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isleofdarkness · 5 months

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Chapter 7 FINAL DRAFT

Warnings- medical procedures, near-death experience, medical info, gun pointed at child, blood, murder, slight body horror, war, swearing, gang violence, trauma, flashbacks, slavery, chronic pain, selling souls Implied/referenced; genocide, starvation, character death, noncon, minor noncon, childhood prostitution, child sexual abuse, child abuse, torture, grievous injury, massacres, terrorism, gang violence

Part one

Sultana Jasmine was pacing.

That was what struck Li Shang first. Before he even noticed the books stacked on the table or the pale, drawn look on Aladdin's face, he noticed that Jasmine, eternally unshakeable Jasmine, was pacing.

Whatever they had been summoned for, it was going to be bad.

A glance around the room confirmed that suspicion. Everyone was there- Heracles, Megara, and Hryhoriy, King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, Tiana and Naveen, Kida, Milo, Sweet, Audrey, Vinny, and Whitmore, Aurora and Phillip, Snow, Rose, and Florian, Esmeralda and Phoebus, Ariel, Eric, and Melody, Elsa, Kristoff, and Anna, Moana, Merida, Ella, Christopher, and Anthony, Jabari and Dahlia, Anita and Roger, Hank McCoy, Logan, Kurt, and Charles Xavier, Alma Madrigal, even Oliver Warbucks. Everyone was there, even those who rarely came to these meetings. Something was very, very wrong.

Jasmine spotted them and stopped, hijab swinging as she whipped to face them. "Welcome to Jahannam! Please, don't linger in the doorway, come in and suffer with the rest of us!"

Ancestors protect them.

"What's going on?" He asked, stepping further into the room. There were a few murmurs of assent- everyone else was just as confused as he was.

Jasmine gestured sharply to the beaten books on the table. "The Isle kids snuck these across the barrier and had Jabari deliver them to us. These books are all about the Isle." She grabbed one and tossed it to Mulan, then one to him. "Shan Sarangerel, daughter of Shan Yu, and a written record of Shan Yu's efforts to keep the Isle alive with one bottle of medicine a year." She tossed one to Heracles. "That one's all about the suffering of Hades. I would advise you not to read it on a full stomach." She tossed a massive book to Naveen. "That's about the efforts by Doctor Facilier to help the children of the Isle." One to Kida. "Would you like to read about Rick, the son of Helga? He's a lot like Kaldur. And this-" She threw one to Anna, "Is about a little girl named Anna, daughter of Hans. Don't read it on a full stomach. The good done by Madonna Tremaine-" she tossed one to Ella, "The life of Anthony Tremaine II," to Anthony, "The life of Mal," to Aurora, "And our dear Claudine," to Esmeralda. "And more! Any requests?"

None of them had the nerve to answer.

"Diego de Vil, Belle LeGume, Harriet Jones, Jay, Riah, Harabolos, Evie, Uma, Yzla, Mischa, Reza, Sammy, Davin- prostitution, torture, abuse, rape, death, and more!" She held out to Rapunzel. "This one's on your daughter, Ginny. She's doing well, even has her own EMS- well, except for the fact that she's been raised by Mother Gothel, not by Cassandra." Rapunzel gasped, but Jasmine wasn't done. "You're about to be a grandmother, because she's nearly due with a baby. Of course, that's not mentioning the two children one of her loves already has-" she whipped to face Anthony, "Possibly the children of Anthony Tremaine the second! Congratulations.

"Riah," she continued, whirling to face Aurora, "Got that limp and all of those broken bones when he was ten, when six grown men broke into his house, raped him, and tried to beat him to death. He was only saved because Hades had a gut feeling and managed to escape a session with Maleficent halfway across the island. They had to do surgery where all he had was half a bottle of whiskey. Claudine," to Esmeralda, "Has been sexually and religiously abused her entire life, to the point where Ginny is almost certain she has dissociative identity disorder and to the point of permanent, irreversible damage caused by trauma she doesn't even remember! And just you wait until you read what her older sister has done to try and protect her!" Jasmine threw another book to the table. "Meet Lydia Snoops, who sold her soul at the age of five to save lives and has been turned into a monster. She's been sexually abused her entire life, she started her period when she was three, and she has to regularly go back to the cult that abused her to keep Claudine from getting hurt, even though it means taking the abuse herself. Our dear Mal," back to Aurora, "Is asexual, as fae tend to be. Her mother knows this. Maleficent has been selling her asexual daughter to a brothel whenever Mal fails her impossible explanations, she's been doing so ever since Mal was ten. It's to the point where the brothel is checked every night just in case. And Jay-"

They were spared her horror by Jasmine slipping into Arabic, but her fury and horror were catching even with the language barrier. It took nearly an hour for Jasmine to cut herself off, spinning on her heel to face one of the mirrors and pulling out a tube of eyeliner. Oh, she was beyond angry.

No one dared say a word as Jasmine wiped off and reapplied her flawless makeup, calming herself down. Her rage was gone when she turned back to them, replaced by grim determination. "I've already spoken to Fairy Godmother about my concerns, but she refuses to listen. We'll have to take this into our own hands." She grabbed a large stack of paper and dropped it onto the table. "Julieta was kind enough to send the files she collected on the six and Katherine Pulitzer has conducted multiple interviews about life on the Isle. Charles, would you be willing to conduct more extensive exams, as most of these six are genetic variants?" Charles nodded. "We should also conduct psychological evaluations. Ginny has assumptions but, without any proper medical training, nothing is certain. A word from you or Dr McCoy may be enough to petition for these children to be allowed regular and unrestricted contact with a therapist and a psychiatrist. These records are not to be released until Beast does something truly stupid and only within reason. I'm starting to look to remove children from the Isle." Woah- "I'm setting up a system here, but shelter and food will not be enough to help these children. I will need doctors, psychologists, paediatricians, medical specialists, and childcare specialists. If any of you are willing, I would readily welcome your help. If you are unwilling," she shrugged, "You may leave. No grudge will be held."

None of them left.

"Thank you."

Two weeks later, Riah started the worst day of his year by falling down the stairs.

October twenty-ninth was the anniversary. Not just the weeks surrounding it, when his symptoms built up and eased back, but the exact day It had happened, the day he'd nearly been killed. The day six men had broken into his home and made him know he would never be safe anywhere. The day... The day. He hated the day.

With his sixteenth birthday coming up in two days, his curse was getting worse. He'd woken up to spots dancing in his vision and thick fog filling his mind. It had taken a hellish fifteen minutes for him to remember where he'd hidden his oxygen concentrator, then another fifteen for him to get to it with how he was wheezing and coughing. The machine did its job, but just barely. It was a day where he absolutely needed the machine's help, but there was no way in hell he was letting the others or the Auradon kids see him relying on a machine to breathe. If he was lucky, he might have been able to get thirty minutes between each use. He just had to properly time a few bathroom breaks throughout the day. Unlike he would on the Isle, he made sure to wear it under his shirt, using a jacket to further conceal it. His brain protested not using it, but he wasn't letting anyone figure out he needed a stupid oxygen machine.

On top of everything else from the date, it was a bad pain day. A storm was rolling in on a cold day and his bones let him know about it. Even the bones that weren't usually a problem, his arms, good leg, ribs, jaw, and pelvis, ached. His skull felt like someone had buried a knife in his temporal hard enough to crush the side of his head. He could barely move his hands, couldn't even properly hold onto his cane. And his bad leg? His bad leg hadn't hurt this much in years. Hell, it had only hurt this badly when it was actually broken.

And he had class.

On the Isle, a day like this would be a day he wouldn't get out of bed. He wouldn't mind Hades and Seph worrying over him, and he wouldn't worry about them thinking he couldn't do anything for himself. This should have been a day where he curled up under the warm blankets and went in and out of sleep, his parents waking him every time a nightmare started to take hold and making sure he ate when he couldn't even walk. A day where he wouldn't mind who saw him relying on his dog for even the simple stuff. A shitty day, sure, but less shitty than it could have been. A day where he didn't have to do anything, because he couldn't find it in himself. But not in Auradon. In Auradon, a day like this meant class. And class meant walking down thirty stone stairs.

He knew he was going to fall. It was just a matter of how bad the fall would be. He'd hoped his arm and leg could at least hold out to the middle of the staircase.

They didn't. Not even two steps down, his bad leg collapsed. His bad left arm, his cane arm, folded when he put too much weight on it.

He went down.

His foot slipped out from under him as he lurched back on reflex, putting his elbow behind him to take the impact on it instead of the back of his skull. His bad leg caught on one of the stairs as he slid, forcing him into a tumble, and he tried to curl in on himself to protect his face and stomach from the worst of it, just like he would on the Isle.

Of course, that had been a routine for a simpler time, when he didn't have two very snappable bones coming out of his skull.

His horns were the first crack he heard. But they weren't the last.

Horns hand fingers leg skull-

He wasn't sure who screamed when he fell. He was pretty sure it wasn't him.

Spine leg leg hands-

He hit the ground hard enough to wind him and slammed into one of the heavy, cushy chairs. His head cracked back against the side table and he saw stars, going limp.

When he blinked the darkness from his vision, his first instinct was to scream. His second was to start swearing. He managed to refrain from both. He still had shocked scared tears in his eyes when he looked up to see his friends racing down the stairs. And to feel the gaze of every Auradon kid in the building on him, concerned gazes cutting into him like knives. Fucking fantastic. They were all going to see him as weak and helpless just because of a bad day, his friends were going to see him as weak and helpless because of a bad day, Jay and maybe even Ben were going to see him as fucking weak and helpless and he had to show that he wasn't-

Refusing to show weakness, he forced himself to his feet, putting weight on his bad and now-broken left leg in the absence of his cane. The smile he gave his concerned friends definitely looked more like a snarl or a grimace, but he didn't care. "Fucking... just tell Fairy Godbitch I'll be late to class. I'm gonna see the nurse cause I just broke my leg in three places. Where's my cane?"

"How'd the ground taste?" Jay joked on what had to be reflex, holding Riah's cane out to him before withdrawing. Riah saw red. "Wait, you shouldn't-"

"Shouldn't what, Jay?" Riah snapped. Gods, his day sucked absolute dick and he'd only been awake for an hour. He needed to get to the nurse so that everyone wasn't staring at him like he deserved pity or something. "Walk with a broken leg? Newsflash, my leg's been broken for five fucking years and I got along just fine without someone carrying me to and from like I'm some kinda princess. Give me my godsdamn cane or I swear on my father that I'll be removing it from the hands of your corpse."

His eyes went black to prove his point, but none of them were impressed. Mal was giving him a shocked, worried, pitying look and Riah's blood boiled. "You shouldn't walk on a broken leg, cane or not, so-"

"I'm going to be walking out of here with or without my fucking cane so you'd best give it to me if you're so concerned." He reached out his hand, using magick to pull the cursed metal in his cane out of Jay's hand and into his. "I can manage by myself, I don't need help. I especially don't need pity. Stop acting like I'm fragile or some shit." He turned sharply, levelling a murderous glare at the Auradon kids between him and the door. "Is there a reason you guys are in my way?"

The Auradon kids practically dove out of his way. He stormed past them.

Just to prove his point, he forced himself to walk without his cane. The rage gave him enough fuel to walk sort of normally, but the fading adrenaline meant that he felt every. Single. Step.

The second he ducked around the corner of the building, he folded, leaning hard on both his cane and the wall and trying desperately to breathe on his own. Stupid leg and stupid curse and stupid everyone who thought he couldn't do anything and stupid Auradon and fuck, he was going to pass out-

There was no way in hell he was letting anyone see him like this after what had just happened. Fuck it. If Fairy Godbitch wanted to throw him out of school she could. He wasn't getting across campus without it but he sure as shit wasn't going to let anyone see it, so he had to. He whispered a spell, calling on magick from his grandmother, to make himself invisible to those he didn't want to see him. Once he was sure that was done, he pulled the flattened plastic mask out of his shirt, fixed the metal edges over his mouth and nose, and pulled the elastic bands over his head to fix it to his face. He didn't bother to lift his shirt to see the buttons on the machine hidden at his side, just flipped the power switch and sighed in relief as the oxygen concentrator started working.

Fucking sixteenth birthday. Bitchass spell couldn't even wait two days to kill him.

Claudine was a lot stronger than Mal thought. When she and Jay started after Riah, Claudine held them both back without effort. "Don't. You'll only make it worse."

"What are you talking about?" Riah had fallen down the stairs and was walking on a broken leg without his cane. How could they possibly make that any worse?

All too aware of the eyes on them, Claudine dragged Jay and Mal back up the stairs, leading the gang to the closest of their rooms and locking the door behind her. Wasn't she supposed to be Riah's friend? How could she be so calm? Mal would've lost her shit if Jay tried what Riah was currently doing. "You can't try to help him. It's not a good idea in general and it's definitely not a good idea today." Claudine bit her lip and sighed, clearly trying to figure something out. "I can't go into too much detail, but today is the anniversary of when his leg was broken. There was a lot of stuff that happened. Those breaks are all from today, as well as most of his scars. Have you guys seen the scars on his arms, collarbone, and jaw?" They were hard to see but yeah, they'd all seen them. "There's more of those across nineteen of his ribs, on his spine, on his pelvis, and down his good leg, and those are from where they managed to operate on his to put the bones back into place. He was awake during that and that was five years ago today. That's why he's been so touchy these past few weeks and he's going to be touchy for a few weeks after this, he always has been. Today is always a bad day for him, he usually doesn't even get out of bed. And it's a bad idea to try to help him in general, but it's one of the worst things you could do today."

"If he needs help," Mal argued, "Why's it so bad to try and help him?"

"Because none of you know how to ask and none of you ask anyway," Claudine explained patiently. "If you want to help Riah, you've got to ask if you can help him, not if he needs help. And if he says no, you have to respect that. Riah tries to be independent, he hates when people assume or act like he can't do something. It makes him feel as though people see him as less than and when you do that, he goes overboard to prove you wrong. I've seen him scale a brick wall using just his hands to prove that he could get up the stairs and I know Hades has seen him do a great deal more. Riah is very capable of a lot of stuff and he's usually really good about sticking to his limits, but he'll push himself too hard if he thinks people are going to think less of him for what he can't do. Riah was probably extremely embarrassed about falling down the stairs in front of everyone and I probably didn't help by screaming and drawing attention. What he needed us to do was act as though someone like Jay had just tripped. When he falls down the stairs, unless he's saying something is wrong, it's best to make a joke like Jay did and move on. You give him his cane and if he puts his hand out, you help him to his feet like it's no big deal. Don't even put your hand out to help him. I know you meant well and you just didn't know, so I'm telling you guys now so that this doesn't happen again." Huh. Claudine could definitely be a nurse. "Never, ever, try to take his cane away. That would be like taking Agony's arm or leg-" There was a collective wince. They'd all seen what happened when someone did that and how severely upset Agony had been. "Because that is like Riah's arm or leg. Plus, he can walk without it. He can run without it. And he will. Believe me, I've seen him do both and the aftermath of both is never pretty. If he doesn't have his cane he will hurt himself. He'll walk and run on that leg and if the bone breaks the wrong way it's an emergency trip to the hospital and several blood transfusions from the three people he can receive blood from and who aren't in Auradon."

"What about his breathing?" Evie asked. Shit, was there something wrong with how he was breathing? Mal hadn't even noticed. She was supposed to notice this stuff to take care of her crew. "His lips and fingernails were blue and he was breathing too fast and not deep enough."

"His curse." His fucking what? "Riah has a curse trying to crush his lungs, he's had it for his entire life. He wears an amulet to keep it from killing him, that blue stone he doesn't take off, but..." Claudine gave Mal a nervous look. "It was cast by Maleficent and you know how her curses are. They kill on the sixteenth birthday. And Riah's sixteenth birthday is in two days."

"Hold the fuck up," Mal raised a hand to cut Claudine off. "Are you telling me right now that Riah is cursed to fucking die on his sixteenth birthday, which is in two days, and neither of you told me or any of the gods know how many magical beings we have access to?"

"He thought he could handle it and I thought he could, too. Mal, Riah wasn't cursed to die when he turned sixteen, he was cursed to die before he turned thirteen. He's lived with a spell trying to kill him for three years. He thought, with the magic he would have access to here, he would be able to keep fighting it. But..." Tears started to glitter in Claudine's eyes. Claudine never cried. "He can't. He only has so much left to use and once it's gone, he's going to die. But he won't take more. He can't. He would rather die."

"Take what?" She needed someone to draw a diagram so she could keep track of the punches. Riah was going to die in two days. Great.

"Life." What?! "I don't know how it works. Riah drained the life energy, the souls, out of four people almost fourteen years ago. That's how he's stayed alive. With that abundance of life magick, he's been able to extend his own life. But it's been so long, he's running out, and he can't get more."

"Can't he just drain someone else?"

"And get us all kicked out of Auradon?" Good point. "Even if that weren't a problem, he's not capable of it. He's got something keeping him from using it. Someone would have to willingly perform magick to transfer their life, their soul, into him, knowing that they would be destroying themselves. Their lives would be gone and so would their souls. Their souls would be destroyed, taken apart for magick, and they would cease to exist in even the afterlife. No one would be willing to do that. There's... there's no way to fix it."

No. No, Mal refused to believe that. Her crew had survived dozens of things that couldn't be fixed. If Evie's heart could be fixed, if Carlos's lungs could be fixed, if her brain could be fixed, if Jay's spine could be fixed, Riah could be fixed. They just had to think outside of the box. There had to be a way and they were going to find it. "Claudine, I need you to stay with Riah today. Don't leave him alone. We'll get you excused from class." Think think think, there had to be someone or something that could help. "Jay, get Jordan to bring her dad to talk to us. Evie, get Adam Constantine and see if Snow White can get us in touch with Aurora. Carlos, see if Audrey can get us an audience with Kida, or if Kida has any kids we can talk to. I'll talk to Jane and Doctor Sweet. If you have the chance, ask if they can get us in touch with Maui, Elsa, Heracles, Te Fiti or Moana, Rapunzel, Sofia the First, anyone who knows a lot about magic. No Merlin and no Fairy Godmother. There's an answer to this, we've just gotta find it."

They had to try.

Thank God Doctor McCoy had been visiting. If he hadn't been, Julieta was almost certain the Isle boy would have died.

The boy with the cane- Riah, she remembered- had only just managed to stagger through the doorway before he had collapsed, clumsily throwing a hand out to catch the edge of the desk and slow his fall. Julieta, as fast as she was, had barely managed to get to her feet before Riah's hands went to his chest and spread out just under his neck, pushing down slightly. It was a strange sign, almost like a failed attempt at a choking sign, but his intention became clear when she got a look at him.

His lips and fingertips were blue. Each tiny exhale came out as a strangled grunt. His chest was falling far too deep, as if his body was trying to suck his ribs to his spine. His nostrils were flared behind his oxygen mask and he was mouthing something as he curled in on himself. He went down before Julieta could kneel in front of him.

"His lungs!" She grabbed him by the shoulders and laid him on his back, undoing the magnets in the shoulders of his shirt to undo the magnets of his binder before starting chest compressions. "He's in respiratory arrest-" she wasn't doing any good, only forcing more air out of lungs that couldn't expand. "Take over chest compressions so I can call 911."

"It won't do any good," he argued, handing her his phone as he took over. "An ambulance won't get here in time. Call Kurt and tell him he needs to teleport to your office and that there's a medical emergency incoming. Cecilia needs to set up the life support machines for respiratory arrest."

The three rings of the phone were the longest few seconds of Julieta's life. She didn't give the person on the other end of the line time to speak. "This is Julieta Madrigal we need Kurt to come to my office at Auradon Prep immediately and we need Cecilia to prepare McCoy's equipment for respiratory arrest."

"Charles!" The voice on the other end shouted, accent thick even in one syllable. "Tell him what you know, I will be there in two seconds."

Another voice started to speak. She didn't give them the chance to. "The patient is a fifteen-year-old transgender boy in respiratory arrest. He has a curse constricting his lungs and his lungs cannot expand. He's on oxygen but it won't do good if he can't breathe."

"Slow down," the man ordered gently. "What do you know about the curse?"

"It crushes his lungs. He has an amulet to create a barrier between his lungs and the spell but the amulet doesn't always work. He wouldn't say much about it."

"So the spell is a physical thing?"

"The way he explained it, yes." She knew nothing about this kind of magic. The Encanto was a blessing, a miracle, not a curse. She didn't know anything about curses.

"They'll be there in one-" There was a strange sound as three people appeared in a puff of smoke. "Moment."

The older of the two women, a Latina woman with brown locs pulled back in a bun, knelt next to Riah and put her fingers to his neck. "No pulse." She pulled the shirt and binder off the rest of the way, making access easier. "McCoy, move on three. One, two, three-" McCoy jerked back and she quickly got his clothes off and pulled the strap for his strange oxygen machine over his head. "Resume." McCoy went back to chest compressions as she tore the corners from the wax paper covers on the electrodes and poured a clear gel into her hand. "McCoy. One, two, three." He moved back again and she quickly applied the gel across Riah's chest, then applied the five electrodes. "Resume."

The young woman with red hair put her fingers to her temple, brow wrinkling. "I can't move it much, but I've given him maybe an inch of room. There's something really wrong with the shape of his lungs. I've never seen anything like it. It looks like some kind of ILD, but I can't find an exact diagnosis."

McCoy frowned. "We'll have to do an imaging scan." He didn't say it, but the way the atmosphere was quickly turning grim told Julieta how dangerous the situation was becoming.

The machine came to life, showing a pulse that was far too slow and far too shallow. But it wasn't a flatline. Cecilia let out a small sigh of relief, turning over his arm and quickly finding a vein and swabbing the skin. "Julieta, Jean, hold him down. McCoy, in one, two, three-" McCoy stopped compressions again as Cecilia pressed a needle into his arm and injected it.

Riah jerked hard, eyes flying open for just a moment as he gasped and choked. He wasn't awake for long, only a few seconds, but the added space gave his heart and lungs a chance to start working again. When he went back down, he was breathing.

"Keep him down," Cecilia ordered. She quickly set up the ventilator she'd bought with her and got a breathing tube down like it was easy. No one dared to breathe as they waited a few minutes, making sure Riah wasn't going to back into immediate danger. He didn't. "He's not stabilized yet, but he's fit for transport. Call his parents and Kurt can bring them back to the institute."

"His parents aren't available." It was horrifying to think about. Riah had nearly died and they couldn't so much as call them to say what had happened. "He's one of the Isle children. I can contact his friends and the family taking care of him here."

After a beat of horrified silence, Cecilia nodded. "Do that. Hopefully, we'll have good news to send to his parents."

How had none of them noticed? That one question played on repeat in Jay's head as everything kept getting worse and worse.

How did we not notice he's cursed? He'd wondered as Claudine explained Riah's situation. They all knew Riah had an issue with his lungs, but he'd brushed it off as some lung condition, said it was no big deal. And they had all believed him. How could none of them have noticed that his "condition" was a curse, a curse that had been actively trying to end his life for three years?

How did we not notice him dying? The thought had been agonizing. Jay took it upon himself to notice everything about his friends. If Evie looked a bit too thin or perfect, if Mal looked a bit too desperate, if Carlos was just a second off- Jay was supposed to notice this stuff. He was the one who watched out for the crew even if Mal already was. If something got past Mal, he was supposed to catch it. How had he not caught the fact that Riah was dying? How could anyone hide something so well, knowing they were going to die in just a few days? Had there been something he missed? Had he overlooked something? Had some sort of negligence on his part led to this getting this bad?

How could he hide this from us? Yeah, they hadn't known him for long, but this wasn't something you hid from your allies. Why would he do that? How had he been able to? How the hell could someone be so good at lying that he could hide a curse and his impending death from them?

What else is he hiding?

What if he dies?

Considering how often his mind went to worst-case scenarios, Jay was no stranger to praying he would be wrong. He could count on one hand the amount of times he'd been hoping it this hard. Riah was tough, after all. He wasn't going to let some stupid curse kill him. When the blue demon (he would worry about that later) grabbed him by the shoulder and made them appear in some sort of hospital room, Jay had almost convinced himself he was going to be wrong.

The second he saw Riah, that growing hope died.

How the hell had he gotten so bad without any of them noticing?

He knew Riah was thin, they all were, but the lack of a jacket and long pants let him see that Riah was skeletal. He had some muscle, sure, but it was all flat and dense and right underneath the skin, as though he didn't have even the thinnest layer of fat. His skin was clinging to his muscles and bones. What Jay had thought were just high cheekbones and a sharp jawline suddenly became evidence of severe starvation- how had this guy managed to get out of bed, let alone walk the quarter-mile to the nurse's office? He had picked Riah up, how had he not noticed the guy being a bag of bones? How could Riah, who easily ate more than any of them, be so skinny?

The paper gown revealed just how bad his leg was. He'd known the bone was curved, but thick jeans had hidden the worst of it. The skin on his left thigh was bumpy, as though the bone had healed in spikes under it. His leg wasn't merely bruised, it was almost entirely painted in shades of black and blue. Bruises painted his thigh entirely in patterns that meant breaks, and most of those bruises were old. His knee was bent in a slightly weird way, as though the lower part of the joint had turned a bit, and the swelling and bruising showed both dislocation and breaks. There was even a slight but unnatural indent to his calf, with bruising that looked like it had broken a few weeks ago- the entire leg was an emergency on its own. How had Riah been able to put any weight on that leg, let alone walk on it without his cane?

The third thing he noticed was the least important, but somehow it surprised him the most. They'd all been wondering why Fairy Godmother insisted on calling Riah Rhiannon, a girl's name, and why he'd been put in a girl's room. Despite everything, he felt a hot flash of anger. What was wrong with this place? Riah had made it abundantly clear that he was a guy, so what did it matter if his body didn't match? There was no way they hadn't known about him being a boy. Were they trying to make some kind of point? Allah, that was so messed up.

Claudine wasn't surprised. She darted to Riah's side as the rest of them paused, squeezing his limp hand. "How bad is it?"

Another one covered in blue fur, this one built like a gorilla, shook his head. "The damage is too severe to be fixed and his blood type makes a transplant impossible. There's no way to make his lungs function again. I'm so sorry."

No.

Jay nearly staggered under the weight of those words. Riah... no, Riah couldn't die. He'd been fine yesterday. They'd been joking and complaining just like normal only yesterday. Riah had been a bit stressed, yeah, but he'd been fine. And now he was going to die. He was going to die and Jay would never see his smile or hear his laugh or trade insults with him ever again. He was only fifteen and he was going to die. And they would have to send his body to the Isle with the barge as though it was garbage, and there was no guarantee Hades would get his body before anyone else because Hades wouldn't even know Riah was dead-

Claudine jolted, face going hard. "There is. We need to get him to the Isle. Right. Now."

"What're you talking about?" Mal asked. Was it something about letting Riah die with his family?

"He's had transplants before, his heart and kidneys. A lung transplant is possible, but we need to get him to the Isle for that to happen." She shot to her feet. "Mara Winchester is a complete universal donor and her tissue changes to match whoever it's transplanted into."

"Winchester?" Jay shared a confused look with Mal. Mara Winchester as in that weird girl who lived in the forest? The one who smoked, drank, swore every three words and insulted someone every five? The firstborn daughter of Madam Mim and the Horned King, with the-

The pure white skin, curly black hair, and glowing red eyes.

Holy shit.

