#fic: older - or two brothers and a train station

[uefb]

A fic excerpt from 1914, half a year after Newt’s expulsion (ages 17 and 25)

I’ve spent my free time over the past month writing Theseus and Newt between 1897 and 1919, and oh my goodness did their relationship evolution give me fits 😅 35k words later and I’m almost ready to post it! But I must get closer to turning in my dissertation chapter drafts first or I will be thoroughly reprimanded/have a mental breakdown and my soft little heart can’t handle that rn lmao)

[lixiesfreckless]

Early | l. m.

➸ synopsis: God, you want him so bad it's almost pathetic.

➸ starring: lee minho x female reader

➸ word count: 2.5k

➸ general content: acquaintance!minho, reader is horrendously down bad, insane amounts of pining, like- this entire fic is just the reader pining for him lmao

➸ warnings: mentions of alcohol, mild swearing

➸ rating: teen+

➸ author’s note: I'd like to thank @ashonheavenscloud for the ending idea. sorry for the readers I'm about to blueball

♫ early- junny, soulbysel(THIS IS LITERALLY THE INSPO FOR THE FIC)

“Yeah, I can take her home.”

Ryujin claps a little too loudly, courtesy of the several drinks she had shotgunned an hour before.

“Thank you bestest older brother in the universe,” she slurs, wrapping her arms around the older man, who was furrowing his eyebrows in mild discomfort. You stand there awkwardly, already feeling like you were inconveniencing him as well.

As bad as you felt about it though, you couldn't help the nervousness creeping through your veins at the thought of being alone with Minho.

It's not as if you've never been alone with him. You have; just in transitional spaces. Waiting for the rest of the friend group to show up. Waiting for different trains at the metro station. Waiting for the closer mutual friend to come back from the restroom. Hell, him dropping you off wasn’t really any different.

You really don't talk to him much at all, which makes it all the more ridiculous that you even have a crush on him.

And yet, you just let it fester, held back by the classic best-friend’s-older-brother unofficial rulebook. But you think even if he wasn't related to Ryujin, you still wouldn't make a move, simply too shy to find out what was under his impenetrable blank stare and trademark doc martens.

After snatching up your purse, you quickly say goodbye to your friends before catching Minho at the door.

“Sorry about all this again–”

“I was already on my way out, don't sweat it.”

Minho holds the door to the club open for you, and you step out into the crisp coolness of night, trying to appear as collected as the man walking beside you.

“My car is just around the corner, I'm just gonna grab some water for you from the store, okay?”

You find yourself nodding, although you're barely paying attention; you are focusing on averting your gaze from his face, careful as to not give yourself any more daydreaming material.

His car has one of those proximity keys, so there's no cheerful chirp letting the block know that he's about to open the passenger side door for you. Which is how it should be, because that is not a monumental occasion.

Except oh my god, Lee Minho just opened the door for you to get into his car, you might as well be married at this point.

You watch as he disappears into the little corner convenience store, and returns in record time, barely giving you any time to rehearse any cool sounding conversation starters. Then again, it's not like there would be a long line at well past three in the morning.

Shit. You're in Lee Minho’s car going to your house at three in the morning.

Your thoughts are cut off by Minho jumping into the driver’s side, swiftly starting the car and dropping two bottles of water into the cupholders.

“You live right in front of the memorial park right?”

You settle on a hum, not trusting your voice to sound calm in the slightest as his hand reaches for the gear shift. Coincidentally, that's the same time you choose to take your bottle of water from the center console.

And this is how you learn that Minho’s hands are softer than they look.

You don't stand a chance against the tidal wave of thoughts that flood your mind immediately after the accidental contact, your mind suddenly reeling with images of his hands cradling your face, sliding behind your neck, around your waist, through your hair–

“Sorry,” you squeak out, immediately seizing the bottle and twisting it open, desperate for something to lower your rising body temperature. He actually chuckles in response, and the sound has you focusing on the cool leather seat against your bare back in an attempt to round up your remaining brain cells.

He pulls the car away from the curb, beginning what will probably be the longest ten minutes of your life.

There are some things you pick up on immediately.

For one, Minho predominantly drives with one hand.

You honestly don't get how he looks so relaxed doing it either, side profile completely at ease as his right hand absentmindedly taps on the gear shift. If you were in the driver's seat, both hands would be at 10 and 2 o’ clock, just like your driving instructor taught you. Which is exactly why you take the metro; you feel like a stressed suburban mom when you drive, but don't have the time to rewire your brain to make your hands sit at 8 and 4 o’ clock like everyone else.

But he looks like he's shooting a Hyundai commercial, hand resting comfortably on the top of the wheel as the soft orange glow of the dash illuminates his perfect nose bridge and perfect eyelashes–

“Are you cold?” 

“No, I’m good,” you reply, trying and failing to keep the questioning tone out of your voice.

“Sorry- thought I saw you shiver just now,” he chuckles, glancing at you and letting his eyes drop to your legs for a split second.

Honestly, you probably did shiver; just not from the cold.

Also, why on earth did you decide to wear this dress of all dresses tonight?

Backless and short with a halter neckline, one could call this a revenge dress if you had an ex. Except it’s starting to feel like revenge on yourself, because as fleeting as Minho’s glances towards you are, they never go unnoticed, and each one makes the hem feel an inch shorter.

Granted, the slope of the seat makes the skirt ride up anyways, so it was inevitable, but you can't pull it down—he would immediately think you lied to him about being cold. Or get the idea that you didn't want him to look at your legs. Which would be ridiculous; he's practically the whole reason you wore this dress in the first place. 

You're stretching your legs out before you can give it a second thought, and you don't miss the way Minho’s jaw sets, or how his finger stops drumming against the gear shift.

Now that made you more than a little curious.

The second thing you notice is Minho’s excellent taste in music.

You assume his phone automatically connected to the car once he turned it on, because no radio station you can list off the top of your head has beats this smooth. You've never considered what kind of music he would listen to, mostly because you were worried about what he would think of your music taste. 

But this? 

These are exactly the kinds of songs you would play if you wanted to set the mood. They sound like what the world looks like after the last hues of purple leave the horizon. Indigo. Whatever that means.

You can't help but wonder if he was trying to set the mood.

Oh god, you're almost to your apartment and you haven't said anything interesting since you left the club.

You steal a glance at his side profile, once again reminded that Minho can rock any hair color he chooses as the street lights reflect blue off of his jet black hair. It gives him a darker aura, one that stops most lingering gazes on him from ever getting closer. Sure, it's not much different from the color he had before, which was dark brown, but the change makes a difference. To you at least. 

You saw its effects in action, watching all night as girls at the club try to approach him to only end up shooting their shot with his companion, who was always eager to down tequila shots with bright eyes and cheeky smiles.

“The new hair looks good.”

“Didn't catch that,” he quickly says, turning down the volume of the music with his steering wheel and slowing to a stop at a red light.

“I like what you did with your hair.”

“Really? I honestly didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“The girls at the club sure did,” you half-laugh, and he turns to look at you in bewilderment.

“You think so?”

“You could have filled a swimming pool with how much they were drooling.”

Minho laughs. He actually laughs at something you said. The sound makes you so dizzy you think someone slipped something into your drink.

The feeling of the car sliding in next to the curb pulls you back down to reality in an instant.

He puts the car into park and you slump into your seat, not at all trying to hide how disappointed you are at your performance tonight.

“Thanks for driving me home,” you whisper, not daring  to look him in the eyes as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Anytime,” he says so casually, and maybe a bolder you would take him up on that offer.

Instead you nod and smile, and reach for the door handle.

“Y/n.”

You hum and look back at him, trying your best to ignore the turmoil in your stomach once your eyes meet.

“I…this might sound a bit odd, but can I use your bathroom?” He smiles crookedly. “My place is still a ways away–”

“Sure,” you say without thinking, and he nods and jumps out of the car. You definitely can't read into that. Maybe he really can't wait until he gets home. Maybe he doesn't want an excuse to be in your apartment past midnight.

Still, your hands tremble as you twist your keys in the doorknob.

You kick your heels off upon entering, and Minho follows suit, ditching his combat boots by the door as he awaits your instruction.

Looking up, you catch him watching you expectantly, and you indulge the attention before realization dawns on you.

“Oh– the bathroom, yes. Last door on the left, sorry,” you hastily choke out, shaking your head in embarrassment. He chuckles out thanks before sliding past you and disappearing around the corner.

Water. You need water.

The coolness of the marble counter feels good against your bare back as you lean against it, trying to get a grip as cold water rushes down your throat. Maybe you should just attempt to make a move on a different night, when you have a little more liquid courage running through your veins and he’s as hazy as he is handsome. Your mind wanders back to that blissful moment in the car, when he threw his head back in a fit of laughter. That felt so natural, so easy. Why couldn’t you make him do that all the time?

Well, maybe you could, but that requires talking to him regularly, which is something you only do in your daydreams.

Minho suddenly steps out of the bathroom and you fight the urge to choke on your water, setting the glass down on the counter as he approaches you.

“I take it you like jasmine?

“The flower?” The random trivia throws you off guard. “Yeah, it’s my favorite flower…how did you–”

“Everything in your bathroom is jasmine scented,” Minho chuckles, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Ah, well…I found it helps to match everything to your perfume so it seems to last longer.”

“So you’re saying my car should smell like jasmine when I go back?”

“Only one way to find out,” you say with a smile, internally crying over how you just created a seamless segue for him to leave.

He turns to go find his combat boots, and you punch the air, frantically looking for an excuse for him to stay. But he’s standing by the door too soon, running a hand through his silky black hair before giving you a wave goodbye.

“Goodnight Y/n.”

“Get home safe, Minho.”

The door opens, then closes, and you exhale a sigh of relief, or frustration. Most likely equal parts both.

Perhaps baby steps would be the way to go. You haven’t even texted him, and you want him to make a move? Maybe he thinks you aren’t interested because you haven’t exactly been forward.

Sighing, you move towards your kitchen table, and then you freeze. The universe has never given you a second chance so pointedly before. 

Minho left his keys.

You reach for your phone, deciding that calling him would be faster than chasing after him, but stop halfway through your contacts once you hear him knocking on the door.

“It’s open!”

He steps inside to see you twirling the key ring around your index finger, and you hold it out for him to take as you walk up to the door.

“I didn’t take you as the forgetful type,” you giggle.

“Let’s just say I was distracted.” He slides the metal ring off your finger, and you know the dip his eyes make isn't a trick of the light.

He turns to leave, even opening the door, but when he takes a step out and turns to look back at you, something shifts in his eyes. Like a cat that’s seen something move in its periphery.

And in your mind, it all happens so unbearably slowly. 

He would step back in without a word, moving slowly and soundlessly as he’d break eye contact just to watch the door click shut. You’d find yourself backing into the wall next to him, hands pressed flat by your sides as you’d try to make sense of his approaching silhouette under the dim lighting. 

It would feel all too real, his hands sliding around to the small of your back, his chest pressing into yours, his breath fanning across your face. Your breath would catch in your throat, and the first touch of his lips would be cautious, before diving in with unrestrained desire.

You’ve imagined what it would be like to kiss Minho a million times, and with your ever-descriptive reveries, it almost feels real as you ponder the different ways he could pin you against this wall, mouth hard against yours, or light and teasing with feathery brushes of his lips.

God, you want him so bad it’s almost pathetic.

So bad, in fact, that once he lifts the corner of his lips in a smile and turns to leave for the night, it takes everything in you not to throw caution to the wind, and spin him back around. Find out what Lee Minho tastes like for yourself.

But you don’t.

You watch him walk down your hall until he leaves your sight, and even after you’re gone, you spend at least another minute replaying the few moments you had with him tonight.

Next time, you think, chewing your bottom lip as images of kissing Minho resurface against your will. 

I’ll do something about him next time.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

[teecupangel]

i read this fic where bayek becomes desmond's father and it got me thinking that he'd make such a great father for our stabby bois with daddy-issues hahahaha best founding father ever

Bayek found them by accident.

Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Senu found them while he was connected to her. He felt her take over and Bayek had been surprised.

The only time Senu had ever taken over when Bayek was connected to her was when she noticed that Khemu had been a babe and had gotten out of the house without anyone realizing it.

That was the reason why Bayek knew that it was important to let Senu take control.

And she showed them to him.

Four children, the oldest being perhaps ten or nine years old while the youngest could have only been a few months old.

They all wore simple white robes, the whiteness having been dulled by dirt. The oldest held the small baby in his arms, glaring at Bayek with golden eyes.

They all looked quite similar to one another, especially the two oldest boys so Bayek had assumed they were brothers.

… and orphans.

The oldest boy was the one to answer all his questions but he only gave out his name.

Altaïr.

They were staying in a rickety house that looked abandoned and Bayek couldn’t help but be worried. He had been in the area to help build the bureau so he had asked the two Hidden Ones stationed there if they could keep an eye on the children.

“What children are you talking about, Amun?”

.

What children?

That questioned plagued Bayek.

They have not seen any orphans around the area, they said.

And Bayek believed them.

No.

It was more accurate to say…

He believed that they didn’t see any children.

Which meant that these children were able to stay out of their way for many months now.

Perhaps even years.

Bayek visited them once more, bringing a basket filled with fresh baked bread.

But they weren’t in the house.

Connecting with Senu proved to be the right call.

Bayek could not find them but he knew Senu saw them when she took over their connection once more.

They had moved into another abandoned house…

And it seemed that they were not surprised when Bayek entered their new home.

The oldest of them simply looked annoyed.

Bayek knew that his intrusion was not welcomed so he simply left after placing the basket in the middle of the room.

The following day, he checked with Senu once more.

And, as he had guessed, the children had changed home once more.

It truly says a lot about the current situation here that there were many abandoned buildings and homes that four small children could use without anyone knowing.

He brought them food once more.

But this time, he also brought fresh goat milk.

And left with the feeling of those golden eyes glaring at his back.

.

This went on for weeks.

Bayek always made time to bring the children food wherever they go.

At some point, they started to return to their previous locations but never in the same pattern…

It was always random.

And Bayek found himself smiling when he saw them wearing the clothes he had bought for them. Just as simple as their white robes but cleaner.

The baby that was usually in one of the older children’s arms would even wave his hand at him as if to greet him.

And he finally learned the other boys’ names.

Ezio was the second oldest and was the one who talked to Bayek with a lighter tone than his older brother. His name and his smile made Bayek remember Esio but that boy was in Rome right now, being trained to be a Hidden One by Aya.

The third oldest boy was named Ratonhnhaké:ton and he was usually quiet. The first few times Bayek had problem saying his name, he had suggested to just call him Connor but Bayek could see the annoyance in Altaïr’s eyes and the frown decorating Ezio’s face. As well as the understanding and resignation in Ratonhnhaké:ton’s face. So Bayek never called him Connor. The first time he was able to say Ratonhnhaké:ton’s name without messing up, Ratonhnhaké:ton looked surprised for a brief moment before he smiled at Bayek for the very first time.

The youngest of them was Desmond and he’s always being carried by one of his brothers. They were protective of the child, perhaps a bit too overprotective in Bayek’s eyes, to be honest. But Desmond was a quiet baby and Bayek had wondered if perhaps the baby could not talk but he would make cooing sounds and babble softly at times.

It was like…

Desmond was taught to be quiet.

They all were.

.

“Altaïr…”

Altaïr turned to look at the entrance of their 16th safehouse and nodded as he greeted back, “Bayek.”

