#like lads i can fall down anywhere. i get colds even if i’m home alone and expose myself to nothing

[fingertipsmp3]

I think the worst part of falling down today was that it was such a weirdly enjoyable shift up to that point

[leffee]

More headcannons -

-Starting off with a classic vinnie in summer will wear as little as possible 90% of the time he’s shirtless and the other 10% just walking around in his boxers because he can and has no shame.

- vinnie also doesn’t think that he ever needs sunscreen and that he won’t burn it’ll just turn into “a sick tan” which turns into his friends holding him down to spraying him with sunscreen so he won’t whine later lol

- penny is so sweet most of the time but she has the mom look so don’t ever make her mad one stare from her and you know you’re in trouble.

-pepper likes Zoe but she’ll never admit it she doesn’t think that she has a chance because of digby and her deep fear that telling Zoe would ruin their friendship so she just continues to be her best friend and protecter.

- Sunil goes to Russell for advice a lot of the time because he feels safe doing so he knows Russell will never judge and will give good advice as well as keep secrets.

- Russell doesn’t like taking his shirt off in the summer or ever in front of anyone he’s super sensitive about his body. The times he had tried or thought about it the girls (mainly pepper)make jokes and pay way to much attention to him when he does so he doesn’t ( he will in front of vinnie because they are dating but it took a bit)

- zoe really wants to open up a clothing store with her own designs she loves fashion so deeply that she wants to own a place where she can help everyone find their true fabulousness. But for now it’s a dream she saves up for.

- minka really loves to climb things with vinnie the’ll often have races up trees to see who can get to the top first without vinnie falling half the time of corse lol

- Russell builds robots in his spare time he’s very good and now sells them who he calls “clients” who are in the rich community and would like to remain anonymous so none of his friends know how much he makes in general and it bothers the living daylights out of pepper and Zoe who are very nosey

- speaking of being bothered Russell wont tell pepper his middle name just because he knows it bugs her they were on the topic and he saw his chance to mess with her for fun ( it’s James hehe)

- vinnie is super good at keeping promises he won’t break one ever unless told otherwise by said individual he’s always been that way and won’t stop anytime soon no matter what.

- penny is trying to work on crying less she once tried to make that her New Year’s resolution but failed the first week ( her friends were still proud of her for trying but told her they really don’t mind her being who she is ) she loves them for it but still tries her best to get little victories for times she could’ve cried but didn’t and to her that’s a win!

Alright I have so much more to say but I’ll leave this here for you! Your thoughts? I’m excited for the feed back I’ll have to send more this is fun!

Oh my gawd, I didn't expect so many but I am so happy. Get ready lads cause that's a long one that's what she said, I'll need to number them instead of doing my usual bulleted list

Tehee classic Vinnie that sure is and I agree. I imagine that when home alone and not planning to go out anywhere he might just go around naked. He just has no shame, that's one, but I think that he just could not care less about anyone being naked, just in general. He won't do it, and knows that he can't just go out like that or anything, but personally he doesn't care. But also I have a contradicting headcanon (for so many of Vinnie headcanons that I have I also have a directly contradicting one, because both just fit in my mind) in which he even during summer is not feeling as warm as everybody else, but that plays into the whole cold-blood-ness, is that even a word? And so he wears clothes, sometimes even warmer ones. I kid you not I can imagine him wearing leg warmers in summer.

"A sick tan"? Ye, that does sound like Vinnie, Thank the stars he has friends so he doesn't burn. I imagine he hisses at them when they hold him down and spray him. I also have a similiar headcanon, and this one is pretty estabilished in my head. So first of all, yes, he refuses to wear sunscreen, but wait, there's more. So I headcanon him as very fucking pale and mixed with that no wearing sunscreen mindset, he is whole red afterwards and looks like a burnt chicken nugget. It's also very painful :'D.

Yes, absolutely. If there is a mom friend in this group then that is definitely Penny. And yes, she's so cool, because she is this sweet, nice and sensitive person but can also kick butt. Others sweat when seeing that look and so do I. I love Penny :]

I can't explain it but this trope fits Pepper so much?? Like yes she would. I think she'd also thing Zoe's too cool for her. Like I said before, zoepepper is a surprisingly compatibile ship. But I think I love the "protector" part the most. Imagine, that because of that love she's very careful about the people Zoe wants to date/dates already. The sort of "Oh, you like __?" and then she finds that person and has a very long talk with them to see if that someone would treat Zoe right, thoughts?

Oh, so Russell's good at keeping secrets and giving advice? Yeah, I can definitely stand behind it and of course Sunil going to him for ones. I wonder if he has any sort of certain category of advices he goes to Russell to. We need more Sunil Russell interactions in this world.

Poor Russell. I feel him so much. I hope the girls don't actually mean it seriously though. They're just kinda like that. And yes, I dig the whole Russell is self-concious about his body headcanon. I mean, we did see him get upset when Pepper made that one joke when comparing him to a marshmallow. But I love him, perhaps even more because of his body shape :3. Have I ever mentioned how much I love characters who are chubby? Because I do. It's been growing on me so much lately, to the point when I oftenadd at least a little bit of chub to most characters who are depicted as skinny (I'm looking at you skinny Vinnie). Speaking of Vinnie, please tell me he was supportive and assured Russell that he looks great and he loves him all the more. And hey, they're dating in this one, that's character delevopment if I've ever seen one! Though I can't deny, I'm a sucker for jealous Vinnie.

"Find their true fabulousness" is so cool though and that could be like a motto of her shop. Okay, thoughts. So, I imagine that with time Zoe would really grow to be more open to others' different opinions on fashion and style, expecially what they feel comfortable wearing. And while she still has her own opinions, she would help those potential clients choose something or give advice that stays within their own fashion sense, but also gently push them into perhaps trying something new.

Yes, I could not agree more, this is another one of my estabilished headcanons, mainly because it's barely even a headcanon. In the show they are both the climbers, so of course that translates to the human au as well. But Vinnie falling saskas good that in my headcanon he has a big pain tolerance (mainly due to the fact he just hurts himself a lot, he got used to the pain so he is not affected by it as much anymore). Though I personally always imgined that he would genuinely be good at it. But yes, basically whenever your ball gets stuck in a tree just call on of them. Or you want to break into someone's house by the open window on the second floor, that works too. I'm not sure how to transport that into human au, but I also imagine they each have a different style of climbing, given that in canon they do have. While Minka does physically climb Vinnie just mostly sticks to the surface. Also fun fact, if I remember correctly I've seen somewhere that lizards move faster on walls than they do on the ground. AND even more curiously, they do show that in lps. Seriously, often when Vinnie is on the wall he walks reallt quickly. I'll admit, if that fact is true, that's quite the dedication.

Wait wait wait, Russell making robots? That's cool, but he sells them to rich people? Damn, boy, maybe he's secretely loaded? I'd imagine at least. But now I wonder what kinda robots he makes because at first I imagined one of those rather humanoid looking small robots that you can control, but then I realized that things like kitchen robots also exist. But actually now that I think it through, I imagine like an android robot especially since those are for the rich.

I love the idea of Russell not wanting to tell Pepper that not because he has a legitimate reason but just because he wants to bug her. And that only bothers her more because she starts to think that since he is really set on not telling her that it's probably embarassing or maybe nerdy (like she can talk! Her mmiddle name is Mildred. Also what's with the middle names in this show? Pepper Mildred Clark? Vincent Alfonso Terrio? Boy). The look of disappointment on her face when she finds out it's just James lol.

Oho? I love it, of course I do. But you are right. I imagine him very loyal, and so of course that includes keeping promises. Like he's completely stiff in that department. He will keep it no matter what, and even if the person tells him he doesn't need to anymore he would need a while to get used to that thought.

But this one, It just might be my second favourite headcanon from all of those besides the previous one. I don't even know how to describe it, but I just love it. Back in the day there weren't really many people who openly disliked Penny Ling, but those who did often said they were annoying by her constant crying. But like?? No baby, please, she's so real for that. This is such a real problem really, so down to the ground. Perhaps a bit exaggarated in the show as it often is in cartoons, but still. So many people don't want to cry publicly because they think they will annoy others. And unfortuantely they would sometimes be right. But look at her! She's rather shy, not all that willing to open about herself, sometimes anxious. I quite frankly think that her canon self might be one of the most relatable ones.

Phew, it took me an hour, not that this is a bad thing, I loved every second of it, so here you go. I hope you like the feedback :]. This is the most fun I had in this fandom ever, so please, please feel free to send more lps related content, whether that be new headcanons, thoughts about what I said or anything else. Seriously, it seems like you are just as obsessed with those characters as I am, and believe me, I'd love nothing more than to talk through literally everything about them and/or this stupid little show. Don't leave me alone with my lps obsession D:

la creatura

[tellerford13]

MO ASTOR CHAPTER 44                                            

Disclaimer We don’t own the bikes, brothers, or any “related” Sons of Anarchy, trust us, if we did we wouldn’t have the time to write. No money is being made from our stories. So, please don’t sue. It’d be a fruitless endeavor indeed. That being said, Harley, Journee, and any other newbies are ours, and we don’t share. :Whispers in creepy voice: “My precious.”

The universe This reality is a mix of cannon, and our own ideas. We strive to keep the boys cannon, but since we will be shifting around some of the events, that will reflect in our writing and their personalities as well. It’s our goal to provide you with quality fiction, and solid, fleshed out OFC

We appreciate constructive criticism and love LOVE reviews, they are a writers life blood and definitely help encourage us and inspire us.

                                                          A/N: AND. WE’RE. BACK! We appreciate your patience, heading into the show require a wee bit more work on our end as well as dealing with some hard hits from the real world. All that being said, we’re hoping to be able to stick to our weekly postings. So HERE WE GO!                                                  MO CHAPTER 44

Jax

“Girls are still at yer old house,” Chibs explains, blowing smoke out from his cigarette.

“I’ll relieve the prospect after I stop by the hospital.”

“Going to see the lad?”

I wince under his censure. Chibs doesn’t have to say a word to get his point across.

Everything that needs to be said is visible in his eyes.

“Naw. Gonna set his mother straight.”

Chibs grunts.

“What?” I snap.

“I didnae say a word.” He shakes his head, takin a deep inhale.

“Yeah, ya don’t have to,” I mutter, spinning on my heels and taking off.

Clay’s just got finished giving me shit about Mom telling him I hadn’t seen Abel.

No one stops to consider it might be too much for me.

I’ve gotten so used to people leaving, I keep them at a distance.

I also have a lot of shit on my plate, and I can’t afford to drop the ball.

They want me to put the club first but don’t stop to look at what the cost might look like. I’d rather be dealing with the fucking Mayans than this family guilt trip shit.

Clay attempting to keep me in line by holding Abel’s hospital bills in my face was a low blow. But I’ve come to expect that shit from him.

There’s not enough time in the world to stop me from being furious with Wendy when I reach St. Thomas.

I’m glad Tara is nowhere to be seen.

I got my hands full with one crazy ex.

Wendy looks like death warmed over.

Ratty bleached out blonde hair, sallow skin, and dark circles that lend to her skeleton impression. What the fuck did I ever see in her?

Another lost soul who needed an anchor, so she didn’t drift off the deep end.

It worked for a time.

I should’ve ended it when it stopped, and she relapsed the second time, instead of ignoring her like she’d go away on her own.

She looks up and starts to cry when she sees me.

Stepping in, I ignore her hysterics.

I’ve grown immune to them.

“You need to get help, Wendy,” I say, trying to soften the irritation in my tone.

“I know, I know— But it’s not what you think. I was doing so good, Jax. I love my baby. Even with us being fucked up.” She shakes her head, wiping at imaginary tears.

“So the meth fairy shot you up?”

She looks down at the bed, and I tense.

Her lack of eye contact’s always been a tell-tail sign she’s hiding shit from me.

“Start talking now, Wendy.” I growl.

“I thought he loved me. That he didn’t care I was having your baby. I was wrong. All he wanted to talk about was you and the club. I didn’t tell him. I didn’t.” She shakes her head, speaking as if she’d forgotten I was even there.

Walking over, I grip her bedrail to keep from gripping her arms and shaking the answers out of her.

“And.” I ground out.  

“He forced me to shoot up Jax! H-He Said I was going to tell one way or the other!”

Well for Fuck’s sake!  

“Son of a bitch. What did you say to him, Wendy?”

She shakes her head.

“I- I don’t know. The doctor said Abel’s getting stronger. He said maybe they would fix his belly. Maybe tomorrow morning.” I shake my head at her attempt to change the topic.

Now I have to worry about what the Nords know on top of everything else.

“They’ll do everything they can.”

I won’t hope. That’s a dangerous thing I can’t afford to do right now.

“My lawyer said they might file criminal charges. Fetal abuse. I got stuff back at the house in the stash drawer.”

“Jesus Christ.” I scoff, shaking my head.

It never ends with this bitch.

“You expect me to bring it to you so you can get high too?” I growl.

“No, I told you…” She whines.

“I didn’t even want to do it, Jax. You have to believe me. Just if they find that shit, they’re gonna put me away.”

“Might be the only way you’ll get clean,” I state honestly.

Plus, her outta the picture might make all the women in my life a lot happier.

“You own the house, Jax. I’d hate to see this blowback on you.”

The truth of her statement dumps over me like a bucket of cold water.

“Yeah, of course.” I chuckle dryly.

Now there’s another fucking mess I gotta fucking clean up.

It never ends.

Fuck, I need to find the shit before the girls do. I don’t want them anywhere near that shit, let alone touching it.

“Jax, wait. Please, please, Jax!” Her whining falls on deaf ears as I leave the hospital behind and hit the road.

Pulling up into the driveway, I gesture for the grunt to leave as I enter the house that never felt like a home.

I watch briefly as the girls pitch things into garbage bags, spraying and scrubbing down furniture.

It hits me in the heart and the gut.

The three women I love most are here together, doing what they can to make this shit show more tolerable.

I clear my throat. “It’s almost midnight.”

They all stop, startled by my appearance before glancing up at me with tired expressions.

“The place is a goddamn pigsty.” Ma huffs, picking up all the clothes laying around.

“Cleaning was never her strong suit. But it didn’t look like this last time we were here.”

Mom glances over at me.

Sitting on the desk next to the half wall that separates the living room from the wall, I look over at the girls working in the kitchen and dining room.

“What are you doing here?” Mom asks, continuing her almost frantic cleaning.

“It’s my house,” I offer, pulling my riding gloves off.

“No, it’s your property. There’s a big difference,” J corrects walking into the living room with another trash bag.

Lee meets my gaze, studying me with those blue lasers that always see everything I want to hide.

I look away, unable to keep my secret in the face of her worry-filled expression.

“You know what I mean. I don’t want you to see it this way,” Ma says as she continues to straighten and organize.

It’s her way, always in action to run from her emotions.

“You guys don’t have to do this.” Guilt hits me.

They’re over here cleaning up the mess I made.

My stomach clenches.

“Look, we just want it livable,” Lee says walking into the living room with an empty hamper for the clothes.

Her words should be soothing, but that’s the last thing I want right now.

“I’ll buy some decent carpet. Cigarette burns are everywhere.” Mom mutters, continuing to pick up Wendy’s mess. “Mom.” I try to grab her attention, but she continues to mumble and clean.

“Make this shit-hole a home for your son.”

Something in me snaps at the mention of Abel.

“Mom, For chrissakes, stop cleaning!” I bark.

J steps in front of her.

“Oh hell no. You don’t get to talk to her like that! Not when we’re here helping your ass out. Trying to clean up the fucking trail of mess you left behind. Like always!”

I flinch.

“Jax.” Lee shakes her head.

The disapproval is visible in her blue sapphires.

“He’s not gonna make it.” I let my worries fly out of my mouth.

The girls gasp, circling around me.

Lee grabs my hand, squeezing tight.

“W-What are you talking about?” Mom asks.

“What happened?” Lee and Journee ask in that twin sync way they have.

I exhale and shake my head.

“He was born with half a stomach and a hole in his heart. He’s gonna die—.”

My head is rocked to the left, and my side is on fire from mom’s slap and baby sister’s wicked pinch.

I think the little bitch drew blood and broke the skin.

But it’s Lee letting go of my hand that hurts the most.

“Don’t you say that! You’re the only one this boy’s got! You don’t believe he’s gonna live, you might as well go and kill him yourself.” Mom snaps, glaring at me as she speaks her truth.

Turning from me, she walks over to the table and grabs the joint and lighter sitting in a bowl.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles half-heartedly, lighting up the joint as I make my way towards her, cautiously.

My eyes catch Lee’s disappointed blues.

“You gotta go see him, Jax,” She says gently, stepping towards me.

Even through my pain, I hear Lee’s voice, but I can’t gather the guts yet to do what she’s asking me.

“I can’t.” I admit honestly.

“Why? Because he’ll break your heart? It’s called being a father,” Mom says, after blowing out her deep inhale.

I place my hand up on the half-wall, resting heavily against it.

“For how long? A day? A week?” I spit the words circling around my head out like poison.

Mom sighs, and nods to me to come take a seat with her.

I release my own sigh, and glance back to see the girls going back to cleaning but staying nearby.

Wiping at some crumbs on the table, I sink into the chair, exhausted.

Mom takes another hit from the joint before offering it to me.

I look up at her gratefully, taking a deep inhale as she takes a seat across from me.

“You know, you were born with that same heart defect as your little brother.”

She reaches across the table and gently knocks at my chest.

“You seem pretty sturdy to me.”

Her tone has changed to something a little softer and I can’t help but give her a small smile.

“I came through hell. Landed on my feet…your father was hit by a goddamn semi, dragged 178 yards...and that bastard lived for two more days. Tellers do not die easy.” She says with a proud smirk.

I snort.

“No, we just die bloody.” I say honestly.

I’m not sure that’s better.

“That’s the Irish in us,” Ma says without missing a beat.

The storm ends, and I turn to glance up at the girls.

“I’m sorry.” I mouth the words.

Journee scowls, and Lee shoots me a sad look that makes my heart squeeze painfully in my chest.

I need to get out of this moment.

“When you and dad hooked up, he ever talk to you about his vision? About what he wanted from the club?”

The girls look at me, and I nod.

Mom fidgets with the joint in her fingers before shrugging.

“His vision was— you know, what it is. A brotherhood. Family.” She offers me the joint.

“And running guns? He want that?” I keep on her, needing to get to the bottom of how we came to this position.

“He never talked about that. Why?” She eyes me for a moment, before standing from the table.

“I found a box of his old shit in the storage unit. There’s, like, pictures and journals and... Things I never knew about him.” I shrug.

“What kind of things?” Journee asks, pausing her cleaning.

“It seemed like his original idea for the MC was something simpler. You know, social rebellion. He called it a Harley commune. It wasn’t outlaw. It was real hippie shit.” I say with a slight smile.

It’s not hard to imagine my laidback father wanting that.

I take another hit of the joint, watching as Mom sighs and tosses her head slightly.

I can see her brimming with nervous energy.

I know she doesn’t like to talk about dad.

“We had a lot of bright ideas back then. We were kids. Your father became a man. Men take care of business.” She says, but she isn’t looking at me when she speaks.

“Yeah, we do.” I answer, blowing the smoke out of my nose.

“You should get home, Mom. Finish cleaning tomorrow. Lee and I will lock up.” I say as mom turns to look at me while Journee looks from me to Lee.

“You good?” She hugs Lee, who whispers something in her ear.

Mom walks over and frames my face for a moment.

“Night mom.” I say as she bends to press a kiss to my cheek.

“Night baby.” She whispers squeezing my hand before walking past me.

“Hey,” I nod at Mom. “Have her stop by the club. Your old man misses you.” I say, standing from the table.

Baby J steps closer and tugs me down to her.

“Do not fuck this up, Jaxass. Remember everything you have to lose.”

I nod my head.

“I hear you.”

She pats my cheek.

“Good.”

“Ok, darling.” Mom sounds exhausted.

It’s easy to forget sometimes she’s still only human.

“Good night, mom. Night Baby J.”

“Good night, baby.” Ma blows a kiss before grabbing her stuff.

“See you tomorrow, bro. Remember what I said.”

“Yeah.” I nod.

“Lee. I’m always a call away,” Baby J says, ignoring me as she walks up and kisses her.

I glance over to see Mom’s already out the door.

That’s new.

I guess they’re done giving a shit.

“I love you too, Nee.” Lee calls out.

They walk out, and I go to the drawer Wendy mentioned.

“What are you doing?” Lee asks, following me over to the stash drawer.

“Saving us a whole lot more trouble.” I remove the gun, syringes, and bags of smack.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Lee screeches angrily.

“Obviously not mine.” I mumble, tucking the gun into the waistband of my jeans as I walk over to the bathroom.

“Why are you covering for her? It’s like enabling.” She says as I flush the baggies away.

“Cause it’s my damn house, Harley. Imagine how much the law would love to find that shit and charge me.”

She crosses her arms and nods.

“So, you sweep in and rescue her. She has no consequences?” She follows me back to the living room.

“She’s lying in the hospital half dead right. I’m pretty sure she’s paying.” I snap, turning to look at her.

“So you could go see the Junkie bitch, but not your son?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Explain it to me, then. Cause what I see is the one solid parent Abel has turning their back.”

“Oh, that’s bullshit, and you know it. That kid is going to have more love than most kids get in a lifetime.”

“Maybe. But it won’t make up for an absent father.” She pokes her finger at my chest.

I roll my eyes, fighting back the urge to growl.

“You already labeling me now? Don’t let your past mingle with my future. I’m ain’t like Wally, and you know it.” I swipe her hand away, shaking my head.

“No. But I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of a junkie mother and a father who couldn’t’ be bothered,’ She whispers.

Her past pain bleeds into her blues, tugging at my heart strings.

Fuck.

I turn back to face her, bending slightly to catch her eyes.

“I get that, but it’s not the same, Lee. I just—my head is spinning, and I need to be grounded before facing him lying there like that, okay? It ain’t about a lack of love.” I run a hand through my hair, blowing out a deep breathe.

“You’re a Father now, Jax. You can’t keep things on the backburner anymore.” She steps forward, and I open my arms.

“I don’t want to fight, babe.” I say sincerely.

“So, let’s not fight.” Her tone doesn’t match her sentence.

I know she wants to keep talking about this and shit it’d be easier if she knew what went down with Wendy, but I’m ain’t about to add gasoline to that fire.

So I’ll keep this close to my chest for now.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask, just needing us to be okay.

“Anything, other than ignore him Jackson.” She throws her hands up in the air.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll go see Abel tomorrow.” I say, knowing it’ll make her happy.

“Yeah?” She whispers.

Her eyes light up, and I nod.

Fuck she’s got me wrapped around her finger don’t she?

“Yeah.” I swallow my pride and my fear.

I can’t control if I lose my son, but I can keep Lee.

“You’re right. I’ve been putting things on the back burner I should be handling. I want to be the kind of man my father was.” My throat clogs.

“This ain’t it.”

She steps into my arms and I hold her tight.

“I see him in you all the time Jackson. You just need to learn how to channel him and block out all the other bullshit thrown at you.” Wrapping her armss around my waist, she rests her head on my chest.

Inhaling the citrus scent of her hair, I let her ground me.

We’re in a fucking hurricane right now.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep our heads above water.

Tara, Wendy, Abel, Mayans, Nords, it’s all coming at us at once.

I can’t even catch my damn breath.

“Talk to me.” Lee tilts her head up, propping her chin on my chest as she turns those cerulean lasers up to lock onto mine.

Her anger’s faded, but I can see the steely determination in the depths of her electric blue eyes. She expects me to keep my word.

“That’s why I’m here.” She pushes gently.

I don’t even know where to start.

We’re in the middle of a powder keg, ready to explode.

The less she knows, the better.

Once you add her own issues with abandonment into the situation, I know rational thinking goes straight the fuck out the window.

“I don’t want to talk babe. I want to feel something other than worry and stress. I need you, Lee.” I whisper, pressing our lips together.

“Then have me, Jackson.” Her tone is husky but demanding.

She fists my hair and crashes our kiss together again.

I grip her face in my hands and dominate the kiss.

Tilting my head slightly I deepen our kiss and slip my tongue into her mouth, exploring the playground I already have memorized.

Wrapping my arms around her waist, I crush her frame against my chest.

The mint of the gum she’s been chewing makes my tongue tingle as the addicting scent of spicy citrus fills my nostrils. Blood rushes to my cock, slowly hardening against her. She pulls back to suck in air, and I move my hands down to her hips. I don’t want her to be even an inch from me right now.

I press forward, moving her back towards the half-wall and the desk.

Lips lock and teeth gnash as our hands work in tandem, stripping each other of our bottoms.

Unbelted and unbuttoned, my jeans drop down my hips, weighted heavily by the items always attached.

I shove down the leggings she’s wearing and lift her up from the ground.

She wraps her knees around my waist as I hold her weight with one arm, clearing the small desk and positioning her against the half-wall.

Her fingers tug at my hair, turning my head to keep our lips connected.

I growl as my hardened cock strains against the confines of my boxers.

Her wet heat sears me through the thin cotton, painting my boxers in her fragrant juices.

“Fuck. you’re so wet, baby.” I groan, grinding against her slick folds.