"He's Matilda Mim," Evie whispered. Matilda Mim the Third was a bit of an urban legend on the Isle. The secondborn kid of the Horned King and Madam Mim, born three months premature, cursed, and left to die at only a few hours old. Legend was that Matilda had actually survived and was still alive-

"Don't call him that," Claudine corrected. "His name is Riah. But yes, he was."

Holy shit!

"We're wasting time," she continued. "The longer we wait, the more damage is done. If we get him there within the next hour he might be able to survive long enough for the transplant-"

"What's going on?"

Jay's.

Heart.

Stopped.

They all whirled to Ben standing in the doorway, Aurora and Audrey with him. His eyes were tight with worry, his muscles tensed and ready to move. He looked worried, but there was no way he would let them take Riah back to the Isle at the drop of a hat-

"We're taking Riah to the Isle to save his life," Claudine said, squaring her shoulders and giving him a look as if daring him to argue. "And we're taking him there right now."

"You'd better believe they are."

As if this couldn't get any more confusing-

The man who stepped out of the shadows was Isle, it was obvious even if Jay hadn't known who she was. The scars on her skin and across her face- he could match so many of her features to Riah's- the tattoos painting her arms, her light turquoise hair, buzzed at the back and sides but long at the top in a way no one on Auradon used, her black armour-

Maverick fucking Mim.

She gave them a crooked smile, just like Riah's, and stepped further into the room. She was only a few inches taller than Ben, but she seemed to tower over him "Let me make this clear, Benny Baby- if Riah dies, everyone dies. Riah is not supposed to die yet and if he does, it fucks the natural order sideways in a way that reality really can't afford. I ain't in the position to kill myself so that his death wouldn't upset the natural order, so you're going to take him to the Isle so that I can continue playing cleanup for the absolute fucking disaster your daddy created. Now." She turned back to them. "There's a specific way you have to do this."

"How the fuck are you here?" Mal asked, finally finding her tongue in her shock. Maverick Mim didn't have any way to be in Auradon. She was powerful with magick, sure, but if she hadn't broken the barrier yet, she wasn't going to. So how had she gotten to Auradon?

"Technically I'm not," she shrugged. Yeah, because that made sense. "I'm astral projecting so that I can talk to you because I don't want the world to end. And, by the way, ask King Beast how I know Riah's dying because that fucker knows, and he also knows why Riah's death before my death would upset the natural order of everything. We ain't got time to unpack all that. Now, are you gonna listen to me or are you gonna let him die so that the world ends?"

If any of them had a response, she didn't give them enough time to say it. "As I was saying, you guys need to follow directions because there's a certain way this needs done. Get him to the barrier but don't open it and I'll take care of the rest. You're going to need to drive."

"The Blackbird can get there faster," some bald guy in a wheelchair said.

Maverick shook her head. "Not gonna work. Number one, the hospital is underground-"

"Since when?" Mal sounded frazzled. Well, it was nice to see he wasn't the only one who had no clue what was going on.

"If one of you idiots interrupts me one more motherfucking time I swear to the gods," Maverick snapped. "We moved it because of I'll explain later. Point is, shit's underground now. There's no way for an aircraft to get to it even if we could get an aircraft through the barrier safely. So, you need to drive to where the bridge breaks. I'll handle everything else. I'll explain once the world is no longer in danger of ending. Get my little brother to the barrier and bring Benny Baby with you." She turned again, giving Ben a grin that was all teeth. "We need to talk."

"Who are you?" Ben managed.

"That answer will have to wait until we're face-to-face, golden boy, and none of you are allowed to tell him. I think a demonstration will drive it home better than me just saying it." With that cryptic statement, she turned back to the five. "Just get my brother to the barrier. I'll explain everything once he's stable. You guys willing to do that or do I have to do something that's going to bring Auradon's fist down on thousands of innocent children?"

Jay was so confused he was practically dizzy from it- he was almost certain he was physically swaying from it. Mal grabbed his hand, squeezing hard to try and ground him. "We'll get him to the barrier. Everything else can wait."

That was why Mal was the leader. She had a gift for keeping her head in even the worst situations.

Maverick nodded. "I'll be waiting. And, no matter what, you guys need to not interfere with what I'm going to do unless I tell you to. If I don't tell you to do anything, you do nothing. That goes for the X-Men, too." She gestured at the adults so that there was no question who the "X Men" were.

"I'll keep them in line," Mal promised. With one final nod, Maverick stepped back into the shadows, melting into them. Just as inexplicably as she had arrived, she was gone. "Let's get moving, fast. If she's involved, we need to believe her because she never gets involved unless it's the apocalypse."

"Who was that?" Ben asked, struggling to sound composed. The poor guy looked as confused as Jay felt.

"That," Mal gestured at the shadow Maverick had vanished into, "Was our sign that the world is going to end and a way to keep it from ending. On the Isle, her word is law. If she orders you to jump, no matter what gang you're part of, you say 'How high?' If she's saying we need to get Riah to the Isle, we're getting Riah to the fucking Isle. Now let's get moving before he dies."

Ben had no idea what was going on. It turned out that the Isle kids didn't, either.

The entire journey in the X-Van was spent listening to Claudine explain everything. No matter how bad Riah's physical conditions had seemed, they were only the surface of the issues. Riah had been born nearly three months premature. He'd been blind when he was younger and had needed surgeries and different treatments to fix this, but his eyes were still sensitive to light and he struggled with processing visual information. He'd needed multiple organs replaced- his heart, his kidneys, his intestines, and even two vertebrae. He'd had brain surgery when he was three to lessen severe epilepsy, but he was still epileptic and had seizures triggered by stress (which he was on medications for, but still.) His left femur wasn't simply broken, it had been eighty-five percent shattered. Fixing it had been impossible for reasons Ben never got but they all seemed to know. He had chronic pain from dozens of broken bones and this pain was sometimes so severe that he couldn't get out of bed. Today had been one of those days, and Riah had still forced himself out of bed and tried to walk down the stairs.

The only area Claudine didn't know much about was his lungs. That was where Doctor McCoy stepped in.

"Getting an imaging scan was far easier than you think. Equipment for mutants with ice, fire, and electricity abilities worked like a charm. This is why these six must see a provider used to working with genetic variants- if this had been detected earlier, we would have been able to act before it was an emergency." So they needed mutant doctors. He would have to see if the Xavier Institute would be willing to treat them moving forward. "Riah's lungs are extremely malformed. If I had to guess, I would say they were the size of an eight-year-old's lungs, and a small eight-year-old at that. Their growth has been severely restricted by the curse. As a result, they've grown into an extremely dysfunctional shape. The walls of his lungs are inconsistent, some parts are far too thick while some parts are as thin as tissue paper. The insides are almost eighty percent scar tissue, I suspect due to the way they've been forced to grow. It appears he's had some sort of laryngotracheal reconstruction surgery, surgery to fix his windpipe, at least twice in his life, but there's still a great deal of damage and malformation with his windpipe."

"He shouldn't be alive," Audrey whispered, eyes wide with horror. "How can he still be alive?"

"It appears he has some minor form of immortality. His body seems to adapt to any issues that put his life at risk. I noticed in the scans that he has scar tissue across his intestines, right under the scar across his stomach. An injury like this should not have been able to heal and should have required removal and a great deal of medical intervention, but his body was able to heal the damage and restore function. Scans of his brain, stomach, heart, liver, and spinal cord reveal similar scars and similar healing. If I had to guess, I would say the tissue in his lungs has mutated to function despite the damage. The real question is why this ability suddenly stopped." The Isle kids shared a minute, knowing look. "I hope to speak to someone who knows more about his medical history."

"Hades should know," Claudine whispered. "He's been taking care of Riah for Riah's entire life. He knows everything there is to know about Riah's medical issues and he'll probably be at the hospital."

"Fantastic." McCoy looked almost like a child at Christmas.

"We're bringing his dog back with us," Aurora said. Ben looked at her, puzzled. Since when did Riah have a dog? And why did they need to bring a dog with them to Auradon? "He has a service dog, Lydia, and he wasn't allowed to bring her with him. He needs her."

"She does a lot," Claudine added. "She helps him get around, grabs stuff for him, keeps him from falling or helps him get up after a fall, opens and closes stuff, wakes him up from nightmares, alerts for his panic attacks, meltdowns, shutdowns, flashbacks, and dissociation, and she helps him feel safe. She can even alert them to his seizures before he has one, sometimes an hour before they happen. I've seen how much she helps him. She's as important to him as his cane, maybe more."

"If she's so important, why wasn't he allowed to bring her?" He'd never said anything about the Isle kids not being allowed to bring pets, and he'd certainly never forbidden service dogs. If Riah had a service dog, he should have been allowed to bring her with him. And why hadn't he been told about this? At the very least he should have been made aware that Riah had an essential service dog he'd been forced to leave on the Isle.

"She's a Tibetan mastiff." A what? "According to Hades, her breed qualifies as giant, like a Newfoundland or Great Dane. She's heavier than Riah by around twenty pounds and when she stands on her hind legs, she can put her front paws on her shoulders. She looks like some kind of lion, too, or a bear. She's just a massive dog, and I guess they thought that her size made her dangerous." Claudine gave him a pleading look. "But she's not. She's so gentle, she doesn't have a mean bone in her body. She's not friendly, yeah, but she's not aggressive. I swear, she won't put anyone in danger. If anything, she'll keep bad situations from happening."

"If he needs her, I don't see why he shouldn't be allowed to have her. I had no idea he had a service dog that he wasn't allowed to bring with him." Maybe not having his dog would explain why Riah seemed to have gone downhill so fast in Auradon. He was the only one of the Isle kids who had lost weight, and he'd lost a lot- maybe the dog reminded him to eat, or helped relieve stress so he could eat? If she kept him from falling, his leg probably wouldn't be as bad as it looked. Maybe she could have calmed him down before he snapped under his anger or anxiety. Maybe a lot of his anxiety was from not having his dog- not having the comfort, not having an early warning for seizures, not having something that could remind him to listen to his emotions and take care of himself- it would make a lot of sense. He couldn't believe this had never been brought to his attention. "Do any of you have service animals you left behind? We can collect them while we're here."

Mal shook her head. "But I know I've got some stuff I left at home, and I know the others probably do. Would it be okay if we went home and grabbed some things we forgot?"

"Absolutely. Just don't bring any weapons." He felt stupid saying it. The Isle kids might have been rough, but they weren't dangerous. They weren't going to bring weapons into the school.

Jay snorted into his hand and Evie bit her lip to keep from laughing. Mal elbowed both of them, but it was clear she was trying not to laugh. "No problem."

With those plans made, Ben looked back at Riah, still unconscious in the gurney that had fit perfectly into the X-Van. He was so thin, far thinner than he'd been when he first came to Auradon, and covered in black bruises. It was hard to believe he'd been in Auradon for two months. While the other five had healed up and gained weight, he'd lost weight and gotten injury after injury. "Has he been eating?"

"He eats more than any of us," Jay frowned. "Sometimes I think he eats more than all of us put together. I don't get how he lost so much weight."

"Maybe we should ask Mara." Who was Mara and where did she come into this? Seeing Ben's confusion, Mal went on. "She's his biological sister, around a year older than him, and they look like they could be twins. If anyone knows how Riah managed to lose this much weight, it's her. Maybe she'll even know how to help him get back to normal... Well, normal for his weird ass. She'll be the one he's getting lungs from, so she should be there."

"His sister is really going to die for him?" That was a very impressive amount of sibling dedication, but God... How could they talk about that like it was no big deal? How were they supposed to talk to this girl knowing she was going to die so that Riah could live?

"What?" Mal gave him a strange look, then seemed to understand. "Oh- Mara's immortal. She sold her soul to the woman you saw earlier because Mara needs to be immortal for now. She'll just regenerate her lungs and she'll be fine."

"There isn't any magic on the Isle." If there was no magic, how could anyone sell their soul to anyone? How could they become magically immortal and get to magically regenerate without magic?

"There's names," Mal explained. "If I were to ask someone to give me their name- never have, by the way, except in emergencies when someone won't be able to live unless I do it, and I always free them the second they aren't in danger- and they were to say their full name, I would own their soul. It's a rare practice, but people do it. Some people use it in very bad ways, but some people, like the person from earlier, use it to help people. Mara's currently the only thing keeping some of the adults in check, so she sold her soul to M- that person from earlier, because she needs to be immortal for everyone's sake. For what it's worth, she's has never forced any of the people who've sold their souls to her to do anything they don't want to do. Actually, I know at least two of them are freed from their contract if she tries to order them to do something they don't want to do."

Back to the mystery woman from earlier. Even the memory of her made Ben feel small. He could still feel her bright turquoise eyes piercing his soul, seeing every wrong he'd ever done. She had obviously been a lot older than all of them, twenty-one at the minimum, but he couldn't tell which villain she was. Of course, he hadn't been able to identify anything about her. If not for the Isle kids, he wouldn't have even known she was a woman. "Who is that woman? How do you know her?"

"Don't call her a woman. She's fine with she/her pronouns but she prefers titles for a guy or gender-neutral- so she'd be a man, not a woman." That didn't make any sense to him but he wasn't going to police how someone identified. Okay, M was a guy... ish? "As for who she is, she's..." Mal shook her head. "If she said we can't tell you who she is, we won't. When that one gets involved, she's in charge. When she gives us an order, we listen. We know her as Destiny, basically." Destiny as in Destiny of the Endless? The oldest of them, with a chronicle of all time chained to his arm? The most powerful being on the planet? "She's not, obviously, but we treat her like she is. She knows everything, knows what'll happen if something else happens. She has a really good intuition, or some kind of magical schooling, and we listen because she's never been wrong. And she rarely gets involved. Usually, she stays on her part of the Isle, doesn't interact with anyone outside of her gang. When she gets involved, it means something extinction-level needs stopped, and she knows how to stop it. If something is bad enough that she gets involved, we listen to her because she never gets involved."

"She's the Pope of the Isle," Claudine said. "She doesn't give orders often but when she does, her word is absolute law."

"How is she going to get us onto the Isle?" Ben felt like he was trying to put together a billion-piece puzzle with no edges and no picture. He wasn't going to let himself dwell on anything, just learn what he could so that he could figure out the bigger picture.

Mal shrugged. "No idea. But if she said she's going to get us onto the Isle, I believe her."

Ben glanced out the window, at the wide expanse of blue ocean, then at Riah.

Whatever happened, he hoped it happened fast.

#chapter 7 #descendants #descendants au #isle of darkness #original character #descendants oc #swearing

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morning-star-joy · 7 months

Text

WIP Wednesday Thursday

thank you for the tag @sp00kymulderr I love your fics sm <3

Step one: post snippets of the fics you're working on (can be a summary if there's no snippet)

Step two: put them in a poll and let people vote on which one you should work on

Step three: every vote is one minute you put on a timer to work on that fic (ex. 15 votes = 15 minutes of writing)

the killer doesn't understand pt 6 (Post-Outbreak Neighbors)

It took every fiber of his being to attempt to keep you at arms length, and it still wasn’t enough to keep you away. He could bite and you’d still be back, still offering him scraps of food from the palm of your hand, trying to feed a feral wolf in a stray dog’s skin. It’s his fault. It’s always his fault.

daydreams pt 2 (Touch-Starved!Joel x F!Reader)

The heat that rushes towards his face and warms his tired bones when he walks through the front doors of the bakery is welcome, as startling as the comforting smell of freshly baked bread and other sweet delights always is. Being in the small store along one of Jackson’s main streets is always an odd, forbidden sort of time travel to a bygone era of early morning coffee runs and frustrating traffic to get there that no longer existed. It’s a place he wouldn’t have frequented just months before. A place where he now greeted the smiling, albeit sleepy faces of the bakers by name and a nod of appreciation for their hard work. They had made a comment only once, a kind little joke about how much he liked the scones he picked up every Tuesday morning like clockwork. He was ready to snatch them up as soon as they had cooled down enough from the oven for the fresh orange glaze to be layered on top.

tarnished but so grand (Regency!Joel x F!Reader)

“You’ll despise it there,” Joel told the determined Miss Williams for the tenth time as she shoved another piece of luggage into the back of the carriage. “You would be much happier staying here with Miss Servopoulos.” Ellie sent a glance back towards the ranch’s beloved protection, cross-legged on the porch’s rocking chair with a shotgun across her lap. The woman was armed to the teeth as always, her hat resting over her face as her ears stayed alert to what was happening, no doubt hearing as Ellie sighed. “She’ll do just fine without me,” the young woman said simply before she turned back to give Joel an unimpressed glance over. “But you? They’re going to eat you alive ‘cross the water, old man.”

bloodshed, crimson clover pt 2 (Jackson Joel x Doctor F!Reader)

He may as well be a ghost, the way he haunts you. Sometimes you really do think that’s all Joel Miller was—a spectral force, maybe more divine than man in his fury. You certainly clung onto his visage like a prayer, replaying every moment where he danced just out of your grasp. Trying to remember the way the smog-addled QZ sun filtered through the dingy windows of your clinic to reflect in his eyes. Hazel, you have to remind yourself sometimes, ten years later. Not just brown, or even green, but a beautiful combination of the two, a swirling of two colors that spoke much of the dual nature within him, the conflict that raged inside a body honed to kill, even with the glimpses you had caught of him being so much more.

men like you chapter 4 (Arthur Morgan x F!OC)

Arthur knew that Miss Taylor was a beautiful woman. He’d thought it when she had been caked with dried blood upon their first meeting, wild hair and wilder eyes, ready to kill him in a moment if he moved wrong. He still thought it when she glared at him, face scrunched up in contempt at the mere insult of his very presence. Her tenacity, her fire, were things of true beauty that he hoped their way of life would never stamp out, even if they perplexed and frustrated him to no end. He thought it even more now, with the display of her vulnerability that he had never seen. Even if it was just an unintended consequence to their unfortunate situation of being in such forced close proximity to each other.

some violent, exquisite happenstance (Arthur Morgan x Ex-Outlaw F!Reader)

Arthur huffs, annoyance bleeding into his good intentions even as his own hand twitches by his own killer instinct just from the sight of you so ready to draw in case he dared to move wrong. “Now, ya really think I’m gonna shoot you after all that?” He gestures towards the fixed carriage, all your belongings back in place, and you have the infuriating gall to just shrug at his exasperation. “Stranger things have happened.”

np tags: @cavillscurls @5oh5 @sweetercalypso @joelsdagger @punkshort @honeyedmiller @eupheme (sorry if you've done it already, goldfish memory)

#wips #wip poll #wip game #doni writes #I'm prioritizing some writing for killer doesn't understand for write night!! but just really am itching to write a lot rn <3

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tommyspeakycap · 3 years

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Hi :) I was wondering if you’d be open to writing something about Tommy and baby Shelby going to see Alfie. With season 5 Alfie trying to hide his scars because he thinks she’d be scared but she just cuddles into him. I get if this is weird or too specific😅

Protected

“Remember what we talked about eh?” Tommy says to his youngest sibling as he tugs open the door on her side of the car. (y/n) Shelby takes her brothers outstretched hand to help her jump down out of the car that was a little too high up for her to manage to climb out by herself. “Yes Tommy.” She responds, skipping off in front of him to the big heavy front door of the building they were going into. The little girl leans against the door to very little avail as it barely even budges until Tommy reaches the door too and pushes it open with one strong arm.

He steps very firmly in front of (y/n) in the lobby of the building to prevent her running off again, and crouches down to her height with both hands placed firmly on her small upper arms to hold her still. “You stay right next to me okay?” He repeats, “And stay quiet yeah? I’ll try and be as quick as i can.” (y/n) smiles in response, “And then we can go to the sweet shop?”

Tommy nods and gives his little sister a soft smile before he stands up straight and takes her hand tightly in his. His littlest sister is so fearless and unaware of the dangers of the life she was dropped into that it always gives Tommy a sense of relief in some ways. It was almost like a form of escapism. Bouncing between Polly, John, Arthur, Charlie, and Tommy had made her life very different from most, even from Tommy’s young son. It would be incredibly safe to say that it was a shock when Polly Gray had entered into the betting shop in Watery Lane holding a baby wrapped in a pink blanket. They were all incredibly confused and very soon learned that Arthur Shelby Senior had shown up on the doorstep with another child he wasn’t interested in raising. She was an accidental one who’s mother died in childbirth and the deadbeat father had been gifted with yet another little life to let down.

Of course it became very important for Tommy that the baby girl did not experience the same kind of sheer let down that their father had given to all of them. He named sweet little (y/n) on that evening 6 and a half years ago. He felt like he was completely aimless and useless at that time. He had decided not to go after Grace and that lost love was weird for him after finally having it. Then that beautiful, quiet, warm and sweet little girl was placed into his arms and held tightly onto his finger and suddenly, his world and his love seemed to hold new meaning.

She was his muse, his greatest love and his favourite little sidekick.

“Tommy fuckin’ Shelby.” Alfie rumbles out, his back to the door as he faces out his balcony. “That’s a bad word, Tommy.” (y/n) chides in a whisper as she looks up cautiously at her elder brother. Tommy offers her small hand a gentle squeeze and nods his head, but promptly turns his head back to the man holding a gun at the window. “And you’ve brought your mini protégé, i see.”

Alfie turns half of his face, only his good half, to see the sweet little wave from the youngest Shelby sibling. “Alfie, this is my sister; (y/n).” Tommy introduces, hoping his willingness to divulge his sisters name would move Alfie away from the subject as quickly as possible so that they could talk about what he was really there to talk about and then he could take his sister and go quickly. He didn’t like her having to be involved in these things, he always feared it would bring her into the line of fire. “Mhm,” Alfie grumbles, “Last time i saw you, you was only about this big-” He gestures with his hand only a few feet off the floor, “Couldn’t speak much, either.” The Londoner adds, eyes slightly narrowed. The 6 year old tilts her head to the side.

“I can speak a lot now, Mister Solomons.” She says, somewhat proudly. The burly man laughs, not his usual sinister or mocking way. “I can see that.” He hums in response, eyes moving from the little girl to Tommy when he clears his throat heavily to draw attention back to him. “If we could, Alfie, I’d like to talk business.” Alfie nods his head in response, gesturing with his hand to the couch across the room. Tommy let’s go of his sisters hand to sit down on the couch, the little girl doing her best to climb up beside him with only a little help from her brother. Alfie sits on the chair across from them. Tommy knows there had to be significant damage to the side of the man’s face after the injury he sustained from the bullet fired out of Thomas’s gun. There was almost no way he escaped that unscathed.

“I’m going to kill a facist, Alfie. And i need some men.”

The words from Tommy prompt Alfie to rather abruptly turn his head, somewhat shocked by the words, but more shocked by the fact the 6 year old little girl was completely unbothered by the words her brother had spoken. The pre-school aged girl simply continues fiddling with the pocket watch Tommy gave to her. She looks to be dismantling it with a very distinctive focus that reminds Alfie she is a Shelby, and she might fully be aware of how to kill him already.

“A facist ey?” Alfie repeats, his eyebrows raised. “Politics got to you, Thomas?” Tommy rolls his eyes and lights a cigarette. “I need some men.” Tommy adds, making Alfie scoff. “Oh you do, do you? And you want mine?”

Tommy merely nods his head.

In his discussion with the head of the Peaky Blinders, Alfie had not forgotten the presence of the 6 year old on the couch, but it had fallen away from the forefront focus of his mind as he debated the thought of lending men to a Shelby’s cause. In doing so, he turned his head in thought and a little noise of awe left the youngest Shelby. Tommy and Alfie both direct their attention straight to her.

The little girl scoots herself off the couch and Tommy reaches for her arm, but just misses. She trods right up to the huge London gangster and tilts her head. “What happened?” She asks softly. Alfie shifts uncomfortably on the couch he sits on, running his finger absentmindedly over the scarring of his face. “Got shot.” Alfie responds, Tommy clears his throat heavily and almost awkwardly in knowing he was the one who had given Alfie Solomons his facial scarring. (y/n) tilts her little head in awe as she clambers up onto the couch next to him.

“Looks cool.” She mutters in awe.

Most look at him in some kind of shock or horror even. Some with sympathy thinking it had come from the war and some with fear knowing where it had really come from. But few with the kindness and curiosity of the 6 year old standing on his good couch.

“Does it hurt?” She asks quietly. Alfie shrugs.

“Depends.”

That’s when her little hand reaches forward to trace over the scarring with an almost feather light child’s touch as she stands there on the couch, her hands are cold and gentle over the markings that no one has touched since his last hospital appointment.

“Her mother’s daughter.”

Alfie flicks his eyes back over to a now standing Thomas as he reaches forward to lift his sister up into his arms where she sits on his hip with little furrowed eyebrows and a purse on her lips. Alfie’s residual aching cheekbone pain has faded to nearly non-existent for the first time he can soberly remember. He knows that Tommy knows this by the look in his eyes and the way in which he notes his prior statement before he gathered his sister.

“She’s sweet.” Alfie nods, standing to his feet. As softened as both men may be by the child in the room, Alfie does not like sitting as Tommy Shelby towers over him whether the man is an ally or not. “Polly says i get it from Tommy.” (y/n) chimes. Alfie raises his eyebrows with a grin that makes Tommy roll his eyes at the retired gangster. “Oh do you now?” Alfie hums, opening his mouth to speak again when Tommy cuts him off. “You go ahead to the car (y/n), eh? I’ll meet you down there in just a minute okay?”

The six year old nods and runs off the moment her feet hit the ground. Tommy turns to Alfie immediately.

“If you ever-“

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mister Mom.” Alfie rumbles, crossing his arms over his chest with a beaming grin. “Little miss Shelby has you whipped, mate. Tell me, what’s your favourite apron you wear at home eh Thomas?” He chuckles heartily, making Tommy glower in rage at his teasing. “I’m fucking serious, Alfie.” He growls. Alfie straightens up and stops laughing immediately.

His eyes narrow for a split second and he tilts his head, his eyes searching the depth of Tommy’s cerulean blues and immediately noticing the sheer panic and worry that lies deep within them, attempting to hide under brotherly protective instinct and rage at the prospect of harm falling on his little sister. Alfie inhales deeply. He would truly never dream of harming a child. It’s not in his nature, nor does it sit well with him. And though he had been quick to give the head of the Peaky Blinders a reality check in the past regarding the safety of his son, in the end he had no idea Charlie Shelby had been taken and he never would have arranged for that to happen.

Alfie nods his head and leans forward. “She’s special to you, yeah?” Tommy doesn’t know why Alfie asks. He’s sure it’s clearer than he wants it to be, but alas the Londoner asks anyway and Tommy doesn’t know exactly how to answer, so he simply makes a motion something akin to a nod though looks more like a twitch of his chin. “Mhm, I can tell. You can have the men. I’m sure you know the price.” Alfie turns away. Tommy doesn’t know what it was in Alfie’s eyes that reassured him more than words ever could that he wouldn’t lay harm on the 6 year old little girl who treated him with more respect and kindness in the ten minutes she spoke to him that anyone had in years. There was an element of brotherly protectiveness that Alfie felt only after knowing her a short time.

“And Tommy?”

“Yes, Alfie?” The Birmingham MP turns back as he leaves the doorway of Alfie’s sitting room.

“Anything ever happens to the kid, you fuckin’ let me know yeah?”

Tommy nods his head, the ghost of a smile somewhat on his face. His little sister is just about as protected as they come, and there was a distinct feeling of certainty that Alfie Solomons was there, lurking in the shadows of existence with a familial fondness of the little Shelby girl who carries the glow of an angel above her head that would ensure no men, from Birmingham or further afield would have to go through every Solomons and Shelby loyal man up and down the country before a hair on (y/n) Shelby’s head was messed. Tommy holds hope somewhere deep in his heart that his little sister will never have to see violence aimed at her, and that for as long as she lives she knows that she is instantaneously loved, dearly held in every heart and ferociously protected by some of Britain’s most dangerous men.