The old man who had continually followed them no matter how many times they changed safehouses stayed at the other side of the small hole, crouching so he could see inside.

“Ba! Ba!” Desmond waved his hands at Bayek and Altaïr kept his hold on the baby firmly, knowing that, given a chance, Desmond would crawl towards the old man. Desmond had been crawling all over and all of them had been worried that he’d hit his head on something.

“Where’s Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton?”

“Out.” Altaïr replied vaguely. He knew the old man knew how they would steal food and other items they need from the richer part of the city and always had that small frown whenever Altaïr made vague comments concerning their lifestyle.

It wasn’t like the daily food would be enough for them, after all.

And Desmond needed more than just goat milk.

“I will be leaving tomorrow.”

“I see.”

“If it’s alright with you four, I-”

“We’re not joining your cult.” Altaïr cut him off as he dangled a bell in front of Desmond.

Desmond giggled and grabbed the bell, successfully getting distracted from crawling towards Bayek.

“It’s not a cult.” Bayek sighed and Altaïr didn’t bother to tell him they knew that. They just enjoyed calling it a cult even if it wasn’t true.

“And I know you four have been playing tricks on them.” Bayek said, trying to not sound like he was scolding Altaïr. The two Hidden Ones had been the target of harmless pranks for months now, including a very memorable incident where Ezio had actually managed to steal their coin purses that he returned to them… in the bureau after he and Ratonhnhaké:ton had sneaked in.

But Bayek could not afford himself to get distracted.

He was here on an important mission after all.

“I wasn’t going to suggest that you stayed in the bureau. I was going to ask…” Bayek stared at Altaïr as he asked, “… would you four like to join me in my travels?”

Altaïr stared at him for a moment before he looked away as he said, “I’ll talk to my brothers about it.”

Bayek’s lips curved into a small smile, already knowing that would be Altaïr’s answer, “Then… I will be leaving at dawn. I will wait in the east gate.”

He pushed the basket of food into the hole before leaving, knowing Altaïr would simply find it annoying if he was to try and plead his case.

All he could was hope.

And wait for tomorrow.

.

I think the fic nonny is talking about is Haris by CherShare. Do give it a try if you’re interested.

[gryffindormarveltwilight]

All We Need - Prologue

A/N: It has been a while since I have posted anything, I thought I would try my hand at a TopGun Maverick fic. As always any request or feedback is always welcomed x

Masterlist

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!pilot!Benjamin Reader (referred to as Athena’

Warnings: mentions of the mission from the movie, angst, fluff (nothing much in this part)

Prologue: this chapter outlines the character and the connections she has!

Part 1

My name Y/N ‘Athena’ Benjamin. Being a pilot practically runs in the family, my grandfather was an Admiral, my dad also an Admiral his two best friends Admiral Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazinsky and Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell also known as Uncle Ice and Uncle Mav.

My dad served at TopGun with them in ‘86 and have been inseparable since, that is where they all lost their other best-friend Nick ‘Goose’ Bradshaw. Since then all three pilots took it under their wing to look after Gooses son Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, 6 years my senior and the closest thing I have to an older brother despite only seeing him on summer holidays when our mothers took it upon themselves to have a summer trip, just Carole, my Mum, Aunt Penny, Bradley and me. Mum and Carole were best friends before and while Dad and Goose were at TopGun having met when their husbands were still doing basic training, after Goose, Carole moved to Virginia and Dad was posted to Texas. Two years later I was born and Texas became Dad permanent station even to this day.

Growing up I was lucky to have my best friend grow up next door to me, our parents were close and therefore we were inseparable, my best friend none other than the infamous Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, we were inseparable all through our child and teen years, all through basic and flight school. The only time they separated us was three years into our Naval career, when i became the youngest pilot to go through TopGun having only been out of flight school a year and finished top of my class, Jake was called back a few years later also finishing the top of his class.

It has long been said that I was the best pilot the Navy had seen since Iceman, Maverick and my dad, which makes sense when they are the ones who taught me to fly.

So here I am now on the way to the house Jake and I share in San Diego, I had been recalled in the middle of a six month deployment, on the flight home i had been handed a folder with the list of the best pilots that had been recalled and simple instructions on the front stating I had been recalled as team leader for a dangerous mission and was in charge of training the best of the best with Maverick. The only issue is someone is unlikely to come home.

[sambuuck]

ifd feedback fest 2024 rec list!!!

merry international fanworks day y’all!!! as part of the celebrations I have prepared a lil rec list of my current Pokémon interests, I hope you find something to enjoy in here!!!

Blankshipping

Trainspotting Ain't All It's Cracked Up To Be (Can We Please Add Earplugs to Gear Station's Uniform) byTrashfireRadiowaves

there is so much i love about this fic - autistic twins, emmet caring so deeply for his brother, ingo's holey post hisui memory, power dynamics, the sweet sweet erotica, ingo being so very well cared for. this is chefs kiss grade fic. i want to bury myself in it and never leave.

Achromatic by constantconfinement

when i first saw this fic on tumblr i made a series of very garbled happy noises, before posting it in all my discords with rec channels and telling everyone else to join me in making happy garbled sounds. gay culture? in my blankshipping? it's more likely than you think

Aftermath by feldkommandant

anime submas is the best submas and this fic lives in my head forever rent free. the erotica is super sweet and i love ingo being the bossy older brother and making sure emmet is well looked after following the invasion into their personal train sanctum.

and so he said, by Anonymous

these boys are deeply in love, but they are trash brothers first and this fic captures my most favourite characterisation of them - sweet and cuddly, 100% down to ruin the mood for the bit

Hayloft by 9_cats_in_a_trench_coat

i first read the spanish version of this through google translate, and even with gt's clunky translation there was something absolutely cathartic about watching our boys destroy someone who hurt them and set the house on fire. and now there's an english translation!!! a bona fide english translation!!! and it's so much better than what gtranslate spat up ❤️

EphemeralArt Shipping

concession by Anonymous

sometimes there are fics that you want to shove in your face and roll around for a bit. and this is it for me!!! trans erotica with that deep intensely overwhelming intimacy of having someone see you as you for the first time.... asddshfdsggsdhgsdg i love!!!

Dream by petalhymn

i am a simple man. i enjoy old men. i enjoy piss kink. this combines them both. simple, sweet erotica, and the trusting bond between brassius and hassel is a+++

Arven/Florian

blood inheritance by Anonymous

god this fic is everything to me!!! arven's complex feelings on his parents, his grief and fury at what they did to him, finding his own path through it, florian having his back and all his friends rallying around him like AUGH i love it. also getting to tell turo to yeet like yes my son!!! fucking yeet that man!!!

WIPs I'm excited to see more of

Purest Silver Cannot Dim by cascabel

there is something about monastary au's that just really speaks to me, and this brassius/hassel one is already hitting all the right notes for me. i am so so excited to see where this one goes!!!

Semi-Conductors by Nemidari

I am very much enamoured with the idea of ingo and emmet being so cosmically bound together that not even a little thing like mutual loathing can keep them apart. i love their rivalry in this, and watching the two of them slowly and surely inch closer to each other is everything to me <3

[artiesredemptionarc]

That One Love (Remus x reader)

Can also be found on ao3 and wattpad with the same title

Desc: Y/N Potter was now in her fifth year, the Marauders now in their sixth, it was meant to be a calm year, what with the usual antics of James being in love with Lily and the boys playing pranks on the Slytherins as a whole. Lately however, Y/N has started to pay a little more attention to Remus, seeing as he had started to talk to her more this year, leaving to let her wonder if he was always this nice and attractive.

(A/N: A remake from a fic I wrote back on Wattpad when I was 11/12, it's an xreader for Remus cause I was unhealthily in love with him. Anyways enjoy!)

Chapter 1: The Express

Y/N sat in the empty train car, looking around for her brother and his friends. As usual, they were nowhere to be found, well, Y/N didn't really want to find them per se, she just didn't want them to be getting into trouble already when they hadn't even left the station yet. Once it was clear the boys were nowhere near her cart, she decided to close her door, choosing to invite the calmness instead of the chaos lurking somewhere in the train, feeling the tracks shift under her, knowing that they were now departing for Hogwarts as the whistle blew and the station began to pass from her window.

"Oi! Let us in, won't you?" A voice sounded from behind the compartment door, belonging to a long dark-haired boy, her brother's best friend, Sirius Black, three others stood behind him in the small walkway. Y/N groaned, having just settled with the silence before moving, opening the door, and allowing the boys in, sitting next to the one with round-rimmed glasses and unnaturally unruly hair, also known as her older brother James.

"What took you guys so long? I started hoping you had gotten left on the platform." She said, looking to her brother for an answer. It wasn't like she was impossible to find, in fact, they had all sat in that same compartment the entire time they had attended Hogwarts, Y/N only joining them one year after when she herself started attending Hogwarts.

"Sorry, your brother there had to go ogle Lily before the train left," The boy opposite her said, Remus, the only marauder she could even stand.

"Did you know she got her hair cut over the summer? It looks amazing." James said, now lost in his own thoughts of the poor red-haired girl that he had been in love with longer than Y/N had taken to get through her reading list. At the sound of his dreamy sigh, the rest of the car collectively groaned, having to put up with it the entire time.

"How is it that you are so in love with her when she barely gives you the time of day, and when she does it's with a scowl on her face," Y/N asked, her brother and his feelings remaining an enigma to her.

'Well, my dear sister, you don't know what it feels like to be in love." James pointed out, thinking that his argument had any ground.

"That doesn't matter even in the slightest, at least I can tell when someone doesn't like me." She contradicted, a small argument now beginning between the two siblings, the other inhabitants of the car just watching, Sirius having taken out his own little bag of chips and eating, enjoying the small show in front of him. After what seemed to be half the ride, the two settled down, Peter having been put between them so they wouldn't attack one another. Silence had settled amongst the car, a knock on the door drawing everyone's attention.

"Anything from the trolley?" The old witch pushing a trolley full of sweets asked, Sirius and James, being the first to stand and ask for something, Remus moving to also get something, his eyes meeting Y/N's as he did.

"You want anything?" He asked, his voice quiet so no one would hear them, knowing that he only had money to pay for her as well, Peter would have thrown a fit if he knew that his best friend paid for a girl he barely knew over the person he's known the entire time.

"Just some candy floss if you don't mind, I'll pay you back once we get off at Hogwarts." She replied, her money being up with the rest of her luggage, knowing it would be a pain to get now that everyone had put their own bags up there as well. Remus nodded at her request, grabbing a few pieces of chocolate for himself and the candy floss for her, sitting down and handing it over, earning a small smile of thanks from the girl as the other two boys settled in their seats for the rest of the ride now.

The rest of the ride was rather uneventful, Y/N sat with her head against the window as she listened to the boys plan their first prank back at Hogwarts, taking a bite of her candy floss every now and then, even offering some to Peter when she noticed he hadn't gotten anything from the trolley. Even if she couldn't stand him, she wasn't going to let him feel even more left out of the group.

Finally, after nearly three hours the train pulled into the Hogwarts station, coming to a slow stop as they all got out of the car, grabbed their bags, and heading out onto the platform.

"Alright, first years follow me! The rest of you off to the carriages!" Y/N heard the groundskeeper call, seeing the eager newcomers follow him off to the boats, Y/N surely not missing how cold the water felt during her first year, her partner having hit her with some as they moved. Moving from the platform she made her way up to the carriages, getting on an empty room and setting her beg beside her, hoping for some solitude before hearing a person sit next to her, looking over she saw Sirius, Remus and Peter following him to the carriage.

"Where's my oaf of a brother?" She asked, seeing as James wasn't with them. Sirius just groaned in response while Peter pointed off to a different carriage, James had chosen to sit with Lily, not by her own choice, instead of his friends. "Wow, the betrayal." Y/N joked, looking at the very distraught boy beside her.

"We should lock him out of the dorm tonight," Sirius suggested, looking at his other two friends, his body shifting against Y/N before correcting himself, the carriage now moving towards the castle.

"Right, and have him mope outside of it the entire night, as if," Remus replied, shooting the idea down almost as soon as it left Sirius' mouth.

"Also he could just use alohomora." Y/N mentioned, Sirius suddenly remembering that the spell exists.

"Right, that too." Remus agreed, his head nodding at the girl's mention.

"Well, still, he shouldn't just get away with leaving us behind." Sirius exclaimed, not wanting James' betrayal to go down without retaliation.

"He'll just do it again next year." Peter chimed in, the other two murmuring their agreements.

"Great help you lot are." Sirius groaned, his arms crossing over his chest as he now sulked over the loss of his best friend.

The rest of the carriage ride was silent, the occasional word from Peter or Remus, Y/N choosing to just watch the creatures in the forest as they passed, the castle looming overhead as they continued, the new school year and any secrets that might be revealed from it causing an almost uneasy feeling amongst the returning students.

[smolvenger]

Miss Narracott and The Captain Part Six (Cpn. James Nicholls x fem! Reader Mini- Series)

Fandom: War Horse

Word Count: 7K

Chapter Warnings: LOTS of fluff, some angst. Mentions of sex and though parts get steamy, no smut.

Series Summary: It is 1914. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five//Part Six//Part Seven Coming Soon!

A/N: Comments, Reblogs, DMs, and Asks about my work are always appreciated! Y'all ready for a wedding chapter!!! Wahoo!!! *tosses confetti* Also, I know the above gif is of a white woman, which I used because the vibes. But I intend for the Reader or Y/N in my all of fics to be written as neutral in regards to their race. And if I ever mess up and make their physical appearance not neutral, please call me out. Feel free to ask to be tagged in this and/or my other stuff! Thank you!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract

@eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @infinitystoner @12-pm-510

The church bells began to ring at six o clock. That used to be Albert’s job when he was a younger boy. He would run down every Sunday morning, reach up, and pull the bells to peel their beautiful sounds. They were clanging as you walked out to home. They didn’t stop when you arrived home. Their echoes used to make you smile at the picture of little Albert reaching for the tall ropes. Now…not so much. Though you heard they would not ring until the war had finished. Their last echo vanished into the air like a dying butterfly.

You had yet to hear from James. But you could not hold a grudge against him. This was the time he trained for.

The next morning, when you walked down to work, the townspeople were out and excited. It was like a holiday. People were waving flags out of windows. There were stations out there to recruit any able-bodied young man to join. Bands played music with loud trumpets in the square. Children got brooms and marched around in pretend parades about the square. “Shoot the Germans,” you noticed was a popular game among them. Even amidst your shift, it was hard not to notice.

But out the window of the shop for those two days, you saw him. James. You could even hear his voice as the army brought supplies and young men signed up. Any quiet minute you indulged in looking out. And you knew he would spy on you through the window as well from outside. So much unspoken. He would tip his hat at you and smile. And you would smile and nod at him. Then one hour, when no one else was watching you, you would take your hand to your lips and blow a small kiss at him. He would “catch” it. Placing his hand over the left pocket on his chest. Where your glove remained- a love token from you to him. Then you would return to work with a grin.

Though the second day became packed with customers shopping out of panic. You did not look out the window for James as much.

But you knew something happened when you returned home. Walking inside to greet your parents, you saw your mother staring out the windows, blankly. And Father with paper money in his hand, counting them out. But he frowned.

You heard a sob from outside.

Though once you walked out, you saw the horse area was empty except for Albert. He was sitting on the grass, hugging his legs, and crying. You rushed over, kneeling down and touching your brother’s arm.

