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shopcat · 11 months

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otay here is every single outfit item steve harrington wears in all four seasons of stranger things including specific brands

8 months combined work an autism diagnosis and 16 hours straight of finishing touches and formatting this post let's go babycakes

billy, edd*ssy, rpf fans dni, pr0ship/fic dni

– NOTES 📌 ★ human error cannot be overcame by one autism boy's realness but i tried my best and everything listed is either 100% accurate and confirmed or is as best as i can do. if it's not listed i just don't know! ★ so while i would say i tried VERY hard for a long time, there is a disclaimer that i just cannot know bc i'm not a professional lol </3 ★ therefore: this is not in any way "complete" or fully sourced, mostly due to the nature of vintage clothing being hard to source even if it's in your hands and i just had pictures, but that's okay because this is mainly a visual reference resource i made for art and not pedantism 😭 ★ feel free to message me if you have any (100% sourced please...) corrections or additional finds!! ★ EVERY item is vintage and dated give or take, '80 - '95 with a few things sitting even older. if you use this post to try and source any of the items for personal/cosplay use this is important to remember for screen accuracy's sake (but not entirely necessary either lol. for example you could definitely just cop any old similar cut of his plain sweaters, etc. but things like the leather jacket or vest would be more accurate as genuine vintage! whereas i recommend getting new shoes just for them being in good condition if anything... go with ur gut!!) ★ heavy on formatting for clarity and organisation, if you need a plain text version contact me! ★ in appearance order: 23 complete outfits, minus what he wore to barb's funeral because...? well duh ★ YES I'M CRAZY!!!!!

– WATCH ⌚

he wears a watch on his left wrist with every single outfit (including in the upside down)

season 1 ➜ season 2: Russian Soviet military style wristband, 16-18mm chestnut brown leather with light stitching, sterling silver detailing and white clock-face season 3 ➜ season 4: a Hamilton CLD (most likely) dress watch, 16-18mm walnut brown leather wristband, gold detailing and white clock-face

1. BLUE LONG-SLEEVED BLUE STRIPED POLO [season 1, episode 1] ★ light blue H R Robinson's long-sleeved polo with blue stripes, tucked ★ khaki trousers ★ navy canvas and brown leather Tommy Hilfiger belt with brass buckle ★ black socks ★ mahogany brown leather loafers with suede laces ★ yellow canvas duffle bag with white straps

2. GREEN SWEATSHIRT [season 1, episode 2] ★ green raglan mixed fabric sweatshirt ★ Levi's dark wash jeans ★ no belt ★ black Adidas Original Superstar's

3. YELLOW POLO [season 1, episode 3] ★ yellow and grey striped Le Tigre polo ★ Levi's grey jeans ★ no belt ★ black Harrington jacket with silver detailing ☆ slash pockets with silver buttons ★ black Nike Classic Cortez's

4. BLUE LONG-SLEEVED MAROON STRIPED POLO [season 1, episode 4] ★ light blue H R Robinson's long-sleeved polo with maroon rugby stripes ★ Levi's black jeans ★ no belt ★ red Nike Bruin's

5. GREEN LONG-SLEEVED POLO [season 1, episode 5] ★ forest green long-sleeved polo with dark green rugby stripes ★ Levi's 501 light wash jeans ★ black Harrington jacket with silver detailing ☆ slash pockets with silver buttons ★ red Nike Bruin's

6. GREEN SWEATSHIRT 2.0 [season 1, episodes 6 ➜ 8] ★ green raglan mixed fabric sweatshirt ★ Levi's 501 light wash jeans ★ black Harrington jacket with silver detailing ☆ slash pockets with silver buttons ★ red Nike Bruin's ★ Louisville Slugger driven with industrial nails

7. CHRISTMAS SWEATER [season 1, episode 8] ★ green Eddie Bauer Christmas sweater ★ maroon polo collar only ★ khaki trousers

8. MAROON LONG-SLEEVED POLO [season 2, episode 1] ★ maroon Brook's Brothers long-sleeved polo with blue rugby stripes ★ Levi's 501 light wash jeans ★ Ray-Ban 1983 Wayfarer sunglasses ★ blue Harrington jacket ★ original design Nike Classic Cortez's

9. PUFFER VEST AND POLO [season 2, episode 2] ★ dark blue long-sleeved rugby striped polo ★ Levi's 501 light wash jeans ★ navy puffer vest with matte plastic shank buttons

10. RISKY BUSINESS HALLOWEEN COSTUME [season 2, episode 2] ★ black tweed suit jacket ★ black fitted cotton tee-shirt ★ Levi's 501 light wash jeans ★ Ray-Ban 1983 Wayfarer sunglasses ★ original design Nike Classic Cortez's

11. GYM UNIFORM [season 2, episodes 3 ➜ 4] ★ cotton tee-shirt, printed with "Hawkin's Phys Ed" green gym shorts with triangular seam cutouts ★ green and orange hem-striped tube socks ★ solid blue Nike Classic Cortez's

12. MEMBER'S ONLY JACKET [season 2, episodes 5 ➜ 6, 8 ➜ 9] ★ navy blue long sleeved cotton tee-shirt with white varsity sleeve stripes, tucked [1] ★ Levi's 501 light wash jeans ★ silver-grey Member's Only racer jacket [2] ★ brown leather belt with rounded end brass buckle ★ Ray-Ban 1983 Wayfarer sunglasses tucked in jacket breast pocket when not in use ★ grey backpack with black straps ★ original design Nike Classic Cortez's ★ Louisville Slugger driven with industrial nails ★ yellow rubber dishwashing gloves ★ a solid yellow, striped rainbow and red and white comic book speech bubble band-aid post-fight ★ grey gardening gloves in tunnels ★ yellow swim goggles in tunnels ★ red paisley bandana in tunnels

1: definitely was a practical, keeping-warm choice and i'm sure the intention was to have the ensemble pass as a plain, short sleeved tee but a fun little thing anyway:

2: steve wears a technically-modern version of the classic Member's Only but the differences are entirely cosmetic and superficial, like zipper lengths and metal colouring. the fit is the same! notably, he wears the silver-grey model and not the standard grey.

13. RED SWEATER [season two, episode 9] ★ red woollen, knit crewneck sweater

14. SCOOPS AHOY UNIFORM [season 3, episodes 1 ➜ 8] ★ royal blue uniform shirt with sailor's flap collar and attached red neckerchief ☆ white double striped hemming ☆ semi-cropped, box cut with a slightly fitted waistline inset for shape ☆ red and white striped tee-style dickey piece [3] ☆ embroidery patch of an ice cream cone on the right sleeve ★ royal blue uniform shorts ☆ white double striped hemming ☆ white pocket detailing and innards ★ red Scoops Ahoy nametag ★ dixie cup style costume sailor's hat ★ white nylon belt with a chrome box buckle, detachable red tool pocket ★ white apron ★ white tube socks ★ silver Style Auto Carrera design jacket [4] ★ navy blue Adidas Gazelle's with aftermarket blue laces [5] ★ red and white striped undershirt ★ blood splattering on collar post-fight

3: assumedly the red striped dickey piece and undershirt are one in the same. behind the scenes footage shows both, and occasionally joe seems to not be wearing the undershirt... ? 😭 usually sailor style shirts and costumes use a dickey piece for convenience as it ties in more uniformly than just a tee-shirt sitting underneath it's like schrodinger's striped shirt here

4: the same jacket he wears in season 4! notably, the tag is left blank, most likely because it isn't a statement piece unlike in season 4. note the ring pull collar, black pocket button detailing and the visible black zipper that points towards the Carrera design:

5: missing the Gazelle gold lettering, either faded due to them being vintage or purposefully removed for screen

15. COCA-COLA COMMERCIAL [season 3, set post-episode 2, pre-episode 3] ★ white windbreaker with red elastic cuffs and accent detailing ★ white cotton fitted tee-shirt, tucked ★ Levi's 501 light wash jeans ★ brown leather belt with rounded end brass buckle ★ black Nike Bruin's

16. MARTY MCFLY VEST [season 3, episode 8] ★ dark wash and red denim two-tone Guess Jeans sleeveless vest ★ fitted white cotton tee-shirt with blue and yellow varsity striped sleeves, tucked ★ Levi's 501 dark wash jeans ★ brown leather belt with rounded end brass buckle ★ black Nike Bruin's

17. WHITE HENLEY [season 4, episode 1] ★ white long sleeved cotton henley ☆ silver pop buttons ☆ two matching decorative zips on the sleeves ☆ fitted hem ★ Levi's 501 light wash jeans ★ brown leather belt with rounded end brass buckle ★ Family Video name tag [6] ★ green Family Video vest

6: to me the sticker he put on it looks like a simple gold star, but it could also be the "Be Kind, Rewind" slogan with a smiley face design, or some sort of assistant manager/ask me anything-type sticker!

18. PURPLE POLO [season 4, episode 2] ★ purple criquet Arthur Stripe polo, tucked ★ Levi's 501 dark wash jeans ★ brown leather belt with rounded end brass buckle ★ Family Video name tag ★ green Family Video vest ★ silver Style Auto Carrera design jacket ★ red Nike Bruin's

19. STYLE AUTO JACKET AND POLO [season 4, episodes 3 ➜ 4] ★ navy polo with a white horizontal band stripe and white sleeve hemming, tucked ☆ fitted, or potentially a size too small ☆ yellow shadow striping ★ white cotton tee-shirt ★ Levi's 501 light wash jeans ★ brown leather belt with rounded end brass buckle ★ silver Style Auto Carrera design jacket [7] ★ red Nike Bruin's

7: the original Style Auto patch has been removed for licensing/circulation issues, or, the jacket is just potentially not the actual name brand version and instead an adopted design therefore brandless. or it fell off i don't know. the plastic insert on his breast (haha) now reads a custom generic 80's label:

20. YELLOW SWEATER [season 4, episode 5] ★ yellow crewneck raglan cotton sweater ☆ fitted cuffs and hem ★ grey cotton chinos [8] ☆ elastic waistband with drawstring ☆ printed blue patterned cuff hem ★ white socks ★ red Nike Bruin's

8: for some reason the Quiksilver x Stranger Thing's "The Steve" pants are actually an almost… 95%? exact recreation of the pants he wears in-show. and like, despite being listed as a collab with the wardrobe dep this is the first time i've seen any sort of replica clothing for something like a random character's pants but it's cool! there may be a little variation in the exact patterning but even to my super perfectionist eye they do seem identical/highly similar :). i belieeeeve what would have happened is the wardrobe made the pants, and Quiksilver received the design to then streamline for their own version. the Quiksilver version has printed pocket linings including the welt of the back pocket, whilst the on screen version are unprinted except for the hem.

