend to rely upon.

#3 The secret loneliness. The center of this series was all that fuss about the Enchanté search. I don't want to spoil much about the plot, but everything was rooted in Theo's and, later, also Akk's loneliness. Their loneliness was specific to the absence of attention from the other. Here, I don't think the story had a miscommunication trope, but instead, the lack of communication between these two boys. It's not the kind of daily communication for practical understanding but the kind of heart-to-heart communication for acceptance and confession of the matter of hidden feelings. One thing that made me uncomfortable through the course of this story was knowing that Akk, for a duration of time, in a way, was made clueless about an important thing. But, of course, that comes with a forgiving nature that is very much Akk. In the last two episodes, some insecurity and internal crisis arcs happened, which might not be too necessary to add unless incorporated along with the Enchanté search arc. From the character growth aspect, these additions, unfortunately, served disadvantages, especially to Theo, and a bit to Akk. As the story centered on Theo, I felt like Akk did more work to address the loneliness (or was it longing) hanging between them. And so, at least to me, in this case, it was easy to empathize more with Akk.

#4 The acting of all casts is generally good, especially Force in portraying Akk. I love the changes in his mannerisms and micro-expressions whenever anything concerning Theo happens. Force made sure those expressions were delivered effectively that it caused me pain just watching him.

#5 The soundtrack and background music in this show are also one of my favorites, which I think were well incorporated throughout the scenes, emphasizing the arcs, also emotions and expressions involved. It helped ‘divert’ my attention from trying to guess Theo’s thoughts, as well as Akk’s feelings, on the whole Enchanté situation.

In short: I liked this show enough to finish it in two days, it gave me a comfort character that I would love to keep. It also has a certain type of cinematic aesthetic that speaks to my visual preference specifically. However, to be fair, from the story development, it doesn't make it to my personal top ten.

That said, I love Akk Itsara! It's nice to meet you 🤍

#enchanté #enchanté the series #enchante #enchante the series #akktheo #final thoughts #final thoughts: enchanté #*📝#i know am very late to this one show #but i guess i still need to put this out here #not very comprehensive and very akk-biased obviously

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tsuki-sennin · 2 years

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4 episodes in, and we still know nothing about the Jamato. But speaking of things we know nothing about, listen up, DGP fans! Our new crowd favorite, the Grizzly Pumpkin Man, the third goddamn bear, Kamen Rider Punkjack! He's teaming up with our good buddy Mary, so who lies beneath the mask?

-Oh, Keiwa has one of those phones that like double as card carriers?

-She's onto you, bro!

-"Oooooops, teehee, I fucked up, hahahaha"

-Oh hey, Michinaga

-Doing construction work with his bro Toru

-...oh...

-He's gone.

-His ideal world...

-Only five Riders remain to meet their challenge.

-Big house!

-I'd like to live in one like that.

-Oh my God, it's Ace's foxhole.

-Workers!

-"Oh hey, it's my bestest buddy in the whole wide world, Michinaga! How are you doing, Azuma-kun, my beloved pet buffalo?"

-House Fixer!

-Just like the Vanilla Ice Project!

-BIG SHOT!

-I'm sorry, every time I hear somebody say "BIG SHOT!" my brain just breaks

-I'm sure you understand, right?

-"It's the perk of being an epic gamer. Something infinitely beyond your reach, little scrublord."

-Holy shit Ace bhjkljbh

-I mean, Azuma's pretty justified in hating his attitude, so

-"Wanna be my house building cuck?"

-Ohhhhhh, that's why Punkjack's being brought in?

-J

-Jamato magicians?

-Round 3, let's go!

-Trump Jamatos, the best Jamatos, very good people. Absolutely huge hombres, would play golf with them at Mar-A-Lago all the time.

-Duo format!

-Besties!

-"If you both fail, you're both fucking dead <3"

-Ace just... instantly picks Neon, huh?

-Uh oh, looks like Michi's friends with Keiwa now~!

-Mary's got a Punkjack!

-Guess they would wanna be anonymous, considering

-Lootbox given!

-Claw Buckle! A gift for Na-Go!

-Not even gonna talk to him, huh Punkjack?

-Boost Buckle!

-This bitch just can't get away from Tanuki Boi!

-Point time.

-Man, Keiwa's been rockin' Armed Arrow non-stop.

-If I recall correctly, he literally just keeps getting the Boost and nothing else.

-HOLY SHIT BUFFA

-Just straight up shove the gun in him!

-Tactical break!

-I see... there's a whole 52 deck to each of them.

-Good job, everybody! Goose eggs! Across the board!

-Pistol whipping has been pretty effective so far, Keiwa.

Keiwa: Oh, you're a fight-happy little bitch, huh? Azuma: You got a problem with that? Keiwa: Ah, no sir, I'll just trade in your gun!

-Keiwa about to commit the biggest tactical error of all time.

-See, Neon's playing smart!

-I see... the buckles are like... hard programmed with certain compatibility advantages. I suspected as much, but it is interesting.

-Y'know, despite the Boost Buckle being so like... intrinsic to Geats, it seems to work perfect with just about anyone, if Na-Go's any indication.

-"Me, work together? Never."

-Aaaaand, off he goes!

-Ohhhh... the Zombie's important to him in other ways, huh?

-Ohhhhhhh... Ace, what did you do?

-Oh cool, a training lobby.

-NeonTV~!

-"Good enough."

-I love their DGP shirts.

-Jumping right in!

-"Hey wait Zombie Man, I was posing!"

-Oh god, this is the most inconvenient memory match game ever.

-Two Jammy Bois!

-"Start to finish... going for the highlight! You're gonna wanna clip this!"

-Dancing Stream feat. Ace Ukiyo!

-Paint balls!

-The fox and cat are winning.

-"Looooooooseeeeeer!"

-Desire Money!

-I'm just gonna call them D-Bucks if that's alright.

-Working shit out, huh Michinaga?

-"My only wish is to bring down assholes like you."

-The buffalo leaves the tanuki for the sheep.

-Ohhhhhh, he got the Boost!

-Tune in next week, Gamers! Round 3 will end in a spectacular climax!

-Gotta say, even if I'm not really saying anything super interesting so far, I'm very much enjoying myself. These characters are just kinda vibes, y'know?

#kamen rider geats #kamen rider #kr geats #geats spoilers #the world's next round: trick shot of desire for the grand victory

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stxleslyds · 3 years

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Jason doesn't show up in DC's animated series (though the does "spiritually" show up as Tim Drake in Season 2 of Batman the Animated Series).

Jason has a strong presence in the video games, though. So what is your opinion on Jason's characterization for Arkham Knight? He is a DLC for the Injustice games as well. Judy be warned that I did watch some clips of Arkham Knight and the torture was too gruesome for me.

RED HOOD IN VIDEO GAMES.

Hey there friend, thank you for the ask!

INJUSTICE 2.

I had to do some research on Red Hood’s appearances in the Injustice games because I was never really in touch with that story. Here is what I knew about it, there are two games for PC, one of them is Injustice and the other is Injustice 2, the games also have the comic books that give context/background to the lore of the game.

I used to play Injustice: Gods Among Us on mobile phone, and I had Jason as a playable character there, I also found out way too late that “Nightwing” wasn’t really Dick Grayson, it was Damian because he took on the mantle after he and the rock killed Dick in the comic (forever mad at that ridiculous death and the kinda scary art that comic had).

I looked for information about Red Hood’s backstory in wikis and all that because I refuse to read an alternate universe book written by Tom Taylor, there are things that I am just not willing to do.

All in all, I think that this Jason was in surface level, the same as his canon comic counterpart up until the time of his resurrection. Given that the world was at war and the League of Assassins wasn’t working openly, he and the others had to live in the shadows, he seems to have been trained proficiently by both Batman and the LoA so he is a very hardcore opponent. There are some bits of his story with Damian and a place called Gorilla City that I do not understand because I haven’t read the comics but I am fine without it.

The thing is that this Jason is pretty cool, he sticks to his morals and fights for what he believes is right, he doesn’t look like the kinda guy that takes sides in this war which is probably the best idea. Both Batman and Superman seem to be on the wrong side of history with they ideals.

What I did see and I loved eternally was the ending to Red Hood’s story, I will link the video here! But I will also copy and paste all that he says there because I think it’s really important and where I was able to see more of his characterization.

"That. Felt. Good. Titanium composite hollow point bullets with a C4 kicker. Fastest, most explosive ammo in the world. I made them myself. With the invasion over, Bruce and Superman started fighting again. I wasn't down with either of them. On the one hand, the Regime's right. Scumbag murderers and rapists deserve to die. But on the other hand, I'm no fan of government authority. Especially the dictatorial variety.

So, while the world's finest fight each other, I fight for the people. The weak. The innocent. Anyone who can't protect themselves. When they cry out for a saviour, I'll answer. As for the criminals that threaten them? They need to know that their actions have consequences. That the Red Hood is coming for them.”

This is excellent, I absolutely love this, this Jason knows his morals and doesn’t bow down to anyone and in the end, he is truly a hero to the people that need heroes the most.

Him saying that he believes that some criminals have to die but that he can’t really join Superman’s side because he cannot associate with it because he isn’t a fan of dictatorial ideas, I love this man.

I feel like this is a fair characterization for Jason, I believe that if something along the lines of what happens in Injustice happens in current continuity then Jason wouldn’t join any sides, he wouldn’t be neutral per se but he will fight for his own ideals. And his ideals in most universes are protecting people and I think that’s great. I love to see a world where Jason is seen as more intelligent and put together than the Batman.

Something that I find quite funny and interesting from this game is the dialogues that characters have with each other when they fight, I found this video compilation where you can see all the dialogues between Red Hood vs Robin (Damian Wayne), they are so fun and I love the animations too.

BATMAN: ARKHAM KNIGHT.

Oh, ArkhamVerse Jason, my beloved.

He is, to me, the epitome of this meme.

I have actually watched the whole game playthrough, several times, and Jason had a DLC as the Red Hood for that game (Nightwing has one too and I will talk about it later because I love this version of him). And, yes, the torture scene is very gruesome, it was incredibly sad and it made me feel bad. But I also think that they made it that way so it could support the kind of storytelling they were going for.

The reality is that this Jason suffered his whole life, and was constantly introduced to lifestyles that he never wanted to be part of. The world around this Jason wasn’t kind at all to him and there is a long list of people who did him wrong.

Although ArkhamVerse Jason didn’t die, like his comic counterpart did, he suffered the most. And his suffering really drove him to be the best version of an unhinged Jason Todd. But it’s clear, his brutality and murder intent isn’t laced with his Red Hood persona or at least not on the same level as it is with his Arkham Knight persona.

This Jason’s characterization works to perfection, but it only works that way because he was well developed within the game lore and the comics. This Jason was extremely well trained, he is probably the smartest version of Jason, his mind and his level of preparedness are unparalleled when it comes to other Jason Todd variants (a little MCU Loki talk right there).

I would go as far as to say that this Jason would be an excellent match to peak Dick Grayson from before New 52 in comics. Those two would clash so immensely, but man, it would be one hell of an intellectual and physical fight. Two Kings doing what they do best.

Anyway, for now take my word for how well characterized Jason is in the ArkhamVerse, I will make a post were I deep dive more on his character both in game and comics. There is so much to say about him, he is truly interesting and very complex.

Now, I will be a little cheeky and I will use this ask as an opportunity to talk about my man, ArkhamVerse Nightwing aka Pretty Boy.

I love him so much! In the game when you get to meet him (I will link the video here! it’s five minutes long, and worth the watch) you get to see both Nightwing’s and Dick’s personalities. Nightwing is fun and relaxed, he is a little bit cocky and doesn’t let Batman be a pain in his ass, he is truly a beast. Although he is never seen without the mask in a moment when he is alone with Bruce you can really see Dick’s personality shine through. He obviously has had issues with Bruce in the past but there is also this palpable respect coming from both of them to the other. Bruce wants to protect Dick but he acts like a jerk instead of telling him what is on his mind. Dick wants to help Bruce at all costs, he refuses to leave Gotham until they solve something that he was already working on before Bruce needed his help.

There is also this sort of goodbye scene between the two (I will link it here!) that is extremely sad because Dick doesn’t believe Bruce when he tells him that he is proud of him. Dick cuts him off just when Bruce was trying to open up and I think that scene speaks volumes about how rough their relationship was. Dick never finds out that Bruce was “dying” after being infected with the Joker’s blood/gas, so it’s very bittersweet.

There is also the Nightwing DLC, where we get to see Dick being the best of the best, he is so skilled and funny and smart. It is amazing how much this game made me love their Nightwing even though he doesn’t appear much, his dynamic with Penguin is just perfect, Dick literally makes Penguin’s life very difficult. All of the people working with Penguin kinda fear Dick a little bit, some of them are even impressed by his skills.

Oh and, when Nightwing gets captured at some point in the game, Penguin’s men are saying something along the lines of “I was sure Batman will come in” “how come?” “what’s tied up downstairs and getting the crap beat out of it?” “Oh yeah, Nightwing” and that is so true, if I were Batman, I will also risk my life for Nightwing.

I just love Nightwing, he makes me so happy! He is the best here!

Anyway, enough of me loving Nightwing uncontrollably, I will make a separate post where I only talk about ArkhamVerse Jason so, yeah, be ready for that one because I love that Jason too, he is hot.

#jason todd #red hood #arkham knight #dick grayson #nightwing #arkham games #injustice 2 #arkhamverse #asksss

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bopbopstyles · 4 years

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ROSE COLORED GLASSES: PART ONE

SERIES RATING: R (cursing, smoking, alcohol use, violence, PTSD, and sex)

WORD COUNT: 19.5k (long boi)

CATEGORIES: boxer!Harry, gang/mob!Harry, 1920s!Harry, Peaky Blinders!Harry (?)

As the daughter of the most powerful man in Birmingham, there were expectations of Cicely King: an advantageous marriage to save her father’s business, for one. But Cicely had never been one to follow orders. So when she woke up after an accident in the home of Harry Styles, the illusive boxer, she took it as an opportunity to escape her life. What she didn’t intend on was falling in love with him.

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | PART TWO

a/n: IT’S HERE!!!! Cicely and Harry dropped into my head and have lived in there rent free ever since. strap yourselves in for a ride, my friends! this story is hugely inspired by Peaky Blinders, and i willingly admit that characters and elements of the story resemble parts of PB, including Cicely’s appearance (Grace). thank you @hsogolden for making this beautiful banner, and thank you to @bfharry @harrysclementines @stellarboystyles and @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading this, ilysm!

historical notes: i’ve got a couple of things to alert the public of for this story. 1. this story is set in Balsall Heath, Birmingham, UK in 1920 or so, and i did as much research as possible on the area, but it is by no means all accurate. imagery and descriptions of the neighborhood are largely my own. 2. Church Hulme was the name of Holmes Chapel until 1974, so it is used in this story. 3. The Magnificent Ambersons is an actual book that was a bestseller in 1918. you can read it here.

without further adieu, here is part one of ROSE COLORED GLASSES - come talk to me about it in my asks! pls reblog and share with your friends 💕✨

The cool spring air swept around Cicely like a cloud, the hem of her skirt ruffling in the wind. She was miles from home, the landscape around her having turned to just rolling hills of green, just the way she liked it. Here, she could finally breathe. At home, all she could smell was fear and secrets, while here, out in the open, she was anyone and everyone. It was just her and Joseph, her beloved horse, on the empty road.

Father had told her it was going to rain when Cicely pushed her way out of the house, stomping away from him in anger at the news he had given to her, but she hadn’t given it a second thought. She loved rain, loved being caught in it and getting drenched, not minding the weight of the water on her skin. If anything, it made her finally feel something, even if it was cold. In hindsight, she probably should’ve thought twice about going out so far in the rain, Joseph being a bit skittish as he got older, but now here she was, having ridden over halfway between her estate and the city, and she could feel the droplets falling onto her blond coiffed hair that her maid, Polly, had done this morning.

She sighed and looked up at the sky—it was grey and angry, the wind swirling around her. It was going to be a downpour, she suspected. Joseph stopped when she pulled on the reins, and she considered whether she should turn for home or find somewhere to ride out the storm. It seemed to be coming soon, after all. She glanced around and there was just open space of hills and trees, but none large enough to provide any sort of suitable protection. Plus, she was closer to the city than home, anyways, so maybe it was better to just keep on going the direction she was heading. She could stay with friends in town if need be.

So she dug in her heels and Joseph continued, her urging him to go faster as the rain began to come down harder around her. It was like a curtain, the combination of the rain and the dark skies making it hard to see very far in front of her. The water licked down her face, and her chiffon blouse was sticking to her skin, the one her maid had made her promise not to get dirty, as it had just been mended for the second time. But she could make no promises—it was her favorite one, after all. And now, it would most definitely be ruined as dirt road beneath her turned to mud and it splattered Joseph and her clothes. She held fast though, wishing now more than ever that her father let her wear the new fashionable pants to let her ride more easily because side saddle was simply not cutting it at the speeds she was urging Joseph to achieve.

All of a sudden, a crack rang through the clouds, bolts of lightening littering the path far ahead. But the sound was enough for her to tense and Joseph to whinny, his front legs leaving the ground, her hold on the reins slipping as she was thrown from the saddle.

The last thing she remembered was the sight of Joseph taking off into the rain, saddle empty and reins flying around his body.

Harry could barely see in the storm, the downpour causing sheets of rain to fall on the windshield, his vision completely obscured. So he inched along as slowly as he could without endangering his ability to drive—or the car, since it was a gift from Josiah—and kept the headlights on full blast. He was exhausted after a weekend of fights in the town over, ones that left his body aching in ways he preferred to ignore. But he had a pocket full of earnings and he knew Josiah would be happy with that, so he paid it no mind.

He was running through the fights, thinking about the missteps and wrong moves he had made, spots for improvements, when he saw a girl lying down on her back in the mud a few feet in front of the car. He slammed on the brakes immediately. What the fuck was a girl doing out in a storm like this? When she didn’t move as he sat in the car, surveying the scene, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was dead. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had been killed on a road, left there to be found by the next car.

Slowly, he pulled himself out of the car, lifting his hand to shield the rain from his face. “Miss?” He called into the storm, eyes drifting over her body. She looked well to-do—her blouse seemed to be some type of lace material that the girls he knew were always fawning over, skirts bright and recently washed. What was she doing out here, alone and in the mud? And how had she gotten there?

He took a few paces closer to her, and she didn’t make a move when he brushed the hair away from her face. Hesitantly, he leaned down, an ear to her mouth to see if she was breathing—which she was, to his relief. She must be unconscious, although he could only begin to imagine how she had gotten that way. But Harry wasn’t the type to leave a young woman in need, alone on a dirt road in the middle of a storm. So he bent down, slid his aching arms under her body, and lifted her from the mud, cradling her against his chest as he walked back to the car.

She fit perfectly on his back seat when he tucked her knees in closer to her chest, blond hair draped over the seat. He grabbed his coat from the passenger side and draped it over her body, her skin cold to the touch from the rain. The thought crossed his mind of where he should take her—the police, perhaps? Or maybe a hospital? But Harry hated both of those establishments after years with Josiah. Plus, if she needed any protection, in town it was best if it came from Josiah anyway. The police were useless, a bunch of pompous assholes too big for their britches, Harry thought. And a hospital, Harry believed, was where people went to die not where they went to be healed. So he decided to take her to his flat, despite the fact that the prospect went against most principles he was raised on.

Although, everything Harry did went against his childhood principles.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was green peeling wallpaper. It wasn’t a wallpaper she recognized, and as she came to, looking around the room, she realized this was definitely not a place she had been before. Her heart seized as she inspected her surroundings. She was in a wire-frame double bed, a red duvet cover pulled around her shoulders, a soft light coming in the heavy curtains against a small window in the middle of the room. Clothes littered the floor—men’s clothes, from what she could tell—and a rug sat in the middle of the room amidst the chaos. An ashtray and the butts of cigarettes laid on the bedside table next to her, as well as a glass of water. Maybe it was a stupid choice, but her throat was raw and so she took the glass, gulping down the water without a second thought.

Faintly, she could hear the sound of a whistle. Tea, she realized. Someone was making tea.

Which meant she was not alone.

Her hands dove under the covers, inspecting the clothes on her body. Everything was still intact, her green skirt and the lace blouse she had put on, every button done up exactly as she had left it. She didn’t have her shoes on, but on closer inspection, they laid on the ground next to the bed, but her stockings were still clipped to her garter at least. A sigh left her mouth at the prospect of some semblance of safety in this foreign place.

She tried to remember what had happened last—she had been riding through a storm after a fight with her father. Then, there was a bolt of lightning, she thought to herself, piecing together the memories in her fuzzy brain, and then remembered Joseph bucking her from the saddle. She couldn’t keep herself on, so she let go, knowing that was better than being dragged along. The last thing she remembered was Joseph riding away, her lying in what she believed to be mud.

Which would explain the brown marks all over her clothes.

Polly was going to kill her for the stains.

The whistle she had heard earlier suddenly stopped, and she heard the thud of something. Then, a soft hum of a song she recognized from the gramophone her father had in the sitting room. After a few beats, she heard the sound of footsteps on the wood floors, the creak of the footsteps growing closer and closer. Someone was coming. She was going to finally discover who had picked her up off of the road and where she was—hopefully it was some nice old lady and she was in their son’s room.

But instead, a boy about her age stopped in the doorway, a cup of tea in his hand, wide eyes at the sight of her sitting up in bed. His brown hair was tousled in soft curls across his forehead, and just trousers, a shirt, and suspenders adorned his body, his feet bare. His shirt sleeves were pushed up and she could see tattoos on his arms, something she had never seen in person before, just in photographs and magazines.

He was, she thought to herself as he stood there in shock, quite handsome.

“You’re awake,” he finally said, voice croaking in his throat. “I—uh, sorry, would you like a cuppa?”

Cicely considered the question for only a beat before nodding. He seemed nice enough, judging solely from his embarrassed reaction to the croaky sound of his voice. The boy disappeared and she waited patiently in the bed, flexing her toes to bring some feeling back into her limbs. She wondered how much time had passed—it seemed to be daylight out, so maybe not much time at all.

