#Did you know I caught an arrow with my own hand? It’s the truth I swear! (Jaskier interacts)

[coreofgold]

@mischiefxmuses for Yennefer

Roll 07 The area exists as a zone of truth, making characters incapable of lying. Characters are aware of this when they enter the space.

"I don't know if not lying here is a good thing," Jaskier said, arms crossed. "I mean, it's better than being chased by killers, isn't it?"

[newtonsheffield]

Okay, I can’t get this little snippet out of my head so this is for @plishprincess927 who I know is an Inheritance Cycle girlie from way back

The heat was sweltering in the tent and angry voices buzzed in Anthony’s ears but he drowned them all out. He could still feel the heat of the battle hours ago. He could feel the sweat soaked into his leather shirt under the armour and his ears rung with the clang of swords.

His arm had ached from the shock as he whirled through the field and men fell in front of him, the blood and sweat and grime had felt as though it were caked against his skin. A sword had clattered against his side and he’d pushed his sword through the soldier’s mail shirt with a feral snarl and it had all happened so quickly. He pulled his sword back and as he turned he realised the next soldier was upon him, too quickly. His heart started to pound in his chest as he took a deep breath, almost sure it would be his last when he felt an enormous beat of wind and an almighty roar as fire spread across his vision and the golden dragon’s scale glittered in the sunshine as it landed and soldier’s fell all around it.

“Anthony, I thought you were supposed to be guarding me, Princeling.”

His heart fluttered in his chest as the woman sat astride the dragon laughed, her dark curls tossed back and her golden sword seemed to glitter as it moved swiftly through the air. She leapt from the dragon driving soldiers back from Anthony in a wide circle, and he could see the terror in the men’s eyes as they saw her.

“I thought you looked a little bored in truth, Kate.” Anthony grunted, swallowing the panic in his chest, “Where’s your helm?’

She laughed again as her Dragon leapt forward and she caught his saddle, pulling herself up seemingly effortlessly. “I must have misplaced it! Don’t die, princeling.”

The dragon took to the sky, lighting the field with fire as it did, arrows bouncing off his own armour and Anthony bit back a curse as he forged forward.

She was sitting across from him now, her feet lazily on the table, her bracers and greaves still on but the rest of her armour abandoned as soon as she possibly could and Anthony could feel the hot breath of her dragon on his neck where his head was poking through the flap of the tent. The dragon he had sworn to protect when he was only an egg. Long before a farm girl from nowhere had found it. A trick of fate. A trick that had started every moment of turmoil Anthony had felt since.

“Anthony.” He snapped to attention, ignoring the smirk that turned Kate’s lips at the corner and turned slowly towards his mother’s voice. “What say you?”

He swallowed, “The way forward seems well set. We were glad to see your army on the horizon today.”

The murmur had rippled through the battle and he’d recognise the horns anywhere, The elves were here. Finally coming to fulfil the promise they’d made over a stolen egg and a treaty.

His mother’s eyes burned into him as the meeting broke and she turned slowly towards Kate who snatched a chicken off the table and winked as she tossed it towards Newrius, the dragon huffing happily as he caught it. Kate bowed her head, greeting his mother.

“Well met, Rider.” His mother had honoured her, by speaking first and everyone in the room knew it.

“Well met, Majesty. A Welcome sight.”

Newrius tugged on the back of Anthony’s shirt with a wheezy growl that sounded almost like a chuckle as Anthony stumbled and his spine prickled as his mother’s eyes burned into him again as the Dragon teased him.

Without a word Anthony ducked out of the tent, glad of the breeze fluttering through the camp and took off running, desperately hoping to clear his head. The wind whipped past him and the camp disappeared behind him and his lungs burned in his chest. He came to a stop on a grassy hill, trampled flat as the army had retreated and Anthony ran his hands through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut against the pounding in his chest.

This has to stop. This must stop now. You cannot feel this way about-

“You seem very fond of her.”

Anthony sighed at the sound of his mother’s voice, neutral as it always was since the death of his father. “Kate and I have become good friends, these last years. I pledged myself to ensure the survival of her dragon.” He leaned against the tree, “Surely you remember, Mother. You were so against my taking this position.”

His Mother sighed, “I became the queen of our people because you were not ready, Anthony. You were too young, you are still young amongst our kind but… You will take your place one day. I had already lost so much, I couldn’t… Well. You never did listen anyway.”

He could feel the weight of her expectations weighing down on him, just as he had then. When she had raged against his choice. “I believe in the cause we fight for. I have a duty to our people, to fight for that cause.”

“And is that all it is now? Duty?”

He should have been expecting the question. He had faced it with so much dread when what he had feared was stirring in Kate’s chest, in the smiles she tossed him across the fire as they travelled to his homeland together was laid at his feet with Kate’s hands gripping his tunic lightly.

His voice had shaken, even then. “Kate, please. You are young, you…”

“I will live as long as you will, Anthony.” Her lips had nearly been brushing his and his chest had ached to lean in and close the distance between them. “You know that as well as I.”

“You will… What you feel… you will not feel forever.”

“Do not do that, Anthony. Do not minimise what I feel for you. What I feel is real and I will love you, as long as I live.”

“This can never be.” He’d whispered it and felt the tears sting his eyes as he turned as walked away, ignoring the sob that broke the night and the growl that rumbled over his head as her dragon caught sight of him.

Anthony swallowed, tilting his chin to look his mother in the eyes. “It is a duty. We all have our duties.”

His mother nodded slowly before she sighed, “She has a destiny, Anthony.”

His stomach churned, “We all have a destiny, Mother.”

A wry smiled crossed her face, “Yes. That is true. But not every destiny involves the fate of every person in this land. I do not think I need to remind you how very disastrous it would be were she to be distracted from this task.”

“No, Mother.” Anthony said quickly, his heart pounding in his chest. “You do not. I’m sorry, I’m very tired and there is much to do for tomorrow.”

He bowed respectfully and strode past her, his boots crunching against the grass as he did. His head was still spinning as the sun set over the camp and the smell of campfires filled the air. He felt exhausted, tired in the very bones of him as he tugged at the laces of his leather bracers approaching his tent. He let them fall to the floor as he swept aside the flap of his tent, stepping inside.

“I don’t think your mother likes me very much.”

He relaxed at the sight of her, lounging in his bathtub, her dark hair damp with the water and she was so beautiful in the candlelight his chest ached. He crouched beside her, pressing his lips to hers gently, “No, she’s disappointed in me. I’m a distraction for you.”

Kate sighed, chasing his lips for a moment, “I would very much like it if you were distracting me. Don’t worry. No one saw me come in here.”

Anthony chuckled, leaning into her touch, “Very well then. I do still have to thank you for saving me today. And Newrius as well I suppose.”

“Oh I wouldn’t thank him,” Kate hummed, “He was very torn about it.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

[stillcarmine]

Snippet of a valzhangrace Hunger Games au not-fic I’ve been working on for like two years:

Frank skids into the next clearing, arrow notched but not drawn, and takes cautious steps forward as he scans the area for his target. He hears a shuffle to his right and steps toward it, and only too late registers that something is wrong.

He hears a slight click and realizes that he must have stepped in one of Leo’s traps, and whatever part of the design that registers prey is activated. He freezes, and in the moment it takes his weight to settle, his muscle memory takes over, drawing his bow and aiming it right at the pair of eyes that have appeared in front of him.

"It’s a stalemate," Leo says.

He’s right, Frank admits to himself, but he’s certain that even if they both spring each other's defenses, he’ll come out the winner.

“Pretty sure an arrow in the face will kill you whereas I can handle being strung up in the air. I’ll just cut myself down.”

But Leo laughs, a colder sound than Frank would have expected from him. “You don’t really think I’d pull something so tame in the actual Games, did you?”

Frank's eyes dart down and he curses.

“A bear trap?” He demands. “What kind of sponsorship money do you have?”

Leo smiles, looking proud of himself as he says, “Oh no, this is a Valdez original.”

Frank risks another look down and sees that yes, the spikes he noted a second before are made of wood, not metal. And while from his brief glance he can see that the construction is solid, he doesn’t think it’s lethal.

“My point still stands. What’s a few puncture wounds?”

He’s bluffing of course, because a few puncture wounds could spell death for him down the line, but at the moment, he’s still the likeliest to survive.

“You’ve spent enough time watching me at the edible plants station to know it’s not that simple,'' Leo says.

Frank balks, momentarily caught off guard at Leo dropping that information so cavalierly, but his eyes find their own way back to the trap and yes, he can see the tips of the spikes aren’t quite the same color as the rest of the wood. They have a slightly darker sheen, almost indiscernibly so, and they’re still wet. Leo must have just finished setting this trap before he'd come after Frank.

Frank grits his teeth.

“How about I just shoot you now and think of a way out of this after they cleared your body from the arena?” he bites out.

“You’ll be right behind me,” Leo sneers back, and Frank narrows his eyes, knowing he’s probably playing with him, trying to distract him to pull another fast one, but he can’t not give Leo a once over to make sure he’s not telling the truth and-

“Damn it,” Frank mutters, once he’s caught sight of the string clutched in Leo’s fist.

The other boy grins. “Dead man’s switch,” he says cheerfully, “You shoot me, I release the trap, you die too.”

“Stalemate,” Frank agrees morosely.

But he shifts his gaze back down to the trap, trying to make out its design, to see how the switch in Leo's hand is connected to the contraption, hoping he’d be able to disarm it somehow, maybe shoot his arrow at the right spot...

“I wouldn’t,” Leo’s voice cuts into his thoughts. “The trigger plate is extremely sensitive. Any shift in weight will set it off.”

“So what’s your plan then? We stand here until we die of old age?”

“Oh, I’m sure the Gamemakers would send something to liven things up before it came to that. But I think I can stand here with my hand at my side longer than you can hold that exact position with your bow fully drawn, no offense to you and your impressive muscles.”

Frank bears his teeth. “Don’t be so sure.”

“Fair,” Leo admits, though his eyes narrow. “Of course, we could always call a truce.”

Frank laughs. “Not sure I value my leg that much.”

“Rude,”  Leo says, eyes still narrowed, and Frank gets the sense that he’s actually bothered by Frank's response.

“So you just watched me all throughout training to decide that I wasn’t worthy of being your ally, is that it?”

“I didn’t-” Frank starts to protest, and that’s when he makes the mistake of leaning forward to emphasize his point.

The trap creaks and Frank freezes.

[schrijverr]

What Happens in Hong Kong…

What if the fight in 1x19: Unfinished Business had gone a little differently and Tommy learned about Oliver kidnapping him in Hong Kong?