21. EDDIE'S BATTLE JACKET [season 4, episodes 7 ➜ 8] ★ Levi's light wash trucker blanket-lined jacket ☆ sleeveless, distressed ☆ hand stitched Iron Maiden, Megadeth, Motörhead and Leviathan Cross patches ☆ hand stitched Dio, The Last in Line's album cover tee-shirt on back panel ☆ Judas Priest, W.A.S.P., Accept and Mercyful Fate pins personally i would omit wasp/mötorhead in recreations/art/etc but that's just me... ★ grey cotton chinos ☆ elastic waistband with drawstring ☆ printed blue patterned cuff hem ★ barefoot (lol) ★ torn cotton cloth wrap field bandage

22. WAR ZONE OUTFIT [season 4, episodes 8 ➜ 9] ★ type A-2 brown leather flight jacket ☆ custom patches ☆ second-hand in-show ★ camo print cotton tee-shirt ★ long cargo pants ★ M-1955 marine's flak jacket ★ vintage Vietnam jungle boots ★ wooden axe, Molotov cocktails

23. BLUE HENLEY [season 4, episode 9] ★ blue cotton henley ★ white cotton tee-shirt ★ Levi's 501 jeans ★ brown leather belt with rounded end brass buckle ★ blue Nike All Court's

that's all folks!!!

for any shoes or jeans that are off screen/unseen, i would make a safe bet for them being whatever he seems to be wearing the most that season. like he wears the cortez's for the entirety of season 2 even at the halloween party (he is insane) except for in gym so it'd be safe to assume every other shoe would be that one, for example.

★ bonus eddie section: Shot brand black leather jacket with DIY silver chain on the broken sleeve zipper, screenprinted Hellfire Club baseball pattern tee-shirt with the Daydream fontface, texturised. he wears a Casio F-91W digital watch (which he wears... upside down...) and, of course, white Reebok EX-O Fit Hi sneakers

please don't leave inappropriate, weird or sexual comments on this post! they're just jeans 😭

#🍦#sts #okay i'm done making these types of posts forever

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cillianmesoftlyyy · 5 months

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In Love, in War Pt. 1 | Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary | She (the reader) comes from a wealthy family in Birmingham, England and he (Thomas Shelby) comes from a family of no-good troublemakers in Small Heath. Their worlds finally collide when Thomas lands himself in the triage tent of a nearby hospital camp during the battle of the Somme with a neck wound. Past traumas and heavy-handed words open old wounds, and yet, they always find their way back to Birmingham.

Warnings | Blood, gore, mentions of sex (not yet explicit), war, death, and out-dated language ("Gypsies").

Hey- Pixies 🎶

Bodysnatchers- Radiohead 🎵

Word count: 1812k

Not proofread- my b, folks!

..............................................................................................................

Yes, she knew of the Shelbys, who didn’t? She just didn’t really care. She kept her life away from the dark underbelly of Birmingham, and more focused on the bright future in front of her. She was born into a good family with sterling silver spoons in their tea set and barbs strung into their pearls. She was destined for great things, good houses, and well-groomed men with boring Christian names. That was until the beginning of the Great War and most of those men died in the pits of France and Germany. She was engaged once too, to one of those men.

His name was Frances Gild Jr. and he loved her. He was the heir to a banking fortune with a passion for the arts. He was beyond beautiful with short blonde ringlets and blue eyes. Her daddy loved him and blessed the union when Francis asked for her hand, sliding a large diamond engagement ring onto her finger. That was two months before Britain joined the war. They were still naive enough to sneak behind the kitchen into the distant sheds to have their way with one another. They were young and prudent so their kisses were prideful and polite. Their love-making was brief and unexceptional, legs splayed in the air and fine silk ripped by old sawdust. When the war began, Francis was 20, two years her senior and assumed he was ready for war because his daddy was a Lieutenant.

There was no time for a wedding, at least that’s what Francis said as he rushed to the front. To wait for his return and to do her part in the war effort, she trained as a nurse. Was she a good nurse? Not particularly. She often fainted from the sight of blood which brought discomfort simply from her period much less an amputated appendage. But she learned how to cope, mostly. The smell of blood was the hardest to ignore. It seemed to never wash out as much as she scrubbed beneath the beds of her nails and behind her ears, the smell was a constant companion.

It took her a couple of months to complete the basic training course but soon after she was sent to a hospital in London to work on more serious injuries before going directly into the field. She was allowed to go home on the weekends to visit her parents in Birmingham’s wealthier neighborhoods. The job was hard and it didn’t pay well but it afforded her a bit of peace in the whole ordeal, knowing that she was helping English soldiers in some small way. She felt like she could reach Frances through these patients who came in for breaks and fractures, not gunshots or paranoia. It was during one of these long night shifts that she received the telegram postmarked from Frances Gild. She opened the envelope without concern, having received one a week since the beginning of April. That is the night she learned that Francis Gild jr. had died somewhere on the western front, spoiling in mud like old fruit. She’d overlooked the postage from Birmingham, assuming it was just another letter from her fiance, which it wasn’t. It bore his death in plain script, emotionless and frigid.

“FRANCIS DEAD STOP KILLED IN ACTION STOP WILL SEND NEWS STOP GOD BLESS STOP.”

She dropped the yellow paper on the clean linoleum floor and felt her jaw fall open in a shocked gasp. Nurses on the night shift rushed to quiet her or comfort her. She paled and clutched the sharp edge of the desk for support.

“It will be ok.” Voices whispered in her ear.

“You poor soul.” Others crossed themselves like preventing a bad curse, a hex. A dead fiance disease that carries onto young well-meaning women in close proximity; more always follow the first.

Francis was the first for her. He was many of her firsts. In a cab back to Birmingham, she thought of the first time they had made-love. He’d finished in a matter of minutes, panting against her chest like a puppy. His eyes bore into her with more passion than his thrusts. He was her first kiss, stolen after dinner behind the china cabinet when the adults had gone through to tea and brandy. That man was dead now, and she imagined his beautiful blue eyes closed forever under the casket’s heavy lid, buried somewhere in his family’s mausoleum outside Birmingham. And what did this leave her? Not a widow, and yet, she believed in a way, she was.

She was excused from service for three months, allotting her the same mourning period as a widow though she officially lacked the title. She was nearly two years into her training when Francis died and the war waged on in countries that seemed so far away from her house on Claremont. When she was called back to service, she went with a black armband and her light blue uniform. She was dispatched to France and left right away with a British medical unit, relieving the unit stationed at the Somme. During her months of mourning, she had avoided newspapers and prints about the war in France, so the Somme meant nothing to her. They were escorted in large covered trucks with heavy trunks of supplies and rations. Americans followed behind, whistling after the young nurses like the warning knell of a whizbang.

The medical camp was a shock for her in sight, smell, and noise. Distant bombing and gunfire rang in her ears and vibrated the very pit of her soul. Blood and the threat of blood was as thick as the mud encircling the camp. She thought back to the sterling silver spoons of her youth as she waded through the fecal matter and mud to the office tent. She was assigned to triage.

“Just assess the situation. Write down the serious injuries, treat the basics, and set those aside who will live for the next few hours. Use your judgment, girls.” The head nurse directed them, holding the girl back as the others hurried to the triage tent. “Word of advice?” The head nurse pursed her lips.

“Yes, ma’am?” The girl responded.

“Take off the armband, you’ll look like the Angel of Death out there.”

She removed the armband strapped around her arm as she moved to the triage tent. Soldiers screamed and pleaded for assistance while others lay dying and without the strength to speak. She followed the movements of the other nurses, checking the bodies and scrambling for pencils and paper dotting with blood and mud.

“Please help me!” One boy cried and grabbed her sleeve. She recorded his injuries and sent him to the hospital tent.

“You’ll be fine.” She called after him as he disappeared through the thick canvas drapes.

She marked down the men she saw who could not be saved and passed them along with a sorrowful shake of her head. The men she saw passed her by in blurs of colors and sounds like silent films in fast motion, a puppet book whose pages flip so fast that a story appears between them.

The second week she was moved to the hospital tent which doubled as the operation theater. She was not formally trained in surgery but had picked it up in the months of study and shadowing she managed to procure in London. As long as her patients didn’t die, the doctors were willing to let nurses take over due to the lack of helpful hands and skill. Her long habit-like nurse’s cap was pinned up to her head to prevent the veil from falling into open wounds. She washed her hands as another patient was carried into the tent.

“God dammit.” One boy cursed loudly, clutching his neck with a dirty palm. She scanned his body for further damage and accessed the neck wound.

“Large cut from metal shrapnel. Some kind of grenade.” A second nurse who had followed the stretcher with the patient.

“Thank you, Mandy.” She nodded to the nurse. “Sir, I need you to move your hand from the cut.” She spoke loudly over the man’s curses.

“Fuck that. I’m gonna bleed out.” He growled through his heaving breaths.

“You’ll bleed out if you don’t move your bloody hand.” She retorted, her hand full of gauze. “I’ll pack the wound so that I can look at it, ok?”

“Fuck me!” He yelled at the tent’s ceiling and reluctantly moved his hand. Blood spurted out from his neck before she could clamp the clean gauze down on the agitated wound.

“Ok, ok.” She soothed, frantically applying pressure and wiping the area with strong alcohol. “Mandy, hold this against the wound, I need to close it.” She ordered and switched with Mandy, rummaging through a cart of supplies with bloody hands. She removed a surgeon’s needle and thread for stitches.

“She threaded the needle and pierced the skin around the wound with the needle, pulling the two sides of flesh together with quick movements.

The soldier screamed and thrashed on the ground.

“I need help over here!” She yelled over her shoulder. Two men ran over and held his arms down as she tried to finish quickly.

“I’m sorry, sir!” She weaved the needle through one last time and tied it off. Pouring alcohol on the finished stitches, she caught her breath. “It’s done.” She gasped out and nodded to the men. They released the soldier who looked to be on the verge of unconsciousness. Mandy removed the bloody gauze and moved to the next patient.

“Give us some of that.” He panted and pointed weakly to the bottle of gin she’d been using to clean wounds. She handed it over and he took a strong swig of the horrible drink.

“I hope,” he panted, “that I never have to see you again.” He handed back the bottle.

“I wish the same, sir.” She nodded and stood. His hand shot out from his side and gripped her wrist with renewed strength.

“What’s your name, nurse?” He tried to smirk. She noticed his large blue eyes as she told him. He loosened his grip on her wrist and gave a nod.

“Thomas.” He swallowed. She paused for a moment, registering his clipt cocky accent. “Pleased to meet you.” He added when she said nothing.

“You’ll be taken back to the infirmary to rest. Try not to move your neck because you may loosen the stitches. Don’t waste the stitches, Thomas.” She joked lightly.

“Is that what you care about then?” He smiled.

“What?”

“The stitches.”

“Yes, and you by extension. Your life is my responsibility but stitches cost money.” She laughed and stood again.

“Good to know where we stand.” He called softly from the ground and she allowed herself to smile as she met the next group of patients.

...................

