*Heavy Sigh* I LOVE "Even if you don't mean it" soooooooo much. I have never (obsessively) checked if a fic has been updated in my life! I adore it, it is layers of perfection.
Hi @twistedrunes
Oh wow! Thank you for letting me know how much you enjoy it. I'll give you the heads up that it will probably be a couple of weeks before the fourth (and likely final) part will be out. It's 90% written, all the major scenes are done. I will then need to go over it again, then it will go through some editing.
Thanks again for letting me know you like it. It really means so much to get such lovely feedback.
I really really wanna own chickens some day bc I love eating eggs but I hate the factory farming industry. Also because chickens are cool and I like them!
Oh God - I just read your tags on the "mothers being emotionally invested in their daughters hair" and I know it's a thing and serious. But, I can't stop cackling picturing what may have occurred during the hole punch incident. 🤣🤣 Could you elaborate?
Quite honestly I have made it my mission to do ridiculous things to my hair and see how my mum reacts, so much so that recently I dyed my hair bright pink and my mum was like “I love it! It’s so much better than the blue!” which I consider one of my greatest achievements. Here’s a terrible picture.
BUT THE HOLE PUNCH INCIDENT.
Well... If I recall correctly I was doing some homework in our study (this was when family computers were a thing, and people didn’t really have laptops) and my mums folders and work things were in the study. So there’s this hole punch just sitting next to me and I’m pretty bored. I remember thinking “holy shit I could make a HOLE in my hair, I could make a pattern”
So I hole punch my hair.
My sister is like “what the hell!!!!! why did you think that would work!” and my mum hears the ruckus and comes upstairs to find a little patch of hair just sitting on the desk. She’s not happy. She’s got some of her own mental health issues. She cries.
My sister still torments me over it and honestly, I STILL DONT KNOW WHY I THOUGHT IT WOULD LEAVE A HOLE.
purplenebulosa: crumb coat | tommy/alfie, modern au
i just read this one on the train and i have no bloody idea what kinda of faces i made because this was so hot! Jfc �� love that little banter between Tommy and Grace! and modern baker Alfie? yes, please! ❤️
parlezvoustomhardy:
Cake smut cake smut �� ��
twistedrunes:
Things are getting steamy in the bakery. That Mary Berry line slayed me!
AHAHAHAAHH thank you all for the lovely, sweet, and hilarious feedback! I wrote this story at the end of a VERY long and annoying day because I wanted a little bit of fluffy OTP wallowing so I’m delighted that people are enjoying it, hee
Can you write me something with Ada and Freddie (or not if you wish) and can you include the following: a phone message, hot chocolate and a single flower.
Hi lovely! I really hope you enjoy this <3
Pairing: Ada Shelby x Freddie Thorne
Words:1947
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“Ada, love, you know he’s going to come back, and you know you’re going to get him straight back without any hesitation. No point in getting worked up when you’ve got other things to focus on.” Polly told Ada as she watched her write - it was Christmas, everyone was staying in Tommy’s for the holiday, and everyone apparently meant everyone except Freddie Thorne.
Ada understood that he had a duty to his party, and really, she did. Ada’s patience wore thin, however, when Freddie got arrested at every other protest that he went on and her own family had to fork out money so that he could be at home with them. She knew that one day that the money would not be enough, and a Campbell lookalike would come along, and he’d be gone for a year. Ada didn’t think about the possibility of death.
Shelbies didn’t do death.
“I’m going to be pissed at him first, Pol.” She told her aunt, watching Charlie and Karl play on the carpet with their soldiers. “Wonderful, this shit. Married life.”
“Don’t worry, he’s going to be stuck in a car with Thomas and Alfie, then I’m going to talk with him.” Polly told her, watching the kids over a glass of whiskey.
“Thanks Pol,” Ada chuckled, shaking her head. “Bloody watchdogs, the lot of you.”