“Albie…what…what is it? Did something happen?” you asked.

He wiped off his face with his sleeve, but still teary.

“Joey’s sold! Dad sold him off to the war for the rent!” he mourned.

“What! No! He didn’t!” you cried.

“He did, Y/N! He did!!”

You hugged your brother as he cried. Rubbing his back, he shook from the tears. And you found yourself crying as well.

“I can’t believe it…Joey…Poor Joey…” you murmured.

“How’s he gonna fare in the war!? How!” Albert wailed.

“I…I don’t know…oh, Albert…this is a nightmare!”

You looked at the empty fields where Joey once trotted. You would miss him. You would miss his neighing and gallops and “spirited” kicking. And how happy he made Albert.

Though, not long after, you saw a head walking up and going through the gate. And your heart stopped in place- Captain James Nicholls had arrived. Before you could say a word, Albert ran up in a sprint.

“Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not here to return Joey. Not yet- I’m sorry,” James said.

“But why else would you come here, sir!?” Albert cried.

Return Joey? You thought.  So, it was James himself who bought him! Oh, thank goodness! Of all the people in the army Joey could have been purchased by, there was no one better! Yes, there was no one better than Nicholls. He looked over at you, taking off his cap.

“And how are you, Miss Narracott?” he asked with a warm smile.

“I’m better, thank you, sir,” you answered.

Nicholls knocked on the door. Your father opened it and greeted him. Then James took a step inside. You began clutching your skirt as the captain turned to your father, finally.

“Mr. Narracott…I’d like to speak to you in private, please. It’s not about Joey. No…I’d like to speak on something different…”

It felt as if the earth stopped on its axis. Your heart picked up though you stood still.  Mother’s eyes lit up as she turned over.

“Well, if it’s important for him, it’s important for me! I’d like to stay and speak with you too! Let’s just say I learned my lesson from last time!” Mum insisted, crossing her arms.

James smiled at her and nodded.

“Oh, there is no problem at all! Of course, you can, Mrs. Narracott,”

She looked out at you and Albert outside.

“Well, you two scurry along. We’ll call you when we’re done,” she dismissed.

Though there was a little smile as she closed the door. Once it clicked shut, Albert walked forward and pressed an ear to it.

You could feel yourself getting warmer. It was a giddiness from thrill, not from dread this time. You went over to the garden to look after the plants and flowers. As you took your water can, you watched Albert’s face. His eyes became big, and he dropped his jaw as he listened. Then he went over to you.

“Why…Y/N! You and Nicholls are-are-…Do you think he’s…. he’s here to…to…?”

You gave him a smile, a small laugh escaping you from excitement and nerves.

“Albert…I don’t want to keep this a secret from you anymore…” you started.

He put two hands on each of your shoulders.

“Do you love him?” he asked.

You began to well up a few tears as you nodded.

“And he loves me, Albie. He loves me!”

He hugged you again. You heard a small laugh in his voice.

“Why, who else but my sister could get two fellows asking for her hand in a month?” he teased.

 Finally, the door opened and both of you jumped. You even clutched his hand to keep your own from shaking. You wondered if you would burst at once. James walked forward; he kept his cap off.

“Could I please speak to your daughter in private?” asked James.

Your father nodded.

“Oh-of course!” he said.

Your mother took Albert and dragged him inside the house. 

"How long have we known each other, Y/N?"

"Two years," you replied.

"Sometimes it felt like last week you discovered my book."

"I feel the same. And with the war, you have to go there soon to fight,” you continued.

"I do," he said.

      The sun was setting, casting orange and pink across the sky, giving it a glow about the garden. A few tomatoes, carrots, peas, and other vegetables emerged from the storm. There were also your flowers. Summer roses, forget-me-nots, daisies, violets, and crocuses for your beloved rabbits. They grew about the space and filled the light air with their fresh scent. You felt the warmth of the leftover sun with the cool breeze of the coming night. He looked so beautiful by the flowers and glow of the peaceful hour.

"We know I will have to leave soon. And I do not look forward to it. I will miss many things about this place-you most of all. Y/N. Your presence is always there in my memory. My duty calls me over, yet you pull me like a string to you. And if this is a spell done by magic, I wish not to be freed of it. Not free from the beautiful, sweet, wonderful woman from Devon, no."

      There was only the clucking of the chickens in the back. He began to tap his foot; his own fingers were twitching. You clutched your skirt in a fistful, your breath tight in your chest. Though both of you were smiling. A few words. A few words more... you silently urged him.

      You walked out to the back- among the garden, the budding flowers, and plants.

“Y/N, I will tell you. Your feelings for me have not changed, have they?”

“They haven’t. I still love you, James.”

He took your hand. You could feel they were clammy. He began to stutter.

“Uh…Miss Y/N, I…I…I don’t even know what I can say to you…”

He looked up at you. And took a deep breath.

“I don’t even know where to begin with this!”

“Then one thing at a time,” you prodded.

You looked into his eyes and he into yours. It seemed each second was growing. He then glanced down at the ground and then up. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach.

“I have my reasons for saying this. And saying this now. I’m not a wealthy man, but I promised your father you’d never go hungry. And I told your parents that should I die, you would have what fortune I possess. As well as the respect that is due to the wife of a captain…”

“The wife of a captain?” you repeated with a smile.

He relaxed, taking both your hands in his.

“Y/N, would you like to marry me?” he asked.

A small gasp went out of you, and you smiled. His jaw trembling, he added on.

"Your father gave me his permission. And your mother gave us her blessing."

 “Yes…. yes, I will!” you answered, happy tears welling up your eyelids.

You drew him into an embrace, and he hugged you back. Both of you breathed in. Feeling each other’s arms and the breath of each other. He took both your hands and kissed them again in complete reverence. Worship even.

 "I love you; Y/N. Would you like me to be your husband? Would you like to marry me?"

He hugged you again, both of you enjoying the feeling and presence of each other.

"Could I kiss you?" he asked.

"I've wanted to kiss you for ages! Of course!" you said.

He put one hand on your cheek and kissed you. He smelled of the day's sweat, but his lips felt light as a feather. You placed your hands on his arms to deepen it, to make it a kiss between lovers. It was released with a faint, wet click. Perhaps your whole family was watching now from the window. But now, you did not care. You both could not stop smiling.

“Let’s go back…” you suggested.

You returned arm in arm, smiling. Dad let out a small laugh at the sight.

“Well, Nicholls, in just a week you got my horse and my girl!”

Albert’s eyes widened at the point. But he smiled and you laughed.

“You will still have me for a while!” you assured him.

Engagement! You! Engaged! To James of all people.

“But everyone…let’s sit down. There’s one thing we must discuss now that you’ve said yes, dear,” Mum urged.

She let out a deep sigh, folding her hands.

“Should we wait until the time you are off duty, or the war is done for the wedding? Or…”

“Or…” you prodded.

“Or should we marry you off soon as we can?”

It made everything freeze except for the crickets outside. Your mother shrugged.

“That way, should something happen to James, you will be fit to inherit all that’s his as his widow…”

They looked at you. Your heart knew the right answer. The practical answer. The frightening answer. You wanted to have him. To call him yours. Even if it was for only a little time. You and James looked at each other. He offered his hand, and you took it.

“Then…then I don’t think we have time to lose. We’ll marry before he leaves.” You decided.

“I second it,” James agreed.

Your father shook James’s hand. And then your parents embraced him as their son-in-law. And Albert as his brother-in-law. He stayed for a simple supper, then kissed you goodnight, and left.

James and your father told you the next day that the church said were available in a week. And the court announced it would have documents and contracts to solidify the union. And that was that. Enough to plan a modest ceremony. Now there would be nothing legally or under the heavens that would deny you both as a couple.

You asked your work friends if they would be your bridesmaids. They all agreed and congratulated and embraced you. Even Mrs. Snow was delighted and said her congrats and wished you well, with a smile on her face. You promised to invite her to the wedding.

Each time you arrived home, there was much excitement. There were never as many visitors as you had before! It seemed any neighbor and family member in town had to stop by to say congrats. Or to lend a helping hand for decorating and cooking and donations for the ceremony. There was always a knock on the door and someone new for Harold to chase and nip at. Albert cried far less- for the whirlwind of a quick wedding kept him too occupied to mourn Joey.

One day there was a knock on the door and there James appeared with his family. Despite your nerves about impressing them, they were warm and friendly.

“He’s talked and written about you a hundred times. He went to us and said he wanted to marry you. And you’ve had our blessing since,” his mother recalled with a sweet smile.  

It was the second day James was there at your work. Your friends stood in the back, smiling, and enjoying your love by proxy.

“Would you like to walk with me a little today?” he asked.

“Yes, I would,” you agreed, taking his arm.

Now you and James could walk alone for as long as you wanted to discuss everything as you pleased. For now, no one was going to separate an engaged couple. And discuss ideas about your future together.

“We’re going to stay in a small cottage near the headquarters as I train. But when I’m in France...I’m not sure where you could go.  You could stay with your family, as always.”

“Then where will we be when you get back? I doubt my little bedroom is too full of my old dolls and stuffed toys when I was a girl! Hardy fitting for a captain!” you teased.

He had a little laugh at that.

 “I live in Somerset and that is only an hour’s drive away. Would you…would you like to stay there when I return? I will find us a home. Or perhaps…perhaps…would you like to stay with my mother? Even for a while? You can return to your parents whenever you’d like,” he reasoned.

“They’re my family too now, James.”

You took a pause on the cobbled streets of the town and squeezed his hand.

“I’d like to move to Somerset. Stay with your family until we can find a home of our own. If I decide I must return to my parents and brother, I can always do so…” you reasoned.

You were about to be a wife. You wanted to believe in yourself as such. Step into it, scary as it seemed.

Then while discussing things like ribbons and flowers and what food to eat you began to pack your bags. Your heart raced- the Narracott farm was all you knew. It had the hill you and Albert would sled on in the winter. The steps you loved for whoever’s steps were on it you could guess who was coming down. The old fireplace where you’d listen to each other and talk. Oh, and then it wouldn’t be your home! A different place with different people!

But you had to face it. You were not a child anymore. And as loved as it was- you would have a new space. You would always love your family. But you loved James too. And without your family- who were you, even? So much was built around them. Now once you left, you would find out more about who you were. It would be scary. But many people- women especially- faced it now. Getting married and leaving home. Something so common, but so extraordinary. Even though it was Somerset and not the other end of the earth, you would learn.

The two of you passed by the auctioning circle the next day. Another large group had gathered.  This time, a red Irish Hunter horse led by one young man was up for grabs. Both of you slowed to admire the creature prancing in a circle for the bidders. The auctioneer began to boast the benefits of the horse. His head turned towards James. Then a mischievous smile formed in his teeth.

“Why- look at him!” announced the auctioneer from his block. “He’s red and blushing brighter than Captain Nicholls on his wedding night!” he announced teasingly.

The crowd erupted in bawdy laughter and even clapped. James’s cheeks did turn pink, and he dipped his head down, saying nothing. You only laughed and kept a hand over your mouth- both embarrassed and delighted. In all honesty, you thought it was funny.

Though those conversations were for when both of you were alone. Where not even a passing stranger could overhear. Both of you walked by the river. Words only for the babbling waters to hear.

“I know what happens in a bed with a husband and wife but…James…I…uhm…”

“I won’t expect it of you. I won’t demand it of you. You can take your time, my dear. I’ll wait until you say yes. Until you know without doubt it’s what you want…”

Then kissed your hand.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

At church that Sunday, you did have some nerves facing Mr. Lyons, seeing you wrapped around the arm of the Captain. But the landlord only tipped his hat and said congratulations. Miss Corbyn too stifled any harsh words to offer congrats as well. Though her head turned and it seemed that she was talking a lot to other soldiers. Her voice was softer, and she did not speak with a secret venom. And it seemed many of them smiled flirtatiously at her company. Thank goodness!

You had a cousin from Mum’s side in town who was your size. She had a wedding dress to spare. And though it was a touch out of the current style, you liked it.

You wouldn’t believe it when you walked that Friday morning down to the shop, it would be your last day of work. Mary ran up and embraced you.

“I know there wasn’t time for a full party between us-so I made us all lunch together and a bridal party cake!” she announced with a chirrup.

It was a tradition for the bride and bridesmaids to eat lunch and have a cake full of little silver charms inside. As you got to the cake, all of you took your slice and dug with your spoons. As lovely as the vanilla smelled, you had to see what charm landed in your slices! And to not accidentally swallow one! And what a miracle it was- there was a charm in each of your slices.

Alice gasped when she spooned out a heart. Then she reached over to the booklet that explained their meanings.

“That means true love!” she bragged.

Ida uncovered a horseshoe.

“I got the good luck one!” she announced, peering over the booklet.

It was Mary who got out a ring.

“That’s odd- this one is blissful marriage! That should be yours, Y/N!” she said.

Though as you dug through your slice of cake, resisting the urge to eat it, you uncovered an anchor.

“What does it mean, Alice?” you asked.

She got out the booklet and flipped the page.

“That means adventure!” she explained.

“I guess it is an adventure- getting married and leaving home,” you reasoned.

But you uncovered a second charm. A key- a happy home. You hoped your new home would be a happy one. A new one. And even a brief one. But no! The home of happiness. A home shared by you and the man you loved.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The day of the wedding finally arrived. All of you were a running bunch about the house that day. The smells from the kitchen wafted up to your room. Your bridesmaids put on their nicest dresses, as did your mother. Bright colors of purple, yellow, pink, and light blues. Your father and brother were kept out as they fixed your hair as you wanted. Shutting the door as all of you burst into chuckling.  From nerves? Excitement? Very likely both.

Your teacup shook a little in its saucer when your wedding dress was brought out of its trunk and laid flat on the bed. They all flew around you like bees to share your excitement. It was Alice who had the honor of picking out your flowers to make a bouquet. All of them set their hats- large brimmed and decorated with flowers- on your bed. Your last day to sleep in it as a single woman. Your last day in your childhood home.

 You put on the gown with their help. It was a shade of white that fits you, and it was frothy and soft. A confectionary of lace.  It even had little white flowers sewn as decorations. For a final touch, you added long, white gloves.  You could hardly believe the reflection in the mirror. You saw lace on your sleeves. Then Mary secured the veil over your head. A headpiece with the long veil itself draping down behind your head to where it touched the skirt of the gown. You seemed ethereal- a being not of this world. Perhaps an angel or a fairy or a benign ghost even.

“Oh- how lovely you look, Y/N!” Ida sighed.

Your mother stood behind you, looking at the reflection too.

“I agree! There’s my girl…all grown up and ready…” she cooed as you both looked in the mirror.

You turned around and then her eyes softened.

“Be sure to talk to Albert, today. Yes, it’s your day, but have a heart for him- no horse and no sister. It’s a big change for him.”

“I will…Mum…but I…I can’t blame him. I will miss you! All of you!” you said, turning to your friends.

“I’ll miss you too, girl. But I thank the heavens you refused Lyons!” she said.

You burst into laughter. To think if you said yes by now, this wedding would be to that odious man! Then it would be nowhere near as happy!

 “James is a wonderful man. He’ll treat you well. You made the right choice…and remember. You’re not out of town yet. And when you’re over there… we’re only the next town away,” she consoled.

You hugged them tightly.

Then you walked down the steps. Down on the kitchen table were Father and Albert. Dressed up as they could be in their nicest suits. Though you saw Albert’s eyes remained puffy. They both stood up and their eyes widened at the sight of you in your dress.