End part 1 :)

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy #cillian x y/n #cillian x reader #smut #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #cillian fluff

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cod-dump · 1 year

Note

Really cute / sad thing ( mostly sad ), but..

Ghost has a ring. A ring in order to purpose to Soap. A ring he's owned for 1 year because here's the catch, he's scared that Soap isn't ready yet.

Back when he bought the ring, Ghost wasn't scared, in fact confident. They've been dating for (insert how many years you think) so what's the worse that could happen? Nothing, that's what he thought anyway.

As the ring sat comfortably in his pocket, he'd been thinking. Thinking about the fact that he didn't know if Soap was ready ( Which he was, both of them were ready to get married, it's just our bbg Ghost is an overthinker, at least I like to think so )

So just as he was going to do it, he didn't. He put it away and never took it out.

Years passed and every time he's thought about proposing, he doesn't.

He's ready too get married, he just doesn't know if Soap is, and he doesn't want it to ruin their relationship

Price has been trying too help him but the man just won't do it even he if he wants to. ( + Price understands were Ghost is coming from, so he's patient with him ).

" Just giving it a couple more months. " That's what he would say every time anybody has asked if he's gonna purpose.

( Though I'd share since well, I kinda like this one. Though this definitely could go either way for whoever is the scared one with the ring. Depends on the persons POV and opinions lol )

OHOHOH I LOVE THIS

___

Wear This Ring And Be Truly Mine

SoapGhost fic

___

Throughout the years, Simon Riley, the Ghost, has never admitted to being afraid. He faces whatever challenge that he meets head on and refuses to back down. But this was a challenge he wasn’t prepared to face: Proposing to the love of his life.

There were two possible outcomes to this: Either he said yes and they went off and lived happily ever after, or he said no and Ghost would have no choice but to crawl in a hole and never come back out.

Ghost, at first, was confident that Soap would say yes to his proposal after being together for five years. They shared a room on base, owned a flat, it had become the norm to see Soap walk around in Ghost’s hoodie with “Lieutenant Riley” printed on it. They were almost always attached at the hip, and when they were apart someone always asked “Where’s the rest of you?”.

Ghost was constantly reminded that Soap loved him as much as Ghost loved him. One mission Ghost was gone for a month. When he came back Soap practically pounced on him the moment he saw him and refused to leave him alone for a straight week.

Ghost knew that he was loved. That’s what led him to getting the ring. It was sterling silver with a gold accent. It was beautiful and simple. Something that he knew Soap would love. He, for once, was so excited about it that he had to tell someone. So he told Price. He showed him the ring and didn’t have to say anything to explain what it was. Price lit up instantly.

“It’s about damn time!”

Ghost never had an actual relationship with his dad. Not one that mattered, at least. Price stepped into that role and his approval of this made Ghost’s heart almost burst. Price gave them both three days leave so he could propose and them enjoy each other and fantasize about their future. So Ghost took Soap out to eat. It wasn’t a fancy restaurant, just their favorite pub.

After they ate they went to the park nearby. With the moon shining overhead, the glow complimenting Soap’s handsome face— Ghost thought about sealing their fates together. About finally committing and binding themselves to one another until their time came.

He would be stuck with you. Won’t be able to get away as easy.

The thought sent a guilt through Ghost, seeded a doubt that he couldn’t shake. His hand was in his pocket, hovering over the ring that suddenly burned to touch.

“Something wrong, Si?”

Ghost shook his head, “No, just thinking.”

He was supposed to propose at the park, but he didn’t. He just walked them back to base. Later that night as Soap was fast asleep in their bed, Ghost stared at the ring. Part of him wanted Soap to wake up and see it so he couldn’t push off the question again. But Soap remained asleep, oblivious to Ghost’s dilemma.

Hours would pass before Ghost finally hides the ring and lays down, but sleep refused to come to him. By the time his alarm rang he was exhausted and anxious. Soap woke, rolling over and giving Ghost a sleepy good morning kiss before getting up. Soap ran on autopilot for at least an hour after waking up so Ghost wasn’t surprised he didn’t notice how dead tired his boyfriend was.

Ghost tried to make himself seem more awake and managed to convince Soap enough that he was fine just tired before they separated and went about their day. He wore his usual balaclava minus the face paint so the bags under his eyes weren’t hidden. He was slow all day, more snappy according to some. Price ran into him and pulled him to the side to ask about the previous night.

“Soap hasn’t said anything about you proposing…”

“I didn’t ask him.”

“Why not? You were so eager about it yesterday!”

Ghost breathes in, “Just… couldn’t bare the thought of him saying no.”

“Son, Soap wouldn’t say no. You are the love of his life. You do know that you’re labeled as ‘soulmate’ in his phone, right?”

Ghost nods and Price sighs.

“I understand being nervous. Marriage is a big commitment. But you and Soap are ready for it. You two act like you’re married already!”

Ghost laughs quietly at that. Price gives him a worried smile.

“You propose when you’re ready. Soap’s definitely not going anywhere. He loves you too much to just leave.”

That should’ve settled Ghost’s nerves. That should’ve been the end of his doubt. But he just kept thinking about Soap saying no. They’ve talked about marriage before but that was years ago. He wasn’t sure how to bring it up without making it obvious about him wanting to propose. He wasn’t sure what was worse: Rejection after a proposal or being rejected before he even got the chance.

Ghost took a breath, trying to ease his running thoughts.

I’ll ask in a couple months. I’ll be ready then.

Two months from that day, Ghost was not ready. In fact when he saw the ring after opening his nightstand drawer to grab something panic shot through him. There was no dead line to propose. Yet he felt like there was one. One that he couldn’t see and if it reached to that point something was going to happen. He wasn’t sure what exactly but he just had a gut feeling.

He wanted to ask someone about marriage. Price was married years ago and it ended in divorce so he wasn’t sure he would be the one to go to. He wasn’t actually sure if Rudy and Alejandro were married and he was not about to be laughed at for assuming. So that left one last option.

“Sorry to bother you. I know it’s late there.”

It was five in the morning at the moment, but it was around twelve in the morning for Laswell. When he sent the video call request he didn’t expect her to pick up but she did.

“Simon, you never bother me. You’re my unproblematic child.”

Ghost snorts as Laswell grins at him on his screen.

“Why did you call me? Must be something serious.”

“Yea, it is. I… I want to ask Soap to marry me.”

Laswell squealed. Squealed. The absolute glee on her face and in her eyes made Ghost smile.

“Finally! The first of my children to get married! Can I see the ring?”

Ghost pulls out the ring and holds it up to the camera to show her. Laswell smiles widely at it.

“It’s beautiful! I know Soap will never take it off the moment you put it on him.”

Ghost stops smiling and clears his throat, “I want to ask him but-“

He trails off and Laswell frowns, “But-?”

“We talked about marriage like once years ago. I-I don’t want to rush things. I don’t know if he even wants marriage or is ready.”

“Sweetie, Soap is absolutely in love with you. There is no doubt that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.”

Ghost nods but Laswell continues.

“Marriage is scary. I won’t lie to you. It’s a huge commitment on both partner’s parts. I was so scared about asking my Annie to marry me.”

Laswell looks off camera before looking back at Ghost, “She was and still is the most beautiful and wonderful woman in my life. She could have anyone and yet she was with me.”

“What made you finally ask her?”

“I kept the ring in my pocket for four straight months. One evening, we were in the kitchen. We were cooking dinner, dancing to music as we did. In that moment when I saw her smile, dancing with a laugh, the stains from cooking our food on her shirt— I knew that there was no other person I would want to be with.”

Laswell smiles as a woman walks into the camera’s view and hugs her from behind, “I proposed to her right there.”

Annie smiles, “Flour on her cheek, a beautiful green sapphire ring, and a look of pure love. How could I say no?”

Annie smiles at Ghost, “Honey, it’s okay to be worried. But I know he’ll say yes. Don’t push it. The moment will come when it’s ready.”

Ghost nods and Annie kisses Laswell’s cheek before leaving. Laswell watches her wife leave before turning back to Ghost.

“Take your time, sweetie. And I look forward to our mother-son dance.”

Ghost felt confident after that. So after a couple of days he planned to propose. Again. He tried to stay around Soap all day, hoping that the magical moment that happened to Laswell before she proposed would come to him. It didn’t. He was with Soap practically all day and not once did he get that feeling to commit and propose. Soap never questioned why he was with him, just gave him occasional kisses on his cheek or made a silly face at him when their eyes met.

Ghost was so frustrated! Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months—

And then a year rolled around. A fucking year he has had the ring in his pocket. A year he’s been trying to encourage himself to propose to Soap. He would get an occasional glance from Price but the man didn’t say anything. Laswell was checking up on him more than usual, not directly asking but he knew what she wanted to know. He felt like he was disappointing them and it was killing him!

One evening he stormed off out of the pub they were in celebrating New Year’s Eve. A couple was together and Ghost didn’t really pay them any mind until the girl went to the bathroom. The guy took out a ring and took a deep breath before putting it away. Ghost couldn’t watch and just left in a rush, telling no one where he was going. He was just upset, fumbling with the ring in his pocket as he walked. He felt a tear in the corner of his eye.

Why was this so fucking hard? He knew he loved Soap and he knew Soap loved him! Why couldn’t he just ask him a simple question? He’s faced certain death! Crawled out of a grave with another man’s jaw bone, killed countless in battle. Why can’t he just ask the man he loves to marry him?

“Simon!”

Ghost stops as Soap jogs up to him, “Babe, are you okay? You just left without a word.”

“Fine, Johnny.”

“You don’t sound fine, baby. C’mon, you know you can talk to me.”

Ghost shakes before turning around, “I know! That’s why this is so fucking stupid!”

Soap’s face twists in confusion, “What-?”

“I know I can talk to you about anything! I know that you’ll always be there for me, through thick and thin! Rain or shine!”

Ghost feels tears slip down his face, Soap concerned, “Why can’t I just ask you to marry me?”

Soap blinks and it takes Ghost a moment to register what he said. He pales, breath caught in his throat as Soap and him stare at each other.

“What-What did you just say?”

“I-I—“

Soap takes a deep breath, gently taking Ghost’s hand, “Love… what did you just say?”

Ghost shakes horribly, “Why can’t I just ask you to marry me?”

Tears collect at the corners of Soap’s eyes, “Say that again, baby.”

Ghost exhales before taking one of his hands out of Soap’s hold and digging into his pocket. He pulls out the ring and holds in up, hands shaking.

“Johnny… Will you marry me?”

Soap laughs out, tears falling freely down his face, “Yes!”

Ghost chokes out a sob as he puts the ring on Soap. Once its on Soap looks at it before jumping onto Ghost, wrapping his arms around his neck. Ghost wraps one arm around Soap while he removes his face mask and kisses Soap. Soap kisses him like it would be their last, refusing to pull away. But they eventually do, Soap pulling away to cup Ghost’s face with the biggest smile on his face.