#tommy shelby x sister!reader #tommy shelby x sister reader #shelby sister reader #shelby!reader #baby!shelby #baby shelby #alfie solomons x baby!shelby #alfie solomons platonic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders blurb

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liseenle · 3 years

Text

FIRST IN LINE

FLUFFY George x reader

Summary: Sometime in 1999, George sees reader dancing with Teddy Lupin in her arms and realizes something important.

A/N: Probably best while listening to “First In Line” by Matthew Mayfield

It sometimes happened that the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix would meet at Grimmauld Place number 12 to spend time together. Following the war of the previous year, many people were left on their own, severely affected by everything that had happened that fateful night. Harry had then decided not to sell the house, which once belonged to his godfather, but to use it instead as a place where others could hide from the cruelties of the world. And so, a house that had once appeared cold and cruel was now a happy place, a place of serenity.

It was the end of February, and the Weasley family decided to spend their time together at Grimmauld Place, also inviting Tonks' mother, Andromeda, and her grandson Teddy along.

Y/n and George had arrived early that day, wishing to spend some time by themselves. They had been dating for over a year now, but George felt every day like it was the first. He actually spent most of his days thinking about her, only hoping he could make it home earlier to spend time with her. George knew he loved her, yet only that day did he realize how far this feeling had truly extended.

There’s no one else

Im sure of this

While doing some things around the house for his mother, at one point George realized that he had lost y/n in that maze of a house. After searching several rooms, however, he finally heard a sound of music coming from the floor just below him. Going down the stairs, George thought he had also heard the sound of a child laughing, that laugh that only little ones have, so cheerful that it makes you laugh too.

He pushed the door in front of him carefully, revealing the interior of the drawing room, recently refurbished by his father Arthur and Bill. The crackling fire threw yellowish lights on the walls of the shadowed room, generating however an effect of warmth and comfort. In the middle of the room stood y/n, holding Teddy in her arms, as she followed the rhythm of the music in the background.

I’ve made my home

In your heart and your mind

“what are you looking at?” Fred asked softly, joining him.

But George remained silent, enchanted by the scene before him. He sometimes couldn't believe that he had found someone like y/n in his life, yet there she was, as beautiful as ever, dancing with her eyes half closed.

You laid your hands on my chest

And you pointed home

Within a minute, Mrs. Weasley and Andromeda were there too, both extremely touched by the scene. Clearly, due to the background noise of loud sniffs and the now fully open door, y/n had realized she was being watched. Although, while throwing a few furtive smiles at George and the others, y/n continued to swing softly, Teddy now sound asleep with his head on her shoulder.

George, who had remained motionless until then for fear of interrupting that sweet moment, sighed deeply and, when asked by Fred "what are you thinking little bro?" he could not help but smile.

"I think she's my soul mate" he said in a faint voice. The gazes of the two women and his brother fell on him, furtive and happy.

I'll give you all of me

I'll make you mine

"Oh George..." his mother's hand gripped his arm and he felt the warmth of that action spreading in him.

"It was time for our little Georgie to realize it! We’ve been saying it for the last ten years of your life! " Fred exclaimed, laughing. Even George couldn't help but laugh about it: sometimes the perfect girl for you has been right there all along, you just didn't notice.

Maybe one day George would have the honour of marrying her, or even of starting a family. But until that day, watching her grow, seeing her mold into a woman, seeing her smile even on the hardest of days seemed enough.

If you'll take me and you'll make me

Your first in line

#george weasley fluff #george weasley #george x reader #george x y/n #Harry Potter #fluff

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potter-imagines · 4 years

Text

Staying at the Burrow with your boyfriend Fred Weasley...

- Fred loathed his time away from Hogwarts on any break that you weren’t with him

- Since the Christmas of your fourth year, it has become a sort of tradition for you to going your boyfriend and his family for the holidays

- And if you would even suggest a change in plans, Fred would beg you otherwise

- “Y/n pleaseeee, angel? I already told my mum that you’re coming, and she already started knitting! You’ll break her heart!” “Okay fine, I’ll come but only for Molly.”

- It means the absolute world to Fred that you love his family and that his family loves you

- Ginny would await your arrival by the front door, practically buzzing with excitement

- Every time you visit the Burrow, you make sure to bring gifts for his family

- Your favorite person to give presents to is Arthur

- You always bring him some new muggle object that never fail to fascinate him

- “Oh, Molly! Y/n’s here- ooh I wonder what she’s brought for me this time! I hope it’s one of those clicky writers!” “You mean a pen, dear.” “Yes, yes, Molly, a pem!” “Arthur, no-“

- Most breaks Harry would also tag along which meant more players for your quidditch games

- Fred and George were usually team captain

- Fred always picked you first for his team

- Unless George got to pick first

- He would pick you just in spite of Fred, which usually caused petty bickering between the twins

- “Bloody hell, George! You pinky promised me you wouldn’t pick Y/n! You said I could have her-“ “Freddie, you spend almost 24 hours a day with her. She’s just on my team for one game!”

- George would playfully torture you two during the whole break with comments here and there

- “Hey dad, I saw Fred sneak Y/n into our room last night.” “George!” “…let’s just not tell your mother, understood?”

- Doing the dishes with Fred and having a bubble fight

- George wasn’t lying tho

- Fred would sneak you into his room almost every night

- Molly had caught you two a few times but she never brought it up

- Fred was nearly 18 and Molly absolutely adored you

- So she’d smile to herself and pretend she never saw a thing

- Going on walks with Ron and Harry

- A lot of cute little moments with Fred

- Like him giving you his sweater when you get cold at night

- He likes to draw pictures on your back when you’re cuddling as you try to guess what it is

- “Uh… I’m not sure, is it a flower?” “No, angel. It was an owl! Okay now guess this one…”

- George would constantly whisper shout at the two of you when he’s trying to sleep

- “Can you lovesick puppies shut up! Some of us are single and would rather be miserable in peace. I can’t handle all the cute lovey whispers, it’s bloody sickening! I’m ready to share a bed with Percy- that’s how bad it is.”

- This would cause Fred and yourself to erupt with laughter much to George’s displeasure

- Sneaking around the house to have some *cough* private time

- Making out in his backyard

- Fred doesn’t like when you go for walks alone outside the house

- Times are tense and you’re the last person, besides a family member, that he could afford to lose

- He’ll always walk by your side and crack jokes just so he can hear you laugh

- Whether he realizes it or not, whenever you two go walking together Fred will always hold your hand and swing it back and forth

- He loves kissing your knuckles and the back of your hand

- He’s honestly so sweet when he’s not putting 24 hour color changing hair dye in your shampoo

- You’ve spent so many Christmas’ at the Weasley’s that Molly has a stocking for you and a gift ready every time

- Fred purposely places mistletoes around the house for you two to ‘conveniently’ meet under

- “Fred! You know I’m your girlfriend so you can kiss me whenever, right?” “But this is more romantic, darling! You’re the first girl I’ve ever kissed under a mistletoe- and the only, and last girl I want to kiss for my whole life. I’d like to continue that tradition.” “Well how can I say no to that?”

- Fred will literally take any chance offered to kiss you

- George loves to annoy the two of you by squeezing in the middle of your cuddles

- “George! You git, get out of here!” “But I need some love too!” “Yeah, find it with a girl who isn’t my girlfriend!”

- Fred will make you coffee or tea each morning, whichever you prefer

- Making hot chocolate together for the whole family during winters at the Burrow

- Marshmallow mustaches

- You kiss the marshmallows off Fred’s mouth, running your tongue along his upper lips which causes a deep scarlet blush to slap his cheeks

- “How do you like it when the tables are turned, Fred?” “I quite like it actually… that was hot.” “Fred!”

- During winter, you guys will have snowball fights outside with all the Weasley siblings plus Harry, and Hermione

- You and Fred have a competition on who can make the biggest snow man

- Your relationship is built off humor, friendship, and love so there is not a day that passes by where tears aren’t pouring from your eyes out of laughter

- Fred likes to wake you up by jumping on you and attacking your face with little pecks

- “Wake up, angel! I’ve been waiting ten minutes for you to get up but I couldn’t wait any longer now c’mon!”

- Fred loves to watch you get ready for the day

- Oddly enough, his favorite part is your makeup routine (if you wear any)

- It’s such a foreign world to him, he’s amazed by all the different products and how you can tell them all apart

- “Freddie, baby, can you hand me my mascara?” “Uh... sure?”

- Hands you your concealer

- He just wants to help!

- He teaches you how to ice skate out on the pond

- Loves kissing your frozen red cheeks when you two come inside after being in the snow

- Will boop your nose

- You spend a lot of time with Ginny on breaks

- She looks up to you greatly, so she gets so excited when you stay with the Weasley’s

- “Y/n, Y/n, you’re here! Come, put your stuff in my room! We can have a sleepover-“ “Wow, Ginny, hadn’t realized Y/n was your girlfriend and not mine.” “Shut up, Fred.”

- You help Fred and George play pranks on differently family members

- Molly is typically the only one that is immune from these pranks

- All three of you are far too terrified to make her angry

- You will often rummage through Fred’s closet instead of opening your suitcase

- And when he catches you in the act

- Fred will chase you around the house

- “That’s my jumper! Oh you’re in for it, Y/l/n!”

- Some days at the Burrow, Fred and you barely get out of bed

- Especially on rainy days

- The sound of raindrops pounding against the roof of the house was comforting, the warm embrace of Fred had that effect on its own even without the rain

- Maybe once a trip, you guys will take the car into town

- It’s a bit of a drive so the Weasley’s don’t like to make more trips than necessary

- Molly refuses to hand the keys to either of the twins and will only give them to you

- She doesn’t trust the twins not the wreck the car

- Every trip to the Burrow, you find yourself growing closer to your boyfriend

- You spend every day together at school, but being outside of the castle is a little different

- You have more freedom, more choices

- It makes the both of you thrilled about graduating and moving in together

- Fred can’t wait for the day he is able to spend every day with you by his side

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heart-of-gold-outlaw · 3 years

Text

Welcome Home | Chapter Ten: Still Breathing

Finally—finally—, the day comes to rescue Sean. You honestly don’t know what to expect. Most of the others in camp aren’t much help, referring to Sean with a roll of their eyes and something along the lines of: “half a mind to let the bounty hunters keep him.”

They should be saying that about Micah, you think to yourself as you watch Charles and Arthur saddle their horses. Maybe then Dutch’ll kick him out.

Still, Sean is a bit of a wildcard to you. You won’t figure out what he’s really like until you meet him, and until then, you decide to keep an open mind. Worst case scenario? He’s Micah’s long-lost brother. Best case scenario? He’s… well. Maybe it’s best not to think about all the things he could be. Keep yourself on your toes.

You sit on a tree stump while the boys get ready. Taima is an absolute beauty of a horse, and you can tell by the way Charles dotes on her that she’s got a good life. Briefly, thoughts of having a horse of your own cross your mind. That appaloosa gelding is probably still for sale in Valentine. Maybe if you can get enough money, you can buy him.

Arthur and Charles take their sweet time packing more than enough ammo, which means you quickly get bored. Every scratchy detail on the tree stump bothers you, too. Hopping to your feet, you decide to get some chores done. Everyone’s been so preoccupied with the big upcoming rescue, they’ve neglected some of the finer details in camp.

The ax is in its usual spot, surrounded by whole logs that need to be chopped. You grab ahold of the handle. It feels lighter than it used to, and you realize you’re getting stronger.

Goodbye noodle arms, you think as you bring the ax down on to the first log. You don’t quite split it, but it’s getting closer than ever. And hello Jack Lumber.

A few chops in, you feel the muscles in the back of your neck tense. Someone’s behind you, and you’re not quite sure who. But soon enough, a low, sinister chuckle reaches your ears. Micah.

“Well,” he says. “Looks like the camp nuisance is finally doing some work.”

You slowly count to three before turning around. Micah stands by you, a little too close for your liking, and he’s got a smirk on his face that twists your gut something awful. You’ve started wearing a gun belt, and the hand that isn’t holding the ax inadvertently twitches toward your revolver.

“You know something, Y/N?” He takes a step toward you. “I think you’re starting to wear out your welcome.”

Fire ignites in your chest. No. No. Micah doesn’t get to do this, try and make you second-guess yourself and your place in the gang—especially not after you’ve just started feeling comfortable.

“Back off, you useless mineral,” you hiss.

Micah’s lips curl into a snarl as he takes another step toward you. This one feels infinitely more threatening, and you barely keep yourself from taking a step back. You’ll be damned if Micah wins this fight.

“Take another step,” you warn, “and I’ll jump rope with your intestines.”

Honestly, you don’t really expect him to feel threatened, but the odd choice in words is enough to throw him off. You can see him trying to process everything you said, which gives you enough time to throw the ax down and skedaddle.

Your heart thuds frantically in your chest as you hurry to Arthur and Charles. Micah won’t try anything if you’re with them; that much, you know for sure.

“We ready to go?” You ask as nonchalantly as you can. “If I chop one more piece of wood, I’ll have to start wearing flannel.”

Charles looks confused at “flannel,” but Arthur frowns as he glances over at the chopping block. His expression hardens when he sees Micah storming away.

“Micah giving you trouble?” He asks, a hint of something dangerous in his voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” You go to lean against the hitching post, miss, and almost topple over. Face burning, you settle for folding your arms over your chest.

Arthur and Charles exchange looks.

“If he tries anything,” Charles tells you, calm and steady, “let us know. We’ll take care of it.”

We’ll take care of it. How a statement so simple and so general can sound that dangerous, you’ll never know. You wordlessly nod, not knowing how to respond.

Charles leaves, then, to go saddle Taima. You look to Arthur, ready to follow him to Florence, who’s already tacked up and ready. But he doesn’t move.

“Micah been buggin’ you a lot?”

You shake your head. “Not really. I mean, he gave me a hard time when I was cleaning up Pearson’s wagon a while ago, but Hosea scared him off.”

Arthur turns to look at you. “And today?”

“Oh.” You think back to the confrontation. “Well, he called me the ‘camp nuisance’ and said I was starting to wear out my welcome.”

A glint of fury flashes through Arthur’s eyes as he throws a glare in Micah’s general direction. You shiver involuntarily. Thank goodness you’re not on a certain cowboy’s bad side.

“I’ve been called worse, to be honest,” you say with a shrug, and smile slightly when Arthur looks at you again. “I’m kinda used to it.”

He gives you a troubled frown instead of sharing your nonchalance. Confused, you feel your smile waver a little.

“What?” You ask.

“You…” Arthur begins, trails off, then continues: “You know it ain’t true, right?”

“What isn’t?”

“The part about being a nuisance. You ain’t wearing out your welcome, either.”

Something pulls at your heart, something strong, and you’re suddenly at a loss for words. You’ve had so many doors slammed in your face, so many people come and go, never staying, never even wanting to stay… And you couldn’t do anything but watch them leave.

“Oh,” is all you manage around a tight throat.

Arthur looks at you some more. His eyes are soft now, soft and full of what you think is understanding. He reaches out, maybe to put a hand on your shoulder, but apparently thinks better of it and instead motions for you to follow him. You trail a little behind as he walks toward Florence. You ain’t wearing out your welcome, either. Did… did Arthur really mean that? Does that mean the rest of the gang, minus Micah, feels the same way? You can’t help but shake your head in wonder. You don’t think you’ll ever understand these people.

Once you catch up, Arthur easily swings himself on top of Florence, then hauls you into the saddle behind him. You’re starting to get used to horseback. Florence may be absolutely massive, but you don’t feel so unsteady anymore. In fact, you might actually like riding.

“We’re meeting up with Javier just outside of Blackwater,” Charles says as he brings Taima over. “Trelawney thinks the bounty hunters will bring Sean upriver.”

Arthur nods and sets a steady trot out of camp. “Good. We can probably cut ‘em off when they reach the border. I think there’s a canyon that’ll give us some decent cover.”

“Any luck, we’ll take them by surprise.” Charles urges Taima into a canter, which Florence matches. “How many do you think there’ll be?”

“For Sean?” Arthur laughs, and you try not to look too enamored. “Any pair of fools could handle him. But there’ll be a lot of ‘em, no doubt.”

Charles hums in thought, but doesn’t say anything else. Much of the ride passes in comfortable silence. Although you want to focus on admiring the scenery and marvel at the lack of, well, everything, you find yourself thinking about the upcoming fight. You may not know a lot about the past, but you’ve seen enough Westerns to know bounty hunters always put up a hell of a fight. That, and they always keep coming right when you think you’ve killed them all.

Your revolver suddenly feels heavy in its holster. You bite your lip, a little unsure. Yes, you’ve used it once at Six Point Cabin, and yes, you’ve managed to hit a few bottles, but those were honestly lucky shots. And neither of them were shooting back.

Bounty hunters, though? Different story. For as much bravado as you showed Dutch during his little tirade, you have to admit that you’re a little nervous. It’ll be your first real gunfight. You’ll have Arthur and Charles looking out for you, but you can’t help the anxiety knotting deep in your gut.

If I die, I die, you think. No going back now.

///

Conversation lags for the remainder of the ride. Eventually, after crossing a small river, you’re in what Arthur tells you is West Elizabeth. It looks… well, it looks like a perfect snapshot of a history textbook. Rolling hills and open land, bison… it’s absolutely stunning.

Off in the distance, you see two people looking over the edge of a cliff. You recognize Javier, but you don’t recognize the other man, with his mustache and mischievous eyes. He smiles when he sees Arthur and Charles, then peers at you curiously.

“And who might this be?” He asks as Arthur dismounts, leaving you alone atop Florence.

Your brain goes into a blue screen of death, and before you know what you’re doing, you say: “My name is an enigma and holds all the secrets of the universe.”

“That would be Y/N,” Arthur says, exasperated. He helps you down and grabs his rifle from the saddle. “Y/N, this is Josiah Trelawney.”

Trelawney bows with a flourish. “At your service, my dear.”

You instantly decide you like him. Waving hello to Javier, you approach the edge of the cliff, crouching low like everyone else.

“Sean?” Arthur asks as he looks down the scope of his rifle.

“I think he’s in that boat over there.” Javier gestures to a small vessel upriver. “Think they’re docking to take him further inland.”

Arthur turns the scope, then gives a hum of confirmation. “That’s him alright. Giving those bounty hunters hell.”

Trelawney nods and rises before mounting his horse. Setting a slow walk, he motions for everyone to follow him. Arthur helps you on to Florence, and then you’re off once more.

“If we do this right,” Trelawney says, “we can cut them off. Remember: we’re just innocent folk out for a ride on the trail. Let’s not draw their attention just yet.”

The five of you ride toward a canyon. Ahead, you can see the boat docked at the shore, along with several well-armed, intimidating bounty hunters standing guard. They don’t look like they’re in much of a mood to negotiate. In fact, they look ready to shoot on sight.

Everyone takes cover around the bend. Trelawney, odd man that he is, seems more preoccupied with his coat than the problem at hand.

“Now ain’t the time for a fashion statement,” Arthur drawls.

“Au contraire, my dear fellow,” Trelawney says with a smile. “Bounty hunters are even more gullible than hillbillies. I have to look the part if I’m going to make the proper distraction.”

Then, before any of you can say a word otherwise, Trelawney strides confidently toward the bounty hunters. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you just know he’s spinning a tale bigger than the Grizzlies. He waves his arms in a grandiose gesture. In another situation, you would have mistaken it for part of the act. But now, along with Arthur, Charles, and Javier, you recognize it for what it is: a signal.

Arthur fires a quick shot, striking one of the bounty hunters between the eyes. From there, it’s chaos. All you can hear is the sound of gunfire and shouting. You take cover behind a rock, firing your revolver without really trying to hit anything. You don’t know if any of your bullets find their marks. Honestly? Probably not.

“Let’s push up on ‘em,” Arthur commands.

You stick close by him as you make your way up the canyon. The bounty hunters have regrouped by now, which lets them put up more of a fight. A bullet whizzes by your ear—too close for you to ignore—and you yelp and duck further into cover.

Arthur quickly lays down some cover fire, then hauls you up and pulls you behind a larger rock. You don’t even have time to tell him thank you. The firefight picks up again, bullets flying, ricocheting, sometimes hitting their targets, sometimes hitting the canyon walls. It takes nearly all your self-control to keep a level head.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Javier reloading his guns, but also just barely peeking out of cover. You look up the canyon trail. There, off in the distance, half-hidden by gun smoke and dust, you can just barely make out the silhouette of a bounty hunter—and he’s aiming right at Javier.

You steel yourself. You’re not some useless coward who needs to be protected. You’re a member of the Van Der Linde Gang—an outlaw. And one of your own is in danger.

Your anxiety flees, replaced by determination. Edging ever-so-slightly out of cover, you fire off a shot toward the bounty hunter, then duck back behind the boulder. A pained yell tells you that you hit your mark, and it’s followed by silence.

Javier looks at the fallen bounty hunter, then at you. He nods his head in thanks. Smiling, you tip your fingers in a mock-salute, then follow Arthur as he pushes further up the canyon.

It doesn’t take long for your little group to reach a clearing. Right away, you see someone dangling upside down from a tree. He’s also surrounded by vicious-looking men who you would honestly rather avoid.

Well,you think to yourself. That must be Sean.

The bounty hunters have been expecting you, and they fire several warning shots into the tree line. You duck behind the trunk of a massive pine. To your right, you see Arthur considering the situation, trying to figure out the best approach. On your left, Javier and Charles wait on a signal. You don’t know what happened to Trelawney, but you think he’s alright.

“If we can get around them,” Arthur eventually says, “we can come at them from all sides.”

Javier grins. “Like shooting fish in a barrel.”

Charles gives him a look. “Only the fish can shoot back.”

Arthur nods, then looks back toward the clearing. “Someone’s gotta get to Sean quick as they can. I got a feeling he’s gonna be bait.”

“I’ll do it,” you tell him. “There’s enough cover behind that tree he’s tied up in. I’ll be fine.”

For a long, long moment, Arthur looks uncertain. But when you give him a pleading look, silently begging him to let you prove yourself, he sighs and folds the cards.

“Alright,” he agrees. “Wait until you got a clear opening, then go for it.”

Everyone heads off in opposite directions, leaving you to prepare yourself for the sprint of the century. One by one, the boys shoot the bounty hunters, hitting each with impeccable aim. Then, almost before you’re ready, you spy the perfect opportunity.

Making a beeline for Sean, you dive behind the tree just as the bullets start flying again. You sit there for a few seconds, catching your breath. You can’t believe you’re still alive. All that time in open space, and not a single scratch on you.

“It’s over!” You hear one of the bounty hunters shout.

He sounds dangerously close to you. Peeking around the tree, you see him standing not a foot away, pointing his rifle at Sean.

Shit.

You duck back into hiding before you’re spotted. This is exactly what you didn’twant to happen, and it happened anyway. Wracking your brain for ideas, you look around for anything that could be of use.

Think think think think think think—

There’s a corpse not too far from you, and you spy a knife on its belt. Moving purely on instinct and adrenaline, you snatch it from its sheath, turn back to the bounty hunter, and shove it through his throat right in the middle of his next sentence. He stays on his feet for maybe a second longer, then collapses.

You slowly back away from him. Dimly, you realize that the fire fight is over, that everyone else is okay, but you can’t bring yourself to focus on that. All you can do is stare at the body on the ground… the man you just killed.

“You alright there, friend?” Sean asks, still upside down.

“Uh,” your voice sounds far away to your own ears, “yeah. I’m fine.”

After that, you have maybe five seconds before your stomach lurches. Doubling over, you heave violently for a while before coughing, spitting out the taste in your mouth, and wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

“Hiya Sean. I’m Y/N.”

Accompanying Music: Still Breathing | Green Day

Ko-Fi

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #fic #welcome home

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 4 years

Text

Merlin and Arthur bond like never before, and war preparations are being made

Morgana sees something... worrying

Part 3 of Merlin’s angry outburst.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

The next morning, everyone is up early. Merlin pays a quick trip to Gaius, to inform him of his and Arthur’s plan for that evening (earning a raised eyebrow and a concealed smirk) before meeting Morgana at the castle gates, and heading off.

Everyone is busy, and no one in the gang crosses paths for more than a few moments the whole day.

Merlin and Morgana spend almost the whole day at the Druid camp, learning what they can, and asking for healers. (Morgana gives her own raised eyebrow and smirk when Merlin requests the ingredients he’ll need to forge a mental link, but doesn’t say anything.)

Gaius is busy bustling around with the servants he was provided, instructing them on what herbs to collect, where they would be found, and how to harvest properly.

Leon has Elyan, Gwaine, and Lancelot, lead small groups of knights in opposite directions, tasked with heading to the outermost villages, and warning them of the potential danger. Leon himself and Percival stay behind, and continue to oversee training and organisation of extra patrols, and intelligence gathering.

Arthur has meetings throughout the day, mainly focused on the public announcement that would take place the next day, as well as letters to be sent to the lower town. News travelled fast in Camelot, but they wanted to make sure that everyone knew as soon as possible.

Gwen spent the day moving between the forgery, Arthur, and Gaius, making sure everyone had what they needed, and pointing out flaws or missed opportunities wherever she could.

The council may have hated her when Arthur was first crowned (”She’s just a serving girl, My Lord!”) but Arthur had shut that down quickly, and made sure everyone knew that Gwen was a trusted advisor, and was to be treated as such. And even if he hadn’t made that point, no one could deny that she was quick witted, and always made good suggestions.

The Gang gathers once again in the evening, dining together. A small hall off to the side of the throne room had become their sort of HQ, the place they congregated for meals and meetings for just the ten of them. There was only one door in, and they each had their own keys (the only ones made).

Each of them updates everyone on their progress, one by one.

Leon informs the group of when Elyan, Gwaine, and Lancelot are expected back (not for a while, it was a couple days ride to the furthest villages, and they had plenty of places to visit), and how the training is going.

Gaius happily reports that preparations for the infirmary were going quickly, even more so when he was joined by all the healers that M+M had brought back with them from the Druid camp.

Gwen tells that, whilst progress was slow at the moment, the forgery was expecting a large shipment of materials by the end of the week, and work would speed up drastically once it arrived.

Morgana reports that the Druids have only seen what she has, but they’ve promised to spread the word, and try to gather any extra information. They would be sending a few more healers once some more of the Clans had gathered together.

All in all, it’s been very successful. Despite the Kingdom only being one day into preparations for a full scale war, things are going smoothly, and none of them are feeling the pressure of panic in their skulls.

The meeting only lasts as long as dinner does, everyone still having important tasks to complete before it was time to sleep.

Other than Merlin and Arthur, Gaius is the last to leave the room, looking back and saying (with a raised eyebrow, of course):

“I’ve left everything you’ll need in The King’s chambers, do you wish for me to join you and oversee it, in case?”

Merlin replies first (not quite sure why he’s blushing):

“No, no it’s fine. Thank you Gaius. We can always send a guard for you if we need anything.” With that, Gaius heads off, and with a deep breath, Merlin stands, and gestures for Arthur to follow.

They make their way to Arthur’s chambers quickly, the silence just a little uncomfortable. Both of them wondering if they should ask the other if they’re sure one last time. Neither of them say anything.

They enter the rooms to see that Gaius has indeed placed everything neatly on the table, one of his old books lying open on a specific age, and two pain relief potions set to the side.