“Always for you.” She whimpers, reaching into my boxers to pull my cock out.

“Shit.” I hiss as her warm fist wraps around me.

Precum leaks from my tip, and she uses her thumb to smear the sticky liquid down my cock.

“Fuck I love you.” I groan as she pumps me before lining me up with her hot entrance.

“Fuck me, Jackson. Claim me as yours.” The neediness in her tone causes the beast inside me to roar to life.

“Mine,” I growl, thrusting into her without warning.

She gasps, arching her back.

I bend down, sucking the skin of her neck into my mouth.

She whimpers, turning her head to the side to allow me more access.

I stay still, basking in being completely surrounded by her and losing myself in the taste of her skin.

I suck harder, wanting to leave my mark and let everyone know she’s claimed.

“Jackson.” She gasps, clenching her muscles around my cock.

I groan at how fucking tight she feels.

Biting her neck, she whines and rolls her hips towards me.

I slide back just slightly, desperate to remain inside her for as long as possible.

I roll my hips instead of sliding out.

“O-oh.” She moans, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and hugging me closer to her.

The wood creaks with the movement, and my hands move to her thighs to support her weight.

“You feel so fucking, good baby.” Lee moans as I continue to rotate my hips inside her.

I mix it up with a rhythmic back and forth but never out of her.

This is my pussy, and the only people allowed to play in here are J. Tellers.

The quick flash image of my baby sister making my girl come has me groaning loudly and thrusting deeper.

“Fuck baby, just like that!” She cries out, clenching around me.

Her back arches, and her body trembles.

“Shit, Jackson, I’m close—so fucking close.” She gasps, rocking her hips towards me erratically.

My cock grows impossibly hard as I near mine.

I bite at her collarbone, leaving my marks all over her neck.

No one will ever doubt this woman is claimed and claimed fucking well.

“I’m yours, baby,” I whisper against her lips, letting her know this claiming goes both ways.

“And you’re fucking mine.” I hiss, rotating my hips so my cock can hit that spot inside her that makes her shatter.

“YES!” She cries out, fingernails digging into the back of my neck as her pussy locks down on me like a fucking vice.

“Fuck.” I groan, falling headfirst into my own release and shooting my hot load deep inside her.

She hugs me close as I rest my weight on my forearms against the wall, trapping her between them and struggling to catch my breath.

Lifting my head, our eyes lock, and I’m lost in the soft glow of her electric blues.

“I love you so much, Harley,” I say, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips before I slowly ease out of her.

“Mmm, love you too.” She mumbles against my lips.

“I’ll love you even more if you get me a towel.” She blinks up at me with hazy eyes and a satisfied smile.

I bend down to pull my boxers and jeans back up.

Shit, the thought of my cum swimming around inside her could make me hard again.

I know she’s got that thing in her arm, but damn if I don’t love knowing she’s marked by me, inside out.

“Leave it,” I whisper, smirking as I help her stand.

Her eyes widen, shocked by my request.

“Really?” She asks as I drop to my knees to pull her leggings back up her legs for her.

I nod, standing back to my feet and pulling her close.

“You told me to claim you. Nothing says claimed like my seed swimming around inside you.” I slip my hand down the front of her leggings and cup her pussy.

The heat radiating through the thin, wet material has me biting my lip.

She whimpers.

“And what about you, Jackson?” She asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Are you claimed?” She asks, confusing me with her line of questioning.

“You tell me?” I ask, tucking some loose strands from her messy bun back behind her ear.

“I thought so…” She runs her knuckles down my cheek gently.

Suddenly she’s pinching my chin tightly, tilting my head down to meet her gaze.

“But then I see, Tara Fucking Knowles is in town, and you don’t look all that shocked to see her.” The fury flames in her eyes once more.

Fuck. Shoulda known the calm would only last a few minutes.

I sigh, shaking my head.

“Shit. We really talking ‘bout this now?” I ask, stepping back.

“Fuck yes we’re talking about this! Why didn’t you fucking tell me, Jackson! I do not like being blindsided!” She pushes at my chest and steps away from me.

“How long have you fucking known? How long did you plan on keeping it from me? And why, why the hell didn’t you fucking tell me!” She pushes at my chest again.

“Lee, I’m sorry, aight? I was gonna tell you the other night when we went out for our ride, but then the Mayans blew up the warehouse, and Wendy ODing threw us right into the middle of it before I had a chance.”

I step towards her cautiously, slowly moving to grab her hands.

“I only found out that morning. I just wanted to get some us time in before I told you-“ I begin.

“Why?” She asks in a defensive tone, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Cause I know how you feel ‘bout Tara, and I just wanted us to be solid-“

She slides her hands out from mine and steps back.

Something deep inside growls at the thought of her stepping away from me.

“Why wouldn’t we be solid, Jackson? Should I be worried we’re not solid now that SHE’s back?” I can hear the accusations in her tone, and I don’t like it one damn bit.

“Nah Fuck that, Harley. Her being back don’t change shit ‘bout us.” I step to her, gripping her hips in my hands tightly.

“I think I just fucking proved that,” I growl, nodding towards the clatter of shit on the floor from our early escapade.

“You think I’m going to accept the scraps you used to give other women? Takes more than a quick fuck against a wall to make me feel secure.”

“Don’t say shit like that when you know it ain’t fucking true!” I yell before I can catch myself.

Her eyes widen, but I don’t see an ounce of fear in them.

“I fucking love you, Harley Grazer! Tara ain’t nothing to me but an old ghost, you fucking hear me!” My fingers grip her hips so she can’t step back from me again.

“That bitch is the past. You and I are headed towards a future. I ain’t gonna let that gash get in the way of that by gettin into your head.”

This is my fault.

I let her pull me from my girls and my family once before.

But I’m gonna make it damn clear it ain’t happening again.

I struggle to calm myself.

I can’t blame her for being cautious.

I release a shaky breath, trying to force some sanity back into my brain before I start to demolish the whole fucking house.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. My plan was to tell you after our ride before everything went to shit. I only found out that morning.” I loosen my grip on her hips but still hold her to me.

She’s holding tense but not trying to stepping back.

I sigh, rubbing a hand down my face when she continues to glare at me.

“I mean it, Harley. I’m sorry I let that shit get away from me, but I need you to trust me when I say I got no love left for her. S’far as I’m concerned, she’s my son’s doctor, that’s it.” I wrap my arms around her and pull her to me.

My heart clinches when she remains stiff and doesn’t melt against me the way she usually does. “Can we be okay now?” I ask, desperate for things to be right between us.

I can’t fucking handle one more damn thing right now.

Her fingers fist my hair as she tugs my hair back slightly to grab my attention.

“Don’t keep shit like that from me anymore, and we’ll always be okay, Jackson.”

My stomach knots as I think about the bombshell Wendy dropped on me in the hospital.

I should tell Lee, but I don’t know if I have the fucking energy to go through another argument right now.

I wrap my arms tighter around her waist, squeezing her to me as I collapse against her for a moment.

One thing at a time.

[urimaginespimp]

Michael Gray: Better Man pt 15

Olivia thinks back to the moment before Ada left to go home. They were both just lounging by the couch, talking about what she had missed back home. Not that Michael had fill her with it already, just that there is no more detailed narration than from Ada herself. Hell, even when she wasn't around that much in the family meetings, Poll doesn't fail to tell her everything.

"You are so lucky, Livy." Ada smiled at her.

"Now what does the princess of Birmingham herself doesn't have that I don't?" She teased.

Cringing that Olivia called her something her brothers would use to mock her, she hit her with a throw pillow. "I'm serious, Livy." She said, sitting straighter this time. "You and Michael have what Freddie and I have always wanted - a normal life."

Taking Ada's hand, she gave it a slight squeeze. "I'm sorry, Ads. I know how much you wanted to move away."

"I do still miss him, and I'll always will. But what happened can't be undone and I've come into terms with it. I'm just glad that at least the only person I consider as a sister could have it."

"I don't know how long though." Olivia opened up. Because as close as they are, they were also opposites in some ways. Ada wants the simple, quiet life, she's always liked a thrilling one. That's part of the reason why she misses Birmingham more than she probably should.

There has been a long running joke in the family that they were actually switched at birth. The first time Ada went to her first dance was the first time Olivia was thought how to handle a gun. Sure, she wasn't the violent kind, but she couldn't deny how she enjoyed being part of a growing empire.

"You can take a girl away from Birmingham, but you can't take away the Brummie in her." Ada said, shaking her head, chuckling. "But I don't know, Livy. Sometimes we are at our happiest when we are in a peaceful environment."

She was about to answer, when the front door had opened.

"The service is ready outside." Michael announced, the moment he came into the apartment.

--------

It had been three weeks, and to say that Michael and Olivia's relationship was doing well was an understatement. Sleeping together, sharing kisses, actually being closer. She recalls a time when things got to heated, but it was Michael himself who diffused the situation and declared that it wasn't the time yet.

She could go as far to say that what they have now is better than what they had before everything went south. Maybe it's because they're older now, or maybe it's because they're away from the chaos brought upon by their jobs back in Birmingham.

Just the two of them, living like two normal adults. Going on constant date nights, actually getting more comfortable with being more acquainted with her clients instead of the solid business approach she gave them, having a third opinion in conversations she has with Ginny, and having their own personal freedom together.

She was now getting ready for the gala. Sitting down in front of her vanity dresser, wrapped in her silk robe, still trying to perfect her makeup.

Maybe what Ada had wanted isn't as boring as she thought it would be.

But what about Michael? Would he want stay here with her? She already had an inkling to his answer.

She was just about to put on her lipstick when Michael called for her outside.

"Yes, Michael?" She approached him. He was in the living room, looking for something. Checking vases, behind the couch, and cabinet drawers.

"I can't find my lighter luv." He answered, still busy looking.

"Oh? What would you need it for?" She asked, confused.

"Just in case I get the jitters being around people I don't know."

"I'll be right back." She knew where it was. The last time he smoked was when they were both getting back from a night out in town together. It was really chilly outside and he had given her his coat and opted to smoke to keep himself warm, and he had actually put the lighter back inside the pocket of the coat after using.

It was hung together with her rack of clothes. Putting her hand in the pocket she remembers where it was placed in, she felt the cold material of his lighter inside. Pulling it out, she saw that something fell out the moment her hand was out of the pocket.

A rolled small piece of paper on the floor. Picking it up, she opened to see what it contained.

2Br Midtown Manhattan

Don't fucking step a foot back in here if you can't get her to come with you.

- T. S.

It was her address, probably written for him so he'd knew where to find her. But the note below it...

Confusion. That was all that she felt. She just had been sitting down on the edge of her bed, just staring at the note as if the longer she'd look at it, she'd feel better.

This was no doubt Thomas' handwriting. She'd worked with him too many times to recognize it anywhere. What was written was clear and easy to decipher. But what was bringing her into confusion was everything that has happened the moment Michael came to New York.

She is his ticket. Was everything that had happened even real? Or just part of his ploy so he could go back home?

So that was why he was so eager to fix everything between them. Fucking Michael Gray.

And what in the hell was Thomas thinking dragging her into such bull?! Wasn't he the same one who actually helped her settle in here?

As mad as she was at the moment, she couldn't help a lone angry tear from spilling.

Why do the men in this family always think that they could play god? They think they could just ruin someone's life and have a free conscience as long as they don't see the aftermath.

She was hurt, but more so, mad.

I'll bring you the fuck home, myself.

Pulling herself back together, she got up and went back to her vanity dresser to fix herself.

With new found strength, she decided to go through with tonight. She needed to be in the good graces of her clients because when she gets back here alone again, she'll need them.

She had just finished dressing up and was just now checking that everything was in place.

"Luv are you ready?" Michael called from downstairs. Him calling her that almost made her skin crawl. He's too natural at it that she was almost disgusted with herself for actually falling for it.

Taking one last look in the mirror, she went out of her room, note and lighter in hand. Walking down the stairs, Michael was already at the bottom of it, waiting for her with a grin. One she didn't bother returning.

When she was at the last step, she stopped so they could be level with each other. Michael was in a dark suit with a maroon tie, and his hair was styled.

What a handsome prick.

"You look absolutely beautiful." He commented, looking at her with total admiration.

"You don't look bad, yourself." She shrugged.

"Are you alright?" Michael asked her, confusion written on his face.

She extended her hand that had the note and lighter and placed it on his.

"I found your lighter." She coldly answered and went pass him.

Having realized that she had read the note when he saw it on his palm, he tried to get her attention. "Livy, I-"

"You have a lighter but you couldn't burn that one down? Has John not taught you about burning evidences?" She scoffed at him.

"Believe me, I wanted to tell you about Thomas' terms." He explained.

"Sure, you did. But I bet it's when we're actually already back in Birmingham so I could go back here alone. Typical Michael Gray."

They were both just looking at each other with intense gazes. Her, mad at what he's done, Him mad that she'd actually think that low of him.

"Let's just go, Michael."

The ride to the gala was pretty intense. They were both seated beside each other but not uttering a word. But both of them could feel how mad the other was.

Mr. Harry Coleman was his typical self - loud, funny, with a stomach as round as an expecting mother. Greeting guests with him was his son Luke, the same lad who personally handed her the invitation.

When the Coleman men saw them, both making their way in the venue, they approached them with pleased faces. "Ah, Miss Peterson!" Harry exclaimed.

"Mr. Coleman..." She greeted him. "Luke." She acknowledged his son who took her hand in his to give it a kiss.

"It's good to see your friend again." Luke smiled nodding at Michael who already had a burning gaze at him.

"Michael. Michael Gray." He introduced himself to both men, shaking their hands.

"Well I hope you both enjoy yourselves. It's such a pleasure to have you both here." The old man smiled at them.

When both men finally excused themselves to go greet other guests, she turned to Michael.

"I see empty seats." She told him, already heading to the table.

They were both seated next to each other, with a lady to his left, and a man to her right who both appear to be in their late 40s. They both noted how the lady and the man appeared to be in a bad mood, and were constantly stealing glances at each other.

"I'm sorry ma'am, did I happen to sit where that man on my companion's right should be?" He whispered to the lady.

"Well yes, but I don't want him to be." She answered, stealing another glance at the man, and took a sip of her drink.

On Olivia's side, the man also happened to strike a conversation with her. "She looks beautiful, huh?" He asked her quietly enough that the lady wouldn't hear.

"Do you know her?" She asked him.

"Mmmhm. I happen to be married to her."

"Uh, would like to switch seats with him?" She asked pointing to Michael.

"Nah, she needs her time. She's quite mad at me right now. I insisted to buy her dress for tonight, and when she finally unwrapped it, it was two sizes small." He explained, shaking his head at himself.

"You men, and your expectations for us women. I gave him two beautiful children, and he still expects me to fit in my old dress size?" The lady who had finally introduced herself to him as Monica, ranted to Michael.

But back on Olivia's side, the man was also explaining his end.

"I bought it all because I thought that it would look absolutely beautiful on her. It was my bad for not asking for the right size. I was too dazed imagining her in it. Now she won't talk to me because she thinks I'm trying to make her lose weight" Olivia was just listening to him, nodding along and thinking why the lady didn't bother listening to him explain.

"Did you tell that to her?" She asked him.

"Believe me, I tried. She doesn't want to talk to me at the moment."

"What was his excuse?" Michael asked. Monica couldn't answer that because she didn't let him explain.

"He doesn't need to. I got the message. I'm not as desirable as before." She answered accidentally loud enough that her husband actually heard it this time.

The man looked so offended, Olivia and Michael almost laughed at his face.

"Would you mind switching seats with me, mister? I need to talk to my wife and it cannot wait." He asked when he finally recovered.

"Not at all. I was just about to ask my date for a dance." He stood up and offered his hand to Olivia.

Wanting to give the couple time to talk, she took his offer and stood up.

A slow tune was being played by the band, and they were both just swaying together to it, not speaking, and stubborn to even make eye contact despite the physical contact.

It's disappointing to think that just yesterday they were a hundred percent happy. And tonight, was supposed to be the same moment she has decided that she's ready to tell him she loves him back. Now she isn't even sure if his were even real every time he said it.

I have every right to be mad too. Michael thought to himself. Yes, Tommy instructed him to win her back before he could be allowed back home, but it's not like he didn't want to, he just needed the address.

Looking back to the table where the couple was, he saw that they were now both smiling fondly at each other, probably made up already after she heard his side of the story.

He wanted that too. Yes, he wanted to go home, but he wanted to do so with her. But what does she want?

The entire duration of the party, they weren't arguing, but how could they when they weren't even talking? It was made slightly bearable when they got back to their seats, where Monica and her husband were now in happier moods and started talking to them all night.

When they were outside waiting for their service car, Michael looked at her. Olivia seemed to be in deep thought when she finally stared back and sighed.

"I'll go back with you to Birmingham." She told him,

"You don't have to, I don't want to force you."

"You're not. I miss home and our family. And if that means that you could get home sooner, I don't see why we shouldn't go there immediately tomorrow." She said sternly.

It stung him when she told him that. But he understands why she wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible.

"I'll explain when you're ready to listen." He answered.

Home it is.

[emergencymanagement]

there are so many plot holes in Peter’s betrayal IT’S INSANE

okay! hello! can I just rant for a minute? I’m writing a fic that spans from the beginning of the marauders’ years at Hogwarts to Remus and Sirius’ last days together and I’m trying to lay down the timeline of the first war right now, and

 nothing! about! jk rowling’s plot! makes! sense!

(apologies in advance for spelling mistakes I’m drunk and tired, but let’s gO)

Problem 1: The Potters

JK has two conflicting timelines of when the Potters go into hiding:

Timeline 1: 

the Potters go into hiding immediately after Lily becomes pregnant

this means they went into hiding around October 1979 and stayed in hiding for two years until they died in October 1981

that’s a long ass time! a loooooong ass time! you’re telling me they were locked in their house for two years?? that means they only served in the Order for a little over a year which makes no sense because...

Problem 1: Somebody took a photo of the Order in July of 1981 and James and Lily were in it. Why would they have left their newborn baby at home (or taken him with them!) to go to Order headquarters and take a photo for an organization they hadn’t been a part of for almost two years?

Problem 2: In Lily’s letter to Sirius, written around August of 1981, a month after the photo was taken, she reports being in hiding and says that James is starting to get antsy not being able to go anywhere which implies they JUST went into hiding and are still getting used to being stuck in the house

Timeline 2: 

Based on all the information above, the Potters must have gone into hiding early to mid-July in 1981, after the Order photo was taken and before Harry’s birthday  on July 31st (Lily mentions in her letter that Harry celebrated his first birthday in hiding). This would make sense because if Peter was already working for Voldemort (which Sirius claims he was in POA) then it wouldn’t take him very long to betray them to Voldy, and so them being in hiding for only three months before they were killed is very reasonable. So this timeline that I’ve just described must be J.K.’s second timeline, right?? that would make sense, right? WRONG. Nothing makes sense in this world, you fool.

timeline two ACTUALLY says that the Potters had to go into hiding “at the time of Harry’s christening”

which like?? what??? his christening? okay. I guess Lily was devoutly religious because Christianity sure didn’t seem to be a big thing among the purebloods (what this reads like to me, though, is another example of JK Rowling trying to weirdly inject Christianity into the Harry Potter books while ignoring all other religions, but that’s for another time) ((fyi I have no issues with Christianity or blending religion and fantasy but her usage of it is odd and noncommittal)) 

christenings usually happen anywhere from a few weeks to six months after the baby’s birth depending on your sect, situation, e.t.c

this would mean that the Potters went into hiding around late summer-early fall of 1980

THIS would mean that the cast the Fidelius charm for a year before their death

this seems more likely than the first scenario, but all of the problems listed above with the picture and the inconsistencies in the letter are still present

On top of that, Sirius claims that Peter was a spy for a year before the Potters’ death. This would mean that Peter secretly joined Voldemort at almost exactly the same time the Potters went under the Fidelius charm. Admittedly, the Potter family being directly threatened and going into hiding seems like a solid catalyst for Peter noping-the-fuck-out of the Order and secretly becoming a spy. He probably partially joined the Order because all of his friends were doing it (James especially) and so seeing James being forced into hiding was probably a huge shock for him. Also, at this point, the Death Eaters were winning, and he was most definitely shitting himself over that. So. Yes. Timeline works there. 

BUT! then why did it take Peter a year to give the Potters up? It seems (although there’s some wiggle room) like they didn’t switch secret keepers, rather made it seem like Sirius was the secret keeper publicly while Peter was secretly the real secret keeper. In this scenario, Peter either would have had to willfully withhold this information from Voldy himself for almost year, which is kind of a dangerous move coming from a coward, or he told Voldemort the minute he was made secret keeper and for some reason Voldemort didn’t do ANYTHING ABOUT IT FOR A YEAR. Does Voldemort have really bad procrastination issues? Did he just forget that there’s a baby that’s threatening his very existence out there somewhere?

This leaves one last plausible option: something happened that made them switch secret-keepers last minute, and Peter did not become secret keeper until shortly before the Potters’ death. This is not what Pottermore or the books imply, but it’s what makes the most sense. We’ll come back to this option in problem 3 which is all about secret keepers, but for now let’s talk about the prophecy that made all of this come to be... 

Problem 2: The Prophecy

Dumbledore says that the prophecy was made in 1980 “shortly before [Harry’s] birth” on a “cold, wet night”. 

I think that anything below 50 Fahrenheit/10 Celsius can be considered cold, so according to this map of temperatures in the Scottish Highlands:

(okay... yes... I see it too... perhaps the climate map of the Scottish Highlands is taking things a bit too far. But I’m trying to make a point, okay!!)

Trelawney could have conceivably given Dumbledore the prophecy anywhere from late March - early June. There’s some wiggle room there, but I’d place my bets on it happening somewhere in the spring based on the weather and timing. This means that Trelawney made the prophecy a year and a half before Voldemort was finally able to kill the Potters. So what took Voldemort so long? Let’s break it down. 

We know that Snape overheard the prophecy and brought it to Voldemort. From there Voldemort decided to kill Harry not Neville because Harry was a half-blood like himself, Snape went back to Dumbledore and offered himself as a double agent in exchange for Lily’s protection, and Voldemort reportedly spent “months searching” for the Potters until he found their whereabouts and discovered they were using a Fidelius charm. Then “WITHIN A WEEK OF BEING NAMED SECRET KEEPER” Peter betrayed them and Voldemort was able to enter the Potters’ home. The implications of this are too ridiculously convoluted to get into, but I’ll hit the stuff that makes me want to scream: 

Option 1: Snape Tells Voldy Immediately After He Hears the Prophecy

In this scenario, we only have a few months accounted for. Voldemort finds out about prophecy, searches for a few months, finds the Potters, kills them. Makes sense, right? Bing, bang, boom. Very efficient. Except no. He knew for a year and a half, so what was he doing with allll of that extra time? Discovering the joys of muggle television? Completing a 5,000 piece crossword puzzle? Teaching Nagini to dance? Get on top of it, man. World domination is on the line. A few months is not a year and a half. 

It’s also possible that the few months thing is wrong, and Voldemort was actually searching for the full year and a half. If Peter gave the Potters up within a week of becoming secret keeper, they should have been dead wayyy earlier! Like over a year earlier! Even if Sirius was the original secret keeper, and they switched mid-October of 1981, Peter would have still known where the Potters where and that they were under the Fidelius charm, information Voldemort didn’t know until shortly before he killed them. So why did Peter, who was already a spy at this point, fail to say anything? If Voldemort had found out Peter had willfully withheld information, he surely would have killed him. That thought alone should have been enough to make Peter come to him immediately considering how terrified Peter has always been of dying.

Option 2: Snape Sort of Drags His Feet with the Whole Thing

okay so maybe Snape didn’t tell the dark lord immediately. Maybe he knew what this would mean for Lily and was terrified. Maybe he debated for a long time whether it would be safer for Lily if he kept the information to himself or if he told the dark lord and begged him to spare her (fuck the baby, am I right?) 

STILL this is a big risk for Snape. No one really wants to piss of Voldemort and saying, “heyyyy big man, I’ve actually known that there’s a super baby that can kill you for like a year, and I didn’t tell you about it because I was scared, but don’t be mad” is not an A+ move. Seems like Voldemort might be kind of mad. Seems like he might even kill you. It seems unlikely to me that Snape would wait that long, but I guesssss it’s possible.

NO MATTER WHAT there are so many conflicts in this timeline. Everything conflicts with everything else, especially the timeline of the secret keeper which is wholly dependent on the other two fucked-up timelines we just discussed, so without further ado...

Problem 3:  The Secret Keeper

so WHY not just make Sirius the secret keeper? That’s the question of the century. If the secret keeper can only break the Fidelius charm voluntarily--meaning torturing or imperius-ing them can’t force it out--and Sirius, in his own words, “would have died rather than betray [James]” then WHY NOT JUST HAVE SIRIUS BE THE SECRET KEEPER AND  BE DONE WITH IT LADS 

Well here’s Pottermore’s (sigh) answer:

“The answer is that Sirius wanted to deflect attention from the real Secret-Keeper. He probably hoped Voldemort would go after him so he could steer attention away from Pettigrew. If all had gone to plan, Voldemort may never have known Sirius was not the Secret-Keeper – but even if he’d discovered the bluff, Voldemort’s pursuit of Sirius would have given the Potters and Pettigrew time to regroup.” 