Someone clears their throat and they look to see Gaz and Price standing there.

“That was a very dramatic New Year’s kiss.”

Price quickly saw the shine on Soap’s finger and his eyes lit up.

“FINALLY!”

Gaz jerks at the yell as Soap and Ghost laugh. A very dramatic way to start the New Year, indeed.

#when i was writing this i discovered my sister had a tumblr accound #she’s on here somewhere #WATCHING #modern warfare ii #john soap mactavish #kate laswell #laswell’s wife #simon ghost riley #john price #thanks for the ask <3 #ask #cod mwii #soapghost #ghostsoap #call of duty #fic #fanfic #modern warfare

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leaslichoma · 3 months

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Touhou Project theory: the Scarlet Devil Mansion's heavy metal poisoning

something an intro idk how to do this

WARNING! LONG POST AHEAD!

Potential sources of heavy metal toxins

If we look inside the mansion there's a lot of red carpet. One pigment for red is vermilion, which which is derived from the mercury mineral cinnabar which is highly toxic. Vermilion was a highly valued and prestigious dye historically, befitting of an aristocrat's mansion. Another detail is in one of these screenshots the carpet is a rather dark red, and while many red pigments slowly turn pink as they fade vermilion actually darkens and turns brown (similar to blood), which you can see in the painting below. This could be a lighting effect, though.

Another possible pigment is minium, which is derived from lead and is also toxic.

We also see a fair amount of white in the mansion, on the table cloth in the above image and many of the residents' clothing such as Sakuya's apron and Flandre's mob cap. One historical pigment for white is lead white, which is also derived from lead. Lead white was also used in cosmetics to whiten skin, for another potential source of poisoning.

Another potential source is lead from pewter. Given Remilia's weakness to silver she is not likely to use sterling silver for metal objects such as tableware and tea sets. Pewter, a broad term for various tin alloys, is a popular alternative she might use. However, many older pewter alloys contained large amounts of lead as its toxicity was not understood. For a long time lead was actually used in toys since it was cheap and not understood.

There's also a possibility of toxins leaching into food or drink through glass or the enamel of pottery. Lead-crystal glass slowing leaches lead into drink and if Remilia happened to buy any Uranium glass, which became popular during the mid 19th century, and peaked between 1880 to 1920, that would leach uranium. If any pottery uses toxic materials in the enamel that is another source of poisoning.

Potential victims

Sakuya Izayoi and Patchouli Knowledge are the two most human residents of the Scarlet Devil Mansion. Both display symptoms of heavy metal poisoning.

Patchouli is stated to have anemia and weak muscles. Both of these can occur from lead poisoning, though anemia typically takes a very large dose.

Sakuya Izayoi is described as "spacey", which is defined by the Merriam-webster dictionary as a synonym of spaced-out which means "dazed or stupefied by or as if by a narcotic substance,". Given how both mercury and lead mostly affect the nervous system, and both can cause memory impairment, tremors and incoordination, it makes sense that someone suffering from heavy metal poisoning might be compared to someone who is drunk or high.

For more definitive proof that Sakuya has mental difficulties, we should look at the fact that Sakuya does not know what oxygen is. While one might assume that this is just because she lives isolated from the modern world, Oxygen was first isolated before 1604 by Michael Sendivogius, and given a name and recognized as an element in 1777. Oxygen could be an important discovery for her position considering its role in food preservation. Sakuya has had over two centuries to learn that oxygen exists. Keep in mind that she lives with Patchouli Knowledge, a professional scholar, who may have been residing in the mansion for nearly a century. This could suggest serious memory and learning issues, symptoms of both lead and mercury poisoning.

While Sakuya does not display the the delayed reactions or loss of coordination associated with lead and mercury poisoning, her powers over time may prevent this. If she trips and drops something, which might normally cause someone to notice her decreasing coordination, she can just stop time and undo it.

Another interesting, though flawed, possibility is that the fairy maids have heavy metal poisoning as well. The fairy maids are stated numerous times to be bad at their jobs, spending most of their work hours only able to maintain themselves, but were still hired by Sakuya and continue to be employed by Remilia. With symptoms of anemia, weakness, memory loss, pain, lack of coordination and more it's easy to see how lead and/or mercury poisoning could make a maid bad at their job. Fairies in Touhou Project are often compared to children who are especially susceptible to lead poisoning. The fairy maids would probably slowly improve at their jobs since first being hired, and plateau and slowly decrease as increasing heavy metal levels in their blood poison them and affect their work. Perhaps Remilia and Sakuya see this happen with all the maids and assume it's just how maids or fairies work.

While one might object and that youkai would not be affected by human medical conditions like lead or mercury poisoning, there is a tiny bit of precedent for this. There's an exchange in Touhou 19 where Sanae recommends that Mamizou stop smoking so much: "I don't suppose that smoking too much is good for you. Nor is drinking." This, if admittedly stretched, suggests that certain things that are unhealthy for humans may be unhealthy for certain youkai and similar beings as well. Youkai are also affected by alcohol as well and get drunk. While this might be because of the idea that drinking makes you drunk, is it possible that if knowledge of lead and mercury poisoning spread to the humans of Gensokyo, and they started believing that lead makes you sick, that belief might cause certain youkai and related beings to get sick as well?

Problems with this theory

Neither Patchouli nor Sakuya show certain physical symptoms of mercury poisoning: Skin discolouration (usually reddening), hair loss, or peeling of the skin. Let's compare some artwork from Touhou 6:

As we can see, Reimu has the reddest cheeks which is inconsistent with Sakuya and Patchouli having mercury poisoning. However, an interesting connection is that Reimu wears mostly red, and considering it is traditional to paint the Torii gates of shrines vermilion to ward off evil, it is actually more possible than I initially thought that she could have mercury poisoning as well.

Some might object that Patchouli Knowledge, being a youkai mage, might be immune to toxins. Considering how wizards are stated to often have weak bodies due to interaction with dangerous substances, I find this unlikely. One might argue something similar for Sakuya because of her time manipulation, but we only see her use time manipulation consciously, so we aren't sure. The main question would be whether the process that slows her aging also negates most of her bodily functions, so I guess this would depend on whether we see her eat and breath, and since she gets tired from hypoxia in Touhou 18 she must be breathing and is probably susceptible to poison as well.

The main problems I can think with this theory of are with the fairy maids having heavy metal poisoning as well, which was not the main subject. It's been explained that Remilia goes for quantity over quality for her staff, and Sakuya presumably hires anyone with the most basic of skills. However, it could be possible that Remilia goes for quantity over quality because they all end up low quality due to their poisoning. Given that fairies are used to playing and pulling pranks they are probably unsuited to hard work. The reasoning that they might still be affected by poison is rather weak since much of it relies on a single remark from Sanae, who might be wrong. I still found it interesting to consider.

#touhou project #touhou #patchouli knowledge #sakuya izayoi #long post #reimu hakurei #remilia scarlet

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the-ace-with-spades · 2 months

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This, I hope, will eventually be posted on ao3 as a proper fic – current draft title is exhumation — but just in case it will not, gonna post it here and let it stew

Canon Divergence AU with secret Identity and later identity reveal drama

(also this involves the backstory from the Ghost comic because I vaguely remember reading it when I was in high school…)

Soap and Ghost meet before they become Soap and Ghost. Johnny is 20, Ghost is 25, and they’re stationed around the same place but different squads — somewhere not far away from Manchester — and they don’t know they’re both from SAS. They meet when Tommy tries to be supportive of Simon’s newly announced queerness and takes him out to a gay bar on Canal Street. Tommy is the one to chat up Johnny (while Simon, obviously not a fan of crowds or loud places, hides away in the bathroom) with ‘see, my brother this and that’ and ‘if you give my brother a chance, he will this and that’. Believe it or not, once Simon strolls back in with all his social awkwardness, Johnny is actually charmed. Things roll around for a couple of months before they admit to each other they’re in the armed forces.

By the time they find out Simon is of higher rank, they’re already gone for each other. They decide to keep going anyway — it’s legal, as of 2001, and they’re not planning on getting a civil partnership for a while, anyway, so in the end, they keep going. Simon changes his next of kin on file to Johnny, they ‘share’ a flat off base, and Johnny’s met Simon’s mum and brother. He more or less knows the lore of the Riley family, mostly how much of a piece of shite his father was and Tommy’s recently fought addiction, and somehow, Simon feels alive for the first time in his life.

It’s all going so perfect, they’ve been together for almost two years, which isn’t long for most, but feels like forever when you’re in the military. Johnny gives him a ring, a sterling silver one with thistle ornaments and a small garnet centre stone. It’s not a proposal, they can’t get married legally, and they won’t have anything but Simon’s will binding them legally for as long as they’re both in the forces — Simon doesn’t know it, but there’s a matching simple band waiting to slide in with the ring he’s got on his tags, and one day, Johnny plans for him to have a full set.

Simon and his team get send out, Simon tells him it’s going to be a long one, somewhere in one of the Americas — Central or South, if he had to guess by all the self-learning Spanish books that cluttered Simon’s bedside table — and Johnny, well, he’s got a bad feeling but when does he not, with their jobs?

Simon’s team gets back, partially. There’s talk about betrayal from his captain, and he’s painfully absent, Simon’s friends look half-dead and act half-dead and no one is telling Johnny anything. He spends his afternoons with Simon’s mum, taking care of her as best as he can while Simon is gone, even though it was never the plan, and dodges Tommy’s aggressive questions, because he knows goddamn nothing.

Johnny doesn’t give up. He waits.

Simon is gone six months — MIA, officially, but KIA in the words of anyone from the brass — when he emerges back from South America, giving Johnny a new heart and a new life. He comes back different, but Johnny doesn’t care, it’s Simon, it’s still him, and maybe there’s something dead in his eyes, and maybe he spaces out more often than not, and maybe he feels cold in Johnny’s arms, and maybe he doesn’t sleep in the same bed, but it’s still Simon, he just needs to heal and figure out how to keep on living.

And Simon tries — he’s got episodes every day, than every other day, than every week, every other week. He goes to therapy, he spends his days cooking with his mum, spends his days cleaning the whole of their flat again and again, spends his days wandering around Manchester, buying Johnny’s favourite drinks, favourite books, favourite breakfast babs.

He tells Johnny bits and pieces, about what happened, enough that Johnny can put it together in a horrifying if blurred picture, and things start to improve, slowly.

He comes back to their bed. He wakes up before Johnny, makes him breakfast, kisses him on the forehead and struggles with the crosswords from the newspapers he picked on his morning run. He goes out with his former teammates, very short trips but trips nonetheless. He stops being afraid to be alone with his nephew, stops being afraid he'll hurt him. He never quite gets used to the scars, covering them more often than not, not wanting the looks.

Second week of December, ten months after he was brought back to the UK from North America, his psychiatrist signs him off for a phased return to duty. No deployments, only base and training site duties, regular sessions with both the psychiatrist and the psychology for the first four months.