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: mentions of canonical violence and canonical character death

~~~

Oliver is still off balance about today as he wanders back into the club. Seeing the Count like that, deciding not to kill him, it’s strange. There was a time where he wouldn’t have hesitated to put that arrow in his brain, but today he couldn’t do it.

He wonders how he’s changing. There is so much darkness inside of him that he ripped out and put into this persona, transmitting it from Kapyushon to the Hood. But now that darkness is leaving the Hood and he isn’t sure if it’s leaving him all together, or if Oliver Queen is reabsorbing that darkness.

A movement catches his eyes and he instinctively focuses on it, assessing it as a threat.

It’s Tommy and he immediately feels guilty about putting Tommy in the threat category, even though he knows his brain just works that way. He spots the folder in Tommy’s hand and sees an opportunity to make up, calling out a “Hey,” that stops Tommy in his tracks.

“How are we doing?” Oliver asks. He knows the other man is mad at him, but he doesn’t know how much. The question feels neutral enough to get a gauge on where they stand, before making his next move.

“In the black,” Tommy answers curtly, not meeting his eyes. Still mad then. It’s confirmed when Tommy coolly asks: “Did the Hood get his man?”

“Well,” Oliver lets out a breath, “we won’t have any problems with Vertigo anymore.” He isn’t sure if the question was genuine, but he’d rather not risk it. Plus, maybe showing he did some good will make Tommy less mad.

It doesn’t seem to work. Tommy keeps his back turned to him and is now counting money. If he wants to make it right, he’s going to have to do better than pretending it didn’t happen. It’s difficult for him, but Oliver manages to start: “Look, Tommy, I’m sorry-”

“I’ve caught up the bookkeeping and all my notes on the inventory are in there, along with the list of supplier that we use,” Tommy cuts him off.

An uncomfortable feeling crawls down Oliver’s throat and constricts his chest, but he doesn’t want to read into the situation. Doesn’t want to believe what his brain clicks together. Doesn’t want to assess all possibilities and plan. He doesn’t want to let Tommy go. So, he falls into an easy pattern that has always come to him and plays dumb, saying: “Okay? I don’t see why you’re telling me that.”

Tommy turns around, meeting his gaze with eyes he barely recognizes. He has never seen Tommy upset with him like this.

“This club is important to me,” Tommy tells him, then walks forward accusingly. “But for you it’s just a front. You want me to keep your secret, help you be this thing you’ve become, but you refuse to see me for what I’ve become. I’ve got just a bit more self-respect for that.”

Each and every word hits him in his chest and he watches helplessly as Tommy walks away. His brother in all but blood is leaving his club – their club – with nothing more than an, “I quit,” thrown over his shoulder.

Oliver can’t let that happen.

Tommy is his rock, always has been. Being able to work with him is one of the best thing that has happened to him. Tommy is such a joy, so innocent and untainted by all the darkness Oliver carries inside him. When he’s with him, he can almost forget his own darkness.

There is a truth to Tommy’s words. He doesn’t see Tommy for who he has become, not entirely at least, and that hurts. Because Tommy isn’t the same. He has gotten more mature. Oliver just saw that same happiness and mistook it for immaturity, because his own happiness has been beaten out of him so he could survive and he can’t fathom surviving while being happy, can’t fathom living instead of surviving.

“Wait,” he calls out, before Tommy can open the door, needing him to stay.

A relief washes over him when Tommy pauses, however, he doesn’t turn around, just stills as he waits to see what will come out of Oliver’s mouth next. It’s terrifying, because he has lost the way he would charm himself out of trouble, replaced it with beating the problem until it’s gone. But now he has to talk and hope it’s enough to keep his friend.

“It’s not-” he starts, then realizes that saying it’s not you, but me, probably isn’t the best idea. He bites his lips, then starts again: “When I was on the island, I- I wasn’t alone.”

Tommy makes a confused noise and turns just a bit, throwing a glance Oliver’s way. He knows everyone wants him to open up about what happened there, talk to them. Whether it’s concern or morbid curiosity. Tommy isn’t immune either.

He could talk about Slade, how he turned in a matter of minutes due to drugs in his system. How he’s had friends turn against him. But he doesn’t. It won’t work. Because it’s not Tommy, who is the problem; it’s him.

“There were these group of mercenaries, who were trying to set up a base of operation there. Off the grid,” Oliver twists the truth. He’s sure Amanda Waller won’t like him talking about her involvement there and he doesn’t fancy A.R.G.U.S. showing up on his doorstep any time soon.

“I ran into a special ops, who’d been trying to stop them, but got stranded on the island when his plane was shot down. He helped me survive and get away from these men, but he’d gotten shot. We had targets on our back,” Oliver says, watching as Tommy turns around fully now, listening intently, though with a confused frown on his face.

“There were these herbs in a previous hideout we’d used and we needed them to treat his wound, so I went to get them,” Oliver explains, glad he found a good way to present this, though a little sick for what he was about to admit next.

“When I got there, I found a man. He was tied up, beaten bloody,” Oliver says, swallowing thickly as he remembers him. “He told me he was on a school trip on a fishing boat and it went down, that he washed up here and was found by those mercs, who were about to kill them until they’d been called away for a scuffle. Me and my friend, probably.”

Tommy is now letting go of the handle. Oliver has successfully convinced him to stay and listen, interesting him enough to not want to leave. A part of him wishes he would have failed, so he doesn’t have to actually get to telling this part.

“He begged me to cut him free, terrified those men would come back and finish what they started,” he says, dragging it out, because he doesn’t want to say it, until he has to. He is quiet for a beat, taking a harsh breath, before he rips the band aid off: “I didn’t cut him free. I left him there.”

Oliver looks at the ground, determined not to see Tommy’s expression and glad for that determination when an outraged Tommy exclaims: “What the hell, man! Why not?”

He looks up, his eyes filled with emotions that are warring in his chest as he admits: “Because I didn’t know him, Tommy. I left him there to die, because I couldn’t confirm his story and we couldn’t use a liability.”

Tommy is quiet for a moment, then scoffs: “So what? Am I the liability? Is that what you’re saying?”

He had a whole point with the story, about how he doesn’t know anyone anymore. That he knows they’ve all changed, but he doesn’t know how and he can’t risk it. But having Tommy think that… it’s the worst. Tommy has always been too good. Oliver must rectify it immediately.

“No!” the word comes out quick and harsh, followed by a waterfall of words that had been trapped inside him and now come rushing out: “It’s me. Can’t you see that? For five years, I had to mistrust everyone, try to find their masks, before it got me. Because that guy? He wasn’t a student on a field trip at all. He was one of them. When we got captured, he was there, manning their equipment. It was a trap. I made the right call by leaving someone to die, Tommy.”

His breathing is harsh now and Tommy has recoiled from him when he started talking, his voice getting louder and louder.

When he opens his mouth again, his voice is softer, almost a whisper and coated in shame: “I see that you’ve changed. I see it, Tommy, I do. But a part of my brain can’t help but wonder if it’s a mask, a ruse. When it’s gonna drop and how it’s going to screw me over. Mistrusting everyone comes so much easier to me now.”

He swallows and admits: “It’s not you, it’s everyone. I don’t trust my mom when she says that I’m home, that I’m safe and she loves me. Don’t trust Thea when she hugs me, afraid she’ll have a knife at my back. And that’s on me. Not them.”

He meets Tommy’s eyes, tears in his own, though he valiantly fights them down. He has turned off his emotions for years now, he can manage not crying, no matter how hard it is. Across from him, Tommy looks shocked and a little heartbroken. Oliver wishes he wasn’t used to getting that expression from people, confirming how fucked in the head he is.

“I am so sorry that I thought you dealt those drugs. I know you better than that- I should know you better than that. It’s not a mask with you, it couldn’t have been. Anyone who’d fly across the world to find me, wouldn’t be going behind my back,” Oliver says, needing Tommy to understand.

At first it looks like it’s going to work, like opening up is actually going to help. Which is great, because he’ll keep his friend, but horrible, because then he might have to do it more.

However, then Tommy frowns and suspicious he asks: “How did you know I’d flown across the world to try and find you?”

“Uhm, Laurel mentioned it,” Oliver says, kicking himself for bringing it up.

“No, she couldn’t have. No one knew, except my dad. I didn’t want to give anyone false hope,” Tommy shakes his head. “You couldn’t have known, unless- unless you were there.”

Oliver’s heart stops. He never should have let that slip, how could he have been so stupid. Now, he needs to do damage control as quickly as he can. Tommy can never – never – end up on Amanda’s radar.

“Tommy, look at me, look at me right now,” Oliver snaps, moving towards the other as fast as he can to grab his face to force him to meet his eyes, having to force himself to not care about how Tommy flinches back and struggles. “You cannot tell anyone, and I mean anyone, about Hong Kong.”

“So you were really there?” Tommy asks, his voice distorted by Oliver’s grip, which would have been funnier were it not for the betrayal that’s in there too.

“Promise me you won’t tell,” Oliver insists.

“Did you see me?” Tommy demands, not replying to Oliver.

Oliver lets go of his face to shake his shoulders, repeating: “Promise me you won’t tell.”

“Not until you tell me how you know,” Tommy says angrily.

After quickly running through all his options, Oliver admits: “I was the one that kidnapped you. Now promise me.”

“What the hell, man!”

“Promise me,” Oliver yells.

“You just said you kidnapped me! You were not on that island. Why the hell would you not come home? Why would you lie about that? Why would you hide that?”

“Just promise me you won’t tell, it’s important.”

“Why?”

“Because they might come for you,” Oliver explodes.

“Who?” Tommy explodes right back.

“The- the people that got me from the island,” Oliver says, quietly, looking around as if he expects Amanda to appear from the shadows.

“Oliver, tell me what happened,” Tommy asks. He isn’t angry anymore, but confused and obviously hurt, as well as concerned. He’s so Tommy. So like his mother. Oliver has never been good at saying no to Tommy, it’s how they got into so much trouble together.

He sighs, looks around, then drags Tommy down to the basement, making sure to close the door behind him and sweep the room.

“Uhm, you’re- you’re kind of scaring me, dude,” Tommy chuckles nervously.

“Good,” Oliver says, giving him a glare. Before taking a centering breath. He doesn’t want to be mad at Tommy. It’s not his fault.

“The wrong kind of people heard about what happened on the island. We stopped those mercs. Not because it was the right thing to do or some noble reason or whatever. They were a threat to me, so they had to go, and they had a possible way off the island, which was good. We took them down, because of selfish reasons,” Oliver says.

“We? Your friend, the spy dude?” Tommy asks.

“Yes,” Oliver says, seeing no reason in mentioning Shado… or Sara. “He- He didn’t make it. I did.” It still hurts to say that, no matter how many years have passed and how it ended between them. He still misses his friend, despite what he turned into.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“So, uhm, the wrong people heard? What does that mean?” Tommy says, an obvious prompt to get him to talk and get the uncomfortable silence to end. Oliver misses the time their silences were never uncomfortable.

“At first I actually thought they rescued me,” Oliver says bitterly. “But they just needed me to break in somewhere. As a dead man, no one would notice if I didn’t come back. And no one would suspect it was me. Perfect fall guy.”

“That’s seven kinds of fucked up.”

“Tell me about it,” Oliver grins, though it’s more a quirk of his lips these days. “I tried to escape, logged into my email, before I was recaptured.”

“It was really you,” Tommy breathes, still a little disbelieving.

“It was,” Oliver confirms. “A few days later, I find myself on a rooftop with a gun pointed at your head.”

“What?” Tommy chokes.

“They needed me inconspicuous. You can’t be that if there is someone going around town with your picture. They needed you off the board. I didn’t want to shoot you.”

“And you didn’t, because I would have known that.”

Oliver smiles at the reaction, a bit of his guilt alleviated by Tommy’s ability to make a joke about the whole situation. “No, I didn’t,” he agrees. “The kidnapping you was necessary to get you out, because if I didn’t take you off the board, someone else would have. And they wouldn’t have hesitated in pulling that trigger.”

Tommy pales and swallows heavily, retroactively scared for his life, which had been in danger without him even knowing. Oliver wishes he could take that fear, that Tommy would have never known that he had a gun pointed at him, that he tranquilized him and took him to a warehouse where he scared the shit out of him.

“So you saved my life?” Tommy squeaks after a second. And Oliver’s heart lets out a rush of warmth while breaking. Of course Tommy would see that as saving his life, not endangering it.

“I made sure you weren’t killed, sure,” Oliver agrees, because he doesn’t feel like flaying himself open more than he already has. This is why he doesn’t open up to anyone, it just invites questions and feelings.

“Did you do the break in for them?” Tommy asks.

Oliver nods tightly. “Not much else I could do,” he says, trying to forget seeing everyone here, being home, as well as the devastation in Hong Kong. Akio dying, General Shrieve tortured. Both by his hands.

“And what then, this was years ago. Did they keep you captive?” Tommy demands to know, which is valid, since he did say he was on the island for five years when he obviously wasn’t.

The more Tommy knows, the more danger he’s in, he doesn’t need to know about the Bratva and he probably wouldn’t believe the magic bit. Yeah, if he tells him about the magic bit, he’ll probably end up right next to the Count.

So he tells another half truth, pretending to be sincere, because that’s his entire life at this point. At least he doesn’t have to fake the bitterness when he says: “When it was done, they drugged me and dropped me right back on that god forsaken island. Covering up their tracks. I suppose I should be grateful they kept their end of the bargain and didn’t kill me.”

Tommy has wide disbelieving eyes and he staggers to the chair Felicity usually sits in as he processes everything Oliver just told him.

Oliver gives him a minute or so, before he softly says: “You’re free to walk away, Tommy. You’re free to hate me for lying to you about it, or suspecting you for the drugs. I’m fine with that. But, please, promise me you won’t tell anyone I was off that island.”

“You think they’re still watching you?” Tommy hisses, looking around now too, much like Oliver did earlier.

“I don’t think they have someone trailing me, but they likely will show up if rumors about this start going around,” Oliver says honestly. Amanda likes her status quo, she won’t let Oliver risk her operation.

“Fuck, man,” Tommy says, letting out a deep breath. He leans back in the chair and rubs his face, while Oliver studies him nervously.

Tommy hasn’t retracted his quitting, nor has he reacted beyond telling Oliver how fucked it all was, which is nice and strange. Oliver does know what happened to him was kind of fucked up, but fucked up has become his normal that he didn’t even realize until he saw Tommy react to what he told him.

“Are you still going to quit?” Oliver asks after a bit, unable to take the silence that is interspersed with mutterings of that’s so fucked up from his friend.

“I’m still a bit mad at you,” Tommy says and Oliver feels his gut churn, so much for opening up to people. “However,” Tommy goes on, “I would also be a suspicious fuck if that shit happened to me, so when I- when I process all… this, uhm, I’ll- I’ll get back to you.”

“…So I shouldn’t look for your replacement?” Oliver inquires shyly, unable to stop the bit of hope that creeps into his chest.

“Nah, man, this is our club, right?” Tommy smiles. “Just gimme a few days and we’ll be cool.”

“Thank you,” Oliver says and he has never meant two words more.