The boy returned, a second tea cup balanced in his other hand, his face more serious and put together than before. “Here you are,” he said, making his way over to her, his presence instantly changing the feeling of the room. Before, it was small, but not too small. Now, with his large frame and dark eyes, it seemed as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the space.

“Thank you,” she replied, accepting the cup with cold hands. It was chilly in the room, probably from the draft coming in from the windows and her skirt which was still a bit damp in spots. The tea, though, was delicious on her tongue, plain, just how she liked it.

The boy grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and pulled it over to the edge of the bed before sitting down, eyes darting between the tea cup and her face. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Cicely.” She took another sip of the tea before resting it on her lap. “Is this your flat?”

“Yes,” Harry said, eyes glancing around the room. “My room too—sorry about that. It’s just me here, so I didn’t have anywhere else to put ya.”

So no wife or family then, Cicely thought, filing the information away for later. It was interesting, a boy of his age living alone. He must have moved away from home and made decent enough wages to get a place of his own, she decided, eyes fluttering around the room to see if she could pick up on any other clues about him. But she couldn’t find anything. “How did I get here?” She asked after leaving them in silence for a few moments, the curiosity getting the better of her.

Harry placed his teacup on the nightstand as he spoke, eyes avoiding hers. “Found ya in the road in the rain. Cold as ice and unconscious, all covered in mud. Didn’t want to leave ya out there, so I brought you here—thought I could take you home once you came to and all that. Call your husband.” He added the last sentence as an afterthought, and Cicely couldn’t help but smile internally at the thought of him thinking she was married.

Which she wasn’t. At least, not yet. And not for a while, if she had any choice in the matter. “No husband,” she informed him, thumbs brushing over the duvet. “How long have I been out for?”

He pulled his lip into his mouth and Cicely didn’t know if she had ever seen something so enticing. “Almost a day.”

A day? God, her father would have her head. He probably thought she was dead after she didn’t come home. Although it wouldn’t be the first time she had let him think that, her flair for escaping after an argument a reoccurring personality trait that her father despised. Which of course, was exactly why she did it. “I hope I wasn’t a bother,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Harry shook his head, and Cicely studied his face, the sharp angle of his jaw, the high rise of his cheekbones. He had a bit of scruff around his lips, which looked soft and pink and she tried not to think about what they would feel like. Cicely didn’t usually pay men all that much mind—sure she noticed them, but did she study every feature on their faces like she did Harry? No. She was intrigued by him, the rings on his fingers and the tattoos on his arms, the way he licked across his bottom lip. And perhaps that was why Cicely made no mention of needing to go, or that she should call her family.

“Are ya hungry?” Harry asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

At the concept of food, suddenly her stomach grumbled and she blushed, embarrassed at the sound, but Harry didn’t even react to it. “Yes, actually.”

He stood immediately, wiping his palms on his trousers as he did so. “I don’t have much here,” he said, taking their empty tea cups with him as she walked towards the door. “But I’ll put something together.” She watched him, unsure if he wanted her to follow. She was a bit curious as to what the rest of the flat looked like, she had to admit. “Ya comin’?”

Cicely scrambled to follow him, her stocking-clad feet nestling into the rug by his bed. Her skirt was crinkled from sleep and she straightened it as much as possible before sighing and exiting the room and into the hall. When he turned down a set of stairs, she realized that what she thought to be a flat was actually a little townhouse. When she reached the base of the stairs, she found that the rest of the home wasn’t much—dimly lit, only one other window in what seemed to be a small sitting room and a kitchen. A table was pushed to the side, two chairs tucked into it, a plate with crumbs on it sat on one side. The green wallpaper from the bedroom covered all of the walls of the home, and when she looked around, she saw a noticeable absence of most personal effects. He had only one photo up on the side table next to the couch, of what Cicely assumed was his family. Next to it laid another ashtray, a pack of cigarettes, an empty whiskey glass.

At the sound of a plate on the counter she turned to see Harry placing a slice of bread on a plate and tenderly spreading jam across it. Cicely tried to imagine her father even entering a kitchen and she had trouble with the idea, while here was Harry making her a slice of toast. The thought was actually quite endearing, despite the fact that Harry had not once smiled at her.

“Thank you,” she said when he set the plate down on the table, grabbing the dirty one and taking it to the washbasin in the corner. Harry didn’t reply, so she took a bite. The jam wasn’t quite as good as what she was used to and the bread was a tad bit stale, but it was food all the same, and she didn’t mind all that much. As she ate, she watched Harry wash the plate, dry it with a dishrag, and place it back in a cabinet that held a few dishes.

He turned around when he was done, eyes trained on her with an intensity she was beginning to grow accustomed to from him. “I have work in a bit. Can I drop you someplace before that?”

Should he? Yes. Did she want him to? Not in the slightest. She pushed away the plate, and tried to figure out how to say this. “Would it be a bother if I stayed?”

Harry blinked at her a few times, his face finally changing from the usual intense stare that he gave her to one that was more curious in nature. “Is home not safe for ya?”

Cicely tried to decide whether or not she should lie to him. He seemed kind, generous, probably understanding, despite his inability to speak to her for very long periods of time without stretches of silence. Maybe he would understand that her desire not to go home wasn’t because home wasn’t safe, but because the life that was waiting for her was one she despised. So, she decided not to lie, but not to tell all of the truth. “No, it is. I’m just not eager to go back right now.”

“Oh.” Harry twisted a large gold H ring around one of his fingers, contemplating her words, before looking back up at her. “If ya want to stay, ya can. Know what it’s like to wanna hide for a bit.” Before she could request more information, he came towards her, snatching the plate and taking it back to the sink. He seemed to be awfully set on a clean kitchen, despite the messy state of his room. “You’ll have to come with me tonight, then.” He still had his back to her, so she couldn’t study his face as he said the words that piqued her interest.

Most girls would have probably requested to stay home, but Cicely wasn’t most girls. “Ok,” she replied, pushing back the chair. “Could I—uh—wash up somewhere?” The prospect of a bath sounded utterly delectable, although on second thought, she didn’t expect him to have a bath quite like the one she had at home.

Harry whirled around, eyes looking everywhere but her. “Yes. Um, there’s a basin in the washroom. Don’t have the water for a full bath right now, but…”

Cicely realized what he was so flustered about—he was embarrassed. Perhaps he had realized that her social station was a bit higher than his, that in her home they didn’t have to go fetch water somewhere, that she could have a bath relatively whenever she liked. And when she did it, someone else filled it for her. “That’s fine. I’ll manage.” She stood and made her way towards the washroom, following his directions, and shut herself inside. It was dark in there too—far less than she was used to. A silver bathtub was on one wall, and a smaller basin on a pedestal, a toilet in the corner. It was simple, bare bones, but she didn’t mind too much. Her father had put in running water when she was an infant, so she had never washed without it, but she decided it wasn’t too much of a change.

Quickly, she undressed, making sure the door was locked, and hung her clothing over the lip of the bath so it didn’t touch the floor. She took a rag and dipped it into the water, exhaling softly at the feeling of the cool water on her skin. There was some mud on her skin from when she had fallen, although she thought that perhaps Harry had washed some of it off—there wasn’t quite as much as she thought. A small mirror allowed her to wash the crust of mud from her forehead, and by the end of her washing she felt rejuvenated, even if it wasn’t a proper bath. Slowly, she slipped back on her clothes and considered for a moment the idea that she might need to purchase some more. Her clothes were stained from the mud, and she imagined she wouldn’t quite be able to get it out.

Although it would’ve been convenient, she didn’t imagine Harry had extra ladies clothes lying around for just this purpose.

She ruffled her hair slightly, the curls unfortunately having dropped for the most part, and sighed before letting herself out of the washroom. “Harry?” Cicely asked, turning the corner into the kitchen, where he stood, holding a glass of what she thought was a whiskey, a cigarette between his lips. “You wouldn’t happen to have a set of ladies’ clothes lying about, would you?”

Harry furrowed his brow before taking the cigarette from between his lips. “No—why?”

Cicely gestured at her stained clothes. “Mine are a bit dirty, and I wouldn’t want to wear them to your place of work like this.”

The chuckle that left Harry’s lips surprised Cicely in more ways than one. One, that he was laughing at all, for she didn’t find it to be a laughing matter. She didn’t want to make a bad impression to whoever his employer was, especially if she was going to have to be there. Second, his laugh was sweet, syrupy, one that rocked his shoulders, and made her heart flutter in a way she wasn’t used to. “You wouldn’t want to wear your Sunday best to my place of work, love,” he told her, tapping his cigarette in an ashtray on the table. “You’re fine the way ya are, but we can track down some clothes for ya tomorrow.”

Where would he work where her appearance would be adequate? But rather than question him, she just nodded. “Well, I’m ready,” she told him.

“Gimme a mo’,” he told her, tucking his cigarette back between his lips before heading out of the room. Cicely decided to check out the sitting room a bit more, investigate the people in the sole photograph in the whole home. She picked up the photograph and studied it, a man, woman, and young woman, probably a few years older than Harry, stood outside of a family home, a younger Harry nestled between them. It was curious to see him younger, his face less defined, an obvious softness to his facial features. But what stuck out to her the most was the uniform he wore.

He had been in the war. Of course. Her father had avoided it because of a years old injury to his leg, although she had secretly always throught he had gotten his doctor to make it seem more severe than it actually was. Many of the men her parents had set her up with, including the horrid one they were currently trying to force her to marry, were in the war, but when she asked them about it, they only talked about their medals, heroism, the beauty of France’s countryside. But she also knew most of them had been officers, their social ranks earning them a certain level of protection, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it had been like for Harry who had none of those privileges.

Footsteps came from behind her and she turned, dropping the photograph back to the table when she saw Harry in the hall watching her. He had changed while she was looking at the photo, a charcoal jacket over his shirt, a pin with a J on it buttoned to the lapel that she thought was a bit curious. He had a bag over his shoulder, and she wondered what was inside. “You were in the war,” she said, not acknowledging his appearance.

“Just like everyone else,” he replied, his response a stark departure from how the men she knew would’ve replied. “Come on, we’re goin’ to be late.” She followed him out, wishing she had a hat or a small purse with her at the very least, but she had nothing but her dirty clothes and scuffed boots.

When they stepped onto the street, the sight of a wide and long street, row houses lining each side met her gaze. They were in working class Birmingham, she thought to herself as Harry locked the door behind him. Most men would’ve made to put their arm through hers, but not Harry—he just began walking, letting her catch up to him, struggling to keep pace with his longer legs. His bag swung at his side as they walked, and Cicely took in their surroundings, the silence stretching between them. It was dusk and women were calling their children inside, the games of football on the street breaking up. Two young children squabbled until their mothers separated them, tugging their little hands inside. Doors shut behind them and Cicely snuck a glance at Harry. His eyes were trained on the ground in front of him, most likely adjusted to their surroundings.

He didn’t want to talk, she understood from his body language, and she decided in a choice completely against her normal mannerisms, not to push him.

Cicely didn’t know what she expected from Harry’s place of work, but it was definitely not a boxing ring in an empty warehouse. She could hear the shouts and laughter of men from outside, and she had looked at Harry with confusion written all over her face when they approached the warehouse, but she followed him inside anyways. The smell of stale beer and sweat overwhelmed her immediately, and she had to squint in the darkness of the entryway. The ring had some lights rigged up around it, some chairs around it, but it was by no means someplace fancy.

So this was what Harry had meant by her not wanting to wear her Sunday best.

“You work…here?” She asked, turning to Harry, who stood beside her, watching her take in the surroundings. He nodded, offering no additional information. “And you box?” Another nod. “Is this legal?”

That’s when he gave another one of his chuckles, and then under his breath he said, “Doesn’t need to be, love. Josiah McClemmons runs it.”

Cicely may not live in Birmingham proper, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know who Josiah McClemmons was. Everyone did. He basically ruled Birmingham, especially the working class neighborhoods, having built up his stronghold there. Her father complained about him at least once a week, about the violence and bloodshed in the city where his garment factories were. Although, Cicely had always thought to herself, her father probably shouldn’t complain too much because a dead husband meant a wife who had to work to feed her children, which meant a larger workforce for her father.

From the way Harry was greeted, Cicely assumed he was the reigning champion, the usual fighter here. Which meant that he was probably McClemmons’s payroll, if she had to extrapolate. “Do you work for McClemmons?” She asked when the few men who had come up to them walked away.

Harry adjusted the bag over his shoulder, and then nodded. “Could say that.” His eyes darted around the establishment, taking in the sight, before resting back on her. “C’mon, I’ve got to get changed and don’t want ya waitin’ out here.” He ushered her over to a man standing against a wall who wore a J pin on his lapel like Harry, which she now realized stood for Josiah’s name, a brand of who they worked for. “Tommy,” he said, the man’s gaze turning and settling on them. “This is Cicely. Keep an eye on her while I change?”

Tommy stood up straight immediately and when he took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to it, Cicely couldn’t help but smile. “Pleasure to meet such a beautiful lady,” Tommy said to her, a wink gracing across his face.

When she turned to speak to Harry, he was already gone, a few paces away towards a door. “Is he good?” She asked Tommy, turning back to her new acquaintance.

Tommy’s eyes widened. “The best,” he informed her before taking a sip from a mug of what she assumed was beer. “You’re in for a treat if you’ve never seen ‘im fight ‘fore.”

Cicely agreed, the prospect of a sweaty Harry in the ring a bit more enticing than she perhaps wanted to admit. She was able to get some information on Harry out of Tommy, the combination of a pretty girl and a mug of beer not a combination meant for secrecy. He fought with Josiah McClemmons’s youngest brother in the war, the experience making them nearly brothers, and came back to Birmingham with them. No one knew where Harry was from, but people had a number of guesses, everything from London to Liverpool. Apparently before the war he had been learning to fight, and the war sharpened his skills, so when they came back it seemed natural that Josiah would use the rings as a way to make money, using Harry as his prized fighter.

She couldn’t help but think it made Harry sound a bit like the Spanish bulls she had learned about in a magazine, a caged animal. But Tommy assured her Harry loved it when she asked, so she tried to put her mind at ease.

“Who is he fighting?” She asked Tommy after refusing his offer for a beer of her own.

“Peters—a local bloke,” Tommy replied. “Harry’s expected to win.”

Cicely gathered as much from the grumblings of his name that she could hear when the betting started, money flying in the air. It was fascinating to her, and she thought that she also fascinated the men—she was the only woman in the room and she tried not to squirm against the wall she leaned against.

But then, she heard a cry go up, and Harry’s opponent came out of a door, trailed by two men. “He’s massive,” she told Tommy as she watched the man walk to the ring.

Tommy grunted in response. “Harry’s fast, though.”

She hoped he was fast enough. Peters crested the ring, pushing himself between the ropes. One of his men handed him some gloves and Cicely watched as he pulled them on, his massive chest glistening under the gas lighting.

All of a sudden, a louder cry sounded, whoops and hollers of Harry’s name, and her gaze flickered to the door she had last seen him go into. There he was, walking towards the ring, a determined look set on his face. Tattoos littered his body and Cicely realized the few she had seen were a mere teasing of the real deal. And seeing Harry without a shirt on, his broad shoulders and narrow waist, tanned skin in the light, she couldn’t help but think he was even more attractive than she had thought.

A man helped Harry into the ring, and when he stood up, she caught sight of tape covering where his nipples should be. What in the world? She turned to Tommy and pointed at Harry. “What is the tape for?”

Tommy guffawed immediately, beer sloshing in his mug. “He’s got ‘em pierced.”

“What?”

She expected Tommy to tell her he was joking, but instead he nodded. “Got ‘em done durin’ the war, apparently. Some dare from his mates. Now he’s gotta have ‘em taped up or they’ll get ripped out.”

Cicely truly didn’t have the words for a response to that. She turned back to the ring, eyes set on the two pieces of tape over each of his nipples, entranced by the idea of them being pierced. She had heard rumors from her friends of ladies getting them done, but men? Why on earth would they want them done? She had never understood it on women, but the prospect of them on men completely confounded her imagination. Although, her best friend had told her it made them more sensitive, so perhaps that worked on men as well.

The thought was tantalizing at the very least.

“Sure ya don’t want a beer, love?” Tommy asked.

She had grown to quite like his company. He was a bit crude, but for some reason she liked that he didn’t treat her like she was made of glass like most of the men she knew. Her gaze darted between Harry, standing in the ring, and Tommy’s mug. “You know what? Sure.”

Tommy beamed. He was overjoyed at the idea, and Cicely was as well. She had never actually had beer before, just sips of champagne and wine here and there when she snuck it from her parents or during parties. But nothing as normal as beer—she didn’t even think her father drank it, to be honest. Perhaps that was why the idea was so exciting to her. Tommy left her on her own for a few minutes and she tried not to let the stares that still lingered on her bother her. Instead, she watched Harry, listened to the announcer, some chap in a jacket and askew flat cap, read out their names and weights. The part about Harry being the reigning champion stuck with her.

Cicely had never seen a boxing match before. Sure, she had heard of them, but actually been to one in person? Never. And much less one that was definitely illegal and held in a warehouse, a bunch of drunk men betting and still in their work uniforms. It made her heart race and she liked the feeling—usually she just got it when she rode Joseph, who she hoped had gone home to her estate.

“Here ya are.” Tommy had reappeared, a full mug of beer in his other hand for her. “Got ya somethin’ my sister likes.”

Cicely took the mug. It was heavy, heavier than she was expecting. Would she even be able to drink it all? She stared at the murky brown liquid, the foam on top, and then up at Tommy who she could tell was stifling a laugh. Fuck it, she thought. And took a long sip. It wasn’t as bad as she expected. Sour, sure, but it was also refreshing. A bit heavy, and considering she had only eaten some toast today, that wasn’t a negative thing. “It’s not bad,” she told Tommy, who gave her a grin in response.

She was about to say something else when she heard a bell sound—she had been so focused she had missed the start of the match. Whirling around, the first thing she saw was Peters’ arm fly through the air. The breath knocked from her chest at the possibility of Harry getting hit, but to her pleasant surprise he ducked it completely, feet helping him to move away from his attacker. The crowd cheered and Cicely took another sip, the action of having the drink in her hand helping calm her nerves as she watched Harry dance around Peters, ducking at every punch. She could see the frustration in Peters’ eyes, and the focus in Harry’s eyes making her scream out his name along with the men in the room.

She could feel Tommy’s eyes on her as she did it. She didn’t even need to look at him to know that surprise was written all over his face. If Cicely was going to be at a boxing match for the first time in her life, drinking her first beer, she was going to enjoy it. And watching Harry take a swing—and make contact—at Peters was exactly the excuse she needed to scream his name again.

The match passed quickly, and by the end of it Cicely had reached the end of her beer and her and Tommy were laughing at the fear in Peters’ eyes as Harry’s punches landed. He was winning by a long shot, and she had to admit, she was proud. During the whole match she had barely been able to take her eyes off of him, gaze trained on the sweat dripping down his cut body, his broad shoulders and tattooed skin glistening. His hair was stuck to his forehead and neck with sweat, and for some reason she had the innate desire to twirl it off of his forehead and see what he did.

She also desperately wanted to see his nipples without the tape.

Desperately.

He was beautiful in the ring, his steps almost like choreography she had learned as a child to all of the dances she had to know for parties. Except Harry looked like a natural up there, his body moving before Peters made the move, as if he could read his opponent’s mind, his reflexes faster than anything she had ever seen before. She had a million questions for him the minute he stepped out of the ring, but the first thing she wanted to was clean the blood off of his body—blood which was a mixture of Harry’s and Peters’.

The end of the match happened so quickly that Cicely barely caught it. One minute, Harry was boxed into a corner, his arms up to protect his face, and the next, he was throwing a powerful punch to Peters’ face, the sound of bone crunching at Peters hit the ground so loud she could hear it over the men yelling in the ring. The announcer counted and she watched Harry’s chest rise and fall, his breathing ragged. Everyone else was staring at Peters, but her eyes were glued on Harry. And then, his lifted to her, their sight lines catching from across the room, and she could’ve sworn she saw him smile at her.

As much as she wanted to rush to the side of the ring as many people did, she waited where she was. She knew Harry would come find her eventually, since she was sleeping in his home, as weird as that sounded in her brain. So she turned to Tommy while she waited, her bones feeling light in her body. “He’s good,” she said, her words slightly slurring. Huh. That was weird.

“Told ya!” Tommy replied, taking her mug from her. “Forgot to ask you, love, how do you know our fighter?”

Her eyes trailed across the room to Harry, who she noticed was making his way towards them, a towel draped around his neck. “He saved me,” she said, watching his body flex as he moved. And her words were true, but in that moment she didn’t know quite how true they were. Only later, would she look back on the moment she met Harry and consider how he had changed her life by picking her lifeless body up on that dirt road in the middle of a storm.

Harry had fought the desire to look at Cecily throughout the match, and now that he was done he couldn’t stop. She looked so relaxed, leaned against the wall with Tommy laughing, her blond hair messy and her eyes bright. It was if his feet were carrying him towards her without a second thought, weaving through the crowd of sweaty drunk men in pursuit of the girl made of light. The closer he got, though, the more he noticed how she stumbled on her feet, how rosy her cheeks were, how loud she laughed.

Fuck.

Tommy had gone and gotten her drunk. Tommy might have been Harry’s friend, but that didn’t make him the smartest bloke in a room.

As he reached them, she took an uneasy step and Harry was there immediately. His hands fit around Cicely’s waist like it was the place he belonged, the lingering smell of perfume in his nostrils before he could clear the fog of his mind. “Ya okay, love?” The words slipped from his mouth, the pet name he had never called a single woman before just finding his way into his speech, as if his brain knew that she was special. He sure thought so.

Cicely turned her head, her gaze catching his and a smile broke across her face. “Harry! You were incredible!”

“Thank you,” he replied, gingerly removing his hands despite the fact that all he wanted was to hold onto her hips for the rest of time. “Tommy, did you give her beer?”

“He did,” Cicely answered instead, a hiccup escaping her mouth. She rushed to cover her lips, a blush creeping across her cheeks at the sound. “It was quite tasty.”