“Pissed!” Karl squealed, happy to have learnt a new word.
“Where the fuck did he learn that?” Tommy asked as he walked in, accompanied only by Alfie. No Freddie in sight. Ada visibly drops, and the anger furthers itself.
“More to the point, Tom, where the fuck is my husband?” Ada asked back, setting her notepad down and standing up. Every second that she went without knowing was a second that she was convinced they’d done it this time. They’d locked her man up.
“Your husband stopped on the way. Should be back in an hour, I reckon.” Alfie grunted from behind Tommy, tapping him on the thigh gently and moving past him to sit down.
“Tommy, a word.” Ada told him - it would have been a request from anyone else, but Tommy knew his sister better than to take it as anything but a command.
Once they were in Tommy’s office, tucked away and out of earshot even if Ada shouted, Ada nearly did just that. She nearly shouted so hard that she passed out, she was so angry, so full of rage, but she didn’t.
Instead, Ada hugged Tommy. Which is how Tommy knew that it must be bad, and Freddie deserved the hiding that he and Alfie had given him in the car.
“I’m so pissed at him.” Were the first words that came out of Ada’s mouth, muffled against his tailored suit.
“He knows.” Tommy hummed, wrapping his arms back around her, remembering the time that she’d bitten a teacher’s finger off and come to him first with a red face and watery eyes.
“I’m more worried than pissed. Makes me more pissed.” Ada admitted, reaching behind him to find a bottle of whiskey and succeeding. She broke from the hug to take a sip, offering him the bottle.
“That’s love. I think. I’m still figuring this shit out myself. Freddie promised me he’d be back here tonight with a decent apology, otherwise not only would I break his kneecaps, but so would Alfie. Alfie was threatening a lot worse but we settled on kneecaps.” Tommy told her honestly, taking a sip. “How are you?”
“I’m alright. Too worried about this to be anything else. Keep thinking I’ll be one of those women who has to take their kid to see their dad in prison.” Ada sighed, sitting up on the desk.
“I won’t let that happen, Ade. You know that.” Tommy told her, clearing up the desk.
“You shouldn’t have to stop it from happening, that’s the point. I’m going to put Karl to bed, it’s late Want me to take Charlie up as well? They should go down easy.” Ada asked, walking towards the door, whiskey still in hand after Tommy handed it back.
“I’ll take them up, I’m Karl’s favourite anyway.” Tommy told her, unusually pleasant. It unsettled Ada - she had only seen this side of him in youth and dire situations. They were not young anymore, nor were they in a dire situation. Were they?
Ada nodded, thanking him and walking into the living room. She was greeted by Finn cross legged on her seat, reading what she’d written. If it was anyone else she’d be a little annoyed, but Finn? She was proud that he wanted to read - that he could read.
“Ada, this is really good. Is it for a publication?” Finn asked as she said goodnight to her son and her nephew, sending them up with Tommy.
“Yeah, The Call. I’ve been writing for them for a while - it’s shit pay but I enjoy doing it, and I’m working on some bigger things that will hopefully pay a bit more.” Without Freddie’s position as a blinder, Ada would have had to accepted money off of Tommy whilst they were raising Karl. Socialism was all fun and games until you relied on it to feed and clothe growing boy.
“I’ll buy an issue that you’ve written in if I can, Ade.” Finn told her, having supported all of her previous ventures before he could read them - all about the sentiment, he decided.
Soon after Karl and Charlie had gone to bed, everyone else did.
Everyone but Ada, that is, who sat up and waited for Freddie. The clock managed to go slower with every second, and she wanted to sleep. She’d finished up the first draft of her article and had learnt not to edit drunk, even though she was tipsy at most. Ada didn’t want Karl to wake up to a mum with a hangover.
The Shelby family had already got enough alcoholics. Ada was not one of them.