Tommy is still kind, not hardened by the world the way Oliver is. He still forgives easily, forgets just as quick. It will get him killed some day, but Oliver doesn’t want him to stop. Learning that the world is unforgiving is not fun and he doesn’t want Tommy to have to learn it, doesn’t want him to loose that innocence.

His darkness is forever a part of him, no matter how much he puts it into the Hood, it still haunts his every interaction. Today has shown him that much. However, not everyone is like him and that’s good. That’s the best actually. He hates who he is, he wouldn’t want anyone to be like him.

Oliver vows to keep an eye on Tommy, make sure he’s not being too kind to the world that will never be kind back and will never deserve that kindness. Because Oliver is being given that kindness now, and he cherishes it. He’ll preserve it in Tommy, keep the darkness as far away from him as possible.

At that point, Oliver couldn’t have known how hard that promise would be to keep. How Tommy would hurt due to the sins of his father, much like Oliver does. How Oliver would wish, he hadn’t tried to preserve that kindness, because it’s the lack of kindness that has helped him survive regardless and it’s the excess Tommy has of it, that gets him killed.

But that’s the future. Right now, he’s happy that his friend is still there with him, that he didn’t royally screw up everything he touches. That despite the darkness of the Hood, Oliver Queen still has enough humanity to have people like Tommy in his life.

~~

A/N:

Do I think Oliver – especially season 1 Oliver – would ever open up like this? No. But I like him talking about Lian Yu, so he will here for my entertainment.

[yamiunicorn]

like fear, like love

for #wolgrahaweek2023, 1: First Kiss

Wrong place, wrong time. It was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Zinnia bolted up Syrcus Tower's crystal staircase, her breathing heavy. She was dizzy, and the tears at the corners of her eyes blurred her vision. She blinked them away, her irises ever glowing an eerie shade of green.

Someone had told her that G'raha had once had a green eye as well, though his had been more sea-like than Zinnia's All Saints' Wake nightmare gaze. Was it Shinken who had said as much? She couldn't remember; it was so long ago.

She pulled up her right sleeve a little, revealing an array of wristwatches. Her eyes flicked across their faces, counting the seconds as they passed. There was so little time left to them. She couldn't believe she had waited until now; she couldn't believe she was doing this at all.

They had all agreed G'raha would be leaving with the Crystal Tower. It was part of the plan. It couldn't succeed without him leaving their broken world behind. Without leaving her behind.

And still...

Zinnia stumbled on the steps, lost in her own thoughts and distracted by the ticking of the second-hands on her myriad watches. She banged her knees on the crystal and slid down a few steps, scrabbling with her dark fingernails to try to catch herself.

"Zinnia?"

Without hesitation, G'raha's arms were around her shoulders. He steadied her -- as he ever had. As he never would again.

"I didn't..." She trailed off, feeling a sob rising in her throat.

"Shh, shh, it's alright," he soothed, gently lowering them both to sit more squarely on the landing. When had she gotten so far up the staircase? It didn't matter. "What are you doing up here?"

The question stung, a poison arrow in her heart.

"I... I forgot something."

"You did? What did you forget?"

All the words I wanted to say to you. About the way your smile as you tucked me in early in the morning warmed me more than the blankets you wrapped around me. About the way your laugh carried across the lake and drew me to your side as you worked. About the way you never knew how to properly say goodbye. Not that I'm any better at it...

"Zinnia?" He repeated her name, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead as if to check her temperature.

"G'raha, I'm not sick," she said, though she frowned when he pulled his hand away. "Well, not in a way you could check like that, at least."

"You're not making any sense..."

Zinnia groaned, closing her eyes and leaning her face into G'raha's shoulder. He hugged her tightly. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong. How could she even begin to explain?

"You're going to the top of the tower. And we're closing you in, just like you closed yourself in before the Eighth Umbral Calamity had ever even been dreamed of. And I..."

I want to go with you.

I want to go with you but I can't.

"It has to be me. My connection to the tower..."

"I know."

They sat in silence for a moment that felt like it stretched on for bells.

"It's not that I want to leave you. It's not that I even want to do this alone. I don't know if I can do it alone. But I have to try."

"Of course you do." She smiled at him sadly, the tears pooling at the corners of her eyes finally spilling over. "That's what makes you G'raha. The most wonderful man I've ever known."

A hint of doubt flickered across his crimson eyes. Zinnia caught his look and burned it into her heart.

"That's rather high praise, coming from you," he managed to say.

"It's the truth."

"Then tell me -- what was it you forgot that had you sprinting up the tower like a madwoman?"

Their eyes locked, red on green. Zinnia searched his face for the right answer, finally settling on resting her fingertips against his cheek before she spoke.

"I forgot to kiss you goodbye."

"You..." G'raha sputtered. "You want to kiss me?"

"I do."

G'raha's hand covered her own, pressing her fingers closer to his face. She felt her own cheeks get hot, but forced herself to keep his gaze. He reached his other hand to her face, brushing his thumb along her jawline.

"I wish you had told me sooner." His words were nearly breathless, and in the next instant his lips were upon hers. She leaned into the kiss, her brown hands tangling in his red hair as she pulled him close.

They gasped in unison as they separated, their hands meeting in the space between them as they instinctively clung to one another.

"I don't want to have to say goodbye," he murmured. "Not now. Please, not now..."

"I will find my way to you." Zinnia's voice wobbled as she spoke, but she meant every word.

"How?"

"You know that if anyone can, it's me."

G'raha's eyes widened a little in surprise before his lips cracked into a smile. Gods, she loved that smile. Gods, she would do anything to see it again.

"Find me, then. I'll be waiting."

"You had better be."

[biskael]

@keikakudori​

     RUN AND FOLLOW . Over fallen tree, atop forest floor. HIDE AND SEEK . Silent as the grave as the bow’s strung. No breath caught upon the wind. No words. BAIT AND TRAP . Call the flaming, holy arrows as the metal jaw snaps shut, iron teeth tasting blood. A deadly pierce reaching forth in reflecting eyes , frozen in pain . Struck with a brilliant light, intense and hot as it burned through flesh. A pulse, slashed apart. Purified in blessed death. Dominance over all prey. A corpse slung over his shoulders. How he’d carry it back & hang it up. Whet the knives against the stone. Carrion to carve, meat to clean. And those are the ones he kills, the ones he guts ( YOU WILL GIVE ME STRENGTH FOR THE NEXT HUNT. THANK YOU KINDLY . ) Not the ones he keeps for himself. Drags them from their homes kicking and screaming. Beasts deemed worthy to hunt alongside him were few and far in-between. A rarity. The ones he takes his time with , keeps an eye trained on. Demands their submission if they’re unruly. Would bloody his hands over it , for they should be loyal hounds laying near his heels . And how sweet they are when they’re tamed . ( I HAVE SAVED YOU FROM A FAR WORSE FATE. THANK ME KINDLY . )

     That was usually how things went. A proper hunt under his command. Used to his steel cutting deep into marrow. Seeking hearts between the ribs with a knife’s thrust. Skewering flesh. Those who answered to him taking no pause and giving no quarter. And what he did not already rule, he would tame, for he has gazed into the feral stares of his enemies time & again, sabre splitting vein to vein. And what he didn’t kill, he captured. Howling, screaming things in need of discipline. But this was different. The other’s word’s carried with them their own weight. But also, he could hear the temperament. Rage as a storm roiling, quiet, on the horizon’s deep. The unknown within the tempest-tossed scour. Something that would mar the world and leave it worse.

     How Quilge wanted to wring out some fleeting notion of impermanence within them all, perhaps. Old empires always fell & new ones took their place. The statues crumbled, turned to dust. Not a name on the tongue. That the Almighty was the only, the truth eternal. One to outlive them all, time upon time, and they were just footnotes in His scripture. Angels tangled in the illumination of grand, gilded pages. That whatever beast or man or god stepped before Him would be torn asunder. And in that notion, there was a slight reassurance.

     Even in eye of such vast intensity, power whirling & crackling with life, the Quincy remained undeterred. And yet, he would provoke him no further, and there was some small shred of respect to be found within that. He grinned, shrugged his broad shoulders, stifled a half-hearted laugh.

     “My, my. Look at you, so angry. And with good reason, I suppose. I wasn’t very kind, was I? My ... apologies.”   Quilge hid a snide gaze behind his hat’s brim , the scarlet of his glasses. It’s a feign that wounds him. An admittance he’d rather choke on than admit again. But he can’t allow himself to be so gravely hurt, or worse. Knowing himself a loyal pawn in this game, how shameful it would be to be killed before first blood.   “I doubt you could forgive my earlier rudeness. But I’ve always considered myself a rather sporting man. Perhaps I should be thanking you.”

     He craved battle. The taste of iron in-between his teeth, and fury in his veins. To watch & listen from on far, pick what he wanted. And this, cold eyes locked on, holding, would be a grave mistake.  

     “For you have given me such wonderful hunting grounds.”

[talia-txt]

Oh, how the world aches (So I'll be the blood underneath your fingernails)

When did it start, sweetheart? Did it caught you unaware? One second you were not and then the next you are. I wonder if it felt like roses blooming unwillingly in your hands, the thorns digging deep. But I suppose it's impossible not to love someone who fell apart in your arms. Holding glass shards means you'll have to bleed after all.

I wonder if you chase the remnants of me in her eyes. Dissecting her laugh to find the notes in mine. Holding her hands and thinking of my face. I killed your darling without even knowing. I'm sorry you feel that way, I hope you get better. I still see loving me as a disease, I hope you get cured. I'll wish it'll just fade away like the smoke of a bonfire put out. The fire still burning behind your eyelids but the spark is long buried down.

How long will this last? What's the expiration date? Will I find myself thinking of you in 10 years? Will you? I am just a body full of questions. And you'd like to be the answer, don't you? We flit around the issue like avoiding nails on the floor. Vehemently avoiding the truth like the liars we are. (I didn't know. You said it on a tired afternoon, Valentine's was 2 days ago. I didn't know.)

I watch the sky come and go, clouds sailing on an endless blue sea. (Do you think of my smile lovingly? Whatever did I do to make you love me?) I'm sorry I unraveled you and couldn't stitch you back together. I apologize for wrecking down walls and being unable to build them back up.

I watch time pass on my wristwatch, arrows set on a rinse and repeat routine. (Love can rot and nothing is eternal. But if I wanted to, I would.)

The world is a merry-go-round. We sit upon the backs of wild horses and chase down our dreams like a dog chasing his own tail. The stars above and our love afoot, the ground rumbles in dissaproval. (If I wanted to, I could.)

Your hand is warm and my eyes are closed. A crowd watches, a crowd listens. I wonder if whispers of us are passed down like oral tradition. If my name is repeated under a malicious tone. Your hand is warm and my eyes are closed. (I wanted to but I shouldn't.)

We sit on a cafe together on Valentine's Day. Oblivious me sipping on the red velvet frappe you paid for. Red on my teeth and tongue. We sit quiet and slothful, a book nestled in our hands each. People got a glimpse of us together. Just what exactly was in their minds? (I reread the same sentence over and over, the world passing by.)

[eclectic-muses]

Dandelion tag drop ! 

Did you know I caught an arrow with my own hand, It’s the truth I swear! (Dandelion interacts)

Master of Seven Liberal Arts (Dandelion muses)

Lioness cub of Cintra (Ciri)

You’re the most normal man under the sun, and they all wish that everybody was so normal. (Geralt of Rivia)

Beautiful yet deranged (Yennifer of Vengerberg)

Toss a Coin to your Witcher (Dandelion’s meme and asks)

[theshelbyclan]

The Black Hand

Summary: After I lost my twin brother, John, a part of me died as well and I could never go back to how we Shelby’s were before

A/N: Yes, I am one of those people who still misses John, and I know I’m not the only one. @lovemissyhoneybee​ requested: Could you write another Shelby sis story please She is John’s twin and the the family have all just received the Black Hand cards from Changretta Unbeknown to Shelby sis the boys hatch a plan to fake John’s death and although John doesn’t want to keep his sister in the dark the boys all agree that it would be better if she doesn’t know what they have planned She feels that something is off but soon gets caught up in her own grief Lots of angst and painful grieving but when the boys reveal the truth she doesn’t know whether to be angry with John or hug him - maybe she gives him some grief or is angry with him for a while but eventually some make up fluff Thank you Thank you for requesting it and I hope this helps a little with missing John!

Words: 3040 ***

When we were kids, John tried to swim across the Cut once. I’m sure Tommy put him up to it, but he never said so. Confident as always, he’d jumped in, but halfway through, he’d gotten tired and fatigue had started pulling him down into the water. In the end, my other brother saved him. I wasn’t there, I only heard about it afterwards. All of this was happening while I was sitting in the kitchen with our Aunt Polly, peeling potatoes. But I swear to God, at that very moment, I couldn’t breathe for about a minute. 

After Tommy had made the family rich and powerful, we no longer lived together in the squalor of Watery Lane. I missed it, though I didn’t miss the poverty or the violence. But with our new-found position also came possibilities. Arrow House was the largest of them all, Arthur lived on a farm, but John chose the house with the most land, because of his wife. I liked Esme and knew she needed her space. Houses never did suit her. I was happy in my little cottage, with my garden and peaceful sceneries. I’d never been far away from my twin, which is why we chose houses close to each other, so that I could visit John, Esme and the kids whenever I wanted to. Most days, it was liked I lived with them. Always around, I became part of the chaos of that house, and I loved it. Me and John, we could finish each other’s sentences, which is why we hardly needed any words at all. We understood each other, we were one, just separated into two bodies. As I overlooked my garden, I relished in the silence. My brother was the loud one, the impulsive one and the one with the short temper. I’d always been the thinker, never one to show my emotions much and I certainly didn’t let my anger get the best of me. He sometimes told me to stand up for myself more or to have more fun, but I was content right where I was. Silence. *** On Christmas morning, I’d just gotten up and went out into my garden in my robes still. In the early light, I tended to the ground and decided everything looked ready for the snow that was predicted. Only the spinach was brave enough to weather what was to come. After I’d done my rounds, I got cold and headed back inside. That’s when I heard the telephone, and immediately sprinted inside, because I knew something was wrong. I heard the urgency in my twin’s voice on the other end, “Have you seen the post, Y/N?” He didn’t even say hello. “No?” I asked, “Has it come yet?” “Yesterday. I only just opened it today.” “Wait a second,” I told John, and I went out into my little hall and noticed the small pile of letters and cards on the mat. I picked them up and went through them, as I walked back to pick up the horn again. “Did you get one?” he asked. I frowned and flipped through the envelopes, “I’ve gotten a few cards… neighbours, friends…” “The one from America, Y/N,” he emphasized. And then I noticed the one envelope with the foreign stamp. Carefully, I opened it up and the black hand made my blood run cold. “What does it mean?” John sighed, “We got one as well. Arthur too. I can’t reach Tommy. It’s a warning, Y/N. From Fucking Changretta.” “But you spared her, John, right? You didn’t kill Mrs. Changretta, because of all she did for us as kids?” She’d been my favourite teacher back then and I could never bear the thought of her getting mixed up in any of this.