“I’ll bet,” Harry said, giving Tommy a hard look that Tommy only shrugged at. “I’ve got to change and get you home,” he told her, processing the situation here. Although he trusted Tommy with his life, in this moment he didn’t trust him not to give Cicely more beer.

Before he could say anything though, Cicely was speaking, her fingers brushing across his arm. The feeling sent sparks up his spine, delicate compared the touches he was used to, the ones he had just experienced. Her fingers weren’t callused, but soft, as if she hadn’t seen a day of work in her life. Which she probably hadn’t. “Can I come with you?” She asked, eyes on his, a slight pout on her lips that drew his gaze in no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

“While I change?”

She nodded. “I’ve got some questions about the match that I want to ask you.”

Harry glanced at Tommy who he could tell was barely holding back a laugh, a grin on his face that told Harry he would never hear the end of this exchange. “Fine,” Harry told her, the word coming out gruff. “Tommy, I’ll see you later.”

Cicely slipped her fingers around Harry’s wrist as he stepped away, and he tried to resist the immediate urge that came over him to rip them off, the touch something he hadn’t experienced in ages. The feeling of a woman’s hands on him was one of the things he had not indulged in when he came back from France, preferring drink and alcohol to drown the memories in. The prospect of one of them experiencing him at night, while he slept, was enough to make him frightened enough to avoid the concept.

So when Cicely touched Harry, even in the simplest of ways, it stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. Something that he hadn’t experienced since before his life changed, since before he saw men die in front of him, his friends lose limbs and call out for their mothers in their final moments. He had always thought that his ability to feel had died on the battlefields of France, but with Cicely’s fingers on his skin, perhaps he was wrong.

She didn’t remove them, either, as they moved through the throngs of men. When they reached the hallway that led to the room where he got dressed, though, he had no reason to let her continue touching his skin. So he wrenched his hand from her grip, as much as he wanted to let her touch every inch of his skin if she could continue to make him feel something again.

“I need to wash off,” he said when he shut the door behind them. “Wait over there.” He pointed to a couch in the corner of the room. Usually it was an office of some kind, but for Harry it was his dressing room. A basin of water sat on a table, cold and full, and he was itching to wash his sweat-coated skin. Surprisingly, Cicely followed his directions, and so he turned to the basin, using a rag to rinse off his skin, the feeling of the cold water like heaven on his pores.

“When did you learn to box?”

His head perked up at her voice. He could barely see her in the dimly lit room, but the outline of her was enough, her legs thrown over the arm of the couch in a complete unladylike way. “I was sixteen.” He surprised himself with his honesty, but in the room with just Cicely, for some reason he let a piece of his past slip through.

“Do you like it?”

The question had Harry pause. Did he like it? He cupped some water and ran it through his hair, the sound of the water dripping into the basin filling the silence between them. “It’s a job,” he told her simply. It was the best answer he had. He didn’t really have the luxury of considering whether or not he liked his job. It paid the bills and earned him a reputation that meant no one tried to talk to him, which was all he wanted. After France, all he wanted was to be left alone, save for a select few.

He was focused on his thoughts and the murky water in front of him that he didn’t see Cicely move from her position on the couch. Suddenly, she was there, her fingers dancing across his back that faced her. “Hand me the basin,” she said, voice firm in his ears.

Harry considered fighting her, but his body exposed him. His body craved her touch on his skin, and so he slid the basin to the side so she could reach it. The rag was wrung, and then she was brushing it over his back, reaching the places he couldn’t reach. He could smell her perfume, the faintest taste of beer on her tongue as she breathed lightly in his ear, the traces of jam on her breath from the food he had given her hours before. It made his fists clench against the table and he hoped she didn’t notice.

They stayed that way, Cicely brushing the rag across his skin, wiping away his sins from the night. Her fingers brushed a cut once or twice and he hissed, stopping her in her tracks. She halted her motions each time and wrung out the cloth with fresh water, cleaning the wound with a delicate touch he had never felt. She murmured how they needed alcohol when they got home, how she needed to properly clean the wound. It was something his mother would’ve told him, he thought to himself, a thought he quickly pushed aside as he clenched his jaw.

“Turn around,” she said, voice so quiet he barely heard it above their breathing.

And Harry did as she said. She had made him pliant under her touch, his desperation not to let her stop clouding his ability to speak. His bum pressed against the table and his eyes caught hers in the dim lighting, the gaze that passed between them making Harry stop breathing for a second. But when she brushed the cloth over a bruise, the wince that fell from his lips drew him from his fog.

The rag criss-crossed his body, covering the area he had already cleaned, but he didn’t stop her. It was only when her fingers brushed over the tape across his nipples that his hand shot up, grabbing her wrist and halting her movement. But her eyes zeroed in on him, a determined look in her eyes that made him pause. “Let me see them.” Her words were gentle, but firm.

That made him release her hand, and he sucked in a breath and she pulled the tape from his nipples, the air on his sensitive skin making his stomach clench. He stood there under her gaze as she looked at him, the bars through each nipple that he had gotten on a dare. At first, he had been embarrassed of them, regretted them because they hurt like hell and scratched against his uniform. He considered getting them removed, or just ripping them out, but each time he paused. Paused just enough to let the thought pass, and his best friend’s voice entered his mind. “Who gives a fuck, anyways?” And that was the voice that made him keep them.

Now, it was too late to turn back. He was a boxer and the moment he stepped into the ring with taped nipples, it became something he was known for. The stories circled, tall tales that made Harry chuckle to himself, but he never told the truth. He liked the mystery around them. They became a sort of badge of honor, something that set him apart.

But he had never experienced a woman’s gaze on them, and he couldn’t help but fear her reaction. Would she be disgusted? Ridicule him?

Cicely, though, just looked at them, and then up at his face. “What do they feel like?” She asked tentatively.

It was a question he had never been asked before, actually. And one he didn’t quite know how to answer, because after two years with them they had become normal to him. “They heighten everything,” he replied honestly. It was about the only answer he could give.

This seemed to pique her interest. “Can I touch them?”

Fuck yes, his body screamed, desperate for her fingers on the most sensitive part of his body. His gaze zeroed in on hers, searching her eyes for a hint of a possibility she would ridicule him. But instead he found just genuine curiosity. And perhaps a hint of desire. So, he told her, “Yes.”

When her fingers grazed the bars, her warm touch on the cold metal that ran under his skin, he tried not to flinch, but it was difficult. Her touch was like a lightning bolt through his body, setting every one of his nerves on fire. Holding in the desire to moan was one of the hardest things he had done, and as she touched the other, fingers curiously exploring his skin, it became more difficult. And then she whispered, “I like them.”

Harry’s eyes snapped from where her fingers touched his skin to her eyes, and he found her already looking at him. He watched her lick across her top lip, the flush to her cheeks and wide eyes that stared at him making his body boil. It was too much. He pulled away, desperate for space, for something to allow himself to calm down.

Cicely must have sensed the change in his demeanor, because she immediately stepped back, the rag dropping into the basin of dirty water. Sweat, grime, and blood all mixed together and Harry thought as he looked at his reflection in the water that a mixture had never described him more.

“Let’s go, I need to eat,” Harry said, bending to grab the shirt from his bag on the floor.

Cicely didn’t reply with anything but a nod, and when he had laced his boots she followed him out of the room. The warehouse had emptied out, just some of Josiah’s boys around to help direct the cleanup. Harry knew he’d stop by the office tomorrow to get his cut of the winnings, so he didn’t bother to stick around. Instead, he pushed open the front doors and led Cicely out into the nighttime Birmingham breeze of coal and horse shit.

Cicely awoke to the sound of someone moaning and talking. Her eyes blinked to adjust to the darkness in Harry’s bedroom, her mind taking a second to gather her bearings and remember where she was. Then she heard the sound, something that resembled an injured animal, the edge of fear and pain that made her skin crawl. Last night Harry had given her one of his shirts to sleep in after she said she wanted to wash her clothes and leave them out for the night, and the cotton material bunched under her thighs and she swung them over the edge of the bed. She paused to see if she heard the sound again.

This time, a scream ripped through the house, and Cicely knew something was wrong. She pulled open Harry’s door and moved through the hall, eyes searching to see if she saw anyone, but it was empty. And then she heard it again, and this time without the barrier of a wall, she could tell who it was.

It was Harry.

Her feet didn’t bother to avoid the creaks on the stairs as she moved down the stairs to where he was asleep on the couch. The only light was the faintest bit from the moon, high in the sky, and it was just enough to make out the pained expression on Harry’s face and the thrashing of his body on the couch. He was talking to himself, something about the dark and the word No repeated over and over again, his voice cresting in panic.

It was a nightmare, she realized as she crouched next to him on the floor.

“No, please, it’s too dark, please—“

“Harry,” she said firmly, hands reaching out to grip his wrists to hold his arms to the couch cushions underneath him. “Harry, wake up.”

His eyes didn’t open though, and his body only trashed more under her. She didn’t know what to do, how to wake him up. The only thing she could think of was how when she was scared it helped when she felt safe. She didn’t know what made Harry feel safe, but for her, it was when her mother held her. So carefully, she lifted Harry’s shoulders, trying to avoid his arms trashing as she did so. Once she was seated on the couch she tugged him into her, letting her arms wrap around his chest and pin down his arms.

She murmured his name over and over again, softly in his ear to try and rouse him from the dream. “It’s Cicely,” she told him, “You’re safe, Harry, you can wake up. Wake up, Harry, you’re safe.” With their bodies this close she could feel his heartbeat, the way it raced in his chest. What was he experiencing? Where was he? She wanted to rouse him, pull him out of it and bring him back to her, but she was powerless.

After a few tries, she saw his eyes flutter open, his arms immediately trying to himself free from her grip.

“It’s me,” she said softly. “Hey, hey, it’s me.”

“Cicely?” His voice was rough from the screaming and it broke her. It was raw in a way she hadn’t heard from him, honest and open. Nothing protecting him from her.

She could feel his heartbeat slowing already, and the thought put her at ease. “Yes.”

He didn’t say anything for a few beats, and Cicely just ran her hand up and down his back, hoping to calm him as much as she could. His breath was ragged, big inhales of air and deep exhales, but it was becoming more normal as time passed. “I—I’m sorry,” he eventually said, voice small in the room.

But he had nothing to apologize for, Cicely thought to herself. The last thing he should do is apologize—it’s not his fault. “It’s okay,” she told him earnestly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

That made him pull away from her arms, her skin immediately missing his. Her arms fell to her side and Harry sat up, swiveled, and laid his face in his hands. “No,” is all he told her, not even lifting his head.

She didn’t know what he needed from her in that moment, but she knew she would do anything. Somehow she had only known this boy for a day, and yet the sight of his pain made her heart break. “Do—do you want me to stay?” It was the only thing she could think of to help, and if it would work then she would do it.

But he shook his head. He didn’t want her there. And the last thing she would do is push him after what had just transpired, so she stood, the hem of his cotton shirt reaching an unladylike mid-thigh. When he finally looked at her, she saw that he noticed, his eyes falling to the place where the material ended and her skin began. She tugged at it, hoping he didn’t judge her—she didn’t exactly stop and think about getting dressed, she just moved. “I…”

“Looks good on ya,” he said, words reverberating in Cicely’s mind.

She stood there, as still as stone, trying to figure out what to say to him. No man had ever seen her like this, and she had always been taught that they shouldn’t. And yet, the idea of Harry seeing her exposed legs, her hair messy from sleep, her in his shirt, it didn’t bother her in the slightest. So she didn’t disguise the blush that she could feel in her cheeks, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Try and get some sleep,” she told him, and then she turned away, heading up the stairs and back to his room.

When she looked back from the third stair, Harry’s eyes were transfixed on her figure, gaze locked on her. For a moment, she held it, letting him watch her, but then she turned her head and went the rest of the way up the stairs, leaving Harry behind in the darkness.

Harry didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

The prospect of having the dreams again (although he got them most nights) and Cicely waking up again was too frightening a thought for him to allow himself to go to sleep. Instead, he ended up having a glass or two of whiskey in the wee hours of the morning, smoking too many cigarettes on the doorstep, and thinking. His thoughts revolved around Cicely, weaving in and out of the snatches of moments they had spent together—of which there were few—and the bits he knew about her. Which was very little. He didn’t even know her last name, where she was from, or why on Earth she was out in the middle of a rainstorm, lying on her back in the mud. He hadn’t asked, not wanting to make her uncomfortable or push her to talk, because he had this feeling that she was more than some spoiled rich girl.

The fact that she was rich was an assumption on his part, but one he felt was probably right. First, there were her clothes, which were nicer than any he had seen a girl around here wear, boots that looked like they were new, unscuffed. Then there was the way she looked at his neighborhood—as if she had never seen something like it before. When she had walked out of his room and into the rest of the house, he had had the fleeting thought that perhaps he should be embarrassed, and at moments he was. But as they spent more time together, he began to get the feeling that even though Cicely may not be used to the way he lived, she didn’t seem to care all that much.

It intrigued him, the way she looked at his world. The way she had watched him during the match, the feeling of her eyes on his skin something he couldn’t shake, the way she had adapted to Tommy like a chameleon, blending in with ease. The way she had slid into the booth at the pub last night where they had eaten a late meal, complete disregard for the fight breaking out in the corner, her focus only on him and their meal. He kept expecting her to fit into the mold he had created for her, but she continued to slip away. And he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

Or the fact that she seemed to want to stay. When she had asked him if she could stay, and she said she didn’t want to go home quite yet, he immediately jumped to the worst of conclusions. That her father hurt her, that something had happened, and she was running from a past as dark as his. But then he reminded himself that she had money, wealth, status. Problems like the ones he knew didn’t exist in their world. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to cast her in a mold of wealth and opulence he had read about and encountered on a handful of occasions, people who used people like him and tossed them aside when they had had their fill. But the world wasn’t fair.

He flicked his cigarette butt into the street, the sounds of horses and distant rumble of cars, clap of house doors as men left for work telling him that the day was beginning. It was time for him to see Josiah and pay a visit to Nellie, who he hoped wouldn’t slam a door in his face. Inside, Cicely was still asleep—he couldn’t hear any footsteps from upstairs—so he decided to dart out while she was still sleeping. With any luck, he’d be back before she awoke.

The walk to Josiah’s offices was a well-remembered one, the row houses, shipyards and factories he passed old friends. He waved to the children he passed on their way to work or school, and nodded to the men he knew from matches or Josiah. He lived deep in Josiah’s territory, a requirement for what he did, and as a result every man was on Josiah’s payroll in some way. They all knew when to turn their heads, when to lock their doors, and when to pull out their guns. It used to unnerve Harry, but with time it became as normal as the nightmare that plagued his sleep.

He knocked on the back door as he was trained, a nod to Cyril when the door opened. People congratulated him on the match last night, and he didn’t respond. They all knew he was quiet most of the time, knew not to expect lengthy replies. Before France, he used to not shut up. Now, he preferred to think rather than talk.

Josiah’s door was ajar, his ankles propped up on the desk, the telephone stand in one hand, the handset in the other. His eyes darted up as Harry opened the door wider, shutting it quickly behind him. Josiah never changed much—a mustache on his upper lip, hard brown eyes that only lightened if he had enough drink in him, lips that curved into a smile when someone made a very bad mistake. He wore exclusively charcoal suits, saying black was too common, and he wanted to stand out, and a dark blue tie every day, a silver pocket watch chain tucked into his vest. Josiah had built his operations from the ground up, a man of barely 25 years of age when he came back from France, determined to make a name for himself and protect the community that had been, in his eyes, murdered by the British government for a war they had no business being conscripted for. His hatred for the government ran deep, deep enough to line the pockets of the police across southeast Birmingham, especially in Balsall Heath.

“Alright, but don’t fuck it up, ya hear?” Josiah said, nodding for Harry to sit in the leather chair across from his desk. It was the chair where Harry had sat during many conversations, both good and bad. “Yeah, okay.” Josiah hung up, resting the telephone back on the desk and running a hand through his longer dark brown hair. He picked his cigarette up from where it was burning in the ashtray, and swung his feet off the desk. “Heard ya won,” Josiah said, finally speaking to Harry.

Harry took the offer of a cigarette and nodded. “Peters wasn’t as bad as everyone said.”

“Mhm. I’ll tell Billy that when I see him.”

“He was Billy’s?” That was a surprise. Billy had been on the rise in the neighborhoods bordering Balsall Heath, his power growing to become something threatening to Josiah’s operation. So for Harry to be fighting one of Billy’s boys was unusual to say the least. Josiah didn’t usually like to risk the fights turning into something more—at least, not when they weren’t meant to be.

Josiah nodded, pushing aside a stack of papers and resting his elbows on the oak desk. “Newer kid. I was promised no trouble, thought I’d take the gamble.”

“Warn me next time, eh?” Harry wouldn’t have had Cicely within a mile of the warehouse if he had known his opponent was one of Billy’s. The prospect of guns coming out while she was in the room made his skin crawl.

But Josiah just chuckled and stubbed out his cigarette. “Goin’ soft on me, boy.” Harry hated it when Josiah called him that, but he always had. So he wasn’t going to start correcting him now, even though he was anything but a boy. “Heard ya had a girl there.”

Cicely. He knew Josiah would hear, but he had hoped he’d have a bit more time. “Yeah.”

Josiah wrenched open a door, reaching around for what Harry hoped was his pay. He wanted to get out of this damned office. Harry tolerated Josiah for Jack’s sake, but in truth Josiah had always been a bit too much of a wild card and a short fuse for Harry’s liking. But he gave Harry work, so he didn’t let his feelings get in the way. Plus, most men were short fuses after the war. “Where’d she come from?”

Harry chose not to answer, and thankfully Josiah didn’t push. He knew Harry didn’t like to talk, and most times he didn’t push too hard. “D’ya have the money from Manchester?”

Josiah didn’t reply, just pulled out a stack of bills, crisp and ordered, and placed them on the desk. “Manchester and last night,” he said and Harry took it, folding the bills over and shoving them into his pocket. It was more than most should carry, but Harry was anything but most people. “Don’t spend it all in one place, yeah?”

Unable to help it, he rolled his eyes, the tension in the room lifting. Josiah smirked and Harry pushed back the chair, the thought of getting back to Cicely making him eager to leave. “When’s Jack back?”

Josiah pulled a ledger from a drawer before responding. “Sunday.”

Harry nodded. Jack had been in London since last week, working on some deal that Harry didn’t have the status for the details on. “Tell him I’ll come by?”

“Sure.” Josiah didn’t look up as Harry took his leave, shutting the door behind him and giving Josiah’s secretary a nod. Next was Nellie’s, which he hoped would go smoothly, at least.

Unfortunately, he was not so lucky. Nellie stared at him when she opened the door, hair swept up on her head, clothes disheveled as usual. She cocked her hip against the door and rolled her eyes at him before asking, “What d’ya want, Harry?”

It had been over a year since he had rejected her, and yet she still treated him like he had broken it off with her after months. When in actuality, she had been the one to pursue him, and he hadn’t had it in him to tell her he wasn’t interested until she tried to kiss him. To say the least, things had been icy ever since. “Can I borrow some clothes?”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Clothes for who?”

“A girl.” To her credit, she didn’t react to that news with anything but a sigh.

“What happened to hers?” She asked, opening the door wider. He stepped inside, the sound of children from upstairs wrapping around him, the sound making his body itch. It was too loud.

“Mud,” he replied simply, looking around for something to keep his hands busy, but he turned up empty. “So?”

Nellie pointed to the couch in the sitting room, a bit sunk in and worn with love. “I’ve got some that no one picked up. What size is she?”

Harry sat down the couch, folding his fingers together. “About yours.”

Nellie gave him another pointed look, but said nothing. She just disappeared to where she kept the clothes she mended for ladies, and he had to sit there and listen to her younger siblings squeal and yell up the stairs. When she reappeared, she had a few things in a stack for him, which she set on the table next to him. “There.”

He looked at the stack, the fabric without anything around it. He would have to walk home with them under his arm. “No wrap?”

“No,” she replied, and he decided that she purposefully didn’t give him any. “3 shillings.”

Harry pulled the coins out and pressed them into her hand, taking the clothes and tucking them under his arm. “Thank you,” he said, and headed for the door, knowing when he wasn’t wanted.

“Bye, Harry,” Nellie said, and proceeded to slam the door in his face. Which he didn’t deserve, but wasn’t the type to protest. He checked his pocket watch—a little over an hour had passed since he left home. He wondered if Cicely would be waiting for him.

Walking into his home to find Cicely in his kitchen in nothing but his shirt made Harry stop in his tracks. While he knew he had seen her like this last night, last night it had been dark. In the dark he couldn’t see the lines golden curl of her hair, the milky white of her skin that seemed to go on for miles. It should be illegal, he thought to himself, to look as beautiful as her.

“You should put some clothes on,” he finally said, words gruff in the distance between them.

Cicely looked down at her legs and then at Harry. “I was waiting for you to come back, hopefully with clothes. Which I see you did.” She nodded at the stack of clothes under his arm and Harry knew he should move to give them to her, but he was frozen in place.

Seeing her in his kitchen, a plate with a piece of bread on it, an open jar of jam on the counter next to it, tea in his cup, it made him wonder for a split second what it would be like if she stayed. Like, really stayed. He knew that what was happening wasn’t permanent, that eventually she would have to go back to wherever home was for her. But having her in his home was making him realize that perhaps he didn’t like being alone as much as he had thought.

“Harry?”

His thoughts cleared and he jolted into action. He set the clothes on the table by the door and walked into the sitting room leaving her make her own decisions. Space, he thought to himself, he needed space from her. It was a push and pull inside of him—a pull that drew him to her and a push when he got too close. He stood by the fireplace, eyes trained on the black metal of it, as he listened to Cicely move through his home. Across the room to get the clothes, feet creaking on the stairs as she went up. When he heard her door shut he let out a breath, his body softening, tension leaving him.

The prospect of breakfast was enticing—he hadn’t eaten this morning. Porridge was what he had every morning, and this wasn’t the time for that to change. He shrugged off the jacket he had on, dropping it onto the couch, and headed for the kitchen.

When Cicely reappeared, the porridge was done and he was pouring it into two bowls, one for each of them. “Did you make me breakfast?” She asked, and his eyes drifted up to her. Nellie’s clothes fit her perfectly—a bit more snug on the curves of her body, but he wasn’t complaining.