Johnny hasn’t seen his family since before Simon gone MIA — finally feeling okay-ish, Simon tells him to go Scotland for Christmas. He’s got his mum, his brother, his sister-in-law and his nephew, and he’s, weirdly, feeling almost optimistic about life.

Obviously, he can’t be happy for long and shit hits the fan.

On Christmas Day, Johnny gets a call from Greater Manchster Police. He and his sister drive down the country and in the early morning of the Boxing Day, Johnny is showed the tags with the familiar silver ring on it, sooted at the edges and slightly misshapen, melted.

Fifteen minutes after he identifies Simon’s body, they tell him he killed his whole family, probably in a PTSD induced episode, then set their house on fire and killed himself right after, when the trauma-haze went down. They tell him he was lucky not to be there when it happened.

Johnny doesn’t believe it. Simon’s mind’s been bad, but it’d always turn on Simon, not on others, he had too much control to let any episode take him over so much. So he doesn’t care what the police or the public says — he arranges the funeral and Simon is buried with the rest of his family.

Meanwhile, Simon goes on a rampage in Mexico. He kills everyone and anyone he even suspects to be involved with Roba’s people. He leaves a trail of dead people behind him for weeks until finally, the US military catches up — General Shepherd catches up and identifies him. The British Army doesn't know what to do with him — officially, he's dead already, the General Register Office has already issued his death certificate to his NOK, the armed forces had condemned his family's tragedy. His existence is…inconvenient. He is suspected to be either compromised or too unstable to be of use to the Army, even if SAS sees how valuable someone who could single-handedly destroy a whole cartel family and fake his own death could be.

Enter John Price, who had met Simon during SAS selection and had a bit too soft of a heart. There's a mural agreement — Price will take personal responsibility to keep him on a leash, at least until he proves he is not a liability, and he will remain dead on paper but active in the Army. No one is to know he is alive — not even Johnny, or maybe especially Johnny, who will be the last person anyone will see as a revenge method. Simon Riley's name is redacted from all available documents.

And thus, Ghost, a nameless lieutenant and a walking cautionary tale, is born.

The only thing Ghost has not predicted is that eventually, almost six years after he put Simon into the grave, Johnny will join the 141.

And somehow, Ghost is just Johnny's type, again.

#yes this going to be a then/now pov mix #soap angst will be like 70% of it #ghostsoap #ghoap #cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #fic ideas #charlie writes #haven't slept yet so going now #goodbye be back in 2h #op

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intrigued-gelatin · 1 month

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...What's that?

Is that a....?

Is that A PIECE THAT WILL BE FOR SALE ONCE MY SITE LAUNCHES?

INDEED IT IS!

Some of you have been amazingly supportive of my Fandom-inspired works and I am so grateful! I will be launching a website for my jewelry soon (mostly non-fandom but still worth checking out) and since I recently got some sterling silver and you guys asked if I sell my things.....here we are!

#aphmau #aphmau mcd #aphmau minecraft diaries #mcd #minecraft diaries #irene the matron #aphmau irene #irene #jewelry #Gelatin works

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gremlins-hotel · 6 months

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Post headcanons abt Arthur and his first baby you coward, you fool. The audience arrived, we are here, yet you stay silent upon the stage.

(Just joking ofc, tho id give you a kidney if you gave us some hcs abt their early days <3)

I know it's not a headcanon, but I hope this will still be satisfactory. A moment between a new father and his first son, to whom Arthur wishes the world.

“You coddle him,” came Rhys’ voice, blunt and teasing.

Arthur waved his brother’s words away. They were meaningless like wayward flecks of spume against the broad side of a ship in the face of the treasure held tight to his chest. Sleepless nights, tears, and the terror of the unknowing life. He had watched his son like a hawk for years, and the boy now grew blessedly stronger. Each time little Alfred grabbed his finger, the babe’s grip was vicelike, and Arthur knew the little chubby squish of pain was worth all his toils.

Alfred burbled up at Arthur, seeing his father’s watchful eyes glimmer, a mostly toothless smile scrunching his small face with joy.

Heart squeezing and eyes wide, Arthur knew he would endure it all again as long as that babe was laughing. Hugging the heavy bundle tighter to his chest, Arthur bounced the boy gently as he fiddled with a pocket of his coat. Life was difficult when one-handed, but he hated putting Alfred down. The troubles a baby could get into with any degree of autonomy he did not wish to imagine, not after famine and disease and blood. Alfred seemed determined to bind the world with his gums if his father allowed him, in any case, and to grab it without hesitation. There were dangers on the floor that the boy approached fearlessly. That determination. It was a good thing to have, Arthur knew, but woeful for life still so seemingly fragile.

A faint jingle answering his seeking fingers told the man he’d found his quarry. Arthur whisked the trinket from his pocket in a closed fist, the toy’s chain hanging from between two fingers. The near-sterling silver rings tinkled prettily against one another as he shook his fist above Alfred’s head. Curiosity lit the deep skies held in his son’s face like stars and Arthur couldn’t keep the soft smile from turning the corners of his mouth, shaking the chain again. Skies and stars indeed, for he had never observed someone to watch the heavens so closely at such a young age. Silently he praised the boy’s curiosity; one day it might have its questions answered if Arthur had anything to say about it. He would give that lad the sky and the seas.

Short, squishy fingers reached up for the chain, seeking the noisemaker with excitement. Arthur raised it away from his baby’s reach and took delight in seeing him try again. So he played the cat-and-mouse, jerking the prize just inches from Alfred’s grasp when he waved his hands skyward. Alfred laughed uproariously each time the toy made its metallic clinking and at seeing the smile on his father’s face. Arthur opened his fingers to reveal the rest of the shining silver toy and raised it to his mouth. One end was a sweet little whistle, which he blew quietly in the face of the babe. A high, windy note spiraled out into the air between them and Alfred laughed again, his entire face bright and bold. It made the boy redouble his efforts.

Arthur finally acquiesced, lowering his hand enough for those ferocious fingers to grip the tiny silver rings and tug. Once more Alfred’s burgeoning strength shot a bolt of pride through the man’s chest. With reluctant fingers he allowed the toy to drop into his son’s happy hands. Little curved talons, blunt by youth, curled around the moon-bright metal like a hunting bird content with its catch. The babe brought the whistle end to his soft mouth and immediately made to teethe on the silver. Tiny puffs of breath made the whistle sing and stutter, and Alfred’s eye glimmered happily, gazing up at Arthur as though he’d hung the heavens. Quickly he slobbered on the toy, but Arthur couldn’t help but feel enraptured by his son, drool or not.

Having forgotten the watching eyes beside him, it was Rhys’ voice that broke his reverie. “You ordered the coral, after all? No measure too small.”

Arthur blinked, looking up and away, then back to the toy in his son’s burbling mouth. The opposite end of the whistle had a stub of red, red coral from lands far away, polished to a beautiful shine. It was worth it to him. Anything to keep winding spirits and the fey away from his boy who had already suffered enough. No measure too small.

“Someday he will not need it, I hope.”

#callsign gremlin checking in #papa echo november #arthur kirkland // salt wind and green garden #alfred f. jones // daring to fly #arthur & alfred // a king and his crown #hetalia #aph america #aph england #hws america #hws england #alfred f jones #arthur kirkland

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theoutcastrogue · 24 days

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8 Fancy Pocket Knives

Etched pocket knife from Eskilstuna, Sweden

Silver / mother of pearl Victorian fruit knife, England

Damascene Toledo knife, Spain

Inlaid Toledo knife, Germany

Silver-plated fruit knife, USA

Damascene Toledo knife, Spain

Etched pocket knife from Eskilstuna, Sweden

Mother of pearl pocket knife from Eskilstuna, Sweden

@victoriansword [details after the cut]

1) Swedish pocket knife by EKA (Eskilstuna Kniffabriks AB), c. 1980-2000. Model 6 GS (1967-2010), with main blade, bottle opener/screwdriver, pen blade, and nail file. Tang stamp "EKA / SWEDEN" (from 1967), etched handle, 7 cm closed.

These were very popular in the 2nd half of the 20th century as gift knives or advertising knives. They were manufactured by many cutlers in Eskilstuna, and widely exported. The decorative pattern appears, with variations, on Swedish knives from at least the 19th century, and is inspired by Norse / Viking art, which often features twisted serpents/dragons. The interlacing perhaps also borrows from Celtic knots.

2) English fruit knife by Martin Bros & Co, 1848. Silver blade with 4 hallmarks (for Queen Victoria, the year, sterling silver, and Sheffield) and maker's mark, mother of pearl scales, 9.5 cm closed.

This is the posh version of what used to be an incredibly useful tool, a knife (and sometimes a multi-tool knife and fork) for eating on the road. The fancier ones were also status symbols, and very popular gifts – millions of silver fruit knives were manufactured in Britain from the 18th to the 20th century, mostly in Sheffield, Birmingham, and Edinburgh.

3) Spanish Toledo knife, as it's sometimes called, a damascened penknife of recent manufacture. Two pen blades, tang stamp "TOLEDO", 6.7 cm closed.

Not to be confused with Damascus blades! The handle is damascened – decorated with gold inlaid into oxidized steel (see here for details). Reminder that gold is a highly ductile metal (you can stretch it real thin before it breaks), so that impressive aesthetic result comes from a tiny amount of gold. It's a cheap knife, is what I'm saying, for tourists basically.

4) German pocket knife, confusingly also called Toledo, by Hartkopf. With main blade, pen blade and nail file. Brass handle inlaid with oxidised steel. Tang stamp "Hartkopf&Co / Solingen", 8cm closed.

It's "damascened" in the broad sense of inlaying, hence the name "Toledo": it supposedly emulates the Spanish style, and perhaps pretends to be Spanish, but both the metals and the geometric patterns are different. Knives of this type were popular in Germany all through the 20th century as gifts and advertising knives.

5) American fruit knife by William Rogers Mfg, made in Hartford, Connecticut c.1865-1898. Main blade, seedpick [also called nut-pick or nut-picker *snickers*], silver-plated nickel silver, decorated with flowers and apples. Tang stamp: an anchor logo and "Wm ROGERS & SON AA", 8.2 cm closed.

Sometimes fruit knives like this were bought by fruit shops/groceries (relatively fancy ones, presumably) in bulk, and sold or given to customers as gifts.

6) Spanish Toledo penknife (another one). With pen blade and damascened handle, different pattern, probably a bit older. Tang stamp again "TOLEDO", 6.8 cm closed.

7) Swedish pocket knife by Emil Olsson, c. 1920-1950. Blade, pen blade and corkscrew. Tang stamp "EMIL OLSSON / [star logo] / ESKILSTUNA", 9.2 cm closed.