“Merlin are you-

“I’m fine with it, but are you-”

Both of them speak at the same time, before chuckling quietly and pausing. Merlin is the first to speak again:

“It’ll only take a few minutes to put everything together, but then there’s a spell to be said by both of us-”

Arthur widens his eyes in slight panic at that, but Merlin interrupts before he says anything:

“Don’t worry, you can just repeat after me. You’ll have to copy the symbol as well, I’ll need to paint something over your heart, and then you’ll have to paint the corresponding one over mine, you can copy from the book.”

Arthur takes a deep breath in an effort to calm his nerves (it doesn’t work) before replying to a now busy Merlin:

“I’m not magic and I... what if I get it wrong?”

Merlin looks up from the table, and smiles gently before responding:

“Nothing. I mean we’ll probably still get a headache, but other than that... we’d just have to try again tomorrow. No big deal.” He shrugs before looking back down at everything on the table.

Arthur watches him with interest and sits on the opposite side of the table, trying to get a peak at the words or symbols in the book.

After a few minutes, Merlin has a sweet smelling paste in a bowl and two paintbrushes in his hand. He walks round the side of the table, pulling the book towards him, still open. He grabs a stool and stands it in front of him, where he puts the bowl and paintbrushes.

He gestures for Arthur to stand opposite him, and unlaces the loose tunic he’s wearing. He pulls it to the side, exposing the space on his chest over his heart, indicating for Arthur to do the same.

“Right. Our left hands go on the back of each others head,-”

(Arthur struggles not to swallow at that, and nods, pushing the blush down)

“-and they need to stay there the whole time. Our right hands need to be holding a paintbrush each. They need to be over the bowl, crossed over one another, yours on top. I’ll say the spell, bit by bit, you repeat after me. When we speak we need to look at each other. Once the vocal spell has been cast, it’ll get a little glowy in here, but just ignore it, alright? After that, I’ll touch my brush to the paste. You don’t need lots, and the symbol needs to be painted in one motion, so don’t panic if you run out, it doesn’t matter, just keep going. I’ll paint the symbol at the top of the page on your chest, you need to hold still though, keep your hand in place over the bowl. Once I’ve done, I hold my paintbrush over the top of yours, you lower yours into the bowl, and then paint the symbol at the bottom of the page, onto my chest. We don’t have to hold eye contact for that, so you can look down as much as you need to, to copy it right. After it’s done, both paintbrushes can be put down, and we touch foreheads over the bowl. That’ll be the spell done, and we can move back, the pain will only start after all that has been done, and it’ll only last a few minutes, before it begins to lessen. Gaius left us some pain relief. We can practice actually talking to each other later on. Understand all of that?”

Arthur thinks for a just a second, before nodding. He’s very much grateful for all his knight and noble training at this point, he has a good memory for detailed instructions, good enough that not even his nerves could make him forget what to do.

Merlin seems completely unfazed, I suppose because A) in the grand scheme of things, it’s a very simple spell, and B) he’s focussing more on the magical aspect than the fact that basically every step of this spell, was increasingly intimate.

Arthur tries to force his mind to do the same, as Merlin receives his nod. The Sorcerer picks up his paintbrush, and cups the back of Arthur’s head, nodding at Arthur to do the same.

Arthur follows his instructions to the letter. He concentrates so much on repeating exactly what Merlin said, and painting the symbol exactly like it was drawn in the book, that he doesn’t notice Merlin’s fond smile on him.

Arthur has always pursed his lips slightly when focusing, and it’s one of the many small mannerisms that Merlin struggles to look away from.

It comes time for them to touch foreheads, and Arthur takes a deep breath as he feels Merlin pull him forward (and he does the same to Merlin).

They hold eye contact, and Arthur has to hold in a gasp at the feel of Merlin’s magic flowing through him from the moment their heads meet. Merlin holds them there for a few seconds, before letting go and stepping back, Arthur following suit.

Within seconds, both of them are doubled over and groaning, hands clutching their heads as the feeling of warm, gentle magic is replaced by a splitting headache.

Like Merlin had said, it only lasted for a couple minutes at that high intensity, but it feels like forever.

At long last, the stabbing agony turns into a dull ache. Still in a great deal of pain, but not so much that they can’t open their eyes and head over to the table to down their pain relief potions.

At Arthur’s vague gesture, the both of them head over to the two armchairs in front of the fire, and they collapse in their respective seat, each holding their heads in their hands.

(Arthur had the second comfy chair moved to his chambers after a year or so of Merlin always sitting in his, when he first stated working for him. Merlin noticed, but never mentioned it, and the new chair, though it was never said out loud, became his.)

Arthur speaks (more like groans) after a few minutes:

“I thought those potions were supposed to help?”

“Well, it’s magical pain. Curing it isn’t an exact science. Plus the pain is sort of part of the spell, it’ll have mostly faded by the morning. I can always put together something stronger if it stops us from sleeping.”

Arthur looks up at Merlin for the first time as he begins to speak again:

“So... did it work? I feel a little odd but I don’t know if that’s the headache, or whatever happened when we touched heads, or what?”

Merlin looks up, and raises his eyebrow, before saying, wordlessly:

“Yeah. It worked.”

Arthur widens his eyes at that, before scrunching his face up (Merlin just about manages to not laugh at him) in concentration, and staring at Merlin intensely:

“Am I doing it? Merlin can you hear thiiiiiiiis? Merliiiiiii-”

Merlin laughs, before actually saying:

“Yes. Gods shut up Arthur, yes you’re doing it. It’s not exactly difficult.”

Arthur joins in his laughter:

“Sorry sorry, I just wanted to make sure. What now, is that?”

“I mean, yeah, we should probably-” he huffs slightly:

“We should probably practice. You need to get used to doing it over longer distances, and whilst we’re concentrating on other things, so you don’t get caught off guard. We can just keep each other updated across the day tomorrow, that should be plenty of time for you to get used to it.”

Arthur puts his “concentration face” on again as:

“Yes you’re probably right. Just don’t say anything stupid whilst I’m in a meeting, can’t be distracted by your idiocy.”

Merlin smirks slightly, but Arthur sits up straighter, and interrupts him before he can say anything:

“Can we do the same with images? Like could we show each other what we were seeing? I imagine that would come in very handy.”

Merlin furrows his eyebrows slightly:

“It’s headache inducing, and takes a lot more energy and concentration, but we could, if it was an emergency. I’ve never done it before. We’ll have to practice at some point, if we get a quiet day.”

Arthur nods in thought, and waves around the room, focussing on the window and the laid, but cold, fireplace:

“Could you...?”

Merlin nods his head, his eyes flashing gold as the curtains draw themselves and the fireplace bursts in to roaring flames.

“Thank you.” is spoken is Merlin’s head as Arthur once again puts his head in his hands, grumbling as he rubs his temples. The conversation had helped distract for a moment, but both of them still had terrible headaches.

“Something tells me it won’t take long, you’re already using it like it’s second nature. Though you’ll have to keep an eye on that, remember we have to actually speak out loud to other people, still.”

Arthur hums, but doesn’t look up. Merlin takes that as a cue to end the conversation, and uses magic to wave over the book he was currently reading.

The Sorcerer pulls his feet up on the chair (his chair), and settles in to read another chapter, opposite from the King, who stares into the fire, deep in thought.

Arthur doesn’t take anything that the war declaration said to heart, he knows he’s done right by his people, and on good days, he’s even proud of his accomplishments, as opposed to feeling like he’s still atoning for his father’s evils.

But still. The fact that someone was this opposed to Camelot’s new found prosperity was disturbing, not only politically, but personally. What of the people under this neighbour-tyrant’s rule? Are they suffering? They will surely feel the fallout of this war more than Camelot’s people.

Arthur was caught between guilts. It would be far too dangerous to offer refuge from this tyrant’s rule, it would undoubtedly be taken advantage of by spies and usurpers. But could he, in good conscience, leave those people to suffer under whoever would replace him? When Camelot inevitably prevailed?

These thoughts plague Arthur for a while, and he’s only broken from his spiralling worries when a thump to his side, has him look up rapidly.

He lets out a quiet chuckle as he realises Merlin has fallen asleep in the other armchair (in Merlin’s chair), the heavy book dropping to the floor.

Arthur gets up quietly, stretching his back, and noting that while his head still hurts, it isn’t nearly as painful as it used to be.

He wonders over to his bed, dragging two blankets back to the chairs by the fire.

One, he drapes over Merlin.

Arthur stands over him, and gently strokes the hair back from his face, smiling fondly as his former-manservant shuffles slightly, leaning into his hand, and mumbles unintelligibly in his sleep.

The other, he wraps around himself before settling back into his own chair, resuming the contemplative staring into the fire. Though this time, he’s thinking on the gap between him and Merlin, and how small it had gotten over the years.

You’d think that such a train of thought would be focused on the big things: the battles, the near death experiences, the emotional speeches... the outburst in the woods. But no. They barely crossed his mind. Rather, Arthur was thinking on the small things: the small smile Merlin saved for hurt children when he called them brave, the fire in his eyes when he challenged an arsehole councilman, the pride on his face when Morgana succeeded in her lessons.

Knowing of Merlin’s magic had been an important stepping stone, but a stepping stone nonetheless. Since then, in the time that had passed, he had learnt all the seemingly unimportant things that made Merlin, Merlin.

His favourite colour was blue (blue like the sky and blue like Avalon and blue like the cover of his favourite book (blue like Arthur’s eyes, not that Arthur knew that)).

His favourite season was spring (spring with flowers and baby animals and the world breathing around you. Arthur could almost see Merlin vibrating in time with the world at spring, which didn’t surprise him, once he learnt how tied to nature his magic was).

His favourite holiday was Yuletide (Yuletide with family and dancing and singing and true freedom, all ending in a new beginning, the world getting to start again, in a small way).

His birthday was the first day of the new year (truly, a new year, and a new beginning).

His favourite food is blueberries (but really, he loves any sweet fruit. Never one for actual candy though, maybe he just wasn’t used to such luxuries. Arthur found himself wanting to provide Merlin with every luxury he could ever want).

His childhood was full of mischief and fear (running around pranking people with Will all day, and going home in the evening to find nightmares filled with red cloaks and smoke and a pyre just for him).

Arthur had spent the last nine months making sure that Merlin would never have such nightmares again. He came damn close to changing the Pendragon colours when Merlin told him of the Red Cloak detail.

Before long Arthur also finds himself nodding his head, but moving to his bed means waking Merlin up and sending him away, and honestly? Arthur would happily wake up with a crick in his neck, if it meant he could fall asleep to the sounds of Merlin, gently snoring through the night.

With that final thought, he finally drifts to sleep in his armchair, warmed by the fire, and Merlin’s presence.

The next morning, King Arthur, flanked by his Court Sorcerer, his Court Seer, and his First Knight, announces to a large crowd the news of the impending war.

The people are worried, but he speaks to them honestly, and they respect that. Arthur tells them of the preparations being made: the outer villages already being warned, the partnership with the Druids, the preparations of both medical supplies and the tools of war.

As they thought, word spreads quickly. The city is bustling with people. No matter the war declaration, work still has to be done, but the air is abuzz with gossip and chatter. Arthur is thankful, for the lack of panic, and sends a grateful smile to Merlin when:

“You did good. They respect, and trust you. Be proud.” echoes in his head.

Time passes

After a week or so, the first refugees from the outer villages start arriving, and a few days later, Elyan, Gwaine, and Lancelot make it back, having delivered the notice to all of the outlying settlements.

Like Gwen had said, work in the forgery greatly sped up, and the armoury was being stocked up.

With the help of all the Druid Healers, Gaius’ preparation of the infirmary was going quickly, and he was pleased with the progress.

Morgana was seeing bits and pieces of what The Magicians (M+M and the Druids, named by Gwaine) interpreted to be the big battle, but weren’t seeing how it would start, or how it would end.

It took the people of Camelot (including Arthur) a while to get used to it, but Merlin also had Kilgharrah and Aithusa doing daily fly overs of the whole kingdom.

Magic wasn’t illegal in the opposing kingdom, but was taken advantage of by the crown, and Merlin didn’t want to risk them sneaking up on Camelot somehow, without anyone noticing until it was too late.

Merlin did indeed check on the tunnels like he wanted. He made doubly sure that he knew where all the exits were, and the best ways to defend them. As far as he knew, no one outside the castle knew they were there, so they could be used as an emergency evacuation plan, hopefully with the opposition taking a while to catch on.

Though Arthur liked to remind Merlin that that sort of action probably wouldn’t be necessary. The fighting would hopefully take place no where near the actual city, and even if they did, Camelot was still stronger than their opponent.

Over this time, Merlin and Arthur continued to take advantage of their mental link. Unless in the presence of other people, they spoke almost exclusively in their heads.

Arthur’s poker face was getting much better as well. Merlin's constant snarky comments during council meetings was definitely the main source of practice.

It was during such a meeting, that Morgana burst in, and looked between Merlin and Arthur frantically, before saying:

“I’ve seen it. It’s coming!” Arthur reacts first, yelling at the council:

“Everyone out, right now!-”

He then turns his attention to one of the guards:

“Go fetch Sirs Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, and Lancelot. They should be on the training ground, hurry!” (luckily, this was a rare meeting that everyone else in The Gang was already attending)

With that the guard rushes out, and the remaining members of the council (Arthur, Gwen, Gaius, Merlin, Leon, and now Morgana) rush to their side room.

As they enter, Merlin’s eyes flash gold, and he waves his hand, pushing the table and all but one of the chairs to the side of the room.

The last chair he moves to sit right in the middle, and Morgana quickly settles on it, closing her eyes.

A few minutes later, the knights come rushing in, Gwen murmuring quietly:

“Morgana has seen something, I think her and Merlin want to try and show us.”

Merlin nods to Leon, and he locks the door behind him.

The Sorcerer thrusts his arm towards the floor, and mutters a spell under his breath. His eyes flash gold, and soon enough, the room is filled with steam so thick, no one can see even a foot in front of them. They hear Merlin speak through the fog:

“Alright Morgana, just like we practiced. Focus on what you saw, and push it out of your mind, and onto the steam. Keep your breathing slow, and try to keep things chronological, clear your mind and think of nothing else.”

Morgana hums, and the group hear her take a deep breath (certainly calmed by the fact that Gwen and made her way to her, and had placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, receiving a grateful smile from Merlin).

Within moments, everyone begins to see shapes moving in the fog, and hear sounds echoing around the room.

It takes a minute or two for things to come into focus, and the fog seems to sharpen. The Gang find themselves stood in the middle of a field, all in grey. Everything is slightly blurry, and if they squint, they can see the walls of the room around them through the illusion. Arthur speaks:

“This is where the battle happens?-”

A nod from Morgana, who still sits in a chair with closed eyes, prompts Arthur to continue:

“Does anyone recognise it?” Gwaine speaks first, snapping himself out of the shock at what was happening:

“Yeah, I do. I rode through it on the way back from handing out the notices. It’s a huge meadow maybe a three days ride to the North?”

Before anyone can reply, figures, also in grey, start to fade in around them, the first to come into focus being Merlin, closely followed by Arthur stood next to him. The real Arthur stares, obviously slightly disconcerted:

“Ok... that’s a bit weird...”

The fog!M+A look serious, glancing at each other quickly and nodding, before walking in opposite directions.

Fog!Arthur fades, the scene following fog!Merlin as he stalks across the field, before stopping suddenly. He frowns slightly, before seeming to look straight at real!Merlin, and saying:

“I’m sorry. But it’s coming. I can’t stop it, I tried. This is the only way. Just... relax... it’ll hurt less. Four days.”

Real!Merlin frowns, but gasps and takes step back as fog!Merlin looks at him meaningfully, before taking a deep breath and turns away, continuing to walk.

The weather changes, beginning to rain, and if everyone wasn’t so preoccupied by what had just happened, they would’ve laughed at fog(future?)!Merlin going “Oh for fucks sake, why am I always right?” under his breath.

Suddenly, the scene changes entirely.

On the floor lies a body, on his side, but face down, a sword through his back, poking out through his chest. Whoever it was had been attacked from behind. Rain still pours.

If anyone had looked up, they would’ve noticed the meadow completely free of other bodies. A battlefield that had apparently held only one fight.

The Gang jumps, as they hear a yell, and turn to see fog!Arthur race towards a figure no one had noticed.

Fog!Arthur cuts them down quickly, barely paying attention, before falling to his knees next to the body:

“No.... no no no, Come on Merls, don’t do this to me.”

Everyone apart from Merlin gasps at this, watching as fog!Arthur turns the body over.

A vacant fog!Merlin stares up at the sky, unmoving, eyes glassy, blood trickling from his mouth, as fog!Arthur continues to mutter to himself unintelligibly.

Before anyone can react, the scene fades again, completely this time.

The fog melts into the floor, the room around them revealed again, as Morgana slumps in her seat, breathing deeply.

No one looks away from the spot where Merlin’s body had been until Merlin interrupts the tense silence:

“That’s not... good.” He doesn’t look scared, despite finding out that he would apparently die at some point in the near future.

Everyone looks up at him in shock, tears in Arthur’s eyes, and fear and sadness in Morgana’s, but before anyone can say anything, he speaks again:

“There’s a storm brewing at the moment, it should start in about four days, that’ll be what he... what I meant earlier. No armies. That would explain why Morgana hasn’t seen the original Bloody Battle visions in a while... no battle? Hmm.” He seems to be muttering to himself, but looks up as Arthur grabs his shoulders:

“You won’t be going. You can stay back and help at the main infirmary.”

Everyone nods in agreement, but Morgana shakes her head, before saying (obviously tired):

“That’s not how it works. The more.... solid, my visions are, the more likely they are to happen. I’ve never had a vision that clear. And you heard what Merlin... or Future Merlin, said. This is happening.” She looks to Merlin with fear in her eyes:

“You’re going to die. In four days.”

The room once again looks to Merlin, all very confused at why he looks more thoughtful than anything. He shrugs off Arthur’s hands and paces slightly. He let’s out a thoughtful hum before looking at Morgana:

“I don’t suppose you can remember anything about that sword? Did it seem strange to you or... just a sword?” At Morgana’s confused expression, he points absentmindedly to his own chest.

Arthur interrupts:

“What does that matter? It was a sword, Merlin, through your chest. I don’t care what either of you say. We’re keeping you away from that meadow. I’ll lock you up if I have to, you’re not going.”

Merlin looks at him apologetically:

“Of course it matters. Depending on whether whoever that sword belongs to has done anything funky to it or not, I’ll just wake up again-”

He waves his hand casually:

“-and besides. You have nothing here that I couldn’t break out of, Arthur. There really are only one or two things that can tie me down properly, and I’m sure as shit not gonna tell you what they are now. Morgana? The sword?”

She looks shocked at his casual approach before replying:

“Uhh... it didn’t feel evil or anything. It just felt like a sword, but I wouldn’t bet on it. You’ve seen how my meditations have been going recently, not everything is in focus, I could have missed an enchantment easily. I would tell you not to risk it but.... I know you. And that vision was clear. Nothing is going to stop you from... that.”

Merlin nods thoughtfully, but Arthur seems to be getting more panicked, but before he can speak, Leon interrupts:

“Wait... backtrack a minute. What do you mean “wake up again”? Merlin there was a sword through your chest. That was very much a... killing, blow.”

Merlin sighs and looks around the room, finally seeming to notice how horrified everyone looked:

“You guys... remember that I’m immortal right? Unless someone stole one of my dragons without me realizing, and made another Excalibur type weapon, again, without me realising... then I should be fine.”

Arthur bursts, grabbing Merlin once again:

“Merlin that... that was not fine! The future me was freaking out, and you weren’t waking up! There has to be another way. I won’t risk it.”

Merlin ignores him, looking instead to Gwaine:

“You said it was a three days ride away? To the North?” Gwaine nods hesitantly, and Merlin looks towards Leon:

“Have the army gather outside the city gates, but tell them that they’re not going anywhere. It looks like me and Arthur are going to be able to sort this out without any... or... you know... without any permanent bloodshed. But they should be ready just in case. Morgana, take tonight to rest, and build your strength. You’re going to be staying here, the last line of defence, if it comes to it.-”

He’s interrupted by Elyan:

“NO. Look I saw it as well as anyone in this room. But we are not leaving you. We are a family, we hold Camelot in our hands, and we won’t leave you to do this alone. We’ll all be there. You want us to stand back and watch? Fine. But you and Arthur are not doing this without us. Not this time.”

Morgana forces herself to stand, with Gwen’s support. Everyone in the room gives a decisive nod as she speaks:

“He’s right. Nothing you can do, Lord Emrys, will stop us from following you to that meadow.” Merlin looks about to argue, but she narrows her eyes at him, and he deflates.

He looks around the room, at his family, and sees their faces. All set in stone. They had just seen his body, and they weren’t going to let him do it alone, not this time.

He nods slightly, pretending that his eyes aren’t filling with tears. He reaches up and squeezes Arthur’s hand, still on his shoulder, as he sadly smiles:

“...Ok. I... thank you. If we want to get there in time, we’ll need to leave today.”

“We need them all distracted so we can slip away.” echoes through Merlin’s head, but before he can respond, Gwen speaks up, her voice strong and determined:

“I’ll go tell the stables to get our horses ready immediately, and grab some supplies from the kitchen. Everyone meet in the courtyard in half an hour.”

Percival:

“I’ll go to the stables, you head straight for the kitchens and I’ll meet you there after and help.” Gwen gives a firm nod, and the two of them leave. Gaius speaks up next:

“I’ll gather some medical supplies, and fetch some things from my chambers, and then let the infirmary staff know what’s going on.” and he leaves without waiting for a response. Morgana speaks up next:

“I’m going to grab a change of clothes for everyone. You (gesturing to Arthur) need to grab your armour.”

She looks to Elyan questioningly:

“Yeah I’ll help. I’ll grab spares for the knights, you grab something for yourself, Merlin, The King, and Gwen.” The two of them leave, exiting the room and heading in different directions.

Arthur speaks next, but directs it to Leon:

“Have the armies gather around the city, the bulk of the force on the North side. Tell them what’s happening. Hopefully we won’t need them but... if we fail, they need to be ready.”

Leon says nothing, but gives a firm nod, and marches out of the room, heading to ring the emergency bell at the training grounds.

“Well that wasn’t too difficult. What about these two?” Is what manifests in Merlin’s head this time, and he replies quickly:

“I don’t know, but quickly. If you take too long, they’ll know you’re just coming up with excuses to get rid of them.”

Arthur looks to Lancelot and Gwaine, but before he can say anything, Gwaine laughs and interrupts him:

“Absolutely not, princess. There’s nothing left to be done, you two just want to sneak off without anyone noticing, and we won’t let you.”

Arthur huffs at that, and Merlin raises an eyebrow at him:

“I told you they wouldn’t fall for it.” Arthur gives his Sorcerer a withering glare:

“Shut up, Merlin.” Merlin just laughs in response, ignoring the confused looks on Gwaine and Lancelot’s faces.

Lancelot drops the look, and speaks:

“Ok I don’t know what that was, but Gwaine’s right. ALL of us, are going to your chambers so you can get your armour, and then ALL of us are heading down to the courtyard.”

Arthur huffs once again before marching from the room, his Sorcerer and two knights trailing closely behind him.

As agreed, 30 minutes later, all of them are gathered in the courtyard. Morgana and Elyan had packed each of the horses with spare clothes, and the food that Percival and Gwen had bought.

It wasn’t much, but it would do them for the first night, they would definitely have to hunt whilst they travelled, but that’s not unfamiliar to them.

With one last look at each other, they ride out towards the Northern City Gates, Arthur leading the way.

After Leon had informed the knights of what was going on, he had called an emergency council meeting, and informed them as well. They weren’t happy, but Leon put his “in-charge” voice on, and told them to deal with it.

They reached the gates, and Arthur nodded at a grave Gwaine to take the lead. Not a word has been spoken since they met up in the courtyard, and they ride out in silence.

Merlin glances at Arthur next to him:

“Everything is going to be ok, Arthur.”

He gets no response.

I feel kinda bad leaving it there, but just like I thought it would, it was getting a tad too long.

THIS IS COMPLETED!! Part 5 (final part) has been posted.

If y’all want my thoughts on anything specific, let me know :)

242 notes · View notes

sirensmojo · 3 years

Text

"KINDRED",6 - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Fluff, Plot(s), Tommy & Reader being bitches

Summary: You're a reconverted ex war-nurse and join forces with Thomas Shelby to cut the head of the Fascist serpent, Oswald Mosley.

Word Count: 4.8K

A/N: This is the end of the Serie guys... The next part is the epilogue. II Gina's family is totally OC & It's Tommy POV.

*Masterlist*

❰ Previous Chapter

“I dreamt about a black cat,” Tommy went to sit down next to you, he was so close to you that your shoulders were touching, to his greatest pleasure.

After Polly left him, he stayed in his office for what seemed to be hours. It was his thirst for whiskey that hurried him to leave the room, and after he wandered in Small Heath’s streets & pubs, he conceded to do what he wanted to do since Pol left his office, see Y/N.

She was now in front of him, intently looking into his blue iris while remaining silent, a sign that she was waiting for him to continue.

“Thought it was Michael,” he raised a brow, “You told me it was Gina.” He pointed to her with his hand that was holding his cup of whiskey.

“Now Polly resigned.” He scoffed to himself. He couldn’t believe it was true that she left the company. And the worst part was that she was leaving to be on his enemy's side, Michael’s.

“Resigned?” Y/N raised her brows, quite surprised by the revelation.

Tommy didn’t answer, too occupied looking at the void in front of him. The woman didn’t know the Shelby family for quite long, but they seemed close. It was hard for her to understand the actual situation, and it’s in her head that she was making the additions to fill in the blanks in Thomas’s speech.

“She joined with Michael?” She concluded fast enough to catch Tommy desperately looking at her. It wasn’t simple to read his face, but she was used to him now, and their intimacy made it easier for her to see that Tommy was truly hurt by the event.

Y/N was seated on her knees, turned toward the Peaky head with one elbow at the top of the sofa and her chin in her palm. Her free hand was fidgeting with the tassels of her dress.

It was what Tommy firstly saw when she got out of the car ten minutes ago.

They arrived at her manor at the same time, both of their vehicles facing the other. Tommy got one hand onto his gun that was in his shoulder holster under his suit and Y/N was holding a rifle she kept on the passenger seat.

It was only when they turned off the headlights and that their stare connected that their bodies relaxed, the tension being replaced by the desire to possess the other.

Once out of the car, Tom couldn’t look at anything else other than the dress the Y/E/C eyed woman was wearing, it was a form-hugging grey satin one that reached her knees with a split on one of her legs, revealing some more skin.

At each of her actions, the tassels would move to accompany her figure, which mesmerized Tommy who forgot the reason for his coming.

She lifted her hand to Tom’s arm, squeezing it gently to reassure him. She didn’t want to use words as she knew he didn’t admit to himself that he was hurt. Y/N remained silent a little more before an idea crossed her mind.

“There is going to be a meeting, Tommy. A last one.”

He exhaled deeply and lifted his stare to her, intrigued by the confidence in the woman’s voice. She knew what he was thinking and nodded to him, “A family meeting. I will take the lead. I know exactly where to hit.” Her fingers slide to Tom’s hand as she was brushing the tip of her fingers on his skin.

The blue-eyed man wasn’t saying anything, but unlike any other time, he wasn’t deep in thought, this time, he was trying to read Y/N’s face. He knew she was ready for anything and ready to do everything, but the question remaining was, what?