Okay... so Sirius wanted to deflect attention from the real secret keeper... and have the Death Eaters come after him instead... but this still explains nothing because whether Sirius is or is not the secret keeper, the Death Eaters are coming after him regardless, and if he knows that he would rather die than betray James and Lily, why risk letting anyone else carry the secret? In other words, why did he trust Peter more than himself? 

The only answer I can think of is that something happened that made Sirius stop trusting himself. For some reason, he felt that the Death Eaters had something on him that might make him break. Sirius’ defining quality is his undying, self-sacrificial loyalty to the people he loves, so it’s a massive deal that he doubted his own ability to be loyal to James, Lily, and Harry. This goes entirely against his character, so something must have happened that was not mentioned in the books. Unless we change his entire character, there’s a HUGE missing piece here.

(I am keeping this a mainly wolfstar-free post because it’s just about the plotting of the books, but I think it’s interesting to explore how the Death Eaters could have threatened to torture/kill Remus to try to try to make Sirius break. That’s literally the only scenario I can imagine that would make Sirius doubt his ability to be loyal to the Potters--if he had to choose between killing James and killing Remus. Anyways. That’s really dark. Let’s move on.)

Problem 4: Peter

Okay so now we’re past the actual event of Peter’s betrayal and hopping ahead to after James and Lily died. 

Why did Peter remain a rat for 12 years?

Pros of Remaining a Rat:

the wizarding world can go on thinking you’re dead and thinking your best friend is guilty of 13 murders

the Death Eaters who think you wanted Voldemort to die at Godric’s Hollow also think you’re dead and aren’t going to be up in your business

someone feeds you

life is simple (if you ignore the many lives weighing on your conscience and the ultimate degradation of your soul)

Cons of Remaining a Rat:

you’re a rat

no one likes you

you have to watch out for mouse traps

you live in a house with Fred and George and probably fear for your life every waking moment

no seriously I think these are big cons

Other Options If You’ve Murdered Your Best Friends and Are a Rat:

go live with the muggles. seriously. there must be a muggle village somewhere without wizards (there aren’t that many wizards) where you can BE A HUMAN. Even if you do run into a wizard, they probably won’t immediately recognize you, and if they do, you can turn into a rat, run away, and go live with the millions of rats of the world

go to space?

no, I mostly just wanted to make that first point

It’s also possible he remained a rat because, as Sirius said, he was “keeping an ear out for news [...] Just in case [his] old protector regained strength, and it was safe to rejoin him.” This definitely is possible, but if I had to choose between maybe living a life as a human and living as a rat in case a guy who totally seems dead comes back, I’d try to be a human. Plus, Peter could live with muggles and still keep up with wizard news. 

Problem 5?: Sirius’ Escape

Admittedly, this problem isn’t that big. I still find it a bit weird though.

When Sirius recollects his escape to Harry he says:

If all Sirius had to do to escape Azkaban was to slip out the door when the dementors brought him food, why did he wait twelve years?? yes, okay, he was a universally wanted man and people would have immediately started hunting for him, but Sirius is fucking smart. Dude became an animagi (something only seven other people had done that century) when he was fif-fucking-teen and was considered to be a genius by almost everyone who knew him. Surely he could have hacked it on his own for awhile until he made it to Remus or Dumbledore** and was able to convince them that Peter had been the real secret keeper. And yeah! It may not have worked. In fact, even if Sirius did convince Remus it hadn’t been him, they’re still kind of fucked either way. Worst case scenario, though, Sirius just gets sent back to Azkaban. It’s not like they could have extended his already life-long sentence. I feel like you could argue the merits or disadvantages of running away from Azkaban until you’re blue in the face, but the bottom line is Sirius is a reckless, impulsive, chaotic human being who hates to be told what to do and hates to be made useless and has no qualms risking everything if it seems worth it. So why wasn’t even a brief glimmer of freedom worth it? The only reason I can think of is that Sirius was so destroyed by Peter’s betrayal and the Potters’ death that he didn’t really think it was worth living at all. 

ALSO, one last thing, why is it so fuckin’ easy to escape Azkaban? All you have to do is slip out the door and do some swimming? Someone should have done that years ago!

**okay admittedly Dumbledore probably didn’t care about exonerating Sirius and actually found it quite convenient that he was in Azkaban because it meant Harry had no adult looking out for him, but Sirius didn’t know that, and probably still thought Dumbledore cared somewhat for his wellbeing because they worked so closely in the Order (but this is totally conjecture idk)

anyways, point is: 

 HOW CAN YOU FAIL TO PLOT THE CORNERSTONE OF YOUR ENTIRE SERIES SO SPECTACULARLY?? THIS IS YOUR JOB. THIS IS YOUR LIVELIHOOD. 

If you have any thoughts, answers, or if you simply wish to scream in frustration with me, please add them on!

[multimetaverse]

Jamie Johnson 5x08 Review

Tonight was one of the best, if not the best, Jamie Johnson eps so far. Dillon faced some of his toughest obstacles yet in his coming out journey and we got some sweet Delliot moments. Let’s dig in!

This British kids soccer show continues to make history. We saw some very nuanced and mature discussions between Dillon and Elliot about being gay and coming out; how often on tv do two gay kids actually discuss their sexualities?  Elliot gave Dillon some great advice and perhaps more importantly told Dillon that he was in fact brave and a winner on and off the pitch

You’d have to be daft to deny that Dillon and Elliot have crushes on each other after this ep. Seeing both Dillon and Elliot trying their best to look nice before meeting up with each other was cute and their handhold at the pitch was very sweet. Lots of soft smiles and longing glances and we even got a hug before Elliot left

Laquarn has confirmed that he’s not in any more S5 eps and doesn’t know if he’s back for the yet to be filmed S6. I can only hope he’ll come back. It would be a waste of great chemistry and an engaging character if Elliot was just meant to help Dillon with his sexuality before passing the torch to Ruby. He clearly left the door open for a future reunion when he told Dillon to call him when he was ready. Patrick confirmed in an interview today that he’ll be back for S6 and presumably Dillon will be playing for Foxborough or some other pro team. Being in a relationship would certainly be a good spur for Dillon to come out more publicly. And Elliot’s love of astronomy is a perfect set up for a date under the staahs

It’s true that the show has not really focused on ships in a big way; the most we’ve gotten was Boggy and Nancy and the low key Jack, Jamie, and Michelle triangle. But at the same time if Dillon can take Indira out and kiss Sienna then he should be able to date a boy he likes. It would be tragic if the closest Dillon gets to having a boyfriend or kissing a boy is Liam outing Dillon and claiming that Elliot was Dillon’s boyfriend and that he thought they were gonna kiss

And it’s a bit shady that Eric of all people is suddenly getting a female love interest out of nowhere. I just hope when the show eventually ends that it doesn’t turn out to be another Andi Mack where Cyrus was able to kiss a girl twice and go on dates with a girl and use the word girlfriend when none of that happened with a boy

Jamie Johnson really covered a lot tonight with Dillon. We had a very helpful run down of Dillon’s past with girls and the show carefully explains that Dillon never liked Sienna like that, he never wanted to kiss her, he never had a crush on anyone else like she thought, and he never liked Ruby as more than a friend (at least Duby shippers still have Alba and Liam for an Osborne-Simmonds ship). It wasn’t subtle but I think it was necessary to really drive home that Dillon is really gay and there’s no going back. And we got confirmation that Elliot was Dillon’s first crush, he’s obviously never beaten anyone up on this show and the way he phrases it makes clear that he’s never really thought about liking boys that way until very recently

And boy did this ep ever tackle homophobia. Graham Simmonds was seriously out of order this ep. He clearly didn’t want to believe Liam but Dillon using his aftershave already primed him to believe he was trying to impress someone, he just assumed it had been a girl. He really ran through the homophobe’s greatest hits collection: blaming Ruby’s gay parents, saying being gay was a choice, saying that being gay would end Dillon’s career, and disowning and kicking Dillon out for being gay. I suspect that quite a few of the parents watching JJ with their kids hold some of the same views or act the same way and this ep really holds up a mirror and reflects how ugly that kind of behaviour is. We also see Graham praising Dillon’s accomplishments and character right before Liam outs him which just exposes his hypocrisy even more. I do give the show credit for not shying away from Graham’s awfulness, it’s not going to be a quick change for him to suddenly accept Dillon and I’m excited to see his journey to atoning for his mistakes

Thankfully Mrs. Simmonds returned from her banishment to the shadow realm to tell Dillon she loved him and to tell him to return home. Shaun Duggan said he hoped this ep would be a lifeline for kids watching who may be living in homophobic homes (he also mentioned that CBBC rules don’t allow eps to allow on cliffhangers so he has to end an ep showing that the characters are at least physically okay)

It also challenges the audience, most of whom are probably young boys and men, as to whether they will suddenly stop liking Dillon just because he’s gay. It was a real gamble on the show’s part to have their fan favourite character and the effective second lead of the show come out as gay but it has the tremendous pay off of really making the audience question their assumptions and hopefully for some of them it will change their world views

Dillon and Elliot also discussed homophobia in sports. Dillon correctly notes that there aren’t any out players in the top professional teams. Shaun Duggan mentioned in a BBC interview that they like to bring on professional soccer players when they’re having the kids going through things but this time he wasn’t able to have anyone come on to help Dillon because there are no out players. So it falls to Jamie Johnson to basically create that reality themselves by telling Dillon’s story

Patrick Ward did a phenomenal job tonight and he really is the best of the kid actors. He’s mentioned in interviews that he did a lot of research by watching shows and movies with similar gay story lines. In particular his breakdown set to Behind Blue Eyes by the Who was very well done (and once again the show has great taste in music). And of course, Shaun Duggan did an amazing job writing this ep. He’s openly gay himself and that makes all the difference in bringing an authenticity and depth to this story line. On Andi Mack of the 5 textual gay eps only one, 3x11, was written by a gay man and not surprisingly that was the best written by far of those eps

We were 19 minutes into the ep before Jamie himself briefly showed up. And he was 5th in the credits tonight with Dillon and Elliot taking the number 1 and 2 spots. Actually this whole ep had a very small cast and only a few locations, it really helped focus this ep on Dillon. Having Dillon seek out Jamie is interesting in that they’ve been foils for each from the start. But also because it sends a message to have Jamie Johnson himself praise Dillon, it’s a way for the writers to speak directly to the audience through the title character

We’ll doubtless get some more development on Dillon’s story line in the rest of the season but they’ve done historic work so far. A lot of what we’ve seen so far: the depiction of homophobia, coming out to parents, and two gay kids discussing their sexualities has yet to happen anywhere on Disney. Hell this ep alone had more uses of the word gay than Disney has yet to have

I loved how extra the black and white boxing match cold open was. Not surprising that Dillon sees Mike as the supportive (and non homophobic) father figure he wishes Graham was

This was a big step backwards for Liam’s redemption arc tonight but at least at the end he didn’t seem to buying into his dad’s bullshit about them being the only men left in the house. Liam is by no means blameless but he’s also a victim of his dad’s emotional abuse and his pitting his sons against each other. That little meet up with Eric was interesting because they’re foils for each other in some ways and I’m curious to see what lies ahead for Liam and the U13 crew and for how Liam makes this up to Dillon

Looking Ahead:

Finally we get back to the real meat and potatoes of this show; online gaming! Looks like Mike is bored of gardening at the allotment and wants Jamie to get back into real soccer. We’ll see if Jamie makes into the online tournament

Again, not really sure why Eric suddenly needs Ayesha but we’re getting some Freddie anger over Eric choosing lasses over lads

Until next week Jamie Johnsoners

[sadaboutniall]

something about you;

introduction | masterlist | tag | wattpad

Six. November, 2008. 

A week and a half into November, the calm, cozy, comforts of autumn in Mullingar begin to give way to winter. The weather bites more every day as the temperature falls, the wind picks up, and the nights stretch longer and longer. People are beginning to talk about Christmas—mam has already called to ask if he and Greg are going to come over on the 24th or the 25th, and at least one store in town has put up their lights already, even though Mullingar’s official tree lighting ceremony isn’t until the first weekend of December. 

Still, autumn clings on. Niall can smell it in the air when he leaves school on a Tuesday afternoon, backpack slung over one shoulder, chilly air flooding his lungs. His cheeks flush from the cold almost as soon as he steps outside, a bright red to match the color of the few leaves that still linger on the trees. The school yards are golden in that way only autumn brings—cold but still lively, bursting with color and excitement before winter zaps it all away. 

Mully’s with Emilia but Niall’s taken to enjoying his walks home alone these days. Sometimes he listens to his iPod, imagining himself singing Viva La Vida on stage, or Hotel California. Other times, he just lets his mind wander—thinks about the songs he’s writing, the places he’d like to travel to, the people he’d like to meet. It gives him time to feel like he’s anywhere but Mullingar—like his life is one that’ll make an impression on the world beyond his tiny hometown, beyond the streets and the skies and the stone walls he knows so well. 

Most days, he doesn’t see many people along his route, which is why he’s surprised, that Tuesday, to turn the corner and see a familiar figure a few feet ahead of him. She’s walking with her head down against the wind and her hands deep in her pockets and Niall doesn’t really have control over his inhibitions, it’s almost automatic for him to call out, ‘Isla! Hey!’

She turns around, wind whipping her hair backwards into her face and it’s like a shot from a music video or a rom-com, one of those moments where everything slows down and the only thing in focus is the person the main character is falling in love with. Isla tucks her hair behind her ear as her eyes light up, autumn sunlight glinting against brown irises, and she waves her other hand in greeting. 

Niall picks up into a slight jog and Isla waits for him to catch up to her, her smile soft and sweet, her dimples prominent. Once he’s at her side he slows down, and they fall into step with each other as Niall catches his breath. 

‘Where are you headed?’ He asks, as soon as he can speak without breathing too heavy. 

‘I’m babysitting today,’ Isla looks over at Niall, still smiling. ‘The O’Hagan’s little boy, Aiden.’ 

‘You babysit for the O’Hagans? They’re right around the corner from me,’ Niall can’t put his finger on why it feels so weird not to know that Isla’s been spending time so close to him. 

Isla hums a response, a pretty sound that makes Niall think about writing a song. It would be gorgeous, he thinks, the sound of her hum layered under his singing voice. Isla carries on, ‘usually in the evenings and sometimes on Saturdays, but they need me this afternoon, too. Aiden’s a sweetie, and it’s good money.’

‘For sure,’ Niall nods, hitching his backup up as it starts to slide down his shoulder. ‘You can head into Dublin and go shopping, like.’

‘I could, yeah. Been saving it, though,’ Isla hesitates for a minute, like she’s nervous. Niall’s quiet, and then she carries on. ‘I know it’s stupid and so far away but if I want to be able to go to uni in London… I mean, I don’t know if I’d get in or anything, but I need to have money saved up for a flat and stuff.’ 

‘London?’ Niall feels shaky at the idea of Isla so far away. At the idea of Mullingar without her. At the idea of her getting out of this place before him. Niall knows his uni prospects aren’t great, and, without a miracle, there’s no way he’d be able to afford to move to London. He’s trapped here for the rest of his life, the way his whole family has been for generations. It’s an idea he’s never been fond of—but it feels so much worse without the thought of Isla by his side. 

‘I know it’s stupid,’ Isla says again. ‘But I’ve already saved almost 400 euro from babysitting and birthday money. Plus my communion money, which my parents put away for uni, too. If I actually manage to get an acceptance anywhere… I think I can afford to do it.’

‘It’s not stupid,’ Niall rushes to say. ‘And neither are you, Isla. There are millions of unis in London, you’ll definitely get in somewhere.’ 

Isla’s quiet for a few moments and they keep walking together, their shoes crunching over fallen leaves, Isla’s uniform skirt fluttering in the chilly wind. Niall’s eye catches on the flash of skin just above her knee and it hits him that she’s worn her knee high socks today instead of the tights girls usually wear when it gets cold. He lets his eyes trail up her body, slowly, and he lands on the way her arms are crossed over her chest tightly, her lips pressed together from the cold. Something tightens in his stomach. 

‘Are you cold?’ He asks, although the answer is obvious. He realizes it now: the apples of her cheeks are flushed pink and she’s shivering a little, only wearing her school sweater. He can’t believe he’d been so oblivious. 

‘It’s okay,’ Isla tightens her arms around herself. ‘I overslept this morning and I was rushing. Couldn’t find my stockings and I forgot my fecking coat. Bit of an eejit when I’m tired, really.’ 

‘You’re fucking freezing,’ Niall doesn’t let himself hesitate. He stops walking and drops his book bag to the ground before pulling his grey Derby jumper off over his head. Now he’s in just his school sweater, but he doesn’t mind. ‘Isla, it’s like 8 degrees out. Here.’

‘No, what, Niall,’ she shakes her head, but Niall can tell she’s freezing. She’s staring at his jumper, practically shaking. ‘Now you’ve got nothing.’

‘I’m a lad. Lads run warmer than girls, here, take it. Plus, if you catch a cold out here then Aiden will catch one too.’ 

Isla hesitates, but when she reaches out to take the sweatshirt her hands are shaking, practically purple from the cold. In his chest, Niall’s heart pangs pathetically as he watches her slide into his clothes. She looks like something Niall’s seen in his dreams. 

Niall’s so skinny that his hoodie actually looks a little snug on Isla, but she’s grateful nonetheless, and Niall can’t help his fluttering stomach when she tucks her chin against her shoulder to hide a shy smile. He wants to see her like this all the time: in his clothes, in front of everyone. Or, he thinks, a sudden flash of something embarrassing in the pit of his belly, just for him, tangled in the sheets of his twin-sized bed, just his sweatshirt, nothing else. He feels bad thinking about her like that, shakes the idea away as quickly as he can. 

Isla asks about his plans for the evening and he tells her about how he’s part of the starting squad for Friday’s football match, for the very first time. They talk football as they walk: Isla about Arsenal, Niall about Derby, and she teases him, bangs her shoulder against his as they joke, tilts her head to give him smiles that make his chest warm and his stomach stir. He hardly even notices when they round the corner to the O’Hagans, doesn’t put two and two together until Isla puts her backpack down to take off his jumper.

‘No, no,’ Niall stops her, hand coming out to rest on her arm. They both still, wide eyes, shaking hands. ‘Keep it. You can give it back to me tomorrow.’

‘Niall.’

‘It’s fine, Isla. You’re cold, and Aiden’s gonna want to go to the park, probably. I’ve got a million more jumpers at home.’ He means it, the logical reasoning—but he also likes the thought of her in it, even when she’s not with him. 

‘Thank you,’ she says, quiet. Now that he’s standing still, Niall realizes how much the temperature dropped while they were walking. He can see Isla’s breath as she talks. ‘The, uh. The uni I want to go to in London… it’s King’s College. Their law program.’

‘Shit,’ Niall lets out a low whistle. ‘That’s brilliant, Isla.’

‘I don’t know if I’ll get in,’ she says again, and it makes Niall want to scream. ‘I just… I haven’t said that aloud to anybody yet. Not even my mam and dad. I just… just wanted to say it. To someone.’

‘You can say anything to me,’ Niall’s freezing, but he doesn’t dare move. ‘Anything.’

Isla presses her lips together and then opens her mouth. She takes two deep breaths, eyes locked on Niall and he can feel it, can almost hear what she’s about to say—what he so badly wants her to say. He thinks he could throw up from how badly he wants it, from how close they both are to it. 

A gust of wind blows Isla’s hair back into her face and Niall doesn’t stop himself this time. He reaches out gently, tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear. It’s soft and sweet and he lets his fingers trail down gently, his thumb tracing the outer shell of her ear. Isla’s hand, freezing cold and shaking, grasps Niall’s wrist and they stay like that for a quiet minute, the sun setting around them, eyes locked on each other. 

‘I know,’ is what Isla says eventually. It’s so quiet, just for him. ‘I know I can. Thank you.’

And then she drops her hand. And he does too. And Niall is frozen to the ground as he watches her pick her bookbag back up, throw it over her shoulder, and turn to walk up the path to the O’Hagan’s. When she reaches the front door she turns back around one last time, a soft smile, a sweet wave, and then she lets herself inside and Niall’s still there, freezing and on fire, his heart battering against his ribs like it’s never done before. 

####

taglist: @stylishmuser @thicksniall @stayclose-holdsteady @niallhoranruinsme@ajayque @halfpinthoran @flickerswinehouse

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[imaginepirates]

Found and Kept

A sequal to Scarred and Scared that some of you wanted. Prepare for some fluff, because I can't help myself.