 You went over to your brother. You took his hand.

“Albie. You don’t hate me, do you? Leaving you?” you questioned.

He shook his head.

“No, I couldn’t! It’s not that I want you to be happy, I do!” he said.

“And you don’t begrudge James about me or Joey?” you asked.

“No! It’s just…it will be quiet without you…” he sighed.

You wrapped him into a hug.

“I’ll write to you every week I can. I’m only a letter away…”

You pulled out from the hug, an idea making you smile.

“Albie…you do realize that I’m about to marry Joey’s temporary owner!” you reasoned.

He perked up.

“You have an excuse to visit the army base now. You can see both of us- Joey and me! You can still see him for a week after this!” you said.

He then put a hand on your shoulder.

“Then I’ll see him- but I’d go over to town if it meant just seeing my old sister!”

You hugged him again. Once you released, he began to grin.

“What’s that metaphor you like- ‘shiny as a smile at a wedding?’ Do you think we’ll all be shiny today?”

“You already are, Y/N,” he said.

Then your father adjusted your veil to be over your face as you fixed the flowers in his breast pocket. Alice handed you the bouquet. You heard the clock chime the time. Three-thirty in the afternoon. Only half an hour until the ceremony began. And outside, there you heard the rumble of a motorcar, driven by a young lieutenant to deliver you to church.

“Are you ready, my girl?” father asked.

“Ready as I can be,” you answered.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The birdsong was like flutes today outside. What had you for an orchestra of the finest musicians? They were there to sing. The hour of the ceremony began. Your heart raced and your bridesmaids all smiled at you. Your father squeezed your hand. Outside, the sun was bright and puffy clouds, white and frothy as your dress, glided across the blue sky.

The church was humbly decorated. You knew that from the hours you spent helping and planning and from your peeks between the doors. There was not much you could afford for a quick wedding. But many people piled in a few coins here and there and offered to decorate. It was filled with beautiful wildflowers among the windows. The candles stood tall. And there were a few spare ribbons for bows for the front pews. It was not grand, but pretty. Besides, you figured it was more important to marry the right man than have a lavish dress and ceremony.

Everyone stood in a line outside the church doors. Mary adjusted your veil. You clutched your bouquet. It had roses, blue violets, daisies, and forget me nots. Plucked out from your childhood home and now there had to be flowers regrown in your new homes. Your bridesmaids all put their tussie mussies, their smaller flower bouquets, in hand.

      "I don't know if I'm going to faint or become sick," you confessed.

Ida turned to you with a smile. She touched your arm, rubbing it in comfort.

"Oh, Y/N, you will be fine!" she consoled.

"He'll think this dress and veil are old-fashioned!" you fretted.

"No- he'll be so lovestruck that he will be the one fainting at the sight of you! And who cares if it's old-fashioned or not- it's a lovely dress! And-oh!-you almost dropped one flower from your own bouquet!"

With a little laugh, you thanked her. Ida got down and picked up the forget-me-not.

"Here. Do you remember what it's supposed to represent?" she asked.

"Is it true love?" you asked.

She smiled at you.

"Yes- I think you found your true love, Y/N. Not many people do. Yes, you're nervous- but that's normal to be!" she said.

"I don't want to do anything wrong!" you confessed, your shoulders rising to your ears.

"If James tripped and fell on his face before the altar, would you not want to marry him?" she asked.

"No! I'd...I'd laugh, of course. Then I'd pick him up!" you said.

Both of you laughed lightly to break the tension.

"So, why shouldn't he do the same for you?"

"You're...you're right. And I guess it's just nerves."

"Just take some breaths and enjoy it, Y/N. You'll miss it when it's over!"

 As your mother began to head in, she clutched your hand.

      Their gossip quieted as the organ began to play out some more cheerful music. Though their voices dimmed to whispers, their eyes kept returning to the doors. The flower girls and ring bearers were the niece and nephew of James. They waddled across, to their place. The pews cooed as they walked. Then it struck you- they were about to be your niece and nephew in an hour!

 The two bridesmaids-Ida and Mary- and your maid of honor-Alice, began to filter through. They each had an officer of their own to drape across. They walked down, clutching their tussie-mussies and smiling. They walked to the front. The guests had quit their own whispering. Perhaps the occasional giggle or something you heard that was a cough.

The song changed. The song of the bride’s entrance.

 But as you walked in, you saw all of them- smiling. Smiling at you. Eyes bright. True, genuine smiles as you gazed at them. You heard the shuffle of feet. The creaking of pews as each person in the church stood up right before you entered. Taking in a deep breath, you walked into the sanctuary on your father’s arm.

You glanced at the guests. Everyone had hats on to protect them from how the harsh summer sun would creep into the church. Ladies wore light dresses in bright colors and men in sharp suits. Many people were given pins of flowers to attach to the front of their clothes. Your own mother and brother sat at the front on one side. James’s parents and siblings sat on the other side. James stood at the altar and next to him was Stewart as the best man. Many of the guests were other officers in their pea-green uniforms. They craned their necks to watch you. You even heard some whispering among the guests with an admirable puff of air- "She looks so pretty!"

Then you looked up at James. Dressed in his uniform. Stewart was beside him as his best man.

Though you sweated beneath your wedding dress, you forgot the heat with the cool air of the church. And you chilled completely once you truly looked James in the eye.  He glowed. His eyes blinked a couple of times, and he placed his hands in front of him. But he did not mask his own joy for the sake of propriety on his face. James stood even taller. He blushed and even puffed out his chest slightly with every step you arrived closer to him. He only smiled wider with every step closer to him that you took.

A tenderness filled your heart. Yes, as simple as this ceremony was, the church was filled with those who loved and would do their best to support you. This moment was something you could only imagine would happen two years ago. Something you always doubted would ever happen was your reality. Now it was. You were about to be married to a man you loved. You dreamed of romance and now you found it. It finally happened.

   Every eye was on you. You felt that they were not judging you, looking for a mistake, a flaw. A wrong way to walk or a button was undone on your dress. No- they were enjoying you, sharing your happiness. The nerves became excitement and elation inside you. Arriving at the altar, your father then extended his arm. James extended his.

From Dad to James. Two men. Not that James saw you as his property- oh no. He saw you as the woman he wanted as his life partner. A love between equals, not stretches of power. You felt childhood melt from you as you reached forward. But it was this was no death- it was a beginning, a rebirth. A phase of your life had ended, and a new phase was beginning. You wrapped an arm around his- white on green. Then both of you kneeled on two elaborate cushions before the altar. Then you looked up at him and he down at you.

"You look beautiful, my dear," he whispered to you.

"Thank you,” you whispered back.

      You then let your father go. You knew the time would have to come. You didn't want to spend all your life on the farm until your hair was white and your bones turned brittle. And now here it was. You just had to let him go.

He smiled at you. Then he nodded at James. It seemed as if the world slipped away. You held onto him with both hands- he was warm and steady and inviting. It felt as if there were not your whole family and guests staring at your every move. It was only you two. The rector then stepped forward. He was an old man with white hair, a thin white beard, and glasses with bright green eyes. Though he was in his seventies, he spoke with a clear voice and much vivacity.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness this man and woman join together in holy matrimony."

   Then James turned to you. He took your hand in his. And he said the oath.

 "I, James Nicholls, I take you to be my wife, From this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, forsaking all others 'til death do us part. In the presence of God do I make this vow."

Yes...until only death would you part. And on the order of the King, he had to go. And perhaps he would...he would...

No, you could not think of that now. You could not yet mourn him. Here he was- alive. And however long you had to be married to him, you would enjoy it.

“I, Y/N Narracott, take you to be my husband, from this day forward…” you vowed.

James' little nephew brought the rings forth to his uncle. You removed your glove. With a gentle smile, James slipped the ring around your finger. It was a plain bronze band. Both of yours were hand-me-downs. But it fits you like it was crafted for your finger. You both went to the table with the marriage certificate on it near the altar. James signed it with a gentle touch and gave you the pen. You leaned down and signed your name. Your new name.

"Y/N Narracott Nicholls.”

You both returned to the altar for the last prayers and rites. James took your hand, and you wrapped it around his arm the whole time. You never wanted to let go of him. He beamed at you. Then the final “amen” rang. The rector gestured to you both to stand and turn to the congregation.

"With the power invested in me by the law and the Church of England, I now pronounce you man and wife."

 The guests all stood up clapping. After some time and after your photographs were taken, they rushed outside. You heard Albert whistle and James laughed at the sound. As you walked out, you saw a whole line of officers of the army standing outside. You paused as you were on the threshold as they stood. Stewart rushed to his place there to complete the missing piece.

"Stand hup!" he yelled.

The men got their swords from their hilts and lifted them up to make an arch over your heads. James gave a small nod of thanks to his men, and you both walked out. Smiling brightly as they regarded you both with as much importance as their own calvary. The guests threw flower petals like summer snow.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The guests followed you to the small reception and celebration at the Narracott farm. The congrats multiplied in the thousands. You often abandoned your plate of food to talk. So much embracing and handshaking you thought it would fall off. And though you smiled, it was natural. There were much dancing and happy faces. A violin picked up a tune. You danced with him- your husband, James. He moved as sweetly as he did at socials. He held you a little closer. Moving just as one-partners of a dream.

Then as you both sat down at your table, Major Stewart turned over to talk to you.

      "Well, Jim boy. I had a feeling you'd be the first among us two to get married. And of course, I was right. Joey should have been your best man instead! The horse practically was your matchmaker!"

James let out a little laugh. You went over and held his hand as it lay on the table.

"He was not! We met when she found my drawings!" he corrected.

"Hmm, if I recall correctly- she saw the one of Topthorn. Ah well- then he was the matchmaker and should have been your best man! He’d look handsome in a suit, wouldn’t he? If you can stand the risk of horse droppings in the church!" Stewart teased.

You smiled at the silly picture and thanked him for his involvement. Once he left, James then leaned down and kissed you. There was a small holler from the crowd at the display of intimacy. But it was your wedding day! And you were on a farm! Behavior could loosen a little. Your mother brought out then the cake and there was enough for everyone to have a little slice.

Albert went up to the table and shook his hand.

“Much congrats sir! Only- you’re no sir anymore-You’re about my brother now!” Albert said.

“Yes, I am,” James replied.

Albert’s hands dropped into fists at his side.

“Please let me in the army! If Joey’s going, I’m going too!”

“I told you before- No. You’re too young, Albert. And now I can’t let my own brother-in-law get into trouble, can I?”

James turned to you.

“I don’t think it would make the Missus very happy if I let you run out and get shot!”

“No, I wouldn’t!” you agreed, keeping your hand again intertwined with his.

 Albert made himself stand taller. Now that the authority figure was family.

“Then James- you better be good to Y/N!”

“Of course, I will!”

“If you ever sleep with some woman who’s not my sister and make her cry, I swear I’ll shoot you with father’s gun myself!”

“Albie!” you gasped.

Your eyes went wide, and your jaw lowered. Such talk on the wedding day to James’ face! And in your presence! But James only smiled and nodded with a little laugh.

“Well then! Defending her honor and protecting her? You already have a soldier’s spirit, Albert! But I promise I will do everything I can for your sister’s happiness. And you have my permission to take action to avenge her…if she does not shoot me first.” He turned to you.

You laughed a little. As Albert went away, James turned to you. He then took your hand. He spoke lowly.

“Y/N, I will never do anything I know would hurt you. I swear it…”

“Thank you…I…I know you’re a good man. I trust you. And I swear, I’ll be a good wife to you, James, I will…” you whispered only for him.

“You already are,” he said with a kiss on your forehead.

The guests said goodbye as the sun dipped down. The pink sunset became the early evening. Many threw leftover flower petals and cheered as James led you into the motorcar. You drove off, your farm vanishing over a hill. You stopped at a cottage outside of town.

“Here…this will be our home for the moment,” James announced.

Until you leave, you thought sadly. But no-no- you could not afford to mourn him. He was here, standing before you. He opened his hand. You accepted it.

“It’s bad luck for the bride to trip when she enters!” he prodded.

Squealing despite yourself, he scooped you in his arms and carried you over the threshold. It was a lovely, comfortable cottage. Nice and wooden with modest furnishings. It had white wallpaper with a floral pattern all over. He set you on your feet.

“How are you feeling, darling?” you asked him.

“If I am honest, tired,” he confessed.

“Goodness! Now it’s done!” you agreed.

Both of you laughed out loud about it. As it became dark, you settled to relax in the sitting room. The luggage already arrived there. You chatted over everything that happened today. Who arrived, what each guest said, what went right and wrong. He even brought out a small decanter of whiskey for the two of you. You noted his hands shook a little as he poured out a little for each of you.  

He brought a special device- a phonograph. Complete with music to play. As the sun set, you both were listening to a song. No, it was not just a song- it was music. By some fellow named Debussy from France. And it was music that sounded like a dream. As James relaxed on the couch you laid your head on his chest and he wrapped one of his large, soft hands around you. The music swelled.

“Today was wonderful. I love you, my husband.” You spoke. Relishing the word.

“I love you too.”

You both kissed again as the phonograph’s music continued. You embraced him and did not let go. Then he ended the kiss and looked down at you. But your body flooded. How warm he felt and handsome he looked. You wanted more. You wanted him. In the ultimate way you could have him. His eyes were at half-mast and his voice was husky.

“Y/N…I…I won’t push you…I’ll sleep on this couch if you want…”

Feeling the surge now tenfold, you took his hand and led him to your shared bedroom.

“James…yes.”

You felt his fingers on your back as he undid each button of your dress. Removing each last layer. And you did not cover or hide any part of yourself. You undid each button of his uniform and did not shy from that bed. Neither of you did. You knew James was a man of battles and blood. But you discovered in his body the pleasure and gentleness a man could give a woman. And for both of you, it was a perfect night.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The next morning, you awoke. Both of you knew he had duties to run the army’s recruiting and tend the items bought and sold for war.  You turned over and saw James was awakening. You gave him a kiss on the cheek and with a moan, he opened his eyes.

“Good morning, Mrs. Nicholls.” He greeted.

“Good morning, Mr. Nicholls,” you replied.

You had the honor of fixing his tie and making sure his buttons were right for work. He helped put on your own clothes- helping you button your shoes and step into your petticoat. He helped adjust your corset to how you liked it.

“Here- I will tie a bow in the back, does that sound nice?” he asked.

“Yes, it does- like your signature,” you replied.

It was a pleasant morning- cool for now, though the afternoon would heat up. And you enjoyed the food stored there- eggs, toast with jam and butter, and sausage. All compliments of the cottage owners.  

“If you need anything of me, I’ll be downtown. It’s not a long walk there. I’ll see you at lunch and when the day is done, my dear,” he said.

Before he had to leave, you gave him another kiss as a goodbye. Then he smiled and went out the door.

A quiet life. A domestic life. A peaceful life. No matter how brief it had to be, you had to savor it. But sitting on that couch, feeling the ghost of his weight, the worries rush over you. Then hot tears stung your eyes. You felt as if a corkscrew twisted your chest. You let yourself grieve. Grieve how short this time with him had to be. Grieve the worst that could happen. Grieve that this was short, and he had to go away to another country. Grieve that he might die for his. Grieve the husband and man you loved that wasn’t yet dead.

[crowwriting]

Pleaseee write a Tristan fic where she is James’s sister coming to visit?? Xx

"Expectations" Tristan Farnon x Fem!Reader.