“S’just porridge,” he replied and took the two bowls to the small table. He returned to the kitchen to grab his cup of tea, and he immediately felt her presence next to him as she picked up her own cup, left on the counter. Somehow he would have to get over the tension that raked through his body whenever she got near, but he didn’t know how he would manage that.

Cicely turned away from him and he followed her to the table, eyes trying to land anywhere but her body. She pulled out a chair and smiled at him softly. “Thank you. I’m not used to men cooking for me.”

Harry realized that him making breakfast for both of them meant they would have to eat together, that they would be forced to talk. The idea made him falter as he went to sit, but he forced himself to do it anyways, knowing that she would probably make him. “Mum taught me,” he mumbled, chair scraping against the floorboard as he say.

“Is that her in the photo?”

He knew exactly which photo she was talking about—the only one he had up. “Yes.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and dipped her spoon into the porridge, taking a bite. She was probably used to better quality, an actual chef maybe (he had heard rich people had those), but she didn’t give any indication that it was bad. Instead, she just took another bite before opening her mouth again to speak. “Where are you from?”

Harry didn’t tell people where he was from. It was a decision he made when he came to Birmingham, to leave his past behind him. The photo was up in his sitting room because he would’ve felt like shit for not putting it up, not because he particularly wanted it there.

“Harry?” She prompted, gaze fluttering over his face.

His grip tightened on the spoon in his palm, eyes on the food in front of him. “I don’t talk about my past.” Why did he want to tell her? He could feel it on the tip of his tongue and he tightened his jaw, trying to keep it from tumbling out on its own accord.

Cicely considered his statement as she sipped on her tea. “What do you talk about?”

The question made him look at her, her brown eyes already waiting for his. “What d’ya mean?”

“If you don’t talk about your past, then what do you talk to people about?”

He didn’t talk to people, he thought to himself. That was how he dealt with it. He only spoke to people who he felt safe with—Jack mainly, sometimes Tommy, Josiah if forced. They all knew his past, knew not to share it around. “Dunno.”

The sigh that slipped from her lips made Harry grimace. He had disappointed her and he didn’t like the feeling. “How about this? I tell you about myself, and you do the same in return. We each get a question.”

The idea was enticing, mainly because Harry desperately wanted to know more about her. She was like a period to him and he wanted to know everything that came before it in the sentence. Was it worth telling her about his past? Perhaps. “Fine. What’s your last name?”

Her eyes twinkled, a playful grin sliding onto her face. “King,” she said, that one piece of information rocking Harry’s world immediately. The Kings were as notorious as Josiah was, just in a different way. They owned dozens of garment factories in Birmingham, controlled a handful of shipyards, one or two coal factories. Harry estimated probably half of Birmingham’s working class was employed by the King family and he assumed properly, by Cicely’s father.“Where are you from?”

“Church Hulme,” he told her. “Who is your father?”

He searched her expression to see if she recognized it, but she didn’t seem to. And why would she—it was nothing but a small farming town, some local businesses and a forge. “William King. How old are you?”

So she was the daughter of the head of the King family, an heiress to a fortune larger than anything he could imagine, no doubt. He knew the Kings had only daughters, but he didn’t know how many, or if Cicely was the oldest. The importance of staying up to date on the lives of the King family was never something he felt inclined to do, but now it was vital information. “22. How did you end up on that road?”

“I went riding,” she said after taking another bite of porridge. “The lightning scared my horse and he bucked me off. I must have passed out when I hit the ground.” Cicely considered him for a moment before speaking. “Where did you fight?”

Harry’s blood ran cold at her question. It dredged up memories he didn’t want to talk about. “We’re done,” he told her, pushing away his finished porridge and standing abruptly.

“Harry, wait.“ Her hand wrapped around his wrist, catching his arm as he stepped away, and the feeling of her skin on his made him have to close his eyes to get his breathing under control. Did she know what she did to him? “I’m sorry.”

“‘m not talking about that,” he said, not budging from his position.

Cicely’s thumb brushed across his forearm, the thinner skin meaning he could feel the press of her fingers on his body. “That’s okay,” she said, voice soft. “Will you come back?”

Although he probably shouldn’t, he opened his eyes and turned back around. “Why don’t you want to go home?”

Her hand dropped from his wrist immediately at his question. “My father is forcing me to marry Clifford Stevens. Do you know who that is?” Harry shook his head. He didn’t exactly keep up with high society Birmingham circles in his free time. “He’s thirty and disgusting. He never even acknowledges that I might have a brain, much less that I’m a human being. If I marry him I’ll end up shut in his estate to raise his children for the rest of my life and I would rather die than sentence myself to a life like that.”

Clifford Stevens immediately became Harry’s least favorite person in the world, with the second being William King. To sentence a girl as kind, spirited, and open-minded as Cicely to a life as a glorified hostage was deplorable. “Why is your father forcing you to marry him?”

“We’re nearly broke,” Cicely said with a sigh. That was news to Harry. “Father has been losing money for years. He gambles most of what he makes away and because he’s a fucking idiot he never wins, and he hired a series of treasurers who are apparently inept at balancing the budgets. The factories are bleeding money and rather than take any responsibility for it, his solution is to marry me off with the knowledge that Clifford will bankroll my father’s lifestyle.” Perhaps it was the look on Harry’s face that gave him away, but Cicely gave him a weak smile. “Didn’t know the truth of the Kings, did you?”

“No.”

She fiddled with the cuff of her blouse as Harry considered her words. Was there any way to get out of her future? Probably not, unless she left behind everything that came with her name. Although from what she told him, it didn’t sound like there was much left. “Will you tell me about your family secrets in exchange for mine?”

His family secrets? God, where did he start. His gaze drifted across Cicely, her fingers brushing through the ends of her hair. What would she say to his answer? He supposed it didn’t hurt to tell her, since it wasn’t like she would tell anyone in his life about it. They were from different worlds, after all. “I found out when I came back from the war that ‘m not my father’s son.”

Cicely blinked at him, face softening as the words settled in. “What?”

“It’s just what it sounds like,” he said, leaning back in the chair and taking a breath. “Grew up my whole life thinking I had one father, when in reality it’s not him at all. My mum had an affair with some bloke and the man who raised me,” he spit out, hating the word father when he thought of him, “decided to keep me.” The feeling of her hand on his warmed his skin, but didn’t have the calm effect that he expected she intended. “Haven’t been back since.”

“Harry,” she murmured, calling his eyes from where her hand covered his to her face. “I’m sorry.”

It was the first time someone had told him that, now that he thought about it. He had told Jack, who said, Fuck mate, that sucks. Want another pint? And that was that, but he didn’t mind it. Somehow though, Cicely’s compassion made his chest ache, his throat close up. He could feel tears rising inside of him and he panicked—he hadn’t cried since France and he wasn’t bloody going to start now, not in front of her. “I—I need a second,” he said quickly, scooting back in the chair and walking into the hallway, leaving her behind at the table.

He rested his forearms on the wall and let his head fall on his neck. Deep breaths in and out, his eyes shut, struggling to keep his brain together as his ears buzzed. They didn’t deserve his anger, he reminded himself for the millionth time, they didn’t deserve shit after the secrets they had kept from him. That his sister wasn’t his sister. The man who had taught him how to play football, how to tie a tie, wrestled with him as a kid, wasn’t his father. His fists clenched against the wallpaper, knuckles hurting from last night, but the pain almost felt good to Harry—it was a feeling he knew.

All of a sudden he felt a hand on his shoulder and he whipped his head to the side to find Cicely standing there. “What?” He asked, not moving an inch, but just looking at her, trying to understand for the life of him why she was there.

Instead of responding, she ducked her head under his arm and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling his body into hers.

She was hugging him, he realized.

He was frozen, unable to move. He could smell the faint scent of flowers on her skin, somehow still clinging to her despite being in Balsall Heath for almost two days. The darkness of this place seemed to not even touch her, the light from her repelling all of it away. Her fingers gripped the back of his shirt loosely, but just enough to where he could feel her through the fabric, her body feeling impossibly close to him.

No one had touched him like this in years. And he didn’t know what to do, how to respond, how to act.

The only thing he could think to do was to lift one of his hands from where it was clenched in a fist against the wallpaper, and brush it down her hair. It was soft against his skin, the strands of it darting between his fingers and petting the rough calluses he had from years of hard work and fighting. They stung against his cuts from the past week’s worth of fights, but he didn’t care. The prospect of touching her was enough to push all of the pain away.

Slowly, she lifted her head, eyes finding his. She was sandwiched between him and the wall and it was way too fucking close, so Harry immediately took a step back, giving her space. “Will you show me your Birmingham?” She asked him softly, voice echoing in the narrow hallway.

“What d’ya mean?”

“The Birmingham that’s your home,” she offered as an explanation. “I want to see it how you do.”

His Birmingham, the one that he had made a home, full of people who knew him as he was now. Respected him, feared him even—because what was the line, really, between fear and respect? The prospect of her wanting to understand his world the way he saw it was one he had never expected, but appreciated more than he could say. “Okay.”

Harry took her on a grand tour of Balsall Heath, them weaving through the streets with children playing, horses and cars making their way down the thoroughfares. He showed her the factories her father owned, which he assumed she had never seen before, and he studied her as she saw the conditions of the workers her father employed. Cicely seemed to be everything her father wasn’t and he hoped that that continued to her views on labor.

Parts of Balsall Heath were more well-to-do, people who could afford to send their children to the art school opposite the public baths. But Harry showed her the parts he knew, the parts where people scrapped together money to make ends meet, where they relied on wages from people like Cicely’s father. He was thankful he had gotten her clothes from Nellie because at least at this rate she blended in more, although her nice boots still stuck out like a sore thumb. Although, he expected her being with him drew a decent amount of attention. When men stopped him to talk about a match and their children were with them, Cicely would squat and talk to them, not minding that her skirts got muddy from the unpaved roads. Harry had a difficult time understanding her when she did things like that. She was so unlike so many people of her station, and yet here she was crouching to talk with grubby children on unpaved streets with a pile of horse shit just a few feet away with a smile on her face.

For a second, he let himself consider what it would be like if she stayed. But he didn’t let that thought linger for too long.

They visited his favorite pub for a pint and she laughed at the barkeep’s jokes and charmed every man they met. Perhaps Harry should have been hesitant to introduce Cicely to so many people in his world, but at the same time he didn’t care what people thought of him. If Cicely wanted to see his world, then by God was he going to show it to her.

It was getting dark by the time they made their way back to his flat, bellies full from a roast they’d had at the pub. Harry watched her walk beside him, her eyes darting around the homes as they passed. “I like it here,” she told him, not meeting his eye. “Everyone is so nice.”

He couldn’t help but scoff at the thought. “Not everyone is. See all these houses?” She nodded. “In every one of them is a man who works for Josiah in some way. There’s a gun in every one of these houses for when Josiah calls.”

“Does he call?” Cicely asked, eyes finally turning to him as they walked.

He nodded, hoping that was the explanation she sought. From the way her expression changed, he assumed it was. Harry didn’t know what to do with her naivety, because it mystified him that someone could know so little of the world around them. Although, he thought as they rounded the corner to his street, he couldn’t exactly blame her.

“Does he ever…call for you?”

“Yes,” he responded because it was the honest answer. Even though he got to avoid a lot of the action because he specifically had told Josiah when he signed on to box for him that he didn’t want to get his hands dirty, it came with the territory. Sometimes they needed all the people they could, and with someone as skilled at fighting as Harry and the experience from the war that he had, it would be idiotic for them not to call on him.

They reached his house in silence and he unlocked the door before pushing it open. She stepped in, and leaned down to wipe off her boots. He liked how she had already made herself feel at home in his space, knew that he always wipes off his shoes in the entryway on the mat, because otherwise the filth from the streets ends up inside. “Do you have a match tonight?” She asked, moving to the side.

“No.” It was his night off, but he had one tomorrow.

Her fingertips grazed the table and he watched them trail, the thought of her fingers on his skin drifting into his mind. “What do you do in the evenings you have off?”

Harry considered her question. He didn’t know, really. The evenings all passed, though, somehow. Time was irrelevant to him since the nights dragged on, plagued by nightmares most of the time. He spent a lot of time staring at the wall in the dark. Sometimes he took walks. Sometimes he drank enough to where the dreams didn’t come, but that was when it was really bad. “Nothing, really.”

Cicely rotated to see him, the sliver of moonlight those shone through his curtains hitting her blond hair perfectly. “Do you do anything but box?”

“No.”

“Do you read?”

Harry hadn’t read a book since before France. “Not anymore.”

Cicely turned to his bookcase, which had collected dust from disuse. “Then why do you have so many books?”

“They make me think of my sister,” he replied, the truth shocking both of them. Gemma loved books, always had—she would be curled up on a chair all day with a book in her hands if their mother didn’t make her stop. When he was young, she would read to Harry sometimes, his childhood memories a mixture of fantasy and historical tales from his sister’s lips. Perhaps the books were his way of keeping her close.

Her fingers grazed the spines of his collection, dust falling around her. “Do you talk to her?”

“No.” He’d picked up the telephone a handful of times, ready to say the number to the operator. But then he’d think again, and set down the stand.

“I like this one.” Cicely pulled a bound volume off the shelf, her eyes dancing across the cover. “The Magnificent Ambersons.”

The name meant nothing to him. He bought bestsellers because he knew his sister did the same. Sometimes he considered reading one just to see what she would’ve thought about it. One time he almost mailed her one on her birthday. But each time, he did nothing.

“Can I read to you?”

Her voice was hesitant, nervous of what he would say. No one had read to him since the war, when his friends would read aloud their letters if someone didn’t get one. It made them feel like someone was looking out for them, even if they didn’t get a letter themselves. If it had been someone else, he probably would have said no. But it was Cicely and her voice was like his favorite church hymnal, entrancing and meditative. He would have listened to her talk for hours. So he said yes.

She directed him to lay down on the couch and he did, while she sat in the chair to the side. Harry lit a cigarette as she opened the cover, the sound of her tuning the pages the only noise except for the flick of his lighter. And then, she began. “Major Amberson had ‘made a fortune’ in 1873, when other people were losing fortunes, and the magnificence of the Ambersons began then.”

Cicely’s eyes fluttered open and at first she didn’t know why. But then she heard a shout and a long, deep moan from downstairs. It was Harry again. Her hands pushed at the duvet and she flicked on the light by the bed. As she left his room the sound of him moaning in his sleep, words she couldn’t understand reached her ears, but louder without the muffling of the door. She didn’t bother to keep her footsteps quiet as she made her way to the stairs and down to the first floor, her eyes adjusting to the dark.

A scream, blood curdling and filled with anguish, ripped through the house, and Cicely flew the remaining few feet to the couch. The sound of Harry’s scream, sharp and frightened, shook her to her core. She just wanted him out of there, free from the clutches of whatever demon robbed him of his sleep.

“Harry!” She said, loudly, jostling his shoulder to try and rouse him. Unlike last night when she had knelt by the couch, Harry wasn’t flailing around. He was stick-straight, as if held in a straight jacket, but she could feel his pulse racing when she pressed her fingers to his sweaty skin. It was almost more frightening—seeing him unmoving but mumbling nonsense in his sleep. The only part of him that moved was his head, ever so slightly shaking back and forth, a stream of Nos leaving his lips.

“No,” he mumbled, “please, it’s too dark, please.” His words from last night were back again, and she wanted to know where he was. What endless circle of hell he had found himself in and how to dig him out of it.

She decided to do what she had done before, and tried to lift his shoulders from the couch. But this time, Harry’s body was so tense that she couldn’t lift him, as if he had made himself a thousand pounds. As he let out another loud groan, she grimaced—she had to wake him, she just didn’t know how. “Harry,” she said again, “wake up, please. Please, Harry.”

But her words didn’t seem to do anything, because the next thing she knew his scream was filling her ears, the sound ripping at her heart. Her body seemed to move without her knowledge as she threw herself on top of him, her knees falling to either side of his hips, her palms cupping his face. “Harry,” she said softly, brushing her thumbs across his cheekbones. “Wake up for me, please. It’s Cicely. It’s safe, I’m here.”

Somehow, that seemed to rouse him, because his eyes fluttered open, his hazel eyes meeting hers in the dark. She was inches from his face, and she wondered if his sight was filled with her face just as hers was. “Cicely?”

“It’s me,” she said, brushing his sweaty hair off of his forehead. “You’re safe now.” She could feel the sigh that left his body intimately, her skin touching his in parts. That was when she realized how close they were, how completely improper her position was. She was on top of him for Pete’s sake. Her knees were on either side of him, their most intimate parts just inches from one another. If her elbows weren’t propped up on his shoulders, her chest would be touching his.

She scrambled to move, but Harry’s hands moved to her hips, halting her in place. Her eyes flickered to his, trying to read him, decipher what he was doing. Usually she had a hard time reading Harry, understanding what he wanted and needed. But now she had no problem. She watched him lick his lips, his pupils still blown out from the dream trained directly on her. When his grip didn’t shift from her body, but his thumbs brushed across the shirt she wore—it was his—and she knew.

He wanted to kiss her.

Cicely had never been kissed. Boys had tried, but they’d been disgusting, as had every other man she had ever known, and she had no interest in them. Until Harry, she hadn’t ever understood romance novels, the attraction people described in them. Every man who had ever showed interest in her had been boring, unattractive, and more than anything, just made her want to run in the opposite direction. But Harry made her want to race towards him at full speed, the darkness in his gaze and warmth in his heart made her want to know his stories, the way he looked at her made a part of her heart race that she had never felt before. He made her feel alive, as if she had been sleeping for nineteen years, just waiting for him to arrive.

One of his hands moved from his hip, inching through the air until his knuckles softly brushed across her jaw. Her heart was beating in her chest so fast she wondered if she was going to pass out again. It couldn’t be possible to go this long without breathing, right? Because Cicely didn’t know the last time she had taken a breath, all of them swallowed up in the look on Harry’s face.

She wanted him to kiss her.

Desperately. With every bone in her body. Cicely wanted to know what he tasted like, what it felt like when he kissed her. She wanted to know everything about him, to uncover every piece of him like gifts on her birthday, ripping back the pieces of wrapping paper walls that kept him from her.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice one she had never heard before. It was soft, yearning, the encapsulation of everything she wanted in that moment.

He seemed to understand, because his fist uncurled, his palm moving to cup the side of her face. Slowly, his hand moved around her head, his fingers threading through her hair, the feeling of his callused hands on her skin alighting every inch in her body. Then, he pulled her head into him, his fingers on the back of her neck, delicately pressing at her skin. His eyes fluttered shut and perhaps hers were supposed to, but she wanted to see every moment of this—she wanted to know what he looked like when he kissed her.

When he did, his wet lips meeting hers, it was like returning home after a long trip, a homecoming she had been waiting for her whole life. Her eyelids shut, lost in the feeling of him, of the faint taste of cigarettes and whiskey on his lips, the smell of him that she had grown to look forward to when she walked into the room he was in. Fingers drifted from her neck to her hairline, and he lifted his chin, changing the angle, and Cicely fell into the kiss. Her arms gave out, elbows falling from his shoulders to the cushions of the couch, her body suddenly flush with his.

Harry’s hand moved from her hip to curl around her lower back, tugging her impossibly close to him as their lips parted and met again. It felt like there wasn’t a centimeter of space between them and Cicely didn’t want any. Their noses were pushed against each other, foreheads touching, lips moving in a dance they somehow both knew by heart. She pushed her fingers into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp lightly. A sound left his throat, and Cicely went to move her fingers, thinking she had hurt him.

“Do it again,” he mumbled.

Cicely’s eyes flickered open, studying him with her lips just a centimeter from his. He looked at her as if the rest of the world didn’t exist—it was a look she had never seen but one she wanted to see for the rest of time. So she brushed her nails across his scalp and slotted their lips back together, squeezing his hips with her knees. Under his shirt she could feel his heart racing, and she wondered if he was as affected by what was between them as she was. Because for her, it felt like her world had become Harry, even though she had known him for only two days. Somehow, he was her every thought and she didn’t want another thought to grace her mind ever again.

Harry shifted his head, nudging at her jaw and pushing it up so that her neck was stretched out. In rapid succession, he pressed soft kisses to her jaw and Cicely’s head lolled back to make room for him because it felt so good to have his lips on her skin. Then, his tongue flitted out and licked over her pulse point, making her squirm against him. His hands gripped her tightly in response, before ducking his head down, pulling the collar of her shirt to the side, and nipped at the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

A breathy moan left Cicely’s mouth, mixed in with the undertones of Harry’s name. It seemed to spur him on, because he opened his lips and sucked on her skin softly. It was a sensation Cicely didn’t even know what to do with, how to process, but she knew it felt good, so she held his head to her skin, urging him to continue. Which he did—laving his tongue against her tender skin in between nips and harsh sucks, and when she looked down and saw the mark he had formed, it didn’t bother her in the slightest. She just pulled his head up to meet hers, desperate to have his lips back on hers again.

His hands fell to her waist, clutching at his shirt that hung there. When he pulled at it, the hem crawled up, leaving her thighs mostly exposed to the cool air inside the room. But to Cicely, her flesh was burning from Harry’s touch and the cold air was welcome, and she didn’t mind that more skin than was appropriate was on show. She had a desire within her for Harry to see all of her, every inch of her skin if he would keep making her feel like this.

Harry seemed to not notice her exposed skin until his palms drifted downwards and gripped her skin, his eyes fluttering open and his lips pulling away from hers. “Cic—“

“It’s okay,” she whispered, brushing at the hair on his forehead. “I trust you.” And she did. She trusted him more than she did anyone else in her life, who had just let her down in a series of lies and cheats. He was the first person to take her for as she was, not demand her to be some prim and proper version, to show her the truth of their life, even if it was in pieces. It didn’t matter to her that she didn’t know it all, she knew enough. Enough to know Harry could never hurt her, at least, not in the ways that mattered.

His head bent, and he rested his forehead against hers, sucking in air and quick puffs. “We—we should stop.”

“I don’t want to,” she said, barely trusting her own voice in the moment. She didn’t even know what it was that she wanted, but it was everything, anything he would give her. She would take scraps at his table, if it meant one more moment in his arms.