~3300 words

@bonjour-frens @tesserphantom @ilikebritsandbands @viper-official

(I've done it lads. This is original post # 420)

~~~~~~~

           "She's a pirate, sir. We caught her trying to get back to her ship and crew. She could be dangerous."

           "I'm well aware of how dangerous pirates can be, lieutenant. Send her in."

           Even behind closed doors, the voice was painfully familiar. You shifted on your feet, impatient. Either Beckett was about to sentence you to death, or by some miracle, he wasn't. You needed to get it over with. You told yourself it had nothing to do with the fact that if he decided to kill you, it would break your heart. 

           You'd taken him off the island months ago, and you'd gone your separate ways. You made sure, of course, that he had safe passage back to Port Royal with someone to help him get home. It tore at your heart to leave him in the hands of a stranger, but he assured you that he'd be alright, and he hadn't been lying. 

           In an attempt to get back to your crew, you'd gotten captured by the Navy. It scared you, but your job had always come with its dangers. If you were hung it was your own fault for being too careless. 

           The main problem was that you were a woman. There was controversy over your hanging, and you'd been left to rot in a cell for days without an answer as to whether you'd live or die. Waiting was the worst torture of all. Finally, it had been decided that Beckett would determine your sentence. After all, the man had an indiscernible moral code and an ability to give orders without being questioned. 

           The prospect had given you hope, but it was soon replaced with dread. He could still have you killed; he might not think twice about it. A man with power and a man without power were as different as night and day, and you feared you would find a complete stranger in him. 

           The doors to his study swung open, and you were admitted between two guards. Shackles chafed the skin of your wrists, and there were mottled bruises all over that hurt with every step you took. The Navy hadn't treated you nicely, but you'd brought it upon yourself with your words and actions. That didn't make the pain any easier to bear. 

           Beckett sat on a chair with a man to his right. Light dappled through large windows at the side of the room, falling over the familiar outline of his face. His hands were folded in his lap, and a cane was resting against his leg. 

           "Unchain her." Once the order was given, it was done. The officers exchanged looks, knowing well that Beckett couldn't see them. Their looks implied they thought Beckett was making a poor decision, but nobody protested. "Now," he continued. "I will ask you a question, and I will only ask it once. Your answer will determine your worth to me. Do you understand?"

           "Yes, milord," you replied. 

           There was a flicker, an instant where his expression changed, where his milky eyes got wider and his brows shot up, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. Recognition, you hoped. Please, recognize me.

           "Do you know anything about the whereabouts or intents of Jack Sparrow?"

           Your heart stopped. This was it for you. You had no idea what Jack wanted or where he was. This was the answer to your question: would Beckett kill you? "No, milord, I know nothing about him."

           "Ah. Disappointing. I rather hoped you would. Well, you're of little use, now aren't you?"

           "Shall we hang her, sir?" Asked one of the officers next to you. 

           "Oh, I never said anything about hanging. After all, there are more suitable punishments." He grinned unpleasantly, and your stomach churned. "A pirate most wants freedom. How humiliating it would be to take that away. From now on, this woman will be a personal attendant to me, and she'll do whatever I ask if she wishes to live. If she doesn't, she can take her own life if she so wants. It makes no matter to me. But remember, girl," he addressed you, "death is the only way out."

           You didn't know what to think. It felt like he was intent on punishing you, on humiliating you until you hated life enough to die. But part of you argued, and argued, and argued that he wouldn't hurt you. Not the man you knew. 

           "You're all dismissed. Leave her with me."

           "But sir…"

           "Don't question me. She won't be giving me any trouble, believe me." 

           With that, Beckett stood, and with surprising accuracy and agility, hit you hard across the ribs with his cane. 

           You screamed. It hurt, but nothing was more painful than your shock that he would hit you. The room emptied, and you were left alone on the floor to groan with Beckett standing over you. 

           "Forgive me." His voice was softer now, and when you looked up, his expression was pained. "I needed to remind them that I'm still as dangerous as I've always been. I'm sorry."

           A wave of relief hit you and you took a deep breath, which did nothing for the acute pain in your chest. "Did you have to hit me that hard?" You choked. You still couldn't even bring yourself to your knees, and tears had left red-hot trails down your cheeks. 

           "In my defense, I couldn't exactly see what I was doing."

           You laughed despite yourself, and then gasped as your ribs protested. "What exactly are you going to do with me?" 

           "You cared for me once. I hope to return the favor." He extended a hand in your direction, letting you take hold of it so he could help haul you to your feet. "I need you as my eyes. You'll have to guide me while walking, which I can do now without being held up, thanks to you. Every kindness you showed me once I wish to repay in full."

           "I thought for a moment you hadn't remembered me," you admitted. 

           He looked surprised. "How could I forget?"

           "You never saw me. I didn't know if my voice was enough."

           "The voice that I first woke up to? The voice that fed me and tended to me, the voice that kept me company and taught me to walk? Don't think I'd forget so soon." He tugged at your sleeve, and you gave him one hand while putting the other on his back. "There's a room with a bath a couple doors down. I bet you could use one. And food, and proper clothes. I'll get a maid to tend to you, if you'll let me take you."

           You led each other to the washroom. He gave you directions when you got into the hall, and you helped him walk you there. He left and a maid took his place, pitchers of steaming water in her hands. 

           The bath was sublime, and you luxuriated in it until the water turned cold. You were scrubbed clean by a servant, an experience that made you a little uncomfortable, but that you appreciated all the same. 

           A silk dressing gown awaited you when you climbed out. It was a deep blue color with waves embroidered onto it. You wondered why Beckett would own such a thing, seeing as it was made for a woman, and what occasions called for its use. The fabric pooled at your feet when you put it on, reaching the floor to cover all but the tops of your feet as you walked. With the warm breeze fluttering through the drapes, you could've been some grecian princess. You certainly felt like one with the silk sitting on your shoulders. 

           You saw that Beckett partook in all his former duties, though he worked them differently. He dictated letters instead of writing them himself, and had to use a special sort of stamp to sign documents. He was a busy man with all the power in the world back at his fingertips. 

           He often kept his eyes open, despite not being able to see. Whether it was to unnerve people or to keep himself awake, you couldn't be sure. 

           You led him when he needed to get from place to place, and were given a tour of the estate by the same servant that had bathed you. This way, you knew where to take Beckett should he want to go anywhere. 

           You didn't get to talk to him again until the evening, when he sat alone in his study. The sun was just setting, leaving the two of you in darkness. You almost asked why a candle wasn't lit at this time of night, but remembered candles didn't do much for him anymore. You lit one, silently, for yourself instead.

           "Is there anything you need, milord?" You asked. You were still supposed to work for him, after all.

           "Don't."

           "Don't what?"

           "Don't call me that. 'Milord'." He scoffed. "For God's sake, woman, you've spoon fed me when I was too weak to do so myself. You hardly need to be so formal."

           You were surprised. "Oh. Alright, then, what would you have me call you?"

           "Beckett is fine, thank you." He shifted a little in his chair, settling back. "Have you found everything to your satisfaction? I hope you're taking it easy, I did hit you pretty hard with my cane, which I feel awful for."

           "Don't worry about it."

           "I'll worry about whatever I wish."

           "Well, then, I'm flattered it's me."

           "It's the least I could do."

           You changed the topic before he said anything more. "I will say that this robe doesn't cover much."

           "A shame I can't see, then." He grinned, lip twisted by the burns. 

           You were ashamed to note that a blush rose to your face, heating up your entire head. "What thoughts are you trying to put into people's heads, exactly?"

           He continued to smile. "Oh, let people think what they like. It will keep them from knowing the truth."

           You only blushed harder, and failed when you tried to stammer out a response. 

           "Worry not," he said. "I won't be using you for that purpose."

           It was then that tea came in, served on lovely porcelain trays with colorful designs. It had been allowed to cool before being served, evident by how it was put directly in Beckett's hands. You took a minute to enjoy a few sips before continuing. 

           "How are you?" You asked. Beckett certainly looked better since you'd seen him last, not to mention, he seemed more confident. 

           "Fine. Why do you ask?" He gave you a challenging look.

           "I…" you couldn't mention his blindness without offending him, and you weren't about to ask if he was feeling less insecure. "You look better. You've put on a bit of weight since I took care of you; you hardly weighed anything then. I'm glad to see you recovering."

           He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Half of it is that they won't let me go walking. They treat me like I'm made of glass, so I'm made to sit here day after day, and a maid tentatively helps me get from room to room. It's an awful lifestyle."

           "I believe you." You would hate to be cooped up inside all day.

           "I was hoping," he said rather softly, "that you would be willing to walk with me? I'm awfully tired of not being able to go out in the garden. I used to enjoy walks, and though I often took them alone, I wouldn't object to your company, even if I had a choice."

           "Of course." It would be a good pastime for both of you. 

           "Thank you." He gave you a rather nervous smile, and you couldn't help feeling affection for the man. 

           You walked him to his room, one of his hands on your arm, the other on his cane. There you left him to his valets and went off to your own room which you'd been shown earlier. You didn't know what to make of the soft blankets and plush pillows, the fluttering curtains and large wardrobe. It was too much luxury for someone like you, and yet not enough for some. You let your robe slide to the floor and your body sink into the sheets. Enveloped in the first soft, warm bed of your life, you drifted off to sleep, your conversation with Beckett floating around in the back of your mind. 

           The morning came with new marvels. New clothes- it was another silk robe, and you could imagine Beckett smiling as he decided to give it to you- and a tray of warm food heaped onto plates. Beckett obviously had no intention of starving you, and you dug in. 

           You were permitted to wander the manor while he worked. You found many places of peace and refuge, and were sad to think that Beckett had little access to them now. A library with massive windows looking out onto the garden stood at one end of the building. A piano sat in one corner, bathed in morning light. A piece of music sat on the music rack as if someone had just been playing them. Comfortable chairs adorned the room, and two french doors led outside. You stayed for a while, letting the sun warm you through the windows and running your hands over the spines of books before you left. 

           You were back in Beckett's office by midday. He took a break from his work in the afternoons, you were told, and he'd called for you. 

           "I hope you enjoy the new robe I've found for you," he said when you entered. 

           There was nobody else there, so you felt a little less embarrassed about the comment than you might have otherwise. "I'll admit that it's comfortable. Showy, but comfortable." This robe was of a light pink with lace at the sleeves. Its plunging neckline and thin fabric kept little to the imagination. 

           "Oh, I'm sure you've already scandalized most of my servants. Ah, well." He beckoned you over to help him out of his chair. "How about that walk you promised me? I'm sure my complexion could use the sun."

           You rolled your eyes at that, but guided him down the halls anyway. You looked forward to spending time with him, you knew. You felt like you shouldn't, but then thought of the affection he showed you, and you enjoyed his company all the more. 

           "Have you read all the books in your library?" You asked. You were headed there, it having the easiest access to the gardens. 

           "I admit that I haven't, though I always intended to. I've read most of them by now. It's a shame I won't be able to read them again." He went quiet, and in the silence you could hear his sadness. 

           "You played piano, too."

           "That I can still do. Learning by ear is hard, yes, and I don't have many people to listen to, but it can be done." 

           "I'm glad for that, at least." You rounded a corner and led him into the room. You had a sudden notion then, and voiced it. "I could read to you, you know. I can read."

          He looked at you in interest. "Have you read any of the classics?"

           You were ashamed to admit that you hadn't. There was no way for you to have had access to them, of course, but it reminded you of how much you didn't belong to this new life where people were well educated and well-bred. 

           "I think you'd enjoy them." He furrowed his brow. "Antigone, to start with, I think. You'd enjoy it most. Though it does have a backstory- Oedipus- that you could read, but I have a feeling it would disgust you, and I can't have that be your first reaction to Greek writing."

           "You could summarize the backstory for me."

           He averted his gaze. "And you'd let me have an excuse to spend more time with you?"

           "Only if you let me have the same."

           His eyes went wide at your words. He quickly recovered himself, however, and schooled his face into its regular expression. "Antigone is on the second shelf of the third case. If you wanted to grab it."

           You got it, leaving Beckett to hold onto one of the solid bookcases. Then you walked him out into the sun, appreciating the warmth. It was an interesting domestic life you were leading now, you reflected. Looking over at Beckett, you found that you didn't mind. 

           You eventually sat down on a conveniently placed bench. Flowers surrounded you, all tastefully placed. Little fountains gurgled here and there, birds chirped, and a breeze rustled the leaves in the nearby trees. 

           "Will you explain the story to me?" You asked. "The events before Antigone?"

           He did, and gladly. Then you read to him some, which he seemed to enjoy. By the time you finished the first two acts, he was smiling into the sun, eyes closed. You were afraid he was asleep, but he turned to you and thanked you. 

           In all this time, though you were both sitting on the bench and he had no need to keep a hand on you, his hand rested over yours. 

           "I was afraid for you, you know. When I left you," you admitted. "I had a hard time letting you go."

           He shifted in his seat and gave you hardly more than a whisper in response. "It was hard to go."

           "We couldn't stay there."

           "No." He sighed. 

           "We're together again, though. And not stuck on a stormy little island in the middle of nowhere."

           "It's true that we've found warmer weather." He didn't look pleased as he said it. There was a new tension in his shoulders and he stared forward instead of looking at you. 

           "What's bothering you?" 

           He opened his mouth and closed it again like he'd meant to speak. Finally, he said, "If ever…if ever you wish to leave, I can have it arranged that your going away gets looked over."

           "Why would I leave?"

           "Surely you're more at home with your crew," he said sourly.

           "I haven't seen them in months. Besides, crews are always changing. There's no guarantee I'll find all the same men that I left."

           "You'll stay, then?" The hope in his voice and expression weren't well hidden.  

            "Of course. I am fond of you, I hope you know."

           "Oh." It was all he said, and he returned to staring out over the gardens. The sun was slowly slipping down to hang heavy over the horizon. "I'm fond of you, too."

           You turned to him then and placed a hand on the side of his face, gently making him look at you. "You aren't used to affection, are you?"

           "No," he breathed. He must've known how close you were to him, and when you placed a light kiss on his cheek, he gasped. 

           "You don't mind, do you?" You were afraid you were getting ahead of yourself.  

           "I just wish I could return the favor," he answered. 

           "Maybe it'll be easier this way." You leaned in again, this time slowly pressing your lips to his. He stiffened in response, but soon melted into your touch. Each kiss was slow and hesitant, like you were waiting for the other to pull away. One of his hands found your hair, and the other your waist. Both shook just enough to be noticeable to you, and you pulled him closer to make sure he understood that he had no reason to be nervous or afraid. 

           "I think," he mumbled against your lips, "that I've found another use for you. If you don't mind."

           You smiled and assured him you didn't. "A strange situation for both of us, but good."

           "Better than good, I think." And for the first time since you'd met him, he smiled, truly smiled.

           He's right. Better than good. Much better than good.

[lickstynine]

Misadventures of Kit: Chapter Thirty-Two

written with @ocsickficsideblog

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The walk to the park wasn't far, and the sun was sparkling on the snow-topped trees. Kit took a deep breath even though it burned in his lungs. The air felt fresher so far from the city, with a hint of the scots pine scent he'd come to associate with Siofra. For some reason, the cold air stinging his cheeks wasn't such a bother today.

"The snow is beautiful out in the country, don't you think, Al?" He asked.

“Definitely. It’s not all gross and brown like in the city. I wish we lived in the country.”

"I wanna live in a village near the city. So ye can have a peaceful cottage out in nature, but still get to a real doctor or somethin' if you're dyin'." Siofra said.

"I think we have a country house somewhere like that in France…" Kit mused.

“Kit, the boy who’s so posh he forgets where his holiday homes are,” Alistair said.

"Well, I know we have a few in France! I just can't remember if there's a country home there or just one in Italy." Kit protested.

Siofra guffawed. "You're not helpin' yer case, lad."

Luckily for Kit, he didn't get a chance to make more of an idiot of himself because they'd arrived at the park. Cillian and Riagán were already throwing snowballs at each other, while Finny ran around them, boofing happily.

“Come on, Kit, let’s see if you can actually hit anyone,” Alistair teased.

"It's not likely, but at least I'm the smallest target." Kit laughed. He'd barely finished the sentence when Cillian nailed him in the back of the head with a snowball. He shrieked, dropping dramatically to the ground and crying, "Avenge me!"

Siofra dutifully chucked a snowball at her brother in retaliation. He tried to duck, but it exploded against his shoulder. She whooped victoriously, barely dodging a snowball thrown by Riagán. Alistair joined in too, with surprisingly good aim. He’d always been the pitcher in PE because he was so bad at everything else. A snowball splattered against Riagán's broad back as he ran behind a tree. He and Cillian could throw powerfully and precisely, but they were still massive targets. He cried out as if the snowball had actually hurt, when in truth, he'd barely felt it.

"Cilli, they got me!" He groaned, slumping dramatically against a tree. His brother just scoffed.

"Nut up an' get 'em back, then!" He yelled, chucking a snowball at Alistair and diving behind a tree.

It hit Alistair as he turned to run, making him squeal. “Fuck, it went down my back!”

Siofra snorted. "Bet you've said that before," she teased, earning herself a snowball to the face. "Oof! Bitch…" she grumbled, but she was grinning. She dodged the snowball Cillian threw at her, but it put her right in the trajectory of Riagán's next throw. She yelled and rolled with the impact, chucking several snowballs back at her brothers in quick succession. Most missed completely, but one slammed into a tree between the boys, exploding and hitting both of them with frosty shrapnel.

Cillian and Riagán yelled as they were sprayed with snow, charging into battle with their arms full of snowballs. Siofra ran to hide, reaching to pull Kit out of the line of fire, only to find he was no longer hiding behind her. Alistair was too caught up in the competition to notice now, managing to scale the lower branches of a large oak tree hanging over Cillian and Riagán. He jumped up and down on it, hanging onto the trunk, sending a showering cascade of snow onto the boys. They bellowed in surprise and rage, trying to shake him out of the tree. Siofra laughed, chucking snowballs at them while they were distracted. They spun around to attack her, distracted just long enough for Alistair to escape.

Siofra cackled when her brothers saw Alistair running away, only to get a huge snowball to the gut. "Wankers!" She yelled, grinning and chasing after them.

Alistair finally noticed he couldn’t see Kit anywhere. “Oi, Siofra! Where’d princess go?”

Siofra spun around, completely ignoring the snowball that hit her in the back of the head. She was starting to look worried when a whistle came from deeper in the trees. Kit was standing a ways into the forest, waving at them.

"Over here!" He called.

Siofra went over to meet him, followed by her brothers. They were all a little afraid he'd freeze to death if left alone too long. As the weight of several Raffertys stomped through the snow, it suddenly gave way, and they tumbled through a layer of branches, carefully placed and concealed with snow. They only fell a few feet, into a small dip in the path, but Siofra cursed loudly, laughing as she landed on her ass in a heap of snow. Cillian and Riagán looked baffled, sitting in the snow and staring at one another, still trying to process what had happened.

Kit stood under a nearby tree, safely out of the way of the trap he'd laid. He laughed uproariously as Siofra and her brothers climbed to their feet, but his expression quickly shifted to panic as Siofra scrambled out of the trap and charged after him.

"Crafty bastard!"

Kit shrieked, darting off through the trees with Siofra (and Finny) hot on his tail. Alistair laughed and ran after Siofra. “I’ve got your back, Kit!”

Siofra was gaining steadily on Kit, and she nailed him in the back with a snowball. He yelped and kept running, only to trip on a tree root. The momentum sent him flying and he landed face-first in the deep snow. Siofra paused for a moment, then ran over with a much less vengeful urgency. If it were her brothers, she would've laughed and kept throwing snowballs, but Kit… She was half afraid he'd broken his neck when she got close enough to see him trembling. Shit. Was he crying?

"Fuck me, that was a tumble… are ya okay?"

She knelt down, pulling Kit out of the snow as carefully as possible, while Finny snuffled worriedly at his legs. To her surprise, Kit was laughing when she dusted him off.

"I'm fine! I'm wearing enough coats to survive a fall off the Eiffel tower." He snorted in a manner far less dignified than any noise he normally made. "I did get snow in my nose, though."

Alistair was less sympathetic, laughing his ass off. “Nice one!”

"Arse." Kit thumped Alistair with one snow-covered glove, but he was grinning. He thought he'd hate being out here, mind the chill stinging his cheeks, the cold air burning his lungs, the slush trickling down his back, but he didn't care. His heart was pounding, and he was gasping for breath, but he was having a great time. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so good, especially not sober. He got lost in his thoughts, staring off into the trees with a ditzy smile.

“It’s nice to see you smile like that,” Alistair said, grinning too. He had snowflakes in his eyelashes and hair, and had somehow lost his hat and one glove during the snowball fight.

Kit shook his head at his cousin. "You still can't play outside without losing clothes. If we stay out here too long, you'll go home nude." He teased.

“Oh yes, my pants are constantly just falling off without warning,” Alistair said sarcastically. “Wait. That sounded weird.”

Kit laughed again, his eyes sparkling with genuine delight. "You're an idiot. But I'm really glad you came with me."

Alistair went pink, looking pleased. “It’s nice to be able to spend the holidays with you.” He was suddenly engulfed in his cousin's arms, which, thanks to the dozen layers Kit was wearing, felt about like hugging a sentient mattress.

Siofra grinned at the boys, "That's gay."

"You're gay," Kit mumbled, his voice muffled in Alistair's jacket.

"Does that make ye my girlfriend?" Siofra asked.

Kit huffed, but he was chuckling into Alistair's shoulder. "Oh, fuck you."

"I know ya want to." Siofra stuck her tongue out at him, only to get smacked in the face with a fresh snowball. Riagán was already running away laughing as she sputtered and chased after him.

Kit watched them run, Finny bounding along beside Siofra, and he smiled.

"Al?"

“Yes? By the way, all of that between you and Siofra was painful to listen to. But go on.”

Kit shoved his cousin lightly. "You're painful to listen to. But I was saying, I think… I think things are going to be okay."

Alistair looked at him properly. “Really?”

"Yeah, really. Don't make me think about it too much, I might change my mind." Kit was grinning even as he said it.

“No way.” This time Alistair hugged him, too tight as usual. “I’m so glad you feel that way, Kit.”

Kit squawked as he was squished in his cousin's grasp. "Can't keep feeling that way if you suffocate me."

“Sorry! I’ve never been able to stop that, have I?” Alistair laughed, releasing Kit.

"Never. But I love you anyway."

“I love you too,” Alistair said earnestly.

Kit smiled back, and it looked like he might say something else when a snowball nailed him square in the face. He shrieked, and Siofra laughed.

"That's called payback, bitch!"

Kit spit out a mouthful of slush, laughing as Finny came galloping over and tackled Alistair into the snow. He looked around at Siofra and her brothers, shouting and laughing and throwing snowballs, then back down at Alistair, rolling in the snow with Finny. This wasn't so bad, he decided. Life definitely wasn't perfect, but it was going to be okay.

[bee-kathony]

The Oath | Ch. 3 “Nooks & Books” 

a/n: thank you everyone for the response on this fic! I’m posting Ch. 3 today (obviously) and then Ch. 4 on Wednesday as normal so you won’t have to wait too long ;)

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2

January 21, 2019

His lips tasted like whisky and his stubble scratched against her smooth cheeks. Claire’s hand drifted to his face, settling with her fingers just grazing his ear. As their lips molded together, a light snow had begun to fall, dropping onto their warm skin.

“Yer shiverin’ again, Sassenach.” Jamie’s hands were on her waist, clutching at the plaid and he pulled it back up around her shoulders.

“I am,” Claire’s teeth chattered together and she let out a soft laugh. They were still standing close together, bodies formed to the curves and hard lines of stomachs and limbs.

“Let’s get ye out of the cold then, aye?” Jamie smiled and took a step back, immediately bringing a chill to Claire’s body without his close touch.

He offered her his hand and she hesitated a beat before taking it, fingers touching rough calluses.

“Do ye want to go back to yer friends?” He asked as they began to walk back in the direction of the estate.

“Not really, no,” Claire laughed, brushing a few loose curls behind her ear. The last thing she wanted to do was be around a bunch of people, especially after the blissful moment she had just shared with Jamie.

“Well,” Jamie inhaled sharply, squeezing her hand. “As I said, I ken the owner fairly well and I dinna think he would mind if I showed ye around the inside of the estate.”

“Ah, the grand tour,” Claire pulled the plaid around her with her free hand and looked up at Jamie. “Do you often give tours of the place?”

He chuckled softly, “Only to verra special guests, Sassenach.”

“Well I’m honored,” she dipped her head slightly, trying to hold back a smile. Claire wouldn’t realize it until later, but she hadn’t thought of Frank once since she met Jamie.

As they made their way back inside, the party was still in full swing with people scattered around the room, drinks in hand. Any other time, Claire would have been right there in the thick of it, joking along with Geillis and enjoying the live music. But now she was thankful for Jamie who pulled her quickly up the stairs and out of view of the crowd.