What did she have in mind this time?

“Did you free Gina?” Tom suddenly asks, with everything that was happening he almost forgot that Y/N abducted his cousin’s wife to get rid of the couple after they treated Tommy’s status in the company.

She shook her head, “I did not do such a thing,” she raised her eyebrows with excitement, “Do you want to know our plan?” She shifted position, straightening back on her knees with both her hands on her thighs.

Tommy knew her, when she was this excited it didn’t presage anything good, and by the fire burning behind her iris, he knew he was right. “Please.” He agreed.

“Michael Gray, Polly Gray, Mr Rice & me, in the family meeting.” A faint smile appeared at the corner of her lips, distracting him a minute from what she just said.

“Mr Rice?” He squinted his eyes, frowning.

“Gina’s father.” The woman began as she poured some liquor into her cup, “He is here, in Birmingham, I’ve met with him today actually.” She sipped on her drink as if everything she was saying was normal.

But the more she was speaking and the more Tom’s brain got filled with questions, and when he was about to open his mouth, Y/N spoke again, well aware that Tommy didn’t understand.

“Remember when I told you that Gina was working with her uncle? Well, her father used to work with his own brother when younger, but he settled down when he met God. So I just twisted his mind into thinking his brother is using his daughter to get to him and... boom. We got another ally.”

“How come you know so much about her family?”

“It’s called socializing, Thomas, you should try it from time to time. When you use the money to get information, I use my pretty eyes.” She winked at him.

He snickered at her remark, did she just criticize his way of dealing with things? No. She proved more than once her benevolence towards Tommy and his business. “So, why do you want my enemies in a family meeting?” The man emphasized the last words to highlight how absurd Y/N’s idea seemed.

“To show ‘em our hand, we got all the cards right there, Tom.” She opened the man’s hand and patted at his palm with her index.

It was still quite peculiar for him to admit that Y/N handled difficult situations ridiculously well, and even more, to admit that she was indeed helping him.

Tommy wasn’t the type to let people get into his business because he was the only one to know how things needed to be handled, but since he met her, she hadn’t done one thing wrong.

She always had the right answers to threats, she always made the right moves, and even if he wouldn’t fully admit it to himself, he wanted to trust her. Even if he was well aware that she wasn’t telling him everything. He respected that, only because her resilience to fight for his business and himself was genuine.

Maybe Polly got it right the other night at the Garrison, he might be loving her.

“What do you say?” The woman’s voice got him out of his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

She chuckled and shifted her position to be closer to him when realizing he wasn’t even listening to her, “Why that serious face?” she asked as the tips of her fingers encountered Tom’s cheek tenderly.

The man didn’t move a bit, paralyzed by the thousands of sparkles running down his spine. He wasn’t used to her being that soft with him, and at the same time, he never wanted to get used to this, from the way her lips were stretched into a smile to the sweet gleam animating her eyes.

“You went out tonight?” He dismissed her previous question. She didn’t need to know that even when being with her he was still thinking about her.

The thing between them was still as fresh as spring wind and he was so used to seeing her being all strategic and untamed, that seeing her smiling and giggling with him ignited something in him.

“It's a women’s night,” She leaned toward him and pecked his lips before getting up. His fingers that were drawing circles on her thigh slid to her hand and she squeezed it before pulling on it, “the night’s still young. Come ‘ere, Sergeant Major.” She mentioned to him as starting to move her hips.

Tommy’s eyes weren’t leaving her figure, he didn't even blink, too afraid she would vanish. Seeing that she was inviting him to join her, he gave her a faint smile.

(...)

Y/N pushed the Garrison’s door and entered, followed by Tommy. The sound of her high heels caught the attention of the people already inside, heads turned to the lovers as they both puffed on their cigs, ignoring the fact they were late.

“Good morning everyone, I’m happy you could all make it. We know there are disagreements between some of you, but business comes first, right?” Y/N took the lead, positioning herself in front of everybody.

In the room we could see Polly, sitting at the same table as her son Michael who kept an empty chair next to him, probably expecting his wife to join the meeting. Arthur was next to the counter, pouring himself some whiskey. Ada was seated by herself, arms crossed, she already looked pissed off for some reason, but when did she not look like that?

To finish, Mr Rice was alone at a table at the back of the room, as if he didn’t want to mix with the people present at this meeting.

The smiles and sweetness that was present on Tommy and Y/N's faces last night was long gone as both of them wore an emotionless cold face now. They stood side by side, but not too close to avoid suspicion about the nature of their relationship.

“Mr Rice, may I introduce you to my partner, Mr Thomas Shelby, OBE.” She waved her hand to the man standing right next to her.

“Michael, this is Gina’s father, but I bet you already met him, didn’t you?” We could sense provocation in her tone, but Michael was too concentrated on wondering why Gina’s father was there to notice it.

“Polly, we informally met each other two nights prior to this day. Nice to meet you officially.” She threw a smirk to Polly before pouring some whiskey into two cups, giving one to Tommy as she sipped on hers.

The man ignored the stares of his family and drank his drink. They discussed strategies before the meeting and he was sure she knew what she was doing, if everything happened as Y/N predicted, he wouldn’t even have to open his mouth this morning.

“Why are we here?” Polly was the one to ask the question that everybody had in mind.

“To inform you about the restructure of the Shelby Company Limited.” The librarian snapped back outrightly. She didn’t miss the face Michael made and the way his chest raised, it wouldn’t last long before opening his mouth, she could tell, and she counted on that.

“According to what I heard, Americans don't want to deal with the Peaky Blinders, so we’re giving them the Bridgehead Corporation instead.”

It was the first time Tommy heard mentioning the name of her own organisation and his side-eye look showed how deep she piqued his interest.

“I got people back in New York that reached to your contacts, Michael, offering them to directly deal with the opium dealer themselves rather than having to have you as the intermediary.” She didn’t even look to the Gray man, despising him for trying to outdo Tommy.

“Mr Rice here,” She spiritedly pointed at the man sitting at the back of the room “...is one of my associates in America, he is here to testify that they will directly link the Chinese to your contacts if you don’t back down your stupid caprice, Michael.”

Tommy’s cousin was looking at the woman with a clenched jaw, and she knew he wouldn’t be able to retort anything because he wasn’t even the brain of his plan, it was his wife, and she wasn’t there.

She smacked her lips, “But we both know that fucking Americans don’t want to deal with Chinese, right, they don’t want to have to talk to them & do all the real job. They want their money fast without dirtying their hands so they can strut around with their big bellies and cigars.” She continued, meeting Polly’s black stare, but she didn’t give in.

She wasn’t scared of any member of this family, she was there to have Tommy’s back which meant she wouldn’t back down. If they wanted to concentrate on the evil things he’s done and be blind to the fact that all he did was for his family to prosper, then she would be the only one standing by his side.

Polly’ eyes reached Tommy’s, breaking eye contact with Y/N. The Shelby's head wasn’t even looking at the crowd, he was looking before him, listening closely to what the Y/H/C haired woman was saying.

“I’m high-society in England, my name’s on the War records. I've worked hand in hand with Emmeline Pankhurst, which make people talk about me even when I’m not there. Add to this that now, I too deal with the Chinese in the name of the Peaky Blinders. If I approach your contacts, Mr Gray, do you think they will refuse me?” She was speaking with a very calm voice, no anger nor pride and no glance thrown his way, she was too occupied lightening up another cigarette.

“Who the fuck are you?” He ultimately let out, to Y/N's greatest pleasure.

“Who the fuck am I? Say the one losing 2$ million in fucking stock market but still think he can lead this company.” She chuckles to herself, and Arthur can only snort at her arrogance.

A freezing silence settled in the room.

“How’s Gina, Michael?” She finally looked at him with a vicious smile, “Oh yeah, you cannot properly take care of her either.” She let out solemnly.

Another silence settled as Polly was once again intently looking at the woman.

She knew from the start she wasn’t a simple “librarian” as Tommy portrayed her, but this was too much of a scene for a high-society person. She was there when Mosley spoke at the Arrow House during the ballet and it was nothing like what just happened.

There was something more about this that she couldn’t quite get.

“Now if you would excuse us, we got a fucking fascist to kill.” She let out before putting one of her hands in her suit’s pocket as she grabbed the bottle of whiskey with her other hands after sticking her cigarette in between her lips.

Tommy watched her leave the room and raised his brows out of surprise, she was something… He couldn’t say otherwise. It was now sure that Michael wouldn’t try something against him, after that speech, he himself never wanted to be an enemy to Y/N.

(...)

*Bingley Hall, 6th*

“What did you mean: damage from the inside?"

“I have a strategy,” Tommy started to pace up and down, overflowed by the number of thoughts in his mind as well as adrenaline filling his veins.

“You always have a strategy,” Jessie Eden continues wiping the dirt off her face in front of the mirror.

“But it’s dangerous, and it can’t be shared without sharing the danger. ” He opened his arms to mimic how dangerous it was while turning to her figure.

“What’s going to happen?” She turned to face him as the Shelby's head began his race again.

He stops right in front of her without breaking eye contact, his head held high, “I’m gonna do a good thing.” He waved his hand as if he was acting. He thought it was funny to put “I” and “doing a good thing” in the same sentence, “When I do a good thing, innocent people get hurt. So go home.” He looked straight at her. “After this evening, we can meet, discuss strategies.” He pointed to the door with his hand that was holding his cap, “That beast… out there he just a beast. He’s like a horse. It’s the rider that decides which direction it takes.” Tommy wasn’t even talking to Eden at this point, it was himself he tried to cheer up.

He was already putting back his hat on as joining the door when she asked, “And who will be the rider?”

“Just go home.”

He opened the door and left, leaving her aghast while staring at the door shutting. She could only fill the blanks in Tommy’s speech by herself. It was him, who would be the rider.

(...)

“Full?”

“To the fucking brim.” McCavern’s strong accent reached his boss’ ears like the most satisfying sound.

He was arranging his collar in front of a glass, concentrating, “Trouble?”

“So far, a few communists. Bowlers helped our boys clear them away.”

“A few hecklers are a good thing. We can demonstrate how we deal with opposition.” Mosley’s voice was calm, not an ounce of nervosity nor anxiety or apprehension in his voice. He was confident, even his usual arrogance could be heard in his tone.

“There’s a rumour a gang of Jews are coming up from Digbeth. No sign of them yet.” The Irish man was watching things laying on the tables as if truly interested in knowing what they were. He behaved as if it was routine for him to stand by the side of a fascist who was about to tell thousands of people it was a minority being the source of all problems in England and preach about how its extinction will bring much fortune to their beloved country.

Mosley was done making arrangements with his clothes, but his eyes were still fixed on his own through the mirror, his head held high, “Well, let them come. Welcome them appropriately” He concluded.

The atmosphere was serene, filled with silence when Jimmy McCavern suddenly felt concerned, finally raising his gaze to the head of the Fascist serpent, “There are a few Peaky boys around.”

Mosley looked at the Irish man through the mirror, tilting his head to the side and clicking his tongue, “They are our allies. There’ll be no rift between us. Keep your powder dry” He exhaled.

McCavern was about to leave when called by his boss, who was now turned to him, standing straight. His vitreous black eyes didn’t blink even once as he abruptly made the Nazi salute toward the Irish near the door, “Perish Judah.”

The Irish scoffed, opening the door.

“No joke, Mr McCavern.” Mosley gave his first and only warning.

McCavern closed the door in a thud and shifted his position to stand straight, making the Nazi salute towards Mosley without any expression on his face, “Perish Judah.”

After that, Mosley came back to look at himself in the mirror, turning his body to the side, a hand on his stomach, probably checking how fit he looked.

The door opened and closed, a dry chuckle filling the silent room, “Shouldn’t you be repeating your speech or something?”

Mosley’s eyes lift to Y/N. A cigarette hanging over her lips. She was wearing a dark suit matching the gleam in her staring iris. His lids closed before snapping open to her long fitted pants that reached her feet over her black high heels.

She clicks her tongue once in front of him, leading him to lift his gaze to hers.

“You shouldn’t be here, I’ll be announced in a minute.”

“Oh, that I know Sir.”

He gave her a faint smile as closing his eyes with satisfaction, he could get used to being called ‘Sir’ by the owner of the suave voice reaching his ears.

He opened his eyes to hers, “Why the black outfit?” He tilted his head to the side, intrigued by the potential answer.

Y/N was smoking her cig, “Preparing for someone’s death.” She offered him a side smile as a heavy silence settled in the tiny room.

He clicked his tongue, not knowing if she was referencing to the people causing a riot or else. He stretched his arm to the door, inviting her to be the first to get out.

Y/N took a step closer, his hand now touching her as she locked the butt of her cigarette in between her lips, her fingers reaching Mosley’s shoulders, swapping the fabrics off of any potential dirt.

She, obviously, knew he didn’t like to be touched and that Mosely would certainly be annoyed by having the smoke of cigarettes so near his face as he despised them, but she also knew how proud he would feel to finally have an intimate contact with her as he loved women.

Mosley grabbed one of her wrists with one hand, stopping her in her tracks. She lifts her eyes to his staring ones, they were devoid of any emotions, as usual. She was quick to slide her fingers in his, the contact-making him drop her hand abruptly with disgust.

Even if her face didn’t show anything, she was internally laughing at how easy it was to play with him and poke him right in his weak points.

“A quick fuck, perhaps?” She teased the man even more.

She knew if it was any other time he would gladly bend her over a table and fuck her while looking at his own reflection, but it wasn’t the time nor the moment. But she also knew he was well aware he wouldn’t have any other occasion with her, which made the torture a little more dramatic.

He broke the stare and by-passed her without even saying anything, slamming the door behind him.

(...)

“Tommy.” Was all she succeeded at saying, her saliva being sticky out of nervousness. She couldn’t believe they were about to do it.

He turned to her, his back facing the mirror. No need to describe how relieved he was to see her radiant face. YN's perfect hair framing her face elegantly as her finger-waves bounced as she took steps further towards him.

The mood immediately shifted, it was light and soft, the sweet exchanges of looks and smiles uncovering their feelings for each other. They couldn’t even hide the fact they were desperate for each other now.

It was obvious to the two, but also to everyone around them, beginning with Lizzie. She refused to see Thomas for days now, hiding in her own house Tommy bought her when Ruby was born.

She wasn’t the only one refusing to see him, Polly never gave news after the last family meeting, but Tommy heard she was now living with Aberama in her house, away from any illegal activities while Aberama still was working with Tommy, looking forward to the time he’d be able to avenge his son by killing McCavern.

Arthur, that was spending way more time than needed at the Bridgehead library, also noticed how close she and Tommy were, and he never ceased to make jokes, which Y/N blocked by slipping in remarks on how he was eyeing her right-hand, Bridget, and how often this latter began to show up late at work.

The insinuation of Arthur having an affair with the employee of Y/N always made Tommy chortle on his drink, while his older brother remained unusually silent. He, that always thought to be so discreet that no one noticed he found a love interest in a feminist, was in fact not so discreet, much to his displeasure. And hearing his brother laughing at him didn’t help.

Y/N inhaled deeply, her heart pounding in her chest that was inflating. Her fingers went fondling the wrinkles at the corner of Tom’s eyes in a tender manner that immediately eased the man, his skin burning under the touch.

He tilted his head, leaning into her caress so her palm would cup his cheek.

He and she knew better than anyone that in this chaotic lifestyle, they needed sweetness. Not that he was okay admitting he found it while being with her, but she hoped it was the case.

“Something’s in the air, Thomas. Be prepared for death.” She patted one of his temples with her free hand.

He opened back his eyes, darkened by something she couldn’t name, his eyebrows furrowed while blinking, searching answers in Y/N’s eyes in vain.

He didn’t understand what the hell she was saying, but it didn’t matter, she was there, by his side, ready to take on the entire world if needed. He was aware of how much she cared and how she was ready to fight till her last breath by his side. And he'll eventually accept he felt the same about her.

The door opened and Arthur’s head picked through.

It wasn’t just Thomas Shelby against the world, it was them against the world. His brother, his lover, and himself.

Tommy coughed and looked at the ground before looking at his brother with squinting eyes. What was so urgent for him to invade their space like that?

Y/N quickly glanced at the reflection in the mirror behind Tommy to see who had entered the room. Seeing the older Shelby brother’s head, she shamelessly closed the gap between Tom’s face and hers, kissing him with strength.

She was surprised to feel Tommy’s rough hands tenderly cupping her face, his thumbs rubbing her soft skin, as he responded to her kiss with as much strength as her.

“We got this, Y/N.” He said in a whisper, without difficulty.

A warm thunderbolt ran down Y/N’s spine as she stepped backwards, her gaze falling on one of her hands gripping tightly onto Tommy’s jacket.

Even if she tried not to show it, the plan was so big and meant so much that it got her nervous.

Her cheeks reddened a bit but the man couldn’t quite grasp at this vision of her as she almost ran out of the room.

Now that he was showing affection, he was making her flee.

Well, he still hadn’t cracked the code to Y/N’s character.

“Come on Y/N, we’ve been there.” Tommy’s deep voice reached her ears in a huff.

“I know but I want you to tell me all over again.” She turned her naked body to him.

He exhaled deeply and lit a cigarette before explaining to her the plan again. He flattened the white sheet on the bed and created a wrinkle on it to show her the stage.

“Mosley and I will be here,” he then put the used matchstick on the sheet in front of the representative stage, “Barney will be up there, waiting for the sign to shoot.”

Y/N frowned and hit his hand along with the matchstick, “get this shit out my bed, this is an expensive sheet, Sergent Major.”

Tom chuckled as he bent over to her to grab her wrists, forcing her to lean all over him, “Come to me reporting for your duty, then.”

She giggled and grabbed his cig, smoking while drowning in his icy blue eyes.

It was routine now for them to share intimate moments late at night. From staying up late in the Shelby Brother Company limited office, looking to the ceiling, Tom upgraded to visit Y/L/N’s manor.

And inevitably, the lust between them eventuated in their bodies intertwining in all different kinds of places.

Tonight was the bed, fortunately for Y/N’s back as their last night’s epic adventure led them outside the house, in the nearby woods.

One of his hands wandered on her bruised body, other marks of their passionate nights along with burn marks caused by her carpets…

His eyes, thirsty of her, followed the path of his hand with as much attention as he would pay to horse racing.

Y/N found the face he made funny. She couldn’t read him, as hard as she would try, but she knew he felt good there, with her, and it was all that mattered at the moment. It was only them in this space. It was their war zone. Here, he wasn’t at the head of a gigantic gang nor the right hand of a fascist, and she wasn’t running a feminist organisation, no.

They were just lovers bearing their soul to each other, as silly as it sounded. And they wouldn’t trade it for nothing.

“Brother,” Arthur called Tommy back to reality. “Know she’s something else,” he raised his brows in understanding, “but Mosley’s been searching you out there.”

Tom ignored his brother’s remark and cleared his throat, by-passing Arthur.

That one didn’t miss the occasion to drop a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, “I’m happy for you, brother.”

And as little as this was, it was enough for Tommy to be relieved of whatever was heavy on his shoulders.

The simple fact he still got his brother meant something deep.

He was ready to make his plan shift from his head to reality. By the end of this day, he’ll be at the head of English fascism, following Oswald Mosley’s death.

He will reach his ambition.

Following Chapter ❱

PEAKY BLINDERS TAG: @retromafia

#Tommy Shelby x reader #peaky blinders #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fic #tommy shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x y/n

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

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New Ways of Turning Into Stone, Chapter 2

A/N I should really think of story titles with fewer words in them, huh? Thank you so much for the warm reception to the first chapter of my latest fic! Of course, we all want to know what caused Janet to force Jamie to seek out grief counselling services. But before we get there, I think we need to know a little bit more about the good doctor herself. So no Jamie in this chapter, but never fear, he’ll be back in the next one! Trigger warning for fertility issues. The working chapter title is “Psychiatrist, Heal Thyself”.

Friday evening arrived, announced by two days of nearly pristine pages in her planner. Exhausted by the work week’s hectic schedule, Claire stood ambivalently at the doorstep of each dawning weekend. It wasn’t that she minded the time alone. Quite the opposite; she was fond of her own company. But a quiet mind was a mind open to whispers of the past, and those she couldn’t abide.

“What are yer plans fer the next twa days, then?” Geillis asked as she locked the office door. Her friend was well-versed in Claire’s many coping mechanisms, even the ones Claire barely acknowledged herself.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” she replied as they got into the lift. “A few classes at the gym, tidying my flat, maybe a run.”

“Christ, tha’ sounds like a punishment, no’ a break! Ye need tae recharge, Doctor Beauchamp. Would ye stop tae smell the flowers, jus’ fer a second, fer me?”

Watching the floor numbers slowly tick down, Claire considered her friend’s oft-repeated counsel. It wasn’t that she doubted the sincerity or sense behind the plea: clinically, she knew the healing power of relaxation, of doing something for the sheer pleasure of it, or of doing nothing at all. She had been on the treadmill of mindless momentum for so long, though, she wasn’t sure she remembered how to to step off.

The bell dinged and they walked together across the lobby. Everywhere, people were milling about, rushing with a mobile tucked between chin and shoulder, meeting friends for an après-work drink. They reminded Claire of ants, engaged in alien activities she could only interpret from a distance.

“I’ll take it under advisement, Geil,” she placated. They had reached the pavement outside their office, where each weekend they parted to go their separate ways.

“Alright, hen. Call me, if... weel, ye ken ye can always call, right?”

The back of her throat constricted, squeezing moisture towards her eyes. Rather than risk speaking, Claire nodded emphatically, gave her friend a quick hug, and walked away without a backwards glance.

***

The next day dawned with a moist crispness to the air. Having lived in the capital long enough to know that any pleasant weather might be short-lived, Claire threw the windows of her flat open to the timid breeze. Pushing her utilitarian furniture against the walls and rolling back a threadbare Oriental carpet she’d inherited from her uncle, she proceeded to mop and then wax her floors. Curls restrained in a kerchief, she’d donned her oldest yoga pants and sweat top for this Saturday morning cleaning ritual. The kitchen was next. By the time she reached the bathroom, she was perspiring and a number of ringlets had escaped confinement.

After a much-needed shower, she decided to apply a hot oil treatment and throw together an egg-white omelette. She ate on the couch, the morning paper balanced on her knee.

Ten o’clock. Only twelve more hours to go before bedtime.

***

Emboldened by the continued clear skies, Claire decided to try a new running route after lunch. She usually ran the perimetre of Holyrood Park before finishing up with a hard sprint to the rocky nub of Arthur’s Seat. Today, she took the tram to Corstorphine Hill, the site of an under-visited walled garden according to an article she’d read online. Dirt paths meandered the park, entering and leaving oak woods whose grassy skirts were embroidered by sunlight and bluebells. It was all quite enchanting, and by the time she came across the walled garden, her heart beat with a long-lost weightlessness.

The garden itself was a pocket wonder; tiny but bursting with botanical life. And while she didn’t literally stoop to smell any of the vernal blooms, she thought Geillis would be quite satisfied when they shared their usual Monday debrief of their weekend activities.

Walking downhill in search of a water fountain, a muddied roar travelled on the springtime wind. It took a moment to place it, but she recalled that Murrayfield Stadium was located just to the south of the park. Never a huge sporting enthusiast, she hadn’t been aware that a Scottish national rugby match was being played that afternoon.

Thoughts of rugby called to mind her newest patient. With his height and bulk, she could imagine him following the sport, if not playing it himself. Reason enough, she mused, to wander past the stadium as she cooled down.

With her mind pre-occupied, she completely missed the queue of people until it was too late.

“Frank!” a shrill voice broke her reverie, sending an icicle of dread down her spine. Her heart kicked back into high gear, while her eyes scanned about for an approaching threat. A tow-headed boy ran past, chasing a squirrel. She stepped automatically out of his way, but managed to stumble over a tree root in her haste.

“Franklin! Come back here this instant an’ apologize tae this lady! Ye near knocked her o’er.”

Turning round, Claire was confronted by a hugely pregnant pale-haired woman, presumably the mother of the young boy who was now scuffing his feet through the leaf litter on his reluctant return. She looked for a quick escape, but there were families everywhere. She’d completely forgotten that the Edinburgh Zoo shared the hill with the park.

“I’m terribly sorry,” the mother offered. “He’s sae excited tae see the pandas, ye ken. An’ I canna chase after him as I used tae.” As she spoke, the woman rubbed the globe of her belly, her eyes alight with the mysterious joys of impending motherhood. It suddenly hurt to breath.

“No... errr, it’s fine, really,” she stammered. “No harm done.” Which was patently untrue, but the damage was pre-existing and beyond repair. “Congratulations,” she choked out, the word like chalk in her mouth.

The woman seemed eager to strike up a conversation. With a mumbled apology, Claire took off at a run, weaving down the path to the pavement, turning east and sprinting back to the safety of her flat, nearly three kilometres away.

***

As the evening wore on, it became impossible to overlook the truth of the day’s events. No matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise, Claire still wasn’t recovered from the ordeal that befell her over two years’ ago. The irony of being a grief counsellor who couldn’t manage to overcome her own grief was bitter on her tongue. What right did she have to counsel others in behaviours she couldn’t master herself?

She didn’t begrudge Frank his happiness, but she envied him greatly. Their inability to conceive had torn a fatal wound in their relationship. Both of them had suffered, both of them had lost a spouse. But where Frank had quickly moved on to find another, more fertile partner, Claire felt like she was trapped in a never-ending cycle of self-blame and contempt. No matter how far she ran or how diligently she planned the tidy compartments of her life, the anguish found her. It was a corrosive shadow that dogged her days, always ready to darken her brightest moments.

It was well past eleven o’clock and she lay watching the flare of headlights chase each other across her bedroom ceiling. A bottle of prescription pills promised sweet oblivion from inside her night table drawer. She resisted for as long as she could, but as the minutes crept by, weary resignation won out.

Swallowing two of the capsules dry, she lay like a corpse wrapped in an Egyptian cotton shroud. Slowly, the dry ice fog and discord of approaching sleep pulled her down, down, down below the waves of consciousness where nothing could harm her.

#my writing #outlander

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isleofdarkness · 1 year

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Black Magick ch7 p1/3

Warnings- (implied/referenced- rape/noncon, CSA and CSE, cult abuse, forced prostitution, childhood prostitution, religious abuse,) PTSD and trauma, medical issues, character is going to die (or at least thinks he will,) internalized ableism, broken bones (severely,) near-death experiences, tell me if I need to add more.

Sultana Jasmine was pacing.

That was what struck Li Shang first. Before he even noticed the books stacked on the table or the pale, drawn look on Aladdin's face, he noticed that Jasmine, eternally-unshakeable Jasmine, was pacing.

Whatever they had been summoned for, it was going to be bad.

Jasmine spotted them and stopped, hijab swinging as she whipped to face them. "Welcome to Jahannam! Please, don't linger in the doorway, come in and suffer with the rest of us!"

Ancestors protect them.

"What's going on?" He asked, stepping further into the room. There were a few murmurs of assent- clearly everyone else was just as confused as he was.

Jasmine gestured sharply to the beaten books on the table. "The Isle kids snuck these across the barrier and had Jabari deliver them to us. These books are all about the Isle." She grabbed one and tossed it to Mulan, then one to him. "Shan Sarangerel, daughter of Shan Yu, and a written record of Shan Yu's efforts to keep the Isle alive with one bottle of medicine a year." She tossed one to Heracles. "That one's all about the suffering of Hades. I would advise you not read it on a full stomach." She tossed a massive book to Naveen. "That's about the efforts by Doctor Facilier to help the children of the Isle." One to Kida. "Would you like to read about Rick, the son of Helga? He's a lot like Kaldur. And this-" She threw one to Anna, "Is about a little girl named Anna, daughter of Hans. Don't read it on a full stomach. The good done by Madonna Tremaine-" she tossed one to Ella, "The life of Anthony Tremaine II," to Anthony, "The life of Mal," to Aurora, "And our dear Claudine," to Esmeralda. "And more! Any requests?"