Harry pushed her hair behind her ear, and then let his fingers fall to the mark he had left on her skin. She thought she could see a blush rising to his skin and it made her smile. “I want you to be sure,” he told her earnestly. “And I—I haven’t done this in a long time. I need…I want it to be perfect. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” It did, and the fact that he wanted her to be sure made her trust him even more. Because even though she wanted it, she had barely thought about it. Cicely was impulsive, and her impulses had a tendency to get her into situations she regretted, and she didn’t want to regret a moment with Harry. “Will you come back to bed with me at least?”

His breath shuddered, eyes closing. She could see the wheels of his mind turning, and she thought she had an inkling as to why.

“Harry,” she murmured, pressing a tender kiss to his brow bone. “Your nightmares don’t scare me. I want to know every part of you, even the dark bits.” That made his eyes open, his pupils found her in the moonlit room. “Will you come to bed and tell me about them? It doesn’t have to be everything, I just want to know how to help you.”

Slowly, he nodded. She scooted back, letting him sit up on the couch. Tentatively she pulled her knees up from the couch and dropped back to the floor, coming to a standing and taking Harry’s hand in hers to help him up. He was a disheveled mess, his hair standing in all directions, and she realized it was from her. She liked it, seeing the results of something she had done on him.

With his hand in hers, they walked up the stairs to his bedroom, to the unmade bed she had been sleeping in before. Knowing he would be hesitant, she got into bed first, scooting against the wall and turning, so she could watch him get in behind her. The moment his head hit the pillow, the duvet cover around his waist, Cicely leaned into him, wanting to be close. She rested her head on his shoulder and his arm cautiously wrapped around her, holding her to him. One of her hands rested on his chest, just inches from the nipples with barbells through them, the ones that she wanted to see again but didn’t know how to ask about. The bed suddenly smelled like a mixture of them, a new scent that she already adored. She hoped she didn’t have to go to bed again for a long time.

She brushed up and down his chest over his shirt, drawing light lines across his skin. After a few minutes of just lying there, Harry cleared his throat and began to tell her the horrors he saw when he closed his eyes. “I’d barely been there a few weeks,” he said softly. “It was still all new to me, the landscape of France, the sound of bullets in the distance, the smell of smoke and dead bodies in the air. We were in this open field, the only protection was an occasional tree, but we spent all of it in trenches.”

His voice was like gravel, rough in the silence of the room, and Cicely kept rubbing at his chest, hoping it would keep him calm enough to keep going. She didn’t want him to stop, no matter how bad it got. “There was this massive offensive in motion from the French, and we were a piece of it. We were supposed to take Arras, to gain a strategic advantage against the Germans, break the deadlock we were in. All of us were itching for action, something just to keep our minds from spiraling in those fucking trenches. I’d never really been in battle before, so I didn’t know what it was like. But god, the minute we started moving, when we came up out of the trenches and the firing started, it was like the world was ending.

“Everyone around me was dropping, partly from the German fire, but more so from the shells from the air. It was so loud—they don’t tell you that, how loud war is. Your ears never stop ringing, and you’re almost able to like, drown it out for a second? But then something goes off near you and your whole body is jolted and it draws you back to the Earth. And I was just trying to like, reload my gun, right? And keep my body from shaking. Jack was there, and he was telling me to keep it together—that’s how we met actually. He found me on the field, my hands shaking so bad I couldn’t reload.

“It went on like that for days. Weeks, even. We made it three or so miles on the first day, but we also lost so many fucking men. We had to figure out who was gone, and it was easier to figure out who was still there. We made it into the town and there were all these houses with no roofs, tanks covering every inch of the road. It was like walking through the end of the world. And you can’t sleep, but you also can’t do anything but sleep because it’s this bone exhaustion you’ve never felt before in your whole life.”

Cicely could feel the fast beat of his heart and his voice was speeding up, the anxiety settling into his bones. “I’m here,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder where her head laid. “I’m still here.”

His head shifted, tilting to his chin rested on the top of her head. “I thought I was going to die. Sometimes I feel like I did, on that battlefield. Everything I knew before that moment was gone. It was just echoes of the dark trenches at night, the feeling of rats crawling across your boots and the niggling feeling that you can’t go to sleep because something might happen. And the death...I think I stopped believing in God on that battlefield, because how could any God ever want that many men to die? And for what, a few measly miles that didn’t even fucking matter in the end?”

“How many did you lose?”

He paused before answering, but when he did his voice cracked as he said the number. “158,000. There were conflicting numbers, but that’s the one I heard the most.”

Cicely couldn’t even wrap her head around that number. What did 158,000 people look like? Who were all of those 158,000 people? Who were their families, their children, their loved ones? How many lives were changed forever by those days? “I’m glad you survived,” was all she could think to say. She didn’t want to say she was sorry because that didn’t really mean anything, did it? Not in comparison to everything that had happened.

“For a long time I wasn’t,” he said.

“What changed?”

His fingers brushed through her hair, tender, soft caresses that made her eyes flutter shut. “A girl who showed me there was still someone left inside of me.”

Cicely looked up at him, at the exhaustion in his eyes, the light bruise on his cheekbone from the fight the other night, the curls of his hair. “You know what I see when I look at you?” He shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving hers. “Someone who has experienced more pain, hurt, and loss than any one person should be allowed to. But who still manages to be kind, to be generous, to care. Someone with a life worth living, someone who is worth loving.” She reached up and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back slightly. “Someone who is worthy of everything in the world.”

She felt the tears on his cheeks when he kissed her, their lips molding together just like before. His hands gripped her face, as if he couldn’t have her close enough, and she didn’t blame him. She wished with every kiss she could drink away the pain inside of him, pull it from him piece by piece until none remained. But she couldn’t. She could only hold him and tell him who he was to her, that he was everything to her, someone she didn’t know was waiting for her out there in the world. But who now she couldn’t imagine a life without.

The days melded together in beautiful technicolor. Seven days had passed since Cicely had woken up in Harry’s bed, and each one made her more thankful it was him who had picked her up on the road. She stood in the crowds during his matches, cheering his name with Tommy and becoming less floaty every time she had a pint. At the end of each night, Cicely cleaned the blood and sweat from his skin with a tenderness he had never experienced, pressed kisses to his forehead and told him how good he did. Each night in the pitch dark, she chased away his nightmares with reminders that she was there, she was real, this was real and the battle wasn’t. He clutched the shirts of his she continued to sleep in and held her close, letting the beat of her heart and the exhales from her chest lull him back to sleep.

He hadn’t slept this well since before the war.

Cicely had discovered a new routine. While Harry was meeting with Josiah and Jack, training, or just generally out of the house, she went next door and helped teach the Rollings children to read. She had stumbled on Pippa and Clarence the morning after she had kissed Harry, almost stumbling over them in the daze she carried. They were playing outside and she had a book under her arm, a plan of finding the nearby park and reading for a few hours. But when she stopped and apologized, Pippa asked what she had, and at the sight of the words and Cicely’s description of what a book was, she was intrigued. After asking their mother, Cicely began to spend her mornings with the children curled up on their couch or at their small table, or even on their front steps, teaching them their alphabet and how to sound out words, how to form sentences and read them on the page. They were ravenous for learning and their mother was happy to see her children entertained by someone who wasn’t her for a change, so Cicely quickly became a fixture in the house.

When she had told Harry, he gave her a small smile, the first one she had seen, and a quick peck to her forehead. It was exactly what she needed from him, a vote of support and nothing more. In the afternoons she washed the blood stains from Harry’s clothes and towels, or carried water into the house and ran herself a bath, a task well worth it. One time Harry almost walked in on her and the flush on his cheeks made her almost let him in. But that wasn’t how she wanted him to see her naked body for the first time, so she squealed for him to shut the door and he did, none the wiser.

After he had told her about France, about the demons that followed him into the night, the secrets between them fell away. It was if a damper had been lifted, and at night when they laid in bed, he shared more about his past and she told him of her family, the life she was supposed to live. She tried to avoid the topic of the future, because it made them both anxious. It felt a bit like they were living in a bubble, as if the outside world and its pressures were nonexistent. One morning Harry brought up how they hadn’t heard anything from her family, and Cicely nodded in reply. She had thought about it many times, and she didn’t quite have an answer for it. Although maybe Harry was just so far from the expected answer that she would never be found.

Just as she was starting to settle into the prospect of her life becoming this permanently, her past came knocking. She was with Pippa and Clarence on Harry’s front steps, their own ones being swept by their mother. A book was spread open on her lap, one she had found at a bookstore for children, and she was helping them decipher the sentence. She could feel eyes on her, which at face value wasn’t something to worry about—people were always looking at her, at the new person in the neighborhood, although once they found out she was Harry’s, they stopped. But this time, the feeling of someone watching her didn’t let up.

So when they reached the end of the page, she looked up in search of whomever was so interested in her. And what she found were the eyes of a policeman, the black uniform and intent stare raising the hair on the back of her neck. She knew immediately what it meant, that this wasn’t some normal policeman, because the ones in this area normally didn’t pay her any mind. Josiah had made clear she was not to be trifled with the minute Harry had told him that Cicely was with him, for all intents and purposes.

This policeman, though, wasn’t from around here. He stuck out, the shine of his shoes a bit too bright, the cocky attitude obvious from a mile away. He didn’t know the people or the area.

Which could only mean one thing.

Her father had found her.

TAGLIST: @autumn-sunflowers @afire-hes @harrydobedirectioning @harryinsweatersandbandanas @vapingisntmything @frindgeyy @froggystyles @magical-mischief-makers @heslilac @ursogoldenshan

PART TWO

#harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x mc #harry styles smut #boxer!harry #boxer!au #1920s!harry #1920s harry #boxer harry #peaky blinders x harry styles

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churchyardgrim · 3 years

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LORD OF THE NECROPOLIS by Gene DeWeese

[intro post]

The Five Times Azalin Rex Nearly Escaped Darkon, And The One Time He… Nope, Fucked Up Again

this is a weird one lads i'm not gonna lie

i'll say upfront the pacing is all over the place, and i definitely think it should have been a series of vignettes rather than one long story, bc it does nooooot work if ur expecting a standard three-act structure

but i think i can forgive it that, it's an interesting ride all the same

so! Azalin Rex is sad. he's sad for all the reasons described in King of the Dead; dead son, trapped in Darkon, hideous rotting lich body, etc etc

so what's a bastard with an unreasonable amount of wizard power to do? channel that Tim Curry clip that's been going around and say "i'm going to face Strahd in the one arena he can't best me in….. TIME TRAVEL."

for the record i had this idea first u can ask my DM

why does he hate Strahd with the firey burning passion of a thousand suns? i don't know, the book does not adequately explain it, but that's ok bc i'm taking it upon myself to explore the possibilities in my private fanfiction folder

what the book does explain is that Azalin's got it in his head that Strahd is the reason for all of this. Strahd was the first darklord after all, the first being pulled into the mists, and Barovia now acts like a magnet for other stolen lands to attach to in the weird misty void, so if Azalin can… kill Strahd before that happens.... he'll be freed? maybe?

world's smartest wizard everybody

so Azalin does the extremely sane thing of folding his phylactery, the thing that contains his entire soul, into a quantum metapoint and implanting that into the chest of Some Random Guy, and then using said Random Guy as an anchor point with which to travel back in fuckign time, to the night of Strahd's Big Oopsie

this? works?? somehow?? don't question it it just does.

at this point the book says to you "hey did you like I, Strahd? would you like to read it again, with Azalin Rex involved this time?" and i said "yes please, a double scoop of that for me" because of course i did

what follows is the Dark Souls of time travel combined with the Hitman of time travel. Azalin can have his con score back when he's proved he doesn't need it, being weak as a ghostly kitten outside of Darkon and without his own physical body to inhabit, and it is truly, genuinely hilarious watching him try to Weekend at Bernie's his way to getting the drop on an unaware, mortal Strahd by piloting like three successive corpses around with an ineptitude you wouldn't expect from Darkon's Most Special Wizard Boy

i cannot emphasize enough how much Strahd has no idea this is happening. no idea! he is completely unaware! doesn't even know there's corpses walking around out of the crypts and making the guards shit themselves!

and Azalin still can't manage to shank the bastard

eventually he resorts to nudging the mind of our old friend Alek Gwilym, hoping to make him catch his beloved lord in the act of plotting fratricide, and uhhhh he sort of succeeds there?

what follows is exactly what happened in I, Strahd, with Strahd leaping to the offensive and the both of them mortally wounding each other, and oof, ouch, i did not think Alek's death would hit me this hard the second time around but it diiiiiid, it did and now im crying again

it is extremely fun getting this whole sequence from Azalin's perspective too, especially given he knows what's more or less going to happen here, what he's trying to prevent.

spoiler alert, he doesn't prevent shit (and may or may not have ensured that shit happened as intended? it's ambiguous, but i think we're definitely dealing with an unbreakable paradox situation here)

anyway this is the point at which the timeline identifies the irritant taking various corpses for a joyride and summarily ejects Azalin from the picture, along with the dude he brought with him to house his phylactery. the bad news is, Azalin accomplished fuck all for his trouble. the good news is, he has a body again!

the medium news is that body is Alek Gwilym's.

yeah he was inside the dude's corpse when the mists yanked him out of Strahd's past, which explains why, in I, Strahd, his body just disappears after Strahd hides it in a closet to conceal his crimes. go figure, huh.

this is where the pacing gets uhhhhhh weird. what follows is a few decades of Azalin trying ever more unhinged methods of getting the fuck out of dodge, all while still piloting Alek's corpse. i guess one body is the same as another, to an immortal lich wizard king?

the plot meanders a bit, going largely nowhere. Azalin makes a few clones, trying to see if the curses limiting his power could be circumvented by growing a new body somehow? that doesn't pan out, so he just. lets the clones free-roam i guess. irresponsible, but whatever. he also sends his sheriff's secret police to every other domain he can find, collecting magic items and books and scraps of rumor, trying to find any possible way to escape the cage that is Darkon.

i'd like to know why he's so obsessed with it, personally. what's out there for you, Azzie me boy? what the hell do you think you're gonna find outside the mists that you can't have inside them? what are you trying to escape to? there's nothing waiting for you out there. you don't have anyone left. the one thing you care about is empty.

but he wouldn't be a darklord if he wasn't obsessed with things he can't have for reasons he can't explain, so we go through the next third of the book like this until he finds A Device that supposedly will elevate him to near-godlike power, possibly enough to blow this popsicle stand for good

but "aha!" he thinks, "what if this Device doesn't work? or simply kills me? i know, i'll make an exact duplicate in Travel Size, in order to test it first! i am very clever."

so he does just that, magically photocopying the thing and picking Another Random Guy to be his test subject, reasoning that if it fails that’s useful data, and if it succeeds the result will still be weaker than he is probably, and thus not a threat

unfortunately for everyone involved, one of his clones is also there! and is piiiiissed Azalin picked, again, Some Random Guy for this honor instead of him, Lowellyn Dachine, who is surely Azalin's long-lost son bc his mother told him so

he is actually an Azalin clone though so like. he's half right.

anyway he does an extremely well-adjusted thing and leaps into the machine too, and, well… have you ever seen The Fly? yeah it was kind of like that, except with souls, and the mingled power of untold ancient sorceries

Azalin sees this, thinks "well, it worked," and dives headfirst at his own quest bed i mean the full sized Device

and it…. actually does work for him! Alek's body, which he'd been wearing like a blonde, handsome person suit for like fifty years, is obliterated utterly, and Azalin actually goes god tier? bodiless, near-omnipotent, powerful enough to rip through the mists and resurrect Irik, his son what he executed in a fit of hurt feelings back in his home plane

ah, but where is dear Irik's soul you ask? apparently it's in nega-hell, the hell beneath hell from whence all evil comes

this clearly won't do, so Azalin gets busy ripping a hole through realities to retrieve his boy, except, except--! oh no! it was a cunningly disguised hand puppet instead of the real thing!

and uh. hm. Azzie. just checking, but how big did you make that doorway into the nadir of the multiverse? big enough to swallow a city you say? hm! thats a problem.

especially since it turns out that the cosmic horrorterrors that inhabit the place that Satan warns his kids about at bedtime were in fact the Dark Powers that led Azalin down this whole sordid path in the first place

oh yes, these fuckers play the long game don't they, sticking their greasy lil tentacles into the world and manipulating young Firan Zal'Honan into becoming a wizard powerful enough, and desperate enough, to rip a hole through realities big enough to free them

and just like that, all of Darkon's gone to shit. smh, there go the property values.

Azalin, duly horrified by what he's been tricked into doing, tries an old standby again and flees backwards in time to his own childhood, on the night of the first event that put his life on the path that led him here

he's unable to actually do anything to affect that event, though, as it seems that being outside Darkon still makes him pathetically weak, to the point of being nearly a harmless specter.

time is a flat circle, fixed points will always happen the way they want to, and Azalin Rex, specifically, is always doomed.

pretty depressing way to end a book right!

fortunately for us, the readers, this is not actually the end of Darkon and Azalin as we know them. multiverse canon is flexible, and this isn't even the only time Azalin's fucked up catastrophically and ruined everything for everyone. approximately 70% of all apocalypses in the mists are Azalin-based. hell, this isn’t even the one true canon as far as the nature of the Dark Powers is concerned! so feel free to set aside as much of the canon of this book as you like, salt to taste, and reheat on high if need be.

overall this book isn't bad, it's just weird. it's got a lot of interesting lore, and some really excellent high points, it's just that it's mixed in with some fairly boring and inexplicable stretches of Nothing Much In Particular, and also Azalin continues to be the world's dumbest smart person. again, it really should have been a series of short stories or vignettes instead of one big novel, bc the pacing choices really threw me for a loop.

but if you feel like tracking it down it's worth it to read i think, if only as a weird companion book to King of the Dead

#church's ravenloft reviews #i give this one a solid 6/10 #the high points are really fun but the rest of it drags the score down to Just Average im afraid #ur gonna spend the whole book wondering where the fuck this titular Necropolis comes in #and then ur gonna finish it and go ''well what the fuck was that''

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zkfanworkweek · 4 years

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ZFAW Fan Content Creator Interviews: HayleyNFoster

Hey everyone! We hope you’re all excited for ZFAW, and to honor (ha!) ZFAW’s commitment to supporting and celebrating fan content creators in the Zutara fandom, we’re going to be rolling out a series of interviews with well-known and widely-beloved content creators over the next few weeks. We’ve got artists and fanfiction authors, some names you recognize as well as a few phenomenal up-and-coming talents, and we can’t wait for you to meet them all!

For the second interview in this cycle, we have our best propaganda creator and this fandom’s hottest new artist/undisputed queen of the animatic, @hayleynfoster!

1. Tell us about how you came to ship Zutara. What does this ship mean to you?

When I was around 14 or 15 and caught Avatar: The Last Airbender on television, I was drawn in by the art style, the humor, and the wonderful characters. I caught the episodes out of order, and the first one I saw and wasn’t prepared to be sucked in by was The Waterbending Scroll. It intrigued me at that age, and the line “I’ll save you from the pirates” combined with the tension between Katara and Zuko in that whole scene was electrifying. I remember my teenage self thinking these two have so much chemistry! And when I saw a commercial on Nickelodeon that featured fanart submitted by fellow Avatar fans, I realized that I could do that to! So I set about making Zutara fanart for myself. I stumbled onto Youtube, practically in its infancy, and discovered that people set clips of Zuko and Katara set to music (And this was still in season 1 days… so people who made these amvs were the real mvps because they were able to make compelling narratives in their amvs with like practically nothing to work with!). The AMVs really spurred my interest in this couple, I remember distinctly one Zutara AMV using the Dido song White Flag utterly capturing my imagination. I found fandom shortly after, getting into deviantart and forums. But the ship really began to mean something to me when, as I was working on my drawings in the computer lab at school, a buoyant presence hovered over my shoulder noticing my Zutara art on the computer screen. The girl was someone I had never really talked to and had only seen from afar but she immediately started excitedly saying she shipped Zuko and Katara too! In this simple shared obsession, I made one of the best friends I’ve ever had and we’re still friends to this day. We would theorize and fangirl over Avatar like it was nobody’s business; we poured over bootleg San Diego Comic Con footage that showed spoilers for season 2 before it aired; we lost our freaking minds when we finally saw The Crossroads of Destiny. We had watch parties every week as Season 3 of A:TLA aired, and comforted each other when the show ended as it did (much ranting was shared). Those are some of my happiest memories from high school… all because this one pairing from this wonderful show. Even though Zutara didn’t happen, we still chat every now and then about it. Zutara will probably be a lifelong obsession, always bubbling under the surface. And without it, I would have never realized that animation was a viable career path. It really did inspire everything including the work I’m doing to this day in the animation industry. I owe a lot to this ship and to Avatar: the Last Airbender.

2. What inspires you to create zutara fanworks?

The resurgence of Avatar: The Last Airbender this year really helped sort of spark that dormant love I had for Zutara. The show’s ending still disappointed me on the rewatch, but Zuko and Katara’s relationship arc was as captivating as ever, so I turned to some fanfiction and looking at people’s pretty Zutara art and AMVs to just revel in fanon instead of getting to hung up on the actual ending of the show. But then I realized, with quarantine and my work load being pretty light, I had time to actually make all new Zutara art for myself, art I was never fully capable of making as a kid, but now could do with my 7 years of industry experience and just… life experience. And I was inspired to do some corrective animatics to satisfy my own desire for a different ending. I just really like exploring these two characters, doing different and interesting things with them, and frankly I’m inspired to make cute, fluffy, romantic art simply by virtue of living in a really sad and depressing world. Things are so crazy right now, creating art about two characters I love being in love, is comforting. And it helps to have inspiring music and amazing Zutara amvs to just sort of stir up my emotions and imagery in my head to make into animatics and art.

3. Be selfish - if you could request one fanwork based on your own art/fanfic, what would it be? What would you absolutely love to see someone create?