“This place is like a fairytale,” Claire said as they walked past paintings of children and pictures of family memories. She could tell this was a home well lived in, one she always pictured having.

“Tis, ye should see it at Christmas time, the lights and the big tree in the main room,“ he looked down at her with a wide grin on his face, his eyes lit up at some memory. “And in the summers, the land is beautiful with the garden out back flourishing.”

Claire had had a suspicion that Jamie wasn’t telling her exactly who he was. And he talked about Lallybroch as someone who was very familiar with the ins and outs of the home; she wondered why he was keeping the fact that this was his home from her.

“I’m sure it’s lovely in each season,” she smiled giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

He lead them down the hallway, past closed doors and little nooks. Just as she was about to ask a question about a painting with a little red haired boy, she heard a woman’s voice come from around the corner. Jamie cursed under his breath and quickly pushed her into one of the little nooks where it was dark and their bodies had to be pressed closely together.

“Jamie, what—“

“Shh, Sassenach. I dinna want to be seen,” he said softly, gazing down at her. His blue eyes met her amber ones and she was suddenly thankful for the sturdy wall against her back to hold her up.

Claire was trying to figure out who he was hiding from when the voice that belonged to the woman spoke again.

“Have ye seen Jamie, Murtagh? He disappeared after his speech and I canna find him anywhere, the wee numptie.”

“I saw him step outside,” answered a man Claire assumed was this Murtagh. “I’m sure he’s fine, the lad just needs to clear his mind, ye ken how hard this all has been for him, Jenny.”  

“I ken, it’s no been easy for any of us.” The woman sighed and then both her voice and the man’s disappeared down the hallway and Claire heard footsteps on the stairs.

A few silent moments passed and Jamie’s breath had sped up, and Claire felt his fingers tapping against her side.

“I’m sorry I missed your speech,” Claire broke the silence. Jamie laughed and stepped out of the nook, reaching for her hand once again.

“It wasna very good I’m afraid, only simple.”

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were? That this,” she pointed around the house, “Is all yours?”

Jamie ran his hand back through his hair, making a few curls stand up adorably on his head. “I was outside to take a break from all… this,” he waved his hand around them just as she had. “Tonight is a proud moment for me, Sassenach. The launch of the business, but my father was supposed to be here wi’ us… this was his dream.”

“Oh, Jamie.” Claire slid her hand up to cup his cheek. She had only known him for an hour, but already felt more connected to him than anyone, especially Frank.

He closed his eyes briefly, leaning his face against her palm. “Enough wi’ the depressing pitiful story,” he chuckled. “Come wi’ me — please?”

“Of course,” Claire smiled and followed him down the hallway and into a room that was lined with shelves of books, lit with soft lamps, and a comfortable looking couch strewn with cozy blankets.

“This was my mother’s favorite room,” Jamie said as he shut the door behind him. “She spent most of her time in the garden, but she wasn’t cooking for me or my sister, ye could find her here wi’ a book in hand.”

“Your mother’s passed too?” Claire asked, hoping it wasn’t too sensitive of a subject.

His face shifted slightly, his eyes touched with sadness, “Aye, when I was just fourteen.”

“I lost both my parents when I was fourteen as well,” Claire surprised herself at offering this information up to this man. Only Geillis and Frank had known about her parents death, but she rarely talked about it, let alone would bring it up with a near stranger.

But he wasn’t a stranger — not anymore, at least not after that kiss.

“I’m sorry, Sassenach. I ken —“ Jamie’s voice trembled slightly, “I ken.” He smiled warmly and Claire felt safe with him and with him knowing about a tragic detail of her life. She knew he understood; that he had felt that same pain of losing both parents so young.

“Where are my manners,” he smiled and walked over to a small bar cart in the corner. “Would ye like another dram?”

“I don’t see why not,” Claire accepted his offer and took a seat on the couch, sighing as she sank into it. “This room is so cozy, the only missing thing is a roaring fire.”

Jamie chuckled and handed her a glass of whisky, “Well give me a moment, lass and ye shall have yer fire.”

Watching with peaked interest, Claire sipped her drink slowly as Jamie poked around in the fireplace, lit a match and started to stoke the fire. Apparently there was nothing he couldn’t do.

Once the fire turned from a few flames to a great blaze, he sighed contentedly and came to sit next to her, their knees bumping slightly.

“This really is very good whisky,” Claire smiled, taking another drink.

“Thank ye,” Jamie smiled proudly. “Twas my father’s own recipe, I just followed his instructions.”

“I’m not even quite sure how many glasses I’ve had,” Claire could hold a drink as well as any scot, but her head felt a bit fuzzy. She wasn’t positive, however that the fuzziness had anything to do with the drink, but with the man sitting next to her.

Her body was turned slightly towards his with her leg open on the couch next to his. That same energy was there from the stables, the buzz that coursed through her veins whenever they touched.

“Yer no drivin’ are ye, Sassenach?”

Claire shook her head, “Oh no, that’ll be my friend Geillis. I should text her to let her know I’m alright and that I haven’t been kidnapped!”

“How do ye ken I’m no goin’ to kidnap ye?” Jamie asked, raising one brow in question.

She pulled out her phone and sent a quick message to Geillis to tell her of her whereabouts, but left out the small detail of Jamie.

“I don’t think a kidnapper would take me to a library and start a fire, although you have supplied me with a lot of alcohol,” she laughed and with every passing moment she felt herself become lighter and the weight of the past twenty-four hours leave her tired shoulders.

“Indeed I have,” he grinned and Claire noticed his fingers tapping against the rim of his glass. She wondered what those fingers would feel like between her thighs and then she blinked rapidly to dispel that very intimate vision.

“What is it that ye do?” He asked a moment later.

“What is it that you think I do?” She smiled, playfully biting her lip.

Jamie finished his drink and took her empty one and sat them on the table nearby. He ran his hand back through his curls and leaned comfortably against the couch.

“Ye seem quite intelligent,” he mused and his eyes raced over her face. She felt a blush creep up her neck from the intensity of his gaze. “Perhaps yer a professor at some university?”

Ouch. If only he knew she had been dating a professor not too long ago.

“But ye also dinna seem like ye would love to be up in front of a bunch of students… am I correct?”

She nodded, grinning to herself, “You are correct. I love working with people, but public speaking is not my area.”

“Loves working wi’ people,” he said out loud and squinted his eyes at her.

Claire was rather enjoying this guessing game and wondered how long it would take for him to figure out.

“No a teacher — probably no someone who sits in a cubicle all day either,” he said and Claire shook her head.

“Can ye give me a hint at least, Sassenach? There are many jobs to choose from,” he laughed.

“I work with my hands,” she said and then snorted at the innuendo.

“Hand is it? What are ye… a doctor?”

“That was rather quick!” Claire clapped her hands at his speedy guess.

“Och, well ye love workin’ wi’ people but no big crowds, yer good wi’ yer hands and ye have a sweet temperament. A doctor seemed like a wise choice,” he grinned and dipped his head a bit.

Claire’s stomach fluttered as he made these observations about her. In such a short time, he had learned all of this information about her and seemed interested for more. Perhaps it was because her and Frank had been together for more than four years, but as time went on, he stopped asking her questions about herself — assuming he knew all the answers.

There was a beat of silence, and she felt herself being sucked into his gaze once again. She desperately wanted to kiss him again, but wasn’t sure if it was the smartest thing to do. As he leaned forward, she abruptly rose from the couch and walked over to one of the shelves of books.

“Do you have a favorite?”

She thought she heard him curse in another language, but wasn’t positive.

“Aye,” he said and came to stand beside her. He was tall, but he still had to stand on the tips of his toes to reach a book on the highest shelf. In his hands was a well loved copy of The Lord of the Rings.

“Lord of the Rings? I wouldn’t have pegged you for fantasy,” she said touching the front cover.

Jamie held the book in his hands as if it was very precious to him. “I read it around the time my mother passed, and I suppose it was a way for me to forget my own life and pretend I was a hobbit going on my own adventure.”

“I’ve only ever seen the first movie,” Claire admitted. “It was good… just a bit long,” she laughed.

Jamie grinned and placed the book down on the shelf. “Aye, tis long and the third one is even longer. If ye get a chance, ye should read them someday — if ye want.”

His fingers rested on the book and Claire looked up at him, her heart beginning to race. Inch by inch, she moved her hand and the tips of her fingers touched his just barely.

“I will,” she said softly and stood still, scared for the moment to end. Claire knew she was far from ready to push this any further, but Geillis had told her to have a little fun — forget the past.

“I would verra much like to kiss ye,” Jamie said and slid one hand around her waist. “May I?”

She responded by closing the distance and pressing her lips against his. This time the kiss wasn’t gentle, but a there was a fierce need to be as close to each other as possible. Claire tugged on the front of his shirt, bringing him down to her level, deepening the kiss.

His breath was hot on her face as he pulled back, staring into her eyes. A silent agreement was formed and he moved both his hands to her hips, digging his fingers into the flesh where her lifted sweater left skin exposed.

Don’t think, Beauchamp.

Claire pushed aside all rational thought and allowed herself to give in to the pleasure of her body. He had her pinned against the bookshelf, and she felt every spine of each book press against her.

“Christ,” Jamie sighed when Claire’s hand trailed slowly down his chest and gripped onto his belt. “We dinna have to do this, if it’s too—“

“Shhh,” she placed her finger over his lips and leaned in, kissing the skin exposed from his open collared shirt. “I want to.” I want you, she thought.

Jamie made a slight whimpering sound in his throat as Claire unbuckled his belt and pulled it from around his waist, dropping it onto the floor with a thud.

Chapter 4: “The Library” 

[knifeshoeoreofight]

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 4

Bettman’s face scrunches in displeasure like a late-season crabapple. “My lord, I have to admit, this seems… unlikely. And if it is not so-”

“The banns are being read this Sunday,” Sidney interjects, desperate to get Bettman to take his leave.

“I...see,” Bettman says peevishly. “Well. You understand that I will be monitoring the situation very closely. Not that your lordship would ever stoop to something as low as a sham marriage-”

“Once again, you offend,” Sidney barks, pointedly leaving off the ‘sir’. “If you have no further business on my land, I must insist you leave at once. We have urgent matters to attend to.”

Bettman looks as if he’d just bitten into a lemon, but he bows his head with a oily “good day,  your lordship” and raps sharply on the roof of the carriage to his driver.

As the carriage pulls away, Sidney slumps. Good god.

“Oh, my lord!” It’s the old woman. Mrs. Briar, Sidney remembers. She has tears in her eyes, to Sid’s momentary alarm. But then she takes Sid’s free hand in both of her gnarled, wrinkled ones and pats it.

“I was just thinkin’ the other day, what a shame our Lord Crosby hasn’t got a lovely wife or a handsome husband yet. Faith, I’m glad you’ve found someone. Every since you were a wee lad, you’ve never been one for bein’ alone. Used to follow me ‘an the other servants around like a duckling when I still worked up at the great house, my dear.”

Sidney feels his face flush. “I- thank you Mrs. Briar.” There is a murmured chorus of congratulations from the assembled people.

Face still burning, Sidney clears his throat, and starts delegating the necessary tasks. The roofs of the other cottages still need guarding, the doctor must be fetched. Provision must be made for the family whose cottage burned- who they will stay with, and such. Sidney promises to have a hamper with extra food sent round from the Ydhyn Dhu kitchens.

Through it all, Evgeni says nothing, just keeps hold of Sidney’s arm, watching the proceedings with a face like stone.

“You must take your young man home,” tsks Mrs. Briar. “After his heroics. Let him have a good rest. Take care of him proper, like.” Then, horrifyingly, she winks.

Sidney takes Evgeni back to Cole.

“Are you burned anywhere?” he asks. Evgeni’s hair smells a little singed, but not badly. “I will tell the doctor to see to you after he has taken care of the babe.”

Evgeni shakes his head, slow. “Just arms, little bit. Not bad.”

Sidney takes a look, and he can see some red patches on Evgeni’s forearms, the hair singed off. They will most likely blister.

“We’ll have that seen to,” Sidney promises. Evgeni still isn’t making eye contact and it’s frightening Sid. “Evgeni?”

He raises his face, and he looks afraid. Sidney’s heart sinks.

“I...I’m sorry, Evgeni. In the moment I couldn’t think of any other way to save you.”

“He want to hang me,” Evgeni says. He’s still trembling. “I see in his face. He’s kill me and smile.“

Maybe what Sidney has done hasn’t sunk in through Evgeni’s shock. Once problem at a time, then.

“I won’t let him,” Sidney says. “This, I swear.” There is too much feeling in his voice, even for the vow that this is.

Evgeni nods, and sags against Cole like a marionette with its strings cut.

“Let’s get you home,” Sidney says. “The doctor can come there after easily enough. Come.”

Evgeni lets himself be helped into the saddle, and Sidney stays on foot, taking hold of Cole’s bridle to begin the careful walk back to the great house.

***

Once there, they are met by a flurry of worried servants. Sidney dispatches several to go help in the village, and directs one of the kitchen maids to tell Dumoulin to prepare food to be sent down, after he has prepared a strong cup of tea for Evgeni.

He sits Evgeni down and makes him drink an entire cup of very strong, sweet tea. Mrs. Bullano bustles in with some salve she says she swears by and gently spreads it on the burns on Evgeni’s arms, scolding him all the while about foolhardiness, the quaver in her voice betraying her worry.

Sidney leans on the mantle, looking into the banked coals and seeing instead the thatch falling in burning clumps to the cottage floor.

Fire and water. Evgeni has now had miraculous escapes from both.

When he turns to comment on this, Evgeni is staring at him, the sweet tea and the healing salve soothing his nerves and pain enough that he appears to finally be realizing the fullness of what has just transpired.

“Мой господин!” he exclaims, sitting bolt upright, the blanket that Mrs. Bullano had draped about his shoulders sliding to the floor. “What— “

Sidney swallows. “Ah, yes. Well. It would be the easiest way to make you untouchable. Beyond reproach.”

Evgeni waves his hand, as if Sidney’s words are so many spiderwebs to be swept away. “господин, what you say, no one would believe.”

Sidney looks out at the garden beyond the windows. “They would if...the banns were to be read this Sunday, as I said they would be. If we really did marry.”

Evgeni’s chair squeals against the floor in protest as he leaps to his feet. Sidney takes a step back in alarm. Evgeni’s hands are balled into fists.

“You can’t do this,” he says, eyes stormy and dark. “What the other Господин say? This would be worst thing for you, it’s bad, terrible— ”  He shakes a fist in frustration at the word not coming to him.

“Scandal?” Sidney volunteers. He shrugs. “I don’t care about scandal. And I’m a peer of the realm,” Sidney says. “I can do as I please.”

Realizing how that must sound to Evgeni, he amends his words. “Your word, alone, can stop me. Say no and I will try to find some other avenue to keep you safe. Smuggle you out of the country, perhaps. There has to be some way.”

Evgeni runs his hands through his hair, tugging at it with a groan of frustration. “And, what? Even if you lord, get in trouble for that.”

“We’ll say you disappeared, if you want to go that route.”

Evgeni looks bleakly at Sid. “Why. Why do this? Why help me like this? Too much.”

Sidney looks at him for a long moment. “Because I was the one who found you on the beach, half-drowned, lips blue and barely breathing. Because I took you under my protection and I see that as a promise as solemn as vows. Because you have proven yourself a good and honorable man and I will not have the death of a good and honorable man on my conscience. Because you asked me if you could stay, and because you seem so happy here. Because the folk here already love you. Because--”

He stops speaking before he disgraces himself.

Evgeni stares at him, eyes wide and mouth fallen softly open. He makes an inarticulate noise and grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes. He takes a few shuddering breaths, and when he lowers his hands again, his eyes are reddened and wet.

“Don’t want to be hanged,” he says softly. “Or go to prison. Or leave— leave this place.”

Sidney nods. He walks over to him. Evgeni is standing before the window and the clear light of a perfect Cornish winter afternoon haloes him like an icon in a church.

Sidney bends down on one knee and takes Evgeni’s hand.

“Evgeni Vladimirovich,” he says. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

Evgeni nods like a man in a dream. “Yes,” he murmurs. Sidney takes his hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles, mirroring the gesture Evgeni had so undone him with before.

Evgeni breathes in sharply, but does not speak, as Sidney rises to his feet and takes his other hand as well. Even now, there is a cold knot of guilt festering in his stomach, but he smiles at Evgeni and strokes his thumbs over the back of Evgeni’s hands in an effort to soothe his rabbiting pulse.

“I will do my best,” Sidney promises. “To make you happy.”

Evgeni shakes his head, with a strange, hitching laugh. “Crazy.” He takes a deep breath, then releases it, some of the tension going out of his shoulders.

“Me too, мой гос— ” he pauses, uncertain.

“Sidney, call me Sidney.”

“Sidney,” Evgeni says, and the sound of his Christian name on Evgeni’s lips is almost more than Sidney can bear.

“I’m promise, try to make you happy too,” Evgeni tells him.

He leans down, and soft as butterfly wings, brushes a kiss across Sidney’s forehead.

Part 6

[monigheandonn1743]

Ceart-leth

Previous Chapters

Chapter 7

After two days on horseback and two nights sleeping on the cold, hard ground, there was nowhere she didn’t ache. The ibroprofen in her bag called to her like a sirens song, but under the watchful gaze of eight suspicious highlanders, and one pissed off redcoat, she couldn’t risk even opening her bags, never mind taking pain killers.

She wasn’t the only one that needed them either. As much as he tried to hide it, Jamie’s side was bothering him, not that she was surprised. To resounding cheers from the men, he’d come strolling out of the forest last night carrying a great big bloody doe over his shoulders. She was starving, and grateful for the meat, but she could have quiet gladly throttled him where he stood.

No matter how sexy he’d looked.

He hadn’t been alone, he’d taken two other men with him, so why the hell they couldn’t have carried the beast she didn’t know.

Bloody idiot!

She sighed and shifted, attempting once again to ease the pain in her back, and Jamie sighed along with her.

“T’is no too far now, Sassenach. Leoch’s just over the rise an’ ye can rest a wee bit before supper.” He whispered, subtlety squeezing his thighs against her in reassurance. Like him, she’d attempted to hide her discomfort, but he missed nothing.

“I’m fine honestly, but I really need to check your wound and change the padding today. Is there somewhere we can do it at Leoch?” She whispered back. She’d wanted to check it last night, afraid that he’d ripped it open hunting, but hadn’t been able to. Jamie’s uncle, Dougal Mackenzie, had taken an instant dislike to her, and had barely let her out of his sight long enough for her to pee.

They’d ridden from dawn till dusk yesterday and not once did he stray out of hearing range, always staying close enough to listen into their conversation. As a result she and Jamie had barely spoken two words together and, although she’d been nestled snuggly between his thighs, he’d been distant. Keeping his hands securely on the reigns, rather than around her as he had the day before, and she missed him.

Even now, she could feel Douglas eyes on them and knew without looking that he was close enough to hear if they’d spoken anywhere above a whisper.

“Aye. We’ll get ye settled then I’ll come find ye after I’ve done speaking with Collum.”

Collum Mackenzie, another of Jamie’s uncles, and laird of castle Leoch. Jamie had told her what he could about him, in those rare moments that Dougal had been distracted, but she still didn’t know what to expect, other than a man that was as charming as he was sly. But through whispered, broken conversation, Jamies message had been clear: like Dougal, Collum wasn’t to be trusted.

But it was a moot point. The only man she trusted was Jamie. Even his Godfather, Murtagh, who he’d left to watch over her last night, was still someone she regarded with caution. He was protective of Jamie, and that spoke well for him, but still. He was a man of few words and she hadn’t really be able to take his measure.

Other than a brief round of congratulations on the first night for maiming Randell, none of the men had spoke to her. When there was conversation, it was clear that she wasn’t welcome in it, speaking as they were in Gaelic, knowing she didn’t understand a word of it.

So, left to her own thoughts, she’d been attempting to asses each man and the hierarchy of the group. It was clear that Dougal thought of himself as their leader, but to Claire it seemed that half of the men followed his orders simply to placate him. The other half didn’t even bother, and blatantly looked to Jamie for direction. It was only on his silent, if reluctant, nod of acquisition that they did as the older man had ordered.

This didn’t go unnoticed by Dougal either, and he did nothing to hide the fact that he loathed Jamie, as much as he loathed her, if not more so. Jamie, for his part, treated Dougal with respect and never once sought to usurp his position as pseudo leader. Murtagh on the other hand, didn’t, and he’d had a watchful eye on Jamie’s back throughout the journey.

The whole complex make-up of the group balanced on a knifes edge, and the tension was so thick, that it was almost its own entity. It gave her the distinct impression that, with one wrong move, the whole lot would come tumbling down and there’d be a fight to the death. It was as nerve-wracking as it was fascinating, and she warily anticipated seeing how it would play out at Leoch.

“See there, lass.” Jamie said, breaking the silence and pointing into the distance, “Leoch.”

She followed his gaze and had to bite back a grimace. The imposing castle loomed large less than a mile away, but with the flood of relief came a wave of anxious butterflies. She was past ready to get off the damn horse and to sleep in an actual bed, but she was far from ready to face what awaited her there.

As much as she wanted him to, she couldn’t expect Jamie to be with her every second of every day. He’d be busy, and if, God help her, he had a wife and children waiting for him, he’d be spending what free time he had with them, not her.

But this had been her choice. She could have stayed at Craig na Dun and tried to find a way to get back home, but she hadn’t. She’d walked away, turned her back on her old life, and chosen to stay in 1743. She couldn’t deny that Jamie had been a part of that choice, but she couldn’t hide behind him. She couldn’t rely on him for the rest of her life. She needed to be brave, to face the unknown, and learn how to be herself here.

She was terrified beyond belief, but she had to stand on her own two feet, and be the strong independent woman she knew she was. This wasn’t the first time she’d found herself in a strange environment, and it wouldn’t be the last. She’d either sink or swim, but she wouldn’t know which until she tried.

“It’s…huge.” She settled on when all other adjectives failed her. She’d was going to say beautiful, but that wasn’t true. It was impressive and daunting and she honestly hoped they wouldn’t be staying there too long.

Though where she’d go afterwards she had no idea.

“It’s no my favourite place to be either, lass.” He laughed as he leaned down again to whisper in her ear. “Just remember what I said an’ ye’ll do fine. When Randell’s on his way to the gallows, we’ll leave.”

“How long will that be do you think?” She whispered back.

“A fortnight, maybe less. Depends on Argyll.” He sat back and pulled on the reigns, slowing Donas until they fell toward the back of the group. As they slowed she caught sight of Dougal, his eyes hard, calculating and murderous, as he watched them and she quickly looked away, unable to suppress her shiver.

Working at the hospital, she’d had the opportunity to tend to people from all walks of life. One of those had been a prisoner under guard. From the whispers amongst the staff she’d discovered that he was a suspected serial killer, and she seen the same, terrifying look in his eyes as she did Dougals.

Sociopath or psychopath, she wasn’t sure, what she was sure of was that neither she or Jamie were safe so long as they resided at Leoch.

Jamie guided Donas to fall in step with Murtagh where he rode silently at the back of the line, his eyes flicking between Dougal and Randell, who was being lead on foot, tied to the back of Rupert’s horse. He glanced at Jamie, and to her surprise, he smirked. It was the first expression she’d seen on his face since they met, and she realised that beneath his bushy black beard, he wasn’t an unattractive man.

“Vous prendrez soin d'elle quand je ne peux pas?” Jamie asked Murtagh, nodding slightly in her direction. She blinked up at him, surprised by his question and sudden shift in language. He’d told her he’d lived in Paris, so she shouldn’t be surprised that he could speak French. But she was, and she was both alarmed and touched by his request.

Yes, she’d feel safer knowing that someone Jamie trusted would be looking out for her, but what about him? From what she’d observed, it was Jamie’s blood that Dougal truly lusted for. In the grand scheme of things, she was irrelevant.

“Je t'ai dit que je le ferais. Ne vous inquiétez pas. Elle sera en sécurité.” Murtagh sighed with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. It was clear that this wasn’t the first time Jamie had asked him to protect her, but other than last night when he went hunting, she’d neither seen nor heard them taking.

“Promets-moi, Murtagh.” Jamie pushed. “Je ne lui fais pas confiance.”

No, neither do I!

“Aye, lad. I promise.” Murtagh answered in English, flicking a curious glance at her. She offered him a small smile of thanks, then turned her head to look up at Jamie.

“Si Murtagh surveiller mon dos, qui va surveiller le tien?” She whispered, startling Jamie and she laughed as he frowned down at her, miffed that he’d been caught out.

“Dinna fash, lass. He’ll no be alone.” Murtagh promised her quietly, drawing her attention back to him. She nodded to him and reached to squeeze Jamie’s hand discreetly.

“Fait attention. Je n'aime pas la façon dont il te regarde.”

The sights, sounds and smells of eighteen century life hit her with glaring reality as they passed through the gates into the courtyard of Castle Leoch. It was one thing to believe she’d travelled back in time, but to actually see the evidence before her was shock inducing.

It had been just over forty eight hours since she’d travelled through the stones, but even journeying with a rag-tag bunch of highlanders across the Scottish countryside, she’d been somewhat sheltered from the truth of it. Here she had no such comfort. The blinkers were well and truly ripped from her eye, and they shot two and fro with the wonder of it all.

There was so much to take in that she didn’t know where to look first. A blacksmith drew her attention for a moment, and she watched as he worked the iron, sparks flying from his hammer and landing, alarmingly, amongst the straw at his feet. A fire hazard if ever she’d seen one.

Next to him, a gaffer shard his kiln, twisting a ball of glowing glass amongst the flames. She wanted to sit and watch what he was making, but Donas reared slightly, shying away from a group of children as they ran passed, battling with wooden swords, and she turned sharply to grasp hold of his mane.

“Soirbh, mo giullan,” Jamie soothed him quietly, as he pulled on his reigns and guided him neatly around the fray. Donas snorted and shook his head, seemingly dismissing his master and Claire couldn’t help her own small snort of laughter.

“He takes after you with his stubbornness. I see why you get along so well.”

“Aye, an’ it says a wee bit about ye too, Sassenach, taking to ye as he did.” He laughed as he stopped beside the men and jumped down. He turned to her, one eyebrow raised, and she rolled her eyes and allowed him to lift her down.

“Maybe.” She conceded stubbornly as she turned to scratch at the horses nose. “But I just think that you’ve got good taste in women haven’t you, boy?”

“Dinna coddle him, lass. Ye’ll make him soft.”

“Pot meet kettle.” She huffed playfully giving Donas one last pat and a kiss on his nose.

“If I let ye ride me, will ya kiss me too?” Rupert chortled, surprising her. All the men were in good spirits on returning home, but she was shocked that he’d deigned to speak to her at last.