It had hit midnight, and Ada had had enough. She was promised an hour or two, she had waited four. It was now the next day, and Ada was walking up the stairs. Freddie had been arrested, and would have been home four hours ago - the same time as Tommy and Alfie - if he really wanted to be there, he would have been.
“Ade!” Called a voice, followed by rampant running through the hall - Mary would be offended by the dirty footsteps on the floor she so diligently checked every morning, but would make no comment because the pay more than compensate for the fact that she worked for complete crackheads. Not literally, anymore, though.
Ada spun on her heel, arms crossed around her waist, journal in hand. Who else would she see than Freddie. Her own love, her own equal. Relief flooded her veins when she saw him, only paralleled by the rush of anger.
“Where the fuck were you?” Ada hissed, glaring him out. She was too angry, too tired to have a screaming match, so she just hissed.
Freddie found that scarier.
“I had to get my stuff, and I got you flowers, and other stuff, and fuck, Ada, I’m sorry.” Freddie apologised, racing towards her. “Is Karl okay?”
“About Karl - he’s fine. He wouldn’t be fine though, Freddie, if this was the time that they decided that no bail could get you out. If I had to drive to prison every saturday so that our son knew he had a dad? If I had to drive to prison every saturday to see my husband? For what? Freddie, I can’t do this without you!” Ada told him in a hushed yell, shaking as she let it out.
“That’s not going to happen, alright? It’s not going to happen. Even in all of the alternate universes, there’s not one where I don’t stay.” Freddie told her honestly, hand gently cupping her jaw.
“We’ll talk about alternate universes later; you’re very wrong. Right now I want to know why the fuck the dead Karl Marx is more important than the real Karl upstairs, who asked where Daddy was and I had to distract him with trains.” Ada explained, pointing up the stairs to where Karl was sleeping with Charlie a few rooms down. “I have to explain why Daddy sometimes doesn’t come home.”
Ada watched as her words registered on Freddie’s face, and waited for his reply. She had no idea what she needed to hear, but she knew that she needed something other than sorry.
“Ade, I took the time to think - both in the cell and whilst Tom and Alfie were threatening to mutilate me. I keep putting the cause in front of you and Karl, and it’s not right - it’s not what I married you to do.” Freddie told her, just happy that she hadn’t ran away yet or told him to get fucked.
“I didn’t marry you to never see you either, Fred.” Ada told him, most of the anger seeping from her, leaving only the relief that he wasn’t dead. “Tom did say that Alfie was being nice.”
“I have a feeling he was.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.
Ada laughed, nodding. “He probably was.”
“So, back to this. Ade. Promise you I’ll do my best not to get arrested - actually, this time - and I’ll be at home more.” Freddie promised, aware that there was still a car boot full of things in the drive if she accepted his promise, including the flowers that he hoped weren’t wilting.
“Good. Now if I’d have heard that three hours earlier…” Ada mused, smirking.
“I got you flowers!” He protested, kissing her cheek.
“Where are they then?” She teased, pulling him back in for an actual kiss. “Go get the stuff - I’d help you but it’s fucking freezing.”
“Hot chocolate?” Freddie asked, walking back down the stairs with her.
“I would love some. I’ll be in the lounge, I’ll help you take the stuff up when we go up.”
“Great.” Freddie thought he probably deserved to be the one making hot chocolate at that moment so he didn’t comment.
Freddie had a suitcase in one hand and a single flower in the other, making Ada grin as she saw him. Something about that smile of his reminded her why she loved him in the first place, of the time spent under the bridge, sitting on coats.
“A single flower for Mrs Thorne.” He smiled, dropping the suitcase down carefully and giving her the flower on a bent knee.
Ada took it in between her fingers, then pulled Freddie up to sit next to her.
“It’d be more, but they got damaged on the way.” He told her, wrapping an arm around her and letting himself just breathe. God, he loved her so much. If only he knew how to express it.
Ada hooked the flower through her buttonhole and shook her head. “It’s perfect.”