Ohhhh… Well, It’s always nice to have people write fanfiction that puts words to my animatics. I am not that great at coming up with dialog myself, so I’ve just chosen to indulge in visuals and emotions for my boards. But when I read things like RideBoldlyRide’s take on my Reunion Animatic, it makes me pretty giddy. (They finally have voices!) :) And this is the MOST selfish thing I could request, but I’m not shy about saying how much I love well done amvs, so I will literally kill for someone to make Zutara AMVs to songs I like… Like, most of AURORA’s songs but especially Exist for Love, Sunseeker by The Naked and Famous, Promises or Take Me by Aly & AJ, Adore You by Harry Styles, Human Enough by ONR, Never Let Me Go by Florence + The Machine, and/or Almost (Sweet Music) by Hozier just… I can see the AMVs so clearly to any of these songs in my head, but I don’t have the tools or skill set at my disposal to make a compelling fan video. When I was in high school, I originally thought I wanted to go into video editing simply because I loved making very crappy AMVs (they were so bad you guys), but I figured out being a storyboard artist was more in my wheelhouse. haha

4. Any words for people who are new to the fandom and/or nervous about sharing their work for the first time?

If you’re new to the Zutara fandom, just have a good time! Don’t waste too much time arguing with people over your shipping preferences. I wasted so much of my teen years having pointless shipping wars with people on DeviantArt, and I’m just so much happier nowadays because I’m just making Zutara art in my little corner of the internet, and honestly, in the politest of ways, I don’t give a shit if people don’t like my art or Zutara. haha I think that’s sort of a key thing for people thinking of posting creative works here in the fandom, just make art for yourself, satisfy your own desires for the pairing, get your creative sparks flying, and create just for the joy of creating. It’s always nice to get comments and such, but simply making the art should be what spurs you on, not the external validation. And have a good time, don’t worry too much - I say as someone who worries about EVERYTHING. But honestly, making art for A:TLA is some of the most relaxed I’ve been because I make it just for me. I’m lucky others seem to like it too!

5. What’s an idea for a fanwork that you have but haven't gotten around to making?

I have an idea for a second generation storyline with my Zutara kids that involves Kya (the eldest firebending daughter) falling in love with an airbender boy (tentatively named Gora in my headcanon who’s a bit of a rabble rouser and one of Aang’s kids he had with a Kyoshi Warrior), and then they start a socialist revolution in the Fire Nation in order to dismantle all of the hierarchical societies across the Avatar world… Together Kya and Gora Fan the Flames of revolution… ehhhhh... Get it?? Oh! Oh, and then Katara, who had put in legit liberal reforms in her time as Fire Lady listens to her daughter after resisting in the first part of the story, but then realizes she can actually play a part in the dissolution of the royalty and is also active in the revolution realizing that moderate liberal reforms are no substitute for a society free of serving royalty (which she had always been uncomfortable with but had rationalized with herself that she was doing good in her capacity as Fire Lady.) I just feel like there’s a lot of cool potential for discussing these ideas and also having some aspirational change in the Avatar world. lol For aesthetics and just happy fluffy times, I can indulge in Fire Lady and Fire Lord Zuko stuff, but really at the end of the day, I take issue with the structures in a society that have to exist for monarchies to exist. Soooo, I kind of want to do my own corrective story for that… if I ever have the time or guts. On a less ambitious note, I would love to do a Zutara sparring animatic to practice doing action, but I need a good story; I am not good at doing fights just for fighting’s sake. Those are just some things I have rattling around in my head.

6. Are you participating in ZFAW? If so want to give us a hint as to your plans?

Yes! The most I can say is I have one animatic almost finished and one that’s still being thumbnailed. The rest are probably going to be comics or emotive single pieces based on the fanfics I really like right now. :)

#interviews #zutara fanworks appreciation week #zfaw #hayleynfoster #zutara

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gossip-girl-of-middleearth · 3 years

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Hello! I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfy but I was wondering if I could get a bit of advice? From your recent posts, you said you left your home from toxicity and just bad things in general.

I’m in a similar situation, but my dad will be taking me away from my mom. And I just know it’ll be a shit show. And I’m absolutely terrified when we tell her and what the backlash will be afterwards towards my brothers and me and dad in general

How did you do it? How did you take the leap? Do you possibly have any advice on how to deal ?

Hello, friend!! ☀️

Thank you so much for reaching out, it means a lot that you value my advice <3

Hmm, okay from what I can tell of your situation, that is indeed a tricky one, but nothing can’t be overcome!

It’s important to remember, though, I was 19 when I left (now 20), so the way I handled things is going to be a lot different than how a minor can handle things (legally at least, feel free to replicate my insane stunts lmao)

Advice below the cut! (family violence trigger warning, I suppose?)

My entire family was and is extremely volatile, and I don’t speak to any of them anymore except for my older brother, but I’ll be cutting him off in 3 weeks too when I move.

Fortunately, my dad and brother were both kicked out of the house years ago due to violence, which left me with my mother, who’s quite insidious herself (just watch any Conjuring movie and that’ll give a good idea of what it was like living in that house lol)

I get the same feeling watching this scene as when I was around her in that house. Granted she didn’t try to change my gender, but the hatred for my father getting taken out on me is pretty accurate lol, paired with the immediate “motherly love” afterwards (she never hit me though, pleased to say — she wasn’t physically violent, just emotionally, financially, mentally and verbally. She did try to run my dad over once though, so, there’s that too)

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Yikes…yeahh the same eerie feeling for sure, still makes all my hairs stand upright in memory.

(For further context this clip reminds me of my father and this one of my brother)

In the clip about my father, he definitely reminds me of Frank Gallagher, except he despises my mother instead of revering her. He’s a workaholic instead of a drug addict, too. But the mannerisms are the same. I always handled him in the way Fiona does.

Regarding my brother, I think everything about our family hit him the hardest, despite being the oldest. He developed a very violent streak, and has very poor impulse control. I love him dearly but he’s a snake in the grass, and has thrown me under the bus multiple times to get ahead in life. I mostly just pity him, since I know what our life was like growing up. But still, I can’t defend him forever, especially not at the cost of myself. Literally yesterday I woke up to a text from him asking me to come pick him up because he got arrested for starting a fight at a bar and smashing their windows.

When things started getting pretty bad with my mother earlier this year, I started to realise in my heart that there was no way I could go forth in life with her in it. I focused on the future relationships I would have one day when far away from this town — romantic partner, children, friends etc

I sort of realised one day I’d care about them a lot more than I care about my mother, because those future people would care about me. That in turn got me realising that I do deserve love, despite how my mother made me feel, and that I don’t want her to deprive another second of that in my life.

Something very unique that triggered this too was going to go visit an old family psychic, who’s basically just the Gandalf to my Frodo (ily, Chris <3). He very accurately predicted my birth years ago after my mother was told she was infertile — he got the date, year and time right three years in advance, and even knew ahead of time what my personality would be like, which he was spot-on about.

Well, I went and visited him a few months ago because I was lost with my direction, and he ended up pausing and had a sudden feeling, which led to him telling me that he’d just found out I would be having twin boys one day.

Normally I don’t buy into that stuff, but this Gandalf dude…well I knew he was right.

Knowing I’d have sons of my own one day took me from a scared daughter mindset and into a maternal mother bear in an instant, and I knew I didn’t want any children of mine around my mother or the rest of my family, for their safety alone, which made me realise, “Well, if I wouldn’t allow my own children near them, why do I allow myself?”

I started grey-rocking her in the lead-up to me leaving, which of course frustrated her (she’s a malignant narcissist), but it was a necessary step to start emotionally detaching myself from her.

It all bottled over one night after a pretty distressing argument (I had locked myself in my room to avoid it, but she was still at my door carrying on).

My cat, who’s been my best friend for years, was sitting on the floor next to me, and sort of looked up and I swear he spoke with his eyes, saying, “You know we can’t keep doing this, right? You know this abuse has an expiry date?”

I agreed with my cat and knew right then and there that I’d be leaving that night after my mother fell asleep.

Well, when she was finally done (with threats that there’d be more in stock in the morning, mind you) I went to bed early and set my alarm to 3am (was a little inside joke with myself, since that’s biblically the “witching devil hour”)

I started quietly packing my quilt and cat up (I’d already been secretly packing the boot of my car up with all sentimental and important items weeks in advance, except she caught on and took all my baby albums and more to her boyfriend’s house, so I don’t have any baby photos or information on me when I was a baby anymore, like first words, size and just general things I’d have liked to compare to my own kids one day, rip)

Once that was all in my car, I quietly said goodbye to the old family dog and cat (they weren’t mine to take, not that I could’ve anyways, since it was troubling enough taking Buddy, who’s actually my pet and not the family one). That was pretty heartbreaking, as I knew that’d be the last time I’d see them (I grew up with them and was the only one who took care of them — mother neglects kids and pets alike lmao).

Once that was over, I looked around my house with my hand on the front door and was very melancholy, but knew Buddy was right: it had all reached its expiry date.

I left very quietly and drove to McDonalds for a coffee, as I had a long drive ahead (I had organised to be a nanny in this rich family’s house far away in the city — two hours drive). Luckily they were away on their country farm 4 hours away, so I had time to sneak Buddy in.

The nanny thing recently backfired horribly because they discovered Buddy, which led to more AM escapes with my car, but I’m staying with my older brother and his gf for 3 more weeks only. Something I’ve been working towards for months now is moving to a wilderness island to live in my country’s equivalent of Bag End — a beautiful country cottage, amazing job and fantastic study opportunities.

Best feature yet: it’s 60 hours away from my hometown by car, and then you’d have to take a boat for 10 more hours!! They shall never find me hahaha

One of my friends has also told me recently that my mother has started spreading horrible, defamatory rumours about me around town, but I don’t care anymore because I’m almost out.

So, although I can’t offer any practical advice (idk if you’re a minor or not, but regardless it’s great your dad is helping you!) this is the best advice I can offer:

Find a dream and hold onto it, one that doesn’t involve your immediate family. For me it’s moving to that island and enjoying all the fresh air. It’ll push you forwards and remind you of what you’re fighting for when at your lowest.

Remind yourself there will be other people in your life, whether a spouse, friends, children or even a dog! (I’m getting a golden retriever next year 🐾) And then remember that you deserve all of them and the unconditional love they offer you.

Remember that if you don’t want your mother/family screwing those people over by proxy of her/their relationship to you, then there’s no way in hell you alone should put up with it either, as I guarantee those future people only want good things for you ☀️

There is a good life after abuse, I’ve seen it, and I know you can achieve it, too!

Be prepared for tons of backlash and bullshit — it’s inescapable when dealing with people like this, but I recommend educating yourself on narcissistic parents and tactics to deal with them.

Finding a good therapist who deals in PTSD regarding childhood abuse is important, too. I found an amazing one in the town I’m moving to, who had nearly the same upbringing as me!

So while I’m still struggling with a lot of fear (scared my mother will find where I’m working and living one day) and guilt (I feel horrible about leaving the family dog and cat behind, especially when they need veterinary help, only to then go and get myself another puppy) I understand I’ve done the best I can in a very abnormal situation, and that I can only do better from here.

Also, this song has been a saving grace when going all angsty over wanting to leave your current situation:

It’s from my favourite Broadway Musical, “Newsies”, and lemme tell you — discovering this as a 17-year-old when I was just starting to realise the severity of my situation was pure divinity.

Jeremy Jordan, my beloved Broadway Bard <3

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When I finally get my cottage, I’m getting a wooden plaque with the name “Santa Fe” engraved on it, and am hanging it on my front door.

I wish you much luck and love, my little anonymous friend! And please know my inbox is open any time you need anything — vent, advice, a laugh or something else, ANYTHING, it feels good to know my past can maybe help someone else’s present ☀️

Please update me, too! I’m following your story along ardently now! (Also, be sure to take your sentimental items and store them somewhere safe away from your mother — ie baby albums, birth certificates, other paraphernalia/memorabilia etc).

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must hit the road. DESTINY AWAITS!

#ahh yes #Newsies my beloved <3 #and bless my family Gandalf #I’m gonna send him a gift next year from the small country town I’m moving to for his birthday as a thanks #also I’m torn between naming the golden retriever ‘Jaskier/Dandelion’ or ‘Glorfindel/Glorfy’ now #so happy that’ll soon be my only dilemma in life <33

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sepublic · 4 years

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Wing it like Witches!

Let me tell you- I was WORRIED this episode would make me sad and angsty, but instead it just made me happy and all warm inside! I know that sounds super-corny but like…

I LOVED this episode! I was worried from the promo pic that Boscha’s bullying would really get to Luz, Gus, and Willow, but… It didn’t! I mean, it still got to WILLOW hence the entire episode, but otherwise Luz and Gus were less “Wow I’m really being reminded of my insecurities from bullying” and more “I can’t believe she ACTUALLY did that. She wasted her entire school day doing that. This girl is NUTS, is she okay back home?”

(The more I see of Boscha, the more I have to wonder if she IS okay back home… Obviously not crippled with self-loathing to the extent that Amity is, but never mind.)

What’s really surprise to see though; LILITH IS A RED-HEAD!?!? I remember seeing that first pic of young Eda with two other classmates, one of whom was obscured and the other had glasses; And I thought, is THAT girl Lilith, could it be? Is the girl with the obscured face the one who stole Lilith’s lunch money, potentially that favorite character from Season 2 that Dana alluded to? My mind is racing, but either way young Eda and Lilith are utterly adorable! I do have to wonder if what Lilith had to say about Eda’s bad memory was just a jab, or something more… Given that the show has alluded to Eda possibly having amnesia with MORE than just her curse…!

Speaking of which; LILITH AND EDA GETTING ALONG! Well, sort of- I mean they’re technically adversarial by the end of this episode, but only technically. Lilith knows where the Owl House is, finally; And we get to see in this episode just how capable Hooty really IS as a security system, surprisingly enough! He even manages to capture LILITH; Though to be fair, she may not have been super-invested in the mission given this was her sister we’re talking about, but still! Coupled with Hooty mercilessly tearing apart those toys in Adventures in the Elements, and I have to wonder if he’s ever, like… KILLED people before, y’know?

…Maybe I don’t want that answer. Regardless, I love Luz’s little cheeky interference with Eda’s game, but Eda still manages to win by her last trick; Just pure, genuine skill and talent! That was a twist, I was expecting Eda to have another cheat or to be caught by Lilith, but as I said before… Eda isn’t humble, and for a GOOD reason! Lilith ain’t no slouch either, and I love that King willingly donned a cheerleader outfit just to offer support! I mean, maybe Eda MADE him, but otherwise he didn’t seem to have much of an issue so long as it was just at home!

And… I LOVE the little small moments between Eda and Lilith, where… Lilith KNOWS she has to turn her sister in, she’s getting desperate, but it’s also low-key breaking her heart to do this! And when she loses the match and just… FALLS on her knees in despair, questioning herself, and Eda picking her up? Giving her that signature ring, just to make Lilith look better? I… I LOVE these sisters, why can’t they make up?! Lilith isn’t even aiming to imprison Eda, she just wants her to join the Emperor’s Coven and continue doing stuff alongside her, like old times!

And Eda… Eda still needs her autonomy, but she knows that Lilith isn’t some cruel person. She knows that Lilith loves her sister and wants the best, that she’s in a terrible position; Eda knows how stifling the Coven System is, and while being beneath Belos provides a lot of power… It also provides a lot of PRESSURE as well! Sure, Lilith chose this… But Eda still believes that Lilith is deserving of kindness and compassion!

(Let me tell you, considering I don’t think we’ve seen any Eda clips past this episode, I was LEGIT afraid she’d get captured by the end… thank goodness!)

What’s also fascinating to note is that Emperor Belos was in charge since fiftyyears ago; Given the speculation that Eda isn’t as old as she looks, this indicates Belos is PRETTY old himself, by a large margin; Especially when one considers how long-lived Bump is! It’s a small moment telling us how he established the Coven Heads five decades ago, but I really appreciated it; And in general, this episode seems to be our final, light-hearted breather before we get into the REALLY heavy stuff… Keep in mind, our last two episodes were originally planned to air side-by-side, like a two-part season finale! On a lesser note, we see the Heximal System teacher giving a History lesson, confirming what I suspected earlier; That some subjects include students from all tracks, simply because the subject-matter applies across any and all covens, and History is one of them! Love the small world-building here!

Given how we don’t see anything else of Willow and Gus past that scene in Belos’ treasury, I have to wonder… What if those two get captured, and only Luz can escape? Amidst King –and possibly Eda- being taken as well, Luz might be looking at a one-man operation here! Which just makes her all the more impressive… Like looking at her now, even if she DOES lose against Lilith; She’d still have been going toe-to-toe with the Head of the Emperor’s Coven, even if only briefly! Luz has come a far way away from where she started as just a powerless human, and has amassed FOUR glyphs; Light, Ice, Plant, and Fire!

And BOY HOWDY is she good at them! Seriously, I bet she could’ve easily beaten Boscha in a Witch’s Duel if she wanted; Though it’s worth noting that according to Willow, Grudgby is apparently the only language she speaks… Given that shot of her room at the beginning, I have to wonder if that’s where her MAIN self-worth lies in! In the beginning Boscha acknowledges to herself that she’s hated, ‘so long as she is feared’; And her monologue low-key gives me, “Doesn’t know how to make friends so copes by putting herself above everybody else and overinflating her own self-importance under the impression that people are just secretly jealous!” vibes. (In some ways she’s like Grace from Infinity Train…)

That aside, I just get a sensation of pride from seeing how adept and adaptable Luz is, and the way she learned Fire from Boscha of all people –Which I called!- is both hilarious but goes to show what kind of a learner she is… I feel like Eda, like we’ve watched our kid grow and get stronger and I can’t WAIT to see what she pulls off next! Amidst her learning Magic and then defying the Coven System… you go Luz, YOU GO!

And, it seems I’m not the only person who shares this sentiment! Even after Boscha’s bullying, we don’t see anybody beyond her gang make fun of Luz and co.! When Willow gets trashed poured on her, some students are watching, but… They seem kind of disturbed by it all? They’re not outright vouching on her behalf like Luz, possibly because Boscha is watching; But still! It is SO cathartic to see Willow being beloved by the entire school like that, even if she’s keeping her friend-circle to a select few; People LIKE her, and it’s what she deserves! Like Luz, I’m SO proud…!

I’m still disappointed we didn’t get the names of Boscha’s other friends, but I really like their inclusion here! I liked how they all seemed rather uncomfortable with seeing Luz forfeit, only to be made Boscha’s target practice; And how Luz is so bright, bubbly, and infectiously-cheerful, spreading her good will to others! Like, this girl is TOO kind, and so loving… She has no bounds and I love how those other girls are even affected by Luz, genuinely enjoying her and wanting to be friends, alongside having Willow as a teammate! I have to wonder if they’ll ditch Boscha after this… Or at the very least, try to talk her down as friends of Boscha that she actually cares about and vice-versa (compared to Amity, who has always been cold towards Boscha, hence why her talking wouldn’t have made a difference)!

Speaking of Amity… C’mon, girl. Your CRUSH is showing, the way you’re getting flustered, imagining seeing Luz in a ‘cute’ uniform and everything… Gus being utterly confused, but you can tell that the gears in Willow’s head are turning and honestly; She’s all for it, likely! I think this is the first time Amity has had an ACTUAL crush on someone she can talk to, instead of some distant figure or a fictional character! It’s so heartwarming seeing her navigate it, getting to actually deal with feelings like a kid is supposed to be allowed to do! And Luz being clueless… That, or she thinks Amity is into WILLOW, which makes a lot of sense too!

(After all, Luz knows that her parents wouldn’t approve of her being Amity’s girlfriend… But Luz, you have NO idea how much she cares, she literally loves you more than she fears them! And Amity, knowing that her parents wouldn’t approve and struggling with this no doubt, but her love for Luz is really shining through over all of that!)

To put it simply; Luz is FRIEND-shaped, she’s lovable, there’s no escaping liking her! Maybe Boscha will always be a bully, and I know one might call it ‘cliché’… But honestly I’d love to see Boscha eventually warm up to Luz and HER infectious positivity as well! Also, I saw that twist with the Rusty Smidge coming from a mile away, and I love how Luz low-key gets into a genuine rant over it! Although the loss doesn’t matter, as Luz’s team was clearly more adept and Boscha’s friends don’t seem interested in forcing Luz and her friends to do all of that other stuff…

Anyhow, I love seeing Amity stand up for her friends, and when she says that her social life has improved because she’s with Luz, in spite of Boscha’s claims… I really CAN see her standing up to her parents, sometime later! I speculated a while back that depending on how her and Luz’s relationship in Enchanting Grom Fright goes, it’d really impact what Amity does later down the line, and I was right! But it IS worth noting that Amity may not yet know that Luz has to leave… King and Eda know, and the former mentioned this in front of Willow and Gus! It’s possible that Luz has laid out her plans to return every summer (and during winter break and whatnot), which would definitely lessen Amity’s angst by an infinite amount! And seeing as how she has instantaneous access to the Demon Realm, who’s to say she can’t pop in every day, after school! Sure she might not be actively living in the Owl House anymore, but otherwise…!

On another note with Amity, I love her and Luz getting to geek out over The Good Witch Azura, and it’s funny to see the show confirm what I wondered about earlier; About Amity secretly making Azura references in public, under the knowledge that nobody would recognize them and realize she’s a nerd… But LUZ does now, and the two can bond! Also, Amity getting to have fun with Luz and co. at the end, being CARRIED by Luz, fully accepted into the home… I know you also have the library as a safe space Amity, but you’ve also got the Owl House as well! And it seems Hooty bears no grudges, either!

Also, someone speculated recently that Amity has her goth-sense from Lilith… and given the implication that Lilith dyed her hair, I can REALLY SEE IT! I’m disappointed we didn’t get any interactions between the two… But the way it was set up, I feel like if Eda and Lilith were there they’d be too busy cheering on their kids respectively! Or not, we’ve seen them prioritize their feud in Covention… But back then Luz and Amity weren’t on the same team!

Back to Amity, it’s interesting that she used to be on the Grudgby team, and was good at it, even being CAPTAIN when Boscha wasn’t; But then explicitly quit when she accidentally hurt some of her ‘friends’ merely once. Even if she never cared for them in the past, even if this was before she met Luz and learned to be kind and open again… She was ALWAYS someone who was self-conscious of her actions! And sure, the issue is that Amity is a LITTLE too self-conscious, constantly berating herself, holding herself accountable for every mistake… But regardless, it says a lot how guilty she feels to have hurt her teammates, even if it was an accident and a one-time incident that resulted in victory!