“Not in this lifetime.” She retorted, as she reached to take her bag from Jamie. But like on that first day, he shook his head and motioned her forward.

“No in the next either.” Jamie added quietly.

Rupert laughed harder, then rushed around her forcing her to stop as he scooped an older, plump woman, up off her feet and spun her around.

“Ack, Rupert ye wee fool. Put me down afore ye break ye back.” She chided, laughing as he jiggled her about before planting her on her feet. “Git on we ye! There’s food in the kitchen, go help yerselves.”

“We’v come baring gifts, Mrs Fitz.” He told her, sobering as he turned her by the shoulders and guided to within feet of Randell.

Mrs Fitz froze, and gasped silently as she clasped her hands over her mouth. Claire wasn’t surprised, Randell was a sight to see. Unable to hold himself up, he was collapsed in a heap on the ground, but his misplaced pride kept his head held high. His nose was swollen to at least twice its size, and his eyes were a horrid purplish blue from where she’d kneed him in the face.

His clothes were caked in mud, sweat and blood, and his wrist were raw where he’d been dragged along at the back of Rupert’s horse. He truly was a pitiful sight, but with all Claire knew about him, she held no sympathy. As far as she was concerned he deserved all he got.

“Bless the lord!” She cried, tears springing to her eyes, as they darted around the gathered men. “Ye caught him! Oh, I’ll sleep in peace t’nite, lads. Ye’v given an old lass a gift for sure.”

“Dinna thank us, Mrs Fitz.” Angus, the Ying to Rupert’s Yang, proclaimed as he passed them and slapped Jamie on the back, “Mac Duh’s wee Sassenach stopped him when she nigh on ripped his bollocks off!” He laughed. She’d heard some of the men refer to Jamie as such, it was almost a sign of respect, and she’d wondered more than once what it meant; she just hadn’t had the nerve or the privacy to ask him.

Mrs. Fitz turned to face them, and noticing Jamie for the first time, she rushed to him and reached up to grab his cheeks. She heard him sigh quietly and had to bite her lip as he reluctantly bent to receive the affections of the mother hen.

“James Fraser! As I live an breath, it’s bin too long Laddie. Let me see ye!” She shoved him back up and held him at arms length as she looked him over. “Aye, I heard of ye woes, an I kept ye in me prays. But I see ye’v come out stronger for em.”

Jamie’s mask was firmly in place, but he smiled at the older woman and squeeze her hand as he carefully distanced himself from her.

“Thank ye, Mrs Fitz. But if I can trouble ye, Mistress Beauchamp is dead on her feet, an’ she’s in need of ye care.” He asked, distracting her and guiding Claire forward to stand before him. She wanted to hit him, or at the very least glare at him, but she couldn’t because she was already under the scrutiny of Mrs Fitz.

As kind as he was being attempting to have her needs seen to, she knew she was being used as a means to pull the attention away from him. She loathed being centre of attention, and the blush that burned to life in her cheeks, was something she supposed she’d have to get used to.

“Ye did all that to Randell?” Mrs Fitz asked her, eyeing her and her strange outfit with suspicion.

“Um…yes. He attacked me and I…um…”

“Yanked his balls off an’ busted his corker!” Rupert cheered, slapping her back so forcefully that she staggered forward towards Mrs Fitz.

Jamie grabbed her, just preventing her from falling, and Mrs Fitz turned sharply and walloped Rupert across the head, much like Jamie had that first night.

“Rupert Mackenzie! Did ye fall on ye head, lad? That no way to treat a lassie! Come mistress, lets get ye washed up and settled.” She soothed, linking her arm through Claires and pulling her towards the castle…and away from Jamie. “Jamie, put her wee bags in the kitchen, I’ll see they get to her room. Then eat, ye’r skin an bone.”

If Jamie, of all people, was skin a bone, what the hell must Mrs Fitz think of her? She glanced around the courtyard, trying to work out if it was the layers of dresses and petticoats that gave all the woman such healthy figures, or whether it was just their natural shape, when Mrs Fits words sank in. Wide eyed, she turned to look at Jamie, and guessing her concerns he swiftly fell into step beside them.

“Dinna fash, Mrs Fitz, ye’v enough to do. Lead the way and I’ll settle her bags for her.” He smiled, flashing Mrs Fitz one of his owlish blinks. “I need to see Himself and wash up before I eat at any rate.”

“Have it ye way.” She huffed, as she frog matched them though the narrow winding passageways of the castle. “Now, Mistress…”

“Please, call me Claire.” She asked quietly, attempting unsuccessfully, to memorise the path they were taking. It was like a maze, and if she ever needed to escape in a hurry, she’d stand no chance.

“Claire it is, and I’m Mrs Fitzgibbons…but ye call me Mrs Fitz, like the lads do, Aye.”

“Thank you, Mrs Fitz.” She smiled, half in love with the motherly woman already.

“Now tell me, Claire, what brings ye all the way to Scotland?”

“She’s here at the request of my da.” Jamie jumped in before Claire could even draw breath, or think of a suitable lie. She’d been wracking her brain throughout the journey, but had come up with nothing that wouldn’t sound suspicious.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and he blinked at her, causing her to bite her lip.

“Mistress Beauchamp’s a fine healer from Oxfordshire, my da had the use of her services when he was last in London. Jenny’ll be having the bairn soon, and wi’ no healer or midwife at Lallybroch, he requested she come.”

“I’m just lucky that Mr Fraser came upon me when he did.” Claire continued, picking up where Jamie had left off, trying desperately not to wonder who Jenny was. “I was travelling with an escort when I was set upon by captain Randell. We were separated.”

“Aye,” Jamie agreed, “but he’s been discharged of his duty now, and I’ll see ye home to Lallybroch once we’ve dealt with the blackguard.”

“Sounds like ye’v had an adventure. But did you no travel with a chest?” She enquired suspiciously as she pushed open the door to a spacious bedroom.

Claire looked around in awe, it was sparse, but larger than her apartment, and a roaring fire was already lit in the grate.

“I was, but we lost a wheel on the cart and Mr Fraser had no means to transport it. My companion will see it mended then take my belongings on to Lallybroch. But unfortunately that means I’m confined to my room for the next while.” She added, forlornly as she fingered her skirt, then eyed Jamie as though embarrassed by his presence.

He smiled at her, then placed her bags on the bed, bowed to the two women and quickly left the room.

It wasn’t right for him to be in her bedchamber after all.

“I was bathing when captain Randell accosted me.” She whispered to Mrs Fitz as though she was afraid that the walls had ears. “I lost my dress in the…confrontation.”

“Ach, I see ye we’re injured, mistress.” Mrs Fitz proclaimed, buying into the story they’d woven, and gently touching her neck, “but are ye…hurt anywhere else?” Claire blinked at her, then realising her meaning, she shook her head.

“No. Thankfully Mr Fraser arrived before he could do any permanent damage.”

“Good. That’s good. Now then.” She smiled, glancing around the room. “Ye rest ye feet a wee while an’ I’ll send for some water an’ find ye some clothes. Himself will want to see ye, an we have the duke coming. Ye’ll need something for the festivities.”

Chapter 8

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Translation:

I’ll apologise belatedly…I don’t speak any language other than English so I’m afraid I’m relying on google 🙈🙈

“Vous prendrez soin d'elle quand je ne peux pas?”

“You’ll take care of her when I can’t?”

“Je t'ai dit que je le ferais. Ne vous inquiétez pas. Elle sera en sécurité.”

“I told you I would. Don’t worry. She’ll be safe.”

“Promets-moi, Murtagh.” Jamie pushed. “Je ne lui fais pas confiance.”

“Promise me, Murtagh.” Jamie pushed. “I don’t trust him.”

“Si Murtagh surveiller mon dos, qui va surveiller le tien?” “If Murtagh’s watching my back, who’ll be watching yours?”

“Fait attention. Je n'aime pas la façon dont il te regarde.”

“Just be careful. I don’t trust him either, and I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

[ollieisms-blog]

hi guys !!! i’m vic and im super pumped to get things rolling. i’ve played wayyy too many hockey muses that haven’t gone anywhere and i’m siked to finally have the perfect place to play one. unfortunately, i’m a fan of the blue and gold shitshow (the sabres) so i’m definitely going to be guessin a lot of the time abt the wild here. but anyway here’s ollie !!

LEXINGTON OLIVERS is 23, BISEXUAL, MALE. he plays DEFENSE for the MINNESOTA WILD. their resemblance to ALEX SAXON is uncanny. they currently reside in ST. PAUL, MN. in the media they come off as EASY-GOING however they can be AGGRESSIVE. we wish them well this season. [vic, 20, est, she/they]

➤ BASIC INFORMATION

NAME: Lexington Olivers NICKNAMES: Ollie, Ollzsy, Olls, Lex OCCUPATION: defenseman for the Minnesota Wild AGE: 23 DATE OF BIRTH: October 21st ORIENTATION: bisexual GENDER & PRONOUNS: male; he/him

➤ PHYSICAL INFORMATION

HEIGHT: 6′3″ WEIGHT: 209 DOMINANT HAND: left TATTOO(S): none SCAR(S): most notably a long scar over his left cheekbone ( sustained from a wayward skate blade he was sixteen ) PIERCING(S): none FACE CLAIM: Alex Saxon

➤ PERSONALITY INFORMATION

TRAITS (+): loyal, easy going, laid-back  TRAITS (-): aggressive, self-critical

➤ BACKGROUND INFORMATION

HOMETOWN: Saginaw, MN CURRENT RESIDENCE: apartment in St. Paul, MN LANGUAGE(S): English BASIC EDUCATION: high school COLLEGE EDUCATION: University of Minnesota - Duluth (business and finance)

➤ FAMILY

PARENTS: tyler olivers (father), michelle waters ( mother ) SIBLINGS: denver olivers - older brother + 4 yrs ( yes, their parents named them after cities )

➤ THE STORY

--- this story starts the same way a lot of stories in minnesota start: with cold, snow, ice, and hockey. lexington olivers was born when the cold air first comes rushing in, when the temperatures drop and the world outside comes alive as it only can in places that get cold enough to steal your breath.

--- lexington called ollie by almost all those except those closest to him grew up as many do in the state of hockey : loving the long, cold winters, embracing the snow and ice and learning how to melt with a smile alone. he played hockey and shared those pipedreams so many who lace up the skates have but few ever reach : win the state championship, win the frozen four, play in the nhl.

--- he never did win the state championship after four years of getting close but never quite taking it. from there, he was scouted by several universities but ultimate ended up at the one 20 minutes down the road with the college team he grew up watching ; none other than the university of minnesota - duluth.

--- they missed the tournament completely his first year, but even all darkest things have a silver lining, and ollie’s came a few months later when he was drafted in the second round of the 2014 nhl draft. and just like that, the most impossible pipedream became just a little more possible.

--- he returned to umd more determined and fit than ever the next fall. he put in the work, added the needed weight to his tall frame, and left everything on the ice and then some. it payed off. there was no sophomore slump for lexington olivers, just a break-out season.

--- they’d wanted to sign him after that, the team that had drafted him. sign him, get him in a few games at the end of the season, develop him in the A the next year... and yet, despite all he wanted, he declined to stay one last year at umd. he’d grown close to his teammates and had wanted to give one last shot for the title. they wouldn’t make it: just another regional final loss, no closer than the prior year, just as far as ever.

--- ollie put pen to paper not long after that and looked to his next dream : the NHL. he played a handful of nhl games at the end of their season and then played in the A with a few emergency recalls to the NHL the season after. the transition was a bit rough for him, and for once, he struggled.

--- the greatest SHOCK of it all came that summer after when the news of him being traded broke. being traded is always full of emotion, but ollie hadn’t been traded just anywhere : he’d been traded HOME to minnesota, to the team he’d grown up watching with the stars in his eyes. and that made something flip inside him.

--- the next season he spent half the season in the A before being called up and he was never sent back down. that summer after that was the hardest he’d ever worked in his life and it paid off with the roster spot in october and lexington olivers in the minnesota wild’s opening night lineup. welcome home, ollie.

➤ MISC 

--- no one, no one calls him lexington, most call him ollie, a very select few are allowed to call him lex.

--- PLAYING STYLE: he’s a defenseman, kinda like, ristolainen and montour-like? solid 2nd - 3rd pair rn with the definite potential to move up in the future. has an offensive upside but is quite physical, isn’t afraid to get in players’ faces or under their skin, has gotten into more than his fair share of scrapes, adds that “grit” to a lineup. the kind to be a menace on the ice but invaluable in the locker room ; loyal to a fault, willing to protect anyone on the team despite being young ( his size definitely helps tho ).

--- ollie wears 4 in homage of his brother who can’t play hockey anymore due to an injury his freshman year of college. because of this he also feels a great motivation to live out the dream his brother won’t be able to.

--- off the ice he’s nothing like what he is on the ice : he’s laid-back and chill, honestly pretty gentle guy though if someone threatens someone he cares for hands can and will be thrown.

--- honestly just a minnesota boy living out his dream, lads ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

➤ SOCIAL MEDIA

INSTAGRAM: lollivers ; 42.2k followers TWITTER: lollivers4 ; 41.6k followers SNAPCHAT: lollszyyy ( private )

➤ CONNECTIONS

--- ISAAC KEATING ( close friend ), @isaackeating : the two met during the eye-rolling mess that was orientation at UMD. ollie had pretty much grown up with the university while isaac had landed some sarcastic and funny one-liners and after that, they just clicked. ollie stole isaac’s coffee, dragged him to post-game parties, isaac convinced him to show up on his vlog and remained a loyal spectator at games despite not understanding most of it. while ollie lives and breathes hockey, he won’t deny it is very refreshing to have a friend outside of it all ; it’s helped all those time things have gone south --- which a couple season ago, had been often. isaac is the one person outside of family he lets call him lex.

--- HOCKEY : if following hockey has taught me anything, it’s that it’s a very small community and everyone has connections everywhere. i’d love to see people ollie played with in college, some from his brief stint with the team he was drafted with ( i left that vague on purpose, tho i do imagine he went somewhere between 39 - 45 in the draft that year ). 

--- EX - GIRLFRIEND(S) : ollie has dated ; maybe he broke up with this person during college, maybe she couldn’t handle constantly playing second fiddle to hockey and wanted more attention, maybe she was only there because she thought he’d make it but after that disastrous first season in the AHL / NHL she decided he wasn’t it. 

--- OTHER : ollie is bi af, but that’s something he keeps under very tight wraps. i am totally down to plot past connections down that route if anyone is interested ( please ).

--- if anyone wants to plot feel free to message me here, but i’m a lil more reachable on my discord olofsson#5730

➤ PINTEREST BOARD

[royal-writer]

The Brother’s Fued

Listen I’m sure there’s an au to be had where Fontane is good and fine, I’m sure there’s plenty of ‘em to be had, but I need a bit of conflict to work with here.

You can see the precise moment I got sick of writing this au I’m so sorry.

His hands were shaking. Staring with horror-filled pupil-swallowed eyes; the total awareness fallen over him as Fontane looked down upon him that his life laid in his hands. The very same troublesome bully who harassed and belittled him no longer simply flexed his self-esteem to the breaking point, but quite literally held the fate of his life within his palms.

He should not have done what he had. There was no fear in the future Lord’s eyes. Only inescapable rage. Locking Fontane in the crypt had not made him fearful or remorseful for his taunting actions. It brought out an entirely new monster that looked down at him now with the last shreds of decency gone. Things should not have escalated this far; he should have known how this was going to end but his pain outweighed sense.

“Not feeling so clever now, are we, Amon the Brute,” Master Fontane seethed in a quiet hush.

Like a kicked and beaten dog, the Illiad boy shrank back into the floor from the threatening tone. He had made the biggest mistake of his life, and he knew it. He should have heeded his sister Josephine’s words, and ignored him. When his father found out about this, he was going to be shaken like a ragdoll so his teeth chattered even until the next year.

“Please Fontane,” he begged, groveling at the elder boy’s feet. “Please, you musn’t tell father. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it will never happen again I was- I was just-”

“Just trying to get rid of me!” Fontane sharply cut in, raising his bloody fingernails for Amon to see. “Look at my hands! Look at my clothes! You shut me in, thinking you were so clever to have me rot down here out of sight so you would not have to face me in a proper fight! For a man who prides himself in his strengths, you are a fool with no honor.”

Shuddering, Amon practically kissed upon the other boys feet with apology. His wide-eyed dark stare raw with horror and fear. Though his rush of ‘please’s went ignored, the other boy stepped back to kick up the boot on his dirt into the scruffy black of his shirt hair. He choked on the dusty air; the smell of faded decay coming from the dead air where his ancestors lay in eternal slumber.

“Why don’t you go in there, and allow me to shut the door, and we’ll see how long your insignificant mind lasts before you lose your mind!”

A mournful little moan tumbled out of Amon’s chest, reaching out to paw at Fontane’s legs as he whimpered.

“Fontane, please-”

The older shushed him with a grating snarl, kicking his hands away. He ran a hand through his rumpled dark hair where splotches discolored from the grime of the tombs came out in flakes.

A repugnant and sinister smile twisted upon the young Master’s face. With a clearing of his throat and twist of his wrist, he made a gesture to Amon to rise on his feet.

“I will keep your filthy little secret, on one condition.”

Too quickly, Amon inhaled his shaky breath and exhaled with his answer.

“Anything. Anything you’d like. Name it.”

Gleeful delight radiated in Fontane’s pale complexion. He clasped his hands in front of his chest, looming over him like the dark omen of Death itself.

“No one need know what you have done today,” Fontane soothed. “If you support my name as future Lord of the Emerald Expanse. You will forfeit all holds, make no quarrels, and speak only praise in my name.”

This seemed like a trick, but Amon could not see the end to the string. Fontane was already guaranteed to be the next Lord. The title of Master of the estate had passed on to him, when his father remarried. It had felt like an insult, but his father had been seeking happiness in marriage again. How could any of them hold that against him?

But there had to be more to it, then this. He was no longer in a position to be called Lord of Briarton, unless something happened to Fontane.

His hesitation left the older step-brother scowling, and Amon was quick to lower his eyes as he mustered in a thick voice: “Yes of course- of course Fontane you are… the heir to the Emerald Expanse.”

“Master Fontane, you brute, and don’t forget it,” the young man stated smugly.

As the young Master moved to step around Amon’s abject frame, he gazed up slowly to see the methodical glee in his face. Despite what had just transpired; and the hoarseness in his voice from having been screaming, he looked on top of the world now.

“Oh, and Amon?”

He raised to his knees, staring after the retreating figure that turned back to him.

“Don’t forget who you owe your entitled life to.”

Chills ran deep inside Amon’s spine. He exhaled deeply, relieved and yet sickeningly aware that his life would truly never be the same as Fontane turned up the stairs. His eyes falling; drifting to look upon his palms that were embedded with dirt from the earth. The odor of stale air aching in his chest as he heaved, burying his shameful face into his chest and curling into himself.

His life was over. His life would never be his own again.

All for a few hours of silence.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As expected, Fontane held what he had done over his head like an executioner's blade.

It kept him complacent; less a man and more a dog. His father’s reactions to his changes in behavior ranged from content in seeing them getting along, to a level of bland disturbance at seeing his own child morph from a proud Illiad into some shape of ass-kissing weasel. His mother-in-law, careful and kind she may be, devoted less and less time to him to praise her up and coming son. The more he was forced to dance to Fontane’s requests, the more she seemed to relish the idea that her babe was more right to the manor and more strapping and masculine than he.

Josephine tried to reach out to him. Amon was tempted more than once to be open with her; to have someone know. He held his tongue, in fear of her judgment. He held his tongue, frightened she might go to father and with the truth revealed, he would have his belated beating and be thrown out of the house. Josie would tell him because she wanted to protect him but in the end, it would fate him away from his family, his life, his home and all he knew.

Her concern never wavered, but he held her at bay. She could never understand his ‘obsession’ with Fontane. Why would he take on fights on his behalf? Why did he offer him his things? Why was he no longer doing his own hobbies, training as he may have once liked, and instead doing the bidding of another?

But the moment he may try, it seemed like Fontane was there with a snap of his fingers. Running his errands, fetching him things, bringing him books or offering up his dinner. There was always something to do but his own studies, the hunts he preferred, the physical labor of a good spar. Anything would have been more appealing than the debt he now owed.

He was no longer Amon.

He was just Fontane’s lackey.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The second girl he ever had a crush on was Duchess Matilda. She was a pretty natural red-head with brown eyes and freckles dotting her face. She smelled frequently of vanilla or cherries. Her favorite color was orange, and she liked to wear lots of bows in her clothes and have her hair cascading down her slender back with a braid in the front.

Unfortunately, Fontane was much too savage to allow him even his puppy-love affections…

The leaves were falling. He looked at her wide smile and listened to her harsh cackling laughter. It wasn’t as pretty as her face, but it was a part of her and therefore it was just as nice. Her summer glow was leaving her skin; a pale pink in the cold rather than the slight warmth she had been holding for months.

Amon stared at her, grinning. His heart thundered in his chest as he swallowed his nerves, timidly remarking, “You look nice today.”

“You say that every day, Amon!” she laughed.

“But you do. That color looks really nice on you.”

Her eyes lit up like a spell of magic. She had a grin on that stretched for miles as he stared at her, feeling a clenching in his chest. Her face turned away to leave him breathless, watching as she flung an armful of colorful leaf little into the air.

His hand itched. Jerking his numb, chilled fingers anxiously, he reached for her hand-

“There you two are!”

Abruptly, he dropped his arm, and jerked around to see his step-brother waltzing through the leaf piles.

“Oh, Fontane! Did you enjoy your piano lessons?”

“They were fine I guess,” he muttered, kicking the leaves aside almost violently as he confidently snatched upon her wrist. “But I’d much rather be spending time with you.”

Matilda’s face morphed into one of unexplained delight. She dropped her mouth into a wild grin, her face turning almost as red as her hairline. With a flirtatious hand raised to her hair, she flipped it aside to offer a better view of her face, and the angles of her delicate throat.

“I played Beethoven in your honor, my lady,” Fontane proceeded on, gently pulling her along with him as he began to stroll across the yard. His face turned towards Amon for a brief moment, where he shot him a dirty look and a flick of his free hand in a motion for him to go.

Defeated, Amon kicked aside the leaves and placed his hands in his pockets. With shoulders slumped, he turned to head back to the house. Only when he was nearly upon the small stairs to let himself in did he turn, seeing Fontane placing a kiss against the girl whom he was infatuated with’s cheek.

She was the first, but would not be the last fair lady stolen just shy of his grasp and tongue-tied words of gentle wanting.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tiredly, Amon swapped his gaze between Fontane, and the younger lad he was speaking with. He held no trivial interest to their debate; zoning in and out. He would much rather be anywhere else, but his mind panicked at the idea of heading home and leaving the heir to the estate alone. Or rather, he was afraid leaving him alone would infuriate him enough to tell a bunch of truth and propaganda to their father, and have him left as a disgrace to his family name.

As the other young boy turned away, fuming and spiting some vile curses, Fontane grabbed at his arm. It startled Amon back to the present, where he looked over at the splotches of red fury against his family’s face.

“Strike him, Amon.”

There was spite and malice in the roughness of his voice. It was almost as unsettling as his gaze, which was dark and fierce like an animal. His nostrils were flaring as he tried to breath fast enough to catch up to his angry puffs.

Swallowing, he gave a shake of his head as he mumbled, “I’m not going to-”

“Defend my honor, or I’m telling father how you left me to die in the crypt! My air running thin, my lungs collapsing, the room cold and my hunger gnawing as my thirst grew-”

Balling his hands into fists, Amon took three long strides after the boy. His head was spinning. A roaring headache thrusting upon his brow. All the pent up aggression and hatred for his kin, who played with him like a toy, came rushing forward as the boy turned towards him with alarm, and directly into his fist.

There was a sharp crack from the young gent’s nose as it broke, and he fell to his knees with a cry and spray of blood all over both of their shoes. Clutching to his face as a bruise instantly erupted upon him, the boy sobbed. He wept loudly. Incoherent were his sounds and babble against his hands as his shoulders shook, and he wailed with desperation.

His hook had certainly done the trick. Fontane was barking mad with laughter behind him.

Amon could hardly stomach himself. Staring down at his red knuckle, spotted with blood.

He would be reprimanded for his actions later, but only timidly so. It was surprising to hear Fontane stood up on his behalf, and ‘clarified’ to his father that he had been standing up for ‘family’ and ‘family values’. A few days in the stables with the hostlers, shoveling manure for a few hours out of the day.

And Fontane would have his ‘champion’, wrapped around his smallest finger.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In a tense stand-off, the two brothers locked eyes.

Bethany didn’t even seem to notice the silent exchange. She held to both of their hands, still snorting on her choked laughter.

“Beth,” Fontane crooned, offering her a hankie. “Maybe we’ve had enough excitement with this children’s play. Come with me, I’ll get you a drink.”

“Or you can stay with me,” Amon offered with a considerate smile. “We can continue watching the play. I know how you enjoy Miranda’s work, and your laugh is enchanting and infectious.”

While taking the offering from Fontane’s hand, the golden-haired blue-eyed young aristocrat turned her face upon Amon’s. Her expression was showered with adoration as she dabbed along her eyes with the cloth. The winsome state of her smile was almost enough to be called heart-wrenching.

Above her face, Amon could make out the heated look of growing rage in his brother’s eyes.

“You are so cute,” she giggled, tapping his nose. “You’re such a gentleman Master Amon, thank you.”

“It’s just Amon,” Fontane cut in with a stingy tone. “I’m the Master of the Emerald Expanse.”

“Mmmhm,” Bethany murmured in a dreamy sigh, still staring up in the former heir’s face.

Tightening his lips into a white-lined frown, Fontane tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. He jerked back a thumb, scowling at Amon.

He ignored it. Tenderly rubbing the young lady’s hand, and watching the way she melted into her seat. The color in her face turned a startling scarlet shade as she continued to squirm and giggle.

“Amon! A word, if you could spare your brother a second?”

Torn, he turned his anguished expression from his ‘kin’, to the lass. She was fluttering her eyelashes, and his face was reflected in the shine of her glistening eyes. His haunted gaze, the lines around his face that showed a general stoic frown rather than eager joy.

With despair in his heart, he gently patted the young woman’s hand. “I’ll be right back.”

Careful to keep their heads low so not to bother the crowd, the duo made their way down the aisles and into the back of the theater.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Fontane snarled, reaching up to grab hold of his collar and twist it in his grip.

“Complimenting Beth,” he jeered, shoving his lean and spindly kin aside.

“Well, stop it! I’m trying to get her attention, and you keep distracting her!”

Amon snorted. “You’re just upset she likes me, and not you.”