“It’s happening becauseI spared her.” I wanted to argue with him, but the thoughts got too loud in my head. Finally, John said, “Come to the house, Y/N. I don’t want you alone in that cottage.” And so, I forgot all about breakfast and went over to their house at once. *** For over a day, I’d stayed with them. John and Esme decided to get drunk, which didn’t surprise me in the slightest. I was a Shelby after all, just one that didn’t drink. But I did my duties as an auntie and checked on the kids every hour, even at night. It was for them I worried the most. We knew what the black hand meant, it was a warning and the announcement of a vendetta, but we had no idea what it would entail. And so, we waited and waited, until I nearly jumped out of my skin with anxiety. Michael showed up first. Apparently, Tommy had sent him. John told me something about speaking to Tommy, but I never heard of the details. I was still in the house, but I saw them talking on the patio outside. I heard John say, “And we’re the Peaky fucking Blinders!”  He had a gun over his shoulder and didn’t seem afraid in the slightest. Somewhere in the pit of my stomach, a feeling of premonition settled, and I started calling for all the kids. “Katie!” I ordered, “Get the others. Go, get the boys and meet me in the hall.” The very next second, hell rained down on us. I heard gunshots and John’s voice, screaming out, “Esme, get inside!” His wife obeyed but shouted in panic and protest. I met John’s eye through the open garden doors and without a word, I knew what he wanted from me. So, I sprinted up the stairs to get the baby and with six kids in tow, I left through the other door. But just before we ran, I looked back at John, and I could see him fall, blood spraying in every direction. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe I did the wrong thing. But I took the kids and ran. In my mind, I shoved the image of my brother falling away and I protected those I knew he loved most. On our way, I kept counting them: John had too many kids. All six present, I hid with them in the bushes and, hands against our ears, we waited for the firing to stop. When it did, I felt a dull pain in four places on my chest. I realised at once John had been shot four times. But I didn’t go to him. I don’t know why I did it, but I stayed with the kids. Maybe I did the wrong thing. *** Do you know the feeling when you’re experiencing something, but it’s like you’re from the outside looking in? I felt as though I was sitting on the tree stump outside my cottage, and I was looking up at a big house. Late in the evening, I saw all the people I loved behind the windows. Some were getting undressed, some sat reading a book and some talked to their loved ones. I was watching their lives unfold and felt their happiness, but I wasn’t a part of it. I was outside, looking in. That’s how I felt when John died. I remember the screaming. Esme was howling and the sounds she made were that of a wounded animal. Hunched over John’s body, she wanted to protect him against anything and everything, even though she was too late. No one was allowed to touch him and even I couldn’t, because none of this could be real. At the hospital, people were moving about in slow-motion. Someone was being rushed into theatre, but the urgency and panic escaped me. I was looking at ghosts and only heard the sounds as muffled utters. Someone said to me, “They both got shot, but only one survived.” The words didn’t make sense to me and I don’t think I replied. What was there to say, really? This couldn’t be happening. And then I saw Polly in the corridors, fighting the doctors. She called out and cried, though I didn’t hear a sound. Then she slid down the wall and buried her face in between her knees, all the while pleading with someone invisible. They tried to take her away, but she refused. I wanted to tell them there was no point, to let her be, but no words came out of my mouth. Tommy tried lead me away, back to his house, but I was nailed to the ground. Surreal as everything felt, I knew I had to be there. He told me, “We have to go. Let the doctors do their work.” I asked him, finally finding my voice, “How is he?” Tommy told me, “He got shot four times, Y/N, two went straight through, one ricocheted and one already spent.” I was confused and asked him, “Michael?” But he looked at me intently and said, “No, John.”   When the doctor told me he’d died on the operating table, I laughed. There’s no explaining why I did, but I think I genuinely lost my sanity in that moment. I looked at Tommy for an explanation, but he refused to meet my eye when I tried. A loud, feral scream echoed through the sterile halls and only after some time I realised that it’d come from me. That second, my entire world collapsed. I was no longer whole and never would be again. Suddenly, I was back home. I can’t remember how I got there. When I looked down, I saw I was still in my clothes from the days before. Blood stained them and it was John’s, I knew. John’s dead, I told myself, over and over again. John is dead. I got up and started pacing, trying to think of a way to reverse all of this. When it sunk in that I couldn’t, I went into the kitchen and smashed every plate and cup I had. None of it helped. The shards in my heart were still sharper. Then I ran outside and took a spade. In anger, I dug up every inch of my beautiful garden. Nothing was allowed to grow there anymore. Not while he was dead. It turned to night and I screamed up to the sky for the stars to go out. How dare they twinkle like that. How dare they bring joy and beauty. The night had to be black and only black, mourning my beloved twin for all eternity. In the corner of an empty room I slept. Huddled and alone, I cried. I had no longer any idea of time or space. I only felt everything, and it hurt beyond imagine. Arthur and Tommy woke me up. But they weren’t the ones I wanted to see, so I closed my eyes again. “Y/N,” Arthur urged, “You have to come with us.” “I want to see the body,” I croaked, voice hoarse from screaming. “No,” Tommy said, “Y/N, you can’t.” “I want to see the body!” I repeated, louder. When they told me ‘no’ again, I shut them out. I had no place or love left for them now. They talked and talked, but I no longer listened. The rest of my grieving I did alone, but I have no idea for how long. *** I dreamed of John when I did sleep. In my dreams, I was talking to him and he told me to move on. Sometimes, I dreamed of us as kids running around Birmingham and sleeping together on the January. In my sleep, he visited me and told me to not grieve him. I tried to tell he didn’t understand. I said to him how I needed him, how I was broken now and only half a person, but he answered that we would always be together. One time, I dreamed that he was sitting next to me in the corner of the room where I slept now. He told me, “Go to Tommy. He’ll show you where I am.” I replied, “He won’t let me see the body.” And John nodded, “I know. He can’t. Just go to Tommy and you’ll find me.” I awoke from that dream, feeling even more exhausted than before I went to sleep, but decided to listen to my twin. So, I picked myself up and went over to Arrow House. Tommy led me to his library without saying a word. I’d never been close to him and now that John was gone, the one who tied me to Tommy, I had no place for him anymore. Arthur came up to me and hugged me. My big brother, the one who could soothe me, but not now. And then there he was: in the library, a ghost was waiting for me. I looked at John, but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t there, I knew he couldn’t be, but I had often seen him at my cottage after dreaming. Somehow, it was comforting to me to see him now. “It’s me, Y/N,” John said, like he could read my mind. I smiled at him, understanding it was him and that this was very real, even though we weren’t in the same place. But then he walked over and touched me. This had never happened before and I shrunk away under his touch. His hand had burned me, and he had startled me. “What are you?” I asked. He said, “I’m you, remember?” I shook my head and the world became fuzzy again, “I saw you get shot.” “Four times,” he nodded, “I know you felt them, but the hospital managed to patch me up.” “The doctor told me you were dead!” I heard my voice become louder, shriller. Tommy stepped forwards and explained carefully, “We had to, Y/N. We had to pretend John was dead, instead of Michael, to save him. No one could know.” I stared at John, dumbfounded. Then I reached a hand and touched his face. He closed his eyes and I felt his warmth. He was alive. Sudden anger made my blood boil and I spun around to face Tommy, “You knew?” “Yes.” And then towards Arthur, “And you knew!” Arthur looked away, which I interpreted as confirmation. “All of us brothers knew, Y/N,” Tommy’s voice sounded from far away, “But no one else could know.” John looked at me and his eyes were pleading, “I wanted to tell you. I told them you had to know, but Tommy said it was better this way.” I tried to process everything, but something in my mind just went error and then blank. And again, fury took over and I grabbed the stone paperweight off of Tommy’s desk and flung it at his head. Tommy ducked, just in time and it flew just passed his face. “You could have killed me,” he called out, surprised. But that was exactly what I had intended. John stepped forwards and tried to hug me, but I pushed him away. “You let me grieve you!” I spat, “I sat in that fucking house and cried and mourned you until there was nothing left of me. One more day and I would’ve blown my own brains out, because you chose a fucking strategyover your own twin sister?” “I’m sorry…” he whispered. “Don’t,” I warned, “Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t you fucking try and make excuses for this, John. I died with you.” John looked at me, opened his mouth and closed it again. Then he cried and the bitter tears streamed all over his face. And that’s when I realised he was truly sorry. So, I hugged him for a long time and refused to let go. Finally, I felt whole again. Tommy broke the silence and said, “Changretta thinks he’s dead, Y/N, so he’s safe for now.” “You shut up,” I bit, very uncharacteristically. He sighed and I heard him lighting up a cigarette, “It was the only way.” “No, Thomas, you chose not to tell me. You chose to visit me and leave me there in that corner to cry. But most of all, you chose this strategy and you chose not to share it.” “What can I do to make it up to you, eh?” And then he joked, “I’ve brought back your twin, isn’t that good enough?” I looked down and suddenly felt certain, “No.” John searched my face for clues and I knew my thoughts were his. “No,” I repeated, “It’s not good enough.” “Esme will agree,” John told me, meaningfully, “She needs to be on the road.” “So do we,” I whispered, “This life, it’s not good, John. Not healthy. Not us.”

“I know.”

I nodded and turned to Tommy, “We’re leaving.”

“You fucking what?”

“This was one step too far, Tommy,” you said calmly, “One strategy too many. I don’t want part of any of it anymore. I am done with you, with this business and this family. Me and John, we’re leaving.”

Tommy coughed a laugh, but saw I wasn’t joking. So, he asked John, “And you?”

“I let her die, Tommy. I lived, but she died. I’m going where she goes now.”

I saw Tommy blink a few times and then he waved an irritated hand, “Go fucking where, eh? You can’t just walk away from this family.”

“But you have, Tommy,” I said softly, “You gathered all this money and power and you sit in your big, fancy house, but none of it is us. This,” I pointed around the big room, “This isn’t us. You’ve forgotten who you are, Tommy. Who we are.”

From the corner of my eye, I watched Arthur and knew he agreed with me to some extent. It would be hard to leave him behind, but my mind was made up.

“Then fucking go!” Tommy called out, “Go and live on the fucking road, if you think that’s best. Go and raise chickens, eh? Just fucking go.”

And we went. Me and John, we walked out of that big, dark house and never looked back. Some part of me doubted I’d done the right thing. Maybe I’d done the wrong thing. But then I looked at John and took his hand. I was whole again. And then I was certain: together we were doing the right thing.

***

Masterlist

[coreofgold]

@hiddenpxpercuts for anyone

"Do you think making a YouTube channel would be beneficial?" Jaskier asked. "It's been on my mind recently."

[artemiseamoon]

Our Lonely Hearts 2

Steven Grant x f reader (nickname Cat)

Fic info | Previous | Next

Words:3,626

⚠️warnings: Moon Knight Spoilers ( level- mild) | losing gaps of time, fear, mental confusion. Later: mentions of DID

An: We’re back! So there are a few ways you can read this. You can read part one as a oneshot if you just want a little Steven x reader fluff. You can also follow along with the whole fic to see the entire journey 😁 I gave the reader the nickname Cat, you will see why in the chapter. As always you can read this as a reader insert if you want or read Cat as a character on her own. 

Please don’t copy or repost my work anywhere, this includes word documents. This is my creative property. Thank you 😁

💜 reblogs (directly sharing the original post via the arrows button on tumblr) are different, they help spread the fic to wider audiences.

🎶 🎶

Standing in front of the golden door, you slowly lift your hand and grip the star. A sense of excitement fills you, blossoming and touching the fibers of your being. What lies behind this door? What does it mean?

Waking from the dream, you lay in bed with your eyes open, starting at the ceiling. In the last few days the dream you’ve had for years has finally moved into a new scene; you standing at a door beautifully engraved with hieroglyphs holding ancient stories and spells.

When you look down, you can see the soft white robes you wear, your bare feet, the golden rings on your fingers and bangles on your wrists, the small yet eye-catching scarab around your neck. It’s no more than an inch yet beautifully crafted with gold and electric blue opal. Same as before, you can’t see your face, but you know it’s you.

For the last two nights you’ve woken just as you turn the knob, leaving you in a state of continuous mystery. Instead of feeling frustration like before, you feel hopeful. Maybe something needed to be unlocked in your waking life to finally reveal the truths of this vision. What changed that unlocked this new door?

It was now Tuesday morning and your sweet date with Steven continued to cast a glow in your aura and bring a smile to your lips. The day after the date, on Monday, Steven called to say hello. You were out with a friend when he called and must have listened to the message 10 times before you called him back. In fact, you still have it, you saved it for a rainy day.

Laters, gators. It was the cutest thing ever.

Usually phone calls made you nervous, you preferred to text but Steven was more than welcome to call. When you returned the call, you could hear his smile on the other end and the two of you chatted for half an hour.

You worked at the mueusum three days a week; Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday’s. Wednesday and Thursdays were already your favorite because Steven was there and if the date was any indication of the direction of your relationhip, those days would get even better.

But you also tried to balance your idealism with realism. There were things you didnt know about Steven and though you were pretty sure he liked you back, you werent exactly sure what that meant or looked like for him.

Plus you understood Steven had severe insomnia, maybe he didnt have the time or energy for a girlfriend. Before the doubt could get the best of you, you shift your mind back to the potential and look at the flowers on your nightstand.

They were opening up even more and the scent filled your room, making you smile everytime you caught the aroma. Your roommate even mentioned how nice it was whenever she passed your room.

Your schedules were like day and night, so it was nice. At times it felt like you lived alone. But you still dreamed of having your own place eventually, sadly you didnt make enough at the museum to do that.

You bury your nose in the roses once more and think about what book to bring Steven tomorrow. Just as you start to leave your room, you notice the sunlight cascading through the window and follow the golden ray to your desk. Ontop of your dream journey rests something that wasnt there before.

Feeling puzzled, you walk over and gasp. It’s the exact pendant from the dream. You take a step back, your hand still hovering over the pendant as you look around your room. Hesitant, you slowly pick it up and feel a rush of energy jolt through your body like an eclectic wave, moving through every muscle, every bone, every cell.

You lower the pendant on the journal again and quickly leave your room. You find your roommate in the hall just about to leave. When you ask if she’s left a necklace in your room, she says no, and you know she’s telling the truth.

Returning to your room, you sit at the desk and stare at it, trying to make sense of what's happening. You can’t be imagining this, it’s solid, real. You pick it up again and examine it in the sunlight. Despite the confusion it feels like home, like it was always meant to be yours. Before you consciously decide what to do with it, you find yourself putting it on and closing the clasp around your neck.