Another etched serpent pattern on the handle, though by now you have to squint to see it. This knife has seen some shit. Until ~1940, pocket knives were widely sold and used in Sweden because they came with corkscrews, and all the bottles had corks, and everyone needed to open bottles. After the war, bottle caps replaced corks for everything except wine, and the pocket knife's utility plummeted, and cutleries started closing. There used to be hundreds, and by now only EKA's left. So statistically, if it's from before ~1950 it saw a lot of use, and if it's after ~1950 it did not, it was a gift or something.

8) Swedish pocket knife by EKA, c.1935-1965. Model 38 PB, with blade, pen blade, flat screwdriver, and corkscrew. Handle with mother of pearl scales and nickel silver bolsters, tang stamp "E.K.A. / ESKILSTUNA / SWEDEN", 8.3 cm closed.

The corkscrew is a quirky one, known as Gottlieb Hammesfahr patent: it pivots on the pin and opens perpendicular to the handle, not pulled downwards as in most pocket knives.

#tools of the trade #folding knife #sweden #sheffield #spain #germany #toledo #eskilstuna #solingen #usa #trs #trp #trc #how to stab #<- the knife nerd tag

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 8 months

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Inspired by the recent shoplifting one that tbh I was surprised by the poll on: AITA for shoplifting from Claire's as revenge for them firing my friend?

Years and years ago I worked at a mall store, and my friend worked at the Claire's in the same mall. They fired him for a bullshit reason when he was very sick and screwed him over pretty bad, so from then on I went over on my lunch break and stole a pack of shitty earrings or a bracelet or whatever. Occasionally one of the higher ticket items from their sterling silver section (do they still even have that?) or w/e. I got legit over a thousand bucks in mostly crap overpriced jewelry that way before I got caught, but they just banned me from the store and got me fired from my mall job (which was nbd, oh noooo my mall retail job, however will I go on)

(But disclaimer for the kids: do as I say not as I do, do not shoplift from the same place you work, there are some stores like Target that will keep track of how much you take and will only nab you once you get over a certain dollar amount, etc etc be smart about it if you're gonna do it)

Anyway. AITA for avenging my friend on the Claire's corporation by shoplifting unbelievably shitty earrings?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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ma11goth · 2 months

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FIG. A: ear piercings . . . three in left ear. two helix , standard lobe. FIG. B: ear piercings . . . two in right ear. one helix , standard lobe. FIG. C: facial piercings . . . standard labret. contrary to popular belief , this piercing does not go directly through the lip. it is instead placed below the lower lip , just above his chin.

FIG. D: wardrobe . . . a look inside his closet. tripp pants and shorts are his go-to , baggy and accessorized with straps and/or chains , and band shirts are essential. he's a big fan of layering. this includes mesh and fishnet shirts either over or under plain tees or tanks. FIG. E: accessories . . . he wears a lot of silver. not only are his piercings always sterling silver , but all of his jewelry and accessories mostly consist of it as well. this includes his rings and necklaces. he typically wears at least one ring on each hand , and one necklace at a time. studded bracelets and belts are common.

FIG. F - I: wardrobe (cont.) . . . dressing down for him just means less logos and extra straps. this style is a lot less baggy and more form fitting — but despite his pants or shorts fitting better , they're still constantly drooping below his hips and exposing boxer bands even with the help of belts due to a small waist... and preferring how it looks.

FIG. J: wardrobe (cont.) . . . fall and winter edition. the bigger the better during colder months , and the jackets come out of storage. his looser shirts are usually more distressed from age , often getting them secondhand , and there's a lot of wear and tear from being worn with love. they're also much softer. FIG. K: accessories (cont.) . . . the chances of him carrying a discman are extremely high. if he has some sort of bag on him , it's probably loaded with cds that he switches out every few days.

FIG. L: wardrobe (cont.) . . . spring and summer edition. the less clothes the better during warmer months. tripp pants are switched out for tripp cargo shorts and once into summer , tees are replaced with tanks. though he is guilty of making his own by messily cutting the sleeves from old shirts. FIG. M: beauty marks . . . he is littered in beauty marks , moles , and freckles. other than the noticeable ones on the side of his chin and neck , his back and shoulders have the most. obviously , they're seen more often during the summer when he's wearing less.

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mandiemegatron · 7 months

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Please please please tell me your favorite Doffy headcannons I am dying to know!

Thank you for being here omg!

I LOVE U SO MUCH ANON, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS QUESTION 🤭🤭🤭💖💖💖

Header by ; @baka-tsuki // @baka-tsuki-2 ♡

『☼』 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜 『☼』

♡ even though you say "I love you" first, Doflamingo always goes above and beyond to show you how much he truly appreciates your love. Showering you in gifts is number one - necklaces, mostly. Gold, sterling silver - your choice, as long as you wear it for him the second he gifts it to you. Never gaudy or over the top, more simple but gorgeous, usually accompanied with tiny precious gemstones. Your favourite one is a simple, thin gold chain with a small gold circle, the Donquixote Crest stamped onto it. [He internally loses it everytime you wear it, especially if it's out and about or to a not so important meeting. Seeing you wear his crest with pride makes him feel absolutely feral]

♡ Doflamingo always, always, always makes time for you, no matter how much he has on his plate. Whether it be first thing in the morning or right before bed, he always makes sure to kiss you at least once a day. While for some that may not seem like much, but to you, it's more than enough. You know how busy and important he is and understand why he can't be with you every second of the day, which he shows appreciation by fucking you senseless the moment he can. This man will give up a night's rest to not only fuck you but make love to you, at least as best he can. You both know he's broken, unfamiliar with love as a whole but that doesn't deter you at all, showing him just how wonderful genuine love and affection is.

♡ He loves having you in his lap when he's doing paperwork. He's got a lot of it, so be sure to bring a book. Most times, Doflamingo demands you wear a dress or skirt with no panties, so he can run his fingers over your soaked cunt whenever he wishes. Nothing makes the man cackle more than making you fall apart in his lap while doing the most boring duties, bringing you over the edge at least twice before stuffing his cock into you, roughly pressing your front into his desk as he takes you from behind.

♡ Doflamingo loves when you wash his hair and body. The man has a worship kink, deeming himself a God worthy of adoration and you are more than happy and willing to service him however he chooses. It's such a soft, intimate moment when he brings you into the tub room with him, sinking into the almost pool sized bath and pulling you against him. You cling to him and he kisses you, over and over, everywhere on your face. This is the only time you see him without his glasses, your fingers following the same routine everytime of brushing over his face lovingly, thumb gently dancing under his blind eye which he closes. It's the only time he tells you he loves you, the words soft and near non-existent. It's like he worries It's all a dream and if he says it too loud, the dream will collapse. You don't mind, simply returning kisses over and over as you tell him the same.

♡ Doflamingo gets incredibly jealous wicked fast. A lowly servant speaking to you for too long? Off with their head. A patron in the bar trying to catch your attention? He'll scoop you up and devour your lips right in front of them before ending their existence. If you try to make him jealous on purpose, he'll punish you then and there, pushing your skirt up and pressing long fingers into you, not caring if you're in public or not. You're his and his alone, and everyone is going to know that somehow. Jealousy sex is painful, almost too much and overwhelming to the point you're sobbing, begging for him to either let you cum or to stop. He'll have you over-fucked to the point you can't speak as he fucks you from behind, eyes rolled back and drooling - its his second favourite position.

♡ His favourite position is you on top, titties bouncing and fingers digging into his sculpted chest and stomach, nails leaving angry red lines over his tanned skin. Doflamingo loves to dig his fingers into your hips, leaving bruises and aching bones behind. There's nothing that fuels his ego more than seeing you unable to walk after a long session, summoning threads to wrap around you and help you walk to the washroom. He's warm and only slightly sweaty every time, his hold incredibly tight around you when you return. He loves watching you curl into him, feeling like a cage trapping a song bird, one that was made just for him.

There are few things in this world that Doflamingo truly loves - and you are one of them.

#; in mandies mind / headcanons #ok to rb #one piece #one piece headcanons #doflamingo headcanons #Donquixote Doflamingo #🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭 I LOVED THIS !!!#this was so much fun UGH i love my mans so much !!!!

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teejaystumbles · 1 year

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Smapril turned Angstpril Day 10: auction + hair pulling

This is pretty dark, tw slavery, violence, humiliation.

This is a dream, or rather a nightmare Hob is having about being auctioned off as a slave. It is not meant to fetishize slavery but it deals with it in so far that Hob fears what it might be like. It is therefore not accurate and not meant to be! If the theme triggers you please refrain from reading.

It takes place in between the 1789 and 1889 meetings. For reference, Hob dreams in 14th century currency and worth of money, not that of the 18th century. A regular labourer earned 2 pence a day. A pig sold for about 30d (pence) and a cow for about 100d. A shilling was worth 12 pence and a pound sterling was worth 20s (but there was no pound coin). A gold noble was a gold coin worth 6s 8d.

There was no permitted slavery in England since the early 1500s and therefore no slave markets. While the triangular trade which Hob is referring to in 1789 persisted until 1833, there had been several court cases that were decided in the favor of escaped slaves on English soil who were set free since the English Law did not allow slavery. I am of the opinion that Hob has therefore never been to a selling of slaves (because I believe even if he was involved in the trans-atlantic slave trade, the shadow of the 17th century would have prevented him from seeking out direct contact with people in misery and poverty), he dreams of what he imagines it to be like, probably influenced by his own bad experiences in the 1600s. It’s also a possible reason for the merchants haggling in medieval cattle prices.

Hob mostly doesn’t feel good in this one. It’s about him feeling regret and shame and unworthy of being loved. If any of this triggers you please refrain from reading.

I have fiddled with this prompt take so much, I think I'm just going to let it be like this. I hope some will still enjoy it. :)

"How much for this one?"

Hob lifts his head at the voice and is instantly kicked in the side, making him slump forward again and gasp. The voice of his handler snarls at him: "Stay down, wretch!" Then the man returns to speaking pleasantly to the customer. "This one, my lord? I'll be honest with you, he's a troublemaker. No beauty besides. But I guess if you need someone to do a bit of labour, he might hold out for a few months. Not much of a build, you see? I guess he makes up for it with bloody stubbornness."

"Mmh."

"He starts at 70 pence. You'd be doing me a favour, taking him off my hands."

Hob's heart is beating faster. He tries to sneak a look up from where he kneels in the trampled dirt of the marketplace but only catches sight of a black robe. Hob clenches his fists in the simple, worn-down linen robe that barely reaches his knees. His wrists are shackled together so tightly that there's a stain of blood on the linen from his chafed skin.

Hob would bet that he knows the voice of the customer. But it can't be. It's impossible. Nothing will save him. No one.

"I want to look at him." the dark voice says and Hob's heart trips. There's no mistake. He knows that voice… Dread curls in his gut at the thought of his stranger. He doesn't want him to see Hob like this.

A hand is suddenly in his long hair and pulls him roughly upwards and Hob bites his lips to stifle a groan. "Up you get. Let the lord take a look at you." The merchant adds, quietly hissing in Hob's ear: "And if you give me trouble I'll lash you until you lose consciousness, bitch!"