None of them had the nerve to answer.

None of them left.

"Thank you."

Two weeks later, Riah started the worst day of his year by falling down the stairs.

And he had class.

He knew he was going to fall. It was just a matter of how bad the fall would be. He'd hoped his arm and leg could at least hold out to the middle of the staircase.

They didn't. Not even two steps down, his bad leg collapsed. His bad left arm, his cane arm, folded when he put too much weight on it.

He went down.

Of course, that had been a routine for a simpler time, when he didn't have two very snappable bones coming out of his skull.

His horns were the first crack he heard. But they weren't the last.

Horns hand fingers leg skull-

He wasn't sure who screamed when he fell. He was pretty sure it wasn't him.

Spine leg leg hands-

He hit the ground hard enough to wind him and slammed into one of the heavy, cushy chairs. His head cracked back against the side table and he saw stars, going limp.

When he blinked the darkness from his vision, his first instinct was to scream. His second was to start swearing. He managed to refrain from both. He still had shocked scared tears in his eyes when he looked up to see his friends racing down the stairs. And he could feel the eyes of every Auradon kid in the stupid building staring at him. Fucking fantastic. They were all going to see him as weak and helpless just because of a bad day, his friends were going to see him as weak and helpless because of a bad day, Jay and maybe even Ben were going to see him as fucking weak and helpless and he had to show that he wasn't-

Refusing to show weakness, he forced himself to his feet, putting weight on his bad and now-broken left leg in absence of his cane. The smile he gave his concerned friends definitely looked more like a snarl or a grimace, but he didn't care. "Fucking... just tell Fairy Godbitch I'll be late to class. I'm gonna see the nurse cause I just broke my leg in three places. Where's my cane?"

"How'd the ground taste?" Jay joked on what had to be reflex, holding Riah's cane out to him before withdrawing. Riah saw red. "Wait, you shouldn't-"

The Auradon kids practically dove out of his way. He stormed past them.

Just to prove his point, he forced himself to walk without his cane. The rage gave him enough fuel to walk sort-of normally, but the fading adrenaline meant that he felt every. Single. Step.

There was no way in hell he was letting anyone see him like this after what had just happened. Fuck it. If Fairy Godbitch wanted to throw him out of school she could. He wasn't getting across campus without it but he sure as shit wasn't going to let anyone see it, so he had to. He whispered a spell, calling on magick from his grandmother, to make himself invisible to those he didn't want to see him. Once he was sure that was done, he pulled the flattened plastic mask out of his shirt, fixed the metal edges over his mouth and nose, and pulled the elastic bands over his head to fix it to his face. He didn't bother to lift up his shirt to see the buttons on the machine hidden at his side, just flipped the power switch and sighed in relief as the oxygen concentrator started working.

Fucking sixteenth birthday. Bitchass spell couldn't even wait two days to kill him.

Claudine was a lot stronger than Mal thought. When she and Jay started after Riah, Claudine held them both back without effort. "Don't. You'll only make it worse."

"What are you talking about?" Riah had fallen down the stairs and was walking on a broken leg without his cane. How could they possibly make that any worse?

"If he needs help," Mal argued, "Why's it so bad to try and help him?"

"Because none of you know how to ask and none of you ask anyway," Claudine explained patiently. "If you want to help Riah, you've got to ask if you can help him, not if he needs help. And if he says no, you have to respect that. Riah really tries to be independent, he hates when people assume or act like he can't do something. It makes him feel as though people see him as less than and when you do that, he goes overboard to prove you wrong. I've seen him scale a brick wall using just his hands to prove that he could get up the stairs and I know Hades has seen him do a great deal more. Riah is very capable of a lot of stuff and he's usually really good about sticking to his limits, but he'll push himself too hard if he thinks people are going to think less of him for what he can't do. Riah was probably extremely embarrassed about falling down the stairs in front of everyone and I probably didn't help by screaming and drawing attention. What he needed us to do was act as though someone like Jay had just tripped. When he falls down the stairs, unless he's saying something is wrong, it's best to make a joke like Jay did and move on. You give him his cane and if he puts his hand out, you help him to his feet like it's no big deal. Don't even put your hand out to help him. I know you meant well and you just didn't know, so I'm telling you guys now so that this doesn't happen again." Huh. Claudine could definitely be a nurse. "Never, ever, try to take his cane away. That would be like taking Agony's arm or leg-" There was a collective wince. They'd all seen what happened when someone did that and how severely upset Agony had been. "Because that is like Riah's arm or leg. Plus, he can walk without it. He can run without it. And he will. Believe me, I've seen him do both and the aftermath of both is never pretty. If he doesn't have his cane he will hurt himself. He'll walk and run on that leg and if the bone breaks the wrong way it's an emergency trip to the hospital and several blood transfusions from the three people he can receive blood from and who aren't in Auradon."

"His curse." His fucking what? "Riah has a curse trying to crush his lungs, he's had it for his entire life. He wears an amulet to keep it from killing him, that blue stone he doesn't take off, but..." Claudine gave Mal a nervous look. "It was cast by Maleficent and you know how her curses are. They kill at the sixteenth birthday. And Riah's sixteenth birthday is in two days."

"He thought he could handle it and I thought he could, too. Mal, Riah wasn't cursed to die when he turns sixteen, he was cursed to die before he turned thirteen. He's lived with a spell trying to kill him for three years. He thought, with the magic he would have access to here, he would be able to keep fighting it. But..." Tears started to glitter in Claudine's eyes. Claudine never cried. "He can't. He only has so much left to use and once it's gone, he's going to die. But he won't take more. He can't. He would rather die."

"Take what?" She needed someone to draw a diagram so she could keep track of the punches. Riah was going to die in two days. Great.

"Life." What?! "I don't know how it works. Riah drained the life energy, the souls, out of four people almost fourteen years ago. That's how he's stayed alive. With that abundance of life magick he's been able to extend his own life. But it's been so long, he's running out, and he can't get more."

"Can't he just drain someone else?"

They had to try.

Thank God Doctor McCoy had been visiting. If he hadn't been, Julieta was almost certain the Isle boy would have died.

"Charles!" The voice on the other end shouted, accent thick even in one syllable. "Tell him what you know, I vill be there in two seconds."

"Slow down," the man ordered gently. "What do you know about the curse?"

"It crushes his lungs. He has an amulet to create a barrier between his lungs and the spell but the amulet doesn't always work. He wouldn't say much about it."

"So the spell is a physical thing?"

"The way he explained it, yes." She really knew nothing about this kind of magic. The Encanto was a blessing, a miracle, not a curse. She didn't know anything about curses.

"They'll be there in one-" there was a strange sound as three people appeared in a puff of smoke. "Moment."

The younger of the two women, a Latina woman with brown locs pulled back in a bun, knelt next to Riah and put her fingers to his neck. "No pulse." She pulled the shirt and binder off the rest of the way, making access easier. "McCoy, move on three. One, two, three-" McCoy jerked back and she quickly got his clothes off and pulled the strap for his strange oxygen machine over his head. "Resume." McCoy went back to chest compressions as she tore the corners from the wax paper covers on the electrodes and poured a clear gel into her hand. "McCoy. One, two, three." He moved back again and she quickly applied the gel across Riah's chest, then applied the five electrodes. "Resume."

The woman with red hair put her fingers to her temple, brow wrinkling. "I can't move it much, but I've given him maybe an inch of room. There's something really wrong with the shape of his lungs. I've never seen anything like it. It looks like some kind of ILD, but I can't find an exact diagnosis."

McCoy frowned. "We'll have to do an imaging scan." He didn't say it, but the way the atmosphere was quickly turning grim told Julieta how dangerous the situation was becoming.

After a beat of horrified silence, Cecilia nodded. "Do that. Hopefully we'll have good news to send to his parents."

How had none of them noticed? That one question played on repeat in Jay's head as everything kept getting worse and worse.

What else is he hiding?

What if he dies?

The second he saw Riah, that growing hope died.

How the hell had he gotten so bad without any of them noticing?

He knew Riah was thin, they all were, but the lack of jacket and long pants let him see that Riah was skeletal. He had some muscle, sure, but it was all flat and dense and right underneath the skin, as though he didn't have even the thinnest layer of fat. His skin was clinging to his muscles and bones. What Jay had thought were just high cheekbones and a sharp jawline suddenly became evidence of severe starvation- how had this guy managed to get out of bed, let alone walk the quarter-mile to the nurse's office? He had picked Riah up, how had he not noticed the guy being a bag of bones? How could Riah, who easily ate more than any of them, be so skinny?

The paper gown revealed just how bad his leg was. He'd known the bone was curved, but thick jeans had hidden the worst of it. The skin on his left thigh was bumpy, as though the bone had healed in spikes under it. His leg wasn't merely bruised, it was almost entirely painted in shades of black and blue. Bruises painted his thigh entirely in patterns that meant breaks, and most of those bruises were old. His knee was bent in a slightly weird way, as though the lower part of the joint had turned a bit, and the swelling and bruising showed both dislocation and breaks. There was even a slight but definitely unnatural indent to his calf, with bruising that looked like it had broken a few weeks ago- the entire leg was an emergency on its own. How had Riah been able to put any weight on that leg, let alone walk on it without his cane?

Claudine wasn't surprised. She darted to Riah's side as the rest of them paused, squeezing his limp hand. "How bad is it?"

No.

Claudine jolted, face going hard. "There is. We need to get him to the Isle. Right. Now."

"What're you talking about?" Mal asked. Was it something about letting Riah die with his family?

The pure white skin, curly black hair, and glowing red eyes.

Holy shit.

"He's Matilda Mim," Evie whispered. Matilda Mim the third was a bit of an urban legend on the Isle. The secondborn kid of the Horned King and Madam Mim, born three months premature, cursed, left to die at only a few hours old. Legend was that Matilda had actually survived and was still alive-

"Don't call him that," Claudine corrected. "His name is Riah. But yes, he was."

Holy shit!

"We're wasting time," she continued. "The longer we wait, the more damage is done. If we get him there within the next hour he might be able to survive long enough for the transplant-"

"What's going on?"

Jay's.

Heart.

Stopped.

"We're taking Riah to the Isle to save his life," Claudine said, squaring her shoulders and giving him a look as if daring him to argue. "And we're taking him there right now."

"You'd better believe they are."

As if this couldn't get anymore confusing-

The woman who stepped out of the shadows was Isle, it was obvious even if Jay hadn't known who she was. The scars on her skin and across her face- he could match so many of her features to Riah's- the tattoos painting her arms, her light turquoise hair, buzzed at the back and sides but long at the top in a way no one on Auradon used, her black armour-

Maverick fucking Mim.

"The Blackbird can get there faster," some bald guy in a wheelchair said.

Maverick shook her head. "Not gonna work. Number one, the hospital is underground-"

"Since when?" Mal sounded frazzled. Well, it was nice to see he wasn't the only one who had no clue what was going on.

"Who are you?" Ben managed.

That was why Mal was the leader. She had a gift for keeping her head in even the worst situations.

"Who was that?" Ben asked, struggling to sound composed. The poor guy looked as confused as Jay felt.

"That," Mal gestured at the shadow Maverick had vanished into, "Was our sign that the world is going to end and a way to keep it from ending. On the Isle, she gives the orders. If she orders you to jump, no matter what gang you're part of, you say 'how high?' If she's saying we need to get Riah to the Isle, we're getting Riah to the fucking Isle. Now let's get moving before he dies."

Ben had no idea what was going on. It turned out that the Isle kids didn't, either.

The entire journey in the X-Van was spent listening to Claudine explain everything. No matter how bad Riah's physical conditions had seemed, they were only the surface of the issues. Riah had been born nearly three months premature. He'd been blind when he was younger and had needed surgeries and different treatments to fix this, but his eyes were still sensitive to light and he struggled with processing visual information. He'd needed multiple organs replaced- his heart, his kidneys, his intestines, and even two vertebrae. He'd had brain surgery when he was three to lessen severe epilepsy, but he was still epileptic and had seizures triggered by stress (which he was on medications for, but still.) His left femur wasn't simply broken, in had been eighty-five percent shattered. Fixing it had been impossible for reasons Ben never got but they all seemed to know. He had chronic pain from dozens of broken bones and this pain was sometimes so severe that he couldn't get out of bed. Today had been one of those days, and Riah had still forced himself out of bed and tried to walk down the stairs.

The only area Claudine didn't know much about was his lungs. That was where Doctor McCoy stepped in.

"Getting an imaging scan was far easier than you think. Equipment for mutants with ice, fire, and electricity abilities worked like a charm. This is why it's important these six see a provider used to working with genetic variants- if this had been detected earlier, we would have been able to act before it was an emergency." So they needed mutant doctors. He would have to see if the Xavier Institute would be willing to treat them moving forward. "Riah's lungs are extremely malformed. If I had to guess, I would say they were the size of an eight-year-old's lungs, and a small eight-year-old at that. Their growth has clearly been severely restricted by the curse. As a result, they've grown into an extremely dysfunctional shape. The walls of his lungs are inconsistent, some parts are far too thick while some parts are as thin as tissue paper. The insides are almost eighty percent scar tissue, I suspect due to the way they've been forced to grow. It appears he's had some sort of laryngotracheal reconstruction surgery, surgery to fix his windpipe, at least twice in his life, but there's still a great deal of damage and malformation with his windpipe."

"He shouldn't be alive," Audrey whispered, eyes wide with horror. "How can he still be alive?"

"It appears he has some minor form of immortality. His body seems to adapt to any issues that put his life at risk. I noticed in the scans that he has scar tissue across his intestines, right under the scar across his stomach. An injury like this should not have been able to heal and should have required removal and a great deal of medical intervention, but his body was able to heal the damage and restore function. Scans of his brain, stomach, heart, liver, and spinal cord reveals similar scars and similar healing. If I had to guess, I would say the tissue in his lungs has mutated to function despite the damage. The real question is why this ability suddenly stopped." The Isle kids shared a minute, knowing look. "I hope to speak to someone who knows more about his medical history."

"Fantastic." McCoy looked almost like a child at Christmas.

"She does a lot," Claudine added. "She helps him get around, grabs stuff for him, keeps him from falling or helps him get up after a fall, opens and closes stuff, wakes his up from nightmares, alerts for his panic attacks, meltdowns, shutdowns, flashbacks, and dissociation, and she helps him feel safe. She can even alert to his seizures before he has one, sometimes an hour before they happen. I've seen how much she helps him. She's as important to him as his cane, maybe more."

"If he needs her, I don't see why he shouldn't be allowed to have her. I had no idea he had a service dog that he wasn't allowed to bring with him." Maybe not having his dog would explain why Riah seemed to have gone downhill so fast in Auradon. He was the only one of the Isle kids who had lost weight, and he'd lost a lot- maybe the dog reminded him to eat, or helped relieve stress so he could eat? If she kept him from falling, his leg probably wouldn't be as bad as it looked. Maybe she could have calmed him down before he snapped under his anger or anxiety. Maybe a lot of his anxiety was from not having his dog- not having the comfort, not having an early warning for seizures, not having something that could remind him to listen to his emotions and take care of himself- it would make a lot of sense. He couldn't believe this had never been bought to his attention. "Do any of you have service animals you left behind? We can collect them while we're here."

Mal shook her head. "But I know I've got some stuff I left at home, and I know the others probably do. Would it be okay if we went home and grabbed some things we forgot?"

"Absolutely. Just don't bring any weapons." He felt stupid saying it. The Isle kids might have been rough, but they weren't dangerous. They clearly weren't going to bring weapons into the school.

Jay snorted into his hand and Evie bit her lip to keep from laughing. Mal elbowed both of them, but it was clear she was trying not to laugh. "No problem."

With those plans made, Ben looked back at Riah, still unconcious in the gourney that had fit perfectly into the X-Van. He was so thin, far thinner than he'd been when he first came to Auradon, and covered in black bruises. It was hard to believe he'd been in Auradon for two months. While the other five had healed up and gained weight, he'd lost weight and gotten injury after injury. "Has he been eating?"

"He eats more than any of us," Jay frowned. "Sometimes I think he eats more than all of us put together. I don't get how he lost so much weight."

"There isn't any magic on the Isle." If there was no magic, how could anyone sell their soul to anyone? How could they become magically immortal and get to magically regenerate without magic?

"There's names," Mal explained. "If I were to ask someone to give me their name- never have, by the way, except in emergencies when someone won't be able to live unless I do it, and I always free them the second they aren't in danger- and they were to say their full name, I would own their soul. It's a rare practice, but people do it. Some people use it in very bad ways, but some people, like the woman from earlier, use it to help people. Mara's currently the only thing keeping some of the adults in check, so she sold her soul to M- that woman, because she needs to be immortal for everyone's sake. For what it's worth, that woman has never forced any of the people who've sold their souls to her to do anything they don't want to do. Actually, I know at least two of them are freed from their contract if she tries to order them to do something they don't want to do."

"She's..." Mal shook her head. "If she said we can't tell you who she is, we won't. When that one gets involved, she's in charge. When she gives us an order, we listen. We know her as Destiny, basically." Destiny as in Destiny of the Endless? The oldest of them, with a chronicle of all time chained to his arm? The most powerful being on the planet? "She's not, obviously, but we treat her like she is. She knows everything, knows what'll happen if something else happens. She has a really good intuition, or some kind of magical schooling, and we listen because she's never been wrong. And she rarely gets involved. Usually she stays on her part of the Isle, doesn't interact with anyone outside of her gang. When she gets involved, it means something extinction-level needs stopped, and she knows how to stop it. If something is bad enough that she gets involved, we listen to her because she never gets involved."

"She's the Pope of the Isle," Claudine said. "She doesn't give orders often but when she does, her word is absolute law."

Mal shrugged. "No idea. But if she said she's going to get us onto the Isle, I believe her."

Ben glanced out the window, at the wide expanse of blue ocean, then at Riah.

Whatever happened, he hoped it happened fast.

#descendants #descendants au #isle of darkness #original character #descendants oc #zachariah darhk #swearing #descendants jay #descendants evie #claudine frollo #descendants mal #mal briar #carlos de vil #descendants ben #maverick mim

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neon-junkie · 4 years

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Vanity is a Sin - Chpt.1

Summary: The last person you expected to fall for is that pretentious man, Javier Escuella, but maybe you're not so different from him after all?

Pairing: f!Reader x Javier Escuella

Word Count: 2709

Rating: SFW

Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Arguments, Bickering, Denial of feelings, Reader has a lot of self-doubts.

Notes: I’ve wanted to write a Javier multi-chapter fic for aaaages, but wanted to do something different for it. So, enemies to lovers it is, my fave trope hehe, but we don’t see much of Javiers negative side, so let’s explore that :0

Next Chapter

It's another chilly day at Horseshoe Overlook. Despite your occasional shiver and constant goosebumps, you're thankful that you're still not stuck in Colter, but that still doesn't mean you can't wish to be somewhere warmer. It seems no matter how many layers you put on, you can't quite get warm, and you question how other gang members are walking around in their summer attire, especially Arthur.

You shiver again and accidentally manage to prick your finger with the needle you're using to sew somebody's patchy pants. "Fuck sake," you mutter under your breath, looking at your finger to inspect the damage. It's nothing, and you know it's nothing, but you're in a grumpy mood, so everything feels tenfold, especially the sting to your fingertip.

You sigh, looking up at the sky, questioning why whatever being that lives up there continues to rain on your parade. It's not just you that's in a bad mood, the whole camp seems off, but Dutch continues to attempt giving his many uplifting speeches whilst he poses in his tent with a cigar in hand, not lifting a finger to do even some basic camp chores.

He's doing the same now, and your eyes gaze over him as you stop staring at the sky. There he is, the man himself, the big boss, his voice cracking every so often; that always brings a smile to your face. Your eyes follow around the rest of the camp: Hosea is the only one stood listening to him. Molly's on the other side of her tent staring into her pocket mirror because for some reason, she no longer has to pull her weight. Bill is still asleep. Mary-Beth and Tilly are beside you, still sewing away. The O'Driscoll is still tied to the tree. Strauss is... doing whatever he does. And there's Javier, gussying himself up in Arthurs mirror, no surprise there.

You'll never understand how these boys get away with doing the bare minimum, whilst yourself and the other women are the only thing keeping this camp together. Everybody knows that if the women decided to up and leave in the night, the men would end up setting the camp on fire, probably attempting to cook their own dinner... no offence to Pearson. There's a fair few, such as Arthur and Hosea, who are able to survive on their own, but you've seen Arthur attempt to do tedious jobs before and just like you, he pricks his fingers every time he sews. At least Hosea has an excuse, being in his grey years, his bones not able to move as they used to, but he makes up for it in other ways.

But Javier? What does he do? Apart from prance around the camp in his designer crocodile boots, spending an hour shaving his moustache every morning... why does he even shave his moustache like that? You asked him once, and he replied "It rubs off from all the friction." Sure, Javier, because you're obviously a very wanted man.

Unfortunately, Mary-Beth and Tilly take quite a liking to him. They've confessed what you would view as sins before, saying they both have a soft spot for the man, to which you scoffed then laughed, and ended up choking from laughing too hard.

"Why are you laughing? I don't see why you two don't get along? He's real sweet and..." Mary-Beth had begun droning on, and you eventually interrupted her with a "Where do I start?"

Needless to say, neither of them agreed with any of your opinions of Javier, apart from him not pulling his weight as much as he makes out to. But oh, he plays guitar, so that means he doesn't have to do any chores because he blares out his music all hours of the night. You've told him to quit playing so you can sleep many times, seeing as your tent is right by the campfire, to which he always glares at you and plays louder. He once even had the audacity to wake Uncle up and begin shouting Ring-A-Dang-Do.

You took your revenge by waking up early and pouring water in his boots. He knew it was you the second he put them on, sighing and glaring at you, but not being confrontational for once. At least he started putting a curfew on his music after that.

You've been manifesting in your thoughts for a while now, not realizing your name is being called out. "Huh?" you almost yelp as somebody taps your shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Tilly asks. "You've been staring into the distance again, didn't even hear us callin' your name."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking," you explain as you turn your attention to them.

"About what?" Mary-Beth questions.

"Nothing that's worth my time."

"Oh, boys?" Tilly questions, making all three of you laugh.

"Unfortunately."

"Well, Mary-Beth and I are all finished here. We're gonna make ourselves look decent and head into town, you coming?"

"Yeah. Let me finish up this, and I'll meet you by the wagon," you reply.

"Alright."

The pair excuse themselves, heading over to their tents to begin looking 'presentable', even though you would happily argue with them about that. They always look incredible, flawless yet effortless, whereas you constantly feel like a drowned rat...

You watch as they wander off, saying hello to Javier, who's still stood in front of Arthurs mirror. He's not even having a shave, he's just been stood there checking himself out for the last ten minutes, or however long it's been. Your brows furrow and you force yourself to tilt your head down, focusing on your final stretch of sewing, eventually finishing up, so you can put them back on the laundry pile and begin getting ready for your day out.

Going into town with your girl friends is always relaxing, something to get you out of camp, when you're not trailing in and out on your own accord. Yes, you know damn-well how to shoot a gun, along with all your other basic survival skills like hunting and fishing. Dutch was reluctant to take you on heists at first, calling you "another Karen, a woman who wants to get her hands dirty when she's needed here."

Dutch wasn't expecting you to put your money where your mouth is, trailing back into camp a few days later with more than enough cash to keep the camp happy. Only that was somewhat of a waste of time now you look back on it, your share being lost somewhere in Blackwater, along with the rest of the camps hard work and progress. Back to square one, yet again...

The sound of a thud startles you, looking over your shoulder to see that the final crate has been loaded into the wagon. The shop helper gives you a wave, and you beckon him over to tip him; he pours out his thanks before going back inside.

"Back to camp?" you question as you turn your focus to Mary-Beth and Tilly, who nod in agreement.

With a flick of the reigns, the three of you begin leaving Valentine, only popping into town to grab a few camp supplies and treats for yourselves. You've fancied a new outfit for a while, and you're excited to try it on later, maybe make yourself look nice so you can... sit by the campfire...

What else is there to enjoy in camp?

The path you're following leads you straight back to Horseshoe Overlook, and you warn the girls of the bump before crossing over the train tracks. A familiar figure can be seen in the distance, and as they approach, you realize it's Arthur on his new mount. He pulls up beside you as you stop the wagon, tipping his hat to the three of you.

"Where are you going?" you question.

"Just headin' into town. I didn't know you girls had just been there," Arthur explains.

"We only went to pick up supplies. What are you going for?" Tilly questions.

"Javier and Charles wanted to meet me at the Saloon, said I'd drop by this afternoon. They must already be there."

"You should get going then, you know what Javier is like," you complain, the words slipping from your mouth.

Arthur laughs at your statement. "You're right," he agrees. "But you two will learn to get along one day, you've gotta if you're gonna be in the same camp together."

"Arthur, there are plenty of camp members that don't get along. You and Micah, for instance?"

"...Yeah, you're right," Arthur hums in frustration. "Forget I said that then... Well, I best be going."

"See you later," the three of you reply.

Arthur gives another little nod and taps his spurs, heading into town, whilst you whip your reigns again and begin your return to camp.

By the time you arrive, it's almost sundown, and your evening is spent unloading the wagon and scoffing down your dinner. The night is free to do as you please, so just like you told yourself earlier, you get changed into your new clothes and make yourself look presentable, taking a seat at the campfire with the others and joining in on their story telling.

The evening is going well, relaxing and peaceful for once, even with Uncles banjo playing. All until the sound of heavy hooves come thudding back into camp; you turn to see a handful of the gang members returning from their night in town, only they don't seem too happy. They're huffing and grumbling, nursing what appear to be wounds, and it's easy to piece everything together and realize that they been in a bar fight.

A few of your fellow camp members get up from their seats at the campfire to go and check on them, and as much as you do care, you don't want to overcrowd them. You get up and make your way over to Pearson's wagon, picking out another bottle to drink. You're spoilt for choice, a nice selection of whiskeys and gins at your service, something different from cheap, warm beer.

You pick up a bottle and begin reading the label, checking the alcohol percentage and debating how drunk you want to get tonight. You don't overhear the sound of footsteps approaching, your mind paying no attention to sounds like that as you hear them all the time, but the sound of somebody speaking directly behind you makes you jump.

"That for me?" they ask. You peer over your shoulder to see Javier standing there, his hand rubbing his chin where a bruise is beginning to form.

"Why would this be for you?" you scoff, turning your body to face him, the bottle in your hands.

"Your poor camp member has just been in a fight, yet you won't help nurse them?" Javier questions with a laugh.

"That's your own fault, plus I ain't your mother."

You begin to walk off, but the comment Javier makes forces you to stop in your tracks. "Mary-Beth and Tilly would."

"Go and ask them then," you roll your eyes, turning to face Javier again. Who does he think you are? He begins to softly laugh and the sound makes you gag, so artificial, just like the rest of him.

"But what if I want you to help me? Surely you don't dislike me that much."

"I do, so I'd suggest you ask them."