“I’m glad, love. Still want that hot chocolate?” Freddie asked, not wanting to move from her. A day was too long, especially when he was aware that it could be the time he had forgotten to say I love you before walking out the house that morning.
“I’d love some.” She nodded, sinking back into the sofa as he left to boil the kettle. Typical, she thought, her aunt was right again. It had taken a remarkable thirty minutes, and everything was normal again.
Ada wouldn’t really have it any other way, though - she needed him, her equal, her best friend, her biggest annoyance. They needed eachother, and no policeman, no brother, no son, no queen, nor anyone else could take that from them.
I was soooo tempted to anon this one. But I trust you not to just give me what you think I'd want. I am female, but not particularly 'feminine', of average height, cuddly build and mostly grey hair. I love doggo's, time alone or with one or two people. Personality wise I would say I tend to the maudlin, fiercely loyal and tend to be very accepting of peoples differences. That said I strongly oppose those who wish to oppress others. I'm Bi, so the field is open ;).
oh Lordy you know this is hard cause I’ve shipped you before and I can’t ship you with the same people twice (or can I? nah that’d be cheating)
Jessie. She is very used to code switching and modulating her language and being extra feminine here to get this type of man to be comfortable with her, or seemingly more masculine here to get this type of man to take her more seriously, so she totally understands that you’re not particularly ‘feminine’ and she enjoys the way you can both relax at the end of a long day and just be yourselves. She likes that you’re an introvert; she’s more of an ambivert herself but those huge speeches really take the energy out of her sometimes and she likes coming home to a nice domestic time with her gf. She is very strict about only having two dogs (too busy to take care of more!) but the spaniels you get are absolutely darling and she is very cute with them. One of them is named Pollux and the other is named Castor and she’ll tell you bedtime stories about two talking dogs having adventures that sound suspiciously very similar in temperament and appearance to your own dogs.
Alfie. As soon as I read “I strongly oppose those who wish to oppress others” it was like a light went on in my head. Like nothing gives Alfie more joy than taking his position as a powerful man who can’t be fucked with, and then also his position in society as a Jewish man who people don’t like (this is Dreyfuss era, ain’t it?) and then mixing them up and just rubbing them in people’s faces. And he’d do anything for you, so through you that weirdly cheerful brand of vengeance extends itself to the people you care about, too. Also, doggos? The man loves doggos. Big ones. Cyril is only a fraction of the pack, in both quantity and size.
The Selkie pt. 3 | pt. 1, 2 - cowritten with @twistedrunes
“I cannot go into the water.” You said, looking out over the beach. The other men from the camp were loading the ship to sail and you stayed at a safe distance from the water though you longed to feel the waves against your skin. Your fingers and toes felt as if they had been stung by jellyfish, tingly but numb at the same time.
Ubbe stood beside you, trunk in his arms. He had stopped to tell you that it was time to get on the ship and so you told him you could not. “Suddenly you cannot swim?” He jested.
“The water will not have me, is what I’m saying.” You replied.
“Well what I am saying is this, so long as I have your pelt I have you and so you are getting on the ship because I am getting on the ship.” He said.
“You do not understand!”
Ubbe set the trunk in the sand and said something to one of the men in his native language before turning back to you. In one swift motion, he grabbed you, tossing you over his shoulder and holding you in place. “We are getting on the ship.”
“No!” You cried but there was little you could do as Ubbe sloshed through the water toward the anchored ship.
You could feel the change in the tide as he stepped through the water. The ocean seemed to sense your presence and the waves began to push against Ubbe’s legs. You could feel the heaviness of his steps as he managed his way through the water to the ship. This could not fair well. You knew the implications of Ubbe having your skin, the sea would not welcome you back home until you were reunited with your seal form. For now, you would be trespassing.
You heard Ubbe’s voice again, calling to someone and felt another pair of hands lifting you off of him and pulling you up the side of the ship.