Warnings: None! Just fluff.

Word count: 2860

A/N: I am so SO sorry this took forever, I had a family member pass away recently, and just a lotta similar drama, so I haven't been able to make myself write lately. I was thinking a lot about Tristan from the books when I read this. I hope you enjoy, many apologies, I hope to get my next fic out promptly.

James Herriot, in all his infinite wisdom as your older brother, decided that you simply HAD to visit Darrowby. His two week stint back in Glasgow had come and went so quickly that you were most certain that he was getting home sick. You wouldn’t mention it though or your lovely, maybe slightly overbearing mother would never let him leave. 

You had agreed, of course, the flat you had grown up in had begun to feel stifling since James had left. The extra doting had really put a wrench in your new found freedom as an adult. 

James loved to point out that you could leave at any time, of course you didn’t believe him. Not now, when all you could do to keep the flat was work: same as your father. It was your little flat in Glasgow or the streets the way you saw it. Unless you decided to hop on a boat and disappear. Which had been a pleasant daydream you entertained yourself with. 

It was in fact a funny sensation as you stepped off the train at Darrowby station. The first thing that struck you was how quiet it was. The birds sang pleasantly, and a cool breeze blew calmingly against your cheeks. 

This was of course interrupted by the loud honking, and a cloud of dirt being blown in your face. 

‘Don’t worry Jim, Siegfried only forgot about you until,’ The boy behind the wheel of a well worn little car checked his wrist watch. ‘Fifteen minutes ago.’ 

James huffed. ‘Tristan! What are you doing driving my car!’ 

‘Oh calm down it’s not your car.’

‘Yes. It is.’ your brother was making those annoyed, slightly crazed eyes he was so practiced at. 

‘Just because my brother lets you use it doesn’t mean it’s yours.’ 

Tristan. Your brothers. . . best mate. Had certainly lived up to his name quite promptly too. 

‘By the way, did you know your break’s out? Barely made it down that last hill alive.’ Tristan leaned out the window, a roguish smile on his decidedly youthful face. 

You waved, giving him a smile. 

Tristan’s eyes went wide, ‘Who’re you?’ he directed the question to James.

‘My sister, Y/N.’ 

Tristan beamed, his head turning almost cartoonishly back to you; his hand flying out of the window to offer a shake. ‘So glad you came ‘round, I’m Tristan.’ 

‘Pleasure to meet you.’ You shook his hand, having to bend slightly at the knee to meet it. 

‘Hop in then. Gotta stop by Old Harris’ place.’ 

‘What did you say was wrong with the calf?’ James asked.

‘Broke it’s leg. Yeah.’ Tristan explained as you rounded the old stone building to look for the barn. 

‘And why exactly did we have to come out here right away. I’ve literally just got back.’ 

‘Oh you know Siegfried. 

‘Why aren’t you helping again,’ you leaned towards Tristan as you watched James’ operate. 

‘Siegfried doesn’t trust me,’ he nodded. His arms were crossed, and he was watching rather intently. 

‘Why?’ 

Tristan looked at you like he had just realized you had never met his brother before. ‘Oh he’s a lunatic.’ 

 He laughed, a broad infectious laugh you couldn’t help but join in. 

Skeldale house was undoubtedly one of your favorite places you had seen. Certainly the expansive scenery was lovely and you thought you could probably never get enough of it, this place took your breath away. You could hardly believe your brother had been living in such a nice home, so open and breathable. You were starting to resent him for hogging it all. 

‘Tristan!’ a sudden voice boomed just as you were hanging up your jacket. 

‘Aargh!’ Tristan groaned, dumping his jacket on the sofa with a little more force than strictly necessary. 

Through the main hall came who you quickly realized was Siegfried, holding a paper, and looking ready for a lecture.

‘What is it now? Did I lose the chloroform? Burn down the chicken coop? Botch a surgery you wouldn’t let me touch?’ 

‘What? No. No. I just wanted to give you this. From the bit you did last week.’ He handed his younger brother an envelope. 

Tristan’s eyes widened as Siegfried seemed to realize you were there. 

‘Hello, uh. Who is this?’ he asked James. 

‘Y.N Herriot. Nice to meet you.’ You interrupted before James could speak. 

‘How wonderful,’ he held out his hand. ‘Siegfried. Siegfried Farnon. What an absolute pleasure to meet you. Your brother has told us absolutely nothing about you.’ He smiled, and you could suddenly see the resemblance between him and Tristan. You chuckled and shook his hand. 

‘Now. I have a surgery to run. Tristan, if you wouldn’t mind showing the lady to her room.’ Siegfried waved absently at his little brother, and disappeared behind the shut curtain of the surgery room. 

The Drover’s Arms was a rather dark little pub right near Skeldale, really a comfortable homie place if not a little old fashioned. 

With a pleasant warmth you Tristan and James settled on a table near the window which let very little light through. Your drinks ordered and spirits high you settled in for a good long evening. It didn’t take long for an easy rhythm in your conversation, James catching you up on everything he had failed to mention back home, while you supplied Tristan with as many embarrassing stories of your dear brother as possible. You ran short fairly quickly, but it was satisfying to see how delighted it made him; and how embarrassed it made James. 

The car ride to the Alderson’s didn’t help to settle your headache, getting jostled around in the back seat of that old car was not the most pleasant after one too many bears, but the mood was light and James promised that there was no better way to see the sights than going on call with him. Tristan had accompanied you which pleased you. He was so much easier going than you were used to. A fondness was quickly growing between the two of you. 

‘Helen?’ James called when you arrived. 

Tristan was grabbing his own bag of instruments when he bellowed ‘Ms. Alderson!’ 

This seemed to work because a few moments later a woman appeared in quick fashion. 

‘Rowdy bunch you are. Keep it down won’t you?’ She beamed. 

You didn’t miss the blush that painted James’ cheek.

‘Who’s this?’ Helen held her hand out to you. 

‘Y/N Herriott.’ 

‘No wonder, you’re his sister. Think he mentioned you once or twice.’

You turned your brow towards your brother whose blush deepened. 

‘You’ve got a foal right?’ Tristan piped in. 

Helen nodded. ‘Right this way. Think he got into something he shouldn’t.’ 

James hopped to catch up to Helen, while Tristan and yourself fell into step behind them, exchanging a look as you silently put your heads together to make a plan. 

There was certainly nothing subtle about James’ fondness towards Helen, the way he stood nearer, the little glances he’d shoot as soon as she looked away. They stood in the middle of the barn looking over the foal, you and Tristan stood against a stack of hay. Far enough to whisper without being detected. 

‘Not very subtle is he?’ Tristan leaned in. 

‘Never has been.’ You chuckle. ‘Are you planning something?’ 

Tristan shrugged. ‘Maybe if I had a bit of backup I could be convinced.’ 

Turning up your nose you took a few dramatic moments to play at weighing your options. You nodded, offering a hand for him to shake. ‘Partners?’ 

It wouldn’t be until the next day when James Tristan and yourself came to a stop in Darrowby square. You had taken a day to visit the horse track. James had said that racing had grown on him since he had met Siegfried, though the horse enthusiast himself could not join you. 

Tristan had stepped out of the passenger seat, stretched, then immediately went to grab you by the arm; pointing excitedly across the street to a flash of fine brown hair and a green coat. 

‘Helen!’ He hissed excitedly, and took off with you in tow, jogging towards his target. 

She was talking with a pair of older ladies when you caught up with her. 

‘Helen! How are you? What’s this?’ He shook her hand. 

You nudged him, pointing up to the banner above the door reading 

“Darrowby Music Society.” 

‘Just what we were looking for I’d say. Huh Tris?’ You piped up. 

Tristan gasped proudly at you, giving a playful wink of encouragement, and that was when James appeared, looking a little frazzled and rather confused. 

‘Tristan what the hell?’ He came to a stop, and Tristan pulled him up, patting his back companionably. 

‘Excellent for you to join us old boy. We were just talking about finding some good music weren’t we?’ 

At this point Helen was rather bemused but seemed entertained enough by the scene unfolding before her. Her companions had long since gone inside and the scraping of instruments had begun to seep into the street. 

‘Right well we’ll miss it if we don’t go in so-’ Helen gestured at the door. 

‘Of course, of course. Let’s,’ Tristan and yourself pushed James through the door, and nearly into poor Helen Alderson. 

As quickly and quietly you took your seats, Helen and James at the front, while you and Tristan slinked off towards the back, to find a seat with a good view of the couple. 

Tristan leaned towards you as the band leader attempted to speak loudly enough for the whole room, which was admittedly on the small side. 

‘He can’t mess this up can he?’ Tristan whispered. 

‘We’ll see. He doesn’t much like to do things for himself,’ you shrugged.

The concert was over before you new it, and James had made little advancement in his relationship with Helen, offering only a ‘farewell’ and ‘jolly good day’ with his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

‘That turned out. . . less than ideal.’ Tristan sighed. 

You shrugged, almost smiling, ‘progress is progress I’d suppose. Got more comfortable after that second movement. Got a decent laugh too, wouldn’t you think?’ 

Scheming your brothers love life turned out more difficult than you had suspected. You and Tristan put your heads together often enough, but James’ almost self destructive devotion to his vocation made your planning very difficult. Still you and Tristan shuffled along, scheming as you might, with no thoughts of home. 

It must have been two weeks into your stay, but admittedly you had been too distracted to notice, when the Daffodil ball was announced. With a great impact Mrs. Bromptom had thrust herself upon Skeldale and thrown Siegfried into something of a mood. Though this was fascinating to watch, Tristan and yourself had been overjoyed with the opportunity for your brother to just take one very easy chance and ask Helen to join him. 

You had been certain he’d take the bait, and you had been proven correct, but how correct you weren’t sure. 

There was a general buzz about the place as James rushed his last few patients, you were sitting with Helen, rather companionably. Beginning to approve of his choice better with every moment. 

‘Nearly done,’ He had announced from the operating room as he ushered a dog inside. 

‘Where’s Tristan then?’ Helen asked as Mrs. Hall handed her a cup of tea. 

You opened your mouth to say but Mrs. Hall had beat you to it,

‘He’s found himself a date. Girl with a pig.’ Mrs. Hall chuckled, nestling herself comfortably on the couch next to you. 

‘Siegfried’s going with Ms. Brompton then?’ She asked 

‘Yes, confirmed it this morning.’ You answered.

Mrs. Hall hummed vaguely and sipped her tea. 

Maybe it was half an hour again before you actually departed, feeling giddy with the opportunity you had thrust upon your brother, maybe it would actually work this time. 

The dance hall was lively, and as crowded as it could be. The band played a peppy tune and smelled of cigarettes and perfume. It was almost suffocating, but as the door propped open and the air began to clear you could properly enjoy yourself. 

You were standing by the concessions table when Tristan practically ran into you, grabbing your shoulders and turning you towards the dance floor. 

‘There, there d’you see?’ he half whispered half yelled. 

You almost couldn’t see through the sea of bodies, only a flash of your brother's best sports coat, and Helen’s Scarlet dress. She looked like she knew what she was doing, but James tripped as he sped by. 

Tristan was patting your arm in excitement practically jumping up and down.

‘I’m so proud I could kiss you!’ he yipped. 

Your eyes went wide and he beamed. You nodded in permission and he pressed his warm lips to your cheek, excitedly exclaiming.

‘I think I’ve finally got something right for a change.’ 

You smiled back, grabbing his arm and pulling him onto the floor, where you took a celebratory dance.

The night had put you in a dream state, nothing felt quite real, in a deliriously pleasant sort of way. Tristan and yourself seemed to fill into your “roles” as simply and unexplained as possible. You spent all your time together, but that ticking clock of your time here started to ring loud. 

The night was in equal measure very successful and a dismal failure for your brother; but it was only part way through the day when he seemed jontier, nearly giddy. 

‘Now old boy, what’s gotten into you?’ Tristan asked, as he settled himself atop James’ desk. The surgery had just been evacuated, and James was cleaning up, humming. 

‘I think, and I don't know. But I THINK Helen just kissed me.’ 

Tristan jumped up, grabbing his friends shoulders. ‘Really? You’re absolutely positively sure that Helen Alderson kissed you?’ 

‘Yes.’ James chuckled. 

A tap at the door interrupted them, when you poked your head inside, ‘Tris, Siegfried’s been-’

Tristan pulled you inside, 

‘Well go on then tell her.’ He positioned you across the table from James.

‘Helen-’

‘Kissed him!’ Tristan yipped, startling you. ‘Sorry sorry, it just took him SO long,’ 

‘Ms. Herriott,’ Siegfried piped up from the hall. 

You swung open the door taking the letter he held out to you. 

It was a note from your parents. A month in Darrowby hadn't been your plan, necessarily, but there wasn’t ever an actual plan. It started with the usual pleasantries and how they missed you and hoped you were doing well, then with deft complaints about your time away.

You felt a sinking feeling. You dropped your hands to your sides huffing in anger. 

‘How about some celebratory lunch?’ Tristan pulled James along, arms interlocked. 

The train station was nearly crowded, you could hear Siegfried loudly talking from the telephone booth, and all your baggage was sitting next to you under the bench. Tristan was pacing around his hands in his pockets.

You had begun to chew the inside of your cheek. It had been three wonderful days. Those days had made you realize you didn’t want to leave. Not now, or ever. You had been sucked in.

The train whistle prompted you to stand, and Tristan was at your side, helping you with your bags. 

‘Are you alright?’ Tristan tilted his head..

‘What’s that? Yes, I suppose.’ You shrugged.

Tristan furrowed his brow. ‘You don’t look it.’

You sighed, and rubbed your temple. ‘I just. . . don’t want to go back. I know I should, and my parents are expecting me, but I can’t see the point in it. I think I  can finally breath here.’ You sighed.

Tristan’s jaw was loose, his head listing ever so slightly to the side, like he’d lost the ability to understand you. 

‘Dear god, we’ve got room. Close your bloody mouth Tristan, you look like a dead fish.’ 

You turned with surprise to Siegfried. ‘What’s that?’ 

‘We’ve got plenty of room at Skeldale, stay with us.’ Siegfried shrugged like it was the simplest thing.

‘Oh yes, please do.’ Mrs. Hall concurred 

‘But- my train,’ you gestured. 

‘For heaven sake, go home, get your things and we’ll have a feast when you get back!’ said Mrs. Hall. 

Tristan had picked up your bags, excitedly as the train whistle began to blow again. 

‘Come on then.’ He urged you. He looked as giddy as a child, like he was already anticipating your return. 

James opened the cabin door and your things were placed inside, Tristan urged you in, and the door shut. You turned around, urgently opening the compartment window, you leaned out. 

Tristan’s eyes met yours and you smiled, leaning out and kissing him as the last whistle blew. You were practically pulled away as the train began to move, and you waved until you could no longer seem then. 

There was a cool summer smell of grass, and cows. You sat down with a sigh, closing the window, and picked up your bag. Shuffling around in it for a moment before pulling out a pad of paper and pen, when you settled comfortably and started a list of things to pack.

[dramaticvhs]

Hey! Hoping you could recommend any smut fics for me where it’s Stiles Stilinski x The Hales. It could be just a couple of the Hales, all the male Hales, or all the Hales. As long as there’s more than one hale.

hi! I don't remember getting this ask so I have no idea how long it's been sitting in my inbox. I'm terribly sorry.