…

Wednesday

On the bus ride over you kept fiddling with the necklace. Since putting it on something felt different, you just couldn’t describe it or put your finger on it. It was strange but you almost felt more present in your body, more energized. Your dreams last night were wildly vivid and when you woke up, this world felt like a dream. For a good twenty minutes, you didn’t know which was which.

You finally opened the door last night. The temple was grand just as you imagined, it was everything you read books and saw in artistic renderings. It takes a moment, but as you observed you were able to put the pieces together; this was a Temple of Isis, this was a initation rite. As the others gather around you, and guide you to the altar you understand all of this was for you.

You almost miss your stop as you lose yourself in the dream again. Today felt like walking inbetween worlds, like part of you was still in that temple. You rush off the bus and head to the museum, trying to ground yourself with each step you take.

When you arrive at work, you drop your things off at your locker and head to the break room to put your lunch in the fridge. Upon walking in, you find Steven sitting up, asleep at the table. Infront of him is a canteen of what you are sure is coffee, the lid is off.

You gently place your things down on the counter and walk over to the table, occasionally glancing at him to see if he’s awake. You wouldn’t want him to slump over and fall face first into hot coffee. So you place the lid on and move it over. You also know it’s better you found him versus that nightmare of a person, Donna.

You notice his bag on the other chair and put it on the table. That way, if he did slump over, something soft woud be there instead of a hard table. Today you were scheduled with him at the gift shop, due to three big events happening they were expecting all the shops to be busy. You didnt mind, you enjoyed the tours, but days like this when you could just hang out with Steven and sell stuff were nice too.

Another perk about today ( if you could get away with it) was the ability to cover for Steven, so he could get a little bit of sleep. A nap in the breakroom chair wasn’t exactly comfortable, but at least it was something.

Looking around you find a little notepad and a pen. You scribble a note and place it on top of the bag for Steven to see when he wakes. You grab the second bag of figs you have and slide it into his pocket. It was your favorite brand, and after sharing them a few times, Steven was hooked too. You take one more look at him and leave the break room.

When you come back out, you find Donna at the gift shop already wearing a frown and chewing gum loudly.

“Where is Stevie? This is the third time this week, strolling in here late like a lazy -”

“It’s Steven,”  you cut in and make your way behind the register, “and he's not lazy. Insomnia is a real disorder, you know that, right? Insomniacs have a hard time just functioning and getting anywhere on time, it's not laziness. The body breaks down when you don’t sleep. It affects everything, time, motor skills -“

You stop mid sentence as she just stares at you, chewing her gum. Judgment deep seated in her eyes. You loved working in this exhibit but the only downside was Donna, she wasn’t even technically your boss, but she was the manager of the gift shop and liked to act more important than she was.

The downside? She seemed to be old friends with your actual boss. There wasn’t much you could do about Donna except try to avoid her and stomach her the best you could. You usually kept your annoyance to yourself, and bit your tongue many times, but today you were feeling a little more forward than usual.

It obviously takes her by surprise as well, for once she seems speechless. You glance behind her and see Steven coming toward the shop. Donna gives you one more look before walking away.

She makes one last comment as she passes Steven, “don’t forget you’re still on inventory tonight.”

Steven makes eye contact with you and raises his brows. You offer a smile and lean into the counter. Donna disappears down the hall and Steven stands across from you.

“Thank you for the note, and the figs. It was lovely.”

“My pleasure, I slipped a book in your bag.”

Steven smiles and joins you behind the counter.

…

After your shift, Steven has a break before getting to inventory. The two of you walk to the square and eat your food. It’s already dark out;  the fire dancers and golden statue man are already out putting on a show.

Taking another bite of your sandwich, you chew and swallow before asking your next question. Steven nods and responds,

“Honestly, it’s like my body wants to get up and wander about, you know, like it has to get the 10,000 steps in.” He takes a bite of his wrap, his eyes still on yours. “You know? And I don't even know about it until I wake up wherever. That’s why I try to stay awake at night. What do you think?”

You lower your sandwich and think it over. “I dunno, it sounds complicated. Is a mix of insomnia and sleep walking a thing?”

Steven shrugs and takes another bite. You glance at the small amount of space between your bodies, your shoulders almost touching. You remember when you first started eating together he always sat a distance away, out of respect for personal space you were sure. But now he was inching closer and closer, it was nice.

Steven wraps his food back up, “ I dunno. I guess there are stranger things that people do.”

“There are.” You nod.

Steven smiles sweetly at you once more. As he lowers his head, that curl you love falls into his face. You notice his eyes on your necklace again.

“I’ve never seen you wear that. It’s usually that purple one, Amethyst you said? And the blue one.”

You grin, “yeah. Very observant of you.” You pause, not knowing how to explain what happened, but if anyone would believe you, Steven would. “It’s the strangest thing, it just appeared in my room. I woke up and it was there,” you watch as Steven’s eyes grow wider, “even weirder, I saw it in a dream first.”

“That is odd, “ Steven’s gaze moves from the pendant to your eyes. You can tell, though he is paying attention, there is something else occupying his mind, like a memory or thought associated with your current conversation.  “It’s beautiful,” he adds.

You rub the pendant between your fingertips, “I guess part of me is still weirded out but it really feels familiar, like I’ve always had it.”

He smirks and reluctantly glances at his watch, he has to go, but doesn’t want to. You pack up your food and tap the book he lent you, it’s sticking out of your jacket pocket.

Steven holds his lunch bag with one hand and shoves the other in his pocket. It looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t. The soft look in his eyes melts your heart.

“I’m sorry, I need to get back.”

“No need to apologize, Steven. Hopefully tonight goes quickly.”

“Or, she’ll get annoyed and I can go home early.” He replies with a small laugh.

Before you realize what you’re doing, you step forward and give him a hug. At first, Steven just stands there. But the moment you start to feel silly and think about pulling away, he raises his arms and wraps them around your body.

After a moment you hear the softest of sighs leave his lips as Steven holds you a little tighter. Neither of you want the embrace to end, but you pull away knowing he has to get back.

He’s wearing a sweet smile now, it reaches his eyes. “Thank you for that.” He beams, his hands now on your arms. He was warm and snuggly, you could have stayed there longer but didnt want to push it.

“Hugs are good.” you gaze at eachother as you both walk backwards.

Steven points to your backpack, over the years you sewed on an assortment of Egyptian symbols. Most recently, you included a rather large Bast patch. Steven loved it and started calling you Cat because of it.

Steven smiles again and waves, “see you tomorrow, Cat.”

“See you tomorrow Steven.”

You wave back, barely containing the ridiculous smile on your face. You turn around first, Steven watches you for a few seconds before returning to the museum.

…

Thursday comes and goes, and Steven is nowhere to be found. He didn’t show up for work, or answer any of the calls or texts you sent him. It was near impossible getting through the day, being so worried sick about him.

What if he slept-walked somewhere? What if he was in trouble? In an accident?

You knew the general area he lived in, he pointed out the street once on the bus but you didn’t know the building.

On Friday, when you still didnt hear from Steven, you walked over and spent some time in the neighborhood and the nearby businesses, hoping you would catch a glimpse of him or spot him going into one of the buildings. Steven didn’t have any local family you knew of, and you had no idea how to contact his mother who he called everyday, so there was no one to call, all you could do was wait.

Friday comes. Much like Thursday, you spend most of your day off trying to reach Steven and hoping he was okay. Maybe he lost his phone. You knew he didn’t drive, he mentioned something about not having a license a bit ago. If he did wander off somewhere far, he’d have to rely on public transport to get back.

It’s not until 9pm Satuday night when your phone rings and you finally see his name on your screen. You answer quickly and immediately hear the panic in his breathing and the way his voice shakes when he says your name,

“Steven! Are you okay?” You stand and pace infront of the bed.

“I-I don’t know.”

“Where are you?”

…

POV switch - Steven 

Steven didn’t think he’d ever have anyone over to his loft, not that he hadn't imagined it. When he let himself go there, it was a comforting thought, someone being here; coming home to a girlfriend and having someone to share meals with, to go to sleep with and wake up to.

Steven certainly didn’t imagine anyone seeing it the way it was now, with the sand around the bed, the stacks of books everywhere, dim lighting, and most importantly the restraints by his bed.

His heart was still racing from whatever just happened to him, and just behind that his mind was spinning trying to make sense of what happened in the time gap.

Even as he explained it all, the best he could to you, Steven still had no idea what any of it meant. Or, if he really saw what he thought he saw. He was sure you would leave, run right out that door. What he just told you was crazy right? He was clearly losing his mind.

But you don’t judge him, you just hold his hand and listen and even though he’s freaking out you calm him. His pulse eventually starts to slow down and the sweating stops. He even sits down with you.

You’re focusing solely on him in the most tender way possible and he realizes you don't even notice or care about the state of things in the apartment.

“I don’t have answers for you Steven, but I want to help. We’ll figure this out, the best we can.”

Steven only nods, his entire body and soul feels utterly exhausted. Like he’s just run a three day marathon and holding his head up requires strength he no longer possesses. His fragmented thoughts start to fade and some way, somehow, a calmness moves over him.

At this moment, he could sleep. How wonderful would it be to have you there, next to him. But Steven couldn’t trust that, he didn’t even know what he did in his unconscious states, his fail safes weren’t even working. It seemed like too much of a risk to have you here for that. Steven would never want to do anything that would put you in danger, hurt you, or make you distant.

Steven was terrified. His life was like a rollercoaster he couldn’t get off or control. He didn’t even have power over his own body. Nothing made any sense, except you. Steven had to keep you safe somehow, even if it meant denying your help, but to be honest , help sounded really nice.

When you hug him, Steven melts against you and closes his eyes. An indeterminate amount of time passes this way and it hurts him to let go of you, he wants nothing more than for you to stay.

From the look in your eyes, he knows you want to stay too. But he insists on walking you home and checking in with you first thing in the morning. Unlike him, you worked on Sundays and he mentions you needed your rest to deal with the weekend crowds.

You leave his place together and Steven walks you home. It’s a quiet walk, he doesn’t say much. But you don’t seem to mind. Halfway there, you catch Steven glancing at your hand. You smile and take his hand in yours, interlacing your fingers. The small gesture is enough to move him to tears if he lets himself. Steven holds you hand tight as you walk the rest of the way home.

After making it back to his loft, Steven makes a second cup of tea and tries to fight sleepiness. He sets up at his work desk and buries himself in books, hoping to find something, anything that can help him make sense of what’s been happening. He starts with the Ennead and Ammit.

...

‘Cat’ / Reader POV

You curl into bed feeling relieved but still worried. You hoped you could help Steven, but there was only so much you could do. And realistically, you could never understand the full extent of what he’s going through. But you could do your best to support him and be there to help along the way.

Grabbing the book he lent you from the bedstand, you rest your head against the pillow and continue reading where you left off, using the reading light. After a few pages, exhaustion takes over and you fall asleep.

🎶 🎶

As you slip away into another time and place, you hear beautiful string music in the background as you wander the halls of an ancient temple. Your eyes moving over the hieroglyphics as you slowly place one foot before the other. You stop at a particular block and run the tips of your fingers over the scarab.

A soft whisper calls you, beckoning you outside. You leave the temple and step into the golden rays of the sun. As you descend the stairs, the breeze is cool against your skin. Suddenly, you appear at the Nile and kneel down to dip your fingers in the water.

As you go deeper into the dream, the room becomes colder and you pull the blankets up to your chin. In the dream, as you make your way back to the temple you feel a hand grab yours; a strong warm hand.  As you walk in sync, a feeling of love blossoms in your chest. Whoever this man is, you know him, you care for him.

Before you can look up to see his face, the sand whips up violently and you both turn around to see a thin looming figure dressed in tatters, it has a bird skull for a head. The man pushes you behind him, protecting you with his own body.

You are suddenly taken out of the dream by a loud thud on the floor. You jolt in the bed and sit up, to your left is the book you were reading and the light. You turn on the bedside lamp and search the room with your eyes.

Slowly getting out of bed, you notice a heavy Egyptian text on the door, one you know for sure was on your bookshelf. The book is open. You take one step closer, then stop.

Your heart is banging in your chest, your hands shaking. You kneel down on the ground and look at the open pages, the room growing colder as you read the name,

“Khonshu.”

Next chapter

More soon!!!! Chapter 3 already in editing! Marc is appearing soon...

Tags? Ask or send an ask.

Next update (ch 3) around 4/12-4/13

Chapter 4 around 4/22-23

Fic taglist: @seasonschange-butpeopledont​ @charming-merlin​ @daddysfavoritesexkitten @endless-warrior-always-fighter @mylifeisactuallyamess @missingartist96​ @giona45-5​  @words-and-seeds​ @elliaze​ @anon1412​ @mysticalfairytales​ @missdictatorme​ @princessxkenobi​

can't tag you: @h-teja @aloneatpeace

[l-artemisia-del-secolo]

Can you wirite reader saying “I can’t be mad about your past. All the mistakes you made, they led you right here - to me.” with Natasha?

Mistakes

Masterlist

Fabric of Nat's existence never consisted of the future, never had any hints of the present. It was always about her past. The burden, the curse, the chain. Heavy, suffocating, dense.

Nat was smiling, but you knew that every morning she saw the whites of her enemies' eyes in the mirror. Widow killed them with no remorse, no regrets.

Nat was laughing, but you knew that every night, she was hearing the cries of kids, who were left parentless. Red room was ruthless and cruel.

Nat was sleeping, but you knew that in her nightmares she was scratching and biting, hustling and fighting. Traitors all around her were insidious and cunning.

You were aware what her tears meant, you felt what her muffled cries were about, you sensed the reason for her sobs.

When you started dating Nat never gave you a hope for the future, but a warning of her past. She was sorry for the things you didn't even know about. She was afraid of the events, you never even heard about. She tried to outrun the shadow, you didn't even see.

___

"Why are you still with me? Haven't you heard what Loki said during the interrogation?" Nat desperately tried to keep the distance between you.

Her fingers were fidgeting with the arrow on her neck. Nat felt insignificant, but all she wanted was to be invisible.

"I did." Your answer was without hesitation.