“No please!” You cried, fighting against the new person as they caged you against the side of the boat.
“Hush.” It was a man’s voice and you opened your eyes to see him. Lighter hair than Ubbe with the same bright blue eyes and lips that seemed to fade into his beard, “hush, it’ll be alright.”
Ubbe climbed over the side of the boat and glanced your way. You had been dropped into a sitting position by the man who was squatting in front of you. That man said something to Ubbe, who only laughed in return.
“What did you say?” You asked.
“I said that you are awfully afraid of water, Melusine.” The man answered.
“How do you know this word?” You asked. Seamen shared tales of their travel, this you knew well, but you heard little talk of your freshwater cousin. Even from the Islanders.
“You are familiar with the term?” He asked, a smile hiding in his beard.
“Yes, how are you?” You asked, unable to keep the offence out of your tone. He used words he didn’t understand as if they were meant for him.
“My uncle has seen one in France.”
“Well, I am not one. And I am not afraid of the water, but she is not to be underestimated.” You replied.
“What do they call you?” He asked.
“They don’t.”
Ubbe called to your companion again and they spoke for a while. Another man onboard the ship joined their conversation and you watched him, fascinated by the odd markings on his face. You understood none of their conversation and waited until the end, when Ubbe had begun taking to the marked man, to ask what was said.
“He says he is not sure if he is going to make you a thrall or a wife...either way, they are the same.” The man laughed, “at least to Ubbe. Now go to the mast, my brother wants you.”
“You are brothers?”
“Yes.”
“I am sorry for you.”
He howled in laughter, turning to call Ubbe’s attention once more, “your new wife says she is sorry we’re brothers.”
“Well, what do you know,” Ubbe laughed, walking over and grabbing your arm, hoisting you up to your feet, “we agree on something.”
You did not respond to your captor, instead looking back to where Ubbe’s brother now stood preparing to sail. He met your eyes and smiled, nodding his head to you. “Prayers to Ægir we arrive safely to our destination.”
Whatever prayers Ubbe’s brother had said to his gods had fallen on deaf ears. The waters raged against the ship, pushing into the sides and trying to pull it under. Ubbe had shackled you to the mast, a thick iron band around your ankle, chafing the skin with every movement. You watched the men rowing, trying to win against the assault as the skies darkened overhead. You were hardly far from the shoreline, it had only just passed from your vision, when the storm cropped up.
The men shouted to each other as some scrambled to get control of the ship. They moved around you, grabbing the sail to steer themselves out of the storm. But you knew there was no out, there was only further in. Unless they could reach the shoreline there was no calming this storm down. The sea in its fury was trying to drown you for coming back to her.
Water surged over the side of the boat in giant waves, wrapping itself around your leg and trying to pull you from the chain that kept you in place. You thrashed as more water crashed into the ship, the ocean would drown everyone on board if she could help it.
One man watched from the front of the boat, body pressed into the frame, hoping the vessel would shield him from the ocean. His eyes never left you as you tried to get away from the hold of the water. And then Ubbe’s brother was at your side, unlocking the shackle on your leg and pulling you against him, you heard him shout Ubbe’s name over the sound of the water.
“No!” You cried, holding his arm, unsure if it was the water or Ubbe that you wanted most to get away from.
Ubbe called back to him and seconds later a wave crashed over the entirety of the ship, pushing it nearly to its side. You slid against the bottom, hitting the other side and men who were trying to hold on. As the ship fell back to its rightful position you realized you were holding onto nothing. Grabbing the side of the ship you boosted yourself up enough to look over and found Ubbe’s brother in the ocean.
A man shouted behind you and another called out to him. Stealing yourself you jumped into the water, kicking against the current to grab him. It surged once more around you, furious waves pushing you as you grabbed onto the now soaked fur on his cloak and held him, letting the water throw you back on board.