I don't know a lot of fics (unfortunately, because I love them) but here are a few I do have bookmarked! :) Also unfortunately, I don't seem to have many Stiles x male Hale's that aren't just Derek and Peter.

if anyone has more please feel free to comment/reblog with fics, or send me an ask! I love finding new fics (:

as always remember to read tags !!

New Experiences by EmeraldTrident and mikkeltwink (Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski/Peter Hale)

Stiles Stilinski heads to a remote cabin in the woods for a one night stand with an older guy he met online. When he arrives, Stiles discovers the man brought a friend to join in on the fun. Stiles doesn't have a single complaint.

Live & Thrive by callunavulgari (Derek Hale/Laura Hale/Stiles Stilinski)

“Now, for your first assignment of the week, I would like you to tell me,” Laura Hale tells them, casting her eyes relentlessly around the room. Searching, meeting each of her student’s gazes, until those dark intelligent eyes finally come to rest on Stiles. “What would drive you to kill?” Stiles Stilinski, sixteen years old and new to the Future Agents in Training program, falls in love.

A Night of Morally-Questionable Decision Making by marguerite_26 (Cora Hale/Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski)

"He's perfect, Derek," Cora says, like she's asking permission. Her breath is hot against the back of Stiles' neck while her fingers toy with his belt buckle. Stiles squirms in her hold, confused and self-conscious. They're still in the apartment doorway, talking to her brother. He doesn't have a lot of experience, but he's pretty sure this isn't normal hookup procedure.

Filling the Void Within Me By demonkatgurl17 (Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski/Peter Hale)

Derek backed Stiles up against one of the steel girders in the abandoned station, stopping mere inches away from him. Stiles’s eyes were trained on the floor, staring at anything else but the warm body in front of him, nearly pressed against him. He didn’t know why he was here, what had driven him here, to Derek of all people. He was sure that if there was a shred of sanity coursing through him right now, then he would have never have left the relative safety of his room.

Virgin Territory by jujukittychick (Derek Hale/Laura Hale/Stiles Stilinski)

Stiles has a photo shoot for Hale’s Belles BDSM magazine where he’ll be subbing for Laura while Derek photographs. Things go quickly off script as the twins find themselves attracted to the cutie, and Stiles is completely flustered by the attention from the two smoking hot siblings

here's these as well that have several pairings:

Knotfest by Triangulum

"Remember," Peter says loudly to the audience, "that very few people come from penetration alone, so paying attention to your partner is key." Peter strokes Stiles, loving how it makes the boy tighten around his knot. Peter rolls his hips, nudging the boy's prostate and making him whimper. "Peter, I'm close," Stiles gasps. "Mmm, be a good boy and come for me," Peter growls in Stiles' ear. OR All year, Peter and Talia work to set up Knotfest, a three-day festival devoted completely to knotting. There are vendors, demonstrations, even a group play area. And finally, the time is here.

The Job Interview by Inell

Stiles is attending the third interview for the job he’s applied for at Hale Enterprise LTD. He has no idea that the third round of interviewing is going to require him to be the center of a Hale pack gangbang.

[the-badger-mole]

AU Bot Plots: Aliens Part 2

I am fairly certain I've mentioned this idea before, but I can't find it (because Tumblr's archiving feature is trash). Also, I don't think it was a very fleshed out overview, so I'll do that here. Enjoy!

This fic is one of my more self-indulgent ideas (not quite at the level of self-indulgence as my CaptainMe OUAT fic, but almost). This story takes place in an alternate universe where we have figured out space travel already. The aliens are humans from our planet who are on an exploratory mission. They have a similar rule to Star Trek's Prime Directive, and just as in Star Trek, that rule is often broken. This time it's broken by a young boy on board.

The mission that this ship is on is years long because of the distances they have to cover, so the scientists and crew on board are also travelling with their families (like military families stationed abroad). This kid (let's call him Jamie, age 11) is the middle sibling of 5. He has two older sisters (Allora 23 and Daysia 16) and two younger siblings (Makayla and Brian both 2). They have been on the ship with their parents for years, (the youngest two were born on the ship). Their mother, Octavia, is an astronomer and their father, Jamal, is an engineer. Jamie is eager to follow in his parents' footsteps and work for the space program. His eagerness often gets him in trouble.

Jamie knew he wasn't supposed to mess with the transporter, but he couldn't help himself this time. Planets with life were exceedingly rare, and to find a planet that not only had life, but had sentient, technologically advanced (relatively) life was unheard of. Finding this planet had caused a stir throughout the ship and back on Earth (they can communicate with Earth, but messages take a few days to get there). There were talks of sending a small team of explorers covertly to the surface, after confirming that the air was, in fact, compatible with their lungs. Jamie would never have been allowed to go, but he thought this might be his only chance to ever get up close to a planet like this. So one day, while his parents are busy, and his older sisters are occupied, Jamie sneaks into the transporter room, with the intent of sneaking down to the surface for five minutes and coming right back. But something goes wrong. Instead of being transported to the surface of the planet, Jamie brings back a group of the planets inhabitants. To Jamie's shock, they look like Earth inhabitants. That's all he gets the chance to register before Something Terrible happens and the transporter breaks, trapping Katara, Sokka, Aang, Zuko, Toph and Suki on board the ship. And that is how Jamie got himself grounded for an entire summer.

That's the basic premise of the story. I'm toying around with the space family having super powers of their own (a holdover from my Marvel/ATLA crossover idea). Allora might be preparing to get married (the Gaang would be invited to the bachelor/bachelorette parties). Octavia and Jamal would become the parents the Gaang deserved. I think they'd be aged up a bit, though. Especially if there's wedding festivities for them to be pulled into.

Mostly, though, this story would be an excuse to have the Gaang interact with some of my favorite pop culture artifacts (which is also the main reason why this fic will stay with my CaptainMe fic...on a high shelf in a dark corner of my mind). I love the idea of Iroh encountering the Isley Brothers music, while Zuko and Toph fall in love with heavy metal and rap. Sokka would impress Octavia and/or Jamal and he'd be offered a spot in the training academy (not quite in keeping with the programs rules about not interfering with a planet's societies, but exceptions can be made). He probably won't accept it, ultimately, but it would be a tough call for him. If the family has super powers, there would absolutely be a showdown with Ozai and Azula.

Read the first version of this prompt here

[themininthemoon]

A Color for Which There Is No Name

CHAPTER 1 - AO3

Min Yoongi/Park Jimin | trans jm | Historical AU | Mail-order bride JM | Kid Fic | Mpreg | Breastfeeding | Misgendering | Vaginal Sex | Hopeful Ending

Jimin’s mother had been beside herself when he told her that he had put an ad in the paper, that he was looking for a husband somewhere far away. Eventually, she gave up trying to dissuade him, realizing that he was decided, and when Jimin was decided on something he didn’t give up until he got his way.

OR: Jimin answers a desperate man's ad in the paper and lets the letters they exchanged lead him to a new life filled with new things.

Jimin keeps Min Yoongi’s last letter to him clutched tightly in his hand as the train pulls into the station. He’s not sure how he’ll know who the man is, since they hadn’t been able to exchange photographs, but he hopes he is as kind in real life as his words are in letters.

Jimin’s mother had been beside herself when he told her that he had put an ad in the paper, that he was looking for a husband somewhere far away. Eventually, she gave up trying to dissuade him, realizing that he was decided, and when Jimin was decided on something he didn’t give up until he got his way.

He has butterflies in his stomach as he steps off the train and onto the platform, holding the one suitcase he’d allowed himself in both hands. He goes on his tiptoes to see above the milling crowd, but he isn’t sure what he’s looking for. He adjusts the bluebonnet on the lapel of his cropped jacket, the sign they’d agreed upon to find each other at the station.

Minutes pass and the crowd is quickly thinning. Jimin’s hands are sweaty around the handle of his suitcase.

What if Yoongi doesn’t come? What if he changed his mind? What if he saw Jimin and didn’t approve of him? What if his mother was right and-

“Park Jimin?” A low voice asks.

Jimin’s head snaps up in surprise and he finds a man standing in front of him, looking cautious. There’s a bluebonnet pinned to the brim of his cap and he has a baby in a sling strapped to his chest. There are three other little ones in a gaggle around his legs.

Jimin has read their names in Yoongi’s letters, but he has no idea who is who.

“I’m sorry.” The man says and Jimin is confused. “I thought you were-”

“No, no!” Jimin breaks in, guilty. He took too long to respond. “I am. Park Jimin, that’s me.”

“Are you our new mama?” One of the older boys asks, peeking around Yoongi’s side to blink curiously up at Jimin.

Jimin flushes, panicked gaze going from the boy to Yoongi, looking for help. Yoongi turns his attention to his son, crouching down so they’re on the same level.

“Now, Haneul, we talked about this. Jimin is not replacing your Mama. Your Mama is your Mama even in heaven, remember?” Haneul nods very seriously, eyes flickering nervously to Jimin then back to his father. “Now what did we say about Jimin?”

Haneul swallows in a big gulp, turning his head to look at Jimin then back to Yoongi again.

“That she can pick what she wants to be called?” It comes out as a question.

Yoongi nods.

“That’s right, bud.” Yoongi’s gaze flicks to Jimin briefly then back to his son. He stands and surveys his brood. “Everyone understands, right?”

The two older boys nod resolutely, but the third - he looks to be two, maybe three - just babbles brightly, and Yoongi smiles. He leans down and kisses them each on the crown.

“Good boys.” He turns back to Jimin, cradling the baby strapped to his chest. “I’m sorry about that, Jimin. I talked to them before we came to get you, but they’re young.”

“That’s alright.” Jimin tells him softly. He crouches down the way Yoongi had before, not caring that his skirts hit the dirty platform. He uses the suitcase to balance himself. “Hello boys.”

“Hello!” Haneul and Eunho chorus. The third toddler screeches happily in time with his brothers.

Jimin smiles.

“Would you like to introduce yourselves? I can’t simply call you boys forever, can I?”

They shake their heads. The oldest is curling in on himself, shy.

“I’m Haneul. I’m six.” He mumbles.

“I’m Eunho!” The second tallest exclaims brightly, bouncing closer to Jimin and holding a tiny hand out to shake. “I’m four!”

Jimin takes his little hand and shakes it gently, smiling at the way the boy beams.

“It’s nice to meet you Eunho; I’m Park Jimin and I’m twenty.”

Eunho and Haneul both gasp.

“You’re old!” Haneul blurts.

“Haneul!” Yoongi admonishes him, eyes wide.

Jimin only laughs, throwing his head back, eyes crinkled up. He looks at Haneul with a big grin on his face and nods.

“That’s right; I am old, especially compared to you, but you wanna know who’s really old?” He asks, crooking a finger for the boys to come closer. Entranced, they do. “Your daddy is old old.”

The boys gasp, hands over their mouths. They turn to Yoongi.

“How old are you daddy?” Eunho asks, walking up to cling to Yoongi’s trousers.

Yoongi huffs, but he’s smiling, an amused tick of lips.

“Daddy is twenty-six.”

The two boys gasp theatrically.

Yoongi laughs and Jimin lets himself smile.

He thinks things are going well so far.

*

Jimin offers to take the baby as they walk toward the church and he’s pleased that the child is soon asleep, drooling on his bodice.

He knows the little one is named Byungwoo and if the eldest two are Haneul and Eunho, then the toddler walking on unsteady legs a few steps ahead of him must be Wonbin.

It's strange, he thinks. He just met them and soon he’ll be their stepmother. He tries not to flinch at the thought, looking over at Yoongi and his kind eyes.

Jimin hopes to prove his mother wrong, but he won’t know until after the deed is done.

It seems to take no time at all to go from saying hello for the first time to saying “I do.”

The preacher is practiced at officiating these types of events with two people from town pulled in as witnesses and an abbreviated ceremony, barely skimming the words before suddenly Yoongi’s hand is wrapped around his, sliding a ring onto his finger.

Jimin’s heart is beating fast as he does the same, Yoongi’s hands large and rough from working with his tools. He slides the ring onto Yoongi’s finger, pushing it down to the knuckle.

The preacher says “You may kiss the bride.” and suddenly they’re married, Jimin’s lips tingling from the brief moment of contact.

One of the strangers walks up to them with a smile.

He grasps Yoongi’s hand and says, “Congratulations, Yoongi. Are you going to introduce me to the new wife?”

Yoongi laughs awkwardly, shrugging and scratching at the back of his neck. His hand comes to rest at the small of Jimin’s back.

“This is Park Jimin.” He says, nodding between Jimin and the stranger. “Jimin, this is Kim Seokjin. He’s nosy as all get out, but his food’s the best around.”

Seokjin preens at the compliment, adjusting the lapels of his suit jacket primly.

It makes Jimin smile. He offers a hand.

“How do you do?” He smiles, demure.

“I’m quite well, beautiful.” Seokjin smiles right back, taking Jimin’s hand and bringing it up to his lips for a cheeky kiss.

It makes Jimin blush and giggle, pulling his hand back and curling it into a loose fist behind his back. He looks to Yoongi, worried for a moment, but the man is only rolling his eyes, fond.

Clearly Seokjin is simply like this all the time.

The baby starts crying before Jimin can be introduced to the other guest and Yoongi’s eyes go wide, reaching for his youngest son, but Jimin stays him with a dainty hand held up. He smiles reassuringly at Yoongi.

“Don’t worry, Yoongi. I can take care of him.”

Yoongi still looks concerned, hesitating before he puts his hands down. He nods.

“You’ll be alone with them often.” He tells Jimin, eyes stuck on Jimin’s hand rubbing soothing circles into the child’s back. He looks back up to meet Jimin’s gaze. “It’s important that you take good care of them.”

Jimin swallows hard. It hits him that Yoongi is entrusting his children to Jimin’s care, remembering that the first line of the ad he’d responded to was ‘Young Widower Seeking Wife, Must Be Good With Children.’

Suddenly it feels like too big a job for someone who’s never had children of his own, but the baby is calming down with Jimin’s shushing, falling back to sleep as he rocks on his feet.

“I’ll care for them as though I birthed them myself.” Jimin promises softly.

Yoongi reaches out and grabs Jimin’s small hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Thank you.” He says and Jimin hears: they mean the world to me.

“Of course.” Jimin says softly, squeezing back.

They let go of each other and Jimin misses the warmth of Yoongi’s hand around his.

*

It feels strange to walk into Yoongi’s home, trailing a step behind him with the weight of Byungwoo against his chest. It makes jimin a little lightheaded, looking around the rough hewn cabin with its lived-in decor, children’s blocks scattered in a corner, a knitted blanket on the back of a handmade chair.

He remembers Yoongi works as a carpenter and pauses to admire the craftsmanship of the furniture, the beautifully carved flowers that dance along the armrests of every seat. The delicacy of the work says something Jimin cannot articulate about his quiet new husband and his big, calloused hands. His skin tingles, goosebumps breaking out along his arms and down his chest.

The baby sighs in his sleep and shoves his face into Jimin’s ticklish neck, making him laugh and strain away. He pats Byungwoo’s back and gently turns his face toward his shoulder.

Jimin looks up and finds Yoongi watching him with an unreadable expression, but his eyes turn to his son when he notices Jimin looking back.

“He’s not bothering you?” Yoongi asks.

Jimin shakes his head.

“No, I’m quite comfortable.” He reassures his new husband. “I helped care for my niece back home. She’s not much older than this little one.”

“That’s good.” Yoongi nods. “You said you had experience with children.”

“Yes,” Jimin agrees. “My cousins are all married with families, and my older brother has two children of his own. I’ve spent a good amount of time with children of all ages.”