I’ll probably do ANOTHER post about it later, but it says a lot; How Amity feels like she should step up as a Blight, and she DOES outshine the others… But because of that inherent guilt but also compassion, she actually quits Grudgby out of guilt! Which leads me to the idea that even if she tolerated Boscha and co., she wouldn’t have wanted to hurt them; Again, because she’s critical of herself, but also because Amity isn’t cruel and it may have reminded her of how she treated Willow! I have to respect and fear for Amity on quitting Grudgby after that…

Again, I think she has the issue of being too overtly-critical of herself, and that it’s honestly THE issue that defines her problems; But on the other hand, I feel like Amity’s parents would’ve been displeased to see their star child quit the team, just for hurting some ‘lesser’ witches? I’m scared for what may have happened to Amity, but it also says a lot that she made a potentially defiant move simply because she didn’t want to hurt yet another friend…

(That, or her parents wanted Amity to focus on Abominations and other studies, and coupled with Amity’s guilt, it was the perfect opportunity to get her off the team. Which would be sad, but not surprising.)

Anyhow, I just think it’s interesting that Boscha and co. don’t ever seem to have any resentment towards Amity until recently. It’s possible Boscha DID dislike Amity up until she stepped down… But it makes me wonder if Boscha, like, looked up to Amity and wanted her approval and attention? Given how she’s always framed as following Amity… Perhaps Amity stepping down led to Boscha taking the spotlight, and so Boscha feels indebted towards Amity for her fame (and potential source of self-worth)?

Last but DEFINITELY not least; Somebody else (I’m sorry I keep forgetting) alluded to how in Understanding Willow, there was the issue set up of Luz meaning the best for friends… But also sometimes invading their privacy, or overriding what they want, so she can live out her fantasies at the same time! And, like- A big part of her IS doing this for her friends, that much is clear… But Luz does have an issue sometimes with clearing fantasy from reality! It’s a more advanced lesson from the one she learned in Episode 2, continuing off of that, and I LOVE it!

Like, I really do LOVE how Luz recognizes in this episode that even if a part of her is motivated in helping Willow, she’s also using this as a chance to live out her underdog Azura fantasies, and how Willow points this out to her… and Luz realizes that she’s right! She actively MAKES a change to her behavior, and makes up for it by fixing Willow’s hairclip and even forfeiting on Willow’s behalf and taking all the punishment… All because she doesn’t want her friend to be uncomfortable! Man, Luz is SO ridiculously kind, I keep saying she’s my favorite but she REALLY IS! What a lovable dork, no wonder Boscha and her friends are falling for her!

(Also RIP Skara, you were the fourth one in a team of three. Although given how she helped carry Luz and Amity in the previous episode, amidst already having more screen time… I can see this as a way for the writers to give more of a spotlight to Boscha’s other friends, while subtly acknowledging that Skara likely has gotten over her bias towards Luz and the others. I wonder if Boscha also noticed and that’s why she was left out; That, or she’s the least-skilled? I dunno, but it was neat to see and I’ll overanalyze the moment regardless!)

On a lesser note; Willow’s last name is Park, which is a Korean surname! Coupled with her VA’s ethnicity and Willow/Tati Gabrielle being listed amongst other Asian rep characters and VAs, and I think it’s safe to say that she’s the Boiling Isles equivalent to Asian; Which let me tell you, is VERY nice to see!

Overall, this was an AMAZING episode! It was a heartwarming, feel-good episode that reaffirmed character relationships and love while still expanding on them, adding in more friends to the group… It was pretty much nothing but happy moments and revelations! Obviously things are setting up in the next two episodes to go REALLY crazy, especially with Luz potentially getting banned from Hexside for defying Lilith and Belos… But it’s clear to say that she’s left QUITE the good impression on the administration and students! And I can see some even vibing with Luz’s ideas even after she gets kicked out… Perhaps Luz will unknowingly start a rebellion of sorts?

#the owl house #owl house #the owl house willow #willow park #the owl house boscha #the owl house luz #luz noceda #the owl house eda #edalyn clawthorne #the owl house lilith #lilith clawthorne #the owl house amity #amity blight #analysis

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kenganparadise · 4 years

Note

hello! could i request something for imai cosmo and hanafusa hajime? i adore them both but i can’t find any fics written for either of them 🥺 like some headcanons with having a female s/o who’s a top tier kickboxer and she likes to fight in illegal gender mixed tournaments bc she loves to beat up big men and their big egos ya know?? — please and thank you and i hope you have a great day 💖✨

Thank you so much for requesting! I hope you enjoy!!

Cosmo and Hanafusa with a Kickboxer S/O-

Cosmo-

• Oh boy. At first Cosmo thinks that he’s found his perfect counterpart. This relationship probably starts out as an amazing friendship that evolves into a loving romantic relationship.

• Cosmo loves a strong woman. He especially loves a strong woman that can hold her own in a fight.

• Cosmo would love to spar with his S/O, he’d do his best not to hurt them, but there are sometimes where he gets too into it and ends up going a little too far. He always babbles out apologies after apologies once he notices he’s gone too far.

• Cosmo is very into PDA. Whenever he’s around his S/O he’s always hugging, touching, and generally just loving on them. It doesn’t matter who’s around or where they are, Cosmo is loving on his lover.

• As for the illegal gender mixed tournaments, he’s there at all of his S/O’s matches to cheer them on. He probably makes T-Shirts and signs with his S/O’s face on them. Anyone who didn’t know that cosmo and his S/O were dating probably thought that he was some crazed superfan.

• seeing his S/O take down some big guys gets him so excited. The whole time watching he’s probably got a huge smile on his face. He’d watch in glee the whole time and never take his eyes off his S/O.

• Cosmo would love it if his S/O were friends with his friends like Sekibyashi and Wakatsuki. They’re a fun group to be around and some really good friends to have.

• Cosmo would invite his friends to his S/O’s matches as well. He probably makes T-shirts for them too. Of course Sekibayashi wears it with pride, he’d wear anything homemade by Cosmo and with his Friend’s face plastered all over it. wakatsuki reluctantly wears it, he’s worried about people thinking their friend group is some kind of creepy fan club for cosmo’s S/O.

Hanafusa-

• our boy Hanafusa is a little disconnected socially. He’s very awkward and blunt.

• His version of ‘I love you’ is probably something like “you’re my favorite patient” or “you’re my number 1 test subject” or something weird like that. But he shows love in other ways.

• he’d make his S/O’s health (physical and mental) his number one priority. He wants his S/O to be as healthy and happy as they can possibly be. If they’re happy then he’s happy.

• He always tries to complement his S/O. He thinks he’s being romantic but it comes off as creepy and oddly specific. He says stuff like “Your hair smells nice” or “You have very nice kneecaps” “your teeth are so big and sharp” “you have the most beautiful veins” he genuinely thinks theses are good complements and he wants to make his S/O blush but he only succeeds in creeping them out. He would totally blush if his S/O gave him creepy and oddly specific complements back.

• As for his S/O kicking some ass, he loves it and can’t get enough. He’d be practically drooling ring-side. He has to be at every every single fight.

• Seeing his beloved S/O taking down people much bigger than them makes him swoon. He’d watch the whole time with his head in his hands just ogling at his S/O.

• Once the fights over he runs to his S/O to patch up any wounds they might have received. The whole time he’s probably rambling out complements and praises.

• He pretty much always has that sly smile on his face, but around his S/O that smile grows even bigger. His S/O would often catch him just staring at them, no matter where they are he’s always just staring creepily.

• If his S/O lost any of their teeth during their match he’d totally keep them. He probably has a little collection of their body parts like teeth, toenail clippings, or locks of hair. Hanafusa is very loving but very creepy.

#imai cosmo #hanafusa hajime #kengan ashura x reader #kengan omega #kengan asura #kengan ashura

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fandom-sheep · 3 years

Text

Fundy 28 APR 21

Delayed Liveblog Vault Hunters Part 1/1

Our favorite fox is damp. And apparently can’t get his hair to sit right.

He’s already having to raise the redemption price. It’s been 5 seconds.

I don’t even quite get Vault Hunters I know Hbomb did it last season and that it.

Charm. Lovely.

Is the bottom right a confetti cannon?

Oh no we have to fight? We can’t be trusted.

We are the sort of people to purposefully lose the fight.

Don’t get me wrong. We love Fundy and will cry on command. But also we are rather mean to him.

Mystic Tomato. I don’t know what it is but I love it.

I was saving up Chanel points for water and ads. But now I gotta save for those and the little fun reward pack things.

Oh no. Did we hit 100 subs already? That’s what it says over his name?

Confetti canon?

5up! Hooray!

HBomb humoring Fundy with the emotes.

Fight fight fight!

So close. We tried out best to fight the giant.

Alright chat. We need another arena. Everyone get him.

Everyone in chat yelling about Phil doing stuff in OSMP. Wrong server y’all. We can deal with that later.

Ooo are we doing VC?

Everything is so chaotic already.

Tubbo and Fundy trying to figure everything out.

You know things are confusing when the original people are like “the what?”

There was a how to play meeting? And somehow these boys are still confused.

Tubbo at least has an excuse to be confused.

I love skill trees in games. They just look so pretty.

“I see a melon!” -Fundy

5up our beloved.

My streamer is being beat up with a boomerang.

Fundy doesn’t know what’s happening, but he’s rich so it works.

Tubbo is just saying every name in hopes he says the right one.

Pizza!

We attack!

WE WIN!

We did it! We’re a good chat!

Is 5ups skin still cog champ themed? Maybe not. Maybe my brain is being goofy.

Is Fundy complaining about his hair? I’m not actually paying attention. What is chat on about.

That’s one thing that can be said about all the chats. They like it when their streamers have fluffy hair.

Chat really is just crying aren’t they. Fundy’s chat has a skill of crying at everything.

Hooray 5up is active! Fundy go say hi for us!

Hooray friends!

Super good item! I don’t get it, but super good item!

ITS THE BEING!

Arena arena. We’re almost to the arena!

Aww. I missed the bets.

ARENA TIME!

Beat em up chat!

Oh no. He’s hitting hard.

WE DIDS IT!

ARENA TIME!

Oh were getting hit hard.

But we did it!

Good Job Wolf! Awesome Millionaire!

No arena box for winning. Rude.

Chat can’t even remember how many fights we’ve won.

Stupid full inventory.

Temporary base on the hill.

Pretty chest!

All the gifted subs. Such a popular streamer.

That looks so cool! I missed what it did but it looks cool!

Ooo all sorts of cool things.

Look at chat go

SHULKER SHELLS!

Look at everyone giving Fundy things.

It’s neato that they use peoples skins. That you can see the people who donated.

Shulker crates! Nice! That’ll be good for transporting things.

We’re so fancy.

Ooo sorting. The most complicated thing.

Chats over here spoiling our streamer.

Wool?

ARENA TIME!

We got this!

Beat em up subs!

WE WON!

Looting 2 noice.

Mods bribing chat to stop barking with Scooby snacks. I love them so much.

Wolf my dear you have done nothing wrong.

Oh cloud9 has a fox skin!

Ooo create mod. We know about that.

A lovely little base.

Cake is being stolen all over the place.

Stab stab the dragon.

Hooray follow goal! Music time!

Oh... that was it. Alrighty we’ll take what we can get.

Time to win an arena subs. We want music.

Our boy is confused.

Fundy just read the chat. They are telling you.

I got to get this time! The subs will destroy everyone!

Happy Halloween?

Gasp! Mega gift!

Pretty skin!

We love the Fundy mods dearly. They are so chill and nice.

The water well has run dry.

The streamer has escaped. It’s just us, the mods, and the chair.

Oh a Schlatt plush! Neato!

Schlushy I agree with that name.

“Not the hat the other one.” LOL.

Chat go Glatt

Went to get water the. Forgot to drink it.

Subs can modify emotes left and right.

Viper good job! Good book!

Fundy doing his game at middle of the night o’clock.

Streamer... please sleep. Please eat meals.

We’re almost at the Arena!

Sleep 8 hours... just at the wrong time.

Chat fully admitting to thinking our streamer is dumb enough to fall in lava.

We have learned to balance our expectations Fundy.

Oh this is going to be a long stream. A really long stream. I’ll probably need to take a break and do some work.

Arena Time! Beat em up subs!

Good job subs!! You did it!

Let’s see what we get for the arena.

So many Wolf!

Diamond!!!

Putting the winners on their boxes. Nice.

I have so much work to do, but I just want to watch the funky Fox.

Villagers? We love villagers.

PIANO!

Oh we’re switching screens it’s serious piano.

So lovely. I love listening to music people do their things.

I love the fact the subs keep shouting FundyJam!

I swear improv music should not sound this lovely

Spooky sounding tune. Sounds like a boss fight in a haunted castle.

Awesome piano!

Poor boy so annoyed by his hair. Bless his heart.

For anyone who doesn’t touch Twitter. The Fundy Updates Twitter is fabulous and amazing. They are just always so upbeat over everything.

Trying to nether portal. You go fox friend.

Wow Just portal to the center do a lava lake. Under soul sand.

You go 5up! You get that bastion.

Rip 5up.

Poor Fundy doing his best.

How’s the VC crew doing?

MENDING GOLD PANTS!!!

The drip is back!

Also I voted no in the will he burn pole. I have faith in my streamers.

We’re calling Fundy emo now. And he’s trying to deny having an emo phase, and failing.

I don’t know what’s happening half the time in this chat.

Fire Fox!

We’re still calling Fundy emo. Chat spoils the streamer and chat bullies the streamer.

Oh are we trending emo Fundy? Nice. I’m conveniently scrolling on Twitter.

Look at us bully our streamer.

The two people in chat. Those saying emo Fundy. Those going “his hair is nice stfu”. The duality of chat.

Sounds of suffering coming from the nether.

Fundy has taken responsibility for enderpearls.

We cursed Fundy? I look away for 10 seconds.

Pixel has turned on Fundy.

Fight that ghast.

Fundy’s going to get all the endermen.

Piglin goes smack.

We’re wearing the drip. Nice.

Everyone gets rich so fast here.

Well. We’ll just leave the corpse there.

Sizzle.

The people who bet on him dying are so rich in channel points now.

*sad fox noises*

Surely not. Fundy we have lost all hope in you.

Pixel doing everything they can to do anti emo Fundy.

Aww. I missed the prediction. I bet he won’t die. I believe in him.

Fundy being scared by his own body. Cant wait to see that clip everywhere on YouTube.

Back to attacking the endermen.

Tubbo is such a villain. He’s so willing to kill HBomb.

Fundy just getting back to work.

I’m sorry corpses become skeletons. That’s horrid.

Off to get the dragon. The dragon the dragon.

Tubbo was smote.

HBomb and Fundy fully ready to be that person that steals the temple.

Hbomb shaped chest. That is great.

Everyone bullying HBomb.

Almost Arena time.

Betting yes on the arena. The subs are strong and they’ve got this.

My twitch app is being stupid. This might be my signal to take a break and do my school work.

8k boosters and the chat goes nuts.

Chat from where I am is just a bunch of booster packs. I think I need to close and reopen the app.

There we go. There is the lovely chat.

Arena time!

Aww. My bet disappeared when I moved the app.

No! He’s cheating! The subs are doing their best!

Good job subs!

I mean it’s a diamond sword. It’s not diamonds but it’ll do.

I heard a du du du du?

I’ve got to go. Time to be productive with my life and time.

Let me know if I miss anything especially stupid or funny.

Alright it’s been 2 and a half hours but I’m back.

Looks like I missed a lot, and the boy has been going 5 hours.

Still on Vault Hunters? How is he not tired of this yet good gracious.

We’re enchantin’

I don’t know what’s happening but I’m watching.

Who stole all the luck from the boy?

Good that he’s drinking plenty of water

Good that he’s taking a break for foods.

What is with the lightening sounds? I don’t like it.

Spare the soup pet.

Sadness. No 3rd cow.

Yes! One more arena!

Lure da cows.

No that’s the Fundy Cow!

Nooooo. That’s worse than killing it!

Did we win our other arenas? I only say the first 5 or so.

Lightening Cow. Lovely.

Noooo the cowwww!

For once Fundy isn’t the one thriving.

He tunneled the cow out. Wow.

Bye 5up! Good luck!

Hi Crumb. The cow was snatched.

Noooo. Quit stealing our cows!

What he jumps like Superman and steals our cows.

Cow bunker.

These cows will get snatched. I just know it.

No. No taking da cows.

Our cows must be protected.

Enchanting is not on our fox’s side

Oh so they did beat the enderdragon. Good for them.

All sorts of neato elytra.

I must go again. I am called to dinner.

Good job getting you diamond sir.

30 minutes later I am back and we are chatting with HBomb.

Sharp boomerang.

Saw a bit of cat maid peaking out there.

5up judging Fundy for just sitting and mining.

Oh the facecam is off. I’m just noticing.

I guess it probably goofed up and froze.

Everyone in chat talking about how much to make the magic packs. I like the people saying 6.9k just for the funnies.

I’m voting 6.9k in the pole just for the funny.

I know it won’t win but I’m doing my part.

Goblins? What the squeak did I miss?

What. We stab the goblins. And they give us emeralds?

This mans has been going for 6 hours and a while. I hope he doesn’t forget to look after himself. He was talking about eating an hour ago.

I love all the product minions. All the donators just chilling on their chests.

Why are all the minions black and white? I missed that one?

Oh they run out. They ran out of stuff and out of color.

Wealth in the chest, since we don’t have a mouth.

Angel or Fairy? Is that even a question? (Chat chose fairy)

Fairy Fox. I want to draw that but have negative amounts of art skills.

We’re killing time until we hit 7 hours.

We’re meeting up with 5up! Nice!

Oh HBomb left and thought Fundy hadn’t done anything in 20 minutes but jump around his castle. LOL.

We hit 7 hours and dipped.

7 hours and almost a thousand subs. Look at us go.

Hello Puffy Raiders! You’re a bit late but hello!

Oh no. He’s panicking and not ending.

Please someone who feels like being annoying remind the mans to eat.

Raffle? Oh donators! They go through a raffle thingy! Nice!

Hooray OSMP but also Fundy please sleep and such.

Not even raffling. Just opening and closing.

Nice spin noises.

WOLF! Wolf earned to win the raffle.

Wait wait wait? Fundy go get some food and go to bed!

Hey look there is our streamer!

This is the max post size lol. 5up raid let’s go! Hello 5up! We are here! But now I’m going to bed. Oh nevermind. I hear the fox. Ah that’s smart 5up. Anyway. I’m gone now.

#vault hunters #Fundy #fundylive #our poor streamer was so confused the entire time #the chat loved spoiling him during this #delayed liveblogging

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x-exo · 3 years

Note

*slides into your asks with a rose in my mouth* why hello, tis me!

Apologies for the long wait but your favorite long asks anon is here and OOF so much has happened. Let us break it down one by one lol

Monsta x our beans, welp we can officially say we are army wives for them because shownu is now at the military and just welp this feels weird lol. I lowkey forgot he was meant to enlist so when the news came out I went through so many emotions. Its why the latest comeback feels a bit bittersweet to me. It is their BEST for sure and for this year, I agree so to not see him perform right before he left is a bit sad. I don't blame him of course (if anyone does i am fish slapping you) but just a shame. I'm happy we do get content with him still? Seems pre-planned so that is nice!

Onto legends exo, fantastic comeback. I cannot stop listening to the album, its just bops full of bops to me. They broke so many records and I'm over here sipping my tea because fudge yes. It isn't a full member comeback, 2 of the members featured in the comeback are off playing call of duty and they still did THAT. While having lay properly in the comeback!? (Or at least some form, better than tempo era!) Kyungsoo my beloved, the man that can swoon you off your feet, his proper solo album. Omg I am just in love? The album feels like a Playlist that you hear while taking a walk or on a raodtrip? I love it, I just love everything about this with how much thought was given. It makes me feel warm and I'm so proud of him (I think he even got a first win) but sadly xiumin got the it shall not be named virus D: I feel so bad and I can only hope he gets better! It makes me worried because I keep seeing more and more idols getting sick and I can't help but wonder why don't the kpop entertainment just put a pause with stuff? Of course that is VERY unrealistic, I am aware that is naive for me to think but its just so idk how to word it properly (my English brain is not working I am sorry) I cannot help the feeling of while I get people are being safe and yes we need to still live like normal beings, is it worth risking idols health just for some entertainment? Idk how to explain my thoughts properly but maybe I hope I made sense!!