Fontane gritted his teeth like a feral animal. His hands shaped like claws reached out in a threatening display. Menacingly gurgling in his throat, he made a gesture in his direction as though to attack.

It didn’t even cause Amon reason to flinch.

“Silence your tongue, Amon the Brute,” the elder sibling retorted, “or I will tell father-”

“Father is old, and sickly!” Amon snapped. “You will leave him in peace!”

With that, he flung past his brother, hearing the angry exhale escape him.

“I will tell the world then, what you are capable of!”

Freezing in his tracks, the young man felt the crushing weight of defeat fall upon his tired soul. He lowered his head and breathed in, looking over his shoulder to the triumph in Fontane’s gaze.

“Do we have an understanding, brother?”

Fontane extended a hand out to him.

Leveling his gaze with the man, Amon stared him down. The snotty, twisted grin; the blackened eyes. He was a man who no longer knew the term ‘no’. He’d gotten all that he’d wanted with ease and trickery; with underhanded blackmail and curling words off a smart mouth.

“No,” he replied softly.

“No?” Fontane repeated, his voice rising as he stated again: “No?”

“Why should I step aside, when Bethany has clear interest in me?” Amon acknowledged softly. “It is not fair to either her, nor I to step aside in something we’re both wanting to pursue. Why not let the lady decide for herself if you are worth her time. Neither of us should put our desires on hold because it does not suit you well; and it would be most unfair to Beth if she feels hurt and rejected because I refuse her, only for you. That won’t make her jump into your arms, Fontane. Women are not as fleeting and desperate as in your novels.”

Fontane sneered. For a moment, Amon thought for sure an explosion was about to rift the planet itself in half. His face went red, his eyes wide and wild, and the claws for hands had become fists. What petty little punches he could manage would probably be laughable to say the least.

What words he could shout would be far more harmful.

Smoothing out his expression, the young Lord-to-be gave a curt nod. His face mostly blank, but a shy version of analytic.

“Very well,” he agreed. “We will let the lady decide whom she likes the best.”

To Amon’s utmost surprise, Fontane did not speak a peep about the crypt incident that night, or any other thereafter after he’d gone home with Beth that night.

But it had began a long-standing war waged between them, chasing the heart’s of the same women like dogs in heat.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Fontane was named Lord, long after his withering husk of a mother passed and their father, too, had succumb to age, nothing changed.

Josephine still lived her unaware, wonderful life with her husband over in the White Moors. Fontane gained the manor, and Amon lived in a nearby establishment courtesy of his brother. Truth be told, he knew it was just Fontane’s way of keeping him close.

The hate had grown only more bitter and resentful between them. When Fontane called now, Amon found himself less inclined to bend. He still kept his word from that day: openly praising his relation, going to events, speaking highly of his name. But it did not please his kin as he had hoped.

Fontane had grown hungry. He demanded sacrifice. Tried to bleed it out of him when he was unwilling to give it, until Amon was wriggling with discomfort and his hand forced.

The truth and lies a devilishly handsome man in power could bring ruin upon him. Fontane’s name was untarnished; an immaculate symbol of trust and honesty. He never caused a fight or a scene. He was a proper lad. Everyone adored him.

But Amon had gained his reputation. A foolhardy, reckless boy. He picked fights and finished arguments with his fists. He loved his brother endlessly, to the point of doing anything on his behalf. He was no coward, but he was a monstrosity.

He was Amon the Brute.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“You are nothing like your brother.”

The words were a slap, spinning out of control in his mind.

He’d thought Heidi had had feelings for him.

He’d thought he might have even found ‘the one’.

But he’d been played a fool. Her interests on him had been brief, perhaps, but once she had heard the stories and seen his brother, he was nothing to her. Just a door into their family. Just the person to use to get closer to Fontane. She had found her way in, and exploited it.

And judging by the masterful, artful way his brother smiled at him, he knew his loss was too great. He would never win. He had written his tale and sentenced himself to the constant failure when the gods turned their eyes away from him after he had closed the door in Fontane’s face.

He was nothing more than a shadow of a man.

He was not even Amon anymore, at all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was scorching out, even with the sun falling low. He was thankful to be indoors. A chilled mug of ale, and plenty of empty laughter to engulf him and distract him of his own self-pity.

Why he allowed himself to be dragged out here, far from home with Fontane he didn’t know. It seemed like a punishment. He got to watch him flaunt his success, and flirt with all the lovely lady’s day and night. He watched as people praised the great Fontane’s name, and asked why he hadn’t yet taken up a wife. The later question left Amon holding back laughter from the obvious answer: the amazing Lord of Briarton was far too busy getting up lady’s skirts, that he couldn’t keep any consistent lass around for more than a few weeks.

As the party began to drag into the twilight, Amon slipped out the front door. The steps to the friend’s manor were open directly into the walkway. There was no yard to be had, and large houses were practically stacked one on top of the next.

He longed for the open space of Briarton. He missed the nearby woods. The only freedom he had, escaping into the wilds far from Fontane to track and hunt.

His eyes closed, and reopened with a heavy sigh.

While the lane was far from bustling; only a few people strolling up or down in either direction, he felt inescapably watched. No matter which direction he turned, however, or the tops of buildings he searched there seemed to be no reason for the prickly sensation in his spine.

Slumping upon the steps, he finally took a seat and pouted much like a child. His eyes drifted closed again after a few minutes, and reopened-

He gave a startled grunt, jerking his head up to see a face standing over him.

“Greetings, Lord Amon,” a voice purred from beneath the dense ebony cloak. Their muzzle was barely visible beneath the shadows that crested against their features. A colorful coat of spotted grays that blended back into the darkness.

Baffled, he leaned back on the stoop to look up into the dark hood. A pair of emerald slit eyes stared right back at him. They appeared to be the most alive part of the creature; vibrant and shining again the closely drawn fabric that surrounded the Tabaxi’s face.

“You must be confused,” he grumbled, growing slightly lax at the sign of the being’s calm demeanor. “There is no Lord Amon. I am Amon; but I am no lord. Fontane is the Lord you must be seeking.”

The creature giggled, giving a shake of it’s head as it laughed. From beneath the cloak, he tensed as it pulled out a simple red string. Mischief in their eyes, and a feline’s sharp smile.

“This is not what the Fate’s told me would become of you, oh no,” she breathed. “You should be in Hearthstrom now, wasting away your misery in the Boar’s Tusk tavern.”

The omen sat like a strange burden upon the air. Amon glared upon the bipedal cat. There was something eerie about the way she spoke. A sort of knowing. Silent understanding. Puckish delight in their feline grin. Their leopard skin pelt shifting as they moved, eerie like nightlight was permanently infused in their furs.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, but how-”

“Have no worries, Lord Amon, your time is still yet to come,” the Tabaxi assured him. “Your tale is not yet told, or weaved as it should be. But we must hurry, if we are to correct this mistake.”

Hurry? What in Pelor’s name-

The furry creature snatched his arm up from his lap. Before he could react, she wrapped the lengths of the string around his pinky. With a jerk of his arm, he managed pulled free. Appalled as by some feat, he realized the frayed strand was somehow knotted already his digit. How had that even happened? She hadn’t even made a gesture to create such a tie, and even still clearly didn’t have the time to bow it against his finger?

“She will be here soon,” the Tabaxi informed him with a faded laugh. “We will see how you face your destiny.”

“Wait just a-”

As he looked up from his hand, the shadow of the figure that had been before him had vanished.

Amon quickly jolted, glancing down at his hand.

There was no sign of the red string.

Was he hallucinating? He stood up, scratching the back of his head and turning around. Surely there had to be something in his drink, or a spell of magic placed on him he was unaware of. The illusion had seemed so real. Smelled so real; he could still faintly feel the gag relax at the smell of rotted fish.

Circling around, stepped out into the street-

With a yelp, he tumbled into the ground, a figure laying on top of him.

Cursing and whining in a string of ‘ow’s, the woman rolled over to untangle her appendages from his own. Her light caramel eyes were slits of frustration as she reached out to rub at her limbs, pouting out a full bottom lip sadly.

“I’m terribly sorry-” Amon rasped. His rear hurt terribly as he turned over to rest upon his knees, and offer a hand out to the woman.

Her scaly hand extended, but shoved his away.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going?!”

A fire blazing hotter than a phoenix in its finest hour blazed in her face. She held her chin up with defiance. The air around her seemed to blaze and crackle with the unstable reaction of chemicals in a lab test. It manifested in her gaze, and swirled around her in a mist of shadows.

A shouting further down the avenue had her looking back in panic. The fragile looking figure began to rise to her shaky legs. Smears of blood from her palms lay against the pavement. When she slapped her legs to her knees for stability, the same dirty splotches appeared on her trousers.

Amon scrambled his boots against the old dirty brick laywork to get to his feet. He reached for her instinctively, grabbing for her wrist.

“Your hands-”

She jerked her arm hard, finding herself easily slipping away from his careful grip. Her entire body shook with overwritten anxiety.

The look in her face was something he’d seen before. Out in the woods, when you held the string of the bow taut and stared upon the buck or the doe that had sensed a shift in the wind. The air was suddenly difference and smelled of danger. They held a pose, as if willing themselves invisible. They would break into a run at a moment’s notice, and flee far you within moments, and you would never see them again.

Slipping off his light jerkin, he held it out to the shaken lady. She trembled with weary unease, looking between it and him. The soft glow of the streetlights and starlight moon bathing her rich skintone in a celestial light.

“W-What are you-”

“Put this on,” he urged.

Though her hand hesitated at first, she took a fistful of the fabric. She hesitantly flipped it around, about to slide her arms through when he grabbed hold of the edges. Her alarmed squeak was barely contained as he aided in dragging it forward, where it swallowed up her thinness.

Her nose wrinkled a bit at his proximity. Her features slowly relaxed, inhaling slowly as he hovered in front of her.

“Please, let me get you some help for your hands.”

Her mouth drew open. She seemed on the edge of protest, but jumped as some masculine voice called sharply but a few doors down.

“Y-Yes fine alright-”

Stark red streaks clasped over his hands. Amon looked vaguely over his shoulder, but heard a nervous hiss escape the lady as she pulled against his fingers and knuckles to hurry him along.

“Is everything alright, miss?” he inquired gently. “Are those men-”

She whined, tugging at him as she whispered hoarsely, “Please I just want to get out of here.”

“Alright, alright.”

He let go of his windbreaker. For a fleeting second, he thought for sure she was going to bolt. Her muscles tensed and seized, and she stiffly jerked to the side.

His arm reached out, slowly folding around the timid woman’s shoulders. She shied away from him, but did not remove herself completely. Her head held low and shoulders raised to hide herself, she slunk beside him as he guided her around the squeezing suffocation of the alleyway between the buildings. There was a side entrance around here used for the service to discretely take out garbage or transport items in or out of the manor, and seemed the least overwhelming way to get the unsteady lady inside without raising too many questions.

There was wait staff standing around or preparing services in the room the side door entered in on. They all looked up, stunned to see a noble-blood enter in on their domain. It took them another second to realize there was a poorly dressed lady trying to hide in his side, appearing shaken to the core as she quivered like a small dog.

“Where are you taking me?” she hissed, barely audible. “Who are you?”

“Sir?” A quizzical voice rose up from the frozen servers.

“Can anyone fetch a medical kit?” Amon inquired; ignoring both questions.

There was a stillness. A handful of people began to move at once, and then a young woman stepped forward, shaking her head.

“There’s no need for that. I might be able to cast a spell, depending on the severity you might be looking at. What seems to be the problem, mister Illiad?”

Carefully holding to the foreign woman’s arm, he inclined his head forward slightly. Her eyes still held a level of distrust as she held out her arms, revealing the state of her hands to those in the room.

“Ouch,” the maiden stated. She gave a little sympathetic flinch as she strode over, offering out her hands with palms up.

“Rest your hands in mine. This will only take a second.”

Once more, the disgruntled lady scrunched up her nose. She hesitantly held out her hands, reflexively jerked them back as the woman tried to touch her, and relented. Her frame grew erect with discomfort, and Amon kept a steady hand on her shoulder for a sign of comfort.

A raspy melody sung forth from the servicewoman’s throat. As she dragged ancient hymns over her lips, a pale light rose up from her hands and against the stranger’s. The blood and scraps upon her palms began to disappear before their very eyes, leaving only a few stains behind as the marks healed over.

“There, good as new miss!”

“Thank you,” the unnamed woman stated with shock and earnest. She gave a ghostly little smile as the maiden held out a clean cloth to her, where she could wipe off the remnants of blood from her hands.

Amon pulled out a few gold pieces from his pocket, and held them out to the bard. He leaned forward, keeping his voice respectfully low as some of the people went back to work as he murmured, “If you’d please, could you see to getting the lady a new pair of slacks?”

From looking at her hands with awe, the unfamiliar beauty brought her gaze up with shock. She turned to look between the pair as the handmaid nodded, raising her voice as she cut in, “That’s really not necessary-”

“I insist,” Amon cut in. “I wasn’t very attentive, and your clothes were damaged in the process.”

He turned his attention back to the servicewoman once more. “Please take her discretely upstairs to my sleeping quarters, see about her sizing, and have something brought in.”

The woman’s face showed her discomfort. The doe-eyed look returned to her features. With her arms held close to her sides, she seemed uncertain in her environment. One hand reached up to sweep the waves of black out from her face, but her elbow was still drawn in close.

“Come along, miss,” the servicewoman urged. She placed a hand to the stranger’s elbow, guiding her away even as she continued looking back in his direction with fear in her eyes.

It was a very peculiar look, that left him wondering once more who she’d been running from, and why she seemed so skittish of his help.

Scratching a hand along his beard, he figured he’d probably get some more answers once she was in comfortable clothing. He whispered a request to another hand on standby to have some of the hot hor d’oeuvres sent up until they could get a proper estimate on what to have made for the young lady. Until then, he would go find himself a fresh pair of slacks for himself to wear. His own were worn where he’d skidded to the ground, and covered in filth. Lord he might not be, but nobleman he still was, and it was only proper he attempt to fit the role.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The fair stranger jumped, passing him a sheepish smile as he entered in to his temporary guest room. It was not quite as large as his master bed back in Briarton, in his own home, but it was more then enough space for his stay. Still the woman appeared mystified; caught circling around in fresh clothes and her mouth hanging open.

Amon passed her a polite smile, bowing from the waist slightly with respect as he closed the door behind him. On the bedside table, he could make out a stack of dishes stacked up. Quite the appetite, it seemed.

“Pardon my intrusion, miss.”

“Quite alright, Sir… Illiad, was it?”

“Amon,” he offered, straightening his posture. “And I’m afraid I have been quite rude, as I have not caught your name miss…?”

“Es…” she faltered, appearing quite worn and tired. Her shoulders dropped significantly as she picked at her fingernails, exhaling her name aloud as she extended a leg back and bowed in return: “Essätha, Sir Amon.”

Clearing his throat; the tension in her face still etched in heavy, he spoke carefully: “How are your hands, miss Essätha?”

“Better, thank you.” Again, more fidgeting. “I would have been fine, though. You needn’t go through all the trouble, or have your staff take care of me.”

You’d looked like you could have used a hand, he’d thought. The comment remained reserved in his mind alone, though. Whatever had spooked her out on the streets from those barking figures prowling through the roads and running between the lanes, he need not burden her with again. The young lady appeared wound up enough as it was.

His eyes darted between her and the plates instead.

“Would you care for some more-”

“No thank you, Sir Amon,” Essätha briskly cut in. “Your hospitality is charming and I’m grateful, but I would like my clothes back, and be on my way.”

He offered an understanding, slightly sorrowful smile.

“I would love to, but the lady’s already took them to be washed. If you’d like them back that can be arranged, but they’ll be wet still. You’re welcome to take the clothes we’ve provided and-”

“No,” she firmly responded, stepping over to sink into the end of the bed stubbornly. “I can wait a while.”

He almost laughed at her displeasure. She had a scowl that could make people cringe back in fear of retaliation, but the light of her eyes was still bright and hospitable. What did the spunky lass expect? Clothes dried in its own pace and time. On a hot night like this, she might be lucky and only have to wait two to three hours, but there was no guarantee on that.

“Well if you’re going to wait, perhaps you’d care for something more to eat?”

A firm shake of her head was his only response.

Amon wavered. Maybe he’d been wrong to suspect that Essätha might open up after a meal. She seemed more aware, but even more stubborn somehow.

“I apologize, miss Essätha. I will give you your space-”

“N-No this is your room, you may stay.”

He gave a quiet chuckle. “It is my temporary residence, but as a guest I invited, it is only proper I respect your need for solitude.”

Turning, he reached for the doorknob when a softened sound of a throat clearing caused him pause. Against his shoulder he looked back, watching as Essie fiddled with the ends of her hair.

“I never said I wanted to be alone.”

What unusual sorrows, such lonely young eyes had. She kept her hands clasped before her lap, staring down upon the floor. There was age in the way she sat her shoulders. Weights baring them down. Exhaustion in the more than the darkness beneath her lines, but creasing against the corners of her mouth and held her in posture.

Her words didn’t even sound meant for him. They didn’t sound meant for this moment. Far away. Held to the universe, held to the gods, held close to a vulnerable frame that appeared fragile like glass.

His hand clenched and unclenched at his side. He looked down, a strange sensation upon his finger as though it was being tugged.

Flitting his eyes around the room a moment, Amon reached up to run a hand through his dark hair nervously. His smile was lop-sided and nervous as he offered out a hand in a gesture, mumbling faintly, “Would you care for some company? We do not have to stay here, if the atmosphere troubles you.”

A quiet laugh escaped her as she glanced up beneath the depth of long lashes.

“You are very charming, Sir Amon,” she replied while turning towards him. “Are you sure no one would be upset to have the honored guest not present for the party downstairs.”

He snorted. With a shake of his head, he moved over to the bedside. Essätha slid over a bit, giving him adequate room to take a seat beside her.

“I’m not the honored guest. If that would be anyone it would be my… step-brother, Lord Fontane.”

She scoffed. “Surely someone down-stairs is going to miss looking into your handsome face.”

The statement had his face turning crimson. He looked over her face, trying to find a thread of teasing in her voice, or her face. Nor one or the other appeared present. The longer he studied her face however, his face lax with surprise, the more her own seemed to grow pink under his gaze.

By Pelor’s holy name, she seemed to be coming on to him.

“No, I doubt that,” he finally rasped. “They are more Fontane’s sort of crowd, then my own.”

“And what is your sort of crowd, Sir Amon?”

She leaned into him. It left a charge surging through his veins. His mind fell under a foggy spell beneath those honey brown eyes.

“Just Amon, miss Essätha.”

“Are titles not important, or am I using the wrong one?”

He nearly flinched, a headache splitting and the back of his skull and disappearing with unnerving rapidness. A whispered voice his sluggish mind only vaguely acknowledged as a memory repeated a single phrase as it faded out.

‘Lord Amon’.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I am just a simple man, my lady,” he answered quietly. “I have no prerogative. Or at least, not anymore. I have my home. I am no Lord to a land, no Sir to a knighthood or realm protector. I have my name, and that suits me fine.”

The delicate woman hummed thoughtfully. She reached out, placing a hand gingerly upon his knee as she smiled.

“You never answered my question, Amon. What is your sort of crowd?”

He gave some thought to the question. It was incredibly hard to do so, with her hand resting against his trousers. Her touch was strangely distracting, in the most pleasant way. It was alluring as her features, but there was something more to it. A simple kindness. Gentle and careful. Like he was the one here, frightened and skittish.

“I don’t believe I have a type,” he admitted with a short laugh. “I have spent many of my years in the company of my step-brother. His favored type is what I’m most aware of.”

“You don’t sound very happy about that,” she stated quietly.

Sympathy, Amon realized offhandedly. She was offering sympathy.

“I apologize, miss Essätha, it is not my intention to-”

His words stalled in his throat. As she moved her body; turned to fully face him, he saw a ripple in the air of a red string extend from her finger.

What in Pelor’s name-

“You’re free to talk here,” Essätha informed him with a small smile. Her face was torn; unsure as she went on tentatively, “Your word is safe, here. It… If the very least I can do is be a listening ear after the kindness you have given me, I would be happy to keep your secrets safe.”

He could have sworn he’d seen it. It had been there, and in a second flash gone. Was he losing his mind?

“Lord Amon?”

“No I-” he swallowed thickly, glancing up at the woman. Had she somehow moved closer? Her face appeared too close. The rounded curves of her cheeks inviting his hands to hold her. He had a sinking feeling her face would fit perfectly into his palms.

It was a struggle not to throw himself back from her. His back stiffened significantly. The concern in her eyes to his change in nature shouldn’t be as reassuring as it felt.

“You are not here to listen to my quarrels,” he wheezed at last.

Peels of sweet laughter arose like an angel’s blessing. Essie gave a shake of her head, patting his kneecap affectionately.

“No, I am here because you brought me in, and got me out of a…” her face closed off, ending with a muttered, “messy, situation.”

“That does not mean I have to gripe,” he grumbled, seizing upon her remark to tentatively dare ask what his hungry curiosity wondered, “Those hollering men in the street… They were after you, weren’t they?”

Essätha’s hand retracted from his knee. It made his own thoughts dissolve; an uncharacteristic longing dragging over his now cold appendage.

“I get myself tangled up in some things I should not, from time to time” she admitted with unease, and an eye to the door.

Amon reached out for her hand. The texture of her scales were ridged and stood out against the back of her yielding back. They dimpled slightly with kerning, but faded with relative ease into her smooth skin that his thumb stroked over.

“Are you sure I could not convince you to rest here for the night? It would make me feel better, knowing you are safe.”

Her eyes betrayed her sadness even as she looked away with a forced snort. “What do you care about the ruffians on the streets? You repaid yourself tenfold, m’lord. Let me go.”

M’lord.

Despite her words, his hand impulsively tightened against hers. A gentle grip. Careful and steady pressure not to harm. Enough to give the impression it was not in his desire to let her go, but if she pulled her hand free, he would not stop her.

“A Lord protects the people, miss Essätha.”

He could not be sure of his own wording. It made no sense, in or out of context.

“Essätha,” she mumbled, catching a glance at him. “It’s… It’s just Essätha.”

“I believe there’s much more to you than just a name, Essätha.”

She breathed out slowly with surprise. The blanketed daze seemed to grow increasingly heavy. Her eyes were devouring him as she leaned closer. And he moved closer without the slightest hesitation, not entirely sure where he was going to end up but knowing it was going to be someplace unimaginable. A soft hitch in her chest as his other hand cupped her face.

Just as he suspected, she nestled perfectly into his touch. Her lips tender and soft as he barely brushed them. An irresistible tug. A craving in his very soul. He wanted more; needed more and by the sudden hand resting to the back of his neck and urging him forward, he wasn’t the only one feeling the nameless force that he willingly tumbled into.

She drew out his name softly against him. Chills ran down his spine but heat coursed in his veins. He released her hand to reach up with a shaky palm, holding her lovely face close as he parted her lips and swallowed her wanting moan.

A fist rapped suddenly against the door, throwing them both apart.

His heart was pounding, and his head beat like a steel drum. He flashed a glance at her; still open-mouthed and shocked as he felt.

“Amon? The servants told me you had come up to your chambers. Come out from there; join us in the dining hall.”

Cursing under his breath, the Illiad man shot a furious gaze towards the door. He didn’t even get to open his mouth when the handle to the door turned, and Fontane’s splotched tipsy face peered inside.

“Fontane-”

The Briarton Lord sucked in a sharp breath as he noticed the other figure in the room. His posture straightened, and he seemed to grow more sober as he cleared his throat.

“Lord Fontane, Amon, please remember to use my full title.”

He strode into the room with purpose. Getting to his feet, Amon stood between him and the startled face of the enchanting woman still perched on the edge of the bed.

“Who is this delectable creature you have here?”

“I-” he stammered, a sickening feeling rising in his chest.

Delectable creature?

Thousands of vivid recollections came hurtling to the forefront of his mind. He would not have it. He was not going to stand idly by, and watch his ‘kin’ step in and try smooth talking another from his grasp.

“You may leave now,” Amon curtly bit out, side-stepping to block Essätha from his stare as she stood up. “I am fine up here.”

“Ooh yes, I can see that,” Fontane agreed, quickly shoving his shoulder against his to stand at his side as he offered a hand to Essie. “Hello, my dear. I’m sorry, you must be dreadfully bored being kept up in this dungeon. If Amon chooses to stay up here, may I escort you down to the festivities downstairs?”

Cold anger just as harsh blizzard roared to life. Amon bit his tongue to keep from waggling his tongue with insults, and stepped closer to Essie’s side. He took a deep breath, ready to demand his privacy when the beauty gave a quick, harsh burst of laughter.

“Is this the trick you pull on all the lady’s?” she inquired. “Try tempting them away promising to whisk them into some unforgettable experience?”

“Oooh,” Fontane mumbled. “So you think what I have to offer is unforgettable?”

“That wasn’t a compliment, sweetheart.”

While his step-brother turned to stone with shock, Amon placed a hand to his shoulder.

“Thank you for checking on me, Fontane, but I-”

“Lord Fontane,” the nobleman reminded him. He removed his hand from the vest he wore before turning his snappy tone onto Essie as he went on, “My deepest apologies, miss. I believe my intentions must have come across as disrespectful. For that, I apologize.”

“How nice. Have you ever tried using an apology for more than just getting your way?”

Amon dropped his jaw. He picked it back up, swallowing a lump in his throat and a sudden wave of adoration creeping over him. Heavens be merciful, what he hearing things?

“I… Bed your pardon-”

“I’ll consider granting that request, if you leave,” she sweetly informed him with a smile.

“My lady, you are speaking to a Lord-”