You try and walk away yet again, and Javier mutters something under his breath. "You'll learn to like me eventually." Another scoffing sound escapes your lips as you frown at him, leaning against Pearson's table and crossing your arms, your bottle in hand.

"You know, I've never seen you wear purple before. It suits you," you smirk.

"Oh, very funny," Javier says as he raises his eyebrows. He approaches you, his strides small and slow, stopping right before you. His hand moves away from his bruise, his skin turning a deeper purple as every second passes, but your eyes are drawn to his; They're dark and blown, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, staring into yours. He's too close for your liking, you can smell the tobacco in his system with every exhale, his breathing deep, still clearly worn out from the fight.

"What's your issue with me?" Javier asks. "I mean, I've never done anything to upset you, not that I know of, but you've always had something against me."

"I've told you before," you begin as you uncross your arms, placing your bottle down on the table and resting your hands on your hips. "You don't do shit around this camp. You'll drag a sloppy score in here and there, but your vanity distracts you from doing some proper work, chores and what-not."

"Vanity?" Javier repeats the word with a laugh. "There's no harm in looking good, at least you're putting some effort in tonight. Did you buy this today?" Javier asks as he goes to tough the fabric of your blouse, but you swat his hand away.

"You're as bad as Micah," you spit at him.

"Mhmm, we both know that's a lie. For starters, I do a lot more than him around here, and you know it-"

"Please, will the pair of you quit it already?" Dutch calls out as he approaches. He must have noticed the way you two were stood so close, squaring up to each other, both too egotistical to let the other talk them down.

Dutch puts his arm out between your bodies, lightly pushing both of you away, forcing you to take a few small steps back. "I've said before that you don't have to get along, but these pathetic arguments happen far too often. Either you both drop this, or I'll have to find a way to make you get along," Dutch threatens, and you know he'll stay true to his word.

You don't bother saying anything, glaring at Javier once more before turning heel and walking away. "You forgot your drink," Javier calls out to you.

"Seems I've lost my appetite," you call back, and you overhear Dutch sigh at your comment.

Part of you feels sick, and you're unsure if that's from the adrenaline pumping in your veins, or the nerves Javier has shaken into you. Why was he stood so close? Your noses were almost touching, and you wouldn't be surprised if he kissed you just to wind you up even more. You try to keep your mind clear as you enter your enclosed tent, taking off your makeup and getting ready for bed, but you can still feel Javier's hot breaths on your skin.

You debate having a towel bath, wanting to wipe away the sin of being so close to that irritating man, but you're already in bed with no motivation to move. As you roll over, the sound of his guitar grows outside, forcing you to place your head under the pillow in an attempt to drown the music out. He's a good musician, and you're happy to admit that, but why does everything about him have to be so... him?

The perfectly coordinated outfits, the way his steel toe boots are always shining, the effortless yet pristine ponytail he always wears, the confidence and vanity in everything he says. He's like one of those flawless characters you've found in awfully written books, no weaknesses or downfalls, no ugly days, everybody loves him, yet his artificialness makes you sick.

And he knows it makes you sick, and he loves to play on it. Tonight isn't the first time he's got up close and personal with you. You know he studies your every move, watching your body language, checking to see if blush grows on your cheeks, searching for your insecurities. The comment he made earlier is still on repeat in your mind... "at least you're putting some effort in tonight." What a smug bastard. He knows how low your self-esteem is, yet you weren't expecting him to pull a Micah and make a comment like that.

But this is what he wants. He wants it to settle in your brain, to weigh you down and make you feel even worse. You just have to not let that happen, but that's easier said than done...

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choosing-criminalminds · 4 years

Text

One More Time

Summary: Their love was years and years in the making, and even when prison quickly builds back up the walls they worked so hard to break down, Spencer learns just how strong the foundation of their trust is.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader(ish) -> told mostly in the 3rd person, from Spencer’s POV

Category: angst (?)

Warnings: mentions of character death (Maeve, Gideon), mentions of blood (Maeve’s death), slight panic/anxiety, language -> let me know if there are any more to add!

Also, un-beta’d, we die like the trash we are.

Length: 5.6k

A/N: Okay yeah so first post. So…this turned out much longer than expected? This is for Ellie’s ( @spenciebabie ) writing contest/celebration and goodness I’m so nervous because I’ve barely written, much less posted, anything in years. Anyway, I guss I decided to challenge myself to write this? I hope you guys like it?

Also, if anyone wants a new friend, please hit me up because I’m too shy to say hello myself.

Prompt was: “Why don’t you make me?”

-*-*-*-

“Trust has to be earned, and should come only after the passage of time.”

—Arthur Ashe

-*-*-*-

For all his genius, Spencer didn’t know what to make of the fact that he found himself inexplicably drawn to her.

It wasn’t until years down the line that he realized he had been exceptionally aware of her since they met, carefully observing, cataloguing the way she so gently and kindly defied every expectation and pushed past every preconceived notion he had of her. By then, she had already settled in a little corner of his heart and helped seal the cracks in his life that he didn’t even know existed.

But when she first joined the team as an intern, he was more than a little reluctant to get to know her. It was during the summer between her college graduation and the start of her graduate studies, and she seemed too worldly, too perfect. She wasn’t like the girls from high school, or even college, for that matter, who were simply mean. On the contrary, she was wonderfully polite and incredibly ambitious, intelligent, and very much the type of girl that was far too out of his league, one that wouldn’t spare him a second glance before continuing down whatever focused path she was on.

That’s why he planned to avoid her as much as possible her first day in the office. She had, thankfully, spent the morning in Hotch’s office, since he was her official supervisor, but when he saw them about to emerge right before lunch, he panicked, muttered a random excuse, and shuffled out of the bullpen, leaving a bemused Derek and Elle in his wake.

It didn’t help that he was ducking out of rooms while JJ was giving her a quick tour and making introductions, and almost every member of the team had cornered him, encouraging him to talk to her, to befriend her due to their closeness in age. (“She’s only what? Two-ish years younger than you?” When he mumbled that exact date, Penelope had broken into a large, wicked grin, poking him teasingly in the cheek. Gratefully, she held back any further comment.)

Spencer had blinked, a little surprised, when Penelope Garcia, who generally disliked change, had only good things to say. Remarkably humble about her achievements, and not in the standoffish fake way, Penelope commented after admitting she had run a background check on her. Genuine, and quite sweet.

Polite, Derek had said, if a little quiet, trying to see where she fits in the team dynamic. You should reach out, be a friend, he suggested.(Spencer ignored the very pretty slipped somewhere in the comment, as well as the knowing smile shot his direction when he felt his cheeks flushing.)

A surprisingly wicked sense of humor, was all Elle said with a sly smile. (Spencer chose to ignore that too.)

And when Spencer tentatively asked the man, Jason Gideon, a man of generally few words, had spoken of her, however briefly, with surprising fondness, because of course Gideon had met her when she was a child, because of course her uncle now headed legal three floors up, and of course her uncle was the last third of the BAU’s Holy Trinity, of which Gideon and Rossi were a part of.

You’ll get along very nicely.

Spencer was incredibly intimidated, to say the least.

And then when he couldn’t avoid her anymore (because of course they were desked next to each other), all it took for her was noticeably catching herself from extending a hand, then offering a small little wave and a nervous smile to leave him breathless. (He pointedly ignored the look knowing look JJ shot him.)

He tried to stifle the little seed of hope—that she definitely wasn’t interested in him, and her saccharine smile was nothing more than a false front to make a positive impression during a lucrative FBI internship meant only to bolster her resume—but the resolve crumbled quickly. She turned out to be so genuinely kind and sweetly humble that Spencer cursed the fact that the internship lasted only through that summer.

It also certainly didn’t help, either, that the very first thought he had when meeting her was a single word.

Pretty.

-*-*-*-

It was almost ridiculous how well she got along with everyone in the office.

She clearly made it a mission to make the most of the time she had and was more than willing to put in the work and prove her worth. Although she was technically Hotch’s intern and her main role was to assist the core field team, Spencer watched as she managed to get on absolutely everyone’s good graces through a combination of unassuming charm, sharp wit, and willingness to learn and to help that was so uniquely her.

For Spencer, it meant that she happily listened to what he had to say, encouraging him to continue when appropriate or saving a quiet question for later when it wasn’t. When she told him that she enjoyed listening to him talk, Spencer was taken aback, stuttering as he tried to figure out if she was only saying that to be polite. She gave him a gracious smile, ensured that she “quite honestly enjoyed” listening to him, and proceeded to ask a few well-timed and well-pointed questions to smoothly nudge him back to their previous topic.

Spencer stared at her, slack-jawed, then smiled bashfully, and allowed himself to hope.

(He definitely didn’t know what to do with the fact that when she knowingly reached out to his hand resting on the table and lightly tapped the back of his hand, he didn’t have his typical knee-jerk desire to pull away. He also mostly certainly didn’t know what to do with the fact that when her thumb grazed over his knuckles to sooth the tension he didn’t even realize he had, he felt an inexplicable calm ease into his very bones.)

-*-*-*-

“It’ll take a good five, six years to finish my J.D./Ph.D., but Hotch offered me an open invitation to join the team when I do, and I’m more than inclined to take his offer when the time comes.”

Spencer peered at her, breathing out a sigh of relief that he didn’t realize he was holding. It was the last day of her internship, and she was making the rounds to say her thank you’s and goodbyes individually to the members of the team. He was the last one, and he had been dreading the conversation the entire day.

While he wouldn’t describe what he felt for her as anything beyond a genuine, platonic friendship—in the grand scheme of things, they’d only known each other for ten weeks—their easy companionship had become very dear to him. And he was terrified and nervous that her time with the BAU would be just a small chapter in her life before she moved on to the bigger and better things, leaving him behind as a fond but distant memory.

She laughed softly at his surprise, before it trailed off into a sigh. She then took a deep breath and asked. “Do you trust me?” Spencer looked at her, a bit dumbfounded. Did he trust her? Her gaze was heavy on him and the question weighty, a gentle demand for an honest answer. Did he trust her? Yes, he did, he supposed, they were friends. Right? He breathed in deeply, squared his shoulders just a bit, and answered in the affirmative.

As if she sensed his hesitance, his unease, she gave him a knowing look and took one of his hands into hers, fingers brushing over fingers, before hooking her pinky around his. “Because I promise you, Spencer Reid, I’ll be back, right here. You’ll be waiting for me, yeah?”

He looked at her in awe, the dim light of the nearly-empty office reflecting off her kind eyes. Warmth spread through his chest, and she smiled so brilliantly that he nearly forgot to breathe, to answer. To answer. He smiled back, twitchy, introspective, and considered the weight of her question. He nodded and responded simply.

“Always.”

-*-*-*-

She managed to remain on the Bureau’s consulting payroll over the next several years, though she was primarily based in the Bay Area as she finished her graduate studies at Stanford. The team as a whole still went to her for a fresh perspective when needed; she video called in to help on cases when necessary and met up in person if a case called them to California.

He knew that she kept in touch with JJ, Penelope, and Derek, and that Hotch and Emily (whom she met shortly after Emily joined the team and a case brought them to LA) were also friendly, if professional, contacts. Spencer himself was known to receive the odd phone call from her.

However, what had Spencer almost covetously pleased was that they had something they shared exclusively between the two of them, because she had steadfastly kept her promise to write to him.

-*-*-*-

Her letters were as beautiful as they were constant, and Spencer handled and read each one with care.

Her handwriting suited her; while it generally was neat and clear little scrawl, he knew it would get a little freer, and little loopier when she was tired, if she was particularly excited, or if she found herself a bit tipsy. (And yet she still managed to always write in an almost perfectly straight line even on a blank sheet of paper. He was envious, and when he told her as such, he could hear the laughter in her response as she wrote it a little more wobbly than usual.) And while he knew her to be tilted more on the quiet, introverted side of the scale, she had a way with the written word, each phrase poetic and thoughtful.

And they were remarkably therapeutic to write in return, Spencer found. Their initial letters mostly consisted of light banter about their mutual and individual interests, updates on the progress of her research (sprinkled amusing tidbits of her exasperation and frustration), bits and pieces about his cases and updates on and amusing anecdotes about the team.

However, over time, he slowly opened up to her, about his fears, his hopes, his dreams. And when he hesitantly divulged bits and pieces about the drugs, his mother, the headaches, he felt the relief in his entire body when she responded with empathy and grace. In turn, she did the same. She was vulnerable, she was open, and as wonderful and quite near perfect as he knew her to be, he was pleased to find her so incredibly human.

Those letters he slowed down to read, committing them to memory with more intention.

(He kept her letters in the drawer of his desk at his apartment, and eventually moved them to a specially designated box when he needed more room. When he learned that she did the same, he couldn’t help the tender warmth that fluttered in his chest. He still didn’t know what to do with the feeling.)

-*-*-*-

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

It took six years, and an additional five months at the Academy (and then another few weeks as she was introduced to the legal team, with whom she would also be working with in her role as legal liaison), but she kept her promise and found her way back to the BAU, and it was like she was never gone.

This time, in her re-introduction to the team, she was a breath of fresh air.

When she approached him individually with a nervous smile, she reached out, then hesitated, and a sense of déjà vu washed over Spencer. But then, she had placed a hand on his elbow, and when she smiled, he breathed in a sense of peace and familiarity, of comfort.

“You waited.”

He smiled back, and in a rather forward gesture on his part, he adjusted so he could take the hand on his arm into his.

“Always.”

-*-*-*-

She was too good for him.

Whatever relationship they had—Spencer didn’t know what to call it, though friendship seem too trivial of a word for it—he knew it was too good, too perfect to last.

Because in a cruel twist of fate, her first case back on the team, however unofficial it was, was Maeve.

He was hyperaware of the neutral expression on her face when he finally brought his fears to the team. To anyone else she would seem serene and put together, but to him the slight sag in her shoulders and the realization transitioning to acceptance were clear as day. Spencer never mentioned Maeve to her in their letters, but later, in retrospect, he believed she had an inkling, at the very least. You seem happier, she had written, once, not too long after he first became acquainted with Maeve, and that makes me happy.

Did it? Then he didn’t want to know what his misery would do to her because then, Maeve died, and in his grief over another woman, he fought desperately to push her away.

She could share his happiness, but he refused to let her share his pain, his brokenness. She did not deserve that, and he would not be the one to destroy the beauty and sunshine and hope she brought everywhere with her.

But when they finally took Maeve’s body away, and when the blurred commotion of sirens and law enforcement and emergency services and constant hammering of half-hearted condolences and check-ins finally died down, he felt the blanket around his shoulders be adjusted, and a now-familiar pair of hands take in his own, firm, and refusing to ever let go. Thumbs traced over his knuckles as soothingly as he remembered, and only then did he begin to vaguely process the fact those hands had been tucked into his almost the entire evening, anchoring him through the haze and the fog.

As if on cue, she squeezed his hand gently, like she knew exactly when he was slowly becoming aware of her presence, and he suddenly found he lacked the strength to do what he initially intended.

Still dazed, he felt her shift, and she was kneeling on the ground in front of him where he sat on the curb, and softly drew him into a hug. Any form of resistance he previously had dissolved; he clung to her, tears stinging his eyes once again.

It’s okay, I’m here, I’ll stay, she whispered, I’ll stay, always and always.

Just don’t push me away.

“I-” His voice cracked. “I loved her.”

He paused, his voice weakening.

“I love her...”

Hands ran soothingly through his hair.

“I know.”

She always did.

“…so much.”

He didn’t need to see her face to realize that she was crying with him, for him—he could feel her trying to contain the trembling in her chest, trying desperately to remain composed. He tried to do the same, but when she tilted her head and let him bury his face into her neck, Spencer finally felt fresh tears begin to flow, and he allowed her to take his face into her hands and chase the tears with her fingers.

And Spencer wept freely, first for death of the woman he loved, and then for the tears and the grief he caused the one person he could call his kindred spirit, his soulmate.

-*-*-*-

He healed, slowly.

There were good days, when the thought of Maeve did not stir up memories of blood and fear and gunshots but, rather, of auburn hair and admiration and hushed conversations on the phone. On those days, he felt like he was no longer haunted by a ghost and could finally begin to move on. On those days, he could slow down, appreciate the small things again, and focus on how a pair of familiar, steady hands pulled him out of the past, anchored him in the present, and allowed him to hope about the future.

But then there were the bad days when her touch scalded and burned his skin. The warmth and the pulse of blood rushing through her veins and the germs on her hands and her life was overwhelming because Maeve was dead and cold and gone. So, with every glare and with every sharp comment aimed at where he knew it would hurt, he finally made good on his desire to push her away.

It was on those days the bitter voice in the back of his mind whispered how it was supposed to be Maeve, not her, there alive with him, holding his hand as they faced the world.

It was also on those days he chose to disregard the regret that settled in the pit of his stomach each time he heard his own biting voice, and disregard the horror brought on by even thinking of wishing she were dead instead. He began to ignore the tremble in her hands when she reached out to him and brushed her fingers against his in concern, and he ignored how she gradually began pulling back, hesitant, nervous that her touch would be unwarranted, unwanted. He certainly ignored the unconscious flex in his hand, the ache for the reassurance and comfort he had become so accustomed to—

He ignored it all until he woke up, one night, to an empty bed, and a sudden surge of panic rushed through his body and bile rose in his throat. She was right there, when he fell asleep, giving him a small smile and nod when he asked if she could read to him, to stay the night. Now, without a word, she was gone, she was gone, shewasgone and Spencer could feel the tightness in his chest and tears sting his eyes when realized that the only one to blame was himself, himself, himself.

Why, he thought bitterly, why was he like this? Why must he try to push away every good thing in his life?

But then, there he stood, barely aware of the tears on his cheeks and ice running through his veins, as he found her curled up on his couch, franticly wiping away her own silent tears and exhaustion from her eyes. He stumbled forward, upset, upset at himself because he made her cry again. And when she flinched when he cradled her face in his hands, apologizing to him, he nearly choked back a sob, his hands trembling as he tried to wipe away the tears that did not belong on her face.

Neither of them went back to sleep that night, and Spencer began to realize just how strong she was, as she gently told him through her tears the hard truths of his situation and where she stood in relation to him.

I can’t fight with a ghost, she had murmured hoarsely, but I can work with her legacy and her memory.

And then, with a pinky wrapped around his, she promised that she would be there to help him through it, but the only way was if, and only if, he let her.

It was that night (or, rather, morning, as the sun rose) that he began to come to terms that, whether he deserved it or not, she—and her pure and unadulterated goodness—was more or less a permanent fixture in his life, and he felt more at peace than he had in ages. And when the early rays of sunlight filtered through his windows and caught her in a soft glow, he found himself once again in awe. He reached out, hesitantly, and his heart soared when he felt the familiar pressure of her hand slipping into his.

She was steadfast and loyal and strong. She was brave, she was patient, she was kind. Moreover, she was alive, she was breathing, and she was here, present, by his side. It took time, and more painful conversations and more painful realizations, but eventually, the good days were a bit more consistent, the sun just a bit brighter, and his breathing a just bit freer with her hand pressed firmly into his own, her pulse thrumming beneath his fingers until his heartbeat synced with hers.

And Spencer was finally learning, learning about what to do with the fact that with her by his side, he felt like he could truly face the world.

-*-*-*-

Face the world he did.

When Gideon died, he felt his hand twitch, and the compulsion to escape and hide tugged at the back of his mind, and an old, nearly forgotten itch made its way from the crook of his elbow, slowly ebbing into in his veins and nagging in the crevices of the back of the mind.

But when he felt her hand slip into his, he felt it abate, the tension in his muscles eased. When her lips twitched into a knowing, gentle smile, he could see the underlying grief and frustration. Of course. She had known Gideon just as well as he did, if not better.

He breathed deeply and smiled back. It was weak, it was twitchy, and it was sad, but it was a smile, nonetheless. He wasn’t in this alone.

-*-*-*-

They were seated on a large blanket in a secluded park in D.C. on one of their rare days off when she pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, and suddenly it seemed like all the right pieces finally fell into place.

And when she whispered those three little words, and everything made sense. He looked up from where he laid, and again he was breathless at how the setting sun caught in her hair and reflected off her skin and her eyes. But then, when he opened his mouth to respond, the same three little words caught in his throat and his breath hitched, and he wanted to cry. He wanted to respond, to let her know that her feelings were returned, but the words failed him.

“It’s okay,” she murmured softly, and he trembled as he felt her hands cupping his face and fingers gracing over his cheekbones, “if you don’t reciprocate; I’ll live. But I just wanted to let you know–know that I’ll be by your side no matter what happens.”

It wasn’t until they were at the door of her apartment, when he found the strength to push past the nerves and respond.

“I do re-reciprocate, and I want–I want to say it, because I do,” he stuttered out, “but I just…don’t know how to say it yet.”

He suddenly felt like a prepubescent schoolboy, nervous and quaking and terrified. But then, magnetic as she was, she brought his gaze back to her face, and her knowing smile breathed air back into his lungs. His heart blossomed, and the fingers rubbing circles into his hand anchored his attention on her. “Then I’ll wait until you can. Always. Forever.” She paused. “Do you trust me?”

Spencer peered up at her, brows furrowed. Unbidden, the memory of the first time she asked him the same question floated to the front of his mind, and he couldn’t help the breath of amusement. The question caught him off guard, but this time, when he found his voice it was resolute, quick, and sure.

Yes.

He felt a pinky hook around his, and the now-familiar warmth bubbled in his chest.

“Good, because it’s a promise I intend to keep.”

This time, the tears her fingers caught were those of appreciation and relief.

-*-*-*-

And then, the sun set, and prison happened.

-*-*-*-

At first, it was easy to ignore.

Prison changed him. He knew it did, and he knew that she wasn’t naïve to the fact either. He was a bit harder, a bit more defensive, and while he tried his best not to show it, he knew she could see the darkness had just a little bit more of an edge. He was well aware of how she watched him just a bit more closely.

It seemed alright at first. It took a while for him to adjust; there were certainly bumps and bruises along the way, along with some admittedly choice words exchanged in frustration, but that was expected.

But he supposed it was the small things, and small things add up.

The first week her hand naturally slipped into his like nothing’d changed, but his grip was tighter and more desperate than normal, like she’d disappear or slip through his fingers if he didn’t. At the same time, he was also too terrified to touch her otherwise, as if she’d break like glass if his grip on her waist was just a bit too tight.

She never commented, gave him space, and allowed him to initiate physical contact.

She didn’t need to know, he rationalized, it wasn’t her burden to bear.

Then he began to hold her at arm’s length. She pushed, gently, and he pushed back, harder. He knew she was only trying to help, but he needed to figure it out for himself, lest he hurt her again. She only sighed, and relented. While her concern was apparent with how she watched him with just a little more unease, she gave him space.

However, while she was an exceptionally patient person, there was only so much distance and space one could handle. When she reached out, worried, and pressed just a little harder, he withdrew completely, and his rationalization slowly evolved. Stop hovering. Don’t need you treating me like I’m broken. Don’t need your pity.He ignored the pain that flashed in her eyes, the quiet desperation in her voice whenever she called after him after he refused to listen, and the increasingly familiar ache in his entire body when he began to avoid and refuse her touch.

It was the small things, because when the nightmares started, it wasn’t so easy to ignore.

-*-*-*-

“—eathe, Spencer. That’s good, breathe.”

The mumbled affirmations continued as he slowly processed his surroundings.

Queen-sized bed. Egyptian cotton sheets. Breathe in. Goose-feather down pillows. A firmer memory foam pillow that smelled of her shampoo. Breathe out.

Safety.

He was still bleary-eyed when he sunk back down, burying half his face in the pillows and ashamed as he mumbled a quiet apology. Her voice was kind, understanding, telling him it was alright as she tucked a stray lock of curls away from his face. When he seemed to settle back down, her hand gentle rested on his jaw, thumb absently tracing his cheekbone.

“Do you want to talk—”

“No.”

She frowned, sighed, took a moment to flick on the lamp light and collect her thoughts; he could see, through his lashes, the gears turning in her head about how to proceed. Meanwhile, he heaved a sighed, and sat up against the headboard. His eyes closed, doing the same as her. She then reached out, touched his hand, grazed her thumb over his knuckles and drew circles on the back. It started slow, hesitant—she was surprised that he didn’t recoil, and frankly, so was he—but the motion was familiar, grounding, so he let her continue. He knew it helped her focus as well.

“Spence, you’re…you need to talk to someone—it doesn’t have to be me! But bottling it up all inside, it’s clearly tearing you apart.”

“I agreed to start talking with my therapist, haven’t I?”

His voice was flat, defensive.

“But you haven’t, and…knowing you, you won’t be telling them the whole truth.” His jaw tightened and his lips pursed, his hand gripping the sheets flexed, and he looked away from her, intently staring at a random point in the room that wasn’t her. As always, she seemed to know him far too well.

She let out a breath of a sigh; she knew he was beginning to shut her out again. Her free hand lifted to his shoulder, rested in the crook of his neck.

“I’ve told you before, that you’ve started to shut people out. I know–I know you’re so, so strong, but you don’t have to face it alone. You don’t need to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders; we’re not as fragile as you seem to think we are.” She paused, contemplating. “If you need someone with distance that you can trust, call Derek, call Hotch, even, but remember, Spence, I made you a promise: I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

When he didn’t answer, still staring off into the mid-distance, she sighed.

“I’ll leave, give you some space. Think about it.”

She was at the bedroom door when he finally cleared his throat and responded. His voice was bitter as he bit out: “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”

A quiet ‘wha–’slipped from her lips as she angled toward him as he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, hands gripping the sheets tightly.

“If you want to leave, fine. You seem to be doing that quite well recently. The door’s right there and you don’t have to come back until you want to make me a charity case again. But if you want me to talk, if you think you can handle it, then be my guest. Take a seat and why don’t you make me?”

He instantly regretted the words, but some dark part of his mind as pleased that he could see the anger and annoyance spark through her as she inhaled deeply and slowly turn around to face him in full. “I will if that’s what it will take.”

Spencer’s gaze hardened.

“You don’t have the fucking guts.”

A brief moment passed as she took him in full, eyes flashing. Spencer raised his gaze, challenging, daring her, and then, the same, shadowed part of his mind was savagely happy that he had finally gotten a rise out of her, because she bit back with venom.

“Fucking try me.”

And then, he watched her warily as she visibly froze, then deflate, her jaw tightening and eyes welling with unshed tears as she stumbled backward to the door.

“But–but not like this. Not like this. I’m–I’m so sorry you didn’t–you don’t deserve…” Her voice was quiet, but it was hitched with a swirl of emotions Spencer couldn’t pinpoint, and he was suddenly aware of the hot tears dripping down his cheeks. “I’m going–I’m going to go…” He heard the doorknob turn, and suddenly the sound of gunshots rang in his ears, and he could the taste the metallic bitterness as blood and dead brown eyes filled his vision.

Wait. Wai- She was halfway out the door when he called out, voice cracking, and through blurred tears he saw her shut the door and shuffled and stumbled back into the room toward him, kneeling in front of him. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear the whispers of his name and the urgency of the apologies. And then his eyes fluttered closed when she reached up to brush the tears away, and the motion opened the floodgates. It was one of the many little touches they shared—thumbs wiping over cheeks and hands cupping faces—and he had half a mind to shove her aside, but dear God he hadn’t felt it in far too long; he leaned, almost desperately, into her touch and he could hear her sniffling back her own tears.

Fuck.

He was always like this.

His passive aggressiveness was his defense mechanism; he lashed out blindly whenever he felt vulnerable, not caring who he hurt and how much. It was something she had been helping him work through, and he thought he was getting better, but here he was, hurting her because of it again.