Onto svt! That is perfectly fine to not vibe with a comeback! I will admit, I didn't fully vibe with this comeback and it shocked me because every comeback was a hit to me. Even fear, left and right or homerun where I know many fans were split on, I liked but RTL was a grower. For me, listening to it without watching the mv, helped it alot and it is a song I like. Is it their best? No I don't think so but it is alright to say "hey I didn't bop to this, not my cup of tea" (imo I blame the mv? The mv REALLY didn't do the song justice at all, I am sorry if I sound like a fake fan but this mv Just is bad in all aspects. Sure we have some pretty shots but like it just doesn't fit at all?) So if anything listening to the song or wishing the live performances does it better. Seeing the choreography amps the song up more, cannot go wrong with their dancing. As for the rest of the songs, I admit game boy is my top favorite? Idk if it is because I am a gaming nerd and found all the production of the song so creative but yeah. We can wait for the next comeback! Svt always have something up their sleeves, plus we do have their music projects to look forward too (I wonder when we will get one? Seeing as RTL promotions stopped) some positive news with the boys is they resigned like a year before their contract ends and I'm a bit emotional :') I'm excited to see the boys future projects. We did have caratland recently! Did you watch it if I may ask? We did get in the soop confirmation so I'm excited to watch that, the boys deserve that nice break (even if it was filmed for a show fjsbsns)

Ok I think that is it for kpop updates? XD I do hope life has been treating you kindly! Life has been a bit all over the place sadly so I hope it wasn't like that for you as well! Until next time my bean!

hii!!!! omg sorry for the late reply i've been pretty busy these days 🙈

indeed so much has happened! and much more since you sent this ask omg!!

our shownu is at war *looks into the distance* *wipes away tear* *sighs* by now I got used to enlistment news (see what happens when you stan 2nd and 3rd gen groups) but STILL [[IT HURT]] when they uploaded the monchannel videos of his goodbye day like ????? what kind of twisted mind diuhdfuihdifuhs but the boys were all so cute and soft but they seemed so sad they didn't want to let go of their super leader :(( I hope he's learning lots and making new friends (and also we've got our international super spy yoo kihyun giving us small updates on him every now and then so everything's fine!). Yeah I totally get you it felt empty without him this comeback and at first it didn't really clicked with me but when the enlistment news came out i understood he had to take care of his health and thoroughly check on his eye sight in order to be 100% ready for the military so it made sense he had to be absent :( everything was so close (the comeback and enlistment) that I'm sure there was no other way for doing it I'm pretty sure he couldn't maybe postpone the enlistment day any further

onto exo! my ksoo my soft boi my romantic boi 🥺 his album is so him SO HIM i can't explain it bur it's just HIM you know it's the type of album you'd play on loop on a summer afternoon when you've taken your papers and paints outside in the garden to paint a bit with the warm soft breeze moving the trees lightly 🤧 and he signs in English and SPANISH (he did it for me) my multilingual king he's a native. Also I've been watching Honeymoon Tavern with Jongin these days and OMG i could d word for him really (if you haven's watched it go do it when you have time) he's SO SOFT and SO CUTE and he works as a waiter and a wedding planner and helps with the room preparations and is also a tour guide and he's just so cute so happy al the time the way he interacts with everyone is so 🥺🤧😭 onto more serious stuff now: yeah i was so worried about minseok catching covid omg but i'm glad he went through it with our any major complication and the rest of the boys are safe too! I guess the industry doesn't stop bc that would mean a huge loss of thousands and thousands of dollars/won/etc so as long as the gov doesn't prohibit going out or gathering like at the beginning of the pandemic, they'll keep on going with the idols' schedules otherwise the industry would just shut down having no way of earning money to sustain all the companies and idols.

as for seventeen! yeah i like the songs too! the mv sure ruined rtl and listening to it without watching it has really helped it grow on me more but still it feels kind of meh to me idk i really like anyone i think it's my favourite from the album. AND NOW WE'VE GOT A COMEBACK IN OCTOBER!!!! yayyyyy i can't wait they seem to be preparing very diligently (i hope they release a sexy bop) it's a shame junhao aren't gonna be present for this comeback but i'm soooooo happy they have the opportunity to visit their families again omg they have spent 2 whole years without seeing them in the flesh they must be so happy to get back to them again!!! it's so funny seeing them be bored at the quarantine hotel and doing lives every day duhdfiudhfiuh i hope it passes quickly and they can see their loved ones finally! and I did watch Caratland!! omg the unit switch song was the best thing ever hhu doing lilili yabbay and not being able to stop laughing idfuhdifuhs perf team doing chocolate and owning it????? hello??? performance team more like main vocal team wow! and the vocal team being a complete mess during check in lmaooo i loved it! In The Soop has finally started!!! I love these kind of "normal life" concepts I love seeing the boys being themselves cooking and relaxing I've watched the first and second eps as of today and also few clips from the third and omg mingyu and jeonghan drowning in the pond dfuhidfhidfs lmao they're so dumb i love them 🤣 i'm glad they could go away for a few days and spend time together away from their hectic schedules!

I hope you're well now and if not hang in there it'll all pass soon enough! 🥰💕 bye bye!!

p.s.: I got your request for the svt this or that gifset and i promise i’ll do it one day i just don’t feel like giffing these days dhbduusi i’m out of energy

#ask #my super nice lovely anon

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noethicalconsumptionunderdisney · 3 years

Text

Ranked: Hannah Montana — Seasons

This’ll be a little less structured than my other ones, a little shorter, more of a general overview. It goes without saying that all of these Ranked posts are just my personal opinions, but this one in particular is super-subjective. I will say that regardless of how I’m ranking these, yes, there is always something to enjoy about each season, otherwise I wouldn’t be talking about this show at all. That said, let’s get into it. As usual, ranking Worst->Best.

#4: Season Three

This one… this one pains me. Because on one hand, our kids are growing up, and I like that they explore that from a few different angles— Miley’s becoming more financially independent, driving, and branching out career-wise; Jackson’s applying for, and then going to, college, and leaves his dead-end job at Rico’s behind for good; Oliver starts to get passionate about music; Lilly gets a job. There are some episodes I genuinely like, and so much I want to like about this, except…

…it’s also weirdly the season that feels the most “stuck.” Even ignoring the production hell that led to several episodes being aired out of order, it feels sort of erratic and incoherent as a season, and a lot of that is because the characters feel erratic, incoherent, and strangely stagnant. For a season that’s supposedly exploring the characters growing into adulthood, it’s also the season where we see characters regressing, deteriorating, or stagnating rather than developing in a positive direction. It seems both determined to latch onto the status quo and determined to change, and not necessarily for the better.

I think the biggest thing for me here is the tone. Because not only is it tonally inconsistent from episode to episode, it also takes on this self-aware cynicism that doesn’t really fit? One of Hannah Montana’s greatest strengths in my opinion is its sincerity, corny as it may come off at times, so I don’t know why they felt the need to sacrifice that this season, and it’s my biggest sticking point when it comes to enjoying it. It came off like the writers and the actors were just tired of being part of the show, only the execs were determined to hang onto their cash cow for as long as possible, so everyone was in this stasis with no end in sight.

#3: Season Four

Okay, so a lot of the tonal issues and fatigue from the previous season definitely affected this season as well, particularly in the beginning, but I actually want to defend this season a little. I think this season was better than its critics may remember. It may be my view of the latter part of the season affecting how I see the season as a whole, or maybe it’s the fact that I adore Siena and feel she deserves more appreciation in general despite only being on this season, and not even in every episode this season, but I like this season because I felt that they sufficiently got their shit together enough to give a beloved character and franchise a proper farewell.

While it’s sad that we had to leave them behind, of course, it was also for the best, and I like that they put care and effort into seeing our kids off. I like that they didn’t just end with Miley revealing her secret, but actually showed the aftermath of what that would be like for her. I like that we got to see Lilly torn between wanting to follow her best friend anywhere and wanting to follow her own path and focus on her own future. I like that we got to see Jackson finally being loved and valued and cared for by someone who was a good influence on him, and we got to see him cleaning up his act so that he could be good to her, and that the romance didn’t magically fix everything and he still needed fulfillment when it came to his career, and that the last person he’d ever expect to come through for him, did.

I don’t like that Oliver didn’t get to be a part of it, I hate what they did to Jake, and I can’t stand Jesse, but then again, maybe that’s why this one isn’t higher. I still overall find myself a lot more satisfied watching this season, and it really felt that it had a direction and a destination, even if that destination was the end.

But if we want to get into my favorite seasons, we’ll need to go back to the beginning:

#2: Season One

I’ll be honest, part of the reason I love this season so much is because watching clips from it on their website was what got me into the show in the first place, and what got me watching Disney Channel regularly as a child. Looking back, the acting could have been better, yes, but they were learning. They were new, and they were trying, and they were getting better, and I’ll take sincere acting paired with solid writing over seasoned-but-tired acting paired with lazy writing any day.

And the writing was very solid for this season. I gotta give it to them, they really wanted this show to succeed and take off, and it showed. Hey, it worked too. Once they found their footing, they had good characters, good comedy, good drama. Their problems weren’t always grounded in reality, but the characters felt like they were.

While this season definitely feels humble in comparison to what came after, I think that humility works in its favor. It wasn’t trying to be larger than life, but rather trying to take some of Miley’s “celebrity problems” and bring them home, draw parallels to her normal life and the lives of her friends and family. A disagreement with a boy over music becomes a desperate and futile attempt to be in two places at once, a fight about a friend’s dorky glasses becomes a fight about a zit on a poster and how much you’re willing to embarrass yourself and “look bad” in front of others, and a feud with a mean girl becomes a role reversal and an opportunity to take the high road.

All in all, it’s just a really good season. But the greatest season…

#1: Season Two

…is Season 2, hands down. The most fun, the most iconic, the most energy from cast and crew alike. Most of their best episodes come from this season, and while there are some episodes that don’t hit, when they do hit, they knock it out of the fucking park. They were also in a really good place, I feel, with the actors comfortable enough in their characters and roles, and practiced enough at acting at this point to not just play their characters but excel in them, yet they still had that early energy and effort before they got too comfortable.

I’m also continually impressed with how they did their cameos, how the guest stars were able to bring it to the show, but the narrative was still able to balance them out with adequate focus on the main cast and the themes of the episode. I’ll gush more when I get more into the specifics of the episodes, but suffice to say that if I could only watch one Hannah Montana season for the rest of my life, it would easily be this one.

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driftwoodskeleton · 3 years

Note

romance prompts "She has never wanted to hear someone say they love her less."

Tonight was a disaster. Nothing had gone right except everything that could go wrong. if she had seen one issue, she’d seen a million. And now, here in the middle of the room, was the worst thing the night had thrown at her yet. The man, no, boy, in front of her was hardly worthy of note. Some lanky son of a factory owner, muddy hair and eyes duller that dust. Full of himself and rude to everyone, as long as he thought he could get away with it. A coward, in Bellamys eyes.

Things had started off bad enough when Felix hadn’t been there. Ill, according to her father. Then Nyoka and Ellie weren’t able to spend time with her, Nyoka nursing a broken leg at home and Ellie forced to stay at the table of some insufferable board member discussing an Auntie product. Then to round off a perfectly imperfect whirlwind of misery, Parvati was elsewhere suffering from an overindulgence of drink and rich food. Bellamy hadn’t even noticed herself drift onto the dancefloor, her mind elsewhere and a scowl plastered firmly on her face, delicate features twisted up like a discarded tin can. As the music swelled, a hand gripped her shoulder. Too tight to be a friend, not tight enough to be an attack. Silently cursing everything in the System, she turned to make eye contact with the unfortunate man.

She didn’t know his name and neither did she ask it, choosing to stand and glower sullenly at him, crossing her arms tightly, like iron bars across her chest. The man attempted what was clearly his idea of a winning smile, one eyebrow feebly twitching on his forehead like a worm drowning in the rain. The smile itself looked more like a grimace, ugly and twisted. With a smirk, Bellamy wondered if he had ever come across a mirror before. His clothes and hair would suggest otherwise. Mistaking the smile for encouragement, he grabbed one of her hands and forcefully untangled her arms, causing her to wince. After a silly bow and extended clearing of his throat, he spoke, voice a nasal whine.

‘’M’lady Bellamy! How delighted I am to catch you in such a manner, candid and alone...’’. The words alone made her shudder, the creepy half smirk made her want to die. Nonplussed, he continued, raising his voice so people around could hear and Byzantium citizens being nosy as they were, they stopped to listen, the silence spreading across the room rapidly. Bellamy felt sick.

‘‘As I was in fact saying, dearest one, it has come to my attention that you are in fact of a marriageable age! Most ideal, would you not say? That is why I chose tonight, a night without the distractions of those unworthy of you, to proclaim my undying adoration! Yes, I have deemed you worthy, beloved, of being mine! a most charmed match, I’m sure you would agree. Of course, I must ask your father to transfer you to me, but I have no doubt he would agree! So I shall ask you now, Bellamy, I love you, would you do me the favour of agreeing to become my wife?’’.

Bellamy blanched, skin like ash. The silence surrounding her overtook her thoughts, filling her mind with a faint buzz as murmurs started to rise in the silence crowd. Her vision started to tunnel before a voice clipped through the quiet, commanding and firm, but with a jovial tinge to it. ‘‘I think the silence is your answer no? Besides, I think you’ll find my daughter already betrothed! Best be on your way, before she comes around and decides to get revenge’‘. The last was said with a joking tone, ended with a laugh, but Rockwell meant it. Bellamy was already starting to move her fist, ready to deliver a knockout blow, one she wasn’t even fully aware of. With a look of horror, the greasy man sloped off, rapidly pushing through the crowd as laughter and heckling followed him.

A looming presence suddenly snapped into Bellamys peripheral vision and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, leading her out of the crowd and to a chair at her fathers table. Looking up, Max’s face swam into view, a concerned look flashing across his features for a second. Before either could speak, Rockwells voice rang out again, at a volume more acceptable for tableside talk. ‘’Thank you for retrieving her Maximillian, I think another second or two and she’d have been leaving on a stretcher eh?’’. Nodding gently, Max handed her a drink before responding. ‘’I think it’s safe to say she has never wanted to hear someone say they love her less.’’

🌸Thank you so much for the prompt!!🌸

#thank you for the prompt!#kourumi #the outer worlds #tow #outer worlds #gaming #the unreliable #maximillian desoto #vicar max #bellamy rockwell #answered ask #questionable clarity

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thephantomcasebook · 4 years

Text

Matt’s “Reasonable” Downton Abbey Movie Sequel Pitch

Since I’ve been known to take extreme flights of fancy ... maybe wedding Downton Abbey continuity to Pulp and Classic Adventure stories in the past ... this time I’m gonna pitch something that is plausible on the Silver Screen.

The Summery:

Set in the Mid-1950′s. Lady Mary Talbot hosts a house party at Downton Abbey, like the old days, before the war. However - during the party - a maid is found dead. Miles from competent investigators, Edward Pelham enlists the help of his childhood hero and older cousin, the Earl of Grantham, George Crawley. Once a famed adventurer and war hero - no one has seen or heard from him since the war ended. He has chosen solitude and exile in the seclusion of Crawley House with his young son and his faithful butler Thomas Barrow.

Together, with the help of old friends, the two cousins try to unveil the murderer that is on the loose in Downton Abbey looking to avenge an old sin from the past.

PRINCIPLE RETURNING CAST:

Lady Mary, Lady Edith, and Tom Branson - Michelle Dockery, Laura Carmichael, and Allen Leech

Lady Rose Aldridge, “Dowager Countess of Sinderby” - Lily James

Mrs. Lucy Branson - Tuppence Middleton

Anna Bates - Joanne Froggett

Thomas Barrow & Richard Ellis - Richard Collier & Max Brown

NEW PRINCIPLE CAST

Captain George “The Comet” Crawley, Earl of Grantham - Henry Cavil

youtube

Crippled during battle while Storming an SS held Austrian Castle in May 1945, George Crawley chose seclusion rather than Downton Abbey. For the last ten years he has retreated from the world. Surrounded by Libraries of ancient texts and Medieval Chronicles - glass cases filled with trophies and artifacts from his adventures - George broods darkly over the death of his men and a betrayal by the one he loved most in Matthew Crawley’s old chair by the fire..

However, his young idealistic cousin rouses the once heroic and valiant adventurer back to action with the encouragement of his son Jason Crawley and Thomas Barrow, who believe George has sat idle too long and must become the leader and man of action he once was.

“Well, well, well ... if it isn’t Captain George “The Comet” Crawley himself. The most Dangerous Man in the whole Empire, this one was ... Once.

“Yes, I dare say, and how are you holding up these days, eh, Old Boy?!”

“With a cane.”

Ms. Sybil “Sybbie” Branson - Jessica De Gouw

youtube

A Genius Mechanical Engineer, Sybbie was once the partner and companion of George Crawley on many adventure and stayed by his side throughout the war. However in 1943, during a mission with their SOE Commando Team in Greece, Sybbie Branson turned coat on the Allies and was revealed to be a Nazi Agent ... Her betrayal caused the unintended death of John “Johnny” Bates Jr.

Captured in Austrian Castle in May of 1945 at great cost in George’s blood and the lives of his men by her fanatical suitor and body guards, Sybbie was tried at Nuremberg for helping design super weapons for the Nazis. However, just before her execution, at the last moment, she was reprieved and recruited by “Operation Paper Clip” ... some believed sparing her life was the last thing George did before going into seclusion.

Ten years later, Ms. Sybil Darcy splits her time in Hollywood as an Oscar winning actress and a Southern California Military Base where she helps develop rockets for a fledgling American Space Program. It is only by chance that on another guilt ridden drinking binge that she awakens at the doors of Downton Abbey - her childhood home - where her International Playboy fiance was invited to Lady Mary’s House Party.

“When I’m in his arms all I can think of is home, and when I think of home all I can think of is you. I know what I’ve done is evil and can never be forgiven. And I don’t ask for it from you ... all I ask is that you wait for me ... please, don’t leave me here alone. I don’t remember what this world was like without you in it, And all I know is that I cannot live in such a world. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I love you, and I’ll never stop ... Never.”

Lady Marigold Fraser, “Countess of Tarahill” - Elizabeth Henstridge

During the “Battle of Britain” and “The Blitz” Corporal Marigold Crawley served as a operator and airwoman in the RAF control room. When George and Sybbie’s squadron was sent to break the Siege of Malta and fight in the North Africa Campaign , Marigold would not be left behind. Thus, she resigned commission and became a War Corespondent for her Mamma and Aunt Laura at “The Sketch” - covering George and his men’s exploits from the ‘safety’ of Sybbie’s mechanic’s hanger. Later, during Sybbie’s arch betrayal, Marigold used her media and diplomatic pass as a Marquess’s step-daughter to rescue a hunted George with the help of local resistance. She went on to cover D-Day, Market Garden, and the Battle of the Bulge while attached to a much darker and violent George and his Commandos,

Marigold was vaulted as a “Female Pioneer in Journalism”. But falling in Love with a Scottish Colonel in the British Airborne during Market Garden, she chose marriage rather than her career. But 10 years later the call of adventure is stirred in the societal matron’s blood once more upon her reunion with best friend George and a Mystery to solve.

“Do you ever think of it, George?”

“The war?”

“Would you think me terrible if I told you that I miss it?”

“What particularly do you miss about the Ardennes or Arnhem Bridge?”

“It’s not the places, not the snowy woods all bundled tight together in our freezing foxhole under artillery fire, or escaping Holland on rubber rafts in the middle of the night ... I miss our men, I miss ... waking up in the morning and knowing that we were apart of something, that it was you and me, and the old chaps, against the world ... I miss being useful, George. I guess, I’d rather like to feel that way again.”

Ms. Caroline Talbot - Daisy Ridley

youtube

Beautiful, Spoiled, Clever, Selfish, and Effete, the co-heiress to “Branson & Talbot Motors” has spent her life attempting to get a rise out of her mother. As most desirable of debutantes and Crown Princess of British High Society, Caroline spends her days scheming and contriving against other society girls, of whom she loves to torment. Her nights in nightclubs spent drinking and dancing, waking up in different beds throughout the poshest London Houses.

She loathes her mother, and blames Henry’s death on George, whose Spitfire shot down the German Bomber that crashed into Henry and Bertie’s train during “The Battle of Britain”. With George and Sybbie having never gotten along with, or been able to stand, Henry - Caroline believes George plotted her father’s death.

However, her arrogance and anger is dropped only in the presence of her best and only true friend, her cousin Edward. The only person in her unhappy life of whom she knows she truly loves.

“JUST SAY IT, MAMMA! WHY CAN’T YOU SAY IT! Why can’t you just say you didn’t love him! I’m certainly not the first unloved child ever born to a widow looking for a cheap thrill! I guess I owe you enough thanks for at least marrying Daddy!”

“Oh, pipe down, you spoiled little bitch!”

“Shut up, you Nazi whore! You two ran off to have your little adventures and you never stopped to think, just once, about me!”

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Here we are again! What could you possibly want more of?! Huh? You got everyone’s attention!”

“George, leave it!.”

“No, no more, mom! She got everything I didn’t! She got a mother and father, parents! You left me behind so that you and Henry could start your trendy new fashionable family! You took their side against me! You and Uncle Tom! Just so you can continue to play grab ass with your pathetic little trio! I spent years away from home, Christmases at Aunt Edith’s, all because Henry didn’t want me here! MY OWN HOUSE! And still, after all that, his brat wants more! So, what, Goddamnit!? What do you want from me, Caroline!?”

“YOU! I wanted my brother! I loved you and I needed you! And you left me with HER!

Lord Edward Robert Pelham, “Marquess of Hexham” - William Moseley

youtube

Upright and just minded, Lord Hexham grew up on the stories of adventure and mystery that his older cousins, George and Sybbie, were famous for. At the death of his father in the war, he looked up to his cousin George as a male role model.

Thirteen years later, while on break from Oxford - he is not sure what to do with his life. Determined to save his beloved best friend Caroline from a nose dive of alcohol and sex turning into a death spiral, he finds himself at Downton Abbey - a guest of his Aunt Mary - when a murder takes place. But when the Killer leaves a message that it would only be the first. it seems everyone turns to him - as senior peer - for guidance. Unsure what to do, he goes to find his old mentor, George - who has much more experience in this kind of danger and mystery.

“I don’t know, Marigold ... sometimes I think I’m the wrong man for this job.”

“Nonsense. In fact, rising above the bias of an older sister and the person who helped raise you, I just happen to think you’re the perfect man for the job.”

“I feel ashamed sometimes. There are lads out there that don’t have two pounds in their hands. And here I am, a Marquess, leaving Oxford, to snuggle up to my big sister’s beast, because, I’m frustrated.”

“Well, they are fantastic breasts.”

“I’m serious ... I just, I keep telling Caroline that there’s more in life. But I feel like it’s all just words. Neither Mummy nor Papa were ever so ambitious. And it’s not that I want more power, how could I? It’s just ... I feel like there’s something out there, waiting for me to get into its shouting distance.”

Jason Matthew Crawley, Lord of Downton - Unknown (I don’t know child actors)

youtube

Born in 1944 to an unknown mother of whom George refuses to speak of to anyone. Mary and the rest of the family were shocked and confused to find George return from the war hobbled on a cane and carrying a toddler that was unmistakably his son.

Ten years later the blue eyed raven curled boy attends the local Downton school, but is often pursued by high ranking academies for his extremely high intellect. But George refuses to entertain sending him away. Spending most days with Mary,Tom, and Edith, the boy is famed around the county for his Holmesian deduction skills ... and aptitude for machinery - which his father refuses to allow him to pursue. Serving as his father and ‘Uncle Edward’s’ assistant while investigating the murder, they find him a much bigger help than they thought possible.