“You aren’t my Lord,” she huffed. “I didn’t vote for you.”

“I could have you jailed for such insults-!”

“Actually, you couldn’t,” Amon broke in. “She is not threatening you. She’s stating a voice of opinion, which is free to do in-”

“Shut your mouth!” Fontane snapped viciously. “Remember your place, Amon the Brute.”

As though struck, he unconsciously moved back from the snarling words. The livid expression on the Lord of the Emerald Expanse’s face morphed into one of pure outrage.

“Hey! That’s no way to speak to your family!” Essätha cut in sharply, resting a hand against Amon’s shoulder.

“Stay out of this-”

His reflexes were, thankfully, still sharp as they were in his youth. Amon grabbed hold of Essie’s wrist as she began to raise her hand, keeping it low as she bared her fangs to his step-brother. A storm of purple mist curled around her form, and strange shapes seemed to move over her skin in mirrored lights. Almost like broken glass, reflecting rainbows against her.

“You’re being very inconsiderate to your brother. I would think about what you say next, before you regret the consequences,” Essätha warned, her eyes narrowed.

Fontane sighed with aggravation. “Please, miss, you don’t know the half of his problems-”

“I’m sure I can name ninety-nine of them, looking right in front of me.”

Was this truly happening? Fontane was not only losing his temper, but a lethally attractive woman was standing up for him. Not falling prey to his status. Not falling prey to his looks. Not falling prey to his sweet talk, or filthy offers, or crumbling beneath his brewing anger.

“Fine.” Fontane remarked tartly, offering his palms out in a sign of defeat. “I will speak to you about this disrespect later, Amon. Enjoy your time with this demented coward, my lady.”

As Fontane turned on heel, Essätha made a choking sound as she mumbled close to Amon’s ear: “Who is that man calling a coward, when he’s leaving with his tail between his legs?”

She had no idea. Absolutely no clue how true Fontane’s words were. No concept in what he was; in what she was dealing with. There was more to him than his lost-title, and yet she was picking his side without an honest view of the truth.

As the door slammed shut behind the man; jarring the silence, Amon shifted his attention back to Essätha. How was he going to formulate the words, to get her to leave? To inspire her safety without giving away too much? To be gentle and get her to understand, that he was not of the best interest to her?

But as he turned towards her, she reached up to glide her hands over his beard. He barely found a chance to draw in a breath as she pressed her divine lips against his.

“Your step-brother is very annoying.”

Baffled, he gave a dry laugh.

“You have no idea.”

She stared at him. Her mouth partially open. She seemed to be working over a confusing puzzle. One, little to his knowing, that his mind too was turning over.

Why this? Why now? Why him? Why her?

There was something that sparked beneath her caressing fingertips, and called in his blood. Something about her eyes that felt like looking into a dream. Something he should stop to think about before he explored so recklessly.

But he took her face in her hands as she pulled him down, and all questions were gone beneath the softness of her lips.

[mariequitecontrarie]

Meet Me in the Courtyard: Part 4

Summary: Ruby finds Belle and Gold in an awkward embrace. Later, Leroy approaches Belle with some unsolicited advice. The Fic: Belle hosts a monthly movie night in Storybrooke, always leaving the seat next to her empty. Gold loathes movies, yet movie night at the library is the one community event even he can’t seem to resist.  Rating: T A/N: @a-monthly-rumbelling November prompt:  They work opposite each other. (Also fills October’s prompt, “You said you’d always be there for me…so how did this happen? Why weren’t you there?” but I’m really late). Yes, Ruby is still being a jerk, but Gold’s not going to take it anymore. Also finally some GrumpBelle/ Dwarf Beauty, because I’ve been wanting to fic their friendship for a long time. Thanks to @magnoliatattoo for being my beta!

{On AO3} Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

“Lemme guess…it’s not what it looks like.” Ruby grinned and flicked droplets of water off her raincoat, then shimmied out of the jacket and dumped it on the worktable.

“Actually, it’s exactly what it looks like,” Belle snapped. It was a lie, but Ruby’s arrogance was really pissing her off. Her hair was still attached to Gold’s belt and half her face was pressed against the scratchy wool fabric near his zipper, making it painful to look anywhere but at Ruby’s pointy red stilettos. “Don’t you knock?”

“Don’t you know how to lock a door?” Ruby countered. Belle cringed; the seventies porn couple was still in the throes of their faked orgasms. “It’s pouring outside, or I’d guess you couldn’t hear me over the sound of your heavy breathing.”

“Here to save Miss French from the town monster, Miss Lucas?” Gold asked. Belle felt his body tense, and his knuckles dug into her cheek as he struggled to unbuckle his belt.

“If the knockoff Armani fits…” Ruby sneered.

“It doesn’t,” Belle interrupted, her heart sinking when Gold referred to her as ‘Miss French.’ At this rate, she could say goodbye to any hopes of a relationship. “No rescuing required,” she added with artificial brightness.

“Yeah, looks like things are going really well.” Ruby stepped closer and gave her a condescending pat on the head, then turned to Gold. “Instructional video, huh? Aren’t you a little old not to know how it works?”

Belle gritted her teeth, giving Ruby one-eyed glare while Gold continued to struggle with his belt. Her cheek was chafing from where it was pressed against Gold’s clothing and her neck was starting to cramp.

A snapping noise pierced the room as the belt came off, and she slumped against his legs, smacking her forehead on his kneecap. “Ow!”

Gold snagged her by the arm and hauled her to her feet. She pressed one hand to her throbbing forehead and the other to her scratched cheek. “Are you all right?” he asked near her ear. His warm hands curled around her upper arms, steadying her.

“I’m…yes, I think so.” She took a step back, still massaging her sore face.

“Let me get you some ice,” he said, gesturing toward the small refrigerator in the corner. He tossed his belt on his desk, then made his way to the back corner of the shop.

“Grab your Viagra on your way back,” Ruby sang out. “Looks like you’re gonna need it.”

“Most men would in order to get in the mood with you, dearie.” Gold barked a dry laugh over his shoulder.

Belle slumped onto the small cot she’d been sitting on earlier and rubbed her temples. She wanted to tell Ruby to stop talking and leave, but the room was spinning and her mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton.

Gold returned to her side, then handed her an old-fashioned ice bag with a screw-top lid, and Belle pressed it against her forehead with a grateful moan.

He lightly tapped her neck with two warm fingers and her pulse skittered. The spicy scent of his aftershave calmed her, and she leaned against his shoulder, forgetting for a moment that they were no longer alone.

“I think these bruises will fade fast.” He grimaced, reminding her of their audience. “I’m so sorry, Belle.”

“Gross.” Ruby stuck out her tongue. “Don’t start reenacting the porno until after I leave, okay?”

Belle blinked at her and Gold dropped his hands. “We weren’t watching it.”

“Evidently.” Ruby gestured at the screen where the movie continued to play.

“It was an accident,” Belle protested. “The film was there by mistake, and then we couldn’t turn the machine off.”

“Really.” Ruby walked over to the projector and hit the button, and the reel stopped with a creak. “I think that ice is starting to numb your brain, Belles.”

“Miss Lucas, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Gold stood and squared his shoulders. “I’m sure there’s a strapping young lad waiting in a bathroom stall who requires your particular brand of attention.”

“Actually, I’m here with the rent check,” Ruby said with saccharine sweetness. “Thought I’d hand-deliver it this month.” She flapped a damp, coffee-stained enveloped at him.

Gold gave the envelope a distasteful glare. “Missed the large lockbox labeled R-E-N-T outside the door, did you?”

“Yep, breezed right by it.” Ruby said, slapping her hand over her face. “And now I need a drink or bleach for my eyes. Maybe both.”

“Help yourself to the scotch.” Gold waved a hand toward a crystal decanter and a set of tumblers sitting on his desk.

Ruby dumped the amber liquid into a glass with a smirk, filling it almost to the brim. “Don’t mind if I do.” She took a huge swallow and choked, sloshing some of her drink on the floor.

“Probably a good thing you’ve mastered that gag reflex, Miss Lucas.” Gold poured modest servings of scotch into two glasses and handed one to Belle.

“Not at all, Gold.” Ruby hopped up on the worktable and crossed her legs.  “I always gag when I see your ugly face.”

“Ruby!” Belle dropped her drink, splattering scotch, ice cubes, and splintered glass all over the polished hardwood. “Oh no! Gold, I’m sorry.” She hopped off the cot and searched the room for a broom.

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Relax, Belle. It’s just a drink. No need to be so dramatic.”

“Sit down, Belle,” Gold ordered, snatching the broom and handing her his glass. “I’ve got this.”

While Gold mopped up the liquid and swept up the bits of glass into a dustpan, Belle wrapped her hands around his drink, feeling wretched. What was wrong with Ruby? Ever since Belle had finally started connecting with Gold at the library movie nights, her so-called best friend had been smug and snappish and throwing up opposition at every opportunity.

She needed Ruby to leave before things got worse, but she didn’t have the first clue what to say.

Gold shoveled the broken glass into the wastebasket, followed by the empty Johnny Walter bottle, and tied up the bag. “Take this out, would you dearie?” Gold threw the white plastic garbage bag Ruby’s feet. “You know your way around the trash.”

Ruby froze with her drink halfway to her mouth, then set it down with trembling fingers, her eyes wide and her face white as a sheet. “Are you calling me trash?”

“If the pleather fits.” Gold studied his fingernails with quiet nonchalance.

Belle had never seen Ruby move so fast. She watched in stunned silence as Ruby picked up her coat and hurried through the curtain to the front of the shop on wobbly legs.

“Miss Lucas, a moment.”

“What?” Ruby half-turned, her dark hair falling over her cheek.

Gold’s smirk was cold as ice. “I’ll take that rent check now.”

Ruby hurled the envelope, sending the paper fluttering, and he caught it. He slipped the envelope inside his breast pocket in one smooth motion, an impassive expression on his handsome face.

Belle hunched her shoulders, wanting the floor to open and swallow her up. Her stomach gave a sickening lurch; he must be furious with her. Who could blame him? Ashamed, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered, then hurried toward the front of the shop to catch up with Ruby.

“Ruby! Wait!”

Ruby whirled around, her green eyes snapping. “Can you believe that guy?”

“Yeah, I can.” Belle crossed her arms over her chest. “You deserved it.”

“What?”

“Your behavior tonight was inexcusable.” She wheezed, feeling like a weight was crushing her lungs.

“Are you serious, Belle?” Ruby’s hands flew to her hips. “He’s so stiff he probably sleeps with his cane up his ass. Not to mention he’s old enough to be your father. You’re supposed to be the smart one. I thought you had more dignity and a hell of a lot more sense.”

The string of accusations stung, and angry tears filled Belle’s eyes. She blinked them away, not bothering to explain away her awkward embrace with Gold yet again. Ruby had barged in on them and turned an awkward situation into utter humiliation, and now she wanted to play the injured party?

Belle wanted to scream her frustrations, to fire horrible insults designed to hurt, but she and Ruby had grown up together. They’d supported each other through first crushes and bad breakups and conquered everything side-by-side from acne to the prom. Ever since Belle had thrown a book at Killian “Hook” Jones’ head for dipping Ruby’s pigtails in glue back in second grade, they’d been sworn besties for life. She still had her half of the friendship bracelet they’d bought together when they were ten in her jewelry box.

Even when Belle had gone to college in Boston while Ruby stayed behind in Storybrooke to help Granny run the diner, they texted almost every day, and when Belle came home to work at the library, they’d picked up right where they left off.

It wasn’t so easy to be indifferent to her oldest and closest friend.

“Well?” Ruby tapped her foot. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

That did it.

“Me?” Belle squeaked. “You’re judging me about relationships? You have a red book where you write down all your conquests and rate them on their performance, and I’m the slut.” She was starting to shake, and her throat felt like it was full of sawdust. “You know how I feel about Gold. How long I’ve waited to find someone to love who might actually love me back. Do you know how hard tonight was for me? Well, let me tell you something: it was very hard. I needed a friend today, Ruby. I thought that person was you. You said you’d always be there for me, so how did this happen? Why weren’t you there?”

xoxo

Belle sat alone in a booth in a back corner of the diner, picking at the bits of crispy dried cheese on the edges of her bacon cheeseburger. It looked and smelled delicious, but her appetite had withered when Ruby had flounced past her table without even a glance in her direction. Belle signed and frowned at her iced tea. She’d deliberately sat as far from Ruby’s section as possible, but she should have gone to Tony’s for pizza. Two weeks had gone by since her terrible humiliation, and she hadn’t been able to face either Ruby or Gold.

“Oh, hey. It’s the movie librarian lady,” a gruff male voice said. “I’m Leroy. I work across the street from the library at Snowy White’s.” He held out a beefy, callused hand.

Belle shook his hand without making eye contact and pulled a book out of her handbag. She wasn’t in the mood for conversation, and the last time she’d crossed paths with Leroy, he had been a total jerk. She seemed to be running into jerks a lot lately. “Yes, I know who you are,” she said.

“Snowy White’s is the dry cleaner,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “I work the front desk.”

“I’ve seen you in the window.” She didn’t add that she often spied on Gold when he went into the cleaner’s with a bundle of shirts to be laundered, or came out with a collection of pressed suits on hangers. She pressed her lips together and cracked the cover on her book, hoping Leroy would leave her alone to read and cry into her burger in peace, but still he stood there, hovering beside the table.

He plopped down on the banquette opposite her. “You look upset, sister. What’s wrong?”

Belle looked up warily. She was at odds with her best friend and she had been completely humiliated front of a man she really liked. The only man she’d ever really liked. She couldn’t handle another scolding from Leroy or anyone else. “Are you going to yell at me?”

He frowned and pulled his cap lower across his forehead, shading his eyes. “Would I have come over here and sat down if I was gonna yell at you?”

“You yelled at me at the movie night last month.” She twisted her mouth. “Remember? I was being too loud, you said. Then you hit me with a box of Junior Mints.”

“Oh.” His neck flushed. “Forgot about that. I’m really sorry. It’s Ruby who got under my skin, to be honest. Girl’s got a mouth the size of Michigan. Also, I, uh, get a little emotional over movies.”

“Me too.” She felt the shadow of a smile cross her face. Leroy was gruff and a little rough around the edges, but there was a kindness in his hazel eyes that put her at ease. And at the moment, the fact that he found Ruby annoying was a point in his favor. She set her book aside. Maybe some company would do her good after all. “Would you like some fries? Granny fixed me this huge plate, but I’m not really hungry.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He removed his cap, and caught the basket of fries she shoved into the center of the table. “You talk, I’ll eat.”

“Deal,” she said, and this time her smile was genuine.

Leroy attacked the food, and Belle found that once she started talking, she couldn’t stop. She told him everything, filling him in about the uncomfortable movie nights, the awkward lunch and dinner out she and Gold had shared, and the horrible evening at the shop with the vintage porn film when Ruby had ruined everything.

“I should have kicked Ruby out myself,” Belle said.

He snorted. “Nah. Gold knows how to take care of himself. But your date didn’t sound so bad before Ruby got there.”

“It was fine. Better than fine.” Flushing, she looked away, remembering how close she and Gold had come to kissing before Ruby barged in. “And then it wasn’t. That was two weeks ago, and I haven’t spoken to Gold since. I call and hang up; I walk by the store and peek in the window, but I can’t bring myself to go inside. Three days ago I saw him at the park.”

“What happened at the park?” Leroy took a long drag from his soda.

“I waved,” she said, cringing at how lame she sounded. “He waved back!”

“That’s it?” Leroy snorted again.

Belle took a sip of tea and changed the subject. “Do you…I mean, what do you think of him? Gold.”

He clamped down on a toothpick. “It doesn’t matter what I think of him. Not me or anyone else. All that matters is you like him. You need to be brave, Belle. If you really like this guy, and it sounds like you do, tell him. Take charge. And be honest about how you feel. Chances are he feels the same, but isn’t sure how to say so.”

“What if he doesn’t?” Belle wasn’t sure she could open herself up to another rejection.

“At least you’ll know.” Leroy rolled the toothpick in his fingertips. “You said he likes Chinese food. Today’s Saturday; date night. And it sounds like he gets twitchy out in public—”

“Twitchy?” Belle interrupted.

Leroy raised an eyebrow. “You know what I mean. The diner, the movies…things seem to go wrong when you’re out. Show up at his house tonight with Mr. Wong’s and a movie and see what happens.”

“Sounds…adventurous. The last time I surprised him, it didn’t end well.” She laughed nervously and tapped the cover of her book. “The stories I read about always end so much more happily than real life.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t a book. This is your life. Don’t think, Belle. Go.”

Belle bit her lip, gripped in indecision.

He reached across the table and patted her hand. “Look, you asked me what I think, and I think Gold’s a self-important jerk.”

“Hey!”

“You asked. But here’s the funny thing, sister. Sometimes people are grumpy because they’re lonely. They’re waiting to see if someone will bother to peel back the layers and see if they’re worth it. You could be that person for Gold. But you’ll never know unless you give it another try.”

“You’re right,” she said. It was the best advice she’d heard in a long time, maybe ever. She was lonely herself these days, and certainly feeling more than a little grumpy. “Thanks Leroy.”

He flushed with the compliment, then rubbed his dark beard. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

He dug around in his pocket, then pulled out a crumpled square of paper. “Would you like a coupon for Snowy White’s? Bring in six sweaters, only pay for four.”

She nodded. “That’s quite an offer.”

“I’ve got a whole book of ‘em,” he said excitedly. “And hey, since we work opposite each other, maybe I could help you. People could drop off their books at the counter when they’re in a hurry, and I could bring them to you at the library at the end of the day. Maybe you could leave some coupons for Snowy’s at the circulation desk, too?”

“I think I can do that,” Belle agreed with a smile.

“Great!”

“So, does this mean…are we becoming friends?” She held her breath, not realizing how much the answer meant to her until she’d asked the question.

“Yeah.” He grinned, showing two rows of gleaming white teeth, a charming little gap between the two front ones. “Yeah, I think we are.”

###

[peakyxshelby]

Quiet

Michael Gray x reader

Request: Can I request a fic where the reader Is in a new relationship with Michael and doesn’t know if her and Michael’s relationship is built on mutual desire for companionship to avoid being lonely, or if they’re together because they love each other and it comes to a head where she flirts around to see if she enjoys it and Michael sees her and is pissed off confronts her and they make up?

A/N: changed it a little but here you go! Also dedicating this one to @peakyblinders1919 who is the sweetest chip ever. Thank you for always understanding. 

“How was your day?” you hum sweetly as your boyfriend, Michael, let’s himself into your house.

“Fine,” he mumbles heading straight for the toilet. Not even a sentence and a word less than yesterday. You can’t help but sigh at this, his complete lack of enthusiasm over anything when it came to you was disheartening and it was getting worse and worse by the day. You honestly didn’t know why you were still with him at this point. He’d come round, you’d try to speak to him and he would point blank ignore you then you would have sex. You’d thought about breaking it off and you knew he had too. But neither of you wanted to be lonely, it was nice knowing there was always someone to go home too always someone lying beside you in the bed. As much as he was blunt and stubborn he still protected you and cared for you, he just had subtle ways of showing. You were afraid of being lonely, you were afraid if you finally let him go you would be all alone.

“You know I was thinking maybe we should go out tonight,” you call through to him. “Isaiah was saying something about it being someone’s I don’t really know I wasn’t listening. Anyway, i think I need to get out.”

“Yeah whatever you want,” he responded flatly. You sighed before heading up the stairs to get ready for your night.

You had made your way to the garrison with Michael pretty much in silence exchanging small talk here and there. You were exhausted trying to keep up the facade that everything was OK. You and Michael used to talk about everything, there was a time you thought maybe he could be the one.

“Hello you two,” Isaiah shouted over the place when he saw you two walk in. you greet everyone as you sit down next to your friend maria, a spare seat beside you for michael. But he doesn’t sit next to you instead he makes his way to the other side of the table and sits in between to lads you both know.

“What’s that all about?” maria asks staring down Michael who isn’t making eye contact with either of you.

“Don’t get me started,” you sigh. “I need a drink. A strong one.”

.

The night sped by as you had drink after drink. Your heart sinking into your stomach a little bit more every time you smiled at Michael and he looked away like he didn’t see you. He had ignored you all night and you had maria in your ear telling you to just dump him because ‘you could do better anyway’. Maybe you could, but maybe you couldn’t. Your head was spinning as you walked back from the bar with a fresh bottle for the table. When you approached the table again a guy was sitting in your seat talking to maria and a few others. You recognised him from being friends with your friends, Murray, even though you had never spoke much to him he seemed pleasant.

“Hey what you doing in my seat?” you say trying to act sad and pushing your bottom lip out into an over the top pout. This results in you giggling and near falling backward. Murray quickly reached out and grabbed your wrist trying to stop you from falling to the floor.

“Steady there (Y/N),” he laughs at you trying to regain your balance.

“That wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t stolen my seat.”

“Doesn’t have your name on it.” You smirked a little liking the fact that he was witty. Also liking you were getting more than a one-word reply from a boy.

“Fine, but I have to sit down somewhere,” you say while falling onto his lap. He sat shocked for a second before laughing with you as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Careful (Y/N),” Maria warned you. You looked at her confused thinking she meant to make sure you didn’t fall again but you followed her eyes you saw Michael staring at you and Murray. The grip had tightened around his glass and and his jaw had locked in place. You turn back to Maria flashing her a menacing look before turning back around to face Murray.

“Comfier than the chair,” you laugh, moving your hand to stroke the back of his neck slightly.

“Now what did I do to deserve Michael Shelby’s girl sat on my knee.”

“I’m not his girl,” you say flatly.

“You sure about that.”

“He stopped paying attention to me a while ago, so I stopped being his girl.”

“I don’t know how anyone could not pay attention to you,” he breathes into your ear slightly moving his hand up your thigh under the table. His touch makes your skin crawl as you swallow hard trying to resist the urge to bat his hands off you. You realised right then that you didn’t want anyone else touching you but Michael. But the only way to get his attention was to keep doing exactly what you’re doing. “You are incredible.”

“And you’re not too bad yourself,” you giggle again leaning back to get your face far away from his. You were too busy concentrating on where Murray’s cold hands were on your body you hadn’t noticed Michael standing up slowly, but Maria had.

“(Y/N)…” She warned again like she was already seeing the chaos that was about to unfold. Before you even had time to realise what she was on about Michael had seen his hand up your skirt and had slammed his glass down so hard on the table it smashed in his hand. The whole place stopped and stared at him you included.

“Get the fuck off her,” he snarled barely moving his mouth. Murray sat petrified underneath you moving his hands to either side of his head to show he wasn’t touching you said.

“Mate… I… I am so sorry she said…”

“I don’t give a fuck what she said,” Michael spat interrupting the terrified boy who you swear you could feel shaking. You sighed heavily before getting up off the boys knee and sat down on Maria’s instead. You had pretty much been a human shield for the boy and now you had moved yourself out of michaels way he was an easy target.

“Christ only you could cause such a scene,” Maria tried to whisper, laughing away to herself and hiding her face behind your back. You swatted at her trying not to laugh yourself at the drama that was unfolding.

“Nobody touches Mikey’s girl,” Isaiah announced as he stood behind Michael both of them slowly making their way to Murray.

“Isn’t that right,” Michael said and in a flash, his knuckles had connected with Murray’s jaw leaving the boy slumped on the ground.

“Holy shit, what the fuck was that for?” You shout running past Michael and seeing if the boy was conscious.

“We are leaving,” he says ignoring your question and reaching for your wrist before pulling you out of the garrison leaving everyone behind you in complete shock.

.

“What the fuck Michael!” you shout again, shaking yourself loose from his grip as soon as you get outside.

“We’re going home,” he says flatly.

“Why did you punch that kid in the face?” Nothing. Silence. He just kept walking eventually stopping after a few yards and turning back around to face you.

“Come on.”

“No.” He turns around again surprised.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not going anywhere until you fucking speak to me Michael because honestly this is all driving me bloody insane.”

“You were in their acting like a whore, what else is there to talk about?”

“At least that finally got your attention. Didn’t expect you knock the fucking kid out for no bloody reason.”

“I did have a reason!”

“Oh yeah? Go on then, enlighten me.”

“You’re my girl.”

You stopped for a moment thinking about those words and what they meant like you needed a big label stuck to your back that said ‘Michael’s girl. Do not touch’. “I don’t think I want to be your girl anymore Michael,” you manage to croak out. As soon as the words come out it all becomes very real. Like every little thought, you had been having was coming to the service and you had just opened the lid for them all to come out.

“What?” he asked, his voice had become much softer and more fragile.

“All I am to you is someone to sleep with when you get home at the end of the day, I don’t know if I can be who you want me to be anymore. It kills me.”

“You are so much more than that to me.”

“Am I? Because I honestly can’t remember the last time we had a full conversation using sentences.”

“I know…” he sighed. You waited for him to say something, anything else but he didn’t.

“Goodbye Michael.” Gathering yourself together you start to walk away from him in any direction you really didn’t care.

“(Y/N) please wait, just let me explain.” You turned around again to face him as he started to approach you. You could see him running over things in his head.

“Explain what?”

“Look, please don’t walk away from this, from us.”

“There is no us anymore.”

“Don’t say that. I fucked up OK I know I did. I fell in love with you (Y/N),” He stopped for a moment, surprised the words had come out his mouth. You couldn’t believe what he had just said, you obviously looked as shocked as you felt because Michael read you quickly awkwardly shuffling his feet.

“You… you what?”

“I love you, and I have loved you for a while. I know I don’t act like it but I was scared (Y/N). you didn’t act like you loved me so instead of just telling you i thought if I maybe distanced myself then I would lose the feeling. I didn’t want to get hurt, couldn’t have a girl breaking my heart. But instead I hurt you and ended up hurt myself. Just please don’t walk away from me yet.“

You couldn’t move. Just stood there frozen staring at him in shock. “Michael I love you.”

“Wait for what?

“I love you.” You walked towards him reaching your hands out and lacing your fingers with his. “But you need to speak to me. I can’t live like how we are I want to go back to how we were. I was happy, we were happy.”

“Another chance?”

“I fucking love you,” you laugh back nodding at him before leaping up and kissing him. This kiss was special it felt like so much more.

A/N: requests are still open!