Hob stands shakily, the skin of his back pulling painfully around the lash marks he has already received. He keeps his eyes downcast, anxiously studying the feet and legs of the man before him. What he thought to be a robe is in fact a floor length coat. The man in front of him wears tight black leather boots that rise to his calf and black pants. Hob stops his eyes at the man's hips, slim and tightly wrapped with a wide black leather belt that is buckled with the silver skull of a raven.

"Look at me."

Hob can't help but obey. He raises his head slowly, his eyes trailing up his stranger's front, catching for a moment on the well-known ruby hanging on a silver chain on his breast. Hob swallows heavily and finally meets his stranger's eyes. They are as black and star-speckled as the night sky. Hob can’t help but stare. His stranger wears his long black hair open, it curls softly against his exposed white collarbones and Hob wants to touch it so badly he clenches his fists even tighter.

The stranger's face is impassive; Hob can’t read his mood. His stranger lifts his hand to touch Hob’s chin when suddenly there comes a call from behind him: “I’ll pay 100d for that one.” A man with a toothy grin and a ruddy beard approaches them. Hob recognizes him as the captain of one of his former ships, Christopher Emmet. A hard and unkind man that Hob had never particularly liked. There is no recognition in the man’s face when he looks Hob over, though.

His stranger frowns at the man but the merchant behind Hob steps forward eagerly and grabs Hob by the upper arm, giving him a good shake that makes Hob’s teeth rattle.

“A hundred pence, sir, a good offer! My lord,” he addresses the stranger, “I’m afraid you’ll have to bid higher than this good sir if you’re still interested?”

His stranger doesn’t move a muscle but Hob can tell he is thinking. Hob swallows again and shuffles his feet. He drops his head and looks at his stranger’s belt buckle again. He’s not worth much, certainly not to someone like his stranger. There’s a memory tugging at him that he can’t quite grasp, something that whispers that no, he would care, he wouldn’t want this for me…but it is dangerous to have hope and so Hob shakes his head to clear it.

“You would sell this man…for the price of a cow?”

His stranger sounds incredulous and Hob feels his cheeks burn in shame when the merchant laughs: “You’re right, he’s not worth that much, but I won’t argue with a paying customer. Maybe he can be milked in some way, eh?”

The man slaps Hob’s ass roughly, jostling him a step forward and into his stranger’s space. He looks up in shock, feeling his cheeks burn with humiliation and shame.

“Indeed…” his stranger murmurs, eyebrow raised, and trails his fingertips down Hob’s chest, where the simple linen robe falls open to reveal his chest hair. Hob shivers. Black-laquered nails catch on his nipple and Hob sucks in a breath and bites his lip again but can’t quite suppress a whimper. His stranger has never touched him before. He instantly, desperately, wants more of it and arousal stirs in his belly despite the horror of the situation.

“I will give you…one gold noble. For this man.”

Hob’s eyes widen and his stranger does not look away from him as Emmet grunts in annoyance and the merchant stutters: “For him? My lord, that’s very generous!”

Hob barely registers the following exchange, feeling numb and too shocked to do anything but wait and watch. Captain Emmet steps back, shaking his head and muttering under his breath about money wasted on a wretch. The stranger drops a perfect golden coin into the outstretched hand of the merchant. Then he grabs Hob by his shackled wrists and leads him away. Hob stumbles after him, still too stunned to say anything. The marketplace fades around them like a fog has rolled in and suddenly they are in a wide room with black velvet tapestries on the walls. Silver sconces and a huge fireplace light the room and Hob’s bare feet suddenly touch soft fur. He looks down and sees a plethora of carpets, rugs and furs cover the black marble tiles.

The sudden unexpected touch of a hand in his hair makes him go limp and let out a small moan. The hand tugs on his hair, not too roughly, and Hob gasps and feels his knees go weak. When he sinks to the softly padded floor the hand in his hair does not stop him but rather guides him down.

“Hob Gadling. I take it you have begun to consider the advice I gave you at our last meeting…”

His stranger releases him and steps before Hob. He looks down his nose at him and Hob nods mutely, feeling still like his head is full of wool. The shapes around them seem blurred, like he is dreaming. Only his stranger looks as real as he always does, maybe more so, his hair a wild mess flowing around his head, his eyes full of stars.

“I am dreaming, aren’t I?” he asks, and the stranger nods.

“You are. There is no open market for slaves in London, and I did not truly buy you.”

“You did, though. You did.” Hob reaches out with his still shackled hands and dares to grab at his stranger’s boot. “Don’t take it back. Please…”

He bows down and kisses the boot’s toe cap. His stranger lets out a sound like a growl and pulls his foot away. Then his hand is in Hob’s hair again, this time pulling him up more roughly, shaking him a bit.

“I have no need of a slave, Hob! You are a free man and none of what happens in this dream will change that. If this dream has taught you a lesson, then it has served its purpose.”

Hob pants and meets the eyes of his oldest acquaintance who looks angry now, but Hob can only whine and surrender to the vice grip in his hair. He closes his eyes for a second and murmurs: “Still. It happened. I won’t forget…and I’d…like you to keep me…”

His stranger snorts and when Hob opens his eyes he is looking at him with a mix of curiosity, annoyance and amusement.

“I can make you forget. You will wake and not know any of this happened.”

Hob grins but it turns into a pained grimace. “But then your lesson will also be forgotten…master.”

He is released so quickly that he falls back to the floor with a grunt. “You will not call me that! I forbid it!” his stranger snarls and Hob’s shackles crumble into a pile of sand. He stares at his chafed wrists in wonder and then gets to his feet. He stands, in his simple white robe that is barely covering him and looks at his stranger more closely, who has put some distance between them. The black mess of hair around his head is writhing like snakes and his eyes are glinting like sharp blades lit by moonlight in the dark. Hob thinks he looks more dangerous and more beautiful than he has ever seen him. He takes a courtly bow and says: "As you wish, my lord."

There is an imperious sniff and when Hob looks up his stranger looks a bit mollified, if still uncharacteristically flushed.

Not master then, but lord is fine.

Hob licks his lips and looks down to see his hands tremble. He fists them in the hem of his ragged shirt. Then he deliberately drops to his knees again. He doesn’t want this dream to end yet. “Please. Let me serve you. My Lord. I am in your debt.”

“You are not.”

“Please.” he repeats, pleading now. “You purchased me. Use me. This is a dream, you said. What harm can it do?”

The thought of his stranger not wanting him hurts, like it always has, but somehow, here and now, in this strange dream, it hurts even more, cuts off his breath and makes him feel like crying. His stranger scoffs.

“More than you realize, foolish human.”

He steps closer towards Hob, though, and his eyes rove over him with poorly disguised desire. It makes Hob breathe more easily again, the grip of fear around his heart loosening. He exhales shakily, feeling himself relax minutely. Hob has seen the same look in 1789 and knew back then as well as he does now that his stranger wants him, wants something from him, even if he isn’t sure what exactly it might be. Hob is fine with anything really, be it blood or sex or something else. He’d give his stranger anything he asked for - except his life. That, he intends to keep forever.

“You want me to use you, Hob? Very well. Show me then. That you are worth more than a cow.”

The cold words make Hob shiver and he sits back on his heels as the stranger steps into his space and roughly pushes his knees apart with his boot.

“Take your shirt off. I want to appraise my purchase.”

#own writing #smapril 2023 #dreamling #the sandman fanfiction #dream x hob #please read the warnings #teejay writes #tw slavery #nightmares

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jovoy · 7 months

Text

cutie cute estate sale jewelry finds today i spent basically all of my extra money from my budget LOL but these are sooo pretty!! most of the silver is sterling and the pearls are real but the gold..mostly costume but its ok. i loooooove vintage little lockets and prayer boxes i think they are so special.. i buy them every time i can ik theyre like probably the most haunted things you can get at an estate sale but i buy them anyways. 💃🏻💃🏻

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thefloatingpickle · 1 year

Text

All Shook Up

A bored, lonely librarian gets a break from the mundane when a night out leads to a meeting with Tom Bennett. Tom!FemOC Older woman (not by much)

Please excuse errors I have no one checking this for me

Triggers for a bit of a tough spot towards the end

_____________________

London was nothing like what Adaline Harper imagined it would be. Back home in Chicago she had dreamed it into a mythical world of fairytales and gentlemen. In reality she had seen very little in the way of magical thinking and even less of a gentleman since coming over at twenty two to finish her masters in Library Sciences. Don’t get it wrong, she was glad she had come, spending the rest of her life toiling away on the north side of the city with her alcoholic father and useless brother was her worst nightmare. Losing her mother so young from cancer after watching her waste away at the service of her cold hearted, often cruel father only fueled her need to escape. Originally she had only planned to go as far as maybe the east coast, but when she was presented the opportunity to study abroad by her favorite English professor she jumped at the chance.

Unfortunately for Adaline she had not been swept off her feet by a strapping young brit like she had imagined. Much to the contrary she went on several dates with mostly what would be considered posh type men she met attending classes, and all of them were only interested in the rumors that American girls were quick to the sheets. So she had quit trying and dedicated herself to her studies. When she finished she was quickly awarded a position at Central Library in Manchester.

She liked it well enough, the head librarian was a stout cold woman, but she often brought in food for the girls who worked the stacks and had even brought Adaline a gift of a beautiful sterling silver necklace with a small pendant in the shape of a book for starting in her new position. She worked the main desk in non fiction. It was mostly long boring days, academics and curious minds coming to find this book or that, but on slow days she could go into the shelves and find herself something interesting to keep her mind busy, history had always been a favorite subject.

It was in the middle of one of these slow days that the slightly younger girls who worked reshelving the checked in books in her section approached her for what may be the hundredth time about going out with them for a drink after work. “You can’t spend every night curled up in your flat reading romance novels, can ya Addie?” Tilly, the louder of the two girls with her beautiful blonde hair and lean features announced too loud for the surroundings. “It was one romance novel Tilly, ONE!” Addie spit back in a harsh whisper. “One or ten it’s still a sad sight. You being only what Twenty-Five and all? Come out with us, you’d have a blast. None of those uptight wankers you’ve talked about dating at Uni, our mates are fun!” Becky, the sweeter of the two, pleaded with you. Her brown hair stopping just above her shoulders showed off her sharp jawline, which seemed unusual given the softness of the rest of her features. “I have letters to write. My aunt has been bombarding me with posts for the last two months and I haven’t gotten back to her or my nieces.”

They rolled their eyes in unison, “You could write during work you know. We all do. Besides it is my BIRTHDAY” “I like to write in the privacy of my home thank you.” “Ugghhh,” “Quiet!” The head librarian had heard the noise from the main lobby and made her way in to announce that you were bothering the small smattering of patronage the building had pulled in on the clear spring day. “Sorry Ma’am.” Addie whispered. “Get back to your shelving girls, I appreciate the invite but going drinking with a bunch of twenty year olds isn’t my idea of a good time.”