Yoongi nods again, eyeing Haneul and Eunho as they try to steal past him into the kitchen.

“Boys.”

They halt, nearly smacking into each other.

“Yes, daddy?” They chorus, blinking innocently.

Yoongi keeps a stern face.

“Those cookies are for after dinner.” He says firmly.

They droop and giggle, looking at each other with their heads bowed. Out of sight, Yoongi rolls his eyes, clearly fighting a smile.

“Come on into the sitting room.” He says, gesturing Jimin and the boys forward. “We’re gonna sit and talk a minute about this little family of ours, alright?”

Jimin follows nervously, taking the seat Yoongi offers beside him on the low sofa, careful not to jostle Byungwoo out of sleep.

Yoongi takes Wonbin into his lap and Haneul and Eunho sit on the carpet at Yoongi’s feet, looking up at their father with wide eyes, gazes darting between Yoongi and Jimin and each other.

“You’re not in trouble.” Yoongi starts and the boys sag. Yoongi huffs an amused little sigh, shaking his head. “Should you be in trouble?”

The two oldest boys shake their heads.

“No, Daddy.”

“Alright then, daddy isn’t here to scold you. He just wants to talk to you about Mrs. Jimin.”

“She’s not our mama, ‘cause mama is mama even in heaven.” Haneul recites, looking pleased with himself.

A shadow crosses Yoongi’s face, but it’s there and gone in a moment. He nods.

“That’s exactly right.” He says. “But that doesn’t mean you get to ignore Mrs. Jimin-”

“Mimi.” Jimin breaks in before he can think better of it

The attention of the room turns to him and he feels his cheeks go hot.

“I’m sorry.” He says softly, embarrassed. His heart is rabbiting in his chest. “I just- back home my nieces and nephews- they call me Mimi.”

Yoongi looks at him for a long, quiet moment.

“Mimi.” He repeats.

Jimin swallows hard and nods.

Yoongi nods back. He turns to the boys.

“You may call Mrs. Jimin “Mimi”, okay?”

The boys nod. Hanuel waves at Jimin shyly.

“Hi Mimi.” He whispers.

Jimin smiles and waves two fingers back. “Hi Haneul.”

They smile at each other until Yoongi clears his throat. It makes Jimin nervous until he realizes Yoongi is smiling too.

“As I was saying,” Yoongi begins again. “I expect the four of you to heed Mimi the same as you heed me, understand?”

Jimin’s heart flutters at hearing ‘Mimi’ in Yoongi’s low voice.

The boys nod.

“But she’s not mama?” Eunho says. He seems confused.

Yoongi looks at a loss.

“I’m your- your stepmama- your Mimi.” Jimin cuts in, hoping to help.

“Stepmama?”

Jimin nods, a knot in his chest. “That’s right, because your daddy and I got married, that makes me your stepmama. It’s like your Mama, but different.”

Eunho seems to think this information over very seriously. There’s a long, tense moment.

“Okay.” He chirps, easy.

Jimin feels ready to pass out from holding his breath, the way the tension suddenly leaks out of him all at once making him feel lightheaded.

“Okay.” Yoongi parrots back, blinking, a little bewildered. “Well. You all go on and go play then, alright? But don’t go too far.”

Eunho and Haneul nod and then they’re gone, door banging shut behind them. Wonbin has fallen asleep in Yoongi’s lap. The silence is awkward.

Jimin isn’t sure what to say.

Yoongi clears his throat and Jimin whips around to look at him, eyes wide.

Yoongi scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“Would you like a tour? Or do you want to explore by yourself?”

“Oh, I-” Jimin pauses and takes a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I think I’d like to explore a little on my own, if that’s alright?”

“Of course!” Yoongi says, nodding his head. He reaches toward Byungwoo. “Here I’ll take the little one so you can check everything out without worrying about him.”

“Oh, no! That’s okay, really.” Jimin assures him, cradling Byungwoo closer. “I like having my little companion.”

The words make Yoongi smile, eyes crinkled softly at the corners.

“Okay.” He says quietly. “Just let me know when you’re done.”

Jimin nods.

“I’ll do that.”

Yoongi stands with Wonbin, giving Jimin and the baby one last long look before he nods and heads out the front door where Jimin can hear the older boys laughing. He looks down at Byungwoo and smiles, softly brushing the wispy hairs on his little head.

“What do you think, Byungie? Should we explore a little?”

The baby lets out a soft snore in response and Jimin stifles a laugh. He heads out of the sitting room and down the hall, peeking through each doorway he passes.

There’s only five rooms total that make up the cabin, the living room, a modest kitchen, and 3 bedrooms.

It’s easy to tell which room belongs to Yoongi, and which two are for the children. The nursery has a crib in one corner and a small toddler’s bed on the opposite side. The walls are painted with nature scenes, soft pastel rabbits jumping through tall prairie grass. It’s charming and Jimin finds himself smiling.

“How sweet.” He murmurs.

“Jieun painted them.”

The unexpected voice startles Jimin, making him jump, jostling the baby. Byungwoo screws his face up to cry but Jimin shushes him gently, rubbing his back and swaying side to side.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” Yoongi grimaces.

Jimin shakes his head. “It’s fine; I just wasn’t expecting it. You’re rather light on your feet.”

Yoongi shrugs, awkward.

Jimin licks his lips, nodding toward the paintings.

“Jieun painted them?” He says softly. Yoongi nods and jimin reaches out to brush his fingertips lightly along the ear of a rabbit. “Your wife was quite an artist.”

“Yes.” Yoongi agrees. “Painting was her first love.”

“Not her children?” Jimin asks before he can think better of it, immediately flushing a mortified red. “I’m so sorry! Don’t answer that! I d-“

“It’s okay.” Yoongi stops the flow of words with a hand held up.

Jimin snaps his teeth together, holding his tongue.

“You’re not wrong,” Yoongi admits. “She loved her children dearly, but motherhood never came easily to her.” Yoongi looks at Byungwoo fast asleep in Jimin’s hold. He reaches out to brush his knuckles across the baby’s soft cheek. “Each time she gave birth she hoped it would finally happen, that some mothering instinct would unlock in her, that something would finally click into place.”

“Did it?” Jimin asks, quiet and curious.

Yoongi shrugs. “I don’t know, but she was a good mother, regardless, she loved all her children very much - that’s what I know.”

“Of course.” Jimin nods. “I would never suggest otherwise.”

Yoongi eyes him for a quiet moment and then nods toward Byungwoo.

“He likes you.”

Jimin smiles a little, rubbing Byungwoo’s back.

“He’s a sweet baby.”

Yoongi smiles, nodding his head.

“He’s much easier to care for than his brothers were, but I worry about how feeding him cow's milk since Jieun passed will affect his development.”

Jimin goes still for a moment before going back to rocking in his feet.

“We discussed that.” He says. “In our letters.”

“Yes.” Yoongi looks awkward at the reminder, looking down at his feet then back up, meeting Jimin’s gaze with an assuredness that makes Jimin swallow hard. “I hope there’s no issues with what we discussed.”

Jimin shakes his head. “No, of course not - like I said in my letter, I understand the importance of a mother’s milk, and he’s so small - it’s not good for him to be feeding on cow’s milk.”

Yoongi nods. “Okay, so long as we understand each other.”

Jimin reaches out a hand, rubbing reassuringly at Yoongi’s bicep.

“Don’t worry, Yoongi. I know what promises I made and I stand by them.”

Yoongi nods, touching the hand on his arm briefly.

“I need to get back to the boys - make sure they’re not getting into any trouble.”

Jimin smiles and nods, jostling Byungwoo lightly, “We’ll be here.”

Yoongi's expression softens, eyes warm. He leans down to press a kiss to Byungwoo’s temple.

“I’ll bring the boys inside after a while - take your time looking around; this is your home now.”

Jimin nods. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Jimin smiles a little and the tips of Yoongi’s ears turn red. He nods and mutters “Okay.” again before heading out of the nursery and down the hall.

Jimin doesn’t watch him go, but he listens for Yoongi's footsteps as they fade away.

“Your father is a kind man.” Jimin whispers to Byungwoo. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

>>> Ch. 2

[uefb]

New chapter of Older, or Two Brothers and a Train Station up now

Summary: In which the summer holidays between Theseus’ 4th and 5th year start off in a very rainy London; the subtle balance of his self-worth starts to show; Helios (Dad) kind of--(definitely)—-almost gets Newt run over by a large Muggle machine; and Theseus—-once again—-is forced to pick up the kind of parenting slack that very much contributes to him becoming a bit of an overbearing git by 1927, lmao. (TL;DR — Helios Scamander: the best and worst kind of father😅🤷🏼‍♀️)

^Theseus is not this calm yet at age 14, but the vibe at the end of the chapter is very much the same

Excerpt:

“Theseus, be a buffer on the other side, won’t you? He nearly walked in front of a tram this morning—didn’t you, Newt?—and then a herd of bicycles... And I’ll be damned if I can keep him out of puddles.”

As if to emphasise their father’s point, Newt began shaking out one leg until his galosh flipped off, spilling far more water than seemed possible onto the concrete around them.

“Sorry, Dad,” he murmured, and then yanked himself away from Helios, plopping himself on the ground to pull the rubber back over his button shoes [8].

“Can I do one last spell before we leave, then?” Theseus asked their father suddenly.

Helios glanced around and then shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

“Hold still, Newt,” Theseus advised, and Newt stared at him—blinked—but then nodded.

Theseus knelt on the ground in front of him and clearly enunciated the incantation for a quick-drying charm, waving his wand in a delicate motion over Newt from head to toe, after which a tremendous blast of hot air enveloped the child before evaporating with a puff, leaving his clothes steaming and his hair very dry but remarkably frizzy, as if a cauldron had exploded in his face.

(Theseus thought Newt’s expression mirrored that of the first time he’d been old enough to understand a snowball fight, but still not old enough—it unfortunately turned out—to properly participate, for Theseus had hit him squarely in the face with a well-packed missile; after which Newt had wiped the ice off his cheeks, stared at him in surprise for a solid ten seconds as his brain caught up with the event, and then burst into pitiful tears, turning tail and running for their mother in the stables.)

Oh dear. But—

“Nicely done, Theseus!” Helios praised approvingly, nonetheless. “You can work on your spell release, of course, to prevent the mad scientist look you’ve given your normally dashing little brother—” [9]

(Newt was patting at his hair absently now.)

“—but your charms really have improved.”

Newt, meanwhile, had begun shaking out his hands, rocking slightly as he checked each bit of his magically-dry clothing, looking at Theseus somewhat less suspiciously than he had after the snowball incident at age four, but still markedly displeased...

“It’s still raining, Thesie,” he finally managed. “I’m going to get wet again. And it’s not fair you get to do magic and I don’t.”

“Mud, it’s the law. We’ve talked about this,” Helios intercepted, and Newt lifted his hands to rub hard at either side of his head as Helios patiently waited. “Try that again, lovey.”

Newt pulled at an overly-springy curl and—from behind Helios—Theseus caught his little brother’s eye long enough to mouth ‘Say thank you.’

Newt blinked, and then: “Thank y - thank you, Theseus.”

“And there’s a good lad!” Helios exclaimed. “Mum did say you received a good report from your healer today, and look at you, hm? Both of you showing off your best.”

And he turned a bit dramatically then, gesturing the three of them forward, though he trailed Newt extremely close as he followed him and Donny out into the Muggle station, and then through the masses into a downpour of rain.

[youstupidplonk]

Gene Hunt

Character Associations (This actually contains massive spoilers for the show so proceed with caution. Also it’s the longest one yet)

In Life

- Raised in a two up two down on the edge of the city centre. His father wasn’t good to the family and there often wasn’t any money to spare. His mum did odd jobs for the neighbours such as laundry and mending.  Gene got his first job as a paper boy at twelve. 

- By fifteen his father was gone. One night he disappeared without a trace, and it fell to Gene to be the main provider for the family. Leaving school he began to work as an dogsbody in the local police station. Making tea, fetching files and sometimes answering phones. It gave him his first taste of the career he would dedicate his life to. 

- Although there wasn’t a lot of money, Gene was allowed to keep some of his income to spend as he please, and it was with this money he would take his brother, or occasionally a girl, to the cinema, where he developed a love of Westerns. 

-At eighteen he began to train as a Bobby. He was often invited to share drinks with other officers, as most of these men were older, it lead to him to develop a taste for scotch, so he could continue to fit in. 

-In June 1953 it was decided that extra man-power was needed to keep the streets in order during the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. He and his mentor Morrison were sent to the village of Farringfield Green. As it was so quiet Morrison decided he could stop for a tipple....the rest is history. 

In Death

- While living his “life” Gene saw projections on how he felt his world would have changed. His younger brother, in the absence of a positive role model, turned to drugs, leaving his mother broken hearted. 

-After meeting “Mrs Hunt” Gene became adamant the he never wanted children, due to a consuming fear that he would become like his father. Mrs Hunt did want children, which was one of the first cracks in the glass of their relationship. 

-As he grew older he began to form a band of brothers, like they did in Westerns, this group was the most loyal, dedicated team he could ask for. 

-Moving to London after the tragedy of losing Sam proved to be one of his most significant changes. It was in London he met Alex Drake, the women who would make him remember, who would be the first step in helping him find his own peace and also the first person he would ever properly fall in love with. 

Favourite Films

I’m going to skip favourite books as I do not see Gene Hunt as a reader, at least not reading anything beyond the paper. Films Howeber

The Good, The Bad, The Ugly and High Noon - Goes without explanation

It’s a Wonderful Life - Despite everything he exuded to the people around him, the idea that someone, somewhere was watching out for him and the people he cared about was comforting. Especially in the aftermath of remembering who he was

Peter Pan - An unusual choice, but as the last film he took his brother and mum to see before going to work on Coronation Day, he always held on to it. 

Favourite Songs

We’ll meet again - Vera Lynn

Hound Dog - Elvis Presley

The Promised Land - Bruce Springsteen

Wild Horses - The Rolling Stones

Paradise by the Dashboard Light - Meatloaf

Heroes - David Bowie

Casino Royale - Herp Alpert and the Tijuana Brass

December 1963 (Oh What A Night) - Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons

My Way - Frank Sinatra 

War Baby - Tom Robinson

Ok, I think that’s everything I have to say about Gene. Honestly this is making me want to write a fic about his life before he died, I feel like there’s SO MUCH there. 

If you’ve made it this far then thank you for reading, I hope you’ve enjoyed this :D (a Sam associations is in the works!!!)

[scripture-on-canvas]

runaway train

first bit of writing on here! first part of my submas reunion longfic. there are lots of ocs in this, including oc/canon ocs, but it's not an Extremely major part of the fic

prologue.

tw: (implied) major character death

“I can’t call to mind all the words if I try, I find to pocket them will keep them all alive.”

It has been two months since the trainwreck, if one could call it that.

The situation was a tragedy, no matter how it was looked at. The Nimbasa City Subway ran like a well-oiled machine, in every aspect. Every safety standard was held to a tee and above, debris in the many tunnels were always cleaned up quicker than a passenger could voice a complaint. Even as the train rattled along her tracks, it didn’t just blatantly derail; the Battle Subway trains were built to last, made to sustain all manner of roadblock, handle all manner of Pokemon attacks both inside and outside their walls. Things like this didn’t just happen.

But it did— and now, the shining star of the Unova region was grieving one of its own stars.