Not like this.

He barely noticed that she had pulled him into a tender hug, but now that he did process the warmth of her embrace seeping into his bones, he wanted to push it away. He didn’t – he didn’t deserve this but now she was pulling back, and it sent a brief course of panic through his body, a fear that she was pulling away, away from him, away from the darkness and shadows that loomed permanently over him. He wouldn’t blame her, but–but…oh.

Her eyes always spoke volumes for her, and now that she had firmly tilted his chin up, her gaze firm, resolved.

“I know you are feeling vulnerable, and I know that you believe you can do this on your own.” She breathed in deeply. In turn he gazed up at her through his tears, as evenly as he could, and she met it without wavering. “You are strong, Spencer Reid, so, so strong, been so for so long. But…but I made a promise that I would always be by your side, and I’m never going to break it. So please.” Her voice hitched, and his breath caught in his throat. “Please, trust in me, one more time. Just one more time.”

Moments ticked by to the time of his heartbeat before he finally nodded, and the relief and the elation in her eyes soothed the dull pain inside his heart. This time, he drew her into his arms and into his lap and sighed as he leaned into the crook of her neck.

Thank you.

I love you, too.

-*-*-*-

“Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.”

—Maya Angelou

-*-*-*-

#spenciebabiesficcontest #joy's writing #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

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silkybullets · 3 years

Text

“Death Call”

Midland Hotel, 1925, sitting alone at a table the evening before Christmas, Tommy's icy eyes met with a face he never had ever thought of seeing again, not whilst being alive at least. Which lead us back to Birmingham, 1914, after he volunteered in Small Heath rifles, he spent his last couple of months home holding your hand in the hospital, watching your colours fade as dying of an unknown disease.

Warnings: English is my second language.

Words: around 2k

Tommy just ordered a drink, adding to that a whore, a brand new one in honor of Christmas when he initially went to light his cigarette. His eyes drifted to a table further away where a woman was already sitting down. He did recognize her, remembering the sweet touch of an old lover. His stiffened body didn’t receive the orders to continue moving sent by his brain, his mind too occupied playing memories of before the war. Before it all begins, or all ends, depending which side you’re looking.

One the other side of the room, you were searching the pockets of your woolen coat. When you finally found your cigarette case, you got one out, sliding it in between your soft lips. After pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, you hassled lightening up your cig and welcomed the poison in your lungs as if it was the purest thing.

The waiter came closer to you, putting down your rhum, which you drank in one go and ordered another one. It’s been a couple months you didn’t drink and, after this first shot you don’t remember why. When doctors failed to diagnose you and closed your file with a lung disease you were young and never tasted the flavor of the liquid poison. But at the cliff of death, God granted you the wish to live.

Too bad that’s when your memories of endless & lonely drinking nights happened.

Coming from a christian family, it was no question for them you had been chosen by God to do something great in this world. Pushing their luck they sent you to an orphanage run by nuns to pay your debts to God. When their initial idea was to keep you pure for as long as you were to be alive, you chose a different path for yourself, bounged down into alcohol, drugs and whatever came with it.

Saying you were a non-believer would be too much, but the idea of being some kind of “chosen one” was nonsense to you, that just meant death was right under your nose or waiting for you at the corner of the street. What happened next was logical consequence, your depraved self was sent back home after the nuns numerous warnings were ignored. You did not change, and decided not to.

When being saved or witnessing a miracle helps people get their life in order, it had the reverse effect on you and you had yet to get your shit together.

When they recommended you to drastically change your ways for the sake of your family if not for you, you gave in. You had siblings, and knowing how hard your family could be on them at times, you didn’t want to leave them alone. But your good will ended tonight.

You looked at the filled glass in front of you for what seemed like an eternity, weighting the pros and cons of getting drunk tonight and all the other after that one. You being dead or alive it’ll be okay for your family, you assured yourself to avoid feeling guilty for choosing not to fight.

Ten minutes and three empty cups later, you were ordering another one. The waiter was intently looking at you, concerned, while you were ignoring his pout.

“You sure you want rhum, ma’m, Can I bring you something else, gin perhaps?” He was as smooth as one could, but the implicit meaning behind his words irritated you the most.

“Do I look like I’m sad, eh? Tell me ‘cause I don’t look at meself in mirrors these days.” You begin, agitating your fingers that were holding another cigarette.

“Gin’s for sad women, whiskey for big boys crying, rhum for people like me: We are not sad enough for trying to drown our pain in gin, not hopeless alcoholics enough to to get drunk with something as tasteless as whisky. We simply enjoy a slow death with a sweet and spicy flavor. Please bring me the whole bottle this time.”

Without realizing it, you offered the man the warmest smile he had seen tonight and he gave one back even if still quite taken aback by your confusing revelation.

Tommy had seen enough, he got up throwing a bill near his drink and cleared his throat for lack of clearing his head. He walked to the table, the woman he once knew was seated, his voice already reaching her ears before their eyes would meet.

“Is this seat taken?” He motioned to the second chair around the table. Finishing another glass she invited him to sit down with a move of hand. Her cigarette in between her lips, she poured some rhum into her glass and ultimately lifted her eyes to his face.

“Are you sick of the hotel whore, Thomas? Am not one if this is your question.” She blinked as puffing on her cig.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Y/N” He coughed. “See you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Nor did you.”

Lies, it was all lies, if it wasn’t her eyes he hadn’t recognized her. The woman he was in love with was long gone and so was the boy who loved her.

“So OBE it is, now?” She looked up to him.

He stayed in her eyes before daring to speak, and break the eye contact.

“You were always used to call me Tommy, we can stick to that.”

She didn’t respond nor look at him, keeping for herself any emotions his words had unleashed into her, if they did.

“What happened to you?” He spoke in a more vibrant ton. An attempt to ease the heavy atmosphere.

“War happened to us, Tom.”

His eyes snapped open on her.

“What France did to you, remaining alive did to me.” She offered him a fair smile, looking straight at him with the same piercing gleam hiding behind her iris than when they were younger.

“We all came back alive. John, Arthur, Freddie... Although they are now some missing pieces.”

“Yeah, fucking pieces spilled everywhere. It’s looking like the puzzles we used to play when we were younger, huh? Does that ring any bell?” She giggles.

It was hard for him to read her, he didn’t know what he felt either.

He stayed at the hospital three months straight holding her hand as her colors were fading. He remembers vividly how difficult it was for her to breath, speak, even keeping her eyes open was a huge sacrifice. But she’d never compromised to keep them shut as he told her to, his face gave him the strength of an army, as she used to say. And that had him laugh, even though now he doesn’t remember the last time something as close as a laugh came out his throat.

“Don’t get fucking lost in memories, Thomas. Just ask for it.”

She poured some liquor into her glass and slowly slid it to Tommy as if anticipating him telling her he didn’t want it.

He watched her moves with amusement, it was odd to him to find her here, but even more peculiar was the fact it seems like she knew him still. Like those ten years that separated them weren’t there, like there wasn’t a day they didn’t think about the other fondly. Her gaze didn’t leave his, and he knew exactly where her mind was because his own was at the same place. She was getting all the information she could to try to match his now tired face with the one she had been picturing in her head all those years.

“Okay then.” he nodded. “ Where have you been?”

A smile appeared at the corner of his lips, they were playing a game he couldn’t only play with her, she was the one girl before France, everyone got their advantages.

“Fucking dying of being alive after I got strunk by some miracle.” She raised a brow as if to voice the displeasure of missing the boat.

“I thought you were dead.”

“I wish I was, Tommy.”

He let out a long sigh. Once again he failed at keeping a light atmosphere. It was to be said she wasn’t any help.

That’s when he realized no matter how it felt like they were still the same teenagers, back in 1914 before everybody got fucked up, no matter how hard the memories were hitting him this exact same instant with their first kiss, their first touch and the first time they exchanged their desire to live a life together, they were not the same. Nothing was.

She was only a mere shadow of herself, and he? He couldn’t even look at her in the eyes for more than five minutes, too afraid it would dig out things that must be kept where they were nowhere to be found for his own sake.

Every little thing about before France hurt him. Even the happy throwbacks, especially the happy throwbacks. Knowing he would never feel those feelings again, never get silly about the breeze meeting with his skin or the rising of the sun at the top of a hill killed him most. That’s why he didn’t want to ask more about what happened to her. But at the same time, the questions came naturally to him, as if he waited all along to throw them out, taking off his chest a weight he never realized to initially be there.

“Have you done better after I left?”

“I did. For a time. Some years, in fact, even though my parents sent me to a nunnery to thank God for his mercy.”

He snorted at her words.

“Why doesn’t it surprise me? They were always about keeping you saint, even asked me to fucking give up on taking you running in the fields to watch the night sky until sun rised, they never thought it could be the other way around, you leading me.”

She laughed at this thought.

“Don’t you dare say this as if you disliked me being the lead, Tommy Shelby.” She sneered.

“No, I indeed liked it.” He shook his head without hesitation.

“If only they knew what we did, in those nights.” They both spoke, their voice overlapping along with their minds.

“Tommy you got to follow me, or else we’ll be too late.”

“Let me catch a breath, we got all the time to come up the hill some other nights.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s tonight the fireballs are going to be running in the sky!”

“You aware it’s not called “fireball” and that they are not ‘running’ in the sky?”

The girl stuck her tongue out, turning to him, her eyes mechanically squinted at the move. She did not realize he was right behind her and faked all along still behind at the feet of the hill to annoy her. His body strongly collided with her, making her stagger but Tommy’s arms locked her waist firmly, avoiding her body from meeting the ground, and his lips dropped on her mouth in a second, she couldn’t even close her eyes during the kiss.

“Stop it!” Her suave voice worded as one of her hands went hitting his chest, even if her deepest desire was for him not to let go of her lips.

“I’m thinking about that one night we first fucked. Bodies wet both by sweat and dew“ She muttered.

He was sitting but naked on the grass, his fingers intertwined in her hair that was falling at her back as holding her tightly. She was the type of flowers you thought were beautiful but couldn’t help but rip off the ground, dooming them to die in your hands.

Her legs were strongly wrapped around his hips, she was carefully grounding down on him, making sure every of her moves were slow to make the pleasure last. She turned loose the grip of her arms around his neck and leaned backward so he’d hit her from another angle, this one allowing him to reach the bottom.

Her screams filled his ears and soon enough his mouth as she straightened back up, seeking his eyes, wanting to connect even more. The darkness he ignited in her eyes that night never left, always leading him to always want her, even in the most inappropriate places.

“I was thinking about that time at the local church.” He admitted.

“Every-fucking-body heard the screams--” She proudly stated.

“The priest was more than disturb” He added. “But they never found out who that was.”

“Well, we know.” She handed him her cigarette. He gladly took it and smoked as much as he could, clouding his lungs as well as his mind.

She giggled some more, shaking her head both sides, she couldn’t believe they did such a thing, but knowing as mad they were when together, it was all figured out.

“It came back, Tommy.”

“What did?” He gained his serious tone back, eyes locking with hers.

“The disease, they say it’s even more violent this time, but I know it just never left. It has been lurking in the dark to come back when I’ll be happy again. But seeing I figured out its plan, it decided it was time to finish me off.” She sang. Her voice was devoid of any sadness, and he noticed it. “I think it’s a curse, Tommy. Run in our blood. Me grandma’ had that too, it passed a generation, leaving my mother and little sister alone. But I fear for the others.”

Old reflexes leading the way, Tommy’s hand fondled hers in the most natural way. He leaned forward to her as she took off his lips her cigarette, filling her lungs with that poison in hope it would kill the one that resided in her since way too long.

#peaky blinders #Thomas Shelby x Reader #Tommy Shelby x Reader

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pregnant-piggy · 4 years

Text

Christmas at the Burrow

Fred Weasley x reader

this is part of All I want for Christmas is fanfiction

Words: 3.3k

A/N: Merry Christmas, my angels! Whether or not you celebrate Christmas, I hope you have an amazing day and have fun while I stuff myself on my mother’s delicious food

The snow had been falling all night and when you woke up the whole world was covered with a white layer of the glistening crystals. It was a precious sight to see; children playing in the snow, making snowmen and throwing snowballs. It took you back to when you were younger and you played with your little brother in the snow before your mother would call you inside for hot chocolate.

As you stood at the window you heard Fred stir in his sleep. He had never been the most comfortable to lie next to, but over the years you had learned how to deal with his constant moving. It had even become something you had grown to appreciate now.

You turned around from the window and looked at the open suitcase on the floor. Tomorrow was Christmas and Molly had invited you and Fred over to spend the holiday at the Burrow. You had gladly accepted the offer; you liked the Weasleys and it was always fun around them. Plus, you and Fred didn’t get to see them very often, so a holiday would be a great way to catch up.

Fred moved again, but this time he opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling for a moment while his arm patted the empty space next to him, probably looking for your body. When he couldn’t find you he lifted his head. His eyes scanned the room and a smile spread on his face when he noticed you standing at the window.

‘Good morning, love,’ Fred said with his raspy morning voice.

‘Morning, Fred,’ you said and picked up a sock from the floor that had fallen next to the suitcase. ‘Are you ready to go?’ you asked, knowing very well that he had not even looked once at his bag.

‘Uhm, give me a minute,’ Fred said and he stepped out of the bed, scanning the room for his unpacked suitcase.

‘Take your time, babe,’ you reassured him. ‘We’re not leaving yet.’

Fred walked over to you and you saw his eyes widen when he noticed the snow outside. He wrapped his arms around you and rested his head on your shoulder as he looked outside. You placed a kiss in Fred’s neck and then pulled back from the hug.

‘Come on, your mother will kill us if we are late,’ you said and pushed Fred to the closet.

-o0o-o00-

The landscape around the Burrow looked magically in the snow. It looked like one of the paintings your grandparents had hanging in their house. Through the window in the living room you could see the lights from the tree and you saw Molly through the window in the kitchen.

The path to the front door had been cleared from snow but it was still slippery and you had to grab Fred’s shoulder to prevent to fall. He laughed and placed his arm around your waist. Slowly you walked to the door, regretting the sneakers you had decided to wear. The door swung open before you could even knock and you immediately felt Molly’s arms around you.

‘Oh, how lovely to see you!’ she exclaimed as he held you in her arms.

‘It’s good to see you too, Mrs. Weasley,’ you chuckled.

‘Please, call me Molly, dear,’ Mrs Weasley said. ‘You’re practically family now.’

‘You hear that Fred? It’s time for ring,’ Ginny teased from behind her mother. Fred turned slightly red and shot Ginny an angry glare over his mother’s shoulder.

Molly ushered you in and ordered Ron to take your suitcase and bring it upstairs. The youngest son grumbled but quickly disappeared with the bags when he saw his mother’s look. You followed Molly to the living room, where you found Hermione and Harry talking to Bill and Arthur.

The usual welcoming hugs were given and it took a while before you had said hello to everyone. Molly placed you on the couch when you offered to help her with anything and Fred slumped down next to you. His arm was around your shoulder immediately as he started to talk to his father.

You let your gaze wonder through the room. One corner was taken by the big tree, that was full with golden and red decorations. There were actual candles instead of the muggle lights you and Fred had in your tree. On the walls and around the windows were fir branches through which a golden ribbon had been waved. The candles on the coffee table lit up the books on it and the fire place was burning fiercely. The inside of the house was the complete opposite the scenery outside. But it matched the cosy feeling.

The Burrow was one of the few places you actually felt at home. The Weasleys made you feel welcome and safe and you were really thankful that they had taken you into their family without a doubt. You remembered that the first time you had met them, you had been really nervous even though Fred had kept assuring you that they would love you. It’s not every day that you meet the family of your boyfriend. But the nervousness had disappeared after ten minutes and had never returned since.

Molly had prepared the most wonderful dinner. The table stood full with delicious dishes and the kitchen was filled with scents that made your mouth water.

You all cramped around the dining table. You were pressed between Fred and Ginny and your feet touched Hermione’s if you stretched them just a little. But this was how it always was; cosy and, despite the lack of personal space, comfortable.

Dinner was as delicious as it looked. You listened to Fleur and Molly talk about Bill’s abilities as a father, now that Fleur had given birth to their daughter Victoire. Fleur told about the sleepless nights and the early morning and you chuckled to yourself as you internally were glad that you weren’t even thinking about children yet. You loved Fred with your entire being but a baby was not on your planning now and, as you heard Fleur’s complaints, you figured it would be a while before it was, if it even would be.

On the other side of you, Ginny was in a heated discussion with Ron. She claimed that Holyhead Harpies were far better than the Chudley Cannons, because not only were they higher than them in the rankings, they also had much more skilled players. To which Ron said, while waving his fork in the air and sprinkling his friends with pieces potato, that though the Cannons might not be the highest in the rankings, they had been going along for a long time and that showed that they were better.

After dinner, when Arthur had stopped the two youngest siblings’ discussion, everyone was sleepy and in a jolly mood from all the food. You plopped down on the couch and Fred lied next to you, his head in your lap. Your hand was playing with his hair while Molly turned on the radio to listen Celestina Warbeck, making her children groan as one. While the soft music played through the room, Fred closed his eyes for a second. You watched as he drifted off to sleep, his nose scrunching up when you tapped him on his forehead to keep him awake.

‘Don’t fall asleep, love,’ you whispered to him, so no one else could hear you.

‘’M not asleep,’ he muttered and rubbed his eyes as he sat up straight. ‘See? Bright awake!’

You kissed his grin and rested your head on his shoulder, taking his hand in yours. Fred wrapped his arm around you and pulled your closer to him, as he listened to his oldest brother trying to talk some sense in Ron.

‘Ron, just be a man and ask her to move in with you!’ Bill whisper-yelled and Ron shook his head. ‘You’ve been dating Hermione for two years now, you basically lived with her every summer since you met! What is keeping you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ron mumbled. ‘What if she doesn’t even want to live with me?’

‘Ron, she is dating you. She really likes you,’ Bill said and he pushed Ron against his shoulder. ‘Just ask her. It’ll be the best Christmas gift!’

Ron sighed but he nodded and looked at Hermione, who was sitting on the other side of the room, talking with Ginny. You smiled at Ron’s nerves and lifted your head to talk to him. ‘She really does like you, Ron. Believe me, whenever we’re out she always talks about you.’

Something in Ron’s face changed and he smiled at you. ‘Yeah, I can ask her. She’ll like it. I’m sure she will…’

Fred presses a kiss to the side of your head and he squeezed your hand. ‘You’re too good for this world, sweetheart.’

-o0o-o00-

On Christmas morning you woke up with Fred clinging onto you. He had his eyes closed and his mouth was open a little, sending shivers down your spine every time he breathed out and his breath stroke over your skin.

A warm feeling spread over you as you realised it was Christmas. You nudged Fred awake softly and he lifted his head, his eyes still half closed and his voice sleepy.

‘Whut?’

‘Merry Christmas, dear,’ you whispered and kissed Fred lightly.

‘Merry Christmas, y/n,’ he said back and deepened the kiss.

You both quickly changed your actual sleeping clothes to the pyjamas Molly and Arthur had given you past Christmas and on your way downstairs you came across Harry and Ron, who were also wearing their pyjamas.

‘Merlin, I hope this year’s just jumpers,’ Ron grumbled, his arm stretching to his leg to scratch.

‘I agree,’ Fred mumbled and he shimmered his shoulders.

Though the thought behind the pyjamas was really sweet, they itched like hell. The fabric Molly had chosen was not one you would normally choose for something that was supposed to be comfortable. So the pyjamas were only worn whenever Molly and Arthur were around, because even though they might not be comfortable, you didn’t want to hurt their feelings.

The ground beneath the Christmas tree was covered with surprisingly many gifts. Now that you were all older, the gifts had gotten more personal and less. You weren’t greedy kids anymore. But the sight of that many presents did make you happy.

The sounds coming from the kitchen told you that Molly was already awake and preparing breakfast that would most likely be just as much as dinner last night. Music was coming from the kitchen to the living room, where you were. While, Ron and Fred sat down, you and Harry, as the good children-in-law you were, went to the kitchen.

‘Good morning,’ you said and Molly turned around to you. Her smile widened when she saw you and Harry were wearing the pyjamas.

‘Can we help with anything?’ Harry asked.

‘Oh no, dear don’t worry, there’s not much to do,’ Molly said while she stirred in a pot and gestured her wand at the plates in the cupboard, so they flew through the air to the table.

But being in the family for a while had taught both you and Harry that there was always something to do when Molly was cooking. Harry went to set the table and you took place at the counter kneading the dough for the bread Molly was making. The Weasley mother sent you and Harry a grateful smile and quickly wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye.

Soon you were joined by Hermione, who started to help you with making the bread. There was an easy conversation between the four people in the kitchen. You talked with Harry and Hermione about their jobs at the ministry and they explained the changes that they were trying to push through.

‘It’s not much and even less gets actually through, but it is motivation to see it change slowly,’ Hermione said while she formed little balls from the dough you handed to her.

‘I think it’s great,’ you said. ‘The ministry definitely needs some change.’

Not much later Fleur entered the kitchen, carrying Victoire on her hip. The little girl was slowly starting to wake and rubbed her eyes while she hid her face from the people in the kitchen. Fleur put her in her high chair, that stood at one end of the table, and gave her a bottle that the baby soon started to drink from.

‘At what time is George coming?’ Fleur asked, while she sat down next to her daughter.

‘Sometime after breakfast,’ you answered. From all the people in the kitchen you were the closest to George and apparently, as no one else gave an answer, the only one who knew what time he was coming.

‘Figure he made it late last night?’ Harry asked with a smirk on his face.

‘Yeah, I think so,’ you said, handing Hermione the last bit of dough. ‘He was going out with Lee and well, you know how that usually ends.’

‘That we know,’ Hermione mumbled disapprovingly. The last time you had all gone out together, George had forced everyone to stay till the sun came up and that had not fallen right with Hermione, who had had an early day at work the next morning.

When the bread stood in the oven and the rest of breakfast was done, Molly ordered everyone in the living room. You walked in on Fred, Ron, Bill and Ginny all focusing on a frenetic game of Ludo. From the looks of it, Ginny was winning and none of her siblings was agreeing with that.

‘Oh, come on!’ Bill cried out when his piece got thrown of the board by Fred. ‘Why would you do that? I only got one piece on the board!’

‘Sorry, mate,’ Fred shrugged as he placed his piece on the spot Bill’s had stood just two seconds ago.

All four of them were wearing their pyjamas as well and the colour combination was hideous. Molly however couldn’t be more happy to see her children in the things she had made for them and excitedly asked everyone to gather round so she could make a photo.

You all huddled together on and behind the sofa. You sat on Fred’s lap, Hermione was sitting next to him on the couch and Ron at her feet on the floor. On one arm of the couch Harry sat and on the other Ginny. Bill and Fleur stood behind the couch, their arms around their daughter. Arthur went to grab his camera and hurried off to the garage.

He was gone for a while and the longer it took, the less happy everyone got. Ron was hungry and asked when breakfast would be ready. Harry shifted uncomfortable on the armrest and kept scratching his knee. You were getting hot with Fred’s arms around you. Behind you Victoire wasn’t happy to wait either. Softly she began to whine, while Bill and Fleur tried everything to keep her quiet.

After twenty minutes Arthur came back with a red face and the camera in his hand. ‘I forgot where I put it last time.’

Everyone sat up straight and smiled at the camera. The light flashed and everyone sighed content after. You relaxed and moved away from Fred’s arms. Harry jumped off the armrest while he rubbed his bum and cursed the spot he had been sitting on.

‘Fred could you hold Victoire for a moment?’ Bill asked his younger brother and before getting an answer he pushed the girl in Fred’s arms.

Bill ran upstairs and Fred turned to his niece. ‘Hello little princess, are you having fun?’

You smiled as you watched Fred bounce Victoire around, talking to her as he showed her the room.

‘And this is y/n,’ Fred said when he walked over to you. ‘Can you say hello to y/n?’

You laughed and placed around arm around Fred’s shoulder as you smiled at Victoire. She giggled and scrunched up her face as she looked at you.

‘Merry Christmas, angel,’ you said and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

‘Smile!’ Hermione exclaimed and when you and Fred turned around to her, she was holding the camera and took a picture. The flash created spots on your retina and you had to blink for them to disappear.

‘Come, come, I believe breakfast is ready!’ Molly said from the kitchen.

-o0o-o00-

That afternoon you were sitting with the whole family in the living room again. George had arrived shortly after dinner and the bags under his eyes told you that he had in fact made it late the previous night. Nevertheless, his smile was still as bright as ever.

The pyjamas had been changed for jumpers, everyone with their own first letter. Yours was dark green with a red letter and Fred’s was red with a green letter. ‘To match,’ Molly had proudly said and you couldn’t get it over your heart to make a cheesy comment.

You were sitting next to Ron, who was fidgeting with the edges of his sleeves. He still hadn’t asked Hermione to move in with him and the anxiety was eating him up. So while Hermione had turned to Ginny, you spoke to him.

‘When are you gonna ask her?’

‘I don’t know. I’m nervous,’ Ron said and he flashed you a little smile.

‘Don’t be, Ron. She loves you and she’d be a fool not to move in with you. I know she will say yes.’

‘It’s a big step,’ Ron sighed.

‘It’s a really big step, but it will be a great one,’ you said and you thought back of when you and Fred first moved in together. ‘It’s a lot easier. You never have to worry about what time you were supposed to meet up or at whose place you’re going to stay. Plus, you know her so well, it will be easy!’

Ron thanked you and apparently decided to just get over with it, because he got up and asked Hermione if he could talk to her for a moment. As they left the room you made eyes with Fred and he made his way over to you.

‘I assume you have given him the final push?’ he asked as he slumped down beside you.

‘Why would you think that?’ you asked.

‘Because out of all people, you’re the only one who can make Ron actually do stuff. Bill and I have been trying to get him to ask her for months now. You’re here one day and now he’s doing it.’

‘He just needed a little motivation,’ you shrugged.

Fred laughed and pressed a kiss to the side of your head. Resting your head on his shoulder you watched Harry and Ginny as they played wizard’s chess. Harry was losing miserably, but you figured he only did so to see the happy look on Ginny’s face. He wasn’t even paying attention to the board as Ginny’s knight dragged his queen off the board, but instead watching her face.

Outside the sky darkened and little white snowflakes fell from the dark clouds. You stared out of the window and watched the world outside turn white. A warm, cosy feeling spread through your body as you felt the heat from the fire warm your face and the warmth that Fred’s hand around your waist brought. The light was reflected in the shiny golden Christmas ornaments in the tree and spectrums of golden specks showed on the ceiling. The scent of the pine tree and the slight burn of candles filled the room.

There was no other option than to smile at the family that was sitting around you and had made this the best Christmas.

- - - - - -

taglists:

general HP: @kitkatkl @girllety @yuptha-tsme @sleep-i-ness @iamak20 @thefuturelawyer @weasleydream @missmulti @deafgirltingz @moonstarrnghtsky @mytreec @lilulo-12fanfiction @emmaloo21 @kashishwrites @ananad1 @figlia--della--luna @kylosleftbuttcheek @mrs-malfoy-always @thefandomplace @magicwithaknife @mt2413 @aesthetically-hailey @superbturtlemakerathlete @the-natureofme @missswriter @hahee154hq

Weasley twins: @susceptible-but-siriusexual

MASTERLIST

#all i want for christmas is fanfiction #merry christmas #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #fred x reader #fred imagine #fred #weasley twins #harry potter #harry potter x reader

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