With a chuff and a turn they were back to work and you were grateful for the silence until he walked in. “Addie girl, you look dashing as ever.” “Hello Greg, how are you today?” You couldn’t stand Greg, he had seemed nice at first but after the fourth time he asked you to dinner you started running out of good excuses. Not that he wasn’t handsome, but his parents were on the board for the library and he strutted around the place like it made him a prince. “You know they’ve just opened a lovely new cafe down off of Pike street, a beautiful view of the Medlock from the outside seating.” Her stomach turned as she felt the question coming, “Oh yea? Sounds lovely.” “It is, and I was just thinking how lovely you would look sitting there.” “That’s kind of you to say.” “Isn’t it? How about tonight?” She wracked her brain for an excuse, any excuse, just then she caught the sight of Tilly watching her interaction with a satisfied smirk. “I can’t, you see I already have plans.” He lifted a brow in surprise, “Plans? You, to do what?” “Well you see it’s Tilly’s birthday and I’ve promised to get a drink with the girls down at a pub later.” He didn’t believe you for a second. “You… are going to a pub with Tilly and Becky?” Like a saving angel Becky popped up from behind you. “Oh yes, she is. We had to practically beg. But you know even Adaline isn’t monster enough to miss out on Tilly’s celebrations.” I let out a sigh of relief as he walked away seeming flabbergasted. “Thank you Becky, I owe you one.” “Don’t be thanking her too fast now Addie, you’re coming to the pub tonight or I’m going to run right behind the good lad and tell him you’ve played him a fool.” Tilly said head peeking out from the stacks with a grin on her face.

_____________________

“I cannot believe I roped myself into this”, Addie thought as she made her way down the cobblestone path, her mary janes clicking loudly off the road at every step. She had agreed to meet the girls at McDuff’s, a known hang out for the sort of kids Tilly and Becky liked to spend their time around. Petty criminals who were just as likely to walk out on a tab as they were to start a street fight just in the name of a couple minutes entertainment.

She’d gone home from Central and put on one of the few dresses she had that were more suited for a night out than a day at work, the deep green dress went perfectly with her pale skin, and auburn hair. She had had to dig through half of her vanity drawers to find the one shade of lipstick she had that wasn’t just a pale nude, but the red went well with the dress and for once she felt a bit pretty.

She heard the place before she saw it, rumpus laughter and loud music pouring out the door as she rounded the corner.``You actually came!” A shout rose out over the noise. “Hello, Tilly. Happy birthday.” Was all she got out as she led you into the small but jovial building. “Everyone, THIS is Adaline! She came!!” Adaline almost felt bad, she didn't realize it would make such a difference to Tilly whether she had come or not. “You must meet everyone.” The young woman exclaimed as she led her over to a section of standing tables swarming with people. “Obviously you know Becky, then this is Adam, Luke, Nathaniel, Jackie, Devlen, and Peter.” You couldn’t help but notice how intensely male company outweighed the female. “Hello, nice to meet everyone.” “And what about me then?” A voice came from behind, it was pleasant with a sort of smugness that suggested confidence. “Oh yes we can’t forget you can we,” Tilly said, turning her to meet the newcomer, “this is Tom.” He had a wide smile on his face that was friendly in a cocky way, but damn if he wasn’t handsome. “Hello, luv.” He reached out his hand to her expectantly. “Hi” Addie took his hand and was surprised by how tightly he gripped the shake. “Always a pleasure meet’in a lass lovely as yourself.” She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I’m sure it is.” Her quick remark gained her another wide grin. “Drinks all around then?” He put the question to the group but never broke eye contact. “Yes please!” Tilly said in reply, as he turned to leave she leaned in and whispered in Addie’s ear, “Careful with that one, he fancies himself a heartbreaker but has about as much game as a sailor in the desert.” The girls laughed at the joke and shortly after Addie found herself with a drink in hand enjoying the night more than she had expected.

The music was almost too loud for conversation but the girls' friends were funny, and light hearted. Addie felt almost guilty for avoiding them for so long, but often also felt the distinct gap in age as one would make a comment about being nineteen or twenty and at that she would take another large gulp of her drink, which seemed to always be magically replenished when she would finish. Everything was going well, except that every so often she would feel a set of eyes on her and when she turned to see who it was it was always Tom. He was quieter than she had expected, choosing more to watch and listen than to speak up and join the cycle of storytelling, but his presence loomed over her in a way that made her unsure of herself. She often found herself checking her compact to make sure her lipstick was in place, or pulling at the hem of her dress to check it was sitting right, and every time she did she would look over to find another too confident smirk across his face. After a couple hours she decided she needed a smoke and stepped outside, though as soon as she had her cigarette between her lips she realized she couldn’t find her lighter in her small handbag. “Dammit.” A quiet laugh came from behind her, “Trade you a smoke for a light?” She knew who it was before turning her head. “Alright Tom.” She agreed, handing him her smokes. He took one and placed it between his long thin lips, then held up his lighter in front of her smoke. “Pretty ladies shouldn’t be lighin’ their own sticks.” She couldn’t help the smile, or the blush that came over her cheeks, “Thank you.” “Thank you.” He replied and then they stood mostly in silence smoking. “How do you know Tilly then?” The question had almost startled her out of her own wandering train of thought, “Oh, uh, we work together at the library.” He smiled, “A jumpy bit you are eh? You can’t be a cart girl though can you?” She felt the flush of embarrassment come over her. “Why is that?” “Well, not for nothing but you look a touch grown to be reshelving books.” “So I look too old then? Well no I’m not a cart girl, I’m a librarian. I work the non fiction desk.” There was a bite to her tone that he seemed to catch quickly. “Now hold on lovely, wasn’t calling you old. I said grown. You’re clearly not some twenty year old girly.” “And what about you Tom? A ripe old, what eighteen?” He grimaced at that. “I’m twenty years old, I’ll have you know, a grown man. And I promise that means in every way that counts.” He gave another confident smirk. “Well twenty is still awfully young for me, being twenty five and all.” “Five years aint much unless you make something.” At that he leaned closer, tossing the burned end of his smoke to the side. “Bet I could make you feel twenty again.” He pressed himself closer to her, coming around to face her directly and Addie was suddenly very aware of not only the brick wall behind them but the years past since a man had been this close. “I’m sure it would be a valiant effort Tom but unfortunately I’m not interested.” She couldn’t meet his eyes because she knew he would find the lie in them. “Are you not, weren’t you in there fixing your lips, and touching up your skirts every time you looked at me.” “You were the one starring Tom, it made me…” Her voice trailed off, not waiting to admit he had any affect. “Nervous?” He finished for her a glint of pride in his eye that now drove her to annoyance. “I’d like to go back in now please.” She was stern in her tone. His smile dropped and he stepped out of the way. “Alright love, no harm intended.” He stayed behind as she walked back in and she didn’t see him again for the next hour she stayed. Finally ready to go home she went looking for Tilly to say good night, when she found her she was outside in the alley smoking, with Tom leaned against her side. Addie didn’t know why the sight bugged her but it did. So instead of approaching to say goodbye she simply yelled over her shoulder as she walked away. “Happy birthday Tilly, thanks for the invite.” “Bye Addie!” She heard her yell, a small giggle escaping her.

Adaline didn’t hear the footsteps behind her until they were almost on top of her. “Well Ello’ there pretty lady.” The first man said, “Too late to be walking home alone isn’t it.” The second followed. Addie was panicked, she was too far from the bar to turn around, but still several blocks from home. “I’m actually just walking to meet a friend. They don’t live too far off from here.” She prayed they would care, they didn’t. The first one reached forward and grabbed her wrist as the other came around behind her. “I don’t think you know anyone from round these parts miss.” One said. “Please just let me go home.” She had never been more afraid in her life. “Oh we will, right when we’re done with you.” Bile rose in Addie’s throat as she realized she was trapped. “Oi, you there. Watcha on about then?” The shout came from about a block behind, and sounded familiar. “None of your business lad so piss off.” “Is that you Erik? And Shawn then is it? I know you too, work over at the butchers driving the truck. Doubt Mr. Ebbes would be thrilled to hear what you’re getting up to here?” Tom came into sight and was as much of a relief as Addie had ever felt. “We weren’t up to nothin Tom, no need to be gossiping about. Just wanted to see the lady safely home is all.” “Well I’ll take her off your hands boys, no worries there.” The two men disappeared down a side road and Addie turned to face Tom again.

“Oh god, thank you.” She couldn’t help the red hot tears as they slipped down her face. “Hey there, we’ll have none of that.” He said reaching up to wipe them away with a gentle touch from the back of his knuckle. “Nothing bad happened, you’re alright.” “Because of you.” She said, voice shaky. “What were you doing anyway?” “Walking home, I live just round this corner here, didn’t see much point in sticking around…” He looked at her, a small soft smile on his lips, “after you left that is.” Addie stood straightening her dress and hair, “And what about Tilly?” “What about her?” His brows rose in realization, “You mean in the alley? Us being close? Wasn’t anything meant by it, I’ve known her since we were kids.” They had started walking in the direction of home as he spoke. “Tilly may be my oldest mate, we’re just familiar like that. Wasn’t trying to make a move on her.” “Oh.” Addie’s voice was soft in reply, then she caught herself, “Not that it matters if you were, she’s more appropriate for you anyway.” “Appropriate?!” He nearly cackled, “What are you my babysitter now? Five years isn’t a leap you know, if I was the girl, and you were me no one would so much as blink. You’ve got yourself in your head over nothing.” “You're the same age as my baby brother Tom.” “Yea, well that is unfortunate but doesn’t make a lick of difference to my point.” The two of them walked in comfortable quiet the next few blocks until she realized they had come up on her place. “This is me.” “Right then.” He smiled at her again, “You work tomorrow?” “No, it’s Saturday, I have things to get done around though.” “Alright, well when do you work next?” “Why?” “Thought I may stop in and get a library card is all.” “Tom it wouldn’t be…” “Appropriate?” He cut her off. “Yes.” Before she could say anything else he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. He was sure of himself, working open her lips and slipping in his tongue before she could catch herself. He tasted like cigarettes and beer, but god did he feel good. Slim body pressing against her as he wrapped his arms around her waist, her hands went to his chest before she could stop herself. He pressed the kiss deeper, pulling her tongue to his mouth as he backed them to the doorway, one hand coming to rest on her neck. Then her senses came back to her and she pulled away. “Mhmm.” Was all he said as she pushed against him where her hands rested. “Thank you for walking me home Tom… I… I need to get to bed.” He backed up with no resistance. “Alright.” He seemed unaffected by her abruptly ending their contact as he turned to go. “See you soon Adaline.” He said in a sing-song tone as he walked down the road, whistling to himself as he went.

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #world on fire

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