"Then why haven't you packed your bags yet?" Nat was staring at the floor, at the dirt of her last mission. "my past will always haunt us. It's impossible to forget the atrocities I've committed..."

You touched the air between you, you kissed the space, you pulled her into the atmosphere of safety.

"Only mistakes, Nat. Nothing more."

Her always faithful body was now betraying her. And you could feel the weight of her mistake on your shoulders.

___

"Was I talking during the hallucinations?"

You could still see the glint of red in the green eyes. In forests you spent hours walking and exploring. And knew they were on fire.

"Mumbling..." you gave Nat the pills to ease the agony.

Her fingers were fidgeting with her earpiece. It was not the time to be part of the team, not the time to be an Avenger.

You were sitting near, you were holding her, you were gently rubbing confidence into her back.

She stopped the glass of water in your hand with a look. You didn't dare to diminish her only to a simple solution.

You knew that venom was still in her veins, you could feel it under her skin. Pulsating and living.

She let your hands take care of the robe, her bare shoulders needing your attention. You touched the pulse point on her wrist, her vein - your path to her neck. Nat murmured at the gentleness of your tracing.

"why are you still with me? We'll never have a family. And all because of my mistakes. I shouldn't have... I could..."

Nat hid her shame in the crook of your neck. Her palms grabbing the remains of her sanity reflected on your flesh.

"you never had a chance with those mistakes."

You could feel the weight of her pain in your bones.

___

"Why are you still here?! Why are you still looking at me like this?"

Nat was consumed by despair. She was searching in your eyes something other than love and devotion. What was going on? Why weren't you the manifestation of what she herself felt?

"Nat..."

Readhead was breaking down in front of you. Anger too much to handle, anguish too rapid to put out.

"I left all of them. All the widows. Wrong call, wrong choice. Another mistake. Yelena after all these years. Others..." She was choking on the truth. "why aren't you mad at me? Why don't you hate me and my mistakes. As I do..."

Her voice became distant, her faith was fading. Her own hug was the only one she could trust. Her own touch was real.

“I can’t be mad about your past. All the mistakes you made, they led you right here - to me.” You caught her from falling further. You helped her stay on her feet. "I accept your past. I accept you. Natasha, I would never judge you by your past. The one that was created for you, forged and simulated."

"Why? Why wouldn't you leave me like the others? Judge me like the others?" Distrust was ringing in your bedroom, your safe home, your cozy escape.

"Because I have a privilege of seeing you real. I have the privilege of knowing you so close. I have the privilege of loving you." You kissed her forehead. "and I have a privilege of sharing your past."

"You're the only one I want to share my present with."

You both were whispering oaths of love and loyalty to each other, until it was too hard to speak. Until you lost all the reality in your affection. Until Nat saw her future with you.

[im-constantly-fangirling-backup]

Here Comes the Cavalry

REPOST BECAUSE TUMBLR HATES ME

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Swear words

Word Count: ~2.3k

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting this, anon! I had a really fun time writing this and I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Charlie's 10th birthday finds itself the center of a showdown between Thomas and his ex-wife over the new woman in his life.

[Masterlist] [Taglist Form] [Join my 200 followers celebration!]

Being a friend of the Shelby's- didn’t matter how close or distant- was like walking around with a target on your back. But you didn’t mind. As much violence and chaos that the family attracts, and as much as they try to have power over each other, there was a mutual love and respect between every Shelby that you hadn’t seen anywhere else. For example, when Polly found out Tommy had hidden crucial information, she was pissed; but also proud. It was a bit concerning, if you were going to be honest. Even Grace was kept in the loop after the divorce. Once a Shelby, always a Shelby, you supposed. Grace wasn’t involved in the family business at all, but she and the family met occasionally. Although, as time passed on, it was mostly so Charlie could spend time with his father. Grace was now remarried and her visits were far and in between. She drifted apart from all the Shelbys- not that they minded, as her betrayal was still in their minds all those years later. Thomas started to move on from her as well, now very much used to Grace not being a part of his day-to-day life. Today was the day that Grace and Charlie were making a rare visit to the Arrow House for his 10th birthday. Thomas postponed all of his meetings for the entire week to make time for his son, an action that made you smile when you heard Tom tell his clients of his absence. And they call him heartless, you had laughed to yourself. “Ada! How are you doing!” you said, hugging your best friend before walking into the Arrow House. You took off your coat and hung it on the hook next to the door. “Oh I’m doing great sweetheart,” she said. “Auntie Y/NNNNNN!” you heard a little boy’s voice yell from the stairs. The pitter-patter of their feet running across the wooden floor echoed through the large room and made you chuckle. “Hello, Karl!” you kneeled on your knees and opened your arms for Karl, who ran into them and almost made you topple over. “Someone’s excited to see me!” You squeezed him lightly, resting your cheek on his head. You pulled away from him and reached into your purse, grabbing a chocolate bar that you had bought for Karl. “I got you something!” Karl smiled, his cute crooked teeth on display. “Thank you!” He grabbed the bar from your hand and started unwrapping it, running away from you and towards the living room. “Uncle Arthur, look what Auntie Y/N gave me!” he yelled. “What did I say about the chocolate?” Ada chided you. You laughed. “I couldn’t help it Ada,” you defended yourself. “He’s too adorable to not spoil.” In the background, you heard Karl laugh loudly. “You can’t have any Uncle Arthur, it’s for me!” You chuckled and shook your head, looking down at the floor in mock exasperation. The Arrow House would be nothing without the echoes of Karl’s screams bouncing around the walls from time to time. Even Thomas seemed to brighten up a bit more whenever Karl and Ada visited. You supposed it was because his nephew reminded him of his own son that he barely got to see. At the thought of Charlie, you looked up to Ada. “When are Charlie and Grace showing up?” Ada shrugged. “They should be here in a couple of minutes. Why don’t we head to the living room? Tommy bought a shit ton of food for Charlie so we might be able to steal a bit.” _______________________________________________________________________________________ You and Ada made your way into the living room and smiled at the exquisite birthday decorations. There were balloons of every color bunched up every couple of feet around the room, a large birthday banner hanging proud and true on the wall across from the fireplace. “Hello, Y/N. Ada,” Tom said from where he sat on the couch, his elbows on his knees. You smiled at him. “Thomas.” Tom smirked slightly- which was a fucking bright-ass grin when it came to Thomas. “We’ve been over the ‘Thomas’ shit, Y/n/n,” he said, quirking his brow. You chuckled. “We have,” you said. “Tom. ‘S just fun to be all fucking formal.” Tom pat the spot on the couch next to him while Ada left your side, sensing that you two wanted some

time alone. You walked over to Tom and sat next to him. “You excited?” Thomas nodded, his blue eyes brightening slightly. “I hardly get to see Charles anymore. You bet your ass I’m spoiling me boy when he’s here,” he joked. You laughed. “I’m sure Charlie’s going to like all of this,” you gestured to the decorations around you. “Oh! Before I forget! Where should I put this?” You reached into your purse and pulled out a folded mancala board that Charlie had begged you for the last time he visited. Thomas smiled and took the board from you, leaning down and sliding it under the couch. “We’re going to open presents after cake, so just remember to pick it back up.” From there, you and Thomas began to talk about the family business. Unlike with Grace, Thomas found himself consulting you on many decisions that he made. You weren’t directly involved but your advice was greatly appreciated by the family. Especially since Thomas wanted to get into politics- a field that you knew well because your father ran for MP multiple times before his death- your advice on what not to do gave him valuable insight on how to maintain a favorable public image. “I know your past is something that can’t be erased,” you said in response to Tom’s concerns about the subject. “But that doesn’t mean it can’t be hidden. Or at least left ambiguous enough that people can’t ask the right questions. You keep the public from asking the right questions, and you make sure they can never find the answers.” “It’s a bit unnerving that you know this,” Tom noted, a smirk on his face. In truth, he was impressed. Your knowledge of politics was quite extensive considering your father tried to keep you away from it for most of your life. But you knew how to eavesdrop and read gossip, and so you gained a wealth of knowledge about politics. You laughed. “You’re acting like you don’t already know this.” Thomas took a drag of his cigarette and chuckled. “You got me there.” Your conversation was interrupted by the distinct shrill of the doorbell. Tom perked up and smiled. “Charles is here!” He practically jumped up from his seat on the couch and made his way to the hall. You followed him to the hall, beckoning Karl, Ada, and Arthur- who had been quietly eating food in the corner, thinking Tom hadn’t noticed- to come with you. You and the group walked into the hall to the sight of Thomas laughing and picking up Charlie in his arms and bouncing him up and down, making his son giggle. “Happy birthday Charlie!” you exclaimed, clapping. Arthur, Karl, Ada- and John and Polly, who had been talking in the hall after you arrived- clapped and joined in wishing Charlie a happy birthday. Charlie and Karl shared a hug that resulted in you awing. You looked at Grace and smiled. “Welcome, Grace,” you greeted her respectfully. Grace simply nodded at you and took off her coat. Turning around to put her coat on the coat hooks next to the door, she gasped lightly in shock when she saw your coat resting next to Tom’s. “Whose coat is this?” she asked casually. You apologized profusely. “It’s mine, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to impose. I can find a different place for it-” Thomas waved his hand nonchalantly. “Oh, no need. You’re not imposing, Y/n/n.” You blushed slightly. “Frances can take your coat, Grace. I trust you remember who she is?” He jabbed at her lightly. Grace huffed and nodded. “Alright.” The tension between Tom and Grace was palpable and made everyone make excuses to leave the room. You left as well, saying something about wanting to play around with Karl and Charlie. You knew things were bad between Thomas and Grace. So bad, in fact, that Tom had approached her with a divorce. Tom was many things, but he wasn’t the type of person to reach for a divorce. He believed that marriage lasted for life. But after Tom’s and Grace’s arguments over his ambitions and dreams started to grow from skirmishes to screaming matches littered with threats, Thomas had enough. He told you the night that he decided to divorce Grace that he didn’t want to spend his life with a woman

that didn’t support his political and business ambitions. You found yourself sympathizing with both of them. You understood Grace’s concerns about the target that would always be on her and Charlie’s back because of Thomas’s ambition. But you also understood Thomas’s argument that his ambitions were also the thing that would provide his family with more opportunities than he had. Thomas’s goals were a double-edged sword. Although, Grace had become quite cold to Thomas in retaliation for the divorce, often sending him and his family veiled insults. So you didn’t feel much remorse for her when Tom made barbed comments like the one made in the hall. You sighed while watching Karl and Charlie play. It was going to be a long party. _______________________________________________________________________________________ All of you were eating cake, you talking with Polly about some gossip that you heard when going shopping for groceries. “Apparently Brandon was just using her for her status,” you said, licking the frosting off of your fork. “But then Brandon caught Melissa sleeping with her boss-” “No fucking way!” Polly interrupted, putting her plate down and gasping. “How the hell do these things happen to people!” You laughed. “I know right! My life is boring in comparison- and I hang out with you insane idiots!” “Hey!” John said from across the table, his mouth full of cake. “We’re not that bad!” “Speak for yourself,” Ada muttered from next to her brother, cringing when John stuck his cake-covered tongue out at her. “Honestly, Y/N,” Grace’s refined voice reverberated through the dining room, “You shouldn’t be gossiping this much. It’s a boring pastime.” You quirked your brow. “I’m sorry?” “Oh it’s alright, I understand that some people have nothing better to talk about. I’m just saying, gossip signals a bland personality and I’m sure you don’t have that, hm?” Grace’s implied message was clear. You sat in silence for a moment, surprised. “No?” you said, going along with whatever Grace said. In all honesty, you didn’t care what Grace thought of you. She barely visited enough for you to give a shit. But apparently, Tom didn’t want to let it slide. “Look, Grace, it’s not a big deal to gossip, alright? You’d be a big fucking hypocrite telling Y/n/n not to gossip when pretty much everything you talked about was who was fuckin’ who-” “Thomas!” Grace chided. “What? If you’re going to walk in here and criticize how Y/n/n spends their time, you can fuck off, alright? I don’t need some posh stuck-up woman in me house. So either behave yourself and let Charlie have a good birthday,” Thomas threatened, “Or get out of me house and have fun on the streets for a week.” “You’d let your own son live on the streets for a week?” Grace asked, shocked. “My threat regards only you. Charles is me blood- you make me see blood.” Grace looked down at her plate and picked up her fork and ate her cake again. Tom took that as an agreement to get along with everyone and started eating again as well. You were just thankful that you had sent Karl and Charlie to play upstairs. But regardless of the tense situation, a smile graced your face at the immediacy that Tom defended you with. _______________________________________________________________________________________ “Hey,” you tapped Thomas’s shoulder when you both found yourselves alone in the back room. “Thank you for defending me.” Tom nodded and smiled slightly. “Of course.” “I mean it. No one really defends me so I really appreciate it. Especially since it’s Grace.” Tommy’s brows raised slightly at that comment. “What do you mean?” You shrugged, looking anywhere but at Tom. “I mean, she was the woman that made you the person you used to be before France. I understand there’s some bad blood between you two now, but she’s still special to you.” Tom hummed and walked closer to you, stopping at around 2 feet away from you. “So are you, you know. You’re special to me.” You smiled. “You’re special to me, too.” Thomas’s hand cupped your cheek lightly, his thumb stroking

back and forth. A flush made its way to your cheeks and you smiled shyly at Tom. There was always some unspoken bond between the two of you that you danced around. You were always scared that it was too early after his divorce, but with the way that he was looking at you, he probably got over it a while ago. You don’t know who leaned forward first, but one second later your mouths were connected in a feverish kiss. Tom’s hands were traveling places, touching parts of your body that you caught him eyeing from time to time. Your hands rested against his chest and reveled in the feeling of his heart thumping against his chest as erratically as yours. So you had the same effect on him as he did on you. The kiss was a good indicator of that, but it was nice to have reassurance. Tom pulled away and rested his forehead on yours. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to do that for months now,” Tom confessed. You smiled, pecking him on the lips. “So have I,” you replied, pulling his mouth back to yours.

[wisdomrays]

QUESTIONS & ANSWERS: Are Muslims Guilty of Imperialism?

This charge continues to be leveled against the Muslim world. I would like to counter it by asking the following questions:

Given the existing circumstances of 1,400 years ago, how would any one living in Makka or Madina go about exploiting his own clan and tribe? If the supposedly exploited lands and people were those of the Hijaz, which were poor, unfruitful, and barren, who would have wished to invade or exploit them? It is ludicrous to level the charge of imperialist colonialism against the most noble-minded Muslims, who risked their lives to spread the message of Islam; who spent the greater part of their lives far from their children, families, homes, and native lands fighting armies ten or twenty times their size; and who felt deeply grieved when they did not die on the battlefield and join the earlier martyrs for Islam. We ask ourselves what worldly gain they obtained in return for such struggle, deprivation, and sacrifice!

Those who invaded, occupied, and exploited others with the worst intentions (and results) of imperialism are power-hungry individuals or nations. To mention a few: Alexander the "Great" and Napoleon, the Roman empire and Nazi Germany, the Mongol armies unleashed by Genghis Khan and the colonizing armies unleashed by western Europe, Russian dictatorship (whether czarist or communist) and the American empire (whether "manifest destiny" or "making the world safe for democracy"). Wherever such conquests came and went, they corrupted the morality of the conquerors and the conquered, causing chaos, conflict, tears, bloodshed, and devastation. Today their heirs, like bold thieves who bluff property owners to conceal their theft of that very property, turn to besmirching Islam, its Prophet, and his Companions.

True Muslims have never sought to exploit others. Nor have they let others do so where Muslim government had jurisdiction. At a time when Muslim armies were running from triumph to triumph, Caliph 'Umar said: "What befits me is to live at the level of the poorest Muslims," and he really did so. As he took only a few olives a day for his own sustenance, who was he exploiting?

After one battle, when a Muslim was asked to take the belongings of an enemy soldier whom he had fought and killed, he said: "I did not participate in the battle to take spoils." Pointing to his throat, he continued: "What I seek is an arrow here and to fall as a martyr." (His wish was granted.) While burning with the desire for martyrdom, who was he exploiting?

In another battle, a Muslim soldier fought and killed a leading enemy who had killed many Muslims. The Muslim commander saw him pass by his dead enemy. The commander went to the head of the dead soldier and asked who had killed him. The Muslim did not want to reply, but the commander called him back in the name of God. The Muslim felt himself obliged to do so, but concealed his face with a piece of cloth. The following conversation took place:

-Did you kill him for the sake of God?

-Yes.

-All right. But take this 1,000 dinar piece.

-But I did it for the sake of God!

-What is your name?

-What is my name to you? Perhaps you will tell this to everyone and cause me to lose the reward for this in the afterlife.

How could such people exploit others and establish colonies all over the world? To speak frankly, those who hate Islam and Muslims are blind to the historical truth of how Islam spread.

Let's look at what exploitation and imperialism are. Imperialism or colonization is a system of rule by which a rich and a powerful country controls other countries, their trade and policies, to enrich itself and gain more power at the other's expense. There are many kinds of exploitation. In today's world, they may take the following forms:

• Absolute sovereignty by dispossessing indigenous people in order to establish the invader's direct rule and sovereignty. Examples are western Europe's conquest of North and South America, as well as Australia and New Zealand, as well as the Zionists' conquest of Palestine.

• Military occupation so that the invaders can control the conquered nation's land and resources. One example is British colonial rule in India.

• Open or secret interference and intervention in a country's internal and foreign affairs, economy, and defense. Examples are those Third World countries who are manipulated and controlled by various developed countries.

• The transfer of intellectuals, which is currently the most common and dangerous type of imperialism. Young, intelligent, and gifted people of the countries to be exploited are chosen, given stipends, and educated abroad. There they are introduced to and made members of different groups. When they return to their country, they are given influential administrative and other posts so that they can influence their country's destiny. When native or foreign people linked to exploiters abroad are placed in crucial positions in the state mechanism, the country is conquered from inside. This immensely successful technique has enabled Western imperialists to achieve many of their goals smoothly and without overtly rousing the enmity of the people they wish to subjugate. Today, the Muslim world is caught in this trap and thus continues to suffer exploitation and abuse.

Whatever kind of imperialism they are subjected to, countries suffer a number of consequences:

• Various methods of assimilation alienate people from their own values, culture, and history. As a result, they suffer crises of identity and purpose, do not know their own past, and cannot freely imagine their own future.

• Any enthusiasm, effort, and zeal to support and develop their country is quenched. Industry is rendered dependent upon the (former) imperial masters, science and knowledge are not allowed to become productive and primary, and imitation is established firmly so that freedom of study and new research will gain no foothold.

• People remain in limbo, totally dependent upon foreigners. They are silenced and deluded by such empty phrases as progress, Westernization, civilization, and the like.

• All state institutions are penetrated by foreign aid, which is in reality no more than massive financial and cultural debt. Imports, exports, and development are wholly controlled by or conducted according to the exploiter's interests.

• While no effort is spared to keep the masses in poverty, the ruling classes become used to extravagant spending and luxury. The resulting communal dissatisfaction causes people to fight with each other, making them even more vulnerable to outside influence and intervention.

• Mental and spiritual activity is stifled, and so educational institutions tend to imitate foreign ways, ideas, and subjects. Industry is reduced to assembling prefabricated parts. The army tends to become a dumping ground for imperialist countries, for its purchases of expensive hardware ensure the continued well-being of the latter's industries.

We wonder if it is really rational to liken the Islamic conquest to imperialism, which brought disastrous consequences wherever it went.

The victory of Muslim armies never caused a great exodus of people from their homes and countries, nor has it prevented people from working by putting chains on their hands and feet. Muslims left the indigenous people free to follow their own way and beliefs, and protected them in exactly the same way it protected Muslims. Muslim governors and rulers were loved and respected for their justice and integrity. Equality, peace, and security were established between different communities.

If it had been otherwise, would the Christians of Damascus have gathered in their church and prayed for a Muslim victory against Christian Byzantium, which was seeking to regain control of the city? If Muslims had not been so respectful of non-Muslims' rights, could they have maintained security for centuries in a state so vast that it took more than 6 months to travel from one end to another?

One cannot help but admire those Muslim rulers and the dynamic energy that made them so, when we compare them to present-day rulers. Despite every modern means of transportation, telecommunications, and military back-up, they cannot maintain peace and security in even a small area of land.

Today, many scholars and intellectuals who realize the value of Islam's dynamics, which brought about Islam's global sovereignty and which will form the basis of our eternal existence in the Hereafter, expressly tell us that Muslims should reconsider and regain them. While conquering lands, the Muslims also were conquering their inhabitants' hearts. They were received with love, respect, and obedience. No people who accepted Islam ever complained that they were culturally prevented or ruined by the arrival of Muslims. The contrast with the reality of Christian Europe's conquests is stark and obvious.

Early Muslims evaluated the potential of knowledge and art in the conquered lands. They prepared and provided every opportunity for local scholars and scientists to pursue their work. Regardless of their religion, Muslims held the people in high regard and honored them in the community. They never did what the descendants of the British colonialists in America did to the American Indians or in Australia to the Aborigines, the French to the Algerians, or the Dutch to the Indonesians. On the contrary, they treated the conquered people as if they were from their own people and religion, as if they were brothers and sisters.

Caliph 'Umar once told a Coptic Egyptian who had been beaten by a Makkan noble to beat him just as he had been beaten. When 'Umar heard that 'Amr ibn al-'As had hurt the feelings of a native Egyptian, he rebuked him: "Human beings were born free. Why do you enslave them?" As he went to receive the keys to Masjid al-Aqsa, 'Umar visited and talked to priests in different churches in Palestine. Once he was in a church when it was time to pray. The priest repeatedly asked him to pray inside the church, but 'Umar refused, saying: "You may be harassed by other Christians later on because you let me pray in the church." He left the church's premises and prayed outside on the ground.

These are but a few examples to indicate how Muslims were sensitive, tolerant, just, and humane toward other people. Such an attitude of genuine tolerance has not been reached by any other people or society.

[bloodycassian]

Azriel x reader - enemies to mututals. LONGER - Peregryn Reader and Az go on a mission together. Comebacks, snark and injuries. - azriel taking care of hurt reader. 

Send me requests please! 

Not a soul dared step in your way as you plowed through the war camp.  "You will not be flying anywhere." You shouted over the murmuring group. Rhys' inner circle whipped their heads to you. Cassian's hand went to the dagger at his side instantaneously. You felt the spymasters shadows curling around your ankles. 

"You challenge me, I'm impressed." Rhys smiled like a cat, pushing off the table littered with pawns and a map of the region. Azriel's shadows curled further up your legs, taking the hint from his high lord. "Your spymasters eyes and ears seem to be doing an inadequate job." You said with distaste, glaring at Azriel. You tucked your feathered wings in tight, tension in the room spiking. Darkness flared, Azriels' shadows spiking over your legs, swirling angrily. 

Rhysand considered for a moment. None of the eyes left you. You dared not look away from the high lord. The piercing eyes of The Morrigan burned into you. Her silver armor shone even in the dull tent. "Leave us." He said at last, with a wave of his hand. His counterparts glanced at him, before obeying and walking out. 

Azriel stayed put, the shadows still circling the room like a fog. 

"I don't like being insulted, Peregryn." Azriel growled, his wings twitching.

  "I dont like dying, Illyrian." You countered. His face twisted in disgust. Rhysand sighed, taking a seat at the head of the table. You felt his aura inside your head, asking, tempting. They knew not many were a fan of their court, but so far you could really see the WHY behind it. 

"I understand you're a part of a different court but we are here fighting together against this threat." He spoke aloud, you felt his presence recede from your mind.  "If you don't want me to see what you have seen, how am I to know to trust you?" He smiled wickedly, as if he knew you would never let him in to your head. True, the night court and autumn court were not on the friendliest of terms. Especially after Thesan had made a public enemy of you for abandoning his court to help in the fight on the continent. 

"I understand fully that we are different courts, with different ideals working together. Perhaps your generals don't though." You nodded out the open flap of the tent. "Why my forces are going in first when there's an aerial threat beyond the border to Rask is beyond me. Perhaps you could explain." You said sweetly, pulling out the chair at the opposite end of the table and sitting. Azriel remained standing, his presence looming. He glanced toward Rhys, and they seemed to have a silent conversation in the looks alone. You had no doubt that he and the high lord were speaking mind to mind. 

"I can assure you there was no ill intent behind it." Rhys muttered, his eyes held no trace of lies. He had no tell , no body language that would suggest other wise as he spoke plainly. "As for the aerial threat, I will find Azriel here sees to it. If you are willing to help, of course." He swirled the glass of wine on the table, taking a sip. Azriel's face went a bit red. Likely mentally shouting at the high lord. "You understand, this assures I can trust your word and you're not trying-" He took a breath, humming as he let it out. Considering. Or putting on a show. It was hard to tell what face of him was the genuine one. "Well if you would let me in I guess I would know if you had any.. intentions." 

The silence seemed electrifying, Azriels shadows were swirling faster, whispering over his shoulder into his ear. His hair moved slightly in the presence of them. His siphons glowed, despite no direct threat. 

You stood slowly, standing tall in the presence of the two. "You know where my tent is, Shadowsinger." His face revealed nothing at your words. Rhysand saluted you mockingly. Chin held high, you strode out of the tent.

+ As soon as the sun had dipped below the treeline enough to cast shadows through the forest Azriel had appeared at your tent. The temperature seemed to dip slightly at his presence. "If you're ready we can go." He said, voice plain outside your flap door.

"And why wouldn't I be ready, shadowmaster?" You said with a charming smile, hoping it annoyed him. While pulling on your light armor, you stalked past him and to the edge of the forest. He seemed stunned momentarily, but caught up quickly. He matched your pace with ease.  

The hilly terrain made for an interesting forest pattern, but the area you remembered spotting the archers and arterillary trebuchets was very obvious. You dared not fly, with your wings so light colored against the darkened sky.  "We're walking?" He asked, his wings flaring. You crunched through the brush that lined the forest edge. 

"It's an aerial capture unit. They'll either shoot us down or take us prisoner until they get what they want." You said over your shoulder. "Is the Illyrian afraid of a hike?" You teased. 

You heard a grunt and he was suddenly right next to you, his footsteps loud as he adjusted to the rocky slope you were heading up. "I don't like being called that, you know." He muttered, his eyes straight ahead. 

Strange. Very strange for an illyrian indeed. Normally they were obnoxiously proud of their heritage like no other. It made you pause your comeback for a moment. you tried to remember the brief history of the night court you had been briefed on in training. Nothing was ever said about the high lord or his generals beyond their extraordinary abilities. 

You knew the Illyrian possessiveness first hand. Anger flickered inside you, remembering what they did to their females. The abusiveness of their court when it came to yours and your winged cousins. How cruel they were in battle. You couldn't stop the thought as it raced from your lips - "Not proud of the clipping or breeding, spymaster?" You growled.

He was on you in an instant. Had you pinned against the side of the grassy knoll a second after that. The air left your body at the impact against the dirt burm. Your wings splayed out behind you on instinct, trying to balance you. His were as well, using them as extra force to hold you there. Your hand was at your dagger, but you didn't feel the need to use it, his grip loosened.

"Fuck. you." He bit out. You saw his hands as they gripped your armor. Scarred lines lay on his fingers, the back of his hands up to his wrist. They were a lighter color than the rest of his dark skin. Ridges puckering together like soft peaks of a mountain range. The sounds outside of your breathing together seemed to stop, his sharp tone silencing the woods completely. His eyes seemed like an endless pit, despair and malice under their shallow surface. 

He shoved off you with a sigh, and continued down the trail. Wings snapped in tight behind him. You dusted yourself off and followed under the cover of nightfall. 

+ The group of fae and beasts was getting exceedingly more and more rowdy as the night went on and the barrels of mead emptied. You didn't doubt the reason being that they thought your forces wouldn't move in the night. Not with so many foot soldiers that could be picked off in the forest by...unknown creatures. You shuddered at the thought of such things. The group was no more than thirty large, probably to winnow faster. Every pair had a weapon or a net weighted with stones that would nullify any magic. The arrows were likely poisoned as well. The trebuchet was packed with stones, boulders and what looked like wooden nails. They were planning for maximum damage.