You tumbled over the edge of the ship with him, landing with your body over his. You grabbed at his face, holding it in place as you leant down, pressing your mouth to his. The water in his throat rushed up, and just like the ocean had, pushed against you, eager to get away. The marked man at the front of the boat watched droplets of water flow away from Ubbe’s brother, as if by some magic.
“It will only get worse.” You said to Ubbe as he crouched over you, watching his brother beneath you sputter out water. You held his head up in your lap.
“Bjorn!” Ubbe gripped his shoulder, “praise to Ægir you are alive.”
Bjorn sat up and you moved away from him. “You are quite a deal stronger than I expected melusine.” He said, voice scratchy from the salt of the ocean.
“You have not harmed me, I could not let you be hurt on my behalf.” You replied.
Around you, the storm seemed to lull though you knew the ocean would not give up until you were far up the shore of wherever they were headed. If they could be sure at this point how to get there. Men in ships, you had discovered, held a terrible sense of direction. It was as if all the ocean looked the same to them.
Bjorn called to the men on board, he spoke in a way that you could only sense he was giving directions. Ubbe, meanwhile, hauled you up and pushed you back to the mast.
“Do not chain me again, please, it hurts.” You begged.
“I will do with you what I please.” Ubbe gloats, as the shackle went back around your ankle.
“I will not be your wife, as your brother says you want to make me.” You replied, “I will find my skin.”
“You do not have to be my wife, that is your choice.” He shrugged. “I can make you a thrall instead. And know this, you will not find your skin.”
“Whatever a thrall is I will not be that either.”
“That you have no choice in. Because you will not get your skin back and since I have it you belong to me.”
“I belong to no one.”
“Then jump back in the ocean.”
The waves stayed restless but seemed to understand your intent was not to stay, or at least the crew of the ship did not intend to stay here in the middle of an ocean. She tried pushing you along instead, getting you to land. As night fell some of the men eagerly welcomed the chance to sleep. The one who had been watching you took the opportunity of Ubbe falling asleep to come away from the front of the ship and speak to you.
“I see what you did to the water.” He whispered, his Saxon not as good as Ubbe’s or Bjorn’s.
“I did nothing,” you replied. Since the first storm, you had kept your eyes on Bjorn, watching his every movement. Even now as he took up a spot rowing you watched the way his body lurched forward and pulled back.
“You are a witch. I have never seen a Saxon witch before.”
“I am neither a witch nor a Saxon.” You replied.
“Floki!” Bjorn called, the man beside you looking to him. The rest you did not understand but you listened trying to find a word that might mean something to you.
Bjorn stood and walked over to you. The man, Floki, switched places with him. In the time that he had been back on the ship, Bjorn had gotten a different fur to keep himself from the cold. He took it off now, covering you against the mist and wind.
“How is your leg?” He asked, fingers dancing along the skin of your ankle, pushing the shackle up to feel your leg.
“I want to be off this ship.” You said.
“You shouldn’t have saved me then,” he laughed, “you should have just swum away.”
“I would not let you drown.”
“I’m glad to hear it melusine.” He replied.
“I am not a melusine, I have no tail.”
“Of course you are not.” He smiled. Someone spoke to him and you watched the way they’re lips formed the words of Bjorn’s language.
“Teach me how to speak like you do.” You said, grasping his sleeve.
“What?”
“Teach me your language.” You repeated, “If I am to stay with Ubbe then I need to know the language.”
“You should ask Ubbe then.” He replied.
“I wish it to be a secret, a surprise for him.” You lied. You thought maybe, if you knew the language, you might catch Ubbe speaking about your skins and find them. Or trick him into telling you.
“When we dock,” Bjorn said, “ask me again. For now, melusine, get some sleep. Ægir watches over us.”
Bjorn’s nickname for the reader “melusine” is the name of a mermaid like creature who lives in fresh water. Tales of the melusine are previlient in Scottish and French mythology (which is why Bjorn references Rollo).
taglist: @flowers-in-your-hayr
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