Within the walls of Gear Station itself, there was a notable tension between every agent employed. The wreck wasn’t an ordinary trainwreck; not long after the initial impact was even reported to the Chief of Operations, the International Police had gotten involved on their own accord. Nearly a full sixty days after the situation, the tunnel was still out of order and the wreckage of the train had yet to be cleared out, claimed to still be under investigation.

And, both the most horrifying and grievous thing about the situation?

Subway Boss Ingo Trevethick’s body was never found.

From the office of the Nimbasa branch of incident reporting and station maintenance, Treyn Trevethick pored over their share of paperwork, forcibly taken from the desk of their stubborn and just-as-shell-shocked younger brother, now the only Subway Boss.

—

Treyn snatched the portfolio of paperwork off of Emmet’s desk, the formerly dreary man clad in white now very much awake. The elder Trevethick’s mouth was angled into a southbound diagonal line, sharp silver eyes scanning the lines of small print. The younger’s smile coiled into something closer to a grimace as he looked up at his older sibling, matching pools of liquid mercury forcing an extra sharpness. He studied his older sibling, watching them flip through the stapled pack with deft, meticulous fingers and such a sharp, narrowed gaze. “Emmet,” they quipped, the brother in question straightening in his seat. “Which agent left these on your desk? These are all maintenance reports and complaints and should have been handed to me.”

Emmet glanced aside. “I do not know.” He paused. “I intended to deliver them to you, but my train has been slow today. You have also not been in one station for long today, either.”

Treyn’s sharp gaze softened with an even softer sigh. “I am never too busy for my brother, Emmet.” They tapped the folder of paperwork on their brother’s hat, each word accentuated with a tap as if to gently beat it into his head. “I am, however, too busy for incompetence and impudence.” They paused, leaning into the side of his desk chair. “Ingo may have become uncoupled with us, but we’re still riding this train. Together.”

Emmet didn’t respond, not right away, a gloved finger tracing some of the exposed wood grain of the desk. His voice was small. “They are saying he is dead.”

Treyn sighed, their free hand giving their brother’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll believe he’s dead when I see his body myself.”

Emmet turned to them. “You don’t believe them.”

Treyn scoffed. “As if I should. You don’t, I know.” At the shake of his head, they nodded. “Exactly. Interpol hasn’t left. Whatever they have– or haven’t– found is what they’re not telling us.” They glowered at the report in their hand. “Everyone else who was on that train has already had their bodies surrendered to their families for a funeral. Except Ingo.”

Emmet glowered at the wood grain he’d been tracing. “Except Ingo.” His hand stopped. “They would have told us they had found him.” He turned back to his older sibling. “Right…?”

Treyn held the file in their hand a little tighter, their hand on his shoulder a little tighter, too. As if they’d lose both of their brothers if they let go. “I can hope so.”

—

Treyn scrutinized over the latest request from the International Police to halt any sort of maintenance for the still-closed tunnel where the wreck had occurred, for the sixth week in a row. This was getting out of hand. Other trains were running behind schedule and it would take weeks longer to even try to reroute the tracks for optimal timing. They growled, pinching the bridge of their nose at the migraine pounding to the beat of their pulse. They fetched the approval stamp from a drawer in their desk before approving the latest notice. What else could they do? Deny them and watch things go to hell? The Sharpedo that called themselves “journalists” were already up both theirs and Emmet’s backs for possible interference with the train that wrecked, which wouldn’t have been possible to begin with, but there would be no reasoning with such foul, bloodthirsty beasts.

Thumbing through a thick file of paperwork in a locked drawer in their desk, they found their personal file for the wreck. They remembered the blaring alarms that had gone off, the signal of a collision. But there hadn’t been anything found to cause such a collision, Interpol had been generous enough to tell them that, at least. There hadn’t been uncleaned debris, not a Pokemon, nothing. It’s as if the train ran into some sort of invisible wall, which shouldn’t have been possible.

It shouldn’t have been possible.

Yet, here they were, at their desk, forcibly neglecting to fill out incident reports about a major trainwreck– which involved their brother, whose body had yet to be disclosed both to the public and to his family– and forced to explain that to the Chief of Operations via email. At the delightfully prime hour of four thirty-three in the morning.

Returning to their file, they had also lost communication with several of the train cars for the Single Battle Line, primarily with Ingo’s boss car and several others. The others that lost communication, too, notably didn’t have any passengers. How did those cars lose communication before the collision? They couldn’t be… missing, could they? They shouldn’t be possible, either. Then again, they’re discovering a lot of things are possible that shouldn’t be these days.

Regardless, Interpol might not be giving them any answers, but they had connections, and connections got a person a lot farther these days than without them. They would find a way. Snatching their phone from its charger, the little Klinklang charm dangling at their ear, Treyn decided to phone a friend.

“Hello? Asha? Forgive me the late hour in Johto for your conference, but I’m afraid my tracks have led me here. I need a favor.”

[belltrigger]

Hello, hi! A fic I wrote as a gift for someone who has been feeling down the past few weeks. I showed them on Discord when I first wrote it, but now it's time to share!

Warning for Ingo having vision issues! Enjoy (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Title: Double Sight Word count: 2,058

When Ingo had finally returned to him, Emmet thought everything was going to go back to normal. Sure, Ingo looked a bit older than him now, but he’d certainly gotten less tired looking, less haggard with proper sleeping and eating habits. Sometimes, what would have been regular teasing was taken seriously, with an overly formal apology following behind, but Ingo was remembering things each and every day. They fell more and more in step with each other, and although they hadn’t quite gone back to their former familiarity, Ingo was comfortable with the nature of their relationship.

They hadn’t slept together yet, but his brother was reaching for his hand, offering gentle kisses, and calling him sweet pet names. He had winced quite notably when Ingo had called him ‘Sir Emmet,’ and it seemed Ingo had curbed that habit with words that showed his love instead. It was charming, in its own way, and he kind of liked the reverent way Ingo said his name sometimes. 

All in all, his brother had picked up a few quirks, and some extra scars, but their life could continue as it had before. 

On an otherwise completely ordinary day, they were going about their business through Gear Station. People no longer stopped Ingo to ask what had happened, returning to cheerfully waving to him, or offering him tidings. The frequency in which the other depot agents checked in on Ingo slowed back to a normal level, only increasing when they thought Ingo was overworking himself outside of Emmet’s awareness.

Heading to their respective trains, Ingo suddenly gripped his hand tightly, his customary half-step ahead position dropped as he fell behind. Crisply stopping and turning to inquire on the unplanned halt between stations, he was greeted with Ingo’s hunched forward form, free hand inches from his face. Their two-car train’s normal order hitting a sudden switchover was strange enough, but the panicked look on Ingo’s face instantly choked his words in his throat. An attempt to ask his older brother what was wrong tripped out of his mouth. He could only squeeze his hand back as his brother’s eyes refused to focus. 

“E-Emmet…” Ingo’s hand in front of his face shook, and he could see the tremor hit his brother’s shoulders. “Something is wrong with my eyes.” 

Trying to contain his own steadily rising panic, he gently guided Ingo to the ground. Their coats fanned out around them, and the flow of commuters spread to pass by them like water. The respect of the passengers for the Subway Bosses granted them a space in such a busy place, but no one stopped to check on them. Just as well; Emmet didn’t think he could stand to talk to anyone else when he was so focused on Ingo, and his brother was in no shape to control the situation, like he usually did when Emmet struggled to talk.

“You can't see?” His twin brought his eyes up to him, and he clung tighter still, as if begging for confirmation that Emmet was there. His eyes wavered, as if struggling to focus, even with Emmet so close to his face. Lifting his free hand, Ingo touched his jaw, the tap of his gloved fingertips harder than usual as if misjudging the distance he had to move.

Even in the hectic din of the station, he could clearly hear Ingo’s voice, as if his ears were made only to listen to his beloved older brother. Even though Ingo’s voice was quieter than he’d ever heard before, the words he said were clear. “I see too much. I can see both at once.” 

Hearing him didn’t mean understanding him.

“W-What? What does that mean?” 

Ingo pulled him closer with the hand on his face, their hats tipping back to almost fall off as he insistently put their foreheads together. Shutting his eyes with a shuddered breath, he answered the best he could. “You are here in front of me and also not. I see Hisui in front of me as well as the station. I do not know how to explain otherwise.” When Emmet tried to pull back in confusion, he kept him close. 

“Nii-san, let’s go back to the office! We can figure it out there.” Ingo nodded, only releasing his grip when Emmet rubbed their noses together. When he tried to open his eyes, Ingo immediately squinted them closed again. There was no way that Ingo could keep them open to navigate his way back through all of the people while maintaining safety rules. Emmet blamed the tension in his brother’s frame on the lost memories that Ingo struggled to regain even now, and gave him a smile even if he couldn’t see it. “I’ll lead.” 

Time apart had not diminished their deeply ingrained connections, and Ingo followed smoothly behind him, intimately trusting the tracks that Emmet chose. When they were children, it had been Ingo’s role to be his conductor, and he would return the favor now. Crossing paths with Ramses, Emmet asked him to tell all the other depot agents to defer to Cloud for the rest of the afternoon, and that their train battles would need to be rescheduled. Keeping Ingo’s plight to themselves for now, the best he could come up with in the moment was that his brother felt nauseous and would be taking a rest in their office to determine their next stop.

Leading his brother to their couch, Emmet took their hats to rest on his desk. Returning to Ingo’s side, his twin turned to face him, eyes still closed. “Emmet,” Ingo called out with hesitation, and he scooted closer, leaning against his twin to give him a physical anchor. Relief caused Ingo to sag against him, and his own tension eased somewhat as well. The problem still existed, and hopefully Ingo would explain what he was experiencing, but now that they were together again, they could get through it. 

They stayed like that for a while, but when Emmet started to fidget, Ingo took both of his hands, pulling them into his lap. “I’m sorry I scared you, Emmet.” Tugging his older twin’s hands into his own lap, he scoffed. Ingo still couldn’t see, and he was the one apologizing? “I am just very disoriented right now, and I will admit I am quite worried. It came out of nowhere, and it has never happened before–”

“Nii-san. It’s okay. I am Emmet, and I will take care of you.” Voice firm, he had told himself the same when Ingo had first come back without any of his memories. The idea kept him going when Ingo was missing - he had to stay healthy and strong for Ingo, because when they found him, what if he had been hurt. No matter what, they would protect each other, and he would do it for the rest of his life if it was for Ingo.

Another attempt was made by his brother to open his eyes. Now that they were away from the noise of the station, it was easier to think, to mull over what Ingo had said earlier. His brother’s eyebrows knitted together, trying to focus on their linked hands. Frown deepening, Ingo flexed his fingers around Emmet’s hands. “You are here with me,” he affirmed, hesitatingly, as he himself did not even believe it. 

“Yeah! I am here for Ingo.” Wriggling his fingers in his twin’s grip, he smiled again now that Ingo could see it. Sort of. Ingo leaned towards him carefully, slowly, so they didn’t knock into each other. Making up the distance, Emmet pressed his lips against Ingo’s, letting his brother control the pace. The kiss was exploratory, like their first kiss back when they were younger, and Emmet was happy for it. He’d gone so long without any physical contact from his brother, so even the most clumsy intimacy was met with joy and unending affection. 

Between the distressing situation and still being at work, neither of them were feeling particularly frisky, but that didn’t stop him from peppering kisses all over his brother’s face. It had become a habit to show his brother open affection more frequently, pausing only when they were in the public’s eye. Before Ingo had disappeared, they had discussed a more obvious display of their love for each other, maybe sharing rings. But it seems that memory had disappeared along with many of the others. Emmet wouldn’t be discouraged, and they could just build up to that point again! 

In between kisses, Ingo described what he saw, trying to mesh the double vision into one understandable image. His description was as messy as his sight, and eventually they decided that Emmet leading Ingo home now would be the best course of action.

As the days progressed, there were some days where Ingo’s double vision subsided completely. Most days, however, he saw one world blurrier than the other, and it was a good day if it wasn’t Hisui in focus. On the worst of the days, Ingo would wear a blindfold, specially designed for longer stints of wear, and be guided around by Emmet. With a little bit of practice, and adjustment of the space usually between them, Ingo was capable of following Emmet without always holding his hand. It was an understandable circumstance to hold hands, but they saved the contact for when it was particularly crowded, or when they were in their office. Ingo just felt more comfortable that way, and Emmet would always do what he could to make his beloved twin feel good.

One thing Emmet began to notice, however, was that when Ingo wore the blindfold, he was verrrry sensitive to touch. The sensitivity was heightened even more when he wasn’t expecting it. He found himself coming up behind his twin quietly, whispering whatever he wanted to say into Ingo’s ear, and enjoying the shiver that tickled along Ingo’s whole body. It was cute, and quite unexpected. 

At the moment, Ingo was deep in thought, knuckle up to his mouth and coat off. The blindfold was an elegant, stylized design based on train tracks made out of velvet, with a soft, replaceable padding to protect Ingo’s closed eyes. Ingo had chosen silk as the fabric that rested against his face, and Emmet found it all very beautiful. It was a shame that he only wore it because it was unbearable to do so otherwise.

But for now, he made his footsteps as silent as possible, and when he was within reach, he traced his finger up from Ingo’s tailbone to in between his shoulder blades. The thin fabric of their button-up shirts added to the tickle, and Ingo jumped with a soft “A-ah!” He had no choice, after that sound, but to press himself up against Ingo’s back, wrap his arms around his brother’s waist. “Emmet?!” Ingo sputtered out, even though it could be no one else. 

In response, he brushed his lips against his older brother’s nape. He could feel Ingo’s undershirt move beneath the button-up as he circled his fingertips over his twin’s sides. The sensation made Ingo writhe in his grip, and red tinted the tips of his ears. “Nii-san~” he all but purred against the back of Ingo’s neck, encouraged by Ingo’s voice catching. “I did all the paperwork. I’m verrrry good!” 

Ingo turned to face him, as if that would stop his light touches. In reality, it just brought his lower back more into Emmet’s range. He ghosted his lips against Ingo’s chin to his jawline. “You were most efficient before lunchtime, Emmet. Bravo!” Ingo’s statement would have sounded casual, if not for the little huffs of breath that were beginning to catch on his words. They’d set alarms for Ingo to reference the time, and he took to it quite well - while he was not exact, he was usually within a few minutes of the correct time. 

“I should be given a present. For being a good boy.” Making to pull back from Ingo, he slid his fingertips from Ingo’s back to his front, lifting his touch away from the skin in irregular intervals as he did. 

“Y-yes, I think you should.” With the blindfold on, Ingo couldn’t see Emmet’s mischievous grin. And with the blindfold on, Emmet’s present was going to be just as much Ingo’s present.

[anamelessfool]

My partner (R) told me this story about his dad when R and his brother were on a cross country train trip. (Dad loves trains) R was 7, his brother was 12. His dad leaves the train to get something from the station shop, because the dining car didn't have the type of snack he wanted. Left his two sons on a train. Stopped at a station. In the middle of Bumblefuck, USA Nowheresville. Like, any second his kids woulda been gone forever. Older brother was stoically panicking but R was like, "Hell yeah don't forget my M&Ms, dad" and I think this the most Nihil-coded IRL story I've ever heard. So that's the energy I bring to my work.

Maybe that will be a fic Terzo seems to be a "Hell yeah, don't forget the M&Ms, dad" sorta kid while Secundo was born middle-aged.