"You take east, I'll go by the river." You whispered behind him, knowing that his shadows would pick it up if he didnt. The enemy campfire flickered in front of him, making his silhouette glow from where you crouched. His only response to your plan was a slight nod. You left him to it, creeping through the trees, avoiding leaves and fallen twigs that would make more sound than the soft pine floor. The fog of shadows whipped in a flurry around you as departed him. They stayed with you until you were firmly in the trees, the bubbling stream of the river loud enough to cover your tracks.

His signal to attack was subtle, but it worked. At first it seemed like their campfire had begun to sputter and smoke, leading to them quieting. Then, two decapitated heads were flung into the middle of the crowd circling the pit.  A rustling from where Azriel originally stood had them scrambling for weapons, sticks, swords. Anything they could find. Then he sliced into three of their knees from behind. You were diving into the fray when the group had finally gotten their defenses up. 

+ The snarls died out one by one. Azriel finished off the final Attor when a blinding pain in your back hit you. Your first instinct was to stab. The fae that stood behind you held your dagger in her stomach, looking you in the eye. The wooden steak at their side dropped to the ground. Her lips parted in a wicked smile as she pushed your knife deeper into her own stomach. "Death." She hissed. You felt the blood drain out of your face. She raised her other hand and was bringing it down when Truth Teller sliced clean through the neck. The hand dropped, as did the rest of the body that held your knife. 

Pain returned to you as soon as the head stopped rolling on the ground. You could feel the blood dripping... not from your back. You let out a roar of anguish, trying to fold your wing inward. Your feathers were stained a dark red. It looked black in the dim light. Azriel was on you in a second, without a word he had his hands on you, your wing. 

Pain dazzled you in more ways than you ever thought possible. It burned, it stung, it ached. It was enough to make you pass out for a few moments while Azriel carried you closer to the fire. "Fly- Me-" You panted between words. "Healer." You barked, letting your wing hang limp at your side. Azriel was assessing behind you. Slowly, methodically. Coolness encapsulated your wing. It was a slight relief against the burning.

"I cant fly with you if you can bring your wings in. And we need to get this out before it spreads, its poisoned..." He paused, hissing at whatever he was seeing. There was a pinch and he had a hand on the firm ridge, bending slightly. " Its in too deep to hope for a healer to recover by the time we get there too." he finished, working delicately around your feathers.

He was gentle, and firm while he did his best to get the bigger spikes out. You could feel the smaller slivers digging in whenever he bent your wing a different angle or if you tensed it at all. It began to itch as the fire died, casting you in darkness. "Dammit." He sighed, getting up. You hadn't realised how bad the gash was until you looked over your shoulder to see the pile of splinters he had gotten out so far.

"I may have left some in there, just don't move alright?" He stroked the curve of your wing. It sent a thrill through you that made your stomach flip despite the pain. "I'll be back in a minute. Just... stay put. Please." He added, then he was gone.

Your eyes grew heavy while you stared at the embers glowing in the fire. Thinking of Rhysand and his smug smile kept you awake. You couldn't wait until his own general proved him wrong. And proved the group was very capable of taking out winged foes, apparently. You sighed, then went rigid. A crack of sticks sounded. You panicked, knowing how treacherous the forest was without an extra pair of eyes looking out for you. You flung yourself to the fae woman's body, clawing for your dagger still embedded in her stomach. Your wing drug behind you, limp and aching. 

"What the hell are you doing?!" Azriel gasped, dropping the pile of wood next to the fire pit as he came into view. 

"You're a bastard." You groaned, wishing you could just lay down and wake up from this nightmare of pain and terror. "You're terrible and I hate you. So much." You panted, dropping the dagger. It rolled on the dirt beside you. 

Once he had you set back up where he could see properly he began the more painful process of removing the splinters. You doubted any monsters in the dark would come lurking with the sounds you made.

"For some fucked up hands they do delicate work." You ground out through your teeth. He paused for just a second. A sharper pain than normal twisted through the wing. You laughed slightly at that, despite the pain. 

"Well- for some fucked up wing you sure do have a mouth still." He chided back. "I told you to just stay put and you crawl ten feet away. And get dirt under your feathers on top of that." He sounded like he was smiling. 

"I didn't know you were such a neat freak, Shadowsinger." He huffed a laugh, continuing to patch you up.

"My mother was. My actual mother." He said softly. He was solemn for a moment. You wished you could see his face as he spoke. "My step mother's children are the ones who did this to my hands." His voice was near a whisper. You nodded, causing a shooting pain through your back and the area he worked on. "If I have to tell you to hold still again I'll just knock you out." He warned, putting a hand on your shoulder.

+ Once he was satisfied with his work, he stepped back and helped you fold your wings in. It was stiff. It felt like a part of you had been cut off. An unusable part that acted only to slow you down. You despised it. The pain radiated through to your back once you pulled them in. Fear struck you at that. Weakly, you turned to him. 

"I cant-" You bit back tears. You hated the words as they came out. "I cant fly." You muttered, your throat tightening. 

Silently, he held a hand out to you. An invitation. 

He was even more delicate while flying, gliding on the air as much as possible and keeping your weight balanced so you wouldn't jostle your injury too much. It was still uncomfortable. The base camp was miles away, with differing terrain. You hadn't realised how far it was until you were overhead and couldn't see the light from the camp anymore.

"I'm going to call you feathers after this." He said, the air around you almost drowning him out as he flew as quickly as he could. The pain spiked at the pinch of folding them in, but it wasn't as unbearable. 

On the brink of sleep, you trudged your mind back awake to respond to him. "What do you mean?" You groaned, letting your head fall on to his shoulder. Exhaustion was quickly sweeping over you. A glance up at him and you saw the worry in his features. He pinched the back of your thigh slightly, provoking you.

"Feathers seem like a pain in the ass. Going around them, cleaning them, trying to... maneuver them?" He adjusted his grip on you slightly, pulling you closer. His heart hammered in his chest, you could hear it. "Stay awake for me, asshole." He was gliding lower now, his words were clipped.

"Tell Rhysand..." You groaned as he circled the healers tent "Fuck you." You panted, moaning in pain while he offloaded you on to the healers table. Medics surrounded you in a heartbeat. He began filling them in on the injury. Azriel did not leave your side the rest of the night.

[oddaodd]

can you make one where the reader is the youngest maid in Tommy's house and she's helping serve the dinner for christmas and taking care of the kids and in some point Finn gets closer to her and try to flirt with her (she's just a few years older than him) and the reader don't know how to react but Tommy comes and help her (because he already likes the reader but don't get too close because she's too young for him) and by the end of the night when everybody is sleeping and they have sex

· A Whimsical Tale · 

Author’s note: I know we are no longer near Christmas but I love living a dangerous life so I’m just going to post this now.  

 Anddd I loved writing this story so thanks for requesting! and as always, I hope everyone has a lovely day. ❤️

Warnings: smut, mentions of alcohol and a drunken Finn. 

·

Christmas Day was a heavy day on Arrow House and despite the numerous staff, there was always something to be done. Y/n was one of the youngest maids so she was never the one in charge of cooking and preparing dinner, instead she helped pour drinks and look over the children, which Y/n was thankful for since it didn’t require as much elbow grease as cooking for an abundance of people.  

“More wine Tomm...” she caught her mistake and made it up clearing her throat “Mr. Shelby?”

“Thank you, Y/n” He politely answered pretending he hadn’t heard her almost call him Tommy.

Y/n poured the wine with shaky hands hoping that nobody  had noticed her mistake and blushing cheeks. She knew Tommy didn’t mind her calling him by his name when they were alone, but she wasn’t sure if he would still be as lax on the topic if there were other people present.

As she poured some for Ada, Polly gave her nephew a knowing stare that indicated she had noticed and knew what it implied, which triggered complex emotions in Tommy.

He enjoyed Y/n’s company when she served him breakfast and lit the chimney in his office and when sometimes she engaged in conversation with him. She told him everything about her life, whimsical tales of mundane occurrences that sounded worthy of a novel. He wondered what kind of character he played in it.

He would be lying if he were to say that he only enjoyed having her around because she was good at her job. Truth was, Tommy felt infatuated with her and her bubbly smile and occasional kind words when he was feeling the world closing in, but he knew he couldn’t do anything about it because she was much younger than him.

Y/n threw occasional smiles at Tommy through the night. She helped entertain the children while the other adults drank and enjoyed the evening. As the night progressed the alcohol began taking tolls, calling some to bed and inciting some others to questionable actions.

“Do you maybe want to go out sometime? Came Finn’s voice while Y/n tidied up around the kitchen.  

“Excuse me?” She asked even though she had heard him loud and clear.

“We should go out sometime” Finn spoke again in boozy confidence

“Um...” she began with an amused smile that disguised her discomfort for she wished the one asking were a different Shelby.

As if summoned by mention in a passing thought,  Tommy’s deep voice interrupted whatever excuse she was  machinating.

“Leave her be, Finn”

“But I’m not doing anything, Tom” he complained in a slur.

“You’re making a fool of yourself Finn” interrupted Arthur before dragging Finn away and out of the kitchen.

She didn’t miss the way Tommy’s eyes lingered on her figure before he left the room after his brothers.

After a while everybody including all the maids had gone to bed, Y/n stayed behind to have a cup of tea in the kitchen so she could mull over her feelings for Tommy in peace.

She had been attracted to him since her arrival to arrow house, but what began like a stupid crush soon turned into more complex feelings. She was always looking forward to seeing him and talking to him at late hours of the night at his office when he couldn’t sleep. She had tried not to think too much into his stares and considerate actions, but her infatuation with him had reached a point in which she couldn’t pretend not to notice.

She wanted his actions to hide a deeper meaning and she believed they did, but she felt her reasoning was tainted by her own wants. Tommy was significantly older than her and she felt immature in comparison.

“I knew you’d still be here”

She knew he would come.

She looked up from her teacup to the kitchen door to see Tommy strolling in. She forced a smile and shoved all her thoughts about him aside.

“Want a cup?” She signaled to the teapot as Tommy leaned against a cupboard.

“Alright” he said and Yn poured him a cup. His eyes following her every move. Her features seemed to be highlighted by the moonlight flowing in through the window making her look more divine than ever despite the tiredness hiding in her movements.

She felt an old wave of nerves creeping up her spine, making her heart beat faster and she didn’t know why. It wasn’t the first time Tommy and her were alone together, but that night’s air weighed differently.  

“Im sorry about Finn” he commented while she poured the tea.

“Its alright” she spoke softly walking towards him “Thanks for coming to my rescue”

Tommy’s mouth curved into a small smile, the way it did whenever she was around.

“Anytime” he said

“You are staring” she commented when she handed him the cup, noticing his gaze.

Tommy hummed taking a sip of his tea before placing it on the counter behind him, not even attempting to deny her accusation. “You look beautiful”

Her cheeks turned a soft shade of scarlet and her heartbeat quickened at his words. She wasn’t expecting him to say that. Still, she couldn’t help but smile at his honest complement.

Feeling comforted by the intimacy that the kitchen late at night provided, he cupped her face as leaned close to her lips. Y/n  did the same in a heartbeat and when their lips came together she felt a thousand matches lighting up inside her body.

She melted into the kiss as it turned more passionate, Tommy’s hands went to her waist, pulling her closer to him.

“Tell me to stop” he murmured against her lips.

“God no” she murmured back.

Tommy felt reassured knowing that she had wanted this just as badly as him and let himself get lost in the  soft moans and blissful sighs he coaxed from her with his wandering tongue and expert hands.  

Y/N hadn’t noticed Tommy began leading her to the table until she felt the cold surface against her lower back. Tommy prompted her up on it and smoothly hitched up her skirt. He ran his index finger teasingly along her clothed folds earning a whine from her pretty lips.

“Take them off Tommy” she pleaded.

Tommy complied and slid her underwear off her legs, his mind clouding at the sight of her, needy and wet in front of him. He kneeled in front of her and spread her legs open with his hands sending shivers through her body. Y/n felt her stomach drop in expectation at the sight of his handsome face close to her cunt.

“Tommy, ple..” Her place came short at the feeling of warm tongue on her sex. A teasing lick first that soon developed into passionate wet strokes and kisses  lapping against her folds and teasing at her entrance.

Her fingers tangled on his dark hair as she became a withering mess, submissive to Tommys experienced tongue. she felt her arousal building up, bringing her closer and close to the edge with each lick. She couldn’t get enough of him but she was eager to have him in her so bad.

“I need you inside me”

Tommy looked up at her with teasing eyes, her juices glistering on his chin and lips and when she felt the absence of his tongue on her she almost regretted being so impatient. But Tommy didn’t give her time to dwell on that regret when he went to passionately kiss her again and she felt his bulge through his trousers against her bare entrance.

Her impatient hands went to fumble with the buttons that held the basted trousers in place and Tommys went to assist her moments after, never breaking apart from the searing kiss, Y/n got a glimpse of Tommy’s cock and she felt like gasping when she felt Tommy guiding his head to tease at her entrance.

She moaned at the feeling and gasped when he pushed into her.

“So fucking tight” he whispered to her ear.

She sighed lewdly at his sinful praise and when he was fully inside her she felt so sinfully full she wondered how she could have lived for so long without this feeling.

She held onto his broad shoulders as he started pumping in and out of her, teasingly slow at first and speeding up deliciously with each thrust.

The table started creaking under her and the teacup and cup she had put there earlier fell off at their movements, loudly crashing onto the floor. She felt a twinge of concern about the noise, trying to break through the dense cloud of pleasure Tommy had summoned around her. However, Said concern became less and less concerning with each thrust of Tommy’s. It was the stuff of dreams.

He felt her clenching around his cock telling her that she was close. He wanted to make her cum, he needed to make her cum.  

He began rubbing circles on her sensitive bundle of nerves and soon after she came beautifully. Her legs tightened around his waist wanting to keep him close, still reeling in the aftershock of her orgasm as Tommy chased his own, which came not long after with a groan of her name. The expression of his face as he came into her was one Y/n knew would never leave her mind.

“What if somebody heard us?” She whispered as she collected her discarded garments with a smile.

“I hope they heard. Maybe that way Finn will know better next time”

·

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @peakyxtommy @nyotamalfoy @writeroutoftime @babylooneytoonz